Sons of Ironstorm - Book 3: New Alliance

Chapter 28: A Gathering Storm

"With the great weapon forged by blood and sweat

naked in his hand, did he strive against the Shadow.

Its magic howled against the foulness of the Abyss,

the light cast by its metal revealing truth and honor.

Weapons of Alliance, weapons of purpose, weapons of war."

- from the Korro'seth Cycle, a verbal history of the First Muraan

Mram'met watched Koros disappear through the doors, his face a thoughtful mask. When the venerable shaman had taught him as a youth of the prophecy and the War of Shadow between the First Alliance and the Kaal Eran millennia ago, he had thought it a bard's tale of adventure and quickly let it run from his mind. Not even after the human Lawrence had declared the truth of it did he remember. It took the telling from Koros' own mouth to pull the memories to the surface with enough power to make his vitals twist in to a knot at what they could now face, with the Return upon them and the races at war with themselves and each other instead of united against the Shadow.

To tighten the knot, Koros curtly informed Kem'gast that he had to retrieve something from a safe place, leaving almost as swiftly and without announcement as he had arrived. That left a frantic Kem'gast to thrash about in the turmoil of his thoughts, troubled to no small length by the flat declaration.

A big hand tightened on Mram'met's shoulder and the tawny muraan warrior looked over his shoulder to find Kem'gast standing close by.

<A word, if you would, captain,> the war king tautly indicated.

At Mram'met's acquiescing nod, they stepped back from the humans and the rest of the guard still in the room.

<Well?> Kem'gast husked, pupils dilated. <What should I do, Mram'met? My world is collapsing around me! These Kaal Eran have come to destroy Ramnor and we bicker with each other over a square league of territory. They will cross the Rift and crush us.>

<Yes, my lord, that they will do. Unless you do something about it.>

<Me? What can I do about it? I'm barely holding on to Ru'un by my claw tips.>

Mram'met turned to face the big king, fixing him with a steady look.

<You are king, my lord. You have the power to decide the fate of your land, and many others. Send ambassadors to our neighbors, with a missive written by Koros' own hand declaring their purpose and what will befall us if we remain disunited against the Return. If they will not yield to diplomacy, gird up your armies and send them to conquer, capturing the opposing monarchs and bringing them to the alliance by force. One way or the other, we must be unified or all of the territories will fall!>

Kem'gast took a half step back from his guard captain, the look of intensity on Mram'met's face sending a surge of emotion through him. Then he took another half step when the tawny giant spun towards the humans.

<And if you will not act, my liege, I must. For I am obligated by the knowledge I carry within my memories and the need to preserve my people, whether they be ally or enemy.> Then, in a louder voice: <Free the prisoners and return to them their equipment and weapons. And send for food and ale at once. They've not eaten for several days.>

<Have our prisoners now become guests, brother?> Hhe'muk asked as several Silver Lions scurried to do Mram'met's bidding.

<They've become our last hope, Hhe'muk,> Mram'met replied, fixing his brother with a look. Raised by his mother's brother, Hhe'muk knew nothing of Mram'met's past with Koros and the training he had at the shaman's hand. But serving long cycles together first in the military then in the guard had woven a bond of trust between them only strengthened by their shared blood ties.