> Wings of Iron: The Sphigyptian Affair
>  by TheGMan
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Map of Sphigypt
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


> Chapter 1: Foreign Affairs
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


“By 998, the balance of power in Sphigypt, already frail by the end of the Southern Campaign, was on the verge of crashing down. The Manehattan Summer Summit in the same year had miserably failed to reach a favourable solution, not in small part by the constant disinterest shown by the Kingdom of Owlstria’s representative in taking any position on the issue of unification. The representative from Akhri, on the other hoof, took the chance to reaffirm the independence of the Free Republic from the Pharaoh’s authority, as well as to renew its friendship with Owlstria. However, that did not prevent the latter from continuing the already programmed military withdrawal from the region, reducing its garrisons along the river Nilus even further; in the meantime, the sphinxes would continue on with the build-up of their respective forces during the following months.”



“These events would, as expected, spark a deadly fire across the entire continent.”



– From The Sphigyptian Affair, by Storm Chaser, former colonel of the 2ndFlying Lances Pegasus Regiment and military history professor at the Cloudsdale Academy. 


Free Republic of Akhri,

City of Kaska . . .  

“You are cheating.”

The griffon didn’t bother with a response. His claw went for the nearby teapot and he proceeded to refill a ceramic cup. He raised it and took a sip, sweet liquid rushing down his throat. Then, as he observed the game board before him, Blackwing allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction, which he then proceed to suppress just as quickly as it had appeared.

“If I didn’t know you better, I would have mistaken you for a sore loser, Naqib Leys,” he drawled.

Something resembling a growl came out of Ley’s throat. He was a brown-furred sphinx, a little shorter than average, with his mane weaved into many long braids and fastened by red and blue laces, as per local custom. He did not wear his armour, though a well-built physique and the many scars on his body gave no illusion about his dangerousness.

Blackwing kept a polite smile. He leaned back in his seat and scratched idly at the pitch-black feathers on the back of his head, the only patch of real colour amidst pale, greyish fur. 

“In all seriousness though,” he added, keeping his tone friendly, “how am I supposed to cheat? This isn’t even a card game.” 

“Maybe you should simply face the fact that you’re not that good,” he wondered, loud enough for Ley to hear.    

The sphinx glared at him once more, his lips slowly peeling back. Blackwing caught the shimmer of sharp white teeth, but he never broke eye contact, matching Ley’s irate expression of with a cold smile of his own. 

Baring their fangs to one another was something sphinxes did quite often, especially if young males. It wasn’t just a simple challenge but also a show of force between two opponents and a chance to measure strength. They would hardly come to blows, though; eventually one of the two would have to back down and concede the dispute to his adversary. 

However, in many more cases that was just a last gesture of defiance, a way for a proud sphinx to save face when being on the losing side.     

Unsurprisingly, this would prove to be the latter, as Ley’s expression seemed to finally relax. He let out a half-hearted sigh. 

“Fine, I guess you’re right.” He added in a somewhat apologetic tone, “Sorry for that. The work is driving me half crazy.”

Blackwing nodded. A proud sphinx indeed. “It's the same here, I'm afraid.” He gestured at the teapot. “Tea?”

Ley shot a glance to the empty cup in front of him, then shrugged. “Aye, that would be nice.” 

He barely waited for Blackwing to finish before his paws went at the newly filled cup, lifting it to his mouth and gulping it down unceremoniously. 

“I wish I knew why I keep on playing this game with you, griffon,” he said, setting the cup back down on the desk. “A more sensible sphinx would have stopped by now.”

“You must really love to lose, don’t you, Ley?” 

“You can smile all you want, but one these days I’m going to wipe that smug look off your face, Menhit smite me if I don’t!” he announced, his tail slowly swinging back and forth from behind his seat. 

Blackwing arched an eyebrow, clearly amused. “I keep hearing a lot of bold words coming out of your mouth. I take it then you’d like a rematch?”

Ley chuckled. “That would be the third game in a row.” He shook his head. “I think I’ll pass for today.”

“Really now? Has your goddess already abandoned you?”

Ley shrugged. “Even if she had ‒ and I do not believe it for a second ‒ it doesn't matter that much. We have dozens of them, while you-”

“- have only one and we have to stick with Him, I know,” Blackwing conceded.

The banter went on for another hour. After they’d emptied what remained inside the teapot, Blackwing managed to drag the reluctant Naqib into another game. Unsuprisingly, he didn’t fare much better. 

After watching his air forces being swatted out of the imaginary sky once again, Ley finally had enough and called it a day. 

“I’m afraid it’s time for me to head back to the barracks,” he explained, tilting his head towards the nearby clock, as if to emphasize the fact that he was giving up only because so was demanded by his duty. “The Civic Cohort tends to get restless when I’m not keeping an eye on them.” 

Blackwing nodded, fighting to keep down a grin, although a quick glance made him realize the hour. Given the circumstances, he found himself agreeing with Ley. Terms like restless and Civic Cohort meant a lot of things when paired together, most of them surely illegal. Of course, he kept that to himself. 

There was a loud knock at the door. It swung open as Lieutenant Nebula, an orange-coated, red-maned unicorn mare, stepped in and marched up briskly to the desk. She wore her usual green uniform, the officer cap sitting on her head and angled so to keep her horn free.

“Good afternoon, captain,” Nebula saluted smartly. Her horn glowed pale red as an aura of telekinesis unbuckled her saddlebag, revealing a conspicuous bundle of documents inside. She pulled them out and dropped them in front of the griffon. 

“Second Lieutenant Whitepeak has completed the review of our stock. It requires your signature.”

Blackwing sighed. “I’m with a guest right now, lieutenant. Can’t you sign it yourself?”

“I’m afraid not. She was very specific about that detail, sir,” Nebula said. “She stated, and I quote, that the documents required the signature of the commanding CO.” 

Blackwing raised an eyebrow. “That’s nonsense, lieutenant. I don’t deal with logistics. Tell her to send it to the quartermaster.”

“So I told her, sir, but she declined all my attempts to see reason.” Her tone was ice cold as ever.

“Remind me to have a talk with her later, would you?” he almost scowled. By Talos, was that griffoness enjoying being a pain in the arse?

“Of course, sir. Should I also have your blade sharpened for the occasion?”

Blackwing made a scene of thinking about it. Despite her cold and stoic demeanour, he was sure Nebula had a sense of humour buried somewhere underneath it. Or so he hoped. 

“I thank you for the suggestion, lieutenant, but that won’t be necessary. I still need her for the paperwork.” 

While the two were busy discussing the matter, Ley had rose from his seat and was now doing his best to hide an amused smile. He muttered something in Sphigyptian before saying, “Seems like you have your own share of work. I’ll leave you to it.” He moved for the door, then he turned back one last time. “Next week at the same hour, then?”

Blackwing was already sorting through the papers, scribbling down his signature as he went. He gave the sphinx a slight nod. “As always. Have a good evening.”

Ley’s response came as another slip of his native tongue before he made his way out, closing the door behind him. As it clacked into place, Blackwing’s pen stopped, hovering just over the paper. 

He looked up from his seat and waited for a few more seconds to be sure. Then, once the sound of Ley’s paws had faded away, he set the pen aside, took the paper in his claws and crumpled it with a sigh.

The silence was broken by Nebula’s voice. “In case you were wondering, sir, he said-”

“I know what he said, lieutenant,” Blackwing growled, all his previous manners gone. A deep scowl replaced the previous smile. He tossed the paper in a nearby garbage can. “I wonder if he kisses his mother with that muzzle too.” He leaned back in his seat and cast an idle look around.

His office was rather small, occupied by a desk and a pair of chairs, as well as a modest wardrobe in one corner, mirrored by a much larger bookcase in the opposite one. His personal coat lay behind the desk, just beneath the open window. The last one was a necessary arrangement given the night air. 

All considered, it wasn’t that bad; if the typical gossip among the ranks held any truth – and that was a big if – the barracks were even worse.

He glanced at the garbage can, before turning his attention at the mare still standing to his side. “Please Nebula, ask Lieutenant Whitepeak to send me another one. If she says anything, tell her the original got displaced or something.”

“No need, sir,” she stated evenly. “I always ask for additional copies just for these cases.”

Blackwing smiled. He never had had much patience with paperwork, and that was even before he got stuck behind a desk. It wasn’t that he didn’t do his job properly, but rather that any document in his possession had an unusually high chance of getting lost, most of the time under a pile of similar ones. 

To her credit, Lieutenant Nebula had adapted rather quickly by requesting for anything important to be sent in multiple copies. Especially if unpleasant ones. Having her at his side had been one of the few positive aspects of this assignment. 

He doubted though Whitepeak would have approved. Then again, Second Lieutenant Koralia Whitepeak disapproved of anything that didn’t followed military protocol to the letter. 

In hindsight, that also explained why Quartermaster Nikolas had been so eager to get rid of her; nobody wanted around a griffoness fresh from academy who presumed she could do a better job that yours because of her full marks. He would have probably laughed himself to death once he got wind of under whose command she had ended up with. Blackwing had sworn to pull the griffon’s neck as soon as the opportunity arise. 

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Nebula clearing her throat. “May I speak freely, sir?” 

He arched a quizzical eyebrow before nodding in response. 

“This,” she gestured with a hoof around the room, “is probably the most reckless and irresponsible thing I ever seen in all my military career. And that’s setting aside the fact that an officer is taking a direct part in it.”

Blackwing kept himself from rolling his eyes in frustration. He was confident they had finally set that issue aside. Apparently not. 

“As I said before, lieutenant, if you have reservation on the matter, feel free to resign your post.” In truth, he really hoped not; she made the prospect of dealing with paperwork a lot less terrifying.

His claw went for one piece of the game board, a wooden replica of a rearing pegasus hussar, its wing flared. He lifted it as to take a closer look. It was well-made for sure, furnished with a lance, light cuirass, and even a finely adorned helmet. 

He almost pitied the fact that the real ones had long since stopped wearing that outfit, as it was considered nowadays nothing more than a magnet for bullets; the details on the crest were simply marvellous. 

“I think you worry too much.” Blackwing said.

“I was under the impression that was my job.” 

He chuckled. “Fine, let’s assume for a moment you’re right, then. Let’s take it for granted that the Cohort was to notice something, which would imply they managed to get their heads out of their collective backsides. What do you think they’ll do then, lieutenant?”

Seeing as she didn’t answer, Blackwing went on. “True, they may outnumber us, but when push comes to shove, I’m convinced than most of them would rather keep themselves at a safe distance from Owlstrian soldiers. Hell, from any real soldier for that matter. Militias are not famous for discipline or showing initiative.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” he added, “we technically have the law on our side.”

“Last time I checked, the Sphigyptian Code of Law isn’t worth much.”

The griffon scoffed. “I was talking about the one that counts, lieutenant. The Owlstrian law.”

“The colonel won’t like it,” she continued. “And neither will the brass in Akhri if they catch wind of it.”

“Well, that’s hardly something new, right? I guess we’ll have just to keep the matter to ourselves then.” 

“And what about the Naqib?” Nebula asked. “He’ll be furious too.”

Blackwing shrugged. He soon wished to not have done so, as pain exploded anew in his back and wings. 

He cursed silently, both at the pain and at himself. There was a reason after all if Last Aid had prescribed him those painkillers. He kept the painful grimace hidden. 

“By the time he manages to get those thugs back together there won’t be much he can do. And yes, he will be furious.”

That was in truth what bothered him the most. He found it comical somehow, especially considering all those who would have found themselves, for one reason or the other, rightly enraged by his actions. Some of them were his superiors, but Blackwing had been dealing with them for a long time now. Ley was another matter entirely.

From the moment he had set pawn in Kaska, he had found little difference between the numerous smuggler gangs in the Riverside and the local civic cohort. On closer look, the law enforcers were just a different gang, one than wore uniforms and acted little differently. 

Kaska had once been an economic hub on the river Nilus, but the civil war’s aftermath had seen its wealth plummet, with the public order following suit.  

Ley was of a different cloth, and probably the reason why the city council had given him them rank of Naquib in the first place, as well as the command of what remained of the Civic Cohort. They wanted order in the streets and a sphinx willing to take the post, one who wasn’t scared of cracking a few heads on the way. 

Meanwhile, Ley had fought in the last war and had quite some experience on his shoulders but, like many others, had found himself without an occupation. It hadn’t taken him too much thinking before signing himself up.

Blackwing begrudgingly had to admit that Ley knew how to do his job, even if his method might have been a bit crude. 

That moved his features into something resembling a grin. He had come to almost respect that sphinx, his hideous manners aside. He would have never said that to his face though.

Blackwing set the small figurine back on the board, making sure to not let his face betray any of his emotions. He had already made his choice weeks ago and there was no point in backing down now. He doubted though there would be any next week.

“Well, if you still want to go ahead against any reasonable judgement,” Nebula said, breaking the silence, “it would set a bad example for the troops if I were not to follow you blindly over the edge of a cliff.”

Blackwing opened his beak to retort but found nothing coming out. He wondered if that was supposed to be sarcasm of her part. Knowing Nebula, it probably wasn’t.

“Your concern for my safety is heart-breaking, lieutenant,” he said simply. “Did you remember to give our teams the green signal?”

The unicorn mare nodded. “Just an hour ago.”

“Then I believe they’ll finish shortly.” 

Nebula was about to leave before stopping suddently in the doorframe. “Oh, and another thing, sir.” She turned to pull out an additional document from the saddlebag. “I think you should take a look at this dispatch. It’s from Battalion HQ and has Major Longbow’s own signature.”

Blackwing took the paper. By the time his eyes reached the end of the brief message, his somewhat good mood had been crushed under a locomotive.  

“Oh, for Talos’s sake…”





Meanwhile, in the Riverside District . . .

“. . . is really that hard to follow a bloody map?”

“Look who’s talking!” Corporal Helena spat back. “If I recall, taking the longer route was your idea!”

Gerus sighed. “Wrong. It was the captain who said to keep our deployment as secret as possible. That’s why we’re using side-streets rather than the main thoroughfares and why we have a map in the first place.” His beak twisted into a vicious grin. “I thought than even you could not screw up something that simple. My compliments for proving me wrong.”

A slender griffoness sporting a vivid red plumage, Helena Icewind narrowed her eyes. If stares could kill, then Corporal Gerus Mudclaw, a robust-looking griffon covered in dark-brown feathers, should have been dead years ago.  She opened her beak and readied another much more colourful tirade on him. She never got the chance.

“Shut it. Now.”

The two griffons froze, a gesture soon followed by every other creature in their group. They all turned to eye warily the sand-coated, yellow-maned earth pony standing right in front of them. The pins of sergeant major were visible on his uniform’s shoulder.

“I’ll let both of you dumbasses know,” Bronze Tail hissed, “that this is a military operation, not a fucking kindergarten!” 

He turned his attention to the others, two sections of ponies as well as griffons, and spoke in the same tone. “The same goes for you all. Put in those tiny brains of yours that break’s over, and that we have a job to do.”

Every creature nodded, Helena and Gerus included, their faces now turning suddenly professional. At least twenty green-clad Owlstrian soldiers stood in the small side street, each one of them sporting a Crystal Rifle at their side. 

The air felt hot and humid despite being many hours past midday, forcing them to take shelter within the shadow of a nearby wall. Sweat stains soaking their uniforms, the soldiers were silently thanking Talos for the unexpected stop. It had given them the chance to rest and take a much-needed sip out of their canteens.

After throwing a last glance around, Bronze Tail turned to the griffoness. “Corporal Icewind, are we anywhere near the meeting point?”

“I believe so, Sarge,” she answered readily. “Just a few blocks away, as matter of fact.” 

Bronze Tail nodded. There was still a chance to be on schedule, if everything went smoothly. The last was a fat chance for sure, but he liked to think of himself as a positive stallion. 

“Then let’s get on the move,” he said. “We don’t want Rusty to wait any longer, do we?”

Helena wasted no time, and after barking a quick command her section was back on their paws – or hooves – and ready to move. Gerus and his own weren’t any less quick, and in less than a minute the half-strength platoon continued its march down the street and through the Riverside.

That wasn’t obviously the district’s official name, but considering that even those with a grasp of Sphygptian found it unpronounceable, they had all settled for a more conventional one. Its inhabitant, mostly ponies and zebra, got their livings out of the Nilus river either as fishermen or working for the local riverboat mail companies, which also explained the relative high number of taverns and inn, as well as the copious amounts of cheap alcohol to be found around.

The group draw quite the attention on itself as it moved on. It was hard to miss a group of armed figures in green uniforms moving around, and the streets were still bustling with activity. The locals, being them ponies, zebras or even the occasional sphinx, choose wisely to steer clear of them, tossing the occasional glare in their general direction before moving back to their business. The soldiers marched on undisturbed. 

Bronze Tail kept himself from smiling. Under ordinary circumstances their uniforms would have been kaki to blend better with the environment. In peacekeeping operation within occupied cities instead, the old green ones had proven invaluable to keep order and had been reissued to all garrisons. 

He thought it had something to do with their intimidating effect. Sphigyptians on this side of the Nilus could laugh all they wanted at the official soldiers of the Free Republic of Akhri, but no creature with a functioning brain would have messed with the boys in green. They had learned at their own expense that Owlstrians soldiers and gendarmes had little patience to begin with. 

Bronze Tail brought the two sections to a halt near a seemingly casual intersection. Corporal Rusty Blade’s own section was already there, together with at least a dozen ponies and a couple of griffons from the Royal Gendarmerie, all wearing dark blue peacoats. 

They were somewhat akin to Equestrian Military Police, although their duties were more varied - a bit murky even - bordering the fields of counterintelligence and anti-insurgency. The only sure thing was that they had enough resources to put the Owlstrian National Police to shame.

Bronze Tail saw a pair of uniformed figures approaching. The first one was a white-coated earth pony mare, her tail and mane both turquoise and cropped short. Just like any other soldier present, Corporal Rusty Blade wore the usual green-and-black uniform, the Owlstrian military insignia – a pair of crossed spears held by a griffon and a pony, all outlined by a shield’s profile ‒ emblazoned on her forage cap.

The second figure was an earth pony too, specifically a grey-coated, white-maned stallion with a well-trimmed and thick moustache. He wore a dark-blue peacoat with a pair of golden bars on his shoulder pads.

“Took you long enough, sarge,” Rusty Blade said as soon as the two had come within earshot. She was grinning now. “I’d begun to wonder if we had to go ahead all on our own.”

Bronze Tail shrugged. “What can I say, corporal? I love sightseeing. But they should really put a sign or two around.” 

He turned to the stallion and tilted his cap in acknowledgment. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced. Sergeant Major Bronze Tail, 3rd Company, 2nd Battalion. The two feathered heads behind me are Corporal Helena Icewind and Corporal Gerus Mudclaw,” he waved a hoof at each in turn. “We’ve heard you were about to crack a hornets’ nest open, so we thought to join you.”

The gendarme eyed them for a moment before nodding in satisfaction. He raised a hoof and the two exchanged a shake with their fetlocks. “A pleasure to meet you, gentlecolts,” he spoke in a deep, quiet tone. “Sergeant Stockade, at your service. I trust you’ve all been briefed on the situation?”

“Unless it has changed recently, yes, we have.”

“In that case, we should move out as soon as we can.” He reached with a hoof inside of his peacoat and produced a handkerchief to wipe his forehead with. Droplets of sweats were glittering on his grey fur. “Corporal Rusty, would you please tell the others to get ready?”

Rusty Blade nodded. “I’ll pass the word around.” She fixed her attention to the two griffons and grinned. “I’m curious to see from what kind of mess I’ll have to drag you two out this time.” Having said that, she turned and trotted back to her section, denying Helena the satisfaction of giving her the sourest stare the griffoness could master. Gerus, for his part, kept his usual stoic expression. 

Bronze Tail waited for her to be out of earshot before speaking to the gendarme. “By the way,” he all but whispered to him, “my apologies for the delay. We got a bit lost on our way here.”

To his credit, Stockade replied with a placid smile. “No need for it, sergeant. It’s not as if the Gendarmerie has the privilege to preach about punctuality. We love to do so, mind you.”

“Oh, I know that all too well, believe me. That being said, I’d appreciate if you didn’t give orders to my subordinate. They might get confused with the chain of command.”

Stockade grinned. “Oh, but I didn’t, sergeant. I merely asked it as a favour of her.” He cast a look over his shoulder where Rusty Blade was. Her section seemed to be in order and ready to move out, but Bronze Tail had the impression that the stallion’s attention wasn’t for the soldiers at all. “She truly is a fine mare, you know. I found my previous conversation with her quite charming.”  

Bronze Tail struggled to contain a chuckle. He was really starting to like the stallion. Behind him, he heard Helena grousing under her breath. “Talos almighty, you’ve got to be kidding me.”  

If Stockade heard any of that, he gave no indication he had. He turned to face him. “I think I’m speaking for the whole of us when I said we’re glad to have you here. This‒” he waved his hoof around, “‒might be bigger of what we’re accustomed to deal with.”

Bronze Tail raised an eyebrow. “Is really that bad?”

“Well, I might have sounded a little pessimistic there,” he chuckled softly, “but having additional firepower makes us all feel a lot better.”

It was Corporal Icewind’s turn to grin. “Did you hear that, Wilhelm?”

Specialist Wilhelm Redriver, the griffon assigned as fire support element, laughed. “Just wait for my wife to hear that!” 

Others followed him suit. Even Gerus had a hard time in keeping his straight face this time. Bronze Tail found himself smiling too, but for other reasons. At least the troops had high spirits; the trick was now to keep them that way.

“Alright, knock it down a notch,” he finally said. “We’re about to earn our salary, so get yourself ready, gentlegriffs. Oh, and Wilhelm?”

“Yes, sarge?” the griffon replied.

“If I see you pointing that blasted thing anywhere near me,” he gestured at the enchanted arbalest slung over the griffon’s shoulder, “I’m personally shipping home that arse of yours in a box.” 





Kingdom of Sphigypt,

Confederation of Northern Gryphus’s embassy in Thebanus . . .

Miralay Sebak restrained himself from groaning in frustration. It was a pointless act, he reasoned, and would have made him look more like a fool than anything. Still, the thought brought him little confort.  

The sphinx’s paw reached up and pulled at the collar beneath his armour in order to loosen it up, and give him some breathing space. It was more a ceremonial relic than anything else, made of several bronze-like, overlapping metal plates. 

Relieves ran across their surface to form a series of warding emblems meant to protect its wearer. Sebak didn’t know whether they were actual enchantments or mere decorations. They certainly were not protecting him from the hot afternoon air.

The sphinx scowled; having to wear what amounted to an oven for a nearly two hour-long train trip only worsened his mood. The legate’s aid, a young griffon who looked a size smaller than his uniform while trying to look twice as big, didn’t appeared to be enjoying the conversation either.

“The legate is unavailable at the moment,” he said bluntly. “Now, if you could just-”

“Yes, I already heard that. But repeating it won’t change the fact that my appointment has already been scheduled days ago.” It was a lie, but it worked more times than not. Usually. 

“I don’t know anything about that,” the griffon shrugged. “Do you have papers with you?”

Sebak stared blankly at him. “Papers? What papers?”

Again, he shrugged. “Anything that would justify an interruption of her meeting. Seriously, you do really expect me to barge in there just because a random sphinx thinks he has something important to say?”

Sebak felt he was about to explode by sheer outrage. He had the sudden urge to bite the griffon’s head off. “Do you know at least who you’re talking to?” he said quietly, tapping a paw on the two golden chain links hanging from his pauldron, symbolizing his rank as Miralay. 

The griffon beak twisted into a condescending sneer, his claw reaching back to adjust his weapon’s sheath. It was only then Sebak noticed the steel rapier at his side. “A sphinx wearing a fancy metal junk. Unsurprisingly, given how many come these days begging for the legate’s favour.” He chuckled. “I take it you have come to lick her paws too?”

Sebak’s teeth slowly grinded against each other. He knew a spoiled, blue-blooded brat with enough airs to fill a balloon when he saw one. He knew there was no point in wasting his time with him. He knew he could just leave the legate to deal with him later.

Unfortunately for the griffon, he had just insulted a relic belonging to Sebak’s own clan. He fancied himself as a progressive sphinx on matters of honour, relegating them as things of the past, but he decided to make an exception just for that overgrown chicken.  

“If we’re done with this, I must then ask you to exit. Otherwise I’ll notify the security personnel and have you escorted ou-”

Sebak didn’t wait for him to finish. His own left paw shot upward, reaching for the griffon’s head. He seized his beak shut in an iron grip and pushed hard, driving his head backwards. At the same time, he hooked his right foreleg around the griffon’s left one, going over and then under it. Stunned, he didn’t have time to react before Sebak kicked his legs from under him, tackling the griffon to the floor. The surprised squawk never left his throat. 

Keeping a solid grasp on his beak, Sebak wrestled his head to the side, exposing the throat. The griffon struggled against his grapple, rear legs lashing out to no avail to kick the sphinx off him. He desperately tried to reach for his weapon at the side, but he failed to draw it out at a such close quarter. Sebak restrained himself from delivering a final strike; it would have taken ages to wipe clean the mess. Also, he doubted the legate would appreciate to have one her aides butchered.

“Now shut up and listen well, griffon,” his voice came in low, cold tone as he locked gaze with him. The griffon stared up at him in pure terror, his eyes darting back and forth nervously as if to searching for an escape. The corridor was empty except for the two of them.

“I’ll let you know that this junk, as you called it, has belonged to the Yilmaz Clan for generations. It has witnessed almost four hundred years of history, thousand battles and even more forgotten bloodsheds.” His eyes narrowed to slits. 

“My father and his before him had donned this very one, and faced ordeals that would had have you shitting yourself and wailing for your mother, just like a cub. In light of all this, I would have personally sliced your throat by now.” The griffon eyes widened in silent terror.   

“You’re lucky, though” he added, his face twisting slowly into a devious grin. The griffon had stopped struggling by now. A mouth of razor-sharp teeth standing a few inches away from a throat did wonders in matters of persuasion. 

“Today I’m in a really good mood. So, out of respect for the legate, I’ll let you continue your pathetic existence. But if hear you insulting me or my clan’s legacy again, those fancy feathers of yours shall make a fine trophy on my armour.”

The griffon swallowed nervously. A look at his face made clear he believed every single word. In the end he mastered enough courage for a timid nod. Satisfied, Sebak released him and let him run away and down the corridor, as fast as his paws could carry him. The thought of flying didn’t cross the griffon’s mind for an instant. He just ran.

Sebak didn’t followed him with his gaze, as he was busy wiping dust from his outfit. He looked down at his armour and sighed in frustration. It would have taken him another hour to bring it back to pristine condition. That thought was quickly squashed by another, one that brought a satisfied smile on his lips. Despite all this time off the battlefield, he had yet to lose his edge.

A few minutes and a last check of his appearance later, Miralay Sebak made his way through the door and into the room beyond. 

His mind only half-registered the air being much cooler than outside; he had long since grew accustomed to have all that griffon-made machinery around. He knew the Confederates had some sort of air-cooling device, connected to each room in the building by a series of pipes and tubes.

The pleasure of feeling cold air against his skin was exceptional, even for a sphinx who had grown up in that desert heat. He mentally made a note to ask around and check if something similar could be arranged for his office in Dehecan too.

What instead caught his immediate attention was the group of griffons in red-and-white uniforms seated around a conference table. Their discussion, a rather animated one by the looks of things, was brought to a sudden end by his appearance in the doorframe, their heads turning simultaneously at him. An unnerving silence descended into the room.

A blue-feathered, dark-furred griffoness, an eyepatch resting over her left eye, looked up from her seat at the table’s far end and frowned. She tapped her claw on the table a couple of time to get everygriff attention. “We’ll resume this later. Leave us, now.”

None of the presents said a word in protest. They merely gathered up their papers, saluted her and made their way to the door and past Sebak. As the last one of her subordinates closed the door behind him, her frown turned first into an amused grin, then in a chuckle. “That shiny thing looks good on you.”

Sebak was about to point out that it was a family relic, but decided to drop the matter, at least for now. “Well, I’m glad you appreciate it at least. Your aid outside certainly didn’t.” 

Legate Theresa Clavus reached up to adjust the eypatch of her left eye. She sighed. “What did Scipius do this time?”

Sebak shrugged. “Something very stupid. And don’t worry, he’s still alive.”

“So now I’ll have to deal with his complains too. You could have spared me a headache and tossed his body in the city’s bay.”

Sebak raised an eyebrow. “I was under the impression that you were his commanding officer. Can’t you just put him in his place?”

“Oh, I would positively love to do that, trust me. But officially he’s part of the embassy staff, and his father has some connections back home. I can’t lay a claw on him and he knows it, so he can get away with a lot of things.”

“Ah, I see.” Sebak grinned. “The prole of a wealthy family, grown up with no discipline and too many privileges. Who did he bed to get sent here?”

“I’ve no idea.” Then half-chuckling, “but if I had to take a guess, her father was a griffon in high places.”  

Her tone shifted to a more serious one. “Sadly, now I have to deal with him, given that Ambassador Lucio has better things to do.” Theresa shook her head and glanced at the papers spread out before her. “Among the other things.”

“Problems at home, I take it?”

She nodded. “Not even being on another continent can shield me from the mess which is the Senate in these days.” She flipped quickly through a pile of papers before stopping to check one of the latest reports. 

“Seems like there’re some idiots back a Skyhold wondering if our aggressive posturing might provoke the Equestrians into joining the fray. Of course, if you ask me, they’re heads are stuffed with feathers.” 

“And it could?”

“Maybe, maybe not” she shrugged in annoyance, “and in truth, who cares? It has been almost a century since those ponies fought an actual war.” She felt the urge to add, “and in that instance, the Confederation used their cutie-marked, harmonist flanks to wipe both the proverbial and literal floor.” 

Sebak forced himself not to roll his eyes. He had read many accounts of the Second Equestria-Gryphus War and, if memory didn’t deceive him, events had turned out to be a little different from her description. 

The inhabitants of North Gryphus had always been attached to their national history, taking much pride in their valiant and noble ancestry. Unfortunately, that had also had the side effect of making them sore losers. Sebak had come to realize that their people truly had a lot in common. 

“But in the end, you griffons made peace with them, didn’t you?”

Theresa’s head whipped around, fixing his one-eyed glare on him. “That was only because we had those bloody Owlstrians on our southern border. I would like to see your Pharaoh fighting a war on two fronts.”

“Which is precisely why I’m here, legate” Sebak announced with some satisfaction. “Seems like gears have been finally set in motion.”

That last remark caught immediately Theresa’s attention, causing her eye to widen. “Really, now? And I suppose this news comes from a reliable source?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call the Grand Vizier that,” Sebak conceded. As he was speaking, he took a seat in the empty chairs closest to the legate. 

Her eye, in the meantime, had narrowed. “I have plenty of suggestions of how you may call him.”

The sphinx chuckled. “Now, that’s a little unfair. I might not like that snake of a pony myself, but I have to admit that he knows his trade.” He winked at her. “Besides, you can’t keep that attitude now that we’re about to meet him.”

“I asked this before, and I’ll ask it again.” Theresa raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Why me? Lucio is the politician. Tell the Vizier to talk to him.”

“Normally I would agree with you, but this is more of a military matter than anything.”

“Again, why me?” she asked.

Sebak rolled his eyes. “Because last time I checked, you’re still a military observer. I also thought you might want to see the new regiments marshalling at Dehecan.”  

Theresa remained silent. She glanced down at the documents still arranged before her, before fixing her stare on the sphinx. “It will certainly add something new to my monthly reports. But what about Lucio?”

Sebak shrugged casually. “What about him?”

“You know how he is,” she said, sighing. “This time he’ll want to be informed.”

“It’s not my fault if that feathered head can’t keep his beak shut,” he growled. “Look, I’m not asking you to lie to him,” he murmured, “just forget to mention a thing or two.”

Theresa looked unconvinced. “I still think that’s frowned upon.”

“So it’s fraternization, last time I checked. But that hasn’t really stopped us, has it?” He winked at her.    

Theresa’s face reddened for the briefest of moments, her wings twitching nervoulsy. Her beak split in a genuine smile. 

“Well, if you put it like that,” she mused. “I’ll see what I can do about it. But I hope for you I’ll get something out of this when it’s all done. I’ll be the one getting chewed up, after all.”

Sebak nodded. “Of course. As a matter of fact, there’s this lovely restaurant overlooking the bay and I may or not have already booked a table for two. How about this evening at eight o’clock?”

“Well, it does certainly sound ap-” The grifoness’s beak stood open, her mind coming to a sudden realization. “Sebak, did you come in and interrupt my meeting only to invite me to dinner?”

“Do you really think me capable of such things? I would never do that,” he said with feigned outrage. “I simply came to bear Grand Vizier’s Golden Tusk invitation for a meeting. The rest was an afterthought.”

“My sincerest apologies for doubting you, then.” Theresa said with a thin smile.

Sebak made to rose from his seat when a stray thought entered his mind. “Oh, I almost forgot. Before I put him in his place, your dear Scipius mentioned something about sphinxes coming to visit you. What was that about?”

Theresa chuckled, clearly amused. “Since when are you so jealous, Sebak?” He didn’t give her the satisfaction of an answer and contended himself to smile. 

“Jokes aside though, I’ve received some unusual visits while you were in Dehecan. Most of them were officials from some clans. I can’t remember their name, though.” 

That last part caught Sebek attention. “What did they want?”

She replied with a shrug. “They said it was a visit of courtesy, but for some unknown reason the discussion kept falling on the same argument.”

“Let me guess,” Sebek said, his eyes slowly narrowing. “Me.”

“Precisely.” She raised a claw and scratched thoughtfully at her eyepatch. “One of them was very curious about your personal relationship with the Grand Vizier.”

“Did he have an owl?” he asked.

“A what?”

“Did you see an owl on him? As a symbol, I mean, on a cloak or something.”

Theresa though about it for a moment before nodding. “I think he had one, yes. Do you know him?”     

Sebek did not replied; as a matter of fact, he had stopped paying attention on anything. He was busy imagining a full array of brutal and painful deaths for a sphinx who bore more things in common with a viper. 

He mentally corrected himself though. Snakes weren't famous for beeing backstabbers.
> Chapter 2: The Hornets' Nest
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


"It never ceases to amaze me the number of things that can go wrong simultaneously



 and in such a short amount of time."



-Colonel Louis Greycloud, 24th Land Regiment


River District, 

Kaska . . . 

As the hot afternoon sun burned overhead, First Platoon and the accompanying gendarmes moved to surround their target, an innocuous-looking warehouse nestled between two tenements, some distance away from the waterfront. The unforgiving weather had long since bleached its once white bricks, colouring the entire structure of a sickly, pale yellow. 

Although looking solid enough, signs of abandon were clearly visible. A thick layer of dust coated the large windows at street level, blocking the interiors’ view, while the wooden doors were rotting around their hinges.

“A charming place for sure,” Bronze Tail commented sourly. He spat on the ground. “Is that it, then?”

Stockade came over by his side and nodded. “It doesn’t look like much, does it? I’ll bet we probably overlooked it during the last sweep, since it had been unoccupied for years.” He then added with a grin, “Or so we thought, at least.” 

The sergeant major grunted in agreement. Having spent a fair share of his youth in a street gang in Manelan, the place looked as the perfect hideout to him; spacious, unoccupied and away from the city’s main thoroughfares. Besides, the Nilus being just a block or two away granted an easy escape route. No wonder then that the local smugglers were operating from that place.

He put aside those thoughts at the sight of Corporal Mudclaw approaching him with a uniformed pony gendarme trailing behind. He came to a halt before him. 

No salutes were exchanged. They were in the field now. 

“We have the building surrounded and the checkpoints readied. According to him,” he gestured at the unicorn, “two additional sections of gendarmes are standing by the north side. They’ll take care of the perimeter once we move in.”

“Have they noticed something unusual?” Bronze Tail asked. He knew the Gendarmerie to have fliers in the air and on nearby rooftops, keeping an eye on the warehouse. Not too closely though; they didn’t want to give those smugglers a head start.

Gerus shook his head. “Not in the last two hours. Before that though, they have seen quite a few sphinxes entering the building. None of them have come out since.” 

“Good to hear it,” said Stockade. Then, turning an eye at his gendarme colleague, “Please tell Sergeant Caltrop to keep away any onlookers peacefully, if possible. Me and the soldiers will handle the rest.” The unicorn nodded and trotted away to report the message. Bronze Tail cast a quick look around. 

The street, crowded with ponies and zebras just ten minutes before, was now empty. The Gendarmerie had cleared quickly any and all civilians from the site before establishing their checkpoint at the street’s ends.

It hadn’t been easy, of course. Many had complained, especially local shops’ owners, on the account of them scarring off their clientele. The most stubborn had required a bit of persuasion from the soldiers of First Platoon before finally shutting up and following the instructions.  

A crowd of locals had gathered beyond the wooden barricades. They seemed just curious so far, but with a mob you could never be sure. Bronze Tail still remembered a couple of nasty incidents involving masses of angry civilians from previous assignments. He shuddered for a moment, hoping they would get bored eventually and go back to their homes.  

Gerus waited for the unicorn gendarme to be out of earshot before continuing. “I’ve heard we might be dealing with about twenty of them. This could get bloody very quickly.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that too. What about entrances?”

“There are two to cover,” he answered readily. “We can breach them simultaneously and catch those sphinxes in a crossfire.”

“Regarding that, corporal,” Stockade said at length, “I don’t think there’s the need to remind you or the sergeant major here that our task here is to arrest them.” He smiled. “After all, corpses are not very talkative.”

Bronze Tail nodded. “We’ll try to keep in mind, but I make you no promises if they start shooting,” 

“And please, refrain your soldiers from taking anything from there,” he added. “I understand that valuable items tend to slip into pockets by their own volition, but those are to be considered proofs in an ongoing investigation.”

“Yes, I know,” he waved at him with a hoof. “As I said, I don’t do miracles, but I’ll see what I can do.” 

He turned to the griffon. “Corporal Mudclaw, I want your section covering the road with the gendarmes while we enter. Keep the fire support with you.”

Gerus arched an eyebrow in confusion. “You sure about that? Redriver can clear the way nice and easy for us.”

“Yeah, but that was before I saw the sorry state of this.” He gestured at the warehouse. “The last thing I want is to bring the entire building down on our heads with explosive-tipped arrows. So your section gets to sit on the side-lines for once.”

He was half-expecting a retort coming out of Gerus. Thankfully, he was much more cool-headed than his fellow corporals and kept his beak shut.

The standard Owlstrian tactical doctrine prescribed each platoon had to be implemented with an additional fireteam tasked to provide fire support, be it magical or of other kind. 

However, a combination of sick leaves, different assignments and problems with supplies had caused said team to be reduced to Wilhelm Redriver alone, which made him too valuable to be risked in a direct action.

“Understood, sergeant. I’ll leave the fun to you then,” Gerus said quietly, nodding. However, Bronze Tail noted a slight, irritated twitch at his beak’s corner.    

He guessed the griffon did not like the idea of stepping off the field so that Rusty or Icewind could have free reign. Talos only knew what those two could do if left unchecked. 

On the other claw, he personally liked the idea of explosives in closed environments even less. 

With that matter resolved, Sergeant Major Bronze Tail reached with a hoof for the radio receiver fastened to his belt, unbuckling it and switching to a pre-determined channel. “This is Cardinal to all callsigns. We go in in two minutes.”   





“Look alive. The party starts in two minutes,” Helena whispered.

Every creature replied with a nod. Her section had taken position at either side of one of the entrances, a wooden, medium sized double door. Two gendarmes were also with them, both griffons, and armed with revolvers and batons. 

Helena hadn’t bothered to learn their names, and she still saw no point in doing so. The Gendarmerie could act tough all they wanted, but they inevitably ended up calling in the regulars when things got hot. They’d still keep the merit to themselves though.  

“Be careful,” one of the griffons ‒the female one‒ said. She removed her weapon from the holster, pushing back the hammer with a claw. The gun clicked. “We don’t know how many there are inside.”

Helena kept herself from rolling her eyes. “We’ve already been in firefights, I’ll let you know. We’ve got this.”

“Good for you, but this is no warzone. Try to leave one of them alive,” she drawled. 

Helena bit back a retort. Her tone reminded her of one used by her old schoolteacher a couple of decades back, when he ordered her to behave and not make a mess.

She turned to her second, an earth pony by the name of Glue Stick. “Pass the word around that we’re doing it by protocol.” 

The yellow-coated stallion raised a questioning eyebrow but nodded and carried out the order.

Meanwhile, she caught with the corner of her eye a smug grin forming up on the grifoness’s features. Instead of irritating her though, she found it highly amusing. She had to keep herself from chuckling in anticipation. 

Helena didn’t know what by protocol meant in the Owlstrian Gendarmerie, but in the Army was a synonym of if they have a gun, shoot. She doubted the bitch would have kept smiling after a first-claw demonstration.

“One minute,” the sergeant-major’s voice came from her portable radio. Those battery-powered devices had been a Talos-sent benediction for the Owlstrian Army, at least regarding short range communications between sections. 

Helena still remembered the time when heavy, bulky devices carried in backpacks had been the only ones available at platoon or company level. Besides, being picked for communication duty back then meant to carry around a huge bull’s eye painted on your back. 

Now, according to the latest rumour in the barracks, there were even plans about issuing a communicator to each trooper! 

That would have certainly been a great improvement, though Helena dreaded to think of the resulting radio chatter. Give an idiot a radio and he’ll find a way to make a mess out of it.

“Thirty seconds to go.”

Metal clanked as several Crystal rifles’ levies were yanked down and then back up. In spite of its name, the weapon was more akin to a carabine, capable of producing high volumes of fire but not very useful on long ranges. It was outdated, but still considered reliable enough.

Private Glue Stick and Private Shallow Spring took point, bracing their respective shoulders against the wooden doorframe; being a unicorn, the latter’s weapon hovered mid-air, a faint blue aura barely visible.

“Twenty.”

“Does anypony have grenades?” 

The voice, belonging to private Joseph Kite, came from the back a bit louder than intended. Every creature, Helena in the lead, turned to glare at the griffon. The gendarme was looking at him too, but more in astonishment than anything else.

“What? I was just asking.”

Corporal Helena Icewind sighed. “That’s the point, Kite. You were asking instead of being quiet.” 

“And no, we don’t. None of us have them. You can thank their boss for that,” she added, gesturing with a claw at the only two blue-uniformed griffons present. 

The grifoness opened her beak to retort, before the second gendarme convinced her otherwise with a nudge. She limited herself then to simply shot a glare at Helena which, in turn, she easily ignored.  

“Ten seconds.”

“It would be nice to have just a couple of those new flashy ones, you know?” grumbled Shallow Spring as she adjusted her weapon’s sight. “They aren’t lethal.”

Devis Starcrest shook his head. “No way in Tartarus we could get one of them, let alone enough for our section.” 

His left claw drummed nervously on his combat knife’s hilt, secured in a sheath at his side. “Only Vanguards get that stuff.”

“They always get the best, those pricks,” spat Mountain Spike.

“Hey! Shut up!” The grifoness snapped. Her scowl had only deepened as the idle chatter dragged on. “Can any of you at least try be seriou-”

“Zero. We’re breaching now,” came the signal, as if on cue. 

The section exploded into action as a loaded spring. Two earth ponies bucked the door open with enough force to rip it off its hinges. Wood groaned, then splintered as it crashed down on the warehouse’s floor.  

The dust hadn’t settled yet as the soldiers moved inside, rifles raised as they went. An instant later, the set of double doors on the warehouse’s opposing side was kicked open, followed by the sight of Rusty Blade’s section storming through.

Corporal Helena Icewind advanced right behind Glue Stick, using her rifle to cover his left side as he kept his one ahead. Shallow Spring and Starcrest mirrored them on the right side, allowing the four of them to cover a 180-degree angle. 

The rest of the section came behind hot on their heels, with the gendarmes entering as the last ones. Helena blinked to adjust her eyes, moving from the brightly lit outside to the much darker interior. 

“Clear!” Glue Stick announced. Similar calls echoed from all around.

“Corporal? I think this may be the wrong place,” Private Kite muttered.

Helena took a moment to have a better look around. She realized that the warehouse wasn’t clear. It was utterly empty.

“Kite, be silent for once,” she hissed. “Section, spread out and look around.”

“For what, corporal? This place looks emptier than the desert,” Glue Stick pointed out.

“Then make sure it is, private.”

In truth, there was little point in doing so, as the interior only confirmed a state what was already clear from the outside. 

The air inside felt warm and stale, carrying the typical heavy smell of an environment kept closed for years. The floor was utterly barren, aside for some pieces of junk and broken pottery laying around. Large cracks were visible in the walls where the mortar coating had fallen off in large chunks.

Helena turned to address the Rusty’s section and the gendarmes with them, who had in the meantime moved in the middle of the building to join her own. They too looked confused and, in some cases, rather disappointed at the lack of action. After all the pre-combat build-up, they felt cheated.

“Hey, Rusty,” she called out. “Can sphinx turn invisible?”

“I don’t reckon they can,” the mare replied with a shake of her head. “Are we sure this isn’t the wrong place?”

She shrugged “No idea about that, to be honest. Give me just a moment.” Helena looked over her shoulder at the two griffon gendarmes. “Hey, you two! Why is this place empty?” she shouted not too gently.

The grifoness opened her beak to retort just as a faint booming sound echoed through the warehouse. Windows rattled in their frames as dust fell down from the ceiling and around them. Troopers eyed warily their surroundings, weapons at the ready.

“What in Tartarus-”

“Not now, Kite.” Helena tightened the grip on her rifle’s wooden stock.

“Oh, dear Talos above,” Rusty Blade muttered, before adding a rather colourful curse. That surprised Helena more than the explosion itself. She had never heard her swearing that openly.   

“That came from the South Gate.” She snapped toward a nearby mare and shouted. “Lolly Pop, bring me the sergeant major here, now! 

“And for the rest of you, sorry lot,” she addressed the rest of her section with a fierce glare, “get your arses ready to move out!”

The alarm in her voice caused Helena to raise an eyebrow.

Sure, there might have been an explosion at the gate, which had yet to be confirmed, but she saw no reason to get so worked up. She bet it was just some urchin with some noisy firecrackers. 

Besides, as far as she could remember, no creature from 3rd Company had been assigned there.

Corporal Helena Icewind looked wearily around the empty space of the warehouse and sighed. Whether what was happening at the South Gate had any importance or not, her day had just gotten worse.  





Kaska’s South Gate . . . 

“I don’t care what he thinks his rights are,” the griffon stated. “I’m the officer here, so when I say that all the carts of this caravan are to be searched, I’m not asking. Am I clear?”

“Aye, sir,” said the sphinx. She wore a pair of blue and green armbands on her forelegs, highlighting her belonging to Kaska’s Civic Cohort. 

As they weren’t a proper military force, the city’s administration hadn’t seen fit to spend on some real uniforms. Or proper weapons, for that matter; the old rifled musket slung over her back must had been a couple of decades old. She could at least speak Owlstrian, although a very basic one. 

As he saw her walking away and up to the irritating merchant to bring him the news, Lieutenant Darius Falcon laid back against the wall and sighed in relief. Some creature had had the common sense of setting up a series of large awnings around the gatehouse. They didn’t stop the constant trickling of sweat down his forehead, but they still made his stay a little more bearable.

The merchant, a slightly over-weigh sphinx wearing a fancy red cloak embroidered with gold, was shouting again. Falcon had no idea about what; Sphigyptian sounded harsh to most ears. 

He had never actually bothered to learn but a few words of the local language, as at the time he thought his assignment there to be temporary. Things had turned out to be different.

“He cries a lot, doesn’t he, sir?” came a known voice.

He looked up to see another griffon standing beside him. The newcomer unbuckled a water canteen from his belt and tossed it to Falcon. The feeling of fresh water rushing down his throat was one of those small things that no creature, griffon or pony, would have never appreciated before seeing Sphigypt with their own eyes.

“That it does, Greg. Any clue of what he’s talking about?” Unlike him, Sergeant-Major Gregory Buzzard knew his fair share of Sphigyptian.  

“Oh, it’s just the usual rambling. He claims to be an honest entrepreneur who is being unjustly harassed by us and our lapdogs.” As he said that, he gestured with a claw towards the members of the Civic Cohort present at the gatehouse, five or six of them that early afternoon. The other half who was supposed to be there was missing, probably drunk or worse.

Falcon shrugged at Greg’s words. The Free Republic of Akhri was itself an Owlstrian lapdog, whenever the sphinxes liked it or not. “Anything else?”

“He also complains that these things don’t happen on the Nilus’s western bank, or something like that.”  

Falcon couldn’t keep himself from barking a laugh. “So much gratitude for keeping the pharaoh away from them!”

“So it would seem,” the griffon replied dubiously, scratching idly at his lower beak. Falcon noticed that he was glaring in the well-dressed sphinx’s general direction. 

“Somethings bothering you?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” he said, his tone dropping to a whisper. “I’ve made some checks on the registers about what he was saying before, and apparently he’s right. His caravan is indeed scheduled to depart from the city.”

Lieutenant Falcon said nothing; he could smell a but coming from miles away.

“But what our friend there forgot to mention is that the caravan was to leave two days from now.”

Falcon’s eyebrow shot up in sudden interest. He was half tempted to ask confirmation, but he doubted there was any need. Similar to many cities on this side of the Nilus border, movements in and out were kept under close watch by the local Owlstrian constabulary. And did those ponies love their damn registers.

“Sounds like he’s leaving in a hurry then,” Falcon mused.

“I’ll wager that he’s running away from something. Angry creditors, I’d say.”

“Whatever it might be, you know the captain’s orders. Besides,” he added, “for all we know, he could be a spy.”

“Shouldn’t we let the Gendarmerie deal with him, then?”

Falcon shrugged. “Those are Blackwing’s orders, sergeant. I’ve never said there was any sense in them.” Or in him, for that matter, but he left it unsaid.

It was then he noticed that the cries of protest had suddenly subsided. He turned his attention toward the pair just in time to catch the merchant rummaging in the inside of his brightly coloured cloak. 

Then, with a masterful paw movement, he slipped something out of it and into the sphinxess’s own paw. She was not as good as him in hiding it though, and Falcon’s keen eyes caught a glimmer of gold before it disappeared beneath her rugged outfit’s fabric.

“Try not to turn now, sergeant, but I think the pockets of our Arif just got heavier.”

“Really, now?” Buzzard said. He smacked his beak a couple of times. “I was half-tempted to let the merchant go, but that he paid the Civic Cohort instead of us is profoundly insulting, sir.”

A mischievous grin split Falcon’s beak. “My exact thoughts, sergeant. I said we should do something about it.” 

He glanced towards the caravan. Six sturdy-looking, covered wagons were arranged in the courtyard beside the gatehouse, limited on three sides by a waist-high brick wall. 

Its members were a mix batch of sphinxes, earth ponies and zebras, the latter two being the actual ones doing the pulling. The sphinxes, two for each cart, were content of staying in the driver’s seats. 

Then Falcon noticed the whips at their sides. From there, his eyes went to the ponies, four of them for each vehicle and tied to a horizontal pole in pairs. 

Some wore an assortment of rags, just enough to cover their heads from the sun. Freshly healed scars, running in a crossing pattern on their bare backs, were clearly visible.

Lieutenant Darius Falcon felt his stomach twitching in disgust. 

Slavery, mostly of earth ponies, had been a brutal reality in the Kingdom of Sphygypt for countless years, booming especially in the easternmost provinces. Only a couple of decades had passed since Pharaoh Khaf-Hor the Second had finally abolished the archaic institution. 

De jure, of course. 

True, he might have been a total dimwit, but he had at least managed to do something half-decent.   

Akhri and its surrounding region had never accepted it, given how the local clans had grown rich and fat on the slave trade; they decided to simply turn a deaf hear to Thebanus. 

After all, somepony had to work in the farms and plantation along the Nilus, and who was better suited than an earth pony? A noble sphinx warrior could certainly not lower himself to such menial task. 

The rest was history. Akhri had seceded to form its own petty kingdom at the first occasion and, in a cruel twist of faith, the Owlstrians had found themselves protecting the same institution they had fought against just five years earlier. 

All to keep the bloody pharaoh off the Nilus’s eastern bank.

None of them was happy about it; Darius Falcon, whose stepmother was an earth pony herself, least of all.

“Free Republic my ass,” he heard Buzzard spat. He had noticed too the ponies tied at the wagons.

Falcon nodded. “Today is not really his day, it seems,” he said, eyeing the merchant. “Get me Breaching Charge and her section, would you? I think we’ll all enjoy this.”





“Are you sure, sir?” the Arif asked tentatively.

“Yes, it’s settled,” Falcon announced in a firm voice. “My soldiers shall take care of the search themselves. You don’t need to bother yours, Arif.” Much to Falcon’s amusement, the merchant failed to keep his eyes from going wide with shock.

“B-but, sir, we w-”

“Do you know,” he said almost nonchalantly, “what the penalty for Owlstrian military personnel caught in the act of receiving a bribe is, Arif?” Her jaw hung open for a moment, her mind coming slowly to grasp the meaning behind those words.

“I though not,” he continued. “Just as I believe you don’t know that the punishment can easily be extended to auxiliary personnel too.” In truth, the Civic Cohort wasn’t an auxiliary detachment, being part of Akhri’s military forces, but the chances of her knowing that were slim in the best-case scenario. 

“Oh, sorry for interrupting you, Arif. You were saying?”

Unsurprisingly, she didn’t have anything important to say. With a half-hearted salute, she excused herself and went back to her own unit in an effort to put herself as far away as she could from what was about to happen. 

Seeing that, the merchant started to visibly sweat; and for once the weather had nothing to do with it. 

It had a lot to do instead with the entirety of Third Platoon arranging itself in a semicircle around him and his caravan. 

Once Lieutenant Falcon had told her his idea, it hadn’t been too hard to convince Corporal Breaching Charge to take part in the action. 

She was a unicorn mare, her coat a bright yellow while her mane, gathered in a bun half-hidden beneath her hat, was pink. 

And just like any Owlstrian military personnel, she would haven’t missed the chance of pissing of a sphinx slave-owner for anything in the world.

The other two corporals, Malcom Ravenclaw and Lemon Twist, had tagged along shortly after. Ravenclaw, the youngest of the three, believed it to be the right thing to do; Twist simply because he was immensely bored of garrison duty and wanted something to shoot at. 

Falcon strode up to the merchant with a predatory smile, Sergeant Buzzard following him suit.

“A good day to you, sir,” he began. “I’m afraid we’ve found some irregularities in your permit, so we’ll have to search all your carts and crews.” 

At a flick of his claws, Corporal Breaching Charge took two ponies from her section to escort her for a closer look at the caravan. Her horn glowed a pinkish red, ready to cast a searching spell. 

Sphinxes glowered at them from their driving seats but did otherwise nothing. 

Falcon went on unfazed. “We ask of course your full collaboration to speed up the process. I apologize in advance for the inconvenience.”

If the shock from seeing ponies about to perform a search on his caravan wasn’t already visible, it became all too evident when he heard Buzzard repeating the instruction in Sphigyptian, just for good measure. 

To his credit, the surprise quickly vanished under a wave of outrage. 

“This is criminal!” he cried out in surprisingly good Owlstrian. “You have no authority to do it!” 

His head snapped towards Charge. “Hey! Keep your dirty hooves off my wagons!”  

Breaching Charge ignored him. The glow radiating off her horn grew in intensity. She directed the flow of magic to envelope the vehicle in a faint red aura. 

One of the sphinxes jumped down from his seat, his face almost livid in rage. He was about to walk up to her, but he was stopped by the pair of soldiers who ordered him not too gently to get back on the cart.

The sphinx, a rather young one by his looks, spat on the stallion’s uniform. 

An instant later, a buck to the chest sent him staggering back and sprawling in the dirt. Cries of outrage rose from his companions.

“And now you assault my employees and clansmen too!” A growl was building up in his throat. “You stop it right now or I’ll have the Civic Cohort arrest you!”  

“I’m afraid this won’t be possible, sir. However, you’re free to bring any complain up to my superior.” He omitted that they would just gather dust on the captain’s desk. 

“Oh, rest assured I will, lieutenant,” he retorted. “I have many important friends back in Akhri. I’ll make sure to let them know about the abuse you subjected me to.” 

“I don’t believe you understand how little I could care about it, sir,” Falcon said, his voice filling now with barely concealed fury. “If you’re done, I have a thorough search to supervise.”

He made to move past him, but the merchant blocked his path with a step to the side. He glared fiercely at him, lips peeling slowly back to reveal sharp teeth. “If you think I’ll just stand by and let some mud-sloggers touch my merchandise-”

“What a coincidence!” Falcon finally snapped. “That’s precisely what I expect you to do! Or what? Do you think we didn’t notice your transaction with the Arif over there? 

“Here’s a suggestion for next time: if you want to bribe, make sure to at least know who’s the one actually in charge!” A tap on his epaulet further emphasized it. From behind, he heard some creature from Charge’s section chuckling softly.

The sphinx’s lips twitched just barely at that, before turning into a scornful grin. 

“That’s your game, then?” he scoffed. “You have no real proof against me, so you just make them up. I shouldn’t be surprised; that’s the Owlstrian way, isn’t it?” He shouted this time, loud enough so that every sphinx in the courtyard could hear clearly.  

Falcon glanced around. Sphinxes jumped down from their vehicles, all sporting a firearm or knife at their side. More seemed to emerge out of the carts, pushing aside the white canvas as they exited, until there were at least two dozen of them. 

Soldiers shouted at them to get back in on their wagons but were promptly ignored. The only answer they received were sphinxes flashing their white teeth at them, mockingly. 

Most of them had by now surrounded Corporal Breaching Charge and the two ponies with her.

Insults were shouted; Stone Quarry and Winter Purslane stood on their rear legs, visibly on edge, with their carabines levelled and ready. Strangely enough, Breaching Charge didn’t seem to care at the moment, focusing her entire attention on the spell.    

“Tell your employees to stand back and drop their weapons,” Falcon said evenly. 

He kept himself from swallowing; he had clearly miscalculated their intentions as well as their numbers. If he wasn’t firm in his intentions now, things could get very bad, and quickly.  

“Or what, birdie?”

“Or you’ll get killed by a bunch of mud-sloggers. How does that sound to you?”

The idea seemed to give him pause, his expression faltering for a moment. Falcon kept the smile to himself this time. 

If he remembered correctly the nearly byzantine Sphigyptian religious system and the various believes, fallen warriors joined their brethren in an otherworldly paradise. Even then, being slain by an inferior herbivore was widely believed in the local sect to be a shameful death, enough to deny a direct passage in the Grey Realm.

Usually, Falcon couldn’t have cared less about any of that crap, but Captain Blackwing insisted that all officers under him had the duty to know a bare minimum of the local customs. 

And for once, Falcon was glad he had.  

The sphinx looked at the soldiers, at his brethren, and then at the soldiers again, eyes resting with interest on their Crystal rifles. His previous snarl was all but gone, replace by more a thoughtful and neutral expression. He opened his mouth as if to say something before shutting it close.

“Sir!” 

Lieutenant Falcon looked up from the sphinx and towards the voice’s origin. Corporal Breaching Charge was standing by one of the carts, the two troopers from her section standing closer. Her horn was glowing brighter than before.

“What is it?”

“I think we’ve just found someth-” 

A rifle barked and the mare’s head snapped to the side. Knees buckling beneath it, her body dropped as a sack full of bricks in the dirt. Ponies and griffon shouted in alarm, and in an instant the courtyard exploded.

Falcon had no time to determine who shot first. Shots whistled through the air in every direction. 

Owlstrians levelled their Crystal rifles and fired. Bullets struck the wagons; wood shuddered and groaned, then finally shattered. 

Painfull cries filled the air as projectiles met living flesh.

With the practical easy of trained professional, the soldiers took shelter behind anything they could find, mostly crates and various pieces of cargo laying around – the courtyard was used for goods’ delivery, after all. Some went simply on their belly and open fire from there. 

The sphinxes scattered for cover. Some found it behind their own carts, while others managed to vault over the low wall, hunkering down behind it. Bricks cracked and exploded with white puffs of mortar.

From there they returned fire as best as they could with their revolvers and simple guns. Others weren’t so lucky though. 

The sphynx closest to Charge’s corpse, coincidentally the same one who had spat on Private Stone Quarry’s uniform, doubled over as shots ripped through his stomach at point black. He collapsed to the ground with a painful groan, clutching at blood-soaked robes covering his belly.  

Winter Purslane and Stone Quarry swung their rifles around, searching for another target. They fired a second, then a third time. One sphinx stumbled as a bullet found her hind leg. A second dropped with a bloody hole in the back of his neck.

The two were trying to pull back towards their section when the sphinxes’ retaliatory fire found them. 

A lucky bullet grazed Private Purslane in the side, ripping through her uniform. She cried in pain, causing her to drop onto the ground, blood pouring out of the ugly wound.

Seeing the disaster unfolding before his very eyes, Falcon shock himself out of his stupor and opened his beak to bark an order. 

He caught the glint of steel with his eye’s corner.

“Behind you, sir!”

Falcon whirled around just in time to see the merchant charging at him, a curved knife in each paw, his cloak flying wildly behind as he went.

There was no time draw his revolver nor his own knife. Steel bit deep into his uniform and then into his side’s flesh. Pain flooded him, forcing the griffon to growl as he backed away. 

The sight of his green uniform turning crimson only goaded the sphinx to strike again. He dashed forward for another strike, this time at the neck. 

Falcon was ready though. Training kicked in, his mind pushing away any fear or pain and replacing them with iron-cold determination. Falcon dodged the blade easily. 

The sphinx slashed again, eagerness taking over and causing him to overextend himself with another strike. 

Falcon made him pay for the mistake as he lashed out with his own talons. 

His sharp nails cut deep scars into it, slicing through flesh with ease and effectively making one of his eyes useless. Blood gushed as a river out of the injury, painting his face with the dense red liquid.  

The sphinx howled and staggered back, dropping one of his knives to cover the mess on his face’s left side. 

The injury wasn’t a fatal one, but the griffon didn’t give him another chance to use the remaining blade. 

A fist-shaped claw connected against the side of his head. A second one came from the opposite direction. There was a soft cracking of bone, and his lower jaw shattered. 

The sphinx staggered back again, almost drunkenly this time, pain and bloodied face rendering him effectively uncapable of striking back, despite the knife still in his paw.  

He didn’t get far.

Out of nowhere, a rifle’s butt struck him again in the head. The merchant’s body went limp and finally crashed in the dirt. 

Sergeant Major Buzzard went then to stand over him, a Crystal rifle in his claws and aimed at the downed enemy, making sure that he wouldn’t get up any time soon.

“Are you alright, sir?” Falcon heard him say. Or at least he thought he had said that. It was hard to tell with all the shooting going off.

By now the carts were more akin to a form of cheese that anything else, the wagons’ frame mangled by accurate weapon fire. Pieces of cloth lay scattered, the only thing remaining of the white canvases once covering them.

Ravenclaw and Twist’s sections were now moving on their respective flanks as they fired, planning to catch the sphinxes on three sides simultaneously. 

Third Platoon’s only casualty still laid where she had fallen, unmoving. 

Stone Quarry had in the meantime hoisted Winter Purslane on one of his shoulders and carried her away, while the rest of the section laid suppressive fire on the enemy. 

A couple more soldiers had been struck and consequently dragged back. Their condition didn’t seem particularly worrying for now.

Of the sphinxes, half of them were on the ground now, screaming and convulsing in pain. Figures laid unmoving on the ground, but only some of them sphinxes. 

Most were equines.

The slaves had tried to flee as soon as the fight had started, quickly unbuckling their harnesses and discarding them before galloping away. 

With the shoots going off all around them though, they had panicked. Some had attempted a dash for the main gate and consequently struck in the savage crossfire. 

They laid there now, their eyes open and unmoving.

Falcon swallowed hard and tried to avert his gaze from the scene. 

It was then he noticed something sticking out from the underside of one of the wagons. 

The thing resolved itself into a hoof. A better look revealed the hoof to be part of a young mare, tucked beneath one of the carts, her face twisted in terror with eyes opened wide. 

Five others were huddled near her as they kept their heads down, as if trying to bury their own faces in the dirt.

Realization struck Lieutenant Falcon as a hammer, causing him to spat a curse.

“Cease fire!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “Third Platoon! Cease fire!” Few heard him over the gunshots. 

Falcon was about to cry out again, louder this time, when he realized he still had the radio receiver secured to his uniform’s straps. He moved his claws to unhook it. 

A low hissing rippled through the air, followed by a louder series of crackles. Falcon felt his own fur standing on end. His mind had just the time to realize what was happening before Buzzard’s own voice boomed.

“EVERYGRIFF DOWN!”

Falcon closed his eyes as a bolt of lightning surged out of Specialist Red Ruby’s horn with a bright flash. It covered the distance in a blink of an eye and smashed squarely against one of the wagons. 

Crackling electricity burned its way through, slicing it in half like a melon and striking the wagon parked behind. 

And then the cargo caught fire. 

There was a second bright flash, followed by a mighty roar. The wagon went up in a fireball.

A wave of hot air struck Lieutenant Falcon as a solid wall, knocking him off his paws and onto the ground. Pain exploded in the back of his head as it collided with the hard surface.

He didn’t know for how long he laid there. It could have been minutes or hours for all he knew. A ton of dust had fallen seemingly out of nowhere on top of him, and he had to blink hard to see something. 

Eventually, his eyes caught a glimpse of a winged figure standing over him. 

“Steady now, sir” said Buzzard as he helped his superior to stand. “That was a nasty fall you took.” 

Been almost blown to bits was apparently not enough to rob the sergeant-major of his humour, he noted with unusual detachment. 

Falcon painfully got up. His body felt as if it had been hammered everywhere at the same time. He had a hard time to focus his eyes on anything and his ears kept ringing like Tartarus. 

He coughed a few times, only to notice that his uniform was entirely coated in yellowish dust.

As dizziness somewhat passed, he saw that the wagon was gone. In its place was a blackened, smouldering wreck, a heavy cloud of black smoke rising lazily in the air. 

The detonation had scattered flaming and hot debris in all directions; most of them now laid harmlessly on the ground, having already burned out. Others had instead found their mark, and fire was spreading unchecked in the neighbouring wagons.

If they had struck anygriff though, Falcon couldn’t tell.

“Ruby! What in Tartarus were you thinking?” Buzzard snapped at the unicorn.

“That was just fire support, sarge,” was her innocent reply. 

She wore a standard-issued Owlstrian uniform like everypony else, but with the addition of an enchanted green cloak. It was kept around her shoulders with a silver brooch, shaped as a six-pointed star. 

The two other member of her fireteam, unicorns too, stood right behind her, clothed in a similar fashion.

“Besides, how was I supposed to know that they had explosives in that thing?”

“That’s why we check before shooting, you idiot!” Buzzard shouted back. 

He would have kept on berating the mare, as any sergeant worth his salt would, but his mind focused on more pressing matters. 

“Do me a favour and clean that mess up, will you? The last thing I want for today is more stuff blowing up.”

Specialist Red Ruby groaned softly, her eyes rolling. She then turned towards the pair of colleagues and started barking orders. They nodded, took position at either side of her and, as their horns glowed brightly, the unicorn trio began casting the spell.

Falcon felt the air all around him turning suddenly cooler; not too unpleasantly, he noted. Then, three jets of icy water erupted out of their horns. 

The fireteam directed the flow upon the burning wagons, as well as the blackened wreck. Embers hissed and steamed before finally dying. Less than a minute later, all fires had been quenched for good beneath the cascade. 

Now it was a matter of judging the damage.

As Lieutenant Falcon cast a glance around, Owlstrian soldiers got back to their hooves, or paws. Some of them sported fresh injuries from the explosion, cuts and burns caused by the flaming debris, and would require medical attention. Many kept visibly rubbing at their ears as they tried to get rid of the ringing.

A griffon from Ravenclaw’s section was laying on the ground and screamed in panic, clawing frantically at his bleeding ears, just as his companions were trying to pin him down, shouting to keep still. 

The poor bastards couldn’t hear them though. His eardrums had probably ruptured. 

For the sphinxes the situation was even worse. 

The explosion had occurred almost on top of them. The wall behind which some had hidden for cover was now half gone. 

Those who were not outright killed by the shockwave, had been consequently cut to pieces by flying bricks, the detonation turning them into big, high-speed projectiles. 

What remained of the bodies were now visible, most of them burned beyond recognition. And some were not sphinxes at all, Falcon noted grimly.

“Sergeant-Major,” the lieutenant said at last. He struggled to keep down a growing tide of nausea. “Sent a message for immediate medical assistance back to HQ. Tell them to also dispatch the Gendarmerie, if possible.” He glanced towards the wreck. “I want to know what in Tartarus happened here and if there are more of them.”

Buzzard nodded. “Yes, sir.” He made to move away, but something halted him. “You need help, sir?”

“What?”

“You’ve got a nasty wound there.” The griffon said, pointing at his side.

Falcon’s eyes followed the claw. They widened as he discovered a large crimson stain on his uniform. The sphinx’s dagger had made a mess of it and a large, ragged hole was clearly visible.

He pressed it tentatively with a claw before flinching in pain. Now that the adrenaline’s effect had finally worn out, he could feel the cut a lot more clearly, and painfully too.

Falcon made the effort of keeping a straight face. “I’ll let the medics have a look at it, don’t worry.” 

He then smiled, trying to assume an air of self-confidence. “But I reckon I just need a stitch or two. That’s all.”

Buzzard didn’t look convinced at all by his act. For unknown reasons though, he simply nodded and took his leave. 

The Lieutenant didn’t watch him go; his attention was fixed on the remains of the burned wagon. There wasn’t much left of it now.

The image of the mare, huddled beneath the cart and staring right into his eyes, flashed again before him. 

It was followed by a second one. She was screaming this time; fire enveloped her, cooking and then rupturing her skin, just as her fellow slaves burned beside her. 

Falcon tried to shock it out of his mind. It was pointless; the image flashed before his very eyes again and again. 

His legs started to trembled beneath him. He had to get out of there. He didn’t care how or where, but he just couldn’t stay. 

His stomach kept on churning and heaving. Shaking, Falcon tried to catch a deep breath. He smelled smoke in the air, acrid and strong. The fire had died down by now, but it was still here. 

It was just an impression, he thought. A mind’s trick, that’s what it was.  

The sounds coming the griffon had ceased, replaced by a quiet sobbing. Falcon was still hearing it though. 

He didn’t know how, but he kept hearing it clearly, the ear-splitting cry of a griffon hopelessly trying to hear his own voice in a now silent word.   

This time he couldn’t keep it down. He turned and, still disoriented by the half-ringing ears, stumbled away, looking a private place to throw up. He managed to take a few steps before his vision darkened.

The last thing he remembered was the ground rushing up to meet him.   





Kaska’s streets had gotten visibly more crowded in a matter of minutes. Rumours run wild, voices about an explosion that had destroyed the South Gate. Some spoke in hushed tones of Owlstrian soldiers swarming the Riverside, while others cried in alarm about the Pharaon’s forces, ready to cross the Nilus. 

Uat ignored all of that. The sphinxess focused her efforts in carving herself a path in the crowd, trying however to keep a low profile at the same time.

There was no rush after all. 

The old musket hanging from her shoulder was gone now, dumped in an alley after making sure of removing any trace leading to her. And given that most in the Civic Cohort wore repurposed every-day clothes, no pony or sphinx gave her more of a second glance as she passed by.

Her eyebrows furrowed in thought. True, matters at the South Gate had gone differently than she had planned, and in a rather violent manner at that, but at least her job was done now; Shabali was dead, his skull crushed by a griffon after a brief struggle, and that’s what really mattered. Her client couldn’t risk him falling in Owlstrian claws.

A sudden thought came to her mind, causing her to cast a quick glance down at her forelegs. The green and blue armbands were still there. That didn’t worry her too much; it could be easily resolved.

A few seconds later, two armbands of the Civic Cohort were laying unnoticed on the cobbled pavement, left to be trampled over and over, their previous owner disappearing into a side street, never to be seen again.
> 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 73rd, 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 3rd 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 3rd Company. It didn’t help that every single one of them was waiting for the 111th 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 111th 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 37th 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 4th 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.
> Chapter 4: Tensions
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


“In the Owlstrian Army, all problems have a simple, widely known solution.



Officers usually refer to it as sergeants”



-Captain Edward Blackwing, 3rd Company, 2nd Battalion, 111th Land Regiment



 


Kaska,

Owlstrian Constabulary …

“Fascinating,” Sergeant Stockade said, mostly to himself. His hoof flipped quickly through the report’s pages. “Truly fascinating.”

Seated across from him, Constable Lycia frowned in worry. When Stockade said those words with that thoughtful tone, it meant that something very nasty was about to come right down on their collective heads. Which in turn meant either a lot more desk work for her, or that soon enough some creature would have been shooting at her.

After all, those were the privileges for being counted amongst the senior gendarmes in Kaska, aside from the pay slightly above average.

The grifoness raised one clenched claw up to her beak and coughed softly, causing Stockade to glance up at her. His expression changed as he finally noticed her presence in his office, and he smiled. 

“Thank you for coming, Lycia.” Then he added, “I would offer you a seat, but it seems that you’re already on one.”

She shrugged. “I figured I might as well spare you some time. Besides, you were so taken that I did not have the heart to disturb you.”

Stockade nodded. “Ah yes, very considerate on your part. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. So, what’s the matter?”

“This,” the stallion said, gesturing at the dossier before him, “it’s Caltrop’s report on the South Gate Incident of last week.”  

Lycia’s brows furrowed. “Really? I thought it would take her a few more days do get it done.”

“Normally, yes, but I asked her to do some overtime.”

“You’re kidding me.” Lycia had to keep herself from bursting out laughing. She tried to imagine it, Sergeant Caltrop actually working for once! A snort escaped from her beak. 

“That mare will kill you for sure once this thing is over, you know it, right?” 

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” Stockade said. “Besides, I’m her superior. She can’t do it.”

Lycia chuckled. “Sure thing, chief. Keep telling her that once she starts nailing your moustache at the door.”

Stockade said nothing in response, but if his broadening grin was any indication, he was clearly trying to keep himself from laughing.

It was funny how, amongst the general public and the Army, the Royal Gendarmerie was imagined as a bunch of stern-looking, uniformed ponies and griffons, plagued by extreme paranoia and always ready to jump on shadows. 

In truth, the working environment within the organization was much more relaxed and informal. Even the ranking system was, unlike in the Army and Navy, more an indication rather than an actual and enforced hierarchy, at least at the lower levels. 

Of course, that prejudice was quite useful more times than not, especially when you wanted results. And those were the only thing the Gendarmerie was interested in.

“True as it may be, Lycia,” Stockade said, his voice turning suddenly serious, “let us now focus on more pressing issues, shall we?”

The grifoness nodded. She shifted her weight in the wooden chair to stand straighter. “Sounds good to me, chief. Go ahead.”

“Well, for a start, I’m sure you’ll be happy to know that last week operation was not the bust we feared.” He set the dossier aside and pressed his hooves together. “On the contrary, I might even go so far and call it an almost success.”

Lycia blinked hard at that, her head slowly tilting to the side. She had been there with the team tasked to breach the warehouse in the Riverside, and the entire building had been utterly empty. How could that be a success?

Stockade must have noticed her confusion, for he quickly added, “We managed to seize, apart from the burned one, the carts present at the South Gate. And judging by their cargo, I’m quite confident they came from the same warehouse we were about to raid.”

Lycia blinked again. Now that was a surprise. “You’re sure about this?”

"Positive," he said. “Some of the sphinxes survived the shootout, and we managed to interrogate a few. According to them, they stopped there that very morning and took some cargo. They knew that it was probably illegal, although they ignored what was inside. The leader of the caravan, Shabali, I think his name is, apparently took care of the whole business.”  

“And what was the cargo?” She asked.

“Oh, a lot of things. Carpets, working utensils, a few bottles of local alcohol, clot-” He stopped. “Wait, you’re talking about the legal or the illegal one?” Stockade asked with a grin. Lycia just shoot him an annoyed look.

“Fine, fine, I stop it” he said. “It was mostly weapons, as a matter of fact.” He picked up the dossier and quickly flicked through it to a specific page. “Revolvers, shotguns, a few bolt-action rifles and - oh, look at that- a couple of carabines. There was also a lot of ammunition, hidden amongst the less conspicuous merchandise.”

“That’s all?” 

“Well, there was also a machinegun,” Stockade noted.

“A machinegun!?” Lycia’s eyes widened in shock. “Where in Talos’s mercy did they find one?”

The stallion shook his head. “I don’t know about them, but we find it in the wreckage of the burned wagon. The flames had melted the barrel and a good chunk of the firing mechanism, but we identify it as a local version of an old Equestrian model, although it was too damaged to help us know where it came from.”

“Luckily for us, Lycia, we don’t need that.” He removed a sheet of paper from the dossier and pushed it with a hoof towards the grifoness. “Or, should I say, you won’t be needing that.”

Lycia shot a quick look at it. On the paper was a list of almost names.

She glanced back up to Stockade. “Suspects?” she asked. Her tone was serious now. She knew from experience that there was to be some hard work ahead.

As expected, Stockade nodded. “Those sphinxes gave us at least something to work with, and named a few of their accomplices. I don’t know if you’ll find anything, but I say it’s worth the shot.”

“I assume that I’ll have back up from Third Company for this.” Lycia would have never admitted it, but those soldiers were professional enough to know what they were doing, and Lycia preferred to have some serious back up should the situation go sour. 

She grimaced. Even if that meant meeting again that bitch of a corporal of last week’s raid. What was her name again? Helena Ice-something? Lycia was sure it had something to do with ice; that would have explained a few things about her.

Stockade shook his head. “I think we’d better deal with this thing on our own. The captain is probably busy with all the South Gate’s fallout, and I would rather not compromise his position any further. Besides-” he lowered his tone, gesturing the grifoness to come closer, which she promptly did. 

“Some of those rifles had ORA stamps over them,” he whispered. “Personally, I want to think that those within Third Company knew nothing about but, if they do, well, let’s just say that the ground beneath our dear Blackwing might get a lot hotter than it already is. Can I count on your discretion on this?”

Lycia answer did not come immediately. It took her mind a few moments to really understand what was being asked of her. 

It was no secret that between the Royal Army and the Gendarmerie there was no love lost. The general approach of the two towards the other one never went beyond the polite acknowledgment of its existence.

Captain Blackwing was the exception, of course. Most Owlstrian officers in Sphigypt would have swallowed their own stripes rather than collaborating with the Gendarmerie, preferring to keep their endless watch on the Nilus and wait for an attack that wasn’t coming anytime soon.

Still, Lycia suspected that the captain was just using the Gendarmerie as a trampoline for his own career. What if Third Company was on this? She guessed that it wouldn’t be too hard for them to claim that a few weapons had gotten lost during transport. And Owlstrian weapons, even rifles, were of a greater quality that of those produced in loco, which consequently meant that they could fetch a much higher price in any black market.     

The grifoness pushed those worries out of her mind. If she was worried about stepping on some creature’s paws, then she shouldn’t have enlisted in the Gendarmerie in the first place.

She fixed her eyes on Stockade, locking gaze with him, and nodded. “Always, chief. But I’ll be needing at least two full squads, plus one in reserve.” She quickly added, “Also, I’m confident that there will be quite a few searches before this matter is over, so if you can ready for me a warrant or two, that would help.”

Stockade nodded. “It means more than half of our numbers, but alright. They’ve been bound to their desk for too much anyway.”

“Regarding your second request though, I’ll see what I can do. I don’t believe that the marshal will be enthusiast at the prospect, so just try to keep it a low profile for the time being.” He winked at her.

“Understood, sergeant,” Lycia said. She was careful to keep down the grin that was slowly creeping on her face. “You have my assurance that I’ll keep it low.” She knew that keep it low could mean a lot of things. 

Besides, the marshal had to consult the local authorities before drawing up an actual warrant and, knowing the Republic’s bureaucratic mess of a judicial system, that could take weeks, if it happened at all.

Lycia did not have weeks, and there were a lot of names on that list. A good start puts you half-way from the finishing line, as her mother used to say. And she already knew where to start.





Kaska,

Owlstrian barracks …

The mess hall was quiet and, except for a single occupied table, empty. An old and spacious room with a low ceiling made of stone, it was big enough that 3rd Company would have barely occupied half of it. Just like the rest of the barracks, it had been designed to expect a battalion-level of activity. 

As of now though, Blackwing felt its emptiness and silence unnerving. He took a sip of coffee from his cup, fighting at the same time the urge to spit it out in disgust. Caffeine kept him sharp, even if that meant drinking what amounted to a drainage pipe’s content.

“Now, that wasn’t too bad, was it? I mean, it could have been worse, right?” Gregory Buzzard said. 

The statement felt too much like a question, as if he needed to reassure himself of what he was saying. The only thing the griffon achieved was receiving a frown from every creature seated at the table, accompanied by a much more tense silence.

“How so, sergeant?” was Lieutenant Nebula’s reply. 

Buzzard shrugged. “Well, the major could have come here and said something like “I hope none of you was planning to get home anytime soon, ‘cause those sphinxes just decided to have another war, so we’ll all get to stay in this Talos-forsaken place for a couple of more years.”

“Isn’t that what he said, though?” Lieutenant Castor chimed in. The griffon sported pale-yellow feathers, paired with an equally light fur on the rest of his leonine body. A layer of white feathers was framed around his face and owl-like beak.  

“I mean, not in those terms as far as I recall. Then again, he did not specifically say that the Pharaoh was having another go at it, so this all business can still die down in the next months.”

It was around that moment that Sergeant Major Iron Crest exploded.

“Shut your beak, Greg!” the unicorn mare snapped. “I swear on Talos, just try to say something like that again and you’ll regret it!” 

She rose up from her seat, leaning forward and placing both hooves on the table. Her eyes narrowed to sharp slits at the griffon. 

“Do you really think that, Greg? You think that’s not too bad, uh?” Buzzard was caught off guard and said nothing.

“Maybe that’s for you, but somepony here counted on spending at leas the next winter with her family!” she hissed. “So just do a favour to everypony and shut up, will you?”

The griffon blinked, stunned by its colleague’s outburst. Then he finally replied. “What in Tartarus is wrong with you, Crest? I was just trying to lighten the mood a bit!”

“Then why don’t you go back to your platoon and said that to them, uh? I’m curious to see how many shoots they manage to put in your body.”

“That’s enough, sergeant,” came Castor’s stern voice. “Sergeant Buzzard is here in Lieutenant Falcon’s stead, so you’d better get a hold of yourself right now.”

The two of them exchanged a quick glance. Reluctantly, Iron Crest got her hooves off the table and lowered herself back in her seat. She drew a deep breath. “Yes sir. Sorry sir.” 

As her name implied, the earth pony mare sported a grey mane with a distinct metal-like shade, coupled by some stripes of dark red, a colour pattern followed by her tail too. 

She turned to Buzzard. “And I’m sorry to you too, sergeant. That was uncalled for,” she said with a grimace.

All 3rd Company's COs and their respective NCOs were present at the table, aside from Lieutenant Falcon. As such, Sergeant Major Buzzard was now in the not-so-enviable position of acting as both the platoon’s de-facto commanding officer and most senior NCO. 

Still, if Blackwing had to make a guess, the griffon was still thinking of himself more as a sergeant rather than a lieutenant. It would take time for him to adjust to his new position, as temporary as that was. 

Buzzard shook his head, waving a dismissing claw to the mare. “Don’t mention it. I was a bit foolish myself.”

Blackwing sat the cup down beside him. “Now, if you two have finished,” he said, shooting a glance at both, “I say it’s finally time to decide on the news delivered by the major.”

Longbow wasn’t there fortunately; the stallion had left a few minutes before, insisting on taking a thorough look at their facilities. He didn’t know if what was some kind of surprise inspection on his part or not. Most of the buildings within the perimeter were empty, given that he did not have the need, nor the soldiers, to have them occupied.

Whatever the reason was, he had Bronze Tail stuck to him and showed him around, so to have some warning should something be amiss.  

At his side, Nebula lit her horn, seizing the bundle of documents left by the major on the table and raising them at her eye-level. She squinted as she read them for a third time. 

“With all due respect sir, I don’t think we can actually do much about it. The orders are clear; the withdrawal schedule is suspended indefinitely, and all Owlstrian troops within the Republic must assume immediate defensive posture.”   

“Yes, Nebula, I know that part.” It was Blackwing’s turn to grimace. “And I know there’s not much we can do about it,” he added. He tried, and failed, to hold back his bitterness. 

“I was referring to the fact that the rest of Second Battalion will soon join us here,” he explained. “As such, we’ll all be seeing some changes around here. I hope you kept your khaki uniforms in good order, because we’re going to need them shortly.”

Having the entirety of the battalion -nearly five hundred creatures- was surely to be a spirit’s boost in the barracks, especially once the news of the delay in the withdrawing plan reached the rest of the company. There was also the added plus of keeping the Civic Cohort wary should Ley try something stupid.

As a matter of fact, though, that had yet to happen, and the Cohort had remained silent since the South Gate’s incident. 

Blackwing had found it weird. He had thought that, once he caught wind of the raid in the Riverside, Ley would get absolutely livid. Surely, he would have realized by now that the griffon had lured him away out of Kaska to keep his subordinates’ warnings from reaching him, knowing full well that the Civic Cohort dared not to move without his approval.  

And yet, not a single letter of protest had reached his desk in the last seven days. That was good and worrisome at the same time.

“Does that mean we’ll stop running errands for the Gendarmerie, then?” Castor asked, crossing his forelegs on the table.

“We never did that, lieutenant,” Blackwing pointed out. “Ours was an agreement to collaborate in maintaining order within the city.” 

“Really? And here I thought for a moment that I’d mistakenly enlisted myself into the ONP. My bad, then.”

“I don’t see what the Owlstrian National Police has anything to do with us, Castor,” said Nebula from his side. “Would you care to explain?”

“Do I have to? Because I thought that the issue was evident.” Castor shot her a skeptical look. “Please, don’t tell me you’re trying to deny it.”

“Perhaps it’s not as evident as you seem to believe then,” Nebula said with an even tone.

“Sure, it could be that. Or maybe, and that’s just my impression, you’re too busy being the captain’s own mastiff to notice.”  

Blackwing knew he should have ignored that last remark. Instead, he found himself directing his gaze towards the griffon, his eyes narrowing in irritation as he regarded him.

“Are you trying to imply something, lieutenant?” he asked, his voice carrying an icy edge. “Because if there is a problem, now is the time to bring it up.”

“As a matter of fact, I do have one, sir.” He met Blackwing’s gaze with one of his own. “My problem is that you seem to have forgotten why we’re here in the first place. Third Company has not been assigned here to do police work.”  

“It’s not our job to arrest smugglers, nor do searches, nor identify suspects, nor whatever bullcrap the Gendarmerie asks us to do!” he all but yelled. “We are soldiers in His Majesty Army, and our job it to fight to protect the Kingdom! And how are we supposed to protect it if we’re too busy chasing around those scumbags?”  

Once again, tense silence filled the room. Castor seemed to realize that, and drew a deep breath to calm himself down. 

“So that’s my problem, sir.” He was speaking with a lower tone now. “I believe that putting our noses into Gendarmerie’s affairs was a mistake. And also why Falcon is not here now.” 

From his eye’s corner, Blackwing caught a glimpse of Buzzard trying to slink away in his chair, as if he wanted nothing more than to disappear from view. Almost comical if not for the situation.

“I see.” The sound of his claws drumming on the table echoed through the room. “So I’m the one responsible for Falcon’s status, is that what you want to hear?”

“I did not say that.” Castor laid back in his chair. “What I’d like to hear though, is why we’re even bothering with any of this to begin, sir. This is not Owlstria, those are not our problems, and most important, we are not getting any extra pay nor recognition at playing police.” 

“That’s it then?” Blackwing all but hissed to him. “You just want to close your eyes, shut your ears to the outside world and pretend than nothing is happening? Go ahead if you want, but don’t get all surprised on me when you got a sphinx uprising in the streets.”  

Castor rolled his eyes. “The Summer Riot again? Really? No offense, sir, but you can’t use something that happened years ago as an excuse.”

“That excuse is why I can’t fly anymore, lieutenant,” Blackwing snapped. 

The griffon’s eyes went suddenly wide, his beak agape as the rebuke died in his throat. By his side, Iron Crest shifted somewhat uncomfortably in her chair, eyes darting nervously between the two of them. Sensing his pause, Blackwing quickly seized the initiative.

“I never told you about that, did I?” He glanced in turn to each one sitting at the table, before settling his gaze back on the lieutenant. “I was there, you see, and there I gained my stripes as captain.” He frowned. “The crippling wing injury was an extra, but that’s beside the point. Akhri was an absolute disgrace, made even worst by the fact that it was an avoidable one.”

“But no, ‘cause in the Owlstrian Royal Army we’re only good at shooting problems once they present themselves. Instead, we decided to simply ignore the Gendarmerie’s warnings and then act all surprised when the sphinxes were up in arms.”

“So I hope you’ll forgive me, Castor, if that event is somewhat relevant to me.”  

A heavy silence fell again in the room. Then, seemingly for no reason, Blackwing flashed the griffon a vicious grin. 

“I thank you though, lieutenant, for raising this matter with me. And since you said that doing police work is clearly beneath your capabilities, I might already have a different task ready for you.”

Blackwing reached with a claw for one of the documents floating in mid-air, plucking it from Nebula’s telekinesis. “As it is stated here,” he began to read, “it is paramount for the troops in the field to make an assessment of the defensive works in their local area. Said report must then be sent to their respective Regimental HQs for a general evaluation of the defensive network.”

He set the paper down, fixing his gaze on yellow-feathered griffon. “Do you think you can handle it, lieutenant?”

Castor blinked, then opened his beak only to then close it. He did that a couple of times. 

“Sure thing, sir. Not a problem at all.” He spoke evenly, but not even him could totally hide the ugly grimace taking root on his face. Blackwing guessed that he was probably fuming, but if he was, he kept it well-hidden enough.

It was in that moment that the door at the far end of the room swung open, bright sunlight breaking inside. A uniformed griffon stepped in the mess hall, closing the door as he went in, and made a beeline for the five creatures gathered around
the table.

Blackwing did not recognized him immediately but, as he came closer, his eyes fell upon the griffon’s shoulder marks.

He walked slowly, taking each step with the upmost care. The jacket he wore was unbuttoned, as if he had donned it in haste, and thick white canvas around his belly were clearly visible beneath.

“Lieutenant Darius Falcon,” Blackwing said.

“Captain,” he acknowledged with a small salute.

“My memory is not what it used to be, so please remind me. Did I not tell you to remain in bed and recover?”

“Yes sir, you did.”

“And yet you’re not in the infirmary,” he noted.

“That’s also true, sir.” 

Blackwing furrowed his eyebrows. “Do you mind telling me why?”

“I heard that Major Longbow wanted all Third Company’s officers for this meeting,” he said with a shrug, holding back a painful wince. “No griff thought about warning me though. Sorry for the delay, but I came as fast as I could.”

“No, that’s not why I …” Blackwing sighed loudly. “You know what? Forget that I asked.” 

Why he had even thought for a moment that Falcon would follow his advice, he did not know. Blackwing saw no reason to press the matter further though, especially now that Buzzard had a gleeful smile stamped on his face.

“Darius,” Castor acknowledged him with a formal nod. “I see you’re still alive.” There wasn't much enthusiasm in that statement.

“Yeah, I know. I was disappointed too when I found out,” Falcon quipped. He turned then to Buzzard, matching the griffon’s smile with one of his own. “I trust that all is well, right sergeant?”

“Well, that depends, sir. It could certainly be better.”

“Really?” Falcon cocked his head slightly to the side. “I didn’t miss anything important, did I?”

“The withdrawal is cancelled,” Nebula said.

“Suspended,” Blackwing corrected her. “But yes, it’s basically the same thing for now. Seems like Akhri decided to piss off the Pharaoh again. Don't ask me how, for I've no idea whatsoever. Still, we have to keep an eye out in case the situation escalates.” He paused. “Are you regretting getting out of bed already, lieutenant?” 

Falcon said nothing. He glanced to Buzzard, as if seeking confirmation of what he had just heard, only to see the griffon nodding in response. He sighed. 

“I am now, sir. I am now.”





Blackwing’s walk back to his office was brief and uneventful. After much convincing, Falcon had agreed to return to the infirmary for the time being, much of the relief of Last Aid, their unicorn medical officer. Whether or not he would stay there, it was anypony guess. 

The barracks were a series of identical stone-made structures, all one story-high. It was originally meant to house up to eight hundred Owlstrians when at full capacity, more than enough for a single battalion. However, Major Longbow had decided some time prior to allocate 2nd Battalion HQ west in Edso, situated on the Abbay River, the Nilus’s eastern affluent, and taking 1st, 2nd and 4th Company with him.

Speaking of whom, Blackwing guessed that he had by now completed his survey of the facilities, although he was nowhere to be seen. He did not complain about that part. As of lately, he preferred to keep himself as far away from Longbow as possible. The letter still rested in one of his uniform’s inner pockets, acting as a bleak reminder.

Other matters bothered him though; his mind kept going back to the previous meeting. He grimaced.

In hindsight, he had handled Castor quite poorly. The griffon would probably see his new assignment as a way of keeping him occupied and out of the picture, and he was not totally wrong in that.  

Blackwing was accustomed to butting head with Falcon; the griffon had a talent for command, and the verbal skirmishes he had with him were more or less a routine by now. Castor was an entire matter entirely though, and the relationship between the two griffons was tenuous at best. 

The lieutenant had once been on his comfortable way to a promotion as 3rd Company’s CO, but then Blackwing got transferred to Kaska to take command. At the very least, he bothered to hide his hatred for him beneath a thin veil of professionalism. 

Furthermore, he had stubbornly opposed Blackwing’s decisions regarding the Gendarmerie from the beginning though, and that had reached a breaking point after the South Gate’s Incident.

The captain could tolerate many things, but to hear from one of his very lieutenants that he was to blame for Darius’s injuries had almost caused him to snap violently at the griffon. 

Then again, that could also be because Castor might be right about it. Falcon had been there because of his orders after all. Could he be responsible for what had happened, then? 

On his way, he passed the sky carriage, still parked in the large courtyard. Members of the security detail busied themselves with maintenance, assisted by a couple of unicorns from 3rd Company, checking for any signs of weakness on the enchantments that kept it flying. 

He pushed that thought aside with a frown. No, it was just overthinking it. Castor was trying to shift the blame of something that could not be predicted in any way on him. Hell, he had probably gone straight for Major Longbow to report his beliefs as soon as he was out the mess hall. 

Sweat trickled down in front of his eyes, and Blackwing spat a curse. The outside air was getting sweltering hot again, and it wasn’t even midday!

As he stepped through the entrance of the building were his office resided, he allowed himself a sigh of relief as a wave of fresh air rushed up to meet him. He looked up to see a hoof-sized, blue crystal embedded in the ceiling, glowing softly. Tiny, translucent flecks of what could only be snow fluttered lazily around it. He smiled.

Specialist Ruby Rose and her cadre had finally come up with a solution for the heat a couple of nights before. It was nothing sophisticated – a basic ice enchantment – and the company’s crystal stock was barely enough for the common areas. From what he could understand about the magic involved, they also required a daily recharge.

Blackwing suspected it was an attempt on her part to make up for their actions at the South Gate. Commendable, but not enough to avoid a couple of weeks of latrine duty. Without magic. Half of company would kiss her in gratitude anyway though.

He made his way to the office after that. Sentries snapped to attention as he passed, and Blackwing waved them back at their post without much thought.

Climbing up the stairs to the first floor and reaching his door, he was surprised to find two envelopes tucked just beneath it. He picked them both with a claw before stepping into the room. His office was more or less as he had left it that early morning, except for the pile of paperwork sitting on his desk. He was sure it had been smaller a few hours ago. 

Pushing out of his mind the ridiculous notion that paperwork could simply grow on its own, he sat behind the desk and proceeded to cut open one of the envelopes with his index claw.   

His eyes fell on the sender’s address, and he blinked. Blackwing squinted, reading it a second time to be sure. There were no mistakes though. That was from his brother Alder. 

He ripped the envelope open and quickly unfolded the written letter within. It was brief.

Edward,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. Mother has been worried sick since she read about what happened in Kaska. Me and Phoebe tried to calm her down, but you know how she is, so here I am writing this letter to you. Phoebe would never admit it, but I’m confident she was equally concern.

By the time this letter reaches you, I’ll be probably heading aboard the OSL Bucephalus to Port Kossen, near Akhri. Should you happen to be nearby, feel free to visit. And please, at least try and write to mum once a week. I would ask you to do the same with Phoebe, but I don’t want to overdo it.

Stay safe,

Your brother, Alder Blackwing.

Blackwing set the letter back onto the desk, grinning. If Alder had wrote him a letter, then worried sick was a massive understatement for their mother.

He read it another time. The Bucephalus, uh? It seemed his older brother had finally gotten the promotion. That would make him what, a commander? A captain, like him? Blacwking shook his head. He had no idea how ranks worked in the Navy.

Regarding Phoebe, well, it was certainly reassuring to know that her sister was concerned about him for once. The two of them had never talked that much; to be fair to her, the grifoness had been the only one to take over the family business in Rockspring, once both him and Alder went out to attend the Academy. Something that she constantly reminded them.   

That got him thinking though. Had he actually spoke with his siblings since his last leave? He and Adler almost never got one at the same time, and family reunions had always been rather… uncomfortable. 

The train of thought caused his eyes to wander, until they finally fixed on the second envelope on his desk. He went to open it too before stopping dead in his motion. Blackwing picked it up with a careful claw and examined more closely.

Why there was no sender on it?

He flipped it around in his claws, checking if perhaps he had missed it somehow, but there was no indication of the sort. Blackwing shrugged and went to open it anyway.

And then there was a soft knock at the door.

He glanced up to see Second Lieutenant Koralia Whitepeak standing in the doorway. The grifoness had white feathers with streaks of rosy brown around her eyes and along her wings, while her coat was of a more mundane chestnut. Aside from the standard-issued and unmistakable green officer uniform, she wore a set of round glasses, perched on top of her beak. 

Blackwing noticed that she was also wearing a bag slung over her right shoulder.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir. Do you have a moment?” she asked.

“As of now I do, lieutenant. Take a seat.” Blackwing waved her in, but not before scooping both envelopes with a claw and pushing them in one of the desk’s drawers. There would be time for that later.

Whitepeak sat down in the chair directly across him. If she saw him putting those papers away, she did not mention it.

“I’m not sure if you know, captain, but Major Longbow just came to the depo an hour or so ago.” 

Blackwing nodded. “Yes, I do. He insisted on conducting an inspection of the barracks. Why? Were there any problems?”

“Oh, not at all, sir! In fact, he actually commended the tidiness of my working environment, saying that it was an example to be followed!” Her face lit up as she spoke, her brown eyes glinting. Only then she noticed the mound of paper on the desk. 

Whitepeak blushed. “I-I meant it with no offense, sir,” she began, but Blackwing waved her a dismissive claw. “None taken.”

She nodded. “Thank you, captain. I have to ask though.” She leaned forward in her chair. “Is it true what they say, sir? We’re not going to withdraw?”

“Where did you hear that?”

Whitepeak shrugged. “On my way here, actually. I happened to hear a pretty heated argument amongst the troops.”   

Blackwing had to hold himself from swearing out loud. Had the news spread already? How? It had been barely been an hour since Longbow’s arrival, how in the- oh, dear and almighty Talos, there was also the security detachment!

He felt the overwhelming need to smash his head onto the desk. He had utterly forgotten about the major’s escort. 

Blackwing could almost picture it. Some 3rd Company’s members had probably paid a visit to their assigned billet for a chat, maybe even a smoke, one thing led to the other, and in a matter of minutes every creature in the entire complex would become aware that they were not getting home anytime soon.  

He sighed. Of course, problems just could not get simpler, could they? 

“Apparently so, lieutenant. I hope you’ve not come here just to complain,” he said at length, “because I don’t have the patience, nor the interest, in hearing another one after Castor’s.”

“I…uhm, I’m not exactly sure what Lieutenant Castor has to do with any of this.” She slowly tipped her head to one side in confusion. “I’ve actually come here because of another matter I wished to bring to your attention.” 

As she spoke, Whitepeak produced a large, heavy-looking dossier filled with papers to the brim from her bag, placing before her upon the desk and pushing it gently toward her superior with a claw.

He did not open it. Instead, Blackwing took a skeptical glance at the thing, specifically to how thick it was, before saying, “What is this?”

“A dossier detailing our logistical situation in last two months. I’ve took the liberty to attach to it copies of requisition forms, custom manifests for supplies cargos arriving by train, and the like. Oh, there’re also the forms sent back from the Regiment HQ about-”

“Whitepeak,” the griffon said, holding up a claw to halt her, “I’ve just had a really bad day. So, would you please explain to me why you are here or, even better, why you shoved a novel-sized block of paper on my desk?” He spoke evenly, but the irritated edge in his tone was unmistakable.  

“In short? Well, there’s a considerable deficiency in our registers.”

“A deficiency, lieutenant?” Blackwing asked. “As in “supplies are getting misplaced”?” That was a quite common occurrence after all. Their supply lines run all the way back to Akhri, and that was only just where they were unloaded via cargo ships. If you also added the not-so-stellar Sphigyptian railway network, missing equipment became a normal occurrence.

Whitepeak shook her head. “No, sir. As in “some creature is stealing them”.”

The griffon blinked. Then, he slowly rose from his chair and went to close his office’s door, which had remained open for the entire time.  

“Alright, lieutenant.” Blackwing said a few moments later as he sat back behind his desk. “You have now my attention. Feel free to elaborate.”

The younger grifoness nodded and proceeded to do so.
> Chapter 5: The Storm's Front
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


“According to a census performed from 985 to 990 on the Federated Kingdom of Owlstria’s pony population -excluding those living within autonomous enclaves or contested territories-, approximately 35% claimed of being of Roan descent, while 43% could be traced back to a certain Equestrian’s one. 



However, if the data from each state are examined singularly, areas such as Manelan and Talonviste present a concentration of ponies of confirmed Equestrian descent as high as 86%.



Given that both states are landlocked, and that immigration alone is not enough to justify such high numbers, as of now there’s no valid explanation on how these ponies arrived in Gryphus.”



-An extract from “A Brief and Comprehensive History of Ponykind in the World”, by Twilight Sparkle.


Marediterranean Sea,

About 400 nautical miles north of Akhri, 

Two days later…

“What do you mean that you missed it?” Captain Lars Redbeak all but growled. “By Talos’s blood, you’re a pegasus! You’re not supposed to miss that!”

Standing right before him, the green coated mare was trying her best to keep her wings from twitching nervously. 

“I swear, skipper, that was not there five minutes ago!” She gestured with a hoof at one of the bridge’s windows, aiming  towards the distant horizon.   

The griffon merely scowled at her but said nothing more. He picked up the binoculars by his side and trained them westward, towards the source of the problem, a towering mass of pitch-black clouds that was slowly closing on his ship.

The RMS Calypso was a black-and-blue hulled, white-decked liner, her bow ploughing through the waves crashing into her sides, and she visibly bobbed and swayed in her course. 

The weather had been unusually clement though, or at least as clement as it could be expected from that time of the year, with only a few scattered, innocent-looking white clouds drifting lazily in an otherwise clear blue sky.

Her crossing had been going smoothly up to that point, with the two-stacked cruise ship moving onto the same course she had been following for the last four months, more or less when the Owlstrian Navy had requisitioned her for auxiliary duties. 

Redbeak had of course been furious about it back then, voicing loudly complaints to his superiors in the Green Waters Company, but to no avail. The Calypso had consequently found herself with a skeleton crew, filled to the brim with military supplies, and sent to Akhri.  

He grunted to himself. At least those pig-heads had had the decency to give him and his crew an extra, as meagre as that was. Still, it was but a small consolation in seeing his precious ship, which had been carrying passengers throughout the vast oceans just some months prior, being treated as a mere cargo. 

Redbeak lowered the binoculars and turned his glare back towards the mare. “Really? Oh, such a shame! And here I though meteorology was your special talent or something.”

Third Officer Swift Gale frowned at him. “It’s weather-forging!” she hissed, pointing with a wing’s tip at her flank. Her cutie-mark, a bright and yellow sun covered by a snow-white cloud, was in stark contrast with her green coat.  

“Yeah, well, I don’t see you forging anything around here, Swift.”

“Hey! I thought that was my speciality!” Zot, a zebra stallion, chimed in from his seat near the radio apparatus. That quickly earned a round of general laughter coming from the rest of the bridge. Swift Gale’s answer to him was a deep frown.

Even Redbeak found himself chuckling, before shaking his head in amusement. 

Equestrians. 

No matter how hard he tried, he simply could not understand their obsession with cutie marks. And he knew a lot of ponies back home.  

He shrugged. In Owlstria, cutie marks weren’t all that big of a deal. Ponies got a pretty picture on their flank as they grew up and that was it. Granted, they could be a nice talking point, but it never went beyond that, and it certainly wasn’t a life-shaping matter! 

Then again, he was a griffon. Maybe for him was different. He shook those speculations out of his mind and moved towards more urgent matters. 

“Hey, Kutlay!” Redbeak called out at his First Officer. “Do me a favour and give me some detail on that storm, will you.” There was no answer.

“Kutlay!”

First Officer Kutlay Brownfeather was standing nearby, peering through his own pair of binoculars. He shot Redbeak a sidelong glance. “Uh? Sorry skipper, I wasn’t listening.” He then picked up a few sheets of paper with a claw and began to scribble down some notes.

“The squall, Kutlay” He gestured at it with a thumb. He did not bother to hide his annoyance. “Can you tell me if it’s going to intercept our course, yes or no?”

The griffon shook his head. “Hard to tell right now. What I can tell you though, is that’s weird.”

“How so?”

“Well, for a start, the meteorological bulletin for the day said nothing about it. Granted, they’re not all that accurate, but some creature must have made a big blunder if they missed that.” He paused. “Also, doesn’t it seems a bit too localized to you?”

Redbeak was about to ask to what it meant by that, when a realization struck him. He quickly picked up the binoculars again and peered at the storm. And the more it looked at it, the more he realized that Brownfeather was right. It did look weird.

He tried to make some mental calculations and found himself frowning. Even from this distance, Redbeak was sure that that the stormfront was barely a klick in diameter, but that was simply impossible.  

He’d been at sea for the better part of two decades and never in his career he had seen a storm that small. For Talos’s sake, he did not even think a thing like that was possible, except for pegasi maybe.

Redbeak stared at it for a few more seconds, as the black mass kept rolling towards the Calypso, broken only by the sporadic flash of lighting. Something was definitely off. 

He turned to the pegasus mare. “Swift, check our instruments and warn me if the wind starts picking up. And Zot?”

“Aye, captain?”

“Check on the radio. See if you pick up something.”

The black-and-white stripped stallion shot him a quizzical look. “Something, skipper? Like other ships?”

“That too, but keep an ear open for anything. For all we know, we have stumbled on one of those weather team’s training sessions, and no pony thought about signalling it properly.”

Zot nodded and went to work. A moment later and he had already his headset on, checking the radio waves for any unusual signal.

Redbeak grinned in satisfaction. He liked the stallion; he worked hard and had a good sense of humour. He might not have been Owlstrian, but barely any creature on board the Calypso was in the first place. Of course, none of them happened to be an escaped slave, whisked away and to safety by the Freedom Trail. 

As far as the griffon knew, Zot still kept his contact with the organization, and once in a while the Calypso’s crew had found themselves with an extra crew member or two, which would inevitably disappear once reaching the shore. 

It was a cruise ship after all, and checking crew, cargo and passengers would take a long time, without counting all the hiding spots. Not that those sphinxes didn’t try anyway.

Half an hour later, Redbeak sank in his captain chair with a tired sigh, ready to write that curious storm as the only exciting thing of the day.  

First Officer Brownfeather was confident in their ship capacity to stay ahead of it, but he had drawn some adjustments in their course just in case. Even if it was to reach them though, Redbeak doubted it would cause any real delay on their timetable due to its small size.

Speaking of weather, Swift Gale had come back and reported it to be clear and holding so far, with no major disturbance in sight. 

That left the radio, which had remained mostly silent except for a few stray signals, too weak to be heard. Eventually, Redbeak told Zot to go and get some rest, much to the stallion’s relief. Another crew member was supposed to take over in five minutes anyway.

The RMS Calypso kept her steady course towards Akhri, her arrival scheduled for the next day in the early morning. None of the creatures on her bridge noticed that the stormfront tailing them was picking up speed.  





Akhri,

Late afternoon…

“Psametik, my dear, you must absolutely try the salmon,” Zaliki Dey said. As if to emphasize the point, she jammed a fork into the fish’s orange meat and took another bite out of it. “So soft and sweet. It’s to die for, wouldn’t you agree?” 

As a matter of fact, Psametik Scavon would not. Putting aside that the flavour would stick to his mouth for hours after a meal, he had always found its sweetness not all that appealing. 

“I didn’t know that, Matriarch Dey,” he answered instead. “I’ll make sure to ask for one too the next time.”

The sphinxess smiled politely. “You’re welcome. And please, just call me Zaliki. Let’s leave titles for more formal occasions.”

He nodded. “As you wish then, Zaliki.” He took a sip of red wine from his glass, letting it slide down his throat with a pleased sigh. That Abyssinian wine was getting harder to find on the market, but by the Twenty, it was worth every single lira.

Had any sphinx come to him just a few months before and said that he would have found himself sitting for a dinner with Clan Dey’s matriarch, Psametik would have surely called him mad. And then he would have summoned his wardens to get said idiot out of his sight.

Look at him now though, enjoying a fine dinner with the most attracting -and dangerous- sphinxess in Akhri, maybe even in the whole Republic, whose clan had been Psametik’s most fiery opponent.

His father was probably doubling over in the grave right now.    

He frowned. Alright, maybe that was a bit of a hyperbole. The Scavon and Dey Clan didn’t hate each other that much; they’d just happened to have some disagreements that had sometimes turned into extremely violent and bloody feuds.

But that was in the past, and things had changed a lot in the last twenty years. Now they both hold a big chunk of seats within Akhri’s Grand Assembly, and it was only logical for them to engage with one another, especially when considering that they could count on a discreet majority when put together.

That was in theory. In practice, the two clans had simply brought their struggle somewhere else- within the Assembly’s chamber- and kept it going from there. Until now.  

Psametik took a peek at his surroundings. The restaurant owner was an old family friend and he had been so kind to reserve the roof terrace for the two of them, a bit excessive under normal circumstances. 

They were not the only occupants though, as both Psametik and Zaliki had found prudent to bring along a small escort of clan wardens; therefore, they were now dining surrounded by ten heavily armed sphinxes, seating around and some distance away from their table.

Things had gone quite smoothly so far though, and the sphinxes contented themselves with keeping a watch on their respective clan leader, as well as throwing suspicious glances towards their counterparts once in a while.

Even Zenbios, an older, grizzly-looking sphinx seated at a nearby table, seemed a lot less bothered from the whole situation than Psametik had initially feared, letting the saw-off shotgun he was carrying rest in his lap. 

Their presence did not seem to faze Zaliki one bit. The sphinxess could probably dine in a chimera’s lair and still have a perfectly good and quiet meal.

A few minutes of silence passed as both sphinxes enjoyed their food, the only sound coming from the faint rattling of cutlery. From the terrace, the setting sun could be seen slowly but steadily itching out of view westward, its course partially concealed by Akhri’s white and sand-yellow tenements. The first evening’s darkness crept on from the opposite direction.

There was obviously the bustle of the city coming from the streets below, but it was easy to gloss over it. Eventually, the waiters came along to quietly light the lanterns arranged along the balcony’s edge. 

“Delicious. Absolutely delicious.” Zaliki picked up a napkin to wipe her mouth’s corners clean. “And to think this place has always been here and I didn’t know about it! You truly are full of surprises, Psametik.”

“Surprises?”

She nodded. “Indeed. First at the Grand Assembly, and now this.” She waved a paw to their surroundings before chuckling. “If politics were not involved, I would almost suspect that you’re courting me.”

Psametik had to kept himself from choking on his glass of wine. He forced his mouth to form a casual smile. “I’m confident that such rumour is already running wild,” he said. “It’ll go in the pile with the rest.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is,” she agreed. “Just as I’m sure that many within my own party would absolutely love to jump at the occasion.” Her tone turned suddenly more serious, something that did not escaped Psametik’s notice. “Just wait a few days and those jackals will claim that we’re sleeping together.”

He blinked, glancing up at her. Zaliki was an attracting sphinxess, there was not denying it; her short, well-groomed coat made her alluring and round form even more evident to the eye.   

A long, brown mane was arranged in one single braid, resting on her left shoulder, while a golden collar stood out on her neck, with a set of three, deep purple amethysts nestled on its front.

“I take from your words that you don’t trust your deputies, then?” he asked, trying as best as he could not to stare.

The sphinxess flashed him a grin. “Oh, you can’t believe how much I envy you, my dear! At least those in your block see things the same way as you do, most of the times.” 

She sighed in annoyance. “Meanwhile, I’ve got to whip my own in line every day. And even then, there’s always the chance that those pesky landowners will bite my hand anyway.” Zaliki shook her head in frustration. “I swear, sometimes I really feel like I’m surrounded by a bunch of petulant pups.”

Psametik remained silent. He wanted to let the venomous remark forming in in his mouth free, but choose instead to wisely drown it with another sip from his glass.

He himself had been locked in a bitter stalemate with the Nilus landowners for the last years; they were the main reason why his multiple attempts at passing any slavery reform had been shot dead on the spot. It made sense -from their perspective at least-, as they owned most of the slaves within the Republic. 

It wouldn’t have been a problem had they been voting alone, as Psametik’s block was twice as big as theirs. Sadly, they sat in the Assembly with Clan Dey’s political party, which automatically gave them a majority. The current Archon, Siuk Tlion, had come from their ranks.

“From the way you talk about, it sounds as if you’d be better off without them.” 

“You’re a shrewd politician, aren’t you?” Her smile only broadened. She knew exactly where he was going, and Psametik would have expected nothing less from her. 

“I’ll admit that you’ve surprised me back at the Grand Assembly. After all, every creature thought you as the most favourable towards Owlstria, so much that Siuk was certain you would have voted against our proposal.” She chuckled. “You should have seen his face! I swear, he was about to have a stroke!”

Psametik shrugged. “My main concern has always been for Akhri’s safety, Zaliki. Owlstria might have been the best way to assure our independence, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to exchange a set of chain for the another.”

That had meant cutting bridges with Lady Honour Bound on the vote’s eve, a choice that he still wasn’t totally comfortable with. It was clear though that the Ambassador was acting pretty much alone, with the Owlstrian government showing increasing disinterest towards the whole Sphigyptian venture. She kept assuring him that things would change after next year’s election, but Psametik had his doubt about that. 

Of course, the motion passed but a few days before had been hardly a game changer per se; the subject matter was limited to the expansion of Akhri’s meagre fleet through the purchase of some outdated ship models. 

The Scavon and Dey Clan had voted together for the first time though, to the surprise of the whole Assembly, and rumour were running wild already. If they were to join forces, as it appeared likely, they would dominate the Grand Assembly in the years to come. It was of course unconceivable that the Scavons and Deys could actually find a common goal, but that didn’t stop the sphinxes from talking about it. 

Besides, the vote seemed to have shaken a few things up. Thebanus had predictably protested, denounced the aggressive action, and promised an answer in due time. That had in turn caused the Owlstrian to hastily press the backpedal on their withdrawal for the time being. There were probably going to be a few border skirmishes in the next month, but not much else.

“At least we agree on something then,” Zaliki noted. “But I cannot help myself from wondering if this is just another attempt on your part to pass that slavery reform.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And it would be that bad?” He quickly added, “The slave caravans from the Zebra’s Heartlands are getting scarcer by the day, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Seems to me that’s time to move away from the old ways.”        

“The reform alone may not be that bad,” she said with a frown, “but you’ve insisted on pairing it with an extension of citizenship to include ponies.”

“The Pharaoh did it though,” Psametik pointed out.

“Precisely. The pony population is already considered a fifth column at best, and now you want to give them citizenship too?”

He shrugged. “The problem must be addressed eventually, Zaliki. It’s folly to think that, when we come to blow with Thebanus, they won’t pick a side. I just want to be sure that it’ll be ours.”  

The sphinxess considered him a moment. Her keen brown eyes, now trained on him, shone in the candlelight.

“I’ll be honest with you, that’s sounds a lot like wishful thinking.” She crossed her forelegs on the table. “On the other paw, granting them citizenship would technically made them eligible for military service, and save us from the embarrassment of enacting conscription in the future.”

Psametik shook his head. “I was actually thinking the other way around, Zaliki.” When he saw the quizzical look on her face, he added with a grin, “Military service in exchange for citizenship. That way no sphinx will say that we’re handing it out to the slaves.”

“And there won’t even be that many of them anyway, should we choose to dissolve the AOPR,” Zaliki noted, mirroring his smile with one of her own. “I’m starting to like where this is going. You can solve two problems with one move, and I get to kick those landowners down a notch or two.”  

The sphinxess pressed her lips in a thin line. “Something like that could be arranged, but I’ll need something first in exchange.” Her mouth split into a grin as she saw the look of curiosity on his face. “Oh, don’t worry. It’s just a bone for the rest of my block.”

“I’m listening.” Psametik said simply with a nod.

Zaliki did not answer immediately, taking her time to refill her own glass, and then taking a long sip from it. “Do you remember the Bustadan’s Accords?”

“More or less. Why are you askin-” Psametik froze mid-sentence, his eyebrows furrowing. “Please, tell me you’re not planning on scrapping the treaty.”

She chuckled. “By the Twenty, no! Not yet, anyway.” The sphinxess sat the glass down on the table “Of course, one day we’ll hopefully able to finally put it aside for good," she said with a wink. 

"For now though, I’ll settle for a renegotiation. Specifically, on the part that allows the Owlstrian Gendarmerie to conduct operation on our soil without asking any permission. That we, a sovereign republic, let operate a foreign force within our borders with no oversight is both an embarrassment and a disgrace to our authority.”

Psametik frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t like the idea myself, but at least the Gendarmerie tries to keep some order around. The alternative would be to give the role back to each cities’ Civic Cohort, and do you really want to trust them?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t trust those sphinxes with the keys of a candy store. Besides, if what happened here in Akhri is any indication, many of them are not really that loyal to the Republic.”

“What’s your idea then?”

“It’s simple, really. We create a police force, a real one, to replace them. I’ve got a few of my colleagues already working on a proposal and I reckon it should be ready in a couple months.” Her brown eyes locked gaze with him. “The only thing I need are a few votes in the Assembly to pass it.”

Psametik opened his mouth to agree, but then chose to shut it. An idea flashed before him; it was an old one, something that he’d toyed with before putting it in the back of his mind and forgetting about. 

That idea had taken deep roots in the meantime though, swelling and growing while he wasn’t looking, and now it had become too big to ignore. And yet… 

Psametik bit thoughtfully his lip. It had been fifteen years since his appointment as Patriarch of the Scavon Clan, merely five years after the Republic’s independence from the Pharaoh, but so little seemed to have changed in that time. Its past problems- slavery, a frail institutional system, and sphinx-only citizenship- had simply become its present problems.

The world went on, the threat from Thebanus becoming more real with each passing day, but Akhri still showed a morbid attachment to its old ways.

Drastic changes had to be enacted if the Republic was to survive; drifting away from Owlstria’s political orbit was only the first step on a long road.

Psametik studied the sphinxess before him. Putting aside the hostility of their clan towards one another, he and Zaliki were similar in many ways. 

Sure, they might had their fair share of divergences, but they were both descendants from two of Sphigypt’s most ancient clans, the same that had struck the first blow against the Pharaoh. Such position entailed certain privileges, yes, but also demanded many duties.   

Putting their political struggle aside, both were working for the Republic’s betterment, and that was mattered in the end. And besides, that wasn’t a first. Scavon and Dey Clan had certainly worked together in the past, quite well actually, so there was that precedent. 

That did not make what was about to propose less risky though, but it gave him something firm to hold on. He would have just to approach it from the right angle.          

“So, if I’m understanding this correctly,” Psametik spoke at length, “you’re proposing an exchange of favours. A couple of social reforms for a few changes in the Accords, correct?” He saw no point in dancing around it.

Zaliki nodded. “More or less. I’m sure it’s not an alien concept to you.”

“Not, it isn’t. Still, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.” He grinned as he saw her eyebrows arching up in surprise. “I’m not saying that the proposition isn’t good, mind you. I just think that we’re thinking in too much short terms.” 

“And what makes you say that?” Zaliki asked sceptically. 

“This.” He waved his paw to the surroundings for emphasis. “Sure, our clans exchange favours just as much as they battle each other. However, in doing so we’ve allowed others to grow fat and capitalize on our distraction.”

She sighed. “Is this about you and the landowners again?” Her tone showed clear signs of annoyance.   

“No. This time, it’s about you and the landowners, Matriarch Dey.” Psametik promptly replied. “After all, they’re the ones occupying the Archon's seat, even though they technically belong to your block. And in doing so,” he lowered his voice to a hiss, “they make you appear weak. When Siuk challenges your decisions, he makes every sphinx think that he’s the one holding the strings behind your back, instead of the other way around, that Clan Dey is nothing more than its puppet to play with. Is this what you wish?”

Zaliki’s eyes slowly narrowed to slits. She opened her mouth for a reply, then thought better and shut it. Still, behind that furious façade, there was a clear hint of deep interest. 

“I’m confident that this rambling of yours is going somewhere, yes?” The sphinxess shot him a suspicious glance.

Psametik nodded. Honestly, he was surprised he had gone this far without stopping himself.  He briefly wondered if that was maybe the wine’s fault. If it was, Abyssinians really did miracles then.

“You asked me if Owlstria has any right to meddle in our internal affairs. I now ask you if a bunch of fat, greedy sphinxes have any right in sticking their noses in Clan Dey’s affairs.”

“And if the answer is no, as I think it is, well,” he went on with a wide grin, “as Clan Scavon’s designed patriarch, allow me to say that it’s time for Siuk to retire as an Archon, and for us to choose a new one.”

Zaliki’s eyes widened in surprise. She said nothing, her mouth slightly agape, utterly speechless. Psametik had never saw her like that. He had to move quickly now.

“Akhri doesn’t need lesser sphinxes squabbling amongst themselves, not when the Pharaoh is ready to pounce on our weakness,” he stated firmly. “It needs a guiding paw. And I believe it’s time for both Dey and Scavon Clan to step up to their rightful place within the Grand Assembly. You won’t be needing the landowners’ support anymore, and I’ll put the SRP minority back in the corner.”

“And what about the Temples?” Zaliki asked, and hope surged briefly within Psametik's hearth. Even getting her thinking about his proposal would have been an unexpected success.

He shrugged casually, or at least he hoped it looked casual. “I’ve known Horirem for a long time. Whether he accept or not, it holds little importance, as our majority would be unassailable.” He grinned. “Of course, he would have all the interest to join us, and that can make our hold on the assembly even more firm.”

Zaliki nodded but remained silent. Her eyes remained trained on him for many, seemingly eternal, seconds, and Psametik matched her gaze with his own.  

At a first glance, the sphinxess’s face was serene, but he knew better. Behind that mask, gargantuan gears of cold steel were moving.

“Let us suppose for a moment,” she considered, “that I were to accept this proposal. Putting aside the fact that I would have call a tremendous amount of favours in, and just to keep my block together, there’s still the matter of deciding who would replace Siuk. And there’s no way in Tartarus I could convince any of mine to back a Scavon for that position.”     

Psametik made a show of thinking about it for a while. Then, he shrugged. “Well, you could do it.”

The mask dropped, and her jaw literally hit the floor. “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s simple, really,” he said, chuckling. “Unlike you, I keep my deputies at much tighter leash. Sure, they’ll rumble for a bit, but I think I know a way or two to convince them. Just give me a couple of weeks and you'll have those votes.”

Zaliki simply stared at him. To her credit, her shock lasted barely a few seconds before she overcome it.

“Amon almighty, you’re serious, aren’t you?” She frowned, her eyes wandering briefly on the ring of warden surrounding them. None seemed bothered in the slightest by what they’ve just heard. 

Clan wardens were bound by an oath of secrecy to their respective patriarch or matriarch. For all intent and purpose, her and Psametik were surrounded by a brick wall.

She smacked her lips a few times, thoughtfully. Then her steel gaze settled on him. “The only way I’m going to even consider this is while drunk”. She flashed him a grin, and he saw the glistening tips of her canines just barely poking out from beneath her upper lip. “Therefore, if you want to discuss the matter any further, I suggest you go and get more bottles of that wine.”

Psametik nodded, hiding the smug grin of satisfaction forming now on his face. He quietly thanked the Twenty for smiling on him for once. That was going to be a long night. 





Marediterranean Sea,

Heavy cruiser OSL Bucephalus,

A few hours after midnight…

“Play the recording again, Mrs Glow.”

The unicorn mare glanced away from the console and towards the griffon standing by her side. His eyebrows were knitted together in deep thought. 

“Again?” Lieutenant Glow Plug asked, trying and failing to suppress a yawn. “I mean no disrespect, sir, but it’s quite messy. I don’t think you’ll hear anything useful aside from that bunch of incomprehensible gibberish. Of course, I could go find Loitzer so he can fix it, but even then, I’m not that sure he can.”

Captain Alder Blackwing turned slightly his head to regard her. “Your concerns have been noted, lieutenant,” he said in a quiet, cold tone. “Now, play it.”   

“Aye, sir.” The mare kept herself from pointing out that was the eight time she has been asked to play the damned radio transmission they’d picked up a while ago, and simply nodded. She flicked down a couple of switches, pressed some buttons with her telekinesis, and passed him a bulky pair of earphones linked to her terminal.  

She waited a few moments for the griffon to don them properly, then pushed the play button.

At first there was silence. Then came the soft buzzing of electronics, followed shortly by a much louder sound of crackling static. Finally, a voice emerged amongst all the background sounds.

“-yday! Mayday! This is Cap… rs Redbeak of the RMS Calypso to all and any Owlstrian vessels in …inity.We’r … nidentified airship! I repeat, we’re under attack! We’ve sustained heavy … fire is spreading on the upper decks. Their weapons… its … I’ve never seen anything like that! They’ve just ch… the hull!”

There were other voices with him, both male and female, urgent and loud but still incomprehensible. Alder heard an alarm wailing somewhere in the background.

“Steady! Keep her steady I said!” the captain’s voice snapped with urgency.

“I’ve got wounded on all decks … engines won’t hold muc… antenna’s heavily damaged. We need-” The recording became intelligible for a few second, radio interference drowning out the his voice. 

“-ear Talos, the fire has reached the cargo bay! Aband … I repeat, abandon ship! It’s about to blow u-”

There was silence after that, and the recording came to an end.   

Alder Blackwing removed the earphones, setting them back on his comm officer’s desk. He suppressed the frown on his face with practised ease, putting on his usual neutral, expressionless mask.

“Thank you, Mrs Glow. You may resume your tasks.”

“Aye, skipper.” Her horn lit up and she took a sip of coffee from her mug. 

Settling himself back in his command’s chair, Alder couldn’t help but notice that, aside from the buzzing and peeping of electronics, the bridge had been unusually quiet for the last hour. Most of his subordinate kept their eyes glued to their assigned consoles, and the tension was palpable.

“Captain, I’ve got Team Neptune 1-2 and 1-4 on the line,” Executive Officer Ted Scytheclaw said. “They’ve terminated their assigned sweep and are moving to next zone.”

The griffon nodded. “Did they find anything noteworthy?”

The exec shook his head. “No sir,” he said bitterly. “Not a thing.”

“Understood. Inform Neptune 1-1 and 1-3 that they’re to cover them, then adjust our route accordingly.”

Lieutenant Scytheclaw nodded and went to inform the helm. A minute or so later, the Bucephalus’s bridge tilted slightly portside as the ship changed her course. Barely any creature acknowledged it.

More time passed, and Alder had to fight the urge to rake with a claw the wooden armrest in frustration. His mind went back to the recording, and he briefly considered listen to it one more time. 

The griffon shot a glance at Glow Plug before deciding against it. His crew was already on edge; they did not need to see him worried. He needed to keep a cool head now.     

That transmission had been the only -and last, a more cynical part of him noted- communication received by the RMS Calypso, and that had happened nearly four hours ago. Being the closest vessel in the area, he had ordered his heavy cruiser Bucephalus to move to the Calypso's last known location.

The problem was to first determine where that was. According to Lieutenant Glow Plug, the signal, even if distorted, had come relatively close to them, given that radios on merchant ships were not that powerful when compared to military ones. That didn’t reduce their field of research that much though.

If things were not complicated enough, the utter lack of light made his flying teams’ efforts all the harder. Griffon’s eyes were certainly useful at night, but even them had their limits. 

As of now, the Bucephalus was moving in utter darkness, broken only in some places by the constant sway of the ship’s headlight. The division promised by Port Kossen was yet to arrive, leaving her alone in a Search and Rescue mission for the time being.

If the Calypso’s SOS was of any indication though, that wasn’t a simple SAR, and Alder had decided to sound the general quarters some time before. The Bucephalus might have not been designed to face flying targets, but her hide was thick and she was fast. Besides, her lighter guns could certainly pack a punch if necessary.

Still, that left a lot of questions, namely what an unidentified airship was doing in the Marediterranean. 

Was it sky pirates perhaps? The griffon shook his head. That was more of a zebra thing, and even then, it was unlikely for them to pick a route so heavily patrolled such as this. Pirates were not that idiotic.

Could Thebanus be behind this then? Maybe some sort of provocation? That would be certainly be more likely, even if infinitely more stupid on their part. Alder found himself frowning. Of course, leave it to the sphinxes to murder his compatriots to send a message.

“Incoming communication, skipper,” Glow Plug announced. “From Neptune 1-4. He says that they’ve found something.”

Alder’s ears perked up. “Can you ask him to elaborate?” 

“Already done that, skipper. They said that they’ve found a small craft ten klicks north-west from us, possibly a lifeboat, but they can’t confirm it right now.” She paused for a moment to listen to her earphones. “Neptune 1-4 is asking permission to investigate.”

There was a sudden, collective gasp of surprise from many creatures on the bridge. 

“Very well, lieutenant,” Alder said with a calm voice. “Tell him to proceed, but he’s to exercise caution in his approach.”

Then, turning toward his exec, “Mr Scytheclaw, have the medical team informed, then halve our current speed.” 

The griffon never had the chance to answer, as in that moment the horizon flashed with a crimson, burning light, blossoming out by a single point high in the sky. It hung there for several seconds, burning, before initiating a slow descent into the sea below.

“Flare! We’ve got a flare!” one of the officer bellowed.

“Skipper, I’ve got Neptune 1-4 on the radio. They say it came from the lifeboat and that they’re moving in to secure.”   

Alder Blackwing nodded. “Understood. Mr Scytheclaw, belay what I’ve just said. Move us closer to them and prepare the motorboats for launch. I want a team with medical personnel assembled on the upper deck in five minutes.”

“Aye, sir.” His exec sighed in relief. This time, Alder allowed himself to mirror him. Talos be praised, they were not too late yet.





Fortress of Til-Akes,

Soukres Mountains, somewhere west of Kisne,

A few hours later …

The fire burned brightly within the raised stone basin before her, the dancing, blue cobalt flames growing taller and casting long shadows around the room. 

And yet, Tempest Shadow could hardly feel any heat coming off from them. Unsurprisingly, given their magical nature. 

The mare cast one last look around to assure herself to be alone. Even if her own guards had conducted methodological searches through her living quarters and had found no visible sign of tampering, be it magical or otherwise, that did not mean that the sphinxes could not try.

After all, Tempest was confident that they were already keeping a strict watch on the dispatches she often sent out. 

She smiled, mostly to herself. They could try all they want, but she always made sure not to send anything vital through them. Besides, most of her exchanges with the Storm King occurred through magical means. Not with crystal balls, of course; any experienced magic users could eventually crack the channel with enough effort.

Tempest Shadow went back at studying the blue flames. She grimaced. She had little idea of the magical principle behind them, as her training on that regard had been … cut short. Or was broken a better definition?

Thankfully, she had no time to delve on that subject further. The flames shifted, then twisted and twirled before coalescing into a single face. 

A face that Tempest was not expecting to see.

“Commander Tykus,” she acknowledged him, hiding her surprise.

“Thunder Captain Tempest Shadow,” he answered in a neutral tone. “I hope you are calling for a very important reason.”

The Storm Creature -or yeti, as they called themselves- was taller than her, but the flame made them stand more or less at eye level. His face, surrounded by a thick white-and-grey furry mane, was hidden behind a black mask. On it were eight long notches, four on each cheek, all painted crimson to mimic ritual scars, and all symbolizing his rank as commander.

Tempest nodded. “I am. I was hoping to speak to His Excellency.”

“He’s busy as of now. If you have a message, you can give it to me, Thunder Captain, and I’ll tell him later.”  

“With all due respect, these are urgent news, sir," she insisted. "They must be immediately brought to the Storm King.” 

“And as I’ve said before, captain, he’s busy,” Tykus all but growled. “He might have showed special regard towards you, but that doesn’t authorize you to talk to him whenever you like.” 

“There’s such a thing as a chain of command, Captain Tempest Shadow,” he continued, putting emphasis on the rank, “and you’re not immune from it.”

Tempest opened her muzzle to retort, but her self-control quickly took over, shutting it close. As much as she wanted to loathe him, Tykus -Commander Tykus, she corrected herself- did have a point for once.

“Of course, commander. Please, accept my apologies,” she said somewhat formally, dipping her head stiffly to his image. “You’ve my assurance than this won’t happen again.”

Even behind that mask, Tempest could sense that Tykus was anything but convinced about the sincerity behind her statement. And she could hardly care less.

“I’ve called to inform you, commander, that the situation here in Sphigypt has evolved, and it is therefore likely to explode in the next two months at most.”

“And you’re sure of this because?” Tykus asked.

“Thebanus is amassing great quantities of supplies in hidden deposits between the Soukres Mountains and the Nilus River. I can also confirm that they've recalled some troops from the western border now that the situation in Saddle Arabia is settling down. Furthermore, new regiments are being mobilized around Dehecan.”

The yeti grunted. “That was to be expected. I’m then to presume that their Vizier has already asked you to honour our part of the bargain?”

“No, he did not.” Tempest said. “The sphinxes seem to eye us warily for now, even if we’re technically allies. Still, I’m going to need reinforcements should they indeed ask for our support.”

“Reinforcements?” Tykus sounded somewhat surprised. “You have already fifteen hundred with you!”

“Of which only two hundred are Storm Guards,” Tempest pointed out. “The rest are either mercenaries, auxiliaries or non-combat personnel.”  

“But you also have three airships.”

She nodded. “I do, commander. On that regard, I wish to inform you that we’ve conducted some field tests on the magic-based weapons that you so graciously provided us to with.”

“You did? Well, you should have started with that! No matter. I’m confident that they proved much effective, yes?” Commander Tykus now seemed much more eager to hear what she was about to say. He had been the one to push the most for their development after all, to the point that most of his carer was based on the production of magical weapons. 

One thing for sure, The Storm King was not keeping him around for his tactical prowess.  

“They were indeed effective,” Tempest said, her tone turning ice cold.“They also were volatile, unreliable and just as dangerous for us as for the enemy. As I’ve stated in the report that you’ll soon receive, one of the Storm Cannons malfunctioned, causing a dozen casualties and setting one of the lower decks on fire.” 

She sighed. “The Altostratus won’t be able to fly for a time with her repair underway. Furthermore, I had to request permission to Miralay Belk to employ Til-Akes’s facilities to speed up the process, which she granted.”

“You imbecill!” Tykus snapped. The cobalt flame flared, growing bigger and brighter. “That weapon was supposed to remain confidential! You did not have the liberty to let sphinxes -spies, in more likelihood- aboard one of our airships.” 

He took a deep breath, before fixing again his hateful glare on Tempest. “Thanks to your incompetence, captain, the sphinxes know about our project. And the gods only know who else is informed by now!” 

Tempest Shadow remained unfazed by the outburst, limiting her reaction to a single, raised eyebrow.

“I did not have a choice in the matter. Those weapons were unstable and not ready for a field test. Oh, don’t worry; we disassembled and hid them before the repair crews came aboard, but the damage is already done.”   

“My strike force is reduced by a third of its strength, leaving me with only two assault transports,” she continued. “I don’t know when the Altostratus will be operational again and, to top it all off, the Pharaoh is readying himself for a showdown. Therefore, I must request reinforcements, Commander Tykus.”

“That is not possible, captain.” The flame dwindled a bit, shrinking back to a more normal size. 

“Our campaign in Abyssinia is … well, is not proceeding as quick as we had hoped, and we’ve redirected there our available reserves. The recent debacle at Mount Aris has most displeased His Excellency, and he has forbidden any overstretching until those damn cats are dealt with.”  

Tempest blinked in surprise. “Mount Aris, sir? Did the raid fail then?”

“Worse, it didn’t even occur. Commander Carrion managed to get ambushed on the way.” He grunted something resembling an amused cackle. “He lost four airships to bloody seaponies! That bird’s lucky he didn’t survive to face the Storm King’s wrath. Still, thanks to him, our resources are more strained than usual.”

The yeti shrugged. “You’ll have to make do with what you have.” Tempest could almost picture the grin growing behind the mask. “You did something similar at Aksum, didn’t you? I’m confident that you’ll manage.”

Tempest clenched her jaw. She had to muster all her self-control to not snap at him right there. “Of course, sir.”

He nodded. “Well, if that was all, captain, I’ll leave you now. I’ve got a real war to fight.” 

Commander Tykus’s face hung in the flame for a moment or two before dissipating. The cobalt fire lasted a little longer, but eventually it too dwindled and died. No sign of it remained in the small stone basin, not even embers.

The only fire surviving in the room was the fiery rage burning within Tempest. Her mask of calm slipped for a second, causing a few bright sparks to erupt from her horn stump.

She forced herself to relax, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. The magic sparks’ eruption died down. As much as she wanted to pour out all the bottled-up frustration building inside her, preferably on Tykus’s face, she managed to suppress the urge to smash her hooves through the furniture.             

Tempest was aware that her meteoric rise through the ranks had ruffled quite some feathers in the upper echelons. 

If that wasn’t enough to anger them, her quick and brutal way of conducting warfare had gained much favour with the Storm King, especially after the successful twenty-four-hour long siege of Aksum. 

It had reached a such point that many believed her promotion to commander to be but a few steps away. Of course, those idiotic buffoons standing by His Excellency side had convinced him to send her to Sphigypt so to prevent that. 

Tempest allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. They had been too stupid to realize that they’d agree to send her exactly where she wanted to be and, most importantly, where the Storm King wanted her to be. Speaking of which …

She looked back at the crystal ball on her desk nearby and moved to activate the device. Doing it resulted to be easier said than done as while any unicorn could easily do it, her own affliction rendered the entire process much lengthier than necessary.

It wasn’t so much that she couldn’t use magic. Her horn, even if damaged, was still perfectly functional. But where the magic should have been a directed and orderly flux, like a river flowing downhill, it came to Tempest as a raw, unfocused mess, not much dissimilar from a storm.

She had to push, fight, even whipped it towards the direction she wanted it to go. All the while, her horn glowed brighter and brighter, sparks of raw magic rocketing out of it and spinning in a wild frenzy. It was painful, sure, but pain was something she had long since learned to live with.

Eventually, the cloudy mass within the ball began to swirl, slowly at first, then quicker as an image took form.  

Tempest shut herself out of the magic and the pain faded, causing a sigh of relief to escape from her lips. She wasn’t much worried about the sphinx tapping into it, as long as it remained hidden. 

“Professor Safiya, can you hear me?” she spoke into the sphere.

A cacophony of sounds came out from the other side, mostly of books and other object hitting the floor. It was accompanied by a loud string of curses, thankfully in Sphigyptian.

The face of a grey-and-white furred, green-eyed sphinxess came into view. Her mane was tied into a series of long braids, and she was wearing a pair of glasses. 

“Bloody Menhit, how does this thing work?” Tempest heard her mumbling. Then, louder, “Miss Fizzlepop, is that you?”       

“Indeed, professor,” the mare nodded. As much as she had sworn herself to leave her past name behind, it was undeniably a good cover for the time being. The only thing from her past life that had any use, she noted.

“I was hoping you could give me a little report on your progress regarding the book,” Tempest said with a fake smile. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but my superior is getting … somewhat impatient, let's say.”

Safiya shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t have much as of now. As I’ve said before, the test is written by different authors in four different dialects, all of them a pain in the rear to translate. It will take time, and it is not a thing I can do alone.” 

“Still, I’ll admit I’m quite excited.” The sphinxess’s muzzle split into a broad grin. “I mean, you don’t get everyday an original manuscript about the life of Sacanas. Where did your client get it anyway?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have the liberty to divulge that, professor.” Then, in a more thoughtful tone, she added, “Sacanas, uh? I think I’ve heard that somewhere. Wasn’t she one of your gods or something?”

Safiya nodded. “One of the Twenty, yes. Of course, it is well known amongst us scholars that all of the Twenty were alive once, before eventually ascending to godhood. Sacanas, the goddess, I mean, has been venerated for countless years as the Wind Mistress.”

Tempest frowned. “You mean she could command the weather?”

“More or less. We also have accounts of when she was mortal – only fragments, I’m afraid- and they all describe her as a miraculous healer. Honestly, I don’t know what’s the connection between the two, but that’s how they used to worship her in Kaska.”

Something clicked within Tempest’s mind. She knew better that to put faith in some kind of holy healer, especially when all attempts at repairing her damaged horn had failed. Still, that childish curiosity got the better of her.    

“That’s interesting, professor. Really interesting. Would you mind telling me more about her?” 

Professor Safiya Di-Sen did not mind at all.
> Chapter 6: Colleagues
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


“Let’s all be honest with ourselves, alright? No sane creature gives a shit about Akhri, and no sane creature gives a shit about Sphigypt either. The only reason why we even though about being here, is because those confederate fuckers are here too!”



-Attributed to Lieutenant Tullius Castor, 3rd Company, 2nd Battalion, 111th Land Regiment


Kaska,

Owlstrian barracks,

The next day …

Captain Edvard Blackwing pushed open the infirmary’s wooden door, letting him and Lieutenant Whitepeak inside before closing it behind them. The two griffons were greeted by an atypical humming and rattling of engines, muffled as it came from somewhere beneath the floor. 

It wasn’t pleasant, but that machinery kept the lights on in that part of the barracks. Most of the time, at least. The crystal-powered battery had the nasty habit of breaking down, and fixing it could take days without a specialist. So far, 3rd Company had managed to keep it going with hasty repairs.

It didn’t help that the only room spacious enough to house their triage station was right on top of the basement, were the generator was located. Then again, the building in question was probably a century old. It had not been built with electricity in mind.

“May I ask why we’re in the infirmary, sir?” Whitepeak said by his side, glancing curiously at her surroundings. 

Blackwing nodded. “We’re here, lieutenant, because we need to sort out our small problem with discretion. The last thing I need is Major Longbow breathing down my neck.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call missing supplies a small problem, sir. Also, that still doesn’t answer why I had to come here too.”

“Oh, that’s easy actually.” He held up two clawed digits. “Firstly, you discovered the loss in the first place, so it’s only natural for you to be here. And secondly, I think you should get out from that office once in a while.” That only earned a sceptical look from her, but if she had any complain she voiced none of them.

Blackwing omitted to say that she was also here because he needed a reminder of what the situation actually was, but that was really beside the point now. 

In his defence, most of Blackwing’s time in the last two days had been devoted organizing 2nd Battalion arrival. There was a lot to do, such as cleaning up the empty barracks and fetching new bunks, as well as readying a new administrative wing for the Battalion HQ. 

Most of that work had been delegated to a couple of local enterprises though. True, that might had not have been the safest arrangement, but given the available resources there wasn’t much else he could have done. Besides, Buzzard was keeping an eye on them.  

Seated by an open window overlooking the inner courtyard, Sergeant Last Aid turned her head only slightly towards them, acknowledging their arrival with a small nod. 

She was a unicorn mare with a short, curly green mane and white fur. She wore a medical apron that had once been of an immaculate white, but was now coated by dark-crimson stains of dried blood.

Her horn was glowing, casting her telekinesis on a hovering, and still smoking, wooden pipe. 

“I’m quite sure there are regulations about smoking in an infirmary, sergeant,” Blackwing noted.

Last Aid glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. She levitated the pipe to her muzzle and proceeded to take a slow and deep puff out of it. 

“Are there?” she growled, her teeth biting down on the stem. “Well, they’re a bunch of horse crap. I’ve yet to see a doctor worth his salt that does not smoke.”

“You could do it outside,” the griffon pointed out.

Last Aid shrugged. “I could, but I won’t.” She exhaled deeply. “In case you haven’t noticed, sir, the sun here is actively trying to kill us.”

Blackwing kept himself from rolling his eyes. “Yes, I noticed that. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll ask it to pick up the numbered ticked and get in line, just like any other civilized creature.”

The mare grunted something resembling an approval before turning to look outside. In the morning, that side of the building was mostly in the shadows, and windows were kept open. More smoke rose from the pipe’s bowl, grey puffs drifting lazily up in the air and out of the window.

Then, glancing back, Last Aid seemed to finally notice the griffoness’s presence.

“Oh, my apologies, ma’am. I didn’t see you.” She smiled and performed a small salute. “Sergeant Last Aid. I’m the medical officer, the only one present, anyway. I presume you’ve accompanied Major Longbow here, yes?”

Whitepeak said nothing, staring dumbstruck at the mare for a few seconds, her eyebrows raised. “Sergeant, I-” she paused, blinking. “I know who you are. I mean, I’ve been here for the past four months.”

“You did?” Last Aid tilted her head to one side. “Strange. ‘Cause I honestly don’t remember you, ma’am. Then again, I don’t get all that free time to go around.” She grimaced. “I look away for a second and one of those idiots -pardon me- stab himself in the hoof.”

“Second Lieutenant Whitepeak is our logistical officer,” Blackwing reminded her. “And, in the absence of Nikolas, she’s our acting Quartermaster.”

“Does it mean that all my complaints went through her? That would at least explain why she has heard of me,” she said, chuckling.

Blackwing noticed the grifoness shooting him a perplexed look, to which he simply shrugged.  

“I assume,” Last Aid said as she kept on smoking, “that you have a reason to be in my infirmary, captain. Besides complaining about my pipe, I mean.”

Blackwing nodded. “We’re here to see Falcon. He’s still here, isn’t he?”

Last Aid grimaced. “He’s only one here, as a matter of fact. The Regimental Medical Team came yesterday to pick all the other injured and carry them to a proper hospital in Edso.” 

She shook her head, clearly amused. “Your lieutenant pulled rank on the medics to remain here, despite my insistence. He’s lucky I had enough antiseptic and nothing major on my hooves, or I would have personally kicked him out of here.”

“And what about his conditions?”

“He’s alright, I think. Unless he does something idiotic, the sewing should hold. The rest is in the report I’ve already sent you. However, you can ask that directly to him, if you want.” Then, turning her head towards the back of the room, she cried out with her shrill voice. “Wake up, lieutenant! You’ve got visitors!”

As a matter of fact, Darius Falcon was already fully awake. The griffon was seated on his bed, propped up against the cushion and standing somewhat erect. He had been busy writing down something, judging by the neat bundle of papers sitting by his bedside. He put away the pen with a tired sigh as Last Aid’s unmistakable voice reverberated throughout the room.   

“Yeah, thank you. I was listening already,” Falcon groused as he looked up and glared the mare. His uniform was hanging from a hanger nearby, and most of his brown-furred belly laid exposed, covered only by thick, white canvas. 

“Be honest with me sergeant. You enjoy screaming like that at your patients, don’t you?”

Last Aid sighed. “No. But a thank you for patching you up could make my day.” She turned to the captain, grinning. “He’s all yours. Try not to chew him up too much, because I’m not putting him back together a second time.” 

Blackwing ignored the last remark and strode toward Falcon, Whitepeak trailing behind. They sat on empty bed beside the lieutenant’s own coat. He shot Last Aid a glance, but the mare had already gone back on smoking at the window.

The infirmary was a long, rectangular-shaped chamber with a low ceiling. Aside from a couple of desks, most of it was occupied by lockers and cupboards crammed with medical equipment, be it simple sterile bandages or brown bottles of antibiotics. A series of beds lined both walls on the left and right, some even furnished with white separating curtains. 

“So, lieutenant,” he said, turning his attention back at the griffon. “Are you enjoying your stay here?”

Falcon shrugged. “Not really. At least me and Purslane chatted once in a while. Now that she got patched up and back out, I don’t have much in the way of company.”

He gestured downwards with a claw as he hissed, “And I swear to Talos, all that rattling is driving me half-crazy.”

Blackwing smiled. “Oh, I’m sure it’s not so bad. It seems you’ve already found a way to kill time.” Out of curiosity, he took a peek at the papers Falcon had been writing on. He frowned.

“Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir?” the griffon answered promptly.

“Did you have Sergeant Buzzard bring you the paperwork here?”

“Of course I did. Just because I’m not allowed to get up-” He put a lot of emphasis on that. “It doesn’t mean that I can’t do something useful. I’m not leaving Buzzard alone to deal with all this stuff.”

“I sent you here to rest though.”

“So what? I am resting.” He smirked. “Besides, it’s not like I have Nebula doing the paperwork for me. If you could be so kind to send her here for a quile though-”

“Hilarious, lieutenant,” Blackwing said, frowning. “You should have become a comedian, instead of signing up.”

“Oh, but I’m already doing that, am I not?”

“True. But you don’t get paid for it,” he quipped.  

Their verbal sparring was interrupted by a polite cough coming from Whitepeak. “I don’t mean to be rude, captain, but wasn’t there something you wanted to discuss with the lieutenant here?”

Blackwing blinked, then nodded. “Right. That.” He waved a claw at the grifoness. “I’m confident you already know Second Lieutenant Koralia Whitepeak, right?”

Falcon nodded and gave her a polite smile. “We did not have a chance to meet before, but I’ve heard something about you. You’re the one dealing with supplies, right?” 

“Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that,” she said, smiling in return, “but I’m happy to see that at least somegriff remembers me.”

“I wouldn’t disturb you if this wasn’t important, Darius, so I’ll get straight to the point.” Blackwing paused, clicking his beak. “Lieutenant Whitepeak has recently discovered that our supplies are getting stolen.”

Falcon’s eyes widened, before glancing at both griffon in turn. “How? When? Actually, forget that. Just tell me who is the idiot doing it.”

Blackwing shock his head. “I don’t know who, but the lieutenant has an answer to the other two.” Then, glancing to her, he added, “Lieutenant, if you don’t mind, try to be brief.”

“Brief?” Whitepeak blinked. “Very well, I’ll try.”

She took a deep breath. “To put it in the simplest terms possible, Mister Falcon, each month I send Quartermaster Nikolas in Edso a document. On said document there are the supplies needed for the next month, be it food, ammunition, spare parts, and so on. From there, Lieutenant Nikolas sends it to the 111th Regimental HQ and, if we’re lucky, the requested supplies get delivered here by train in about a week. You’re following me so far, right?” Falcon nodded in reply.

“However, with the supplies, Nikolas sends me also the form I sent him in the first place, so I’m able to check if something is amiss from the order.” 

She paused, her eyes going momentarily downcast. “Well, I … I might have been a little sloppy about it.”

“How much is a little, exactly?”

“I …” She sighed. “I checked the order using a copy of the form I sent him, instead of waiting for the one from Nikolas. It is only when I compared by chance the two forms from last month that I noticed they were different.”

“The order I received from Nikolas was much bigger than the one I sent him. I never noticed it before as nothing I asked for was missing.”

“Hold on a moment.” Falcon tilted his head slightly in confusion. “You’re saying that we’re getting more stuff than we should?”

“No, lieutenant. What I’m saying is that more supplies arrive here, but we simply don’t receive them.”

Falcon frowned, shooting a glace to Blackwing. The captain remained stone-faced, limiting his reaction to a mere nod of acknowledgement.

“I’m guessing this is not a mistake we can just attribute to some clerk,” he said.

“That was my first thought, so I asked her to double check,” Blackwing explained. “But apparently this has been going on for a lot of time. Probably even before we got assigned here.”

There was a moment of silence after that as Blackwing let the information sink in. To his credit, Falcon got the implication of what he had just said fairly quickly.

“Shit,” he breathed.

“My exact thought.”

“This is serious.” Falcon was speaking softly now. “Bloody Tartarus! It means that some creature has tapped into our communication lines and is intercepting our dispatches. That’s a big security threat if I ever saw one!”

Blacking nodded. “Indeed. As I said, I wouldn’t have disturbed you if this wasn’t important.”

“You weren’t joking. What do you need me to do?”

He did not answer immediately, turning instead toward the nearby grifoness. “When the next supply delivery is scheduled for, lieutenant?”

She scratched her lower beak, thinking. “I’ll say in about two weeks. I had to readjust it, as Second Battalion will be here sooner than that. Besides, the next ones are going to be bigger than normal for the time being.”

“Good.” Then, returning his attention to Falcon, he said “And you are feeling better, aren’t you?”      

“That’s what I’ve been saying for the last days, yes.”

Blacking nodded. “Congratulation then, Lieutenant Falcon. You’re officially reassigned to active duty.” He grinned at him. “Just try not to tire yourself too much, all right? I would hate to have to send you back in here.”    

Darius Falcon looked him dead in the eyes and nodded solemnly. His seriousness lasted barely a second though, as he craned his neck up and turning in Last Aid’s general direction to shout. 

“Did you hear that, doc?” he cried out. “I’m getting out of here! Aren’t you happy?”

Sergeant Last Aid looked away from the window just enough to shot him a glare, before reminding herself that it wasn’t her job to deal with any of that. She went back to smoke. Talos willing, the rest of 2nd Battalion medical team would join her there soon enough.





“Forgive me for saying so, sir, but isn’t what we’re doing a bit illegal?” Whitepeak asked him once they were out of the infirmary and back in the open. Despite Last Aid’s complains about the weather, it was still relatively early in the day, and the morning heat had yet to come out at full force.

Blackwing shot her a sidelong glance. “How so, lieutenant?”

“Well,” she said hesitantly. “We’ve yet to inform Major Longbow about this, which we immediately should have, according to regulations. Also, isn’t this the Gendarmerie’s kind of business? Shouldn’t we notify them?”

Blackwing shook his head. He reached with a claw inside one of his uniform’s pocket and retrieved a small paper package and a lighter. 

“I hate to do so, but I’ll give Castor credit where it’s due.” He lighted himself a cigarette.

“Dragging the Gendarmerie into this, especially after the mess at the South Gate, will only bring us more problems. Besides, that kind of investigation can draw out for a long time.”

“And what about the Major?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know about you, lieutenant, but I’m rather attached to my position. And two debacles in couple of weeks might very well be the chance Longbow was looking for to get rid of me. So, let’s just try to keep this between ourselves, alright?”

The grifoness nodded, but almost absentmindedly, and she averted her gaze from him. A tense silence followed, broken only the sound of Blackwing’s soft breath as he puffed on his cigarette.

“I’m in trouble, right?” Whitepeak asked.

The sudden question blindsided him, and it took Blackwing several moments just to come up with a reply. 

“You’re what?”  

“In trouble. I must be. I mean, I-” she hesitated. After taking a deep breath, she continued. “The supply chain is my responsibility. I’m the acting quartermaster in Nikolas absence. And I screwed it up.”

“For Talos’s sake, it was right in from of my beak this entire time!” Whitepeak sighed angrily, mostly to herself. “And I missed it!”   

Her gaze shifted back on him. “My actions have potentially put us all at risk, sir. If you ask for my resignation, I won’t hold it against you,” she said, a bit more firmly than necessary. 

Blackwing stared blankly at the grifoness for small eternity, his mind’s gears turning. As tempting as that idea was though, he quickly dismissed it. He was not going to just sack for a mistake. Talos only knew how many he had accumulated during his career.  

True, the idea of getting rid of Lieutenant Whitepeak would have make him a lot happier, and had there been a safe way of doing it, he would have seized it as soon as possible. 

As things were now though, Whitepeak’s resignation would gain him nothing but a short-lived pleasure, and eventually Longbow would call on him to explain her sudden departure.

Besides, for all he knew -and with his kind of luck- her replacement could be infinitely worse. He would rather stick with her for now.

He mentally sighed. Talos really had to choose that moment to answer his prayers, didn’t He?

Before he could voice any answer to her though, the infirmary door behind them opened and Lieutenant Falcon emerged, adjusting his jacket and uniform as he went. His limp was still slightly visible, but it didn’t seem to bother him all that much.

“You know, I think that I’d better not get in there for a while,” he said, waving towards something behind him.

Blackwing raised an eyebrow. “Is Last Aid really that pissed?”

“Hard to tell, but I’d rather not find myself laying again on a stretcher. Especially if she’s the one holding the knife.”

Blackwing allowed himself a thin smile before returning his attention onto the grifoness. “We’ll resume our discussion later, lieutenant, but I need to speak with him for a moment. You may go.”  

Whitepeak shot both of them a curious look, but nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

“Very well.” Then, he added, “Oh, and before you go, lieutenant, can you do me a favour? Do you know mister Mosk, right?”

“You mean that sphinx who set his cab service just out of our barracks?” She briefly chuckled in amusement. The idea that some business could try to milk money from a nearby military installation probably sounded as utter nonsense to her.

He nodded. “That one. Would you mind asking him to send a carriage at the west gate to pick me up? Let’s say, thirty minutes from now.”

“Of course. May I ask why though?”

“I’ve got business in Kaska,” he answered simply. “Nothing of your concern.”

Whitepeak nodded. “Very well, sir.” She reached up to adjust her glasses. “Although, I can’t help but point out that flying there would take less time,” she said with a small smile. “It would be cheaper for sure.”  

Blackwing froze as soon as he registered that. Without a word, his eyes narrowed to slits and he glared at her.

The sudden shift in humour didn’t escape Whitepeak’s notice, especially once she saw his tail swaying behind him. Her smile turned nervous, then disappeared outright. She quickly begun to fumble excuses.

“I mean … i-if you want to, sir. I’m not saying that you have to fly there. It was … It was a suggestion, really! Like, you know, like morning exercise, r-right?” Her eyes darted left and right, unaware that her grave was getting deeper and deeper.  

Falcon was perfectly aware of it though, and he took a few uneasy steps back so to escape the incoming outburst.

Blackwing took one deep breath. Then took a second one. Then he decided there was no way he wasn’t going to snap at her, right there, right now, if he didn’t take at least a third one. A very deep one.  

He was towering over her by now. The griffon was not by any means bigger, nor taller, than average, but his unwavering, unforgiving gaze boring into her had caused Whitepeak to shrink on the spot, as if she was trying to sink herself beneath the ground.

A moment before snapping though, he glanced towards Falcon, a suspect suddenly popping up in his mind. 

“Whitepeak, just-” he paused, biting his tongue. “Just get out of my sight, alright?”

Whitepeak nodded, trying and failing to suppress the relief washing over her face. The grifoness didn’t run away with the proverbial tail between her legs, but her gait was for sure a lot more hurried than usual. She even forgot to salute.

The two griffons watched her disappear behind the building’s corner in silence, waiting a few more seconds to make sure she was out of earshot. Only then Blackwing spoke.

“Okay, seriously. Did any of you actually thought of telling her about that?” he growled.

Falcon blinked. “Hey, hold on a minute! How is any of this our fault? You were the one glaring at her!” he spluttered defensively. “I mean, we barely see her! I thought she would pick that knowledge by herself. You know, listening around.” 

“Listening around? You’re kidding me, right?” Blackwing hissed. “How is Whitepeak supposed to know that I’m stuck on the ground if no creature even thinks about telling her?” 

The griffon shrugged in reply. “I thought you didn’t like her.”

“That’s beside the point, and you know it.” Blackwing sighed. “I’m really starting to think that this company needs a lot more team-building exercise, the COs especially. First it was only Last Aid that did not remember Whitepeak existed; I could turn a blind eye to that. But now I discover that one of my platoon’s leaders is doing that too, and I can’t just let it pass.”

“You can try. Hell, it might actually work,” Falcon said with a shrugg. He went to adjust his officer cap. “Or, if it doesn’t, at least it’ll give us something to do, now that we’re stuck here for the time being.”

He frowned. “By the way, you said you wanted to discuss something with me?”

“I did, lieutenant.” Blackwing tossed his cigarette away, and the ghost of a smile made its appearance on his beak. 

“Nothing major though, so don’t worry. I just wanted to ask you how you’re feeling.”

The griffon frowned. “That’s it? Well, you could have asked the sergeant back in the infirmary about it. Still, I think I’m fine.” His claw went to touch the bandages hidden beneath his uniform, tracing their pattern along his side. 

“Last Aid said the knife missed my vitals, and that I fainted only due to blood loss and the adrenaline wearing out. Or at least, I think that’s what she said. I’m no medic, but that was probably the gist of it.” His beak shifted into a cocky smile. 

“It was a scratch, really. The healing magic took care of that in no time. Some painkillers, a week-long rest, and that was it. Honestly, I should have been out of there sooner.”

“Good. I wasn’t talking about that though.” He took a step closer to him. “I wanted to know how you are feeling.” He tapped at the side of his head.

“I thought I’d already answered that,” he said with a frown. It only deepened once he understood the meaning behind his gesture. “Why, you think is something wrong with me? That I’m not fit for duty anymore? Is this-” 

He paused. His tone had gotten a lot more heated without him realizing that. He took a moment to calm down. “Is this about the fucking South Gate again, captain?”

“I don’t remember ever mentioning that, lieutenant. Unless, of course, you think that something at there might have impacted you,” Blackwing said, his voice even. “Look Darius, I’m not here to put your capability in doubt. I’m just making sure that you’re alright.”

“Of course I am!” he spat. “Why shouldn’t I be? I’ve been in combat before. It wasn’t pretty, but I’m not a frightened pup who just came out of the Academy.” His eyes narrowed. “I can handle it, sir.”

“Good,” Blackwing said, his tone hardening. “You know, I could almost believe it if Last Aid had not sent me a note regarding you yesterday.”

Falcon frowned but said nothing. “She said that you had been experiencing nightmares on almost daily basis since the incident,” he continued. “And that you showed visible stress and insomnia. Care to comment about that?”

“If you already knew that, why asking then?”

Blacwking narrowed his eyes at him. “Because I wanted to see how relevant that was to you. Now answer the question.” 

The griffon looked away, refusing to meet his gaze. “As I said, I’m fine” he told him quietly. “Yes, it has been a stressful week, I’m not denying it. A third of my platoon went to the hospital, five of them still are there, and one of my NCOs got shot in the head the process.”

He glanced up at him. “If that wasn’t enough, all of us are that much away from exploding. Buzzard just notified me that in the last couple of days there have been two incidents, if you we want to call them that way, in the mess hall.”

“But I’ll repeat you the same thing I said to Last Aid. I can handle it. I appreciate that you’re worrying about me, captain, but there’s really no need to.” 

Blackwing remained silent. To say that he was unconvinced would have been a massive understatement. That didn’t mean Falcon was lying to him; he was sure there was something true in what he’d just said. However, he couldn’t shake the suspicion that he was hiding something else.

It had something to do with the South Gate, at least of that he was sure. The problem though was figuring out what it was, and he had little in the way of clues. He frowned. Scratch that, of clues he had even too many for his tastes.

The toll there had been heavy, even without considering the civilians involved. Of course, the local authorities had tried to minimize the number of pony deaths. They were slaves after all, and legally speaking that fell under the category of damaged property. Once that particular came out, Owlstrian newspapers would have a field day.

Forcing or even pressing Falcon to tell him would probably gain him nothing, aside from alienating the griffon to him. And Blackwing liked Darius. He somewhat reminded him of a younger self; he too had been quite hard-headed as a lieutenant.

He sighed inwardly for the second time in a few minutes. Another problem postponed for later. He could only hope that whatever that was it would not come back to haunt him.

“Alright, Falcon,” he said in a neutral tone. “I’m trusting you on this. But if you have anything bothering you, come and speak with me, ok? That or go to Last Aid. I mean, she’s the only one with a medical degree here so with might as well use it. Just promise me you’ll speak to some creature.” 

Lieutenant Falcon nodded. “Yes, sir. And thank you,” he added with a small, relieved smile. 





Marediterranean Sea,

OSL Bucephalus …

The morning sun did not bring the hoped relief. On the contrary, it only contributed to further exacerbate the Bucephalus’s crew frustration. 

The ten survivors picked up from the lifeboat during the night had little time to tell their tale before collapsing to exhaustion. Aside from that, they all had to be rushed to the infirmary, as each of them sported a various and gruesome collection of injuries.  

For two earth ponies the internal traumas proved to be too extensive, and the only comfort the Bucephalus’s medical staff could give them was a lethal-high dose of morphine and a bed. As callous as that was, it was either that or let their collapsed lungs choke them.

There was some good news though, if it could be called that way. The naval squad from Port Kossen had finally showed up -six destroyers and a hospital ship- and thus freed the Bucephalus to resume her course. How much luck they would have in finding what remained of the ship, or even survivors, was debatable.

Furthermore, the weather had deteriorated significantly since dawn. Powerful waves rose and crashed against the heavy cruiser’s armoured flanks, causing it to visibly tilt from to side to side as she went on his course.     

“A mess,” Lieutenant Ted Scytheclaw groaned. “This is a complete and utter mess!”

Leaning back in his chair, Alder Blackwing raised an eyebrow at his exec. 

“I was already aware of this, Mr Scytheclaw. Would you mind being a little more specific?” From behind him came a soft rattle of rain on glass as water droplets ticked against the porthole. 

Captain Alder Blackwing’s personal quarters were larger of those belonging to the rest of the crew. The fact that most of said environment was empty, with just a few nautical maps hanging from the walls and a pair of books laying on the night table, made it all too evident to the eye.

The last days had been quite hectic, so to speak, and Alder had barely the time to empty his suitcase before being thrust into the ship’s routine activities. Still, he occasionally used it to receive reports from his subordinate when his presence was not requested on the bridge.  

The exec grimaced. The griffon sported a navy-blue plumage, with the exception of his white wingtips, and a dark-coloured coat of fur.

“With all due respect, sir, I’m not sure I even need to be specific in this situation. But if you wish, I can start doing a list.” 

He griffon shifted in his seat. “For all we know, the Calypso is now sitting on the sea’s bottom, may Talos be merciful on those poor bastards. And I’m ready to bet that the sphinxes are behind this.”  

“If they are, which I’m sure they are, it also means that Thebanus managed to sneak one of their ships out of port, eluded our surveillance, pounced on the first cargo they found, and slipped back in without any of us the wiser.”

“Once the Admiralty finds about that, some heads will roll for sure, mark my words.”

“You seem quite convinced that sphinxes are responsible, Mister Scytheclaw,” Alder noted.

The exec shrugged. “It makes sense, sir. Those bastards are begging to have a fight with Akhri, and what better way of having an excuse than provoking us into openly attack them. I mean, you heard what happened at Kaska, right? What else could it be?”

“I’m aware of what happened in Kaska,” Alder spoke in a quiet tone. “My brother was there.”

“Oh.” The griffon blinked in surprise. “I, uh … I was not aware of that, skipper. Is he-”

Alder waved a claw at him. “Yes, he’s alright. I’ve yet to meet anything that can kill Edward. Continue, if you please.”  

“Thank you, sir. Then, there also the matter of the crew.” He sighed. “Or rather, of the rumours that are going around as of late.”

“What kind of rumours are we talking about?” Alder asked, his eyebrows arching up in curiosity.

“Well, you see, skipper, it’s more of a superstition, really.” He sounded somewhat embarrassed. “It’s just that this is your first command, right? And the first noteworthy thing to happen is finding just ten survivors of a ship that mysteriously sunk only yesterday in the Marediterranean.”

“It’s not like there is any correlation, of course,” Scytheclaw was quick to add. “But as we both know sailors tend to be superstitious no matter what, and with all the problems we had as of late, plus the possibility that there might be an enemy airship hiding out there, well …” He trailed off. It was as if he really didn’t want to say it aloud.

Leaning forward in his chair, Alder frowned deeply. “Mister Scytheclaw, are you trying to tell me that the crew thinks I’m bringing bad luck aboard?”

“Well, ah, sort of, skipper.” He visibly winced. “Mind you, it’s not all the crew, but I’ve overheard a creature or two talking about it. They obviously don’t speak of it aloud, so as long as it remains confined in the crew quarters and the mess hall there’s little me and the officers can do.”

Alder nodded but remained otherwise silent. He knew he should have expected for it to happen eventually, but that did not make it less frustrating.

A ship’s crew was like a family, a big and rambunctious one, sure, but a family nonetheless. And all things considered, Alder was still a stranger to most of them, a griffon sent to take the place of their late captain. They would follow his orders because he was an officer, not because he was their captain.

They weren’t rude to him, but the daily meetings with the rest of the officers on board were stiff and cold affairs. Apart from Ted Scytheclaw, most of them preferred to keep an air of detached formality when speaking with him, and despite his best efforts, even the exec slipped into that once in a while.

And, as much he hated to admit it, Alder was somewhat inexperienced. The largest ships he had served aboard up to that moment had been a light cruiser, the ORS Whirlpool, and even then, he had been but an executive officer.

“I understand, Mister Scytheclaw,” Alder said after a while. “I appreciate yours and every creature’s efforts in that regard, but that is unnecessary. Let’s just make it to Port Kossen. I’m sure that a brief shore leave will help the crew forget all that nonsense.”

The exec nodded. “My exact thoughts, skipper.”

“Send also a radio dispatch and advise Kossen’s port authorities that we have eight shipwrecked sailors and two bodies on board.” He sighed. “Hopefully they’ll take care of sending them home.”

Ted Scytheclaw twisted his beak into an ugly grimace. “Four bodies, sir. Two more of them passed away in the last two hours. Although we should be more concern on how they died.”

Alder furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that, according to Ginger, they were mostly alright, but their injuries were contaminated by an unidentified dust-like substance. Things took a turn for the nasty once she tried to apply healing magic on them. That stuff reacted violently.”

“Violently?”

“They caught fire. Both of them, I mean,” he said bluntly. “If the screams were any indication, it was bad. Hell, one of the nurses had a panic attack, not that I blame her. Ginger and her team have thus reverted to using more conventional healing methods, as she suspects that magic might have something to do the other two ponies’ death.” 

The griffon frowned. The radio message had said something about the mysterious airship’s weapons. He did not doubt for a moment that those and the survivors’ death were related. No wonder then the crew was getting nervous; rumours about those gruesome deaths would be surely be running amok by now. What were they dealing with exactly?   

“This really is a mess then,” Alder found himself massaging his temples with a claw.

“My exact though, sir,” came Scytheclaw’s reply. “My exact though.”





Kaska,

Owlstrian barracks … 

Blackwing had picked up his smoking habit relatively late. What had begun just as a simple thing to pass time while he was convalescent five years ago quickly turned into a life-long addition.

There was probably no way to go back now, not without any effort at least. And he preferred to direct his energies toward what was important, so he was going to stick with it for the time being. It was bad for his lungs, sure, but it helped soothe his nerves. 

And they needed a lot of soothing right now.

Leaning back against a wall near the main building’s entrance, a half-burned cigarette stuck in his beak, Blackwing reached with a claw inside his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He stared at it thoughtfully for a few moments, before unfolding it and reading it one last time.

Mister Blackwing, you may not know us, but we know of you and of your exploits in Akhri. If you’re reading this message, please be careful to do so away from indiscreet eyes. That said, we would like to arrange a private meeting with you so to discuss a possible transaction.

Hadret Al Kazis Street, number 54, any day or time of your choosing.

Come alone, and keep this in mind,

The stars will aide her escape.

His eyes trailed down towards one last note.

P.S. Burn this, whether you accept or not.

Blackwing gave the message one last look for good measure. Then, as he took another puff, pulled out his lighter and set fire on one of the letter’s corners, dropping it to the ground. Flames quickly devoured the paper, leaving nothing but a few darkened and fuming pieces. A stomp later and only scattered ashes remained.

With that matter settled, he decided to stay out there for a few more minutes and enjoy his cigarette. He still had twenty minutes before meeting the coach at the west gate.

His mind wandered back to the message though, and he frowned thoughtfully. 

It was suspicious, no doubt about it. That had been his first thought as he’d read it for the first time two days ago. After all, the letter had arrived in an unmarked enveloped, without any recognizable stamp, nor a sender’s address, causing Blackwing to briefly wonder if it had just been teleported in his office by magic.

His first reaction upon reading that had been to just toss the letter in the dumpster and forget about it. One single thought prevented him from doing it though. 

Whoever the author was, he -or she- knew about what had happened during the Summer Riot. Even worse, he knew that Blackwing had been there. But how? That whole affair was supposed to remain secret, the MSO -Ministry of Special Operations- had made sure of that. The fact that he had remained in service after his injury had been a way for them to buy his silence.   

He frowned. As much as he disliked it, he had to deal with that or, at the very least, make sure that the information wouldn’t get out. The letter asked him to be alone of course, but there was no way in Tartarus for that to happen. Hopefully Nebula wouldn’t mind if he borrowed one of his section for a few hours.

Blackwing tossed away his now spent cigarette and went inside.    

Since Major Longbow’s arrival, the main building had become a lot more crowded almost overnight, as 2nd Battalion’s administrative personnel was quickly being transferred ahead of the main body of troops. The distinct and metallic clicking of typewriters filled the air, a cacophony of different voices echoing through the corridors as creatures rushed one way or the other to their workstations. 

Blackwing made his way to his office, dodging a few paper-carrying clerks as he ascended the stairs. He took a couple of turns, avoided a bunch of furniture laying in the hallway and waiting to be crammed in an office somewhere, and moved to his door at a steady walk.

The griffon halted just a few steps away once he noticed the door ajar. After briefly wondering if he had forgot it open when he left earlier that very morning, he stepped inside. And then frowned.

There was a second griffon in the room. Blackwing quickly recognized him as the Vanguard Captain he had met -sort of- a few days back, when he had been with Longbow’s escort.

And now he was sitting in his chair. 

Blackwing frowned, loudly rapping his claw against the door to gain his attention. The griffon looked up from whatever was reading and glanced in his general direction. He still wore his set of googles and a kaki scarf to hide most of his face, the only visible peculiarity being his red-and-white head’s feathers. 

“You’ve got good taste, I’ll give you that much, captain,” he said, his tone muffled. He cocked his head to one side as he held up the small book. 

Blackwing frown only deepened once he realized that said book came from his collection. The private one, to be specific.

“I don’t remember inviting you here,” he growled, not bothering to hide his irritation. “And I don’t remember saying that you could go through my stuff either.” He walked over to him and quickly snatched the paperback from his claws.

“Also, would you mind getting out of my chair?”

The griffon sighed. “A shame, really. I was getting to the juicy part.” He made no inclination of getting up from the seat. “You mind if I borrow one?” Even if much of his face was covered, Blackwing could have sworn he was smiling.

He glared at the intruder. “Yes, I do mind. Captain, is it?” The griffon nodded. “Why are you here?”

“Well, I was hoping you could help me find a friend of mine.” He rose slowly from the chair and took a step back, the set of enchanted plate armour clinking softly as he did so. “I heard he was in Kaska, you see, but I don’t seem to be able to find him.”

Blackwing’s glare did not relent. “That is not my problem. I don’t deal with that kind of stuff,” he said dismissively. “You could ask my lieutenants about it, but they probably have better things to do now, so I’ll ask you to not disturb them.” 

“Besides,” he added with a thin smile, “I don’t usually divulge data about my subordinates without a good reason.”

Something akin to a chuckle came out from the Vanguard’s beak. He reached up with a claw and proceeded to remove his googles, revealing the pair of yellow eyes hiding behind them.

“You know, Eddy, I’ve never thought it could actually happen,” he said as the sand-proof scarf came down too, “but I’m agreeing with Longbow this time. You are an asshole.”

Blackwing barely managed to hold his retort back, as he eyed angrily the griffon. Who did that prick think he was? He’d sat in his chair, went through his own private collection, and now he dared to nickname him? 

Blackwing’s beak was half-way open, ready to spit fury right in his face, when something caught his attention and caused him to stop in his tracks. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had seen this griffon before. Something about him felt definitely familiar. 

And then memory finally struck him. 

“Greenquill?” Blackwing asked tentatively, unable to stop himself from blinking. “Is that-” He frowned. “Is that you?”

The griffon’s beak split in one huge smile. “The one and only, Eddy!” he boasted. “Why so surprised though? Don’t tell me you did not recognize me.”

In hindsight, Blackwing felt a bit like an idiot for not realizing it sooner. Maybe the uniform had fooled him. Lennart Greenquill had not changed all that much since the time he and Blackwing were attending Glassclaw Collegium for Military Education, or the Academy, as most called it.

A bit shorter than him, the griffon had red feathers covering half of his body, matched by a similar crimson fur on the rest, causing the scattered speckles of white to stand out. Furthermore, unlike Blackwing’s, his beak was hook-shaped.

“Talos Almighty, of course I did not!” Blackwing was grinning too now, all his previous anger gone. The two of them went for a clawshake, but then opted for a brotherly hug instead. “I mean, how long it has been, uh?”

“Ten years,” Greenquill pointed out as he took a step back. “I see that you’ve been busy since the Academy. No offense, but you look like hell.”

“Me?! Did you ever take a look at in the mirror in all this time?” He glanced down at the breastplate covering the griffon’s chest. “What happened to the whole Vanguards-are-a-bunch-of-wimps thing?”

He shrugged. “Well, what can I say? It was more of a last-minute development, but it’s not like I was gonna pass it.” Then, with a wink, “Also, the official name is Advance Deployment Special Force.”

Blackwing snickered. “Is there a creature there that actually use it? The full name, I mean.”

“Nope. You’d think the brass would have just given up at that point.” They shared a laugh.

Then, Blackwing’s voice turned serious. “Jokes aside though, what are you doing in Kaska? I thought that all Vanguards regiments had long since returned home.”

“That was the general idea, yeah.” Greenquill said. “But they decided to keep the Thirtieth here. It wouldn’t have been too bad on itself, but some idiot in a very high place decided to split us up and deploy piecemeal.”

Blackwing frowned. “That sounds bad.”

“It does. It’s been some time since I saw most of my company. They’re probably sitting on their behinds somewhere south of here. I’ve heard that the Nilus is beautiful this time of the year.” 

“You didn’t answer the question though.”

“I was getting there. Me and a couple of my teams were in Edso when Major Longbow commandeered us to act as his escort. Now, normally I would have just told him to go screw himself because he’s not technically my superior. Me and the others were incredibly bored though, so I accepted it.”

“And you’re still there because-”

Greenquill sighed. “Because it seems that your battalion has requisitioned all the sky carriages available in the entire region, so I can’t get back to Edso.” He blinked. “Oh, and Longbow asked me to keep an eye on you.”

Blackwing had to keep himself from rolling his eyes. “He really did that, didn’t he?” 

In hindsight, he should have expected the major to eventually try something. The stallion was intelligent enough to know that approaching any creature from his own company to spy on him would probably end up in failure. Blackwing fancied thinking that his subordinates liked him, so turning for an outsider such as Lennart Greenquill seemed like the most obvious solution.

“Is he aware that we know each other?” Blackwing asked. The griffon nodded. 

“And yet he decided to rely on you anyway.” He nodded a second time. 

Blackwing remained silent for a few moments, deep in thought, as he scratched his lower beak. “Why did you tell me that?”

Greenquill blinked with some surprise. “And why wouldn’t I, Eddy? Your insinuations are wounding me, you know,” he said, trying and failing to maintain and hurtful tone. 

“I just wanted to be a good friend.” He winked at him, grinning. 

“I’m sure you did,” Blackwing said with a grin of his own. 

“Besides, I figured that the easiest way to keep an eye on you was to warn you in advance, so that you wouldn’t try anything stupid. Or illegal, for that matter.” The griffon tilted his head to one side. “You’re not doing anything illegal, right?”

Blackwing made a show of pondering the question for a moment. “As of now? Sort of.” He glanced quickly at his clock and swore silently. He had ten minutes. “And I should really get going now. If you’ll excuse me-”

Blackwing moved over his cot and pulled out the small metal locker hidden underneath. He opened it and retrieved the pistol from his personal belongings. He run a quick check of it, inspecting the firing mechanism and the stored ammunition, before setting it inside the holster. 

This was no standard-issue revolver, but a semi-automatic handgun, a little treat he’d decided to buy for himself some years back. It was certainly harder to maintain, but it made up for rate of fire, especially at close range.

He decided to keep his revolver on anyway though, and thus grabbed a few additional magazines for it and storing them inside his pockets.

“How much of an illegal thing are we talking about exactly?” Greenquill asked from behind. Blackwing said nothing though, and he went on checking his equipment. He closed the locker, but not before slipping a pair of small knives in the inside of his jacket.

As he was about to leave though, Blackwing found the door blocked, as Greenquill was leaning against the doorframe, his forelegs crossed. How he had managed to move so silently despite his armour was, and would probably remain, a mystery.

“Do you have any intention of telling me where you’re going, Eddy?” Greenquill asked with a placid grin.

He shrugged. “I’m meeting somepony.” It wasn’t a complete lie of course. 

“I see.” The griffon’s answer was furrowing his eyebrows, clearly unconvinced. “And since when does that require you to carry all those weapons around?”

“It’s complicated,” Blackwing said after a pause.

“I’m sure it is.” He slapped his talons together, stepping away from the doorframe. “Well, you’ll have all the time to fill me on the details, cause I’m coming with you.”

“No, you are not,” Blackwing said without so much as a hesitation.

“Oh, I think I am, Eddy.” Greenquill’s smile turned vicious. “The Major said I had to keep an eye on you, after all. And we both know that, of the two of us, you’re the one good at lying.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” His eyes narrowed.

The armoured griffon shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows, really.” He lowered his voice as his grin only broadened further. “Do you want to find out?”

Blackwing knew already the answer. He sighed. He really did not have much of a choice anyway. “Fine, then!” He hissed. “You can come if you want. You’re an asshole, you know that, right?” His tone was sullen. 

Meanwhile, Greenquill just kept on grinning. On the opposite, the grin seemed to be growing bigger by the moment. He really had not changed a bit since their days at the Academy. 

“Oh, come on, Eddy. Cheer up!” He took a step closer, wrapping one foreleg around Blackwing’s shoulders in a brotherly fashion. “It’s going to be like the good old days back at the Academy, you know. Just the two of us, far from home, and looking for troubles.”      

Blackwing said nothing but couldn’t help himself from visibly grimacing. There would be no time to time to ask for assistance from 3rd Company now. It was, as he had said, just the two of them, walking blindly into what was probably a pretext to put a bullet into the feathered back of his head. 

He knew, deep down, that it was going to be a long day.
> Chapter 7: The Spark
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


“Sphigypt is the mightiest kingdom the world has ever known. For you see, you try to destroy it from the outside just as we try to destroy it from the inside, and yet it doesn’t collapse.”



-Pharaoh Khaf-Hor, Second of His Name, emeritus, on his deathbed. 

Kingdom of Sphigypt,

Thebanus, Palace of Luxor …

“Allow me to be perfectly clear,” Sebak stated, visibly trying to keep his anger in check. “My answer is no. It was no when you first asked, it still is no, and by Anat’s Blade, it will remain no as long as I draw breath!”

Grand Vizier Golden Tusk frowned but chose to remain silent. The earth pony stallion merely took a sip from his porcelain teacup, before turning his attention back to the shimmering crystal ball standing on his desk. It was an old model, and the years of use were evident to the naked eye; its surface had long since lost its sheen, the image within now marred by a constant opaque shade rippling through it. 

He had reminded himself to buy a new one more than once before. After all, money was not really a problem for a pony in his position.

“Ferik Rilet Sebak Yilmaz,” he addressed the sphinx by his full name. “I think you’re taking this too personally. Why don’t you try to examine the proposal more carefully, with a cooler head? I say you should take yourself some time to think about it.” 

The stallion smiled politely, but it had the only effect of making Sebak’s displeasure even more evident. The sphinx flashed briefly his teeth at him, just before remembering who he was speaking with and thus backing down from the hasty challenge.

“Trust me when I say that I’ve already given the matter more thought that it deserved,” the sphinx said. “And it does not matter how much I think about it. Whether it’s a day or a week, I’m not changing my mind on this.”

Golden Tusk sighed. Dealing with Sebak, especially when he set himself on something so doggedly, made him forget sometimes how fruitful their collaboration had been up to that point.

“Can you at least tell me why?”

“You already know why.” Sebak’s mouth twisted into a deep, ugly scowl. “Tauk is a political animal!”

“Yes, he is. But so are you,” Golden Tusk pointed out, the tranquil smile never leaving his face. “And the same can be said just as easily for me, won’t you agree?” 

Sebak said nothing, his only reaction being a venomous glare. The crystal ball flickered, the sphinx’s scowl appearing frozen in place before flickering back to normality. Still, Golden Tusk had to keep himself from chuckling at the sight.

The Vizier leaned forward from his high-backed, cushioned chair. “Look, I’m perfectly aware that he’s an ambitious, self-centred asshole, but Letzis Clan -his clan- has a long and venerable history here in Thebanus.” 

“I’m not saying that I like them, mind you. Far from it in fact. They may have remained loyal all those years ago, but that hasn’t stopped them from trying to slip into the Pharaoh’s ear like sly maggots. And they don’t seem to have any intention about getting out of there any time soon.”

Sebak raised an eyebrow. “Then why you don’t do something? I mean, you’re his Vizier! I thought he listened only to you!”

“Oh, I wish it was so, trust me.” The stallion chuckled ruefully. “But Lak-Hor listens always to his Inner Council. He may not follow their advices nearly as often as his father did -and Cion be praised for that- but he has still not decided to outright ignore them.”

“In all honesty, though, I really can’t understand why you get all foamy at the mouth with him,” Golden Tusk said, now trying a more diplomatic route. 

Predictably, Sebak opened his mouth to spat an answer, likely a venomous one. The stallion preceded him though, quickly forestalling his incoming objection with a raised hoof. 

“I’ve read his military records multiple times in the last few days, and I must admit they are quite something. He still remains a glory-seeking bastard if the affair at Zetios is any indication, but he’s no incompetent fool. He knows how to inspire the troops and get the job done.”

Ferik Sebak shook his head. “I never said that Tauk was incompetent. But fighting is all its good for. He’s a lunatic, a hungry jackal going from one prey to the other, killing and killing for the sheer thrill of it. And make no mistakes, he always leads from the front because he loves to get his paws bloody.”

His tone hardened. “Tauk might have been a great warrior some decades ago, but as of now he’s nothing more than a wild card. He’s utterly incapable to see beyond his own personal goals, and he’s more than ready to rush headlong into them, caution be damned.”   

“Good then,” Golden Tusk shrugged. “If what you’re saying it’s true, he’s going to get himself killed anyway. The problem will solve all by itself.”

Sebak stared at him in disbelief. “Are you even listening to what I’m saying? Do you seriously think is going to charge straight into a kill-zone all by himself?” He grimaced. “Of course not! He’s going to drag my soldiers in the Grey Realm with him.”

“I can understand politics up to a point, but I’m not letting him, nor you, toy with their lives.”

The Vizier’s eyes narrowed. Whether it was anger or just frustration he felt, the stallion couldn’t quite tell. One thing was certain though; his patience has reached the limit, and they were done discussing the matter any further.

“Yes, Sebak. I am listening to you. Believe me, I am. The problem though is that you don’t seem to be doing the same with me, so allow me to be perfectly clear with you too. I’m not letting you to screw this up.”

The stallion rose from his seat, leaning with his forelegs against the oak desk. His voice was now ice-cold. “You cannot even begin to imagine the time and energy I’ve spent on this. What may understandably seem to you as a mere military matter, has required from my part almost two decades of political manoeuvring, favour-curbing, planning, and a not small amount of sheer luck to prepare.”

Ferik Sebak opened his mouth to speak for a second time, only for the brown-furred stallion to stop him once again. 

“Twenty years, Sebak. Twenty fucking years. I’ve spent almost half of my life on this, working tirelessly only to bring Sphigypt back together. And the only thing separating us from that goal is a small vote in the Inner Council, so that we may finally formalize the ultimatum for Akhri.”

“I need Letzis Clan support for the thing to go through smoothly.” Golden Tusk was grinning now, flashing his teeth not too dissimilarly from the way Sebak had done some time before. “And what they’re asking is, in my modest opinion, quite reasonable.”

He slowly sank back into his chair, his jaw’s muscles set. “So, once we end this conversation, you’re going to call Tauk. You’re going to show him curtesy and, most importantly, you’re going to give him command of one of your bloody regiments!”





Free Republic of Akhri,

Kaska,

Tushi Quarter… 

Blackwing dug into his pockets and pulled out a couple of glistering silver coins. He handed them over to the coach-mare.

“We won’t take long, so just wait here,” he said in the local tongue. He decided to add a little extra. “If we’re not back in thirty minutes, you’re free to leave.” The mare just nodded at him, wasting no time in stuffing the coins in her saddlebags.

She wasn’t a slave, although that did not mean she was in fact free. Mosk used to own quite many of them, until he had caught up on the fact that a liberated slave meant in no way an actual citizen of the Republic, much to his relief. Besides, that way he was no longer responsible for feeding them.

When most of your clients were Owlstrian military personnel, some appearances had to be maintained, and showing more liberal views on the matter of slavery could certainly help your business. And Mosk had proven, if nothing else, to be quite the pragmatic sphinx regarding business.

“And now you can speak Sphigyptian too. When did you learn that, by the way?” Greenquill asked from behind.

“Throughout the years,” he said, glancing at the griffon over his shoulder. “I took a couple of classes, but most of it was on-duty practice.”

Greenquill nodded, clearly impressed. “I didn’t know that. I mean, I’ve only managed to pick up a few words here and there in all this time.” 

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, it seems.” His words came out harsher that he would have liked.

Greenquill frowned. “You’re still pissed about that, aren’t you?” He sighed with some discomfort. “Look, Eddy, I didn’t know about that problem with your wings. I swear, had I known it before-”

“I know, it’s fine,” Blackwing said, careful to maintain his neutral visage. “I’ve already told you to forget it. We’ll have plenty of time to talk about it later.” He waved with a claw towards their destination.

The address indicated on the letter was a three-storeys building at the end of Hadret Al Kazis Street, overlooking a small plaza. There was a neighbourhood market going on there, and thus the surrounding streets bustled with creatures moving one way or the other, the racket of on-going businesses filling the air.

In the ongoing ruckus, the two griffons earned barely more than a curious, passing glance.

The building was hardly distinguishable from the many white, sun-bleached tenements standing nearby, except for the address. Even though time and exposure had partially eroded it, the number fifty-four, engraved in stone beside the door, could still be somewhat read. 

Greenquill cast a single, unconvinced glance at it. “You still haven’t told me why you needed to come here, Eddy.”

“I did actually, but you were too busy asking about the wings.”

“I wasn’t!” he protested. “And no, you certainly did not tell me why we’re here!”

There was a brief moment of silence between the two griffons as they exchanged stares, broken only by the sound of Blackwing’s own amused chuckles. 

“Wow. You weren’t joking. You really suck at lying.”

“Really funny, Eddy,” Greg said with a shrug. “When this thing is over, perhaps you could teach me some of your tricks to get away with things.”  

He nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. And stop calling me Eddy. I hated when you did that at the Academy and I still hate it now.” 

As soon as those words left his beak, Blackwing froze, the realization that he had made a huge, tremendous mistake hitting him on the spot. He tried to correct it, but by then it was already too late. 

He glanced to the side, just in time to see Greenquill’s own beak split into a most vicious grin. 

“Really? Oh, sure thing, Ed.”





“Wake up, you idiot!” a voice snarled from somewhere. “We’ve got troubles!”

From her makeshift sleeping coat on the floor, Anneke stirred herself awake, the sleepy sphinxess’s eyes slowly creeping open. They went wide enough just in time to register the pillow flying in her direction and landing squarely on her muzzle.

With an angry snarl, the sphinxess shot to her paws and kicked the projectile away. She instinctively rubbed her nose to check, only to remember that it had been just a cushion with an irritated growl.

“Stiol!” she hissed. “May Sobek eat your liver! Why did you do that?”

Her sphinx companion said nothing. He was too busy peering through the half-closed shutters in the living room with a pair of binoculars. As a matter of fact, all windows in the house were closed, the only light being the one filtering through cracks in the wood and the light curtains.

After all, no creature was supposed to be living in that apartment, so better to just keep that illusion for now.

With a tired sigh, Anneke moved to join him near the window. Her wings's muscles and her head still felt a little dizzy, no doubt due to last evening’s many bottles of beer. In hindsight that had not been the greatest idea, but she really didn’t feel like complaining. And judging how the night had gone, Stiol wouldn’t complain either.

The sphinx glanced at her. “Rise and shine, Anneke. Are we having problems getting up?” 

He was wearing the closest thing the Civic Cohort had to an official outfit, a collection of working and every-day clothes, with the addition of a bandolier and a satchel, both slung over his shoulder. He also had a pair of googles hanging from the neck, probably scavenged from old mining equipment somewhere. His bold-action rifle leaned on the wall by his side.

The only official thing about him was the pair of green and blue armbands.

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Already done that but thank you.” He grinned. “Now, get dressed and get ready.” 

Stiol went back looking through his glasses. “A cab has stopped right in front of the building and two griffons just came out.”

Anneke’s ears perked up in curiosity. “Griffons?”

“Yeah. One has a fancy uniform, definitely some kind of officer. The other one’s a-” There was a sudden pause. “Fuck, that one is armoured!” he breathed. 

Anneke dashed for her weapon, a bolt-action rifle with a hunting scope mounted on top, lying now on a table in the living room. 

“Keep looking! What are they doing?” She run a quick check, grinning in satisfaction as the loading mechanism and bolt worked smoothly in her paws. 

No matter how old or outdated, a sphinx warrior always kept his personal weapon in perfect condition.

“They are talking,” Stiol said. “The officer just said something at the armoured one and I think he’s laughing. Shit, that body armour looks expensive, and I bet it’s enchanted too. Our guns won’t even scratch it.”

“Stiol! Focus!” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Give me a sec.” He put his binoculars down and glanced at the sphinxess over his shoulder. “There. They’ve just entered. I’ve lost them.”

Anneke nodded. She pushed a loaded magazine into its slot and snapped the bolt close. “Good then. Open a window and fetch me a support. It means the bitch is there.” 





Just like its outside, the building interior proved to be utterly unremarkable. A pity, Blackwing thought, for a few well-place frames could have easily hidden the cracks in the walls.

The only thing worthy of notice was the small desk located in the main hall, just beside the staircase. A zebra mare sat there with a pen stuck between her teeth, writing down on the large, leather-bound register. Just behind her, perched on top of the highest wooden shelf, a small radio played music.

“Can I help you?” the mare asked as she set the pen down, her amber eyes never leaving the ledger. Her mane was cut so short to be almost non-existent, the outline of a mohawk barely visible. A set of three piercing rings stood out on her left ear.

Blackwing opened his beak but no sound came out. He hesitated on how to proceed. Had she been the one to send him the letter? Or was she just some kind of intermediary? 

Hell, for all he knew this zebra might not know anything at all and just work there. The message had not been very specific about what to do once he’d reached the meeting spot.

“Maybe,” Blackwing finally said, switching to Sphigyptian. “You’re the owner, I presume.”

She shrugged. “Something like that. Are you here for a room? I’ve got a couple free at the moment.”

“Thank you, but no. I was actually here to meet somepony.”

The mare finally looked up at them with a raised eyebrow, her eyes drawn by their uniforms -or body armour, in Greenquill’s case. She glared at the two before snorting loudly. 

“Owlstrians! You really are dense as mules, aren’t you?” 

“This is fifty-four. The brothel you’re looking for is forty-five.” She sighed and went back to work. “For Menhit’s sake, get a map or something, ‘cause I’ve lost count of how many times this has happened. I have a respectable establishment to maintain here, you know!”

“Actually, it-” Blackwing cleared his throat, trying to hide his embarrassment. “It’s not that kind of meeting.” 

He wanted to sound serious, but it proved to be nearly impossible with Greenquill visibly breaking down in a fit of giggles right beside him.

The zebra mare shot the Vanguard captain a quizzical glance before turning her eyes on him. “I see. And who are you supposed to meet exactly?”

Blackwing shrugged as casually as he could. “A friend,” he lied. He moved closer to the desk and leaned forward. “I’ve been told that the stars would aide her escape,” he whispered in her ear. 

It was a bit of a risk, but he reasoned that part of the letter had been put for a reason. A few tense moments passed as the mare simply did nothing but stare him dead in the eye, her eyebrows furred.

Her gaze drifted for a moment towards Greenquill before snapping back onto the griffon.

“And I’ve been told that you would come alone,” she said softly.

“My apologies,” Blackwing said with a grin. “I couldn’t find a nanny for him.”

“That’s really funny.” There was not a single hint of amusement in her tone. She sighed. “Third floor, second door to the right. They’re waiting for you.”

Blackwing nodded. “Thank you.”

“Don’t try to knock though, or they won’t open. Here.” She quickly pulled open a drawer, taking out a small piece of paper. “Push this just under the door and they’ll know it’s you.”

Blackwing gave the thing a closer look. “That’s a laundry’s bill,” he deadpanned.

“Just take it!” she hissed between her teeth. “Now, get going. Walls have ears too and you don’t have much time anyway.”

He nodded his thanks a second time. Then, turning back to Greenquill, he gestured him to follow him upstairs. 

They had barely gone past the second floor before the griffon turned to Blackwing and grabbed him by the shoulder, urging him to halt.

“Alright, Eddy. I’ve remained quiet so far, but this is getting really shady. I can’t follow if you don’t start talking to me.” He kept his tone hushed. “What is going on? Who exactly are you here to meet?”

Blackwing didn’t answer immediately, taking a moment to check whether or not the corridor was clear. Thankfully, there was no creature in sight.

“It’s complicated,” he said. 

“No shit, that was clear already. At least give me something.”

Blackwing sighed. “There isn’t really that much to begin with. Look, all I know is that I got a letter a few days ago asking for a meeting here. No name, no indication whatsoever, but the address.”

“Just that? An absolute stranger sends you a letter and you still decide to come anyway?” he asked, utterly astonished. “Eddy, I don’t think you need me to tell you that’s a stupid thing to do.”

“I did not have a choice,” Blackwing hissed, causing Greenquill to raise an eyebrow. “Whoever wrote it knows about-” The griffon stopped, thinking carefully for a moment on what he was about to say. 

Could he actually tell Greenquill about Akhri? The whole affair was supposed to remain classified, and the Ministry of Special Operation didn’t like to have too many witnesses lying around. But despite the all the years apart, Greenquill was still his friend from the Academy. And right now, he needed a griffon he could trust to watch his back.

“Let’s put it this way. You heard about the Summer Riot, right?” The griffon nodded. “I was there.” 

Greenquill’s eyes went wide open. “What? You … you’re serious?”

Blackwing nodded back at him. “I really can’t say much. It was a messy affair and then those spooks from the MSO came round, telling us not to let a single word out about what had happened.”

“Hold on a moment. Does that have anything to do with, you know-”   

“Yes, it does.” He tried to hold back his discomfort from showing. “And can we please stop talking about my wings for a moment?”

“Righ, sorry. My fault.” He frowned. “So, you’re telling me that some creature spilled the beans out? Is he blackmailing you or something?”

“I don’t know. I’m here to find out what they want and, hopefully, put an end to this before news of this get to the MSO. You-” His voice faltered, and he hesitated. “You’re still in time to get down and wait for me at the cub. You don’t have to come along if you’re having seconds thoughts.” 

Greenquill cackled, his armour clinking softly as he did so. “Oh please! I’ll inform you that I’ve been involved in my fair share of shady business in the military over the years. This seems a bit weirder than the usual, but I’m pretty confident I can handle it.” 

“Besides,” he added, his beak splitting into a huge grin, “somegriff has to be there to take the bullet for you, right?”

Blackwing couldn’t hold back his laugh as they resumed their climb, Greenquill coming just behind him. “Thank you, but let’s hope nothing of the sort happens.”

“Actually, I really hope it does.” Blackwing shot him him a questioning look. He responded with an even broader and feral smile. 

“That way, I get the chance to crack a skull or two.”





“Just got word from Kais,” Stiol said, slipping the communication crystal back into one of his many pouches. “He says she should be somewhere on the third floor. Second room from your right.”

Anneke hummed something resembling an acknowledgment. She set the rifle’s butt firmly against her shoulder, the barrel now resting on the windowsill thanks to a makeshift bipod. The sphinxess peered through the scope, and grimaced.

“I see the windows, but there are curtains in the way. Tell him I don’t have a visual.” Then, almost as an afterthought, she asked, “You’re sure this is the right side?” 

The sphinx furrowed his eyebrows at her. “Of course I am.” Stiol said with a nod. “But even if you miss, Kais and his team should be more than capable of getting her.”

Anneke snorted loudly. “Like Tartarus I’m giving him my kill.” She blinked. “Hold on. I think I may have something-”





“So, how do you want to do this?” Greenquill said, careful to keep his voice low. “Do we just make our way inside guns blazing? Or maybe we can lure them outside and in a crossfire in the hallway.”

His eyes shone in delight. “Oh, you know what, forget it. There was this trick one of the instructors taught us during our CQB training. All I need is a few metres of string, a grenade, some duct tape-”

“We’re not doing any of that.”

Greenquill sighed, clearly disappointed. “Fine. You think we should just knock then?” Blackwing shook his head.

“The zebra downstairs said no to. Besides, we might very well spook them if we try.” He produced the piece of paper from one of his pockets. 

“Are you armed?”

“Always,” he said with a grin. Greenquill raised one of his forelegs, holding it up for him to see. At first Blackwing did not understand why he was doing that. He then took a closer look on his steel vambraces, his eyes widening in surprise. The griffon wore a set of customize revolver-gauntlets on both forelegs. 

This weapon system -as the unimaginative name suggested- was nothing more than a revolver gun stripped down to his core components and then mounted on a vambrace, or alternatively used as a concealed weapon.  

An Equestrian creation, it had been originally designed as a pegasus-only thing, so to increase their chances of survival when their elegant dogfights and duels would inevitably turn into brutal aerial brawls.

Once on the ground though, its limits on weight and calibre could easily be ignored, making it an excellent weapon for close combat. And if the cylinder embedded in his vambrace was any indication, Greenquill’s ones would have no difficulty in bringing down an enraged yak with but a few precise salvos.

“Just try not to shoot me, alright?” 

“No guarantees on that," he winked, "But I'll try."

Blackwing glanced at the door, then at small receipt holding in his claws. He drew a deep breath; there wasn’t any going back now. 

It was funny, in some twisted way, how such a small, almost inconsequential thing could suddenly become so important. Talos really had a weird sense of humour.  

He kneeled down and pushed the receipt in the gap beneath the door. It swung open in that exact moment.

Blackwing blinked in surprise. He looked up and blinked a second time, eyes widening. 

The griffon found himself staring down a double-barrelled shotgun, aimed squarely at his feathered forehead. There were maybe a few inches between it and him.   

Behind that gun stood an earth pony mare, standing on her hind hooves as she aimed her weapon at him, eyes narrowed.

Blackwing’s eyes travelled a bit to his right and saw a second weapon appear in the doorway, this one trained on Greenquill.

The griffon smacked his beak a couple of times. “Yeah, Eddy. About the whole not-shooting-you-thing …”

“Quiet!” the first mare snapped. She turned her attention toward Blackwing. “Are you the griffon captain?” 

He nodded. “I mean, technically we both are.” He waved a claw between the two of them as he got back up. “But yes. I’m the one who got your letter.”

The mare said nothing, although Blacking caught a brief, irritated frown crossing her face. She beckoned with her gun both of them inside, closing the door once they were both in.

The apartment was rather simple, although surprisingly well kept. Sure, a few cracks here and there were to be expected, but the floor had been swept clean. For a brief moment, Blackwing’s nostrils picked up the faint smell of something resembling cinnamon in the air. 

The entrance led directly into the dining room. It was an L-shaped room, which doubled as a kitchen if the stove and sink were any indication, with a small pantry tucked into a corner. 

The large rectangular table in its centre was covered with an embroidered tablecloth, and it looked as if whoever was there had decided to have some tea. A steaming kettle sat on a metal support in the centre, together with four cups, some plates, and a sugar bowl.

Two windows overlooked the plaza below, but their curtains were drawn as of now, the light filtering through plunging the enclosed environment in a penumbra. 

Blackwing blinked as his eyes registered the unicorn mare seated at one end of the table.

“A good morning to you, gentlegriffs,” she greeted them with a polite smiled. 

She had a white coat and a short cropped, emerald-green mane. A brownish cloak rested on her shoulders, its hood down. 

She looked tired though. Dark circles ringed her eyes, her face taunt with exhaustion. Her mane, gathered up in a tail behind her, looked like had not been groomed in weeks.

Her horn glowed, a faint green light flooding the room. Blackwing tensed immediately at the sight and, just by his side, Greenquill did it too.

If training alone had not taught him well enough, his time spent with Specialist Red Ruby and her cadre had showed Blackwing just how dangerous magic users could be. The fact that she had done so only to fill one of the cups with tea did nothing to ease his worries.

“Before we begin,” she continued after taking a sip, obvious of their discomfort, “I have to ask. Which one of you is Captain Edward Blackwing?”

The two griffons exchanged a brief look. 

“That would be me,” he said, taking a step forward. He caught the glimpse of a frowning Greenquill. As much as he shared his caution, there was little in the way of options at the moment.

In hindsight, perhaps he should have asked Nebula to back him up for this with her platoon. He probably would have done so under normal circumstances, but these were not, and he had to first discover how much she knew about Akhri. Only then he could send a section to clean up the place.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, captain.” The smile never left her face. “Why don’t you take a seat?” 

Only then she seemed to acknowledge Greenquill’s presence behind him. She raised an eyebrow, her expression turning quizzical at the sight of the armoured griffon.

“I understand that you felt the need to bring along an escort with you, captain, but isn’t this a bit, ahem, excessive?” She gestured at the griffon for emphasis. As if on cue, both armed mares tensed up, their weapons hovering in Greenquill general direction.

He noticed it too, but his reaction was nothing more of an amused grin. 

After getting a better look at them, Blackwing was now confident that only one of them was actually a local pony. The other one had a bright yellow coat and a green mane. 

This wouldn’t have been too strange by itself, except that the Sphigyptian colour range for ponies leaned heavily on the darker ones, focusing mostly on brown and grey, sometimes a pale yellow and -in rare cases- red. 

“Maybe it is,” Blackwing said with a shrug, as he sat opposite her. “But given the nature of our meeting, I preferred err on the side of caution.” He omitted that it had been a pure chance; better to make it look as a deliberate gesture. “Besides, you seem to have a couple of your own.”

The unicorn mare sighed. “I guess it’s fair.” She eyed the two mares in turn. “Gilead, Spring Trap, can you please stop waving those things around?” 

The local mare -Gilead, apparently- gave her a questioning look. “They’re armed. Can we at least take their weapons?” she noted in Sphigyptian. She probably counted on the fact that the two griffons couldn’t understand her.

“Yeah, I know that, but you don’t need to worry. Just try to relax a bit, alright?” she answered in the same language. “Trust me on this. The same goes for you, Spring Trap. Come on, sit here with me.”

The two mares hesitated, eyeing the two griffons warily. With some reluctance, they lowered their weapons and went to sit at either side of her. They never relinquished their weapons but at least took care in not pointing directly at their guest.

“Now, would you like some tea before we begin?”

“Thank you, but no,” Blackwing said in his most neutral tone. “However, I would like to get straight to the point, ma’am. I don’t have much time and some creature is bound to notice my absence.” 

He was careful to said that in his mother tongue. There was no point in revealing them that he could perfectly understand what they were saying in private.

The unicorn mare nodded. “Very well, mister Blackwing.” She placed a hoof on her chest. “Allow me to introduce myself then. Name’s Laurel Oak, from Fillydelphia.” She gestured at the other two mares. “I’m sure you’ve already made the acquaintance of Gilead and Spring Trap. My apologies if they have been a bit rough with you.”

“They were noisy,” Spring Trap deadpanned. “I wouldn’t be surprise if the entire building is aware that we’re here.”

Blackwing brushed aside the comment. Partly because he found inconsequential, but also because the unicorn’s name had caused his eyes to widen in realization.

“Hold on a moment. You’re that Laurel Oak?” She nodded. “The one from the Freedom Trail?” 

“Didn’t the AOPR put a bounty on your head or something?” Greenquill asked from behind him. Instead of sitting with them, he had decided to lean against the wall, so to keep an eye on the whole room.

The question caused both mares to whip their heads at him, glaring angrily. Laurel Oak chuckled, clearly amused.

“Yup, they did. Nine-thousands lire, if you can believe it.” She rolled her eyes. “As if catching me would actually have any real effect. They’re free to try though.” 

Then, she grinned, “I’m surprised you knew that, though. Have I become such a celebrity in Owlstria?” 

The griffon mirrored her smirk with one of his own. “Something like that. You’re exploits are quite famous back at home. You’re like that Equestrian adventurer, Daring Doll, or whatever her name was. Of course, you’re real and she isn’t, and you don’t go around digging up old tombs.”

Laurel Oak shock her head, unable though to hide her beaming expression. The weariness in her eyes was now gone, replaced by a glint of pride. 

“It’s Daring Do, actually. Besides, there are many other ponies out there that have put their life on the line for our cause. I’m more like a face for the public, really. Nonetheless, I appreciate your interest mister-”

“Greenquill,” he said. “Captain Lennart Greenquill, Thirtieth Vanguard Regiment, Second Company. As of now, assigned to the One-Hundred-First.” Judging from her expression, most of that had gone over her head.

“A pleasure to meet you, then. Sadly, it appears that my fame had drawn the ire of the local authorities.” A shadow crossed her face as she went on. 

“Our work here in Kaska has been compromised, I’m afraid. I don’t know how, but the local cell has been infiltrated and many members of our organisation here have already been arrested last week. Thankfully, the Civil Cohort seems to have focused most of its effort on my apprehension, so the others have already slipped through their net and towards safety.” 

She sighed, gesturing around with a hoof. “This is pretty much the only safe place I have left though, so it won’t be long before we’re found. The local Naqib is determined to get to me, even if he’s to comb the entire city.”

“What happens if he does?” Greenquill asked.

“To me? Oh, I would get off relatively well, all considered. Sure, there have been calls for my head in Akhri, but they are all bark. I doubt they seriously have the nerve to face the ensuing backlash.” 

She paused, turning an eye to each of the mares in turn. There was now visible pain in them. “I don’t know what will happen to them though.”

“And who cares?” Spring Trap retorted in Sphigyptian. “I knew the risk when I joined. I don’t care if they get me. I care though if they get you!” she pointed a hoof at her.

“I agree,” Gilead’s voice chimed in, her accent thick. “What’s important now is getting you to safety, Miss Oak. We can take care of ourselves.”  

“What about Akhri?” Blackwing said. He had remained silent for most of the exchange, but he was starting to have a rough idea where this discussion was heading to, and he did not like it one bit. 

Laurel Oak turned to him, a look of confusion visible on her face. “About what?”

“Akhri,” he repeated with more emphasis. “Your letter said that you were aware of my exploits there. How do you know what happened?”

The mare shrugged. “I have my ways.”

“I’m sure.” The griffon leaned forward in his chair. “And I’m guessing that you want my help to get out of Kaska in exchange for your silence.”

She hesitated, her face grimacing in sympathy. “I would rather not do so, mister Blackwing, but my situation is pretty desperate right now. I understand that I’m asking both of you a lot-”  

“Not us. Me. I’m the one in charge of Third Company,” he pointed out. “And you’re asking me to paint a red target on my back for Leys to shoot at. And that’s in the best-case scenario!”

“Either the Civic Cohort finds you and I get implicated for hiding a fugitive, or the fact that you know comes out and the MSO decides to send some agents to silence the both of us.”

Greenquill turned at him with a raised eyebrow. “I thought you said something about being friend with the sphinx. Can’t you just have a word with him about this?”

“I could, but I kinda helped the Gendarmerie pull off an operation under his nose one week ago.” Blackwing frowned. “He kind of deserved that, honestly. Talos only knows how many payrolls in the municipal council Leys is on. At least now I know what has been keeping him busy.”

“We can pay you!” Gilead blurted out. Her cheeks coloured for a moment, before continuing in a quieter tone. “W-we have some money stashed away for emergency. I know it’s not much, but we can give you that. Just to get out of the city.” The other two mare shot her a sidelong glance.

“And how do you plan to do it? I mean, we can’t even retrieve them safely. Those sphinxes will be on us in a moment!” Spring Trap pointed out, switching once again to Sphigyptian. The mare ignored her though, keeping her expectant eyes on Blackwing.

The griffon sighed. “No offense, Miss, but this thing is not just about money. As she pointed out,  you are all asking quite a lot of me,” he began, only to be interrupted by furious knocking at the door.

“Were you waiting for some pony else?” All three mares remained silent, their eyes darting warily toward the source of the noise. The knocking continued.

“Not as far as I know, no,” Laurel Oak all but whispered.

“I fuckin knew it!” Spring Trap hissed. “I knew it we shouldn’t have trust them! They followed us here!”

The unicorn fixated a stern glare on her. “Calm down. We don’t know that, so don’t start overreacting. Go and check the door instead.”

The mare rumbled something under her breath, but nodded, getting up and slinging the weapon over her shoulder as she went.

Blackwing noticed Greenquill taking position between him and the door. There was a soft metallic sound as he chambered a round on each weapon mounted on his foreleg. He didn’t like it, and he found himself checking both of his holsters. Relief surged briefly through him as Blackwing found his weapon still there. 

A warm breeze had picked up, flowing into the room and pushing one of the window’s curtain apart. Bright sunlight filtered in, illuminating the room. 

With some hesitation, Spring Trap pulled open the door, standing back as zebra mare rushed through in a hurry. Blackwing recognized her immediately. She was the same zebra they had met before in the lobby.

“Zitel? What are you-” 

“They’re here!” she gasped, almost out of breath and panting. “You … you’ve got to get out … Now!” A deep silence fell in the room. 

“You’re sure?” Laurel Oak asked as she got up from her chair and moved closer to the zebra. “Just take a breath, okay? Then try to explain what’s going on.” 

Despite her attempts at maintaining a calm voice, she had lost all colour on her face.   

Zitel shook her head. “There’s no time!” She took a few seconds to breathe deeply. “They’re at the ground floor. I’ve managed to stall them for a while, but they’re about to search the entire building.”

Laurel Oak eyes widened. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

“Can you just refuse?” Spring Trap said.

The zebra shook her head a second time. “I’ve tried, but they have a signed warrant with them. They only gave me enough time to advise my tenants.”

“How many?” Blackwing asked, rising from his chair and moving to join them.

Zitel blinked at him. “What?”

“I asked you how many of them you’ve seen downstairs. If you don’t remember, just give us an indication.” 

She frowned for a moment. “A dozen sphinx, maybe. I … I don’t know if there are others waiting outside.”

“What about weapons?” This time the question came from Greenquill. 

“They had them, yea.”

“What kind?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Some kind of rifles, I guess.”

“Rifles or carabines?” Greenquill asked.

“Does it make any difference?”

“Yes,” the two griffons said at the same time. They exchanged a quick glance and then a chuckle.

Laurel Oak shot them both a curious look but said anything. She rounded on a still confused -and frightened- Gilead.

“Gilead, gather all that could be essential. Foods, clothes, documents, anything you can find. If we can’t carry it, burn it.” The mare hesitated, standing as if frozen in place. 

“Everything will be alright, don’t worry,” the unicorn said, her voice softening. She placed a hoof on her shoulder. “You trust me on this, right?”

Gilead looked at her, a small smile taking form on her face. Her lips moved to say something. 

A low whistle pierced the air, accompanied by the sound of crashing glass. Gilead dropped with a soft, chocked gasp. 

The shot punched easily through her neck, before continuing on and slamming against the opposite wall. Blood erupted from the wound, oozing out on the floor’s tiles.

Laurel Oak simply stood there, frozen in place, her mind unable to come to term with what had just happened before her very eyes. Gilead’s own blood was all over her face.

“Sniper!”

Blackwing threw himself against the unicorn mare, tackling her to the ground with him. A second shot whizzed past them, creating another pockmark on the wall.

Greenquill moved by his side, grabbing the table with both claw and flipping it over as to make a makeshift cover. 

He grunted in pain as third shot found him, a brief flash of blue and green erupting on his armour indicating where he had been struck. The griffon fell on his back.

Blackwing looked in apprehension at his friend, only to be replaced by relief as he heard a long stream of curses. With some difficulty, Greenquill climbed to a crouch, taking special care in keeping his head down. Wood crunched as it was struck again and again.

“Are you alright?”

He nodded. “I’m fine. Armour got the brunt of it.” He craned his head up, peeking over the upturned table. More shots came his way, but not a single one even close to him.

Greenquill ducked his head back in cover. “There’s a building on the other side of the square. Third floor, central window. I swear I saw the glint of a scope there.”

“Good, then. Be ready to move on my signal.”

Greenquill raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious?” There was a loud crunch as a hanging frame was struck, sending broken pieces of wood sailing through the air. 

“Of course I am! Our would-be sniper clearly  doesn’t know shit about fire discipline! He’ll run dry eventually, so get ready to move.” Greenquill nodded, giving him a thumbs-up.

Blackwing realized that Laurel Oak was no longer near him. He looked around, only to find her some distance away, crouched in one corner, head bowed.

Gilead’s lifeless body laid in her lap, the mare holding her deceased friend in one last, tight embrace. Large crimson stains marred her white coat and mane, turning the emerald into a dull and darker green.

“Miss Oak!” he called her. “We’re about to move! Try to stick close!” She didn’t reply.

“Miss Oak!” he hollered a second time, trying to shake her out of her stupor. 

Spring Trap had taken cover nearby behind the kitchen stove. She tried to move, but another shot punched through the second window and caught her foreleg. 

The mare neighed in pain. It had grazed her, but she lost her balance and tripped. She landed just beneath the window itself, out of the shooter’s sight, forcing her to painfully crawl her way back. She looked down and winced at her bleeding injury.

Blackwing frowned. How had he managed to keep track of both windows at the same time? That would have been simply impossible for a single marksman, unless-

“Fuck, there are two of them!”  

Greenquill nodded. “Yeah, and I don’t think they’ll to run out of ammo any time soon.”

“But we can’t stay here! We’re like fish in a barrel!”

“I know.” Greenquill readied both of his revolver-gauntlets with a loud metallic clank. “Get Oak moving. I’ll cover you.”

The griffon nodded. He turned around, only to find the mare still in her corner. His eyes narrowed, and something inside him snapped.

“For Talos’s sake, Laurel, she’s dead! Now, drag your sorry Equestrian flank here or you’ll join her!” 

The harshness of his tone surprised him, but a colder part of him pointed out that there was no other choice. It was either life or death.

The unicorn mare raised slowly her head to face him. Blood tattered her muzzle and face, and she was crying. Tears rained down along her cheeks and down the pavement. Her eyes were wide open but dull, her glint now gone.

Her lips moved but no audible word came out. 

“What?” Blackwing called out. Somewhere behind him, a shotgun went off. 

“They … they weren’t enough, were they?” she whispered.

“They? Who are you talking about?”

“They weren’t enough,” Laurel Oak said. Her breathing became more ragged. Each intake seemed a painful, laborious effort for her. “They had … they had to take her too.”

“Listen, Miss, you’ll have time to grieve later. Right now, we ne-” The rest died in his beak.

“THEY HAD TO TAKE HER TOO!”

Laurel Oak’s horn glowed brightly, and a vivid green light flooded the room. Her sorrowful eyes were gone in an instant, replaced by two burning, emerald pieces of coal. Magic swirled and gathered around her in long, sinuous tentacles, crackling ferociously with magic.

The cloak fluttered wildly around her body, revealing her now-glowing cutie-mark, a ring with three hearts inside, all tied together by a golden string.

The shooting stopped as a bubble-shaped shield enveloped the room. Blackwing stared in awe as he saw a single bullet drop from the air and clatter softly on the ground a few metres awa. Its tip was flattened and mauled as if it had struck a solid wall.

Laurel Oak slowly got up. She respectfully lowered Gilead’s body, placing a kiss on her bloody cheek. She marched up to stand before the window, just a few meters within the shield.   

The long tentacles of pure magic flared, then receded back into her horn as they coalesced in a burning, white sphere of pure heat. Both griffons took instinctively a few steps back.

Then, with a blinding flash and a roar, Laurel Oak unleashed her spell. 





Looking through his scope, Stiol couldn’t prevent himself from frowning.

They almost had her! They had been so close! 

Anneke had been impatient though. She had opened fire on the first thing that looked like a pony. And missed, of course.

The sphinx pushed his rifle’s bolt back and loaded another cartridge. Now there was a bloody magic shield in the way, and without special ilirium-made ammunition there was no way to get through.

He was alone now. Anneke had run out of ammo for her own scoped rifle and was rummaging in her bags to find other clips. Stiol could have offered a couple of his, but he had decided against it. The sphinxess had to learn to keep an eye on her equipment. 

He looked away from the scope and turned back to the other room. Why was she taking so much? Then again, there wasn’t much they could do now. Kais and his team would have to take care of the whole mess.

“Anneke, do you need help or what?” he asked mockingly. 

He did not live long enough to hear the answer. Stiol Baus never saw the large fire bolt as it screamed through the air and towards him. The intense heat was the only warning he ever received as it burned a hole through the wall and detonated in a mighty fireball half a second later. 

Glass shattered and stone melted in a fiery inferno. The shockwave sent a cascade of masonry crashing down in the plaza below among panicked shrieks. 

A headless, armless, charred husk was all that would remain of the sphinx.