The Story of Iceglint Broadwing in the Tondene Empire, Part 2

Part 2

Chapter Five: Deployment

After eight weeks, his training was done, and he graduated. His fighting technique was a bit better, as was his archery, and his set of soldier skills were a bit more rounded. He had the basics of massed maneuvers down, and although it would be rare that he would ever be in them, he needed to have the knowledge of them and how they functioned. Much of the basics he had learned previously in order to become a skywarden, but the refresher course was certainly helpful. But mainly he felt more comfortable being able to integrate into a mixed-race legion. Due to his abilities, he was, as he expected, put into the scouting role most often, although many times during the exercises he was the one choosing the targeting priorities, since he had a “bird’s eye view” of the battlefield.


Shortly after that, he got his deployment orders, and the military had been kind enough to take his goals into account, which was good. He had realized that if he wanted to leave, no one would be able to stop him. Desertion would certainly follow him, assuming anyone ever found him again. But he was glad it wouldn’t come to that; the Imperial Army had enough experience with the occasional Aarakocra to know that they were better off making a few simple concessions in order to procure their services. He was to escort a squire of the Order of Turlund to Coastwatch, the military base located just outside of the city of Port Bormand. Coastwatch was both an army base, and a navy base. Once there, he would be integrated into an army legion.


The Order of Turlund was a monastic order of warrior priests, devoted to the goddess of war. Humans call her The Morrigan, although the other races have their own names for her. Turlund had been a heroic figure, fighting for the Empire in its days of expansion, and was said to have killed hundreds of enemy soldiers before being killed when his mount caught its hoof in a gopher hole, throwing Turlund and breaking his neck. Taking this as a sign, fighting priests do not fight on horseback. They may ride horses to the combat, but they won’t ride them into it.


With Iceglint were two other recent graduate soldiers, a Dwarf soldier by the name of Kayspar Almondine, and a burly Human warrior by the name of Kerr Newcombe. Both had been in the same company as Iceglint, and they got along well, which was likely a factor in their assignment.


Kayspar was armed with a poleaxe that was longer than he was tall. The muscles on his arms, visible even through the padding of his military issue gambeson, meant that whatever he hit with it would feel it. His beard was combed and trimmed, and it flowed over the top portion of the brigandine vest he wore over his gambeson. Both gambeson and brigandine were the khaki and olive of the Imperial Army. Opting for something a bit lighter in weight, Kerr wore linothorax over his gambeson, also in the regulation khaki and olive, which accented his dark brown skin. His primary weapon was a hewing winged spear, which during training he had demonstrated very competent use. Both wore brimmed mild steel helmets with lobsterback aventails and cheek pieces, standard issue for Tondene soldiers.


The Imperial Army garbed its soldiers primarily in layered cloth armors: gambeson, in varying thicknesses, linothorax, and brigandine. Mostly this was due to the fact that the climate in the southern part of the Empire was subtropical to tropical, and not wearing a lot of metal in the sun was generally a good idea. Mail was worn by some, often sandwiched between layers of linen or tree silk fabric in the style of jazerant. Couriers, scouts, and messengers were the typical wearers of this armor, as having the mail concealed and, to a certain extent, silenced, was useful.


Iceglint wore a linen gambeson vest and leggings, with a gambeson helmet that he had sewn Allbright’s yellow and black feathers into. On his feet were open toed socks, with reinforced leather pads that gave his feet some protection without reducing his ability to use his taloned feet in combat. Those had stymied the garrison tailor for a few days, as the man hadn’t had to make footwear for taloned feet before. Iceglint’s wings and tail were, for obvious reasons, uncovered by any kind of armor. They needed the flight characteristics unchanged for the avian to be able to fly. His army-issue pack had also been modified by the tailor, to fit his body and strap to his front, rather than his back. He could access items within it better, due to the way wings worked. He was armed with the weapons he came with; the Army had trained him in the usual weaponry of spear, arming sword, shield, and knife, but most of those he was already proficient in, so it was really just a matter of refinement.


They were to meet at the Monastery of the Order of Turlund, where the squire would join them. The three of them had their orders, and they set out to meet up with the squire, a certain Elenië, an Elf going to Coastwatch to become a squire to a Knight of the Order who was stationed there. The Imperial Army, while it had its own personnel, also used Auxiliaries; these were basically independent contractors who brought in specialized skill sets. In the case of the Knights of the Order of Turlund, that usually meant battle magic. The warrior priests were known for both their offensive magics and healing abilities.


The monastery was an imposing set of structures sitting in the middle of training grounds and gardens, surrounded by a tall wall of stone. The main building looked to be the meeting hall and cathedral, with a smattering of smaller buildings forming barracks, training rooms, storage facilities, a smithy, chow hall, and an infirmary.


Elenië met them at the northern gated entrance to the Monastery of the Order of Turlund, fully kitted out and ready to get on the road. She was a blond Elf, dressed in black and red gambeson, with a red brigandine with brass rivets over it, her helm off and tucked under her arm. The expression on her pretty face was one of pleasant urgency: she wanted to get on the road, but looked like she was having a nice day. She seemed very eager to leave. As it happened, she was very much looking forward to getting away from the other cadets; their “fervor” struck her as naive and simplistic, and she didn’t feel like they had any depth to their devotion to the goddess she called Lethen, the Elven aspect of the goddess of war. This bothered her a little, for it instilled doubt and made her feel like they unworthy, and she felt that the other cadets were somehow failing to understand the goddess. She was hoping that her transfer to Ser Jerrod for further training in Port Bormand would help still some of her doubts.


It hadn’t helped that the all of the other warrior priests at the monastery were ephemerals. Always in a rush, and never taking the time to actually think about what it is that they should be doing. And never taking any time at all to enjoy the things that life brought to them, like a nice day, the movement of the clouds, or a pretty flower. The things that one fought wars to protect. And none of them danced. She liked dancing, and would often turn her weapon practices into a dance, much like the Elven war dancers, the Lilta Macilaxa. She didn’t know any war dancers personally, but she did enjoy pretending she was one, sometimes, and she had seen a pair of them when she had been young, centuries ago. She was a practitioner of Carmëtavar, the Art of Wood, one of the Elven martial arts forms. Not as flashy as Lilta Macilaxa, but it could be almost as deadly.


Her eyes flicked from Kayspar to Kerr, then to Iceglint as he landed with a hop on the cobblestone street behind the other two. All three wore some form of the khaki and olive green gambeson Imperial Army uniform. Kayspar and Kerr were decked from visored cap to shiny boots; Iceglint wore only a vest and leggings, as anything more than that would hamper his flying and fighting abilities. All three wore the lack of insignia that was the mark of a Trooper, the lowest enlisted rank.


“I was told I would be traveling with three others,” she stated, “and that must be you all. Let’s be off.” She strode into the street, turned right, and headed to the eastern gate, where a boat waited at the docks near there to take them from the island to the mainland. “I am Squire Elenië. Who are you guys?”


Kayspar and Kerr hurried to catch up to the quickly walking officer. Iceglint flew above their heads, just above roof level, which here varied from twenty to thirty feet. The two groundbound soldiers stated their names, and Kayspar added, “The flyboy up there,” he cocked a thumb upwards, “is Iceglint. He comes from the Northern Expanse, and was a skywarden before he joined our little crew.”


She looked upwards, at the brown and red avian speculatively. “Well, we have a scout, then. Good. With any luck, he should be able to warn us about any ambushes we might be stepping into. And you two, judging from your equipment, look able to fight our way out in case he doesn’t see the ambush.” Elenië had seen the local skyfolk flying above and around the city, but had never met any of them. She had never been interested in the bridge races, so had never gone to watch any.


The two soldiers glanced at each other with a bit of uncertainty, what with being new recruits one their first assignment since basic training, but both nodded with some confidence. They wouldn’t have passed the basic training trials and been posted to a fort of the Empire if they weren’t at least “competent”. Elenië was blunt, straightforward, and no-nonsense. They could work with that. Most Elves were flighty, tended to procrastinate, and had a tendency towards distraction. And they had a rather relaxed attitude about time. How they managed to get anything done, Kerr and Kayspar didn’t know.


The boat was indeed waiting at the marina, a simple, single masted sloop with a crew of three. The three groundbound boarded while Iceglint flew circles above them. As his companions cast off, he saw Farsight and Dodger drop out of the small group of Aarakocra soaring circles over the city and fly towards him. He had spent time with them during his training; they had shown him the city and had become good companions and friends. They had also been responsible for most of his “social training”. Now they came by to say farewell.


“Thank you for seeing me off,” Iceglint said. “You have helped me survive here in the city, and understand the groundbound much better.” He very much appreciated their mentorship.


Farsight replied, “It took me quite a while to become accustomed to how they function. Much of it still makes no sense to me, but I just soar with it, and try not to get into trouble.”


“Their attachment to things still makes my head hurt,” Dodger added. “If they aren’t using something, why would they be upset if someone else did for a while?” He shook his head, still bewildered after all the years he had been in Lakekeep.


Iceglint considered, as the three circled above the sloop as it made its slow way to the mainland shore. “I must admit that the groundbound often make little sense. But even I have a couple of things that have…sentimental value…that I have gotten used to using. Bloodchaser, my sword, and Thorn’s Vengeance, my spear. My helmet, but only because of Allbright’s remembrance feathers. I realize that is a bit selfish of me, but I’m comfortable with how they feel. I was taught how the hooked spear works, but it doesn’t really work for avians.”


“Maybe there is a bit of groundbound in you,” Farsight commented. “That should help at the Coastwatch base when you are there. Another thing to keep in mind though: Lakekeep is very different from the smaller towns. You won’t find too many places with a lot of us skyfolk living amongst the groundbound. Other places will be a bit more difficult, in the sense that you will likely draw a lot of attention. You aren’t in the Northern Expanse any more, where the skyfolk are plentiful. But at least the Empire has enough of us around as to make us at least known to the groundbound!”


The two local skywardens kept Iceglint company until they neared the mouth of the Hillbrandt River, at which point they said their final farewells and peeled off, heading back toward the city on the island. The sloop started making its way up the river to the town of Hope, where it would let its passengers off to start the next phase of their journey.


The Hillbrandt River was a hundred feet wide, with arching jungle vegetation overhanging the banks, making it seem much more narrow to Iceglint’s eyes. The sky was a deep cerulean, with light puffs of cumulus scattered throughout. Below him lay the snaking river, bordered on both sides by deep green vegetation. Flocks of colorful birds flew below him, hugging the trees. The sloop made its slow way upriver, the sails making slow but steady headway against the current. He made slow, arcing sweeps in lazy S-curves back and forth ahead of the boat, looking for trouble. If there was any, he hoped he would see it before it became a problem, but the forest canopy was an opaque screen that hid anything happening beneath it.


In the distance ahead of him to his left, he would have been able to see the tops of the snowy peaks of the Zirinibar Mountains, had the atmospheric haze not shrouded them. Ahead and to the right were the Malasul’abbad Mountains, also just poking their tops over the horizon. Both were the underground homes of Dwarves, vast caverns filled with cities. The idea of it made Iceglint shudder, and made him want to curl up into a feathery ball. No way was he going into those tight caverns, no matter how “vast” they may eventually be.


The thought of Dwarves and their undercities made him think of Kayspar, who was laying on the foredeck with his head propped up by the mast. Kerr had found a fishing pole somewhere, and was sitting on the edge of the foredeck, his line in the water and his visored patrol cap pulled low over his face. Both of the crewmen must have been belowdecks, as the avian could only see the Mate, who was in command of the boat. Elenië sat next to him, running a whetstone up and down her sword. Wanting some company, and not seeing any threats, he tucked his wings and dropped altitude, then flared his wings as he reached the boat’s deck. He landed softly amidships, avoiding the rigging. He folded his wings and stepped over to Kayspar, who looked up at Iceglint as he approached.


“Hey, Ice. See anything of interest up there?”


“Nothing dangerous that I could see,” Iceglint replied. “But the jungle hides its secrets.”

“I imagine it is rather hard seeing through several layers of canopy. I’ve been able to see about three feet past the banks of the river. If we were in enemy territory, I’d likely be anxious and jumpy. But we are deep in the Empire, so pretty much the only thing we need to worry about are bandits and small time pirates.” He grinned, popped a sunflower seed into his mouth, crunched it, and spit the shells over the side of the boat. He held up a pouch of seeds. “Want some?”


The Aarakocra pours a few seeds into his hand. “Thanks,” he said, eating one. His beak and tongue deftly cracked the shell, extracted the seed, and spit out the shells.


“I saw mountains on the horizon,” Iceglint said. “Didn’t you say you were from the Zirinibar Mountains?”


“Aye. Grew up in the city of Nogathol. It’s been a while since I have been back home, though. Sometimes, I miss it. Sometimes the sky gets to me, much like going in buildings gets to you, I suppose.”


“Really?”


“Sure. To us Dwarves, the earth around you is like a warm hug. Protective and comforting. Out here, everything is exposed and open. Anything can get you, from anywhere. When you are in the caves, there are typically fewer attack vectors. Mostly. Some things down in the depths can tunnel and ambush you, but really, you usually have some warning if you pay attention.”


“I doubt I will ever be able to go into a place like the one you grew up in. What is it like?”


Kayspar slid up the mast, into a sitting position. “Dwarven settlements come in two types. Three, if you include the surface towns, but those are pretty much like any other town. Nogathol is a town built in a series of expansive caves.” He gestured with his hands, forming the image of an oblong cavern, with structures built within it. “You know, you’d be able to fly in several of the larger caves.” He grinned, and continued, “And people would hate it, because you’d be able to look into people’s homes. Since the houses are underground, there is little need for roofs. Some people use colorful fabrics like a tent, though, so the light shines through, and the city looks like a collection of jewels. Oh, I have to take you there some time! Just to see people’s expressions!” He cackled, with obvious glee.


The Dwarf continued. “The streets are bustling, but still mostly with Dwarves. Most Imperials still seem to prefer the sky above them rather than rock, so it’s a different mix of people than most surface cities. There are still a few Orcs and Goblins, Humans and Hobbits. Quite a few Hobbits and Goblins, actually. The small races!” He laughed. “I guess the taller folk don’t like stone over their heads, even if it’s fifty feet up!”


Iceglint cocked his head to one side, considering. “What’s the second kind of city? You mentioned two types.”


“You’d hate that kind. It’s simply an interconnected warren of tunnels and chambers. No big cave, no buildings built in caverns. Just rooms and corridors, as if it was one big building.”


Aarakocra faces weren’t built for expression. Despite this, Kayspar was easily able to tell that Iceglint was not comprehending the image the Dwarf was trying to convey. He tried again.


“Think of it this way: you are in a building. Say, the barracks of Lakekeep Garrison. You go through a door. There is another room. It’s got doors. When you go through those, you find corridors with doors, or another room. And so on. There is no outside, just rooms, one after another after another.”


Kayspar had been right. Iceglint hated the thought, and his body language showed it clear as day. Kayspar laughed. “Told you it would be awful! But if you go far enough, there is an end to them, of course, and you either find a tunnel that leads to the surface, or to a causeway leading to another town. All of the Dwarven undercities are connected to a network of transportation tunnels.”


Iceglint’s claustrophobia made itself known, causing a low level tremor that he couldn’t quite stop. “That is absolutely horrifying, Kayspar. I don’t think I would ever be able to go into one of those. One day, perhaps, I might be able to venture into one of the cave types, though.” He considered. “Maybe. How do you get past the idea that you are being squeezed by the tunnel?”


“Like I said, it’s like an embrace. You aren’t being squeezed, you are being coddled!” He laughed again. “I tell you what. One day, I’ll show you around my home town. Take you to my favorite restaurant. The cave centipede meatballs are spectacular. And no one makes better ales than the Dwarves!”


Kerr spoke up from the bow. “Ale sounds good! Fishing is hard work!”


Kayspar’s incredulous laugh exploded out of him. “Hardly! You haven’t moved a muscle since just after mid day! Oh, hey, have you caught us dinner yet?”


“Fish haven’t been biting,” the blond soldier replied. “It’s why I have remained as still as possible—I don’t want to scare the fish.” He grinned. “Just don’t come over to the railing. They might see you and your ugly mug.”


“You aren’t any prettier, you hairless pup. You should stop all that shaving nonsense and grow a beard like a real man!”


Kerr fingered his chin, which was stubbled due to not shaving in a couple of days. “I don’t think so. I like food like anyone else, but there is no reason to save my meals with my face for days on end!”


“Ha! Good one, but I’ve heard it before.”


“So, someone mentioned ale?”


Elenië piped up from the aft deck well. “There’s a keg in the galley. I think it’s cider, though, not ale.”


Kayspar grunted, and stood up. “Flyboy won’t go belowdecks, so I’ll get us a couple of mugs.” He made his way aft, then went into the cabin. Unlike Kerr, or Elenië, or even the three crewmen, he didn’t need to duck or watch his head. Iceglint could hear him talking with one of the crew as he got the mugs.


He came out with three mugs and a bowl, each filled with amber liquid; he gave one of the mugs to the Elven Warrior Priestess, then came forward, handing Iceglint and Kerr their respective bowl and mug before sipping his own. “Gah, it’s warm. Better than nothing, I suppose.”


“Next time, we can fill my canteen,” Iceglint offered, “and I can fly up and cool it down.”


Kerr raised an eyebrow. Kayspar looked confused. “What do you mean,” the Dwarf asked.


“It’s quite cold up high. Like snow, on a mountain top. The cold air up there will chill the cider in the canteen.”


“I live under mountains, not on them,” Kayspar grumbled, trying to save face since he really should have thought of that.


At that moment, Kerr’s fishing pole bobbed, and he set his mug down and turned to deal with it. It was the most interesting thing that had happened that day, even though it turned out to just be some river grass catching the hook.


Elenië got up and moved forward to join the others. As she approached, Iceglint asked, “You follow a war goddess? What do you do when there is no war?”


Elenië replied, “There are always wars. It depends upon how you define them.”


Iceglint thought about that for a moment, then nodded. With enough rationalization, anything could be defined as a “war”. “This war goddess, this Morrigan. What is she like? We Aarakocra don’t have a god of war.”


This brought Elenië up short. “Seriously?” she asked, head tilted. She had never paid the Aarakocra much attention. They had always been rather marginal when it came to the Empire and its business. “War is a constant!”


“Not for us skyfolk. There aren’t enough of us to make anything like how you groundbound describe war. We have skirmishes with other clans occasionally, but it’s very rare.”


“You don’t fight against anybody?”


“We occasionally fight. I was a skywarden. I guarded the clan’s lands from intruders. But those intruders were, at best, bandits. Maybe the occasional war party, but nothing like an actual war. We are more fearful of the roarers, and they are loners and just animals.”


Kayspar spoke up from his place at the mast. “Saw one of those once, up in the mountains near Nulukkhizdîn. Fast moving bastard. Never seen anything move that fast. Makes clouds behind it. It was pretty far off, though.”


“Clouds?” Elenië asked.


Iceglint answered, “They make a cloud behind them, like a trailing string. Two, actually, side by side, but they merge into one very quickly. They aren’t like Aarakocra or birds. They don’t have feathers, and are more…leathery. They also don’t flap their wings, but soar like a raptor. Except they don’t. Not really. They trail fire and scream through the air. We try to avoid them when possible, since they hunt us for food.”


“They sound like some kind of dragon, what with the fire and all.”


“We avoid the dragons, too. But dragons fly more like we do, not like the roarers. The flames of the roarers create a wind behind them, or so I have been told, so even if we dodge them we can still be knocked out of the air.” Iceglint shivered, the feathers rippling down his back. He’d never been close to a roarer before, but he knew some skyfolk who had, and he had heard tales of skyfolk being grabbed in the air and eaten, the only remains being singed feathers. “I don’t like them.”


There was a part of Elenië that wanted to see one of these roarers. When she got a chance, she would have to dig into an Elven library and see what was known about them. If anyone knew about rare creatures, it was the Elves. They had been around forever, and had seen it all.


The sail flapped and rippled as the wind changed, then fell to nearly nothing. The sail hung, sagging against the spar as the Mate shouted to his belowdecks crew. “Get up here, layabouts! Trim the sails!”


The two able seamen, one rubbing sleep out of his eyes, burst onto the deck and started cranking on the winches that controlled the sail. “‘Ware the spar!” one called out as the spar traversed across the deck. Kerr ducked and duckwalked out from under where the spar came to rest, which had been right where he had been standing. He shifted his fishing pole to a new, more accessible position. The sail flapped, but didn’t billow; the wind wasn’t going to be helping them move much.


“Break out the oars!” commanded the Mate. The crewmen each grabbed a pair of oars, handing one to Kayspar, the other to Kerr.


“Aw, crap,” muttered Kayspar. Kerr looked at him, smiled, and shrugged, as he fit the oar into an oarlock. It took the Mate calling cadence before Kayspar and Kerr got their rowing in order with the two more experienced crewmen.


Iceglint leapt from the bow into the air, to resume his scouting. He had been on the deck too long anyway.


The rest of the day was uneventful, with the exception of seeing a crocodile ambush a trihorn as it came to drink from the bank.


At night, they dropped anchor, until the predawn, when there was enough light to see where they were going. There was no wind that morning, so again the oars had to be used. Elenië took a turn, giving Kayspar’s shorter arms a rest. By late morning, the wind had picked up enough to make the oars unnecessary, so the three travelers could go back to lounging around on deck, watching the colorful birds and the occasional wildlife. They saw a hunting pair of stun lizards, but they were too far away to feel the effects of their mental attacks, even if the stun lizards had bothered to use them.

Chapter Six: Hope

It was late afternoon when the forest, primarily conifer, but with deciduous trees mixed in, opened up into tilled fields. From the boat, they could see smoke up ahead; Iceglint, from the air, could see the town several miles upriver. The river wended its way towards the town, one side tilled fields, the other side forested. Iceglint could see people working the fields, mostly pulling weeds or tending the growing crops. Most of the fields were some kind of grain, apparently. Not ever having tended fields, he couldn’t really be sure.


Hope was a medium sized town, with maybe six or seven thousand people, including the farmlands surrounding it. There was a marina, not too large, made by excavating out one of the riverbanks to allow enough room for several docks. There were several dozen boats bobbing in the current, none larger than sixty feet, and only one had two masts. The others were either single masted, or didn’t use sails at all.

As they sidled up to the berth, one of the crewmen jumped off the deck and onto the dock, making the rope tossed by his companion fast to the cleats bolted to the dock. The two crewmen were reefing the sails as the Mate led the passengers off of his boat. He then saluted, called out a cheerful “Good luck!”, and went to help his crew button down the boat.


Elenië, Kayspar, and Kerr stood on the docks, Kerr holding Iceglint’s pack and spear. Iceglint circled hundreds of feet above, getting an idea of how the town was laid out. He noted landmarks, large buildings, and the central market that had a tall spruce tree in the center. The other three made their way to the harbormaster, who stood at the gate that led into the city.


The harbormaster took in their uniforms: two Army, one unknown to him, but martial in nature. He frowned, looking at Elenië. “Two army troopers and…” he trailed off, hoping that the Elven woman would complete the statement.


“Squire Elenië, warrior priestess of Lethen, of the Order of Turlund.”


“Who’s Lethen?” he asked. He had never heard of her.


“The Morrigan, to you.”


Enlightenment bloomed in his eyes. “Ah, I see. Okay.” He looked at all three. “Welcome to Hope. There are two inns, one by the river, the other at the northern end of town. Both are decent, and serve both drinks and food. There are also a few eateries, and several taverns. There are a half dozen shrines serving the gods, a City Guard office, and a Rural Watch office. Both are small, and probably won’t have any facilities for you, unless you like sleeping in jail cells. I don’t recommend it.”


“Thank you,” Kerr said. “One of the inns should do.”


“Oh, and I got word that a carriage will be arriving tomorrow to take you to…” he paused, patting his pockets. He fumbled out a folded piece of paper. “Ah, yes. To Hilltown Forge. If you let me know where you are staying tonight, I can have it pick you up shortly after dawn. Just send a messenger to let me know.”


“Thank you, harbormaster,” Elenië stated. “We will let you know.” She glanced up, looking for Iceglint, who was circling high above. She pointed up at him. “He will let you know.”


The harbormaster looked up, quizzically, seeing only what seemed to be a circling vulture.


Elenië noticed his confusion. “He’s Aarakocra, and a soldier.”


“Uh, right.” He cleared his throat, and opened the gate for the three newcomers. “Have a good day,” he said, as they passed through into the town of Hope. They made their way to the northernmost inn, which looked a bit less run down than the one by the marina. It was adequate, and better than the average traveler’s waypoint.


A coach, drawn by four horses, waited for the four travelers outside of the inn shortly after dawn, part of the military’s communication and transportation system.


“Hey, at least we don’t have to walk the entire way,” Kayspar commented gleefully.


“Don’t get used to it,” Elenië said, as she carried her gear and handed it to the coachman. “It’s only until we reach Hilltown Forge, where it will go northwest to Alvellon, while we head northeast to Port Bormand. After Hilltown Forge, we walk or take a boat. At least we can’t get lost; we can just follow the river. According to the maps, anyway.”


“I am still appreciative of the ride,” Kayspar replied. “And I will enjoy it for as long as I can!”


Kerr didn’t comment; he just stowed his gear on the luggage rack on the roof. He then helped the much shorter Kayspar get his gear up there as well.


The carriage would take them and a courier escorting a bundle of missives as far as the town of Hilltown Forge, a journey that would take twelve days. According to Elenië and the maps she had examined, Hilltown Forge was about 300 miles from Hope, as the crow flies. The roads, however, were not straight, so the distance was actually about half again as far. If Iceglint had been traveling alone, he could have made that leg of the trip in about two days. But he wasn’t alone; he was part of a squad now, and had to travel at the pace of the others. He stored his pack on the roof with the rest of the baggage, and flew ahead of the coach in wide S-curves in his usual scouting role.


The journey from Hope to Hilltown Forge was uneventful for most of the journey, mainly due to the amount of traffic on the road. It was well-travelled, with what felt like a constant stream of caravans, farmers, couriers, and guard squads. Being a valley pass between two mountain ranges made it the natural funneling point for a lot of traffic. Elenië kept expecting brigands, what with all the traffic, but there was a high frequency of Rural Watch patrols and even a company of Tondene Imperial Army soldiers traveling the other direction, so for a while they saw no trouble.


The landscape was mostly forested, but there were large stretches that were a patchwork quilt of farmland, separated by small copses of trees and the occasional hedgerow. Small settlements every few miles catered to the needs of the local farmers and the population that supported them. There were also large tracts of land dedicated to the lumber industry, as there were a nice selection of both hard and soft woods. Iceglint lost count on the number of lumber wagons trundling back and forth along their path.


Traveler’s waypoints, little more than pole barns at widened spots on the road, were situated every ten miles or so for the use of carriages and their passengers. They provided shelter from the wind and rain, but it wasn’t an inn by any stretch of the imagination. Most were just outside of settlements, and would often have the riders of several coaches stretched out in sleeping rolls or by the brick fire pits that were provided. Sometimes, the local village stocked it with firewood, but this was uncommon. But there was a certain safety in numbers, and protection from the elements was also appreciated by travelers. But a predictable stopping point for carriages was also a draw for brigands, so the Rural Watch patrols that wandered up and down the roads made it a point to check in on the waypoints to discourage such behavior.


Once or twice a day the coach would stop at a depot and the coachmen would exchange horses. Elenië, Iceglint, Kayspar, and Kerr would take that time and get something to eat, or at least stock up on rations at the local chandlery, or just to stretch their legs.


It was a long, boring trip. Fortunately, the roads were good, mostly metaled, and had few potholes or deep ruts, so the ride was less uncomfortable than it could have been. Kayspar and Kerr talked amongst themselves, or just looked at the scenery going by the windows. Every once in a while, one or the other of them would look up to see if Iceglint was still up there. He was, looping around in wide arcs, making sure there was no obvious trouble. By the third day, both of them envied the avian, wishing they could fly above it all, and not have sore asses and cramped legs.


The warrior priestess was taciturn, and not very forthcoming about herself. While she would answer most questions posed to her, her answers were short and curt. She obviously wasn’t all that interested in revealing too much about herself to the two new troopers. She spent most of the time in the carriage reading from a book, it’s cover marked only by an illustration of a crow perched on the quillons of a sword stuck into the ground.


Not finding the Elf to be a talkative companion, they turned their attentions to the courier. Alyssum Tremayne was a slender but rather tall Hobbit, standing four foot seven inches from her bare feet to the top of her short-cropped blond head, and the filled triangle on her lapel showed that she held the rank of Tethys, a low level rank but rank nonetheless. Technically, she outranked anyone else in the coach. She wore no makeup, and from a distance looked rather masculine. Her demeanor implied this was on purpose, and her piercing hazel eyes continually flicked this way and that, seemingly taking in everything. She wore the brown and green courier’s sash over her khaki and olive uniform, which was not only the typical gambeson, but also included a jazerant vest over the padded cloth armor. Both were not buckled closed since it was a very warm day. She always kept the courier’s satchel over her shoulder, a hand resting protectively on the messages inside.


Tethys Tremayne was pleasant, if not overly talkative. She seemed to keep her cards close to the chest, likely to avoid telling any potential secrets she may have about the missives she bore. Not that she really knew anything about them, but the more doubt and mystery she could sow the better, if she were ever interrogated. Some habits were good to have.


“So, how long have you been the military’s mail deliverer, ser?” Kayspar asked one day, as he shifted his weight from buttock to buttock in a vain attempt to relieve the ache in his sore backside. The seats, while padded, were only comfortable in the barest sense of the word. The four passengers had settled upon a standard seating arrangement with the courier and warrior priestess on one bench, and Kerr and Kayspar on the other. Despite being short, Kayspar was broad, as was Kerr, so the two of them were a little cramped. Kayspar’s brig was rolled as best as possible into a bulky wad that was pinned on the floor under his feet like a lumpy, padded stool. Kerr wore his linothorax with the side unbuckled to give him some relief from the heat of the day. He leaned to the side a bit, to help the meager breeze from the open window of the carriage to cool him.


Alyssum looked at the Dwarf, and answered, “About three years. I like it; I get to see all kinds of places. Normally I am given horses, but every once in a while I get to take a coach. It’s a nice change of pace, but really only feasible on the more public routes.”

“How so?” Kayspar asked with a frown.


“Only on well-traveled and well-protected roads is a coach safe. When I am riding, I can usually escape or avoid any bandits or enemies that might want to intercept the mail.” Her tone had a slight tone of condescension, since to her it seemed obvious. But maybe it wasn’t to the new recruit seated across from her. “This time, at least, I sort of have an escort. So, thanks, guys!”


Kayspar nodded. “Makes sense. Well, I’m not one for horses, myself, but I really wish I were on one right now. These seats…they say they are comfortable, but my ass would swear we are sitting in a quarry!”


Alyssum smiled, and replied, “Trust me, it’s more comfortable on these seats than spending all day on a horse. Try to enjoy it while you can.” The Dwarf seemed all right, but if he was the complaining type, it would make her journey miserable. She didn’t like complainers. You do what is necessary, she thought. Complaining gets you nowhere. As it turned out, Kayspar’s complaints were more for show, often used just to stimulate conversation. She wondered if he was constitutionally unable to shut up for more than twenty minutes at a time. At least he was affable, and fun to talk to. Although she could understand Elenië’s reticence to converse with him. He could apparently tire even an Elf’s patience.


On the night of the tenth day, they were alone in the travelers’ waypoint. It consisted of a covered area maybe twenty feet from side to side, with a hole in the middle underneath which was a fire pit. Along three of the sides was a mortared stone foundation two feet high, with the posts that supported the gable roof sticking out of it. The roof was a blessing, since it happened to be a rainy day; it had been drizzling since the early afternoon, and by evening it was coming down pretty hard. The coachmen parked the carriage under one side of the structure, and they, the courier, Elenië, Kerr, and Kayspar laid out their bedrolls on the other. A fire crackled in the fire pit, giving off light and warmth. Iceglint huddled in a corner by the opening. He would be sleeping on the wing, above the clouds. It wasn’t a thunderstorm, with its signature anvil cloud piling high into the sky, it was just a regular rain storm, so he wasn’t worried about rough winds.


For dinner, they roasted venison, the deer killed by Iceglint’s javelins earlier in the day while he was scouting. He had missed fresh meat, and had gotten tired of rations and other “groundbound” food. The others didn’t mind the fresh meat, although Kayspar looked at Iceglint askance when he noticed that a hole into the body cavity had been made and a kidney removed. Iceglint just shrugged, and said, “I was hungry.”


“Not complaining,” Kayspar said. “Hey Kerr, you mind if Iceglint got a kidney?”


Kerr’s laugh was more of an explosive exhalation. “No,” he said, grinning. “He saved us some meat, didn’t he? And it’s not some herder’s sheep that we would have to pay for, right?”


“Nope.”


“Then we’re good. Thanks, Iceglint, for dinner.”


Iceglint just nodded, and preened his feathers.


They all ate well that night; the roasted venison augmented by a pot of stewed root vegetables. Ale was drunk, and one of the coachmen broke out his bottle of brandy, which he shared around the fire. It was a good night, full of laughter, full stomachs, and fireside songs despite the falling rain.


Unbeknownst to the travelers, the laughter caught the attention of a hunting pack of phorusrhacids, seven to eight foot tall flightless birds similar to ostriches, but with stronger legs, larger talons, and a vicious, raptorial beak evolved to take down prey. And they typically hunted in groups of three to five. There were four in this group, and they could smell the remains of the roasted meat, see the figures moving around the fire, and heard the noises from the “herd” they were hunting. And there were two large animals off to one side, unprotected by the smaller members of the herd.


They stalked slowly through the forest, using the undergrowth as cover. Two terror birds split off, one going to the right, the other to the left, in what amounted to a flanking maneuver. The other two would lead the hunt, and kept moving towards the prey.


The birds were a dusky tan color, with darker wings that were almost black. Black eyes, shadowed by a prominent brow ridge, gave them a raptor stare. Their legs, built for running, were thickly muscled and tipped with six inch long talons. The lead hunter bobbed its head, signaling its companion that it was ready to attack. The two pack members on the wings would wait until the first two attacked, then charge in during the confusion created by the initial attack.

Artwork: Lucas Lima

As one, the two lead flightless avians leapt over the low wall and into the group around the fire. With a loud squawk, one bit onto the arm of one of the coachmen, his brandy flask tumbling through the air, a sparkling stream of brandy droplets spraying out of the uncapped bottle. The smell of alcohol suffused the air as he screamed in pain. The sharp beak clamped onto his bicep, and it wrenched its head from side to side in an attempt to pull off a chunk of meat.


The second bird struck at Kerr, who stumbled backwards, fumbling for his sword. His spear was leaning up against the corner, next to his linothorax armor. All he had for protection was the gambeson uniform, but it would have to do. The attack missed, but only just, and Kayspar leapt for his poleaxe, which he had left leaning up against the low wall of the waypoint structure. Like Kerr, he had doffed his brigandine for comfort, and left it next to Kerr’s linothorax armor.


Elenië reacted immediately, her sword out and slicing at the bird that had latched onto the coachman. It released him as it dodged her attack. The coachman, clutching at his wounded, bleeding arm, reeled away from the bird, stumbled and fell. Unlike Kayspar’s and Kerr’s armor, she had left her brigandine on, although it was unbuckled in the front, since despite the rain, it was still a warm evening. Besides, she was of the Order, and warrior priestesses kept their armor on in order to be ready for combat. Dammit, she thought, I shouldn’t have unbuckled it, but by Lethen it was uncomfortable! She made a mental note to not have that bother her next time…if she got a “next time”.


The horses, tied up by the coach, were rearing and screaming in terror, their eyes wide, trying to escape the predators. They strained at their reins which had been looped around one of the shelter’s posts.


Iceglint, wary of sparks landing on his feathers, had been staying back from the fire. He tossed a javelin at second terror bird as it moved to attack Kerr again. It sunk the full distance of the tip, coming to stop at the wooden block that connected the iron shaft to the rest of the javelin, and the flightless bird shrieked in pain, turning away from Kerr and leaping at Iceglint. The Aarakocra spread a wing in front of the charging avian in an attempt to both distract it and hide exactly what he was doing, like a bullfighter with his cape. He was attempting to dodge the attack, and hoped that the distraction would help him do that. He was trapped under a roof, and didn’t like how limited his movement options were.


“Oh no you don’t!” the Dwarf shouted, and he swung his poleaxe at the bird’s leg, leading with the axe blade side. It bit deep, and the bird stumbled, it’s muscles severed as blood flowed down its leg. Still, it managed to strike at the ex-skywarden, nipping at Iceglint’s wingtip before the Aarakocra could get it out of the way. Pain flared, but it was only a minor wound, from what he could tell.


Elenië parried an attack by the lead bird, pushing away the sharp beak with her sword. She kicked, her foot connecting with with the bird’s chest, her sword busy keeping the vicious beak away from her. Its beak momentarily out of action, the phorusrhascid kicked out with its taloned foot, the sharp claws digging into the gambeson armor on her hip and eliciting a grunt of pain from the warrior priestess. Kerr, taking advantage of the fact that Elenië was keeping the bird busy, thrust his arming sword into its back, and the avian collapsed, air whistling from around the sword. Kerr had punctured one of the posterior air sacs. Elenië slid her blade across its neck, and blood sprayed onto her chest and arm, soaking into the red fabric. Kerr realized why the Order’s color was red. It hid the blood.


At that moment, the two flanking terror birds entered the fray, one coming in from the open side of the waypoint, the other from the rear, leaping over the stone wall and slamming into Kayspar, who was sent sprawling. The attacking bird tumbled over Kayspar, its legs tripped by the haft of his weapon, which he held in a deathlike grip.


Even so, he barely managed to keep ahold of his poleaxe as the air whooshed out of him and the huge bird shoved past him on its way to Elenië.


Iceglint pulled out his saber and slashed at the javelin- and axe-wounded phorusrhacid, which had moved to attack the courier, but the blade glanced off of the beak. Tethys Tremayne had grabbed a shield, Elenië’s, and had her sword out, guarding against the attack from the bleeding avian. It was battering against the shield, but to no avail, the steel-reinforced wood providing good cover. But the muscular bird was forcing Tremayne back, her light Hobbit body no match for the large animal. It might have been her imagination, but it seemed as if the wounds were starting to take their toll on the bird, as its attacks were seemingly getting weaker. It was still strong enough to be forcing her back, though.


Kayspar, on his knees, swung his axe at the leg of the bird that had slammed into him, hitting it near its foot. It fell over, rolling into the fire and sending burning pieces of wood scattering everywhere. It screamed, hopped up on its good leg, crashed against the motionless body of its companion that Kerr and Elenië had killed, and fell over again, the feathers on its back aflame.


The coachman with the wounded arm, not being trained to fight such creatures, retreated into the coach, and closed the door behind him. The second coachmen was bravely trying to release the panicked horses, but was having some trouble with the knots due to their rearing and bucking.


Elenië turned, following the bird that had rolled through the fire, slashed at it, and took off most of one of its stubby wings. It squawked in pain and fear, horribly wounded, and thrashed wildly, trying to get up and away from danger, panic and adrenaline fighting with its prone position and bad leg. With a swift chop, Elenië took off its head.


Meanwhile, the other newcomer, the fourth bird, had run in and hit Kerr taloned feet first, knocking him to the ground. It hopped forward, planting a foot on Kerr’s chest and striking at his face, trying to bite it off. Kerr threw an arm up in defense, protecting his face from the sharp beak. The beak clamped down on his arm, and he hissed in pain, grimacing. Blood welled up through the four wounds the edges of the beak made, soaking into the layers of his gambeson.


Kayspar looked around, getting a sense of who and what was where. He saw Kerr, under attack, and rose to his feet to try to help him.


Iceglint jumped into the terror bird attacking the Hobbit, feet first, knocking it away from the courier, and digging his talons into the bird’s body. Feet locked on his prey, he stabbed it with his scimitar as its head whipped around, snapping at his legs. The blade plunged in at the same moment the beak clamped onto his leg, the gambeson leggings he wore doing little to blunt the crushing force.


Now that she had the opening provided by the wildly striking Aarakocra, Alyssum thrust her sword into the chest of the terror bird, and it collapsed in a heap. The last phorusrhacid saw the carnage of its three dead pack mates, and turned to flee. Accosted by three combatants, it had had enough.


“For Turlund!” cried Elenië, as she charged after the flightless bird, Kayspar not far behind. But the beast was too quick, and it accelerated out of their reach before they could strike.


“And don’t come back!” shouted Kayspar, brandishing his poleaxe as the adrenaline sung through his veins.


Iceglint fell over, his fractured leg unable to bear his weight. Kerr was wincing as he pulled his arm out of his gambeson. The coachman who had fled to the safety of the coach emerged bare-chested, his damaged arm wrapped up in his shirt, and it hung at an odd angle.


Elenië surveyed the travelers, mentally noting the casualties. None of the wounds were immediately life threatening, which was good. She went over to her bedroll, which had her pack sitting on it. She rummaged around in it, pulling out her case of healing herbs. She knew a bit of healing. She noted out of the corner of her eye that Alyssum replaced her shield next to her pack.


“Hilbert,” she said, addressing the coachman, “show me the arm.” Wincing in pain, he unwrapped his bloody arm. The cuts, while deep, hadn’t hit any arteries, and the blood was starting to clot. Two were bad: long, deep slices into the meat of his upper arm, and two were only slightly worse than scratches. The arm had been dislocated when the animal had twisted his head after it had struck. “Sit down,” she instructed.


He did. She knelt behind him, and with a grunt of effort from her and a gasp of pain from him, popped his shoulder back into place. Then she lit some candles, which she placed in a square around him, telling him not to move. He nodded, wide-eyed, but otherwise sat still, his teeth clenched. Elenië pulled out some tiny, yellow brinn flowers. They aided clotting, and acted as an analgesic, and she rubbed them along the edges of the wounds. Then she got to work with needle and thread, stitching up the two large gashes. Kayspar helped hold the man’s arm steady. Then she bandaged it up with a poultice of brinn and burnett leaves, to stop the bleeding and speed healing. “Drink this,” she instructed, giving him a sip from a flask she also pulled out from the healing kit. It was an herbal mixture, designed to work with the herbs, the treated thread, and the candles. Elven magic.


His grimace of disgust showed how awful the elixir tasted. “That is some nasty whiskey.”


Elenië gave him a lopsided grin. “Not whiskey. Herbal mixture with an alcoholic base. But do you think it would work as well if it tasted good? And how long would it last if you actually liked it?”


“Not long, I suppose. But I think I will stick with brandy.” He looked around, and retrieved his now-empty brandy flask, capped it, and put it in his jacket pocket.


She turned to Kerr, who shook his head and just said, “Iceglint is wounded pretty bad. His leg. My arm can wait.” He and Kayspar were looking out into the rainy night, making sure that if anything came back, they would be ready for it.


Iceglint had maneuvered himself so he was sitting with his back to the wall, his leg stretched out in front of him. His tail feathers splayed out behind him like a fan, pressed up between his back and the wall. It wasn’t the most comfortable or dignified position, but he figured it would be easier for someone to work on the leg. His own diagnosis was that it was broken. He had felt it, but didn’t feel any ends of bone, so that was in his favor. He had removed his left legging to bare the leg; the feathers desperately needed grooming, but that would have to wait. His wingfingers straightened out a few of the more misaligned feathers. He just couldn’t help it.


Elenië came over with her case. She had lit a torch, which she handed to Kayspar, who apparently had been pulled off sentry duty and been volunteered as her assistant. He held the light up as she ran her fingers up and down Iceglint’s leg. She murmured a few words, casting the Spell of Body Reading. “Fractured,” she said. “One moment,” she continued, and stood up to find something to use as a splint.


Kayspar looked at Iceglint. “How are you doing, friend?”


The Aarakocra hissed softly. “It only hurts when I try to move it. Mostly. It’s a dull ache I can ignore until I shift position, then my leg alerts me that it’s wounded. But it is still attached to me, which I find to be a comfort.”


“Elenië will fix you up. Based upon what I saw with Hilbert over there,” the Dwarf said, indicating the wounded coachman, “she seems to know her stuff.”


“Good. I know some, the basics. Learned a bit as a sky warden, and a bit more in basic training, but all too often the kinds of wounds we Aarakocra get often involve hitting the ground at high speeds. You don’t often fly away from that kind of damage.” He thought of Allbright, and he felt a twinge of grief. The loss was still there, despite his darkly humorous tone.


Elenië came back, a pair of straight sticks in her hands. Again, she set candles around the leg, two on each side. She also placed a piece of quartz on his knee, balancing it carefully. “Don’t move,” she said, “we don’t want that falling off.” The squire bound the leg with the splints. Then she pulled out a small knife out a pocket on the outside of the healing case. It was small, and copper, and carved with Elven script, all flowing lines and scattered dots. She moved the knife from the knee to the ankle, back and forth, over and over, chanting softly in Quenya.


The pain Iceglint felt diminished. It didn’t go away altogether, but it dropped down to a dull background ache. “You are lucky, flyboy, that your armor prevented the bird from cutting you.”


“I’m sure that if it had had more time,” the avian replied, “it would have cut through the cloth eventually. I am just glad Tethys Tremayne was able to kill it quickly.”


“Crap, I didn’t do much,” Alyssum retorted. “I just hid behind a shield until I had a chance to stab it. And we can dispense with that rank crap. Just call me Alyssum. I’m not your commanding officer!”


“Whatever works,” Kayspar quipped. “Seems like you did the right thing to me.”


Elenië asked, “Can your leg support weight now?”


Iceglint levered himself up onto his legs. The left one ached when weight was applied, but he could hobble around on it with little difficulty. “I’ll manage,” he replied. “Once I’m in the air, I’ll barely notice.”


Elenië nodded, and turned to Kerr. “Your turn,” she called.


His wounds were similar to the coachman’s: four slashes made by the edges of the beak as it clamped down on his forearm. Unlike the coachman, all four were deep and would require stitches. She did an Elven ritual similar to the one she did for the coachman, stitching him up and wrapping the lower arm with a poultice. Then she went over to the roasted carcass, cutting into the body cavity and removing the heart. She used her copper knife to score a dozen cuts, almost like cutting an orange peel into segments. Kerr had been understating the severity of the wound, she noticed. He had lost quite a bit of blood by the time she could treat him, despite his attempts to bandage the wounds himself. “Eat this,” she commanded, holding the heart out to him.


He looked aghast. “What? The whole thing? How will that help anything?” He reluctantly took it in his hands, and sniffed it. It was very rare, but cooked, and warm. Blood dripped from it as he held it in front of his face.


“You bled like a stuck pig,” she explained, “and you need to make more blood. It will help.” She smiled at him. “Trust me.” She began chanting again in Elvish, the musical phonemes sounding like liquid silver, as she moved her copper knife in esoteric patterns in front of him while he bit into the deer heart.


It took a dozen bits to get it all down, and Elenië did her…whatever it was…the whole time, Kerr watching the knife’s tip as it waved around in front of him. But he swallowed the last bit, and wiped the blood from his chin. “Messy,” he said, “and not my favorite cut of meat. It had better help, Elenië.”


“It will. It’s fortunate we had the deer. Although I suppose we could have used a terror bird heart instead.”


Kerr, a little lightheaded, stated he was going to go to bed. Everyone agreed that it was time for them all to go to sleep, minus the sentries, of course. Elenië took the first shift, followed by Kayspar, the courier, and the unwounded coachman. There was no way anyone would feel comfortable sleeping without a sentry.


Before bed, Kayspar, the unwounded coachman, and Alyssum moved the dead birds into a corner, away from the bedrolls and the horses. “Well,” the Dwarf said, “we won’t starve. Think they taste like chicken?”

Chapter Seven: Hilltown Forge and Ramston

The last two days of the journey to Hilltown Forge were uneventful, for which they were grateful. Their wounds were healing well; Hilbert the coachman’s cuts were mostly healed, Iceglint’s leg only hurt when he came down too hard on it, and Kerr’s cuts were healing nicely as well.


Whatever Elenië had done, was working. Kayspar still didn’t get the parts about the candles and the copper knife.


“It’s just the way it’s done,” Elenië had explained. “The candles set up a thaumic resonance when placed appropriately which amplifies the effects of the geotelluric current eddies, and the copper knife, being conductive, sets up a kind of thaumic corridor through which the healing energies can propagate.” Her brows raised in a “see, it’s simple” kind of expression.


Kayspar just looked at Elenië, and shook his head. “Elves and their magics. They don’t use magic like everyone else does, oh no! They go and do something weird with it!”


The truth was, the Elves had been around a long time, and had a deep knowledge of how the world actually worked, and had simply figured out how to…optimize things. None of the other races had the lifespan long enough to figure it out well enough to take advantage of it, so it remained a mystery how the Elves did what they did. They added ritual to just about everything, and it just worked somehow. Elenië didn’t bother telling Kayspar that Elves did use magic like everyone else, or at least those with the talent for it did. In fact, she had cast a spell on Iceglint, but Kayspar didn’t really care, and he really wasn’t irritated, despite his apparent exasperation. He was just being Kayspar.


Hilltown Forge was a walled city, roughly rectangular, situated on one side of a river and surrounded by tilled fields, pastures, and groves of orchards. A jungle stretched off to the north and east, extending all the way to the coast hundreds of miles away. The walls were old, of mortared stone, looked to be hundreds of years old, and were crumbling in some places. They looked like they needed some extensive maintenance. But since Hilltown Forge was far from any disputed border, and hadn’t seen any combat in centuries, the walls were just not a priority. Smoke rose from unseen chimneys within the walls. It was a mining town, on the crossroads between a pair of what used to be Dwarven nations before they were absorbed by the Empire almost a millennium before. Iron ore flowed from those mountains, as it had for centuries. In addition, there was a copper mine nearby. As a result, Hilltown Forge was the home to several smelters and a dozen smithies utilizing hammer mills all along the river. Even from outside the walls, the rhythmic banging of those mills could be faintly heard; a percussive soundtrack that must be nearly unbearable when inside the mills.


From above, Iceglint could see the town laid out below him. Most of the roads were straight, and in a grid pattern with a few jogs here and there to account for the landscape. In some areas were large stones, which stuck out like islands in a sea of buildings. The buildings were primarily wooden, with shake roofs, and rarely were taller than three stories. Coal and charcoal smoke from the series of smelters at the edge of town had darkened the wood and gave the entire town a grungy feel. He could see people filling the streets, going about their business, as it was early afternoon.


Elenië and the two soldiers debarked from the carriage at the garrison post. The post was in the same building as the city guard, and served as a relay station for couriers, where fresh horses could be exchanged for exhausted ones. Tethys Alyssum Tremayne gave her farewells to her fellow travelers, and, taking her courier satchel, went off to make arrangements for a horse.


Iceglint flew down, his wings cupping the air as he alighted on the carriage roof, which rocked with a squeaking of the springs. “Come on,” Elenië said. “I should be able to get us some lodging at the Order’s facilities here. Hopefully, they will be a bit more comfortable than the waypoints we’ve been sleeping at. They have a monastery on that hill over there.” She indicated a stone edifice surrounded by what appeared to be vineyards outside of the city walls. She looked up at Iceglint and added, “I suppose you’ll just sleep on the rooftop, or on the wing, like usual? Or would you like a bed?”


Iceglint peered around, assessing the geography and local weather patterns. “On the wing will be fine. Although if it isn’t too much bother, if one of you could care for my gear, I would appreciate it.” While he could sleep with his gear on, it wasn’t comfortable, as he found out the hard way when he had first set out.


The three groundbound made their way to the monastery run by the Order of Turlund, east of the town, near what appeared to be a large estate, which also had a vineyard surrounding it. It wasn’t all that large; The Order of Turlund was old, and here in the heartland of the Empire there was little need of warrior priests, and so the Order had seen a reduction in recruits. Over the years, parts of the original property had been sold off or put to other uses, and the current monastery was a much smaller complex than it used to be.


As predicted, they were able to get bunks in the barracks there, once Elenië vouched for the other two. The barracks, while not large, was still only half full. Iceglint, after a few moments of hesitation and anxiety, followed them into the barracks in order to drop off his pack and several other pieces of his gear. He kept his hand crossbow, scimitar, and gambeson, but the rest he left with Kayspar. He hurried out of the stone building, although by most standards the nine foot ceilings were tall. By the time they had their gear stowed, it was sundown, and they were hungry.


Kerr, practical as ever, called over to one of the local cadets. “Where is a good place to eat?”


The cadet, fresh from a loaded march, dumped his pack by his bunk, then fell into it, breathing hard. His feet felt every one of the eighteen miles he had just traveled. “Turlund’s Rest is good, but you might like Fennard’s Joy better. The crowd is a bit livelier. Wish I could go with you. What they serve there is better than the swill we get here.” He started unbuckling his armor in preparation to hitting the chow hall. “Fennard’s Joy is at the corner of the main crossroads. You can’t miss it.”


“Thanks, friend,” Kerr replied, and turned back to his companions, a smile on his face. “Joy sounds nice! Let’s eat!”


Elenië nodded, and Kayspar just said, “Aye! And drink.” They filed out of the barracks, and Iceglint flew upward to see if he could locate the inn. It didn’t take him long to find it, as the monastery wasn’t too far from one of the entry gates to the city, and the gate was on one of those main streets that the inn was located on. He was disappointed that there wasn’t a courtyard. He was going to have to go inside. He could already see people looking up at him. He could feel himself getting anxious, but he knew he had better keep a lid on it. It wouldn’t do to expose his weaknesses to the squire, especially if he was ever going to impress her, especially since her rank in the Order of Turlund corresponded approximately to Corporal in the Army, so she was technically nominally in command. And he needed to impress her, being the only Aarakocra in the area that he could see. Unlike Lakekeep, none of the skyfolk flew above the town; there were no local skywardens as far as he could tell. He was the only skyfolk in the sky as far as he could see.


He circled back to his companions, and gave them directions, then proceeded to circle over the inn, stretching his wings and enjoying the feel of the wind over his feathers while he could. While indoors, he wouldn’t get to feel any of that. He spent a few minutes enjoying the sunset, especially since the clouds on the western horizon were cumulus clouds, with interesting shapes and edges that made the sunset really spectacular. And, being several thousand feet up, he got to enjoy it for a lot longer than those on the ground could. He began his descent, spiraling downward, slowly letting the sky release him.


Fennard’s Joy was a two-story building, of stone and wood construction, with a shingled roof. There were quite a few windows on the second floor, but only a few on the first. He could see Kayspar, Kerr, and Elenië approaching from the cobblestone street, weaving their way through the throngs of people, animals, and carts, stepping over the inevitable piles of manure and garbage that marked city streets. The smell of the city rose up to him, a far cry from the clear, fresh, crisp air of his mountain home.


As they approached Fennard’s Joy, Iceglint landed on the edge of the roof, then glided down to them as they got to the door. He steeled himself, folded his wings, and with a deep breath and a shiver, followed them inside. He tried to keep his breathing steady, and concentrated on that to keep from focusing on the more uncomfortable parts of the experience. Anything for a distraction….


It was dim, and filled with tables with long benches. The wooden plank floor was strewn with straw, peanut shells, and puddles of various liquids. As he entered, someone hawked and spit onto the floor before continuing his conversation. Iceglint was not thrilled that his feathers were likely going to be dragging through the mess that lay about the floor. Most of the spaces at the tables were inhabited by the various kinds of groundbound, with Humans predominating, as they usually did. But there were Orcs, and Hobbits, a few Dwarves, and even an Elf, although the Elf was dressed in motley and was playing a flute on the little stage in the corner. Several of the people clustered up against the stage were clapping in time to the music she was playing, and some were singing in traditional pub style. That is, half drunk, off key, and bawdy, but with enthusiasm.


Elenië and Kayspar managed to get some people to shift down and make enough space for the four travelers at one end of a table. They sat, followed by Kerr, and then Iceglint. He was between Kerr and a stranger, who turned and stared at him for a moment before sniffing and shifting even farther away. The Aarakocra tried not to take it personally, and concentrated on not bolting out of the building. Kayspar and Elenië sat across from him.


Kayspar shouted for the barmaid, and she came over wiping her hands on a rag tucked into her apron. She was older, with grey hair and a slender frame.


Her eyebrows rose when she saw the Aarakocra, a being which she had heard about, but never actually seen, not this far from their mountain home. It was sitting with a corporal of the Order, so it must be all right. And it was wearing a harness with pouches and a dagger, so it obviously wasn’t some kind of pet or mount. And it was rather pretty, with its red crested head and mottled tawny feathers. “Can I get you some drinks to start?” she asked, holding a waxed wood tablet and stylus, ready to record their orders. “We have an amber ale, a wheat, and cider. And wine or whiskey if you rather.”


Kayspar spoke first. “Wine.”


Elenië nodded and said, “I’ll have the same.”


Kerr asked, “Whiskey.”


“Ale, please,” Iceglint said, “in a bowl.”


“In…a bowl. Okay.” She wrote on the waxed tablet. She had wondered how it drank, given the beak; now she thought she understood. “And food?”


Kayspar smiled, his grin mostly hidden by his beard, but his teeth glinted in the oil lamp light. He rubbed his hands together. “Oh yes! What do you have?”


“Vegetable soup with ham. River eel, potatoes, and greens. Pork roast with roasted vegetables.”


Moments later, she had an order of the soup, eel, and two of the roast. “I’ll be by with some bread and cheese in a moment, along with your drinks,” she said as she turned towards the kitchen.


Iceglint tried not to move. There wasn’t much room for maneuver here, and it made him anxious. He did his best to ignore the strange human to his right, who kept sitting on the tips of his feathers. Fortunately, the man did his best to ignore Iceglint. A small part of his mind registered the fact that he wasn’t drawing a huge amount of attention. This told him that the patrons here had at least some experience with his kind. So maybe there were some of the skyfolk here after all. He would have to look into that before they moved on towards Port Bormand and Fort Coastwatch.


That thought helped to put his mind at rest, or at least as close to rest as it was going to get.


His revery was interrupted by the barmaid, who placed a wooden board down on the table, laden with a dark loaf and a wedge of yellow cheese. She followed this with three glasses and a bowl.


“Brilliant!” said Kayspar, as he tasted his wine. Elenië used her knife to cut a piece of bread off of the loaf, and a piece of cheese off of the wedge. She took a bite of each before sipping her wine. Kerr sniffed his whiskey, smiled, then sipped. He closed his eyes and savored the smoky taste of the liquor. Iceglint dipped his beak into his ale, scooped up a swallow of liquid, and drank. He closed his eyes too, trying to will the room to disappear. It didn’t.


Elenië gave him a look, frowning. “You okay there, flyboy?”


His eyes popped open. “I’m, um, fine. Just a lot of people here.” He tugged his wingtip from beneath his neighbor’s bum. “And not a lot of room.”


“Crap, Iceglint,” Kerr said, “I should have let you sit on the end.” He got up suddenly, saying, “Let’s switch places.”


Grateful, Iceglint wasn’t going to let his pride get in the way, and he agreed immediately. He shifted over, and Kerr took his place. “Sorry, buddy,” he said softly, putting his hand on Iceglint’s shoulder, “I should have been more thoughtful.”


“Thanks, Kerr,” the avian replied. Being on the end of the table gave him a bit more room, and would allow a little more freedom of movement. And he wasn’t sitting next to a stranger, either, which helped quite a bit. And both Kayspar and Kerr were used to eating with him, so they had some reflexes built up so that when his wing swept towards their food, they deftly deflected it with their hands. Most of the time, anyway.


The food arrived shortly. Iceglint picked up the fork and knife in front of him., and pulled his plate to the edge of the table in front of him. Normally, he would just bite off parts of the roast using his sharp beak, but everyone else used utensils. So he cut his roast pork into bite size chunks. The plate being so close to the edge allowed him to reach it without having to spread his wings very far; he could keep them folded back and out of the way.


Elenië spoke up, after a few spoonfuls of soup. “The plan for tomorrow is to get an early start. We will leave at dawn, and take the main road eastward. I would like to make good time. I’ve been told it’s an eight day trip to Fort Coastwatch if we keep to the road.” She took another spoonful of soup. “I want to do it in six, seven at the most.” Her plan was to use the highway along the Leath River as much as possible. When the Leath dumped into the Gellen River at Ramston on its way to the sea, the waterway to Port Bormand was navigable the rest of the way. Perhaps they could use a boat.


Kayspar looked over at Kerr. “And me with my stubby legs.”


“Ha! You can out march any of us,” Kerr replied, chewing on a piece of eel. “We will need to laden you with all of our gear just to slow you down!” He paused, thinking. “I do wish the army had seen fit to lend us mounts, though. You would think they would want us at our posts as soon as possible.”


Kayspar looked at Elenië. “Hmm, I noticed that your Order didn’t give you a horse, either.”


“They did not,” Elenië replied. “Apparently, my masters want me to build up my endurance, just as yours do.”


Kayspar huffed. “Riding is work, too. Especially for those of us with short legs. I feel like we’ve been marching for months, and my feet’s blisters have blisters.”


Kerr looked incredulous. “If you still have blisters, you are doing it wrong. Your boots were broken in months ago.”


“Besides, Kayspar,” Iceglint spoke up, “we all know how much you want to see the ocean. All that sea and sky. And then you can soak your blistered feet.”


“Yeah,” Kayspar said quietly. His companions didn’t know it, but he missed the tunnels and the comforting feel of stone above his head. It only really got to him on clear nights, when he felt he could look up and see infinity.


“Have you been to the ocean, Iceglint?” Elenië asked.


“No. But I imagine it is much like the lake around Lakekeep, except much bigger. And salty, from what I understand. Parson Lake is the largest body of water I have ever seen. I’m from the mountains, where the lakes aren’t that big. I’ve spent most of my life in the Northern Expanse. We met shortly after I left there.”


“Salt means more equipment maintenance,” Kerr mentioned, chagrinned.


Kayspar laughed. “So don’t go swimming in it unless you take off your armor first!”


“I meant the air. It will have salt in it, from the ocean. I don’t have to go swimming in my armor for it to require more maintenance. Keeping things polished will be a bit more time-intensive as well. Besides, my armor is just cloth. You are one wearing a brig. But hey, at least you won’t see it rust away.”


“I have heard tales of giant monsters living in the sea,” Elenië stated. “If you go swimming, try not to get eaten.”


“Are those monsters good eating?” Kayspar asked. “If so, we will eat them!”


They finished their dinners, went back to the barracks, and turned in for the night. They had a few very long days ahead of them.


As the sky lightened in the predawn, Iceglint came fully awake as he circled in the air far above Hilltown Forge. Or, more specifically, above the region around the town, as his flightpath had taken him over the surrounding farmers’ fields as he slept. He altered course, and made a beeline for the monastery. It only took him a few minutes to get there, and by that time Elenië was up, shaking Kayspar and Kerr awake in their bunks.


The avian landed on the ground outside the door, then walked inside to gather his gear. Elenië was buckling her brigandine already, while Kerr was pulling on his leggings and Kayspar was splashing his face with water from the basin. Iceglint pulled his pack onto his back, and set his weapons into place. He was ready to go, and preened his feathers as he waited for the rest of them to finish their preparations.


Before the first arc of the sun became visible over the distant mountains, they were on the cobbled road which led to the northern gate, and the road to Ramston. Elenië had consulted maps after dinner the previous night, and was familiar with the route. Not that she was at all worried about becoming lost, as she had the advantage of the river, the road, and an aerial observer, but it was a habit instilled within her by months of training, and hundreds of years of life experience. She liked to know where she was, where she was going, and how she was going to get there. The aerial set of eyes was just a bonus.


Elenië set a quick pace, and the road were good, so by the end of the first twelve hour day they had traveled thirty five miles before they needed to find a way station to camp at. The terrain was, at first, mostly tilled fields supporting the city, but that changed to rolling hills with occasional clumps of trees, and then to more-or-less full jungle. The canopy was starting to get pretty thick, and Iceglint was beginning to lose sight of his companions. He was going to have to drop altitude and fly under the canopy if he wanted to keep an eye on them…and to be able to see potential threats on the ground.


According to the maps that Elenië had studied, the road curved eastward before swinging back toward the north. The rest of the way was supposedly jungle as the road headed east-northeast to Ramston, then northeast as it approached Port Bormand.


The next day’s travel took them to a town by mid afternoon, so they stopped at the inn there for the night. It had beds, and food that wasn’t trail rations. Iceglint, as usual, slept on the wing like a frigate bird, half a brain at a time, circling above the town as the others slept in their beds.


The next day had them on the road again at dawn, as Elenië was a taskmaster. Kayspar grumbled about the early hour, but Kerr kicked his ankle and he shut up. It was chilly, and there was a light rain sluicing down through the gaps in the tree canopy. Iceglint considered flying above the clouds to avoid the rain, and he would have, had he been flying solo. But he had his companions to consider, and he needed to do what he could to watch over them. So he flew low, merely two hundred feet up so he could scan the road and forest below for any signs of danger. This worked until the areas logged by the townsfolk to provide lumber and firewood became fully forested again. Then he dove under the canopy, slowed down quite a bit, and dodged between tree trunks. While he was very good at it, he was designed as a soaring avian, and the amount of wing flapping that he had to do to keep flying was fatiguing. He interspersed his sinuous flight plan with gliding hops from tree branch to tree branch.


The morning was uneventful; after taking a break to eat some food they continued on. The road twisted and turned through the forest. They were glad they weren’t in a carriage, for although the road was dressed stone, it was so full of potholes, ruts, and rocks that the journey would have been a bruising one. The jungle took a toll on constructed items, even if they are made of sand, gravel, cement, and stone. Above their heads and a hundred yards ahead, Iceglint swooped in lazy S-curves ahead of the group, the wind’s fingers ruffling his feathers as he streaked between tree trunks. When the forest canopy allowed it, he popped above it to get a better view of the area.


On the afternoon of the fourth day, they reached Ramston, at the confluence of the the Leath and Gellen Rivers. Ramston sat between the rivers, although warehouses and docks could be seen on the other banks. Draw bridges connected the town to the marinas and warehouse districts on the far banks of the rivers. If there had ever been walls around the town, they were long gone, the stones likely used for the foundations of buildings. There was a simple wooden palisade around the town, likely to keep out wildlife more than invaders. On the landward side of the town was a collection of wooden structures and tents that apparently made a sort of shantytown just outside the palisade that stretched from riverbank to riverbank. After the crudely-made buildings petered out lay the usual expanse of fields; tilled, pasturage, orchards, and woodlots.


The gates were open, although two guardsmen stood at them. One smoked a pipe, leaning against the gatepost. The other paced back and forth, likely to keep himself busy. At the moment, there was no other traffic. The farm wagons had come in during the morning, and the markets hadn’t closed yet, so most weren’t ready to leave yet. As Iceglint landed behind his fellow travelers outside the gate, he could see a myriad of people going to and fro within the city, going about their daily lives. The crowed collection of tents and hovels also was filled with life. People, back from doing their laundry in the river, hung clothes on lines strung between buildings, kids ran here and there, playing, and the travelers could see at least two card games being played, and three games of dice. Shouts could be heard, both exultant and dismayed, depending upon their fortunes.


Like Hilltown Forge, the buildings within the palisade’s protection were of stone and wood construction, with wooden shingle roofs. Glass windows seemed more common here though, and the sunlight glinted off of the smooth, reflective surface. Smoke crept up into the sky from a myriad of chimneys.


It was around mid afternoon when Iceglint noticed a caravan a half mile ahead of them. It was stopped, and he could see frenetic movement around the wagons, but at that distance he wasn’t able to tell what was going on. He called down to his companions, “There is a caravan up ahead, and some kind of activity. I’m going to see what is happening.” With powerful beats of his wings, he sped upwards, accelerating in a beeline towards the cluster of wagons.


It wasn’t long before his keen eyes could tell that the caravan was under attack. He had seen enough; he spun on a wingtip, reversing course back to his companions. A moment later he flared his wings, landing in front of the trio of groundbound. “The caravan is under attack by brigands. Humans, with some Orcs, from what I can tell. Quite a few of them, but I didn’t stick around to count them.”


Elenië broke into a run as she called to Kerr and Kayspar, “Come on!” Elenië’ reaction was predictable; she was a squire of the Order of Turlund, after all, and it was her calling to take care of problems like this. Being a ex-skywarden, it felt to Iceglint like it was his calling too.


Kerr grinned wickedly as he followed, and Kayspar unlimbered his axe as he pumped his legs to keep up. “I am really wishing we had horses right about now!”


“You and me both!” Kerr replied as he ran, sword in hand.


Iceglint launched himself into the air, readying his hand crossbow and clutching a javelin in his other talon as he prepared for battle.


Iceglint flew just above the treetops, using them as cover and trying to stay out of sight for as long as possible as he approached the caravan. There were eight wagons, each drawn by four oxen, stretched out in a ragged line along several hundred feet of road. At the front end of the line he could see that the brigands had dropped a pair of trees across the road to halt the caravan’s progress. Iceglint couldn’t be sure exactly how many brigands there were, but it was at least a dozen. Those not wearing full coverage helms had bandanas over the lower parts of their faces as a means of disguise. They were being engaged by the six caravan guards, who were making a good show of themselves, despite being badly outnumbered. The caravan drivers and merchants were also trying to fight, although their actions were rather clumsy in comparison to the professional warriors. They obviously had not just given in to the brigands’ demands, and had decided to put up a struggle. Several caravan members were already on the ground, unmoving.


The Aarakocra cleared the treetops, skewing sideways into the open space above the roadway, and fired his crossbow at one of the bandits who was threatening a merchant and what could have been his mate. The bolt struck true, lodging its six-inch length into the man’s neck. He dropped with nary a sound, surprising his two victims who looked around wildly as Iceglint’s shadow sped over them. He threw his pilum as a pair of brigands realized he was there, and only a spastic attempt to block the javelin with an arm saved the brigand’s life. Instead, the javelin lodged in the bandit’s forearm, passed through it, and was stopped by the mail shirt the bandit wore. He screamed with pain, staring transfixed at the length of iron shaft sticking through his arm. Iceglint pulled out his other two pila.


It would be another thirty seconds or so before his companions could get here. He arced out over the treetops to the side of the road in an attempt to come at the bandits from an unknown direction. He reversed the turn in order to make another attack run, this time from the opposite direction as before. He loosed both pila at a bandit who was fighting with one of the caravan guards; only one hit, the other punching a hole in the side of a wagon. The one that struck true lodged itself in the victim’s thigh, and blood ran down the man’s leg. He pulled up as he saw two of the bandits pull out longbows in response to the new aerial threat. He heard them swearing.


Crap, Iceglint thought. He had rather liked being out of reach. But all good things come to an end, and he started flying erratically, dodging and weaving in the air as arrows whistled by. Out of pila, and without droppoons, he pulled out his hand crossbow again, reloading and getting ready to fire it into the face of one of the archers as soon as he could see him through the tree foliage. He had to keep the archers guessing which direction he was coming from. His hand crossbow’s range and power was very inferior to that of the archers’ longbows, but the foliage would work in his favor, somewhat.


He could see his companions running toward the melee, their weapons out, as he turned again to make another attack run. This time he came in low, skimming across the surface of the road. At the last moment he popped up over the rearmost wagons, snapping a shot off at a brigand who was winding up to plunge an axe into one of the wagon drivers. The bolt took him in the shoulder, and he dropped the axe with a curse.


The two bandits with the bows spun to face the avian threat, but Iceglint had continued up and over the forest canopy before they could line up their shots properly, and the two arrows whizzed harmlessly far behind him.


“Guardsmen! Attack!” Elenië shouted, as she, Kerr, and Kayspar came around a shallow curve and saw the rearmost wagon. Beyond it, they could see the fighting. Two caravan guards were down, as were four bandits. They could see a few other bodies on the ground, although whether they were dead, injured, or just too scared to move they couldn’t tell. “For the Order of Turlund!”


The three nearest bandits turned towards the noise. “Shit!” one called out. “A warrior priestess!” He slammed his shield into the caravan driver, knocking him back against the wagon, and turned towards the greater threat as the driver slumped down after being bounced off of the side of the wagon. One of the others called to his fellows farther up the line to alert them about the reinforcements that were pounding up the road towards them.


This resulted in a momentary pause as, along the line, the bandits processed the new information. It didn’t last long, and the brigands fighting the caravan guards didn’t pause at all. The others, engaged with the drovers and merchants, could afford to turn and look. That gave Iceglint an opportunity to loose a bolt at one of the momentarily distracted bandits, putting it into the small of his back. The bandit reached back with his off hand, but his armor restricted his mobility such that he couldn’t get to it. But that gave the merchant an opening, and he took it, clubbing the wounded thief with his mace, and the brigand went down with a whimper as the merchant repeatedly pounded on him.


The two archers had been waiting for Iceglint to become visible, and they loosed their arrows. One missed, the other punched through the trailing edge of his wing, resulting in a minor flesh wound. The point protruded up through the upper surface of the wing, and the wind loading on the feathered shaft made the arrow wiggle painfully in the wound.


Clenching his beak in the Aarakocra version of a grimace, he flew up and over the forest canopy, putting space and trees between him and his attackers. Once he was high enough, he folded his wing and used his talons to break the arrow and pull it out, falling ballistically, then snapped his wings out again to regain lift. Iceglint readied his spear “Thorn’s Vengeance”, and his buckler as he came around again to rejoin the combat.


Elenië charged into combat, shield first. She slammed into the first brigand, knocking him reeling, and engaged the one a few paces beyond, parrying the expected blow that came in due to her shield being out of place because of the bash. Her sword flicked and slid down the steel as she gracefully moved it aside before plunging it into the bandit’s sternum in a smooth counterattack. The bandit went down, groaning and gurgling as blood fountained out of his mouth in a convulsive cough.


Kerr swept past Elenië and the dying bandit, striking at a third bandit with the hook of his spear in an attempt to pull his leg out from under him. It wasn’t as elegant a strike as Elenië’s was, but it was effective enough to make the bandit go on the defensive as he hurriedly parried the blow. The bandit’s couldn’t counter attack because he couldn’t get close enough without being spitted on Kerr’s spear.


Kayspar, his dwarven legs shorter, followed his companions into the fight, cleaving the bandit made off balance by Elenië’ shield bash. His poleaxe bit deep into the stumbling man’s thigh, and he fell screaming onto the road in front of a four oxen team, blood spurting from a severed artery all over the two leading oxen. The oxen, startled by the spray and smell of blood, got restive, and one of them stomped onto the fallen bandit’s foot with a sickening crunch, causing a fresh scream of pain. Kayspar couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face as he turned and moved farther down the line of wagons towards the bandit Kerr was fighting.


Iceglint barely registered what his companions were doing, aside from the fact that they had engaged the enemy. His focus was on one of the archers, who was currently lining up a shot at him as he dived toward him, buckler tracking the apparent aiming point of the arrow. The archer loosed the arrow, and Iceglint could see the fast moving projectile approaching and his trained reflexes shifted the buckler just enough to make the arrow glance off and tumble into the undergrowth by the side of the road. His spear licked out sideways, the razor-sharp head slicing through the bowstring and hitting the brigand in the chest. Most of the blow was stopped by the mail, but the sudden release of the tension in the bow caused the man to drop the weapon as the impact knocked him stumbling back. If the strike had been lined up better, like a lance attack, the mail likely wouldn’t have been able to stop it. The avian used his momentum to climb for altitude in order to line up another target.


One of the drovers took advantage of the stumble, and swung his cudgel at the back of the bandit’s legs, and the guy went down with a thud and an oof. He followed it up with a strike to the bandit’s head, but his shaken nerves and lack of proficiency with weapons made the strike less ideal than it could have been, and it glanced off of the man’s helmet. That didn’t stop him, however, as he frantically rained blows upon the fallen man, the brigand holding his arms in front of his face to protect his head. Fear and rage powered the wagon driver’s blows as he beat the man’s head and arms into a bloody, still mass before the brigand could recover enough to fight back.


Elenië strode towards her next target, a burly, gambeson-wearing thief brandishing a nicked arming sword that had seen better days. Regardless, it was dripping blood, and a dead caravan guard lay at his feet. He had a long, wicked dagger in his left hand, and he grinned cruelly at the advancing squire. “You don’t scare me, priestess!” he shouted at her. “I’ll kill you like I killed this poor guy! You shouldn’t have gotten involved!” He spat in her direction, the gobbet of spittle landing at her feet.


“You talk too much,” Elenië stated, as she struck with her sword. He parried, but only just, and his smile wavered a little. His counterattack nicked her shield, and she pushed his sword out of line with it. Using the momentary opening, she struck with her sword, but he managed to partially move her sword so that it hit his arm instead of his chest. Blood welled, dripping off of his elbow.


“Bitch!” he cried, and stepped into close range to bring his dagger to bear. He was too close for the blade of her sword, but she stepped behind his leg and shoved with her shield. He toppled backward, tripped by her leg, and she quickly reversed her sword and drove it down through his stomach. He screamed as the sword parted the layers of linen, epidermis, and muscle, slicing into his stomach just below his sternum. His eyes widened in fear as the realization that it was a gut wound penetrated his mind and he knew he was a dead man.


The four surviving caravan guards cheered as they realized that the tide of battle had turned, and that two thirds of the enemy were down and out of the fight. Morale boosted, they redoubled their attacks, and two more brigands fell before the remaining bandits turned and ran into the forest.


Elenië saw the last three brigands bolt, routed. “Flyboy! Follow them!” she ordered.


“Aye!” Iceflint shouted in response, and turned in the direction of the fleeing bandits. He readied his crossbow, knowing that he wasn’t likely to be able to use his spear and buckler. At first, the three bandits fled in the same direction, but their panicked flight made their paths diverge rather quickly.


He chose the center one, knowing that it would be impossible to follow them all. At first, he could track them by the noise they made, but soon the ones on either side drifted off, and he lost track of them. But he was able to follow one of them, mostly by hearing his progress through the bushes, but every once in a while being able to see him through gaps in the forest canopy.


He tucked his wings, and dove through the foliage, spreading his wings and pulling up before hitting the ground. He skewed sideways past a tree trunk, and curved around a second one. He saw the bandit running up ahead of him, twenty feet away. He loosed his crossbow, the bolt zinging into the running man’s upper thigh. He went down, hard, and tumbled down a short slope, slipping and sliding through the forest duff, leaves flying everywhere. He groaned as he pulled himself upright using some convenient tree roots, swore, and pulled out his fighting knife.


Iceglint landed at the top of the slope, and stared down at the man standing at the bottom of the gully. “Give up?” Iceglint asked hopefully.


“Fuck off, featherhead!” was the response. He brandished the fighting knife, willing the Aarakocra to come and fight him. “Come and get me!”


Iceglint tilted his head, looking at the defiant bandit. “I don’t think so.” There was no way he was going down there to fight him. He reloaded his crossbow, and attempted to shoot him in the shoulder, but the damaged leg altered the bandit’s dodge, and the bolt caught him in the lung instead. He coughed up pink froth and fell over, gasping, trying to breathe with a collapsed lung.


“Crap,” Iceglint whistled in Windsong, having wished to injure the bandit, not kill him. He flew down to the fallen bandit to see if his limited medical training could do anything for the man. A quick survey of the man’s wounds made it clear that he could do little. He said, in Imperial, “I can’t do anything for your wounds. I am sorry.”


The bandit stared up at the red-headed Aarakocra. Grimacing, his hand fumbled in the fallen leaves, reaching for his knife. Iceglint stepped on his forearm, pinning it in the muddy earth, and used his other talon to rake his face. The man stopped moving, dead.


He peered around, making sure that the other two bandits weren’t lurking around, and then looked through the man’s clothes, looking for any evidence that might tell him who he was or who he worked for. Besides a few coins, the fighting knife, and a locket with a girl’s portrait in it, he found nothing. He circled the area, in the hopes of picking up the trail of one or the other bandits that had run off, but he didn’t find anything. He flew back to Elenië and the caravan.


The surviving drovers, merchants, and caravan guards were still trying to tend their wounded and put the caravan back together again when Iceglint got back. Landing on a wagon next to Elenië, Kerr, and Kayspar, he told them what had happened, apologizing for killing the brigand instead of taking him alive.


“While I would have preferred him alive,” Elenië said, “in truth, it doesn’t really matter. There were two survivors from the brigand band, and we were able to get some information out of them. They had been led by that guy over there,” she pointed at a sprawled figure on the ground, “and had been harassing caravans and convoys for the last few months. This time they got unlucky. They hadn’t expected us to be here. We will escort the caravan the rest of the way to Port Bormand, where we will deliver the two surviving members of the band to the city guard there. They can do with them what they will. The two out in the wilds…well, if we see them again, we can take care of them. Otherwise, I don’t think that they will be much of a threat any longer.”


Kerr spoke up, “As thanks for our help, the caravaners will share their fires and viands with us.”


“Gold would be better,” Kayspar grumbled. “But hot food is better than trail rations, and to be frank, the supplies in these wagons are just common goods. None of these merchants are rich, more’s the pity!”


“It will rain tonight,” Iceglint mentioned, “I think.” His weather sense was decent, as it should be, since he lived in it. “You will appreciate the fires.”


“Yeah, and you will just be flying above it all tonight, won’t you?” Kayspar snorted. “Having wings must be nice. Besides, you think I haven’t noticed how water beads off of those feathers of yours? Maybe you should spread them over me and be my tent tonight!”


“Sorry, Kayspar. You are not the nice warm body I want to share a nest with!”


Kerr guffawed. “Too lazy to set up your own tent, Kayspar? I’d help you, but it would set a bad precedent.”


They went back to helping get the caravan going again, and by the time the two trees in the road had been dealt with, they continued onward toward Port Bormand.


The following few days with the caravan were uneventful, and upon reaching Port Bormand, were gifted with a modest purse of gold royals for their assistance, totaling $300. As Kayspar noted, the merchants weren’t particularly rich, but they were grateful, and had all contributed to the reward. The two wounded bandits had been given to the city guard, and the wagons unloaded in the warehouse, where their cargo was distributed to their final destinations.


Port Bormand itself was a large, old city, founded upon the ruins of the former capitol of the Empire, Borroderre, around 300 AFE. In 290 AFE, a monstrous hurricane struck the southern part of the the Empire. Not only did the winds do considerable damage, but the storm surge flooded over eighty percent of the city, battering most of it to rubble. That destruction provided the perfect excuse for the Empress to move the capitol to Adayn, along the coast in the north of the Empire.


Over time, a new city was built upon the bones of Borroderre. While most of the original buildings were damaged or destroyed, a few of the stone civil buildings remained, and were repaired, updated, or renovated. The old Imperial Council building, where the council had its meetings, was repurposed into the city council building. The records building was repurposed into a library, open to all citizens, for a fee. The street of monuments, dedicated to the ruling emperors of the Tondene Empire, became the main market square, with the traders’ carts parked amidst the statues of the emperors and empresses. The Temple of the Gods, however, was still the Temple of the Gods, now with markers on the walls showing the height the water reached during the flood.


Overall, the land Port Bormand was built upon was flat, a wide river valley in which the Leath River wound in a series of S-curves before dumping into the eastern ocean. The land was rich from deposited river silt. The ducal palace was located on the one hill within the walls of the city, a hill that had been constructed artificially about a half millennium ago.


Surrounding the city on the landward side for dozens of miles were the fields and satellite settlements that supported the urban population. The walls of dressed stone still stood, fifty feet tall and thirty feet thick at the base. Cheap housing and other buildings clustered in heaps outside of the walls, out to a distance of about a quarter mile. Some of these buildings looked solid enough, while others had leaning walls and sagging roofs. Interspersed within the groups of buildings were plots of farmland, where food was grown or livestock raised.


Most of the streets were straight, and set up on a grid. About one fifth of the streets were original to the old city, and were twisty and curved around in confusing ways; these had developed organically, without any kind of central planning. The straight streets were planned a bit better, after the inhabitants started rebuilding the city after the floods. All of the streets were either dressed stone, or cobblestones. The structures were primarily of stone, at least the first floors. Upper floors were timber, or timber-framed lath and plaster. A heavy pall of wood smoke stretched itself across the city, not quite blown away by the offshore breeze.


Kayspar, ever the optimist, hoped that Elenië would let them find lodging in town. But, eager to join her knight mentor, she strode off to the south of the city, where the military training facilities were located. Her three companions were obliged to follow her.


Kerr thought it was strange that an Elf was in a hurry. It was very unlike the Elven way, and he was a little surprised by it. Most Elves would likely have waited a few days before reporting for duty; especially given the long distance they had traveled. But Elenië had consistently been driving them, wanting to take as few days as possible to get where they were going. It didn’t make any sense to him, but it wasn’t his problem. To be honest, he was just as eager to get his orders and be deployed in his unit.


Beyond the city stretched the blue expanse of the ocean, rippled with waves, and dotted with the sails of a myriad of vessels. Iceglint had never seen anything like it before. It was nothing like Parson Lake, which was a mere puddle in comparison. This vastness stretched out to the horizon, in a disturbing flat way that just didn’t look right to him. He was used to mountains. The sky, streaked with cirrus clouds, met ambiguously at some curved line at the horizon, hidden in haze. Where the sky ended and the sea began Iceglint couldn’t tell, even with his keen eyes.


To the south of the city lay a second walled complex, one side a series of long docks. It was almost large enough to be a second town, but the Aarakocra knew it was Fort Coastwatch. He banked in that direction, following his companions, the wind sluicing through his feathers as he dumped lift and lost altitude.

Chapter Eight: Fort Coastwatch

It was irregularly shaped, with thirty foot walls and fifty foot towers every one hundred and eighty feet. Within those walls was a complex of buildings, mostly two to four stories in height. Iceglint didn’t know what all those buildings were for, but he could see a large expanse of stone that must be the parade ground, complete with groups of people performing maneuvers. Beyond that, past more buildings, was a vast grassy field which currently held hundreds of people on horseback performing drills. The east side of the complex was the docks; hundreds of ships and boats lay berthed there, and he could see more sails out on the water. The fort housed a full brigade of over three thousand soldiers, and a similar number of naval personnel.

Two gates, both on the western side of the base, led to roads, the northern one of which led to Port Bormand, and upon which his companions marched. When they got to the gate, he landed behind them, folding his wings and coming to attention.


Ahead of the four lay the northern gate. Four gate guards, two Humans, a Goblin, and an Orc, patrolled the entrance, checking any wagons and making sure any travelers were actually supposed to be there. All four wore military uniforms, khaki and dark blue, which Iceglint supposed was the navy uniform. A Human and the Goblin held bows, arrows nocked, but not drawn, scanning the area. The other Human leaned on his spear, alert, but not looking like he expected any trouble. The commanding officer, the Orc, had an axe at his belt and a shield on his back, and had his arms akimbo. He wore a short cloak with a deep hood, which was up. Orc eyes were light sensitive, and Iceglint was sure he would have preferred night duty.


“Well now, aren’t you a mixed bunch! Identification, please,” the Orc Sur-Coeus said from behind his dark glasses and hood, his tusks gleaming as he spoke. “A Human, Dwarf, Elf, and what, bird man? Birdling?”


Iceglint froze, unsure as to why he was being insulted. At least, it felt insulting. He hesitated, not knowing exactly how best to answer the question.


Kerr spoke up: “Ser, the term is Aarakocra, or sky folk. No reason to be rude, ser.”


The Orc looked at the blond Human. “I will call him what I wish, trooper. Now, I’d like to see some identification.”


Every soldier in the Tondene Imperial Army was given an identification medallion when they joined. It had the soldier’s name, race, and a unique identifying number stamped into the back, with the sigil of the Emperor on the front. The three army soldiers pulled out their medallions. Elenië pulled out a folded piece of parchment out of a pouch at her waist. She unfolded it, and handed it to the tall, hooded soldier.


He looked at it, reading. He looked Elenië up and down, shrugged, and said, “Stand over there,” indicating a spot to the side of the gate with a nod of his head. The Elven warrior priestess did as she was instructed without a word, retrieving her paperwork as she passed the Orc.


Next he looked at the medallions of the other three, one by one. When he got to Iceglint, he cocked his head at the avian, pursed his lips, and then shrugged. “Katiin,” he said to the Goblin, “Log in three new recruits and an auxiliary. A squire of the Order of Turlund, who will be the attache to Jerrod, Knight of Turlund.”


“Sir, yes sir,” the Goblin replied, with a salute. He then turned sharply and went into the gatehouse.


The Orc turned back to the three soldiers. “According to the squire, there,” he began, indicating Elenië, “you are all new trainees from Lakekeep. Correct?”


“Ser, yes ser,” Kerr replied, answering for the trio. “We were tasked with escorting Squire Elenië from the Lakekeep Garrison to Fort Coastwatch, and then report for assignment here, ser.”


“I see. Go through the gate, then take the first road to the right. It will lead you to the administration offices, where someone will induct you and get you situated.”


“Thank you, ser,” Kayspar said.


“Dismissed,” the Orc commanded, and with a toss of his head, indicated that they were to enter the fort. “You too, squire. The desk jockeys will take care of you, too.”


They entered Fort Coastwatch, Kerr and Kayspar leading with forceful strides, and Iceglint walking/hopping behind the pair of them and Elenië. He felt vulnerable on the ground, and would have preferred flying over it all, but he felt that flying somehow wouldn’t have been appropriate.


Beyond the gates was the massive complex of buildings, filled with a mass of bustling groundbound forms, all walking with purpose. No one seemed to be running, or sauntering. All of them seemed to go from point A to point B with quick strides and a minimum of fuss. Most turned to look at the newcomers, himself most of all, and usually with quizzical looks on their faces. Some just glanced, then went on with their business, as if a feathered soldier with a twenty foot wingspan was a normal sight.


The roads were paved with stone, and twenty to thirty feet wide. Trees lined the street, although Iceglint noticed that there were no trees close to the walls of the fort. Few of the trees he did see from where he stood on the ground were taller than about twenty feet. The first half of the road, before it turned to the left up ahead, where a three story stone building stood, was flanked by hard packed dirt, with occasional tufts of grass and weeds. To the left, past the dirt, was a well-manicured lawn, where small groups of officers played a game with balls, mallets, and hoops. Ahead was a what appeared to be a guard tower, rising fifty feet into the sky. A building with a placard on the wall saying “Kenryk Officers’ Club” stood opposite the guard tower.


Past the guard tower were a group of five buildings that were, as far as Iceglint could tell, barracks. Two stories, of wooden plank construction with shingle roofs, they housed over two hundred people each. Each building held more people than Iceglint’s entire home nesting. It still boggled his mind, despite the weeks he spent in Lakekeep around similar structures. He was still adjusting.


The mess hall, marked with a sign saying “Pogrûsh Mess Hall” was across the street from the set of barracks, as was a building marked “Arkiijen Training Hall”.


They reached the building where the road turned. It was a large, three story stone building, in the shape of an “L”, which seemed to the be the administrative offices of the base. Several doors led into its several hundred foot length, and narrow windows spanned the upper levels. A sign in what seemed to be the main doors proclaimed “Administration” in several languages. Aarakocra wasn’t one of them, Iceglint noticed, although he did see Khuzdûl, Quenya, Mekiitagi, and Lurkash, in addition to Imperial. He couldn’t read what they said, but he recognized the scripts. He assumed it said “Administration”, just like the Imperial script.


They entered through the main double doors, which opened onto a lobby with a couple of soldiers, a Human and a Goblin, sitting behind a long desk, facing the doors. Halls went off to each side, and a third went deeper into the building. Both soldiers seemed to be writing, although as Iceglint peered more closely, they were writing things onto a page that already had writing, boxes, and lines on it. Occasionally they would make an “x” in a box, or write a word or two on a line.


The two desk officers looked at the diverse group. The Goblin, with a name tag in front of him that stated “TFC Viiklechi”, spoke. “How may I help you?” His eyes flicked from newcomer to newcomer, resting on Iceglint and the Elenië the most.


“Squire Elenië reporting for duty with Knight Jerrod, sir.”


Trooper First Class Viiklechi looked puzzled, but opened a drawer and sorted through some files. After a few moments, he pulled out a folder, opened it, read the page inside, and said, “Okay. You weren’t expected for another couple of days. You have identification?”


Elenië nodded, and pulled out the folded parchment, handing it to the soldier. He unfolded it, read it, compared it to the page he had in the folder, and handed it back. “Just a moment,” he said, as he opened a different drawer and pulled out a piece of paper. Iceglint noticed that it was similar to the one he had seen the soldier writing on when they arrived: a collection of boxes, lines, and words. “Fill this out, please,” he instructed, handing the paper, now clipped to a board, to Elenië. He indicated a mug filled with writing sticks, and the warrior priestess took one and stood off to the side, gazing at the page on the board.


The Goblin noted the standard uniforms of the remaining three newcomers. “And you three?”


Kayspar spoke up. “We are here for assignment, sir. We just arrived from Lakekeep. Sir.” He and Kerr stood at attention, and Iceglint followed suit as best as his more-horizontal avian body could manage.


“Great,” Viiklechi replied without inflection. Iceglint couldn’t be sure if the Goblin was glad to see them or not. The trooper got three more of those pages out, and handed them to Kayspar, Kerr, and Iceglint, also on little boards. The three new soldiers each took a writing stick. “Instructions are on the form.” He cocked his head, looking at Iceglint. “I assume you can all read Imperial?”


Kayspar and Kerr both nodded. Iceglint squinted, a little annoyed. “Yes, sir,” he said, simply, thinking it better not to make a scene by showing offense.


The form was a fairly simple document that asked for basic information about them, and it didn’t take long to fill them out and hand them back to TFC Viiklechi. He looked them over, then put them in a drawer in his desk.


“Squire Elenië,” he called, “you are assigned to Scarlet Centasenti, under the command of Coeus Ferris Aldermon. Sur-Tethys Jerrod is in charge of Third Squad there. Scarlet barracks is that way.” He pointed down the street. Like the base in Lakekeep, all of the buildings were labeled.


He turned to the rest of them after they and Elenië said their farewells and Elenië exited the building. “The rest of you are assigned to Teal Centasenti, under the command of Sur-Coeus Niter. Your barracks are over there.” He pointed back up the way they came. “Third barracks building. Dismissed.”


They left the administration building, and headed back up the road to their assigned barracks building.


The barracks buildings had two labels on them, one for each of the two floors. The first floor had the word “Teal” underlined by a thick teal-colored bar, the upper floor said “Dark Blue”, with a dark blue line painted beneath it. Each centasenti had its own floor. All of the barracks were labeled the same way, with the color name underlined by the appropriate color. On one side was Violet Centasenti and Orange Centasenti, on the other was Brown Centasenti and Beige Centasenti. The Tondene Imperial Army named all of its centasenti after colors. The elite centasenti were named after metallic colors; gold, silver, copper, bronze, brass, steel, iron. The centasenti that Iceglint, Kayspar, and Kerr were assigned to was officially the 14th Teal Centasenti, as there were more centasenti than there were convenient color names. Each base in the Empire had its own set of centasenti.


Teal Centasenti was on the ground floor. Dark Blue Centasenti was above them, and was a female centasenti. The barracks were kept segregated by gender to reduce “difficulties” and fraternization. It helped, a little. In general, only members of the housed centasenti were allowed in their barracks. Others were turned away, and standing orders allowed unauthorized entrance under extreme emergencies. Usually this meant an attack, or a fire, or, once, a storm surge that overtopped the sea wall and flooded the base.


The three of them entered the building, Iceglint pushing aside his dislike for the indoors with a force of will. Kerr patted his shoulder, subconsciously reading his friend’s discomfort. The room was large, over a hundred feet deep, and forty wide, with 4 rows of bunk beds extending down most of it. At the foot of the bunk beds were two footlockers, and two armor stands, one each per soldier. Several soldiers, lounging on their bunks or standing in small groups, filled the space.


“What is that?” one asked. “We get flying mounts now?”


“No, dumbass,” another replied, “I think that’s one of the skyfolk!”


“Heard of ‘em, but never seen one before,” stated a third.


“She’s pretty!” a fourth soldier exclaimed.


“Dumbass, the females are all brown! That’s a guy-bird!” his companion said, as he elbowed him in the side.


Kerr sighed. Kayspar looked up at Iceglint. “Ignore ‘em,” he said softly. Then, louder, he called out, “Pretty boy here has a name. It’s Iceglint Broadwing, and he’s a soldier like all of you. I’m Kayspar, and this guy,” he indicated Kerr with a thumb, “Is Kerr. Apparently we’ve been assigned to you. So if you would kindly show us the way to your commanding officer, we’d appreciate it.”


“…Mouthy little runt….”


“…Balls on him….”


“…Put you in your place, Scroggins!”


“…beak looks dangerous…”


“…Are they any good? Think I can take ‘em….”


The murmurs went on as one of the soldiers jerked a thumb towards the back of the building. “I’ll take you to his office. This way.” He turned and led the way. “The CO is going to love this….”


As the trio walked towards the back of the barracks, they could hear someone with the air of command call out, “Eyes on your own business, troopers, or I will take you outside for extra endurance training!” The murmurs and mutterings subsided quickly.


The back of the building was the jakes and several offices, as well as the private rooms for the sub-officers and the Sur-Coeus. The tethys slept with the troopers in the main barracks area. The tethys commanded the decasenti, which were units of ten soldiers; and the Coeus commanded the centasenti, made up of ten decasenti. Sur-tethys and sou-coeus could command a few or several decasenti, respectively.


The escorting officer led them to one of the offices, marked with “Sur-Coeus Niter” on a placard on the door. He knocked on the door, and said, “New assignees, sir.”


“Enter,” came the rough, gravelly voice from the other side of the door. The escort opened it, and gestured for the three to enter.


Iceglint was anxious, mostly due to the crowd he had just passed through, partly because the hallway he was in was rather narrow, and partly due simply to meeting his new commanding officer. Glancing at Kayspar and Kerr, they seemed calm, with minimal “new assignment jitters”. He took some solace in that, letting their apparent calmness help him calm himself.


The room wasn’t very big, and the three new soldiers were crowded into the space between the door and the desk, which had a grizzled Dwarf sitting behind it. He was broad, and his hair and beard was a mix of grey and black in equal measure. Lines on his face showed decades of weathering and hard decisions, and he was missing two fingers on his left hand. A scar on his face gave evidence to a wound that almost took his eye. Those brown eyes, almost black, looked over his new charges as they stood at attention and gave their names and ranks, which was technically Trooper, but they all knew they would be Tyros for the first half year, until they gained enough experience.


“I’m Sur-Coeus Lavendulan Niter, but you will call me ‘Ser’, or ‘Sur-Coeus’, or ‘Sur-Coeus Niter’.” He peered at Iceglint, noting his stance, which was putting most of his weight on his right leg. “You having trouble standing at attention, soldier?”


“Recovering from a broken leg, ser,” the Aarakocra replied. He straightened up, his leg twinging. Despite Elenië’s skills, it had only been about an eightday since it had been fractured. “It doesn’t bother me when I am flying, ser.”


“I see. Obviously,” he continued, his bass voice rumbling like an avalanche, “there is a story there. Spill it. How did one of my troopers get a broken leg?”


Kayspar couldn’t help himself, and spoke up. “Ice got wounded during an attack by terror birds while he defended a military courier.”


“I’m going to stop you right there. Start at the beginning, because obviously you have had an interesting time getting from the Lakekeep Garrison to here. Is it safe to assume that the interesting bits didn’t happen at Lakekeep, and that they happened after that?”


“Yes, ser.’


Sur-Coeus Niter rested his chin in his hand, which was propped up by his elbow on the desk. “Do go on.”


Kayspar, with some help from Kerr and Iceglint, filled in the story of their river journey, carriage journey, attack by the predatory birds, the long march to Fort Coastwatch, and the attack on the caravan. Iceglint’s leg fracture and Kerr’s cut-up arm were part of the tale as well, although Kerr’s arm was mostly healed, with only angry red scabs left. He’d need to get the stitches removed in the next few days, though.


Sur-Coeus Niter gave out a sigh. “You’d think that traveling through the heartland of our great empire would be relatively safe, and here you guys get into not one, but two fairly major scrapes. Dun Barzak’s Beard! Trooper Broadwing, you are to report to the infirmary to have that leg looked at. When that’s done, assuming they don’t keep you, come back here. The two of you can get situated in your racks. Pick one for Broadwing and get his stuff in his footlocker while he’s getting his leg taken care of. Dismissed.”


Iceglint made his way out of the barracks, and after asking for directions, launched himself into the air. The infirmary was near the center of the base; a three story building made of stone. Once inside, it was only a short wait before a healer was able to take a look at his leg. It seemed to be healing nicely, although a Spell of Healing cast upon the leg was of some comfort, and he was able to put his weight on the leg without trouble. Thanking the healer, he returned to the barracks, as instructed by his commanding officer.


When he entered, he was shown his bunk and footlocker, into which Kerr had placed his gear. He had a top bunk, although he wasn’t sure how often he was actually going to be sleeping in it. The ceiling was only four feet above the bunk, so he couldn’t stand or perch on the bunk.


Kayspar spoke up. “We told the Sur-Coeus how you prefer to sleep at night, but he said you get a bunk anyway. He seemed intrigued that you sleep while flying. He didn’t get how that worked. But he seemed to accept it.” Kayspar chuckled, continuing, “I have the feeling that you will be doing a lot of sentry duty, being only half asleep at night.”


As it turned out, most of the troopers in Teal Centasenti were on sentry duty around the base. Kerr piped up from his bunk, “Tomorrow we have to do all of the standard duties that everyone else does. Today, though, we were ordered to find out where everything was on base. We figured we would wait for you to get back from the infirmary before setting out.”


“Thanks, Kerr,” Iceglint replied.


“Besides,” Kayspar joked, “you get the bird’s eye view, and can tell us where everything is! It will be like cheating!”


Iceglint gave his friends an Aarakocra grin. “That’s right, make me do all the work!”


The next few days were very uncomfortable for Iceglint. Sur-Coeus Niter seemed to have worked with an Aarakocra before, but by Iceglint’s estimation, can’t have been recently, or very often. His commanding officer would give him orders, only to change them to suit Iceglint’s morphology and abilities. There was little need for Iceglint to “walk the perimeter,” and Niter would then have to amend the orders to “fly the perimeter”.


There were a few things that procedurally, needed to be modified. Iceglint could cover a lot of area, but he wasn’t any better than a groundbound when it came to guarding a building or door. While he could fill a doorway to prevent people from entering, they could easily push his less-than-one-hundred pound frame out of the way, if they really wanted to get in. On the other hand, when it came to guarding a perimeter, his sharp eyes and aerial view made that a lot easier. He still had to come down to either tell his compatriots what he saw, or to intercept intruders.


The other troopers, however, had never worked with a member of the skyfolk before, and they chafed at what seemed, to them, to be some kind of special treatment. During Basic, at Fort Lakekeep, it had been similar, at least for the first day or so. But the skyfolk were a common sight at Lakekeep, and it didn’t take long for the other soldiers to get used to how the avians worked. Not so here at Coastwatch, where Iceglint was the only one. With the exception of Kayspar and Kerr, the other soldiers didn’t know how to react to him.


It wasn’t that he was looking for any special dispensation or treatment. But he would have appreciated it if the other troopers would be cognizant of his wings and tail, at least. On more than one occasion, a clumsy trooper sat on one of the other, and broke off part of a feather or two. Iceglint tried not to be upset, but it was difficult, as it messed up his aerodynamics and made it harder to fly properly. The third time it happened he went to Sur-Coeus Niter and mentioned it to him.


Niter’s lips compressed in a line, his bushy beard bunching. “I’ll have a word with the men before chow tonight.” His dark eyes met Iceglint’s. “It won’t happen again. I won’t have carelessness hurting my troopers!”


True to his word, he dressed down the entire centasenti, and let them know, in no uncertain terms, that the next idiot who “reduced the fighting capability of one of my soldiers again” would spend not only three days in the stockade, then spend the next month on latrine duty. “And that includes the mobility of our aerial asset, as well! You clumsy dickwads have been damaging Broadwing’s feathers, and he’s ignored it up to now, but it’s got to stop. Pay attention to where you set your fat asses. Is that clear?”


“Ser, yes ser!” came the response from a hundred throats.


Niter glared at them one last time, then commanded, “Dismissed. Get some chow.”


Several of the soldiers glanced at Iceglint, some with hatred or annoyance in their eyes. Iceglint wasn’t sure if the words of his commanding officer were going to help, or cause more problems. His anxious stomach was roiling, and he wasn’t even sure if he was even hungry any more. It must have shown, somehow, because Kerr put a hand on his shoulder and said, “Let’s eat. It’ll be alright.”


Kayspar nodded in agreement. “Besides, I’ve been asking around. Most of these guys haven’t even been in combat, and we were in two just on the way here. So we’ve got more combat experience. It’s highly likely we can kick their asses.”


While Kayspar meant well, it didn’t really make Iceglint feel any better. But he went to the mess hall with his friends, knowing that he had better eat, even if he didn’t really want to. He needed to be accepted by his fellow soldiers; he was lonely, far away from his flock, and his natural communal nature was making itself felt. Despite Kayspar’s and Kerr’s companionship, he still needed to feel a part of the “local nesting”. And he didn’t. Not yet. And he was worried that what Sur-Coeus Niter did made things worse by calling the wrong kind of attention to him.


He would just have to see how things turned out.


He rarely used his bunk for anything besides temporary storage. He would put his gear there at night, then sleep on the wing, circling above the base and the surrounding fields, then return to the barracks at dawn, just before reveille.


People didn’t thoughtlessly sit on his feathers any more, but they looked at him funny or outright mocked him by calling him “chair tilter”, “perchie”, “scoops”, or “wing dragger”. And those were just regarding the mess hall. They also mocked his trouble with crowds and his anxiety about small spaces. They thought he was clumsy because his wings would occasionally get in their way, despite Iceglint being very careful with where he “put” them.


They were also rough with him during sparring practice, especially when he wasn’t allowed to be flying. On the ground, he was no match for the groundbound; his footwork and maneuverability just couldn’t compare, and his wings were vulnerable, no matter how defensively he fought. His hollow bones didn’t do him any favors when sparring with the wooden practice swords and blunt spears, and he spent more than his fair share of time at the infirmary with a miscellaneous minor fractures.


It was a different story when he was flying, though. In the air, even using his feet, he could usually win sparring matches, since he naturally had the high ground, and could usually keep out of easy reach. The downside was that his choices of targets were limited to head, arms, and upper body. This made it easier for his opponents to defend against his attacks. But, given enough time, he mostly won those matches.


In massed matches, where it wasn’t one on one, his mobility favored him, and he would strike opponents otherwise occupied by surprise, and hit them hard and at-speed. Even if he didn’t penetrate armor, the strike could often impart a hard enough hit to knock them off balance, giving their fencing opponent an advantage. It worked really well when he was teamed up with Kayspar or Kerr, both because he felt more comfortable with them, and because they knew him and his abilities better than anyone else and could take advantage of them more easily.


It was Kerr who asked Iceglint to teach him some Windsong. “Hey Iceglint,” he had asked one day, “how do you say ‘behind you’ in Windsong?”


Iceglint cocked his head to one side, but trilled the words in the Aarakocra language. “Why? I find it unlikely that you will be able to speak it.”


Kerr shrugged, smiling. “I can’t make bugle sounds either, but I need to know what the orders are, don’t I?”


Iceglint’s eyes glinted with understanding and he smiled, beak open and tongue raised. He then proceeded to teach Kerr and Kayspar various words and terms in Windsong, starting with “enemy approaching”, “right flank”, “left flank”, numbers, and various distances and directions. It was also Kerr who figured that since they were stationed at a naval base, using naval terms for directions would be helpful. Since Aarakocra didn’t use boats, and thus didn’t have naval terms in Windsong, he figured out functional equivalents.


Aarakocra used a radial measurement scheme, and Windsong exhibited that. It provided two directions and a distance, which corresponded to where on a horizontal circle the target was, what its inclination or declination was, and its range or distance. The groundbound wouldn’t need the inclination datum very often, since just the direction and range would be relevant. So, in his head, he just assigned the numbers one through 8 for direction, clockwise, and translated that to fore, starboard bow, abeam, aft quarter, aft, and et cetera up the port side of the imaginary ship. One was straight ahead; five was to the rear. Thus, if an enemy was charging in from the “port bow” at a range of one hundred yards, he could call out “8, 100 yards!” and his forces would know where that was.


It wasn’t too long before more than just Iceglint’s Human and Dwarf friends were learning some Windsong. By the end of the fourth day, Sur-Coeus Niter had noticed what Trooper Broadwing was doing, and ordered everyone to learn the “Wind codes”. After a few weeks, the entire centasenti knew enough so that if Iceglint called out where something was and how it was moving, they understood where to look and how to react.


The positive, helpful upshot of this was two-fold. This first was improved unit cohesion, and the reduction of insulting and inconsiderate behavior. The second showed itself during an excersize utilizing multiple centasenti in massed war-games. Teal Centasenti had an aerial asset that could see just about everything the opposing force was doing, and had a quick way of communicating that to friendly forces. And the opposing force had no counter to it, except to try to down the flier, which they had trouble doing because Iceglint did his best to stay out of range. A few times the judges would mark him a casualty for one reason or another, giving him the excuse that he wasn’t invincible, and the troops needed to know how to handle themselves without him.


If he was allowed to be an asset, his centasenti rarely lost. Air superiority was a great advantage. And a lot of the cover in the training fields didn’t have roofs, so to him it wasn’t cover at all, and his practice arrows found many a target that had thought themselves relatively safe.


Over the next few weeks, his centasenti accepted him, got to know him, and stopped treating him like an outsider. He even made a few new friends. Some of those friends were from upstairs, who seemed to like hanging out with him, likely because the women felt that he was “safe”, and wasn’t after a roll in their bunks with them.


Yariika Slatt, a Goblin with a penchant for knives, was one of them. She was a slight woman, standing a whole 3’ 8”, and weighed about 70lbs. Mousey brown hair, full lips, and a slim, subtly curved figure made her seem almost child-like. But one look in her eyes disavowed any of those notions. She could be as hard as granite and as sharp as steel. Her sidearms were a pair of matched 18” knives that were almost short swords. While she was good with the spear, she much preferred getting in close enough for her to work her magic with her long knives.


It was after evening mess, and the two were sitting on the roof of their barracks building. This was nothing unusual for Iceglint, he was up here all the time, and even had a second footlocker shoved under the eaves of the roof vents that stretched along the roof ridge. That was where he stashed his daily gear, so when he woke up he could gather his gear quickly and get into the barracks before his Sur-Coeus started yelling.


But this evening Trooper Slatt had climbed up onto the roof with him. Iceglint could tell something was bothering her. Normally, she had a childlike attitude, and delighted in doing things children considered fun. But today wasn’t was of those days. Her eyes were haunted, and filled with despair. He was perched on the ridge beam, looking at the setting sun.


Slatt walked up the sloping roof, and sat down with her back leaning against the edge of the roof vent eaves. She stared at the sun, in silence, the fingers of one hand entwining with those of her other, then releasing, then doing it all over again.


Iceglint hopped down to the lower roof, and squatted next to her. He sat silently. If she wanted to talk, she would. Until then, he would just be there. She was quiet for a while.


She sniffled. “I got a letter from my brother,” she said suddenly. The Aarakocra turned to look at her, but before he could speak, she continued, “My Mother died.” She looked up at him then, tears on her green face, her sharp teeth worrying her lower lip.


“I’m sorry, Yariika,” Iceglint replied. “I know something about how that feels.”


“You do? Did you mother die too?”


Iceglint looked back at the setting sun, the light turning more and more reddish. “No,” he answered. “I lost my…mate, I suppose you could call him.”


She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide, with a look of surprise. “What was he like?”


Iceglint closed his eyes, feeling like they were filling with tears. “He was sleek, and strong, and always there for me. He was smart, and quick, and loving. Quiet when I needed him to be, but chatty most of the time, and he always seemed to know the right thing to say. I can still feel his body sometimes, his breathing, when I wake up in the warmth of a nest. On those rare times when I can find one to sleep in.” He looked out towards the sun, now disappearing behind the distant mountains inland. “Oh, I do miss you, Allbright.” His breath caught a little in his air sacs, and he reached up and stroked the feathers on his helmet.


“Allbright was black and yellow? Like those feathers?”


Iceglint nodded. “They are his feathers,” he said softly. “A remembrance of him. Knowing he is there, in part, helps me feel less lonely. It was…hard…seeing him die.”


She looked at him, her face stricken, tears starting to flow again. “I’m sorry, Iceglint.”


He put his arm around her shoulders, his feathers like a speckled brown cloak flowing down her shoulders, and she leaned into him, her slender body wracked by sobs. “Sh-she was th-the only wa-wa-one who b-believed me,” she managed, referring to her mother. She paused, weeping, but wiped her nose with her sleeve and said, “About my uncle, I mean. Her brother. He…did things. With me. Things he shouldn’t have.” She sniffled again, and Iceglint wished he had a handkerchief. “My mother believed me,” she repeated. “And she told him to stop.” Sniffle. “And he did, for a while. Then he started doing it again. But I had a knife, and when he was on top of me I slit his throat. The blood poured over me as he thrashed trying to hold his neck closed. I can still taste it.”


Iceglint didn’t answer, he only squeezed her shoulder, softly.


“My brother didn’t believe me. My father had died years before. And the City Watch came, but I ran away, and they never found me.”


“Where did you go?” the avian asked.


“I lived on the streets. I was small, and could get into small places. Lots of hidey holes are small, and the bigger folk don’t always think to look there. I got involved in some thieves’ guilds to get by, and when I was old enough I joined the Army. I mainly joined to escape my family, who are still upset I killed Uncle Takkeshi.”


“Your brother wrote you a letter. He knows where you are?”


She sniffed again, and wiped her eyes. “He knows I’m in the Army. But not exactly where. I don’t think he’s interested where I am any more. I think he sent me the letter to rub my nose in Mother’s death. Now there is no one who believes me.” The last word disintegrated into sobs again.


“I believe you, Yariika.” He rested the side of his beak on the top of her head.


She cried for a little while. “I envy you,” she said, finally. “Do you know that?”


“No,” he stated, a little surprised. “Why?”


“You could fly away from here, if you wanted. You could fly away from anything! I wish I could fly away.”


He tilted his head, thinking. “Perhaps…perhaps I can help. A little. With that.” He stood up. “Stand up.”


She looked at him with a quizzical expression on her tearstreaked face. “Okay,” she said, and rose to her feet.


Iceglint leapt into the air, fanning his wings as he guided himself over her. He carefully gripped her shoulders with his feet, then lifted her into the air with strong beats of his wings. She convulsively reached up and gripped his ankles as he flew off of the barracks building and over the base. She was only 70 lbs, and he routinely carried more equipment than that on many of his missions.


He looked down at her. She returned his gaze, a huge grin on her face, elation beginning to replace fear and sadness. He banked, turning in a slow arc, the world rotating beneath them as he gained altitude. The Goblin woman hung limply in his grasp, trusting him not to drop her. He wouldn’t; his tendons had tiny ratcheting hooks that enabled him, and smaller raptors like hawks and eagles, to lock his talons in place, usually to keep ahold of prey. They soared over the marina, the masts and sails like a tiny canvas forest, as they followed the line of the wharf, tiny figures busy loading and unloading cargo in a seething mass of industry.


From this altitude, the topmost arc of the sun was visible peeking above the western horizon. It painted the distant clouds in purples and oranges. The land was laid out like a patchwork quilt of farmlands in the foreground, and a thick jungle fading into the distance, in every color of green imaginable.


He soared, wings outstretched, moving from updraft to updraft, gliding smoothly. He kept the relative wind as low as possible, just enough to give him the lift required to fly with his Goblin cargo. She wasn’t the most aerodynamic weights he had to carry, so his airspeed was a bit higher than it could have been otherwise, but Yariika seemed to be enjoying the ride, judging by her grin and the fact that she was trying to see everything around her at once. Her hair was being blown back by the wind of their flight.


He followed the coastline northward, vaguely towards Port Bormand. The city appeared as a grayish blur beneath a smudge of woodsmoke below his left wing, in the middle distance.


“This is great!” she shouted to him. “Thank you!”


He nodded acknowledgement. The sun disappeared, and the sky was purpling. He banked slightly, resulting in a wide turn to his left, back over the land and the fields beneath. Below he could see farm workers heading inside, their fieldwork done, followed by the night shift of Orcs coming out to work the farms.


He was starting to feel a bit fatigued by the time he deposited her on the roof of their barracks, and landed beside her. She surprised him with a hug, saying, “Thanks again,” into his red breast feathers. She was smiling as she climbed down off of the roof to the balcony of the second floor, then disappeared inside.


Life on base kept him busy. For the next year, the military had him doing physical training, weapons training in saber, hooked spear, and bow, formations training (difficult for Iceglint, as he wasn’t really built for fighting in ground formations), and various sorts of “live” exercises and war-games. Occasionally, the Army had him help with constructions projects on the base, doing various kinds of repairs and upgrades to buildings and other structures, and sometimes he had to help with road crews. Once they had him digging irrigation trenches in the fields near the base. Twice he was sent as a marine on a warship, where he acted as a lookout, but at a much higher altitude. He enjoyed that, actually, and thought it was one of the easiest assignments he had ever had. It amounted to just flying around, looking at and for things, and reporting what he saw.


A few times he was sent to help at the ceramics shop, or one of the smithies. He didn’t mind the ceramics, although the clay dust got into his feathers and it took him the better part of an hour to clean up in order to fly properly. He hated the smithies, though, due to the sparks and the fire. He was deathly afraid of being set alight, much more so than any of the groundbound. Even the smiths noticed; simple fear could have been gotten over, but it was actually more than that. Feathers don’t have nerves, so if an ember fell onto them, Iceglint wouldn’t know until he smelled the burning feather, and by then it could be too late. So he spent a lot of time continually checking visually to make sure no sparks got on him, and as a result, was very distracted and unable to work effectively. Plus, the only thing he was really able to do physically was pump the bellows. His anatomy and hollow bone structure didn’t allow for the continual use of heavy hammers pounding on metal. There was a reason Aarakocra lived relatively primitive lives and weren’t very industrial.


He did much better the time he accompanied his centasenti on a lumber cutting mission. Aarakocra chest muscles are large, and their arms are long compared to the groundbound, so using a crosscut saw was easy for him. He found that he liked the smell of freshly cut wood. While he had to be careful loading the logs onto the wagon, that was no different than anyone else.


As time went on, the Army started focusing on Iceglint’s strengths. His flight ability gave him a bird’s eye view of the surrounding terrain. And his excellent memory, while not photographic, was still superior to most of the groundbound. They trained him in cartography, and drawing, and he was sent on mapping missions. While a passable artist, his maps were accurate, often to the point of too much detail. He had to be told a few times that he wouldn’t have the time in battle to put all those minor details in, and to keep to the more general shapes and forms of the land.


They also used him for scouting missions. His keen eyes could pick out details from a distance, and being high in the sky, it was likely that any enemies would consider him a simple vulture. His speed, not much better than average for the Aarakocra, was still impressive to most groundbound, as he was faster than a galloping horse, especially when he didn’t have to wear his full loadout of gear.


During war-games, he also acted as messenger, running (well, flying) messages between commanders, allowing them faster and better coordination. Although this meant that his fighting abilities went more or less unnoticed, since he was rarely, if ever, involved in them. He was too busy flying from point to point and from officer to officer. Fortunately, his ego didn’t revolve around combat, or feats of derring-do. He was happy just being useful and respected.


Kayspar spent a lot of time training with the catapults, and was transferred to Marigold Centasenti, one of the artillery groups. Kerr stayed in the infantry group, but was focusing on supply and logistics. His ability with animals helped here, and it turned out that he liked numbers. He was transferred to Violet Centasenti, a dedicated logistics and supply unit.













Argentavis magnificens National Geographic Article
Wing loading maximum for avian flight: 25kg/m^2 Wingspan: 6.5m, Wing chord length: 1.25m This gives a max wt. of 203kg (446lbs) in an ideal, perfect world. Iceglint’s weight is 95lbs, plus 75lbs of gear. This leaves 276lbs of cargo, in a pinch. Might not be very fast, and probably be stamina-limited.
Video describing unihemispheric sleep in Frigate birds Or, how they sleep one hemisphere at a time while flying.
Video about Teratorns (of which Argentavis is one)