Sons of Ironstorm - Book 1: Griffon's Rise

Dark Memories

One of a handful of powerful rivers that made their way down out of the northern mountains of the Yatual, the Hadron was just one of two that went almost due south after meandering through the thick forests laying along the marches of the northern Aramas.  Not content to make a careful path across the vastness of the Sea of Grass, the Hadron cut a broad and deep passage through the clay and gravel of the Aramas nearly due south from where it turned onto the plains. 

All year round it ran fast and cold, fed by both the melting glaciers of the Yatual at its headwaters, and the many tributaries that flowed into it along its southward journey to the Fein Vanindar, where it formed a great delta emptying into the Sea of Fragments.  Too fast to ford anywhere along its length other than at the flats of Clathalil, far to the south, where the river rode over a thick expanse of ancient bedrock, forcing it to flow quickly but shallow enough to carefully walk across.  Many said that Clathalil marked the site of an ancient causeway, part of a highway built before Men even walked this land.

The truth of that Stylles didn't know.  What he did know, however, after pushing through the thick forest of birch, beech, alder, willow and poplar that lined the Hadron's deep river valley and flood plain to stand on the banks was that there'd be no fording at Clathalil today, as the ranger captain had suspected.  Leaning against the corrugated bark of a thick trunked poplar, he stared out at the surging river, a foam-marked ribbon of steely gray that raced past him, its surface dancing with the rain that struck it.  Not much more was visible in the dim light let through by the heavy storm clouds overhead, but it was enough to tell him that no passage of the river would be possible this day.

Already the waters swirled a mere handspan from the tops of the bank, ripping away at the roots of the big poplar, which jutted out into the water.  If the erosion continued at its current rate, the big tree, at least a good twenty cycles old, would be toppled into the water to be washed away by the surge.  That is, if the river didn't leap out of its bed before then.

"Sir?"  The soft, hoarse voice of the ranger captain brought Stylles out of his reverie with a start.  Frowning, he looked over his shoulder at the man's lean and dark form, which had silently appeared from out of the treed flood plain.

"You have something for me, captain?"

"Yes, sir.  We've located a cluster of ruins nearby that have intact roofs.  We should be able to find shelter within against this rain."

Stylles felt his lips turn slightly upward.  While the Aramas was liberally covered with a number of ruins, the remains of former civilizations, only a handful of them could be found this far to the southwest.  Only as they drew closer and closer to Tal Morun would the frequency of such ruins continue to climb. 

The city itself was literally ringed by tumbled mounds of stone and earth, marking the former location of towns and villages that supported the provincial Alliance capital at the height of its power, as well as smaller fortifications that aided in its defense.  Now only a few small towns lay close to Tal Morun's walls, Jerald's predecessor on the throne of the Star, the Usurper, having actively discouraged their building due to a fear of rebellion being fueled amongst them.  A fear, ironically enough, that eventually came true.

To find such a ruin, and intact enough to have retained some of their roofs this close to the raging Hadron, whose frequent and violent floods should've destroyed such remains quickly, was truly fortuitous.  Hopefully they had enough roof to keep this damn rain off them for a few turns of the glass majora, something that would go far in returning strength to wearied bodies; enough to finish this long and accursed journey.

"Very good, captain.  Then I suggest you lead us to it, and swiftly.  My feet beg me for the warmth of a fire and I am loath to disappoint them!"