Sons of Ironstorm: Book 5 - Griffon's War

Mustering of the Races

Unaware of the plight of the Hydran and Uepoluan elves, with the Return pressing sorely on their flank, or of that currently rocking the human kingdoms of the Hammer Peninsula, KeLarion pulled his cloak tighter as he walked along the balcony encircling Achana Gorae's main keep. A good and sturdy garment made by the best weavers in Aquila, it was hard pressed to keep out the sleet that was snarling off the harbor and up into the city, driven by the might of yet another powerful winter storm. Even the native Elvenfast elves, far more used to the north sea's winter unpredictability, were hard-pressed to wear enough clothing to make any trip outdoors pleasant, with the weather this winter season being the bitterest it had been in known memory.

A weathered campaigner from his youth, KeLarion had seen his fair share of nasty weather. But, like the Elvenfasters, nothing he had previously experienced prepared him for the sheer frozen magnitude and bite of the storms coming off the north sea like this one. With the wind slicing through his cloak and winter turnic as if they were tissue paper, he would've been better served in front of a roaring fire than walking the fortress perimeter like a guard grimly doing their duty.

Yet, here he was, his mind a hornet's nest of thought, fear, and frustration as he considered what was happening to his adopted son and his brothers, along with his friend Ciradaan, in the far south. Events of which they had yet to receive any comprehensive reports on.

The city's council had been engaged in debate on whether to send a ship to Hydrai for word, or a griffon to Aerlorn to where the Wielder of the Star had his Redeemed base and several permanent gates established. Of course the weather made either option rather moot, but that didn't stop the politicians from debating.

And it hadn't taken the veteran warrior long before he grew tired of that debate. But, for Aquila's sake, and for the alliance, he had stayed to make sure they were being properly represented. That is, until now, when the burden of his thoughts became too much to bear when framed by the incessant bickering.

Fighting to keep from drawing a weapon and carving his way through the politicians on Tosseda's council, KeLarion had gathered his cloak instead and made his way outside. From there it was a quick wagon ride down to the harbor's edge with a detachment of the city's watch to the high king's last resort, the bes stovor, the great harbor fortress of Achana Gorae.

What drew the veteran warrior here was the fact that this was the last place he had seen Shawn alive. He could almost hear the lad's voice, feel his presence as he walked the perimeter. The echo of the magic that was cast in that desperate battle with the first and only demon to have penetrated Elvenfast's mundane defenses to attack a yet-weak young Wielder after he had portaled to Uepolua to drive back a Kaal Eran assault on their beaches, that he could definitely feel even though he claimed no ability or talent beyond battle spells. It was an undeniable hum that filled his blood with its power, and rattled his bones with its intensity.

So lost was he in that sensation, that he almost didn't see the slender form that appeared out of the swirling sleet until he was just about right on top of it.

<<My lord KeLarion,>> a firm voice cut through the howling wind to say.

Lifting his hand from the handle of the hand axe he had riding on his hip after it instinctively dropped there, KeLarion forced himself to relax.

<<Colonel Velescu,>> he greeted the lean figure of the griffon rider. <<You've picked a poor time of day to go for a stroll.>>

<<Then we share the same questionable judgment, my lord,>> the veteran rider was quick to retort. <<The endless babbling in council finally grind away what remained of your patience?>> she asked as she fell in beside him and the two continued along the balcony together.