Sons of Ironstorm - Book 4: Griffon's Stand

Chapter 19: Reckoning

"Long had the former master druid plotted to take power from the legitimate,

Steal authority from those set apart to wield it, or snatch whatever benefit to

himself possible from those that rightly held them.

Never did he think he would fail, or that those he injured with his clutching for

power would return to retake that which was rightfully theirs.

Fool."

- from Master Indry's musings in his personal journal, written during

the height of Mern's power following his coup against the Ironstorms

Despite the fire burning brightly in the chamber's massive fireplace, which dominated the northern wall, Takheran Mern shivered. Whether it was some tendril of cold seeping in through the tightly shuttered windows responsible for the chill, or the brooding presence of the demon that sat nearby, staring with his black eyes into the dancing flames, the Rector couldn't say. Either way, he wrapped the heavy wool blanket more tightly about his spare frame and snuggled more deeply into the high backed, overstuffed chair he had dragged close to the fire in a vain attempt to stay warm.

"Why, in the name of the Divine Fire, is it so damn cold?" he muttered to himself, feeling cross and peevish.

The demon stirred from his reflection at that, perhaps bothered by Mern's invocation of the Maker's power of creation.

"At least you have a blanket, Lord Rector," the Kaal Eran quietly pointed out in that strangely calm voice of his. "Your young captive does not."

Unbidden Mern's eyes tracked to the iron bar cage that sat in the room's far corner, well away from the fire's warming light. About an arm span square, it had just enough room to fit the young human boy that huddled in the far corner of it, shivering as he sat arms wrapped around himself in a vain attempt to stay warm. What tattered clothing he did wear, the remnants of what was a fine wedding tunic and hose did nothing to keep the bitter cold at bay and the boy's teeth chattered from the ferocity of his shivering.

Seeing such a piteous sight should've raised at least a modicum of sympathy in the former master druid's withered breast, the Order of the Divine Flame a druidic order dedicated to succoring the weak and the powerless. Instead, Mern felt nothing but contempt for the youngest son of House Ironstorm, the ruling family of the kingdom he was currently trying to usurp.

"It serves to remind the little maggot who has the power here, demon," Mern flatly stated, taking his eyes off Michael Ironstorm's shivering form to stare hard at the Kaal Eran where he sat close to the hearth.

A slight, ironic smile touched the demon's thin lips at the bold statement even as he inclined his head in a small bow of condescension in reply to Mern's hard look. What little power the former druid had managed to snatch from House Ironstorm was about to come to an end: he could sense the Wielder of the Tree cutting his way through Mern's hapless tjor'riin at the palace's entrance, despite the dampening field the Wielder had placed about himself to prevent detection.

For a brief moment the Kaal Eran toyed with the idea of telling Mern what he sensed, then just as quickly dismissed the impulse as irrelevant. Mern had served his purpose: his coup attempt had thrown humanity's largest and most powerful nation into absolute chaos, scattering its armies and sending its uncrowned king into the wilderness in search of a long lost Weapon of Power.

And while it was true Lawrence Ironstorm had now returned to reclaim his nation from the treacherous Rector, it was too late for the Wielder of the Tree to prevent the Return. Even now his demonic brethren were gathering for a final push at reaching Reutha's shores to begin the closing stage of the invasion. The End was nigh.