The Storm's Own Son (Book 3)

by Anthony Gillis

  Immediately around, enemy warriors stuck him again and again. Some few found their way past his armor to draw blood. His body, full of life and power, healed swiftly, yet less so than before. He watched it all, detached. There was something else. Something in the sky.

  A sound. The beating of great wings.

  All around, fighters from among both friends and foes shouted. Some pointed at the sky, or cowered from it.

  He had to wake up. He had to act.

  He set his spirit to guard the source inside, like a wall, a ring, or sphere of defense. The three shades of the Hands circled, putting him under siege from within. This he did, and then trusted his inner world to hold for now, as he must deal with the outer.

  Without warning to those around him, Talaos whirled into motion. His blades crackled with traceries of lightning. They arced with their own power, now forever separate from his. He swept his long blade through the throat of a warrior of Hunyos, and the man's head fell from his body. He blocked the sweep of an axe by another with his short blade, and brought the long around to run the man through at the ribs. He spun and scythed two Easterners to the ground.

  The others then scattered from him in all directions, but not because of him.

  There was a sudden shadow.

  He looked up.

  A mighty serpent, long and thin, shining red with vast black wings, descended on him with deadly speed. Its sinuous, scaled body was as long as a ship and its wings greater than any sails. It had four short legs that ended in rending claws the size of curved swords, and a long, narrow head with many spines, gaping jaws half the size of his body, and teeth like spear points. It looked down at him, and unleashed a long blast of red and gold fire.

  He leapt aside, a mighty leap of many yards.

  Where he had stood, the flames blasted outward in all directions. Some of the enemy soldiers closest at hand were covered in flames and died screaming. One of the green-shrouded warriors stood within range of the blast, but weathered the flames and fought on.

  Fire or not, the enemy continued to pour through the gate.

  Talaos readied himself, weapons up and watching the fire drake as it hurtled from the sky. Heedless of friend or foe, the drake crashed to earth and onto Talaos in a fury of rending claws. He spun to avoid being crushed, then parried with his blades. The lightning-wreathed steel scraped along the black claws with a sound like metal on metal. Sparks flew.

  Molten venom spat from the dragon's mouth as it snapped at him. He whirled and dodged. One of its mighty black claws raked his armor with a trail of sparks, yet left not a scratch. He looked into its eyes, and saw brilliant red flames… yet they were veiled by a cold green mist that swirled and fought with the flames inside.

  As the drake thrashed and twisted, snapping at him, it heedlessly crushed enemy soldiers left and right, yet still they came on. Behind them, thousands of true believers waited for their chance. Something had to be done about that gate, but there was nothing he could do.

  He whirled and dodged, avoided strikes by the drake, and in reply struck the mighty scales of its armored body. His blades left scratches and score marks. It was strange to see the power of those blades, yet not feel it pouring forth from him into them. The drake snapped at him again and again. He moved swiftly with his vital and powerful body. Swiftly, but not as before. He felt, knew, he could no longer quicken himself to the pace of lightning.

  Behind him, something else was happening.

  Battle raged around Miriana. She stood under siege, with the Stormguard her walls, and her father a terrible, death-dealing champion at the gate. She herself had a brilliant, white light in her hands and eyes. She turned them both toward the portal. Her light grew suddenly brighter, as if she were a beacon for the world.

  The drake instantly twisted in her direction, almost like a puppet pulled by a string. Fires rose in its depths and smoke came from its mouth. Talaos hurtled himself at it, leaping through the air and smashing against its scaled jaw. The creature's massive head shifted slightly to the right before it could let loose its line of fire. Instead of Miriana, flames blasted into massed ranks of the Prophet's own soldiers. They screamed and burned and died.

  Talaos continued, using his own momentum to vault atop the drake's head. He landed just behind the great horn-like spines where its skull met its neck. Swift as thought, he sheathed his long blade and gripped one of the horns to avoid being hurled loose as the monster shook its head to dislodge him. The drake flipped and snapped, coiling to bring its claws to rend him. Its great wings crashed around the square, crushing friends and foes.

  He tried to find a good angle to drive his short blade into the base of the creature's skull, but with its titanic, violent motion, he failed, and failed again. It flipped on its side to crush him, and he vaulted around over the horns, then back again as it righted itself.

  As he and the drake struggled, he had many strange, brief vantage points. There were dead of both sides everywhere. The enemy line pressed and expanded outward, but he now had troops pouring in from all around. Many of the warriors wreathed in green flame lay dead, but those remaining spread devastation among his regular troops.

  He saw the Madmen and Katara in pitched battle with a band of the green-shrouded warriors. He watched Kurvan rally soldiers to try to hold the line against the hordes pouring through the gate. There was Sorya, moving and weaving like a shadow in combat with an enemy assassin. He saw poor general Gavro's body, broken and crushed by the drake's claws.

  Further off, Hadrastus now stood beside Auretius. They fought hard as the citadel of what was now an island fortress surrounded by a sea of enemies. With them were the Stormguard with their black shields, defending to the last. Miriana stood at the center, her eyes luminous, and from her hands a great wave of light hurtled at the gate.

  There was the gate, and it began to flicker. It suddenly rippled, and the men partway through were cut in half in sprays of blood. Then the gate vanished.

  The fire drake roared and again made for Miriana. This time, it moved slowly, deliberately, and crushed all in its way. It blasted flame before it, burning Wolves, Talaos's soldiers, and the enemy indiscriminately. There was little time.

  He sheathed his long blade and pressed his hand to the back of the drake's neck. He sought within himself for lightning, sought a way past the three shades that besieged his spirit. He called the storm, but it did not answer. He summoned lightning, and it did not come. The dragon paused, as if sensing what he was trying to do. It coiled for another effort to dislodge him.

  But Talaos then had a new idea.

  Calling and wielding lightning required tremendous power, and he no longer had it. He was cut off from the source. But he still had a little outside it. He recalled the lost ones from the House of the Prophet, the people he had freed from their inner prisons by giving them little lamps to see by in the darkness of their minds. Lamps they could choose to follow or not.

  This drake was enslaved by the Prophet. Enslaved as the Ferox had been. He raged at the idea that such a creature was mastered against its will. It was by nature free, fey, dangerous; like the Ferox, like him. It might still try to kill them all if free, but at least it would no longer do so under the Prophet's direction.

  He climbed forward atop its scaled head, just in time to avoid a sweep of great claws, and put his right hand to the drake's angular brow. He felt the power, almost the last spark of his inner power, leave him. The green mist immediately vanished from the drake's eyes. The creature stopped in its tracks, frozen in place. Then it recoiled on its hind legs, sinuous body rising high in the air. It spread its wings and flapped them with a gale of wind.

  Then it launched into the sky. Talaos slid backwards along its skull, barely catching himself on the horns. He instinctively gripped its neck with his legs, as on a difficult horse, but soon realized he would have been better off letting go. For in moments he was hundreds of feet in the air. He looked around him and saw the extraordinary sight of the batt
lefield, all of it, visible as if he stood on a mountain top.

  Almost directly below was the half-circle of death and combat, where the enemy assassins and warriors had poured through the gate against his surprised defenders. His men now held a line, growing hundreds of them against shrinking hundreds of the surviving enemy. Only ten or so remained of the warriors wreathed in green fire.

  Destruction and confusion reigned elsewhere in the camp. He could see circles of devastation where flaming catapult stones and ballista bolts had struck. Small knots of what must be the traitors fought against much larger groups of loyal men. Many thousands of other men in his army were moving about in leaderless confusion.

  At the perimeter of the camp, what looked to be a hastily organized defense under Tescani and Adriko fell back in the face of a huge sortie column from Idrona. The enemy had sent at least twelve thousand men out to the attack, no doubt hoping to rout his army in the confusion. They wore the gear of many cities and towns, but they fought with purpose, and without fear.

  It had almost succeeded. No, he corrected himself, it might yet.

  Then his brief musings were interrupted as the drake remembered his presence. It circled, then swept back down to earth, and Talaos wondered what was about to come. When they reached ground, the creature shook its head yet again, this time so violently that Talaos was at last hurled loose. He flew through the air, found his balance, spun, and made a rolling landing in the field of burnt carnage where the gate had been.

  He flipped to his feet and stood facing the drake. It advanced, turned and darted its jaws onto a soldier of the Prophet, bit the man in half, then continued forward toward Talaos. It glared at him ferociously, red flames burning bright, strong and free in its huge eyes. Talaos stood, facing it. He drew his blades. Come what may, he thought, he was proud of what he'd done. If the beast wanted to try to kill him now, it would of its own choosing.

  It stared at him, snout three feet away, with depths of crimson flame in its catlike eyes.

  Acrid smoke poured from its nose and mouth.

  The light grew searing bright in its mouth, golden-red fire welled out from within.

  It raised its head to the sky and let loose a gout of fire, then turned and lowered it directly into the center of a great press of the Prophet's soldiers. They burned and died. It lurched forward and caught one of the green-shrouded warriors in its black claws. The verdant flames burned its massive hand, blackening the red scales. In rage it flung the man a hundred feet through the air.

  Then it spread its vast wings again.

  Wind knocked fighters off their feet, all around, and the dragon took to the sky.

  It made for Idrona. As it reached the enemy sortie force, still pouring out the open gates of the city, it let loose a long blast of fire among them, then it circled and made another. It turned for a third as the screams of the dying rose to the sky. Shouts and trumpets rang from Talaos’s forces near the front. Then the drake flew over the walls and swept down, roaring with fire, onto the great plaza.

  As the dragon fought, Talaos leapt to the attack with power crackling from his blades. The nearest enemy were a squad of Easterners, hastily forming up with short spears to face him. He flipped into the air, whirled and sheared the points from two spears, then landed past them. As he landed, he aimed a kick that sent one soldier flying. He spun and scythed two men down at the shoulders. He dodged swords and spears, blocked with his short blade, and ran another foe through.

  Some of the enemy struck him as he fought, and their weapons glanced harmlessly off his enchanted armor. However, he noticed something new. Cut off from his power, and with his might running low, he could feel the faintest of jolts each time the armor was struck. It was not exactly pain; more a sudden rush of feeling, like surprise or the heightened focus of battle, but in his heart.

  Then, a squad of his own men reached him, and the remaining foes died.

  "To me, men!" Talaos shouted, and led them behind the enemy line at a place where swarms of foes fought Katara and the Madmen.

  Vulkas smashed enemies left and right. Halmir and Epos each locked in mighty duels with green-shrouded warriors. The green flames had grown low, and the emerald light in their eyes was no longer so bright. He could not see Kyrax, but he could hear his cursing, and there was an unpleasant, wet gurgling sound in the Madman's voice.

  Katara swung wildly about, cutting foes down with icy fury in her gray eyes. Imvan fought beside her, dealing death with a long sword. Firio appeared on Talaos's side of the enemy line, darting so fast he blurred with the motion. He put a dagger through a foe's back with a blast of lightning, then darted away as the next man glanced to see what had happened.

  He could see no sign of Larogwan.

  Talaos hurtled himself into battle at the enemy. His troops nearby, mostly Stormhammers and soldiers of Teroia, gathered around him. Sorya appeared. She shot him a dark smile, and then struck like a viper at an unsuspecting foe. The battle nearby turned into a slaughter. They pressed and slew the beleaguered enemy.

  All nearby foes lay dead. Talaos looked about him, and saw that hard fighting still raged on the other side, near Miriana. He crossed the square toward the battle and his soldiers swarmed with him toward the enemy. As he went, he saw Megaras lying atop a pile of enemy dead. His body was pierced with many wounds, but might still be alive. He went to the young general as his men swept past to fall upon the enemy. The Avrosan’s eyes were half shut, but they opened when he saw Talaos. He made a weak smile.

  "Storm Lord…" Megaras said, with soaring hope on his torn, blood-soaked face.

  Grim, icy thoughts passed through Talaos's mind. Megaras trusted implicitly that he would heal him. And what power had he now?

  He tried, and took Megaras' arm. Inside, he fought again with the patiently circling shades. They countered in unison, and held. He tried again with fury, and they hurled him back. He tried once more, failed, and accepted the truth. He returned his eyes to the outer world, called on what little strength he had, and gave a spark to Megaras. It was nothing like it should be, but some faint shadow of strength returned to the loyal general's face, and he smiled. Even so, it was far from clear he would live, as it was for many of his own around. Many others were already dead. And now, he was truly spent, and could heal no more.

  In fury, Talaos raced to the front, leapt over his own soldiers and at the remaining living enemy. He cut them down relentlessly, savagely, whirling and scything as he went. These men had no doubt been chosen for their fanaticism, and they asked for no quarter. It was good, he thought, for he would give them none.

  At last it was done. All the enemy in or near the square were dead.

  As were a great many of his own.

  And the battle was far from over.

  15. The Price

  From across the carnage-strewn square, Talaos saw Kyrax sitting propped against a barrel, covered in blood. Larogwan lay on the ground next to him.

  Miriana was nearer, unharmed, and seemingly unfazed by the carnage around her. As he passed, she shouted to him, "I don't think their magus can make another portal so soon!"

  "Officers, messengers, to the command square!" shouted Talaos. His voice was deep and loud, but no longer reverberated with thunder.

  Men ran to him. He shouted orders, or dispatched them to get news of what was going on elsewhere in the battle. As he did so, he made his way toward his fallen friends. Kyrax lay on the ground with terrible wounds at his legs and ribs, while Larogwan had taken a crushing wound to the head. His skull was broken inward on one side.

  Both men should likely have died, but the vitality Talaos had imparted to them kept them struggling on. He walked to them, and knelt at their sides. Sorya, Katara, and the rest of the Madmen gathered around. Though he knew better, he took Larogwan's arm and tried to heal him.

  Nothing.

  Spent, and with no way to draw more power.

  Kyrax blearily looked over at him, paused, then spoke. "Talaos… lightning's gon
e from your eyes. Can't be fucking good…"

  No, it was not, he thought. There was something more. He felt tired. Not the black weariness of drained power, but simple physical exhaustion from fighting a battle. Inwardly he cursed. He restrained himself from fighting the shades within. He'd find some way around them, he thought, but for now it was useless. He needed strength, a source of magic, of power. He searched.

  Ah, but there it was before him, like tempting poison.

  His armor.

  The armor meant to kill its wearer. The curse he could now faintly feel. He now knew enough about magic to understand his armor drew on the raw elements, on nature around it, to deliver its deadly jolt. In an arcane way, its source was mechanical and derived from the outer world rather than from within, but it was otherwise much like his own.

  If drained of power, he still retained his skills, gifts and knowledge. He felt carefully, with the shreds of inner sight he could still use, for the nexuses of power in the armor itself. He felt them, traced their lines, and found places he could intentionally touch from within.

  He tried.

  Agony coursed through him, radiating out from his heart.

  All around him startled in surprise and shock.

  But he had it. He could use it, even if only a little, a very little, at a time.

  He drew on it again, and the pain hit him. He kept the pain, but gave the power, the life to Larogwan. The terrible head wound began to heal.

  Talaos drew yet again. This time, ready for it, he gave no outward sign of his agony. Pain from his heart. Pain for him. Life for his friend.

  Gradually Larogwan healed. Flesh knit and crushed bone returned to place. He opened his eyes, looked up at Talaos, and made a faint, weary smile. "Ah… I guess it's my turn as the one who ought to be dead. Eh? Your eyes…"

  "Don't worry about that, just sit still."

  Larogwan made another faint smile, and Talaos went through the process of healing once more. When he thought it good, he turned to Kyrax.