Sons of Ironstorm - Book 4: Griffon's Stand

Chapter 7: Anger of the Hill Lords

"After the fall of the First Alliance, the races were scattered.

The Elves returned to their northern forests, isolated and alone.

The Muraan crossed the Rift to the West, lost and forgotten.

To the Ffta returned the Quada and to the seas went the Picea.

And back to the mountains that gave them birth did Humanity go."

- from the Haversdale druidic histories

Aine shivered and pulled her cloak tighter about her. The low murmur of druidic prayers that managed to penetrate the howling wind threatening to pull her cloak from her gloved hands, did little to ease the fear and trepidation in her heart. Already sick with worry about the massive Ironstorm prince that held her heart in his tender care, she now found herself looking across the outer courtyard of her father's castle named 'Colm's Stand' at a knot of men about to ride into the storm's teeth to answer the king's call to war. A knot that included the proud figure of her father, Seamus Tod, king of Mamra himself, girt about with the tools of combat, his shield, embossed with the arms of Mamra, slung over his cloak-covered back.

Squinting to bring her father into focus through the driving sleet slashing down from the sudden winter storm that had howled in off the Hydrai only days ago, she found him bent low to talk to a willowy figure standing close by.

"But why now, Seamus?" Seonid Tod asked hoarsely, her voice frogged with tears and torment. She struggled to keep the salty messengers of her despair from once again flooding down her face as she gazed into the grim visage of her beloved husband beyond the wildly fluttering edges of her storm-whipped cowl.

"And why you? Your generals are more than capable of handling our defenses against this invasion."

"Because they demand it, Seonid." A heavy gauntlet indicated the men standing a few paces away with a gesture. "And you know as well as I that no king of Mamra stands above the Hill Lords that give him his right to rule."

Blinking away the tears that managed to crawl over her eyes and blur her vision despite her will, Seonid looked over at the cluster of rough and ready men in the traditional kilts and tunics of the highlands. There, broad shouldered and powerful as a bear stood Liam Makdonal, scion of the Makdonal Clan in their green and blue tartan. Beside him, as short and squat as Liam was tall and wide was Colm Finney of the Istigal Clan, in their black and gold. Behind them both, but by no means hidden stood Ion Smythe of the Braddoch Clan, resplendent in silver and green. They and the others, fifteen in number, stood only second in power to the king himself. These were the Hill Lords of Mamra, who had ruled the MaKalech long before Mamra became a kingdom. By their word did the king govern the unified clans. And by their word, did they call him to war against the Shadow.

Powerful they were, men of honor and deed. And, in that very moment, the target of a queen's unbridled anger and resentment.

"Bastards!" Seonid tightly hissed, earning herself a hot look from her husband.

"Mind yer tongue, woman," Seamus growled, his blonde goatee fairly bristling with sudden anger of his own, his brogue thickened by the power of his emotion. "I'll nae hae' ye speakin' about them with a viper's poison on yer lips!"

"Then cut it from my mouth, my lord," Seonid immediately fired back, her voice as icy as the sleet driving to the ground all around them. "For I'll no bridle my tongue ta soothe th' troubled ears o' those that seek ta carry my husband ta war in order ta assuage their injured honor." She took a step back from Seamus and into the storm.