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When Avogadro was informed that Volcan had awoken, he was all too eager to run back to the castle with Emrys. The young phoenix guided him to the healer's quarters of the castle, and the prince of Avolon, brimming with relief, crossed the room and wrapped Volcan in a tight hug.

"Thank goodness," he whispered.

Volcan sat frozen as the prince embraced him, unsure how to respond to such a display of affection from him. After a moment, Avogadro pulled back, and his joyful smile vanished as he realized what he had just done; he coughed and stepped back from Volcan, shifting uneasily.

"Sorry," he said, "I... Suppose I became a little carried away there."

"It's fine," assured Volcan.

Avogadro looked at him again, his smile returning as he spoke, "I am glad to see that you're all right," he said.

Volcan nodded to Avogadro, matching his smile with one of his own, but one of gratitude. "Only because of you, Prince Avogadro," he said, "I'd likely have died where I fell if you had not gone to my people for help."

"It was all I could think of," the raven returned, his smile faltering, "With Avolon under attack, I knew nowhere else that I could find someone who might be able to save you." He turned to look at the phoenix who had arrived with him. "Fortunately, this kind gentleman was the first one to greet me and hear me out."

"Hello, cousin," the other phoenix bade, stepping forward and offering Volcan his hand. "My name is Emrys, youngest son of the Patriarch." His voice was thick with the accent of the MacAingeal's native dialect, but his grasp of common was surprisingly articulate.

"Volcan," the phoenix replied, reaching out and grasping Emrys' forearm firmly. "Pleased to meet you."

"As well for you," Emrys replied. "You had us all worried for a time."

"Truly I thought I was dead before I awoke here," the younger phoenix admitted. "I was told I was comatose for six full days?"

"Yes," replied Avogadro. "And we are now onto the seventh. You seem well now, at least, if not completely recovered."

"How did I not perish?" Volcan asked. "Over that time, I should have starved to death..."

"We've been sustaining you with elemental power from willing donors," replied Emrys. "I even contributed some of my own during one of those days."

Volcan recalled after his battle with the son of Njall during the Ragnarosian invasion of Avolon. His uncle had healed him by channelling some of his elemental power into Volcan to accelerate his recovery. With that understanding, he gave Emrys a nod.

He was still weak, he had to admit to himself. His body was still ragged from his battle with Asya. The very thought of the wolfess brought him back to the contest between them, of their sword duel - where it seemed like Volcan had the advantage despite her greater finesse and experience. But she recovered from a mortal wound that would have slain anyone else, and upon transforming into her bestial Lycan form, Volcan had not had a chance, her strength superior even to his and her savagery as wild as her appearance.

"What have you been doing all this time?" Volcan asked curiously, directing his question to Avogadro.

"Learning, mostly," replied the prince.

"Learning what?"

"About your clan, of course," the prince stated as if it should have been obvious, "Your customs and your culture, mostly. Truly, the historians of Avolon have many blanks to fill in our archives - which, I hope one day they will have the chance to do. What you lack in the technological advancements you compensate with your self-sufficiency. You forge your own tools, you master the art of combat, you honour ancestors both in your customs and in the carrying of their names and your faith is placed in what you can accomplish with your own hands."

He smiled. "Your people are truly fascinating, and not the least of which Lord MacAingeal himself is admirable, if... Brusque."

Volcan chuckled. "That much, my mother has mentioned about him."

"The prince has also been training with my sister and I," Emrys put in, "He has potential as a swordsman and a tactical mind."

Volcan looked at Avogadro, looking surprised. "You've been training to fight?"

"Don't act so surprised," Avogadro returned, crossing his arms, "If I am to reclaim my city, I can't do it if I cannot protect myself now, can I?"

"Fair enough," agreed Volcan, "But are you planning to be on the front lines?"

Avogadro shook his head. "I may be young, my friend, but I'm not a fool," he assured Volcan, "Frontline combat is where you belong. I wish only to be able to contribute, be it as a leader or to defend myself against would-be assailants. Besides, if I was on the front, the enemy would pick me out quite easily and I might well fall to a rifle shot."

Volcan nodded again. "I hope you have a plan then, for us to get back into the city or how we're going to fight."

Avogadro hesitated to offer an answer to the question, and that was enough to be an answer to Volcan. The phoenix let out a sigh and gently swung his legs over the side of the bed, attempting to stand up. Emrys came forward, at first seeming ready to stop Volcan from getting up, but when he saw his cousin managing on his on. Instead of stopping him, he helped him stand. Emrys placed his hand on Volcan's bare chest, and from his palm came a glow of red light. Volcan took in a breath and seemed to have an easier time standing, while Emrys withdrew his hand and let it fall to his side again.

"What was that?" Avogadro asked.

"I shared some of my elemental power with him," replied Emrys, "Just a little, but it seems to have helped."

"Fascinating..." The prince added, ever intrigued by the abilities of the phoenix-folk. This was his first time seeing the phoenixes sharing energy that way; he knew it was the reason for Volcan's rapid recovery, especially after his battle in the invasion of Ragnaross, but he'd never had the chance to witness how they did it.

"Thank you, cousin," said Volcan, nodding to Emrys.

"Let's walk around a little, let your legs work again," the older phoenix replied.

The two phoenixes paced around the room, with Volcan leaning on Emrys for support as they circled it. Avogadro stayed out of their way, watching as Volcan refamiliarized himself with the use of his legs. They had made five full circles when the door opened, and the massive form of Lord Boswell stepped inside.

"Ah, on his feet, is 'ee?" the clan patriarch asked.

"Yes, father," replied Emrys.

"Hello, uncle," said Volcan.

"How'd ye feel, m'boy?"

"Better," Volcan admitted, nodding, "Emrys gave me a little more energy before we started walking around."

Boswell nodded. "Let's 'ave a go in the corridor now," he suggested, taking Volcan by his other arm and leading him out, motioning for Avogadro to follow. The prince stood up from where he sat on the bed and accompanied the three phoenixes out of the room.

They toured the castle, walking down to the ground floor where they let Volcan walk on his own. Boswell shared more energy with the younger phoenix, and Volcan seemed to be moving by himself fairly well, albeit he seemed to be tiring quickly. They led the young phoenix back to his room again and left him to rest on his bed with Avogadro sitting at the foot.

"Well, they say you should only need a few more days," the raven said.

"Yes. I wish I could move sooner, but..." Volcan trailed off, sighing as he leaned against the wall beside his bed. He turned his head to look at Avogadro, "I am sorry that I have to make you wait for me."

"Don't be," the prince assured him, "It's enough knowing that you are willing to return to Avolon with me. Lord MacAingeal thought you might want to stay here."

Volcan shook his head. "That would be the safer option, wouldn't it?" He said, before adding, "But 'safe' is not exactly what being a soldier is about now is it?"

"I suppose not," agreed the prince, "And, likewise a temporary reprieve at best. I have little doubt that the Lycanthrians will set their sights upon the clan lands here long if they succeed in conquering Avolon."

Volcan nodded his agreement. "I am inclined to agree," he said. "Have you spoken to my uncle about that?"

"Not yet, no," Avogadro replied, shaking his head, "I wanted to wait until you were healed first before I attempted to speak to him about it."

Volcan tilted his head curiously. "Why?"

"It is my hope that maybe you and I can convince him together," Avogadro answered, "I feel, speaking as royalty, the other clan chiefs will not be eager to help us if we do not have his support. But we need the MacAingeal - they may be Avolon's best hope."

Volcan nodded in agreement. Having a column of MacAingeal warriors behind them would certainly tip the scales more in Avolon's favour, to have mighty phoenixes engaging the fearsome Lycans that spearheaded Lycanthria's invasion. Yet somehow Volcan knew in his heart that it would not be so easy to convince his uncle to send his people to war. Phoenixes had long lives, Volcan knew, and with long lives came long memories.

Memories, he thought, that his people had a tendency to look on frequently, particularly how many times Avolon had wronged them.

~~~~~

On the slopes of Mt. Avian, beyond the main body of the city of Avolon, Buniq trudged through the thicket supported on all fours. Her disproportionately long forelimbs pushed aside the bushes as she searched through the trees, smelling the air as she went. She had caught the scent only an hour ago and was now trying to follow it back to its source.

She rose onto her hind legs. At her height, she could easily reach the lowest branches of the surrounding trees. She looked around, breathing in again as she sought the scent once more. Over time, the scent had become muddled, the distinctive smell of perfume having given way to the smell of nature and becoming harder to distinguish, even for the other trackers who were wolves and had many times a stronger sense of smell than herself.

But even from her increased height, she saw nothing. She heard the griping of her companions - the other trackers, as their attempts to find the owner of the scent were equally without results. She heard one of them cursing, speaking in Lycanthrian as he spoke.

"How does one lord's brat manage to elude us in these woods?" He asked. "It is insulting that we can be so outwitted by a child!"

"She's been out here for seven nights already," another spoke up. "She can't know how to survive without food or water, not brought up as she is. At this rate, by the time we find her, she'll have starved to death."

"Either way our work will be over," the other replied, agreeing.

Buniq snorted, staying out of sight of the two and resuming her search. The girl they sought had proven more resourceful than anticipated, successfully avoiding them for many days. Another tracker had seen her on the first day, wandering the woods, but she had escaped underground leaving no means of following her. Buniq had yet to see the girl herself - they only had a description of her, and what she had been wearing the night she had escaped from her family home.

'Poor child,' thought Buniq, imagining how frightened she was knowing she was being hunted. Buniq hated having to do this... But she had been commanded, and she had to carry it out.

The werecat took in a breath, and with that breath, she felt a scent enter her nostrils. She stopped walking, her eyes rolling side to side before she ducked into the brush and lay still.

Tsumé remained in her hiding place. Most of her body was buried in the soil, watching with only the top of her head visible. She waited until the wolfmen were gone before she emerged from the ground, revealing herself in her ragged clothes. The past week she had spent in the woodlands had taken its toll on her fine garments, not designed with the wilderness in mind.

Her dress had lost most of the lower skirt, leaving her with only a few ragged pieces that would hardly pass for decent, and half of her top had worn away - she had torn up most of it to make a flimsy top to cover herself, but the improvised shirt was falling apart at every seam, and she expected at any moment it'd fall off. Her clothes were designed for regality rather than practicality, she thought with growing disdain for the clothes.

She had been running almost non-stop since the night she had fled her home and escaped from the fox who had introduced himself as Dalca. She hadn't eaten anything other than what she could forage from the woods, which thanks to her heritage were easy to determine as edible or not. But the nights were growing colder as the autumn seasons descended upon Avolon, and soon her raggedy clothes would not be enough to protect her from the night's chill.

She was tired. She wanted so badly to simply give up and let the Lycanthrians find her. But she refused to give in to those thoughts. She would not surrender herself, and she would certainly not be a hostage or bargaining chip for the damn wolves...

As she turned to leave, she froze. She had felt something, though it had been brief. She looked around, warily, looking for the source of what had alerted her. She could see nothing in the thicket, yet she felt like someone was watching her...

Tsumé didn't want to take any chances. She commanded the ground to open again and began to descend into the hole that opened below her. But before she even sank to her knees, a massive form exploded from the shrubs, moving faster than she believed possible for something so large. A tan-coloured creature fell upon her, tackling her and extracting the earth phoenix from the ground before she was thrown against a tree and pinned, high enough that her feet could not touch the ground.

Tsumé let out a shriek, struggling against the enormous hand that held her; a hand so large it nearly encompassed her abdomen. She could feel claws prodding against her flesh, and her attempts to kick their owner proved fruitless. But when she took a moment to look at their owner, the Earth Phoenix was stunned; what held her fast to the tree was not a Lycan. It was as big and feral-looking just like one, but the creature was more cat-like in appearance, with the short muzzle and rounded ears of a wild cat, but with slitted pupils.

The cat creature growled at her, and Tsumé felt suddenly frozen with terror, ceasing her struggles. Not that she had any chance of prying herself free of the beast's massive hand; not only was she not nearly strong enough, but she was also far too exhausted.

At that moment, as Tsumé stared into the face of the beast, at the sabre-like fanged maw that she could already imagine could tear her throat out in the blink of an eye, her exhaustion caught up with her. The creature's face softened as the earth phoenix became slack in her grasp, and her head slumped forward as her eyes fell shut.

She... Fainted?

Buniq didn't know what to think of this turn of events. But at that moment she realized just how thin the girl felt in her hand. Her clothes were ragged and dirty and her body through her feathers was cold. The poor girl had been running non-stop since the night she had escaped from Lord Dalca. Earlier, Buniq had overheard a pair of soldiers talking about how certain they were that the girl would have starved to death by now; she had survived, but she had suffered for it, without a reliable way to find food.

"Poor child," Buniq said, repeating her earlier thought aloud.

Then, her ears flicked, hearing movement in the trees. Something large was coming. Buniq looked over her shoulder, alarmed. Moments ago, she had been certain she was alone out there in the woods; the soldiers that had been searching had already moved on. Something else was there though. Buniq looked between the girl in her grasp, and back at the woods, a moment of conflict filling her mind.

Could she turn this girl over to the Lycanthrians? Even if she was expected to serve them, the werecat felt sick at the thought, especially knowing what they would do to her if they caught her. She knew Lord Dalca planned to make an example of her for her escape, and that likely meant she would be dead by that very night.

Buniq's body moved before her mind could be made up. She jumped, high up into the tree above, and draped the earth phoenix girl over a thick limb before gravity carried her back down to ground. There, she bent over and began clawing at the soil, growling as though she were agitated. Just in time, a figure emerged from the woods behind her, drawn by the noise. She turned to face the visitor; her mouth open to speak before the words died in her throat when she saw who it was.

"I smell the girl," said Vadim, speaking to Buniq in Lycanthrian, baring his teeth as he stepped closer to Buniq, looking at the ground where she had been digging.

"She was here," Buniq answered, speaking honestly before telling her hastily planned lie, "but she got away before I could detain her. She went back underground."

Vadim glowered at her, baring his fangs. He took in another deep breath and then growled. "...Then why is her smell still so strong?" he asked. "It smells as if... As if she is still here."

Buniq fought to keep her eyes from drifting, knowing that her shifting gaze would expose her lie. Vadim was no fool, and if he even suspected Buniq was lying to him, she wasn't sure she could beat him in a fight either.

She thought quickly, trying to come up with an explanation. "I thought the same when I arrived," she lied, "she must have been here for a while, long enough to leave a stronger scent."

Vadim scoffed. "Or perhaps you have found her, and want her for yourself?" He asked, taking a threatening step forward, "Presenting her to Lord Dalca would certainly earn his good graces."

Buniq scoffed. "Why would I ever want the approval of that monster?" She asked.

Vadim's lip curled in a grin. "A hollow protest, for one similarly cursed," he said.

"I meant that he-"

"I know what you mean, girl," Vadim interrupted her, losing his grin, "Never forget, however, your people serve Lycanthria. You are here to serve the Tsar. Lord Dalca is in command of this invasion, but he is as much a servant as you," he then lifted his hand, pointing a clawed finger at her, "And do not forget the consequences if you should fail the Tsar, or betray the Lycanthrians."

Buniq sneered at him, letting her teeth show. An act that could be seen as a challenge, to show she did not fear Vadim. Vadim snarled back, seeming ready to meet her challenge as he flexed his fingers. But after a brief standoff, he lowered his hands and stopped baring his teeth.

"There is no time for this," he said, "Find the girl. She mustn't reach the enemy encampment. Do not fail, domashniy skot," he concluded, leaving Buniq with an insult before he turned, dropped to all fours and ran into the woods to resume his search.

Buniq waited until she was certain Vadim was out of earshot before she spat on the ground and muttered, "Poydi k chyertu, svolotch," Buniq said, leaving her own insult even though Vadim could no longer hear her.

With Vadim gone, Buniq then turned her attention back up to the Earth Phoenix she'd left in the tree. She was still where the werecat had left her. Now the question was, where could she take her? Going to the Avolonians was not an option, not until the girl was strong enough to travel. She was sure they would never let Buniq get close to their encampment in the hills, not even with one of their own in tow.

She needed to find a hiding place for her. Reaching up to pick her off the tree, Buniq held her against her chest with one arm, and ventured deeper into the woods, listening and smelling for any trace of the scouring Lycans.

~~~~~

Another day passed in the MacAingeal castle, and Volcan was once again visited by the healers, checking his wounds to make sure they had all healed properly. His mind was still reeling at the thought he had been comatose for six days straight. It had only been a week since his battle with Asya Boleslav, and wounds that should have kept him down for a month at least while healing naturally, but thanks to his people it had been only days.

Joining Avogadro, they attended that morning's second weekly sermon, where the MacAingeal gathered at their sacred shrine to give homage to the ancestors. They watched as the clan folk made their offerings, consisting of balms, handmade idols and the like, meant to be disposable, and left to burn upon the shrine. But as they witnessed the prayers and watched them give their offerings to their forebears, Avogadro's eyes were taking in the people present for the sermon, or rather one that was not present.

He leaned over to Volcan and whispered to him. "Where is your uncle?"

Volcan blinked, only then realizing that Lord Boswell was indeed nowhere to be seen. In his place was another elder - his wife, Lady Berget, leading the morning prayers herself. It seemed odd that the clan patriarch was not in attendance himself.

"I don't know," Volcan replied, "As far as I know it's not mandatory to attend these sermons but it's certainly encouraged, especially for the clan elders."

"I hope nothing is wrong," the prince of Avolon whispered before going back to watching the ceremony.

Later that day, the two sought an audience with Lord Boswell. They still wanted to talk to him about sending help to Avolon, but they learned from one of the castle guards that he had been out of the audience all day and the day before, confined to his personal forge behind the castle which was off limits to anyone outside the clan. Technically, that meant Volcan was allowed to go back to meet him if he so chose, but Avogadro was not. He didn't want to meet his uncle without the prince, since it was for his city that they sought his aid, so he decided to be patient and stay with Avogadro until they had their chance to meet him.

Their chance came the following morning when Boswell emerged from his forge and took his place on his throne. When the two came to see him again, their audience was granted, and they entered the throne room to stand before the clan patriarch to make their petition.

"My thanks to you, Lord Boswell, for agreeing to see us," Avogadro began in his most diplomatic voice. Volcan noted how the prince said 'us', referring to Volcan who already had every right to be there.

"Speak yer trial, Prince Lo'Raven."

Also present in attendance were Lady Berget and Emrys, much to Volcan's surprise as he had expected one of his cousin's elder siblings would be one of the ones who would be chosen for matters of court. He pushed his thoughts aside as Avogadro began to speak his case to the MacAingeal patriarch.

"Your hospitality has been most gracious, taking me in during my time of need," he began, "And my gratitude for it knows no bounds. As you know, my city is under siege by a foreign power known as the Lycanthrians; their army is vast, and their navy equally so. They have blockaded my city and left my people with no way out. We sent for help from Albion, but I do not know if or when they will come. I must get back to my city, to my people, but I implore you Lord MacAingeal, to lend us your aid." [1]

"Avolon needs help; the enemy inside our walls commands a terrible power, a power that seems to bridge the difference between an anthropian[2] , and a savage beast. I have seen it for myself; they do not die easily, and they may be more numerous than the ones we saw for ourselves. One of them was nearly enough to vanquish your nephew, and another tore apart my royal guard and killed my parents." He lowered his gaze then before he continued. "If you do not help us, Lord MacAingeal, as you did against the wicked Njall, Bringer of the Red Winter, I fear my city will not stand."

Boswell let Avogadro say his piece. But Volcan's heart sank, seeing the impassive look that remained permanently etched upon the face of his uncle. His fears were justified, for Boswell was not long in offering his reply, speaking slowly and remarkably clearly in the Merchant's Tongue.

"Prince Avogadro," he began, " While in mah heart ah share yer grief fur th' death o` yer parents, 'n' fear likewise fur th' fate o' Avolon, th' MacAingeal clan wull nae be aff tae war. Ah 'ave considered this many times ower yer days spent 'ere, an ah knowin' that th' ither clans wull nae rally thair warriors, nor will ah willfully endanger me ain kin fur a battle that insae ours tae rammy." He gave the prince a look of apology. " A'm sorry, bit whin ye bygae thro' th' gates 'n' return tae yer city, ye will be on yer own."

Volcan felt a flare of anger he had not expected at his uncle's words, made worse when he saw the crestfallen look on Avogadro's face. Unable to contain himself, he spoke up. "Uncle, please, surely you cannot think this will not become our fight," he stated, "Even if we were not to help the Avolonians, the Lycanthrians will surely set their sights upon us as well. Our land is rich in iron they could use to wage war on city kingdoms across the world. You know as well as we do they have plundered countless cities, including the fox-ruled city of Anapol. They are a warmongering machine, and will-"

Volcan stopped talking the moment his uncle put up his hand. " Ye need nae go on, nephew," he said plainly, "Th' raiding 'n' plundering o' th' Lycanthrians ur weel-kent tae me, as ur mony similar city kingdoms around th' world. Kingdoms rise, fall tae anither, 'n' either rise again, or fade intae memory. 'Tis a cycle older than even m'self."

He sat forward in his throne. "Bit th' treaties atween Avolon 'n' th' aw the gether clans dae nae require our involvement in their battles, nor their involvement in ours," he stated firmly. "there insae a clan leader alive today, beside m'self, that does nae mind Avolonian's mony attempts tae tak' our land fro' us. On that alone, even if ah wur willin', thay wull nae, 'n' ah kin say that wi' certainty."[3]

"Why did you come to aid them when Njall invaded then?" Volcan challenged, attempting to call out his uncle for hypocrisy.

Boswell's eyes flared as he looked sternly at his nephew. "That wis a personal motive, Volcan," he said in a warning tone, telling Volcan not to press his luck, "Njall wronged us in centuries bygane, afore he wis even th' ruler o' Ragnaross. He is an ancient enemy o' oor fowk, 'n' ah ken ye ken this as ony laddie born tae this clan does. Th' avolonians didnae ask us fur our hulp, nor did we offer it," he keeked at avogadro, "nor did we ask fur anythin' in return. Ye owe na favour, nor dae we expect one. "

Avogadro tensed, seeming to want to say something as well, but he held his words back, knowing it was pointless. Boswell had made his decision before he had even agreed to see them. Avolon was on its own.

"Then with your leave, Lord MacAingeal," Avogadro began, speaking passively and standing tall despite the emotions roiling through his mind. "We will be departing. Volcan has agreed to come with me voluntarily, and now there is no reason for myself to remain here. Will you at least offer us an escort to the Union Gate?" He seemed to add a tone of bitterness to the name of the gate as he spoke it.

If Boswell was offended by the prince's hidden tone, he did well to hide it... To their surprise, he actually smiled, " Ah kin dae better than that, laddie," he said, "Ah kin aye offer ye a measure o' help."

"But you said-" Volcan stated, until Lady Berget cut in.

"He said th' clans won't go t'war," she said sharply, "Didn't say ee'd send ye back with nothing but the clothes on ye backs, ye wee hatchlin'."

"Emrys. Give them to 'em," he said.

Emrys moved from his spot then, walking to a door at the side of the throne room. He disappeared through the door for a while, and in that time Volcan and Avogadro shared quizzical looks, not understanding what was happening until the young MacAingeal emerged again, carrying two thick bundles held in one arm that gave metallic rattles with each step he took.

Tucked under his arm were two swords in scabbard and gripped in the one hand he had kept free was a Halberd, similar in style to that employed in Avolon, but with a few differences, such as a longer spearhead and a denser are blade, necessitating the iron clad base for counter-balance. Certainly, a common pikeman would struggle to wield such a weapon, but to Volcan it seemed perfect, and he felt elated as Emrys passed the weapon to him, letting him take it in his hands.

"Take these," Emrys added, offering them the bundles, which now Volcan and Avogadro could see were coats of armour.

For Volcan, it was his standard issue, ballistine silk vest, repaired and cleaned from the damage he had accrued in his fight with Asya. But it had been modified, with the addition of a riveted chainmail haubergon adding a second layer to the armour. His vambraces and greaves had also been repaired and their padding was replaced with fresh leather which looked slightly thicker than it had been before. Even his helmet had been repaired and given new padding and modified with more articulated plates on the back of the neck.

Lastly, his sword. He set down the armour and halberd and drew the sword halfway out of its sheath. He had to look a second time to confirm it was his Avolonian long sword, but as with his armour it had been repaired, and modified. It had a new pommel that helped improve the counterbalance, and the flanges of the hilt used for disarming had been corrected; he hadn't realized how bent they had become until then. He could barely make out any sign of the notches left by his battles using the sword, and when he ran his finger along the edge he was alarmed at how sharp it was, barely managing not to cut himself on it. It was sharper even than the day he first received it from the quartermaster.

He looked at Avogadro, who was still looking at the armour Emrys had handed him. It resembled the kind of armour worn by the king's guard, with a long surcoat of stunning violet, behind which Volcan could hear articulated plates rattling as he shifted the coat in his hands. Emrys had to go back to the room he first received it to bring out an arming doublet and full arm gauntlets that went with the coat of plates, which when Avogadro took one of the gauntlets he marveled the whole piece, made up of multiple pieces of steel meant to encompass his arm from hand to shoulder, seemed impossibly light in weight.

"I know ye've not likely trained to fight in armour," Boswell commented, speaking slowly and making his voice as clear as possible for the Prince's sake, "I made the steel as light as I could without makin' it as soft as tin. It won't be as hard as proper plate but so long as ye don't take a musket bullet, it should protect you against most handheld weapons. You will still need to train to get accustomed to it though."

Avogadro looked at the clan patriarch in alarm as the words caught up with him. "You made this armour, for me?" He asked.

" A've bin workin` on it fur days now," Boswell replied, "Sin th' day ye first arrived. Ah knew ye wid wantae gang home 'n' rammy, sae ah made this tae thank ye fur savin' me nephew 'n' give ye as much o' a fightin' chance as ah kin. Ah kin nae be able tae git th' clan to join, bit ah hud na intention o' goin awa ye helpless, lad."

"Lord Boswell... I don't know what to say," he said.

" Just put it tae guid use," he said, smiling at the young prince, " It kin nae be th' strongest combat armour, bit tis aye na showpiece. Nor is th' blade," he nodded to Emrys. " Ah didnae forge this one m'self, bit ah think it will dae as well as any blade forged by a MacAingeal. "

With that, Emrys handed Avogadro the last item; the sword. Even housed in its scabbard, they could see it had the profile of a curved blade - at first, Volcan thought of a scimitar - the cross guard and pommel seemed to point to that possibility, but when Avogadro pulled the blade out of the sheathe, he gaped at the beautiful sword that he held before him. The slightly curved blade was nearly half the prince's height in length, and only slightly wider than two of his fingers pressed together above the hilt, gaining a flare in the tip to improve percussion in the cut.

The cross guard of the sword was twisted like coiled rope, the seams inlaid with gold threading that encompassed the round tips of the guard. Its edge was keen and polished and looked sharp enough to cut through nearly anything, and he found the grip to be comfortable as he lifted the blade close to eye level where he could study it closer.

"An Atlosian falchion," said Avogadro, recognizing the design.

While all swords had their own style unique to the bladesmith that forged them, there was a level of uniformity among blades designed to be symbolic to a nation, including the blade Avogadro now held. But even by the standards of Atlosia, it was a fine and beautiful weapon, fit for the hand of a warrior king.

He gave the sword a few test swings, bringing it up a salute as he might have his old colichemarde; the falchion was heavier than the duelist blade he was accustomed to, but lighter than the MacAingeal-made longswords he had been practicing with all week. In his hands it somehow felt right- it was the only word he could think to describe it. The sword felt like it was made for him.

He nodded his approval, looking at Boswell gratefully. "These are fine gifts, Lord MacAingeal," he said, "I dare say I hope I don't have to use them. But if I do, I will put them to good use."

Boswell nodded his approval. " A' ah kin dae then, is wish ye 'n' mah nephew luck in saving yer toon, Avogadro, 'n' avengin' yer parents." He looked at Volcan. " Nephew... ah hope ye dinnae think less o' yer folk fur nae gettin' involved. One day, ye'll ken. Bit fur now, Ah wish th' best fur yer chosen home, fur whit it's worth. "

"I am MacAingeal by blood, uncle," said Volcan, "but I am Avolonian by birth. I will raise my blade for either of my homes when they need me. At present, that is Avolon."

Again, Boswell nodded his approval, and then spoke to Emrys. " See thaim tae th' gate personally, son, 'n' if any Lycanthrians huv a go tae halt thaim, dae as ye mist. Get them home."

"Yes, father."

"Fight well, both of ye," said Boswell, rising to his feet and laying his arm across his chest in salute, "And may th' ancestors shaw ye their favour 'n' leid ye tae victory."

Volcan and Avogadro both returned the salute to Boswell before they turned to leave followed by Emrys.

They set out later that morning accompanied by Emrys and four other warrior clansmen, each one wearing tartans and kilts of different colours indicating they were from separate clans. All of them looked as formidable as the other, including Emrys himself who walked at the lead as they left the castle behind.

They would have flown, but one among the entourage was wearing too much gear to achieve lift enough to fly. That said, Avogadro walked with his head held high, feeling strong. He was still disappointed by the refusal of the Clan Patriach to send help to Avolon, but for some reason... He felt confident.

It took hours, having cross on foot, but they soon approached the Union Gate, marking the official, recognized border between Avolon and the lands of the United Clans. As expected, they did not see Avolon's flag flying atop the gatehouse; the royal signet had been replaced instead by the black wolf of Lycanthria, and the sentries that patrolled the wall were lupine, their bardiches shouldered as they walked.

"Can they catch our scent?" Volcan asked Emrys warily.

His cousin shook his head. "The wind is blowing southward - our scent won't reach them from here," he said, "We can eliminate the sentries quickly if we move now."

"Hold on," said Volcan, "We can't let them sound the alarm, or there be soldiers all over the plaza beyond that gate before we can get into the city."

"Volcan is correct," agreed Avogadro, "We need to get over that wall with the element of surprise."

"How?" Emrys asked.

"I propose we wait until sunset," suggested the prince, looking up at the sky to mark the time of day. "We will have the sun at our back, and strike while their vision is hindered."

"We also should avoid using fire," Volcan added, "We shouldn't give them any reason to believe the MacAingeal are involved, or they may decide to retaliate."

"I was going to say the same," Emrys added, nodding to his cousin, and then to the prince. "Your plan is sound. We will wait until nightfall and then strike."

When the five clan warriors stepped away, Avogadro leaned over to Volcan. "I did not expect you to voice that first," he said, "Wouldn't a retaliation against the MacAingeal bring them into the fight? Don't we want that?"

"My uncle made it clear that he and the clan leaders don't want to be involved," Volcan reminded, "So I won't be using fire either."

Avogadro nodded, not sounding disappointed. "Just being sure," he said, "It would be underhanded."

Volcan appreciated that answer. Being a phoenix himself, it would not be difficult to frame the MacAingeal for an attack, in turn provoking the Lycanthrians to attack them in retaliation, which would in turn prompt the MacAingeal and the other clans to join the fight on Avolon's side. Well, maybe not the city's side, but they certainly wouldn't be allied with Lycanthria. It would be an easy trick to pull, even for him.

But the right decision was rarely ever the easy one, and he wasn't about to do something so underhanded to his own people.

~~~~~

Tsumé felt warm...

She had been wandering the woods for so long she had forgotten what it was like to be warm or have any measure of comfort. She had spent every night shivering, barely sleeping, and having so little to eat other than berries from the woods - only a few of which were safe to eat at that time of year. Sick, tired and cold... That had become her life.

As she felt more of her senses returning, she became aware of a weight on her back, and the sound of a crackling fire. She opened her eyes, blinking the fog away, and again when she shifted her arm and light spilled over her face. She became aware of the weight on her body then and realized it was a blanket. It was ratty and rough to the touch, but it was a blanket nonetheless, and there were more of them under her, cushioning her from the cold stone of the floor.

At that she sat up, sharply, and then swooned, falling back onto the blanket and hitting her head on the floor. The blankets somewhat dulled the landing, but it had still hurt, and she lifted her hands to rub her head, groaning.

"What is..." She started to ask, but trailed off, too woozy to finish the aloud thought.

She rolled onto her side, her hand resting on the stone floor as she sought to try pushing her up again. Then, she felt a trembling sensation coursing up her fingers, and she was immediately alert. Not a second later, she felt it again... Then again and knew what they were.

Footsteps. Close.

She whirled around, adrenaline surging to life through her body and holding back the wooziness that might have taken her again as she rounded on the intruder. She saw someone standing just out of the light of the fire, silhouetted by the light of the moon behind her, which revealed to Tsumé that she was in fact inside a cave, with this strange figure.

"Who are you?" Tsumé demanded, already reaching out with her powers to communicate with the stone, ready to escape again.

"Do not fear," the figure said, lifting their hands. Their voice, distinctly feminine, carried an accent she couldn't immediately place, "I am not... Here... To harm you." Her words were a broken form of the Merchant Tongue, the speaker seeming to struggle to form the words of the unfamiliar language.

Tsumé did not relax, however, watching the figure carefully. She narrowed her eyes in what she hoped was a universal sign of suspicion. She repeated her earlier question, more firmly this time - or at least as much as she could in her weakened state.

The figure took a slow step forward, stepping into the firelight. She first saw plantigrade feet, with visible - though retracted, claws visible from each of their toes. She found herself blushing slightly as more of the figure revealed themselves in the firelight, and she realized the figure, cat-like by the tail she glimpsed swaying behind their legs, was completely naked.

Their fur was a tan-brown colour, with a paler - almost cream undertone running down the front of their body starting at their lower jaw to between their legs. Then, she saw the face - cat-like, with long brown scalp hair growing down past their shoulders. Their eyes were brown, a lighter shade than Tsumé's own, and their gaze was gentle.

"Buniq," the figure said, lowering a hand to point at herself. "Name. Buniq."

Tsumé relaxed only a little. Something about this feline felt familiar to her, and it was not in the good sense. Yet in that very slight relaxation, the adrenaline that had allowed the earth phoenix to react to the intruder left her body and she collapsed, coughing as she lay on her side.

The feline took a tentative step toward her, but stopped, unsure if she was allowed to approach. Tsumé collected herself, managing to sit herself up again and running a hand down her face, groaning again at her weakness. The time she had slept had only somewhat lessened her exhaustion, but she was quickly reminded how hungry she was...

Then, she saw the food. She blinked, trying to be sure she wasn't hallucinating. There was fruit, held offered to her in the paws of the naked feline woman who had dared to approach. She lifted her gaze, meeting that of the cat, though her expression was passive, and seemed hesitant to meet the eyes of the earth phoenix.

Still, a growl from her stomach reminded Tsumé what to focus on, and she couldn't stop herself from snatching a green apple from the feline and proceeding to dig into it ravenously, biting piece after piece off and swallowing, one after the other. It was sour, but to her near-starving form, it was the most delicious thing she had ever eaten.

Too soon, the apple was gone; she had even eaten the core and felt the seeds sliding down her throat, only then realizing she had down so. But she ignored her initial surprise and took the next piece, which was a pleasantly red tomato. She ate this one slower than she had the first, but still, it was quickly gone.

The list item was a small plum, and when Tsumé was finished with it, the cat lowered their hands, resting them on their knees. Tsumé, still hungry but at least having some food in her at last, lifted her gaze to meet the eyes of the cat again. Now she knew what she was looking at, taking in the fur patterns of the female and remembering the name.

"Puma," she said.

The cat tilted their head, evidently understanding the word. Tsumé tried something else. "Mountain cat?" She offered another name of the species.

This one seemed to be recognized by the puma, who nodded in return. "Yes," she said.

"Where are you from?" Tsumé questioned further.

At that, the puma once again lowered her gaze, her eyes drifting away from Tsumé not even ably to look at her knees. Her answer came slowly, but there was no mistaking the word she spoke.

"Lycanthria."

Just like that, Tsumé remembered, and her spine tingled at the recollection. The huge, beastly feline creature that had caught her in the woods... Its fur patterns had been exactly like this puma seated before her. Even the mane of dark brown hair they had was a perfect match to the long perm the puma possessed, albeit more relaxed than the tangled mess it had been in her other form. The only difference was the eyes; in her other form, they had been yellow, with slitted pupils like a snake or a common tabby cat, but now they were brown with round pupils like a feral cat.

This puma had been the one who had captured her, and like some the Lycanthrians could change into a beastly form. Yet, Tsumé's initial apprehension was awash with confusion as she considered that the cat could have very easily killed her in the woods. Or, more likely, could have - should have, even, carried her back into the hands of her master, imprisoned in her own home with the rest of her family.

Yet... She hadn't. She'd fed her, and was in a normal form, not the gargantuan death beast she had been when she found Tsumé... But it left her with the nagging question she could not help but ask.

"Why... Why did you save me?"

Buniq lifted her gaze to meet Tsumé's again, and shook her head. "Could not..."

"Could not what?"

Buniq seemed to struggle to find the words to explain herself, her tail flicking behind her to show her frustration, and uttered a word Tsumé guessed was another curse, but it was not in the common tongue.

"Dalca," she said, the name making the feathers on Tsumé's neck standing up at the name, "Could not."

"Could not..." Tsumé repeated, narrowing her eyes as she thought. "Could not... Dalca... Could not..." She widened her eyes in realizing, "Could not... To Dalca?" She asked and added. "You didn't want to bring me in?"

Buniq did not fully understand her chosen words, so she tried another way. "You did not want to give me to Dalca?"

That, Buniq seemed to understand, for she answered with a nod.

"Why not?" Tsumé asked.

Buniq frowned again. "Made come... Fight for Lycanthria," she explained, "Can not kill for them. Can not..." she shook her head, her expression sour. "Will not."

Tsumé felt a wash of relief, knowing that Buniq wasn't going to hurt her. But with that also came the realization that Buniq was in as much, if not more danger, than herself.

"You can't hide forever," she said, "Sooner or later they are going to find you... If they learn what you've done-" she trailed off, unable to finish thought as a shudder filled her body.

She remembered the terrifying power of Lucien Dalca, that he had displayed in only a split second of her defiance of him, and even though that she had the feeling he was holding back, intending only to scare her rather than harm her, a feat which she felt he could do very easily. Some deep instinct told her that he was more dangerous than he seemed, and commanded power beyond her imagining.

"I will hide," Buniq assured her.

"But they are trackers. You can't hide forever," she repeated.

Buniq looked squarely at her. "What choice?"

Tsumé's voice died in her throat, realizing she did not have an answer to that question. She had been making an argument she had no way of winning. But Tsumé did not give up, forcing herself to her voice again.

"What about the Avolonians?" She asked, "They can help you. Better yet," she spoke up again when she saw Buniq starting to shake her head again, "You could help them."

Buniq blinked. "Help... Avolon?" She asked.

"Yes!" Tsumé replied. "You have inside knowledge of Lycanthria; you can help them fight!" She offered.

"They will try to kill me," she countered, the words coming clearly to her, and Tsumé had to wonder why that sentence, of all things, was the one Buniq was the most fluent in.

"I will help you approach them," she said, "I can convince them."

"You can?"

Tsumé nodded. "I am nobility. They have to listen to me," she said. It was a reach, she knew; she was only the daughter of a nobleman and held very little power in the upper class of society, but she wanted to convince Buniq at least to try.

Buniq considered the offer, and still appeared to be doubtful. But she had not voiced opposition to the idea immediately. It had at least caught her interest, whether or not because she believed Tsumé's claim. At least the possibility seemed appealing to her.

"We can do it," she promised the cat - or, werecat, she understood. "We have to at least try."

"But... I am..."

"Lycanthrian, or at least you're supposed to be," said Tsumé, "But you clearly don't like to be."

"My people... Slaves to Tsar," she said. "No choice."

"You do have a choice," Tsumé returned, "You chose to save me, didn't you?"

Buniq stiffened, realizing Tsumé had just cornered her by pointing out the hole in her claim.

"See?" She said, "You have your own choice."

"My people... They will... Punish."

"Maybe they will," Tsumé admitted, knowing she couldn't refute the claim. Her people might well receive the blame if Buniq were to help then. At that, Tsumé had a dark thought, "Do you... Have family?"

At that Buniq stiffened again, crossing her arms over her chest and shuddered again. "...No," she said, "Father... Defeated... Conquered by Lycans."

That didn't change the possibility that Buniq's people might suffer the wrath of the Lycanthrians if she were to betray them. The reality of what Tsumé was asking Buniq to do finally began to set in for the Earth Phoenix, knowing this was not a decision that she could make lightly. The worst-case scenario, if her people did suffer for her betrayal, and they knew it was her who had betrayed them... She might never be able to return to them again. They might never accept her again; a thought that might be as frightening as the idea she was the cause if... When the Lycanthrians punished them.

"You're right," she conceded. "That's asking too much of you..." She gave Buniq an apologetic nod. "Well... May I ask then to take me to them?" She asked.

To that, Buniq nodded to her. "Will," she replied. Then, she slowly began to stand, turning away from Tsumé partially. "More food, by cave wall," she said. "Eat. Rest. Will keep watch. Set out, night."

It was only then Tsumé realized that there was daylight, coming through the mouth of the cave. She was not too surprised, as it had been night when Buniq had found her. But she wondered what time it was. How long did she have to rest? At that question brought another she had no answer to - how long had it been since she had escaped from Dalca?

Was her family alright?

She sighed at the thought. Worrying about that now would not help her, and she had to admit she did need rest. But first, she had to solve her hunger issue, and turned to the food Buniq had pointed out to her, taking another apple and eating it slowly and thoughtfully.

When night fell, the MacAingeal launched their surprise attack on the Lycanthrians guarding the gate. Volcan flew in to attack alongside his clansmen, having to fight his own amazement when Emrys flew in like a rocket-powered arrow, and dispatched the Lycanthrian sentry in a single strike with the claymore he carried. Volcan heard the sound of bones breaking as the armour of the soldier took the blow. it did not breach the armour, but the plated chainmail did not absorb the impact, and the soldier flew off the side of the wall to hit the street below.

Volcan focused on his own opponent, who managed to raise their shield in time to block the stab of Volcan's halberd. The spear point punched through the wooden face of the shield, and the soldier was hurled back, spared from the spear but not the force of Volcan's sky lancing.

The other Lycanthrians were quickly dispatched. Not a single gout of fire was cast, the scattered bodies of the fallen Lycanthrians not bearing any incriminating signs to prove the MacAingeal had any involvement in their collective demise.

"Good luck, cousin!" Emrys called as he fell back, disappearing back into the darkness with his fellow clan warriors and Volcan and Avogadro flew over the wall.

"Thank you, Emrys!" Volcan called back as he and Avogadro, to remain unnoticed, went to the ground and turned from flight to foot and ran into the city streets ahead.

"We made it," said Avogadro, sounding relieved, "What do we do now?"

"We need to make it to the nearest division office," said Volcan.

"Why there?" Avogadro asked.

"We need to link up with the Security Forces," replied Volcan, "Every division office is a fortified position - if there are any forces still in this part of the city, that is where they will be."

"As long as the Lycanthrians haven't claimed the western half of the city," Avogadro pointed out.

It occurred to Volcan then that he did not know from what direction the Lycanthrians had begun their attack on Avolon. It seemed like the attack had come from within, for all he knew; he did not know how that could be possible, but if they had launched a siege on the outer wall, a siege that would take even the best-planned assault many days to succeed. If the attack had begun from outside the walls, they would not have been able to catch the city off guard as they had.

For all they knew, the west side of the city, the edge of Hawkton, had been where they launched their assault from. That thought bothered him; they were not that far from his home. He silently begged the ancestors that his mother and brother had managed to escape the attack...

The silence of the city street was both alien and unnerving to Volcan. He had lived in Avolon for his entire life, and never - even on cold winter days when most people stayed inside, had he ever known Avolon to be so silent. The windows of the houses were dark, their chimneys cold, and the street devoid of all life.

He knew he was not alone in how the city's silent air was troubling. Out of the corner of one eye, thankfully masked by the visor of his helmet, Volcan had caught Avogadro's hand gripping his sword at his belt, ready to draw it at the first sign of trouble. Volcan appreciated his friend's apprehension; he felt the same way, wondering at any moment if a Lycanthrian patrol would find them at any moment, or that a straggler would leap out of one of the seemingly abandoned houses and attack.

"Where is everybody?" Avogadro dared to ask.

"Evacuated, most likely," offered Volcan, "I see no signs of a battle here; we can take that as a sign that the people of this street have made it to safety."

An optimistic assumption. The people had evacuated; none of the houses were damaged and there were no bodies or weapons in the street. That did not necessarily mean they were safe, but he did not want to tell the raven that.

Then, Volcan heard something, and reflexively took one hand from his halberd and held it up as a closed fist. Avogadro stopped, more out of instinct than understanding the motion. Volcan was quiet, his eyes scanning the streets.

"What's wrong?" Avogadro asked softly.

"...I hear weapons," he said, "Metal on metal... It's faint; far away, but there."

They kept walking, and in a moment, Avogadro was able to pick up the sound as well. The ring of steel was growing steadily louder the further they went, until following the sound took them northward, away from their previous easterly course. The sound picked up, and so did their pace, spurred on by the sound of combat. The dull ringing became a metallic roar as they came upon the scene of the battle.

Lycanthrians and Avolonians clashed on the street. Curved swords clashed as the two sides fought, spread out along the streets with more soldiers wielding crossbows taking shots from the rooftops whenever an opportunity presented itself. Most of the Lycanthrian soldiers were wearing only light armour, if any, and carrying small shields, but amongst them were heavily armoured soldiers in plated chainmail, wielding bardiches or heavier swords.

To Volcan, it was clear that the site was intended to be an ambush, set up by the Avolonians as they had the higher ground. However, it was also clear that they were losing; though they dealt with the lighter conscripts easily - sabers cutting through cloth and leather with ease, the heavier shock troopers were all but impervious to the armaments carried by the avians, their sabers grazing harmlessly over the plated mail with the crossbows faring little better.

Volcan did not wait, knowing exactly where he was needed. He rushed at the closest of the shock troopers, one carrying a bardiche, who cut down an Avolon soldier before the phoenix engaged. The wolf saw him coming too late, and Volcan thrust his halberd into the center mass of the wolf's armour; the tip of his halberd glanced off the plates but still found purchase behind the chain, although he could feel he had only managed a flesh wound and not hit a vital.

The Lycanthrian bared their teeth as they raised their own weapon to strike. Volcan pulled back his halberd, meeting the swing with the shaft of his weapon, careful not to let the wood take the axe blade of the bardiche and forced it off trajectory. With a quick breath, he spat a ball of fire from his beak into the wolf's face, catching them by surprise as they became blinded by the light and heat, and Volcan finished them with another thrust of his halberd, taking them through the bottom of their neck into their brain.

Kicking off the wolf's corpse, Volcan set his sights upon his next target. He hacked away at the light soldiers, working his weapon to clear the way for the Avolonian soldiers as he set his sights upon another of the shock troopers. As with the first, his engagement with this one was short, wielding his halberd with greater speed than the wolf could use their bardiche, and managed another killing blow.

The next shock trooper though was one of the sword bearers, and they were faster than the previous soldiers, avoiding the swings of Volcan's weapon before rushing in. This soldier knew how to fight a halberdier, by getting inside the reach of their weapon. Volcan, however, had been trained to prepare for this; he was faster with his weapon, bringing it back to catch the sword with the haft of his halberd, and then rammed the trooper with his shoulder to stumble them. He then brought his polearm around again and managed to thrust it into the wolf's stomach before they could parry him, pulling out and driving it again into his chest. The wolf fell noisily to the pavement.

Volcan took in his surroundings. One more shock trooper remained, but five Avolonians were already upon him. He was rapidly overwhelmed by their assault, giving one of them the chance to thrust his saber through the rings of his armour, and another to cut his throat, successfully ending him. Volcan threw flames at the nearest of the light troopers, burning those who could not evade in time and sending the rest fleeing in panic.

Volcan waited to hear the call of an officer to order the soldiers to regroup. But no order came, and he took the initiative to make the call himself. The soldiers hastily complied, gathering on his position. He did a quick headcount, seeing that there were not even two dozen of the troopers, including the archers. He hid his frown despite himself, wishing he had been there sooner.

"Who is in charge here?" He asked.

A soldier stepped forward. Volcan turned to him, expecting to see a sergeant, but was surprised to see the trooper was only a private; first class, still a rank below himself. They were a young red kite, maybe only a little older than himself.

"Sergeant Norrington was our commanding officer, Corporal. But he was killed," the soldier explained. "He set up this ambush, but even though we caught the enemy by surprise we were overwhelmed," he pointed out a fallen Avolonian soldier among the dead, and winced at the sight before turning to Volcan again, though probably more to look at someone other than his fallen commander.

That meant Volcan was the highest-ranking soldier present. A corporal; not even a rank of office. Sucking in a breath to steady himself, he pressed on.

"I have been out of the city, so I need some gaps filled in," he began, "Where are your weapons? Spears, firearms - what has happened?"

"When the attack began, the first thing the Lycanthrians seized was the wartime arsenal," the private explained, "We think they have also been raiding all of the division barracks', emptying the arsenals. We managed to reach one yesterday, but everything was gone, except for a few daggers and crossbow bolts they missed."

Or left on purpose, Volcan thought darkly. None of those weapons were of any real threat to the heavier-equipped Lycanthrians.

"What division are you from, soldier - who is your captain?"

"Most of us are from multiple divisions; I am from 4th Division, 8th Patrol corps. My commanding officer is Captain Taiapetra. I do not know where he is."

"Is there anyone else?" Volcan asked.

"We have wounded, two blocks that way," the soldier explained. "We commandeered a deserted house as a hiding place."

Volcan nodded. "Where are the other Security Forces, the King's Guard, or the Marines or Reserves? Has anyone managed to organize?"

"The last I had heard, Corporal - and mind you, this information is several days old, The King's Guard has taken a defensive position in the Eagle Heights district and still control the Palace, but the rest of the city has been overrun. Dandolo Tower was targeted as well - the magi held out for a time but were eventually forced to abandon the tower. The Royal Kuiper Shipyard remains in the hands of the Royal Navy and the Marines; the Lycanthrians have, as of the last we heard, not been able to overrun them, but the navy still can't break out to engage the blockade on open water. Finally, the majority of the Security Forces have regrouped at Port Avogadro and have held there while engaging in skirmishes with the enemy, trying to get back into the city. If other members of the Forces are still[4] within the city, they are in hiding."

"Have you tried to regroup with the main force at the port?"

"We've been attempting to fight our way there for days. We can't fly there - the Lycanthrians have established flak mortars on rooftops all over the city."

"What about on foot - the northern road?" Volcan asked.

"We cannot get near it, and the last we were told, the enemy has established a barricade there to block the road, with more of those batteries to stop anyone from flying over it," the Private explained.

These bastards are as clever as they are cruel, thought Volcan darkly, keeping it to himself.

It was Avogadro who spoke up next, making his presence known. "Then before we make our way to the port," he stated, "We need to eliminate some of those batteries, to clear a path for ourselves."

"It's the king!" One of the men blurted out.

"He's alive!" Another called with delight as clear as day in his voice.

The other soldiers began to cheer, raising their weapons high and calling out praise to the prince, crying out his name. "Long live the king!"[5] They shouted; the soldiers were already calling him 'king', even though he had not been coronated yet.

It took Avogadro a few moments to regain control of the situation, waving his hands in downward motions as a gesture of calm until he was able to speak again. "Yes, soldiers of Avolon,[6] I am alive, and I have managed to return and[7] join you in the battles ahead," he said, "Based on what I have overheard, our course is clear. If we are to have a chance of retaking our city, we must first rejoin our forces at Port Avogadro. To do that, we must regain control of our skies," he gestured with his arm toward the heavens.

"We must eliminate as many of the flak batteries the Lycantrians have deployed as possible, and then our forces will be able to regain what advantage we have in the air, once again,[8] " he went on, "When we accomplish this, the tides of battle shall turn! I promise all of you, my fellow Avolonians, we will retake our city!"

The men cheered again, once again raising their weapons in praise. Volcan had to smile at how Avogadro had inspired them with only a few words.

"What would you have us do, your highness?" One of the soldiers asked.

"How many are we?"[9] Avogadro asked, looking over the throng of soldiers.

"Forty, Your Highness, with twenty more wounded, and eight more watching over them," replied the private.

"What of the flak emplacements?" Volcan asked, "How many are there in this area, and are they guarded?"

"There were two on this street," the private answered, "We disabled them, but they were under heavy guard, and it was costly - that is how we suffered all of the wounded."

Avogadro looked at Volcan. "What do you think?"

"We can't destroy all of the emplacements with so few if they are so well protected," said Volcan, not needing much time to consider it, "the cost would be too high, and once the enemy was onto our plan, they would dispatch reinforcements to defend the others, and likely another platoon to hunt us."

"What else can we do?"

Volcan needed a little longer to consider that. "...Well, if we can disable the right ones, it could open a hole in the enemy coverage," he suggested, "Doing so would allow us to retreat to the port. But we have to hit them quickly, and in succession, before the Lycanthrians respond."

"How many do you think we need to destroy?" Avogadro continued.

"Hard to say. I would need to know where they are, and we cannot fly to search for them," replied Volcan. He looked at the Private then. "Have you identified any battery locations, besides the two you mentioned?"

"Yes, Corporal. We located fourteen close by before we lost our sergeant."

"If we were to fly north how many would we encounter from here?"

"There are at least six along our way that would present a danger to us," replied the private, "that I know of, at least. The other eight should not be close enough but there may be others we did not identify."

"Does anyone have a map?" Avogadro asked.

"Yes, sire," the private replied.

"Alright. We'll need you to show us where the batteries are. For now, we had better get out of the street."

Volcan nodded to the prince. "Good thinking."

It did not look good for the stray platoon. The house they had set aside to use as a base was well-placed, sitting at a corner between two less-travelled roads and sitting on elevated ground, but they were few. Only twenty able-bodied soldiers remained, with just as many wounded in the cellar, being tended to by two civilians and one medical officer.

Worse still, when the map was laid out on the table, Volcan and Avogadro saw that the soldiers had already marked the locations of the batteries they had located. The anti-air weapons were placed in a tight formation throughout Hawkton, but they were most numerous to the north, lining along the walls that separated the main body of the city from the dye farms that lined the Northward road that lead to the airship port. The concentration of the batteries made it clear that they were intended to prevent anyone from going over the wall, whether it was to leave or enter the city.

"What sort of resistance are we facing if we attempt to leave via the gate?" Avogadro had to ask.

"They had positioned a hundred soldiers to hold the gates, and they have been barred from the inside," the private who had been speaking for the platoon - who introduced himself as Ichabod, explained.

"So, flying over the wall remains our best option," said Volcan, "But not without clearing those batteries first. We can avoid the six you mentioned before by following the street, but there is no bypassing the ones on the walls. Worse still, we can't even destroy those without getting to higher ground." He traced his finger along the map, stopping when his talon reached a part of the wall. "This tower. Does it have stairs that access the top of the wall?"

"Yes, Corporal, but it's guarded," Ichabod explained, "There are always two on the door, and we do not know how many inside."

"It may be the only way," said Avogadro, tracing his finger along the map, "Where are the narrowest streets that would bring us closest to the tower?"

"Uh..." Ichabod leaned over the map. "Here, this one," he pointed, "and we can reach it by taking this one. But it will bring us to cross a main road first."

"Risky, but either way our best chance to reach that tower is to approach it by land," said Volcan, "If we can get inside, we can barricade the entrance to buy ourselves time to get on the wall. If we go straight over the parapet, we won't need to destroy any of the flak batteries - they won't be able to hit us once we're below their range."

"But we have to destroy them regardless," said Avogadro, earning a quizzical look from Volcan. "Those batteries on the wall stop our forces from getting back into the city, and from survivors like this band getting out. We wouldn't have a better chance than this very moment to destroy them and open the way."

Volcan grimaced. "Your highness... I don't think we have the manpower to pull that off," he said, "There are sure to be countless sentries on the wall, waiting for that very thing."

Avogadro looked at him. "But we have a MacAingeal with us. A phoenix of fire."

Volcan blinked in confusion. "What could I do?

"Those batteries are the key," said Avogadro, "Or rather, the munitions. When you encountered them before, attempting to bypass the blockade around the city, did you notice the smell when the shells detonated, or the trails of smoke created by the shrapnel?"

Volcan grimaced, "With all due respect, Your Highness, my priority at that time was surviving, though yes, I did see the smoke trails. No the smell you refer to though."

"Nitrate. Black powder, Corporal," Avogadro stated, not chiding the phoenix, "The shells are filled with pure black powder, like grenades, only much larger - the shell itself serves as the shrapnel, and the launching mechanism is likely a powder charge similar to what is used in cannons."

Volcan caught on to what the prince was talking about. "If we prematurely set off the munitions..." his gaze narrowed, "You need my fire."

"You are quite literally the perfect man to do it," said Avogadro, "If those shell casings get hot enough, they will detonate. Can you do it?"

"I can, but there is a danger still," said Volcan, "We could still be hit by the shrapnel, and shields will not protect us."

"They certainly won't," agreed Avogadro, "We would need artillery shields to be certain, and we have no means of acquiring any, nor are they meant to be mobile." He frowned; he had already considered this hole in his plan, but he did not have an immediate solution to it. "I know it is asking a lot, Corporal... But you are the only one who could do this and minimize your own exposure to the enemy. How close do you have to be to them to heat them?"

"Fairly close," said Volcan, "I can't heat metal from a distance - not one we would be safe, if one of those shells were to detonate prematurely."

"My men and I are more than ready to get you that close, Corporal," Ichabod offered.

"That is brave of you, Private. But I hope you realize just how much of a risk this will be," Volcan replied, looking squarely at the kite. "Once I light up those munitions, there will be shrapnel flying everywhere. That's not even accounting for the Lycanthrians who will be swarming those walls."

"It is dangerous, but it offers more a fighting chance than we have had until now, Corporal," replied Ichabod, "And if it opens the way for our people to save our city, then it is a price I am willing to pay."

"And your fellows?"

"I am confident they too will agree."

Volcan had to admire the courage of the Private, and gave him a nod of approval, before looking at the prince. "When we start attacking the flak batteries, make sure you and the wounded are over the walls. Whatever else happens, Avolon still needs its king."

Avogadro grimaced, but he nodded in return and looked at Ichabod - the kite was staring aghast at the Corporal for his daring, to make such a demand of the prince of all people. "Prepare your men, Private Ichabod. When we have the cover of darkness, we move."

"Sire, the Lycanthrians can still smell us in the dark - they are canids," the private pointed out.

"I am aware, Private," the prince returned, keeping his tone of voice neutral despite how obvious Ichabod's statement was, "But they still have no better vision in the dark than we do, therefore it remains the surest way for us to approach unnoticed. We must not be seen before we reach the tower."

"Then we should move in multiple groups," said Volcan, "there are still more than forty of us. If we all move together, we are sure to be noticed."

"Agreed," said the prince, "You must take the first group. Take all the able-bodied; you will need them to capture the tower. I will lead the wounded in the second group personally, guiding them as you clear the way."

Volcan did not agree immediately. Something was nagging at the back of his mind; they were missing a crucial detail, he could feel it... Something that they were overlooking. "I don't think I should take all of them," he said, "What if you're discovered? Some of the wounded may still be able to fight, but not many can - they will be vulnerable."

"What do you suggest?" Avogadro asked.

"I will take half of them," Volcan offered, "Private Ichabod and whoever he thinks will serve best. Ten soldiers, and the other ten will stay with you."

"Only ten?" Avogadro asked, "Will that be enough?"

"It will have to be," Volcan returned, "And... I may have to do something I have sworn not to do many times."

"What is that?"

Volcan looked at the prince, and Avogadro could see the seriousness in his expression, as though he was asking for forgiveness for an offense he had not yet committed, but was about to...

The oil lamps on the street corners that would normally chase away the darkness sat unlit, as they had ever since the Lycanthrians had taken over the district. Travelling by their firelight their patrols marched through Hawkton; four soldiers carried torches in one hand, a sword in the other, and sniffed the air regularly as they attempted to catch the scent of stragglers.

Eventually, they picked one up, the leader snarling as he raised his sword and held out his torch, aiming it toward a dark alley to the right of the patrol. He approached it slowly, the light of fire chasing away the darkness of the shrouded alley. Then, he sniffed again, detecting a new scent - an ashy smell that he might have mistaken for the smell of the torch he held... Until he realized the scent was not in front of him.

The shadow passed overhead, catching the light of the moon. The captain's head snapped up, seeing the shape that arched over them, his men looking up at the same time. The red and gold avian soared until they landed at the back of the column, turning sharply and holding up their hand.

All at once, the torches held by the Lycanthrians flared, the flames at the ends of the sticks doubling in size and travelling down, following the haft until they burned the hands of those bearing them, causing them to drop them as the fires locked across their hands and forearms.

The captain was the first to fall as a saber entered his chest from behind, passing between the seams on his back and finding his heart. He went down, and the avians surging out of the alley leapt over his body, cutting into the Lycanthrian patrol while they struggled to process what was happening. In the column of eight, only one other wore mail - the one at the rear, closest to the first avian. He breathed in, ready to howl, but never had the chance before the spike of a halberd thrust into his throat, silencing him.

The patrol was easily dispatched, the loss of their light and their commander in the span of seconds throwing the conscripted force into panic. They barely had the chance to strike back against the assailants, who barely let out more than a few shouts themselves - for which they were admonished by their peers when the fight was over, most especially the red and gold avian who had made the first blow.

"I know how hard it is not to do so, but we must hold our voices," said Volcan, "We don't know if any other patrols are close enough to hear us."

"Apologies, Corporal," said Ichabod, "The anticipation... We could not hold back."

"I understand," Voldan assured him, "but the success of our mission depends entirely on us reaching that tower with as little contact as possible. Now, drag those bodies into the alley, as far back as possible - we must buy every second we can."

It was inevitable that another passing patrol would smell the fresh blood of their fallen comrades. Volcan's idea was that by placing the bodies in their wake, they could mislead the patrol into heading the wrong direction - a gamble to be certain, especially if any among them were smart enough to see through the ruse, but it was all he could think of.

As the bodies were dragged into the alley by Ichabod and his men, Volcan looked down the street where Avogadro was supposed to be coming from. The prince travelled without light, and while Volcan could make out the dark mass of the second column he couldn't see enough to see Avogadro himself. Still, they were not far behind, and that was according to plan.

"Quickly. We must go," Volcan urged his troops - his troops...

Now when did he have any right to call them that, he wondered. He wasn't even an officer, yet here he was, leading these men to what he hoped was safety.

He shook the thought from his head, brandishing his halberd again before taking the lead again, resuming the trek through the next alley. They were almost to the tower, and better still they did not have to cross any more main roads to reach it. Sure enough, as they stepped out into a small, side street, Volcan could see the tower rising over the rooftops, north of their position. Once they cleared the houses, they would see it.

Despite the apparent ease of their path ahead, there was suddenly a howl. A shrill, mournful cry of a wolf filled the night, echoing through the alleys to reach their ears and making Volcan and Ichabod and the men with them tense, raising their weapons in alarm.

"Corporal... Did that come-"

"From back the way we came," affirmed Volcan.

The bodies had been found, sooner than he had anticipated. The alert had gone out; it wouldn't be long before Lycanthrian soldiers were swarming the district, looking for them. They didn't have much time before-

"Corporal, look!" Ichabod said sharply, pointing behind them.

Volcan followed his finger and gaped when he saw it. Torchlight coming down the street they were on, with barely any delay after they heard the howl. The second column led by the prince, now silhouetted by the coming light, were running, having seen the danger coming up behind them; even as he watched, Volcan saw the Lycanthrians spilling out into the street - two patrols, nearly a score of soldiers, weapons in hand.

How had they found them so quickly?! They had dragged the bodies in the opposite direction they had been meaning to go - surely they should have been searching that way first! The smell of wolf blood-

That was when it clicked in his mind, and he understood. "Blood..."

"Corporal?" Ichabod asked.

"Blood... Our men are wounded," he said. "They ignored the patrol we killed and are following the smell of avian blood!"

"What do we do?" The private asked, desperate.

Volcan thought quickly and turned to Ichabod. "Take your men onto the tower - secure it, whatever it takes! The wounded will follow; if the Lycanthrians should approach before I get there, seal the tower, but do not shut out the Prince or the wounded! Get them all over the wall and heading for the port, is that understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Go!" Volcan commanded, lightly slapping Ichabod's shoulder and sending him and the others ahead. He let them pass before he turned to run back. "You men, with me!" He shouted to the soldiers escorting the wounded. "Everyone else, continue to the tower! Hurry!"

Volcan thought he caught a worried look from Avogadro, but the Prince remembered his responsibility and continued to urge the wounded onward, leading them on to the tower. If he called out anything to Volcan, the phoenix didn't hear him clearly, the rattle of metal drowning out his voice, coming from the wounded Avolonians, and the approaching Lycanthrians.

He lowered his halberd, putting the point forward. The soldiers formed a line to either side of him, bravely standing their ground. He shared their unease, knowing the approaching column would almost surely be too much for them to handle themselves...

Unless Volcan could give them an advantage, and he could. "Crossbows, take aim! Focus on the armored men - they are the leaders!"

There were only three crossbows with him, but that would be enough. Volcan breathed in deeply, summoning his power, forming a fireball within his core and bringing it to his beak, between the seams of which the glow of flame illuminated the corners of his mouth, and a glow of yellow light filled his eyes.

The Lycanthrians were only steps away when he unleashed the fury he had summoned, exhaling a cone of fire straight into the enemy line. Lycanthrian soldiers, previously howling with anticipation, began screaming in terror at the sight of the flames, and agony for the three at the lead who were caught in it. One of them was an armoured soldier, feeling his plated chainmail become hot and the clothing beneath begin to smoulder. But his face, unprotected, had already been seared by the heat, his eyes were clenched as the fur of his features burned away and he screamed in pain.

A crossbow bolt into his forehead ended his suffering quickly. Volcan thrust his halberd into the chest of one of the others who had been burned by his attack, pulled it back, and thrust it again at the next to come in reach. The second armoured soldier to come forward was struck by two crossbow bolts, one bouncing harmlessly off the plated chest, and another catching in the riveted chain hanging around his neck, causing him to recoil, but not kill him.

The ring of steel[10] filled the street as swords clashed. Volcan dropped his halberd and drew his blade, needing the shorter reach of it as the battle became tighter. He engaged two of the conscript soldiers, partying a swing by the first before meeting the blade of the second. He brought up his sword in an upward parry, before bringing it around again to slash into the collar of the assailant, pulling his blade back to open up his neck before facing the first again, ignoring the spray of blood.

His sword rang as he blocked the furious swing of the wolf, who then punched at the phoenix with the small shield held in his other hand. Volcan endured the punch before pushing the wolf back, and then swinging his blade at his abdomen. Surprisingly, the boiled leather worn by the conscripted Lycanthrian soldier held against his blade, though the impact of his swing still sent the wolf flying into one of his comrades, both falling in a tangled heap[11] .

The next to approach the phoenix was another armoured soldier. This one had also taken a crossbow bolt, caught in the rings of his belly. Volcan couldn't see the head, and was sure it must have found flesh, but it wasn't enough. Volcan faced him, and his sword met the curved blade of the heavy soldier, and the two traded multiple blows, working their blades into a flurry. This was not a conscript, but a professional, Volcan reminded himself.

Overtime, Volcan found his opening, taking advantage of his sword's longer blade to gain some distance between himself and the soldier, before he relocated one of his hands from the grip of his sword to the middle of the blade, gripping with only his fingers but not putting his whole hand around it, and lunged with greater control of where his sword point was aimed.

Rings broke against the force of his strike. The blade found flesh, and the wolf tensed as he felt its bite and was lifted off the floor. He snarled, bringing his weapon down on Volcan's head. Volcan's helmet rang as the edge of the sword was deflected by the angle of his conical helmet, but he felt it fall into his back; he ignored it for the moment, hoping it didn't hit his wing, and thrust again, harder this time. More flesh and more steel parted as his sword bit deeper and the wolf's body weight brought him further upon it. Volcan clenched his eyes and heard sizzling as blood sprayed his face, catching some of the feathers of his neck.

The wolf became still. He ripped his sword free and dropped his opponent to the ground, only able to keep one eye open as the other had been splattered with blood. He failed to notice another conscript coming up on his blind spot, and felt a blade cut across his flank; once again, he was thankful for the chainmail his uncle had added, and he gave a backhand to the assailant, bones crunching as his fist caved in their nose and shattered teeth.

Volcan wiped the blood from his eye, and though bleary he was able to take in the scene around him. One of the archers had been taken when a soldier had closed in on them, but that soldier was now falling under the dagger thrusts of the remaining two archers. The rest of the Lycanthrians, all conscripts, were also dispatched, those few that remained fled back up the street, and likely would have been chased down if Volcan hadn't ordered the men to halt.

"Let them go! Get to the tower, now!"

He picked up his discarded halberd, and returned his sword to its scabbard, before falling in with the others. At their back he could make out how many remained; there had been almost a score of Lycanthrian soldiers - four heavy soldiers and a dozen conscripts, against himself and ten Avolonians. He had expected he'd lose some, but his heart sank when he realized that he was down to only five, not including himself. He'd lost half of his men.

His men... He'd done it again, thinking of them as that.

They ran for the tower, leaving behind the city buildings and crossing a short boulevard before reaching the tower doors. He noted a few bodies lay strewn over the boulevard - six of them, but he did not spare the more than a cursory glance. To his relief, they had not sealed the door yet. He saw Ichabod and Avogadro on either side of the door, and they slammed it shut as Volcan entered, the last of his group to do so. They dropped a bar over the door, and thew whatever furniture they could find against it as well.

Avogadro turned to Volcan. "Are you hurt?" He asked.

"No, thankfully not," replied Volcan, laying a hand against his side where the conscript had managed to slash him, finding severed ballistine but the mail underneath remained intact. He then brought his hand up to his helmet, finding a dent, and below it on his back... A single shallow cut between the back of his neck and his wings. There had been no mail to protect him there.

His helmet had articulated plates behind the neck, but they didn't cover his upper back. An enemy, already enduring a mortal wound, had nearly evened the score with a single swing, stopped only by his hasty choice to aim for Volcan's head instead of his unprotected upper back above his tucked wings, catching that area only by accident. Volcan had to wonder that if he hadn't killed that wolf immediately, he might have had the presence of mind to realize the exposure and drive his sword into Volcan's back...

I need to assume my opponents are still alive, until I know for certain, he reflected. Some didn't die as easily as others.

Avogadro looked at his back when he saw his fingers come away red from behind his neck, finding the cut. "Only a scrape, thankfully," he said. "The rest of the men are climbing the tower. You better get up and join them. I'm right behind you."

Volcan nodded, and caught a glimpse of Avory's sword, held in his right hand. There was blood on it, and Volcan remembered the fallen he'd seen at the boulevard. The Prince had engaged the enemy himself...

He caught Volcan's look and scowled at him. "Don't focus on me; these men need you!" He scolded him and pushed Volcan toward the stairs. "Hurry! Get those batteries out of commission!"

Volcan collected himself and nodded back to Avogadro. The phoenix, followed closely by Ichabod, strode up the stairs, passing several of the wounded, who moved aside to give him room. The two civilians among them looked at Volcan with... Hope? Fear? He wasn't sure, and he didn't stay long enough to be sure.

He caught up to the men he had led to the tower, still climbing to the top, when he heard it - the sound of combat above. They crested the top of the stairs and ran out the door waiting there, onto the wall, where the Avolonians had engaged the Lycanthrians.

Volcan threw himself into the melee, joining his fellow avians. He worked his halberd expertly, aiming over or between the Avolonians to drive the spear point into the bodies of the Lycanthrians. As the enemy line thinned, Volcan ordered the Avolonians behind him, and exhaled another cone of fire into the defenders, this time sustaining it for as long as his lungs held to keep them back.

They fought their way along the wall until he saw the first of the batteries. He saw the flak shells, easily recognized by their cruel, spiky design; he had made out that much when they had been launched at him before. He was pleased to see as well... That they were stacked, a pyramid of bombs, just waiting to be set off, and better yet... They had fuses. Short, twine fuses; he didn't know much about explosives himself, but he had seen grenades before, and these had shorter fuses than those.

"Pull back!" He ordered the men as he took a hand from his halberd, summoning flames into his palm and forming it into a large sphere.

More Lycanthrians were approaching from further up the wall, but they skidded to a stop when the saw the fireball Volcan held. Their wide eyes told him they had deduced what he was doing.

The phoenix grinned at them,

He threw the fireball into the pile of munitions. Lycanthrians screamed, stumbling over themselves to escape. Volcan didn't bother counting how long it took before the first shell detonated, but he sure felt the wall vibrate and the ear-splitting BOOM that shattered the still of the night, a column of fire, smoke and flying shards of metal climbing into the sky.

Volcan didn't waste a moment. Using the light of the fire he had created, he spotted the other munitions piles along the wall. The Lycanthrians were fleeing, but he came forward. He dropped his halberd, this time summoning fire into both hands, and walked along the wall, casting a fireball at a target further away, and the next one farther still. One after the other, as more explosions lit up the wall, he sighted the other munitions piles. The Lycanthrians did not try to stop him, fleeing from the fire and explosions as their weapons were turned against them.

He almost didn't hear the roar until it was too late. Through the smoke of one of the explosions he had caused, the form of a Lycan leapt at him. Volcan threw up his arms in defense, and teeth found his bracer and the underside of his left arm as he fell back against the brick-and-mortar crenellations. He screamed in pain, grabbing the lower jaw of the Lycan to stop it from biting further into his arm. Claws scraped at the wall on either side of him until he felt them biting into his sides.

He'd been too caught up in his work detonating the munitions- he had never considered a Lycan might be on the wall! It was not a large one, not much bigger than himself; he couldn't make out the colour of its fur, cast in a red hue by the fires around them, but the yellow of its eyes glaring at him with bestial fury was as clear as the day.

The Lycan suddenly reeled and twisted away from him, releasing his arm and turning on a new attacker. Private Ichabod had appeared and thrust his sabre into the back of the werewolf. Volcan was about to shout for him to run away, knowing that the private had no chance against the Lycan. His words died in his throat as the Lycan swung its clawed hand, effortlessly tearing open flesh and silk armour as it punished the Private for his heroic act.

"NO!" Volcan managed to scream, watching helplessly as the body of the Private, his chest and neck ripped open went tumbling over the back of the wall, not even spreading his wings and making it clear that he was already dead before he would hit the ground below.

A red cloud fell over Volcan's vision then, and his eyes glowed as bright as stars as his heart thundered in his chest.

The Lycan turned on him again, and recoiled as Volcan's fist struck it across its face. Then, he lunged, and grabbed its head between his hands before slamming his[12] head into its face, using his helmet as a blunt instrument. It recoiled again, stumbling away from him. He then drew his sword and thrust it into the Lycan's chest, the coherent part of his mind still in control certain he had hit the heart.

If he had, it was not enough. The Lycan did not still, snarling at him and clawing at his arms. Volcan felt wounds opening along his biceps, but in his fury, he did not feel the pain. He kicked the Lycan off his sword and exhaled a gout of fire into its face. It threw up its arm, retreating from him until its rump ran into something cold and spiky...

Volcan cast another fireball from his off hand, aiming around the Lycan's leg to hit the pile of flak batteries behind it, and only then did he stop breathing fire to throw himself over the wall behind him. The last the saw of the Lycan, its expression shifted to clear, unmistakable terror. It almost looked, at that moment, like it had reverted to its anthropic self and realized the doom that lay behind it, but by the time the explosion took it, Volcan had fallen below the line of the parapet and could no longer see the beast, before it went up in a cloud of smoke, steel and fire...

Volcan's ill-advised jump backward over the wall ended in a crash. He struggled to realign himself as he fell, managing a short glide that was likely all that saved him from more severe injuries. He hit the ground beyond, his form pulling up grass and dirt as he skidded across the ground.

He coughed, and tried to push himself up, only for his arms to scream at him in agony. The adrenaline had faded, and now he was acutely aware of the pain... So much pain. His arms, torn and bloody from the claws of the Lycan, failed to pick him up, and he could now feel the many puncture wounds it had left in his sides where it had grabbed him.

He wanted to pass out then, to make the pain stop, but his will forbid it; he resisted the pain in his arms, pushing himself up, just a little at a time despite the agony from both limbs. He got up enough to put his knee under him, taking some of his weight, and started to drag the other one under him...

He felt hands around him, and looked up to see a face he didn't recognize. Their arms took hold of him, and he felt a second pair of hands from the other side, the two avians helping him stand, and when he was up, he saw Avogadro running up to him, looking worriedly at the wounds on his arms.

"The Lycan... We saw it attack you. Private Ichabod ran to help you; I didn't stop him. You looked like you were in trouble," Avogadro said, hastily, "I wanted to assist you but[13] I... I-"

"Dead," Volcan managed to say. His voice was raspy.

Avogadro looked at him. "The Lycan? Or..."

"It struck down Ichabod," Volcan replied, and in his fatigue, he couldn't even bring the regret he felt into his voice, "But I managed to kill it..."

The soldiers on either side of him frowned at the loss of their comrade. Avogadro, for his part, lowered his head reverently for a moment before he looked at Volcan again. "Can you walk?" he asked.

Volcan nodded slowly, letting only that serve as his answer. Avogadro nodded back, and then his eyes drifted to something on the ground. He walked over to it, and picked it up, revealing it to be Volcan's[14] sword. He brought it back over to Volcan, one of the soldiers handing him a rag to clean it with before the Prince slid it home into its scabbard, and then rested his hand on Volcan's shoulder.

"You did well, Corporal," he said, "You have saved many lives today."

"We lost so many..." he said, "Ichabod..."

"You did everything you could," said Avogadro firmly, "Losses... Are inevitable. But you ensured that we were able to get as many as possible out, and through your actions, not only have you destroyed many of the enemy's weapons," he gestured toward the high wall behind him, "but slew yet another of their foul beasts."

"Another?" one of the soldiers asked, before looking at Volcan, "You have slain one of those demons before?"

"A story for another time," said Volcan, waving dismissively with his hand - and regretting it as his arm burned with pain. "It won't take the enemy long to figure out where we went. We have to get away from here before they pursue."

"He is right," agreed Avogadro, nodding, "We must leave. Let's regroup with the others, quickly. We must get to the port."

Volcan walked slowly at first, but as he found the strength in his legs again he managed to increase his pace to match the others. They found their way back to the rest, who were waiting near the river. Upon seeing the Prince and Corporal return, they quickly saw to the phoenix, hastily dressing his wounds before Avogadro ordered them all to begin moving,

"We must get as far as we can before dawn," he declared.

Then, Volcan remembered. "Wait... the north gate. The enemy still holds it," he reminded Avogadro.

"We are taking a wider course around it," Avogadro assured him. "We will stay off the road to remain out of sight of the gate."

The roundabout route Avogadro had decided on took them across the north river that ran parallel to the road that ran past the gatehouse. They crossed a small bridge and cut across the dye farms to make their way north. When the sun began to rise, they fled into the farmlands and hid inside the house, where understandably the owner was absent, having fled with the others to the port - or so Volcan hoped.

They set out again under the cover of darkness. Crossing the river once again and turning their course to where the Port of Avogadro waited. They could no longer see the campfires, but they occasionally caught sight of a red glow or sparks rising into the sky, letting them know there were fires, but something was obstructing them from seeing them.

The sun was just coming up again by the time they reached the hill, and only then did they take to the road, following it toward the port where they could see hastily constructed ramparts now stood, forming a palisade wall as the only defense between them and assaults from the Lycanthrian-controlled Avolon. Their approach did not go unnoticed either.

"Someone is coming," Volcan said.

"I see them," Avogadro confirmed.

Flint was struck in the darkness ahead, and a column of Avolonian soldiers appeared from the direction of the wall, appearing in the circle of light cast by an elevated torch held by one owl in Avolonian armour. The soldiers held spears at the ready until Avogadro called out for them to stand down, and they immediately recognized their prince. They held their weapons in a salutary position, and dropped to their knees before him until he bid them rise.

"Escort us to the camp. We have wounded among us, and are in dire need of food and water," he said.

"By your command, sire!" The leader returned, ordering his men to their feet and back up the hill from which they had come.

Volcan finally let himself relax. They had made it... They had escaped the city, and soon would be safely in the care of the Avolon Security Forces. He wondered, how was Captain Gregory? He hoped he had escaped the attack at the dock yards... Asya had not said anything about the fate of those at the docks when Vadim had revealed the Lycanthrian treachery; likely if Volcan had asked, she would have said Gregory was dead to throw him off his guard,

More than that, however, he hoped his family was alright... His mother, and his brother. Ancestors, please let them have made it here... he silently prayed.

They passed through the palisade gate that had been erected between the ramparts. Beyond the hastily erected palisades, they saw what they could only describe as a city of tents and pavilions, stretching out across the strip of open ground originally intended to serve as a landing pad for the city's new airships, which were at the time nowhere to be seen - likely in their hangars, further down the lane. Some of the tents were official military issue, but there were others that looked improvised - blankets of canvas, hide or burlap[15] , some not even big enough to accommodate a single avian occupant.

There were few civilians that Volcan could see. Most of the people running about the encampment wore Avolonian military drab; mostly security uniforms like his own, but some wore the colours of the reserve corps, but he quickly noticed that some of the reserves were not armed. Ichabod had spoken truly, he reflected with a mournful sigh in memory of the Private. The Avolonians had lost the Wartime Arsenal before they were able to access its abundant cache of armaments.

'The Lycanthrians knew exactly where to hit us,' he thought, 'But who could ever have anticipated an attack would begin from inside the city, inside the very walls meant to keep the enemy out?'

Whoever had planned the assault on Avolon was a cunning strategist, but Volcan could still not understand how they had managed to get so many troops inside the city. As far as he was aware, the blockade surrounding Avolon was just that - a blockade, meant to prevent the Avolonians from escaping. But where and how had they landed their army? The outer wall encompassed the entire island - a mountain's worth of stone, gathered from near and far, for the sole purpose of enclosing the entire city, patrolled by the Reconnaissance Corp - they would have seen a landing craft approaching the city, especially one intended to get their troops over the wall.

This question continued to plague him as he, Avogadro, and their entourage ventured deeper into the encampment, surrounded by the tent city on all sides. There, they found a familiar face approaching them, though it was not one Volcan was happy to see.

"Ancestors save me," he moaned.

"What is wrong?" Avogadro asked.

"That is wrong," Volcan replied, lifting a trembling arm to point ahead. "It's Lord Endicott."

Avogadro grimaced, knowing why Volcan was troubled by this. Endicott, more than any of the other nobles, had been outspoken in his disdain for the presence of the MacAingeal family inside the walls of Avolon. He had, in many cases, been highly disrespectful to them as well, scornful toward Ambassador Degra and, in one case he had not been present for but had heard about from the false Ambassador, Asya Boleslav, outright spiteful toward her son, where it had actually been her to come to his defense.

Endicott came toward them, escorted by four Avolonian soldiers. His eyes were darting between Avogadro and Volcan, but when he was in earshot, his smiling face focused on the prince. "Your majesty," he said, "My heart is filled with joy and relief to see you safely returned to us."

"I share your joy, Lord Endicott," Avogadro returned. "It has been a difficult journey to make it here."

"Oh, I cannot begin to imagine," said Endicott, shuddering as he looked at Volcan, "forced to suffer the company of this barbarian."

At that, Avogadro's expression hardened. "Suffer his company?" He demanded, "You mean to enjoy the company of the brave man who protected me?"

Endicott did not look convinced. "I was under the impression that he was ordered to take you to safety - which, it would seem he did," the nobleman admitted, "But surely, our own King's Guard could have protected you just as well as he-"

"The King's Guard failed to protect my parents, Endicott," Avogadro cut him off, "They failed to slay the Lycan who took both their lives. Volcan, however, did not fail to slay that same Lycan when they came for me."

Endicott's gaze snapped back to Volcan. "He slew a Lycan?" he asked, not asking the phoenix the question.

"He has killed two of them!" called out one of the soldiers who had accompanied Volcan to the port, "He killed one on the city walls - we all saw it happen!"

"And he destroyed the enemy defenses at the Hawkton wall!" said another.

Avogadro crossed his arms. "Well, there you have it, Lord Endicott," he said.

Endicotted swallowed nervously. "My... Apologies, your highness. I did not mean-"

"Of course you meant it, Endicott," Avogadro cut him off, glaring at him, "My parents perished to one of the monstrous Lycans, and that same Lycan came for me at Garibaldi's Rise where Volcan took me to hide me from danger. But she tracked us down, and he managed to kill her; the tower fell in the battle, but she is surely dead - consumed by the flames cast by Volcan."

"She, your highness?" Endicott asked.

"Asya Boleslav," replied Avogadro.

"The ambassador?!" Endicott demanded as his eyes became as round as dinner plates, unable to hide his shock, "She was one of those monsters?"

"Yes, she was, and the assassin who took my parents - your king and queen, from us all," explained Avogadro, looking to the men around him - to every soldier in earshot, "The King's Guard failed to stop her, but this fine soldier," he pointed to Volcan, "succeeded where even Avolon's finest could not! My parents have been avenged thanks to him, but now we must come together to retake the kingdom that is rightfully ours! We know, thanks to Corporal MacAingeal, that the Lycans are not invincible! They can be killed, and if they can die, then we can win!"

The soldiers - everyone who heard Avogadro's declaration, raised their weapons and let their voices be heard, cheering for the prince, for Volcan, and for the future of Avolon. Endicott held his composure, not looking at the soldiers - nor at Volcan, keeping his eyes only on Avogadro.

"Endicott. I must see the captains - all of them," stated Avogadro, "There is much to do, and I suspect we have little time to do it."

Endicott snapped to attention. "Y-Yes sir. I will dispatch someone to rally them at once."

"Do that and get these men some medical assistance - we have wounded," said Avogadro, waving Endicott away. When the nobleman was gone, Avogadro turned to cast an apologetic look at Volcan, "I am sorry about him, truly."

Volcan shook his head, assuring him that it was fine. Then, he heard his name being called by a voice he recognized. He turned to it and saw the blue feathered form of a man he was delighted to see.

"Captain Vinson!" he exclaimed and would have saluted but his right arm burned with pain for his attempt to lift it.

"You don't need to salute," Captain Vinson assured him, "And at present, it is Martial Vinson, until this war is over."

He looked over to Avogadro, laying his arm across his chest and bowing to the prince. "Your highness. It is good to see that you are alright."

"Thanks to your Corporal, I am, Captain," Avogadro returned, nodding to the hawk, "You chose a fine man to protect me."

"Thank you, sire," Vinson returned, before taking in the wounded soldiers around him as their comrades led them away, taking them to receive treatment and partake of food and drink. "We knew some had been left behind," he said, solemnly, "We have been trying to get back into the city for days but those damned flak emplacements of theirs drive us back every time we try to go over the wall."

"Thanks to the Corporal, that will no longer be an issue," said the prince, smiling slightly, "There is now a gap in the enemy defenses, over the Hawkton wall, south of here."

Vinson looked between the Prince and Volcan. "Those explosions we saw and heard the other night?"

"That was our doing," the prince confirmed, "Or to be more precise, Volcan's. He unleashed his powers upon the enemy, destroying the emplacements. If we act quickly, there is now an opportunity for our army to re-enter Hawkton and establish a foothold inside the city again. I have already summoned the captains to meet, including you, Martial Vinson."

Vinson bore the look of a man inspired, looking at Volcan and speaking hurriedly. "Get your wounds treated, and come find me this evening," he said, "We have much to discuss."

"Yes, Cap- I mean, Martial Vinson," Volcan replied, keeping his sudden nervousness out of his voice. Usually, when a Captain wanted to speak with you in private, it was not for a pleasant discussion.

With that, Vinson turned on the ball of his foot and walked hastily away, flagging down a soldier he passed and giving them quick instructions before sending the man away to take wing and fly.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Avogadro looking at him again. "When you are treated, look for your family," he said, a hint of sadness in his voice, "I must meet the captains and any nobility who made it out, and discuss how we will address this crisis at hand. I will make sure they know of your part in saving these men and your actions on the wall as well. You have earned a rest, Corporal - I expect you to take it."

Volcan nodded back to him numbly, failing to find any words to express his thoughts at that moment. The prince had reverted to using his rank instead of his name; the two of them had grown close in their time together, but now it was time for them to return to their roles. He, the heir apparent - the king, by all rights. Volcan, a soldier of his army. But beneath that, Volcan could also see - and hear it in his voice, that Avogadro was still haunted by the murder of his parents...

As Avogadro walked away, Volcan silently prayed for the ancestors to guide the prince in the days ahead. The Battle for Avolon was only just beginning...Missing " mark at the end.