Sons of Ironstorm - Book 1: Griffon's Rise

Realization

Jerald was inspecting the placement of the wall-mounted trebuchet and arbalest near the north corner of the main wall when the stone underfoot began to tremble with the steady march of thousands of feet. With dusk rapidly approaching, several guards were already swinging lamps from the walkway along the wall's crest. The wiry war king looked up in time to see a number of those lamps twist in place as their holders looked this way and that for the source of the low rumble. Did the rebels finally mass to begin their attack on the walls, now that the rain had retreated for longer than four or five Watches?

But, even as Jerald scrambled up onto one of the nearby catapults to use his distance glass to look in the direction of the enemy position, a shout rose from a guard tower further along the north wall.

"The Quada are on the move!"

'What??' Jerald snapped the glass around to the north where Tromn should've been making his nightly camp and found rank after heavily armed rank of quada warriors steadily marching west and straight at the rebel army. 'Has he lost his mind?'

"Ahn vreda," Vodun's respectful voice spoke from the walkway behind him and, dropping the glass from his eye, Jerald twisted in place to find Tromn's second in command standing some five paces away, a tightly furled scroll in a gauntleted hand. She too was in full battle dress, her breastplate and helmet gleaming in Ri'im's failing light.

"I have word from Master Tromn that he wished conveyed to you immediately!"

Not bothering to wonder what was going on, Jerald collapsed the distance glass and hurriedly stuffed it into his pouch. He then scrambled down off the catapult's frame to drop onto the walkway. Two quick strides and he was accepting the scroll from Vodun's hand and twisting it open. Only to crumple it into a tight ball a heartbeat after scanning it's contents.

"Bones and bloody shards!" he snarled, hurling the parchment ball into the darkness as fiery anger raged through him. "It's a bloody illusion! Captain!"

"Yes, sire!" barked one of the shadowy forms with a lamp on the walkway, jerking to attention.

"I want Tenne and Kent up here now. If they're not here in five turns of the small glass, I'll have their heads decorating pikes at my gate. Got me?"

"Yes, sire!" Then the officer was off at a dead run.

Barely restraining the impulse to bite his arm in frustration, Jerald twisted to stab a steely stare in Vodun's direction.

"And Tromn's intent, commander?"

"He marches this eve on Kiersee Reach, ahn vreda," she smoothly replied, unfazed by Jerald's taut question or his hard look.

Jerald jerked a nod.

"Tell your master I will join him in six turns of the small glass."

"Your Majesty." She saluted, fist over heart then she was making her way along the broad walkway, her shod hooves rhythmically ringing on the chiseled stone.

Jerald watched her go for a long moment before turning his eyes back to the distant blur that was supposed to be the rebel army gathering against him. An ambush at Drell's Gap, the parchment had said, his wife captured and carried to Ur Morun at the Winter Hawk's behest, three of his children found, two missing and hundreds dead. And news that the army looming to the west was nothing but a phantom.

"It's over, Urud," he hissed, voice filled with cold venom as the air began to ring with the proud song of quadan war horns.

"You, Kiersee Reach and the Westmarch, . . . you're all dead!"

* * * *