The Storm's Own Son (Book 3)

by Anthony Gillis

  "Auretius, step forward."

  "Talaos, you need not do this," replied the old man.

  Talaos smiled, and took his arm. He power poured outward. The general stood straighter as visible strength returned to his body and limbs, though he grew no younger and his hair remained white. Lightning blazed powerfully in his eyes.

  Auretius looked shocked, but when he spoke, his voice was strong. "I… haven't felt like this in years. Thank you… I will try to use it well."

  Talaos nodded, and they exchanged salutes. Then he turned to Katara. She had lowered her eyes and bowed her head.

  "Katara, step forward," he said. She removed her torque against lightning, stepped forward, and he took her arm in the military grip. He gave her a gift of his power, and she looked up with sudden furious joy, face bright and eyes shining. She looked no taller or stronger, but unlike the others, hints of visible power flashed all around her body.

  "I will ride with your storm on winds of war," she said, voice like a rising gale.

  He gave her a fierce smile as she kneeled, rose and took her place with the others.

  Sorya watched him intently with a lopsided smile.

  "Yes, you next, my love," he said with a laugh.

  She stepped forward and presented her arm in a decidedly unmilitary fashion. He gripped it, and his power went into her. She twisted in surprise, but he didn't let her go. She calmed and smiled a wicked smile under eyes with hints of lightning in the depths. He let her go, and she stepped away silently as a shadow, with more than human grace and speed.

  Miriana looked to be having giddy difficulty restraining herself from stepping forward. Talaos smiled and motioned her over. She made it in two bouncing steps, but then she peered into his eyes and grew suddenly more serious. A thoughtful, distant expression crossed her face, and a faint visible white light appeared in her eyes. She presented her arm solemnly, but then spoke."The union of our powers, within me, will have effects that cannot be undone."

  "Will your powers of prophecy be diminished?" he asked.

  "No," she said, "but you are a force of change, and it will alter them. Other powers, I do not yet know what, might emerge. Nor do I know whether or how I will control them."

  "Do you fear this outcome?"

  "No."

  "Then so be it," he replied.

  He took her arm and his power entered her. The white light in Miriana's eyes grew stronger, yet now it had faint motion within. Talaos let go her arm, and she stood for a moment uncertainly. All seemed still. Then she suddenly arched her back and spread her arms wide. Her eyes shone like white suns, and Talaos sensed a swift increase in the brightness and scale of her aura, the clarity about her.

  Miriana gasped, took a step back, and began to stumble. Her father stepped forward to help, but Talaos was faster and caught her in his arms. He helped her gently to a chair. After a moment, the light faded again in her eyes, though it did not vanish completely, and she smiled.

  "I'm all right," she said happily. Then she turned to Talaos with a wondering, sympathetic expression and, it seemed, a new thought. "My love… Your ability to give your power to living things, to people, is not something others with gifts possess. Not in these times. I have just seen that it is something the gods could do, but…"

  Talaos raised his hand with a smile, and she grew quiet. Despite the power given, he was unwearied. He sat calmly down at his chair and spoke again.

  "All of you, accept what I have freely given. It is yours now. On the throne of the fallen, I faced death within myself, and since that time I have learned to master ways of sight without and within. Using that sight, I sought for what was strongest in each of you, and hoped to help you make it stronger yet. The lightning will fade in time, except when you feel need to use your new gifts, but the gifts remain yours."

  The others acknowledged, each in their way.

  And so it was done. Once more, it was done, he thought. The others might not understand, but he now knew, as he'd guessed Miriana did, that what he had given was permanent not just for the recipient. For him, it was gone forever. Far, far from the sum of his power, but still, enough that he could sense it. His power, as he used it from day to day, replenished, but its greatest extent, its maximum, was now less.

  As each of theirs was now greater. They would need it, and he was glad of the price.

  But still, his own power was now less, and he would have to be conscious of that. At least until he could touch the source. To do so, he would need to break the nine seals, in whatever form they might be.

  He would break the nine seals of the world, and take what was his.

  The first was in Carai, but he would find the others.

  There was much to do before the time was right, but the time would come.

  And when it did, let the Prophet fear.

  12. Purifying Flame

  He could see the smoke rising over the eastern horizon. Etosca was still far away, but the smoke rose far into the cloud-dappled blue sky. There was so much smoke one might almost have thought the city was burning. Almost.

  The road they now traveled ran almost due east toward the coast. To the south, on their right, the river Pedra flowed down from the mountains. Further south rose the massif of coastal hills. To their north spread a rolling plain, gradually growing flatter as they approached the coast.

  A visit in power to Imperi by troops under Gavro had convinced the long ago capital of the Empire to switch sides. Even now, Maxano was riding further north to Kyras, where reports said things were swiftly moving in their favor. The main army had been receiving the alliance or submission of towns all along the way. Even so, and however unavoidable, the detour around the tangled coastal hills had cost a great deal of valuable time.

  Ahead of him, Larogwan eyed the rising smoke and turned to speak. "That looks less than good."

  Talaos nodded, "Etosca is one of the biggest centers of the Prophet's faith in Hunyos."

  Kyrax, riding beside Larogwan, snarled and spat.

  Miriana, who had seemed to be looking far into the distance, turned with sudden clarity in her luminous eyes. "Etosca is shrouded in emerald shadows. People are dying on many pyres, and they look like torches in the darkness. Some have empty eyes, but others are afraid. They are all screaming. Living people are singing, and others are walking north to Idrona."

  Talaos felt it flash, whirling outward from him in a maelstrom.

  Miriana turned to him with shocked comprehension.

  Fury.

  Power flashed in his hands and crackled all around him.

  He roared, "Companions, to me!"

  Talaos spurred his horse and rode fast, east toward Etosca along the left flank of the army. The Madmen and Katara followed, while the Wolves poured out of the column to join him. After a moment, Miriana turned and gave Sorya a fierce, intent look. Sorya returned a blackly mischievous smile, and together they spurred their horses after the others. Behind them, old Auretius set his face in a grim expression and rode hard in pursuit.

  With the general rode six more men, the first of the Stormguard. They were all veterans of the battle at the pass. As the frame on which more would be built, one bore the rank of captain, and the others that of decurion. They carried shields painted with what Talaos, by his right as a warlord, had chosen as his personal symbol. It was his own blade, pointing down with six radiating lightning bolts, all in silver on a black field.

  Ahead rode the vanguard under Adriko, now grown to nearly five thousand cavalry. A messenger saw them coming and rode at a full gallop ahead to alert his commander. As a result, as they neared the front ranks of the vanguard, Adriko himself wheeled around and rode swiftly their way. His curious expression grew darker as they approached.

  Talaos shouted to Adriko, "Bring two thousand cavalry with you. Keep the rest with the main force!"

  Adriko arched an eyebrow and nodded, then remembered himself and saluted. He wheeled back east ahead of them, shouting orders to his troops.

>   Talaos and his companions raced on. They galloped over the last low rise, and the city came into full view. Etosca was smaller than Avrosa, partially situated on a low promontory extending into the sea, and roughly diamond-shaped. The southeast side held a harbor, the northeast was guarded by a low wall facing the sea, and the two western sides by stronger walls with low sturdy towers. Out at sea, his fleet had already arrived and blockaded the city. Etoscan ships sat abandoned at their quays. The city had two gates, one southeast, one northwest, and a towering citadel occupied the corner between them. The lines of smoke rose from just beyond that citadel.

  Talaos focused his will, his anger, and his power. A few scattered clouds drifted over the city. They grew larger and darker, and began to rotate, centered on a spot directly over the burning pyres. He thought of death and wrath for the keepers of the pyres.

  But what of those on them?

  Death and destruction were his, but so were life and creation. Life, for those on the pyres, if there was still time.

  He laughed.

  Some of those riding with him turned their heads.

  The rotating clouds above Etosca grew suddenly and swiftly greater. A vast thunderhead loomed over the city, spreading outward. He called the life-giving rain, and it poured down in sheets. The smoke from below increased, rose in great masses, then gradually began to subside.

  Talaos focused his mind and stretched his inner sight. Under his clouds, the Prophet's deep green haze shrouded the city. As he and his companions approached, Miriana's power began to drive back the haze, but he could not yet see the pyres directly and could not safely strike at the men and women who tended them.

  Miriana! He'd called for his companions, and she was among them, but he had a moment of doubt at the choice. Then again, she was a power in her own right, as much as Sorya and Katara, and now she had the Stormguard.

  They raced on toward the city.

  At the northern horizon, he could see a great press of people departing along the coastal road.

  He stretched his inner sight to see them more closely, and struggled with the veils of the Prophet. There were perhaps two thousand soldiers and many thousands of civilians, led by priests in robes. They had great trains of baggage. Nearly all were singing.

  Near the front of the body a few people walked in pure white robes, bearing gleaming, copper-bound staffs like those of the three men he'd fought in Avrosa. From his readings of the Prophet's own texts, he knew now that they were called correctors. Their white staffs of pain were meant to teach, in a way, and unto death if necessary. With them as well were healers of the Prophet, dressed in robes of mostly green.

  He saw eight riders in white and green robes. They were likely what he'd once called by the general term sorcerers, but now knew to be the Prophet's own form of magi. Depending on their roles, they were either termed cleansers or guardians. Those who'd come for him in Carai were cleansers. The guardians were battle magi who varied widely in their specific studies and powers.

  There was one man on a lean gray horse, dressed somewhat like the assassin who'd killed Sanctari. Talaos had learned there were several orders of assassins, each with different names and traditions. Sanctari's killer was of an order called the Bolts of Retribution.

  A great deal of power in service of the Prophet had fled the city, no doubt escaping north to Idrona. There, they would continue to serve their cause, and he was tempted to turn and stop them. But no, something else was happening in the city. Despite the rain, fresh smoke, in more scattered patterns, began to rise from somewhere. That meant burnings were still somehow going on. Time was short. He must reach the city.

  Ahead, the walls grew closer. He could see no soldiers on the battlements. The road they were on led to the south gate. Its low gatehouse had strong crenellations and a wooden roof to deflect arrows, but no soldiers.

  The wind and rain increased all around. Talaos raced forward on Honor, and as he rode, he called lightning from the sky onto the gatehouse. A bolt struck, and shards of blackened wood flew in all directions from the shattered roof.

  He roared with fey, deadly laughter.

  A second bolt, and the stones shook.

  Another, and fires lit, then sputtered out in the rain.

  Another, and a great stone fell from the battlement.

  He was close now, far ahead of his companions. Practical consideration cooled his wrath for a moment, and he slowed his pace so the others could catch up. Sorya surveyed the scene of destruction at the gate doubtfully, while Miriana seemed distant. The rest bore grim, warlike expressions. They approached still found no soldiers on the walls, atop the gate or at the citadel.

  "Vulkas!" shouted Talaos, "Do you think you could lift that stone?"

  He then pointed to the huge stone that had fallen from the gatehouse.

  The giant's eyes flashed with hints of lightning, and he answered, "Is that a challenge?"

  "Yes. Are you sure you're up to it?" replied Talaos with a wry smile, though his voice thundered. "Let's see if you can throw that stone through the gate."

  Vulkas grinned and boomed a bellowing laugh in reply. He dismounted and strode forward with his mattock, stretching and flexing his massive frame as he went. He reached the stone and set the mattock aside.

  The giant picked up the mighty block of fallen stone. His powerful muscles strained, then he roared with power flashing in his eyes. He spun, whirled once, twice, three times, and then cast the stone as if he were a living catapult. It spun as it flew and crashed straight into the center of the gates. They split apart, shattered, and the remnants flew backwards.

  Even the Madmen boggled at the sight.

  "Talaos," said Halmir, "I fear you gave us more than you thought."

  "But no more than you needed," Talaos replied.

  Vulkas stepped over to his war mattock, and hefted it with a grin.

  "Well done, Vulkas!" Talaos shouted. "Now! All, with me!"

  Talaos raced forward, galloping his horse toward the gate as the others followed. As they drew closer, he could see a fortified courtyard beyond the gate, with the citadel on one side and low internal walls on the others. Bricks, stones, and paving tiles had been piled across the center to form a crude barricade. It was too high to leap on horseback.

  "Dismount! We go on foot," he shouted to those with him. "Each Wolf take a javelin!"

  Then, on foot, they went through the gates and over the barricade.

  "This looks like a fine place for a trap," said Larogwan, thoughtfully.

  Talaos was inclined to agree. The citadel loomed on their left. On the right, past the walls, tall buildings crowded densely around, with plenty of rooftops, balconies and windows from which trouble would come. Thus far none did, and all remained silent.

  At the far end of the courtyard stood an arched iron gateway with the remnants of a pair of wooden gates. Most of the wood looked to have been pried loose recently, and in a hurry. As Talaos looked around more closely, he could see that a great deal of wood had been removed from balconies and the roofs of the buildings nearby. He saw no people at all.

  Further on, however, matters were different.

  Beyond the arched gate ran a wide road lined with largely dismantled wooden merchant stalls. Side roads led deeper into the city. At the far end rose a second barricade of debris and rubble, and atop the barricade waited thirty-six soldiers. Beyond them stretched a great plaza full of blackened, rain-soaked pyres. A tremendous amount of activity was going on there. At one end of the plaza, opposite the citadel, loomed a vast House of the Prophet.

  He could now see the sources of the fresh smoke. It poured out from the windows and doorways of residential buildings all round the plaza. What were they doing?

  Talaos walked forward under the shadowed sky. As he went, he stretched his right hand toward the enemy atop the barricade. He sent a searing beam of lightning toward their line. A flash of verdant power answered, and the lightning splashed around in all directions just in front of th
e waiting soldiers.

  That was unsurprising, he thought. Rather than expend power uselessly as he had against the Prophet's camp during the battle of Avrosa, he decided to make use of the help he had with him. He drew his swords. They were good, strong in his hands. Power coursed through his body and flowed into the blades.

  "Form a line!" Talaos called out.

  The Madmen flanked him on one side, Katara and Sorya on the other. Miriana began to join them, but suddenly stopped, looked his way, and met the warning in his eyes. She stepped to the back. Her father drew his twin long swords and stood by her side with the Stormguard. The Wolves completed the first rank on either side of Talaos, and then formed another behind.

  "Forward! Stay with me!" he shouted.

  They advanced at a steady pace, weapons ready. The enemy soldiers stood ready. They looked to be men of Hunyos, as did their gear. They were irregulars, variously equipped with round or oval shields, armor ranging from segmented breastplates to chain shirts, and a variety of weapons. For all their diversity of gear, they shared peaceful, calm, smiling expressions. He took a better look at them. Some were old men, others were barely of fighting age.

  Behind him, he heard Miriana's voice, clear and strong. "When the pyres went out, they began chaining people inside and pouring oil over them. There are thousands of people in that plaza and in the buildings all around, but most are dead. Soon the fires will bring it all down."

  The soldiers ahead kept their placid, smiling expressions, but shifted to fighting stances.

  Talaos raised his right hand and the long blade with it, in gesture to stop. "Wolves, ready javelins!"

  Seventy men did so.

  "Throw!"

  The javelins soared and struck. There were green flashes of power in response, but not enough. Javelins struck home, and most of the men atop the barricade fell. After all his experiences with the Prophet's followers, Talaos had expected something more, but they simply fell and died. All but a dozen, and those stood their ground. Something was wrong… but what?