Sons of Ironstorm - Book 1: Griffon's Rise

Words of Warning

Ciramax frowned thoughtfully as he watched Larengor slip through the midst of the milling Aquilan elves to return back the way they had come. 'Trust no one, not even those claiming to be Var Ethisdil? And how, in the frosty name of the Maker, are we supposed to tell the real ones from the fake ones? Ask them a skill testing question?' he silently wondered.

Then his attention was captured by a shout from the house.

<<Hallo!>> the elf that stood there with his wife, called out. <<You must be the friends of my brother he was talking about. Welcome to Elvenfast! I'm Hendris, and this is my wife, Aven. Come, we've prepared a meal for you and there's plenty of hot water to wash up with. Come, and make yourselves comfortable!>>

It was sometime later that found the young prince slouching on the simple bed their hosts had prepared for him. Unlike Xanedra and the others, his royal status granted him a small bedroom of his own, one of a cluster on the building's top floor, complete with a small bureau of drawers, his own wash basin and a window with fine lace curtains. Outside was a magnificent view of the harbor, nearly a half league away. Wearing clean clothes and with a full belly, he felt almost content.

Content, if it weren't for the maelstrom of unanswered questions seething in his mind. Larengor's terse warning had done nothing to quell of the swirl of concern first stirred from his field of doubt at Caeba, in the aftermath of the demonic assault that drove the Seer from his mountain fortress. 

Finding the human in the Stone Forest, the journey to na'Tolan, then the trek northward and the encounter with the dark soldier in Tor Aeinsavir; in a handful of days he'd had more adventures in battle than most heroes in the legends did. And while the hand of Fate still worked to convince him they were doing the right thing, he couldn't help the doubts now boiling unrestrained through his mind.

And now the most powerful cleric in Elvenfast tersely reveals what they thought was a sanctuary of peace where they could craft a new alliance to prepare elvendom for whatever the Utterance would bring them, isn't the haven they hoped for. Scowling, Ciramax stared at the far wall, adorned with a hung painting of a woodland scene in soft pastels. 'I should've guessed things were falling together just a little too easily,' he darkly mused. 'I almost forgot Master Jodhur's advice and let down my guard.' If he had let that happen, he would've gotten far more than just a sore hand this time.

The greater question was, just what kind of creatures made themselves enemies of the sort the Var Ethisdil would fear? Have the demons that chased the Seer from Caeba followed him north? Or, worse yet, were there elves actually out there that embraced the Shadow? The thought was enough to stir his vitals with icy nausea. Surely, not after all they had gone through, with the Shadow War and the depredations of the Crimson Empire, no elf could be so foolish. Yet, after witnessing first hand the twisted soul of Quint and his Raven clan kin, he knew it was sickeningly possible.

He was still pondering that possibility when the wooden door leading into his room abruptly opened to admit an unusually grim Xanedra and a thoughtful Bentain. Closing the door behind them as Ciramax threw the pair a quick look, the Aquilan Lithosin leaned against a nearby wall, arms crossed over her breasts as his cousin took up a position opposite.

<<So,>> Xanedra began. <<How deep is it this time? Going by the look on your face, I'd say way over our heads.>>

<<It's been that deep since my father sent us to Caeba, Xan.>> Ciramax sighed before scrubbing his hands through his unbound locks, released from his da'godei for convenience to wash the journey from his hair.

<<Aye, maybe, Max, but it's gotten dramatically worse in the past watch. I saw Larengor leaning in to say something to you before we went into the house; something that made you put your warrior face on.>>