Sons of Ironstorm - Book 1: Griffon's Rise

Chapter 13: Kiersee Reach

"And the Great King of Talemon pursued them south

Into the Sea of Grass, that endless plain of green.

Determined to reach and rescue his lovely queen,

And unknowing of the great danger and peril

He now lay in the shadow and grasp thereof."

- from 'A History of Talemon', by Alric of Evenstide 

The Winter Hawk frowned slightly as he watched the knot of rangers and quada disappear into the mist and fog, heading towards the village. Even if the quada could send a message to distant Tal Morun with her strange magic, his men would be well gone and hidden by the time Jerald could mount a rescue into Kiersee Reach, several tendays to the south of the Star. Despite that, Grimnor found himself hoping the Ironstorm king would nevertheless try, and find some sort of success. At least it would keep Jeorgina out of Urud's hands, a task he found himself becoming more and more dedicated to.

"General Grimnor?" Malkolm rumbled, bringing the slender general back to the present with a rush.

"Yes, captain?" Grimnor swung his cold black eyes back onto the big ranger.

"If you would be so good as to accompany these two rangers, they'll escort you to the wagon that will carry you back to Tal Morun." A gloved hand indicated two brawny rangers which had stepped forward at a signal from the ranger captain.

"Very well," Grimnor acquiesced with a nod before following the two rangers as they led the way towards the Giant's Way.

As they passed through the fog, still thick despite the wind and misting rain, the Winter Hawk's sharp eyes were quick to note the size of the force the quadan shaman Falon had managed to gather here, in this broken and burnt place. No less than a full regiment was gathered in and around Drell's Gap, more than sufficient to handily hammer Vegadorn's regulars into the ground. Even if he had 10 times the number the squat general had managed to sneak over the Hadron, as the Westmarch was without any military strength east of that great river, Grimnor doubted Vegadorn would've been victorious against this host of centaurs as determined as they were.

A wry smile touched the Winter Hawk's thin lips. Of course, he had been counting numbers prior to the fall of Dragon's Claw. The rebellion had been failing even then. After this devastating day, he doubted it would last much longer. If anything, the Usurper had spent the last part of his dwindling strength here, lost to the unexpected arrival of the quadan force.

'Who would've guessed Jerald would be so quick to sign treaties with creatures the Usurper and his kin had shunned and hunted for decades?' the Winter Hawk darkly mused as they continued past centaur troops now working to assemble a field hospital to treat their wounded as well as the survivors of both the caravan and the village. 'Not Bren, that dried rasp of a sorcerer that bends Urud's ear, that's for certain. For all his mumbling and tricks, that twist of a fool didn't see this failure with his vaunted crystal ball.' A dry chuckle joined the wry smile still upturning the wiry general's lips. "At least my Ge'e Darian were spared this slaughter and embarrassment.'

Stepping past the growing field hospital, the two rangers and their prisoners drew to a halt at an impromptu picket line set up to hold a number of horses, well-bred animals from the stables of Tal Morun and Irongraad. At the picket line's end sat a plain, wooden-box wagon, two long legged Aramas-bred horses stamping impatiently in their harnesses. As the ranger on the right continued past the wagon, presumably to obtain the supplies needed to make the trip back to the capital, several days distant, the one on the left turned to Grimnor.