Then, he forced his mind back to where he was.
He had to do something, and now.
Before him the eyes glowed with malevolent will, beside his friend stood trapped in their power, and beyond the door still came the screams. His own power coursed through him and crackled in his hands. He dropped Firio's device. Through force of will, he took a step. The impersonal will opposing him tried to force him back. He took another step. Then one more. He reached the door. He felt as if his right arm had healed enough to use. He stretched forth his right hand and poured raw, radiating power through and out from it.
He touched the eye.
The green mist vanished, the metal behind warped. He felt a sudden snap. The inhuman, empty, collective will was gone. Before him was an inert disc of engraved copper. He turned, and the disc on the other side was the same.
Power still arcing in his hands, he grabbed the bronze handle, took the flash of pain, and wrenched it to pull the door from its hinges. Instead, it ripped loose and apart in his hand. Furious, he reached into the gap where the handle had been, pulled the door back in cracking pieces by the bronze bracing, seized it, and hurled it out of the way.
Sitting on the floor in the cell in front of him was a slender, frail-looking woman in a ragged linen smock. Her long black hair fell in curling waves all around her. She sat with her knees folded up, and her arms wrapped around them. However, her eyes and mouth were hidden and bound with copper bands in the form of serpents, and her hands were covered by gloves made of cast bronze. At the wrists of those hands were manacles formed like those around her mouth and eyes. The manacles were attached to iron rings thick as fingers, and then massive iron chains bolted to the wall.
Muffled by the metal serpent around her mouth, she screamed again.
Power still surged in his hands, and the storm swept through his mind. He mastered the coursing power, and the electricity ceased to arc, drawing into his hands instead of radiating out. He stepped forward.
Behind him, he was faintly aware of Firio squeaking, "Shouldn't we wait..."
He gripped the copper snake over her eyes. He felt a sense of draining, of something like a kind of spiritual venom, trying to sap his power. Trying, he thought, but the venom was far, far too weak to succeed. He found a clasp, strong and locked, and pried it apart with his bare hands. He removed the band. The woman's eyes were wild and unfocused, both in confusion and adjustment to the sudden light.
Next he did the same with the band around her mouth. She let loose a sudden burst of wild, incoherent words, then laughed. Then just as suddenly, she seemed to sink into exhaustion.
"Talaos..." said Firio, nervously.
He ignored him and ripped apart the clasp on the manacles. Then he took a step back. The power faded in his hands as he felt tired at last. Before him the woman stirred. Seeing her better, he guessed she wasn't much older than him. She was very haggard. She looked around, seeming unfocused, shifted stiffly and made a sound as if the movement hurt her. Then she stared down at her wrists. She rubbed them and winced. She looked up into Talaos's eyes. Hers looked confused and afraid. Then it seemed as if nerves caught up with her, and she fell unconscious.
Behind Talaos, the Madmen stood silent, except for Firio. He crept forward to Talaos's side. "You know she must be someone who can work magic, right?" Firio asked.
"I'd assumed so, yes," answered Talaos.
"So... wouldn't you think it was risky to let her go?"
"She was imprisoned by the followers of the Prophet," answered Talaos, without further explanation.
"Well, does that mean she's not bad herself?" Firio whispered uncomfortably.
Talaos ignored him, and used Firio's device to open the last door. Firio picked the lock, and the room behind was empty.
"Let's go, men," he said, lifting the woman over his shoulder.
As they gathered everyone, Vulkas took the time to smash the remaining bronze heads, those that had been stored on the shelves.
They made their way back out, carrying sacks of books and the prisoners with the seemingly voided minds. Imvan cradled the little girl in his arms. Firio, for whom carrying an adult was a task beyond his strength, helped the young man walk.
"Thanks..." the man said in a weak voice as they went.
Upstairs and out in the main room, they found the four people who'd been chained to the pyre. They were now sitting propped up next to the door. Their burns had been crudely bandaged. They were two men of middle years, an old woman, and a young man in his late teens. Their eyes were as blank as most of the prisoners from the cells.
Outside were the Wolves, reduced, Talaos saw, to about sixty. They stood guard all around with weapons ready and watchful, uncertain expressions. Talaos and his Madmen placed the newly freed prisoners alongside those from the pyres, then stepped outside to join the Wolves.
The sky was black overhead, the wind tossed, and rain still poured in sheets.
Coming their way across the plaza at the head of a long column of men in the blue of Aledri was General Nissas. He did not look pleased.
6. Shelter
Nissas approached across the plaza with hundreds of men behind him. Elsewhere in the city, allied troops could be seen fanning out, looking for remaining pockets of resistance. The rain continued to pour, and the wind roared.
When Talaos thought the general was within distance for him to speak, though beyond what it would be for most people in such weather, he called out in his thundering voice, "Is the city taken?"
The general's voice in reply could not be heard over the wind, but when he got closer, he roared, "Talaos, have you gone mad?"
"Besides being one of the Madmen?" he replied, voice rising above the wind.
Nissas scowled in reply as he closed on Talaos. He held his blue cloak close about him in the rain, but threw the hood back, and there was fury on his face. Around him, his troops fanned out, facing Talaos's men. The general threw back his cloak. He had his sword in his right hand, and he pointed it to the corpses in purple on the steps of the council building.
"Why that?" Nissas snapped, and then raised his left hand toward the House of the Prophet, "And why this?"
Talaos thought that if the Nissas expected apologies or groveling explanations, he was going to be disappointed. Instead, he looked the general in the eye, and replied with a question of his own, "And do you, General, see the iron stake and the pyre? That is where the fire was burning. What do you think was happening?"
Nissas ignored his questions, and went on, "We were going to discuss terms with them, Talaos! Harsh ones, but terms! That is how it is done, and not just for honor... Now we've got a hostile city to govern with no governors!"
"I've changed how it is done," replied Talaos. "Those men and women presided over the burning of people alive on that pyre. They watched and approved as these people, the people who governed this House of the Prophet, passed judgment and burned innocents alive. I would not allow it."
"Not allow it?" replied Nissas with mixed disbelief and mockery. "In this army, this city, you are nothing! You are no one to allow, or not allow, anything."
"Stop avoiding the point, Nissas. Does what happened on that pyre bother you , or not?"
"How do you know they were innocents?" snarled Nissas at last. "How do you know they weren't thieves or murderers? The followers of the Prophet do a lot of good works. They're on both sides in this war. We have some of them in Aledri. It was not your place to be their judge!"
"By that fire and by what was in this house, I judge them," replied Talaos.
He stood before the general and all his men. Ready, feet apart, weapons still sheathed, but hands not far from them. Behind him stood the Madmen. His Wolves gathered around him, facing Nissas's men with hard eyes and weapons ready.
"Talaos, you and your men will stand down, disarm, and leave the city until further decisions can be made," said Nissas.
Talaos considered everything that still must be done. He thought of the pr
isoners, the victims he and his men had rescued, now sitting helpless in the House behind him. Helpless, and by his own actions, dependent on him.
"No," he replied.
Nissas visibly struggled to control his fury. There was a long pause as the two groups of soldiers watched each other. The Aledri officers left their units to join Nissas. They conversed with each other in quiet voices. Lurios was among them, and he looked much disturbed.
Time passed. The lightning was coming less and less frequently now in the sky. However, the wind and rain were, if anything, picking up.
Then, Kurvan rode up, with swarms of his hillmen and irregulars all around. A hard, thoughtful look crossed his craggy face, and he rode at haste toward the House of the Prophet. The warlord leapt off his horse with his huge battleaxe in one hand, and walked like a lumbering bear between the assembled groups of men. He looked one way, then the other.
Kurvan turned and walked to stand beside Talaos. His men swarmed all around.
"There a problem, lads?" he said.
Nissas stared at his fellow commander for a moment, eyes narrowing, then turned to his officers. "Secure the council hall!" he snapped to his men, "Follow me!"
With that, the general and his troops turned and crossed the plaza to the council hall. Talaos noted that Nissas didn't so much as glance at the pyre as he passed, though Lurios did.
"That went well," growled Kurvan as he lifted his axe to his shoulder, watching the departing Aledri troops.
Talaos, watching them as well, spoke. "Where is Sanctari?"
Kurvan replied, voice as low as could be heard in the wind, "Sanctari was handling the surrender of General Petani and the remaining Avrosan troops. Most likely he's getting the rest of our lads inside the city now. He'll be around sooner or later, and so will the other commanders."
The hillman warlord surveyed the death and destruction in the plaza, and then added,
"Talaos, today, you're the hero of the troops. The man who stormed the gate almost by himself! That said, you might not be much for explanations, but about now, having some would be good... And you'll want to start figuring out who your friends are, because you just made an enemy of one of the seven commanders of this army."
The wind kept rising, driving the rain almost sideways.
"And I think I'll need more men of my own," replied Talaos.
The warlord looked at him in surprise for a moment, then laughed his bear's growling laugh, "You bet you do! Now let's get out of this damn weather!"
Talaos wasn't bothered by the weather. He thought of the House of the Prophet behind him, and revulsion crawled over his skin.
"Anywhere but here," he answered.
~
Talaos and his little column of men made their way from the plaza in a gale. They had the rescued prisoners wrapped like bundles in cloaks. Around them, here and there, shingles came loose from roofs and shutters flew open with shattering cracks. Civilians of Avrosa were nowhere to be seen on the streets.
Soldiers from the invading army moved about, either looking for shelter or, in some cases, looting. An officer moved with a squad of men, caught a pair of soldiers looting a shop, cracked one of them across the face with the back of his hand, and seized the pair. Then all of them, together, went into the shop and took shelter from the storm.
For his part, Talaos wanted to climb one of the towers and feel the wind and rain in their full force, with no brick and stone in his way. However, he had others to think of, bound to him by oaths and duty, depending on him. Ahead, nearer the waterfront, he saw a large inn of five stories. The place had a big sign with the image of a man, implausibly, standing on the back of a dolphin as it crested a sea of large spiraling waves.
Talaos laughed, "Men, that looks like the place mad enough for us!"
Laughs passed among the men, no doubt, he thought, bolstered by thoughts of rest.
He led them toward the place. As they neared the harbor, Talaos could see that here the plain was separated from the sea by low cliffs of fifteen feet or so. The actual waterfront, the district of docks, depots, and seedy taverns, was down below and flooded as huge waves crashed in from the sea. Many of the smaller boats in the harbor had foundered or were breaking up as they smashed, over and over, against the quays. Even the larger ships, two of which looked eastern, were in a poor state.
Eastern ships and unknown problems. Problems for later, he thought.
They rounded the corner and found the main entrance. With his company behind him, Talaos pushed the double doors. They were locked. He brought back a fist and slammed it against the doors with such force that they shook.
"Open up!" he roared, voice echoing over the wind.
There were gasps inside, then a pause. At last, he heard clicks, and the doors opened inward. A thin old man with wispy white hair answered. He shook nervously, and looked up at Talaos as if expecting death.
"We're commandeering this inn," said Talaos.
The man still shook, but his expression turned to glum resignation, "Yes... sir, ah..."
"Tribune Talaos," he told the man. "You'll be compensated when we get things in order."
"Yes, of course Tribune," answered the man a bit more hopefully, "I'm Kimon, and welcome to The Waverider."
Beyond the doors opened an entry chamber with wood-paneled walls and a intricate carpet. Broad stairs rose to the right of a desk, then turned left and continued up. To the left was a large common room, and to the right, kitchens and a hallway. Talaos had expected the place to be packed with terrified civilians, but instead were only a few, mostly well dressed and dry.
"I thought you'd have civilians here hiding out from the storm, or us." he said to Kimon.
Kimon looked exceedingly unsure how to answer that. As Talaos's men poured in, he tried, "I... We closed up early for, ah, the comfort of our guests... we get mostly a quality clientele. Foreign. Merchants and captains... dignitaries, and ah...."
Talaos interrupted him, "No one is to enter or leave this place without my permission. We'll be taking the common areas and any unoccupied rooms. Those already here may wait out the storm, but then you'll be getting orders from me for them to leave."
"Ah... Yes Tribune, certainly."
"One more thing," added Talaos, "we have wounded and ill. Do you have a larger rooms where we could keep them together, and is there a physician available nearby?"
"Most of my best rooms on the top floor are vacant, given, ah, recent circumstances. There's no physician on the premises, but perhaps when the storm lessens we can find one."
Talaos then swept into motion. He put a guard of eight men in the lobby under Larogwan, and a guard at the stairs on each of the four upper floors. They carefully carried or escorted the freed prisoners and their own wounded men to a large room on the top floor, commandeered extra beds, and set up an informal hospital with a soldier on watch. Talaos claimed another of the large top floor rooms for himself as a headquarters.
The inn was large enough that he distributed each of his men a room of their own. After weeks in camp, and a day of hard fighting in the rain, Talaos thought that must have seemed like paradise to them, and their faces certainly showed it.
Outside the storm raged, and called to him.
Then there was the question of the paying guests. Talaos had not been oblivious to the implications of references to foreign merchants and dignitaries. He decided to gather them up in the common room for questioning. They were few, for a place so large. But then he thought, the city had been under siege.
One was a ship captain from the Southlands, and with him were two merchant passengers. They were regretful they hadn't left before the storm, and terrified of the entire situation. Five, of a similar mix and outlook, were from the seven realms. Eight were merchants of Hunyos from enemy cities that had been trapped on the wrong side of the fleets. Talaos decided to keep them for questioning by Sanctari and the commanders.
Six were easterners, and only one of them admitted to speaking Imper
ial. He made many protests. Talaos escorted them under arms to his headquarters room, and with Vulkas and Epos standing by, questioned them.
"We are neutral in this war," the man said, "and should not be treated as prisoners!"
"This city was just taken by assault," replied Talaos in a low, dark voice, "and as one who was trading with our enemies, you should be glad we are acting with restraint."
The man processed that unhappily, then his face hardened and he replied, "Restraint? Men of your army attacked the House of the Prophet!"
"And how do you know that?"
"One of my men was there, before he fled in advance of the enemy troops."
Talaos laughed, then replied, "And if he was there, what description did he give of the man who led those advancing troops?"
"No man, but a demon wreathed in lightning, with eyes of blue fire!"
Talaos made a pitiless smile. On a harsh impulse, he put forth a bit of his sleeping power, just enough to make his eyes flash brightly for a moment.
The man drew back in fear, and the five with him cringed.
"I am no demon, but a man," said Talaos, dangerously, "a man with gifts that are as natural to me as yours are to you. If you had the power, you would happily see me burning on that pyre in the square for it. But unfortunately for you, you are in my power."
The spokesman of the easterners again found his courage, though his companions still cringed, and he replied, "You will burn in this life, or the next, for the sin you have allowed to enter your soul. May the day be soon that it is cleansed from you on the pyre."
Talaos was undisturbed by the other's statement, and replied in his same dangerous voice, "Did your master the Prophet send you to spread such words here?"
"I follow the faith of the Living Prophet, and he is the master of my soul, but my master of deeds and gold is the Prophet's loyal servant, king Ulshamun of Dragesha."
"The Prophet leaves some of his rule to such kings?"
The Storm's Own Son (Book 2) Page 7