//------------------------------//
// 24: Battle of Bale - Prelude 
// Story: Feathered Hearts - Continuation and Chronicles 
// by Firesight 
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Once they were finally underway, the march to Bale occurred swiftly.

The sun was setting as they arrived near its gates to find the steadholt deserted. Worse, the animals had fallen silent again, causing humans and griffons alike to clutch their weapons more tightly and Gilda to order the advance halted half a league out on a slight rise. But as they had already scouted the vicinity and came up empty, Gilda could only conclude that the Cloven were inside the Steadholt itself.

Meaning at best, we’ll have to clean them out before we can use the buildings for shelter, or worse, we’ll have to give up the idea of staying here entirely if their numbers are too great. But if they were, wouldn’t they just attack us again out in the open? Or do they already know not to do that from the earlier battle and now plan to ambush us when we come inside?

Her eyes fell on the forms of Chris, Tara and Marco walking about thirty paces ahead in a spread-out pattern; she noted the hard march seemed to have exhausted them quickly given their bent-over forms and ragged breathing.

Chris seemed the worst off given he was hunched over heavily; she guessed the weight of his armor was tiring him given he’d been the most out-of-shape of the three to begin with before they’d started working out with Sergeant Reyes. Tara and Marco seemed a bit better, but she could see they were breathing hard and smell the salty-sweet sheen of moisture each were now wearing.

I guess that unlike the Marines, they’re not used to walking with so much weight on them, she supposed, though it still brought a smile of appreciation to her face at how hard all three were trying to act the part of soldiers even though they weren’t. 

They’re all keepers. Not just for me, but the entire Kingdom, she decided as unbidden, the scent of their sweat triggered a series of sensual memories. In her mind, she found herself in the clearing at the center of attention of her human friends again, followed by remembering her time with Marco back at the Inn.

But what little elation she remembered at their first true time together waned quickly as she focused her attention back to the here and now, trying to determine what their next move was. She wished Giraldi was there to provide his counsel, but he was still pulling the cart; a glance back showed him chatting with Imlay while they waited to move again.

“Centurion!” Fortrakt’s voice broke into her thoughts as he swooped in before her and saluted, though he maintained a hover in the air. “Beg to report.”

“Proceed, Decurion,” she invited as she returned the honor. Magical interference had been getting worse again; enough that the human radios were having trouble being heard through even over short distances.

“Still no Cloven or corpses in the vicinity that we can see. But it’s getting dark and I’m sure you’ve noticed everything’s gone quiet again?” He looked around nervously, to which she could only give a grave nod. “If they’re anywhere, they have to be inside the steadholt.”

“I agree,” she said tersely. “The Ravens are checking it. Let’s see what they find before we try—”

Before she could finish her reply, Ebon Umbreon seemed to materialize right out of the air itself, causing her and Fortrakt to flinch. “Beg to report, Centurion.”

“Proceed,” she said again, if far more wanly.

“We’ve reached the gates of the steadholt, sir. It appears deserted and there is no sign of activity within it. But the animals have gone quiet again in its vicinity,” he observed as well, causing her insides to automatically clench and her heart to race in anticipation of another attack. “We see no indications of an ambush or a large force present, but as the Cloven seem to be nearby, we must exercise extreme caution.”

“As you say.” She struggled to focus her thoughts. At this distance, she couldn’t see anything inside the steadholt clearly, but the lack of movement and silence of the animals was not to be ignored. “The most obvious conclusion is that if we don’t see them but the birds and crickets are quiet, then they’re waiting for us, either inside the buildings or under them—Tribune Narada did say they were using Diamond Dogs on the attack. Can you check the structures and cellars without being seen?”

“We can,” he said, then winked and she flinched again as he simply faded from sight. “Hold here while we check them. Fire a flare if you come under attack, and we will hasten to rejoin you,” his slightly muffled voice said from directly in front of her, but whatever magic he was tapping, she could see nothing of him except the barest hint of distortion in the air around his outline as he flew off again.

“Ancestors…” Fortrakt said from a hover beside her, his jaw agape. “They’re amazing.”

“Close your beak, cub. Before it attracts flies,” an amused Giraldi said as he came up with Imlay beside her; they then saluted Gilda as one. “Just be grateful they’re here, because we would have no chance without them.”

“Optio.” She returned the gesture; it struck her then that she was finally getting used to having honor paid to her rank. “And Corporal. Have you made any progress on finding ways to merge our formations?”

“We have, actually,” Giraldi replied. “That wasn’t all we discussed, though. We were swapping war stories on our walk over. From what the Corporal says, there are some surprising similarities between the foes we face on our border with the Ascendency, and this ‘Afghanistan’ he served at.”

“More than I would like. Those Ibexian irregulars you fought sound as bad as the Taliban. We could have used more officers like you, Optio,” Imlay told him ruefully.

Giraldi bared his neck back. “And you would do well in command of a griffon decade, Corporal Imlay. Perhaps even a Turma.”

“Thank you, sir.” He gave him a nod of acknowledgment instead of baring his throat; she wondered then if she’d ever get the chance to teach the rest of the Marines proper griffon body language and cultural etiquette.

Might have to at least sit them down and teach them the basics before they accidentally grope a griffon on the shoulder, she had the passing thought; it still caused her to do a double-take whenever she saw the humans do it to each other. Raleigh’s just lucky Spear Jumentum didn’t take it personally when he did it! “He’s right, Corporal. If you wish, I’d be more than happy to assign your squad some griffons.”

“Thanks again, sir. Though I fear my lack of wings might be a slight impediment to properly leading them,” he noted dryly. “I think you griffons could command us well, too. And for what it’s worth, Centurion, you’re certainly performing a lot better than way too many fresh-from-the-academy Second Lieutenants I’ve seen.”

She bared her throat at him—maybe he could at least learn by example that’s what griffons did in response to compliments? “Your respect is noted and appreciated, Corporal. I fully intend to recommend you and your unit for commendation when all this is over. In the meantime, we’re waiting again.”

“Understood,” he said. “My Marines are in position and ready to receive hostiles. I take it we stopped to scout the village?”

“It’s called a steadholt. And yes,” she confirmed. “The Ravens are checking it. Given the animals are quiet again, we suspect there’s Cloven inside.” Recalling her instructions, she belatedly began to prepare a flare to fire in case they were attacked, and she needed to recall the two Ravens swiftly.

“Makes sense,” he agreed, crouching on one knee beside her; he wasn’t sweating anywhere near as hard as the civilians were, but he still had a faint sheen of it on his forehead in the warmth of the evening. “And if there are?”

“Unless their numbers are too great, we clean them out,” she told him tensely, turning to find herself face-to-face with a human for a change instead of staring at their crotch or midsection. “How good are your Marines at clearing buildings?”

Imlay smiled, showing the tips of his teeth. “Very. I would strongly suggest you pull the civilians back, though.” He nodded ahead towards Chris, Tara and Marco. “I don’t care what they say or what classes they took; they won’t be able to do it properly without a lot more practice and training.”

“I believe you. And I will,” she promised, “but let them rest where they are for now. They need it. And don’t worry—Fortrakt’s group is covering them from overhead.”

“Thanks. And we’re glad your soldiers are up there, believe me,” he assured her. “As for those three, they’re not used to marching in full pack, though they seem to have held up pretty well. But from the looks of them, I don’t think they can last much longer before having to stop. They’ll need some real rest soon, and we’ll need to find defensible shelters we can sleep in. How long before the Ravens report?”

“I’d say…” Her voice trailed off as the wind gusted slightly just then. It bore another wave of mingled human scent and sweat from the three civilians, and this time, her mind went all the way back to the night of the cider. In that instant, she could recall the same spicy and oddly intoxicating aroma hanging heavy in the air around her the entire time, causing the edges of her vision to turn slightly pink again, adding further fuel to her still-strong cider-spiked desires.

“Sir?” Imlay prompted again when she stopped speaking. But she didn’t immediately hear him; still sniffing the air, finding herself lost in memories she mostly still couldn’t reach but seemed closer to the surface than ever. “Something wrong?”

Finally realizing he’d spoken, Gilda looked at him blankly for a moment. “What? Oh! Ten to fifteen minutes,” she said softly. “Yeah. Should be ten, fifteen minutes, tops.”

Imlay gave her an odd look. “Sir? Is there something wrong?”

Gilda shook her head to clear it, wishing she could turn off her sensual side. It wasn’t just her, either; a glance around her showed that Giraldi and Fortrakt appeared to have been affected as well given their suddenly distant expressions; both were staring straight ahead at the three civilians.

Crows take it… this is NOT the time! she reminded herself again, starting to worry that Fortrakt had been wrong and the cider wasn’t just enhancing desires, but inducing them. I wonder if Nydia can do something about this? She wasn’t sure, but she also wasn’t sure she wanted to ask given the embarrassing questions that might involve.

Embarrassing or no, I might HAVE to ask if this keeps up! “No. Nothing. Once the Ravens return, we’ll plan our next steps. In the meantime, have there been any further issues with our honored guests?” she asked with some distaste and a nod back towards the cart where the Ibex were kept, along with all the precious produce and bread they had paid so painfully for.

Imlay and Giraldi exchanged another glance, the latter looking uncharacteristically befuddled for a moment before he refocused. “It would seem that they’re not entirely happy with the quality of their care, Centurion,” the latter spoke first with a note of amusement.

“They speak Aeric well enough, and from what I overheard, they thought Chief Jacobs was trying to kill them by sticking them with needles and sewing their wounds shut. Even after its purpose was explained to them, they protested, calling such treatment primitive and barbaric. To which I heard Spear Jumentum ask them from behind the cart if they wished no treatment at all.”

“And their response?” Gilda asked with a sneer. I won’t mind one bit if they don’t!

Giraldi smiled thinly. “They complained some more and said that they would not let Chief Jacobs touch them, with the male threatening to shock him into unconsciousness if he tried. When Chief Jacobs then said in Equish that he could not help them if they were uncooperative, there was the sound of a drawn blade, and they fell silent. I gather the Chief was then able to treat them.”

“I see.” Gilda smiled thinly in turn, imagining the mute Raven eagless was the source of the sound. She found herself taking no small pleasure in their fear and discomfort, given not only what the Ibex had planned for Chris, but the enormous discomfort she and the rest of her human and griffon friends had endured following their potion-spiked cider poisoning.

In fairness, even if they had declined treatment, it might not have been dangerous to them. From what she’d been taught at the Gauntlet, the potent auras of the Ibex were normally enough to self-heal all but the worst battle wounds in a matter of hours—assuming they had sufficient magic available, that was, which these three didn’t after their exhausting efforts against the Cloven. And assuming their horns were intact, which they weren’t.

Nor was that ability inexhaustible even in the best of circumstances; physical healing was a very magic-intensive process that used up a great deal of a caster’s strength regardless of race. It was why Giraldi had ordered Nydia to not heal more minor wounds, only major ones; she had to conserve her power as much as possible should the Cloven attack again.

But she used a stave to channel her magic and cast her spells. It wasn’t a part of her body like the antlers were for the Ibex; when they were damaged, they lost a great deal of their healing and casting ability. In that instance, all their remaining power would go into repairing the cracks and regrowing the lost parts of their magical appendages.

If they were well-fed and able to rest, it was said they could fully regenerate even a broken-off horn in a day or two—at the cost of not being able to otherwise use their magic. Which included healing their flesh or broken limbs if they’d suffered other injuries; their bodies prioritized preserving their all-important antlers over just about everything else.

“I suppose we should at least inform our guests about what is planned and expected of them. Instruct them in Aeric that we will be stopping soon, Optio. Tell them that if they wish to be tended and fed, they will obey our instructions without question. Tell them that if they try anything untoward, they will be left by the roadside with human bullets in their brains,” she said through narrowed eyes, half-thinking of allowing Chris, Tara and Marco to fire the fatal shots as they’d requested.

She blinked, then shook her head sharply at the ugly thought. Do NOT let your emotions guide you, Grizelda Behertz… she told herself again. And by all your Ancestors and your love for Marco, Chris, and Tara, do NOT make them murderers! “Sorry. That might just be the cider speaking again,” she added in Aeric so Imlay wouldn’t understand her.

“Then it would seem you’ve been feeling it too,” Giraldi noted in Aeric back, giving her a knowing look. “I thought I was the only one.”

“Not even close,” Fortrakt told him worriedly. “We all are. And the effects seem to be getting stronger, not weaker. I keep trying to—” He caught himself and shook his head sharply, just as she had. “Never mind. But I’m worried about what it may make us do at bad times.”

“I see. Then we must be cautious not to act on its urges, as I fear I already did once,” Giraldi reminded them, his cheeks flushing and wings twitching for a moment; she thought better of asking him what he meant. “I need not tell you it will heighten whatever we are feeling and make us far more likely to act on impulse, to possibly great detriment. I would say be aware of it, but it would seem you already are.”

“Until we can get ourselves scanned for it by specialist mages back in Arnau, that's all we can do for now,” Gilda agreed, then dropped the subject, turning to Imlay and switching back to Equish. “Sorry for the private conversation, Corporal. One of your Marines speaks Ibexian, correct?”

He nodded, unperturbed. “PFC Stavrou does, sir. But we call it Russian, not Ibexian.”

“Russian,” she repeated the odd word, wondering if all Tellusian languages were known by different names in the human world. And then she wondered in turn how by all the Ancestors two entirely different worlds somehow spoke the same tongues. “Put his fire team around the cart and have him walk behind it. I want him to listen in if they start speaking it. Maybe he can pick up if they’re planning an escape or something.”

“I’m sure the Raven eagless knows Ibex, sir,” Giraldi quickly pointed out, only to just as quickly realize: “But she doesn’t seem to talk.”

“Exactly,” Gilda confirmed, wondering if it was by choice or if she was unable to. “Any problem with that arrangement, Corporal?”

“No, sir. I’ll switch up the teams,” he said, standing back up again, leaving her staring at the business end of his cannon barrel for a moment; she could smell the burnt powder within it from the earlier battle. “By your command,” he even added the griffon response to an order as he flashed her a salute with a slight twinkle.





Ten minutes later, the Ravens returned to make their report while Imlay was away, though he listened in over the radio. “The steadholt is deserted aside from around a score of Caleponian and griffon corpses, now neutralized. They were all found inside the structures and storage cellars, which we meticulously searched, so it is safe to say that they were indeed planning to ambush us when we went inside them.”

“Neutralized? Then you dispatched them?” she asked with a glance at Fortrakt, to which the Shadow Decurion nodded solemnly.

“We did, with blades or bolts to the head—thanks to our stealth spells, they didn’t know we were there. Other than that, there are no survivors and no signs of battle other than bloodstains, a barricaded door and a broken window or two. Whatever happened, it happened so quickly that there was little time to mount a defense.”

“Curious,” Giraldi said, though the only words Gilda could come up with to describe the situation were awful and ominous. “Are you certain that you got all of the corrupted corpses?”

“We searched every building and cellar for them, Optio. As the nighttime animals were being heard again as we left, I believe that we did,” he pointed out. “Nevertheless, I advise caution as we move in. It would seem our foe is trying to play on our protective instincts and compassion for cubs, as we found a room full of corrupted griffon and pony younglings pretending to sleep. It was not pleasant having to stab them, Centurion.” He and his comrade went downcast.

“I hate this anti-Cloven doctrine, sir,” the latter said, her voice trembling. “I knew they were dead, as their bodies showed no heat, but to have to slay them for a second time with a blade through the brain…” She shuddered. “Ancestors above, each time I did it, it felt like I was killing my own cubs!”

Gilda was surprised to learn the nameless female was a mother as well, but she supposed she shouldn’t have been—Ravens are said to live among us as normal griffons to all outward appearances, and you never know who might be one.

“As you say, our foe is playing on our instincts and compassion,” Giraldi reminded them gently as the Shadow Decurion laid a comforting wing over his comrade’s back. “Ravens you may be, but I can see that you are also parents and thus react as one to the sight of slain younglings. By using such dishonorable tactics, the Cloven are attempting to weaken our resolve and drive us into despair. For the sake of your cubs and comrades, do not give in, Ebon Umbreon.”

He stepped forward to put a fatherly paw on the other tiercel’s chest, though Gilda didn’t think the Raven male was much younger than he was.

“As you say, Galen Giraldi.” The Raven tiercel closed his eyes tightly for a moment before opening them again; he seemed to blink and grow distracted for a moment, staring down at Giraldi’s talons touching him before he recovered his bearing and focus. “Regardless, as its walls and buildings remain intact, it will make a suitable redoubt. We should thus occupy the steadholt immediately before more Cloven appear. And before we…”

His tail twitched as a slight flush appeared in his cheeks; for a moment Gilda thought she scented cider in the air as the the two males suddenly stared fixedly at each other and their wings started rising fractionally from their sides. 

Gilda blinked and shook her head hard at the images and ideas suddenly running freely through her head. She wasn’t sure if she was more shocked by the sudden vision of the two powerful tiercels engaging in intimacies completely out of the blue, or the fact that she found it strangely apt and arousing, wanting to watch it happen. 

Wanting to watch them take the chance she hadn’t, right out in the open in front of everyone. For if they did, wouldn’t that mean it was okay for her to do so?

Wouldn’t that mean it was okay for them all?

Though given momentary pause, her will quickly reasserted itself. She wasn’t sure what would happen if she didn’t intervene immediately, but she also wasn’t going to find out. No! We are NOT doing this right now! she vehemently thought as she stepped firmly between them, at least glad that unlike before, the effects of whatever residual cider remained within them could be resisted. 

“Okay, back to business, everyone!” she said sharply to break whatever spell they’d fallen under, causing the two males to blink and pull back quickly, suddenly having to look away from each other.

“You’re right that we need to occupy the steadholt immediately. Our work isn’t done yet, and there’s no guarantee the Cloven won’t reappear, so keep your eyes and ears open! Decurion Gletscher, detail a Fuga or two to secure the well and food storage areas. We’ll be needing more water, so find containers and fill as many as you can. The rest will continue aerial patrols and cover the convoy as we move in.”

“By your command!” came the crisp response as an initially distracted Fortrakt saluted and took flight again back to his contingent; watching him direct his two decades, she was impressed at how readily the sky griffons he led seemed to carry out his instructions.

Wow. Who would have thought such a young and dweeby griffon would be so able to get soldiers to obey orders? she had the passing thought before turning to Giraldi. “Harness back up and pull the cart inside the steadholt walls, Optio. Once it’s safe there, we’ll pass out some of the food and have Nydia cast preservation spells on the remainder. I’m not sure we can take the cart with us all the way to the next steadholt, so we’ll have to pack as much of it as we can.”

“By your command. And the Ibex?” he prompted with what she found to be an odd and lingering look at Ebon Umbreon, to which she grimaced, having forgotten about their prisoners for at least a few Ancestor-blessed moments.

“Move them under guard to the cells found in the cellar of the main hall,” she directed. “I know from previous rotations that’s where the steadholt peacekeepers usually stow troublemakers, and if their magic is blocked, they shouldn’t be able to escape. Feed and water them, but also be sure you keep the civilians away from them. Tell them that if they behave, we’ll continue to protect them. And recommend that they not be executed as spies when we reach safety.”

Her eyes turned angry again for a moment at the knowledge they were trying to take Chris away. And worse, right before we nearly… She yet again couldn’t believe where her mind was trying to go.

“Understood. And the civilians themselves?” Imlay interrupted her lurid thoughts over the radio; she’d been so intent on what was happening in front of her that she’d forgotten he was listening in from back at the cart.

With effort, she purged her mind of the persistent fantasies again. “They need to rest, so let them.” She found herself already wishing she could join them, not for sex but for sleep. She was quite tired after her restlessness the previous night, to say nothing of the combat and constant whiplash of emotions she’d experienced over the course of the day. 

“Once we establish a defensive perimeter, we’ll establish safe eating and rest areas and work out a four-hour watch rotation, with no more than a third of our force sleeping at a time. And Shadow Decurion…?”

Though his eyes had still been on Giraldi, he instantly perked up. “Centurion?”

She sighed and nodded, almost feeling guilty about having separated the pair. “I must once again ask a great deal of you. I need you and your team to stay awake and stay outside, keeping watch for any Cloven activity. You’re the best early warning system we have, so use the same flare color scheme you suggested before,” she outlined.

“A blue flare means an attack is inbound from the flare’s location. Green means abandon the steadholt and move in the flare’s direction at once. And red means dragons are coming,” she finished, though she had no idea what they would do in that instance other than dive for the cellars and pray. “And if you see a white flare, it means return to the steadholt immediately.”

He nodded and saluted. “By your command. And worry not. We are used to extended periods without sleep. So rest your soldiers and yourself, Centurion,” he offered. “You are in good wings. Sleep soundly knowing we will keep watch over you all.”





Two minutes later, the convoy entered the gates of the steadholt as Fortrakt’s fifteen soldiers kept watch from the air and the Marines covered the rear.

Once they had reached the main plaza, the gates were closed and sealed behind them; Nydia reinforced them with a spell that she promised would make them very difficult to break. The steadholt’s high walls would provide no protection against airborne enemies, of course, but would be at least partial proof against grounded ones like more grass lions or the flightless soldier forms pure Cloven were said to take.

The plaza secure, her sky griffons took over defense while the Marines cleared the buildings covered by Nydia’s spellcasting, starting with the largest one—the Main Hall, or Town Hall as the ponies would have called it—in the center of the steadholt.

She watched from the air as the civilians and her two earth griffons protected the cart; sky griffon crossbows covering the windows and balconies in case corrupted corpses should appear within them. She didn’t expect any given the Ravens said they’d already cleared the area and the evening animals were active, but there was no telling what other surprises the endlessly adaptable Cloven yet had for them.

To her relief, nothing happened. The Marines moved efficiently and cleared the Hall swiftly; no shots from their cannons were heard as the call came back over the radio: “Building clear. But we found something strange, Centurion,” Imlay reported, his voice barely audible over the background crackling.

“Another Cloven corpse?” she asked as Nydia perked up beside her.

“No, sir. But our blacklights picked up something. We don’t know what it is. I think Decanus Nydia needs to see it.”

“Understood. Hold your fire; we’re coming in.”

With a nod to Nydia, they entered the Hall. Despite their expected approach, they were both greeted with a pair of violet lights sweeping over them; it caused her wings to fluoresce and Nydia’s entire stave to light up with an intense glow.

“Confirmed. No shrouds,” Henderson called out, then issued a challenge phrase. “Eclipse.”

“Occlusion,” Gilda replied to lowered rifles; they were still using a simple sign/countersign system that they’d discarded weeks earlier at the Inn. But as the Cloven didn’t speak, she didn’t think there was an issue with using it out there. “What have you found, Corporal?”

“This.” He shone his violet ‘blacklight’ on the floor near the back of the room, away from the doors and off to the side of the stage from which the Steadholt Master would normally conduct business. The beam revealed a glowing square shape, but there was nothing on the floor itself to suggest a real one was present in the stone surface. “What is it?”

“Interesting…” Nydia raised her staff to scan it with her magic, then frowned.

“Something wrong?” Gilda asked.

“It’s a Shelter spell, sir,” Nydia replied distractedly. “And its magical signature is so faint that if these strange human lights didn’t find it, I’m not sure I would have.”

Gilda frowned in turn. “I see it, but I don’t feel it.”

“You’re not supposed to,” Nydia said, pointing her staff towards it, magically tugging on the area experimentally. “As it’s meant to hide magically sealed areas, it was designed to be only barely perceptible, if at all.” She opened her eyes again. “In this instance, I think it’s hiding an entrance to an underground area.”

Gilda was tempted to call the Ravens and ask them if they’d sensed such a spell, but as they were now patrolling outside the base walls where the radios could not reach them, they couldn’t be recalled short of firing a flare.

Giraldi then approached. “A shelter spell you say? We used those on the border with the Ascendency. It’s a defensive spell that conceals an underground storage area. We used them to cache extra food or items for our patrols.”

Nydia nodded. “As you say, Optio. The magic is faint but feels relatively fresh; emplaced in just the past few hours. I’m guessing this steadholt had a mage who cast it.”

Imlay then spoke. “You said they were used for supplies. Can these ‘shelter spells’ also hide people?”

“Huh? Oh. Uh, yes, but it’s not really recommended,” Nydia said; Gilda wasn’t sure that she’d ever heard the word ‘people’ before, but she seemed to get the meaning after a moment’s thought. “It magically seals off the entire chamber to conceal it from scans, and that means it’s not ventilated. Regardless of how big the pocket is, whoever hides inside it will slowly suffocate if the spell is not released.”

Giraldi glanced at Gilda as Imlay and the Marines exchanged looks. “Sir, you don’t think that…?”

“It’s possible,” Gilda replied. “If the steadholt was attacked, this Shelter spell could be what hid the survivors from the Cloven.”

Her newly minted Optio shook his head. “Slow suffocation or certain death—few grown griffons would choose to go for the former unless the situation was dire.”

“I think we can safely assume it was,” Imlay said. “As nobody is here, but there are bloodstains and broken doors all over, it seems likely the residents were slaughtered, and their bodies taken to fuel the Cloven war machine.”

“Perhaps, but we must also consider the possibility that this is another Cloven lure,” Giraldi reminded him. “It would seem the Ravens did not sense it, so I would proceed with extreme caution. Can you open the Shelter, Decanus?”

“Possibly, but—” Nydia suddenly gasped as her magic probed deeper; her efforts turned the heads of the Ibex as they were led inside in shackles. “I sense living auras inside it, but they’re weak. They may already be running out of air. And worse… I think some of them are cubs!”

“Cubs?”

“Be careful,” Imlay warned. “The Ravens already said they tried to use corrupted cubs in an ambush.”

“But these are definitely living!” Nydia exclaimed in alarm. “Request permission to force the shelter open, Centurion!” she all but begged Gilda.

“Breaking another mage’s spell is a magic-intensive process, Centurion,” Giraldi advised. “It could cost her a great deal of power and worse, might act as a beacon for corrupted mages.”

“But there are cubs down there!” Nydia pleaded. “They might be all that’s left of this steadholt! By all our Ancestors, Centurion, please let me save them!”

All eyes turned on Gilda as she considered the request. Do I let her? We need her at full strength, and this Shelter spell even eluded the Ravens. Could it be another Cloven trap using cubs as bait? she wondered slightly frantically.

But how COULD it be? If it was, they would have to make sure it would be discovered, but the Ravens missed it. In fact, even Nydia said she probably would have missed it if it wasn’t shown to her! The Cloven couldn’t have known about these human ‘blacklights’ being able to reveal magical shrouds or surfaces, could they? And even if they did, how did they know there would be humans here to reveal it?

The entire thought process took just a few seconds before she reached the only conclusion possible. “Permission granted! It can’t be a trap unless they both knew about humans being able to detect magic and that they would be here! There are survivors down there, and even at the cost of Magus power, I will not abandon them! So by my order, open the Shelter and be quick about it, Decanus!”

“By your command!” she shouted, and then slightly frantically went to work, pointing her stave, which shortly began to emit another magical beam at the glowing rectangle. It caused the area to flare brighter and start to glow even without the illumination of the violet human lights, but even Gilda could sense its building resistance, and she felt the magical backlash like a slap to the face as a splintering sound was heard beside her.

The source had been Nydia’s casting staff, which now showed a long and glowing crack in the wood. “I can’t…” she said, stumbling back in defeat, tears of frustration glimmering in her eyes. “The caster down there is stronger than me. I can’t break their spell without breaking my stave!”

“What would it take to overcome it?” Giraldi asked.

“More power than I possess,” Nydia said in despair. “Me and another mage working in concert might be able to do it, but we don’t have any other casters! Except for—” She blinked hard and turned towards the three Ibex, who were being walked in under guard; their heads turned towards the scene as they likely sensed the magical expenditure.

Gilda followed her gaze and realized what she was thinking. “No! We don’t dare remove their manacles!”

“We wouldn’t have to, sir. I can use Ibexian magic to power my spell. Even with their manacles on, I can draw it through an antler!” Nydia explained. “But they can’t fight me or it won’t work.”

“So in other words, they have to willingly give up their power?” Gilda exchanged a dubious look with Giraldi.

“Even if they agreed, they could cripple or poison your stave,” the latter warned. “Plant a magical seed in it to be used later. I strongly advise against it, Centurion, or else they might…” His voice trailed off as his logic led to the same dead-end Gilda found.

“Might what? Escape into the Cloven-infested countryside where they’d get hunted down by corrupted mages and killed?” she suggested derisively, then stalked up to the Ibex male, her gold eyes boring into his orange-tinted ones. Staring at him, she found herself given pause by her first real noseful of male Ibex musk, which simultaneously stimulated both her olden hunting and mating instincts.

Finding herself with strong urges to both rut and kill, Gilda shoved them as hard aside as she could, annoyed at herself anew for not being able to shake such thoughts and resolving again to get herself scanned for cider as soon as possible—by all my Ancestors, I don’t want to be turned on by the IBEX!

“You—Starshina, is it? We have a shelter spell we can’t open with survivors inside. But we might be able to break it if you boost our mage’s power,” she told him in Aeric, guessing he likely knew the griffon tongue as well as the Ravens knew Ibex. “Allow her to draw off some of your magic. I promise she will only use as much as she needs to do the job.”

He glanced back at the two surviving females before forcing his features into a sneer. “And why, by all the Ancient Rams of our Rodina, would I do that?” he asked her in fluent Aeric.

She didn’t know what the Ibexian word meant, but she let her gaze harden into a glare as she stepped forward to go beak to muzzle with him. “Because I ordered it. Because there are cubs dying down there! And because if you don’t, I’ll let the humans cook you for dinner,” she threatened him coolly, causing him to pale beneath his ruddy fur.

“I don’t know how much you understood from the earlier conversation, but our three civilians already asked for permission to kill you for what was done to them—for what you were planning to do to their friend! You’re dead weight right now at a time I need every soldier available to fight, so why, by all my Ancestors, should I not grant their request?“ She was both amazed and appalled at how calmly she delivered the ugly threat.

“You’re bluffing,” he claimed as the silent Raven eagless listened to the conversation intently. She started to go for her blade on her back again but stopped at an upraised wing from Gilda. “You need us alive.”

Gilda’s smile turned almost sweet. “I need one of you alive,” she corrected him, nodding to the Raven eagless and motioning with her eyes to one of the Ibex females. The gray-dyed assassin grinned for the first time since Gilda had met her, drawing her scimitar and putting it at the throat of the more wounded doe.

“And thanks in part to your fellow adepts poisoning us with that spiked cider, one of the humans is now my mate! I suppose I should thank them for that, but he and his friends need meat, and it may interest you to know that goats are a food animal in their homeworld.”

She paused to let the words and threat sink in. “So, what will it be, Karin Kazal? Will you help us save some lives? Or shall I allow my mate to eat one of your females to make you cooperate?”

She was rewarded by a visible swallow. “If I help, what guarantee do I have that you won’t slay us anyway?” To his credit, he kept his voice level.

Her gaze turned icy. “The same guarantee I have that you would have left Christopher McLain unharmed,” she said pointedly, causing him to cringe. “But if you want me to swear to your safety, so be it. Help us, and on my honor as a griffon and officer, we will feed and protect you. Help us, and I will recommend that you not be executed as spies and saboteurs following interrogation in Aricia—if you cooperate, that is. That is all I will offer you. And for what you were planning, it’s far more than you deserve.”

She was rewarded when he visibly slumped. “Very well, Centurion. If you wish my help, I will grant it. Simply remove my manacles, and I will assist in the spellcasting.”

“Just how big a crow-damned fool do you take me for?” she asked him through narrowed eyes. “We don’t have to remove the manacles. Just let her draw on your magic through your horn, and don’t resist. If you do, or if you try anything that corrupts her or her stave, I swear on the blood of my fallen soldiers that I will not hesitate to kill you. Are we clear, Starshina Karin Kazal?”

“Clear,” he agreed wanly. “But please use my left antler. It’s least cracked and will hurt less.”

“Whatever.” She dismissed him with a single word and then nodded over to Nydia, stepping back to allow her to move forward.

“How’d I do?” she asked Giraldi under her breath as she sat beside him.

“A commendably chilling performance,” he replied with an askance look. “I admit, I wasn’t sure if you meant what you said or not...” he added cautiously, to which she gave no reply.





As Gilda watched, Nydia approached the captured Adept and spoke to him softly for a moment, promising him she wouldn’t drain him of more magic than she needed. To which he replied that there was nothing he could do even if she did, requesting again that she only use his less-damaged horn for the purpose.

Nodding, she obliged him, touching the end of her stave to his antler. It reacted quickly, presenting the odd sight of only one of his antlers aglow. Nydia’s stave glowed in turn as she charged it using his remaining magic; as Gilda watched, the cracks in the wood seemed to heal.

Half a minute later, the process was complete and the male collapsed to the ground in exhaustion.

“He’ll be fine, but he needs rest and water now,” she told Gilda. “I took as much of his power as I dared. Ibexian magic is… somewhat more potent than ours. So they tend to feel its ebb more keenly.”

“Did he do anything but give you magic?” Gilda asked as Giraldi directed water be brought to the fainted buck.

“Not that I’m aware of, sir. I took what precautions I could, but I strongly suggest you have the Raven keep her crossbow trained on me until I’ve used it up.” The Raven eagless glanced at Gilda, who nodded back. She then drew her crossbow, still loaded with magic-disruption bolts, and pointed it at Nydia’s back.

But Nydia seemed oblivious to the repeater aimed at her, as she stared at the hidden entrance to the shelter. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and cast her spell again, growling in effort as her staff glowed much brighter and with a slightly different color this time. The coruscating energies caused humans and griffons alike to grimace like they were too close to a hot flame; all present stepping back warily from the wave of magic coursing around her.

“Is there something wrong?” Gilda asked.

“Resistance,” Nydia replied stiffly. “The spell was emplaced by a powerful Magus. It’s fighting me hard! But not… hard….”—she shouted the last word—“enough!”

Gilda braced herself as the magic ripped through the hall like a gale, making her feathers and coat hairs stand on end; everything went blinding white for just a few seconds before the light faded. “Got it!” She heard Nydia proclaim as the solid stone ground began to give way, slowly turning the flat surface into a descending ramp that could easily and comfortably allow two griffons to walk side-by-side.

“Holy crap,” said a voice behind Gilda. At a glance, the speaker was revealed to be Marco, joined by Chris and Tara as they carried supplies in from the cart. “What’s going on?” he asked Gilda, struggling to be heard over the rapidly shifting winds, which abruptly ended with a rush of stale air out of the pried-open entrance.

“We think there are survivors down there,” Gilda said stiffly as she watched Nydia continue to work; the intensity of her effort evident through her stiff posture and clenched beak as well as the brightness of the glowing cracks starting to reform in her wooden staff.

If she loses it… Gilda didn’t want to think as she heard a slight splintering sound. Staffs were the equivalent of external horns or antlers; without them, griffon mages still had magic, but they could only use it on what they could touch instead of casting it remotely, which all but crippled them in combat. Without them, Nydia might still be able to help heal a wounded soldier by touching them, or even shock someone who tried to grab her, but the staff was a multiplier of Magus magic; her options became far more limited and her power was much less potent without it.

“Can’t keep it open long, even with the extra magic,” Nydia said before Marco could respond. She sounded increasingly breathless; as Gilda watched, she flared her wings to dissipate the excess body heat she was generating. “Ancestors above, it’s fighting me! I think the mage who cast it is trying to keep the Shelter closed! I can pry it open for a few minutes, but I won’t be able to dispel it!”

“Right,” Gilda said, making her decision quickly. “Then I’ll go down and tell the Magus in question that we’re here to help them. Once they drop the spell, we’ll bring them out.”

“If you’re down there when Nydia loses control, you’ll be trapped there and could suffocate along with the rest,” Giraldi warned her.

“I’m not willing to order my soldiers to do anything I’m not willing to do myself!” she said sharply, surprised at how vehemently she meant it. “I’m going.”

“Not alone, you’re not!” Marco proclaimed, putting down his supplies and grabbing his rifle off his back, rotating it around to the front of his body. “I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not,” she said sharply. “You don’t know what’s down there, Marco!”

“And neither do you!” he replied hotly, pulling out a small object and affixing it to the end of his “A-R”; he clicked something and a bright beam of light shot out of it. “You said before that we’re partners, so let’s act like it! Let’s face the danger together.”

“Don’t bother telling him no, Gilda,” Tara said, pointedly ignoring the Ibex as she passed them; Chris, by contrast, gave them a glare. “I don’t want him—or you—down there either, but he’s as stubborn as you are when he feels strongly enough about something.”

“Then how about hearing it from me?” Imlay asked, stepping forth. “You’re not trained for search and rescue, Lakan. Or to clear rooms.”

Marco stared at him. “Are you seriously gonna keep me from helping her, Imlay? Fuck that and fuck you! I’m going with her.”

“It’s Corporal. And if I think you’re being a macho idiot, then yes,” he replied easily, then raised his voice to address his squad. “I want one volunteer to accompany the Centurion and Lakan, with the understanding that you could get trapped down there. If none of you go, I will.”

Glances were exchanged before a single Marine stepped forward. “I’ll go, sir.” The PFC named Guerrero spoke up, leaving her admiring him for his bravery and Imlay for challenging his squad to match his courage by threatening to shame them. “I promise I’ll keep the Centurion safe and Rico out of trouble. But with respect, are we completely sure that it’s friendlies down there, ma’am?”

Gilda frowned at the mistaken address, but realized the Marine had a point. “It’s sir. And no, we’re not.” She donned her steel claws.

“Please hurry,” Nydia muttered as the audible groaning and slow cracking of wood from her staff told Gilda that they needed to do this fast, as even the Ibexian boost her magic had received wouldn’t last forever. “I can hold it for five minutes… if I’m lucky!” She was starting to tremble with the effort.

“You heard her. So let’s go. And since you’re so gung-ho, Rico, you can take point.” Guerrero nodded to the stairwell. “No offense, but I’d rather not have a trigger-happy civvie behind me.”

“Still think I’m going to accidentally shoot you?” Marco asked in annoyance as he hefted his rifle and walked ahead. “Fine, whatever. Let’s do this.”

“Stow it, both of you,” Gilda grated, finding herself yet again as exasperated as enamored by Marco’s stubborn loyalty and near-stupid bravery. If we get out of this, first I’m going to cuff him, and then I’m going to… She yet again forced herself to suppress the thoughts she was having. “Now let’s go.”

“By your command!” Marco flashed her a grin and a passable imitation of a griffon salute. Taking the lead, he aimed his rifle forward, his eyes sweeping the bottom of the stairwell and then the ground ahead along with the beam of light. Stone ground gave way to an earthen floor the deeper they proceeded into the magically masked chamber; she could sense the air growing more stagnant and even poisonous from endless exhalations as they moved forward.

It was a storage area, and there were more than a few barrels of various sizes lining the damp stone walls. Guerrero’s blacklight swept them to reveal them glowing with embedded incantations, but this time Gilda knew what they were.

“Steady, PFC,” she had to tell the male Marine as he raised his rifle at them. “Those are just food preservation spells on storage barrels. They keep things like meat and produce from spoiling. Not every magical signature you see is a trap.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said in some embarrassment, making her want to swat his rear with a wing. What is it going to take before the Marines get it through their thick skulls not to call me that? she wondered before Marco spoke again.

“And you were worried about me being trigger-happy, Guerrero?” he called back in a tense whisper as they got deeper. “Maybe I should be worried about you being in back of me?”

“Fuck off, Rico,” the Marine replied as the illumination from the entrance faded entirely when they rounded a corner. “We all know how much you enjoy having guys behind you.”

“Yeah, and I’ll bet you’re just waiting for me to drop the soap,” Marco retorted softly as he continued to move forward slowly, keeping in a crouch with his rifle leveled as he scanned the light back and forth.

“In your dreams, Flip-boy. I’d sooner tuck a tiercel,” Guerrero replied, leaving Gilda reflecting on the irony of the Marines having already learned the griffon terms for rutting but still not knowing proper military address.

They fell silent after that as they continued to move deeper into the large basement. But only Marco’s bright searchlight was active; Guerrero’s blacklight, though good at illuminating magical surfaces, didn’t do as well for lighting up the entire chamber. Gilda looked back at the Marine, about to ask if he could see when she saw he’d lowered an odd set of goggles over his eyes, which seemed to emit a faint green glow.

“Shit,” Marco suddenly froze, raising his rifle and sweeping the area ahead with its beam to reveal a series of fallen forms. “I’ve got a group of bodies about ten meters ahead.”

“Then stay where you are!” Guerrero warned in a sharp whisper, rushing up beside him along with Gilda, cannon and crossbow raised. “Let me look at them with my thermal camera.” He brought up something off his belt—some kind of spyglass?—and clicked it on; it glowed softly as he pointed it at the scene.

“I count seven bodies. Three adults; the rest are cubs. And with one exception, they’re warm,” the Marine declared as he adjusted something on his goggles. He then swept the bodies with his blacklight; griffon wings flared into at least weak fluorescence along with what looked like the end of a stave.

“Are they alive?” Marco asked tersely.

“If they’re warm and have active magic on them, then they would seem to be,” Guerrero said cautiously. “But I can’t say for certain from here.”

“At least we found the Magus staff. But where’s the Magus?” Gilda wondered, having thought he or she would glow with the most magic of all.

“I think he’s clutching it, ma’am,” Guerrero replied, clicking off his blacklight. “Shine your light on him, Rico.”

“I still don’t get why you’re calling me that,” Marco muttered, but he obeyed, revealing an upright staff, stuck hard into the dirt ground. It continued to feed the whole area with magic, while an emaciated tiercel Magus held onto it tightly.

She hadn’t seen him before, even under the blacklight’s gaze, as his wings had not lit up. Which can only mean… She didn’t want to think about it.

Nevertheless, she called out to him in Aeric, loud enough for all to hear and her voice to echo through the chamber harder than it normally would have, as the shelter spell kept sound from escaping its walls along with everything else. “This is Centurion Grizelda Behertz of the Auxiliary Guard! Cease your spellcasting; we are here to help! Are you injured?” Gilda shouted, but there was no immediate response or movement. “Do you need assistance?”

She waited, but yet again, there was no reply. She tried to check for any obvious signs of death, but other than his very gaunt frame, the tiercel looked relatively whole and there was no stench of decay present, either. She didn’t think he was possessed, so taking a breath, she took a couple more steps forward.

“Gilda…” Marco said warningly.

“I’m going to check for vital signs,” she replied tensely. “If he moves aggressively, shoot him. In the head, if you can.”

“Put your A-R down, Rico,” Guerrero ordered as he moved slightly to the side to give himself a better angle. “I’ve played whack-a-mole with Taliban heads in windows, so I promise I’m a better shot under pressure than you.”

To Gilda’s relief, Marco didn’t argue, lowering his rifle. “Fine. But are you sure, Gilda?” he asked nervously.

“Positive,” she replied even though she wasn’t, slowly moving forward. For the first three steps, she thought the tiercel moved, but it proved to just be a trick of the light. By the time she reached the staff, the first thing she did was take hold of the extended foreleg. She shook it a bit, but the limb held the staff in a death grip.

Thinking the wooden tool might be an easier target, she took hold of that instead, and jerked it upwards. To her surprise, it readily moved. Satisfied, she flared her wings and stood upright to grasp it in both sets of foretalons. With a grunt of effort, she then yanked it out of the ground.

Once it left the earthen surface, it stopped glowing and she felt the wave of magic collapse, followed by an equally strong magical backlash that preceded a faint shout of eagless pain coming from back up the tunnel. It might have been Nydia, but she couldn’t worry about her just then as her focus returned to the downed tiercel. Now that he didn’t have a potential weapon, she grabbed his neck and checked for a pulse.

Nothing. She sighed, relief and regret flooding into her.

“Is he alive?” Guerrero asked.

“Dead,” Gilda replied in pain as she examined the tiercel’s spent body under the illumination of Marco’s light. “Gave his life and all his power to keep the Shelter sealed and the survivors safe.” She grabbed her crossbow from her back and popped the armor-piercing bolt out to replace it with a blue sapphire-tipped electrical one; anti-Cloven doctrine said that they were the best for destroying the nervous system the Cloven parasites relied on.

“Rest, Magus. May the Ancestors guide your soul to the stars,” she whispered before shooting him directly in the head, causing his muscles to convulse one final time as sizzling sparks arced over him. She couldn’t escape the sick sound of the bolt penetrating the skull or the lethal electric currents it generated; she suddenly understood why even the two Ravens had reacted badly to shooting corpses, feeling like she was killing them a second time.

“Holy shit,” Guerrero muttered. Turning, Gilda saw him and Marco staring at her. “With respect, was that really necessary, ma’am?”

“Protocol,” Gilda replied weakly, turning away to hide her glimmering eyes. “It’s like I said before—we have to destroy their brain to ensure their corpse cannot be possessed by the Cloven. Normally we’d burn the bodies, too, to make sure they can’t be recycled into new soldier forms. I don’t like it either, but it had to be done.” She blinked away tears as she felt Marco rest the back of his hand on her neck while Guerrero muttered something inaudible.

But for as badly as she wanted to collapse into his embrace and cry, she needed to get the survivors to safety. And to clean air, as she was starting to feel very lightheaded.

“Come on, you two. We need to get them out of here quickly. Marco, run upstairs and tell them we have survivors but they’ve almost suffocated. We need to carry them out now!”

“Right! Just hold on,” Marco said, dashing back to the entrance as she stared in sorrow at the fallen Magus.

It had to be done… she repeated to herself as the human weapons were shouldered and Gilda holstered her crossbow as well, but she still felt like she was both desecrating their corpses and dishonoring their memories.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Guerrero told her as he came up on her left side, and Gilda was so despondent she couldn’t even correct him. “Don’t blame yourself for this. It isn’t much, but we’ll honor him later with a round of drinks.”

“Thanks, Private First Class. Maybe after we reach Aricia, I’ll—” she began, but all her thoughts suddenly ceased as the Marine PFC laid what he must have thought was a comforting hand on her shoulders. Her breath caught and cheeks flushed as he squeezed the area as she’d seen the humans do to each other in what she now knew was a gesture of reassurance. But unlike when Marco had done it his first night in Arnau, her urge was not to attack him.

It was to let him do it!

Her feeling of lightheadedness only grew as he continued to rub her shoulders, leaving her half-wondering if the lack of oxygen in the air was affecting her as her wings impossibly started to splay; her flight muscles drinking in his touch.

Wh… why am I allowing this? she wondered half-frantically as the edges of her vision started to go pink again and she could scent a hint of cider in the air. Whereas she’d thought Marco a pervert when he’d first done it, and even before that had just wanted him to go away, this time she knew Guerrero to be a brave and honorable human—he’d volunteered to accompany her even knowing he might get trapped, after all!—and found him not just worthy, but herself craving touch and comfort, which he was offering and she had previously declined from Marco and his friends.

Seemingly sensing her appreciation of his efforts as her back arched up slightly into him, he took that as an invitation to pull her closer by the shoulder against his leg, leaving her keenly aware of his presence and spicy scent. Worse, a turn of her head found herself staring directly into his nearly perfectly eye-level crotch; she found herself mentally urging him into erection, imagining herself undressing him right then and there just as she had done to Marco.

Imagining herself wishing to reward his courage and comfort as only an eagless could.

Alarmed at where her thoughts were going—and terrified that she was not only going to follow through with them, but would be seen doing so by Marco or others—she jerked her head away and finally mustered the will to speak. “PFC? Please don’t touch me there…” she said, her throat very dry.

His hand stilled from where it was gently massaging her, sending fresh thrills of pleasure down her spine that were starting to cause her tail to rise. “Ma’am?”

“Shoulders are a bad area for griffons. They’re… intimate.” She hated saying it, but nor did she wish to be seen in her current state as she heard voices coming up behind them. “And please call me sir, not ma’am.”

“Oh!” he said, withdrawing his hand quickly and stepping away. “Sorry, ma’am—er, sir.”

“You didn’t know.” She exhaled slowly, trying to get her wings to still and tail to lower. “But please remember not to touch us there. Wings and flight muscles are off-limits for griffons. Outside of mating, anyway,” she felt compelled to add.

“Oh, Jeez. Sorry.” He cleared his throat and stepped away from her. And was it her imagination, or did she smell a hint of excitement on him and see the barest beginning of a bulge? She was afraid to turn her head again to check. “I swear I wasn’t trying anything.”

“I know,” she said, already regretting making him stop and wondering again if Fortrakt was right that she should have taken her earlier opportunity to be with her human friends, if only to take the edge off her inexplicably boosted passions. Is it just the cider? Or is it ME? She still wasn’t sure.

“Gilda!” Marco scattered her remaining thoughts, causing her to shake her head sharply as he reentered the chamber with Chris, Tara, and several Marines in tow. “Nydia collapsed—they say her staff pretty much exploded in her grasp when the Shelter spell went down. We can move the cubs, but the full-grown griffons will probably take the Marines,” he told her as he walked up to her, then frowned.

“You okay, Gilds? You look a little… dazed.”

“I’ll be fine,” she told him, even as she wondered if she would ever be fine again given the continual emotional whiplash she was experiencing. “See to them. Get the cubs out first. And don’t stay down here too long. The air’s poisonous.”

“Right,” he replied as Chris and Tara stepped up.

“Are they safe? Not infected by that insect thingy?” Chris asked.

“Corrupted corpses aren’t generally warm, and they don’t need to breathe,” Gilda pointed out, still staring straight ahead. “They also have active magic. If they were dead, their wings wouldn’t glow under your violet lights.”

“Fucking zombies,” Chris muttered. He and Tara picked up the nearest cubs, the latter cradling the youngest and smallest pair of them gently. She started cooing at them as Guerrero studied one of the adult eaglesses, leaving Gilda guessing he was trying to figure out how to pick her up. “Rico, make yourself useful and grab the last of those kitty-chicks.”

“Fine, but will someone please explain why I’m being called Rico?” Marco replied to snickers from the Marines, but he wasted no time, shouldering his rifle before moving towards the downed cub. He grunted as he bent down to pick him up. “Okay, this little dude is a guy griffon. And no, I wasn’t looking intentionally.”

“Seriously, Marco? That’s the first thing you noticed?” Tara teased as Giraldi walked by and simply hefted one of the adult eaglesses onto his back without so much as a grunt.

Guerrero watched him with a chuckle, then as if to prove he wasn’t weak, the young but burly Marine did the same thing. He surprised Gilda by slinging the eagless around his shoulders and proceeding to walk upstairs with her despite his heavy load, leaving her impressed and even taken with him anew. “Rico the Pedo.”

“Fuck you,” Marco replied good-naturedly as he walked the cub he was carrying back towards the entrance after Chris and Tara.

Gilda stayed put. As usual, most of the context was lost on her, but she was beyond caring, hoping Chief Jacobs could help the cubs and who she assumed were their mothers recover in the absence of Nydia.

“You coming, Gilda?” Marco called back to her as she stayed staring at the dead Magus, wanting to be alone but knowing she couldn’t just then. “You’re gonna pass out if you stay down here too long.”

“Yeah,” she said distractedly, her emotions awhirl, thinking that fainting might be preferable to trying to deal with everything she was feeling just then. Ancestors, what’s happening to me? And why is it happening NOW? she asked them, but if they heard her, they gave no reply.







Two story tracks are available from here. You can either follow the T-rated one, or the M-rated one. Just click the appropriate link below: 

—Firesight


===> next: Chapter 25 (M-rated)
===> next: Chapter 25 (T-rated)