The Storm's Own Son (Book 3) (12 page)

Climbing higher, he took an observation chair from among the astronomical equipment on the top interior floor. It was a heavy, ancient thing of bronze and brass, engraved with lines, circles and archaic numbers. He carried it himself to the top of the watchtower, the highest spot in the city. He surveyed the familiar sweeping vistas around him. Then, he sat, centered himself, and focused his mind.

He intended to cast his inner sight far afield, as he had on his throne of the fallen amid the battlefield. At first, it was more difficult. Then he had been at a moment of epiphany, with his power at its greatest and his mind free of distractions. He worked to clear it now.

With his inner eye, he gazed.

Around him, the city and the great army camp outside thrummed with life and activity. Large scale preparations for war went on everywhere. He'd moved most of the troops out of Avrosa to get them ready for the coming campaign. On the plains around, soldiers from both armies and many places now marched together, practicing formation in their new units.

On the western road through the hills, he saw Kurvan's expeditionary force making its way to Ipesca. It comprised a large main body of heavy cavalry and foot, with vast clouds of hillmen spread for miles on either side. From a distance he could see Ipesca itself. Smoke, too much smoke, rose there. As he drew closer to the town, a shadow, or perhaps an opposing will, obscured his sight.

Further north, small bodies of hillmen made their way toward Avrosa, and refugees from the enemy army made their way north. Some of them were even now in battle against irregulars or groups of soldiers coming south. Further off yet, the same obscuring veil appeared, as if the world were shrouded in a subtle, yet concealing, fog.

He found, too, that the farther out he looked, the more difficulty he had focusing or controlling what he saw. He turned his eye south.  In the countryside south of Avrosa, part of its territory, life was returning to normal. Even now, his emissaries were in the villages administering the oath against the Prophet and finding a friendly welcome.

Beyond that was the wild forested region where the mountains, the hills, and the sea came together at the far southern end of Hunyos. He swept his vision out to the sparkling sea and saw merchant ships here and there. Then he moved east and back north, around the coast.

There it was, not that far from Avrosa now.

It was as he'd seen in his vision on the battlefield, but now far closer: a ship of the Western Isles, with high sides and tall masts bearing tremendous sails for a ship its size. Designs of waves and dolphins decorated those sails, and vines and leaves its painted hull. He could see the crew at work, led by a captain in a bright yellow-green cloak.

There was something, not light exactly, but a kind of greater clarity surrounding that ship.

He smiled, descended the watchtower, and made ready for a walk to the harbor.

8. Return

Talaos sat in his chair of office as dictator on a stone plaza adjoining the main docks in the harbor of Avrosa. He wore his armor, the deadly armor of the dictator Adrastos, with its black steel and its silver wreaths and thunderbolts. He had a new, dark gray cloak of office over his shoulders. His swords rested across his lap, and his eyes shone with lightning.

Behind him stood the Madmen and his Wolves, and beside him were the bearers of his maces of office. All around waited officers and dignitaries of Avrosa, and two companies of spearmen formed an honor guard.

The ship of the Western Isles was guided by a pilot boat to its destination at the end of a long stone quay.  Sailors climbed down lines, tied the ship in place, and then lowered a ramp. A small crowd of merchants and passengers descended.

They were then greeted by the white-haired old harbor master in his gray tunic and cloak, two of his assistants, and a crowd of dock workers. The harbor master himself escorted a particular group of passengers while his assistants attended to the others. Meanwhile, crew and dock workers began to unload the ship.

Talaos had sensed it with his inner sight, but the reality still amazed him. There they were, and all together.

There walked Katara, tall beneath her long, golden braids. She was clad in an outfit of northern garb that he'd only seen on her once or twice; a calf-length, long-sleeved dress of plain wool over leggings, fitted tight at the waist and ribs by a brown leather bodice with a great many engraved bronze fittings. Her long sword and a round shield were strapped to her back. She wore her headband with bronze discs at her brow and a watchful look in her eyes.

Sorya stalked silently beside the Northwoman. Clothed entirely in black, her form-fitting dress was slit at the sides over tight pants and high boots. She had her cloak thrown back, and her dark hair blew free in the breeze. She had a wide, black leather belt around her tiny waist and, he thought, almost certainly a pair of daggers hidden behind it. She had continued her new habit of heavy kohl around her exceptionally large, dark, flashing eyes, and even at this distance he could see them widen in surprise.

Last and most surprising, there was Miriana. Her red-brown hair was longer than ever and flowed past her hips in great, loose braids tied with bright-colored ribbons. She wore clothes like he'd never seen, but guessed were of the Western Isles. Hanging low around her hips was a long, flowing, dark green skirt embroidered with borders of white leaves. A band of white cloth with green leaves wrapped around her full breasts, but her small waist was bare. She’d thrown a light, loose, green cloak back from her bare shoulders. Her eyes sparkled merrily, and she bore a gentle smile on her face, as if none of what she saw around Talaos was a surprise.

As well it might not be, for she was a prophetess.

Seeing Miriana, Talaos was now certain that she’d been the source of the clarity that had surrounded her ship, like a living counter to the veils and shadows of the Prophet.

With the three walked Miriana's father, and Talaos remembered he'd never learned his name. In Amari, the tall, lean man had seemed wolfishly strong and hale for one so old, but now even more so, as if activity and danger had been good for his health. He’d replaced his red magistrate's cloak with a plain black one, but he still wore his gilt armor and his twin long swords. His white hair blew in the wind, and his expression was of frank disbelief.

The four approached, reaching the end of the quay and crossing the plaza toward him, Talaos smiled. He'd told those in his delegation only that he was expecting visitors important to him. He’d done so in part because until now, he hadn't been sure if it was true. Many, he thought, must be wondering at the sight of three such tremendously varied young women and an old man in the armor of a general of the Republic. He felt momentary catlike amusement at the situation.

Then a wave of long-repressed emotion washed over him. There approached three women he loved, and three he'd been unsure he would ever see again.  Again, there they were, walking his way, all improbably together.

The harbor master guided them to a spot in front of Talaos, bowed low, and departed.

Katara solemnly bent to one knee before him. Talaos reflected on her oath of loyalty in Carai. Miriana, for whatever reasons of her own, dropped to her knees, but looked up at Talaos brightly, almost playfully. Sorya looked at the other two women as if they'd gone mad, and then at Talaos as if the whole world had. But when she attempted to look him in the eye, she seemed to find it too much and cast her own eyes down uncomfortably. Miriana's father stood tall and watchful, surveying the pageantry before him.

Talaos thought about how much had happened, and how much had changed since he'd last seen any of them. How much he, and quite likely they, had changed as well. It felt like lifetimes, though it had been but part of a year. He wondering what distances there might be between them now.

But there was the sparkle in Miriana's eyes, and doubt was not his way.

Talaos rose from his chair, and his entourage snapped to attention.

He took a step forward to Katara, put a hand under her chin, and guided her to her feet. She looked at him, gray eyes guarded. He thought she had her emotions locked away, but not safely locked.  He put his left hand to her shoulder, and she put hers to his. She gazed appreciatively at the long scar on his face, and the many other, fainter ones around it. With his hand still under her chin, he guided her closer. He tilted her head up and gently kissed her.

Behind him, Talaos could sense subtle but amazed reactions from many of those with him. Still, all of them, even the Madmen, maintained order thus far. But, he thought with an inner smile, he had more shocks for them.

He whispered in Katara's ear, "Soon."

She nodded, and made a faint smile as he stepped back.

Then he went to Miriana. She gazed directly and almost rapturously into his eyes, and her fair young face glowed with joy. He smiled at her, and she sprang lightly to her feet. He put a hand to her cheek, and she stood on her toes. Even then, he towered over her. He tilted her head back and leaned close. She suddenly wrapped her arms around his shoulder and neck, and then kissed him with such passion, and for so long, that at last he had to gently guide her to stop.

Talaos, with a mixture of senses and inner sight, was aware of the stronger but still repressed reaction in the crowd, and of Miriana's father's weary resignation. Behind him, he sensed Kyrax make a very quiet whistle, and Larogwan silence him with an elbow to the ribs.

He whispered in Miriana's ear, "This time, we speak to your father."

She beamed.

Next he went to Sorya, and she avoided his gaze. He ran his fingers through her hair at the back of her head, and gently, but inexorably, pulled her closer. For a moment, she seemed as if she was going to try to wrench free, but instead stood there, looking miserable.

"Sorya," he said, in a calm, firm voice.

She shook with visible, overpowering emotion. "Talaos, how did… you do all this? Who…
what
are you?" she whispered, almost panicked.

He replied simply, "I am the man you knew, but I am also the heir of the Storm Father, who was the eldest of the gods. As for all this, it is a very long story."

That answer didn't seem to help, and she tensed in his hands, shivering. Talaos thought about their parting, and the days that had preceded it, and what else Sorya might be feeling.

"Sorya," he whispered, "come visit me tonight, by yourself."

"Where do you live? Sleeping in some big palace?" she said with quiet emotion.

"No, near the top of an old tower. I don't really sleep anymore, but I have a bed there."

That seemed to snap her to, and a faint hint of her old wicked smile returned.

He held her in a short, intense kiss, then stood straight and guided her by the hair to look into his blazing eyes. She stared wide eyed for a moment, then averted her gaze.

Talaos turned and walked to face Miriana's father. "General," he said, "when last we met, I never learned your name. However, welcome to Avrosa."

"I am Auretius," the old man replied with cool formality, "and I thank you for your hospitality, Dictator Talaos."

"I would be honored, General Auretius, if you would join my commanders and I for a meal at midday. Then later, could you and Miriana meet me in private? My officials will arrange for accommodations."

At last, the wonderment of the situation seemed to get the better of the old general, and he looked around again at the delegation for a moment before replying. "Yes, of course."

Then Talaos raised his right hand to his equally wondering officers and officials. "We return to the council hall," he said.

Soldiers saluted, Avrosans bowed, and the Madmen, other than Epos, grinned. Then they all took their places in the column as Talaos set forth with Auretius and the women in tow.

~

"If you wouldn't mind, general," said Maxano to Auretius, "I'd be honored to hear your first-hand account of how you held the pass at Nausica."

Miriana's father pondered for a moment, and began.

Talaos smiled, listened, and learned. There had been lively conversation among the commanders today. Maxano, with decades of experience in the field, had also proven to be a scholar of war. In particular he was interested in the Republic's war with Dirion, which had been larger by far than any fought in Hunyos since the downfall of the Empire. He had known of Miriana's father by reputation and was immensely pleased to meet him in person.

As Auretius went on, Aro and Tescani joined in with questions. Talaos noted the similarities between the two, despite vastly different origins and careers. Both were coldly calculating in their way, consciously aware of their roles as leaders, endlessly attentive to details in preparation, yet alert and opportunistic in actual battle.

Then Adriko, running late, joined them with a catlike smile. He poured himself a tall cup of wine, slouched into a chair, and began to listen attentively. Talaos thought of the traits he attributed to Aro and Tescani, and leaving out coldness, thought how well they applied to Adriko as well. Or, he thought as the story unfolded, to Auretius himself.

There were a great many things still to learn, Talaos thought, and yet a few common traits that supported success. Traits that many of his commanders had in abundance. He smiled and listened on.

~

Talaos sat with Miriana and her father in a well-appointed parlor in the council hall. Aides had brought them refreshments, but they'd made little small talk. Auretius had warmed and opened up at the meal of commanders, but was now withdrawn again. Withdrawn and waiting, thought Talaos.

Miriana was very much the opposite. She smiled brightly now, but she'd been distant earlier, eyes remote as if seeing things far away. Talaos, now that he had learned to recognize and control his own, far less sweeping inner sight, thought he at last had an idea what such times might be like for her.

Miriana leaned forward intently in her chair. She gazed at Talaos in a way that, to him, felt as if she was basking in, almost touching or tasting, his presence and his aura of power. The look in her luminous eyes was very distracting. Her rounded, half-parted lips were as well. However, right now, they had much to discuss.

Talaos looked at them both, and began, "I think it would be good to start with the tale of how I came to where I am now."

Auretius nodded as Miriana continued to raptly watch Talaos. He decided to trust that in their time with Sorya and Katara, they would have discussed at least something of his life in Carai, and so he began his tale from the time of his ascent into the mountains.

He went on in as much detail as he thought was relevant. Miriana's father seemed startled at the story of Talaos's fight with the Ferox. So much so that he had questions.

"A pack of them?" asked Auretius.

"Yes. I know they are said to be solitary creatures, and I've thought since that the green mist in their eyes meant they were controlled or influenced in some way by the Prophet."

"I would agree." replied the old general. "Though even so, they are supposed to be impossible to tame, and they are known to quickly die in captivity."

Talaos considered that, and the strange kinship he felt with the Ferox. They were creatures dangerous and free. The thought of them being enslaved through magic stirred a hint of anger within him. At that moment, Miriana and her father both showed sudden reactions. Light from his eyes shown on their faces. Her expression seemed almost ecstatic.

"Dictator," Auretius said, "I can see why the Avrosans have given you the title of their ancient hero. Though the light never leaves your eyes, for a moment they blazed like suns."

"That is very much part of the tale, though I think Miriana already understands more than she has said," replied Talaos. Then he continued.

Both of them were fascinated by the story of the gods on the mountainside, and Auretius noted he'd heard of those carvings, but had felt too old to attempt such a climb. Miriana grew very attentive during the story of the standing stones, while her father brightened with professional interest during Talaos's tales of military life and battle. Auretius had known of Sanctari by reputation. He was knowledgeable of the military old laws of Hunyos, and noted that the Republic had never developed an equivalent. While her father was merely interested in the story of the House of the Prophet, Miriana actually grew uncomfortable, and even a bit angry, at the tale.