The Storm's Own Son (Book 3)

by Anthony Gillis

  "Then the ambassador laughed and boasted that he himself had a gift. He was immune to lightning. He said he was proud to die for his city, and indeed was slain by our people on the spot.

  “We went to war once more with Imperi and plundered it so thoroughly that it never recovered its primacy in Hunyos. However, without Adrastos, our army was set upon and defeated on the way home, and the ancient things we had taken were scattered among many cities, or lost. The armor, however, was locked away and, as it turns out, its location forgotten."

  The room went very quiet.

  "Storm Lord," finished Akaros, "we would like to offer you this armor."

  A great many complex and uncomfortable expressions spread among the assembled crowd. Talaos raised his hand for calm, and replied, "You offer me armor that, while nearly invulnerable, was specifically made to kill its wearer as part of an assassination plan?"

  "Yes, Storm Lord. We wouldn't offer it at all," replied Akaros, "except that you yourself have gifts of lightning."

  He smiled in reply, "As you have guessed, I am immune to it. Will this armor fit me?"

  "We believe that it will. Adrastos was a tall man, like you."

  "You have chosen well," replied Talaos. "Thank you, I will accept it."

  Akaros bowed and gestured to Nerio. Talaos nodded, and the tribune sped off.

  Talaos and his officers then discussed plans for their command structure, now that they knew how many men they'd have and from where. Some time passed, and Nerio returned with a pair of soldiers and a magnificent set of armor.

  It was a muscled steel cuirass with heavy shoulder pieces, steel pteruges hanging from a wide belt of engraved plates, greaves, thigh armor, vambraces, and a high-crested helm with cheek guards. All the steel was black, with bright, raised silver designs of wreaths, clouds and thunderbolts. Intricate silver geometric work ran along the rims.

  Talaos looked at the pieces. As he did so, the Avrosans watched him with what he thought could be best described as soaring confidence in his invincibility. That confidence was clearly not shared by all the officers in the room, and suspicious, fearful looks passed around.

  "Gentlemen," said Talaos, "if the Avrosans wanted to assassinate me, they could have found a more subtle means. I trust them, and so should you."

  With that, Talaos stood and put on the cuirass, the piece with the trick of lightning. He thought of tapping his own chest with his sword, but then wondered if it might not properly trigger the magic. He turned to the man he could best count on to recklessly take the next step.

  "Kyrax," he said, "hit me in the chest with your sword."

  The discontent among the officers grew visibly more apparent. Some rose to their feet.

  Kyrax muttered, but stepped over and gave Talaos a forceful crack with his blade.

  Talaos felt nothing, and the armor wasn't so much as scratched.

  He smiled and sat back upon his chair of office, eyes still radiant with lightning. "Thank you, I will wear it proudly," he said to Akaros and the other Avrosans. Turning to his commanders, he continued, "Now, gentlemen, it is time to consider the tasks before us."

  All in the room quieted, and waited on his word.

  “Assembled in this hall are warriors from all across Hunyos, who served in both armies and fought on both sides at the battle of Avrosa. The greater part of both armies now stand together, ready to face our true enemy, but the time is short. Many cities and towns are in the hands of traitors, or deceived by them, and they will raise new armies. Even now, a king openly sworn in service to the Prophet rises to power on the plains. On the throne of the fallen, I had a vision of fleets gathering in the Eastlands, and if true, they could have no purpose but war.

  “Hunyos divided will surely fall, and then this land will find itself under a boot to make old Dirion’s seem gentle. Unless we act, the pyres will spread in Hunyos, burning its sons and daughters alive to feed the Prophet’s power. Unless we act swiftly, the enemy will come for us as we fight among ourselves. Unless we act decisively, traitors among us will aid the enemy when he comes.

  “Commanders, all of you have sworn oaths to fight the Prophet. I trust each of you to do so, come what may, but I see only one path to victory in that fight. Regardless of prior alliance, the leaders of each city, town, and hill clan must now choose where they stand. We must free Hunyos from those who choose the Prophet. We must sweep Hunyos from south to north, now, while they are still in disarray.

  “If any of you reject this plan, and wish instead to fight the Prophet in your own way, you are free to leave.”

  Talaos surveyed the room. His words had but clearly and directly stated things they had all discussed. Even so, now would be the test.

  All of them remained in their places, alert, quiet, and at the ready.

  He regarded them with pride and gratitude as he continued. “Even in the greatest haste, combining our forces into one effective army, and organizing for the march north will take time. While we do so, we must ensure trouble doesn’t arrive from our flank. That means that Ipesca and the hinterland of Avrosa must be secured. Warlord Kurvan, are your troops ready?”

  The latter replied simply, “Aye. We leave before dawn.”

  Talaos gave him a solemn nod of thanks, and then addressed the others, “As for the rest of us, we have much to do. We begin now.”

  ~

  Talaos considered many things as he climbed the old tower. He passed the levels where he now had his Wolves billeted, the level third from the top where the Madmen were now based, and then the second from the top where he'd set up an office and a bed. He spent little time there, as he no longer slept at all. Still, this tower, more than anywhere else in Avrosa, now felt like home.

  Climbing higher, he took an observation chair from among the astronomical equipment on the top interior floor. It was a heavy, ancient thing of bronze and brass, engraved with lines, circles and archaic numbers. He carried it himself to the top of the watchtower, the highest spot in the city. He surveyed the familiar sweeping vistas around him. Then, he sat, centered himself, and focused his mind.

  He intended to cast his inner sight far afield, as he had on his throne of the fallen amid the battlefield. At first, it was more difficult. Then he had been at a moment of epiphany, with his power at its greatest and his mind free of distractions. He worked to clear it now.

  With his inner eye, he gazed.

  Around him, the city and the great army camp outside thrummed with life and activity. Large scale preparations for war went on everywhere. He'd moved most of the troops out of Avrosa to get them ready for the coming campaign. On the plains around, soldiers from both armies and many places now marched together, practicing formation in their new units.

  On the western road through the hills, he saw Kurvan's expeditionary force making its way to Ipesca. It comprised a large main body of heavy cavalry and foot, with vast clouds of hillmen spread for miles on either side. From a distance he could see Ipesca itself. Smoke, too much smoke, rose there. As he drew closer to the town, a shadow, or perhaps an opposing will, obscured his sight.

  Further north, small bodies of hillmen made their way toward Avrosa, and refugees from the enemy army made their way north. Some of them were even now in battle against irregulars or groups of soldiers coming south. Further off yet, the same obscuring veil appeared, as if the world were shrouded in a subtle, yet concealing, fog.

  He found, too, that the farther out he looked, the more difficulty he had focusing or controlling what he saw. He turned his eye south. In the countryside south of Avrosa, part of its territory, life was returning to normal. Even now, his emissaries were in the villages administering the oath against the Prophet and finding a friendly welcome.

  Beyond that was the wild forested region where the mountains, the hills, and the sea came together at the far southern end of Hunyos. He swept his vision out to the sparkling sea and saw merchant ships here and there. Then he moved east and back north, around the coast.

&n
bsp; There it was, not that far from Avrosa now.

  It was as he'd seen in his vision on the battlefield, but now far closer: a ship of the Western Isles, with high sides and tall masts bearing tremendous sails for a ship its size. Designs of waves and dolphins decorated those sails, and vines and leaves its painted hull. He could see the crew at work, led by a captain in a bright yellow-green cloak.

  There was something, not light exactly, but a kind of greater clarity surrounding that ship.

  He smiled, descended the watchtower, and made ready for a walk to the harbor.

  8. Return

  Talaos sat in his chair of office as dictator on a stone plaza adjoining the main docks in the harbor of Avrosa. He wore his armor, the deadly armor of the dictator Adrastos, with its black steel and its silver wreaths and thunderbolts. He had a new, dark gray cloak of office over his shoulders. His swords rested across his lap, and his eyes shone with lightning.

  Behind him stood the Madmen and his Wolves, and beside him were the bearers of his maces of office. All around waited officers and dignitaries of Avrosa, and two companies of spearmen formed an honor guard.

  The ship of the Western Isles was guided by a pilot boat to its destination at the end of a long stone quay. Sailors climbed down lines, tied the ship in place, and then lowered a ramp. A small crowd of merchants and passengers descended.

  They were then greeted by the white-haired old harbor master in his gray tunic and cloak, two of his assistants, and a crowd of dock workers. The harbor master himself escorted a particular group of passengers while his assistants attended to the others. Meanwhile, crew and dock workers began to unload the ship.

  Talaos had sensed it with his inner sight, but the reality still amazed him. There they were, and all together.

  There walked Katara, tall beneath her long, golden braids. She was clad in an outfit of northern garb that he'd only seen on her once or twice; a calf-length, long-sleeved dress of plain wool over leggings, fitted tight at the waist and ribs by a brown leather bodice with a great many engraved bronze fittings. Her long sword and a round shield were strapped to her back. She wore her headband with bronze discs at her brow and a watchful look in her eyes.

  Sorya stalked silently beside the Northwoman. Clothed entirely in black, her form-fitting dress was slit at the sides over tight pants and high boots. She had her cloak thrown back, and her dark hair blew free in the breeze. She had a wide, black leather belt around her tiny waist and, he thought, almost certainly a pair of daggers hidden behind it. She had continued her new habit of heavy kohl around her exceptionally large, dark, flashing eyes, and even at this distance he could see them widen in surprise.

  Last and most surprising, there was Miriana. Her red-brown hair was longer than ever and flowed past her hips in great, loose braids tied with bright-colored ribbons. She wore clothes like he'd never seen, but guessed were of the Western Isles. Hanging low around her hips was a long, flowing, dark green skirt embroidered with borders of white leaves. A band of white cloth with green leaves wrapped around her full breasts, but her small waist was bare. She’d thrown a light, loose, green cloak back from her bare shoulders. Her eyes sparkled merrily, and she bore a gentle smile on her face, as if none of what she saw around Talaos was a surprise.

  As well it might not be, for she was a prophetess.

  Seeing Miriana, Talaos was now certain that she’d been the source of the clarity that had surrounded her ship, like a living counter to the veils and shadows of the Prophet.

  With the three walked Miriana's father, and Talaos remembered he'd never learned his name. In Amari, the tall, lean man had seemed wolfishly strong and hale for one so old, but now even more so, as if activity and danger had been good for his health. He’d replaced his red magistrate's cloak with a plain black one, but he still wore his gilt armor and his twin long swords. His white hair blew in the wind, and his expression was of frank disbelief.

  The four approached, reaching the end of the quay and crossing the plaza toward him, Talaos smiled. He'd told those in his delegation only that he was expecting visitors important to him. He’d done so in part because until now, he hadn't been sure if it was true. Many, he thought, must be wondering at the sight of three such tremendously varied young women and an old man in the armor of a general of the Republic. He felt momentary catlike amusement at the situation.

  Then a wave of long-repressed emotion washed over him. There approached three women he loved, and three he'd been unsure he would ever see again. Again, there they were, walking his way, all improbably together.

  The harbor master guided them to a spot in front of Talaos, bowed low, and departed.

  Katara solemnly bent to one knee before him. Talaos reflected on her oath of loyalty in Carai. Miriana, for whatever reasons of her own, dropped to her knees, but looked up at Talaos brightly, almost playfully. Sorya looked at the other two women as if they'd gone mad, and then at Talaos as if the whole world had. But when she attempted to look him in the eye, she seemed to find it too much and cast her own eyes down uncomfortably. Miriana's father stood tall and watchful, surveying the pageantry before him.

  Talaos thought about how much had happened, and how much had changed since he'd last seen any of them. How much he, and quite likely they, had changed as well. It felt like lifetimes, though it had been but part of a year. He wondering what distances there might be between them now.

  But there was the sparkle in Miriana's eyes, and doubt was not his way.

  Talaos rose from his chair, and his entourage snapped to attention.

  He took a step forward to Katara, put a hand under her chin, and guided her to her feet. She looked at him, gray eyes guarded. He thought she had her emotions locked away, but not safely locked. He put his left hand to her shoulder, and she put hers to his. She gazed appreciatively at the long scar on his face, and the many other, fainter ones around it. With his hand still under her chin, he guided her closer. He tilted her head up and gently kissed her.

  Behind him, Talaos could sense subtle but amazed reactions from many of those with him. Still, all of them, even the Madmen, maintained order thus far. But, he thought with an inner smile, he had more shocks for them.

  He whispered in Katara's ear, "Soon."

  She nodded, and made a faint smile as he stepped back.

  Then he went to Miriana. She gazed directly and almost rapturously into his eyes, and her fair young face glowed with joy. He smiled at her, and she sprang lightly to her feet. He put a hand to her cheek, and she stood on her toes. Even then, he towered over her. He tilted her head back and leaned close. She suddenly wrapped her arms around his shoulder and neck, and then kissed him with such passion, and for so long, that at last he had to gently guide her to stop.

  Talaos, with a mixture of senses and inner sight, was aware of the stronger but still repressed reaction in the crowd, and of Miriana's father's weary resignation. Behind him, he sensed Kyrax make a very quiet whistle, and Larogwan silence him with an elbow to the ribs.

  He whispered in Miriana's ear, "This time, we speak to your father."

  She beamed.

  Next he went to Sorya, and she avoided his gaze. He ran his fingers through her hair at the back of her head, and gently, but inexorably, pulled her closer. For a moment, she seemed as if she was going to try to wrench free, but instead stood there, looking miserable.

  "Sorya," he said, in a calm, firm voice.

  She shook with visible, overpowering emotion. "Talaos, how did… you do all this? Who… what are you?" she whispered, almost panicked.

  He replied simply, "I am the man you knew, but I am also the heir of the Storm Father, who was the eldest of the gods. As for all this, it is a very long story."

  That answer didn't seem to help, and she tensed in his hands, shivering. Talaos thought about their parting, and the days that had preceded it, and what else Sorya might be feeling.

  "Sorya," he whispered, "come visit me tonight, by yourself."

  "Where do you liv
e? Sleeping in some big palace?" she said with quiet emotion.

  "No, near the top of an old tower. I don't really sleep anymore, but I have a bed there."

  That seemed to snap her to, and a faint hint of her old wicked smile returned.

  He held her in a short, intense kiss, then stood straight and guided her by the hair to look into his blazing eyes. She stared wide eyed for a moment, then averted her gaze.

  Talaos turned and walked to face Miriana's father. "General," he said, "when last we met, I never learned your name. However, welcome to Avrosa."

  "I am Auretius," the old man replied with cool formality, "and I thank you for your hospitality, Dictator Talaos."

  "I would be honored, General Auretius, if you would join my commanders and I for a meal at midday. Then later, could you and Miriana meet me in private? My officials will arrange for accommodations."

  At last, the wonderment of the situation seemed to get the better of the old general, and he looked around again at the delegation for a moment before replying. "Yes, of course."

  Then Talaos raised his right hand to his equally wondering officers and officials. "We return to the council hall," he said.

  Soldiers saluted, Avrosans bowed, and the Madmen, other than Epos, grinned. Then they all took their places in the column as Talaos set forth with Auretius and the women in tow.

  ~

  "If you wouldn't mind, general," said Maxano to Auretius, "I'd be honored to hear your first-hand account of how you held the pass at Nausica."

  Miriana's father pondered for a moment, and began.

  Talaos smiled, listened, and learned. There had been lively conversation among the commanders today. Maxano, with decades of experience in the field, had also proven to be a scholar of war. In particular he was interested in the Republic's war with Dirion, which had been larger by far than any fought in Hunyos since the downfall of the Empire. He had known of Miriana's father by reputation and was immensely pleased to meet him in person.