The Storm's Own Son (Book 1)

by Anthony Gillis

  They came to the foyer, still with no one else around. The foyer at least had not changed. It was a deceptively nice place, with tapestries on the walls, lit lamps on tables, and a few chairs. In the hallway on the right were four cells where Cratus used to keep favored prisoners, though the absence of whimpers or pleas for help meant they might not be in use at present.

  To the left were vaults for valuables, treasures that they wouldn't have time, at present, to investigate. Their business was ahead, beyond a pair of richly carved, brass-fitted doors with a lock more decorative looking than strong. Past them was a guard room, and then Cratus's playroom, where in the old days he had entertained himself exploring how slowly he could make certain enemies die. Not to question them. Just for fun. Cratus was an artist in a way, and he'd been proud to show off his work. Talaos had watched, and many illusions had vanished.

  Now, however, Cratus was going to have visitors of another sort.

  Talaos made an estimate of what they might face. He was sure Cratus would be down here, but there couldn't be too many men on the other side of that door or there'd be more noise. Even so, the mysterious twins, the giant bodyguards Palaeon had mentioned, would likely be down here with their master. He'd expect Cratus to have at least a few others.

  Sorya took a look at the lock. She stood up and whispered in Talaos's ear, "It's an odd design of lock. Not sure I can pick it quietly. Not trapped, I think."

  He nodded to her and Katara, who took up positions flanking the door. Then he motioned three of the strongest others to stand beside him. Together, they kicked the door. The lock was no stronger than it seemed, and the doors went flying open.

  The scene beyond was not quite what he'd expected.

  The guard room, with benches and storage for weapons, was there. There were six guards, all odd. The first was a fellow Talaos recognized, a brutal killer and slovenly drunkard who'd followed Cratus for years, but now he looked clean, clear-eyed, and very unusually for the Republic, wore a full beard. He was armed with twin swords and ready to fight.

  Two, off to the right, were powerfully built men with thick black beards and bronze complexions. Talaos thought they looked like they were from the Eastlands. They carried squared shields and leaf-bladed swords. Next to them was a short, weathered-looking man with a thin curved sword, lank red-brown hair, and angular-boned features Talaos couldn't place at all.

  The last two, flanking the next doorway, could only be The Twins. They were in fact identical twin brothers, thought Talaos. They were also giants, more than seven feet tall, strong in a lean way rather than massive, and heavily protected with bronze breastplates, greaves, vambraces, shoulder and thigh armor, kilts with steel discs, and open faced helms. They carried long steel axes. The faces under the helms were distinctive; clean featured, clean shaven, pale-skinned with icy gray-blue eyes and long silver-gold hair hanging in braids.

  "Jotunheimer..." whispered Katara.

  Beyond the twins, the next door was open. There was Cratus's torture table, but rather than holding a victim, it was scattered with scrolls, maps, papers, and books. Just around the corner beyond the door was a glimpse of a scarred, fat, mallet-like hand.

  Cratus.

  The guards to the right were advancing with weapons drawn. The twins took a single step forward with axes raised. Talaos thought these six bodyguards looked formidable, but he and his made twenty-three, and there'd be no archers on rooftops. They swept into the room. Talaos vowed he'd get to Cratus before there were any more tricks.

  Then a strange thing happened. The two giants stared at him, gazing right into his eyes, and a look of uncertainty passed between them. They paused, and for the briefest of moments, half-lowered their axes. At that same moment, there was a mechanical noise in the other room, and a heavy steel door started dropping down the doorway.

  Talaos flipped and rolled low past the giants. They seemed to snap back into action and started swinging their axes. With a second sideways flip Talaos flew forward, inches under the fast-dropping door and into Cratus's sanctuary. Even as he passed through, he could hear the sound of fighting behind.

  He vaulted to his feet with blades drawn. Cratus stood a few feet back to the left of the door. Talaos sized him up. It had been a while. Massive as ever, Cratus was obese over a towering, powerful, bear-like frame with vastly broad shoulders, thick arms, and huge hands. His square head was still shaven, though he now had the beginnings of a gray beard, and his charcoal-gray eyes had more lines around them. Two other things were very odd, for Cratus.

  The first was that he was plainly dressed in simple gray wool. Talaos had never seen the man anything less than sumptuously attired in brocades and silks, with plentiful gold jewelry. The second was that while he had his trademark long, gold-inlayed, single-bladed executioner's axe in his right hand, his left hand held an ornately decorated book.

  "I'm glad you're here, Tal," Cratus said quietly in his rich, rolling, bass voice.

  The room was crowded, both with dust-covered torture implements and with more recent oddities. A tall, massive, ancient-looking stone column sculpted with glyphs and leering fanged faces loomed nearly to the ceiling. Vases teetered on a narrow stand. Shelves stood piled with artifacts, stacks of books and much more.

  "They were right when they said you'd gone crazy, or crazier." snapped Talaos in cold reply as he advanced on his old boss and mentor, swords dawn. The bulky items everywhere made his usual fighting style difficult, so he took measured but relentless steps.

  "Still angry? That's too bad. You were like a son to me, lad," said Cratus, with the seemingly sincere concern that Talaos had long since come to hate. As Cratus said it, he backed up and carefully, gently, put the book down on top of a pile of others on the torture table.

  "Like a son, but not. I'm glad I was an orphan," Talaos answered.

  "The sons of my blood were all worthless, or turned on me," said Cratus as he gripped his ornate axe, still stepping back. He had a calm look to his face. 'I can understand why even you doubted. But you shouldn't have. You don't understand how much things have changed."

  Talaos ignored him and continued to advance. Cratus spoke again.

  "Tal, what have we been doing all our lives, as gangsters? Violence, cruelty, and death, all for no purpose..."

  "You'd know about those well enough..." replied Talaos in a low, cold voice.

  Cratus ignored that, and continued, "I was always capable of more. Unlike all the rest. So were you, lad. Capable of great things! Like of old. There was once a great empire, with lofty ideals, that ruled this land and all about it. And long before that, a time of heroes, sages and wise prophets. But what are we now? Squalid and corrupt, all across the earth!"

  Talaos decided to make his move. He vaulted over a closed chest with swords flashing. Cratus moved fast. Talaos had forgotten how fast the man could move when he wanted to, despite his bulk. The gang boss blocked both swords with a sudden twist of the long blade of his axe. Then something new happened. Frost appeared on the blade of the axe, and ran up the blades of Talaos's swords. Talaos stared at them for a brief moment in surprise. Cratus then stepped back and pulled out an ornate round shield from some hidden spot under the table.

  Talaos recovered from his momentary shock and spun at Cratus again. The latter caught the long blade with his axe, blocked the short with the shield, and then used the shield to hurl Talaos halfway across the room, crashing hard into shelves full of old stone carvings.

  He felt suddenly cold, almost numb. He struggled to move. Cratus started speaking again.

  "Tal, my lad, you could have been part of something greater even than the things I've described!" Cratus shouted at him in almost lofty tones, "And, far better! I have found things worth living for. I've given up my evil ways. I've given up my sinful pleasures, as you can see. I've thought of my soul. All of our souls.

  "I have a vision, Tal, a vision of what humanity can do, what we can all build together! What we can do in unity, all working as on
e! Palaeon may be unable to see, but you might yet... This city of Carai is the most ancient in all the world, and has been the site of many great things! Here, long ago, the proud, towering wicked were overthrown, and here, once purified of the petty, small wicked of today, we can be a beacon of light for all!

  "And it won't stop there, lad! All the world and all mankind remade, in brotherhood and purity! Of course, those who've helped me discover this don't understand what I'm destined to be. I will rise above them all, teach my would-be teachers, and show the way. I'm building a better world..." As Cratus went on, his eyes began to glitter and flash like ice in the dim light.

  Talaos climbed out of the pile of broken wood and ancient stone. He tried to find his footing. Cratus hadn't moved an inch since hurling him, and was still talking, on and on. Talaos couldn't take it anymore.

  "You fucking lunatic!" roared Talaos. "When I was a little street rat I used to believe you! You used to be a hero to people who didn't know better! You showed me what you really were! Now you learn some sorcery, and you're babbling about saving the world?"

  Cratus stared at him for a moment, looking almost hurt. The room grew cold.

  "That is too bad, Tal, you were the most promising of all," replied Cratus in a nobly sorrowful voice. "You have potential for greatness, lad, even if you've chosen to squander it."

  Talaos found his footing, gauged the distance, and prepared his leap.

  Then Cratus's eyes hardened, gleaming and pitiless, and he spoke again. "So be it. I had high hopes for you, once. But now... time to die, Tal."

  Cratus took a step forward, huge axe in his right hand, shield ready in his left.

  Talaos leapt. He vaulted not at Cratus, but at the tall sculpted column. He kicked it hard in midair and sent it toppling back Cratus's way. The big man stepped partly aside and took the brunt of the impact on his shield. It would have crushed most men. He then gave a mighty shove that sent the thing hurling away, covered in frost.

  However, Talaos had landed on the tabletop, turned and spun, and was now behind and inside Cratus's reach. He struck the long blade down behind the huge man's shoulder, and through his heart. Cratus toppled , and amid the crowded junk, knocked over a shelf of his own torture implements. He landed on the floor among them with a tremendous clattering crash.

  Talaos stared at him for a moment, looked almost disbelievingly at the ruin of Cratus. He forced down his regrets, and faced the tasks ahead.

  Then he turned to the steel door. The sounds of fighting had stopped, and instead he heard knocking. He walked over to where Cratus had been when he arrived. There was a small lever in a niche in the wall, pulled down. He pushed it up. There was the sound of gears and counterweights, and the heavy steel door began to rise.

  On the other side, a strange scene greeted him. Katara, Sorya, and most of his men stood there with blood on their weapons, facing The Twins. The giants of Jotun, in their bronze armor, had taken a defensive position in the corner. They had their long axes raised before them. Neither side moved to attack. Two others of his men were at the door, where they'd been knocking.

  The other guards lay dead, as did six of his own men. All were friends, and one was Arax, whom he'd known since they were boys. Talaos kneeled down and closed his fallen men's eyes one by one. More who'd followed him, he thought blackly. More deaths on the long trail of blood that had taken him to this place.

  When he was done, he noticed that nearly all in the room were watching him, and the twins most intently of all. Katara noticed their inattention and took a step toward them with raised sword. The others around her followed.

  "Wait!" shouted Talaos, then he turned to The Twins. "Hold. I offer a truce."

  They looked at him uncomprehendingly.

  He tried again, "Do you speak Imperial?"

  That, they seemed to partially comprehend. The one on the right replied, "Little."

  "Why did you stop when I entered the room?"

  Again, incomprehension.

  "No fight. Stop," he said. He looked them in the eye, one then the other, as he sheathed his swords. The giants kept their long axes in hand, but rested the bottoms of the hafts on the ground. They looked around the room without fear, then back to Talaos.

  Then he had a thought, "Katara, ask them why they paused when I entered the room."

  She looked at him in considerable surprise, then answered, "I will do as you say, but Jotun speech is different from the other northern countries, and I have not studied it. Imperial is also not my language. Still, I will do this."

  Katara spoke words in her language, and there was a pause. The twins looked at her, then, they answered with words that sounded only somewhat like her speech. She shook her head, then tried again, using different words this time. They gave thought to what she'd said, and attempted another reply.

  At last, she turned to him, "They said they thought you were someone from a story."

  Talaos shook his head.

  Katara, however, added in earnest, "Tales are serious things in the north."

  "I believe it," he answered. Then he stepped forward toward them. His own men stepped aside to clear the way, and he faced the two giants by himself, unarmed. They watched him.

  "Cratus is dead," said Talaos. "Follow me."

  He turned and after a pause, they followed, axes held loosely and casually. Sorya made a disapproving noise under her breath, but he ignored it. Talaos led the twins to the door of Cratus's sanctum, and showed them the corpse. They nodded, then without a word, dropped their axes on the ground at Talaos's feet.

  "Let's go find Palaeon," he said to Katara, Sorya, and his men.

  ~

  Around them, the capital of Cratus's onetime empire was in shambles. The fortress compound was full of bodies, and blood was everywhere. Fifty of Cratus's men had died fighting, and the rest were either too wounded to fight on, or had surrendered. Palaeon's cordon in the streets had ensured none escaped.

  Palaeon himself now stood on an interior balcony, overlooking the great hall where in other times Cratus had held his legendary wild parties and gluttonous banquets. The new master of the hall was cleaning blood from his sword.

  Talaos stood beside him, surveying the scene. Then he turned to Palaeon.

  "So when are you moving in?" he said.

  A darksome smile crossed Palaeon's lean face, "I think moving out is the better term. Once I've got everything of even remote value carted out, I'll try to find a buyer. Hard to say how much gold we'll get for it, but then the purchase price was in blood."

  Talaos looked at the long tables below, with memories good and bad haunting his mind. Murderers and thieves had sworn oaths of honor at those tables, and talked of fighting for the people. Wine had flowed and women had danced naked to the sound of drums and lyres. Talaos had been barely more than a boy when he started with Cratus. A child of the streets with nothing, nothing at all, but what he'd seized by his own mind and hand, he'd imagined he was part of something great.

  Palaeon, however, interrupted the past with talk of the future.

  "Talaos," he said coolly, "you'll get your cut of all this. Fair is fair. Keep in mind though, with what looks to me like a newly organizing gang, and a lot of gold at your disposal, you'll have options. Think carefully about how you use them."

  Talaos turned to look at his ally and possible future rival. Palaeon's eyes were cold, watchful, and appraising.

  "Palaeon, Cratus must once have sized you up in the same way, " Talaos said.

  "He did, and for similar reasons," replied Palaeon coldly, "but there is a lot more to consider with you. I was just a sharp-eyed climber, with an eye for the main chance and a head for the odds. I won a war, but I'd much rather count my dishonest gains in peace.

  "But you Talaos, you're the storm's own son. You can claim you're looking for peace, but you spent years doing rough work for Cratus, and made your own bloody path after that. You're made for war and change."

  As Palaeon spoke, Talaos had turned a
gain to watch the room below. Palaeon's men entered in numbers, and were already at work collecting corpses and valuables. Some of Cratus's men were hauled in, tied, and seated roughly along the sides, while others walked in and stood in a line. They were being reviewed by one of Palaeon's captains. The twins were among them.

  "Who's to say my war is here on the streets?" replied Talaos at last.

  "Who indeed? But it would be unfortunate if it were," said Palaeon in words of ice.

  5. A Change in the Weather

  Talaos walked alone down a wide main street on a darkening night. Lights shone from the windows of shops and taverns, and through doors at balconies above. Clouds had gathered overhead, the wind was picking up, and he felt the first drops of rain hitting his face. He heard it striking the tiled roofs high on either side. All around, shops were closing up and people on the street were pulling their cloaks around them, hurrying home to escape the weather.

  Not him. He felt exhilarated, as he always did when a storm came. He threw his cloak back and lifted his face to the sky. He could almost feel the electricity gathering in the air and flowing through the ground, rushing to join together in the beauty that was lightning. He'd always wondered why so few others seemed to enjoy it as he did.

  He walked on, and his mind turned to more practical concerns.

  He'd collected himself and his brooding thoughts these past days. With Cratus gone, things might be quiet, at least for a while. Talaos's still-unfolding share of Cratus's wealth was turning out to be considerable, and even after lavishing it on his friends, his gang, on what people were starting to call his organization, he had plenty of gold left.

  Palaeon had mentioned options, and Talaos had them. However, they weren't all obvious. He could almost feel change in the storm-tossed air.