Chapter 10: Thunder
Death never pierces your soul until it happens to somepony close to you. I saw many Cirrans ripped apart and dying violent deaths, but other than a momentary disgust or a lingering horror I remained unchanged. When a friend dies, you learn how you really feel about them, and just how important you never realized they were in life.
---Excerpt from Commander Hurricane’s Journal
26th of Last Seed, 401 After Empire.
Chapter 10: Thunder
Forty-eight hours. That was exactly how long it took for the world to turn upside down. Forty-eight hours after the destruction of Azoeth, everything changed for Cirra. And as the fate of nations inexorably affects the fate of its citizens, so too did life change for Hurricane.
The first twenty-four hours had been chaotic, but the word itself was an understatement. Hurricane found himself trying to organize and command his century without any of the vital knowledge or experience from officer’s training. Dusk Strike had been an excellent centurion, and his authority over his troops was absolute. Hurricane lacked the natural persona or bravado of his predecessor, but he had at least known everypony in his century from training camp and was able to command them as one might suggest a course of action for a friend. Hard, solid respect, the kind that inspired legionaries to follow their centurions to the gates of Hell and back, was much more difficult to acquire.
The entire ordeal had left Hurricane exhausted. It was still difficult to keep Dusk Strike’s death from replaying in his head, and so maintaining some sort of industry was essential to the troubled stallion to keep his mind off of it. Rather than assigning nonessential tasks to his legionaries like his predecessor, Hurricane completed them himself if they were within his means and time. He had even flown to the rear himself to pick up his new set of centurion armor. The soft gold trim formed a glistening outline on his armored figure, and he inadvertently picked up salutes from different legionaries as he walked across the camp.
A dozen figures nearly knocked him over without so much as an apology as they sprinted through the camp. Hurricane grumbled to himself, temper short on a lack of sleep and weariness from the week long sprint into Gryphon territory. As far as he could tell, there had been some sort of complication to the north that was tying down the second cohort. Swift Spear’s cohort. Hurricane, although not usually religious, had nevertheless prayed to the Gods that she was safe.
Communications with the north had been spotty at best. A bloodied messenger, who barely managed to fly back to camp with broken limbs and tattered wings, spoke only in incoherent ramblings before quickly succumbing to his wounds. The messengers that legate Red Tail had sent to the north had not returned, and he was pondering whether or not to mobilize a regiment to investigate.
It was on the second day that news finally came through. Hurricane had finished drilling his century to keep it sharp and was on his way back with Silver and Shear to get something to eat when a pegasus nearly fell onto him, collapsing into a heap a few feet away.
“Hey! Watch it legionar—” Hurricane’s words were cut off as he recognized the mare in front of him. Swift Spear was stained in blood from head to tail and one of her wing blades was missing. With an agonized grunt, she pushed herself off of the ground and hobbled over to Hurricane, a crimson hind leg held aloft.
“Hurricane…” she began, her voice sounding frail and old under her tarnished and dented helmet. “I need… G-get me the Legate…” The mare took another step and abruptly collapsed. Hurricane dove forward to catch her before she could hit the ground, and he cradled her wheezing head in his forelegs.
“Shear! Go and bring the Legate to the infirmary. We’ll meet you there,” barked Hurricane as he maneuvered Swift onto his back. Shear Point nodded and flew off to look for Red Tail while Silver Sword supported Hurricane as he stood up. The black stallion grunted as he heaved Swift and the hundred pounds of armor between the two of them onto his hooves and began to trot to the medical tent.
Equine meteorites began to fall into the camp in a similar fashion as Swift Spear as stragglers from the second cohort made their way home. Thick pockets of pegasi began to crowd around the fallen legionaries, prodding the weary figures with questions while others ran to find doctors. Hurricane pushed his way past all of them, arriving in front of a large tent where several dozen wounded Cirrans lay in rough cots.
“Medicus!” shouted Silver Sword as he cleared the way for Hurricane. Finding the nearest available cot, the Hurricane carefully transferred the delirious mare off of his back and began to help remove her bloodied armor.
“What is it? I’ve got a dozen more ponies I’ve got to get a look at,” grumbled an angry-looking Cirran medic. A white apron that was so soiled that it hardly stood out against his red coat covered his chest, and off of it hung several stained tools. The stench of blood nearly caused Hurricane to vomit, and he took a few steps away from the medic towards fresher air.
“She’s a soldier from the second cohort,” began Hurricane. “She just fell out of the sky a few minutes ago, like she just sprinted back from where her cohort was deployed”
The medicus sat down next to Swift, pushing away the bundle of damaged armor at the foot of the cot. The mare was trying to formulate coherent sentences, but the doctor ignored her exhausted ramblings as he tested for anything that was broken. After stretching each of her tired limbs, the doctor stood up and turned to Hurricane.
“She’s just delirious. By the looks of her feathers she’s been in one hell of a fight, and I doubt she slowed down for a second during her sprint back here.” Hearing another cry for his aid, the doctor gathered up his tools and took to the air. “Luckily she hasn’t broken anything. Best thing for her is to rehydrate and get some rest.”
Almost as soon as the doctor left, Shear Point arrived with Legate Red Tail. Hurricane and Silver Sword saluted him, but the gray pony ignored them and walked up to Swift Spear.
Red Tail looked over the injured mare, a simple leather eye patch covering the empty socket where his damaged eye had been removed. Swift’s breathing had slowed down and her dazed eyes were fixated blankly at the ceiling of the tent. “What’s her condition?” he asked over his shoulder, not looking away from Swift’s face.
“Stable, sir,” answered Hurricane. “The medicus said she just needed some time to rest and she’ll be back in fighting condition.” Hurricane walked to the other side of the mare across from the Legate and gently shook her shoulder. “The Legate’s here to see you, Swift.”
The mare detached her eyes from the ceiling and slowly angled them towards Red Tail, pale blue irises struggling to focus on his form. She raised a shaky foreleg and held it out before her in a rough approximation of the Cirran salute, then let it fall back onto the cot. A feeble “sir” was barely heard above the cries of amputees and other agonized pegasi in the tent.
Red Tail cut straight to the point. “I need to know what happened out there, legionary. We haven’t heard from the Second in days, and my legion is tied down without knowing what we’re up against.”
Swift grunted and licked her split lips. “After we destroyed Bavargade, some legionaries spotted a griffon platoon attempting to regroup to the east. The officers gave the order to pursue, and we chased them through the highlands for the better part of the day. Then…” The mare’s stained coat visibly shook and she squeezed her eyes shut. Taking a shaky breath, she rubbed one of her frayed wings. “We stumbled across a griffon army. Thousands, tens of thousands. Maybe more. We withdrew, but the army was so large it quickly engulfed us before we could escape.”
There were cries from outside as more injured survivors of the second cohort were carried into the tent. Swift’s eyes were drawn to the wounded legionaries, many of whom were her friends. One mare in particular was screaming in agony as two stallions held her against a cot, a ragged and bloody stump of a foreleg flailing in the air.
“Focus, soldier,” commanded Red Tail. Swift’s eyes quickly returned to the Legate’s face. Shaking the dizziness out of her head, she stole a glance at Hurricane as she resumed.
“We had no hope, so the commander ordered us to flee back to camp with all haste. Only a hoofful of us managed to escape...” The mare solemnly pointed towards where the doctors were furiously working on the wailing survivors of the second regiment, “...and at no small cost too. I had to fight my way through a half dozen griffons just to break through the containment, and then I had to evade patrols the rest of the flight back.” Closing her eyes and gritting her teeth, Swift laid her head back against the cot, pressing her ears flat against her head.
Legate Red Tail stood up and nodded to Hurricane. “I’m assigning her to your century to compensate for recent… losses on the battlefield. Take good care of her, centurion.” Returning Hurricane’s salute, Red Tail bowed his head to Swift Spear. “Thank you for your information. I shall send a flier to Gold Moon with this disturbing news.”
Before he could leave, Swift suddenly jerked up, groaning as she clutched her side in agony. “Legate, the griffons… They’re heading for Nimbus.”
Red Tail stopped dead in his tracks, one hoof raised in the air. Cautiously resettling it on the ground, he turned back towards her. “You are sure?”
Her response was a worried nod. “The army, it continued moving west after engulfing the regiment. I know the Sixth Legion is supposed to be holding the city, but…” she gulped nervously. “I don’t think they’ll be able to without aid.”
Glancing at some of the wounded thoughtfully, the Legate pensively began to walk away. “Personnel assessments are none of your concern. I shall discuss the matter with my officers.” With a flutter of his wings, the Legate rose up into the air and away from the stinking medical center.
The three remaining stallions slowly pressed up to Swift on different sides, hoping to comfort the injured mare. Hurricane held her foreleg and silently ran a hoof through her mane, while Silver Sword cracked horrible jokes to try and lighten the mood. Somehow Shear Point had produced food and water and helped Swift nourish herself. The pitcher of water was the first to go, followed shortly thereafter by the slices of bread and lettuce he provided her. Feeling better, Swift sighed and settled down into her cot contentedly.
“Thank you, colts,” she remarked gratefully. A ghost of a smile graced her lips as she slowed her breathing to a long and even pace, yawning once.
“Anything else we can get you, Swift?” murmured Silver. The mare shook her head and rolled onto her side, searching for the warm embrace of sleep.
Hurricane rubbed Swift’s neck one last time before stretching to his full height. “Then I suggest you two better be going. Take care of whatever your assigned duties are, and if she’s awake when you’re done then you can come back and talk. I’ll stay here and keep an eye on her.”
The two stallions nodded and left the structure together, whispering about Swift’s health between them. Hurricane sighed and pulled up a stool to sit on while he rubbed her neck gently, his eyes never leaving the mare’s body. At first he thought Swift was asleep, but she began to whisper just loud enough for him to hear.
“So… centurion, eh? Glad to see you’re moving through the ranks, Hurricane. I knew from the moment I met you that you were command material.”
Hurricane shifted uncomfortably in his seat but continued to massage Swift’s neck and shoulders. “It’s not exactly under the best of circumstances. Dusk Strike…” he bit his lip as he searched for the appropriate words, “perished at Azoeth. The Legate appointed me to be the new centurion of the twenty-third century in response.”
Swift rolled over an arched an eyebrow in surprise. “Red Tail? Why not your Tribunis?”
Hurricane looked away, but unfortunately there wasn’t much to look away to. “He was in a unique position to do so.” He sighed and let his wings collapse from his sides. “I’d rather not talk about it right now. All that matters is that my century needed a leader, and I got picked for it.”
The mare nodded slightly. “I understand. I never really knew him, but Silver always said he was good.” She coughed lightly and closed her eyes, immeasurable amounts of weariness filling her voice. “I’m just glad you’re okay…”
Her voice trailed off into a light snore, her eyelids fluttering gently in a restful sleep. Hurricane stood up and smiled. “You too.” He waited a second longer, admiring the soft face nestled in the embrace of sleep. Even covered in blood and sweat and grime, it carried a graceful expression and disarming friendliness.
He leaned forward, lips parted, but stopped himself. Now now. Not like this. Instead, he brushed Swift's cheek with a wing and stood up. "Take care, Swift. Get better soon."
And then he turned around and left, leaving the mare to recover in her deep, exhausted sleep.
-----
There was a roar of thunder, and Hurricane felt himself being flung backwards. His armored back collided with something solid, and the resulting dissipation of momentum caused him to drop to his face. As he struggled to stand up, talons squeezed around his throat and lifted him off of his hooves. The pain was intense, and his winded lungs suddenly found themselves unable to draw breath.
“Pitiful,” came the voice behind the talons. “Just like your father before you. You both decided to fight when you could have ran. And now, like him, you will pay the price.”
The claws were tightening around his neck, and Hurricane could feel blood being drawn through his black coat. No matter how hard he flailed and thrashed, the grip only tightened, slowly crushing his windpipe. Another mighty crack of thunder deafened him, and his vision began to swim away.
“Hurricane!”
The grip on his neck loosened, allowing Hurricane to draw a breath before it clamped down again. Summoning all his might, he tried pushing against the invisible face he knew was there, fighting to reach the sound of his name.
“Hurricane!”
Hurricane blinked, reality finally making itself apparent. It was the middle of the night, but there was shouting and screaming outside. Suddenly aware of the signs of imminent danger, Hurricane dizzily sprang to his hooves.
Silver Sword helped him gain his balance and tossed Hurricane his armor. The steel pegasus was already haphazardly armored, several loose leather straps sprouting incongruously from the sides of his metal plates. As soon as Hurricane had caught the armor flung at him, Silver drew his sword and looked outside.
“What the hell is going on?” Hurricane shouted above the screams. With a few quick snaps, his gold and steel armor was securely mounted against his back and sides. Rummaging through his saddlebags, he produced two golden wing blades.
“Griffons!” was all Silver breathlessly shouted. There were more calls of alarm and confusion as a cluster of tents lit ablaze, spreading a beacon of light throughout the whole camp. Pegasi in various stages of combat readiness were trying to organize a defense against the black wraiths that swooped down from the smoky skies to land death wherever they struck.
Hurricane managed to secure his blades and sprinted into the open, Silver not far behind. There were screeches as a century of Cirrans rose into the air and began to strike back at the marauders, and the smoke began to precipitate blood.
“How the hell did they cut past our defenses?!” Gripping his sword, Hurricane sprinted to the nearby clusters of tents, trying to rally the soldiers of his platoon who were engulfed in different stages of confusion and panic. Gathering as many as he could under his wing, Hurricane led them towards a clearing in the camp not yet under siege by griffon soldiers.
“Overwhelming force by the looks of it!” Silver knocked Hurricane over as a griffon swooped low to take him out. The beast screeched angrily at its missed opportunity and disappeared back into the smoke and shadows, no doubt looking for more prey.
Hurricane pulled Silver to his hooves and sprinted in between tents to shake any griffons that might be stalking him. The rest of his century wordlessly followed, keeping wary eyes to the sky. More and more fires were sprouting up over the Eighth Legion’s camp, turning thousands of canvas tents into fuel for the inferno.
“Where the hell is Shear Point?” Hurricane shouted as he recounted his forces. He couldn’t lose him in this fight, and he most certainly couldn’t lose—
“He sprinted off to go get Swift as soon as the griffons showed up!” answered Silver Sword. He and Hurricane both jumped to opposite sides of the alley of tents as a trio of griffons streaked through it, deadly claws extended. There was a crash of metal and two Cirrans fell to the ground as they passed, bloody necks ripped open. One of the three griffons tumbled out of the air as they completed the pass, a spear lodged in its chest.
“Then we need to get to the medical tent! On me!” Hurricane led his century through the camp, dodging griffon attack runs and avoiding the fires that now covered the hills. Everywhere pegasi were screaming in agony, and the bodies of dead Cirrans and Gryphons alike polluted the ground.
Making a left and a right, Hurricane came face to face with a massive burning tent, the red cross signs withering away under the blaze. Dozens of charred bodies were visible within the structure, and a belch of smoke was released as one of the supports cracked.
“Swift! I’m coming!” Without thinking, Hurricane dove directly into the inferno. The fiery red glow stripped away his depth perception and scalding ashes landed on his nose and eyes as he pressed onwards. Within seconds, his armor was attempting to broil him, and the smoke filled his lungs with its foul black poison. Raising a sooty wing to his face, Hurricane tried to filter oxygen to his nostrils but met with little success.
“Swift! Where are you?!” Hurricane wheezed out between choking breaths. His coat was slick with sweat and its saltiness stung his eyes. There was another snap as more of the supports threatened to give way.
A shout and a heavy figure collided with Hurricane, pressing him down into the ashen floor. Carrying his momentum backwards, Hurricane pushed off with his wings in a roll and bucked the figure airborne. There was a grunt as it collided with a row of fiery cots, skidding to a halt less than twenty feet away. Hurricane was already in the air, blade drawn to confront his foe.
The figure stood up and shook loose ashes from his white coat, ready to continue the attack. Shear Point’s eyes locked with Hurricane’s, and suddenly both stepped back in surprise.
“Hurricane?” Shear Point put his weapon away and galloped over, a pained smile on his face. “I’m so sorry! I thought you were a griffon!”
Hurricane breathed a sigh of relief – or tried to, as the air was still thick with scalding soot – and also returned his weapon. “I would have thought you'd know what a griffon looks like by now! Where’s Swift?”
“Over here!” There was a cough as Swift pushed aside some medical equipment and strode into the open. She was already fully armored, and a broken shaft of wood served as a makeshift spear. As she advanced towards Hurricane he couldn’t help but notice the hobble in her step, and she leaned heavily on the spear for support.
Hurricane rushed over and hugged her, nearly lifting her off of her hooves. “You’re all right – both of you,” he hastily added to Shear Point. “We’ve got to get going and do something about this mess.”
There was a sharp splintering of wood, and the burning canvas ceiling dipped precariously closer to the exit. Shear Point turned around anxiously and gestured to the shrinking ring of fire. “Now would be a perfect time to leave, don’t you think?”
Hurricane nodded in agreement and helped Swift hobble out of the tent, Shear Point right behind them. No sooner had they left than the structure let out one last roar of fire and collapsed in upon itself, adding its smoke to the blazing atmosphere.
Silver Sword supported Swift as Hurricane left her to wheeze the ash out of his lungs, coughing up a slimy mass of black sludge the taste of which was akin to eating charcoal. Getting some fresh air into his lungs, Hurricane stood up and ordered his century into the air.
No sooner had the forty pegasi risen thirty feet off of the ground when they were struck on all sides by Gryphon soldiers. Hurricane desperately ordered his troops to hold formation and form a defensive ring, but it was impossible to locate incoming threats through the smoke. The griffons, with their predatory eyesight, had no such problems finding hovering pegasi, and Hurricane lost nearly a dozen soldiers before he ordered them to the ground again.
“How the hell are we going to fight if we can’t get airborne?!” screamed Shear Point over the cries of war and pain that filled the camp with its unearthly misery. The white pegasus ducked from another griffon and flung his bladed wings into the air, cleaving off half of the hybrid’s wing. The screeching thing fell to the ground and was silenced by the jagged end of Swift’s spear.
“If we can’t fight, then we survive!” Hurricane gripped his sword and pointed to the western edge of the camp. “Get out of the camp and take to the skies! We’ll withdraw to a safe distance while we plan our next actions!”
The sprint to the edge of the camp was the most harrowing experience of Hurricane’s life. Dozens of wounded Cirrans lined the edge of the road but he was unable to stop for them, knowing that his only chance for survival lay in getting out of the camp as soon as possible. A squad of griffon fliers noticed his platoon’s retreat and began to harass them, striking from different directions and trying to pick off unsuspecting pegasi. A teal mare to his right was suddenly jerked into the air before his eyes, her shrieking body gripped between two griffons as she was lifted higher and higher. Then the griffons tugged in opposite directions, ripping her wings from her shoulders; the agonized mare fell and was silent. All Hurricane could do was keep running and thank the Gods that her death had been quick.
A pair of talons suddenly materialized out of the smoke directly in front of Hurricane, driving straight for his neck. Hurricane tightened his grip on his sword and lowered his shoulder, hoping to knock aside the incoming attack and escape mortal injury. Before the griffon could connect with him, there was a choking cry of pain and a writhing body bluntly bounced off of Hurricane’s side. The stallion turned his head to see Swift ripping the javelin out of the griffon’s shoulder, stomping on its neck as she did so.
In one fluttering leap over the line of wooden pickets, Hurricane exited the burning camp. The gauntlet had taken less than a minute, but the entirety of the sprint was etched into Hurricane’s mind in every excruciating detail. Silver Sword, Shear Point, and Swift Spear all joined his side, as well as two dozen other legionaries.
Too few. Hurricane’s century was down to under fifty percent combat strength, losing nearly thirty soldiers in the past fifteen minutes. There was no way they’d be able to take on a griffon platoon at this rate, and the camp was essentially lost.
“Centurion!” Hurricane swiveled his head in search of the voice. Rising Coat appeared before him, covered in sweat and blood.
“Sir, we need orders—!”
The Tribunis interrupted him with a wave of his hoof. “Get to Nimbus, take everypony you can with you. The Legate’s already on his way to bolster defenses, and he’ll need every soldier he can get.”
Hurricane nearly doubled over at the orders. “Sir, we’re abandoning the camp?”
Rising Coat gestured crudely with his wings. “Take a look for yourself, centurion, the camp’s already been lost.” He began to fly away, frayed wings keeping his flight unsteady. “I’m going to gather whoever else I can, and then I shall rejoin you at Nimbus. Best of luck!”
With one last flutter of his wings, Rising Coat disappeared into the inferno over the camp. Hurricane watched him go, then ordered his own soldiers into the air. “Legionaries, on me! We fly to Nimbus at once!”
Silver Sword flew up to Hurricane as they began their sprint to the northwest. “So we’re just giving up?”
Hurricane shook his head. “We’re overstretched and we need to bring our forces back to regroup. Gryphus is going to hit Nimbus with everything they’ve got, and half of the entire Legion is stuck in Gryphon territory and unable to assist. We got played, and now we’ve got to pay the price.”
Silver nodded solemnly and was quiet the rest of the flight. Slowly, the burning camp faded behind Hurricane’s small century, becoming little more than a stain of light against the inky skies. It was no longer a camp now, but instead a grave for thousands of Cirrans. How many had been able to get out or would be able to get out he did not know, but he had a sinking feeling too many did not.
Too many.
There was only one thing he could do now, and that was head to Nimbus with all due haste, bringing his meager troop accompaniment with him. He only hoped that it would be enough.
Too few.
The thoughts alternated in his mind the entire flight back.
-----
The deep bass of war reverberated through the atmosphere, stretching for dozens of miles farther than it should ever have had reason to travel. The rains ceased, the clouds fled, and the sun reluctantly peeked a fraction of its face over the eastern horizon. For the hundred figures flying high above the silent hills, the sound only guided them from one killing field to another.
It became apparent to Hurricane that the dark clouds ahead were really massive plumes of smoke, and the trembling war bass caused his ears to twitch. Shouting an order to the makeshift century following him, Hurricane rose to higher altitudes to prepare for combat. During the flight from the camp he’d manage to corral a sizable fighting force of survivors and stragglers, bolstering his original century strength from two dozen to over four times that number.
Silver Sword drifted closer to Hurricane, warily eyeing the distant city as they cut down the remaining score of miles left to travel. He cast the black stallion a sidelong glance and fluttered a quick series of anxious wing strokes.
“So what’s the plan, Hurricane?” he questioned intently. Hurricane squinted at the city ahead and ascended another two hundred feet, Silver and the rest of the century following him.
“We have to strike our way into the city. We’ll be coming from behind the griffon lines so we’ll have the element of surprise, but every pegasus that isn’t inside in the first minute isn’t going to get in at all.” His magenta eyes were unblinking, and he was trying to convince himself he had come up with the right plan.
Silver, however, had his doubts. “Really? We need to go into the city? The city that the griffons are trying to bring to the ground?” When Hurricane nodded, Silver shook his head. “But why?”
“Because if they’ve got an entire army out there, a hundred pegasi aren’t going to stand a chance if they don’t have some fortifications to utilize. We’ll need Nimbus’ walls and buildings if we have any hope of surviving.”
“Or we could just fall back and regroup with the legion controlling Feathertop rather than joining in on a hopeless cause.” Silver gestured with his hooves. “There isn’t a single officer here other than you, Hurricane. Whatever you say, goes.”
Hurricane took a deep breath and poured on the speed. “We swore an oath to defend the Empire to our last breath, Silver. Nimbus isn’t lost yet, and we may still be able to make a difference in its defense if we just get there on time. Do we want the Twenty-Third to be remembered as heroes or cowards?”
Silver sighed and backed off. “I’d much rather live to see another day than be remembered either way, but whatever. I’m with you, Cane. Whatever you say, I’ll be with you to the end.”
That brought a smile to Hurricane’s face. “Thanks, Silver. I promise you the same. No matter what, always together as friends, soldiers…”
“Brothers,” Silver interjected, flying up to pound a hoof with Hurricane.
“Yes, brothers.” Hurricane continued to grin as Silver broke off to pass on the plans for attack. They were only about five miles away now, close enough to pick out individual shapes moving through the stormy haze surrounding the city. Unfortunately, that only caused Hurricane’s smile to drop off his face and plummet thousands of feet to the earth below.
The city was in pathetic condition. Nimbus’ peaks and spires were ablaze, and what was left of the wall was under siege by thousands of Gryphon regulars. Massive chunks of cloudstone were falling, slowly spinning as their surprisingly diminutive masses plummeted to the earth in slow motion. Wherever a chunk hit the hills below, a massive spray of water erupted into the air like a geyser before settling down onto the soaked plains. Even as Hurricane watched, one of the tallest towers in the southern section let forth a mighty boom of thunder as the cloudstone split and crumbled into pieces, falling down and out of the city and carrying all of its occupants with it.
What was most worrying was the innumerable griffon warriors sprawling over every inch of sky, pounding away at every available target without mercy. It was only with great difficulty that the Legion held the center of the city and the Rains’ palace, but it wouldn’t be long before their lines crumbled as well.
“Wedge formation!” Hurricane shouted, tightening his form and pressing his forelegs out ahead of him. The order carried back through the ranks until a massive spear point had formed, with Hurricane being the tip. Putting everything he had into the charge, Hurricane drove the spear through the rear of the griffon lines.
There was considerable squawking and surprise from the eagle-lion crossbreeds, and several dove out of the way to avoid being crushed by the incoming formation of pegasi. As Hurricane approached the front of their lines, several griffons turned to try and stop the advance. One of them flew directly in front of Hurricane, but the black stallion lowered his shoulder and crashed into griffon directly under its chin. There was a snap and a gasp, and the griffon fell out of the air, limp but not yet dead, unable to get a response from its limbs as it plummeted.
Hurricane took two or three staggering wing strokes to stabilize himself and finally broke through the griffon lines into the city. Looking behind him, he was pleased to see the rest of his platoon emerging as well, relatively unscathed. Making a quick about-face, Hurricane landed behind a pile of rubble with a cadre of other legionaries manning the perimeter of the palace.
“What the hell happened here, centurion?!” Hurricane shouted over the screams of war and death. The centurion was covered in sweat and precipitation, and several nasty cuts were visible through his iron armor.
“Griffon army came out of nowhere! Smashed through our border defenses before we even knew what was happening, and pretty soon they started ripping down the walls!” The centurion ducked from a volley of arrows that skittered across their cover, one of the feathered shafts impaling a young legionary through the neck. The centurion cursed and threw the body off of him, ripping the soldier’s service medallion from his neck and stuffing it in a pocket.
“How strong are the defenses? Can they last under this kind of pressure?” There was a yell from on top of the rubble, and Hurricane jumped up, driving his sword towards the sound of the voice. His blade connected with flesh, and a gasping griffon in its death throes fell next to him.
“Us and whatever’s at the Rains’ palace is about all the legionaries we have left. The Sixth Legion was virtually destroyed trying to hold the walls, and aside from the hoofful of cohorts left we’ve only got militia between the griffons and Gold Moon!” The centurion bent down to pick up a javelin and hurled it at the advancing griffon ranks, where it lodged in some unlucky soldier’s neck and brought him to the ground.
“Then we have to make them pay for every inch!” Hurricane rose up from behind the rubble, taking to the air. “Additional reinforcements are inbound from the Cirran Eighth, and they’ll be able to help secure the city!” I hope.
The Twenty-Third was already thickly entangled in combat over what was left of Town Square, and already their fresh energy was being worn down by the relentless griffons. Two pegasi fell, then four, then eight, and Hurricane jumped into the fray to help before he could lose any more soldiers.
His friends were already working as a strong unit, countering and dispatching griffons almost as fast as they could arrive. Silver Sword lured a Gryphon warrior in where Swift Spear was able to impale its wing, giving Shear Point the chance to finish it off and move on to the next target. But their resilience was drawing additional heat, and they were slowly becoming overrun with brown bodies.
With a fierce yell, Hurricane dove into the midst of his friends and bucked away a griffon going for Shear’s neck. Drawing his sword, Hurricane parried a swipe from another griffon, then dodged under a peck from its beak. Raising his neck in an arc, he brushed aside the griffon’s weapon and sliced at its shoulder plates.
To Hurricane’s surprise, his weapon rebounded harmlessly off of the griffon’s armor, leaving a disheartening ring as it departed. The armor was hardly damaged, and the griffon twisted its beak into a vengeful smile as it struck back at Hurricane. The stallion was barely able to duck under the blow and drive his sword into the griffon’s gut, where it made a much more satisfying solid contact.
Wrenching his sword out of the corpse, Hurricane observed the griffon’s armor plates. The hybrid was much better armored than many of the other soldiers Hurricane had fought, adorned with griffon sigils and crests. He stood out plainly from the rest of the soldiers around him, not just a warrior conscripted into the horde, but something else entirely.
Unfortunately for Hurricane, he wasn't afforded any time to think about it. Another wave of griffons threw themselves at Hurricane’s squad, and they set about the gritty work of defending themselves. Two of the beasts attacked Hurricane head on, and it took excessive concentration to not be ripped to shreds on their weapons. Ducking and weaving in and out of their attacks, Hurricane managed to disarm one’s weapon – only to be struck across the face with its clawed hand. He cursed and gripped his temple, blood dripping onto his hoof and into his eyes. The other griffon attempted to attack him while he was blind, but a well-timed slice from Silver Sword lopped off the brute’s head.
The action bought Hurricane just enough time to angle his sword for the other griffon’s neck, juking to his side to drive the blade deep through its armor. Gurgling, the griffon corpse fell to the ground, the cloudstone eagerly absorbing its red blood.
“Fall back!” Hurricane turned to locate the sound of the voice, dispatching one last griffon in the process. He looked upwards to see Legate Red Tail hovering over the square, armor covered in sweat and blood. His eye patch had already been ripped away, and the gaping hole where his eye once was bored into the air before it.
“Fall back! You heard the stallion, fall back!” Hurricane shouted, withdrawing from the airspace to the palace. The remnants of his century retreated with him, numbering now no more than thirty soldiers. They formed up on the hill in defensive positions, the griffons greedily taking the vacated town square below.
“Sir!” shouted Hurricane, keeping a wary eye on the sky. The legate turned and faced Hurricane, indiscriminate anger at the griffons boiling over in his one-eyed stare.
“What is it, centurion?!” the legate shouted as he commanded centuries to fortify themselves and prepare for the onslaught.
“Can we hold this position? The griffons will be coming in…” Hurricane’s voice trailed off as Red Tail focused his anger on him, advancing threateningly.
“We will hold this position, centurion! Even at the cost of our lives, we will not retreat one more step!!” Giving Hurricane an angry shove, the legate threw him forward to one of the barricades and hoofed him a javelin to keep the hordes at bay.
There was a ferocious screech of impending death, and as one, hundreds of griffons rose from the town square and began to assail the palace from all angles. Hurricane’s javelin proved useless, missing completely and sailing harmlessly out of reach to the streets below. Gripping his sword, he began his desperate last stand against the soldiers of Gryphus.
This is where it all ends. Hurricane found himself trading blows with four of the feathered beasts at once, being hopelessly driven back. Swift and Silver Sword were managing to hold off a wave of their own, but even they were beginning to yield under pressure. Shear Point had disappeared entirely from Hurricane’s sight, but he couldn’t spare a glance to locate the white pegasus.
Something cold pressed against Hurricane’s wings, and he realized he’d been backed completely up to the metal doors that barred entrance to the palace. Like a cornered rat, he struck out randomly at his foes, hoping against hope he could dispatch just one and lessen the pressure. But despite his best efforts, the sword was wrenched from his grasp and he was slammed back against the doors, the breath knocked out of him.
Before he could draw his last breath, a flurry of arrows and swords decimated the assailants and bought Hurricane some breathing room. Picking up his sword, he turned and watched as two thousand Cirrans joined the fight from the southeast, buying with their blood and iron a brief respite for the warriors defending the palace. A familiar white and purple stallion led the column, and the griffons surrounding the hilltop frantically retreated from Rising Coat’s sudden appearance.
“Hurricane!” The stallion recognized Swift’s voice, and he immediately sprinted over in her direction. Drawing closer, he dropped his sword and frantically knelt down next to the mare.
Cradled in Swift’s forelegs was a familiar white face, tarnished with blood and leftover soot from the camp. His blue mane was ripped apart and frayed at every possible angle, and his sides were covered in claw marks. The stallion was breathing heavily, a griffon dagger protruding from his chest.
“Shear Point, no…” whispered Hurricane as he searched his friend’s face. Silver had taken his helmet off and was holding onto Shear’s foreleg, trying to decide how best to remove the dagger. His hoof reached for the handle, but Shear waved him off.
“Leave it…” The words were spoken through gritted teeth, and it was clear that the mere process of breathing caused the stallion great pain. “I’m… done…” He gasped once more, blood trickling down his chin. “The rest… is up to you…”
“Shear, just hang in there,” pleaded Hurricane. He looked over his shoulder for a medic, but there was not a single doctor to be found on the hill. Ripping off a strip of cloth from a tattered flag laying nearby, Hurricane tried to staunch the bleeding from the dagger wound, but he knew it was to no avail.
“Think of your family, Shear,” Silver argued, his voice shaking a bit. “You still have them to fight for, don’t give up!”
Shear chuckled, a slow wheeze with as much air leaving through his chest as through his mouth. “No… You don’t understand. My family… I’m going to see them now.” There was true happiness on Shear’s face now, unmistakable through his bloody lips. “They… died soon after I left. I know because… their mail stopped… coming. And I saw them… in my dreams… they talked to me…”
The white pegasus coughed and hacked, blood burbling through his teeth. Silver Sword was still unwilling to let his friend go. “You don’t know that, Shear, they could still be alive!”
Shear Point’s breathing was slowing down and becoming more ragged, but his eyes refused to become glazed over, making sure to hold his closest friends in his vision for as long as he could. “No, Silver… I know… They’re in a… better place… And I’m going to join them…” Giving each pony a mournful smile and looking into their eyes, Shear’s breaths faded to almost nothingness. “Be brave… be strong… and know that… I’ll always be watching… over you…”
His irises disappeared behind white eyelids, but he held his sad smile as the hourglass ran out. One, two, three small breaths, and then Shear Point drew air no more.
Swift Spear laid Shear’s head down and spread his wings out from under him so that they were outstretched and facing the heavens. It was an ancient Cirran belief that a pegasus’ wings guided him to the afterlife, and so every pegasus was buried in wide coffins with their wings outstretched. Sniffling, the mare stood up and walked next to Hurricane, nearly collapsing on him.
“He was a good stallion,” Hurricane whispered through the tears on his face. Silver nodded his head slowly, a trickle of moisture falling from his face and landing on Shear’s wing. Picking up Shear Point’s weapon, Silver knelt before his fallen friend and pocketed the sword in remembrance.
“We won’t let you down, Shear,” Silver barely whispered, wiping tears from his eyes. “And we’ll avenge your family. You can count on it.”
Paying last respects to his departed friend, Hurricane led Swift Spear and Silver Sword back to the perimeter, where the legate was busy arguing with a messenger. Red Tail saw them approach and was about to scold them for not manning their positions, but one look at their faces stayed his tongue.
Departing a last few scathing words to the messenger, the legate trotted over to Hurricane. “I’m sorry about your friend,” he began, nodding at Shear Point’s resting body, yet his voice was void of emotion, almost cold and callous. “But we have to hold this position. Those were the last survivors from the camp, and maybe a few cohorts from the surrounding countryside, but the griffons are making short work of them. They’ll be back soon.”
Hurricane shook his head and walked past the legate, not even sparing him a word. Silver Sword and Swift Spear followed, gloomily huddled together and whispering in low undertones.
“I know what you’re thinking, legionaries.” The legate turned to face them, a determination in his eye. “You’re thinking that if I had ordered the retreat, he’d still be alive. But this is war. Good pegasi die. That's what soldiers are for. To fight, bleed, and die for the glory of Cirra." He pointed to the doors of the palace, still closed and strong in the face of the griffon onslaught. "We have a job to do, and I’m pulling in the last legionaries and militia in the city to defend the palace. Word has been sent to other legions for help, but I’m not sure when they’ll get here. If we can hold the city for just another twenty-four hours, then this will all be over. We'll have saved Nimbus. And his death won’t have been in vain.” Picking up Hurricane’s sword, he stretched the handle to the centurion. “Mourn while you can, but be ready to fight. The griffons won't go easy on you just because you're grieving.”
Glaring, Hurricane grabbed the sword between his teeth and slid it angrily into his scabbard. He momentarily thought about letting his anger boil over and explode on the legate, but he'd seen what happened to Dusk Strike. There was no point in arguing with the legate. What was done was done, and breaking discipline with a superior officer, especially one as ill-tempered as Red Tail, would accomplish nothing.
So instead, Hurricane walked back to his position and kept watch for any more griffon threats, leaving Red Tail to stand alone.
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I severly, severly hope Red Tail gets the death he's got coming.
1696851 But you gotta give it to the legate, He is an extraordinary commander. He held off thousands of griffins with militia and scattered legionaries, an impressive feat for any commander of the era. (circa late Iron Age I am guessing due to steel armor) Now considering the griffons upgrading to steel, that jump in technology was extensive because it really did make it harder to kill somebody encased in steel. It is lighter, so the griffons can move better, it is stronger, they now fear Cirran blades much less.
Officers are always places between a rock and a hard place because, even though they don't normally fight or watch their friends die around them, their job is to command.
Very well written sir, I take my hat off to you.
Not many comments, eh?
I can't be the only one who is reminded of the Battlefield 3 campaign here, right? Anyone?
This hits far, far too close to home... You may be gone, my brother, but you are never forgotten.
Why, did you have to kill him off? Because this is war and soldiers die. I just hope that Silver and Swift survive.
little soon to drop that bombshell. it felt a tad insincere due to the lack of effort you put into creating a firm base for their romance.
but it doesnt matter to me. their romance adds nothing to the narrative of the story. its a useless, aesthetically pleasing plot device. it doesnt add much substance to the story. so im okay with it.
but those who were really pushing for romance might be disappointed...
now that im on death, im kinda miffed that you didnt let fire whatever-his-name-was stick around longer in the story. bringing him back would have been an excellent plot twist later on, and you could have had an interesting dynamic with him and hurricane.
also, remember a few chapters back when you said that all pegasi had the stare ability? fuck you. you took away the one ineresting and special ability that fluttershy had.
And so the first one falls, with many more to follow I am sure.
2608422
I know I'm 42 weeks late here, but
Love, often enough, is fueled by absence of the very person you care for. It's the fact that you long for them when they aren't around that makes you want them even more. Wars, often enough, builds bonds amongst those who fight in them, friendships stronger than anyone who hasn't fought would never know. When there's very little but death around you, you cling to what you hold dear.
In war, it does not take long, for love to be strong.
I almost cried...in fact I teared and I felt so sad for Shear Point but at the same time I was happy for him if it meant he could see his family in the heavens.
Very well written had me on my nerve-endings for a minute.
Bravo! Bravo!
The moment I read that excerpt I had a bad feeling about this chapter. With those three words said... Damn, it brings so much worry to my mind. I'm glad she's okay, very glad, but how long will that last? The stench of death fills this chapter, and the loss of a dear friend saddens the heart. It wasn't who I expected, but his passing still drew a few tears from me. We didn't get to know him the best, but Hurricane obviously got to. Time for the next chapter.
~SolidFire
4092833
This comment... I'm quoting this on my userpage. Beautifully put, Sorren.
~SolidFire
2608594
Uh no. Fluttershy is still special, since he also mentioned that doing so on another pony is something that only the most magically powerful can do. And we can also deduce based on the facts that here knowledge of the Stare is common, and that in the time of the show it seems to be all but forgotten as everyone who encounters it assumes it to be a special gift of Fluttershy. So Fluttershy is in-fact so gifted in a form of Pegasi racial magic that she can use it instinctively at what we are told is the highest level of it use. That sounds pretty dang special to me.
So, what are those names and numbers in the beginning of the chapters? Are they dates and seasons?
Requiescat in pace, Shear Point. Your sacrifice, while not immediately apparent, won't be in vain.
And thus begins the downfall