A Metal Bird Bug

The following day began as normal, with Eragon completing his morning cleansing rituals and breaking his fast, before moving onto Mirina’s morning lessons. Eragon was relieved to note that the brown dragon was much more compliant that day, perhaps owing to Saphira’s scolding the day before, or lingering fatigue from her exhausting endurance training from the same day, or a mixture of both. Saphira, happy with Mirina’s progress, suggested they would go easier that day. The news seemed to relieve Mirina, and Eragon could not fault her reluctance to perform another rigorous aerial marathon when she was only so young; Saphira did push her, though not to the breaking point. She was surprisingly skilled at letting Mirina rest before embarking on another painstaking training session. With the two dragons flying off into the sky, Eragon returned to his hut, Filin waiting for him as she always did, the same stoic expression belying the fiery excitement that her gleaming eyes revealed. Their lesson was of history, the focus of Eragon’s instruction being that of humanity; as well versed as she was in Elven culture – as expected – Filin’s knowledge of the various human societies and regions was somewhat lacking. She admitted that her lack of knowledge was owing to her disinterest in humans, but understood when Eragon had chastened her that she could not narrow herself to the world now that she was a Rider.
“As I have said numerous times, knowledge is power. While humans may not have the singularly complex culture of the Elves, they make up for it in diversity,” Eragon had said. “There are many different beliefs and traditions amongst human societies, and while you may not understand how they can believe much of what they do, it is often better to blend yourself within their culture than to rail against it; arguing that their views are narrow or dogmatic or outright false may close doors that would’ve otherwise been open to you. Do not cast your beliefs aside, but understand those of others, as I have done, and you will find many things easier, especially diplomacy.”
Filin nodded in comprehension, remarking that she would’ve considered such things unnecessary before. Eragon had agreed with her sentiment, admitting to her that he, somewhat to his embarrassment now, never knew how to write or read in Carvahall, as his uncle, Garrow, saw it as a pointless endeavour and unnecessary for a farmer; all one needed to know was their figures and prices.
“I was but a farm boy back then,” Eragon explained, a pang of wistful sadness prickling his mind as he remembered his old life. “My world consisted of the farm, Carvahall and its people, the traders that came through every now and then, and the Spine in which shadow we dwelt. I was one of few brave enough to hunt in those mountains, so my world was perhaps a bit larger than some. And, of course, it was in the Spine in which I found Saphira’s egg. And the rest, of course, you know of.”
“A farm boy,” she said, trailing the words as if trying to comprehend a hidden meaning behind them. “I would not believe it if I did not know you… how much you have changed, if you do not mind me saying, Master.” Eragon chuckled.
“Filin, you have no idea how much it boggles me from time to time. But, what is, is. And while my life thereafter was filled with much pain, loss and fear, there was also hope, life, and love. I would not trade it for what I have with Saphira. Even if I could turn back time, have another chance to live as I did, I could not. And now that Galbatorix is dead, and I have the duty to raise the next generation of Riders, I can cast aside dread and fear and pain. I may long for Alagaesia, but I can keep in contact with those I hold dear. I am not truly gone. And so long as Saphira is with me, I will always be happy.”
Filin nodded in understanding, a smile pursing her thin lips.
“I will strive to learn all I can, until my knowledge of the world is greater than it is now, Master.”
“A noble goal, but always know that there is always more to learn. The world is full of mysteries. But, before we continue our studies on the people of Surda and their culture, tell me, how does one best prolong a glide?”
Filin paused, as though stumped. A thin smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth; it was something Oromis and Glaedr had done, asking Eragon about things pertaining to Saphira’s lessons, and Saphira questions about Eragon’s teachings. It was a means of strengthening the bond between Rider and Dragon. Filin was silent for a moment more, before her mouth opened.
“To prolong one’s glide—“
She suddenly paused as both her and Eragon were interrupted by an urgent thought from Saphira.
Saphira, what is it? Eragon asked, a touch of concern in his voice. Filin looked to him with a hint of worry on her otherwise composed face.
Come quickly. It’s Mirina. She has caught… something, Saphira explained.
Something? Do not be cryptic, what is it?
If I knew what it was, I would tell you. She seems pleased with herself, but I do not like it. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen or heard of before.
And with that, Saphira’s mind withdrew until only a link of emotions existed between her and Eragon. Filin looked to him, and he nodded in unspoken agreement. With the lesson seemingly at an end, they strode to the door, and made their way down to the clearing next to the great hall of Du Skulblaka Stenr.

Eragon spotted Saphira circling downwards towards the clearing, flaring her wings with a massive rush of air that buffeted both him and Filin, alighting upon the granite ground. She folded her wings next to her body, and even upon her face, Eragon could tell she was concerned, her features tightened around her skull. Moments later, the smaller, brown shape of Mirina appeared, swaying side to side in her flight.
“She seems happy,” Filin told him, connected to Mirina by mental link, but even Mirina’s apparent glee was not enough to override the Elf’s concern.
As she flew closer, Eragon spotted something held between the jaws of the young dragon, though what it was, he did not know. Soon, Mirina had joined the trio, dropping to the ground next to Saphira, her bearing tall and proud, almost arrogantly so as she craned her neck upwards to show off her kill.
My first real catch! she exclaimed, cheerful. It is small, but it was quick and smart.
Hatchling, Saphira began, her tone admonishing. What is the first rule about hunting prey?
Mirina bowed slightly, cowed.
To know that it is prey before striking, she answered correctly.
So then, hatchling… tell me, what is in your mouth? And is it prey?
Eragon looked to the younger dragon, and more importantly, what jerked and sparked between her rows of teeth. It was like nothing Eragon had seen before; a sleek, metallic body, almost like a beetle’s carapace, about the size of a child, dull grey and unreflective; what appeared to be a ‘head’ caught between two sets of teeth, its mounting twisted and torn, blue and yellow sparks crackling down to the ground, a spherical segment twitching in random jerks, a trio of different sized glass circles that unnervingly looked like oily black eyes pitted on its front, looking around frantically; and finally, most noticeable of all, were the four circular rings that sprouted on pivoting arms at each corner, a disc of dozens of angled blades nestled within each, one spinning with a loud buzzing, another motionless, and the rest twitching, stuck on warped metal and caught on ivory teeth.
What… is that, Eragon uttered. Mirina cocked her head, and her long, purplish tongue slithered up to lap at the sparking, metallic bird bug. Her eyes narrowed, and her tongue retreated.
It doesn’t taste very good. I don’t like it, the dragon decided. A moment later, she opened her jaws, and dropped the metal creature to the ground with a small clatter, saliva coating its carapace to give it a sheen it had lacked before. As soon as it was extricated from Mirina’s maw, it began to spasm and writhe even more violently. Its ‘wings’ twisted and swivelled, causing it to jump around on the ground. Eragon didn’t even bother trying to heal it or put it out of its misery; he’d reached out with his mind to touch its consciousness, and found… nothing. It wasn’t as if it were dead, but as if it weren’t even there. And looking upon it over and over, he was certain it was not a creature. And most disturbing of all, its spherical ‘head’ and the trio of ‘eyes’ mounted to it were now firmly fixated upon Eragon, impassive, emotionless and unfeeling, contrasting with its writhing spasms, its damaged mount still able to keep its gaze locked upon Eragon despite its death throes.
“It’s not even alive,” Filin observed, her tone vaguely disturbed.
“The only thing remotely close to… whatever in blazes this is, is Caruoc, but even he is alive. An Elundari connected to an enchanted metal body. I don’t even feel magic from this creature,” Eragon said.
I don’t like it, Saphira interjected. It unnerves me.
Then I’ll get rid of it, Eragon assured. He took a step towards the twitching metal insect bird, but he was unable to take another as it suddenly went dead still.
A second later, it exploded in a loud bang and a puff of smoke and fire. Eragon yelped, jumping backwards to avoid tiny fragments of metal, though none threatened him. As the smoke cleared, all that remained was a quickly burning husk, a purplish hue to the fire as it consumed the intricate internal workings of the device. As its carapace cracked, Eragon laid eyes upon a fist sized box, black with an orange stripe running around it. It too momentarily popped in a flash of purplish-red fire, burning down until it was an ashen, warped mess.
It took only a minute or so for the fire to die, but by the time it subsided, their remained only a burned, melted heap, nothing recognisable left unscathed but for a vague outline of blackened granite, metal, ash and some other gloopy substance that Eragon could not place, though it for some reason reminded him of resin.
“Well… that was a funeral fit for a king,” he muttered. He then turned to Mirina and looked her square in her deep brown left eye. “From now on, never hunt those things unless they attack you, and I don’t even know how they’d do that. If one bursts in your mouth, it may hurt you or worse.”
Listen to Eragon, youngling. It would be best to simply avoid them from now on. It’s not like you could make a meal out of them anyway, and if it popped in your stomach, then you would not feel so well, would you? Saphira added. Mirina bowed her head.
Yes, Saphira Ebrithil, Eragon Ebrithil, she conceded. The brown dragon lowered her head to sniff the smoking remains of the metal creature, her lips curling into a snarl at the pungent smell wafting up from it. Eragon similarly grimaced at the odd aroma, like burnt metal mixed with another, unpleasant and acrid stench that he could not quite identify, or compare. He stepped in front of it, and uttering a few words in the ancient language, buried the charred carcass in the soil that topped the plateau, confident that it was so thoroughly destroyed and devoid of life or magic, that it could not pose a threat to them. Once the soil knitted together once more over the top of the remains, the smell was stifled, and with the ground looking as though nothing had changed, the only evidence of the metallic insect bird was a scattering of sooty spots speckled around the ground.
“Alright then, I think that’s the end of that,” Eragon stated. “If it’s alright with you Saphira, I think I will go speak to Blodgarm about this.”
It is fine, Eragon. I will talk to Mirina about the history and importance of the riders in the meantime. I’ve come to see a good mental exercise after rigorous physical training as rather beneficial, she said. At that, the two of them felt a soft, mental groan roll from Mirina. Filin looked as though she was trying to supress a smile.
“And Filin, I think you should stay and listen to Saphira as well. I know we have spoken about it before, but it’s important to have a dragon’s perspective on the matter. It is quite insightful, and necessary in building a strong bond with your dragon,” Eragon suggested. Filin nodded with a thin smile.
“Of course, Ebrithil,” Filin nodded, and then addressed Saphira, It is always an honour, Saphira Bjartskulr Ebrithil.
Eragon could sense Saphira was pleased with how Filin addressed her, as she did whenever someone spoke to her with praise and reverenced; her love of flattery, even if she knew it was something of a flaw, was never going to change.
With a polite nod, Eragon bade farewell to the trio, making his way to the hall of Du Skulblaka Stenr. Whilst only the side facing east, back towards the realm of Alagaesia, possessed the elaborately designed door, the other facades were constructed with large oaken gates, big enough for at least Saphira to enter. He walked up to one of them, and grasped the handle of a much smaller wicket gate built into the massive oak doors, swinging it ajar and entering the great hall. Even after being involved in its construction and entering numerous times since its completion, the interior splendour of Du Skulblaka Stenr’s hall never ceased to impress Eragon; with the aid of the Elves and the Elundari, they were able to use magic to sculpt much of what would’ve otherwise taken years to create so artfully, from the intricate reliefs of vines and flowers running up the interior support columns, the numerous marble sculptures of Elves and Dragons – one of him and Saphira, Arya and her dragon, Firnen, and, at Eragon’s behest, one of Murtagh and his dragon, Thorn, all standing tall at the southern end of the hall – lining the walls between columns, the smooth, polished stone floor, designed with fanciful, geometric patterns of agate, the towering windows that streamed in golden rays of sunlight – the biggest of which even Saphira could fly through when open – and the delicate, artful grace inherent in all Elven architecture. And at the northern end of the great hall was a large, raised dais, the semi-circular platform of stone spanning from one corner of the hall to the other, numerous alcoves recessed into the wall, each possessing a pedestal, on which sat Elundari, the ‘Heart of Hearts’ of dragons whose physical bodies had long since died, but live on in the crystalline orbs that once resided in living flesh. They were numerous in shape and colour and size, the latter providing an indication as to the size the dragon had grown to before disgorging their Elundari. In the middle of the wall was an alcove slightly larger than the rest, with two pedestals, one slightly taller and thicker than the other, and upon them sat two Elundari, one of a yellow golden glow, the other, sitting upon the larger pedestal, the gem itself larger than the other that sat upon the pedestal adjacent, gleaming a silvery white. Eragon strode over to them, and bowed politely.
Master Umaroth, Eragon spoke with his mind reaching towards the two shining gemstones. Master Glaedr.
Eragon Finariel, they both responded, first Umaroth, and then Glaedr. He felt it strange to be called Master by Filin and Mirina, and to then call the two Elundari before him master himself, especially when they responded with honorifics denoting his junior status. But he was used to it, especially with Glaedr; he was one of Eragon’s greatest teachers and a close friend.
How goes the training? Glaedr asked. Eragon could feel a sensation of interest radiate from Umaroth.
Filin’s studies progress splendidly. She’s eager to train, and ready to learn things she would’ve once believe pointless or unnecessary. An edge then crept into Eragon’s mental tone. Mirina, however, is still somewhat recalcitrant. She is brash and overconfident. In a way, she reminds me of myself, not that long ago, but even I listened more than she. But that is not why I have come to talk.
We assumed as much. We felt confusion in the clearing. What tidings do you bring? Umaroth asked. Eragon felt their intrigue prickling his mind.
Well, Saphira took Mirina for another flying lesson… except, this time, she caught something… and I have no earthly clue as to what the hell it was. I plan to go over the scrolls we have, and to consult with the Elundari that make sense, but it was like nothing I’ve ever known. I do not remember anything that would describe what I saw drop from Mirina’s mouth. It was large, with a metal body about the size of a toddler, with four circular wings with angular bladed discs and a ball of a head with three eyes, or at least I believed they were eyes.
The two elder dragons’ interest intensified.
And where is this ‘thing’ now? Glaedr asked. Eragon shrugged, forgetting they could not see him.
Buried. As soon as I took a step towards it, it ignited in fire. There wasn’t much left save for melted steel and ash. It burned quite thoroughly, and quickly I might add. But, before it did, even as it thrashed on the ground, it was if it was looking directly at me.
I am assuming it was not a living creature. Made of metal, and I did not feel it at all, Umaroth noted.
No, I didn’t feel anything either, Eragon confirmed. Not even magic. It was the most bizarre thing.
For a while, the Eldunari said nothing, but he could sense their thoughts in deep contemplation. After a moment, Umaroth spoke.
Mmm, caution Eragon. Strange things lurk in unknown lands. Strange for they are unknown. Be wary, for that which is unknown is also unpredictable.
Take heed of Umaroth’s words, Eragon Finariel. We mean not to instil fear in you, but do not grow complacent, Glaedr added.
I had no intention of doing such a thing, Eragon agreed. Especially not now. I will find Blodgarm and inform him of the situation. By your leave?
Take your leave, Eragon Finariel, the two Elundari said in unison. Bowing his head, Eragon broke contact with them, and turned away from the Dais. He reached out once more with his mind, and found Blodgarm by the wells, outside the north face of the Hall. Making his way to an exit, Eragon glanced over to the marble statues and sculptures. He never did understand where they found the marble…

Sky Above, Water Below

The wells were a cluster of five granite mounds moulded from the plateau’s very flesh, sung into shape by the Elves, with wooden awnings made from magically grown and sculpted shrubbery, like three foot pores on the surface of the plateau, covered in a dome of yellow wood and leaves. There were no buckets or spindles upon these wells, as water was collected by way of magic. And standing by the one closest to the hall was Blodgarm, the silvery-furred Wolf-Elf. The only part of him not covered in a coat of hair was his face, fair and beautiful like all elves.
“Adurna risa,” he uttered, his musical voice a contrast to his primal appearance, his golden eyes staring down the shaft well. A moment later, a ball of water floated up from the darkened depths. He directed it to a waiting wooden bowl, and let the liquid gently slosh around as it was deposited. It was only then that he turned to face Eragon, a thin smile tugging at his lips. He performed the elf gesture of respect.
“Shadeslayer,” he greeted. Even after so long, Eragon found the lupine elf enigmatic and strange. “What news have you?”
“Strange news,” Eragon admitted. Blodgarm raised his eyebrows in question. From there, Eragon proceeded to relay the same story he had told to Glaedr and Umaroth, and upon the conclusion of his report, Eragon saw Blodgarm’s eyes narrow.
“Strange indeed,” he agreed. “I have never heard of such creatures before. I think you would be correct in assuming it was some sort of machine… though, of machines, I have never heard anything of such likes either.”
“It certainly didn’t leave much behind,” Eragon said. “I think whatever made it didn’t want anything left to be examined. Nothing meaningful or informative at least.”
“No, I would not wager so.” Blodgarm shifted his gaze down to the northwest, resting his eyes upon the glittering shape of the Talita, moored to a jetty built along the river. “I do hope it sent no knowledge to its masters, if it had any. The wards we placed do not hide that which lies within the bubble of magic we made. It probably would never have noticed either the hall or even the Talita and its moorings, if Mirina had not brought it inside… though those are thoughts I should not concern myself too greatly with. If there’s a power that could withstand the might of all the Elundari we have here, gladly willing to lend strength should the need arise, I doubt we could oppose it anyway.”
Eragon didn’t much find the thought comforting.
“Hopefully no such power exists in this land. It wouldn’t do well to let our duties be interrupted, would it?” Eragon joked. Blodgarm returned to face him with a thin smile.
“The sky above and the water below,” the elf stated, gesturing to the river where the Talita bobbed idly and to the scattered clouds lazily by overhead. “We have two dragons, and a fine ship infused with many enchantments, and the power of scores of Elundari. You have the support of several dozen elves, many of which fought for your life and ours against Galbatorix, myself included. Our food we can sing from atop of this rise in the Earth, and with these wells, we have all the water we need, and with the Elundari, Saphira and Mirina would be able to fast for a great length of time and be protected for when they do need to hunt. Do not fret, Shadeslayer; nothing short of an army or god could take this place, and I doubt we’d ever be graced with a visit from the latter.” Blodgarm reached out and rest a hand on Eragon’s right shoulder, a gesture that surprised him. “Du Skulblaka Stenr shall stand tall for years to come. I shall see to it.”
Blodgarm was speaking in the ancient language, which meant Eragon knew the elf, in his mind, believed to his very core that he would not allow Du Skulblaka Stenr to fall. Blodgarm withdrew his hand and bowed.
“I shall take my leave now, Shadeslayer. Thank you for informing me of this incident. I shall contemplate it with the others.” And with that, the furry elf strolled away, the bowl of water that was resting upon the ground floating into the air and trailing behind Blodgarm. Eragon smiled, but a thought still gnawed at the back of his mind.
A god, likely not… but what kind of army might lurk out here?

Soon after meeting with Blodgarm, Eragon decided he needed a lunch. The turn of events that day had somewhat unsettled his stomach, now growling in protest, food all that could appease it. He returned to his domicile atop of the raised bluff, only just high enough to miss out on matching the great hall’s roof by the height of a Kull. Pushing the door aside, he strolled across the mat laid out over the floor. On one side of the room, in front of a window the faced East, was a long couch, its wooden frame sung, like most everything else, from the native shrubs and cottonwood trees that sparsely dotted the surrounding plains, and covered in a weave of grass so finely plaited, and imbued with an enchantment to ensure it would never fade or rot, it was as smooth as linen. On the opposite side, the wall opened up to a large platform, jutting out over the western cliff of the plateau, a place where Saphira could land and stick her head inside, to keep him company. It could be sealed off with a cloth membrane hidden within either side of the portal’s frame. Just to the right of that was his bed, little more than a hanging hammock made of tightly woven and enchanted grass, much like the couch. At the back of the room sat a large desk, covered in scrolls and books, no window behind it as the wall was lined with shelves and pigeon-holes, filled with even more scrolls and assorted books, alongside miscellaneous items of varying purposes. To the right of that was a bench and pantry cupboard, a place where he could prepare and eat meals. Lastly, in the centre of the room, hidden by a rug, was a sliding panel in the wooden floor, revealing a depression carved into the granite below, two iron pipes protruding from one side of the hole, linked to the same supply as that of the wells, which in turn connected to the river; with the usage of magic, he could fill the depression with hot or cold water, allowing him to bathe. He had modelled his home after the building in which he stayed during his training in Ellesmera, capital of the Elven nation. It was much smaller and more compact, which suited him fine. Opening the cupboard, he fished out some bread and cheese, though his hand lingered when he went to grab the cheese; it was amongst the last of their supply, and until they found cattle with which to graze, they would not be able to replenish; even if the majority of Du Skulblaka Stenr was completed, there was still much more to be done. With his quick lunch fixed, he contented himself to reading a scroll discussing the tale of the Rider Mandor, and his dragon, Neglaen. ‘Mad’ Mandor, as he was called, was most famous for his ill-fated trip across the endless tracts of ocean west of Alagaesia. His dragon, a large, stout female, was as confident of success as he, and the two of them embarked upon the trip, and never returned. No one theory as to their fate was deemed likely, even one hundred and fifty years before the Fall of the Riders. Eragon thought it would be a good lesson to teach Filin; confidence can take you only so far. Noting Mandor’s other, somewhat unusual exploits, not of which could be considered evil or malevolent – just… odd – Eragon wasn’t surprised why Mandor had earned his moniker. Even amongst the Riders, there were still fools.
Just as he was about to go over once more what he read, he felt a pang of urgency over the mental bridge that linked him and Saphira, followed by Saphira broadening the connection to speak with him. Eragon spoke first.
What’s wrong? Eragon had already gotten to his feet.
Eragon! Saphira responded, a small measure of relief seeping into her emotions. Something strange is circling above in the sky. It is not another of those metal-fire-bug-birds.
What is it then? Eragon asked.
I don’t know! I smelled that smell again, and when I looked up, I saw it!
‘It’?
It was gone, into the clouds, but it looked like a flying arrowhead, but much bigger. But I know it’s up there still, for I can still hear and smell it, just barely.
Alright, come to me Saphira. We’ll find out what this thing is ourselves.
With an affirmative emotion from Saphira, Eragon narrowed the mental link, rushing over to a chest at the end of his bed. Opening it, he fished out something he had not worn in a long time; dusty from disuse, he removed his mail hauberk, his greaves, and his bracers, and a long, narrow shield one of the elves had fashioned for him, shaped like leaf. He donned his armour, propping the shield up by the bed, walked over to an ornate sheath hung by the head of his bed, and paused as he reached for it.
It had been some time since he had ever used his sword with the potential of a battle only minutes away. It was a feeling he had almost forgotten. Steeling himself, he grabbed the sheath, hung it upon his waist, and drew the blade with a soft hiss, and held it upright before him; the blue steel of the blade gleamed in the sunlight, the sapphire embedded in the hilt of the hand-and-a-half grip glittering both from reflected light, and from within, a small amount of energy Eragon had kept stored within the gem at all times.
Brisingr, he thought, the ancient word for fire and the name of his blade, careful not to utter the word aloud; his sword had a tendency to catch fire should he mention the word.
Sheathing the blade, he strode over to the platform built for Saphira. He felt odd, dressed for battle, grabbing the shield and slipping it onto his arm. However, Saphira trusted her instincts, and so did Eragon, and if they had alarmed her so, he was not about to throw caution to the wind; especially since this was the first time they had ever seen anything but eagles in the sky above Du Skulblaka Stenr. It may have been nothing, but then again, it may not.
A moment later, wind buffeted Eragon as Saphira alit upon the platform, her great bulk causing it to creak, but it did not threaten to buckle and collapse; he and the elves had sung it too well for that.
Without missing a beat, Eragon rushed up Saphira’s foreleg, seating himself upon the saddle, grasping the neck spike in front of him.
Let’s go, he told her. Growling an affirmative, Saphira tensed her powerful muscles, and, with a single leap, sprung into the air. She flapped her enormous wings, granting her ever increasing altitude.
Eragon never felt more alive, and more joyful, than when he was riding with Saphira. With their mental link, he could easily share in the delight and bliss Saphira felt when she took to the skies, the freedom to do whatever and go wherever she pleased.
Right now, however, both were tense and ready for action, ascending towards the clouds above. Neither of them were certain what they faced, and after the incident earlier in the day, suspicion began to gnaw at Eragon’s thoughts, but he knew too little to make any conclusions. The thought unsettled him.
If there was one thing that was universally feared, it was the unknown.


* * *


24/10/2239, 1619, 10 kilometres East of Containment and Observation Line Alpha One Four maximum limit.

“Dagger 1, can you verify?”

“COL Actual, I’m telling you, I don’t see anything obvious, but the heat shimmer is all wrong. Definite signs of magic. Thermal is slightly distorted, but it looks like there’s structures down there.”

“Acknowledged Dagger 1. What is your assessment?”

“Uncertain at this time, but if the recon drone and these thermal and visual readings mean anything, then there’s a massive concentrations of magic.”

“Agreed. Would explain why the drone wasn’t able to see anything there before. Anything else to report?”

“Negative COL Actual, there does not seem to be anything else of not—activity!”

“Dagger 1, repeat!”

“Bogey just appeared out of nowhere, COL Actual! Definitely the same dragon we saw last night. Hold on… there appears to be someone riding on the…”

“Dagger 1? Dagger 1, sitrep.”

“This is Dagger 1, reporting compromised, repeat, compromised. Bandit is on an intercept course. Requesting directions, COL actual.”

“Standby Dagger 1, rerouting Daggers 5 and 6 from patrol route to your position. Dagger 2 still undergoing maintenance.”

“Negative, Actual. Bandit will be on my six before they arrive. Requesting either RTB or weapons hot.”

“Dagger 1, could you repeat, did you say ‘weapons hot’?”

“Affirmative, Actual. Bandit’s capabilities are unknown at this time… Actual? COL Actual, I need directions, am I cleared weapons hot or not?”

“… Dagger 1, you are cleared weapons hot. Standard rules of engagement; do not engage unless engaged. You are not authorised weapons free unless otherwise engaged or directed. Assess the situation; if you feel threatened, RTB immediately.”

“Acknowledged, COL Actual. Bringing weapons systems online now. Weapons hot.”