“The militia system is vital to ensuring the security of the Carfani against the Tyrants that surround us, whether the tyranny of the Woose and Wyverns who occupy land they do not use, the tyranny of the Commonwealth who keeps us under their or and the Teresians who wish to free us from the Commonwealth yoke and replace it with their own. Only the right of every free man, woman and child to train and organize under arms can avert this.”

Mato Calwere, “First Blast of the Trumpet against the Monstrous Regiment of Tyrants”

Hans Draiger, 10 October 1582 AAA. Foothold.

They came staggering back into Foothold on horseback, barely staying on the saddle, half from exhaustion and half from being barely competent riders. It was dark out, with only the occasional candle shining from a window lighting the darkness. Mud squelched under their horses hooves. They weren’t riding horses; they were coach horses, with tack and saddles looted from the dead assassins.

“Finally” Uln said besides him. Her head was wrapped in linen to protect the healing wound, and her blue eyes were constantly flicking about, looking for any sign of ambush.

“We find Lorne first. Tell him what happened. Then we work out how we deal with Traharn.”

“Wyverns. Lots of wyverns.” Uln said.

“That’s one way.” Hans said.

It took half an hour for them to find Eidre’s manor house, leading the horses through deserted country lanes fringed by hedges and stone walls. The only human souls about where sleeping, but animal souls were everywhere, and the wyverns would be travelling at night to avoid notice.

They’d been avoiding settlements; a heavily armed, wounded Woose and witch travelling tended to attract unwanted questions.

They passed by their little hut in silence, on the outskirts of Eidre’s land. He wanted to check on the damage, to see if they’d been stolen from. There wasn’t much of value besides cheap furniture, some clothes and stashed money and the guns they hadn’t taken north, but the idea that his home and possessions might have been destroyed while they weren’t looking rankled. They’d been based in Foothold for over a decade now. It was as close to a home as he’d ever had.

Then again, they’d been nearly killed in that home.

Hans lit a lantern as they walked up to the gate, checking the iron scrollwork over the wood. It had the familiar pattern, a curling mass of leaves with a spread-winged wyvern at the center. He pushed against it and was greeted with only rattling. It had been barred. A single human soul moved in the courtyard.

Hans knocked the butt of his rifle against the door twice.

“Let us in! We need to see Lorne!” Hans yelled.

He faintly heard the patter of feet against wet grass, and his third eye saw the soul moving towards the wall. Something creaked. A flintlock being readied.

“It’s Hans Draiger! Eidre was attacked on the road!”

If making things sound more desperate than they were was necessary to avoid being shot, so be it.

Hans heard the slam of the bolt being thrown open.

Lantern light flickered under the gate, and a shadow moved.

He pushed at the gate, the hinges groaning, and walked into Eidre’s gardens, slinging his rifle.

The servant was backing away from them, his lined face lit up the lantern he was awkwardly holding with his musket.

“Is Eidre hurt? How far is she? Are the attackers at large?”

“We killed them all. The attackers.” Uln said. “Eidre and Aled were heading to Kasilisk for help when we saw them last.”

“They’re both wounded. She sent us to warn Lorne.” Hans added.

The servant swore under his breath. “Get your horses stabled. I’ll fetch Lorne.”

He hurried off, towards the manor proper.

They led the horses in and pushed the gate shut, then tethered them by the stables.

Lorne emerged minutes later in a hastily thrown on coat, visibly shivering from the cold. “What happened? Is Eidre hurt? Is Aled? Who did it?”

His face was a picture of concern and confusion.

“They shot Aled in the shoulder with a bow and Eidre was hit by splinters. They’re safe now. They murdered Hollin and Marwin too. The wyverns saved us.”

“Who did it?” Lorne asked. “Who did it?”

Hans pulled out an arrow from his pack and unwrapped it.

“Their leader was sure as hell not from around here. He used these.” Hans said, passing the arrow to Lorne. It was identical to the ones used on the wyverns.

“Mary-Isis.” Lorne said, his face going pale.

“Tell me everything.”

It was four in the morning by the time they were finished bringing Lorne up to speed on what had happened, and was Hans felt ready to collapse from exhaustion. They’d been up all night and the day before, aiming to time things so that they could arrive in Foothold at night. Just getting shot in the face by Connor as soon as they returned was not desirable. Lorne’s face flashed between anger, relief and disbelief.

“I’ll have their heads.” Lorne finally said, his face buried in his hands. Sweat shone on his balding head in the candlelight. “I’ll have their heads.”

“Glaive wants them mummified. I want them scalped. I’m guessing you want them hung.” Uln said.

“I don’t even know Traharn looks like.” Hans said.

“I do.” Lorne said. “I’ll lead the militia against him.”

“That’ll give him warning-“ Hans began.

Lorne stood up, pacing.

“Just twenty or thirty fighters, household men, people who were at Halidon’s Hill with me. People I can trust.”

“And then?”

“Arrest him. Drag him back here. Put him on trial. String him up for five counts murder.” Lorne said.

His voice was steel. Hard but brittle.

“We’ll have the wyverns support in this.” Hans said.

Lorne shook his head. “Too much risk. Enough people have died already.”

“Then you’re going to have to explain to them why they can’t come.”

The wyverns, all seven of them, had landed in a patch of forest near Eidre’s lands that night, just like they’d planned. They came to them at midday with Lorne in tow. Hans had snatched a few hours sleep, only waking at eleven in the morning. He’d had to shake Uln awake.

He saw the sentry first, her soul about 150 yards away. She must have heard them first, because she was moving quickly away from them. The brush was thick, and more than once he had to use his hatchet to clear obstacles out of the way. Most of the rest of the wyverns came into view soon after, five of them including Glaive.

“It’s Hans!” he called, before they got the wrong idea and took off or tried to ambush them.

By the time he reached them, the wyverns were gathered up on the far side of the clearing, another sentry who had been put out to the west stalking back in as they arrived.

“Who is the third one?” Glaive asked, stepping forwards of the main group. They still looked wary, half hunched over as if to pounce or take off at the slightest provocation.

She had glossy yellow and red paint on her back, marking her as skein leader, and she was fully armed with warspurs on her feet and a dive lance staked into the ground behind her.

“Lorne O Mathuna. Eidre’s husband.” Uln said.

“Indeed.” Lorne said, stepping up to Glaive. He was clearly nervous. Most people were, when dealing with talking dragons. “And your name?”

Glaive said something unpronounceable, followed by “or Glaive.”

“We need to talk about Traharn Hast.” Lorne said.

Glaive clicked. “Where is he?”

“That’s the problem. He has a manor house in Farrier’s Hill, and we know he’s fled Trackford, but we don’t know where he is. I know what your people can do, I don’t want you turned loose on Farrier’s hill-“

“He ordered the killing of three of my comrades in arms. He tried to have your wife and son killed.” Glaive said. “He’s being mummified.”

“The townsfolk and his servants have nothing to do this. You don’t recognize him either. We have to go in on foot if we want to be sure.” Lorne said.

“Why I do care? At least it might get the Commonwealth to honour their side of the treaties and push back the squatters-“

“You’re willing to burn dozens of civilians to get vengeance for the deaths of three warriors?” Lorne asked, tensing.

If the wyverns decided to go off on their own rather than honouring their side of the deal, there was nothing much he could do.

“They were murdered on the ground after being lured down, not killed in the air. There’s nothing as treacherous as that.” Glaive said.

“Then we’ll bring him to you for execution, once he’s prisoner and been tried.”

“He kills wyverns, then wyvern justice.“ Glaive said.

“You’ll get your justice, but this is something for hands, not wings.” Hans said. That was an old Woose saying; wyverns often called in favours with Woose clans when they needed something that required manual dexterity done.

“He had his man try to murder my wife and son, don’t you forget. I have as much need for vengeance as you.” Lorne said.

Glaive clicked. “We want him, or at least his body. To mummify. That is not negotiable.”

“Don’t worry, we’re going to kill the fucker. We just want it done clean and quiet. The body will be brought back here.” Uln said.

“We’ll follow you, at night. To make sure it’s done properly.” Glaive answered.

The wyverns have all the cards here.

“Fine.” Lorne said. “But if you attack any innocents, I’ll have my men… you understand. You’d do the same if the Commonwealth was bombing West Point to kill one guilty wyvern, yes?”

Glaive clicked in what Hans suspected was annoyance.

“Yes.”

*

Lorne had picked twenty militia-thirteen men and seven women- for the arrest, all mounted, besides himself, Hans and Uln. Like any self respecting frontier militia, they were armed with a motley assortment of equipment- homemade padded jacks, one with a century old mail shirt, pistols captured off the Teresians at Halidon’s hill, rapiers and hangers and hatchets on their belts, elegant long rifles and double-barrel fowlers alongside battered old muskets and a few longbows and hunting spears in their hands.

Lorne had left out the wyvern connection when he was recruiting them; simply explaining that men connected to Traharn had attacked their landlady and that an armed citizen’s arrest was necessary. They’d kept it quiet; no need to risk Traharn finding out what they were planning.

He could feel the eyes of the men on his back as they rode. Last night, as they’d camped outside Avontown, he’d heard them muttering about why they’d brought Uln.

“I get why Lorne wanted a witch for this, but why a bloody Wolzie?”

“They got Eidre mixed up in this. Remember that town hall, and then her dragging us out to fend off that mob?”

“I like humans and woose mixing as much as you, but trying to set a mob on them was too far. Eidre made the right decision.”

They were fighting to retaliate against the attack on Eidre, not justice for the dead wyverns. That was only him and Uln and perhaps Lorne.

Farrier’s Hill was three days ride from Foothold. The worst of the spring mud was drying up, leaving the roads clear for them to ride across. They didn’t bed down in inns, instead camping in the patches of woodland that hadn’t been turned to farmland in the interior. The less drunken boasting, the less chances for Traharn to find out they were coming for him.

Anyone who asked was Lorne was doing with such a force was told they were tracking an outlaw who’d tried to kill one of their wives. The best lies were true.

“That’s Farrier’s Hill” Lorne said as they came over yet another crest. He pointed at a rise, about a mile distant. It was topped by a small building, and what looked like haystacks until one of them moved.

Reapers.

“They named it after a hill, then they don’t stick anything but a bloody farmhouse on the hill?” Hans asked.

Lorne shrugged. “The town is on the other side. I think Traharn’s household is further out.”

“We should send someone in to scout.” Uln said.

“I’ll do it.” Lorne answered.

“Might Traharn recognize you?” Hans asked.

“He’s a lot more memorable than I am.”

“Probably less than me, though.” Uln said. Woose this far from the frontier weren’t common.

Hans laughed. “Aye, you’re right.” He said, nodding at Lorne.

“I should be back by dawn. Have a poke around, get a bed at the inn so it doesn’t look too suspicious.”