The Storm's Own Son (Book 1) (17 page)

"The farmers over where I am from are called Skradi. A long time ago,
Dirion conquered them. Then our chieftains took that part of Dirion and became lords.  I served a lord who sent us to get some taxes from a farm house where the family could not pay. The lord said kill them to warn others. He was our lord... and we had to obey."

The Northman
shook his head, blue-green eyes lowered. "In shame for what we did, I got mad at the lord, and killed him too. Then I had to run."

Grim looks, and nods, followed from the men around the campfire. Except for one.

Kyrax growled and turned to Talaos, "Since you're having us all share our heartfelt fucking stories of days gone by, what about you?"

Talaos replied, old memories coming back, "I was seventeen, in Carai. A gang boss named Cratus hired me to keep an eye on a warehouse of his. Another boss sent a couple of armed men to take a look inside that warehouse. After dark. I took care of the problem."

"You were a gangster?" boggled Firio.

"A city man?" said Larogwan. "And somehow I'd imagined you born on a battlefield, with crows circling
to take their place by your side."

"Or a wolf," added Halmir, with a thoughtful look.

"I didn't say I was born in the city..." Talaos replied with an enigmatic smile. Then he turned to Kyrax, looking skeptical. "And what's your heartfelt story?"

"When I was twenty, this fucker spilled my drink, on purpose."

All eyes then turned to Imvan. The lean young hillman was wrapped in a cloak of checkered green and brown, and wore brown leather armor over patchwork green clothes. He frowned, thick brown eyebrows pressing together over deep-set eyes and hollow cheeks.

"I haven't killed any men, "he replied solemnly, "only beasts."

"We have our virgin!" laughed Larogwan.

"A death virgin
," added Kyrax, with lack of any apparent humor.

"You'll have your chance, Imvan, soon enough," said Talaos grimly.

~

Adriko's three companies broke camp in the predawn darkness.
They were traveling light, with every man shouldering his gear.  The scouts went on ahead while he formed everyone else up for a day's march. Three squadrons of light cavalry from various towns, followed by his irregulars, then the Aledri spearmen in their uniform blue tunics, large round shields, and segmented breastplates, and finally the other two squadrons of cavalry as rearguard.

Talaos watched Adriko work, paid attention
to what he did, why, and when. He noted the way in which the Captain's easy manner masked a constant, careful attention to detail, and his teasing humor was based on knowledge of the men he commanded. Adriko knew the name of, and at least something about every one of his irregulars, and in only a day in the field with them, was setting to work with the cavalry and the spearmen.

All this Talaos watched, and learned.

Men who were ready to fight and die at your side, he thought, deserved no less.

When the main body was ready to march, Adriko
, on a sturdy brown horse in plain tack, rode to their left flank to speak. With him were Lurios, Captain of the Aledri men and Adriko's subordinate for this mission, and Drevan, the most senior of the five cavalry Decurions.

He spoke
loudly, clearly, and cheerfully.

"All right men, now the carefree stroll in the countryside comes to an end. There's no telling what might have been changing up north while we've been visiting with our friends in
Avrosa, and they could always have visitors of their own on the way down this very road.

"You Aledri men know
where we're going, but for the rest of us I will avoid lighthearted assumptions. We'll be leaving the coastal road about mid morning and taking another one northwest, inland toward Aledri. That road eventually crosses an outlying area of hills. When the scouts get in sight of those hills, they'll warn us before we do, so we can camp just out of sight. If the rest of us don't take too many naps along the way, it should be around mid afternoon.

"
The area is heavily forested, which will give us some cover. Sadly though, since I haven't heard anything about Drosta suddenly becoming a fool, we'll have no fires, no drinking, and no rousing songs about our impending victory."

Adriko paused,
with an eye for reaction from the men, but all was quiet.

"In the morning, we split up.  I'l
l take the scouts and my company of irregulars out before dawn, and we're going to swing around north. You Aledri men will come directly up from the south with Lurios, and sit tight until you see something coming, or we seem like we need help. The cavalry will stay out on the flat country and get a little hunting in, using any of Drosta's surviving men as game."

There were chuckles here and there along the line.

"That is, if things work out. If we don't find Drosta, then we try again the next day. If we do, and we haven't got him flushed out by mid afternoon, we fall back, reform on the road, and get ready to answer questions back at Avrosa.

"That said men, remember, we've got
thousands of our own back there who are counting on the provisions from Aledri getting through again. So let's make sure things do work out, and we help Drosta on his way to the hells."

With that, Adriko saluted his men, arm across his chest as he had with the commanders, and the men saluted back.

He motioned forward, and they started their march.

Talaos and his squad, at the front of the irregulars, walked with easy strides and watchful eyes. He smiled and felt the first thrill of the fight and
the possibilities ahead.

The early morning was uneventful, though the sky to the north began to darken with hazy, sluggish rainclouds.
To Talaos, they looked more like fog in the sky than a storm.

To their right was the coastal plain, pasture for livestock now taken elsewhere, and beyond
, the sea. To their left was light open woodland, with hills in the far distance. They passed a village, abandoned as if frozen in time, ploughs still in the surrounding fields. Further on, they passed a place where a line of hills ran down to the coast and the road went up through a pass. After a while they came upon a supply caravan, trudging slowly south. Adriko hailed them.

"Are you men from Teroia? What news?"

The quartermaster in charge, a gruff blocky fellow, answered, "We are. All's quiet on the road, but I hear some of the enemy cities up further north are finally mobilizing. No word on how close they are to getting in the field."

Adriko thanked the man as the caravan
went on its way, then dispatched a cavalryman to take the news back to the army at Avrosa as fast as possible.

They reached the crossroads shortly afterward, and leaving the coastal road to Teroia, went northwest to find their quarry.
The early afternoon went by without incident, or anyone else on the road.  At about the expected time, a scout returned reporting sight of the hills where Drosta was supposed to be based.

Dense forest spread before them.
Overhead, the sky filled with gray, and the air grew still and damp.  As the force halted to make camp, Talaos looked up into the sky appraisingly.

"
Your kind of weather?" asked Larogwan cheerfully as he walked alongside.

"No
t bad, but I'd rather be in a thunderstorm," answered Talaos.

Larogwan shook his head, smiling.

11. Madmen

The woods were thick on the hillsides, and the shadows deep. Low, lazy gray rainclouds hung in the sky overhead, faint mist was gathering, and there was fog in the deep valleys. Talaos stalked between the trees with his cloak drawn about him. Ahead, quiet as a shadow and harder to see, was Imvan the hillman. Behind, fanned out on either side, were the rest of his men. 

So far, they'd found only old tracks and an abandoned camp. On the other hand, there was no sign that they'd been seen.
At least they were aware of no sign, Talaos thought wryly. They moved quickly; alert and as quiet as heavily armed men could manage. They passed through a valley, following Imvan on a fresher trail with recent boot prints in the mud. They ascended the slope on the other side and found more. The fog grew thicker below, and the mist above.

After some time, Imvan suddenly stopped, still as a deer. Talaos did so as well, then crouched low to the ground.  With varying degrees of speed and stealth, his men did likewise. The hillman then began to creep forward, almost crawling, slow and silent. On instinct, Talaos raised his hand in gesture to the rest of the men to hold fast.

Then he saw. Far ahead and a bit uphill, at the very edge of visibility in the thin mist and thick underbrush, was a man dressed in mottled clothes of greens and brown, with leafy branches tied to his gear and dirt rubbed into his face. He squatted, still as a stone in the brush, and had a short bow on the ground beside him. Likely a sentry on some kind of patrol or outer picket duty, thought Talaos, and he was certain he wouldn't have seen the man in time.  Imvan had though, while the sentry still looked another way. 

Creeping low, foot by patient foot, the hillman circled behind the sentry. Talaos thought it would have put a hunting cat to shame. He advanced, always managing to be behind cover or crouched on the ground when the sentry turned his way. He closed. Well done, thought Talaos, but now came another sort of test.

Silently, the hillman stepped behind the sentry, brought a gloved hand around the man's mouth, and in the same moment, slit his throat as if he were a game animal. He held the dying man's mouth shut, silencing the low gurgling screams, as the other reached in blind futility for a horn at his belt. When the struggles stopped, Imvan gently lowered the corpse to the ground. He then dropped to one knee, shaking slightly. He had an almost panicked look on his young face, and was breathing hard.  Yet, he made not a sound. The hillman looked down at the dead sentry, whose face was staring up wide-eyed at nothing. Imvan closed those eyes, put a hand to the fallen man's forehead, and then stood up.

A death virgin no longer, thought Talaos darkly. He stood up, and the others with him. They advanced.  Talaos clapped a hand on Imvan's shoulder, looked him in the eye, and gave him a grim nod. The hillman collected himself, nodded back, and silently retook his place scouting. Talaos followed. Then came the others, alert for new danger and without so much as a glance at the corpse.

They moved forward quietly, taking even greater care than before.  After a little while they reached a place where the slope leveled off to a long, low hilltop thick with trees. Imvan stopped again and crouched low. This time, he gestured, hand motioning forward. Talaos raised his own hand for the others to hold, and crept forward by himself.

As he reached Imvan, the latter pointed to a spot ahead where there were two more sentries, one far to the left and the other far to the right.  Though no doubt there were more,
those would be out of sight around the curve of the hill. These sentries were dressed for the forest, but were not particularly hidden. They stood watchfully, surveying the area around them in the gathering mist.

Somewhere ahead, in
visible in the shadowed woods, were faint sounds of activity.

Talaos motioned for Imvan to follow him back
to the others. Together they crept back to the men, carefully and so slowly that his own instincts railed against it, turbulent from within.  He forced them under control. Talaos motioned the men to come close, behind a little knoll full of trees, then spoke in a barely audible voice.

"We need to take out those sentries. Firio, do you think you can do what Imvan did?"

Firio nodded, and drew one of his many knives.

"Right then. Imvan on the left, Firio on the right. Once they're down, I'm going for a walk. No one follow me... until something happens.
"

The others looked at him quizzically, but there were no arguments.

Talaos motioned, and the two chosen men went forward. He watched their progress intently, alert and ready for his own moment to act.

Quiet as the looming mist, and patient as the stones beneath, Imvan made his way around to the left of the left sentry. Firio on the right moved in an entirely different way. He lacked Imvan's methodical woods-wise manner, but he was small, almost superhumanly fast, and furtive as a rabbit. A rabbit with fangs, thought Talaos with an inner smirk.

The two sentries each stood there, each patiently scanning the mist-shrouded forest. Then, in the next moment, each had a hand over his mouth and a knife cutting his throat. Firio's sentry seemed stronger than he was, and, fighting as he died, began to force the little man's hand away from his mouth. Quick as a snake, Firio twisted the knife upward in the other's bleeding throat, and nailed his mouth shut from inside.

Once the two dead sentries were on the ground
, Talaos and all his men froze still, waiting for a reaction. They heard none. Imvan remained immobile. Firio, quietly and unobtrusively, helped himself to a dagger and a small pouch from his fallen foe, then vanished as he went flat to the ground in the underbrush.

Talaos sheathed his blades, stood up and casually walked toward Drosta's camp.

Advancing beneath the towering trees, he passed the dead sentries and a line of thick underbrush. He strode forward past an area where refuse was piled and the ground became thick with muddy tracks, and then into the camp itself.

It consisted of  a great many low cloth and ski
n tents, under the shade of towering ancient trees. Some seventy men were there with a motley variety of gear, weapons, and armor. They were busy with activities common in any camp of armed men; variously working, exercising with weapons, or sitting at ease talking.

He strode in, hooded and cloaked in the mist, but at ease, as if visiting old friends.

Men looked up at him with curiosity.  Some, at seeing his relaxed bearing and sheathed weapons, turned back to their tasks at hand. Others stared, as if not quite sure what they were looking at, or why. One or two reached thoughtfully for weapons as they watched. He walked past them all, and toward the center of camp.

There
, next to a gnarled, massive old tree, a big rangy man with a long scowling face and wild black hair under a rusty iron cap stood giving orders to three others. One of the men, ill-favored and with sharp squinting eyes, happened to turn, noticed Talaos in mild surprise, and tapped the shoulder of the man in the iron cap.

"Hey Drosta..." he said, pointing at Talaos.

Drosta turned to look at Talaos, annoyance appearing on his face. He adjusted his heavy leather tunic, which was reinforced with iron rings, pulled a big serrated knife from his belt and grabbed a long axe that had been leaning against the tree.

Talaos strode toward him with long loose steps, still casual, but slowly gaining speed.

"Hey, you! Which one of 'em let you past without telling me?" snapped Drosta.

At Drosta's side, the squint-eyed man drew a sword.  The other two men near Drosta stood by in uncertainty. The first had one single hairy brow, and the other a mouth cleft with an old scar. Talaos found it momentarily amusing to nickname each accordingly in his mind.

He was now only twenty yards from Drosta, and advancing fast.

"If this is some joke of Iscano's, it isn't funny!" snarled Drosta at Talaos. He shook his axe for emphasis, then tried again, "Stop and answer me, or I'll split your head open!"

All attention in the camp was now focused on the scene at the center.

Behind Drosta, one-brow loosened a mace tied to his belt, and cleft-mouth grabbed a hand axe from atop a rock. Talaos continued forward, as if without a care.

"Hoi,  madman!" shouted Drosta, raising his axe for battle with eyes fixed on Talaos.

In answer, Talaos, fast as wind, drew his long blade and whirled
to the attack. Drosta brought his axe up to block the sword, while twisting and striking with his long knife straight at the other's heart. Talaos parried the knife with his long blade.  At the same moment, Talaos grabbed the axe handle with his free hand and ripped it away from Drosta's as easily as a man taking a toy from a child. The latter looked surprised, for a brief moment. Talaos spun round and split Drosta's head, right through the iron cap, with his own axe. Talaos then threw the axe aside and drew his own short blade, turning as Drosta, gurgling blood, fell to the ground before him.

The three men were already closing on him. Talaos spun, his long blade sheared one-brow's mace hand off at the wrist, and the latter stared
, gaping, at the blood-spurting stump. Talaos ducked past squint-eye's sword, and brought his short blade up into the other's chest. Cleft-mouth had a worried look on his face. The man took a half step back, with axe raised high to strike. Talaos, still low, brought the long blade around and cut his feet out from under him.  Without pause, he rose and turned to bring his short blade through one-brow's gaping mouth.

All of it had taken but moments.

There was a pause. The men in the camp stared, as if not believing what they'd just seen.

Then curses roared around the camp and men grabbed weapons.

Nearly seventy men advanced on Talaos.

He stood waiting with blades ready, hooded cloak covered in the blood of his foes.

Then through the trees, five men hurled themselves into battle. They came in a line, moving fast and dealing death around them. The men on that outer edge of the camp, just starting forward towards Talaos, died before they knew what had happened. Then others turned, startled, but with weapons ready.

Vulkas was leftmost of the five and a bit apart. He charged with great bellowing roars, swinging his colossal war mattock right and left. One man flew aside with ribs smashed apart, another with his hip caved in.  A third crouched and raised his shield. Vulkas spun and brought down an overhead blow with the mattock, shattering both the shield and the man's head.

To his right, roaring as well, was Halmir, who hurled a hand axe into a man's skull, then impaled another with a throw of his short spear. He drew his sword as he ran. Another foe faced him with a long spear. He dodged right as the man struck, grabbed the spear with his free hand, pulled the wielder off balance, and put a sword through his heart.

In the center, Epos moved with cold precision. A man in front of him was slow to react and still faced toward Talaos. He ran him through the back of the neck.  Then he blocked with his shield as another foe brought a long sword slashing his way. Lunging forward and around, he brought his sword up under the man's breastplate in a disemboweling strike. Then, without breaking his stride, he advanced to the next enemy.

To the right of Epos, Kyrax snarled curses as he advanced on two men armed with short swords.  He took the attack of one on his shield, forced the man's weapon out of the way with it, and then gutted him.  The other foe brought a sword low, almost catching him in the ribs. Kyrax snarled, feinted sideways, tripped his foe, and ran his sword through the prone man's neck.

"Come on, you gutless bastards, that all you got?" he taunted others before him.

On the far right of their line, Larogwan moved with long practice. A foe swung an axe at him, he caught it on the steel rim of his long shield and brought his own axe through the man's ribs. Another enemy hurled a spear at him and he glanced it off his shield. The man reached to draw a short sword from his belt, but Larogwan got to him first, and put a stop to it with an axe through the neck. 

Well away from the onslaught, and indeed some distance even from most others in the camp, three men stood in front of a group of tents. They had long bows. One of the men, an older fellow with a sharp expression, sized up the suddenly unfolding battle. He gestured to the other two. They nocked arrows.  Then one of the archers suddenly toppled as the tendons of his knees were sliced in half, and the other twisted back with a scream, a dagger in his kidney.

The older fellow spun around, only to get a slim knife thrown full in his eye. He fell, and two men appeared. Imvan wiped his dagger clean while Firio finished off the wounded with another knife.  Firio then rolled under a tent, on his way deeper into camp. Imvan grabbed one of the fallen men's bows and all of their arrows. Then he selected his first target.

In the center of camp, surrounded by advancing enemies, Talaos felt life and strength in his body. Not the rage of the storm, but the vitality that he had felt ever since the mountains. He felt it more keenly than ever now. His eyes swept around him, past the advancing enemy and saw the sudden havoc wrought by his men, the oncoming human storm of battle and death. He saw Drosta's men
, leaderless, in confusion. He saw, thought it good, and made a wolf-like grin.