Sons of Ironstorm - Book 1: Griffon's Rise

Chapter 21: An Unsettling Invitation

"Clarity of vision was always a claim of the forgotten.

An understanding of purpose and the future, bywords.

Yet none could guess what manner of creature this boy was.

No lord, lady, warrior or mystic knew what he would be.

Despite it all, Fate silently guided what became a savior."

- from 'Legacy of the Var Ethisdil', a history of elven religion

Carefully Xanedra leaned around the corner of the narrow trail as it wound around a massive stone spike, the late afternoon painting it gold even as the silver crescent of Rimnor began its climb into the evening sky. On one side of the trail was the spike's craggy face, its rough granite surface affording nothing in the way of hand holds. And on the other, a sheer cliff that dropped four full lengths to the valley floor below, already swallowed in shadow.

A light breeze tousled the big Lithosin warrior's da'godei as she carefully peered at the relatively unprotected run along the broad side of the spur that lay before them. Well acquainted with the run, called 'the Corridor' by the elves garrisoning Sulin, she didn't let the merry babble of the numerous waterfalls tumbling down the spike behind her distract her from listening for anything out of place lifting up from the exposed span of trail. 

 Nor did the late spring flowers and plants, a waterfall of greenery tumbling over not only the spike, but out of every available spot where potable soil had lodged over time, capture her attention with their color and subtle perfumes. Eyes hard, she let all distractions slip into the background as she examined the Corridor pace by pace.

Knowing the narrow passage, hewn from the native stone by the elements and the work of rushing water, as a perfect spot for an ambush, Ciramax kept his peace where he crouched just behind his long time friend. After all, they had just survived an ambush in much more friendly territory. One here would be much more devastating, if Puma clan elves, or any other unfriendly forces, managed to claim the high ground.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Xanedra looked over her shoulder at the intent elven prince.

<<Looks clear,>> she softly noted.

<<Good. Let's go before that changes,>> Ciramax replied in an equally quiet voice with a nod of acknowledgment.

Swiftly the company, with its burden of fallen comrades and a young human boy, slipped around the corner behind its leader and its guide and, as fast as the trail would allow, hurried along the slender passageway with arrows nocked and hands on weapons. And then they were darting around the far corner a good 50 paces away, a bit out of breath from both apprehension and physical effort. Looking up, Ciramax felt a faint smile touch his lips at the vision that greeted him.

<<Ah, Aer e'Sulin!>>

Built on the very edge of Aquilan territory, the mightiest of Aquila's border fortresses rivaled even the awe-inspiring Dragon's Claw for shear size, brooding martial power, and cliff top positioning. And for good reason: the Eagle clan's efforts to control the Tempest's strategic heights were centered here, behind walls that had yet to be breeched by opposing armies, though many had tried. Built with weathered granite blocks cut from the very stone it was perched on, the fortress boasted multiple walls, moats, wall-mounted catapults, trebuchet and ballista, along with her heavy guard towers and nigh impregnable main keep.