Sons of Ironstorm - Book 1: Griffon's Rise

Chapter 15: An Uneasy Return

"Through fire and pain, darkness and travail

Honor-borne came the tidings on swift, dark wings.

The mighty have fallen, the enemy is slain!

Rejoice in victory, and lament in loss

For blood spilt and flesh rent, to rise nevermore."

- old elven war song, circa First Alliance  

The last rays of a setting sun struck the white walls of Tal Morun and lit them with a pearly glow as Ramnor's four moons slowly climbed into the evening sky. Here and there one could hear the call of night birds newly arisen from daytime burrows to begin their nocturnal routines, taking advantage of the growing shadows to feed on the heavy swarms of insects lifting from their own daytime shelter, their swollen numbers due to the heavy rains. Along the shores of Lake Asphelon, frogs began a cheerful chorus as they too took the opportunity to fill their bellies with the multitudes of flying insects and nearby glades rustled as other night creatures began to prepare to go forth into the growing night.

The Central Aramas had been hardest hit by the sorcerous rains, soaking the ground until it couldn't take any more, leaving flooding everywhere. The stagnant water threatened to choke out the fresh green of a new spring before it could even start. But the creatures of the plains were hardy. They had already taken the magical assault on their domain in stride and were rushing to return to their daily lives. If only it were as easy for the two legged creatures that shared that domain.

Over the still sodden plain the great silvery crescent of Rimnor hung, a ghostly thing in the darkening sky that grew brighter with each passing moment, the true ruler of the night sky. Still, as Ri'im clung tenaciously to the last rays of dusk, it would be many turns of the big glass before the night master would swell to full brilliance.

It was by its strengthening silver light that a figure appeared out of the gloom, joining the steady stream of returning refugees making their way along the Giant's Way and back into the city. Hunched low over the neck of its horse, the figure appeared exhausted. As the reflected light off Tal Morun's alabaster walls washed over it, the rider jerked painfully awake.

Grimnor carefully rubbed the coarse grit out of his heavy eyes to peer blearily at the walls looming before him. At the sight of the pearly fortifications he let a soft sigh of relief whistle out between his teeth. Tal Morun at last! He straightened with a low, heartfelt groan. 

It had been well over seven days since he had left Drell's Gap with the wagon and team left by the rangers his Ge'e Darian had killed. Now, less one horse and the wagon, both given to a family of refugees he found along the way walking and pushing a handcart filled with their belongings, he rode the last horse into the capital of his sworn enemy, true to his given word.

So enthralled was the former rebel commander with the vision of Tal Morun stretching out before him, he barely noticed his passing between the heavy guard towers marking the city's outer defense perimeter, a piece of human flotsam on the slow but steady river of humanity flooding back into the city. But sharp eyed soldiers manning the tower's watch platforms, easily picked out the hawk-nosed general from out of the crowd. A missive was hastily scribed and sent to the city on the leg of a message bird, well before Grimnor had even made his way halfway to the great Spring Gates.

For a long moment Grimnor's tired eyes were consumed with watching the massive Spring Gates grow closer and closer. Then the sound of metal wagon rim on stone touched the worn man's ears and Grimnor twisted enough in his saddle to look over his shoulder in curiosity even while his muscles heartily protested the shift in position.