Hegira: Eternal Delta

by Guardian_Gryphon

Chapter 5

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Ninth Day, Celestial Calendar

Fyrenn enjoyed evening watch. The comfort of smoldering coals, bracingly fresh cool air, a full stomach, and keen eyes was surpassed only by the comfort of the presence of his family. He tilted one tufted ear backwards, indulging in the sound of the group's calm rhythmic breathing.

The group had departed Neighvada that morning, having sent word of their forthcoming return to the Gryphon capitol by messenger the previous night. All had agreed that a full sleep cycle in actual beds would be beneficial before setting out again.

Fyrenn stared out over the side of the hill the group had chosen to camp on. Pine trees, interspersed with occasional hardwoods, blanketed the grassy slope all the way down to a small stream, where the landscape changed over into a pastoral plain that stretched on for miles to the south.

The scene was well lit, for a Gryphon, by the illumination of the moon and stars above. Equestria's sky was a stunning expanse of black velvet, studded with glittering multicolored diamonds and silver.

Fyrenn was never sure what he loved most; The wonderfully unique, ever-changing, always-welcoming sky, or the verdant and diverse land below. Having grown up with no plants, no animals, no sun, and no moon, he was sometimes struck with a simple gratitude for the blessing of a living world.

As much as he relished the expanses of earth and sky, he relished even more his ability to defy gravity and be master of either. When he was known as Isaac Wrenn, he had suffered a degenerative condition in his eyes. Wrenn had been reduced to wearing barely semi-legal SONAR-based implants that painted his world in a cruelly color-devoid palette of digitized blues and teals.

He had also been barred from the one career he had desired above all things, even since childhood; Becoming a fighter pilot. On reflection, Fyrenn had often wondered if he had always been a Gryphon-in-spirit without quite knowing it. From the earliest of ages he could remember whizzing through the house barefooted, a small model of a Scythe clutched in-hand, imaging ever-growing exploits of daring and bravery in the battlefield of the sky.

But at last, he had wings of his own on which to explore and tame the heavens, and he wouldn't have traded them for anything.

Nonetheless, deep down, Fyrenn continued to wonder what it would have been like to pilot a sleek fighting craft at speeds well in excess of the sound barrier. He unconsciously reached up to rub his eyes, grateful for their clarity and power.

The condition that had befallen his human ocular organs had not been natural. Most natural ailments could be treated with gene therapy, but the damage had been utterly inoperable. The severity of the injury had been the result of a bioplasmic grenade.

Fyrenn winced at a flash of memory; An impassioned plea for change, an enraged and twisted face, and the image of the grenade as it arced above his head, framed by the sight picture of his sidearm as he pulled the trigger, the barrel aimed squarely at the occipital lobe of his best friend.

Robert Gilchrist. Or more appropriately, Robert Gavin, although the man had also gone by many other aliases as a result of his time at the helm of the PER. One he had been Isaac Wrenn's closest friend, back when he was still Human, and still working as a bodyguard for an Earthgov Councilor.

Gilchrist had changed everything on that fateful day; Entering the Council chamber to attempt an assassination via bioplasmic grenade. A reaction triggered by anti-interspecies marriage laws intended to boost Conversion rates.

Fyrenn had thought his friend dead, by his own hand. The pall of his actions and inactions had haunted him for years.

The russet and burgundy Gryphon jolted, a wave of painful emotions coursing through his soul with a severity that he hadn't felt since the day of Gilchrist's *actual* death, three years previous. The flash of pain brought with it a vague image.
A pair of red narrowed eyes, framed by skeletal eye sockets.

Fyrenn jolted once more, physically, and peered into the darkness. Every fiber of his predatory muscles tensed, wings prepared for flight, legs cocked like springs, claws digging into the grass beneath him ever so slightly.

A voice at his side brought his head around slightly, one eye focused on the owner, with the other still trained partially on the area of his suspicions, "See something?"

Kephic moved with the grace and silence of a stalking lion, coming to stand quietly at Fyrenn's side, gazing out across the plains in the direction of the red Gryphon's body.

Fyrenn shook his head slowly, "I'm not sure."

The answer was highly unusual. Gryphons were rarely unsure of something they had seen, possessing the not merely the best eyes of any living creature, but a spectacular photographic memory similar to that of Alicorns, Dragons, and Changelings.

Kephic raised an eyebrow. Fyrenn inhaled deeply, "I... Thought I saw eyes. Red eyes."

His monochromatic brother stiffened reflexively, the edges of his beak turning downwards in a sharp angle of concern, "Wisp?"

Fyrenn inclined his head in acknowledgement. The two Gryphons stood for nearly a quarter hour in total unmoving absolute silence. The only movement was their eyes, ever scanning and re-scanning the world before them.

They had encountered the creatures' direct presence only once, but the battle had very nearly cost them their lives. Their appearance was like a demon; The skeleton of a Pony with a scorpion tail that could whip deadly barbs and pierce bone, alloy, and flesh.

The creatures had an aura of energy, the true being possessing the bones, that had the capacity to pull the fragments back together if they were not sufficiently separated. Not only did the Wisps possess reflexes and movement speeds equal to a Gryphon, they also possessed the ability to sense, reflect, and manipulate emotions in others, fostering negativity and feeding off of it in turn.

After the feeling of tactical concern had finally passed fully, Kephic turned to his brother with an expression of more familial concern, "Are you alright?"

Fyrenn sighed, and nodded. He allowed the silence to pass for several more seconds before replying slowly, "I want to thank you again. I know we've had this conversation before. But it still bears saying. You did me a greater kindness than you'll ever fully know."

He gazed at Kephic, recalling the expression of equal parts grim resolve, and satisfaction, that had graced the speckled Gryphon's face as the resounding 'crack' of his rifle's shot died away. The shot that ended Gilchrist's life, so that Fyrenn's could be spared. And so that he might be spared the burden of ending Robert's life a second time, or worse, coming to terms with a dim and broken facsimile of forgiveness.

Kephic slung a wing around his brother in a brief hug, "I think I understand. And as I've said before; You will always have my support, and my love, and my blade. As you did then."

They stood in a more comfortable silence, reminiscing, until the crack of an ember from the fire brought them back to the present. Kephic sighed, "Do you ever think about her? Where she went? What she's doing now? How we'll find her?"

Both Gryphons knew the unspoken antecedent to the nameless pronoun. The driving evil behind Gilchrist's own foolishness. The purple coated, navy maned mare who had vanished in a star-like apparition, after forcing Gilchrist to attempt to murder Fyrenn.

"Veritas?" The red Gryphon spoke her name more as an epithet than an appellation. He shifted stance, and nodded, "Often. Three years and I still have no idea what to make of her, or what we saw that night. I can't even reason out the riddle of my own words."

"In bonds of family six set out, to seek The Dispossessed, In joy and sorrow, grief and strife, bearing morbid stress. Where Sun and Moon the expanse share, the six will find the power, To put an end to Darkness, strife; The war of Night's own hour."

The brothers turned to see that their sibling had joined them. Varan ushered them back to the circle of the firelight, moving carefully to avoid waking Carradan. He kept his voice low, "I have applied much thought to the riddle as well. Our discussions of it never seem to yield much fruit beyond what we have already reasoned out."

Fyrenn nodded, as he took up a leonine recumbent position, back legs stretched out behind him, forelegs similarly in front, and crossed, "Six set out; Well there's me, you two, Stan, and as far as family goes the next closest thing we have are Skye and Neyla..."

As Fyrenn trailed off, Kephic took up the discourse, "The Dispossessed... If not the Wisps then what? They definitely seem dispossessed of corporeal form in their natural state... But there is no guarantee that they are the answer to that line...."

Varan nodded slowly, finishing the thought, "And the rest appears to imply a coming war, and the solution to provide for victory, but in most... Enigmatic terms."

Fyrenn inclined his head, then stared into the fire. The riddle taunted him with the tantalizing prospect of answers to the deepest mystery in his life. And the ominous tone of its implicit warning.

He had spoken the lines himself, moments after effectively 'dying,' having lingered for some time in a coma sustained from injuries. A mere fraction of a second before his own living will specified that he was to be put down with a lethal dose of sedatives, he had come bolt upright on his hospital bed, and recited the lines.

It was not until *after* that moment that he recalled waking up, so the riddle had been recounted to him by his brothers. He could not even remember speaking the words.

Airing his thoughts as they occurred to him, Fyrenn slowly etched circles in the dirt with an extended talon.

"If ever we were on the eve of war it is now... Diamond Dogs under the auspices of some party, perhaps the PER, are raiding our settlements and those of our allies. A disquiet is creeping over the land; I may well have just seen, or at least felt the presence of, a Wisp. The Changelings will not react well to our most recent offensives, and the HLF have been so quiet recently that I can't help but think we're in for a world of trouble."

Varan nodded once more, staring into the fire as if to follow both Fyrenn's gaze, and his line of thought, "Disquiet is indeed the appropriate term."

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 6th, Gregorian Calendar

City of Glass. The Rain City. Neyla found Vancouver's nicknames quite apt. The metropolis was one of the least densely populated on the West Coast of the Northamerizone, despite its eight million inhabitants.

Neyla glanced up at the forebodingly dark sky as she disembarked the maglev. A slick glimmering sheen of water covering the platform's duracrete surface spoke to the passage of a recent downpour.

She created something of a stir with her passing as she made her way to the station exit; Gryphons were not so uncommon anymore as to draw interest all the time merely with their presence, but the sight of one riding a train was fairly unusual.

Neyla had chosen the maglev over flying herself to Vancouver partly for the time to rest it afforded, and partly because she had never had a chance to ride a train for any lengthy period of time, and she wished to add the experience to her growing repertoire of Earthly memories.

The blue and tan Gryphon had developed a strong interest in Humanity's technology and popular culture. From the first time she had set paw and claw in New York, she had been enamored with the peculiar, but refreshingly new viewpoint the bare-skinned creatures offered.

Neyla paused as she found herself standing on the sidewalk beyond the terminal. She had arrived in New York only to find that there were new orders waiting from JRSF centcom; Proceed to Vancouver and stand ready for an operational briefing.

Tirinel and the rest of her unit had already been re-routed, so she was left to her own devices. A situation she was quite used-to, having been utterly independent since a young age.

Having arrived, however, she was unsure what was expected of her. She pulled her DaTab from the small satchel between her wings, and quickly checked her official military communications account. Nothing.

Neyla sighed, and took a moment to scan the landscape around her as she considered her options.

Vancouver felt much less dense than Manhattan, a perception mostly enforced by the greater distance between buildings, lower density and volume of mega-skyscrapers, and higher profusion of artificial trees and grass.

The structures themselves were often shorter, wider, and composed of an airier glass-centric construction with minimalist visible framing and support.

As she examined the city, the Gryphoness concluded that, in the absence of orders, she would find some way to pass the time until the enigmatic silence surrounding her next mission was lifted. A soft rumble from her stomach provided a more pressing, immediate, and basic objective.

She glanced behind her at the train station. A hanging light-monorail was departing the terminal on one side, and a VTOL was rising from a pad somewhere on the opposite side of the compound. Neyla could see a few signs for restaurants through the arcing transparent front wall of the building.

She scanned the menus, attracting some intrigued stares from passing pedestrians, and concluded that she would rather hold off on food long enough to find an eatery with proper meat, than indulge immediately and settle for synthetic Earth 'meat.'

Synth-meat was, for the most part, absolutely vile to a carnivorous predator, such as a Gryphon, who was thoroughly accustomed to real, juicy, nutritious, flavorful *meat.* Neyla had known a few Converts who remained accepting of certain brands of synthetics, but even so they always preferred the real product.

She smiled inwardly as she was reminded of Fyrenn; Having been an Earthgov Special Forces Marine, he had become so acclimated to Synth-Meat that he continued to have the capacity to stomach it comfortably, even post-Conversion.

The Gryphoness sighed, putting the memory abruptly out of her head, and stretched. Trains and aircraft had slowly begun to make changes to accommodate Gryphons, just as they had already changed to accommodate Ponies. Nonetheless, Neyla's seat had been more cramped than she would have preferred, and her muscles were paying the price.

She slowly scissored her wings open, leaning first to one side, then the other, and stretching the limbs out to their farthest tolerances to ease away the cramps. With the soreness alleviated, she took to the air with a swift beat of her wings, leaving behind swirling downdrafts of rain mist kicked up from the pavement.

From above, it was easy to select a destination. Two years of Earth-side service had taught Neyla how to use her acute vision to recognize and classify aspects of Human cities. The usefulness of this pattern recognition went beyond tactical benefits, and provided a valuable glimpse into the civil make-up of a city, including the most likely spots to find good food.

She picked out a nearby eat-in restaurant that, according to its menu, had real meat shipped in from Equestria, via an agreement with the city's Bureau. More than the menu, the building intrigued the Gryphon as well; It was one of the few constructs she could see that was rendered in an obviously older style, with stone construction, pillars, molding, and gilding.

Neyla tucked her wings partially, and dipped into a wide, high speed, sweeping arc that brought her to her chosen destination in a matter of moments, with no expenditure of wing power. At the last second, she pulled up short, and stuck a perfect landing on all-fours in a clear patch of sidewalk.

Her arrival generated a moment of surprised attention from nearby pedestrians, both Human and Pony, before they fully processed the landing and went back to their business. Neyla smirked ever-so-slightly; Gryphons might have become a known and accepted quantity on Earth, but they obviously still held a certain surprise factor.

Three years was hardly enough time to become fully accustomed to the idea of a new species for most people, especially not with the advent of other Conversion types complicating the issues at-play.

Neyla ducked into the eatery. The interior was lovingly crafted to emulate an old twentieth century fine dining establishment. A synthetic crimson carpet smothered the floor in several inches of fabric that felt quite nice under paw and claw.

The walls and ceiling were covered in an intricate molding pattern, covered at intervals with understated gilding trim. The smell was heavenly. Every type of fresh food imaginable seemed to have an ephemeral olfactory presence.

Neyla made her way to the bar. The stools in most establishments had been modified over the years to be highly adjustable. She lowered an empty seat to a height that would keep her head at roughly the same altitude as other patrons. Plus perhaps a few inches.

She took a seated position on her haunches, paws providing a stable grip on the stool, and waited for the bartender.

The Gryphoness acquired a drink quickly, something Humans referred to as 'beer.' It bore some vague similarity to Gryphic meade, albeit with noticeable differences stemming not only from the peculiar methods of fermentation, but from the synthetic base chemicals that stood-in for organic components.

Like all Gryphons, Neyla's metabolism and immune defenses precluded the possibility of even a slight 'buzz,' much less inebriation. She had simply acquired a fondness for certain human cuisine and beverages.

For a few quiet minutes, she nursed the Gryphon-sized tankard she had been served. She noted, with mild interest, that the majority of non-Human patrons in the building were other Gryphons. While there were a few Ponies, the ratio was unusually low, likely as a result of the establishment's meat-centric menu.

She was on the verge of lapsing into hypothesizing about various cultural interactions centered on the preferred cuisine of differing kinds, when a voice from behind interrupted her.

"Neyla! This is a nice surprise!"

The Gryphon turned to see Kara Sorven. The two-star general was one of the human JRSF liaisons, and had been present for the events of the foiled PER attack on Manhattan in 2114. She hadn't known the woman long, but Neyla had been quite impressed with her leadership skills, bravery, and tenacity.

"General Sorven? I'm surprised to see you here..." Neyla paused as her gaze shifted down, and she noticed the two young blond-headed boys at the general's side. They couldn't have been more than ten or eleven, and were staring up at the Gryphoness with an intense wide-eyed fascination.

She smiled down on the twins, and then glanced up at Sorven, "Are these your fledglings?"

The General chuckled and held one hand to her mouth, suppressing her mirth to prevent it from exploding into outright improprietous laughter. She nodded, laying a hand on the head of each child in turn, "Yes, these are my boys; James and Michael."

The latter of the twins abruptly worked up the courage to speak, his voice ringing out with surprising clarity and confidence for his age, "Are you a Knight?"

Neyla snorted and shook her head, a smile pulling at the corners of her beak in-spite of herself, "No. I'm not very good at following orders. My job with Earthgov is fairly... 'Loose' in the command structure. At home, I'm called a 'Sentinel.' "

Michael scrambled up to a standing position atop the stool to Neyla's left, prompting James to do the same with the stool on her right. Breathlessly reaching near-eye-level with the Gryphon, he posed his own question, "What's a Sentinel?"

Neyla sighed, and her smile turned slightly wistful, "It means I stand alone, but can still work with others. Sometimes."

James gawked unabashedly, "Wooow! So you don't have to take orders from *anyone*? Even Mom has to take orders!"

Sorven glared good-naturedly, "*Everyone* has to take orders at some point in their lives. You and your brother, for instance, are ordered to march right back to the table and finish your kelp."

The mandate drew simultaneous groans from the twins, "Moooom!"

Michael pouted, "We want to talk to the Gryphon!"

James nodded, and made a face of disgust so comically amusing, that Neyla was very nearly forced into fits of laughter, "And besides, Mom, Kelp is *nasty.*"

The general nodded, "Yes it is. Its also good for your bones and muscles, and if you follow my order, then maybe you can come back here and join us for dessert." She leaned forward conspiratorially, "*Real* chocolate even."

The twins dashed away so swiftly, that Neyla paused to wonder if fledglings, of all races, were somehow party to an unknown form of innate magic that gave them their seemingly limitless energy.

Sorven collapsed onto the vacated stool to Neyla's right, and sighed, "Those two. I love them to bits but... They've been a real trip to handle since their father passed."

Neyla inclined her head, "When?"

The general shook her head, inhaling, "Oh... Five years ago now. Much as those boys nearly wrecked me for all the effort they needed to stay afloat... They're also the only reason I had to go on, and still the best one."

Neyla nodded, then chipped away at her generous portion of meat in silence for a full minute. After Sorven had ordered, and drunk most of, a glass of something called 'cherry,' the Gryphoness indulged her curiosity, "So why are you here?"

Sorven raised her head from her glass, and musing, "In Vancouver? I'd bet a month's pay, same reason as you. Classified opspec briefing for some kind of upcoming operation."

The Gryphon nodded again, a single blunt affirmation. Sorven continued, after a sip from her glass, "Why am I here talking to *you*? Well." The General shoved her newly emptied glass away, and turned to face Neyla, "To cut a very long story short, I'm *strongly* considering Conversion. Myself and the boys."

Neyla immediately understood, and she twisted her head to face Sorven directly, "You're considering the Gryphon program."

Sorven raised an eyebrow, "More than considering. I've more or less made my decision. I just need some questions answered; The kind best answered by a Gryphon, but not a new Convert. I need an honest appraisal borne from years of hard-knocks. For their sake." She inclined her head at her twin sons, who were busy at a nearby table, apparently having started a contest to see who could make the most laughter-inducing disgusted face each time they took a bite of kelp.

Neyla cocked her head slightly, "What do you want to know?"

The General jerked her head curtly at her sons, "Kids. What's their life like?"

The Gryphoness sighed, and breathed deeply, "Honestly? As someone who spent more of their fledgehood than they should have had to without parents? As someone who is clanless? I'd still recommend it overall. I'm an exception. True there are many fledglings who lose their parents to battle, but they're always cared for. Family drives us. Second only to faith, and in a large way part of it. You wouldn't have to worry about their future ever again. James and Michael would be gladly accepted and welcomed like any other fledgling, wherever they went and whatever they wanted to be, even if the worst happened to you."

Sorven smiled, a genuinely relieved and pleased expression that seemed refreshingly rare for her features. After a long pause, she sighed, and gestured to the bartender, tapping out an order for two pieces of fudge on the holo-surface of the bar, "Now my problem will be getting a sponsor."

Neyla shot a glance at the twins, smiling as they looked up and waved, "On the contrary. That won't be a problem at all."

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Tenth Day, Celestial Calendar

Tih’ré Seli’hn; Capital of the Gryphon Kingdoms, largest city in the empire, and oldest inhabited settlement of the species. Fyrenn loved it.

In old Gryphic, the separate written and spoken language Gryphons used for historical documents, and architecture, Tih’ré Seli’hn meant 'Strong Mountain.' Like all words in Gryphic, it had a far more complex and specific meaning that was better translated, 'A mountain eyrie, strong because of its tight-knit family of warriors.'

The nomenclature was very apt.

Fyrenn, Kephic, Varan, and Carradan crested a peak, and beheld their home. The journey from their last camp had taken a full day, so it was once again the 'golden hour' of evening, just between late afternoon and early dusk. The same time of day that Fyrenn had first seen the city, not long after his Conversion.

The settlement was built directly into, and on, the side of a huge mountain peak. The central peak housed the castle-proper, court of the King, armories, vaults, and library. The exterior buildings flowed out from the main Caer, ensconced firmly within the rock, to fill the slopes and a small highland glen.

The free-standing structures were more akin to modern Earth skyscrapers than the perhaps expected medieval aesthetic, substituting inscribed arcs and beautiful leaf-like structuring for more traditional architectural features.

The independent buildings were mostly dwellings, shops, and external defensive structures; Either freestanding, or near the top third of the incredibly tall, thick coniferous trees ringing, and sparsely populating, the glen.

Gryphons were a truly directionally unlimited society; While most flew, some also walked over shorter spans. The city was, therefore, possessed of streets, crafted from precisely shaped cobblestones.

The majority of the structures were built of a special type of seamless, smooth, flowing stone that allowed for graceful curves and arches; Fantastic shapes that made the city appear, in a strange way, to be a natural part of the mountain, despite its obvious artificial construction.

Fyrenn knew from experience that the flowing-stone was essentially impossible to destroy, once fully set, without the right knowledge, chemicals, and many months of time.

On the whole, Tih’ré Seli’hn was a very open city. Fyrenn smiled as the golden rays of the sun bathed the swooping, neo-Celtic-like structures and their inhabitants, in a warm welcoming light. As he had on his first trip, he noted the hidden defenses of the city with a grin. Deployable steel panels, hidden alloy spikes, and pop-out arbalests meant that the open nature of the city could quite swiftly be changed, converting it into an unassailable fortress.

The Gryphic military sensibility in no way hampered the city's ability to act as a display of artistry. The flowing-stone of the settlement was trimmed with marble, steel, and burnished bronze. Windows tended to be immense, unsupported by filigree or visible framing.

They were, as far as Fyrenn knew, made of some type of clear shatterproof crystal, and they could swing, slide, iris, and recess in all manner of inventive ways to allow passage of light, wind, and Gryphons.

The group made directly for the Concourse, a part of the mountain stronghold framed between two guard towers that opened onto a large semi-circular landing space, intricately inscribed with twisting designs that contained written Gryphic script.

Fyrenn dipped a wing and increased his speed as he noted the presence of a familiar figure on the Concourse. He beat the rest of the group, arriving in a burst of air as he was forced to flare his wings completely to avoid an unceremonious crash.

He strode forward, smiling from one side of his beak to the other, and fell into a bear-hug of wings with the roan Gryphon, "Sildinar! I wasn't told you'd be returning anytime soon?"

Sildinar pulled back and smiled wryly, "I was nearly as unaware as you. I returned for a short stay to see to small affairs, only for my father to ask that I stay longer. Your message beat you here by several hours."

Fyrenn smiled and sighed contentedly, "It's good to see you again." Sildinar had been a primary driver in cutting through the red tape necessary to get Fyrenn into the first, or for that matter any, conversion slot.

The roan Gryphon was older than Kephic and Varan by several decades, and outranked them all, being reigning prince of the Kingdoms. Fyrenn hadn't known when he first met him, and it had come as something of a shock when he first discovered the tie.

Over time, it had become normative and comfortable. Gryphons took command and authority quite seriously, but in a way that was often very loose at the same time. Leadership was always based on close ties of friendship, respect, and sometimes even family.

Sildinar moved to take Kephic and Varan into salutatory embraces as they arrived, and he even exchanged a firm hoof/claw shake with Carradan, smiling as he did so. The endorsement of the other Gryphons had gone a long way towards building Sildinar's faith in the reporter.

As the all-around greetings came to an end, two more Gryphons came forth from the mountain. King Siidran was a similar shade of roan to his son, but with streaks and patches of darker fur and feathers. Queen Linnea was a shade of dark near-black blue that shifted towards purple in some lights, with patches of lighter fur and feathers that were more of a cream shade.

Both royal Gryphons were decked out in ceremonial armor, mostly comprised of Gryphic alloy, with decorative trim of bronze, silver, and diamonds. Gryphons almost never used malleable substances like gold for armor or weapons, as a rule, even for ceremonial pieces.

Siidran smiled, and greeted each member of the group in turn, coming last to Fyrenn with a warm smile, "Welcome home Fyrenn. Your journey went well?"

Fyrenn nodded, returning the smile, "Well enough, but with its own share of foreboding."

Linnea snorted and shook her head, "There will be time enough, and then some, for reports. First, I think rest, food, and drink are in order."

Carradan grinned, "I've said it before ma'am, and I'll say it again; You speak my language, right to my soul by way of my stomach."

Linnea's laughter was like the flowing melody of a cool stream, "I have learned much from my mate, and from my crown, and foremost of these lessons is that a warrior needs a full stomach and a rested spirit as often as one can get them."

The Gryphons, and Pegasus, made their way into the mountain Caer. The halls were wide, tall, vaulted, and had windows or skylights wherever possible. The airy nature of the structure, combined with a multitude of clever lighting devices dispelled, almost entirely, the sensation of being underground.

They quickly reached the great hall, which was only one floor above the Concourse. The room was a long, vaguely ovoid space with an arched ceiling of smooth rock and oaken beams. The entryway afforded access to staircases, and the corridors on the central level. The opposite wall was one single pure crystal window that looked out upon the Concourse with its guard towers, the city, and the valley beyond.

Much of the center of the room was dominated by a huge oval hearth. Tables and Gryphic 'chairs' that were used in times of feasts and large meetings, were pushed up against either wall, well out of the way.

At the far end of the room, before the window, sat a smaller round table with chairs, and the royal thrones surrounding it. The thrones themselves were intricate stone masonry with bronze filigree, that somehow managed to be eye-catching, yet not at all ostentatious.

Fyrenn spied, with a growing sense of hunger and relief, skewers of meat already laid on the hearth, along with more than enough brown bread, rice, and dried apricots to round out a full meal for not only the assembled Gryphons, but Stanley as well. Judging by the smell, the meat itself was equal parts scallops and salted boar.

Most tantalizing of all was a cask laid by the table, along with a profusion of stone tankards. Fyrenn knew by the markings on the side that it was Heather Meade, and by the beads of condensation on the aged oak, that it was fresh from some dark and cool cellar.

Heather Meade was, to other races, one of the strongest non-Draconic intoxicants in existence. To Gryphons, Dragons, and other races immune to inebriation it was a kingly delicacy of brews; The most sought-after type of spirits in all the northern lands.

To Fyrenn, it held extra special significance as one of the first Equestrian drinks besides Coffee that he had ever tasted. During his trials of Knighthood, the King had wagered a cask on his victory. The aged brew had been a sweet, refreshing, fulfilling way to celebrate victory. The joyous memories of the moment had bonded strongly with the flavor.

The Gryphons all set to finishing the preparation of their meat. Carradan, for his part, indulged in the rice, apricots, and bread to compensate for his mild meat aversion. Time spent with the Gryphons had allowed him to develop the stomach to smell cooked meat, and observe its consumption, without discomfort. But he still shied away from actually consuming it himself.

As the group took their seats one by one, Fyrenn plied Sildinar with a burning question, "So how are things Earthside? It's been four or five months since I last heard anything."

Sildinar took a deep draught of his Meade before answering, his tone calm but grim, "The situation has deteriorated badly. The Bureaus are suffering, the political climate is imploding, and whatever handle we thought we had on the PER and the HLF has vanished. True enough they're quiet... But in this case that's not the best of signs."

Varan stared grimly into his tankard, "Our news is no better."

Siidran glowered at his plate, spearing a piece of meat with a talon, "Your missive mentioned that you discovered critical information about the recent attacks..."

Kephic nodded, swallowing the bread he was chewing, and pausing to take a sip of Meade before replying, "We have the answers... But we're not going to be able to read them. Not yet."

Linnea sighed, and leaned back in her throne, "This ought to be interesting."

Over the next half-hour, each member of the group took turns recounting their past month of activities; The clues they had followed to the Creaking Pines Tavern, the brawl, the map they had recovered from the Trolls, the train battle, and the documents it had yielded.

When the tale was completed, Siidran unconsciously mimicked his mate's pose, leaning back in his throne. He steepled his claws before him, a thoughtful expression locking his eyes on the middle-distance as his mind churned over the new information.

It was Sildinar who spoke his thoughts first, "Troubling. To say the least."

Siidran nodded slowly, "Though, I am not sure what is more troubling; The fact that the PER, or some unknown entity, is using the Trolls to take slaves and attack our borders, or the fact that you may have sighted a Wisp well within the borders of civilized land."

Fyrenn tapped the surface of the table with a solitary talon, "Well the main thing is to get these documents decoded. *If,* and that's one very big if... If I saw a Wisp, then there's nothing we can do about it right now. But these attacks? If we can find out who's been orchestrating them, we can put a *permanent* end to them."

Sildinar nodded one curtly, "Agreed. We have never allowed slavery, or provocation of our borders, to go unanswered."

Siidran glared out the window, as if searching the landscape for the culprit and skewering them with his gaze, "And we will not begin today."

He turned to gaze at Fyrenn, Varan, Kephic, and Carradan, his expression changing subtly to one of grim approval, "You have all done very well. I will have the documents delivered to the Library and, hopefully, decrypted shortly."

Linnea placed a conciliatory claw on her mate's shoulder, then offered the group a soft, empathetic expression, "That will take at least several hours, if not days. You should all rest easy while you have the opportunity."

Fyrenn raised his tankard, "I'll drink to that ma'am."

Kephic smirked and raised his tankard likewise, as did Carradan and Varan. The latter nodded slowly, "Aye. We all will."

Author's Note:

Music Tracks:
-----------------

"Watch and Remember" - http://youtu.be/Yt6hUdbwLEg

"The Rain City" - http://youtu.be/CXldUfjMG6Q

"Tih’ré Seli’hn" - http://youtu.be/QjpTGEwUQk8

Comments

[williamcll]

No fish at all?

[Westphalian_Musketeer]

So, we have a bead on Fyrenn, Kephic, Varran, Carradan, and Neyla, but what about Skye? Where is that little hacker pony, and what is she getting up to?

[MetBoy]

Innnteresting... I'd been wondering how the 'strict requirements for gryphon potion' would interact with the new laws Re: not splitting families.

2238336 After some further consideration... There are a number of softwood trees, (pine, fir, etc) that will drop branches in a high wind. With large enough tree farms, I can see that being a major source of biofuels for ponies. And remember, the pony option is going to likely attract a lot of 'Green' humans, who wouldn't want to repeat the mistakes of earth, including adding huge amounts of carbon to the biosphere, an issue that biofuels wouldn't have.

[Azure Beat]

So, have you ever thought about borrowing some ideas from other stories? Like the pegasus wing blades that appear in the Winningverse, or the fragmented unicorn swords that were in The Immortal Game? Maybe some clever converts on the frontier, dealing with some trouble. . .

[Kevin Lee]

Having dabbled with encryption in my own story, my partner taught me something valuable.

Solving the encrypted messages depends on who they're meant for--
If they're meant for PER/HLF/Chrysalis/Wisps to read them--good luck with that! A century after today's CIA/NSA, they'd have access to Earth's best encryption schemes such that not even your story's Earthgov would realistically be able to break them.
If, however, the intended recipients were diamond dogs, then they're likely very simple codes. Only problem is, even if this, unless you have a lot of samples to work on, simple codes can be really tough to crack.

[Guardian_Gryphon]

8825866
Oh yes, I'm a CS major so I got to know a fair bit about the math behind encryption.

Don't assume that just because a character says they'll have an easy time cracking something, that it will necessarily be true.
Gryphons tend towards overconfidence...