“We must fight their redcoats in the fields. We must fight their Caterans in the mountains. We must fight their Woose in the forests and their wyverns in the sky. We must fight, until our new republic rises from the ashes of the old tyranny.”

Mato Calwere, “First blast of the trumpet against the monstrous regiment of tyrants”

Hans Draiger, 16 October 1582 AAA. Trackford.

“Get pressure on that shoulder!” Lorne yelled as they dismounted on a common a mile from the fighting, helping the wounded down from their horses. Hans moved to help, heaving a woman with blood soaking through her padded jack down from her horse, the man she’d been riding pillion lowering her down.

He could still hear the shots in the distance, alongside the thud of airship bombing. The airships circled like harpies above the treeline, all that visible of the battle besides the vast columns of smoke still rising as the two airships and what seemed like half the town burnt themselves down.

Lorne was barking orders, shouting for water here and bandages there. One poor bastard, Keln ap Aroc, was scarcely breathing, blood bubbling up through his mouth. He’d been hit in the chest by a musket ball, at close range with no wards or armour. Hans had seen what that did to animals often enough on the hunt, and now he was seeing what it did to a human.

“Wyverns!” someone screamed, then “Don’t fucking shoot!” from Lorne as Arlew levelled his musket. Hans saw the wyverns, looping in, their scale-feathers flaring as they came in to land on the common.

“Where are the hostages?” Glaive hissed. Wyverns didn’t have a concept of taking prisoners of war, but they did have a concept of taking eggs and children hostage.

“I let them go. We had to get out of there.” Lorne said, standing up from bandaging someones arm.

“Fine.” Glaive said. “I suppose that is fair.”

“How?” Hans asked. Everything done so far had been the wyverns work.

Glaive bobbed her shoulders, the wyvern equivalent of a shrug. “Blood for blood. Arluks killed three of ours, we killed three of theirs. You risked yourself to help us capture the others, we risked ourselves to stop the grenadiers, both of us failed.”

Hans supposed that was, indeed, fair. Wyvern justice was refreshingly simple. He’d risked his life arguing her case and trying to go in on foot; she risked her life trying to break up the gunfight. The Arluks had killed Wyverns without mercy; Glaive had killed Valkej without mercy.

Human justice, on the other hand…

Massacre dozens of Woose, and they think the killers hanging was unjust. Kill a few warriors with the power of West Point behind them, and you get a political controversy. Wound one gentlewoman, and there’s hell to pay.

“Lorne, we should get moving, see if they have an apothecary-surgeon in that town over there.” Arlew said behind them.

“How many wounded? Do we have a count?”

“Eight wounded, no dead. I don’t think some of them are going to make it.” Arlew answered.

“Get everyone bandaged, then get ready to move while I deal with the wyverns.” Lorne said.

“The area is crawling with militia, and they’ll reckon you’re hostile.” Hans added. They’d passed two or three companies on the road away from the battle.

Glaive nodded in agreement. “West Point is going to be migrating back in by now. I’ll have some explaining to do.”

What a bloody mess.

“If any of your wounded die, may they be reincarnated well.” Glaive said, turning away and leaping into the air.

“What do we do now?” Hans asked as the wyverns receded into the distance.

“The Arluk said that Traharn had gone to Trackford.” Uln said.

Lorne nodded. “I’ll get the wounded taken care of, then we’ll decide what to do.”

Trackford. They had to know what had happened to Traharn. For all he knew, Traharn had taken the whole city over and was now leading a full scale uprising against the Commonwealth. Or the Commonwealth had taken him prisoner and was about to drag him to court.

He hoped it was the latter.

It was the most people Hans had ever seen in one place. Nearly ten thousand, it was said, though they were always coming and going, and there was barely enough order to get them organized into companies, let alone regiments. Half the countryside was there, and contigments from Kasilisk and Harrisport were already on the way. Earthworks and trenches were springing up, a great circle around Trackford with trenches slowly crawling inwards like the spokes of a wheel. Guns taken from minor forts studded the works, but the Commonwealth, from what he’d heard, had more and heavier artillery.

“Bloody fools. Three murders and they let it turn into this.” Uln said, sitting on the grass of the Hollistown hillside cleaning her speartip.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“Something was going to give, sooner or later.” Hans said.

They’d come here, after Farrier’s Hill, once the wounded were in good hands, just himself and Uln, Lorne and a few bodyguards. The Commonwealth had left behind near three hundred dead and wounded soldiers and more burnt alive in the two downed airships, littering the town, the surrounding fields and their line of retreat, swarmed by militia. Lorne’s men had one killed and seven wounded. A small toll, considering they were charged by Commonwealth Grenadiers who had them badly outnumbered.

“That Lorne?” Uln asked, pointing to a small group riding up uphill towards them. Lorne had gone into camp, looking for news on Traharns fate and trying to work out what the next move was for the Carfani.

It was the better part of five minutes before Lorne reached them and dismounted. “Any news of Traharn?” Hans asked.

Lorne shrugged. “They say he’d died a martyr for Carfane, cleverly setting a trap for the Commonwealth when he heard they were coming for him then infiltrating Trackford to sabotage the Commonwealth’s airships before being butchered by a officer who’d trampled protestors and blackmailed innocent men.”

“He might be all those things, but he was a murderer as well, or at least someone who’d order murder.” Hans said.

And yet he died in battle, his crimes unpunished.

Hans supposed that didn’t matter. Dead was dead.

“I tried to tell them the truth, that he’d killed the wyverns, that he’d killed my servants, that he’d tried to kill my wife and son. They were having none of it. He’d been right to kill wyverns; after all, they were enemies. If only he’d gotten the ones who’d burnt his rockets. The attack in the mountains? He was framed. Traharn was a hero and a martyr for Carfane. They’re already talking about what happened at his manor. You should make yourselves scarce before they put two and two together.”

He'd already noticed more than the usual number of people staring at him and Uln.

The sooner we get out of here, the better.

“Adair should be arriving soon with the Foothold militia.” Lorne said.

“Have you heard from Eidre?” Hans asked.

“Aye. She’s in Kasilisk with the diet. They’re convening now. They’re arguing about what demands to make of the Commonwealth.”

Uln snorted. “Of course they are. It took enough effort to get them to say murder is wrong. No idea how they’ll fight a war.”

“Hopefully they won’t. We’ll just get the Commonwealth to give us what we want then back down.” Lorne said.

“And what do they want? The Commonwealth out of Trackford and representation in parliament. That’s all well and good. The frontier officially opened up, with Commonwealth troops putting down all resistance?” Hans asked.

An open frontier would mean every treaty with West Point torn up, settlers boiling west with sword and plough, and the war-skeins taking wing. Then again, the Commonwealth staying in place would mean that things would continue as they always had: Black Creek, Highhome, the mining camp riots. Spilt blood and cracked bones, but little enough that people could ignore it until they were forced to look.

“If they tried to send in the redcoats, the Woose would fight. West Point would fight.” Uln said, sitting down next to him on the wet grass. Hans squeezed her hand. “We’d fight. I’ve had enough of running.” he said.

Not that fighting would do much good. They hadn’t even managed to take Traharn and his men down; that was Glaive’s work, and Eidres and the Commonwealths. Him and Uln were just two people in a world of millions. They couldn’t alter the course of history.

“The Commonwealth only went after Traharn when that business with the fairy happened. They only hung the Black Creek killers after years of massacres. The Diet tried to do more than the Commonwealth ever did.“ Lorne said.

“They didn’t do it because they thought it was the right thing to do. They only did it because Eidre convinced them it could get the wyverns on side.” Hans said.

“Doing the right thing for the wrong reasons is better than doing nothing at all.” Uln said. “I’d rather be saved by a bastard than left to die.”

That, he realized, would be the only good that could come out of a war. If the wyverns ended up on the side of Carfane, the Carfani won, and that turned into leverage to make them leave their side of the peninsular alone…

It was a faint chance, but it was the only one that wouldn’t see the Woose and Wyverns wiped out, conquered and shattered the same way the Fey had enslaved the first coming of man and Arthur driven off the Fey. It was their only option.

Whatever happens, we’ll make it.

They’d survived massacres, lynch mobs, assasins and battles. They’d survived being stalked through the woods by Wargs, and weeks in the wilderness with only their packs, their guns and each other. They could survive a war, even if they couldn’t win it.