Wings of Iron: The Sphigyptian Affair

by TheGMan

Chapter 3: Preparations

“I’ve read a book once, claiming that the war came unexpectedly. Of course, said book had been written many years after the events, which is why I consider it pure and unadulterated nonsense.

Wars don’t happen just because. You’ll never find a general that wakes up one morning and thinks that today is a perfect day to send hundreds of thousands to die.

To use a Sphigyptian analogy, war is a sandstorm. You can see it coming from miles, a whirlwind of blood, bones and death creeping ever closer, high enough to tower over anyything else. And when it reaches you, your world is plunged into absolute darkness.

Most creature run away from it. Others choose to ride in its wake.

You can probably guess which side was the most numerous all those years ago.”

-Natasha Foxeye, Kingdom of Owlstria’s High Marshal

Akhri,

Kingdom of Owlstria’s Embassy

One week later …

It was late in the afternoon, the setting sun casting long shadows around his office, when Thaddeus heard the first knock at the door.

“Come in,” he readily called out, though his attention remained on the typewriting machine before him. It clicked and rattled as his claws punched buttons in quick succession.

The griffon’s mind only half-registered the sound of the opening door. He couldn’t allow himself to stop midway to check, or it would have been a real pain the rear the get back on track. Besides, he didn’t want to see how much work he still had to go through.

That was why the newcomer’s voice caught him momentarily unaware.

“You know, I was just complaining this morning with the others about what a bore guard duty was.”

Thaddeus stopped writing mid-sentence. Looking up from his desk and toward the doorway, he finally noticed the uniformed, red-maned, earth-pony mare, standing in the wooden doorframe.

“I take it all back though,” she said, smiling. “Your job looks even worst.”

The griffon’s beak split into a wide grin. “And a good evening to you too, sergeant.” He reached up to remove his glasses, putting them down beside the typewriter. “What can I do for you?”

“Is the ambassador in here?” Sergeant Sprocket asked, gesturing at the second door at the far end of the room. Having your own office linked to your boss’s one was one of the many perks of working as the ambassador’s personal secretary.

Thaddeus replied with a mere head’s shake.

“Do you know when she’ll be then?”

“I’m afraid not. She’s been gone since morning without saying a word.”

The mare shrugged. She removed a sealed envelope from her front pocket and placed it on the desk.

Thaddeus eyed it quizzically for a moment before looking back at her. “And this is-?”

“A courier arrived five minutes ago and left it at the front desk.” She sounded annoyed. “I was there, and Orchard dropped it in my hooves in turn.”

Thaddeus arched an eyebrow. “Really? I didn’t know you were already at first-name terms with the new receptionist.”

She chuckled, shaking her head as she did so. “Oh no, mister. I’m not rising at that bait again. Just take the damn letter, will you.”

Still grinning, Thaddeus picked up the white envelope with his claws and gave it a closer look, turning it around in his grasp. He then noticed something that gave him pause.

“There’s no sender,” he said to nopony in particular. Then, turning to Sprocket, “You did run a check on this, didn’t you?”

She nodded. “I had some of the colts do a magic scan on it, just in case. The only thing they found was a small enchantment to prevent tampering, but that was it.”

Thaddeus glanced back at the envelope, the beginnings of a grimace appearing at his beak’s corners, mostly due to curiosity.

It wasn’t as if the embassy didn’t receive any mail, but usually it was handled by its own postal office, not by private couriers. Furthermore, most dispatches came through either magical means or more mundane telephone lines.

If that wasn’t strange enough, the missing sender was just, as the Equestrians said, the icing on the cake. The seal of red wax looked generic though, and gave no clue per se.

The griffon considered for a moment. It had to be quite important if the courier had skipped over the box mail and gone for the ambassador herself. He shrugged. That looked like embassy’s business to him, and the least he knew about it, the better.

“Well, in that case,” Thaddeus said, as he settled the letter back down, “there isn’t really much I can do. It will have to wait until Lady Honour Bound is back.” And -Talos willing- not too soon. His shift was soon due to be over.

Sprocket nodded. “Sounds good to me.” She motioned at the various paper-filled, metal racks lining the room’s wall and added, “Have fun up here.”

She moved to leave but something stopped her midway through the door. “By the way, tonight is still at the usual place, isn’t it?” she called back.

Thaddeus nodded. “Jade Rock has to look after his colts though, so it’s just four of us.” His beak then twisted into a wide grin. “Of course, you’re free to bring along Miss Orchard, if you want. I’m sure she would enjoy the company.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “That’s really funny. Just remember that I’m not dragging your drunken, feathered butt back home again.”

Thaddeus opened his beak to make a retort, but by that time Sprocket had already dashed out of the room and closed the door behind her. The griffon sighed wearily, shook his head in amusement, and turned his attention to the work still to do.

A quick scan revealed, with an equal amount of pleasure and surprise, that the so much dreaded pile of paperwork had shrunken to a more manageable – and much less scary – bundle.

He quickly glanced at the clock and smiled. With twenty minutes left on his shift, he decided he might as well take a break. After an entire day in that hole he called office, he felt he deserved it for sure. Work would have had to follow him back home as usual, but that didn’t bother him too much.

Thaddeus rose from his seat, stretching both back and wings as he did so. He took a few steps, rubbing the knots in his shoulders to get the soreness out of them. As his wife loved to remind him, he was no longer a young tiercel, and some physical exercise could only benefit him.

He reached for the window and opened it. A warm breeze washed over him and poured into his office. It wasn’t too hot. Akhri stood by the Southern Sea, so it was spared the sweltering climate typical of the more inner regions.

The Owlstrian Embassy was located east of Akhri Bay, which meant that, from his office on the second floor, Thaddeus could enjoy an almost breath-taking view of the sun slowly sinking below the horizon, the sky painted of a vibrant red and orange hue. Just below, the sea shimmered, the last lights of the day playing and dancing on its surface.

Beyond, its docks half-hidden behind dozens moored ships’ hulls, the sprawling city of Akhri covered most of the western and southern shoreline.

Leaning by the window, Thaddeus looked down for a moment on the empty paved driveway just below, running from the main entrance up to the iron-wrought gate. The ambassador’s carriage had not returned yet.

That was hardly a surprise. The mare kept a tight lip about her business, and it wasn’t usual for her to disappear for even an entire day without a word, except to a few claw-picked collaborators.

He shrugged. As things were, he was surprised Lady Honour Bound even remembered the names of those in her staff.

He went back at his desk and started rummaging through the drawers, looking for his hidden cache of tobacco and a pipe. The ambassador hated smoking with a passion so, he reasoned, he might as well have one while she was still out.

By the time he reached the third one, Thaddeus hissed in frustration. Where in bloody Tartarus had that box gone? He had made sure to put it back in the same place since last time.

By Talos, if Frederick had borrowed it again, he was going to rip off his tail for sure this time.

As he was busy scavenging through the contents of his desk, Thaddeus almost missed the low, creaking of hinges as the door was slowly pushed open. His ears, though, picked up the muffled sound of steps as somepony entered the room.

“Is that you, Matilda?” Thaddeus called out at his colleague. No answer came.

He pushed closed the bottom drawer with an irritated sigh and looked up. “Did Fred take my tobacco tin again-” he began to ask, then froze.

A winged, brown-furred figure stood on its hind legs before him. Heavy layers of cloth were wrapped around its head and concealed its face, apart from a tuft of golden mane poking out. A pair of green, glittering eyes peered out from behind them.

It took Thaddeus mind a few instants to finally register the fact that a sphinxess was before him. A bit longer to see the bulky object of metal and wood cradled in her forelegs.

Eyes widening in surprise, Thaddeus felt his very bones turning to ice. A raw, primal-kind fear surfaced in the back of his mind, as the sphinx’s green eyes finally fixed on him.

“Don’t. Speak. Quiet” she hissed, her Owlstrian twisted by a local accent.

The griffon simply stood there. He wanted to run, to call for help, anything rather than standing still. His muscles decided to ignore his commands.

Then, his beak moved. It was a slight movement, barely different from a tremble, but somehow the words finally came out.

“W-What? Who a-” he stammered, but that was as far as he got.

The green eyes narrowed, and metal snapped. For an incredibly long moment, Thaddeus finally understood what the thing was.

By that time, the dart was already in mid-air.

A pain unlike any other exploded in the griffon chest. He tried to cry out in agony, but the force of the blow had knocked the wind out of his lungs, and only a soft grunt escaped from his beak.

Reaching instinctively for the injury, Thaddeus stumbled backwards. His hind legs gave up under the pain and shock.

His back struck the ground, leaving him gasping for air, his chest burning like a furnace. Brown fur turned dark crimson.

Thaddeus tried to get up, only to find his hind legs dumb and unmoving.

Half-slumped on the ground, panic and adrenaline building up inside him, he desperately tried to turn himself toward the mysterious assailant. A raw instinct took over him.

Then he blinked in surprise. The door stood ajar and she was gone.

The thought that all of that might have been a trick of his mind was promptly dashed away by a fresh wave of pain, surging through his body. His movement had caused the dart to twist inside the wound. And this time he screamed.

Thaddeus never noticed the missing letter from his desk. His vision blurred, dark spots appearing before his eyes.

Voices came from the floor below, followed by the hurried sounds of multiple hooves climbing the marble stairs.

Then darkness engulfed him, and he heard nothing at all.

---

“Imbecile! Idiot! May Tartarus take him, and all of his bloody family!”

Tempest Scion kept himself from rolling his eyes at the ambassador. He folded the newspaper before him and tossed it unceremoniously in his saddlebag. He never had any real intention to read it, except for maybe the crosswords at the end. Akhri’s few newspapers were even worst of those back at home.

As of now though, he wasn’t in the mood for any of that. Every jolt and lurch of the carriage ‒as it rattled its way through Ahkri’s cobbled streets‒ felt like an annoying bite to his nerves, especially with the constant bustling of activity coming from the outside.

For somepony with a pair of wings, being confined into what amounted to a wooden box on wheels and towed around town was not something pleasant. Even more when considering that sphinxes had clearly no idea of what the words road maintenance meant.

Tempest Scion was a Pegasus after all, something not as common in Owlstria as somepony might have thought, at least by Equestrian standards.

He glanced up to the second passenger within the carriage.

Lady Honour Bound, a white-coated, blue-maned unicorn mare, sat across him, forelegs crossed. Her face was twisted in an ugly scowl. She was clad in a practical yet elegant business suit, complemented by a blue tie now laying unfastened around her neck.

Since leaving Akhri’s Grand Assembly, the ambassador had not said a single word for most of the trip. She simply stared out of the carriage’s window, sulking in utter silence. Occasionally, she would mutter to herself, low enough so that he couldn’t make out a single word even trying.

Not this time, though.

He saw her pausing and taking a deep breath. “Mr Scion, have you ever had the sensation that Talos was having a great joke at your expenses?” she said at last. The cold fury buried beneath that question could be felt from a mile away.

Steading himself for a conversation he really wanted to have much later, or even better tomorrow, Tempest Scion sat himself straighter, reaching up with his hooves to draw the carriage’s heavy curtains over the windows. The city’s ruckus came in muffled now, granting the two some quiet.

Five years spent accompanying Lady Honour Bound as counsellor ‒and bodyguard‒ had given him plenty of time to study her demeanour and habits. Nowadays, he was able of detecting even the slightest change of her mood with a glance, no matter how well she could keep her façade, as well as anticipating her needs.

She raised a hoof, proceeding to massage her temples. “Because it would explain a great deal. It’s either that, or sphinxes have a chronic backstabbing disorder on a national level!”

“I can only guess you are referring to a very specific sphinx, ma’am,” Tempest Scion said, keeping his tone as even as he could.

“Of course I do!” she snapped at him. “And don’t try to get clever with me. Dealing with Psametik was your idea in the first place!”

“True,” he said. “But it wasn’t like I had much choice in the matter. You wanted a political interlocutor and he was the only one. And to be totally fair to him, he kind of warned us in advance.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Is that all you have to say? He plays us, and your only thoughts are about how correct he was in doing so?” You could physically feel the scorn in her tone.

“Last time I checked, we were trying to play him too, ma’am.”

Honour Bound opened her mouth to answer before stopping midway, hesitating. She blinked a few times.

“Yes, fine, we did,” she admitted. “But that was for a good reason!”

“I’m sure it was.”

“We could either stand back and let the sphinxes tear each other apart, with us being caught in the ensuing whirlwind, or at least try to keep them under control.”

Tempest Scion simply shrugged. “Good reason or not, I think the chancellor would still see it as illegal.”

Her eyes narrowed at that. “We were this close though,” she muttered. “All we needed was-”

“With all due respect, ma’am, I must disagree. That was a disgrace and we both know it.”

That caused Honour Bound to blink in surprise. In truth, it surprised Tempest Scion as well. It was unusual for him to interrupt the ambassador just like that.

Of course, the last months had been quite stressful for him, most of his time spent trying to prevent Lady Bound’s actions from reaching the public and cause a major diplomatic scandal.

His tone too had been harsher than expected. After all, despite all her faults, the blame couldn’t be laid totally at her hooves; relationships with Ahkri were getting more tense as time went on, and yet from Glassclaw came little advice.

Tempest Scion bit the inside of his cheek. It was too late to go back now. He would have to go through.

“One thing is to support a clandestine organization such as the Freedom Trail. Sure, Akhri won’t like it one bit, but if they have the chance to ignore the problem, they will. However, trying to use a foreign political figure to influence said country’s policy is a different matter entirely.”

He audibly sighed, before adding “We’re lucky that Psametik could not expose us even if he wanted, for it would force him to admit his involvement too, even if limited. But the Scavon Clan doesn’t lack enemies.”

Lady Bound still looked unconvinced. “So, you’re saying we should have done nothing from the start?”

“What I’m saying is that both Akhri and Thebanus are out to get each other, whether we like it or not. I mean, this powder keg had been sitting on embers for twenty years. It’s only a matter of time before it blows up, and us meddling with their internal politics sure won’t stop it.”

Tempest Scions laid back in his seat. “So yes, ma’am. I honestly think that, good intentions or not, our actions were foolish at best.”

Honour Bound’s eyes narrowed at that. He expected an answer, and a fiery one at that, but none came. Not immediately at least.

His words must have given her some kind of pause. After shaking her head, she proceeded to speak in a lower, and calmer, tone.

“Listen, Mr Scion. I know that you don’t like the situation. Talos knows that I don’t. Sure, I should have handled the matter better, I’ll give you that. But we have a duty, to Owlstria and the Crown, no matter what the Chancellor says.”

Her hazelnut eyes hardened. “And if we can have the chance to prevent this bloodshed, even for a while, and save lives, I’ll take it.”

Tempest Scion kept the grimace off his face. He realized he had probably wasted breath with her. The thickness of Lady Bound’s skull was legendary.

She pursued her lips. “Besides, the Owlstrians still on Sphigyptian soil aren’t just soldiers, Mr Scion. There are thousands of our fellow citizens who live and work here, and if war is as inevitable as you say, I have no reason to believe that the sphinx will be kind with them. We must give them time to get out.”

Tempest Scion sighed. The numerous Owlstrian community, which had grown exponentially after the Southern Campaign, was a thorny issue, one he really didn’t want to delve in right now.

“That’s commendable on your part, but you must know that it’s impossible to save them all. They won’t see a good reason to leave, given that they’ve been living here for years. They’ll think that the matter will blow over by itself, so they may go on with their lives.”

“But the Summer Riot had been just five years ago!” she pointed out. “Surely, some of them must remember it!”

He shrugged. “Maybe they just don’t want to. There are reasons why such things are shoved under the carpet, after all.”

In truth, he himself didn’t know what had exactly happened that time. The 73^rd, his old regiment, was on patrol along the Nile when fragmentary news from Akhri had finally reached them.

He knew it had not been pretty, though. Some of his old comrades had family in Akhri when all had gone to hell. Eventually, two Owlstrian regiments at full strength had been called in once it was clear that the local law enforcers had lost control.

“Whatever the reason may be,” Honour Bound said, a sense of finality in her tone, “our duty remains.”

Tempest Scion remained silent. Whatever her flaws, the ambassador certainly didn’t lack in determination, even if it sometimes came at the expense of common sense.

He felt the carriage’s rattling and bumping motion becoming steadier, almost tolerable for his tastes. They were now traveling on a smooth, paved road. It was a good sign. It meant that they had reached Akhri’s diplomatic quarter just outside the city’s walls, and that he was a few minutes away from some nice wing stretching.

“It will be riskier now, especially with Psametik Scavon cutting bridges with us.” The previous anger was gone, either for good or merely hidden, her face now a calm mask of professionalism. This time, he noted, she almost managed to say his full name without scowling.

“I don’t doubt that Matriarch Zaliki will jump at the opportunity as soon as she can so, for now, we’ll have to distance ourselves from Mrs Oak and her Freedom Trail.”

“She won’t like it though,” he noted.

“She’s Equestrian,” Honour Bound all but sneered. “Unless I didn’t underestimate sphinxes’ stupidity, they won’t touch her. The same doesn’t count for the slaves she’s trying to save.”

Tempest Scion nodded. “Fair enough, but I’ll have a word with our security detail anyway.” He paused for a moment. “And about our weekly report?”

“The same we send all weeks, Mr Scion. Once we get back, I’ll ask Thaddeus to sugarcoat it.” A small grin crossed her face. “Hopefully, they won’t even read it.”

Scion felt himself lurching forward as the carriage suddenly slowed down, before finally coming to a halt. He grinded his teeth, preventing a loud curse from escaping his lips. He was going to have a word or two with the driver once he got out.

He pushed the curtain opens, and his brows perked up as soon he looked out. The vehicle had stopped in the middle of the road for no apparent reason.

Leaning further out of the window, he looked ahead to see that all four earth ponies pulling the carriage were being confronted by at least twenty other creatures, arranged before the embassy’s gates. It looked like there was a heated argument going on.

Scion furrowed his brows. Half of them wore uniforms identifying them as belonging to the embassy’s security detail, while the others appeared to be gendarmes.

“Is there a problem?” Lady Honour’s voice came from behind him.

“No idea, ma’am. I’ll see if there is one though,” he said before exiting the carriage. After running a quick check at the two hoof-strikers secured at his forelegs, he made his way towards the group. Normally he would have preferred something with a little more punch, a hoof-revolver for instance, but those would have to do.

“What’s going on here?” he immediately asked at the gendarme with the highest rank amongst them, a white-feathered griffoness with the markings of sergeants on her blue uniform’s shoulders.

She shoot a quick glance at him. “I’m sorry, sir, but there’s an ongoing investigation of the Gendarmerie, so could y- Hold on a second.” Her eyes suddenly went wide as she seemingly noticed for the first his uniform. “You’re in the ambassador’s staff, aren’t you?”

“I am,” he answered. “Why?”

“Do you know where she is?” Her voice was tense with worry.

Tempest Scion shrugged. He lifted a wing and pointed it to the carriage. “She’s in there. We’ve just returned from a meeting at the Grand Assembly. Apart from that, she’s alright.”

The griffoness sighed in visible relief, as if giant boulder had been just removed from her shoulders.

“Talos be praised!” she exclaimed. “We were about to send air patrols around the city. Even worse, not a single creature of the staff seemed to have the slightest idea about where Lady Bound was!”

Judging by her tone, she probably didn’t believe that such a thing could even be possible. Of course, she had never worked for Lady Honour Bound.

“Yes, she does that sometimes,” he conceded. “Now, can you tell me what in Tartarus is going on, sergeant?”

She nodded. “I do, sir. There’s seems to have been an intrusion in the embassy, possibly a sphinx. I don’t exactly know what happened but, as far as the preliminary examination goes, we have reason to believe it to be an attempted murder.”

---

Kaska,

Owsltrian barracks,

One day later …

Contrary to popular belief, Sphigypt was not just a horrendous, Talos-forgotten desert at the edge of the civilized world. Not all of it at least.

One had to look no further than near the many Owlstrians barracks dotting the Nilus’s eastern bank to seek confirmation. The Kaska’s one in particular, located a mile or so outside the city’s walls, was surrounded on all sides by countless farmlands, each separated from other by an intricate net of irritation ditches and artificial canals running from the Nilus itself up to five miles inland.

In Sphigypt, it was hard to say where the countryside ended and the cities began. Every single drop of water, any square inch of ground that could be farmed or taken by the surrounding badlands was extensively exploited.

Akhri’s secession had not changed that, but it also meant that its entire western border was virtually exposed. As the Republic still struggled behind its western rival in terms of mechanization, many defensive bulwarks had to be erected further inland so not to waste much needed cultivable space.

In more practical terms, it meant that, with the exception of the delta, much of the Free Republic’s actual first line of defence was its pitiful brown-water navy.

There was a bright side to that though. As Owlstrian military installations were considered crucial for the national defence of the Republic, which basically gave them the right of way over anything else, Owstrian battalions assigned along the Nilus could now enjoy a pretty nice view.

Right now, however, Captain Edward Blackwing had much more important matters at hand.

“With all due respect, sir, I think you should relax.”

The griffon gave Lieutenant Nebula a quizzical look. The unicorn mare stood utterly immobile by his side, her hard, unflinching eyes trained forward.

“I’m sorry?” he asked.

“You’ve been pulling at your collar for almost a minute,” she pointed out, her eyes never wavering. “I just thought that you ought to be informed, sir.”

Blackwing opened his beak to answer, but only to then glance down at his claws. One rested now on the collar’s brim of his uniform.

“Oh, right. That.” He quickly set it down back on the ground, while trying at the same time to hide his embarrassment. “Thank you, Nebula.”

“Don’t mention it, sir.”

There were a few minutes of silence.

“Just to be sure,” Blackwing said after a while, keeping his tone as casual as he could, “you checked that everything is in order, right?”

Her eyes moved ever so slightly towards him. “I did, sir. Things have not changed since the last time you asked.” Which, he realized, was another way of saying ten minutes ago.

“Of course.” He drew a deep breath. “I’m getting bothersome, am I not?”

“As I said before, captain, don’t mention it.” Then she added, “Though you might want to follow my suggestion.”

“And relax?” He chuckled. “Easy for you to say. They’re not coming for your head.”

Nebula shrugged. “That’s an exaggeration, sir. The only creature I know of with a passion for hunting is Colonel Greycloud and, as far as I know, he does not hang heads over his fireplace.”

Blackwing was about to reply when those words echoed in his ears. A sudden realization clicked in his mind. He stole a glance at the mare, still stunned by sheer incredulity.

“Did you just make a joke, lieutenant?”

“Did I?” Nebula raised an almost imperceptible eyebrow. “I don’t remember doing it, sir.”

Blackwing kept staring at her for a few seconds before shaking his head, turning his attention on more important things. Such as the dispatch now folded in his front pocket.

It had arrived shortly after the South Gate Incident, as newspapers back home ended up calling it. It was surprisingly brief, as far as Longbow’s telegrams went. A simple order of readiness for his scheduled arrival.

That would have been a quite mundane thing under normal circumstances. Given the current situation in Kaska though-

The griffon cast a final glance around. Lieutenant Nebula’s own platoon, the First, stood arrayed in the main courtyard of the large compound housing 3^rd Company, all three sections standing at attention beside each other, weapons ready at their sides.

He didn’t remember all of their names, but he could still recognize Sergeant Major Bronze Tail, the heavily built pony NCO standing just beside Nebula, as well as the three other section leaders.

Blackwing struggled to suppress a grimace. Normally, he preferred to have Lieutenant Falcon by his side. True, the two of them tended to smack heads once in a while, but that was to be expected from a good officer.

Not this time though. Third Platoon was not in good shape after the incident at the South Gate, with ten of them hospitalized, counting the lieutenant himself, and two dead. Unfortunately, one was a section leader, leaving the platoon down an NCO. Blackwing would have to address the matter once Falcon was out the infirmary and back on his paws.

In hindsight, that day had been a disaster from the start. The First’s target had proved to be, much to the chagrin of every creature involved, utterly empty. Meanwhile, the Third had gotten into a firefight with unknown sphinxes and almost blown up in the process.

Only Lieutenant Castor and his Second had scored what could be considered a success, arresting quite the number of suspects and delivering them to custody at the Gendarmerie constabulary without much of a problem.

And giving Blackwing a chance to save face with Major Longbow in the process.

His trail of thoughts was brought to a halt as his eyes picked up movement in the sky coming from northeast. It was small, not bigger than a dot. Had he not been a griffon, Blackwing would have probably missed it. Which also meant that the flying patrols launched one hour ago had probably saw it too.

Almost as if on cue, the radio secured to his belt croaked to life with a high pitch.

“Eye Sky to Montagne. Contact approaching from north-northeast,” came the sentries’ report. “Estimated time of arrival is from ten to fifteen minutes.”

Blackwing brought the radio up to his ear before pressing the reply switch. “Eye Sky, this is Montagne speaking. You have the authorization to hail.”

“Acknowledged, Montagne. Please stand by.”

Less than a minute later came the answer. “Montagne, this is Eye Sky. Lighting has been confirmed, I repeat, Lighting has been confirmed. We’re taking escort position.”

“I hear you loud and clear, Eye Sky. Maintain course until Lighting has touched the ground, then remain airborne for the usual security sweep.”

“Roger that, captain. Eye Sky out.”

As the link went silent, Blackwing felt his eyebrows furrowing. Corporal Ravenclaw had again missed the last callsign.

He sighed, knowing he would have to have a talk to him later. Not too harshly though. The guy, even if a bit young, was still one of their best flyers. Still, it was one of those little things Longbow took pleasure pointing it out just for the sake of it.

Sweeping under the rug a few minor incidents, discipline was truly his main worry with the 3^rd Company. It didn’t help that every single one of them was waiting for the 111^th Land Regiment’s turn on the established timetable for the withdrawal, so they could finally get back home.

Organizing training session could only help so much, which was why Blackwing had decided to throw his lot with the Gendarmerie. And it had worked for a while.

Of course, it wasn’t why they were on the border in the first place, but that was better than wait for an attack that wasn’t coming anytime soon.

What at first glance appeared as a small, black dot against a clear sky, quickly grew up in size and resolved itself into multiple flying silhouettes, followed at close distance by a larger one.

Besides the two flying teams at Corporal Ravenclaw’s order, located on the formation’s flanks, there were two other sections of flyers. Right behind, another dozen-or-so of griffons followed them, carrying via enchanted harnesses a bulky sky carriage.

The thing was, for all intense and purpose, a flying wooden box. Sure, it was sturdy and more than capable of carrying supplies -or an entire platoon- around, but that wasn’t enough of a reason to stop Owlstrian troopers from referring to it as the coffin.

Five hundred yards before reaching the barrack’s curtain wall, Ravenclaw’s two flying team spit off as per orders, sweeping either to the left or right.

The carriage made contact with the ground, soon followed by the two sections. As the delivering crew proceeded to snap off the cables from the harnesses, twenty griffons drew out their carabines, quickly taking position around the carriage with trained ease and establishing a perimeter.

After a few seconds, a griffon that looked as the section leader walked up to the carriage door, knocked three times with a claw and then stepped aside.

It swung open, and four figures came out, two unicorns and two griffons, each wearing an impressive set of enchanted armour and sporting a much heavier, semi-automatic Kral-pattern battle-rifle on their flanks. Much of their faces were obscured by a steel helmet, a pair of googles, and brownish scarves wrapped around their necks to ward off the scorching sun, as well as the sand.

If there was any doubt on their identity, the grenade-bristling webbings they wore left no further doubt, and Blackwing had to keep himself from grimacing.

Vanguards. Either a bunch of upstarts too good to get in the trenches and do the infantry’s job, or national heroes, depending on who you asked for it. One thing for sure though, all of them were seasoned, cold-blooded fighting machines.

Blackwing could only speculate about their presence. The 111^th Land Regiment had a company of them, but they were usually kept near the regimental HQ up north. He had seen them sometimes acting as security detail for COs, but only during special -or dangerous- occasions.

He didn’t have much to delve on the matter though, for they were shortly followed by a fifth figure coming out of the sky carriage.

“Platoon! Attention!” snapped Bronze Tail.

The command was immediately followed by the sound of hoofs and paws striking the ground in unison, as First Platoon stood at attention. The soldiers moved with practised ease, having already performed such manoeuvre countless times during their career.

Blackwing recomposed himself, straightened his back, and trained his eyes forward. He waited as Major Longbow, constantly flanked by the four Vanguards, slowly made his way towards him.

He was, for the most part, a rather unassuming unicorn. In height, the top of his head would have barely touched Blackwing’s beak, and the griffon was certainly not taller than average.

The brown officer uniform, with a major’s bronze leaf on both epaulettes, covered most of his black-speckled, white coat. His mane, cut extremely short even by military standards, was of an unidentified colour.

What really distinguished Longbow from the rest though, was the grimace always stamped on his face, something that could be interpreted either as a mocking sneer or a frown fuelled by constant disappointment.

According to widespread barracks’ rumours, a nasty piece of shrapnel had taken away a good chunk of his right cheek years ago. That, or a sphinx had bitten his face.

Whatever the reason, surgery and magic-enhanced healing could do only so much.

Blackwing, for his part, simply tried not to look to much at the stallion’s face, focusing his attention on keeping his eyes forward.

As Longbow came to a halt a few steps away from him, Blackwing unsheathed the polished ceremonial sabre secured at his side. He raised it high, keeping it at a right-angle to the ground, before letting the flat of the blade rest against his right shoulder.

It was somewhat archaic to salute a superior with one’s own sabre, but it was still a recognized military procedure nonetheless. Besides, he liked to do it.

Major Longbow stared at him for a few moments, as if scrutinizing him head to paws. His eyes then skipped over Lieutenant Nebula, considered briefly Sergeant Major Bronze Tail, before finally resting on the assembled creatures of First Platoon.

“Captain Edward Blackwing,” Longbow mused. “It seems that no matter how hard I try, I just can’t get rid of you.”

“Major Longbow, sir,” Blackwing said with a stiff, formal nod, “it’s an honour for me and Third Company to welcome you in Kaska.”

The stallion cast a wary glance around. Whether the grimace on his face was worsening or not was anypony’s guess.

“Yes, I’m sure it is. You may tell them to stand at ease, captain.” Blackwing did so. “I have no time for pleasantries right now, so let’s get to the point. Are all of your lieutenants here?”

He considered it for a moment. “With the exception of one, yes, they are.”

“Good. Have them assembled, them. It’s better if I brief you all together and as soon as possible.”

“Very well, sir. I’ll have a command room prepared for the occasion.”

Longbow shook his head. “Actually, never mind that, captain.”

His grimace shifted into a grin. “I’ve been towed around into that blasted thing -” he waved at the sky carriage behind him “- since dawn, without even the chance to have a proper breakfast.”

“Now, given that the colonel decided that dragging me in this dump of a city was a good idea,” he went on, sniffing loudly as to emphasise his point, “I think that the least you could do is offer us some refreshment. Don’t you think so, captain?” The word dripped with venom.

Blackwing raised an eyebrow at the curious request. He briefly considered refusing it outright, but he preferred keeping Longbow on his good side for now, despite that abrasive attitude of his.

“I’m sure something can be arranged, sir,” he simply said.

He stole a quick glance towards the four Vanguards standing behind the major. So far, they hadn’t said a single word or even an acknowledgement. They simply stood in a rough semi-circle around Longbow, carefully keeping a few feet from them and the stallion. More than enough to keep a watchful eye to their surroundings, as well as closing the gap quickly in case of danger.

“Should I have then something prepared for them too, sir?” he asked.

“Who? Oh, you mean them.” Longbow looked over his shoulder at the four bodyguards around him. “Are you feeling hungry, captain?”

One of the two griffon made a muffled sound beneath the scarf drawn up over his beak, followed by a headshake.

There was nothing in the griffon’s attire that could identify him by his rank. Vanguards had a special, almost unique, way to differentiate their senior members. That obviously caused a not small amount of problems when they were deployed alongside regulars.

Blackwing thought for a moment that that Vanguard in particular was staring at him. He dismissed the idea. It was just an impression of his, likely caused by the reflective googles he was wearing. Still, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling of having his eyes fixed on him.

“Sergeant Bronze Tail.”

The stallion stepped forward. “Yes, sir.”

“Please, show Major Longbow here and his escorts to our mess hall,” Blackwing said. “Once you’ve done that, send word for Lieutenant Castor and Sergeant Major Buzzard. They are to join us at the mess hall as soon as they can.”

He saluted. “Yes, sir. Major, sir, please follow me. This way.” He led the way towards the northern part of the compound, the major and his small escort falling behind him without delay.

Blackwing waited for a few second before putting his sabre back into the sheath. He sighed.

“Well, that wasn’t too bad, am I right sir?” Nebula said from behind him.

“Try not to celebrate, lieutenant. I doubt he came all the way here just to take advantage of our canteen.”

Nebula raised an eyebrow to him. “Okay, maybe he did,” Blackwing eventually conceded. “Talos only knows what is going on in his head.”

She nodded. “That could be true, sir. However, I believe that if Major Longbow was truly here to relieve you of command, as you fear, he would probably have given you the news as soon as he had stepped out of his sky carriage.”

The griffon grunted something that resembled an acknowledgment. It was no secret that between him and Longbow there was no love lost. He did not remember why though. They seemed to dislike each other more on a general principle rather than a real reason, and Blackwing was fine with that.

In hindsight, he was even fine with being discharged by him. It would have been humiliating, sure, but at least it would have gotten him back home and out of this blasted country and, with some luck, put him in a nice, comfortable post in a regiment of the National Reserve.

“I’m hoping you’re right, lieutenant. Just try not to jinx it.”

“Very well, sir. No celebration, as you ordered,” Nebula said. “I’ll put away the Prench Champagne I had stored for the occasion.”

Blackwing regarded her with an appraised eyebrow. He had not misheard it this time. That was a joke for sure.

In the end, however, he said nothing. With Nebula no creature could really be sure. For all he knew, he might as well have imagined that part. After the lieutenant had her platoon broke ranks, the two of them made their way towards the small canteen in the north side.

---

Southern Army HQ,

Somewhere north of Arimiya …

“Your guests are here, Ferik Sebak.”

“Thank you, Kalis,” the sphinx said. “Send them in.”

The aide dipped his head respectfully and turned to leave. A moment later, three figures stepped into the room and stood there before him, immobile. Their features were hard to distinguish, given the heavy, pale-yellow cloaks they were wearing over identical sets of kaki combat fatigues.

They all bowed their head in unison. “It is an honour for us to be in your presence, Miralay Sebak of the Yilmaz Clan,” the leading figure spoke, his tone formal. “We are here to serve you.”

Sebak rose from his chair and bowed briefly his head in return. “And I thank you, Yutz-basi Mantis. May our minds and deeds be guided by one purpose.” Once the ceremonial greetings were done, he added, “Please, feel free to seat with me.”

The trio dipped their heads once again. They quickly removed their cloaks and sand-proof scarves, leaving them hang on a coat rack near the entrance. Then, each moved toward a free chair. It wasn’t hard, given that they were, with Sebak, the only occupants in the room.

Most of their fur was a pale, sand-like brown, apart from the lower section of their legs, which were white. It was a fur pattern typical of sphinxes living in the area commonly referred to as Upper Nilus, which had Arimiya itself as its provincial capital of sorts.

The round table before them was filled to the brim with notes, official-looking papers and half-crumpled dispatches. In the centre of it was a large geographical map of all Sphigypt, that too crammed with annotations about troop movements and fortified positions.

Sebak had found himself looking wishfully back at his neat office in Thebanus more than once. This one might have been larger, but he found the bare, white stone walls surrounding him a bit depressing.

Especially without Theresa’s delightful presence to cheer him up.

Since he had arrived in Arimiya a few days back, one of his main duty had been to sort through the gargantuan amount of paperwork that had seemingly rained down from the sky itself in his new office.

Most of it came from regiment-level commanders, some of them young, some older, but all eager and quivering in anticipation, each boasting the level of readiness of their troops in an attempt to court the favour of their newly appointed ferik.

The Southern Army HQ was certainly bigger than the one he was accustomed to back in Thebanus. It was also much more active for sure.

Sebak touched with a paw the communication-crystal standing on a tripod before him. Its dull, white surface shined suddenly with a bright light, signalling him that it was active.

“Kalis,” he spoke into it, “please, send for some tea for me and my guests.”

A few minutes later, all four sphinxes had a steaming cup in their paws. Sebak didn’t like much the Zebrican flavour, too sweet for his taste. On the other paw though, he was ready to welcome any break from the gruelling work in front of him.

“I must admit,” Mantis said, after taking a long sip, “there’s nothing like a long trek through the desert to make you appreciate a nice cup of tea.” His two mulazim, sitting on either side of him, nodded in agreement.

Sebak couldn’t quite remember their names. He was sure enough the sphinxess on the right was Garais, Mantis’s second, as he had already seen her many times accompanying her superior. He was unable to recall the other mulazim’s name though. He must have been newly promoted.

Sebak grinned. “I’m glad to hear it, Yutz-basi.” As he took a last sip of his beverage, he added “But I’m afraid that other matters must take precedence.”

Mantis nodded. “As you wish, Miralay.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I am a miralay no longer.” Despite himself, he couldn’t prevent satisfaction from slipping into his tone, and his mouth split into a huge grin.

“Pharaoh Lak-Hor, second of his name, in his limitless wisdom, has seen fit for me to be elevated to the rank of ferik. From now on, the Fourth Corps and all its support elements are under my command.”

Sudden silence fell in the room. Sebak could almost see Mantis’s jaw drop to the floor, his eyes widening in utter astonishment. The two Mulazim standing beside him limited themselves instead with a quick exchange of questioning glances and whispered words.

To his credit, the yutz-basi quickly recovered from the shock and he bowed his head yet another time.

“My apologies then, Ferik Sebak,” he said. “I was unaware of this new development, but I welcome it nonetheless. I believe congratulations are in order then.” Mantis looked back to him and smiled. “I’m confident I speak for all in saying that you much deserved it, sir.”

Sebak grinned back to him. To finally receive a much-awaited recognition filled him with pride, and it made his victory all the more sweet to know he had managed to snatch the appointment right off Tauk’s own paws. It never hurt, after all, to bite back at a snake if you could.

He waved a paw at Mantis. “Thank you, my friend, and be assured that there’s no need to apologize. As a matter of fact, I wanted to keep the news as discreet as possible until I had chosen a reliable replacement for the Thirty-Seventh.”

Mantis’s ears seemed to suddenly perk up on that. “Really, sir? And if I may, who that would be?”

“Kolagasi Meth, of course” he promptly replied. “Or do you have perhaps a better candidate?”

Mantis shook his head. “I don’t know him personally, but I’ve heard a few things on his account, all of them good. You’ll get no complain from me.”

In truth, that was supposed to remain a secret, but Sebak saw no point in keeping it that way any longer, as he had already sent a message to Meth that very morning. Besides, any officer belonging to the 37^th Tallarn Regiment already considered him as Sebak’s natural successor.

It saddened him greatly to leave his role behind, one that he had been occupying for almost ten years now. Over time, Sebak had come to see many of his subordinates as close friends, an extended family of sorts, especially Meth.

Times were changing though. A new chapter in Sphigypt’s history was about to be written, and each creature had to do its part if the Pharaoh’s vision was to come to fruition.

“If that matter is resolved,” Sebak said, bringing his trail of thoughts to an abrupt stop, “let us then return our attention to why I brought you here in the first place, shall we?”

Yutz-basi Mantis nodded. He straightened himself in his seat, not before taking one last sip from his cup, emptying it. Sebak briefly thought about calling Kalis back and asking for a refill but he decided against it. He leaned back comfortably in his chair.

“Before anything though,” Mantis said, “I presume that you have already read my last report, am I right, sir?”

“I did, but unfortunately only briefly. I had my load of work in the last day, so it’s any creature’s guess what I still remember of it.”

“I’ll start with the beginning then. You’ll be pleased to hear that our infiltration through the southern mountain passes has been accomplished without difficulties. The Desert Clans keep showing disinterest in our cause, but they at least tolerate our presence in their territories.”

“Am I then to assume that they show much more interest in the gifts we bring them? Sebak asked with a grin.

“They do, sir, although I’ve noticed an increase of Ahkri’s patrols in the region. I’m confident in saying though that they probably ignore the scope of our operation. Once the signal is given, they’ll be dispatched quickly and easily.”

“Excellent,” Sebak said. “Please, continue.”

“I’m afraid that this is where the good news end, sir.” There was a pause, long enough to give Sebak time to furrows his eyebrows. “Our contacts amongst the loyalist population and the slaves all confirmed at least two Owlstrian regiments stationed in the area.”

The ferik found himself sucking in breath at the news, but he managed to keep a somewhat unperturbed appearance as he nodded. Meanwhile, his mind was racing as it calculated risks, possibilities, and even potential rewards.

“Can you elaborate, yutz-basi?” he said almost absentmindedly.

“I can, sir,” Mantis replied. “Extensive examination has identified them as the Hundred-Forty-Third and the Eighty-Eighth Land Regiment. The former is currently deployed north of here, near Val’th Crossing. It’s quite dispersed on the ground though, and if caught by surprise will surely take time to gather its strength.”

“The Eighty-Eighth is another matter entirely, I’m afraid. It has just relieved Akhri’s Twenty-Fifth as garrison of Geltan Redoubt. The Owlstrians are now deeply entrenched with considerable artillery support.”

This time Sebak couldn’t help himself. He visibly sighed, reached up with a paw and proceeded to massage both of his temples.

Geltan Redoubt was both a metaphorical and literal headache, something that would have mauled his forces no matter the precaution he took. But with an entire Owlstrian regiment in there, it was going to turn in one ugly bloodbath. And Sebak knew a bloodbath when he saw one. He had been at Masada after all.

The sphinx tightened his muscles, squeezing his paw into a tight fist and barely holding back the growl forming in the back of his throat. No matter which way he looked at the problem, he kept seeing one possible outcome, namely the 4^th Corps being bogged down in a lengthy battle of attrition it couldn’t afford to begin in the first place.

“I see,” was all he managed to say. “Anything else worth noting?”

Mantis, who for that entire time had remained respectfully silent, shrugged. “Not really, sir. Ahkri’s forces remain quite limited in the area. They appear to keep their sight focused on the Northern Nilus, where the First Army is gathered. All data on that matter is already in my report, and there’s little more I can say without reciting it aloud.”

Sebak nodded. At least there was a somewhat good news. The last thing it wanted now was an enemy alerted of his intentions.

“Very well, then. If there are no other matters you wish to discuss-” he began to say.

“Actually, sir, there was another matter I wanted to bring to your attention,” Mantis interrupted him. He then glanced sideways at the male mulazim. “Or rather, he wanted to.”

Sebak moved his gaze from Mantis to the sphinx standing next to him. His initial impression of him had been accurate. He was young, probably over twenty, but not by a large margin. His mane had a chestnut tone about it, while the blue ink on his left eye’s tattoo glittered bright in the room’s light, still fresh.

The sphinx seemed to shift uncomfortably in his seat for a moment, giving Mantis a disapproving, and at the same time pleading, frown as he did so.

“Well, I-I mean,” he stammered, “It’s not like it’s important, sir. I-It’s just that, as you know, it’s a, uh, how can I say it-”

Sebak rose a paw to stop him, and he came to a halt. He had noticed Garais trying -and failing- to keep her growing grin hidden. As much as the whole thing might had been funny for a fleeing moment, Sebak decided to intervene and spare the mulazim further embarrassment.

“What’s your name?”

“Raz, sir” he replied, and promptly performed a salute. “Mulazim Raz Haget.” The clan’s name didn’t sound any bell to Sebak. It was probably small enough to be considered a single family.

“Raz, then, I’d like you not to take that deferential tone with me. I might have an extra trinket or two on my golden chain, but I’m still the miralay you knew. You’ve served with the Thirty-Seventh before, right?” Raz nodded.

“Good. Then you know that I’ve never stopped my subordinates from giving their opinion on any matter. I’ve no intention of starting now as a ferik.”

That was a problematic relic of the past, to treat one’s superiors with a respect that bordered on outright worship. The old Sphigyptian Army’s chain of command had been a rigid, one-way structure that demanded absolute obedience from those below, without giving them room from initiative.

This mindset had clashed with the modern, flexible Owlstrian style of warfare during the Southern Campaign, and nearly collapsed as consequence.

Nowadays though, thanks to the lesson learned and -in no small part- Gryphus Confederation’s military advisors, Sphigypt was reading to remove that shameful stain from its reputation. Still, old habits die hard.

His words seemed to have some effect though, as Raz demeanour seemed to suddenly relax. He tried to make a small smile. It wasn’t a sigh of relief, but it was close to it.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Sebak grinned in response. “Excellent. Now, I believe you were trying to say something.”

Raz nodded. “I did, sir. You see, during our many expeditions on the other side of the of the Nilus, we established contact with local earth ponies, some disaffected citizens, but mostly slaves. Regarding the latter, sir, well-” he paused for moment, exchanging a quick glance with the yutz-basi, as if asking whether he should go on.

Mantis sighed. “What he’s trying to tell you, sir, is that we took a look at the camps and plantations where they kept their slaves. And it’s bad.”

Sebak kept back a grimace. He knew where this was going. “We already knew that though, didn’t we, Mantis? I mean, the Republic is not even that subtle about it. They placed them on their side for all to see.”

“Yes, we did,” he said. “What worries me though, is what will happen once our forces cross the Nilus. Especially with our ranks swelling with ponies.”

Sebak frowned. “You fear that they might get out of line?”

“Out of line!?” Mantis repeated with incredulity. “Sir, we’ll be lucky if they limit themselves to one reprisal or two!”

“I agree, sir,” Garais said, speaking for the first time. She took a sip from her cup. Her slim and toned body was, even beneath the combat fatigues, clearly noticeable, and Sebak found himself stealing an involuntary glance at it.

“I personally don’t care too much for them,” she continued, “but even I can see what will happen once the regiments see the situation on the other side, especially those entirely made up of earth ponies. In the worst-case scenario, we’ll have the entire eastern bank ablaze in a few days.”

There was silence after that.

Sebak knew it, of course. Once the Nilus was behind them, such incidents would be unavoidable. After all, Pharaoh Lak-Hor had not merely followed his predecessor’s example on the matter of slavery but had also painted his war with Ahkri’s usurping regime as one of liberation.

The earth pony -and zebra too- native population had come to idolize him, especially after the nominee of Golden Tusk, an earth pony himself, as Grand Vizier. On the wake of this massive support, the army had swelled quickly in size with volunteers.

Sebak had no illusion of what would happen once the shooting started and the earth ponies had a chance to unleash their hatred onto of the slave-owners, whether real or not.

He simply couldn’t do anything about it even if he wanted to. He had to keep his attention on the task at hand, namely, how to overcome Geltan Redoubt and then push his Fourth Corps further north.

And if Sebak had to sacrifice a few thousand civilians for a speedy advance and spare his troops from a battle of attrition against determined Owlstrian troops, then he was ready to do it.

Still, Sebak felt bitterness in his mouth each time he thought about it.

He wanted to convince himself that now they, sphinxes just like him or Mantis or Raz, were the enemy. That it had been their rebellion against the Pharaoh’s authority to sign their collective fates. For some reason, it wasn’t as easy as he thought.

“I thank you, both for your report and the important points you have raised,” he said at length at the three of them, his voice kept at a neutral tone. “It won’t be simple, but I’ll have a few words with the miralayis and see if something can be done to keep their troops in check when the time comes.”

Sebak kept it intentionally vague. He was going to write them about the issue, and without a doubt all would promise to keep their earth-ponies on a tighter leash. Whether or not that would prove to be feasible was any creature’s guess.

Mulazim Raz Haget nodded. “Thank you, sir.” Then, with a smile, he added, “I know this is going to be tough, but I hope we can at least spare even a few of them. I mean, they’re sphinxes just like us.”

Sebak said nothing but limited himself to a stiff nod. Glancing back to Mantis, he noticed his lips twisting into what could only be described as an uncomfortable grimace.

There was no need of words to know what that meant. Raz was indeed young blood.

“If there are no further matters, I think I’ve kept you here more than enough,” Sebak said, rising from his chair. Mantis, Raz and Garais all mirrored him shortly after.

“Convey my congratulations to Meth once you get back to the Thirty-Seventh.” All three sphinxes bowed their heads simultaneously before him, to which Sebak replied with a small nod of his own.

“I pray the Chosen Twenty to guide your path and shield you from peril,” he added, reciting the old formula.

And, deep in his heart, Sebak prayed the Twenty that the sandstorm about to descend on Sphigypt would be a quick one.

Author's Note:

Aaah, don't you love when an author follows his update schedule? I certainly do.

Jokes aside, this chapter has been a true slog for me. I had to re-write it three time before I was finally satisfied, and I still have many reservations about the final form. If you also add real life taking his toll, well, let's just say I'm happy to be able to finally move foward.
So, what about the future? Well, it's clear that my schedule didn't work once, so I'm not going to make other similar promises, but I'll try to keep a much more fluid time-limit on my work. Yeah, readers don't like it, but writing this story is a new and excting experience for me, and I want to enjoy it.
Until next time, have an happy Christmas, folks!

Comments

[Merchant Mariner]

Good read of a chapter, those re-writes sure were worth it if that's the result. I'm surprised the story doesn't have more readers with quality like that. The geopolitics involved are downright fascinating, trying to piece it all together. That's some beautiful worldbuilding.

If I may suggest:
You could cut down on chapter size to improve your update schedule. This chapter alone could easily be cut in three more published separately, and you'd have better reader retention with the more frequent updates. I'm aware that might make some chapters feel like the story isn't advancing, but if that means one little chapter every month instead of one every three month the result isn't that different.

Just my little grain of salt.