Mercy of the Prophet by Anthony Gillis

Author:Anthony Gillis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: blood, military, magic, epic, dark, spirit, sorcery, storm, sword, norse
Publisher: Sol Invictus Publishing Inc

~

The north wind filled the sails, and the Whisperer made good speed south under a blustery gray sky. Talaos stood at the forward rail near the prow, taking in the fresh wind and trying to cool the restlessness in his spirit. Every now and then, they passed other ships on errands of their own. None paid the small vessel any particular heed. As he watched, Teroia appeared on the horizon, ahead to the right.

Though his companions gave him space, the Whisperer was very crowded. Few of them had experience at sea, and some had varying degrees of seasickness. Katara and a few others busied themselves helping the crew. Miriana sat on a coil of rope next to him, reading, and apparently oblivious to the motion of the ship.

“You all right, Talaos?” said Larogwan’s voice.

He turned to see the old warrior smiling and standing sure as a rock on the swaying deck.

“I will be when we get to Avrosa,” he answered.

“Nereus says that if this fine wind keeps up, we’ll be there tonight,” replied Larogwan. “But I’d hazard you have more on your mind.”

“This is my first voyage by sea, Larogwan, since the night I was born—and my mother died. A merchant ship of Carai that almost made it home.”

“You said she’d fled the east, if I recall?”

“Yes, as I was told by those who’d found us. Me, and her body,” answered Talaos. His narrowed eyes surveyed the horizon. “During the Prophet’s final war to conquer the last of the Eastlands. If my father was anything like me, he probably fought and died in that war.”

Larogwan replied reflectively, “And here we are, twenty-six years later—traveling in haste by sea, expecting another war from the east…” He paused, seeming to take in Talaos’s mood. He stood beside him for a time, as the prow cut through the waves. At last he turned with a wry smile. “Still, not all’s the same. Hunyos held fast in the first match, where all those other places fell. And you’ve died at least twice by my count, without any notable lasting effect.”

Talaos turned to him with his own dark humor. “Easy praise from a man who’s died once himself.”

The remark had the opposite of its intended effect, for now Larogwan grew serious again. “No, Talaos,” he said, “I should have died, but didn’t, thanks to you. But I saw you atop that pile of dead at the pass, and on your throne of corpses, and I still say you were among them. Each time, cut nearly to pieces, and not a breath. Yet here you are.”

“Like some monster of living death?” smiled Talaos, dark humor unabated.

“No,” retorted Larogwan. “Those are things of myth, not real as far as I’ve ever seen or heard, and the spirits seem like something else entirely. You are a living, breathing man who has died twice. I must admit, even after all the magic I’ve seen in your hands, and even compared with what you plan to do, it unsettles me.”

“Like I said, immortal!” added Firio’s cheery voice.

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