

Storm and Fire

However, he was here to fight a war of his own, and the sides were neither this army nor the city it besieged, nor any of their friends. The sides were him, and the Living Prophet. Wherever led towards his victory in that war was his path. Whoever intentionally hindered him were his foes, and whoever could help him along the way were his allies. He drew his blades, threw back his cloak, and walked down the road toward the army below with a swift, easy stride.

### The Storm's Own Son

### Book One

The First Book of Storm and Fire

### By Anthony Gillis

First Edition, June 2014

Revised, December 2014

Published by Sol Invictus Publishing Inc

Cover design and interior artwork by Anthony Gillis

Copyright © 2014 Anthony Gillis

All rights reserved

ISBN 9781310145735

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Find more books by the author at

AnthonyGillis.com

-AG-

### Preface to the Revised First Edition

This work is dedicated to all who live by their own free minds, hearts, and conscience.

Storm and Fire is a series written for adults. It contains explicit violence and sex. If these are not to your taste, feel free to pass it by. The same can be said for the protagonist.

Talaos is no teenaged, naive farm boy, nor is he prone to angst, nor yet is he meant to represent an idealized hero. He begins the tale as an experienced killer with a reputation and plenty of enemies, and he has no qualms about power. His relationships with women are far from conventional, and he has more than one at a time.

This is a dark work, though not what is sometimes called grimdark. That said, it isn't for those looking for classic high fantasy in a medieval-style world, with shining knights and archaic dialog. Thematically, it draws on the harsher, earthier traditions of Greco-Roman civilization and the pagan Norse. The world of Storm and Fire as a whole is closer to that of the ancients than the middle ages, and its people act accordingly.

The Storm's Own Son is the first trilogy of three in the series. It is followed by Mercy of the Prophet and Lord of Worlds. Each trilogy follows a major story arc, and together, the nine books of Storm and Fire tell a single complete story.

This newly revised edition incorporates a few changes, including cleanup of typos and choices of wording, a new cover, and a revised world map. Even so, in total they are not substantial. It is still very much the same work, and one I hope you enjoy.

The best to you,

Anthony Gillis

December 5, 2014

### The complete Storm and Fire series comprises the following:

First Trilogy

The Storm's Own Son - Book One

The Storm's Own Son - Book Two

The Storm's Own Son - Book Three

Second Trilogy

Mercy of the Prophet - Book One

Mercy of the Prophet - Book Two

Mercy of the Prophet - Book Three

Third Trilogy

Lord of Worlds - Book One

Lord of Worlds - Book Two

Lord of Worlds - Book Three

### Other books by Anthony Gillis

Blood on Bronze

Alien Empire

Jamaica Rum

Barrett's Bar Stories

### The Storm's Own Son

### Book One

### Table of Contents

Front

Map of the World

Map of Hunyos

Prologue

1. The Easy Life

2. The Jewel of the Republic

3. Downsides

4. A Better World

5. A Change in the Weather

6. Endings and Beginnings

7. Birth

8. Passage

9. The Winds of War

10. Possibilities

11. Madmen

12. Thunderbolt

13. The Line

Preview of The Storm's Own Son, Book Two

About the Author

Other Books by the Author

Acknowledgements

### The World of Storm and Fire

Partial Map Excerpt

### The World of Storm and Fire

Map of Hunyos

### Prologue

_25 Years Ago_

A ship sailed fast on an azure sea. It had a sharp prow, painted and gilt in angular geometric patterns, a long low stern castle, and painted lateen sails full with the wind. White clouds dotted the sky overhead, but darker ones could be seen, far to the northeast.

At a low bench along the forward rails sat a slender young woman alone. Her long, shining black hair blew in the wind. Her bronze face was downcast and her large, dark, long-lashed eyes were lowered. Full lips were set in a look of sadness. She wore a clean dress of unbleached white linen, decorated with curling beaded embroidery around the hem and collar, and a thin cloak of the same material pulled close about her.

Sailors, men with light olive complexions, dark hair, and sleeveless tunics in various geometric patterns of red, black, and brown, watched the woman as they worked. Their expressions showed more than just appreciation of her beauty; they showed hints of curiosity, apprehension, or protective concern; for her cloak could not hide that she was full with child.

Here and there on the ship were other passengers. They had the looks and clothing of lands near and far. Two women with bronze skin and black hair, dressed much like the cloaked woman, stood near the steps of the stern castle. They were joined by a man of similar look whose black beard was streaked with gray, and whose face showed weary lines. They made polite gestures of greeting, introductions, and small talk in a language very different from the sailors. Then the man steadied himself and spoke in a more solemn voice.

"I had no idea others from the homeland had come aboard. While the fever had me I saw only my own bad dreams. I dread to hear what I have missed. You're from Ishuk, yes? What news from the south?"

The younger of the two women spoke. She was thin, with a nervous cast to her face.

"The enemy, I mean the Prophet's forces, have crushed many of the southern princes, but some still hold out in Ishuk and a few other walled cities."

"And the north?" interrupted the older woman, whose hard eyes, tight-bound hair, and severe expression were matched by a strong jaw set in earnest intensity.

The man replied, in tones of grim resignation, "The northern princes have sworn allegiance to the faith of the Prophet... and I think will soon ride to war."

"They say," said the older women, her voice rising and a kind of passion flickering briefly in her eyes, "that across the north rides one of the Twelve Hands, one of the very harbingers of the Living Prophet himself. Is that true?"

"It is, and I have seen that messenger, briefly," added the man, "though I was glad to see no more. He was a very tall man in hooded robes of white and green, and wore a golden mask in the form of a handsome bearded face, but the mask had no eyes."

The thin woman reacted with a nervous gasp, and turned to the older, "See? You see? My father said those easterners and their Prophet are sorcerer devils! Years ago, he said that no good could come of dealing with them!"

The older woman's lips formed a thin smile. She spoke softly, "It is a pity we did not do so sooner. When the righteous have their victory, and the Houses of the Prophet overlook the land, they will know how to deal with evildoers of all kinds - with the selfish and the proud, the gamblers and the drunks, the thieves and adulterers, and with whores like her..."

With that, the older woman gestured in the direction of the cloaked young woman at the railing. The thin woman glanced briefly the same way, then turned her nervous eyes studiously elsewhere. The man, however, reacted in some surprise.

"What do you mean?"

The older woman eyed the sailors around them, and lowered her voice in a conspiratorial tone. "She, that one, was a kind of witch in Ishuk. Her family dealt in medicines, oils, books, and they say, many other things. Near the harbor."

The man watched her and listened, his face guarded.

"One day," continued the older woman, "this tall, proud young fellow came in on some ship or other, with the light face of a savage from the far north and these devil's blue eyes..."

"He was the best looking man I'd ever seen!" interrupted the thin woman, her eyes suddenly brightening, "and walked like nothing in the world could harm him, I..."

"Foolish child," corrected the older. "He would have just gotten between your legs like he did that slut's... In any case, no man should hold himself that high. We are all equal, all unworthy, all worms twisting miserably in the dirt."

"I've had enough of twisting in the dirt, and of war," said the man, "which is why I'm leaving for good. The princes and the Prophet can tear our poor country apart all they like. But, why are you two here?"

"My father paid my way, to wait out the war," replied the thin woman.

"I go to trade, raising gold for a worthy cause," said the older, with smiling surety.

~

Another day. The ship sailed in rising wind, with masses of dark clouds gathering in the northeastern sky. The captain, a powerfully built, gray-haired man in a black cloak bordered with checkered red, stood on the stern castle tensely watching the approaching storm. He turned to his helmsman.

"Bring us about a bit more due west, lad. The wind is starting to work against us, and we've got to use what we can if we're going to make port before that storm catches up!"

The helmsman nodded and set to work at the tiller. The clouds, in ever growing, towering black masses, continued to gain on them.

As the storm gathered, the day faded, and the remaining patches of blue sky turned dark. To the northwest, a black shoreline of rocky hills rose above the horizon, and beyond, the twinkling lights of a vast port city. The crew cheered and the captain shouted back to them.

"There it is, Carai! Now, put your backs into it! Trim those sails for rough weather, and let's take her in!"

He surveyed the ship. The passengers had all gone below decks, all but one. The young woman still sat at the railing where she spent every day. As the sky overhead turned to pitch black and the first drops of rain fell, it suddenly brightened with a flash of lightning. The woman threw back her cloak, and lifted her face to the sky. She smiled with an air of wild joy. Then the smile vanished, as she arched her body with a pained grimace.

"That damned woman is going into labor!" roared the captain, "Keridas, Turion, you two get her below decks and see if one of the passengers will midwife... Go now!"

Two strong young sailors walked with steady feet on the now rolling deck, as the wind howled and rain began to pour. Lightning flashed again as they offered their hands to help the young woman to her feet. She suddenly recoiled and gave them a ferocious glare. One of the young men shook his head in skeptical surprise while the other looked over his shoulder at the captain.

"Lads, get that girl to safety!" bellowed the captain back at them.

The sailors moved swift and sure. The young woman tried to throw herself sideways to escape their grip, but they were too fast. Powerful arms gripped hers. She flailed and kicked, then screamed in what looked like a mix of rage and pain as another contraction contorted her body. Overhead, sheets of rain began to pour from the shadowed sky. Lightning strikes cracked all around the ship, and a wave rolled over the deck in a wash of ankle-deep water.

The two sailors hauled the young woman across the slippery deck toward the sealed, watertight door under the stern castle. She shrieked and strained. As they reached the door, a powerful thunderclap boomed almost directly overhead. All stopped for a moment. One of the young sailors briefly slackened his grip and the young woman twisted away. Then she wrenched her other sopping wet arm loose from the second sailor. She tried to run for the open deck, but slipped in the rain as the sailors caught her again. She shrieked howling screams, and kicked with flailing feet against the doorway.

"She's gone crazy!" yelled one of the sailors. "She won't go!"

Another wave, a bigger one, hit the ship, and swept the main deck almost knee-deep in sea water.

"Damn it!" roared the captain. "Try up here, out of the waves!"

They did, and as soon as it became clear where they were going, she stopped struggling and let herself be half-carried up the steps of the stern castle. All across the ship, sailors without immediate duties were either heading below, or following them up the rain-washed steps to the castle. Lightning struck all round them and the ship shook in the waves and wind.

The sailors set her down next to the captain, and she looked up at him with a strange expression. There was fear in her eyes, but also something else, something almost like a wild hope. Waves crashed below and the wind howled. The captain shook his head, and gestured to his men to hold her safe. He leaned close to her ear to be heard over the howling waves.

"All right girl, I'm no midwife, but I've seen a lot of things, and at sea you have to make do with what you have. We'll try to help you through this..."

She smiled fiercely, then winced as the next contraction hit her.

Overhead, a thunderbolt struck the topmost mast.

~

The dawn air was cool. Tattered clouds fled away on the southern horizon and a fresh wind blew from the north. On a rocky shore dotted with small sand beaches, waves lapped and wreckage drifted ashore. Here and there, furtive figures in bedraggled clothes moved with caution. Every now and then, one of them would stoop down to gather some item and stuff it into a sack or pouch. More frequently, one of them would glance over their shoulder toward the immense city to the west. Two were walking together; a small, thin, balding man of middle years, and an old but hale looking woman with gray hair in braids down her back.

"Any sign of a patrol from the city?" asked the woman.

"None yet, but it can't be long now," replied the man. "We'll need to leave soon."

"Yes. It'd be such a shame to have to report these to see if they were judged legal salvage, with seizures or taxes either way. Such a shame indeed..." said the old woman wistfully.

"They won't be legal," said the man firmly. "This was one of ours, not foreign... Captain Danrion's ship. See the mark on this broken drawer?"

"Oh... that is an even bigger shame," added the woman. "He was a good sort, and he'll be missed. Still, we've got work to do..."

"Right."

They moved onward, around an outcropping of boulders to a small hidden cove.

"Well, look at that!" whispered the old woman.

Before them in the sand was the broken body of a young woman with bronze skin and black hair strewn wildly about. They walked closer.

"From the Eastlands, I'd guess," added the man. "She must have been a beauty, before..."

"Before that storm got her. Poor dearie," muttered the woman.

They reached the body, and saw something else.

"A baby! That is a newborn baby tucked in her arm!" exclaimed the old woman.

"How could she have kept a grip on it in those waves?" wondered the man. "Poor little beggar, never had a chance at life."

The woman suddenly darted forward, as fast as old legs would allow.

"It is alive, no he is alive, a baby boy!" shouted the woman, "I'm going to help him."

"Have you gone daft? Nothing and no one could have lived through that - least of all a baby!" snorted the man, then looked down and stopped in his tracks.

The old woman gently moved aside the arms of the slain mother.

"What..." the man trailed off.

The old woman picked up the infant and cradled him in her arms. There he was, a newborn baby boy, well formed and glowing with health. His eyes opened briefly, sparkling a brilliant sapphire blue, then closed again.

There was not a scratch on him.

### THE STORM'S OWN SON

### BOOK ONE

THE FIRST BOOK

OF STORM AND FIRE

1. The Easy Life

It was a clear moonlit night in the great city of Carai. A laughing young man strode down a narrow back street with a woman on each arm. He was tall and athletic, in his mid twenties, with short, tousled black hair and a fair, olive-complexioned face set against improbably bright blue eyes. He was dressed in black, with a sleeveless knee-length tunic over a closely fitted long-sleeved under-tunic and pants, and a lightweight cloak thrown loosely back over his shoulders. His belt, crossing baldrics, and high boots were black leather fitted with silver, and carried many weapons. His movements had the predatory ease of a hunting beast.

The women were a few years younger, and quite different from each other.

One of them had long, dark brown hair tied back, large flashing eyes over a small mouth, arched eyebrows, and a hint of wickedness in her smile. Her dark clothes were trimmed in red. She wore a knee-length, concealing, short-sleeved dress, slit on both sides and tight over her slender frame. Under the dress were form-fitting pants and boots. A light wind blew her cloak back for a moment, revealing a pair of daggers at the back of the belt on her tiny waist.

The other woman was tall, with blonde hair in two long braids. She wore a loose, revealingly cut pale dress that flowed over her buxom, yet taut, hourglass form, and sandals with laces that wrapped up her calves. She had gray eyes and full lips in a calm expression, but yet a graceful strength and suppressed purposefulness to the movements of her body.

The three of them talked as if without a care in the world. By the hint of stumble in their steps and slur in their voices, they seemed to have taken more than their share of wine. The man's hands moved carelessly over the women's hips, and they pressed themselves close.

At last, they came to a secluded place. There, a little courtyard surrounded a fountain of plain design, where fresh water for drinking and washing came through pipes from the city's aqueducts. He and the young women sat on the low wall around the fountain and began to kiss. Hands roamed bodies, heated and oblivious to the world. Time passed.

Tall buildings loomed all around, closely spaced. Here and there were black alleys thick with shadows. From those shadows crept silent figures. Many figures cloaked and hooded in dark colors. There was a glint of steel.

The young man leapt up in seeming drunken confusion, and the women followed him clumsily. A growling voice came from a big heavyset shape among the shadowed figures.

"Got you at last Talaos, you laughing bastard!"

"Can't you see I'm busy, Borras?" smiled the young man, his voice clear and deep.

"You think this is a joke? There's twenty of us, and one of you."

"I count three."

"My quarrel's with you, not your drunken girls. You, girls! Your man chose the wrong side. Let people know it was his last mistake. Get out of here. Now," said Borras. When he got no immediate reaction, he continued, "Well, get going!"

In reply, the blonde drew herself up straight, with a suddenly grim expression, while the dark haired woman made a lopsided smile, dropped to a low crouch and drew her daggers.

There was an awkward pause.

Borras turned his hooded head in the direction of the dark haired woman. Long swords gleamed in his gloved hands. He shrugged wearily.

"All right then," he muttered. "No mercy, men."

Talaos quipped, nonchalantly, "About now, you might want to look up."

"Huh?"

Several things happened at once. The courtyard brightened as lamps suddenly lit on two flat rooftops above - roofs now seen to be crowded with archers. In that same moment, Talaos sprang into action. In one smooth lunging motion, he drew a short sword and ran it through the nearest enemy, one of three who directly blocked his way. The dark haired woman threw one of her daggers full into the face of the second enemy and slashed the knee tendons of the third as she spun past. The blonde woman aimed a kick with one of her long bare legs. A sandaled foot struck the man's injured knee and sent him toppling backwards, shin bent at a sickly angle.

Then, as Talaos and the women darted for cover, the archers above let loose. Borras and a dozen of his men fell, each with many arrows in their bodies, while a handful of survivors escaped into the darkness. It had all taken but a few seconds.

Talaos laughed once more as the young women returned to his side.

"He didn't even pick up on the clue I gave him..."

"Eh?" smirked the dark haired woman.

"Sorya, you too? When I answered him in a clear voice, with no slur of wine, he should have known something was up..."

"Exactly," said a man's voice from one of the rooftops. The tone was light, even joking, yet with a cold edge beneath. "Next time, be more careful."

"I thought I'd give him a fighting chance, or running, as the case might be," replied Talaos casually.

"Not with my money on the line," answered the voice.

A lean man slipped effortlessly down a wall. He had a thin scarred face and wore darkly rich clothes. The cold-edged voice was his, "Still, that was well done. You took a great risk. If I had changed my mind, and we'd not been in place, or they'd caught you before you got here..."

Talaos made a dark grin in reply. "One of these days, you'll worry yourself to death, Palaeon."

"My worry is what keeps me alive," replied the latter, now on the ground. "This little war of Cratus and his allies makes no sense to me, but now that Borras and his lads are in the hells, maybe he'll see reason... and you might get your wish and can go back to easy living."

"I hope so, because if I wanted war, I'd go east. But right now, I want wine and good company," smiled Talaos with an eye to the women at his side.

Palaeon pulled the younger man aside and spoke in a low voice. His hard eyes glittered in the dark. "Speaking of them... they're quite a pair. Sorya I recognize, from every now and then. Too bad for Borras he didn't. Who's that other one with the golden hair and the amazing chest?"

"Katara. She's from far away north."

"Ah. They might just be the prettiest women in the city with skills like that. Smart trap for Borras, but it must have cost you some good coin to hire them."

"Hire? They're my friends."

The older man arched an eyebrow.

"And my dates," added Talaos.

Palaeon laughed, a quiet predatory laugh. Then he took a step back as a new thought flickered across his face. He spoke more loudly, in earshot of all, "You know, there'll be a lot of room for my organization to grow, with Borras and the others in this part of town gone. I could probably use a new crew captain or two... You'd have to take the oaths of course, and get a little better at following orders, but..."

"Following orders is the main problem, and being freelance keeps that to a minimum."

"Suit yourself," smiled Palaeon. Then, with another, suddenly reflective expression, he added, "Orders or not, war in one form or another might find you yet, Talaos. Like finds like. Another reason you're called the storm's own son."

"Oh?" retorted Talaos with a smirk, "I'd say it has a more pragmatic explanation."

"Yes I know, lad. I was an honest young pickpocket with an ear for news, when they found you. But, what I say is true in its own deeper way," said Palaeon with a catlike smile.

Talaos gave an arched eyebrow in reply.

"Till next time," said Palaeon as he tossed Talaos a bag of gold.

The young man caught it with casual grace and with his companions, stepped lightly down the street toward a tavern he knew in a much nicer part of the city.

~

The small, clean, soft-lit room was filled with happy, drunken patrons. Outside, the moon shone on a clear starlit sky. Inside, little tables were packed close atop a black and red tile floor. The majority of the men wore knee-length sleeveless tunics trimmed with geometric patterns, and all bore weapons of some kind. Most of the women were in long, low cut sleeveless dresses, held by clasps at the shoulders, and slit up to and clasped tight at the waist in what was called the city style. They had painted lips and eyes lined with kohl.

Talaos smiled, and took it all in.

He sat in a corner near the front, with a small lattice window a few feet to his right. Katara sat to his left, and Sorya to his right. They were still in their clothes from the earlier street battle, though they'd washed off the blood. With them was Talaos's old friend Arax, a lank-haired young man with a sharp-eyed look and a scar across his forehead.

Everyone had earthenware cups of wine.

Sorya was telling Arax her version of the night's events, small mouth smiling and big eyes flashing, "...Borras said 'huh?' They uncovered the lanterns, and he just stood there staring for a second while all hell broke loose, until the arrows hit him."

"His last words were 'huh?' Just like Borras, to go that way!" laughed Arax. "Wish I could've seen the look on his face. Say Sorya, was that the first time you ever met Borras?"

"And the last," said Sorya with a wicked smile.

"Any chance Palaeon's going to join us?" asked Arax.

Talaos replied with mild amusement, "What do you think?"

"He was never much for taverns," added Sorya, "but these days he's getting so serious it's scary..."

"He is, but it works. He's the second biggest boss in Carai now," answered Talaos.

"Second biggest, till he gets done with Cratus," smirked Sorya.

Arax interjected, with a kind of dark humor, "Looks like it wasn't such a bad idea after all Tal, way back when you quit with Cratus. Though at least he used to know how to throw a good party, before he went grim and crazy."

"Cratus was crazy before that," corrected Talaos, "it just took a while to see it."

Talaos knew all too well the appeal of the legendary boss's former lifestyle of wine, women, and adventure, and of his pretenses at being a champion for the people. There'd been a time when it had made gang life seem grand, almost heroic.

"Still," replied Arax, "things are getting really strange in his organization these days. He and his higher ups are getting as cold and serious as Palaeon. And those Eastlanders he's had hanging around? I even heard he has a bunch of foreign bodyguards now."

"True," replied Talaos thoughtfully, "and there've been a lot of disappearances. Then there is the war. Palaeon doesn't think it makes sense either, and Cratus has been fighting it in a really murderous way. It must be costing a lot of gold. It's all odd, and all bad."

Sorya and Arax nodded. Then the latter began with a new thought, "Tal, I bet Palaeon will offer you a job as a crew captain."

Talaos, casual again, replied, "He already did, and I turned it down. I like being free. Now, enough about Palaeon and Cratus. Let's get some more wine."

After a moment, the barmaid, a young woman with brown hair curled in spirals, and a red-brown dress cut low and revealingly even for Carai, arrived and took their orders. She leaned in close to Talaos with her ample chest almost touching him.

Sorya flashed her a glare.

For his part, Talaos ordered the wine, then looked happily elsewhere around the room.

He noticed the arrival of another friend of his, a very young, dark-haired man named Pallas, who was known for his skill with a sword, his signature brocaded black and gold cloak, and his turbulent ups and downs with women.

Tonight however, there were two changes around Pallas. The first was that he wore a pair of sturdy new swords with a long blade and a short in the dueling style, the second was that he arrived with a slender, foreign-looking young woman. She had dark bronze skin, long black hair in loose waves, and big dark eyes. She wore a red dress in the city style of Carai, and she seemed pleased enough with Pallas thus far.

"Everyone," Pallas said with a dramatic sweep of his cloak to the side as he swept an arm their way, "this... is Injraya!"

There were greetings in reply as Pallas guided Injraya toward their table.

"And, this," he said to Injraya, gesturing a hand toward Talaos, "is my friend, Talaos."

"It is an honor, Talaos," she replied. Her Imperial was heavily accented, and she had difficulty pronouncing his name.

"Tah-lay-os," Pallas corrected her, drawing out the proper pronunciation of Talaos's name for emphasis.

Injraya gave Pallas a thankful nod, looking slightly embarrassed.

Talaos watched the exchange with a catlike smile. With Pallas, he thought, one could never be sure if putting her on the spot like that would make Injraya intrigued by the challenge, or be taken as an insult and the beginning of the end.

The newcomers sat down as the rest of the little group introduced themselves.

Katara looked at Injraya with great curiosity. "Where are you from?" she asked.

"I am from Kalanthar, in the Southlands. My father is now trade consul to Carai."

At that, there were glances from Sorya and Arax, since her statement established her as from a very respectable background. Talaos wondered if she knew she was among gangsters.

"And you?" asked Injraya, eyeing Katara's blonde hair, and her height.

"Vorhame, in the far north," replied Katara.

"Northmen! Do they not battle terrible man-eating ice drakes there?" asked Injraya.

"Not anymore," said Katara, with a faint grim smile, "the drakes are all dead."

As the others continued their conversation, Pallas turned to Talaos.

"Notice anything new?"

"Nice swords," answered Talaos.

"Not like yours, but still I paid a good price to old Arion for them."

Then Pallas turned to Injraya again, "Talaos here is one of the deadliest swordsmen in Carai, and he spent a small fortune to have swords custom made by the master smith Dormio in Ivarna... That's our capital, the capital of the Republic, and..."

And now Talaos thought he could see the end peaking over the horizon. Still, the truth must be told. He added in a casual voice, "In all fairness, most of that fortune originally belonged to men working for Cratus, Borras, or Perio."

Pallas decided to elaborate, "Those are gang bosses. We're fighting them! Well, not Borras or Perio anymore, because now they're dead, but..."

Talaos mused that Pallas did better when he wasn't trying so hard to impress. Sprawled at ease, he noticed Injraya was already casting furtive glances around the room with her big eyes.

He smiled benignly and considered Pallas's comments about his dueling swords. He certainly had spent a lot of other people's money on them, to the point of getting some notoriety for it. Ivarna had been famous for centuries for the quality of its blades, all the way back to the days of the Empire, and Dormio was probably the greatest living master sword smith. With broad, double-edged engraved blades of high steel, solid oval cross guards and silver pommels carved engraved with designs of storm clouds and lightning, they suited him. But, they suited their deadly work even better.

His life was already likely to be short. Why trust it to something cheap?

Then, his musings were interrupted.

"Daxar arranged it all, right?" said Pallas.

"Yes," replied Talaos with a smile.

That reminded Talaos that Daxar should be back in town soon, from his trip to Hunyos, east of the mountains. It would be good to see him again. The weapons broker could smell profit a long way off, and with war brewing in the east, there ought to be plenty of it. When Daxar's ship returned, he planned to catch up with him at a sprawling, seedy place they'd favored for years; a tavern sarcastically named the Cheated Deal.

His thoughts were interrupted again, though this time more pleasantly, as Sorya suddenly kissed his neck. Pallas and Arax both stopped their conversations in surprise.

"Feeling a little forward, eh Sorya?" teased Arax.

"Not really. We've been together in secret for a while now," replied Sorya with sudden intensity.

Talaos reflected in mild surprise at the step she'd taken. He knew he had as much a reputation as a womanizer as Sorya had for aloofness. He took her hand.

She put her pert lips to his ear, "Sorry, I just couldn't take hiding anymore." With that, she undid the cord that tied her dark hair, let it flow past her shoulders, and leaned her head to Talaos's chest.

As time went on, a few other friends joined them. Conversation flowed on for a long while, fading from tough talk to a glow of warmth and peace that belied their violent trade. At last, Talaos thought it might be time to go. He squeezed Sorya's hand, then Katara's. He raised a hand to get the others' attention, and spoke.

"Thanks for coming, for being here. Every moment with friends counts, while we have them. We won this round, but let's keep our eyes open," he said with a smile.

Then Pallas raised a cup. After a moment, so did the others.

"To good friends, the ones here, and the ones gone," said Pallas, simply.

All at the table took drinks of their wine.

~

The morning was bright and fresh. Light peeked in through the slatted blinds of the inn's windows. It lit a warm, wood-paneled room and a large, comfortable bed with three people under clean linen sheets.

Talaos sat propped against pillows and stretched his arms. The sheets, luxurious things in this expensive inn, felt good against his skin. On his left, Sorya began to sleepily stir. She was under the sheet, nude and sprawled on her stomach. He smiled, enjoying the sight of the soft fabric clinging to her slender body.

Katara, propped on her shoulder to his right, leaned in to give him a kiss, and ran her hand along the muscles of his chest. She peered into his eyes, then gazed at him, and at Sorya for a while in smiling silence. At last, she climbed softly out of bed and searched for her dress from the night before. The smooth curves of her body were dappled in sunlight as she dressed.

"I am feeling hungry," the Northwoman said in her smoky-sounding accent.

"See if they'll fill a tray to take up for all of us. And fresh water," replied Talaos.

"As you wish," said Katara, softly smiling as she slipped out the door.

Sorya peered up, then turned to cling to Talaos as she nibbled his chest.

"That was fun. I like Katara... I think I learned a few things," she said playfully.

"Yes."

"You make me feel wonderful... when I have you," she added.

Thinking about what might be coming, he put a hand gently to her cheek.

"But," she continued, and her eyes grew more serious, "I... I'm... not sure I want to keep sharing you. We've been together, what, five months?"

"Nearly six."

"Yes, but nearly all in secret, and there've been... how many other women?"

"That secrecy kept you out of the war, and I don't keep count."

"That isn't the point. I want you, all of you."

"Or you could try something crazy, and take me as I am," Talaos replied with a smile.

"You and that damned cocky smirk!" she snarled, her eyes now flashing, but her hands running over his body, "Don't you ever take anything seriously?"

"Yes, danger."

She laughed a sarcastic laugh, "Really? You could have fooled me! Last night..."

"Who said that was danger?"

"I... You're impossible! Tal, you might be the most fascinating, most frustrating man I've ever known..."

"And I've got friends in high, well mostly low, places," he replied with mock grandeur.

Her lips curled and her face flooded with emotions, "And is that all you want?"

Talaos ignored her comment, but instead ran his hands along her cheek, neck, and firm little breasts. She gasped, then seemed to master herself, and kept talking.

"No really, think about it. We've got a fair amount of gold put away... Well mostly you, but still, all the recent trouble has paid well."

"It has," he smiled, as he played with her nipple and between her legs.

"Maybe it's time to get out while we're ahead. Things might be going well for Palaeon, but I... unh... trust him about as much as a hungry snake, and... mmm... We should think about another part of the city, or somewhere else even... I ah, that's good... Little town somewhere. You know, go respectable, settle down..."

"Settle down? We're gangsters..." Talaos laughed, as he gave her a swat on her bottom. Then he covered her mouth in a kiss as he pushed her onto her back. With that, the desire for discussion seemed to go out of her. She smiled and sighed. He teased her body and put his lips to her neck, then gave her a nip.

She moaned, reached between his legs, and gripped him hard, stroking.

He curled his fingers inside her, and ran his teeth along her throat.

"Mmm..." she smiled, and parted her legs as he moved his body over hers.

He slid inside her, pushing deep. Then he took Sorya's left hand and gently, but firmly placed it between her own legs. He felt her skin tingle as the thrill ran through her body. With her right hand, she roamed the muscles of his shoulder, back, and thrusting hips.

The door opened, and Katara walked in, carrying a full tray precariously piled with refreshments. She flushed, then rather expertly closed the door behind her with a foot while setting the tray down on a sturdy table next to the bed.

"Not without me," she said, pulling off her dress.

~

Talaos sat in bed as the women dozed. The tray of food sat empty next to half-finished clay pitchers of wine and water. Outside it was afternoon, but he'd drawn the blinds, and it was cool and dark in the room. They had the place all day, and there was no hurry.

He considered what Sorya had said, and what they were to each other. Leaving aside questions about the longer term future, he thought, or rather assumed, that her desire to have him to herself was unlikely to happen. But, he'd never really examined the reasons.

Though it had only been six months, she was the longest he'd ever stayed with a lover. As intensely as he felt, one by one, he always let them go. Sometimes for good reasons, and sometimes with little idea why. The sheer number of women he'd had was another point of notoriety among those who knew him. Regardless, it felt natural and right to him, like he was fulfilling some part of his purpose.

But what purpose? Children? If so, then how was it, with so many women, and he healthy and normal enough, he had none? Not that he'd sought them. He'd simply accepted matters as they were, for him. Accepted until very recently.

Sorya was right about one thing. He felt change in the air.

It occurred to him that with things likely to be quieter for a little while, he might visit the Great Library. It had been too long. It might have been Katara, or Pallas turning up with Injraya, the disturbing changes in Cratus's organization, or Sorya's talk of settling down somewhere far away, but regardless, he had the world on his mind. Where better to learn a few new things, while getting a little peace?

That would be another day, however. He returned his thoughts to the here and now.

Katara had certainly introduced a new element into their lives. She was so very natural in all she did, and her attention to Sorya had been something unexpected and beautiful. Whatever it was that the three of them had, and however long it lasted, it was a beautiful thing.

That didn't mean Sorya accepted it as such. Eventually, he thought, if she wanted him, she would have to face him as he actually was. A lifetime on the streets, nearly ten years a gangster, and a lot of blood on his hands - none of them were simply going to wash off. For that matter, he thought, Sorya's own life had hardly been one of domestic peace. She might say she wanted to settle down quietly, but either of them actually doing such a thing seemed... unlikely, almost unnatural.

And what would Katara want, when the time came?

As if in reply, Katara stirred and gazed up at him sleepily. Sorya still seemed to doze, but drew closer. They were at peace, for the moment, despite many questions. He had no answers, nor much peace to offer, but at least they had this moment.

He pulled them both close, protectively in his arms.

2. The Jewel of the Republic

The Great Library of Carai was not the sort of place one would expect to meet a gangster, and that was one of the things Talaos liked about it. Here, he was unlikely be jumped by enemies, and here he could think of the world beyond them.

It was a huge place, some two hundred years old, built in what was called the Imperial style. There were two long wings of three stories flanking a lofty, domed and colonnaded central structure of octagonal shape. The grandeur of it was itself a nice change from the gritty back streets and seedy taverns where he spent so much of his time.

He ascended the long flight of steps wrapped around three faces of the octagon and leading toward the vast main entrance. He considered that in a strange way this place was a second home. Admittedly, it was a home he visited rarely these days, but as much or more of one than the ever-changing cheap apartments where he slept.

He'd had only a bit of formal education as a boy, thanks to a well-meaning but harsh charitable order. Always a quick study, he'd learned a great deal more then, and later, than he generally let on. On the other hand, he tended to meander his way randomly through subjects as his interests led him. He doubted he had the patience to be a proper scholar.

Still, for a little while when here, he could think of a wider world. And he thought, the annual fee to be a Patronus of the library was both surprisingly low and came with useful privileges. He drew his cloak around him to cover his weapons. All free citizens of the Republic had the right to bear them, but he had no interest in scaring the milder-mannered visitors to the place, or attracting extra attention.

He greeted old Tertius, the door warden, and passed inside. The ornate patterned tile of the floor was polished as always, and the gilt work of the lofty interior doom shone far overhead. Today he thought, he'd study maps and geography.

He took the stairs up to the balconied gallery on the second floor, then the right-hand hallway to the east wing, where maps, atlases and travelogues would be found. He passed shelves of books and scrolls alternating with tables and benches for reading. The large, diagonal-latticed windows let in plenty of light on a bright day like this one. The map section was at the end of the wing. He found a large empty table, grabbed a map of the known world, a random selection of travelogues, and set up shop.

The map had been made in Carai, and naturally had the Republic at its center. The familiar shape was there, roughly rectangular land boundaries over a jagged southern coast facing the central sea. Ancient, mighty Carai was the easternmost large city, but a sprawling plains region of ranches and small towns extended further east to the mountains. To the northwest of Carai was landlocked Ivarna, whose rich iron mines and skilled smiths had helped build a new Republic four centuries ago, on the anarchic remnants of the old Empire.

There was still-anarchic Hunyos, east of the Republic across the mountains. War was brewing there. Shaped roughly like a triangle with the narrowest point to the south, it was bordered on the east by the Eastern Sea, and on the north by the heartland of the fallen kingdom of Dirion. Southernmost and closest of the many rival cities of Hunyos was Avrosa, which was supposed to be the last stop for his friend Daxar on his voyage selling weapons.

For a thousand years, what were now the Republic, Hunyos and eastern Dirion had been the core of the old Empire. In the six hundred years since its fall they had been variously rivals or trading partners, sharing a common language and culture.

For a long time, Dirion had built a new empire of its own, conquering neighbors, putting Hunyos under tribute, expanding ever west. It had struggled with the Republic over the ranges of mineral-rich mountains and fertile vineyard valleys that formed their boundary. Then Dirion had pushed too far and in a colossal war against the Republic forty years earlier, lost everything.

Nomadic horsemen from the far northeastern plains now ruled most of the fallen kingdom, and Northmen from Schald its western reaches. Schald itself was the easternmost and southernmost of the Northman countries. Beyond it were Narhame, Katara's home of Vorhame, and distant Jotun on the frozen northern sea. The northern peoples tended to be tall and fair, and were known for both war and poetry.

South of those countries and west of the Republic were the Seven Realms, a large region that had been under the Empire in its later centuries. During the collapse, seven heroes had won their freedom and become seven kings. They were known as places where small feuds were more common than big wars, at least in recent times. Beyond them were the Western Isles, a land of far-faring merchant sailors.

Across the central sea from the Republic were the Southlands, and they extended far beyond the edge of the map. Talaos knew little about them beyond some of the trading cities on the coast, but thought he might change that.

Then there were the Eastlands...

"Talaos?" said an elderly voice behind him, "It's been a long time. How are you, lad?"

Talaos turned around and saw Caelius, the curator of the second floor east wing. The old man wore the wreath-bordered white tunic of his station. Talaos thought he looked frailer than the last time he'd seen him, and his unkempt white hair even wispier.

"I'm well. And how are you, Caelius?"

"A little worn from a fever, I'm afraid, but otherwise well enough."

"I'm glad you're doing better," replied Talaos warmly.

"Thank you," said Caelius. Then he thought for a moment, smiled and teasingly added, "Though, I can't recall you having much direct experience with being ill."

"I can't remember ever having been," replied Talaos.

The curator quietly chuckled and shifted his attention to Talaos's studies, with a twinkling curiosity in his old eyes at the map and books on the table.

"That is quite a collection you have there. If I may ask, what would you like to learn?"

"Everything," answered Talaos.

Caelius shook his head, smiling, "That was the same answer you gave nearly fifteen years ago, when you first sneaked in here with rags on your back and a head full of questions."

"Some things never change," replied Talaos, smiling.

"And some do," answered Caelius, glancing at Talaos's silver-fitted gear and expensive swords, "though whether for better or worse depends on what we choose to make of them."

"I've been thinking of change lately," mused Talaos.

"That's good, because it is in your nature, lad," replied Caelius. "Now, if you want some recommendations from among all those travelogues, I can help."

"I'd be interested in learning more about the Eastlands," answered Talaos.

Caelius looked surprised. He reflected, and answered, "Well, though it historically was home to a great many nations, at present the entire continent is ruled by the Living Prophet."

"That much I knew," answered Talaos. "He's supposed to be a kind of powerful sorcerer who has everything in his lands governed by some elaborate, strict philosophy."

"Correct. It is a complete philosophy of life, with no exceptions, and backed by his laws. He claims to have the answers to everything, but I can't say I found it interesting enough to study those purported answers in detail. What makes you curious about the Eastlands?"

Talaos considered. He'd been told he was found on the beach by a pair of gleaners. One died soon after, but the other was old Etoclea, who'd made sure he got some help when he was very small, and passed around his story. By that means, he knew one important thing.

"I've been told my mother was from the Eastlands," he said.

"Ah, yes, I think you mentioned that once," the curator answered.

Talaos continued, "But... blue eyes like mine are supposed to be rare there."

"Just about unknown, I'd say. Blue eyes are rare enough here, let alone bright ones like yours. A lot more people have that color up in the Northman countries, of course."

Talaos thought about that for a moment, quietly.

Caelius scratched his chin, and added, "One thing... remind me how old you are?"

"Twenty five."

"That's what I thought. If your mother came from the Eastlands by ship, it would have been about the time the Prophet was beginning his conquest of the last countries there he didn't rule, mostly on the western coasts. It was a massive war, and there were refugees who fled west."

"What do you know about those countries?" asked Talaos.

A bit, and we can find more. It won't be much help regarding which of them your mother came from, but we can look through the travelogues and I'll point things out to you. In those days, Carai did quite a bit of trade with several places there. One is the kingdom of Dragesha, and another was, then, the league of the princes of Lagana, though there are no princes left now. The biggest trade port there is Ishuk, if you'll look here..."

~

The Cheated Deal was full of rowdy people. Fading sunlight shone through high latticed windows. Wide archways decorated with old, scratched paint in squared geometric designs divided a large main area from several smaller back rooms. Painted prominently in several places were pictures of merchant's scales with thumbs tipping them to one side.

There was smoke in the air and spilled wine on the brown clay-tiled floor. Crowds formed and dissolved with the flow of conversation, friends coming and going, and deals being made. In dark corners, alert figures carried on quiet discussions. Serving girls in flowing multicolored skirts deftly slipped through the crowds with hands full of earthenware wine mugs.

Near the heart of the place, a particularly large crowd of mostly younger men and women gathered at a cluster of tables with an open space in the middle. Their freewheeling, boisterous conversation ebbed and flowed. In the densest part of the crowd sat Talaos, sprawled on a couch like a great cat holding court, with Sorya at his right hand. She had her rich dark hair bound in a loose-ended bun that cascaded to her shoulders, and two long bangs framed her face. Unusual for her, she wore a black, revealing city-style dress over her lithe form, and her lips were painted red. She looked pensive.

In the open space at the middle of their group, Katara was demonstrating a variety of kicks, sweeps, and throws. Sometimes she would add a backswept elbow that left no doubt someone's face would have been ill-advised to be in the way, or brought a knee up to a height that made some of the youngest men uncomfortably guard their groins.

She was clad in a costume very foreign to the geometric sleeveless tunics and checkered cloaks of the men, and the long, yet revealing dresses of the women around. She had a plain knee-length woolen kilt on a wide leather belt at her waist, with brown leather panels in front and back, and an exceptionally sturdy, many-strapped leather harness over her ample breasts. She wore a leather band with bronze discs on her head. The rest of her skin was bare.

Sorya looked up at Talaos, whose eyes casually wandered the room. Her eyes flashed and her pert lips parted as if to speak. Then it passed and was replaced by a wistful, sad expression. She clung herself like a rag doll to Talaos's side, and he put an arm lightly around her. Katara was continuing her demonstration.

"And would you really fight in clothes like that?" asked a thin teenage boy with brown hair hanging in rings around his face, and eyes that never left Katara's body.

Talaos made a bemused smile, his eyes sparkling, as he watched them both.

The Northwoman stopped, and faced the boy with seriousness.

"These are inside clothes, or for warm weather. In the cold, we add more. This type of fighting is for times when you do not expect a fight. Or when the other person does not, and you want to keep it that way until the time is right. Most women in the north do not go to war unless we face a strong foe, and all are needed, or all is lost and the men are gone. I do though, and if I was going to battle, I would be wearing armor and carrying a sword."

"I'd imagine," yawned a short girl with a round face and elaborately coifed chestnut hair, standing next to her noticeably distracted boyfriend, "it helps to be bigger... and heavier."

Katara glanced at Talaos, who gave her the slightest nod in reply. She then turned back to fix her gaze on the chestnut-haired girl. Her eyes narrowed and her face took on the grim expression she'd worn facing Borras.

"It does," replied the Northwoman, drawing herself up to her full height, taller than many of the men in the crowd, and crossing her arms over her leather-bound chest. Her forearms showed hints of muscle, as did her trim bare waist. Her gray eyes gleamed like frost. "But," she continued, her accented voice dropping low, "speed and surprise are more reliable friends to women than strength... I could show you."

The girl's eyes grew wide, and she shrank back into her boyfriend's arms.

A few of the men in the crowd exchanged excited glances.

"You could show me," said an earnest young man of about twenty, with the close-cropped brown hair and the respectable clothes of an aspiring tradesman or merchant. As he stood, his shoulders and back were slightly bowed and his palms up, but his averted eyes kept darting to Katara's breasts. "I'd be honored to learn..."

"I'm done for today," replied Katara disdainfully, to the obvious disappointment of many of the men, and visible relief of many of the women. With that, she stalked back to Talaos's left side, beads of sweat cooling on her skin.

As Katara sat and leaned close to him, Talaos overhead another young man whisper to someone nearby, "She carries herself like a queen..."

Talaos smiled inwardly, thinking of a secret known only to him and Katara. If she carried herself like a queen, it was because she was the daughter of a king. Granted, one of many in a warlike land where, it was said, one king could almost look from his keep to the keep of his neighbor. And, she was a daughter who had reasons not to want to return home, but a king's daughter still.

A bit later, a group of newcomers arrived at their gathering. They weren't sailors, but they had the tang of the sea still clinging to their clothes, and tousled hair fresh in from the wind. One of them was a strong-built, black-haired man in weathered tan clothes. His tunic, pants, and cloak were trimmed with bronze fittings, and his brown boots reinforced with bronze plates. He had a long, finely crafted sword strapped to his back. The man smiled, and raised a hand in greeting.

"Hail, Talaos! How goes the easy life here in the jewel of the Republic?"

"You've been missing the war, Daxar."

"War? You have no idea... I did hear there was some kind of trouble among the gangs."

"Palaeon's winning. He's lord in this part of town now."

"Can't say I like the sound of that. Mind if I sit down?"

Talaos gestured, and one of his friends grabbed a vacant chair and gave it to Daxar as the rest of the newcomers found places wherever they could.

Daxar waived to a barmaid and ordered a round of wine. He then took a second look at Talaos, and the beauties at his side.

"Sorya? It's been long time. Tal, you and Sorya? Well now. I have missed a lot of news."

Sorya nodded and forced a smile.

"And this is Katara," added Talaos.

"Good afternoon to you," added Katara herself in a friendly but formal tone.

"You're from Schald?" Daxar mused, turning her way. "No... Vorhame."

"Yes, Vorhame," she replied, suddenly wary, as she turned back to Talaos.

Talaos smiled benignly. "Dax, how went things across the mountains?"

"All the warlords and city-states in Hunyos are sorting out who is on whose side."

"That much I'd heard."

"Yes, but the fighting is heating up. Good business for mercenaries, not for anyone else. Bandits are everywhere. Trade is falling apart, and unless you're like me... selling weapons, and willing to use them, it isn't worth the trip."

"I wasn't planning on it. Since you're alive and in good spirits, I'd guess you have gold, and maybe some work. Palaeon is getting clingy."

Daxar chuckled. "Not wanting to be a gear in someone else's machine? Yes, once I get settled in I might have some work, though it may be in new markets," he replied, then turned more serious. "Things are changing, Tal, and for the worse."

"How so?" Talaos replied with mixed curiosity and skepticism.

"Over there, it isn't just the war. There are also people preaching the faith of the Living Prophet."

"The Prophet? When last I checked, he was off past the Eastern Sea."

"Not anymore. In terms of influence, at least. For the first time I've heard of, there are more than a handful of his believers on this side of the water."

"All right, that can't be good. From what little I've heard, life under the Prophet is the opposite of everything I want out of living."

"And then some! You know, Tal, they say he is hundreds of years old."

Talaos laughed. "And I say, we need some more wine."

~

Talaos rode a brown horse at a trot down the track at the great stadium. A few others were doing the same. The rows of seats, tier upon tier, were mostly empty. On a racing day, he knew there might be sixty thousand people in those seats. Today, however, he could pay a few coppers to practice riding around the track on one of the retired racing or chariot horses.

The horses were celebrities of a sort in Carai, almost as famous as the men who raced, but the officials who ran the stadium still made them earn their keep. Helping amateurs learn to ride, standing around eating their fill, and occasionally breeding to produce the next generation of their line was certainly not the worst fate for old horses. But Talaos imagined it could get repetitive and dull.

He knew he at least wasn't cut out for the human equivalent of a peaceful, futureless life like that. Of course, he thought, his career of street violence meant he was unlikely to have a long peaceful life, or a long life in any form.

Assuming that he did nothing to change things.

While it wouldn't be what Sorya had in mind, he thought it might in fact be time for a change. Change ideally including Sorya. For all that he wouldn't be yoked to her plans, he cared for her. Her life, growing up and making her way in the bad parts of the city, hadn't been much easier than his own. Reflecting on it, he could hardly blame her for wanting some peace, however much he was not the path toward it.

In the few weeks he'd known her, he'd come to care for Katara too. In truth, he felt a great deal for each of them. With a smile, he tried to imagine a future with the both of them. However, to take more than one wife was a thing almost unheard of, and in any case, even one seemed unlikely.

Whatever he was, or did with his life, he wasn't made to be peaceful and yoked.

With that, he wondered if the old horse felt peaceful and yoked. Did it miss racing, a full gallop with the wind in its face and the thunder of hooves on the track as it ran with its fellows? He decided to find out. He gave a squeeze with his knees, and the horse perked its ears and sped up.

He kept at it, avoiding use of the spurs and instead just encouraging the horse to go faster in stages. It did so, and seemed to regain a little fire in its spirit. It shook its head and tail. Talaos laughed, gave another squeeze and slapped a hand to the horse's shoulder. It snorted, neighed fiercely, and took off like a shot. He shouted to the sky and laughed as they went. People looked at him like he was a madman, and he gave them merry waves in reply.

Twice they went thundering around the immense track, until he saw Daxar walking through one of the ground-level entrances, watching him and chuckling.

He reined the horse, gave it a pat, and then a couple of carrots he'd brought with him. He looked down at Daxar, who was smiling up at him with a look that said sarcasm was coming.

"Planning to make a great impression when you sign up for the cavalry?" asked Daxar.

"Or when I patrol my vast estates," replied Talaos.

"You could form Carai's first mounted street gang," suggested Daxar.

"Only if your offices are the stables," answered Talaos. "So, what's on your mind?"

"Rumors are flying that Cratus is going to make a move soon."

"And people assume I'll be helping Palaeon," replied Talaos.

"Of course. It was a good career move, switching to his side," continued Daxar. "Though I can't remember you ever explaining, back when you quit working for Cratus."

"I didn't like some of the things he was up to," answered Talaos, a darker and more serious edge creeping into his voice.

"You are a gangster, you know, Tal."

"I have my limits."

"Well, if you really want to sit this one out, I might have some work, but it will be out of town," said Daxar.

"Now that sounds even more promising," answered Talaos. "Let's talk tomorrow."

"See you at the usual? Lunch, then we can walk back to my offices if you're interested."

Talaos nodded. Daxar smiled. They shook hands, and the arms dealer left.

Talaos leapt off the horse and took it to one of the waiting grooms. As he did so, he smiled at the evening ahead, an evening with Sorya and Katara, and a few strings he had pulled.

~

"What is the purpose of this event?" asked Katara, not quite comprehending.

Down below them was the great plaza of the city, lit by the moon and a variety of colorful lamps. In the very center rose a carven obelisk of ancient, weathered stone. Around it was a cleared circle, and around that, a vast crowd. Talaos watched from the balcony of a small, but very expensive apartment used by some supposedly respectable associate of Palaeon's for meetings, meetings with young women that the man wanted to keep secret from his wife.

Regardless of the lack of honor, or courage, it showed, the place itself was very nice, thought Talaos. For a small surety, as promise he wouldn't wreck it, here he was overnight with his own two favorite young women. They were here with some food, and rather more wine, to watch an unusually spectacular celebration of a very ancient annual holiday.

Sorya answered Katara's question. "Today is supposed to be the anniversary of a day, something like four thousand years ago, when nine ancient heroes of this city saved it from a really powerful enemy hero. That obelisk down there commemorates it."

"Some say the enemy was a god," added Talaos.

"A god?" said Sorya, turning her head to look at Talaos, "What's a god?"

"There are very old legends that talk about them. Something like a hero, but greater, with far more magic. They shaped the world around them," answered Talaos.

"So like I said, a really powerful hero," she replied with her small mouth in a smirk.

"No, not the same," he added with a certain finality, as he stepped back into the room behind to grab a carafe of wine. He looked back at the women on the balcony.

Sorya seemed to give up the fight, and looked over her shoulder at him with the softer expression Talaos knew meant she felt out of her element debating him on such things. She'd painted her lips again, and put a lot of kohl around her big, flashing eyes. He liked the effect.

She'd arrived in her typical street clothes, but had taken off the outer dress in the warm evening air. She was leaning against the rail of the balcony in her tight-fitting pants, boots, and undershirt, with her midriff bare and her hair up again in the loose bun with the trailing bangs framing her face. Her pert little bottom facing him like that gave him thoughts for later.

She noticed where his eyes were, and flashed him her wicked smile.

Katara stood half turned, with her slit city dress cinched tight at the waist. She had her bare left leg and sandaled foot propped on the lower rail of the balcony. The loose neckline of her dress was even lower than usual, and her breasts were all but spilling out. She flushed happily at his attention, but seemed to continue her earlier thoughts.

"If gods were shapers of the world," Katara said, "I think we have stories like that too, though few believe they still walk the earth today. Do you know more?"

"Not much more. Only that if they did, they haven't for thousands of years," he answered.

Katara nodded thoughtfully, then looked out over the balcony as Talaos returned with the wine. He took up a spot between the women, with Sorya on his left and Katara on his right. He set his cup on the balcony rail.

"What is that man doing?" Katara said, pointing to the center of the cleared circle.

Talaos took a look. "That's Veratus, a magus. Probably the most famous and powerful in this part of the Republic."

Down below, Veratus was preparing a circle of silver around the obelisk, in turn surrounded by little twinkling lanterns of different colors. He was an old man, clean shaven, with close-cropped white hair. He had a dark blue cloak worn clasped far over on one shoulder in a way not in common use for centuries, and carried a wand of white wood that gleamed with what looked like copper.

"What is a magus?" asked Katara.

"Someone who learns to work magic through study in books and scrolls," answered Talaos, turning to look at her. "They say it is dangerous, and takes many years to master."

"Ah," she replied. "We have no one exactly like that in Vorhame, but there are Seithar who learn magic with runes and carvings, and who deal with the spirits. There are also a few people born with a little magic in their blood."

Talaos thought about that. "I've seen and heard of people like that. I've never seen anything impressive, or that I was sure couldn't have been done with some sort of trick."

"My father fought a warrior whose cuts would heal as you watched," replied Katara. "He was not a skilled warrior though, and did not heal when my father put an axe in his head."

"He's starting," said Sorya, who'd kept her focus on the plaza below.

Talaos and Katara turned.

Veratus made complex motions with his left hand, while holding his staff in his right. He swept his staff rightward around the silver circle. Light seemed to flow from the lamps in the circle, each a different color, and up and around his staff.

Katara made a low, questioning sound like a hum or grunt. Talaos sipped his wine.

The magus down below raised his staff high, and the colors of light radiated upward from it. He moved both of his hands in intricate ways, almost like a painter composing his work, and the colors overhead formed shapes. Rough at first, they coalesced into the forms of nine heroes in ancient armor of a kind seen today only on the obelisk itself. They stood tall, far over the head of the magus, in brilliant colors.

Then another shape emerged, tall, black, shadowed, and ominous.

"Looks like you," said Sorya to Talaos.

In reply, he gave her a firm swat on the bottom. She made a little gasp, and pressed closer to him.

The black shape solidified into a spectral, kingly warrior with a tall black crown of ebon spikes and a vast billowing cloak. Under the crown, its eyes flamed red. It towered over the heroes. The enemy raised a shadowy spear, twisting and flickering like a snake. Talaos wondered whether the actual enemy four millennia ago, if there was one, had been so obviously sinister.

"Yes, definitely you," said Sorya, "though you keep your spear somewhere else..."

With that, she reached a hand back to his crotch and tried to play. He casually, but firmly, grabbed her wrist, and put her hand back on the railing.

"Time soon enough after the show," he whispered in her ear, giving it a nip for emphasis.

The nine heroes shone with radiant gold and brilliant colors as they advanced fearlessly against the shadowed enemy. Then a spectacular battle of weapons and magic began. Katara pressed closer to Talaos, leaned over the railing like Sorya, and watched the fight with a kind of intense professional interest.

The fighting went on for some time, with daring deeds and close calls. At last, when the heroes were all wounded and seemed on the verge of defeat, they came together, attacking as one to deal the death blow to the enemy. The black shape collapsed and the fires in its eyes went out. The heroes raised their weapons to the sky in triumph, and the scene faded gently away.

Then followed a sentence in letters of brilliant golden flame. They were words carved here and there on the older monuments in the city, and used occasionally on civic architecture. The letters were an archaic form of the Imperial alphabet, and the words they spelled were antique enough that few could read them. Talaos had memorized them once. They were themselves said to be a translation of words written in glyphs on the obelisk, in a language now lost even to scholars.

"What do those say?" asked Katara.

"It was here that the first battle was won," he replied.

Katara wondered at the words in silent thought. For his part, Talaos had thought them poetic, but the legends he'd heard around their meaning were varied and contradictory.

The vast crowd, in the plaza and on the buildings all around, erupted in cheers and applause. Though it was not the first time magic had been used to enhance the festival, Talaos thought it was by far the most spectacular he'd seen in his lifetime. He smiled in appreciation.

Katara however, seemed unimpressed. "Why waste such great power on something with no real effect? So people can clap and cheer as if it was a juggling show? It makes no sense."

Talaos laughed appreciatively, then answered, "I suspect we have a lot more wealth and power to waste here in Carai than you've got up in Vorhame."

The Northwoman seemed to be working out whether that came out as mockery, but she never got the chance to finish as Talaos grabbed her by her braids with his right hand and pulled her back from the balcony into the room. He kissed her lips, and then put his teeth to her neck.

Sorya closed the slatted doors behind them and pulled off her top. Talaos turned to kiss her, left hand cupping her bottom, then shifting to hold her tight by her tiny waist. She started working on her pants. Meanwhile Katara kneeled down between his legs, parted her lips, and undid the strings of his own.

3. Downsides

Talaos made his way home to his latest little garret of an apartment. He planned to get cleaned up and then ready for his lunch with Daxar. It had the promise of a new path entirely, probably dangerous, but quite unlike the one he'd followed for nearly ten years. Ten years... The thought put him in a more philosophical frame of mind about his life and choices, and the consequences of those choices.

There was Sorya, who wanted more than he was ready to give, and Katara who asked for nothing, yet whose eyes were already hinting at more. There were all the other women he'd known and loved, all the friends he'd made and lost, and all the trouble he'd found in a wild life on the streets. Still, it was the life he'd chosen, the life he'd made fighting his way up from a penniless urchin childhood. Whatever it was, it was his.

But that didn't mean it couldn't be better. War, on however small a scale, was what he'd known, and war seemed to be looming everywhere. Palaeon, in his relentless way had kept up the pressure to help him take on Cratus.

However odd things seemed to be with Cratus now, and however bad the truth about the man, Talaos had worked with him for many years. He'd never taken the full oaths, but he'd been close, and he'd pulled off the near-impossible by breaking those ties without Cratus coming to kill him. At least until the fights with Borras in this war, and he considered those a separate matter. Much as his skin crawled at Cratus's deeds past and present, Talaos wasn't fighting for a cause, and didn't see the current war as his.

Daxar's words from a few days past, about things changing for the worse, came to mind. They were certainly changing. More news was trickling in about the growing violence in the east, and he'd heard rumors that the Republic might be dragged into it. He wasn't much for politics, but that could only bode ill.

He was a man of prime fighting age, and an experienced fighter, but no way he'd let them, whether Palaeon or the government of the Republic, talk, bribe, or conscript him into someone else's war.

His life was his.

Whatever Daxar's offer might turn out to be, it was already looking more promising.

~

Lunch was good enough, but the main appeal had been the conversation. After many weeks away, Daxar had plenty of stories from his travels, and Talaos a few more about doings in Carai. Then they'd reminisced about earlier times, when Talaos was a newly hired sword in Cratus's organization, and Daxar, a few years older, was working a sideline as a fence for weapons taken by gangs from their dead rivals. Talaos had been good for business.

As they left the little dive of a restaurant, both men were heavily armed; Talaos in his black gear, dueling swords, silver-fitted belt and baldrics full of knives and daggers. Daxar with his long ornate sword backed up by a long dagger and a pair of throwing knives.

Talaos felt restless and impatient.

"Dax, tell me more about the job you might have."

The other grinned. "I thought we agreed to save the business talk until we got to my offices."

"Don't get respectable on me."

"I've been trying. Talaos, I'm trying to wash my hands of gang ties."

"Are you now?" said Talaos with an arched eyebrow and a darksome smirk.

"Well, present company excepted. Or more accurately, maybe now might be the time for you to get out of gang life yourself."

They turned a corner from the large street they'd been on, a bustling thoroughfare running back from the harbor district, full of wagons and carts, and onto a somewhat smaller, but still busy, street that led toward Daxar's offices.

"All right, I've been thinking about it," admitted Talaos, "but what have you got?"

"Well, business was good in Hunyos, but the war there is going to be so large scale that the risks could outweigh the benefits for me of trying to operate there on any more permanent footing."

"More permanent?" asked Talaos, curious.

"I'd been thinking about a branch office," replied Daxar, "but I'm having second thoughts since investing in a branch office in a city that ends up taken by siege will not be good for profits at all, or my chance to live and enjoy them."

"So where then?"

"I don't know if you are aware, but Kalanthar, in the Southlands, has a new Trade Consul here in Carai," said Daxar.

Talaos laughed, "I was aware, in fact."

Daxar gave him a quizzical look, but went on. "Through my more respectable circles of friends, I secured an interview with him, and met his family. It seems they do a good business supplying various things to both sides of a civil war in their neighboring country to the east. One thing they are short on is high quality weapons, and we have those aplenty in the Republic."

Talaos suspected where this might be going. "So where do I fit in?"

"Well, Kalanthar might not be at war itself, but that doesn't mean everything will be safe down there, and I need someone I can trust, someone really deadly, to keep an eye on security, and keep watch on my people who handle the money when I'm not around."

As Talaos considered that, they turned another corner, deeper into the back streets but directly to Daxar's offices. They were in a rougher area, and near the border between Palaeon's territory and that of Cratus. Instinctively, both men kept hands near their swords.

The Southlands, thought Talaos. That could be different, and anything but dull. The countries down there certainly had an exotic, beautiful, somewhat dangerous reputation, though he thought the same likely was true of Carai, as seen from a distance.

"All right Dax, unless you make me a bad offer, I'm in."

Daxar beamed, and considered, "Let's talk specifics, and gold, at my offices. This isn't a small step..."

They were interrupted by the sudden arrival of Pallas walking in from a back street, resplendent in his black and gold brocaded cloak.

"Tal, Daxar! How are you?" said Pallas.

They greeted him.

"Mind if I walk with you a few blocks? I'll be turning off before you get to your offices, Daxar, but it'd be good to catch up in the meantime."

Daxar shrugged, Talaos smiled and welcomed him. As they continued on, a mischievous thought occurred to Talaos.

"Pallas," he asked, "How did things go with Injraya?"

Daxar twitched and skipped a step, but played cool. Pallas beamed.

"It went great! She loved meeting everyone, especially Katara. I've seen her a few more times, when she can get away from her father. She works as an assistant for him, by the way."

"I'm glad," grinned Talaos. Inwardly, he was glad Pallas had pulled victory from the jaws of defeat after all. He was equally glad to see Daxar's awkward expressions.

They walked on for a little while. Daxar resolutely avoided bringing up his own far more respectable connection with Injraya's father. Talaos reflected with amused interest that Injraya herself knew of Dax's existence from both sides, but had presumably kept quiet.

The three of them made small talk. They passed into a less busy area of warehouses and occasional seedy, rough taverns. This was a gang-haunted neighborhood that all of them knew well, and that knowledge kept all of them on their guard. Their talked quieted.

As they went along a twisting section of street that was entirely deserted, Talaos had a sudden, bad instinct.

"Dax, Pallas... Eyes open," he whispered, drawing his long blade in his right hand.

Daxar drew the great sword from his back, and Pallas his own dueling swords.

"Well, well..." grinned a tall, ugly man with hollow cheeks and scarred arms, as he came around a corner ahead of them. Talaos knew him. One of Borras's men who'd lived.

"Astus," said Talaos, smiling. "Come to ask for my help in seeing Borras again?"

"You fucker. You won't have any archers to save you this time," replied Astus. As he spoke, four more men, three from Borras's old crew, and one Talaos didn't know, rounded the corner behind him. They had a variety of axes and iron clubs.

Daxar and Pallas took places to Talaos's left and right. Astus stared at them with a sword in one hand and a hand axe in the other. His men did likewise. It went on just a little too long.

A cold, harsh voice sounded behind them. "Daxar, why are you keeping company with a couple of dead men?"

Talaos knew that voice, and knew what it meant. He turned to look.

There was Sorvion, Cratus's right hand for the last couple of years. The towering, rangy, hawk-faced man had fine broad-bladed dueling swords and a deadly, cruel look in his sharp-browed eyes. Behind him were eight of Cratus's men with swords, axes, and maces.

Daxar didn't turn or respond.

Sorvion continued, even as he and his men walked slowly forward, "Leave now Daxar, and we'll stay on good business terms. Otherwise..."

"I decline your offer, Sorvion," said Daxar, backing with Talaos and Pallas to form a defensive circle.

Talaos, however, had more to say. "How'd you find us?" he added cheerfully.

"Did you think there wouldn't be payback, after Borras?" hissed Sorvion. "Or that there wouldn't be eyes watching for the right chance? My only regret is that we didn't have enough warning to round up more men. Enough men to catch you alive, and kill you nice and slow."

"Life is full of little disappointments," answered Talaos. As he dragged things out, he sized up the situation, and hoped Daxar and Pallas were doing the same. Sorvion was by far the most dangerous opponent they faced, and he had more men. If he could take Sorvion himself out at the start, or at least throw him and his men into confusion, they could probably take out Astus and his crew quickly enough to face a fight on a single front.

Luckily, Sorvion seemed inclined to savor the moment. "Still think nothing could ever touch you?" he added.

"Women touch me willingly all the time, which is more than can be said for you."

"Your sins are not my problem, but you should be ready to pay for them."

That reply struck Talaos as odd, but with all the strangeness going on in Cratus's organization of late, he wasn't inclined to ask about it. In answer, he pulled a dagger and threw it straight at Sorvion's throat. The latter dodged just in time and it went right into the eye of the man behind him. He screamed and fell as the others all around paused for a moment in surprise.

Astus cursed, and charged without waiting for Sorvion's men.

Daxar and Pallas took it for the opportunity it was. Daxar dodged a swing from Astus's axe, spun up and around, and brought his heavy sword down through the latter's head and shoulder. Pallas leapt forward with long blade in his right hand and short in his left. A man with a club charged him. He parried with the short blade in perfect dueling form, and brought his long blade through the man's stomach.

Talaos hoped to join them and clear a quick way out of their situation. However, Sorvion, unlike his men, had reacted with instant action. He flew forward in two leaping strides and was on Talaos with blades whirling. Talaos blocked Sorvion's long blade with his own short, tried to bring his long blade under the other's ribs, only to find it blocked in turn. They stood there for a moment, locked in mutual hate, then Talaos leapt backwards with blades ready.

Behind him, Daxar kicked one of Astus's men sideways at the knee, and the man stumbled backwards roaring in pain. Daxar then dodged a short sword from another man and ran him through. Pallas cut down another of Astus's men with a quick whirling flash of both blades.

Talaos thought it was time to form a line. He spun backwards with Sorvion in pursuit, blades blocking defensively, left then right, then left. Daxar sheared the head from the man with the shattered knee, and Pallas spun to face Sorvion's men.

Sorvion's seven remaining men charged. Pallas parried an axe with his long blade and used it to pull the man's own guard away as he put his short blade clean between the man's ribs into his heart. Talaos dodged a sudden lunge by Sorvion, then a strike from a man with a heavy spiked mace. Turning, he brought his long blade out to block both of Sorvion's at once and opened the maceman's throat up with his short. Blood spewed and the man fell.

Daxar arrived, blade low under Sorvion's guard, but the latter managed to drop in time to block. Together, Talaos and Daxar forced Sorvion back a step. Two more enemies closed on Pallas, and he stood confidently ready for them. Then, without warning, he dropped, with a throwing axe cleaved through the back of his head.

Talaos raged, but kept his focus on the fight. He had no choice.

Weaving and parrying, Talaos glanced behind him. There was yet another of Cratus's men back where Astus had been, new to the fight from who knew where; a fellow named Arios who was an expert with throwing axes. He had another one at the ready. Without thinking, Talaos spun and threw his short blade. It flew, spinning across the intervening distance, and lodged where Arios's neck met his shoulder. Blood spurted and the man fell.

Talaos felt the cut of a blade on his forearm and brought his attention back to the foes at hand. Daxar had captured Sorvion's attention, along with one of the latter's remaining men, while the other four tried to surround Talaos. He aimed a kick to the groin that sent one of them flying backward against the filthy brick wall behind, spun to his right to dodge a mace, and still spinning, parried a sword.

Daxar, for his part, was working hard to fend off Sorvion's dueling blades with his own heavier two-handed sword. He found an opening, shoved both of Sorvion's aside, and slashed a long cut along the latter's side. Then, using his momentum, continuing away from Sorvion in the same motion, he cut off the second enemy's left leg. The man toppled back screaming as blood sprayed all around.

Talaos made a flipping leap past one of his four foes and out of their ring. He cut the man down with his long blade under the ribs, drew a dagger and threw it into the stomach of another. The man yelled in pain, pulled it out, and staggered forward with fight still in his eyes.

To the side, Daxar dodged another strike of Sorvion's long blade, but didn't react quickly enough to avoid a sweep from the other's foot. He tripped, caught, and balanced himself, just in time for Sorvion to run him through.

In fury, Talaos ran his long blade through the man he'd kicked into the wall, whirled, and nearly decapitated the foe who'd pulled the dagger from his belly, and then leapt at Sorvion.

There were just three living men on the blood-soaked street now; Talaos, Sorvion, and the last of Sorvion's men. The other two pressed hard at Talaos, swords flashing. He stepped back, weaving, dodging, and parrying with his single blade. He decided to try something. Flipping sideways, he rolled low away from them, flipped back to his feet and sprinted to retrieve his short blade. He grabbed it, spun, and jumped straight backwards to avoid a skewering by Sorvion. As he did so, he spat, full in Sorvion's face.

The latter glared at him in surprise and deadly hatred. He charged, and in his anger, his guard was ever so slightly off. Talaos glanced the other's long blade aside with his own short. Simultaneously, he brought his long blade up and under the taller man's chin and into his skull.

As Sorvion dropped, Talaos withdrew his blade and whirled. The remaining man had come to a stop, looking suddenly nervous.

"Go tell Cratus I'm coming for him," said Talaos, in a deadly cold voice.

The man made a sort of fearful nod, then started to run.

"On second thought, no," said Talaos. He sprinted, leapt, whirled in midair and landed past the other man. The enemy skittered to a stop, stared at him in surprise, and spun to bring his long sword in an overhead strike. Talaos dodged it, spinning low to the right, and brought his short blade into the man's kidney. He pulled it back and stabbed again in fury, and then again. He kicked the dying man to the ground, and then went to see his fallen friends.

Pallas and Daxar were lying close by each other in pools of blood. Talaos kneeled at their sides, fists clenching and unclenching around his swords as fury and misery mingled on his face.

~

Still splashed with the blood of the fight, Talaos raced through the back streets. He found a neglected, half-ruined fountain and washed off the most obvious signs of trouble. He didn't want to attract attention from the City Vigiles now, of all times. Not when revenge was burning hot inside him. Once he thought it good enough, he sped on.

Back there, on the blood and gore soaked street, his friends Pallas and Daxar lay dead.

However bad it was that he'd joined them for their disastrous walk, Talaos knew Pallas at least was a target for Cratus in his own right. Daxar had been a neutral. He'd stayed only out of loyalty and friendship for Talaos, and now he was dead.

He couldn't bring Pallas and Daxar back, but he could at least make Cratus pay for killing them. War had found him after all. Palaeon had been right. Now it was his war. Talaos had a lot of friends who wouldn't mind helping Cratus die, yet weren't part of Palaeon's organization. Now was the time to give them the chance. Talaos hoped Palaeon was ready to do his part, and wasn't feeling too jealous about who gave orders to whom.

After a short while, he reached the district where he'd heard Palaeon might have his latest base of operations. Much like Talaos, and in stark contrast to Cratus, Palaeon kept mobile, hard to find, never setting up a permanent home.

He kept his eyes open, watching for Palaeon's lookouts, and finally spotted one; a short, greasy, weasel-like young man named Lodius. The other had already seen him, and waited with a guarded, frowning, expression.

"Lodius, I need to see Palaeon. Now," said Talaos, still boiling.

"I dunno, Talaos, you look like you got trouble. Lots of it," replied the latter.

"It's the kind of trouble he's going to like. Tell him he was right, like finds like."

Lodius eyed him dubiously, then let out a wheezing snicker of a laugh. "All right, whatever that means, it sounds like the kind of thing he'd say."

Lodius then kicked a broken piece of paving stone down the street. It crashed into a pile discarded pottery with a loud clatter. After a short delay, a scrawny young man, or boy really, appeared. Talaos had seen him around lately, but didn't know him.

Lodius gestured to the boy, "Good ear. Now you got a bigger job. Keep watch here just like I showed ya. Don't take anybody to Palaeon, just keep 'em waiting until I get back. Got it?"

The boy nodded with visible pride.

Then Lodius turned to Talaos, "Wait here, I'll go see if it's all right to bring you."

Talaos gave a faint nod as he scanned the buildings around them.

As Lodius started walking, he added, "Don't think about following me. We got guys on watch with bows."

"Yes. I can see Demetrius up on that roof," replied Talaos with impatient sarcasm.

As Talaos and the boy waited, the latter attempted to look mysterious and dangerous at his new post. After a short while, Lodius returned.

"You're in. Follow me," Lodius said to Talaos, and off they went.

They took a meandering path through trash-strewn back alleys until they came to a nondescript door on a windowless brick wall. There was what Talaos thought to be a suspiciously strong-looking beggar sitting nearby, and Lodius nodded to him. He then knocked twice, high, and kicked the door once, low. It opened a crack, and Lodius gave another nod to whoever was on the other side of it.

Together, they stepped inside. There was a little hallway going back and very narrow, steep stairs down. They took the stairs. At the bottom was a large, dingy basement space full of old crates and some scavenged-looking furniture. Goods of all sorts sat piled under dirty tarps.

Palaeon held court at the far end on the left, near a trap door going down. He sat on what had once been a very nice gilt-painted chair atop a threadbare rug of ornate Southlands design. Around him stood six armed men, all in his organization and known to Talaos. Palaeon had an icy serious expression. He motioned for Talaos to approach.

"Word just reached me about you and Sorvion," he said, with no appreciable emotion.

"Yes..." answered Talaos, forcing his earlier anger down into cold purpose.

"Daxar and Pallas were good men," said Palaeon. "Daxar had friends of his own, and Sorvion made his last mistake in adding them to Cratus's list of enemies. Much as with you."

"I'll be gathering and organizing my own today," replied Talaos.

"Organizing leads to organizations, Talaos. Keep that in mind for the future, if we succeed in putting Cratus out of business," Palaeon replied in coolly thoughtful tones.

"I'll do as I see fit."

"You always have. Listen, Talaos, what happened to you was just the first strike in a campaign Cratus has been planning for a while. He's expecting us to try something, and he'll be ready."

"And how soon can you be ready?" Talaos replied.

Palaeon made a catlike, mirthless smile. "This evening."

"Then I'll be back in a few hours," replied Talaos.

~

"What still makes no sense is where Cratus is getting the gold to pay for it all," said Palaeon in his low, cold, dangerous voice. He sat on his scavenged gilt chair in his basement headquarters.

Talaos had been away several hours, then back at the place several minutes, yet the only thing of significance that seemed to have changed was that many of the stacks of boxes and barrels had been moved to form a kind of partition between the back area, where Palaeon sat, and the entrance.

Still, Talaos considered Palaeon's statement, and answered, "He had a long time to accumulate it, and a lot of room in his vaults to stash it away."

"I don't have to tell you, of all people, how wildly he used to spend it," replied Palaeon.

"Not so wildly in the last couple of years," answered Talaos.

"True, but I've also done a lot more damage to his paying operations than most people are aware," said Palaeon. "By the way, remember Firius and Milo, and their smuggling ring?"

"Before Cratus killed them all, yes," replied Talaos.

"I had a mole there, before it happened," Palaeon added, voice coldly thoughtful. "Cratus had been putting a lot of money into buying old art objects, artifacts even."

"That doesn't sound like the Cratus I knew," said Talaos with mirthless sarcasm. "He might have liked making an impression or putting on a show, but I never recalled him caring about the historical value of anything he owned."

"Exactly," continued Palaeon. "It would be interesting to know why, because I don't see crazy as a sufficient answer by itself. Still, more directly important is that although not on the old scale, he was still spending plenty of gold on things useless for a gang war. A gang war he started, and largely funded, at the very time a lot of his old income started drying up."

Talaos considered that, then added something more. "He's also been a lot more openly violent that he used to be. As if he needs to make an example every single time."

"He could be feeling desperate. I have been winning, after all," replied Palaeon.

"Maybe, but it started before that, and he used to be a lot more willing to cut deals. It was no accident he used to seem sane, to the outside world."

"No doubt, Talaos. I'm glad I was never one of his higher ups," said Palaeon. "And no doubt he's gotten stranger. He's been hiring men from places very far afield. He has a pair of new bodyguards that are supposed to be giants from the far north. They call them The Twins, though I haven't seen them yet myself."

Talaos pondered that with some curiosity, but knew if all went well, they'd find out the truth of a great many things about Cratus.

"Now," said Palaeon quickly, in fact almost suddenly, "let's get ourselves ready."

Palaeon rose and threw on his fighting gear, with additional weapons, and a chain shirt over the light hidden armor he always wore. Talaos was already equipped, but he checked buckles and fastenings to be sure all his gear and weapons were secure and ready for a fight.

Around them were a few of Palaeon's crew captains and more trusted guards. They readied for battle with cold eyes and hard faces.

Talaos kept alert, and noticed that Palaeon had his trapdoor to the sewers unlocked

There came noises of some sort of scuffle, fighting, and then the doors above smashing in. Talaos drew his swords. Palaeon's men, with slower reaction speeds, did so a half moment later. Palaeon himself already had a sword drawn.

Then followed crashes, and the heavy steps of many feet. Palaeon's men showed varying degrees of surprise as they moved into position with bows and blades, but their leader did not.

Armed men came charging around the corner from the base of the stairs. One dropped immediately with an arrow in his forehead. Another took an arrow in the collar, but ripped it out with a snarl. A third arrow missed. More men poured into the basement with grim scowling faces and a motley variety of weapons and gear. Then many more. They advanced across the basement towards Palaeon's position. A few fired bows from the back, and arrows stuck in the wall of barrels or smashed against the stone wall behind.

"Time to go," Palaeon hissed quietly, as he kicked up the trapdoor with a foot.

Without hesitation or question, Palaeon's men darted down the ladder in the dark hole beneath. As they went, Palaeon pulled a large vial, almost a bottle, from a hidden pouch under his chair. It swirled with blackish liquid or mist inside. He tossed it over the barrels.

The advancing men paused, and some of them stared stupidly at the flying vial.

It shattered against the rusty steel helmet of an ill-favored man with a scraggly beard and a scar-slit nose. The man scowled in surprise. Black smoke poured out from the fragments.

"Now you," said Palaeon to Talaos. The latter spun, leapt, and gracefully darted down the shaft to the sewers. Immediately behind him came Palaeon. As the gang boss shut and locked the trapdoor above them, Talaos could hear shouts and choking gasps from the basement beyond.

They climbed down swiftly, more than thirty feet, and Palaeon did not explain anything as they went. At the bottom, two of Palaeon's men had already lit one of two small lanterns hanging on hooks on the wall. Talaos found himself in a foul, filth-smeared corridor with a narrow ledge running along a gutter of waste water. The stench was formidable.

"Nice place you've got, Palaeon," said Talaos.

The gang boss made no reply. He motioned in the direction they should go, and with Talaos immediately behind him, they followed in single file. A man took the lit lamp. After a short while, they came to the intersection of a larger, but no better smelling passage. Here it was possible to walk two abreast.

There was also, hanging upside down by a chain from the ceiling, a man, bound with rope at wrists and ankles. His shoulders and head were submerged in the filthy, dung-strewn water. He was not moving.

"Friend of yours?" asked Talaos.

"The man who gave my location to Cratus," replied Palaeon in cool, matter-of-fact tones.

After a short while more, they came to another smaller passage, and then a niche with a ladder up. They climbed and emerged at a sewer grate in a dark junk-strewn alley. Talaos knew the place. There were sounds of fighting. Palaeon pulled a little flute from his tunic and made a low quiet whistle. Men appeared from hidden positions.

Then, together, they raced down the alley, a side street, and onto the street with the entrance to Palaeon's headquarters. There, Palaeon's men had rolled a wagon in front of the door and smashed the wheels. The door was shaking as men inside tried to smash their way out. Talaos could hear coughing, wheezing, agonized gurgling noises, and desperate yells.

In front of the door, a bloody battle was taking place as a small number of Palaeon's men defended the wreck of the wagon from a larger number of Cratus's. With the arrival of Palaeon, Talaos, and the men with them, those odds quickly reversed.

Palaeon moved with deadly catlike grace, killing men with single swift strikes through their throats or faces, and just as swiftly slipping away from attempts by the enemy to strike at him. Talaos whirled to the attack alongside him, and the rest of the men mobbed around the enemy. It was over quickly.

Behind the door, the knocking and the coughing stopped. The faintest tendril of black smoke curled up, and even at a distance, Talaos could smell something acrid.

"That cuts down greatly on Cratus's advantage in numbers," said Palaeon, with a cold dangerous smile, "Now Talaos, do you have your crew together?"

"I have Sorya, Katara, and twenty others ready in my gang," answered Talaos.

Palaeon seemed to notice the contrary choice of words, but did not directly react to it. He continued, "And Daxar's people?"

"His brother stepped in to organize the ones ready to fight, and his cousins got a lot of angry relatives and friends together. They had thirty or so in total, when I last checked in," answered Talaos with a faint, black smile. "They are looking for blood, but I don't think you have to worry about them becoming a gang."

Palaeon did not seem amused. He replied coolly. "Then as per plan, my people will surround the place and come over the walls, while Daxar's mourners share their sadness with Cratus's guards at the front gate, and you..."

"I'll see if the back way still works," replied Talaos.

4. A Better World

Talaos stalked down the midnight street in a mood of cold, wrathful, purpose. With him were Sorya and Katara, and behind them Arax and nineteen other armed men. They moved with swift precision, for they all knew where they were going.

"Weapons up and eyes open," said Talaos.

They were in a district that was said to have once been dominated by wealthy homes, but for a long time the grittier sort of businesses and seedy apartment blocks had encroached on them, until only one was left. Talaos knew it well. Many years ago, Cratus had bought the place and turned it into his headquarters.

Wealthy homes in Carai were usually either townhomes opening on the street, or manors with low decorative walls around them. Cratus had turned this one into a fortress compound with a ten foot stone wall topped by a parapet. Now Palaeon's little army was going to try to take that fortress. However, Talaos and his gang had a task apart from the main fight. Just out of sight and earshot of the place, Talaos gestured for them to halt.

There was a nondescript warehouse nearby. One Cratus had long used as part of a reasonably legitimate front operation. It also had another purpose that few even of Cratus's own men knew. Talaos had been high ranking in both trust and power once, and he had learned that purpose.

He turned, drew his friends close, and whispered, "From here, fan out and stay out of sight. Cratus will have lookouts around. Try to kill them without being seen. We're going to a warehouse two blocks away with faded red paint along the eaves. I'll point it out. We'll need to get inside quietly. There's a very well hidden entrance in there, and a passage under the streets to a room inside Cratus's house."

Sorya looked quizzical, "I have a hard time picturing Cratus using the sewers like Palaeon, or even physically fitting in them."

"Not the sewers. With his fixed base, he knew multiple ways out were also multiple ways in. This passage goes only one place. Few know of it, and Cratus uses it sparingly."

"I'm really surprised he let you live, after you quit," replied Sorya in a whisper.

Talaos replied with grim seriousness. "In his way, he trusted me and hoped I'd come back around, at least until he started the war. I took an oath to keep this, and one other thing secret. He broke his side of that oath when he tried to kill me. Still, until now, I kept my side."

With that, he said no more, and motioned them into action.

They moved through the shadows, divided among three narrow alleys. Ahead, deep in the blackness amid a pile of old boards against a wall, Talaos could see a crouching shape. Sorya, quieter than a cat, crept up the wall to their side, moved along a narrow little brick ledge overhead, and then dropped with ghostly silence onto the sentry. More quickly than that sentry could react, her knife cut his throat.

Off to the right, in the next alley, a gurgling sound told him another sentry was being dispatched less quietly. He paused, and waited. There was no reaction. He motioned, and they continued on in the darkness.

They reached the place, filtering silently onto the narrow street outside the entrance. Sorya crept to the door, listened and brought out a set of little tools. She checked the lock for unwelcome surprises, seemed satisfied, then picked it. Talaos stepped forward. He motioned the others to step aside out of the way, and silently opened the door. Nothing.

He stalked inside and looked around. The warehouse had bulk trade goods of various kinds in stacks on a sturdy wooden floor over brick foundation. There were three smaller back rooms, and Talaos knew that the crates in the one on the left were usually empty, and acted as a cover for a hidden spot where there wasn't actually brick underneath.

They went there. The door was ajar. Inside sat heavy sacks of grain.

"Cratus wasn't planning on running tonight," he whispered. "That likely means more problems. Let's get these moved."

With twenty-three to do the work, it didn't take long. Talaos found the familiar hidden mechanism, and opened the big trap door in the floor. It revealed a very large, sturdy ladder going down about fifteen feet. They descended and found the dry, dusty stone passageway. It had been carved tall and wide enough to fit Cratus, and was thus fairly roomy for them.

It went on a long way in the dark. One of his friends lit a small, dim lamp, and they advanced. At the far end were stairs up, then a landing and a door. Talaos crept quietly up and listened. On the other side he heard multiple voices. There was a storeroom there, and Cratus had generally used it for mundane items. The voices were likely guards, posted in case someone came through, and Cratus being Cratus, they likely had no idea what they were guarding.

He knew on the other side, this door looked like just another section of cheap wood paneling. It had a lock that was operated by a little hidden mechanism on the other side, and so far as he knew, couldn't be operated on this side.

With those guards in place, the time for stealth was about to end anyway.

He had his long blade in his right hand, and a dagger in his left.

He stepped back, whirled, and aimed a flying kick at the door. It jarred forward in its frame, and roars of surprise sounded in the room beyond. He cursed under his breath and gave it another kick. The door went flinging aside on its hidden hinges. It cracked into the face of a guard standing nearby. He threw his dagger into the throat of the next closest guard and leapt through, drawing his short blade in his left hand as he went.

Ten more guards stood ready on the other side, largely unarmored but armed with a variety of weapons. Talaos spun low and ran his long blade through the stomach of a guard wielding a club. Behind him, Katara charged through with a roar. The man directly in front of her stared in momentary surprise, with eyes foolishly on her chest and her flying golden braids. It cost the man his life as she brought her heavy sword down through his shoulder and ribs. Then the rest poured through, fighting the outnumbered guards. The man who'd had the door cracked in his face wiped blood away and raised his axe to fight. Sorya interrupted his plans with a dagger to the kidney. Katara kicked a man and sent him toppling, then cleaved another's head in half.

As they fought, Talaos could hear sounds of alarm. He ducked a blow from a mace, twisted, and slashed the wielder along the arm with his long blade. More of Cratus's men would be charging their way, he thought grimly. The mace wielder spun, trying to shatter Talaos's arm. Talaos dodged and brought his short blade between the man's ribs. Then, as the other fell, he realized more alarms were being shouted all around Cratus's compound.

Palaeon must have the main assault under way.

Around him, the guards were dead. Several of his were hurt, but thankfully none slain.

He'd always guessed that in this room there should be another hidden panel, with a short passage to Cratus's main office. However, Talaos had not been shown that particular secret.

It was possible that Cratus would be out in the compound leading the defense, but he had never been quiet in fights, and his massive bellowing voice carried a long way. Talaos couldn't hear him. Then he had a suspicion where Cratus would be.

They'd have to take a chance.

He motioned for the others to follow him, and raced out into the hall. He could hear sounds of fighting and many voices. They turned left. Two men, Cratus's, came racing their way. The smaller had an axe, the bigger, a heavy club. They came to a skittering stop on seeing the large group before them. The man with the axe ran, and then fell with one of Sorya's daggers in his back. The bigger man charged. Talaos dodged the club, turned, and ran his short blade into the man's ribs. Katara, close behind, finished the enemy with a sword thrust through the collar.

Ahead on the left was the brass-paneled door to Cratus's office. There was a good chance of a trap there, but no time to deal with it. He grabbed a heavy bronze urn nearby, and with help from Arax and two others, smashed it through the door like a battering ram. A little metal needle shot from the lock, but clanged harmlessly into the urn.

Beyond was the richly, even gaudily decorated office, but not Cratus.

But then, Talaos hadn't expected him to be there.

He checked the inlayed wood panels on the wall behind the gang boss's desk and felt for what he thought was the right spot. Talaos had only ever seen Cratus use it once, back when the latter had tried to convince him to at last join formally as one of his captains, to take the full oaths, and see the secrets.

He found it. Pressed a little wooden tile, and there was a click at a section of floor under the rug. He motioned to the others, and two hurried over to move the rug.

"This looks like my area," said Sorya, as she walked over to the trap door, drew out her lock picks, and put them to work on the lock.

"Without the push of that panel, you'd be getting a half a dozen poison needles springing at you about now," Talaos added helpfully.

"Lovely," she replied, finishing her work with a satisfying click.

"Stand back," Talaos said, motioning her and the others away.

Sorya and Katara flanked him, but the rest made some distance.

There would almost certainly be at least one more trick. He wedged a pick of his own, of particular design, with a loop at the end, in the lock. He put a little cord through it, and stepped around behind the trap door. He pulled, lifting the door up from behind. There came a sound of springing steel. Six bolts flew out from the stairs under the trapdoor, and into the far wall.

"He's clever," said Sorya with black humor as she eyed the bolts.

"Whatever else he is, Cratus is no fool," replied Talaos. With that, he stepped watchfully around the trap door. There at the base of the stairs, as he expected, was a ballista with places for six shots and a complex triggering device rigged to the trapdoor.

Down the stairs he went, to a place he'd never wanted to see again.

Behind him followed Katara, Sorya, and twenty armed men. Before him was the short hallway that opened onto a sort of foyer. There was neither sign nor sound of opposition. The bare stone walls of the hallway had niches carved in them. In each niche were a few bones, and sometimes teeth or little personal trinkets.

Katara looked at them with a grim curiosity, but many of the others seemed disturbed. Talaos silenced them with a gesture. This was not a time to talk, and the explanation would not help. He knew that this was where Cratus liked to keep mementos of slain enemies. At least he used to. Last time the bones had been clean and tidy, and some niches had held little candles for light. Now they were covered in dust and the hallway was dark.

They came to the foyer, still with no one else around. The foyer at least had not changed. It was a deceptively nice place, with tapestries on the walls, lit lamps on tables, and a few chairs. In the hallway on the right were four cells where Cratus used to keep favored prisoners, though the absence of whimpers or pleas for help meant they might not be in use at present.

To the left were vaults for valuables, treasures that they wouldn't have time, at present, to investigate. Their business lay ahead, beyond a pair of richly carved, brass-fitted doors with a lock more decorative looking than strong. Past them was a guard room, and then Cratus's playroom, where in the old days he had entertained himself exploring how slowly he could make certain enemies die. Not to question them. Just for fun. Cratus was an artist in a way, and he'd been proud to show off his work. Talaos had watched, and many illusions had vanished.

Now, however, Cratus was going to have visitors of another sort.

Talaos made an estimate of what they might face. He was sure Cratus would be down here, but there couldn't be too many men on the other side of that door or there'd be more noise. Even so, the mysterious twins, the giant bodyguards Palaeon had mentioned, would likely be with their master. He'd expect Cratus to have at least a few others.

Sorya took a look at the lock. She stood up and whispered in Talaos's ear, "It's an odd design of lock. Not sure I can pick it quietly. Not trapped, I think."

He nodded to her and to Katara. They took up positions flanking the door. Then he motioned three of the strongest others to stand beside him. Together, they kicked the door. The lock was no stronger than it seemed, and the doors went flying open.

The scene beyond was not quite what he'd expected.

The guard room, with benches and storage for weapons, looked much as he remembered. Six men stood guard, all odd. The first was a fellow Talaos recognized, a brutal killer and slovenly drunkard who'd followed Cratus for years, but now looked clean, clear-eyed, and very unusually for the Republic, wore a full beard. He waited, ready to fight and armed with twin swords.

Two, off to the right, were powerfully built men with thick black beards and bronze complexions. Talaos thought they looked like they were from the Eastlands. They carried squared shields and leaf-bladed swords. Next to them stood a short, weathered-looking man with a thin curved sword, lank red-brown hair, and angular-boned features Talaos couldn't place at all.

The last two, flanking the next doorway, could only be the Twins. Talaos thought they looked to be in fact to be identical twin brothers. They were also giants, more than seven feet tall, strong in a lean way rather than massive, and heavily protected with bronze breastplates, greaves, vambraces, shoulder and thigh armor, kilts with steel discs, and open faced helms. They carried long steel axes. The faces under the helms were distinctive; clean featured, clean shaven, pale-skinned with icy gray-blue eyes and long silver-gold hair hanging in braids.

"Jotunheimer..." whispered Katara.

Beyond the Twins, the next door stood open. There loomed Cratus's torture table, but rather than holding a victim, it was scattered with scrolls, maps, papers, and books. Just around the corner beyond the door Talaos caught a glimpse of a scarred, fat, mallet-like hand.

Cratus.

The guards to the right advanced with weapons drawn. The Twins took a single step forward with axes raised. Talaos thought these six bodyguards looked formidable, but he and his made twenty-three, and there'd be no archers on rooftops. They swept into the room. Talaos vowed he'd get to Cratus before there were any more tricks.

Then a strange thing happened. The two giants stared at him, gazing right into his eyes, and a look of uncertainty passed between them. They paused, and for the briefest of moments, half-lowered their axes. At that same moment, there sounded a mechanical noise in the other room, and a heavy steel door started dropping down the doorway.

Talaos flipped and rolled low past the giants. They seemed to snap back into action and started swinging their axes. With a second sideways flip Talaos flew forward, inches under the fast-dropping door and into Cratus's sanctuary. Even as he passed through, he could hear the sound of fighting behind.

He vaulted to his feet with blades drawn. Cratus stood a few feet back to the left of the door. Talaos sized him up. It had been a while. Massive as ever, Cratus was obese over a towering, powerful, bear-like frame with vastly broad shoulders, thick arms, and huge hands. His square head was still shaven, though he now had the beginnings of a gray beard, and his charcoal-gray eyes had more lines around them. Two other things were very odd, for Cratus.

The first was that he was plainly dressed in simple gray wool. Talaos had never seen the man anything less than sumptuously attired in brocades and silks, with plentiful gold jewelry. The second was that while he had his trademark long, gold-inlayed, single-bladed executioner's axe in his right hand, his left hand held an ornately decorated book.

"I'm glad you're here, Tal," Cratus said quietly in his rich, rolling, bass voice.

The room was crowded, both with dust-covered torture implements and with more recent oddities. A tall, massive, ancient-looking stone column sculpted with glyphs and leering fanged faces loomed nearly to the ceiling. Vases teetered on a narrow stand. Shelves stood piled with artifacts, stacks of books and much more.

"They were right when they said you'd gone crazy, or crazier." snapped Talaos in cold reply as he advanced on his old boss and mentor, swords dawn. The bulky items everywhere made his usual fighting style difficult, so he took measured but relentless steps.

"Still angry? That's too bad. You were like a son to me, lad," said Cratus, with the seemingly sincere concern that Talaos had long since come to hate. As Cratus said it, he backed up and carefully, gently, put the book down on top of a pile of others on the torture table.

"Like a son, but not. I'm glad I was an orphan," Talaos answered.

"The sons of my blood were all worthless, or turned on me," said Cratus as he gripped his ornate axe, still stepping back. He had a calm look to his face. "I can understand why even you doubted. But you shouldn't have. You don't understand how much things have changed."

Talaos ignored him and continued to advance. Cratus spoke again.

"Tal, what have we been doing all our lives, as gangsters? Violence, cruelty, and death, all for no purpose..."

"You'd know about those well enough..." replied Talaos in a low, cold voice.

Cratus ignored that, and continued, "I was always capable of more. Unlike all the rest. So were you, lad. Capable of great things! Like of old. There was once a great empire, with lofty ideals, that ruled this land and all about it. And long before that, a time of heroes, sages and wise prophets. But what are we now? Squalid and corrupt, all across the earth!"

Talaos decided to make his move. He vaulted over a closed chest with swords flashing. Cratus moved fast. Talaos had forgotten how fast the man could move when he wanted to, despite his bulk. The gang boss blocked both swords with a sudden twist of the long blade of his axe. Then something new happened. Frost appeared on the axe, and ran up the blades of Talaos's swords. Talaos stared at them for a brief moment in surprise. Cratus then stepped back and pulled out an ornate round shield from some hidden spot under the table.

Talaos recovered from his momentary shock and spun at Cratus again. The latter caught the long blade with his axe, blocked the short with the shield, and then used the shield to hurl Talaos halfway across the room. He flew and crashed hard into shelves full of old stone carvings. He felt suddenly cold, almost numb, and struggled to move.

Cratus started speaking again. "Tal, my lad, you could have been part of something greater even than the things I've described!" Cratus shouted at him in almost lofty tones. "And far better! I have found things worth living for. I've given up my evil ways. I've given up my sinful pleasures, as you can see. I've thought of my soul. All of our souls.

"I have a vision, Tal, a vision of what humanity can do, what we can all build together! What we can do in unity, all working as one! Palaeon may be unable to see, but you might yet... This city of Carai is the most ancient in all the world, and has been the site of many great things! Here, long ago, the proud, towering wicked were overthrown, and here, once purified of the petty, small wicked of today, we can be a beacon of light for all!

"And it won't stop there, lad! All the world and all mankind remade, in brotherhood and purity! Of course, those who've helped me discover this don't understand what I'm destined to be. I will rise above them all, teach my would-be teachers, and show the way. I'm building a better world..." As Cratus went on, his eyes seemed to glitter and flash like ice in the dim light.

Talaos climbed out of the pile of broken wood and ancient stone. He tried to find his footing. Cratus hadn't moved an inch since hurling him, and was still talking, on and on. Talaos couldn't take it anymore.

"You fucking lunatic!" roared Talaos. "When I was a little street rat I used to believe you! You used to be a hero to people who didn't know better! You showed me what you really were! Now you learn some sorcery, and you're babbling about saving the world?"

Cratus stared at him for a moment, looking almost hurt. The room grew cold.

"That is too bad, Tal, you were the most promising of all," replied Cratus in a nobly sorrowful voice. "You have potential for greatness, lad, even if you've chosen to squander it."

Talaos found his footing, gauged the distance, and prepared his leap.

Then Cratus's eyes hardened, gleaming and pitiless, and he spoke again. "So be it. I had high hopes for you, once. But now... time to die, Tal."

Cratus took a step forward, huge axe in his right hand, shield ready in his left.

Talaos leapt. He vaulted not at Cratus, but at the tall sculpted column. He kicked it hard in midair and sent it toppling back Cratus's way. The big man stepped partly aside and took the brunt of the impact on his shield. It would have crushed most men. He then gave a mighty shove that sent the thing hurling away, covered in frost.

However, Talaos had landed on the tabletop, turned and spun, and was now behind and inside Cratus's reach. He struck the long blade down behind the huge man's shoulder, and through his heart. Cratus toppled amid the crowded junk, and knocked over a shelf of his own torture implements. He landed on the floor among them with a tremendous clattering crash.

Talaos stared at him for a moment, looked almost disbelievingly at the ruin of Cratus. He forced down his regrets, and faced the tasks ahead.

Then he turned to the steel door. The sounds of fighting had stopped, and instead he heard knocking. He walked over to where Cratus had been when he arrived. There was a small lever in a niche in the wall, pulled down. He pushed it up. There followed the sound of gears and counterweights, and the heavy steel door began to rise.

On the other side, a strange scene greeted him. Katara, Sorya, and most of his men stood there with blood on their weapons, facing the Twins. The giants of Jotun, in their bronze armor, had taken a defensive position in the corner. They had their long axes raised before them. Neither side moved to attack. Two others of his men were at the door, where they'd been knocking.

The other guards lay dead, as did six of his own men. All were friends, and one was Arax, whom he'd known since they were boys. Talaos cursed. Then he kneeled down and closed his fallen men's eyes one by one. More who'd followed him, he thought blackly. More deaths on the long trail of blood that had taken him to this place.

When he was done, he noticed that nearly all in the room were watching him, and the Twins most intently of all. Katara noticed their inattention to the battle and took a step toward them with raised sword. The others around her followed.

"Wait!" shouted Talaos, then he turned to the Twins. "Hold. I offer a truce."

They looked at him uncomprehendingly.

He tried again, "Do you speak Imperial?"

That, they seemed to partially comprehend. The one on the right replied, "Little."

"Why did you stop when I entered the room?"

Again, incomprehension.

"No fight. Stop," he said. He looked them in the eye, one then the other, as he sheathed his swords. The giants kept their long axes in hand, but rested the bottoms of the hafts on the ground. They looked around the room without fear, then back to Talaos.

Then he had a thought, "Katara, ask them why they paused when I entered the room."

She looked at him in considerable surprise, then answered, "I will do as you say, but Jotun speech is different from the other northern countries, and I have not studied it. Imperial is also not my language. Still, I will do this."

Katara spoke words in her language, and then waited. The Twins looked at her, then they answered with words that sounded only somewhat like her speech. She shook her head and tried again, using different words this time. They gave thought to what she'd said, and attempted another reply.

At last, she turned to him, "They said they thought you were someone from a story."

Talaos shook his head.

Katara, however, added in earnest, "Tales are serious things in the north."

"I believe it," he answered. Then he stepped forward toward them. His own men stepped aside to clear the way, and he faced the two giants by himself with weapons sheathed. They watched him.

"Cratus is dead," said Talaos. "Follow me."

He turned and after a pause, they followed, axes held loosely and casually. Sorya made a disapproving noise under her breath, but he ignored it. Talaos led the Twins to the door of Cratus's sanctum, and showed them the corpse. They nodded, then without a word dropped their axes on the ground at Talaos's feet.

"Let's go find Palaeon," he said to Katara, Sorya, and his men.

~

Around them, the capital of Cratus's onetime empire lay in shambles. The fortress compound was full of bodies, and blood spattered everywhere. Many of Cratus's men had died fighting, and the rest were either too wounded to fight on, or had surrendered. Palaeon's cordon in the streets had ensured none escaped.

Palaeon himself now stood on an interior balcony, overlooking the great hall where in other times Cratus had held his legendary wild parties and gluttonous banquets. The new master of the hall was cleaning blood from his sword.

Talaos stood beside him, surveying the scene. Then he turned to Palaeon.

"So when are you moving in?" he said.

A darksome smile crossed Palaeon's lean face, "I think moving out is the better term. Once I've got everything of even remote value carted out, I'll try to find a buyer. Hard to say how much gold we'll get for it, but then the purchase price was in blood."

Talaos looked at the long tables below, with memories good and bad haunting his mind. Murderers and thieves had sworn oaths of honor at those tables, and talked of fighting for the people. Wine had flowed and women had danced naked to the sound of drums and lyres. Talaos had been barely more than a boy when he'd started with Cratus. A child of the streets with nothing, nothing at all, but what he'd seized by his own mind and hand, he'd imagined he was part of something great.

Palaeon, however, interrupted the past with talk of the future.

"Talaos," he said coolly, "you'll get your cut of all this. Fair is fair. Keep in mind though, with what looks to me like a newly organizing gang, and a lot of gold at your disposal, you'll have options. Think carefully about how you use them."

Talaos turned to look at his ally and possible future rival. Palaeon's eyes were cold, watchful, and appraising.

"Palaeon, Cratus must once have sized you up in the same way," Talaos said.

"He did, and for similar reasons," replied Palaeon coldly, "but there is a lot more to consider with you. I was just a sharp-eyed climber, with an eye for the main chance and a head for the odds. I won a war, but I'd much rather count my dishonest gains in peace.

"But you Talaos, you're the storm's own son. You can claim you're looking for peace, but you spent years doing rough work for Cratus, and made your own bloody path after that. You're made for war and change."

Talaos turned again to watch the room below. Palaeon's men entered in numbers, and were already at work collecting corpses and valuables. Some of Cratus's men were hauled in, tied, and seated roughly along the sides, while others walked in and stood in a line. They were being reviewed by one of Palaeon's captains. The Twins were among them.

"Who's to say my war is here on the streets?" replied Talaos at last.

"Who indeed? But it would be unfortunate if it were," said Palaeon in words of ice.

5. A Change in the Weather

Talaos walked alone down a wide main street on a darkening night. Lights shone from the windows of shops and taverns, and through doors at balconies above. Clouds had gathered overhead, the wind was picking up, and he felt the first drops of rain hitting his face. He heard it striking the tiled roofs high on either side. All around, shops were closing up and people on the street were pulling their cloaks around them, hurrying home to escape the weather.

Not him. He felt exhilarated, as he always did when a storm came. He threw his cloak back and lifted his face to the sky. He could almost feel the electricity gathering in the air and flowing through the ground, rushing to join together in the beauty that was lightning. He'd always wondered why so few others seemed to enjoy it as he did.

He walked on, and his mind turned to more practical concerns.

He'd collected himself and his brooding thoughts these past days. With Cratus gone, things might be quiet, at least for a while. Talaos's still-unfolding share of Cratus's wealth was turning out to be considerable, and even after lavishing it on his friends, his gang, on what people were starting to call his organization, he had plenty of gold left.

Palaeon had mentioned options, and Talaos had them. However, they weren't all obvious. He could almost feel change in the storm-tossed air.

On the one hand was power, long in the making, now clearly before him and ready for the taking. He could follow a path like Palaeon, or Borras, or Cratus and all the others, and build a little empire of blood here on the streets of Carai. But he'd be no freer than they. Any more than Palaeon, even in victory, was free of his worries.

On the other, he could leave, as he'd planned when Daxar was still alive.

But now he had no idea where he might go.

And then there was the question of what he'd do. Even his plans with Daxar, he thought, had centered on fighting or the threat of it. At other times he'd talked of seeking more peace, but did he really want it? All he knew and seemed to be made for was conflict. War and change, as Palaeon had said in his insightful way. Like the storm and like his nickname.

Perhaps it didn't matter where he went or what he did, only that he went and did. He thought of Sorya and Katara. Would they follow him into the unknown? Katara at least was already far from her own home. Sorya was a daughter of Carai, and despite her earlier words, her heart was in its ancient streets. Either way, they'd have their own choices to join him, or not.

For good or ill, the choices he'd made in life were his, and he now fully accepted the consequences. He'd make his future choices and accept their consequences too. No evasions, no compromises and no regrets. If change came, whether from him or to him, what he did with it would be on his terms. Whatever course he took in life, or whatever the world threw at him, his life was his.

His life was his.

Then the first thunderbolt lit up the clouds, and all thoughts but joy were driven from his mind. He stopped in his tracks and looked up at the welcoming sky. Flashes of light illuminated sheets of windswept rain falling from the roiling clouds.

A few passing others, hunched down and running from the storm, shot him strange glances, but he didn't care. Life was good, life was here, all about him and in his outstretched hands. He could feel the crackle of it on his skin and the joy of it in his soul. He stood there transfixed, alone on the street, as lightning flashed across the sky.

As time passed, the thunder subsided and the storm became mere rain. Talaos collected himself and pressed on toward home. He was soaking wet, but cared not at all. Bereft of lightning, the night grew even blacker. He turned down the side street and saw his home, such as it was; one window and a rickety balcony three stories up a crumbling brick wall. Gold was for experiencing life's joys, not for sleeping in a nice room. Well, he smiled to himself, except for those nights where sleep wasn't the point.

He turned the questionable little lock at the front door, ascended the battered stairs, and made his way down the narrow shabby hallway to his door. Unlocking it in turn, he made his way in the dark toward the lamp. Then he sensed it. Something was wrong. Someone was...

"Good evening, Talaos."

It was the low, dangerous voice of Palaeon, and it sounded deadly cold.

In a flash, Talaos drew his sword, but the other's blade was already at his throat.

"Calm down, Tal."

"I don't recall inviting you," quipped Talaos, his temper getting the better of his surprise.

"Nor did you tell me where you now live."

"What do you want?"

"I've figured some things out, Tal. Things about why that stupid, if profitable, war started and where Cratus's gold might have come from. I doubt most of those on the other side ever knew. But that isn't the only thing. There is another, possibly related. Men came to talk to me, Tal. Foreign men, Eastlanders, offering a lot of gold... for you."

Talaos laughed, "Foreign? I didn't know I was so famous. Why not kill me now, then?"

"They wanted you alive, and..."

"Good luck with that. Slice the blade now, or leave, but stop threatening."

"Talaos, this blade is at your throat so you wouldn't try to run me through before I finished talking. Now listen... I'm here to help you."

"If you're still on my side, let's go kill them."

"Not so simple," replied Palaeon, with icy intensity creeping into his cold voice. "I can guess they're just one paw of a vastly bigger beast. I will, and you ought to, think twice about climbing up that paw toward the fangs. I think something much deeper is going on."

"Deeper? There you go with that word again. Don't turn philosopher on me."

"This time, you might want to think about turning philosopher," replied Palaeon.

"Eh?"

"I'd suggest seeing the larger picture, the potential consequences, and alternatives to facing them directly. Because if you do plan to fight them, you'll have choices to make, about who to protect and who to leave exposed. Possibly unpleasant choices."

"And you've made yours," said Talaos coldly.

"That's right. To keep my people alive, while they're still plausibly neutral."

"Why help me at all then?"

"Count this as my one noble act, or perhaps self-interested in a long-term sense. Those men were either magi, or some other kind of sorcerers. They had magic all around them. There was something more about them, too. They made _my_ skin crawl, and if they could do that, I figured it was a bad thing they have you, however unfathomable it is why they want you."

"What if they decide you aren't plausibly neutral?"

"Then we'll have another war to fight side by side after all," replied Palaeon.

"While we're pondering being brothers in arms, would you take that sword down?"

"Don't get sentimental."

Talaos made a low black-humored laugh, then suddenly halted as the room seemed to fade for a moment into utter darkness. He felt the slightest rush of air. On instinct he brought his blade up in a sweeping defensive circle around him, but he was alone.

~

In the pitch black rainy night, Talaos walked with a pack holding his gold and the few possessions he needed or cared about. The most important of all, his weapons, were strapped to his body and ready.

He struggled to understand what had just happened, and wrestled with what to do next. If Palaeon had wanted him out of the way just then, he'd be dead, so he had little reason to doubt the warning itself. But the reason for the warning made no sense. Why would some unknown sorcerers from the Eastlands want to capture him? How could they know or care who he was? And, he mused, his humor returning, who in all the world and all the hells could make Palaeon's skin crawl?

Regardless, and magi or not, he planned to find these men and find out what they wanted. In the process, he intended to make them regret coming for him.

Then a more worrying thought crept into his mind. Sorya and Katara! If he was in danger, they might well be too. So might many others, but those two were closest to him, and so likely most at risk. Palaeon had talked of choices. Talaos didn't want his choices leading them to the same fate as Daxar, Pallas, Arax, and so many of his other friends. He would try to get the two of them to leave the city... and far from whatever was coming his way.

There was no time to waste.

~

"You're kidding?" hissed Sorya, still sleepy, as she clutched her sheet around her bare slender body. Her tiny, yet clean and comfortable room was lit by a candle in the corner.

"I wish I was. Palaeon spoke in deadly earnest."

"And you trust him?"

"Do you want to find out if I'm wrong?"

"Ah..."

"You'd been thinking about leaving town for somewhere quieter," added Talaos with a smile and a teasing sparkle in his eyes.

"Yes, probably, under more planned circumstances, and... with you."

"I doubt we have much time. You need to get ready."

She looked up at him with sudden defiant fury, which just as suddenly melted away. She raised herself on her toes, the sheet dropping to the floor, and tried to kiss him. He leaned down so she could. Her dark hair flowed loose down her back. He held her tight by the waist. Her small breasts pressed against his chest and he dropped his other hand to her taut, rounded little bottom. She forced back tears.

"Now, Sorya."

Without another word, she sprang into action, a lifetime of dangerous survival serving her well as she threw on clothes, gear and weapons, then stuffed a few items in her own small packs.

"All right..." she took a long, deep breath, "I'm ready."

He turned, drawing a blade under his cloak, and led the way.

~

Talaos knocked on the door of Katara's room. She stayed at a cheap inn, just cheap enough to be affordable with what she made from training others in her fighting style, and tavern bets on her own sparring matches against woefully unsuspecting drunks.

There was light showing under the door, and through it came a quick answer.

"Yes?"

"Katara, it's me."

There was motion, and the door opened.

Talaos was surprised to see Katara dressed and armed. It was less surprising to see her fairly large pack of gear ready, as she rarely completely unpacked.

"You all right?" he asked.

"I am not sure. You?" replied Katara, eyeing him and Sorya doubtfully.

"What do you think?"

"Then no."

She looked up at him, and he could see worry in her eyes. She continued. "Tal, I had a feeling I was being followed on my way back tonight. It was like being shadowed by wolves in the forest, when they do not want to be seen... but I could not be sure. Since then, I have been thinking about what I should do."

"The trouble is worse than any wolf. We need to go now. I'll explain along the way."

"Yes," she said sadly. "I hoped, and feared, you might come."

Katara clung to him with unexpected intensity, and he tilted her head back to kiss her parted lips. Then, she took a half step back, said something in her harsh-sounding language, and embraced him in a strangely formal way. Her face became sadly grim, and she translated.

"To the very end, it means."

~

With cloaks about them and hoods drawn low, Talaos, Sorya and Katara made their way down bleak and gritty back streets in a steady rain. They took varying routes, ducking through alleys and around corners. All three had weapons drawn under their cloaks.

Sorya drew close to him and whispered in a low, worried voice. "Couldn't we try a ship?"

"At this time of night?" replied Talaos. "And, who do you know that you can trust?"

"No one really, I guess, but do you trust that gate guard?" replied Sorya.

At that, he pulled her even closer, whispering directly in her ear. "Unlike aboard a docked ship, we won't be waiting all night to find out."

"But after the gate?"

"Shh."

Talaos knew his plan. He was not, however, about to explain it here in the city, within potential earshot. He'd spent a lot of time wandering the coastal hills when he was younger, especially during weather, and he knew a few out of the way, sheltered places to hide. If they were really lucky, they might have one last night together, before he sent them on their way.

Beside them, Katara walked in stolid, watchful silence.

However, as they rounded a corner from a twisting alley, and looked out onto a street with one dead end, she suddenly gripped Talaos's arm.

"I feel something..." she said in a low voice.

Talaos felt something too, something wrong in the air behind them. He grabbed the women by their wrists and pulled them at a sprint out into the street, making for the open end.

They were too late.

Down that street came a mob of armed, tough-looking men, thirty-five or more. Some Talaos recognized, survivors and cast-offs of the gang wars, but others he did not, and some had foreign looks.

Out of the alley behind Talaos came three more men. They wore all-concealing, but otherwise varied and nondescript hooded cloaks of weathered tans and browns. As they fanned out into a line side by side, Talaos noticed something about them change. Their postures straightened, their movements acquired a strange fluidity, and they began to walk in perfect step with one another. A shadow seemed to grow around them. Behind came another six men, bronze-skinned, black-haired and bearded, with short leaf-bladed swords. Eastlanders.

They were cut off, with the dead end behind them.

Talaos threw back his cloak and drew his swords. Sorya faced the mob of men with a look of intense, cold concentration, and a dagger in each hand.

Katara raised her long, heavy sword perfectly vertically before her, and in a low voice said, "Here I will stand, as my forefathers watch, and I will not shame them."

Talaos backed toward the wall, preferring to face enemies on three sides rather than four, and hoping for the off chance he might notice some way up or out back there. Sorya and Katara followed. Overhead, the wind began to pick up.

The mass of armed men advanced. The three cloaked men walked forward in lockstep with eerily smooth speed, forward in front of the others. When they faced Talaos directly, still distant, they stopped, each at exactly the same moment. The rest shuffled to a halt behind them. The three men pulled back their hoods and dropped their cloaks in perfect unison.

Underneath they revealed aquiline features, bronze skin and long black beards. Their faces were of indeterminate age, their dark brows were rounded and soft over strangely gentle eyes. Their thin lips faintly smiled. They wore robes and caps of white linen trimmed in complex patterned green, and each bore a copper rod in his right hand.

The rods themselves, however, varied. The man on the left bore one capped with the face of a hunting hawk, the middle with that of a striking serpent, and that on the right with a vulture.

In unison, they raised their left hands, and then motioned forward.

The three men advanced again, in slow, simultaneous steps with the mob behind them.

As the enemy approached, Talaos, Sorya, and Katara waited with drawn weapons. Talaos watched every detail of the advancing foe intently, hoping to spot an opportunity. Then the man on the left, he of the Hawk, spoke in a soft, sonorous voice,

"We have seen the signs..."

"...they have called to us..." added the Serpent.

"...and they are upon him," finished the Vulture.

Talaos realized with a start that the men had not moved their smiling lips as they'd spoken. No one else seemed to react. Overhead, the rain grew stronger. A peal of distant thunder rolled through the dark sky. Talaos, in a corner of his mind, thought it odd so late in a storm, but he had greater problems at hand.

"He can hear us..." whispered the Hawk from an unmoving mouth.

"...but does not yet comprehend..." added the Serpent.

"...as the Living Prophet foretold," finished the Vulture.

The three smiling robed men advanced in unity. More than forty others followed in grim confidence behind. Lightning cracked in the sky around them as the wind rose and howled.

"Spawn of sin and blasphemy..." silently said the Hawk.

"...Something comes..." added the Serpent.

"...We must be swift," finished the Vulture.

As one, the three raised their rods level with the ground and pointed at Talaos. A kind of faint mist, venomous green, formed in the gaping mouth of each copper creature.

That, at last stirred reaction.

Katara seemed to force herself to take a step forward, eyes on the Vulture. Sorya moved faster. Quick as a cat, she threw a dagger at the throat of the Hawk. She missed, and it struck high in his chest near the collar, but hilt-deep. Without a pause or a change in expression, he reached with his left hand, pulled out the dagger, and tossed it to the ground. There came a small trickle of blood, but no more. Then all three men raised their left hands again, and as one motioned forward.

Forty armed men charged.

Talaos roared to the two women, "Stay with me! Stay together!"

Sorya stood slightly behind to his left, and drew a short sword to join her dagger. Katara on his right held her heavy sword in both hands. Talaos had his long sword in his right hand and his short in his left, gleaming in the ever more frequent flashes of lightning.

Then the enemy was upon them.

Talaos cut down a man with a sweep of his long blade and ran another through with the short. He saw the three smiling men advancing on him, but laughed in wild defiance at them as he spun low and disemboweled a third enemy.

Katara fought with such sudden ferocity that some of the foes around her startled in shock. She roared in her northern tongue, sent one man flying with a kick, tripped and impaled another, and nearly beheaded a third with an overhead two-handed blow of her sword. Then, the greater numbers of the enemy began to tell, and she was forced back step by fighting step away from the others.

On the left, Sorya ducked and twisted, bringing her short sword up into the groin of a charging thug. He toppled past her and she aimed a slash for the tendons of another. However, a third man brought a club down on her shoulder and she crumpled back towards the wall with a scream.

The smiling men reached Talaos. Their own followers now held back, fear in their eyes. Green mist curled forth from the faces on the copper rods. It surrounded Talaos and he felt an icy cold gather round him, in body and spirit. His shoulders drooped. He felt transfixed, weakening...

"Let your soul be cleansed of its curse..." gently whispered the Hawk, this time directly to Talaos.

"...Surrender your life for the good of this world..." added the Serpent.

"...and be forgiven in the next," finished the Vulture.

No, thought Talaos, slowly mastering himself.

He rose to full height. A proud smile curled on his lips, implacable will rose in his mind, and furious passion flashed in his spirit.

His life was his.

A massive bolt of lightning struck in the air directly overhead, the thunderclap drowning out all other sound. Everyone in the street stood in momentary, dumbfounded shock. Everyone except Talaos and the three smiling men. Talaos felt a thrill of power run through his body, felt it arc and crack along his arms and into his hands, his weapons. Felt it radiate from his soul.

The mist dissipated around him, as if blown away in the wind, and a faint aura of electricity washed over the three smiling men.

"It burns..." said the Hawk, but the others did not have time to continue.

Talaos moved swifter than he'd ever imagined he could. He whirled and cut the head of the Hawk from his shoulders like a scythe on wheat, then leapt with sword high, dropping to cleave the skull of the Serpent in half, and finally twisted low to run the Vulture clean through the heart. The bodies twitched and burned with electricity all around them.

Of the other men, many turned and fled. Some stood by in shock, staring at Talaos. The six men with black beards and leaf-bladed swords snarled words in their eastern tongue, and advanced. A few others mustered their courage and followed.

Talaos charged them, whirling, slashing, and stabbing. He felt furiously, gloriously alive, and laughed with the joy of it. Power was in his hand and in his eye. The world was a beautiful thing around him, and he a thing of might within. The enemies before him were slow, weak, feeble players at a game of life and death. Life for him, death for them. Swift as the wind, heedless as the storm, he dealt that death.

Then it was over. A dozen men lay dead before him, besides the others already slain.

The rest had fled.

Talaos laughed, shouting his joy at the storm-tossed sky.

Katara was covered in cuts and blood, but stood tall with sword in hand. She stared at him silently and wide-eyed as her golden braids, splashed with red, blew in the wind.

Sorya, still crumpled on the ground, held her shoulder. Her voice cracked with fear as she spoke. "Tal... How? What did you...? Your eyes... they are..."

At the sound of her voice, Talaos returned to the world around him. He looked down at her, and remembered how hurt she must be. He moved to help while considered her words.

"What were you saying?"

In a quiet, terrified voice, she answered, "Your eyes... I could see it from here... They flashed with something that looked like lightning... from inside."

6. Endings and Beginnings

The dawn rose faint and gray. Talaos stood, sword drawn, in the shadows of a dark, derelict warehouse. Sorya and Katara huddled together asleep in the corner behind him. He'd barred the weathered but sturdy door with scrap wood, and piled old boxes to block it.

He thought back on their headlong flight from the battle scene, carrying Sorya over his shoulder, and the hasty choice to find a hidden hole for them to rest rather than chance an exhausted journey cross country.

He realized he was nothing like as tired as he ought to be.

Sorya's strange words ran through his mind. Lightning in his eyes? Still, there was no denying how he had felt, and what had happened. He'd overcome the magic of those three sorcerers, and then slain them and a dozen others with almost inhuman speed and strength. The power that had driven away their mists had come with that feeling, and from him. The thrill of that power had diminished, but not vanished even now. He smiled at the thought of having some magic of his own, whatever it might be. He'd need it.

The power of those sorcerers had been something new to him, something he found instinctively repulsive. Not like magi, he thought, but still very real. With it, they'd seen and tried to stop something they believed was within him, something that had brought them all the way from the lands of the Prophet. And more, they'd come in accordance with word from the Living Prophet himself.

Talaos thought of Palaeon's musing about something deeper going on. The gang lord had shown an uncanny perceptiveness over the years, but this time he'd been more right than anyone could have reasonably imagined.

The Living Prophet, ruler of a continent, had sent men to kill him by magic, with cryptic talk of signs and prophecy, and for some supposed stain on his soul.

The Living Prophet wanted him dead.

That was very deep indeed.

Now though, he had to get Sorya to a physician and then send them both far away from him. It seemed likely that with the three sorcerers dead, the greatest immediate danger was past, for now. However, it was unlikely to be long before something more came his way. In the daylight, with the gates open, departure would be easier. On the other hand, so would following them. It occurred to him that with ships ready to sail rather than docked overnight, escape by sea might be a good idea after all... for the other two.

He now knew his path lay elsewhere.

Katara stirred. She looked around sleepily, then started awake as she saw Talaos.

"The storm's own son, and the storm is at your call..." she whispered, with awe in her voice. It was the first thing of any length she'd said since the battle.

Talaos watched her curiously.

The Northwoman rose, unsteady at first. Her clothes were disheveled and torn. Rain had washed away most of most of the blood, but her skin bore cuts and bruises. She dropped her cloak. Her tattered braids fell across her chest and down almost to her waist. She lowered her eyes, drew her sword and rested it bare across her upturned hands. Her steps became more sure.

As Talaos looked on, she dropped gracefully to her knees before him and placed the sword at his feet. She bowed forward, head down, with her hands folded on her lap, and spoke in a quiet, yet intense, voice.

"The storm is at your call, in the air around you, in your hands, and in... your eyes. The storm walks with you, and it may take those around you. It may take me, but I will still follow... I will do as you command. By the honor of my soul, Talaos, I take you as my lord."

"Katara, enough!" he said, surprised. "Why did you swear that in the old way?"

"It is the right way," she answered. Then she added, "Please do not be upset with me..."

Talaos looked at her, long and earnestly. Oaths in the ancient form, calling on the honor of one's soul, were not given lightly. Not even in Carai. Not when oaths were thought to follow beyond death. He considered what to say, as she looked at him imploringly.

"I accept your oath and will honor my part of it," he replied.

He accepted the offered sword, and set it carefully aside.

She peered up at him, smiling. He put a hand to her chin and tilted her head up to look at him. Tears welled in her eyes, the first tears he'd ever seen from her.

"Tal, I have never loved any man," she said, "but I love you."

Talaos was shocked at the statement. He brushed her cheek with his fingers. She looked at him with what he thought to be kind of hopeless longing, as if this day might be their last. In truth, he thought, it might. She kneeled there patiently, but he could almost feel her tension.

"Katara, rise," he said.

She did. Standing there before him, she looked up into his eyes, uncertain, almost afraid. She'd given him a startling form of submission by her act of fealty, and complete admission of her feelings. Coming from this warrior daughter of kings, those were great and terrible acts.

And now she stood vulnerable before him. His own.

"I give you my protection, Katara, and my love."

She smiled. Then a sudden intensity flared in her eyes and on her face. She ran her right hand along his shoulder and chest, and her left along his hip.

Talaos paused. There they were, battered and covered in the marks of battle. But then again, life was short and the future uncertain, and he might never see either her or Sorya again. Life and lust surged through him, vital and strong and good. He looked down at her eyes, gray as a stormy sky, and his hunger for her swept away all other concerns. He pulled her tight to him, and kissed her lips and neck. She made a quiet moan and gripped him with her hands.

"Undress," he told her.

She nodded her head, and began. As she did so, he removed his baldrics, tunic, and shirt, though he kept the weapons nearby. He threw his cloak to the floor as a kind of makeshift bed. He took her by her braids. She smiled, and he lowered her atop the cloak.

Talaos ran his hands along her thighs, hips, waist and chest, and watched with intense satisfaction as she writhed and thrilled to the sensation. He cupped and caressed her breasts, then brought his fingers to her bare pink nipples. With a hint of playful cruelty in his smile, he teased them, fingers in circles, then squeezed, pinched, and kneaded hard. She gasped, smiled, gripped him hard with her hands, then ran them over his bare shoulders.

So much realized so late. And now so little time.

At least, he thought, they'd found it while still together. With intensity of feeling, of life and longing for her, he gripped her in his arms and entered her, thrusting hard, wildly, furiously. She moaned and wrapped her legs around him.

In the corner, Sorya awakened, and watched them with turbulent emotions struggling for mastery on her face. At last however, something won out. Acceptance. She sighed, and smiled her wicked smile.

~

The gulls cried under a morning sun in a sky clearing of clouds. A wind blew, and waves lapped the docks. The stone and whitewashed buildings of the west harbor of Carai ranged around the curved shoreline to the north, their tiled roofs gleamed in shades of red, brown, or green. A graceful, brightly painted ship from the Western Isles rolled gently at the end of a long stone quay, far from any other vessel. Sailors loaded a last few barrels and chests up a ramp to the ship. They had long chestnut hair bound by cloth headbands, and long tabards of blue, gray or green, embroidered with leaves and vines, over pants and low boots. The watchful captain gauged the wind and tide, his gray-streaked hair and blue cloak blowing westward.

On the quay stood Talaos, clean and dressed for travel, facing the two women he least wanted to see go, and most needed to. Out here away from prying eyes, other than those of the crew they had already risked trusting, the three of them dropped the hoods of their cloaks.

He pulled Katara to him and gripped her by her braids as he kissed her deeply. Then he let her go. She bowed her head to him and took a watchful, warlike stance.

Sorya stood weeping, her shoulder bandaged and her arm in a sling. Her long hair blew loose in the wind. Talaos leaned down. He touched her back gently with one arm, and held her waist tightly with the other. He pressed his lips to hers and she gripped his hip fiercely with her good arm. Her tongue wrestled wildly with his. Some of the sailors stopped to boggle, until Katara glared at them.

When he released the kiss, she brought her lips to his ear and hissed, "You bastard... don't you die on me."

"Generally, I try not to," he replied.

"You terrify me... whatever has happened to you, but..."

He stood up straight, and put his hand to her cheek and chin.

She cried again, and went on, "I... I'm sorry..."

He touched his finger to her lips, and she quieted.

"We'll see each other again," he said.

She smiled.

The wind picked up, cool, fresh and clear.

Aboard the ship, the captain breathed in the new air and smiled. He looked down to the figures on the quay, and called in a cheerful rolling accent.

"Now is the time, lasses."

~

Talaos walked from the great north gates, across the open paved plaza before them, and onto one of the many roads. He kept his cloak wrapped around him and his hood pulled low, but he went with sure steps and a rising wind in his heart.

The lofty walls and mighty squared towers of the city loomed behind him, the coastal hills in the east to his right. Merchants, farmers, and travelers of all sorts went to and fro on business of their own. Peddlers sold food and trinkets from carts on the side of the road. A troop of soldiers marched by in their black tunics, crested helmets, segmented breastplates, and greaves. The golden wreaths and eagles of the Republic gleamed on their oval shields.

Ahead of him were the crossroads. He walked on. The great east-west road opened before him, its paving stones gleaming almost white in the midday sun. It ran from the boundary of the kingdom of Aes Tura, far in the west, to the border fortress at the feet of the eastern mountains.

It was to the mountains, and beyond, he would go.

He turned over the reasons in his mind once more.

The Living Prophet himself had sent three sorcerers to kill him. Why? What was he, Talaos, to the Prophet? What was he to a man centuries old, and who ruled a third of the known world? And, what was the supposed stain on his soul?

If there were answers, he wouldn't find them in the Republic, the sleepy west, or the wild realms of the distant north. The Eastlands might have them, but going there would be folly. However, followers of the Prophet were at work in Hunyos, among the warlords and the free cities. He would find them, learn what he could, and how it could be used.

War was growing beyond those mountains as well, the very war he'd planned to avoid. War was growing like a storm. And now he was going to walk straight into that storm and see where it took him.

He laughed.

Like finds like, he thought, smiling.

He reached the crossroads, and turned right. There were fewer people out here. As he pressed on, the city receded behind him. Ahead were villages, the great trade town of Piros, and beyond them all, the pass through the mountains to Hunyos. He pulled the hood of his cloak back to feel the wind caressing his face and the sun shining warm overhead.

~

The east wind blew his brown traveling cloak behind him, and caressed his face with the promise of new things. Ahead of Talaos, just over the horizon, was Piros. Days of walking had hardened his body and strengthened his endurance after years of city living, and he also seemed to have new reserves of energy he couldn't easily account for. Fresh wind and wide horizons made the world seem a happy place, a place where one could hardly imagine things like his night facing the three servants of the Prophet.

But such things had happened.

He was on his way, in part, to find out why.

There was supposed to be a library at Piros. Talaos knew no one personally who lived there, no one who he thought would recognize him by sight. He was eager to reach Hunyos, but perhaps there might also be some answers closer at hand.

As the road went on, the towers of the town came into view, then the taller buildings, and after them the walls. Piros was the central point for the wide farming and ranching region all around, and from it went roads west to Carai, north to the wine-producing region near the hilly border, and east to the mountains.

The stone-paved road ran perfectly flat and straight here on the plain. He passed slow moving carts full of produce, and was in turn passed by riders, coaches and an occasional chariot. A troop of cavalry rode out from Piros on patrol, sunlight gleaming on their crested helmets and the points of their spears. This far from any border, Talaos thought it more likely they'd end up helping some farmer pull a wagon out of a ditch than find trouble to fight.

The town wasn't far now, and he could see that while the road and the buildings appeared perfectly maintained, the walls were not. They looked like they hadn't had major repairs in decades. In places, ivy climbed the stones.

He reached the decorative stone plaza before the gates, with its carts and vendors selling wares, passed, and entered the town. Inside he found clean streets with well-laid paving stones, bright plastered and whitewashed walls, and tile roofs gleaming in the sun.

Ahead was a small civic complex with a colonnaded council hall and a domed library a fraction of the size of the great library in Carai. However, this one had something very interesting, a tall tower attached to the main building by a little gallery.

Talaos ascended the steps and met a stout old woman serving as door warden. He produced his silver token as a Patronus of the library in Carai.

"Good morning," he said, "I was wondering if reading was allowed in that tower?"

She smiled and replied, "Well, it is an observatory, and not open to the public or intended as a reading area. But as a Patronus you have the right. What brings you to Piros?"

"Thank you, and I'm just traveling through," he said, and as he passed he dropped a few silver coins in the donation box next to her. She smiled again and nodded.

Then with another thought, he stopped and asked her a question. "Where would the history books be? I'm looking for something on the Living Prophet."

"The Living Prophet?" she replied, a bit surprised. "Well now... I don't think we have a history specifically about him, but there are a couple of general histories on the Eastlands, in the north wing on the way to the observatory."

He thanked her and went on. Inside, he found a main level and a small upper gallery around the dome that held books of special age or significance. He turned left to the north wing, and after a bit of searching, found the histories he wanted. He presented his token to the curator, a thin old man, and was let through the locked door to the observatory.

The interior of the tower centered on a broad, winding staircase that reached the level before the top. The room there held a variety of astronomical equipment in storage, clean and tidy. A ramp went up to the open observation deck at the top. The room had several windows, all shuttered. Talaos opened one, found a chair, and set to reading.

One of the books had been written about two centuries earlier, and was more travelogue than history, with descriptions of the cities, nations, and rulers of the time. Talaos was struck by the variety of peoples in the Eastlands, at least as diverse as in the Westlands, and by the lack of references to the Prophet until quite far in.

When he did finally come upon such, it became apparent that in those days, the Prophet's dominion was confined to the southeastern regions of the Eastlands. The writer considered the Prophet to be a faraway, quaint and eccentric figure.

The other book was a copy of a much older text dating to late Imperial times. It in turn was a history of events for the several centuries prior, and it made no mention of the Living Prophet at all.

After a while, he grew restless and decided to see the view from the top of the tower.

Below, around him, were the red and brown tile roofs of Piros. Beyond that, the sunny plains with their farms and ranches. Gleaming to the east was the road he would take. To the north, he could see the road that headed toward the wine country, and old Dirion.

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 but the easternmost of many.

With those armies had come devastation. From what Talaos had read, 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, 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 a soft bed at a roadside inn 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, with 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, he reconsidered, 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 sat 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 wore 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. They 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 a quick way outside.

After a quick breakfast in the main room 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 longer, 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 wore 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 thinned, but a smaller more densely concentrated group continued to gather around the young man. Some younger people, mostly women, a pair of wide-eyed children, and a few road-dusty travelers mingled with a larger group of what appeared to be the sick, crippled, or careworn of varying ages. The young man's voice rose 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 cap.

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.

"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 paused, 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 bore 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.

Then she cooled, turned to glance back at the bearded young man, and back again with eyes widening and a hint of sudden fear on her face.

"Can we take a walk? I... don't feel safe here right now."

Talaos felt momentary amusement that she saw him as her source of safety, him a stranger in her town, and a man strong enough to scoop her up helplessly with one arm. Even as he thought this, however, he rose, alert and ready, and motioned for her to follow.

~

A gentle wind blew through the fields, and swayed branches in the little copses of trees that dotted the area. The town, not far away, gleamed as the afternoon sun shone on white plaster and red tiles. Talaos walked with Miriana, and breathed in the air. He'd never really thought about what a peaceful place the Republic was, outside of the tough urban streets he'd called home. He appreciated it at last, now that he might leave it forever.

At his side, Miriana had been silent for some time. Her wild hair, hanging to her hips, shone almost like copper in the sunshine. Without preface, she exclaimed in a carefree voice. "Don't worry about my books or the rest! I leave a lot of things there, and old Galea makes sure they get put in the back room."

Talaos had assumed something like that, given what a fixture Miriana appeared to be at the inn. He looked over at her, and smiled. With a passing thought, he asked, "So your father was in the army?"

She started, as if waking from sleep. "Yes, he led a company in the war with Dirion, and got promoted to division commander after he held the pass at Nausica."

He wondered in brief surprise at the idea that a woman so very young would have a father who'd been old enough to be not merely a young soldier, but a field officer during the war forty years earlier. Then again, Miriana had implied her mother was a second, later wife.

His musings were interrupted as she grabbed his hand, bouncing with a sudden giddy energy. She waived toward a nearby circle of trees on a low hillock. There were some old weathered standing stones within.

"Can we sit? I'm not as used to walking all day as you..."

He smiled and nodded, while gently extracting his hand.

They sat on a long low fallen stone covered in vines and old runes. Miriana absently picked flowers and braided them into her hair as her eyes looked far away.

The two of them sat for a long time, quietly together in the sunshine.

Then she looked around her, at the carven stones, at him, and then far away once more.

"They're old, these stones... older than the Republic, or the old Empire, or the Prophet," she said quietly, her voice lilting. "I like to come here, because no one else does anymore."

That much seemed true, thought Talaos. He'd seen standing stones before, along his way east, and no one paid them much mind.

She looked, if possible, even farther off, as if lost in distant lands. "They'll come back to you with the storm," she said dreamily, "the storm Talaos."

Talaos stood up with sudden suspicion, and replied, "I never told you my name."

"Your name? I dreamed that last night. I thought it was the name of the storm."

"Who will come back?"

"I don't know, they just will."

The afternoon light was fading, golden in the west.

"We're going back to town, Miriana."

"All right, Talaos," she answered, seeming to savor the name. Her eyes were wistful.

She put her delicate hand in his. Feeling protective, this time he let it stay.

~

Talaos finished his dinner. This night, no one bothered him and no girls tried to flirt with him. When they'd gotten back, Miriana had picked up her things and quietly left. He'd gone up to his room to pack his gear for tomorrow, and then downstairs again to eat, long after dark. There was no sign of her tonight, or of the young man who preached for the Prophet. He returned again to his room with a vague sense of unease.

He sat on the edge of his bed, his mind tense and searching, considering the events of the day. Then he imagined a scene, a scene taken from Miriana's words at lunchtime. He saw her tied to a pyre, burning, as robed and bearded men smiled forgivingly at her screams. With conscious, wrathful will, he changed the scene, and thought of sheets of driving rain putting out the fires, while lightning struck down the robed men.

Purpose ran like lightning of its own through his veins, and he put on his full fighting gear for the first time since Carai. He donned his belt and baldrics with their silver fittings, his black cloak and his many weapons, and he stalked out to the hallway and through the door to the outside stairs. On passing instinct, he used an old trick from his lawless youth and slipped a little pin of special design in the lock of the door.

Outside, a new, colder wind blew from the east. He stalked in widening circles around the town, then outside. Something occurred to him. He stopped his meandering and made straight for the hillock of the standing stones. He could see the trees blowing softly in the black moonlit distance. As he approached, he saw darker and more solid shapes. He sprinted.

Then he heard a quiet, muffled scream.

Far ahead, in the faint light atop the hillock stood the young man, now wearing an open robe over his clothes in the style of the Eastlands. He was tying a knotted cord on a bundled shape thrown over a horse. Another horse stood nearby, saddled and ready. The young man was speaking in his kindly voice.

"...foolish to return to this place of evil spirits. Praise be that I found you. Now we will ride east, where those wiser than I will help you cleanse the curse from your soul."

Then the robed man started with sudden awareness and whirled. As he did so, he drew a slim sword. His eyes fixed on Talaos.

"Stop! Do not interfere with what you do not understand!" The man called out in a clear voice that sounded sincere, almost imploring, though he raised his sword before him.

"Oh, I understand," snarled Talaos, his own voice cold, as he raced toward the hillock.

The other man whispered something in cycled repetition, touched a ring on his finger, and a bit of green mist, barely visible, snaked from it and licked along the blade of his sword. Though he did not smile, his eyes showed serene resolve. He called out again in his calm voice.

"I was a man of war before I found peace, and will not let you stop the saving of a soul."

Sprinting at full speed, Talaos drew his swords.

Talaos raced up the hillock, through the trees, and hurled himself at the other with blades flashing in the moonlight. He whirled, spun and struck again and again. The robed man dodged and deflected the strikes, the serene expression never leaving his face. Then he stepped to the side and, in a swift snakelike lunge, brought his slim sword to within an inch of Talaos's chest. Faint green mist flowed like poison along the blade.

Leaping backward, Talaos brought up his short blade and pushed the other sword aside. Then he darted his long blade forward and ran the man through at the throat. Even then, the other looked at peace. As Talaos pulled out his blade, the man stumbled backwards, then tumbled a few steps sideways and toppled across a fallen stone. His blood flowed and pooled in the runes.

Another muffled cry, in Miriana's soft voice, came plaintively from the bundle. Talaos darted there and found her tied tightly within a big harnessed bag such as traders used. He pulled her out and cut the bounds from her body, the blindfold from her eyes, and the gag from her mouth. Thinking how fragile she might be, he kept her eyes away from the body on the fallen stone. She collapsed in his arms, shaking with nerves, and he held her close, eyes watchful around him for any further trouble.

Then, after some time had passed, and she'd calmed a bit, he spoke softly to her.

"Miriana, we need to go and get help."

"NO!" she cried, with a wild look in her eyes.

He looked at her, fixing her in his gaze until she calmed again, then continued. "We need to go get your father, and start explaining what happened."

"No..." she pleaded, "I won't be safe, if they come, not with anyone but you..."

"Who will come? Other men?"

"Not men! It will go out like a call... some are dangerous..."

"What do you mean?"

"You! _You_ of all folk spilled blood here, the blood of one of the Prophet's marked priests..."

"Yes..."

"On the runes!" she blurted, her face growing even wilder with fear.

She hadn't actually seen that, not with her eyes. Her fears matched his own growing sense that they were not alone in this place. He lifted her to her feet, and helped her collect herself as they started walking.

"All right now, let's go see your father. I'll stay with you."

"No, if they try, it will be tonight. Tonight... only with you! Only with you! Others could be deceived, taken, tricked to do things... but they won't try with you..."

"Why?"

"They fear you."

He was past arguing, and the night had grown black and cold under the pale moon.

~

They went quietly up the back stairs of the inn. Talaos tried a little key-like device in the lock, clicked it against his hidden pin, opened the door, then slipped both items back in a hidden pouch in his belt. He moved smoothly and quickly to the door of his own room, holding Miriana close, unlocked it, and brought her in.

He lit the big, well-made lamp in the corner, stoked the small fireplace to life, and poured a basin of water. They washed in silence. When it was done, she shivered and threw herself against him, arms tight around his waist and head on his chest. She still wore her green dress, and the clasp had come loose again. It hung off her shoulder, leaving a rounded breast half-bare. He tried to ignore that, and put a hand on her head protectively, fingers in her wild hair.

"Talaos... the storm Talaos," she whispered, "the storm, and the storm's own son."

He'd never told her that nickname. He put his other hand on her chin, and tilted her head back. She smiled. There was her fair young face, and there were her strange, distant, beautiful eyes. He looked into them for a long while, then said, with decisive finality.

"You are a prophetess."

"I'm only... a girl who sees things."

"A woman, and a prophetess."

"Not yet. I'm still afraid."

"What do you fear?"

"Everything, and you most of all," she whispered.

The dreamlike look returned to her fair face.

She spoke softly, absently. "Didn't you ever wonder, with all those women, why you never sired... why they never bore..."

He watched her, considering what to say. She went on, eyes as if in another world.

"Only when you wish, when you truly know... She, maybe they, the ones who will... give the next. Unless you are the last. Could you? The strongest in ages..."

"Miriana..."

"I wish it was me..."

"Stop," he said, putting a hand to her cheek.

Her eyes returned to the world, and she looked at him with sudden awareness.

She stared into his eyes expectantly. He could feel her nervousness.

She drew even closer, breasts pressed to his chest, breath quiet in the still air of the room.

Her hands shook, and her lips parted.

Talaos felt the thrill of his own awareness run through him, of her body pressed against his. Against every one of his own instincts, he fought it. However, he did not let her go. She started to speak again, and he put a finger to her lips. She kissed it, took it into her mouth.

The storm rose in him, free of all bounds. He lifted her to him, and she felt light in his arms. He kissed her parted lips. She returned it and held him tight. He kissed her ear and neck.

She gasped out, almost pleading, "Yes...."

He carried her to the bed, and slipped the dress off her body. She had no garments underneath. She lay there, looking up at him, half afraid and almost shaking with expectation. Her bare skin was fair, flawless, and her high breasts heaved with her nervous breaths.

Then he took her. Sliding his own clothes off, he ran his hands over her body, from her smooth thighs to her trim little waist to the soft meeting of her neck and shoulder. She thrilled to the touch, gasping. He covered her body with kisses, and she moaned. She ran her hands over his body inquisitively, first tentative, then with passion. He put teeth to her neck and strong hands to her nipples. She cried out and wrapped her legs around him. He pushed himself inside her, and felt her virginity. She winced with the pain, then relaxed and took him deep.

He thrust wildly inside her, again and again, holding her small body to the bed as her masses of hair spread all around them. She moaned and writhed, kissed his moving chest, and held him by his thrusting hips. At last, he unleashed inside her, and she screamed in sudden release. She melted in his arms, panting, and almost fainted.

With half closed eyes, she whispered, "Now I am."

He pulled her close to him, feeling protective once more, and drew the blankets over their bodies. She rested her head on his chest quietly, and time passed.

"I will never have another," she said suddenly.

Guessing her meaning, he spoke. "You have a long life ahead of you."

Miriana's eyes closed, and she curled around him.

"Only if you succeed," she murmured, voice fading.

He smiled, and ran his fingers through her hair as she drifted off to sleep, pondering her words, all the strange words of the day, until he could stay awake no longer.

~

The morning light was shadowed, and wind from the east slipped through the shuttered windows. Talaos held Miriana close as she drowsed. There came a peal of distant thunder, far away. Instantly, he felt it, felt alert and thrillingly alive. After a moment, he also felt something else, a hint of danger perhaps, though he couldn't place why. Miriana stirred awake beside him. He kissed her, and she back. He looked into her eyes, and saw something new in them. She still had the dreaming, distant depths, but she looked far more focused, lucid, and intent.

"Miriana," he said with a playful smile. "Are you still afraid?"

"No. I wanted, I acted, I risked, I accepted, I felt life at last, over all of my fears... and with you... the beautiful terror of you..." she said, face glowing triumphantly.

"And now, you are."

"I am a woman, and a prophetess," she said, her voice strong and flush with emotion.

She suddenly stopped, and her eyes hinted at fear, but they narrowed instead of widening. "Armed men are coming. My father leads them."

Talaos threw on his clothes and weapons. He looked out a window. Down in the square at the front of the inn, a lean but strong-looking man in the red cloak of a magistrate led a dozen others. He had shoulder length white hair and battered, but richly decorated armor and greaves under his cloak. In his right hand he carried his staff of office, and twin swords were strapped to his belt. Talaos turned to kiss Miriana one last time. Then without hesitation, he shouldered his pack and strode downstairs to face them, through the inn and out the front.

As he swept out the doors, he could see deep clouds gathering over the eastern mountains. The wind was rising. Before him, the armed men fanned out on either side of their Magistrate. A crowd began to gather. The old man watched Talaos with piercing, intelligent eyes. For a moment, they stood facing each other, then the Magistrate spoke.

"Hold there! You are not yet under charges, but do not try to flee and do not draw your weapons. Tell me about the dead man at the standing stones, and where my daughter might be."

"I slew that man as he fought me with sword in hand. When I arrived, he had tied your daughter in a sack, with plans to take her east across the mountains and give her to others who would take her life. She is now in my room upstairs in this inn."

"Your story of the man matches, in the main, what was found there, though there will be more questions before a decision is made on charges or trial." The Magistrate's face, hitherto cool and professional, now took on a pained expression. He looked Talaos in the eye, as if trying to bore into his soul. "If you rescued her, my thanks. But... my daughter is an innocent, a girl, hardly able to face the world, and she has signs of gifts she can't control... You kept her with you. Did you..."

"She is a woman, and she has the gift of prophecy," replied Talaos in a level voice.

The wind howled. To the east, the clouds rose in great black masses over the mountains. Distant thunder rolled in booming waves. Lightning cracked among the high stony peaks.

Miriana herself now walked out the doors of the inn. Eyes turned to her. Her father looked at her with a hint of surprise beneath his anger, for she walked with measured, purposeful steps. Her eyes were simultaneously otherworldly and piercingly focused. Her long hair tossed behind her like flames in the wind. She strode between Talaos and her father, facing the latter, and spoke. Her voice still lilted, but it had grown deeper.

"This man made me a woman, and though I would die before letting you harm him... It is you, all of you, who should fear for your lives if you try."

The armed men hesitated, but her father was unafraid. He threw his staff to the ground and drew his twin long swords. Their scrollwork of wreaths and eagles shone gold in the gathering gloom. His white hair and red cloak blew in the wind.

"You monster!" He roared. "How dare you take advantage of her! Face me now, if you have any honor at all!"

Talaos felt the power rise in him, and the purpose. He had business in the east, beyond the storm that called to him, and they would not stop him. He took a step, on his way.

The Magistrate advanced with raised swords, and moved to pass his daughter.

"STOP!" boomed Talaos, loud as thunder, and as deep. He raised his hand in warning.

The men shrank back, and even the Magistrate halted, shock visible on his face.

"There is lightning in his eyes!" said Miriana in a voice strong, soaring, and fearless.

"Yes..." whispered her father.

"I go to the east," said Talaos, his words echoing above the roaring wind and his hand turned toward the lightning-clad mountains, "and I will not be hindered." He fixed his gaze on the Magistrate, while lowering his hand toward Miriana, "He who calls himself the Living Prophet slays all others with such gifts. What will you do?"

However, it was Miriana who spoke next. To her father, she said, "I leave for the west."

The Magistrate glanced, stunned, at the distant storm and at his daughter before him. Conflict turned to grim resolve on his face. He looked at her with wonder.

"I will help you on your way," he said, sheathing his swords.

She nodded, then turned. Her eyes, thoughtful and sad, met those of Talaos, and then they both turned away.

Without another word, Miriana and her father left the square and walked toward their home, while Talaos strode east toward the rising storm. The armed men, and the crowd that had gathered, looked on with expressions of frightened awe.

8. Passage

A light rain fell, driven hard in the wind. Ahead, the looming mountains were shrouded by clouds. On a hill to the right, double rings of battlements rose, black in the darkening air.

Talaos passed the fortress and followed the road as it began to turn and switch back, each winding course higher than the last. The paving stones grew slick with the rain. At last he came to a place where the road leveled off, then turned and rounded back east, sloping upward in a long narrow valley. Mist-shrouded trees, mostly of pines, grew on the slopes on either side. The rain up here was stronger, and the clouds loomed like a black ceiling above. Higher up still, he could hear thunder.

At the top of the valley, the road reached a kind of little pass before winding off north along the side of a mountain slope. The paving stones ended, and here stood a watch post, no more than a wooden shelter with a roof and three sides. A flat camp area and some posts for horses sat to its right. A fire flickered in the shelter, and a pair of soldiers huddled near the flames. One of them stood up on seeing Talaos, and motioned him to join them.

He raised a hand in greeting, but continued on by. The soldier, alarmed, drew his black cloak about him and stepped out onto the rain-tossed road.

"This is the border, and the last shelter for miles!" he shouted to be heard over the wind.

"I know," answered Talaos calmly, though his own voice carried over the wind as he continued to walk.

The soldier stopped, and looked at him. He gestured to the high places beyond, barely visible in the driving rain, "You're going on... in that?"

Lightning flashed in the blackness of massed clouds, and night was falling.

"Yes."

The man shook his head and returned to the shelter.

~

The wind roared in the black night, smashing itself against the steep rocky slope to the left, whirling out, and then returning again. The rain had lessened, but lightning still flashed above. To the right, the lower slopes rose to meet the road, as the mountain it traversed joined its flanks to another. Talaos had not stopped since he left Amari, and had barely eaten, yet he did not feel tired. Up ahead the two mountains came together, and he guessed in the dark, formed the feet of a much higher third. There was a wider, flatter place dotted with windswept trees. He considered whether on principle, he ought to stop and rest.

When he reached the place, he paused, breathing deeply of the cold mountain air. There was a campsite here. Though it was not particularly sheltered, it had clear ground and a good fire pit. Little use the fire pit would be right now, he thought, pressing on. After walking a bit further, he felt something in the air. He listened, and heard a distant noise. It sounded like a kind of howling roar, carried on the wind from somewhere behind and to the left.

He adjusted the oilskin over his pack, and tightened the straps holding it to his rain-soaked body. He loosened the two short spears holstered on its side, leaving them ready to use if needed. Then he pulled his cloak aside, and drew his long blade. With watchful eyes, he continued across the windswept meadow. The howling roar repeated, closer, and after a pause, he heard it answered by another behind to the right. He picked up his pace. The meadow came to an end in a narrowing slope, as the three mountains came together. The road, carved from the rock, twisted and turned as it ascended.

At the top, he reached a kind of wide ridge line running from the right and joining the road ahead. Up here, out of any shelter, the wind howled and the rain whipped against him almost sideways. Lightning flashed here and there in the blackness. Behind him, he heard two howls, and then two more on the heights to his left, hidden in clouds and darkness. What he could see of the ridge line was covered in broken flat rocks, with not a tree or plant in sight. The road, merely a flatter and better cleared line amidst the stones, stretched on, open and exposed.

On instinct, Talaos turned to look behind him, and there cresting the slope he'd just topped, he saw a black creature somewhat like a wolf, but larger. Its vast gaping muzzle, full of long teeth, opened wider than any wolf's ever could. Hooked rending claws gleamed on its paws.

Even as he took a step back, stance ready, he recognized what animal he faced. He knew it from songs and stories... Ferox. They were said to be creatures of the deep wilds, and relentless hunters with savagely violent temperaments. It seemed strange to find one near a traveled road.

Behind the first came another, and down the slopes stalked two more. He heard more howls up ahead, where he'd planned to go. Only the ridge line, its end somewhere unknown in the distance, remained. One more thought occurred to him. If the tales were true, Ferox were solitary things, not pack hunters.

He drew his short blade to join the long. He held both out before him, slowly turning left and right in a defensive arc. Step by careful step, he retreated back on the flat stones. They approached. Four, then five, then seven, with more behind in the dark. He was a tall man, yet their heads nearly reached his chest. He looked into the slit-like yellow eyes of the closest, and saw a faint green mist flickering in the depths.

Lightning cracked on the rocky slope.

Then they charged him, roaring howls louder than the raging wind.

Talaos dodged and twisted as he stepped back, inches ahead of claws and fangs. His blades slashed and struck. One of the beasts rolled back, twitching, with a gaping wound at its throat. Others splashed dark blood from their muzzles and flanks as they attacked. At last, one struck home. A cruel hooked claw sliced his face open from cheekbone to jaw, and, missing his neck, continued in a line of bloody agony at his collarbone.

In that same moment, he felt as if he'd violently and suddenly awakened, as if he'd been sleeping through a fight for his life. Power and rage surged through him. He struck, and with one sweep of his sword, pared the Ferox apart from neck to bowels. Another leapt at him and seized his right forearm in its snarling jaws. He hurled it loose in fury, teeth shredding his flesh, whirled, and cut its head off in mid air. More came on, he neither saw nor cared how many.

The wind raged, the lightning flashed, and amidst it, Talaos laughed as he fought them. Power, crackling like electricity, coursed through his body, and he could see it arcing around his hands and blades. The beasts showed no fear, and hurled themselves at him with death in their green-misted eyes.

He slashed and stabbed, leapt, spun, and cut. Beasts fell to left and right, but by strength of numbers they pressed him ever back. They snarled and howled, and he roared back at them in a primal voice both furious and joyful. These were foes to his liking, he thought, swift and dangerous and worthy to die on his blades. Claws raked him and fangs rent. He knew his own blood was washing away with theirs in the rain, but he cared not.

At last, he came to a point where two plummeting cliffs met behind him, and there was only the raging wind beyond. Many beasts lay dead before him, but others advanced. Sensing, perhaps, that their enemy was trapped, the remaining Ferox hurled themselves at him all at once, leaping through the air in a black whirlwind of fangs and claws. Talaos shouted to the sky.

A thunderbolt struck his very spot. Lightning coursed through him, and through the beasts. White brilliant light surrounded him, and then just as swiftly, he fell into darkness.

~

Cold. The wind was cold and the sky pale overhead. He felt weight, dead weight, nearly burying him. Dead Ferox. He shifted, then with sudden furious strength, threw them off. He stood. All round him sprawled the charred and ruined bodies of beasts. The rocks themselves were smoked and cracked in lines radiating outward, radiating from the spot where he stood.

Talaos looked at his hands, his arms, and felt his face. Where deep, bleeding wounds had been the night before, there were now only old scars. All around him, on three sides, the panorama of the mountains was harshly, mercilessly beautiful in the early morning light. Before him, the corpses of slain Ferox lay scattered in a long line back to the road.

He found his pack, torn open and scattered not far from the road. Gear lay strewn along the path of battle. One of the short spears strapped to his pack had been snapped, but the other was still usable. Talaos smiled, thinking he'd meant to use them if he fought beasts. He gathered everything together, mended the pack as best he could, and ate a quick meal of dried trail provisions. As the clouds cleared, he continued toward the high pass ahead.

At the top of the pass, he found a windswept place, green with a kind of low moss that clung to the stones for life. It was bitter cold. Towering peaks of bare stone rose on either side, and continued in lines far to the north and south. Behind him to the west, the land dropped in steep slopes and narrow valleys, with the rolling plains beyond looking much nearer than they'd seemed in his wild overnight journey. He could see, far away, the little town of Amari. Somewhere past that, if all had gone well, Miriana would even now be on the road.

He smiled.

As he looked around, he noticed a side path to the south. It began as a little trail winding between the moss-covered stones, then became a zigzagging, sloping way cut in ragged ascending shelves of rock. Beyond them, high above, a towering bare stone spur, rounded near its crown, jutted out from steep walls of rock. When the path reached the spur, it became a long flight of steep steps that ascended and disappeared over the top. Out of curiosity, he followed it.

The wind grew even colder on the slope, and it whipped around him and through his clothes. He climbed the steep steps and reached the top of the spur. There opened a long, flat space. Down its center, the path was cut straight and level to a crack in the rock wall like the mouth of a cave. The beveled sides of the path looked carved in patterns. He kneeled to take a look, and saw scrollwork or knot work of some kind, and little geometrical shapes. All was now weathered, cracked and worn by the passage of hundreds, perhaps thousands of years.

When he drew closer, he saw a border carved into the rock around the cave mouth, following the natural lines of the stone. Reaching it, he saw runes, worn but still visible, like those at Amari, in long strings forming what might be the words of an unknown language. He ran his fingers along them. The cave beyond the entrance was small, not much more than a niche about nine feet deep in the rock, and three wide. He stepped inside.

On the far wall he found a carving, deep set in the rock. It was in an abstracted form, very different from the realistic sculpture and bas-relief he knew, with much use of geometric knot work. But even so, what it depicted seemed clear to him, a man of mighty strength climbing out of the earth, doing battle with his bare hands against a monstrous wormlike thing with many devouring mouths. On either side, beasts of many kinds sat in audience.

Below the carving were more runes, in three lines of nine on the left, and the same on the right, forming words he could not read. Between the two sets of runes was what looked like the print of an open-fingered right hand, but carved in the rock. Talaos wondered if it had been carved by the long ago artist based on his own hand, as a kind of signature, or if it was that of someone else and for some other purpose.

With curiosity, he put his right hand in the carven one. It was almost the same size as his own, and he had a strange sense of reaching across the long ages to greet the man whose hand it represented. Then he withdrew, and looked around the little cave.

Many other people must have been here over the long years, and some of them had left refuse. Broken pots, discarded bags, a split sword belt, a chipped, bent knife, and other things dropped carelessly about. Someone had even built a shoddy little fire pit in the corner, though the absence of soot on the roof above suggested that it had not seen much use.

Somehow, he felt like the rubbish defiled the place. He cleared it out, bit by bit, and hurled it down the mountainside. When all was done, he stopped and rested at the entrance, facing north across the pass to the sheer stone walls of the next peak.

There, lit in the morning sun, were three great figures carved in the rock, in a style like that of the man on the wall of the cave, but vastly larger.

In the center stood a tall man, facing forward, with a spear in his right hand and a ring or torque in his left. Crackling lines, perhaps lightning, radiated from those hands and from the crown of his head. Birds, perhaps hawks or ravens, flanked him overhead, and a wolf curled at his feet.

To the right of the central figure, and facing right, was a smaller figure of a man holding a bundle of reeds or wheat in one hand, while the other was outstretched with open fingers. Straight lines, like sunlight, radiated in a circle around his head. An ox or bull stood beneath his feet.

On the left, and facing left, was a woman with very long hair holding a large chalice in both hands. She had waving lines, like water or vines, radiating in a circle around her head, and a tree of many branches grew at her feet.

They were all recessed back on the higher cliff in such a way that they could not be seen from the road below, and at a height that made Talaos marvel at how they'd been carved at all.

Talaos stood there for a long while, in silent wonder, as the wind blew all around him.

He reflected on what they might be. Heroes of ages past? Or perhaps Magi? If so, they looked like none Talaos had ever seen or heard of. The figures on the mountain seemed far more primal and grand.

Shapers of the world.

Perhaps they were gods.

As they might have been, so long ago that only the stones remembered.

Whatever gods had truly been, if ever they had walked the earth, Talaos thought, these mighty figures on the rock would surely be how ordinary men would have seen them.

Without a conscious sense of why, he raised his right hand to them in greeting, and farewell. The straight path in the stone faced them. He walked it, and down the steps below.

He returned to main road at the pass and looked east. Before him the descent looked much longer and more gradual than the ascent had been in the west. There stretched lower ridges of forested mountains, line on line, gently falling into hill country at the horizon. For a long way at first, however, he would be going downhill.

Talaos laughed, and walked with swift steps down the road. After a little while, feeling suddenly exhilarated, he began to trot, then run.

The wind felt cool and fresh in his face. He ran in great loping steps down the switchbacks, rocks scattering in his wake. He ran on. He reached the tree line, still descending. Pines loomed on the slopes around. Every now and then, some animal would panic at his approach and flee into the woods. He reached a valley with a little stream, where the road crossed at a shallow ford, and without slowing, raced up the next ridge. His body sang with life and his pack felt almost weightless, and still he ran.

At last, he came to a wider valley where the trees gave way to meadows. The next lofty forested ridge rose a mile or more to the east. He looked at the sun overhead, and with a start, realized he'd been running, sprinting at almost full speed, for more than an hour.

~

Talaos strode down the deep forest path in the fading light. He'd at last reached the end of the high ranges, and entered the hill country beyond. Though it was supposed to be inhabited, he'd found only devastation.

There'd been a ruined mining operation, equipment smashed and anything of value long gone. He'd passed the charred remnants of a village with blackened skeletons of people and domestic beasts, and then a battlefield where dozens of bodies had been left to rot.

He thought of his own life of violence on the streets, and how petty it now seemed. He thought of the lives being taken in the violence now around him, and wondered how many of them were tough fighters, like the gangsters of Carai, and how many were terrified innocents, pleading as they were slaughtered. He thought of men with expressions of serene calm, presiding over the deaths as they preached peace. He stalked down the road in deepening shadows.

Deep in his roiling, brooding thoughts, he paid little attention to what was around him. It was perhaps for that reason that he failed to see them, until they were upon him.

A large band of armed men, perhaps as many as fifty, fanned out from the woods on either side of the road. Though equipped as soldiers, they bore a motley assortment of weapons, armor and gear. They advanced all around, slow and sure, with expressions ranging from greedy leers, through tense caution, to glum frowns.

He thought of the many dead, and these living men of war.

Were these the men who'd slaughtered a village, right down to the animals?

Off to the south, past a line of trees, he could see a ruined, looted farm.

He brooded, dark anger growing inside.

But this war was not his war, he thought. He continued on.

They began to move to stop him.

A big, burly fellow, with close-cropped hair, and a scowl on his scarred face, swaggered forward on the right. He wore a battered breastplate, and carried a huge mace over his shoulder.

Talaos ignored him.

"Hoi! Stop, you!" the man barked.

Talaos considered who this man might be. They could have the blood of innocents on their blades, and this one their leader in the deeds. Not his war, he reflected again, but storms roiled in his mind.

"I said stop!" bellowed the man. "Hand over everything you've got, or you're dead."

Blood of innocents. But he was no innocent.

The storms in his mind broke, and Talaos turned to the man in sudden fury.

Fast as thought, he drew his spear from its harness on his pack. There was a cracking sound like thunder as he hurled it full at the man's chest. The latter flew back five feet into a tree as it struck. He coughed blood as he died, transfixed with the spear through his breastplate and buried a foot deep in the wood behind. From the hole where the spear impaled him came a whiff of acrid smoke.

The other men, all of them, drew back with wide eyes as Talaos silently passed.

~

The hills ahead lay wreathed in low-lying fog. Dark woods of oak, elm, and linden crowned their peaks under a gray sky. In the distance, Talaos could see a walled town with glinting lights and smoke rising from chimneys. As he walked towards it, the first living civilization he'd seen in days, he considered the task before him.

For all that he knew that he had a foe, he still knew almost nothing about that foe. The doctrines of the Prophet were key to everything that was happening. The followers of the Prophet that he'd encountered had seemed absolutely sincere, certain in their beliefs. The young priest had been keen to spread them. Perhaps the belief itself had power. He would have to learn more if he were to hope to overcome them.

And against that power, the temporal power to rule a continent, and the manifest magical power arrayed against him, he had only himself.

He had power of his own, but no more understanding of it than he did that of the Prophet. For all that had happened, he'd done little introspection about what he was discovering within himself, the power that was growing. He'd rarely questioned it because it felt natural, utterly right and an outcome of who he was.

No, he thought... Not who he was, but what.

Magi used knowledge and carefully crafted items to wield their magic. Whatever power the emissaries of the Prophet drew on, it wasn't his. If the gods had truly existed, they'd lived thousands of years in the past. There were said to be spirits of many kinds, and those who could call on them. There were always the stories of people with strange, specific, gifts, and he'd now seen such first hand in Miriana.

All of them had power, but he was none of them.

What was he?

The town was not far now. Though it was mid afternoon, the gates were shut. Instead of the paved plaza that would have been before the gates of a town of this size in the Republic, there stretched a wasteland of well-beaten mud, dotted with refuse. On the other hand, he thought with a bit of sarcasm, the wall seemed exceptionally strong-looking and well maintained.

Alert guards in varied chain and leather shirts watched him from the battlement.

When he got close enough to hail, one, probably an officer by the high crest on his helmet, called to him, "Who are you, and what business brings you to Ipesca?"

"My name is Borras, from the Republic, and I'm a merchant."

The officer surveyed him, his weapons, and his light pack skeptically. "A merchant? Selling what?"

"My skill at fighting."

The man laughed, "Ha! Well, there's always room for mercenaries. Wait there!"

After a short while, the gate opened. On the other side, he found the officer, a sturdy, harsh-faced man, leading half a dozen guards. All were grim, armed, and ready.

"No trouble now," said the officer.

"On my honor as a blackguard," answered Talaos with a dark grin.

The other made a cynical smile in reply. "If you're looking for work, go see Commander Rocani at the Keep. I'm Captain Iadro."

"Thanks."

Iadro eyed the long scar on his face. "Not your first war, I see. I'd doubt you got that sitting at home in the Republic."

"No. Fighting wild beasts in the mountains."

"Ha! That's good! See you later, Borras."

Talaos continued on, down the muddy streets. The buildings looked somewhat like those in the Republic, but with less use of plaster and whitewash, and high-peaked wooden roofs rather than tile. Faded decorative paint scrolled around some doorways and windows. Shuttered, empty shops, and other signs of ruin were scattered here and there. There seemed to be many more people about than a town this size should have. Refugees, perhaps? At some of the vacant shops, the doors had been broken in, and what looked like squatters had set up lodging. In other places, miserable folk in bedraggled homespun garb had set up lean-tos of cloth or scrap wood.

He stopped by several inns, and all were full, or wanted steep prices for spots on the common room floor. Ahead, he could see the keep and an eastern gate. As he walked towards them, he considered what to do. Then, not far from the keep, on his left, he saw a building that looked entirely out of place with everything else he'd seen.

The structure was not large, but it looked newly constructed with clean white brick and a round, barrel-vaulted wooden roof. It had large windows with varnished shutters of light-colored wood, now closed in the damp weather, and big doors of the same material, open and welcoming.

The room inside was brightly lit with candles, and packed with people of all sorts sitting on the floor. On a small raised platform, at the center of the wall opposite the doors, a woman of middle years sat cross-legged on a mat. She had auburn hair tied back in a severe-looking tight coil, and a large plain white shawl over simple wool clothes. To the right of her stood a low shelf with some books, and to the left, on the floor below, sat a strong looking man with a beard.

The woman was speaking. Talaos had a distinct sense of what he was likely to hear, but he still stopped, and listened.

"...and so the Prophet set forth, humble and barefoot, to seek audience with the warring kings. He begged each in turn to make peace with each other. Some hearkened, and some did not. He begged the latter a second time, but they hardened their hearts. The Prophet, with sadness in his own heart, resolved to aid those who had hearkened to the call of peace, and..."

Listening to the speech, Talaos noticed the woman's accent. It took him a moment to recognize it, as he'd only heard it a few times in his life.

Dirion. The aristocracy of old Dirion.

The man with the beard seemed to have noticed Talaos, and with a friendly, gentle expression, gestured for him to come inside. Talaos turned and continued down the street. He was in fact very interested in finding more about why the followers of the Prophet did what they did, but finding out on their own terms could only be disastrous.

So, he considered, what then?

There were two sides in this war, two main alliances, and Talaos decided to see if the Prophet had chosen one of them. If so, the presence of that building might mean something, might point toward what he needed to do next. He headed towards the keep.

9. The Winds of War

Commander Rocani sized him up with hard, grim eyes. The man stood on the shorter side, but massively strong in build. His square craggy face was weathered, with an old scar diagonal across it, and his brown hair was heavily frosted with gray. He wore plain but well maintained armor of segmented plates, a rich, weather-worn brocaded cloak, and had a sword across the big, battered table that served as his desk.

"Looking to sign on?" he said, without introduction.

"I might be," replied Talaos, "but I'd like to know more about the situation. News is thin on the other side of the mountains."

Rocani seemed to turn the request over in his mind, eyed the long scar on Talaos's face, and looked him in the eye. Then he answered. "You were an officer, before, yes? What's your name?"

"Borras. There were those who followed me."

"I don't need any more officers at present, but it is always good to have someone with the experience. Stick around here, or in Avrosa, and you can earn your place in time."

"Thank you."

The commander took another look at the scars on Talaos's right arm. "Those look more like they came from an animal. A big one."

"Ferox."

"You got pounced by a Ferox, and lived to tell the story? I hope you can bring a little of that luck our way," said Rocani with a grim smile. "Must've been a while ago, by the look of your scars."

"It feels like a lifetime."

"I know that feeling, these days."

Talaos nodded in understanding.

"Anyway, to answer your question," continued Rocani, "the situation is bad. A warlord named Basivras picked his side, and made a deal with the hill chiefs, along with some towns away north. He laid waste to the countryside all round here, as I'm sure you saw on the way in. The refugees flooded in, and we were holed up ready for a siege.

"Then, our senior patrician found a little gold had come his way, and was going to open the gates. But, we put a stop to him. Permanently. Basivras didn't like that, but he didn't get a chance to do anything about it, because then an army arrived from Avrosa, and put him out of business. A few of his men are still out there, living like bandits and preying on what's left of the villages, but there's not much I can do about it right now."

"The army from Avrosa was forced to return?"

Rocani eyed him. "Exactly. There is a big enemy allied army coming from further north, and the people in Avrosa will be holing up themselves any day now."

"What about here?"

"I sent a few men, but beyond that, we're going to wait it out, hope for the best, and hope the plague doesn't strike. Avrosa's been a good ally, but I've got to be realistic. If we bend with the wind, hopefully it won't knock us down. You're free to go there and help, if you want. The pay will be better, and if they win, there'll be loot."

"I'll think about it. By the way, I had one more question."

Rocani arched a scarred eyebrow.

Talaos continued, "I passed a building along the way..."

The commander seemed to guess his meaning, and chuckled.

"The House of the Prophet, they call it."

"This side is allied with the Living Prophet?"

"That would be something. Not sure it would be good. No, neutral as far as I can tell. Just spreading the good word in their way. They do a lot of charity, bringing in gold and goods from donations somewhere. Gold they spend to keep people alive is gold we don't have to."

"Do they have houses among the other side in the war?"

"A few, and up in what used to be Dirion, from what I hear. Feel free to go talk to them yourself, if you want to know more." He paused, looking at the stack of papers before him, "In any case... come back when you're ready to sign up, but now I've got work to do."

Talaos bid his thanks, and left.

Outside, in the outer courtyard of the keep, Talaos knew exactly what he needed to do. He headed straight for the east gate, the road that led to the coast, and Avrosa. The gray daylight was fading to dusk. He walked up to the officer who seemed to be in charge.

"Is there still time to open the gate? I'm on my way to Avrosa."

The officer looked him over, nodded with a kind of black humor, and replied, "Eager to fly into the teeth of the storm, eh?"

"It never leaves me."

~

He pressed on in the darkness down the rutted, muddy road. The air was still, the forest pressed tall and close all round. Gloomy hills rose beyond, and mist clung to the hollows. Hardly a bird or beast moved. Talaos walked with sword drawn, cloaked, alert blue eyes glinting in the shadows under his black hood.

Here and there he found further signs of war. A burned mill by a little splashing stream, a smashed and plundered merchant wagon in a ditch, some corpses hanging in a copse of trees. Sometime after midnight, he passed another burned and ruined village.

Later still, he came upon a campsite in a little pasture next to the road. Three wagons were grouped in a kind of protective half-hexagon with a campfire in the middle. People slept under blankets, clustered close to that fire, and two armed men stood watch, scanning the night around them. As he approached, the men on watch turned to him with sudden fear in their eyes, as if seeing an apparition. They took half-steps back and raised their weapons, one an axe, the other a spear. Talaos paid them no heed and passed silently by.

In the murky dark after midnight, he at last began to grow tired. The fog was thickening again. He found a low spur of a hill that ran close to the road. It ended in a rocky crag that looked, to him, like an inviting place to rest. He climbed the gentler slop at the side, but once on the top, he saw something else. Further up the spur, on a rise that formed a kind of foothill to the higher ridge behind, stood a circle of trees and what looked like toppled standing stones.

With curiosity, he ascended the spur up the weather-worn remains of what might once, long ago, have been steps. Reaching the place, he found eighteen tall, narrow gray stones, cracked and worn with the ages, carved with runes and shaped much like those at Amari. Some of the stones looked to have toppled long ago. Others, though, had been pulled up recently, and scattered in random directions. Holes and fresh dirt, no more than a few weeks old, marked the spots where the stones had once stood.

On a sudden impulse, Talaos walked over to a stone, longer than he was tall, and picked it up. Only then did he consider that he shouldn't have been able to do it. Not by himself. No matter, he thought, he already had. He carried it back to what seemed to be the right spot, then did the same with the next, and then the rest of the uprooted stones. Once that was done, he turned the long-fallen stones on their ends, and propped them up with earth behind.

He walked to the center of the ring to survey his work, and thought it good.

Then, faintly all around him, he thought he saw shapes, or perhaps the outlines and whispers of shapes. They stood there, outside the ring and well away from him, flickering in the black night, as the moon peered through the thick clouds overhead, and then they were gone.

Feeling exhaustion at last, he descended to the rocky crag over the road, and threw himself to sleep on the welcoming stone.

~

Talaos awoke to the sound of creaking wheels, grunting animals, and muttering people. The fog was breaking up in the early morning sun. He looked over the edge of his crag, and saw a long line of people, wagons, carts, and domestic beasts, all heading west toward Ipesca. From the sun, he guessed he'd been asleep about three hours, but he felt fresh and ready to begin. At least, he thought, he would after he'd had a bite to eat.

He swung himself around, feet hanging over the edge of the crag, overlooking the road some twenty feet below. He ate a small breakfast of dried, seasoned meat from among his travel rations. Some of the trudging people looked up at him, faces tired and fraught with cares.

After a short while, a pair of men, moving in pace with the others, came into view. One, of middle years and pot-bellied on an otherwise strong frame, rode a tired-looking horse. He was better dressed than most, but his rich clothes were muddied, and he wore a sword at his side. Beside him walked a solemn soldier in a chain shirt, a long spear over his shoulder.

Talaos called down to them. "So, the enemy has reached Avrosa."

The well-dressed man stopped, looked up at him with curiosity in his weary brown eyes, and answered. "Yes. All those from the countryside who could not reach the walls in time are now flying where they may. How fare things in Ipesca?"

"Rocani has the walls well maintained and men in good order. There is not much room."

"Did he let that place be built, that Prophet's house or whatever they call it?"

Talaos was surprised by the question, but answered without hesitation, "Yes."

"That is unfortunate. Strange things were happening in Avrosa."

"How so?"

"People being taken in for questioning by the vigiles or the council for no reason that seemed apparent to me. Emissaries of the Prophet sitting in on the meetings. It made no sense, and made me nervous..."

Then, with a look of sudden suspicion, the man stopped, put his hand on his sword, and added, "And who are you?"

"No friend of the Prophet."

With that, Talaos dropped from his crag, twenty feet to the grassy roadside below, and landed lightly as a cat. To the startled, almost astonished expressions of the two men and the others around, he continued casually down the road toward Avrosa.

~

From the low rise that marked the final end of the hills, Talaos could see the coastal plain before him. Beyond it rose the strong walls and pale stone towers of the city of Avrosa on the shores of the eastern sea. The clouds had finally cleared, save for a few stragglers that floated lazily in a peaceful blue sky.

The scene below that sky was anything but peaceful.

A vast swarm of men, twelve thousand or more, encircled the city. Some stood in place in ordered companies with spears and large round shields, or massed short bows. Many more went about working. Closest in to the city, they dug trenches in two concentric rings. Behind that, men set up the frames for siege engines. Further back, tents of many colors were being raised, with banners on tall poles between.

Beyond the tents, other men were digging an outer line of trenches, and building small watch towers of wooden posts and planks. At the very outermost edge of the army, squadrons of light cavalry patrolled ceaselessly, their armor gleaming in the sunshine.

It was the first time Talaos had seen an army at war, and for all his opposition to being dragged into one unwillingly, he liked what he saw.

However, he was here to fight a war of his own, and the sides were neither this army nor the city it besieged, nor any of their friends. The sides were him, and the Living Prophet. Wherever led towards his victory in that war was his path. Whoever intentionally hindered him were his foes, and whoever could help him along the way were his allies. He drew his blades, threw back his cloak, and walked down the road toward the army below with a swift, easy stride.

As he reached the plain, he saw that the farmsteads here about were all abandoned, and it looked like everything of value had been seized by one side or the other, but there were no burnings and no gratuitous destruction. The road, dirt even this close to the city, was deeply rutted with recent wagon tracks. No doubt, thought Talaos, left by the refugees that must even now be crowded inside the walls.

A patrol of horsemen, a dozen strong, rode up to intercept him. They wore chain shirts, close-fitting helmets with cheek guards, and they carried light oval shields and long spears. One, clearly their officer, had gilt on his armor and a plume on his helm.

They fanned out in a half circle across the road, and the officer raised his hand. This close, Talaos could see he was man not much older than himself. The other surveyed him, his weather-worn black gear and cloak, his scars, and his bright gleaming blades. Doubt grew in the man's eyes. At last, however, the officer spoke.

"This city is under siege."

"I can see that," replied Talaos.

"Why are you here?"

"To enlist."

"And what is your name?" said the officer, with a cautious expression.

"Talaos."

The officer gathered his cool, professional bearing, and spoke again, with careful precise words. "Follow us until we get in hailing distance of the outer pickets. I'll send you to an officer there. They'll tell you where to go next. Be ready to answer questions."

Talaos sheathed his blades and went with them.

~

A motley group of tents sat clustered closer to the front lines than any others in the allied camp. In the center of that group was an open area, and in the open area gathered a hundred or so men.

On a wooden folding chair sat their commanding officer, Captain Adriko, a tall, lean man with an easy manner, thinning dark hair and world-weary brown eyes. He wore a fine chain shirt with silver scrollwork fittings over a gray silken tunic, dented greaves that looked scavenged from some old battlefield, and a weathered black cloak.

Talaos and four other new men stood at the south end of the open area. Most of the rest of their company were clustered toward the north. In the very middle was a circle, fifteen feet in diameter, drawn by digging a little trench several inches into the ground.

The men before him looked to be from half a dozen countries and appeared to have equipped themselves with whatever armor and weapons they could buy, scavenge, steal or plunder along the way to this war. Much like himself, thought Talaos.

"All right, you lot," said Adriko, gesturing to the recruits, "Who's first?"

Three of them held back. Talaos made a leisurely move to step forward, but was preempted by a short, thin young man who darted ahead like an impetuous rabbit.

"Firio! That's the spirit!" commended the captain.

Firio stepped into the ring. He had lank chin-length brown hair and a narrow face with furtive, alert brown eyes He was equipped with a short sword and a leather tunic with crude stitching over a large gash stained with what might have been old blood. Talaos suspected the previous owner of that tunic had not parted with it willingly, or alive.

"Now everyone," announced Adriko, "remember this is won by a weapon tap, or by forcing the other one out of the ring. Unfortunately for some of you, it will tend to favor speed over strength. The goal is to see what the new men can do, not to put them out of action, so don't try anything stupid."

Adriko paused, watching for any argument.

"Right. Who wants to have a go?"

An older soldier, with streaks of gray at the temples of his light brown hair, plain sturdy features, hazel eyes, and well-maintained scale armor stepped forward with a smile. He bore an oval shield and a hand axe.

"I'll teach you a few pointers, lad," said the man to Firio in a friendly, almost fatherly way, and an accent from one of the countries of the far west. "Name's Larogwan."

Soldiers wrapped the edges of each man's weapon with rags. The two squared off in the ring. Larogwan advanced forward, at ease and ready. Faster than he could react, and almost faster than could be seen, Firio darted to the left and tapped him with the flat of his short sword.

"Well I'll be..." said Larogwan with a chuckle as he left the ring.

"Next!" laughed Adriko, as he poured himself some wine from a clay jug.

"I'll go," said a gigantic shaven-headed man, with a heavy face and jaw, dark stubble, thick dark brows and dark green eyes. Close to seven feet tall and massively wide, he wore a heavy leather tunic with iron plates, and rested a huge war mattock over his shoulder.

"Vulkas, remember what I said about speed over strength?" said Adriko. "And, squashing a new recruit won't count as a tap."

Many in the crowd, Vulkas included, laughed harsh laughs. Firio was not among them.

The giant stepped into the ring, holding his war mattock low and sideways in front of him. Firio waited. When Vulkas failed to move, he began to weave forward, twisting, and watching for his chance to strike. He seemed to find it, and darted. Vulkas dropped his mattock sideways on the ground in front of him. Firio, focused on his target, went tripping over it. The big man scooped him up with casual ease, and hurled him bodily out of the ring.

Vulkas exited the ring to ferocious laughter and cheers. He gave Firio, just standing up, a friendly clap on the back that almost sent the smaller man toppling back to the ground.

"Look lively, recruits!" shouted Adriko. "Who's next?"

Talaos stepped up with predatory ease, blades ready. Eyes went to his many scars and the dark mirth on his face. The crowd grew quiet, and some of the younger men shied back.

"Eh?" said the Captain with a smirk."Come on lads. I'm sure our new friend Talaos here is as harmless as he looks."

With that, a few more men shrunk to the back of the crowd.

"Damn it all!" snarled a short, strong, black haired, black-eyed, thick-browed man. He wore segmented armor, and carried a sword and a round shield. "Haven't a one of you fucks got any guts?"

The man stepped forward with a scowl at Talaos.

"Kyrax, and his winning smile, it is!" announced Adriko.

Talaos faced off against the other. Kyrax muttered something under his breath and came forward with his shield ready. He moved with focused precision, watching Talaos like a scorpion ready to strike. Talaos feinted, and the man ignored the bait. Shield up and sword poised, Kyrax circled. Without warning, fast as the wind, Talaos made a whirling leap, turned in mid air, and landed behind Kyrax even as he brought his sword to the back of the other's neck.

"What in all the hells?" snarled Kyrax. Then he turned to Talaos with a grim nod, extended a hand and said, "Nice one, you bastard."

As Kyrax left the ring, the crowd watched with mutters and growing tension.

"This is looking familiar," said Vulkas with a shrug as he strode forward. He stopped, rested his war mattock outside the ring and stepped in with only his bare, mallet-like fists.

"Doubt that would work twice, so let's see how this goes..." he said.

Talaos placed his swords aside.

"Ha!" boomed Vulkas, laughing. "Now that takes a pair!"

Some in the crowd laughed, but others grew silent.

The giant strode forward confidently, with the loose ease of a practiced wrestler. Talaos walked toward him with his own sort of ease, more like that of a wolf. The two faced off. Vulkas twisted, fast for a man so big, and made to trip his opponent. Talaos avoided the trap with a quick leap, turned, and stood his ground.

"Right, then," growled Vulkas. He launched forward with the weight of a moving mountain, and clapped his iron hands invincibly on the shoulders of his smaller foe. He moved to force Talaos out of the ring by main strength, but the latter wrenched suddenly backward and sideways out of Vulkas's hands, as if made of air. Talaos made a two-handed grip, suddenly grabbed his opponent's tree-like arms above the wrist, and hurled Vulkas like a whirlwind out of the ring. The giant went rolling as bystanders scattered aside, and while still in motion, flipped to his feet. He stood there, staring at Talaos with narrowed eyes while the soldiers around gaped.

Then he laughed, a great bellowing laugh that seemed to shake the ground around him.

"Who's next?" smiled the Captain lightly, as if they were all chatting over lunch. "I'd hate to have to order someone..."

Larogwan stepped in, and was soon sent back out by a quick, darting strike from Talaos. Then another man followed, and another. Then others still. When twenty men had been tapped, tripped, kicked, or hurled out of the ring, Adriko at last raised his hand to stop.

"All right Talaos," he said in resigned and yet somehow lofty tones, while finishing his wine, "I suppose you can stay."

10. Possibilities

The trenches were complete. The siege engines were assembled and rolling into position. Men practiced fighting moves. Others worked, crafting, repairing and cleaning weapons. Up on the walls of Avrosa, ballistae and small catapults fired every now and then, perhaps testing range or the besieger's alertness. The besiegers themselves held all in reserve, for the right time.

Banners on tall posts fluttered amidst the sea of colorful tents, and in the center of that sea rose one larger than all the others, in colors of black, purple and gold. On either side of a large entrance at the front stood more banners, one from each member faction in the allied army. Three cities, a dozen smaller towns, and two rural warlords were represented there.

At the door of the tent were two guards and a variety of men coming and going on the endless business of running an army. Talaos and Captain Adriko stood nearby. The latter was speaking in his easy manner.

"Now remember Talaos, they're curious about the recruit who beat twenty men, not conducting an inquiry, so you don't have anything to prove. That being said... Every one of those men in there, with the exception of Tradermaster Giorvan, are experienced commanders, and none of them are fools. They'll be looking for a use for you."

"Good, because I'm looking for a use from them."

Adriko made a quiet, cynical chuckle. "Nerves of steel, Talaos, and a mouth of sparks. I like you, but try not to get them mad, or volunteer us for anything."

Talaos smiled benignly in reply.

They entered the tent.

The interior was floored with assorted carpets. Some of them looked to have seen long years of use. Chairs, shelves, and chests scattered around the edges, but the center was dominated by a set of small tables pushed together to make one larger one.

Around that table gathered the seven key commanders in the allied army. Adriko had briefed him on who was who. The men were involved in discussion and did not immediately react when Talaos and his captain entered. A stout older man without armor, Giorvan, from what Adriko had described, was giving them a detailed update on supplies and munitions.

After a little while, one of them, a trim gray-haired man in a richly gilded breastplate and a dark red cloak, gestured. Talaos had been told he was the senior allied general, Sanctari, of the city of Teroia, and a man of thirty-five years experience in the field.

The others at the table quieted, and turned to their visitors. Talaos and Adriko saluted, right arms horizontal across their chests, and the commanders returned the gesture.

Adriko reported to the commanders in a formal, practiced voice, "Captain Adriko, Second Company of Irregulars, at your service, and with me is Talaos, recent recruit."

Sanctari replied, "Welcome. Good to see you this morning, Captain. So, this is the man who beat twenty in the initiation matches?"

"I am," answered Talaos.

"Amazing duels, each of them, from what I've heard."

Talaos smiled.

The general looked him over, taking in gear, weapons, and scars with a practiced eye. "You wear no armor."

"I favor speed."

"I'd suspect you've done more fighting by yourself, or with only a few at your side, and perhaps against unfavorable odds, than you have in ranks on the battlefield."

"I have."

The General paused, and seemed to turn things over in his mind.

Adriko was beginning to look uncomfortable.

Another commander turned to Talaos. He was a big rawboned man with wild black hair graying at the temples, a jaw like a craggy, battered stone cliff, and a colorful array of mismatched gilt armor pieces under a forest green cloak. According to Adriko, he was Kurvan, a warlord from the western hill country.

"They said you walked down from the hills by yourself. Weapons drawn. That true?" asked Kurvan.

"Yes."

"You're from the Republic, by your accent. You cross the mountains?"

"I did," replied Talaos.

"My lads in the foothills are telling me there's Ferox around up in the peaks. A lot more than there should be. You see any of that?"

In silent answer, Talaos pulled back the sleeve on his right forearm and showed the bites.

Kurvan made a low growling approximation of a laugh. "You're my kind of madman, lad. Glad you're with us." Then, another thought seemed to cross the warlord's mind. "You probably went by Ipesca, eh? Enemy town. Did you meet Rocani?

"He had the place well defended."

"I believe it. It'll be a shame if we have to kill him. He's my wife's cousin."

At this point, another commander interjected, leaning forward to speak to Sanctari. From Adriko's description, he was Nissas, General of the city of Aledri. A tall man of medium build, he had silvered armor over a blue tunic, intelligent eyes under gray hair, and an old scar across his chin.

"General, this brings to mind the situation with the supplies from my city."

Sanctari arched an eyebrow.

"Unless the fleet gets through," continued Nissas, "we'll have to do something about Drosta's irregulars."

Sanctari raised two fingers to his chin, then looked thoughtfully at Talaos.

Adriko groaned under his breath, so softly only Talaos could hear.

"Gentlemen, if you'll excuse us. Dismissed," said the senior General.

~

Adriko stood addressing his assembled men in the clear space amidst their tents. They were watchful, and intent. Talaos stood at his right side.

"Now," he went on, "there's a lot we won't know until we get up there, but in short, two days northwest, supply caravans from Aledri are getting interrupted, in a permanent sort of way, by a former bandit named Drosta. He's supposed to be canny as a fox, and has maybe fifty or sixty men with him.

"We know in general where he's operating, and its country that favors a motley lot like us over heavily equipped regulars. That said, we'll be backed up by a company of spearmen from Aledri, as well as five squadrons of cavalry to make sure if Drosta runs, he doesn't get far. But, we're the ones who will take whatever initial punch he's got.

"We're going to fan out in squads of ten. Command is giving us a few scouts to help. Together, we'll ferret Drosta out, and the nose of the ferret will be Talaos here, who's going to be upfront and on point to surprise them with his own particular, kindly gifts."

"Bastard!" interrupted Kyrax. "You're not sending him on that without some help!"

Adriko smiled with a knowing look, as if coming to the punch line of a joke. "Why yes Kyrax, I accept your gracious offer. But who said I was sending Talaos by himself? In fact, the commanders have appointed him a decurion, in case anyone volunteers to help."

It was the first Talaos had heard of that. A decurion led a unit of anywhere from eight or ten to about twenty men, and that meant people who'd been here before him might soon be taking his orders. He thought it good to see the allied army wasn't standing on seniority.

Meanwhile, men looked around or at their feet. A towering figure shoved past them.

"I'm in!" boomed Vulkas.

"And me," squeaked Firio, to general surprise.

There was another pause, but then Larogwan ambled forward, eying Talaos and Firio.

"I suppose it'd be fitting to go on some fool mission with both of the lads who fooled me in the practice ring," he added lightly.

Three more men volunteered. The first was Epos, a heavily armed and armored veteran mercenary known in the company for rarely speaking, and for near-constantly wearing his close-fitting, black-crested helm with nose and cheek guards. The next was Halmir, a big ruddy man in a chain shirt, with a sword and long axe, an iron cap and a round shield at his back. He was of Schaldic stock, but from that part of old Dirion that had been conquered by his people. The third was Imvan, a gaunt, brown-haired young hillman with experience as a hunter and tracker. He wore leather armor and dressed in greens and browns, with a bow at his back and a long knife at his belt.

Adriko beamed like a proud father, "That ought to do it. Don't worry men, Avrosa's not going anywhere while we're away. Any questions?"

There were none, nor much enthusiasm outside the group with Talaos, but war was war, and the men set to work cleaning their weapons and packing their gear for the march ahead.

~

Talaos watched the campfire flicker, bright in the starlit night. Around them burned the fires of the rest of their little army, the irregulars, the cavalry, and the Aledri spearmen. Nearly three hundred all told, and loosely united under Adriko's overall command. However, Talaos thought, they each had different jobs to do.

His was the smallest of the jobs, given there were only eight of them. However, it still required trust and cooperation to succeed. If they succeeded, the siege was more likely to, and if the siege succeeded, he'd get inside Avrosa for a visit to the House of the Prophet there... on his terms.

There was more though. He could almost feel the possibilities in the air. War brought instability and destruction, but with that it cleared the way for new things. Not necessarily good things, but certainly new. Talaos thought it likely the Prophet was somehow behind this war, and no doubt planned to use the instability to his advantage. But, it was one thing to set something in motion, and another to control it.

He observed his seven companions as they completed their tasks and joined him at the fire, one by one. There was little talk. Though they knew each other, more or less, by now, none of them had served together before the current war. They had nothing in common beyond a certain recklessness, and trust in his dangerousness in a fight.

They'd need more. But what?

With black humor, he considered what they were all there to do.

He turned to Larogwan, who sat close by to his left, finishing some soup.

"Larogwan, tell me about the first man you killed."

The old warrior looked at him in surprise, then cracked a smile. "Well that's a cheery question to ask a fellow, all out of nowhere!"

"It's all right if there weren't any. I'm not one to judge a virgin."

At that Larogwan chuckled, but Vulkas, next over on the left, boomed a sudden laugh that caused the others to turn their way in varying degrees of surprise.

"All right, all right..." began Larogwan, "I was a bright eyed young lad, fresh off the farm, in the army of Cor Anwin. It was nigh on twenty-five years ago now. Things over in the seven realms were a little less quiet than they are these days, and we were standing in lines facing the army of Mabroch."

The men around the fire were listening closely now. Larogwan continued.

"There was this lad facing me, marching my way, and I threw my spear at him."

Nods passed around the circle, except for Firio, who seemed to be waiting for more.

Larogwan shrugged, "That was that. Sorry lad. No mighty duel of heroes."

Firio looked a bit downcast. Larogwan gave him a sympathetic smile.

"What about you, lad? I'll wager this is your first war."

Firio nodded, then spoke in his thin voice, eyes staring at the fire. "In Megasi, there was this man who came by the alley where I used to sleep, and he wanted to do things to me. So I pulled the dagger from his belt and put it into his throat."

The circle went quiet. At last Larogwan spoke again.

"By the hells, lad... how old were you?"

"Ten."

Talaos, whose own young life on the streets seemed almost charmed by comparison, gave Firio a steely smile. "You're with us now, Firio."

Firio returned a fierce, beaming smile of his own.

"Vulkas, what about you?" asked Talaos.

"When I was a boxer and wrestler, I was in a match with this fellow, and I clapped him on the head a little too hard. It was about then I thought I'd be better cut out for soldiering."

Harsh laughs circled the fire. Talaos gestured around, inviting someone to speak next.

Epos, still wearing his helm, spoke in his flat, deep bass voice. "We were on the walls at Lazla, when they made their final assault with scaling ladders. I ran a man through as he came over the top, then I kicked the ladder down."

"Dammit man!" said Larogwan, eyeing the helm. "Do you sleep in that thing?"

"Only in the field."

Halmir raised a carved drinking horn and took a sip. He had a golden-red beard, shaved on the sides, but long around his chin and braided with copper rings that gleamed in the firelight. His face took on a grim, regretful look as he spoke.

"The farmers over where I am from are called Skradi. A long time ago, Dirion conquered them. Then our chieftains took that part of Dirion and became lords. I served a lord who sent us to get some taxes from a farm house where the family could not pay. The lord said kill them to warn others. He was our lord... and we had to obey."

The Northman shook his head, blue-green eyes lowered. "In shame for what we did, I got mad at the lord, and killed him too. Then I had to run."

Grim looks, and nods, followed from the men around the campfire. Except for one.

Kyrax growled and turned to Talaos, "Since you're having us all share our heartfelt fucking stories of days gone by, what about you?"

Talaos replied, old memories coming back, "I was seventeen, in Carai. A gang boss named Cratus asked me to keep an eye on a warehouse of his. Another boss sent a couple of armed men to take a look inside that warehouse, after dark. I took care of the problem."

"You were a gangster?" boggled Firio.

"A city man?" said Larogwan. "And somehow I'd imagined you born on a battlefield, with crows circling to take their place by your side."

"Or a wolf," added Halmir, with a thoughtful look.

"I didn't say I was born in the city..." Talaos replied with an enigmatic smile. Then he turned to Kyrax skeptically. "And what's your heartfelt story?"

"When I was twenty, this fucker spilled my drink, on purpose."

All eyes then turned to Imvan. The lean young hillman sat wrapped in his cloak of checkered green and brown. He frowned, thick brown eyebrows pressing together over deep-set eyes and hollow cheeks.

"I haven't killed any men, "he replied solemnly, "only beasts."

"We have our virgin!" laughed Larogwan.

"A death virgin," added Kyrax, with lack of any apparent humor.

"You'll have your chance, Imvan, soon enough," said Talaos grimly.

~

Adriko's three companies broke camp in the predawn darkness. They travelled light, with every man shouldering his gear. The scouts went on ahead while he formed everyone else up for a day's march. Three squadrons of light cavalry from various towns, followed by his irregulars, then the Aledri spearmen in their uniform blue tunics, large round shields, and segmented breastplates, and finally the other two squadrons of cavalry as rearguard.

Talaos watched Adriko work, paid attention to what he did, why, and when. He noted the way in which the Captain's easy manner masked a constant, careful attention to detail, and his teasing humor was based on knowledge of the men he commanded. Adriko knew the name of, and at least something about every one of his irregulars, and in only a day in the field with them, was setting to work with the cavalry and the spearmen.

All this Talaos watched, and learned.

Men who were ready to fight and die at your side, he thought, deserved no less.

When the main body was ready to march, Adriko, on a sturdy brown horse in plain tack, rode to their left flank to speak. With him went Lurios, captain of the Aledri men and Adriko's subordinate for this mission, and Drevan, the most senior of the five cavalry Decurions.

Adriko spoke loudly, clearly, and cheerfully.

"All right men, now the carefree stroll in the countryside comes to an end. There's no telling what might have been changing up north while we've been visiting with our friends in Avrosa, and they could always have visitors of their own on the way down this very road.

"You Aledri men know where we're going, but for the rest of us I will avoid lighthearted assumptions. We'll be leaving the coastal road about mid morning and taking another one northwest, inland toward Aledri. That road eventually crosses an outlying area of hills. When the scouts get in sight of those hills, they'll warn us before we do, so we can camp just out of sight. If the rest of us don't take too many naps along the way, it should be around mid afternoon.

"The area is heavily forested, which will give us some cover. Sadly though, since I haven't heard anything about Drosta suddenly becoming a fool, we'll have no fires, no drinking, and no rousing songs about our impending victory."

Adriko paused, with an eye for reaction from the men, but all was quiet.

"In the morning, we split up. I'll take the scouts and my company of irregulars out before dawn, and we're going to swing around north. You Aledri men will come directly up from the south with Lurios, and sit tight until you see something coming, or we seem like we need help. The cavalry will stay out on the flat country and get a little hunting in, using any of Drosta's surviving men as game."

There were chuckles here and there along the line.

"That is, if things work out. If we don't find Drosta, then we try again the next day. If we do, and we can't get him flushed out, we fall back, reform on the road, and get ready to answer questions back at Avrosa.

"That said men, remember, we've got thousands of our own back there who are counting on the provisions from Aledri getting through again. So let's make sure things do work out, and we help Drosta on his way to the hells."

With that, Adriko saluted his men, arm across his chest as he had with the commanders, and the men saluted back.

He motioned forward, and they started their march.

Talaos and his squad, at the front of the irregulars, walked with easy strides and watchful eyes. He smiled and felt the first thrill of the fight and the possibilities ahead.

The early morning was uneventful, though the sky to the north began to darken with hazy, sluggish rainclouds. To Talaos, they looked more like fog in the sky than a storm.

To their right lay the coastal plain, pasture for livestock now taken elsewhere, and beyond, the sea. To their left spread light open woodland, with hills in the far distance. They passed a place where a line of hills ran down to the coast and the road went up through a pass. Further on, they marched by a village, abandoned as if frozen in time, ploughs still in the surrounding fields. After a while they came upon a supply caravan, trudging slowly south. Adriko hailed them.

"Are you men from Teroia? What news?"

The quartermaster in charge, a gruff blocky fellow, answered, "We are. All's quiet on the road, but I hear some of the enemy cities up further north are finally mobilizing in force. No word on how close they are to getting in the field."

Adriko thanked the man as the caravan went on its way, then dispatched a cavalryman to take the news back to the army at Avrosa as fast as possible.

They reached the crossroads shortly afterward, and leaving the coastal road to Teroia, went northwest to find their quarry. The early afternoon went by without incident, or anyone else on the road. At about the expected time, a scout returned reporting sight of the hills where Drosta was supposed to be based.

Dense forest spread before them. Overhead, the sky filled with gray, and the air grew still and damp. As the force halted to make camp, Talaos looked up into the sky appraisingly.

"Your kind of weather?" asked Larogwan cheerfully as he walked alongside.

"Not bad, but I'd rather be in a thunderstorm," answered Talaos.

Larogwan shook his head, smiling.

11. Madmen

The woods were thick on the hillsides, and the shadows deep. Low, lazy gray rainclouds hung in the sky overhead, faint mist gathered, and there was fog in the deep valleys. Talaos stalked between the trees with his cloak drawn about him. Ahead, quiet as a shadow and harder to see, crept Imvan the hillman. Behind, fanned out on either side, were the rest of his men.

So far, they'd found only old tracks and an abandoned camp. On the other hand, there was no sign that they'd been seen. At least they were aware of no sign, Talaos thought wryly. They moved quickly; alert and as quiet as heavily armed men could manage. They passed through a valley, following Imvan on a fresher trail with recent boot prints in the mud. They ascended the slope on the other side and found more. The fog grew thicker below, and the mist above.

After some time, Imvan suddenly stopped, still as a deer. Talaos did so as well, then crouched low to the ground. With varying degrees of speed and stealth, his men did likewise. The hillman then began to creep forward again, almost crawling, slow and silent. On instinct, Talaos raised his hand in gesture to the rest of the men to hold fast.

Then he saw. Far ahead and a bit uphill, at the very edge of visibility in the thin mist and thick underbrush, was a man dressed in mottled clothes of greens and brown, with leafy branches tied to his gear and dirt rubbed into his face. He squatted, still as a stone in the brush, and had a short bow on the ground beside him. Likely a sentry on some kind of patrol or outer picket duty, thought Talaos, and he was certain he wouldn't have seen the man in time. Imvan had though, while the sentry still looked another way.

Creeping low, foot by patient foot, the hillman circled behind the sentry. Talaos thought it would have put a hunting cat to shame. He advanced, always managing to be behind cover or low to the ground when the sentry turned his way. He closed. Well done, thought Talaos, but now came another sort of test.

Silently, the hillman stepped behind the sentry, brought a gloved hand around the man's mouth, and in the same moment, slit his throat as if he were a game animal. He held the dying man's mouth shut, silencing the low gurgling screams, as the other reached in blind futility for a horn at his belt. When the struggles stopped, Imvan gently lowered the corpse to the ground. He then dropped to one knee, shaking slightly. He had an almost panicked look on his young face, and breathed hard. Yet, he made not a sound. The hillman looked down at the dead sentry, whose face was staring up wide-eyed at nothing. Imvan closed those eyes, put a hand to the fallen man's forehead, and then stood up.

A death virgin no longer, thought Talaos darkly. He stood up, and the others with him. They advanced. Talaos clapped a hand on Imvan's shoulder, looked him in the eye, and gave him a grim nod. The hillman collected himself, nodded back, and silently retook his place scouting. Talaos followed. Then came the others, alert for new danger and without so much as another glance at the corpse.

They moved forward quietly, taking even greater care than before. After a little while they reached a place where the slope leveled off to a long, low hilltop thick with trees. Imvan stopped again and crouched low. This time, he gestured, hand motioning forward. Talaos raised his own hand for the others to hold, and crept forward by himself.

As he reached Imvan, the latter pointed to a spot ahead where there were two more sentries, one far to the left and the other well to the right. Though no doubt there were more, those would be out of sight around the curve of the hill. These sentries had dressed for the forest, but were not particularly hidden. They stood watchfully, surveying the area around them in the gathering mist.

Somewhere ahead, invisible in the shadowed woods, he heard faint sounds of activity.

Talaos motioned for Imvan to follow him back to the others. Together they crept back to the men, carefully and so slowly that his own instincts railed against it, turbulent from within. He forced them under control. Talaos motioned the men to come close, behind a little knoll full of trees, then spoke in a barely audible voice.

"We need to take out those sentries. Firio, do you think you can do what Imvan did?"

Firio nodded, and drew one of his many knives.

"Right then. Imvan on the left, Firio on the right. Once they're down, I'm going for a walk. No one follow me... until something happens."

The others looked at him quizzically, but gave no arguments.

Talaos motioned, and the two chosen men went forward. He watched their progress intently, alert and ready for his own moment to act.

Quiet as the looming mist, and patient as the stones beneath, Imvan made his way around to the left of the left sentry. Firio on the right moved in an entirely different way. He lacked Imvan's methodical woods-wise manner, but he was small, almost superhumanly fast, and furtive as a rabbit. A rabbit with fangs, thought Talaos with an inner smirk.

The two sentries each stood there, each patiently scanning the mist-shrouded forest. Then, in the next moment, each had a hand over his mouth and a knife cutting his throat. Firio's sentry seemed stronger than he was, and, fighting as he died, began to force the little man's hand away from his mouth. Quick as a snake, Firio twisted the knife upward in the other's bleeding throat, and nailed his mouth shut from inside.

Once the two dead sentries were on the ground, Talaos and all his men froze still, waiting for a reaction. They heard none. Imvan remained immobile. Firio, quietly and unobtrusively, helped himself to a dagger and a small pouch from his fallen foe, then vanished as he went flat to the ground in the underbrush.

Talaos sheathed his blades, stood up and casually walked toward Drosta's camp.

Advancing beneath the towering trees, he passed the dead sentries and a line of thick underbrush. He strode forward past an area where refuse was piled and the ground became thick with muddy tracks, and then into the camp itself.

It consisted of a great many low cloth and skin tents, under the shade of towering ancient trees. Some seventy men were there with a motley variety of gear, weapons, and armor. They were busy with activities common in any camp of armed men; variously working, exercising with weapons, or sitting at ease talking.

He strode in, hooded and cloaked in the mist, but at ease, as if visiting old friends.

Men looked up at him with curiosity. Some, at seeing his relaxed bearing and sheathed weapons, turned back to their tasks at hand. Others stared, as if not quite sure what they were looking at, or why. One or two reached thoughtfully for weapons as they watched. He walked past them all, and toward the center of camp.

There, next to a gnarled, massive old tree, a big rangy man with a long scowling face and wild black hair under a rusty iron cap stood giving orders to three others. One of the men, ill-favored and with sharp squinting eyes, happened to turn, noticed Talaos in mild surprise, and tapped the shoulder of the man in the iron cap.

"Hey Drosta..." he said, pointing at Talaos.

Drosta turned to look at Talaos, annoyance appearing on his face. He adjusted his heavy leather tunic, which was reinforced with iron rings, pulled a big serrated knife from his belt and grabbed a long axe that had been leaning against the tree.

Talaos strode toward him with long loose steps, still casual, but slowly gaining speed.

"Hey, you! Which one of 'em let you past without telling me?" snapped Drosta.

At Drosta's side, the squint-eyed man drew a sword. The other two men near Drosta stood by in uncertainty. The first had one single hairy brow, and the other a mouth cleft with an old scar. Talaos found it momentarily amusing to nickname each accordingly in his mind.

He was now only twenty yards from Drosta, and advancing fast.

"If this is some joke of Iscano's, it isn't funny!" snarled Drosta at Talaos. He shook his axe for emphasis, then tried again, "Stop and answer me, or I'll split your head open!"

All attention in the camp now focused on the scene at the center.

Behind Drosta, one-brow loosened a mace tied to his belt, and cleft-mouth grabbed a hand axe from atop a rock. Talaos continued forward, as if without a care.

"Hoi, madman!" shouted Drosta, raising his axe for battle with eyes fixed on Talaos.

In answer, Talaos, fast as wind, drew his long blade and whirled to the attack. Drosta brought his axe up to block the sword, while twisting and striking with his long knife straight at the other's heart. Talaos parried the knife with his long blade. At the same moment, he grabbed the axe handle with his free hand and ripped it away from Drosta's as easily as a man taking a toy from a child. The latter looked surprised, for a brief moment. Talaos spun round and split Drosta's head, right through the iron cap, with his own axe. Talaos then threw the axe aside and drew his own short blade, turning as Drosta, gurgling blood, fell to the ground before him.

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 seemingly 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 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 lay 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, they saw a trail of dust in the north, coming south and moving 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.

As they left, Adriko watched them, riding quietly in thought.

For his part, Talaos considered what he'd heard. From his old readings of maps and travelogues, he knew Teroia, Idrona, and Kyras were the three largest of the fourteen major cities of Hunyos. Idrona and Teroia were coastal cities, naval powers, and historical enemies. He'd gathered from conversations with Adriko and others that each of those two cities was arguably the center of their alliance.

Teroia was the southernmost of the three, and the allied army at Avrosa was largely gathered from cities and towns nearby. In turn, Avrosa itself was the only major city in Idrona's alliance in the south, and Adriko had told him Sanctari was there to try to knock it out of the war. The even larger enemy army from central Hunyos was no doubt intended to stop that.

Kyras apparently fielded the largest army in Hunyos, but a substantial part of its forces, and those of its allies, were said to be occupied farther north, facing a group of cities allied with Teroia and led locally by the city of Lazla. The borders between the cities on one side or the other were far from neat, but it could still be said that Teroia and its allies faced a problem of divided armies and divided fleets.

It also meant that barring a breakthrough at sea, there would be little or no direct help against the army now coming their way.

Then his thoughts were interrupted as Adriko moved suddenly into action.

"Lurios, Drevan, Talaos... let's have a talk," said their captain, motioning them to join him at the side of the marching column.

Adriko dismounted, walking his horse beside Talaos, then Lurios and Drevan did the same. He motioned them close.

"Well, so much for our fine walk in the sunshine..." he said. He paused, then went on. "I needn't point out to you gentlemen that six hundred swift cavalry is five hundred more than we have. Of even greater significance is the fact that our two hundred slow infantry are two hundred more than they have. Mathematics do not favor us in regard to any plans to outrun that vanguard.

"There is also the supply caravan up ahead to consider, and the bellies it will fill, particularly if the army at Avrosa gets pinned between the city and the enemy..."

Lurios and Drevan took on grim expressions. Talaos felt a thrill run through him.

"You can see where this is going," continued Adriko. "You might also recall that stretch where the hills come down to the coast. The point where the road crosses them might make a defensible enough spot to hold the line."

Lurios spoke, his voice as polished as his appearance. He wore a burnished, silvered breastplate and his hair gleamed a dark shade of gold. "I believe the spearmen could hold for quite some time, if we were properly formed on high ground and had support at the flanks."

Adriko looked thoughtful. "The irregulars, being irregular, will take the hills on either side of the road. Those men in the supply caravan up ahead can be put to work, and will probably have tools. If we're really lucky, they'll have shovels intended for siege use at Avrosa. A trench in front of us would cut down the power of cavalry charges."

Drevan, short, strong, and energetic, asked, "What do you want our cavalry to do?"

"Ride hard ahead out of sight until you get to the opposite slope of the pass. Then, stay in reserve, until the right time presents itself," replied Adriko. "With a defensible position, six hundred against three isn't so bad. I think we could hold. Of course if they decide to sit tight instead, somewhere nearby but out of reach, we end up involuntarily waiting for the main force. And twenty thousand against us doesn't look so good."

He then turned to Talaos. "Thoughts on you and the Madmen?"

"We could go around behind them," answered Talaos, ideas turning in his mind.

"And give them a gentle nudge?" smiled Adriko. "I think as well, that if they do decide to sit tight, they'd be setting up a camp, and you have a little bit of history in that regard."

Talaos arched an eyebrow, and made a faint smirk.

He then considered that the sooner they started, the better their chances of getting around without being noticed, and the more possibilities might present themselves.

That, he thought, and the thrill of it called to him.

"I'd hate to keep them waiting," replied Talaos.

Adriko, stopped, surveying him with mild surprise and considerable approval. "Right. Off you go then..."

~

The Madmen made their way across the gentle, rolling, light woodland west of the road. Small copses of trees alternated with stretches of open meadow or pasture. Further inland, and further from the depredations of armies, were distant flocks of goats or sheep, and thin trails of smoke from unseen village chimneys. On their right, toward the coast, ran the wide expanse of packed dirt that constituted the coastal road, beyond it the plains and shore. The afternoon sun lowered in the blue western sky, while far to the east, clouds lingered over the sea.

Among the eight men, one seemed distinctly unimpressed with the vistas around them.

"Hey sharp-eye, any sign of the bastards?" Kyrax asked Imvan.

"No," replied Imvan, walking with Talaos at the front of their little column.

"Taking 'em long enough. Those donkeys they're riding?" continued the other.

"Give them a little patience, Kyrax," interjected Larogwan, as he trudged next to the other across a gully. "They are on duty, you know, raiding and killing such of ours as they find."

"You're starting to sound like Adriko too..." joked Vulkas, stepping across the gully in one great stride.

"What's wrong with Adriko?" added Firio, confused, as he lightly darted across.

Halmir, next to Firio, tilted his head with a quizzical, serious expression at that, then leapt across the gully. As the group strode over the open ground beyond, he seemed lost in brooding thought, but at last answered, "What is wrong, yet a source of strength, is that Adriko has the heart of a warrior, but the mind of a trickster, and these two are in conflict within him."

"What the hell..." replied Kyrax.

Epos, in his helm and walking steadily behind the others, said nothing.

They went on for a while in the golden afternoon sunlight. The wind blew gently, as if war was a faraway thing. The conversation died down, replaced by watchful silence. Then, Imvan pointed, and Talaos gave the signal to stop.

"There it is," said Imvan.

Talaos looked where the hillman had pointed, and there rose a distant column of dust, vast amounts of it, coming south along the road. The would-be predators, he thought. He'd see what could be done about that.

"Eyes open, men! Let's get under better cover," he said.

They took up a position well back from the road, behind a little hillock crowned with tall bushes. After a short while, the enemy came into sight. Peering through the twiggy trunks, they observed the advancing column.

"There's our prey," he said, grinning his feral grin.

"Yes, all, ah... I'd guess more like eight hundred of them, at least..." whispered Larogwan.

Talaos silenced him with a raised hand, but then with a smile and in a low voice, added, "Reality exceeds our expectations."

At the front rode a body of scouts, unarmored men on fast horses. Some of them fanned out across the countryside near by the road. Then there was a gap of a half mile or so. After that followed a vanguard of light horsemen, much like those in Adriko's force. Next came a small body of heavy cavalry with plate armor even on their thighs and upper arms.

Close behind the heavy cavalry rode a group of officers with plumes, high crests, and gilded breastplates, and with them horsemen carrying the banners of several towns and cities. One man in particular caught Talaos's notice. He wore a sort of tabard over his armor, decorated with what looked in the distance like circular sigils, a silver band around his head, and a long silver wand at his belt in place of a sword. His horse had small saddlebags of complex design.

Talaos had seen men like that before, and it boded ill for the upcoming battle.

Magus.

Following the command group was a small baggage train of light unarmored pack horses, and then a long line, the main body of light cavalry in chain shirts, or leather reinforced with plates. Most bore oval shields and long spears. Last of all, trailing by perhaps a quarter mile, were another half dozen scouts. As the last of the enemy army dwindled under clouds of dust, Talaos motioned his men close.

"They should be coming in sight of our lines at the pass any time now, and they'll have a decision to make. You know what options they'd usually have, and it is our job to make those options harder. But, they also have an option we didn't know," he said.

Expressions grew tense.

"They have a magus with them in the command group."

Several men groaned.

"A Magus?" asked Halmir.

"A sorcerer, someone who has learned to work magic through study," answered Talaos.

"Ah. We have a few who do things like that. This is a problem," replied Halmir.

"Part of the problem is not knowing what exactly he can do," continued Talaos, "beyond that he's riding with an army, and so it's probably useful in battle."

"Well let's go kill the goatsucker before he gets the chance to show us!" snapped Kyrax.

"Exactly," answered Talaos with a sudden laugh. "The trick is when and how. Let's start following them and seeing what presents itself."

Talaos stood up without further explanation and the others followed. Together, they turned south again behind the enemy column. They kept low and behind whatever cover could be found, out of direct sight of the road. As they went, the sun dropped to the level of the hills to the west, and the light faded from golden to red.

At last, in deepening shadows along the rolling ground and amidst the scattered trees, Talaos led them closer to the road, close enough again to take a direct look. There a scene presented itself like a siege in miniature.

The line of hills ran in a diagonal out to a spur of land along the coast. The spur itself was a tangle of seaside cliffs and jagged rocks. At the lowest point in the hills, the road ran up through a gentle pass, and down the other side. Elsewhere, the hills were wooded at the top, with steep, gullied, gravel-strewn north faces. Talaos thought, as Adriko had, that it looked like moderately difficult terrain for infantry, but very treacherous for cavalry.

Adriko had not been idle. He'd dug a trench and thrown up a wide earth rampart at the top of the pass. Both extended a little bit around the hills on either side. Spiked stakes had been driven into the outer face of the rampart. Atop the rampart was a palisade of stakes, and behind that palisade massed the Aledri spearmen with shields locked and spears ready.

The captain looked to have gotten hold of additional bows, perhaps from the supply caravan, and equipped some of his irregulars with them. The latter now perched up on the hillsides. There was some sort of work still going on, among the trees on the higher slopes of the hills, but Talaos couldn't see what it was in the fading light.

In front of that little fortress was arrayed the enemy army. They'd formed up in orderly squadrons across the road and the plains on either side. The heavy cavalry formed their center. Behind the main line was the command group. On the far side, to the left of command was the baggage. Nearer, to command's right, four large torches topped tall posts in a square around what looked to be the magus. He himself had set up some sort of table full of objects in the center of that square. On either side of the group including command, baggage and magus, was a squadron of twenty cavalry, and three more guarded behind.

A few scouts roamed inland, riding slowly and carefully along the relatively flatter land some distance from the base of the hills. No doubt, thought Talaos, there were more on foot looking for usable routes in the hills, and who knew where else. He'd have to be careful.

Even from this distance in the deepening twilight, Talaos could see that a lively discussion was going on among the enemy officers. No doubt about what to do next.

Talaos turned to his own men, close by and quietly watching the same scene.

"All right, Madmen, we're going to do this good and slow. You can see the big gaps between those squadrons on guard, but they're cavalry on open ground, not a bunch of bandits surprised in their own camp. The dark gives us lots of cover, and we'll need every bit of it."

"I'll find us a path," said Imvan, eyes already alert.

The hillman led them on a winding, carefully chosen way in the gathering gloom. As they went, Talaos considered with some pride that they'd grown stealthier and better coordinated doing this kind of travel. It was good, as for all the darkness, they wouldn't have mist and thick forest on their side this time. For a long time, their hidden route also meant they had no good view of what was going on at the pass. When finally they came to a place, the end of a low rise where they did, matters had changed.

"The bastards are trying a night attack!" said Kyrax, managing to whisper and snarl at the same time.

And so it was, saw Talaos. In all the conversations about tactics and war he'd had with Adriko and the more experienced soldiers, he'd heard little to suggest large battles were good ideas at night. Masses of soldiers became easily confused in the dark, and coordination was tricky. For that reason, they were rare, unless one side was short on time or sure of victory.

But there they were. The pass was wide enough that a full squadron of twenty horsemen could ride abreast, and the enemy had five hundred of theirs in a column, with the heavy cavalry at the front. As Talaos watched, they began to move forward at a slow trot.

Behind the advancing five hundred was a reserve of two hundred more at the ready.

Some of the senior commanders rode with the cavalry column. One, who appeared to be the overall leader, remained behind. He was an older man with a high red and gold crest on his open faced helm, a gilded solid steel breastplate, and a richly decorated white cloak on his back. With him were an officer in black and gold and a small bodyguard of heavy cavalry. Messengers galloped in between on dispatches.

There was another thing. The magus was now standing at the center of a large circle lit with fire. The four tall torches formed corners a few feet outside the ring. Talaos got a better look at the man. He was clean shaven, with chin-length, graying hair under his silver circlet. Under his strange tabard of sigils he wore a silver breastplate and a long white tunic. He held his long silver wand, almost a staff, in his right hand, and his raised left hand circled in peculiar motions.

"Looks like we're going to have to make our own opportunities," said Talaos. "If we can use stealth to get close enough to kill that magus, we will. Otherwise, we'll try to draw out some of their cavalry and get ourselves horses."

The men nodded with grim smiles. As Talaos moved on, they followed. At first they whispered discussion of terrain and tactics. Then they fell silent, well out of earshot of the enemy. Overhead, the last twilight vanished, and night fell.

Ahead, the column of cavalry advanced in ordered ranks and with no sense of hurry.

The spearmen on the earthen rampart readied for battle in close-spaced ranks of their own. On the hillsides, the irregular archers and a few footmen waited. All told, only about half of Adriko's company were visible.

Talaos sped up, moving gracefully through the dark. The others followed, leaping quietly across little gullies and through stands of shadowed trees. The moon, indifferent to all, shone silver overhead, but far away in the east, the black clouds had grown brooding.

Something else was happening.

Where the magus was circling and gesturing his outstretched hand, little lines of brilliant golden fire appeared; complex geometric lines in a circle in the air directly before him. Then the magus raised his staff skyward, and up from it flowed a kind of faint, flickering red fire. Higher and higher rose the flames, and as they rose they grew stronger.

So much for stealth, thought Talaos. He broke into a sprint. He ran in great leaping strides, faster and faster. The others tried to keep up, running fast and well over the dark, uneven ground beneath, but gradually at first, then ever further, they fell behind.

The enemy cavalry still moved slowly forward, only now reaching the lower slopes of the pass. Talaos focused his attention on the magus. He felt life, power, and will rise within him. The distant, slow-gathering, storm called to him. Or, he thought, perhaps he called to it. He felt the ground flying past beneath his feet and air against his face as he hurtled onward. He felt like an arrow in that wind, a javelin hurled at the enemy.

High in the air above the magus, the column of fire was roiling in circles. It grew brighter, as if being fanned in a furnace. It had stopped rising, and at the very top it began to roar like a massive bonfire, flames licking in all directions.

Talaos sped on. He reached the end of any sort of cover, and passed out onto the coastal plain. The magus was still far away. Some distance behind the magus waited the rearguard of sixty cavalry, and between him and Talaos were twenty more horsemen at the ready.

The roiling flames above the magus now condensed, flowed, and began to form a shape. Great burning wings spread on either side. The fire took the form of a great bird of prey, like an eagle made of flames, though a hundred times larger.

A scout spotted Talaos, wheeled, and rode hard back to his army with horn blowing. The squadron of horsemen guarding the nearer side of the road turned to look, then with shouted commands from their officer, turned in formation to face Talaos. Of the three squadrons in the rearguard, the nearest did the same.

Alone, Talaos raced across the plain.

The great eagle of flame overhead now began to move slowly forward, flickering and roiling, more like a fire in motion than a bird. The spearmen at the pass gazed up at it, but stood their ground. Some of the irregulars took cover or retreated up the hillsides.

Talaos focused on the magus. The man was moving his left hand in a new way in front of the floating circle of golden fire. Talaos had thought the eagle of fire was some sort of creature or spirit summoned with magic, but he saw that it moved in exact time with the mage's hand, like a puppet and its puppet master.

He decided to cut the strings. Faster and faster he sprinted toward the enemy.

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 charged 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 held spears low to skewer him. 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 came 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 bore 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, lay 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 came 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 drew 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 closed on them.

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 tried 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, drew 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.

"Got quiet. Like the gits might have had enough," growled Kyrax.

Epos, without turning, answered in his deep, flat voice, "Most of them will be dismounting for an attack on foot, using their long spears as pikes. The remainder will stay mounted, in reserve for either a breach in the shield wall, or a route through the hills and around our defenses."

"How do you know all that?" asked Firio's awed voice, though he himself was unseen in the wooded shadows.

"The terrain and situation are much like at Caunea, six years ago," replied Epos.

"Now that's more words than you've said in three days," added Larogwan.

Epos did not reply.

Talaos raised a hand, and the others grew quiet. Up ahead and above was the hilltop. Adriko would have some men up there, and if they had any traps for the enemy, Talaos didn't want to find them the hard way.

"Imvan, Firio, take point and watch for sentries. We don't want to get ambushed by our own men."

Without a word, the hillman and the man of the streets did so. After a little while, Firio's voice whispered ahead, invisible in the darkness.

"How're you doing, Anwyn?"

There was a startled motion, and a voice with an accent of the Seven Realms answered.

"Firio! Where are you lad? We thought you were all dead!"

"I don't think we are. Not yet anyway."

"Now that is good news. Want me to take you to Adriko?"

"Nah. Just let him know we're here. We're going around to say hello to the enemy."

~

Talaos crouched low in the shadows of the lowest trees with the Madmen behind him. The slope here fell steep and dangerous, but further around and down it leveled off to merge with the gentle slope of the pass. Before him was the scene of battle, lit here and there by torches.

True to Epos' assessment, the enemy had massed ranks of men on foot, shields up and long spears raised. They stood in close order, thirty files across and fifteen ranks deep. Among them walked some ready with javelins, at the back were archers. Behind that was a chaotic area, where soldiers cleared the corpses of men and horses, fallen weapons and gear, and the remains of fire logs, then piled them out of the way. Other soldiers led wounded men and riderless horses back out of the battlefield. At the rear waited another body of perhaps two hundred, still mounted and ready for the right time.

In front of the enemy lay a wide, blood-strewn area. Corpses and hastily strewn earth now filled the trench, and little remained of the palisade atop the earthen rampart. The spearmen looked to have taken heavy casualties, but not anything like as many as Talaos had expected. At least eighty men still stood firm, in good order. Many had wounds. Lurios stood on the rampart with a bloody bandage around his forehead, watching the enemy.

Days earlier, Talaos had considered the trim, aristocratic, almost vain captain a sort of parade ground officer, and the Aledri men an afterthought to their expedition. He saw how wrong he had been.

On the eastern hillside, opposite from them and to the enemy's left, was Adriko, sitting thoughtfully on a rock. He had bandages on his forearm and his left leg. Irregular archers stood in a group around him, as well as Drevan and a few dismounted cavalrymen.

Adriko's little army had held. But the enemy was now better organized for the sort of fight they faced, and despite their losses, they still had nearly five hundred men on foot ready to advance with what were effectively massed pikes.

Talaos looked down at his own wounded body. He was covered in dried blood, but the bleeding itself had stopped and healing had started. While it wasn't quite fast enough to see in progress, it was uncanny, and utterly unnatural... or would be, if it weren't so natural to him. Still, he could feel the cumulative toll of it all, and black weariness was creeping upon him.

But he had given his word, and would see this through.

Down below, the man who seemed the most senior of the surviving enemy officers, in blood-stained green crest and cloak, raised a tall spear with small pennants in the colors of many towns, and began to shout orders. Two men nearby blew horns. The enemy began to advance in close ranks. Those toward the front lowered their long spears.

The enemy troops in their close formation, filling the pass from one side to the other with their long spears, were well organized to overwhelm the vastly outnumbered defenders. They were also, thought Talaos, not in a position to maneuver easily.

"Here's our cue, men," said Talaos in a low voice.

The enemy troops with javelins hurled them into the Aledri spearmen, then raised their own long spears. From the back of the enemy column, arrows fired at targets on the rampart. Here and there Aledri men fell, were carried back, and their places taken by others. The enemy closed, spears low, crossed the treacherous corpse-ground of the ditch, and ascended the rampart. Their massed spears clashed with those upon the rampart, and men began to die.

Without warning, six men charged down the hillside on the enemy's right. Vulkas roared like some colossal beast. Kyrax, Larogwan, Halmir, and Epos ran in great loping steps behind him. Behind them, quietly and furtively, a small figure darted downhill among the shadows. Still on the hillside, Imvan found a large stone that gave some cover, and set up shop with his bow and several full quivers.

To the left of the charging Madmen, farthest from the rampart where the slope was steepest, Talaos made a great soaring leap. High through the air he came, an apparition in blood soaked black with his tattered black cloak spread around him like a raven's wings. His swords glittered in the moonlight beneath flickering blue eyes.

Men turned up to see him with fear in their own eyes.

Vulkas reached the closest, rightmost file of enemy soldiers, at the center ranks crossing the ditch. He hurtled into them like a rampaging bull, smashing left and right with his war mattock, and he trod corpses under his feet. The head of one enemy disappeared in a red mist, another went flying back through the air, crashing with havoc among the enemy further away.

In Vulkas' wake, and on his right, Epos coolly cut down a startled man in the front ranks of the enemy. To the right of Epos, Kyrax scowled and stabbed through the side of an enemy's neck, then stepped low inside the shield of another to gut the man. On the left was Larogwan, who brought an axe crashing through the helm of an enemy as the man hurriedly tried to turn his long spear. Farthest left, to the enemy rear, Halmir leapt and turned, and dealt death around him.

The enemy files on the right of their formation, nearest to the sudden onslaught, began to turn in confusion, long spears turning unevenly amid the press.

Then the apparition landed, close behind them with whirling blades. Talaos spun and lunged, short blade and long working in perfect coordination to bring death to the soldiers in the last rank of the enemy formation. Pressed close together under their long spears, they turned with difficulty. Like death made manifest, he scythed under his tattered shroud of a cloak, and men fell before the reaping.

The entire right flank of the enemy army began to dissolve in confusion and spilling blood. The commander shouted orders, and from the left of the army, the two rearmost ranks detached. Some of them formed up in a new formation of two compact ranks behind, and perpendicular to, the main formation. They charged with lowered spears. Others, the archers, dropped their spears and readied bows for new targets.

On the enemy's right, havoc unfolded. Vulkas cleared a mighty path, and the four at his side widened it. Talaos wreaked whirling slaughter. The enemy's front ranks, at the rampart and caught between the Aledri men and the Madmen, withered and died. Behind the front wave of destruction, a small, furtive, seemingly insignificant figure, brought sudden death to enemy survivors still fighting, and swift passage to those dying.

The enemy commander shouted another order. Horns blew.

The reserve of cavalry, nearly two hundred strong, advanced up the hillside.

The small detached formation of enemy spearmen charged as arrows flew over their heads and at the Madmen. Arrows lodged in Larogwan's shield. One struck Kyrax in the thigh at a shallow angle, and he spewed curses as he ripped it out. From the hillside high above on the right, answering arrows came, and enemy archers began to fall, one by one.

Talaos, moving and slaying, took in the scene.

With the disruption unleashed by the Madmen, the main enemy body lost momentum. The Aledri men and the irregulars were holding, with hard bloodstained fighting, at the rampart. The right side of the enemy formation was roiling in battle as the Madmen fought the onrushing enemy spearmen.

But now the cavalry advanced. They came up the hill at a trot, in an unbroken formation of two hundred. Soon, very soon, they would close, and then his men would be fighting on two sides, or three. Even they would likely fall.

And his men, the Madmen, even if they held, must grow weary sooner or later.

As would he.

Even now it was coming, like a shadow in his soul.

And the depleted men on the rampart would face the full force of the enemy alone. The men at the rampart, the men who had stood fast as a vast eagle of fire screamed at them from above, would die.

Then it would be over.

Now though, he had something to do.

Up the moonlit slope rode two hundred cavalry with lowered spears.

Down the slope to meet them went one man

One man in tattered black, covered from head to foot in blood, with his black cloak flapping in shreds in the wind.

The enemy horsemen watched him in surprise. He looked at them with the intent gaze of a hunting wolf.

The front ranks spurred their horses to run him down.

He sprinted, he leapt, with the dropping slope he seemed to take wing like a raven in the moonlight. He spun in mid air as he descended. Blades flashed, scything, and two horsemen died with bodies falling one way, and their heads another.

In their midst, he ducked low, circling, and with grim necessity cut men's horses from under them. Beasts and men toppled, spreading havoc in the close ranks. All around, the cavalry were thrown into confusion. Talaos rose from the ruin he'd made, leapt to the back of a fallen horse, and from there to the back of a living one with a rider. He sliced the man from shoulder to waist, then flew to another horse and another foe to slay.

Then a long spear found his flesh. He ripped himself free, leapt backward, spun as he went, and impaled the throat of the enemy who'd stabbed him. He whirled over fallen horses and slew another man. Horsemen circled all round him now, stabbing, as he circled with flashing blades atop the corpses. Another spear stabbed him, and another.

Talaos could hear the shouted orders of the enemy commander. He heard the command to kill him at all costs. He felt his strength ebbing. His fresh blood made red streams down the caked brown blood on his clothes and body. Enemies approached to slay him, and he killed them as they tried. His pile of corpses grew.

Higher up the pass, he heard the Madmen shouting. Vulkas roared as he sent the shattered corpses of men flying before him. Higher still, he heard clear shouted commands from Adriko and Lurios. He heard a horn, and then a new sound. Soldiers advancing forward his way from higher up. The enemy? The brave spearmen of Aledri? He knew not. He merely fought and slew.

The blackness grew within him.

The enemy was all around him. They pressed in, stabbing at him with spears as he dodged and whirled.

From high up the pass came more sounds of horns. Then there was a sound, another new sound. Cavalry riding down from on high? Illusions felt in the shadow of death, he thought. The cavalry, the enemy were right here, all around him, and he slew them.

And they him, cut by cut.

Spears pierced his flesh. He sliced them apart, but more came. A hundred aimed his way.

His blood flowed from many wounds.

Cornered at last, he thought.

So be it.

A mighty life, but short.

He prepared to make a worthy death.

Men all around fell before his scything blades. All around him. But more came.

Then blackness took him.

Storm and Fire continues with The Storm's Own Son, Book Two.

A preview follows.

### Preview of The Storm's Own Son, Book Two

The center of the enemy front line stood ragged and shattered. Talaos and his five beasts tore into the wound, slaying as they ripped it wider. Behind them and around them, here and there, a few enemies still lived. Others came forward past their own ranks to surround the invaders. Firio and Imvan, like a pair of predatory falcons or ravens seeing prizes, descended on them.

Now, up the ladder and over the battlement, came the rest of Talaos's men. Grim and terrible, they advanced on the wavering enemy. Talaos, even as he slew, looked back at his advancing men and laughed. The enemies all round wavered, seeing their deaths upon them.

And then eighty grim and merciless men charged, like the flanks and claws of a beast with Talaos and his Madmen as the jaws. With them, death arrived. They howled, roared and slaughtered. It was over swiftly, and then they had only corpses around them. The rain poured from the sky in sheets as lightning flashed overhead.

Talaos laughed. Victory, he thought, but only the first. They had work to do.

The front left tower of the keep was a graveyard of shattered wood and bones. The other three still held ballistae, and even in this wind, they could hit at such close range. The crews in the towers worked furiously to reposition their weapons to do exactly that, while archers took aim at targets close enough to have some chance of success.

"Vulkas!" roared Talaos, voice echoing like thunder, "Take those doors out!"

The doors at the bases of the towers were iron-bound and strong, built to withstand assault. Vulkas ran, massive as a hurtling boulder, to the one at the front right of the keep.

He made a turning leap, war mattock swinging wide.

"ONE!" Vulkas bellowed.

The mattock smashed into the door and sent it flying backward. Soldiers on the other side were crushed in a spray of blood against the opposite wall. Beyond the doorway were stairs, up and down. The giant charged toward a second tower, that on the back right.

A group of Talaos's men charged into the open door, and both up and down the stairs.

"Larogwan, take charge of the men below! Halmir, lead the men up top!" shouted Talaos.

They nodded and ran.

Vulkas reached the second tower.

"TWO!"

The gigantic warrior turned low, mattock swinging around and upward like the mallet in a game of ball. It smashed the door inward from the bottom, flipping its jagged remnants backward to cut a soldier behind it in half at the waist.

"Kyrax, up! Epos, down!" roared Talaos as he followed Vulkas to the final tower.

As they went, another group of Talaos's men poured behind them through the shattered tower door.

On top of the first tower, Halmir led a swift slaughter.

"THREE!" roared the giant, as he reached the last tower.

Vulkas whirled, mattock upward, then down again in an arc that cracked the door in half with splinters flying inward. This time no one had been so unwise as to guard behind it.

"Vulkas, clear the tower!" bellowed Talaos, "Firio! Imvan! With me!"

As Vulkas crashed his way up the stairs, smashing foes foolish enough to stand in his way, Talaos descended. He grinned with the feral joy of the hunt, ready to face the unknown prey below. His beasts, he thought, now led hunts of their own. Behind him, companions on his hunt, were his ravens Firio and Imvan, and his wild, ravening men of death.

### About the Author

Thanks for purchasing this book!

Anthony Gillis is the child of hippie adventurer parents, and lived on his father's sailboat, an island off the coast of Costa Rica, a converted school bus, and a ramshackle house in Ft. Lauderdale with a leaky roof and a sand yard, before settling down to something resembling a normal childhood. Somehow, all that made him decide to enlist and serve in the United States Air Force, and then earn a bachelor's degree in history and an MBA. He worked in accounting and finance for many years prior to becoming a full time writer.

A lifelong voracious reader, his influences are wide-ranging, but include J.R.R. Tolkien, Robert E. Howard, C.S. Forester, and Ayn Rand. He is the author of several books, including the epic _Storm and Fire_ fantasy series, science fiction novel _Alien Empire_ , pirate adventure _Jamaica Rum_ , and the dark sword and sorcery tales of _Blood on Bronze_.

More information on the author and his works can be found at anthonygillis.com

### Other Books by the Author

BLOOD ON BRONZE –They kicked in his front door. They took his family and seized his business. Powerful and corrupt, they fear nothing from one young man.

Arjun is a bronze maker in Zakran, vast and wicked city of a thousand thousands. Inina is a beautiful young rogue who survives by her wits and shady friends. Bal-Shim is a smiling and suddenly prominent man, loved by rich and poor alike. All their lives are about to change forever. Join them, and enter an ancient world of danger, deceit, bloodshed and sorcery.

ALIEN EMPIRE – When the aliens came, the world changed forever, but not even they imagined how.

Haral Karden is wry, skeptical, and the longstanding leader of his field, the history of first contacts between cultures. When aliens arrive in a fleet of beautiful ships, with benevolent words, and bearing amazing technological gifts, he asks the simple question – what do they want in return?

JAMAICA RUM – Freedom, wealth, and power... or the hangman's noose?

Follow the merchant sailor turned buccaneer Diego Cargrave and the crew of the Sea Drake through wartime adventure. The 1670s were a wild time when pirates were as likely to end up rich as on the end of a noose, and Henry Morgan himself was an English admiral. A realistic pirate tale, there are no magic items or sea monsters here, but plenty of duels, battles, lusty wenches, and rum. Oh, and the rum here is NEVER gone, but with a crew of pirates, is that really a good thing?

BARRETT'S BAR STORIES – Most interesting man in the world? He's got NOTHIN' on Pappy Barrett, especially when measured by blood alcohol content!

Vic Barrett, Pappy to his friends and for that matter, most of his enemies, is a two-fisted, hard-living sailor, traveler, soldier of fortune and veteran of countless close calls. He's had a long career packed with more adventure than most people could pack into one lifetime. In fact, it isn't too clear how he has packed it into HIS lifetime, but don't bother him with questions, just pull up a stool and enjoy!

### Acknowledgements

A few authors who have influenced me in the writing of this work include:

Robert E. Howard

Joe Abercrombie

Michael Moorcock

Many boundless thanks are due to my tireless editor, the writer Alex M. Jones

I thank the following musicians for inspiration while writing The Storm's Own Son:

Norwegian musical project Wardruna, for everything they have done.

German dark metal band Powerwolf, for the song _Wolves Against the World_

Bulgarian composer Dracovallis, for _Cynthia_ and _Legend of the Frozen Kingdom_

Swiss music group Eluveitie for _Luxtos_

Swiss composer Adrian von Ziegler for _Skilfingr_

American composer Brandon Fiechter for his _Dwarven_ compositions

American metal band Manowar, for _Warriors of the World_ and _Die With Honor_

American dark ambient duo Nox Arcana for _Blood of the Dragon_

