Nomen Regis

     “Eheu! Rex morte est. Inquam, O Mercuri. Astra declive!” Celatrix Verna’s voice trembled, building as she timed her ‘declive’ to coincide with the chanters’. Holding her hands to either side of the podium, she raised them with the palms directed at Kaiser Rudolpho Imler’s wounded face as he lay in his lidless coffin. While slowly turning her upper body toward Archel, Celatrix Verna continued, “Ecce! Rex nasci est. Inquam, O Iphigenia. Sol oriens!” Her impeccable timing once again apparent as her words blended into the chanted ‘Sol oriens!’

     From the front row, Colonel Thompson and General Michaels bowed their heads, listening to the foreign words. Michaels leaned over and whispered, “you know what she’s talking about?”

Media Nocte

     “Oh, sweet Mercury! What did you put in it, piss?” Brimley complained.

     “Yes. That’s the secret to warming it up. I piss in it,” Santos retorted.

     “Oh, now I don’t want it,” Brimley held the coffee cup away from her while looking for a place to put it down.

     “Here. Let me,” Santos offered.

     She mock handed him the cup, which he genuinely took, eliciting her to whine, “hey, give that back.”

     In the living room, Cassie whispered, “it doesn’t make sense,” to Archel who kept one enormous eagle eye on the bickering soldiers. “Do people never grow up?”

     “Chess,” Archel murmured. In stifling a yawn, all the feathers on his head and neck went ridged. “Game,” he exhaled. “Ooh,” he moaned, “I dreamed I was…” His beak fell and his lion’s shoulders slumped.

Magni Periculi

     The headquarters of Mercury’s Elite Guards, a nondescript government building created to blend into the neighborhood of government buildings, was a fortified monstrosity with two underground passages leading to opposite sides of the Templus de Ambros. The idea being that should an emergency occur, the Kaiser and his Mercs would have direct access to an adequate evacuation route regardless of where in the Templus they were at the time of need. In practice, the passages were used to move essential personnel to and from the temple compound without drawing the attention of tourists waiting in line for the official tour. From the end of the well lit block, where Balin and Kent stood, only two things indicated that the building was anything other than part of the bureaucracy. First, a giant brightly lit sign announced: Mercury’s Elite Guard Head Quarters. And, second, a series of lights shined on limply hanging, soaked flags, banners, and pennants, which didn’t have the gumption to snap in the budding thunderstorm. Though Balin tried encouraging Kent to continue on, the young man defiantly stood his ground, enduring the drizzle while gaping at the colorful spectacle that completely wasted the architect’s efforts at designing a group of nondescript public buildings.
     “I seen a place just like this on the Strip,” Kent said nostalgically. “This one ain’t got a flashing sign pointing to parking in the rear or giant windows filled with fools and slots.”

Auxilio Egent

     The quaint groundskeeper’s cottage that had felt too large after Janice’s death was now stifling hot and much too small for Patrick Field’s liking. As a simple man who’d never longed for intrigue or life in politics, Patrick couldn’t believe that his young friend, Archel, the servant boy, was really a griffin, much less the new king. How in Mercury’s name did I get mixed up in this? Patrick wondered while staring at the trio blocking his doorway. Yesterday, the boy helped me bury Meranti in that open grave back of Sentinel. Today, I’m acting guardian and the boy’s my king. Oh, Janice. Would that you could tell me…what should I do? He sighed to himself and sat heavily into his recliner.

     “My help?” Santos asked in confusion.

     Archel answered, “the Kaiser trusted you. It’s a chance I gotta take, too.”

     “But…it’s true. You’re a griffin.”

Potiri Rerum

     The ensign panted while standing before 1^st Lieutenant Santos. His curly red hair danced in the light breeze as he caught his breath, one hand in the air giving that universal wait sign. Santos impatiently tapped his foot, staring at the ensign.

     “Com-mander Fe-elis,” the ensign gasped.

     “Just breathe,” Santos ordered.

     Nodding, the soldier took a deep breath, “sorry, sir. I ran.” After another deep breath, he said, “Commander Felis is on the way. Has an investigation team. He’s pissed.”

Ea Condicione

     Jougs and Vorant timed the first smoke bomb for a few seconds after the first explosion blew up the shed in the backyard of the light blue one story house where they’d taken refuge. With the shed in flames and excess smoke billowing, they were certain the stalker bird would fly to the back. Any nosy neighbors would be sure to run to the side of the house to get a better look. The second explosion and smoke bomb would require precision timing and the perfect targets. Jougs carefully slid open the living room window overlooking the side of the house where the backyard gate stood slightly ajar. From the window he could see the edge of the flaming shed as well as any neighbors daring enough to investigate. Vorant knelt near the front door where he watched the street through the hole in the pane he’d broken earlier. The two men breathed easily, while they confidently waited.        

Ne Omittamus

In order to watch each other’s backs, Locos and Machine sat on opposite sides of the small aluminum table in the middle of the main room of the bunker. No familial decorations adorned the gun metal grey walls. Behind Machine was a double bunk bed with each bunk attached by thick hinges riveted into the wall; the opposite ends were secured in place by two steel chains looped onto giant welded hooks that jutted out of the ceiling. The bunks were apparently made to rest flush against the wall when not in use. If the top bunk was put up, the bottom could be used as a couch or daybed.

     Every time Carmel reached across the table, Machine caught delicious whiffs of her light vanilla perfume as it mingled with the buttered honey nut bread. He watched Praline sashay around the kitchenette behind Locos. Out of one of the cabinets, she took mugs into which she poured shots of spiced rum while waiting for the coffee to percolate.

Re Vera

Standing at the edge of the grove surrounding the Heart of the Seven Faeries were a handful of Mercs summoned there after Patrick Field had rushed the Phoenix Rose. Private Mack’s incapacitation by the cries of the Phoenix kept Field alive long enough for the groundskeeper to report everything he’d seen to Santos, who didn’t want to believe it but was duty bound to investigate. As such, Santos had run at top speed to the barracks north of the Heart where he grabbed the first men he saw, all Mercury’s Elite. The Regular Militia had been dispatched after the attack to protect Avalona and to maintain the borderlands.

     Santos stared at the seven bronze faerie statues forever dancing a circle around the fountain. Their right hands held up a giant carnelian stone shaped like a heart—not a cutesy Cupid heart, rather an actual bivalve human heart—and their left hands all held ancient bladed weapons: a cutler, an ensis, a ferrum, a gladius, a mucro, a pugio, and a sica. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, at first. Motioning to two of the Mercs nearest him, they cautiously approached the sacred fountain. The men circled it, looking every which way yet seeing nothing. Santos was about ready to call the effort off, when one of the Mercs stopped, tilted his head, and raised an eyebrow.

Caput Mortuum

     “ARHHH!” Cassie screamed until her throat ached. In a bright green flash she was whisked out of the Heart of the Seven Faeries. She wobbled when she landed in front of Archel who was transforming in Patrick Field’s living room.

     “WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME?” Archel bellowed. Tears streamed down the boy’s feathery cheeks. Blonde fur rose from his pores. Scrawny pubescent muscles filled out, elongated, and bent in abnormal directions. Archel bucked as a python tail ripped out of his lower back. He fell onto four paws, stared at the ground a moment, and then let out a terrifying eagle’s screech.

     The groundskeeper, Patrick Field, stood in the doorway between his living room and kitchen. His bottom jaw hung open, his eyes were wide, and arms had gone limp. Although he had managed to maintain his grip on the two lunch plates he’d been carrying, the sandwiches and granola lay in heaps on the floor beside him. A small part of him wanted to back out of the doorway, to pretend he’d never seen the girl appear and the boy change. The rest of him was frozen in place gawking.

     “A—a—” Patrick stammered, lifted one plated hand and pointed it at Archel, “a griffin.”

Cadit Quaesito

The Bard’s Quarters, located in the west wing of the Templus de Ambros, were the furthest quarters from the kitchens and closest to the Forum Publicos in Ambrosia. During the daytime, the sounds of citizens and street vendors haggling in the Forum echoed off the walls, whereas night brought forth catcalls and drunks from the nearby bars. For Fintan, the noise was a reassurance that all was well in Ambrosia. He hoped that Kent would acclimate, after all, the young man was the next bard and one day these quarters and a couple others spread across the kingdom would belong to him.

     When the two falcons, Fulco and Aeolus, brought Kent through Sentinel Cemetery beyond the Pissing Puppy Statue and into the Forum Publicos, Fintan was ecstatic. That excitement faded the moment Kent saw Fintan and let loose a string of curses that would have shamed the heartiest of sailors. Fintan had kept his temper in check, saying nothing while attempting to remember how he’d felt when his father had forced the bardship upon him. The rest of the night had passed slowly as Kent refused to hear anything Fintan said. The elder bard had hoped that sleeping in and brunch would change Kent’s mind, but that had been wishful thinking. Mid-morning they had walked in silence through the Gryphon Gardens, near but not close to the armed guard pacing in front of the Phoenix Rose, to the kitchens. While the bards were eating breakfast, the two falcons took the opportunity to fly through the gardens.

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.

Retegit Draco

     Every citizen within ear shot of the Templus Bells gathered south of the Heart of the Seven Faeries in the Ambrosian Fields, a 2000 year old amphitheater usually used for sports and plays. Chief Justice Adonis stood center stage, twitching nervously, in his grape and gold priest garb. Royal procedure dictated that the Kaiser announce the attack and the necessity for war preparations. However, the Kaiser was missing and in his absence the Antigone Courts had unanimously decided that the responsibility rested on Adonis’ shoulders. 

     “People. People,” Adonis said as he raised his hands and patted downward in that universal ‘sit down and shut up’ gesture. “Quiet, if you’ll hear my words...”

Casus Belli

The war cry of the Phoenix Rose sounded through the ancient passageways of the Templus de Ambros. In surprise, Kaiser Rudolpho Imler stood up from his giant office chair. As per the regular maintenance of the Kingdom of Poterit Don, Imler had been going over public project reports with his Public Works advisor, Craig Archer. The two men stared at each other, neither quite knowing what to make of the noise. In Kaiser Imler’s many years of living in the Templus de Ambros, he’d heard the war cry only once when he was eight years old. The hair on the nape of his neck rose as he rushed to the window to look into the Gryphon Gardens. Craig Archer dropped decorum and stood on Imler’s right, also staring out the window. Through the dark, they saw the Phoenix above the Rose screaming as she flew in fiery figure eights.

     “What’s she doing?” Archer asked.

     “Calling us to war,” Imler said while still staring at the pissed off Phoenix.

Arcana Imperii

     Hand-carved obsidian and ivory chess pieces battled across solid silver and gold fields on a board detailed with blazing phoenixes. The intricate board held plenty of fascination for young Archel, who gawked over it hungrily. However, Archel’s true interest lay in understanding the movements of each magnificent piece.

     “Wait. Why did you do that? I thought that prawns could only move forward or take diagonally,” Archel said.

     “En passé,” Fintan answered.

     “An pass, say what?” Archel asked.

     “‘En passant’ is the name of the move,” the Kaiser corrected.

     “Potatoes,” the old bard replied.

     “Fintan. I had the impression you were teaching the boy.”

Memoria Tenere

     “Archel!” bellowed Fraunx Adonis, “Archel, where in all of Iphi are you? Get in here. Now!”

     “Coming!” Archel shouted back.

     Standing with hands on his hips, impatiently tapping his right toe, Adonis stood in his foyer staring at the empty space above the fireplace. The boy slid through the oak doors. “About time. I told you last week I wanted that painting in here. Why isn’t it here? I’m here. It’s not. Explain.”

     Archel slapped his head, “oh, I forgot.”

Author's Note

Blink.
In that split second of darkness nothing changed.
Blink.
A billion seconds equals 31.69 years. I'm 35. I'm over a billion seconds old. Great. Now, I feel old.
Blink.