Sons of Ironstorm - Book 4: Griffon's Stand

Reclamation

With the sounds of battle rising and falling from the Winter Gates filling their ears, the vanguard took a left onto the broad avenue that cut across the road leading in from the gates. Snow crunching underfoot, they swiftly traversed the avenue as it ran along the northwestern section of the secondary wall, the dark mass that was the Cathedral of the Sun becoming visible as they slowly turned northward. Then they were standing at the foot of the broad flight of stone steps that led upward to the small hill on which the cathedral and the rector's palace were perched, surrounded by a low wall, offering scant protection. Still, it was enough to make Lawrence slow to a halt, eyes narrowed as he visually scanned the flight of broad stairs and the low, gated wall at its peak.

The demon that had assisted in their torture shortly after the coup in the cathedral at his uncle's wedding was up there, a cold, dark mass of evil that sluggishly pulsed against his Wielder-enhanced senses. Lawrence felt his jaw tighten. The Kaal Eran bastard would be first to die.

"Commander Korobaan," he quietly said and the Ben'havid commander slipped forward to come to the prince's side, a fist over heart in salute.

"My Lord Wielder," the elf replied.

"Secure the cathedral's perimeter with your men. I don't want anything coming in or out."

"Done, my lord." Korobaan saluted again before leading the Ben'havid and the dark elves silently forward, the elves flowing up the stairs without a sound to mark their passing.

"Mram'met." The big muraan was as quick to Lawrence's side, if not as silently as Korobaan had been. The Axe of Korro'seth was already naked in his hand, the twin blades glowing a faint blue to announce the presence of dark soldiers nearby. Seeing it and the glow, a light now being echoed by Qo'sa's Spear of Jun'tek and his own sheathed Sword of Aecalyx, he renewed his grip on the Tree Staff.

"We've got business ahead; business dealing with dark soldiers. You and yours ready?" he asked, looking at the big cat in the face.

Hefting the weapon forged by his long-dead ancestor, the broad-shouldered muraan nodded savagely even as Hhe'muk and Dani'isis, standing just behind him, both drew their weapons.

"Born ready to fight the Shadow, my friend," the captain of Ru'un's Silver Lions added with a growl, taking the axe in a two-handed grip as he turned to look up the staircase.

"Through the gate up ahead, hard left, hard right, between the cathedral and the palace, to the palace's side entrance. Go!" Then they were all running up the stairs as fast as their booted feet on the icy stone could carry them, their breath pluming whitely faster and faster with each hurried breath, hearts pounding wildly in their chests as urgency boiled through their veins.

Time seemed to slow as the big prince charged upward, Stylles on his left, Will on his right and Duncan right behind him, the Tree Staff held tightly in one gloved hand. Yet, it was merely the sliding of perception surrounding that instant of silent reflection every warrior felt just before launching into battle, not the heart-stopping flood of cold adrenaline into his veins that triggered his Wielder abilities. That would come later when the battle was truly joined.

Clearing the last step, he kicked the iron gate piercing the low wall surrounding the cathedral grounds aside and darted through, his companions tight on his heel. He immediately cut to the left, then right after a handful of steps, racing through the stone monoliths marking the cathedral's graveyard. Then they were passing between the cathedral, a dark, unmoving hulk to their left, and the palace, a slightly smaller mass, its towers, and domes not quite as tall as those of the cathedral. Worse yet, many of the windows were lit, announcing the presence of somebody inside.