The Storm's Own Son (Book 1)

by Anthony Gillis

  Daxar waived to a barmaid, ordered a round of wine, then took a second look at Talaos, and the beauties at his side.

  "Sorya? It's been long time. Tal, you and Sorya? Well now. I have missed a lot of news."

  Sorya nodded and forced a smile.

  "And this is Katara," added Talaos.

  "Good afternoon to you," added Katara herself in a friendly but formal tone.

  "You're from Schald?" Daxar mused, turning her way. "No... Vorhame."

  "Yes, Vorhame," she replied, suddenly wary, as she turned back to Talaos.

  Talaos smiled benignly. "Dax, how went things across the mountains?"

  "All the warlords and city-states in Hunyos are sorting out who is on whose side."

  "That much I'd heard."

  "Yes, but the fighting is heating up. Good business for mercenaries, not for anyone else. Bandits are everywhere. Trade is falling apart, and unless you're like me... selling weapons, and willing to use them, it isn't worth the trip."

  "I wasn't planning on it. Since you're alive and in good spirits, I'd guess you have gold, and maybe some work. Palaeon is getting clingy."

  Daxar chuckled. "Not wanting to be a gear in someone else's machine? Yes, once I get settled in I might have some work, though it may be in new markets," he replied, then turned more serious. "Things are changing, Tal, and for the worse."

  "How so?" Talaos replied with mixed curiosity and skepticism.

  "Over there, it isn't just the war. There are also people preaching the faith of the Living Prophet."

  "The Prophet? When last I checked, he was off past the Eastern Sea."

  "Not anymore. In terms of influence, at least. For the first time I've heard of, there are more than a handful of his believers on this side of the water."

  "All right, that can't be good. From what little I've heard, life under the Prophet is the opposite of everything I want out of living."

  "And then some! You know, Tal, they say he is hundreds of years old."

  Talaos laughed. "And I say, we need some more wine."

  ~

  Talaos rode a brown horse at a trot down the track at the great stadium. A few others were doing the same. The rows of seats, tier upon tier, were mostly empty. On a racing day, he knew there might be sixty thousand people in those seats. Today, however, he could pay a few coppers to practice riding around the track on one of the retired racing or chariot horses.

  The horses were celebrities of a sort in Carai, almost as famous as the men who raced, but the officials who ran the stadium still made them earn their keep. Helping amateurs learn to ride, standing around eating their fill, and occasionally breeding to produce the next generation of their line was certainly not the worst fate for old horses. But Talaos imagined it could get repetitive and dull.

  He knew he at least wasn't cut out for the human equivalent of a peaceful, futureless life like that. Of course, he thought, his career of street violence meant he was unlikely to have a long peaceful life, or a long life in any form.

  Assuming that he did nothing to change things.

  While it wouldn't be what Sorya had in mind, he thought it might in fact be time for a change. Ideally including Sorya. For all that he wouldn't be yoked to her plans, he cared for her. Her life, growing up and making her way in the bad parts of the city, hadn't been much easier than his own. Reflecting on it, he could hardly blame her for wanting some peace. Though he was not the path toward it.

  In the few weeks he'd known her, he'd come to care for Katara too. In truth, he cared a great deal for each of them. With a smile, he tried to imagine a future with the both of them. However the law of the Republic was clear a man could have only one wife. In any case, even one seemed unlikely.

  Whatever he was, or made of his life, he wasn't made to be peaceful and yoked.

  With that, he wondered if the old horse felt peaceful and yoked. Did it miss racing, a full gallop with the wind in its face and the thunder of hooves on the track as it ran with its fellows? He decided to find out. He gave a squeeze with his knees, and the horse perked up its ears and sped up.

  He kept at it, avoiding use of the spurs and instead just encouraging the horse to go faster in stages. It did so, and seemed to regain a little fire in its spirit. It shook its head and tail. Talaos laughed, gave another squeeze and slapped a hand to the horse's shoulder. It snorted, neighed fiercely, and took off like a shot. He shouted to the sky and laughed as they went. People looked at him like he was a madman, and he gave them merry waves in reply.

  Twice they went thundering around the immense track, until he saw Daxar walking through one of the ground-level entrances, watching him and chuckling.

  He reined the horse, gave it a pat, and then a couple of carrots he'd brought with him. He looked down at Daxar, who was smiling up at him with a look that said sarcasm was coming.

  "Planning to make a great impression when you sign up for the cavalry?" asked Daxar.

  "Or when I patrol my vast estates," replied Talaos.

  "You could form Carai's first mounted street gang," suggested Daxar.

  "Only if your offices are the stables," answered Talaos. "So, what's on your mind?"

  "Rumors are flying that Cratus is going to make a move soon."

  "And people assume I'll be helping Palaeon," replied Talaos.

  "Of course. It was a good career move, switching to his side," continued Daxar. "Though I can't remember you ever explaining, back when you quit working for Cratus."

  "I didn't like some of the things he was up to," answered Talaos, a darker and more serious edge creeping into his voice.

  "You are a gangster, you know, Tal."

  "I have my limits."

  "Well, if you really want to sit this one out, I might have some work, but it will be out of town," said Daxar.

  "Now that sounds even more promising," answered Talaos, "Let's talk tomorrow."

  "See you at the usual? Lunch, then we can walk back to my offices if you're interested."

  Talaos nodded. Daxar smiled. They shook hands, and the arms dealer left.

  Talaos leapt off the horse and took it to one of the waiting grooms. As he did so, he smiled at the evening ahead, an evening with Sorya and Katara, and a few strings he had pulled.

  ~

  "What is the purpose of this event?" asked Katara, not quite comprehending.

  Down below them was the great plaza of the city, lit by the moon and a variety of colorful lamps. In the very center was a carven obelisk of ancient, weathered stone. Around it was a cleared circle, and around that, a vast crowd. They were watching from the balcony of a small, but very expensive apartment used by some supposedly respectable associate of Palaeon's for meetings, meetings with young women that the man wanted to keep secret from his wife.

  Regardless of the lack of honor, or courage, it showed, the place itself was very nice, thought Talaos. For a small surety, as promise he wouldn't wreck it, here he was overnight with his own two favorite young women. They were here with some food, and rather more wine, to watch an unusually spectacular celebration of a very ancient annual holiday.

  Sorya answered Katara's question. "Today is supposed to be the anniversary of a day, something like four thousand years ago, when nine ancient heroes of this city saved it from a really powerful enemy hero. That obelisk down there commemorates it."

  "Some say the enemy was a god," added Talaos.

  "A god?" said Sorya, turning her head to look at Talaos, "What's a god?"

  "There are very old legends that talk about them. Something like a hero, but greater, with far more magic. They shaped the world around them," answered Talaos.

  "So like I said, a really powerful hero," she replied with her small mouth in a smirk.

  "No, not the same," he added with a certain finality, as he stepped back into the room behind to grab a carafe of wine. He looked back at the women on the balcony.

  Sorya seemed to give up the fight, and looked over her shoulder at him with the softer expressi
on Talaos knew meant she felt out of her element debating him on such things. She'd painted her lips again, and put a lot of kohl around her big, flashing eyes. He liked the effect.

  She'd arrived in her typical street clothes, but had taken off the outer dress in the warm evening air. She was leaning against the rail of the balcony in her tight-fitting pants, boots, and undershirt, with her midriff bare and her hair up again in the loose bun with the trailing bangs framing her face. Her pert little bottom facing him like that gave him thoughts for later.

  She noticed where his eyes were, and flashed him her wicked smile.

  Katara was standing, half turned, with her slit city dress cinched tight at the waist. She had her bare left leg and sandaled foot propped on the lower rail of the balcony. The loose neckline of her dress was even lower than usual, and her breasts were all but spilling out. She flushed happily at his attention, but seemed to continue her earlier thoughts.

  "If gods were shapers of the world," Katara said, "I think we have stories like that too, though few believe they still walk the earth today. Do you know more?"

  "Not much more. Only that if they did, they haven't for thousands of years," he answered.

  Katara nodded thoughtfully, then looked out over the balcony as Talaos returned with the wine. He took up a spot between the women, with Sorya on his left and Katara on his right. He set his cup on the balcony rail.

  "What is that man doing?" Katara said, pointing to the center of the cleared circle.

  Talaos took a look. "That's Veratus, a magus. Probably the most famous and powerful in this part of the Republic."

  Down below, Veratus was preparing a circle of silver around the obelisk, in turn surrounded by little twinkling lanterns of different colors. He was an old man, clean shaven, with close-cropped white hair. He had a dark blue cloak worn clasped far over on one shoulder in a way not in common use for centuries, and carried a wand of white wood that gleamed with what looked like copper.

  "What is a magus?" asked Katara.

  "Someone who learns to work magic through study in books and scrolls," answered Talaos, turning to look at her. "They say it is dangerous, and takes many years to master."

  "Ah," she replied. "We have no one exactly like that in Vorhame, but there are Seithar who learn magic with runes and carvings, and who deal with the spirits. There are also a few people born with a little magic in their blood."

  Talaos thought about that. "I've seen and heard of people like that. I've never seen anything impressive, or that I was sure couldn't have been done with some sort of trick."

  "My father fought a warrior whose cuts would heal as you watched," replied Katara. "He was not a skilled warrior though, and did not heal when my father put an axe in his head."

  "He's starting," said Sorya, who'd kept her focus on the plaza below.

  Talaos and Katara turned.

  Veratus made complex motions with his left hand, while holding his staff in his right. He swept his staff rightward around the silver circle. Light seemed to flow from the lamps in the circle, each a different color, and up and around his staff.

  Katara made a low, questioning sound like a hum or grunt. Talaos sipped his wine.

  The magus down below raised his staff high, and the colors of light radiated upward from it. He moved both of his hands in intricate ways, almost like a painter composing his work, and the colors overhead formed shapes. Rough at first, they coalesced into the forms of nine heroes in ancient armor of a kind seen today only on the obelisk itself. They stood tall, far over the head of the magus, in brilliant colors.

  Then another shape emerged, tall, black, shadowed, and ominous.

  "Looks like you," said Sorya to Talaos.

  In reply, he gave her a firm swat on the bottom. She made a little gasp, and pressed closer to him.

  The black shape solidified into a spectral, kingly warrior with a tall black crown of ebon spikes and a vast billowing cloak. Under the crown, its eyes flamed red. It towered over the heroes. The enemy raised a shadowy spear, twisting and flickering like a snake. Talaos wondered whether the actual enemy four millennia ago, if there was one, had been so obviously sinister.

  "Yes, definitely you," said Sorya, "though you keep your spear somewhere else..."

  With that, she reached a hand back to his crotch and tried to play. He casually, but firmly, grabbed her wrist, and put her hand back on the railing.

  "Time soon enough after the show," he whispered in her ear, giving it a nip for emphasis.

  The nine heroes shone with radiant gold and brilliant colors as they advanced fearlessly against the shadowed enemy. Then a spectacular battle of weapons and magic began. Katara pressed closer to Talaos, leaned over the railing like Sorya, and watched the fight with a kind of intense professional interest.

  The fighting went on for some time, with daring deeds and close calls. At last, when the heroes were all wounded and seemed on the verge of defeat, they came together, attacking as one to deal the death blow to the enemy. The black shape collapsed and the fires in its eyes went out. The heroes raised their weapons to the sky in triumph, and the scene faded gently away.

  Then followed a sentence in letters of brilliant golden flame. They were words carved here and there on the older monuments in the city, and used occasionally on civic architecture. The letters were an archaic form of the Imperial alphabet, and the words they spelled were antique enough that few could read them. Talaos had memorized them once. They were themselves said to be a translation of words written in glyphs on the obelisk, in a language now lost even to scholars.

  "What do those say?" asked Katara.

  "It was here that the first battle was won," he replied.

  Katara wondered at the words in silent thought. For his part, Talaos had thought them poetic, but the legends he'd heard around their meaning were varied and contradictory.

  The vast crowd, in the plaza and on the buildings all around, erupted in cheers and applause. Though it was not the first time magic had been used to enhance the festival, Talaos thought it was by far the most spectacular he'd seen in his lifetime. He smiled in appreciation.

  Katara however, seemed unimpressed. "Why waste such great power on something with no real effect? So people can clap and cheer as if it was a juggling show? It makes no sense."

  Talaos laughed appreciatively, then answered, "I suspect we have a lot more wealth and power to waste here in Carai than you you've got up in Vorhame."

  The Northwoman seemed to be working out whether that came out as mockery, but she never got the chance to finish as Talaos grabbed her by her braids with his right hand and pulled her back from the balcony into the room. He kissed her lips, and then put his teeth to her neck.

  Sorya closed the slatted doors behind them and pulled off her top. Talaos turned to kiss her, left hand cupping her bottom, then shifting to hold her tight by her tiny waist. She started working on her pants. Meanwhile Katara kneeled down between his legs, parted her lips, and undid the strings of his own.

  3. Downsides

  Talaos made his way home to his latest little garret of an apartment. He planned to get cleaned up and then ready for his lunch with Daxar. It had the promise of a new path entirely, probably dangerous, but quite unlike the one he'd followed for nearly eight years. Eight years... The thought put him in a more philosophical frame of mind about his life and choices, and the consequences of those choices.

  There was Sorya, who wanted more than he was ready to give, and Katara who asked for nothing, yet whose eyes were already hinting at more. There were all the other women he'd known and loved, all the friends he'd made and lost, and all the trouble he'd found in a wild life on the streets. Still, it was the life he'd chosen, the life he'd made fighting his way up from a penniless urchin childhood. Whatever it was, it was his.

  But that didn't mean it couldn't be better. War, on however small a scale, was what he'd known, and war seemed to be looming everywhere. Palaeon, in his relentless way had kept up the pressure
to help him take on Cratus.

  However odd things seemed to be with Cratus now, and however bad the truth about the man, Talaos had worked with him for many years. He'd never taken the full oaths, but he'd been close, and he'd pulled off the near-impossible by breaking those ties without Cratus coming to kill him. At least until the fights with Borras in this war, and he considered those a separate matter. Much as his skin crawled at Cratus's deeds past and present, Talaos wasn't fighting for a cause, and didn't see the current war as his.

  Daxar's words from a few days past, about things changing for the worse, came to mind. They were certainly changing. More news was trickling in about the growing violence in the east, and he'd heard rumors that the Republic might be dragged into it. He wasn't much for politics, but that could only bode ill.

  He was a man of prime fighting age, and an experienced fighter, but no way he'd let them, whether Palaeon or the government of the Republic, talk, bribe, or conscript him into someone else's war.

  His life was his.

  Whatever Daxar's offer might turn out to be, it was already looking more promising.

  ~

  Lunch was good enough, but the main appeal had been the conversation. After many weeks away, Daxar had plenty of stories from his travels, and Talaos a few more about doings in Carai. Then they'd reminisced about earlier times, when Talaos was a newly hired sword in Cratus's organization, and Daxar, a few years older, was working a sideline as a fence for weapons taken by gangs from their dead rivals. Talaos had been good for business.

  As they left the little dive of a restaurant, both men were heavily armed; Talaos in his black gear, dueling swords, silver-fitted belt and baldrics full of knives and daggers. Daxar with his long ornate sword backed up by a long dagger and a pair of throwing knives.

  Talaos felt restless and impatient.

  "Dax, tell me more about the job you might have."

  The other grinned. "I thought we agreed to save the business talk until we got to my offices."