//------------------------------// // 16: Guns and Roses // Story: Feathered Hearts - Continuation and Chronicles // by Firesight //------------------------------// Gilda was quickly coming to realize that being with Marco Lakan bore far more potential complications and dangers than she had thought. And worse, those potential complications were coming from both sides. An hour after her talk with Moran, she found herself back in the Auxiliary Guard barracks on Arnau’s fifth level facing interrogation again, this time by Tribune Narada. But when Gilda arrived there with Fortrakt, the Tribune ordered them to wait outside while she wrote a note to summon Ambassador Strenus, who had only returned from Saddle Arabia the previous night. That gave them at least some minor chance to finally catch up a bit while the Ambassador made his way there. While waiting, Fortrakt told Gilda he was just as taken aback at the hostile treatment they’d been given by the previously neutral Captain, though he also admitted he had a degree of anger of his own at her for not telling him she was now with Marco. “It only happened last night, Second Spear, and it hit like a bolt from the blue! What did you want me to do, wake you up in the middle of the night just to tell you that?” she challenged him irritably. “You were gone when we got back! If you’d been there, you would have learned then! I’m sorry your talk with Chris and Tara didn’t go well, but it’s not my fault you left!” She further reminded him, causing him to fall silent. Though tempted to ask him about that talk, she didn’t, deciding she didn’t want to chance upsetting him when she needed all the support she could get. Narada finally invited them in five minutes later. Though the Tribune was less than pleased at the surprising turn of events—“So, first you attack Marco Lakan, then you resist being around him, then you try to flee after finding out about being with Tara, then you skip over her to be back with him? Have I missed anything, Decurion?” she inquired acidly at one point—she was at least satisfied that Gilda was serious about him, deciding further that she really couldn’t hold it against her subordinate given her own whiplashing desires over Crimson Comet at a similar age years earlier. She also said she wasn’t convinced that Gilda could still carry out her diplomatic and intelligence-gathering duties dispassionately in the face of her feelings for Marco, to which Gilda pointed to her observation-and-conclusion-rich report as proof that she could. That might have been the end of it if Talia Tarseus hadn’t shown her face in Narada’s office for the first time in four weeks, to the surprise and annoyance of all. Despite the Tribune’s efforts to keep it quiet, word had somehow reached the Council of Crows of Gilda’s indiscretions, and far from unhappy, the Senior Sparrow was almost giddy at the news. “Ancestors above, this is perfect!” she had exclaimed upon rapidly scanning Gilda’s latest report. She looked like she had aged five years since Gilda had last seen her, as she and the Council of Crows had spent little time sleeping while pursuing the Capricorn agents and trying to track down their caches of stolen human gear. “Marco Lakan should be much easier to gain intelligence from now! Perhaps he will even be willing to divulge information about their black metal tubes!” Gilda’s feathers ruffled hard, the remark leaving her ready to explode after an already-tense morning—just like Captain Moran, the Senior Sparrow wanted her to act dishonorably, but unlike Moran, she wanted Marco to betray his oath of secrecy as well? Thankfully, a familiar and far more welcome voice stayed her tongue. “I am certain that Decurion Behertz is less concerned about that than the possibility Marco Lakan is about to be sent home.” Ambassador Strenus quickly broke in from behind her, entering the Tribune’s office for the first time in weeks. “Greetings to you all.” “Welcome back, Ambassador.” Tribune Narada smiled in obvious relief, baring her throat at him in lieu of a salute. “As the Ibexians have backed down, I congratulate you on a successful mission and being able to resolve this crisis without bloodshed. Was your stay in Saddle Arabia enjoyable?” “Not especially,” he said with a thin smile. “The Ibex are never easy to deal with, couching everything in terms of doublespeak and turning even the simplest of negotiating points into a contest of wits and wills. And not helping matters was that the Saddle Arabians were far too placating to them, in my view, after the Ibexian intelligence agents—or excuse me, their honored diplomats—threatened to enact harsh trade tariffs if they sided with us.” “Charming,” was all Gilda could say as her feathers stilled, very glad to see him along with Narada and Fortrakt. “It’s good to have you back, Ambassador.” She offered him a bared throat and forearm clasp, her mood instantly brightening. “Likewise,” he agreed with a warm smile, returning the latter. “Be assured I have kept up on your daily reports as forwarded to me by the Tribune, and I find them as informative as they are intriguing. I am also quite pleased you have overcome your initial poor beginnings with Marco Lakan to have bonded with him, though I admit I am rather surprised by the circumstances.” He raised an eyeridge at her. “As am I, sir,” she granted with a slight blush. “It wasn’t exactly planned. It just… happened.” She squirmed a bit. Despite her discomfort, he smiled more broadly. “Planned or not, it bodes well for our respective races to learn that we are both socially and sexually compatible. And I am impressed by Marco Lakan’s instinctive understanding of griffon honor, even if he knew not what he was doing by arming himself against you and simply wishing to win you as a gryphon would,” he noted, nodding towards her report. “Though the Senior Sparrow here may see this in terms of gathering intelligence, I see it far more about establishing and furthering good relations between our races. I suspect you will be but the first of many such pairings. Or do we already have another one? Have you taken a human lover among your civilian charges as well, Second Spear?” He gave Fortrakt an askance but wry look. “No, sir, I have not,” Fortrakt answered somewhat stiffly despite the teasing tone. “And though I wish the Decurion and Marco—I-I mean, Mister Lakan well, nor do I plan to, given the… difficulties involved.” He offered no further comment than that, leaving Gilda wondering just how badly things had gone when he spoke to Chris and Tara. He’d at least seemed okay to be in their presence while sparring with Marco, though then again, she’d never seen him look at or even speak to them. Better ask Tara about what happened later, Gilda decided. If, that was, she was allowed to by Captain Moran, who had barred her from seeing not just Marco but all three civilians. She knew he had no authority over Tara since she’d been granted asylum, but Gilda also didn’t trust him to respect that. “I thank you for your kind words and understanding, sir,” she bowed her head towards him, “though I fear it will all be for naught if Ambassador Goldberg uses this as the excuse he needs to finally expel Marco.” Strenus turned solemn and nodded gravely. “Be assured, I will be discussing the matter with him this afternoon. I will do what I can, but ultimately, I cannot intervene in human affairs, except insofar as they affect griffon ones. His fate will be decided by their Ambassador.” “This does affect griffon affairs,” the Senior Sparrow spoke again, her mere presence causing Gilda’s ire to rise anew. “He almost certainly has information on their strange weapons, and perhaps he might share it in exchange for his own offer of asylum.” “So, you want him to act dishonorably?” Narada spoke up before Gilda could, giving her a warning look. But Tarseus was unperturbed. “Call it what you wish. But the Council of Crows is not picky about where intelligence comes from.” “I can promise you, Talia Tarseus, that the Queen would not exchange asylum for information,” Strenus said mildly, though the warning tone that underlay his words was heard loud and clear by Gilda. “For she knows well that anycreature that does such a dishonorable thing once is very liable to do it again, against our interests later.” “My thoughts exactly,” the Tribune concurred. “But that said, she might approve of asylum to allow Mister Lakan to remain with Behertz.” Gilda’s heart leapt, only to sink as Ambassador Strenus thought about that, only to shake his head. “Unfortunately, I think not. I am certain that such an arrangement would negatively impact the negotiations, and lacking friends, we desperately want this new alliance and trade agreement to improve our defenses and crop yields—never mind their weapons; their agricultural improvements and cattle herds alone could feed the entire Kingdom easily! “We indulged their Ambassador once, giving him political cover at home for expelling Dana Carraway. We would have a far more difficult time providing such cover here, especially when they believe Marco Lakan might spill their secrets.” Gilda closed her eyes, reflecting that everything that seemed so perfect the previous night had in fact complicated things far more than she ever thought possible, and worse, it might have been the final feather in the wing that got Marco expelled. The Ambassador was right; she didn’t see any way around the simple fact that Marco’s defection to the Kingdom—well, what else could she call it?—would be seen as a gross betrayal by both Moran and very possibly the Marines themselves. Unless… She blinked at the sudden idea that occurred to her. Unless I take away his ability to divulge those secrets? I’m still not completely certain, but… “With respect, Ambassador and Tribune, I think I may be able to relieve Marco Lakan of that burden,” she said, closing her eyes again to steel herself. If I’m wrong… she didn’t want to think. “It’s not in my report, because I only made the connection this morning. But I believe I know what secrets they’re hiding, and what those strange metal weapons of theirs actually are.” All eyes instantly turned on her; Ambassador Strenus seemed intrigued while to Gilda’s annoyance, the Senior Sparrow went something close to giddy. Tribune Narada's reaction, however, was far more measured. “You have information in regards to the odd human weaponry?” “Yes, sir,” Gilda replied, taking a deep breath. “As you know, me and Fortrakt have been reporting on the black tubes and the variations we have seen.” “Indeed I do.” Narada grabbed a scroll Gilda recognized as one of the previous day’s reports, written in Fortrakt’s surprisingly practiced script. “From what you’ve said before, you've seen at least three variations.” “Make that four,” Fortrakt corrected. “One standard model, one with a thicker tube wielded by their doctor, a longer model I glimpsed partially disassembled that appeared to be propped on some kind of stand, and just today, we saw what looked like a heavier version with a bulky block hanging beneath its belly.” “It’s the last I find the most interesting," Gilda interjected. “The one with that square block at the bottom that the Second Spear noted. I kept thinking I’d seen something like it before. It was only after I left the Captain’s office that I remembered where. And if I’m right, then we were wrong—very wrong—about what they were from the start.” “Then what about them, Decurion Behertz?” Narada’s voice sounded both intrigued and impatient. Gilda organized her thoughts carefully before speaking, trying to make sure all her observations could be supported by evidence. “Sir, I believe that all the black metal tubes that the Marines are carrying are not melee weapons as we first thought… but are in fact highly advanced ranged weaponry.” “Ranged weaponry?” Narada echoed, glancing at Strenus before looking back to Gilda. “We’ve seen no indication of that, Decurion. They have no arrow quivers that we can see, nor any drawstring or other recognizable mechanism to fling projectiles.” “Our mages have also detected no magic on them other than what we believe to be some powerful Equestrian-made wards to deflect magical probes—by their potent aura signature, we believed them to have been cast by one of the Pony Princesses themselves, making them very difficult to defeat,” Talia Tarseus added in some disgust, her excitement ebbing as quickly as it had risen. “There was no casting mechanism detected on them either, meaning they do not launch magical beams or bolts. So how can you possibly conclude they are ranged weapons, Decurion?” “Yeah, how?” Even Fortrakt was giving her an odd look. “Observation,” Gilda replied. “I initially thought that their weapons were far too cumbersome to wield in a melee setting, but after I’d been around them a bit, I assumed that human fingers could compensate for it—that the various protrusions of their weapons were meant as striking or swinging surfaces.” Narada raised her claw. “Excuse me, Decurion, but what are ‘fingers’?” Before Gilda could reply, Strenus answered for her. “Fingers, my dear Tribune, are humanity’s blunt yet nimble talons. Though not hard or sharp, they are very dexterous and can manipulate even small objects with ease.” The Tribune nodded her understanding. “I see. Continue.” “Thank you, Ambassador,” Gilda acknowledged with a bared throat toward Strenus before she turned back towards Narada. “As I said, I initially thought that their fingers would be more than enough to compensate for the weapon’s cumbersome form. But I now realize I was wrong. “After observing how humans move and fight—and even how they would fight a griffon, thanks to the Second Spear sparring with Marco Lakan—I have concluded that the weapons are not designed for close combat. I believe Fortrakt and I have submitted regular reports in regards to the human ‘films’ we’ve been shown, Tribune?” “Yes, you have,” she replied somewhat impatiently. “Their subject matter is certainly diverse, but what does that have to do with anything?” “Well, the first film we’ve watched, Warrior, showcased modern human civilization in a country called the United States of America, which is the parent nation of the Marines present,” Gilda said. “A later movie we watched, Braveheart, was a historical re-telling of a far older civilization in another country called Scotland.” “And the point of this is… what?” Talia Tarseus asked irritably, to which Gilda gave her another glare. “The point, Senior Sparrow, is that while Warrior showed how modern humans can fight effectively with no weapons in single combat, Braveheart showcased how early humans actually fought a war! Among other things, they rode—” Fortrakt suddenly chortled hard, which got the attention of everygriffon else in the room. Gilda gave him her harshest stare, while Narada and Strenus looked annoyed. “Do you find something amusing in this discussion, Second Spear Gletscher?” Narada asked mildly. “Nothing, sir,” Fortrakt replied immediately, clearing his throat repeatedly. He then stayed completely silent. Gilda ignored the urge to cuff him with her wing but settled on rolling her eyes. “As I was saying, Braveheart showed us that early humans waged war almost exactly the same way we do! They had melee weapons quite like ours in that they used swords, spears, and shields. In matters of mobilization, they rode large beasts of burden—unintelligent Terran Horses—to maneuver their forces more quickly. “And just like us, their warfare was not limited to close quarters. They in fact used bows and arrows to strike from distance, much like Equestrian unicorns, and they even wielded a very primitive version of our crossbows designed to defeat metal armor.” Strenus stroked his chin. “Interesting. I can certainly see them manipulating Equestrian-style longbows with their fingers. Their bipedal forms would make them easy to wield without unicorn magic, as standing on two legs would leave both sets of foretalons free to level the bow and pull back the drawstring. But you say they also used crossbows? That they invented a weapon similar to ours?” “Similar to ours in the very distant past, yes,” Gilda confirmed. “Single shot and very slow to reload, requiring mechanical aid to do so. I emphasize that they were very basic designs. We might have last used ones like them a full millennium ago, when we battled the invading army of Nightmare Moon.” “Interesting,” Narada granted. “So if they were using them then, why aren’t they using them now?” “But that’s just it!” Gilda exclaimed. “And this brings me back to the other film, Warrior, which is set in the modern human setting.” “And how is that relevant?” Tarseus asked. Though Gilda didn’t want to acknowledge the Senior Sparrow’s question, her query was a valid one. “I can’t help but note that the difference in living standards between the two films is very drastic. Building designs turned from painfully primitive to incredibly sophisticated. From stone castles transforming to metal and glass towers that seemed to reach the sky; from riding beasts of burden to mechanical carriages that could enable them to travel by ground and air at high speed. By the crows, they’ve even been to their moon now!” she reminded them. “Impossible,” the Senior Sparrow said dismissively. “We heard that rumor from the Equestrians, but dismissed it as a pile of crow droppings given the incredible distance and difficulties involved.” Gilda gave her a look. “Whether you believe it or not, I’m satisfied that it happened, Senior Sparrow. And that goes to the heart of the argument. They’ve advanced incredibly far over the past millennium in all other areas of their society, so why not in weapons and warfare? Why would they have regressed back to using simple melee arms after effectively wielding bows and arrows?” she asked pointedly, waiting for them to process the question and reach the only conclusion possible. “With everything else they have, it’s unthinkable that they would have done so. If they had ranged weapons like crossbows before, it makes no sense at all that they’re not using them now… unless they got something better to replace them. I think that ‘something’ is those black tubes they all carry.” “Then… you think those tubes of theirs are in fact extremely advanced crossbows?” Narada sounded very dubious. “No, sir,” Gilda shook her head. “Though the way they grasp their weapons bears a passing resemblance to how we hold our crossbows, I don’t think they’re that at all. I think they’re far more powerful and dangerous. And the reason is…” She took a deep breath before voicing her conclusion. “I didn’t make the connection until this morning, but I finally figured out what their metal tubes—and particularly that big, mounted block—remind me of. “With regards to the former, I believe they’re what amounts to miniaturized naval ballistae, firing tiny metal balls.” It was several seconds before anygriffon spoke again as all present processed her claim; a glance behind Narada showed that even her aides and sentries appeared uncertain. “So in other words, they’re tiny cannons firing equally tiny cannonballs?” Strenus summarized doubtfully. “But how would those be useful?” the Senior Sparrow challenged, her brow furrowed as she tried and failed to visualize it. “I admit I’m no expert on naval affairs, but I know that even for practiced gunnery teams on airships, reload time for a single ballistae is very slow! And the explosive gem dust needed to propel them is very difficult to refine and store. “It’s extremely volatile, and you would not want to keep that on your body given it’s been known to spontaneously ignite. Or worse, the detonation could be triggered remotely by hostile mages.” “As much as I hate to say it, I agree with the Ambassador and Senior Sparrow, Decurion,” Fortrakt spoke up again, his tone serious. “Even if you’re right, that doesn’t seem very useful. I mean, sure, they could conceivably fire one destructive volley with them like an airship broadside, but after that? We could cut them down before they reloaded with a hail of crossbow bolts and then quickly close to finish them with spears and steel claws. They’d get no chance for a second volley and their weapons would be effectively reduced to melee.” “Unless their weapons are not single shot,” Gilda said quickly, having already anticipated the objection. “And that’s where my second piece of evidence comes in. Tribune—I know this is a difficult request, but may I ask that a repeating crossbow with a loaded drum be brought to your office?” Narada looked startled, and Gilda certainly understood why. Such powerful weapons, which were generally Minotaur-made, were highly restricted and very dangerous to those untrained in their use; as a result, they were tightly controlled and only issued in rare instances outside of wartime as an assassin could use one to slaughter an entire roomful of unwary griffons. “On what grounds?” “To show you why I believe the human weapons are repeating as well.” “I don’t get it, but okay.” She gave the order to an aide, who obtained her the required release document. She signed it and added her personal seal, which would be needed to unlock the Auxiliary Guard armory vault where they were stored. Even with orders issued promptly, it took ten minutes to retrieve from the well-guarded vault. It was then delivered to the office with an escort of guards, where it was placed on the well-polished and highly reflective surface of Narada’s stone desk before them. “Very well, Decurion. Here it is. Now without touching it, what did you want to show us?” “The quiver.” She pointed at the barrel drum which stored scores of individual bolts—she believed the count was sixty per standard drum—in a connected coil, which was visible through the housing. It wasn’t the newest model, but as arguably the most powerful individual armament in the Kingdom’s arsenal, it was still an intimidating sight. Gilda also couldn’t help but note the weapon had the head of a goat, which meant this particular crossbow had been used in combat against the Ibexians and had drawn blood at some border skirmish with the Ascendency in the past. “I didn’t think of this until I saw that big block hanging beneath their latest weapon, but I believe that’s what the block is—an attached quiver drum. I think it’s the container for the cannonballs!” Nogriffon said anything while they considered her statement. “You know, I think you’re right, Decurion…” an impressed Fortrakt said at some length. “I think that’s it. It would explain everything—their secrecy, why they don’t want to show us certain movies, why we didn’t recognize them as distance weapons… even why their soldiers and civilians won’t discuss them with us! I mean, if they were just melee, then what’s the point of hiding that?” “Heh. Humans come in force, and they even have their civilians remain vigilant for any information gathering? Equestrians were never this fun!” Strenus didn’t laugh so much as roar. “Well, I’m not convinced,” an unsmiling Narada replied despite the Ambassador’s mirth. “I’d have to see these ‘quivers’ for myself. And if that’s what they are, why haven’t we seen them on their other weapons?” “Perhaps, like us, they use repeaters in only a very limited manner, issuing them to just one or two soldiers per Turma?” Talia Tarseus suggested. “You did say you only saw the one.” “No…” Fortrakt said as he moved closer to the repeater before an escort sentry stopped him—the weapons were so restricted they weren’t even allowed to approach within two body lengths of them. “No, Senior Sparrow. I think Decurion Behertz is not only right, but that all their weapons have those quivers. We just didn’t recognize that’s what they were until we saw this latest version of their metal tubes.” “All of them?” This time, it was Gilda’s turn to be dubious. “Yes, all of them! I can show you what I mean. With respect, Tribune, could I trouble you for a quill and a piece of parchment?” He came to attention and bared his throat as he spoke. Though confused, Narada granted the request as the half dozen escorting sentries looked on in some bemusement, having only entered the room mid-conversation while not being allowed to stray from the crossbow’s side. Ignoring them, Fortrakt accepted the writing implements, moved to a side table and then dipped the pen in an ink jug. He used the top of a cabinet as a drawing surface as he began to rapidly sketch something. Within half a minute, he had produced a passable depiction of one of the black tubed human weapons—their basic model with the three protuberances below. The smaller two seemed to be grips as there were noticeable indentations for their fingers, but the larger one in the middle… Though she’d never known him to have an artistic flair, Fortrakt produced a surprisingly accurate sketch. He took pains to depict the human weapon properly, from its rough dimensions to the position of the three underhanging protrusions; it was only then Gilda realized that the largest of the set took the same rough mid-weapon location as the drum did for the crossbow. “Just as a bolt drum contains a coil of crossbow bolts, I think that these long, curved rectangles are the quiver drums for their standard weapons! I grant they’re too small for a coil of bolts, but if we’re talking about miniature cannons, then maybe ‘bolts’ isn’t what they contain so much as stacks of metal balls…?” Fortrakt suggested somewhat tentatively, filling the object with a pile of them. “Remarkable…” Narada said as she studied the design. “Could that be it?” “By the Ancestors…” Even Talia Tarseus seemed fascinated. “If this is true, then our arcane theorists were looking in entirely the wrong direction. We certainly considered that the tubes could be some form of distance weapons, but as we kept trying to associate them to crossbows, we found no usable parallels to our own. We should have instead been considering that they could be cannons.” “The more I think about it, the more I believe you’re on to something, Decurion,” Strenus said in some wonder. “Tribune, did we ever experiment with miniature naval ballistae for individual soldier use?” “Yes. Both we and the Minotaurs did, well before the beginning of my career,” Tribune Narada confirmed. As she spoke, she went to a magically sealed cabinet and used her command crystal to unlock it, ruffling through the files it contained. “We even produced a few prototypes some eighty years ago, which were demonstrated before then-King Malachia. But they proved almost completely impractical and useless.” “Why?” Strenus and Fortrakt chorused. “Because the problems they presented were myriad, from agonizingly slow reload times to difficulties in storing small amounts of highly volatile explosive crystal dust that would be used to propel the balls down the tubes as our naval cannons do,” Narada explained as she removed a single sheet of parchment from the cabinet. “Worse, unlike our naval cannons, the amount of the crystal dust required for even a single firing was very precise—too little and the cannonball would not have enough force to be damaging or travel far, but too much and the tube might burst, exploding in the soldier’s grasp. The latter could be helped by making the cannon tube thicker, but doing so made it weigh so much that it was all but impossible to heft and aim by all but grounded earth griffons. “They were also quite hard to maintain and could mechanically fail in other ways without constant cleaning and tending, which was difficult for soldiers in the field. Here is a design picture of the prototype, plus a focus on the projectile firing mechanism.” She laid the sheet of parchment on the table before them. “By the Ancestors… how does that even work?” Fortrakt wanted to know. “Not important, though its complexity is part of its impracticality,” the Tribune replied. “Even aside from that, you will note it is quite large—far too large to be easily carried or wielded in flight, and it proved almost impossible to aim accurately from the air. “Even fired from the ground, their accuracy was suspect, having range barely better than a crossbow… though I’m told the Minotaurs did solve that particular issue by carving spiral grooves into the inside of the tube, imparting the small cannonball a stabilizing spin. In the end, they incorporated that discovery into some of their regular ballistae, which they then sold to us and now equip our airships, and even certain of our siege engines.” There was another long pause. “As I look at this now, I do see a resemblance to the human tubes. Could the Decurion be right and they are in fact a successful version of a potential class of weapon we long abandoned?” Strenus wondered again. “If they made it work, we could too! So why did we not pursue this further?” Tribune Narada opened her mouth to speak again, but this time, Talia Tarseus beat her to it. “Because as the Tribune said, such small cannons seemed to offer no real advantages to soldiers given their bulky size and maintenance requirements, difficulties in reloading, dangerous propellant, total impracticality in air combat and very poor rate of fire compared to crossbows. They were also quite loud, like our cannons, meaning soldiers could not strike stealthily with them. Thus, the idea was abandoned in favor of other research avenues.” “What avenues?” Fortrakt asked. Gilda didn’t expect an answer, but the Senior Sparrow gave one anyway. “It is hardly a secret that we are researching crossbows that fire magical bolts instead of real ones, which would—in theory—give even our standard soldier weapons far more power and range. They are called ‘bowcasters’, and they would even enable our soldiers to fire far more quickly, if not as fast as our repeaters,” she explained, her tail twitching in excitement. “But all that might be unnecessary if we could duplicate the human ones! If we could just get our wings on even one of those tubes—” “No!” everygriffon chorused. “No. We will not steal them, Senior Sparrow, or we will validate their Captain’s suspicions and lose any chance to acquire them legitimately through trade,” Ambassador Strenus said flatly. “And before you plan to examine any human gear the Ibex stole and you subsequently find, I remind you that the Queen has ordered all stolen property found to be returned to the humans immediately. So you will.” Talia Tarseus ruffled her feathers at the insinuation. “I know my duty, Ambassador, as does the entire Council of Crows. We would never disobey the Queen.” “If I thought you had, I would have already reported it. To both the Queen, and the humans,” Tribune Narada replied coldly. “In any event, this weapon has served its purpose. By my order, return the repeating crossbow to its vault,” she instructed the guards, further ordering them in no uncertain terms not to speak about what they’d heard. Once they had saluted and departed, she turned back to Gilda, standing up to bare her throat in a rare show of respect. “I must congratulate you, Decurion, on this remarkable insight. Your conclusions ring true to me, and it is certainly made clear you are more than capable of carrying out your duties, even with the potential… complications that Marco Lakan offers.” She blushed slightly as she spoke. “As long as that does not change, be assured you have my support to continue in your post as diplomatic liaison.” “Thank you, sir. But I fear it is not up to you.” Gilda bowed her head and clenched her beak in worry. “Perhaps not. But I assure you, I will speak to the Captain again,” the Tribune promised, “and do my best to make him see reason.” “And I will speak to the human Ambassador this afternoon,” Strenus added. “We will do what we can, but even if unsuccessful… know that you have done the Kingdom a very great service, Decurion Behertz. And I will see that you and Second Spear Gletscher are rewarded for the veritable dragon’s hoard of information you have bequeathed us.” “Thank you, sir,” she nodded and bared her throat, wondering if that meant another promotion, or—if she was very lucky—finally getting her long-desired posting to the Wind Knights. But here and now, the only reward I want… Marco’s face flashed through her mind again. “I thank you for your kind words, but with respect, Second Spear Gletscher and I are due back at the Inn shortly, Tribune and Ambassador. I am scheduled to give my first cultural training seminar to the Marines at the top of the hour. If, that is, the Captain allows me to give it.” Her feathers ruffled anew. “If he doesn’t, then I will give it in your stead,” Narada replied instantly. “I’ll be there regardless to make sure the Captain attempts no further insults or intimidation tactics with you. Hopefully my presence will make him behave. But if not…” Her eyes narrowed and feathers ruffled even harder than Gilda’s. “If not, then I may well decide to drop the restriction against dueling humans so I may challenge him myself.” “…which brings us to our next topic: concepts of griffon honor,” Gilda announced to the Marines in attendance at the first of three cultural training seminars she was giving that day. They were sitting in ordered rows in the improvised classroom; two ‘squads’ of thirteen Marines pulled from the six present at the Inn—Captain Moran had reinforced the contingent with a second ‘platoon’ following the Ibex invasion, allowing for doubled patrols and sentry counts. As it turned out, the only reason she was permitted by the Captain to give the session was that Ambassador Goldberg and his staff were not available, ensconced in negotiations for the first time in three weeks that Ambassador Strenus was belatedly returning to. Not helping her mood was that Captain Moran not only continued to treat her coldly, but he denied her permission to speak to Marco, and further ordered him confined to quarters pending his chat with the Ambassador. He clearly expected Marco to be expelled, and worse, clearly hoped he would be—along with her. “I expect this will be your last appearance before my Marines. No tricks or funny business, Decurion. I will be watching you.” “Good. I also suggest you listen to the presentation, Captain. Maybe you’ll learn something about griffon honor,” she needled him while Narada frowned. “And I will be watching you, Captain Moran,” the Tribune then warned him in turn. “And know that if you continue to treat my soldiers so suspiciously, it will be reported. And it will reflect badly on not just you, but your entire mission here.” “I won’t start anything unless she does,” the unimpressed Captain replied as a clearly unhappy Staff Sergeant Stafford stood stiffly behind him. But this time, he did not speak up; Gilda didn’t even want to think about what reprimand or punishment he’d already received for speaking out of turn earlier. But as Fortrakt reminded her gently afterwards, there was nothing she could do about it for the time being, and he further told her to remember that both Ambassador Strenus and Tribune Narada would be speaking up on her behalf. “I’m not happy about any of this either. But we’ve got most of the Marines on our side even if their Captain isn’t, so let’s not endanger that by taking it out on them,” he advised her quietly while she stopped back at her room to get her notes, escorted by four armed Marines in front and in back the whole time. Their brief discussion left her wondering how he had become the voice of reason, and how he was repeatedly able to shake off his fears and even a succession of body blows to his young psyche. But unable to talk to him more than briefly, she put the question aside for later. The seminar had begun promptly at the start of the 11th hour with the human troops coming to attention as she entered. Gilda was surprised but pleased to see Tara there, sitting in the back where she could watch the whole room; her angry glare focusing on the back of Captain Moran’s head. She gave the two griffons only a terse nod as they entered, leaving Gilda guessing that the human female had already confronted Captain Moran over Marco and Gilda’s treatment earlier, to no avail. Gilda also couldn’t imagine that Moran was happy about her presence. But as Tara had asylum, he had no authority over her, and short of her expulsion from the embassy—which would likely leave his Marines in near-open revolt, given they all liked her and she was the only female human present short of the far older and less desirable ones on the Ambassador’s staff—he tolerated her presence there, pointedly ignoring her steady glare. Just hope I can talk to her later. But if this is my last duty here, so be it, she decided, vowing to perform it as well as possible. She began her lessons by explaining the basics of griffon body language and behavior rules, putting special emphasis on what not to touch or do, using Marco’s actions the first night as an example. She’d even used a slightly uncomfortable Fortrakt to show directly what was strictly-off-limits, pointing to his wings, flanks and flight muscles in turn. “Or put in terms you guys might be more familiar with, touching griffon wings or shoulders is tantamount to groping a girl’s boobs,” Tara offered directly. “The difference is, I might deck you. But a griffon might gut you.” She smiled unpleasantly. “She exaggerates, but not by much,” Gilda confirmed with a glance at Fortrakt, who grimaced. “I wouldn’t have killed Marco Lakan for that transgression, but I would have broken the offending talons if not for my partner, here.” “So shoulders are off-limits even on griffon males?” One of the Marines asked. “Even on males,” Fortrakt confirmed before Gilda could. “We take personal space very seriously—the Decurion once threw me through a table for violating hers! So, don’t ever touch us in a familiar manner unless you’re in private and you’ve earned the right.” “And how do we do that?” one of the Corporals asked. “We’re kind of afraid to be friendly after what happened to Flip-boy—er, Mister Lakan.” “By being honorable,” Gilda said simply. “By word and by deed. Marco Lakan made every effort to make it up to me, and further showed his quality by being willing to defend his friend. Thus, he redeemed himself and established his honor in my eyes.” She saw some glances between the Marines that indicated they were trying to figure out how Marco had parlayed that into being her lover, but she didn’t address it just then. She instead went on to explain that griffons were an intensely loyal race that valued personal honor above all, glaring at Captain Moran as she did so. “To that end, you never invite a griffon to betray that honor, or you invite a duel that may indeed be to the death.” That had led to her next topic—an in-depth discussion of challenge and duel rules, with some of the more adventurous Marines asking if it was true griffons dueled before mating. After exchanging a glance with Fortrakt and even Tribune Narada, who could only smirk, she confirmed it was. “What you refer to is called a ‘mating round’, or ‘Round’ for short. Perhaps my partner would care to explain them, given he’s fought a few recently?” Gilda then asked with a smirk of her own, causing Fortrakt to flush but step forward to the sound of snickers. His reaction left her in some amusement despite her still-smoldering anger at Captain Moran, as her junior partner was forced to field a series of rather probing and occasionally embarrassing questions. But to his credit, he answered them all patiently. In response to being asked why griffons considered mating an occasion to fight, he explained that mating rounds were a ritual test of warrior worthiness in which you did not hold back, designed to build passion by getting the blood pumping. “There is nothing more stimulating to us than a contest with a worthy foe,” he went on to say, though the reaction to that seemed a mixture of intrigue and distaste. “So the griffies aren’t Romans, they’re freaking Klingons…” she heard one Marine mutter under his breath, leaving her wondering what human nation that was. But she could ignore the remark, given it was not directed at her and she didn’t understand the reference anyway. But then she heard whispering from the Marines in back regarding her and Marco, wondering how he could possibly have fought her, or why she’d be interested in him given his almost assuredly small ‘dick’. It was another human euphemism she’d heard often enough by then to guess it was a slang term for a male spear, though she had no idea where such an incredibly lame and dweeby nickname came from. She might have ignored that as well—how little they knew!—but then the other Marine suggested that maybe since griffons were half-feline, they were poorly-endowed to begin with, and thus, Marco’s small stature was perfectly sized to her. The remark earned another stifled snicker followed by an angry glare from Gilda, who very deliberately let her words trail off and her feathers ruffle hard. “Decurion…” Fortrakt called to her warily—he’d heard the insult, as had Tribune Narada, who watched Gilda carefully but did not intervene as she proceeded to stalk down the aisle to pin the two Marines with a stare, her wings partially flared in anger. “Here’s your next lesson in griffon senses and honor, Private Munoz and Lance Corporal Shriver—we may not have visible ears, but as predators, we can hear the barest of whispers in the wind! So look at me right now, all of you—this is what an angry griffon looks like!” She added a trilling growl to her words; she was gratified when she saw their cheeks pale as she bore into their smaller eyes with her narrowed gold ones. She held her stare for a few seconds more before speaking again, making sure her ire was obvious, and her next words would be driven home. “Let me say right now that the rumors are true—I am with Marco Lakan. Why is none of your crow-damned business, but as you are still ignorant of griffon culture, I will state this once, and one time only: “To insult the stature or honor of an eagless’s mate is to insult that eagless herself,” she warned not just the pair of Marines, but them all. “We brook insults to neither ourselves nor our partners. Accordingly, you will not slander him again in my presence! So to borrow your own phrase… is that fucking clear?” she snarled at them both. “Ma’am, yes ma’am!” they said as one, which only made her angrier. “And by all the crows, stop calling me ma’am! I’ve already told you twice that griffon officers are called sir, regardless of gender!” “Yes, ma’—I-I mean, sir!” they stammered before Gilda pinned them with another stare. “Under normal circumstances, your apology would not be sufficient. If you two were griffons, you would now be facing a challenge you could not back away from without losing all face and honor. For slandering my mate, I would demand satisfaction in the form of a duel! The terms of the challenge would be a fight to submission, which can mean anything from a simple surrender by bared neck to ending the duel by breaking a limb!” “Decurion…” Narada’s warning voice rang in her ear. “Unfortunately, as the Tribune reminds me, I am not allowed to challenge humans, but that doesn’t mean I can’t invite you to help give me a demonstration. So then… would either of you like to volunteer?” she asked them pointedly, to which the pair sat stiff and silent. “I thought not,” she allowed herself a smile at having cowed them; the feeling of dominance over the human soldiers furling her feathers and wings. She then smiled as a sudden idea occurred to her. “You know, for the record, Marco Lakan bested Second Spear Gletscher over there in a training spar. He also held off two griffons at once with a single metal stick. So at least I know he can fight, unlike the two of you.” She couldn’t resist tossing forth the insult and was rewarded by a flush on one face along with a clenched jaw on the other. “Oh, you don’t like that? Well, if you two want to challenge me for insulting your ability, there’s no prohibition against that,” she suggested slyly. “But then again, you really shouldn’t, since I can tell just by looking at you that you couldn’t beat me or satisfy me! After all, to answer your earlier question, I just about promise that ‘Flip-boy’ is far bigger than you both!” She dug her talons in deeper. “I can vouch for that,” Tara said with a smug grin from where she watched in the back, listening over crossed arms. “I’ve seen him. She’s not lying, boys.” All eyes then turned on the two Marines Gilda was provoking, whom she saw looked ready to explode. So she fanned the flames further. “But that’s okay. After all, size isn’t everything to a griffon—honor and warrior ability are! But then again, you’re clearly lacking in those as well, as I can already tell that the two of you have neither!” She got in the taller one’s face. “Okay, enough!” a red-cheeked Lance Corporal Shriver stood up. “You are not comparing me to him! So you want a challenge, griffie girl? You got it!” He smacked a fist into his other palm loudly like she’d seen Tara do. “Sit down!” Moran ordered sharply. “In case you idiots can’t tell, she’s deliberately provoking you! She knows she can’t challenge you, so she’s trying to get you to challenge her! We are not here to fight griffons!” “No, you’re here to learn about us,” Gilda replied instantly, her grin growing. “And the first thing you should learn is that if your Marines want our respect, Captain, you have to show that you’re willing and able to fight us!” “I couldn’t have said it better,” the Tribune agreed. “And better yet, this will provide a perfect opportunity to demonstrate how we conduct duels.” “I said sit down!” Moran ordered Shriver again. “Sit down, or be on kitchen duty for a week!” “Too late,” Narada replied with a grin before Gilda could. “Your subordinate issued the challenge, Captain. You could order him to rescind it, of course, but the loss of honor holds. I’ll make sure that all griffons know that you wouldn’t allow your soldiers to so much as answer an insult when we stood up for you over an actual assault. At that point, you will lose all respect, and be seen as unworthy of the troops you lead.” She then smiled almost sweetly. “I daresay that would reflect very badly on you, Captain Moran. In fact, I daresay that such an order would be seen as so dishonorable that the negotiations could not continue until you were relieved of your post.” He glared at her. “This is blackmail…” “This is how we do things. So step forth, Lance Corporal Shriver,” the Tribune invited with a grin; a smug Gilda noticed that Tara’s smile got broader while a glance behind her showed her that Fortrakt had buried his head in a set of talons. “My pleasure!” Shriver said, deliberately cricking his neck while also shaking out his limbs a bit to loosen them. “Don’t worry, Captain. I’ll show her what a real man is!” An improvised duel circle was then cleared for the pair. Gilda’s grin got wider even as she lowered her head. “Well, ‘real man’, I would normally say that Marco Lakan should answer that insult himself, but as he is not here, I will stand in his stead! So the first question we must settle is—what are the terms of the duel?” “Terms?” “What is the manner of combat, what is the stopping point, and what do you wish from her if you win?” Narada clarified. “You can demand a duel with blades or bare talons. You can order both sides to strip their armor and fight with bodies alone. And in victory, you can ask for just about anything—within reason. Just be careful not to demand something too dishonorable or degrading, or you might earn a second duel with potentially lethal terms later. We’ll cover those next.” “Oh, okay! In that case, let’s go hand-to-hand, all armor off! Duel is to knockout or surrender! All I want is to try fighting one of those ‘mating rounds’ with you! If I win, I’ll show you what a real man is!” he claimed again to a mixture of groans and cheers. Though her feathers ruffled and tail lashed, Gilda caught Tara’s gaze for a moment, who rolled her eyes hard before giving her a sharp nod, followed by a very evil grin—a grin she shortly shared. “Very well, Lance Corporal Shriver. Before we can duel, I must accept your terms, and I do! But in return, if you lose, you will publicly apologize to Marco, and myself.” He stared at her. “That’s it?” “That’s it. I could make it more humiliating, but I want this to be a lesson, not a cause for revenge! There are, however, a few more formalities that must be observed first. So if you would, Tribune?” Gilda asked politely with a bared throat in Narada’s direction. “First, it is important that all duels must be witnessed,” Narada explained as the two faced off on opposite sides of the circle. “To that end, at least two witnesses must be present, with at least one allied with each duel participant. This is to prevent either side from later claiming an illegal assault or refusing to uphold their side of the bargain because they lost. Both the terms and the duel itself must be witnessed. So, who will stand with Lance Corporal Shriver?” “I will!” Private Munoz offered, standing up. “Show that griffie who’s boss, buddy!” “Very well. And I will serve as second for the Decurion,” Narada said before Fortrakt or Tara could, earning a surprised and grateful bared neck from Gilda. “Now as per the terms of the duel, remove your armor and all weapons.” “Fine by me!” Shriver announced as he stripped off his uniform shirt and utility belt to bare his broad chest, flexing it for show as Gilda swiftly removed her armor—she was amazed at how naked she felt without it now; she’d been a soldier for so long!—then watched as the large human male took an almost four-legged ready stance at the edge of the circle with a single set of talons flexed hard against the ground, like he was going to push off it. He gazed upon her almost lasciviously and grinned. “For the record, I was a linebacker in High School, griffie. If I can take down a running back, I can certainly take you down!”” “You can try.” Though Gilda had no idea what a ‘running back’ was, she grinned back and took her own combat stance, lowering her forequarters and flaring her wings for flight—not that she could fly in the room, but she could use her wings for balance and rapid shifts of stance. “Very well. All that remains now is to call the start of the duel and remind you of the duel terms—to knockout or surrender! And know that if you wish to surrender, simply bare your throat, Lance Corporal.” “Ain’t gonna happen,” he promised as Moran saw the proceedings unfold in impotent anger while Tara came near the edge of the duel circle to watch closer, her arms crossed and smile one of lazy anticipation. “Now let’s go!” “Very well. As I am the Decurion’s second, we need a neutral party to officiate. Would you do the honors, Second Spear?” Fortrakt looked less than happy about the request and the direction things had taken, but he obeyed nonetheless. “Yes, Tribune. As I am officiating, I am required to remind all parties that this duel is to knockout or surrender only—that exceeding these terms results in duel forfeit and being dragged before a magistrate on illegal assault charges which may result in weeks of imprisonment or hard labor in the mines! Do both sides understand?” he gave the ritual question, to which Gilda nodded while Shriver just sneered a smile. Fortrakt then closed his eyes, seemingly offering up a prayer to the Ancestors, perhaps that this wouldn’t go as badly as he feared. “Then on my signal… combatants! Fight!” he made a slashing motion with talons vertically between them, then stepped back out of the way as Shriver sprang at her not unlike a pouncing cat, charging her at a low crouch like a Minotaur. But if he was going to act like an attacking Minotaur—which despite whatever delusions the human Marine had, he was nowhere near as big or strong as—then she would simply treat him like one. With a single sudden lateral thrust of her wings, she sidestepped him and then attacked his ankles, knocking the nearest one sideways in midstride, and the Marine instantly off-balance with it. She then grabbed his flailing hind leg in one smooth motion and yanked it towards her, sending him sprawling; he wasn’t able to recover his balance or raise a guard before Gilda was on him, slamming him hard to the ground; her talons clenching his biceps and beak poised to rip out his throat. “Surrender,” she ordered with a trilling growl, but he tried to struggle against her instead even though her position was dominant—not even the fighters from Warrior could escape her now! “Suit yourself.” She then head-butted him hard, leaving him unconscious on the floor before she got up off him. “The duel is mine! Unless anycreature now present objects?” she asked them all with a smirk. When no answer was received, the Tribune continued for her. “As he failed to surrender, he was knocked out, and thus, the Decurion declares herself the victor. When he wakes up, the Lance Corporal will be required to fulfill the duel terms he agreed to,” Narada explained as Shriver was carried by two Marines to the infirmary, a bruise quickly forming on his forehead. “And my commendations, Decurion. It would seem you learned your lessons at the Gauntlet about dealing with angry Minotaurs well…” Three classes—and two more mock duels—later, every seminar for the day had been given. There were still more classes scheduled for the off-site Marines, and even one for Ambassador Goldberg’s staff, but Gilda increasingly expected that after the additional confrontations with the Marines and Captain Moran during the first seminar, she wouldn’t be giving them. In fairness, the other duels had been friendly, and she’d even been on the losing end of one when she found herself rolled up on her side in seconds by a powerful and well-practiced Sergeant Reyes, with her wing pinned and her neck caught in a headlock. Unable to break free, breathe or bare her throat, she’d been forced to ‘tap out’ as humans did, patting his forearm repeatedly with her talons. The Sergeant’s victory had earned him a series of whooping cheers, leaving Gilda marveling at both how good he was and how well Giraldi must have trained him to beat her so easily. Sorely impressed, she’d bared her throat to him after, explaining again that she would then have to abide by any terms of the duel, whether it was a bet of gems, duties, or a simple apology. “Soldiers are allowed to challenge their superiors for their rank in the Kingdom’s military.” She’d even answered the question from one of the lower-ranked Marines. “But only your immediate superior, as any higher would mean you assume a rank and duties you are not qualified for.“ “And even if you win the challenge, you must take additional training to ensure you can carry out your new duties,” Fortrakt added from the side. “I could not, for example, challenge the Decurion for her rank, given she’s two ranks above me.” “That said, you could still challenge a much higher superior to, say, demand a transfer or satisfaction for a personal affront,” Narada then added with a nod, followed by an increasingly sly grin. “But that is highly inadvisable as a rule. As to why… step forth, Sergeant Reyes.” She then entered the improvised duel ring herself. “No challenge necessary, as this is simply a friendly spar. I understand you can now not only best the Decurion, but First Spear Giraldi himself? Then let us see how good you have gotten! No blood shall be drawn; we fight to submission only.” She donned Fortrakt’s gloves before settling into a combat crouch. “Sir, yes sir!” Though surprised, Reyes smiled and took his ready stance again while Fortrakt called the start of the duel, saying he would act as the Sergeant’s second while Gilda did the same for the Tribune. At the downward swipe of his claws, Narada struck swiftly, using her flared wings to add speed to her pounce. But Reyes successfully pivoted to deflect her initial rush, then dodged or parried two subsequent talon swipes before he was off-balance enough that the Tribune was able to spin and sweep his rear leg from behind with a wide arc of her wing. Her surprise strike knocked the Sergeant’s underpinnings out and made him fall flat on his back, giving him no chance to recover before he found Narada atop him, pinning him from above with one set of gloved talons on his chest and another poised at his neck. The room fell silent at the swift defeat. Well-versed in griffon sparring and duel rituals from his time with Giraldi, a shocked Reyes quickly bared his throat, causing the Tribune to instantly release him. “As we advance in rank through duel and combat, griffon commanders are generally very good at fighting,” she said dryly as the Marines stared at her warily, “And we do not take kindly to having our honor or ability slandered. That said, very well done parrying my initial blows, Sergeant,” she complimented him as she helped him back up with a clasp of his arm through her glove. “The First Spear has taught you well.” “Thanks, sir. But I guess I still have a ways to go,” he said somewhat ruefully as he stood up and saluted her. She smiled as she returned the honor. “There is no shame in your defeat, Sergeant, as you lasted longer than most griffons could against me. The point I am making is that when it comes to duels, do be mindful not to bite off more than your beaks can eat,” she then addressed the other Marines. “Had your Sergeant been an actual subordinate, or even one of equal rank who had insulted me or those under me, I would have been far less gentle and likely wounded the offender to make sure the defeat was felt fully.” She looked pointedly at Moran, whose eyes narrowed and lips tightened. She’s goading him, Gilda knew, though she kept the grin from her beak, wondering if there was yet a point that the human commander would issue the challenge to keep from losing face in front of his soldiers. The final seminar ended ten minutes after that, with Moran departing first as his soldiers stood to attention without another word. Once he was gone, the other Marines went up to Reyes; several even hitting him on his shoulders hard enough to almost cause him to fall. As difficult as it was to believe, it became clear that it was a complimentary gesture instead of an insult or outright assault on a sensitive area. Tribune Narada also received respect as well, with several Marines asking if she truly wished to fight the Captain. “That’s up to him,” she answered shortly, but accepted the acclaim anyway. She might have stayed longer, but as she was then informed that Ambassador Goldberg was now available, Narada departed to speak with him immediately. She then ordered Gilda and Fortrakt to stay outside the Inn until summoned, giving them a communication crystal. “I suggest you clear your head with a walk and flight, Decurion,” the Tribune advised before departing for her meeting. “If you’re called to testify, I want your wits sharp and your temper held in check. If there is to be a challenge issued to their Captain over his conduct, I will issue it,” she further warned, to which Gilda fervently hoped she’d at least be allowed to watch. Though internally grumbling over having to leave—she’d been wanting to speak to Tara if nothing else—she obeyed, leaving the Inn with Fortrakt to take a long but lazy flight. While approaching the entrance of the Western Gates, they began to chat more about the day’s events. “Have to say, the humans have some weird ideas about what makes a proper duel—even Marco,” Fortrakt mused at some length. “While we were sparring, it took him a while to realize the knife was planted. I expected him to go for it, but not to kick sand in my face as an initial attack.” He screwed up his features slightly, blinking his eyes rapidly at the memory. “Me neither, but it was a good tactic. Though I don’t think he realized at first that the knife was there to be used,” Gilda replied with a smile as she thought of her human lover, before it dropped again at the knowledge that she might be about to lose him. “He said afterwards that he thought using it was cheating. So I imagine he’d been thinking of going for it but didn’t until he decided he had no other way to beat you. In his own slightly dweeby way, he was trying to be honorable.” “Then between that and their Captain, they’ve got very strange concepts of honor.” Gilda was gratified to see that Fortrakt was just as put off as her by the Captain’s conduct. “And I’m starting to think Marco wasted his time learning those martial arts of his.” Gilda shook her head as they continued to walk. “From what he said to you, he trained much more on weapons than striking or grappling arts. Give him that baton, and I don’t doubt he’d hold you off easily. But the thing is, Marco’s not fully trained for competition or warfare like us or Sergeant Reyes. He did it to keep fit and to be able to defend himself against untrained adversaries.” But now he’s training so he can be with me as a griffon can… the thought brought a smile to her face anew. “Yes! And see, that’s the other thing!” Fortrakt exclaimed as they reached the crenel. “Their self-defense rules! I mean, the Captain tried to stop his subordinates from responding to your insults? Tara even told me once that the first rule in their society is to avoid confrontation, run when you can, and only fight when cornered! What kind of backwards thinking is that?” he huffed. “The best way to defend yourself is to put down your enemy immediately! We’ve seen humans kick rear in their movies! So why can’t their self-defense rules be like that?” “Like in Warrior, you mean?” Gilda guessed as they waited in line for their turn to take flight. “Exactly!” Gilda chuckled. “Even there, fighting was frowned upon outside of special settings by both Brendon’s workplace and wife. Kinda like Equestrian ponies, really.” “Well, they’re not on the human world! They should really let themselves loose more often. I enjoyed sparring with Marco! So if their Marines want to challenge us, I say let them!” Gilda looked at her partner for a moment before smirking. “Enjoyed it, eh? So my partner is having fun doing Rounds with a male human?” She teased him for the first time in weeks. Fortrakt blinked hard. “Wait, what?” “Not that I blame you if you were a bit jealous that I’m taking a lot of Marco’s time.” Gilda snickered, amazed she could make jokes. “I just wonder how Talon Decanus Trali will react when she finds out that the tiercel she has been having Rounds with is doing the same thing with a male human.” “Wha—? That wasn’t a Round!” a flushed Fortrakt exclaimed. “And at the time, I didn’t even know you two were together!” “Nice touch with the gift giving, too,” Gilda continued despite his denial, her grin growing. “So are we going to hear plans for an Engagement soon? Just be warned, you might have to fight me for the right!” “It was just a knife, not a—” He got cut off by Gilda’s snort and laugh, eliciting an annoyed trill. “Oh, piss off and go suck Marco’s spear,” he finished grumpily. “I already have.” Gilda continued chuckling until they passed through the Western Gates, offering the guards a signal. Given the all-clear to fly, Fortrakt and Gilda arched their backs and launched themselves into the air, wings spread out. In rhythm, both sky griffons flapped their feathered appendages fast and hard, passing through the fourth level and going even higher until they reached the fifth. “Twice, now. Or is that why you’re jealous?” “Decurion!” he shouted in pure outrage, turning redder than she’d ever seen before. But she only laughed and darted away from him as he proceeded to give chase, coming up with some impressive insults while swearing various elaborate and imaginative forms of vengeance when he caught her. The chase lasted nearly twenty minutes, giving each a good workout and allowing them to burn off much of their tension. Still not receiving word from the Tribune, they had ended up finding a private table in a Caleponian-run pub at the base of the city and talking over some pony-style snacks and cider. Deciding he deserved to know the full story, she told him how things had happened with Marco—“by all the Ancestors, he truly did honor you! So how could you not honor him in turn?” he agreed in amazement—while finally feeling more at ease, Fortrakt told her in turn what had happened during his talk with Chris and Tara, saying that after explaining what he remembered, he’d had to leave out of awkwardness when all three of them started getting turned on. “Even if they couldn’t recall it, they sensed it,” he confided to her over a mug of soft Caleponian cider—not hard, because she wasn’t about to show up before the Tribune and Captain with alcohol on her breath. “I got excited. Then they got excited! Things were happening quickly, and I was afraid that if I didn’t leave…” The rest went unspoken as he shivered and took a deep breath before continuing, shifting slightly to press himself tighter against the table. “Maybe you and Marco were ready for that, Decurion. But by all the Crows and our most sacred Ancestors, we weren’t,” he said as he nursed his drink and picked at a small platter of grapes, scones and cheese cubes they’d ordered to stall their hunger and master their nerves. “A wise decision,” Gilda agreed as she speared a grape with a talon, recalling what had happened to her when she’d tried to force an encounter with an eagless back in Nova Ocelota. “You did the right thing. But for what it’s worth, cub, I actually envy you.” He looked up incredulously. “You do?” “Yes,” she said as she popped the grape in her mouth and then dipped her beak in her cider bowl. “You at least remember a little of what happened with them. I still don’t remember anything about Tara or Marco from that night…” she said forlornly, to which Fortrakt could only offer a wan smile. An hour passed. Then two. But still they were not summoned. The sun was nearly down and they were getting hungry for something more than snacks, but it wasn’t until dusk when the communication crystal glowed and vibrated in Gilda’s pouch, signaling them to return to the Inn. Unfortunately, by the time they arrived, Sergeant Reyes was waiting out front for them along with Staff Sergeant Stafford. Their expressions were grim, flanked by four fully armed Marines guarding the entrance. “Thanks for coming back. Unfortunately, we have orders to not let you in,” Stafford said apologetically. “I’m sorry, Decurion. We tried our best, but the Captain wasn’t budging. And in the end, neither was the Ambassador.” “That doesn’t sound like good news,” Fortrakt said warily as Gilda held her breath. “I wish to God it was, buddy,” Reyes replied, his voice grim. “We just got word. By order of Ambassador Goldberg, you two are hereby barred entry to the Inn and are forbidden further contact with our civilians and Marines except on explicit orders of the Captain. Worse, Marco’s being expelled from the diplomatic mission on the grounds of being a severe security risk. “I’m truly sorry to tell you this, Decurion, but he’s being kept under house arrest and will be sent home as soon as it can be arranged…”