The Storm's Own Son (Book 2) (10 page)

~

Talaos made his way up the floors of his headquarters to the infirmary. The Waverider, cleared of its other guests, made a fine base of operations, though one growing more crowded as Talaos's forces grew. He'd paid enough gold to keep Kimon happy for a long while, though he knew something more permanent would have to be worked out.

Demistas was waiting outside the door when he arrived. The physician had decided to stay after the first night's work, and had set up a professional operation despite limited space.

"How are you, Tribune?" asked the physician.

"Well, all told. You've worked wonders here."

"Thank you, come on in."

Talaos's wounded soldiers were nearly all back in action. The two who weren't had their own rooms now.
Some, but not all, of the freed prisoners showed positive changes.

"I've had to draw deeply on herb lore," said Demistas. "I'm using things known to help recovery from trauma, the kind of situations where the mind represses or softens memories. We're seeing some results, but since there was magic involved, I don't have a way, yet at least, to say how much was permanent. Please,
come see."

With that, Talaos followed him. The middle-aged woman who'd seemed dreaming was now sitting up, seeming awake and alert. The old man was as well, though he had a distant look on his face. Two of the others, who'd seemed gone, were now whispering in their sleep. The rest, including the little girl and the four who'd been on the pyre, were still vacant.

The healthiest of them, the young man Naros, had earlier volunteered to help out. Talaos put him to work cleaning and organizing equipment, on condition that, when it was safe to leave the inn, the young man face the husband he'd wronged.

Talaos wondered what other stories they'd discover.

He walked over to the woman. She was stout with brown hair and a stolid, practical look about her. "How are you? My name is Talaos."

She looked at him sleepily. "I'm Bera. This doctor says the city fell. Is that right?"

"Yes. I'm an officer in the other army."

"Good. Council went crazy, letting those people run things."

"What happened to you?"

"Used to run a little house for gambling.
Nothing big, mostly for the company and to pay the bills. Plus I'd rent out rooms upstairs for private gatherings. No questions asked."

"And the Prophet's people didn't like that."

"No. Eleven years I had my place, and no trouble till just lately. Had some good friends."

"If I have anything to do about it, you can have it again," said Talaos.

"Tricky. They sold it and kept the money. Good causes they said. Can't get all my friends back either. Do you know they put two men friends of mine, young fellows who kept each other company up in one of my rooms, in the fires for it? I never heard of such a thing..."

With that, Bera started to cry. Talaos took her hand, and she calmed after a little while.

She seemed to think of something else, and pointed her hand across the room, toward one of the two middle aged men who'd been on the pyre, "If that guy wakes up, keep an eye out. If I recall, his name's Savro. He raped and murdered a maid that worked for him, got caught and tried. Asked to be purified so he would be saved in the next life."

Talaos nodded, with plans to deal with that when the time came. He thought grimly about the strange laws of the Prophet. That reminded him that later, he needed to continue his studies with the books in his room. After a few more words with Bera, he walked to the older man, who'd dozed off and then reawakened in the interim.

The old man answered in a hoarse, whispering voice with a strange, almost rhythmic cadence, like efforts at a song that didn't quite come together. "Talaos, you said? Milo, I say. I know you'll ask, and so I'll tell, I made music, now I make none. I wrote and taught music, now words are gone. I sang in their chorus. Now I sing none. I saw things that worried. Worried I said. Blasphemy the word. How I denied. But then it happened. Now not the same..."

Talaos listened, unsure how, or if, to answer. Then the man fell asleep again.

He looked around for Liriel, but she was not there at the moment.

"Ah, you must be missing my healthiest patient... and at least for now, my assistant," said Demistas, "She has a lot of skill with herbs, oils, and potions. I don't let her work too hard in her condition. She's resting out on the balcony, probably napping."

Talaos smiled.

"If you like," the physician said, "I can send her to visit you when she gets back."

~

Talaos was working at his desk in the bedroom converted to a command headquarters. He'd spent a few minutes preparing dispatches to his growing list of contacts in the army and in Avrosa. There was much to do, and little time to do it. He kept the door open, as people were constantly coming and going.

Liriel appeared around the corner. She was looking much better, he thought. The bruises were fading on her wrists, and around her eyes and mouth.  The haggard look had faded too, and instead of the appearance of sunken cheeks, she merely had high cheekbones on an aquiline, tapering face. Her long, black, spiraling hair now looked combed and elegant.

Seeing her standing straight, he thought her tall, though not greatly tall for a woman as was Katara, and no more than a year or two older than himself. She'd managed to obtain a new dress, in red with black trim, of a style that seemed common in Hunyos. Though slit on the sides and form fitting on her slender frame, it was otherwise higher cut and more conservative than the dresses favored by urban women in the Republic.

In fact, seeing it on Liriel reminded him of the kind of dress Sorya usually wore over pants when on a job.  He'd never thought about where it might have come from. It also occurred to him, seeing Liriel now as more than just a victim of the Prophet, that she was beautiful.

"Is it all right if I come in?" she asked.

Talaos smiled and motioned her to a chair.

She walked with signs of her mistreatment still in the gait, and Talaos felt a sharp pang of sympathy.  Her eyes took in the room, and when she sat, she glanced in the direction of his shelves of books taken from the House of the Prophet.

"Are you any sort of magus?" she asked.

"No. What I told you before is what I know of my power."

"I think there's a lot you left out."

He smiled inscrutably. That was certainly true.

"I think," he replied, "we should start with more of what you do; the things that got you thrown into the Prophet's benevolent dungeon of forgiveness."

As she processed what he'd said, a faint flicker of wry amusement crossed her face.

"You're not much afraid of them, are you?" she said.

"Fear hadn't occurred to me. They aren't worthy of it.
You?"

Liriel dropped her gaze, and spoke more quietly. "Well I for one am terrified of them, of what they do and why.
At least now. I wasn't one of those who had something to say when they first came here from Dirion in any kind of numbers."

"Dirion.
As in the old aristocracy of Dirion?" asked Talaos, remembering the woman at the House of the Prophet in Ipesca.

She smiled thoughtfully at the question. "I don't know if they were all aristocrats, but most of the original preachers were definitely old stock from Dirion. The plainsmen only come into Hunyos in groups to raid, and that only happens way up north."

"Do you know what things are like up there, these days?"

"Since your country broke Dirion in that war?" She shook her head, "Not much. Things are supposed to be bad, with the plainsmen kings fighting each other and stealing whatever they want. From the way the preachers talked, I gather the faith of the Prophet is everywhere now."

"Earlier, you said you speak with the spirits," Talaos asked, thinking of Miriana, the only other person he'd known who talked to them, or at least heard them. With that flooded other thoughts of her, and then Sorya and Katara. Three women he loved, and none with him.

He pushed his memories back, and listened to Liriel's reply.

"I do. As I said, when they're willing. I can usually feel their presence even when they're not willing. They do as they wish, or as their natures drive them."

"What are they?"

She looked up at him in surprise. "Most people find it strange enough that I deal with the spirits," she said, "but you want to learn more about them?"

"Of course."

"I understand..." she replied with a hint of a smile, "I really do. I've not found as much, at least much useful, in books about them as you might think. Most of what I know is what they say, and that doesn't usually make clear sense. I think they are like imprints, memories or shadows of people, creatures, or places, perhaps even events that once were.

"So far as I have seen, for all the willfulness of the spirits, they seem almost... fixed, repetitive, like a story told time and again. Mind you, even in one spirit, there can be a lot of variety in that. They can have wisdom, knowledge, insights, wishes, and...
sometimes frighteningly deep feelings... but I don't think they exactly learn or grow like we do."

Talaos listened with interest. He watched her as she spoke, curious at the memories and hidden intentions in her eyes and face. It was as if she had a great deal more in motion, barely visible in the depths below what she said.

"Do you feel them, or see them?"

"See them? I always feel them, but I'm not sure I ever exactly see them."

"I did once," he added, surprised at her answer, "around a ring of standing stones near Ipesca."

"Actually see them with your eyes? Wait... that place!" she replied, startled. Though thoughts seemed to move beneath, "What were you doing there?"

"I had just finished restoring the standing stones."

She paused. Talaos thought she looked uncertain how to reply. "Those stones were fallen for a long time," she finally said. "Why? How did you find people to help you with that? Local people try hard to ignore that place..."

"I moved them myself. There were many that had been recently pulled and moved. I thought probably by the Prophet's followers, though I wasn't sure why. It was late at night. When I was done, spirits appeared around. They were very faint."

As Liriel listed to his reply, Talaos thought the moving depths in her had started spinning wildly, as if in panic or excitement. Then they came to a sudden halt.

"I... don't know what to say," she flustered, "There are... certainly stories of powerful spirits, or of the sort that people call ghosts, making themselves... manifest... at rare moments when they want. I've... never heard of many appearing, to the eye, all at once. You..."

As she went on, she seemed to regain some composure, "You restored the stones! That is something. Even I don't go there often. Can you feel their presence normally?"

"No," he replied."And I have not seen them again.  Are any here now?"

She paused, closed her eyes, slowed herself, and went quiet for some time. At last she breathed deeply and looked into Talaos's eyes.

"No, none anywhere near. There are usually fewer of them, or none, in places with a lot of activity and people. Still, I can feel something else, as I did when you first visited me in the infirmary. Your power... radiating outward from you like waves of wind, rain, and lightning. I... I'm not sure most spirits would want to be near that. You are yourself something like a living, walking spirit. A man and a spirit, both at once and in one..."

As she spoke, Talaos thought her expression grew restless again. The shadows moved once more in the depths, and they were turbulent. Her eyes widened, ever so slightly.

He asked her, "Do you see power like that on other people with gifts. Gifts of magic?"

"A little, and only sometimes.
Nothing like you, not even close..." she said. As she said it, she pushed her body back further in her chair, as if afraid. Yet she then leaned forward toward him.

Talaos replied, "Your ability to feel, and speak to the spirits is itself a gift."

"Yes..." she whispered almost absently, as she her eyes began to wander over him and around him."Though the rest of what I do is learned, like a magus. Not so lofty or powerful... or dangerous. I like being alive."

"What do you know of the standing stones, and the carving in the old tower?" he asked.

For a moment Liriel seemed not to hear. She continued to gaze at him with eyes that were themselves distant. Then she looked up and her lips parted slightly. As if shaken from her thoughts, she focused and answered, "The spirits are numerous there. Most say nothing helpful about them. Some few say that the stones have stood for thousands of years, since the time before the seals, when the great ones still walked the earth.

"People say the hero in the carving was called the Storm Lord, and he came from the far north to fight those drakes a few centuries before the founding of the old Empire. It would not be anything like as old as the standing stones. I've been thinking of that carving since I first saw you."