Me Piget

     “You are late,” the Inquisitor said without looking up from the solid oak desk in the warehouse manager’s office. He flipped a paper over, before entwining his fingers, and resting his forearms on the edge of the desk. Slowly, he turned his attention to the two men, “explain.”

     The duumviri hazarded a glance at each other, silently deciding on who would respond. Jougs answered, “we met trouble.”

     “Took care of it,” Vorant added.

     The Inquisitor waited, calm brown eyes boring into them.

     “We were followed…” Jougs hesitated, “by a bird and some Mercs.”

     “Got away, though, didn’t we?”

     “How?”

     “Firebombs and a smokescreen,” Jougs said.

Omnium Opinionem

     “Can I help you?” Colonel Dagon asked in confusion. “How?”

     Leaning close to the colonel, Cassie whispered, “we’ve never done this before.”

     Perplexed, the colonel’s eyes darted back and forth from the young griffin king to the adolescent messenger. After thirty seconds, he sighed, “I see!” Nodding, he contemplated the best way to break the news to them, he finally said, “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. My liege, how old are you?”

     “Uh. I,” Kaiser Archel shrugged his furry golden shoulders and ruffled the eagle’s feathers of his neck, “thirteen. I think.” His irritated python tail twitched. “Why?”

     “Law, my liege,” Dagon answered.

     “Law?” Cassie asked.

     Turning to Archel, Dagon said, “you’ve got two years to learn.”

     “Learn what?” Archel asked.

     “How to rule your kingdom,” Dagon responded with a bow.

Patris Interest

     “Did you hear that?” Balin asked, his face pasted to the passenger window.

     “For the last two hours I’ve heard nothing but the road and our rumbling stomachs,” Dagon answered, still staring at the lines on the blacktop in front of them. His ass and gas foot both ached. By his calculations, if he continued up GV-17 to the Templus Center exit, they’d make Merc Head Quarters within 10 minutes. Considering they’d be driving through downtown in the middle of dinner, Dagon was fairly certain they wouldn’t meet with heavy traffic.

     “There,” Balin jabbed a finger at his window, nearly shouting, “smoke.”

Amicis Confido

     Placing the microphone back in its holder, Santos sat back in the driver’s seat of Colonel Dagon’s Iago Comet. He stared into the empty parking lot as he exhaled and wondered, who the hell comes up with these lame ass codes? Crowing cocks…there’s a completely inappropriate dick joke just waiting. I can’t believe he’s really dead. Okay…Okay. The Colonel is on the way. The Kaiser—um, the Kaiser’s body—and the Rose are under guard. I’ve got two teams following the Bards to where ever their birds lead. Oh, for Mercury’s sake! I owe that damn child an apology. But, it’s not like I knew he was the next bard. They could have told me. There was plenty of time during the ride up. This. This is why I hate cemeteries. I should increase the guards on the Rose and the Kaiser. The boy. I’ve got to get protection to the boy. I’ll believe that boy’s a griffin when I see it. This is too much. We’ve gotta get a team in to collect the evidence. I need to send someone to HQ to lead the Colonel down here. Do I move the body? The body. The body. Santos slammed both fists into the center of the steering

Manus Revinctus

Not only had Goldie lost her town and had her bar turned into recovery operation headquarters, but now she was being forced to cater to the Justices of the Antigone Courts. If this hadn’t happened because of mass destruction, she would have forced them to take a group picture to add to her wall. Most of the pictures were of locals, taken during town celebrations. A few, Goldie’s favorites, were prominently displayed behind the bar, over the rows of alcohol. These celebrity photos included sports heroes, authors, and one of her with Fintan the Bard. She, like most of the women her age, had once pined for the young one-eyed rascal. It wasn’t his way with words, oh, no. As an adventurer, he’d seen and done things. His worldly manner was majorly attractive. Goldie stared at the picture, fondly thinking of better days. Captain Prescott pulled her from her reverie.

Plus Auctoritatis

     Goldie’s Revenge, the last standing tavern in Avalona, had officially seen more people come through its swinging doors in the last two hours than in the six years since opening. Goldie, the owner—a middle-aged divorcee who had used monies received in the divorce settlement to open the bar her ex-husband had always dreamed of—stood at the main bar chatting with a Regular Militia captain that arrived with a retinue carrying the General of the Plains Region. Goldie watched General Willard Isaac Tomlyn as he directed soldiers with the calm certainty of one accustomed to giving orders. On occasion he would indicate action using only his head, pointing his dimpled chin in one direction or the other, and observing with detachment as soldiers about-faced and strode off intent on fulfilling his commands.

Ex Curia

     Kaiser Rudolph Imler sat in the passenger seat of Colonel Dagon’s Iago Comet while 1^st Lieutenant Santos drove. The three youths – Archel, Cassie, and Kent – were seated in the bed of the truck with their backs to the toolbox. Santos took the direct route on Gryphus Via 17 (GV17) which connected Markt, Morley, Avalona, and a series of tiny villages to the City of Ambrosia. Two hours after leaving Avalona, at the Kaiser’s behest, Santos pulled off GV17 onto Faith Gryphus Lane, where he took a series of small side streets that ran close to the Templus de Ambros. When they reached Sentinel Cemetery which abutted the southern wall of the temple compound, Santos was instructed to park.

     “Sir, I understand the cloak and dagger stuff. But, I don’t understand why we’re parking here,” Santos said. What he left unsaid was that graveyards creeped him out.

     “Lieutenant, have patience,” Kaiser Imler replied.

De Jure

Avalona’s tavern, Goldie’s Revenge, was one of the few buildings that had remained unscathed by the attack, it was saved by its location on the far west side of town. Colonel Gawain Dagon sat on a tall stool at the main bar. Four sheets of paper were laid out before him, each held down by empty shot glasses. By the time Dagon arrived, the Regular Militia had already surveyed the damage; in the process, they found and treated three severely wounded but still living villagers. Emergency crews from the city of Ambros put out some of the fires, cordoned off dangerous piles of rubble, and continued the search for Avalona’s 1,000, or so, missing villagers. Dagon angrily stared at the four sheets of paper, under the bar, his hands clenched and unclenched quickly. His fists matched the rhythm of his grinding teeth. The tendons in his neck stuck out an inch. A vein pulsed on his right temple while his carotid artery echoed its beat. Three of the papers were taken by Militia Medics describing where the survivors were found and each was accompanied by testimony from the survivors. The fourth paper was found by the first team to arrive on scene; it was recovered from an abandoned makeshift camp located just outside of Avalona. The plan detailed the destruction of Avalona, Markt, and Morley, with an eventual inward push towards Ecirava. If those four towns were destroyed, the citizens of Ambros would be pinched between North Iphigenia and hostile forces in the southeast. They’d be able to call on some of the southwestern towns like Dervishaw, Hank’s Grove, and Baroport, but even with the quickness of the Bell system, troops would arrive late. Likely, too late. The Kaiser had to be notified. If only they could find him.