//------------------------------// // 18: Bolt from the Blue // Story: Feathered Hearts - Continuation and Chronicles // by Firesight //------------------------------// At Giraldi’s recommendation, Gilda removed herself from the Paladins’ presence before she got so infuriated that she challenged their leader to a duel on the spot. “He’s goading us,” the newly minted Optio warned her as they walked away; Gilda’s tail lashing. “Despite what he claims, he wants an immediate challenge. Do not rise to the bait, Centurion. Just let them clip their own wings with their insubordination. When they fail to promptly obey an order, that is when we will have them. Once they do, neither their service nor experience will save them. Nor will they be able to redeem their honor with a mere duel.” “Thanks, Optio.” She exhaled slowly, forcing her feathers to furl. “Your cool head and counsel are appreciated. But after all that, I do have a question for you.” “And that is?” he asked earnestly, giving her his full attention. She turned to him, looking him in the eye. “Giraldi... please answer me honestly: Are they right that I didn’t earn my rank? Am I truly ready for this—for being not just an officer, but a commander?” The big earth griffon studied Gilda’s face for a moment, then smiled. “This is part of getting you ready—a few easy duties first, such as a simple diplomatic ferry flight. And don’t forget that I’m here for you to lean on. Let this salted old griffon guide you, and you’ll be fine. Though perhaps you shouldn’t take that as Ancestor’s Word. Crows know I’ve been wrong on rare occasions.” Gilda rolled her eyes. “Here’s to hoping that you didn’t make Optio by giving out advice.” Giraldi’s laughter came unrestrained. “You must start somewhere. And don’t worry, Centurion. This is a simple enough assignment. Perfect for those young uppity griffons whose whole experience as an officer was hanging out with foreign guests.” He gave her a wink. “Trust me, you’ll do fine.” “You’ve been wrong, Giraldi?” Fortrakt came up from behind them, a look of mock horror on his face. “Ancestors preserve us—nothing makes sense anymore!” He made a show of reeling back. His sudden appearance and exaggerated reaction elicited a needed laugh and release of tension from Gilda, to which Fortrakt grinned and bared his throat. “Our gear is aboard, and I’m still waiting for the humans to arrive to seat them as per the Optio’s instructions. So what was that about?” He nodded back over to the Paladins, who were stowing their gear but otherwise mingling by themselves. “Oh, the Paladins are apparently less than pleased that they’re taking orders from the Centurion. They also expressed some disapproval over our intimacy with humans,” Giraldi said mildly. Fortrakt’s feathers instantly ruffled and his tail lashed. “Did they slur Marco? Or Chris? Or Tara? By all my Ancestors, if they did, I swear I’ll—” He flared his wings to take flight over to them before Gilda grabbed his shoulder straps and yanked him back. “This is not the time, Decurion,” she warned him in no uncertain terms. “Let them be for now; we’ll deal with them after Marco has departed. And for the record, nogriffon fights my battles for me! If there’s a duel to be fought, I will fight it,” she told them both with a low trill, to which Giraldi nodded but suggested he show her some takedown moves that would be effective against the powerful but over-protected Paladins, using the weight and bulk of their armor against them. “Wow. Do they work?” Fortrakt asked. “They do indeed. Fifteen years ago, I used one against a Paladin officer of noble blood, who I told to his face had not earned his post. He challenged me to a duel in which I not only defeated him, but humiliated him when he was thrown flat on his back and couldn’t even get up afterwards without help. For he did not earn his armor if he could not even carry it!” He closed his eyes and smiled at the memory. “Though I was victorious, it was not without consequence. For his sire was a Senator, and he took severe exception to my actions. The insult to his son prevented me from gaining an officer rank until now, but for what that duel gained me—we fought for the favor of my future wife—it was worth it.” He stood up straighter, sounding completely unrepentant. His story left Gilda wishing she’d been there to witness it, even if she was only nine years old at the time. “Wow. Then you took down a Senator’s son?” Fortrakt was in awe. “To borrow another human phrase, you’ve got balls of solid steel, Optio,” he said, and Gilda had to agree. Giraldi bared his throat at the compliment. “Thank you, Decurion. But in all seriousness, doubts do not become you, Centurion. You did well commanding a decade, and in carrying out your duties as a diplomatic liaison. I have also heard of your surprising insights regarding human weapons, and I agree that alone has earned your post.” To her surprise, he put a set of talons on her chest in a fatherly manner. “Be assured that you will learn and grow into your rank, as will I and the Decurion. So, fear not your new responsibilities, nor our assignment here. For what could possibly happen on a minor escort mission that never leaves the borders of Aresia?” Gilda closed her eyes. “Thanks, Optio.” Fortrakt then spoke with a wry grin. “Well, if you ask me, that Chain and the new rank fits you perfectly. You should act more your age, you know—just sit behind the desk and order younger griffons about, talking to alien guests and all that. When you’re not rutting them, that is,” he added almost wistfully. Gilda grinned at the last part. “Is that your jealousy over me and Marco rearing its head again, Fortrakt? If you want to suck his spear too, just ask. He might even say yes.” She winked. “Centurion!” he shouted as Giraldi guffawed, only to go flushed when several heads turned his way. “Oh, stick your head in a cave,” he finally said in a slightly flustered tone, to which Gilda only laughed. “One of these days, you’re going to need a better insult than that, cub,” she rejoined. But before he could reply, they turned to hear the growing rumble of a ground carriage, pulled by several Auxiliary guard earth griffons, coming from the direction of Arnau. Gilda felt her heart leap as she knew instantly what it was—Marco’s carriage. She badly wanted to go to him, but her instructions were clear: have no contact with him until their arrival in Catlais, and even that was strictly off the books. The door opened after it came to a halt. But instead of Marco exiting, she was surprised when an angry-looking Chris and Tara emerged first. “Tara! Chris!” Fortrakt called to them; Gilda quickly noted the latter was carrying a set of luggage. “Uh… what are you two doing here?” “What does it look like?” Chris growled as he neared them. “I’m leaving.” “Leaving?” Fortrakt said in shock while Gilda and Giraldi exchanged a startled glance. “But why?” “Because I’m being replaced by a new team being sent through the portal that Goldberg never told us about, and because the only way Moran would let me stay was as a fucking mess hall cook that was allowed no outside contact with anyone! “Well, no offense to the Marines, but I’m a scientist, not a chef!” he dropped his bags to the ground as Fortrakt went crestfallen, to which Chris’s expression dropped in turn. “Sorry, buddy. I really am. Guess we should have taken that chance the other night, huh? Nothing for it now. I promise I’ll keep working out and try to return later, when me and Marco are allowed back in.” “I’ll hold you to that,” Fortrakt said sadly, then accepted a heartfelt hug to the head from him; Chris had learned by then to grasp the neck and not the shoulders. “What about you, Tara?” Gilda then asked the human eagless, who didn’t have any bags except her backpack. “Are you leaving, too?” She noticed Fortrakt held his breath. Tara’s stare turned icy as she crossed her arms over her chest. “No. Moran and I had it out in his office after Marco was expelled. I told him to his face that he was a paranoid fucking lunatic and that no part of him was an officer or a Gentleman!” “I am impressed, Tara Fields,” Giraldi complimented her with a bared throat. “Your tongue is as sharp as any griffon’s. You will truly do well living among us.” “Thanks, Galen. I also told them that I didn’t care what he said; I would be going with Marco and Chris to see them off. He then threatened to lock me out of the Inn if I left, so I just dared him to do it! And told him if he did, I’d spill the beans on everything.” She closed her eyes and grinned evilly, then looked up again. “Though apparently, you beat me to it, Gilda? Clever girl.” Gilda’s grin was far more wan. “Thanks, though I was hoping figuring that out would allow Marco to stay.” She went downcast again. “It’s not your fault.” Tara put a hand on the back of Gilda’s head. Taking comfort from the touch, Gilda had the passing thought that she wouldn’t allow anycreature else to do that—not even Marco outside of sex. “I don’t know what Moran’s problem is, but once he decided he wanted you gone, I don’t think there was anything you could say that would change his mind.” “And sorry we had to keep secrets,” Chris added, then grinned. “You know, if we’d been able to tell you about our guns from the start, there would have been a whole slew of additional movies we could have shown you.” Guns, Gilda repeated the word to herself, which she knew was also a term the Minotaurs sometimes used to describe airship cannons. So that’s what they call them? Interesting. Pity we’re not going to get to see them fired… “Then I regret not getting to watch them. So, uh… how’s Marco doing?” she had to ask. Chris and Tara glanced at each other before speaking. “He had a rough night. First he was morose, then he wanted to kill Moran in a griffon-style death duel. But he’s in a much better mood now, after Reyes got word to us of what was planned,” the former said with a smile and wink. “He’s waiting over there in the company of one of Goldberg’s aides and four Marines.” “The Marines themselves are livid over his treatment—and yours,” Tara added. “You’ve still got plenty of friends over at the Inn, Gilda. Don’t doubt it.” “I don’t,” she replied as the gates to the human camp finally opened ten minutes before noon—they’d put up some kind of improvised metal fence around the periphery—and out came a line of battle-ready Marines. “Here they come. Go meet them, Centurion. Ignore everything else and focus on facing the humans,” Giraldi told her. Gilda blinked. “What?” she whispered back. “But I need to oversee the preparations!” He shook his head. “Commanders shouldn’t pay attention to soldiers doing their duties—that’s my job as your second. Yours is to represent us and lead us. Right now, our soldiers need to know that their commanding officer would gladly meet a foreign force head on, unflinchingly. Especially those Paladins over there, who will be looking for any sign of weakness. If you wish, I will accompany you.” Giraldi gently nudged Gilda forward as the Marines turned towards her and began to approach; to her surprise, Lieutenant Nantz was accompanying them. It was the first time she’d seen him since the night of the cider, and even then, she could only dimly remember that he’d come by. “Please do. Any other words of wisdom, Optio?” She shunted all thoughts of that night as hard aside as she could. “My first lesson of command to you is this: always remember that strength and respect are languages understood by enemies, allies, and subordinates alike. So give our soldiers and the human Marines a good initial impression. In many ways, that is your foremost responsibility as an officer of the Kingdom,” Giraldi instructed as he took position beside and slightly behind her. Gilda took a moment before she nodded as Chris and Tara stood a respectful distance back. “Makes sense.” Standing facing the Marines approaching in a two-column formation, she rotated her shoulder a bit before she settled on a neutral face—her ‘game face’ as she’d heard Marco term it. Accordingly, Gilda let her sharp eagle-eyes focus on the Marines in front, not recognizing any of them outside of Nantz himself. She knew that would be the case, given Moran didn’t want any of the accompanying Marines to be familiar or friendly with her. So they were dispatching a squad from their outside encampment instead of the Inn, which she guessed Nantz had come out to introduce. Crows take it… she internally growled but didn’t say out loud. Maybe she had hung out too often with Reyes or Doc Cullen, but she found herself fervently wishing at least one of them was part of the group, just so she could have somehuman she knew and trusted to rely on. Led by the First Lieutenant, the Marines stopped in front of Gilda and saluted her in the human manner; each of them wearing a similar neutral, if not very casual, expression. They all wore identical patterned green uniforms, but they were also in full body armor with their black tubes slung and multi-pocketed vests containing stacks of additional metal rectangles within them. If those really are the equivalent of arrow quivers, then they have many, MANY cannonballs! she had the passing thought, wondering what the rate of fire and reload time for the weapons actually were. They also wore patterned helmets, each holding black metal boxes that looked like cameras as well as some goggles or eyepieces that fit over one or both eyes. The mini-cannons themselves included three of the variations she was already familiar with, though she also noticed one of them carrying a new type of weapon that had small red tubes attached on its side. But before she could study that any further, First Lieutenant Nantz approached her. “Greetings, Centurion Behertz. It’s good to see you again. My sincerest congratulations to you and Decurion Gletscher on your promotions.” He offered his forearm along with a genuine smile, though the latter quickly dropped. “For what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry for what’s happened. If it was up to me, different decisions would have been made. But I’m not in charge, and orders are orders.” Despite his words, Gilda gave him a warm smile. Why couldn’t HE be in command? “It’s good to see you as well, First Lieutenant. I heard from Sergeant Reyes that you tried to dissuade the Captain and Ambassador from expelling Marco. Thank you.” She bared her throat at him when she clasped his forearm. “I don’t hold what happened against you, or any of your Marines.” “Nor should she. Oh, and First Lieutenant? Merlina Marcus wishes you well,” Giraldi spoke up from behind her in Aeric with a sly smile Gilda could hear in his voice. “She asked me to tell you that she misses you.” Nantz visibly blushed and had to clear his throat. “Yes, well… I don’t want to cause trouble with her sire, who still wants to duel me,” he responded in slightly rough Aeric. “I guess I, uh, should write her a letter, if nothing else.” “Indeed you should. And perhaps Miss Fields would be willing to deliver it?” Giraldi switched back to Equish as he glanced over at Tara, who was maintaining a respectful distance along with Chris; Nantz visibly flinched when he looked up and locked eyes with her for the first time in nearly a month. “Uh… deliver what?” A wary Tara perked up from behind Gilda to hear her name called. Nantz had to clear his throat before speaking again. “Oh, uh… Greetings, Miss Fields. It’s good to see you again. Perhaps we could talk before you depart?” He stood to stiff attention before her. “Sure…” Tara answered even more warily. Gilda certainly understood why, given the human female and Nantz had been hit first by the cider, to predictable effects. But since it happened early in the night, they fully remembered what followed, for better and for worse. “Thank you for your indulgence, Miss Fields. I’ll visit shortly. In the meantime, Centurion, I invite you to get to know your new Marine squad, which I am further supplementing with a combat medic—a requirement for all our field missions.” He motioned them forward. “This is Corporal Imlay. He will command the contingent. Be assured he is fully briefed on what is expected of him, and I chose him in part for his willingness to help in this… sensitive matter,” he said carefully. “You can trust him. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to speak to the Ambassador’s aide.” He said with a nod as he took his leave; Gilda couldn’t help but notice he gave Tara a wide berth as he walked. As Nantz left, a lighter-skinned human with two Corporal stripes on each sleeve stepped up; Gilda immediately noted that he seemed different from the rest. Instead of the casual easiness most of the other Marines bore, he carried himself like he was burdened by something heavy, leaving Gilda wondering if some difficult trauma lay in his past. In appearance, he was a bit thinner than Reyes and definitely less-muscled; younger in face and paler in skin. His features were stark, showing sharp cheekbones; even his nose had an almost beak-like feature to it. While the helmet made all the Marines look alike, it was his eyes that were the most prominent feature—orbs of pale golden brown that almost glowed. Unaware of her thoughts, he stared at Gilda for a moment. She sensed him assessing her as a griffon officer might a new soldier assigned to his unit, and she thus made a show of doing the same. “Corporal Michael Imlay,” he introduced himself with a salute and an accent she couldn’t quite place. It almost sounded… Manehattan? “Warwolf-3 platoon, Alpha Squad Leader. As the Captain says, I will be commanding the Marines on this mission. I am not required to obey your orders, but I will do so as a courtesy as much as possible.” He dropped his hand when Gilda returned the honor, then offered his arm for a foreleg clasp. “Centurion Grizelda Behertz,” Gilda replied in Equish after she’d thumped her chest, clasping and squeezing his foreleg. “Commanding Officer of the escort force. I was told to give you this.” She passed him a copy of her orders. He accepted it with a nod. “A pleasure to finally meet you, ma’am. And I do mean that,” Imlay said, giving her a small smile. “Before you ask, we’ve heard about everything, including the Captain’s overreaction from Sergeant Reyes and First Lieutenant Nantz.” He pointed back towards Marco’s coach with his thumb. “Understand that we have orders to keep Marco away from you, and we will—at least when Raleigh’s watching. But we know what’s up from the Sergeant and our other Marine brothers at the Inn, ma’am. Regardless of Mister Raleigh’s presence, we’ve got your back. And Marco Lakan’s.” She couldn’t help but smile, deciding again that at least the human Marines were generally honorable even if their leaders weren’t. “The feeling is mutual, Corporal. But for future reference, female griffon officers are referred to as ‘sir’, not ‘ma’am’.” She suddenly regretted not getting to hold the rest of her cultural training seminars. “Then you know Sergeant Reyes?” “Yes, ma’am—er, sir. I spent two tours in Afghanistan with him, and one under him,” Imlay replied, leaving Gilda wondering what kind of place this ‘Afghanistan’ they kept mentioning was. “We all like him, and we heard through the grapevine that he can now take a griffon in single combat. He’s quite the regular moto Marine.” Gilda blinked. Grapevine? Moto Marine? Mentally shaking her head, she wondered if they’d ever run out of new terms or phrases for her to learn. But for the time being, she just nodded and motioned behind him. “Good to meet you, Corporal. And your subordinates?” She was surprised to see a single human female among them. “First up is our combat medic, Chief Petty Officer Jacobs, or Chief for short,” he introduced the older male, whose features were chiseled but whose hair was visibly graying. “If you’re wondering about the rank, he’s actually part of our Navy, not the Marine Corps. But don’t let that fool you. He’s as hard-bitten as any of us, even if he’s just a stupid squid.” “Well, someone has to wet-nurse the Marines and put bandaids on their boo-boos,” Jacobs instantly retorted. The exchange left Gilda guessing they were trading some good-natured insults between their respective services, even if it also left her wondering—again—what kind of navy they had if they didn’t use airships. “I heard from Doc Cullen about the goings-on back at the Inn. He’s had nothing but good things to say about you, Centurion.” “Then he lies,” she answered somewhat wryly as she returned his salute and clasped his arm. “Because I did nothing but complain while I was in his care.” “From what we heard, you had good reason to,” Imlay answered with a smile as he motioned three more Marines forward; two males and a female. “These are my fire team leaders—Lance Corporals Henderson and Brennan, and Private First Class Jamal.” Fire team? Gilda blinked at yet another unfamiliar term as one of the males approached first. “PFC Kalin Jamal,” the taller dark-skinned Marine introduced himself; he seemed to have a standard weapon with the curious addition of what almost looked like a second, much larger tube beneath his cannon barrel, replacing the strange purple lights that had been mounted there by the Marines back at the Inn. “Grenadier and godly basketball player.” “Says the guy who couldn’t even get a division two scholarship. Lance Corporal Jennifer Henderson,” she introduced herself with a salute; a longer tube strapped to her back. “Designated head hitter.” The third, far burlier male approached; if he’d been a griffon she would have no trouble imagining him to be a large earth griffon on par with Giraldi. “She means sniper,” he said, smiling as he offered a fist, which Gilda was happy to bump with her own. He was armed with one of the bigger tubes with a large block hanging from it; she couldn’t help but wonder again how many metal balls it could hold. “Private Bradley Brennan. Ground-pounder and platoon champion at video games.” “He means Metal Gearhead and Resident Evil enthusiast,” Jamal added with a roll of his eyes. “Hey, Zombies are real, and I can prove it!” Brennan replied with an easy smile, which his two comrades returned. “We’re at your service, Centurion.” Zombies? Gilda wondered. But before she could say anything else, Marco broke away from his escort and ran in front of her, grabbed her foreleg, and shook it with exaggerated enthusiasm. One of her eyes got larger at his sudden appearance; she opened her beak, only for Marco to instantly grin. “Hey, Hey! I’m Marco Lakan; your friendly human food critic, movie man and Flip-boy. Nice to meet you, Centurion! Say, you look familiar. Have we met somewhere before?” he asked impishly, giving her a wink. “Hey! ” a rather rotund civilian human shouted—was that the Ambassador’s aide? “Get him away from her!” he ordered, and the Marines, led by Staff Sergeant Stafford, promptly moved to obey. They caught up to him quickly and took him by both arms. “Dude, what the hell?” the lower-ranked Marine asked under his breath as they led him back away. “We told you to lie low!” “Look, they were all shaking hands and shit, so I wanted to get into the action. And let Sir Walter over there know that he’s not keeping us apart,” Marco replied unrepentantly as Gilda could only stare after him. “Guess he’s eager,” Tara said with a roll of her eyes as she came up to Gilda and the Marines. “Tara Fields,” she introduced herself, exchanging not forearm clasps but handshakes with them. “Former geologist-in-training; possible future bartender for the Kingdom.” “A pleasure. We heard why you requested asylum, and I don’t think anybody here blames you. So is it true that you not only decked that Dana bitch, but laid out PFC Ricardo for grabbing your butt on a pull-up bar?” the female Marine asked with a grin. “Sure did,” Tara showed her teeth with her smile as she smacked her fist into her palm. “He’s not coming on this trip, is he? Because if he is, I might just do it again.” The other Marines grinned. “Nope. Last I heard, he was still peeling potatoes and onions in the mess hall, sitting firmly at the top of Nantz’s shit list,” Brennan said. “We heard the yelling all the way across the camp when Ricardo was presented to him. Not sure why, but the First Lieutenant seemed to take it pretty personally.” “Such a sweetie,” Tara closed her eyes and smiled, then sighed somewhat sadly as her mood suddenly dropped. “Completely unlike Moran. Fine; guess I’ve put off talking with him for long enough. So if you’ll excuse me…” Tensing slightly, she gathered herself carefully and walked over to where Nantz was still chatting with the Ambassador’s aide. When she arrived, Nantz visibly flinched but spoke in low tones to her; they walked off by themselves a short distance away after that. “Christopher McLain.” Chris introduced himself next, throwing a worried look Tara’s way. “I was in charge of the field studies here, but the Captain apparently decided I was only useful as a cook in the mess hall,” he all but growled. The Marines glanced at each other. “For what it’s worth, we heard you make some killer fried chicken. For as hungry as we are for a taste of home, you’d make friends for life here if you’d cook for us,” Jamal pointed out. “Seconded,” Brennan spoke up. “Haven’t had anything fried in months; just that tasteless griffie shit… no offense, Centurion,” he quickly added. “None taken,” Gilda replied easily. “Your tastes in food are much different from ours; we don’t usually cook our meat. I’ve certainly learned from Mister Lakan and Mister McLain here how good cooked meat can be when properly prepared,” she noted to them appreciatively, to which Chris perked up at least slightly. The Ambassador’s aide then took the opportunity to walk up to her, with Staff Sergeant Stafford in tow. He was a balding, pale and pudgy human wearing business attire in the late summer heat; she couldn’t fathom what kind of diet he’d been eating to have that much fat on him. “James Raleigh,” he said as he ignored Chris to offer his hand to her in the human manner, giving a still-chatting Tara and Nantz a baleful look as he passed. “I’m Ambassador Goldberg’s representative on this trip. Though the Ambassador and Captain are less than pleased you are leading this mission, Centurion Behertz, we have no say over it. I am here at the Ambassador’s orders to witness affairs and make sure that Marco Lakan has no contact with any griffons before he leaves your borders. “That said, I have no personal grievance with you, Decur—er, Centurion. So I hope we can get along.” Though annoyed at his suspicious tone and nearly getting her rank wrong—were all senior human officials so arrogant and obtuse?—Gilda gently grasped his hand and gave it a simple shake. “I will be professional, and I expect you to be as well,” she answered evenly. At least until I can be alone with Marco again! “Please take your seats inside the coach as per Optio Giraldi’s direction, as we will be leaving shortly. Decurion Gletscher will show you to your seats.” “Yes. About that,” he addressed her stiffly. “I want to modify the seating arrangements.” Gilda exchanged a look with Giraldi. “To what?” “By orders of the Ambassador, he wants only humans aboard Marco Lakan’s coach, not griffons.” Gilda frowned. “With respect, Mister Raleigh, That’s not possible.” He stared at her in confusion. “What do you mean it’s not possible? Why can’t you all fly alongside?” Gilda gave him an annoyed look. “Because we are required to have at least two griffons ride in each coach. And because some of us are earth griffons, not sky griffons.” “There’s a difference?” Raleigh asked as behind him, Chris facepalmed while Stafford just rubbed his eyes. The latter then spoke for her. “With respect, Mister Raleigh, if you’d taken the Centurion’s cultural training seminars, you’d know that earth griffons can’t fly that far or carry a coach. Only sky griffons can,” he said mildly but pointedly. “To quote the Centurion directly, ‘earth griffons cannot keep up with sky griffons on long journeys, only short’.” Raleigh visibly grimaced. “You really can’t fly outside?” “Mister Raleigh, I am a well-conditioned earth griffon, but were I to attempt a flight from here to Catlais, it would take me around five days,” Giraldi responded directly this time. “I would only be able to travel about twenty leagues at a time before my stamina gave out, needing food and rest before I could attempt the next leg of the journey. “Though our bodies are powerful, earth griffons are simply not built for long flights, only shorter ones,” he explained with far more composure than Gilda felt, leaving her wondering again if his patience was a product of his maturity or simply his personality. But before she could offer her own opinion, trying to decide how to politely tell the portly human to piss off, he walked off in what she took to be a slight huff. Corporal Imlay came up to her next, this time with Fortrakt following. “I have a problem, too. I don’t want our supplies placed in a separate coach or stowed in the roof racks, Centurion. We’ll need at least three seats reserved for them.” Gilda sat back and rubbed her head with a set of talons, wondering if she was being a military commander or cubsitter at that moment. But thoughts of being with Marco again kept her tongue and temper in check. “Then we have a problem, because as I just told Mister Raleigh, we require two seats for earth griffons per coach.” “So I’m told. I suggested removing the two griffons. But the Decurion here said it was against protocol?” Imlay asked. “He’s right,” Gilda replied, trying not to let the exasperation reach her voice. “Protocol for air coach escort is to have two earth griffons inside as a means of defense and emergency escape for non-flying races. You really can’t put your supplies in the third coach? Or stow them in the roof luggage compartments?” “No,” Imlay responded immediately. “You may get the civilians to agree to that, but no way we are leaving our supplies out of reach, ma’am—er, sir.” “Our seating is limited—we have only twenty-seven seats between the three coaches, and the two-griffon rule cannot be broken. Do you have any suggestions, Corporal?” Giraldi asked. “Yes. I think it’ll work as long as we split our squad up,” Imlay replied. “We’ll put one fire team of four Marines in the coach along with Mister Raleigh and Mister McLain. Counting the four Marines, two griffons, and two civilians, that will leave a single seat available for supplies. “I’ll put my other two teams in separate coaches, with me and Chief Jacobs also splitting up. Add two griffons to my five Marines plus a single civilian—you’ll have to split up Miss Fields and Mister McLain as well—that will fill eight seats each, leaving a single seat available for each fire team’s supplies.” “I see.” Gilda closed her eyes. “I’m sure Mister Raleigh won’t be happy about having griffons in the same coach with Marco against the Ambassador’s instructions, so I would ask that you explain the situation to him, Optio. And Decurion, you talk to Chris and Tara. If they’re unhappy that they’re being split up from Marco, tell them off the record that I’ll make sure they get as much time with him as possible when we arrive in Catlais.” After me, of course… “By your command, Centurion. Don’t worry; I’m sure this arrangement will work,” Giraldi offered with a salute. “By your command,” Fortrakt echoed with his own salute; once it was returned, they went off to speak to their respective parties. “It sounds like we have a plan, Corporal. We’re on a clock, so let’s get your Marines boarded,” Gilda instructed. “Yes sir, I’ll get things moving,” Imlay replied, firing her a salute of his own and leaving her gratified that he finally remembered the proper form of address. As she watched, he turned towards the Marines behind him. “Jamal! Your team is flying shotgun with Lakan. There’ll be one empty seat, so use it for storage! Henderson! Your team takes the left coach along with Doc Jacobs! Brennan! Take the right and be smart about it! I’m flying with you!” he directed them sharply; Gilda had the thought that she would have no trouble seeing him giving orders to a griffon decade. Gilda stood back as the Marines just nodded and moved swiftly towards their subordinates, communicating quickly. She watched as Fortrakt apologetically told Chris and a recently returned Tara about the plan, eliciting a visible groan but nods of understanding when he added an aside she couldn’t catch in a whisper, motioning with a wing back towards her. Giraldi likewise informed the Ambassador’s aide about the change of plans, to which he looked decidedly unhappy and marched over to Gilda, announcing that if she wasn’t keeping Marco’s coach human-only, he was filing a formal protest and would not let them leave. Gilda was unimpressed. “That is your right, Mister Raleigh. But I cannot make an exception to our travel procedures of diplomatic guests except on direct orders of the Queen or a senior Legatus. And if you go to the Queen, she might be less than pleased to be consulted over such a trivial matter.” She raised an eye ridge at him, inwardly marveling at how she was able to keep a level voice. “Is that your final answer?” he asked haughtily. “It is the only answer I can give you,” she replied evenly. You know, it used to be that I would have lost my temper right about now… “With respect, Mister Raleigh, we have done all we can to accomodate you while still following those procedures. The changes you demand will force a delay in departure until tomorrow, meaning Mister Lakan stays here for another day. So I suggest you simply accept these arrangements and let us be off.” “Just get on board, sir,” a resigned Stafford spoke up. “The Captain and Ambassador want Mister Lakan gone, so there’s nothing for it. I’ll explain the situation when I get back, and don’t worry—I’ll take the blame. The Captain will chew me out, not you.” Gilda felt a pang of guilt at that moment, guessing that Stafford had already undergone multiple tongue-lashings by then, and now he was going to accept another just to make sure she and Marco could have their time together. She caught his eye and bared her throat at him, wishing she could speak to him or do more for him. But by order of the Captain, she wasn’t supposed to talk to him, either. Instead, he snapped to attention and saluted her. “Safe journey, sir. And best of luck in your new posts.” “Thank you, Staff Sergeant.” She returned the honor crisply, resolving she’d write him a letter later. “Alright, Optio, it’s time. Let’s get everyone ready to fly,” Gilda ordered Giraldi, surprised to hear herself say the human word. “Yes, sir!” He saluted and then turned towards their old Turma comrades. “Time to go to work, soldiers of the Guard! Sky griffons, harness up or take your positions in formation! And earth griffons, board the coaches and get your lazy rears in the seats!” “Does that include your lazy rear, Optio?” Gilda asked him with a grin. “Of course. Mine’s the laziest of them all,” he quickly and somewhat jovially rejoined. “Though sadly, for reasons I cannot even begin to fathom, the Ambassador’s aide doesn’t want me near Marco Lakan or Miss Fields.” He rolled his eyes. “So I will ride with Corporal Imlay and Mister McLain.” “Whatever.” Gilda placated her simmering anger at the Ambassador’s aide by reminding herself that when they arrived in Catlais, none of his restrictions would matter. One way or another, she would have her time with Marco regardless of his efforts or the orders of the Captain. Everything moved quickly after that. With Giraldi’s practiced tongue directing her soldiers, they were harnessed up and in position before she knew it. So were the Paladins, taking their traditional position at the forefront; they along with First Stave Tunica would be the first and deadliest line of defense if the three-coach convoy somehow came under attack. Her nine remaining non-harnessed sky griffon Guard soldiers would fly cover on the flanks and rear in Fuga-sized elements, while at his own request, Fortrakt would fly half a league ahead to provide scouting and early warning of any trouble, while Gilda herself would travel with the main force, where she could oversee it. Being the convoy commander, she was actually entitled to ride in the coaches and could simply relay orders to her forces through communication gems. But even if there were seats available, she wouldn’t have taken one. She was a sky griffon at heart, born to fly high and far, and she’d be damned if she’d be sitting on her rear the whole way there. As she made her way towards the front of the coaches, she watched with satisfaction as the Marines filed in quickly, noting that Imlay’s soldiers followed his orders crisply. It probably displayed Imlay’s leadership qualities, or perhaps they were just very disciplined. Either way, she was glad both sides knew what they were doing, as it made her first true command task easier. Within two minutes, all were aboard and the doors were sealed, as confirmed by Fortrakt. “All passengers seated and ready!” he called out. “Then let’s take flight! Paladins! Into the air! Fly standard sentry formation until the coaches are airborne. Guardsgriffons! Take defensive posture,” she further instructed, shouting the orders into her communication crystals. She had four in her possession, as each could only communicate with a single paired gem; one was held by Fortrakt, with the others belonging to Giraldi, First Stave Tunica and the Paladin leader. They were actually purchased from Equestria, as the ponies alone knew how to pair them via magical means they had been reluctant to share. Regardless of their reasons, the gems served their purpose, even though it was slightly annoying to have to shift between them; she’d already noted in earlier reports that the human communication devices did not seem limited to a single recipient. Maybe we should buy some of those! she thought as her soldiers moved to obey, with the Paladins taking flight while her Guard soldiers and Gilda herself formed an outward-facing ring. The precaution was standard convoy procedure as well; the reasoning was that the coaches were most vulnerable to enemy attack during takeoff and landing, so they were protected from both air and ground as they were launched. Though she watched the Paladins carefully to see if they were slow to follow instructions, they did promptly take flight, circling the coaches slowly at a prescribed altitude with weapons drawn. Her Guardsgriffons simultaneously turned outwards to spot any approaching threat, notching arrows in their crossbows while flaring their wings for instant takeoff if needed. With no threats evident—not that she expected any, given the lack of any real internal threat to the Kingdom and the Marine encampment next door—there was nothing left for her to do but give one final order. “Convoy! Take flight!” In response, her harnessed Guardsgriffons began immediately flapping their wings in broad and powerful strokes as they pulled the coaches forward on their wheels, which didn’t stay on the ground long. Each coach flyer synchronized their movements as close as possible as they pulled them slowly into the air, gaining speed and altitude with each second and stroke of their long wings. Once they had reached the level of the Paladins, Gilda and the other grounded griffons took flight after them. They took their stations around the flanks and rear of the formation as the Paladins formed an airborne phalanx in front, while Fortrakt flew well ahead as a scout. Five minutes later, they were nearing their cruising altitude, just above the peaks of the Falcine range. “I guess that went well,” Fortrakt said over his communication gem as he called her from half a league ahead. “The hard part’s done, Decu—er, Centurion! Sorry, I’m still getting used to that,” he chuckled, to which Gilda could only grin. “According to the Tribune’s itinerary, there’s no weather in our way, so it should be smooth flying all the way to Catlais.” “Would that the Ancestors grant such a thing,” she called back, noting that the higher they climbed, the more noticeable the smoke in the air was getting; for the first time, she was starting to smell it, too. She’d smelled forest fires before, and there was certainly an element of burning woodlands to the smoke here, but for a moment she thought she sensed a sulfuric component to the scent as well. That’s odd. Could this be volcanic? she had the half-thought, and it wasn’t impossible given there were some long-dormant volcanoes scattered in patches throughout the Kingdom. The only known active ones were far to the south in the Italon peninsula and its offshore islands; the sole dragon population within a thousand leagues of the Kingdom could be found on the latter. I wonder if Crimson Comet lives there…? She half-hoped she’d one day get to meet the mysterious drake who had won Tribune Narada’s heart. But it was just an idle thought, and as it had been a while since she was up this high, she closed her eyes, feeling the wind course through her coat and feathers; she imagined Fortrakt, her Guard soldiers and even the Paladins were enjoying the sensation as well. For a sky griffon, there was nothing quite like the feeling of flying so high up in the sky. Better than sex with Marco? she asked herself with a grin. Well, let’s not go THAT far… Once they reached cruising altitude, Fortrakt was right that the most tiring part of the journey was done. With no more need to expend energy pulling the coaches skyward, all griffon wings harnessed to the coaches were lazily stretched outwards, flapping only a few times a minute in a slow but steady rhythm they could sustain for hours. With clear skies outside of the smoky haze—and as they were flying away from its apparent source, she expected it to dissipate as they flew further west—Gilda couldn’t see any problems that would delay their arrival at Catlais. On a whim, she flew past Marco’s coach and twirled herself in a spiral, tucking her wings for just a second to enjoy a small dip in height. Such unnecessary maneuvers were strictly against protocol on escort flights, but she couldn’t help it. Up there, she was free. The sun seemed to move at a rapid pace above them as they flew for the next hour. With nothing but hazy sky above and green and brown patches below, boredom quickly settled in. A few of her harnessed Guardsgriffons chatted amongst themselves, though to their credit, they still maintained diligence; they cut through the sky with short, swift strokes, making good time as they traveled. It was the same for the Paladins, who she could see at least occasionally exchanging words as they maintained their protective cover along with the First Stave. Once she thought enough time had passed, she glanced back at Decanus Nydia, who was trailing the formation with one of her Fugas to provide rear cover. Deciding it was time—and why hadn’t the smoke cleared out of the air yet? If anything, it seemed to be growing thicker—she ducked under Marco’s coach, and then flew up behind it, looking expectantly at the Decanus. She smiled and pointed her staff at Gilda, which glowed briefly; Gilda felt a wave of gentle magic wash over her to unknown effect. Nydia then nodded, and to Gilda’s surprise, the Mage’s voice sounded in her head—a telepathy spell? “It’s done, Centurion. You will only be visible and audible to those within two body lengths of you, so you will have to get that close to Mister Lakan’s seat. The spell will only last ten minutes. Will that be sufficient?” “Understood. And yes,” she replied with her voice, then slightly belatedly did so with her thoughts as well, moving close to the coach windows. Spotting Marco on the other side, she dipped beneath the coach again to come up beside him, being careful not to affect the flight of her harnessed Guardsgriffons. “Marco? Can you hear me?” she called to him loudly enough to make sure she could be heard over the wind. He turned to her with a start. “Gilda?” He called to her tentatively, then looked around nervously. “If Raleigh sees you…” “Don’t worry. I’m magically masked,” she promised him. “As long as I’m this close to you, only you can see or hear me.” “Way cool…” he said, staring at her in wonder before she heard another voice inside asking who he was talking to, followed by other human heads looking out the other side windows but not seeing her. She grinned at that—at least until one of the Marines shined one of their odd violet lights outside. To her surprise, It caused the magical bubble she was in to fluoresce brightly, and even her body’s outline to glow. It was only then she understood the purpose of the lights—they somehow revealed magical shrouds and surfaces! And it was only too effective as, to her further shock, PFC Jamal locked eyes with hers under the light’s illumination as he grinned and winked, firing her a quick salute before he turned the light off. “There’s nothing out there except our pilots, Mister Raleigh,” he told the Ambassador’s aide as he ducked his head back in. “If you don’t believe me, see for yourself.” Gilda instantly backed further away from the coach, taking her bubble out of range. Raleigh’s head shortly appeared beside Marco’s, looked around without seeing her, and then disappeared with a disgusted air. She waited another minute before she moved back in, to Marco’s visible relief when she reappeared. “It’s good to see you, but I can’t talk long. I take it you’ve heard about what’s awaiting us in Catlais?” she asked him. He nodded eagerly. “I can’t believe everybody’s doing all this for us.” He kept his head turned towards her and spoke quietly, presumably to keep Raleigh from hearing him. “The trip to Catlais will be what, six hours tops?” “Depends on the direction of the wind and how strong it is,” Gilda replied. “But yes, we should arrive by nightfall. We’ll make one stop at a small steadholt for meals and watering, but after that it’s a straight flight in. Just one nap, and you’ll be there. And trust me, I’ll find my way past Raleigh into your room later.” She gave him a wink. His cheeks flushed slightly. “Oh, I’m definitely looking forward to that! But I don’t think I can nap.” “Why not?” He suddenly looked anxious to her. Marco bit his lip for a moment before shaking his head. “Uh, okay, maybe now’s a bad time to say this, but I’m really not comfortable flying in your air coaches.” Gilda blinked. “Are you afraid of heights? I thought you’d be used to it, with all the human airplanes and everything.” “Yeah, well, our airplanes have a lot going for them, including safety features, reliable machines, and other stuff,” Marco countered, trying to keep his eyes on her and off the ground below them. “An air coach is basically a flying box supported by a few flying griffons that are quite affected by factors such as wind and stuff. Yes, I’m being silly here. I’m just... preparing, you know.” “Preparing? For what?” Gilda shouted through the blinding bellowing of the wind. “What do you think’s going to happen?” “I don’t know… a crash? A storm? A random lightning bolt from the blue?” He shrugged somewhat anxiously. “It’s actually not so bad now, though my stomach did do a bit of a tumble when we took off and were climbing. I gotta say, though, you guys are machines. We’ve been flying for almost two hours now!” He looked from her harnessed soldiers back to her again. “Come on, Flip-boy, stop leaning out the window! You’re making Mister Raleigh nervous. Just sit your raggedy-brown ass down already.” One of the Marines—Jamal?—called to Marco from inside. He turned his face towards the voice. “Hey, don’t nag, Jamal. I’m trying to get to my happy place.” “Psh, happy place,” came the reply. “Look, this thing crashing is no different from a humvee hitting a mine and flipping over. It is very easy to ensure maximum survivability.” Marco gave him an askance look. “Oh yeah? How?” “You curl up like a bitch,” came the answer, to the snickers of his squadmates. “You do know how to curl up like a bitch, don’t you, Flip-boy?” Marco looked like he wanted to laugh, but he did his best to maintain an I-am-not-amused face. “Gimme a break, guys—I’m a civilian! Curling up like a bitch is what we do best.” His words elicited a roar of laughter from inside. He then turned back to her one final time. “Thanks for checking in, Gilds. The sooner we’re in Catlais, the better.” “You said it. And Marco?” He paused, then looked at her. “Yeah?” “I just wanted to promise that you’ll be fine,” Gilda assured him, then let her eyes turn hooded. “We’ll get there safe and sound, and by tonight, we’ll be together again. And neither Goldberg nor Moran nor Raleigh will stop us.” The human looked at her for a moment before smiling. “I’m really looking forward to it. Thanks, Gilda.” As he pulled his head back in the coach, she could hear him continue to mutter. “Great. Now everyone’s going to think I’m the biggest pussy here.” “I wouldn’t worry. You’re not hairy enough,” came the response, followed by laughter from the other Marines. “Oh, ha-ha…” was the last thing she heard before she pulled away. It was then she felt one of her crystals vibrate in its pouch. Recognizing its source, her gaze turned forward, her sharp eagle-eyes searching for and locking onto Fortrakt in the far distance. “Sir!” he called to her as she activated the gem, holding it near her ear. “Sir, you’re not going to believe this. I’ve spotted adult dragons.” That immediately got Gilda’s attention. “Where?” “A few leagues ahead,” Fortrakt replied. “I can just see them through the smoke. They’re heading roughly our way.” “A migrating group?” Gilda muttered to herself. “No, that’s only a once-a-decade thing, and the last one was four years ago. Outside of those, grown dragons avoid the Kingdom as a rule. So what are they doing here?” “I don’t know, but they’re behaving oddly,” the tiercel advised, a slight edge to his voice. “They were flying in a spread-out pattern. Kinda weird, since during migration they usually fly single file to aid the flight of the rearward dragons, then switch places occasionally to let each have a turn in the lead.” “I see…” Suddenly all the sulfuric smoke in the air took on an ominous new meaning. She fumbled with one of her pouches and triggered a gem within it, causing its companion gem in the possession of the Paladin leader to vibrate with a summoning tone. As she watched, he looked down at his pouch, then back at her. He might have been a little slow to obey, but not enough that she could punish him for it later. “Reporting as ordered, Centurion. What is it?” he asked impatiently, giving her a perfunctory salute as he fell in beside her, only to fall silent as the situation was explained. “This is concerning,” the Prime Pike replied, his earlier belligerence instantly forgotten. “Dragons only fly spread out when they’re trying to raid or burn large areas.” “So you’re saying they’re attacking?” Gilda felt a shiver go through her—her escort group could deal with most contingencies, but a flight of hostile full-grown dragons was not one of them. “That they’ve declared war on the Kingdom?” “I know not. But all this smoke would certainly suggest less than friendly motives.” He nodded to the hazy air around them, though there were no flames or plumes of smoke present that she could see. “We are not equipped to fight dragons, so I would strongly suggest we abort our mission and make for the nearest major military base. Preferably a naval one, since airships will be most effective in fighting them.” “I concur,“ First Stave Rubra Tunica said as he caught up with the conversation, calling through his own linked gem. “Decanus Nydia and I could possibly hold off a single adult dragon for a short time. But definitely not more than one. We need to find shelter. Now.” “Agreed,” Gilda said as she banked left away from the dragons and began to descend, causing the rest of the escort to do the same. She hadn’t chosen that direction for any reason other than that she saw some low rocky hills they might be able to hide in. “But we also need to figure out where that shelter is. How many dragons do you see, Decurion?” Gilda asked Fortrakt. “Three adults,” he replied crisply; she could tell he was worried but resolute. “No adolescents. But the haze in the air means I can only see so far. If we don’t alter course, they’ll be on top of us in minutes.” “Understood. We’re breaking off and heading to ground. Return at once and don’t let them see you.” Gilda frowned as they continued to descend toward the outcrop of hills and rocks. Nothing about this seemed right to her, and she felt a tingle of danger growing on the back of her neck as she pulled a map from her pouch, trying to determine their rough location from the visible towns and steadholts in the smoke-filled air. Most of them would have a small garrison of Auxiliary Guard soldiers and Peacekeepers, certainly, but against a force of full-grown dragons, small meant little. “Orders, Centurion?” the Prime Pike prompted, though she got the impression he was more than willing to start issuing them himself if she didn’t do so quickly or otherwise proved unequal to the danger. Even if she wasn’t resolute in her desire to do her duty and protect her charges, she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. “The nearest major military base is in Tierra, located roughly twelve leagues ahead. I’m tempted to just make a dash for it at lower altitude through the thicker layer of smoke near ground level, but that seems… unwise. If we try that, will we still be seen by them, Decurion?” she asked next, looking up to see Fortrakt had covered half the distance back to them. There was a pause before Fortrakt answered. “I wouldn’t do it, Centurion. Remember that dragons can see heat, like those human cameras. They’d probably spot our warm bodies even through thick smoke easily.” She grimaced at the reminder. By all the crows, I should have remembered that! she mentally berated herself, suddenly very glad that Fortrakt was there to stop her from making a potentially fatal mistake. “Very well. I’ll report this to Optio Giraldi via his gem, advising him quietly that we’re making a detour.” “Just him? And not the humans?” Tigrus prompted. Gilda shook her head as she looked at the ground, which was visibly closer now. “Let’s not alarm our guests just yet. We’ll head for a lower altitude and try to avoid the dragons while circling in towards Tierra from the south. Once past them, we’ll see if we can get close enough to make a dash for the base and—” Gilda’s words caught in her throat as she suddenly felt pricks of pins and needles travel all over her body, like an electric current. And judging by the way Prime Pike Tigrus and the outside griffons she could see stiffened, they felt it too. They had just entered a magical field—an active magical field! “Centurion!” First Stave Tunica shouted in alarm as he whirled his staff to hastily cast some form of counterspell, but it was already too late. There was a blinding flash of light, followed by a deafening crack and roar as the very air seemed to explode outwards, with the smell of burnt wood and feathers hanging in the air. Wind whooshed everywhere in the magically-agitated atmosphere, disturbing the airstreams that had Gilda almost stumbling over herself. She recovered quickly, only to discover that the First Stave and lead coach were now falling out of the sky along with most of the stricken Paladins, who had taken the brunt of the first volley. Worse, the central coach containing Marco was now partially on fire, scored with scorch marks all over the front as the two lead griffons hung limp in their harnesses, having taken direct strikes to judge by their burns and smoking feathers. But she had no time to react before a fresh crackling sound was heard. Up in the cloudless but smoke-filled sky, she saw electrical lines beginning to form anew, building up for a second orchestrated volley that would kill them en masse. “Scatter!” she shouted in desperation as events quickly spun out of control, with half her escort force struck down in a single, terrifying instant. “Scatter and descend to ground! NOW!" But before anygriffon could even begin to obey or she could start to dive after the damaged coach, another eruption of lethal lightning bolts speared through the air towards them.