Sons of Ironstorm - Book 4: Griffon's Stand

A Difficult Retreat

With a flurry of light and magic, Lawrence cut down the last of the demonic assassins the Abysslords had sent to kill him. The ragged remains of their bodies at his feet, the warrior king took a half step back, his vision nearly obscured by the brilliant light emanating from his armor. And thus missed the dark figure that leaned against the near corner of the balcony.

"Well done, son of Jerald." The figure quietly applauded, lifting gloved hands to softly bring them together in a quick series of claps. The voice, cold and unrelenting as it issued from the dark space beneath a voluminous black hood, was slightly mocking as it spoke. Unfortunately, it was the only indication of the figure's emotions as his body language was hidden beneath a heavy cloak in the same shade as the hood.

Twisting towards the voice, Lawrence caught sight of the figure against the balcony railing and immediately lifted the Sword of Aecalyx towards it.

"Who are you?" he grated, sensing none of the characteristic demonic energies swirling around the Kaal Eran. No, what came from this creature to touch his senses was something far different, yet eerily the same. And stronger; far, far stronger ...

"I saw him, you know," the black-cloaked figure continued as if Lawrence hadn't addressed him with a question, dropping his gloved hands to fold his nearly hidden arms over his chest.

"Your father: in the very instant Reality was ready for our invasion, he and the other Scions of the first races of Ramnor all looked into the heavens and saw me as I prepared to unleash the might of the Abyss against the Creator's works."

Lawrence felt a chill travel down his spine as he realized who, or rather, what this creature was. A quick glance over his shoulder into the now empty ruined heart of his city confirmed it. The abysslord leading the assault on the city had somehow lost his giant stature and now stood speaking with him on this balcony!

"It was a shock, I must admit," the figure revealed, genuine confusion making its way into his cold and nearly emotionless voice, "to feel those mortal eyes falling upon me in the heart of my stronghold." The head within the cloak turned slightly and the big warrior king could feel the abysslord's gaze fall squarely upon him almost like a physical shock. He had to fight not to shiver in response.

"It was not unlike the sensation you felt just now, when my eyes fell upon you, Lawrence."

Lawrence gritted his teeth against the chill that continued to travel through his limbs, a sensation perpetuated by the abysslord now looking directly at him.

"So you feel, abysslord," he hissed through clenched teeth. Like Muranis, who had howled in agony when Lawrence had severed his finger during their battle on the island of the adjunticator. He slowly brought the Sword of Aecalyx around to point its tip at Calandris' breast.

"And a thing that can feel, can be hurt." Slowly the Tree Staff rose until it joined the Sword in pointing directly at Calandris.

"And what can be hurt can be killed."

Instead of spinning his defenses into place, as Muranis had during their battle, Lawrence wasn't a little surprised to hear a low laugh issuing from the deep hood.

"Emboldened by your successes against my Tactician, are you, Lawrence?" Calandris drily asked, unfolding his arms to push away from the balcony railing. "Thinking you now have the power to reach out and strike the greatest of the masters of the Abyss?" Another low laugh, this one filled with enough menace to make Lawrence's insides clench with anxiety and fear.

"Ah, mortal arrogance; how I have missed it."

Slowly Calandris moved his arms behind his back to clinch his hands together, standing at ease, not ten paces from where Lawrence stood in a ready crouch, Wielder armor shimmering with barely contained power.