The sky above Goldenhall was clad in grey, with snowflakes falling softly on the roofs of the castle’s towers. To that came the summer breeze, a cold sting that froze her breath into a cloud. Gilda thought it appropriate for this day, as she stood atop the gallows, looking over her home as more griffons arrived at the castle’s plaza.

On and along the walls she spotted the guards of her home; Frederick with his spotted beak, Guenter leaning against his spear, and Schwalbe downing some ale. Amidst the masses were the servants of the castle. Ines, that old hag who stared at Gilda, looking for a mistake; she spotted the stable boys Milo and Hannes laughing despite the occasion. There were also griffons from the villages down below. She recognized the face of the elder of Felsbruch, as well as the only militia of Trautheim. She spotted some pegasi amidst the griffons too, slaves with plucked feathers and downtrodden looks, regretting to have come here.

Everyone of them was finding their way into her castle, atop the high spires of the western mountains. It left a bitter taste in her mouth that her uncle’s demise caught so much attention. He’s a traitor, his death is not a spectacle, just the logical conclusion of his miserable life, she noted, wanting to spit in their faces and have them chased out of her yard.

She looked to the castle gates, where Martin and Brunhilde stood watch. She saw the rusty tips of their halberds from here, and saw that even more guests were walking through the gate.

“What do they all want here?” she wondered aloud, looking to her right, to the executioner of the castle.

Helmbrecht was a black-feathered griffon with a lineage of ravens and panthers alike. A slender and quite griffon with a gray beak and silver eyes, one might think him unfit for the role of “Scharfrichter”, but he swung the axe cleanly and had not messed up a single time in the twenty years of being an employee at her house. He grinned at her question.

“It’s another white summer and this is a chance to meet up with the people from the surrounding land. Some might try to get an audience with you, others will expect there to be wine and meat hereafter. Didn’t Lord Erdenbrand tell you of this, my lady?”

She clicked with her tongue in annoyance. “Uncle does as he pleases, the only thing he wanted from me was a signature. Blasted thing, I don’t even want to be here. It’s just some traitor dying.”

“I recall that traitor giving you a silver amulet for your last birthday, My Lady.”

She shook her head. “He told me he would never do me harm, and that I was his most precious girl, that he’d protect me until the end. Lies come easy to traitors, that’s what uncle says.” My only uncle now.

Helmbrecht wanted to say another thing, she noticed, but he stopped himself. As much as she valued his opinion, he had already talked too much with her, and every word he uttered was a curse on this world. At least that’s what the others thought of him. Truthfully, Gilda had once thought the same, before the darkness had come three years past.

She shivered and told herself not to think of it. The masses were parting, too and Erdenbrand appeared, with the guards Finny “Whistle” and Reiner to his sides. Erdenbrand himself was a pure-blood, a griffon tracing his lineage back to eagles and lions. His white feathers were mostly hidden beneath a purple felt hat, as well as a purple cloak with the golden jackdaw on it. He had an easy smile as he approached her, and though he was already thirty, age did not yet show itself on him.

He doesn’t look like a man who’s about to have his brother-in-law executed, Gilda noted and nodded in his direction. My only uncle, my most loyal helper.

Gilda noted that he looked much richer dressed than she was. She had decided on padded armor, scale armor and a hood of warm, red wool. She wanted to play the strong warrior, while he wore the colors of a victorious general. Truthfully, it made her seethe with anger.

As he took the stairs up to the gallows, he looked at the block from which uncle Johann’s head would soon roll. “Everything seems to be in order,” he said, placing himself between Helmbrecht and Gilda.

The executioner nodded. “Yes, my lord. I checked the whole thing thrice. Nothing will go wrong. Though Johann’s death will not be honourable, it will be quick at least.”

“Good,” Erdenbrand said, smiling in the direction of the people. “I don’t want to stand in this blasted cold longer than necessary.”

Gilda looked at him, and noticed, with hurt pride, that he was still much taller than she. I still look a kid compared to him, she thought grimly. Yet this castle is mine, and nobody can deny me that.

She clicked her tongue in annoyance.

Erdenbrand sighed. “What?” he asked.

Gilda “harumpf-ed”. “Nothing.”

“You’re angry about something, Gildy, I can see that.”

Don’t call me that in front of everybody, she said, her head suddenly feeling a lot warmer as she tried to spot some holes in the walls. There were more than she would have liked to see however.

“I could always tickle an answer out of you, you know,” Erdenbrand added, and Gilda shot him a furious look. Even his golden eyes were laughing at her.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Well, I do know how ticklish you are, so you have a choice between telling me upfront or getting all your strength tickled out of you right before the execution.”

Though there was no malevolence in his voice there might well have been. His smile was for his cute niece Gildy, not Gilda, lady of Goldenhall and the Dragon’s Back.

“You want the truth? Johann,” she made a point out of not calling him uncle, “stole and sold documents important to my rule. I should’ve decided on the punishment.”

“You would have him de-feathered, drawn and quartered, burnt and then fed to the crows,” he said dryly. “I’m not going to argue about stealing documents, but justice does not equal the worst possible punishment imaginable. We’re already humouring you with this execution, but I have to deal with his wife. What do you imagine her thoughts to be on this matter?”

“I don’t care, he’s–”

His smile had faded and he interrupted her immediately. “A lord himself, with two-hundred spears at his command. I don’t know about you, but I don’t like the idea of griffons killing each other. We’re better than that.”

Gilda looked at the assembled mass in the shadow of the blue tiled roofs of Goldenhall, eagerly waiting for a kill to happen. Only humouring me, huh?

“They’re not going to fight,” she said finally. “You’re the most feared general in the air and on the land. Even that alicorn princess across the seas is scared of you.”

Erdenbrand looked at her for a stunned moment, before he let out a slight giggle. “Well, thanks for the praise, but I’m afraid of Lady Hilde in turn. Women make for better leaders, as history has often proven.”

The younger griffon sighed. She had no interest in having another argument about how awesome her uncle was. He never took her serious anyway, just thought it was all hero worship with her. Yet he was the one man who had spent most his life fighting in wars and feuds, with no loss yet recorded. How he could not see himself as some sort of military god was beyond her comprehension.

“Apropos female leaders, a letter arrived just now. Fairly important too.”

That caught her attention. “What about?”

“I’ll tell you later, now–” he stopped, and suddenly looked fairly disgusted at whatever he was looking at.

She followed his gaze and felt her heart sink a bit. The slaves, she thought. Why didn’t I order the guards to send them away.

“What are ponies doing here?” He asked, suddenly getting angry.

“I–” Gilda started.

“Slaves, get back to work!” he bellowed, and then turned towards the guards on the wall. “Put any slave who doesn’t do his duty in the dungeons immediately!”

Gilda felt herself shrinking, cursing herself for not acting fast enough. Now they’ll have to suffer his wrath. Stars be good, at least I sent Myrtle away.

Erdenbrand hated ponies even more than most griffons, and after he had lead the southern purgings over the course of ten years it had turned into a madness in its own right. Gilda had always been afraid of his wroth. Always, but not today. Today she was the lady of Goldenhall and needed to stand her ground.

“If you’re quite done,” she immediately regretted having said that, “you wanted to tell me something?”

He shot her an angry look, but she merely returned it, waiting for an answer. In the back of her head she was sure that there’d be a price to pay for so openly going against him, but she needed to make her point clear. She wasn’t just here to sign papers he handed to her.

He took a breath and visibly tried to calm himself down as the ponies left the plaza, each and every one of them wise enough not defy the guy who could have them killed on a whim. “Sorry,” Erdenbrand said finally, “I’ll tell you about it later, we need to get this execution over. Hopefully without filth looking onto it.”

She nodded. Let’s just get it over with.

Erdenbrand threw his claw in the air, a signal to the drummer. Though her musical education wasn’t that good, she, like every griffon, knew the slow march of the sole drummer, The Dreadful March. It was played during every execution, and as far she she knew, it never got any creepier to the war-like griffons. As the music started, the mass parted in anticipation of the traitor, but was otherwise quiet.

Marches were a glorious thing, the call to war the most honorable of happenings in a griffons life. To march to your own execution was a bitter play on this belief. Once upon a time, Gilda had heard, it had been but a joke a king had played on a thief who had stolen from the royal kitchen, but it had struck with the lords and they had never stopped playing it.

The girl did not know how to react when Johann appeared. The griffon was in his later twenties, descendant from owls and lions, with golden fur and dotted feathers, brown and white. He wore chains on his ankles, unbefitting of the person who had taught her most about the world.

Why did you betray my trust? she wondered. Why did you have to be caught?

He was led forth in a steady pace, and Gilda fought with her emotions. She was angry, sad, embittered, but also remembered the days they had spent together with a certain fondness.

You’re ten, you’ve done the first sixth of your life if all goes well and you’ve grown up from the hatchling you were. Be strong, kill him as you killed that child you were.

She told herself that, but had to admit that she’d rather play in her room with the dolls than watch one of her own blood walk up the gallows.

The mob was screaming obscenities at Johann all the way through, breaking the silence of the march. Not honourable, but quick, Gilda thought, a bitter taste in her mouth.

She turned to Erdenbrand who looked less conflicted than she was. Gilda had to wonder if he was putting on a mask, or if he really did feel nothing. You were against the execution, Gilda thought, and I wanted him here.

The thought made her want to gag. Johann’s going to die. I need to stop them.

She wanted to open her mouth, but Erdenbrand grabbed her shoulder. As she looked at him he only shook his head.

“You’re in the right,” he told her softly. “He deserves death.”

He had wanted to sell Goldenhall and Gilda to some lord whose identity she didn’t even know. As he took the final steps towards the block she saw Helmbrecht taking his axe, nodding respectfully in the lord’s direction. Gilda didn’t know what to feel, but decided to at least put on a face of pride.

This was the first time her will was done, her first step into becoming the lady of Goldenhall.

Erdenbrand launched into a speech then. He condemned Johann, the brother of his wife, may she rest in peace, to death. He invoked the name of the queen, the names of Gilda’s parents, the names of the gods, and delivered the reasoning. His last words before the axe fell were, “so our Lady Gilda decided on giving you the mercy of a quick death, my lord. May you find a blue sky on the other side.”

And then it was over.

Just like that.

There was a feast thereafter, but Gilda decided to stay on the gallows, even as everybody else moved on to the great hall of her castle. Erdenbrand would take the time to talk with the village elders, and hopefully they’d agree on reopening the mines beneath the Dragon’s Back. Helmbrecht cleaned the corpse up, but left her alone. He never talked to anyone after finishing his job, as it was bad luck to talk to an executioner with red-stained claws.

She remained on the cold wood, her head leaning on her claws, her paws dangling in the air as the snow grew thicker on the ground. Johann had told her that her parents had died on a day just like this, that the nightmares had taken their lives and she was the sole heir to Goldenhall. He had talked of duty then.

“And he died because he didn’t do his duty,” she said aloud, sure that nobody else was there.

“Yeth, milady,” a voice replied and Gilda looked up.

She saw a forest green foal with a messy mane of brown with icy blue streaks, one violet eye focused on the ground, the other long extinguished. “Half-blind” Myrtle looked even worse than the other slaves in the house. They had taken the unicorn’s horn when she had still been a newborn foal, and she had grown up with constant beatings.

Gilda found her looks distasteful.

“You should wear something when you’re outside, Myrtle. You’ll catch a cold.”

The pony’s nose was touching the ground, so deep was her bow. “Lord Erdenb’and thent fo’ you.”

Gilda rolled her eyes. “That’s not really important right now,” she said as she took of her hood and threw it at Myrtle. “That’s yours now.”

She jumped down from the gallows and onto the ground, looking at the pony, who was dazzled at the gift. Just a year ago, Gilda had shared all her toys with Myrtle, when nobody else was looking, and yet the pony still seemed to be unable to comprehend a little bit of kindness.

She’d rather have her freedom, I guess.

“Myrtle, how about a snowball fight?” Gilda asked her personal servant.

The pony looked up, a childish grin on her face, making the missing teeth all the more obvious. “Oh yeth,” she almost shouted. “I’d love to.”

She might just go and visit her uncle, but Gilda didn’t want to do anything important today. One execution was a fair enough step into the world of adults and she preferred to be a child until someone decided to send her to bed. So she rolled a ball of snow up in her hands, only to get hit by one herself.

The light from the sun had already vanished behind the mountain range and the fireside did most of the illuminating now. Even so, uncle Erdenbrand’s study was a gloomy place to be in. Gilda found herself seated between staggering amounts of books and ledgers. There were papers scattered throughout the room, old letters, contracts never signed and some transcriptions of once important documents.

Her uncle was not a person who could keep his place clean for long and most servants kept far away from his study. It was just too easy to walk over something that one really shouldn’t walk over.

Gilda shared that sentiment, as everytime she had been called here, she had ruined something. When she had been three she had spilled milk over a treaty to end a long-running feud between her house and the Schwarzfeders of the Darker Thorn; on her fifth birthday she had drawn Erdenbrand a picture, and in her eagerness to show him, had set fire to some papers he needed to blackmail a lord he hadn’t liked.

Even as she sat in a comfortable chair, she was careful to make herself as small as possible. If she wasn’t touching anything, nothing could go wrong.

“I summoned you hours ago,” Erdenbrand said, trying to sound dominant, but it was clear he had downed one keg too many.

“I hate feasts, especially with peasants. They have no manners.”

“They’re bloody peasants, what do you expect? The hall has always been used for feasts by the commoners, your family always held a close bond with the people that served them,” he started. All Gilda could think was; Hooray, another lecture.

She ignored whatever followed them, instead entertained herself with the thought that halfway through the fight, the stable boys had joined them and even a few guards had abandoned their post.

Once, this would have never happened, but ever since the nightmares had appeared three years ago most people seemed to take life on the lighter shoulder. Almost like a happiness they had long missed had come to them.

As her uncle was launching into a tirade of how her own father had even saved a commoner’s life during the last southern purge, she finally had enough. “You wanted to talk to me about something?”

That stopped Erdenbrand in his tracks and he just stared at her furiously for a few seconds. This was the second time he visibly tried to calm himself down, taking deep breaths and muttering to himself.

“Gilda,” he said, and she took note of how stern he sounded. “You are the lady of Goldenhall, and both me and Johann, may he rest in peace, tried to teach you to the best of our abilities. I don’t what’s going on in your head, but that title comes with responsibilities.”

She sighed. “I know, I know. I just …”

She wanted to cry, to bury herself in his chest, but the young griffon tried to throttle those thoughts immediately. I’m a griffon grown, the lady of Goldenhall.

“I need you to get your head in the game. I got a letter concerning the situation in Equestria. Our queen reached an agreement with the princess concerning the … slaves,” he had wanted to call them filth, “and then there’s the fact that there’s been some strange movements down the southern marches. Word has it that changelings have appeared. The valleys are in bloom, we have food in abundance and not a single bad harvest since that alicorn appeared, but there’s still threats we need to fight. Do you get that?”

She didn’t. Gilda nodded nonetheless. Her uncle leaned back in his chair, examining her carefully. In that moment of silence she felt Johann’s claw touching her shoulder, and him whispering that Erdenbrand only wanted the best for her. And is he going behind my back, too?

He had taught her mathematics, the finer points of language and history, she had hated him for it, but loved him for his kind smiles and sweet gifts. She had thought to have known him, and then she had wanted him dead.

“Johann’s dead, Gilda, let it go.”

She looked into Erdenbrand’s uncaring eyes. “You went to the Great Hunt together,” Gilda flimsily said.

“We came back together, we fought together in many battles. I knew him better than your father, as much as it pains me to admit it.” He didn’t sound pained, Gilda thought, but tried to look for something in his expression. “Don’t linger on it. Hard decisions come with the job, and you’ll learn that soon enough.”

“When?” Gilda asked, wondering if he had an easy answer for that.

“In a few weeks time, I reckon. We are invited to travel to the Frost.”

And what do we want at the end of the world? she wondered, only raising her eyebrow.

“It’s the Great Hunt, Gilda. You are to prove yourself a griffon worthy of the kingdom.”

Gilda felt her breath stopping for a moment, her thoughts moving away from Johann. “You’re kidding, right?”

“You’re ten. By the ancient laws of this land you are an adult and only have to prove yourself for it. The Great Hunt will serve as your ground for that. You remember what it is, aside from that, right?”

“Eight griffons go to the northern forests and maybe even the wastelands, and there they look for game. Dangerous game. They hunt in teams of two and bring back a beast they slew, as proof of their worth to the griffons,” Gilda recited.

Erdenbrand smiled at that, and Gilda felt a little proud. Johann told me the story behind it, too.

“It might also help me smooth things over here. Executing a family member always has unwanted consequences and somebody somewhere might seek to use Johann’s demise against us. I really don’t want you digging through political dirt in your first months of actual reign.”

“You’re saying it like you’re handing things over to me,” Gilda noted.

Erdenbrand nodded. “I will take my position as your advisor. You’ll get the final say in all matters, and I just try to be there when you need me. Unlike Johann, I don’t have much ambition beyond serving the greater good.”

She giggled at that, despite herself. Johann had been a traitor in the end, and she only needed some more time to accept that. Even though he had accepted his death quietly, that didn’t say much about the man’s honour.

“So, you wanted to tell me about the hunt?”

“Yes, and I also wanted to tell you that you did a fine enough job out there today, despite the scale armour,” he examined her for a moment. “Seriously, why an armour?”

Gilda shrugged. “I like the feel of it, despite, people will see me as the great warrior I am if I got an armor.”

“Well, scaring peasants is always a good first step towards ladyship,” he laughed. “Well then, my lady. How about you go to bed, or something. It’s already pretty late.”

“Sure, old man, I’ll leave you to your papers,” she said, and got up, not nearly feeling as good as she had hoped to be when the news would come.

However, as she pushed the chair back she heard the sound of something ripping and suddenly her uncle was staring at her wide-eyed.

Dammit.

Half-blind Myrtle laid the gambeson atop the box wherein the rest of Gilda’s armour rested. The young lady wanted to get into it first thing in the morning, when the master-of-arms was hopefully going to teach her again. Altholz had come down with a bad fever and this entire week she had gone without training.

When she had been younger she had spent weeks like this together with the stable boys, pranking the castle personnel and even her uncles, but nowadays Gilda found herself alone in the garden, training with gun or axe or spear. She loved her weapons more than her books, which was enough to tell what sort of lady she would become.

At least that’s what everybody else said. Gilda herself doubted that that meant anything. She had seen hundreds of executions, even that of her own grandmother and she had never cared. In the south they said that death awaited all who walk between the mountains and she had to agree. It was a constant companion, and after a while she had learned to accept that people of all kinds die.

It was one of the first lessons every griffon had to learn.

And yet she was bothered by Johann’s demise. It felt like something was wrong with it. He betrayed me and he never bothered to defend himself. He went quietly to his death and did nothing more.

She sighed, looking at the pony. “I’ll be going to the great hunt soon.”

Myrtle only smiled that unsightly smile of hers. “That’th g’eat, milady,” she said, but she didn’t look at Gilda and didn’t sound like it was great at all.

Is she worried? the griffon wondered. “Is there something bothering you, Myrtle?”

“Yo’ uncle doethn’t like me thpeaking to you.”

I know. You lost half your teeth and an eye already, Gilda thought bitterly. “Well, I talk to whomever I want. I’m the lady of this castle and I want to hear your thoughts.”

It was a small kindness, but she liked Myrtle, who had grown up by her side and had been together with her through the blackest nightmares.

“Uhm …” Myrtle looked around before she turned towards Gilda. “If you leave, what’th going to happen ta uth?”

“Well, I’ll give specific orders to not hurt anyone who hasn’t broken the laws. If you don’t give uncle an excuse, he won’t be able to do anything,” she said and added in her thoughts, I hope.

To have her say that seemed to be enough for Myrtle however. “Will you thtill be having thupper?”

“A piece of mouse and some ale to drown out that I murdered my uncle because my other uncle said he betrayed me.”

She had seen the evidence, that was the truth of it, but she still doubted Erdenbrand. The smile had come too easily when the man his sister had loved came walking to the gallows.

“Alright,” Myrtle said and made to leave.

“Oh, and Myrtle, how about you sleep here tonight. We could make up another story.”

Myrtle nodded. “Of courth, milady.”

And so the filly left, and Gilda wondered whether she was really her friend or her master. Our queen reached an agreement with the princess concerning the filth, her uncle had said and she really hoped that she could free Myrtle and the others. That should clear things up.

Maybe she would do it even if that wasn’t the agreement. She was the lady of Goldenhall, and on this land, her word was the rule. If she wanted to kill her uncle, people would do it; if she wanted to free the slaves, nobody would question it. The only thing before that could happen was the Great Hunt.

She and seven others would go to the northern wastelands and try to fight through all the horrors they had to offer. Gilda found herself getting colder, and hoped that Myrtle would soon arrive with the ale. The griffon girl didn’t want to be cold on this summer night, or alone.