Sons of Ironstorm - Book 1: Griffon's Rise

The Company Grows

The big stone elf on the right was talking in a muted voice as Ciradaan, Ciramax and Xanedra joined him, his companion, Fenoran and Elis. He was a big man, easily as tall as Elis, if not a finger width more so, and just as wide and powerful.

<<With over half of our company dead at the hands of the wendigo and the Dakern, we've little choice but to ask to join your company, King of Lusinor,>>  he rasped in a low, rumbling voice, sounding reluctant to be considering such a combining of forces. The Lithosin beside him, topping him by nearly a hand width, looked equally reluctant, his chiseled features marked by a long scar along his left cheek.

The speaker looked up as the Aquilans joined them and visibly grimaced at the sight of them before he spoke once again. This time it seemed as if he were forcing himself to speak the words that hesitantly slipped between his lips.

<<And I extend my request to you, King of Aquila. We can no longer continue our quest to Elvenfast to meet with the Var Ethisdil, even if we combine our own forces. We no longer have the strength to go on.>>

<<And that must gnaw on your vitals like a worm!>> Ciramax found himself saying before he could stop the words, folding his arms over his chest in justified indignation. His strength, thanks to the ashara crystal, was nearly enough that he felt merely weary instead of exhausted to the core.

<<Mighty Lithosin coming, cloak in hand, to beg assistance of lowly Sylvasin, who just happen to belong to two clans you and yours have worked thousands of cycles to eradicate. A bitter drink that, I'll wager.>>

<<Now's not the time, Ciramax,>> Ciradaan hissed tightly, taking hold of his son's arm and giving it a warning squeeze. <<We have to put our racial differences aside to take a look at the greater issue.>>

Ciramax jerked his arm free of his father's grasp, favoring the Aquilan monarch with a hard look.

<<And why should we care if these Lithosin fools make it to Elvenfast? By the cut of their cloaks and tunics, they hail from the Bear and Bison clans. Must I remind you, father, many brave Aquilan and Eagle clan elves have died at the hands of Bear and Bison in the Tempest? And though we've thrown back every assault, still they lust for our holdings there, as if we hoard precious metals and gems like a dragon beneath that hoary chunk of forsaken stone.>>

The Aquilan prince then turned hard eyes back to the two massive Lithosin warriors.

<<If they were careless enough, trusting in their superior strength and skill to win through the dangers of this place, that they were slaughtered in their arrogance, then I say they are well served.>>

<<Damn you, boy!>>  the big elf with the scar snarled.  <<We were ambushed while searching for shelter, not trying to dig up a fight.>>

<<Now you know how it frosting feels, stone elf! And mind who you call boy,>> Ciramax hissed tightly, his eyes narrowing dangerously as his hand fell onto the hilt of his dagger, the only weapon he managed to retain through the strange and nearly fatal battle.

<<Or you'll be sporting a matching scar on your other cheek for your impudence.>>

<<Then it would be an odd bit of divine balance, you Aquilan whelp,>>  the big elf roared, a powerful surge of shoulder and arm freeing his massive Lithosin broadsword with a steely rasp. <<For it was in the Tempest that you gave me the first scar!>>

<<That's enough, Korolan,>>  the first Lithosin, who had asked for help, barked as he reached out to take hold of the big elf's forearm in a crushing grip. <<I declare Hagen's Peace and you'll best serve the Bison clan by yielding to it. Or I will kill you myself!>>