Sons of Ironstorm - Book 3: New Alliance

Communion

Shawn jerked as the additional lightning bolts attached themselves to the symbol on his chest. But, other than the physical sensation of motion, he was unaware of it. Following the first flood of pain, agony so intense he thought it would rip him apart, he found his consciousness floating in a strange sea of white. It was a featureless place, lacking sound and shape to tell his senses where he was. Yet he couldn't deny he was somewhere, detached from the reality of the Healers' complex but definitely still in the realm of the Maker.

He still hung in that white void when the second and third lightning bolts reached down out of the sky to touch him, filling his body with additional power until his soul sang with its might. In the same instant as the third bolt's insertion, Shawn got the sense he was abruptly sent speeding forward through the space, though he had no idea of how fast he was going, or how far.

Then, as suddenly as he had entered the sea of white, the great expanse parted like a veil and he found himself looking down on a scene straight out of the belly of chaos. Already familiar with the ancient Sa'anish capital from both visions and reality, Shawn swiftly noted that he now looked down into Jair Kalial. But it wasn't the city of ruin that now stood on the edge of the Rift, far to the south from Elvenfast, nor was it the shadowy place of soaring towers and vast buildings from his visions.

It was a city under siege, walls split and bleeding, buildings burning in agony and her vast parks barren and ashen. All around what was left of the city's walls surged a dark tide of horror, demons come to feed on the flesh and bones of the Sa'an's greatest city on Ramnor. No Rift stood to the west, for it was yet to be created, and in the city's heart soared a majestic arch of stone nearly three lengths from the ground itself.

At the arch's apex was a great cascade of golden light and in an instant Shawn knew this as well. It was Norak, the Gate of Farewell. Somehow he had stepped across time and space to Jair Kalial in the turns of the big glass before it fell to the Kaal Eran.

Before he could fully drink in the immensity of what lay before him, the young human's point of view was spiraling in towards a particularly vicious battle being fought before the city's main gates. Here a knot of sa'anish wizards, casting magic more powerful than Ramnor had seen since the fall of the Stewards millennia ago, were surrounded by a grim army of elven warriors of the like Shawn had never witnessed.

They were powerful, massive; greater than any Lithosin that now strode the elven marches of Reutha. And they wielded their weapons with a purpose and vigor that laid the demons assailing them low at an astounding rate. Despite this, they struggled to hold back the horde, standing thousands of times their number, a flood of shadow that would shortly consume the golden city whole in its lust for destruction.

In the midst of these elven warriors stood a sa'an equally as mighty and forceful as any one of them wielding a sword of shimmering silver as he both physically and magically cut his way through the demonic ranks. He wore matching armor, fine chain and steely plate in the same metal as the sword, polished stuff that caught every beam of light in a rainbow's embrace. Regardless of its obvious strength, however, the armor was blackened by foul magic and dented by taking multiple blows. It protected the sa'anish warrior, but not for long, considering the amount of abuse it was receiving at the hands of the Kaal Eran.

In one instant the sa'anish warrior battled the Kaal Eran in a futile yet noble struggle. And in the next the battle was a frozen vignette in which only the warrior moved. Caught by surprise, the big sa'an had to visible restrain himself from letting the blow he intended against a nearby Kaal Eran fall. Then he was turning to face an astounded Shawn, who now had his viewpoint down in the battle itself, as if he stood amongst them.

<<I know not who or what manner of creature you are, strange visitor,>> the sa'an began in elvish, his locution formal and alien. <<Or from where you come, using a great power to still this very moment in time. But I perceive your purpose is a good one, your need vital.>>