SBMS144
The pegasi coursed through the night, devouring the long air-miles as we slept. Well, I slept, the Major dozed fitfully, more passed out from a helpful double-dram of medicinal I had given her to settle her stomach than truly asleep. But no pony with the Spirit ever truly sleeps, and I sat in my dreams, listening to two small alicornic echoes of the Spirit herself, each muttering a constant stream of information and opinion from miles and miles away, and moving further with every wing-beat, every eastward gust of helpful prevailing wind.
The vexellations of our scarce aerial ponies continued to probe southward and south-westward as I fled eastward to the problems brewing across our line of advance in the east. The fools could have simply overflown the troublesome bisons and their showy war-slings, but the pegasi were infuriated at having their sacred air affronted by the large rocks flung by bison ingenuity and brute strength into the lower depths of the aerial deeps. It was as if we had reacted to every rock flung across the upper River by bored White Rose on the western shore via merciless bombardment and commando raids, but the pegasi and their griffin cousins had spent seven long weeks playing air-cab to the rest of the Company, and indeed, the grand army which had formed around the Company like a pearl around an irritating grain of sand.
They wanted their action, again, and couldn't care about their lack of numbers, their inability to recruit fresh troops, or replacements, or supports. So off they were, hunting and harassing the huge plains savages in their nighttime huddles. Foolishness, really.
The other echo was whispering me the confessions of the two Cakes, and the Crow, and Octavius, the last two of which really should have had more oversight over the overgrown jenny who was now being treated as just another donkey of the Company, and stumbling a bit as the expectations overshadowed her capacities.
Feufollet herself was in the air, supporting the forward deployment of ponies in deep reconnaissance mode further along the Road towards distant Coriolanus. In practice, that meant a ground probe in regimental strength towards a large town on the provincial border named 'High Earth', and pegasi patrols deeper and further. What little cooperation we'd gotten from the local militias along this axis had gotten us a mouth full of mush.
About a month ago there had been a battle south along the north shore of the Housa, about two days march west of Coriolanus, at a place called the Wirts. The White Rose had routed the so-called 'Army of the Housa', and penned in a fragment of that army in a siege at a place called Braytown, up against the river itself. The rest of the remnants of the Army of the Housa had fallen back to a fortified line around Cleves about a half-days march outside of Coriolanus, but there were supposedly a swarm of White Rose irregulars infesting the whole of the southern districts from Dover to Beech Grove to just south of High Earth. A position forward of High Earth ought to put the Left Division in skirmishing range of an actual enemy army, but it also would put the Left Division well out of support range as we currently were deployed.
It was the first news of an actual organized White Rose force along the line of the Housa. I packaged up my impressions, and kicked a message through the 'radio' towards the Lieutenant, marked urgent. The raiders on the Mounds and New Harmony axes were impressive, but there wasn't any other information coming out of those theatres. This was actionable. And Imperial forces were reported 'exposed' on this axis. It should be the priority.
The sun rising in the east greeted us as we arrived over the castra before New Coltington, and woke the groggy Major de Bonne.
"Are we there?" she mumbled around a sleep-caked mouth.
"Thereabouts. We've got a lot of thanking to give our friends in the traces, they flew all night to get us here this fast. Autumn Blade, Gust Front, thanks for the quick ride. I owe you something out of the medical cabinet next time we're back in the Reserve."
They bobbed their heads in acknowledgement as we spun about over the assembly yard of the castra. We landed as light as a feather, heavy wooden frame and two dirt-bound ponies alike. The Major and I debarked with somewhat shaky legs, and I saluted the mare and stallion as they dragged the chariot over to the rack of similar frames alongside the assembly yard. There would be some cots for them nearby. I looked around in the pre-dawn light, the sun just starting to kiss the tent-poles as I blinked my one good eye.
As I stood blinking, I could see a witches-gig gliding in from the east, all alight with the ebony gleam of a woodframe caught in full morning sun, the pegasus drawing it a glory of blue and violet. They pulled into the assembly yard, and an exhausted-looking Feufollet practically fell out of her straps, wobbling a bit as she found the packed dirt. The equally tired-looking pegasus stallion waved a wing at her without looking back, and walked the gig over to the storage racks.
I stood glaring in front of the unfocused-looking understudy, waiting for her to notice my presence.
"Ack! Sawbones! I can explain! Wait, no, I have excuses!"
"Save it," I sighed. "Cup Cake's mostly to blame for what happened. She should have the strength of character to keep you from butting into her business. The fact that she didn't is mostly on her, I think. We'll have to play it otherwise, though. Time to be the bad guys, jenny."
Her long ears laid down over her eyes, and she looked forelorn.
"And none of that! Bad guys, Feufollet! We're the evil ponies, if we have any chance of building up Cup Cake as the good pony. Good pony-bad pony don't work if you're going all watery-eyed now. Damnit, we should have given Cup Cake an apprentice to give the googlie eyes at ponies, she's getting too old for it to work for her, herself."
The silent Major tagged along as we wobbled on towards Feufollet's temporary quarters, where she was bedding down in the ambulance that was assigned to the Left Division. She explained, haltingly, in her own words, how she had been insulted by the pony castellan, had 'had words' with the old fart, and had ordered his arrest. He was currently under arrest in the castral lock-up, rattling around in one of the large stockade cells, out of eyeshot if not ear-shot of the local major-general, who also had been arrested, on Brigadier Eugin's orders this time. So it wasn't entirely a Company fuckup on this front – always nice to share the blame. The Cakes were supposedly down at the local 'castle', trying to make peace with those elements of the local power structure we hadn't already foalnapped.
I thought about it, and told Feufollet to get some sleep, I'd see her after noon. And I went to find the Cakes, drawing a hood over my distinctive mane and scars, and hoofing my amulet into SEP mode. The Major looked around, astonished, and I grabbed her and double-tapped my amulet, to include her in the exclusion field. She turned around, and spotted me again. I waved her forward.
New Coltington was like a different world, so brightly-coloured, and decorative. Nothing like Rantoul, or Rime, or Pepin City, or even mostly-pony towns like Charred Horton. I had a vague notion of what the hearts and sunbursts meant, but wasn't sure of the exact iconographic meaning. The food-symbolism was obvious, and some of Cup Cake's stories had suggested this was the typical Equestrian 'gingerbreading' decorative hoof in play here. I wondered just how long ago the immigrants had arrived from the homeworld, and why they had wandered so far away from under the wings of the white immortal.
We stopped at a local bakery, and walked in, examining the merchandise. No more sweets than we had in the Company commissary – apparently powdered sugar was no easier to obtain down here nearer to the cut trade-lines than up in the northlands. I wondered how long the economy would be disrupted by this mess. The proprietor didn't notice my presence, so I grabbed four muffins, and hoofed the Major the money to pay for them. I walked out as she paid the puzzled proprietor, pointing out the missing pastries. As she came out, I hoofed her one, as I ate one of the others, holding the rest on my back.
When we arrived at the 'castle', I pulled the Major aside and explained that I was about to put on a performance, and that she was to arrive with the pastries after I made my exit. Hopefully nopony would connect the two of us.
I had forewarned the Cakes that I was inbound, so they were ready for their part in the pageant when I turned off my amulet, and kicked in the front door of the glorified town hall which New Coltington laughingly called a 'castle'. The two of them, in mufti, were trying to hold court with an enraged crowd of New Equestrians demanding their general and their castellan, refusing cooperation with the 'occupiers', and generally showing off for each other.
I connected with the Mistress in the back of my head, and she obligingly leaked for me, giving my high-crested mane a bit of deeper darkness, my shadow deepened and broadened, and my teeth just a bit sharper and longer than they actually were.
"Where are these damnable Celestines I hear tell are opposing my forces and causing trouble with my ponies?" I bellowed theatrically. "That here, so far from their hypocrite of an alicorn, dare to prate at my ponies about 'harmony' and 'order' and 'law' while rioting against the duly constituted authorities, refusing to bow to proper order, and interfering with the conduct of the Sovereign's duly appointed functions of defense and the Bride's Peace?"
"My Lord Sawbones!" belled the pudgy little blue mare, striding fearlessly in front of the suddenly cowed council members and lesser militia officers. "You presence here was neither asked for, nor encouraged, nor required! These are good ponies, harmonious ponies, peaceful ponies! This is not rebel country, nor insurrectionary country, nor is it out of harmony with its sovereign and his sovereign in turn, as order and law oblige!"
"Cup Cake, you Celestine lick-spittle! You dare to cross me again? Damn you and your hypocritical ways! Look you at these quivering buffoons, who are every one of them sharpening a hoof-dagger for our backs as soon as we turn them towards their blades, as we face the White Rose and their reivers! How can I let the Bride's regiments advance with such traitors in their rear! Why should we not put down this insurrection with fire and blade, and scour the disharmony from the very blood-stained ceilings and walls of this shameless city?"
Her knight-errant strode forth, to get in my face, and keep me from the throat of his lady. He said nothing, for fear that his squeaky, unsteady speaking-voice would break the suspension of disbelief we were relying upon.
"Give these good ponies a chance, Sawbones," said Cup Cake. "This situation is not irrecoverable. This is merely a misunderstanding, a series of terrible misunderstandings. There are no rebels here, no sympathizers with the blood-soaked White Rose. Don't conjure phantoms from nothing but distaste and distrust, my lord!"
I turned one quarter-turn, lashing my tail furiously. The phantasmic extensions painted the audience-chamber's far wall in starlight glimmers for a second, before fading.
"Think you that these ponies are not that far gone?" I demanded.
I tried not to notice the frantic head-shaking going on in the back of the rows of notables, nor the one spreading pool of I-care-not-to-recognize under at least one of them in the rear row.
"Yes, my lord. We were even now in discussions with these worthies, to find a way to resolve our differences without further difficulties. Please, allow us to do our jobs."
"Bah, indeed. Do your job, harmonist. For a change." I turned away so that I didn't have to acknowledge the face she pulled at my back, and then tromped heavily back through the doors I had blasted through, as the last shadow-trails left by my Spirit-presence grabbed ahold of the two doors and heavily slammed them shut behind me. I raised a hoof at the wide-eyed Major, who had to have heard most of the performance. "Give them a couple minutes to complete the scene, and then come in as quiet as you can. The Cakes know to expect you, eventually. In fact, try and wait a bit, and they'll see if they can't get somepony to come out and find you waiting."
I left, thinking about how the Spirit was growing stronger every day. All those weeks in training, operating solely mind-to-mind, had left her with magic to spare, a sort of restlessness. And now? She was manifesting in ponies utterly without magic of their own. Like me.
'Way to over-act,' relayed the Spirit in Princess-mode for Cup Cake. 'They're about ready for a massacre in here. At least it gives me a wedge, I'm pounding away as hard as I can right now. But these idiots barely know who Celestia is. She might as well be Grogar for all they know of the Princess. Celestia's Beard, indeed.'
'Your precious princess doesn't have a full face of whiskers?' I tweaked her. The blue mental construct giggled at the message relayed, obscuring the irate Cup Cake's unprintable response. But I was satisfied.
I returned to the castral grounds just before noon, and went to find the stockade. The easily-stampeded mass having been, well, stampeded, it was time to talk to the brains of the operation. Or, at least, the idiots in charge.
I found the Castellan in his stockade-cell, looking rather choleric. But then, I was told, this was Long Scroll's default expression. He was the reigning duc's long-time castellan, and proxy for the management of the entire province. Cup Cake's briefing indicated that the duc was an absentee sovereign, and had been all his life. New Equestria's ducal family had apparently been living lives of luxury and dissipation for generations, according to her sources.
"Greetings, pony. Hard meal, to be turfed out of one's duchy, after so many years of distinguished rule, is it not?"
"What in tarnation are you? You look sorta like a pony, but not 'sackly. Not with that tail."
"Well now, that's somewhat rude, but I can work with that. I am, dear Castellan, a zebra. We are not technically ponies, although some fools like to categorize us into the same general family. As you can see, we don't generally produce your magic marks, of which you ponies make such a great to-do about." It grated like gravel in me to act like this, but I needed to distance the damn fool, and the pony/zebra thing gave us the necessary space to not gut each other over small differences. Like the Princesses, for instance.
He grumbled something xenophobic, but undirected. I decided to take it, and go on.
"So I find myself here, cleaning up your mess. The one that has removed you from your throne, your sovereign seat of power. By my rather excitable apprentice."
He reared back, irate. "You keep saying that, I'm not the Duc. I'm not even nobility. I am simply the employee of the ducal family. I am a very good employee of the ducal family! I preserve their inheritance!"
"From their own improvidence and ignorance, I suppose? Yes, I've had a look at your recent correspondence. You really ought to lock your offices more thoroughly, you know. Look, Long Scroll, we both know where the power is centered here. The ducs are a distant parasite upon the life-blood of this province, you pay them to stay away, and they accept their due tribute from their 'duchy'. How long has your line been pulling this scam on the ducs of New Equestria?"
"S-since it was the duchy of Langeduoc, I suppose. Nigh on seven hundred years. We were stewards before we were castellans, and thegns before that. But we keep our traditions! And you! You blasphemers with your diabolical symbols and your pageant-devilries! I won't have it in my nice clean castle-town!"
"My!" I marveled. "You all have been long from home, almost as long as we have from ours. Really? seven hundred years of records? Intact? I must see your archives. I'm sitting here, and I'm getting excited even thinking about it! And you still remember enough to call yourselves Equestrians? Why haven't you gone home?"
"Home! Home! Home is dead, diabolist! Your blasted sky-witch murdered the homeland, left it a wracked, haunted world of horrors and night-terrors. We're New Coltington, because the devil-woods destroyed old Coltington, destroyed all of Equestria, and nearly devoured our ancestors before they fled through the portals. A hundred years of exile! A hundred years of wandering through the empty worlds of strangers and strangeness, until we fetched up here, and the ducs gave us our land."
"Damn the alicorns, every last one of them!" shouted the pony with despair in his heart.