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// Chapter Two (Unedited) 
// Story: Knights of Bayard 
// by Abi Sain 
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The next year Her Majesty came and there were many victories. The mountain that was beyond the fields was captured, and the king’s nobles were hung, and their soldiers sent south to work in the mines, and the troops raided the caves and seized weapons and armor and a few, the clever ones, tucked bottles of wine and mead beneath their cloaks. Now the troops were to proceed north beyond the mountains towards Grani. The nearby town was very nice and the houses sturdy and it was captured very easily but the city beyond it could not be taken and Lulamoon was very glad that the rebels seemed to want to retake the town because they did not destroy it outright, but just enough to stall them. Ponies bowed before Her Majesty, and there were knights that accompanied her, and they carried a crimson banner with a yellow sun, which they called the Oriflamme, and warned that any who touched it would have to bend the knee or be whipped. More of the knights arrived and lived in the abandoned estates, and a few came out to share food and offer medicine and there were coffee houses where nobles and commoners shared the luxuries brought, sometimes shadily, from Baltimare merchants.

At the springtime there were a few bombings, and a few of the houses were lost to the grenadiers, and there were repeaters and catapults set up along the roads and around the town, hidden in bushes, with nets and grass-sewn sheets, and ponies were assigned to clean up the remains of pegasi that crashed nearby. Sometimes the Princess passed by, and Lulamoon had heard about a young widow who presented her foal to the Princess and asked that she bless her child for their long journey to Bayard. The Princess kissed the foal’s forehead and quickly others followed, and Lulamoon remembered an old church that had lost a wall through shelling, with rubble and dirt in its garden and the bloodied face of a grey maned monk. 	

The forest beyond the town were green when they had arrived in the town, but now there were stumps and broken trunks and the ground was torn up, and one day at the end of summer, the enemy attempted a siege, and flurries of iron bolts zipped through the air and fell upon them like blizzarding hail. Downed pegasi, many of them crippled and bloody, fell to the ground, detonations bursting amongst them, juddering the ground and showering down dirt. The grenadiers swept ahead of the defending culverins, dodging arrows, nets, and stones, before showering the field with ordnance. It came very fast and the sun went a dull yellow and it was dark and quiet for a while.

Later, the rain came, and drops of rain fell from the ceiling into a nearby bucket, and Lulamoon sat with a friend and two metal cups drinking a bottle of Shade Rum, and, feeling the chill creeping from outside, they knew the year was almost over. The city had not been taken, none of the forest and fields beyond the town had been taken. They didn’t know when they would push forward, that was for the Princess to decide. There was a pounding on the door, and Lulamoon’s friend opened it. It was the priest from the makeshift chapel, soaked through his cloak and robes. He looked up at them and smiled, and Lulamoon’s friend motioned for him to come in. That night, the rain still poured, and they had covered the windows with sheets, and went through a course of apple-cabbage stew, which everypony ate very seriously, lifting the bowls to their mouths, and helped themselves to bread and wine.

The priest was young and blushed easily, and wore a robe too big for his lanky frame, with a sun and crescent moon pendent around his neck. Lulamoon’s friend spoke carefully, hiding his Imperial accent, for his own doubtful benefit, in order that he might not be treated differently, that nopony would know that he was a queer.

“I saw priest to-day with mare,” he said looking at the priest and at Lulamoon. The priest smiled and blushed and shook his head as he spoke.

“She wanted to help around the chapel,” he said.

“Not true,” said the grenadier. “I see many mares pining for priest.”

“No,” said the priest.

“Priest here can marry,” went on the grenadier. “Priest in the north never with mares,” he explained to Lulamoon. He took the unicorn’s cup and filled it, looking at his eyes all the time, but always mindful of the priest.

“Priest in the north always with geldings.” He laughed. “You understand? Priest not allowed to marry, to have wife and foals, but you always hear of them getting close to geldings.” He flapped his wings and laughed loudly. The priest accepted it and smiled.

“The Patriarch wants the Asturcons to win the war,” the grenadier said. “The Empire loves House Platinum. That’s where their money comes from.”

“Did you ever see the convoys we raided?” asked Lulamoon. “They found lots of gold in the last one. It was from the Empire.”

“The Patriarch is a filthy and vile pony,” said the priest. “The Goddess will punish him.”

“He is also very rich,” said the grenadier. “I have friends in Arion, priest. You might like them,” he said to Lulamoon. The unicorn smiled at the priest and he smiled back.

“All ponies in Arion are farmers,” the grenadier said.

“What about Timbucktu?” the priest asked. “It is a noble city and floats above Arion.” Some ponies came in as the door opened, and Lulamoon could hear the neighboring soldiers.

“Certainly not,” said the grenadier. “Ask anypony there and they will tell you they are not a part of Arion, though the Strategos likes to claim they are. You should go to Timbucktu, you will meet real pegasi there.”

“He should visit the Hollow Shades,” said an earth-pony, seating himself beside the wine barrel. “I will write you to a friend there. They will love you like a son.”

“He should go to Bayard,” said another, looking at Lulamoon. “You can become a knight.”

“He’s a unicorn. He should become a mage, like the others. I’ve seen it. He’s very good with magic.”

“You might like the Everfree,” said the priest. “My family says it very nice over there. I plan on going when the war is over.”
“Listen to him talk about the Everfree. There’s Cloven there. You shouldn’t mingle with Cloven. Ponies belong in places of culture and civilization.”

“And fine mares. I know a place in Connemarea. Beautiful young mares; and their mothers.” Everypony laughed.
“I would like to go when this war is over,” the grenadier said.

“When I get back I want to see my daughter. She should be eight now.”

“I just want a bath and a warm bed to sleep in.”

“And a nice mare. Fondling your lower horn!”

“You should go to the Everfree,” the priest said to Lulamoon. The others were shouting and laughing. “You would like the ponies there, and the deer-folk are a good sort when you get to know them. They don’t mind tinker ponies either. You could stay with my family. My father is well-regarded and he works in the palace.”

“Come on,” said the freckled unicorn. “We go to the tavern before it closes.”

“Good-night” Lulamoon said to the priest.

“Good-night,” he said. The priest turned to look at Lulamoon’s friend, and smiled. The grenadier waved back, Lulamoon saw that his cheeks were slightly red.