Sons of Ironstorm - Book 1: Griffon's Rise

Moving Against the Darkness

The broad shouldered centaur looked up from the patch of radishes he had been diligently hoeing with a frown to throw a glance over his shoulder to the west.  What in the name of the earth mother was that?  It was like the cold hand of death had reached from beyond the grave to push icy fingers deep into his vitals, and it came from the direction of the heart of the Sea of Grass, which the Humans called the Teke Awade.  If he wasn't mistaken, the Humans long ago built a great city there, one with shining walls of white and towers tall.  It served as the capital of one of their kingdoms, a place of peace since great Human warriors from the north, with their faces tattooed and strange, drove out the tyrant that once ruled there.

Black of heart and soul, that tyrant had practiced the foul art of sorcery, calling upon dark powers to keep him on the throne.  But once the warriors from the north cleansed the city, they outlawed sorcery and no Quada had felt its filthy touch since.  Until this day.

The young male frowned thoughtfully, the hoe in his tanned, muscular hands momentarily forgotten.  Something now transpired to the west, something evil enough to touch the very ether that bound all life together.  But what was it?  Had the rebellion fueled by the tyrant's followers finally pushed the northern warriors back out of the city, returning it to his dark hands?  Reports from the southwest, the tyrant's place of refuge, told of sorcery still being practiced there.  If the tyrant had returned to the city's throne, he may have reawakened the dark magic in some mad, new quest for power.

According to the elders of his nachtir, or village, the Quada Herd Masters wouldn't let that happen.  They suffered enough when the tyrant first sat on that throne, sending his armies ravaging into the Sea of Grass after the Quada tribes dwelling there, burning, destroying and killing whoever they found.  For the tyrant feared the Quada, once part of the Cadremoor 's vanguard against the Empire and still in possession of great strength despite the alliance's failure, thinking they would thrust him from rule.  Long cycles of dwelling beside the two-legged beings that populated the eastern plains had taught the Quada what Humans fear, they seek to destroy.  For that reason, and that alone the tyrant sought their destruction.

Fortunately the generals of the tyrant's armies were fools, consumed with satisfying their lusts, not commanding armies and the Quada survived the purge by outwitting, out maneuvering and outfighting them.  Yet, in doing so they suffered great losses numbering in the tens of thousands, male and female, adult and child, the purge laying many a Quada into the final embrace of the earth mother without hope of return.  Enraged by the pointless slaughter of their people, the Herd Masters, leaders of the Quadan tribes of Reutha, vowed an oath that they would never suffer such affliction at the hands of enemies to befall them again.  If the tyrant indeed regained the throne, the Quada would immediately march on the city to throw him down.

Sending shivers through the ground underfoot strong enough for the young centaur to feel them travel up through his hooves and powerful legs, a double line of determined Quada suddenly marched past the low, earthen dwelling the young centaur and his family made home, their strong and powerful bodies girt about for war.  They were grim creatures, male and female both, war hammers with hafts a full arm length long and heads the size of melons, long bows and crossbows and great two-handed, double-edged axes slung across their backs. 

For protection they wore breastplates of polished steel, leather and steel disk cuirasses and heavy helmets protecting face and head, span-tall triangular shields on arm or over back.  Many also sported vambraces and bracers, archer's sleeves on not a few, heavy, steel-reinforced gauntlets to sheath hands and overlapping plates of hardened leather and steel to protect horse bodies.  And at their head, resplendant in a crested helm of polished steel, trimmed in gold and silver, with heavy nose and cheek guards nearly hiding his handsome face marched none other than Tromn, greatest of the Herd Masters and Named War Stallion of the Quada Nations, his war hammer Majinor, or 'Retribution', held in one powerful hand.