Michael dropped to one knee, pressed down by the weight of inexorable destiny which he felt upon his shoulders. “With all my heart, Your Majesty, I shall.”
The girl Lucilia lay back her head upon her pillow and closed her eyes. "Is this right, Filia?"
Miranda nodded. "That's fine, Lucilia. Just relax. Hopefully this will not take too long."
Michael stood at the foot of Lucilia's bed. The devotee and the two other women who seemed to feel some sort of guardianship over the girl stood crowded opposite Miranda. Her two guards, assigned by Princess Romana to ensure that she did not think of breaking her word and escaping her decreed punishment, waited outside the cell with Octavia.
Only two days remained before she would, by order of the Princess Imperial, depart for Volsci in the company of the guards appointed to her. So, she had decided that if she was going to help Michael keep his promise then she had better do it sooner rather than later.
Miranda held one hand over the young girl, moving it up over her face and then down towards her feet. Finally, her palm settled over Lucilia's chest.
The devotee of Aulo, Terentia, said that the girl had consumption. Miranda agreed; fortunately she had some experience in dealing with that.
"This will sting a little bit, Lucilia," she said. "I won't tell you not to cry out, but try and remember that it will be over soon."
"I'll be brave," Lucilia said. "As brave as Tullia."
Michael's hand clenched into a fist, and he looked uncomfortable for a moment. Evidently Tullia was the dead sister Michael had known.
"All right then," Miranda said. "I'll begin."
She had found it hard, on the night of the battle, to turn her magic back to healing, and it was just as hard when Miranda tried to call on it now. It had had a taste of freedom, and her power was no longer so satisfied to wear the leash. It wanted to erupt in a great torrent, to deal out death and devastation, to kill, not heal. The power raging within her would have rather burned Lucilia to ash than healed her.
Do as I command, obey me, heal her.
Why? What is she to us?
A stranger.
Then why bother?
Because if I decide who lives and who dies then the least I can do is decide without favouritism.
Why not decide death for all? Why save anyone?
Because I've always done the right thing, or tried to.
What is right, really?
Oh shut up and do as you’re told.
Miranda's arm began to burn with unused power as the trickle that she dared unleash leapt from her palm, making her hand glow blue as another aura of magic began to gather over Lucilia's chest. The girl gasped as miniature lightning bolts began to prick at her, and then Miranda conjured up the feeling of water washing over her to ease the prickly sensation.
Lucilia gasped again, and then cried out, as globules of a sickly off-white colour began to rise out of her chest and into the air, passing under Miranda's palm and into a bucket Miranda had set aside for the purpose, after the embarrassment with Lord Manzikes' floor.
Curing consumption consisted of two things. First Miranda had to get all of the little imps causing it out of the chest, and then she had to repair all of the holes they made in the lungs, but that could not be done until all the imps were gone. That, unfortunately, was a matter of intuition. Stop too early and the disease would return. Keep going too long and it would kill the patient.
The best way to judge was by the patient's pain. "Lucilia, I know you want to be brave, but it's important to scream if you feel like it, that way I can tell how this is going."
Lucilia nodded. She was sweating and her face was pale.
"What are you doing?" one of the women demanded.
"What I was asked," Miranda replied.
Lucilia began to groan. Miranda kept on dragging the imps out of her.
"That's it, tell me how you feel," Miranda murmured.
Lucilia groaned again. Then she began to scream.
"Stop it, you're hurting her!"
"Not for long," Miranda said, depositing the last of the imps in their bucket before slamming her palm down hand upon Lucilia's chest.
There was a flash of blinding light, and then Miranda took her hand away and leaned upon her walking stick before she fell over.
Michael and the three women in the room were holding their breath.
"Lucilia," the devotee of Aulo murmured. "Lucilia, how do you feel?"
Lucilia sat up, looking around her curiously. "I feel...I feel perfect." The girl tried to cough, but nothing came out except a ridiculously feeble splutter. "I feel like I could run or shout, or do anything!"
"Did it work, our Miranda?" Michael asked.
Miranda sighed. "As far as I know, yes." She gestured to the bucket. "Someone should dispose of those, and not breathe to close to them."
"Allow me," one of the women said, striding over to the bucket and casting a jet of flame into it from her fingertips, consuming the imps in cleansing fire. "There. Disposed of."
"Aulo's benevolent mercy," the devotee said. "I've never seen anything like it."
"Nor will you, in all likelihood," Miranda said, but no one was really listening to her. They had all gathered around Lucilia, to congratulate her and wish her well, while Michael asked her if she wanted to move to the estate in Saba that Princess Romana had given him. That occasioned some more discussion, all of it very personal but of no interest to Miranda. So she left them to it and slipped outside. Her guards, or gaolers, had withdrawn to the ends of the corridor, close enough to watch her without leaving her completely devoid of privacy. Octavia, she saw, had gone.
"Don't worry, she's not run off. I just asked her for a moment alone."
Miranda started at the sound, she hadn't noticed anyone else there. "Ascanius?"
Ascanius grinned. "Don't shout it too loud, love, I probably shouldn't be anywhere near you. I definitely shouldn't be anywhere near here."
"I heard you'd gone into hiding rather than join the Lost in their penance," Miranda said.
Ascanius shrugged. "I've already given this country the best years of my life. I don't feel like giving it any more."
"Then why are you here?" Miranda asked.
"Because I'm leaving," Ascanius said. "Julian has horses waiting, I'm going there now."
"Dervalut," Miranda said.
Ascanius nodded. "Aye, Dervalut. Where a man can be his own master and not a prince's slave. I came...because my offer's still good. You can come with us, if you want."
Miranda chuckled. "You don't want to serve a prince, but you would serve me in Dervalut?"
Ascanius smiled. "You're a good woman love. One of the best folks I've ever met. You'd be a good queen, I bet. Any rate, you deserve better than to be shut in a cage."
"Do I?" Miranda asked. "After all the things I did?"
"I've known officers killed more than you on the battlefields and got called heroes for it," Ascanius said. "Officers killed more than you in Oretar never got called to answer for what they did. What makes you so terrible you have to be locked up?"
"I did it all on my own," Miranda murmured. "And I could do it again, if I wanted to."
"I trust you," Ascanius said. "Come on, love you, can't tell me this is what you want. Come with us. Freedom! Do what you want, be what you want, no one will know or care. Doesn't that sound grand?"
"It does, for you," Miranda said, looking away. "But I never wanted freedom, to be honest. What I wanted was respect, and I'll no more get that amongst barbarians than here." She looked back at Ascanius. "It was sweet of you to come, but I'll have to decline. My place is where the princess commands."
Ascanius shook his head. "When I first met you you were coming to Eternal Pantheia to become great and famous, and your brother was rotting in a cell. Now he'll be famous, and you're to be locked up. Hardly seems fair."
"I thought you were too cynical to believe that life was fair," Miranda said.
"I am," Ascanius
said. "Or too old, at least. But there were times when being around you made me wonder if I might be mistaken."
Miranda smiled. "I feel I should apologise for getting your hopes up. It seems that you were never the one mistaken. Rather, it seems I was."
Two days later, Michael stood at the gates to Eternal Pantheia, with Amy, Jason and Felix flanking him. Miranda stood in front of him before a wagon outfitted as a crude carriage. Octavia was already sitting in the back of the cart, while a troop of horse guards stood nearby ready to provide escorts. Lady Silwa stood beside Miranda, though unlike the others she would not be accompanying her upon her journey, but was returning to her own home, wherever it lay.
Michael bowed. "I wish to thank you, Lady Silwa. Without your assistance, not only would the Empire not have been saved, but I should have been greatly poorer in my friends."
Silwa smiled. "Don't thank me, just yet, Michael, in helping you become First Sword I have laid a life of trial and suffering in store for you, after all."
Michael placed his hands upon Amy and Jason's shoulders. "I have every confidence in our ability to master all challengers to come against us, m'lady."
"I shall remember that, when I next come to you and ask you to save the world," Silwa said, amusement in her tone. "Take care of yourself, Michael. I will return; you may depend upon that."
Michael bowed once more. "I shall, ma'am."
"And you, Amy, congratulations on your knighthood. Don't let it go to your head."
"I'll try my best," Amy replied.
"And congratulations to you too, Pater Pastor; an interesting choice of name: shepherd, in old Ausonian."
Jason ran his hands over his crook. "Rather appropriate, don't you think?"
"I suppose it is," Silwa said. "All of you look after yourselves. And you, Miranda."
"Yes, because I was planning on getting myself killed before you told me not to," Miranda said.
Silwa chuckled. "Goodbye, Michael Callistus. Goodbye, all of you." And with that she turned and walked away into the north, following no road but striding over the earth towards the far off hills.
"What a strange, frustrating woman," Miranda murmured as she watched Lady Silwa.
"She is a god," Michael said. "She has the right to baffle and frustrate we mere mortals."
Miranda laughed. "I think this new position of yours is going to suit you. Gods, Princesses, lords, officers. You'll get to indulge your proclivity for boot-licking to your hearts content."
"I prefer to call it deference to my betters," Michael replied reproachfully.
"I know you do," Miranda muttered. She sighed. "Take care of yourself, both of you. Don't get into too much trouble."
Michael grinned. "I am the First Sword of the Empire, our Miranda. It is no task for the timid."
"I suppose not," Miranda said. "You know, in many ways I envy you. You've found your place in the world, just as you said. I haven't, not really, and I never had. I don't know if I'll ever get the chance now."
"You will," Michael said.
"You know that for a certainty?" Miranda asked.
"I have faith that it will come to pass," Michael replied. "Just as I have faith that we will meet again, and sooner rather than later."
"Of course we will," Felix said. "This isn't goodbye, is it? We will meet again, won't we 'Randa?"
"Oh, I'm sure we will," Miranda replied breezily. "The next time you idiots almost die and need me to save your lives, probably."
Michael chuckled. "Come here, you two." He pulled them both into an embrace. "I swear to Almighty God our next meeting will be a joyous one. And peaceful, God willing."
"Joyous, perhaps, but I doubt anywhere near you will be peaceful," Miranda said. "Don't die, either of you. Stay alive until fate brings us back together."
"Never again," Michael said.
"Not even once," Felix said, with a cheeky smile at his brother.
"Hoi," Michael chided. "God and the Empress go with you, our Miranda."
"And with the both of you," Miranda said. And then she turned away, and Octavia helped her into the cart. The wagon began to drive away, the clip-clop of horses' hooves echoing as her cavalry escort followed in her wake.
Michael watched his sister drive away towards her new life until he could no longer see her. And then, his family at his side, he turned back towards his own.
Dear Constant Reader,
Thank you for taking the time to read the second book in the First Sword Chronicles. I hope that you continued to be entertained by Miranda’s steadfast loyalty, Michael’s unyielding devotion, and by the ponderous and weary dignity of the Empire which I have striven to lay out before your eyes.
If you enjoyed this tale of mine, please consider leaving a review on Amazon so that those who come after you will know that this book comes recommended, and may feel moved to read it in their turn. If you are not prompted by your device you can follow this link to review.
If you have come to this book without having read the prior volume, Spirit of the Sword: Pride and Fury, then I congratulate you on being able to follow the plot of this book, but if you made it this far and would like to check out what came before then you can follow the link above to the first volume in the series.
Michael and Miranda will return, in volume 3 of the First Sword Chronicles, Short Swords: Tales of the Divine Empire,available now from amazon; a teaser follows on the next page. Please also consider some of my other works available on Amazon Kindle:
The Chain and the Unicorn (short story collection)
The Last Giant (standalone short story)
If you like, you can follow my newsletter to keep track of all future releases, or check out my website to find out more about my work.
Your details will not be shared nor your email account spammed. You will only be contacted with new release information.
Thank you for reading, and I hope you will continue to follow Michael and Miranda wherever their destiny leads.
Best Regards,
Frances
Preview of Short Swords: Tales of the Divine Empire
I
Death in Tranquillity
“Oh, Miranda, don’t you look lovely?” Portia cooed as she stood in front of her, surrounded by the sweet-smelling flowers of the palace garden, her golden hair falling down around her face as she smiled that lovely smile of hers.
Miranda smiled. “Portia. God under the waves, Portia it’s…it’s so wonderful to see you.”
“Miranda,” Portia whispered, but this time her voice had more of a discordant hiss about it, a sound like a serpent creeping through the garden in which they stood.
Miranda frowned. “Portia? Is something wrong?”
Portia laughed. Not her laugh, no, it did not sound so sweet, so pleasing to the ear. This was the laugh of someone else, or something. This laughter had an edge of cruelty to it, like a hundred thousand knives leaping from her mouth to prick Miranda. “What’s wrong, she says? What’s wrong? You are what’s wrong Miranda, you murderer!”
Miranda shook her head. “No. No, Portia, I didn’t-“
“You promised to protect me and you failed,” Portia snarled. “And then you murdered thousands of people throughout the city. You burned them all to ashes.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Miranda whispered. “I…I was so upset…about you…”
“Then you should have saved me,” Portia yelled. “You should have protected me and my baby as you said you would!”
“I know,” Miranda sobbed. “I know. I wasn’t clever enough, I wasn’t fast enough. I ought to have…I should have…”
“Retribution is coming, Miranda,” Portia hissed. “Every day it gets closer and closer. And in the end it will devour you as you devoured so many.”
Miranda’s eyes widened as Portia’s body began to burn. She turned from the beautiful Empress that Miranda had known into a bloody, lifeless corpse and then she began to burn. The flames began at her feet and then worked upwards, consumi
ng her as Miranda’s fire had once consumed Prince Antiochus, Portia’s murderer.
“Portia, no!” Miranda yelled, but Portia did not seem to mind the flames. She did not scream as Antiochus had, or Messalina Verra either. Instead, as the fires burnt her up to ashes…she laughed. She laughed as the yellow flames consumed her. She laughed as she turned to dust. She laughed until there was nothing left of her at all.
“Portia!” Miranda screamed, and then her eyes snapped open as she awoke with a startled gasp.
“Hush, hush now, it’s alright, I’m here,” Octavia murmured, wrapping her arms tightly around Miranda. They were both in the large bed in the master bedroom, but it would have been truer to say that only Octavia slept in bed, while Miranda slept in Octavia’s embrace. Alone she could scarcely even get to sleep, and while even with Octavia’s help the nightmares still tormented her, at least she felt at least a little rest during the night. Miranda felt Octavia’s arms, warm and strong, around her, she felt her soft tawny wings enfolding her, she felt Octavia’s breast as a pillow for Miranda’s head.
She felt Octavia’s body against hers, the only spot of warmth and comfort for her in her present circumstances.
“I’m here,” Octavia murmured. “And you’re safe.”
Miranda glanced upwards; Octavia’s face seemed to hover over her, framed by golden hair and with golden eyes to match set in it like gold adornments to a statue. She smiled, but her smile was subdued by her knowledge of what Miranda had just gone through.
“I know,” Miranda murmured, reaching up with one trembling hand to stroke Octavia’s cheek. “Thank you, for being here with me. I don’t know what I was thinking trying to send you away.”
“You were trying to do the right thing,” Octavia murmured. “You just didn’t realise that the right thing was letting me make my own choice.”
Spirit of the Sword: Faith and Virtue (The First Sword Chronicles Book 2) Page 57
