The Storm's Own Son (Book 1)

by Anthony Gillis

  The eagle began to roar, like a bonfire in the wind.

  The squadron of cavalry blocking his way now trotted towards him. Their front rank held long spears level and ready. The rear rank had spears at their backs and javelins in their hands. The horsemen charged, and the men with javelins hurled them.

  The javelins came at him quick as striking snakes. He dodged one, spun, and caught another in mid air with his right hand, then spun further and kept running. Some among the rearguard must have had bows, he thought, because an arrow struck him in the left thigh. With his free hand, he ripped it out and cast it aside. Blood poured from the wound, but he ran on.

  In the sky, the eagle of flame screamed, and swooped toward the men at the pass.

  Below, doubtless timed to arrive after the striking flames, the main enemy force charged.

  Ahead of him, ten cavalry charged with lowered spears, and another ten behind drew fresh javelins. Even now, the magus was far away, farther than any javelin throw he'd ever heard of, as far as a long bow might shoot.

  Talaos ran, and focused his mind on what he must do. Focused his mind on the weapon in his hand. Focused his intention, everything he had, on the moment in which he must succeed. Focused his will, his strength, his power, all on his goal, and the javelin.

  He drew back his right arm, ready for the cast.

  The eagle shrieked from the sky at lines of frightened men. Yet, men who still held fast.

  Talaos threw. There was a sound of cracking air like a thunderclap. Far across the plain the javelin flew, and straight through the armored flank of the magus. Crackling gouts of blue white lightning shot from the man's ribs on the opposite side as he fell, dead and ruined.

  The circle of golden fire vanished. Overhead and no more than a hundred feet from the men at the rampart, the eagle of flame flickered out, like a candle blown by some mighty breath.

  For a moment, Talaos exulted in glorious, victorious power, like a living thunderbolt.

  Then, still running, he narrowed his eyes and readied, for the cavalry were upon him.

  Out here, on the open plain, he couldn't outrun them. There was only one place to go.

  The enemy horsemen rode hard, spears ready to run him through. The back line of men threw their javelins. Talaos dodged and spun. A javelin grazed his side, ripping flesh open along his right flank. Behind the first squadron and off to the left, one from the rearguard was charging his way. Further off to the right, a squadron had detached from the reserves in front of the commanders, and was headed towards him.

  The front rank of cavalry had spears low. He leapt high, tumbling like a gymnast, feet overhead, then down again as he soared over their heads. He landed hard on the ground on the other side, rolled, and flipped to his feet, still running. Behind him were shouts of surprise, quickly silenced by sharp, angry commands. He heard them wheeling behind him as he ran on. On either side, all around, more cavalry were converging on him.

  Still racing on, he drew his blades.

  13. The Line

  Talaos raced across the plain surrounded by enemies. The horsemen behind him shouted. Far off to his right, he could hear similar shouts from hundreds of voices as the enemy cavalry attacked the rampart. On the periphery of his vision on that side, he thought he saw more flickers of flame, high on the hilltops.

  He pushed the rest of the battle from his thoughts to face what was now before him.

  The enemy commanders, and their small group of bodyguards.

  He hurtled forward with blades drawn, alive, vital and swift. Swifter still, the horsemen from the rearguard charged his way, and many others would soon reach him.

  Soon, but before then he would be upon the commanders.

  Two officers on horses looked his way with weapons drawn. One was the enemy leader. The other had a closed helm concealing his face, a segmented black breastplate trimmed in gold, a round black shield and a black cloak. Both shield and cloak had designs upon them of gold leopards leaping with open claws. Their ten heavy cavalry guardsmen were formed up before them. Other men, aides or messengers, scrambled to arm themselves and mount their own horses.

  As he closed on them, the cavalry all round began to slow, no doubt unwilling to charge with lowered spears into their own commanders.

  Talaos laughed. He leapt. He hurtled through the air at the guardsman directly before him. The startled man raised his spear, trying to skewer Talaos, but the latter kicked the spear aside in mid air and brought a long blade sweeping to the right, clean through the man's neck. He whirled as he landed and scythed the leg from a guardsmen on the left. The man fell from his horse on the opposite side, writhing as blood poured around him. The others wheeled their horses around, trying to close in on him.

  The officer with the black cloak spurred his horse and charged with his shield ready and a long sword, engraved with glyphs, aimed low. Talaos leapt high in the air to the attack. He whirled and brought his sword down for a killing strike, but the other man swept his own blade upward to parry it. Sparks flew as the blades crossed. As Talaos landed, the officer flew off his horse in a spinning leap, black, leopard-blazoned cloak flowing like a shadow around him.

  A foe who lived, thought Talaos. In that fraction of a moment, he named the man with respect, by his own symbol, the leopard.

  A guardsman reached Talaos, spear aimed for his throat. He spun and dodged it, then brought his short blade up through a gap in the man's armor at the thigh. The blade struck deep, and blood sprayed as the guardsman reeled in his saddle. The enemy officer lunged forward, striking like his namesake, and Talaos leapt backwards with the blade inches from his chest.

  Three more guardsmen wheeled around Talaos. The remaining four grouped around the leader. Talaos spun low and brought his long blade around to cut a leg from the leopard, but the man leapt aside and made a whirling attack of his own. Talaos dodged as his foe's glyph-engraved sword sliced near his neck. He felt agony as a guardsman's spear pierced his back, grating against the bones of his ribs.

  The fury rose in him, boiling like clouds ready to burst. Talaos pulled loose, rolled to avoid a sweeping slash by the leopard, and, sheathing his short blade, he grabbed the spear from the shocked guardsman's hands. He whirled aside, inches from another deadly strike from his black-cloaked foe, and with a roar stabbed the haft of the spear through the guardsman's face. Pulling back, he leapt away and spun round to his left with the gore-strewn spear as a staff, sweeping wide to strike the leopard.

  The foe dodged low, glancing the spear-staff off his shield, then vaulted forward with his black cloak floating behind him. The man brought his glyph blade low and upward in a disemboweling strike so swift his arm was barely visible in the night. Talaos parried as he spun aside, and the blades met again with flashing sparks. As the leopard passed, Talaos swept around to bring his sword through the gap beneath his foe's breastplate, but the other blocked with his shield, sending the strike glancing away.

  With sudden speed of his own, the leopard turned and lunged. The glyph sword stabbed swift and true at Talaos's heart, but Talaos twisted, like so much air, to the left. Where his heart had been, the glyph-carved blade sliced along his right side chest and shoulder. He felt a pain like withering fire at the touch and his flesh seared. But even as the blade cut him, he continued his turn in a leaping spin, fast as the wind, and chopped his long blade down diagonally into the gap in the leopard's armor at the neck. The blade cut deep, and the man stumbled, turned and raised his glyph sword. Talaos lunged forward and ran him through, piercing his armor and his heart. The leopard fell dead, as Talaos spun to face the two guardsmen.

  They were upon him with spears striking.

  He dodged a long spear and then spun round with the spear-staff in his left hand. The haft cracked across the face of a surprised guardsman with a crunch of shattering bone. Then Talaos twisted and hurled it, point first as a spear, into the chest of the other guardsman.

  Now however, much larger numbers of light horsemen from the rear
and flank guards were upon him. The leopard, nearby, was on his back with his face to the sky. His helm had come off, and the face underneath, framed in short dark hair, was of a man no older than Talaos. Still gripped in his dead hand was the sword with the glyphs and the touch of fire.

  The enemy leader was not far, with four guardsmen close, and light cavalry pouring around him towards Talaos. Others circled, readying javelins or bows, and another large body formed up with lowered spears. The leader shouted orders, coordinating the attack that would crush Talaos under sixty sets of hoofs.

  Talaos spun and swept to the ground next to the leopard as arrows and javelins landed around him. He felt an arrowhead cut the skin of his calf. He put his right hand to his chest in grim salute to his fallen foe, and then took the leopard's sword with his left. He held it for a moment, looking at the scrollwork of flames in gold, and the deeply engraved circular glyphs on the upper blade. They had runes woven into their designs.

  No time for reflection, he thought.

  He whirled back up, felt a javelin pierce his side at a shallow angle and lodge amidst his baldrics and cloak. He fixed his sight and his intent on the enemy leader. He threw, and the glyph sword went spinning across the distance between him and his target, past all the men in between, and into the leader's armored chest. There was a searing brilliant flash like fire from the sword, and the man toppled from his horse with smoke pouring from his open mouth.

  The enemy were thrown momentarily into confusion. Using his time, Talaos pulled the javelin from his side and hurled it into the chest of the nearest horsemen. He sped to the horse that had belonged to the leopard, still nearby, and leapt into the saddle. The horse was a strong black beast that startled with sudden anger, but no fear, at its unknown new rider. Talaos gripped the reins and put a firm hand to the horse's neck. Almost grudgingly, it calmed. He squeezed his legs and sent it galloping west as cavalry charged toward him from many directions.

  All around him were enemies. The rolling woods, from whence he'd come, were far ahead. Somewhere that way, with horsemen roaming, the Madmen would be on foot, running far more slowly than he had. He could see little in the dark, and his time was running out. Lacking spurs, and no veteran rider, he wasn't making the horse put all it had into the run, and he'd need it to escape the gauntlet.

  Talaos gathered his will, the will and the power that inspired awe and fear in so many of his fellow men. He gathered it to master this beast. He leaned back in the saddle and struck the horse hard on the flank with his open hand. He let loose the fury of his will. As if struck with lightning, the horse started. It snorted in sudden fear. The horse, his horse, obeyed. It shot like a bolt across the plain.

  Enemies were already upon him. He ducked low to dodge a spear, but felt it rip across his shoulders. He leaned far over in his saddle and swept his sword to shear a horseman almost clean through the waist. He turned his horse suddenly to the left, dodged a javelin, and raced on.

  Faster and faster the horse ran, and he left his foes behind.

  Up in the pass, there was tumult. As Talaos rode, he saw huge bundles of flaming logs and branches rolling down the hillsides into the massed enemy cavalry. There were men fighting by moonlight at the rampart and he heard the clash of steel.

  Horsemen were angling toward him from his left, and more behind, but none as fast as him. Ahead to the left, however, he could see that the enemy had sent the reserves into action. A hundred and sixty or so men were joining the main battle at the pass, while twenty were now charging full speed his way.

  Ahead to the right, there was tumult. Amid the din of battle, he could hear Vulkas roaring and Kyrax cursing. Then he saw them. The Madmen, true to their name, were in the thick of battle. They had drawn the attention of the squadron of horse that had been on that side, the ones he'd faced first. It looked like the fight was going poorly for the enemy.

  Vulkas smashed men clear off their horses. Kyrax and Halmir roared and threw spears, then leapt upon captured horses. Epos, already mounted, coolly ran foes through with a long spear. Larogwan did likewise, with Firio at his back on the same horse. Imvan was drawing his bow. Firio spotted Talaos and shouted. Some of the others raised growling cheers.

  A cavalryman turned in surprise at the arrival of Talaos. Vulkas made a great spinning leap, like a boulder from a catapult, and smashed the man's head flat. Kyrax snarled, felled another rider and leapt up on the dead man's horse. Wheeling his horse as he arrived, Talaos ran the last cavalryman through at the waist.

  With that, they were alone on a field of corpses, but not for long. Squadrons of horsemen were riding their way from various directions. Imvan, taking quick stock of the situation, climbed into the saddle of a captured horse. Of the Madmen, Vulkas alone was now on foot.

  Larogwan briefly looked Talaos over. With eyes on his many bleeding wounds, he shouted, "Talaos, how are you even still conscious... let alone riding?"

  "We need to get going now," was Talaos's reply. "Vulkas, get on a horse!"

  Vulkas replied uncomfortably, "I've never ridden one."

  "Time to learn!" said Talaos as he drew a pair of javelins from the packs of a riderless horse. All around them many more were milling about.

  As they spoke, Imvan had grabbed the largest horse nearby and, in haste, brought it to Vulkas. The latter climbed up uncertainly.

  The enemy was closing.

  They started slowly forward, with Vulkas wobbling unsteadily on a hesitant horse.

  "School is open, Vulkas!" roared Kyrax, demonstrating as he went. "Pull the reins to slow, pull hard to stop, pull left or right to turn. Squeeze with your legs to go faster! Always remind the horse you're in charge, and try not to fucking squash it!"

  It occurred to Talaos that javelins might be coming soon.

  "Now, men!" shouted Talaos, as he pressed knees to his horse and charged onward. Vulkas followed much more doubtfully. Then all together, they rode southwest, away from the enemy, and toward the hills. Javelins and arrows fell around them, and behind them came a hundred or more enemy horsemen.

  As they rode, Firio, still on the same horse as Larogwan, turned around to face behind.

  "What are you doing, lad?" said Larogwan with a start.

  "I'm going to try something," replied Firio in his thin, quiet voice.

  Firio stood up, feet wide, balancing precariously on the saddlebags. He drew one of the many knives strapped to his gear, took a long look at the cavalry charging behind them, focused on one, and then threw his dagger straight into the foe's throat.

  Talaos hurled his javelin with a shout, and another cavalryman went down. With silent precision, Epos drew one of the javelins his horse carried and did the same. However, many more were closing on them. Vulkas was trying mightily, but with no experience in the saddle, he was the slowest of them, and slower than the enemy.

  Talaos, whose horse was far and away the fastest, wheeled around to the back of their group. He drew a javelin that had belonged to the leopard. It was well made and sharp. He focused his mind, his will and his power on the weapon, and on his own hands. The enemy were only yards away, with a forest of spears lowered for the kill.

  Time was up. Riding slightly behind and to the right of Vulkas, Talaos readied.

  "Hold on tight, Vulkas," said Talaos.

  "Eh?"

  Talaos slapped the haunches of Vulkas's horse with his free hand. The big horse went mad with fear. It bolted as if death itself were behind it, through and past the rest of the Madmen. Hard on ahead toward the hills it galloped, with Vulkas holding on for his life.

  "Now RIDE, men!" shouted Talaos. With that, he turned in the saddle and hurled the javelin into the face of the closest enemy horseman.

  Firio, still standing backwards, dodged a javelin, and then threw another of his knives. Epos, Kyrax, and Halmir had their shields strapped to their backs, and those shields had arrows in them. Imvan, experimentally, tried twisting around in his saddle to fire an arrow, but it went wide and he nearly lost his
balance. With an expression of intense focus, he centered his body, turned, and tried again. The shot took an enemy through the shoulder.

  On and on they rode. Eight men pursued by more than ninety. South across the plain they rode, towards the line of hills. At the pass through those hills, six hundred men fought against fewer than two hundred. The ditch was full of dead men and horses, and others were impaled on the sharp stakes above. Many more were strewn about where the flaming logs had crushed and burned them on the way down the slope.

  That slope, and line of hills, was getting closer now. Horses, both those of the Madmen and their pursuers, were getting tired. Still, javelins and arrows came on. A horse neighed in fear as an arrow grazed its flank. Talaos knew it was a matter of time before one struck true and he lost a man, or with the same result, the horse underneath that man.

  From the main body of enemy cavalry on the slope, a messenger came riding fast, angling to intercept the group in pursuit of the Madmen and staying well away from the latter. He shouted, and gained the attention of the junior officers leading the pursuers. He rode alongside them and there was a short, sharp exchange. Then, the pursuing cavalry wheeled away, angling southeast toward the main army.

  Behind, on the open plain were only corpses, wounded, riderless horses and a few scouts returning from farther afield.

  "Lad, you can sit down now..." said Larogwan to Firio.

  "I kind of like it," replied the latter, still balancing on the saddlebags.

  Talaos and his men rode on under the stars, toward the welcoming hills.

  ~

  They clambered up the moonlit hillside and reached the line of the trees. Two dead enemy scouts marked their trail behind them. Talaos knew there must be more on the slopes further west, seeking a route that cavalry could thread across the line of hills. From their position around the hill, they had no direct view of the pass, but the sounds of battle had died down.

  Vulkas, visibly happy to be off a horse, walked with a loping stride and his war mattock over his shoulder. The rest discussed the situation at the pass in low voices.