The Storm's Own Son (Book 3) (19 page)

"Call off your family, Larikos!" warned Talaos.

"Nothin'll call 'em off till the blood magic fades!" answered Larikos with a smile, as flames rose around him. His robes turned to ash, and he stood naked, his entire body covered in intricate tattoos. He bore a bronze torque and amulet around his neck and bracers on his arms. All were carved with glyphs and fitted with onyx stones. His long knife gleamed red in the firelight, and at close range it could be seen to be ornately carved and engraved. The flames harmed him not at all. He had a crazed look in his blood-red eyes, and he laughed.

Talaos took a step forward, toward Larikos and his maddened folk. He felt the waves of heat that blasted from the bonfire.

"See?" shouted Larikos, wildly brandishing his knife amid the inferno. "By my blood and birth, I don't feel fire. By what we found, I don't feel lightning. Signs are there, stormy. I'm meant to be master! My kin and I, and them that worship me, we'll be the drovers, and the rest o' you the cattle. Like the old days! Now come here and I’ll prove it…"

Larikos looked like he meant to continue, but he was interrupted as a spear flew through the flames and lodged in his chest, then another. He snarled and pulled them out. Talaos glanced, and saw Katara and Halmir with icy glares of their own.

The latter laughed again, spitting blood. "C'mon, storm boy! Come fight me!"

Talaos glanced at Larogwan, who handed him Larikos's own throwing axe. He called the rain, and driving sheets of it began to put out the flames.

With shrieks and howls, the red-eyed people attacked.

Then Talaos hurled the axe at Larikos's throat. The man dodged with inhuman speed, but not far enough. The axe missed his neck, but cleaved clean through his right shoulder and upper chest, flew past the flames, and skittered into the stones beyond. Blood poured from the terrible wound. Too late, Larikos seemed to realize the flaw in his plan, and he charged toward Talaos amid the sputtering flames. His nearly severed arm moved unnaturally, still gripping the knife. Blood poured from his wounds. Where it fell, it boiled and hissed in the fire.

Larikos snarled in rage through dark-stained teeth as he advanced.

All around the red-eyed folk fought with fury, but no coordination. Talaos’s companions restrained the children, but most of the adults were inhumanly strong, too strong to be caught, and attacked with knives, fists, and teeth until cut down. Their leader began to stumble and slow, yet still he came on.

Talaos raised his blades.

A dagger flew through the air and lodged directly between Larikos's eyes. He fell at last.

Talaos turned. Sorya stood nearby with another dagger at the ready and a darksome smile on her face. Talaos gave her an appreciative nod.

He stopped for a moment to survey the grisly scene.

Larikos was dead, and his crazed kin lay dead or captured all around. A terrible stench arose from the pile of sacrificial victims. Corpses of enemy warriors, slain by his lightning or his men, were everywhere. The Madmen and Wolves stood by at the ready. Behind them Hadrastus arrived with several of his mighty ones, the heroes of the battle outside the gates and hammers of their foes.

It was done.

"We're going to clear this place," shouted Talaos, with thunder in his voice. "Take the prisoners, and anything of potential use or value.”

He paused again, and considered everything he’d seen today.

“Then we're lighting fires.”

11. Legacies

"Sorya, step forward," said Talaos, before a large gathering of officers and soldiers in the central square of the camp.

She did so, though with nothing like military formality.

"By the old laws, these spoils of the fallen enemy are yours."

With that, Talaos handed her Larikos's bracers. Talaos and Miriana had, between their abilities to sense power, such knowledge of magic as they had, and pointed questioning of Larikos's surviving followers, determined that the bracers had enhanced Larikos's speed and reflexes beyond even what he'd gained by his blood magic .

Then Talaos continued. "Katara, step forward."

She did so, and in exactly the manner a soldier of Hunyos might have.

"By the old laws, this spoil of the fallen enemy is yours," he said, and handed her the torque that protected against lightning.

"Halmir, step forward."

He did so, and with the same words, Talaos presented him with the bronze throwing axe. The axe that turned toward its target in midair.

Then Talaos announced to them all, "The amulet of Larikos and the knives he and his priestesses wielded were, by all accounts, used to draw power from the blood of those he sacrificed and to give it to those with the glyph tattoos. They will be destroyed. The many other items that had no magic, including Larikos's bronze helm, treasures, and coin, will be divided equally among all who fought."

There were cheers at that.

"We have another matter of great importance today," announced Talaos. “Hadrastus, step forward.”

The latter, and the volunteers he’d commanded against Larikos, stood in formation at the right wing of the assembled soldiers. The towering general now walked to stand before Talaos.

"General Hadrastus, you and your chosen men won a victory yesterday over the forces of Warlord Larikos, with crushing might and the sudden, swift fury of a gale. I therefore give them a name, the Stormhammers. From this day they will be a permanent unit of the allied army, and you their commander.”

They exchanged salutes, as the assembled men cheered.

Hadrastus returned to his place in front of his men.

“Now,” said Talaos, addressing the crowd, “all assembled, I present you the Stormhammers, heroes of the battle of the Eastern Hills. Hail the victors! Hail your brothers in arms! Hail!"

Hundreds of men shouted and saluted. Talaos recalled the day when he, Adriko, and their friends had stood before Sanctari, to the same words and salutes. And just as on that day, it was swiftly done. Today, however, there was one last matter to attend.

Talaos raised his right hand, and the crowd quieted.

Captain Garion, the emissary of Megasi stood by with an assembly of dignitaries from his city. Talaos nodded, and the officer stepped forward.

“Warlord,” said the captain with a salute.

As he returned the gesture, Talaos reflected that Garion had addressed him as Dictator when last they met. He wondered as well why one of the civilian leaders had not come forward with Garion to speak. However, he said simply, “Speak.”

“On behalf of the Council of Megasi, and other leading citizens of our city, I thank you for ending the threat of Warlord Larikos. As promised, our soldiers and ships are even now mobilizing for service. The Council has also authorized and sent a gift of gold to be given to each of those who fought that day. In reply to your terms of alliance, however, we have a new proposal.”

Talaos thought doubtfully of that, but resisted the temptation to reply with a skeptical, cutting remark, and merely answered, “I will hear it.”

To the surprise of many around, Garion made a half-bow, then continued, “Warlord, as you know, with the disgrace that followed the conspiracy of Pelias, Megasi has few senior officers. Some of those who served with him may be able to redeem themselves in time, but now, in the midst of war on such scale, is not that time.

“Moreover, you are already well underway with reforms in your army that effectively break up the usual system of command based on faction. The Council of Megasi offers our forces to serve under such officers as you appoint.  And therefore, the Council, those assembled here, and the list of citizens named in the scroll I carry, offer you allegiance as our warlord.”

Talaos reflected in some surprise. It was a very unusual step. In what he knew of the history of Hunyos, it had been vanishingly rare for a warlord to gain even brief allegiance from the leaders of a city-state, and never under such circumstances as now. It would give Talaos complete control of Megasi’s military without corresponding domestic control of the city. Yet through him, it would give those who swore such allegiance a freer hand and far greater power within their city than they could otherwise attain, short of the always-risky step of appointing a dictator.

He considered what it might mean, but quickly decided.

“I accept.”

Garion saluted Talaos, as did the assembled dignitaries. “Hail Talaos! You command, and we follow!" they shouted in words set by the old laws, however new the usage.

~

In his tent, at camp on the road past Megasi, Talaos made careful study of another set of items they’d captured at Larikos’s stronghold. Items he hoped would add to their store of knowledge. A set of thin bronze tablets had been found in a locked room in the labyrinth of tunnels and chambers under Larikos’s hill. They were inscribed with stylized pictures and writing in a script of glyphs. Clearly very ancient, he found the artistic style slightly reminiscent of the carving of the Storm Lord.

One tablet showed scenes of blood sacrifice, led by a figure wearing the items Larikos himself had worn. Another showed that figure bowing to a massive seated man wearing a simple crown or band on his head, while people who wore tall plumes stood by. Talaos was inclined to doubt Larikos had been able to read the writing, any more than he himself could. Then again, magic was dangerous, and the lunatic and his folk had some way of avoiding killing themselves while dealing in some very dark, cruel forms of it.

Who knew what secrets had been kept in those hills?

Either way, he thought it served as a reminder that there were other powers in the world besides himself and the Living Prophet, with goals of their own.

~

Talaos led his army northwest, advancing in might around the bend of the hills. He considered the situation. They were nearing one of the borders between the alliances in this part of Hunyos. Not far ahead was the junction of a road that ran diagonally from Aledri in the southwest. Some miles further, another road went northwest to Imperi.

Volunteer irregulars had been arriving from the countryside, and small contingents from towns allied to Teroia and Megasi. In total, he had something close to forty-five thousand in the army and another ten thousand on sixty ships in the fleet.

As he rode, the Madmen carried on a light conversation among themselves. Behind him rode The Three; Sorya, Katara, and Miriana. Sorya had gained tremendously in skill on horseback over the past few days, though she'd gone through obvious discomfort along the way. Today, she'd been more outgoing, watching the doings of the vast army. From the beginning, Katara had had observed everything with tremendous interest, and had many questions. However, they'd all been quiet for a while as the army went on in the sunshine.

Without preface, Miriana spoke, and her voice was strong and clear, "A group of horsemen approaches, riding hard from Aledri, and behind them march companies of soldiers."

Talaos surveyed the distance and saw nothing, nor could he feel anything. However, he was not Miriana. He motioned a messenger forward and gave the order, "Find Tribune Lurios, and inform him that messengers and troops are coming from Aledri, then gather a troop of swift riders and go meet them."

The man saluted and sped off. Other business followed, with messengers and officers coming and going, all saluting gravely. A few were picking up the Avrosan habit of also bowing to him.

Sorya had watched it all with interest. She seemed to think it time to break her silence. She rode up to Talaos with her wicked smile. "So, with this kind of work load, do you wish you'd taken that job as a crew captain from Palaeon?"

Talaos laughed. "That, or the gang I was starting. To think I could have had my own patch of grubby street to fight for!"

Katara seemed to find that of interest and rode a little forward to join them. "Why would you wish that, when you are a king with more men than all the kings of Vorhame together?"

"Well… We were making jokes, and I'm not a king," he answered with a grin.

Katara replied in great seriousness. "I know you are not yet called a king, but who could stop you from claiming it, with the power now in your hands?"

He laughed, and replied, "Even if I wanted it, it doesn't work like that here. No one in Hunyos would stand for someone calling themselves king. They had enough of that during the century that Dirion extracted tribute from them."

Katara nodded carefully, as if considering concepts alien to her.

Far ahead, on the edge of the horizon, Talaos's storm kept pace with them, though it gradually spread east and west as it advanced.  Fresh winds blew from the south, and the air behind was warm.

Watching his storm, Talaos considered another reason for his indifference to such titles. His personal power, his magic, was now greater than any ruler he'd heard of other than in ancient tales. Except, of course, for the Living Prophet, and he did not call himself a king. And, however right his cause, his men followed him to a large degree because of that personal power, because he was the man who could summon such a storm.

He'd used that power and the aura of his victorious success to build a mighty weapon, forged of men and steel. No title would make that weapon any more or less real. Then again, he thought, it might make it firmer in his hand.

The Avrosans called him Storm Lord, and it meant far more to them than his title as dictator. However, the original, ancient Storm Lord was a hero of Avrosa, and though known to a scholarly few elsewhere, it was not a name or title to put his weapon more permanently in his hand. He intended to turn all the armies of fractiously, locally patriotic Hunyos in a single direction to face their true enemy. To do that, and keep them there, it would help to make use of something with meaning for everyone.

The old Empire was remembered in Hunyos with the same awe as it was in the Republic. It was from Hunyos, from Imperi, the city founded intentionally as a neutral ground originally untainted by old loyalties, that the Empire had been governed for nearly eight of its ten centuries.

The name Imperi itself, the city of victorious command, was taken from the title of victorious commander awarded to only the Empire's greatest heroes. Even during the collapse it avoided the dishonor that tainted titles like First Citizen. Ironically, the title that gave the old Empire its very name was never much used by the autocratic rulers of the last, worst days.

A title with meaning, he thought, though one that must be earned.

Imperator.

Time passed under a bright blue sky, and they neared the junction of the roads. A dust cloud became visible to the southwest. A troop of twenty horsemen raced ahead his way. Lines of soldiers marched slowly, far behind. The horsemen reached the junction of the roads behind the vanguard, but ahead of the Wolves.

They wheeled and turned south, hailed the Wolves, and rode on. The captain at their head hailed Talaos and they exchanged salutes. He looked doubtfully at Talaos's eyes, but maintained his bearing. Talaos noticed the man had cuts and a bandaged wound on his forearm. Several of his men had small injuries as well.

"Hail, Warlord!” said the captain. “I bring news from Aledri on behalf of the council."

"Speak."

"We received your messengers, and there was dissent on the council. Fighting followed, but those loyal to Aledri prevailed. Three patricians and four hundred citizens fought to the death for the Prophet. Five hundred more now walk in exile, north toward Imperi. Some of the citizens were in the army.

"The council has confirmed promotion of Lurios to general, as well as alliance under the terms negotiated between yourself and Teroia. They have dispatched a thousand soldiers to join your army, but must retain the rest for defense, in case of attack from Imperi."

Talaos replied, "Thank you Captain. Let the council know I'm pleased to accept, and that I will soon solve their problem with Imperi."

The captain smiled, saluted, wheeled his horse, and rode back to his city.

~

Generals Aro and Gavro sat with Talaos in the command tent on a bright, windy morning. The army was now at the junction of the road that gradually turned eastward toward Etosca, and the other that went northwest toward Imperi.

Old Gavro had a faint grin on his weathered, scarred face. The General of Imperi wore his dusty green cloak and rich but battered segmented armor over a chain tunic. His crested helm sat on the table next to him, and a behind the grin, tension could be seen in his hazel eyes.