//------------------------------// // Nightfall // Story: Armor's Game // by OTCPony //------------------------------// At twenty minutes to midnight on a cold, late September night, a freight train towing five cars chuffed slowly off the Canterlot Main Line on to a rarely-used siding that led through a pair of wrought iron gates into Canterlot Castle. Two Royal Guards, who until then had been sitting sleepily in the guardhouse waiting for their relief, exchanged worried glances as the train slid to a halt in a cloud of steam in front of the gates. Hastily donning their shakos and grabbing their spears, they ran out of the hut as two ponies vaulted down from the locomotive’s hoofplate. The Guards Sergeant raised his spear. “Halt!” The two ponies stopped. Silhouetted against the bright steam, the Sergeant could see swords at their sides and officers’ cocked hats on their heads. “Advance one and be recognised!” he said uncertainly. One of them strode forward confidently. When the Sergeant saw the row of medals, the stars on his shoulders, and then his face, he dropped his spear to his side and saluted smartly. “Major General Neigh sir! It’s an honour!” Neigh crisply returned the salute. “Thank you, Sergeant.” His tone was distant, almost detached. “Open the gates.” The Sergeant exchanged a worried glance with his partner. “I’m sorry sir, but we have nothing on our schedule for the Royal Train Siding tonight.” Lieutenant Colonel Brazen Petard stepped forward. “I have an order from Princess Celestia herself to present my battalion for inspection here tomorrow. Open the gate.” The Sergeant shifted on his hooves. A non-Guards battalion being reviewed at the castle? What was going on? And why hadn’t he been told? “I’m sorry sir, but my orders...” “Colonel Petard just gave you an order,” said Neigh sternly. “General Ember is in the castle tonight, is he not?” The Sergeant gave a stiff nod. “The General is a guest of honour at tomorrow’s parade. Do I have to send one of you up to wake him?” The Sergeant stood stock still for a moment, sweat beading his forehead, before he turned to his partner. “Open the gates.” *** Inside the locomotive’s cab, Blueblood let out a sigh of relief. Getting in had been the most risky part. He had been worried that they would have to ram the gates, and if they had had to do that, what would they have told Neigh’s soldiers? As the locomotive slid on to the Royal Train Siding, Blueblood turned to look at the rest of the occupants of the cab. If the conductor, slowly easing his train to a halt, suspected something, then he didn’t show it. After all, the transport documents Neigh had showed him had all been in order. Radical Road, in contrast, was as white as a sheet and was sweating and breathing heavily. And behind Radical Road, looking ridiculous in ill-fitting uniforms, confused and more than a little scared, were ten of his servants. Blueblood regretted the necessity of it. He wasn’t sure why. He’d already spilled an untold amount of blood to get to the Castle with a regiment of troops at his back. He would spill far more later tonight even if all went to plan. Clouds of steam billowed from the locomotive as it finally stopped at the Princesses’ personal platform. It was a modest railway station inside the Castle’s walls: big enough for the large royal entourage, but functional, unfurnished and with only a red carpet rolled out when the Princesses came to board their train. Blueblood would have to change that. Captain Sharp Suit appeared at the hoofplate, wreathed in steam. “It’s time.” Blueblood nodded at Cordwainer, dressed up as a Grenadier Sergeant. “Attach them to Sharp Suit’s Grenadier Company. Keep them ahead of the regiment.” The butler’s jaw was set and his face was grim. He gave a curt nod. “Mr Cordwainer, what’s happening?” squeaked a kitchen maid. “Quiet,” growled Cordwainer. He led the ten of them down from the cab. On the platform, companies of the Trottingham Grenadiers issued out of the freight cars and began to fall in under their officers. “What was up with those soldiers?” asked Radical Road after Cordwainer and Sharp Suit had led them off. “Neigh’s idea,” said Blueblood. “He wanted to keep an eye on the conductor.” It was a shameless lie, but Radical Road was too distracted to notice. Led by the Grenadier Company, the 3rd Battalion, Trottingham Grenadiers marched out of the Royal Station and across the Drill Square of Canterlot Castle. Tall towers, grey against the black sky, shadowed them as the column marched. The officers could not prevent a low buzz of excited whispering over their battalion. They were to be reviewed by Princess Celestia herself at the Castle! An unprecedented honour for a regiment not of the Royal Guard! The lie they had been told showed: they stood straighter, taller, bolder, and marched smartly towards the drill hall beneath the Royal Guard barracks in Guards Tower on the other side of the Drill Square. Every soldier except ten. Major General Neigh could see them even from the tail of the battalion in the dark. What the bloody hell’s wrong with Sharp Suit’s Grenadier Company?! The lead files looked like they’d never marched before in their lives. They were tick-tocking, were out of step, and were generally making a mockery of what they were trying to achieve tonight. Neigh felt a hoof lie gently on his leg. He turned to see Blueblood. “Let’s go, Major General.” Neigh turned to see Blueblood, Radical Road and five of his officers. Behind them, just out of earshot was the 3rd Battalion’s Light Company. The rest of his conspirators were with their companies in the battalion, which would fix the Royal Guard in their barracks until he and his officers had taken Celestia into custody. The need for deceit left a foul taste in Neigh’s mouth. The sight of Celestia in chains would stun many of his troops, and he doubted he would thank him for lying to them. But he had no other choice. He could not afford word of the coup leaking and Captain Armed March could not guarantee the loyalty of even a single company. He had to present everypony with a fait accompli. Neigh gathered his officers around him. “Gentlestallions, it is time. From this point there is no turning back. Our soldiers are in this castle without orders and we cannot hope to remain undiscovered for long. We must go on, and we must succeed. For all our comrades who have died, and for all our comrades who have been ruined by Celestia.” On Blueblood’s face, invisible in the darkness, was the tiniest of smirks. He nodded sharply. “Long live the revolution.” *** Captain Sharp Suit’s heart was hammering in his mouth as he ascended the stairs of Guards Tower with Colonel Tinderblast. Behind them trudged ten of Blueblood’s servants, looking ridiculous in the spare uniforms Sharp Suit had managed to draw from stores for them, chivvied along by Blueblood’s butler, dressed up as a Sergeant. He had almost backed out when Blueblood had told him what they would have to do. The idea had sickened him. A soldier existed to protect those who could not protect themselves, and a soldier who could not do that with honour and integrity was but a hired thug. So he had been told every day of officer training all those months ago, but if he did not do this one terrible thing, then how many more would suffer? How many more ponies, soldiers and civilians alike, would be impoverished while Celestia sat in this castle, unassailable? So he and Tinderblast had told themselves time and again, and so when the battalion had formed up in the drill hall at the base of Guards Tower, Sharp Suit had approached Colonel Brazen Petard, saluted him, and loudly asked permission to fall out a section to begin a handover of accommodation. That had always been the plan, going through the proper motions for the entire battalion to hear, then Sharp Suit would barricade the doors of the barracks to keep the Royal Guard penned in until Neigh and Blueblood had secured Celestia. Sharp Suit heard a whisper behind him. “Mr Cordwainer, what’s going on?” He winced. He’d heard too many of those since Trottingham, each more desperate than the last. Unknown to Brazen Petard, he had not fallen out a section of Grenadiers. Instead, he was ascending these steps with a group of sacrificial lambs. Sharp Suit and Tinderblast turned the last corner of the spiral staircase and came on to a large landing. Lining the walls were two large portraits, one of Celestia, another of an ancient Captain-General of the Guards that Sharp Suit could not name. At the end of the landing was an immense pair of polished oak double doors, leading into the barracks. And standing at attention in front of them were two red-jacketed Royal Guards. At the sight of Tinderblast they braced up and saluted. “Sir! What’s your business here?” “We’re to take over accommodation here for 3rd Battalion, Trottingham Grenadiers,” said Tinderblast. “Sir?” queried the Guards Corporal. He looked over at his partner, a Private. “I haven’t been told anything.” “Surely you were briefed?” “I... I’m not sure, sir. Hold on...” The Earth Pony Corporal rested his spear at his side and fumbled at his jacket pocket with a hoof, struggling to dig out his notebook. The Private had his eyes on his partner, who was flicking through his notebook. Neither of them noticed Sharp Suit grasp his sword hilt. Sharp Suit swept the blade across the Private’s chest. A spray of blood struck the Corporal in the face, blinding him and staining the pages of his notebook crimson. The Private sank to his knees and Sharp Suit buried the blade in his neck. “WHAT THE...?!” The Corporal staggered, struggling to wipe the blood from his face as behind Tinderblast and Sharp Suit Blueblood’s servants screamed. He groped for his spear, but blinded and disarmed, he was helpless as Tinderblast drew his sword and rammed it through his barrel. Breathing heavily, Tinderblast swiftly frisked the Corporal as Sharp Suit grabbed the Guards’ spears. Their blood pooled together on the marble landing. Tinderblast pulled a ring of keys from the Corporal’s pocket and selected the largest. He thrust the key into the keyhole of the double doors and locked them. The two of them turned to face Blueblood’s servants. The ten ponies cowered helplessly in the corner as Cordwainer pointed his spontoon at them. “Mr Cordwainer!” one of them sobbed. He was a hoofstallion, Sharp Suit dimly remembered. “Sir, what are you doing?!” Cordwainer ignored them. “Quickly!” Tinderblast took a deep breath and faced Sharp Suit. The Captain grimaced and slashed his sword across the Colonel’s haunch. Tinderblast gasped and blood began to pour down his flank. Then Sharp Suit turned to Cordwainer. “Ready.” Cordwainer swung his hoof in a devastating haymaker that slammed into the side of Sharp Suit’s head. Cordwainer and Twist Turn had grown up in a tough neighbourhood. Unlike his brother, Cordwainer had managed to escape that life, but he still remembered how to punch. The blow split the skin and left Sharp Suit sprawling on the floor. Then he turned to Tinderblast, who was leaning heavily on his spear and had his sword in his other hoof. “Do it.” The injured Colonel slashed Cordwainer’s forearm. Blood welled from the wound and soaked his sleeve, dying the gold Sergeant’s stripes crimson. Wincing, Cordwainer helped Sharp Suit to his feet with his good leg. The Captain kept twitching his head to try to clear it. Blood was running down the side of his face and the skin around his left eye was already bruising. The three of them turned to face the group of servants. The ten of them were cowering in the corner. Several of them were flattened against the wall, trying to make themselves as small as possible. More had tears running down their faces. For a brief second, Sharp Suit was reminded of the terrified faces he had seen on the hill at Silvestris. The three of them raised their spears, and the eyes of their targets widened as they realised what was about to happen. “Sorry,” said Cordwainer quietly. It seemed appropriate. *** Princess Celestia sat silently in the darkening throne room. A memo that she wasn’t reading sat in front of her, and an untouched cup of tea slowly cooled at her side. All she could think of was the prophecy. She should go to bed, but she knew that sleep would not come. Every night since the sun had risen without her magic, she had wondered if that would be the moment, that that would be when Blueblood made his move. But if he did play his hoof, what would he do? Then the great double doors of the throne room slammed open, and five ponies in uniform and two ponies in suits marched in, followed by a company of soldiers. “Ah...” whispered Celestia. For a few moments, they faced each other in silence. At the head of the party that had just burst into her throne room, a red-coated stallion stood awkwardly, shifting on his hooves and his jaw working silently. Next to him, a white-coated stallion rolled his eyes and stepped forwards. “Princess Celestia,” said Blueblood, smirking. “In the name of the ponies of Equestria, you are under arrest.” Celestia saw a flicker of alarm ripple through the company of troops arrayed behind the officers. “Soldiers,” she said calmly. “Lay down your arms and disperse. No action will be taken against you.” The Light Company stood rooted to the spot. Their eyes flicked to their officers. One of the officers rapidly stepped forward. “The Army can no longer stand by and allow you to mismanage Equestria!” barked Major General Neigh. “In the past month you have destroyed our economy and impoverished thousands! You have destroyed the lives of thousands of Equestria’s soldiers!” “Your disregard for Parliament and proper democratic procedures over the past year has become intolerable,” continued Blueblood. “This recession is the final straw. The task of governance has grown beyond you, and the Parliamentarian movement cannot risk waiting until the next election. Step down now, and you will not be harmed.” The insincerity in his voice was palpable. Celestia could tell that this speech had been carefully crafted to wipe away any doubts in the soldiers following them, but she could not see how Blueblood could follow through. She knew how she must appear to them atop her dais: regal, majestic, and terrifying to behold. Those soldiers would never fire on her. “I will give you this last chance to stand down, Blueblood,” she said. “Depart this castle and return to your estates and I will take no vengeance. Otherwise I will destroy you.” Over a thousand years the mere threat of Celestia acting had cowed kings and warlords and dictators far crueller and fiercer than Blueblood, but the Unicorn stood his ground, still smirking. At that moment, a flicker of doubt passed through Celestia’s mind. He cannot challenge me alone and he knows these ponies will never fire on me. What has he done? Then a trio of shots sounded from across the Castle’s Drill Square. *** “Locked?” demanded General Warding Ember gruffly. “What do you mean, locked?” The General had been shaken awake moments earlier by Colonel Stalwart Ward of 1st Battalion, 1st Royal Guard Regiment. He had not been happy to say the least. Warding Ember had consumed a rather large amount of port at that evening’s mess dinner and had gone to bed with his head pounding two hours earlier. “That’s just it, sir,” said Colonel Ward. “I sent midnight watch down to as usual but they came back and told me that the doors to the barracks have been locked from the outside.” Ember frowned and trotted out of his room. The two ponies descended the spiral staircase of Guards Tower, past doors leading to barracks rooms, common areas, messes and armouries. Two thousand Guards were deployed in Canterlot Castle at any one time; a battalion of infantry, and a regiment of Pegasi Life Guards. Ember was buckling on his sword belt when they reached the last landing, where a dozen ponies waiting to go out to relieve the eleven o'clock watch stood uncertainly in front of the locked double doors. “Whatever it is,” he said grumpily. “I’m sure it doesn’t require the attention of...” Beyond the double doors, a trio of shots rang out. They were swiftly followed by screams. Ember spun around to face the stunned group of Royal Guards. On the floors above, doors began to bang open as Guards leapt out of their beds at the sound. “GET THIS DOOR OPEN, NOW!” *** “TREACHERY! INFAMY! INFAMY!” Lieutenant Morning Dew of the Trottingham Grenadiers heard the cries and sped up as she raced up the spiral staircase. She had been the first to react when the shots rang out, and she had led the rest of the Grenadier Company galloping up the stairs, sword in hoof, while the rest of the regiment crowded behind them. Morning Dew galloped on to the landing and into a charnel house. She slid to a halt, leaving hoof trails through the blood that had spread across the marble. Ten ponies in Trottingham uniforms lay dead across the floor, expressions of fear and horror on their faces. Some had been shot, others had been speared. Two Royal Guards lay dead at the double doors leading into the barracks. Slumped against the wall were a Sergeant and a Colonel that Morning Dew didn’t recognise. They had taken bad sword cuts, and crouched next to them trying to apply bandages was Captain Sharp Suit. “Sir!” gasped Morning Dew. “Sir, what happened?!” Sharp Suit looked up at her. Blood was pouring down one side of his face and there was a wild, feverish look in his eyes. “We are betrayed!” he cried, as more Grenadiers crowded on to the landing and stared in stunned disbelief at the corpses. “I brought this section up here to begin occupying accommodation, and we were attacked!” He waved his hoof wildly at the doors. “We managed to kill two, but they retreated into the barracks!” As she stared at her Captain and then the bodies, Morning Dew’s shock turned to disbelief, and then to anger. Somepony had tried to murder her Captain and her comrades after inviting them to the Castle! “Get a battalion gun up here!” she snarled. “Let’s get this door open!” The order flashed back through the Grenadier Company and down through the rest of the regiment into the drill hall, and along with it wild rumours. Along the way it escalated until it reached Lieutenant Colonel Brazen Petard, who was trying to shove his way up the staircase to see what was happening. He and the other conspirators exchanged horrified looks. Something had gone terribly wrong. Nopony was supposed to die. But all around them was a disorganised regiment with its blood up that was all whispering the same thing. “Treachery! Treachery!” *** “HAVE YOU FIRED ON MY PONIES?!” roared Neigh. Blueblood smiled and said nothing as Neigh ranted and raved accusations at Celestia. He let the Major General thunder on and wave his sword as Celestia desperately tried to deny him, as he waited for what he knew would happen next. Moments later, an explosion of shots erupted from Guards Tower as the Trottingham Grenadiers and the Royal Guard clashed. Radical Road grasped at Blueblood’s leg. “What have you done?!” “KILL HER!” screamed Neigh. The Light Company needed little encouragement. If Blueblood’s speech had dispelled their fears, the idea that their comrades had been attacked removed any inhibitions. A storm of fire erupted across the throne room. A scintillating shield sprang up around Celestia. The Light Company’s magical blasts scattered off it in showers of sparks, but light infantry did not fire as platoons but individuals, and a rain of fire continued to splash down on the shield, giving Celestia no time to counterattack. For the first time in a thousand years, war filled Canterlot. Neigh roared orders. The Light Company fired. In Guards Tower ponies fought and bled and died. Radical Road cowered behind one of the throne room’s pillars screaming for them to stop firing. Some brave officers tried to get closer to the shield with their swords. And in the middle of it all, Blueblood stepped forward and fired a blasting spell. A stream of light struck Celestia’s shield, a ball of heat forming where it hit that grew hotter and brighter by the second. One unicorn in a hundred thousand might have been able to break Celestia’s shield, and nopony would have ever bet that the Princesses’ wastrel nephew would be the one to do it. But Blueblood was a Level Seven Unicorn who had worked on this blasting spell for years for his mining operations. What for other ponies was a single burst of magic was for him a continuous stream. Slowly but surely, Celestia’s shield contracted. The magical blasts flew from the Light Company and Blueblood’s spell went on. Sweat streamed down Blueblood’s muzzle and Radical Road sobbed and cowered behind the pillar. Then suddenly from within the shrinking shield their came a terrible, unearthly scream. A flash of light filled the throne room. Everypony was catapulted off their hooves and left sprawling on the floor. Every single stained glass window shattered in a blizzard of shining fragments. A terrible rending crack shivered from the ceiling. When Blueblood came to, fighting was still raging in Guards Tower. Neigh and his officers were staggering to their hooves. In front of them, the ancient throne had been reduced to blackened ashes and a great crater had been blown in the marble dais. Wind whistled through the shattered windows and glittering clouds of powdered glass gusted across the floor like snow. Above them, the roof of the throne room had been blasted open, and in the sky was a new star racing across the heavens, growing fainter, and fainter, and fainter.