The Storm's Own Son (Book 2)

by Anthony Gillis

  There was general agreement.

  Talaos smiled, "Now, however, we've got a city to defend. As you know, despite the events of the last twenty-four hours, we've gotten the walls, supplies, munitions, and outer defenses in good order. We need to man them properly. Let us get to it, and discuss as we work."

  All in the room, Avrosans and allied army, military and civilians, rose and began.

  ~

  Talaos stood on the watchtower atop the old tower of Avrosa in the fading light. With him were the Madmen, two Avrosan soldiers carrying the maces borne by Nerio and Sevri in the council hall, and a small group of messengers from both Avrosa and the allied army. A panoramic view of the sea, the city, and the plains was all around him. The defenses of the city were strong. Sanctari, while he lived, had done his work well.

  And here he was, in Sanctari's place, directing it all. In his mismatched armor and gear, he looked the part of a mercenary warlord. With the dark gray cloak given him by the Avrosans bearing a wreath, lightning bolts and knotwork border all in silver, he was instantly recognizable as dictator. But, he thought, he had a lot to learn about leadership on such a scale. Whether through the insights and advice of those more experienced, or the hard lessons of what was soon to come, he intended to learn.

  The walls had been only lightly damaged during the assault, and most of that had been repaired. Before the walls, the trenches dug during the siege had been left in place, but filled with sharpened stakes. Pits and traps had been dug here and there in between. Next to the walls, a shallow old trench full of weeds had been dug out, widened and deepened.

  Tescani, duplicating Adriko's defenses at the pass, had just today overseen the placement of thousands of sharpened stakes on the slope of the newly deepened trench. Behind the walls, Master Engineer Theron had built enormous platforms, and on them had been reassembled the heavy siege equipment built for the attack.

  The sea lanes had stayed open, and supplies continued pouring in from foreign lands, even faster with the now enthusiastic financial support of the Avrosans themselves. The very speed of the assault had meant the city still had plenty that had been stockpiled for the first siege.

  The Avrosan navy, not used during the siege, was small, only ten ships, but was supplemented by six commandeered merchant vessels, including two more Eastern ships that had unwisely docked under expectation the Prophet's followers were still in charge.

  On the walls, in the ships, and ready in the city streets, he had more than sixteen thousand men ready. The other experienced commanders had concurred with Sanctari that, provided they could stay supplied by sea, they could hold out indefinitely against thirty thousand, and could provide significant trouble of their own for the invader.

  Talaos agreed, but warily, for control of the sea would be decided by others.

  Meanwhile, throughout the city, Avrosans were escorting followers of the Prophet from their homes, and gathering them to a place just outside the south end of the walls, but inside the outer defenses and within artillery range. They brought with them as many of their goods as they could carry. Talaos had to be careful of supplies, but had plenty of tents and canvas to spare. He'd given them some, so they would at least have shelter in their journey away to wherever their chosen allegiance would lead them.

  As the sun dropped over the western hills, he thought of the Madmen, the seven who'd followed him through every battle and his spectacular, unlikely, rise to power. How unlikely it was as well that seven such men would have all emerged as volunteers for the same mission.

  They were, each of them in their own way, men of gifts. Firio, with his preternatural speed, and Vulkas with his tremendous strength might be the most obvious, but they all had something, a bit of magic, of their own. Each though, was very different.

  Old Larogwan, if not quite like a father, had certainly been the source of a lot of stubborn wisdom. Talaos had once thought of him and the other Madmen as fighting beasts. An image came to mind of Larogwan as a goat. Certainly not an ordinary one, but one as clever, dangerous and wild as ever any free beast of the hills had ever been.

  He smiled to himself. If Larogwan was a goat, Vulkas, with all his strength and solidity, was surely a bull. Kyrax, ferocious and temperamental? A boar. Epos, cold and armored, cryptic and in his way, wise, reminded Talaos of Katara's tales of ice drakes, of the old wingless dragons of the north. So perhaps Epos was a dragon. Halmir, with his poet or seer's soul, and unexpected insights amid bloody-handed deeds... a gryphon.

  What then, he thought, of the two he'd called ravens? Firio no doubt was a raven, to the core of his being. Imvan, though, was really a different kind of hunter. A hawk came to mind. The Madmen. Seven heroes of a latter day. Five warriors, two scouts. Five fighting beasts, two hunting birds. And himself? He'd known what beast he had affinity with since his fight with the Ferox. He was the man Talaos, storm and spirit, but if he was any beast, it was a wolf.

  Wolves were usually thought of in their aspect as predators, as threats to the gentle order of farm, field, and herd. But wolves were also ferocious in defense of their own, and here all around him were his own, his Madmen, his Wolves, his Hounds, the people of his city of Avrosa, and all the soldiers of the armies defending it. And Liriel. As he could, he'd sent those he loved, Sorya, Katara, and Miriana, to safety, yet here was another in the very heart of the war.

  But this was Liriel's war, for her own city, as it was her people's, as it was now his.

  He would stand with them all, and defend them all, with all the fury and cunning he could bring to bear.

  Storm and wolf, spirit and man, one mind, one life, in defense of his own.

  There was a change in the wind, blowing cool from the northwest.

  The sun disappeared over the western hills. In the last fading light, he thought he saw hints of clouds. As the reddish glow faded in the west, he saw another reddish glow appearing on the very edge of the horizon to the north, far along the road and the coastal plain. It looked to him like the light of torches. Many torches.

  The enemy was upon them at last.

  Behind him, Kyrax muttered a curse. There were whispers among the others. Talaos raised a hand and all fell silent. He turned to a group of the messengers, one from Avrosa and one from each contingent of the allied army.

  "Inform your commanders, the enemy is approaching, and I think will press on overnight to reach Avrosa. They are to prepare accordingly, but otherwise keep to our agreed plans. They will send me reported updates no less than hourly, and I will be relocating to the keep within the hour."

  The messengers saluted, and sped off.

  To another messenger, one of his Wolves, he gave a different message. "Let Adriko know that the enemy is approaching. Tell him to organize for the night mission as we discussed, and be ready to depart in three hours."

  The Wolf likewise saluted and left.

  Lastly, to a pair of messengers, both Hounds, but one Avrosan and the other originally from the mercenary irregulars, he said, "Inform the captains of the Hounds that the ninth hour of the ban is upon us. They are to begin the final sweep of the Prophets followers from the city, and upon the twelfth hour it will be by force.

  "Seventh company is to join the second and third watching the camp outside the gates. Any followers of the Prophet who attempt to leave the camp, for any reason, before I give word, are to be killed without hesitation. I command it."

  "We obey!" they saluted.

  He returned it, and they departed.

  Harsh commands, he knew, but they faced harsh choices. The Prophet's followers were proven enemies, and would have every reason to aid or warn the approaching enemy. He took another look at the growing camp on the plain to the south of the city, inside the belt of defenses. They were setting up tents and fires down there. People in small groups were leaving the city and joining them, as they had all day.

  However, the numbers were increasing faster now. A small but substantial fraction of the city was leaving. His plan
had been to send them on their way in a group at dawn. They would have a lot of mouths to feed. Another idea occurred to him, but for the time being it would remain his alone.

  On the horizon, the torches grew closer and more distinct. A long dense line along the road. A vanguard spread across the road in front of it, and loose irregulars on the plains on either side. They seemed to be moving swiftly enough, but would still be a long time coming.

  He turned to the Madmen, the mace bearers, and the handful of remaining messengers.

  "With me men, to the keep."

  13. The Enemy

  The night was black. Overhead, the stars glittered, oblivious to the troubles of man. To the northwest, stars were vanishing behind growing clouds. Talaos kept those clouds in mind, and very much wished they would continue to grow, and come his way.

  Around him were the four towers of the keep, newly repaired and with the missing ballista replaced. On the floor of the keep itself, the scene of so much bloodshed, were now placed two large catapults and six small bolt throwers. Large braziers had been set up here, as well as barrels of pitch and bags of cloth, and men were wrapping them around bolts. He intended to use fire to make the enemy pay dearly for any direct frontal assault on the gate. Any assault such as he had made.

  Down below, a trickle of the followers of the Prophet were still leaving. The numbers at the camp had grown to more than three thousand, or nearly a twentieth of the peacetime population of the city of Avrosa. A twentieth, yet that small minority had once ruled all.

  The twelfth hour of the ban was near.

  "This is a cheery scene," said a lighthearted voice.

  Adriko.

  Talaos turned to greet him. His old commander, and now retainer, was dressed in dark mottled clothes, and his face was smeared with soot.

  "Then you fit right in," replied Talaos. "Too bad you have to leave so soon."

  "Much as I'd like staring at the darkness from atop these walls, I'd rather go teach our new guests the dangers of carrying too many torches at night," answered Adriko with a grin.

  "What's your final count?"

  "Five hundred experienced riders. Not all of them experienced archers, but it will have to do. The enemy wouldn't be happy to know how many of the horses originally came from them."

  "Don't get too aggressive. You won't have any defensible ground if they surround you."

  Adriko stopped, blinked, and shook his head with a sarcastic smile, "Talaos! Was that advice for caution? From you?"

  "Responsibility must be weighing on me in my old age."

  "Or growing on you. Either way, I'm already several steps ahead of you, or hoof beats as the case may be. Trying to personally win the war by reckless heroics is not among my goals."

  Talaos nodded and turned to Imvan, standing silently by. He gripped the Hillman's forearm in the military handshake, and the latter nodded with a look of grim determination.

  Next Talaos turned to Firio, nearby among the Madmen.

  "Firio, you still want to do this?"

  The short, thin man grinned, threw back his dark mottled cloak, and revealed a chest and waist strapped with numerous daggers. He had a short bow and a quiver tucked at his side.

  "Someone's got to watch Adriko's back," Firio laughed.

  "All right then," smiled Talaos, "good luck to you all."

  Adriko, Imvan and Firio saluted him, and he returned it. They departed without further words. Talaos returned to the rampart. He watched the gates, and the still trickling crowd of exiles. The time was almost here.

  After a little while, the exiles stopped, and Adriko appeared, riding through the gate with Firio on the back of his horse, and five hundred dark-cloaked cavalry on dark-colored horses behind. They rode in silence into the arms of the waiting night.

  When the last were gone, Talaos turned back to his men at the keep and the messengers standing ready. "Now is the time. Close the gates. Henceforth, any followers of the Prophet within the walls are enemies of Avrosa."

  The messengers bowed and sped away.

  North on the plain, the sea of torches drew closer, like a rising tide of fire.

  For some hours, Talaos attended to ordering the defenses. Men worked or patrolled in rotating shifts, sleeping at their posts or at improvised barracks in the towers. At last, however, he thought the time might be approaching. The Madmen, sensing the same thing, drew near.

  They watched the torches in the distant darkness. Numbers were hard to tell at night, but the scene was visible in better detail than before. The enemy vanguard was spread across half a mile of plain on either side of the road, and about quarter mile ahead of the main body. Behind it was the main column, miles long, in ordered companies. On either side were loose companies of what could only be cavalry. Beyond even the cavalry, scattered squads of irregulars moved here and there, far out on the plain.

  The enemy was moving on flat ground, which meant Talaos and the defenders, from their height, had a clearer visual idea of the enemy formation than did the enemy themselves.

  "I must admit," said Larogwan, "it is strange watching things in motion like that, but from a safe distance as a spectator."

  "Safe?" snorted Kyrax.

  "Well for now." added Larogwan with patient humor.

  Halmir, standing with them, watched for a long moment, then hefted an axe and pointed it at the approaching army. He spoke calmly, even reflectively. "The enemy comes in the shape of a great fire serpent. See? There is the head, and the long body behind. And on either side, those cavalry and irregulars are the wings."

  Kyrax snorted again.

  However, behind Talaos, his Avrosan mace bearers both made intakes of their breath at Halmir's words, as did other Avrosan soldiers and messengers nearby.

  Vulkas grinned at the Avrosans and hefted his war mattock high. "This time, the Storm Lord brought help."

  Talaos began to think it was time to say something, as enough was enough.

  However, Larogwan rubbed his chin, turned to Halmir, and asked curiously, "All right then lad, if this is one fire serpent, where's the other?"

  "It was in the heart of the city, with its fangs bared," answered Halmir without hesitation. "But now it sits coiled outside."

  There indeed, to the south, was the circular camp of the Prophet's followers, and many fires burned within. He could hear whispers passing among the Avrosans. It would be a matter of time, and likely not much, before it was passing around the city. He considered what to say, then realized he was beginning to doubt his own doubts.

  He turned to the Northman. "Halmir, if I had not already met a prophetess, and seen what that gift really looks like, I might think you were a prophet."

  "No," answered Halmir, "I think I just see patterns and meaning where others do not. My thinking of such meaning made me kill my own lord, so it may not be good."

  "What we think is good, or even believe to be true, and what is true, are not always the same thing," answered Talaos. "I am reminded of your tale from Jotun, where they said there was one line of men who were kin of the storm."

  Halmir nodded, and added, "And the Storm Lord had silver-gold hair, like many in Jotun. I think that was your forefather on the tower, all those years ago."

  Talaos had mused the same. Reminded of it now, he recognized that to his core, he felt it was true. It was strange. He'd never even known his mother or father, and yet he felt kinship with this figure of the ancient past. He wondered if the Storm Lord was the originator of his gifts, or simply another in a longer line stretching into the unknown past. He looked out across the darkened plain at the advancing dragon of fire, the dragon made of thirty thousand men.

  The dragon that was coming to bring fire and death to his city, his army, his own.

  With a sudden intensity of feeling, he drew his long blade and held it before him in both hands, perfectly vertical as Katara had done. Then he spoke in a grim voice, "Here I will stand, as my forefathers watch, and I will not shame them."

  The oth
ers observed him with appreciation, if not understanding, except for Halmir. The Northman stared at him in surprise, then spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. "Where did you learn those words?..."

  "I once knew the daughter of a king of Vorhame. She stood at my side through death and battle, but I sent her away to safety when I came east in search of war," replied Talaos.

  "You sent a princess of Vorhame away from war?" answered Halmir. "You have not said, but I think she was your love. I do not think she will stay away."

  Without preface, Epos spoke in his deep, flat voice, "Adriko has reached them. He's attacking from the interior to avoid being trapped against the coast, though it will make it more difficult to return to the city ahead of the enemy."

  They turned to see, and indeed, the torches on the outermost forward edge of the dragon's western wing were, one by one, suddenly disappearing.

  "Adriko, that's the spirit!" said Larogwan in tones very reminiscent of Adriko himself.

  Confusion spread among the enemy out on the plain. The western wing folded back in confusion, and torches disappeared as they retreated. Then, looking very much like a gout of flame, a line of torches detached from the vanguard and moved toward where Adriko must be. Far behind and inland, the out-swept tip of the western wing began to curl forward.

  "Trying to surround him, all right," said Vulkas.

  Along the advancing wave of retreat and confusion, the torches stopped vanishing. The tip of the wing continued forward, while the gout of flame moved to form the other side of pincers that would close a circle with Adriko at the center. If, that was, he stayed put.

  Time passed. Then, torches began to vanish far out at the end of the wingtip.

  "Darkness is a friend to the trickster," mused Halmir.

  "How many do you count, Larogwan?" asked Vulkas. "Torches, gone, I mean."

  "Sorry, I wasn't counting," replied the old warrior.

  "One hundred and twenty-four," said Epos, flatly.

  "Men with torches will only be a fraction of the whole of Adriko's score," added Larogwan. "So I think he's had a good hunt thus far."