Sons of Ironstorm - Book 4: Griffon's Stand

Visions of Hope

Ciradaan stirred restlessly on the simple cot as the Sword of Aesthegon's glow intensified, the sliver of blade that was visible above the sheath's intricately tooled and tlyph-marked leather glowing brightly enough to throw back the storm-brought gloom in the small room and fill it with a soft blue light Yet this wasn't the blue of warning that indicated dark soldiers were nearby. No, it was different, somehow darker and more vibrant, almost as if the sword was trying to tell him something. Lost deep in pained slumber, Ciradaan was beyond the reach of mere words. But not beyond the ancient magic buried deep within the powerful talisman.

Without warning, the shifting dreamscape Ciradaan had been watching dissolved and he found himself staring at an amazing vision unfolding in the sickly green depths of the Easterling.

Dezi easily ducked the tjor'riin's wild swung and cut him down with a musical belling of her dark elf broadsword, the heavy blade slicing through the dark soldier's body with little resistance. Already a pile of dead bodies lay heaped about her feet, attesting to the effectiveness of her defense. Her last foe dispatched, she was about to turn to give assistance to Draneen, the athletic Lithosin engaging yet another dark soldier, her stone elf broadsword whistling as she grimly attacked, when screams split the air from somewhere to her right.

The beautiful dark elf tensed, eyes narrowed. Those weren't spilled from elven throats, but from the tortured passages of tjor'riin. Carefully she stepped in that direction, her sword held ready. Still she passed swiftly through the trees, drawing ever closer to the howls of pain. Until she pushed through a final cluster of heavy leaved bushes and felt her eyes fly wide at what she saw in front of her.

Shifting with unending downward motion, it was a wall of white, composed entirely of tiny beads of pure colourlessness, dropping from an uneasy sky overhead. Defying the swamp's humid heat, it radiated pure cold, enough to make Dezi's measured breaths spume whitely into the air.

<<What ...?>> she began in astonishment. Then, without warning, a tjor'riin burst from the wall, its face scored and bleeding and its clothing in tatters. It ran past her, unheeding of the dark elf warrior passing so close to it.

Before it could go more than a handful of steps, however, a dot of white detached itself from the wall and angled towards it, moving nearly too fast to track. It was swiftly joined by two of its fellows, the trio hissing as they pursued the desperate dark soldier. Then the first struck as the tjor'riin lifted its booted foot, hammering the dark soldier squarely between the shoulder blades with enough concussive force for Dezi to feel it, standing as she was several paces away. A heartbeat later it punched out through the dark soldier's chest to smash into the ground in front of it. Its two companions followed, each piercing the dark soldier's body in tight formation, the three together forming a triangle of wounds that marked the spot where the tjor'riin's heart sat in its chest.

Eyes bulging in shock, the dark soldier staggered, its limbs suddenly robbed of strength. It then tumbled head first into the muck, sending dirty water spraying in every direction with its awkward landing. It rolled once then the dark soldier was unmoving, dead where it lay in the mud.

<<May the Silver Flame protect me!>> Dezi softly husked, staring at the dark soldier felled by pieces of what looked like flying ice.

Larengor frowned as he looked out into the solid wall of white that surrounded him, so dense it cut him off from visual contact with his Redeemed perimeter. What was more concerning were the screams of pain that now echoed and re-echoed all around him, howls torn from throats in the final throws of mortal agony. Whatever force was at work beyond the hail, it was devastating somebody. 'I can only hope it isn't my paladin who are suffering,' he thought with not a little concern and dismay.