The Storm's Own Son (Book 1)

by Anthony Gillis

  The three men were already closing on him. Talaos spun, his long blade sheared one-brow's mace hand off at the wrist, and the latter stared, gaping, at the blood-spurting stump. Talaos ducked past squint-eye's sword, and brought his short blade up into the other's chest. Cleft-mouth had a worried look on his face. The man took a half step back, with axe raised high to strike. Talaos, still low, brought the long blade around and cut his feet out from under him. Without pause, he rose and turned to bring his short blade through one-brow's gaping mouth.

  All of it had taken but moments.

  There was a pause. The men in the camp stared, as if not believing what they'd just seen.

  Then curses roared around the camp and men grabbed weapons.

  Nearly seventy men advanced on Talaos.

  He stood waiting with blades ready, hooded cloak covered in the blood of his foes.

  Then through the trees, five men hurled themselves into battle. They came in a line, moving fast and dealing death around them. The men on that outer edge of the camp, just starting forward towards Talaos, died before they knew what had happened. Then others turned, startled, but with weapons ready.

  Vulkas was leftmost of the five and a bit apart. He charged with great bellowing roars, swinging his colossal war mattock right and left. One man flew aside with ribs smashed apart, another with his hip caved in. A third crouched and raised his shield. Vulkas spun and brought down an overhead blow with the mattock, shattering both the shield and the man's head.

  To his right, roaring as well, was Halmir, who hurled a hand axe into a man's skull, then impaled another with a throw of his short spear. He drew his sword as he ran. Another foe faced him with a long spear. He dodged right as the man struck, grabbed the spear with his free hand, pulled the wielder off balance, and put a sword through his heart.

  In the center, Epos moved with cold precision. A man in front of him was slow to react and still faced toward Talaos. He ran him through the back of the neck. Then he blocked with his shield as another foe brought a long sword slashing his way. Lunging forward and around, he brought his sword up under the man's breastplate in a disemboweling strike. Then, without breaking his stride, he advanced to the next enemy.

  To the right of Epos, Kyrax snarled curses as he advanced on two men armed with short swords. He took the attack of one on his shield, forced the man's weapon out of the way with it, and then gutted him. The other foe brought a sword low, almost catching him in the ribs. Kyrax snarled, feinted sideways, tripped his foe, and ran his sword through the prone man's neck.

  "Come on, you gutless bastards, that all you got?" he taunted others before him.

  On the far right of their line, Larogwan moved with long practice. A foe swung an axe at him, he caught it on the steel rim of his long shield and brought his own axe through the man's ribs. Another enemy hurled a spear at him and he glanced it off his shield. The man reached to draw a short sword from his belt, but Larogwan got to him first, and put a stop to it with an axe through the neck.

  Well away from the onslaught, and indeed some distance even from most others in the camp, three men stood in front of a group of tents. They had long bows. One of the men, an older fellow with a sharp expression, sized up the suddenly unfolding battle. He gestured to the other two. They nocked arrows. Then one of the archers suddenly toppled as the tendons of his knees were sliced in half, and the other twisted back with a scream, a dagger in his kidney.

  The older fellow spun around, only to get a slim knife thrown full in his eye. He fell, and two men appeared. Imvan wiped his dagger clean while Firio finished off the wounded with another knife. Firio then rolled under a tent, on his way deeper into camp. Imvan grabbed one of the fallen men's bows and all of their arrows. Then he selected his first target.

  In the center of camp, surrounded by advancing enemies, Talaos felt life and strength in his body. Not the rage of the storm, but the vitality that he had felt ever since the mountains. He felt it more keenly than ever now. His eyes swept around him, past the advancing enemy and saw the sudden havoc wrought by his men, the oncoming human storm of battle and death. He saw Drosta's men, leaderless, in confusion. He saw, thought it good, and made a wolf-like grin.

  The enemies around him saw a pair of blue eyes gleaming under his shadowed hood, like those of a beast of prey in firelight. Then the swords flashed into motion.

  Talaos whirled, severed the head of a stout man with a battle axe, then ducked low and brought his short blade through another's lung. The man collapsed to his knees, blood pouring from his mouth. Talaos leapt, landed a boot on his dying foe's back and launched himself forward through the air in a long soaring jump. He arced over two enemies approaching with maces, turned in midair to land behind, facing them, and cut both down with spinning blades.

  Near Drosta's corpse, where Talaos had just been standing, many fighters converged, came to sudden halts, and turned toward his new location in angry confusion. He laughed in their faces. They hesitated, and he came at them like a scythe. The closest foe went down like wheat before it. A younger man gave a pale panicked look, turned, and ran. Three older veterans, who'd arrived with round shields, closed ranks and locked them, weapons at the ready.

  Talaos dodged a spear from the leftmost of the three, and then spun forward with a kick to the shield that sent the man flying back ten feet. The man in the center stared in surprise as Talaos pivoted and whirled behind him. Now inside the man's guard, he sliced his waist open with the short blade. The third foe turned and faced Talaos with a grim look, shield up and sword ready. He stepped forward, feinted low past the man's guard and cut his left leg off clean at the knee. The man toppled, spraying blood, as Talaos swept his blade around to decapitate him.

  Then, still moving, Talaos rose with blades at the ready. Of the men close by, all now held back. Suddenly, one fell with an arrow through his temple. Another enemy broke and ran. Behind Talaos there was a fresh roar as his men closed the gap between him and them, killing as they went. Talaos made his wolfish grin once more, and advanced in measured steps toward the crowd of armed men facing him.

  Two more turned and sprinted. Several more began to step back. Another collapsed as an arrow went through his throat. Off to the left of Talaos, among the tents, came a gurgling scream, then another, closer. The five warriors were closing fast. Some of Drosta's men looked nervously at the onrushing, bellowing giant among the five, and at the broken bodies flying from his war mattock.

  Another of Drosta's men fell back with an arrow in his ribs. Talaos stalked forward, cool and at the ready. Three more men ran as others hesitated. Then the morale of the remaining enemies began to break. All around, they began to run, routing in panic. The five reached Talaos, and together they gave chase, slaying their fleeing foes as they ran.

  Some of the men trying to escape chose the wrong way, and found knives in their backs. Others fell pierced by arrows. The survivors raced out of camp in all directions, fleeing for their lives. The effort failed to save them, however, as Adriko and the rest of the irregulars now appeared through the mist, advancing in a vast, tightening ring.

  Adriko nodded politely to the first of Drosta's fleeing men he encountered. The latter came to a skittering, and very surprised stop, waving his sword before him. Then, perhaps less politely, the captain ran him through.

  Adriko's men closed the noose as Talaos and his madmen chased the fleeing enemy. They ran and slew. A handful of Drosta's men slipped through in the mist and ran in full sprints down the slopes on all sides. From further out in the woods came the sounds of arrows, and the sprinting footsteps stopped.

  A larger group of ten fled another way, raced through a gap in Adriko's squads of irregulars, and downhill in the direction of the road. The handful that remained ran this way and that in a panic, and were cut down without quarter.

  Adriko nodded to Talaos, and the two of them wordlessly scanned the battlefield, taking stock of the situation. Firio and a few sanguine others made certain that no seemin
gly dead or wounded got back up to escape.

  Shortly afterward, a scout came racing up the hill, reporting that the ten who'd escaped had been cut down with swift slaughter by the cavalry. The scouts and irregulars gathered on the hill top. They'd lost not a single man. Adriko surveyed the blood-strewn, devastated camp, shaking his head.

  "Well I suppose that didn't go too badly," he said.

  ~

  "Talaos, that was the maddest deed I've ever seen," muttered Larogwan.

  He and the rest of their little band stood round Talaos in the gore-spattered center of Drosta's camp. Around them, Adriko and the rest were rounding up as many of Drosta's supplies as could be carried.

  Talaos smirked in reply. "First Kurvan called me a madman, then Drosta, and now you. I see a pattern, and you need a reminder that all of you obeyed and followed me."

  "That just makes us all mad!" replied Larogwan.

  "Ha! That we are. I like it." laughed Vulkas.

  Talaos thought about that, and what they'd done. Eight men had routed seventy. If that made them madmen, it was a name he'd be proud to use, a name they could share with pride. "Our group's been needing a better name than 'Decurion Talaos's Irregular Detachment', so let's go with Madmen," he said.

  Larogwan looked at Talaos with appreciative appraisal. "You know, for a moment I swore that was Adriko talking. But, you're right, Madmen has a ring to it."

  "Yes, Madmen!" boomed Vulkas, raising his war mattock.

  "Madmen!" shouted the others.

  "Bloody fucking madmen..." added Kyrax.

  "Then the Madmen we are," laughed Talaos.

  "Berserk, they are called in the north," mused Halmir, to no one in particular.

  Overhead the sky was turning darker, and a few drops of light rain, little more than a heavier form of mist, began to fall.

  Adriko walked over to them, glancing at the glooming sky. He spoke casually.

  "While I hate to intrude, it's time to go back and gather your gear. We're going to get started on the road before this weather gets started on us."

  The others looked at their captain. He looked back placidly.

  There was a pause.

  "And," Adriko added, with a smile and a twinkle in his brown eyes, "Madmen, that was the most astonishing thing I've seen in fifteen years as a soldier."

  One by one the captain gripped their hands and arms in solemn congratulations.

  Then he looked up again at the sky, as more of the faint rain fell.

  "All right men, let's put some distance between us and this graveyard."

  ~

  With hoods and cloaks pulled close, they huddled around a fire piled with wood and stoked high to survive in the drizzling rain. All except Talaos, who stood by restless and brooding. Behind them were the hills, and around them a dense forest of tall trees. The rest of the little army was camped close by, and sentries patrolled at the perimeter.

  Larogwan tilted his hooded head curiously. "Still wish it was a thunderstorm, Talaos?"

  "I always do."

  There were a few low, ironic chuckles around the fire.

  "You know," continued Larogwan, "You do have a bit of the storm in your spirit."

  "Heh! By that crazy fighting style, at least," said Vulkas.

  "More like you were born in one!" blurted Firio.

  Talaos turned to Firio with a distant smile.

  From under his rain-soaked hood, Larogwan grinned up at Talaos, "That reminds me. You never did tell us where you were born."

  Talaos paused, then answered, "From what I've been told, I was born on a ship in a storm at sea, and they found me on shore in the wreckage the next morning."

  "Well, that fits then," said Larogwan lightly, as he turned back to the fire.

  Firio, however, beamed. "So you were an orphan like me!"

  "Yes."

  "No, not like you, or any of us..." said Halmir, his voice low and thoughtful.

  "Eh?" replied Kyrax. "You cracking on us?"

  "It is an old tale from Schald, and I think more of the north... told in different ways depending on who is telling and where they are from, but most ways say that every now and then, one born outside in a storm will be the storm's kin, and will have a mighty life, but short."

  At that, a sort of inner storm flashed in Talaos's mind. He stood up and stalked over to the Northman.

  "Tell me more," he said.

  "There is not much more. I did once meet a man from Jotun, way up on the north edge of the world, and he said his folk had another view. He said there was only one line of men who were kin of the storm, passed from father to son, and they used to live in Jotun, a long time ago."

  12. Thunderbolt

  The next day dawned warmer, with a clear sky overhead. To the east, on the edge of the horizon, clouds still brooded. The little army broke camp under Adriko's watchful eye. Men worked quickly and with spirit. Throughout everything, talk of the victory of the day before, flowed back and forth, ever growing as bits of information were gathered from seven of the men who'd been there through it all. The eighth man, Talaos, wasn't sought out for news by the ordinary soldiers, and he volunteered none himself.

  At one point when they were almost ready to march, Talaos stood off by the edge of camp, watching the eastern horizon. Larogwan quietly took a place beside him.

  "You know, the men are putting quite a tale together."

  Talaos turned his way with an arched eyebrow, then back.

  "Stories about how you walked, cool as the morning, by yourself into a camp of seventy men and killed their commander right in front of 'em. Stories about how you jumped farther than anyone's seen a man jump, or how you kicked a man ten feet through the air. Stories of how before that, you spun our giant out of the ring like he was a discus.

  "Or how you sleep maybe two or three hours a night, how you never seem to get tired..."

  Talaos stared at the distant clouds.

  "I'd think it was a tall sort of tale... except I know it's true."

  Larogwan clapped a hand on his shoulder.

  "It's all right, you know. There are always those stories of people who have something, some kind of magic about them. When I was in the Southlands, I once saw a man who could handle fire and not get burned. I think our Firio has a bit of it too. I've never in all my years seen anyone move that fast... But still, you'd better get used to bit of fear, awe maybe, from the men.

  The old soldier turned to face Talaos.

  "We're with you, though," he said. Larogwan paused, then smiled, "And besides, you do seem to be a reasonably handy fellow to have around in a fight, which is a good thing since we're at war..."

  A mighty life, but short, thought Talaos. True or not, he would do what must be done, and now he had allies who for a time at least, traveled the same way.

  Allies? No. Friends.

  He turned, gripped Larogwan's forearm in the old martial greeting used in Hunyos, and gave him a grim smile. Then, as they turned back to camp, his smile regained its wry edge.

  "You were in the Southlands?" asked Talaos.

  "I had a job down there. It didn't pay well enough, considering all the snakes..."

  ~

  They formed up in good order, and set forth down the road. The forest was soon left behind and they passed through the open woodland west of the plains. In the clearer air, Talaos could see distant villages from time to time, and wondered how many of them were still intact. When they reached the crossroads, they turned south, back toward Avrosa.

  The country to the right was under a clear sky. The sea away left was crowned with distant dark clouds. The air was clear and almost still, with only the lightest of circling winds.

  After a while, they could see a large supply caravan moving south ahead of them, with the standards and banners of allied towns, and provisions on their way to the army at Avrosa. Time went on, and they ever so slowly gained on them.

  Sometime later, there was a trail of dust visible to the north, coming south and m
oving fast. Adriko rode to the back of the column, grabbed a couple of cavalrymen, and rode further back as the rest of the line continued on. He got a better look, and then rode back at haste.

  "Look lively men! That is a squadron of horse, riding hard our way. If they keep on, we'll see what news they have. If they keep their distance, then we'll watch out for more of them."

  Whispers and groans moved along the line, as soldiers readied for the chance of trouble.

  Time passed, they kept marching, the dust grew closer, and no other appeared on the horizon. The tension began to relax again, instead replaced by something more like cautious interest. Finally, seventeen horsemen in varied garb and armor came galloping up. One of them, with the wreath of Teroia painted on his red-brown shield, reined his horse in front of Adriko, and brought his arm across his chest in Salute.

  "What news, Decurion?" asked Adriko, returning it.

  "The enemy has an army of twenty thousand, moving south. It includes substantial forces from Idrona, Kyras, Imperi, and Etosca. In defense, Megasi, Teroia and the towns all about have sealed their gates, but reports are the force is headed toward Avrosa. There is a force of about six hundred cavalry some days ahead of the rest, clearing the way, and not far behind us."

  "Are you taking that news to our men in Avrosa?"

  "Yes sir."

  "I'll send one of mine with you. Then you may ride on."

  Adriko picked a fast rider from among the cavalry, and the man formed up with the messengers. Without another word, the Teroian officer motioned his squadron forward, and they continued down the road in great haste.