Malrick was already bored, and it had barely been thirty minutes.

He’d arrived at the city just hours ago, and after barely enough time to feed and wash both Zephyr and himself, he’d been dragged into a meeting with the Carolina's mayor—a plump, elderly man named Frederick.

The meeting room was modest but respectable, located on the second floor of Frederick’s manor. A balcony overlooked the bustling town below, while two doors framed the room: one leading to the hallway, the other to god knows where.

For thirty agonizing minutes, Malrick had endured introductions. Frederick had taken great pleasure in introducing himself and the three other attendees: Carson, the pale, lanky Chairman of Dixie (which included the cities of Carolina, Georgia, and Magnolia); and Bailey, the stern Mayor of the territory of Atlanta.

Finally, Frederick clapped his hands together and said, “Alright, folks, let’s get down to business. As you all know, these lands lack a unified authority. While Dixie and Atlanta manage their territories, for the most part, this region is a wild land, ruled by the strongest. But to our north, the English are encroaching, slowly carving away the northern lands. That terrifies me because... what if they set their sights on us next?”

Malrick sighed. Politics. It was always politics. For once, he wished to be invited to a meeting that didn’t revolve around schemes and power struggles.

“Look,” he said, his tone sharp, “you’re all important folk, what with your titles and towns. You can do your politicking without me. So why am I here?”

Bailey arched a brow. “For someone with a reputation for patience, Sheriff, you don’t exactly live up to it.”

Malrick opened his mouth to retort, but Frederick raised a hand to cut him off. “I’m getting to the point, Sheriff. Now, as I was saying—the English are a threat. But I have found the perfect solution to deal with them.”

Bailey crossed her arms. “And that solution would be?”

Carson leaned forward, answering on Frederick’s behalf. “A few hours ago, we received a report via English fliers. Their king has been assassinated—Prussian spies, apparently.”

Silence fell over the room. Malrick straightened in his chair, his interest piqued for the first time since arriving.

Bailey frowned. “Why hasn’t this news reached us in Atlanta? We’re the closest to their northern territories, and yet we’ve heard nothing.”

“It’s on a need-to-know basis,” Carson replied smoothly. “The English are furious, and Prussia’s response has been silence—no messengers, no ambassadors, nothing. But here’s where it gets interesting: the English have approached us with a deal.”

“What sort of deal?” Malrick asked.

Frederick clasped his hands. “They want our support if war breaks out with Prussia. In exchange, they’ve promised to aid us in... other pursuits.”

Bailey sighed loudly. “Are you two seriously using this war as an excuse to push your dream of uniting this country? I’ve told you—it’s foolish!”

Malrick blinked. Uniting the country? It was enormous, with countless towns and cities, each fiercely independent. The idea was absurd.

“Bailey, come on,” Carson said, clearly annoyed. “What better way to stop English expansion than by uniting our lands? With California on board in the west and us in the east, we’d be in a prime position to build something greater than this fractured mess of territories!”

“Just because some towns are willing to entertain your ridiculous notion doesn’t mean everyone will,” Bailey snapped. She turned to Malrick. “Sheriff, you’ve traveled more than anyone. Tell these idiots how impossible their idea is.”

Malrick nodded. “She’s right. I’ve been to plenty of towns, and their mayors and governors aren’t about to give up their lands or their autonomy. They’d laugh you out of the room.”

“But they wouldn’t have to,” Frederick countered, his voice rising slightly. “Imagine—a central government to handle international affairs while the towns keep their independence. It’s the best of both worlds!”

Bailey was about to fire back, but Malrick cut her off. “Listen, I don’t care if you’re building an empire, a democracy, or a circus. It’s not my concern. What is my concern is why I’m here. And what, exactly, did the English ask of you?”

Carson sighed and gestured toward the second door. “You’re about to find out. Allow me to introduce the man who can explain the English offer in detail, with the authority of their new queen.”

The door opened, and a man who could only be described as quintessentially English stepped into the room. Middle-aged, with a thick beard that obscured his neck, he was dressed impeccably in a black coat, tie, and a top hat. He moved with the measured precision of someone used to commanding respect.

The man bowed slightly and took the empty chair at the table. “Greetings,” he said, his voice smooth and deliberate. “I am Lord Algerardon, representing the Hudson territories on behalf of Her Majesty, the Queen.”

Daisey frowned. “Lord Algerardon? I’m sorry, but I’ve never heard of you.”

Malrick added, “And were you hiding behind that door the whole time?”

The Lord chuckled, unfazed. “I’m relatively new to these lands. I was anointed to rule the Hudson territories with a mandate to expand into the wild freezing Tundra. And to answer your question, Sheriff—indeed, I was. A little dramatic flair goes a long way.”

Malrick laughed. “You English and your theatrics.”

Frederick unfurled a map and spread it across the table. It depicted the many fragmented territories and, to the north, two major provinces: Lamia and Hudson. “As you can see,” Frederick began, “Hudson lies just above the Great Lakes. It’s a relatively new province, created after a combination of trading and conquest—basically, all the things the English do best.”

Map of Medieval North America

Bailey crossed her arms. “So, Lord Algerardon, care to explain how exactly England needs our help?”

Algerardon cleared his throat. “As you are aware, the Prussians assassinated our King, and we demand justice. Her Majesty, the Queen, has requested that your lands provide as many troops and mounts as possible—specifically sauropods, given your abundance of those walking giants.”

Malrick raised an eyebrow. “Sauropods? Why them? Why not carnivores, smaller tank-like herbivores, or even pterosaurs?”

“Because,” Algerardon explained, “when properly saddled and trained, sauropods can serve as mobile command centers. Their size and endurance make them invaluable for sieges and large-scale battles.”

Bailey sighed. “Ah, so that’s why I was invited—because of Atlanta’s Brachiosaurus breeding program.”

Carson nodded. “Pretty much.”

Malrick leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but brachiosaurs can’t exactly fly, now can they?”

Algerardon remained composed. “No, they cannot. However, we’ve spent the past few years constructing ships designed to carry large sauropods. We were planning to approach Atlanta for their brachiosaurs regardless.”

Bailey sighed with mock enthusiasm. “Wow. I feel so honored.”

As Carson rolled up the map, Algerardon pressed on. “In any case, we will take these sauropods and whatever other resources you can spare.”

Malrick shrugged. “That’s up to the governors. What do you need me to do?”

Algerardon’s pointed at him. “You might not realize this, but your reputation precedes you—even across the Atlantic. The Queen herself has asked if you would join our efforts.”

Malrick leaned forward, intrigued. “Join her for what, exactly?”

“To fight in the war,” Algerardon explained. “She’s assembling a small team of elite warriors, including you, a wandering knight named Aaric, and a few others.”

Malrick considered this for a moment before asking, “Alright. I can fly to England with Zephyr and take part in this war of yours. The question is—what’s in it for me?”

Carson interjected. “Aside from glory and fame? When we unify these lands—which we will—you’ll become the official Sheriff, backed by the government. You’ll also receive an extremely generous salary, so you won’t have to scrape by on bounties and odd jobs.”

Malrick laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding me. All I get is a participation trophy? No offense, but your so-called unified nation will take decades to build. I want no part of that.”

Frederick, unsurprised, countered with another offer. “Alright, then. How about this? We’ll pay you and Zephyr’s combined weight in gold and jewels.”

That got Malrick’s attention. Zephyr was a large beast, and his weight in gold would be substantial. Malrick thought it over before finally nodding. “Alright. Agreed. When do I leave, and where do I go?”

Lord Algerardon grinned, pleased. “Excellent choice, young man. Here—take this letter. You’ll need it to gain entry to London and secure an audience with the Queen.” He produced a rolled parchment and handed it to Malrick.

“London, eh?” Malrick said, tucking the letter into his bag. “It’ll take a day or two to get there. Zephyr’s a fast flier, but he’s no machine.”

Carson nodded. “Excellent. Try not to disappoint us—you’re going as this continent’s finest.”

Bailey clapped her hands, bringing the focus back to the table. “Alright, now let’s talk about the sauropods…”

Dismissed, Malrick left the manor and made his way to the stables, where Zephyr was currently terrorizing the stablehands.

Malrick chuckled. “Stop scaring the poor lads. Did ya miss me?”

Zephyr let out a small screech, as if to say, I couldn’t care less about these humans.

Malrick shook his head. “You’ll need to learn some manners, because where we’re going, they’re in high demand.”

Zephyr tilted his head, curious.

Malrick smirked. “We’re crossing the Atlantic—to London. It’s going to be one hell of a flight, but hey, we’ve had worse.”

He quickly mounted Zephyr and grabbed the reins. “Alright, boy. Time for liftoff.”

Zephyr started with a slow trot, gradually picking up speed before launching into the air and spreading his massive wings, he flapped them a few times before finally catching the cool eastern winds and beginning their journey.

Malrick tied the reigns to the saddle and positioned himself so he would be comfortable, he trusted Zephyr to not fly off course.

A few hours later they were peacefully flying over the Atlantic, with nothing more than the sounds of other Pterosaurs fishing and boats moving along below.

After every two or three hours they'd stop and rest on one of the many boats moving between Europe and his continent, before setting off again.

It was going to be a long journey.