‘Twas irksome to spend the days after my victory o’er the Avatar in convalescence, e’en though the need to do so was undeniable. I had suffered many grievous wounds in my final clash with the Avatar, and e’en the Commander could only do so much to hasten my healing.
Missing the festivities when the siege finally broke, while irksome, was a minor irritant. Mine absence from the halls of power at a critical point in the war upset me far more. Though Gale and Sunbeam visited often enough to consult with me, being heard indirectly made a poor substitute for being physically present, discussing plans with the Commander and her subordinate.
The consequences of Dusk’s perfidy weighed most heavily upon me. His betrayal had left my plans of rebuilding the clans of Pegasopolis under new leadership in shambles. Without a viable loyal leader to take charge of a single clan, we had no choice in the matter. A weak clan leader with no legitimacy would be seen as little better than a Unicornian puppet, and the clans would not suffer remaining under a foreign yoke. It would not be peace, merely a short truce ere the new generation began the war once more.
There was only one solution. If the clans could not be tamed, they would have to be broken.
I should have been there when Gale and Sunbeam announced it. Alas, the Commander insisted I remain at rest for a few days more. I suspect that she would have insisted I absent myself from the upcoming campaign as well, if she could have.
Thankfully, I could put my time at rest to good use poring o’er maps and intelligence reports to plan out what would hopefully be the last battle of the war. Steel and Rightly had either made a critical error or simply underestimated the risks we were willing to take. Going on the offensive in late autumn with Canterlot still critically low on supplies would end very badly for us if the battle at Maresidian Fields was anything less than a complete victory. If Steel managed to deny us our victory, we would lose much of the momentum gained from the Avatar’s death, and the late-season campaign would leave Canterlot all but stripped of supplies with winter coming.
Howe’er, war has always been a matter of calculated risk. The opportunity to win the war with a single decisive stroke was simply too tempting to ignore. I had no desire to carry on the war for another year, and Dusk had destroyed whate’er slim hope there might have been for a negotiated settlement. Persuading Rightly and Steel to stand down and surrender clan leadership to a successor would have been difficult enough. Now that the clans would not survive the war...
I set aside the maps with a heavy sigh. I would perhaps have fallen into melancholic brooding, had I not noticed the unexpected guest in my room. Young Midnight sat at my bedside, completely silent and with her nose buried in a book. I suppose it should have come as a surprise to see the young child had entered my private quarters, but by this point she had done so frequently enough that I had almost come to expect it.
Midnight must have noticed my gaze upon her, as she slowly set aside her book to give me her full attention. “Greetings, Lady Shadow. I hope I did not disturb you. Mother becomes most irate when she is in the midst of some project and I interrupt her train of thought. She will likely already be upset with me for leaving my quarters, e’en though she is not there on account of meeting with Her Majesty. Still, I would not anger her or you further.”
I decided to assuage the child’s fears before anything else. “I am not upset with thee, though I think ‘twould be best to let thy mother know where thou art ere she becomes concerned.” With Midnight’s capture fresh in her memory, it would likely be many years ere Sunbeam would be at ease when her daughter was out of sight. I jotted down a quick note for the mare, letting her know that Midnight was with me and all was well. “Have White deliver this to thy mother.”
Midnight nodded glumly, then trotted out to pass the letter to my squire. She returned shortly, looking like a prisoner expecting execution. “Mother will be most unhappy when she learns I left my quarters without her permission. I expect she will punish me.”
“Likely so,” I agreed, not as sympathetic to her plight as I would otherwise be. My voice took on the stern, lecturing tone I normally reserved for when I caught a few young clanponies getting up to mischief. “Surely it should come as no surprise that she does not want you gallivanting about the palace unsupervised so soon after recent events. Why wouldst thou do something that thou must knowest would upset thy mother?”
Midnight bit her lip, shrinking down and dropping her eyes to the floor. “It was not my desire to cause her distress. But I had heard you were badly wounded while rescuing me, and Mother would not tell me enough. I ... I wished to see you.”
“Ah.” I felt rather churlish for lecturing her, now that I knew ‘twas concern for me that prompted her disobedience. Not that it excused her actions, but I would have to be a truly heartless mare to not be e’en a little touched by her worries. “I thank thee for thy concern. My wounds are healing quickly and cleanly, and I am otherwise well enough.”
“That is good to hear.” Midnight nodded firmly, her eyes drifting to the bandage on my leg. “I would be most displeased if your wounds turned gangrenous, the flesh blackening and rotting away as you lay in bed, helpless to prevent the slow failure of your own body. I have heard that is a slow, lingering, and incredibly painful way to die, and I do not wish for that to happen to you after you saved me.” She frowned, shifting a bit closer to my bedside. “I ... wish to thank you for that. I did not wish to be sacrificed in a dark ritual by the Avatar, my lifesblood slowly leaking out upon the altar as my very essence was torn asunder to provide whate’er dark purpose she had in mind for me.”
“There is no need to thank me,” I assured her. “I could not call myself an honorable warrior of Pegasopolis if I left thee in peril.”
Midnight grimaced. “And yet, many of the so-called honorable warriors of Pegasopolis were eager to aid the Avatar in my murder.” She frowned and shook her head. “But I did not come here to complain about the poor conduct of your fellow pegasi. I came here to thank you, e’en if you do not believe thanks are required. You were badly hurt doing so.” She scraped a hoof across the floor, looking down at it. “I did not wish to see you wounded on mine account.”
“I suffered nothing that cannot heal,” I assured her. “With both the Commander and thy mother aiding me, I am already nearly recovered. If I had failed to save thee, I would have suffered far worse pain than anything my current injuries bring. ‘Twas my pleasure to know that thou art safe and alive because of mine actions.”
“I am glad for that too.” Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes dropped to the floor. “Though I know not how I can repay you for my life.”
“Thou needst not worry thyself on that account,” I murmured. “I did not save thee to incur a debt. Though by all means, should the opportunity arise to do so, feel free to return the favor.” Not that I expected the opportunity to e’er arise, but it seemed a harmless enough things to say to salve the child’s pride.
Midnight nodded, a contemplative frown on her face. “Very well then. I will save your life from some horrible mortal peril in due time.” (1) She fell silent, her eyes staring past me to the window o’er my shoulder. I had begun to wonder if she was completely lost within her own thoughts when she finally broke her silence. “May I ask you a question?”
1: Midnight did eventually pay the favor back, albeit many years later.
“Of course.” I braced myself for what would almost surely be an uncomfortable inquiry.
Young Midnight slowly blinked, a faint grimace slowly working its way onto her face. “What was it like the first time you killed?” Her head slowly cocked to the side. “I have seen death before on account of this war, but this was the first time I was directly responsible for it. During the ritual to spill out my lifesblood, tear open my body, and send my soul hurtling and screaming into the abyss to power an unspeakable abomination. Mine own magic surged out of control when Mother disrupted the ritual, conjuring massive spears of ice that tore through flesh and bone as the warlocks screamed in agony.”
Ah. I had assumed all the death in that chamber was the result of her mother’s actions—hardly unreasonable, under the circumstances. “Thou didst what was required to save thine own life,” I assured her. “The warlocks would not have shown thee any mercy. ‘Twas only fitting that thou didst respond in kind.”
She frowned thoughtfully, nodding after several seconds. “Aye, Mother said much the same when I asked her. Though I think we were not in accord on the matter of killing. She said that when she first killed, she felt nothing beyond a sense of satisfaction at eliminating an enemy. I ... do not feel that way. I was glad to no longer be in danger, but I do not think I like causing death, e’en to those who deserve it. Am I wrong to feel that way?”
“Not at all,” I assured her, struggling not to show mine annoyance with Sunbeam. “We all react differently to our first time in battle. In all honesty, I was so frightened in my first battle that I had no time to reflect upon mine actions, and afterwards I was merely glad to be alive.” I thought it best not to mention that after the battle I had bedded one of my squadmates to deal with the roil of emotions. Midnight was far too young for such things.
“I see.” She frowned, staring up at the ceiling. “I understand that. I am certainly very happy to be alive as well. And it seems Mother at least approves of mine actions, which is no small relief.” She hesitated, worrying at her lower lip. “Mother has been acting ... different since my return. When I asked for new books she bought all of them, and she has allowed me far more dessert than I normally receive. She also insists on keeping a close eye on me, but that is more understandable after I was nearly murdered.”
Sunbeam’s mild spoiling of her daughter came as no surprise under the circumstances. In fact, it inclined me to follow suit. I moved o’er in the bed, making room for her and opening my wounded wing. Midnight blinked slowly and stared up at me, cocking her head to the side. Once ‘twas plain she would not act on her own, I shifted o’er and wrapped the wing around her, pulling her to my side.
As she came nearer to me, I noted the snowflake now adorning her haunch. “So thy magic has fully manifested?”
“It has.” A small smile ghosted across her lips, only to vanish a few moments later. “It ... happened when I killed the warlocks. I am not sure I care for the implications of that timing, though I suppose ‘twas a feat of considerable magical prowess.”
“That much is true,” I agreed. Given her macabre inclinations, I was not entirely shocked to find that her magic had fully manifested in the presence of death. If anything I was surprised her talents were not equally ghoulish. “Well, regardless of the details, I suppose congratulations are in order.”
“My thanks.” Midnight nodded, then drew herself up in an effort to look much more mature and adult than she actually was. “Mother has promised to hold the customary celebration once the war is finished.” She paused thoughtfully. “I do not know what traditions are observed in Pegasopolis, but among unicorns it is customary to celebrate when one obtains their cutie mark. In addition to the celebration itself, all of my close friends and family will provide me with gifts to mark the occasion.” She said nothing more, letting that final remark linger rather pointedly.
I was hardly blind to what she was none-too-subtly hinting at, but decided to leave her request unanswered for the moment. “Hopefully, thy mother and I will put the war to an end ere winter arrives. If we do not, I imagine there will be time enough for it then.” Presuming we did not all starve, of course.
“That would be good ... though that would mean I might have to wait several months to receive my customary gifts and celebration. It seems improper to flout long-established tradition in that manner.” She paused, then sighed a bit too melodramatically to be genuine. “Though I do fear that my gifts may pale in comparison to those of my peers. I have so few close friends, and Mother is mine only family. ‘Twould be most upsetting to reach one of the greatest milestones of my life, the day when my full magical potential is unlocked and I begin the path to adulthood, only to find that I have no one to celebrate it with and no presents to open.”
“Well, Gale and I shall certainly be there.” I paused, then added with a knowing smirk, “And as ‘tis the custom of Unicornia, we shall of course bring appropriate gifts.”
This time the smile lingered a bit longer on Midnight’s lips. “That is good to hear ... even if I must wait a terrible period of time for the occasion to be marked. Normally, the celebration is held as soon after the event as can be reasonably arranged.”
“I am sure thou wilt endure.” To my credit, I avoided the temptation to allow any hint of sarcasm or mockery in my tone.
Young Midnight sighed heavily. “That is what Mother has told me as well. And I suppose that in light of recent events, this is not the most terrible thing that has happened to me. I think being strapped down upon a dark altar and having my chest torn open, my still-beating heart extracted before my very eyes ere my life’s essence went to feed a dark abomination would be e’en worse than having the celebration delayed.” She glanced up at me shyly. “I suppose that my life is the greatest gift you could offer me. Still ... if you do not think it churlish for me to ask...”
“As I said, Gale and I will provide something suitable.” In all honesty, there was something refreshing about the thought that soon I would need to worry about simple things like what gift to buy for a child. It had been far too long since I had allowed myself the luxury of concerning myself with such mundane things. “At least this mad war is almost over.”
“I hope so.” Midnight’s gaze fell to the floor. “I do not like war. It has very little in common with what I read about in my books. The sooner Pegasopolis is destroyed, the better.”
I could not help flinching at that remark. Midnight noted my reaction, her head tilting to the side as she turned a confused frown upon me. “You seem upset. Did I say something to cause offense? Is not Pegasopolis our enemy in this war? Is not the purpose of war to destroy our enemies so utterly that they may never threaten us again?”
She was correct on both those points. Howe’er... “I had not planned to preside o’er the destruction of my homeland.”
Midnight’s frown deepened. “Is it still your homeland? Did you not go into voluntary exile rather than join them in usurping Her Majesty? Have you not fought against them in this war? Has your clan not settled in Canterlot? Surely this is your homeland now?”
I closed mine eyes and took a deep breath. “Aye, I suppose ‘tis. When we began this exile, I told myself ‘twas but a temporary thing. That we would return to our old homes and our old lives once this war was finished and Pegasopolis regained its senses. Now ... after Dusk’s actions, it seems we have no choice but to break the clans. We can hardly retain the clans under loyal leadership if there are no loyal leaders to be found.”
Midnight scowled and nodded sharply. “I am sure you could find ponies who would swear loyalty to Celestia, but the clans broke those oaths before, and I see no reason to think they would not do so again. Their claims of honor are suspect when they willingly break their oaths, violate the laws of war, and make common cause with warlocks.”
I was almost compelled to argue that not all of Pegasopolis was responsible for those acts, but saying that to a child who had nearly been murdered by Pegasopolis’ leader hardly seemed worthwhile. E’en without all those points, the simple truth was that the clans would ne’er accept being conquered by an outsider, and after this war they would surely see Celestia as a foreign oppressor. The only question would be whether the clans would immediately rise once their numbers and morale recovered, or if they would wait until Equestria was weak to stab it in the back. That was a question I had no intention of e’er learning the answer to. “And so there is no future for the clans. I know why it must be done, but ... I ne’er thought I would preside o’er the end of Pegasopolis. The destruction of mine own people.”
“Ah.” Midnight nodded slowly, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “I think I can understand why you are so disquieted. Do you regret your actions, then? Do you wish that you had turned upon Her Majesty and remained loyal to Pegasopolis?”
There was no hesitation in mine answer. “No. The clans were wrong to turn against her, and I was right to stand by her. Mine only regret is that I could not dissuade them from their course.”
Midnight followed with another question. “Were your actions to your clan’s benefit?”
“I certainly hope so.” The fact that by war’s end we would be the only major clan to survive certainly bore that out. Though the Stalkers would also survive as a clan, they did not have anywhere near my clan’s numbers and likely would not receive as many privileges. (2)
2: The Stalker clan gradually lost its clan identity over the next several centuries, with the remnant eventually being absorbed into the Kicker clan.
Midnight met mine eyes. “If you believe that Pegasopolis has launched an unjust war and your actions were for the best of your clan, then surely you acted appropriately. That at least aligns with the lessons on logic Mother has given me. If your actions can be justified both ethically and practically, then I cannot see where a wrong can be done.”
I took heart from her words. “Would that all others saw as clearly as thou dost.”
“Aye, that is a pity,” Midnight agreed with the unintentional egotism of the young. “I think the world would be much better off if that were so.”
I chuckled and ruffled her mane, eliciting an annoyed grumble from the fastidious young mare. “A word of advice, young Midnight. While thou art so certain of thine own wisdom and knowledge, I advise writing it down. Once thou art older, thou wilt realize that the answers thou wert once so certain of now elude you, and the world is far more complicated than thou didst e’er realize as a child.”
Midnight nodded, seeming utterly serious. “I do. That is why I keep a journal.” (3)
3: Midnight was an obsessive journal-keeper, maintaining them from before the war to a few days before her death. Among other things, those journals served as the basis for her own quite extensive memoirs.
“I see. Very good. If there is nothing else…?” I nodded pointedly to the large stack of maps and reports I had been slogging through ere she arrived.
Midnight glanced back at my papers, and her countenance fell. “Oh ... Aye, of course you must see to your duties. I will leave you to your work, and cease disturbing you.”
I could hardly remain unmoved by such a crestfallen face. “I suppose ‘twould be best if thou didst remain here so that thy mother can find thee easily enough. If thou dost not disturb me, thou canst remain.”
Midnight’s eyes brightened. “I have much experience at not disturbing those around me. Mother almost ne’er complains that I distract her from her work.”
“Very well then.” I turned mine attention back to the maps, but once more idly draped my wing o’er the young mare. She smiled contently, making herself comfortable against my side but otherwise remaining silent as I worked. Despite saying nothing, her presence was ... calming. If nothing else it reminded me exactly what we were fighting for.
I was impressed by how swiftly we were able to muster our army and pursue the remaining rebels. Of course, that was in no small part thanks to our terrifying lack of preparation. Our supply lines were all but nonexistent, as were our stocks. Our soldiers carried enough rations in their packs to reach our chosen battlefield, but ‘twould be difficult to bring any more should matters go awry. There would be no more bolts for our crossbows once the archers emptied their quivers, and no material or expertise to repair damaged weapons or armor. An army that operated on a razor thin margin of error, and deceptively fragile.
But nonetheless, an army. Mossy Banks’ forces played their own to perfection, contesting the river crossing and leaving Steel’s army trapped at Maresidian Fields as mine own army came up behind him. Our position was perilous, but his was no better.
The late autumn weather was unseasonably warm as we closed the trap, the sun beating down upon all three armies. In truth, the river Steel’s army would have to cross was more akin to a mud-filled depression with a small stream. The mud was still more than enough of a barrier to halt his advance, and the unseasonably dry heat likely sapped the morale of his forced e’en further. The rebel army’s effort to drown Canterlot in constant rain had left all Maresidian Fields an arid plain full of dead grass.
Despite our advantages I was less than eager to begin the battle. War is e’er uncertain, and with mine own army so vulnerable I could imagine far too many ways the tide could turn against us. A single moment of ill luck could turn my bold stroke to end the war into a foolish risk that cost us everything we had gained from the Siege of Canterlot. Far better if we could persuade Steel to lay down his arms without a fight, e’en if it required generous terms.
‘Twas that hope that drew me to the tent of the stallion who had once been Dusk Charger. To his very slight credit, he had played his part in the farce Sunbeam had saved his life for it. The Stalkers knew nothing of his betrayal, and had done their part in securing the river ‘gainst Steel’s army. Since then he had largely remained within his tent, brooding o’er his freshly blackened armor stripped of his clan’s iconography.
I found him in such a state when I entered his tent, and wasted no time indulging his mood. “Dusk. I may have a use for thee.”
He sighed wearily, turning to me with resignation in his eyes. “Very well, Lady Protector. What do you require of me?”
“Steel is your father, correct?”
Dusk hesitated ere he answered. “He ... was the one who sired me, yes. Whether I could call him a father is another matter entirely. I cannot recall more than one or two occasions when we shared anything more than a few passing words. In all likelihood, you know him far better than I do.”
That news came as no surprise, given how Bright had conducted herself and raised her children. “He is still thy sire, regardless. That may be of use in negotiating his surrender.”
Dusk grimaced and shook his head. “If you think he will surrender...” He sighed. “Mother always said he was far too stubborn to ever give up once he set his mind to a task. So did Bronze when I worked with him, and if anyone knows him well, ‘twould be his brother.”
Mine own time working alongside Steel in the Ephorate gave me ample reason to share that concern. Howe’er, the war had changed me a great deal, and I could hope that the same could be said for him. Regardless of my chances of success, the attempt had to be made. “I think his army is surrounded, cut off from any outside assistance, and has no hope of victory.”
Dusk slumped, staring down at the dirt beneath his hooves. “Aye, it would be reasonable to ask for terms in such circumstances. But e’er since this war began, far too many ponies have done unreasonable things. Myself first amongst them.”
I grunted and nodded. “I would not be shocked if he prefers death to the dishonor of surrender. For the sake of thyself and thy sister, it would be wise to turn thy mind to finding a way to dissuade him of that notion.”
Dusk’s head snapped up, finally giving me his full attention. “My sake and Dawn’s? What do you mean by that?”
I was in no mood to mince words. “Need I state the obvious? Sunbeam spared both of thy lives because she thought there might still be some use to thee. A large portion of that was needing the loyalty of the Stalker clan for this battle. Once Steel’s army is undone, she will have much less need for thee. If thou wouldst remain alive in the coming years, ‘twould be wise to continue showing thine usefulness and loyalty at every opportunity.”
“Is that to be my life, then?” Dusk’s eyes turned to the heavens. “Must I spend the rest of my days constantly fearing the noose whene’er I am not immediately useful to the Archmagus?”
“It is the fate thou didst choose for thyself,” I answered bluntly. “I understand the reasons for thy choices. I too was torn ‘tween loyalty to kin and honor. Howe’er, thou didst not make the correct decision until ‘twas almost too late, and now thou shalt reap the consequences of it. Be grateful for thy life, and prove that the Commander was not wrong in granting it to thee. If thou dost not have the strength to manage that, find a blade and end thine own dishonor.”
He sighed heavily, but I saw his spine stiffen slightly. “Very well then. If nothing else, I can at least try to help put an end to this war. E’en if Sunbeam decides she wants my blood once ‘tis done, I can at least know that I at least regained some small shred of honor in my last days.”
“Quite.” As we began to make our way across the dried-out fields for our meeting with Steel, I raised one final matter. “Of course, I need not say what will happen shouldst thou speak unwisely in our meeting with Steel.”
“I expect if I tried to reveal any information about your plans I would be executed immediately,” Dusk murmured. “With Dawn soon to follow.”
I did not respond, which was answer enough. I had no intention of murdering his sister for any crimes he committed, but ‘twas best if he did not know that. He seemed to have little care for his own life, but his sister was another matter. Better to be sure of his loyalty, or at least his obedience. Perhaps Sunbeam would end his life once the war was done and he offered no further use to her. If she did, I would shed no tears.
As we neared the meeting ground, I laid eyes upon Steel Striker for the first time in months. As agreed before the conference, he came alone. Time had not been kind to him. Muscle had faded from his frame, leaving the skin hanging slack upon his bones, and his mane looked thin and sickly, beginning to fade away. His eyes had sunken back into his skull, and each step was much slower and heavier than I remembered. He looked ... old. Old and tired. Perhaps these negotiations were not as hopeless as I feared.
The Ephor met mine eyes and nodded. “Shadow.”
“Steel.” I knew him well enough to not waste any time of exchanging pleasantries or any of the traditional preliminaries. “You know why I have come. Your army is caught between mine and Archmagus Banks'. Your position is untenable, but I am prepared to offer reasonable terms. Let us end this battle without further bloodshed.”
Steel grunted, his face unreadable. “Hungry.” I was uncertain what to make of that word, but a moment later he continued. “Your army. Hungry. Canterlot was under siege not too long ago. Supplies must be low. Fast deployment. Foraged everything I could while withdrawing. Doubt you found much. How long before you starve?”
“Long enough,” I answered, meeting him with the same laconic tone he was so famous for.
“Maybe.” He slowly set his hooves, standing his ground. “Been digging in. Not easy to take a fortified position. Even a basic one. Still bad odds for me, but faced worse.”
‘Twas as I feared, then. He suspected enough of mine army’s woeful supplies to think he could win. If the initial attempt at destroying his was less than successful, I would be hard-pressed to launch a second attack. Not that I had any intention of admitting that. “There is nothing to be gained by this battle. Your soldiers have suffered and sacrificed too much already. Let them have the peace they deserve. Let them go home to their families, rather than die upon this miserable field for no reason.”
“Those your terms?” His eyes shifted to Dusk, pointedly lingering on his black armor. “Heard different. Homes, maybe. Not family.”
“You are beaten,” I countered. “I will offer you a peace that is merciful and fair, but I will not leave you strength enough to rise against the Commander again.”
“Thought so.” Steel met mine eyes, scowling. “Say you can beat mine army? Then do it. Rather die free with my clan than live a slave with no family.”
“I would not deny you a family,” I countered. “If anything I would grant it. You could reunite with your daughter, and live out your days in honorable retirement with your close kin.” I spared a brief look Dusk’s way, leaving that part of the offer unspoken. “You could either have rooms in the palace, or a small villa in the country.”
“Honorable retirement.” He scoffed and shook his head. “Know a cage when I see one. Gilded one, but still a cage. Still the end of my clan. Just for my life.” He chuckled humorlessly, waving a hoof over his wasted chest. “Not much life left in me. Made my peace. Ready for it. Rather die on a battlefield holding true than betray the cause to buy a year or two in a cage.”
Dusk stepped forward. “What about the rest of your army? Most of them are not e’en pegasi. They are farmers, artisans, and workers. They have lives and families to go back to. Must they all join you in death?”
Steel frowned and slowly shook his head. “They may not have been born as warriors, but they have earned it. They are fine soldiers, and if you are triumphant I will be honored to die alongside them. Know why they joined the army? They believe. They want to fight for their freedom from your queen.” He crossed his forelegs over his chest. “Can you offer that? No Sun Queen. No damned Avatar of the Moon Queen. Just free ponies. I will take those terms.”
I grimaced and shook my head. “You know I cannot.”
Steel grunted and nodded. “I know. And you know mine answer. No Ephor of Pegasopolis has e’er surrendered to a foreign conqueror.”
Dusk couldn’t restrain himself. “Father, please—”
Steel closed his eyes and took a long breath. “Never earned that, Dusk. Sired you, yes. Father? No. Never was that to you.” His attention shifted to me. “Bright ... did she die well?”
“She did,” I confirmed. “She remembered herself before the end.”
“Good.” His gaze shifted to the heavens. “Suppose if I lose, I will see her soon enough. Not the worst thing. Guess that means I win either way. Wonder if there will be stories about the last stand of the last free ponies of Equestria.”
“Will you not see reason?!” Dusk snapped at him. “This fight will not go the way you think. There will be no glory, only death!”
I leaned in and sharply whispered. “Mind thy words, Dusk.”
He turned to me, desperation in his eyes. “But ... Lady Protector, if he knew what we were planning, he would surely—”
“Perhaps he would,” I conceded. “But we have our duty.” I was not about to jeopardize our battle plans in the hope that ‘twould convince Steel to surrender. He was e’er stubborn, and might well find some way to counteract us if forewarned of the threat. Our position was far too tenuous to give up any advantage.
I turned mine attention back to Steel. “You have one hour's time to change your mind. If you do not, your army will be destroyed, and you along with it. I urge you to reconsider mine offer ere the deadline expires.”
Steel grunted and nodded. “We will be ready for you.”
I took a deep breath and offered my parting words. “No, you will not.”
An hour passed with no answer from Steel. It was time.
I found Sunbeam and Commander Celestia at the center of the camp, alongside the magi. E’en Mossy Banks had joined them, leaving his army under the command of a lieutenant. As I entered the Commander’s pavilion I could feel the very air thrumming with power.
This was the hidden stroke that, we hoped, would undo Steel’s army without a battle. The late autumn heat wave was no accident of the weather, but the work of the Commander herself. E’en as she intensified the sun’s might upon Maresidian Fields, Mossy Banks had used his unique connection to the region to further drain away what little water was left. Other magi had turned their attention to drying out the thick grass, or stirring the winds alongside mine own clanponies.
Howe’er, the greatest key to the entire undertaking had been the rebels themselves. They had erred badly in attempting to drown Canterlot beneath ne’erending rain and o’erstrain the shield around the city. Months without rain had left Maresidian Fields arid, drying up the rivers that normally fed the plains. The loss of their warlocks and removed the group most likely to notice and counter our spellwork. Likewise, Rightly’s departure with the best pegasi warriors to see to the insurrections within earth pony territory denied them the air strength needed to stop us. Steel’s own evaluation of the logistical limits of mine army gave him every reason to believe that he was best served by remaining in one place and fortifying his position.
Sunbeam had been the one to bring all these factors together and forge them into a plan of action. Maresidian Fields was already a tinderbox due to the rebel-inflicted drought, and now she could commit the full strength of Equestria’s magi to fanning the flames. With Steel’s refusal to surrender, she needed to provide only the smallest spark to unleash the firestorm.
‘Twas not the battle I would have preferred. There would be no honor or glory to it. Howe’er, if the spell worked as she intended it would give us a far more certain victory than risking open battle, and at no loss to our own forces. Steel’s army, wholly lacking in accomplished spellcasters after the death of the warlocks, would be helpless to prevent it. In all likelihood, they would not e’en realize their doom until it fell upon them.
I cleared my throat. “An hour and more has passed. There has been no word from Steel’s camp, and our scouts report he is still preparing for battle.”
Sunbeam opened her eyes. “I see. Then I shall begin the final spell.”
“No.” We both froze at the Commander’s voice as she drew herself up to her full height. “Thou shalt not cast the spell, Sunbeam.”
Sunbeam blinked and took half a step back in shock, but a second later anger overtook her surprise. “Your Majesty, you know why we agreed to use this spell ritual. We agreed that it was our best hope to—”
Commander Celestia cut her off with an upraised hoof. “Thou shalt not cast the spell. I will.” She took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. “I have often heard it said that a ruler must have subordinates willing to do all the unpleasant things that she cannot bring herself to do. I think I do not care for the idea of absolving myself of all responsibility so easily. To say that since another did the action in my name, my hooves are clean. It is ... too easy.”
She stepped to the pavilion’s exit, staring across the field at the rebel camp. She took a deep breath. Then another. Finally, I heard her speak a few words, scarcely above a whisper. “I am so sorry.”
She cast the spell.