The Wanderer of the North

by Alaxsxaq

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 3. The Battle of Windhock Vale

A hundred soldiers stood on either side of the throughway, lined up in perfect intervals, completely motionless like armor-clad statues. They all wore crested helms and held a pike in a forehoof, every tenth one’s crest red and a blue banner adorning their pike’s shaft. The Canterlot Guard was unsurpassed in discipline and training in all of Equestria, direct descendants of the bygone professional army of the ancient Kingdom. They were trained in a variety of weapons, but today on this cloudy early morning they’d form an impenetrable wall of pikes. The Guard would be the van, engaging the enemy formations and providing a base for Canterlot’s battle lines.

Petrafyrm of Canterlot, donned in steel barding, trotted down the pathway formed by his soldiers, his retinue in tow. Traveling in his Princeship’s wake was his loyal squire, Brigandine, a young cream-colored unicorn. Completing the entourage were ten members of the Guard, all wearing special gold-trimmed armor and a blue surcoat, the shoulder adorned with the heraldic six-pointed violet star. These ten were the elite personal bodyguards of his Princeship, sworn to defend the life of their sovereign.

Stoic and tall, the Prince proceeded towards the light-colored command tent on the other end of walkway. Never flashing any emotion, internally he was quite proud of himself. Three weeks he was allotted to prepare, and he and his ministers managed to call together eight thousand peasants, knights, and guardsponies. Then they had to assembled them, outfit them with weapons where applicable, and train them. Not only that, but it was winter, and extra food supplies and warm clothing had to be procured so the poor souls wouldn’t freeze on the march.

There were many problems, especially with nobles not wanting to offer their own banners to the cause, but somehow Prince Peter had formed up an army and now stood within its camp. It had been perhaps thirty years since all the levies of the Realm had been mustered, but thank Lórian it was successful. The positions were set, and all the troops in formations across the battlefield; all that remained was a short meeting with his military staff and commanders.

Once he and his entourage closed within a dozen feet of the command tent, The Prince stopped his pace and turned around, studying the assemblage of officers and soldiers for today’s work. His scouts returned word that the Diamond Dog forces were advancing down the road, and they’d be here very soon. Through no inconsiderable effort pegasi had managed to gather enough clouds to create a light fog through the shallow valley. Visibility was low, and the clouds were encumbered with snow.

He smiled, remembering how his father had once counseled him to utilize the terrain and conditions as much as one’s soldiers. Here in this small strip of land nestled between two ranges of hills known as Windhock Vale the dogs would be funneled right where he wanted them to.

Two guards beside the opening of the large tent stepped aside to allow the Prince in, leaving his retinue behind. It was spacious, held up by numerous wooden poles and lit by an assortment of brass candelabras mounted on quick-folding tables. Off to one corner was the Prince’s space, occupied by an empty cot and a small desk. On top was a masterfully-carved mahogany box in which was kept the Ruler’s correspondences.

Earlier this morning its contents had been strewn about the desk, but right now the box was locked up and the space tidied up. To the other side of the tent was a large table, a few chairs placed around its perimeter. Occupying the chairs, if they could find one, were about a dozen ponies. The Prince trotted down the middle of the tent, passing by his bannerponies. At the closest end were the five Counts he’d appointed to the position of commander. They all bowed their heads as he approached, and the sovereign gave a slight nod in recognition.

Marshal Helmraed was next, hovering rather than standing next to Petrafyrm’s chair. The dark blue pegasus was a little on the aged side, and he was more than likely adjusting himself for the multitude of flying he’d be doing this day. On the other side of the Prince’s seat was Captain Gendarmette, her purple-crest helm sitting on the space before her. These seven ponies took all the available seats, leaving four others to stand against the tent wall.

Three alicorns, a rare but inspiring sight for his troops, and a young emerald earth pony squire pitiably dwarfed in front were motionless, focusing their eyes on the Prince. The shortest alicorn was a mare, midnight blue much like his marshal, clad in standard mail barding covered in steel plating. Against her hip she girt a battle-axe, a less elegant but more forceful weapon.

Taller was a dull orange stallion, one-eyed, and always wearing an expression of irritation mixed with suspicion. Would it have killed the pony to smile? Well…considering the circumstances of his long life it was to be expected. He also wore the standard mail-plating combination, and wielded a common longsword—a true pity that the blood-sworn guardian of the Royal Alicorn House did not possess a magical blade of his own.

The largest pony in the tent, most certainly feeling rather cramped within, stood behind the other three. Against her knight’s armor rested Eónadin, a weapon unique in all of history. Dame Wintermail’s expression was solemn, and the Prince matched her stare with one of his own.

But inside he was as giddy as a little colt. All his life he’d been reared up on stories of the ancient alicorns, their great glory and tragedy. What a sight they must have been, assembled in the full regalia of battle, wielding their magical weapons. Prince Peter couldn’t help but enjoy the fact that he’d brought that sight back in a small way; certainly made the headache-inducing armor fittings worth it.

Now was not the time for that, however. Clearing his throat, the blue unicorn stallion didn’t bother taking his seat; he would not need it long. All in attendance were stone-faced, almost looking petrified with reverence. He slowly rotated his head, surveying his companions. Never letting up his hard countenance, he waited a respectable time before speaking.

“The order of battle is set; your officers are waiting. You all know the maneuvers. I want pegasus couriers in frequent communication with me,” he coolly intoned. A collective affirmation of “Yes, my Lord” came from the seven military ponies. The Prince then narrowed his gaze at the four others standing by the wall, “Dame Wintermail, you of course will fight in the van with the Guard. Time for your squire to ‘earn his wings’.”

The emerald colt Veroche let out a grin, then glanced up at his Knight. Wintermail gave a quick motion with her eyes, and the earth pony regained a semblance of propriety, bowing to his sovereign. “I should hope to do my duty for Canterlot,” Veroche spoke, eliciting a graceful nod from the Prince.

“And…Taberanyn, my Liege?” the tall white Knight asked, sparing a glance at her sister.

The Prince looked at the youngest alicorn, noticing how clearly she wanted to recoil at his attention. Her sister’s stare kept her in place, hopefully to face duty with resolve and composure. He watched her stand nervously awaiting the orders.

He waited though, gauging her body language. When he noticed her visible anxiety disappear, the Prince smirked, “Taberanyn, you and Henarion shall fight with the Marshal in the flank. I hope your wings are limbered for exercise; they will certainly meet their quota for today.”

Her spirit sank, and she did not even attempt to hide her disappointment. “Your majesty,” she voiced to the acute shock of the other ponies, “I was under the impression that…we’d be assigned to fight beside Dame…, “she paused; what did they call her sister again? “Wintermail.”

“Your sister is a member of the Canterlot Guard, and is therefore expected to lead her troops. You however are needed elsewhere. You are a strong flyer, and the pegasus maneuvers will prove absolutely critical in the outcome of this battle.”

Henarion spotted the look of sympathy of Nikóleva’s face, and took one step forwards, “She’ll be perfectly safe in my care, though I ain’t done much flying in a while.”

The Prince could not help but give a soft chuckle, “I think that will come back right away.” He cantered to the more open space on the left side of the tent, clearing his throat once more, “Now, if that settles any questions, you are all dismissed to your stations. The dogs are on the march, and the van must be ready to halt their advance.”

The occupants pushed out their chairs and began funneling out to their respective postings. The Prince then gave a small nod to his squire Brigandine. “One more thing, Taberanyn,” he called out, prompting the alicorn to turn back and approach with a puzzled look. Her sister and guardian both gave the same face and followed slowly behind.

Wintermail commanded Veroche to run off and inform her unit that there’d be a slight delay. The Prince’s squire Brigandine meanwhile magically opened a trunk placed on one of the tent’s sides. Inside were a number of effects, the first of which was the Prince’s beautifully-adorned warhelm. He placed it on the table and awaited the next concerned object.

Brigandine next pulled out from the trunk a sword, freshly polished. It was a magic sword, and did not require oiling or sharpening, but it could still become dirty. It was his immense great sword, the one he’d shown to Wintermail the day they’d first met about a year ago. Taking it in his magic, the Prince trotted to Taberanyn and craned his neck down.

“Take it,” he said—almost requested, and after a moment’s hesitation she obliged. Once in her embrace, she mentally felt its weight, and noted that even for its great size relative for the Prince, it seemed to perfectly suite her own frame. The blue unicorn raised his neck and grinned. He gestured a hoof and nodded, causing Taberanyn widen her eyes in realization.

Focusing her magical channeling, she drew the blade from its scabbard, examining the details. Beautifully-gilded and ornamented, the amethyst studding captured and reflected the light in a hundred different ways. The central amethyst star dominating the crossguard mixed well with the yellow metal around it, and Taberanyn gaped in awe at the expert artisanship.

The mottled steel was enchanting and mysterious, and Taberanyn only broke off her admiration when she realized the Prince simply…gave her what was perhaps his most precious possession!

Her expression told him everything, “This is Ailéránen, the ancestral blade of House Mountainkeeper. This was a gift from King Shénemidra to my alicorn ancestor, appointed the protector of Ylánalícë, a fortress in the Alicorn homeland.” Taberanyn was however captured with immense stupefaction, knew next to nothing of alicorn history, and therefore paid little attention to what the Prince was saying.

The Prince captured the weapon in his violet aura and sheathed Ailéránen. “Its steel is woven with a lattice of magic, forged by means long forgotten; there is nothing stronger,” he tried to give it back, but Taberanyn slowly began shaking her head.

“I…cannot accept this…” she stammered, feeling the weight of her peasant background as never before. This was a noble’s weapon, worth more than perhaps whole kingdoms.

But his Princeship was aggressive in the gesture, sparking a spell to induce her magical grasp. Once it rested in a pale blue aura, the Prince backed away from Ailéránen and smiled.

“But I cannot wield it.”  He watched her slowly curl a fetlock around the hilt, closing her eyes to feel the magic that coursed through the metal. “You can tap into an alicorn sword, utilize its infused magic as your own.”

Surrendering to the gift, the midnight mare then telekinetically clasped its straps around her waist and let the blade hang comfortably tight about her. “How could I…ever…,”

The Ruler of Canterlot raised a hoof to interrupt, “I simply ask that you bring it back,” he leaned in with a devilish grin, “And make sure it has a story to tell.”

Taberanyn emerged with a resolute visage, clearly brimming with confidence. She glanced to her sister and her “uncle”, and then turned around out of the tent. Their strides were swift and purposeful, and the Prince heard a distinctive unfurling of wings and a lifting-off flap. Brigandine then pulled from the trunk a sword, a beautifully-crafted yet ultimately mundane weapon the Prince strapped to himself.

A magical embrace took hold of the warhelm placed on the table, and the Prince donned it, careful to slide his long horn through the top. It was an ornamented piece, a gold trim along the edges, with a less-bejeweled replica of his gilded spired diadem riveted to the helmet’s crown. Anymore precious materials would have robbed it of practicality; it was meant for battle after all.

His squire in tow, the Prince at last stepped out of the tent and rejoined his elite bodyguard. In the foggy distance he caught the slightest glimpse of Taberanyn and Henarion soaring to the flank along the north ridge. Battle nerves were setting in, but experience and training gave him a means to calm them; his troops did not need an agitated leader.

His pace sped up to a light gallop, and within a short while he was at the head of the main battle line, just behind the Canterlot Guard. Here were more common soldiers, levies drawn from the Princedom’s peasants and militias. Organized into formations of spears, archers, and swords, they all stood as still as the scant few weeks of training allowed. Most were in the prime of their lives, but a few were either too young or too old for this sort of work.

The Prince silently cursed in the winter chill; these dogs forced his hoof, and he would show them the error of their ways. The sound of his hoofsteps muffled in the snow layer, he slowed his motion to a trot, going up and down the immediate formation in front of him.

His horn flashed, and his throat felt nice and full. A voice-amplification spell would do wonders here. Spotting a number of Canterlot’s and its fiefs’ banners flowing in the wind, he took a deep breath and approached the troops.

“A warm fire, pleasurable company, and stiff drinks, Ay that sounds worlds better than standing in winter’s bitter sting!” a great number of soldiers shouted in agreement. The Prince waited for it to calm down before continuing, “But you all know why we’re here! Diamond Dogs come into our homes, despoiling our families and livelihoods! They must be stopped, and you all answered the call! I see in each of you a hero, for you came not for gold or glory, but because it was right!”

Soldiers were now beating their weapons together, creating great clamor, “And as we stand here in this frigid Windhock Vale, champions shall rise, and legends shall be born! If you should fall, a place amongst the Ethereal Host is yours by right! And if you return home, let none dare say that you were a coward, that you cared not for others, that you would not turn your backs on friendship and duty! We will fight, and the dogs will be stopped here! For my fate is yours, and I intend to see tomorrow!”

The flood of cheering was deafening, and the Prince reared up on two legs, drawing his blade, “But enough talk!” he bellowed, his magical spell rumbling the surrounding ground. He was inspired by his own speech, pulsing with vigor and an overwhelming urged to meet steel with these damned invaders, “I’m cold, and some good fighting ought to fix that!”

He swung down his blade, yelling out the order to march forward. His troops now would follow him to Tartarus and back, and he would be right at the head braving those black fires.

Prince Petrafyrm stepped in pace with the advancing main line, steeling himself for the butchery to come. No prayer had been said to the ancient god of his ancestors; it was not needed. Lórian Almighty had given the Prince well enough; now was the time for mortal’s work.

Dame Wintermail, Knight Commander of the First Battalion of the Canterlot Guard, walked from the Prince’s command tent, alongside her sister and “uncle”. The three stopped ten feet from the tent’s opening and paused, sharing a few familial glances that all communicated a succinct “Good luck”. The white and blue alicorns stood a foot apart from one another, and then shared an embrace. Nikóleva kissed her sister’s cheek, whispering into her ear, “I love you.”

Taberanyn backed up and simply smiled, allowing Henarion to embrace his troublesome but ultimately beloved white ward. He smirked as best as the old stallion knew how. Nikóleva for a moment saw the weight of his long existence in his one blue eye, and the little scars lining his face. The youthful luster from his mane and coat was draining more each year, but through it all he never shirked in his protection.

“I don’t know how your father’d feel,” he began in that rustic northern patois, “He never much cared for knights…but I’m proud of you.”

Nikóleva didn’t say anything at first, but merely stared at the two alicorns in front of her. Her magenta eyes turned back to her sister, “Be careful, Taby.”

Henarion nodded, placing a hoof on the blue mare. He then jerked his head off to the side, prompting the two to unfurl their wide wingspan. A mighty gust of air and the pair leapt off the ground. Henarion hovered a moment, and then curled his large orange wings before flinging them out in a classic stretch. Nikóleva stifled a giggle; he wasn’t joking about being out of practice.

Nikóleva watched them soar off to the assigned flank, then turned her attention to the assembled Guard soldiers by the tent. No doubt they’d just watched the heartwarming display moments ago, but now she was Dame Wintermail, and their commander. She paced deliberately down the line, ensuring the soldiers regained their legendary composure and discipline. One poor fellow, a young teal earth pony, happened to be out of formation: half a foot forward from the line. Wintermail threw a glare even colder than the frigid air at him, and he effectively slid back into formation. The white alicorn didn’t know ponies could even move that fast.

Pikes held high, armor shining, and legs perfectly still, the hundred pony-at-arms were ready to deploy. “First Guard Company, join the van!” she ordered, voice devoid of anything other than authority. The hundred-soldier unit wasted no time in assembling into a marching formation heading towards their destination.

Not much later the hundred soldiers joined with their battalion. Wintermail opened her wings and flew over to her commanding position within the space between the first and second companies in her battalion, the most prestigious and senior unit in the Guard. Her squire was waiting in the spot, dressed in his armor and wearing a Tulicë-sized short sword.

Next a lavender pegasus coaxed nicely to her commander’s right side, wearing the same battle-ready expression. Wintermail glanced down at her Lieutenant, never breaking her countenance, “Anything to report?”

“No, Dame. The company captains have their orders. A wall of pikes; effective, if a bit dull I think.” Lieutenant Stormvane remarked, sounding almost disappointed.

Wintermail mustered an incredible amount of willpower to not smile, “I have a feeling you’ll get the fight you crave.”

“And a hard cider and stallion to go with it?” Stormvane quipped without missing a beat.

This time the Knight’s self-restraint failed her, “Not before your Commander,” she giggled. The dour pegasus smirked in kind, still staring off into the foggy distance.

The Canterlot Guard waited, its line stretching across the field between the sides of two rocky ridges. The terrain was so good for defense it wasn’t fair. The hills weren’t terribly high, but they were jagged and rough, and extended north and southwards a respectable distance; there was a reason the road had been built in Windhock Vale.

Wintermail busied herself by gazing up the hillsides, seeing clusters of naked oak and beech trees. Some had icicles hanging from their bare branches, others patches of light snow. Here, the calm before the storm was especially silent. The only noise the alicorn picked up was the wind, blowing clouds of snow across the valley floor.

It was troubling; nothing to distract her mind from wandering to her sister. Wintermail had put up no dissent when Taberanyn and Henarion were assigned to the flank half a mile north—she thought better of questioning His Princeship. And she had no doubt Henarion would protect her sister with his life. Yet…as the older sister, it made her uncomfortable that in the time before a battle began Wintermail would not be able to look after little Taby.

If anything were to happen—No!...no this was their place. Alicorns are warriors…and royal blood demanded they defend their ponies. Wintermail adopted a sardonic smirk; maybe if she kept referencing her royal heritage she’d start to actually believe she was worthy of it.

Taberanyn would be fine; Henarion and the Marshal would ensure that. But…a little “peace of mind” would do well to keep the mare focused. Magically she pulled out her silver pendant from under her mail barding and placed her hoof over it. Closing her eyes, she began to speak, “Oséo dharet…valediléd. Bacánupilion shaicidangh nghata mahenilímódë héim-mor she midailénilion Taberanyn.(God on high…I’m afraid. Forsake whatever blessings you have for me and watch over Taberanyn.)”

She replaced the pendant and ignored the puzzled looks her Lieutenant and Squire both gave.

A voice in the distance attracted the three’s attention, and a moment later they recognized it as the Prince’s; that vocal-amplification carried rather well! He said some inspiring words to the main line of levies and Knights, and Wintermail regarded the raucous cheering and stomping of hooves. Then her ears caught the order to march, and she glanced to her right to view Captain’s Gendarmette’s position.

Being so tall, though often making her clumsy and conspicuous, served her well here, the alabaster alicorn able to spot her superior raising a blade and giving the order.

Dame Wintermail summoned her yellow aura and drew Eónadin. Black mottled steel in the air, the silver moon and golden sun hilt adornments fully visible to her soldiers, the mare responded to Gendarmette’s command, “Deploy pikes; forward march!”

At full step the three battalions of the Canterlot Guard formed their moving wall of spears and advanced through the valley. Wintermail marched in between her first two companies, having to refrain from her usual massive strides to keep pace. A hundred feet further, and the mare heard a distinctive sound bellow from the fog.

The Diamond Dogs.

As the vanguard moved further, a dark mass of swarming shapes became ever clearer. Intelligence suggested that the dogs knew that Canterlot’s forces were somewhere nearby, but Wintermail doubted any of them knew the Prince was so close. If they had sense, and the knight wasn’t too sure about that, the dogs would have been moving in formation rather than the long marching columns.

The fog wasn’t terribly thick, so visibility was at a hundred yards or so. The diamond dog horde became bigger, and soon the rumbling of their charging and clamor of their shouts erupted from the white mist. Wintermail narrowed her gaze and spotted members amongst them as they emerged from the white blankness. All in drab coats of grey, brown, or tan, these curs brandished their traditional assortment of weapons like clubs, axes, and maces.

They were a savage bunch, and none of their martial arts comprised the elegant tools of war or graceful technique that ponies’ did. They probably didn’t have any smiths of their own, stealing their weapons. No art, no craft, no discipline; just simple brutality and fervor.

Wintermail wanted very much to fly into the horde and unleash an alicorn’s fury, but that would disrupt the organization of the Guard, and throw into jeopardy its role. “Halt,” Captain Gendarmette could be heard saying in the distance, and Wintermail repeated the order. The pike formation stopped at a mere notice, and steeled themselves for the initial charge.

A dark moment of humor found the white Knight when the first diamond dog “ranks”, if one could pretend their loose organization were composed of actual lines, finally noticed the pikes. They all slowed down and hesitated, but the momentum of their comrade behind forced their actions.

It wasn’t fair. The wall of pikes was dense, the first three ranks deploying their weapons with those behind ready to fill in for fallen compatriots. Wintermail hung back behind the fourth rank of her first company, and just watched the initial slaughter.

Those dogs on the front were more than likely either over-eager youths hungry for glory, or more experienced raiders hungry for more glory. Wicked war-cries bellowed from their decaying mouths as they leapt up in a futile attempt to clear the spear wall. The first dog Wintermail spotted utilizing this tactic was impaled by no less than three pikes, the highest one right in his eye-socket. The Guard soldiers retracted their weapons and let the corpse slump onto the snow-covered ground.

His comrades paid no mind, and trampled the deprave thing until his bones were crushed and fur caked in blood. Wintermail struggled to hide her revulsion, and Stormvane was not much more successful, but poor Veroche looked like he might have vomited.

“It’ll become easier,” Dame Wintermail reassured. The earth pony squire wrapped his hoof ever tighter around his weapon, silently hoping to the Gods that the enemy could not penetrate the formation.

But alas, some managed to avoid the spears, the smallest and nimblest of the dogs. A pikepony was caught in close-quarters combat, and earned a blow to the head from a curs’ iron mace. Wintermail watched in horror as the stallion’s helmet was caved inwards, crushing his skull. He elicited a gurgled wail of agony as he fell before the mongrel.

Fortunately, another pikepony opted to drop her spear and draw a sword, slashing open the dogs nose. The soldiers then performed an uppercut into the bloody jaw, knocking him back across the spear wall. Then with perfect discipline the Guardspony retrieved her pike and resumed position.

“Hold the line! Tie them down!” Wintermail shouted, knowing full well the fortitude of the Guard was paramount in the success of this battle. Her soldiers did not disappoint; dozens upon dozens of dogs were falling, the gory show of impalement on display for all to see. Literal heaps of bodies formed in front of the pike wall, and sure enough the revolting but familiar stench of battle graced Wintermail’s nostrils: blood, bile, and voided bowels.

Her squire was shaking, as green a pony as they come. “Steady yourself, colt; this is what they sing about in songs and weave in tapestries.”

Veroche calmed his breathing and swallowed the lump in his throat. He recalled his sword-fighting forms and assumed a wide-legged stance. “Forgive me…Dame,” he struggled to speak, the din of war overwhelming his normally soft voice, “Are we to simply stand here while they charge at us? Shouldn’t we attempt to advance?”

Wintermail smiled, but Veroche couldn’t see it due to her helm’s cheek-guards. She was about to respond when an overzealous dog managed through the pike wall and glared straight at the Knight Commander.

“There’s always one,” the alicorn intoned, readying her sword.

He charged, shield to protect his vitals and studded-mace raised up. A dark brown specimen, with gnarled teeth protruding with an unsightly under-bite, the dog’s yellow eyes burned with ambition. If he slew Maelin, if he claimed her magical sword, he’d be a hero amongst his people, perhaps even immortalized.

Wintermail felt a surge of passion, and apparently this caused Eónadin to glow in its enigmatic fashion. The knight was beginning to feel bored without any action. The canine ran full speed to her, ululating with a malicious and fierce sneer. Five feet from the Dame, he bent his knees and leapt up to meet the tall pony on more equal terms.

The mace was aimed straight for her head, and he was going to cave it in with all the force he could muster. Time slowed down as he traveled through the air, target in his sights. He twitched his right arm to begin the swing, rearing it back to gain some momentum.

A slash went out, accompanied by a wetness and the sound of splintering wood. Pieces of the would-be assailant fell to the ground, his body cleaved in half about midway up his rib cage. A bisected shield rolled on the snow before falling down. Horrifically the barely-alive dog’s upper portion writhed for a few seconds, entrails oozing out. Wintermail had cut through his shield and bones like they were a painter’s canvas. She tilted Eónadin’s blade downwards, and exacted a mercy kill by thrusting the dark steel into his face and out the back of his skull.

Veroche reacted with nothing but absolute disgust, but Wintermail retained her stoic visage, magically cleaning the blood and gore from her weapon.

Another hundred dogs were killed by the spears, the initial attacking cluster now thinned to roughly half of its starting numbers. The Prince had estimates that perhaps twelve-thousand comprised this force, and Wintermail surmised that another wave would soon follow up the first.

The remnants of the first diamond dog line then retreated, the sound of the second wave’s horn blowing in the distance. Not long afterwards a horde thousands strong filled the gaps left by the withdrawing first swarm, possessing no more discipline or cohesion than their predecessors.

It was at that moment that snow began to fall and the wind picked up. Then the earth began to rumble. Wintermail could not see far enough through the worsened conditions to tell what caused it, but she reasoned correctly: the flank had engaged.

Earth pony knights most definitely led the charge, lances lowered into the unsuspecting dogs. Hundreds must have been killed instantly from the mere shock of the charge, and many more from being trampled or skewered. The pegasi, after triggering the weather, could then be seen raining down with lances, some miserable curs being impaled and carried upwards to be dropped a hundred feet below.

The Guard meanwhile continued to fight valiantly, holding off the incoming foes as best as they could. Nothing could match the Canterlot Guard soldier for soldier, but after fighting for so longer her soldiers were becoming tired, and if they continued the pike wall could falter.

A common tactic was to switch out exhausted units for fresher reserves, admittedly like the dogs had done. But to swap disciplined, professional pikeponies for the main line of levies could lead to a collapse of the center. In addition, the hills to Wintermail’s left were rough terrain, but they weren’t impassable. Diamond Dog could have been climbing the ridges at that very moment, preparing to execute a flanking as Canterlot had.

If their superior numbers hit the green main line, or the rear of the vanguard, this battle would be done.

The front ranks of the vanguard were taking heavy losses now, burlier and more veteran dogs assailing the formations. Of her own four companies she could make out no less than twenty good, brave soldiers killed or maimed. Bashed-in skulls, impaled chests, crushed chests…the injuries were as varied as they were horrific. One poor soldier was hooked in the belly with a battle axe, and the responsible dog flung her into the mass of mongrels to be torn limb from limb. Another was mauled to death as one diamond dog reverted to primal instinct, going straight for his face and breaking his snout in bestial teeth.

Wintermail cut down any dogs that got close to her, but she was a commander, and as much as she wanted to soar to the place of fiercest fighting and unleash her fury, the Guard was to hold the line.

But then, Captain Gendarmette, heretofore lost amongst the chaos, was heard with the aid of a voice spell, “Attacking retreat!”

The order was clear, and Wintermail repeated it before separating a mongrel’s head from his shoulders. The Guard, in perfect rhythm, began stepping backwards, their pikes still held forward. This was an incredibly difficult maneuver, one they could not maintain for long. Wintermail was confused, as she noticed the ridge ending not far behind, without which they’d lose their natural protection.

But clamor on her left revealed the method to the madness. Just barely visible in the fog and snow, the main line was seen engaging the detachment of dogs sent to exploit the ridge.

Gendarmette then shouted another command, “Hold the line!” And making good on their reputation, the Guard once again maintained the nigh-impenetrable wall.

Wintermail, flush with excitement let out a massive cheer and swung down her blade again, “Give them hell! Let them go no further!”

A powerful itch gnawed at the alicorn, and repressed energy rushed to the top and erupted. She unfurled her wings and flew forward into the gap between the first two companies. Rushing to the unprotected open, she readied her magic and orchestrated a deadly dancing with Eónadin, easily able to cut through whatever resistance presented itself. One felled enemy became two, then ten, soon perhaps five dozen dogs were claimed by the awakened alicorn.

In her frenzy, Wintermail did not notice the center companies of the Guard withdrawing deeper into the lines, causing the Canterlot formations to bow outwards. Levies and knights from the main battle line came in to fill any gaps. The pony forces bolstered up, the true spectacle could now begin.

The flank on the south ridge was winning, and soon they descend down the slope to smash the dogs as the pegasus-earth pony flank had. Wintermail paused, the red from her vision draining some. The main fight had started; ferocity and inspiration would win the day now.

The overpowering Knight prepared to reenter the fray, but paused when a thought wormed its way into her mind. The Prince had said something about alicorn swords and their magic. She wondered…

Wintermail had always treated Eónadin like a normal weapon, a mundane construct of steel; Eónadin was anything but. Ailéránen apparently possessed “infused” magic…perhaps Eónadin did as well.

Sensing magic wasn’t a difficult technique, but one had to clear their mind and focus. Wintermail wrapped a hoof around the hilt and closed her eyes, careful to remain in the body of the Guard. At first nothing, then a few flashes of power, then…a surge of energy unlike anything else save the experience she had with alicorn magic.

That magic could be utilized by her, and channeled through the blade. Wintermail thought back to the Librarian’s lectures on magical manipulation and pondered. What was a powerful force, something to inspire troops and strike fear into the hearts of her foes?

Moments passed, and the answer hit her with full. She recalled one of her favorite displays of energy and life. Visualizing it in her mind’s eye, focusing Eónadin’s magic, she was caught off guard when she felt…what was almost like a thought, alien to her mind, communicate: “At once”.

And it happened at once. A bright white glow burst from Eónadin’s black steel, and the blade’s length lit up with magic fire. Wintermail’s horn pulsed so fervently with magical energy it almost hurt, drops of pure magic spraying forth. Her eyes glowed with massive power, her full internal stores being channeled in conjunction with Eónadin’s infused quantity.

The ponies all around her recoiled, terrified at this newly-awakened entity. Some even went so far as to mutter things about the Gods. To them, a new pony goddess had graced their battlefield with unmatched power.

Focusing her magic singularly into her blade, Wintermail silently congratulated herself on performing a new technique, one she’d be damn sure to perfect and utilize again. She opened her wings and darted into combat, singeing instantly three awe-struck dogs into a pile of cinders. Slashing, parrying, spinning, and flying she made short work of even more diamond dogs than before. Walls of fire were unleashed as she swung her blade, the immolated victims letting out cries of agony before ceasing to exist. When targets were too far away, she imagined a beam of pure fire shooting forth, and the vision was obliged.

“For the Prince!” she yelled with a chorus of other ethereal voices, raising her flaming sword high, herself hovering twenty feet above, “For Canterlot! For Equestria! Forward!”

The most sincere, energetic screams erupted from her soldiers and the other Canterlot levies. The Diamond Dogs in the vicinity did not stand a chance, especially when a supercharged alicorn, fully enraged and energized swooped overhead, easily dispatching any that came across her.

She lost count how many fell to her new technique, but the battlefield became a mess of speckled black and white power, ash mixed with snow. The fiery sword proved to be short-lived, though to the Wintermail it felt so much longer. But her magical energy was running out, and the flames soon became weaker and cooler, merely burning diamond dogs instead of incinerating them.

The alicorn Knight threw one more fire blast, a pitifully small and impotent one that a diamond dog war champion managed to block with his shield. Tired but still with some fight left, Wintermail floated close to the ground and dropped onto the blood-soaked snow, raising her blade for renewed sport.

But magical exhaustion was sinking in, and she felt a sullen aching in her horn. Five diamond dogs closed in, and Wintermail’s magic was too weakened to manipulate Eónadin. She tried to take it in her fetlock, but her limbs were heavy as lead and her muscles slowly numbing.

Her ponies in arms rushed on either side, engaging with vicious resolve the incoming dogs. Levies wielded repurposed farming tools; flails and billhooks wreaked havoc on unsuspecting victims. Heads were hooked and chunks torn out, and one dog’s chest was caved in by a swung hammer. But all the while the ponies around the weakened alicorn shouted one thing.

“Wintermail! To the Wintermail!” they called, swarming around her and never letting a mongrel so much as glance at their new hero.

She grit her teeth, noticing far behind dogs attempting to retreat. Pushing herself to her limit, the Knight Commander took her sword once more and pointed forwards, “Come on! We’ve got the bastards on the run!” Her voice was laced with anticipation, the mare quite prepared to slay each and every one of the curs.

As ponies rushed off to match the dogs, her own path was blocked by a Diamond Dog Champion, his bluish-grey body adorned with scars. He dragged a club studded with iron spikes along the ground, then raised it up and ran straight towards Wintermail. His mouth curled into an evil smile, and the alicorn heaved, still very weak from her powerful display.

But she would not fall on this battlefield,; there was just enough left in her to cow this arrogant cur. She readied her stance and prepared Eónadin for a parry and riposte. He closed within five feet, and swung his club, almost certain to strike the alicorn.

The club dropped to the ground, swatted out of the air by Wintermail. The champion froze in place, a shard of iron emerging from his chest. Veroche stood behind him, having driven his sword to the hilt into the diamond dog. The squire retracted his blade and stood as his face contorted into an uncomfortable mixture of pride and horror.

Wintermail sighed and sheathed Eónadin. She approached her squire and placed a hoof on his shoulder, “The Prince will hear about this.” The two shared a laugh, but Wintermail lost her footing and leaned on the youth.

“Dame, I’m afraid…I cannot…carry you,” he grunted as the massive alicorn was very nearly crushing him.

Lieutenant Stormvane saw her commander in distress, and flew over to her side. She was halted by another brave dog with a death wish. He swung into the air and attempted to cleave off the lavender mare’s wing, but she rolled too quickly, catching his leg with her sword. The dog down on one knee, Stormvane thrust her blade upwards into his mouth, lodging the blade deep into his brain.

Her butchery finished, Stormvane galloped and pushed her weight into Wintermail for support. “Are you injured?” the Lieutenant asked, visually scanning her commander for any wounds.

“No…thank you, Stormvane…I’m simply…a little tired,” Wintermail stammered, a burning flaring up in her limbs, “I’ve never felt like this…it’s not exhaustion…but as though…” The Knight couldn’t concentrate her mental faculties quite enough to finish the thought. Within the past year she had only begun to explore the depths of her magical abilities. She had summoned a field of flames so hot its victims left no bodies to bury. Wintermail for a moment imagined what might happen if she did manage to master the so-called Alicorn Magic Delbedasir had exposed her to…should mortals even possess that measure of power?

But she was still learning to tap into and control her inherent unicorn magic, and the experience left her in a state ever closer to dosing off. “You can afford to rest now, Dame Wintermail,” Lieutenant Stormvane spoke, leading the Knight back to the rear lines. “The day is ours!”

The alicorn slowly turned her head back and noticed the cloud cover was clearing out, and in the newly-visible distance thousands of diamond dogs were broken into a state of disarray. The flanks had closed in and surrounded, cutting down the fleeing mongrels.

Chanting formed around the white mare, and dozens of her soldiers raised their weapons in unison, “Wintermail! All Hail the Fiery Goddess! Wintermail Flamecaster!”

Flamecaster, was it? The mare smiled; she’d earned a nickname in battle, like all the fierce warriors of history. The goddess appellation didn’t endear itself to her, and Wintermail didn’t feel terribly deserving of such praise. What had she done besides maintain the rigidity of her troops? Only near the end did she play an active role in fighting.

Perhaps she was underestimating just how big an impression magical fire-dancing made.

Iron willed she fought off the creeping drowsiness, and endured the slight burning sensation in her horn from the exhaustion. Raising her sword for the last time today, Wintermail bade for Stormvane to stop for a moment. She let out a howl of victory, and immediately some of the soldiers and levies rushed over and used their combined strength to hoist the alicorn up. They continued chanting “Wintermail, Wintermail Flamecaster,” and Stormvane swooped up and followed her commander.

The Knight fought off the urge to fall asleep, and narrowed her eyes at the army’s camp not too far away; soon she’d be able rest. Dead tired, stomach upset, burning pains in her limbs, and a creepy delirium—Nikóleva did not feel well.

Just a little further…the follow up to the battle and subsequent events could wait. The thought of a well-deserved sleep was sweet indeed, and so occupied with it she drowned out the sounds of her admirers.

And Dame Wintermail, not to mention most of her current entourage, did not notice a midnight blue alicorn standing in Windhock Vale, her own smaller set of companions howling her name.

Taberanyn, direct descendant of the Royal House of Solárindil, as of yet in possession of no honors or titles, stood atop the north ridges overlooking the battlefield. The low-lying clouds blocked any vista of Canterlot’s main body of troops. A cruel gust of wind blew across the bare hilltop; it stung Taberanyn’s ears, and she shivered in her place amongst thousands of earth ponies and pegasi.

Beside her stood Henarion, looking rather presentable for once in his armor. If he felt cold from the winter chill he gave no indication, but Taberanyn could tell from his face he was just as nervous as her. He flashed his horn and pulled a flask from his sword belt. Uncorking it he took a deep swig before offering some to his younger ward.

She took it in her magic, but stared for a moment at the container. “It’s just cheap liquor; it’ll take the edge off.” Taberanyn brought the flask to her lips and gulped some down, cringing at the slight burning in her throat. She hooved it back to Henarion and wiped her mouth with a fetlock. The orange stallion chuckled as he put away the flask, “I feel sorry for your sister; Guard soldiers aren’t allowed to drink on duty. I heard she’s got a reputation…heard she drank a whole keg of ale without passing out.”

Taberanyn returned a laugh, staring off at the blank white expanse this high up, “If you listen in the right places you’ll hear all sorts of nonsense like that about Nikól.”

“I dunno; your Father wasn’t too different.”

The mention of her late father caused the blue mare’s teal eyes to drop to the ground. Her brow furrowed in thought; Taberanyn remembered his fate, and then recalled where her sister had been placed. “She’ll be fine, right?”

Henarion paused a moment, turning his face to meet Taby’s. He gently cradled a hoof on her cheek and brought her gaze up to meet his own. “We just got her back,” she continued, shifting her eyes around.

Losing her sister…that was a horror Taberanyn did not want to entertain. She’d be fine…she was a trained soldier! She’d probably slay a hundred foes without taking so much as a scratch! The blue pony’s duty rested here in the flank, and she needed to focus on her part. After a little while staring off lost in thought, she did feel a little better—probably the work of the liquor.

“Form up!” an old pegasus stallion shouted, emerging from the crowd of ponies on this hilltop. He hovered between two poles topped with Canterlot’s banners, watching the levies and knights gain some semblance of order and discipline. Henarion and Taberanyn stood in the first pegasus squadron, still grounded but ready to take off at a notice.

Taberanyn heard faint whispers from those behind her, things along the line of “gods” and “divine favor”. She gave Henarion a look, and he sneered.

“You ain’t covering your wings; get used to it.” He was right; she’d been wearing a cloak in the winter, obscuring her full feather appendages—now they were in full display. Alicorn must have truly been as rare and surprising as she’d been lead to believe.

Marshal Helmraed’s voice regained the blue mare’s attention, “Down there the Diamond Dog horde advances, ready to add Canterlot to their war-prizes! Well we won’t let that happen, will we? By the Gods themselves, we shall smash these curs against the rocks, and show the world what it means to threaten the Mountain-borne Keep!”

The thousands of ponies on this long ridge stomped and cheered, overwhelming Taberanyn’s ears. She winced in minor pain, but couldn’t help letting loose a shout of her own.

“The clouds obscure us; they’ve no idea what we’ve planned! When the signal comes, we shall join the fray! A hero’s welcome awaits us in Canterlot; let us not disappoint!” Marshal Helmraed then floated down and stood tall at the head of the flank.

Earth pony knights, burly specimens dressed in fine armor and adorned with their coats of arms, waited anxiously, fiddling with their lances and sidearms. Taberanyn spotted the Marshal conversing with other pegasi, flying in and out from other points along the ridge. Meanwhile other pegasi in her own unit opened their wings and unlimbered their stiff muscles.

Feeling out of place, the blue mare unfurled her span and groaned as her joints popped. She flapped a few times and lifted off the ground about a foot, then dropped back down. Taberanyn however opted to keep the wings open.

She nudged Henarion, who rolled his eye before mimicking the exercise, albeit halfheartedly. “You’re going to pull a muscle,” she chided. He just gave off a grunt and continued stretching.

Of course the two were not alone, being in a unit after all, and a pegasus nearby couldn’t help but eavesdrop. The pegasi had little to do right now other than prepare for battle and wait for the signal to intervene; might as well pass the time somehow.

Taberanyn was watching Henarion when she felt a slight nudge. An ear raised up to hear something: a soft little voice down below. The tall blue mare glanced towards the ground to find a small peach-colored pegasus.

“Excuse me…,” her voice wavered with nerves, “May I ask…what…I’ve never seen somepony like you two.”

Taberanyn paused, studying the little pony. She looked young; maybe not even twenty—it still boggled the midnight mare’s mind that Tulicëai aged so much quicker. She looked at her shining amber eyes, so filled with a restrained curiosity.

Henarion spoke up, irritated with Taby’s stupor, “We are alicorns.”

“Like the Gods?” the peach filly replied, forming a look of equal parts shock and fascination on her face.

The orange alicorn narrowed his good eye, waiting a measure of time to respond, “…No. We’re just like you; a little different, a little taller. Ain’t many of us, and we like to be left alone.” His voice sounded perhaps a little colder than he meant it.

The filly became dejected, and turned back to the pale grey sky and low clouds, “Oh…”

Taberanyn felt a twinge of regret, and cleared her throat, “Ignore my Uncle; he’s harmless. We’re going to be fighting alongside one another, and I think it’d behoove us both to form some sort of acquaintanceship.”

Henarion scoffed to himself over Taby’s affected southern speech—the Prince had gotten to her too.

The blue alicorn paid no mind, “My name is Taberanyn.”

“Orchard Blossom,” the filly said, a bit shyly.

She wore little more than a padded cloth shirt studded with iron rings. Atop her was a simple helmet; all a far cry from the dual-layer armor the two alicorns had donned. “Are you afraid for your first battle?” asked Taberanyn.

“Of course!” she yelped, then regained her composure, “How did you know—“

“Intuition, Orchard Blossom,” Taberanyn answered a bit too quickly, “I’m a little older than I look.” The blue mare then craned her neck down and gazed at the filly’s eyes, “You seem awfully young to be fighting.”

Orchard Blossom did not speak for an uncomfortably long time. She kicked her hoof and looked down at the snow-dusted ground. She took a gulp before speaking, “Diamond Dogs attacked my village. We lived on the border, and…I want to do my part.”

“Don’t we all,” Taberanyn intoned, staring back off into the battle formations.

Three times Orchard Blossom tried to say something, but hesitated. On the fourth attempt she blurted it out, “I think your mane is very pretty!” After the words left her lips, she puckered them up at a record speed, feeling her heart drop.

Taberanyn reacted with confusion, and then figured a piece of her periwinkle hair probably hung down from her helmet. She felt a flash of heat in her cheeks, “…Thank you…”

Another awkward time of silence followed before Orchard Blossom raised her shrill voice once more, “You two have been in other battles? What…what is it like?”

Henarion was quick to respond, “I’ve only been in a few like this, with thousands of ponies. First one was…about one-hundred and seventy—sixty years ago,” he couldn’t help but enjoy the look of surprise on the filly’s face, “What struck me the most was it’s messy. And it smells; badly.

Taberanyn grimaced at her one experience with large-scale engagements: brutal, bloody, and full of revolting stench.

Perhaps finding herself amiable towards the filly, or eager to pass the time before being deployed, Taberanyn decided to share a story with the filly: her and Henarion’s adventure in the prairies, encountering a massive burrowing worm. Orchard Blossom was incredulous, but the two insisted its veracity.

Orchard Blossom had little of her own to share, so instead let the two recount other tales. Oftentimes they conflicted on details, each asserting their own version of the events was correct. Taberanyn mentioned one instance where she saved Henarion’s life, but he denied it in a playful fashion, saying “it was all a test”.

These two alicorns were strange in appearance, but they also proved fun company. Taberanyn shared the sentiment with the filly, going so far as to offer to buy Orchard Blossom’s first drink after the engagement.

“All the ponies say I’m too young,” she protested.

Taberanyn just giggled and patted a hoof on Orchard Blossom’s tiny shoulder, “Never stopped me!”

The time flew by, filled with pre-battle laughter and comradery. Taberanyn was jubilant, having found somepony she might call a “friend”.

The three continued conversing, oblivious to a tan-colored pegasus gliding towards the Marshal, who was currently speaking amongst his bodyguard. The courier said a number of things, and the Marshal flapped upwards over his forces.

“Ready! Earth ponies, saddle your lances! Pegasi, low hover!” he bellowed, pleased to see his troops oblige his command. The hordes of ponies heretofore talking fell dead silent and still, lining up in rank and file.

The pegasi squadrons and their two alicorns splayed their wings and ascended, readying weapons and preparing to dart forward at the order. Taberanyn looked off to her right, seeing the wave of lift-off spread further away to the end of the flank. It was actually very amazing seeing so many ponies coordinating so successfully.

Orchard Blossom was jittering in the air, but Taberanyn placed a hoof on her shoulder and smiled, “Stick with us, and you’ll be fine.” The peach filly thought a moment before nodding and grinning back.

The pegasus courier flew back to the Prince’s position to relay messages. Now silent atop the ridge, Taberanyn could hear the clamor down below, the shouts and snarls of diamond dogs impacting armored formations of pikeponies. Dark shrouds of arrows erupted from either end of the cloudy field, arcing up then down on unsuspecting targets. Luckily the pony side released far more arrows at far quicker speeds.

Taberanyn frowned; Nikóleva was down there, probably knee-deep in bodies and blood. It wasn’t right, to let those ponies throw themselves into danger while the flank on the hilltops did what could be summed up as “loafing about”.

But the time was coming soon, and Taberanyn’s heart pounded with anticipation. Flashing her horn, a light blue aura called up the ancient great sword Ailéránen. Orchard Blossom gazed at the large weapon in awe, but Taberanyn paid no attention, too lost in her thoughts. She was about to enter a vicious battle with Diamond Dogs. Her breaths quickened, and those memories of that fateful winter’s night in the North came charging back.

She and Henarion had their fair share of encounters with Diamond Dogs, but each time there was a lingering feeling of trauma. What happened in that cave…it didn’t hurt nearly as much as it had in the weeks following the incident; her sister’s disappearance worried her more.

Closing her eyes, she stilled her body, refining it into that of a composed warrior. Ailéránen in her embrace buzzed with magical energy, and that alone gave her confidence and comfort. She closed her eyes and remembered the Prince’s words on “channeling” magic into the weapon. Taberanyn sifted through her mind and found the lessons the librarian had given her.

A sword was a tool of personal defense, so it’d behoove the blue mare to envision something that made her feel safe…her Uncle, perhaps? Or maybe something to relax her, lest the battle rush disrupt her focus and leave her vulnerable. Taberanyn thought a moment before settling on what never failed to fill her spirits with a peaceful tranquility.

The starlit night sky.

Taberanyn felt the surge of magical energy flow between her and the blade, and soon Ailéránen’s steel flickered on, then became shrouded in a dark purple mist. Dozens of tiny twinkling points spotted the haze, and soon from the crossguard to the tip arcs of magical lighting zapped back and forth in erratic patterns.

Orchard Blossom’s eyes bulged, and she recoiled at the mystical and ancient weapon brought to life. Shaking anew, the pegasus filly was stilled when Taberanyn faced her, the alicorn’s brow furrowed in determination.

She gave a quick nod to her new battle companion, and stared back at the battlefield, her magical sword ready. Taberanyn was impressed with herself, but the past few weeks had been filled with intense magical practicing, leaving her mind in prime casting condition.

Henarion was shocked, but recomposed himself when he saw her hovering in air, ready to tear into the foe. Taberanyn shared her father’s dark blue coat, and seeing his daughter floating before him…it almost was too much. She reminded him of his late friend almost two-centuries ago: young, brazen, but always willing to face a challenge head-on.

He’d never possessed a magical weapon, but Henarion was well aware of the channeling technique, and could not have been prouder when he saw his “niece” perform such an impressionable work of magic.

He turned his gaze back ahead, feeling more confident than ever; Taberanyn could take care of herself after all.

Around the three ponies, other pegasi were awestruck, muttering amongst each other about Gods and immortals. Their morale was heightened, thinking a minor deity with awesome power was to fight beside them. Marshal Helmraed took notice as well; there was no way Canterlot could lose now.

The Marshal wrapped a hoof around his sword and raised it in a commander’s fashion. He gestured to a herald hovering by his side, and the young colt brought a signaling horn up to his lips. “Knights, Charge!” he yelled, prompting the units of heavily-armored earth ponies to careen down the hill, lances lowered and simply relishing the opportunity to taste blood.

A gigantic bellow sounded forth from the hilltop, alerting everypony down in Windhock Vale of coming reinforcements. Helmraed then swooped into the front of his pegasi squadrons and wasted no time, “To the clouds!”

Perhaps two-thousand pegasi then soared above the charging knights, and headed straight for the low-lying cloud cover. The first and second squadrons impacted the clouds, unleashing the stored snow that had been packed within before the battle had begun. Henarion, Taberanyn, and Orchard Blossom unloaded the full might of their pegasus magic, along with a thousand others causing a terrible flurry to confound the invaders.

The third and fourth squadrons however pitched upwards and amassed into a large wall of winged ponies. After a few moments their flapping became synchronized with the beat of a drummer. The air soon rushed into the valley, picking up speed and giving the battlefield now blizzard-like conditions.

With the direction of the Marshal the four squadrons reformed into a unified flank and darted down below the clouds, giving Taberanyn her first glimpse of the battle. She saw the steadfast line of the Canterlot Guard holding off a swarm of diamond dogs.

The mare gave a moment to reflect on the fact that her sister was in that line, though too far away to discern accurately. But the Canterlot Guard would be fine if the pegasi did their part, and Taberanyn steeled her mind for it.

Below the squadrons the knights galloped full speed right into the side of the Diamond Dogs. From what Taberanyn could see, when they impacted it was downright brutal. Lances impaled themselves into the curs, some even skewering through multiple victims. And the charge did not stop at the edge, but instead continued as dozens were trampled beneath the heavy iron-shoed hooves of the strongest and burliest ponies in the battle. Dogs were thrown up into the air, only to fall back and break on the impact.

The weight of their armor and weapons, and of the downhill charge was absolutely crippling to the dogs, but once the momentum subsided and many of the lances became broken, the Knights drew swords and cleaved their paths through lightly-armored mongrel foes.

“Courage, Taberanyn,” the midnight alicorn whispered to herself, Ailéránen in her magical embrace. The squadrons were heading down, swords and lances aimed straight for their canine enemies. Near the head of the first squadron, she readied her starry-shrouded weapon, finding a suitable first target.

The squadron hit the top of the diamond dog ranks, just a glancing blow before darting back upwards. Taberanyn herself made contact with a charcoal-colored one, hearing the sound of rushing air but completely unable to do anything about it. Ailéránen sliced through his head, cutting it in half. Taberanyn scarcely saw the limp body jitter to the ground before she soared back into the cloud cover.

Henarion claimed two with his weapon, exercising his martial prowess for the first time a good while. “Still got it,” he muttered, ignoring the blood spraying his face.

Orchard Blossom however found herself becoming too meek at the moment of truth. She followed the squadron in perfect form but when the time came she withheld her weapon.

The pegasi squadrons curved upwards, spinning upside down in a grand epic loop before heading back down to the fray. This was a classic pegasus tactic, allowing the troops to maintain startling momentum for their impacts. However, it was vulnerable to ranged fire, which unfortunately was the fate of many pegasi. Dozens fell to the ground, many not dead but wounded. If the fall did not kill them, bloodthirsty and vengeful dogs did.

Marshal Helmraed directed his troops, and soon they reformed into a large swarm overhead, the two alicorns at the head. Two thousand or so pegasi then inclined towards the body of diamond dog archers and javelins, these soft targets the perfect candidates to disrupt the rear of the enemy forces.

Wearing little or no armor the missile troops were quickly dispatched. Flying just low enough to engage, the pegasi speared and slashed and lanced with extreme prejudice. Taberanyn and Henarion flew side by side, synergizing their earth pony strength with pegasus mobility. Orchard Blossom, frustrated at her own timidity and uselessness, thrust her short sword into any targets she could. When she finally made contact with the skull of an archer, it took her precious moments to withdraw the blade.

Taberanyn saw this, and immediately lashed back, parrying an attacking dog before impaling him through the chest. Her horn flashed and a surge of magical lightning blew the dog off her blade into a cluster of other archers, knocking them down. Henarion followed up with a sword dance of startling speed for such an old stallion, cutting down no less than five assailants before decapitating a sixth. All the while his eye never left his ward.

“Rejoin the squadron!” Taberanyn shouted to her battle companion, but Orchard Blossom was not prepared to handle the gory reality of war. She stood in shock at the limp bodies around her. Taberanyn narrowed her gaze in irritation but also genuine concern, wrapping her fetlock around Orchard Blossom’s foreleg, trying to pull her back into the air.

The filly was soon shaken from her trance, lifting off with the blue alicorn while the orange one dispatched a few more before joining the other two. Henarion then spotted a dog javelin-thrower ready his arm and lob an iron-tipped shaft at Taberanyn and Orchard Blossom. He slashed his sword and threw the javelin off course to land in the snow.

The javelin-dog prepared another salvo aimed at the peach filly. Taberanyn glanced it off with her blade, then pictured a volley of lightning bolts striking the miserable cur. Her magical channeling indulged her vision, the stream of bright energy immediately stopping his heart and charring his body.

“Come on!” Henarion yelled, realizing they’d been detached from the squadron for too long, their support now high in the air preparing another attack. He guarded Taberanyn’s rear, parrying a couple arrows let loose from some of the archers. He grunted, wishing he could wipe the sweat forming under his helmet; arrows were not easy things to block, and he was out of practice—he couldn’t keep this up forever.

But Orchard Blossom was becoming tired, her nerves working against her. Unable to fly fast enough, Taberanyn saw the little filly, pitiful but also so innocent, begin to lose altitude. She must have not been a strong flier like the alicorn, and if she didn’t act quickly Orchard Blossom would not survive long.

Henarion snorted and followed the charged blue alicorn as she endeavored to rescue Orchard Blossom. Having swooped the filly up in her hooves, Taberanyn channeled her inner strength to fly up as fast as she could, Henarion covering her rear by magically sending his sword into the chests, guts, and heads of diamond dogs.

He was focused, but even somepony as vigilant as him could not have seen one archer dozens of feet away take aim and loose an arrow; inbound straight for Henarion. The shot could not have pierced his plate-mail armor, and by some miracle of the Almighty it did not strike any exposed part of him. But it grazed his right hindleg, creating a shallow cut that would heal well enough in a day or so.

Yet it was enough to distract his focus and hurry his retreat. This allowed another archer to fire a second shot, right towards Taberanyn and Orchard Blossom. Henarion heard the sound of the arrowhead imbedding itself in something, and then his heart skipped a beat, his deepest fear in perilous danger of coming true.

Taberanyn however was unharmed. Her slight daze was broken though when she looked down at the filly wrapped in her forelegs; Orchard Blossom was making an absolutely heart-wrenching gurgling noise. The arrow had struck right in her throat, and blood was welling up—there’d be no way to staunch the flow. The nightly glow around Ailéránen dissipated, the blue alicorn no longer able to focus her magic while this small pegasus laid dying in her embrace.

Henarion, ignoring the mild sting in his hindleg, flew up fast behind the two, hooking his foreleg around his niece’s and leading them to a small patch of leafless trees. The whole way Taberanyn watched helplessly as Orchard Blossom gasped for breath, violently swatting her hooves in some vain attempt to grab hold of…something—anything. Her pretty amber eyes welled with tears, and Taberanyn could see the life drain from them. The last ounce of consciousness the mare could discern from her fallen companion was an encroaching sense of fear, a dread for what lay beyond.

When the two alicorns arrived at a small grove, protected for the time by a cluster of trees, Taberanyn set down the dead filly. Orchard Blossom‘s face was left staring blankly forward, mouth hanging open. Twin trails of dried tears stained her peach-colored fur, blood her neck and chest.

Taberanyn paused a moment, sheathed her blade, and examined the bloodstains on her hooves. She didn’t feel the urge to cry; she’d known this filly no longer than an hour or so. Even so, a grand sense of pity and sorrow knotted up her heart, and the midnight alicorn let out a deep sigh.

Magically she pulled the arrow from Orchard Blossom‘s corpse and closed her eyelids. Taberanyn then recalled what she’d said to the innocent filly before the battle started: “You’ll be fine.” She stomped a hoof, feeling a powerful rage encroaching on her mind. Unable to contain it, she turned her back legs to an unsuspecting tree and bucked as hard as she could, alicorn strength cracking its dry trunk. Henarion lightly trotted up beside his niece, but said nothing. Taberanyn turned and saw her uncle, spotting the slit on his leg.

Henarion noticed her eyes glancing to the wound, “It’s nothing; just a scratch.” He moved forward to be beside her but did so in a slight limp.

“You’ve been injured,” Taberanyn began, her voice heavy and dark. She summoned a field of magic and hoisted up the deceased filly, “Go to command tent; ensure Orchard Blossom receives a proper burial.”

Henarion furrowed his brow, taking Orchard Blossom in his hold with a respect due for the dead, “I will not leave you. I swore an—“

Taberanyn immediately cut him off with a vicious bite, “Go!” She took a couple long breaths, visibly enraged, “You have a wife and son…don’t leave Eldowas and Primrose like our father left Nikóleva and me.” Henarion’s gave a sad look with his good eye, but he could not retort in time. “Worry about yourself for once; you’ve done enough for me all these years.”

The old stallion glanced down at the dead filly, her once-pristine body now soiled with dirt, snow, and blood. What should he do? His sole purpose for fifty years had been the defense of the two daughters of his late “brother”. He could not defend one at this time, and the other was effectively ordering him to retreat.

He did not want to leave her side; he did not want to risk her death in battle. But as he thought, Henarion saw Taberanyn stand tall and confident, trotting to the edge of the trees to rejoin the battle. She was a fully grown alicorn; turning fifty-one just about eight months before—he had only one choice.

He brought Orchard Blossom into his forehooves before opening back his wings. “Please be careful, Tabóna.”

Taberanyn looked back, her mouth slowly curling into a warm smile; it had been quite some time since Henarion had used her fillyhood nickname. Nothing more needed to be said, and her uncle lifted off to the rear of Canterlot’s forces, while Taberanyn walked out into the open.

She was by a slope just behind the earth pony Knights, gazing on the carnage being dealt on the diamond dogs. Taberanyn thought for a moment, spotting the pegasus squadrons making passes on the enemy forces, but then grunted; she’d become tired of fighting in formation. Summoning her magic once again, she tried to calm her mind enough to channel into her great sword, the mottled steel moments later flaring with the night sky. Then from the other side of her belt, she drew her second weapon: a single-edged battle, perfect for embedding in skulls and chests.

Her magic wasn’t potent enough just yet to channel into two weapons at once, so only Ailéránen was granted the privilege. Raking her left forehoof on the snow-covered ground, she snorted and reared up, charging back into the chaos.

An uppercut with her sword split the first diamond dog from groin to collarbone, his bifurcated form trampled beneath her galloping hooves. A second canine let loose a glancing blow that simply bounced off her barding, and she responded with an axe to the forehead, furiously throwing the dead cur into a group of his comrades.

A few knights began cheering for the alicorn, and two in particular dispatched a couple of rushing dogs before they could engage Taberanyn. She charged into an opening in the swarm, surrounded on three sides by no less than ten mongrels all ready to tear into the mare. A flash of her horn and Ailéránen spun around the mare, sending out a wave of magical lightning to the attackers. It wasn’t strong enough to kill, but they were stunned long enough for some of the knights to gore then with their swords.

One diamond dog got back to his feet and barreled towards Taberanyn. She swung her axe upwards, utilizing the blade’s hook on the miserable canine’s jaw, then leveraged downwards onto the ground, ripping his jawbone from his skull. The cur wailed in pain, an ear-piercing shriek assaulting the blue alicorn’s hearing. She aimed her sword downwards and shoved the tip through the dying creature’s muzzle, exiting out the back of his head. She ripped Ailéránen out and readied her stance for more targets.

But she got a better idea, and unfurled her magnificent sapphire wings to take to the skies. A hundred feet in the air, she used a fetlock to wipe away excess blood on her face and neck. From this vantage point, despite the blizzard roaring, she could see the Canterlot Guard line; it was thinning out, and if the fighting continued there it could be overwhelmed by sheer numbers. From up high she also spotted skirmishes occurring on the south ridge, Canterlot’s levies seeming to make some ground against a group of diamond dogs attempting to surround the guard.

Nikóleva was in the vanguard, and Taberanyn would endeavor any way she could to ensure it survived; they just needed time. But then she noticed the vanguard line was bowing slight outwards, the most pressure being in the center.

It was at that moment the midnight mare got an idea.

Sheathing her weapons once again she soared back to the rear of the army, trying to find the main line where the Prince was commanding. After a little while of searching she found a cluster of Guard soldiers just in front of the main line. The knights and pegasi had engaged, the vanguard was fighting, and a detachment was sent to the south flank, but the main line was for the most part being withheld.

They needed to fight if this battle was to be won.

Darting down to where she figured the Prince was, she effectively bombarded the ground near him, creating an enormous cloud of snow.

Heretofore watching the battle and maintaining the organization of his units, the Prince of Canterlot waft a hoof to clear some of the upset snow. He looked rather surprised to see Taberanyn in the impact zone, and some of his elite bodyguard raised their weapons to deal with the new threat.

“Taberanyn!” he shouted with a friendly warmness, gesturing for his soldiers to lower their weapons, “Why aren’t you—“

“Your highness!” the alicorn interrupted, “You must commit your main line!”

“The Vanguard will hold the line!” he protested, turning to the forces behind him, “They stand a better chance than these levies!”

“The Canterlot Guard cannot fight indefinitely; they’ll become tired soon. Have the guard move backwards! Can they keep their pikes lowered while retreating?”

The Prince got a sly smirk on his face, “Of course.”

Taberanyn thought a moment, then continued, “Have then do that, and send in levies and knights to reinforce the gaps. Then have the center retreat deep back here!”

The Prince looked puzzled, “That could stir my troops into a rout! If the center breaks—“

That’s why they have you!” the mare shouted, “Inspire you troops! Lead them! Be a Prince!” Where was this coming from? She was basically ordering a Prince, a pony leagues above some poor alicorn peasant. But there was no time to worry about decorum or proper protocol; there was a battle to win.

The Prince thought a moment, then lit up his horn to draw his blade. His throat charged with magic, he spoke out, “Vanguard! Attacking Retreat!”

Taberanyn directed her ear to listen to the confirmation. Soon Captain Gendarmette’s voice sounded, just barely audible over the clamor over thousands and thousands of warriors ripping each other apart, “Attacking Retreat!”

The alicorn gave a nod to her sovereign and then flew back upwards, watching the Canterlot Guard move backwards, slowly and with their pikes lowered so they wouldn’t be routed. Observing for a time, Taberanyn earned a sense of combined giddiness and pride as the center of the line moved further back than the rest of the van, and the main line flooded into the gaps, fresh pony soldiers cutting down exhausted diamond dogs with relative ease. Now the head of the diamond dogs was surrounded on three sides, and the flanks would be able to spread out on the rear as the enemy forces pushed deeper.

They’d fallen right for Taberanyn’s trap, and victory was all but assured.

Drawing her weapons, the alicorns flashed her sword with magic and darted back into the fighting. On the way out the corner of her eye she swear she saw a large mass of fire barreling through the mongrels, haunting screams accompanying the phenomenon.

She ignored it for the time being, landing back at the foot of the northern ridge. Ailéránen blocked a mace blow from a grey-blue diamond dog, holding the cur in place while her axe swung upwards into his groin. Using that brutal hook technique, Taberanyn brought the dog to his knees, face contorted in agony. The axe head than slashed across his neck, her powerful foreleg slamming his body to the ground.

Five more dogs challenged her, yellow diseased teeth bared in aggression. Two were confronted by nearby knights, and one took the initiative first. Her magical sword was thrust forwards so quickly it stabbed clean through his spine, the purple aura of magic jolting the poor victim. Channeling an appreciable amount of energy into the move, the alicorn burned the mongrel to death. Ailéránen withdrawn, an arc of lightning erupting from the gaping hole in the dog’s corpse.

Heaving in a righteous battle rage, Taberanyn stood ready for more sport, blood splattered over almost every part of her armor. Another dog rushed, admirably managing to parry her sword blow and the follow-up with the axe. A swift kick to her chest disrupted her rhythm.

Then Taberanyn felt a dull throbbing in her side, causing the mare to wheeze and stumble on her hooves. The dog had struck her in the side, bashing her barding with a spiked mace. He tried it again, but a clever inside-left block caught the mace. Smirking, mouth curling into a bloodlusting smile, Taberanyn flicked Ailéránen and disarmed the dog. The force of the move caused him to fall on his backside, vainly crawling backwards as the alicorn narrowed her weapon on his neck.

But the mare hesitated, just for a moment taking pity on the downed diamond dog. It was enough time for him to grasp a paw-full of snow and dirt, throwing it into the mare’s face. He tried to flee, but the furious alicorn swung down her blade. Its immense length met the dog’s back, carving a path down through some ribs and rupturing a kidney. He fell to the ground, twitching and convulsing in his last moments.

The last of the five dogs finished off a female knight by implanting a broad-bladed sword into the exposed part of the pony’s head. Next the large and muscular warrior narrowed grotesque green eyes at Taberanyn. He swung down his sword, but was blocked by Ailéránen, the alicorn’s axe finishing off the previous dog in the back of his skull.

But Taberanyn winced at the ache in her side. The diamond dog warrior capitalized on this, swinging his large weapon down at the alicorn. Baring her teeth, the blue alicorn caught the blade with her axe’s hook, feeling the impact of the cur’s blow.

The mare was becoming tired, the weight of wielding two weapons and carrying armor, notwithstanding channeling magic into one of them, taking its toll on her body. Ailéránen’s purple aura faded away slowly, Taberanyn not wanting to invite the scourge of magical exhaustion. She’d never experienced it before, but that didn’t need to change. Gathering her inner strength, she fought through her pain—what had happened to Orchard Blossom placed it in perspective.

Ailéránen swung to strike at the dog’s exposed left arm, but the mongrel was clever, and took his sword with both paws, swiftly blocking the ancient great sword with his own crossguard. Taberanyn looked shocked for a moment, then relished in the challenge; finally one of these dogs that knew how to fight!

“I was afraid today would be too easy!” the mare boasted, magically pulling her axe on the broadsword’s blade.

But the dog used the leverage against her, ramming the flat of the blade uncontested into her snout. He let out a malicious cackle, speaking in broken Equestrian, “I wish I can say same.”

Taberanyn quickly wiped the fresh blood running from her nostrils and narrowed her gaze. A number of knights and levies guarded her flank, distracting any other potential attackers; right now it was only the alicorn and the diamond dog. He raised his weapon for an overhead strike, but it was filly’s play to block. The two swords locked; the steels grated together and met at the guards, allowing Taberanyn just a moment to swing her axe at his unprotected legs.

He leapt backwards, disengaging from the mare. Holding his sword close to his torso, the diamond dog bent his legs and rushed forwards, performing an uppercut into the hook of Taberanyn’s battle-axe. Held only with magic, the embrace was easily broken, and the weapon went flying into the air, landing a few feet off to their side in the snow.

Ailéránen retort was lightning-fast, but the cur executed an elegant swerve that parried it and exposed the mare. His first thrust merely glanced across her plate barding. The second however caught the great sword, and he applied his full strength into pushing the conjoined blades towards Taberanyn.

She yelped as her own weapon was driven into her cheek, the ever-sharp steel edge cutting a shallow gash in her face. Letting full instinct take over, Taberanyn loosed a magical blast, non-lethal, that blew both duelists apart.

Both recovered swiftly, and readied their weapons once more. Her face bloody and battered, seeing red and prepared to unleash the might of her ancient heritage, Taberanyn brought Ailéránen to her foreleg and reared up on her hinds, wrapping a fetlock around the sword. Her horn flashed, and the starry shroud returned.

The diamond dog grinned as he took his stance, “Fancy trick cannot work. But you give good fight, so you know name of he who kill you: Houndsmaul.”

The blue mare simply focused her gaze and rushed with pure force. Houndsmaul reciprocated, and the two almost lost their footings with the impact. Taberanyn spun leftwards, only to frustratingly meet Houndsmaul’s steel. He swerved the hilt, trying to break her hold on Ailéránen, but she withdrew the blade and prepared a thrust. The alicorn’s sword grazed the dog’s but he dodged the blow, bringing his weapon around to hit the exposed pony.

Taberanyn performed a brilliant short-block that would have made Bretteur proud. But she needed to break his defenses somehow, and quickly. Her mind was whirring, a risky gambit forming. She unfurled a wing, and read his stance to try and determine the dog’s next move. He retrieved his sword into his neutral dueling form, rearing back for a stab.

The alicorn made no attempt to move out of the way, and the dog guffawed when his blade pierced through her body, seeming to hit a joint in her armor. She let out a cry of defeat, allowing the mongrel to relish in his victory.

Houndsmaul tried to withdraw the sword, but was stopped. Taberanyn then grinned; the opened wing had closed over the enemy’s sword, and she was holding it with all the strength the feathered appendage could draw. It wouldn’t hold for longer than a second, and soon the edge would slash her skin.

But it was all the time that was needed. Ailéránen was thrust forward, straight through Houndsmaul’s chest. The arcane hardened steel made short work of his lamellar cuirass, the tip driven deep into his heart. Channeling another bout of magic, the great sword’s aura seared his flesh, and she swung it rightwards out of the mongrel’s torso.

Houndsmaul screamed as his body rapidly depleted itself of blood, the white snow splashed with the crimson fluid. Falling to his knees the dog imparted a final absolutely-loathing stare at his victor, who simply stood as solemn as a statue.

“I am Taberanyn; know the price of marching against Canterlot,” the midnight alicorn coolly uttered, magically grabbing hold of his head. With a clean sweep she severed his head, the last of its blood pouring out. Raising her trophy up to her comrades, she let loose a fury-filled battle cry.

Dozens of ponies, slaying newly-demoralized diamond dogs, cheered away, clashing their weapons together. “Stellara! Stellara Nightwrath!”

“Stellara”? Taberanyn could not help but giggle; she’d earned a name in Equestrian, just like her sister had with “Wintermail”. She threw Houndsmaul’s lifeless head to the ground and raised Ailéránen, it’s starry shroud flickering intensely before she slowly dimmed it off to conserve magic.

The dogs in the vicinity then started fleeing, having lost heart with a pony goddess slaying one of their greatest warriors. “Run!” the alicorn commanded, magically amplifying her voice—a trick she’d learned from Henarion years ago, “Lest you know the wrath of Stellara Nightwrath!” This part of the diamond dog forces was in full rout now, some poor smaller canines tripping on the frosted ground before becoming trampled by pursuing heavy knights.

Calmly and slowly she walked over to where her axe was sticking out from the snow and magically sheathed it. Flapping upwards, she tried to locate either her sister or the Prince.

The Prince caught her eye first, a hundred yards away. Intense fighting was occurring around the center, the remainder of the battle devolving into a mass rout of dogs, the rear finally managing to completely surround the horde.

But there, amidst his elite bodyguard, was Prince Petrafyrm doing battle with a large and fearsome diamond dog. He was accompanied by a number of blood-sworn warriors, each combating a respective Canterlot Guardspony. Judging from the adorning trinkets over his lamellar armor, and a crowned helm, this dog was their leader…chieftain, king, whatever; it did not matter.

The Prince was currently suffering blows from this leader’s weapon, an uncommon polearm. It was an odd combination of a glaive and axe, with a long hook not too unlike Taberanyn’s own axe’s. Petrafyrm managed to avoid getting hit, but each blow visibly wore him down.

He was always on the defensive, and the Diamond Dog would win by simple attrition if this continued.  Taberanyn darted towards her sovereign, cutting down any curs in her pathway. She spotted a Canterlot bodyguard trying to intervene in the duel, only for the chieftain to cleave his voulge into his skull. The Prince looked at his downed companion, and gave a look of panic and fear.

His expression then hardened, and he raised his sword to face his fate like stallion…like a Prince. He reared back and prepared a stab, but was parried. The weapon flung from his magical embrace, the Prince endured a blow to his chest by the pole of the voulge. Miraculously not dead, he tried to stand back up, yet the Diamond Dog King gave him no purchase as he thrust the voulge’s pointed tip in between the unicorn’s legs, missing his groin by but an inch.

The patriarchal cur lifted the polearm again, ready to slam down and kill Canterlot’s ruler in one gruesome move. He bellowed a cry that would put a dragon to shame, and swung the voulge. The Prince closed his eyes, awaiting union with his god. He heard the impact, but found that again the voulge-head had missed.

He noticed a battle-axe was forcing itself down on the pole, and a large blue mare hovering off the dog’s side. A look of panic crossed the King’s face, the visage of someone who’d never known defeat until that very moment. A flash of steel later and his head tumbled to the ground, the body following soon after.

Taberanyn landed on the snow, magically clearing her blades of blood and gore before returning them to their scabbards. “You’re not very good at fighting, your Highness,” she smirked.

He struggled to his hooves, taking deeps breaths to ease him from the mental shock of almost being slain. “I suppose…ruling is more my forte,” he replied, struggling a smile wracked with nerves, “I…I owe you my life…”

The alicorn gave a stoic look for a response, then unclasped Ailéránen and levitated it back to its owner, “I hope I made good use of it.”

He shook his head, “Keep it for now; I think you have some admirers,” he said, glancing towards a small number of Knights and levies shouting.

“Stellara! Stellara!” they clamored, surrounding the unsuspecting mare and lifting her above their heads. Taberanyn was stunned; was this what it felt like to be a hero? It was intoxicating…simply…wonderful. She felt loved, respected, appreciated…like she had done something nopony else could, and it made a difference.

The Prince joined in the chants, galloping beside her, “Because of your quick thinking and brilliant tactics, the diamond dogs are fleeing!

Taberanyn paused, wrapping her mind around just what her role in the battle was, and returned the Prince’s words with a courteous nod and smile. After a little while she allowed her entourage to continue back to the camp or to plunder the fallen enemy, she fluttering back down to the ground. Her next task was more important than self-gratification: where was Nikóleva?

The answer came almost immediately after being asked, as her keen ears picked up a faint range of voices…ponies cheering. This was expected; they’d just won after all. But these voices were muttering a name, one somewhat familiar to the alicorn.

They were cheering for Wintermail—her sister was over there! And a hero on top of that! Taberanyn became giddy like a filly; the two sisters had both performed supreme feats of skill and bravery.

Her elation toned down just a hair; Nikóleva’s admirers were far more numerous—easily a hundred. Whatever she’d done must have been something truly inspiring and awesome. Taberanyn started for her sister, but thought better of it, knowing she must be just as tired if not more so than the blue pony.

Taberanyn decided to let Nikóleva get some rest, while she returned to camp and tended her minor but irritating wounds. Henarion also needed to be checked up on, and the tragic filly Orchard Blossom needed proper remembrance. It was clear and sunny now; at least that would make the aftermath of battle a little more pleasant.

She folded up her wings and began a light trot, reflecting on the events of this morning. Later she could catch up with Nikóleva and mourn those lost in the fighting; right now Taberanyn still had some work to do.