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A falling rock usually wasn't too much of a risk. When you were several hundred metres up a sheer cliff face however, it was another matter entirely.

Debastian Silverpaw pressed himself closer to the cliff face, the damp, rough stones numbing his cheek. Risking a glance down, he saw clouds that clung to the mountainside like wool to a sheep, a grey layer of vapor that rolled like the sea.

No... it was a grey shroud that would cover anyone who slipped. They already had lost one that way. The entire section of wall he'd been climbing had given way unexpectedly.

Like a disciplined soldier, he hadn't cried out as the mountain claimed him. His own death had been inevitable at that point. His comrades were not.

There were nineteen of them now. Four teams of five, minus the one who fell. Three lithe, a heavy, and one of the local prey tribe members made up each group, plus Chief Stryker himself. He was the entire reason behind this plan.

Glancing upwards, De's eyes narrowed, watching as the goat far above them tackled the mountainside as if it were no more hazardous than a stroll in the grasslands, hammering restraining spikes into the rockface every few metres. A long spool of rope connected them, tethering the team to the cold, dark stone.

It was forboding. Treacherous. Suicidal even. All of their team had been volunteers, and everyone in their camp had volunteered. It had come down to Stryker to select whom to bring though.

They had to travel fast and light, bringing all they would or may need with them. Ten days overland behind enemy lines in a country where even the native populace was hostile. One day to build and raft across the lake at the base of the imposing peak that rose beyond the clouds. Another three to climb the bastard.

Thirty minutes to raid and cause as much havoc as possible in such a short time, and then back over the edge to disappear into the night.

They reached the lower lip soon enough. This was where the canines expected most people to come from, up the long, winding road that curled around the hillside. It was a single land entry to the castle on the summit. They darted over the roadway and kept climbing up the vertical cliff face.

The wild gryphons that guarded this place often made meals of anyone fool enough to get close. They were easily distracted by hunks of meat, and encouraged to back away at spearpoint.

Their rock picks were awfully loud when they began scaling the edge of the fortress itself. Each strike to chip away new handholds echoed in the darkness like an ashpowder bomb going off, but the air was thinner up here. Sound didn't carry as easily.

Debastian hauled himself up through a broad, arching window, rolling onto the floor and quickly scurried to the edge of the room, growing as he got his bearings.

It was some sort of rehearsal hall, like those used by the dragon dancers. He'd read about them once, but never thought the canines would be the sorts to invest in such an obvious frivolity. Mirrors ran the entire length of the far wall, and the floors were smooth and sleek beneath his leather-wrapped feet The polished hardwood was crisp and cold from the air that blew in from the tall stone arches that served as windows, giving a commanding view of the mountain range.

The rest of the teams were already busy unpacking their gear, readying themselves for whatever would await them. Ropes, knives and swords were unsheathed, their metal dulled with soot. His own knife came to paw unbidden, drawn on instinct as one of the doors to the large hall opened.

The canine servant who entered fell without a cry. He had been young, barely a man in his own right. His body was lowered to the floor, the lantern he had been carrying snuffed. Chief Stryker had done the deed himself, wiping the blood off his blade across his thigh.

The massive Amassi lion's mane made him seem even larger than his almost eight-foot frame did. His pelt was muted in the moonlight, but his dark brown and tan hide was well suited for the night hunts. He could have gone toe to toe with any dire wolf and Debastian would have still put his bet on the much more agile feline.

When he spoke, it was with a coldness, the bitter pang of loss still fresh in his words. It was with anger, indignity and insult that any dared call his kind inferior. He spoke of vengeance, of a blood toll to be collected from these aggressors who would unbalance the world order for their own gain.

He then spoke softly of family, and invited each of the raiders gathered in turn to speak of it as well, remembering the names of their own losses. One by one, until dozens of names had been hissed and spat into the night. They called on the spirits of their lost to fuel their righteous vengeance and to accept the tributes of canine blood and souls that would be left in their wake. This was for them. The canines might not have known who it was they had taken from each of those gathered, but they would know well the price of their deaths.

Then the lion reached down, bloodying his finger on the canine's throat, and wiped a single streak of red across his own cheek. In the dim light of the moon, Alzeer Stryker let out a predatory rumble that shook the still night air.

"That's one." He said in a snarl that echoed with fury and malice. The fresh blood on his fur glistened in the dark.

He expected no less than five from each of them tonight.

---

They split into their teams, each disappearing down a different corridor outside the rehearsal hall.

Debastian stayed crouched low, his tail flicking back and forth, un-shoed paws making next to no sound as they moved along the hallways with alarming rapidity. Twice, they had to slow for the less stealthy clopping of the goat accompanying them, a wickedly curved sword held low at his waist. He caught De' looking and grinned, tapping the silvery polished blade against his horns.

"They killed my family as well. This was my sister's blade. Tonight, it will aveng-"

Whatever the goat had been about to say, he never got the chance to finish, nor did he get the opportunity for vengeance. With a quiet pop-Fzzz from the end of the hall, his head simply vaporized into a red mist, a sudden streak of light that appeared with the screech of a diving bird forced him back in shock and stunned blindness. The streak left a glowing after image on De's eyelids as he blinked rapidly to try and gather his wits. Momentarily dazzled by the intensity of it, he rubbed his eyes, cursing.

"Get down De! Contact!" A sudden weight tackled him sideways, and he slammed through a wooden doorway as the same eagle scratch filled his ears again. Even with his eyes clenched shut he could see the brilliant flash as if he were looking at the sun with his hand across his face. His bones stood out, silhouetted on his palm against the intensity of it.

He rolled frantically, trying to get out from beneath the pinning weight, and swung blindly with his blade. A clenched fist clocked across his jaw brought him back to his senses. The burly lion of their team was hauling him back upright before he knew what was going on. The other two lithes, a panther and a snow leopard were taking turns ducking out of the doorway, plinking arrows back down the corridor towards their attackers.

A yelp of pain told him at least one of their shots had found its mark.

"The other one is running, quick! After them!"

They charged headlong down the empty corridor towards where their attackers had fled. They caught the injured one and quickly slit his throat before he could fight back, stuck trying to cycle his exotic weapon frantically.

"One!" laughed the panther, recovering his arrow from the dog's leg.

They pushed forwards again, and found the second round a corner, midway through fussing over his own arcane weapon. Seeing them, the hound tossed it aside and drew his sword. An arrow between the eyes dropped him like a stone.

"Two!" called the panther again, stepping on the dog's throat to rip the arrow free. He brushed the tip across his cheek to mark the kill.

"There will be plenty more where they came from... What do you have there De?" The lion asked. De was busy inspecting the strange weapon. He turned it over in his paws, feeling it our through the ergonomics alone. It fit neatly in his paws, the supple curves and dips guiding his paws to the correct positions as if caressing a lover.

"Some sort of shot projector like Da' used to talk about in the old wars, but... Not?" He commented curiously, and after a brief look over the canine's possessions, found a small pouch of faintly glowing stones. He poured one into his hand and watched with fascination as its glow became brighter upon contact with his palm.

To say it seemed a more than an odd choice of weapon was an understatement. Black powder shot projectors had been a novel, but doomed endeavour from the start. Prohibitively expensive to make, and outright dangerous to wielder and foe both, the technology had never taken off. A skilled archer could outshoot a shot projector over long and medium ranges time and time again, and crossbows had been the nail in the coffin for being just as powerful and quicker to reload in a genuine fight.

To see something like this felt like a piece of history, and yet, it was clearly of recent construction.

Very recent, if the draconic maker's marks in the barrel were anything to go by. How the canines had acquired such a weapon was a mystery. Direct trade with the dragon's had been restricted very early into the war. And yet, the evidence was staring him plainly in the face. No doubt they would encounter more such odd weapons soon enough.

"Curious, but how does it work?"

"I have no idea." Commented Debastian, looking for a suitable slot to load the odd ammunition. The canine had carried no flask of powder or its like on his belt. He found the mechanism easily enough, pulling back a stiff bolt that was caked with carbon buildup, like the edges of a smith's crucible. He wiped some of the soot away and turned out one of the stones onto the floor from the breach, letting the pebble clatter across the flagstones. Its glow was entirely gone, whatever energy it held since burned out entirely, leaving it warm, but inert, as dead as cold steel.

A fresh one went in and he snapped it closed again. The opportunity to use his new acquisition came quickly as a shout of alarm announced that they had been discovered again, a group of spear-wielding canines appearing from a doorway down the corridor.

Shouldering it instinctively, he sighted down the length of the wide barrel, and figuring it to be much the same as a crossbow, let his paw grip around the trigger. When the canine's charging them realized what one of the felines was holding, they faltered and made to scatter, and found themselves hemmed in by the narrow width of the passage. Clearly, they were familiar with its workings and terrified at finding themselves on the wrong end of one.

The flash of the beam that spat from the barrel's end nearly blinded De, accompanied once more by the eagle's screech as it discharged whatever arcane power gave it life. When the searing afterimage it left upon his retina faded, and he saw the destruction he had wrought, well...

Such weapons could turn the tide of this war... Or lead to the destruction of them all. His mouth hung agape, breathless, as did the rest of their teams.

"Great fucking Godsblood above and below De!" The lion finally broke the silence with a shocked gasp, advancing forwards to kick at one of the charred and bisected bodies in the narrow corridor.

The wounds on the soldiers were clean as if they had been cut apart like a fish at market. Almost horrifyingly though, where the missing portions of them had gone was only evidenced by the fine black ash that fluttered to the floor, settling in a layer atop the spills of blood on the flagstone. De' heard one of his party dry heave a few times as they approached, retching at the sight of the carnage.

Debastian Silverpaw clenched his teeth, growling. The spent pebble clattered to the floor as he loaded a new glowing stone into the arcane rifle's breach.

"They would use these things without hesitation against us. It is only fitting we turn their own weapons back on them." He spoke with steely resolve if perhaps flawed reasoning."We came here to strike back. If this is what form it takes, then so be it. Better them than us."

There was a muted chorus of agreements. Such chains of thought, tit for tat, an eye for an eye... there were sayings and stories that could have countered it. But in the midst of a battle was not the place for such things. Such cries of objection would come far, far later, but the consequences exactly of their little raid would not be known to them for a long time.

They were here to cause havoc, and in that, they succeeded absolutely.

Sixteen streaks of red adorned De's face by the time the remaining raiders reunited with chief Styker's own force.

By now, the large bell located in the main keep was tolling mournfully. Loud, booming rings that brought the defenders to full alert carried through the ancient stone corridors. Many of their original number had fallen, but for each raider that had been slain, they had carved their toll in canine lives tenfold. It was the kind of combat action that would live on in song and story for years later.

Fighting a bloody retreat, they were slowly being boxed into the main tower itself. A solitary Airship docked at the upper levels had proved to be their salvation, and miraculously, none of the canine's shots had managed to graze the inflated balloon that carried them aloft on the breeze.

Minutes after their departure, the entire hillside rocked as explosions tore great chunks of the fortress asunder, heaving house-sized portions of masonry and stonework into the abyss of the mountain, booming like thunderclaps against the granite cliffs. A mighty cheer rose from the stolen airship's occupants.

Adding insult to injury was the fact it had been the canines' own powder stores that the raiders had stumbled upon purely by chance that sealed the mortal blow. Thunderclaps echoed as secondary explosions tore along the foundation levels of the castle, deep into the once sturdy hillside as they opened old cracks and fissures in the granite rockface.

From their vantage, the handful of survivors watched on in awe and wonder. A heavy paw clapped Debastian on the shoulder, the great, almost mythic figure of Chief Styker stepping into his peripheral vision.

"We've done well this day, brothers and sisters. But they've not seen the last of us, nor will they forget this blow we've dealt to their heartland any time soon. The canine coalition will think twice before deciding they're safe from our vengeance again. They want to make my daughter dance their conquest? I'll see them paying for every second of her captivity tenfold."

In his hand was grasped a thick, leather-bound ledger he had retrieved during his own raiding on the upper floors, where the dogs' nobility stayed. De' recognized the runes that stuck out beneath Chief Stryker's massive paw. It was a business log. A slave log.

Well, looking back at the smoke billowing fortress, De' doubted how many canine nobles were left in there now. Half of the tower was crumbling down the hillside even as he watched. Moments later, an entire side of the hill simply lurched out from beneath the base of the castle and fully dragged half of the structures built upon into down as well, tumbling in a rockslide that would have been deafening any closer.

It rumbled like a thunderstorm, disgorging flaming debris and clouds of dust until finally, it disappeared beneath the cloud until only a faint orange glow and plume of smoke were visible. From far below, there came a mighty crash that would be heard for miles around.

"This is but a single blow in our war, but it is a significant one... Turn us for home. This fight is far from over."