The Storm's Own Son (Book 2)

by Anthony Gillis

  Now would come the harder task, and one that conversations with Adriko had made very clear he wouldn't have enough time to do properly. One in fact, he reflected, he hadn't learned properly how to do. He had to get his new men to work together as a company, as a coherent fighting force. And if the enemy did come, it would be soon, which meant ready or not, they'd be put into action together even sooner.

  ~

  "How did you do it?" Talaos asked Lurios, as they stood outside the Aledri section of the camp.

  The other replied with his elegant manner and polished voice. "Meaning, train my men?"

  "More than that, how did you turn them into the kind of unit that would stand fast against an eagle of fire roaring at them out the sky."

  Lurios considered for a moment, then answered. "To begin with, I did much as you have done. When I first received my captaincy three years ago, I wanted the best. I used every bit of influence I had to recruit only the best. And, I was willing to spend my own money, in my case from estates, to equip them well."

  "That by itself wouldn't do it," observed Talaos.

  "No," considered Lurios."I have tried to be firm, even harsh, but consistent with discipline. I train with them almost every day. That parade ground work that officers of irregulars find so amusing is what teaches men to fight in formation, as one, and to stand as one. I took them with me on long marches, in the worst weather I could, and I went on foot. But you, Talaos, don't have that much time, and your men are themselves irregulars."

  "Then what do you suggest?"

  Lurios reflected for some time, he looked down as he thought, noticed a smudge on his breastplate, polished it with a scrap of cloth from a pouch at his belt, and then replied, "You could try sparring, something like the initiation matches, but in groups. Get them to work together trying to beat each other up. There might be some scratches and bruises, but they'll have earned them as a team, and you'll get a better sense of what they can do."

  "I think that's a good start," answered Talaos, "and we'll see what else there's time for."

  "If the enemy gives us time," Lurios replied, as he looked at the massing clouds over the sea.

  ~

  "They won't be ready in time," bluntly replied Theron, chief siege engineer for the army. He was a short, stocky, gruff man with graying hair, wearing a plain brown tunic. Around him were tools of varying kinds, a table holding drawings and lists of supplies, and open-faced tents full of men working.

  "The catapults and ballistae were," said Talaos.

  "They are easier, and they were partly pre-constructed," answered Theron."Artillery are useful for other things, but siege towers are only for those rare times when you're assaulting a walled city on flat ground. You can't transport 'em. They get custom built almost every time."

  "If we have to assault this one, I'll still need to get on top of that gate fortress."

  "We've got lots of ladders," said Theron sarcastically, in a manner that suggested Talaos had a lot to learn.

  "Which are too short," replied Talaos lightly, ignoring the sarcasm. "So, come up with something."

  Theron scowled, scratched his stubble-coated chin for a while, then said, "Well... how afraid are you of something risky?"

  Talaos laughed.

  ~

  "They're a hard looking lot," said Larogwan, as they reviewed the volunteers.

  "They don't have a soft job," replied Talaos, as the volunteers formed up for sparring.

  Larogwan was certainly right, thought Talaos, the traits he'd selected for made for a group of grim-looking killers. The volunteers were bigger, stronger men than the average of troops in the army, yet moved with more agility. They tended to be a bit older, and a good deal more scarred than most. Except for being older, they were much like their leader.

  "All right men," began Talaos, speaking to them in his clear, deep voice, "you've all done initiation sparring at some point. This is going to be a bit like that, but each decurion's squad will fight as a team. That field there will serve in place of the usual ring."

  A little distance to his right was a rectangular field marked with the same shallow outer trench as a sparring ring. The volunteers eyed it with interest.

  Talaos continued, "The rules are the same, you're out if you get a tap or leave the field by any means. I'll have men standing by on the sides to watch for cheating, but I'm expecting you to put some heart into it."

  Black grins passed among the volunteers. Soldiers in each squad gave those in the others coldly appraising looks.

  "All right, First and Sixth squads, form up and face each other. Fight to the finish."

  They needed no further encouragement. Once the signal was given, they tore into each other like wolves.

  Halmir, nearby, watched them with grim approval. He turned to Talaos solemnly."This is good. They follow your spirit."

  ~

  "Welcome, Tribune, and thank you for coming," said General Sanctari, with a kind of warm formality.

  Talaos nodded and stepped from the looming night into the glow of the commander's lamp lit tent. He took a brief look around. It was simply furnished, for a man of such rank, with well made and well used chests, a folding wooden table with four chairs and a narrow cot. There was a big, battered old rug for a floor. An item of unusual note, however, was an open cabinet with several shelves, all piled with books in sturdy, metal fitted covers.

  "You may feel free to sit," said Sanctari, gesturing to the chairs around the little table. He himself took one, as one of his bodyguards poured them both some wine, then left.

  Talaos took another of the chairs.

  Sanctari took a sip of wine, paused with a small shrug, then spoke.

  "Talaos, do you understand the danger and difficulty you've put yourself in?"

  "I'll be ready for the assault," replied Talaos, firmly.

  "That is actually what concerns me less," answered the old general. "I have more confidence in your ability to survive a battle than anyone in this army. You know why. You should have died, there at the pass."

  "People keep telling me that," said Talaos, sipping his wine.

  "They're right, Talaos. And, you shouldn't have been able to move, let alone ride, with the wounds you had, and those wounds shouldn't be anything close to healed now. Yet they have, and here you are."

  Talaos listened intently and with interest. He had a sense that something was coming, something he hadn't expected from the old general.

  "I needn't repeat the stories of your deeds in battle," continued Sanctari, "What is clear is that you are extraordinary. Someone born with powerful gifts and innate magic."

  "What do you know of others like me?" asked Talaos.

  Sanctari leaned back in his chair, hand on his chin. "I doubt there is anyone else in the world with exactly the set of gifts you appear to have, and it is unlikely there are very many with gifts so numerous and powerful. As I imagine you know, there are certainly a great many others in the world with at least something, of varying degree and kind."

  Talaos eyed the books on the shelves, then asked, "Where do such gifts come from?"

  "They don't all derive from the same source. Powerful magi seem to sometimes impart gifts or oddities to their children, though with no control over what those might be. Families descended from heroes of old are more likely to have children with gifts.

  "Significant concentrations of magic, or events involving it, can on occasion have the same effect. Others might be tied to the history of a place, or the influence of the spirits. I think many have no obvious source, but are simply manifestations, however rare, of the variety of human nature."

  Talaos drank more of his wine, and took in what he'd heard. Then he spoke. "I was told I was born on a ship in a storm at sea, a ship that soon wrecked, and only I survived. I was apparently unharmed."

  The general pondered that for a moment, sipped his own wine, then replied, "I've heard the old story from the north, of those born amid storms having gifts related to them,
but that story comes in many versions, some contradictory to one another. By itself, I don't think such an origin would account for everything you can do."

  With a sudden impulse, Talaos asked, "Are you a magus?"

  The commander made a quiet laugh, "No, merely a scholar. The path of a magus is too demanding of time and risk to leave much room for a life of campaigning in the field, and I am at heart a man of war."

  Then Sanctari leaned forward. "As are you Talaos. Regardless of the source of your gifts, they align with war. And I think, war, in whatever form, is part of you."

  "Yes, but for me war is an aspect of something else," replied Talaos.

  "I am certain of that. Change, perhaps. In fact, our looming storm to the east reminds me of you, so perhaps there is something to the northern tales."

  "Now, however," added Sanctari, "in regard to war, you have won spoils in addition to those you have divided with your comrades. Personal spoils under the old laws."

  With that, Sanctari rose and walked to a chest. He pulled out the glyph sword that had been the leopard's, and the silver headband and long wand that had belonged to the magus. He returned, and put them on the floor before Talaos, then sat at his chair.

  "These are now yours," said Sanctari.

  Talaos stared at them, unsure what to say.

  "This circlet and this wand, or rather items of this kind, are called the Crown and the Scepter of the World by magi of a certain school found here and in the other lands that were part of the old Empire. Only a magus of sufficient knowledge and experience has the right to wear them. The names signify a claim of mastery over the elements, and of creation and destruction. These belonged to a man named Aradion, who was an unusual magus, in that he served in wars. But then, he was a dedicated patriot to his city of Kyras."

  "Aren't you worried what I might do with them?" asked Talaos, though he had no intention of doing anything with them.

  "No. Though potent items when wielded by the magus to whom they are bound, they have no magic of their own that can be used, or misused, by another."

  Talaos picked up the glyph sword. The blade still looked keen, but the glyphs themselves were disfigured, as if melted.

  "What was the name of the man who owned this?" asked Talaos.

  "Akallas. He was the champion of Kyras, and a man of gifts himself. He was Aradion's son."

  Talaos thought of the meaning of that, staring at the sword.

  Then he considered the sword itself.

  "What happened to it, to the glyphs?" he asked.

  "It was a weapon aligned with fire, and it burned away the life from those it struck. I do not think use in battle should have done this to it. Perhaps when you slew General Vissos with your throw, and it made that burst of fire visible from the pass, your own power infused it beyond what it was meant to do, and thereby destroyed it."

  Talaos considered the implications of that. He had done exactly that, with intention, but without understanding what it meant. That brought something else to mind. "How is something like this made?"

  At that, Sanctari nodded with a kind of world-wise smile, then he replied. "Ah, a weapon of power, of magic. A mighty advantage for any warrior," said Sanctari, "and one you would, no doubt, like to add to your already considerable advantages."

  The general took a sip of wine, and went on.

  "The physical parts of them are made as any other weapon, by a smith with sufficient skill. However, the reason there are so few in the world is that the magic must come from someone who can wield magic, and that person must forever put a part of themselves, a bit of their life and power, into the object. It is a great sacrifice for a magus to give someone a thing like this."

  Like the sacrifice of a father for his son, reflected Talaos.

  "Now, Talaos," said Sanctari, finishing his wine, "we must return to the real danger you face."

  Talaos put the sword back on the floor at his feet, and listened as Sanctari spoke.

  "You are famous in this army now. The stories of what you did, against Drosta, and against the enemy force under Vissos, are being told and retold in the camp. You must have some sense of this already, and I suspect you guessed it when you made your demands.

  "Despite the seeming unity and orderliness of this army, Talaos, this is Hunyos, not the Republic. Here, both are fragile and changeable. That presents both risks and opportunities. You would never, no matter how dangerous a warrior, be promoted so quickly in your country's army. Here, under the right circumstances, a man can rise as far and fast as his abilities might take him, and fall just as quickly if he fails.

  "In Hunyos, this may be the largest war in our lifetimes, but we've had forty years of it in one way or another. Even when we were under the boot of Dirion, things were far from quiet. Local loyalty is far stronger than that to a league or alliance. And ambition, or fear of an upstart rival, greater than any of them."

  "Why are you telling me all this?" asked Talaos, now finishing his own wine.

  Outside, the wind was picking up.

  "Because of the speed with which you are rising, and the awe in which you are held by the men. Others, I have no idea yet who, will come to see you precisely as an upstart rival. You may be popular in the ranks at the moment, but you have no real power base of your own.

  "We are in a war I intend to win. I like you, but much more, I need you alive as the powerful weapon you are. Your gifts make you very deadly in battle, and very difficult to kill. But could they protect you from a sudden dagger through the heart? Or poison? Or sufficient men and chains to drag you down while they brought the headsman's axe to your neck?"

  "Then it's my task," smiled Talaos, "to build a base of power."

  Sanctari smiled, and the world-wise look returned. "That is the right view, though it may only multiply your enemies. I'll help you as I can, for many reasons. Now however, I'm afraid our time to talk is running short."

  Deep in his heart, Talaos had only one enemy. All other threats, he thought, were only true enemies in relation to that. However, Sanctari had given him a great deal, and deserved respect and thanks for it. He gathered his captured sword, crown, and scepter, then replied.

  "Thank you, this meant a lot to me. I will make use of your advice. Do you think we could speak again about magic, and the wider world?"

  Sanctari gave it a thought, "When the siege is done, and the enemy dealt with, there might be some time, and that would be a worthy use of it. Have a good evening, Talaos."

  With that, the old general gripped his forearm in the military handshake, and then Talaos departed. The wind was strong outside, and now colder, with moisture in the air. He took a look at the night sky and could see the clouds were starting to move west.

  ~

  The rider came in fast, under the blackening sky. The predawn stars were winking out one by one as the slow-moving masses of clouds blocked them from sight. The wind was rising from the east. Talaos, awake, outside, and pacing with restless energy, watched the scene unfold by torchlight. The rider greeted the outer sentries and came in at a gallop with two of them in tow. They went straight for the main command tent, where one or other of the senior commanders would be on duty.

  Looks like we're out of time, thought Talaos.

  With that, he went to his tent to throw on his armor and gear. Then he would get the men up and ready... and wait for the messenger to arrive from command.

  3. Storm

  The command tent was packed. Lamps lit the place in the twilight of early dawn under storm clouds. The tables had been moved from the center and placed in a long single line at one end. Behind that line sat the senior commanders, with Sanctari at the center. Facing the line were rows of chairs for the field officers. Tribunes and the more powerful hill chieftains sat in the front two rows, with captains and the lesser chieftains behind.

  Talaos sat in the front row, and near the center, for he had a special task.

  The walls of the tent shook in the howling wind.

  Sa
nctari was speaking, and wasting no time, for they had little. "Scouts have confirmed that the enemy main army has renewed its march toward Avrosa, and now numbers more than thirty thousand."

  There were subdued whispers or groans around the room.

  Sanctari raised his hand, and all quieted. He continued, "There is a second item of news. The enemy force has grown because they can spare more men. The army of the League of Lazla, and our other allies in the farther north, lost decisively at Drenic.

  "Given the enemy's two to one advantage in numbers, we would be unwise to risk a pitched battle on open ground, even if we had Avrosa subdued at our backs. As you know, the terrain here does not allow us to safely withdraw. However, the enemy's advantage will not be overwhelming if we are in a defensible position. With fourteen thousand men inside the city and the walls reasonably intact, we could hold out indefinitely. We could wear them down, or outflank them by sea.

  "Provided of course, we have support from the fleet. We may see squadrons from Drenic, Kossos, and elsewhere in the north begin to peel away to support their home cities. We will have to hope they break through and reach us soon. Whether they do or not, we must make good use of time."

  The old general stood up, with a hand at the bronze plates of his belt, and another on the hilt of his sword.

  "Men, the enemy will soon be upon us. We are outmatched in open battle. We cannot avoid them by land. Our best chance for better options is to be inside Avrosa. To do that in time, we must storm the city, and we must begin today. Prepare yourselves."

  The assembled commanders rose, saluted, and set to work.

  Everyone there, including Talaos, knew their part. They had prepared, they had made their plans, and now they would begin. He thrilled at the possibilities unfolding before him, including those related to his own, very personal plans. It would be a good day.