FSE

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Chapter Fifteen

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Executor Harliss sat behind her expansive, ebony desk, inspecting the final cartridge in a long line. Though the Golden Union provided her ship the finest ammunition, she refused to load a single round into her pistols she hadn't personally inspected. The slightest sign of flaw in casing or bullet was enough for her to discard the round. Even odd variations in weight put her off. She would have preferred handloading her own ammo but lacked the time. Thankfully, the latest advancements in industry meant the machined rounds the Union provided were of the highest quality.

Harliss set the last cartridge down on her desk, alongside its brethren. She leaned forward, studying her pistols. Each was custom crafted for her by a private gunsmith, and balanced to her exact specifications. Their cylinders held eight rounds rather than six. Two had longer barrels than usual, and were engineered for accuracy. She kept those at her sides, for when she had the luxury of taking her time to line up her shots. The pistols at her hips possessed slightly shorter barrels, designed to be drawn and fired in a blink. Those were especially heavily rifled to help prevent any loss of accuracy. Every component of all four firearms was engineered for maximum reliability.

Despite their custom nature, Harliss kept her weapons' decorative adornments to a relative minimum. Their purpose was to defend, and to kill, not to draw the eye of auctioneers and collectors. The old sword sigil of the Executors was inlaid in ivory on one side of each grip. Each had her title inscribed along the inside of its barrel: Executor Harliss. Every gun also bore a single musical note embossed in gold upon its muzzle, highly stylized to resemble a pistol. It was the emblem of The Ballad, an old gunfighter code.

The code's full name was The Ballad of Barrel and Bullet. It originated from a time when both airships and firearms were still new. It was said The Ballad began with a secret society of world-traveling gunslingers who molded their lives around a set of principles and rules. Honor and fairness were chief amongst them, even amidst bloodshed. Nowadays, the old code was nearly forgotten. But to its remaining devotees, The Ballad was a religion onto itself.

For Executor Harliss, The Ballad was in her breath, and in her blood. She had followed it since her youth. Though Harliss served the Union faithfully, she considered the Ballad her only true master. Throughout her life, Harliss worked to perpetuate the Ballad, by weaving the same sort of legends that had once stirred her own restless soul. If she could inspire just one person to one day take up arms, and follow The Ballad's guiding principles, then she had succeeded. And if her name one day grew into myth? All the better to keep the Ballad alive.

Opposite her title, her pistols bore further inscriptions taken from old Ballad oaths. The phrases were divided up into pairs. The outside of one barrel read, By My Song, while its twin said, You Are Undone. The other engravings read, Long May We Hear, and, The Cylinder's Song.

Harliss traced a finger across an engraving. Then she lifted the weapon and popped the cylinder open. All eight chambers were empty. She'd already cleaned and oiled her firearms that morning, but it never hurt to double check. She spun the cylinder, savoring the satisfying series of rolling clicks. When it stopped, she took a deep breath. As she exhaled, Harliss loaded the weapon with swift, smooth motions. Her hands moved in a blur, plucking and inserting rounds, rotating the cylinder and loading more, all in a flash. By the time she took a second breath, the gun was loaded and holstered at her hip.

She buckled the black leather holster shut. “Well?"

“Worse." A voice, deep but gentle, replied from just behind her.

“What?" Harliss spun her chair around, brown leather creaking.

Two immense, snow-white gryphons loomed over her, seated on their haunches. Each was male, and bore highlights of black in different patterns and places. One had ebony speckles across his wings, and limbs. The other had a single black forepaw, as if he'd accidentally trodden in a deep puddle of ink. The one with the black paw was the one who had spoken. Harliss had dubbed him, Sock.

Sock's gold-hued eyes met hers. “Worse." The gryphon glanced at the other. “Concur?"

The second gryphon, called Speckles, fluffed up his feathers. “Concur."

Harliss took another breath, and spun back around to face her desk again. Aside from the guns and bullets, its dark, polished surface was empty. She picked up a second pistol, checked the cylinder, and once more, slowly exhaled. She loaded her second gun with the same mercurial speed and practiced precision. Harliss slammed the cylinder shut and holstered the weapon. This time she spun right back around towards the gryphons.

“Well?"

The gryphons glanced at each other, and each nodded. “Better."

“Concur. Better."

“Damn right it was-"

A knock on the large double doors of Harliss' meeting room interpreted her. She whirled towards the door, drawing her loaded pistols free. Both gryphons gave low, guttural growls.

Harliss trained her sights on the doorway. “Come in!"

A muffled, female voice answered her. “You better not be pointin' those fuckin' guns at the door again!"

Harliss set her weapons down on the desk. “Wouldn't dream of it." She busied herself loading the third at a more casual pace.

“Uh huh." One of the doors flew open. A short, slender woman in a long, red duster over a black and gold vest strolled in. Pistols hung at her hips. Belts loaded with knives crisscrossed her body, along with another holding bullets. Her dark hair looked as wind-tangled as ever. “I could just feel you pointin' em at me, and-Oh!" She gasped when she spotted the gryphons, her tone changing in an instant. “Who's that I spy back there? Who's that?" By the time she reached the desk, she was practically cooing at the gryphons. “Is that the best boys I see? Is that the best boys?"

“Of course, it is." Speckles ruffled his wings, chirruping.

“What have I got for you?" The newly arrived woman stuffed her hands into the pockets of her red coat, pulling out handfuls of dried meats, dusted with sugar and spices. “What have I got for you?" By now, her voice had melted into a syrupy sweetness that grated against Harliss' every nerve. “Is it treats? Is it good treats for good boys?"

Harliss holstered her third pistol, higher up on her side, then crossed her arms. “Evlee, are you carrying treats in your damn coat, now?"

“Of course!" Evlee held a big handful of jerky up to each of the gryphons. Sock and Speckles each delicately plucked a single piece at a time off the woman's palm. The birds were careful as could be with their sharp, yellow beaks. “How else am I going to be prepared for pampering good boys and girls at all times?"

Harliss scowled as she loaded her final gun. “They don't need treats at all times."

Evlee gave a mock-horrified gasp. “Don't listen to her! You good boys always deserve treats!" When her hands were empty, she took to stroking the gryphons' feathers around their necks. They bowed their heads to her, and Evlee scratched at both their ears. “Don't you?"

“Yes." Sock tilted his head into her hand.

Speckles did the same, from the other direction. He gave a little chirp. “Of course, we do!"

“See?" Evlee smirked at Harliss over her shoulder. “Even the gryphons know they're good boys."

“Mhm." Harliss buckled her last pistol into place. She stood up and shoved her chair under the desk. “Be that as it may, you're going to make my gryphons fat if you keep giving them treats."

“Is that true?" Evlee gasped again, poking the gryphon's bellies. “Is that true? Are you gonna be fat boys? Tubby birds?" She ruffled the fur of their bellies, giggling to herself. “Don't worry, if Harliss doesn't want you, I'll take care you! You can waddle around my quarters, you tubby, fluffy murder machines!" She straightened back up, scratching their ears again. “Isn't that right, good boys?"

“Yes." Sock leaned his head into her touch once more, but cast Harliss a helpless glance, his ears splayed.

Harliss nudged Evlee away from the gryphons. “Alright, that's enough. Now you're just patronizing them. You can pet my gryphons again later."

“Awww." Speckles hung his head, his ears drooping. “I like getting pets."

Harliss rolled her eyes. “Oh, very well, you may continue to pet Speckles."

Evlee did just that. “Aww, does Mr. Speckles like his pets more than Mr. Sock does?" She rubbed and scratched the gryphon's neck with both hands, sticking her tongue out at Sock. “Mr. Sock is just a grumpy bird today!"

“You know, Evlee." Harliss leaned back against her desk, gazing at the other woman. “If it weren't for the fact that you can shoot almost as well as I can, there are days I'd like to feed you to those gryphons."

Sock clacked his beak, as if in quiet approval.

Evlee only laughed. “Oh, please. They'd miss getting all the pets! And all the treats."

Harliss only stared at Evlee, her voice flat. “However would they cope?"

“You'd miss me too, Executor! You'd miss my bright and cheery demeanor!" Evlee stroked the gryphon's feathers down to where they melted into fur across his shoulders. “And you'd miss my joyful laughter!" As Evlee spoke, one hand drifted ever so slowly lower. The movement was almost imperceptible, so much so that most people would have missed it. Harliss, however, did not. “And you'd miss my spontaneity and my-"

In a blink, Evlee went for her gun. She drew it in a single, smooth motion, turning towards Harliss. Evlee's movements were so quick and fluid that most people would have been dead even before they realized she'd drawn on them. But Executor Harliss was not most people. In a blur of motion she drew her own pistol free and shoved the barrel up under Evlee's chin hard enough to knock her teeth together.

“OW!" Evlee pushed the gun away, holstering her own weapon again. “Not so hard!"

“You were close that time," Harliss said, sheathing her pistol as well. “Well, you were closer, anyway. Your hand betrayed you, though."

“I'll keep that in mind." Evlee rubbed her chin. “Anyway, that's another thing you'd miss. My little tests."

“I would, actually." Harliss glanced down at herself, counting the extra rounds already loaded into her gunbelts. She had another eight rounds for each weapon. If she needed more than that, she thought, she was probably already dead. “Are we ready go?" She waved her hand, sighing. “I'm getting bored of waiting for Tormin to be satisfied with our perimeter security."

“We're ready, yes." Evlee gave each gryphon a few more scratches around the neck, then dusted off her hands, and walked towards the door. “You should have just ordered him out of the way an hour ago."

“If I did, I'd have to listen to his nagging about security this, and protocol that, and I couldn't be bothered." Harliss fetched her coat from a rack nearby. The long garment hung to her boots. Its leather was dyed the same stark white hue as her gryphon's feathers. A deep golden hue hemmed the sleeves, and collar, and the black buckle straps. Harliss tugged it on, but left it open to ensure easy access to her pistols. “Besides, I used the time to inspect my rounds, anyway."

Though Harliss had her own captain's quarters and offices, she preferred to use the meeting room to make her final preparations before disembarking. It was nearer the main exit, and had plenty of room for her gryphons to join her. She kept the room mostly empty, and its sparseness allowed her time to prepare mentally for a forthcoming mission.

“Yes, yes," Evlee said, pulling open a door. “We all know you love playing with your bullets. Though, as often as you sequester yourself away with your gryphons, people are going to start wondering what else you're playing with in there."

“If you ever have a misfire in a firefight, don't expect me to help you." Harliss said, walking into the hall.

Harliss glanced down the wide corridor. The walls were painted white, and glowing lamps shed bright golden light at regular intervals. She snapped her fingers twice. Both gryphons jumped to all fours, and trotted after her. Evlee pushed the second door open to make room. The beasts passed through, and took up positions behind Harliss. Evlee closed the doors again, then squeezed past the gryphons to join the Executor. Harliss made her way towards the exit, and the others followed her in lockstep.

The Stormcaller bustled with activity. Soldiers and intelligence officers hurried out of the way of the Executor and her gryphons before pausing to salute. Voices buzzed throughout the halls, and crackled over talk-boxes in adjoining rooms. Signal bells chimed, directing groups of engineers and squads of soldiers to take up positions and prepare for deployment. The vessel itself was one of the Union's newest. Its engines, armaments, communications systems, and so on were a mixture of highly refined equipment, and technology just out of the testing phase. Hell, Harliss thought, they were testing some of it themselves.

Tormin, her first officer, waited near the ship's main disembarkment area with a dozen heavily armed soldiers. Despite his bland, gray clothing, his standard issue dark gold officer's jacket, and his short-cropped hair, Tormin still stood out. Not counting her gryphons, Tormin was the largest person serving aboard Harliss's ship. He wasn't quite a mountain of a man, but he made for an awfully big foothill. When he saw her coming, he stepped forward and saluted. All the gathered soldiers did the same.

Officially, Tormin also served as one of her bodyguards. Some obscure rule declared that Executors were always required to maintain at least two bodyguards. Harliss did not mind, as only a fool would turn down extra guns. Her second bodyguard was Evlee, who had held the position for quite some time despite pushback from the Union higher-ups. They preferred a more pious person serve such a role. Yet there were few people in all existence that Harliss trusted more than Evlee.

Hell, she hadn't even trusted Tormin at first. Unlike Evlee, the Union had assigned him the role several years ago. Initially, his piousness grated on her, as did his disdain for her habits and methods. But Tormin had proven himself a highly capable combatant, and an officer completely worthy of her trust. She'd warmed to him considerably over the years, though she was not sure he felt the same.

Harliss returned their salutes, then turned towards the exit. “Ready, Tormin?"

Tormin stepped in front of her. “Nearly so, Executor. First, I've prepared the status report, if you like."

“I'd like to leave the ship." When Tormin looked crestfallen, she sighed, and threw her hands up. “Oh, very well. Status report, First Officer."

“The ship is securely docked, and ready for resupply. However, per your orders, we remain configured for emergency departure. The crew is on standby to return to flight and combat configurations at a moment's notice. A secure perimeter has been established around the ship, and will remain under guard until our eventual departure." Tormin paused, his eyes fixed on the Executor.

Harliss knew he had more to add, but was waiting for her permission to continue. She also knew if she didn't listen to the rest of his report, she'd end up getting a lecture later on about procedural protocols and the importance of being properly informed of a situation. “And the Union vessels?"

“Three in total, Sparrow-Swift class." Tormin tapped his boot toe against the floor. “All three gave similar reports. They were performing intelligence gathering operations, and docked here for resupply. While docked, a dragon and a gryphon arrived, and forced the local workers to salvage a large variety of parts from all three vessels." Tormin scowled, he was never fond of beasts. “The monsters possessed knowledge sufficient enough to inspect the parts, and make sure they were correct and in good shape. Before departing, they inflicted significant damage upon all three Sparrow-Swifts to prevent pursuit."

“Question!" Evlee held up a hand like a student waiting to be acknowledged. “Why the hell didn't they shoot the fuckers?"

Tormin grunted, scowling. “It is my understanding that most of the crews were currently housed within the local tavern and inn. Or worse, occupied at the brothel." He spat the word like poison, face twisting into a sneer of disgust. “As larger monsters are not entirely uncommon visitors, no alarm was raised that would have indicated to the Union officials that their ships were being raided. Furthermore, the so-called local authorities…" Torman spat. “Forbid Union soldiers from carrying their armaments outside the ship. Those still aboard were forcibly sequestered by the local workers, under instructions from the beasts. Furthermore, due to docking configuration, the ships' guns were unable to be fired. By the time an alarm was raised to the rest of our soldiers, and they were able to procure their weapons again, the monsters were well in retreat, and thus, subject only to inaccurate small arms fire."

Harliss fidgeted with the gold-hemmed sleeves of her white jacket. “Beasts from The Cataclysm, almost certainly_._"

“Correct, Executor." Tormin grit his teeth. “Possibly even with the local crime lord's blessing."

Evlee folded her arms, her head tilted. “Do you think it was that same dragon our watchmen sighted?"

“Most likely." Tormin's eyes bored into Harliss. “I told you we should have fired upon it. Even if only warning shots, we-"

“Would have been wasting ammo," Harliss said, sharpening her tone. “Chasing down random dragons is not our job. Besides, the Union wants a deal with Prav, not a war. It won't help matters if we go around blowing his customers out of the sky."

Tormin frowned, shifting his weight. “And if it was The Cataclysm's dragon?"

“Then I'm sure we'll see him again." Harliss put her hand on his shoulder, squeezing. “I appreciate the dedication to your duty, but let it go. Now, is there anything else? Where are my other pets?"

“As you wish, Executor." Tormin sighed, rubbing his neck. “Your female gryphons are on patrol around the Sparrow-Swifts. I thought them well suited to ensuring none of the locals decide to help themselves to any more Union parts or weapons." He glanced up at Sock and Speckles, looming over everyone. “I assumed the males were accompanying us."

“For the time being." Harliss took a step towards the exit. “Is there anything else, or can we go now?"

“I suppose I can hurry through my disciplinary recommendations while they prep for disembarking." Tormin gestured at the sealed doors, and several soldiers began unlocking them.

“We're disciplining our own people for being robbed, now?"

“That is up to you, of course." Tormin worked his jaw, his face reddened slightly in unspoken anger. “But I would recommend an investigation to find out everyone who was too busy being involved in brothelry to realize Union ships were being raided by monsters."

“Brothelry isn't a word, Tormin." Harliss glanced at him, grinning. “But do continue."

Tormin ignored her playful jab. “I suggest hitting them all with heavy pay sanctions, commiserate with the amount of pay wasted on prostitution. Or, you could have all their information transferred to the Military Justice division, and let them decide what to do."

“No, I think they'd punish them too severely." Harliss waved her hand. “Having a bit of fun with their own pay is hardly grounds for demotion, or worse. Besides, the locals may be more cooperative to our future advances if they believe we're willing to let our people spend coin on their whores."

Tormin cleared his throat, an irritable noise. “I should think charging our people triple costs for repairs and resupply more than makes up for lack of coin spent in their brothels."

“Ah, but we don't want to pay three times the cost forever, do we?" Harliss patted his arm.

“We could just seize the port," Tormin said, muttering under his breath. “Clean out all the criminals and monsters, and-"

“And open the skies to Union Trade vessels." Harliss finished his thought for him. “I've heard it all before, Tormin, and I'll hear it all again, I've no doubt. But you say that as if this is the only pirate port in the world."

Evlee jabbed her finger against Tormin's chest. “And as if they don't have at least a thousand guns pointed at the sky."

Tormin batted her hand away. “They don't have a thousand guns. They have-"

“Enough damn guns to cause us a serious problem, if we give them a reason." Harliss glared at her subordinate. “Just because our ship may be able to outrange them doesn't mean they all can. And you'd still have to go in on the ground to seize everything. Then you'd incur even more losses, and Prav's people would probably just raze everything on the way out."

“Actually…" Tormin scratched his chin. “Then we could just build our own port atop it."

“Which would be attacked by vengeful pirates so often we'd have to fortify it as a military structure. Which is exactly why I told you only a moment ago the Union wants to make a deal with Prav." Harliss turned back towards the door, signaling the discussion was over. “Distasteful as you may find it, we'll all be better off if we can make him and his port to work for us."

“Besides, Tormin." Evlee punched him on the arm. “Don't be such a stick in the ass. Pirates and monsters and brothels can be fun!"

Tormin only glared at her. “Stick in the mud. The saying is, stick in the mud."

“There's always sticks in mud, Tormin, they call it a swamp." Evlee walked up alongside Harliss, grinning. “A stick in the ass would be much more irritating."

Tormin snorted. He turned to a few soldiers standing nearby, waving them forward. One of them brought his long rifle, a Sharp-Sight Model 17. It was an older lever action model, but Harliss knew Tormin preferred it for its reliability and accuracy. Tormin quickly checked it over, then strapped it across his shoulder. Another soldier handed him his scatter gun, a Cloudburst 12. He opened the breech and peered inside, then clicked it shut, and turned to stand next to Harliss.

Sunlight and cold air spilled inside when the doors were finally opened. The chilly air was tinted with the scents of smoke and grease, and a bevy of other aromas. There was the smell of meats being cooked over flames, along hints of booze, and somewhere behind it all, the sharp tang of pine sap. Harliss shielded her eyes against the sunlight as she walked outside.

Disembarkment ramps lead through the tangled skeleton of docking scaffolding. Such scaffolds were a common feature at airship ports, a towering web of ramps and rigging, ladders, towers, platforms, chains and hoses all surrounding a docking berth. They allowed maintenance workers access to the ship's exterior for inspections, repairs, resupply, and so on. Most berths and scaffolding docks also had mooring towers with lines and chains to anchor the ship to while docked. It helped keep ships stable, and prevented any dangerous drifting.

At Union ports, the docking scaffolds were all meticulously designed, and built from the sturdiest materials. Some were meant for only a single size, and class of ship. Others were built in hinged sections with joints and machinery to raise and lower them. Often they were built upon great, wheeled platforms so they could be pushed up alongside a moored ship. Mobile bollards could be locked into different areas, to allow adaptability in order to service multiple types of vessels. Everything was well ordered, and efficient.

Here, though, at the pirate port called The Emplacement, the scaffolds were something else entirely. They were built haphazardly, and seemingly with whatever materials were at hand. The one in which The Stormcaller was docked looked to be constructed from parts of other, older airships. Harliss spotted floorboards repurposed as support poles. An old wall section from a passenger ship, still adorned with flaking magenta paint, now served as a work platform. Where the Union scaffolds were composed of evenly structured vertical and horizon lines of wood and steel, these looked like webs randomly cobbled together by an extremely drunken spider.

Though the docking scaffolds were already in place around The Stormcaller, they were conspicuously free of workers. Normally, maintenance workers got started immediately. But at a port like this, no work was accomplished until payment was made in full. Not that Harliss had any interest in letting poorly trained pirate mechanics put their hands all over her precious ship. She'd pay for goods and supplies, but all the labor would be accomplished by her own specialized crew.

As Harliss descended the disembarkment ramps, she gazed across the vast stone plaza. There were dozens of docking spaces marked out across it. Union ships took up only a few of them. Many others were occupied by a variety of vessels, from small, private ships that would only hold a handful of people, to much larger pirate vessels, and freighters run by smuggling crews. Some had docking scaffolds in place around them, while other maintenance platforms went unused. Further away were plenty more empty berths.

Harliss turned her attention towards the other Union vessels that were docked. By airship standards, the Sparrow-Swifts were small, and quick. They had long, internal bays housing their gasbags, filled with as much lifting gas as possible, along with powerful engines driving stacks of propellers designed to help propel them swiftly out of danger. Of course, that didn't do them any good while they were docked.

All three Sparrow-Swifts here had been put through hell. Broken turbines and engine parts lay scattered around, or missing completely. Doors and armor plates were ripped away. Oil and other liquids leaked from the ships, staining the stony ground. Tormin's report was right. The dragon and gryphon who had attacked them had certainly ensured they would not be pursued.

Smart beasts, Harliss thought.

“I want those ships repaired." She glanced over at Tormin, cutting him off as soon as he opened his mouth to respond. “Hire the locals to ensure it gets done quickly." She didn't want them touching The Stormcaller, but they were welcome to work on the lesser ships. “Just make sure they're supervised by our own engineers. Pay whatever they ask, but make it clear we expect quality service, or they'll have bigger problems than issuing a refund."

“Understood." Tormin clenched his jaw. “But it's going to be pricy. Especially if we ask for an all-human repair crew."

“Then don't." Harliss waved her hand. “I don't care if they send monsters to help do the work, as long as the monsters can do the work."

“As you wish, Executor."

At the bottom of the ramp, two of her soldiers stood guard. Like all those deployed around the ship, each was armed with a rifle, and a pistol. They were all dressed in a dark gray uniform and jacket trimmed lightly with gold. Each wore also specialized armor made of thickly layered silk meshes, and metal plating. The armor was designed to first absorb a bullet's energy, and then to prevent it from penetrating any further. It was heavy, but proven to be quite effective against the basic firearms criminals and pirates tended to carry. It wasn't perfect, but the Union was working on upgrades all the time. Harliss rarely had her men wear it, but landing at a potentially hostile port run by a conniving crime lord seemed a good time to don it.

Harliss spotted a star of rank on one of the men's jackets. She waved him over, and when he stopped before her to salute, she put her hand on his shoulder. “We're going in. Maintain your positions. Until otherwise ordered, I don't want anyone we don't know approaching the ship. Send someone out to meet them, if need be, but no one breaches our perimeter. Understood?"

The soldier nodded once. “Yes, Executor. Order of response?"

“First, verbal warnings. Second, warning shot." Harliss turned away, waving him back to his post. “After that, shoot to kill. I'll send the girls here to back you up, just in case.

“Yes, Executor."

Harliss stepped away from him, and put two fingers in her mouth. She whistled, loud and sharp. Immediately two keening cries responded from the nearby skies. Two immense, white-feathered female gryphons swooped down, landing gracefully just before her. They trotted towards her, and as one, bowed their massive heads. At Harliss's side, Evlee giggled and bounced on her toes. Harliss shot her a glare, and Evlee sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Hello, girls." Harliss signaled for them to rise, and both gryphons lifted their heads. “Anything to report?"

The first female gryphon, named Stripe for the black marking that ran down her crown feathers, pointed towards the damaged ships. “Those aren't just damaged. They're ransacked."

The second female nodded her head. She was called Star, for the black pattern across her eyes, a faintly star-shaped mask. “The dragon and gryphon took specific parts. They only broke things after they had what they needed."

Stripe warbled her agreement. “Knew what they were doing, what to take, what to break. Broke what they didn't need."

Behind her, Tormin spoke up. “Your pets are right. They also broke different things on each ship. Think they took engine parts from one, then broke those same parts on another."

“Probably had a list," said Star. “Filled the list first, trashed the ships second."

Harliss reached out to scratch each gryphon's neck. “Good eye, girls. Tormin gave me his report, as well. We suspect they're from The Cataclysm, picking up replacement parts for the former princess's floating behemoth."

“Hey, boss." Evlee nudged her with an elbow, whispering overloud. “Can I give the good girls treats?"

Harliss sighed, then stepped back. “Oh, very well. Evlee has treats for you."

Stripe and Star turned towards Evlee with hopeful coos. The other woman dug more spiced and sugared jerky out of her jacket pockets. She held out a handful to each gryphon. “Who're good girls? You're good girls, yes you are! And good girls get treats, yes they do!"

Tormin groaned, visibly cringing. “She carries dried meat in her jacket, now?"

“You know, that was my question, too." Harliss shook her head. “She's going to-"

“She's going to smell like jerky for the rest of her life!"

“That's what I was going to say." Harliss rested her hands against two of her pistols, chuckling. “Not that I expect her to care."

Evlee glanced over her shoulder as the birds finished off their treats. “You're just jealous cause they like me more than you." When the meat was gone, she dusted off her hands. “Alright, good girls, that's all for now."

The gryphons warbled their thanks, then returned their attention to Harliss.

Harliss pointed at The Stormcaller, behind them. “Stay here, and make sure the ship is safe. Back up our soldiers, but don't engage unless needed." She pointed out the man in charge. “Or if he gives you the order."

“Yes, Executor." The gryphons separated, heading in opposite directions to take up positions.

“I don't expect it to happen, but if it does, watch for crossfire. Be careful, girls." With that taken care of, Harliss pivoted on her heel, smiling at her officers. “Everyone ready?"

“Ready, Executor." Tormin squared his shoulders.

Evlee rubbed her hands together, beaming. “Hell yeah! I'm quite ready to have a little fun with some pirate monsters."

Harliss only laughed. “Not exactly what we're here for, but close enough. Alright. Time to find out what this den of debauchery knows about our runaway."

*****

Chapter Sixteen

*****

Harliss led the march across The Emplacement's vast docking plaza. This part of the continent was well beyond the Union's rule. Even the former Empire's grasp had not extended this far. It was a wild, anarchic frontier, divided up amongst warlords, tribal factions, and crime bosses. Each local ruler built their own so-called pirate ports in strategically important places. The Emplacement, named for the ancient gun batteries looming in the cliffs above it, was by far the most successful.

The Emplacement was ruled by a former warlord who went by the moniker Prav. Harliss had never met Prav, nor visited his establishment, but she'd read plenty of reports on both. The old warlord was said to be as well-informed as his port was well-stocked. Harliss hoped that was true, because despite its ramshackle scaffolds, Prav's port was a far cry more impressive than most pirate settlements.

Immense tanks and storage units dotted the plaza between every docking berth. The Emplacement had almost everything an airship might need, from water and lifting gases, to oil, coal, and more modern fuels. Hangers in the distance provided space for long-term maintenance and elaborate repairs. Vast warehouses stored spare parts of every kind. The Emplacement's workers were able to fix or replace nearly anything on most airships. From engine systems both aged and modern, to ship-wide plumbing, to gasbag materials, gauges and dials, and even airship weapons and ammunition.

The Emplacement also maintained a thriving marketplace. A ship's crew could stock up on foods both fresh and preserved, along with barrels of ales, wines and spirits. They had clothes, materials, and all sorts of other necessities. And that was only the boring section of the market. Reports stated they also sold all manner of guns, ammunition, firing powders, explosives, and much more. There was trade in rare animals, and their parts, currency exchanges, and the sale of deeds, and bonds. Just about anything a pirate or criminal might want was available somewhere in the Emplacement's marketplace. Harliss hoped she might have time to wander such a market, if only for curiosity's sake.

The Executor shaded her eyes as she walked, turning her attention to the landscape that gave the area its name. Sheer cliffs of crimson stone towered over the pirate city, a natural red wall stretching further than Harliss could see. The cliffs were known as The Broken Teeth, part of a monstrous and oft-impassible mountain range which edged the south-western continent. Craters from cannon fire pock-marked the stone, along with tunnel entrances and alcoves bristling with artillery aimed at the sky.

The myriad armaments were first built by a small kingdom eager to seize control of the only local trade route that could reach the seas. They built a fort upon the lower plateau, and a vast network of tunnels throughout the upper cliffs. Most old airships could not safely ascend high enough to clear the mountains, and had to traverse The Broken Teeth through treacherous passes.

The passage here was among the safest, but ship wishing to use it was forced to pay the toll, or face the former kingdom's firepower. These days, the guns all belonged to Prav. Some of the old anti-air batteries were but rusted husks, while others had been destroyed in forgotten battles. Yet Prav's people had restored more than enough of them to protect his port, and enforce his tolls.

Those fees were lucrative, as this was the most viable route to the seas. Not only was it the widest pass, but it led directly to a swath of shoreline where the first in a long chain of islands was visible upon the horizon. Those islands were a vital link for ships trying to cross to the far continent. The journey was an exceptionally long one. Many were the ships that had vanished attempting it. Various nations had endeavored to establish ports for both airships and sea-faring vessels along the way to make the trip easier.

Further south, more 'islands' jutted above a different kind of sea. Locally, it was called The Boiling Emptiness, filled not with water, but with freezing clouds perpetually churning. The Golden Union sometimes referred to it simply as The Abyss. Crossing it made for an even more dangerous excursion, but that did not stop people from trying. The landmasses jutting above it were home to city-states built by monsters, pirates, outlaws, and those who dared to live amongst them. Several successful ports catered to the brave and foolhardy alike. In another life, Harliss would have loved to call a place like that home. Those islands were damn near made for the Ballad.

Accurate information on the Emptiness itself was difficult to come by, given the hazardous nature of studying it. That hadn't stopped the Empire from attempting to plumb its depths, and investigating the feasibility of heated suits and air supplies. Rumors about what they'd discovered there abounded, but few knew the truth. Harliss thought it was better that way.

Whichever sea a traveler was crossing, The Emplacement awaited them. It began as an outpost for traders and pirates alike to stop for respite and recreation before returning to the skies. As their reputation grew, The Emplacement expanded bit by bit. It started as an inn complete with tavern and brothel, and eventually grew unto a port city all its own.

A sprawling collection of mismatched houses and shacks smothered the plateau beyond the port. Some buildings were competently constructed, with sturdy wooden frames and stonework. Others looked as if a heavy breeze might topple them. Harliss saw houses entirely constructed from airship parts. Porthole windows from an old passenger compartment marked one shack's wall. Another hovel had a roof made from a wing-like stabilizer. Some of the homes were tinier than others, housing more diminutive monsters. Those were often built amidst tree limbs or stacked atop each other in unstable flats. Wobbly ladders and rickety walkways connected them. The streets were a muddy maze. Lampposts were scattered at random intervals, with no discernable thought or planning.

Harliss kept close watch on the residential area as they skirted it. If anyone felt like taking a shot at Union officials, it would come from there. Prav's people might not like the Union, but they were disciplined enough to realize harming an Executor or her entourage would bring an ocean of fire down upon their little haven. Eyes watched her group from cracks in blinds, or half-open doors. A cluster of small, furry urd'thin in dirty clothes and leaning against a little food stall stared at them. A man with a grease-smeared face rested his hand on his pistol. The two gnolls just behind him readied their own weapons. A few lizards pushing a cart covered with a tarp paused to watch the Executor's group pass. The lizards whispered to each other, scrunching their muzzles in displeasure. Down another street, a gryphon with soot-stained gray feathers lounged on a stone rooftop. It glared at Sock and Speckles.

“Never seen a whole city of pirates and monsters." Tormin spat on the ground. “I mean, I've seen plenty of monsters in the former Empire cities, but even they had some damn laws."

“I know!" Evlee turned around, walking backwards a few paces, a big grin on her face. “Isn't it exciting? I think I'd like to come here on leave sometime."

Tormin glared at her. “Why the hell would you want to do something like that?"

“For fun, you stodgy old shit." Evlee ticked off a few fingers. “To drink, to gamble, to buy things the Union won't let me, to get in some fights, kick some ugly monster's ass…Oh! Maybe even fuck someone I shouldn't! You know, fun things."

“Ugh." Tormin scrunched his face. “At least you said kick a monster's ass and have sex with someone you shouldn't. Better than the other way around."

Harliss laughed, shaking her head. “Like she needs any more ideas put in her head." She drummed her fingers against a pistol, grinning. “But I agree with her, this is going to be fun. When's the last time the three of us got to run a mission together in hostile territory?"

“Three months ago, and you almost got your head blown off!"

“Exactly!" Harliss clapped her hands once, beaming. “It's been far too long since we had that kind of fun." She climbed a few stairs to a wide, wooden boardwalk that stretched across muddy patches of ground. It led towards their destination. “Behold!" Harliss swept an arm out in a grand gesture. “The original Emplacement, in all its…" She scrunched her face when she got a better look at the place. “Well…certainly not glory."

Just up ahead was the rambling compound that served as The Emplacement's heart. The largest building was where the main tavern, inn, and brothel were located. It was a bizarre sort of mansion, like the fever dream of some drunken monster trying to imagine where wealthy humans might live. It was all dark wood, with too many exaggerated turrets and towers with pointed roofs. There were myriad odd angles, and an overabundance of columns, porches, and balconies. Black and red paint marked it unevenly, a black wall here, red shutters there. Golden frames surrounded large windows. Its multiple stories were entirely asymmetrical. Where one section of the building had four stories, another had three, while yet another had six. Harliss thought the whole thing looked as if a better-designed building had partly collapsed after a horrible earthquake, and no one could be bothered to rebuild.

Boardwalks and elevated walkways led to other buildings. They shared the same odd color scheme, even if they weren't quite as completely misshapen. One looked to serve as extra inn space, with uneven windows lining its three-storied walls. Signs indicated another was a bathhouse, as did the myriad copper pipes pumping steam out into the cold mountain air. The immense doors and tall, arched roof of yet another structure told Harliss it was probably meant to house any oversized monsters who could not fit into the smaller rooms. Others held less obvious purposes, but equally ugly exteriors, all with more accruements than common sense.

Nearby were several boxy, stone structures from the original fort that had been repurposed. Cannons atop them pointed towards the docking plaza, ready to return fire should any visiting ships cause trouble. Harliss suspected that was where Prav's security forces kept their headquarters, assuming they had a command structure beyond 'ask the warlord.'

Near the malformed inn, colorful signs posted to outbuildings depicted drunken men and women cavorting in various states of undress, with bottles of alcohol all around them. Others showed monsters such as gnolls and kobolds equally drunk, and equally undressed. Further along, other signs displayed the drunken revelers enjoying each other's company in a far more intimate fashion. Despite the acts on display, the signs were more tasteful than Harliss had expected.

“Disgusting." Tormin spat on the ground near one of the signs.

“Oh, don't be such a prude." Evlee punched him on the arm, then lifted her hand and worked it like a puppet's mouth. “I'm Tormin, and I'm scared of sex! Boo hoo, how do I please a woman?"

Tormin refused to take her bait, and instead, gestured at the sign. “It's a gnoll!" Tormin scrunched his face up. “It's unnatural!"

“A gnoll getting paid good money to do that with his tongue!" Evlee laughed, tracing a finger along the happy-looking woman's face. “Probably cause she's married to someone like you, who doesn't know how. Why, perhaps her husband is a Union officer in the capital, too busy filing paperwork all day realize his wife's secretly a feared air pirate commander! While he's stamping documents, she frequents a brothel to hire on her favorite gnoll concubine. And after he pleasures her? Ahe regales him with tales of her conquests, over wine and cuddles with the sort of warmth her husband never showed her."

Tormin, ever so slowly, turned to gape at her in silence.

Harliss waggled her fingers alongside the other woman's head. “You've built a whole other world in there, haven't you?"

“Mhm!" Evlee bounced on her toes. “And it's so much more fun than what Mister Chastity Belt over here has."

Tormin turned back towards Harliss. He jerked his thumb at Evlee. “You should really get her looked at when we get home. Something just ain't right up there."

Harliss smirked. “I'll certainly take that under consideration." Movement near the front of the inn drew her attention, and she sharpened her tone. “Enough of that. Game faces, everyone, it's time to meet our welcoming committee."

At the front of the inn, at least a dozen guards emerged, a burly mix of gnolls, va'chaak, and humans. Some had pistols, others rifles, or scatter guns. One of the lizards bore an immense 3 barreled pepperbox of a make she'd never seen before. A few kobolds and urd'thin slipped out onto exposed balconies as well, each with small rifles with large scopes. The smaller monsters were often known to be excellent shots. Despite the show of force, no one had yet aimed a weapon at them. Harliss hoped to keep it that way.

She turned around towards the security detail trailing behind her, holding a hand up. They all came to a stop, standing in formation. “Eyes and ears open, but guns down! We're here on peaceful terms, so no one here fires first. Understood?" The soldiers answered in unison, and she went on. “That said, if they aim at you, return the favor. And if anyone's stupid enough to fire on us, light them the fuck up! Once we're inside, hold your positions unless summoned." She smirked and patted one of her pistols. “Don't worry if you hear some shots fired off. Just assume we're having a little fun in there. But if the fun doesn't stop, get your asses in there and join the party."

Harliss turned to her gryphons. “And boys? Same instructions. Otherwise, stay." Both gryphons sat on their haunches in the middle of the boardwalk as if keeping watch over her squad. She patted their heads, and then turned around, glancing at her officers. “Shall we?"

The Executor led the way to the grand tavern. As they walked, Tormin whispered under his breath, swiftly listing off every potential hostile. “Two on the balcony, top left. Three, balcony right, third floor. One in a second-floor window, red shutters. Count four in the alley."

Harliss's gaze followed Tormin's lead, and she checked off every person in her head, taking stock of their weaponry, their positions, potential exits they might use, and so on. “Copy."

At the same time, Evlee tracked other information. “Open door, right. Closed door, left. I see at least three exits through the windows, inside."

Harliss's eyes flicked to every indicated door, counting. “Concur."

Tormin alternated his whispers with Evlee's. “I count three fingers on trigger guards ahead of us. Spot back-up inside. Lotsa criminals watching us through the windows."

“Consider them civilians unless they draw on us." Harliss rested her hands against the pistols at her hips, just in case.

“Understood." Tormin shifted his grip on his scattergun, carrying it across his chest, flicking off the safety. “Local protocol says Union disarms for entry."

“Then we'll politely decline." Harliss disengaged her safeties, as well.

“And if they try to enforce it, and things go bad?" Tormin kept his eyes forward, even as he spoke to the Executor. “Kill, or wound?"

Harliss flashed the gnolls ahead of them a great, big smile, even as she whispered through it. “Wound first, kill if they keep firing. But let's try peacefully, first."

A single gnoll soon broke away from the group guarding the front entryway, and approached them. The beast wore a slate gray shirt over his powerful frame, with an oversized ebony vest across it, embroidered with silver patterns. Matching pants covered his legs. The gnoll also wore boots custom-cobbled to fit a monster's odd, animal-like feet. His fur was dark, golden beige, speckled with black. He rested a single hand against the impressively large pistol resting at his hip, but wisely did not draw it.

The gnoll held up his other hand, signaling them to stop. He flattened back his ears, a sign of nervousness amongst such monsters. “Greetings from The Emplacement. My name is Deputy Hatha, and I-"

“You have Deputies here?" Harliss continued offering him a friendly smile, even as she cut him off. She stepped forward and offered the gnoll a hand. The Ballad dictated politeness, and respect whenever possible, gnoll or not. “A pleasure to meet you, Deputy! My name is Executor Harliss. Tell me, how long ago did you bring real law to this establishment?"

The gnoll glanced at her hand without immediately taking it, shifting his weight. “We've had deputies for decades."

“Fascinating!" Harliss kept her hand presented. “And here I've been told this place was nothing but a lawless hell-hole festering with filthy, uncivilized pirates." She sniffed at the air. “But you're not filthy at all, and you represent the law, so that's two of three slanderous rumors already disproven." Her gaze fell to her own outstretched hand, still waiting.

Hatha's tail flicked back and forth in a sure indicator of uncertainty. Soon, he reached out and shook Harliss's hand. The gnoll was almost too gentle. Perhaps he was just worried squeezing too tightly might get him shot. His hand was warm, and the pads on the underside soft. After a quick handshake, he withdrew his arm. Hatha's other hand never left his weapon.

“And that's three! Wonderful." Harliss patted his arm. “Now, tell me, Deputy. Why've you come all this way without the company of your friends? Are you here to offer us complimentary drinks at your fine establishment?" She glanced back at Evlee and Tormin. “Wouldn't that be lovely?"

Tormin smiled, cold and shallow. “Lovely."

“Actually," the gnoll said, his voice level as could be. “I've come to disarm you."

Harliss withdrew her hand, waving him off as if dismissing a servant. “Oh, no, no, no. I'm afraid not." Her smile faded.

Hatha took a slow, even breath. He'd clearly been expecting a denial. “Emplacement law states, any and all Golden Union officials must completely disarm to be allowed entry." He held up a hand towards them again. “It's nothing to do with you, Ma'am, it's just the law. I'm sure you can understand why such a law exists. The Union doesn't exactly look favorably upon our ilk."

“Oh, I understand." Harliss's smile returned as quickly as it left. “I'd do the same, in your position. Union folk are terrible spoilsports, after all. Not to mention, from your point of view, some of them are damn near genocidal." She clucked her tongue and shook her head, as if discussing nothing more than a neighbor's sordid affair with a tavern wench. “Which, I can assure you, is something I am not."

Harliss stepped in even closer, lowering her voice as if whispering some great secret. “But here's the problem, you see. While I don't agree with every Union policy, I am one of their Executors." She slowly shook her head, voice sharpening with every word. “And your laws? They don't apply to Executors. We're not disarming."

The gnoll swallowed, looking from Harliss, to Tormin, to Evlee, and back to Harliss again. “If you won't give up your guns, I'm going to have to take them from you."

“Oh, you couldn't." Harliss laughed, a soft, musical sound that belied its inherent threat. “Brave of you to threaten it, though."

“Real, real brave." Evlee circled her fingers around the handles of two of her knives. “Out here all by yourself, threatening an Executor and her bodyguards?" She inclined her head. “Must be some real big balls on you, gnoll. Wouldn't you say, Tormin?"

Tormin's white-hot glare could have burned holes through the gnoll's skull. “Real big."

“Mhm!" Evlee bounced on her toes, smiling at the gnoll. “Big ol' gnoll balls, for sure. In fact, if I were you, gnoll, I'd turn around and walk back while you still got 'em. Or they might end up someone's fancy coin purse."

Hatha gave a low growl, baring a few fangs. His fingers tightened around the butt of his pistol. “Watch your mouth. I got more backup than you can count!"

“Oh yeah?" Tormin tilted his head. “I guess gnolls can only count to twelve, huh?"

“Now, now." Harliss lifted a hand, and her officers went silent. “Let's be honest, here. I believe our new friend Hatha knows he's hopelessly outmatched against us. And surely he knows that if anything happens, he's going to be the first to die. Right, Hatha?"

Hatha's snarl and flattened ears were all the answer Harliss needed. “No one's gotta die, just hand over your guns. You'll get 'em back when you leave."

“Oh, we're in agreement on the first part. No one has to die here, including you, Hatha." Harliss lifted her hands away from her guns. “I do admire your bravery, by the way. And don't mind Evlee, she's a soft spot for beasties like you. Now, I tell you what." She held her arms out to her sides, smiling. “If you think you can disarm the three of us, physically I mean, then go ahead and try. You can start with me."

Hatha lowered his gaze, his eyes darting from pistol to pistol. He reached towards her, his hand shaking slightly, then hesitated.

“Ah, yes, see, you've starting to realize the problem, right?" Harliss kept her arms out. “I've got four guns, and you've going to have to take them all. And even though your hand is on your pistol? I guarantee you I can still draw one of mine faster than you can pull yours. Which I will, the moment you touch me."

“Aww, boss, let him try me!" Evlee held her arms up over her head. “Is this how you do it?" She lowered her voice into a gruff faux whisper. “Disarm me if you dare!"

Harliss glanced at the other woman. “Not quite, but good effort." Then she returned her attention to the gnoll. “Maybe Evlee's a better starting point. She's not as quick as me." As soon as the gnoll seemed to be considering it, Harliss went on. “She is, however, going to stab you a number of times."

Evlee giggled, wiggling her upraised fingers as if in some kind of macabre wave. “Hi. I'm Evlee. I like stabbin'."

“Indeed she does." Harliss shrugged, still holding her arms out. “How's your stabbing mood today, Evlee? Fatal, or non-fatal?"

Evlee made a shushing noise. “Shh, it's a secret."

The gnoll made a noise halfway between a growl, and a whimper, slowly turning his attention to Tormin.

Harliss waved at him. “Yes, Tormin here's your safest starting bet. You see, while he doesn't like monsters, he does have a sense of honor. Which means if you don't draw on him, he won't blow your head off with that giant shotgun. No, he'll just use it to beat the hell out of you. Then he'll arrest you for impeding our investigation and toss you in the brig." She rolled her shoulders. “But my arms are getting awfully tired, so hurry up and decide if you want to be shot, stabbed, or arrested. Or would you rather just let us keep our guns?"

Hatha finally heaved a sigh, his ears drooping. He lifted his hand from his gun, and backed away. “Maybe we can make an exception for Executors."

The Executor gasped in mock surprise. “You'd do that for us? How sweet of you!" She dropped her arms down, and her officers relaxed with her. “Wise choice, Hatha. I see you're as wise a beast as you are brave."

Evlee smiled at the gnoll. “Good boy. I didn't really want to have to stab you, anyway."

“Now then," Harliss said. “If you'd be so kind as to escort us inside your fine establishment? I really don't want to have to play this game with all your brethren."

“Yeah, alright." Hatha turned away, his tail hanging limp now. “This way."

As the gnoll walked towards the tavern, Harliss fell into step behind him. She glanced over her shoulder, smiling. “See, Tormin? This is fun."

*****

Chapter Seventeen

*****

Princess Nira made her way through The Cataclysm's lower decks, late in the morning. Her hair was still damp from a morning bath. She wore an indigo captain's jacket over a dark, silver blouse. The Empire's Black Star marked the jacket's shoulders, alongside the golden wing insignias of rank. Silver piping ran down the sides of her ebony breeches. It was rare for Nira to dress in anything formal, but the recent events called for it, she thought. Her pistols were once again loaded and strapped at her hips. Nira thought it best she used to carrying them again.

This deep in the ship's bowels, there was no carpet to muffle the sharp tap of her boot heels against the wooden floor. The sound carried up and down the corridor, echoes on echoes. The deck she traversed now was one of the deepest parts of The Bay. It was originally meant to provide living space for the ship's largest residents. Everything was designed with gryphons and dragons in mind, back when the ship was still expected to house a mobile air force. Nowadays, most of the sleeping berths held only cargo.

Most, but not all.

Floorboards well-worn by the frequent passing of a very heavy creature led the way to what Malaresh called his lair. The closer to his home Nira drew, the worse condition things were in. Scratches marked the floors. Deep gouges marred the walls where his heavy tail spines had dug into the wood with every irritable lash. Several arched doorways were so heavily scarred, the dragon must have used them to sharpen his claws, or mark his local territory. At least he hadn't pissed on whatever he considered his borders, Nira thought. She grimaced, deciding she'd better not give him any ideas.

As Nira walked, she contemplated the dragon who called her ship home. Many years back, they'd raided a Union intelligence vessel. On it, Kasis discovered information about a fort in a former Empire city that the Union had repurposed into a prison for captured dragons. The captives were interrogated, and then attempts were made to forcibly convert them to Union servitude. Failing that, the poor creatures were executed publicly as a show of force to the occupied city.

By the time they discovered the Union was holding another dragon there, Malaresh was already scheduled to be put to death. Nira gave the order to attack the fortress directly before the execution could be carried out. They'd turned the Cataclysm's cannons first on the Union's gunships, then on the outer walls and defenses of the fort itself. After that, Nira led a heavily armed landing party to find the dragon. At the time, it was the largest direct action she'd ever taken against the Union, and it remained one of her greatest successes. It helped to force the Union to agree to a truce with her, however temporary it may be.

More importantly, it saved Malaresh's life. The dragon was in bad shape when they'd first rescued him. It was clear his Union captors had put him through hell. His battered body was littered with the scars of torturous interrogations and failed conversion attempts. The dragon was also severely underweight. Nira doubted his captors fed him any more than necessary to keep him alive.

Not that wounds or malnourishment prevented Malaresh from fighting like the hell-spawned demon the Union believed him to be. The moment they'd freed him from his physical bindings, Malaresh tore that horrible place asunder. Truth was, Nira doubted the dragon expected to survive. He fought like a creature resigned to die, and wanting only to take as many of his tormentors with him as possible. Malaresh took bullets, shrapnel, and poisons, yet none of them even seemed to register. Nira had seen dragons in battle before, but only ever from a distance. Up close, it was even more terrifying than she imagined. Malaresh wrought utter devastation. With flames, claws, fangs, and righteous fury, Malaresh reduced the Union outpost to a smoldering ruin.

To this day, Nira considered Malaresh the most dangerous creature she'd ever met.

Only when the Union's soldiers were all dead or fleeing did the dragon's many wounds finally catch up with him. He collapsed, exhausted, bleeding out, and ready at last for death. Nira, however, refused to let him die. Her medics bound his wounds, pumped him full of antidotes to the poisons, and ensured he made it through the night. The next morning, when the dragon awoke, he was genuinely surprised to still be alive.

When Malaresh realized what happened, he demanded to speak to the 'pirate leader'. Nira identified herself, and the dragon informed her that he was joining her crew to fight the Union until his debt was repaid. Nira doubted she could have dissuaded him even if she tried. Not that she would have, a dragon made a powerful, if unpredictable, ally.

Malaresh chose his own space on the ship, the largest such berth available. He kept to himself as his wounds healed, but Nira wanted him to know friendship was available, if he wished it. She visited him whenever able. Nira also assigned Amelia and Jirril to help care for him as he healed. They had both worked with dragons before. Amelia and Jirril brought Malaresh food and drink, showed him around the ship, and they made the same bawdy jokes at his expense they did with everyone else.

Before long, they convinced Malaresh to join them for drinks with Nira in the Commons area. Malaresh was uncertain about drinking in a tavern with humans and gryphons, but he took to it swiftly. Soon he was in there more nights than not, and the ship was running out of booze.

Little by little, the dragon opened up to his new crewmates. He began to make jokes and even play drinking games with Nira and others. He allowed Amelia to fit him for a saddle, and ride him on patrol or into battle. At some point, Malaresh invited Jirril to spend the night with him. By the end of the dragon's first year aboard the ship, it was already a common occurrence.

Several years after Malaresh's arrival, he had his chance to repay his debt. Nira and her officers were ambushed, while on leave. They were outnumbered and outgunned, and nearly out of ammo when the dragon arrived. He incinerated their ambushers, obliterated their gunship, and ferried Nira and her friends safely back to The Cataclysm. Thankful as she was, Nira was also saddened. With his debt paid, Nira expected Malaresh to leave.

Instead, not only did he stay, but he never once made mention of repaying his debt. A more striking silence, Nira could not imagine. There was nothing the dragon did not enjoy bragging about. His exploits as a great warrior, his days as a fearsome marauder, the barony he so often claimed to have ruled, his vast mating prowess, and so on. Any little nugget of information he had, he held it over the princess's head like a noble offering a peasant a golden coin, just out of reach.

But never did he speak of his debt repaid.

It was as though if he ever spoke it aloud, pride would demand he leave the ship. Nira doubted Malaresh could ever bring himself to admit that he'd found a home here. Hell, she doubted even ruling the ship would be enough to sate the dragon's pride. But if he never spoke it, then he'd never have to leave.

While Nira was glad he'd stayed, she also knew Malaresh would always be the only crew member she could never fully control. When he occasionally refused an order, there was little she could do to enforce it. Beyond that, dragons were notoriously unpredictable. The Empire's past was littered with stories of great dragons who grew weary of serving, and sought to take power for themselves. Nira was reminded of those cautionary tales whenever Malaresh seemed to be playing a game in which only he knew the rules.

Then again, history also spoke of dragons who were deeply loyal to those they cared for, and those who gave their people a home. Nira certainly hoped Malaresh knew he had a home here. Not for selfish reasons, either. Nira saw her crew as a family, and that included the dragon. Though she had threatened him with exile for blasting his flame inside the ship, that was the last thing she wanted. Like it or not, Malaresh was family now. A frightening, unpredictable black sheep, but family just the same.

The princess smiled. She hoped Malaresh knew that.

As she approached his home, Nira pulled herself from her thoughts and paused to look around. The ship's best artisans had transformed the airship's corridors into the tunnel entrance of a dragon's cavernous lair. Sprawling murals of rough-hewn stone and pale green mosses stretched across the walls and floor. Stalactites on the ceiling were painted with depth enough to make them look real. When the artisans were finished, Malaresh added his own touches. Actual boulders strewn about the corridor leant an air of authenticity. Nira just hoped someone on the ship was accounting for their weight.

Something new drew Nira's attention. Human leg bones, including intact femurs and feet, jutted out from under one of the boulders. The Princess grimaced, wondering where the hell Malaresh obtained those. She decided it was probably better she didn't know. At least it was nice, she supposed, that the dragon was comfortable enough to indulge his sense of humor, morbid as it was. Besides, Nira knew it could be worse. At least there weren't any skulls.

And then, of course, she saw the skulls.

There were two of them, each seated atop another boulder. Together they stared at a nearly intact skeleton, leaning upon a wine cask. The skeleton had a bony hand draped across a goblet. Its own death grin made it look as if it was taunting the skulls, lording its wine and intact bones over them. Nira pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing. At least all the bones seemed boiled, bleached, and scoured. There was no sign of flesh, nor scent of rot. Nira hoped Malaresh had simply purchased them from some vendor who dealt in illicit goods and dark rituals.

Two wooden signs were posted behind the skeletons. Bright red lettering was painted upon them. The first recited an age-old warning. Here Be Dragons! It was a relic from the early days of airships and exploration, long before Nira's empire made pacts with the great beasts. The other sign once read, Tributes Required. However, the word 'required' had been crossed out and another word written beneath it. Now the sign said, Tributes Refused. Nira suspected Amelia was playing a joke on Malaresh.

Behind the signs were massive double doors kept open, nearly large enough to fly a small shuttle-ship through. The open doors were painted as the yawning entrance to a grandiose cavern. Just beyond them, boxes, crates, barrels, chests, and other containers littered the area. Many more lined the towering walls, lashed in place by heavy ropes, nets, and rigging. Most of it was actual cargo belonging to the ship, but that hadn't stopped Malaresh from declaring it part of his hoard.

In his years aboard the ship, Malaresh had amassed a hoard worthy of the kingdom-terrorizing dragons of old. Countless coins of silver and gold lay scattered everywhere, and piled in random heaps. Sharply cut, faceted gems littered the floor. Bejeweled goblets lay alongside ornamental shields and ceremonial ebony armor inscribed with stylized beasts. A sword with a bright silver-blade, and a sapphire crusted hilt lay haphazardly across the top of a crate, overflowing with crystalline figurines.

There were also trophies claimed by the dragon during raids, or after great battles. An airship cannon from a Union artillery vessel lay amidst a heap of rifles and pistols. A blood stained, gold and white uniform from a commanding officer was draped across a plaque. The plaque itself displayed an ornate silver and black flintlock, awarded to some Union soldier or another sometime in the past.

The largest collection of treasure was at the back of the room, where heaps of coins and other valuables were mounded together into a grand pile. Most of it was hidden beneath layers of fanciful colored silks, thick, soft blankets, and tasseled cushions. It was as if the dragon had smothered the bulk of his hoard beneath an entire city's worth of bedclothes. Nira knew Malaresh savored the old, classical ideals of dragons. He fancied himself the sort of kingly conqueror depicted on antique tapestries, coiled atop a mountain of gold and holding court with the lesser creatures. Nira hoped, at least, the bedding made her treasure a little more comfortable for him.

That was what the dragon's hoard was, after all. Her treasure.

In the frantic hours before the ship first launched, Nira's parents ordered entire mountains of the Empire's treasure to be stowed aboard. There were countless chests of coins and jewels, historical artifacts and documents, priceless works of art, even bonds and deeds for holdings in foreign lands. The more of it they could keep out of Union hands, the better. More importantly, it ensured Nira was able to pay for anything the ship and its crew might ever need. Since then, the princess added more to their stockpile than she spent. They'd raided dozens of Union merchant vessels, as well as shipments of gold and other liquid assets.

Once upon a time, all the ship's vast treasury was neatly organized, and every coin accounted for. Entire rooms were filled with organized stacks of numbered chests, carefully catalogued pouches, drawers with individually appraised gemstones, display cases with antique jeweled goblets, and on and on. That lasted up until Malaresh decided to build a hoard by helping himself to the ship's wealth. To this day, numbered boxes still littered his quarters in brazen display of their unauthorized relocation. Nira was angry at first, but soon decided to let the dragon have his fun. Disorganization and poorly balanced accounting sheets were but a small price to pay for keeping the ship's most volatile crewmember content.

The Princess picked her way towards the dragon's treasure-bed. Flickering lamps lit the cargo hold in a ghostly orange hue. A faint, smoky haze hung in the air, drifting from brass censers. The dragon burned mixtures of herbal incenses to tint the air in his quarters with exotic scents. Malaresh liked them, though Nira always thought it smelt like smoking a pipe, in a medicinal shop, deep in a primal swamp.

Malaresh lay atop his pile of treasure, curled completely around Jirril. Lamplight glistened against his black and green scales, and left his golden markings glowing. Nira found the light's effects fascinating. It made most of his scales look damp, even as it transmuted his gold tones to sunlight.

The dragon's left wing was draped across Jirril, mostly enveloping the gryphon. Jirril's head poked out from under the black expanse and rested upon the crook of Malaresh's foreleg. The gryphon's feathered tail twined with the dragon's, feathers brushing curved spines. Nira smiled at the sight of them so intimately sleeping together.

For all tales and myths that claimed dragons unable to truly know friendship, let alone love, seeing Malaresh snuggled with Jirril always proved a powerful counterpoint. Nira was increasingly convinced Jirril was the anchor which bound Malaresh to the ship. If that didn't prove dragons capable of love, Nira didn't know what would.

Malaresh's eyes opened to glittering emerald slits, fixed immediately upon Nira. “Yes?"

Nira chuckled, her voice soft. “Good morning to you, too. Sorry to wake you both, but it's getting pretty."

Malaresh merely grunted. Despite the evenness of the dragon's breathing, Nira suspected he'd awoken the moment she set foot in his lair. He seemed to possess a nearly supernatural ability to sense when someone was intruding upon his space. “And your point is?"

The princess smiled, putting her hands on her hips. “That we have plans to discuss. I know you were up late, but so was I."

The dragon lifted his head. “You have not just returned from weeks spent flying or been in a fight with a feathered spy."

“Be that as it may, we haven't got a lot of time to waste." Nira shifted her attention to Jirril as the gryphon blinked awake. “Morning, Jirril."

Jirril yawned, his beak parted wide, thin tongue curling within it. The gryphon stretched his forelegs out from under the dragon's wings, front paws splayed. His tail stretched behind him, fluffing up. “Morning, my darling Princess." When his stretch ended, he clicked his beak, then perked his ears in gryphon smile. “Don't suppose we can go back to sleep?"

Nira shrugged, nudging a few loose coins with her boot. “You can. The dragon can't."

“The hell he can't." The dragon curled his neck to drape his head across Jirril. “Come back later."

“I thought you said dragons didn't snuggle." Nira folded her arms.

“I am not snuggling him," Malaresh said, his voice an irritable murmur. “It is chilly. We are nestling for warmth."

“Whatever you say, Snuggles." Nira ignored the dragon's grunt of protest. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you before I go talk to Alakor." She tilted her head towards the mound of purloined gold upon which the two creatures lay. “You know, just because you fucked a gryphon on all that treasure doesn't make it yours."

Malaresh lifted his head, glancing between Jirril and Nira. “The treasure, or the gryphon?"

“Both of them!"

“Nonsense." Malaresh gave a forceful snort, thumping his tail hard enough to send coins flying. “They're both mine."

“Excuse me?" Jirril jerked his head back up, ruffling up his feathers in indignation. “I might be yours, but I do not belong to you."

“Neither does any of this treasure," Nira said. “But that's never stopped him."

“Oh, shush bird." Malaresh licked the back of Jirril's neck. “Everything in this room belongs to me."

Nira loudly cleared her throat.

Malaresh spared her a brief glance. “Are you still here?"

Jirril peered down at her, his crown feathers flared up. “You'd better be making that noise in my defense."

“Was thinking more about myself, but yeah, alright." Nira grinned at the dragon. “Neither of us belong to you, dragon. And the treasure-"

“Is my dutifully earned fee for my many services." Malaresh bared his fangs, his frills extended in pride. “Dragons do not come cheap."

“Fee?" Jirril chirped, digging his paws under the blankets to try and scoop up some coins. “He gets paid a fee?"

“He does not get paid-"

“I want a fee, too!" Jirril warbled laughter, leaning against the dragon. “I should expect gryphon services do not come cheaply, either."

“Incorrect." Malaresh selected a single gold coin, and set it before the gryphon. “Here. Your fee for your services as concubine."

Nira arched her brows, taking a few steps back just in case that provoked any kind of physical retaliation from the gryphon.

Jirril stared at the coin. “How. Dare." He tilted his head, looking up at the dragon. “First? I am not your concubine. Second, you could not afford me if I was. Third-"

“You're right." The dragon picked the coin back up, and set it aside. “Concubines aren't paid. They're just expected to perform."

Jirril suddenly snapped his head forward, nipping at the dragon's neck several times in quick succession. Malaresh yelped and laughed, shoving the gryphon's beak away. Jirril nipped at his fingers instead, fluffing himself up. “I shall not suffer your insults, lizard! Now take it back, or the next time, I go for your ears!"

“Fine, fine. Cease your pecking, you irritable hen!" Malaresh rubbed his neck. “It tickles!"

Jirril nipped him again, further up his neck.

“Ow!" The dragon tried to grab Jirril's beak, but the gryphon evaded him. “Very well, I take it back. You're not my concubine."

“That's better." Jirril made a show of smugly preening one of his wings. “Besides, it'd be an easy job if I was." He glanced at Nira, beak parted and ears splayed in gryphon smirk. “Dragons might not come cheaply, but they do come first."

Nira burst into laughter.

Malaresh hissed at the gryphon, baring his fangs. “Lies, and slanderous jests!" He eased up, uncurling from around the gryphon. “This is what I think of your cruel, and highly inaccurate abuse!" He splayed a forepaw and dragged it against the lay of Jirril's feathers, all the way from his haunches to his head.

The gryphon gave a horrified squawk. “My plumage!" His preening took on a frantic pace. “You've mussed me beyond recognition!"

“Yes." The dragon made an odd noise, a rumbling murmur. “You're sullied now, much as you've sullied my reputation in front of the Princess." He pushed up to all fours, and shook himself. “Enough idle insults and unpleasantries. I'm going for a piss while the bird fixes himself up."

Jirril snapped his beak at the dragon's tail as it slipped past him. “Someone ought to fix you!"

“You'd miss them." Malaresh climbed down his bed of treasure, striding past Nira on his way towards the lavatory. “Don't believe a word the bird says while I'm away."

Nira held her hands up. “I don't think I'd believe a word either of you say about the other."

As the dragon strode past her, Nira could almost imagine the deck shaking under his heavy footballs. His tail brushed her, and she ran her fingers across the scales. They were warm, and pleasantly smooth to the touch. Nearer the end of his tail, she trailed her fingers across the curled spines that tipped it. Each was thick, heavy, and more than sturdy enough to punch through even heavy armor.

Malaresh flicked his tail away from her. “You may fondle my tail upon my return. First I need to piss before my bladder ruptures."

Nira laughed, dusting off her hands. She smiled at the gryphon. “Charming creature, your lover."

“He has his moments." Jirril spat a feather onto the blankets. “Admittedly, they are few and far between. Now, clamber up here and do me a favor, won't you, my darling?"

“Let me guess." Nira carefully made her way up the hill of treasure, and blankets. “Pet you?"

“What?" Jirril gave her a confused look, then shook his head, clicking his beak. “No, no, no. First, we must get my feathers back in proper place!" He chirped, rustling his wings. “Then you must pet me."

Coins and other trinkets shifted ominously beneath layers of blankets as Nira approached the gryphon. She kept her arms out for balance, though by the time she reached Jirril, things felt more stable. “I don't know how you two can sleep on this."

“I couldn't, if it was just gold." Jirril twisted his head around, preening at his wings. “But the blankets and cushions and such make it surprisingly comfortable. At least it doesn't shift around under us the way it used to."

“Speak for yourself." Nira set her hands on the gryphon's back, smoothing down patches of ruffled indigo feathers. “Climbing up here was like walking on pillows filled with sand. I could feel all the coins moving under me."

“Oh, that's nothing." Jirril flicked his tail. “It was far worse at first before it all settled. A few times, Malaresh lost his balance and fell over. Another time his front legs slipped out when the coins gave way, and he smacked his jaw on the floor so hard I was afraid he was going to spit teeth!" The gryphon warbled sympathetic laugh. “He added a lot more blankets and pillows after that. I suspect as much for protection as for comfort!"

Nira winced even as she laughed. She'd never imagined the more practical concerns dragons might have to consider when lounging about on piles of treasure. “I'm glad he wasn't injured. It could have been worse."

“He was certainly in pain." Jirril preened at his other wing, then turned his head to try and survey Nira's work with the feathers he couldn't reach. “But nothing damaged aside from his ego. Besides, he's had far more painful, and embarrassing accidents."

Nira brushed down a few swaths of ruffled blue plumage. “Such as? I remember you mentioning one of those the other night. Malaresh threatened to pluck you if you told the story."

“Oh! That's right!" Jirril cast a conspiratorial glance across the room, towards the oversized doorway that lead to the dragon's latrine and bathing area. “Run me a bath, will you?"

A few moments later, and Malaresh's voice echoed back to them. “Unless you're joining me in mine, yours can wait!"

Somewhere above her, pipes creaked, and steam hissed. The distant sound of running water soon followed. Like the gryphon area, several of the living quarters for dragons had their own piping, floor latrines, and copper tubs built in. Originally, they would have had to serve a whole flight of dragons. Malaresh had them to himself, now.

“I thought he went to take a piss?" Nira stared at the bathing area's entryway. “You think he's just decided on having a bath to keep me waiting?"

“Oh, absolutely." Jirril gave a little squawk. “We took a long soak together last night, after we'd had our fun, so he hardly needs one now. I, however…" He sighed, gazing back at himself. “Will need to bathe for hours to get my poor plumage back in order."

Nira rolled her eyes, running her fingers through the gryphon's feathers. “You're fine." She smoothed him down from his neck to his tail, chuckling. “I couldn't even tell you'd been mussed at all."

“Of course not. You're a human." Jirril circled a paw around Nira's head. “You barely even know what to do with this tangled mess! Let alone how to properly treat and arrange beautiful feathers and silken fur."

“My hair is not a tangled mess!" Nira combed her fingers through her hair, catching a few tangles. She scowled. “Well, it's not a mess, anyway." She dropped her hands down. “Are you going to tell me about that story or not?"

“That depends." Jirril tilted his head, clicking his beak twice. “Are you going to pet me?"

“Gods," Nira said, heaving a mock sigh. “You are the neediest damn creature." She put her hands on Jirril's neck, rubbing and scratching around his ears in little circles.

Jirril cooed in delight, leaning his head into Nira's hands. “Creatures as gorgeous as I am are not needy! We're deserving."

“Deserving of a swift kick in the gryphon plums, maybe." Nira worked her hands down Jirril's neck. “Speaking of which, isn't that what reminded you of that story?"

“Oh, that's right!" Jirril swatted a paw against a cushion. His ears swiveling to the sounds of water. “I'll tell you while he's got the water running. That ought to drown out our voices."

“Clever bird." Nira scratched back up towards his ears again. “But you do two understand we don't have infinite water, right? Dirty water gets filtered and funneled up to serve in the boilers, but we're not hauling a damn ocean."

“Which is why we often share the bath."

Nira tweaked the gryphons ear, grinning. “Yeah, I'm sure that's for water conservation. Is that also why Amelia uses your tub?"

Jirril gave a little squawk. “Oh, it's foremost on her mind when she's parading around nude before us."

“Parading?" Nira quirked a brow, grinning. “Do you suppose that's the same term she'd use?"

“You'd have to ask her." Jirril lifted a forepaw, waggling a single half-unsheathed claw. “Now, telling you an embarrassing story about Malaresh is likely to get me in trouble." He turned his head, bumping his beak against her hand. “So, I expect you to use your authority to decree my plumage a national treasure, first."

“That's not going to happen." Nira cupped the gryphon's beak. “But I will protect you from being plucked."

“Good enough, I suppose." Jirril lifted his head, clearing his throat. “It was morning, on an especially windy day. Turbulent enough to jar even this massive monstrosity." He waved his paw at the ship around them. “Malaresh was being lazy, as usual. He'd been up for breakfast, and returned for a nap."

The Princess shook her head, smiling. “I think that dragon could make a cat seem accomplished." She poked the side of his beak. “Not that you gryphons are any better."

Jirril clicked his beak at her. “I shall ignore that!" He tossed his head, ruffling up his feathers. “So, there he was, fast asleep upon his back." Jirril brushed her with a wing, nudging her away. “A bit like this." The gryphon carefully eased over onto his back. He draped his wings across the bed, then stretched his forelegs up past his head, and let his hind legs sprawl out. “Snoring! Adorable, really."

Nira looked the gryphon over, her hands on her hips. “Are you sure you're not really part cat? Because that's exactly how cats sleep, sometimes."

“I wasn't the one doing it!" Jirril lifted his head to glare at her. “It was Malaresh! Besides, I'm sure lots of four-legged creatures occasionally sleep on their backs."

“Including gryphons?"

“Do you want to hear the rest of this story, or not?" Jirril flicked his wing tip against Nira's boots.

“Yes, yes, go on."

“Then give me a belly rub." Jirril pulled one of his wings closer to his body to make room.

“Oh, lord, you are a damn cat." Nira came forward and knelt alongside the gryphon, reaching out to rub his belly. Up close, the gray fur there was speckled with tiny black spots. “You only rolled over because you wanted your belly rubbed, didn't you."

Jirril rumbled a velvety purr, eyes half lidded. “Yes." After a few moments of savoring Nira's affection, he lifted a forepaw to point to the nearby wall. Several areas that once held cargo now stood empty, their rigging unused. “There used to be crates of supplies, and barrels of ale and wine kept up there."

“Yeah, I remember Malaresh had them removed because he was paranoid something was going to come free and fall on him…" Nira blinked, her hands stilling. “In his sleep." She bit her lip to hold back a laugh, shaking her head. “Oh, lord. Something did, didn't it."

“A wine cask!" Jirril pointed up higher. “All the way up there. He'd been collecting them for us. The ship hit turbulence, the worst of the day. It threw us hard one way, then another, then back again."

“I remember that." Nira rubbed the gryphon's exposed stomach in wide circles. “Ship lost some fragile valuables that day."

“And it almost lost two more!" The gryphon warbled laughter. “Because all at once, the rigging went snap!" He sharply clapped his forepaws together. “And the topmost cask came free, toppled through the air…" Jirril sent a foreleg into a diving motion towards his lower body. “And it struck Malaresh, full force…" Jirril pointed down between his own hind legs. “Right in the balls!"

“Oh, Gods!" Nira burst out laughing, covering her face with a hand. “That poor dragon!"

Jirril laughed with her, a melodious chirruping sound. “The barrel broke, spilled wine over everything. Malaresh woke up shrieking!" He flattened back his ears and crown feathers, still laughing. “I didn't even know dragons could shriek! He grabbed himself and as he curled up, he rolled right off the bed and down onto the floor. Ended up laying there in a sort of, wriggling heap of scales and twitching wings, making all sorts of strange noises."

Nira kept laughing and caressing the gryphon's belly. “No wonder he doesn't want you telling this story."

“And yet he'd be ever so quick to tell everyone, if it were me that was nearly neutered by a rogue barrel!" Jirril harrumphed and clacked his beak.

“He probably would, yes." Nira patted Jirril's underside. “He wasn't injured though, right? Doesn't seem as though he had any, shall we say, anatomical rearrangements."

Jirril tilted his head, beak parted in gryphon smirk. “Ooh, that's good, I like that. And yes, he was fine, thankfully. Though I was frightened he'd been injured, at first. I wanted to go get the medics immediately, but he strictly forbid it." Jirril chirped. “Well, once he could do more than squeak and groan, anyway. I managed to get him to go soak himself in a cold tub a while, at least."

Nira patted the gryphon, then sat back. “Wait, was that last year? I remember you had the crew wash and scrub all your blankets and everything. But he told everyone he'd been too sick to come out of his room."

“That's the day!" Jirril waved a paw in the air. “Somehow, it was less embarrassing for him to make everyone think he drank himself sick on red wine than to admit what really happened."

The Princess pushed herself back up to her feet. “That scaly shit! When I asked why he was limping, he told me he puked so hard he pulled something. I actually felt sorry for him."

“Which is why he told you!" Jirril rolled over onto his belly, shaking himself. “If he told you a wine barrel fell on his nuts, you'd have laughed your ass off."

“Of course I would," Nira said, giggling again. “But I'd still have sympathized. If you'd have told me when it happened, I could have ordered the medics to examine him." She chuckled again, imagining the looks on their faces at that order. “I'm glad he was alright, though."

“As am I!" Jirril turned his head, preening a wing. “Because now we get to laugh about it!"

“At least when he's not around, right?" Nira turned towards the doorway to the dragon's bathing chamber. “Speaking of which, how long is he likely to be bathing?"

“Longer than you'd like to wait." Jirril folded his wing, and turned his attention to its twin. “If only because he knows it will irritate you. Just go speak to him while he's bathing. It's not as if he's naked." He blinked, tilting his head. “Well, he is, but he's always naked, so-"

“I know what you mean." Nira smoothed down the crown feathers on the back of Jirril's neck. “I'm not going to see anything you gryphons and dragons aren't naturally displaying, anyway."

“Exactly." Jirril spat a feather on the ground, pausing his grooming. “Well, unless he's hard."

Nira laughed, and shrugged. “These things happen, gryphon, I understand."

Jirril clicked his beak twice. “I just wouldn't want you to be offended."

“Offended?" Nira arched her brows, grinning. “Hell, with all the rumors I hear about dragons, I'd probably look."

Jirril warbled, and went back to preening. “Ah, yes, the rumors. I can tell you, some are true, and some quite false, but I'll leave it to your imagination which is which."

“Some help you are." The princess patted his head, then made carefully made her way down from the bed of treasure and blankets. “I'd better go speak with him before he falls asleep again."

*****

Chapter Eighteen

*****

Nira headed for Malaresh's bathing chamber. It had no door, only a set of heavy maroon curtains. Why the gryphon lavatory areas had doors and the dragons had only sturdy curtains, Nira did not know. Perhaps the shipbuilders had run out of time to install doors appropriate for dragons. Or maybe they were told dragons held even fewer concerns for modesty than gryphons.

Malaresh lounged in the sunken, copper tub, his wedge-shaped head resting on the ground. Puddles on the floor sluiced towards drains. The ship was designed to collect and recycle as much excess water as possible. A vast network of pipes and reservoirs helped keep water flowing as needed. Dirty water could be used in the boilers, or filtered for the gardens, and so on. The finicky pumps and filters kept Vekk's maintenance crews, but at least the systems worked.

The closer to the tub Nira drew, the more impossible it became to avoid the puddles. At least there wasn't enough to seep through into her boots. Steam wafted from the tub all around the, blanketing the dragon in warm mist. He watched her approach through slitted eyes.

“Where's Rog?" Malaresh lifted his muzzle only enough to speak. “Though he'd be with you."

The princess stopped front of his face. “Not sure. He was still asleep when I left this morning."

“Oh?" Malaresh raised his head, a mischievous smile playing across his muzzle. “Still asleep, where?"

Nira only shrugged. “In bed."

Malaresh perked his ears. “And which bed would that be?"

The princess idly inspected her nails. “The bed he slept in last night."

“Which is-"

“Comfortable?" Nira tilted her head, feigning confusion. “So many questions about beds."

Malaresh snorted. “Did you and the gnoll sleep-"

“In the same bed?" Nira could him off before he could ask too direct a question. She phrased her words carefully. “We slept next to each other, yes. Happens now and then." She gave him an innocent smile. “If we're drunk it's safer to pass out where we are, rather than try and stumble back to our own rooms."

“And before you slept…" Malaresh took a slow breath. “Did you-"

“Toss and turn?" Nira nodded, scrunching her face. “Absolutely. Rog snores, you know, it kept me up. But I got used to it and dropped off eventually."

Malaresh finally gave a frustrated snarl. “Did you fuck the gnoll or not?"

Nira put a hand to her chest, gasping. “What a horribly rude thing to ask! Besides, Rog is my lifelong companion, bodyguard, and best friend! Surely, no one has ever had sex under those circumstances."

Malaresh snorted. “Your sarcasm speaks volumes."

The princess smiled, and nodded once. “Yes, just the way I wanted it to."

The dragon slapped his paw again. “Damn it. Why don't you just come out and admit that you fucked the gnoll?"

“I've no idea what you're talking about." Nira laughed, shrugging. It was far more fun to keep the dragon guessing, than admit anything one way or the other.

“Oh?" Malaresh cocked his head. “Was his performance so disappointing you've forgotten?"

“Nice try," Nira said, deciding to turn the tables on the dragon. “Say, how are your balls feeling?"

“Fine." The dragon narrowed his eyes, flattening his ears. “Why?"

“No lingering after-effects of the incident with the harness?"

“Oh, that." Malaresh shook his head. “No, they are fine, but your concern is noted."

“Good, good." Nira rubbed her hands, casually glancing around the room. “And all recovered from having a wine barrel fall on them?"

Malaresh jerked his head up, gold-edged frills suddenly on full display. “Jirril!" He snarled towards the curtain-covered doorway. “You told her about the wine barrel? When I'm finished with you, your whole body's going to be as bald as a damn vulture's head!"

“You'll do no such thing!" Jirril pushed the curtain aside, glaring at the dragon through it. “Or not only will I tell her more of your embarrassing stories? But you'll be servicing yourself until every last feather has not only grown back in, but attained its full size and beauty!"

Malaresh hissed, baring his fangs. “That goes both ways! Who would ever pleasure a bald old buzzard who can't keep secrets?"

“Well, if that's your attitude, we're through!" Jirril pulled his head back, vanishing behind the curtain. A moment later, he poked it back in, his voice all soothing charm and gentle playfulness. “I'm sorry, I just couldn't resist. You tell embarrassing stories about me to Amelia and the girls, after all!"

Malaresh sighed, scrunching his muzzle. “That's different! You're with me at the time." He hung his head, relenting. “Usually. Just don't tell anyone else." Malaresh glanced at the Princess. “You either."

“Oh, I'm absolutely telling Amelia." Nira ticked names off on her fingers. “And Kasis. And the girls. And Rog. But no one else. Well, also Vekk. But that's it. Other than maybe-"

Malaresh growled. “Don't you even think about telling that dirty snow pigeon!"

Jirril warbled for the dragon's attention again. “I'm going to get some food. Do you want me to bring you something?"

“As it seems her Highness here refuses to let me bath without conversation, yes." Malaresh bowed his head to the gryphon. “Please do, thank you."

“Alright." Jirril turned away again. He stuck his tail through the curtains just to shake the feathers at them. “Back in a flurry, darlings!"

“Back in a flurry?" Nira scratched her head. “Is that a gryphon saying? Cause I've never heard it."

“I think it's a Jirril saying." Malaresh lowered his head to lay it against the floor around the tub again. “Alright, Human. What's so important that you must discuss it with me before I've even had my morning nap?"

“You're flying with us to the Emplacement." Nira shook a finger at him. “And that's final. After your fight with Alakor, you have no room to argue."

Malaresh gave a low, rumbling noise of disappointment. “Oh, very well. If you insist. Despite the fact I only just returned from that long, exhausting flight."

“Wasn't exhausting enough to prevent you from brawling." Nira tapped her boot, near the dragon's nose. “Speaking of which." She leaned over, inspecting the back of the dragon's jaws. The area where they met his throat still looked swollen. Cracked and broken scales marred bruised areas of his muzzle. “How're you feeling? And be honest with me. I have a report from the medics, so I'll know if you're lying."

The dragon grumbled in his native tongue. He lifted a paw, rubbing his throat. “It hurts when I swallow. Feels like my fire glands are being squeezed. And my muzzle aches as if it's still being knocked around. But the pain will fade." He grunted, then nosed at her, unusually gentle. “Thank you for your concern."

Nira smiled, rubbing his nose. “You're welcome."

Just as quickly, Malaresh's usual abrasiveness returned. “It would be more touching if you weren't ordering me to fly somewhere I'm going to be shot at." Malaresh bared his fangs, hissing again.

“If the Union fires on you, you have my permission to fire back." Nira stroked one of his frills. “With actual fire."

Malaresh rumbled, a smile creeping across his muzzle. “Oh? Perhaps this trip won't be so bad, after all."

“I'm also planning to take Alakor."

“And, now it's all plopped into the shitter." Malaresh stretched a wing up from the water, using a wing-tip talon to scratch his head, just beneath a horn. “Why the hell would you bring him?"

“To test his allegiances, and his mettle." Nira spread her arms, waving a hand. “If it comes to battle, we need to know he really is on our side. If so, I want to see what he can do. If not…we'll deal with him as we must." She stepped back, wringing her hands. “Or the Union is there, but they refuse to start a firefight they can't win? Let's see if Alakar can hold back all that hatred you saw when I order him to stand down."

Malaresh sat up, the top half of his body jutting from the sunken tub. Beads of water trickled down his black scales in tiny rivulets. “That may well be a wise strategy."

“I thought so." Nira strode back and forth, her boots splashing in puddles. “I need to know how far I can trust him, in combat and out of it. Can he fight other snow gryphons, if he must? What if we capture a commander known for his cruelty towards Alakor's people? Can Alakor restrain himself from ripping that commander apart? I need those kinds of answers, before our lives are on the line. I don't want unpleasant surprises."

“Nor I." Malaresh tucked his wing back, snorting.

“There's another reason too." Nira paused her pacing to face the dragon. “He claims to be a spy, right? We may need his knowledge at The Emplacement. He might be able to point out undercover Union operatives. Or tell us if anyone we interrogate there is lying. Or verify any information we get from Prav's people, that sort of thing."

“You wish him to prove his value as an intelligence asset?"

Nira pursed her lips. She hadn't considered it that way, but the dragon wasn't wrong. “Basically." She scratched her cheek. “Plus, if they're actively looking for him, there must be be someone guiding that effort, right? Maybe we can use Alakor to flush them out. A high-ranking spymaster would be a hell of a catch."

The dragon cocked his head, considering it. “If the Union has decided to consider you a target again, someone like that could tell us why."

“Exactly." Nira folded her arms, glad the dragon agreed with her reasoning, at least. “So Alakor is going."

“Who else are you planning to take?"

“All my trusted officers, I think." Nira clenched her jaw, considering. “Though I'm hesitant to take Kasis and Vekk. If anything bad happens to us, the ship's gonna need them."

The dragon shrugged his wings. “And yet, I suspect the little furred one and his mate will demand to accompany you."

“Oh, absolutely." Nira resumed her pacing, her boots splashing against the wet floor. “And I'd certainly love a chance to put them on one of those Union recon ships, if we can do it safely. Vekk could snatch all their technical manuals and documents, and get a look at any new technology we need to know about. And Kasis would kill to get her hands on some up to date intelligence dossiers and classified information. I just don't like the idea of leaving the ship so low on top officers."

“If you want my advice," Malaresh said, slowly lifting his head. “I would bring the small ones, as well. Their various subordinates can step up, in the meantime. You, however, need someone to watch your back who is naturally out of the line of fire."

“I'm going to tell Kasis you're calling her short."

“Everyone is short compared to a dragon." Malaresh stretched his wings, holding them out above the floor. Water dripped and ran towards the drains. “Kobolds are diminutive."

“Be that as it may," Nira said, holding back a laugh. “Talking like that about Kasis is just asking to get punched."

Malaresh snorted, outstretched wings flexing. “I'd scarcely notice." He brandished a forepaw, flicking beads of water through the air. “The point is, they should come with us. The fuzzy one is good with his tiny firearms, and Kasis is…" He scrunched up his muzzle. “Probably good at flinging herself around the room, biting people like she's gone rabid. More importantly, you trust them. That's why you're taking Alakor, right? To prove he's trustworthy. Well, the small ones have already proven that. If the worst happens, there is no one better to surround yourself with than those you trust most. Take them."

“Damn it." Nira rubbed her forehead, grimacing. “I can't really think of a good argument. I guess you dragons really do have moments of ancient wisdom."

“Of course we do." Malaresh tucked a wing to hold its taloned tip against his chest. “I happen to have more of them than most."

The princess rolled her eyes. “Sure you do. Very well, then. I'll ask Kasis and Vekk if they're willing to accompany us. If so, I'll have Rog gear them up appropriately."

The dragon lifted his ears, a smile creeping across his muzzle. “How appropriately?"

“There's a chance we'll have to go up against Union soldiers, or even special operatives." Nira settled her hands on the grips of her pistols, drumming her fingers. “So, I think we should roll in heavy. Real heavy."

Malaresh gave a low, growling rumble. “Good! Has the little fuzzy one finished making guns large enough for dragons, yet?"

“Vekk's an engineer, he's not a gunsmith. I keep telling you that!" Nira stared at the dragon, more bemused than irritated. “He and Rog can clean and repair firearms, but I don't think they'd consider themselves capable of building you a giant gun."

The dragon crossed his forelegs, curling his neck in draconic sulk. “Everyone else has guns. I want guns, too."

“We could strap a cannon to your back." Nira grinned at the mental image.

“We could?" Malaresh lifted his head, maw parted and frills perked. “Oh, yes, let's do that!"

“I was being sarcastic." Nira shook her head, chuckling. “How would you even load it? Or fire it?"

Malaresh drummed foreclaws against the edge of the tub. “Strap the urd'thin to my back. He can fire it upon my command."

“You'd blow your own damn head off," Nira said. “At best, you'd go deaf."

“The ship's cannoneers don't go deaf." The dragon rubbed one of his ears, as if contemplating it.

“They have ear protection!" Nira stomped a boot against the damp floor. “We're not strapping a cannon on your back."

Malaresh arched his neck. “Oh, very well. I shall wait until the dragon-back cannon technology has been improved."

“There is no dragon-back cannon technology!"

“Then tell your engineers to get started on it!" Malaresh lowered his head until his emerald eyes were boring into hers. “I know your people once crafted guns and explosives for gryphons."

Nira wagged a finger at him. “They tried to. That's a very important distinction. They had one or two gryphon flights equipped with prototypes, that were never perfected. The capital fell before they could make much progress."

“At least give me some bombs to hurl!"

Nira arched a brow, considering it. “That's actually a possibility." She shook a finger at the dragon. “But only if you're very careful with them, and Amelia signs off."

“Amelia?" Malaresh smiled, flashing far too many sharp, slightly yellowed teeth. “She'll practically insist."

“Then she'd better 'insist' on giving you a safety course, first!" Nira pinched the bridge of her nose, already regretting the idea.

“Why?" The dragon cocked his head. “They explode, what else is there to learn?"

“Oh, yeah," Nira said. “You're definitely not going to blow yourself up." Nira held her hands up to ward off a reply. “I do think we should get you and the gryphons in armor at least, just to be safe. Beyond that, we can talk about equipment as the time approaches. I want a few days to prepare, if we have them. I'm assuming those airships you and Jirril raided aren't going to be in any condition to fly before then?"

The dragon shook his head. “No. Ships and crews alike are stuck there until extensive repairs are completed. And Prav will likely have his people drag the work out, to inflate the labor costs."

“Fucking Prav." Nira growled, grinding a boot against the floor. She half-wished she was stepping on some especially tender part of that scaly bastard. “Pisses me off that he even deals with the Union, considering they'd happily wipe his whole establishment out, given an excuse."

The dragon merely flexed his wings. “He's always sold his services to everyone. So long as they have coin, credit, or are willing to owe him a favor."

“I know, I know." Nira grimaced, still grinding her boot in frustration. “Maybe a few days stuck with Union forces will change his mind about including them among his customers."

“Or, perhaps his other guests will kill them, and he can claim their ships for himself."

Nira scowled. “Shit. That's actually possible. Then we'd have to try and buy the intel from him, at best." Nira ran her hands down her face, groaning. “We'll just have to hope for the best, and prepare for the worst. As soon as I talk with Alakor, I'll have Kasis plot some possible courses, as well as escape routes. Rog and Amelia can decide on gear and equipment."

Malaresh watched her in silence for a moment. Gears turned behind the dragon's green eyes, but Nira found them unreadable. “You should prepare your ship for battle."

Nira folded her arms. “Oh? Something you haven't told me about your supply trip?"

“There are surely other vessels nearby. Recon ships are vulnerable, and likely have protective escort, or a command vessel." The dragon swished his tail under the water. Little waves washed over the edge of the tub. “I may have seen it."

“The command vessel?" Nira kneaded the sleeve of her jacket, stepping away from the water sloshing out. “When?"

Malaresh nodded once. “It was not far from The Emplacement, though I only saw it at a distance. A larger ship, though not destroyer size. Sleek, white and gold in color. Definitely Golden Union, but not of any make or mark I am familiar with. It appeared well-armed, though at such a distance, it is hard to say. They did not engage me, but neither did I draw too near."

Nira shook her head. “I'm glad. They probably just assumed you're a local dragon. At least most Union captains realize that firing unprovoked on a dragon your size is a bad idea. Most of their guns are made for aiming at the side of airships, or at the ground. Compared to their usual targets, you're small and mobile."

A proud smile stretched across the dragon's muzzle. “I have downed gunships before."

“Exactly." Nira pointed at the dragon's chest. “Putting a shell in an agile, flying target like you is a hell of a lot harder than dropping one into the broadside of a ship. Even if they took you down, there's a reasonable chance you'd set them on fire, in the process."

“It worked before," the dragon said. “You just fly extremely high, or exceptionally low, well beyond the angle at which their flak cannons can aim. Those are most dangerous to us, because they don't have to hit you directly to shred your wings." The dragon trailed off, gazing into old memories. Nira wondered anew just what he'd been doing before the Union caught him. Malaresh had never given her a complete answer. Finally, he grunted, blinking away the past. “My point was, there was an unfamiliar ship lurking near The Emplacement. I suspect it houses someone of great importance."

Nira furrowed her brow. “I'll ask Alakor about it. I'll also put us on general alert and set everyone to battle stations until this is over. Whoever they are, I doubt they're foolish enough to fuck with The Cataclysm, at least not directly. But we'll be ready, just in case."

“We should all be ready." Malaresh lifted a paw and gestured at the room around them. “A ship this size is not exactly hard to see coming. If they glimpse us at a distance, they may attempt to organize enough vessels to surround us, and attack en masse." The dragon gave a derisive snort. “They would still lose, but we would not go without damage. Or casualties."

“Agreed." Nira scowled, a cold tightness squeezing her heart. It had been a long time since they'd lost anyone. She sure as hell didn't want to go through it again. “Let's just hope calm heads prevail." Then she poked the dragon's muzzle. “On both sides."

Malaresh ignored her. “Furthermore, they may make an attempt on you, if you're recognized after disembarking."

“Which is why we're going in heavy." Nira let her hands come to rest on her guns again. “We'll be as ready as we can be." She pivoted on her heel, gazing around. “I think we're gonna bring the ship in close, this time. I'm not comfortable being in easy range of The Emplacements guns, but everyone's going to be a lot less likely to take shots at us…" Nira glanced at the dragon. “And you, if they realize doing so is gonna incur of the wrath of this big girl." She patted the wall.

“Agreed." The dragon lifted a paw from the water, gesturing with it. “However, do consider that we may be between your ship and its targets."

“Yeah, I know. It's not a great situation either way, but we've seen worse." Nira ground her teeth. “Ideally, none of this will matter, and everything will go smoothly. We'll capture a few Union goons inside the tavern, get some intel from their ship, find out what they're planning, and get the hell out of there."

“That sounds profoundly optimistic."

“Like I said." Nira shrugged. “Hope for the best, plan for the worst. Now. I need to talk to Alakor, before we get much further. I want you to be there." She ran a hand back over her hair. “I'm going to talk to him alone, but I'd like you to be nearby, listening."

“Oh?" The dragon licked his muzzle, lifting his frills. “Afraid he's going to get a little rough with you?"

“Hardly." Nira smirked. “If he does, I'll just kick him in the balls again."

Malaresh rumbled a happy laugh. “I'm quite sorry I missed that."

“Me too, actually." She laughed with the dragon. “But no, actually I want you to help me determine if he's being honest. If he knows you're listening in, watching him, he may be more truthful. If you do think he's lying, that's your cue to jump in and call him out on it. Hopefully, we can get the truth out of him one way or another."

“Very well." Malaresh slowly eased himself back down into the tub, water sloshing around him. The dragon settled his head against the floor near the tub, closing his eyes. “Now, if there's nothing else, I fancy a nap while the water's still warm."

“Yeah," Nira said, turning away. “You better rest up for the difficult act of eating breakfast."

“Speaking of which, if you do see Jirril, tell him-"

“I'm not passing notes between you two like some go-between for childhood sweethearts." Nira paused at the exit, glancing back. “But I'll expect you to be ready when I go to speak with Alakor this afternoon. Understood?"

The dragon opened his eyes to gleaming slits. “I will be there."

*****

Chapter Nineteen

*****

Executor Harliss followed Deputy Hatha to The Emplacement's front entrance. The tavern's front doors were bright red, with golden handles, and embedded in an even larger set of doors. They ensured the comfortable passage of creatures of any size. Hatha held one of the human-sized doors open for Harliss and her crew.

As the other guards parted for Harliss and her contingent, some of them uttered frustrated growls and snarls. A few made threats under their breath, or reminded Harliss that everyone else had guns, too. Despite their bluster, their body language told her Prav's security team was relieved to have avoided a shootout with an Executor and her contingent.

Harliss walked inside, gazing around as her eyes adjusted. The massive pub's domed ceiling was at least three stories tall. Tiered balconies encircled the higher levels. At one side of the room was a long bar counter, constructed of old airship walls, cut down and sanded smooth. Copper piping crawled behind the counter, occasionally peeking over it to connect with taps. Barrels, kegs and crates lined the wall, along with bottles of every size and make Harliss had ever imagined. Several scaly kobolds with tapered muzzles and colorful clothing scurried back and forth across the bar top. They poured drinks and collected empty mugs from the collection of grizzled and gnarled bastards seated at the bar.

Hearths of stone and brick were built right into the walls, along with their chimneys. Potbelly stoves occupied smaller niches. Flames glowed from some of the hearths, while others sat cold and forgotten. A smoky haze hung in the air, and not just from the fireplaces. The scent of the place was almost overpowering, a combination of wood smoke, tobacco, incense, illegal herbs and other substances, along with booze, sweat, and other less pleasant things.

The crowd inside the tavern was nearly as raucous as Harliss expected. People of all races sat at tables and booths, drinking and laughing. A quick estimate placed a little under half the occupants as human, with the rest a mixture of gnolls, va'chaak, kobolds, and urd'thin. In one corner, a group gathered around a fight. A human and a gnoll threw drunken punches at each other, while the crowd passed around coins and paper notes. In another corner, musicians played horns, pipes, a fiddle, and a small drum. Their bouncy melodies just barely reached across the room among the chattering of voices, laughter, and angry shouts from the fight.

As Harliss followed the gnoll, she counted exits, potential hostiles, marked blind spots and positions of cover, and so on. Nearby groups of people fell silent, staring at the Union trio as they walked by. Harliss doubted they'd ever seen armed Union officers in here, before. Tormin pointed to a table, and gave Harliss a questioning look. The table's position gave it a clear view of most of the tavern, along with the visible points of entry.

“This will work, Deputy." Harliss pulled out a chair.

Hatha gave a growling sigh. “Alright. Just please, don't make any trouble."

“Wouldn't dream of it," Harliss said. “Now, would you be so kind as to arrange for food and water to be delivered to my men and my gryphons? They may be there a while. Also…" She leaned in to whisper into the gnoll's ear. “We need to speak with Prav. Do let him know Executor Harliss wishes to see him, personally."

The gnoll groaned. “Are you serious? There's no way he's going to see anyone from the Union."

Harliss patted his arm. “Just pass it on, Deputy. I'm certain he'll see me. Unless he'd rather I come find him on my own."

Hatha made a frustrated, growling noise. “Gods-damn it, I shoulda just let you shoot me. If this goes bad, it's gonna be my balls on the line."

“Aww, don't worry, Deputy Dogface." Evlee walked right up and grabbed the gnoll's crotch. He gasped, hunching forward, his eyes wide and ears flat. She smiled at him. “I'll keep these safe…relatively. Hey, whaddya know, they are big! Don't suppose I can buy you, can I?"

Harliss put a hand on Evlee's shoulder, grinning. “Alright, dear, that's enough. Let the brave Deputy get back to his work." She glanced at Hatha. “If we need anything else, I'm going to ask for you by name."

“Of course, you are." Hatha stepped back when Evlee released him. “And no." He rubbed himself through his breeches, glaring at her. “Security staff are not part of the brothel services."

Evlee made a little cooing noise of disappointment, flopping into her chair. “Pity. And after I saw such interesting signs outside. Well, if you get bored when you're off duty, come find me."

“That's not likely to happen." Hatha turned away, though the quick glance he stole back at Evlee undermined his argument.

After the gnoll departed, Harliss pivoted in her chair, giving the place a more careful examination. Mismatched tables and chairs filled the central area. Some were studiously constructed from mahogany and oak. Others had tabletops of polished granite, or marble. Plenty more were just made from discarded airship pieces. There were chairs of all types, some padded, some not. Others were meant to accommodate non-humans, with spaces for tails and so on. Along several walls were semi-enclosed booths, with high backs, and heavily padded seats. Some were freshly upholstered, while others were so threadbare and rickety, they were on the verge of collapse.

Lamps of all kinds were everywhere. They hung from wooden beams, jutted from walls, and dangled on chains from the from the ceiling. Some burned with the faint, tell-tale hiss of gas lamps. Others were older still, fueled by noxious oils. Airship cannons and weaponry were displayed upon the wood-paneled walls, like the heads of trophy beasts. Doorways of various sizes led to kitchens, latrines, stairwells, and other areas. Guards stood watch over important doors.

Wooden railings with surprisingly elegant designs edged the upper level balconies. Flags captured from merchant vessels and warships hung from the supports. People gathered behind the railings, many emerging from private rooms. Some wore less clothing than others, while a few wore nothing at all. Harliss wasn't sure if they were advertising the wares available, or simply lacked modesty. None of them were armed, and that was the important thing.

“You see any guards upstairs?" Harliss glanced at Tormin, who was scanning the same balconies. He hadn't yet sat down.

“No. Strange." Any hint of discomfort he might feel about the nudity on display did not show on his face. “They've got to protect their merchandise, though, so there must be guards somewhere up there."

“Alarm system, maybe?" Evlee leaned back in her chair. “A bell the workers can ring if someone gets rough or makes them uncomfortable?"

“Or won't pay." Tormin chewed his lip. “Yeah, it's possible. They wouldn't want to scare their customers. We better just assume if things go bad, there's gonna guns on us from above, too."

“I haven't seen many guards wandering the tavern, either." Harliss lowered her eyes, peering around the room. Most of the staff circulating looked to be servers, and whores. Other than the guards positioned at doors, she saw only a few others keeping watch on the tavern itself. “Our greeting party has dispersed, as well. I think they're trying to avoid showing their hand."

Tormin nodded, removing his rifle strap from his shoulder. He rested the weapon across another chair in easy reach, then set his scatter gun on the table. Tormin kept the barrel pointed at a wall, away from everyone. He settled into a chair, folding his arms. “Makes sense. Just means if things go bad, we won't know how many guns we're up against."

“Although, let's be honest." Evlee drew one of her knives, flicking it around her fingers. “Most people here know not to cause trouble. The guards at a place like this ain't gonna be handing out fines."

Harliss traced a finger against the butt a pistol. “I could fire off a shot, see where everyone runs in from, and what they're packing."

“Aww, don't do that." Evlee looked up at the balcony again, grinning. “You'd scare off the scenery."

Harliss followed her gaze, towards a man who was particularly well built. “I've seen worse views."

“You two are terrible." Tormin studied the room, instead.

“It's alright to look, Tormin." Evlee patted his arm. “There's women, too."

“I noticed." Tormin cleared his throat, glancing away from everyone else. “I'm actively trying not to notice again."

“Why not?" Evlee twined her fingers behind her head, her eyes openly wandering. “Looking's free."

“That doesn't make it proper," Tormin said. “Besides, we're on a mission, in hostile territory. Something I shouldn't think I'd have to remind the Executor about, but here we are."

“Oh, don't worry Tormin." Harliss flashed him a sly smile. “I have the utmost faith in your ability to do your job, no matter how tight your trousers may get. Besides." A small male urd'thin with gray and black fur passed by. Harliss waved to him, intent on ordering a drink. “If Prav wanted us dead, they'd have opened fire long before we ever got to the pub. We're perfectly safe." She pursed her lips, amending herself. “For now."

The urd'thin hurried over. Unlike most of the other monstrous races, there were urd'thin in Union cities, too. Their numbers were limited, and they often congregated in slums and other foul places. They weren't always considered citizens, however. In most cities they were 'tolerated', at best. Despite their often-unsavory reputation, urd'thin were clever, and industrious. Harliss liked them for that, even if many others in the Union rarely agreed.

The Executor liked to imagine urd'thin as something a bored god first built out of spare parts. The short creatures had oversized ears like desert foxes, tiny horns, and muzzles akin to a cross between a coyote and a rat. This one was scarcely four feet tall. Dark fur covered him in shades of deep gray, dusted and speckled with black. The color faded across his face, and lower belly. White tips marked the tall ears that stood on either side of his little gray horns. The urd'thin was dressed in an unbuttoned tunic, and a kilt, both in shades of blue. A golden scarf encircled his neck, and ribbons of the same color were tied into his tail's dark fur.

“Oh!" Evlee immediately refocused on her attention on the smaller creature. “Look at your little ribbons!"

The urd'thin turned away. He swished his tail to make the ribbons flutter. Harliss found the back of his bright blue kilt's design oddly fascinating. The accommodation for the urd'thin's tail was more like a fancy loop of fabric than a mere opening. It allowed his tail the comfort of free motion without showing off anything that hadn't been paid for.

The little creature glanced over his shoulder, grinning at Evlee. “You like 'em?"

“They're so cute!" Evlee reached towards them, only for Harliss to smack her hand. “Ow!" She jerked it back, glaring at the Executor.

“Ask before you touch, Evlee." Harliss lifted a single finger. “It's impolite, otherwise." She extended a second finger. “And if he's a brothel worker, touching isn't free."

The urd'thin gave a chittering laugh. “Hey, I appreciate that!" He smiled at Harliss, all tiny, sharp teeth and perked, oversized ears. “She can touch as long as she's gentle. I don't start chargin' till her hands roam a little too far."

Evlee glared at the Executor, even as she spoke to the furred server. “May I touch your tail and its ribbons?"

“Sure!" The urd'thin flicked his tail again. “Just don't pet me against the fur, eh?" Then he bowed to Harliss. “I'm sorry, you called me over, what can I do for?"

“You are a brothel worker, right?" Harliss gazed around. None of the servers were dressed alike. “Do you also serve food and drink for the tavern?"

“That's right." The urd'thin turned his head to watch Evlee gently stroke the silken fur of his dark gray and black tail. “Most of us do whatever's needed. So, you looking to eat, drink, purchase, hire? What's your pleasure? I dunno what the Union lets their fancy killers do, but all services are currently open and available."

“Drink, for now." Harliss glanced towards the bar. “Whiskey. Something good." She turned her attention back to the urd'thin. “By which I do not mean your most overpriced. I assure you, I can tell the difference."

Evlee gently tugged on one of the golden ribbons. “These are so cute. Oh, and I'll have the same, but more of it."

“Single for Fancy Union Killer One, a double for Fancy Union Killer Two." The urd'thin held his hands up towards Harliss. “I should warn you, the Union gets charged a triple rate for, well, everything."

“The Union does." Harliss settled her hand upon a pistol. “Executors do not. If they're willing to let us keep our weapons, they'll be willing to charge us the same rate as everyone else. Understood?"

“Yes." The urd'thin gulped, staring at her weapon. “Understood."

“Aww, don't scare him, boss!" Evlee ruffled the fur on the urd'thin's head, just between his horns and ears. “Don't worry, I'll still tip you like we're paying triple."

“Hey, that'd be real sweet of you. And don't worry." The urd'thin gave a little chitter of nervous laughter. “If she wanted to scare me, she'd have shoved it in my mouth."

“There's a phrase I bet you hear surprisingly often, around here." Tormin snorted. “Just water, for me. Someone's got to keep their wits about them."

“Oh, Tormin, you can't visit a pirate pub and not have a drink." Evlee glared at him, still toying with the urd'thin's fur. “If one drink leaves you too inebriated to shoot straight, you might want to find another crew."

“Fine, fine." Tormin leaned across the table, gesturing with a finger. “Four measures cider, two measures rum, one measure sweet syrup, one dash cinnamon."

Harliss stared at Tormin, quirking a brow.

“What?" Tormin sat back, crossing his arms again. “I'm allowed to enjoy things in life once in a while, aren't I?"

“Certainly! That was just unexpectedly specific. I'm impressed." Harliss glanced back at the urd'thin. “You got all that?"

The urd'thin pointed at all three of them in turn. “A single Gryphon Plume, a double Gryphon Plume, and for the gentlemen with the big scattergun, a Pants-Pisser."

Evlee giggled, turning towards Tormin. “That's what you ordered?"

Tormin coughed, his face reddening. “I hoped if I described it to you, you wouldn't call it that."

The urd'thin scratched the base of a horn. “Yeah, sorry, guess I coulda gone with Trouser Tinkler."

Evlee's giggles turned into full on laughter. “Oh, that one's even better."

Tormin slapped his hand against the table. “Just get my damn drink."

“Certainly, sir!" The urd'thin flicked his tail away from Evlee's grasp, and gave them a little bow. “I'll be right back with those drinks. My name is Coaldust, by the way."

Harliss watched Coaldust dart off, weaving his way through the crowds, towards the bar. His golden scarf fluttered behind him. A topless female gnoll carrying a platter laden with pitchers and bottles nearly tripped over him, only for Coaldust to pirouette around her at the last moment. He reached the bar, and clambered up atop it as adeptly as a lifetime sailor scaling the rigging. The acrobatic scrabbling nearly offered a free peek at his 'available goods'. Harliss doubted that was by accident.

Once on the bar, Coaldust passed the order to the trio of kobolds Harliss saw earlier. They swiftly scrambled up and down the shelves, pushing a little wheeled ladder back and forth. One of the kobolds scaled the ladder and tossed bottles down to the other two. Each bottle was poured as needed, then heaved back up to be returned to the shelf. When the drinks were ready, they were arranged on a tray that was passed to Coaldust. The urd'thin managed to climb back down with the tray balanced on a single hand, then trotted back to the table.

“Your drinks, your sharp-shooting madams and sirs." Coaldust held the tray up.

Harliss took the glasses, passing them out. “Thank you."

“Certainly." Coaldust tucked the tray against his body. “What else can I get you for the moment?"

“Some of your time, if it's available." Harliss slipped a hand into her jacket, retrieving a handful of gold coins. They were all Union-stamped, with their trio of golden stars on one side, and a silhouette of their capital city on the other. “Do you accept Union currency? I have others, if not."

“It's gold, right? Can't take no fancy paper currencies or Union bonds, but as long as it's gold, we'll take it." A playful smirk stretched across his muzzle. “Whatcha looking for? I've got a few red lines, but other than that, I can do just about anything you've ever wanted an urd'thin to-"

“Sorry," Harliss said, holding her hand up to cut him off. “When I said your time, I meant that in the literal sense. I'd like you to remain as our exclusive server, and I'm assuming that isn't free, since you could be making money elsewhere."

“Oh, is that all?" Coaldust flattened his ears back, his tail tucked. “Well, don't I feel like the soggy pup."

Harliss had no idea what that urd'thin colloquialism meant. “So is that a yes, or a no?"

“It's a yes." He held up his tray for the coins. “Pay's hourly, but if no one's gettin' fucked or sucked, it's minimum two hours. You don't gotta keep my company the whole time, but you do gotta pay for it. That'll be twenty, to start."

Tormin nearly choked on his drink. “Twenty gold?"

Harliss ignored Tormin indignation, and paid the fee. She added a few more coins to cover the drinks. “Here you are. I believe Evlee has your tip."

Evlee dropped five more coins into a smaller pile atop the tray. “Those are for you, Coaldust."

“Much obliged!" Coaldust gave them another little bow. “Be right back!"

As the urd'thin scurried off, Evlee clapped her hands in excitement. “Oh, this will be so fun! Our own little urd'thin whore!"

“Are you crazy?" Tormin glared at her over the rim of his drink. “That's more than a day's damn wages!"

Harliss only shrugged. “Not for us. Besides, how else am I going to learn how much money our men wasted in here? They sure as hell won't give us an honest answer, and neither will the Emplacement unless we're actually paying them. So, first I made it clear I expected the regular rates…" She patted her pistol. “Then I got drinks, and hired a whore. Now I've a better idea of just how to garnish their pay, commiserate with the amount of money they spent in here."

Tormin blinked at her. “Wait, that was my idea."

“Yes, it was." Harliss leaned back, sipping her whiskey. “And now that I've seen how overpriced this place, I'm all the angrier that they spent three times that on booze and whoring."

“So, you did like my punishment recommendation?"

Harliss took another sip, sighing in satisfaction. They were charging too much, but Gryphon Plume remained a damn fine spirit. “Of course. I just preferred to look at the larger picture. I don't want to ruin these men's careers. I just want to teach them a lesson that stings while, so they don't do it again. We'll keep it in house, though. I don't want the Military Justice division to hear about it."

“A fair assessment." Tormin swirled his drink. “We'll see who was too busy drinking and engaging in debauchery to go protect our ships, then we'll draft up a wage garnishment scale. I recommend we overestimate the amount they spent, as well."

“Agreed." She leaned forward, lowering her voice a little. “Plus, the urd'thin can give us a better idea."

Tormin smiled at her, a few too many teeth on display. “Alright, I'll admit it, that's a good tactic. He might even know if our runaway spy's been spotted lately."

Harliss arched her brows, feigning surprise. “Really? What a wonderful idea!"

Evlee gasped. “So that's why you hired him!" She folded her arms, pouting. “And here I thought you were just doing it for me." Then she rolled her eyes, laughing. “That's why she's really hiring him, Tormin. The gryphon."

Harliss smiled, and casually shrugged. “Asking about our men's illicit spending habits just opens the door to more important information."

“Yes, Tormin, try to keep up." Evlee tasted her whiskey. “Ooh, that's good."

Tormin just glared at Evlee. “I'm sorry we don't all have minds as devious as yours."

*****

Chapter Twenty

*****

Nira stood at the edge of a large, circular promenade, watching Alakor wander stalls and shops of every kind. The Princess had provided him with funds enough to purchase a few things for himself, but the gryphon proved paralyzed by indecision. Alakor lingered at each vendor, inspecting their wares, and idly toying with the leather purse tied around his neck. Then he moved on, only to cast longing, uncertain glances back at previously visited merchants. Nira doubted the gryphon had ever been allowed to buy things for himself, before.

Sivik and Lissir accompanied him, serving as buffer between the snow gryphon and his many onlookers. Word of Alakor's defection had swiftly spread through the ship. Everyone wanted to catch a glimpse of the exotic Union bird. A crowd followed him, with furred gnolls and scaly lizardfolk staring over the tall ears of urd'thin, and little horned heads of kobolds. Others hoisted up the smaller creatures or set them upon their shoulders.

The whole promenade buzzed with their chattering voices. Occasionally, Alakor turned to stare at them. Sometimes he bowed his head, or flashed a gryphon smile, all open beak and perked ears. The sisters stayed between him and the crowd, keeping everyone else at bay. For now, serving as his guards meant keeping him from getting swamped by curious crewmembers.

Nira took advantage of the distraction Alakor provided to make her way around the plaza unnoticed. The expansive commissary around the outside surrounded a social gathering area with all manner of tables, chairs, and loungers. This was the largest of several such shopping areas, as it was designed to accommodate gryphons and dragons. The princess did not want to rush Alakor, so she settled into an empty chair to track his progress.

Alakor gave equal time to every vendor. He spent as long examining the goods of tailors and cobblers as he did merchants selling soaps and other hygienic products. Alakor chatted with a weaponsmith offering firearms maintenance and cleaning, then inspected a variety of thick blankets and soft cushions at a stall hawking hand-stitched bedclothes. Nira's ship had nearly everything a person could need. If it couldn't be made on the ship, it was brought aboard whenever groups went ashore to shop.

The gryphon finally made his first purchase when he reached a stand selling grilled meats and spiced jerkies. Alakor purchased a long skewer with hunks of herb-dusted mountain goat roasted over coals, along with a pouch full of dried venison strips coated with sugar and spice. As he settled down to eat his treats, he offered some to Lissir and Sivik. The three of them discussed the jerky, though Nira couldn't make out the details of the conversation.

When the sisters took the lead, and Alakor just listened, Nira guessed they were explaining The Cataclysm's food chain. The ship had an entire agriculture division maintaining gardens, crops, and livestock. Given the limited scale of such operations, harvests and slaughters had strict limits imposed to maintain supply. Meat and produce were distributed throughout the ship to make sure everyone had enough food. In addition, people were allowed to grow or raise their own, where possible. Excess stock was available at fair prices, and often purchased by cooks who owned food stalls. Nira also tasked her winged crew members with supplementing the vessel's supply of meat whenever possible. If Alakor was true to his word, it might not be long before he was participating in those hunts.

When the gryphon finished eating, he cinched up the pouch with his jerky treats. Alakor carefully tied that pouch around his neck, too. He resumed his wandering and was soon drawn into conversation with the owner of a jewelry stall. Before long, the owner was holding up various shiny decorations against Alakor's white feathers. Something must have struck his fancy, because Alakor dug into his coin purse again. That lead to a heated discussion. Nira wasn't sure if the vendor was trying to haggle, or just explain the ship's monetary system to the gryphon.

The Princess tried to keep the ship's currency rates as simple as possible. All coins minted of the same metal held equal, regardless of age or origin. A gold coin from the former Empire was worth the same as one from the Union. Coins from the lands beyond the Sunken Sea, or the islands of the Boiling Emptiness were also equal. The same was true for coins of lesser metals. Nira just wished she could switch out all the heavy coins for something lighter. But the black markets the ship had to resupply at had little interest in the newer paper currencies, deeds, or bonds.

Before Nira could see what Alakor purchased, Malaresh emerged into the plaza from a nearby corridor. Rog was at his side, talking with the dragon. Nira waved for their attention, and the two of them adjusted course towards her. The arrival of a dragon drew some of the crowd's attention away from Alakor. Malaresh stopped to flare out his wings and arch his neck, basking in their sudden attention.

Rog broke away from the dragon, and trotted up to Nira. The gnoll was dressed in a dark golden tunic, tucked into gray breeches with indigo threading. Ebony buttons ran up the front of his shirt. Beige-brown fur peeked out where the top few buttons were left undone. Rog's bushy tail poked out through a loop at the back of his pants, while custom-fitted black leather boots with silver buckles adorned his feet. His fur looked freshly washed and groomed, and the scent of flowery soaps clung to him.

Before Nira could greet him, Rog playfully thumped her on the shoulder. “You coulda woke me, you know."

Nira grunted, rubbing her shoulder. “Striking royalty is considered treason, you know. I could have executed."

“Uh huh." Rog folded his arms, a grin stretched across his canine-like muzzle. “Next time, wake me."

“Oh, nonsense." Nira slugged him in return, earning a little wince. “You were fast asleep, and I hardly need a security escort to talk to Malaresh."

Rog splayed his ears, his grin turning into a scowl.

Nira sighed, fidgeting with her sleeve. “Alright, fine, Malaresh is probably the only person on the ship I may need extra security around, but-"

“Not him." Rog snorted, and flicked his tail. “The lizard ain't gonna hurt you." He turned towards Alakor, watching the white gryphon. “Him, though. He ain't earned my trust. And I ain't no good as your Guard Captain if I leave you alone with people I don't trust."

“No, I suppose you're not." Nira made a show of looking the gnoll over.

Rog growled at her. “You aren't supposed to agree with me about that part!"

“I don't know…" Nira rubbed her chin, pointedly inspecting him. “You haven't even brought any weapons."

“Aww, damn it." Rog gave a deep, frustrated groan. “I was this close to strappin' on my whole damn arsenal!" He held a dull-clawed thumb and finger a short distance apart. “Or at least my axe and my scattergun. But I was sure you'd yell at me for sendin' the wrong message to our guest." Rog stared down at Nira's gun belt. “And now I see you came armed, yourself."

“Thought I'd get back into the habit." Nira set a hand on one of her pistols. “You wanna borrow one?"

“Nah, you keep 'em." Rog flashed her a fang-filled smile. “If the bird gets rough, I'll just jump on his head and strangle 'em. Though…" He stared down at himself. “I do feel kinda naked without any weapons."

“Oh?" Nira quirked a brow. “I didn't think you ever felt naked. Even when you're actually nude."

The gnoll wriggled, looking as uncomfortable as Nira could remember. “Think I'd rather be naked with my axe or a big gun than I would be fully clothed and weaponless."

Nira patted his arm. “How very 'raider' of you. Your ancestors would surely be proud." She dropped her hand back down, smiling. “You look sharp, at least. You smell nice, too."

Rog scrunched his muzzle. “I smell like damn flowers." He lifted his arm, sniffing his fur. “It was the only soap you had."

“Like I said, you smell nice." Nira shook her head, smiling.

If Rog had used her bathtub, where had he gotten the clean clothes from? He must have gone to his own room, after. She wondered if he'd even bothered to wrap a towel around himself in the hallway. Nira enjoyed the mental image of the startled looks he might have earned.

“So, what's the plan, Princess?" Rog folded his arms, turning a steely gaze towards the white gryphon as if eager to move beyond his unarmed status and floral aroma. “The dragon says you're gonna interrogate Alakor."

“Malaresh may be exaggerating, slightly." She glanced at the dragon, still soaking up the attention of the curious crew. “As usual. But I do plan to confront Alakor, and-"

“Fuck." The gnoll bared his fangs. “A confrontation? I knew I shoulda brought my damn weapons."

“Not that kind of confrontation." Nira chewed her tongue, trying to think of a better way to phrase it. “I'm going to make it clear we believe he only joined us in order to set up a trap for his former masters."

“Ah. That's not so bad." Rog unfolded his arms to rub his muzzle. “Though, it could turn into the other kind of confrontation, if things take a sharp turn into shit."

Nira chuckled. “Indeed. But I'll have Malaresh there. And Lissir and Sivik will be nearby, as well."

“Oh, I see how it is." Rog glared at her, but mischief danced in his burnt golden eyes. “Invite everyone but your Guard Captain, huh?"

Nira put her hand on his arm again. “That's because my Guard Captain has a terrible habit of showing up for confrontations without his weapons."

Rog barked laughter, flattening his ears. “That better not become a running joke."

“Oh, I'm sure I'll forget it in a few months, or so." Nira turned her attention back to the gryphon. “Besides, at least you gnolls have natural weapons."

“Yeah." Rog grabbed his crotch. “We sure do!"

Nira snorted, shaking her head. “I meant your teeth, Rog. Your claws and teeth."

“Oh." Rog grunted and adjusted himself. “So, uh, what's the plan?"

“I'm going to ask him join me somewhere quieter." Nira pointed across the promenade. “The observation area out there. He's going to know I brought him out there for a reason, so I may as well just jump into it."

“Right." The gnoll nodded, his tail swishing behind him. “You wanna play good cop, or bad cop?"

“Rog, you could never pull off the good cop routine." Nira drummed her fingers against a pistol. “I want to talk to him by myself, anyway. When the time comes, just stand there and look menacing. Although…" She glanced over at him, smirking. “That'd be easier if you were armed."

“Hi-fucking-larious." Rog glared at her, but soon relented. “You're right, though. The captain should do the talking. Make sure he remembers you're in charge."

Nira walked towards Malaresh. “Don't worry, Rog. I plan to." As she approached the dragon, she lifted her voice. “Have you absorbed enough attention to hit your daily quota yet?"

Malaresh looked over at her, then cleared his throat with a loud snarl. Rather than the sarcastic response she expected, the dragon called out in a brassy voice that echoed across the plaza. “Make way for the princess!"

The gathered crew quickly moved aside, offering little bows or salutes. She'd tried to dissuade the crew from offering her any formal sort of bows and prostrations, but the salutes were fine. Despite her royal status, Nira considered herself more a captain than a princess these days. Since there were a few dozen people gathered around the dragon, with many more in earshot, she decided to give them a quick address.

“Good day, everyone!" Nira returned the crowd's collective salute before continuing. “We'll be making our way towards Emplacement airspace in the next few days, where we may encounter Golden Union vessels." She held her hands up, cutting off any questions. “Later in the day, we will sound the general alert. It will not be a drill! We'll remain at general alert or higher for the foreseeable future. Now's the time to make your preparations before battlestation shifts start. We'll do all we can to avoid combat, but we're sure as hell going to be ready for it, just the same. Security will be making announcements soon, but in the meantime, feel free to spread the word." She shifted her eyes to Rog, and gave him a barely perceptible nod.

The gnoll stepped forward, bellowing across the room. “Dismissed!"

Between Nira's announcement and Rog's shout, the promenade's crowd returned to their tasks with a little more urgency. Once they had some space, Nira approached the dragon, keeping her voice low.

“Alright, I'm going to go talk with Alakor," Nira said. “There's an observation platform a short distance away. I'll take him out there for privacy. If you'd follow us, I'd appreciate it."

“As you wish." Malaresh swept a paw out in a grand wave. “After you, your Majesty."

Nira crossed the plaza, cutting between tables and chairs towards the trio of gryphons. Lissir and Sivik stood on either side of Alakor, making sure the gradually departing crew didn't cause any trouble. Both gray-hued females wore simple cargo satchels strapped around their necks, with leather pouches resting against their chests. They splayed their forelegs and bowed their heads to Nira. Alakor observed them, and then made the same gesture, touching the tip of his beak to the floor.

“Oh, don't bow, girls." Nira gestured for the gryphons to rise, sighing.

Lissir straightened, glancing at the white feathered male. “She doesn't really like it when people bow to her, anymore."

“Which is why we do it," Sivik said, pushing up to her paws. “Because it bothers her, and that makes it fun."

The snow gryphon lifted his head, ruffling himself. “I rather doubt I've reached that level of familiarity with the princess."

“You have not." Nira noticed inspected Alakor for any lingering signs of his brawl with Malaresh. His fur and feathers were freshly washed, stark-white and fluffy. Even the black tips to his flight, tail, and crown feathers had a new luster. Something gold caught her eye. A necklace with a stylized golden feather hung around the gryphon's neck, near his carrying pouches. Nira pointed to it. “That's pretty. I wondered what you were haggling about."

“Thank you." Alakor brushed his pads over it. “It was…" He warbled in thought, ears drooping just a little. “Nice. To be able to buy something for myself." The gryphon bowed his head again. “Thank you."

“You're welcome." Nira gently stroked one his ears. “Anyway, you look good today."

“I always do." Alakor fluffed up.

Nira padded around him. “If you say so. You looked like shit, after that fight. How're you feeling?"

“Like I kicked a dragon's ass, of course." The gryphon glanced at Malaresh, looming nearby, and offered him an open-beaked smile.

The dragon glowered at him. “Your ego is re-writing history, bird."

“I'm going to have to agree with Malaresh." Nira tweaked one of his tail feathers. According to the medic's report, there were numerous significant bruises under Alakor's snowy fluff. They'd also discovered an awful lot of scars, some older than others. “You got pretty roughed up. How are you really feeling?"

“Honestly?" The gryphon flattened his ears, laying his feathers back down. “Sore as hell, from my beak to my balls." He chirruped at Nira. “That last one's your fault."

“No, that last one's your fault," Nira said, poking the gryphon's shoulder as she moved around him. “For ignoring repeated warnings about disrespecting my crew." She examined the gryphon's face. One of his bright blue eyes remained noticeably bloodshot. A crack marred the upper right side of his beak. It looked clean now at least, with no signs of fresh blood. “Will your beak heal up?"

Alakor brushed his paw pads over the fracture, wincing. “Heal? Yes. Close up completely? I don't think so. It's only a little crack, though. It'll remind me not to get punched in the beak by a dragon again."

“So it shall," Nira said, chuckling. “Now, if you're willing, I'd like you to accompany me to the nearby observation deck. There's something I'd like to discuss with you."

“Certainly." Alakor watched a few more crewmembers hurry about the plaza. “Does it have anything to do with that general alert you mentioned?"

“You know it does." Nira turned away, walking across the promenade. “This way, if you would."

Alakor swished his tail as he followed her, brushing black-edged feathers against both female gryphons. “Will the lovely ladies be accompanying us?"

“Ladies, he says." Sivik chirruped gryphon laughter, then nipped at his tail. “Such a city bird."

“They'll be waiting just outside," Nira said. Both females gave her quick nods of understanding.

Lissir strolled towards the dragon, shaking her wings out. “I suppose the dragon will have to entertain us. Preferably in ways that won't make Jirril jealous."

“Oh, I don't know," Sivik said, striding up along the dragon's other side. “That might be more fun."

“I'm sure I can find some way to entertain a few beautiful gryphons." Malaresh draped his wingtips across the sisters.

“Try not to distract each other too much." Nira turned away, gesturing for Alakor to follow.

The princess led the group into an adjoining corridor. Tarnished brass rails lined walls paneled in dark wood. The once-plush maroon carpet was flattened, threadbare, and marked with stains. The hallway's general disrepair mirrored most areas of the deck. Nira was used to it, but having a guest left her conscious of just how worn-down things had become. The entire ship could use a deep cleaning, and an interior overhaul. Nira wondered if they'd ever have the time and safety needed for such a luxury.

“How long does it take to get used to?" Alakor gazed about as they walked. He opened a wing, waving it around himself. “The noises, the vibrations, the sensation of movement."

“Movement?" Nira paused. “Good question." She scrunched her face. “Are we moving? Unless we're in turbulence or really pushing the ship, I barely even notice anymore. The vibrations and noise, though…"

Nira rested a hand against the nearest rail. Ever so slightly, the cool metal shivered under her touch. When she focused on it, the whole ship buzzed. The roars and rattles of distant engines, the shuddering of hidden pipes, the whirr of turbines and propellers turning. She pulled her hand back, her palm tingling from the vibrations.

“Unless I focus, I scarcely even register any of it." Nira folded her arms, considering the question. “I've been on this ship a decade now, I think. These days, I feel stranger when I'm ashore. On the ground, I can't help but notice the lack of noise, the stillness of the world." She shrugged, furrowing her brow. “I'd say it took me months, at least, to grow accustomed to it. I couldn't sleep at first, either." Old memories squeezed her heart with cold fingers. “But that wasn't because of the noise."

Alakor nodded, softening his voice. “You'd just fled your home, right? That must have been difficult."

Nira rubbed her face, swallowing hard. “You have no idea."

The Palace has fallen.

The four worst words Nira ever heard in all her life.

Nira turned away as shivers wracked her. In an instant, her mind was awash with shouts and screams, smoke and flames, gunfire, and valiant people dying.

“The night it happened, I didn't want to leave." Nira took a shaking breath, her throat tightening. A decade later, and her last day at the palace was still a knife in her heart. “I wanted to find my parents. I wanted to fight for my people, and our home." She sniffed, and a bittersweet laugh escaped her. “But mom and dad had other ideas."

Alakor offered a soft coo of sympathy. “They had to keep you safe."

“That they did," Rog said, his voice trembling. “Nira's parents sent her sister away, when the Union was first closing in. On the same day, they gave her guards a secret order." The gnoll swallowed and rubbed his muzzle. “If the palace ever fell, put the princess on The Cataclysm, and launch it." His ears drooped, and he thumped a fist against the burnished handrail. “Fuckin' thing wasn't even ready yet."

Nira managed a smile, setting a hand on Rog's arm. “It's not the ship's fault." She leaned against the gnoll, trying to keep her tone steady. “We'd been developing this thing since before I was born. Designing, building, redesigning, rebuilding. A few months before the end, my father ordered our workers to focus on readying it to fly. Our people worked on it all day, every day, after that. They had to train a skeleton crew without even a test flight. The engineers thought it would fly, but…" Nira shrugged.

“I thought the damn thing was gonna crash," Rog said. He ran a hand back over his ears. “If I'm honest, I never thought we'd have to board it. I think Merriam knew, though."

Nira squeezed his hand. “Yeah. Me too."

Rog glanced at Alakor. “Merriam was Nira's Guard Captain before me. We used to train Nira together. That night, when the Golden Union breached the palace, we both knew what we had to do." The gnoll sniffled, shaking his head. “And then, I had to tell Nira, that she…she couldn't…"

Nira rested her head against his shoulder. “You don't have to say it, Rog."

“Yes, I do." The gnoll cleared his throat, his voice raspy. “I had to tell Nira that she couldn't say goodbye to her parents. That was all she wanted, in the end. A chance to say goodbye. But I couldn't let her." Rog wiped his eyes. “There wasn't any time, left. And most of her guards were dead. So, I picked her up, and ran for the ship while one of our gryphons cleared a path. When we came under fire again, Merriam and some kobolds covered us. I hauled Nira aboard, and…"

When Rog trailed off, Nira picked up for him. “And that was the last time I ever saw Merriam. Then we were in the sky, and I knew I'd never see my family again, either." Nira squeezed her eyes shut. Smoke and cannon fire filled her mind, and there was nothing she could do but let memory's dark water carry her along. “The last of the Empire's Home Fleet closed ranks to protect us. The city was lost, by then. Our ships should have surrendered! But instead, they kept fighting, to ensure the Empire's survival." Nira faltered, blinking unshed tears from her eyes. “My survival! And for what? How can I ever be worthy of such a sacrifice? How can I-"

“It was their duty." Rog hugged her tightly. “That was the oath they took. To defend the Empire with their lives. And that…that's courage, Nira. That's honor. Their sacrifice kept the Empire alive, in you! I'd like to think they can all rest easy now, knowing that." Rog sniffled, easing off his hug to wipe his muzzle with the back of a furred hand. “I know you don't feel worthy of all those lives, but it's not about that." Rog managed a smile, his ears perked. Tears brimmed in his golden eyes. “It's not about one life, for another. I told you before, it's about an ideal. It's about hope. Your survival gives all our people something to hope for."

Nira sighed, closing her eyes. “I know. But there were so many lives…"

“And there's so many more, on this ship." Rog gently stroked her hair. “And they all look up to you. You, and this ship, are all they have left." He pulled his head back, and wagged his tail once. If it helps, think of it this way. It wasn't just you that our soldiers were protecting. It was all of us."

“It was an ideal," Alakor said, breaking his silence. The gryphon kept his voice soft, and respectful. “This ideal." He swept a wing across everyone. “For all your Empire's many faults, it put forth one great ideal." He set a paw upon his chest. “That we did not have to be your pets, or your slaves." Alakor pointed to Rog, and the dragon. “That they were not just monsters to be slain. Your Empire, cruel as it often was, nonetheless allowed us to be your equals. The world calls us beasts, but your Empire called us friend."

Alakor took a slow breath, folding back his wing. “If your people's sacrifices remain an anchor around your heart, then consider this. They died not for you, but for the great ideal you represent. An ideal borne out in this grand ship." Alakor gazed at everyone present. “No monsters, no slaves. Only citizens."

Nira lifted her head from Rog, and wiped her eyes. “I do like that better than dying so a Princess could become a pirate." She struggled to force a smile. “Yet I cannot help but think so many of those poor people died, expecting me to return with some great, liberating army."

Rog gently thumped her shoulder. “You sure as hell wanted too."

“I did." Nira rested her back against the gnoll. “But those first few years were so difficult, and I had so many lives to worry about. When the Union offered me a truce, I had to take it, for the sake of everyone on this ship. My responsibility is to my crew, now. I won't give up their lives to pursue some unwinnable war that's already been lost." Nira hardened her voice. “So, The Empire only lives on here, in our little flying corner of the world. Everyone's equal here, and I will fight tooth and nail for them, until my dying breath."

Alakor dipped his head in a respectful bow. “That's all your soldiers could have ever asked of you. They'd be immensely proud to hear you say that."

“I hope you're right," Nira said, sighing.

Rog squeezed her hand. “He is. Though, it is kinda ironic that an Empire founded by humans, now only has two of you left." He ruffled Nira's hair.

Nira batted his arm away. “Oh, shut up."

Alakor gave a curious warble. “Is it truly just you, and Amelia?"

“It has been for a while, yeah." Nira's eyes wandered. Malaresh and the girls had remained behind, though their perked ears told her they were still paying attention. “We had a lot more humans, at first. After the truce, the Union offered amnesty for everyone on the ship. Anyone who trusted them enough to honor that offer was welcome to leave. Mostly, it was humans. Some risked it to return to their families, others just wanted to try and start a new life. Nobody believed they'd ever show gnolls or kobolds any amnesty, though. We were the only refuge they had left. So, after a couple years, it was just me and Amelia." She playfully nudged her elbow into Rog's ribs. “And a buncha drunken beasts."

Rog just laughed. “We learned from the best."

“You've certainly done right by them, Princess." Alakor stretched his wings out, filling the corridor. “I do apologize for bringing up painful memories." He bowed his head. “That was not my intention. I was legitimately curious how long it will take to grow accustomed to the ship."

“That's alright," Rog said, putting a hand on Nira's shoulder. “She needs to talk about that stuff, instead of bottling it all up."

“Like you're any better." Nira elbowed him again, harder this time. “When's the last time you talked about it? You were crying when we left the palace, too."

Rog scratched his ear. “I don't remember crying."

Nira poked Rog in the belly. “You were like a whimpering puppy."

The gnoll offered a lopsided grin, perking a single ear. “I may have shed a tear or two." He glanced over at Alakor. “Hey, Bird. What do you know about the battle over the city, after The Cataclysm first launched?"

“Rog!" Nira glared at him. “We don't need to-"

“Shortly before dawn," Alakor said, fluffing himself up. “A massive ship launched from within a hidden, and highly fortified hanger. Both ship, and buried hanger, were considered incomplete prototypes at best. That changed when the stone itself rumbled and opened to unleash a cataclysmic hell-storm upon the Union's air destroyers." He clicked his beak. “Wordplay intended." Alakor lifted a paw. “Now, I was not present. But according to the reports, instead of immediately fleeing, the vessel actually changed course."

Alakor peered into Nira's eyes as if taking the measure of her soul. “You joined with the Empire's remaining ships to engage the Union air force directly. In fact, you damn near obliterated the entire Second Fleet. Does that sound about right?"

Nira clenched her jaw. “That's not exactly how I remember it."

“She stormed onto the bridge," Rog said, squeezing her shoulder. “And screamed at the crew to fire everything we have!"

Nira crossed her arms. “I had to know what was happening to my people, so I made them take me to the bridge. Granted, on a ship like this there's only so much you can see from the bridge. But I saw enough." She took a shuddering breath. “The whole night sky was on fire. It was…" Nira swallowed. “Horrible. Seemed like there were a hundred ships in that sky, exchanging constant volleys and barrages. So many of them were burning, and still fighting to the last damn moment. There were…" She swept a hand towards Sivik and Lissir, watching in the distance. “Gryphon flights, swooping amidst them, boarding Union vessels, bombing them. There were dragons, strafing ships with fire. The city was already lost, by then, but they were all so brave. I couldn't just leave. So rather than follow our escape route, I decided to punch right through the Union's fleet. One of the officers showed me how to activate the talk box, and I ordered every gun we have to fire until there was nothing left to shoot at."

“She wanted to stay and take on their reinforcements, too." Rog said. He sounded so proud that Nira couldn't bring herself to cut him off. “But once we were through their lines, the last Empire ships took up an escort formation to make sure we got away, safely. Even when the city was behind us, Nira refused to leave the bridge. I finally had to carry her to bed when she couldn't fight off the exhaustion anymore."

When the gnoll finished, Nira stepped away from him, rubbing her forehead. “Alright, I think that's as much of that topic as I can handle. Let's just move on, shall we?" She glanced at the white gryphon. “We haven't even gotten to our discussion yet." Nira pointed to the end of the hall. “The observation area is just out there. Mind going on ahead, so I can take a moment to collect myself?"

“Certainly." Alakor dipped his head. “Thank you for opening to me, just the same." He turned away, tail feathers brushing her. “I'll see you when you're ready."

Lissir hurried over when Alakor was gone. “Are you alright?" She touched her beak to Nira's shoulder. Concern shone wet in her eyes.

“I'm fine." Nira rubbed Lissir's beak, thankful for her worry. “But I should have just answered his question about the ship noise. I don't know why I let myself get lost in memories. Maybe the stress is getting to me."

Sivik approached and nuzzled at Nira's middle. “We're always here to talk, if you need us."

“Thank you." Nira stroked the gryphons' heads, smiling. “I really do appreciate you both immensely. Like Rog said, I probably bottle things up too much."

“I agree." Lissir locked her gaze with Nira's eyes. “You should talk about your family, some night. Your parents, your sister. Painful as it is, it will ease their weight from your heart."

Nira cringed inwardly, pursing her lips. “I can't promise anything." She glanced away. “But I'm willing to admit I should."

“That's a start." Sivik rubbed against Nira, then stepped back to make room for Malaresh.

“You are a fine leader," the dragon said. “And your crew greatly respects you." Malaresh brushed his muzzle against her cheek in an unusually tender gesture. “If you have tears yet to shed, then it is long past time to do so." He pulled his head back. “But indulge your weeping in private, so your subjects do not think you weak."

Nira gave him a blank look. “You're trying to help, and that's what matters. So, thank you, Malaresh."

“You are welcome." The dragon glanced at everyone else. “My advice, of course, was the most helpful."

“Sure, it was," Nira said. “Alright. I'm as ready as I'm going to be to confront Alakor. Malaresh, I want you to watch from the door. Let him see you, so he knows damn well he'd better be truthful. But don't intervene unless you think he's deceiving me."

The dragon bowed his head. “Understood. Ready when you are."

“Good. Let's get this over with, then."

*****

Chapter Twenty-One

*****

Executor Harliss smiled when Coaldust returned to her table. His tray had been replaced with an oversized wooden mug carried in both hands. Foamy ale dribbled down the sides. It ran across his fingers till Coaldust licked them clean. The urd'thin took big pull, then wiped foam from his muzzle. He looked up at Harliss, his large ears perked.

“Alright. I'm yours, for the next two hours." Coaldust lifted his mug. “Hope you don't mind me having a drink."

“Certainly not, Coaldust." Harliss toasted him with her own glass. “Good choice on the Gryphon Plume, by the way." She flashed him a smile. “Your people charge too much for it, but it's delicious."

“Isn't it?" Coaldust swished his tail, little gold ribbons fluttering. “I love that stuff. You're right, though. Costs about double what it would anywhere else." He made a show of gazing around the place. “But where the fuck else you gonna get fine whiskey way out here?" He clicked his teeth, then walked to a big, wooden column nearby. A lamp in a brass sconce flickered above him, leaving his coppery eyes flecked with fire. “I'll be here when you need me."

Harliss waved him right back over. “Nonsense, Coaldust. You can't stand around drinking by yourself, waiting to be ordered around." She patted the table. “Just because we're paying you doesn't mean you're going to be treated like a servant. Come join us."

Coaldust tilted his head, lifting a single ear. “Yeah? Alright, sure. Let me get an urd'thin chair."

“Oh!" Evlee called after him. “You can sit on my lap instead, if you want."

Coaldust shrugged and laughed. “Hey, it's your money. If that's where you want me, that's where I'll be."

Tormin put his face in his hand. “Really, Evlee? Just let him use a chair."

Evlee poked her tongue out at Tormin. “You just don't want him that close to you." Then she turned to Coaldust. “Really, though, if you prefer a chair, fetch a chair."

“Yes, Coaldust." Harliss swirled her whiskey in her glass, shooting Evlee a look. “I want to make it clear you're under no obligation. Sit wherever you're comfortable."

“I appreciate the consideration." The urd'thin put his drink up on the table, and then delicately hopped up onto Evlee's lap. “But when a lady offers you her lap, you take her lap. Comfy?"

“So far, yes." Evlee held her arms out to let him get positioned. “You can rest your head against me, if you want. Where should I put my hands?"

Coaldust sat slightly sideways to make room for his tail. He leaned his head back, his ears brushing her jaw. “You can put them anywhere you like, but this is my suggestion." The urd'thin gently pulled Evlee's hands down across his middle till she was holding him. “There. How's that?"

“Quite nice, actually!" Evlee gave him a playful hug, ruffling his exposed belly fur. “You're very soft. I hadn't realized urd'thin fur was so silky."

“Thanks!" Coaldust leaned over her arms to fetch his drink. He picked it up, took a pull, and set it back down, all without disrupting Evlee's gentle hold on him. The ease of the maneuver told Harliss he'd done this countless times before. “Our fur's way softer than gnoll fur. They'll argue that with us, of course. But if you ask me, spending a night with an urd'thin is like luxuriating in silks. A night with a gnoll's like…" He waved his little hand. “Fuckin' a bristly hairbrush."

Tormin gave a single cough, reaching for his drink. “Really laying on that upsell to the whole night pretty thick."

Coaldust swished his tail alongside Evlee's leg, the little ribbons brushing her. “Just statin' the facts. How's that Pants Pisser treatin' ya?"

Tormin scrunched up his face. “Please don't call it that." He tasted it, sighed in satisfaction, and set it down. “It's delicious, though."

“How did it get that name?" Harliss glanced between Tormin and Coaldust.

“Cause it's easy to overdo it. Tastes real good, and hits real hard." Tormin set his glass down. “Which is why I'm only having one and taking it very slowly."

“Yup!" Coaldust fetched his own ale for another drink. “Got its name cause when it first started showing up in popular pubs? People would have too many, and piss their pants without even realizing it. Or, yanno." The urd'thin glanced down at himself. “Whatever they had on."

Evlee ruffled the urd'thin's belly fur. “Speaking from experience, are we?"

“Not that I remember!" The urd'thin chittered laughter. “The name doesn't work as well with a kilt, anyway."

Evlee reached down and felt the bright blue material. “Is that what this is called?"

“Think that's the human word for it, anyway." Coaldust scratched one of his ears. “Human pants don't really fit our legs, and it's easier to get these made than get measured for custom breeches. Plus, they're comfortable, and I like how it looks."

“It is quite striking, actually." Harliss sipped her whiskey, waving her other hand at him. “As are the scarf, and ribbons."

“Thanks!" Coaldust leaned his head back against Evlee's chest. “I always liked the way blue and gold look against my fur. Most of my clothes are one, or the other, or both."

“Good choices." Evlee smirked down at the urd'thin in her lap. “So how much more would it cost to find out if you're wearing anything under that kilt?"

Tormin groaned, and Coaldust laughed.

“Based on watching him scale the bar," Harliss said, “I'm guessing he isn't."

“Ding ding ding!" Coaldust thrust his mug towards her. “Point to the Executor!"

“Ooh, you naughty little mongrel." Evlee ruffled his ears. “I'd best be extra careful where my hands go, just to be safe."

Coaldust wagged his tail against her. “No need. Your hands have two hours to go wherever they please."

Evlee laughed, moving a hand to the urd'thin's thigh, at the edge of his kilt. “Oh, really now?"

Coaldust stroked her fingers. “The Executor's pay covers just about everything you might wanna do with me."

“Good to know." Evlee teased his thigh, just a little. “In that case, at some point, I may be unable to stop my curious fingers from roaming."

Coaldust swished his tail, laughing. “Feel free. I sure as hell won't stop you."

“At least not for two hours, right?" Harliss draped an arm over the back of her chair. “Bet when the time's up, you'd leap off her so fast it'd be like someone stuck a hot coal under your ass."

“Nah, a lovely lady like this? I'd give her at least ten minutes warning. Maybe even forget that time's up for a little while." Coaldust took another drink, then set his half-empty mug down. “Course, any more than that, and I gotta charge for another hour." He glanced around the table, scrunching his muzzle. “Damn, forgot the food menus. I'd get one but…" He snuggled up against Evlee, sighing. “It's awfully warm and comfortable right here with this beautiful young woman."

“Awww, what a little sweetie." Evlee gave him a hug.

“He's angling for tips." Harliss laughed, and finished off her whiskey. When Coaldust glanced at her empty glass, ears lifted questioningly, she shook her head. “No, I'm fine for now, thank you. I'll wait till the others are done. We don't need any food, anyway. I did have some questions, though, if you're inclined to answer."

“Yeah, shoot!" The urd'thin glanced at her guns. “Er…not literally."

“How does your payment situation work?" Harliss rested her elbow over her chair's back again. “I paid you twenty, for two hours, and Evlee added five for gratuity. How much of that do you, personally, get?" She held a hand up. “Don't answer if it'll get you in trouble, mind you."

“Nah, that won't get me in trouble, we're pretty open about it." He leaned forward, then glanced sideways as if just noticing Evlee's weaponry. “Oh, wow, you got a lotta knives! Is that your fancy Union killer specialty, blade-work?" He mimed stabbing in the air a few times, laughing, then glanced Harliss's way. “Sorry, got distracted. We get a straight twenty-five percent cut of every gold we bring in through the brothel, rounded up. Another twenty-five percent goes straight to the boss. The other fifty percent goes towards paying the rest of the staff and security, buying supplies, general upkeep, expansion, etc. Plus, we get room and board, and we get huge discounts on basically everything."

Harliss rubbed her chin. “So, out of the twenty I gave you, for two hours, you get five gold."

“Yeah, plus the five my new friend here gave me." Coaldust patted Evlee's hand.

“Ten gold coins for two hours work." Tormin grunted. “That's more than Union soldiers make."

Coaldust stretched his arms out, interlocked his fingers, and cracked his knuckles. “Sure is! Some of your fellow Goldies were in here recently, in fact. Got all drunk and started lamenting about how the Union wasn't even paying them as much as…" He scrunched up his muzzle. “A buncha whore-monsters, he called us. Kinda stupid. I mean, I know what he was going for, but it sounded like something you'd see in a really bad horror-play."

“Doesn't it?" Evlee lifted her arms over her head, crooking her fingers into claws. “Housewives beware! The Whore-Monsters are coming to eat your husbands!"

“Yeah!" Coaldust stretched his arms as well, snarling and baring his fangs. “Whoring soon, at a monstrous theater production near you!"

Harliss gave a playful, cooing sound. “Aww, Tormin, they're soul-mates."

Tormin pursed his lips. “Wonderful."

Harliss returned her attention to the urd'thin. “So, Coaldust, you were saying? Our men were lamenting their poor pay? How many of them frequented this place, anyway?"

“I dunno, three dozen or so?" Coaldust wriggled around on Evlee's lap, inspecting her knives. “From the little ships, out on the docking area. Most of them just get food and drinks. Sometimes a lotta drinks. A couple more spent plenty of time time in the brothel." He glanced back at Harliss. “Wait, am I snitchin'? I don't wanna get any customers in trouble." A smirk crossed his muzzle. “Maybe the assholes."

Harliss quirked a brow. “Assholes?"

“Yeah, like Mister Whore-Monster. Thinking they're all better than us, just cause he's human. Hell, one drunken sheath-lick got tossed out on his ass for yelling at a gnoll friend of mine. All kinds of nasty, racist, stuff about gnolls. So, the guards fucked him up a bit, and tossed him out. Literally."

Tormin leaned forward. “Was that before, or after the dragon and gryphon attacked those ships?"

“After." Coaldust tilted his muzzle. “He'd been in here drinking and muttering to himself before that, but I think the raid tipped it for him. Started acting like it was our fault! The more he drank, the more the uglier it got."

“And that three dozen you mentioned." Tormin idly traced little circles on the table with a forefinger. “How many of them were in here during the attack on our ships?"

“Oh, probably at least half of them, maybe more?" Coaldust held his hands up, little gray pawpads on display. “Now, I should mention that it gets really loud in here on rowdy nights."

Evlee looked around. “It isn't rowdy now?"

“Nah, this is damn near quiet." Coaldust dropped his hands down. “But nobody could hear what was going on way over in the plaza. We sent some guards out, once we finally realized that ships were getting trashed under our watch. But by then it was too late."

Tormin glowered at the little urd'thin. “And I'm sure the delay had nothing to do with the fact they were Golden Union ships?"

Coaldust offered him an all-too-earnest smile, all bared canine teeth and perked ears. “Of course not!" He quickly turned his smile to Evlee. “Say, can I see one of those knives?"

“Sure!" Evlee reached for one. “Throwing, or melee?"

“Oh, throwing, please!" Coaldust waggled his fingers in excitement.

“Evlee!" Tormin growled at her through grit teeth.

Evlee rolled her eyes. “Oh, shush. What do you think he is, suicidal?"

Harliss set her hand on a pistol as Evlee drew a knife. She knew Evlee was right, but instinct bade her to be prepared, just in case. Urd'thin were quick, and agile. Just like kobolds, they could be exceptionally deadly with proper training. One of her closest scrapes in the past involved an entire hit squad of kobolds. Besides, for all Harliss knew, Prav might have half his protection detail posing as brothel workers.

Evlee twirled the knife around her fingers. Each of Evlee's blades were custom forged to her preferred specifications. Those for throwing were balanced and weighted for precision and penetration. Her melee blades were longer, and as sturdy as they were sharp. Evlee was nearly as good with them, as Harliss was with her guns. Were Harliss ever forced to engage Evlee in a knife fight, she wasn't sure she'd win. Then again, if Harliss ever truly fought with Evlee, something had gone spectacularly wrong.

“So, Coaldust." Harliss kept her hand resting on her gun, just in case. “Shall I take your excitement to mean you also enjoy tossing knives around?"

“Sure do!" His eyes darted about, following the increasingly complex dance of Evlee's blade between her fingers and through the air. “The boss likes his workers to be able to protect themselves."

Tormin kept his eyes on the urd'thin's hands, ever watchful. “Helps explain the lack of visible guards upstairs."

Evlee brought her blade to a stop. She presented its handle to the urd'thin. “Here you are. It's probably heavier than what you're used to, so be careful."

Coaldust took the knife, hefting it. “Oh, yeah, lots heavier." He held it up alongside his other hand, comparing its length to his fingers. “Longer, too. Look at that bad boy." He waggled it at Evlee's hands. “I can do some of that fancy stuff with my knives. But I better not try it with one this long."

“No, please don't." Harliss idly worked a fingertip around the rim of her empty glass. “Prav won't be happy if we let you slice your fingers off."

The urd'thin chittered. “Not used to Union folks knowing the boss's common name. Though…" He gestured at her with the knife. “I guess Executors aren't exactly-"

“Please don't wave knives at me, Coaldust." Harliss tightened her grip on her pistol, her voice sharp.

“Oh…" The urd'thin swallowed, his eyes drifting to her gun. “Right, right. Sorry about that."

Harliss relaxed, offering an easy smile. “Forgiven. Speaking of Prav. I asked Deputy Hatha to inform him that we'd like to meet. How long should I expect to wait before one of Prav's lackeys inevitably comes out to tell us to fuck off?"

Coaldust flicked his ribbon-festooned tail. “That probably is what's gonna happen, yeah. If I had to guess, I'd say within an hour or two from whenever you asked? That's about how long he usually likes to keep people waiting."

Harliss chuckled. “I don't suppose that has to do anything with the two-hour minimum you charged us?"

“Oh, no, definitely not." Sarcasm dripped from the urd'thin's voice. He tossed the blade between his hands. “He's definitely not looking to sell drinks and sex while people wait to see him. That would never happen. Especially not to uptight Union folks." He flashed Harliss a grin. “Not that you three seem as uptight as most. Well…" He leaned over to stare at Tormin. “You do. But the Executor, less so, and this one?" He tilted his head back against Evlee. “I'd never guess this one was in the Union."

Evlee giggled, and shrugged. “Thank you! I'll take that as a compliment. We can't all be up stuffy, uptight monster-haters with sticks up our ass."

Coaldust chittered laughter. “You know, there's probably people that pay good money for that last part. But on that note, here's a question for you." He pivoted on Evlee's knees, towards Harliss. “Madam Executor is probably the best one to ask."

Harliss inclined her head. “Go ahead."

“What is with all that monster shit?" Coaldust tucked the knife against his arm, likely to avoid looking too threatening. “How come most of the Union is so xenophobic? I hear that shit a lot from your people." He waved his free hand in a little circle, adopting a faux, upper-crust accent. “I daresay, gnolls are filthy monsters! Kobolds are murderous beasts! Va'chaak are hideous lizards! Dragons are demons! Such vile spawn of evil should not exist."

Tormin snorted in derision. Whether he took more offense at the accent, or at the concept, Harliss wasn't certain. “Probably cause not that long ago, those were the only impressions people ever had. Armies of murderous monsters, rampaging and slaughtering and-"

Harliss held her hand up, and Tormin cut himself off. “Coaldust was asking me, Tormin."

Coaldust glanced at Tormin. “Yeah, uh, that sorta answer is exactly why I didn't ask you. You work around here long enough, you get a sense for the ones who'd rather see you wiped out. You kinda got that stink about you."

Tormin let out a long sigh. “Not wiped out." He went for his drink, then gestured at Coaldust with his glass. “And I don't have anything against urd'thin. We've had those in the Union for ages."

“You know, when you call us 'those', it kinda sounds like you do got something against urd'thin." Coaldust shrugged, and flipped his scarf over his shoulder dismissively. “S'fine, though, I'm used to it from Union…" He trailed off with his mouth open, amending whatever insulting term he was about to use. “Guests." Instead, he turned his attention back to Harliss. “So, yeah. All that monster stuff. What's that all about?"

Harliss shot Tormin a glare, a silent decree that he keep his damn mouth shut this time. “I don't know how versed in world history you are, so I'll give you the short version. Generations ago, the lands that predated the Union were mostly inhabited by humans. They had isolated dragons, and gryphons, clashed with them over lands and conquests and such, but nothing like the southern half of the continent. Same with gnolls and kobolds and so on. The tribes of them we did have were mostly known for raids, and banditry."

“And then that big war, right? The first one?" Coaldust idly swished his tail against Evlee's leg when she wrapped her arms around him, teasing at his belly fur. “So what, you guys just still hate everyone a thousand years later, or whatever?"

Harliss chuckled. “Not exactly the way I'd put it. The first real experience most of the Union's ancestors had with the non-human races came in the form of a great, conquering army, ravaging our lands. The Empire of the Black Star built an army out of the very creatures the rest of the world saw as monsters. Strategically speaking, it was a brilliant decision. Then they unleashed that armor to conquer the continent, in the worst mass shedding of blood the world's ever known." She paused. “Well, the worst our continent has ever known, anyway. When it was done, the Empire placed its dragons in charge of its new provinces. They left their army of beasts behind to serve those dragons, and rule those lands. And rule them they did. Cruelly. For hundreds of years. Imagine generation after generation slaving away for the Empire, poor and poverty stricken. And watching their monstrous rulers grow fat off their labor. Or worse."

Something darker crept into her voice, her face hardening. “Imagine a little girl, watching the va'chaak beat her father into a cripple, just because he didn't turn in enough lettuce that harvest. Or hearing her mother's screams, after the gnolls dragged her off to some back room. And all she can do is plead with the gods for a chance to stop it." Spittle flecked her lips, but she took a breath, relaxing. “And that's how it was, for so much of what's now the Golden Union. For countless generations, that's all the Union's people ever knew them as. Monsters."

Coaldust's ears stood rigid atop his head, his tail limp. He licked his muzzle, swallowed, and then picked up his mug. After wetting his throat, he bowed his head to the Executor. “I'm sorry, I…I didn't mean to bring something that personal."

“Oh, think nothing of it." Harliss took her hand from her pistol, dismissing the idea with a quick wave. “That was just an example, to answer your question."

Coaldust gulped again. “If you say so."

“I do say so." Harliss picked up her empty glass, staring into it. “Don't worry, I save my personal stories for special occasions." She turned the glass over, watching a single golden droplet slowly slide down. “Maybe Prav will even get to hear one." The droplet fell to the table, and Harliss thumped the glass back down. “You can give Evlee's knife a toss, if you want. She won't mind, right Evlee?"

“Not at all!" Evlee pointed towards the large, wooden column nearby. “Think you could stick it in there?"

Coaldust glanced between them, his ears splayed. “You sure? I still kinda feel like I ruined the mood, with that question."

“Oh, Coaldust, please." Harliss leaned back, propping her boots up on the table. She offered the urd'thin a cheerful smile. “You've been the afternoon's bright spot!"

“You really have," Evlee said, trailing her fingers through his scarf. “This is so pretty! Do you think I could try it on, while you try out my knife?"

“Sure thing." Coaldust set the knife across his lap, then unwound the golden scarf and passed it to Evlee. The thick fur around the urd'thin's neck was flattened in odd places from the garment, but he quickly fluffed it back up with his fingers. “Got scarf fur." He picked up the borrowed knife, and hopped off Evlee's lap.

Evlee wrapped the scarf around herself, her hands roaming the golden silk. “Ooh, I love it. How does it look?"

“Surprisingly good," Tormin said, reaching out to straighten it. “Fits you well."

“Agreed." Harliss locked her fingers behind her head. “The gold matches your vest nicely, and goes well with the red in your jacket."

“Yeah, looks gorgeous on you." Coaldust smiled at her as he tested the balance of the knife. “A beautiful scarf on a beautiful woman."

“Awwww!" Evlee leaned down, cooing at him. “You're just the sweetest little thing!" She laughed, flourishing the scarf. “Even if you are just fishing for another tip."

“What? Me?" Coaldust put a hand to his chest, his ears flat in faux dismay. “Never!" He pivoted away from her. “Okay, here goes." Coaldust lifted the knife over his head, and hurled it at the column with a grunt of effort. It spun through the air and stuck in the wood with a loud thunk, wobbling. “Nice! I nailed it!"

“You sure did!" Evlee spun the end of the scarf around. “Great throw!"

“Thanks! I just barely got that rotation far enough around. That thing's heavy." Coaldust went to the post, grasped the knife, and started working it out of the wood.

“You'd refine your throw with practice, I'm sure." Harliss saluted him with her empty glass. The Executor wondered if Coaldust was truly just a brothel worker. “Going to have another go?"

“Nah, I better quit while I'm ahead." The knife came free all at once, and Coaldust stumbled back a few paces. “Next time I'd clank it, for sure." He handed the knife back to Evlee. “Thanks for lettin' me try that."

“You're more than welcome." Evlee gave the blade a cursory inspection. “That really was an excellent throw." She tucked it away. “Especially considering how unused to handling larger equipment you are."

“Oh, you'd be surprised how often I end up handing larger equipment." Coaldust picked up his mug. “There's this gnoll who comes by now and then, and…" He drained his ale, then licked his muzzle, pinning his ears. “Wait, you're talking about knives, right? I knew that."

Harliss laughed, rolling her glass around in her hand. “Yes, Coaldust. Though, if they expect you to handle gnolls, I can see why they teach you how to use those knives in the first place." She tilted her head. “I can't help but notice your mug is empty. If you're going for another, you could talk me into one, as well."

“Sure! Anyone else?" He took Evlee's glass when she handed it to him, then glanced at Tormin, who shook his head. Harliss passed him coins for the next round, and he scampered off. “Be right back!"

“He's so cute!" Evlee leaned towards Harliss. “I wanna keep him!"

Tormin stared at her, his mouth drawn into a line. “They don't sell the whores, Evlee."

“Well, maybe I could hire him away!" She toyed with the scarf, murmuring to herself.

“I sincerely doubt you could afford him, Evlee." Harliss twisted around to watch Coaldust scurry up the bar, and collect the drinks from the kobolds. “It sounds like he makes more than enough money, already. And he's not going to want to move from somewhere he's accepted, to somewhere he's going to be sneered at."

Evlee rolled her eyes. “That's easy to deal with. Anyone who sneers at him answers to me."

Coaldust soon hurried back. He set the tray up on the table, then plopped himself back down in Evlee's lap again. “What'd I miss?"

“Evlee here wants to hire you to be her servant." Harliss smirked at the other woman.

“Oh yeah?" Coaldust laughed and took a drink of ale. “I don't think I'm quite Executor-level material, but I appreciate the thought."

“That's roughly what I tried to tell her." Harliss sipped her whiskey, savoring it.

“Oh, I bet I could make it worth his while." Evlee rested her hands on the urd'thin's thighs, trailing her fingers through their fur.

Coaldust shivered, and made a happy little chittering sound. “I appreciate the offer, but believe it or not, I'm happy enough where I am. You know, where it's relatively safe, compared to a warship. But, you keep doing that, and I might give it some thought."

“Mhm." Evlee worked her hands in little circles, pushing his kilt up his legs. She rested her chin against Coaldust's head, leaving her face framed by his horns, and ears. “So, gnolls, hmm? Are they as big as they seem? You know, everywhere else?"

The urd'thin took another swig of his beer, stroking Evlee's arm. “They're proportional, yeah, so while it varies by the individual, they can be pretty impressive." He laughed, shrugging. “Then again, they're probably more impressive to an urd'thin than a human."

“And just how impressive is an urd'thin?" Evlee giggled, her head still resting against his.

“You keep teasin' me like that, you're gonna find out." Coaldust laughed with her, sipping his beer.

Tormin sighed, leaning his head back. “I'm just gonna stare at the ceiling."

“Come on, Tormin, don't act like you don't know what happens in a brothel." Harliss rolled her eyes.

“I just didn't expect Evlee to get involved." He rubbed his face, scowling. “Well, maybe with a human."

“Oh, I'd take a human!" Evlee lifted her head towards the balcony, where a few half-clothed people wandered. “I'd take him, or her…or both at once! I'd be half interested in that gnoll, too. Though, I think if I really going to indulge my curiosity, I'd go with Hatha."

“Oh, yeah, Hatha's great. He's real nice." Coaldust fidgeted, adjusting his kilt. “But he's not available. He's a security deputy."

“So, Coaldust." Harliss swirled her glass, watching Evlee's hands work their magic. The more distracted the urd'thin was, the less guarded his answers to her questions might be. “Speaking of guests with, shall we say, impressive equipment? I couldn't help but notice the giant doors out front. What are those for?" She knit her brows. “Gryphons, or something?"

Coaldust shivered as Evlee kneaded at his furred thighs. “Gryphons mostly, but we get occasional dragon guests, too. Honestly, I really like the gryphons. All those feathers are so pretty! I just wanna pet 'em and hug 'em."

“Must be interesting," Harliss said. “Seeing all those different creatures." She sipped at her whiskey. “Ever get anything really exotic?"

“Well…" The urd'thin's eyes were half-lidded, now. “Think we had a swamp dragon, once. Webbed paws, emerald scales, and everything. Had a few people from another part of the world, looked kinda like wolves? Not sure what they were. Didn't speak much of the local tongue."

“Swamp dragons and wolf people?" Harliss took a sip of whiskey, then set her glass down. “No, I don't think we have those on this continent at all."

“Oh! One time?" The urd'thin opened his eyes again, a spark of excitement shining in them. “We had some visitors from that dragon empire, on one of the far continents." He gave a chittering laugh. “Think they just called it, The Valley. At least they told us that's where they were from. Couple dragons, couple gryphons. Kinda stand-offish, though."

Harliss stole a look at Tormin, who gave her a nearly imperceptible nod, then scoffed aloud. “Dragon Empire? I still can't believe those hell-spawned monstrosities could ever build an empire."

“Gryphons helped them, you know." Evlee shifted herself beneath the urd'thin, draping an arm around his middle, the other still resting on his thigh. “Which seems so strange to me. I thought they hated each other."

“No, Evlee," Harliss said, circling a finger on her glass. “The Union's snow gryphon tribe hates dragons, and vice versa. But hat's not the case for all of them."

Coaldust perked up, ears swiveled forward, his attention newly refocused on the conversation. “You guys really do have a whole gryphon tribe?"

Harliss smiled, nodding. “We do. You've probably seen them here before. They're white, like the snow, with black highlights. They're quite striking."

“Oh, yeah!" The urd'thin bounced on Evlee's lap. “I have seen a few like that. But I didn't realize that whole tribe works for you." Coaldust narrowed his eyes. “Don't your people hate gryphons, too?"

Tormin picked up for Harliss. “The snow gryphons are different. They've always lived in the far northern mountains of the Union. And a century or so ago, our people realized if we were going to have a chance against the Empire and its monsters, we needed some monsters of our own."

“So you made an alliance or something?" Coaldust drank some ale, looking around at everyone.

“Something like that." Harliss leaned forward, smiling. “Since you like gryphons, I'd be happy to let you meet mine, sometime."

The urd'thin gave a little gasp. “You have some working for you?"

“She does!" Evlee giggled, sliding her fingers up the urd'thin's inner thigh to distract him again. “And they're the bestest boys and goodest girls ever!"

Evlee's touch left Coaldust trembling. He collected himself, glancing at her. “That's cute, but I dunno how they'd feel about being called that."

“Oh, they don't mind Evlee's eccentricities too much." Harliss lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “They'd even let you pet and hug them!"

Coaldust brightened, one of his ears splayed in lopsided fashion. “That'd be fun! If it's okay with the gryphons, of course."

“Of course! I'll ask them tonight." Harliss leaned back in her chair. “Say, Coaldust, have you had any of our gryphons in here lately? White ones with black highlights?"

The urd'thin rubbed his gray muzzle in thought. “I think so, yeah. A few weeks ago, I think. Maybe a month?"

“Oh?" Harliss sipped her whiskey again to help hide her interest. That almost had to be him. “What did they look? Were they male, or female? Maybe I know them, I've worked with most of the snow gryphons assigned to this region at one point or another."

“White, like you said. But with black edges to his wings, and his tail. And big. Real big." Coaldust held his mug as high up as he could, as if indicating height. “Way bigger than most gryphons, but I guess the white ones usually are. And he was male." A smirk flashed across his muzzle. “Definitely male."

“Sneak a peek, did you?" Harliss arched a brow.

Evlee giggled, patting the urd'thin's leg. “Maybe the gryphon paid for Coaldust's services!"

Coaldust put a hand over his muzzle, laughing in his palm. “Oh, gods, I wouldn't even know where to start with a gryphon!" He flattened his ears. “It'd be like the size of my leg!"

Everyone at the table laughed, even Tormin. Through their laughter, Harliss exchanged quick glances with her two bodyguards. A male snow gryphon, with black edged wings. That was absolutely one of their targets. At least their previous lead had panned out. It confirmed Alakor had been here, if not as recently as she'd hoped. There was a lot of time now unaccounted for. Harliss had plenty of suspicions about his activities, but for now, she focused on learning more.

“So, did he hire someone else then?" Evlee picked up the conversation. “Oh, that naughty boy!"

“No, no, nothing like that." The urd'thin took another swallow of his ale. “I kinda get the feeling they're not really supposed to indulge that way." He set his beer down, wiping his muzzle with the back of his hand. “They're way more disciplined then the other gryphons we get. But, a few of the white ones hire services, now and then."

Harliss chuckled, shrugging. “Don't worry, I won't tell on them. You said the one with the black-edged wings didn't, though?"

“Nah, he just food, and lots of drinks. He was in here at least a few nights in a row. Boss tried to sell him company, of course, but he always seemed preoccupied." Coaldust idly caressed Evlee's arms, draped across him. “He was asking about some of our other guests, kinda like you're doing, actually." A smile twitched at his muzzle. “He lost, or something?"

Harliss tilted her head. “Or something."

“Ah." Coaldust gave a little nod. “I don't like snitchin' on guests who don't cause trouble, but…I kinda feel like it's in my own best interests to do so."

“The more helpful you are, the bigger tip you're going to get." Harliss patted the coin purse tucked under her jacket, right next to one of her pistols. “What guests was he asking about?"

Coaldust licked his nose. “Some other gryphons, actually. The ones from The Valley. Asked about the dragons, too, but mostly the gryphons."

Harliss tapped a finger against the table, wondering what the hell Alakor was doing. His files made it clear he'd been exposed to extremely dangerous knowledge. Somehow, Harliss she doubted just fleeing the Union was going to be enough for him. If he was looking for allies across the sea, it wasn't for refuge.

“I don't suppose you happened to overhear any of his specific conversations, did you?" Harliss gestured towards his ears. “Your people do have notoriously good hearing."

“It's because they have such big, adorable ears!" Evlee traced her fingers across the edges of the urd'thin's ears.

“I may have heard a thing or two." Coaldust's white-tipped ears twitched under the attention.

Harliss gazed around. Urd'thin workers were spread around the room, their ears constantly swiveling from person to person. “I'm sure Prav never considered that your people might overhear all sorts of interesting tidbits, whilst they went relatively unnoticed."

Coaldust gave a mock gasp, his maw hanging open. “What?" He put a hand to his chest. “No, never!"

Tormin leaned over, his voice low, and ever so slightly menacing. “Just like I'm sure he'd never expect you to report back on whatever confidential conversation you might have with an Executor."

Coaldust swallowed, holding up his hands. “Hey, we're all friends here, right? I'd never betray that confidence." He reached for his mug, took a swallow, then offered them all a smile. “At least, not in a way that might get me shot in the head tomorrow."

Harliss laughed, slapping her hand against the table. “That's not bad, Coaldust, not bad. But don't worry, I like you." She picked her up glass, gazing at the faintly golden liquid sloshing inside. “And I hate shooting people I like." Harliss sipped her Gryphon Plume, savoring the hints of butterscotch and warming toffee, finishing with a trace of spice. “This really is good." She glanced at the urd'thin. “Alright, Mister Big Ears. What, specifically, was my lost bird inquiring about?"

“I didn't get all the specifics, mind you." Coaldust rolled his mug between his hands, a hint of nervousness slinking into his voice. “First, he just asked about the foreign gryphons. Seemed really disappointed he missed them. The next night it got weird, though. See, when those overseas dragons and gryphons were here, they were saying some real strange things. And your bird? He started asking about that."

“Strange things?" Harliss sat back, scowling. None of the pieces were lining up quite the way she expected them too. “Strange, how?"

Coaldust scratched at the base of his horns. “Strange like…a cult, I guess? One of the dragons claimed to talk to the stars, or some weird shit like that. And one of the gryphons…" He trailed off, scrunching his muzzle. “What did he say?" Coaldust drummed his fingers against his mug, then his eyes lit up. “Oh, that was it! Said they were servants of the sun's feathers, or something. That's what your bird was asking about, all that cult shit the foreigners were discussing." Coaldust glanced around as the other three remained silent. He licked his nose. “Honestly, I just thought he was investigating some crazy sect."

Harliss took a slow breath, scowling. “The Servants of the Sun-Feather." She paused, uncertain how best to describe them, or if she even should.

“It's damn gryphon blasphemy." Tormin slapped the table hard enough to rattle all the glasses and his shotgun. “Bunch of feathered lunatics who think the world is ending, and some golden gryphon is going to save them…" He trailed off, muttering under his breath.

Harliss picked up for Tormin. “They're a cult, Coaldust, you're right. They believe in an old gryphon myth." She waved a hand. “That a gryphon was visited by the gods, anointed with golden feathers, and warned of the world's impending end." Harliss offered Coaldust a carefully constructed smile. The truth was far more complicated, and Harliss did not share the Union's view of it. But there were some things even the Union didn't need to know. “Did you catch anything else, unusual? From either the cultists or the snow gryphon? Anything that sticks out in your mind as especially strange?"

The urd'thin flicked his tail and took a drink of beer. “The sun." He licked his nose, nervousness glittering in his eyes. “They were talking about the sun. You ever hear those rumors, about how it's not as bright as it used to be?"

Harliss tensed deep inside. Outwardly, she projected nothing but practiced calm. “I think everyone's heard the folk tales, yes."

“Well, they were talking about those stories. Only…" Coaldust scowled, a few sharp teeth exposed. “They didn't really sound like they thought they were stories. They sounded like they thought the sun was really dying."

The Executor offered a cold smile, while the others remained silent. “That's where their name comes from, yes. Servants of the Sun-Feather."

Coaldust scratched one of his ears. “Guess it's not a cult till they think the apocalypse is coming." He chittered nervous laughter. “I didn't think much of it, at the time. Not like they're the only crazies and cultists we get out here. Hell, we had this one human who tried to us there was some kind of…" He waggled his mug. “Ship, I guess, hidden under all the ice clouds in the Boiling Emptiness."

“A ship?" Harliss arched a brow. “There's probably hundreds of crashed ships down there."

“Yeah, but he didn't say crashed. He said hidden." Coaldust punctuated it by thrusting his mug. “Like someone put it there on purpose. The best part was when he tried to tell us this hidden ship used sail to other worlds! Claimed the Empire was looking for it, before your Union conquered 'em." He shook his head, his ears splayed.

All at once, Harliss's blood went cold. The urd'thin wasn't as far from the truth as he thought. Then again, maybe those gryphons weren't, either. Harliss downed the last of her whiskey. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, forcing herself to maintain a mask of disinterest.

Tormin grunted, folding his arms. “Sounds like a looney who musta fried his brain with something."

“Yeah, that's what I thought." Coaldust followed Harliss's lead, finishing his beer. He set the mug on the table, and settled back against Evlee. “Course, I assumed the same thing about those gryphons and their dying sun, till that white bird started asking about it too."

Harliss was happy to let them dismiss the rumors as the ravings of some drug-addled madman. For now, she seized the chance to redirect the conversation back towards her runaway spy. “Oh? The snow gryphon was asking about the sun, as well?"

“A little bit." Coaldust resumed stroking Evlee's arms as she teased his fur. “Mostly asking if the cult was talking about it a dying sun."

Harliss rubbed her chin, unable to stop a hint of dismay creeping across her features. Alakor had earned himself an unusually high level of trust among the snow gryphon spies. If he was actively cultivating that trust to gain access to secretive information, there was no telling what he might have learned. Then there were the reports from former squad mates, the things he muttered about in the throes of dreams. Was it somehow possible that he knew about-

“Hey! Union bitch!"

An angry, hateful shout ripped through the tavern's cacophonous din like a bullet through flesh. Tormin and Evlee had guns in their hands in a flash. Silence fell across the gathered crowd like a smothering blanket. Harliss, meanwhile, made a point not to draw. If someone were going to shoot her in the back, they'd have already done it. Instead, she completely ignored whoever was shouting. Instead, she held out her glass towards the urd'thin.

“Coaldust, another drink, if you please." She waggled the glass. “Quickly now."

“Yes, Coaldust." Evlee set one pistol down on the table. She unwound Coaldust's scarf, then draped it over his shoulder. “I think it's time to get down, now."

“Right." Coaldust gathered up his scarf, and hopped down. He snatched the Executor's glass off the table. “Back in a flash."

Harliss gently caught his arm as he passed, lowering her voice. “Careful now, Coaldust. I've a feeling things are about to get exciting."

*****

Chapter Twenty-Two

*****

Nira left Malaresh and the others at the entryway to the observation deck as she went inside. Despite the name, it was more akin to an enclosed patio. Tall, thick glass plates in brass frames spanned the outer wall in immense, rectangular windows. Their thickness distorted the view, but provided additional stability. Sunlight streaming in warmed the room despite the cold air just outside. Tables and chairs sat alongside padded gryphon loungers. A door locked with sturdy bolts provided access to a small exterior balcony ringed with tall railings.

Alakor rested atop a lounger, though the massive gryphon scarcely fit. He brushed his paw pads across the dark wood and faded maroon upholstery. Alakor chirruped to himself, stroking a single finger over a line of threadbare golden stitching. He turned his head, inspecting scratches and gouges left from years of use by gryphons.

“Never saw anything like this, back in the Union." Alakor stroked the upholstery again as Nira approached. The gryphon flattened his ears. “Furniture is for people, they said. We barely even had a place to sleep. We'd get animal hides, or an oversized hound's bed. Or a dozen of them, all in a row. They used to have us sleeping wing to wing in some drafty barn. We certainly never got chairs."

“You must really hate the Golden Union." Nira pulled up a seat alongside him, and eased into it. She gestured towards him. “The Empire's gryphons call those things loungers. They were pretty common, back home."

“So, I've heard. But I doubt you came to lecture me on furniture. Are you here ask me about my former masters, then?" For the briefest moment, anger and resentment roiled in Alakor's bright blue eyes. He blinked, and the look was gone, replaced once more by something unreadable. “And how much I hate them?"

“I suspect you know exactly what I'm here to ask you about." Nira watched the gryphon closely. Some small draft ruffled his white feathers. The black tips of his wings fluttered in random order, stirred by the unseen breeze. When Alakor didn't respond, Nira answered for him. “Malaresh and I think you're here for revenge, not escape."

The gryphon did not flinch, or flatten his ears, or shift his weight. He merely stared out the thick glass windows, unperturbed. “Could either of you blame me if I was?"

“No." Nira leaned forward in her chair, sharpening her voice. “But I could damn sure blame you for trying to manipulate me and my ship."

“I haven't been manipulating you." The gryphon swished his tail, but it was a casual, idle gesture, not a nervous one.

“Oh no?" Nira clenched her jaw. “You suggested which way we should go, framed it as if it were our best option. Yet you knew full well there would be Union ships awaiting us, didn't you?"

Alakor dipped his beak. “I did."

“Ships you want us to shoot down!" Nira slapped her knee for emphasis. “What the hell do you call that, if not manipulation?"

Alakor rustled his wings. “Your best option. The Union has deployed fleets across its borders in a show of force to all their neighbors. Your flight space is increasingly boxed in. One day, you'll find all your sanctuaries denied, and a full Union fleet in nearly every direction. But not at the Broken Teeth. Not yet, anyway. For now, there's recon ships, intelligence operatives, and spy hunters. It is your best option."

Nira grasped one of the long, black-tipped flight feathers lining Alakor's wings. “And since you worked with their intelligence operatives, it's also your best option at a little revenge." Before the gryphon could reply, she yanked the feather free.

“Ow!" The gryphon jerked back, hissing. “Don't do that!"

Malaresh snorted amusement, somewhere behind Nira.

The princess twirled the large feather around her fingers, ignoring Alakor's protest. “Those spy hunters are hunting you, I'm assuming. You're just trying to get us to blow them out of the sky, for you."

Alakor shook his wing, wincing. “Now that you mention it, that would helpful."

“How is that not manipulating us?" Nira grit her teeth, squeezing the feather.

“I prefer to think of it as sharing mutual interests." The gryphon stretched his wing, inspecting it. “That was a damn flight feather, you know."

“That's why I plucked it!" Nira shook it at him. “There's plenty more to yank out if I don't like your answers, or your attitude."

Alakor folded his wing. “I'm answering your questions, aren't I? Leave my poor plumage alone."

“You're dancing around them, more like." Nira ran her thumb against the feather. “You really are a damn spy."

Alakor flicked his tail. “You sound as if you'd rather yell at me and tell me why you think I'm here. Go right ahead, if you think screaming will help matters." He pulled his wing tighter. “Just don't pluck any more feathers, please."

“I didn't want to scream at you before, but I'm starting to." Nira leaned back in her chair. “I'm guessing you get that a lot."

Alakor shifted his weight, flattening his ears. “Usually from my old masters, while they were beating me."

Nira rubbed her forehead, scowling. “I'm not going to beat you, Alakor." When Alakor's gaze drifted past her, Nira twisted around to glance at Malaresh. The dragon sat in the entryway, his gazed fixed upon the gryphon. “And neither is he. He's just keeping watch." She pivoted back to the gryphon. “I'm trying to give you the chance to prove I can trust you. But I can't do that if you're constantly hiding things, or manipulating me." Nira leaned towards him. “That makes sense, right? You have to understand why I need you to be truthful."

“Of course, it makes sense." Alakor waved a paw. “I wouldn't want to serve a captain who was easily manipulated. So, I'm glad you're asking these questions." He tilted his head, staring at Malaresh. “But there are things I am not yet comfortable discussing with you, or your especially large protector."

“That's not how this works, Alakor." Nira tossed his feather on the ground. “You're defecting to my ship. You don't get to keep secrets. You tell me the truth, or I deny your defection."

Malaresh thumped his tail against the floor, spines scratching at the wood. “And then I toss you off the ship."

Nira shot the dragon a silencing glare, but did not deny his threat.

“That would be your right as captain." Alakor stretched a forepaw, gazing at it. “If it's safe skies you want, I still recommend you transit The Broken Teeth, with or without me." He pulled his paw back, clicking his beak. “Follow the island chains over the Sunken Seas if you want to reach the far continent. Diandrios might take you in. The Valley would, that's the dragon empire. But they'll want loyalty. If you wish to remain independent, find an island in the Abyss. The Boiling Emptiness, I think you call it."

Nira ran her hand down her face. “You're fucking infuriating, you know that? I don't want to leave the whole continent behind. At least, not permanently."

“Why not?" Alakor's blue eyes pierced her deep into her soul. “If you refuse to stand up to the Union's continued expansion-"

“Shut your beak right there!" Nira shot to her feet, balling up her fists. “I'm not going to risk the lives of everyone on this ship fighting a war I cannot win! I already told you that. This ship's powerful, yes, but it wasn't enough to save the capital!" She jabbed her finger at the gryphon. “It helped down an already damaged fleet, but how many more did they have? How many fleets do they have now?"

“Twelve." Alakor's voice was flat. “With four more available as needed, pledged by their neighbors, as part of mutual protection truces. And more ships being laid down every day."

Nira heaved a sigh, dropping back into chair. Her anger rushed out as swiftly as it came, leaving behind only cold desolation. “See? There's nothing we could do against them, anyway."

“Then why haven't you already left for good?" Alakor gestured with a sweeping motion of his wing. “You wander, to pirate ports, and islands, and even to the so-called small continents, but always you return here."

“Because the weather-"

Alakor held up a paw, cutting her off. “You're going to say the weather here makes it easy to hide a ship this size, in the nearly ever-present clouds that skirt the mountains. You'll probably also say you've easy access to black markets for resupply." The gryphon dropped his paw down. “But every nation has black markets, and places to hide. Hell, the islands that dot the Abyss are practically lawless. A ship like this, a crew like yours? You could take one over, if you wanted. But you don't." Alakor shook his head. “You always come back here."

Nira settled her hands on her lap, staring out the window. “How the hell did you turn this conversation around on me?"

A smile parted Alakor's beak. “I'm good at what I do, Nira."

“So it seems." She stared towards the sun. The crystalline windows diffused its red-gold brilliance, and gave it a fuzzy, shimmering halo. “How long have you been watching us?"

“Me personally?" Alakor flexed his wings in a shrug. “Long enough. But the Union's been watching you at least since you freed him." He waved a wing towards Malaresh, who grunted. “Saving the dragon proved to the Union they had to take you very seriously. It helped lead to the truce you signed, but it also ensured they'd never let you roam untracked again. They've surveilled you every way they can. From snow gryphons hiding in the clouds, to spies watching you in pirate ports. Every game of hide and seek you play with their patrols, every warning shot you fire, every raid you've undertaken, it's all been logged." The gryphon tilted his head. “You've had ten years to fly this ship across the world, find somewhere safe, and never come back. But you haven't. That speaks volumes, Nira. To me, and to the Union."

Nira swallowed. “Is that why you think they're considering another attempt on my life? They finally realized I'm not just going to run away to the other side of the world?"

“That may be a factor." Alakor held up his forepaws up, pads towards her. “I forewarn you that some of what I may offer is only speculation. Further, internal debates rage amongst the Union leadership."

“I understand that." Nira a breath and held it till her lungs burned. She let it out as slowly as she could. “Let's start with the big one. Are they really planning to try and kill me again?" She shook a finger at the gryphon. “And don't bullshit me with some long, roundabout answer. Just give the truth."

“Very well." Alakor drew himself up, draping his wings over his sides. “The truth, as I know it, is that they want your ship. Whether you're dead or alive is but a secondary concern. Some of the Union's leadership wants you killed. Others want you captured. There's a schism there, but what unites them is this." He swept a paw around the room. “They all want this vessel. Not only is it a formidable weapon onto itself, but there are technological advances present here that the Union still struggles to replicate." He paused, staring at her. “More importantly, it's rumored there are things on this ship that are, shall we say…" Alakor chirruped, prickling up his crown feathers. “Otherworldly?"

Nira shivered, turning her eyes away. There were things on the ship she couldn't explain, things no one else had seen. Things hidden behind black doors. But she wasn't about to tell Alakor. “Sounds like nonsense, to me."

“Yet you shuddered when I mentioned it." The gryphon sharpened his tone, his eyes like knives. “I think you know what I'm talking about." He tilted his head, ever so slightly. “Is it true?"

Nira forced herself to meet his gaze, stone-faced. “Is what true?" When the gryphon only clicked his beak, Nira brushed the idea aside. “So, is that the only reason they're after me? For my ship?"

“I have other theories." The gryphon softened his voice, laying his crown feathers back down. “One of which involves your sister."

Nira sucked in a breath before she could stop herself. “What about her?"

“Empress Tryn." Alakor idly stroked the lounger's cushion. “Did you know that's what they call her, now?"

Something crumbled inside Nira, a warm bulwark against a cold truth she fought so hard to ignore. In the last years of the Empire, she scarcely saw her sister. Tryn was younger than Nira, and still wrapped in studies while Nira was busy drinking with Rog. Nira did not often take time to remember her sister. The heartache was simply too much, whenever she imagined what might have been. The laughter they could have shared in taverns, the heartbreak they might have consoled one another over, the adventures they could have snuck away on. None of those things would ever come to pass, now. Nira tried to avoid thinking about Tryn, not because it was easier to imagine she was gone, but because she longed for things that could never be.

“I know." Nira forced words through her suddenly dry mouth. “It was part of the truce, with me. If I'd stop doing things like freeing him…" Nira tilted her head towards Malaresh. “Then not only would the Golden Union stop pursuing me, but they'd allow the heart of the Empire to maintain a modicum of self-rule. Tryn had already surrendered herself, to save the people protecting her. So, I got to see her again, for a little while." The memory made of their long embrace brought tears to her eyes even as it left her smiling. “It wasn't much but…" She sniffed. “It meant the world."

Alakor bowed his head, offering her a moment to collect herself.

The princess wiped her eyes and went on. “The Union offered make her Empress. We knew she was only ever going to be their puppet, of course. But we both felt it was the best way to keep our people, and each other, safe. Tryn's smart enough to ask the capital to cooperate, because she knows the alternative would be worse."

Nira went quiet, grinding her teeth. As much as she hated the idea of her people accepting Union occupation, it was better than seeing them wiped out. And at least she knew Tryn was safe. Up until the truce, Nira hadn't even known where her sister was hiding. The princess thought it safer that way. No one could give up a location they did not have. But in the end, the Union found Tryn anyway. Sickening as the thought made her, Nira was thankful the Golden Union was more interested in a puppet than shedding any more Imperial blood.

The gryphon nodded. “Your sister plays her role very well. Almost too well. There are fears she plans to reach out to you in secret. A ship and crew like this would make a fine shadow army for a rebellious lapdog to wield against her masters."

Nira straightened in an instant. “No! No, she can't!" She smacked a fist against the chair. “She absolutely can't! It'll only put her in danger."

The gryphon flared up his crown feathers. “When has danger ever stopped you? Your sister, I suspect, is no different." He clicked his beak. “However, I assure you the risk is more yours to bear than hers. They can't exactly have her executed now that they've named her Empress. At least, not without triggering a fresh rebellion." Alakor tilted his head. “You, however, have become a folk hero. If they killed you in secret, few would ever hear of it, and fewer still would believe it."

Nira dropped her hands into her lap, grimacing. “And they wouldn't have to worry about me trying to help Tryn, someday."

“Exactly." Alakor held up a paw. “Now, keep in mind, these are my theories. To know for certain, you'd have to ask someone more knowledgeable." The gryphon warbled, a thoughtful noise. “Someone hunting a runaway spy, perhaps." He tapped his claw tips against the lounger. “But wherever might you find such a person?"

Nira groaned, putting her head in her hand. “Let me guess. The fucking Emplacement."

Alakor perked his ears. “Yes, I think that's a good place to start. If I were hunting a runaway spy, I'd certainly look there."

Nira leaned back in her chair, appraising him. “Kasis suggested The Emplacement from the beginning. She said their pass through the Teeth is the easiest to reach, and the safest. It also means we could stop and ask Prav's information brokers about the Union on the way." Nira's voice hardened. “You knew that, didn't you?"

A smile parted the gryphon's beak. “Yes. I chose to make myself known at a time when The Emplacement was your best option. If anything, you girls were late in apprehending me. I was about to risk approaching you myself."

Nira took a slow breath, setting her hand upon her gun. “You know, I came here to confront you being manipulated for your revenge, but…" She drummed her fingers. “I think we're past that."

“You make it sound so callous." Alakor shook his head. “But allow me to answer the questions you surely came here to ask." He lifted a paw, ticking off fingers. “Yes, I want revenge against the Union. Yes, I have built a grand trap, of which you and your ship are very important pieces. And yes, I have already set its machinery in motion. The cogs are turning now, regardless of whether you agree to help me, or not." Alakor set his forepaw back down. “But I assure you, my revenge, and your escape are not mutually exclusive."

The Princess watched him closely. Alakor gazed back at her, his expression blank and his body language as neutral as if he were merely discussing the weather. “I'm starting to get the feeling this is about a lot more than having us blast a few ships for you."

The gryphon offered a smile, its friendliness belied by his words. “Quite right. I have not awaited an opportunity like this, merely to see a few insignificant vessels downed."

“Then what if we just don't go to The Emplacement, at all?" Nira leaned forward, trying to find some chink in his armor, something to get a rise out of him. “What if I have you banished from my ship, forever?"

Alakor only shrugged his wings. “That would be your prerogative as captain."

A snarl crept into Nira's voice. “Yes, it would! So what happens to your grand plan then, if you didn't have my ship playing its part?"

Slowly, deliberately, Alakor pushed himself up on the lounger until he was looming over Nira. Malaresh growled a warning behind her. Nira held a hand up, quieting the dragon. As the gryphon spread his vast wings, Nira forced herself to meet Alakor's gaze without so much as blinking.

“My dear Princess," Alakor said, crown feathers raised. “Your ship will play its part regardless. The Union will see to that." He lowered his head towards her. “But please, believe me. When that moment comes, you will want me on your side."

Nira shot to her feet, and snatched the gryphon by his beak. “Believe you? How the hell do you expect me to do that, when you've done is lie?"

“I have not lied to you." Alakor jerked his beak out of her grasp. Something new crept into his voice, a long-smoldering coal he'd kept hidden till now. “I made a calculated choice to be as honest as I can without divulging every secret I possess. I understand I must earn your trust." He slapped his forepaw against the lounger, hissing. “But you have to earn mine, too!"

Nira finally relented, folding her arms. She glowered at him, refusing to let his size intimidate her. “I could have you tortured, you know. Till you spilled all these secrets."

“No." Alakor shook his head, settling back onto his belly. “You could not. I am not some common soldier to be so easily broken. You would kill me, before you would loosen my tongue."

The princess pinched the bridge of her nose. “I wasn't being serious, Alakor." She turned towards the windows, gazing at the sky. “But normally, a military defector shares their secret information and valuable intelligence. Otherwise, you're a just…" She shrugged. “A refugee. And I'd just take you somewhere safe."

“I have given you valuable information." Alakor watched her through narrowed blue eyes, his ears flat. “I told you they're going to be hunting you-"

“You told me what you needed me to know!" Nira spun back towards him, jabbing a finger in the air. “You gave me a bunch of nebulous theories, and filled my head with questions! You tossed me into a cloud of half-truths, so you can push me to seek clearer answers at The Emplacement! I don't call that valuable. I call that manipulative!" She took a breath, and let it out slow. “I know you have your reasons, but please. If you want me to trust you, give me something useful."

Alakor ground his beak. “Very well. The Union has designed new vessels based on their losses in battle against the Cataclysm. Their newest generation can significantly outfly you. They might not outgun you, but soon, their fleets will out-range you." The gryphon swept his wing out, gesturing at the ship's walls. “They seek to nullify your advantage in weaponry by ensuring you cannot close the distance enough to return fire."

A chill shook her. That wasn't a new fear, but hearing it put to words by someone from the Union left her blood running cold. “Is that one of your secrets?" Nira leaned against the window, grimacing. “Because we already knew they've been working on faster ships with bigger guns."

“No, Princess." The gryphon stared at her, unblinking. “The secret is that they're already fielding them."

Nira straightened, sucking in a breath. That was new. They thought the Union's next generation of warships was years away, if not decades. “The Union is fielding new airships?" Malaresh's words earlier in the day drifted through her mind_. A Union vessel, but not of a make nor marking that I am familiar with._

She turned towards the dragon. “Do you think that's what you saw?"

Malaresh rumbled from his spot in the doorway. “It is certainly possible." The dragon licked his muzzle. “I saw an unfamiliar vessel, bird. With strange colors, and markings."

“Can you describe it?"

The dragon tilted his head. “It was sleek, almost strangely so. Bigger than recon vessels, but not as large as a destroyer. Well armed, I think, though I only saw it at a distance. The Union rarely paints their entire vessels, but this one was completely white and gold."

“White and gold?" Alakor swallowed hard, his black-tipped crown feathers rising in alarm. He worked his beak, muttering to himself. “Then she's early. Or am I late?" He ruffled himself up, then turned his attention back to the princess. “That, your Highness, is The Stormcaller. It is an Executor ship."

Malaresh hissed, an angry, disconcerting sound. The dragon's gold-tipped frills flared up in threatening display. He dragged unsheathed claws across the floor, scratching deep ruts. “There's an Executor on that ship?"

Alakor nodded once. “Her name is Harliss. She commands the newest ship in the-"

“I should have attacked it!" Malaresh lashed his tail, the spines gouging wood. “And killed that damn Executor, just like the last one!"

Nira furrowed her brow, scowling. While she knew the dragon had highly unpleasant personal experiences with an Executor during his captivity, he'd never truly discussed it. Nira was certainly not about to make him relive his trauma now. She walked back to Malaresh, then gently stroked his scales. “Are you alright?"

The dragon growled loud enough for Nira to feel the vibrations against her palm. “I will be fine."

The Princess pointed towards the corridor, where the others waited. “Do you want to wait outside? It's alright if-"

“No!" Malaresh stomped a forepaw. “I will…" He licked his muzzle, sighing. “Calm myself." The dragon gazed at Alakor. “Answer her questions, bird, I will hold my tongue."

“If you're certain." Nira patted Malaresh's chest, then returned to the gryphon. “I'm afraid I don't know as much about the Union's Executors as you two. Give me the gist of it."

Alakor stared at Malaresh, then turned his attention back to Nira. “Executors are akin to special inquisitors, serving the Union's military and church alike. They are so-titled because they are considered to execute the will of the Three Gods. Technically speaking, they're high level field commanders with their own ships, crews, and carte-blanche authority." The gryphon waved a wing. “They undertake all manner of dangerous missions, and secretive investigations. In this case, hunting down a rogue spy." He put a paw to his chest, then flicked his wingtip towards Nira. “And apprehending enemy royalty."

“This Executor is here for both of us?" Nira crossed her arms, clenching her jaw.

Alakor only smiled. “See? I told you my revenge and your escape were not mutually exclusive."

Nira shook her head. “I should have just had you shot."

The gryphon warbled laughter. “I get that a lot."

Malaresh growled again. “It's not to late to change your mind, Princess."

“Truthfully," Alakor said, ignoring the dragon. “I am likely Executor Harliss's primary target. But she's likely been involved in the efforts to track you. You would make a tempting target of opportunity."

“As would this Executor," Nira said. “If she's half as important as you make her sound." She scowled. “Which makes me think you've lured her here, as well."

“Why set a trap, if not for the finest quarry?" The gryphon offered an infuriating, open-beaked grin, but it swiftly faded. “That said, The Stormcaller can fly rings around this ship, and is armed with much newer weaponry. The Cataclysm would be victorious, but not without potentially significant casualties. And the Executor herself is more dangerous still. Do not underestimate her."

Nira leaned against the window. The glass was cool against her shoulder. “I'm sure she is. I rather doubt the Union picks these people from the rank and file."

“They most certainly do not." Alakor drummed his fingers against the lounger. “They're the Golden Union's most renowned combatants and gunfighters. Each of the twelve current Executors attained the rank and title only after surviving at least one event that should have killed them. Their service records are littered with the impossible. Successfully completing suicide missions, singlehandedly outgunning entire Empire squads, surviving otherwise mortal wounds, and so on. As a result, the Church has declared them Sanctified. Their survivability is officially considered a divine blessing."

Malaresh gave a derisive snort. “They still burn."

Nira rolled her eyes. “Sounds like bullshit, to me. They're well trained soldiers who got lucky."

The gryphon only shrugged his wings. “Regardless, that's why they hold high ranks in both Church, and military hierarchies. The Church also tasks some of them with the Union's dirty work." Alakor fluffed up his feathers with a distasteful hiss. “Assassinations, inquisitions, punishment of village-wide blasphemy…" He trailed off, glancing at Malaresh. “Do you wish me to stop?"

Malaresh lashed his tail again. “Oh no, Bird. Tell her what else they do."

“Executors hunted dragons, during the war." Alakor shifted his weight, uneasy. “They were often in command of the snow gryphons sent after Malaresh's people."

“Shit." Nira turned towards the dragon. “Mal, I didn't know-"

The dragon waved her off, his voice terse. “Continue your conversation."

The Princess sighed, turning back towards Alakor. “I take it these Executors still command your people?"

“They consider snow gryphons to be one of their 'tools', yes." He pinned his ears. “I was not owned by one, but I was often deployed to an Executor's service."

Owned by one? That made it sound as if some Executors had their own snow gryphons. Nira wondered anew if Alakor had a child, somewhere. Had they bred him with a female, while he worked for an Executor? She sighed, deciding now was not the time for that conversation. “So, if we have to fight an Executor's gryphons, will-"

“I will have no trouble shedding snow gryphon blood." Alakor answered almost too quickly. Nira wondered if he'd been rehearsing those words in his head, ever since he left his people. “It will be painful, but I doubt their brainwashing could be broken."

“I understand." Nira reached towards him. When Alakor did not pull away, she stroked his neck feathers. “I'm sorry it may come to that, just the same."

“Thank you." Alakor closed his eyes, leaning into her touch.

“So, this Executor we're dealing with. Harliss, was it?" She'd never heard the name, but that did not surprise her. After another caress, she pulled her hand back. “On a scale of, 'one-to-we're fucked', how dangerous is she?"

Alakor opened his eyes to gleaming slits. “Your scale doesn't go high enough." He unsheathed a single claw, tapping it against the lounger Tap. Tap. Tap. “Officially, she's one of the fastest draws in the Union." Tap. Tap. Tap. “Unofficially, she's the fastest individual gunfighter they have."

“Wonderful." Nira fidgeted with the buckle of her right holster. She popped it open, then closed it again. The thought of having to go up against someone like that left a cold hollow where her belly once was. “So, put a bullet in the badass before she even thinks about going for her guns."

“I'd suggest you put six bullets in her, just to be sure."

The Princess ran her hands down her face. “Maybe I'll put Amelia on her. She can level off her Ebony Ranger with this Executor's head. Then if Harliss even considers drawing on us, Amelia can take her head off before her hands ever reach her holsters."

“I wouldn't be so sure about that." Alakor's voice was far too sincere for Nira's liking.

“We'll be as ready as we can." She waved at the gryphon. “Maybe I'll put you on her instead. You manage to kill someone that important to the Union, and you'll definitely earn my trust."

“I'll bear that in mind." Alakor gave a bittersweet warble.

Nira shook a finger at him. “You'd better also bear in mind that I expect you to keep your claws to yourself unless there's no other option. If we have to fight, then we'll fight like hell. But I'll tell you here and now I'm not about to let you use my crew to further your revenge."

“You have my word, I will not attack without proper provocation." Alakor bowed his head.

The Princess jabbed his beak. “I'm not sure I can trust your word yet. Speaking of which, when the hell were you going to tell me about the Executor?"

“When the time was right." Alakor shook his head. “She's earlier than expected." He stared out the window, gazing at the distant, mist-shrouded mountains. “Perhaps I left her a few too many feathers to follow. Nevertheless, we shall plan accordingly."

Nira folded her arms, glaring at the gryphon. “I'm never going to get a complete answer out of you, am I?"

Alakor chirruped, a hint of feigned amusement in his voice. “That depends how you define a complete answer." He perked his ears. “For what it's worth, I promise you that my desire to defect to your crew is genuine. But if at any point, you wish me to leave your ship, I will abide your order."

“I've no intention of casting you back to the wolves, Alakor." Nira took a deep breath, holding it till her lungs ached. She lifted a single finger. “But if I feel like you're manipulating me again? I'm going to have you tossed in the brig until you're willing to re-think your level of honesty." Nira grasped him by the beak, glaring into his eyes. “And if your secrecy gets anyone in my crew killed? It won't be Union you have to fear, anymore. It'll be me. Do I make myself clear?"

“Crystalline, Captain." Alakor bowed his head when she released him. “And until I am comfortable divulging my knowledge to you, I thank you for your patience."

“See that you don't wear it out." Nira sighed, returning to her chair. She settled into it. “Now, you've heard me talk about my past. I think it's time we talk about yours."

*****

Chapter Twenty-Three

*****

Executor Harliss made a point to completely ignore whoever was shouting insults at her. As the urd'thin scurried off to fetch her drink, Harliss reclined in her chair and propped her boots up on the table. “That was an interesting conversation."

“Yup." Tormin rested his shotgun over his forearm. “Real interesting."

“Oh, yes," Evlee said, tracking someone with both pistols. “Intriguing stuff."

“Hey! Union bitch! I'm talking to you!" The same angry voice cried out, closer now. “You better tell your friends to put those fuckin' guns down, or it's gonna start raining bullets from every damn direction!"

“Anyone aiming at us?" Harliss waited till Tormin gave a tiny shake of his head. She responded with an equally imperceptible nod, a tiny motion only her bodyguards would notice. Evlee slipped her pistols back into their holsters, and Tormin set his scatter gun down. “Who are we dealing with?"

“Big va'chaak," Tormin said, his lip curled. “Pistol on his hip, but not drawn. Dark green scales, black clothes. Looks real mad."

“Yeah," Evlee said. “His little head things are all red and standing up."

“Prav's 'fuck-off' messenger, probably." She flicked her eyes between her friends, making sure they agreed. “Let's try polite first. If that doesn't work, I'll have to get rude."

“How rude?" Tormin never took his eyes off the approaching va'chaak.

“Ruder than our lizard friend is going to enjoy." Harliss held her hand out when she saw Coaldust returning.

The urd'thin handed Harliss her drink, whispering. “That's Yorlok, one of Prav's bar managers and bodyguards. He's an asshole. Be careful."

Harliss nodded to him. “Thank you, Coaldust." She sipped her whiskey, sighing happily.

“Certainly, ma'am." The urd'thin hurried away, then leaned against a nearby wooden post. “I'll be here if you need me."

“Shut the fuck up, Coaldust!" The angry voice was now just behind Harliss. “And back to work, you lazy little rodent! You ain't gettin' paid to stand there lookin' pretty! Go suck a cock or something!"

“Oh, that's where you're wrong." Evlee waved at Coaldust, smiling. “We've paid for his company for two hours. He is working."

“Am I talking to you, gutter-slag?" The va'chaak snarled at Evlee, then turned his attention back to the urd'thin. “Coaldust, beat it, or I'm gonna beat you!"

“Leave him alone." The smile never left Evlee's face, but Harliss saw the mischief drain from her eyes, replaced by something far more dangerous. “Coaldust is working for his pay, he's doing everything he's been asked. You won't put a hand on him. Am I clear?"

“Listen here, you genocidal Union rat-fuck, I wasn't talking to you!" The va'chaak snarled again. Harliss watched his shadow carefully, saw him gesture at her. “I was trying to get your boss bitch's attention, but it sounds like maybe you and I got something to discuss, first." The va'chaak took a few threatening steps towards Evlee, who just kept smiling at him.

Harliss thrust her arm out, barring the lizard's way. All the pretense of friendliness was gone from her voice. Though she remained polite, her words were cold, authoritative, and completely in command. “That's far enough, thank you."

“Oh, is it?" The va'chaak glowered down at her. “So, you finally notice me huh? Real funny trick, pretendin' to be deaf, you Union Bitch."

Harliss lowered her arm as the va'chaak turned towards her. “I'm sorry, I don't answer to Union Bitch." She took another sip of whiskey. “You will refer to me as Executor Harliss."

“Fuck you!" The va'chaak slapped her boots off the table. “Get your fuckin' feet off my table. Gods-damn, do you even know who I am?"

Across the table, Tormin and Evlee put their hands back on their guns.

Harliss swirled her drink, shrugging. “Someone of vast unimportance."

The va'chaak leaned down, baring all his many, sharp teeth. He was taller than anyone else in the bar, and muscles rippled under his dark green scales. His bulky frame barely fit in his formal cut black and silver shirt, and matching trousers. Several gold chains adorned his neck. Golden rings pierced the crimson-hued frills adorning his vaguely dragon-like had. Dark bronze eyes glared at her, narrowed in fury.

“You think you're real hot shit, just cause you're an Executor." He snorted, unpleasant breath blasted across her face. “Well, I run this bar, and I count fifty guns with owners looking to put a bullet in anyone from the Union. Especially some fancy, high-ranking bitch like you."

Harliss scrunched up her face. “Only fifty?" She clucked her tongue and laughed. “You should have brought a lot more. Because yes, I am hot shit." She glanced at her friends. “Ugly expression though, don't you think? Whoever decided heated feces was going to be mean you're good at something?"

“Listen, Bitch-"

“And last I heard, your name was Yorlok, not Prav." Harliss sharpened her voice as she cut him off. “So no, this isn't your bar. Why don't you tuck your ugly tail back between your legs, and return to your master while you can still walk? Tell Prav that Executor Harliss is waiting to see him." She took a drink. “Be sure to get the name right. It's important."

“Fuck your name!" Yorlok slapped the glass out of her hand. It tumbled through the air, spilling whiskey everywhere. The vessel hit the floor and shattered, scattering glass in all directions. In the pub's sudden nervous silence, the startling crack was like a blast from a cannon. “And fuck your title! Get the fuck out of my bar! Prav don't wanna see you, and you ain't welcome here anymore!"

Harliss turned her head to stare at the broken glass. “Now, that was just rude."

“Last chance!" Yorlok thrust his finger towards the exit. “Get the fuck out of my bar, before you have to be dragged out."

“Counter-offer!" Harliss jabbed a finger towards a nearby chair in open imitation of him. “Pull up a seat, and have a drink with us. I really dislike being loomed over. I suggest you sit down, so we can have a polite conversation." She smiled. “Oh, and what else was it you said? Oh, right." Her smile faded. “Last chance."

“Are you fucking serious?" Yorlok stared at her, his jaws hanging open. “Oh, that's it. Somebody drag this bitch out by her fucking hair! If she resists, shoot her!"

“Oh, very well," Harliss said with a shrug. “Impolite it is."

In a single, smooth, impossibly fast motion, Harliss surged to her feet, drew one of her pistols, and slammed her knee into the scaly monster's crotch. The lizard gave a great, agonized cough, doubling over to grab himself. As he dropped to his knees, Harliss jammed her pistol barrel into his throat, hard enough to leave him choking. With her free hand, she pulled the lizard's gun from its holster, and tossed it onto the table. Harliss stared down at Yorlok, waiting for the gravity of the situation to catch up to the pain she'd put him in.

When he managed a few gasping breaths, Harliss smiled. “You know what? Maybe you're right. Sometimes impolite is more fun."

Evlee leaned forward, smirking down at the stricken lizard. “That's what you get for threatening poor Coaldust!"

Coaldust flashed her a grin. “Appreciate that. But, ooh." Coaldust groaned in sympathy. “You couldn't pay me enough to take a blow like that. Better his than mine!"

Evlee put her elbow on the table, and rested her chin against her palm. “You know, I didn't even realize lizards had those."

“They aren't really lizards." Tormin hefted his shotgun. “Kobolds and va'chaak are scaled, but warm-blooded. Like dragons."

“Oh, fascinating!"

Harliss let them banter. They might drive each other mad in private, but when the guns came out, they played off each other perfectly. Tormin's dismissive attitude, Evlee's seeming obliviousness, it was all part of a carefully choreographed act. Harliss knew even now, Evlee's eyes were roaming the crowds, watching for hands on guns. Tormin was watching entrances and exits.

“Now," Harliss said, pressing her gun harder into the lizard's throat. “Do I have your attention?"

Yorlok gagged. A dribble of blood ran down her pistol's barrel. He managed to nod.

“Good." Harliss twisted the barrel back and forth. “Because I'm out of patience. First, after this, you leave Coaldust alone. Permanently. If you ever put a finger on him, if you garnish his pay, anything, you'll answer to us." She leaned in, snarling. “And I assure you, we'll know." She let that sink in before continuing. “Furthermore, when I remove my gun from your throat, I expect you to be the epitome of politeness. Are both those things understood?"

The lizard nodded again.

Harliss glanced at her bodyguards, making sure they were ready to cover her, just in case. Then she pulled back her gun, waving the barrel at him. “Since you couldn't handle a polite conversation, maybe you can manage this. Crawl back to Prav, and tell him I'm tired of waiting."

Yorlok rubbed himself, groaning in pain “Prav doesn't want to see you, you…crazy bitch!"

Harliss sighed, rolling her eyes. “You know what? I'm done with you."

Executor Harliss whipped her pistol across the front of the Yorlok's muzzle. Scales split and blood splattered his shirt. With a cry, the lizard toppled over. He grabbed his rent snout, cursing, but Harliss wasn't done. She aimed her pistol at his foot and pulled the trigger. The gunshot came as a deafening roar, rending the silence like a furious beast. Blood sprayed across the floorboards and the bullet lodged in the wood. The acrid scent of gun smoke and the copper tint of blood mingled in the air; familiar, sickening, and exhilarating all at once. Yorlok screamed, curling up to grasp his ruined foot.

“On your right!" Tomrin's voice rang like a warning bell, just after the first sharp report of gunfire faded.

Recognizable movement in that direction was all Harliss needed. At another table, a man was rising and drawing his own pistol. Before he'd even cleared his holster, Harliss put a round through his shooting shoulder. The impact spun him around with a spray of blood, and sent him tumbling into a screaming heap. As he fell his gun went off. The echoing gunshots were joined by the telltale crack of a bullet streaking by, all near too. It splattered the wood just above Coaldust's head. He shrieked and ducked, covering his ears.

“Runner, left!" Evlee opened fire at a va'chaak sprinting for a rifle resting on the nearby bar. She struck him in the leg and he cried out, rolling head over tail across the floor.

Two more people went for their guns, on opposite sides of the room. Harliss fired on a gnoll guard hefting his shotgun, striking him inside the shoulder. The impact punched through him, shattering his collarbone. At the same time, a scruffy-haired human near the far wall tried to pull his pistol. Harliss beat him to the draw and put a shot right through his arm. The gun fell to the ground, and he fell with it, screaming and grabbing his bloodied limb.

The loudest boom yet rang out behind her as Tormin fired his massive scatter gun. An upper story railing above them disintegrated, and pieces of a door blew off, driving back whoever was opening it. Just as quickly, he unloaded a second shell at another door where a rifle barrel was emerging. Then, only stillness. No one else dared to move. The sounds of gunfire faded to an echoing ring in Harliss's ears.

Harliss called out, lifting her voice over the moans and screams. “Listen up, and listen good! If you've just been shot, take a moment to realize you're still alive. I assure you, that is not by accident. Consider it a gesture of kindness that will not be extended again. If anyone else takes a shot me, I will not by aiming for limbs. But if you're willing to stake your life on outdrawing an Executor, I'm waiting!"

Behind her, Tormin spoke, his tones hushed and somber. “How far are you taking this?"

“As far as I fucking need to, to make my point." Harliss clambered up onto the table. “Cover the balconies!"

“Aw, shit," Evlee said, moving to a better vantage. “I think she's actually mad."

“Yup." Tormin swiftly replaced his spent shells while Evlee covered the room. “Here comes the Executor Harliss show. Might as well try and enjoy it."

“I always enjoy the show!" Evlee took up a position opposite Tormin that allowed the two of them to survey the whole room. “Covered, Executor. Reload!"

Harliss deftly popped her cylinders open, swapping spent cartridges for fresh ones from her gunbelts. While her bodyguards had the crowded tavern under watch, she offered Coaldust a smile. For him, her voice was gentle. “Coaldust, dear, stay down behind the post, won't you?"

Coaldust lowered his hands from his ears as he looked up. Terror and exhilaration gripped him in equal measure. The urd'thin was wide-eyed and trembling, but with a nervous excitement gleaming in his eyes. “I sure as shit ain't going anywhere else!"

Executor Harliss snapped her cylinders back into place. Though she'd spent only a few rounds, she always preferred to be fully loaded. Harliss also savored the drama of so casually reloading in full view of everyone. If anyone dared to take a shot at her while she was indisposed, she was confident her bodyguards could handle it.

Harliss scanned the stunned, uneasy crowd. The only movements came from those writhing in pain, bleeding on the floor. Only moans and screams broke the silence. Outside, the guards had guns in hand, but Hatha must have kept them from charging in. If so, he was a very wise gnoll, indeed. If the guards attacked, her own soldiers would sweep in behind them, and chaos would erupt. Harliss did not want to start a war, but she was more than ready to win one, if she had to.

“None of you wanted to try your luck?" Harliss raised her voice to a booming call, louder even than the anguished cries. “How very disappointing!" She pointed a gun at Yorlok, circling it in the air. “This slimy little lizard shit said there's fifty guns in here, ready to put a bullet in me." She waggled the other pistol. “Now, maybe I miscounted, but I don't think we shot anywhere near fifty people yet. So, come one, come all!" She spread her arms wide, offering herself as a target. “There ought to be at least forty-three of you left, just itchin' to kill an Executor! But don't worry, I got bullets enough for all of ya! So, who's next?"

Her only answer came in the form of a few nervous coughs.

“No one?" Harliss dropped her arms back down. “Well, the offer stands. Take a shot at me any time you like. But when you're lying on the floor, drowning in your own blood? Remember, I warned you!" Harliss swept her pistols across the crowd as if seeking fresh targets. “You. Aren't. Fast enough."

One front door opened, and Harliss aimed at it in a blink. Hatha walked in, his hands raised. Behind him, a few of his guards pointed rifles through the opening, only for Hatha to carefully close the door again with the heel of his boot. He took a few steps forward, hands still up. Harliss gestured him forward with one of her guns, lowering the other.

“Deputy Hatha, perfect! Just the gnoll I wanted to see." She waved him closer. “Don't be shy, come here, come here."

Hatha skirted between tables, glancing at every wounded person along the way. “I thought I told you not to cause any trouble."

“You did, and for that, I apologize." Harliss bowed to him, then waggled her gun her at Yorlok. “Your scaly friend here holds half the blame, though. He really pushed my buttons, and he tried to have me dragged out." She smirked. “By my hair. I suppose not all of Prav's goons can be as wise as you, Hatha."

Hatha flattened his ears, glancing at Yorlok. He muttered something under his breath in the gnoll tongue. Whatever it was, sounded awfully insulting, but Harliss wasn't sure if it was meant for her, or Yorlok. Probably both, she thought. “These people need medical attention."

“Yes, they do." Harliss shrugged. “Be a dear and fetch them some. No one armed, of course."

Hatha turned and started towards another exit.

“Oh, and Deputy?" Harliss pivoted on the table, watching him. The gnoll swiveled his ears towards her, but did not turn around. “Do me a favor. Go ask Prav how many more of his thugs he'd like me to cripple before he's ready to see me?"

Hatha nodded, then vanished through another doorway. With him gone, Harliss once again called out to the entire crowd. Her bellowing voice resounded through the tavern, a grand carnival announcer reveling in her favorite performance. “While I hold your attention, allow me the honor of formerly introducing myself to one and all! I am Executor Harliss!" She crossed an arm over her middle, bowing dramatically. Her eyes remained level with the crowd. “The honor, I assume, is yours." She straightened again, a playful smile twisting her lips. “Because you'd better be fucking honored to meet me!"

“Executor Harliss!" Evlee cried out, following Harliss's lead. “The fastest gun in the Union!"

“Executor Harliss!" Tormin bellowed right after her. “The law brought to the lawless, and the will of the Gods brought to the God-less!"

Harliss spun her pistols around her hands. “Pistols forged in the blood of the Three Gods, and bullets guided by the hands of the divine!" Harliss wondered how many of them bought that bullshit. Some days, she almost believed it herself. “Wherever I go, the Union's law and jurisdiction goes with me! I could fly my ship halfway around the world, and I'd still be the fucking law!"

She let that ring in the air a moment before continuing. “Do you know why? Because I'm gods-damned Sanctified!" Harliss mimed taking a shot at some poor kobold, who ducked under the table. She dropped her gun back down. “Now, some of you probably don't know what Sanctified means, so let me tell you a-"

A side door opened, and people streamed into the room carrying doctor's bags and bandages. Some were human, a few were va'chaak, and one was an urd'thin. They spared the Executor and her bodyguards nervous glances, but Harliss paused her performance to allow them to get to work. They bandaged wounds, stabilized ruined limbs, and so on. Given how often a port like this saw violence, Prav probably paid qualified doctors good money to staff an infirmary for him.

Deputy Hatha returned, now with a kobold at his side. The kobold stood less than half Hatha's height. Burnt-red scales covered his head and arms, fading to paler beige across his throat. He wore black, formal cut trousers tailored to fit kobold legs, but kept his clawed feet bare. A black vest with elaborate golden patterns embossed upon it covered his chest. Four kobold-sized pistols were strapped around his body, along with more bullets than Harliss could count. He glared up at her with dark golden eyes filled with fire and a dangerous sort of hunger. Harliss knew that look all too well. Sooner or later, that little monster was going to take up her challenge.

When Hatha started to speak, the kobold immediately held up his hand. Hatha fell silent. The kobold spoke instead. “Baron Prav will see you now, Executor Harliss."

Harliss quirked a brow. “Baron now, is it?" She waved the kobold off. “You know what? Tell him to wait." She turned back towards the crowd. “I was about to explain to these good people how I came to be Sanctified! Prav's welcome to come hear the story, if he wants."

“Prav will-"

“When I was a girl," Harliss said, cutting off the kobold's reply. Her voice was the loudest thing in the room, carrying over moans and murmurs. “I lived in a small farming village, in the Empire of the Black Star. My mother died when I was little, so I worked alongside my father in her place. We raised crops, and livestock. Pigs, mostly. Every year, we gave everything we had to the Empire, just like everyone else."

As Harliss spoke, her eyes swept everywhere. She was attuned to any sign of moment, any twitch towards a weapon. She knew her bodyguards were keeping careful watch, as well. The kobold who'd come to fetch her folded his arms, waiting.

“We weren't paid for our contributions, mind you." Harliss shook her head, heaving an exaggerated sigh. “They were simply expected. We were allowed to keep just enough food to feed our meager family, and that was it. The rest was to feed the Empire, or so they said. My father worked his fingers to the damn bone, keeping that farm running. Yet year by year, they took more and more from us. Father took odd jobs to make up for it. He exhausted himself on the farm during the day, and toiled away at night, doing repair work in the village. All just to earn an extra coin or two, so I'd have something to eat at night."

Harliss paused to stare down at Yorlok. A medic was bandaging up his injured foot. “Come to think of it, it was lizards like you who were responsible for collecting all the local farm's contributions. Funnily enough, the more rumors about war that circulated, the greedier the lizards got." She waggled her gun at him. “They got meaner, too. They'd never been hesitant to resort to violence, but the closer the war got, the worse they became." Harliss took a slow, deep breath. “One day, they decided my father wasn't giving them enough food. Mind you, we'd always given all we had, year after all."

The Executor paced the table. “And yet four of them showed up that night, claiming we'd illegally stashed away food. They said if we didn't give it up immediately, they'd have my father jailed." She paused, flourishing one of her pistols. “Now, jailed was usually code for executed. And all we had left was our food. It was a tiny, meager amount, but legally it was ours. When my father tried to stop them from claiming it, one of them smashed a fist right into his face!" She punched the air with her gun. “Shattered his nose, just like that. He went down, gushing blood, trying not to cry out. Trying to be strong, for me." Her voice darkened, pain and anger creeping in, word by bitter word. “Wasn't near the first time I'd seen them make my father bleed."

Harliss paused to let that sink in, pivoting on her heel. Nearly everyone was in rapt attention now, even if only out of fear for what the Executor might do next. Evlee and Tormin gave her barely noticeable nods. They still had everyone covered.

“With my father on his knees, the lizards went outside. We had one pig left, a sow, with piglets on the way. That pig was ours, and her piglets were to be ours, too. But the lizards disagreed, and their leader was the local Empire deputy. So, he went outside with his second, pulled his pistol…" Harliss pointed her gun towards a twitchy gnoll in the crowd, who cringed and looked away. “And shot our sow right in the head. My father ran outside, leaving two of the lizards to ransack our belongings. Father was still bleeding all over himself, struggling to tell the Deputy we needed that pig to survive the winter. The sow was dead, of course, but we could have preserved the meat. But the Deputy didn't like the backtalk. So…" Harliss spun on her heel, and mimed firing her pistol. “He shot my father."

Harliss gave a sharp cry, as if she'd been hit. She stumbled back, clutching a pistol against her shoulder. “Bullet punched right through him. He went down, screaming, blood everywhere." She dropped her gun back down. “The lizards started arguing, but I was focused on my father. Seeing him, like that…"

Harliss's voice softened, her gaze distant, throat tightening. “He'd always seemed to strong. And now he was bleeding out into the mud, just for trying to feed his little girl." She took a breath, shaking her head. “Something in me just…" All at once, her voice was a snarl, dark and terrible. “Snapped. While the lizards were distracted, I went for their leader's gun. I wrenched it from his grasp before he realized what was happening. The lizard just stared at me, too shocked to react. They say time slows, in moments of crisis. And it did."

Harliss held her pistol up, the weapon trembling noticeably. “The gun was heavy. Far heavier than I thought it would be. I'd never fired a gun before, but I knew all I had to do was pull the trigger. I'd seen him do it twice, now." She paused, turning to the side. “Out of the corner of my eye, I saw terror on my father's face. Not for himself, but for me. They would kill me for taking that gun." She shook her head. “But I'd taken it to use it. I aimed it at their leader with both hands, and I pulled the trigger. The round went in through his chin, and erupted out the top of his head."

By now, even the medics were paying attention. Coaldust watched her with wide eyes, from behind the wooden pillar. Hatha stared, his muzzle ajar. Only the kobold beside him seemed unmoved. Harliss glanced at her bodyguards, and continued her tale.

“The sound and the sight were one, as if the great boom was the explosion of his skull." She feigned firing a shot with an exaggerated motion. “The gun jumped so hard I nearly lost my grip. It jerked my arms, shuddered through my bones, and I stumbled back. Suddenly, another shot rang out. The second in command was returning fire from behind me."

Harliss made a show of staggering, then awkwardly spun around. “Something cracked the air, just alongside my head. I didn't even realize it was a bullet. I always thought they'd whiz, or buzz, but they don't. When they're that close, they just sound like another gunshot. The lizard fired again, and that one missed as well. I shot back at him, caught him in the belly. He stumbled and dropped his gun, then fell over, grabbing his guts."

The Executor paused, then spun around, as if started by something. “The door flew open, and the other two lizards stormed out of the house. Both fired at me. One bullet skimmed my dress while another ruffled my hair, the cracks deafening. I shot the first one right in the chest, knocking him off his feet. The last lizard got another round off, but it missed me, too. The bullet went just under my arm, and splattered the dirt somewhere behind me. At the same time, I was already aiming at him. He looked so…" She paused, furrowing her brow. “Confused."

Harliss let a baffled look cross her face. “Just as I leveled off with his head, I knew what he was thinking. 'How the hell did this little girl get a gun, and why can't anyone hit her? This can't be how I die.' But it was." Harliss tapped a pistol to her forehead. “Hit that bastard right between his lizard eyes. He just crumpled. I threw the gun away, ran to my father, and sobbed into his blood-soaked shirt. And…" She took a shaking breath. “That was the first day we were free. Years later, when they looked to name me Executor? That was my first miracle. My first time surviving the un-survivable."

Harliss draped an arm across her waist, and bowed. “And that is what Sanctified means! Whether I'm truly blessed by the gods, or just real fucking lucky, I remain..." She straightened up, holding a gun over her heart. “Sanctified. So, keep that in mind, if you feel like taking on an Executor. Or the next time I stand up on a table in a tavern, I might be telling a story about you!"

With that, Executor Harliss dropped her pistols back into their holsters. She jumped off the table, and turned away from her audience without another word. Instead, she strode over to Hatha and the kobold. Tormin and Evlee followed her, keeping watch on the crowd.

Harliss offered the scaly little gunslinger her friendliest smile. “I believe you said Prav was ready for us?"

The kobold glared up at her. “Nice fuckin' story." Somehow, he made it sound like both compliment and insult, rolled into one. Before Harliss could reply, he turned around and strode into an adjoining hallway, tail swishing. “This way."

*****

Chapter Twenty-Four

*****

Nira pressed her forehead to the window, staring outside. Far below the ship, the foothills of craggy mountains were but a morass of brown and gray. Swaths of emerald pine and blue-green fir brought patchwork vibrancy. Distant villages hidden amongst the trees and stones were little more than dark smudges upon the horizon. Layers of white clouds obscured the tops of the rugged peaks The Cataclysm so often skirted.

Those same clouds frequently hid the ship, though they could not always be relied upon. Nira did not like to fly too close to the mountains, despite Kasis's many detailed charts of elevation and topography. Normally, Nira was confident her scouts and their far-lenses would alert them to any potential adversary in time to respond. But after what Alakor told her about the Union's ships, she suddenly felt naked, without the clouds to cloak her vessel.

The gryphon now sat on his haunches alongside her, sharing the view. Even seated, Alakor still loomed over the princess. Nira glanced at him, wondering about the many of scars listed in the medic's report. How many of them came from battle, and how many more from beatings? Did all the snow gryphons go through the same hell? If so, why had only he slipped his leash?

“What makes you different from the other snow gryphons?" Nira gazed up at his face, watching his expression shift. “If they're all so brainwashed, why didn't it work on you?"

“It did." Alakor grunted, clacking his beak. “I was taught from birth that I was nothing but a beast, born only to serve the Three Gods. And for most of my life, I believed it."

“So, what changed?" Nira reached out. When Alakor did not pull away, she gently stroked his wing. Some of his black-tipped flight feathers were longer than her arm. One of them was conspicuously missing where she'd yanked it out earlier. Nira brushed her fingers across the missing plume's silken neighbors. “Something must have happened to you."

“Yes, you yanked my feather out." Alakor lightly batted her with his wing, then gave a low, bitter chirrup. “My life started like any snow gryphon. Raised not by parents, but by Union handlers. We're reared in a group, and taught that we're…" He shrugged his wings, sighing. “Lesser. That the Three Gods gave us life only to serve and protect the Golden Union. We learn only what they want us to. Above all, we learn to obey." The gryphon ruffled himself. “By the time we're deployed outside Union lands, there's precious little room left in our heads for the truth."

Nira cringed, smoothing down his feathers. “That sounds horrible."

Alakor leaned into her touch, cooing. “A few of us see the truth, anyway, but you learn to keep your thoughts to yourself, for your own safety. Any gryphon caught spreading blasphemy or treasonous ideas is likely to be strung up front of the others, and beaten until it hurts just to think about disobedience." Alakor swallowed, his ears flat. “Let alone desertion." Alakor swallowed, his voice shaking. “I…I had a friend…"

The Princess's hand went still. The sudden anguish in the gryphon's voice could only mean one thing. Her heart dropped. “Oh…" She rubbed his ear, softening her voice. “You don't have to go on, if you don't want to."

“His name was Remiir." Fire heated Alakor's voice. He glanced at the princess, ghosts drifting behind his eyes. “I appreciate the thought, but I will never let his story go unspoken."

Nira nodded, hugging the gryphon's neck. She might not fully trust him, but she could damn sure comfort him in a painful moment. “Then tell me about Remiir." She glanced back at Malaresh, tilting her head towards the entryway.

The dragon bowed his head. “I will grant you privacy for your tale, bird." He pushed up to his paws, turning away. “I will be nearby, if I am needed."

“Remiir and I grew up together," Alakor said, when Malaresh was gone. “We were reared in the same group. He was the kindest soul I knew. Sweet enough to stand up for any other gryphon, and brave enough to take the beating he got for it. He was everything I wished to see in myself. We became fast friends, always slinking off, together. Little by little, we discovered the outside world. And, eventually we discovered…" Alakor splayed his ears, looking away. “Other things."

Nira patted his shoulder, grinning. “Very close friends indeed, then?"

Alakor softly warbled laughter. “We were." He gave her a quick smile. “Such dalliances amongst squad mates were usually ignored by our Handlers. Squads were all male or all female, so they didn't have to worry about 'unsanctioned breeding.' I suspect it was because they saw us only as beasts that it was allowed. After all, what do they care if animals rut in the darkness?" Bitterness slipped into his voice. “They probably thought it kept us compliant."

The princess made a face. “I can't say it would surprise me." She lowered her voice to a gruff tone. “Just let the dirty beasts fuck, it keeps them from rebelling."

The gryphon laughed, giving her a sidelong look. “That's eerily close." He clicked his beak, and went on. “The squad Remiir and I were part of was first deployed to a fortress the Union had recently seized from their foes. At night, Remiir and I skulked off from our makeshift barracks in the stables, in hopes of finding a little privacy. Instead, we stumbled on a place where the Empire once housed their own gryphons."

He perked his ears, wide-eyed, as if still in disbelief. “They had beds! Real beds, like the one you offered me. And…and bathtubs." He ground his beak, snarling. “All we'd ever known were straw mats, and a communal water pipe to stand under. The Empire's gryphons had their own quarters, their own mess hall! Things we'd always been told were just for…people." He sneered the last word. “It was impossible not to wonder why our enemies treated their gryphons better than our masters did."

“I'm guessing your masters were not exactly appreciative of your discoveries." Nira scratched at his wing joint, waiting for him to go on.

“Not in the least. Our handlers caught Remiir telling the other gryphons about it, and the local commander beat him so badly he could hardly walk for days." Alakor sighed, hanging his head. “Told the others we were lying. Moved us out of there shortly thereafter." He snorted. “But the idea was planted. That somewhere out there, there was a better life, just waiting for us. We whispered about it often in secret, imagining what it might be like to have a bed. To be a person, and not a beast. We called the idea 'our home, waiting to be discovered.' To me, it was only ever a fantasy, a pleasant dream to get me through the day." Alakor quieted, staring into the distance. Nira could almost see the memory of the gryphon's dear friend, soaring just behind his eyes. “But to Sweet Remmy, it was so much more."

Sweet Remmy. The pet name must have slipped out before Alakor could stop it. As soon as the words left his beak, the gryphon cringed as if someone struck him. He turned away, shrinking into himself. Alakor hid his face away behind a shaking wing, fighting back a sudden sob.

“Oh, Alakor, it's alright." Nira stroked his wing, her throat tightening in painful sympathy. “Just let it out."

“No, princess…" The gryphon struggled to force words. “He deserves his story told not with sobs, but with fire, and anger!" He took a few shaking breaths, gradually easing his wing back. Tears glittered in his blue eyes. “Remiir, he…" Alakor worked his beak in silence, considering his words. When he spoke again, there was cold fury amidst his sorrow. “Remiir chafed at his leash, more even than I did. He believed we should flee to seek a better life, no matter the risk. But I was a coward."

Alakor sniffed, rubbing his eyes with a paw. “I was too scared to risk my life, for a home I never believed we would reach. But Remiir…" His beak quavered, and more tears brimmed in his eyes than he could wipe away. “Remiir had a heart full of courage, where mine knew only cowardice. And one morning, I awoke to find he was gone."

Nira bit her lip, silently stroking Alakor's neck. This story was his to tell, at his own pace.

“Our handlers were furious." The gryphon took a shuddering breath. “They dragged us in for questioning, beat us when they did not like our answers. I took the worst of it, because I told them nothing. That night, I…" Alakor swallowed hard. “I prayed. Genuinely prayed. I called out to their Three Gods, for I knew no others. I begged them for their mercy, pleaded with them to keep Remiir safe. For a week, I prayed every night that my Sweet Remmy would find our home, waiting to be discovered."

A snarl crept into his voice, his black-tipped crown feathers rising. “But he didn't. Another snow gryphon unit caught him. Remiir fought like hell, maimed a few of them. But the rest dragged him back. Our squad was rounded up, and marched out to a great tree, in a field." Alakor's voice cracked, and fresh tears ran down his feathers. “The commander tied Remiir to the tree, and…"

Alakor fought back a sob, struggling just to speak. “He shot Remiir in the throat!" He lifted a trembling paw, dragging fingers across his neck. “Right here. And he…he made us watch!" Another sob wracked him, nearly strangling his voice. “I had to watch my Sweet Remmy die. Terrified, wheezing, choking on his own blood." He took a breath, letting it out in a shuddering sigh. “They told us that was the only fate awaiting those who betrayed their Gods. And then left him there, to rot. So we wouldn't forget." The gryphon gave a ragged growl. “And soon? They'll know I haven't."

“That's horrible." Nira smoothed down the tiny pinfeathers of his face, wiping some of his tears for him. “I'm so sorry, Alakor."

“Thank you." The gryphon unsheathed his claws, digging them into the wooden floor. His voice hardened. “All the cowardice in me died along with Remiir. After that, I did not want to escape. I did not want a better life. All I wanted then, was revenge. For Remiir, for myself, for all our wasted lives."

Nira blinked back a few tears of her own. “I can't say I'd have felt any different."

The gryphon offered her a somber smile, dipping his head. “From then on, I knew the only path left for me. But I also knew I had to wait. So, I swallowed my grief, played my part, and made myself indispensable to all the right people."

“I can't imagine living that way. Suffering under someone's yoke is bad enough, but suffering in silence?" Nira shook her head. “I'd have gotten myself killed ages ago trying to take that commander out."

“Oh, I came very close." The gryphon swallowed, working some of the hoarseness out of voice. “But I realized killing one cruel man wouldn't be enough. I wanted revenge on the whole gods-damned Union."

Alakor went silent, collecting himself. He swallowed down his pain, and hid it away once more. The anger and sorrow drained from his eyes. The gryphon's body language shifted. He lifted his ears, swished his tail, and let an easy smile part his beak. It was as if he'd never been lamenting his lost lover at all. The change was impressive, Nira thought, almost eerily so. He must have been a very good spy.

“I never said I suffered in silence, by the way." Alakor clicked his beak. “I let my hatred of the Union out in bits and pieces. I indulged in any sort of disobedience I could get away with it, from speaking my mind in angry outbursts, to the crudest of pranks. I decided if they were going to beat me anyway, I may as well make sure it was on my terms, not theirs."

Nira laughed, patting his shoulder. If he was that eager to move past the painful topic, she was happy to let him do so. “Oh, you have to tell me about some of those pranks! It'll help lift your spirits, if only for a moment."

“Very well." Alakor waved his paw. “Simple things, mostly. If a commander was a fucking idiot, I'd tell him so to his face. In front of his superiors. Or if I was hungry, I'd barge in where I wasn't allowed to take some human officer's food. But I'm guessing you wanted to hear a crude one." The gryphon offered a sly smile. “Once, a field commander refused to let us dig our own latrine areas. Forced us to use to some filthy communal pit, next to our sleeping area. Bastard told us that animals should live like animals. So…" Alakor stretched a forepaw, smugly inspecting it. “I did. I waited till my bladder was ready to burst, and then I flew tight circles just above his tent. Pissing on it."

Nira erupted into bawdy laughter. “Oh, shit!"

Alakor chirped. “He's lucky I didn't have to do that, at the time!" He set his paw back down, warbling. “Took a hell of a beating, but it was worth it. The next day, we were all allowed to dig private latrines outside the camp."

“I think that means you won." Nira leaned her shoulder against the window, folding her arms. “Sounds like you were really pressing your luck, though."

“I had too. With every passing day, I hated the Union even more. Acting up was an outlet that helped keep my hatred from overwhelming me." Alakor flattened his ears back, his eyes narrowing. “I was always careful, though. Never did anything punishable by more than a beating. And I undertook any mission I was sent on, no matter how distasteful, or dangerous. I had an extremely high success rate. In so doing, I cultivated exactly the image I needed them to see. A deeply loyal servant of the Golden Union, albeit one with an attitude problem."

“So they never even suspected you were plotting to defect?"

“If they did," Alakor said, swishing his tail across the floor. “They never acted on those suspicions. My successful performance was enough to override any doubts. Granted, at first, even I had no idea what form my revenge would take. I only knew killing a few cruel commanders wasn't enough. It had to be bigger." Alakor trailed off. He stared out the window, his gaze distant and fixed only on something in his mind. “And then the dreams started."

“Dreams?"

“Of the gods." Alakor's voice was a fervent, piercing hiss. “Real gods! The Stars That Sing, and the Smoke That Seeks! Dreams of urd'thin pups dancing on warm sands, of broken husks wandering empty world, and of her. And her impossibly golden feathers_._"

Nira furrowed her brow. None of those sounded like any gods she'd ever heard of, but she wasn't exactly a scholar of the world's religions. She wondered if those were other names for the Union's family-like trio of deities. “Her? Her who?"

“She Who Met the Stars." Alakor spoke the phrase as if it was a name. A strange look crossed his face, his ears splayed. He brushed his paw pads across the gilded plume necklace he'd purchased. “There are golden feathers, Nira_._"

“I…" Nira faltered a little, wondering if that was a code phrase. She considered calling Malaresh back in, simply because she had no idea what Alakor was talking about. “I'm afraid I don't follow. I don't know any of those names."

Alakor shook himself, fluffing up. “Never mind, then." He stroked his pendant, then set his paw back down. “I'm getting distracted, anyway. The point is, through my dreams, I realized greater things awaited me if I survived long enough."

Nira took a slow, deep breath. It unnerved her how quickly Alakor brushed it all aside. It was as if he'd finally revealed one of his mysteries, only to realize he should have kept it to himself. It seemed important to the gryphon, yet she hadn't recognized any of it. Was he offering the first part of a riddle, hoping she'd respond correctly with the second?

The Princess rubbed her face, grimacing. “Here I am asking for secrets, and when you finally offer one, I feel like I failed some game I didn't even know I was playing."

The gryphon smiled, his ears perked. “Don't worry. You'll get another chance, soon enough."

“That does not put me at ease." Nira rested her hands against her pistols. “Alright, then. So how did you get your chance to slip away from the Union?"

“Remember how I said I was cultivating an image? That image drew the attention of an intelligence unit known for using snow gryphons as spies." He circled a forepaw in the air. “They were looking to add new assets with a proven track record and in this case, my bad attitude worked in my favor. Outside the Union, a simpering, submissive gryphon draws far more suspicion than a cocky, outspoken one."

“So, your sharp tongue and ego actually helped you blend in?" Nira couldn't help but laugh at that.

Alakor tilted his head, his smile fading. “I present the image people expect to see from a gryphon. Who says my ego isn't just part of that?" He swished his tail. “But yes, those things helped. My new unit was more tolerant of my outbursts, and made me their spy in plain sight. I often posed as a bodyguard, protecting officers during negotiations. In actuality, I was there to steal information. Other times I infiltrated dangerous areas, and captured valuable targets. I took a few bullets here and there, but none of them killed me. My success drew the attention of the Executors, and before long, my unit and I were taking their orders." He ruffled up, chirruping. “It was considered a very high honor. To this day, I remain equal parts proud of my successes, and sickened by the fact they were on behalf of the Union."

“An understandable confusion, I should think."

The gryphon murmured, grinding his beak in thought. “Perhaps. Either way, it allowed me access to highly secretive Golden Union knowledge. Sometimes I transported documents and data. Other times, I wriggled my way into an archive and stole a few tomes to read. There was even highly classified information left out in front of me by people I was guarding."

Nira quirked her brows. “Really? Were your masters that inept, or did they think your loyalty that absolute?"

Alakor shrugged his wings. “My masters were not so foolish. But those they sent me to work with or protect often were. You'd be surprised how many Union officers simply believed I couldn't read." He added an angry gruffness to his voice. “Gryphon! Who are those documents addressed to?" Alakor shifted his voice to something both meek and exasperated. “I'm sorry, Master, but I'm afraid I still haven't been taught to read that language." He clicked his beak. “He says, whilst speedily reading the confidential details of Union troop movements."

Nira laughed, shaking her head. “No wonder they made you a spy. Were you surveilling us when you decided that this was your big chance?"

“Essentially, yes." Alakor straightened up. “They tasked my intelligence unit with helping to trace your movements. My old master theorized that solitary snow gryphons had the best chance of consistently tracking your ship without being spotted. And when it was my turn? I knew that was my opportunity to pursue something bigger." Alakor turned his attention to the blue sky beyond the window, and the red-gold beacon that was the sun. “I woke that morning, filled with a sorrowful sort of calm. The other snow gryphons gathered to brush their wings across mine, as was our farewell tradition. As they wished me safe flight, it occurred to me that if I saw them again, it would be as their enemy. That hurt more than I expected. And I…" He swallowed. “I cried for them, when I was in the sky."

Nira nodded, reaching out to gently caress the gryphon's foreleg. “That must have been painful to realize."

“And yet I would fight them without hesitation." Alakor twisted towards Nira, eyes boring into her, unblinking. “I need you to know that. I need you to understand that I will fight against all the Union is, with or without you." He stretched a wing, curling it around her. “But there is a great tide coming, Nira. Please believe me that when it arrives, you will want me in your lifeboat."

Nira scowled. “You do enjoy a good ominous proclamation, don't you." She squeezed Alakor's shoulder. “Let's hope it doesn't come to lifeboats." She let her hand drop down, turning back to the window. “If nothing else, at least I understand you a little better. I hope you feel the same way."

A wistful smile parted Alakor's beak, and he gave a little nod. The gryphon stared at the sky again, silent. He was quiet for so long that Nira decided to bid him farewell and leave him to his memories.

Just before she could do so, Alakor spoke. “The sun used to be brighter, Nira."

“Hmm?" Nira shaded her eyes, peering out the window. She'd heard superstitions like that in the past, but that was all they were. Superstitions. “Seems awfully bright to me."

Alakor shrugged his wings. Something cold, and unsettling crept into his voice. “It used to be brighter. It was warmer, once. Winters were shorter, summers longer."

Nira turned to watch the gryphon. He just stared into the sky, perfectly still aside from his slow, even breathing. “According to who?"

“Old dragon clans, first. They live longest, so they noticed the changes before anyone else. It was passed off as the ramblings of elders, wishing they could relieve their glory days. But their young grew up, and one day, they were telling their own children the same thing." The gryphon swallowed. “That the sun used to be brighter. And it was."

“Alakor…" Nira shivered. He spoke it as if it were established fact. “What are you talking about?"

“They proved it." Alakor's voice was adrift now, awash in an ocean of uncertainty. “A few decades ago, the Union proved it. The Empire probably did too, but-"

“Proved what?"

The gryphon's voice sharpened. “That the sun is dying, Nira."

An icy talon carved Nira down to her very soul. That was impossible, she thought. Suns didn't die…did they? “Bullshit! If that were true, The Empire would have known, so I would have known, too."

“Would you?" Alakor swiveled his ears towards the princess. “Your Empire was crumbling before you were even born. You had enough to worry about. There was no reason to tell you the truth, and every reason to shield you from it."

Nira glared at the gryphon. Whatever he was babbling about, it sounded like madness. Maybe there was something more insidious to his strange dreams than he let on. “Why are you telling me this?"

“You wanted a secret, right? I'm offering one." Ever so slowly, Alakor met her gaze. His once-piercing eyes now shone earnest, and chillingly afraid. “Every decade, for fifty years, Union scientists and astronomers measured the sun's light. They used a variety of methods, and ever-more modern instruments." Alakor stared right through her, as if he were peering into some secret Union laboratory. “Every consecutive study showed its light to be dimmer than the last. Eventually, they dug out historical measurements and astronomical data from the Union's archives for comparison. Those too, said the sunlight had dimmed. The sun used to be more gold, and less red." The gryphon swallowed but did not look away. “Winters in the Union's northern reaches have grown measurably colder, and longer. Summers are cooler, and shorter. After the last such study, the Union's scientists presented the only conclusion they could reach. That the sun is slowly fading."

“You're serious about this?" Nira put a hand to the empty pit where her stomach once was. It was a terrifying prospect.

Alakor nodded once. “The light's weakening is not noticeable, day to day. But over decades, centuries, it becomes impossible to miss. You may not live long enough to worry about what happens, when it grows too dim. But generations from now?" Alakor shrugged his wings. “One day, the world will be cold and dark. Maybe we find a way to survive." Something frightened glittered in Alakor's eyes. “Or maybe everyone dies."

Nira folded her arms, scowling. She wasn't sure if she should believe it. After all, there was a time people thought the Boiling Emptiness was literally bottomless and empty. The salt-crusted wastes around the Sunken Seas were once thought to be unrelated deserts. Hell, there was even a time when the idea of a flying ship was laughed off as a madman's impossible dream.

The princess scowled. “If that's all true, why haven't people heard about it?"

“Because the Union's ruling Church covered it up. They had everything confiscated. Their test data, their results, even the historical studies." Alakor finally turned back to the window, grinding his beak. “An Executor forced them all to recant their findings. Those who refused to admit to errors and miscalculations were locked away for High Blasphemy." Alakor snarled under his breath. “After all, their discovery starkly contrasted with the Union's teachings about the Three Gods. So, the powers that be buried it all. They made certain their people would never learn of it, lest they start to ask questions of their own."

“I hate to admit it, but that definitely sounds like something they'd do."

“It was." Alakor perked his ears. “I only learned of it because I often accompanied officers to an intelligence archive that maintained copies of Executor reports." He allowed himself a smile. “Many of which I happened to accidentally read." The gryphon waved a paw. “So, there you have it. One of my innumerable secrets. Whether you choose to believe it or not, is up to you."

Nira ran a hand through her hair. “Honestly, I already wish I could forget it. But thank you for telling me, just the same." She rubbed the gryphon's ear.

“You are welcome." Alakor leaned his head into her touch. “I forewarn you, many of my other secrets are no less disconcerting."

“Lovely." Nira sighed, scratching into his feathers. “I think I've taken up enough of your time. I have preparations to make, and people to discuss them with."

“Very well." The gryphon worked his beak in silence, as if chewing on his thoughts. “I think I'll stay here, and watch the sky a while."

“Of course." Nira stroked his feathers. “Thank you for telling me everything else, too." She leaned in, hugging him around the neck. “Especially about Remiir."

“You are welcome." Alakor returned her hug with a wing. When she eased back, the gryphon curled his massive paw around Nira's hand, gentle as could be. “I hope this helps you trust me, even if only a little."

Nira smiled, and squeezed his fingers. “It does."

*****

Chapter Twenty-Five

*****

Executor Harliss followed Deputy Hatha and the kobold through labyrinthine halls. Evlee and Tormin walked at either side of her, a step behind. All three kept hands on guns. Though they did not speak, they remained in full communication. With a flick of their fingers, or a tilt of their heads, Harliss's bodyguards drew her attention to anything of concern.

The Emplacement's deep interior was designed like a maze. Hallways crisscrossed each other. Stairwells led up or down a half story here, two stories there. Identical blue doors lined one long corridor. Paint flecked off each one in the same place and pattern. Lamps with odd, silver pyramid fixtures were interspersed amongst them. In another passage, every door was different. One was red, with carved vines crawling across it, while another was painted silver, with strange numerical codes inscribed everywhere.

After a while, Harliss saw the silver lamps again. Next, some of the doors looked familiar, albeit in a different order than last time. Their host must have been leading them in broken, mismatched loops to keep them from memorizing the layout. After all, it was hard to plan an assassination or an escape if you couldn't find your way through the building.

Harliss decided to study the burnt-red kobold instead. Given the gold embossments on his ebony vest, and the way Deputy Hatha deferred to him, Harliss suspected the shorter lizard was one of Prav's Captains. The kobold rested his hands on his pistols, his holsters unbuckled. He carried himself with an easy confidence, despite the trio of armed Union officers just behind him. He never once glanced back at them, a show of respect few might recognize.

But Harliss did. She recognized it all. His posture told her he was ready to pull his guns in a blink. His confidence meant he believed he could hold his own against the three of them. As for the fact he never looked back? It was a show of respect that said he knew Harliss would never shoot him unaware.

Somehow, those who followed the Ballad always recognized their own.

“Always be ready to draw," Harliss said, breaking their silence to recite one of her favorite principles.

“Always be ready to die." The kobold spoke the immediate follow-up, his little frills perking.

A smile broke out across Harliss's face, despite her best attempts to fight it. “You do follow the Ballad. I've never met a kobold who-"

“And I ain't never met a Union officer who'd bother with honor, so I guess we're both surprised." He snapped his teeth. “It don't make us friends."

Harliss shook her head. “Of course not. But it does help us understand one another."

The kobold grunted. “That it does."

“Well, then, my associate in the Cylinder's Song, you know what we have to do." Harliss held her arms out, bringing her bodyguards to a stop.

Hatha turned around, giving Harliss a dirty look. “I dunno what kind of trouble you're stirring up now, but-"

“Shut it, gnoll. We got business." The kobold turned around to face Harliss, and Hatha fell silent. With a slow, showy movement, the kobold lifted a hand from his pistol. He offered it to Harliss, along with his name. “Nok. Make the pledge."

Harliss made the same motion, and took the kobold's outstretched hand. Though small, his grip was firm. The pads of his paw were warm, and his dull claws pressed to her skin. He did not shake her hand, merely held it. The ritual was a bond among Balladeers, gentle contact between two foes who might soon take each other's lives.

“Nok," Harliss said, repeating the kobold's name as part of the pledge. “If my bullet proves your end, your name will know respect, and your memory will know honor." She gave the kobold's hand a tight squeeze. “Harliss. Do the same."

“Harliss." The kobold squeezed her hand. “If my bullet proves your end, your name will know respect, your memory will know honor." Their eyes met, and each nodded their agreement.

Hatha stared at them, his ears splayed in confusion. “What the hell's all this?"

Nok released Harliss's hand, then waved the Deputy onwards. “Move it, gnoll, Prav's waiting." The kobold took the lead again, tail swaying as picked up his pace. He settled his hands upon his pistols once more.

“Oh, don't mind the Executor." Evlee patted the gnoll's arm. “She always makes friends with gun people."

Tormin shifted his scattergun to carry it across his chest. “The ones she doesn't have to kill, anyway."

Harliss returned to following Nok. The kobold gave a single, sharp cough, then took both hands off his guns and hooked his fingers into his vest. Harliss arched a brow. It was clear he wanted her to see that. There were two ways to interpret such a gesture. One, Nok was silently announcing any hostilities now would be preceded by a formal challenge. Or two, he was insinuating he could beat her without even leaving his hands in position to draw.

The Executor smiled. It had been a long time since she'd got to play these kinds of games with another Ballad follower. She cleared her throat to draw Nok's attention. When he glanced back, Harliss not only took her hands off her guns, but folded her arms.

Nok growled under his breath. “So it's like that, huh?"

Harliss shrugged. “You initiated."

“Maybe I was just bein' polite." The kobold folded his arms, muttering to himself in his own language.

When Nok made no further escalations, Harliss examined their surroundings. The deeper into The Emplacement they went, the more its disparate mishmash of strange architectural influences made themselves known. Dark wooden panels and brass accents gave way to lilac carpeting, and flowery wallpaper. Antique furniture lined one room, while another held nothing but mirrors, and detailed statues of anatomically correct beasts. Another chamber served as a private tavern and stage. Prav's guards and associates sat at mismatched tables, smoking from grand communal pipes. A group of urd'thin played music, and several male humans danced in the nude with a female gnoll. In a different room, men counted coins and other currency.

A naked female kobold, seated in a gnoll's lap, watched Harliss pass. Evlee tilted her head towards the kobold in quiet warning. The female lizard was paying too close attention to the Executor and her group to be just a sex worker. Harliss wondered how many of the scenes Nok led them past were just for show. If she returned here with a force of soldiers, she doubted any of these rooms would be as she remembered them.

“Shame we're here on business," Evlee said, waving to the gnolls and kobold. “Otherwise I could have a lot of fun."

“If you call catching a venereal disease fun." Tormin scowled at her. “Just keep your eyes open. We're only seeing the guards they want us too. There's an ocean of them hidden away, ready to crash over us."

Harliss smiled, happy to let them banter. She knew both her bodyguards were more focused than they seemed. They were mapping things in their minds just as she were, counting guards, mentally marking entrances and exits, glancing at weapons and ammunition, and so on.

“Don't worry, Tormin. My eyes are wide open." Evlee glanced through an open door to a lushly appointed room. Inside, a naked male gnoll with dark fur was playfully snarling at some unseen customer. “Oooh, these must be private rooms for VIPs."

Tormin only snorted. “Staring at some monster's balls doesn't count as keeping your eyes open."

Evlee rolled her eyes. “Oh please, Tormin." She smirked. “I couldn't even see them, he was facing the wrong way. Besides, my curiosity is reserved for Coaldust." She playfully batted at the tip of Hatha's tail. “And for the Deputy here."

Hatha walked faster, pulling his tail away from Evlee's hands. “Please don't include me in this."

“I dunno, Hatha," Nok said. “Might wanna take your chance with a human girl while you can, in case Prav's real mad about you lettin' them keep their guns."

“Oh, don't worry, Deputy Hatha." Harliss put a hand upon the gnoll's shoulder. “If we've endangered your job, or worse, I'm sure we could find you a spot on my ship."

Hatha growled through clenched teeth, his ears flattened. “I don't think being a Union slave is better than being dead, actually."

“Oh, I'm sure it isn't that serious," Harliss said, glancing at Nok. “I assume Prav knows we didn't give the Deputy a choice in the matter."

Nok shrugged. “Yeah. If Prav's really in a bad mood, he'll probably just…" He smirked up at Hatha, tiny sharp teeth on full display. “Shave all the fur off his important places, then parade him around naked a while."

“Really?" Evlee's steps took on an excited, skipping gait. “I hope we're still around for that."

Hatha shot her a dirty look, his ears still pinned. “Not funny."

“Oh, I'm only teasing." Evlee glanced down an intersecting corridor, eyes darting from guard to worker and back again. “If you're really in trouble, I'm sure we can help."

“Either that, or Prav lets you three punish Hatha to make a point." The kobold walked faster, clawed toes clicking against the wooden floor.

Tormin drummed his fingers against his cradled scattergun. “What the hell point would that make?"

“Baron Prav works in mysterious ways." The kobold stopped at an undersized door. “We're here."

Fanciful golden dragons and runic script embossed the tiny door. Lamps with smudged, tulip-shaped glass fixtures flickered on either side of it. The handle was too low for anyone but Nok to comfortably reach. Harliss had the sneaking suspicion their host had taken them to an entryway built for kobolds and urd'thin, just to make them prostrate themselves to pass through it. If he was waiting for an irritated reaction, Harliss wasn't going to give him the pleasure.

“After you, my friendly host." Harliss offered a respectful bow.

Nok led them through the door. As expected, everyone else had to duck. Beyond the doorway was an elaborate servant's chamber. Harliss wasn't sure if taking them through it was meant as an insult. She decided not to dwell on it. Dozens of kobolds and urd'thin scurried around. Some of them plated food and poured drinks in a kitchen at one side of the room. Others helped a female va'chaak and a male gnoll into elaborate outfits with fanciful colors. More lounged around on pillows and cushions, talking and laughing.

Everyone quickly scattered out of the group's way. Some stared wide-eyed at the Executor. A few more muttered curses under their breath. None spoke up or made the crude gestures they were no doubt considering. Two of them hurried to a set of double doors inlaid with dragon wings. The servants pushed the doors open, bowing their heads.

As they all crossed the room, Nok held a hand up to ask them to wait. He entered Prav's chamber first, calling out in a voice louder and more booming than she imagined such a small creature capable of. “Presenting Executor Harliss, First Officer Tormin, and Protection Officer Evlee."

“Ooh, my title sounds so fancy when its announced that way." Evlee eased a pistol partway free, just in case.

“It's irritating they know our titles." Tormin slung his scattergun across his shoulder.

“That's the point, Tormin," Harliss said. “Now, game faces, everyone. Ignore any insults, don't fixate on what he is, and focus on business. Violence only as a last resort."

Nok turned back around, glaring up at Hatha. “Just the guests. You can go back to work."

“Come in, come in!" A loud, rumbling voice beckoned from nearby. “I so rarely get Union guests. Do make yourselves at home, won't you?"

Harliss walked past Nok into an impressively large meeting hall. Fluted columns lined it in twin rows, an open imitation of grand cathedrals. Pillows and cushions were scattered across the floor, in larger number and higher quality than those in the servant's quarters. Elegant crystal and gold lamps were affixed to the walls and ceilings. They buzzed faintly, shedding unusual blue-white light. Harliss wondered if Prav had electricity here, now. Or was it something else? If he hosted important travelers from overseas, who knew what manner of innovations they might bring. Either way, she imagined him eager to show it off to his Union visitors.

At the far end of the great room, a dragon watched her.

Harliss gripped her pistols. She thought herself prepared, and yet it was all she could do to resist the urge to pull her guns. Harliss had seen plenty of dragons before, but only captives, or those who now served the Union. This was different. Coming face to face with a free dragon left a particularly exhilarating sort of instinctual fear running through her blood. Her heart thundered, and her hands went cold. Given her bodyguards muffled gasps and curses, they must have felt the same way. Harliss savored that fear, and approached the dragon with swift, steady steps.

“Greetings, Baron Prav," Harliss said, overemphasizing the title. “A pleasure to meet you, at last." She offered him a playful smile. “Congratulations on your recent promotion."

“A pleasure to meet you as well, Executor." The dragon's crisp enunciations of every syllable made him sound more like a diplomat than a powerful beast. He lowered his head in a deep bow. “You're the first of your title I have ever hosted."

Harliss returned the dragon's bow, signaling for her bodyguards to do the same. As she bent forward, she kept her eyes up, looking the dragon over. He was male. Gray-blue scales covered his lithe body in patchwork patterns, grayer here, bluer there. Myriad scars marked his hide. Some were from teeth and claws, others from bullets and shrapnel. Short, curved horns crowned his sharply triangular head. Spiny frills with vibrant, crimson spots circled the back of his skull. The dragon's silver eyes were so ghostly pale they almost looked blind. Gold and silver bracelets adorned all four limbs, with bejeweled circlets upon his tail.

Prav was smaller, and leaner than the dragons she had seen before. While those beasts were significantly larger even than her snow gryphons, Prav scarcely outweighed Spot and Speckles. Not that his size was unusual for his species. The world had at least four known breeds of dragons. While Harliss did not know all the scientific names, colloquially Prav's sub-species were called cliff dragons.

Cliff dragons were smaller than their brethren. They were lither of body and faster on the wing. They were also one of the least common breeds of an already uncommon species. Most of them lived in clans throughout the cliffs and mountains that edged the eastern side of the continent. It was likely that cliff dragons helped carve the many old caverns and alcoves that now housed The Emplacement's anti-air batteries.

According to the files Harliss read, Prav first claimed The Emplacement through blood and battle, amidst wars waged by dragon clans and their criminal allies. In the decades since, he'd turned the old fort into an extraordinarily successful enterprise. Other dragons now served him in establishing other locations to spread his influence.

“I should imagine I'm the first Executor ever to visit this place, let alone to meet you." Harliss straightened, keeping her tone as friendly as possible. “I do apologize for keeping you waiting, and for shooting your people."

Prav tossed his head. “Nonsense, you only shot one of my people. Yorlok's been pressing his luck, anyway. The others, I'm told, are customers. They should have known better than to draw on an Executor. I'll comp all their fees. While they recover, I'll give them free access to whatever and whoever they want." The dragon snorted. “It's hardly the first time people have been shot here." The dragon cocked his head. “Captivating tale you wove, by the way."

“Thank you." Harliss offered him a theatrical half-bow. “You should hear the one about my life as a street urchin, or the story where my father used to beat me."

“Are they equally entertaining?" Prav glanced at Nok, waving his paw at a nearby door. The red-scaled gunslinger hurried over and banged on it three times. The dragon returned his attention to Harliss and her company. “If so, you shall have to regale me. But I must ask, are any of your tales true?"

“They all are." Harliss stepped closer, her posture easy and relaxed. “Or none of them are. Perhaps reality is whatever the listener believes it is."

Gnolls emerged from the door, carrying a black table between them. A male gryphon followed, along with a human woman. All four of them were dressed only in flimsy, colorful silks. What looked revealing on the gnolls and the human looked oddly exotic on feathered beast. The gryphon held the handle of a large carrier basket in his beak, with platters, bottles, and drinkware inside.

The woman moved aside pillows and cushions, clearing a space before the dragon. The gnolls set the table down, and the gryphon put his basket upon it. Together, they unloaded everything with a flurry of activity. There were fresh and candied fruits, including figs and dates. Platters were laden with slices of cured meats, cheeses, crusty breads and all manner of spreads and jams. Glassware was distributed, and water, wine, and whiskey all poured. Then the bottles were placed behind the glasses, their labels on display.

Next, the gnolls fetched chairs with dark wood frames, and plush, purple-hued cushions. They placed the chairs and bowed to the dragon before removing themselves. The gryphon and human lingered, sharing affection with Prav. The woman caressed his scales, and the gryphon nuzzled his chest. Prav stroked the gryphon's wings and the woman's arm, rumbling a throaty purr. Eventually he sent them on their way. Nok followed the departing servants, shut the door behind them, and then took up position at the dragon's side.

Harliss settled into the offered chair, though companions remained standing. She glanced towards the well-armed kobold. “Just the one bodyguard, then? Should I be insulted, or flattered?"

Prav cocked his head, spearing a few slices of meat with a single, unsheathed claw. He stared down at her as he popped the meat into his muzzle. “If I thought you were here to kill me, Executor, I'd not have allowed you to meet me with your weapons."

“Fair point." Harliss looked the kobold over, smiling. “Truthfully, Nok and I are already acquainted. I get the feeling you only need one bodyguard, when he's around."

Nok only stared at her, his expression blank.

The dragon gave a hearty, rumbling laugh. “Oh, you're right about that. Nok is exceptionally good. And he tells me you might the fastest gun in the Union."

Harliss arched a brow. “Does he?"

Nok snorted. “You think I didn't recognize your name? I know who the fuck you are."

“Your reputation precedes you, Executor." Prav waved a paw at the kobold. “And on that note, allow me to introduce the fastest gun outside the Union. Nok here has never lost-"

“No need to brag." The kobold kept his eyes fixed on Harliss.

Harliss inclined her head towards the kobold, finishing the principle he quoted. “For the dead cannot defend their honor."

The dragon shrugged his wings. “As you like. The point is, Executor, if Nok here couldn't beat you, then additional bodyguards aren't going to do any good. They'll just get in my way when I come after you myself."

Tormin took a step closer to Harliss. “Not that you don't have a dozens of them nearby, ready to pour in."

Prav only shrugged his wings. “Why bother mentioning the obvious?"

“Indeed." Harliss selected a single date, and bit it in half. She savored its sweetness, gesturing with it at the kobold. “So, without bragging. Are you really that fast?"

Nok folded his arms. “Are you?"

Harliss smiled, finishing off the date. “Only one way to find out."

Nok watched her, unmoved, unagitated. “Whenever you're ready, Executor."

Harliss laughed, reaching for a glass of whiskey. “I like this kobold." She swirled the liquid in the glass. “Perhaps we should have a friendly competition. Ballad rules. A little target shooting, some quick draw contests-"

“Nok here doesn't like competitions." Prav flicked a wing towards the kobold. “Doesn't like people to know how good he really is, until it's too late."

“Oh, think he'll make an exception." Harliss sipped her whiskey, shrugging. “I get the feeling Nok here longs to be tested against real competition."

The kobold tilted his head. “You sure you ain't just speakin' for yourself?"

Harliss sharpened her tone, ever so slightly. “I believe I'm speaking for both of us." She took another sip. “The offer stands, but I shan't be insulted if you decline." She held her glass out, staring at it. The taste still lingered on her tongue. Hints of pear, apple, and spices remained long after she swallowed it. “Tits of the Mother, that's good!"

“Executor!" Tormin glowered down at her.

Harliss waved her free hand. “Oh, take a seat already, Tormin." She glanced at the dragon. “He really dislikes it when I utter blasphemous curses."

“I'll sit when he sits." Tormin inclined his head at the kobold.

Nok just stared at him. “I'll stand. Guests sit."

“Tormin." Harliss stared at the empty chair before him. “Sit. I shan't have you being rude."

Tormin and Evlee exchanged a look, then both eased into their respective chairs. They angled them in different directions. That way, the two of them could cover as much of the room as possible.

“You know," Prav said, hefting a drinking bowl filled with wine. “I didn't think Executors were allowed to utter blasphemous curses."

“Then you misunderstand Executors." Harliss tasted her whiskey again, sighing happily. “We're allowed to do whatever the fuck we want."

“Oh?" The dragon lapped some wine, then licked droplets from his blue-gray muzzle. “And here I was, assuming your masters sent you so far into the frontier as a punishment. Are you saying you chose to work in what the Union considers the ass-end of nowhere?"

Harliss drained the glass and set it down. “That's the gist of it, yes."

“Fascinating." The dragon returned his bowl to the table, his pale gaze leveled on Harliss, unblinking.

“What's fascinating is this whiskey." She tapped the rim of her drinking vessel. “What is that?"

“Fortune's Favorite, the forty-year vintage." The dragon stretched his wing, and delicately pushed the bottle towards her. “Well, forty years in the barrel, bottled a decade or so ago. Comes from a distillery in the Empire of the Black Star. Smuggled out before your people burned the whole place down."

“What a shame." Harliss picked the bottle up, examining the label. Despite its age, it was in excellent condition. The image upon it depicted a dragon with an entire hoard of pot stills. Above it was the name, and a date embossed in faded gold. “I can see why you like it."

“I like it because it's fucking delicious." Prav curled his tail around his paws. “But I have more, so feel free to indulge." He glanced at Evlee and Tomrin. “That goes for you two, as well."

“No, thank you," Tormin said.

“I, for one, will take you up on that offer." Evlee leaned over the table, helping herself to the food. “Thank you for your hospitality, Baron Prav."

“Certainly." The dragon bowed his head, his words rolling across his tongue with a pleased purr. “Hospitality is my business. Servants of the Union or not, you're my guests. In times of peace, even enemies should be treated respectfully, so long as they deserve it."

Harliss exchanged the bottle for a slice of brown, crusty bread. “I concur, but it begs the question." She smeared some cherry jam across it. “Are we your enemies?"

“You three, specifically?" The dragon shook himself, his wings rustling. “Not so far. But your masters certainly are. They've murdered and enslaved my people, Nok's people…" He shook his head. “They'll do the same to anyone who does not resemble them, or worship their gods. Does that not make them my enemy?"

Harliss took the question in stride, biting into her bread. She chewed it, savoring the slight tartness of the cherry jam, then smiled at the dragon after swallowing. “Is that not how cliff dragons decide battles for territory?" She waved her half-eaten bread. “Was it not through violence you first acquired this place?"

Prav tilted his head, eyes narrowed. “Don't equate us. The Union isn't just fighting for land, or looking to expand their clan. After a battle, they don't forgive their enemies. My surviving foes serve me willingly."

Harliss shrugged, taking another bite. “If you say so. Regardless, you're happy to take the Union's coin, aren't you? Three times happier, given what you charge us."

“Of course. If I can profit from my enemies, why shouldn't I?" The dragon gestured with a paw. “Besides, I consider my territory neutral ground. If I denied the Union docking rights, that would set a slippery slope. What would stop some alliance of pirates from pressuring me to deny service to their rivals? It's easier if I remain open to e_veryone_, regardless of my personal feelings." He lapped more wine, then smiled. “It's far more profitable, too."

“Pragmatic." Harliss finished off her slice of bread, and went for another. “I respect that. Would you say you'd go so far as to refuse to take sides in any potential conflict?"

The dragon's red-spotted frills lifted around his head. “Careful, Executor. Neutral territory does not mean I'll let you set up camp here to arrest all my best customers. If you expect me to cooperate with any fugitive hunts, you'd better provide some very compelling evidence of some very egregious crimes."

“Is that why you think I'm here?" Harliss paired a hunk of cheese with a few slices of cured beef and pork. “Fugitive hunting?"

“You're damn sure not here to hire whores." Prav snorted, his voice hardening. “Let's not waste each other's time. I know you're here because you're hunting a white gryphon named Alakor. An escaped slave." Prav lifted a paw to cut off her reply. “Don't argue about whether or not your fugitive is a slave, your opinion doesn't matter. What matters is that this gryphon served your people as a faithful spy, and learned all your dirty secrets. Now, he's shaken off his brainwashing and fled from you, with all that forbidden knowledge." The dragon cocked his head. “Do I have it right so far?"

Harliss took a bite of food, then waggled a piece of cheese at the dragon. “More or less. Do go on, though."

“I assume you want my help in locating him." Prav lifted his frills, his eyes narrowed. “And have something to offer me in return."

Executor Harliss shrugged, finishing off her cheese. “You crime lords do tend to be awfully well informed. And wise enough to understand that in the long run, you'd rather have the Golden Union as your ally, than your enemy." She licked her fingers clean.

“You're not incorrect." The dragon used a single unsheathed claw to spear a few figs, then delicately plucked one free with his teeth. “I am well informed." He chewed the fig, then took another just as carefully. “And I am willing to offer you that information, free of charge and recompense, in the interest of the Union's continued recognition of my neutrality."

“How gracious of you." Harliss bowed her head. “The Union appreciates your cooperation."

The dragon's voice grew colder. “I'm certain they do." He ate the last fig and retracted his claw. “However, I must warn you I don't think my information will be very helpful."

Harliss rested her arm over the back of her chair. “What makes you think that?"

“Because you're too late." Prav slowly set his forepaw back down.

Tormin and Evlee shifted on either side of her, ready to respond. Harliss lifted her fingers, a signal for patience. She did not think the dragon meant that as the ominous threat her bodyguards may have taken it as. “Yes, I know he's already been and gone. But I was hoping you could point us in the right direction."

“Oh, I certainly can." The dragon stretched a wing, pointing with it as if to show her which direction to head. “But that's what I mean about it being too late. He's already defected. To the Empire of the Black Star. Or at least, what's left of it."

Harliss scowled, exchanging a look with Tormin and Evlee. “We suspected he might be so inclined." She turned her attention back to the dragon. “But how do you know?"

Prav studied his outstretched wing. A pattern of mottled, crisscrossing scars marked it, remnants of an old shrapnel wound. “He told me himself. That was weeks ago, so by now I'm certain he's followed through with it." He folded his wing, an infuriating smile upon his gray-blue muzzle. “I could point you in The Cataclysm's direction too, if you like. You're also hunting their Princess, aren't you?"

Harliss drummed her fingers against the chair. “There are rumors to the effect."

“So I hear." Prav reached for the bottle of whisky, and poured himself a few dragon-sized shots worth. “You'd be surprised at the sort of rumors that circulate in my tavern. Why, I hear some in the Union are more interested in the ship, than the Princess. I'm also told your leadership can't decide whether to kill the girl, or take her alive. I wonder, which side do you fall on, Executor?"

“I don't pay attention to Church squabbles." Harliss offered Prav a polite smile. “But if she's smart, she'll surrender, and that will take the choice out of the Union's hands. Now, I wonder-"

“Oh, yes," Prav said, his voice all snarl and sarcasm. “Because the Union has never executed a captive before! And they'd never accidentally throw one off a ship in a failed escape attempt. I'm sure nothing bad could ever happen to that Princess and her crew if they surrendered."

“Not on our ship." Tormin leaned towards the dragon, the chair creaking under his mass. “If she surrenders to us, she'll be safe. Even heretics and prisoners of war will be treated with dignity, if they peacefully surrender themselves."

“Yes, yes." Prav waved his paw as if dismissing Tormin entirely. “Your grand religion is a true bastion of honor, kindness, and dignity. Speaking of which." The dragon glanced at each three of them in turn. “The other Princess, the one your people made their puppet empress. Tryn, was it?"

“It was, and still is." Harliss straightened up, deciding to let Prav think he was leading the conversation. That would only make it easier to catch him off guard, if needed. “What about her?"

“Well." Prav swung his head back towards her. “Is it true the Empire sent her away, with a dragon to protect her? Before the capital fell, I mean."

Harliss shrugged. “It is."

“Hearsay tells me this human girl later surrendered herself peacefully, in an attempt to save the dragon's life." Prav tilted his slender, serpentine head. “True?"

“She did surrender, yes."

Prav turned his gaze back to Tormin. “You know what your honorable, dignified brethren did to that dragon, after his peaceful surrender?" Prav hissed his words with disgust. “First, they cut his balls off, just to make a point. When that wasn't enough, they took his head off, and mounted it in the palace, so the Princess would have to see it every day."

Tormin met the dragon's glare, his voice low, even, and prideful. “No, they didn't."

“He's right." Evlee took a goblet of wine off the table. “They didn't do either of those things. We've met the new Empress, and her pet dragon." She sipped the wine, staring at Prav. “The beast is both alive, and fully intact."

“Oh?" Prav shifted his weight, focusing on Evlee. “I've heard that's a different dragon. One that your people had brainwashed into serving as her captor, rather than her guardian."

“It isn't." Harliss slapped her hand against Prav's table. “The Union did use the dragon to make a point, Prav. And that point was mercy. They spared his life, and his anatomy, because they had surrendered peacefully."

“You'll forgive me if I don't believe you."

Harliss settled back into her chair. “Believe what you like, but I'm bored of the subject." She offered the dragon her usual, friendly smile. “So, Alakor personally told you he was defecting?" She used the gryphon's name to ensure she had Prav's attention, but went on before he could remark on it. “Why did you choose to meet with him?"

“Why do you think?" Prav snorted, lashing his tail. It sent a few silver-tasseled cushions flying. “To pump him for information. Now, as I said, I can point you after him, but I doubt I have anything else to offer. However, in the interest of good faith, I'm willing to cover the costs of repairing your people's ships."

“Oh, Prav," Harliss said, clucking her tongue. “I don't care about your money." Her eyes burned holes through the dragon's skull. “I'm here for far more important matters than that."

The dragon tossed his head, a flippant gesture amongst his species. “Are you? If this Alakor is really that important, I should have kept him for myself." He turned his head towards the kobold. “Although, I thought he seemed a bit off, don't you think, Nok?"

The kobold nodded. “The bird was crazy, boss." He looked Harliss over, his blunt muzzle twisted into a scowl. “Talked a lotta crazy, cult-bird shit."

Harliss drummed her fingers against the arm of her chair. Coaldust had mentioned that Alakor spoke about the Servants of the Sun-Feather. But the urd'thin hadn't told her that Alakor met directly with Prav. Coaldust's information was probably carefully parsed. If Prav used his urd'thin workers as secret eyes and ears, they were probably trained in counterintelligence.

“You know," Harliss said, flourishing her hand. “I'm surprised you decided to meet with Alakor. It seems incredibly risky for someone in your position to meet directly with a Union spy."

Prav only smiled, his muzzle slightly parted. “If the Union wanted me dead, I think they'd send more than one mopey snow gryphon."

“Oh, that they would." Harliss selected a glass of wine. “Why, they might even send an Executor and her crew." She flashed Nok a smile, but he did not take her bait. “Theoretically speaking." Harliss took a sip. She wasn't interested in the wine, just the show of drinking it, the conceit of relaxed conversation. “I'm just surprised you took such a risk, that's all."

“Nok was here to protect me." Prav waved his wing towards the burnt-red kobold, his eyes fixed on Harliss. “As he is now. Besides." He pulled his wing back. “I'm quite certain I could best a single gryphon."

Harliss swirled her vessel. “Even so, I'd have thought you'd let your underlings meet with the bird, in your stead. Don't you think, Evlee?"

“Oh, absolutely." Evlee popped a date into her mouth, speaking around it. “Especially when he's got so many sneaky little operatives out there. Why, I bet Coaldust could have pumped…" She made a stroking motion with both hands. “All sorts of secrets out of a poor, inexperienced snow gryphon."

Prav rumbled deep, brassy laughter. “So it's true? Your people really don't let them have sex? The poor things."

“Not exactly true, no." Harliss eased back in her chair. “Depends on the master, I suppose. Perhaps I'll give my birds permission to come have a little fun, try a few things."

The dragon dipped his head. “It'll be on the house, if you do."

“Well that just about seals, it then. I'd say they've earned a night off." She swirled her wine again, watching the dragon closely. “Of course, my birds are trained for combat. Spies like Alakor are different. They're prepared for combat too, of course, but the spies get extensive counterintelligence training. Doubly so for someone trusted like Alakor."

“What a shame you've lost him, then."

Harliss only smiled. “Have I, though?" She sipped her wine, then shrugged. “You don't really know that, do you?"

The dragon's voice twisted into a growl. “You wouldn't be here if-"

“I would be if Alakor learned something I can use against you." Harliss set the wine back down, her eyes fixed on her quarry. “And if he reported it to me on his way to The Cataclysm. Where for all you know, he's still working for me."

Prav's ears flattened, his claws clicked out against the floor. “Is he?"

“Maybe, maybe not." Harliss quirked a brow. “The point is, you don't really know, do you? Which again, makes me wonder. Why would you meet with Alakor? Either you didn't realize just how well trained he really was, or you simply underestimated his ability to play you."

The dragon sneered, exposing his fangs. “Considering his apparent defection, I'd say you're the ones who've been played. You'd better hope he's still working for you…" Prav trailed off, then looked away, scratching his neck with a wingtip. “I grow weary of your company. What else have you to say to me?"

Nok took a slow step forward. “You're startin' to get on the boss's nerves."

Harliss cracked her knuckles, pleased to finally be getting somewhere. She'd rattled him, if only a little. The fact that Nok interjected when he did told her she was on the right track. “I'd better hope, had I? How very ominous!"

“You know," Tormin said, turning towards her. “Prav here only meets with people of great importance, or great power."

“Or those who can offer him something very valuable." Evlee pivoted towards Harliss as well. “Which one do you think we are to him, Executor? Important, or profitable?"

“Oh, we're both." Harliss stared at the dragon, unblinking. “We're absolutely both, even if he doesn't know it yet."

“Yes, I agree." Evlee ate a few bites of candied fruit. “Which do you suppose the gryphon was? I bet he had to offer something valuable, just to get Prav's ear. Say…" She tapped a finger against the table. “Does intel on the Union count as valuable?"

Tormin scratched his head. “Yeah, I think it does. It could be made to sound ominous, too." He glanced at the dragon. “And you sounded ominous just a minute ago."

“That he did." Harliss leaned towards him. “Let's start there. What did the gryphon offer you, Prav? He must have offered something to earn a meeting with you, and then something bigger still once he had your ear. So, please. What was it?" She smiled, but her voice hardened. “And remember, this is the moment where I ask you politely."

For the first time since Harliss sat down, Nok put his hands back on his guns. Now she knew she was getting somewhere_._ She glanced at the kobold, and acknowledged his warning with a nod. Enemies or not, they had an understanding through the Ballad. Neither would draw and fire without warning, but Nok was officially escalating things between them.

Harliss showed Nok her hands, then waved one between her pistols and the arm of her chair. Drawing from a seated position was considered a handicap. Nok returned her solitary nod. If it came to it, he'd let her stand first. Harliss offered the kobold a grateful smile, hoping to avoid that. She had never met a kobold who followed the Ballad before, and she sincerely did not want to kill him.

Prav arched his neck, glowering at her. Fire roiled in his ghostly eyes. “If you wish to accuse me of something, Executor, spit it out."

“I didn't hear her make an accusation." Evlee glanced towards Tormin. “Did you?"

“Not a one." Tormin cradled his scatter gun, eyes locked on Prav. If she had to shoot the kobold, Prav might attack. “She just asked what the gryphon offered."

“Right! She just wondered what sort of offer Alakor made you, Prav." Evlee's hands drifted closer to her own pistols. “Funny you'd take it as an accusation, though. Don't you agree Executor?"

“Concur." Harliss offered only a cold smile. “Funny. And now I can't help but assume there's something we should be accusing you of."

“Be very careful, Executor." Prav narrowed his eyes, his red-splotched frills flared in open threat. He glowered down at her, his voice all silken menace. “Do remember who's in charge, here."

Nok wrapped his fingers around the grips of both pistols. The kobold was getting dangerously close to issuing an official challenge. If he did that, it was unlikely this would end with anything but violence. Harliss patted a weapon at her hip, a sign that she was ready, if he was. At the same time, the Executor wondered if Prav had any idea what was truly unfolding between her and his bodyguard.

“I assure you, Prav, I know exactly who's in charge." Harliss sharpened her tone, staring knives into the dragon's eyes. Time for a slight change of tactics. “And I must inform you that the Golden Union considers harboring a defecting fugitive to be a very serious crime."

“I do not acknowledge your Union's laws!" The dragon gave a frustrated snarl, his tail tip flicking back and forth. “But I'm not harboring your damn gryphon, either."

Harliss believed him, but she didn't want Prav to know that. “Where is he, Prav? I am mandated to enforce Union law, even in Neutral Lands-"

“Which we are." The dragon slapped a forepaw against the ground. “Neutral! We have never brooked a side in any conflict!" He hissed at her, lowering his head to flash his fangs. “And you'd best be damn glad for it! Otherwise I'd have turned my guns on all you genocidal Union puppets the moment you drifted too close to my airspace!"

Harliss smiled at the dragon, easing to the edge of her chair. “You know, when you say it like that, you don't really sound neutral. She rested a hand on a pistol, tapping her fingers against the grip in an odd-time rhythm. “When you call us genocidal union puppets, I don't believe you are neutral. And then I must assume you're against the Union. Which begs the question I've been trying to ask. What did Alakor offer you?"

Nok stepped forward, drawing two pistols. The kobold's movements were slow and deliberate. As he pulled his guns free, he kept the barrels pointed at the ground. “Challenge."

And there it was.

A challenge was a standoff by Ballad rules, different from a duel. In duels, pistols had to be holstered until the last moment, where the quickest draw and surest aim would prevail. In a challenge, the guns came out first as a final warning. Not only was Nok allowing her to rise and ready herself, he was also giving her one last chance to back down before he shot her.

Harliss had never backed down in all her life.

“Accept." Harliss snarled the word as she rose to her feet, tossing her chair out of her way.

“Shit!" Evlee jumped up, moving aside.

Tormin did the same, giving her space.

The Executor turned her full attention to the kobold. She threw back her white coat, and drew the pistols at her hips. Her motions were smooth but gradual, and she kept the muzzles pointed at the floor just like the kobold. Their eyes met. Harliss offered Nok a deep, solitary nod in silent acknowledgement of their earlier ritual. That single movement offered both permission to try and kill her, and forgiveness should he succeed. The kobold returned it, granting her the same.

Then, there was only silence. Challenges always began with long moments of unsettling quiet. Each gunfighter sized the other up, as if daring them to make the first move. It was a test of willpower, before it became a test of skills. Should one of them concede, the other was honor-bound to accept victory without bloodshed.

Harliss could always tell someone when someone was going to back down. There was fear in their eyes, uncertainty in the way they gripped their guns. In Nok, she saw neither. His eyes were golden fire, and his grip, iron. He expected to win, but he was ready to die. Harliss was impressed. When this was over, she was going to sing this little kobold's name into legend for all who would listen.

That was it, then. All that was left was for one of them to die.

Nok's muscles twitched. His tail tip flicked. Harliss had no doubts at all that Nok was as good as claimed. She was certain she was better, but the margin was thinner than she liked. Prav glanced between them, but she ignored the dragon. Her bodyguards watched, wordless. Harliss started a countdown in her head. At zero, she was going to shoot him, unless he proved faster.

Five.

She tapped a single pistol against her leg.

Four.

Nok licked his nose.

Three.

Harliss kept her breathing slow, and even.

Two.

The kobold's tail stilled.

“Oh, put your damn guns away!" Prav heaved a sigh, his confident posture wilting.

“Sorry, Boss." Nok scrunched his muzzle, grinding his teeth. The frustration in Nok's voice told Harliss he did not appreciate his employer's interruption. “Can't do it."

“Concur." Harliss did not look away from the kobold. The dragon's outburst threw in an unexpected variable. While there were no specific rules against bystanders speaking up, there were rules against interruptions. If the dragon had thrown off Nok's concentration, Harliss could not rightfully shoot him until he'd collected himself. The most honorable thing to do was to let him make the call. “Ready again on your go, Nok."

“On no one's go!" Prav rumbled in anger, glaring at the kobold. “Put your damn guns away! I'll tell her what she wants to know. This isn't worth spilling Executor blood in my quarters! I'll have Union warships rammed under my tail before I know it."

“Appreciate the vote of confidence." Nok's eyes never left hers. Harliss hadn't even seen the little kobold blink since this started.

“It's good to be appreciated by those you protect." Harliss dared not blink, either. If she did, he might take a shot at her. “It's a shame he thinks this is about him, though."

“Yeah." Nok's tail tip twitched back and forth, back and forth. “You trust your people, for this?"

“Absolutely."

Nok licked his nose again. “Big man. Say when."

Tormin glanced at Harliss. “Executor?"

Harliss never took her eyes off the kobold. “Do it, Tormin."

“As you wish." Tormin clenched his jaw. “On three, then."

Nok nodded once. “Count it."

Tormin moved into clear view, holding up a single finger. “One." He lifted a second. “Two-"

Prav threw his wing out between Harliss and the kobold, blocking them off from each other's view. “I said put your gods-damned guns away!" Prav's voice was a barely restrained roar.

“Fuck!" Nok's curse was even angrier than the dragon's.

Harliss cringed. Prav was as ignorant of the old codes as Nok was knowledgeable. The Ballad had extremely strict rules about direct interference in duels and challenges. An interruption like that was faulted to the party involved. In this case, Prav's action meant the kobold was forced into a 'Coward's Concession'. It was among the most dishonorable, humiliating ways to lose a challenge imaginable.

Unless Harliss spared him the humiliation.

“I concede." Harliss shoved her pistols back into their holsters. “I've holstered."

Prav pulled his wing back, revealing the kobold still had his pistols out. Embarrassed anger had turned the burnt-red scales of Nok's head and face a deeper shade of scarlet. Nok's eyes darted to her guns to confirm her claim, and then he swiftly holstered his own. He balled up his fists, and took a few slow, steadying breaths. He shifted his weight, swallowed, and forced himself to meet Harliss's eyes again.

“It was a draw." Nok folded his arms. “We're even."

Harliss smiled at his unexpected offer. By rights, her voluntary concession overrode his forced one. Nok could declare victory. Though it would have been shallow and based on a technicality, Harliss would not have protested. Instead, he chose to save them both face. There was more honor in this so-called monster than in most of her superiors put together. Harliss was quite glad she didn't have to kill him.

“I accept." Harliss tucked a hand across her belly and offered a very formal bow. “It was a draw."

Tormin fetched her upended chair, and brought it back to her. Harliss thanked him and sat down. Her bodyguards returned to their seats as well. Tormin rested his gun across his lap, his posture more relaxed than before. He hooked his elbow over the back of the chair. Evlee scooted closer to the table, pouring herself some of the Fortune's Favorite.

“I'd better try this whiskey before the rest of you hog it all, hmm?" She picked up the glass, and gave the dragon a smile. She took a sip. “Oh, that is good!"

“That's it?" Prav flattening back his frills, glancing around. “You're all back to normal, just like that?" He arched his neck, hissing. “And I thought Nok was crazy."

“What," Tormin said, his voice tinted by bittersweet amusement. “You think that's the first time we've seen her get challenged to a duel? I'm only glad it ended peacefully, for once."

Harliss decided not to correct Tormin on the difference between a challenge, and a duel. She took a deep breath, and held it. Only now did Harliss notice the thunderous gallop of her heartbeat. She ran her hands back through her hair, contemplating how the moments after the action always seemed so much more intense. During a standoff or a gunfight, there was exhilaration and adrenaline. But when that adrenaline faded, the thoughts of what might have been settled in. One death would have likely triggered further violence. A lot more people would have died, in the ensuring battles.

Nearby, Nok paced, his tail lashing. Harliss retrieved the bottle of whiskey, and poured two shots. She held one out to the kobold. A peace offering to calm the nerves was only fair. Nok took the glass, and downed it a single pull. Harliss did the same. They thumped their glasses back down together. Nok wiped his muzzle with the back of his hand. He returned to his place alongside Prav, and gave Harliss a small nod of thanks.

With that taken care of, Harliss returned her attention to the dragon. “I think your bodyguard and I have a proper understanding, now. Which means it's time for you and me to finish our chat. So, where were we?" She steepled her fingers. “Oh, that's right. You were just about to tell me everything Alakor offered you. Start talking." Harliss leaned forward, fixing her eyes on Prav's. Her voice dropped into a low, venomous snarl. “I will not ask politely again."

*****

Chapter Twenty-Six

*****

Malaresh sat on his haunches outside the observation deck, while the princess listened to Alakor's painful stories, and disconcerting secrets. Malaresh kept his ears swiveled towards them, attuned to their every word. Though the dragon was willing to give the gryphon space, Malaresh still needed to judge his honesty. Without staring into the gryphon's eyes it was difficult, but the dragon believed Alakor was speaking the truth. However, he also believed Alakor was parsing his words ever so carefully, omitting key details.

The bird was full of secrets, Malaresh knew that much. The dragon did not like secrets, unless they were his own. Despite his belief that The Cataclysm should belong to him, Malaresh considered its crew worthy of his protection. The dragon would fight for this ship, and its inhabitants, against any foe imaginable. After all, they had saved him. Nira had saved him. Honor dictated that he protect her in return.

The dragon hissed. Honor was a pain in the ass, he thought. Pride was a far more satisfying principle to follow, and far more assuaging to his ego. Pride snarled to him, told him that dragons should take orders from no one. Ego whispered into his ear that this ship should be his, that he should take it, if necessary. But honor, damned honor, sunk its teeth into his throat, and bid him to swear himself to Nira's protection until her dying day.

And then there was love. Malaresh lashed his tail against the wood-paneled wall. The dragon didn't even want to think about love. It was a prison, and a dangerous one at that. Love bound him to this place, even if honor ever freed him from its grasp. For Malaresh knew that Jirril would never leave Nira's service, and the dragon could never bring himself to leave his beloved gryphon behind.

He snarled, unsheathing his claws and digging them into the floorboards. It pained him to admit he loved that stupid, fluffy, pompous peacock. How the hell he'd ever grown so close to a damned gryphon, he'd never know. Malaresh feared he was getting far too soft in his old age. Why, in his younger days, Malaresh the Marauder, the great Baron of-

“What are they saying?" Rog thumped the dragon's scales.

“What?" Malaresh glanced down at the gnoll, flattening his ears. “Who?"

“Them!" Rog pointed into the observation deck, where Nira was wrapping up her discussion. “You're the only one who's been listening in the whole time. And you kept snarling and clawing things, so whatever they're talking about must be serious." The gnoll folded his arms. “So, what is it?"

“Oh." Malaresh tossed his head. “It's private. None of your business."

“But you're listening."

The dragon smiled. “Of course, I am. I'm a dragon. Everything on this ship is my business."

“He wasn't listening." Sivik, one of two female gryphons seated behind him, stretched her wing towards the dragon. “He was thinking about his boyfriend. He always gets like that when he starts thinking about Jirril."

“I was not thinking about my boyfriend!" The dragon snarled at her. How dare she assume the truth. “And Jirril is not my boyfriend! Dragons do not have boyfriends!" He paused, then gave a throaty growl, frustrated. “That is, we would not use that term. I would say he is my mate, instead. But he isn't!" He bared his fangs at her, frills flared. “Jirril is my servant and concubine!"

“Oh?" Lissir, the other female gryphon, and Sivik's sister, cocked her head. “I'll tell him you said that."

“Don't you dare!" Malaresh stomped a forepaw, cracking floorboards. “I'm already in trouble with him for calling him that earlier!"

That only provoked a round of squawking laughter from the female gryphons.

Malaresh hissed, stomping again. “Oh, suck my majestic cock, the both of you!"

“Perhaps if you were single, dragon," Sivik said, her crown feathers lifted. “But, you know…"

Lissir picked up for her, ears splayed in smug amusement. “We wouldn't want to make you boyfriend jealous!"

Both sisters burst into another round of laughter.

Malaresh turned his attention away from the gryphons, curling his tail around his paws. He forced himself to return his focus to the end of Nira's conversation with Alakor. The gryphon seemed to have earned a little of her trust. Malaresh hoped the bird hadn't earned too much trust, given his myriad of potentially dangerous secrets. Still, Malaresh was willing to try and give Alakor the benefit of the doubt, at least. The princess soon returned from the observation deck, and Malaresh herded everyone back to make way.

Nira entered the corridor, running a hand back across her frazzled hair. “Well, that was interesting."

Malaresh lowered his head to eye-level with her. “I do not believe that went as you intended."

The Princess grimaced, then pinched the bridge of her nose. “No, dragon, it did not."

Rog approached and put a hand upon her shoulder, offering her a comforting squeeze. “Hopefully you got something out of him, at least?"

“Yes, and no." Nira set her hand atop Rog's, glancing up at the dragon. “Weren't you listening?"

“Yes, but I did not pass on your every word." The dragon licked his muzzle. “I will leave it to you to decide what to share, and what to keep to yourself."

“Suppose I appreciate that." Nira patted the dragon's neck. “Thank you for your support, by the way. I know you probably don't like being dragged down here only to sit by the wayside, but I'm glad we didn't have to involve you."

The dragon nodded once. “I, too, am pleased you were not in danger, though I am disappointed I did not have an excuse to kick his feathery ass again."

Nira chuckled, stepping back from the dragon. “I'm sure you'll have another chance, eventually." She held a hand up. “But do try to get along with him. I asked him to do the same with you."

“I will do my best." The dragon pushed himself up onto all fours, shaking his scaled body. His wings rustled at his sides. “However, I will now question him myself."

Nira scowled, resting her hands against her pistols. “I'm not sure that's a good idea. I don't where his mind's at, right now."

“That is precisely the point." Malaresh stretched his front legs out, lowering his chest. He yawned, his tongue curling in his muzzle. He pushed back up and stretched his hind legs one at a time. It was a shame something important had to interrupt his comfortable lounging. “To question him while he's off-guard."

Nira glanced back towards the observation deck. “Dare I ask what you want to talk to him about?"

Malaresh licked his nose. “Jirril urged me to seek common ground, as it were, to further my truce with the snow pidgeon." Malaresh snorted, flattening his ears. He was not fond of the idea, but he'd promised Jirril he would try. “So I shall do so."

Nira set her hand on the dragon's shoulder. “I think that's a great idea."

Lissir gave a playful coo. “That's Malaresh's way of saying, his boyfriend ordered him to be friendly."

“Stuff a cannon under your tailfeathers, bird!" Malaresh tossed his head. “Dragons do not take orders from their boyfriends! Jirril makes suggestions, which I decline and then pretend to have come up with, as befits a dragon."

Lissir only smiled, lifting her crown feathers. “So, you admit he is your boyfriend."

Malaresh thumped a paw down. The already cracked floorboards creaked ominously. “I admit nothing! Besides, I had follow-up questions to ask Alakor, anyway."

Sivik whispered to her sister, just loud enough for the dragon to hear. “Questions like, what do gryphons fancy, that he can get his boyfriend for their anniversary?"

The dragon flared up all his spines. “I will pluck you bald, you squawking chicken." He glanced at Nira when the gryphons only laughed at his threat. “I simply thought it best to let you handle the conversation alone, that you might earn his trust. Now that you've done so, I can ask my own questions without squandering your goodwill."

Rog gently put a hand on Nira's arm. “Yeah, Princess. Let the dragon be the asshole, here."

“Thank you, gnoll." Malaresh narrowed his eyes, glaring down at the smaller creature. “I think. Not exactly what I meant, but-"

“Just like we talked about in the promenade, earlier." Rog gestured between Nira and himself. “Good cop, bad cop! Only…" He switched to indicating the princess and the dragon. “Now it's trusted princess, asshole dragon."

Malaresh rumbled a low, growling threat. “Do not call me that a third time."

Nira stepped between them, holding her hands up. “Please don't get started." She pivoted towards the dragon, her eyes searching him. “What Alakor said, about the sun. He said the idea came from dragons, first. Did you ever hear anything like that, when you were younger?"

“Yes." Malaresh softened his voice, his wings sagging at his sides. “Though I was not part of a clan, I still heard tales. They were as he said. That the colors were different. That it's red-gold fire was once…just gold."

“Princess?" Sivik stepped forward, looking between the two of them. “What are you talking about?"

Nira turned towards the others. “Alakor told me the sun is fading. And that the Union proved it."

“Fading?" Lissir followed her sister. “What the hell does that mean?"

Nira rubbed her forehead. “I don't know. Maybe nothing. Maybe it's not even true. Maybe-"

“The sun is dying, Princess." Malaresh turned his eyes to each of them in turn. “That is what it means. That is what dragons believed, even when I was younger. In time, all things die. The sun is no exception."

“That's stupid!" Rog snarled, though the sound was more of fearful frustration than anything else. “The sun can't die. It's-"

“It's what?" Malaresh sharpened his voice. “Go ahead, gnoll, explain to me exactly what the sun is. Describe to me its properties! How it exists, what fuels it. What elements is it composed of?"

Rog scratched at his ruff, sighing. “I…I don't know. Never really studied science, or astronomy."

“Everything dies, gnoll." The dragon lifted a paw, flicking a claw out. “Imagine a great fire, stoked eternally with coal. But when happens when there's no more coal to burn? Little by little, the flames subside to embers, and the embers slowly fade. Until, at last, the fire dies."

“Fuck." Rog took a slow breath, then dragged his hands down his muzzle. “And…and that's happening? To us? To the sun?"

“Easy, Rog." Nira put a hand on the gnoll's chest. “It's only a theory." She shot the dragon a dark look, but the cold hollow in her eyes told him she worried it might be more than that. “Even if the sun is fading, and I've yet to see even the smallest shred of proof, it's not like any of us could change that." She looked around at everyone. “Even if the gryphon's right, that means it's been happening for centuries, at least. So it's not likely to even affect us in our lifetimes." Nira turned back towards the dragon. “Right?"

Malaresh only shrugged his wings. He had heard these tales in his youth, and lived much of his life with the concept hidden away, in the back of his mind. As the Princess herself said, there was nothing to be done about it, truth or not. He saw no reason to argue with her.

“So, for now," Nira said, gesturing around the group. “Let's keep between the officers. I sure as hell don't want to start a panic among the crew over something no one in the whole world could change."

“Suppose you got a point." Rog swallowed, his ears flat. “Still, s'creepy as hell to hear."

“Yeah." Nira grimaced, rubbing her arms when a shiver racked her. “It is."

“For your own wellbeing, I suggest you either grow accustomed to the idea, or find a way to forget it." Malaresh bowed his head to the princess. “Now, if you've nothing further for me, I am going to speak to the snow gryphon." He glared at the feathered sisters. “Alone."

Lissir met his glare with her own. “We're his guards, Dragon."

Nira patted Malaresh's shoulder. “I think our scaly friend here can serve that role for a little while. Acceptable?"

“No." Malaresh rumbled, a low, frustrated sound. “But I will accept, nonetheless, if I must."

“You did say you wanted to make friends, right?" Sivik laughed, flashing him an open beaked smile. “Now's your chance!"

“That is definitely not what I said."

Nira scratched at the gryphon's neck. “Quit teasing the poor dragon." Then she waved down the hall. “Come on, you girls can come with Rog and me. And Malaresh?" She bowed her head to him, then shook a finger. “Thank you again for your help, but if you learn anything important, I want to hear it immediately."

“As you wish, girl." Malaresh tossed his head. “Go on, then. The more time you waste, the longer he has to collect himself and better guard against my questions."

Nira hooked an arm around Rog's waist. “Let's go find the others. I'm gonna need you and Amelia to draw up tactical plans, and Kasis and Vekk to plot multiple courses for escape if things go badly." The princess paused, glancing back towards the dragon. “And you know what? I'm gonna authorize your damn bombs."

Malaresh smiled, excitement welling up in his chest. “Oh, Princess, you have made my whole damn day." He couldn't wait.

“Thought you'd appreciate that." Nira flashed him a devious smile. “After all, we gotta stay ahead of this Executor, one way or another. I don't care how damn Sanctified she is. If it comes to it, you blow her the hell up."

Malaresh bowed his head, snarling in barely contained delight. “With absolute pleasure."

*****

Executor Harliss stared at the gray-blue dragon in silence, waiting for him to continue. She savored the way the beast shifted his weight, rustling his wings in nervous discomfort. Harliss was all too happy to let that anxious uncertainty weigh heavily upon him. The longer it took him to reply, the more honest she expected him to be.

“A deal." Prav finally gave a low, guttural sigh. He curled his tail around his paws, staring back at her. “Your runaway gryphon offered me a deal." He growled through grit teeth. “That I did not accept."

“I didn't ask if you accepted or not." Harliss rubbed her hands together. “What did Alakor offer?"

“Oh, he offered the usual such of things, through my associates." Prav glared down at his table of food and drink as if suddenly irritated by the sight of it. “Union secrets, access to advanced technology and weapons. Possibly even Union ships." He snorted, tail tip flicking repeatedly against the floor. “As interested as I was, it would be harder to claim neutrality if my people were hijacking Union shipments and vessels."

Harliss listened, her head tilted. She let the dragon speak at his own pace now, prodding only when she suspected he wasn't filling in all the blanks. “I'm sure you've had that sort of offer before."

“I have." Prav rustled his wings, still staring at the table. “At first, I assumed it nothing more than entrapment. The Union would love to pin something actionable on me."

The Executor flashed him a playful smile. “They would, yes. You've been quite the thorn in our collective asses." She glanced at Tormin and Evlee. “Well, the Union's ass, anyway."

Prav looked up, his pale eyes narrowed, ears flat. “You say that as if you aren't Union."

“Let's just say I don't agree with their every policy." Harliss swirled a finger in the air. “But we'll circle back around to that later. Go on. What did the bird say that finally convinced you to meet with him?"

“He made more intriguing offers." Prav licked his nose, tapping his fingers against the floor. “Such as alliances, with powerful forces from across the seas."

“Who?" The Executor leaned towards the dragon. “Names, Prav."

Prav continued tapping claws. “Diandrios. Shevar. Each looking to find allies against the other, as usual. And another possibility."

Harliss sharpened her tone. “Don't leave things out, Prav."

“Did you know there's an entire empire of dragons, now?" Prav turned his head, gazing into the distance as though peering through the walls, and into the great world beyond. “Imagine that. An entire empire of us. Building cities, airships…" A smoldering edge crept into his voice. “Armies. Imagine what an entire army of dragons, backed by modern machinery, by electricity, could accomplish."

Harliss shrugged, careful to keep her body language as casual as could be. The Union was well-aware of that burgeoning empire. In Union documents, it was simply referred to as, The Dragon Empire. The Church refused it official recognition, and so did not use its formal name. For the time being, her employers did not consider it an immediate threat. The Dragon Empire was entire oceans away. Not just oceans of sea, and salt, but of great clouds of roiling, freezing death. There were trade routes between continents, of course, hazardous as they may be. But even dotted with islands, ships were usually required to cross them. If the dragons were building or acquiring airship fleets of their own, that changed things.

“The Valley, yes." Harliss crossed her arms. “We're aware of their existence. Odd name for a country, though."

“It's short for something." Prav licked his nose. “The Godsblood Valley, shorthand for their ancestral land. Named by one of their founders, I believe, in honor of a lost loved one."

Harliss arched a brow. “You seem to know an awful lot about them, for someone who pretends to be so neutral."

“I'm a dragon." Prav arched his neck, stretching his wings. “Why wouldn't I take an interest in the first modern era society my people have ever built?"

“Fair enough." Harliss waved the question off. She had the distinct feeling that each of them knew far more about the Dragon Empire than they wished to acknowledge. “What about them?"

“Your bird." Prav's tone remained sharp, dangerous. “He's met their representatives. Claims he can broker an alliance between their people…" Prav swept a wing around the room. “And mine. That if I would help them establish a foothold here, they would help protect me from the Union."

“Interesting." Harliss idly tugged at the gold-hemmed sleeve of her white jacket. “Misguided, but interesting. Go on."

The dragon shifted his weight, like a hound resting on its haunches, impatient to be fed. “My interest was piqued. Especially when my informants told me that not only had your snow gryphon been here a number of times before, but had met with agents of The Valley. Frequently. Gryphons, mostly, but a dragon or two as well."

Evlee twisted in her chair, peering over at Tormin. “You hear that, Tormin? People are paying attention to what's happening in the tavern! Why, surely it couldn't be all those big-eared urd'thin slinking everywhere."

Tormin shrugged, scowling. “Nah, they're just whores and servants. Nothing suspicious about them at all. Private conversations in this place are definitely private."

Evlee nodded her agreement. “Of course! If Alakor met enemy gryphons, it definitely wasn't with the expectation that the urd'thin would listen in, and report back to Prav."

“Right." Tormin smiled at Evlee. “He definitely wouldn't try to play the dragon like that."

Prav snorted. “Your sarcasm is noted, and ignored."

“These agents," Harliss said, watching the dragon carefully. “Were they with the cultists?"

“They were the cultists." Prav curled his neck a little, hissing through his teeth. “Where do you think the Servants of the Sun-Feather come from?" Prav waved his paw. “What better way to shroud your real allegiance than some apocalyptic cult? Everyone just thinks you're crazy, and ignores you."

Harliss furrowed her brow. “So they weren't really Servants of the Sun-Feather? They were just posing, to hide their allegiance to The Valley?"

Prav lifted his paws. “In truth, I suspect they're both. Agents for The Godsblood Valley, who are also Servants of the Sun-Feather. I've heard an awful lot of odd rumors, after all." He set his forepaws back down. “The point is, gryphons from across the seas met multiple times with Alakor. That lent enough credence to his offers for me to agree to meet with him."

Harliss leaned back, considering things. Had she misinterpreted Coaldust's information? Perhaps Alakor hadn't been trying to arrange a meeting with the cult, after all. Perhaps he was already meeting with them regularly and had simply arrived a few days too late for the latest gathering. Or maybe everyone only ever heard exactly what Alakor wanted them to.

“You claim you turned down his offers," Harliss said, shifting her weight. She hooked her arm over the back of the chair. “I get the feeling it wasn't just because you were afraid of pissing off the Union."

“No," Prav said, sneering. “It was not. It was because the more we talked, the more I believed your bird had genuinely fallen with the cult, and their golden goddess. A belief he cemented when he offered me…" He gazed down at the kobold. “What was he said, Nok? An escape?"

Nok grunted. “Escape. From a broken world."

“Right, that was what he offered me." Prav returned his gaze to Harliss, his muzzle once more parted in a predator's wide, toothy smile. He swept his paw through the air in a grand gesture, illustrating unseen propaganda. “An escape from this broken world, and it's dying sun."

Harliss's blood went cold. The gryphon had discovered far more forbidden knowledge than she'd realized. She forced a smile to match the dragon's, and kept her voice level. “And you turned that down, too?"

“Well, I'm still here, aren't I?" Prav made a show of looking around himself, then snarled. “I damn sure haven't escaped anything." He tossed his head. “No, at that point I knew he was either crazy, or I was in way over my head. If you ask me, it's the first one." Prav scratched at his neck with a wing tip, leaning into it. “I think that cult got to him and replaced your people's brainwashing with your own." When his itch was soothed, the dragon shrugged his wings. “That's only my opinion, though. For all I know, he might well be playing all of us, the cult included."

Harliss scowled, rubbing her forehead. The more she learned about what Alakor had been doing, the less certain she was about what he had planned. If he knew about the sun, what else did he know about? Was that why he sought Nira's ship? But then why involve the cult, and the agents from across the seas? Just what the hell was he weaving? How long had he been sowing these seeds? How many places had he been, telling people what they wanted to hear, playing a part for all to see and believe in? Whatever Alakor was doing, this felt bigger than simple defection, or revenge.

Harliss felt as if she was trying to assemble some great, clockwork machine, with no blueprint and only half the gears and cogs. She needed to catch that damn bird, and soon. Harliss just hoped he'd actually talk to her, when she did. For now, she had to move on.

“So, this escape, as he called it." Harliss poured herself some water, then settled back with the glass. “What was to be your end of the bargain? You haven't said what he wanted in return."

“Nothing." An odd smile flitted across the dragon's muzzle, his ears lifting slightly. “He wanted me to do nothing, at all."

All at once, Prav was like a spider watching a fly dance at the very edge of its web, ever so close to disaster. Tormin and Evlee must have seen it, too, because their hands drifted towards their guns. Nok slowly unfolded his arms, readying himself.

“Go on." Harliss gestured with her water. “Nothing can't mean nothing."

“Oh, but it does. All he asked for was my complete inaction." The dragon stretched a wing, gazing at her impassively. “And for my blessing."

Harliss tightened her fingers around her glass. “Blessing for what?"

“To ambush your ship and kill you all." The dragon's smile returned, more eager than ever, delighting in the fact the fly had finally been snared. “He led you here, Executor! Why do you think he's defecting to The Cataclysm? To bringing the fucking sky down on anyone who comes after him!"

“You son of a bitch!" Tormin snarled, on his feet in an instant, lifting his scattergun towards Prav's head.

Nok was faster. In half a blink, he had two pistols out and aimed at Tormin before the big man even had his weapon halfway raised. “Sit the fuck down, you bloated ogre!"

Tormin reddened, his fingers tensing. When he did not sit, Harliss stood instead. She made sure Nok could see her hands were empty, then rested one against the barrel of Tormin's gun. She pressed down until Tormin lowered his weapon. He slowly sank back into his chair, grinding his teeth.

As Harliss sat back down, she glanced at Nok. “Not bad. Not bad at all."

Nok nodded without taking his eyes off Tormin. “Appreciated."

Harliss folded her arms, giving him a playful smile. “Not bad wouldn't cut it against me, though."

Nok only shrugged. “I figured I'd give Grampa Scripture a chance. I'da drawn a lot faster on you."

“Good. Because you'd have to." Harliss looked Tormin over. “Take a breath."

Tormin did so, only to let it back out in a long, growling sigh. “Aren't you worried about what the dragon just said?"

“I would be," Harliss said, giving Tormin a stern look. “If he hadn't expressed to us repeatedly that he turned the offer down."

“And now you know why I didn't want to tell you, in the first place." Prav lashed his tail, upending a few more cushions. “Because that's exactly the sort of reaction I expected." He laughed, the sound low and rumbling. “Not that I didn't enjoy springing that on you."

“You're a piece of shit, Prav." Tormin rested his gun across his lap, grumbling under his breath.

“Two curses?" Prav put a paw to his chest, cooing. “Awww, I think I hurt his pious feelings, Nok."

“Seems that way." Nok glared at Tormin, waggling his pistols. “If I draw these again, it won't end the same way. So don't make me." He tucked them back into the holsters, then glanced at Evlee. “You either."

“What did I do?" Evlee huffed, tossing her hair. “For that matter, what didn't I do? I feel a little insulted you didn't point one of those at me."

“Nah." The kobold shook his red-scaled head. “You act crazy, but you aren't really that rash. You'd pull one just for show. The big man, though." He inclined his muzzle towards Tormin. “He only lifts that thing when he means it."

Prav hissed at his smaller enforcer. “You should have aimed one at the Executor, just in case." He glanced at Harliss. “No offense, Executor, just speaking practically."

Harliss held her hands up. “None taken."

“Nope." The kobold shrugged, watching Harliss. “Didn't need to. We got a thing going."

Harliss only smiled. “Concur."

Prav studied Nok and Harliss in turn. “I'm starting to wonder if you two want to shoot each other, or fuck each other! Or both."

Harliss arched a brow. “Well, I've shot kobolds before, but I've never fucked one. Suppose there's a first time for everything."

Nok gave her a blank stare. “You couldn't handle me."

Prav snorted, shaking his wings. “You'd murder each other halfway through, anyway." He clacked his teeth for their attention. “The Executor was right, by the way. I did turn the gryphon down. Alakor asked for my blessing to ambush Union ships on my lands, and in my skies. He further asked that I refrain from joining in on either side, so that I might maintain my neutrality in the Union's eyes. I politely declined."

Tormin leaned forward, fire still glowing in his eyes. “To which part?"

The dragon snarled, lifting his red splotched frills. “I refused to grant him permission to stage any such ambush here."

“Did you also decline to stay out of any battle?" Tormin gripped his gun till his knuckles stood out white. “Meaning, you would pick a side, should a skirmish break out anyway?"

“Is that a trick question?" The dragon tossed his head. “What are you, out of interrogation techniques?"

Harliss held up a hand, and Tormin clamped his jaws shut. “Tormin's right, even if you don't want to admit it, Prav. You may have refused to allow Alakor to stage an ambush here, but we all know that bird doesn't give one shit whether you've given your blessing or not."

Prav shrugged his wings, then made a show of gazing at the back of a forepaw. “I certainly can't be held responsible for the actions of any renegade Princess. Let alone one who may or may not by led here by the dubious claims of a defecting spy." He flourished the same paw in a circular motion. “Such a wild chain of events would be completely out of my hands."

“You could, however," Harliss said, careful to keep her voice even. “Be held responsible for stalling us." She reached forward, and selected a piece of candied fruit, waving it at the dragon. “If that was what you were doing." She popped the fruit into her mouth.

Evlee picked up for her. “And if said stalling was done to ensure we were still here when said ambush happened."

Prav only smiled at them. “I'm not stalling you. Leave any time you like. Get in your ship and go now, if you wish. Otherwise I'd say you have at least a few days to enjoy my hospitality." He glanced down at Nok, who nodded. “But I wouldn't stick around any longer than that."

“Oh, Prav," Harliss said, rubbing her hands together. “Why would I leave if the gryphon's going to bring the Princess right to me? No, no, no." Harliss clucked her tongue. “We're not going anywhere."

“Suit yourself, Executor." Prav sat up straighter, curling his tail around his paws. “Personally, I'd rather you left. The Union's really gonna be a pain in my ass after an Executor ship gets blown out of my airspace. But I'll be sure to have most of your ship's debris collected and returned to them." He smirked, glancing down at the kobold. “Though, a few choice, valuable bits of technology might sadly be lost forever."

“Ever pragmatic, eh Prav?" Harliss smoothed out her jacket's sleeves, casual as could be. “Oh, there was one more thing I wanted to discuss. And now that I know The Cataclysm's on its way-"

“Possibly on its way," Prav said, still smiling. “I certainly forbid it, but who can stop that crazy Princess Nira from doing as she pleases?"

Harliss propped her boots up on the table, ignoring him. “Now that I know The Cataclysm's on its way, I think it's time I present you my deal."

The dragon's smile dropped from his muzzle in an instant. “I'm not making any deal with the Union."

Once more, Harliss completely ignored his protests. “You see, I very much need to meet this Princess Nira, face to face. Alakor, too. But I'm going to need to make a few preparations, and for that, I'm going to need your help."

“I would not count on it, Executor."

“Ah, but you haven't even heard my deal yet." Harliss folded her hands behind her head, grinning. “And I promise you, Prav, this is not the sort of deal you refuse."

*****

Chapter Twenty-Seven

*****

Harliss and company followed Nok away from Prav's chamber. The route was as winding as before, and totally unfamiliar. They passed walls painted like blue skies, and a room lined with portraits of Prav in elegant, majestic poses. Another held glittering displays showcasing trophies from past battles. Harliss suspected Prav was just showing off. She certainly had no intention of marching back in there to find him again. Besides, the Executor had made it quite clear to Prav it was in his own best interests to cooperate with her.

They soon emerged back into the tavern to find it was bustling once more. Loud voices and raucous laughter waged a cacophonous war with music and song. Servers crisscrossed the room, weaving between tables and booths. Kobolds scurried across the bar and up ladders to fetch bottles. The wounded and the doctors had been replaced with workers scrubbing bloodstains and patching bullet holes. Given the way they were ignored, they must have been a common sight.

Harliss rested a hand upon a pistol as they traversed the tavern. The Executor thought it best to be prepared in case some offended party sought revenge. She tried to listen in to nearby conversations, but it was difficult to pick out individual voices from the din. Those she overheard successfully sounded impressed, rather than upset. Harliss was pleased. The more people who saw her weave her tales and put bullets to bones, the better. Anything to keep the old legends alive, she thought.

A century ago, people like Nok and her were the subject of folk tales and myths. The Ballad began with those who dared explore the world in rickety flying ships, and face their foes with weapons that spat fire, and lead. In those heady days, stories of unbeaten gunslingers were spun in taverns for enthralled audiences. Beer and whiskey were paired with tales of lands unexplored, of duels and gunfights, of death and forgiveness.

Back then, all the world must have seemed a brave new frontier filled with beasts and outlaws, with sunken oceans and roiling clouds of death. And freedom. The Ballad spoke of it as a great paradox; an untamable land, open only to those who dared to try and tame it. At the time, it seemed only the Ballad's guiding principles could give shape to the beautiful, formless chaos of the unconquerable frontier.

And then, with industry, everything changed.

Now every little faction had its own airships. Factories were mass-producing guns, and pouring out shoddy machined ammo. Nations were growing and consuming one another, and their laws slowly superseded codes of honor. Any misguided fool could get themselves a gun, and throw their lives away with it. The frontier was dissolving, and all the old legends were dying out.

But Executor Harliss would be damned if she'd let them die. That was why she spun her tales. Everywhere she went, every interaction she had, was an opportunity to weave herself into myth's enduring fabric. Though the Ballad forbid her from being too prideful in her own legend, she knew well enough it existed. Nok had recognized her name, after all. But it wasn't recognition, she was after. It was inspiration.

As far as Harliss was concerned, the world needed people like her to inspire them. At a time when industry was replacing the unknown, and the sun was slowly fading, the world needed something impossible to believe in. That was why she let the Union name her Sanctified. Because the very idea of an unkillable gunslinger, dispensing justice and blessed by the gods, made for a perfect legend.

The truth was, she didn't care about the Union's laws. She cared about the legend she could build around them. If she could inspire others to believe in the old tales, then they might take up the Ballad next. Whether they did so to slay her or support her mattered not, so long as they followed The Cylinder's Song.

Sometimes, Harliss feared it was a losing effort. That she, like civilization itself, was simply born too late. At least out here in lands that remained so doggedly wild, the legends lived on. Nok was proof of that. In an earlier life, she might have built a rivalry for the ages with that little kobold.

Harliss watched him as they neared the front doors. Nok's head was constantly moving, his eyes darting about. Harliss knew that behavior well. Nok was appraising every possible threat, marking them in his mind. Harliss followed his gaze. A man in the corner glared knives at her. Angry, but likely not stupid enough to go for his weapons. The drunken va'chaak looming nearby might be, though. He was already wobbling, and drunks were always more likely to draw. With a tiny tilt of his head, Nok assigned another guard to keep watch on the lizard.

Deputy Hatha met them at the exit. The gnoll pushed a door open, holding it for them. “I'll escort you back to your men, if you're ready." He flattened his ears, scowling. “I'm told you're going to remain docked a little longer."

Evlee stepped forward, trailing a finger down the gnoll's silver and black vest. “Yes, Deputy, I'm afraid you're not going to be free of us that easily. Plenty of time for us to get to know each other."

Hatha sighed, his tail going limp. “Wonderful." He turned his attention to Harliss. “Executor, at any rate, I'd appreciate it if you'd allow me or another deputy to escort you to and from the tavern for the duration of your stay. That goes for any of your people."

Harliss offered the gnoll a polite smile. “If you think that's necessary."

“I do." Hatha grunted, resting a hand on his oversized revolver. “Not that I think you need the protection. Far from it. But if there are any more…" He licked his muzzle, baring a few fangs. “Incidents, I want there to be an official witness from The Emplacement. It will make things easier for us."

“Understood." Harliss put a hand on the gnoll's shoulder, squeezing it. “I appreciate your efforts today, Deputy, and your understanding. Now, I've suggested to Prav that he not give you any trouble about the whole disarmament issue. But if you have any problems, let me know."

The gnoll grumbled, rubbing at his neck ruff. “Not sure how I feel about-"

“Oh, don't worry, Deputy!" Evlee patted the gnoll's chest. “We'll make sure you're not punished. Well…" She looked him over, smirking. “Not in ways you won't enjoy, anyway."

Hatha groaned, his ears drooping. “I think I liked you better when you were threatening to stab me."

“So did I," Tormin said, glaring at Evlee.

Evlee just smiled and turned away. “Oh, neither of you are as much fun as Coaldust, anyway."

Hatha grunted, turning his attention to Harliss. “Ready to depart, Executor?"

Before Harliss could reply, Nok barred her way with a slender, red-scaled arm. “Buyin' you a drink, first."

Harliss arched a brow, peering down at him. “Thank you for the offer, but I've had enough, already."

“Not asking." Nok did not lower his arm. “Not a request. I buy, you drink. That's it."

Harliss hooked her thumbs into her gun belts. “Is this your way of getting the last word?"

The kobold inclined his head towards an empty table in a corner alcove, near the bar. “Sit."

“Executor," Tormin said, frowning. “I don't think that's a good idea."

“I wouldn't expect you to, Tormin." Harliss gave the kobold a nod. “Very well. But give me five minutes, first."

“Startin' now." Nok dropped his arm out of her way, and backed up. “If you're late, I'm buyin' you two drinks."

Harliss laughed, gesturing for Hatha to lead them back to her own men. “I'll take my time, then."

Outside, the sun had nearly set. A sliver of red-orange fire still burned above the serrated peaks of the Broken Teeth, and The Emplacement's many cliffside artillery batteries. But purple-hued shadows already smothered the grounds beyond the tavern. Gas lamps flickered alongside the wide, wooden boardwalk. The tangled streets of the grimy city beyond the brothel were darker still, as though night somehow found them hours earlier. A cool breeze rustled Harliss's hair, bringing with it enough fresh mountain air to tamp down on the smells of oil, smoke, and refuse.

Tormin and Evlee walked swiftly at her side as she followed Hatha down the boardwalk. Tormin glared at her, his mouth drawn into an angry line. “Executor, you're not seriously considering taking that little monster up on his offer."

“I can't refuse now, Tormin." Harliss drummed fingers against a pistol as she strode after the gnoll. “I'd lose face."

Tormin made a frustrated, growling noise, his boots falling heavy against the boardwalk. “With respect, Executor. I do not think this is the time to indulge in old-fashioned gunslinger games." He held up a single finger. “For one, you two already almost blew each other's heads off. And you involved me!"

“Because I trusted you to be fair, Tormin, to both of us."

For two…" Tormin ticked off another finger, ignoring her. “You've already had more to drink that I'm comfortable with. Even you can't shoot your best if you're inebriated. And three?" He held up a third finger. “You're blackmailing his boss. What if that little monster-"

“It's not blackmail, Tormin, it's reality." Harliss scowled, but did not otherwise argue with him. “Prav is smart enough to read the writing on the wall. Sooner or later, the Union will make him choose."

Tormin ignored her interruption entirely. “What if that little monster just wants to get you drunk enough to make sure he's faster than you? I know you woulda taken him in Prav's office, but what about when you're blind drunk? If he puts a bullet in your head, he solves a lotta Prav's problems."

“And creates ten times more down the road." Harliss waved him off. “Having an Executor killed in his establishment would invite a bombardment the likes of which-"

“So maybe it's not 'in his establishment.' Maybe…" Tormin jabbed a finger towards her. “You go for a drink, and then you just disappear. If we can't find you, we can't prove what happened, can we? Hell, he could pin it on someone working for the Princess, or that damn gryphon."

“Tormin." Harliss stopped and put a hand on his arm. “Enough. I appreciate your concern, and your disagreements are noted." She offered Tormin a smile. Frustrating as he was, Harliss knew he only had her best interests in mind. “You're welcome to lodge an official complaint, if it makes you feel better."

The big man rolled his eyes. “A lot of good that would do. I just don't think this is a good idea."

“Oh, it absolutely isn't. It's a terrible idea." Harliss laughed, squeezing his arm. “But I promise you, the kobold means me no harm." She flashed him a coy smile. “Well, not tonight, anyway. I assure you, right now is the safest possible time for me to meet with him. He follows The Ballad, Tormin. He just wants to one-up me."

“Then let him." Tormin put his hand over hers, softening his voice. “Please."

“Can't do it, Tormin." Harliss patted his hand, then turned back towards her waiting soldiers. “But I genuinely appreciate your concern."

Tormin followed glaring at her all the while. “Yeah, yeah. Maybe I just don't want us to lose our best weapon to a drinking game gone wrong."

That drew another laugh. “One drink is not a drinking game. But if you keep delaying me, then he'll buy me two drinks, and who knows where it goes from there."

“You hear that, Tormin?" Evlee shot him a playful grin around Harliss. “If the Executor comes back stumbling drunk, it's your fault."

“Like hell it is!"

Harliss cut them both off with a loud, sharp whistle. Her two male snow gryphons returned the call with cries of their own. They remained seated on the boardwalk, keeping watch with her men. In the distance, the females also called out as they broke from their watchful patrols. They shot through the skies, and soon landed near the males. The four gryphons greeted and nuzzled one another before taking up positions on either side of the road, clearing the way for Harliss to approach the assembled soldiers.

The gnoll stepped aside. “I'll escort you back, when you're ready."

“Thank you, Deputy." Harliss smiled at the gryphons, taking time to rub each of their necks, and scratch their ears. “Good boys. Good girls." When that was done, she approached her soldiers. “I've negotiated arrangement with the local leadership. We shall remain in port for the foreseeable future, while repairs are completed upon our sister vessels. The Stormcaller will be also be fully resupplied. For the time being, maintain a secure perimeter around all Union vessels. Close off that section of the docks. It belongs to us until we leave. No one visits or supplies our ships without Union supervision. I expect to be treated like guests."

She leveled her gaze with a few soldiers in particular. “And I expect you to treat our hosts just as politely. We don't have to like them, to be respectful. Remember, we are here representing the Golden Union! And the Golden Union has great plans for this place. Peaceful plans. Every little bit of trouble or disrespect we offer is another thorn for Baron Prav to nettle our leadership with when negotiations commence. So, if I hear that anyone has done something to imperil those negotiations? Well…" Harliss trailed off into a chuckle. “I might just sell you to the brothel. Clear?"

“Yes, Executor!" Her soldiers answered, nearly in unison.

“Good!" She turned her attention at the group's captain, thrusting a finger towards the damaged Union vessels in the distance. “I want those ships not only ready to fly, but armed and prepared for battle, as per Sparrow-Swift emergency combat reconfiguration protocols. Have the work started as soon as you've closed the docks. Then assign repair shifts and perimeter watches for the next week. When that's finished, anyone not on duty may take the evening off. You're welcome to visit the tavern, but if you do, please act responsibly. I will hold you responsible for any trouble you're involved in."

The captain saluted. “Yes, Executor! The offer is appreciated."

Harliss nodded. “Dismissed, then."

“You heard the Executor!" The Captain turned towards his men. “Move out!"

As her soldiers marched back to The Stormcaller, Harliss turned her attention to the four snow gryphons. Evlee walked from gryphon to gryphon, feeding them figs, dates, cured meats, and other delights taken from Prav's table. Harliss waited until each gryphon had a turn delicately taking the delicious tidbits from Evlee's hands.

“As for you four, my good birds." Harliss paused till they were focused on her. “I think it's only fair you know that The Cataclysm is on its way here. You need to be ready for battle." She looked each of them over, her voice soft but serious. “Not just against guns, but other gryphons, and a dragon with a history of battling Executors." She paused, turning her full attention to Stripe. The female with the black line down her crown feathers waited expectantly, eyes shining. “You also need to know that Alakor is the one leading The Cataclysm here. You may have to fight him."

Stripe stiffened, flattening back her ears. The other three all turned their faces towards her, offering little comforting coos. Stripe swallowed, working her beak. “I will do whatever I must, Executor."

“I know you will, my lovely." Harliss stroked Stripe's ear. “It is my genuine hope to avoid violence. But I rather doubt he's leading that ship here for a peace summit."

The gryphon leaned into Harliss's touch, closing her eyes. “I will be ready, Executor. We all will."

Her four snow gryphons all gave growled affirmations. Then they brushed their wings across Stripe in a show of support. Each also touched her paws, nuzzled her neck, and gently cooed to her. Her four birds had become like a family over the years. But for Stripe, this was different. Stripe, unlike the others, had actual family out there. Somewhere in the Union, Stripe had a fledging being reared in a combat group.

It pained Harliss to think Stripe might have to fight that child's father.

Sock eased away from Stripe, turning back to Harliss. “Just give the order, Executor. We are ready." He swept his wing across Stripe's back. “We can cover for her, if need be."

“I will have no trouble fighting him." Stripe snapped her beak, glaring at Sock.

“Concur." Speckles bumped his tail against Stripe. “She will be ready. We all will. More than ready."

Star nodded, warbling. “We will do whatever must for you, Executor."

“I know you will." Harliss stroked each of their heads. While her birds served the Union like nearly all snow gryphons, Harliss knew where their loyalty truly lied. With her. She had rescued them, over the years, from more abusive owners. They behaved for her not because she beat them if they refused, but because she didn't. She'd saved the beatings for their former masters. “Let's just hope it doesn't come to that."

Harliss stepped back from the gryphons. “Enough unpleasantness. I don't foresee any further trouble tonight, so the four of you are dismissed to your own recognizance." She swept a hand towards the tavern and brothel. “Furthermore, you're hereby instructed to enjoy yourselves."

The four gryphons glanced at one another. Sock tilted his head, alabaster crest feathers raised. “Enjoy ourselves? What…what are we allowed to do?"

Harliss shook her head, sighing. Her gryphons' original owners had filled their heads with so much subordination there was little room left for anything else. There was certainly a time and a place for snow gryphons to take orders and keep their beaks shut, but it was as if they'd had even the idea of independent thought beaten out of them.

“Anything you damn well please!" Harliss put her hands on her hips, chuckling. “You know, eat, drink, hire whores, get drunk and fuck, I don't care."

Speckles stared at her, his maw agape.

Star blinked, tilting her head. “Really?"

“Yes, really! Considering what's ahead, it's time the four of you have a night to live it up. Just don't trash the place." Harliss thrust a finger at the tavern. “Now go have fun! That's an order."

Uncertainty lingered over the gryphons until Sock charged ahead, squawking excited laughter. That spurred the others to bound after him. Soon all four gryphons were racing one another. Stripe jumped into the air and beat her wings. She surged ahead only for Speckles to leap after her, nipping at her tail.

Evlee giggled, bouncing in place and clapping her hands. “Oooh, a night of drunken debauchery for the best boys and girls!"

Harliss smirked. “Prav offered to pay. It would have rude not to take him up on it. Besides, I figured the birds deserve it."

Tormin gave a long, defeated sigh, watching The Emplacement's guards hurry to open the gryphon-sized doors. “I don't think that's a good idea, either, but I suppose it doesn't matter."

“No, it doesn't," Harliss said. “But to make sure you won't spend all night worrying about my bad decisions, I'm leaving you in charge." She put a hand on his shoulder. “The Stormcaller is yours till morning."

Tormin narrowed his eyes. “I thought you were only having one drink?"

“I'm sure it's been longer than five minutes, already." Harliss squeezed his shoulder, then pushed past him. “Besides, when I'm back I'm flopping straight into bed."

“Assuming she doesn't flop into that kobold's bed, instead." Evlee laughed, and went to stand alongside Deputy Hatha.

“Oh, Evlee, please." Harliss rolled her eyes. “I'd never fit in a kobold's bed."

“And she sure as hell won't be bringing him back here." Tormin glared at her, but his anger melted into a brief smile, and lingering salute. “See you in the morning, Executor. Do be careful."

“I shall, Tormin. Thank you." Harliss returned the salute before Tormin walked away. Then she turned to Evlee. “Where do you think you're going?"

“Oh, please, Executor." Evlee hooked her arm around Hatha's. “The Deputy here is walking me back to the bar. If you get to spend the night drinking with monsters, I want to do the same."

Hatha swallowed audibly. “I'm, uh, busy tonight."

“Which is why I'll be buying Coaldust a drink," Evlee said, tugging the gnoll forward. “Not that you aren't welcome to join us, Deputy. But I was having a lovely time with that little urd'thin, earlier, before your rude friend interrupted us."

“Wouldn't call Yorlok my friend." Hatha stumbled forward, walking with Evlee.

“And I wouldn't call a quick whiskey with a kobold a night spent drinking with monsters." Harliss held up a finger. “One drink, one monster."

Evlee flashed her a smile. “Whatever you say, Executor."

*****

Nira made her way to Chief Navigator Kasis's personal office, near The Cataclysm's expansive bridge. Kasis had called for the Princess and her top officers to meet her there, to talk about the courses she was plotting. Though Kasis had a station on the bridge itself, she only attended it during active transit. Otherwise, she worked from the ship's nav office.

The Princess entered to find she was the last one to arrive. Rog and Amelia stood on one side of a large, circular table. Maps and charts were clipped to it everywhere. Kasis and Vekk stood across from them, each on wheeled step-ladders. The kobold and urd'thin were still finishing their calculations and muttering about fuel expenditures. Nira slipped up between Rog and Amelia to wait for her companions finish their work.

“Think you forgot to carry the one, Sunset." Vekk curled an arm around Kasis' waist.

“Aw, shit." Kasis grunted, scratched something out, and scribbled down fresh numbers. “Damn airship mechanics," she said, her voice a playful growl. “Always sticklers for math."

“If we weren't, things would explode." Vekk bumped his gray-furred muzzle against the kobold's snout in a gentle kiss.

“Yeah, well, navigatin' ain't gonna make anything explode." Kasis tapped her pencil against the paper. “We'll just run outta fuel and crash."

“Can we not do that?" Rog scratched at one of his ears. “I'd like to not do that."

Amelia folded her arms. “We'd all like to not do that."

Kasis snapped her teeth, glaring up at the taller people. “Then you should all shut up and let me finish calculating things!"

Amelia gave her a blank stare. “You're the one who invited us here early."

“Because I expected the boss to get here first!" Kasis thrust her pencil at Nira. “She's smarter than the rest of you, so I thought she'd wanna hear the details. Instead, I've been stuck with Captain Smash Happy and Officer Shoots First."

Nira held her hands up, laughing. “Oh no, keep me out of this."

The Princess watched Kasis and Vekk as they returned to work. The kobold wore her usual hand-tailored jumpsuit, a patchwork of grays and blues. It looked good against her bronze scales, and highlighted the azure stripes that ran from her eyes to her horns. The Empire's familiar Black Star decorated one shoulder of Kasis's jumpsuit. The other displayed the navigator's compass and her ranking. Countless pockets bulged with charts and instruments. Carabiners and latches stuck out everywhere. Her tapered tail swished behind her in time with her muttered numbers.

Vekk peered over Kasis's shoulder, double checking her math. Her chief engineer had always reminded Nira of a gray fox. The urd'thin's fur was a mixture of soft grays and rusty reds. A black stripe ran down the back of his bushy tail. Vekk rarely displayed any sign of his rank, and today was no different. His mechanic's jumpsuit was clean but totally unmarked. Tools protruded from deep pockets.

While she waited, Nira looked over her two highest ranking officers. Rog still wore the golden tunic and gray breeches from earlier. An immense pistol was strapped at his hip, with an equally oversized scattergun across his back. It was unusual to see him with guns but not his cherished axe. Nira wondered if she'd teased him too much about his lack of weaponry earlier.

Amelia wore her formal officer's jacket over gray and black clothes. Nira hadn't seen Amelia in her old, decorated uniform in ages. It resembled her own Captain's coat; indigo and with the Black Star on each shoulder. It also displayed the insignia of the special reconnaissance unit Amelia once commanded, along with high marks of rank. Technically speaking, Amelia outranked everyone on the ship but Nira herself. Myriad sharpshooter badges and medals adorned the garment's front. Nira imagined Amelia must have brought it out in anticipation of going up against an Executor. As usual, she had her favorite Ebony Ranger rifle slung across her shoulder.

Time dragged on, and Nira turned her attention to the Navigation Office itself. The chamber had been designed for an entire team of navigators. It should have been too large for one human to use efficiently, let alone a single kobold. Yet thanks extensive personal retrofits, and seemingly boundless energy, Kasis hurtled around the room faster than any team of humans ever could.

Ladders, platforms, rigging, pulleys, and tethers were everywhere. Some were on wheels, while others glided along rails affixed to walls. More folded out from hidden chambers or dropped from the ceiling with the pull of a chain. There was nothing in the room Kasis couldn't swiftly access. One moment the kobold might be scaling a ladder to snatch a chart from a high alcove, the next she was hooking the carabiners on her jumpsuit to a tether, and ziplining across the room on a ceiling rail system.

Kasis had crammed the room full of everything she might need. Floor to ceiling alcoves stuff with maps and charts filled an entire wall. Most of the overflowing recesses weren't even labeled. Those few that were bore labels written in kobold. Only one little nook was identified in the common human language, and all it said was 'maps.' Fittingly, that alcove was empty.

The other side of the room was filled with drawers and padded display cases containing navigational aides and tools. The more delicate and antique mechanisms were kept secured for safety during turbulence. Kasis also collected photography and silver-graph equipment, including the newest camera models she could get her hands on.

Mahogany bookcases took up random spaces around the room, each focused around a different subject. One was filled with books on the early days of airship flight, and the so-called golden age of the air. Another held nothing but technical manuals for various airship models. Others had catalogues of navigational tools, books with images and silvery photographs of famous vessels, or fictional tales taking place across the untamed skies.

The Nav team's instrument station occupied the far end of the room. Like everything else, Kasis had heavily retrofitted its trio of workstations and orderly rows of devices and gauges to better suit herself. A sturdy, padded chair now slid back and forth on rails built on the inside of a nearly circular desk. The neat lines of compasses, altimeters, and so on had been replaced by something seemingly designed by some mad kobold scientist.

Glass-covered indicators, bobbling needles and graphs, and brass-trimmed gauges encircled the sliding chair. Some jutted out at the end of makeshift copper extensions, or on oddly bent metallic tubes. A vast array of dials, switches, levers, and tiny adjustment wheels smothered one section of the desk. Kasis's station also provided access to all the ships comm's equipment, from its ship-wide chimes and talk boxes, to the sound-lines that allowed direct communication between vital ship areas.

An electric lamp in a crystalline fixture hanging from the ceiling shed plenty of blue-white light. Though Nira knew the wonders of electricity were starting to spread through some parts of the world, The Cataclysm's secretive systems remained more highly advanced than any other she knew of. With the ship drifting, and the primary propulsion turbines quiet, they were free to devote their engines towards additional electricity production.

Truthfully, Nira wasn't comfortable relying on the Cataclysm's experimental electrical systems. Vekk came from a background of mechanical engineering, of steam engines and boilers, and grease and turbines and so on. He was not an electrician. The fact was, there were few such people qualified to be called that in all the world. And none of them were on her ship.

The ship's electrical systems weren't even finished before the ship was forced to launch. They had only been implemented across important decks, like those containing the bridge, main engineering, and so on. Vekk and the rest of her crew had done their best to learn and manage everything, but Nira remained distrustful of electricity. While everything was designed with as many safety precautions as possible, it still made her uneasy. She worried for her people any time they had to perform electrical maintenance, or deal with the hidden batteries and their mixtures of acids and other chemicals.

Thankfully, nothing on the ship required electricity to function. While the engines could produce it, they were not required to do so to power the ship. Everything had redundant back ups. Nira preferred to run things the old-fashioned way, with grand boilers and turbines bigger than some ships. They had engines built for every eventuality, some that burned coals and others designed for newer, liquid fuels. And even Nira had to admit, electricity probably wasn't any more dangerous than volatile gas lines for lamps, heaters, and-

“Hey, boss." Kasis tapped a pencil against the table. “I think we're good, here. You wanna check my math?"

“That's really not my strong suit." Nira shook her head, chuckling. “Besides, I trust you to get it right." Then she nudged Rog with her elbow, pointing at Kasis's work. “Bet you're glad you don't have to do that."

“Yeah." The gnoll stared down at Kasis's tools. “I'd probably break those tiny kobold tools if I tried to measure anything."

“Keep your big, clumsy gnoll hands off my navigational devices!" Kasis glared up at Rog.

Rog held his hands up as if she'd pulled a gun on him. “I am, I am! Princess said it, not me!"

Nira rubbed her forehead. “I meant the math. I wouldn't think you'd like to do all that math."

“Oh." The gnoll ran a hand down the ruff of fur along the back of his neck. “I dunno, I don't mind math. How do you think I range out the cannons?"

The kobold's tone shifted from menacing to playful. “Princess is just bad at math."

“I am not!" Nira laughed, tossing her hair. “I just don't like it."

“Yeah, she doesn't like math." Rog jabbed a finger at the kobold, feigning a leap to Nira's defense. Then the gnoll gave her a sly, sidelong grin. “Cause she's really bad at it."

Nira punched Rog on the shoulder hard enough to make him yelp.

Amelia leaned forward to address the gnoll. “You think we need to tutor her? Teach her how numbers work?"

“You want one too?" Nira held her fist up.

Amelia tilted her head, smirking. “Depends what you're offering."

Nira punched her on the shoulder just as hard. “That."

“Ow!" Amelia rubbed her arm, wincing. “You're a bad student. Professor Rog and I are gonna give you detention."

Kasis slapped the table, rattling her tools. “If you three are done flirting, I'm ready to proceed."

Amelia arched a brow. “If you think that's flirting, wait till you get the three of us at your strip poker games, together."

“Oh, gods." Nira put a hand over her face, muffling her laughter. “Everyone would end up naked but Kasis."

Kasis only smiled. “I can't help if I'm naturally gifted at card games."

“You're gifted at cheating at card games, anyway." Nira peered over the charts. “I think that's why she's only ever invited one of you at a time. To keep you from realizing she's cheating you both."

Rog swished his tail. “I only played her for coins and bullets and drinks. Ain't played her for clothes, so far."

“I have," Amelia said. “Ain't seen her outta that jumpsuit yet." She glanced at Vekk, smirking. “Him, though-"

“Yeah, yeah, yeah!" The urd'thin spoke up to cut Amelia off. “We've all done embarrassing things when we're drunk at one of Sunset's strip poker tournaments."

Nira shook her head. “I haven't. I haven't even been invited to…" She trailed off, blinking. “Wait, did you say tournaments?"

“How else am I gonna establish myself as ship champion?" Kasis tapped dull claw tips against a chart. “You can come if you want, Princess. But when you sit at my table, you gotta play by my rules, royalty or not."

Nira put a hand on Rog and Amelia's shoulders. “I'd love to play, but only if these two play as well. That way we can all keep an eye on you. If you want me out of my clothes, you're gonna have to work for it."

Kasis tilted her head, a grin parting her muzzle. “Oh yeah?"

Rog barked raucous gnoll laughter.

“That did not come out the way I intended." Nira tried not to laugh with him. “I think you know what I meant."

“I dunno…" Amelia appraised the princess with a sly smile. “Wasn't that hard getting you out of your clothes, last time."

Nira punched her on the shoulder again.

“Ow!" Amelia stumbled back, rubbing her arm. “Same damn spot."

Nira turned her attention back to the kobold. “Kasis, I believe you were ready?"

“Right, yeah." Kasis pulled a tiny pewter Cataclysm figurine out of her pocket. “We're here." She set it on the map, near a rugged basin alongside a vast stretch of mountains. She smirked at the group. “Everyone with me so far?"

“Oooh, where'd you get that?" Rog plucked the pewter ship off the map. “Aww, it's got cute little cannons and everything!"

“I had it made!" Kasis snatched for it, but the kobold couldn't reach far enough cross the table. “A little help?"

Nira took it from Rog, and returned it to the map. “You can play with Kasis's toys later."

“First, they're not toys." Kasis adjusted the ship's location a half-inch. “Second, no he can't."

“I dunno," Amelia said, reaching for it. “It looks like a toy to me. Lemme see it."

Kasis slapped her hand away. “Hands off! It's not a damn toy!"

“Yeah!" Vekk tucked his hands into his own pockets, jostling some of his tools. “It's a navigational aid."

The ease and quickness with which Vekk spat that out told Nira that Kasis had argued that very subject with him before. The Princess glanced around. “Everyone leave Kasis's navigational aids alone."

“Thank you, Your Highness." Kasis bowed her head. Then she produced a tiny replica of the tavern located at The Emplacement. “Here's our initial destination." She set it down near the map's mountainous coastline. “So, to get here-"

“How many of those have you got?" Rog wagged his bushy tail, fingers twitching as if fighting back the urge to pick that one up next.

Amelia bent forward to peer at the miniature tavern up close. “Actually, I'd like to know that too. Are your pockets filled with those things?" She tilted her head. “This one's really detailed. You even got all its weird quirks right."

Kasis stared at Rog and Amelia, unblinking. After a few long moments, she turned her attention to Nira. “I guess I'm just talking to you."

“Seems that way."

Amelia straightened back up. “I'm listening, I'm listening. Those things are nice, though. I'd love to get a few of myself riding the girls, or…" When Kasis shifted, suddenly awkward, Amelia grinned. “You have some, don't you?"

“Well we can't plan out tactical situations without miniatures!" Kasis stomped her little booted foot against the stepladder, making it wobble. She dug out a handful of small, silvery figurines, then tossed them at Amelia, scattering them across the table. “There, happy? Why don't we all just play with toys instead of attending this very important briefing!" She threw her hands up. “I'll just pick a course on my own, and if someone disagrees later, we'll just toss them off the ship!"

Rog only smiled at her, flashing slightly yellowed fangs. “So you admit they are toys!"

Kasis snarled, tiny frills flared. “You are so getting slugged in the powder pouch later, gnoll!"

“Ooooh!" Amelia scooped up the figures, examining them. “Here's me on Lissir, and on Sivik, and this one's Jirril! Oh, and here's one with me riding Malaresh. They're so detailed. You can just see the indignity on Mal's face!"

Nira looked them over. They were quite detailed, right down to the gryphon's feathers, Malaresh's scales, and Amelia's choice of weaponry. “Those are pretty spectacular." She gave a low whistle of approval, glancing at Kasis. “Okay, now I wanna know where you got those, too."

“I had them all commissioned!" Kasis folded her arms, sighing. “From Teksi, one of the kobold artisans on deck thirty. Had to buy him a shitload of pewter. Just be careful with them, alright?"

Vekk picked up the Cataclsym's figurine, waggling it. “She got the idea from one of those tabletop games we play with my engineering buddies."

Kasis shot her mate a glare, pointing to the map.

“Sorry, Sunset." Vekk set the ship back down.

“Any more questions about my miniatures?" She adjusted the ship's position, grumbling. “Or can we move on to the important things?"

“Please proceed," Nira said, giving everyone else a look to ensure they listened.

“I've been trying." Kasis hissed through her teeth, lashing her little tail. When no one interrupted her, she went on. “As per the Princess's instructions, I've plotted a few courses to The Emplacement, and a few from The Emplacement."

Nira offered the kobold a little bow. “Thank you for your hard work, Kasis."

“Yer welcome, boss." She licked her nose. “So first, the quickest route. We follow the foothills to the cliffs, straight there." Kasis traced a finger across the map. “The caveat being there's a blind spot." She tapped a mountain. “That Executor could hide her fancy ship here, and we wouldn't see her till it was too late. If they were looking to inflict the most damage before we could return fire, that'd be the place to do it."

Rog growled. “We'll blow her out of the fuckin' sky anyway."

Kasis nodded. “Eventually. But if the snow bird's right about that ship, it won't be pretty."

Nira nodded. “So, what's the alternative?"

“We could go the long way around." Kasis drew a half-circle with a claw tip. “The mountains here are just low enough for us to pass over them. That would put us in behind the blind spot. But it'll take a lot longer, and burn more fuel. If we go that route, I wouldn't feel comfortable about heading to sea unless we refueled at Prav's." Kasis scrunched her muzzle. “Who we have to consider my not want us using his pass, at all."

Nira scrowled. “We're not exactly his favorite people."

“No, we're not." Amelia scuffed her boot against the floor. “Especially after what Mal and Jirril pulled. Union or not, Prav hates people fucking with his customers."

Nira rubbed her face, grimacing. “I'll smooth things over with him, if I can. But that may depend on how bad things go with this Executor. Are there any other passes we could use, Kasis?"

“Not many." Kasis pointed to a narrow valley south of The Emplacement. “Just the Beggar's Cut. It's longer, and further from any of the islands, but it doesn't have an army of guns guarding it."

Amelia studied the map. “Anywhere the coastal mountains are low enough to cross?"

“Not safely, no." Kasis tapped the miniature Cataclysm. “Not unless you can pressurize and oxygenate this entire ship like the abyssal dive suits they use to explore the Boiling Emptiness."

Vekk picked up an unused figure, idly toying with it. “Engines gotta breathe too, so to speak. And higher altitudes affect the lifting gas, pressures and so on."

“Right," Kasis said. “After that, we can make it make it to the first island in the Sunken Seas. We'd have to resupply there, for sure. It has a decent port, but it's not very defensible. I wouldn't wanna be there for long."

Amelia folded her arms. “Alakor said there's a Union fleet somewhere behind us, right? If they heard we were out there, they might try and hit us while we were moored."

“Exactly." Kasis pulled a few Union ship figurines from her pockets, and lined them up on the map. “Which is why Vekk and I think we should make for the Isle of Seven Whispers, instead."

“Oh, fuck me." Amelia groaned, sagging. “That place was bad enough last time."

“To be fair," Nira said, glancing at her friend. “That was sort of Malaresh's fault."

Rog whimpered, ears drooping. “And I hate flying over the the Emptiness. It's creepy!"

Kasis slapped the table, growling. “I don't care! We know the Union won't follow us there, at least not yet. We can hold up and resupply, while we decide what to do next. If you want my recommendation, that's it." She hopped the tiny Cataclysm across the map, tapped it against the Emplacement, then moved it to an island amidst the blue-gray clouds and danger sigils of the Boiling Emptiness.

“Let's go with that, then." Nira waved at the chart. “We'll take the direct way, ambush risk and all. If that Executor's as good as Alakor says, she won't risk a fight she can't win, just to inflict some damage. If she wants to attack us, she'll do it here." She tapped The Emplacement. “In person."

Amelia nodded. “I agree. We just gotta be ready."

“You know, the smart thing to do would be to skip The Emplacement entirely." Vekk shoved his hands back into his pockets. “Cause it kinda feels like we've whiplashed from planning an ambush, to expecting one. Fighting a few Union ships and soldiers feels a lot different from going up against an Executor."

Kasis tilted her head, staring up at Nira. “He's not wrong. An Executor does change the calculous a bit. I could plot us a path up through pirate and outlaw territory, instead." She licked her nose. “Boss, you absolutely sure you wanna do this?"

“Yeah," Nira said. “I've been thinking about this all day." Her voice was soft at first, but fire crept into it with every word. “Alakor's right about me. About us. We could have fled this place years ago. We could have taken refuge far across the seas, or settled down in the city-states dotting the Emptiness. But those places?" Nira shook her head. “They're not our home. This ship, and the land beneath it? That's our home! And as long as this ship remains here, then the Union still hasn't won. So long as we're free, the Empire lives on in our hearts!"

Nira thumped fist against her chest. “And my heart says I'm not leaving. I'm not running for the rest of my life!" Nira gazed at each of her friends in turn. “We all knew the Union was gonna come for us again, sooner or later. So, if they want to send a brand-new ship after us? I say we send it back in pieces. If they want to send an Executor after us?" She jabbed her finger against the map. “Maybe we send her back in pieces, too."

Rog snarled, pounding a fist against the table. “Yeah! Smash her and her fancy ship up."

“They think she's the best in the Union?" Nira grabbed Rog and Amelia by their shoulders, shaking them. “Then let's see how she handles the best in the Empire!"

Amelia smiled, nodding. “Appreciate that. But I'd feel better about the title if there was more to the Empire than one really big ship."

The gnoll snorted, his ears perked. “She was talking about me, anyway."

Nira squeezed their shoulders, grinning. “I meant both you wonderful idiots. Rog, you're the best fighter I've ever know, and Amelia, you're the best shot I've seen. I'll save the whole 'we've never fought someone like her' speech for later, but suffice it to say, you're the best we have. I believe in all of you. If she tries us, that Executor's gonna find out why we call this ship The Cataclysm."

Amelia scowled, shifting her rifle. “Never been up against an Executor before. Heard plenty of stories, though. Hard to tell what's real, and what's bullshit." She chewed her lip. “Rog and I already went over some ideas. Those docking scaffolds would make a hell of a sniper's nest."

“I like the sound of that," Nira said. “When we close in, we'll talk strategy. But we're going to have to be prepared to adapt."

“Agreed." Amelia clenched her jaw. “Hard to plan our moves without knowing how our opponent is setting up the gameboard."

Rog growled. “She doesn't know what we're gonna do either, though."

Nira patted his arm. “We'll strategize best we can for as many eventualities as we can think of. If we can capture her alive, or hell, her ship? Who knows what we could learn about the Union's plans. And what better way to tell the Union not to fuck with us again than defeating an Executor?" She offered the group a grim smile. “Now, if anyone doesn't want go-"

“Oh, we're going." Kasis snapped her teeth. “Just because I think it's extremely stupid and dangerous, doesn't mean I don't agree with the tactical merits of it."

“Thank you," Nira said, then chuckled. “I think. If possible, I want to get you two in one of those damaged recon ships."

Vekk rubbed his hands together. “All of my yes. I'd love a good look in those. Hell, if they're flight capable at all, we could steal 'em."

Kasis nodded, licking her muzzle. “Not to mention the intel we could find." As Nira lacked a dedicated information officer, Kasis also served as the ship's intel specialist. The kobold scrunched her nose. “Though if they know we're coming, they'll probably burn it." She waggled a finger at the urd'thin. “We need to get on that Executor ship."

“Right?" Vekk turned towards her. “That'd be a damn treasure trove of information."

“And a ship like that is gonna have all sorts of impressive new technology." Kasis idly stroked the urd'thin's arm. “If it's as fast as that bird says, it must have brand engine designs. Probably real powerhouses, too."

“Oh, stop already!" Vekk held up a hand as if warding her off. “Yer gonna get me hard talkin' like that." Everyone laughed, and then Vekk stared up at Nira. “In all seriousness, though, Princess? You're right. None of us believed the Union was gonna stick to that truce, forever." His oversized, red furred ears drooped. “We've been a thorn in the Golden Union's side for a decade, now. Sooner or later, they're gonna try to yank that thorn out. So we may as well bury it as deeply as we can, right? Besides, if we can't take down one Executor, what the hell are we gonna do when they send the rest of them after us?"

“The pup's right." Rog rested a hand against his immense pistol. “If we run from one Executor_,_ when do we ever stop running? This fight belongs to everyone on this ship, Princess. Anyone who didn't want part of it left your crew years ago." Rog offered her a showy, formal bow. “If you're ready to fight the Union, so are we. And we'll follow you into the gods-damned abyss with a smile on our faces."

“Thank you, Rog." Nira gripped his hand, squeezing it. “Are you all in agreement?" She gazed around at the others. “If anyone has objections, please voice them."

Vekk shook his head. “It's worth the risk. We're outnumbered infinity to one, so we gotta seize any advantage we can."

“I agree." Kasis flashed her teeth in a wicked-looking kobold smile. “Even though this might be the worst idea in our long history of bad ideas. But, then again, the last time I thought that, we were on our way to rescue a dragon. Now we can't get him to leave!" Kasis chittered laughter. “So I say we go after this Executor, before she comes after us. And if she forces our hand?" Her smile faded. “We kill her."

Nira gazed around the room, watching as everyone nodded in agreement. Though their support swelled her heart, it also frightened her. Their lives were in her hands. Nira just hoped she was making the right decision. “Let's make it official, then. I want a vote. Hands in, we go after the Executor. Hands out, we don't."

The Princess set her hand on the map. Rog dropped his hand atop hers without hesitation. Amelia did the same. Kasis and Vekk put their hands in just as swiftly.

Nira slowly looked each of them in the eye. “To the abyss, then. You'd better all be smiling when we reach it."

*****

Chapter Twenty-Eight

*****

Deputy Hatha escorted Harliss and Evlee back to the The Emplacement's tavern. Guards held the doors for them. They gave the Executor and her comrade dirty looks, but Harliss was confident no one who worked for Prav would trouble her now. She couldn't be as certain about his customers, but she hoped the day's events would dissuade more thugs and monsters than it emboldened.

The scents of smoke and incense, food and booze, and a few too many people all swirled around Harliss as she walked inside. She swept her gaze across the crowd, but saw no sign of anyone paying her and Evlee a suspicious amount of attention. Harliss did, however, spot her gryphons crowding into an especially spacious, circular booth designed to accommodate larger creatures. A small army of servers was flooding the area to take care of them. In another part of the tavern, Coaldust cast the gryphons longing looks as he ferried drinks to a crowded table. One of the occupants swatted the urd'thin on the rump, earning a yip and a playful glare.

Harliss gestured towards him. “Looks like you might have to outbid whatever they're tipping him."

Evlee narrowed her eyes at the table. She gave Hatha's arm a squeeze. “Deputy, do me a big favor, and find me a place to sit. And then tell Coaldust I'm hiring him." She smirked. “For the night."

Harliss lifted her brows. “Are you?"

“Oh, not like that Executor." Evlee rolled her eyes. “But I've got to make it worth his while, don't I? Besides, I don't want anyone to steal him away this time." She released Hatha's arm, smiling. “So, help me out, will you?"

“Oh, gods damn it. Alright." Hatha's bushy tail twitched, and he started across the room, glancing back at Harliss. “Please don't cause any more trouble."

Harliss only smiled at him. “Wouldn't dream of it, Deputy." She waggled her fingers at Evlee in playful wave. “Enjoy your completely innocent night with the urd'thin."

Evlee stuck her tongue out over her shoulder. “Enjoy fucking the kobold you almost gunned down!"

The Executor laughed, and made her way to the table where Nok was already seated. It was small, and circular, but high enough for a human. Nok sat in a chair designed for kobolds, with space for his tail, and elevated to place them comfortably at table level. Two glasses sat before him, one with something golden-hued, the other with clear liquid. An identical set of drinks rested on the other side of the table.

“You're late." Nok pointed at the only other chair. “Sit."

“That I am." Harliss settled across from him, her hand hovering over the drinks. “Which first?"

Nok picked up the drink with the clear liquid. “This. One go."

Harliss picked the slender glass. The kobold downed his, and she did the same, swallowing the stuff in a single gulp. Whatever it was, it tasted faintly of cherries and burned like hell. Nok thumped the glass down, clearing his throat with a snarl. Harliss smacked her own glass down, fighting back a cough. Her throat stung, but the mix of sweet and tart cherry flavors lingered on her tongue, fading into vanilla.

“What the fuck was that?" She picked up the vessel again, smelling it. More hints of cherry and almond lingered, but it left her nostrils burning. “I think I could run my airship on that."

Nok snorted, the hint of a smile on his muzzle. “S'kobold spirit. We call it ch'atta. Used to be ceremonial. You'd drink it before a raid. Or share it with an enemy tribe, during a truce. You like it?"

Harliss put the glass back down. “I don't hate it. I'll assume that's what you planned to buy me, originally." She tapped the other drink. “What'd I get for being late? Punishment, or reward?"

Nok shrugged. “That one's a kobold drink, too. Called nuraag, but it's kinda like rum. Usually go together. Ch'atta's like good sex, leaves ya sore but satisfied. The nuraag's like the cuddle afterwards, sweet, and puts you to sleep."

The description made Harliss laughed. She picked up the kobold rum, swirled it under her nose. It smelt of burnt molasses and cinnamon-sugar. Nok downed his in another long pull, so Harliss did the same. The nuraag went down much easier, with just a hint warmth following its sweet, sugar and spice flavor.

“That one's better." She regarded the glass. “It does go well with the other."

Nok only grunted. He lifted a hand and twitched a few clawed fingers in the air. The kobolds tending bar sprang into action, fetching bottles and glasses from low shelves, and pouring a few more drinks. Whatever they'd selected, the labels were unfamiliar. Soon enough, the server hurried them over. The new drinks were larger pours than before, and dark gold in color. The attendant passed them out, then scurried back to the bar.

“And what's this one?" Harliss sniffed the latest arrival, and found it's scent full apricots and apples, clove and candied ginger. “Aside from enough to finish getting me drunk."

“S'kobold whiskey, basically." Nok sipped his. “Don't gotta drink it, if you don't want."

Harliss smirked. “That's not how this works, and we both know it."

Nok shrugged, drumming little claw tips against the table. “I ain't stoppin' ya from leaving."

“Oh, no." Harliss tasted the whiskey, and found it quite enjoyable. The fruit flavors were more pronounced than they were on the nose, and the spices made for a balancing background note. “I think we both know where this is going." She took another sip. “I like this one quite a bit."

“Good." Nok tilted his head, mischief glittering in his dark gold and vaguely reptilian eyes. “You don't gotta finish it on my account."

That was a blatant lie, and they both knew it. Buying her the drink was already one-upping her after their earlier encounter. If she bowed out now, the kobold would win. While The Ballad did not have rules specific to drinking, personal honor was at stake. Since Nok made the initial offer, it was up to him to decide when to stop. Though Harliss was technically free to leave, to do so would be to concede defeat.

“You know, you have me at a disadvantage. I was drinking earlier in the day, with Coaldust and my crew." She glanced across the tavern to where Evlee was now sharing a booth seat with Coaldust. The urd'thin was leaning against her, and laughing. “Then I had a few drinks wihle negotiating with your boss. You only had the one."

Nok shifted to watch Evlee and Coaldust too. “I'm half your size. It'll hit me faster, anyway. We're even." He inclined his muzzle towards Coaldust. “Your friend plannin' on keepin' him for the night?"

“You know," Harliss said, folding her arms. “I have no idea. She took a shine to him earlier, as did her roaming hands. But can never quite tell where pumping him for information ends, and personal curiosity begins."

Nok clicked his teeth. “Pumping him, huh?"

Harliss smirked. “Indeed." She turned her attention back to the kobold, shrugging. “I'm sure she'll have a memorable evening one way or another."

Nok tilted his head. “Ain't that against your Union laws, or something?"

“Oh, who gives a shit." Harliss swirled her whiskey, grimacing.

“I'd figure you would, after that fancy speech you gave about bringing the Union's law jurisdiction, wherever you went. Which, by the way." He slapped a hand against the table. “You don't."

“Nok, please." Harliss leaned forward, tapping a finger to her chest. “You know which laws I follow. The same ones you do."

The kobold crossed his arms. “Ballad kinda conflicts with some of them Union laws, don't it?"

“Which is why I don't give a fuck about the Union's laws."

Nok watched her through slitted eyes. “Think you just said the quiet part out loud."

Harliss laughed at that, shaking her head. “Oh, no, Nok, I enforce the laws, when required, but that doesn't mean I agree with them. And I certainly don't care who fucks who." Harliss took a drink, then gestured with her glass. “No, I serve the Union for my own reasons. There's a reason I'm an Executor, after all."

Nok gave a mock coo. “Aww, and here I thought that was just cause you act like a badass."

“For one, Nok," Harliss said, punctuating her words with a flourish of her drink. “I am a badass. For two, Executors aren't required to follow the Union's laws." She sipped her drink, scowling. “Some do, of course. Some bow and scrape and simper before the priests, others studiously enforce every law and code we have. But a few of them, like myself, find some of those laws…" She trailed off, looking for the right word. “Chafing. So I ignore them."

The kobold licked his muzzle. “So why tell that law-bringer speech then?"

“For the same reason I tell the stories." Harliss eased back in her chair. “To make an indelible impression. There was a time, Nok, when we would have been legends. A hundred years ago, there were folk tales about Balladeers like us. I don't want that idea to die."

She waved at the boisterous evening crowd. “What happened today, that'll be remembered precisely because I am an Executor, because I did give a dramatic speech. Otherwise, it would just be…" She shifted her voice into an exasperated drawl. “Another shooting at the bar, today. Some Union woman." Harliss shook her head. “Forgotten, the very next time there's violence." A smile crept across her face. “But that isn't what happened." Harliss lowered her voice, now an excited whisper. “Did you hear? Executor Harliss outshot four people! I've never seen someone draw so fast. Then she forced everyone to sit through some crazy speech about her childhood, and how unkillable she is!"

Nok chittered kobold laughter. “It does make a better story, I'll give ya that."

“You're damn right it does, Nok." Harliss shook a finger at him. “And that's the point. This world? There's fewer and fewer places left for people like us. The myths the first Balladeers once spawned are dissolving before our eyes." She tapped her chest again. “So, I'm weaving new myths. You recognized my name, because I wanted you to."

Nok curled his lip. “I recognized your name because you're good. You've a reputation."

Harliss smiled at him, spreading her hands over the table. “Exactly. All the Executors are good. But can name another one?"

Nok grunted, nudging his glass back and forth. “Nope."

“And yet, you knew my name before I ever set foot in this bar." Harliss leaned towards him. “That isn't by accident, Nok. Wherever I go, I weave my stories, and thread by thread, a tapestry of myth comes together. Consider it my way of honoring those who came before us. The Ballad first spawned those old legends. And it's my hope that new legends will keep the Ballad alive."

Nok plucked his drink off the table. “To the Ballad, then. And to your bullshit stories."

Harliss grinned, sharing his toast. “Appreciated, Nok. To the Ballad."

Both of them finished their drinks, and slammed their glasses down. Nok immediately signaled for more.

While they waited, Harliss gestured at herself. “So, how does the real Executor Harliss measure up to your expectations?"

“Well…" Nok made a show of looking her over. “You talk a lotta shit, just like I expected. But your bullshit's even crazier, in person. And I ain't yet parsed out where the truth ends, and the melodramatic lies begin."

Harliss offered a theatrical bow. “The eternal question."

Nok grunted, and continued. “I thought you'd be more like your big, pious friend. Always ready to beat us godless demon-spawn over the head with your book of scriptures." He tilted his head, still studying her. “Honestly, that shit you said about bein' the Union's law-bringer? That's more like what I expected." Nok flicked his tongue over his nose. “Sure as hell never thought an Executor would follow The Ballad."

“Nor I, a kobold," Harliss said. “How long?"

“Twenty years, give or take." Nok set his hands on the table, tapping a claw. “You?"

Harliss studied Nok in silence. Honor demanded she answer that question more truthfully than she liked. “Since I was fifteen. Don't know how that's been, though. Don't count my years, anymore."

The kobold nodded once. “You find it? Or did it find you?"

Harliss doubted there were more than a few dozen people on the continent who'd even know what Nok meant. There was only one right answer. Her voice was low, but fervent. “I've heard its song from the first moment I ever held a gun. The barrel sang to me…"

Nok picked up for her. “The bullets called to me…"

They finished the last part together. “And I knew it was meant for me."

The kobold tilted his head, a smile flitting across his muzzle. “You are old-world Ballad."

“As are you, my new companion in smoke and cylinder." Harliss accepted the next round when the server arrived, thanked them, and then waggled the tumbler at Nok. “Just so we're clear, if you draw on me while I'm drunk, that's an instant disqualification."

Nok snarled at her. “I'm offended you'd even suggest it."

Harliss sipped her whiskey. “Offended enough to draw on me?"

The kobold's snarl died off into a smug, toothy grin. “Not while you're drunk."

Harliss laughed, plopping the glass down. A little liquid sloshed over the side and onto the table.

Nok glanced at the spill, clacking his teeth. “Now you owe me a bullet."

“Shit." Harliss draw one of her spare cartridges, and tossed it to the kobold.

Nok caught it, then studied it in the flicking lamplight. “Human rounds always seem so big. You handload 'em?"

“Not often, anymore." Harliss glanced down at her gun belts. “Had to get out of the habit after I became an Executor. But I won't ever fire a round I haven't inspected myself. As much as I hate to admit it, some of the advancements in machining means the Union can probably produce a better-loaded round than I can."

“Never happen." Nok stood the cartridge up near his drink. “But I'm sure yer fancy Union bullets ain't too bad. I pack my own, when I can. Though…" His muzzle twisted into a scowl. “Lately I spend so much time guardin' Prav's lazy ass I can't prep as many rounds as I like." He patted one of his pistols. “Got all handloaded in these girls, but some of my spares are from Prav's gunsmiths. They're good, too. I just wouldn't wanna use any of that new mass-produced shit. Probably just misfire and blow your damn hands off."

Harliss nodded. “That's why I personally go over every round. Though, I assure you, the machined ammunition the Union supplies my ship is a far cry beyond what the average citizen can get ahold of."

“Yeah, yeah." The kobold waved his hand. “Fancy Union killers get fancy Union ammo. The Ballad don't explicitly say you can't use mass-produced, but…" He shrugged, fighting back a smile. “Yanno. It implies it."

Harliss shook a finger at him. “It does not, and you know it."

The kobold glanced away. “Only cause it predates factories and all that other bullshit."

“I'd have never guessed a kobold to be a Ballad traditionalist." Harliss lifted her drink, wiping away the small spill with her other hand. “And I mean that as a compliment. You're a fascinating person, Mr. Nok."

Nok turned his gaze back towards her. “And you ain't the worst Union officer I ever met."

“If you've met worse Union officials, I'd wager they didn't make it out of that encounter alive." She took a sip.

“Fucker drew on me, anyway." Nok scratched his muzzle. “Or tried too. Blew his head off before he was halfway out of his holster. Would let the rest of men walk, no problem. He drew on me, not them. But they didn't know the code, and they wouldn't have given a shit if they did. So they pulled, and I had to put them down, too."

Harliss nodded. “You're certainly entitled to defend yourself. Somehow, I imagine those weren't the only Union folks you've killed."

“You'd imagine right." Nok shifted his weight, his tail swishing. “What about you, you kill many kobolds?"

“A fair few." Harliss took a drink. “Empire had quite a few kobold squads. Now, the Union's feelings about your species are well known, but the military always respected what you could do in battle. One of my closest calls came when we were ambushed by a kobold kill squad, actually."

Nok nodded, sipping his whiskey. “Yeah, I knew a few like that. You know, it's kinda funny. They were assholes." He laughed, a bitter, grating sort of laughter that made Harliss wonder what happened between him, and that kobold squad. “Almost as bad as the Union. Worse, in a way, because they didn't think they were that bad. But one of 'em was tellin' this story about some Union village, and what they did there, and…" He trailed off, then snarled and slapped the table. “Same kinda shit the Union does to kobold villages! So fuck 'em both, Empire and the Union." He toasted to himself, hissing. “May they both burn." He downed the whiskey, then smashed the glass against the floor. As servants scurried over to clean it up, Nok held up a hand to Harliss. “You don't gotta follow that one, it don't count this time."

Harliss only smiled at him, offering him a salute with her drink. “The Empire's already burned. One day, perhaps sooner than you think, the Union will too."

“Better not let the Union hear that blasphemy." Nok passed the servants a few coins in apology for the mess, then ordered another round.

“I prefer to think of it as pragmatism, like your boss." Harliss took a drink. “No civilization lasts forever. Right now, the Golden Union is damn near unstoppable. But so too was the Empire of the Black Star, once. One day, the sea will change again, and the tide will wash the Union away. Only a fool would believe otherwise."

Nok grumbled something in his own tongue, staring at the far wall. Soon, he turned his attention to Harliss's guns. “Enough about them. Whaddya shoot?"

Harliss unbuttoned a holster, and drew one of her quick-draw pistols free. She passed it across the table. “They're all custom engineered, by a private gunsmith. That one's for quick draw, slightly shorter barrel, but extra rifling to make up for it."

“Two extra rounds, huh?" The kobold picked up her gun, examining it. He popped the cylinder open, then gently spun it. “Think your cylinder alone weighs more than one of my pistols." He laughed, a slightly guttural, yet not unpleasant sound. He closed the cylinder, then turned it a few times, murmuring at each smooth click. “Oooh. Yeah, that's nice."

“I thought so." Harliss watched him closely. “You know, you're the first kobold I've ever let handle one of my guns. Hell, the first non-human, even."

Nok smirked, sharp little teeth unveiled all along his muzzle. “I'd be honored, if you weren't some crazy theocracy's fancy murderer."

“And I'd be honored to handle one of yours." Harliss inclined her head. “If you weren't some crime lord's filthy brothel enforcer."

“Well…" Nok set Harliss's gun down, and drew one of his own. “As long as neither of us is honored." He turned it around, and offered it to her.

Harliss reverently took the gun. “No, I'm positively disgusted to handle anything belonging to a kobold."

Nok just stared at her, his smirk lingering. “Anything, huh?"

Harliss laughed, arching a brow. “You know, in some parts of the Union, you'd probably be arrested for making that kind of innuendo towards a human woman."

The kobold scoffed, waving a hand. “They'd have already strung me up by my balls just for bein' a kobold, anyway." He leaned forward, gesturing at his weapon. “Mine aren't custom to me, but I think you'll appreciate them just the same."

Harliss turned the weapon over in her hands, examining it. The barrel was silver, inlaid with stylistic splashes of black and crimson, like droplets of oil and blood. It had an unusually large cylinder for a kobold weapon, etched to look like as if it was being clutched in a clawed hand. The grip was engraved with layered scales. On the very bottom was an embossed emblem in faded gold. It depicted a spear, with three skulls hanging from it.

She glanced up at Nok, raising her brows. “Is this an actual vintage War Monger?"

“Damn right it is." Nok flashed his teeth again in prideful smile, patting another holster. “Got four of 'em, all in perfect shape."

The War Monger models were an especially rare line of weapons, formerly produced in limited fashion in a far-flung Empire province. The gunsmith was a kobold himself, who set about producing exceptional firearms balanced and engineered to fit the smaller races. Their reputation was nothing short of impeccable, but they'd ceased production long before the Union overran the Empire.

“Lovely." Harliss hefted it, feeling the weight. She'd held kobold weapons before, but this one was far heavier. “Got a lot of weight to it."

Nok nodded. “Chambers a bigger round than most kobold guns. Needs a fatter cylinder to fit 'em, so the rest of it's gotta be balanced to that. Longer barrel, too."

Harliss snapped the cylinder open, peering at the six tightly packed rounds within. “What's it chamber?" She reached for one, pausing. “May I?"

“Go ahead." Nok watched as Harliss eased a cartridge free. “We don't use the same measurements you do. Kobolds usually call 'em fulls, or halfs. There's also quarters, and three-quarters. Those are three-quarters."

Harliss rested the weapon on the table, inspecting the round. It had a brass casing, not unlike her own, but it was larger than she expected. “Bigger than I thought it'd be, for a kobold."

Nok tilted his head. “That's not the only thing."

Harliss laughed. “You're a little more fun, when you're drunk."

He shrugged. “Says the Executor, drinking with the kobold, in the brothel."

“Fair point, Nok." Harliss spun the round across her fingers. “So why do you call it a three-quarter?"

“Our measurements are based on the old musket rounds we used to pack into early muzzle-loaders. So, a full is basically an old musket ball." He licked his nose, glancing up at her. “A kobold musket, that is. Don't really know how that translates to your terms. A three-quarter's just what it sounds like, three quarters the size, three-quarters the powder. Still a big round for a kobold to shoot in a handgun, but a little easier to control."

“Fascinating." Harliss glanced at Nok's other guns. “Are they all three-quarters?"

“That one and its sister are." Nok patted one of his other holstered weapons, a little larger. “These two carry fulls, though. The three-quarters are my quick draws, the fulls are my, 'oh fuck, that's a big gnoll' pistols."

“Fascinating." Harliss chambered the bullet again, then spun the cylinder. It clicked smoothly, just like hers. “This is a gorgeous weapon. First time I've actually held a War Monger." She studied it carefully, looking for flaws or imperfections. “The craftsmanship is exquisite."

“Thank you. And yeah, it is." Nok crossed his arms. “Stole 'em from some rich asshole, years back. Some human who was gonna put 'em display." Nok snarled his distaste. “In a Union museum."

The very idea curled Harliss's lip. “Glad they found their way back to a proper owner, then."

“Me too." Nok picked up Harliss's weapon again. “So what about yours? Custom, you said?"

Harliss leaned over the table. “Correct. Not as wonderfully vintage as yours, but crafted by the finest gunsmith I could find. Would have cost me a year's salary each, if I hadn't gotten the Union to pay for them."

“Guess they are good for somethin', then, once in a while." He weighed it in his hands, hefting it a few times. “This would be a big fuckin' gun to a kobold, even without the space for the extra rounds." He opened the cylinder, then glanced at the cartridge she'd passed him earlier. “They all the same?"

Harliss nodded. “The calibers are. Pistols themselves aren't. I've two for drawing, and two for extracurricular activities." She chuckled at her own joke, patting one of the longer-barreled weapons. “Better accuracy at range, and the bigger barrels are intimidating to someone who can't tell a War Monger from an Ebony Ranger. But they all chamber the same round. It's probably pretty close to your fulls."

“Looks it, yeah." Nok closed it up, turning the gun over to examine its adornments. He tapped the ivory sigil of the Executor's Sword. “This is nice. Not quite as fancy as I expected." Nok ran his fingers across the golden script along the barrel. “What's this say? I don't read Union."

“That's my name and title." She turned the gun over in his hands. “The other side says, By My Song." She drew the companion pistol and showed it to him. “While this one reads, You Are Undone." Harliss holstered it, then gestured at her other two weapons. “And these have a line from The Cylinder's Song."

Nok gave a growling snicker. “Ballad quotes? Shit." Nok snapped his teeth. “That's good. Wish I'd thoughta that." He set the gun down, leaving the barrel pointing away from anyone.

“Thank you." Harliss put the War Monger on the table, in a similar position, then patted it. “You wouldn't want to ruin these with engravings, anyway. Perhaps your next set."

“Yeah, maybe." Nok rubbed his muzzle, murmuring in thought. Then rubbed a fingerpad against the Executor sigil. “So, I gotta ask. You believe in all that Sanctified bullshit? Or is that just part of your storytelling…" He waggled his fingers at her. “Thing."

“A little from each column." Harliss paused when a server arrived with Nok's whiskey. She finished her own, passed the server the glass, and requested another. As she waited, she turned her attention back to her drinking partner. “An 'unkillable' religious gunfighter, protected by the gods themselves? It does make for a damn fine legend. But the Church does believe it. And the more impossible shit I survive? The more I start to believe in it, too."

Nok's muzzle twisted into a sneer. “Yanno, no one's killed me yet, either. Maybe I'm Sanctified."

Harliss only smiled. “Maybe so! Shall I put your name forward, the next time there's an opening amongst the Executors?"

“Yeah, you do that." Nok said, drumming clawtips against her pistol. “If you ask me, there's nothing divine about it. You're just real good, and real lucky."

“Oh, that I am, my new friend." Harliss took her glass when the server returned with it. “But who's to say luck, and skill, aren't divine blessings?"

Nok held his hand up. “Me."

Harliss laughed and sipped her drink. “You know, I must say, you kobolds make a surprisingly good whiskey."

“Appreciate it." Nook took a drink as well. “It's no Fortune's Favorite Forty Year, but it's good stuff." He idly traced a claw tip around the rim of the glass. “If I ask a serious question, can I get a serious answer?"

She set the glass down. “Go ahead."

“Do you really believe in all the Union's Three Gods shit?" Nok tilted his head, his dark gold eyes fixed upon her.

“That's a very broad question, Nok."

The kobold nodded. “And I'm gonna judge your answer real hard."

Harliss grinned at him. “In that case, the short answer is no, but the long answer is yes."

Nok grunted, folding his arms. “Broad question, broad answer, huh?"

“Exactly." Harliss flourished her hand. “I absolutely believe in gods, but those beliefs are mine, not the Union's. I play my part for the Union, and I say what they want me to. But I don't think of the Gods in the strict way the Golden Union does." She held a finger. “For one, the Union thinks of them as a family. A father, a mother, a child. For another…" Harliss ticked off another finger. “The Union represents them as humans."

“So what do you think they are?" Nok tilted his head, smirking. “Kobolds?"

Harliss leaned forward, sharpening her voice. “They're Gods, Nok. They can be anything they damn well please. To assume they resemble any of the world's people is arrogance itself. Not to mention, profoundly lacking in imagination. The Gods, in their great and unknowable truth, are surely far more cosmic. Like the stars themselves. Entities we can't conceive of. If they ever look like the world's people, it's only because they've chosen to."

The kobold scratched his muzzle, scowling. “That's deeper than I thought you'd get. Alright then, why the hell would they ever want to look like us?"

Harliss eased back, an easy smile on her face. “To walk amongst us, unknown. There are more beliefs the world over than the Union will ever dare officially acknowledge. In Diandrios, there's a sect that believes the gods are urd'thin children." She tapped her fingers against the wood. “While the dragons believe the gods are singing stars. The Sun-Feather cult believes their goddess to be a golden feathered gryphon!" She dropped her hand down. “Ask ten disparate people about the gods, and you'll get ten different answers. I posit, that's because the gods are all of them, all at once."

“That's far too profound for someone from the Union." Nok took a swig of whiskey, then wiped his muzzle with the back of his hand. “But let's assume you're right. Why would these cosmic entities even want to walk amongst us?"

Harliss shrugged. “Afraid all I can offer there is an opinion."

Nok snorted. “Yeah, cause that last bit was pure scientific fact."

“Most religions," Harliss said, tracing random patterns on the table. “Are littered with stories about the gods choosing heralds from amongst the mortals. It's my belief those stories stem from truth. From time to time, the gods visit us to choose their Champions, for good or ill, order or chaos."

Nok ran his tongue over his teeth, considering it. “And here I was, just looking for an argument."

“Oh, my mistake." Harliss cleared her throat, then slapped the table. “The only true deities are the Three Gods, you scaly, swamp-dwelling heathen!" She smirked. “Better?"

“Oh, yeah, that's the stuff." Nok chittered laughter, but his smile soon faded. “So, if you actually believe in the other religions, how the hell do you justify hunting them down for blasphemy?"

Harliss sipped her whiskey. “I don't." She gestured with her glass. “The only time The Stormcaller ever gets sent after so-called Blasphemers is when they're plotting organized rebellion. I don't care about their beliefs, I care about stopping them from blowing up a Union port. Beyond that…"

Harliss trailed off. There were many things she dared not tell Nok about the missions she had undertaken, and the knowledge she gained. Some of that hard-earned knowledge was anathema to the Union, but it had shaped her beliefs profoundly. While few in the Church would dare accuse Harliss of blasphemy without mountains of evidence and an entire army behind them, even she knew when to keep her mouth shut.

“Let's just say I believe the gods have unleashed me to fulfill a great purpose." Harliss held her glass up to a lamp, watching the flame's glow dance in the golden liquid. “An instrument of change arriving just before the wave sweeps clean the shore."

Nok licked his muzzle. “You've lost me."

Harliss turned the glass back and forth. “Imagine society as a sandcastle, built by fools who thought they could withstand the tide. All nations share the same problem." She scrunched her face. “The Union is no different. They're preoccupied with cementing their power, and with persecuting their enemies. They're too busy to realize the tide is rolling in, and the waves are rising." Harliss sipped her whiskey, sighing. “The wise and learned few plead for them to build a seawall, while there's still time. But the Union will not listen to heretics, and the tide is ever rising."

Nok tilted his head, staring at her. “You know, if you said that earlier, I'd have thought you were the wall, trying to protect them." The kobold narrowed his eyes. “But now you got me wondering if you're really the tide, just waiting to roll in."

Harliss only smiled. “Maybe I'm still waiting for the gods to tell me." She took a drink, and set the glass down. “Suffice it to say, the tide doesn't need to be believed in, to exist. And neither do the gods."

“Fair point." The kobold grunted. “You get real thoughtful when you're drinking, don'tcha? I don't suppose all the other Executors are as interesting as you?"

“Alas, no." Harliss gave a great, exaggerated sigh. “Some of them are a bit too much like Tormin."

“Can't say I was real fond of Grandpa Scripture."

Harliss chuckled. “I don't blame you. He's a good man, at heart. But he's got his head so far up the Church's ass, he's blinded to everything I'm trying to show him. Still, I'll keep pulling on his shoulders and trying to dislodge him, just the same." She pushed her whiskey aside. “Enough talk of the gods. How about we play a game, instead?"

Nok set Harliss's cartridge sideways on the table, and spun it around. “Guns, knives, or cards?"

Harliss picked up Nok's War Monger, waggling it. “Guns, of course. Knives and cards are more Evlee's thing." She glanced towards Evlee and Coaldust. Piles of cards were now spread out before each of them. Three knives jutted from the table. “Exhibit A."

Nok twisted around to watch Evlee deal another hand. “Remind me not to play her. I ain't that good, so she'd probably get me naked without even cheatin'."

“You know, it's possible to play cards without stripping." Harliss laughed, tossing the War Monger to her other hand.

“People get a lot more angry about losing money than showin' their bits." The kobold spun Harliss's cartridge around again. “That's why Prav's got rules about playin' for money. Little games among friends are fine, but anything bigger needs a House witness. All bets are at own risk, and get paid, period. Enforceable by us."

Harliss watched as Evlee showed Coaldust, in slow movements, how to produce hidden cards without being spotted. “And what about cheaters?"

“Like I said." Nok shrugged. “At own risk. You get fleeced, you shouldn't have bet in the first place." He held up a hand. “That's for casual games, mind you. If you get caught cheating in a tournament or something, you forfeit all winnings to the offended parties. And they get to beat the shit out of you. Then you get a lifetime ban from The Emplacement. Course, if you don't get caught, you probably get rich. Real tournaments are rare, though. Most people just play for clothes, or for bullets."

“It does sound safer that way." Harliss opened up the kobold's gun, and pulled a cartridge free. She set it upright on the table. “Rounds out, if you please. And you're right, by the way. Evlee would have you in nothing but your gun belts before you knew it."

Nok gave a guttural laugh. “Not the worst look for a kobold." He gazed at Evlee's table, a smirk on his muzzle. “Pretty sure she's gonna have Coaldust naked by the end of the night, with or without a card game."

Harliss took out the remaining ammunition and stacked it in a line. “That she might. She's an adventurous girl, especially by Union standards." She set the gun down, then waggled a finger at Nok. “You know, if Evlee hadn't already purchased his time, I might have bought you a night with Coaldust."

The kobold emptied Harliss's pistol the same way. “Nice try, but you ain't gonna one up me again, Union girl."

“Hmm?" Harliss arched a brow, grinning. “Don't tell me you're only buying these drinks to get one over on me, after I conceded for you."

Nok lined up all eight bullets. “Oh, no, not at all." Playful sarcasm hung heavy in his voice. “I really wanted to spend time with a Union officer."

Harliss put a hand against her chest. “Aww, I'm hurt! I thought you just wanted to drink with me because I'm so much fun."

“Nope." Nok placed her gun on the table. “That part just turned out to be a pleasant surprise."

“Ah, well, in that case…" Harliss peered at Coaldust again. The urd'thin was balancing one of Evlee's knives on a single finger. “I do believe purchasing you a whore for the night does one up buying me a drink."

Nok tapped his claw tips against the table's edge. “And what if that ain't what I'm into?"

“That's the beauty of it." Harliss flourished a hand at Evlee and Coaldust. “It doesn't matter. You couldn't back out without conceding defeat, just I as couldn't back out from this drink." She looked down at her latest glass of whiskey. “Which, somehow, has multiplied significantly."

“That it has." Nok rubbed his eyes, chuckling. “Too bad for you, then, that Coaldust's taken."

“Indeed." Harliss swirled her glass. “I could just hire you a different whore. Perhaps the biggest gnoll Prav employs, if only because I find the mental image amusing."

“We could call it even." Nok's tail twitched behind the chair as a smile played across his muzzle. “Well, nearly even. I'm obviously a little bit ahead."

Harliss looked him over like a cat sizing up a cornered mouse. “Or, I could find some other way to retake the lead."

“Nah." Nok fixed his eyes on hers. “Whatever you do, I'll just do better."

“That's dangerous talk, little lizard." Harliss set her hand on his unloaded pistol, smirking back at him. “Very dangerous talk."

Nok matched her movements, curling his fingers around the hilt of Harliss's pistol. “Pretty sure that's how you like it."

“I'd say danger runs in the blood for both of us." Harliss glanced at the bullets. “Ready?"

“I'm always ready, Executor." Nok sneered the title in playfully insulting fashion. “Better enjoy your position while you can. The Union's gonna demote you when they hear you've been flirtin' with a murderous kobold."

“Oh, please, Nok." Harliss rolled her eyes, forcing a faux-disgusted scowl to her face. “That's repulsive. A fine, upstanding, Three Gods fearing Union officer such as myself would never flirt with a foul, swamp-dwelling demonspawn like you."

“Good, good." Nok nodded, then flashed her his fangs. “Cause an esteemed, frontier protecting, highly disciplined kobold gunfighter like me would never stoop to foolin' around with some close-minded, genocidal Union girl."

“Oh, now you are escalating things." Harliss swept her hand across the line of ammunition. “The game is speed load. On your go, we load each other's pistols quick as we can. First cylinder snapped shut wins."

Nok hissed, glancing at his assembled cartridges. “Now hold on there, Executor. I got eight bullets to load, and you only got six."

“Fair point." Harliss reached across the table, moving two of her rounds aside. “We'll each load six. Ready?"

“Go!" Nok yanked Harliss's pistol off the table, flicking the cylinder open.

“You little shit!" Harliss raced to catch up with him. She snatched up a bullet, only to fumble it as she tried to shove it into place. “Damn it!"

“Hah!" Nok cackled as he jammed one of her rounds home, only to drop the second one. “Fuck!"

“Not so easy, is it!" Harliss snatched up the cartridge again, and this time slid it home. But when she plucked up the second one, her once-practiced motions failed her. The bullet slid against the metal and popped out of her hand. “Damn it, the holes aren't spaced right!"

“That's what she said!" Nok got a second one into place, only to struggle with the third as the gun wobbled in his grasp. “Damn it! Your fuckin' gun's too heavy, and your oversized ammo's like shovin' logs into…" Words failed the kobold as he worked to insert the third round. “Into a meat grinder!"

Harliss laughed with him, taking her time to line up the second, and third rounds. “That doesn't make any sense!"

“That's cause I'm drunk!" Nok made a victorious mewling noise as he got his own third cartridge home.

“You're drunk, and your bullets are too small!" Harliss growled through grit teeth as she dropped another one. It clattered and rolled away, forcing her to waste a second reaching for it. “Get back here, you little bastard!"

“They are not too small!" The insult distracted the drunken kobold enough to make him pause and snarl at her. “Yours are just big for their own good, like everything humans build!"

“Your bullets are small, just like kobolds!" Harliss snatched up the runaway ammunition and dropped it into the chamber.

“Lies!" Nok returned to the game, swiftly matching her. “My bullets are perfectly sized, just like me!"

Harliss couldn't help but appreciate his bravado. In truth, Nok's rounds weren't much smaller than her own. But the size was just different enough to leave them feeling foreign in her fingers, while the alcohol made it harder to keep a proper grip. And Harliss was so used to the well-practiced movements of speed loading her own gear that the differences in size, weight, and chamber spacings really threw her off. She would have had trouble even if she were sober.

“Almost there!" Harliss got the fifth bullet in, but the sixth slipped her grasp. “Shit, shit, shit!"

Nok took advantage of her miscue to carefully line up his final round. He slipped it home, then flicked the gun sideways, snapping the cylinder shut. “Done!"

“Damn it!" Harliss finished a moment later. “Well played, lizard."

“Thank you, human." Nok bowed his head, beaming.

“I blame the gear." Harliss emptied the gun again, smirking. “After all, I've never handled kobold equipment before."

Nok unloaded too, but his eyes were on Harliss. “First time for everything."

“That there is." Harliss lined up the ammo once more. “Go again?"

“Always do." When Nok was ready, he set his hand on Harliss's pistol. “Your go, this time."

Harliss locked eyes with the kobold, unblinking. She counted down in her head. Three, two, one. “Go!"

The Executor yanked the weapon up, opening it. This time, the movements were easier, and progress swifter. She focused on each motion, paying closer attention to the distance between chambers, the size of the rounds, and so on. Last time, muscle memory worked against her, but this time she was able to bend it to her will. The size and spacing of the chambers were different, but the motions were generally the same.

“Done!" Harliss set the loaded weapon down just as Nok was chambering his final round.

“Aw, fuck." Nok closed up the weapon to formally finish the match. “Clear victory. But since you like handling my gear so much…" The kobold smirked. “Best two out of three?"

“Absolutely." Harliss traced a single finger along the barrel of Nok's pistol, teasing at the stylistic ebony and crimson droplets. “I do hope I'm handling such a valuable weapon properly. Just let me know if it's about to go off unexpectedly."

Nok opened his mouth to reply, then just closed it again, shaking his head. After a moment, he grunted. “Alright, that's pretty good. Point to the Executor."

“About damn time." Harliss swiftly prepared for the final round, as Nok did the same. “Whenever you're ready, little lizard."

“You keep strokin' my gun like that, and I will be ready." Nok waggled his fingers above the gun, licking his nose. “Go!"

This time, they both raced through the loading process. The movements were easier still, but experience proved a boon to the kobold, as well. Each loaded round was equal until the very end. Finally, Harliss chambered the last cartridge and snapped the cylinder shut a split-second before Nok did the same.

“Damn it!" Nok snarled, setting her weapon down. “Good win, Executor."

“Thank you." Harliss bowed her head. “Perhaps we should play again, when we're both sober."

“Wouldn't mind it." Nok held her weapon in both hands, looking it over. “How feisty is this beauty, anyway?"

“Oh, she's got some spirit, that's for sure," Harliss said. “Not as much as you'd think, though. You wanna shoot her?"

“The gun? Definitely." Nok lifted his head, flashing Harliss a wicked smile. “But her?" He looked the Executor over. “Not anymore."

Harliss only laughed. “Concur, Nok. Concur."

“What is that, anyway? Concur." Nok returned Harliss's weapon to her. “I know what it means, just don't hear people say it often. That old Ballad slang or something?"

“Something like that. Picked it up in training, I think." She holstered her pistol. “That was a serious offer, by the way. Would you like to shoot my pistol? Cause I'd sure as shit love to fire a War Monger." She admired Nok's weapon a little more, then passed it to him.

“Fuck yes, I would." Nok put the gun away, then held his hand up, signaling for one more round. When the servers noticed him, he called out something in kobold. They scrambled to fetch a bottle from a lower shelf. “But first, we gotta finish this right."

“Actually, on that note-"

“Oh, no!" Nok wagged a little clawed finger at her. “You are not conceding now! I won't let you!"

“I was only going to suggest we wait until we're sober before playing any live fire games."

“That'd be smart, yeah. But not as much fun. Besides, don't you got a lot of…" He waggled his hands. “Executor shit to do tomorrow?"

“That I do." Harliss watched the bartenders pour a disturbingly dark liquor into two oddly shaped glasses. “And you've got a lot of watching Prav's ass to do."

Nok shrugged. “I watch all of him, thank you very much."

“Indeed." Harliss chuckled, reclining back. “But if you're free in the evening, so am I."

“I can be free, yeah." Nok took the drink when the servers brought it. “More importantly, though, I'm free right now. And I'm already drunk enough to want to spend more time with an Executor."

Harliss accepted her own libation, and regarded Nok with a smile, warmer than before. “I cannot say the feeling's not mutual."

“Then why the fuck should we quit now?" Nok set the oddly shaped glass down. It looked akin to a blooming flower, with a trio of short petals ringing its opening. “We might wanna kill each other other again when we're sober."

“You do make a compelling argument, little lizard." Harliss sniffed the dark liquid, furrowing her brows. It smelled intensely like herbal medicine. “What, dare I ask, is this?"

“Traditional kobold spirit." Nok licked his muzzle. “When someone breaks this out, it either means the night's over, or just beginning."

“Ah!" Harliss leaned forward, grinning again. “I'd hazard a guess that in our case, it's the latter."

“Up to you, I suppose." Nok tapped one of the petal-like extensions. “Normally, you bite these, and tip it back to your muzzle. Supposed to drink it without hands. I'll make an exception for you, flat-face."

Harliss swirled the odd vessel. “I'd appreciate that. What are we drinking to?"

“To the Ballad, again. For leading us to this…" Nok scrunched his muzzle. “Truce."

Harliss clinked her glass against his. “To the Ballad, then."

Nok gripped the glass petal in his teeth. He tipped his head back, pouring the stuff into his muzzle and down his throat in a single gulp. Afterwards, Nok wiped his muzzle with the back of his hand. “To The Ballad! Long may we hear the Song of the Cylinder!"

“Long may the bullets call our name!" Harliss downed the stuff in one swallow. It tasted better than its smelled, with its herbal notes balanced by burnt sugars. She set the glass down, then leaned back in her chair, sighing. “Nok, I must say, this has been an exceptional night. Thank you for trying ever so hard to one-up me."

The kobold tilted his head. “Are you conceding the night?"

Harliss scoffed, slapping the table. “Fuck, no."

“Then come with me." Nok hopped out of his chair, sweeping his hand towards a door at the back of the tavern. “I'll show you my private gun range."

Harliss laughed, following at his side. “Is that all you're going to show me?"

Nok just shrugged. “The night's young. Who knows where we might end up?"

Harliss smiled. That was fine with her.

*****

Chapter Twenty-Nine

*****

Malaresh found Alakor seated on his haunches alongside one of the observation deck's grand, crystalline windows. The sky Alakor stared at seemed a mirror for his cerulean eyes. Memories drifted across them like storm clouds. Malaresh approached slowly, till the swivel of the gryphon's ears told him Alakor knew he was there. The dragon sat nearby, curling his tail around his paws.

“Well?" Alakor ruffled himself. “Did I pass your tests?"

Malaresh shrugged his wings. “I haven't tossed you off the ship yet."

The gryphon warbled soft laughter. “Indeed. How're the fire glands?"

“Sore." The dragon grunted, rubbing his throat with a paw. The reminder of their bruises was enough to leave them aching again. “Hurts to swallow."

“That's all?" Alakor clicked his beak. “Consider yourself lucky. Right now, I'm finding it hurts to exist."

Malaresh gazed down at the large, white-feathered gryphon. “Yes. Because I won."

Alakor brushed paw pads across his damaged beak. “That you did, Dragon, that you did." He set his paw back down, perking his ears. “How furious was the princess about your fire?"

“Extremely." Malaresh flattened back his frills. “I was given a long, shouty lecture about the ship's structural integrity as it relates to flames, and the many lives herein."

The gryphon warbled again. “Is that it? I was hoping you might get worse than a lecture." Alakor smiled up at the dragon. “Something like the lovely sisters mentioned, involving a drunken bet, and paddles."

Malaresh snorted, glancing away. “I would not consider the gossipy warbling of sparrows to be a font of truth."

“No?" Alakor preened a wing as innocently as he could. “I'll ask Amelia and the princess about it. I hear they were the ones doing the paddling."

“And they shall tell you nothing." Malaresh drew himself up taller, arching his neck. “Defector or not, new arrivals are not privy to the crew's exciting stories, let alone their embarrassing anecdotery."

The gryphon blinked, tilting his head. “I don't think anecdotery is a word. At least, not this century."

“It matters not!" Malaresh slapped his paw against the deck. “The point is, don't expect the ship's crew to share embarrassing tales about other crew members." He growled under his breath. “At least, they'd better not."

“So it's true?" Alakor chirruped. “Now I really want to hear the details."

“Perhaps they should give you a first-hand demonstration, instead." The dragon glared down at him, baring a few fangs.

Alakor glanced away as if to hide his smile. “I might enjoy that more than you'd expect."

Malaresh glowered, thumping his tail. “You clearly haven't heard the story. But perhaps I'll help them give you a demonstration."

“I can tolerate anything you can, dragon." Alakor clicked his beak. “By the way, is that what you consider yourself? A crew member?"

Malaresh waved a paw dismissively. “I'm not playing your games, bird."

The gryphon stretched a wing. “You dragons are a harder quarry than humans, that's for certain."

“Is that what you consider me?" Malaresh lifted his voice, mimicking the gryphon's tone. “Your quarry?"

Alakor brushed his black-tipped flight feathers across the dragon's scales. “Depends on what sort of games we're playing, doesn't it?"

Malaresh cocked his head, gazing down at the bird. “You're not unattractive, by gryphon standards, if that's what you're implying." He stretched a limb, gently stroking Alakor's foreleg. Then, just when a hint of curious uncertainty sparked to life in the gryphon's eyes, Malaresh sharply rapped his beak with a single digit. “Now cease your attempts to distract me with flirtatious affectations."

“Oh, please." The gryphon rubbed his beak, scrunching his face. “I could say the same-"

“I was surprised you told her about the dying sun." Malaresh turned his attention to the skies beyond the ship, staring through the smudged, crystalline window. Gryphon spies were not the only ones who knew how to keep their verbal sparring partners off balance. “That is why the Union is covering it up, right? Because our sun is but a great, dying ember?"

Alakor set his paw back down, growling under his breath. “That is one theory, yes."

Malaresh shrugged his wings. “As much as I'd love to see the Union obliterated, I understand their reasoning." The dragon cocked his head. “Why start a panic when there's nothing anyone can do about it?"

The gryphon grunted, shifting his weight. “I suppose so. Though, it's hardly the only thing the Union-"

“Or is there?" Malaresh watched the gryphon's reaction out of the corner his eye.

“Is there what?" Alakor preened his alabaster plumage.

“Something we can do?" Malaresh flicked his tail tip back and forth. “About our dying sun."

Alakor squawked, staring at the dragon as if he'd suddenly grown three more heads. “What are you going to do, fly up there to put in a new wick, and fill it with fresh oil? Or maybe it's electrical!" The gryphon put a paw to his chest. “You could change its enormous illuminator filaments, and save the world!"

Malaresh slowly turned his gaze to the gryphon. “Is that what you're looking to do? Save the world?" He moved closer, staring deep into Alakor's eyes. Familiar hatred lingered there, an abyssal beast drifting in the darkness beneath an ocean. But there was something else, too, something Malaresh still couldn't quite place. “No, I think you're more the sort to watch it all burn."

Alakor snarled, turning his head away. “The only thing I want to see burn is the Union."

“Oh, I believe that, gryphon." Malaresh glared at the back of the gryphon's head. “My worry is that you don't care what else burns with them."

“Think what you want, dragon." Alakor ruffled up all his feathers, gazing out the window. “It matters not to me."

“That's the problem, Bird." Malaresh hissed, sharpening his words. “I don't think our lives matter to you, either. You don't care if we die, so long as the Union dies too."

“Of course I care, Dragon." Alakor shot him a wounded look, ears drooping. “This ship might well the last bastion of freedom left on all the continent, for people like us. I would not throw that away. Your Princess and her people have taken me in. I promise you, I will not pay that back with betrayal."

Malaresh licked his nose, softening his tone. “You choose your words ever so carefully. You promise not to betray us, but you did not say you would not lead us blindly into danger."

“It's not blindly." Alakor tossed his head, bitter sarcasm tinting his voice. “You know damn well you're flying into danger."

“Enough of your cynical smarm." Malaresh cuffed the gryphon over the head hard enough to make him yelp. “I owe Princess Nira and her crew my life. I am honor-bound to protect her from her enemies, and her poor decisions." He jabbed a finger against the gryphon's beak. “Nira might not understand what it means to go up against an Executor..." Malaresh swallowed, a shiver rattling his scales. “But I do."

“She knows perfectly well what she's doing." Alakor smoothed down his mussed feathers. “You underestimate her."

“No, bird, I think you underestimate her." Malaresh set his paw down, sighing. “If you get her people killed, she will come at you with everything she has."

“Good." Alakor gazed up at the dragon, his eyes hardened. “An Empress must protect her own people at all costs. That is how it must be, for this to work."

Malaresh rumbled, gesturing with a wing. “Empress now, is it? Is that part of your plan? To rally enough forces to reinstate her, that she might rebuild the Empire and drive back the Union?"

“Fuck the Empire, Dragon!" Alakor growled, black-tipped crown feathers flared in unchecked anger. “The Black Star is dead and gone, and it's long past time Nira admits that." He brandished a paw at the walls around them. “The Cataclysm is a chance to build something greater than the Empire ever was. But the longer Nira clings to its corpse, the harder it will be to pry her from it when the time comes. When we're free from this place, she can call herself whatever the hell she wants. Empress, queen, president, I don't care."

Something in the gryphon's words rankled Malaresh, poking at his mind in ways he couldn't quite put a finger on. When we're free from this place. “Whenever I think I've figured you out, you wrench another mystery out from under your tail."

Alakor took a calming breath, settling his plumage. “That sounds profoundly uncomfortable."

“As is being left with an unpleasant thought gnawing away at my mind." The dragon lashed his tail. “When we're free from this place? What does that mean?"

“Nothing I'm yet comfortable discussing." Alakor curled his tail, idly fidgeting with its feathers. “You'll find out soon enough, if all goes well."

“Does being evasive not grow ever so tiresome?" Malaresh heaved a frustrated sigh. “Does it not burden your soul to hold so many secrets begging for release?"

Alakor opened his beak to reply, but could find no words. The gryphon looked like a fish, dragged from the water and struggling to breathe. He uttered an odd little whimper, only to strangle the sound into silence as quickly as it came. “You have no idea how heavy their burden truly is, Dragon."

Malaresh grunted, bumping the gryphon with his wing. “It would benefit all of us if you would be release yourself from the weight of your secrecy. Surely, you wish to prove yourself a worthy member of this crew. Being honest with me would go a long way to helping you earn your status here. Is that not what you want?"

“Of course." Alakor kneaded at his tail, staring at the feathers protruding from between his fingers. “Given a chance, I'd make this ship my home. A real home, the likes of which Remiir and I once dreamed." He hung his head, giving a long sigh. “That sounds so childish, said aloud." Alakor flattened his ears. “Like a sad little fledging, pretending at a life he could never have."

Something in Malaresh withered. Once, long ago, that must have been exactly what Alakor was. A sad, scared little fledging, staring at a life of brainwashing and servitude. Longing for everything he knew he could never have. A home. A family. A life beyond service to masters who did not care, and gods who did not answer. What was it the gryphon said, to the princess?

Our home, waiting to be discovered.

Snow gryphon or not, it was an achingly familiar sentiment. Perhaps, Malaresh thought, he had been too hard on the white-feathered bastard. Malaresh imagined that carefully guarded secrecy was all Alakor had ever known. It had kept him alive this far, and the dragon could not fully blame him for clinging to it now.

“Isn't it strange," Malaresh said, his voice gentle. “How something so simple can become so meaningful? How something so small…" He gently set a forepaw on the back of Alakor's neck. “Can become so important to us?" Alakor tensed at first, but slowly relaxed as Malaresh stroked his crown feathers. “Wanting a home does not sound childish, Gryphon. It sounds heartfelt." He glanced at the gryphon, and found Alakor staring down at his own forepaws. “It may be the first truthful thing I've heard from you, aside from hatred, and anger. And it is a feeling I have come to know, all too well." Malaresh a slow breath, stroking Alakor's neck. “Before I came to this ship, I was captured by an Executor."

Alakor flattened his ears back, swallowing. “I had wondered about that. I'm sorry to hear it."

Malaresh grimaced as a surge of memories flooded his mind. Pain and humiliation untold, helplessness, terror, and suffering. And eventually, resignation. “Perhaps I should be proud that it took an Executor to capture me. But there was precious little room for pride, in her captivity. The Executor oversaw my…" The dragon shuddered, struggling to find words. More moments of fear, and anguish drifting through his mind, of chains and interrogations, of attempts to turn him against the Empire. His belly lurched. There was only one way to sum it up. “Of my torture."

Alakor turned to offer the dragon's paw a sympathetic nuzzle. “You don't have to talk about it. I know what they do to captive dragons. That sort of cruelty is meant to force you to surrender yourself to Union servitude. You've a strong spirit, though. Clearly they could not break you."

“No. They could not." Anger heated Malaresh's voice, but the gryphon's gesture was appreciated. “I have always believed in the old ways of dragons. Of rulership, power and pride." He licked his nose. “And of loyalty. Though I did not serve the Empire, I considered them an ally. They were first to offer dragons what no other nation ever dared: friendship. The Union offered us only hatred, servitude, and death. I would never serve the Union. I prepared myself to die, hoping only for a chance to take them with me."

Something dangerous glinted in Alakor's bright blue eyes. “I know that feeling well."

“Oh, I'm aware of that, gryphon. That's what frightens me. I think you'd have happily wasted your life, fighting your former masters all on your own." He stroked the gryphon's head and neck, sighing. “Instead, you've found yourself in Nira's embrace, just as I did. Nira and her crew saved me and gave me a chance to avenge my torment." As he spoke, his voice twisted into a sibilant snarl, a sound of barely checked fury. “And avenge it, I did. But then, like you…" Malaresh gestured with his paw. “I was wounded, and I was lost. Our wounds are different. Yours were more internal, but we were both lost, the same way."

Alakor shifted his weight, gazing at the floor. “Perhaps, Dragon. Perhaps."

“I lost my home, my lands, my companions, everything I ever had, and I lost it to the Union." Malaresh stretched out his wing, draping it across the gryphon's back. “I ruled a barony once, you know. I had a great reputation, far and wide."

Alakor clacked his beak, but moved ever so slightly closer to the dragon, as if sheltering under his wing. “There's no way you're old enough to have held a barony."

“Why does everyone always tell me that?" Malaresh snorted, thumping his tail. “The point is, Nira's crew took me aboard their ship. They offered me shelter and care while my wounds knit. Yet despite their kindness, I had every intention of leaving as soon as I was able. After all, I was used to ruling, not being ruled."

Alakor scooted closer still, feathers brushing the dragon's sides. “It's easy to see where you're going with this story, dragon, but don't let me stop you from finishing it."

Malaresh curled his neck to offer the gryphon a smile. “And it's easy to see you are damn near desperate to melt into someone's touch."

Alakor hissed, anger surging anew. “Shut the fuck up, Dragon!" He tried to shrug off the dragon's wing, but his rage melted away as quickly as it sprang to life. “Sorry." Alakor sagged, ears drooping. “That was petulant. You did not mean that the way I took it."

“No." Malaresh eased away from the window, settling down onto his belly. “I did not. But it proves my point." He lifted his wing, inviting the gryphon to join him. “Come lay against me, under my wing. I will temporarily pretend I do not dislike you, because you clearly need the comfort."

Alakor stared at him, unmoving. “Is this another dragon mind trick? I can honestly admit, I was not trained for this one."

Malaresh only chuckled. “I somehow doubt any such training is effective without actual dragons." He shook his wing. “Now, are you going to join me before I change my mind?"

“Oh, very well." Alakor padded to the dragon's side. He lay down next to him, pressed to Malaresh's body. “I suppose sharing a little comfort is the least you can do after kicking my ass the other night."

Malaresh spread his outstretched wing across the gryphon like a blanket. The feeling of warm fur and feathers against him was an intimately familiar one, though Alakor was larger than Jirril. He curled his neck to nose at the gryphon's ears. “You are one hell of a big gryphon."

“Damn right I am." Alakor snuggled up closer against the dragon, sighing. “You're right, this is…" He lay his head against Malaresh's shoulder. “Nice. Go on, then. Finish your story before you remember you hate snow gryphons."

“How could I ever forget?" Malaresh snorted, pulling his wing tighter. “So, as I was saying. When my strength returned, I chafed at Nira's rule." He snorted. “I refused to be ruled by a human, royalty or not. But as I owed her my life, I knew I had to stay until I could repay that debt." A smirk crossed his muzzle. “Or seize the ship for myself, whichever came first." Malaresh draped a forepaw across Alakor's front leg. “As you can see by my lack of rulership over this vessel…" He swept his other wing out in a dramatic gesture. “I chose to pay the debt."

Alakor bumped his beak against the dragon's scales. “And then you stayed, anyway. Because of Jirril?"

“The girls have been gossiping to you," Malaresh said, rumbling. “Yes, because of Jirril. Amelia used to ride him on patrol daily. At first, they visited me together. Soon, Jirril was visiting me on his own. Over time, he began to mean something to me." The dragon swallowed. “Something dear. And before I knew it, so did this ship." The dragon lifted his head, staring out at the sky. “But I did not realize what it meant to me, until the day I saved Nira's life."

Alakor perked his ears. “What happened?"

“A Union ambush, while Nira and her friends were ashore." Malaresh waved a forepaw. “They were cornered in a tavern. The Union had them surrounded, and with a gunship overhead. They had issued the Princess an ultimatum. Luckily, I arrived just as that ultimatum was expiring. I downed the gunship, and incinerated the Union's ranks on the ground."

“You downed a Union gunship, all by yourself?" Alakor cocked his head.

“What?" Malaresh made a show of inspecting unsheathed claws. “Can't you do that?"

The gryphon warbled laughter. “Must have been a small ship."

Malaresh refused to take his bait. “When the battle was over, we returned to The Cataclysm, and got drunk to celebrate our survival. I did not mention at the time that my debt was paid, but the thought was there, in my mind. Only, to my surprise there was no excitement in me. No joy in my heart at finally being free of her rule. No urgent desire to flee from this place at first light."

The dragon's words were a pained whisper. “Instead, there was emptiness…" He put a paw to his chest, claw tips brushing sturdy plates. “In my heart. And fear, in my belly. I trudged back to my lair, and found Jirril waiting for me, ready to celebrate my impending freedom. But something was off. Jirril tried to be his usual playful self, but I could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice…"

Malaresh's throat tightened up. “His heart was breaking, with every word. And I realized…" Tears brimmed in the dragon's eyes. “That he was really there, to say goodbye." Malaresh took a few shaking breaths. “We'd never talked about…us. I think Jirril had long ago accepted that we were only temporary. That I would leave him someday, and that would be that. And still, when the moment came, it broke his poor heart." Malaresh sniffled, forcing himself to keep speaking. “But in my heart, whenever I imagined flying free from this ship? Jirril was always at my side."

Malaresh shook his head, his voice trembling. “I should have realized Jirril would not go with me. He couldn't. Jirril has given his life to the Empire. He fought for Nira and her family as the capital fell. The Cataclysm is all that remains of his home. And that same home took me in, and nursed me back to health. It had showed me kindness, friendship, and even love." Malaresh wiped his eyes. “It was then that I realized why I didn't want to leave. Because this ship had become my home, too. And that realization shattered me. I collapsed against Jirril, sobbing and overwhelmed by the simple knowledge that I had a home with someone who loved me."

The dragon blinked away tears, taking a slow breath. “So when you tell me, this ship could be your home? It doesn't make you sound childish, at all." He sniffed, glancing away. “It just makes you sound lonely. And like you deserve to be held, a while." He hugged the gryphon with his enclosing wing. “Just as Jirril held me that night, while I cried out every tear I had." Malaresh swallowed, fighting a stubborn lump. “That was years ago, and now? I'd never want to live anywhere but on this ship. I belong here."

Alakor sighed, soft and low. “That's not quite the story I thought you would tell. But, thank you for sharing it with me."

“You are welcome." Malaresh growled to try and clear his throat. The sooner he could return to dignified inscrutability, the better. “You are also forbidden from telling the Princess I said that last part. It does not befit a dragon."

“I get the feeling she already knows." Alakor bumped his beak to the dragon's shoulder.

The dragon nodded once. “Be that as it may, keep it to yourself. And remember that just because dragons do not often choose to share our feelings, does not mean we do not have them."

“Oh, I am sure, dragon." Alakor turned towards him, unshed tears shining in his eyes. He grasped Malaresh's paw, squeezing it tightly. “But do not hold them back from Jirril. Tell him you love him! Tell him tonight, and tell him often. Do not make the same mistake I did!" Alakor looked away, his whole body trembling. “Remiir and I, we loved each other, but…"

Malaresh cringed. “You never told him?"

Alakor shook his head, words twisting into a hoarse whisper. “Never. We feared the Union would tear us apart, to punish us! So, we feigned at mere friendship, and casual trysts. But…" The gryphon's breath shook. “We were so much more to each other. I loved him like no other I have ever known, and…" He worked his beak, but only a wordless whimper escaped him. He took a breath and forced himself to speak. “I never spoke that love aloud! I never told him, that I loved him!"

Malaresh swallowed, throat tightening anew. “I'm sure he knew, Bird."

“Did he?" Alakor sniffled, wiping his eyes. “He held me under his wing, one night, and lay his head near mine. And he whispered that he loved me!" Tears ran down the gryphon's cheeks. “For the first time, he spoke his love out loud, and…" Alakor fought a sob, agony wrenching his voice. “I did not say it back! As always, I was too afraid. I wanted to say it, but I could not find the strength to do so. And the next morning, he was gone."

“Oh…" Malaresh pulled the gryphon tightly against himself, hugging him with a wing. “I'm sorry, Bird."

Alakor whimpered, his wings quivering. “To this day, I lay in bed, and wonder. Would he have stayed, if only I told him I loved him too? Would he have lived, if not for my silence?"

Malaresh nuzzled the gryphon, his voice soft. “Don't do that to yourself, Bird. I am certain his mind was already set on fleeing." The dragon struggled to keep his voice even, as the gryphon's pain threatened to bring fresh tears of his own. “He just wanted you to know you were loved, while he still had time."

“I wanted him to know that, too!" The snow gryphon took a few ragged breaths. His voice was a ship battered by a storm, barely cresting the waves of emotion. “When they dragged him back, we all knew what was coming. I pushed through the crowd, intent on calling out my love. I had no more punishments to fear, for I was already losing him. But when our eyes met, for the last time? He…"

Alakor dropped his head against Malaresh, weeping into his scales. “He smiled at me! Tied to a tree, beaten, facing his execution, and he…he smiled. As if he were alright with it ending this way, because at least he'd loved someone, in his short life. Because…" A sob wracked him, and he dug his claws into the floor. “Because I was the last thing he was going to see! So I found some tiny morsel of strength, inside myself, and I smiled back at him. And…just as I mouthed the words, I love you? They shot him! And all I could do was watch him die! My poor, Sweet Remmy died without ever hearing me say I loved him!"

“I'm so sorry." Malaresh sniffed, tears running down his own scales. “That's horrible." He curled his neck, offering the gryphon's ears a few tender licks, while Alakor cried. “It's alright, bird. Just let it out."

“I watched him die!" Anger crept into Alakor's voice, rising and twisting together with years of unreleased grief. “And I did nothing! I see him, in my dreams! Bleeding, dying, and still I do nothing!" Alakor slammed his fist against the deck, snarling through another tearful sob. “But I will not stand idly by any longer! I will stand against the Union, and I will see their ruin." He took a shuddering breath, shaking his head. “Whatever it takes."

“There you go, gryphon." Malaresh hugged Alakor tightly with his wing. “Let it out. The pain, the anger? Spend it here and now, that it does not overwhelm you. Let it fuel you, but do not let it control you."

Alakor hid his face against the dragon's side. He wept, uncontrolled and unhidden, against a creature who should have been his mortal enemy. Though Malaresh would never admit it, he was honored that his former foe should confide in him something so painful, and so personal. Alakor's tears left hot, wet streaks Malaresh's scales. The gryphon's wings trembled, their feathers tickled at him. The dragon stroked Alakor's foreleg, offering what comfort he could.

“Sometimes, I just want it to end." Alakor's words came as a sudden rasp. He lifted his face from the dragon's shoulder, staring out at the window. Something had changed in him, some insidious darkness creeping into his voice. “And I don't want to live in this dying world anymore." He dragged his claws through the floor, cutting lines in the wood. “But I will not abandon it, as the stars have. Not knowing that those monsters would rule what's left."

Malaresh turned his head, gazing into the gryphon's tear-filled eyes. There was something new there, like roiling smoke trapped beneath an ocean of anguish. “What are you talking about?"

Alakor gave a strange, warbling laugh, shaking his head. His voice was little more than a rasping whisper, adrift on a lonely sea. “This world is fractured, and there's no one left to fix it. The stars have all abandoned us, and the only song left, is chaos. All we can do now is flee this sinking ship. But I'll be damned before I let one wretched Union monster on board the only lifeboat. I will see the Union drowned, even if it means I drown with them."

Malaresh slowly eased his head back, something cold unspooling in his heart. He had no idea what the gryphon was rambling about now. But whatever it was, Alakor wasn't even trying to hide it. That only made it more unnerving. Malaresh suddenly felt akin to a priest expecting a grand revelation from the gods, and receiving only the whispers of some abyssal horror.

“What…" Malaresh squeezed Alakor's paw. “What does all that mean?"

The gryphon took his time in answering, waiting until he had composed himself anew. When he had, Alakor offered the dragon a cold smile. “I suggest you ask Executor Harliss. After all, I've led her to us for a reason. It was from her reports I first gleaned the truth about this broken existence. She will give us the answers we seek, or I will sing to her of smoke, and chaos, and see her torn asunder."

*****

Chapter Thirty

*****

Nira laid in bed, staring at the arched crossbeams that spanned her ceiling. In the darkness, it was easy to imagine she was trapped in the hold of some great, oceangoing ship. Nira supposed the truth wasn't that far off. She sighed, rolling to her side. Even after ten years in this behemoth, contemplating what might have been still kept her awake some nights.

How many countless adventures with her family had she missed out? How many meals filled with her parents' happy laughter had she been denied? How often could have she teased her father as his hair slowly turned silver? How many stern lectures would she have gotten? It was more painful still to consider what her parents missed out on. They never got to see the women their daughters grew into. Nira hoped they would have been proud of her.

The princess gazed out the window. There was nothing to see beyond the porthole but darkness. Night's darkest hours shrouded the world, and the moon was in hiding. She fidgeted with her pillow, some of the day's conversations still playing through her mind. Tryn was Empress now, even if in name only. But in another life, Nira would have Empress someday. Tonight, with the past's cruel grasp in firm control, Nira wondered what kind of Empress she would have been.

Nira was not foolish enough to think she could have fixed all the Empire's myriad problems. But she knew in her heart she would have done her damnedest to try. Her former populace had many genuine grievances, some of which the Union had capitalized upon. They had turned the impoverished people of the far provinces against their wealthier countrymen, and in so doing, swelled the Union's ranks. Had she been made Empress after all, Nira liked to think she would have made it her life's work to address that great inequality.

With a sigh, Nira sat up in bed. She decided if she wasn't going to be able to sleep, she may as well do something productive. She stood up and lit a single lamp. It's wavering, spectral glow lit her room in shades of pale orange. Nira glanced towards her expansive desk, where her pistols rested. She'd unloaded them before bed, storing the ammo in a new set of bandolier style gun belts. Perhaps now was a good time to practice reloading from them, she thought, before she had to do so under duress.

Nira went to fetch her weapons, then froze. At the center of her desk was a portrait of her family, in an ebony frame and kept beneath protective glass. Nira sank into her desk chair as cold hands squeezed her heart. The silver-hued photograph was one of the only images she had left of her family, together. It depicted Nira and Tryn alongside their parents. The ladies all wore elegant, flowing dresses. Her father was done up in a regal coat and formal trousers, along with a stately top hat. Her mother's dark hair had been ever so long, halfway down her back. Her father had a beard and moustache, trimmed short just before the photograph was taken. In the photo, they were all smiling.

Nira stared at it in silence. She remembered that day clearly. She and Tryn had argued about who would wear which color dress until their father reminded them the image would be silver-hued anyway. Later, Nira and Tryn refused to smile. Nira wanted to look serious, and Tryn wanted to be like her big sister. Mother forced both them to smile, anyway. Then the four of them had to smile until their faces hurt, so the image could develop before they relaxed their expressions.

She laughed, tracing her fingers over the glass. “Even you had to admit we shouldn't have smiled, after that. Said your face was gonna hurt for days. But…" Nira sniffled. “I'm glad you made is smile, Mom. Because at least I have this, now."

The frame wobbled under her touch. Nira furrowed her brow, wondering how the photo had gotten there. Nira kept it on a shelf with the others for safe keeping. In the days before the palace fell, some thoughtful worker had brought dozens of photos and silver-graphs aboard along with other family heirlooms. If not for their thoughtfulness, Nira would have had nothing but memories left.

Nira moved the silver-graph aside, and discovered a folded piece of parchment beneath it. She opened it and spread it out on the desk, in the faint glow of the single illuminated lamp. The handwriting was rough, but familiar. It was Rog's.

Nira,

I'm still ever so sorry that you couldn't say goodbye. I wonder, sometimes, if you ever forgave me. It haunts me more than you know. Since you hate talking about it, I left you this. There's something you need to do. Look into your parents faces, and tell them both goodbye.

Please, Nira.

Say your goodbyes, one last time, and let them rest.

It's time to admit they're gone, and you're not the heir, anymore.

Because I'm not taking a princess to face an Executor.

I'm taking an Empress.

Nira swallowed hard, setting the letter down with trembling hands. In her heart, she knew Rog was right. Some wounds would never heal, if she would not let them close. Nira picked up the silver-graph again, staring at her parents' smiling faces. It hit Nira then that she would never again see her mother smile. She would never again hear her father laugh. They would never again hold her, hug her, comfort her. Her parents were long dead, and gone.

“You're…you're dead, Mom." Nira brushed her fingers across her mother's face, struggling just to force the words. Pain lanced her deep inside. Her throat clenched, hot and aching. Tears brimmed in her eyes. “You're dead. My mother is dead."

Nira stroked her thumb over her father, smearing the glass. “You're dead too, Dad. You're both dead." She sniffled, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I tried to say goodbye, but…I know you never heard me." Waves of sorrow and anger crashed over her, grief giving way to rage. “It's not fair." She slammed her fist against her desk, hard enough to leave her hand aching “It's not fucking fair! You never even got to hear me say goodbye!"

The Princess snatched up the framed photograph, ready to hurl it against the wall in a moment of petulant fury. She stopped herself, just in time, horrified. If she damaged that photo, it could not be replaced. Nira set it down, and pushed it nearly out of reach. Then she dropped her head into her hands, overwhelmed with a sudden, wrenching sob.

“I miss you!" Nira buried her face in her arms atop the desk, crying. “I miss you both so much!"

Memories long held at bay washed over her, horrible images and terrifying moments from her last night in the palace. Normally, when they came, Nira turned to drink to help keep the pain at bay.

This time, she gave in, and let memory's dark tide sweep her away.

*****

Gunfire had never been so loud.

Nira had fired her pistols countless times at the range. She had trained with rifles alongside soldiers. She'd watched cannons and artillery unleash volleys at distant targets, felt the palace walls shudder from every barrage. But never had it been anything like this. Never had gunshots rang out inside enclosed walls. Never was it so steady, so constant. Never had every single shot been life, or death.

There was nothing, absolutely nothing, that could have prepared Imperial Princess Nira to fight for her life inside her own palace.

“Down!" Guard Captain Merriam shoved Nira's head down. Bullets cracked the air around her, nearly as loud as the shots that loosed them. Standing over her, Merriam returned fire, three concussive blasts in a row. “Stay down!"

A scream sounded from the darkened hallway, beyond the billowing smoke. Some of the smoke was from the constant gunfire. Most of it came from the flames left by artillery shells that penetrated the palace's fortified keep. The whole building shuddered as another struck home, the distant explosion muffled by stone. Dust fell, and debris rattled on the floor. The acrid smell of smoke left Nira's throat burning, but at least it covered the stench of spilled blood.

“Where's our fucking air force?" Rog snarled at Merriam, passing Nira a freshly loaded pistol. “You're loaded! Cover me in three!"

“Where do you fucking think, gnoll?" Steady, pulsing thuds reverberated somewhere above them as warships exchanged constant barrages.

Nira forced herself to focus on this moment, this task, and nothing else. In the back of her mind, she was terrified. She feared if her heart pounded any harder, it would burst and do the Union's job for them. But second to second, breath to breath, there was no fear. The initial wave of panic that hit when the Palace was first breeched had faded hours ago. In its wake, there was only numb determination. Live, or die. Survive this moment, then try to survive the next.

On a three count, Nira leaned out around the doorway she sheltered in, aiming her silver pistol down the corridor. Shapes moved behind the smoke. Nira tracked one, then pulled the trigger. The sound was deafening. The weapon spat fire and tried to jump from her hand. Nira kept it steady and fired again, thankful for all the days Merriam spent training her. A cry pierced the cacophony, and the shadow stumbled. Nira fired at another, then again, and again. Above her, Merriam did the same, a hail of lead from both her pistols.

Rog stepped out behind them, hoisting a bottle of spirits with a burning rag stuffed into it. The gnoll hurled it down the hallway with a guttural cry. It erupted into a boiling cloud of flame, illuminating Union soldiers with horrible, red-orange light. The fires consumed them as they screamed, burning alive. Some staggered and fell, while others struggled to quell the flames.

Nira aimed at one, and pulled the trigger. The hammer struck home, but provided only an empty click. “Shit!" Nira popped the cylinder open, dumping her spent cartridges. “I'm empty!"

As she pulled new rounds from a pouch with shaking fingers, Rog rushed past her. The gnoll moved faster and more fluidly than Nira thought possible. In a single, smooth motion he pulled his scatter gun off his back and lined up a shot with the nearest burning soldier. The point-blank blast tore the soldier open, lifting him off his feet. Blood splattered the scorched walls. The corridor trapped the explosive sound, and it left Nira's ears ringing anew even amidst all the other gunshots.

Rog pivoted, pumped another round into the chamber, and fired again. A Union captain's head disintegrated in horrific spray. Rog turned again as the body slumped over, firing on another burning soldier. Merriam's pistols sang above Nira's head, staggering an invader who had just drawn a bead on Rog. One lunged from a doorway, jabbing a bayonet towards the gnoll's middle. Rog saw him just in time to deflect the blade away with his weapon. Just as quickly, he rammed the butt of his gun into the man's face, crushing his nose and front teeth. The Union fighter stumbled back, blood gushing. Rog put the squad's last survivor down with a final shot from his scatter gun.

The moment the latest battle was over, Rog got to work scavenging for anything of use. The gnoll picked his way around patches of flame to snag a rifle. He slung it over his shoulder, then unbuckled a belt loaded with bullets for it.

“Don't watch him!" Merriam grabbed Nira by the collar of her layered body armor. “Load your weapon!"

Nira hurried to pull cartridges from the pouch hastily tied around her waist. “Right." Her fingers shook, and she dropped a round, then a second one. Nira cursed, snatching them up off the floor.

“Breathe, Princess." Merriam crouched down, grasping Nira's hands. The older woman's grip was steady as a damn rock. Nira didn't know how she did it. Merriam guided Nira through the motions of loading a single cartridge at a time. “It's the same thing you've practiced. Nothing's changed about the motions, or the routine. Control what you can control."

“Control what I can control." Nira muttered the mantra to herself. It was one of several basic principles Merriam had drilled into her head. She loaded the last few rounds more carefully. When they were all in, she snapped the cylinder shut. “Thanks. Ready!"

Merriam grabbed Nira's arm and hustled her forward. “You're welcome, but now's not the time for thank you's! Now's the time for forgiveness, for anything that needs forgiving."

“What?" Nira stumbled at first, trying to keep up with Merriam's pace. “What do you mean?"

Merriam was silent, but worried look in the guard captain's eyes was all the answer Nira needed. The princess shivered when she realized she had never seen Merriam nervous before. It hit her then that Merriam didn't think they were going to survive. All the fear Nira had been holding back rushed over her. If not for Merriam's grip on her arm, she would have slumped to the floor.

“We're, we're not…" Nira struggled to catch her breath, but her lungs refused to work. “We're…we're going to…"

Merriam tucked her other pistol away, calling out to Rog. “Gnoll, keep watch!" She turned towards Nira, putting both hands on her shoulders. Merriam into Nira's eyes. “You're going to live, Nira. Take a breath, and say it."

“I…I'm…"

“You're going to live!" Merriam squeezed the princess's shoulders till it hurt. All the nervousness in the guard captain's eyes was gone now, replaced with fiery resolve so intense Nira could almost reach out and claim it for herself. “Say it! Say it now!"

“I'm going to live!" Nira squared her shoulders, forcing herself to swallow back her terror. These, too, were lessons and principles Merriam had drilled into her head over the last few years. Control what you can control. Seize the situation, and never let it seize you. She grasped Merriam's hand. “We're going to live!"

Merriam nodded once, then released Nira. “Let's move!"

“Resupply!" Rog shoved a few belts of bullets into Merriam's arms, along with another pistol. Then the gnoll turned to Nira, offering her the bayonet-tipped rifle. “Only one that ain't burned to shit."

Nira holstered her pistol, and took it. The make and model were unfamiliar, some Union brand. But it was lever-action, and the cartridges looked of a similar size to Empire rounds. She slung it over her shoulder, then took the bandolier and strapped it across her body armor. “Thanks, Rog."

“What'd I just tell you about saying thanks?" Merriam shot her a glare.

“Well, what else was I gonna say?" Nira forced herself to smile, if only to help keep the fear at bay. “I forgive you for handing me a rifle?"

Merriam chuckled. “Fair enough." She waved a pistol down the hall. “Gnoll, take point!"

Rog hurried down the hall, loading fresh shells into his scatter gun. Nira followed his lead, reloading her stolen rifle. As she skirted around scorched bodies, she forced herself to look at them, to see people reduced to gruesome ruin. Despite what they were doing here, despite that this was her home they were invading, Nira reminded herself they were still people. And the sight of humans burned, of heads blown apart and bodies ripped apart by weapons fire, it left her stomach churning. Union or not, it was a horrible, sorrowful sight, and she hoped she never grew accustomed to it. When this was all over, she was probably going to heave up everything.

Nira still couldn't believe how fast everything changed. Only months ago, Nira's parents sent her younger sister Tyrn to the far-flung capital of some small, allied nation. In public, they'd claimed the trip was for education. But they'd sent a ship full of elite soldiers with her, along with a very loyal dragon instructed to keep her out of Union hands at all costs. At the time, it seemed like an extreme measure.

And then everything went to hell in a blink.

Just weeks ago, they'd moved Nira's personal quarters deep inside the palace's fortified heart, to a smaller room complete with bomb shelter. By then, the capital was nearly encircled by an entire ocean of enemy forces. The Empire's remaining army and aerial fleets had mostly consolidated in the capital to protect the Imperial family. Those who hadn't made it back in time were now cut off.

The Union looked to be settling in for a prolonged siege. They set up camps as far as Empire lenses could see. They'd backed off their fleets of destroyers, and left only their gunships and ground bombardment vessels in range of Empire guns. Nira's parents and their generals had been discussing how best to hold out during a long-term siege. Their advisers believed the Union send in frequent probing attacks to force the Empire to expend resources repulsing them. That was why they moved Nira's chambers.

It was hoped that if the Empire could hold out long enough without surrendering, reinforcements may be able to break the siege. They had forces remaining in outposts and bases in allied nations. If they regrouped, they could hit the Union's forces from behind. Then the Empire could send out their Home Defense Fleet, and trap the Union between them two armies. All they had to do until then was hold out. After all, no one expected the Union to waste an entire fleet's worth of lives and ships just to blow a hole in the city's defenses.

But that was exactly what they did.

The siege preparations were only ever a cover for their real plan. It began with clusters of gunships on bombardment runs, just after nightfall. The Empire's Home Defense Fleet, a formidable force of air destroyers along with stalwart gryphons and dragons, flew out to engage them. The smaller vessels were no match, but that was never the point. The Union's first waves were all on suicide runs. They unleashed everything they had not against Empire vessels, but against walls and anti-air defenses. Wave after wave of ships shelled the city's every fortification. The burning husks of Union gunships soon littered the streets of the sprawling capital, but it made no difference. The damage was done.

Only when the way was cleared for the Union's army to surge into the city did they send their destroyers to engage the Empire's air force directly. Locked in combat, the Home Defense Fleet could not turn its full attention to the hoard of Union soldiers swarming below. The Empire's remaining ground forces met them in full, drowning the capital's streets and alleyways in a red tide. But it was not enough. One moment, Nira was huddled in her shelter, with Rog holding her and telling her the bombing would end soon. The next, Merriam was throwing the door open and shouting at Nira to get into her body armor.

Armor, now! Fast as you can!

But…

The palace is falling!

Nira knew in an instant, something had gone wrong. Those four words were one of the emergency codes for a worst scenario. It meant the Union was inside the palace. An entire team of bodyguards and gryphons should have sprung into action to rush Nira to the Imperial bunker. Another team would have done the same for her parents.

But there were no bodyguards. There were no gryphons.

There was only Merriam, frantically helping Nira into her body armor. She'd worn it in training, but its layers of silken meshes and sturdy plating seemed heavier now. Her pistols and her ammunition were hastily strapped around her. Then, before her mind had even caught up to what was happening, Merriam and Rog were rushing her down the hall. They were ambushed, shortly thereafter. They survived, only to fight for their lives every step of the way since.

It must have been hours, now, trying to reach her parents. Exhaustion already pressed against Nira like a weight. When the others slowed, Nira leaned against a wall to catch her breath. When she collected herself, she hurried on, moving into a wide hallway intersection.

“Contact!" Rog's roar was almost immediately drowned out by his ensuing scattergun blast. “Down, down, get back!"

Nira flattened herself to the floor just before a hail of bullets shattered the air above her. She scrambled backwards, cursing under her breath.

Merriam snatched her, dragging her out of the line of fire. “Where?"

“Corridor on the left!" Rog pushed himself up against the wall, at the intersection's edge. When the rounds stopped flying, he peeked around it. “Fuckers got a crank gun!" Then he pulled back, glancing back at Merriam. “And you wouldn't let me get one!"

Merriam hurried over to the same wall Rog was sheltered against. “How many men they have operating it?" She moved up behind Rog, waving for Nira to follow.

“Three!" Rog swapped his shotgun for the rifle slung across his back.

Merriam tapped Rog's shoulder to let him know she was there. “That's why I wouldn't let you have one. Even you can't carry, feed, and operate a damn crank gun all by yourself!"

Nira touched Merriam's shoulder the same way. “What do we do?"

“Fuckin' shoot 'em, that's what!" Rog gestured with his gun for Merriam to come forward. “I'm gonna hurtle it, you ready?"

“What do you mean, hurtle it?" Nira snatched at the edge of Rog's armor. “You can't hurtle a fucking gun, Rog!"

“Just be ready to shoot." Rog backed up the hall they'd come from. “Aim for the gunner first. And don't miss!"

“What the hell's he doing?" Nira lifted her rifle, trying to keep her hands steady.

“Union crank guns have a delay, a second or so, from the time they start cranking it to the time it starts firing." Merriam tilted her head towards Rog. “On your mark, gnoll."

“Now!"

Rog sprinted, and leapt across the intersection. The Union gunners down the other hallway opened fire. Bullets splattered the wall in an uneven line, tracking Rog. The gnoll landed on the far side of the junction, flattening himself against the wall. More rounds struck the corner, blasting wooden shrapnel in all directions. The constant, steady concussion of crank gun fire drowned out Merriam's instructions, but Nira knew what to do. Merriam would aim for the gunner, so Nira's

Merriam leaned into the hallway, opening fire on the gunner's nest. Nira popped out behind her just as Merriam's rounds tore through the man operating the massive gun, and the soldier feeding it ammo. Their captain took aim at Merriam, just as Nira fixed her rifle's sights on his head. Nira fired, and her bullet punched through his skull before he could pull the trigger. The rifle's power jarred her shoulder, left her ear screaming for mercy.

“Fucking right!" Rog snarled, rejoining Nira and Merriam. “Great shootin', you two!"

“Are you fucking crazy?" Nira glared at the gnoll. “That thing woulda cut you in half!"

Merriam snatched Nira's shoulder, shaking her. “I told you to stay back!"

Nira scowled, gesturing with her bayonet at the crank gun. “I couldn't hear what you said over that thing!"

“Nevermind." Merriam walked down the adjoining hall, and put one last bullet in the head of a man still breathing. “I'll take point. Gnoll, get her moving!"

Rog nudged Nira till she followed Merriam. He glanced at the large weapon as they passed it. “Were they waitin' for us with that thing?"

“Possibly!" Merriam reloaded her pistols as she jogged ahead. “They may have spies in our ranks. They seem to have information on the palace's layout. And given how quickly they infiltrated it? I'm guessing a map wasn't the only help they had."

“Shit!" Nira worked her rifle's lever, chambering a new round. “Should we take a different route?" Nira glanced around, furrowing her brow. Come to think of it, she didn't recognize this route at all. “Wait, where are we? This isn't one of the routes we practiced." Merriam and Rog shared a worrying look, but neither replied. Something cold and sickening twisted in her belly. Nira came to a stop, hugging her rifle across her chest. “Where are we going?"

“We're getting you to safety!" Merriam glanced back. “So keep moving!"

Nira didn't budge. “What does that mean?"

“Now's not the time, Princess!" Merriam tilted her head towards the gnoll. “Rog, let's go."

Rog snatched Nira's arm, pulling her forward. Though it was clear the gnoll was careful not to hurt her, it was also clear he wasn't asking. “Come on, Nira, we gotta go."

Nira did not resist. She knew Rog was only trying to keep her safe. “Alright, I'm going, I'm going."

Rog released her as soon as she was walking again, his ears drooping. “Sorry. I hope I didn't hurt you."

“No, I'm fine." She lifted her gaze, searching the gnoll's eyes. “Do you know where we're going?"

Rog swallowed, his voice suddenly soft. “Staging area three."

Nira blinked. That wasn't where her family was. That was a bunker where people went to await evacuation. The only reason they'd take her there was if-

A door exploded ahead of them as a Union officer smashed right through it. He hit the far wall with a nauseating crunch, and slumped to the ground, lifeless. A furious, keening cry sounded from beyond the shattered door. Gunshots followed it, and then a wrenching scream. More gunfire rang out in quick succession, quicker than before.

“That's a gryphon!" Merriam headed for the shattered doorway, pressing up alongside it.

Nira followed just at her heels. “About time we find someone friendly!"

“I think those were kobold guns, too!" Rog skidded to a stop near the women. The gnoll took a deep breath, then bellowed out a kobold code phrase. “Tek Tek Tek!"

“Kor Kor Kor!" A distinctly kobold voice returned the call sign.

Gunfire shattered the air again, first in loud booms, then in a volley of sharp, staccato bursts. Immediately came a furious roar, and then the sickening sound of flesh hitting stone again. Merriam signaled a countdown. When the moment came, she led the way, barging into the room. Merriam opened fire immediately. Rog reached for Nira to hold her back, but she slipped his grasp. Nira followed Merriam through the doorway, shouldering her rifle.

Inside was a ballroom turned battlefield. Bodies littered the floor amidst the wreckage of elaborate crystalline chandeliers. Long tables and padded chairs alike were upended, turned into makeshift cover. Dying flames flickered across the remains of once-elegant golden curtains, and devoured a beautiful, silver-framed portrait of a former Emperor. Smoke and blood stained the cream-hued walls. Bullet holes now decorated everything.

A blue and gray gryphon in full combat armor rampaged through a swarm of Union soldiers at the far end of the ballroom. Merriam pressed up against a pillar, firing in the gryphon's defense. Corpses were already scattered around the room. While most of the dead were Golden Union, there were Empire soldiers and Palace Guards mixed in, as well. Several small, scaled kobold bodies were strewn about, blood-soaked and still. More Union soldiers ducked behind toppled display cases. Across from them, surviving kobolds in head-to-tail combat armor took cover behind a long table, exchanging fire with the enemy.

Nira immediately took aim at the soldiers in cover, shooting as quickly as she could work the rifle's lever. Her first few shots missed, but one tore away a man's jaw. He toppled, gurgling blood. The next trigger pull brought only a hollow click. Rog snatched her arm, throwing her down behind the table with the kobolds. Merriam leapt over it a moment later.

Rog dropped in alongside Nira, snarling. “They're here for you! Don't stand in the fucking open!"

“Your highness!" One of the kobolds gave her a quick bow, swiftly reloading his pistols. “Lovely evening, isn't it?" Tension edged his voice, despite his lingering sense of humor.

“Beautiful night!" Nira forced a smile to her face as she reloaded her stolen weapon. Bullets tore through the table above her, splattering the wood. Nira cried out and ducked, dropping a round. “Shit!"

As the cartridge rolled away, the nearby kobold threw himself atop her. “Protect the princess!" He put as much of his armored body across her as possible. “Return fire!"

Two of them popped up and did so, unleashing a storm of lead that sent the Union soldiers back into cover. To Nira's knowledge, kobold weapons were usually smaller, but also designed with hair triggers. They might not have as much punch as some of the larger guns, but skilled kobolds could put two or three bullets into a target for every one the bigger weapons fired. At the same time, the fourth kobold swiftly reloaded weapons for the rest.

Nira patted the one atop her. “Let me up!"

The kobold protecting her eased up, hesitant at first. Nira slipped out from under him before he had a chance to think better, snatching up her rifle again. “Help the gryphon, instead!"

“You heard the princess!" Merriam's voice cut through the din as she finished her own reloading. “Cover the bird!"

Nira eased up just over the edge of the table, leveling her rifle off. The gryphon was bleeding, and had clearly taken a few rounds. His armor had clearly stopped many more. Despite that, the gryphon was a whirlwind of beak and claws. He spun and pivoted, tearing through the soldiers, rending flesh and bone. No one seemed able to get a killing shot. One man put a pistol in the bird's face, only to lose his hand. Another backed away, aiming his rifle, only for a kobold to put two rounds in his chest.

With the kobolds covering the gryphon, Nira returned to firing on the Union infantry behind the display case. Rog joined her, firing shots through their cover to keep them pinned. The gryphon spun again, snatching a human off his feet. The man screamed as claws penetrated through his body armor and into his ribs. Rising to his hind legs, the gryphon hurled his victim straight into the furniture sheltering the rest of the Union soldiers. The hapless fighter smashed through it like a stone through glass, scattering the men behind it.

The kobold who'd protected her leapt over the table, a quick-action pistol in each hand. He darted around the taller humans, ducking and weaving, guns constantly firing. When he was empty, he tossed his weapons aside, scaling a soldier like a tree. With his bare claws, he ripped out the man's throat, and leapt from his toppling body.

With the tide turned, all the remaining soldiers split up. Some ran towards the doors, just trying to escape the gryphon. Others backed away slower, firing at Nira and others to cover their friends' escape. The princess and her contingent dropped back down. Nira crawled along the ground as bullets tore through wood just overhead. Wooden fragments fell against her head, clinging to her hair.

Further down the table, Merriam glanced at the kobolds. “Swarm the fuckers, I'll cover you!"

Nira doubted four kobolds counted as a swarm, but she knew what Merriam meant. She tossed her empty rifle aside, and drew her pistol. Merriam jumped up to support the kobolds, and Nira and Rog did the same. As the trio rained bullets down on the retreating soldiers, the kobolds all raced into danger. They used their small size and impressive speed to their advantage, sprinting around the room, firing constantly. They scrambled up debris and slid across the floor, shooting from every angle until their ammo was spent. Even then they kept going with claws, teeth, and little knives.

Few Union invaders escaped their wrath. A couple managed to make it out of the ballroom, only for the gryphon to bound after them. Screams and gunshots followed in his wake. Merriam hurtled the table, snatching a service pistol from a dying officer's hand. She finished him off with his own gun. Then she strode around the room, putting another bullet in any Union fighter still breathing. By the time she was finished, the armored gryphon trotted back in. Fresh blood dripped from his beak.

“Holy shit," Nira said, wiping her forehead with the back of a hand. She quickly surveyed the ballroom. None of the fallen Union members stirred. Embers drifted through the smoky air, but at least the flames had mostly died out. “Is that all of them?"

“I believe so," the gryphon said. Pain and fatigue both weighed down his voice, but neither had slowed him in battle. He turned his head, inspecting his own bloodstained wings. He stretched one, testing it. The gryphon winced, but Nira was happy to see he had not suffered any loss of motion. “Thank you for your help. But there will be more, so prepare yourselves."

“Bird's right." Rog staggered back to his feet, still panting. “I'll see what those Union fucks left for us. You reload, Princess. Real quick now."

“Princess?" The gryphon squawked, pivoting towards her. His eyes widened beneath his helmet. In the chaos, he must not have realized who had come to his aid. The gryphon dropped into a formal bow, touching his beak to the floor. “I've been looking for you!"

“Well, you found me." Nira tried to reload her pistols, but shaky fingers made it slow going. Rog steadied her hands, and Nira offered him a thankful smile.

“Bird!" Merriam holstered her weapons and approached the gryphon. “Report!"

The gryphon turned to her, tilting his helmeted head. “Guard captain?" He slowly gazed from Merriam, to Rog, and finally to Nira. “Where's the rest of her contingent?"

Merriam shook her head, her words terse, yet sorrowful. “I'm the only one who made it to her."

Nira gasped, cringing inwardly. No wonder the rest of her guards were missing. Merriam was overseeing defense operations earlier in the day. She must have battled just to reach Nira. Merriam had lost people in the way, and never even mentioned it. Gods, Nira thought, no wonder she was nervous.

The princess gentle squeezed Merriam's hand. “I'm sorry for your men, Merriam."

Merriam gave Nira a grateful nod, but kept her attention on the gryphon. “I asked for your report, Gryphon. You're looking for her? Are you from the Imperial Guard Flight?"

The gryphon straightened up. “Yes, Guard Captain. We were dispatched to find and evacuate the princess, but...." He took a shuddering breath, his ears drooping alongside his helmet. “My flight didn't make it, either."

“Then we do it our fuckin' selves!" Rog joined Nira, standing before the gryphon. “We can all grieve later!"

The gryphon lifted his head, his ears perked as quickly as they'd fallen. “Absolutely." He lifted a paw towards the princess. “Don't worry, my darling. We're all the escort you'll ever need."

Nira forced herself to smile as she shook his bloodied paw. If Merriam and the gryphon could put on brave faces after watching their comrades die, she was sure as hell going to follow their example. “I've no doubt, gryphon." She looked him over. Under his armor, his blue and gray feathers were matted with blood. “Are you badly hurt?"

“Nothing death won't cure." The gryphon shook himself, then cringed, groaning in pain. “Besides, everyone's hurt." He turned his head towards the smaller lizard soldiers nearby. “Kobolds, how are you faring?"

The four surviving kobolds were tending to their dead kin. They knelt alongside their bodies, gently touching their muzzles, murmuring. The lead kobold pushed himself to his feet, wiping his eyes. “Us four are still breathing. These five ain't. Guess we might as well keep fightin' till we ain't breathing, either."

Nira stepped closer. “If you need time to tend to your dead, you-"

“Nah." The squad leader shook his head. The palace rumbled and shook as an explosion reverberated through it. Dust fell from the ruined walls. Debris rattled on the floor. “Death rites ain't gonna matter, now. Gods are either gonna accept 'em, or not." He turned towards the others. “Finish up, boys."

The gryphon stepped in between Merriam and Rog. “I'm sure you know, but the order has been given. Now that I've found you, I have to make it official."

Rog sighed, hanging his head. “Yeah, I know."

Merriam gestured at the gryphon. “Make the proclamation, Imperial Guard. We'll confirm."

“What are you three talking about?" Nira searched their faces, but she already knew the answer. Her heart sank. “No!"

“The palace has fallen." The blue and gray gryphon lifted his head, and solemnly spoke. “Agree?"

Rog nodded once. “Agree. The palace has fallen." He turned his eyes to Merriam. “Agree?"

Merriam set her jaw. “Concur. The palace has fallen."

“Then by Imperial Decree," the gryphon said, his powerful voice echoing around the room. “You are hereby ordered to evacuate Princess Nira to the city-ship immediately, at all and any cost."

The lead kobold called out to his subordinates. “New mission, boys! The dead can wait. Gods know we'll see 'em again soon enough. Now the load the fuck up, we got a princess to protect!"

The princess shook her head, balling up her fists. “If you think for one second I'm going to let you take me to that damn ship without my family-"

“Nira," Merriam said, her voice soft, but firm. “You know we have to." She took Nira's hand, gently squeezing it. “Please, your highness, don't fight us."

“Then we get my family first!" Nira turned towards Rog, hoping she could sway him to her side. “They can go with us!"

“No, Nira," Rog said, his voice cracking. Tears brimmed in the gnoll's eyes. “They can't."

“Yes, they can!" Nira yanked her hand away from Merriam, backing up. “They have to! We can't just leave my parents behind!"

Rog stepped after her, tears running down his muzzle. “We have orders, Nira." The gnoll sniffled, shaking his head. “We have to get you on that ship while we still can."

“Then I order you to take me to my parents, first!" Nira struggled to control her breathing. She searched everyone's eyes for some shred of hope, but found none. Her throat clenched, burning deep inside. “We'll take them with us! I order it! I order you all!"

The gryphon lowered his head. “I'm ever so sorry, my darling princess, but an Imperial Decree supersedes your orders. Even if it didn't, there's no time left. This is our only chance."

Merriam came forward, delicately grasping Nira's shoulder. “Serving your family has been the absolute honor of my life." Her voice broke. “But that's over, now. It's all over. Your parents chose this. To be here, to the last moment." Merriam wiped her eyes. “To stand for their Empire onto the very end. Because they understand that the captain has to go down with the ship."

“It's not a fucking ship!" Nira chocked back a sob, batting away Merriam's hand. “That's my parents' lives you're talking about!"

“Nira, we know!" Rog squared himself in front of her. “You think we want to do this? You think your parents don't know what this does to you?" He jabbed a finger into her chest. “They were crying when they gave us the order! They love you, Nira! But this is the only way they can keep you safe! By staying behind to ensure-"

“To ensure what?" Nira snarled at him, her raspy voice angrier and more hurtful than she intended. “That I run away like some fucking coward? That I fly off in my fancy ship while my family dies? While my people get slaughtered? And I'm just supposed to go along with-"

“Stop it!" Rog roared at her, suddenly all fangs and fury. Never in her life had Rog shouted at her like that. He snatched her shoulders, and shook her hard enough to rattle her bones. “You're the heir to the fucking Empire, Nira! Don't you get it? That ship's not just your lifeboat, it's all of ours! It's the Empire's!" He growled his words, spittle flecking his muzzle. “This is about so much more than your family, Nira! This is about hope."

Rog squeezed her arms, eyes boring into her. “And that's what your survival gives your people. Hope. A tiny little light to hold the coming darkness at bay. They need to know that for all the hell the Union brought, it wasn't enough." Little by little, Rog's anger melted away into sorrow. “They could not end The Empire of the Black Star. Because if you're alive, then the Empire's alive, too. And that gives people something to believe in." Rog fought back a sob. “It's all they'll have left to cling to. So that's what you must be. Their hope." He let her go, wiping his eyes. “I have to put you on that ship, now. Please don't fight me, Nira."

Deep inside her battered heart, Nira knew Rog was right. This wasn't about her family, or whether fled or fought. It was about doing what she could, for her people, in the face of catastrophe. Against such impossible odds, there was nothing else she could do. The Empire was over. If she did not board the ship while she still had time, the Union would put her to the Gallows alongside her parents. And then they'd turn their sights to Tryn. If she left now, she could keep their attention focused on her, and not her sister. It was all she had left to offer. A small protection for her sister, and the flickering light of hope for her people.

Nira collapsed against Rog, sobbing into his armor. “You're right." She sucked in a shuddering breath, fighting for words. “But…can't I even say goodbye? Tell them I love them?"

“I'm sorry, Nira…" Rog's muzzle trembled. “But, no. You can't." It was all Rog could do to keep from breaking down with her. “We're out of time."

Somewhere, in the distance, fresh gunfire rang out.

Merriam wrapped an arm around Nira's middle, hugging her. “We're both sorry, Nira. No one wanted it to end like this. But we must go, right now." She turned towards the gryphon, waiting a respectful distance away “Do you know the route to the city-ship?"

The gryphon nodded. “I do."

Merriam checked her weapons once, then hurried towards the door. “Then clear us a path!"

“It'd be my gods-damned honor." In a flurry of bloodied feathers, the gryphon whirled towards the exit, and bounded out in front.

Behind her, the kobold captain called out to his squad. “This is it, boys! Protect the princess and get her on that ship at all costs! Last mission of your lives, so get ready to tell the gods you faced it with a fucking smile!"

Nira turned towards the kobolds, still crying but intent on thanking them for their courage, and their honor. But they were already on the move, and Nira's shaking legs nearly sent her toppling to the floor. She grabbed at Rog to steady herself. “I need your arm, a moment."

“Don't worry, Nira." Rog hoisted her up and cradled her against his chest. He put an arm beneath her, and another across her back. “I'll carry you, for as long as you need it. You cry as much as you want, and make what peace you can. And when all your tears are spent, you get ready fight like hell again. Till then, just let it all out."

Nira hugged Rog around the neck, hiding her face against him. As they all ran, Nira wept into Rog's fur for the family she'd never see again. “Mom! Dad! I love you! I love you so much!" Though they could not hear her, Nira would be damned if she wouldn't say her farewells, just the same. “Goodbye, Dad! Goodbye, Mom…goodbye…"

“I'm sorry, Nira." Rog's voice was a broken husk. Though she could not see his face, Nira knew the gnoll was crying with her. “I'm so sorry."

*****

Nira cried into her hands while the memories washed over her. Only when her tears were spent, and her wracking sobs had faded to gentle sniffles did she lift her head. Her bleary eyes wandered from Rog's note, to the portrait of her family, and back again. With trembling hands, she reached for Rog's letter, to read it once more.

Nira,

I'm still ever so sorry that you couldn't say goodbye. I wonder, sometimes, if you ever forgave me. It haunts me more than you know. Since you hate talking about it, I left you this. There's something you need to do. Look into your parents faces, and tell them both goodbye.

Please, Nira.

Say your goodbyes, one last time, and let them rest.

It's time to admit they're gone, and you're not the heir, anymore.

Because I'm not taking a princess to face an Executor.

I'm taking an Empress.

Nira set the note aside, breath caught in her throat. “Of course, I forgive you, Rog."

Nira sniffed again, heartsick that he feared otherwise. She wanted to hug him, swear that she forgave him, and take away his pain. But it was late, and with any luck, Rog was fast asleep. And Nira knew she could not face him now, until she did as he asked. Hesitantly, she picked up the portrait of her family.

“Ten years, now." Nira swallowed hard. Though her tears had ebbed, forcing words remained a battle. “Ten years, you've been gone, and…still I struggle to say it. To admit it. But I'll do my best." Reverently, she touched her parents faces, whispering. “Goodbye, Mom. Goodbye, Dad. I miss you. I love you." Nira wiped her eyes, sniffling. “Goodbye."

When it was done, there was no great change. No weight was lifted from her heart. No burden eased from her mind. This goodbye was as empty as the last, because they still hadn't heard her say it. But at least in her own way, Nira had accepted it. That would have to be enough, she thought, because there was nothing more she could do.

Or was there?

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her pistols.

They were Merriam's, once. The beautiful weapons were a matching set, decorated with ebony, ivory, and gold. Though ornamental in appearance, they were crafted by the Empire's finest gunsmiths, and had fired more bullets than Nira could ever count. One of them bore a dragon upon its grip, while the other, a gryphon. They represented the two great winged beasts upon which the empire had been forged.

Merriam had shoved her guns into Nira's hands, right before the end.

They're yours, now. They represent the Empire, just like you.

Remember that, when you use them.

Nira picked up the pistol with the dragon on it and popped the cylinder open. Something about its empty chambers sat ill inside her. It looked hollow, incomplete. A weapon that represented the Empire should not go unloaded. Nira dragged the gun belt and its ammunition closer. If she was to face an Executor, then she needed a loaded gun. Nira pulled a round free and stared at it in the lamplight.

Maybe there was something more she could do.

“For my mother." Nira loaded the cartridge, and drew another. “For my father." She pushed into place.

With each recitation, Nira loaded another bullet. “For my people. For my Empire." Her fingers trembled as she slipped in the fifth one. “For Merriam."

At last, Nira pulled the sixth round free. She gazed at it for a long, quiet moment, then finally chambered it.

Nira snapped the cylinder shut. “For me."