Sons of Ironstorm - Book 4: Griffon's Stand

A New Take on an Old Enemy

 With Gepht's office located deep in the pit's bowels, it was a short journey to the breeding pit itself. Osteon felt himself tense as he crossed the threshold of the main entrance and onto the observation walkway. The last time he was on an observation walkway, he was shedding determined dark elf warriors in an effort to strike directly at Lawrence Ironstorm, uncrowned king of Talemon and one of the prophesied Wielders of the Weapons of Power. Though he hadn't yet found his weapon, the big prince had proved a puissant and clever opponent, escaping every effort to kill him. Including the wraiths in Galental City, who kidnapped Morgan Galus' daughter in an effort to lead him to his death in the sewers beneath the Old City, the assassin that failed to reach him through the heightened Galentaler security following, and the abortive assault by a Tjor'riin fleet of catamarans.

Angrily Osteon pulled down the hand that unconsciously drifted to the side of his face injured in the destruction of that pit, pulled down around his ears by some magical explosive Lawrence and his pet dark elves had planted before their retreat. 'It's far from over, King of Talemon,' he silently vowed, face twisting into a mask of rage. 'Once I'm done wiping Bren's loyalists out, you can be assured of your place next in the queue!"

Gepht handed the scrolls, once again furled into a tight cylinder, to his second in command as soon as the two sorcerers hit the breeding floor, already a flurry of activity.

"Make copies of these as soon as possible," he tightly ordered and the acolyte bobbed a quick bow, her bald head glistening with perspiration in the close, hot quarters of the pit floor. "And have the tjor'riin seed team meet me at the coordination center immediately. They need to restart the next sequence."

"Restart, my lord?" The acolyte, a cadaverously thin woman with an unwholesome, pockmarked face, looked up at Gepht from where she still bowed, her dark eyes wide. "May I remind you, lord, that they are currently in the middle of the sequence? A whole cohort could be lost!"

"You may not," Gepht grated, barely stifling the urge to backhand the woman and her questioning look into the nearest wall. "Do as I command!"

Osteon watched the woman bow hastily again before scampering off into the darkness, scrolls clutched tightly to her withered bosom.

"Is there a problem, Gepht?" he quietly asked, earning a wide-eyed look of his own from the pit commander.

"No, no, not at all, Lord Osteon." Gepht flashed a sickly smile. "My second-in-command is directly responsible for maintaining our breeding population. With our recent losses in the north against Galental and Caliphra, additional quota pressures have severely strained our breeding pool of dark elves. If she hadn't of questioned, I'd find her negligent in her task and would have her flogged."

"Flogged." Osteon frowned. "Surely preferable to death due to failure." He then waved the stammering sorcerer ahead through the dark huts all around them before he could stumble out with another hurried explanation. Enough of this foolishness; the council's promise was weighing more heavily with each passing moment he failed himself to begin creating their new army.

So intent was he on the path ahead, following in Gepht's hasty footsteps, he failed to notice a portion of the shadows behind him shift uneasily before disgorging a solid form. For a long moment the figure stared after the two human spell casters, as if wary of their ability to use magic. But there was nothing that spoke caution in its posture or bearing. If anything, it was casual disregard that hung so heavily about the shadowy creature's form, waiting only long enough for the humans to step out of sight around a corner.

Once they were gone, it moved forward with unwavering certainty, heading directly for a curing hut where fledgling tjor'riin grew to maturity in magical vats of gel. It momentarily stepped out of sight when it melted into the shadows before reappearing beside the simple wooden door leading inside. There the figure lost solidity and became a vapor of shadows, slipping beneath the door with palpable intelligence, ghosting past the two acolytes currently working over the vats, each an arm span in diameter and filled with uneasily shifting semi-translucent gel. Where the acolytes worked, murmuring quietly under their breath as they cast the enhancement spells in a steady, unending stream, the gel danced with forks of magical energy reaching down from their outstretched hands.

The hut's only light came from tall, wrought-iron candle holders in pairs, each couple barely keeping the heavy tapers on their crowns from toppling over from their own weight. The holders were set at regular intervals, their dancing and flickering flames enhanced by the bright red light of the energy tendrils stirring the vats.

The vapor paused as if to consider the candle holders and their shifting circles of illumination then slid into the nearest shadow and solidified back into the dark figure. A wave of a shadow-wreathed hand and the room seemed to shift while not moving at all.

Instantly the two acolytes froze in place, halted in mid motion. The tendrils reaching down from their hands also lost the telltale random movement associated with tendrils of energy to become icy stalactites of motionless light. Instantly the shadow form moved forward, shedding hesitation in the very instant the acolytes ceased motion. It paused only when it reached the nearest vat, looking down into the gel-filled tub at the naked female tjor'riin nearing maturity there. She had perhaps another Watch of growth before she could step from the gel, fully formed.

After a quick examination of the slender form, the figure took a half step back to reach deeper into the shadows cloaking its body. The hand reappeared a brief moment later, clutching an odd, crystalline cylinder the length and width of a strong man's forearm. Inside the clear chamber a strange light-filled mist uneasily moved, like oil stirred in a pot. The figure's second hand appeared to quickly turn the rounded top end, twisting it off and slipping it out of sight before returning to hold a palm over the open end.

At first the mist clung to the bottom end of the cylinder as if afraid of the hand now drawing it by some invisible means out the other end. Then it suddenly slid upward, its ability to resist either exhausted or overcome by some other means. The figure simultaneously drew its hand away from the end, allowing the mist to clear the cylinder and move into the open palm. There it stayed for only the briefest of moments before slithering around the hand like a captured snake, slipping between fingers and wrapping around the wrist.

Unhesitatingly the figure plunged the mist-wreathed limb into the vat, sending a cascade of light rippling through the thick fluid. When he drew it out an instant later, the mist was gone and the gel in the vat continued to shimmer from within, the tjor'riin encapsulated in an aura of energy. A second cylinder filled with glowing mist replaced the first in a subtle shift of motion. The figure twisted the second cylinder's top free as it moved to the next nearest vat, repeating what it did and plunging its mist-wreathed hand once again into the oily gel to send a ripple of light through the tub.

Again and again the strange ritual was repeated until the final vat in the chamber was impregnated with the glowing mist. The figure withdrew its hand and slipped the last empty cylinder back into the shadows of its body, gazing at the glowing tjor'riin curled up on the vat's floor for a brief moment. A male this time, the tjor'riin twitched in reaction as his skin slowly began to absorb the aura as if it were some sort of substance.

The figure silently watched until the aura was completely absorbed, leaving the tjor'riin once again alone in the gel. Then it was moving towards the door, already breaking into the mist of shadows it had used to enter the hut. Before it completely dissolved, it gestured and the room once again shifted, the acolytes lurching into abrupt motion to continue their previous task as though uninterrupted.

The mist of shadows slipped back beneath the door and disappeared. Behind them, unknowing of the strange mists and light now impregnating their charges, the acolytes worked on, sending magical energy into the vats to speed the Tjor'riin's maturation.

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