The Storm's Own Son (Book 3) (27 page)

They saluted and sped off.

While it would be bad to have stray fire landing among his own troops in the battle by the gate, fire on the walls would cut down on enemy artillery and archers, and would likely spread. It was rarely used in Hunyos, because the normal way was to pin the enemy down without gratuitous destruction, then negotiate terms. However, he was uninterested in terms.

Megaras rode up, returned from duties on the army's right wing. Talaos turned and noted that even with what he'd done to heal him, the general still looked wounded and weary. Even so, he’d unflinchingly returned to duty.

"General Megaras," Talaos said, in audible range of all the officers around, "I'm going to the city. You are in command of the main force in my absence, including all allied forces save those under Tescani, Adriko, and Kurvan. I command it!"

"I obey, Storm Lord!" replied Megaras, saluting as he lowered his head in a bow from the saddle.

Talaos returned the salute and sped his horse toward the battle at the gates of Idrona. He brightened the lightning in his eyes, using the power meant to kill him, and endured the pain. He rode on and on, past the fighting and slaughter around the now-trapped enemy sortie to his left. Hillmen swarmed all around. Overhead, ballista bolts wrapped in flaming pitch shot across the sky at the walls of the city. Great catapult stones crashed against the towers. Behind him, slow and sure, marched tens of thousands of men in massed formations.

Ahead, Adriko's cavalry swarmed around the gate. They’d cut down all nearby. The huge drawbridge over the trench sat lowered and unattended, as the upper levels of the gatehouse above burned. The gates behind stood ajar.  Dismounted attackers were attempting to force the gates themselves, while defenders behind tried to push them closed. As they struggled, mounted horsemen attacked the beleaguered defenders with swords and javelins.

The top of the gate castle was a burnt ruin, but arrows still rained on Adriko's men from hidden firing positions. Talaos raced ahead and troops rallied around and behind him. He spurred Honor to a full gallop straight at the gates. His men fighting there took heart, while the enemy grew dismayed.

By now, they would have all heard stories. Stories of the havoc he'd wrought when he summoned the whirlwind on the plain, or earlier when he'd called a storm in a blue sky from atop a throne of corpses, or earlier still when he'd struck down a Hand of the Prophet in a duel. Or, most directly, the merciless slaughter he'd inflicted when he led the assault on Avrosa with weapons arcing lightning.

He drew his twin blades, and they arced lightning again. Only he knew that their lightning was now their own, and not his. His eyes blazed, with power that cost him pain for every moment. He took more of that pain, let it spread and intensify. In doing so, he drew more power, faster, from the armor meant to kill him.

He shouted to the enemy soldiers fighting at the gate, and his voice boomed loud as thunder, "Flee or die!"

Many of them broke and fled. Others took on grim expressions, and stood to fight.

But fighting was a skill, his skill that he'd had long before his power, and he had swords that blazed lightning, and armor that was almost invulnerable. He stood in the saddle, then leapt at the enemy with swords scything. His own men cleared out of the way. He ran and spun, wreaking slaughter as he went.

In moments, every enemy at the gates lay dead. Adriko's men forced them open wide and poured through behind Talaos. Ahead inside the city blazed a hellscape. Buildings burned and black smoke rose to the sky.

Talaos turned and shouted to his men in the same booming voice. "Hold the gate, but do not follow!"

Again, he drew pain, and increasing physical harm, death, closer to him in trade for scraps of power. Though all he could accomplish with it were small things, they would have to do. He ran onward though a great wide street strewn with charred bodies. Towering blocks of houses and shops on either side were either burnt, burning, or blackened with soot. He caught a glimpse of the drake overhead, full of arrows and ballista bolts, bleeding, and flying unsteadily on torn wings. Yet it seemed its rage and its purpose would not allow it to stop.

A kindred spirit, he thought.

Soldiers, civilians, and refugees roamed here and there before him. Seeing his blazing eyes and arc-lit weapons, most fled at the sight of him. Those foolish enough to fight fell beneath his pitiless blades.

Still more death, drawn in, taken into his heart. Not like the darkness of spirit he'd known in times of fading power, before he’d found his source; this was the visceral, looming death of his body, a death that would leave his inner world free for the taking. Deep in his soul, the shades, the parasites, the enemies, sensed his growing weakness. They sensed what he masked from the outer world beneath his lightning.

They took notice, and readied to take his soul.

Ahead was the great square. Few dared to stand out upon it now. Many, many soldiers and followers of the Prophet lay dead all around. From windows and sheltered places in buildings nearby, archers continued to fire at the soaring, circling, fire-spewing drake.

From the plaza, he could be seen by those archers, and the many thousands of others hiding all around. From there, he could be heard anywhere in the city. He charged on, gathering feeble streams of power within, at the price of agony and ever more imminent death. A few foolish enemies ran at him, hoping to bring him death in their own way. He leapt, whirled, and cut them down. In full sight of all, he loosed a small dart of lightning full in the face of one man, and the foe fell back with ash where that face had been.

Talaos's own death loomed closer, and his body wracked with waves of pain from his heart. He pushed through it and ran on. He reached the center, the great platform of the pyres itself. There was no living thing within a hundred yards of him, but there were many thousands further out, and they would be able to hear him.

He raised his voice, thundering over the fires of the drake and the shouts of the defenders. Arrows landed around him as he spoke. "People of Idrona! Your city burns, thanks to the Prophet! Cast out the traitors who serve him and the foreign enemies they have allowed in your city! Drive them out now, and kill them if they resist! Leave Idrona under their rule, and I will leave only ashes where this city once stood!"

There was tumult at that. Voices raised and sudden violence erupted. Overhead, the dragon circled. It circled lower and lower, until it at last landed at Talaos's side. It looked at him, and he at it. He thought that in its strange eyes of fire, there was curiosity.

Bloody fighting began all around. Bodies hurled from windows. Soldiers were pulled down by mobs of civilians and beaten to bloody stains on the paving stones. People who'd been standing side by side in seeming peace turned daggers on each other, or put hands to throats. Mobs from one side or the other chased frightened victims. Blood pooled on the streets.

And, though the dragon had stopped, still the fires spread.

He drew more power through his armor, and with it more death. He felt his connection to his body weaken. The shades within seemed to sense their chance. For the briefest moment, they loosened their watch around his spirit and the source it protected, and grasped for his soul.

He laughed, slipped past them, and drank a great draught of power.

Like water for his parched soul, life amid death, he drank deeply.

They recoiled, bonded, fused into a new kind of collective whole. Rather than an image of them circling his inner spirit, he now envisioned them locked in a sphere around it.  He sensed they were giving up their power to strike at him from within, but now had far more thoroughly shut him off from his power. Shut off until he could find some way to force past, destroy them, or cast them out.

But they were too late. His trap had sprung, and it had worked.

He healed his reeling, dying body.

He shouted to his army in a thundering, echoing, booming voice that carried for miles around, "The gates are open! Seize the city! Spare those who are loyal to Idrona and Hunyos! Death or exile for the followers of the Prophet! I will put out the flames!"

Then he called the rain, great merciful sheets of it, emptying the clouds above.

Last, he turned to the drake at his side, as it stared at him. Its wounds were many and terrible. He extended his right hand, and it recoiled. For a moment, they watched each other. Eyes of lightning met those of fire. Then, perhaps as a sign of trust or understanding, it lowered its long, scaled, spiny head, until its angular brow was within reach.

Talaos touched it on the brow with his open hand.

Power flowed from him to the dragon. It was healing power, not shared forever, but still gone from him. It took a tremendous amount of it, but at last the wounds healed. Arrows and bolts pushed out from the scaly skin as the flesh beneath mended. The charred black faded from its scales, and brilliant, crimson red shown forth again.

The drake gave him a fierce look. It whirled its vast, snake-like body in a circle around him, pouring fire in all directions around them as if in warning to the world. The falling rain steamed and hissed in the flames. Then the dragon spread its great wings. Talaos stepped back, and the mighty creature soared skyward. It circled once, then sped north, fast as the wind.

Somewhere far to the north, east of Jotun, Talaos had once read there were great and wild ranges of mountains where ice and fire drakes still lived. He hoped that was where it was bound. After all he had spent, he still had a bit of his own liberated power left, and he decided to hold on to it, for when the time would be right.

Around him, the murderous bloodshed went on, though the blood was now washing away in the rain. None on either side dared come anywhere near him. He watched it all and laughed wildly amid the storm and slaughter.

Ahead of him, down the road from the gates, a great body of cavalry advanced with Adriko at their head. The commander rode at ease in the saddle, and eyed him curiously.

Talaos commanded him, "Sort out which ones are against the Prophet, then help them."

Adriko surveyed the scene surrounding them with as much enthusiasm as he'd shown, so seemingly long ago, when Talaos had gotten them chosen for the mission against Drosta. Still, he showed no sign of arguing. He shrugged, saluted, and set to work.

16. Imperator

Exactly centered between the cities of Kyras, Namaia, Idrona, Etosca, and Imperi stood the grassy, flat-topped rise called the Elder Hill. It and the city of Kyras aligned along the remnants of an ancient road pointing toward mountains in the far northwest of Hunyos.

However, those other places were far away, and here under the blue sky was the Elder Hill itself. At its top rose a lofty, weathered stone platform of nine steps. The remnants of fluted stone pillars stood along its perimeter. The gentle slopes around were lined with the foundations of other buildings, and ancient cobbled streets radiated outward to the surrounding plain. Nearby could be seen woods and other low, rolling hills, but only this one had such ruins.

Around two sides of the stone platform were planted standards and banners of every city, free town, league, and acclaimed warlord in Hunyos. The third side, at the back, was clear.

Below the fourth side of the platform spread a stone plaza. A great crowd of men of war slowly gathered there. Most of them were officers in crested or plumed helms, with cloaks in colors matching the standards of their cities or leagues, but with them stood hillmen chiefs and tough mercenary warlords. The crowd divided into two roughly equal halves, with a clear corridor down the center leading straight to the stone platform.

A great army, tens of thousands, gathered on all sides on the plain around. Though it included soldiers from every power represented by the standards gathered around the platform, the army was organized along very different lines. It stood in cohorts by function, independent of city, town, or region of origin.

Nine hundred feet from the platform, the straight road reached a place where the remnants of a circular colonnade surrounded a weathered, glyph-covered pylon. That pylon was of stone far older than the pillars around it, or those lining the platform, though not the platform itself. The ancient road continued on for some distance beyond the place before dwindling into the grass, but in a direct line some half a mile further on was another low hill, covered in light woods. At the top of that hill rose a ring of standing stones.

Talaos stood in front of the pylon, facing the platform. He surveyed the scene with an intense, solemn expression and lightning in his eyes. Lightning bought, every moment of it, with pain. He wore the source of that pain and power, the black and silver armor of the assassinated dictator Adrastos of Avrosa, but not his cloak of office as dictator. In his hands he held his drawn swords, and they crackled with their own lightning.

Around him gathered a small group of his closest companions, with no ties or allegiance to any other power in Hunyos. Adriko, Auretius, the seven Madmen, Sorya, Katara, and Miriana. He and they waited as the crowd of representatives gathered in the plaza.

His mind was also on those who were not here. Aro had wanted to see this place, but had only come for his funeral pyre as a fallen commander. Gavro was gone too, and so many others, from his Wolves to the many fallen soldiers of his army. But, he thought, they had also lived with honor, fought for something worthy, died with courage, and been remembered by the army gathered here.

Now, today, that army had another task.

Before him, beyond the pillars, the Wolves gathered in loose, casual order. Fifty-three remained of those he'd gifted with power at the battle of Avrosa. Lean, strong, swift, sharp-witted Adrus now stood as their commander. Flashes of lightning gleamed in his dark predator's eyes beneath a plain, black steel helm. His gray and black patterned cloak was thrown back, revealing chain armor, greaves and a deadly array of weapons.

On either side, in two formations of orderly ranks and files, stood the Stormguard in their black uniforms and black shields painted with silver swords and thunderbolts. They had grown to more than three hundred.

At the center of each cohort of Stormguard was another, smaller group of men and women. There were thirty-one in total. These latter had little in apparent common in with one another. Few looked like warriors, some were old, and two were barely more than children. However, Talaos knew well they had something in common. Magical gifts. Gifts that marked them for death at the Prophet's hands. The Gifted were volunteers who had come from across Hunyos, with oaths of service sworn, and his protection given.

Talaos knew, though few others did, that there was one more with gifts, farther off, guarded by a detachment of eighteen Stormguard.

Miriana turned to Talaos. She wore a green city dress of Carai, much like the one she'd worn when they'd met. This one was made to her small but voluptuous frame, and cut revealingly. She wore it with confidence, and had even added some jewelry. However, her long, nominally braided auburn hair looked as wild as ever.

The prophetess spoke in a strong voice, "Liriel is in place, at the center of the circle."

Talaos nodded with a smile.

Sorya, however, turned to Miriana with sudden interest. She was dressed in new black clothes, with a side-slit dress of Hunyos over tight pants and knee-high black boots. She wore many weapons and a voluminous black cloak with the hood pulled low to her kohl-lined eyes. Talaos thought she clearly reveled in the darksome effect.

"Liriel? She's here?" said Sorya to Miriana.

The latter replied lightly, as if repeating something mundane, "Talaos sent her a letter, but I think it was the spirits who really convinced her to come."

"The spirits?" replied Sorya, now with almost catlike curiosity in her voice.

"Yes," continued Miriana in the same casual tone. "Not all of them of course, but hundreds are gathering at the standing stones behind us, to take their part in this."

Talaos considered that he'd made Liriel vow to never again use magic that, in helping him, would harm herself. Her gentler alternatives had taken a great deal of preparation, but they had worked well. When this was done, he planned to visit her and come to some sort of peace.

At this point, Kyrax seemed unable to restrain himself. The short, burly, black haired man had a sturdy helm over his thick-browed eyes, and bristled with weapons. He wore new segmented armor and a tunic in geometric patterns of red and black. On his back was a new round shield, painted red with a black boar. His face, however, had its same old scowl. He spoke. "Hells! Hundreds of spirits back there? I hope they're friendly."

"So long as we're with Talaos," answered Miriana brightly. "They'll be bound to him soon, in his service."

"An army of spirits," noted Katara, with approval.

The Northwoman wore her same chain shirt from the battle of Idrona, though it had been repaired. Her long golden hair was braided and bound with bronze rings, and she wore a steel cap on her head. She had a clean new tunic of blue underneath, cut long past the knees almost like a dress, and wore greaves and vambraces of Hunyos that she'd scavenged from somewhere. Her long sword was drawn and in her hands, and a plain round shield hung at her back.

Halmir spoke to Katara, in a thoughtful voice, "Whether the spirits are any more willing to take orders than their master is something to be seen, but they will make mighty allies."

The Northman had a new chain shirt, reinforced with steel plates at the front and back of his torso. Underneath he wore a plain brown leather tunic. His golden-red beard was braided with copper below an antique northern steel helm found at Etosca. His blue-green eyes glittered with hints of lightning through a face plate of ice drakes carved in knotwork. On his back he carried his bronze axe and a round shield of plain wood painted with a red gryphon.

"Speaking of which, Talaos," added Larogwan with a smile and a twinkle in his green eyes, "there must be a little more to the story of how you chose this place."

The old soldier wore a long coat of finely worked steel scale armor, over a center-split leather surcoat. His gray-streaked, light brown hair had grown out a bit, and he had it bound with a gray wool headband. He'd also grown a short beard on his chin, shaved on the sides. A steel helm sat tucked under his left arm. He bore a sword and axe at his belt. An oval shield of green was strapped to his back, painted with the face of a gray and very stubborn-looking goat.

Talaos turned to him in reply with a lofty voice, but smiling with a hint of sharp humor, "Well clearly, this place has the advantage of being in perpetual dispute, and not subject to anyone's clear claim. It is also equally distant from Kyras, Namaia, Idrona, Imperi, and Etosca, and is not far from the center of Hunyos as a whole. It makes a fine neutral ground."

Vulkas laughed. The giant's dark green eyes sparkled under his heavy brow and shaved head. He wore a new tunic of heavy brown leather reinforced with ornate discs of iron, not originally intended to be armor at all, scavenged from the ruins of Etosca, and had his war mattock at his side. He'd recently added iron-reinforced leather bands at his forearms and shins. The large iron disc at the center of his chest was carved with a bull in low relief. "C'mon Adriko, or Talaos if that's your real name, tell the whole story!" he added.

Adriko himself stood by amusedly, but did not interject. He wore what Talaos thought might be the first set of matched armor in his career; masterfully crafted, polished steel breastplate, pteruges, greaves, vambraces, and open-faced helm issued from Tescani's personal armory. Talaos thought it might be a point of pride for Adriko that his patched gray tunic and dusty black cloak still looked scavenged from a battlefield.

Talaos made Vulkas wait for a while, with a wry smile, then at last answered, "Fortunately for you, between myself, Auretius, Miriana, and the library of Teroia, we've been able to piece some things together. This place is the site of many ancient events of importance. Those standing stones behind us date to an age when gods, spirits, beasts and mankind shared the world with more understanding than they did in later times.

"This obelisk was raised in honor and obedience to the gods in a time when they ruled mortals as kings and queens. The gods themselves sometimes appeared on the platform of nine steps. When mortals overthrew and killed the gods, the obelisk was abandoned and ignored, as the standing stones had been before them.

"Then, under the Empire, a place of scholarship was established here, and the obelisk and the stones were studied as historical artifacts. A library once stood to the right of that platform, and the platform itself became a school. For centuries, students came here from across Hunyos to learn history, literature, and philosophy. Later still, as I think you can all see, this place was plundered and burned. And now, in this age of war, it is a neglected ruin.

"So," concluded Talaos, "this is a place of power, as the spirits at the circle show. But, it is also a testament to the history of Hunyos, and perhaps humanity, of what has been lost, and what might be again."

Vulkas looked satisfied at that, and there were reactions with varying degrees of interest, understanding, or purpose among the rest of the group. Kyrax seemed the least moved, while Firio was suddenly and surprisingly animated.

The small, thin man had changed the least in appearance of any of them. He still wore his brown hair lank, greasy and chin-length. His sharp brown eyes were shifting as ever in his narrow face. His motley clothes were in plain gray, tan, and brown. His visible concessions to success were a new dark brown, reinforced leather shirt with a black raven ink-dyed into the center of the chest, and the twin lightning daggers tucked into scabbards at his belt.

At the moment, Firio also carried a bundle tucked under his arm, wrapped in black cloth. He made his way to Talaos, as if to speak, and the latter turned to him with earnest respect.

"Talaos," said Firio quietly, so that the soldiers further off wouldn't hear, "if this is a place of power, does that mean you can use it to… get rid of them, and get yours back?"

"No," replied Talaos in a low voice. "The shades of the Hands are too powerful. There might be some very dangerous ways, but the one most likely to work is one I also want for other reasons."

Auretius reacted to that. The old commander had traded his Avrosan gray cloak, tunic and pants for black as head of the Stormguard. His Republic general's armor had been repaired again. His twin swords gleamed in their scabbards, as did his eyes beneath his white hair.

He stepped toward Talaos, "So you mean to go through with it? To Carai?"

"Yes, and elsewhere," replied Talaos.

Some of those nearby knew, and others did not.

"Carai?" asked Imvan quietly. His deep-set eyes looked concerned under his thick brows. Like Firio, the gaunt, dark-haired young hillman had changed little. He wore mottled greens and browns in layers, with a tunic and cloak over a long shirt and pants. However, as a mark of his increased rank among the hill clans, he now wore a bronze torque at his neck, and bronze scrollwork bracers at his wrists. Pinned to his cloak was a bronze brooch with an engraved hawk.

Talaos turned to him and replied with grave seriousness, "Yes, we will go to Carai, but our work won't end there. I now know there is also somewhere else we must go first."

Imvan nodded, and grew quiet again, as did the others around.

Epos had remained silent all along. The quiet warrior was heavily armed and armored as always, but his armor was now of marvelous quality. He had breastplate, pteruges, shoulder pieces, arm guards, vambraces, thigh armor and greaves of dark steel engraved with geometric designs. Over them he wore a black cloak, and a new closed helm with a black and white crest. The large round shield on his back was black, and bore the central design of a serpentine, white ice drake. Now however, he spoke in his deep, flat voice, and with his usual lack of preface or introduction, "With the magus Belios captured, we could use his gates to save time."