Chapter 4 – Part 1

A flash of vertigo, ice cold wind in his eyes, stinging his cheeks and then a force like a mighty fist driving him down as Bonaparte spread his wings wide, peeling out of his cloud dive and into a swooping bank to kill speed. Riding high in the saddle, Lieutenant Erwin de Gramont spun his head to and fro in a mad effort to regain his bearings.
It was just past six of the clock and the sun had just risen, at least, from the perspective of eight hundred mails up in the sky, casting blinding gold curtains of light beneath the clouds and above the still dark surface of the world below.
Dark land, dark sky, and dark everything in between. That wasn't good.
“Where are they?!” Erwin called to his wingmate, swooping down from on high atop his own Fire Drake, they fell into formation at once, as easy a habit as breathing, albeit at the moment, they were both sucking in ragged breaths, pulse pounding. Their opponents were not making this easy.
“I've no sign of them!” Sir Vincent Thetcher, formerly of the Albionian Royal Dragon Knights loyal to Prince Wales Tudor, and now as surely in the service of Queen Henrietta as himself, called back shortly.
“Stay on your guard!” Erwin instructed, hardly a thing that bore repeating as he swept the lightening sky, hand brushing back to feel the light piece of fabric that was still tied to his saddle.
Tucked into the shadows cast by the few cotton white clouds in the sky, neither Knight could find one trace of the skirmishers that had been close on their tails only moments before, an accomplishment given the nature of Faerie flight.
There should have been a sign, Erwin squinted. There was a telltale glow to Faerie wings that made them impossible to miss, like shooting stars in the night, one of the disadvantages of the otherwise potent aerial abilities of the Fae. He and Sir Vincent had exploited the weakness mercilessly the morning before along with the Fae's limited endurance, to snatch victory from their more nimble opponents when their stamina had been exhausted and they were forced to ground.
It had been… what had Dame Caramel called it? 'Like shooting fish in a barrel?'
Apt enough, even a commoner musket could do that much. For all their preternatural prowess, their magic, their inhuman strength and speed, once they were grounded, the Fae were as vulnerable as anyone else to having fire rained down on them from on high, and the previous skirmishes had thus far been consistently their loss.
Maybe they'd learned a thing or two after their previous humiliation.
Reclining back in his saddle, allowing his harness to bear his weight, Erwin tugged at the reins, coaxing Bonaparte higher on heavy wing beats. Maybe they'd gone to ground early, laying in ambush and recovering their stamina for another go. In that case, Erwin had no intention of giving them an easy target close to the ground, they'd have to waist precious energy chasing him up into the sky if they wanted to approach, all the better to pepper them with spell file as they drew near, patting his spell-sword reassuringly.
He was the third son of General Belgen de Gramont and had inherited the element of fire from his beautiful and virtuous mother, Monalise Alfeba Francine de Gramont, along with her considerable penchant for mass destruction, with the help of Bonaparte, he could light fire to an acre of forest in a single pass, lay a curtain of fire to detonate rockets and bombs as he had done on the night of the Gala attack, or pick off a wave of unprotected commoner infantry if they had the gall to advance without mage support.
But potent as his skills as a mage were, over the training fields, he was limited, forbidden from casting anything save less than lethal deterrents, for all purposes completely nonlethal to beings as resilient as a Faerie in even the lightest of armor. It wouldn't do any good to have someone wind up dead, after all.
'But this hardly makes it a challenge for them either.' Erwin thought.
It was all well and good that the Faerie trainees were responding to practice drills and learning the maneuvers and counters of Dragon Knights and mage cavalry, and all the better that many of them had been blooded, either at Newcastle or in battle against the Mobs that infested the countryside. But that wasn't enough to call them soldiers, not nearly enough.
They lacked aggression… temerity for lack of a better word, to use their innate abilities to the fullest. Erwin swept the skies. There were exceptions of course, those to whom the shock and intensity of battle came naturally, most notably among the Newcastle Volunteers, and the Yggdrasil Knights, but on the whole, they were deceptively soft souls.
The instructors had already taken to toughening them up, the screams and curses of Mage Officers filling the yards during morning drill, joined once more by the living bellows that drove the voice of Sir Carmond, commander of the training cadre and liaison to the Fort Captain of the Champ de'Mars training facility.
It was an impressive sight, to watch at least, he imagined it was a good deal more terrifying for the recruits to be confronted by a Salamander only slightly smaller than General Eugene, red faced and on the verge of bursting. But everyone knew that the cadre leader was more bark than bite. For all of that volume, the Knight shook his head in disbelief, Sir Carmond had never once laid a violent hand on the men he had taken to training. And he hadn't allowed it of the mage instructors either.
Training weights, humiliating exercises, added duties on little sleep, all of these punishments were fair game, but never so much as the switch raised against any of the trainees, much less a proper cat-o-nine. That would just leave them soft to pain, Erwin thought, and soft to the strictures of rank. He didn't know what sort of wars the Faeries fought in their homeland to not heed the necessity of discipline more closely.
It was, one and all, nothing more than a second hand play craft of the real thing.
'What they need… ' The third Gramont son decided '… Is a good trial by fire.' Not with the intent to kill, mind, but enough that they would learn not to flinch at the charge of a drake, and keep their heads when confronted by spell flames.
In other words, they needed live combat drills, not just these flag matches, they needed…
Erwin heard Thetcher's whistle almost too late. It had been too late, if not for the fact that he had responded by reflex, throwing his weight to the left and yanking the reigns along with him, Bonaparte responded to shift in their shared center of mass by banking just as a dark dart-like shape snapped past him in a wash of rushing air, going fast, too fast to have been anything but deliberate.
“What!”
Still turning sharply, all Erwin had to do was turn his head to see up, up into the dark sky, and the nearly invisible dots that now resolved, falling towards him with impressive speed, and below, a quartet of silver-white wings flashing into existence as the Faerie who had just failed to blindside him, began to arrest their fall.
No glow! Erwin cursed under his breath.
The Faeries had a spell for that too, to mask the light of their wings, but it had its own price, namely, reducing the Faerie flight speed to an anemic crawl that even a fire drake could outstrip. But they weren't flying, they were falling, a simple expedient to get around that problem, and coming down from above the clouds… he clicked his tongue, they wouldn't have even needed their magic to hide their wings, at full speed, momentum would have carried them up quite a ways before gravity started to pull them back down.
Clever.
“Thetcher!” Erwin called to his wingmate, the Albionian was his cover for this exercise, the Faerie's needed the streamer attached to Erwin's own saddle to win, which made Thetcher an unwanted obstacle to their ambitions, one who was already maneuvering to his wingmate's aid.
When Erwin had started his bank, Thetcher had immediately begun a turn of his own in the opposite direction, intent on placing himself above his Flight Leader to offer shelter. Meanwhile, Erwin went to work on making things interesting as he sighted down the spine of his spell-sword, a good Germanian pattern, built more for the precise work of a wind mage, it didn't suit him at all, but then, this sort of practice didn't suit him either.
'Give me something I can turn to ash!' He cursed as he breathed his first chant.
Earth magic of all things. Father would be amused, at least. It had been one of the great jokes of the family that their baby brother was the one to take most after their father, his affinities as well. Erwin for one had never enjoyed his studies of the element.
Not that he had any right to complain now, he was the target after all, which meant the diving Faeries had to come straight for him, he could take aim easily, at least, his first spell formed and fired itself, a fist sized projectile of porous red clay aimed at the lead of the two Faeries striking from above. Porous so as not to harm the Faerie Knight, and red so as to make the mark hard to miss, a target that was so marked was not permitted to retrieve the streamer and was required to land immediately.
First shot, then second, Erwin switched his aim to the second Faerie without bothering to see if his strikes had hit home, all he needed was for them to break from their dives and burn up their remaining flight time in maneuver. His third shot grazed past the trailing Fae who had gone from a dark little dart to a fast growing, dragon helmed warrior with a curved practice sword held two handed at his side, the fourth would have hit, but the target had recognized what was happening and adjusted his dive at the last possible moment.
It didn't help the Faerie as much as he had hoped, no sooner had Erwin's forth shot missed wide did the Faerie suddenly go stiff, like an insect striking a pane of glass, before being flung through the air like a rag doll.
Wind hammer, Erwin nodded his approval to Sir Thetcher, why take precise aim when simply battering the whole area would do perfectly well enough.
The Faerie was sent tumbling a ways, the sudden loss of his dive posture ruining his fast downward decent. Bright red Salamander wings flashed to life as he recovered, and instead of continuing his charge, broke for cover in the forested area beneath the two Dragon Knights.
'Which leaves only you.' Erwin returned his attention to the last Faerie, now dangerously close and not at all deterred. Thetcher cast again, trying for another wind hammer, and maybe the concussive spell would have worked if not for the fact that, at that exact moment, the Faerie deigned to open his wings, slamming into the turbulent wall of semi-solid air and powering through at full speed.
“Merde!” Erwin barked as he twisted again in his saddle, pulling on the reins tightly to urge Bonaparte into a roll which became a dizzying dive as the dragon folded its wings, anything to put on some distance and draw the last one on to his tail where Sir Thetcher could take the shot.
This was where things got interesting.
Faeries, for all their small size, were astonishingly capable aerial combatants, their wings while in powered flight behaved less like those of a bird or drake and more like a sort of flight enchantment with each wings supplying a fraction of the Faerie's full thrust and able to vector and maneuver in such a way as to direct that force in almost any direction.
It did wonders for their maneuverability at the further expense of endurance.
In a breath's span Erwin and his mount lost two hundred mails and transformed their dive into forward speed as Bonaparte's wings dragged at the air, meanwhile, the Faerie that had dropped in behind them, flashed smoke black wings to correct himself, now he was in chase behind Erwin and the Dragon Knight changed his flight regimen again, from a glide into heavy, wing beating, maneuvers that would swiftly exhaust Bonaparte, but that was fine, it would wear out their Faerie chaser first.
It came down to energy, Faerie wings could direct their flight with astonishing efficiency, permitting high speed and maneuverability, but they had to take care, the wing surfaces were not nearly large enough to aid meaningfully in banks and turns, not to provide added drag in an emergency stop, meaning that even to simply follow a fast turning dragon, a Faerie would have to use up proportionally more of his stamina.
Worse, for the Faerie in chase anyways, they didn't just have to follow Erwin's maneuvers, they had to forestall them and inevitably end up traveling a longer path at higher speeds to intercept, the other alternative was to lose even more energy and make themselves more vulnerable by slowing down.
Not that Erwin needed the Faerie to slow down in order to be hit. Two more rapid fire clay shots spat from the edge of his sword while up above, Thetcher rained wind hammer blows and magic flung dye bombs at the Faerie pursuer. Good, now they had him juking and too busy managing not to be hit.
A buzzing attenuated voice reached Erwin's ears on a breath of wind magic. “Keep a course due East, lure on ten count.” High above, Thetcher was gaining speed and pulled out ahead. Chin tucked into the high collar of his uniform jack, Erwin grinned. This was more like it.
'One… two… three…' Counting calm as ever, no need to rush. Erwin kept the Faerie on his tail busy, spitting out snap shots and slipping in another wind hammer that staggered him, but otherwise failed to end his dogged pursuit. Stubborn, he'd give him that, and gaining ground all the way.
'… four… five… six… seven…'
Thetcher was well ahead of him now and beginning to roll as he started his split-S while Erwin kept the Faerie too busy to notice. 'He's got to be nearly exhausted now.'
'… eight… nine… ten…'
Drawing in the reins while leaning back in his saddle, Bonaparte spread his wings wide, rearing in midair in a motion that killed their forward speed almost instantly, the Faerie overshot in a black blur spinning around and losing speed just in time for Thetcher to complete his split-S.
“Now you're…” Erwin began, only for triumph to be snatched from him as the Faerie vanished in an erupting cloud of black smoke. “Merde!” sinking low in his saddle to withstand the buffeting wind that struck along with the oncoming smoke front. Bonaparte crooned in displeasure as the clouds utterly enveloped them.
“Agh!” Erwin growled under his breath. This was becoming quite the bag of tricks the Faeries were playing with today. Swiping his sword with a short chant that ought to have conjured up a gale to sweep aside the accursed Spriggan smoke, he was left less than satisfied when the magic had no meaningful effect on the cloud of gritty particles. Oh it swirled them up just fine, but they stubbornly refused to dissipate as they ought to. Even the heavy beating of Bonaparte's wings did little but whip up a string of small vortices.
Faerie magic in action, never a simple solution. But he refused to remain blind in this mess.
Next raising his wand over his head, Erwin cast a ranging spell, the length of his spell-sword pinging faintly with subtle vibrations. The returns painted a picture for a hundred mails all around, empty sky save for… there!
The Dragon Knight didn't need to see, pointing his wand down past his saddle he snapped off another clay shot, narrowly missing the white winged Faerie from earlier as they burst out of the cloud cover, swing a one handed practice sword that would have batted the Dragon Rider's own guard aside if he'd been foolish enough to hold his ground.
He wasn't that foolish. Snapping his sword out straight, a single point of light sparked at the end of his wand and then burst. Fire magic, but far from the lethal spells he would level in pitched battle, a mere flash cantrip that dazzled the Faerie and sent them staggering in midair, vulnerable as he peppered them with a shower of clay shot. Three strikes, three -puffs- as porous clay burst and covered the Faerie Knight's plate and leather armor, leaving now doubt that the Faerie was out of this fight.
But they would have come at him alone, and sure enough, the Salamander from before was right behind the first, Erwin's clay shot bursting uselessly as it struck a fire barrier precast and unleashed by the Fire Fae, sheltering him as he rushed in close and was battered away by a wind whip thrown out by Sir Thetcher, Erwin's wingmate appearing from above.
“I have him!” Thetcher reported, batting the Salamander with a another wind whip that was partly disrupted by a wild swing of the Faerie's practice sword and then dispelled entirely as Sir Thetcher let out a yelp of surprise, sword spinning from his hand as the Spriggan fell in from above.
“Erwin!”
“Right!” Hitting the dazed Salamander with another clay shot to mark him out of the exercise, no good would come of staying here, the Spriggan was the one who had cast this spell, and until its effect faded, he would be the only one who could see past his own nose inside of it.
Bonaparte understood his intentions perfectly, spreading his wings to catch the gale that Erwin summoned to boost their shallow dive, this smokescreen couldn't go on forever, and where it broke he could get back out into the clear sky. Darkness lightening ahead, the sun bursting into view, and a dark silhouette erupting from its hart, turning to silver as the light caught pure white armor and six slender wings.
It was Erwin's turn to be dazzled, lashing out blindly with a wind whip, there was a no time for anything else as the Faerie came straight at him, tucking into an acrobatic roll as they clipped Bonaparte's long neck and tumbled free, already behind the Dragon Knight before he had even half recovered.
And with that, a triumphant whistle filled the morning air. Blinking and spluttering, Erwin felt for the streamer tied to his saddle and found it gone. Behind him, riding high in the air, the silver-white Faerie held the yellow piece of cloth above their head.
Erwin stared for a moment, then he shook his head and grinned, the match was theirs. Now to get back down to earth, staying up in the cold morning winds wasn't nearly as enjoyable after a loss.
There was a clearing not far from the edge of the training area, a small meadow in point of fact, where waiting dragons and Faeries would rest and prepare for their own drills, or regroup before traveling back to Champ de'Mars. By the time Bonaparte came gliding in, Thetcher and the two defeated Faeries were already set down after hearing the call that the exercise had been completed.
Erwin unclipped himself from his harness, patting his discouraged mount on the snout as he went. The drake had sensed his disappointment and was none too happy himself because of it. “There there boy, better luck on the next go.” He promised. Two to four had seemed like a fair advantage for the Faeries the day before, it hardly seemed sporting this time around. Or so he thought as he neared the stream where the others were removing their gear to wash away the clay and dye dust.
“Puttt ptuii! Gah! This stuff tastes awful!” Was said in a belligerent tone of voice by the Faerie Knight, female, Faerie Knight who was presently rinsing her helmet in the fast flowing stream. Ah yes, Erwin admired, and also admired said Knight's aesthetic as she stripped off the heavier elements of her gear, one of the more sensible things about the Fae, they appreciated that the fairer sex were as able to run someone through as any man. “Hey, Vince, you sure this stuff isn't toxic? I think I might have swallowed some.”
Rubbing his smarted wrist, Sir Vincent Thetcher, a burly, sandy haired man, gave a small nod. “It should be completely harmless, Dame Caramel.”
Both Faeries perked up at once. “That's Ca-ra-mel-la!” Sung, badly, in unison.
“You really swallowed some of that stuff?” The second Faerie, a fiery haired and somewhat thuggish looking Salamander asked as he scratched at a stubble-covered chin. “How'd you manage that through your helmet? I mean,” He lifted his own helm and tapped the opaque face, “These things don't even have eye holes!”
“Yeah, don't ask me what sorcery they use to do that.” The Faerie woman supplied. “But the helmets are ventilated, you know, you still gotta breath, and you don't want these fogging up on you either.” Dame Caramella groaned as she fell back on her rear, rubbing her shoulder. “Those things kinda hurt up close you know.” The brown haired woman pursed her lips. “You really didn't need to hit me with three!” Giving Erwin an arch look that was only half serious.
“Consider it a show of my respect,” Erwin bowed just as half seriously, “That I thought no less than three shots would be sufficient.”
“Oy, still wasn't enough to keep us from a win.” Sir Klein grinned triumphantly. “Score one for us.” He shared a Faerie comradely gesture with Dame Caramella, the striking of open palms.
“It was our loss for losing track of you in the clouds.” Erwin answered shortly without taking his eyes from Dame Caramel. “We were too confident after our success yesterday. Though I must say I'm impressed by that showing, your plan led us perfectly into your trap.”
“Plan?” Klein and Caramella said together, sharing a lost look.
“Certainly!” Erwin blinked, mystified. “Diving on us without your wings, the smokescreen, surely that was all set up for your trap!”
“I'm sorry to say it…” Approaching at his back, the Knight of silver-white, adorned in sleek armor and helm, still holding her prize, and the Spriggan Knight in nearly identical lightweight, dark Amalgam armor. “… There really wasn't any plan.”
“No plan? But surely… ” Erwin fell quiet as Dame Asuna removed her helm and shook out matted hair. Her less than ladylike presentation aside, the lovely young Lieutenant Commander of the Yggdrasil Knight's looked almost embarrassed when she smiled.
“The truth is that we didn't know which plan would work, so we just thought we'd try everything!”