Sons of Ironstorm - Book 1: Griffon's Rise

To the Portal

The next morning dawned murky and overcast, a sudden storm arising off the northwestern slopes of the Targ to cloak the Kela'bith in rain and cloud.

Ciramax frowned as he poked his head out the slit door of his tent and tilted it upward to catch a few drops of rain as he looked at the low sky overhead, only slightly brightened by a rising Ri'im in the east, still quite out of sight. Somehow he had expected to feel different on this morning, a morning that would swiftly bring the lost city of the High King within their grasp. Somehow he thought it would feel somewhat more, ... important.

But, as he let another handful of raindrops, cold and fat this early spring morning, splatter against his face, it felt neither different nor important. It felt ordinary, for the lack of a better word. Dishearteningly ordinary, with a little cold and gray thrown in for good measure. 

 In fact, it looked like a day made for haste, without the need to stand and explore the unfolding world around them, with its revealed secrets and long-lost stories. Those secrets and stories found themselves hidden once more behind heavy banks of mist and fog this dreary dawn.

So it was haste that the young prince made, swiftly dressing and bundling up his belongings back into his pack before he slipped out of the tent to draw up the hood of his cloak as proof against the rain. It seemed to be falling a bit heavier now, with morning steadily progressing forward despite the storm holding Ri'im's light at bay.

<<A bit soggy for the beginning of an adventure,>> Xanedra pointed out as she, Deacus, Bentain and KeLarion stepped out of the gloom to join the wiry Aquilan prince. They too had gathered themselves and their belongings and were now cloaked against the elements.

<<Better than snow, Xan,>> Ciramax reminded his Lithosin friend with a smile.

Then their heads were turning towards the heart of the encampment Ramalon had built into this small valley as the plaintive sound of a ram's horn trumpet reached up from there to extend through the fog and gloom and touch their ears. With a quick look at each other, the five elves began to walk towards the sound, leaving the Alisair tents behind.

The small knot of Aquilans weren't a handful of steps beyond the borders of the Alisairan camp when the rest of the Aquilans joined them.

<<Good to see we won't be late for this most auspicious occasion,>> Kaelin noted with a smile as she, Nakana, Chaendra and the massive General Elis greeted their companions with nods of their hooded heads. 

 A quick glance around yielded the Aquilans weren't the only ones making their way towards the encampment's heart in answer to the horn's summons. Through the gloom they could see members of Fenoran's company and the Lithosin of clans Bear and Bison just beyond, throngs of other elves grouped around and with them, including Sylvasin from Alisair, last night's hosts.

Caught up in the throng making its way towards the horn's bold braying, the Aquilans allowed themselves to be carried along, neither pushing to the fore nor holding near the back as they stared forward through the fog. Whatever awaited them at the encampment's heart, they would be seeing it soon enough; no need to rush to greet Fate. It always had a way of finding a person first.

For their part, the four leaders of the Sovun'chul company traveled into the encampment's center also as a group.

<<Rain,>> Brax rumbled from where he strode along side Ciradaan on his left. <<Somehow, all things considered, it seems fitting.>>

<<You mean, with regards to the fact we go to fulfill what's most likely a pronouncement of doom?>> Fenoran chuckled softly as he walked on the other side of the Aquilan monarch. <<I'd have to agree with you there, Lord Brax.>>