The Storm's Own Son (Book 3)

by Anthony Gillis

  Some of the commanders around seemed surprised at the use of the deferential title given Talaos by the Avrosans. A few others, glancing at the circling clouds overhead, looked as if they were mastering concerns of their own.

  What the messenger reported matched exactly what he'd seen reaching out with his mind. The enemy had lost ninety ships or more, either captured or sunk. If reports on overall enemy strength were still accurate, that would be the greater part of their fleet.

  He turned to other messengers and officers with reports. It went on for a long time. Then, Firio returned from a special mission of his own.

  "Did you find anything, Firio?" asked Talaos.

  "I found the bodies. The general that came by sea had the same amulet. Just like on that general in the main army, and on the priest," said Firio.

  He showed Talaos three identical, circular golden amulets. Each was inscribed in fine detail with complex geometric lines and glyphs centered on a small white crystal. Talaos could sense power on them. He'd suspected the enemy had some means by which they'd coordinated so well, a means that had bypassed Maxano. Perhaps these were that means.

  "He had this too…" added Firio. With that he handed Talaos a small, golden scroll case of complex design.

  Talaos trusted Firio to have handled any surprises it might have. He opened it, and read the scroll within. Then he raised his right hand once more. "Generals Maxano, Hadrastus, and Gavro, come forward," he said.

  The three did. They saluted, and Talaos returned the gesture.

  "Take a look at these orders, and this list of names," he said to them."This was carried by the general commanding the army that arrived by sea."

  Maxano took the scroll, and together they read. Hadrastus, towering in his blood-caked bronze armor, seemed calm, but Gavro scowled and Maxano looked almost wounded.

  The former senior commander of the enemy army spoke, in a pained voice, "These are secret orders from a closed council of representatives from several of the factions in our old alliance, including my own city of Kyras. They are orders for the removal from command of a number of officers in our army, including myself, Gavro, Ilirios, and Hadrastus. Trials were to follow. The orders predate our defection by more than a week."

  "It seems," said Talaos, "you were being watched, and judged. And that judgment was based on something other than your loyalty to your cities and towns."

  "Indeed…" said Maxano resignedly.

  "Commanders," said Talaos, "we have much more to do, and discuss. When the dead are all gathered, they will be honored and buried, with funeral pyres for those accorded them under the old laws. Then you will assemble the prisoners, healthy or wounded. Every one of them that is conscious will be offered the same oath we have all taken.

  "Those who swear to fight the Prophet will be enlisted in our army. Any who swear instead for the Prophet, or try to fight, will be killed. The rest will be demobilized and barred from military service for the duration of the war, or until such time as they change their minds. Once that is done, we'll need to plan for the coming campaign. Officers, we have much to do, but tonight, the men may rest."

  With that, Talaos rose from the throne of corpses. Hundreds of soldiers nearby saluted him. He felt the strength in his body and spirit, the imperishable storm within. He calmed the winds in the black-shrouded sky, but the lightning remained in his eyes.

  Many of the Avrosans nearby now bowed low to him. Beneath military restraint, the others had varied reactions to that act, but some looked shocked.

  Shouts of "Storm Lord!" rose from some among the crowds of soldiers.

  He mounted his horse and rode toward Avrosa. His Madmen, his Wolves, and many officers and messengers formed up and followed behind. Out on the open battlefield, soldiers, Avrosan militia and prisoners in thousands worked to gather bodies, weapons, armor, gear, and the immense amounts of baggage from the enemy army.

  As he passed, they stopped, some in awe, others fear, many more both. The men of the army saluted. Many of the Avrosans bowed, and a few kneeled. Prisoners watched him in disbelief. He continued on. Before the gates of the city, vast crowds of Avrosan civilians gathered, and many more waited inside. They watched him worshipfully, and many kneeled as he passed.

  Talaos stopped and addressed them in a deep, resonant voice. "People of Avrosa, stand. You will not trade one master for another."

  Then he rode on. The people rose, but the worship did not leave their eyes. He continued through the city to the old tower, ascended the many flights of steps to the top. There, he watched the work proceeding out on the battlefield. Messengers and officers came and went, and he attended to business as they did, but still he watched.

  Hours passed, and as the light faded in the western sky, the work was done. Fallen soldiers of his army were gathered in cairns at the edge of the hills, and those of the enemy in great pits. Those accorded the honor of funeral pyres were sheltered in the city. Great tent camps spread outside the gate as shelter during the long hours in which oaths would be administered and men sorted. Much blood and carnage remained on the battlefield, and on dusty, bloodstained men of war. From his gathered clouds, he called a gentle rain to wash both land and men.

  ~

  Talaos stood with Demistas the physician in a room at the house of healing. Before them both, in clean white beds, were the remaining lost ones. They were those Talaos had rescued from the House of the Prophet and from the iron stake. There were eight who'd resisted all cures, including the little girl and the convicted murderer. With them also was a ninth, Milo the musician, who was lucid at times and babbled his tuneless songs at others.

  He'd found the families of those who'd had such. Two had none that had survived the Prophet's mercy. He'd discovered that the little girl's mother had died of illness, and her father, who'd had some spark of magical gift for befriending animals, had already been consigned to the flames. The little girl's crime was to have been his daughter, with hints of the same gift. Her name was Droniel, and she had an aunt still living in Avrosa.

  Demistas looked at Talaos, and his eyes, with wonder. They shone from corner to corner with blue-white lightning at all times now, though the intensity varied with his mood. They were blazing bright at this moment.

  He walked to the closest of the lost ones, a middle-aged man. There was no more physical healing to be done, so the kind of gift of power he’d used on the battlefield would be of no help. Unsure what he might do, he tried to reach to the man’s mind as he had within himself. He found nothing. Perhaps, he thought, what he sought was buried more deeply. He focused his mind, searching. After a few moments, he understood. The difficulty was not the man's mind, but his own. He simply lacked a gift of the right kind. He might heal, but the minds of others were not his to explore.

  Perhaps there was another path. Perhaps he could leave a lamp to light the way, and let them choose to follow or not. He put a hand to the man's brow, and imparted a spark of his power within. Rather than let it infuse and spread, he left it to shine, ready for the taking. He stood there, and time passed.

  At last, the man's eyes flickered with some hint of awareness. He stared about him, recoiled at the brilliant glow of Talaos's eyes, but then fell into a natural sleep.

  Talaos went to the next, and did the same. This time there was no reaction even after a long while. He could do no more, at least for now, and moved on. He went to each in turn, with varying results. One awakened, two slept, and another did not respond at all. Next he reached Milo, who at the moment was babbling. He gave a spark to the musician and the babbling stopped. The man looked at him with sudden intelligence. He smiled, but then sat quietly, deep in melancholy reflection. Talaos put a hand on his shoulder, and then continued his work.

  Next was Savro, the man who'd raped and murdered his maid. Talaos put his hand to the man's head and imparted the spark. Savro's vacant eyes came almost immediately into focus. He looked at Talaos with a sudden startled expression, then his eyes narrowed.

 
; "Where am I?" Savro asked.

  "The House of Healing," replied Talaos, voice cold.

  "What happened to the Prophet's people?" the other said, suspiciously.

  "They're all dead."

  "Wha… Who're you? What's wrong with your eyes?"

  "I am Talaos, Dictator of Avrosa. There's nothing wrong with my eyes."

  "Dictator! I… Can you give me a pardon?" replied Savro with sudden hope.

  "Very much the opposite. I helped you reawaken so you could face your fate with full awareness of what was happening, and why," answered Talaos.

  Savro panicked. "Uh… it wasn't my fault! I mean, uh, it was somebody else! Please believe me!"

  Talaos ignored him and summoned the vigiles he'd had waiting by the door. They dragged Savro away as he blubbered for mercy. He watched the man go, thinking of the relentless internal logic of the Prophet's laws, under which punishment was meted on the innocent, and what amounted to mercy was given to the guilty.

  Talaos shook his thoughts free of it, for now he had a more hopeful task.

  He went to the seven year old girl, little Droniel, put his hand to her forehead, and gave her the spark. A long time passed. At last, her eyes opened. She looked up at Talaos and his radiant eyes with wonder.

  He called Droniel 's aunt into the room. The woman sobbed and hugged the girl, and then little Droniel hugged Talaos. He couldn't recall when in his life, even as a small boy, that a child had ever hugged him. He smiled and patted her head. To his dismay, Droniel 's aunt bowed low before him, then took and kissed his hand. With that, they departed, as Droniel waved him a goodbye.

  ~

  Talaos held Liriel in his arms. They lay on her new bed, in her regained and restored townhouse. It was a tall, narrow place of three stories in a poorer part of the city. She'd been able to recover many, but not all of her old things. Those related to the practice of her craft had largely been destroyed or burned by the followers of the Prophet. She'd gradually acquired replacements, and a certain comfort had returned to her home. In that comfort, they had something almost like a private moment between two lovers. Almost, except for his soldiers stationed outside on the street.

  She looked up at him and ran her fingers through his black hair. He'd had it cut for the first time in a long while, and while it tousled at the top and at his forehead, it was military trim around the back and sides. He had a thought that she missed the old unkempt strands.

  "Talaos," she said wistfully, "the light never leaves your eyes now, the darkness is never gone from the storm of power around you, and I think I understand you less…"

  He held her close.

  She went on, sadness creeping into her voice, "Although I knew from the beginning it wasn't true, I've enjoyed my fantasy that you would linger here in Avrosa, with me…"

  Talaos replied reflectively, "I'll be going to war, but I'm not leaving Avrosa forever. Nor am I going endlessly far away."

  "But you're still going to war, and an unknown fate," she replied.

  "Yes."

  "My heart is with you, wherever you go."

  "But your soul is here, in Avrosa," he smiled.

  "Yes, here in these stones of my birth. And I have this sense that events are moving on, and moving us apart. Still, come what may," she said, sadly, "I do love you."

  "I love you," he replied.

  She wrapped her nude body around him, and nestled her head against his chest.

  After a while, she seemed to cheer a bit, and mentioned, "Did you know some say Avrosa is the oldest city in Hunyos?"

  "Yes. As Carai is in the Republic. The weight of ages is here, and the strength."

  She smiled at that. He kissed her, and wondered what was to come.

  ~

  He sat on his chair of office in the council chamber. His swords rested across his lap, and his eyes shone. As his old armor and gear were damaged beyond reasonable repair in the battle, he now wore a simple military tunic in the dark gray of Avrosa. Around him stood the Madmen and the mace bearers. Soldiers and civilians crowded the room. Much had been discussed, and much more would be.

  With the end of the standoff and the enemy blockade, ships from northern Hunyos had finally reached Avrosa. There'd been a squadron of five allied warships, a large and heavily guarded supply convoy, and a lone, fast ship bearing dispatches and news.

  Whether by swift-riding messengers, or some means of the Prophet, news of the battle had already reached the north. There was turmoil in several cities, on both sides, as factions with varying views of the war, of the mass defections and of the Prophet, struggled in council chambers and on the streets.

  There was also news from further afield. Rumors of intervention by the Republic had subsided, but had been replaced by worries about what was happening up in Dirion. There'd been long-simmering unrest among the old ruling people, the old stock, and a great many of them had turned to the faith of the Prophet. That much, Talaos had already heard. Other news he had not.

  The Plainsman kings had been fighting among themselves until very recently. In a matter of months, many of them were killed or subjugated under the rule of a king from the east named Khurvrik. This king had publicly declared his faith in the Living Prophet, and drawn many followers from the old stock of Dirion in the remnants of their cities. Rumors were that Khurvrik was soon to declare himself Great King of the Plainsmen, a great king such as they had not had in forty years. Talaos had kept in mind his vision of great armies massing in the north. On the other hand, there was no news from the Eastlands.

  His allies had a unique chance, now, to consolidate power before the other alliance could recover. The true enemy, the Prophet, would not be idle after the loss of his Hand and so many followers.

  Talaos now awaited a new report on the administration of oaths from General Megaras. Strange as the intense loyalty of the Avrosans seemed to him, it made them very good choices as emissaries among the enemy prisoners. The lean, solemn general stood before him in his gray uniform. He saluted, bowed, and spoke at length.

  "Storm Lord, we have completed our work with the prisoners, and I have great things to report. By your deeds, your might, by the respect accorded the commanders who changed sides to join you, and by your act of kindness in healing their many wounded, the enemy came over to us in great numbers. Sixteen thousand, one hundred and fifty two men gave oath to fight the Prophet, while eight hundred and sixty one would not.

  "Seventy-eight were not in condition to answer, and are at the House of Healing. Two hundred and thirteen, mostly men who'd been caught unwillingly rather than properly surrendered, declared for the Prophet and were executed. Fifteen managed to seize arms, attacked our emissaries, and died fighting."

  More than sixteen thousand had made the oath.

  That was far, far better than he'd hoped. It meant he would march with at least thirty-five thousand. If efforts to recruit mercenaries, hillmen, and to better organize the Avrosan militia went well, it might be as many as thirty-seven or thirty-eight.

  Talaos knew they would now need to begin work on their plans for the organization of new units and chains of command. With an army assembled from such a wild variety of sources, they dared not leave things to chance.

  He could also tell that something else was in the works among the Avrosans. Megaras cast a look at Akaros, and the latter at Tribune Nerio. Talaos surveyed them and arched an eyebrow. Akaros rose and bowed. Talaos motioned for him to step forward.

  "Storm Lord," said the elder Patrician. "Your tremendous courage is well known to all, as is the amount of harm you are exposed to in battle. We, the people of Avrosa, fear for your safety, and wish that you might have defenses capable of withstanding such things as you so often face."

  Talaos smiled and replied, "It is true I go through armor quickly."

  "Well… yes." replied Akaros. "And your life's blood. Storm Lord, men have just today completed the task you assigned, to search and catalog the contents of the old tower. They discovered a hidden
chamber annexed to the lowest level, and there found a number of things thought lost. One of them is very significant. I… May I tell an old tale of Avrosa?"

  Talaos nodded.

  Akaros began, "Four centuries ago, Avrosa was mightier among the city states than it is today. The very height of our power was under the leadership of Dictator Adrastos. He overcame a coalition of many cities against us, and laid tribute to nearly half of Hunyos.

  "One of those cities was Imperi. In those days, they too were more powerful, with much wealth and knowledge left from the time of the old Empire. The war with them was particularly brutal. When Imperi at last submitted, they sent Adrastos a gift as token of surrender.

  "That gift was a set of finely crafted armor, bearing the clouds and thunderbolts of Avrosa. An ambassador from Imperi donned the armor before Adrastos, his generals, and the Council of Avrosa. Then he called upon men to strike him with swords and spears.

  "Even after many attacks, he and the armor were both unharmed. For that armor was enchanted, and the enchanting of it had cost the magus Kaunos, a patriot of Imperi, the greater part of his power. The ambassador presented the armor to Adrastos, and he accepted it.

  "A short time later, Adrastos decided to don and test the armor himself. He was a great warrior and a man of gifts. He put on the armor to spar with his officers and champions, even as a great crowd, the ambassador among them, watched. While he used a blunted blade, he let his opponents use sharp ones, to see what the armor could do.

  "Being skilled, Adrastos fought for a long while, knocking opponents from the ring with none coming close to striking him. At last, one did, with but the lightest of taps to the shoulder. Without a word, Adrastos fell dead. His heart was stopped by a bolt of lightning within the armor.