Spirit of the Sword: Pride and Fury (The First Sword Chronicles Book 1) (73 page)

"Get down!" Octavia yelled, and Miranda felt a gust of wind pushing her off her feet, throwing her down into the grass. Portia yelped as a similar gust knocked her off her feet, while Romana seemed to have been throwing herself to the floor anyway, and so was bounced along the ground for three feet after landing.

That left only Octavia still standing, and the table coming straight for her.

"Octavia!" Miranda yelled.

Octavia raised one hand, her hair blowing in all directions she called her magic to her, trying not to stop the table but to deflect it upwards, over her head and over the other ladies.

The edge of the stone table caught the top of Octavia's head with a crack, knocking her backwards onto the grass, arms and wings spread out, eyes closed, head lolling to one side. Silent and unmoving.

No, no, not you. I cannot lose you.

I will not lose you, though if I have to rend the veil between this world and the next and drag you back from death to keep you by my side I will.

Octavia, please don't die.

The assassin had paused in his advance, his sword in one hand and a knife in the other, looking between the three women as if he was not sure which of them he should kill first.

Miranda hated the sight of him. Bile rose up in her throat, some beast she had not known was there roared out from deep within her soul, and all she wanted was to make this little bastard hurt the way that he had hurt Octavia.

She had never understood, before, what it was that made Michael want to go out and mutilate people in the arena, how he could take joy in the pain of others, how he could laugh at death, how he could torture people with such artistry.

Now she understood where his wrath came from perfectly.

And she had the power to hurt that her brother and his swords could never match.

I hope Helen Manzikes hears you screaming.

Miranda pushed herself up onto her knees, focussed her power, called upon her magic, fed it to her anger, and poured forth all her will onto the man before her.

And he burned.

The fires started at his feet, and he stopped and stared as though he did not know what was happening. Then they spread upwards with all the speed of a wild fire, consuming his legs, his chest, his arms. He screamed, he thrashed wildly, he beat at his burning limbs with his equally burning hands.

And then he stopped screaming.

Miranda let out a deep breath, but tried to ignore how suddenly tired she felt as she dragged herself over to Octavia's side.

"Miranda, look out!" Portia shrieked.

Miranda looked up as a shadow fell over her: a second man, with sallow skin and lank hair, more wiry of build than the first. She raised her hand, but the other man was faster and he...emptied a pouch full of dust all over her.

Miranda coughed and spluttered as the dust got inside her throat and in her eyes. She shook her head, blinking rapidly, trying to get the black dirt out, trying to see. She tried to summon her magic to defend her, to spread fire and lightning in all directions...but none came. A few candle flames appeared at her fingertips, a touch of lightning sparked...but no inferno erupted, no storms of lightning thundered forth. It was as if her magic had been trapped somehow, chained within her body, rendering her powerless.

"Stardust. How very clever of you. Moreso than your unfortunate friend, at any rate."

Miranda rubbed her eyes to see Princess Romana on her feet, standing between Portia and the second assassin, her hair a little ruffled and her face stained with dirt, but she had assumed such perfect poise that none of that mattered. It didn't matter that she was roughly half the size of the man opposed to her, it didn't matter that she was a slight and willowy figure. It didn't even matter that she was without a weapon. Romana stood as proud as ever her beloved Aegea could have done.

"I strongly advise you to leave while you still can," Romana said. "Whoever you came here to kill, you shall not harm them."

"Will I not?" the assassin demanded. "Because you'll stop me?"

"Goodness no," Princess Romana said lightly. "A princess would never demean herself by engaging in close quarters combat with a brute like you." She smiled. "I have people to do that for me. Now!"

"Who are y-"

A wolf snarled as it bounded across the gardens, fangs bared, and leapt straight for the assassin's throat. It hit him square in the chest, knocking him to the ground, and Miranda saw the wolf tear at his neck as the man screamed in pain. Two more wolves ran out of the bushes, howling as they did so, and hurled themselves over Miranda and onto the stricken man. He was still screaming when they started to eat him.

Princess Romana's smile broadened. "Good boys." She glanced behind her. "And that, Your Majesty, is why it always pays to have one's guards nearby."

Miranda scrambled across the ground, half to get away from the wolves and half to reach Octavia. "Octavia?" she said, cradling her lover's head in her arms. "Octavia, can you hear me? Octavia!"

She tried to summon her magic to heal the cut on Octavia's forehead, but it still would not come.
God under the waves what's the matter with me?
"Octavia!"

Octavia's eyes flickered open. "Miranda...Miranda! You're all right."

"Yes," Miranda said. "Yes, I'm fine, and so are you. Thank God." She kissed her. "I thought that...I was..."

"Do you need a hand getting up?" Romana asked as she helped Portia to her feet. She picked up Miranda's stick off the ground and handed it to her. "Impressive magic, by the way, Filia."

"Thank you," Miranda murmured as she pushed herself up off the ground, then helped Octavia up after her. "What happened though? I couldn't use magic on the second man."

"Stardust," Romana said, brushing it off Miranda's shoulder. "Stardust, star-rock and thunderbolt iron all negate the effects of magic, and when worn by a person they can prevent them from using magic at all. No one quite knows why but the Mage Corps have theorised that it is the fact that they are not entirely of this world. Once you wash it off you should be fine."

Miranda glanced behind her. "And the wolves?"

"You've met Hestius and his fellows already, don't you remember?" Romana asked.

Miranda remembered the big, burly man and his rough looking companions. She looked back at the wolves behind her. "You mean-"

"Hestius," Romana clapped her hands. "Very good show, but you had best get out of sight again. We woudn't anyone getting the wrong idea."

Panting, the wolves ran off, their jaws slick with blood and their tongues hanging out of their mouths.

"It's always good to have people around who can respond quickly in a crisis," Romana murmured. "Captain, over here!" she called out as her human guards began to arrive on the scene. "Filia, I think that you should probably be getting home now."

"Yes, most likely," Miranda said. "Portia...I'm sorry. I should have been stronger. I will be stronger. Next time I will protect you."

"And I'll protect you, as well," Octavia said, putting one hand on Miranda's shoulder.

"There will be no need," Miranda declared. "Next time, I will be able to protect everyone."

And if Helen Manzikes thinks that she can keep sending people to kill me and threaten those I care about she has another thing coming.

XVII

Guest Gifts

“Do you have to go?” Gwawr asked plaintively.

“No, I don’t have to,” Fiannuala replied. She smiled, and reached out with one hand to ruffle her younger sister’s black hair. “But I do want to. This will be good for me, Gwawr, I know it. I’m going to get out of this forest, I’m going to see the world!”
              “And you’re going to leave me,” Gwawr replied, her eyes large and her face scrunched with misery.

“That’s true,” Fiannuala admitted. She knelt down, so that she and Gwawr were face to face. “But I’ll come back, and when I do I’ll tell you all about every amazing thing I’ve seen.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Or maybe you could come and join me, when you’re ready.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Cati muttered. The three sisters and the company stood just beyond the boundaries of King Gerallt’s court, in a secluded grove ringed with ferns and wild mushrooms. Michael and his companions kept a discreet distance from the dryad princesses, rather than intrude upon what was strictly familial business.

“Father may have given you his permission to leave,” Cati continued. “But that doesn’t mean Gwawr will be allowed to go as well.”

“Why would he let me go and not her?” Fiannuala asked.

“Because you’re a trouble maker and we’re all glad to see the back of you?” Cati suggested.

Fiannuala growled.

“That was a joke,” Cati said with a sigh of exasperation.

“With you, I can never tell,” Fiannuala replied sullenly.

Cati rolled her eyes and flicked Fiannuala on the forehead. “Just make sure you do come back, all right? Seeing the world is all very well but this is your home and…” Cati looked away for a moment, pouting a little. “I’m going to miss you. Eena’s going to be too quiet with you away.”

“Really?” Fiannuala grinned. “I can’t say I’ll miss you nagging me.”

Cati raised one eyebrow.

“That was a joke.”

“With you I can never tell,” Cati said. She held out one hand. “May Dala dream of you, and may her dreams be with you in the whispering of the leaves and in the shade of the trees.”

Fiannuala reached out, and clasped Cati’s arm in her grasp. The two sisters held one another for a moment, then released each other; Cati immediately walked towards the waiting members of the company.

“Look after her, won’t you?” she asked.

“We’ll look after one another,” Amy said. “And together we’ll all be left with limbs intact when the fighting stops.”

“Hmm,” Cati murmured, seeming to be less than reassured by Amy’s remark.

“Princess Fiannuala is a warrior valiant, skilled and strong, your highness,” Michael said. “We have with our own eyes witnessed her feats of arms. To suggest that her life or death is in our hands, and not her own, does her great insult.”

“Maybe,” Cati said. “But I’m her older sister, so don’t blame me too much.”

Michael nodded. “I understand you perfectly, your highness.”

“Hey, Cati!” Fiannuala yelled. “Can you stop insulting me for a moment so we can give them the gifts?”

Cati scowled. “Yes, I was just about to get to that.” Quietly, she murmured, “On second thoughts, if you get a chance to bury her somewhere out there, do it.”

“I fear in this we must disappoint you, highness,” Michael said.

“I suppose I shall bear up,” Cati replied. “Now, as you prepare to take your leave, Fia and I have prepared guest gifts, in gratitude for the service you have rendered us. Ordinarily the king should present these gifts to you, but Fia and I have asked the honour. If you’ll follow us?”

“We shall,” Gideon said. “Lead on, you will not find us far behind.”

The three sisters began to run westward, leaving Michael and his comrades to stumble in their wake through masses of dryads still picking themselves off the ground after their festive exertions of the night before. Fiannuala and Cati led them under trees great and small, mighty oaks and small saplings, until they brought him a broad stone cain, with an archway of piled up rocks serving as an entrance.

"Back when the Elder Races dwelt in harmony, before the Fall of the Gods, the dryads traded with our elemental brothers. Trolls built this cairn to serve as housing for the treasures we acquired," Cati said. "Most of the treasures are gone by now, stolen or bargained away for temporary security. But there are a few left. Some you will be interested in. Fia and I, we decided that there were a few pieces you might like, and would put to better use than we could."

Fiannuala grinned as she ducked into the cairn. There were a few moments when Michael could hear her rustling around inside, before she emerged with a pile of treasures in her arms, laying them at her feet before picking them up one at a time to present them to her new companions.

"For you, Amy, this cloak of salamander scale," Fiannuala said, unfurling a cape of green scales that looked at once both hard and supple. "It's fire proof, so you can use it to protect yourself against fire magic, and it's supposed to be quite durable and good against sword strokes and the like as well." She smiled. "Plus, I think it will look quite good on you."

Amy grinned as she took hold of the cape for herself. "Oh, yes, this looks marvellous."

Tullia received an Aurelian blade, two feet long and looking like it was made of silver. His Highness was given a wand made from one of the great trees of Eena, with all manner of wood spells carved into it. Wyrrin was gifted with a pair of gauntlets, last worn by a great fire drake warrior who had fled to Eena after the defeat of the elder races, which would help him keep better grip upon his swords.

Lord Gideon refused any gift. "I require nothing that the Empress does not give me in abundance, but I thank you for the generosity nonetheless."

Cati shrugged. "Suit yourself. Now, Michael, Fia and I decided that for you-"

"Let him see for himself," Fiannuala said. "Come on in."

She had to duck to pass under the arch, Michael did not as he followed her inside. The cairn was dark, unlit by any torches and only a single hole to admit any of the light of the sun. But even in the half-light he could make out a small pile of gold, a tiny smattering of precious stones, ornamented chalices and plates; and the most splendid armour that he had ever laid eyes upon.

No gladiator's gleaming bronze this, no dull iron of the legions or the militia, no boiled leather nor mail cuirass would compare. The suit was lacquered green, no single shade but as many greens as there were colours of the leaves. The colour was liquid, seeming to move even as he looked at it, flowing in lazy swirls like a river's passage. The helm was full, concealing all the face save for the eyes, and if it had nowhere on which to mount either crest or plume that was perhaps the armour's only fault. The cuirass was segmented, seeming to segue seamlessly from the shoulder paudrons to the gold-trimmed manicae and the armoured gauntlets. Unlike his old manicae, which had protected only the outside of the arm, these seem to cover both. Actually that held true for the legs and knees as well: complete protection, yet at the same time he judged the segmented plates flexible enough that they would not impede the wearer's movement.

It looked beautiful, light enough to run for twenty miles in yet strong enough to withstand a blow from Amy's Magnus Alba. Michael wanted so badly to reach out and touch it. He felt as though he could spend hours just feeling every joint, every edge, every detail. It was only by iron force of courtesy that he restrained his hands.

"Forged by fire drakes, the great smiths and metalworkers, in the elder days," Cati said. "Worn by King Llewellyn during the Eldest's War, and by King Gwyddion during The Wars of Chains."

"We want you to have it," Fiannuala said.

Michael turned to face them, both grinning at him, "You...you're giving this to me?"

Fiannuala said, "And that's not all, look at this." She reached down, and held up a green lacquered sword with curved blade patterned with ivy leaves and a hilt shaped like the twisted branch of a tree, with roots spreading out from the pommel to guard the fingers. The moss-green blade was broad, in roughly the shape of a leaf, with two sharp edges and a fine point, and a pattern like ivy crawling up the centre, weaving from one side to the next.

"I tried to use this once, and I nearly cut my own hand off," Fiannuala said. "I prefer the spear. But you can take this sword and then give Gideon back his Duty."

"Your generosity puts my gratitude to shame," Michael murmured, taking the sword from her hand and hefting it experimentally. It was weighted a little more towards the back than he was used to, with a longer handle too, but it was not an ill balanced blade in and of itself. Quite the opposite. "I will take the sword and bear it, I hope, with courage and honour, but I cannot take the armour also."

"Why not?" Fiannuala asked.

"Because I know not how to wear it," Michael said. "In the arena I wore nought but manicae. Nobody came to the pit to see a bloodless match. The weight would slow me down and I would not know how to move in it. It is a generous offer, but I must decline."

"It's even lighter than it looks," Cati said. "And maybe you can learn to fight in it, when there's time. Take the armour, wear the manicae, and maybe wear the rest when you can."

Michael looked back at the green armour of the forest. It was beautiful, covered in patterns of leaves and ivy, like armour crafted for a hero of the ancient days - not like, but
was
- he did desire it. He desired it very much.

A slow smile spread across his face. "Very well. I will take this splendid gift you offer. I take it gladly, and in humble acceptance of your generosity."

"Excellent!" Fiannuala said.

The dryads replenished their supplies, and more besides, and then Fiannuala took the lead in their little column as they marched north towards the ruins of Aureliana. Cati and Gwawr watched them go, waving until they were out of sight, hidden by the distance and by the ever-present trees.

They made good time through the forest, and camped under the shade of a tree of brilliant gold, festooned with shining apples like nothing Amy had ever seen on land or sea. It reminded her a little of some of the glimmering gems and lights that you sometimes saw upon the ocean bed, but even then this was not quite the same. This tree, this golden tree, it was the sun brought down to dwell with them upon the ground. She did not dare to touch the apples, much though she wanted to, it would have felt like a sin.

And so, while the camp was made, she just sat and stared at this tree, this sun-on-earth, her eyes wide and a smile playing upon her face as the light shone upon her.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Fiannuala said as she sat down beside her.

Amy nodded. "What is it?"

Fiannuala shrugged. "Nobody knows. It might be a gift from Dala, I can't think how else it could have gotten here, but there are no tales that tell of it for sure."

"If you could tell me for certain, I'd consider joining the Dalanim," Amy murmured. "Well, not really, but I never saw anything in Seafire that felt quite as special as this."

"When I was young, mother used to take the two of us here, me and Cati," Fiannuala said. She sighed softly. "We should have brought Gwawr here. She'll be too old by the time I come back."

"If you're having regrets about leaving, there's still time to go home," Amy said.

"Regrets? No," Fiannuala replied. "I've never been so excited. Such fame to be won, among dryads and men alike."

Amy nodded. "So much fame. Enough for both of us."

Fiannuala smiled. "We're going to show the whole world you and I, I just know it."

Amy looked at her. "And when we do, our names will be sung in every home in the Empire."

Fia chuckled. "You bet. Now won't that be something." She held out one hand. "I'm glad you're here, Amy. The truth is...I admire you."

Amy shook her head. "Don't say that until I've done something worth admiring."

"You already have. You're a real warrior, a proven warrior. I can't say the same, not yet. You have so much strength, so much courage. I want to be like you, in the end."

Amy sniggered. "I think you're more than halfway there already."

Fia held out one hand. "Land, sea and forest. We're going to show them all."

Amy took her hand in a firm grip. "Land, sea and forest. With Turo and Dala as our witnesses."

"Getting a rather high opinion of yourself, aren't you?"

Michael kept his head bowed before the face of the goddess, but he frowned in spite of himself. "It is not my place to question you, divine lady, but I fear I do not understand?"

"You have become more confident since Davidheyr," Silwa said as she paced around him. "That is good, in moderation, but I fear that you risk carrying it to excess. Things will not be as easy as they seem to you now."

"I do not see why they ought not to be my lady," Michael said. "We are a company united, bold and brave and strong and stronger still with the addition of the Princess Fiannuala to our ranks. We have proven ourselves the equal of rebels, demons and the warriors of elder days. Is there any foe can stand before us?"