Sons of Ironstorm - Book 1: Griffon's Rise

True Honor Revealed

The slender prince in question was surrounded by reports from his many operatives in the field, as well as progress reports from Garth in the east, carrying the war to a battered Hernak when Grimnor was ushered into the over-crowded office by a pair of Sapphire Griffons. The dark Ironstorm was smiling with the news the reports brought.

Already nearly fifty percent of the Hammer kingdom was in their hands, thanks in no small part to the Silvermane's assistance in the form of the Warjammers and Vledni's marines. And, according to Garth, it wouldn't take much to wrest the remaining land from Hernak's faltering army, leaving the Hammer Kingdom completely in control of Talemonese and Kevan troops. One less enemy for Jerald to worry about in the Peninsula.

Thinking the kevan lost in his reports, Grimnor almost started with surprise when Jorge spoke without looking up.

"Welcome back to Tal Morun, General Grimnor. I trust Colonel Chaav was in time to avoid anything nasty between you and the Rector?"

"Very timely, your Highness," the Winter Hawk carefully replied, wiping the surprise off his lean face. "The good colonel saved Mern from needing to hire more sell swords to protect his back."

"Excellent." Jorge turned dark eyes onto the lean rebel general, his face turning thoughtful. "I'm not surprised. Kent has his officers trained well. I am however surprised to find you at our gates, general. When we found the two rangers assigned to escort you back to Tal Morun, dead at Drell's Gap, we feared you had slipped our grasp yet again."

"I gave my word, your Highness," Grimnor replied simply, earning a nod of understanding and respect from the intent looking prince.

"True to your reputation then, sir." The smile returned to Jorge's dark face. "And in proving you as a man of your word, you've earned a momentary respite from my questions. Please, if you wish, wash, change and take food. You look exhausted and smell not a little like horse. I grant you leave to do so unescorted, either here, in the Tor, or at your home down by the Quarter. As for the facilities, you'll find the Tor much as you left it, nine cycles ago."

The Winter Hawk nodded in thanks. Once again an enemy had shown more honor and respect in a single moment than the Usurper and the rebels had in nine cycles. He was about to open his mouth to indicate he would take his rest down at his home in the city when the door behind him abruptly snapped open.

"Your Highness, General." The man that stood breathless in the open portal quickly greeted Jorge and Grimnor in order with a respectful nod. Then he handed a small scroll to the Sapphire Griffon closest to him, who instantly relayed it on to a frowning Jorge. Seeing the seal of the Royal Dispatch on the scroll's edge, Jorge's frown only deepened. A twist broke the wax seal and he opened it with a practiced pull of his other hand. And just as quickly he crumpled the small parchment sheet into a tight wad, his face suddenly a hard mask.

"If you'll pardon me, general, I'm afraid something has come up requiring my immediate attention." Jorge rasped tersely with an apologetic bow of his head. Then: "Leftenant, if you would be so good, kindly escort Lord Grimnor to the gates. I imagine he'll want to take his rest at his home near the Quarter."

"Your Highness," the broad shouldered Griffon to Grimnor's left murmured before turning his head towards the Winter Hawk. "General, if you please?"

"Of course." Grimnor let himself be ushered from Jorge's office, and down through the massive fortification that the Talemonese military used as it's central headquarters. All the while he wondered what had that scroll held that was of such importance to one of the most powerful men in the human territories.

He was still pondering the scroll a Watch later as he stood on a third story balcony of the rambling mansion his family owned within a stone's throw of the great walls marking the Merchant's Quarter. A heavy railed platform of stone and fine tile on the mansion's northeast wall, it afforded a perfect view of the street, a lush park beyond and the Quarter itself. Long turns of the big glass he had stood here at night, before the Westmarch, his eyes gazing out at the wondrous sight; an oasis of light and motion in the darkness of early evening.