Spirit of the Sword: Pride and Fury (The First Sword Chronicles Book 1) (13 page)

"Lord Maro, gentlemen," Princess Romana spoke clearly and just a little louder than normal. "Allow me to present to you Filia Rebecca Miranda Callistus, of Corona Province. Where precisely in Corona Province are you from, by the way, Filia?"

"You probably wouldn't have heard of a town called Lover's Rock," Miranda muttered.

"The Turonim holy site, how very appropriate," Romana said. "Filia, this is Theseus Maro, the present Lord Maro, and his son Acamas."

Lord Maro was the oldest man present, his hair mostly gone and what was left turned to grey; his eyes were grey as well, as though he had chosen the prince's faction for the appropriateness of it all. He did not bow as he murmured, "Filia Miranda."

His son, slighter than his father and not quite so tall, with hair of light brown and eyes of hazel, did bow, though only slightly and only from the neck. "Filia."

Romana gestured to the other men. "And these are my brother's companions, usually they follow so closely at his heels that one might mistake them for his dogs. May I present Gellius of Helenia, Valens Hadrianus, Hippolytus Kyrios and Dio Verra."

They all murmured their acknowledgement of her presence.

"So, Filia," Gellius said. "You are the famous mage who is going to help Antiochus onto the throne? I did not expect you to be so young and comely." He looked to be the oldest of the five young men, including Acamas Maro, though Miranda did not think him much older than twenty. His hair was dark and combed to one side, with a raffish moustache obscuring his upper lip. Unlike the other men he was not wearing a toga, but a tunic of cloth-of-gold and a grey cloak slung over one arm.

"I am what I am, sir, as are we all," Miranda said. "I take it then, that you are not a native of the Empire?"

"Indeed not," Valens Hadrianus said, a grin playing across his sharp features and lighting up his green eyes. "Gellius here is a barbarian from Helenia, our client state in the north, the son of their king, sent here by his father to be civilised."

"If I wanted to be civilised I would hardly waste my days in your company, would I?" Gellius replied, to the general laughter of his fellows.

"So, you are from the provinces, Filia?" Hippolytus Kyrios asked. He was probably the most handsome of the group, with sandy hair and well proportioned features.

"From Corona, yes," Mirnada replied, becoming a little amazed at the way everyone here talked of 'the provinces' as though they were some singular entity and not a territory spanning length and breadth of Pelarius and beyond.

"Being here must be quite awe-inspiring for you," Hippolytus continued. "I'm sure you've never known such sophistication before in your life."

"How many servants get invited to occasions such as these after all?" Dio Verra asked rhetorically. If Hippolytus was the most handsome of the group then Dio was probably the ugliest, with a long nose and straggly hair that nearly obscured his dark eyes.

"A servant?" Miranda repeated dully.

"Not a servant, no," Lord Maro intoned. "Perhaps you are more of a hired tradesman?"

Princess Romana smiled. "Thank you, my lord, gentleman. I am sure that Filia Miranda has found this most enlightening."

Miranda bowed. "Sirs, my lord."

Princess Romana introduced her to more guests, some of them nobles but more of them wealthy equestrians, all of whom treated her like either a child, a tool or a servant. Once she realised that most of them would never bother to remember her name Miranda stopped bothering to try and remember theirs. She drowned beneath the weight of their condescension, their arrogance. The scorn of the wealthy equestrians who had asked her to fetch drinks for them, or the pity of the patrician ladies who told her how grateful she must be to have requested from the dreariness of the provinces.

It was too much, far too much; Miranda shook her arm free of the princess and said, "I am very grateful to you, ma'am, for being so kind to me tonight, but if you wouldn't mind I would like to be alone for a while."

Princess Romana nodded knowingly. "I understand. A word of advice, if I may."

"The princess may do as she pleases," Miranda said sullenly.

Romana ignored her rudeness. "You have met only a part of our society tonight, and amongst the worst of us. After all, to be glib, if these were good men then they would not follow in my brother's wake and whisper in his ear of his rights to the throne in hopes of fair advantage upon his succession. Those who follow Antiochus are vain, callous and arrogant. Think, I beg you, on what kind of man attracts such followers. But do not, I beseech you, judge the whole Empire by what you have seen tonight. There are better men in this country by far than those you have met tonight, even at court."

Miranda looked at her, frowning. "What would you have me do, your highness?"

"There has no need of golems to defend it," Romana said. "We have the finest army in the world, if we only knew how to make good use of it, or dared to use it as we know how. The only reason for your being here is to prop up treason. I would have you return to Corona or, if you will not, to use your knowledge of healing to serve the throne and the whole state, not to simply help one man rise higher than he ought."

Miranda smiled. "I will try and bear your words about the quality of the court in mind, princess, but I fear I do not think so highly of the Empire as you do."

"No," Romana said with a sigh. "Few do, even when they owe so much to it." For a moment she looked terribly sad, stricken by great weariness, before she rallied with a visible effort. "I do not hope that you will grow to love the Empire as I do, but I do hope I can bring you to appreciate it. Until next time, Filia."

Miranda bowed. "Until next time, your highness."

Romana left her alone, but it was not long after that Quirian found her.

"You are ready to leave, aren't you?" Quirian asked.

"Yes," Miranda said softly. "I hope that that's all right."

Quirian smiled indulgently. "Of course, Filia; nothing is more important to me than your happiness. Come."

He led her back to the palanquin, where his guards were waiting to escort them both back to Lord Quirian's house.

"So, how did you find your first taste of society, Filia?" Quirian asked.

"Sour," Miranda replied.

Quirian chuckled. "The first battle is always the hardest, Filia. It will get easier, in time."

"Battle?" Miranda asked. "I thought I had been to a party, not a war."

Quirian's smile was as sharp as a blade. "In Eternal Pantheia, Filia, everything is a struggle. The patricians fight for status, the equestrians fight for wealth, the poor fight to survive. And the army fights for all those things."

"And you, my lord?" Miranda said. "What are you fighting for?"

"Justice, Filia," Quirian said. "Justice for all."

They spent the rest of the litter-ride back in silence, and when they finally arrived at Quirian's house Miranda remained in the courtyard, letting the cool night air surround her, the darkness enfolding her like mother's arms.

"Filia?" Quirian said. "You will not come inside."

"Not quite yet," Miranda said, sitting down amongst the statues of old Coronan heroes and Aurelian scholars who littered Quirian's courtyard, looking at the stars as a nightingale began to sing. "If you do not mind, I would like to be alone."

"I am afraid I cannot allow that, Filia," Quirian said. "But I will leave you with only Octavia, if she is not too distracting. Octavia, see Miranda safely inside when she decides to retire."

"Yes, Lord Father," Octavia replied, and so the awkward girl stood watch over Miranda even as the rest of Quirian's entourage followed him inside, the doors closing upon them with a thud, setting the two young ladies apart from the rest of the house and, with a gated wall between them and the city, from the rest of the world. In the empty courtyard, with only the statues for company and only the sound of a nightingale to hear, it felt almost as though they were truly alone in Pelarius.

Miranda might have preferred it that way.

She bowed her head with a deep sigh.

"Miranda?" Octavia's voice was high pitched and suffused with concern. "Miranda, what's the matter?"

"I am very tired," Miranda said.

"Then you should probably go to sleep," Octavia replied. "Oh, you didn't mean it like that, did you?"

"No, no I didn't," Miranda said softly. "But thank you anyway."

Octavia smiled. "Tell me what's the matter and I promise I'll make it all okay."

"And how will you do that?" Miranda asked.

"I don't know." Octavia shrugged. "I don't know what the problem is yet."

"I don't think that it's anything you could help with, but thank you for the offer," Miranda sighed. "Why would you want to help me, anyway?"

Octavia blinked. "Because... we're friends. And isn't that what friends do?"

Miranda chuckled. "I don't know, I haven't had one in a while."

"You've got one now," Octavia said. "If, if you want, that is."

Miranda smiled. "I suppose I could use a friend in a city like this. Why don't you sit down."

Octavia sat down next to her.

"Why was everyone in that house so stuck up and full of themselves?" Miranda asked. "Who do they think they are?"

"I know."

"I mean acting like they're better than me, when I can do things they couldn't dream of."

"I know."

"It's so frustrating, especially because when you're in that room you start to believe it: that you are as small as they think you are."

"Yes."

Miranda looked at Octavia. "Are you just agreeing with everything I say?"

"Yes," Octavia announced cheerfully.

Miranda glared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing.

"Thank you," she said. "After what I've been through I needed a little toadying from my friend."

She slipped her hand into Octavia's.

"Thank you," she repeated, more quietly. "For being here."

"Wherever you need me, that's where I'll be," Octavia whispered. "Because I'm your bodyguard, and now I'm your friend, and so my job is to keep you safe and make you happy from now on."

Miranda looked up at the sky. "That may be a difficult job sometimes."

"I'll try my best."

And so, side by side, they sat in Quirian's garden under the light of the moon, while in its cage a nightingale sang, just for them.

IV

The Hooded Man

"I remain unconvinced that this is a good idea, Filia," Quirian said. He stood in the courtyard of his home, looming over Miranda, while a score of members of the Lost looked on and some of his slaves waited beside the palanquin to take, assuming Lord Quirian did not flat out deny her, Miranda to the house of Lord Manzikes, to see if she could do something about his condition.

"Whatever else my powers can do," Miranda replied. "I remain first and foremost a healer of the sick. And it was you who told me that the ailing health of Lord Manzikes was a factor in the instability that is gripping this city, the whole country even."

"That doesn't mean I want him back on his feet," Quirian said tartly. "But there will be no persuading you, will there?"

"I will not leave a man to die while he can yet be saved," Miranda said.

Quirian sighed. "Then I can only wish you luck, Filia, and bid you take great care. The Manzikes' are no friends of mine, or of Prince Antiochus. I pray you will be safe with them."

Miranda frowned. "They would not hurt me if I had healed their lord, would they?"

"Who can say, with such people," Quirian replied as he turned away, leaving Miranda with the distinct impression that he had said that in order to put her off.

Octavia squeezed Miranda's hand as she helped her climb into the waiting litter.

"Don't worry," she whispered. "It will be all right."

"How is it so many people manage to say that with such groundless confidence?" Miranda asked as she settled on the soft cushions. "But, thank you for trying."

Octavia giggled a little.

Miranda shuffled a little inside the palanquin, searching for the optimum comfort for her leg. "I'm ready now."

Lucifer was not leading her escort today, because Lord Quirian was not going with her, and so it was a tall swordsman named Pericles who nodded acknowledgement. He shouted, "Lift! And forward!"

Miranda was dressed to work, in the working blouse and skirt she had brought with her from Lover's Rock, complete with a tatty old apron she had inherited from her mother. It was ragged and tattered, but Miranda kept it scrupulously clean and, to make a brief admission of romantic sensibility, Miranda was fond of it. It was one of the few sentimentalities in which she indulged: having something of her mother's with her gave her confidence.

She needed it now, as she prepared to enter into the boar's den.

The litter swayed as Lord Quirian's slaves carried it through the streets. They were not quiet by any means, but there were not the heaving crowds that had been about last night, rather the ordinary commerce of a great city like Eternal Pantheia. Pericles still had to shout to get people to clear the road, but she did not have to yell herself hoarse or threaten to use force to get her way.

Indeed, as Miranda was carried between the towering tenements and the sturdy houses it became clear to her that people were generally quite used to making way in Eternal Pantheia. They scrambled clear for drovers' wagons, for carts of all descriptions, for soldiers and guard companies marching to and fro. In fact there seemed to be a strange protocol in effect across the city, unspoken but noticeable: the city guards gave way to the legions, the legions gave way to carters and merchants, but merchants would in turn give way to the city guard. Everyone gave way to the nobility, which was probably why Pericles used the name of Lord Quirian more often than her own, and when she did mention Miranda it was always as the guest of Prince Antiochus.

It was refreshing how nobody outside of the court circle seemed to know who she was. She saw a few people glance her way in curiosity, but no one seemed to have any strong opinions about her one way or the other. Miranda could only conclude that if they knew who she was they didn't care, and that was as it should be. She had no desire for fame, she didn't need to be recognised in order to feel satisfied. She was not so childish or so shallow.

The litter brought them to a grand looking house in the Old City, with walls that looked thick enough to double as fortifications and heavy wooden doors into the main courtyard. The doors were open, but guarded by a score of armed legionaries, who were leaning on their shields when Miranda first arrived but who swiftly picked them up and formed a line of battle when they saw Miranda's escort coming. A short man with fiery hair, wearing a mailshirt and a red cloak that hung down behind him, stomped forwards with one hand on the sword at his hip.

Her dozen escorts of the Lost formed a line in front of her, drawing weapons if they had them, readying their magic if they did not. Octavia stood directly in front of Miranda, sword out, guard up. That, more than anything Aelia or the rest could do, made Miranda feel safe as the squat little man snorted angrily as he made his way towards her.

The man's eyes, Miranda saw as he got closer, were blue, and burned as though there was a fire behind them. Though Pericles, who was one of the tallest of the Lost, towered over him, the man in the red cloak showed no fear as he squared off against the Lost, though he had left his men behind too far to be of assistance until it was too late for him.

"Who in the Empress' name are you bastards, then?" he demanded.

Miranda climbed out of her litter. "My name is Miranda Callistus. And you are?"

"Narses Skleros," Narses snapped. "Major Narses Skleros, First Vexillation, Seventh Legion. Now, I don't know any Miranda Callistus, I don't reckon His Lordship knows any Miranda Callistus, and you'll need a damn sight more than a dozen men to shift my boys so bugger off unless you've got business here."

"I do have business here," Miranda said sharply. "I'm here to save Lord Manzikes."

Narses' eyes narrowed. "Priests from every temple have prayed and the best physicians have poked and prodded His Lordship, what makes you think you can do any better?"

"Because none of the priests and none of the physicans could do what I can do, no one can," Miranda said. "Look, Major, I've heard that Lord Manzikes is dying, is that so?"

"You can't honestly expect me to tell you that," Narses said.

"Maybe not," Miranda murmured. "But the point is, what do you have to loose? Even if I was a charlatan I could hardly make things worse."

Narses stared at her, looking into her eyes for a long time. Miranda got the impression he was sizing her up.

"Why are you here, Miranda Callistus?" he asked.

"To save a life, if I can," Miranda replied.

Narses snorted, then looked back at his men at the gate. "Optio! Find Captain Icthius and tell him he's to take command of the gate until relieved."

"Yes, sir," one of the men said, snapping off a brisk salute before running off into the compound.

Narses returned his attention to Miranda. "Your escort must wait here."

"Very well, all save Octavia," Miranda said. "She comes with me."

"No," Narses said at once. "I'll not have some armed woman I don't know anywhere near His Lordship."

"And I will not go in undefended," Miranda replied.

Narses snorted, and glared at her. Miranda snorted right back and glared at him, her hands gripping the handle of her cane so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

"She can come in, damn your eyes," Narses snapped. "But she leaves her sword here and I'll have two men watching her at all times, watching the pair of you."

Miranda nodded. "Fair enough. Octavia, leave your sword."

"Right," Octavia murmured, taking off her two-handed blade and leaving it in the palanquin for safe keeping until they returned.

Narses snorted. "All right then. Follow me, and let's see what it is that you can do that no one else can. Lucius, Levi! Follow me and if these two step out of line, kill them."

"Aye, sir!" one of the soldiers replied, with no more reaction to being ordered to kill Miranda than to being ordered to go run an errand. The two soldiers Narses had called fell in on either side of Miranda and Octavia as Narses led them through the gate.

The courtyard to the house was full of soldiers, standing guard upon the doors or drilling in the courtyard, or else rushing here and there for reasons that Miranda could only guess at. She could not help but wonder what it was about illness that justified turning a home into a hive of military activity.

As the five made their way across the courtyard, another officer approached them, a tall young man with long flaxen hair tied back in a queue and features that were so delicate as to be almost feminine. He wore a coat of shimmering scales that glittered under the bright light of the sun, and his sword had a gold hilt moulded in the shape of a serpent's head.

"Major Skleros," the young man said. "I was not aware that we were expecting guests today."

"Sir," Narses said, coming to attention and giving the younger man a salute. "This woman says she can help His Lordship. There didn't seem any reason not to give her a chance, as long as she's watched."

"Really," the younger man murmured. "And what do you expect in return for your help, Filia-"

"Filia Miranda Callistus," Miranda said.

The young man's eyes widened a little. "Prince Antiochus' new toy? The Coronim maid with the miraculous powers? And why, pray, would you want to help Lord Manzikes?"

Miranda scowled. "If you will forgive me, Pater...?"

"Alexius Lord Commenae," the Lord Commenae replied coolly. "Or Legate Commenae of the Seventh Legion, if you would prefer."

"My lord," Miranda said, allowing a touch of testiness to enter her voice. "Just because I am employed by His Highness does not mean that I must commit wholeheartedly to the tiresome political games you seem to be playing in this city. I am not blue or grey or red or any other salted colour for that matter. What I am is a healer, and as a healer I have come to a man in need of healing. Will you let me do my work, or does the taint of Prince Antiochus condemn Lord Manzikes to death?"

"Lord Manzikes is my wife's father," the Lord Commenae replied. "If you can save him then you have my word that the gratitude of the Commenae family will be considerable. If not..."

"I have no doubt your anger will be considerable as well," Miranda said, as though the idea meant nothing to her.

"No doubt," the Lord Commenae said. "Very well, Filia Miranda, follow on, and pray you can make good on your boasts."

"I usually do," Miranda said. "Is there a reason for all of this warlike activity?"

"Lord Manzikes fell ill very suddenly," the Lord Commenae said briskly. "The most expensive physicians have attended him without result, and there have been a great many visits from the Imperial freedmen. Too many, some say, even for the Emperor to be visiting the Commander of the Army by proxy. Some suspect poison."

"Do you?"

Lord Commenae regarded her without expression. "I find, Filia, that in these times it is best to leave such suspicions safely in the province of the anonymous multitude."

"I see," Miranda murmured. "So you are here to guard your father-in-law?"

"The Seventh is here to guard His Lordship," Narses said. "He's one of us, started off in the Seventh."

"As did my father," the Lord Commenae said. "It is fitting, as well as for the best, that his old legion protects him now."

"A pity you cannot protect him from disease," Miranda said.

The Lord Commenae and Major Skleros led Miranda and Octavia through the bustling courtyard and into the house proper, through a door with a boar's head relief carved into it and into corridors lined with military trophies: ancient shields, shattered spears, armour marked and scored were those who had entrusted their lives to the armour had been mortally disappointed. There were standards too, banners bearing strange and ancient devices not of the Empire

"Are these all trophies?" Miranda asked.

"Indeed they are, won by the Manzikes family through the ages," the Lord Commenae replied.

Octavia made an impressed cooing sound, while Miranda could only roll her eyes at the blustering bombast of men.

Inside the house there were more soldiers, more legionaries of the Seventh by the look of them. They rushed too and fro under the direction of an old man with a face both scarred and weathered, his white beard square cut halfway down his chest and his hair disappearing on the top of his head.

A sergeant with a sandy beard approached, saluting and standing to attention. "Beg to report, the soup's ready for His Lordship, sir."

"Did you taste it?"

"It isn't poisoned, sir," the sergeant said. "I can't vouch for it being edible, but if Syphax kills His Lordship it won't be on purpose."

The old man gave him a stern glare. "I don't think that's particularly funny, sergeant."

"Neither do I, sir," the sergeant replied.

"Dux Tzimisec," the Lord Commenae called out, dashing forwards to whisper in the older man's ear - something which caused many of the soldiers to stop and stare even as they pretended not to - before he said, "Filia, this is Dux Nikephorus Tzimisec, commander of the Army of the Reserve and Master of Soldiers in the Interior. Dux Tzimisec, this is Filia Miranda Callistus." He whispered something else in the old duke's ear.