Sons of Ironstorm - Book 4: Griffon's Stand

Mountains of Blood

Seamus Tod, king of Mamra and Lord of Clan Tod, sucked in a shuddering lungful of cold mountain air as he willed strength into his weary limbs. The enemy had been pushed back for the moment, granting them a measure of breathing room. But it wouldn't last long: in this battle alone shadow soldiers had assaulted their positions with wave after wave of lean, dark-skinned creatures that spoke to each other in harsh, grating voices and moved with a speed and agility the Mamrans were having difficulty countering. It was only a matter of turns of the small glass before the next wave came.

They had ridden out to meet the invaders as the Shadow cut hard across Mamra's western border, quickly destroying three border cities before the mountains of MaKalech themselves slowed their advance. Which was Creator-sent: the distances that they had to cross to go from Port Titus to where Mamran border rangers were doing their best to hold the enemy back were immense, even for those with intimate knowledge of the Highlands. They needed every extra day the mountains could give them just to reach the invasion point before another city was put to the torch.

The extended ride through the MaKalech also gave the hill lords that rode with Seamus and the Tobald Airna time to call in their mustered warriors. Each holding they passed sent hundreds of warriors to join them. Until, by the time they had reached the western edge nearly a moon later, they had a full army of several hardened regiments at their back.

Seamus had thought them enough, doughty sons and daughters of Mamra that had sent many Xanchaldan and Septan armies fleeing in defeat. But the enemy had swiftly proved them wrong. Their initial engagement saw the battlefield liberally sown with Mamran bodies, Seamus losing nearly a fifth of his force in that fight. He himself had taken injuries that, while they weren't life-threatening, certainly hampered his fighting capabilities.

Forced to retreat, the Mamran forces had been fighting a running battle ever since, falling back to a rallying point before stiffening their defense. Only to overrun and forced to retreat again. Over and over the pattern had repeated itself. Until here, in the mouth of Dermot's Vale, with the city of Gaddrioch Falls a day's ride further in, they dug in in an attempt to hold once more.

Seamus' breath plumed whitely into the snow-laden air as he let his gaze sweep over the vale mouth, trying to catch the first hint of movement that would announce the beginning of the next attack. The enemy had caught up with them this time just as a winter snowstorm descended off the peaks down into the valley, spilled blood quickly turning the pristine white into crimson red even as the heavy snowfall tried to cover it up. The ground became covered with red slush as they desperately fought to hold the Shadow back. And now they waited, ankles deep in that slush with swords in hand, for the next wave of attack.

Without warning, there was a tug at the ragged bandage protruding from beneath his breastplate.

"Bah!" a woman's voice said from close beside, the bandage continuing to move. "You've begun ta' bleed again, yer Majesty."

"Then patch me up again, druid," Seamus quickly fired back without taking his eyes off the sloping vale mouth in front of him, its vulnerability to avalanches keeping it relatively free of trees. "I'll no be goin' to tha' healers wi' those black-hearted bastards this close."

The druid, her face weathered and wrinkled from many long cycles exposed to the elements, frowned disapprovingly. She, however, wisely chose not to argue. The embattled monarch wore every defeat in this invasion heavily, both on his face and in his posture. Yet there was defiance there, etched through the frustration and defeat so deeply it was as if the relatively young king wore a mask carved from his own resolve.

For in his mind, Seamus Tod had already vowed that his embattled army would make its stand here and now! The enemy would go no further than the mouth of Dermot's Vale. The only way the Shadow would win past would be to kill each and every one of them and, by the peaks of the MaKalech and the Highlander blood in his veins, he silently promised each fallen Mamran would take a hundred of the enemy with them.