Sons of Ironstorm - Book 1: Griffon's Rise

The Tor

Dolman's Tor: the strongest of the fortresses protecting Tal Morun's walls, the collection of thick walls, squat towers and the mass of her primary keep, the Tor straddled the walls protecting Caer Aslan and the city's main wall, crouching on Tal Morun's northeast corner. From her modest towers, she saw both down across the city's hills and outside, over the Giant's Way.  Raised with darker granite than the white stone of Tal Morun's walls, she was a brooding force chosen as headquarters for Talemon's massive military.

Used to the grandeur and size of the Ice Tower in Keva, which dwarfed the Tor and her sister fortresses, Jerald gave the castle barely a look as he ran through the rain, his nimbus of light protecting him against its plague-filled touch.  Salutes from the guard at the Tor's upper entrance greeted Jerald as he and Ian ran over the arching stone bridge that spanned Caedmon's Course, the road leading from the eastern gates, and past the guard position.  

Returning them with a quick nod, the young king completed the trek over the bridge, which connected the palace grounds on Caer Aslan with the Tor and ran into the Tor itself.  Ian was a bit more formal, giving the guards a quick look over in addition to returning the salute.  For good reason: the guards were rangers.  For only rangers possessed charmed cloaks as proof against the magical rain's pestilent bite.  Regular soldiers would've long succumbed without that protection in place.  With those cloaks, the hooded rangers also possessed the auras of protective light, as did Jerald and Ian.

Once past the guard post, Jerald sought the passage along the southwest wall that led to the main keep where his generals awaited.  Magical cloak or not, the sooner he was out of this damn rain, the better he'd be!

Filling the small room with their rumble, the low murmurs being exchanged by the room's occupants ceased when the heavy, iron-strapped door leading inside suddenly banged open to admit the wiry war king, cloak sopping wet.

"My lords," Jerald said in greeting as he pulled the cloak from his shoulders and handed it back to Ian, who immediately disappeared back out the door, pulling it closed behind him.  The young king then quickly scanned the faces that turned towards him, warmly lit by the torches on the wall. 

The examination was quick.  After only a moment, Jerald's attention moved from the occupants to the chamber itself.  It was a sparsely decorated room deep in the heart of the main keep, its only decoration a big map of Talemon on the northern wall and a great wooden table in the middle, presently heaped high with parchment, cloth and paper maps.  A brazier glowed redly in the corner in a vain attempt to dispel the damp chill that pervaded the room's very stone from the rain still pouring down out a gray sky outside.  Something it had done for nearly a tenday now.

Around the table six chairs had been set, simple arrangements of sturdy wood and strapping befitting the utilitarian headquarters of Jerald's armies.  Instead of choosing one and joining the five men already seated around the table, the wiry king strode to the brazier to extend his hands over the glowing coals to drive out a measure of the chill that had nested there in his short run from Caer Aslan.

"We can afford to wait no longer.  Let's get this planning session underway, yes?"

"An excellent suggestion, your Majesty," Alric smoothly agreed from his place at the table.  The master druid glanced at the other four men seated beside him with a smile.

"And let me make a suggestion of where to start, master druid, your Majesty," rumbled one of those four, the low, gravelly voice belonging to the general of the Eastern Army, Kivas Garth. 

Short but powerful with a face weathered and dark with exposure and with a balding head shaved close for comfort inside a helm, Garth wore the blue woar tattoos on his face marking him as a man born and made a warrior in the northern lands of Keva.  Despite that upbringing, he now called the mountains of the Giant's Teeth home, where his command was centered.  And he was well-suited to the place for the bluff general was as steady as the silver granite of the Teeth.  He was disciplined and determined, as implacable as the mountain stone itself and as unstoppable in battle as an avalanche.