Sons of Ironstorm - Book 4: Griffon's Stand

Chapter 12: The Prison of Souls

"Stripped of their bodies, their souls drained of power,

The young Wielders were hidden away from all Reality

By the Shadow's dark power and malevolence.

Only an act of providence, and the work of an ancient weapon,

Pushed aside the Shadow's power to give them hope."

- from Ciradaan of Aquila's personal journals

Ignoring the splashing rain hitting his face, Ciradaan staggered across the small courtyard the outside door of his building opened out to even as the air shuddered around him with the almost constant peal of the alarm bells ringing. Still unsteady after so many days a-bed, he was forced more than once to drop a knee to the soaked paving stones underfoot to regain his senses, the pounding rain quickly soaking him thoroughly.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he found the gate to the outer courtyard and, hand trembling, he pushed it aside and stumbled through. And directly into chaos, the outer courtyard filled with soldiers running frantically this way and that. Wiping the rainwater out of his eyes with a hand, Ciradaan stared at the soldiers, trying to see who they were. Humans, for the most part, some dressed in austere black uniforms, heavily armed and grim, while others were in multicoloured kilts and heavy tunics, their swords slung over their shoulders in broad baldrics, usually in colours to match their kilts.

There, an elf in tunic and chain mail, hand axes tucked in her belt, her rapier slung hunter style over a shoulder, was running along the courtyard's far wall, intent on her goal. If he could just shout loud enough for her to hear ... !

<<You there!>> Ciradaan cried out, his voice barely audible over the din of booted feet running over paving stone and the cries and shouts of men and women rushing to their posts. Thankfully the elf, a slender Sylvasin from Alistair, possessed the sharp hearing of her people and quickly turned to face him, eyes wide when she heard his voice through the din.

<<Your Majesty?? When did you leave your bed?>> she cried, obviously surprised to see him.

<<Never mind that.>> Ciradaan gestured her to come closer, which she did, sinuously sliding through the throng of running human soldiery. When she reached his side, he gripped her by the shoulder and looked intently into her face.

<<Can you fetch me your master, King Najthin and our comrade, King Fenoran and tell them to attend me immediately?>>

<<I can certainly deliver your message, your Majesty,>>  the young elf woman instantly replied. <<However, I doubt they will attend as swiftly as you may wish, sire. They command our defense now that we've come under attack by Shadow forces.>>

Ciradaan grimaced. Well, that would explain the alarm bells.

<<Normally I wouldn't request they do so in the face of an attack, but I must insist. It deals with the well-being of the Lord Wielders!>>

Still clad in his armor and weapons from his position on the fortress walls, Fenoran nevertheless didn't hesitate to quickly step to Ciradaan and give him a hearty embrace.

<<Good to have you back amongst the living, old friend,>> he rasped, his voice rough with emotion as he drew back to look into the Aquilan king's face.

<<That, it is,>> Najthin added with not a little relief and emotion in his own voice, stepping close to clap Ciradaan happily on the shoulder. He too had come directly from his defensive post and also still wore his war making gear.