Sons of Ironstorm - Book 4: Griffon's Stand

Chapter 9: Vicious Intent

"Tribulations and torment shall herald their return.

And those selected to face them will not know peace.

They will stand the target of the greatest of evil will.

Hated by the Shadow and despised by its minions.

Until they cast the enemy down in the Final Battle."

- from a Cadremoor translation of 'The Book of Silver Waters', a

Picean interpretation of the Norak Utterance

Lawrence paused and glanced behind him. Now that was a strange sensation, one completely unlike anything he had sensed before. And Maker knew he had felt some odd things in his journey towards finding the Tree Staff. Before the big prince could stop himself, he felt a shiver work its way through him.

Yet, through the driving rain that hammered the river cutter, he saw nothing but her stern and the grim helmsman standing there beneath his canvas rain shield.

"Something tickle your fancy?" Will asked in a low voice, careful not to speak loud enough for their tenuous hosts to hear. A tenday on the Horus in their company and he still didn't trust Mram'met or any of the Muraan that escorted them downriver to the wetlands of the massive Horus Delta where the mighty western river spilled into the shimmer of the Vertisa'al Expanse, Ramnor's great western sea.

The big Ironstorm looked over at his friend, a pace away under scant shelter himself, Will's cloak dark with rain, as was his own.

"Perhaps," he quietly admitted. "Although tickle isn't the word I'd use." Then both men were falling silent as Mram'met stumped out of the gloom clinging to the cutter's mid deck, thanks in greater part to the monsoon rains currently pouring down on them. The big cat's voice was softly rumbling as he spat out muraan curses under his breath against the downpour that had dogged them since a half turn out of Ru'un'fa'gek.

"Rain not to your liking, Captain?" Lawrence carefully asked, his light tone earning a tight slit pupiled glare from the big cat.

"Rain, yes. This cursed foulness, no," Mram'met spat, giving his unbound mane a quick shake, the action sending a secondary rain shower flying in every direction. He kept his head uncovered despite his own heavy cloak possessing a hood large enough to protect it. Lawrence had shaken his own head in disbelief at seeing that, Mram'met's explanation a vague one dealing with honor and privilege and such. It was an honor to let the rain soak one's head? What manner of foolishness was that?

The big cat hunched his shoulders and spat in disgust onto the deck before bowing his head in cursory courtesy.

"But I forget myself, Lawrence. I come to you to announce we near the river port of Ba'adin, which lies on the outskirts of Isile'ahkanak, the capital of Isile'vorudun."

Lawrence's eyes flew wide. Isile'vorudun, the kingdom of Dani'cheris, the nearest of King Kem'gast's enemies! They must've passed out of Ru'un waters some time during the night to be this close already. Possessing a speed that was nearly astounding, the cutter had literally flown down the Horus after leaving Ru'un'fa'gek, reaching Ru'un's southern capital of Ru'un'fa'ar in less than seven days. 

From there, after offloading the missives for Kem'gast's generals and admirals, the Ru'un fleets headquartered there, the cutter then pressed on with Lord Baranest in their company, the venerable Ru'un noble looking to serve as Ru'un's ambassador to Isile'vorudun. It was their intention to hire a sea-going vessel in Isile'ahkanak for the continued journey westward into the Expanse, since Isile'vorudun sat in the midst of the mighty Horus Delta and on the Expanse's borders.