The Storm's Own Son (Book 1)

by Anthony Gillis

  He remembered a bit of history. Forty years earlier, an invading army from Dirion had come down that road. Dirion was said to have fielded formidable heavy cavalry backed by vast hordes of peasant conscripts from its subject peoples. Dirion had drawn every bit of its strength to try to conquer the Republic in one blow, and that army was one of many.

  With those armies had come devastation. From what Talaos had read, old Dirion was ruled by the Imperial descendents called the old stock, and among them was an apparently hereditary aristocracy. The rest, the conquered peoples, had little enough reason for loyalty, but perhaps they were appeased when their masters unleashed them in an orgy of plunder, rape, and burning in the Republic.

  There on the plain, a force of outnumbered but disciplined infantry and swift raiding cavalry of the Republic had broken the invaders and saved the beautiful, gentle town behind them. Men had stood and fought and died for something worthy. Talaos pondered what he'd fought for, and how poorly it compared.

  Ahead, far past Piros and across the mountains, soldiers in Hunyos were fighting for causes they might or might not see as worthy. There as well, the Living Prophet was at work. By word and deed, the Prophet had declared himself an enemy. Talaos had a new, grim thought. The Prophet had inadvertently given him a worthy cause of his own... given him a war.

  ~

  The road was a different kind of home, but not a bad one, Talaos thought.

  He'd had soft beds at a couple of roadside inns since Piros and a rougher one berthing in a spare room at a farm village. They'd balanced out against nights out under the open sky in whatever sort of weather. He wasn't sure which he liked better.

  After a bright hot day, he wanted a bath and a shady room. The last town before the mountains was called Amari. From what he'd heard, it had a good inn. He crested the last of a chain of low hills and there it was, with white plaster walls and red tiled roofs looking warm and inviting in the fading sun.

  There was one more thing, better still. The mountains loomed beyond that village, tall in the distance. Grassy foothills rose to forested ridges and valleys and great stony cliffs and cloud-shadowed peaks above. They were by all accounts uninhabited, save by wild beasts, and almost impossible to cross except at a few winding passes. Following the line of the road in the fading light, Talaos thought he could just make out the entrance of the pass, and on a low hill, the distant lights of the fortress.

  As he drew closer, and stars began to twinkle in the east, he caught the whiff of savory smoke from a large building near the middle of town. That was promising. He picked up his pace, passing fields and outlying farm houses. Cheerful golden light shone forth from windows, and he heard voices trading domestic talk inside. He mused on how distant such a life was from the one he left, and how much more distant from the one on which he'd embarked.

  He reached the town itself. There were passersby on the streets, on whatever errands of their own. After a couple of blocks, the inn rose before him, three stories with a bathhouse attached in the back, stables and storehouses beyond. As he was not keen on staying in the fortress, it would be the last civilization he'd see for several days. He meant to enjoy it.

  The double doors of the inn were open to let in the cooling evening air, and they let out a rollicking noise of conversation and song. The aroma of roasted, seasoned meat and fresh baked bread wafted to him, and he saw barrels of wine against a far wall.

  He walked in.

  The room was warm, well lit, clean and pleasant. Travelers of varying sorts stood in little groups. Barmaids in the knee-length, modest and practical dresses of the countryside scurried about. A squad of soldiers, dusty from the road, sat eating at a long table. Most of the crowd, though, looked to be locals. Talaos guessed that this place might also be the main town tavern. If the look and scent of the food was anything to go by, he could understand why.

  With that, he felt hungry at last, and he found a small table to himself. He sprawled comfortably, his pack at his side, and smiled. A sturdy woman of later middle years walked up, with a hint of authority in her manner and an apron full of pockets around her dress. Talaos decided she must be the proprietress. She seemed to size him up in a quick, professional sort of way. To his surprise, instead of a casual greeting, or the small courteous nod that was more common in the countryside, she gave him a half-bow.

  "How can I help you, young sir?"

  He smiled and gave a relaxed reply.

  "A glass of wine, and some of that delicious food, thank you..."

  She beamed with pride at that, as he went on.

  "...A hot bath drawn in an hour, my clothes washed, and a quiet, out of the way room."

  "I have a big room on the third floor, sir, under the eaves at the end, by the back stairs."

  He knew she was steering him to something expensive, but wasn't of a mind to care. "How much for all?"

  She named the price, which was indeed on the high side. He basked in the air of the place, decided it was well worth it, and handed her the coins.

  As she walked off, shouting instructions to barmaids along the way, he took a better look around the room. He noticed a fair number of the younger women were taking better looks at him as well. That wasn't new, though the looks he occasionally got from others were. It reminded him of the kind of expressions that people sometimes gave Palaeon when they first met him, or the way people looked when they were before magistrates or patricians.

  That was interesting.

  His wine arrived, and as he sipped it, he noticed a young woman he'd missed, tucked back in a corner behind him. Woman, or girl? She was young enough he wasn't sure which would be the right term, but no matter, he thought, as he had no designs on her. What was striking was that she was sitting with no less than five candles of different sizes propped precariously behind her on a small shelf, and she was reading a large leather-bound book.

  Talaos made a bemused smile. Literacy was fairly common in the Republic, but outside of libraries, reading was usually done in private.

  This woman or girl, on the other hand, was not only reading a large, lengthy book in a crowded, noisy public place, she seemed oblivious to all of it around her.

  He took a closer look at her. She had two slightly-nibbled plates of food, various papers and a neglected cup of what might be tea at her table. She was wearing a richly brocaded, but old and worn, green dress in the city style. One of the silver shoulder clasps seemed to have broken or gone loose. Absently wrapped over her shoulders and around her arm was a homespun shawl of the kind worn by farm women in small villages. Her wild mass of wavy red-brown hair was only partially kept in check by the disheveled remnants of braids. She had a fair oval face with a graceful chin, a small but full-lipped mouth, gentle rounded eyebrows, and big luminous brown eyes that looked so lost to the world as to be almost in a waking dream.

  He thought it ironic that despite the scene of eccentricity she had built around herself, she was easily the most beautiful woman there.

  At that exact moment, she looked up with a start. She peered at him timidly, her cheeks flushed, and then she buried herself back in her book.

  Talaos laughed a quiet, lighthearted laugh and turned his attention to his newly arrived meal. The food was just as delicious as expected, and he paid the extra coin to get more, along with another wine. Then, as he sat, basking in contentment and waiting for the time when his bath would be ready, a new scene presented itself.

  Three young women, or again perhaps girls, walked in, wearing country dresses with more than usual amounts of embroidery. One seemed to have a permanent disapproving frown. The second was nodding in vigorous earnest agreement with the third. The third seemed to be their leader, and was certainly the prettiest, but her haughty expression merely amused Talaos.

  The three young women, for their part, clearly noticed him while doing their best to pretend otherwise. They took up residence at a table to his side, relatively close to both his own and that of the strange young woman with the book. Th
ey whispered to each other for a bit. Then, to his mild displeasure, they started talking loudly and in artificially high coquettish voices. Talaos watched them from the corner of his eye.

  The leader turned to the girl with the book.

  "Miriana, this isn't a library."

  Miriana peered up from her book in surprise, then quickly looked back down.

  "She's so odd..." said the nodding girl.

  "Addled, is the word I'd use," interjected the leader.

  "...and all the stupid things she says she sees in her head!" continued the nodding girl.

  The frowning girl shook her head, and if possible, frowned more deeply. "All for attention, if you ask me. A shame. A magistrate's daughter, too..."

  "He must be so disappointed..." blurted the nodding girl in a way that sounded almost sympathetic, before suddenly shrinking at a cold look from the leader.

  "That is what comes from making some penniless old book hoarder living on an army pension magistrate, instead of one of the local people of quality," sniffed the leader, a little too loudly, as if meaning to be heard and to impress.

  At that comment, the other two made sudden intakes of breath and looked around the room with nervous expressions, as if the leader might have gone too far, and they expected someone to rebuke them. When it didn't happen, their faces took on conspiratorial looks.

  "Her outfit is ridiculous... that mismatched old dress!" said the frowning girl loudly.

  "And her hair!" added the nodding girl.

  The leader, however, appeared to have new thoughts crossing her mind. As their talk continued, she began to twirl her golden-brown hair and cast little glances towards Talaos. The others started whispering to her with encouraging expressions. At last, she seemed to work up her courage and walked over to him, putting a bit of sway in her hips. She peered seductively at him from under half-lidded eyes, and slightly parted her lips.

  Talaos, sprawled at ease, glanced up at her, then back at his wine cup.

  "I'm Vanadria," she said in a sultry voice.

  "I'm not ready for another wine yet, thank you," replied Talaos.

  She looked briefly startled, eyes wide, then regained her half-lidded composure. "Oh, I don't work here. I just noticed you're from out of town, and..."

  Talaos looked up at her, arched an eyebrow, and took a sip of wine.

  "I... um, my friends and I know all the best..." Vanadria added in a less sultry voice.

  "That's right."

  "Um... What is?"

  "I'm from out of town."

  Vanadria stared at him, confusion, curiosity, and resentment at war on her face.

  Talaos gazed absently around the room as he finished his wine.

  "Well, I was wondering if you wanted to..." she continued, her voice almost squeaking.

  "Thanks for the great night, Vanadria," said Talaos without explanation, suddenly rising from his seat and shouldering his pack.

  As he stalked out of the room and towards his waiting bath and bed, Vanadria boggled at him, transfixed in awkward embarrassment. Talaos turned with a wicked grin, looking right past her and straight at Miriana. She was peeking over her book with a wide sprightly smile and a twinkle in her dreaming eyes. Then, her eyes met those of Talaos.

  She blushed and ducked low behind her tome, hiding all but her wild hair.

  7. Birth

  Talaos woke in the cool air of his room, stretching with the languid energy of a lazing cat. Then, his plans for the day jolted him into action. He dressed in his newly cleaned travel clothes and strapped only his short blade to his belt. It felt good to walk lightly, however briefly, without the burdens of travel or all his gear of battle.

  He peered out the slatted window, under deep shady eaves, at the distant mountains. He needed to be on his way soon, but not today. His hastily gathered travel gear was in no way fit to handle a journey across those mountains, and he'd need to equip properly. There were provisions to consider as well, and he thought it wouldn't hurt to buy a couple of spears, in case he had to deal with animals.

  As he left his room, he considered the little exterior door at the end of the hall, and the narrow outside stairs beyond it. In his days in Carai, he would have found that both a useful and dangerous feature. Here, he mused, it was merely practical.

  After a quick breakfast downstairs, he went about his business as planned. The town was well set up for travelers, and even with delays for alterations and adjustments, he had everything he needed by noon. He decided to return to the inn for lunch. There, he found a large busy crowd of lunchtime patrons coming and going.

  He also found something else.

  Sitting on a chair at the center of a small cluster of tables was a pale young man around his own age, dressed in the long, fitted, short-sleeved tunic and baggy pants typical of Hunyos, beyond the mountains. He had close-cropped light brown hair, and far more unusually, a full beard. The man also wore a close-fitting white cap on his head, one that immediately reminded Talaos of the caps worn by the Prophet's sorcerers.

  The tables around the man contained a mix of mildly bored diners finishing their lunches, and others, not eating and far more attentive.

  The young man was answering someone. He spoke in a gentle, earnest voice.

  "It is true, war has come to my home, but I still bring a message of peace..."

  Talaos felt a flash in his spirit, like a thunderbolt amidst a clear blue sky. As he passed by, he kept aware of the scene with the same subtle watchfulness he'd maintained on the back streets of Carai. He took a seat not far from his spot the night before, and ordered food.

  Glancing around, alert and tense, he noticed Miriana back in her corner from the previous night. She almost looked as if she'd never moved. The candles behind her were arranged differently, and unlit at the moment, but she wore the same green dress. She'd tied her broken shoulder clasp together with a piece of shiny yellow silk ribbon, but her hair was, if anything, even more disheveled. Interestingly, instead of her shawl, she now had a white linen scarf with a kind of curling beaded embroidery that Talaos guessed might be eastern. He smiled warmly at the thought of her apparent indifference to the stylistic dictates of others.

  Meanwhile, the crowd in the room was thinning, but the smaller more densely concentrated group was continuing to gather around the young man. Some younger people, mostly women, a pair of wide-eyed children, and a few road-dusty travelers were mingled with a larger group of what appeared to be the sick, crippled, or careworn of varying ages. The young man's voice was rising in a lofty, softly passionate way.

  "It is true! He is the last and greatest of the prophets, the only true prophet in the world for hundreds of years. And for all those years, he, the Living Prophet, has been working humbly and with mercy for all to help mankind."

  At that statement from the young man, Miriana, who hadn't seemed to be paying attention, rose suddenly from her little lair in the corner. As she passed close by Talaos, she stopped and turned to him. Her dreamlike expression gained a hint of sharpness.

  She spoke, and her lilting voice sounded defensive. "I'm of marrying age!"

  "Only barely," he replied with a bemused smirk.

  Without another word, she walked toward the young man in the robe.

  Despite his sarcasm, Talaos found himself observing with some surprise how small, yet voluptuous she was. High, full breasts and rounded hips framed a waist almost as small as Sorya's. A bare leg flashed through the slit of her long city-style dress. However, she walked with a girl's sprightly, yet awkward step, rather than a woman's more confident swaying hips.

  Her eyes became more focused, her soft brows arched with a flash of anger. She strode right through the circle around the young man and stopped before him with her hands at her hips. He looked up at her benignly. Then she spoke, her voice snapping with anger.

  "And what about the thirty prophets he burned alive atop the ziggurat at Ash'ayur, in the year he captured the great library?"

  The young man p
aused, as if mastering himself, then replied with gentle composure. "You speak of things centuries in the past, during darker times. Those were not prophets, but demons inhabiting human form, and all their words were lies."

  "So your Prophet says that if anyone but him sees, dreams, has visions of things far away or of what might be... they're demons?"

  "Or under the influence of them, yes. As it was foretold, and in all the ages since..."

  "Ha! That just shows how little he knows!" snarled Miriana. Then, she turned and walked away, the girlish gait resuming and the dreamy haze returning to her eyes.

  "Peace and forgiveness to you," said the young man as she left. He still had his placid smile, but his eyes watched her intently. Then, his attention was pulled away as questions erupted from the crowd.

  "Burned alive, really?" gasped one young woman.

  "Demons?" nervously added a traveler in an accent from the far west of the Republic.

  The robed man returned his full attention to his audience, striving with soft words and patient manner to regain control.

  As Miriana passed his way again, Talaos, on sudden impulse, caught her in his gaze and waved a welcoming hand to the seat next to his. Her eyes widened, but she took the seat.

  "That was well done," he smiled.

  "My father doesn't need me to get married," she answered. "My older brothers and sisters, from his first wife, are all grown and gone with families of their own..."

  Talaos wryly wondered if she had some personal war with context, but merely gave her an arched eyebrow in reply.

  "Oh, him!" she blurted in apparent surprise. "He had his history all twisted up, and what he said isn't true..."

  "Of that much, I'm sure."

  "Yes, you... know," she added, her eyes briefly seeming to stare at something distant.

  "Was that intuition?" he replied, teasingly.

  "Intuition is just quick guesswork that anyone can do. I see things!" she snapped in reply, her eyes flashing once more.