Sons of Ironstorm - Book 1: Griffon's Rise

Returning to Court

Unfortunately for the wiry Kevan war king, his duties were far from over this day.  Even now, as he, Alric, Kent and the others strode quickly along the covered walkway that connected the cluster of buildings around the Chamber to the palace, he knew many of the lords and ladies that so recently occupied one or more of the tiers in the great room gathered in the main hall for today’s Court.  From one possible conflagration to another; while they didn’t openly speak their opinions in Court, it wasn’t unusual for lords and ladies to oppose his declarations from the throne with shouts or demonstrations of some sort.  Considering that many of the ambassadors now stationed in Tal Morun from various other Human states in Reutha often attended court, it did little to bolster their confidence in Talemon’s monarch to see his courtiers behaving so poorly.

Even worse than that, however, was something Alric called ‘the Dance of Swords’.  An apt title for the careful game of currying favor, manipulation and word tricks used by nobles at court to gain power because the slightest misstep meant a price to be paid and payment was often in blood. 

Played by nobles all throughout the human lands, Alric said to little comfort, the Dance was often done as those nobles bowed and smiled to their kings and queens, plotting behind their backs with each other to either keep those monarchs in power, or bring them down.  Into that web of intrigue and deception Jerald stepped each and every time he held Court and he hated it almost as much as the machinations in the Chamber.  Yet, as his father often said, ‘Duty is the life’s blood of kings’ and so he went, knowing his duty to his adopted country demanded it.

A step beyond the corner of the last of the cluster of buildings surrounding the Chamber’s dome and Jerald’s intense eyes were filled with the western slope of Caer Aslan with its broad, cutback staircases, the paved length of the Way of the Lion and the carefully manicured parks that cloaked its face.  Behind him the Lodan Kef, occupying the southernmost peak of the multi-crowned Caer Aslan and before him, the rest of the Inner City on the remainder of the peaks, including the palace, Isomer’s Keep, the castle that directly protected the palace and its grounds and the druidic circle of stones Alric named the Great Circle of Talemon, site of every major druidic ceremony during the cycle.  Even as his eyes fell upon the Great Circle, he could see the warm glow of light within the massive stone plinths that formed the ring bespeaking of druids hard at work to break the storm that pounded Tal Morun and the Teke Awade.

In the city within a city that was the Inner City, the staircases and the Way of the Lion marked the major lines of traffic between the peaks and through the tightly clustered buildings, parks and secondary walls that filled the space within the tall and thick primary walls.  Snaking its way around the peaks and along the primary wall, the Way went north to south, if in a somewhat roundabout fashion while the staircases climbed the slopes on either side, going east and west.  Usually filled with foot, horse and wagon traffic, this day Jerald could see both staircases and the Way were virtually empty, washed vacant by the cursed rain that hissed down onto slick cobblestone and stone step.  Only those with magical talent, or the money to buy a charmed cloak was traveling outside today.

A slight hesitation on the edge of the covered walkway exiting the Lodan Kef to pull his cloak more tightly around him then Jerald was stepping back into the unholy downpour, heading for the nearest staircase leading to the Way and the palace, some thirty lengths distant.  Cloaks also secured against the rain, and the gusting wind from the west that came with it, the others stepped out after him, the tight knot making its way quickly towards the staircase.

Boot soles softly ‘chuffed’ against water-slick stone steps as Jerald’s small party quickly descended the staircase to the winding gray snake of the Way of the Lion below.  They were virtually silent, however, on the worn cobblestones of the Way when the party turned northward to grimly make their way towards the palace, an oasis of light in the sluicing downpour that filled the air all around them.