Sons of Ironstorm - Book 3: New Alliance

Chapter 16: A Gathering of Arms

"In the most dire turn, when defeat was but days distant,

Did the Elves come from their secret places to Jair Kalial.

To offer aide to their long-forgotten brethren the Sa'an.

A terrible host were they, fell and mighty in armor and arms.

A warrior nation born to blood and death, honor and glory."

- from the Kata Na'Sylvinor, 'Meeting of Brothers'

Shawn stirred once again in his bed deep in the Healers' complex, brought clawing towards consciousness by a surge of sensation. This time it was the undeniable power of a sa'anish portal opening somewhere to the south that drew him from his restless sleep.

<<Star,>> he croaked out loud, reaching out for the Sa'anish weapon's presence in his mind. <<Star, where are you?>>

Hearing no answer, in his ears or mind, Shawn forced his eyes open as he took hold of the blankets covering him and with desperate strength pulled himself into a sitting position. He immediately winced against the pain; the Kaal Eran assault had bitten deep into his body, shredding tissue and burning bone with a power the Healers had been unable to undo. For days he walked the line between Death and Life, improving little under the expert care of Elvenfast's greatest healers. Only the power of a distant vision and the call of an ancient magic had the power to raise him from his necrotic slumber.

But final death had little hold on one who had once already stepped through the veil separating mortality from the grave, returning triumphant with the Star Sword in hand. And that force of will now found him swinging his legs around to drop his feet onto the cool tiled floor in the private room the healers had placed him in after their magic and skill failed to rouse him.

There Shawn paused, pain a howl raging through his body, sapping desire and strength. He was clothed in little more than bandages, the cloth wrappings a vain attempt to keep his body's fluids inside him. To worsen matters, the cool air of the room did little to revive him, unable to touch the injured Wielder through the cocoon of pain now sheathing his senses.

The echo of that distant gate opening, however, had the power to penetrate the pain to stir once more his mind to full awareness. A Weapon of Power had been found and was now being wielded by one of his brothers. Shawn was no longer alone as a Wielder of a Weapon of Power. That realization firmly in the front of his mind, the young human pushed aside the pain and, using every bit of his willpower to keep his hand from trembling, scribed a Sa'anish healing rune on his chest.

Their voices low as they discussed a number of patients and their ailments, the handful of healers standing in a small antechamber several paces from the Wielder's room immediately fell silent in the wake of a wave of magical tingling washing over them. Then, as one, they turned their heads towards the door to Shawn's room.

Shawn was standing when they stepped across the threshold and into his room, carefully stripping off the bandages from his body.

<<My lord,>> the nearest to him began, a look of concern on his face, mirrored by his companions in their robes of white and gray. <<You haven't the strength to be up from your bed, even with healing.>>

<<I've strength enough, healer,>> Shawn quietly retorted, tossing a bundle of blood-encrusted bandages to him before starting on the next layer.

With no choice but to catch the bundle, the healer looked down at the crumpled cloth in his hands then helplessly back at his fellows. Did any of them have the strength of will to insist a Wielder of a Weapon of Power remain in bed for his own good? Looking at the powerful human, grimly continuing to unwind the bandages from his body, the answer was straightforward: no.