Sons of Ironstorm - Book 4: Griffon's Stand

Foothold

The grim, modified tjor'riin sergeant frowned as he saw movement through the thickening snowfall at the tree line, some four lengths from the walls themselves.

<<Mind your weapons,>> he growled to the ready soldiers all around him, his breath pluming whitely in the cold air as he spoke, <<we've got something coming out of the trees!>>

<<Could this be the attack Master Osteon warned us about, Sergeant?>> one of the soldiers asked, a standard tjor'riin survivor of the earlier purge that had swept the fortress clear of those that wouldn't pledge allegiance to the Crimson Council. A purge that had included the white-cloaked humans that had, for the most part, commanded the fortress before Osteon's forces arrived a handful of days previous.

Now those few remaining, standard tjor'riin and humans both, had declared for the Crimson Council and manned the walls alongside the large and powerful modified tjor'riin force that Osteon had brought with him out of the Gyren. A force filled with a dark purpose following the failure to take Gorgon's Dagger with a massive, modified tjor'riin army the tenday before.

Glancing at the standard that had asked the question, the sergeant frowned.

<<Doesn't matter, standard,>> he snapped in reply, the sergeant turning his eyes back to the forest's edge. <<Just be ready.>>

His tension didn't diminish when what looked like a patrol of his kindred stepped from the trees, reaver blades held naked and ready in their gauntlets. Not because he didn't recognize the silhouettes of his kin, obvious even through the falling snow. No, it was because of who they were dragging between them.

<<A wielder of a Weapon of Power,>> one of the sergeant's fellow modified tjor'riin muttered in restrained astonishment at spotting the glowing armor. <<Reports from the regiments that assaulted Gorgon's Dagger said they wear glowing armor like that.>>

The sergeant stared at his fellow modified for a long moment before:

<<I want a full company to meet them at the sally port,>> he tautly directed, returning his eyes to the figure in their glowing armor. His command sent several soldiers running for the stairs leading down from the primary walls.

<<And send a runner to Lord Osteon. Advise him that we have a Wielder in hand!>>

It was Osteon's turn to frown a few moments later as, standing behind a veritable wall of modified tjor'riin, he watched the company assemble around the sally port.

A Wielder of a Weapon of Power had, for some reason that was escaping him, inexplicably fallen into their hands. Even though he didn't possess the rumored elvish prophecy that some were saying held a battle plan for defending Ramnor against the Kaal Eran, he had more than his fair share of experience with the beings known as the Wielders of the Weapons of Power. Damn him, he had nearly killed one twice!

Thinking of Lawrence Ironstorm instantly transformed the sorcerer's frown into a scowl even as a surge of anger washed through him. If he had even an inkling of what the Ironstorm princes, Lawrence in particular, would've become in his time masquerading as one of Indry's wizards, he would've slipped into the palace and slit all of their throats as they slept in their cribs as infants.

'You are the author of my fall, Lawrence Ironstorm,' he silently railed. 'The cause of my misery. Because, with my failure to destroy you, my masters on the Crimson Council have begun to unravel my ambitions!' His teeth grit, the sorcerer could feel his hands ball into fists. 'I will have my vengeance on you, I swear in the Deceiver's own name!'