The Storm's Own Son (Book 3)

by Anthony Gillis

  The latter glared at Talaos, "Eh? I'm all right, you crazy bastard… I'm fine."

  "Kyrax," said Talaos wearily, "shut up."

  At a loss for words, Kyrax did so.

  Pain and healing. Again, and then again.

  With black humor, he mused that at least this didn't drain him with dark weariness, the way healing had before he found his source. However slow it was, he could keep this up as long as he could take the pain. He could take it a long time, he thought.

  Satisfied that they would live, he then made his way around the battlefield, giving orders and healing every gravely wounded soldier nearby who still lived, starting with Megaras. The Madmen, Sorya, and Katara followed him, as did an ever-changing group of officers and messengers. Kurvan sprang into action at his command, organizing troops nearby.

  Miriana walked his way with Auretius, Hadrastus, and the surviving Stormguard. She looked into his eyes, and tears formed in hers. The woman who'd been unfazed by fire, slaughter, and a drake coming her way to kill her, cried at the sight of his eyes.

  "Miriana?" Talaos said, quizzically.

  "Oh Talaos…" she sobbed, "They're within your soul now, aren't they?"

  "Yes."

  There were curious looks from others, at that. Talaos had thought, and now was sure, that no others had really understood what had followed the suicides of the Hands.

  None but Miriana.

  Miriana walked forward and wrapped her slender arms around his waist. She looked up at him, mastered her tears, and spoke, "I don't know how I can help, but I'll try, my love."

  He kissed her forehead and held her for a brief moment.

  Then he turned to Hadrastus. "Gather the Stormhammers and any else ready to follow immediately. Go in haste to help Tescani and Adriko deal with the sortie!”

  The giant saluted and left at once, gathering soldiers about him.

  Talaos continued on, corresponding as he went. Messengers began to return with news, and he quickly dispatched them again. It seemed the traitors in the camp were fanatics who'd been willing to taint their souls with oathbreaking for the sake of the Prophet. They hadn't been many, but they'd been ready to die in order to create as much chaos as possible throughout the camp in time with the other attacks.

  Sounds of destruction were coming from Idrona, and even from where Talaos stood, he could see many new lines of smoke rising from the city.

  Miriana spoke again, "The Prophet's fog is lifting over Idrona, and I can see a little. The drake is burning and destroying everything and everyone bearing signs of the Prophet. It has been struck with the Prophet's green fire and with many arrows, but keeps on. It seems almost mad with vengeance."

  "Does it understand? The tales always describe drakes as cunning beasts," replied Talaos.

  "I think drakes, and some other creatures of the world, have their own kinds of intelligence," replied Miriana. "Of a very different kind than ours, but no less for it. Drakes in particular are creatures of great gifts and perception."

  Talaos nodded, "I suspect it can sense the signs of the Prophet, as spirits can. I'd rather not let that creature die fighting alone." He turned to the others around him. "Follow me. I'm going to get the army in order, and then we're going to take that city."

  ~

  The scene ahead was one of violence on a colossal scale. The army that had come forth from Idrona was in chaos. The drake had wrought tremendous destruction. Long lines of scorched earth and incinerated men crossed the battlefield, yet the disorder it had induced had proven far more damaging to the enemy than the fire itself. The hammer of Adriko's light cavalry and the anvil of Tescani's heavy troops slowly smashed the disorganized enemy to pieces between them.

  Overhead, the low, dark clouds still brooded, but made no sign of rain.

  On the walls of Idrona, the drake's fires burned in many places where artillery had been. Catapults stood abandoned as the crews ran for their lives. The dragon wheeled, dived, struck, and rose to strike again. It swept over the plaza, the citadel, and the walls. Most of the remaining operational ballistae had been turned inward or upward, and were even now firing at the drake, as were great clouds of arrows. Some of the shots struck true.

  Fires spread in the city, and great columns of smoke now overwhelmed those of the pyres. Talaos reflected that if only he could summon a storm and call lightning on the defenders, victory might be at hand, much destruction might be avoided, and many, including the drake, might yet live. As it was, the creature was wounded in many places, yet in its fury, it attacked again and again. Talaos wondered how long it would keep on, but was sure that if it did, it would die.

  And there would be no storm.

  He had officers, messengers, and musicians around him, ready to convey orders and announce signals. He shouted commands. "Move the artillery forward into firing positions!" As he worked, he reflected on what had happened, and who had been lost. Aro, Gavro, and many others. Friends, allies, and brothers-in-arms. Now ready only for their funeral pyres.

  In the chaos unleashed by the surprise attacks, his army’s his army had taken terrible losses. Every soldier who died was a man who would never see his own again; a son, husband, father, kinsman, or friend lost to someone. More than two thousand men were lost today. Yet, those that remained burned for revenge, and with numbers bolstered by others pouring in from the countryside, nearly fifty thousand marched to exact it.

  "Archers and heavy foot! Advance!" Talaos roared.

  The orders went out. In great ordered masses, the men moved forward. The enemy force in the field, the force sent to break his disordered army, were now themselves retreating back to Idrona in disorder. A chaotic press of enemy soldiers gathered at the gates.

  Unfortunately for them, Talaos had already sent word to Adriko to risk the enemy's artillery to cut them off with cavalry. The enemy would then be trapped outside, and in his power.

  He turned to Kurvan at his side. "Now is the time. Hillmen and irregulars from all sides, close off any gaps around the sortie column. Then help Adriko close the jaws completely."

  Kurvan saluted, made a fearsome growl with vengeance in his eyes, and rode off to lead his troops. Talaos watched him go. These enemy soldiers, like those who'd attacked through the portal, were exiles and volunteers from all over Hunyos, self-selected for loyalty to the Prophet, and he was beyond mercy for them.

  The Prophet had thrown everything on hand in Idrona in support of what had clearly been a well-planned effort. That plan had almost succeeded. Almost, but not.

  The Prophet had taken his power, but he lived.

  And now, it was his turn to act.

  Still, his means of action had grown more limited. It would sooner or later be noticed that he could no longer call the storm. Without sheer personal power and the awe that went with it, he would need other means to convince those not persuaded by logic or loyalty. He would need firm temporal power. His time to consolidate that power was short, and dependent on overwhelming, total victory. He intended to now have that victory, and with it, make a lesson and warning for the Prophet.

  He watched matters unfold, received messages, and gave orders. Officers and companions sat on horses nearby, including the wives of his heart. They had been quiet for some time. Sorya looked as if she once more felt out of place, among commanders as vast formations moved into battle, but still she watched with interest. Miriana's eyes were distant, and Talaos knew she sought knowledge through her visions. Katara looked fiercely eager, yet constrained, like a chained she-wolf.

  Talaos turned to her, and spoke. "Katara, would you like to go with Kurvan's forces?"

  She turned his way, eyes intense and bright, "If my lord allows it," she answered.

  "Yes," he replied, "go to battle."

  She bowed to him, spurred her horse, and rode fast to catch up with the hillman warlord.

  Then he turned to Sorya with a wry smile.

  "Oh no, not me!" she replied, "Too large scale. I'll watch from here."


  He grinned his own wolfish grin.

  Miriana at last spoke, and her voice was clear and strong. "There is trouble in Idrona between those who follow the Prophet and those who do not. The others are blaming the Prophet's followers for the devastation by the fire drake."

  "They're right," replied Talaos.

  Several thoughts occurred to him. In Idrona, the Prophet's followers were supposed to have been a minority, but a dominant minority, of the total population before the war. With all the exiles and refugees, they were probably now an outright majority in the city. With everything he'd seen so far, he had no doubt those guests, along with the native followers of the Prophet, were now acting like masters. Such a situation could easily become explosive.

  He'd planned for a brutal assault on the city, but infighting in Idrona itself might quicken things, and save a lot of lives. Lives of those opposed to the Prophet, at least. But, in his current state, how to accomplish it?

  The tiny amount of power he could take from his murderous armor was enough to heal a fair number of people, though at great cost to his body. It was also enough, at the price of constant pain, to keep lightning in his eyes, for those who needed to see it.

  It was not, however, remotely sufficient to call wind or lightning, let alone a storm. Not even with clouds already in the sky. He'd tried uselessly to fight his way past the three shades, but perhaps there was some other, more clever way. Whatever that might be, he’d have to discover soon.

  For this was the time.

  Far ahead, toward the city, the artillery had reached their positions. He motioned a group of messengers to him, then gave further commands, "Give the word. The artillery are to use fire. Target the walls away from the gate."

  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.