The Storm's Own Son (Book 2) (3 page)

"The healing is natural to me."

Adriko made a resigned shrug.

"And, if I may provide a gentle reminder," continued Adriko, ceasing to smile, "I know what you are capable of. It amazes me, but Sanctari did point out that being first to storm the walls is a suicide mission."

"Often, not is," corrected Talaos, still smiling. Then the smile faded, and he added, "This is what I am made to do, and exactly where I want to be."

For a moment, Adriko looked appalled. Then his mobile face changed to resignation, and finally an inquisitive smile like that of a curious cat. "All right then. This should be interesting," he said.

At a word from inside the tent, the guards reopened the door flaps.

Talaos strode in, comfortable with all outcomes, but confident in one.

Sanctari watched him with a reflective expression, and intent eyes.

"Talaos, we agree. You will have what you asked, if you accept."

"Then I accept."

2. Gathering

"I still can't believe they made you a tribune! Now even the commanders have cracked," snorted Kyrax.

Talaos laughed and looked around the table at his fellow Madmen. He'd rolled up the sides of their new command tent to let in the mid-morning air, and could see the piled canvas of the other tents that would soon go up to make their own section of the camp.

Before them was a big platter of good food now half finished, and some watered wine.

Vulkas was grinning in between huge bites of breakfast.

"Nice armor," the giant said to Talaos, with an edge that would have pleased Adriko.

"Nice that you have armor, I'd say, Talaos," added Larogwan. "Though I must admit, Vulkas, you're looking a bit shinier too."

It was true, thought Talaos, between his apparent new fame in the camp, Adriko's surprisingly large network of strings to pull, a rich haul of spoils, and his new rank, he'd managed to requisition, buy, swap, or scavenge enough to equip everyone far better than they'd been two days before.

"You look the part of a victorious commander, and that should help with recruitment," said Epos, voice bass as a war drum in the first words he'd spoken all morning.

That too was true, Talaos admitted.

He had new black tunic, pants, and boots, and a black cloak bordered with a bit of silver scrollwork. His armor was a light, flexible, segmented breastplate, black steel trimmed in silver, and some sturdy plain steel greaves and
vambraces. He wore his swords on a plain black belt and baldric, which, alas, meant his old collection of knives no longer had convenient places to call home.

Most appropriately, and most improbably, someone had turned up an open faced black steel helmet with a metal crest. It had a design of bright silver lightning bolts radiating out along the raised brim from a point at the center of his brow, a bit like a third eye.

"I don't think we'll have much time to spare. We'll all be working together on recruitment, men," Talaos said to them all.

"Even me?" gulped Firio, who now had a sturdy new leather shirt, free of blood stains.

"Just tell them some of what you did on the battlefield, and they'll listen," replied Talaos.

"The men around camp are already telling many such tales," added Halmir, "though this army lacks proper skalds to sing them."

"Those are our stories you're talking about, lad!" laughed Larogwan. "Recent ones. And it seems a bit premature to be making songs about them."

"Why so?" replied Halmir."They are true deeds, and great. We should want songs of them sung, while we still live."

Imvan, who'd already been quiet, almost shrank into his chair at Halmir's words.

Larogwan noticed, and turned his way. "Don't worry lad, we're not dead yet."

The hillman looked up. "It isn't that. I am just not... comfortable with our fame."

Talaos, contentedly finishing a bite of food, looked over to the young
hillman, and answered, "We didn't choose our new fame, Imvan, but we have it, like it or not. Our task is to accept it, but remain who we are."

That answer seemed to please Imvan, and he sat back up to drink a little of the thin wine.

"This time, you did not sound like Adriko," added Larogwan.

"That's right!" boomed Vulkas with a grin, and pounding a fist on the table to Firio's visible shock. "He sounds like Talaos."

"That's fucking Tribune Talaos, to you soldier!" snapped Kyrax.

There was an awkward pause.

"Wait, Kyrax, was that a joke?" asked Talaos.

Laughs passed around the table.

"Well, yes..." replied Kyrax, sounding what, for him, passed for sheepish.

"Now that really is a change," beamed Larogwan.

Halmir, who'd been looking out at the towering black clouds in the east, put a hand to his braided golden-red beard, and spoke in a reflective, almost distant voice, "Change is coming for all of us, soon."

~

As it turned out, thought Talaos, recruitment was not that difficult. They'd spent the later morning walking around camp spreading the news, then set up their table in a highly visible spot at the edge of their new section of it. Both potential volunteers and the merely curious had come by in large numbers, as gaps in their duties allowed.

In an army that had swelled to nearly fourteen thousand, there turned out to be five hundred or so reckless or crazy enough to volunteer for a suicide mission. Then again, Talaos mused, the excited talk of many of those men showed that, at least today, they didn't think it was such a suicide mission if he was leading it.

However, he wanted the ones who did still see it as something as likely to lead to death as victory, but were willing to try anyway.

As men volunteered, he quickly sized them up and put their names and descriptions on either a shorter list, or a longer one.  At dusk they closed up shop, and Talaos set to work in the command tent with input from the Madmen, Adriko, and such other officers as he could coax into visiting. For what they had to accomplish, a small body of the toughest men would do more good than a bigger, less deadly, harder to coordinate horde. And he needed men that, if it came to it, could operate nearly as independently of him as he would of the main army.

He worked late into the night, but at last he thought he had it. Out of the five hundred volunteers, he would accept a hundred. All were experienced soldiers who'd seen close combat.  They would be organized into ten squads, each with a decurion. He would command the Madmen personally, with Larogwan as decurion if he was absent.

Now would
come the harder task, and one that conversations with Adriko had made very clear he wouldn't have enough time to do properly.  One in fact, he reflected, he hadn't learned properly how to do. He had to get his new men to work together as a company, as a coherent fighting force. And if the enemy did come, it would be soon, which meant ready or not, they'd be put into action together even sooner.

~

"How did you do it?" Talaos asked Lurios, as they stood outside the Aledri section of the camp.

The other replied with his elegant manner and polished voice. "Meaning, train my men?"

"More than that, how did you turn them into the kind of unit that would stand fast against an eagle of fire roaring at them out the sky."

Lurios considered for a moment,
then answered. "To begin with, I did much as you have done. When I first received my captaincy three years ago, I wanted the best. I used every bit of influence I had to recruit only the best. And, I was willing to spend my own money, in my case from estates, to equip them well."

"That by itself wouldn't do it," observed Talaos.

"No," considered Lurios."I have tried to be firm, even harsh, but consistent with discipline. I train with them almost every day. That parade ground work that officers of irregulars find so amusing is what teaches men to fight in formation, as one, and to stand as one. I took them with me on long marches, in the worst weather I could, and I went on foot. But you, Talaos, don't have that much time, and your men are themselves irregulars."

"Then what do you suggest?"

Lurios reflected for some time, he looked down as he thought, noticed a smudge on his breastplate, polished it with a scrap of cloth from a pouch at his belt, and then replied, "You could try sparring, something like the initiation matches, but in groups.  Get them to work together trying to beat each other up. There might be some scratches and bruises, but they'll have earned them as a team, and you'll get a better sense of what they can do."

"I think that's a good start," answered Talaos, "and we'll see what else there's time for."

"If the enemy gives us time," Lurios replied, as he looked at the massing clouds over the sea.

~

"They won't be ready in time," bluntly replied Theron, chief siege engineer for the army. He was a short, stocky, gruff man with graying hair, wearing a plain brown tunic. Around him were tools of varying kinds, a table holding drawings and lists of supplies, and open-faced tents full of men working.

"The catapults and ballistae were," said Talaos.

"They are easier, and they were partly pre-constructed," answered Theron."Artillery are useful for other things, but siege towers are only for those rare times when you're assaulting a walled city on flat ground. You can't transport 'em. They get custom built almost every time."

"If we have to assault this one, I'll still need to get on top of that gate fortress."

"We've got lots of ladders," said Theron sarcastically, in a manner that suggested Talaos had a lot to learn.

"Which are too short," replied Talaos lightly, ignoring the sarcasm. "So, come up with something."

Theron scowled, scratched his stubble-coated chin for a while, then said, "Well... how afraid are you of something risky?"

Talaos laughed.

~

"They're a hard looking lot," said Larogwan, as they reviewed the volunteers.

"They don't have a soft job," replied Talaos, as the volunteers formed up for sparring.

Larogwan was certainly right, thought Talaos, the traits he'd selected for made for a group of grim-looking killers. The volunteers were bigger, stronger men than the average of troops in the army, yet moved with more agility. They tended to be a bit older, and a good deal more scarred than most. Except for being older, they were much like their leader.

"All right men," began Talaos, speaking to them in his clear, deep voice, "you've all done initiation sparring at some point. This is going to be a bit like that, but each decurion's squad will fight as a team. That field there will serve in place of the usual ring."

A little distance to his right was a rectangular field marked with the same shallow outer trench as a sparring ring.  The volunteers eyed it with interest.

Talaos continued, "The rules are the same, you're out if you get a tap or leave the field by any means. I'll have men standing by on the sides to watch for cheating, but I'm expecting you to put some heart into it."

Black grins passed among the volunteers. Soldiers in each squad gave those in the others coldly appraising looks.

"All right, First and Sixth squads, form up and face each other. Fight to the finish."

They needed no further encouragement. Once the signal was given, they tore into each other like wolves.

Halmir, nearby, watched them with grim approval. He turned to Talaos solemnly."This is good. They follow your spirit."

~

"Welcome, Tribune, and thank you for coming," said General Sanctari, with a kind of warm formality.

Talaos nodded and stepped from the looming night into the glow of the commander's lamp lit tent. He took a brief look around. It was simply furnished, for a man of such rank, with well made and well used chests, a folding wooden table with four chairs and a narrow cot. There was a big, battered old rug for a floor. An item of unusual note, however, was an open cabinet with several shelves, all piled with books in sturdy, metal fitted covers.

"You may feel free to sit," said Sanctari, gesturing to the chairs around the little table. He himself took one, as one of his bodyguards poured them both some wine, then left.

Talaos took another of the chairs.

Sanctari took a sip of wine, paused with a small shrug, then spoke.

"Talaos, do you understand the danger and difficulty you've put yourself in?"

"I'll be ready for the assault," replied Talaos, firmly.

"That is actually what concerns me less," answered the old general. "I have more confidence in your ability to survive a battle than anyone in this army. You know why. You should have died, there at the pass."

"People keep telling me that," said Talaos, sipping his wine.

"They're right, Talaos. And, you shouldn't have been able to move, let alone ride, with the wounds you had, and those wounds shouldn't be anything close to healed now. Yet they have, and here you are."

Talaos listened intently and with interest. He had a sense that something was coming, something he hadn't expected from the old general.

"I needn't repeat the stories of your deeds in battle," continued Sanctari, "What is clear is that you are extraordinary.
Someone born with powerful gifts and innate magic."

"What do you know of others like me?" asked Talaos.

Sanctari leaned back in his chair, hand on his chin. "I doubt there is anyone else in the world with exactly the set of gifts you appear to have, and it is unlikely there are very many with gifts so numerous and powerful. As I imagine you know, there are certainly a great many others in the world with at least something, of varying degree and kind."

Talaos eyed the books on the shelves,
then asked, "Where do such gifts come from?"