The name Imperi itself, the city of victorious command, was taken from the title of victorious commander awarded to only the Empire's greatest heroes. Even during the collapse it avoided the dishonor that tainted titles like First Citizen. Ironically, the title that gave the old Empire its very name was never much used by the autocratic rulers of the last, worst days.
A title with meaning, he thought, though one that must be earned.
Imperator.
Time passed under a bright blue sky, and they neared the junction of the roads. A dust cloud became visible to the southwest. A troop of twenty horsemen raced ahead his way. Lines of soldiers marched slowly, far behind. The horsemen reached the junction of the roads behind the vanguard, but ahead of the Wolves.
They wheeled and turned south, hailed the Wolves, and rode on. The captain at their head hailed Talaos and they exchanged salutes. He looked doubtfully at Talaos's eyes, but maintained his bearing. Talaos noticed the man had cuts and a bandaged wound on his forearm. Several of his men had small injuries as well.
"Hail, Warlord!” said the captain. “I bring news from Aledri on behalf of the council."
"Speak."
"We received your messengers, and there was dissent on the council. Fighting followed, but those loyal to Aledri prevailed. Three patricians and four hundred citizens fought to the death for the Prophet. Five hundred more now walk in exile, north toward Imperi. Some of the citizens were in the army.
"The council has confirmed promotion of Lurios to general, as well as alliance under the terms negotiated between yourself and Teroia. They have dispatched a thousand soldiers to join your army, but must retain the rest for defense, in case of attack from Imperi."
Talaos replied, "Thank you Captain. Let the council know I'm pleased to accept, and that I will soon solve their problem with Imperi."
The captain smiled, saluted, wheeled his horse, and rode back to his city.
~
Generals Aro and Gavro sat with Talaos in the command tent on a bright, windy morning. The army was now at the junction of the road that gradually turned eastward toward Etosca, and the other that went northwest toward Imperi.
Old Gavro had a faint grin on his weathered, scarred face. The General of Imperi wore his dusty green cloak and rich but battered segmented armor over a chain tunic. His crested helm sat on the table next to him, and a behind the grin, tension could be seen in his hazel eyes.
"Are you ready for this?" asked Talaos.
"As ready as I can be to march with an army on my own city," growled Gavro in reply.
"I think you'll convince them to switch sides easily enough," replied Talaos.
"And if not," added Aro, sharply, "We've got forty thousand men to back up your five."
"I sure as hell hope it doesn't come to that," answered Gavro. "Imperi is still my city, and my son and daughters are there with my grandchildren."
"Sorry," said Aro, "I should've thought of that. My wife and my four children are back home at Cosica, near Mesion Hill."
"No offense taken. I'd guess yours aren't grown yet," replied Gavro.
Aro smiled, and for a moment the sharpness softened on his face and in his features. "No. My oldest son is fourteen. The littlest is my daughter Clea, and she's three."
Talaos made a smile of his own, thinking of the two hard-edged generals as fathers and family men. Then another, unrelated thought occurred to him. "Aro," he said, "your league is named for Mesion Hill. What is it?"
The general considered and replied, "It’s a tall, grassy hill with a flattened top. In the center of that top is a circular open space, floored with solid rock, and surrounded by a ring of ancient standing stones.”
"Like rune stones?" asked Talaos interestedly.
"Not like them," answered Aro. "Much bigger and squarer cut, with capstones connecting the pillars into a ring at the top. They're not carved with anything.”
"Sounds like you spent some time there, Aro?" asked Gavro with a grizzled smile.
The latter replied earnestly, "People go there to settle disputes or make oaths, or to watch such things. It is also the place where representatives of the league meet from time to time to make major decisions."
Gavro nodded.
"Do you mean things like treaties and appointments?" asked Talaos.
"Exactly," replied Aro. "It was where the decision was made to join the alliance of Teroia in the current war, where I was originally elected general by the representative towns, and where the Champion of Mesion Hill is decided."
"Champion? With competitive sparring duels like at Kyras?"
"Yes, but instead of every holding the post for three years, as there, our champion is indefinite until successfully challenged, or they die or resign."
"I'm surprised I hadn't heard of it," replied Talaos.
"My league isn't exactly the center of news in Hunyos, and it has been nearly twenty years since the last champion won his position."
Talaos had been watching Aro as the latter spoke, and something in the way he said it triggered a bit of intuition in Talaos's mind. He looked at Aro with a wry smile, "You're the current champion, aren't you?"
"Yes," answered the other, "though it is true I don't advertise it. The champion has the right to carry this sword, and in battle there are advantages to it being a surprise."
With that, Aro drew his short sword and handed it to Talaos. The latter had never taken a close look at it before. It had a sturdy hilt with a heavy, square pommel and a matching cross guard. All were gilded and carved with intricate knotwork, and the pommel was set with a red stone. A circular glyph inlayed about a quarter of the way down the length of the blade included symbols that Talaos now recognized represented fire.
"This is a fine weapon," he told Aro. "How long has it been in use?"
“About two hundred years," replied the general. "It replaced an earlier sword that was plundered when the champion was killed in a war against Megasi. I don't know what happened to the older one after that."
Talaos grimly reflected on Hunyos and its endless wars.
"I'm glad you're with us," said Talaos. Then, turning to Gavro, he added, "And you as well, General. With any luck, we'll put a stop to internal wars like that for a while."
"Hopefully a long while," answered Gavro, scratching his chin.
Aro, however, had another thought, "Talaos, there's a spot like Mesion Hill further north. A place called the Elder Hill. I've always been interested in seeing it, but never had the chance. This war might provide that chance. It's supposed to be exactly centered between Kyras, Namaia, Idrona, Etosca, and Imperi."
Gavro looked like he was chewing on a thought, and added, "I've heard of that place. Almost like the center of a five-pointed star. They say there used to be a school or something there, back during the Empire. Supposed to be some ruins that are even older."
That struck Talaos as significant, though it brought to mind another thought. "Imperi was founded around the end of the second century of the Empire, wasn't it?"
"That's right, and I'd guess you know the history," answered Gavro. "Neutral ground and all that. But in Imperi, we say our city was founded on the ruins of one a lot older. Not that we know much more about it, but that's the story."
Talaos nodded in interest, and replied, "If we get the chance, I'd like to visit the Elder Hill as well. If nothing else, it might serve as neutral ground for our times."
Gavro nodded with a grim smile, but then glanced at the brightening sun outside the entrance of the tent. "Well, guess I'd better get started."
Talaos and Aro in turn gripped his forearm, then he took a step back and they exchanged salutes. The old general turned and walked toward the duty that awaited him.
~
Talaos sat in the lamp-lit command tent with a chosen group of companions. Gathered at two tables in the center sat Miriana, her father Auretius, and three with roots in the northern countries—Katara, Halmir, and Hadrastus. Sorya had joined them a bit later, out of cu
riosity.
On the tables spread a map of the world, made in Teroia, and several books. The latter included one of the Prophet's books from Talaos's collection, an old history of the world belonging to Miriana, and the even older set of leather scrolls from early imperial times, loaned from the library of Teroia. Other than a brief introduction in imperial-era script, those last were written in an archaic form of the imperial language and alphabet. It was a form Talaos and Miriana knew in part, but only Auretius could properly read.
Katara was speaking. Many there had already heard what she had to say, though Halmir and Hadrastus had not. "The stories are much like what Halmir has said,” she noted. “There were those said to be touched by the storm in Vorhame, and I have heard Narhame, in years not so long ago. It was said there was a warrior like that in eastern Vorhame when my father was young. I am afraid I have not heard the proper tale of his deeds.
"Another was a tale of a man, I think maybe two hundred years ago, who was a warrior and seithman in service to kings in my part of Vorhame. He could call the lightning down on foes, and became a great hero and commander. Yet in the end he was slain by arrows soon after his son was born. When the son became a man he sailed to Narhame and was said to have fought in the wars there when the tyrant High Kings were first rising to power."
She then made a regretful expression, and continued, "It was the man of that time who came to mind when Talaos first called upon the storm, when I knew that he was my lord. I wish I had spoken more of it then, but time was short and I did not think one had a direct connection to the other."
Halmir replied, "And now, instead of your lord being simply a man with gifts of the storm, he is descended from the Summer Kings of Jotun.
"You see, Talaos," said Katara. "You are a king after all. By right, the king of Jotun."
Hadrastus seemed bemused by that discussion, and interjected, "That would require going there. Still, my mother made it clear the memory of the Summer Kings is still strong there, and with everything the Storm Lord can do, I'd wager his claim would be taken seriously."
Talaos was surprised to hear Hadrastus use the Avrosan title, and smiled at the unlikely project of becoming king of a distant northern land. He spoke, "I think we've got a lot of problems to solve close at hand before going off to the far north."
Miriana beamed radiantly at the entire discussion, then looked at Talaos with the intense fascination she'd so often shown since their reunion. She added, "A king, and scion of the gods…"
Last of the old gods, and first of the new, she'd said in intimacy with him. He'd asked her not to spread that phrase, because it would set a great many unknowns into motion. At the moment, he wanted to learn of the history of the old gods—why and how men overthrew them.
Katara looked at the leather scrolls, and then at Miriana. She asked, "And these will tell the tale of the gods?"
"Yes!" replied Miriana. "Well, in part. I don't think we'll know the full tale unless we can learn to read glyphs and the elder runes, if then."
Katara nodded. Miriana then turned to her father.
Auretius surveyed the younger people around him, and began, "I've prepared a translation, though the age of the material makes it difficult. These scrolls are verbatim, untranslated, copies made in the third century of the old Empire from originals that were supposed to have been composed more than a thousand years earlier.
"The tale they relate is something like two thousand years older still. It speaks of a time when gods walked the earth and ruled humanity as kings and queens. There were many lesser beings who could claim some trace of godhood, but their chiefs, the true gods, were the nine great old ones.
"The first and eldest of the gods was the Storm Father. If I understand correctly, the other gods were in some way his younger peers or kin, but all of them are implied to have been many thousands of years old. The nine were the eldest of the first generation of men and women, and that generation were shards of a first man or spirit of mankind who freed himself, or sundered himself in opposition to a primeval source, which I could read as either chaos, nature, or mindlessness."
"And what of men overthrowing the gods?" asked Talaos.
"If I have read correctly, in the earliest days the gods walked the world freely among mankind as elders or chieftains. Then, after some great struggle in the very distant past, alluded to but not described, they decided it would be best to take a firmer hand as rulers rather than guides, and established a capital atop a great mountain. After long ages, in a time when there were many great heroes in the world, including those of the blood of the gods, humanity in general had become powerful, and they chafed at rule by the great ones.
"It seems the first successful battle of mortals against the gods was fought in a vast city by the sea. Nine heroes challenged a great one called the Taker Beyond. I believe this closely resembles an old tale from Carai.”
Talaos smiled in agreement. "The old obelisk in Carai is supposed to commemorate a great victory of nine heroes of the city over a more powerful enemy hero or, I think, god. The phrase, 'It was here that the first battle was won,' is still used to commemorate that battle."
"The scrolls imply they thought they might attain immortality, or alternately, overcome death, by defeating him," continued Auretius. “There were nine battles and nine gods slain."
"And nine seals placed to contain their power, scattered around the world," added Talaos.
The others looked at him curiously, but Miriana replied, "Oh, that explains quite a bit!"
Everyone, even Auretius, looked at Miriana curiously following that comment.
"Magic faded from the world in those days, or rather was no longer replenished properly, until it declined to the remnant we know today," she answered.
Katara contemplated that, and asked her, "Then why have people not noticed?"
Miriana shook her head, "It happened very slowly, for thousands of years, and stopped declining during the time of the Empire. Because it was so slow, people didn’t pay attention. Now they just think heroes in old tales sound greater because they are old tales… not that they really might have been greater."
Hadrastus stretched his long legs, and added, "The old tales of the Winter and Summer Kings had the mightiest of them further in the past, and most of the truly great tales of heroes in Hunyos are from pre-Imperial times. But Miriana, I’ve never heard of what you say now. Studying tales and history is one thing, yet how would you know for certain?"
"Didn't Talaos say?" she replied, surprised with a suddenly shy, awkward expression.
"No," the giant answered.
Miriana looked at Talaos, peering up at him, waiting on his word.
Talaos considered that he'd never really explained the three women to his most of his men, and had thought there to be some advantage in that. Formidable as each was in her way, he still felt protective of them, and Miriana most of all. Then again, he considered, her power was already a kind of protection in turn. The very power that looked like clarity to him was fog to the Prophet. However girlish she might sometimes act, she was a woman and a prophetess.
"Miriana, are you ready?" he asked.
"I am not afraid," she answered.
Talaos addressed Halmir and Hadrastus, who didn’t know, "Miriana is a prophetess."
Both men's faces showed visible wonder. Hadrastus spoke, "A true prophetess?"
"Yes," Miriana replied, beaming with pride, "and the most powerful with such gifts since the Living Prophet himself!"
"Stories say that those with the gift of prophecy often come to swift ends…" replied Halmir, with awe and concern seeming to struggle for mastery in his voice and on his face. As the emotions rose in the Northman, a very faint flicker of lightning appeared in his eyes. There was one among them who hadn't been in battle with Halmir, and hadn't seen it.
Auretius spoke, "And this is the sign of the gift of power you made, Talaos?"
Talaos replied, "Yes. My direct gift of power to the Madmen and the Wol
ves. I came to know it was permanent for the recipient, unlike what I did later when healing others, or when I gave energy to my messengers.”
Then without explanation, he rose from his chair. “This brings another idea to mind."
The others stood, and waited on his word.
"The reason those with the gifts of prophecy come to such ends, as, increasingly, do others with obvious and powerful gifts, is that the Living Prophet seeks them out to slay them. Miriana is at my side because, though we're marching to war, here we have thousands of soldiers to help protect her.
"Yet she also now protects us, for her power clouds sight of us from the Prophet. I think two things flow from this. First, with Miriana as the foundation, we will gather the gifted of the world, those who are willing, to our side. Second, we will form a corps of guards for those gifted. They will be fighting men chosen for loyalty and courage, and they will be called the Stormguard."
He turned to Auretius. "General, would you organize and lead such a force?"
Auretius replied without hesitation, and steel flashed in his voice. "I will happily bring death to any who try to harm Miriana, and will protect those like her. I’m an old man, Talaos, but so long as I still live, I will do this."
"Thank you," replied Talaos.
However, there was more.
He then raised his right hand, ready to address them all.
Auretius, Hadrastus, Halmir, and Katara drew themselves up in positions of stern attention. Sorya watched him interestedly, and Miriana's eyes brightened with understanding, as if she knew what might be about to happen.
"For what is to come, you will need great strength. As I have given with my right hand to Halmir, so I will to each of you. Hadrastus, step forward."
The half-Jotunheimer general did so, mastering his awe.
Talaos gripped his arm in the military handshake. Power left him, in the same permanent manner as that given Halmir himself. The giant drew himself to his full height. He seemed somehow even more massive, stronger and more dangerous than he had a moment before. His eyes crackled faintly. Talaos released his arm and Hadrastus stepped back to make a salute. Talaos returned it.
The Storm's Own Son (Book 3) Page 18