Sons of Ironstorm - Book 4: Griffon's Stand

A Star Cast in Shadow

Lawrence frowned as a sudden darkening in the light streaming in through his window caught his attention. Looking up, he noticed the sky was considerably darker than it was just a few shades ago. 'What is this now?' he found himself wondering as he stood from the desk he was working at, the desktop covered with reports on supplies, troops and ground conditions surrounding the city. Two strides of his long legs took him to the window where, looking out, the eldest Ironstorm Wielder found himself gazing at an impossible storm gathering around the city.

It was as vast as the Aramas itself, covering the sky from horizon to horizon with black, roiling clouds, shot through with dark lightning. Even as his eyes fell upon it, Lawrence could feel the malevolence oozing from the seething cloud cover almost like a physical force.

A light tap at the door very nearly didn't capture the young king's attention, so rapt was he in studying the storm's incredible advance.

"Lawrence," Mram'met rumbled, pushing the door open to peer in. "My friend, have you seen the sky?"

"I'm looking at it right now," Lawrence husked in reply, not stirring when the big muraan captain joined him at the window, Mram'met's eyes narrowing as he too studied the storm. Long used to the sudden tempests that rocked the mighty Horus River to the west of the Rift, deep in the muraan territories, the veteran muraan warrior knew storms and had lived through his share of very, very bad ones. And this one, judging from the cold biting into his bones at the very sight of it, was about as bad as a storm could get.

And yet, storms with clouds like that were only seen over water, and only after unusually hot weather. So what was this doing here, over the vastness of the Aramas plain and in the heart of bone-chilling mid-continent winter??

It was a stirring in the great Axe of Korro'seth, strapped over his back head down and haft up for easy access, that made the big cat's mind up about the storm's nature.

"My weapon of the Scions doesn't like this storm," he quietly chuffed. A glance to the Sword of Aecalyx that Lawrence wore strapped to his waist yielded the same uneasy shifting in the ancient weapon, blue light leaking from the sheath.

"Nor does your sword. Which makes me dislike it."

"You should dislike it, Mram'met. It's a storm brewed by the Shadow," Lawrence just as quietly replied, fighting the urge to grind his teeth against the sensation of evil that gnawed at his bones in the storm's presence.

Feeling the storm's foul touch less strongly than the Wielder, but feeling it nonetheless, thanks to his new calling as the Scion of the Muraan, Mram'met felt his ears slowly lay back against his head in displeasure. He was half a mind to march from the room and command the muraan vanguard out of the city and back over the Rift, to the muraan territories, just to avoid them being caught when the storm finally unleashed its building fury.

Before he could say so, however, there was another tap at the door, this one somewhat more direct.

"My friends, I don't like the looks of that tempest brewing out there," Tearn rumbled, the big centaur stepping in when he saw two of his fellow Scions standing at the window, staring out at the seething clouds roiling towards Tal Morun.

"It has a fel sense about it as if possessing malevolent intent and intelligence."

Glancing over his shoulder at Tromn's eldest son, quadan ambassador to Talemon and Scion of the Quada, Lawrence nodded.

"That it does, old friend," he wryly confirmed before returning his attention to the approaching storm. "And if I were to put a name to the feeling that I have in my heart as to why this storm is here, approaching my capital, I would say my challenge to the Abysslords has been answered."