Benjamin's head slowly swayed from side to side with motions of the train carriages as they rattled through the countryside. Their oiled timber panels creaked and groaned, while unlit kerosene lanterns squeaked on their hooks with every small bump and jostle from the hastily made railway. Built quickly during the war, in order to keep pace with the demands of the war effort, quality had never been a priority and the resulting track twisted and turned across the landscape like a discarded rubbing, only tunneling through the rocky rises when absolutely necessary. The thin, wool-filled cushions that lined the oak seats provided little comfort to the passengers and, despite shifting multiple times, Benjamin could feel himself being jostled by the firm seat base. Watching the world fly by at such a rapid pace, he was grateful that he was not having to walk or ride the distance.

The clean-shaven man looked through the window towards the forest-green locomotive as the train began a gentle turn to follow the gradual climb up a hill. The rapid puffs of pure white steam and gray smoke billowed out of the top and sides of the complex machine, only to dissipate into the warm country air, while the greasy black pistons attached to the wheels thrashed backward and forwards. He didn't envy the crew of the train with the back-breaking task they had, shoveling coal into the scorching hot burner of the impressive engine to propel the tons of steel, wood, coal, and water across the countryside.

Looking out his window at the exterior of the carriages while the train continued its long turn, Benjamin found himself staring at the carriage nestled between the baggage car and the coal tender. With a closed roof and exposed, cage-like sides, the carriage offered little protection from the elements for its passengers, but they preferred it that way. Packed in like canned fish, the carriage was designed to transport dragons on journeys where flying wasn't practical. Once enslaved by man for their brawn, the creatures, while uneducated, were far from simple beasts and their freedom was one of many key disagreements between the North and South. During the war, many had been promised freedom by their superiors as an incentive to fight, however, when the war ended and peace began to settle across the now reunified country it became clear that the deals made on the field were now overlooked by lawmakers. Not all of the humans however had insisted on continuing the practice of lording over their dragons, often writing their own letters of freedom for the creatures to carry with them at all times as an attempt at settling the injustice. Looking towards the front of the train and at the carriage full of dragons, Benjamin found it odd that so many would be traveling south where the chances of them being free lessened with every section of track.

Reaching into the breast pocket of his waistcoat, Benjamin fished out a silver pocket watch by its chain and checked the time. More out of habit than any actual need to know the time, as there was nowhere else he could be while the train raced across the untamed wilderness. The ride from the city to the mining town of Windslow was a long one and, provided the time on his pocket watch hadn't drifted much, he still had hours left in his journey.

Looking down inside the pocket watch, he studied the image of the older man looking back at him. While the colors were captured in grainy shades of black and white, Benjamin could remember the dark navy blue of his father's uniform. The older man had always worn it with pride, even if no emotion was conveyed in his firm, grizzled expression. Emotionless and often distant, was how he remembered the man, but he had been his father nevertheless and now, the simple watch was more valuable to him than any other timepiece. Every detail of his father's uniform was immaculate and tidy. The polished bronze buttons that lined his blazer gleamed in the flashlight and the canvas bag slung on his shoulders hung neatly against his side. With a service revolver holstered on his high belt, the same pocket watch he now held, and trousers that boasted reinforced inner thighs for riding, the man held himself with a confidence and poise that Benjamin aspired to achieve. Unable to hold the unblinking gaze of his father, Benjamin's eyes drifted to the looming figure behind the man. With paws crossed in front of it and wings tucked tight to its side, lay a dragon with a military harness pulled tight around its shoulders and a well-oiled saddle between the root of its wings. Despite being the property of the army, the dragon held itself with an air of majesty. Its toned neck was curled in an elegant 'S' shape and while its head was tilted away from the camera to display its curved ivory horns, its eyes pierced through the camera's lens with a stern, unblinking gaze.

His mind wandered to the last time he had seen his father, the cold January morning when the dragon had arrived at their house to collect him and take him off to war again. Benjamin could remember their last interaction vividly, the imposing silver dragon had spoken with such a deep voice that it sounded more akin to boulders rolling down a hill than any local accent. Standing approximately the size of a large horse at the shoulders, its icy blue eyes stared at Benjamin with an intensity that felt as if his soul was being measured. With a firm handshake and a stiff nod, his father had told him he was now the man of the house until he returned, even though they had both known that he may never do so. However, the gravity of the situation had never truly settled with Benjamin until a box of his father's effects had been delivered to the house months later. Growing up, he had always been eager to follow in his father's footsteps and when news of his death arrived, he had marched himself to the recruiter's office the same day, only to be told that a truce had been signed.

Clicking his late father's watch closed, the man cleared his throat and tucked the timepiece back into his waistcoat where he felt his punched train ticket. In doing so, his fingers brushed past the marshal's badge that he now wore on his chest. While not as heroic as a soldier, the need for order across the land was now more important than ever. Having been educated by a private tutor and trained by his father on how to shoot, Benjamin's application for becoming a marshal was swiftly approved and he now found himself out of the comforts of the family's estate and destined for a small mining town halfway between nowhere and the southern border. 

His first assignment was a strange one, but one he threw himself at to prove himself: the lack of crime reported in the old mining town of Windslow. When he had first received the briefing from his superiors, he had questioned why this was an issue. After all, order across the land was their objective as marshals. However, when the records from various towns were presented to him, he discovered that Windslow recorded suspiciously no criminal activity and only a few very petty misdemeanors. With the town's Mayor having moved onto greater things when the mine dried up, the duty of leading the town had fallen onto the current Marshal and if they were corrupt or incompetent, then Benjamin would have his work cut out. Armed with a note of authority to replace the Marshal if needed in his back pocket, his pistol, and badge, his goal was to find the truth. His first person of interest, the current Marshal, an older man called Jebediah McBraid. The suspicion was that the old man was either incompetent or he was deliberately turning a blind eye for personal gains.

Leaning back in his seat, Benjamin looked back out the window at the passing landscape. Sprawling plains of wild grasses and small forests tucked into valleys smothered the undulating terrain like a tattered patchwork quilt, with countless rocky divides puncturing the fabric to disrupt the wild and untamed landscape. During his journey across the vast land, Benjamin began to develop a new appreciation for the hard work that must have gone into building the railway. Despite its flaws and winding path, it would have taken hundreds of men and dragons to construct such a vital piece of infrastructure. Without it, his journey would have taken days on dragon back or even longer if he were to have traveled by horse and coach.

A giggle from one of the passengers brought his attention back inside the carriage and a smile pulled at his lips. The railcar was thankfully less than half full, allowing the passengers to stretch out comfortably. Towards the front of the carriage was a couple which he assumed were newlyweds. Young and full of love, they kept their conversations to a whisper, but clearly, something had been said to make the woman in a floral green dress break her composure. Looking around the carriage, Benjamin took stock of his fellow passengers. Besides the couple towards the front, there were a few families with young children, likely looking to make a new future for themselves, and a trio of rough men who smelled like they had been living on the road for too long and wore riding leathers. Not that he was one to judge others by their attire, with his pistol on his hip and badge on his waistcoat, he had received looks from the other passengers too when he boarded the train. He felt overdressed for what he had heard of the town of Windslow, and while he had been warned that the locals were unlike the civilized folk of the city, he had made a conscious decision to wear his best and comb his hair for his arrival. In a post-war land, many sought to claim power or territory at the expense of the honest man and Benjamin understood the importance of projecting order in these trying times.

Adjusting the cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt, Benjamin tried to bury the nervousness that crept into the corner of his mind and his Superior's warning regarding the dragons and people of the frontier. With the war still fresh in the minds of many, having an outsider from the north travel down to make changes in their town was a recipe for a cold, maybe even hostile reception. A part of him hoped that the dragons would be more accepting of his presence, but only time would tell. While most dragons stood shoulder to shoulder with a horse, their bodies often lacked the barrel-like figure of the animal and were instead built for flying with a sweeping, long tail, neck, and massive wings, which allowed them to take to the sky at a moment's notice. Because of this, dragon trainers would start their training on the very young dragons. Often starting from days right after the wyrmling hatched, their methods to ensure a dragon learned its role in society sent a shiver down Benjamin's spine. Unfortunately, the grim activities of removing fire glands from a wyrmling and clipping the wings of headstrong dragons was still a common practice the further south the dragons lived.

A shrill whistle from the front of the train made Benjamin twitch and suddenly the train was plunged into darkness as the track led them through a tunnel. Having been staring out of the window at the bright sky, his eyes struggled with the dark carriage, but he could just barely make out three figures stand up and begin to move in the car. Something about the way they moved, with confidence and in unison, made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle against his collared shirt and a chill ran down his spine. When one moved past him, he contemplated reaching into his pocket for a match, but froze when he heard a telltale metallic click from behind him and felt a firm hand gripped his shoulder.

“This isn't how you want it to end," came a hushed, gruff voice, the man leaning forward in his seat to whisper in Benjamin's ear. “I wasn't planning to shoot a lawman today, but don't think for a second that your badge would stop me from pulling this trigger," he added while maintaining his ironclad grip on the marshal's shoulder.

Benjamin squinted as the train emerged from the tunnel and the railcar was once again bathed in bright sunlight. Panicked screams from the women cut through the cabin like a knife, and he saw that two of the three men were now standing at the front of the carriage with pistols in hand and their faces obscured by black bandanas. The dark cloth was embroidered with silver thread to resemble the snarling mouth of some demonic creature. The grip of the man behind him made Benjamin hesitate from drawing his revolver and, when he turned his head, he found himself staring down the barrel of a polished revolver held by the third man, also wearing a matching mask.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the territory of the Silver Fangs. As is custom with our people, all of you are going to have to pay a tax for traveling on our railway," announced the man behind Benjamin, who received snickers of laughter from his comrades. “My esteemed colleagues will be coming down the aisles now. I suggest you tip them generously. We don't want to make it messy and I don't think you want to have this fine lawman's brains splattered across the cabin for the rest of your journey."

Benjamin's heart pounded in his chest. With the outlaw's gun cocked and pointed at the side of his head, he knew he wouldn't have time to draw his own revolver. Looking around the cabin, he saw the other two bandits produce small sacks with drawstrings and proceed to demand the other passengers hand over jewelry, bills, and anything else that caught their eye. The clatter of the train became louder as the door to the rear of the carriage opened and Benjamin saw two more bandits moving through the car with a long wooden case of bottles carried between them. Each bottle was curiously made of iron, with a strange bolt, secured by a chain, as the stopper. As the duo passed the marshal, the bandit jabbed the side of his head with his gun.

“I'll be taking that piece from you," the bandit standing beside Benjamin announced and gestured with his gun toward the service revolver, “Can't have you trying to be a hero."

With no other options, Benjamin slowly moved his hand towards his revolver and pinched the wooden-gripped weapon with two fingers to carefully extract it from its holster. “Just don't go hurting these folks," Benjamin said calmly and retracted his hand when the bandit snatched the pistol away from him.

“Or what?" the bandit chuckled, his eyes twinkling with merriment at the power he held over the lawman. With his gun still trained on Benjamin, he moved around the seats so that he was facing the Marshal and became focused on the small, bronze badge Benjamin wore. Like plucking an apple from a low-hanging branch, the bandit removed the badge and gestured with his gun toward Benjamin's pocket watch. “That too."

Benjamin hesitated and glared at the man. “It's broken," he said too quickly to be believable. “It's not worth anything," he added, but could tell by the slight tilt of the bandit's head that he didn't believe him.

“Then it's not worth dying over," replied the bandit and leveled the gun at Benjamin's face. “Is it?" he added and stared at the unmoving Marshal. Benjamin held his gaze in an intense battle of wills and it was clear by the man's unwavering look that he had laid out his fair share of uncooperative heroes.

“Shamus, we are done here. Let's go," called out one of the bandits, causing the one with his pistol leveled at Benjamin to briefly look away.

Seizing the opportunity, Benjamin leaned to the right and struck the gun arm of the bandit upwards with a closed fist. Sparks and a flash were accompanied by an almighty bang as the gun went off and a small hole was punched into the timber-skinned roof. His small victory was short-lived however as, when he tried to stand up, the bandit's other fist, with his own pistol still gripped in it, swung hard into the side of his head. Stars filled his vision and his shoulder slammed into the thinly padded seat as he unceremoniously fell toward the ground, grunting as he landed. The screams from the other passengers sounded muted to him as if he was underwater. In an attempt to pull himself up off of the floor, his hands grabbed at the thin seat cushions and he cried out in pain as he was struck again with the handle of his own pistol. Crumpling to the ground, the world rolled and writhed as he struggled to work out which way was up. He rolled onto his back, only to receive a firm kick to the side of his head, which caused his vision to suddenly go black.

Dazed and disoriented, Benjamin rolled on the ground and found himself shielding his face to guard against further kicks. When none came, he forced his eyes to open and saw the other passengers huddled around him with looks of concern on their faces. Feeling as if he had been kicked by a horse and his vision blurred, he patted down his waistcoat for his pocket watch. His stomach turned when he felt only the fabric of his waistcoat and realized the bandits had emptied pockets, taking both his watch, wallet, and even his train ticket. Lifting his head, he noticed the bandits were gone and used the base of the seats to pull himself up. “Where are they?" he asked. His own voice sounded thick and hoarse and he swallowed to try to clear his throat, only to taste the coppery tang of blood from his split lip.

“They just left—"

“Where?" Benjamin asked firmly and pulled himself to his feet. The ground felt like it was going to fall out from under him at any moment as the train carriages continued to rattle and sway under his unsteady feet, but when one of the passengers pointed towards the front of the carriage, he pushed past the others and started to take off towards the next car.

Unarmed but determined to stop the gang, he yanked on the brass handle to open the door that separated his carriage from the next. The rush of wind and deafening clatter filled his ears as he stepped out onto the narrow gangway that connected the two cars. With a broken chain handrail, it took all of his concentration to remain balanced on the narrow platform. Looking down between the carriages, he could see the sleepers of the railway passing beneath him like a brown blur and had to force himself to focus back on the carriage ahead of him. The fact that the train was still traveling at full speed gave him a glimmer of hope. If the gang were to leave the train safely, they would need it to slow down, which would give him time. Stepping across the narrow timber gangway between the carriages, he pulled open the door just in time to see the bandits exiting the carriage towards the next car. As he went to step inside however, the trailing bandit looked back and he saw the familiar eyes of the one called Shamus. Time seemed to slow as the bandit raised his pistol towards Benjamin and pulled back on the hammer.

With a clumsy lunge, Benjamin dove behind the last bench in the carriage as Shamus' gun went off and a hole appeared in the wall behind him. Screams filled the cabin, but when Benjamin peeked around the seats, he could see the bandit being pulled along by his comrades and the group took off running through the next carriage.

Adrenaline surged through his veins as he got to his feet and ran after them. Passengers were out of their seats and he was blocked by a one trying to recover his empty wallet from the floor. "GET OUT OF THE WAY!" he ordered, as he pushed the man back into his seat and gave chase. A realization washed over him as he remembered the dragon car towards the front of the train. While some of the creatures might not take kindly to being ridden by anyone but their masters, when coerced with a firearm they could be used as a getaway. If the Silver Fangs were able to use the creatures to escape, there would be no way to pursue them without a dragon of his own.

Charging into the next carriage, he saw even more of the Silver Fangs moving towards the front of the train. Their numbers seemed to be increasing and it was becoming clear that the gang must have had members stationed throughout the train so they could rob all the passengers at once. Despite being unarmed and heavily outnumbered, he continued to pursue the group, fueled by the knowledge that their hasty retreat meant that they were on the clock. As he dashed through the dining car, he scanned the tables for anything he could use as a weapon. Many of the passengers cowered from him, thinking he was one of the Fangs. When he saw a portly man with his hands up, Benjamin snatched a steak knife from the large man's table. His boots thumped against the timber flooring and his breathing was ragged, as he sprinted through the railcar. He ripped open the door to the gangway that separated the dining car from the baggage car.

Before he could make it across the gangway, a large fist swung at Benjamin's head from behind the door frame and he had to duck to avoid being struck. Without thinking, he swiped the steak knife in return and slashed the burly man across the forearm. The masked assailant hissed in pain before lunging forward with a powerful jab into Benjamin's stomach, driving the wind out of the marshal's lungs. Doubling over, the knife fell out of his hands and down onto the railway below.

Hunched over, Benjamin tried to keep his feet planted and arms up to protect his head as the bandit swung at him again and again. The larger man's heavy hits struck the marshal's forearms repeatedly but was unable to break his guard. During his school years he had sparred with others his size, but there was a significant difference between sparring with friends and fighting for his life on the undulating, narrow platform between the carriages. The deafening clatter of the train filled his mind and after blocking a wide swing from the Bandit, Benjamin countered with a sharp strike to the man's throat and was rewarded with a choked cry of pain. Pushing the advantage, he slammed his head hard into the man's nose and felt the cartilage break. Instantly he felt dizzy and regretted the ungentlemanly strike, but as he stumbled back, he saw the man was dazed. Grimacing through the piercing pain that ran through his head, he lunged forward to deliver a sharp blow to the bandit's jaw. 

With blood streaming down his face, the bandit stepped back to distance himself from Benjamin's following swing. However, in doing so he stumbled back off the narrow gangway and onto the oily coupler below. His foot slipped on the metal and his hands flew out to try and grab onto the side of the carriage, but in the blink of an eye, he fell below. Benjamin didn't even hear the man scream, but the wet crunch and subtle bounce of the railcar told him everything he needed to know.

Not wanting to think of the man's fate, Benjamin opened the door of the baggage car and saw the last bandit pulling himself up onto the roof of the rocking carriage. Thinking that his opponent was trying to use the roof to get behind him, Benjamin reached up to the edge of the roof and went to pull himself up as well. His arms ached, but as he lifted his head above the ledge, he was greeted with a sight that gave him pause. Two large dragons held themselves close to the roof of the carriage, with claws latched onto the thin timber roof and their leathery wings fluttering wildly in the harsh wind.

“Where's Geoffrey?" one of the dragons asked loudly over the howl of the wind and the noise of the locomotive, its voice was gruff yet feminine. Both of the creatures wore leather harnesses with riding saddles and were ready to take off, but, as the bandit shrugged, the dragon's eye ridges furrowed. 

The dragoness snapped her head around to look behind her and towards the rear of the train for her rider. Like prey before a predator, Benjamin froze mid-climb with his head and shoulders exposed to her gaze. Even though the nictitating membranes that protected her eyes and gave them a ghostly grey appearance, he found himself frozen in place. The look of shock and sadness faded, her pupils suddenly narrowing to tight slits, and her expression shifted to one of uncontrolled rage. Seeing the Marshal's face instead of her master, the dragoness' lips curled back to reveal razor-sharp ivory fangs and she snarled, while a deep growl that sounded like thunder resonated deep within the creature's chest. With a sway of her hips, she swiped her powerful tail across the edge of the roof, missing him by an inch and causing him to drop between the carriages.

Falling back down from the roof and onto the gangway, Benjamin landed awkwardly and flailed his arms to quickly regain his balance. A furious roar rang out from above, and he quickly dove inside the baggage car as the dragoness turned and swiped a talon-tipped paw between the carriages in a blind attempt at revenge. He longed for a rifle, or even his pistol as the bereft mount's paws clawed at the roof. The sharp talons tore through the thin wood, creating gashes for light to stream through, as she tried to get to him. Splinters of timber rained down on Benjamin and he scrambled out from under the compromised section to cower behind a stack of bags that teetered and rocked with the train's movements. A pounding thud on the roof shook the cart, followed by another, and then, with an almighty crash, the roof collapsed inwards. Sunlight filled the carriage as the dragoness crashed inside, with her lips curled back and a fierce look in her eyes. The luggage around the dragon was tossed violently by swipes of her powerful forepaws as she tried to make her way through the packed carriage. Even with wings folded tight to her body, she struggled to make progress past the heavy cases, sacks of mail, and goods that had been piled on either side of the car.

“We are out of time, leave it!" shouted a deep, draconic voice from above and Benjamin felt the whole carriage rock as the other bandit and his dragon took to the sky. Hidden behind a tower of bags, he peeked through a gap and saw the dragoness' murderous yellow eyes scanning the compartment. With a snarl and a snap of her muscular jaws, she pulled her head back and, as she turned, Benjamin saw the telltale scars down her neck, indicating where her fire glands had been removed. With a final, frustrated shake of her head, she used her powerful hind legs to launch out of the carriage and, once clear of the train, unfurled her wings and soared into the heavens.

Emerging from his hiding place, Benjamin looked through the remains of the baggage car's wall to see the dragoness flying away with others. Their wings beat quickly as they flew away from the train and towards the west. Snapping his head towards the dragon car, he could see through the window that the carriage was empty and realized that the gang's dragons had been passengers with them all along. 

Unarmed and alone, Benjamin stepped out to the gangway and watched as the Silver Fangs disappeared from view. Taking a deep breath, Benjamin punched the side of the car with a closed fist to vent his frustration at losing his father's timepiece. Sharp pain shot through his knuckles and wrist, but he didn't care. A shrill whistle rang out from the locomotive and the train was once again plunged into darkness as they entered another tunnel.