The journey to Fort Dane stretched long and arduous as the morning sun climbed higher into the sky. Jangles conserved his energy by skillfully riding the turbulent currents. He glided for miles above the storm, his wings beating only occasionally, trading altitude for speed. Periodically, he turned into the wind, flying in an ever-rising circle, allowing the powerful gusts to lift him thousands of feet higher before resuming their journey. Each time, Lori had to signal him to adjust their course, tilting a few degrees left or right to stay on track. The muddy hurricane turned below them, lightning sporadically igniting the churning dust clouds.

  With the ground obscured by the blanket of debris, Lori could not rely on landmarks to guide her. The pseudo-hurricane forced her to use her sextant. Lori secured her leather writing folio to the saddle’s pommel, its sturdy frame offering a firm surface against the dragon’s shifting movements and the high winds. The folio’s interior straps held her wax paper in place as she made quick, precise notes with a wax pencil of the time and air speed, consulting her silver pocket watch and the speed indicator on the console. She checked the sun’s position with her sextant several times, comparing the time and checking their position by running the rapid calculations and referring to the nautical almanac.

  She had never had to fly like this. She rarely used the sextant unless they were out on the plains where landmarks were nowhere to be seen. Normally, she flew by dead reckoning and the compass and simple calculations of knots. Today, she might as well have been on the open ocean, flying entirely by sextant.

  Long hours passed as they repeated the routine of rising, gliding, and marking the sun and time. Lori unfolded her segmented dragoneer’s map from her gear bag and began to measure their distance and direction flown. Using her compass, dividers, and protractor, she marked their current position. Satisfied with her calculations, she noted the coordinates in her folio and checked the compass on the pommel.

  Lori placed her whistle between her lips and glanced at her pocket watch, her eyes narrowing as she gauged the precise moment. She tapped her father’s leg gently, signaling their impending descent with a gesture of landing with her hand. Her gaze fixed on the silver pocket watch, waiting for the right moment. At last, she blew a series of sharp, clear notes on the whistle, signaling Jangles who folded his wings and dropped. As he dove into the storm, the torrent of dirt and sand lashed against his scaled body with relentless fury. The buffeting gusts pounded him from all sides, causing him to swerve and sway erratically.

  His riders clung tightly to the saddle; their knuckles white with the effort of keeping their grip. Lori could see no more than ten feet, barely able to make out Jangles’ head, the maelstrom of debris creating a swirling, impenetrable veil around them. Each attempt to peer through the chaos met with stinging particles that made her wince despite the protection of the goggles.

  Jangles strained against the tempest, his powerful wings struggling to find stability. The dragon’s descent became a series of jarring drops and sudden lifts as he fought to control their plummet. His instinct drove him to turn into the wind, hoping for a sliver of stability. The maneuver was only partially successful; the ground loomed suddenly beneath them, and the landing was anything but graceful.

  As Jangles' claws scraped the earth, his bulky frame jolted violently, sending shocks up through the saddle. Lori and her father jolted forward, jarred by the rough impact. The dragon stumbled, his feet struggling to find purchase as he tried to shift from flying to running, but he managed to steady himself at last. Running became jogging, then walking, then he stopped. Breathing heavily, Jangles folded his wings, his sides heaving with the exertion of the perilous descent.

  The fortress walls of Fort Dane loomed barely visible through the churning debris of dark brown and orange. The swirling dust and sand nearly shielded it from view, distorting the massive wooden structure into a ghostly silhouette against the chaotic backdrop. Beyond the fortress, the town of Fort Dane seemed to flicker in and out of existence, with only the lamplit windows providing faint, glowing points of reference amidst the storm. The lights, scattered and dim, were like distant stars, barely perceptible through the relentless torrent of airborne earth, lending an eerie, mystical quality to the beleaguered settlement. The roar of the wind was deafening, a constant, howling that battered against their ears and seemed to shake the very ground beneath them. It drowned out all other sounds, a thunderous symphony of supernatural fury that added to the surreal, otherworldly atmosphere enveloping Fort Dane.

  With the storm still howling around them, Jangles lumbered past the fortress walls. Amidst the swirling dust and flickering lights, he moved steadily, driven by an unyielding thirst. The sound of the tempest drowned out the rush of water as they approached the creek just beyond the fort. The dragon lowered his head, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed the cool, inviting water, and then he drank deeply. The creek's clear, cool water felt out of place considering the chaos they had just endured, offering a moment of calm amidst the storm.

  As Jangles drank, Lori patted his neck affectionately. She reflected on their journey with a sense of wonder and disbelief. She had never navigated by sextant through such treacherous conditions before, and yet she had managed to guide them straight to Fort Dane with remarkable precision. The realization that she had landed them exactly where they needed to be filled her with a mixture of surprise and quiet pride.

  Jangles finished drinking and turned toward the fort. Lori noted that the fort’s occupants had closed the gates, a wise precaution against the storm's fury. Lori swung her leg over Jangles' side and slid to the ground, her boots sinking into the soft dunes of sand that had gathered around the fortress. She glanced back at her father to ensure he was still secure before trudging through the swirling grit toward the imposing gates. Her flight duster threatened to catch the wind like a sail and blow her away, and she hunched her shoulders and hugged herself as she leaned into the wind. Each step was a battle against the wind that sought to push her back. Reaching the gates, she balled her fist and pounded urgently on the heavy wood, the sound of her knocks barely audible above the storm's relentless roar.

  The gates swung open, pushed by a handful of soldiers who strained against the wind. A lieutenant stepped forward; his face partially obscured by a hooded cloak shielding him from the blowing sand.

  “What are you doing, flying out in this storm, Miss Drake?” The young lieutenant eyed the dragon and his passengers.

  Lori shrugged. “Delivering the mail!”

  They laughed as Jangles walked through the tall wooden gates which the attending soldiers quickly closed. The wind seemed subdued inside the fort, and Lori lowered her kerchief, thankful there was little dirt blowing around to get in her mouth as she spoke. The lieutenant told her to take Jangles to the barn, but the dragon had already set off in that direction.

  They crossed the great courtyard, and Lori ran ahead to open the doors of the barn. It was small, compared to the one they live in back in Oblivion, large enough to hold perhaps four average sized thunderbirds. Jangles crouched as he entered, worried about the top of the door jamb striking Ford. Once inside, he lay down on his belly and waited. Lori shut the barn door and hurried to help her father unstrap himself and dismount, a difficult thing to do with only one good arm and leg.

  Ebeneezer dismounted after Ford, scrambling down the straps and cargo netting to the ground. Lori glanced at the kobold. She had honestly forgotten he was there.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Nestled in the corner of the barn, a majestic thunderbird lay resting in the straw. His form was striking, with four powerful legs and a set of expansive wings that folded neatly against his body. Unlike a dragon, his neck was shorter, giving him a more compact and robust appearance. His red tail, reminiscent of a hawk's, fanned out behind him, a contrast to the long, serpentine tails typically seen on dragons. His hooked black beak, sharp and formidable, added to his fierce demeanor. His deep red, nearly black feathers glowed with an intense, fiery reflection of the barn’s lamplight, and his sharp hawk-like eyes tracked Jangles warily, every muscle coiled and ready to pounce. The thunderbird's gaze held a fierce suspicion, but Jangles seemed utterly indifferent to the grand creature's watchful stare.

  Lori searched through the saddlebags for the post, glancing at the red thunderbird. She whispered to Jangles, “Are you going to be okay if I leave you alone with him?”

  Jangles chuckled. “He’s afraid of me. It’s not his fault. I’ll be okay.” He began to hum ‘Turkey in the straw’ as Lori rifled through the bags. She found the leather pouch of post and checked its contents. Noticing dirt and sand in the corners of Jangles' eyes, Lori fussed over wiping him clean with a spare rag. When she finished, she headed for the barn doors.

  “Dad, I have to deliver this to the commander. Then we can look for Redhand.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  Lori opened her mouth to object, but then thought, why not? She held open one of the barn doors for her father. Ebeneezer came along, too. Before she closed the door she glanced back at Jangles, who had already settled comfortably in a straw filled stall. The wind howled and lashed against the barn's wooden walls, but within the fort's protective embrace, the tumult felt like a distant roar. They strode across the courtyard, their coats flapping in the wind, heading toward the central building where the commander awaited. The sky above glowed orange from the storm. Lori, Ebenezer, and Ford walked slowly across the courtyard, their steps measured to accommodate Ford's artificial leg.

  Within the fort's tall log walls, sharpened at the ramparts, lay a series of rugged wooden structures. Lanterns flickered in the dim daylight through the cut-out windows. Stacks of freshly cut wood sat neatly piled against the walls. The fort's design was practical and straightforward, with every building serving a specific purpose in the daily life of its inhabitants.

  The soldiers, clad in blue uniforms with brass buttons, moved about lazily, their usual activities hampered by the relentless storm. Some lingered under the eaves of the mess hall, sharing quiet conversations and smoking pipes outside the barracks, while others busied themselves with minor tasks that needed no stepping out into the fierce gale. The officers' quarters, set slightly apart, boasted more comfortable accommodations.

  The fort's stable, a sturdy structure nestled against the outer wall, housed the soldiers' horses. The animals, cooped up and restless, snorted and stamped their hooves. Despite the storm above, the fort remained a bastion of resilience and routine, its inhabitants finding solace in the familiar rhythm of army life.

  As Lori, Ford, and Ebeneezer approached the central building, the wind howled louder, pushing against them with relentless force. Lori glanced up at the orange sky before she pushed open the heavy wooden door, the warmth from inside spilling out and wrapping around them. They stepped into the dimly lit foyer, shaking off the dust they had gathered outside.

  A guard stood at attention by the entrance, his posture rigid and disciplined. Upon seeing them, he snapped to attention and saluted. "Ma'am, sir, little sir, welcome. Allow me to announce your arrival to the Fort Commander," he said, his voice clear and respectful. He led them down the hallway to a large oak door, knocking firmly before pushing it open.

  The office of the Fort Commander was a room of authority and order. The walls were covered in maps and charts, detailing the surrounding terrain and strategic points of interest. A large mahogany desk dominated the space, cluttered with papers, ink pots, and a brass lamp that cast a warm glow. Shelves filled with books on military tactics and history lined one wall, while the other held a series of meticulously kept ledgers. A roaring fireplace added warmth to the room, its light dancing off the polished wooden floor.

  The Fort Commander, a stern-looking man with a neatly trimmed beard and piercing eyes, looked up from his desk as they entered. The guard saluted crisply and announced, "Commander, Miss Lori and her company have arrived."

  "Thank you, Matthews. You may go," the commander replied, his voice firm but not unkind. The guard nodded and exited the room, closing the door behind him.

  Lori set the leather pouch of post on the desk. "Good to see you again, sir," she said.

  The commander nodded and opened the pouch, giving the contents a quick look. He kept glancing up at Ford and Ebeneezer as he looked through the dispatches and letters. “Good to see you, too. I can’t believe you flew in this storm. This could have waited,” he gestured toward the post.

  “Well, we were headed out this way on separate business, sir. Thought we’d kill two birds.”

  He nodded as he withdrew a small receipt book from a drawer and signed it, then tore it out and handed it to Lori.

  Lori looked the receipt over before folding it and putting it into her pocket. She would hand this receipt back to the dispatch office in Remington City and get paid for the delivery.

  She noticed the Commander was curious about her companions but was too polite to ask.

  “I’m sorry, Major, my manners are dulled by the trip. This is my father, and that is Ebeneezer.”

  The Commander stood and leaned on the desk, his eyes scrutinizing Ford.

  "Excuse me," the commander said, his tone now tinged with an eagerness that hadn't been there before, "But are you Colonel Ford Drake?"

  Ford, taken aback by the sudden attention, nodded. "Yes, I am."

  A broad smile broke across the Fort Commander's stern features, transforming his demeanor entirely. "Colonel Drake! It is an honor to meet you," he exclaimed and extended his hand. The handshake was slightly awkward, as the Commander extended his right hand instinctively before switching to match Ford’s left hand. The moment of fumbling was brief, but it didn't diminish the commander's enthusiasm.

  "I’m Major Strothers. I have read so much about you," the commander continued, his voice filled with giddy admiration. "You are a legend around these parts!"

  Ford smiled awkwardly. "Thank you, Commander," he said, looking around the office in embarrassment.

  The Major began peppering Ford with questions about his tactics during the war. Ford became tense, his face frozen in a polite smile as he answered the Major’s questions with monosyllabic answers. The Major moved to Ford’s hunting days, and he was assaulted anew with dozens of questions about werewolves, vampires, phantoms, and a variety of other monsters he had faced. The Major pried him for stories, but Ford never told stories in his life, and the Major hid his disappointment well when he realized he would get no tales of glory.

  Lori and Ebeneezer tried to look preoccupied. Ebeneezer studied his cane, then his hat. Lori cleaned her nails with a small pocketknife.

  Finally, the Major asked, "Colonel, what brings you to Fort Dane?"

  "We are here to meet with Chief Redhand."

  The commander’s face fell, a cloud passing over his previously bright demeanor. "I'm afraid you won't be able to see Chief Redhand here, Colonel," he said carefully. "He has been arrested and is currently in the town marshal's jail."

  A silence settled over the room as Ford processed the unexpected news. Lori and Ebeneezer exchanged concerned glances, while the Fort Commander's expression remained grave.

  “Why was he arrested?” Ford asked, his voice steady but with an edge of irritation.

  The commander shook his head, his expression apologetic. “I’m afraid I don’t know the details, Colonel.”

  Ford’s jaw tightened in irritation, but he managed a stiff nod. “Thank you for the information,” he said curtly.

  As they prepared to leave, the commander called out, “Colonel Drake, please wait a moment.”

  He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out several well-worn dime novels. Picking his favorite one, he handed it to Ford. “Would you mind signing this for me?”

  Ford took the book, glancing at the cover that bore a likeness of himself in a heroic pose shooting at what might have been a mountain troll, though the artist had probably never seen one. Lori noticed the titles on the other novels, each chronicling different adventures of the great Colonel Drake with a dramatic cover depicting her father in heroic poses or performing heroic deeds. Lori swore that if she ever met the man who wrote those idiotic penny dreadfuls, she would beat him to death with his own book.

  With practiced politeness, Ford signed the book, though Lori could see the irritation in his eyes that only she could recognize. The Colonel handed the book back to the commander with a tight smile. “There you go, Major.”

  “Thank you, Colonel, it means a lot to me,” the Major said, beaming. “And Colonel? Be careful with the Marshal. They call him ‘the Hard Marshal’ around here. He’s a bad one.”

  Ford nodded once more, turning to leave with Lori by his side.