The Storm's Own Son (Book 2)

by Anthony Gillis

  He intended never to live under such laws, nor if he could, let them be imposed on others.

  The other books in the main room had proven to be commentaries on the teachings of the Prophet by his servants. Talaos had only glanced at them so far, but they looked to be simplified, and carefully designed to appeal to those not yet versed in the Prophet's teachings.

  The books in the back room had been different. There were a few much more detailed commentaries. Some of those were apparently quotes from the Prophet himself, in regard to the proper interpretation of his own laws. They had the same feeling of mixed peace and mercilessness that he'd gotten from the Prophets followers.

  There were also illustrated books of what looked like songs, meditations and rituals. Most were written in a language other than Imperial. Talaos guessed it was either the Prophet's own native speech or some ancient tongue of the east. Regardless, the script and the structure were alien to him.

  He was glad for his ability to largely live without sleep, for the study was time consuming. He'd also used parts of his nights to stay ahead of others in the army on work and correspondence. Of necessity, he'd tried to find key points rather than wading through the long explanations and arguments for those points. It would have to do for now.

  Tonight, he focused on summarizing his insights from his reading thus far.

  He'd noticed certain underlying patterns to them. Numbers were important and recurred in meaningful ways. The Prophet seemed to consider eight and twelve to be positive and significant to his teachings, while he saw nine as largely negative. Three was apparently universally potent, whether for good or ill.

  For reasons that were as yet unclear to Talaos, the Prophet seemed to see the number seven dualistically, being either very good or very bad. He found himself musing that his seven Madmen were either very good or very bad, depending on which side of their weapons and enmity one was on.

  Then there were the Prophet's ideas of right and wrong.

  The Prophet taught the unity and perfectibility of mankind. He saw contradiction, variability, and individuality as corrupt and wicked. He distrusted small communities. He saw universal abstractions and the general brotherhood of all mankind as pure and good.

  Something good was always so, even if done against one's will. Will itself could be sinful.

  To the Prophet, consumption, shelter, procreation, and the physical life of the outer world in general were at best regrettable necessities. He saw desires and pleasures of all kinds as sinful, particularly when, like sex outside of procreation, they served no higher purpose. Detachment, whether from fear, desire, love, ambition, the self, or the physical, was virtuous.

  Innate gifts and distinctions of all kinds were bad, and magical gifts were actual stains or impurities upon the soul. In some cases, such as what he called false prophecy, their sources were evil spirits - demons sharing the soul inside a human body. The heroes of ages past were sinners because of their pride. The gods, which were mentioned by that name, had been the greatest sinners of all.

  Spirits of all sorts were blasphemies to be destroyed.

  On the other hand, communal work and unified purpose toward the Prophet's goals were seen as sacred. The Prophet's followers were supposed to purify themselves of ego, of individuality, and of the many sins under his doctrines. Those more advanced could learn to share even their thoughts, achieving enlightenment through collective purpose and consciousness.

  Talaos thought of the strange unity he'd seen in the three sorcerers at Carai, or the singers and the three warriors here at Avrosa, and of the revulsion they inspired in him.

  Working magic through learned skill was seen as good or evil depending on its purpose. Apparently it was good only when used to support the Prophet's cause, or to draw upon the collective power or magic of the Prophet and his followers. Talaos had seen the potency of that magic first hand. How it worked was not explained in the texts written in Imperial.

  There had been a single line of true prophets, from some point in the distant past, to culmination in their summary and seal, the Living Prophet. His were the answers to all of mankind's ills. His was the one true path. He offered hope for a better future, both in life and death. Of the two, death was the purer and more perfect state.

  It was the sacrifice of the Prophet that he lived on, while others were blessed with death.

  The Prophet believed in the existence of a world of the dead, what others variously referred to as the afterlife, next world, or hells. That at least, thought Talaos, was in common with the views of most people. Unlike most, the Prophet claimed to know the nature of that world, but such knowledge was too dangerous to be shared except with an enlightened few.

  The texts were clear that the goals of the faith were worthy of, and justified, almost any means. Preaching and conversion were ideal and necessary, but they were facilitated by power. To that end, the favor of rulers was valuable and to be cultivated, though temporal rule itself was no more than a transition. Peace was desired, but war often regrettably necessary.

  When petty differences had been eliminated, great things could be achieved.

  Talaos reflected on the meaning of what he’d read, and what it would mean for anyone who came within the Prophet’s power. What it would mean for his friends, his loves, and all those he thought of as his own. He considered the words of Caelius, the gentle, freethinking old librarian of Carai. The Prophet offered a complete philosophy of life, with no exceptions, and backed by merciless laws. For all its gentle words, it was sweeping, total, closed and brutal. There was no place for a Caelius in such a system.

  Those without a place in the Prophet’s system ended up on the Prophet’s pyres, and it was considered a mercy to put them there. Nearly everyone that Talaos knew and cared for would end up on those pyres if the Prophet succeeded. Yet even that, even death, was not the end of what the Prophet sought for them.

  But there was an end.

  For everyone.

  The ultimate goal of the faith, as stated in the books, was a communion of mankind in one universal shared consciousness of perfect harmony. Individuals would cease to exist, and humanity would merge into a kind of collective soul, with all impurities burned away.

  When achieved, the worlds of the living and the dead would become one, united in eternal peace, and mankind would become God.

  Talaos had read, and re-read that particular statement, trying to understand the concept.

  It was not easy to capture in the Imperial language. The very word God was an unusual form of a more general term, god, that was itself rare and archaic. He'd never encountered it before, and was surprised by its sweeping implications.

  A man would not become a god, or men become gods. Mankind would become God.

  God. Singular and universal.

  Mankind would become God.

  Talaos felt his skin crawl.

  9. A Different Kind of War

  Outside the window, a faint hint of blue rose amid starlit darkness in the east. Talaos was still reading in his office by the light of a small lamp. There was a knock at the door.

  "Yes?" he said.

  Vulkas answered, "Talaos, I'm here with a messenger from command."

  "Enter."

  Vulkas walked in, looking uneasy. The messenger was a decurion in a breastplate painted with the wreath of Teroia. His face was ashen. The man saluted, and Talaos returned.

  "Sir," said the messenger in a pained voice, "General Sanctari has been assassinated!"

  Talaos bit down his anger, rose immediately, and began putting on his gear and armor. He spoke in a harsh, cold voice as he did so, "Is command gathering at the Council Hall?"

  "Yes sir."

  "I will be there as soon as possible. You may go."

  The messenger saluted and turned at haste on his way. Talaos looked at Vulkas, and the latter back at him, with grim readiness.

  "I'm getting the rest of the Madmen together," said Talaos, "and the Wolves. Go find Firio and tell h
im to put the word out to the rest of ours around the city. He is to tell them, time to get ready, but don't show themselves until I give the word."

  "On my way," said Vulkas with a somber expression, then he turned and left.

  Talaos finished equipping. He'd spent a bit of coin to have his old silver fittings repaired and put on the new belt and baldrics. It felt good, but he didn't. His mentor and patron was now dead. They would never now discuss the obscurities of the world over cups of wine.

  All this Talaos thought.

  And that whoever was behind it would regret their mistake.

  Ready now in his black clothes and gear, his armor, his helm, and his black cloak, with weapons and his twin swords sheathed, he prepared for what would be a different kind of war.

  Talaos stepped out his door, ready to begin.

  He found Larogwan first. Vulkas must have given his door a knock, because the old soldier was already up and equipping himself, however sleepily. He gave him the news.

  "Damned awful deed, and timed ill for us," said Larogwan, donning weapons.

  "Yes," replied Talaos. "We've lost a good commander and a good man. Now we're likely to see Nissas try to take charge."

  "I'd bet you'll have something to say about that," said Larogwan, finishing up.

  Talaos gave a grim nod, "And all our plans for trouble now move into action."

  "Aye. The story to be found at the Council Hall should provide some fine instruction."

  "That it should. Now, let's go."

  The Madmen were quartered on the top floor. They rounded up Halmir, Kyrax, Epos and Imvan. Firio had wasted no time and was already off and gone to his stealthier work. Vulkas roared at Wolves to awaken, and then the other Madmen set to work with roars of their own.

  Soon after, Talaos stood outside, shouting orders for the men to form up. He saw Liriel on the infirmary balcony, dressed in a night shift with a sheet wrapped around her slender shoulders, watching him. He might have thought, in a moment like that, that she would look concerned. Instead, she seemed intensely expectant. Of what though, he wondered.

  He gave her a grim nod, and took his place at the head of his men.

  The Wolves, based at the inn, had grown to over a hundred. Hidden around town were hundreds more, ready to fight for Talaos when the time was right. They included anti-Prophet Avrosans, both civilians and former soldiers, and certain picked men among the allied army. He'd named them the Hounds. Beyond both Wolves and Hounds, he had built a network of non-combatant contacts and informants.

  Talaos, his Madmen, and his Wolves set forth toward the plaza in the early dawn. There were a good many Avrosans on the streets now, starting the business of the day. It was clear to Talaos that they'd seen the sudden activity among the invaders, for they were hushed and guarded. Some shot him furtive hateful glances. Others smiled. A few others yet were among his contacts, or the Hounds.

  He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard a whisper among them, "The Storm Lord..."

  The plaza had been cleaned up. The platform of bricks at the center still stood, but no one had dared replace the iron stake. The ruins of the House of the Prophet were much as they had been, but quiet effort had clearly been put into cleaning and tidying.

  Soldiers of the occupying army stood all around the Council Hall in squads or small groups. Others raced on errands. There was a full company of Teroian troops in formation in front of the steps, and they looked grim. At their head was Captain Perio. As Talaos approached with his own troops, Perio readied, then saluted.

  "Captain, are the commanders assembled?" asked Talaos, returning the salute.

  "General Nissas is there, as are Generals Dromno and Aro. I have word Warlord Kurvan is on his way."

  "What about Pelias and Tescani?" asked Talaos.

  "Nothing yet."

  "Who speaks for Teroia there?"

  "Tribune Valanus is more senior, but he still hasn't recovered from his wounds at the siege, so Tribune Mordvan speaks for the moment," answered Perio.

  "Thank you," replied Talaos, taking it in. Then he turned to his men.

  "Wolves, help the Teroians keep watch here. Await further orders. Madmen, with me."

  Talaos thought Perio showed sign, under his bearing, of being startled at those orders.

  Up the steps he raced, passing saluting guards, through the domed hall beyond and up the steps. As he reached the upper hall toward the Council Chamber, he could hear raised voices.

  Dromno had been arguing something, but Talaos couldn't make it out.

  "No, I assume nothing of the kind!" he heard Aro snap in his sharp voice.

  Talaos and his Madmen swept into the council chamber.

  All heads turned. There was Nissas, with Dromno at his side, standing behind the half-circular table. Dromno rested a dagger sideways in his open palm. Facing them, not far, was Aro, who looked to have just risen from his chair. Behind him, looking as if he felt out of place, was tall, lean Tribune Mordvan of Teroia. A few other officers around the room watched the commanders.

  "There he is, the traitor!" shouted Dromno in his plain, unpolished voice.

  General Nissas, however, silently surveyed the approach of the Madmen.

  "Traitor?" said Talaos, voice cold as death. "Perhaps you should explain, Dromno."

  Nissas reacted to the failure to use a title, but Dromno seemed unfazed, and went on.

  "See! Here's a dagger with your marks on it!" said the general, as he raised the dagger high by the tip of its pommel. It had a silvered blade with an engraved design of lightning bolts.

  Talaos laughed a dark mirthless laugh. "Is that the best you can do? Really?"

  Nissas looked at him with black hatred, "Not just that design. Go look at the body..."

  Now Talaos could see that behind them, they'd laid Sanctari's body unceremoniously on the floor, with only his own cloak for a cloth.

  "You could have treated him with a little more respect," said Talaos harshly, as he walked to the general's corpse with the Madmen behind him. The commanders reacted little to his remark, but Mordvan looked at him with what Talaos thought a kind of helpless gratitude.

  He kneeled and looked at the body. Sanctari had been sleeping in a plain tunic of the red-brown color common among Teroian soldiers. There was a black, charred wound exactly at his heart. Dark score marks radiated outward from the wound, and the cloth around the spot was mostly burned and gone.

  Fury welled within him at the sight, and at the lies about it. He gave Sanctari a final salute, rose, and turned to face the generals. He drew weapons, and the Madmen followed. He spoke in measured, cold, dangerous tones in his deep voice.

  "You know very well I'm not a magus. I don't work through rituals or books, and I can't make objects of power. My power comes from within, and I don't know how to transfer it to someone else. Where I was last night is well known and accounted for.

  "You are fools if you believe I have the ability to do this, or was in a position to. You're bigger fools if you think I'd be so stupid as to leave some obvious sign leading to me. However, you would be bigger fools yet if you think the men would believe all of that. And you insult me with the accusation."

  "What is that supposed to mean, Tribune?" snapped Nissas.

  "I suggest, Nissas," said Talaos, coolly, with the Madmen gathered around him, "that you begin an honest investigation."

  "How dare you!" snarled Nissas. "You overestimate your popularity with the soldiers!"

  "Do I?" replied Talaos with an icy smile.

  Tribune Mordvan interrupted. "I, uh... General... I think Tribune Talaos is right."

  "Who cares what you think!" snapped Nissas to Mordvan. "You're lucky to have even your rank, you ungrateful son of a Hillman, don't imagine you can speak in Sanctari's place!"

  Imvan narrowed his eyes. Kyrax muttered something under his breath.

  As they'd been speaking, other officers had been filtering in, sizing up the situation with visible shock.

  General Aro
took Mordvan by the shoulder, and with him stalked over to take a place next to Talaos. He spoke in tones like sharpened steel, "I believe Tribune Talaos is correct."

  Nissas looked around the room, at Talaos, the officers, and at the Madmen with their drawn weapons. His face took on a look of fury. He snarled, "Are we soldiers here, or gangsters?"

  Talaos made a wolf's grin.

  Then, to Talaos's surprise, Dromno put a hand on Nissas's shoulder.

  "General," Dromno said in a voice that sounded plain as a farmer, "maybe Talaos is right. I might've gotten too angry about the general's death. We can get an investigation going, while we sort out command structure."

  Nissas seemed to master his temper, and drew himself up, cold and haughty. "Very well. Tribune Talaos, stand by until the other commanders arrive. Then we'll... sort things out."

  Talaos decided to stand by at his position around Sanctari's body. Aro returned to his seat. After a long pause, so did Nissas and Dromno. Mordvan was clearly not comfortable taking Sanctari's char, and stood by behind the table.

  Firio appeared at the entrance to the council chamber, and darted with almost superhuman speed to Talaos. They had a whispered conversation. When it was done, Firio sped back out.

  After a little while, Kurvan walked in, grim and watchful. He had his axe and a couple of hillmen with him. He looked around the room, and seemed to take stock. He looked at Talaos.

  "Lad, what's going on?"

  "General Nissas was just telling us how worthless he thinks Tribune Mordvan is, because his father was a hillman."

  The warlord made a new kind of growl, one that was nothing like a laugh. He whispered something to one of his hillmen, who sped back down the hallway. Then, with the other in tow, he walked with massive steps toward his seat at the table. As he passed Nissas, he gave the general a long, direct look, as if waiting for an answer.