“I hate you,” Fortrakt muttered, for maybe the tenth time. Gilda wasn’t so sure, as she lost count after the fourth. Again, as a response, she rolled her eyes.
“Don’t you have anything else to say, Fortrakt?” she asked.
“May the Ancestors curse all your feathers off,” he continued muttering, steadily flapping his wings to maintain his height. Gilda snorted, which slowly turned to a soft laugh.
“Okay, that’s new,” she said, shaking her head. “Do you remember our conversation back in Arnau? About how you kept insisting you weren’t getting jealous of Marco spending more time with me?”
“May the Ancestors speed your aging, so that you’ll be left doing nothing but lying down on a bed, eating nothing but soup and sucking on soft-boiled eggs.”
“You didn’t convince me then,” Gilda continued without missing a beat, “and you’re not even remotely convincing me now.”
“And those soft-boiled eggs? May the Ancestors make them overcooked.”
“So, Fortrakt, as your, well, admittedly older and most definitely wiser partner, let me give you a very helpful piece of advice: don’t woo more than two partners at the same time. Not even Equestrians do that.”
Fortrakt grumbled under his breath, which only served to widen Gilda’s smile. For a few moments, the eagless found herself blessed with peaceful silence as the two partners, along with two more Wind Knights trailing behind them, flew slowly through the air, heading towards Arcia.
“It’s unfair that Marco talked only to you about their weapons,” Fortrakt muttered a few minutes later. “I mean, you’ve seen them in action already.”
“You can always ask him to tell you,” Gilda said.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” she replied easily. “He told me, personally, that he trusts you, so I don’t see why he wouldn’t share the information about human guns with you.”
Fortrakt sighed, nodding. He looked contemplative for a few more moments before he looked at Gilda. “Do you think the Marines will show me how those guns—”
“Nope,” Gilda immediately declared. When he glared, Gilda shrugged. “I have no idea why you’re being a stupid cub about it. I’m pretty sure you’re going to see them in action soon enough.”
The tiercel sighed as a response. “Yeah. I know. But…”
“What?” she asked, looking at him.
“I’d rather not see it in action at their cost.”
Gilda blinked. “Who do you mean by they?”
“Chris, Tara, Marco, and the rest,” Fortrakt replied. “As much as I’d like to see how those guns work in action, I’d rather not have non-combatants involved.”
“Wishful thinking,” Gilda said, looking forward. “Not that I don’t wish that too. If we could get to Arnau, have them safe behind her walls, I’d be all for it. Besides”—she looked back at him—“I’d like to think of it this way: the more these guns are used, the more protected the civilians are.”
“Heh, true,” Fortrakt replied. He then frowned. “But where does that leave us?”
Gilda looked forward, unable to answer. So far, discussing how to merge human and griffin tactics had been almost impossible, much to her chagrin. Marco was almost right in a way, though she should have come to the same conclusion when she realized how long these humans had been using guns.
Refining such deadly weapons would have been for nothing if the tactics weren’t adapted around them. For example, the Gryphon Shield had been nothing but a useless defensive weapon that was relegated to the most expendable units, the lowest in a Blessed’s ranks—hatchlings, civil guards, and auxiliary defenders. When King Fortis had succeeded in winning against the Blessed who ran the Eastern Territories and his ideas of living free from Blessed rule began to spread, most who pledged to his leadership were just those: the lowest of Blessed ranks, armed with mostly just shields. The rest was history.
Applying that particular thought, she could see why human tactics wouldn’t mesh well with Gryphon ones. In each Marine’s hands were very powerful, very advanced versions of rapid-fire crossbows that could easily penetrate through armor and shield. The last part was important. If such weapons existed, Gilda was pretty sure that the Kingdom would start making tactics around such weapons, maybe slowly phase out the armor and shield.
If she had to guess, the Gryphon would slowly move from defensive positioning to maneuvering quickly from one place to another, finding the enemy’s weak spots to exploit. Not too dissimilar from how Wind Knights were trained to fight without shieldwall support, really, which reminded her of Marco’s comment on how Marines kept moving in battle.
Sometimes, I wonder how much information he actually revealed, Gilda thought with a shake of her head.
“Gilda? Sir?”
The second word got her attention. Looking at Fortrakt’s direction, she saw that the tiercel was pointing towards—if her sharp eagle eyes weren’t fooling her—a settlement less than a league ahead, surrounded by a stone wall. Studying the wooden structures and pathways, she realized it was a large steadholt, probably one of the garrison’s suppliers.
“Should we go there?” Fortrakt asked. “For a rest, I mean. We’ve been traveling for more than an hour already.”
Gilda tried to look for any activity that would help her decide. At this distance, she couldn’t see anything clearly, but the lack of movement definitely seemed ominous. She began to think of possibilities, consequences of her decisions, and a lot of factors. In the end, she decided on getting advice from Giraldi.
“Get visual confirmation of that steadholt,” Gilda ordered. “Check for activities, signs of battle, anything. I’m going to see Giraldi, ask him if we’re going to need to stop.”
“Yes, sir,” Fortrakt replied. He gave a signal towards the Wind Knights, which had Gilda smiling a bit. While Wind Knights had a more respectable position in the Gryphon military compared to the Auxiliary Guards, Fortrakt’s rank was a little higher than theirs.
Here’s to hoping it doesn’t go to his head, she thought, turning around. With a strong flap, Gilda dashed through the air, and reached the ground convoy a few moments later. She squawked a signal at the Wind Knights leading them to let her pass, and she dove down once she saw Giraldi and Imlay.
The Spear Centurion was shaking his head, in a middle of a discussion with the Corporal, when he spotted her arrival. He faced her, saluted and bared his neck when she landed, while Imlay gave her a nod.
“Sir.”
“Ma’am.”
“You two look like you're having fun,” Gilda said, walking towards them. She looked at Giraldi. “I’m guessing by the way you’re shaking your head, we’re still nowhere close in finding a way to mesh our formations together?”
“We're making a bit of progress on that, actually," Giraldi replied. "However, sir, the Corporal here was just telling me a few stories about his time in the Corps. You won’t believe what he went through as a recruit.”
“Actually, I may have an idea,” Gilda replied with a slight smile. Then, she remembered why she was here. “Centurion, Corporal, there’s a steadholt not too far from here. I was wondering, how are the injured and civilians? Do they need rest?”
Imlay looked back, towards the middle group made up of a few Marines surrounding the grounded Wind Knights carrying a modified air coach, in which the immobile injured lay, while the rest of the civilians were walking at the brisk pace that Gilda had set up earlier. Brennan was already panting. Marco looked a little winded as he supported Tara, who was clutching her side gently, wincing a bit at every step.
It once more reminded Gilda of the earlier events. Whatever little elation she felt sobered immediately.
“How far are we from the the garrison?” Imlay asked.
“If we continue the pace, we should be there in an hour and a half, maybe a bit more,” Giraldi replied.
Imlay looked at civilians once more, then back again to Gilda. “How far is this steadholt?”
Gilda looked at him blankly. “Ten to fifteen minutes,” she said softly. She used her claw to point the direction. “Yeah. Should be ten, fifteen minutes.”
Giraldi frowned. “Sir? Is there something wrong?”
Gilda shook her head. “Nothing. I’ll establish a perimeter, make sure there won’t be any surprises for us there.” Then, she immediately launched herself to the air once more.
A few minutes later, she rejoined Fortrakt and the rest, ordering them to do an aerial sweep of the area. The steadholt was far too big to fully secure, but they didn’t really need the full facility, just the main hall, the largest and most defensible building near the center of the settlement.
Gilda felt the weight of the crossbow as she carried it. Taken from the dead Wind Knight, she had needed a few moments to reacquaint herself with it, as she hadn’t used one since her training back in the Gauntlet. Taking hold of the notching rod, she pulled it back experimentally. The internal mechanism took care of the rest, pulling the heavy string back more than a quarter of a full notch. Pushing the rod back to its initial position, Gilda then squeezed the trigger to release the taut cord.
Ensured that her weapon was working, she, Fortrakt, and the Wind Knights entered the steadholt, spreading out to look for any downed griffins or animals. Gilda found a downed griffin a few moments later. She looked at the body, spotting a missing wing and its coat and feathers caked with blood. She got her crossbow, pulled the notching rod once, placed a bolt in place, and aimed.
“Are you injured?!” she shouted. A few moments pass, she shouted again. “Do you need assistance?” When there was no response a minute later, she fired her weapon. A soft thrum vibrated through the air and the downed body sported a bolt through the head.
She wasn’t alone. She heard a few more squawks, and afterwards, a soft thrumming in the air. Glad to be too far away to hear the ugly sounds of impact, she continued to patrol the air, trying to spot a few more bodies. There were two more, one with a missing claw, and another eviscerated. They too didn’t respond to her signals or calls. She was two bolts lighter afterwards.
After three minutes of more searching, she returned to the designated meeting place, the roof of the main hall. Fortrakt and the rest of the Wind Knights were waiting for her. “Any survivors?” she asked them.
The Wind Knights shook their heads. “No, sir,” one of them replied.
“None on my end, either,” Fortrakt said, face scrunched up in distaste. “I hate this doctrine, sir.”
“I’d rather not lose anyone to a surprise Corrupted attack like earlier,” Gilda replied. “The fact that this place has not attracted the crows even with obvious corpses is telling.”
“Still,” Fortrakt argued, “those that have passed deserve more respect than having getting desecrated further.”
Gilda looked at him. “I know. Why do you think we’re doing this? We are ensuring that their bodies aren’t used for more nefarious means.”
Fortrakt sighed. “I get it, sir. I just… don’t like the idea.”
“I don’t think anyone here does, Fortrakt,” Gilda replied. She then looked at the rest of the Wind Knights. “Okay, back to business, everyone. Our work ain’t done yet. Keep your eyes and ears open. I need you two,” she pointed towards the Wind Knights, “to go back to the convoy and guide them here.” She looked at her partner. “Fortrakt, pair up with a Wind Knight and secure the well. We’ll be needing more water, so bring back as much as you can. You two, to the skies. Patrol the area until the convoy arrives.”
“Yes, sir,” was the clear and loud response. Fortrakt grabbed a tiercel and both went to search for the nearest well, while four Wind Knights launched themselves to the sky, leaving her with the last two standing in attention.
“Sir?” one asked.
“We’ll secure the main hall and make sure there are no surprises for us inside,” Gilda replied.
“Yes, sir,” the two griffins declared, saluting.
Gilda couldn’t help but sigh as she flapped her wings and jumped downwards. Readying her crossbow again, she stood in the entrance of the main hall and looked back to see the Wind Knights following suit. They were right behind her. With a nod, she took a breath and bumped the door open.
Silence greeted her. Looking around for a few moments, Gilda studied the hall entrance that led to a large enclosure, pretty similar to any audience chamber found in any town hall in Equestria. There was an elevated stage in the center, surrounded by semicircle of seats, ascending higher as they moved away from the central area. The large spacing seemed odd to her for some reason, but she shook her head, remembering they had a job to do. She looked back, motioned with her claw towards her left, then towards her right. The two Wind Knights nodded, and the three griffins fanned out in a search formation.
Gilda couldn’t help but worry as she landed on the central area, her eyes scanning everything. There were no slithering shadows, stirrings in the air, or ominous movements. There were no downed griffins or signs of Cloven. The hall was just eerily empty. At this time of day, it should be full of farmers or hunters, with the steadholder calling for order in the center as they related the news they’d receive from their High Lord.
She half-wondered if she was better off patrolling outside with the other Wind Knights. She didn’t know if they were aware of the stories of how Cloven would produce new corpses as bait. She hoped that they kept to protocol, making sure that all the unmoving and downed bodies had bolts in their heads.
“Clear,” one of the Wind Knights called, derailing her train of thought. She blinked, spotting the griffin who spoke out walking towards her. A few moments later, the second one came to view as well.
“Clear here as well,” she said.
Gilda frowned. “Keep your guard up,” she ordered. “Shout out if trouble pops up.”
“Yes, sir,” one of Wind Knights said.
Gilda jumped off the central stage and made her way to the entrance. She observed some faint cracks on the ground and a few rotten wooden chairs as she walked by, her head going left and right, trying to listen to the cawing of crows. Their absence stayed with her. A lot of Fortis’ military doctrine in regard to Cloven advised that the lack of crows in a place that reeked of death and decay were prime indicators that the Cloven were nearby. So, they were here. But where exactly? Silence was the the only answer she received.
As she opened the door, she heard one of the Wind Knights mutter, “We should get to the garrison soon, get a real Tribune to lead us.”
“Quiet! She can hear you,” the other replied.
Gilda closed the door, sighing. “Dweebs,” she said, rolling her eyes. Not that she could argue with their sentiment. She felt that she was scrambling overtime just to keep the damage to the minimum, and she wasn’t too sure she was handling it.
“You are looking very intense.”
Gilda didn’t bother to look at Fortrakt as he settled down to her left. “Secured the water?”
“Yup,” he replied. “Brought as many containers as we could find.”
The eagless looked at her partner offering him a bowl of water. As she took a few sips, she looked towards the water containers placed nearby. The tiercel that helped Fortrakt was settling besides them, grabbing his own bowl to scoop the clear liquid, and hungrily drinking from it.
“Good job,” Gilda said after completely finishing her water.
“Thanks.” There was a pause. “Anything bothering you?”
Gilda said nothing for a few minutes, her eyes scanning the area. Everything was still. She couldn’t decide whether she should be grateful or annoyed that nothing was happening.
“Being all quiet-like is very suspicious,” Fortrakt continued.
She sighed. “Captain Narada shouldn’t have made me sub-tribune.”
Fortrakt looked at her for a moment before shaking his head. “Maybe. Honestly, though, you’re doing fine.”
“Fine?” Gilda spat out. “My first day leading griffins resulted in six deaths. Six, Fortrakt, all of them Wind Knight hatchlings who were just starting out their careers.”
“We are Gryphon soldiers,” Fortrakt countered. “They knew what they were getting into, Gilda. They did their jobs. Ancestors bless them.”
Gilda sighed, remembering saying almost the same thing to Tara. Except for now, she didn’t feel conviction but embarrassment for sounding so nonchalant, so arrogant.
“They died because I’m not good in doing mine,” she muttered.
“They died because we stepped into a trap that no one, not even the most experienced or most vaunted Tribunes or Captains, could have predicted,” the tiercel declared, his tone surprisingly hard. “And I think you reacted better than any Tribune would.”
“You’re just saying that,” Gilda replied.
“No, I’m not,” Fortrakt said. “My father was an Auxiliary Guard.”
Gilda looked back at him in surprise. Fortrakt never really spoke much about his family. Judging by the way he was looking away, he still wasn’t comfortable speaking about it.
“It was the time when we were facing absolute frigid winters year after year,” he continued. “The crops were delayed. Mother tried to persuade a few additional earth ponies away from the Southern lands. Father joined the Guards for extra money.
“One day, two Spears, including his own, were assigned to escort a senator and her son, who was just promoted to Tribune. Naturally, he began ordering the whole lot of Guards and Talons around.”
Gilda broke into a small smile. “Naturally.”
Fortrakt chuckled at that. “Most of soldiers didn’t mind. The escort job was until the next town. They were mostly worried about the blizzard that came in early.”
“Your father was still in the North?” Gilda asked.
Fortrakt nodded. “His second Rotation brought him back to the North, though not back home. Anyway, they trudged through the whitened skies, snow and wind blinding them enough that they had to land a few times to get their bearings. I think it was the fifth landing when the harpies attacked.
“Boulders rained down on the the two Spears. In a second, four griffins were killed. The Spear Centurion did her best to get a formation out quickly, to protect the senator.” Fortrakt frowned. “When she turned to ask for orders from the Tribune, he was unresponsive at first. They thought he was forming a plan. But as more rocks fell, the Tribune began to scream about how they were about to die, ordered everyone to flee for their lives.”
“Was your father… taken?” Gilda asked with a frown.
“No, but my father had to retire after that day.” Fortrakt looked towards the horizon. “A boulder landed on his wing. He couldn’t fly straight, and couldn’t hold formation. He was given compensation, which I guess was enough to pay the earth ponies to help us out.”
Gilda stayed silent, not knowing what to say.
“So, yeah,” the tiercel finished, “I don’t think you’re doing a bad job.”
“Your way of cheering me up is to compare me to a coward?” the eagless asked, her smile taking out the sting of her words. “I feel better already.”
“Oh, shut up,” Fortrakt replied softly. “What I’m saying is you’re not giving yourself enough credit. And if you keep doubting yourself, you're going to lose it like that idiotic senator’s son, and burden the rest of us.”
“Heh,” Gilda muttered, shaking her head. She thought of teasing him a bit more, but decided to just say, in all honesty, “Thanks, Fortrakt.”
The tiercel rolled his eyes, beak opening, probably to say something to break the sombre mood when something caught his eye. “Convoy’s here, sir.”
First thing she saw was the Wind Knights she had sent to guide the rest of the party to the steadholt. They had their bows out, eyes looking around. If she had to guess, Giraldi had reassigned them as the vanguard. Behind them came the rest of the convoy, Giraldi and Imlay walking hurriedly through the entrance gate.
“Time to go to work,” Gilda whispered, more to herself. As she walked to meet them, the Marines and Gryphon soldiers fanned out behind the two figures, human rifles pointing in an outward defensive position. “Centurion, Corporal,” she called.
Giraldi saluted once more, while Imlay gave her that familiar nod. “No trouble?” the Corporal asked.
“None so far,” Gilda replied. That’s when she noticed the rearguard walking slowly, both crossbow and rifles at the ready. She pointed towards them. “What’s going on?”
“We had reported movement following us a few moments after you left,” Giraldi explained. “I had to assign a few Wind Knights to ascertain what’s chasing us.”
“Hopefully, it’s nothing,” Imlay added, “but considering how the day has gone so far, we might have to establish a defensive perimeter. Have we secured a building, ma’am? I’d rather not have the civilians caught in a possible crossfire.”
“Main hall has been cleared,” Gilda replied immediately. “Door’s a little narrow, but we can bring in the immobile first.”
Imlay nodded, looking back towards the civilians. He raised his hand, and motioned them to come forward. A few Marines began to assist Brennan, one carrying his bag easily, while another—Guerrero, if she remembered correctly—approached Tara, gently putting her arm around his shoulders. Together, the Marine and Marco almost lifted her forward. Nydia hovered after them, frowning. She sniffed at the air, closed her eyes, then grabbed her staff, which immediately began to glow.
Spotting the little light show, Gilda approached the Mage Knight. “Something wrong?” she asked.
“Defensive spell, sir,” Nydia replied.
Gilda frowned, looking around. So far, she felt nothing. “I don’t feel it.”
“It’s too subtle,” Nydia said, slowly pointing her staff towards a her left. “It’s… not aggressive, but holding something in place. Feels familiar somehow.” She opened her eyes, her staff pointing towards the main hall. “It’s a Shelter.”
Gilda frowned. “Well, yeah, it is the most defensible building in a steadholt.”
Nydia shook her head. “No, sir. I’m talking about a spell.”
Giraldi approached. “Shelter spell you say? Is that a defensive spell that creates an underground pocket, used to hide extra food or items?”
Nydia nodded. “This steadholt might have had a mage, and they made Shelter spell. It had been used just recently, a past few hours maybe.”
Gilda realized something. “Can these Shelters hide griffins?”
“Uh, yes, sir, but it’s not really recommended,” Nydia said. “Depending on how big the pocket is, whoever is inside will slowly suffocate.”
Giraldi looked at Gilda. “Sir, you don’t think…?”
“There’s a possibility,” she replied. “If this place was attacked, a Shelter spell could be what stands between the survivors and the Cloven.”
Giraldi shook his head. “Slow suffocation or certain death—not a lot of grown griffins would chose to go for the former.”
Nydia suddenly gasped. Without warning, she ran towards the main hall entrance, pushing the doors aside roughly as she made her way inside. Marco, Brennan, and Tara, who were hungrily drinking from their own flasks, watched with a bit of confusion as the Mage disappeared from view.
“Go, sir,” Giraldi said. “The Coporal and I can take care of things from here.”
Gilda was about to protest when she saw Imlay directing some of the Marines to help the downed civilians drink from their bowls, while the rest began to establish a perimeter.
“And someone set up a fifty-cal!” Imlay ordered.
Realizing Giraldi had a point, she didn’t argue. Instead, she looked at one of the Talons and said, “Give me a full bowl of water.”
Hovering through the entrance, Gilda saw Nydia pacing around the gap of the semicircle, studying the ground. The mage tapped the ground once with her staff, her claw rubbing the side of her neck uncomfortably. Gilda shook her head, and softly landed beside her.
“Drink before you do anything,” Gilda ordered, offering her the bowl. Nydia looked at her for a moment before she nodded, taking it with her free foreleg and drinking from it slowly.
“Thank you, sir,” she said after she finished, handing it back to Gilda, who readily took it. The mage then went back to looking at the ground, muttering something Gilda couldn’t quite hear.
Before she could ask why Nydia seemed so aggrivated, she heard Marco call her. “Gilda.”
The eagless turned around, spotting him and Guerrero assisting Tara inside. Following them were Brennan and more Marines carrying cots where the immobile wounded lay.
“Ma’am,” Guerrero began, “where can we place the wounded?”
Before Gilda could reply, Nydia immediately declared, “Got it!”
“Got what?” Gilda asked.
“The Node,” Nydia answered. She slammed her glowing staff on the ground, and the cracks Gilda had seen earlier on the floor began to glow. “Those lines indicate how big the opening is.”
Gilda noticed immediately it was as big as the gap around the semicircle of seats. The odd spacing was apparently intentional, and her eyes followed the cracks of light spread throughout the floor, forming a rectangle. She pointed at the shape. “Basically, no one should be standing on top of that?”
Nydia nodded. Gilda looked at Marco and Guerrero, and said, “Take the central stage. I think that’s big enough for everyone.”
The Marine gave her an understanding nod. He turned back towards the rest of the Marines carrying in the injured. “Alright, you heard the Sub-Tribune. Let’s make them comfortable,” and the Marines began to move around the mage, avoiding the glowing box.
Nydia seemed oblivious to the movement. The squeaks of their steps and chatter didn’t break her concentration as she stared at the area in front of her. She closed her eyes, growling in effort as her staff glowed brighter and brighter, the wave of magic coursing around her.
“Is there something wrong?” Gilda asked.
“Resistance,” Nydia replied softly. “It’s fighting me. But not hard”—she shouted the last word—“enough!”
Gilda braced herself as the magic blew through her like a gale, making her feathers and coat hairs stand on one end. Everything went blinding white for just a few seconds before the light faded. A whoosh of stale-smelling air wafted around as the solid ground began to give way, slowly turning the flat surface into a descending ramp that could easily and comfortably allow two griffins to walk side-by-side.
“Holy crap,” said a voice behind Gilda. At a glance, the speaker was revealed to be Marco, joined with Brennan and Guerrero, as the three watched the mage grunt, effort evident as she poured more of her magic through the staff.
“Can’t keep it open,” she said, breathless. “Someone is trying to keep the Shelter closed.”
“Might be the mage who opened it,” Gilda replied. It made the most sense for her, factoring that being trapped in a small space with limited air would have made them delirious. “I’ll go down and tell them that we’re here to help them.”
“Ma’am,” Guerrero interjected, raising his rifle, “if you don’t mind, I’d like to accompany you.” Before she could say something, he added, “Are we completely sure that it’s friendlies that are down there?”
Gilda frowned, but realized the Marine had a point. She wore her steel claws, then told Guerrero, “Let’s go.”
“Please. Hurry,” Nydia muttered. There was a groaning and cracking of wood. It took a moment for Gilda to realize it was Nydia’s staff. They needed to do this fast.
Walking side-by side, Guerrero aimed his rifle forward, eyes sweeping the corridor. Stone ground gave way to earthen ones the deeper they went. Light began to fade as they reached a certain depth. Gilda looked at the human, about to ask if he could see when he tweaked a small tube attached to his weapon. After a moment, it emitted white light.
“Huh,” Gilda muttered.
Guerrero looked at her. “What is it, ma’am?”
“Nothing,” the eagless replied, eyes forward once more. In a louder voice, she called out, “This is Sub-Tribune Behertz! Our Mage Knight is trying to keep the pathway open. Cease resisting. I repeat, this is Sub-Tribune Behertz! We are here to help!”
Again, she was met with silence. Frowning, she paced herself faster, with Guerrero following suit. Slowly, the two made their way deeper and deeper into the shelter until she spotted another light source that shone brighter than whatever Guerrero had on his rifle.
“Ma’am, what is that?” the Marine asked.
“No idea,” Gilda replied. She looked at the light source worriedly, hoping it wasn’t hostile. The last thing she needed to end her day was to turn deaf.
A few more steps later, she saw what caused the light: an upright staff, slammed to the ground, feeding the whole area with magic, while an emaciated tiercel held onto it tightly. He didn’t seem to be breathing.
“Are you injured?” Gilda shouted. When there was no response, the eagless shouted once more. “Do you need assistance?”
Again, no response. She tried to check for any obvious signs of death, but other than his very thin frame, the tiercel looked relatively whole. Taking a breath, she took a couple more steps forward.
“Guerrero, right?” Gilda asked, not looking at the Marine.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.
“I’m going to check for vital signs,” Gilda said. “If he moves aggressively, shoot him. In the head, if you can.”
“Uh, ma’am, are you sure?” Guerrero asked.
“Positive,” she replied, slowly moving forward. For the first three steps, she thought the tiercel moved, but later proved to just be a trick from the light. By the time she reached the staff, the first thing she did was take ahold of the extended foreleg. She shook it a bit, but it held on to the staff tightly. Thinking the wooden tool might be an easier target, she took ahold of that, and jerked it a bit. To her surprise, it readily moved. With a grunt of effort, she pulled it out from the ground.
Once it left the earthen surface, it stopped glowing. She felt the wave of magic collapse, and at the same time, heard a faint shout coming from the tunnel. She put that out of her mind. Her focus was solely concentrated on 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. She looked at the tiercel’s gaunt body. “Gave his life to keep the Shelter sealed.” She grabbed her crossbow. “May Ancestors guide your soul to the stars,” she whispered before shooting him directly in the head. This time, she couldn’t escape the sick sound of the bolt penetrating the skull.
“Holy shit,” Guerrero muttered. Gilda saw him looking at her. “Was that necessary, ma’am?”
“Protocol,” Gilda replied weakly, turning away. “Had to be done.”
Guerrero said something inaudible before he aimed his rifle around. Gilda looked at the downed tiercel for a moment, shaking her head. The only thing she could think of was that it had to be done.
“Ma’am… I think I know why he gave his life,” Guerrero said, shining his light deeper in the shelter. Gilda blinked, looking at where the Marine was pointing his light and saw three cubs sprawled on the floor.
Ancestors, let them be alive, Gilda thought as she ran towards them. Relief flooded in her as she saw their bellies expanding, and touched their necks with her claw. Each of them still had a pulse, though quite weak.
“We need to get them out of here,” Gilda declared, gently biting on the nape of the cub’s neck. With a quick motion, she lifted him just high enough that she could place him on her back, adjusting her wings to keep him balanced.
Guerrero nodded, releasing his hold on his rifle, letting it hang on his side as he approached another cub. It took him a moment, probably thinking how to carry her, before he bent over and scooped her with his arms. “How about the other?” he asked.
Before Gilda could reply, she heard footsteps coming from the ramp. White light began to emanate from the entrance, alerting the Marine. He was about to gently lay the cub down, maybe go for his weapon when she said, “Wait. It’s Marco.”
She was proven right when Marco called out, “Gilda? Guerrero?”
“Fucking Rico,” Guerrero muttered. Sighing, he shook his head and replied, “We’re here. Goddamnit dude, you almost gave me a heart attack.”
The brown-skinned human came into view, carrying a small tube that was emitting a white light not too dissimilar from what the Marine had on his rifle. He took a step forward, and before Gilda could say anything, he stepped on the fallen staff, almost falling down.
“The hell was—” He shook his head and stepped over the staff. “Guys,” he began, “Nydia collapsed. And Giraldi says the scouts are back.”
That got Gilda’s attention. “When?”
“Just now, I think,” Marco replied. “All the Marines and griffin soldiers are being called outside though.”
That didn’t sound good. “We need to go,” Gilda said towards the Marine.
“Yes we do,” he replied. He motioned towards the last downed cub. “Are they safe? Infected by that insect thingy?”
Gilda shook her head. “Corrupted don’t exactly need to breathe. Nor do they generally have a pulse.”
“Fucking zombies,” Guerrero muttered. In a louder voice, he pointed towards the third cub. “Rico, make yourself useful and grab that kitty.”
“I still don’t get why you’re calling me Rico,” Marco replied, but wasted no time and immediately moved towards the downed cub. He grunted as he bent down to carry him. “Okay, I think this little griffin is a guy. And no, I wasn’t looking intentionally.”
Guerrero chuckled. “Rico the Pedo.”
“Fuck you,” Marco replied good-naturedly.
Gilda rolled her eyes. As usual, most of the context was lost on her, but now wasn’t the time for any dallying. “Let’s move it,” she said loudly.
The three exited the Shelter, bringing their bundles towards the elevated central stage. The human civilians were already settled down, with Brennan talking to the now-awake Henderson while the unconscious Nydia was being looked at by Doc. Upon spotting them, the human said, “Guerrero, Imlay needs you outside.”
“Got it, Doc,” the Marine replied. He then looked at Gilda, motioning at the cub he was carrying. “Where do we put them?”
Gilda pointed towards a bare space near the seats. “That seems to be a good place. Now, let’s put them down and see what—”
She stopped when she heard muffled shouts coming from the outside. Giraldi was screeching out orders, and before she could wonder what that was about, loud and familiar sounds of the human rifles echoed through the air.
“Shit,” Guerrero muttered, gently laying the cub down on the ground. Gilda followed suit.
“Marco,” the eagless began, “stay inside!”
“Got it,” the human replied.
“Time to get some!” Guerrero shouted, readying his rifle. Gilda joined the Marine as they made their way towards the exit, her claw going for her crossbow. The Marine looked at her, one of his hands on the door. “You ready, ma’am?”
Gilda pulled the rod, notched her crossbow, and placed a bolt in place before nodding. “Let’s do this,” she said.
Guerrero could only grin, then pushed the door open. Both of them pointed their weapons outwards, eyes scanning for enemies. With all the racket that was going on, she was expecting quite a few enemies to face against.
They only saw one: a Cloven ground warrior, a grotesque imitation of a griffin. It was as Gilda imagined it to be. Covered in a black-green shell, spikes where the wings should have been, she thought the Cloven was without eyes, until she saw two small black orbs in its head.
There were also three spears struck through its neck. Dark green gore poured out of it freely as it took a drunken step forward before collapsing to the ground. A Fortus Knight came forward, finishing it off with a smash of her warhammer to its head. She looked at Giraldi, who was ordering a few Talons to stab a few more fallen Cloven warriors around him.
“Clear,” the Centurion announced.
“Clear here as well,” Imlay, who was standing right across Giraldi, surrounded by Marines pointing their rifles towards more Cloven. They didn’t even get to reach the humans.
“Goddamn missed it,” Guerrero muttered with a sigh. He gave Gilda a nod, saying, “Ma’am,” before walking towards Imlay.
Gilda nodded back, watching the humans as she walked towards Giraldi. She noticed them surrounding three Marines setting up what looked like a very large gun. She also noticed a few gemstones on the ground, some transparent, while the rest were amber, sparkling unnaturally, indicating that they were magical in nature. Leaving them to their work, Gilda approached Fortrakt, who was staring at the Marines’ side of the battle.
“Ancestors,” he muttered. “They—what just...”
Giraldi came by, grabbing his centurion baton and raking it on Fortrakt’s armored shoulder, garnering his attention. “Keep your beak closed, Gletchser,” he ordered. “It’s going to attract flies.”
Fortrakt’s beak audibly clicked shut, making it hard for Gilda to keep a straight face as she asked Giraldi, “What happened here, Centurion?”
“Cloven thought they could surprise us by coming up from the ground, sir,” Giraldi replied. He looked at the fallen foes. “They were wrong.”
Gilda chuckled. “Good work then.” Giraldi didn’t even smile, which worried her a bit. “Something wrong, Centurion?”
“Sir,” he began, “the surviving scout came back.”
“Yes, I heard,” Gilda replied, then blinked as the wording registered. “Wait… surviving scout? How many did you send?”
“Sent three,” Giraldi clarified. “Only one came back. It’s bad, sir. They spotted at least a century of Cloven flyers and ground forces coming our way. They also spotted some new Cloven. Big ones that were just flattening plains and even taking down trees.”
“Great,” Gilda muttered. Louder, she asked, “How long until they get here?”
Before Giraldi could answer, a buzzing sound made itself known. Five black Cloven flyers landed on the rooftops of a few settlements near the gate. Their presence got a few Marines and Wind Knights pointing their weapons towards them. However, they didn’t even act aggressively, just staring at the griffins and humans before taking towards the air once more, flying away.
Before anyone could question their presence, an ugly wail echoed throughout the air. Even the humans stopped whatever it was they were doing, looking at the air, as if trying to find out where the sound came from.
The Centurion frowned for a moment. “That sounds like an Elder Ram warcry,” he whispered.
The next thing Gilda heard was wood creaking. Her eyes immediately went towards the gate, which she just now noticed was shut. A few seconds later, something slammed into it from the outside, strong enough to crack it. Then again. And again. And again.
“Something big is coming,” Giraldi declared softly.
“I can see that,” Gilda replied in almost the same volume.
“Reload, people,” Imlay ordered, and Gilda could hear a few snaps and clicks. “Stavrou, please tell me you’re almost done.”
“Just a little more, Corporal,” the Marine working on the big gun replied.
There was that wail again, accompanied by a short snort before another slam hit the gate. That proved to be the final straw as the wooden gate broke way, crashing to the ground. Dust flew up, blocking Gilda’s view, but nevertheless, she readied her crossbow, pulling the rod to notch it, and locked a bolt in place. Aiming towards the gate, she noticed that she was not alone; the Wind Knights and the Marines had the same idea, training their weapons towards the breach in their defenses.
A shadowy figure began to emerge from the curtain of dust. Little by little, it took a more solid form. It was huge, with a round body, reaching almost five ells in height, towering over both human and griffin. The shape was familiar to Gilda, and she wondered a moment where she had seen it. When it it snorted strongly enough to move the dust out of the way, revealing more details, she realized what she was looking at.
An Elder Ram—or, at least, the closest thing she could associate the Cloven at the breach with. It stood, hunched back, on two thick black legs, the roundness was actually caused by its large arms on its side, curved and bowed. Instead of a griffin beak, it had a large snout with multiple small holes for a nose, expressionless eyes, and sharp, wicked horn on top of its head. It opened its mouth, revealing jagged teeth, and roared in a deafening volume that seemed to stop everyone on their tracks.
“Holy fucking shit,” Guerrero muttered.
“Marines, take it down,” Imlay ordered.
Cracks of thunder echoed in the air once more as the human rifles began to work on bringing death and destruction. However, unlike the Corrupted grass lions, the huge Cloven took the brunt of the attacks without pause. Green blood and gore spurted out of its chitin, but it still took a few steps forward, using its arms to shield its body from the bullets.
Gilda shot her bolt out as well. She was joined by more thrums of bass as the Wind Knights joined the defense. However, most of it got deflected, with only a few penetrating the thick chitin. Yet, it still did not slow down.
“Triple notch your crossbows!” Giraldi ordered. “Aim for the legs! Treat them as Elder Rams, Gryphons!”
Gilda wanted to protest. While this was a good tactic against Elder Rams, she wasn’t so sure if it was going to work this time. The Rams usually overwhelmed enemy forces by running towards them, using their thick arms and horns to block projectiles to protect themselves. The Cloven, however, while taking the form of the Elder Rams, had thickened the legs. That could be the reason why it hadn’t run up to them.
Still, she had no other ideas. Hoping that Giraldi was on to something, she pulled on her notching bar thrice, watching her string stretch almost painfully back before placing a bolt in place. With careful aim, making sure she hovered steadily, she unleashed one of the many bolts shooting out towards the Cloven’s left leg. Unbelievably, the bolts did penetrate the thick chitin and more thick green blood poured out. Yet, it didn’t seem to notice, or even slow down.
“Fuck this,” Imlay muttered, and went towards his vest once more, taking out a familiar tube, though colored in olive and green, topped with a yellow dome. He placed it into the attachment at the bottom of his rifle, looked at Gilda and shouted, “Get down!”
When the Marines did the same thing, she relayed the order. “Everyone, down!”
“Down!” Giraldi shouted as well.
Gilda had to push Fortrakt—who was blankly staring at Imlay—down with her. She heard that familiar thump, like a hiccup in the air, and an explosion much louder than the last time, the air smelling of burnt metal and fire. She heard a death cry echo through the air before she felt the ground slightly shake.
Coughing, Gilda dared to slowly climb back to all fours. The dust picked up again, but slowly settled down, revealing a lump of black and green, unmoving, and undoubtedly dead.
“Wow,” Fortrakt declared, standing up as well. “Ancestors, wow!”
Before Gilda could say anything, a wail reverberated in the air. And another. And another. The dust cleared over, revealing three more large Cloven coming through the gate. At the very sight of it, Gilda suddenly felt very tired. She looked at Imlay as he grabbed another one of those explosive things—grenades, if her memory served her correctly.
“How many of those do you have?” she asked loudly.
“On my person? This is the last one,” Imlay replied.
“Maybe you should get more?” Fortrakt offered unsurely.
Imlay was about to reply when Stavrou called, “Corporal Imlay!”
The Corporal looked towards the big gun the Marines were working on earlier. Gilda could only describe it as a large rectangular body with a smaller, but longer tube expanding out from it. Judging by the black tripod keeping it upright, it wasn’t a weapon that the Marines would use while carrying.
Imlay seemed to sigh, nodding. “Good work, Marines.” He looked at Fortrakt. “Maybe we won’t need anymore.” He looked at the Stavrou. “Let’s see if we can give these big guys more breathing holes.”
The three large Cloven wailed once more, making Gilda look at them for a moment. They were already taking a few steps forward, arms shielding their body and faces as more Wind Knights began to shoot their bolts, hitting their thickened legs and arms to no avail. She then looked back at Imlay as he grabbed one of the gemstones laid on the ground. A second later, she felt magic flaring out, the same one she had felt when Marco grabbed the bullet from his bag earlier that day. Slowly, green metallic boxes began to materialize on the ground in front of the Corporal.
“What are those?” Fortrakt asked.
“Storage Gems,” Gilda replied automatically, looking at Fortrakt oddly. “I know they are very expensive, but you should know about those.”
The tiercel rolled his eyes, and pointed towards the green boxes. “I meant those.”
Guerrero grabbed one of the boxes and unlatched the top, revealing very long bullets, longer than what Marco had shown her. Oddly, they were all attached side-by-side to each other by some sort of small black chain. Offering one end to Stavrou, the Marine opened a latch on top of the large gun, inserted a bullet, and clamped it shut. He then finished off by pulling a handle, almost similar to the crossbow notching rod, making an audible click.
“Let’s get some!” Stavrou shouted.
“Get wha—?”
Fortrakt didn’t get to complete his sentence, his voice drowned at the sound of the gun firing. Gilda was already prepared, placing her claws over her ears, but even that couldn’t block the sound that seemed to punch through the air without mercy. If the Marine rifles sounded like cracks of thunder, this gun sounded like a thunderstorm.
And looking at the Cloven, it hit like one too.
Their thick chitin and large bodies stood little to no chance. This gun did the jobs the smaller rifles couldn’t. The thick black arms didn’t even seem to stop the bullets flying at them, exploding into green and black pieces. When one Cloven fell, the gun went silent, making Gilda look at Stavrou. Seeing him frown, she wondered if something went wrong, but after pulling back on that handle once more, he continued firing. One by one, the Cloven fell, and only a few seconds after the last one collapsed did Stavrou finally stop.
There were no additional wails, or even a cry of victory from the Marines. The griffins were silent as well, looking pensive at the death brought forth by the human weapons, their first time seeing them in action. The only griffin who didn’t look dumbstruck was Fortrakt, and Gilda had to say, that was only because he was more awestruck than anything, beak opened so wide, she wouldn’t be surprised if she could stick her whole fist through it.
“I want one of those,” he whispered.
Gilda looked towards the dead Cloven Rams, then towards the sky, remembering that there was still a century of Cloven unaccounted for. The griffins and humans had already announced their presence loudly and there was no doubt they were coming their way.
“I hope they have more,” she replied softly, “because it’s far from over.”