Author's Note

🎇🎇Happy New Year, folks! 🎇🎇

I’ll mark the calendar rolling over from 2021 to 2022 with yet another Feathered Hearts main story chapter, as our heroes find themselves and their parent/host nation suddenly and quite unexpectedly under attack. Will they be equal to the challenge? Or will the Griffon Kingdom crumble and burn?

You already know what’s hitting, but they don’t, and I’ve added a significant amount of nuance, dialog and additional exposition to this scene—to say nothing of a surprise introduction of three new figures. You folks should know by now that initial impressions are often not accurate with my characters, and such it is here. We don’t quite reach gunplay here, as that’s coming next chapter. But for all that happens, I don’t think you’ll be too disappointed, and that next chapter will be coming quickly, in less than a week.

No adult moments here, so don’t worry. And thanks as always go to ASF, AJ_Aficionado, Silentwoodfire and Silverblade5 for prereads. Nothing else to say except hope you enjoy, and Happy New Year again!🎇🎇🎇🎇

And lest I forget the standard boilerplate: This chapter is a heavily rewritten version of the first half of Feathered Heart: Chapter 6, borrowing some chunks of dialog and detail modified to accommodate the updated story. Regardless, you are not only invited but strongly encouraged to check out the original if you haven’t already, as it inspired many of my own works.

19: Shadows of the Past

A second flash of searing white was followed swiftly by another massive crash of thunder that bowled Gilda backwards in the air, knocking her head over heels. It left her momentarily blind and deaf, completely unaware of what was going on around her.

At first, she wasn’t sure if she was alive or dead. How many seconds had passed? How many minutes? Was she hit? Was Marco?

Reasoning that she wouldn’t be able to wonder if she was dead unless she was actually alive, she forced her eyes to open, and slowly, her senses returned along with her vision. As it did, badly blurred whites blended with blues, browns and greys that seemed to be whirling around her. Her ears also began to respond; she could distantly hear not just the roar of the wind, but somegriffon shouting her name and desperately shaking her by the armor straps around her neck.

“Gilda! Gilda! Wake up!” a voice she finally recognized as Fortrakt’s was frantically calling to her.

Gilda took a moment before shaking her head sharply. She felt the wind hit her strongly—too strongly. There was also an odd sinking feeling in her gut she knew from experience meant her flight was out of control; she realized just a single but terrifying instant later that she was falling uncontrollably from the air, plunging along with the stricken air coach to certain doom.

The eagless immediately spread her wings in an action as instant as it was instinctive. Her eyes were still swimming in color, so she used her experience as a practiced flyer to right herself until she could finally see, forcing her gaze to focus.

The first thing she locked onto was Marco’s coach doing a near-vertical dive; the two sky griffon soldiers at the rear trying valiantly but futilely to keep it from crashing into the oncoming ground. The front part of the air coach had two badly burnt members of her Turma dangling lifelessly in their harnesses with a third missing along with her harness extension, which was reduced to a seared and splintered stub—far too much weight for a single pair of sky griffons to lift, no matter how strong their wings were.

“Marco!” Gilda shouted, realizing she had but seconds to act. A surge of adrenaline and fear overriding the lightning-caused concussion she’d received, she immediately dashed forward through the air, towards the front of the crippled coach. She sensed a windstream coming up beside her, and a glance revealed Fortrakt to be the source to her right.

“We have to lose the dead weight!” she told him as they reached the two remaining forward air coach extensions and hit the quick release on the yoke attachments her stricken soldiers were harnessed to; she tried not to think about the possibility that they were still alive despite their gruesome burns and smoking bodies as they both fell free, plummeting hard to the ground.

The loss of their limp and lifeless forms caused the descent to immediately slow as the rearward griffons suddenly had less weight to restrain, though it still wasn’t enough. The extensions now free, Fortrakt and Gilda shunted themselves under them and put the ends on their upper backs. They grunted as they tried to lift the front of the coach even though they weren’t properly harnessed, which caused the yokes to dig in painfully to their backs and shoulders.

Fortrakt squawked with desperate effort as he began to flap his wings with all his strength. Gilda just clenched her beak, a trill of agony escaping her throat as she, too, tried to lift while ignoring the intense pain of the bare harness wood digging in hard to her flight muscles, attempting to slow the coach’s descent as quickly as she could. But despite their best efforts, a glance downwards revealed the ground coming up on them fast; the blurred greens slowly transforming to rocky hills and trees.

They were slowing their fall, but not quickly enough; she could hear the humans screaming inside the coach. Marco’s voice was the most recognizable, but she could hear the others too as they felt themselves falling to their deaths. She could also hear and feel small impacts as the passengers, both humans and griffons alike, were being thrown around inside.

Time seemed to slow down as the ground neared; Gilda’s vision tunneled as she saw individual rocks, blades of grass, and areas of dirt below. They were almost out of time, and her gut was telling her that they were still coming in far too fast.

Gilda realized then with a sinking heart that there was no way to fully arrest their fall in time. “If we’re going to crash, we have to cushion the landing! Prepare to spread wings!” she barked, surprised her voice could sound so clear and strong despite the intense efforts she was exerting. “Now!”

The four griffons opened up their wings wide, the wind catching and dragging them backwards. All of them screamed with effort, the weight and momentum of the coach taking a toll on their feathery limbs as they approached the earth below.

“Brace for impact!” Gilda warned needlessly as they hit the ground hard and a sharp jolt climbed up her forelegs like a second lightning bolt. The harness arm of the coach she was hefting snapped, which flung her into the air. In her tunnel vision, she saw the sky, the earth, and the sky once more as she impacted the ground twice before rolling to a stop, leaving her covered in dirt and broken branches. The whole thing lasted for just a few seconds, but for all her heightened awareness, it felt like an hour.

“Ow…” she groaned as she found herself momentarily unable to move, worried for a moment that she was paralyzed. But her limbs began to respond again, if only sluggishly; she felt her blood rushing everywhere and her heart racing so fast in the aftermath of her exertions that she thought it would burst right out of her chest. Trying to let her severely stressed body recover a bit, she kept her eyes down on the ground, her tunnel vision slowly widening.

Within a minute, though only with considerable effort, she was able to stand up at least somewhat shakily on all fours. She then noticed Fortrakt not too far away in front of her, lying on his side at the end of a long furrow his body’s passage had carved in the dirt and grass. He appeared relatively uninjured but was unmoving except for the rapid heaving of his chest and gulps of air into his open beak.

“Fortrakt! Are you okay?” Gilda asked rather roughly, her throat sore through her still-ragged breathing.

“No…” he replied weakly, trying to rise but failing, waiting until another rumble of thunder passed before speaking again. “Hit hard… broken ribs… feels like my wings were wrenched out of their sockets…”

“Just lie still, and try not to move. Hold on for the Magus,” she told him when she remembered the air coach. Grunting, she turned and spotted it lying half on its side with the front wheels ripped off and the right rear ones collapsed, leaving it partially in the air on the left.

The two remaining fore harness extensions she and Fortrakt had grabbed hold of had also been destroyed, with the aft ones severely damaged; their wood deformed and twisted. Her sky griffon soldiers attached to the rearmost yokes were trying their hardest to get out of their harnesses, while right behind them, she noticed the last two coaches making their way down guarded by what looked like Decanus Nydia, who was using her aura to attract the lightning bolts chasing them to her staff and not the coaches.

Whatever magical defense she’d conjured, it had worked as they appeared undamaged, to Gilda’s great relief; the coaches were intact and all five sky griffons yoked to each were still alive and flying.

I guess that explains how we survived the second strike. But where’s the Prime Pike? she belatedly wondered, only to get an answer when the big sky griffon descended to ground with a smoking hole in the green-tinted armor over his chest, looking pained but very much alive.

She had no idea how he’d taken a direct strike from mage-boosted lightning and lived, but that wasn’t her concern just then. Ignoring the pain in her wings and legs, she slowly hobbled her way towards the downed air coach, praying to her Ancestors for Marco’s safety along with the rest of those inside. “By all our Ancestors, get these doors open!” she ordered the other surviving sky griffons in desperation, wondering if she had enough strength left to do the deed herself.

But it proved unnecessary when the door was suddenly and quite strongly kicked out by a human boot, which shattered the damaged lock and latches in a single strike. The noise agitated her still-shaking Guardsgriffons in the rear, with one even grabbing for the crossbow strapped to his side.

“Hold!” she shouted somewhat hoarsely as PFC Jamal slowly got out with a badly shaking Marco leaning heavily on him, blood streaming off his leg and a very ugly bruise forming on his temple.

Jamal himself didn’t look in bad shape, however. He held the door open as one of her earth griffon soldiers came out next with a whimpering Raleigh riding on his back, the obese human cradling his left leg and moaning. The remaining earth griffon and the rest of the Marines followed afterwards, wide-eyed and clutching their weapons.

“Okay, what the hell just happened, Centurion?” a visibly freaked Jamal demanded to know, staring at Gilda as he released a trembling and sweating Marco, who fell to his knees and then forward onto his palms. “What the fuck hit us? An aerial IED?”

Before Gilda could ask what that was, a strong gust of wind blew around them as the last two air coaches landed. The Marines in them spilled out quickly and, at an order from Imlay, formed a defensive perimeter with their black tubes pointed outwards, using whatever cover was available. Giraldi and the other earth griffons quickly followed, the former’s eyes searching for and finding Gilda; he spread his wings to take flight briefly before landing in front of her.

“Sir! Are you okay?” her new Optio asked.

“I’m fine,” Gilda replied even though she didn’t feel fine; she could see that her pained movements and the tremor in her voice had Giraldi frowning. But determined to not admit weakness, she pointed to Fortrakt and the human civilians. “Or I will be. My injuries are minor. Have our mage check on the human casualties and Fortrakt. He’s hurt.”

Giraldi nodded with a concerned glance over at their newly minted Decurion. “By your command, Centurion. It is with deep regret that I must report we lost First Stave Tunica and most of the Paladins to the initial lightning strikes, but not Decanus Nydia—I don’t know if you saw, but she’s the reason the second volley of bolts mostly missed us! She, and the Prime Pike there.” He nodded over her shoulder.

“Him?” Gilda stared at the black-furred and feathered Paladin commander in confusion, again noticing he had a gaping and still smoking hole in his chest armor right over his heart.

“Yes, sir. I saw what happened from my window—he threw himself in front of the coach and took a bolt that would have hit it dead center and likely have blown it in two!”

She turned to Niger Tigrus and stared at him in disbelief along with a strong measure of respect. “Thank you.” She bared her throat at him.

“It was my duty,” he said with a pained grunt and cough as two more Paladins winged in, also with holes in their armor; one looked to have taken a bolt right through the feathers at the base of her wing as she hobbled over to where Chief Jacobs was and clutched her injured side. “I and the two remaining members of my decade have some… additional protection that enabled us to survive the strikes. Unfortunately, as the rest of my force did not have it, the Optio is correct. They are most likely dead.” He bowed his head.

“Then why did you have it?” Giraldi challenged, giving him an askance look.

“We had it from… a previous assignment,” the Prime Pike offered in what Gilda found to be a slightly evasive tone. Or had she just imagined it? “Needless to say, with good weather the whole way and no trouble predicted, we didn’t receive any anti-lightning enchantments for this flight. An intolerable oversight, but not one we can take back now. Despite that, my team and I need healer treatment. Where is Decanus Nydia?”

Team? Gilda wondered, thinking his personality had suddenly completely changed. But before she could ask, Giraldi spoke again.

“She’s still in the air trying to disperse that crow-accursed lightning trap we hit,” he said with a glance up; Gilda followed his eyes and could just pick out the eagless mage casting something far above them. “I’ll summon her back to the ground, but may I suggest we help the humans establish a perimeter while we tend to our injured, sir?”

“Right.” Gilda grabbed her still-woozy head with one set of talons and rubbed her throbbing temples, trying to focus her thoughts. “By my order, find the lead griffons—given they took direct hits and then got dropped to the ground, they’re probably dead, but make sure.” Unworthy though the thought was, she silently prayed to her Ancestors they’d already been dead from the lightning strikes when she and Fortrakt dropped them, or else they’d likely killed them.

And if I did… Guilt tried to take hold of her, but she shoved it as hard aside as she could, reminding herself forcefully that there was no other way to save the stricken air coach from a fatal crash. “Once that’s done, assist the humans in establishing a defense while we get our bearings. If we have any sky griffons in flying shape, have them scout the area. Find out where exactly we are and report the extent of the magical field. Last thing we need is another surprise lightning strike up our collective tails.” She glanced up at Nydia again.

“By your command,” Giraldi replied with a salute. He flapped his wings, barking orders as he moved towards the newly-landed coaches. He began to gather the still-stunned griffons of her Turma to assign them various duties as the human medic, Chief Jacobs, started looking at Raleigh’s leg.

“Broken,” he pronounced as he pulled out an odd sleeve-like device and slipped it over his leg carefully, and then did something that caused it to visibly inflate. “I can splint it and numb the pain, but he needs an infirmary,” he told Gilda distractedly.

“So do I.” A small groan grabbed Gilda’s attention; she turned to see Fortrakt painfully crawling his way towards the downed coach. Though she wasn’t a healer, she knew the basic battlefield triage taught to her at the Gauntlet and occasionally reinforced by training drills later, and thus, she checked on his legs and wings.

“Nothing seems broken, except for that rib,” she finally said, trying to keep her own increasing agony at bay; her wings and flight muscles felt overstretched and all four of her legs were swelling painfully at the knee and ankle joints. “I’m making you a priority for Nydia when she’s available.”

“I’ll be fine,” Fortrakt muttered. “But I hope you don’t mind me lying here for a bit.”

“I would prefer it,” she told him, offering him some water but not wanting him to move lest he worsen his wounds. In truth, she also wanted to just collapse; her wings were only barely responding to her mental commands, refusing to flap freely. She sighed, wondering how she would catch up to Giraldi when she heard human footsteps approaching her. Turning, she saw Imlay standing there.

“What happened, Centurion?” he asked quietly with his cannon held at what she had learned long before to be a ready position; for some reason, Gilda found his emotionless manner unnerving. His face was devoid of expression, but his shoulders were hunched, arms holding that black tube diagonally downward across his chest as he scanned the woodline for threats.

And yet, despite that, he seemed to be taking the attack in stride. “One minute we were flying along just fine, then the next we were hit with a barrage of lightning bolts. I’m going to assume that’s not a natural occurrence. Did someone attack us?” he asked her point-blank.

Gilda instantly realized that she wouldn’t get away with a non-answer, nor was there any reason to withhold the truth from him. So she motioned towards the damaged coach, and then to the sky. “I think so. We entered an active magical field that was triggered by our passage to rain down lightning bolts.”

Imlay stared at her. “So you’re saying someone shot us down?”

“Yes and no,” Gilda replied as she looked up into the sky again. “The field was more of a passive defensive spell. We would normally only use it to interdict movement of enemy aerial forces in war. Though sometimes it’s also employed on our border with the Ibex or on known Harpie raiding routes.”

For the first time, Imlay frowned, his brow furrowing. “That’s the kind of spell that takes time to build and has to be renewed every so often? A Lynch?”

Gilda exchanged a look with the Prime Pike. “Lynch?” they both asked.

“Sorry. I mean a Layered Enchantment,” Imlay replied. “That’s what the Equestrians call them.”

Gilda was impressed. “Yes. I admit I’m surprised, Corporal. I thought you humans didn’t know about Tellusian magic?”

“We studied up just in case,” Imlay replied with a brief grin. “So basically, we entered a recently emplaced minefield, and stepped on one.” Gilda just nodded, taking note of the word ‘minefield’ in a different context than she was used to. “Did we take a wrong turn somewhere? Was that Lynch not marked on your map?”

“What do you mean, ‘marked on my map’?” Gilda asked in genuine confusion as she saw Decanus Nydia return to ground and then assume the role of healer, looking over Raleigh and ordering him to relax before pointing her stave directly at him.

Imlay spared the scene just a brief glance. “Well, I’m assuming that the spell we triggered was one of yours. So shouldn’t you have known about it?” There was the barest hint of an accusing tone in his words.

“No!” an aghast Gilda exclaimed. “By the crows, that spell shouldn’t be there at all! We wouldn’t use it within our own borders or civilians might fly right into them!”

“And most of our border spells just detect trespassers. We wouldn’t call down lightning on them, Corporal, except on very rare occasions,” the Prime Pike added with another cough as he rubbed his chest where the bolt had hit him; Gilda could just see that there was some kind of exotic fabric underlying his Paladin armor.

Imlay’s brow furrowed. “Then someone just placed an unauthorized Lynch here? I mean, I don’t know about you, ma’am—er, sir—but the implications scare me.”.

Gilda looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“As far as I’m aware, Lynches only have limited uses,” he noted. “They have certain parameters to follow. Up there, it was shooting out lightning, yet down here—”

“We’re safe,” Gilda finished. She looked up again, her mind quickly realizing the implications Imlay had spoken about. “The defensive spell is acting as a barrier for flyers. Its purpose is to interdict aerial troop or airship movements.”

“Or to keep them from escaping,” Tigrus added.

Gilda nodded. “Either way, it makes getting reinforcements or conducting evacuations much harder. Which means that something very bad is happening.” She suppressed a shiver and grimace as a fresh wave of pain shot through her.

“My thoughts exactly,” Imlay said. “But that’s not all. You had a scout sent out ahead before we were shot down, right?”

“Yes, I did. Decurion Gletscher was out there, and—” Gilda replied distractedly, only to blink as she belatedly realized what was wrong with that.

Why wasn’t Fortrakt attacked first when he was well out ahead of the main group? By rights, he should have triggered the enchantment a minute before us and been slain instantly! she wondered as she glanced over to him to see that Nydia was concentrating on him next. He sighed with relief as his pain was numbed and rib magically reset; she then turned her attention to his badly overstrained joints and flight muscles.

He entered the area first, but he didn’t detect it or get struck down? But by all the crows, that doesn’t make SENSE! Unless—

An icy ball materialized in her stomach at the only possible explanation. She wasn’t that knowledgeable about magic, but she knew the basics, including the nature of such area enchantments as had to have been used here.

“I see you’ve figured out what that means,” Imlay said with another grim nod. “If the Decurion survived passage, it implies that one of the Lynch parameters was to activate only upon a large enough group entering its area. So a single soldier wouldn’t trigger it, but a platoon-sized unit would.”

“Meaning that a Magus deliberately built the defensive spell with parameters that would ensure maximum casualties,” Gilda muttered as beside her, Prime Pike Tigrus looked troubled despite his pain.

“Exactly,” Imlay replied. “And whoever emplaced it is probably still in the area. From here on out, we should assume we’re in hostile territory, sir.”

“I must concur,” Tigrus added as he awaited his turn with Nydia, waving his two surviving comrades forward to get their wounds tended first. “I know not what’s happening, but if it was a deliberate attack, then we need to organize ourselves for defense. Nor should we linger here, out in the open.”

“Agreed,” Gilda replied, then gave Imlay a respectful nod followed by a bared throat. “Thank you for your insights, Corporal.”

“No problem, sir,” Imlay said. He took a moment and looked around. “I only see three Paladins. Are the rest…”

The lack of response along with the bowed heads told him the answer immediately. Gilda felt the bottom of her stomach take a dive at the knowledge that seven elite soldiers had died under her command, as well as at least three Guardsgriffons from her old Turma.

“We have to presume them lost. And we don’t dare move until we’ve tended the wounded and found the limits of this defensive spell,” she told him.

Imlay’s lips thinned, but nodded. Gilda thought he was about to say more when his communication device chirped.

“Corporal Imlay, what’s going on?” Lance Corporal Brennan asked, though there was a strong crackling over the channel that made it hard to make out his words. “We’re holding our positions, but with respect, we’d all kind of like some answers as to what’s happening.”

“Yeah, what gives?” Gilda heard the female voice of Lance Corporal Henderson next. “This isn’t the best position to defend, especially with that hill in front of us. We’re in a shallow depression and we don’t have the high ground here.”

Imlay gave one last look at Gilda before replying into the device. “I know, but we’re stuck here until we can move the wounded and figure out what directions are safe to travel. Maintain a defensive perimeter for now and stay alert! What happened appears to have been a deliberate attack, and whoever set that magic trap is still out there. It seems like we might be seeing some action, so lock and load, and stow the combat-jack! It’s time to earn our pay, boys and girls.”

Gilda watched as the Corporal departed to give his ‘squad’ more instructions. Oddly enough, the dozen Marines he commanded seemed to get excited, even giddy, as Imlay told them to expect hostiles. At least mildly comforted that the humans weren’t hesitating or even remotely reluctant to fight despite the uncertain situation, she made her way towards the injured.

While Nydia was busy with the Paladins, Marco was being checked by the grey-haired naval healer, who was asking him a few questions and flashing a light in his eye. Marco grimaced at the beam’s passage, responding to the queries by either nodding or shaking his head, and then at the older male’s instructions he followed the light with his eyes.

Once she was close enough, she could see the Marine turn off his light and nod in satisfaction, “No concussion. Just a few contusions with the one deeper cut on your leg. I’d stitch it, but I’ll let that griffie witch treat it first. You’re one very lucky lad.”

“Sorry if I disagree, doc,” Marco muttered as he rubbed the growing bruise on his temple and grimaced; the cut on his leg having soaked right through his blue pants. He then looked up at her and managed a weak smile. “Hey, Gilda. So what was that promise that we’d arrive safe and sound?”

“Hey!” Raleigh called out weakly, doped up on whatever strange substance the human healer had used to dull his pain. “Don’t talk to her…”

“Oh, fuck off, Raleigh. You think that matters now?” Marco called irritably over his shoulder, then turned back to her. “Guess we’re not gonna make it to that hotel room in Catlais, huh?”

“And nocreature’s sorrier than me,” she told him wanly, and then she hugged him, hard. “Whatever happens, I swear to my Ancestors that I’ll protect you, Marco Lakan. I’ll protect all of you.”

“Thanks, Gilds. But don’t make promises you don’t know you can keep,” he said as Chris and Tara came over and hugged him hard in turn. To her relief, they were uninjured and more concerned about Marco than anything else; once they were satisfied he was fine, they then asked Gilda if there was anything they could do to help.

“Offload the supplies from the roof racks of the coaches, and then pass out the meals. We don’t know when we might get to eat again,” she instructed.

“Sure, but… what’s happening, Gilda?” Tara asked her.

“We’re not certain yet,” she told them, deciding it was best not to alarm them when she didn’t know how bad things actually were. “But until we do, and until the wounded are mobile again, we’re staying put.”

“Okay…” Tara said, exchanging meaningful glances with Chris and Marco while reaching over her shoulder to tap her backpack. “Uh, should we—” Whatever she was asking them, Chris shook his head sharply. He then mouthed something at her Gilda didn’t catch, as he took pains not to speak the words directly, eliciting a slightly pensive nod from Tara.

Gilda didn’t get a chance to consider what that was about before Imlay walked up beside her again. “How are they, Chief?”

“Mister Raleigh is suffering from a broken leg,” Jacobs replied, not even looking up at him. “I placed it in a splint and gave him a painkiller while their Magus does her thing. She says it’ll take just three treatments over the space of two hours to properly heal it, though I’ll believe it when I see it. Mister Lakan here is luckier, suffering from only minor injuries. And Jamal’s fire team got off nearly scot-free thanks to their helmets and armor. Ditto for the inside griffons.”

“And I said I disagree,” Marco mumbled. “I got that bruise on my head when I got thrown into a rifle.”

“Yeah, and that hard Flip-boy head of yours broke my scope!” one of Jamal’s Marines groused as he tried to look through what appeared to be some form of spyglass mounted atop his weapon. “It’s a total loss, Corporal. Looks like I’ll be using iron sights for a bit.” To Gilda’s surprise, he removed the spyglass from the top of his tube, then flipped up a pair of what looked like the manual sights Gilda had on her crossbow.

“It’s fine. We got some spares somewhere,” Imlay said placatingly. “I’m not gonna go digging for them now, though. Are all your supplies intact, Jamal?” he asked his fire team leader next.

“We pulled them out. They seem to be,” he confirmed. “We’re carrying them now and can deploy our big guns quickly if we need to.”

“You just might. This looks like a deliberate attack,” he said again, causing Gilda to wince while Chris and Tara gave him a startled look. He then turned to them. “With respect, Mister Lakan, Mister McLain and Miss Fields, we’re going to ask that you stay out of our way as much as possible and do not leave the immediate area. If you want to help, give the Doc here whatever aid he asks. Do any of you have medical training?”

“No, but—” whatever Marco had been about to say, he was cut off by Chris again, who made a sudden slashing motion with his fingers across his throat.

“But what?” Imlay asked, suddenly suspicious.

“Nothing. Never mind,” Marco answered, almost sullenly.

“With respect, Corporal, we just don’t want to feel like useless baggage here,” Tara added with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Then help out the Chief, and bring supplies or meals as requested by the griffons or my Marines,” he instructed. “This is a combat situation, so the best thing you can do is keep out of our way. And if the shit hits the fan, take cover in the intact coaches. Lock the doors and hunker down.”

“Uh, can we have weapons, then?” Marco asked a little weakly.

“No!” Raleigh shouted from behind him before grimacing again, earning a glare from Marco.

“Sorry, but no,” Imlay said more gently. “With respect to you, if you’re untrained in their use, then you’re more of a danger to us than whoever’s out there stalking us. You can have blades, but that’s it.” He offered Marco his combat knife.

“But we’re…” he began to say under his breath before relenting again, accepting the blade. “Fine.”

“So what should we do, Corporal?” PFC Jamal asked. “My Marines are ready for action.”

“I know, but I’m keeping you in reserve. Eat and guard the triage area for now, and I’ll rotate you to the perimeter later. We can’t move until the wounded are attended and we can figure out where the safe routes through that fucking lightning minefield are.”

“We should know soon enough,” Gilda said, idly thinking that their cannon-mounted spyglasses would make for a good report to the Tribune. If I was still writing them, that was, and if our first priority wasn’t survival right now! “When I have more information, I’ll pass it along.”

“I really appreciate that, ma’am,” Imlay replied, giving her a nod and walking off, leaving her alone with her three former civilian charges.

“Gilda... what’s going on?” Tara asked again. “Are we really under attack?”

“I don’t know for sure, but… it does seem that way,” she admitted with great reluctance as she turned to see a slightly harried Decanus Nydia approaching. Ordered to lie down, she did so as the Magus scanned her with her aura briefly before the hue of its light turned from green to blue, which Gilda knew meant healing energies.

“Just relax, Centurion,” Nydia told her more soothingly. “Your injuries aren’t as bad as the Decurion’s. I’ll fix you right up.”

“Thanks…” Gilda said, feeling her muscles fall slack as the pain drained from them and a cooling sensation washed over her swollen wing and leg joints. She groaned for a moment at the sudden feeling of relief, finding her body soaking up the magical energy like a sponge. When the treatment was completed, she tried to stand up, only for her legs to disobey her.

Forcing them to respond didn’t help, and she soon found herself falling back on the cool and comfortable ground. “Rest, Centurion,” Nydia then ordered. “It will speed the healing process.”

“Right,” Gilda sighed, locking eyes with a concerned Marco briefly before her lids fell shut.

I’ll just sleep for a bit, she thought, deciding she would rest for no more than ten minutes. That should be all I need…

* * * * *

An uncertain amount of time later, Gilda heard voices and felt her eyelids fluttering as a feeling of warmness washed over her; she dimly recognized the source as Nydia’s magical aura. She shuddered as she felt her limbs and wings flex, anticipating pain, but there was none from either. There were a few murmurs, but nothing she could understand until she heard Nydia speak. “... is complete. She’s almost fully healed and going to be fine.”

Gilda opened her eyes to see Marco, Fortrakt and Nydia staring down at her.

“Welcome back, Centurion,” the Magus addressed her first. “You should be feeling better?”

“I am…” Gilda grunted and tried to stand, finding her legs responding more naturally. She felt for her wings, which flexed obediently at her mental command. “By the crows, how long was I out…?”

“Two hours,” Fortrakt told her, causing her eyes to go wide. “The Decanus told us to let you sleep and recover.”

“Don’t worry, we would have woken you if anything bad happened. So far, nothing has.” Marco added, then hugged her again when she stood up. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“So am I…” she granted, accepting his embrace even as she still felt somewhat disinclined to move. Her limbs were no longer in pain but did feel quite stiff; like she’d been sleeping in an awkward position.

The Magus noticed. “The stiffness will fade as you start moving again. But I recommend you drink a lot of water and eat more red meat for the next couple days to replenish your body’s protein reserves. I used them all up to help heal your wings.”

“Will do,” she replied as she released Marco, then turned towards Fortrakt. “Anything to report?”

“Yes, sir. The scouts are back. Corporal Imlay and the Optio are awaiting your presence. Giraldi’s been commanding in your absence.”

“As well he should.” Gilda looked around and spotted Raleigh as well as the three Paladins. The former was still lying down with his leg splinted and what looked like a rolled-up blanket under his head, while the latter were up and about, talking amongst themselves. She motioned towards them and looked at the mage. “Before I go, please report on the wounded, Decanus Nydia.”

“The human civilians have been tended to, sir,” she replied, looking and sounding a bit tired; Gilda knew that mages could be exhausted by excessive magic use as well as physical exertion. “The one with a broken leg will be able to put his full weight on it by evening, though I don’t recommend he try running until tomorrow.

“I also tended the wounds of Marco Lakan here, who slept in a coach for an hour—though from what his friends said, he needed it more for being up all night than any actual injury,” she noted slightly dryly to a rueful look from Marco. “And though the rear pilots of the crashed coaches suffered moderate wing and muscle strains that were quickly healed, there were no injuries worth noting to our earth griffons or the human soldiers.”

“Marines,” Gilda corrected absently.

Nydia gave her a look. “I’m sorry, sir?”

Gilda opened her beak, then closed it, shaking her head. “They’re—never mind. And how are you doing, Decanus?” she had to ask. “I’m truly sorry for the loss of your partner.”

“The First Stave saved us, sir,” she told her, going downcast. “He was a fine mentor and Magus. I don’t know if you realize this, but he’s the reason we’re still here. That first strike could have been far worse, but he drew most of the bolts to himself and was overwhelmed. He bought me enough time to protect the rear coaches and our remaining troops.” Her beak quivered briefly, but then she squeezed her eyes shut tightly for a moment before opening them again.

“As for myself, my power needs replenishment after so much magic expenditure. I must rest soon.”

“Then do so. How long will you require?” Gilda asked.

She hesitated, but answered. “At least an hour. And two would be preferable.”

“If at all possible, you’ll have it. We need you at full strength. So once you’re done with healing, see to healing yourself. Now where’s Optio Giraldi and Corporal Imlay?”

“By the third air coach,” Fortrakt replied as the Magus saluted. “I’ll lead you there, sir.”

“You are not leading her anywhere,” the Magus corrected him. “You were hurt worse than the Centurion. You need another round of healing, Decurion.”

“Another? But I’m fine!” Fortrakt insisted.

Gilda blinked, then slowly stretched her wing to gently hit Fortrakt in his foreleg near his knee, which immediately got him to cringe and shudder as Marco gave a sly grin. “Okay, maybe I’m still a little sore…” her former junior partner said

“Get yourself treated first,” Gilda ordered. Expecting a complaint, she gave him a glare. “Don’t posture, Decurion—you’re not worth anything to us crippled, so you will allow yourself to be fully healed. Are we clear?”

Fortrakt sighed but surrendered. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. And Marco? I need to go to work,” She told him, to which he nodded and stepped back, departing only after extracting a promise from her to take it easy. Once he had left, Gilda stretched her legs a bit. She still felt mild discomfort from their stiffness but was otherwise able to move around with far more ease than she could before.

Step by cautious step, she passed the half-smashed air coach that was serving as their makeshift infirmary, watching her surviving sky griffon soldiers patrol the air while the Marines remained posted around them along with her earth griffons in a loose perimeter, their tubes and crossbows pointing outwards.

The third coach was not too far away, tucked in between the half-destroyed first coach and the undamaged second one. From their altered positions, she guessed Giraldi had moved the coaches closer to each other while she was unconscious to bring them to the center of their defensive ring.

Awaiting her around the third coach were Imlay and Giraldi, with the Paladin leader having just joined them. As she neared, Imlay saluted while the griffons did so and bared their necks, backing away slightly to let her enter their circle.

“It’s good to have you back, sir,” Giraldi said as Gilda approached the center of their improvised headquarters. “Beg to report.”

“What do we have, Optio?” she asked, trying to get her head back in the game, as she’d heard Marco once term it.

“Not a lot of good news. Our soldiers were able to ascertain the expanse of the defensive spell. Though Decanus Nydia dispersed a small area of it, almost the entire sky is covered with it starting a league to the east,” he explained.

“If you travel higher than fifty perches from the ground with more than one or two griffons, you enter the magical field and are immediately struck down by a curtain of lightning bolts. They also established that it extends for at least fifteen leagues west and north, towards Tierra.”

“I see…” Gilda frowned. While that height would still allow griffons to fly at just above treetop level, it would also preclude use of the air coaches. Then again, she realized that the coaches themselves wouldn’t help. They were down to two, and she didn’t have enough soldiers left to both carry and escort them—a potentially lethal proposition when there might be more enemies about. “That means we’ll have to leave the coaches behind and move strictly by ground.”

“That’s what it means. The magic in the area is also interfering with our comms,” Imlay declared. “Past a certain distance, we’re getting nothing but static.”

“Comms?” Tigris asked.

Imlay took a moment before answering, his expression deep in thought as Gilda guessed he was trying to find the best way to phrase his reply. “Communications. We have a certain technology on Earth called ‘radio’ where you can communicate with someone far away via voice.”

Gilda remembered something similar in the movie Warrior. “Oh. You mean like those telly-bones?”

“Telephones,” Imlay corrected with a momentary smile. “And yes, sir. It’s something like that.”

Gilda and Giraldi furrowed their brows; even the Paladin leader looked thoughtful for a moment. She had no doubt they were all thinking the same thing; wanting to ask how that ‘radio’ worked without magic.

Instantaneous communication like that was only found on Tellus using Dragonfire crystals and other paired gems the ponies could create, both of which they had in their possession. But their use was now compromised by the fact that hostile mages and dragons could detect their activation if they were close enough, and then find their source.

“When can you fix the problem on this ‘radio’ of yours?” Giraldi asked. “We need a secure means to communicate.”

“I don’t know,” Imlay replied. “We know from experience in Equestria that our radios are sensitive to areas of intense magical energy and can be disrupted by close-range spellcasting. So it should hopefully clear up once we leave the area of the Lynch.”

“Very well,” Gilda said. “Then we’ll have to minimize gem use as much as possible, relying on human radios at close range. Would you be willing to spare us a few, Corporal?”

“As long as we get them back after,” he replied. “We’ll also have to show you how to use them.”

“See to it,” she directed him, even though he didn’t technically fall under her command. “If possible, give one to me, one to the Optio and the Prime Pike here, and one to Decanus Nydia.”

“I don’t know if we can spare that many. But I’ll try,” he promised. “Is there anything else?”

“Yes, sir. I was waiting for you to wake up to discuss this, but Corporal Imlay said that he had talked to you earlier, and that a conclusion was drawn that we were deliberately attacked?” Giraldi then asked.

“A conclusion that is getting more likely by the minute,” Gilda replied, trying not to sigh. “It’s not just that, either. I didn’t get a chance to tell you, but just before we triggered the lightning field, Fortrakt spotted a few dragons flying ahead of us in a spread-out formation.”

“Dragons?” Imlay said with surprising calmness. “Adult or adolescent?”

“Adult,” she confirmed to a murmur among the griffons, impressed that he knew the difference. “They’re rarely seen in the Kingdom outside of migrations, which happen only once a decade. And the next one isn’t for six years.”

“If they were flying spread-out, they were in an attack formation,” a very troubled Giraldi immediately recognized. “We learned that long ago from the wars against Equestria, and later, Dragon Lord Diabla. So we now have a source for all the smoke. Between that and that accursed interdiction enchantment, we must now presume we are in enemy-held territory. But why are they attacking?” he wondered aloud. “Has a dragon clan suddenly declared war on the Kingdom? And that lightning trap above us is Griffon spellcasting. How did they turn our own mages against us?”

“How can you be sure it’s griffon spellcasting?” Imlay asked. “What about a unicorn?”

“An Equestrian?” The Prime Pike openly scoffed. “The Caleponians are all earth ponies. There are very few unicorns in the Kingdom, and short of the alicorn Princesses themselves, they would not have the power or expertise to do this.”

“Then what about the Ibex?” an unperturbed Imlay asked next. “Could they do it?”

Gilda exchanged a look with the two tiercels; the three considered the question briefly only to shake their heads. “They could, but their methods and magical signature would be much different,” Giraldi replied for all of them. “Even if they could exactly mimic the effects of our Magus spells, they would have been immediately detected due to that different signature. Trust me, our long history of hostility means we are very sensitive to the use of Ibexian magic within our borders. They couldn’t possibly hide anything this big.”

“He’s right, and so is the Prime Pike. No, Corporal, this is unquestionably griffon spellwork,” Gilda decided. “Trust us, we have known our Equestrian allies and Ibexian enemies far longer than you.”

Imlay frowned but nodded. “Then we’re back to the question as to why the dragons appear to have declared war.”

“I don’t know,” Gilda knew from her Gauntlet training that dragons had not so much countries as clans they were intensely loyal to. They consisted of a Dragon Lord and their entire extended family, which typically included a score of adults and hundreds of adolescents. In rare cases, those numbers could increase by an order of magnitude, and when coupled with a Lord whose urge was to gather not just gold but territory, the results could be catastrophic. “But we have to assume they have done so. We don’t have the ability to fight grown dragons; all we can do is avoid them.”

“Actually… we might.” Imlay answered carefully, gaining everygriffon’s immediate attention. “We have a class of weapon that could counter them.”

“You do?” the Prime Pike asked him. “With due respect, human, I understand from the Optio here that those tubes of yours are in fact miniature cannons, but such small balls as I assume they fire would be pinpricks against a full grown dragon. Even if you volley fire as an airship would its guns, I cannot see they would do much good.”

“It’s Corporal, Prime Pike. You guys are supposed to be big on protocol, so please show us proper respect.And with regards to our ‘cannons’, you’ll see what they can do if and when the time comes.” He saved Gilda the trouble of rebuking the Paladin leader. “But with apologies, our standing orders mean I am not allowed to discuss the capabilities of our weapons. I will simply say that yes, we might have an option to bring down a dragon. And a couple more to attack a grounded one.”

“You don’t have to explain it, but can you at least ready it?” Gilda asked him, fervently hoping he wasn’t making an empty boast. “If dragons strike, we’re not going to have much time to prepare.”

“Seconds at best if they swoop in; even just one of them could incinerate this entire clearing in mere moments,” Giraldi added. “So I suggest you ready such weapons before passing out your ‘radios’.”

“Point taken.” Imlay winced slightly. “Very well, I’ll make sure they’re at hand. But still, the more warning time we get, the better.” He saluted and walked off, leaving Gilda alone with Giraldi and the Prime Pike.

She addressed the latter first. “Are you healed?”

“I have been fully treated by the Decanus. I am fit for further action, as are my two comrades,” he replied, standing to attention. “We are currently patrolling the perimeter as per the Optio’s instructions, but we are at your command, Centurion.” He finished by saluting her.

Gilda returned the honor, noting there wasn’t a trace of his earlier arrogance, or any distaste in his manner. She wasn’t sure why that was, but she didn’t question it just then, knowing they needed to work together. “Continue to do so for now. But we need to start moving sooner rather than later. I want to break camp before evening, as soon as all the injured are mobile and Decanus Nydia has rested.

“But first we need to figure out where to go…” she mused as she began to pull her map free again, but she didn’t get a chance to study it before one of her sky griffon soldiers swooped in after answering a challenge from an airborne sentry.

“Sir! Beg to report!” the Spear said as he skidded to a stop before her, kicking up dust in her face. “I’ve been dispatched here by my Fuga leader. We found a rough road with an overturned ground carriage on it half a league from here. There are at least half a decade of pony and griffon bodies around it. Civilian bodies along with a couple Guardsgriffons, sir,” he said grimly.

“Are you certain they are dead?” Giraldi asked.

He nodded once, looking haunted. “Unquestionably, sir, as one of the Guardsgriffons was missing a wing and the pony we saw had its throat ripped open—by our Ancestors, there was blood everywhere!”

He shivered once, then clamped down hard on his fears, forcing himself to continue. “From the posture of the bodies and the fact they were clutching fired crossbows, we believe the two Auxilias were trying to defend the carriage. We didn’t go in closer because the area was in a small clearing an enemy force could be concealed in. We were fearful of ambush.”

“Good thinking. Now calm yourself, lad,” the Paladin leader spoke next in an almost fatherly tone. “Give a proper report. Could you determine from the scene what they were fighting? Were any dead enemy soldiers present? Was there any sign of a dragon or Magus attack?”

He shook his head sharply. “N-no, sir. No bodies except the ones we saw. There were also no scorch marks on the carriage or surrounding area from lightning, and no large burned areas from a dragon strike, either.”

“Odd,” Giraldi said. “So either they’re attacking with teeth and talons—which is not like them at all—or dragons did not do it.”

“There were no bite or talon marks that we could see. But we also couldn’t get close enough to make sure.” The Spear completed his report, then swallowed again. “By all our Ancestors sir, what’s happening?”

I don’t know…” Gilda said, careful not to show any worries even though she was now full of them. “But it’s past time we find out. As soon as we’re able, we’re making for that crash site! It’s roughly along the way to Tierra, and even if there aren’t survivors there, hopefully we can at least find some answers from the available evidence.”

“Centurion, I must point out that the risk of ambush applies to us as well,” Giraldi reminded her. “I understand and share your desire to find answers, but we must be cautious. We dare not travel for long out in the open. I suggest our priority be on finding defensible shelter and sanctuary. Preferably underground.”

“With respect, Optio, I disagree,” the Prime Pike replied with an experienced air. “We are flying blind right now. We need answers in order to determine the proper course of action, so our priority should be on gathering them. I’m certain we can keep ourselves safe with proper caution and tactics.”

“Right,” Gilda said, pulling her map out again, trying to order her severely jumbled thoughts. She had learned decade-sized tactics as a Decanus, and now she was left with what amounted to a force three decades strong, nearly half of whom were human Marines. By my Ancestors, what do I do? I’m not ready for this! part of her tried to protest, only to be quickly quashed by thoughts of making sure Chris, Tara and Marco all survived, to say nothing of the soldiers of her command who were now counting on her.

The Tribune said I earned my rank. Ancestors, please help me prove worthy of it! she silently prayed as she attempted to calm her fears and look at the situation dispassionately—no easy task given all that had happened just in the past few hours.

Remember your tactical training and start at the beginning. You know your desired end state—find answers and then find safety at Tierra. So break it down. What has to happen in what order?

Put that way, her mind began to piece together the steps that would lead there just as a freshly treated Fortrakt walked up, still grimacing slightly but promising he was fit for duty, flapping his wings and taking off into a hover to prove it.

She nodded in satisfaction, quickly catching him up. “Welcome back, Decurion. We were just discussing our next steps—it turns out there’s a crashed carriage with a slew of pony and griffon corpses around it not far from us. We want to investigate that first, but our ultimate objective is to reach the major Talon and Naval base at Tierra.

“Unfortunately, we can’t get there in one shot. Flying there is out, so we will travel by ground to the carriage crash site to gather intelligence, and then head for the nearest farming steadholt—this one to the northwest called 'Bale' seems our best bet—and hope they have supplies and defenders left. We can establish a proper defense there, tend any wounded we find and attempt to make contact by fast courier with Tierra.”

“We really can’t fly there?” Fortrakt asked; like any good sky griffon, he did not relish the idea of a long ground march when flying was so much quicker and safer given their maneuverability in the air.

“We really can’t, cub. It would mean leaving our human friends behind and inviting dragon or lightning attacks,” Giraldi replied instantly. “So I recommend traveling by ground beneath the smoke and tree canopy to mask our body heat, attempting to avoid contact as much as possible.”

“Agreed. We also leave no wounded behind; any dead bodies we find will not be burned despite doctrine or else we risk attracting the dragons,” Gilda added, and to her relief, nogriffon objected.

She then turned to the Paladin leader. “Prime Pike? You have the best soldiers we have left. So I ask that you and your remaining Paladins take the lead.”

He exchanged a look with his subordinates; starting with the same eagless who had insulted Gilda earlier over Marco and her rapid promotions. “With respect, sir, Paladins are strong soldiers but not effective scouts. However…” He glanced at the two eaglesses again, who each gave him a short nod. “Permission to speak with you privately near the woodline, sir?”

This time, it was her turn to exchange a quizzical glance with Giraldi and Fortrakt. “With apologies, Prime Pike, I don’t believe any of us should go off alone right now. It would be too easy for one or both of us to be picked off. So we must remain within sight of each other at all times.”

He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. “Very well, Centurion. Based on the uncertain foe we face, I cannot deny that is a sensible precaution. So be it. Normally I would never reveal this publicly, but…” He and his two subordinates pulled a set of medallions from their internal armor pouch and showed them to her. They looked to be made of gold and bore the Paladin crest, but when they ran their talons over it, the gold turned to black onyx and the Paladin shield into a single inscribed black feather.

Beaks fell open as everygriffon present instantly recognized it for what it was. “You mean… you’re all Ravens?” Fortrakt asked him in awe, to which the tiercel nodded once, then came to crisp attention.

“We are. Shadow Decurion Ebon Umbreon at your service, Centurion.” He bared his neck at and saluted her, to which a still-stunned Gilda could only return the honor slightly weakly. “Before you ask, we’ve been hiding in plain sight. Our orders since the Capricorn Conclave attack were to watch over the humans and ensure no harm came to them, from the Ibex or anycreature else.

“In this capacity, we were attached to the Paladin decade so we could keep watch over them in transit to Catlais. My sincerest apologies for slandering you and your human mate earlier, but it was a ruse to ensure no suspicion fell on us. For who would believe two insulting and abrasive Paladins were in fact Ravens?” he suggested with a smile.

“It worked,” Gilda confirmed wanly with another look at an equally surprised Giraldi, amazed and a little worried she’d been so easily fooled. “I honestly had no idea. You said Paladins aren’t scouts. But what about Ravens?” she then asked.

He smiled, as did his comrades. “Be assured that we are very good at reconnaissance. So in our true guise, we will take point,” he promised as he and his two remaining compatriots began to shrug out of their heavy green armor, revealing an odd layer of form-fitting fabric underneath that almost looked like very fine chainmail that had saved their lives from the lightning bolts; he then somehow triggered a spell that turned his fur and feathers from black to a dull gray, earning flinches from the griffons watching.

They next tossed some storage gems on the ground, which revealed them to be a band of blades and pouches they then slung and cinched in a diagonal loop around their barrels, and most ominously, an advanced model of repeating crossbow she’d never seen before. The other two previously disguised Paladins produced scimitars as well and slung them over the opposite shoulder to the weapons band, confirming to Gilda the rumor that the Ravens were masters of the old sword arts most of the Kingdom’s military no longer taught.

As she watched, Ebon Umbreon hefted his crossbow and slammed home a quiver drum, pumping the lever once to load it before putting it in a holster on his back. She didn’t know if it could match the likely firepower of the human cannons, but wielded by a well-trained soldier, it could certainly do a great deal of damage from the air.

Gilda hesitated before voicing her next thought; some of her old pride resurfacing. But she also realized that with the situation they found themselves in, and the newly revealed Ravens before her, things had just changed considerably.

“You are clearly a capable commander yourself given your true rank and station, Shadow Decurion. I told you before that I was in charge, but given my inexperience and the likelihood of this turning into a combat situation… I will surrender command of the escort force to you if you wish.” She felt that she had to make the offer, and though Fortrakt and Giraldi looked startled at the suggestion, they did not object.

The revealed Raven leader smiled but shook his head. “With apologies, Centurion, I cannot. I hold a lower rank than you, and the Ravens are not authorized to issue orders to any branch of the Kingdom military or security services without a command chain. That was a reform instituted long ago when the old Office of Owls was disbanded and our group was restored to its original purpose.”

“And that is…?” Fortrakt looked upon them in wonder.

“To serve the Gryphon Kingdom by dealing with those threats from the shadows that conventional forces cannot counter,” he recited easily, to smiles from the others as they pulled on special gauntlets and donned gray goggles that hid their eyes; Gilda realized that the dull gray shade of their altered coats meant they would be very hard to spot against the sky or any natural background.

“And in this case, serving the Kingdom means determining the means and manner of this new threat while seeing our guests to safety. To that end, we will scout the immediate area and investigate this mysterious carriage, then return to make our report.”

“Thank you, Shadow Decurion.” Gilda could only wonder again how she’d let the feathers be pulled so firmly over her eyes. “I will stay in command, but you will forgive me if I lean heavily on your expertise and experience.”

He smiled. “Wise is the warrior who recognizes her own inexperience, for that means she is able to learn and grow into her post,” he told her. “Take it from a longtime agent of shadow that you will do fine, Centurion—I do not just say this; that same ‘expertise and experience’ means I can recognize griffons like you who have the makings of good leaders. Our place is out there. But yours is right here.”

He laid a paw on her chest, ignoring the wide eyes of other griffons on them, all whispering excitedly to themselves while the humans looked merely befuddled at their altered appearance.

“Know that we will provide early warning of any hostile or friendly forces, and attempt to whittle the former down if possible. As you do not know our signals, we will keep this simple: If you see a blue flare, that means a hostile force is inbound from the flare’s location. A green flare means to go immediately in that direction. And if you see a red one, hide. For dragons are on their way…”