Sons of Ironstorm - Book 4: Griffon's Stand

Chapter 5: Repercussions

"He gazed upon the legions of dead warriors,

Fallen in ambush to the Knights of the Abyss.

Here was the price of Treachery and Disbelief,

Here were the wages of Foolhardy arrogance.

And the High King of the Elves wept with sorrow."

- From 'The Lays of Shadow', author unknown

Ciradaan blinked as the cold finally dissipated and marveled that he was still alive. Yet, as the cold faded from his bones, he realized he was sensing something missing, something that had been there before. Then a rough hand was shaking him by the shoulder and he was forced to push the sensation aside for the moment.

<<My lord!>> Halen husked, his voice trembling. <<The great terror: is it gone?>>

The white haired monarch let his hand reach out and take hold of the Sword of Aesthegon's hilt once more and a wave of relief rippled through him when he found it warm and alive against his palm.

<<I believe so, Halen,>> he managed to rasp, forcing his eyes open and to focus in time to take in Halen's dirt-smudged and concerned face still leaning over him. <<How are the rest of our people?>>

Halen blinked and leaned back.

<<I ... I didn't think to check, sire,>> he stammered, his face visibly reddening with chagrin.

<<Then to it, elf,>> Ciradaan growled, groaning as he forced his protesting muscles to pull him into a sitting position. <<You've seen well enough to me; I'll be fine. Go and see how the surviving members of our company fare and bring me word.>>

<<At once, your Majesty,>> Halen quickly replied, recovering a measure of his strength and certainty at the note of command in Ciradaan's voice. The Sylvasin Var Ethisdil cleric stood and, with a final look back at his injured king, turned to begin checking nearby survivors of their company for injury and status.

Watching Halen go with a measure of satisfaction, the Aquilan monarch took the opportunity to rub at his face, hoping to push some of the dull ache he felt to the back of his awareness. The beating they had taken at the hands of the demons had bordered on the criminal. How in the Maker's holy name did He expect them to face these monsters in the Final Battle with a hope of victory?? Ciradaan sighed at that thought. It didn't matter how they would defeat the Kaal Eran; they had to, or all of Reality would fail.

The white haired king let a long sigh of resignation ease out his nostrils before, gritting his jaw in determination, he rolled over onto his knees and laboriously climbed to his feet. There, using the Sword of Aesthegon as a crutch, he took a quick look around the outer courtyard they had managed to get into at the height of the Kaal Eran assault on the front gates.

The Aeshin'laur company, once 2000 strong, had been shattered on the field of battle. A full half of their numbers, brave elf men and women all, now lay moldering out in that churned up bog lying before the Dagger's gates. That fact alone made Ciradaan's blood boil and freeze in equal measures, anger fighting with chagrin for dominance. No Eagle clan warrior let another lay forgotten on the field of battle. It was a code they lived by, ingrained into every warrior that graduated from Ae'sin'soer and every other Eagle clan military academy since they first started teaching the art and culture of war.

That included Ciradaan, and every member of his family, each having passed through Ae'sin'soer as part of their education. So it grated on the white haired king to have left so many fallen on the field behind them.