Sons of Ironstorm - Book 4: Griffon's Stand

Chapter 3: Changeling

"There is a saying: Enemy of My Enemy is My Ally.

Yet I ask you this: would you stand with this 'ally' at your back?

I think not, especially if this new ally was once an enemy.

Once an Enemy, always an Enemy, or Trust must be earned, not bought.

Both sayings about generalities but with equal suggestion of caution."

- from Tusk's 'Musings of a Madman', chap. 9

Osteon frowned as he glanced at the progress reports. The pit was now running at full capacity, and had been for nearly three full Watches. Yet the first cohort of the improved Tjor'riin had yet to climb out of their vats. With the additional spells needed for their creation, a full cycle had been added to the creation process. And that added delay to getting the new soldiers into the field.

A surge of irritation found the reports crumpled up into a crackling ball of parchment, the ball arching smoothly through the air to land in a nearby brazier where it flared into flame before being consumed to ash. Delay was something he definitely didn't need, especially with the council's very specific request to get the new soldiers into the field as soon as last tenday to take advantage of the current disarray in the shadow forces pressuring Galental and Caliphra.

The wiry sorcerer dragged his eyes away from the dying reports to stare glumly out the lozenge-shaped main entrance. Beyond the forest was obscured by a nearly solid sheet of gray, the winter monsoons finally arriving to begin their seasonal pounding of the southern coasts of the Peninsula. Not that much fighting would be done with winter upon them. Already the forest floor was sodden and difficult to move across even on horseback. They would have to forge north to more solid ground, snow and cold, and the forces holding the northern territories of the Hammer. And that would take them directly through the central territories, currently under siege by the hybrid army.

Osteon's frown deepened. Ah yes, the hybrid army; a perusal of Gepht's reports had outlined just how much the Gyren had changed since he had been here only a couple of moons ago. This hybrid army was just one example of the flux the central Gyren had been thrown into after Lawrence's initial attack. Flux that he could take advantage of, if only he could get his new army created and equipped in time!

He pushed away from the rocky wall he had been leaning against in front of the primary guardhouse just inside the main entrance, centrepiece of the garrison's first line of defense, meaning to return inside. Only to find Gepht advancing through the defensive walls towards him, wringing his hands in obvious concern. His mood was severe enough it was being translated to the Tjor'riin and Nahkiwin standing guard, both groups looking at the sorcerer as he passed them by.

"Gepht." Osteon greeted him with a nod, the frown on his face unwavering. "You bring good news, I expect, about my new soldiers and their state of readiness."

Gepht came to a halt in front of the wiry sorcerer, visibly perspiring.

"No, my lord, I do not," he admitted hoarsely, swallowing nervously several times before mopping the perspiration from his brow.

"Then why do you come and disturb my meditation? And I warn you: if I find the reason not compelling, I will kill you right here and now."

That elicited another round of brow mopping and nervous swallowing before Gepht managed to stammer out his answer.

"It's the last cohort to come out of the maturation vats, lord," he began before stuttering back into silence.

"The last cohort of standard Tjor'riin? What about them?" Osteon demanded, his consternation deepening at Gepht's obvious discomfort. When he didn't immediately answer, the wiry sorcerer reached out to take a handful of the man's robe and gave him a hard shake.