Very sorry about the delay- had a bad bout of art block so I figured a smaller chapter would be good to get the gears going again. Enjoy!

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Chapter 11


Chapter 13

“Keep your pants on ladies- this is still a Minuteman AO and I expect you treat it as such! Now get those cannons on their wheels and move out back to base camp. On the double!” Rawhide barked at his soldiers who were cheering and hollering at the sight of the island crumbling and my subsequent return.

The bulldog put his cigar back in his mouth as I came in for my landing. “Well I’ll be damned Cynder if you planned to take the island on by yourself we could have just stayed at base camp. What- did you think we needed the exercise?”

I snorted the sort of laugh that only comes after great strain and hours of pumping adrenaline. “Yeah- sorry about that. Plan changed.”

“I’m only yanking your chain Cynder. Every soldier knows even the best plans go awry- especially the best plans. That’s why we minutemen train for chaos. If we don’t know what we’re doing, how can the enemy.”

I internally queried his logic but did not have the strength to debate. Rest now talk later. “Ah- a statement that has more logic than it implies.” I agreed.

“Hey! Over here!” We heard a shouting far in the distance. All eyes shot to the direction of the voice. Furries grabbed their boom-sticks and aimed at the thickets of underbrush. Just as I was about to take a defensive position a familiar bunny lad emerged from the bramble. It was Peter! I was sure he had not survived the crash but low and behold there he was! His uniform was torn, caked with mud, blood and had more than a few bumps and cuts but he still could run- he even had his oversize helmet.

“Peter!” I called out in excitement. The other minutemen relaxed and eventually went back to packing up the artillery. Peter collapsed in a heap near the artillery volley as me, Rawhide and a few medics sprinted to aid him. Naturally I made it to him first because of my greater strides but the others arrived seconds later.

“Did- did Cynder stop it commander?” Peter asked weakly but somewhat pleased as the medics loaded him onto a stretcher.

“We did it.” I replied before Rawhide had a chance to respond. Peter looked back and finally noticed me. A smile crept across his muddy face as the medics injected him with a tiny syringe before his eyes went glossy and closing altogether.

“That should be enough to keep him under until we reach the train station.” Said the medic, a middle age raccoon woman with small bifocals on her snout. Her medic uniform was very similar to the uniforms of her companions.

“You should let me look at those burns too Cynder. We don’t see many dragons here but I’m willing to wager our anti-burn potions should start the healing process.” Said the raccoon nurse. I eyed my burned paw and winced. The punch I had landed only rewarded me with a grisly burn that would have been more severe if not for my scales. Dragon scales were naturally resistant to fire but that did not mean we were fireproof. Still, if I had been a furry this burn would have easily been severe enough to possibly lose the hand. Luckily however the scales around the burn were already falling away revealing the pink skin beneath where new black scales would grow in about a week.

“That’d be great thanks.” I said casually and took a seat on my haunches and extended her my damaged paw. She and her medic underlings went to work mending my paw. I hissed when they poured a clear solution on the wound- the medics jumped back in fright until I reigned in my flinching. A few minutes later my paw was wrapped in white gauze and a few cuts and less severe burns on my side were bandaged.

Further celebrations were shelved for the time until we were at Will’s Mill. I helped repackage the cannon balls into their wooden boxes with stuffed hay. The cannons were strapped to labor animals that looked like hairy cows with large horns but seemed more than capable of pulling the cannons with no protest. We were on the trail within the hour and leaving the towering mass of earth and rubble that was the walking island behind to become a new ruin for intrepid looters to occasionally delve into in the future. Walking was…. Taxing to say the least with my bandaged paw. I could have flown off to the train station and cut the trip time in half but for some reason I marched with the minutemen and in that march I saw something. Ubuntu was right. These people, their very walk sings songs about their way of life. That savage, unforgiving and often times brutal life was what most outsiders saw of Törg but in their faces and their stance of their march, men and women. It was the honor of a people that knew in their very bones that life was a bitter and difficult struggle but still rose from their beds everyday because it was a struggle only they could endure and whatever ills the world threw at Törg- they would endure and they would teach their children to endure. And that vestige of unbreakable willpower and determination meant the people of Törg could never be destroyed. Truly they were a people of iron.

Only now did I remember the tapes! I trotted up to Rawhide who was riding a mount similar to the ones pulling the cannons minus the long fur and horns. I still do not know how he could see with his helmet over his eyes but I found little reason to ask.

“Rawhide. I found that team you sent in.” I paused to correct myself. “Well… their tapes anyway.” I craned my neck to snag the recorder Ubuntu held in his hands for me.

Rawhide wordlessly took the player and the tapes before he slipped them into his saddle pocket. “Thank you Cynder. I’ll take note of them when we’re on the train to Will’s Mill.” He said soberly and took the reigns of his mount back in his grasp.

“It’s… not pleasant so be warned.” I said evenly.

Rawhide did not turn to face me but I did hear a sigh escape his nostrils. “It’s war Cynder. Anyone who says it’s a picnic is either lying to you, themselves or standing to make money off it. Even then it never gets easier seeing young life snuffed out before your eyes. But everyone here knows that when you pick up a gun there’s always a chance you’ll die for nothing. We know what we sign up for. We have a duty to the people of Törg and maintenance of liberty. Pity we didn’t recover any remains though. Makes writing the black letter to their families all the harder.”

There was a pregnant pause marred only by the crushing of hooves and boot on the ground and the clanging of equipment. The sun was just beginning to come through against the fog that was abating finally and no doubt it coincided with the destruction of the island. The trees were tall with dark green pine needles and dark brown bark to match. The forest extended for as far as the eye could see though if I took the sky I’m sure I could see the coast. While Törg was a large region, Ubuntu had said majority of the population lived along this Iron Coast for fertile farming land.

“So. Now that things are quieter now I have to ask. Ubuntu, why didn’t you tell us you were leaving to bring Cynder here? I thought you were just going to walk off into the sunset.” Rawhide began in an uncharacteristically quizzical tone.

“If had told you I was going to find Cyndah you would not have believed me or worse- arrested me. De people of Törg are mistrustful of mages on good days but if dey knew I served Gaul…. I would have been mobbed.” Ubuntu replied in his dusty old man voice. I knew he had served Gaul and Malefor as one of the cabal of mages that enchanted me as an infant. He had confessed that the day we met.

“Right. Minuteman Intel knew that.”

“Minutemen Intel?” I asked thinking out loud.

Rawhide nodded. “Correct. Short and simple they’re spies and scouts that live among the civilian population and network with each other to spread information and enemy movements from Anvil around to the rest of the Confederacy.”

“So the minutemen have spy rings. Guess it would make sense to fight Anvil spies with your own spies. But how did they know Ubuntu served Gaul?”

“It’s simple. He can hide it now that he looks so….. well...”

“Old.” Ubuntu finished unenthused.

“Exactly. That and the eyepatch, being an ape, a wizard. Malefor wasn’t hundreds of years ago. For some people it feels like last month.”

“How does the eyepatch make him suspicious?” I asked to the both of them but only Ubuntu could answer.

“It was.. a ritual Cyndah. Before we had you steal the guardians powers to open the portal of Convexity, Gaul needed direction from Malefor on where to start. Gaul assembled his ring of mages and we devised a way for Malefor to communicate and see into our world. It was crude but it would work. We all sacrificed one of our eyes for the ritual. I know it seems steep but Gaul was promising us our own individual continents as rewards and in our haste we accepted. We put our eyes in a ritual bowl and through black magic rites we create an eye to the Convexity. Gaul took that eye, cleaved out his own right eye and replaced it with the Convexity eye.”

I just now realized my mouth was slightly agape by his story. I admittedly remembered little of Gaul as it was Spyro that fought him but I knew enough to remember he was missing his right eye…. Even Rawhide seemed to be quieted into digesting Ubuntu’s tale.

“But why Cynder? Why did you need to bring her- not that I’m not thankful just- why not bring her and Spyro?”

“I cannot say too much without putting you in dangah general but just know- these creatures that are ravaging Törg are something fire and steel will not be able to defeat. Cyndah is de only one who can do it.”

Rawhide snorted. “Well if she can stop these four- well three now- and Faranthia then I’ll happily see her to it.”

“Four? I thought there were seven?.” I interjected raising a brow.

“Seven? Damn sister you mean there are seven of those things? Scouts say they’ve only spotted four- even stolen intel from Anvil spies count four” Rawhide conjectured more than a little disturbed by the news.

“Well. Most people do not tink to count Faranthia as one of the Seven.”

“Wait- Rawhide- what does this intel say they are? Like- are they all walking islands?” I asked.

The bulldog shook his head. “No. I don’t know the specifics but I do have the files at Will’s Mill and can let you read them when we arrive. From what I gleamed from the reports is that none have walking island fortresses. Still if some people count Faranthia that still leaves two others nobody seems to know nothing about!”

“We will find dem.” Ubuntu said evenly before we could devolve into debased theories. He was right. The Seven were just as bound to me as I to them. In time I would find them or they would find me. We just needed time.

“You’re right.” I said centering myself. Answers were promised in Will’s Mill so that is where we would go.