The Storm's Own Son (Book 3)

by Anthony Gillis

  "At them," Talaos said grimly.

  Talaos made a whirling leap to the top and cut an enemy in half at the waist with his long blade. Katara cleaved another from shoulder to hips with her heavy sword. Kyrax snarled and skewered another. Wolves killed the rest, and it was done.

  From atop the barricade, Talaos surveyed the scene before him.

  Kyrax and Sorya cursed aloud.

  Twelve iron pyres rose from a great platform of brick in the center of the plaza. All around stood two hundred or more improvised wooden posts, no longer burning, but blackened and smoldering in the rain. Half-burned corpses, hundreds of them, of all ages, were chained around the posts. Rain sodden ashes sat piled in heaps nearby, and in them could be seen the blackened remnants of body parts. Twelve priests and priestesses of the Prophet stood singing atop the platform.

  Fires rose from buildings all around, and screams resounded from within. Groups of strong-looking men, easily two hundred or more in total, converged from buildings all around toward the steps around the platform. Those that arrived began singing.

  Other than followers of the Prophet, not a living person was to be seen.

  The song sung by the priests and priestesses was slow, sonorous, and in the speech of the Prophet. Talaos had an uneasy feeling. He raised his hand and sword for attention. "Stormguard, stay with Miriana and Auretius!" he commanded. "All others, to me!"

  They leapt from the barricade and raced forward to the great brick platform.

  Ahead, each of the twelve priests and priestesses stood themselves before one of the iron pyres. They moved in unison and sang as one. Around them, the last of the other men had gathered. The latter sang a song of justice and retribution in Imperial, but between each verse were words in the Prophet's speech, and those words were sung in time with identical words in the song of the twelve. A faint aura of green appeared above the crowd, and then luminous emerald flames flickered to life around the twelve priests on their pyres.

  Talaos sped up, running now, and all but Sorya and Firio began to fall behind. His rain still poured from the blackened sky, yet it made no further difference.

  All around the square, great bursts of red and orange flame suddenly licked up from the windows of buildings. The screams stopped. The verdant flames at the pyres grew, towering over the priests and the iron posts. Talaos with his fragmentary knowledge of the Prophet's speech, caught a phrase of the song. It sang of merciful pyres, cleansing humanity of its sins and selfishness.

  He heard Miriana's voice again, startlingly loud, carrying over the wind and rain, "Soon the fires will bring it all down. All sacrificed in the flames, them and us!"

  The twelve spiraling columns of emerald flame grew until they merged. The maelstrom then began to roil, circling around the platform of the pyres. The priests stood at the iron posts with their hands clasped behind their backs. Their flesh began to wither, yet still they sang, and their voices grew louder.

  Talaos halted in his tracks, and as he did so, called out in a voice loud as thunder, "Stop! All, to me! Form up behind me! Miriana to me! All to me!"

  The singers in the crowd walked forward, stepping calmly into the whirling inferno of green flame. They walked forward toward the iron posts. Their flesh began to wither, and yet they sang. The first of the singers in the crowd, wasting and dying as he walked, reached an iron post. He kneeled down atop the chained corpses and touched the post.

  Talaos turned to look back. The others gathered behind him. They pressed close in a shape somewhat between a wedge and an oval, with him as the point facing the emerald flames. Those who had shields raised them. Miriana had made her way to the center of the press. She stood straight with her arms at her side, palms out. Her eyes radiated a brilliant white light. Behind her, her father stood at the ready with swords drawn. The Stormguard formed a circle close around them both, shields locked in a black and silver wall.

  Talaos knew Miriana was going to do whatever was in her power to shield them, and so would he. He sheathed his sword and raised his right hand, palm out toward the maelstrom of green fire. He focused his mind, focused on life, on vitality, on the raw, dangerous, furious life giving vitality of the elements, on rain and wind, on all that was untamed and free. He called upon it to shield them and formed an image in his mind of how he would do so.

  He made it manifest.

  A maelstrom of his own roared outward, formed of black, shadowed cloud and searing, crackling white bolts of lightning. It whirled, spinning clockwise from the center point of his hand like a great arc-lit shield of darkness. Where it struck the ground, debris scattered and wind blasted outward in all directions, but the main force of it swept under and back to the left, to rise again and circle around. His shield grew, rising far above and spreading to the left and right as it spun, until it blocked visible sight of the platform. The whirling vortex of verdant flame towered above, and it grew blindingly bright.

  With his sight, he pierced his own shadows and saw those around the iron posts. The singers in the crowd had all sunk to the ground, lifeless and unmoving. The priests and priestesses looked more like gaunt, time-withered corpses than living men and women, yet they sang on in perfect unison.

  Behind and above him, the sense of clarity around Miriana was stronger than it had ever been. Yet that was not all. Power, a new kind of power blazed from her, and made a faintly visible light all around them. Union of the powers, he thought, and another of her prophecies come true.

  The vast shield of black whirled outward from his hand, winds faster than any gale. Clouds and shadow flashed with arcs of searing light. Beyond the blackness, his blackness, the priests and priestesses stopped singing.

  As one, in voices that were at once gentle, yet louder than the wind and storm, they called out a single word in the Prophet's speech. He knew it, and it made two words in Imperial.

  Purifying flame.

  An emerald holocaust roared outward from the platform, and with it came annihilation. Corpses fell to ash, wood aged and withered. Buildings shook. Searing green fire blasted against his shield of storm and shadow. There was no heat, only a blinding light and a terrible feeling of death. The fires at the center roiled in glowing green coils and splashes. Flames licked around the rim of the shield, but met resistance behind. They roared and flashed against a sphere centered on Miriana. Some pierced it, and there were roars of pain.

  The green flames raged onward in all directions. They mingled with the red natural flames in the burning buildings and fires spread despite the rain. In the city around them, buildings toppled and fell. Great clouds of dust blew outward with the expanding flames.

  Then, in but a moment, it was over.

  All around them was devastation.

  The walls and towers of the citadel, and other places built strongly of stone, still stood, though the stone now looked weathered by many years. Everything of wood, or supported by wood, had collapsed. Where the corpses of the victims had been, nothing remained but black burnt marks in the paving stones next to corroded iron chains. The House of the Prophet stood untouched. Its light, varnished wood and white stone were as clean and strong as the moment before the blast.

  Talaos calmed the storm in his hand. The wheeling shield of black gradually shrank, slowed, and dissipated away. The light around them faded. Talaos turned to look at the others. Miriana stood with a beaming, triumphant smile, and her radiant eyes shone with pride. The rest looked grim, as if merely happy to have survived.

  But they had. All of them.

  To the core of his being, Talaos knew they were now the only living things, whether men, spirits, or animals, in the city. Purifying flame indeed, he thought blackly.

  "We kept them alive!" said Miriana, voice soaring.

  "But only them," was Talaos's grim reply.

  She closed her eyes, calmed, and opened them again with her faraway look. He knew she was searching with inner sight. As she did so, the others rose, dusted themselves off, and readied. At last her eyes ret
urned to things around her, and her face grew sad.

  "You're right," she said. "There is not a person or a thing left that I can see inside the walls, not even plants or insects. No spirits. Nothing. Outside though, our horses are all right."

  As Miriana spoke, Talaos's rain poured, and the flames around the city began to die.

  "What now?" asked Larogwan, glumly.

  Talaos took on a grim expression, and darkness brooded in his heart. He answered, "Now we go back to the gate to find Adriko. When the army arrives, we're going destroy the House of the Prophet. Then we'll sack this place, taking anything of use with us to support the war. The rightful owners are all dead, and the thieves and murderers are traveling north."

  Firio brightened at the mention of plundering.

  Talaos turned to him, without any brightness of his own, "Yes, Firio, you may. I have special work for you. Find ways to get into any places that still might be locked or hidden at the citadel, the library, and elsewhere. There will be things of use and value they missed, or were forced to leave behind for lack of time or transport."

  Sorya listened and added, "Count me in."

  He nodded, "Talk to Firio, and work out a plan."

  She smiled her wicked smile. Talaos did not reciprocate.

  They returned to the gate and found the horses indeed well, if skittish. Adriko rode up with his two thousand men behind him. Talaos was reminded how little time had actually passed while they were in the city. Adriko had a quizzical, doubtful look on his face. He reined his horse and saluted Talaos.

  "Adriko," Talaos said coldly, "the followers of the Prophet have left a dead city."

  The latter looked at the smashed gates, the empty walls, and the half-ruined buildings of Etosca with curiosity, then replied, "Dead, as in everyone who wasn't one of theirs? I saw the dust cloud on the horizon, going north. I'd assumed they were the Prophet's people."

  "Yes," answered Talaos, voice icy black. "They sacrificed everyone. Men, women, children, and every other living thing here."

  Adriko put two fingers thoughtfully to his chin, and his other hand on his sword. He stood there for a moment as a deadly look grew in his eyes, and then replied, "Everyone… And then they ran? I wouldn't mind showing them what I think of that. In great detail.” He paused, regained his usual control, and added coolly, “We should also take stock of what they’ve left behind. It would be good to use it against the Prophet."

  "And we will," answered Talaos. "We're going to ride back and gather the light cavalry, all but a few companies for picket duty, while the main army sacks the city. Anything that can be traced to our Etoscan troops or their slain families will be given to them. Everything else will be kept by the army. Once the light cavalry are gathered, you and I are going to take them and pay the Prophet's people a visit on the road."

  Talaos paused, staring with cold eyes into the north, and then went on. "They have a substantial force of soldiers with them, two thousand or more, and certain special servitors of the Prophet. They include his own form of magi, the warriors with staffs called correctors, and at least one assassin like the man who killed Sanctari."

  Adriko made a smile like that of a cat pondering prey. "Ah, but these days we have nine thousand light cavalry, and we have you. I trust you are not in a forgiving mood."

  Talaos remained silent.

  His silence masked barely controlled inner fury. Black, turbulent thoughts battled one another. With nine thousand men on swift horses, and the storm at his command, the only meaningful limit on what he could do was the limit he placed on himself.

  And in his seething, hidden rage, he doubted what that might be.

  Most, though not all, of those escaping north were unarmed civilians. But then, whether by intent or fearful inaction, they had sanctioned what had happened here. Thousands of their own people, men, women, and children, betrayed and burned, screaming on the pyres or in the buildings of their own city.

  From the leaders to the least, they had taken some part in this.

  And they would be in his power.

  Adriko awaited his word.

  13. Conqueror

  Talaos rode beside Adriko with nine thousand horses thundering behind. They raced north on the open plain between Etosca and Idrona. The road ran alongside them to their east, and a wide farm and pasture country of small towns and villages spread to their west. Scattered clouds dotted the sky overhead.

  On the road, ahead and to their east, something close to twenty-five thousand people trudged wearily north. Most were on foot, though many were on horses or wagons. The great majority were civilians. Men, women, and children.

  The rear of the ragged Etoscan column was guarded by about a thousand infantry. Some wore the white of Etosca, and others varied gear. Three hundred spearmen and two hundred archers marched in ordered companies. The rest were equipped in motley variety and walked in densely packed, haphazard masses.

  Adriko surveyed them with arched disapproval. "They don't march in loose, easy order like irregulars should. I'd guess they were collected from other units based on their loyalty to the Prophet rather than cohesion. And recently. Brilliant."

  "And I'd guess," answered Talaos darkly, "based on what we saw, that a lot of the men in those units who weren't loyal to the Prophet ended up dead in the streets, or on the pyres."

  "Etosca used to have more than forty thousand people," remarked Adriko.

  "A few hundred of those are now with our army," replied Talaos, "nearly all from among the families now dead."

  "I kept that in mind when I selected my light cavalrymen to stay back on picket duty. We don't want hotheads getting out of hand here… present company excepted," replied Adriko.

  Talaos managed a dark, mirthless laugh in reply.

  As they spoke, they passed the rear of the Etoscan column, far out of archery range. The Etoscans continued on, though armed men gathered on the flank of the column facing Talaos's army. Up at the head of the column were assembled leaders, officers, priests, correctors, sorcerers, and the assassin, as well as most of the enemy cavalry.

  "Is it too much to hope for that lot up ahead to be interested in negotiation?" asked Adriko, in what someone who didn't know him might think a serious tone.

  "The negotiations with the leaders are going to be one sided, and short," replied Talaos with a black, icy semblance of humor. "After that, the rest may be more reasonable."

  "What if they start singing, and something starts happening?" asked Adriko.

  "Then they die."

  "I like it." Adriko smiled the smile of a cat, and motioned to men riding behind them with horns. The call went out and passed down the line.

  Nine thousand cavalry sped across the plain, past the Etoscans, then wheeled, fanned out, and half-encircled the head of the enemy column, though from a safe distance. The Etoscan leadership, military commanders, patricians, emissaries and priests of the Prophet had watched them ride and were conferring and giving orders.

  The great civilian column came to a slow, uneven halt. Messengers were racing back on horses. Starting at the head of the line, behind the leaders, the masses began to sing.

  Adriko smirked, and turned to Talaos again, "Your cue?"

  Talaos laughed a thunderous, fey, terrible laugh, and raised his right hand to the sky. A vortex appeared thousands of feet in the air over the enemy leaders. Black, swirling clouds grew and spread outward in a spiral. The enemy were prepared, and in moments, a faint green light appeared, flickering around and over the leaders.

  He knew that his reputation had much preceded him, and they would be expecting lightning, as had been the case with the troops at the barricade at Etosca. However, on the ride north, he'd been thinking of further uses for his fast-whirling storm shield. Uses anything but defensive.

  The darkened clouds overhead circled and spread. They piled into the sky, forming masses that spread miles in every direction, until they at last merged with those south over Etosca. Those overhead began to rotate a
nd took on a greenish-black color. At the center of the rotation, a patch of cloud dipped low like a cone pointed to earth. It spun faster and dropped lower.

  Adriko made a quiet whistling noise.

  The whirling cone of black dipped lower, spun faster and faster, and became a tapering column. The enemy leaders now began to wheel their horses in disorder, some scattering one way, others another.

  Talaos laughed with merciless joy, and the whirlwind, the roaring column of wind and black cloud, struck earth amid the densest group of enemy leaders. Flashes of green appeared in answer, but to little effect. Men and horses were hurled this way or that. The whirlwind flattened some on the spot, while it lifted others into the sky, ripped them apart and flung the remains far through the air. Then, faster than any horse, the whirlwind skipped to the next group.

  Amid the destruction, lightning now cracked down from the sky to strike at leaders who'd thus far avoided the whirlwind. Three of the enemy sorcerers managed to escape both. They drew their horses close together and raised wands of bronze and copper. He thought they were likely guardians, battle magi of the Prophet.

  "Adriko!" shouted Talaos, leaping from his horse even as they pointed their wands toward him. "Clear away, with your men!"

  The latter needed no encouragement and wheeled swiftly back with all nearby. In the same instant, Talaos sent his horse fleeing after Adriko. He called his whirlwind toward the sorcerers, but not quickly enough.

  From the three wands shot searing bolts of fire, spiraling and braiding their way across the sky. In an instant, they reached Talaos, and an explosion of searing heat and flame exploded around him. He stumbled. The grass for yards around him burned and died. His own power blazed around him as he fought to avoid being charred to ashes.

  His lightning faltered, but the whirlwind he'd set in motion reached the guardians. It swept them up and sent them hurtling to crash in broken ruin far across the plain. Talaos poured his own power through his body to heal his blackened, blistered flesh. He rose with wrath and sent his whirlwind to its next target. Then his lightning began again.