Chapter 19
Letter, sent from Knight Lieutenant Turquoise to Knight Private Emberglow. Contents passed censor, deemed non-threatening.
Emberglow,
You’ll never believe it! My project already got approved! By the time you’re reading this, I’ll be on a boat to the Crystal Empire.
The process was a bit complicated, and much of it is still classified, but basically, before we ever even left for Port Luminescence, other Jubilants were corresponding with ‘crystal ponies’ in the Northern Empire. Just before we returned, we received a missive that approved a mission to the Empire.
When I heard, I was both ecstatic and horrified. Ecstatic because, well, we finally made a breakthrough with the Empire. Horrified because I was sure the issues in Port Luminescence would get me blacklisted from the mission. But, as I’m sure you’re aware, rational heads prevailed, and the whole mess has been put behind us (I thank Steadfast Word. He’s been a valuable friend and ally. Thanks for introducing us!). My own order was able to choose which ponies to send, especially since the missive from the Empire asked that we send only Knights from the Jubilant or Radiant (Mystics were deliberately forbidden. I have no idea why).
So I would have been happy with anypony being sent, because it would mean the Empire is now open to the word of the Saints. It is an additional blessing that I was picked to lead the mission. I thank Saint Pinkamena every day for this opportunity. I’d also like to thank a certain former squire of mine for helping to make it all happen.
I don’t know what you’re working on for the Mystics, but Steadfast contacted me and said you and Delver might need some ‘morale boosting letters’. He implied life-threatening boredom. I hope this news makes you at least half as happy as it did me, and brightens up your day. It is, after all, my job to bring joy.
Love, your friend,
Turquoise
1112 AF, Ruins of Manehattan
Brightblade was already stumbling to his hooves when Emberglow came to. Silverfeather was stirring, moaning with pain. Emberglow saw Bitterroot next, her chest barely rising and falling with shallow breaths. Her side was riddled with shrapnel. A dozen points of sharp pain along Emberglow’s flanks and barrel let her know she probably looked the same. She was about to start a healing spell on the older Radiant when she heard the ricochet of bullets against the shattered pavement.
“Get them under cover of the tree line!” Brightblade ordered desperately. While shield spells were quite effective against small arms fire like the heretics’ rifles, they required consciousness to maintain, and neither Silverfeather nor Bitterroot appeared very conscious. Brightblade dashed over to try and shield the downed pegasus’ body with his own. Emberglow did the same for Bitterroot. The two Knights awkwardly dragged their injured comrades, while doing their best to cover them from incoming bullets. “Where is Delver!?”
“He was holding off the heretics that attacked us,” Emberglow panted. “He bought me time to warn you about the attack on the marines. They circled around behind us. He should be just to the south.”
Both ponies turned to look. The unicorn and the griffon who had attacked earlier were nowhere to be seen. Neither was Delver.
“No time to go hunting for him. We need to regroup with the marines and retreat to the camp.”
Emberglow nodded, and dragged Bitterroot towards the treeline in quick, frantic motions. Her heart hammered in her chest as her eyes darted around, trying to spot any sign of the heretics.
But no attack came, and after a tense scramble, the two Knights reached the dubious safety of the tree cover with their wounded charges. Brightblade lifted the unconscious Silverfeather onto his back while Emberglow did the same for Bitterroot, worry filling her gut as she struggled to pull the larger mare onto her back. She barely reacted when Emberglow hefted her up, simply groaning in pain and then slumping into place. She was like a dead weight.
Emberglow tried hard not to think of the implications of the phrase.
A grim silence hung in the air between them as they dashed towards the forest to reach the marines. Emberglow’s ears still rang from the explosion, but she could make out scattered gunfire through the trees as the outflanked soldiers exchanged shots with the heretics. Her heart pounded with both worry and exertion as she pushed through the underbrush, just behind Brightblade.
The marines were scattered through the tree line, close to the road where the Knights had left them. Most of the marines were wounded, with several wearing bloody bandages, though they crouched down, stoically watching the woods to the west with readied rifles. Everypony was keeping their heads down, hoping to avoid the bullets that zipped by overhead. Emberglow marveled at their resolve, even while feeling a touch guilty about her own protections that kept her safe from the deadly rain.
Emberglow looked for the medic first. Sea Star was hard at work bandaging the wounded, crouched behind a fallen tree twisted and shattered by rifle fire. When Emberglow and Brightblade approached, she was holding a compress on the barrel of a panting pegasus, who was lying limply on the forest floor and groaning in pain. She didn’t need any immediate help, so Emberglow’s eyes shifted to the rest of the marines.
She hated how quickly and desperately she looked for her own friends among the wounded soldiers. Fortunately Gadget wasn’t hard to find, crouching next to a few other marines from behind a fallen tree, watching the forest for any sign of enemy movement with their rifles aimed into the obscuring undergrowth. With a pang of worry, though, she realised that she saw no sign of Gearsmith. She moved to check on Gadget, when Brightblade spoke up.
“On your hooves, marines. We’re retreating up the hill to camp,” Brightblade ordered in hushed tones. “If somepony can take our wounded Knights, Emberglow and I will lead the charge through whatever force they’ve got behind us. Help the wounded if you can, leave the dead behind. There’s nothing more we can do for them.”
Two of the marines stepped forward and carefully retrieved the two wounded Knights. Emberglow’s worry for Bitterroot redoubled as she shifted the limp pony onto the marine’s back. Bitterroot’s eyes were fluttering and unfocused, and her breathing was shallow. She would need help soon.
There was movement near Emberglow, and she turned her head to see Gadget. “How many?” Emberglow asked her softly. Gadget appeared largely untouched except for a single bullet graze that painted her shoulder with a narrow line of blood.
“At least five,” Gadget said, her voice a mask of cold fear. “It’s hard to see in this forest. We’ve been separated from a few of the fallen, so we don’t know who’s wounded and who’s…”
“Where’s your father?” Emberglow asked, and Gadget shook her head.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. Her eyes were fixated on the dark forest, but Emberglow couldn't tell if she was looking for anything or just staring blankly. She felt a sudden compulsion to hug Gadget, but pushed the thought down before it could get dangerous.
Swallowing, she looked back over to Brightblade. He was gazing over at them, looking annoyed. “You with me, Knight Emberglow?” he asked impatiently. She nodded. “Good. Follow behind us, marines.” Emberglow readied her spear, moving to stand shoulder to shoulder with the Mystic.
Both of their spears were out and ready as Brightblade stepped forward first in a trot, then moving into a gallop. The marines formed up behind them, rifles ready for those that weren’t carrying wounded. There were far too many wounded. Emberglow matched Brightblade’s pace, only a half-step behind. She kept her eyes on the bushes and trees, waiting for a heretic to jump out with a weapon at any second.
She didn’t have to wait long. Two earth ponies, dressed in camouflage like the unicorn from earlier, lunged at the charging Knights from behind one of the trees. They both carried rifles, but neither fired, choosing instead to charge with the wicked looking bayonets fixed to the ends of their weapons.
Emberglow hesitated, slowing nearly to a trot, but Brightblade didn’t break his stride. With a roar of fury, he knocked the first bayonet aside with the haft of his spear, allowing the second to scrape harmlessly against his shoulder armor and bounce away. A swift strike with his front hoof knocked the heretic soldier on his side, and Brightblade rammed his spear down, jamming it into the heretic’s barrel. The pony went limp with a shriek of pain, and his companion took a fearful step back.
Emberglow’s own swing of her spear caught him unawares, the haft smashing into the side of his head and knocking him to the forest floor. He fell with a limp thump, eyes glazed over. Brightblade yanked his spear out of the heretic with a grunt and a curse, and the two of them continued on. Emberglow could hear the sounds of the marines, following behind them in tight lines.
“They’re spread out through the forest,” he said, his voice even. “There’s probably enough of them to keep the marines pinned, but not enough to keep us from making it back to the camp.” Emberglow had nothing to add, so she simply nodded as they galloped forward. He turned back to the ponies behind them. “Marines, keep them pinned. We’ll make a breach in whatever lines they have, you all keep them from coming into our flanks.”
Shots rang out from the forest around them, and the marines returned fire as they ran. It was enough; Emberglow could hear the sounds of heretics fleeing through the foliage. Finally they reached the edge of the trees around the Hill.
“Watch out for more mortar fire,” Brightblade muttered as the two of them looked up at the camp on top of the Hill. There was about a quarter mile to go for safety, but there was nothing they could do if the heretics decided to drop more explosives on their heads. “They’ll probably start firing again as soon as we break the tree line.”
“I know,” Emberglow said softly. They paused long enough for the marines to gather behind them again.
“Okay,” Brightblade said, and took a deep breath. “Let’s go.”
The charge up the hill made Emberglow feel more exposed than she ever had in her life. It seemed like it should have been such a simple thing, galloping up a grassy hill in the middle of the afternoon. Any bullets fired at them wouldn’t even really hurt her. But she wasn’t the only pony galloping, and she keenly felt the weight of the lives of each of the ponies she was responsible for. Bitterroot was wounded, and Emberglow didn’t know how badly. Even though she didn’t want to think about it, she realized she might be the only healer responsible for every one of these ponies. Every bullet that whizzed past her, every whine as a mortar closed in on their group, chilled her to the core. None of the explosions hit as closely as the one that had nearly killed her and Brightblade earlier, though it did mean that the Knights and marines were charging through a haze of dirt and smoke kicked up by the mortars. After hearing the third scream of pain from a bullet wound behind her, however, Emberglow decided she couldn’t stand not knowing who was being hurt, even if she couldn’t really stop to help anypony.
“I’ll bring up the rear!” she shouted to Brightblade, slowing down her pace before he could reply. Emberglow’s heart broke with each new wounded pony that charged past her up the hill, several bleeding, some helping their fellows move up the incline. She tried her best to think like a medic, falling back on her training to analyze each wound and casualty, and begin making triage decisions.
Her first step would be Bitterroot. If a quick spell could get the older healer up on her feet and moving, then that would double Emberglow’s resources. After that, she would try her best to save the others.
Finally, after far too few marines had passed her, Emberglow saw the last wounded pony and fell into place behind him. She tried not to think about the fact that Gearsmith hadn’t been among the ponies rushing past her, nor the look of despair on his daughter’s face as she had run past.
Passing through the magenta barrier at the top of the hill was like passing the finish line in a race. The ponies left in camp were waiting for them just on the other side of the earthworks. Tumbleweed was in front, and several marines filled in behind him carrying bandages and bottles of painkiller and antiseptic. His eyes immediately found Emberglow as she stumbled into camp, mostly out of breath.
“We have a makeshift medical tent set up for you, Lady Embeglow,” Tumbleweed motioned to a row of beds set up on a tarp on the ground, covered by a lean-to propped up with wooden poles salvaged from other tents. “We’re ready to begin triage.”
“Good. Get with Sea Star, she knows the worst cases. Lifesaving procedures only right now. I’ll be with you as soon as I’ve seen to Bitterroot.” Emberglow directed the marines carrying the two Knights to set their slack forms down on the first two bedrolls in the tent. Silverfeather had already been wounded before the mortar had exploded near them, and she looked worse, so Emberglow saw to her first with a quick diagnosis spell. No concussion, but minor head trauma and cranial bruising. Cochlear damage, probably from being too close to an explosion. Fractures in both the ulna and radius of the right wing. Dozens of minor lacerations from shrapnel, but fortunately no major tissue damage or internal bleeding. She was conscious, and shook her head as soon as Emberglow was done casting.
“…’m fine,” she muttered. “Save your spells.” Normally Emberglow would have ignored a patient when they protested her aid that way, but in this case Silverfeather was correct. None of her injuries were life-threatening. She moved on to Bitterroot, who was also awake, already trying to raise her hoof to cast a spell.
“Hold still, Bitterroot,” Emberglow chided. “I’ll diagnose you.” It was a measure of how weary and injured the older medic was that she didn’t protest when Emberglow pushed Bitterroot’s hoof down to rest in the bed. She cast the diagnosis spell quickly, her hoof trailing glowing motes in the air as she formed the runes. As soon as the spell released, she sucked in a quick breath in horror.
“That bad?” Bitterroot gasped out with a grimace of pain. Emberglow nodded, her eyes trailing over the wounded Knight. Though the entry wounds looked small from the outside, they were deceptive. Many of them hid much larger pieces of shrapnel, now embedded in bone and tissue throughout Bitterroot’s body. There were jagged chunks of metal, illuminated magically to Emberglow’s vision, stuck in her lungs, in her stomach, in her intestines and other organs.
A dozen Radiant surgeons, working for hours, might have been able to save her. As it was, Bitterroot was doomed to a slow, painful death as the sharp metal inside her tore her insides to pieces.
“There’s shrapnel throughout your body,” Emberglow mumbled numbly. Years of training were starting to take over, putting her brain and her mouth on autopilot even while she was screaming inside. “Major pieces inside most of your organs. You’re bleeding internally from at least four major locations, possibly more, and several small ones. One of your lungs is collapsed.”
“I’m walking dead, then,” Bitterroot said grimly. “Here are your orders, Knight. We’re already hurting for spell batteries. Triage rules, Emberglow. Don’t waste any magic on me. Other ponies could actually live tonight.”
“But…”
“Could use some morphine, though. You’re a good Knight, sister. Honor serving with you. Saints bless.” Bitterroot let her head rest on the bedroll, her eyes closed. She wasn’t unconscious, not yet, but she was clearly done with the conversation.
Emberglow blinked, took a step back, and was suddenly overwhelmed utterly. The chaos, the cries and grunts of pain, ponies rushing around, the barrier still lighting up every few moments from the impact of bullets or mortar fire threatened to drown her in sound and sensation. She felt emotions battering at the numbness in her mind: terror, panic, sorrow, helplessness. She wasn’t ready.
“What are you doing? Heal Bitterroot!” Brightblade was suddenly right next to her, screaming in her ear. She turned to look at the Knight Mystic. He was up close, right in her face, leaning forward aggressively. Oddly, it was his angry, screeching demand that snapped her out of her inaction.
“No, sir,” she whispered softly but firmly. “Tumbleweed,” she called out loudly enough to be heard over the maelstrom of noise and action. “Please administer morphine to Lady Bitterroot. She deserves to pass in peace.”
“Lethal dose, ma’am?” Tumbleweed asked as he trotted up. Emberglow nodded.
“Yes, medic. She belongs to the Saints now,” Emberglow said. Tumbleweed rushed off to follow her orders, and Emberglow trotted to the worst off of the marines, a pegasus scout who was already bleeding through the hastily applied field dressing that Sea Star had put on earlier.
“What are you doing, Knight?” Brightblade demanded loudly. “You barely even cast anything on Bitterroot! I order you to heal her!”
Emberglow ignored him, raising her hoof to diagnose the scout. Brightblade roughly shoved her hoof down and bulldozed into her, shoving her bodily with his chest. He had a crazed, furious look in his eyes, and was breathing heavily.
“Sir, can you cast healing spells?” she asked. He blinked, and shook his head. “Are you a trained medic?”
“No, but…”
“Then get out of my way. This scout is going to die without my magic. No matter what I cast on Bitterroot, she’ll be dead before tomorrow morning.”
“But…”
“Out of my way, sir,” she said through gritted teeth, and before she could think about what she was doing, she shoved past him, hitting him hard with her shoulder to knock him out of the way. Emberglow was sure he was going to retaliate, but found that she didn’t really care at the moment. Ignoring Brightblade, she stepped forward to diagnose, then heal the broken scout.
“Now Silverfeather,” he demanded as soon as she was done. She shook her head and moved to the next worst patient, an earth pony marine with blood matting his uniform.
“Silverfeather’s injuries are minor and non-lethal,” she said. “The medics will handle her once we’ve stabilized those who will die otherwise. Haven’t you ever heard of triage, sir?” Emberglow was surprised at the anger in her own voice, the bitter note that had crept in when she wasn’t thinking about it. She realized she wasn’t just angry at Brightblade. She was seething. “I’m going to do my job, sir, if you’ll let me. I’ll save as many ponies as I can, and I’ll not waste resources on those who can’t be saved. Every second you distract me, or shove me around, or try to give me your idiotic, ignorant orders, ponies could be dying.”
“Ponies that are worth far less than a Knight,” Brightblade interjected loudly. Several marines nearby stiffened, but nopony said anything.
“Silverfeather will live. Bitterroot will not. Nothing I do right now will change that. Now, you’re wounded as well, right? Get in a bed, sir.”
“What?” Brightblade said, blinking at the whiplash of the sudden subject change.
“You heard me, sir. Those are my orders to you. Get in a bed and get checked out by one of the medics. Either Tumbleweed or Sea Star. I have more important cases to see to.” There was no real reason to say that last, but some petty, angry little part of her needed to deflate Brightblade a bit. Even better, he knew Emberglow was right, and as the senior medical officer could actually give him those orders.
“What if I refuse?” he demanded. Emberglow sighed. The exhale brought with it a keen knowledge of her sheer exhaustion, every bodily ache and muscle soreness, every cut and bruise and strain on her body.
“Then I can do nothing, sir. I’ll just have to work around you,” she said, and she began to cast her spells on the wounded marine in the bed. Brightblade stared at her a moment, then let out a scream of frustration before stomping off to an empty bedroll. The display was childish, but Emberglow actually sympathized with him for a second. She too wanted to scream and stomp her hooves in frustration.
She tried to bury herself in her tasks, but it wasn’t quite enough to tune out all of the sounds around her, the moans and whimpers of pain, the soft voices of the other medics and marines, and even the vocal complaints of her commanding Knight, who had at least finally managed to find a bed.
The motions became automatic after a while, and Emberglow took a numb sort of comfort from the distraction. She cast healing runes until her battery ran dry, then switched it out for another. The second was partially used, and there was a small splatter of dried blood over one of the green gems on the side. It had been salvaged from Bitterroot’s rune gauntlet. Emberglow blinked, allowing herself a brief whimper before retreating again behind whatever cold detachment she could summon. At least the motes would be put to use.
Once all the life threatening cases had been seen to, Emberglow moved on to Silverfeather. The medics had gotten there before her, and her broken wing was set and bandaged with a splint. She figured that since the critical cases were all stabilized, Brightblade would want her to spend her energy on healing the most useful members of their team. The idea of it burned inside her; it felt like the same sort of ridiculous elitism that had plagued the Ivy Seminary. Did the Saints value certain lives above others? She didn’t think so, not even their Knights. But there was a certain brutal practicality to it all. So she trotted over to the Knight Adamant, who was resting with her eyes closed, awkwardly on her side so that she could keep her broken wing spread out.
“Are you awake?” Emberglow said softly. The medics had stripped off her armor, leaving behind only a stained gambeson, before pulling a blanket up over her. The silver pegasus nodded. “Is there much pain?”
“They gave me a shot,” the Adamant whispered. Her voice was tired and dazed, but not strained, so Emberglow figured she wasn’t suffering too much.
“We’re going to need you up and on your hooves as soon as possible,” Emberglow said. “I’m going to fix your wing, and probably your head injury. Everything else will most likely have to heal on its own; I’m guessing we’re going to be saving our batteries as much as possible.”
“I can handle it, Emberglow,” the Knight said. “The wing is the worst. Please.” There was a note of fear in her voice that Emberglow understood. To a pegasus, their wings were their life. To be denied the sky for any reason, even temporarily, was torture. She raised her hoof and cast the spell to mend and knit the fragile wing bones. Silverfeather shivered with discomfort and kept her eyes closed, but when the spell was over she began trying to struggle to her hooves.
“Nope. Bed rest until otherwise ordered,” Emberglow said, pushing gently on the mare’s shoulder to keep her in the bed. Silverfeather nodded tiredly as she slumped back into the bedroll, and Emberglow cast a quick spell to heal her head injury, as well.
Once Silverfeather was seen to, Emberglow sought out Sea Star. There were some questions she’d been avoiding, but now that things were less urgent she was desperate to know. Sea Star was wrangling a few of the less injured marines into carrying bowls of stew to the wounded. When Emberglow trotted up, Sea Star turned to Emberglow, pausing in the act of giving instructions to the marines.
“Everypony stable?” she asked, though she already knew the answer considering Sea Star was feeding the wounded. Sea Star nodded. “Good. Um, I need to know if you’ve seen Sir Delver come in.”
“No, ma’am,” Sea Star said. “I didn’t see what happened to him.” Emberglow winced, but wasn’t too surprised. It was what she’d been expecting.
“What about Gearsmith?” she asked nervously, glancing over at Gadget, who was sitting up in one of the bedrolls with a blank sort of look on her face while an unwounded marine handed her a bowl of steaming vegetable stew.
“I don’t know, Lady Emberglow. He’s one of the ones we left behind.”
“Dead?” Emberglow asked, cold terror seeping through her numbness.
“I don’t really know,” the medic replied. “He could be. He was wounded, and we were all a bit spread out along the tree line, watching the road, when the attack came.”
“So, probably,” Emberglow said, and Sea Star nodded sadly. “Okay. Carry on, medic. I’ll let his daughter know.” This was a part of being a doctor too, wasn’t it? Giving bad news to other ponies? She began to trot over to Gadget, when she was stopped by Sea Star’s hoof on her shoulder.
“Lady Emberglow? You’re going to need to slow down and rest, too. You’re also wounded,” the medic chided gently. Emberglow sighed and nodded.
“I know, medic. I’ll talk to Gadget and then find a bed myself, okay?”
“Can’t rest properly in your armor, my lady,” Sea Star said as Emberglow trotted away. “You need proper rest.” Emberglow waved a hoof in dismissal, though she knew the medic was correct.
As she approached, Gadget’s eyes lit up,, though her ears drooped slightly when she saw Emberglow’s grim expression. She sat down next to the marine in the bed, who moved to set down her bowl of stew.
“No, keep eating. You need the energy,” Emberglow ordered, and Gadget shrugged, keeping the bowl in her hooves, though she made no moves to keep eating.
“Any news about my dad?” Gadget asked. There was a desperate edge of hope in her voice,. Emberglow shook her head.
“No. Sea Star didn’t see what happened to him. Did you?”
“No. We got separated when the shooting began. Lady Emberglow, did we leave him behind? What if he’s still alive?! We have to—“
Emberglow held up a hoof to Gadget’s lips, shushing the pony before she could build too much steam. Desperately she thought of something she could say, something she could do, to offer some degree of comfort to the mare. She came up blank.
“I’m sorry, Gadget. There’s nothing we can do right now.” The words were hollow, and Emberglow hated herself for saying them. Gadget’s bright blue eyes were wet, and Emberglow expected her to begin sobbing any moment, but the marine simply nodded and sniffed. She set down her bowl of soup and clung to Emberglow’s hoof, squeezing it tightly. She clenched her eyes shut, and tears dripped down from the corners. With another tight squeeze, she released Emberglow’s hoof.
“Sorry,” she sniffled quietly, sounding miserable and embarrassed. Emberglow shook her head, taking her now free hoof and wrapping it around the other mare, bringing her in tight for a comforting hug. Emberglow held her while she shook, silent sobs finally slipping from the earth pony mare as she hid her face against Emberglow’s chest armor.
“Have faith, Gadget. The Saints will—“
“Ponies of the Diarchy!” a booming, magically enhanced voice pounded on the camp from outside the barrier. It was the now familiar, slightly mocking tone of the heretic unicorn, though this time he sounded completely serious. Emberglow and Gadget both jumped, startled by the sudden noise. Several of the wounded ponies dropped bowls or spoons when the voice spoke, and the chaos of the camp suddenly froze as everypony immediately stopped what they were doing to listen.
“We are not without pity or heart. You have until sundown to retrieve your dead. See to your comrades, and we’ll continue this bloody business in the morning. You have my word that nopony will fire or harm anypony gathering up your fallen friends.”
With that, the voice went silent. Emberglow released Gadget, holding her at hoof’s length and looking into her eyes, now suddenly alight with hope.
“We can see if he’s still out there,” Gadget said, her voice lifting as she pleaded with Emberglow. “We have to go!”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Emberglow said. “And I doubt I am, either. Brightblade will probably send some of the marines who haven’t been wounded. Rest here, I’ll go speak with him. Don’t worry, Gadget. We’ll find out what happened to your father, I promise. For now, you should eat up.” She gently picked up Gadget’s bowl and placed it in the mare’s hooves with an admonishing look, and Gadget dutifully began eating again.
Emberglow rose to her hooves and began moving down the line of bedrolls to where Brightblade sat. Inwardly she dreaded the conversation she was about to have with him. To date, every conversation she’d had with Brightblade had been antagonistic. As she passed the beds of wounded, Sea Star was changing the bandages on a marine as she passed. She glanced up and eyed Emberglow sternly as she passed.
“Lady Emberglow…” the medic said disapprovingly. Emberglow nodded, cutting her off.
“I know, I know. Rest. I will, I promise,” she said, though she didn’t break her stride. She had things to take care of, first. Brightblade looked up as she approached. He, too, was sitting up in his bedroll, and his wounds were all freshly bandaged. His eyes were fixed and hard as she trotted up, and before Emberglow could say anything, he shook his head sharply.
“No,” he said firmly. Emberglow was confused at first, cocking her head to the side slightly.
“What?” she asked.
“I said no. You’re not going out there. It’s a trap, don’t you see?” the Knight Mystic said, rolling his eyes with a huff.
“Sir, it doesn’t have to be me,” Emberglow said. “I just wanted to speak to whoever is going out there first.”
“Nopony is. Nopony’s going outside this shield. That’s my decision, Emberglow.”
“Sir? Why, sir?” Emberglow said, her confusion and frustration mounting. “There could still be wounded out there!”
“We’ll be playing right into whatever twisted plot that bastard has planned. I’m not risking any of my healthy marines on an obvious ploy. If we’re going to complete our mission here, we can’t waste any resources or lives on something as foolish as retrieving dead bodies. It’s not worth the risk.”
“’If we’re going to complete our mission’?” Emberglow quoted back to him, incredulously. “Sir, do you even hear what you’re saying?” Something snapped in her, and she stomped her hooves against the dirt. “Buck your mission, sir! Those are real ponies, who gave their lives serving the Saints, and serving you! The least we can do is make sure they’re laid to rest properly, and not savaged by some cursed creature out there!” Brightblade’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but Emberglow’s rant was still gaining momentum. “And that’s not even counting the ponies that could still be alive out there! We don’t even know if Delver’s alive! Or Gearsmith!” She was panting, twitching with fury. “Do you even care? Do their lives even register for you?”
“I—” Brightblade began to protest.
“No, they don’t!” she spat fiercely, and leaned forward, staring at him. “You’re afraid, aren’t you, sir? You were ready to trust the words of the heretics when they offered a truce to parley earlier, but not now? One taste of defeat and you want to cower behind the shield here, and leave our own ponies out there to rot.”
“Are you done?” Brightblade asked coldly, with murder in his eyes. Emberglow was startled out of her anger for just a moment. It was nearly the same thing Turquoise had said to her, back when she was a squire, when she’d lost her temper at the Knight Jubilant. Brightblade took her sudden silence as assent. “Very well then. My orders stand. You will…”
“I’m going,” Emberglow announced shortly. Brightblade gaped, and she walked away from him. She’d gone nearly twenty steps before the Knight Mystic found his voice.
“Emberglow, stop! Don’t you dare! Turn around right now, Knight Private! This is an order, and you’re insubordinate!” She let the yells and the anger wash over her, not even turning to look or to argue. She’d already made up her mind and set her path. Her thoughts were a chaotic mess, bouncing about in her head with no logic or pattern. She simply needed to know what had happened to Delver, and Gearsmith, and all the other ponies they’d left behind. She was dimly aware that their argument and Brightblade's thunderous shouting had drawn the stares of everypony in camp. She was too tired, and frustrated, to care. Nopony tried to stop her anyway.
By the time she reached the edge of the camp, just behind the earthworks at the edge of the shield, she finally slowed to a stop, her eyes drifting over the marines there guarding the edge of the camp. Each one of them looked uncomfortable. Nopony in camp could have possibly missed the shouting earlier, but neither did they look like they wanted to stop her.
“I’m going to get the bodies of our friends who were killed,” Emberglow said to them.
“By yourself?” one asked incredulously. Emberglow looked behind her. Everypony in camp seemed frozen, watching her with stunned looks on their faces.
“Looks like it,” she said. She began walking up to the marines, not pausing, forcing the two closest in her way to part and let her through. She passed through the magenta glow of the shield, not bothering to climb through the trench, instead spreading her wings and flapping just enough to transverse the gap.
It wasn’t until she touched down on the other side and began trotting down the hill that she realized she hadn’t even bothered to put up a shield spell. Her breath caught in her throat and she waited for death to come in the form of swift lead. Nopony fired on her, and she didn’t feel the sensation of bullets tearing through her flesh.
Slowly she began to breathe again, frozen at the top of the hill just outside the shield. Mentally, she chided herself for just standing still in an open space, before slowly spreading her wings and taking off, flying down the hill until she reached the tree line at the bottom, where she knew the first of her fallen ponies rested.
The forest somehow looked different from when she’d been here, just a few hours ago. Maybe it was the difference in the light, the sun at a different angle. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that nopony was currently trying to kill her. But it took Emberglow a few confusing minutes to find where they’d laid Sergeant Arrow down before continuing on.
The sergeant was right where they’d left her, still and silent in death. Rigor mortis had not fully set in, but the body was already starting to stiffen, making it difficult to maneuver into a convenient position to carry back to camp. Though she wasn’t a skilled flyer, Emberglow was at least a strong one; she’d always taken time to exercise and train her muscles and endurance as best she could. It meant that though it would be neither graceful nor efficient, she would still be able to lift the body and at least fly short distances.
As gently as she could, Emberglow shifted the sergeant so she could loop her hooves around her body from behind, underneath her forehooves, lifting her stiffly as Emberglow rose into the air. She couldn’t get very far into the skies due to the dense canopy, but at least managed to get far enough off the ground so that the sergeant’s hooves weren’t dragging on the forest floor. It seemed disrespectful, after all.
When she broke the tree line at the bottom of the hill, two pegasus scout stallions were there, hovering just a couple of feet off the ground with uncomfortable, fearful looks on their faces. Both of them were wounded, but just barely, having only minor wounds which were all cleanly bandaged. Their rifles were at the ready, trained on the forest line as if waiting for an enemy to emerge. Emberglow set the body down gently at the foot of the hill, just outside the tree line.
“You two broke orders to come help?” Emberglow asked. They looked scared and upset, and neither one wanted to meet her eyes.
“Um, no ma’am,” one of them said. “We’ve been given orders to, um…”
“Brightblade wants you to bring me back,” Emberglow guessed. “Okay then. I’ve always wondered what it felt like to get shot.” Her flippancy alarmed even her; it wasn’t like her to be so cavalier towards injury and pain. But there was something about the absurdity of the situation that made her so flippant. It was as if none of this was truly real.
“Ma’am?” the stallion asked, confused.
“I mean, if you’re going to make me go back to camp before I get all of our fallen, you’re going to have to shoot me,” she clarified. The stallions looked first horrified, then relieved.
“Oh, no ma’am. That’s not our orders. We’re only supposed to shoot you if, uh…” the first stallion trailed off, searching for the right words.
“If you do something weird,” the yellow one finished uncomfortably.
There was something in the way he said it, the way the scout hesitated over the last word that broke a dam in Emberglow’s head. She began to chuckle, and then laugh, great big gasping laughs that felt like half a hoof’s length from sobs. It was the laughter of the damned, the same kind of gallows humor laughter that she remembered from her days serving soup to ponies in the pillory. It forced its way up from her stomach and out her mouth, and she shook until she hurt all over.
The two scouts stared at her, fear and uncertainty plain on their faces, their ears shooting up in alarm. Their weapons were held awkwardly, as if they weren’t quite comfortable pointing them at her, but they weren’t quite comfortable not doing so, either. It only lasted a minute or two, but when she was done there were tears in Emberglow’s eyes.
“Um…” the first scout began. Emberglow waved a hoof as she caught her breath.
“Something weird? Really?” she asked, shaking her head. “So I shouldn’t do something weird. Got it.” The entire situation was beyond absurd for her. There was no logic to anything that was happening, no sense, and she could only either laugh uncontrollably or break down and become completely nonfunctional.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” the grey scout asked. Emberglow could see his thoughts practically written on his face. He was worried she’d completely lost her mind. It wasn’t an unreasonable assumption. Any pony, when exposed to the violence, terror, and loss of the last several hours, could snap entirely and become unhinged. The analytical part of her brain wasn’t entirely uncertain that hadn’t already happened to her.
“I’d be a lot better if the two of you helped me gather these poor ponies, rather than floating there trying to pretend you’re not at the ready to point your guns at me,” she replied, with the same uncharacteristic flippancy she’d shown earlier. It only took a moment of decision. The two scouts glanced at each other, sharing a glance that only lasted a second before stowing their rifles and landing alongside her. “Don’t worry, you can still shoot me if I do something weird.” She managed to stifle another giggle that would have become a second, full blown eruption of inappropriate laughter.
The two scouts looked nervous, but they followed her into the trees. Emberglow hadn’t been with the rest of the scouts and marines when they came under fire within the forest, so their help was invaluable for finding those ponies who had fallen and been left behind. The three of them carried out their grim task mostly in silence, speaking only when absolutely necessary. There were no signs or hints of the heretics, though Emberglow did see places where the enemy ponies may have retrieved their own fallen. There was blood splattered on the leaves of the undergrowth and the trunks of the trees, and Emberglow thought it might be a miracle that they hadn’t been overrun by scavengers or predators yet.
The three ponies gathered the corpses at the foot of the hill, just outside the tree line. Emberglow wanted to be sure each of the missing ponies was accounted for before beginning to haul them up the hill. She wished uselessly for a tarp or a blanket to cover at least their faces with; seeing the dead lined up in a row on the unfeeling earth, their still bodies and faces frozen forever in time, made her sick. It felt disrespectful and undignified, but it was all she could do for now. There was still no sign of Delver or Gearsmith.
“How many did we lose?” Emberglow asked when she and the scouts had hauled the fifth casualty out of the forest. It was a pegasus mare, one of the scouts, and Emberglow thought there could be no more heartbreaking sight in the world than the mare’s limp, still wings, shattered and broken and useless forever. The two scouts were stoic, but there was a dampness in both of their eyes and a stiffness to their movements. Neither one could manage to look on their dead comrade’s face.
“Six, plus Sir Delver,” the yellow scout supplied. Emberglow nodded.
“So we’re only looking for Gearsmith and Delver. Last I saw Sir Delver was back near the road. Does anypony mind if we fly? I’ve seen enough of the inside of this forest.”
There were no objections. Taking to the air, however briefly, felt strangely liberating. She knew that there were probably heretics watching them, but Emberglow found herself just a bit too numb to care. She found herself vacillating wildly between two extremes; in one instant either wracked with sorrow or hysteria, in the next completely frozen and shut down. The trained doctor inside her was setting off alarms; this clearly wasn’t a healthy state of mind.
But she’d given up on caring about it, so she waited for some heretic to decide that this whole truce was really just a great opportunity to snipe a Knight out of the sky and end her life with a bullet, or a blast of magical energy. A rather large rock, levitated with the right amount of force, could probably do the job. She shook her head, trying to clear it of her macabre thoughts. She had a job to do; if she was going to get picked off by a heretic, at least she could go down searching for her friends and comrades.
“The last I saw him, he was over there,” Emberglow said, and the three set off in the direction she indicated. There was no evidence of their fight, no blood on the ground. She couldn’t see either the griffon or the unicorn who’d attacked. She trotted towards the ruins, her eyes scanning the stone, looking for a telltale glint of modern metal or the blue paint of a Knight Adamant’s armor.
Finally, Emberglow spotted the form of her friend, slumped over a broken wall only two hoof lengths high. His spear was fallen, abandoned on the ground just next to him, and there were splatters of drying blood all around. His armor was dirty and stained, and it was clear that he was no longer alive. Emberglow rushed over anyways, holding on to that last iota of hope. The two scouts, startled by her sudden rush, followed behind.
Delver was dead. Emberglow had expected it when she had left the camp, but that didn’t make it hurt less. The pain of loss hit her suddenly, bursting through her numbness like a floodgate, and she lifted his body off of the broken wall, turning him over gently. His eyes were open, frozen in an expression of pain. She smoothed out his features with a hoof and closed his eyes. All of the wounds she could see were deep claw marks; it was pretty obvious the griffon had been too much for the veteran Knight after she’d gone to find Brightblade. With a moan of dismay, the tears finally came.
“Delver, I’m sorry,” she muttered. It was her fault. If she’d stayed, he’d probably still be alive. She wept for a while, not the hysterical laughing sobs of earlier but a quiet thing of hot, bitter tears of grief and guilt. She replayed the last few seconds before she left in her head, wondering what she could have done differently. Could she have changed anything? What if they’d gone back for him, would Delver have survived? Emberglow’s energy seemed to drain out of her, and she slumped onto the ground, cradling her fellow Knight’s body. The scouts watched her, their expressions a mixture of understanding and compassion.
“He was a good pony,” the yellow one volunteered. “Good leader. He cared about us. Took the time to learn our names.” It was another stab of guilt for Emberglow; she hadn’t learned the names of the scouts yet. She opened her mouth to ask, but another voice interrupted, booming out boldly over the ruins. It was a voice nopony recognized.
“There’s mutant scavengers about. Two headed mosquitoes the size of your head. Vultures with necks longer than a python. Venomous tunneling rats. If y’all wanna get your guts sucked out, that’s fine by me, but I’d wanna get out of here if I were you.”
Emberglow surged to her hooves and both scouts drew their rifles, aiming at the newcomer. It was the same pastel pink unicorn she’d fought earlier, the one fighting alongside the griffon who had killed Delver. She was standing about thirty yards away. She still wore her headband and her camouflage robe, though they both appeared stained and in some places splattered with blood. On the surface, she seemed unconcerned that there were two rifles pointed at her, though her horn was lit and glowed with an aura of magic. Emberglow couldn’t see that she was casting any spells, so she was probably just holding herself at the ready.
“Relax, I’m not gonna do anything,” the unicorn scoffed. “Truce, remember?”
“Why?” Emberglow called out.
“Because we’re better than you,” the heretic replied, lifting her nose slightly in a gesture of contempt. “D’you think your shiny little purple smart leader would do the same if the situation was reversed?” Emberglow said nothing, and the heretic laughed. “Thought so. Now I’d get, if I were you. You’re running out of time, and we’ll fire on anypony out of the shield after sundown.”
“We still have one more casualty to find,” Emberglow called back.
“Earth pony, marine uniform, blue fur?” the heretic asked. When Emberglow again remained silent, the unicorn continued. “Don’t worry about him, he’s fine. You won’t find his body because we took him. Prisoner of war. Don’t worry, we’re not monsters like you. He’ll be unharmed for now.”
“Where is he? Where is Gearsmith?” Emberglow demanded, nearly tripping over Delver’s body as she instinctively tried to move towards the unicorn. Both scouts reached out to stop her.
“I told you. He’s safe, we’ve got him, he’ll be fine. Odds are he’ll be the only one of you lot to survive this mistake,” the mare shot back. “Now hurry on back and tell your boss that this is all a waste of time. Our boss’ offer still stands; if he wants to leave, we’ll hold the door open for him. We’ll even give you back your marine.”
The three ponies glanced at each other, though the scouts refused to take their eyes off the unicorn for more than a split second. Nopony wanted a fight, and there didn’t seem to be much more gained from conversation. With difficulty, and help from the scouts, Emberglow managed to position Delver on her back. Between his larger size and his metal armor, he would probably be far too heavy to fly with like she had with the sergeant. The unicorn watched the entire time, silently, her expression inscrutable. When they finally began heading back towards the hill, with the two scouts backing away with rifles ready, she raised her voice one last time.
“Hey. What was his name?” she asked. Emberglow looked back at her, both confused and angry.
“You don’t have the right to ask that question,” she stated. The scouts glared at the heretic.
“Sure, if you want,” the heretic replied. “He fought well. Bravely, ya know? Dad likes to know the names of his toughest opponents. So he can honor them. It’s a griffon thing, passed down from Gallus Freewind.”
“We have nothing more to say to you,” Emberglow said, and turned her back on the unicorn. With a shrug of disappointment, the unicorn turned around as well and slunk off through the ruins, away from them all. The scouts kept their eyes on her until they crossed the broken street and reached the tree line. Once again she hesitated; she didn’t want to go back into the trees.
“We’ll help you, and fly him over the trees,” the grey one offered. Emberglow nodded. The two of them took her heavy burden from her, awkwardly carrying the fallen Knight between the two of them while Emberglow followed behind. They flew over the trees and back to the hill where, to Emberglow’s surprise, ponies from the camp were already retrieving the fallen they’d lined up at the bottom.
It appeared Sir Brightblade had changed his mind, unless more ponies had decided to defy him. She hoped it was the former. Her own insubordination was one thing, but inspiring that kind of rebellion in others made her feel low. It wasn’t that she thought she had been wrong, but she hadn’t really paused to consider the consequences of what she was doing. The idea that Emberglow might inspire others into sinful disobedience twisted her gut with shame.
Gadget was among those marines who were helping to haul the fallen ponies up the hill towards the camp. As soon as Emberglow landed, she and one other marine gently lowered Delver’s body from her back onto one of several stretchers the marines had built and brought down from the camp. Everypony who could see what was happening paused, glancing their way with somber expressions. Gadget glanced at Delver’s lifeless body and blinked away tears, before looking back up at Emberglow impatiently.
“Where’s Dad?” Gadget asked. Emberglow had dreaded this. “Did you find him, too?” Hope warred with dread in the mare’s voice and demeanor.
“He was captured. By the enemy. They said he’s alive.”
“Captured? He’s a prisoner? That means he’s safe, at least. But wait, you said you talked to the heretics? But…”
“Later,” Emberglow said, hushing the mare. “Let’s get this done first, okay?” Gadget blushed, but nodded. “How angry is Brightblade?” She kept her voice low as she took up the back of the stretcher. Gadget took the front, cringing at the question.
“He’s… uh… angry,” Gadget said nervously. “I think you need to worry more about Sea Star, though. She looked like she was gonna kill you.”
“Sea Star? But…” Emberglow began, but then remembered. The medic mare hadn’t given her an order to rest, but she might as well have, right before her explosion at Brightblade. Then Emberglow had run off to retrieve bodies. She keenly felt the need for rest in every single one of her muscles and bones. “I’ll apologize to her.” In front of her Gadget gave a wan smile. It had no real cheer to it.
Marching up the hill for the second time today was even more taxing than the first. By the time she reached the top, Emberglow wanted simply to slump into her bedroll and sleep for a month. But there were things that had to be dealt with first. The bodies she could leave to the two medics. Sir Brightblade stood in the center of the camp, watching her approach with Delver’s body. His expression was patient but barely, a thin cork holding back an entire bottleful of repressed fury. His eyes bored into her, but he didn’t approach her. Once eye contact was made, he nodded stiffly before trotting back to the command tent. He turned to look again before he entered, an expectant look on his face. She nodded back.
The bodies were laid down in a row, covered by blankets so that only the still, vague pony shapes could be seen. Emberglow ached as she thought about the loss, a pain freshened again by the realization that she hadn’t even been there when Bitterroot had slipped away. She hoped the lethal dose of morphine had taken away all the agony before the veteran had died. Once Delver and the others were in place, the two surviving medics approached her.
“What now, Lady Emberglow?” Tumbleweed asked. “Should we… dig graves?”
“I’d rather not lay these ponies to rest here on this hill, so far from their homes,” Emberglow replied. “But we might have to. I’ll ask Brightblade. I think he wants to speak with me right now.”
“You need to rest and eat, Lady Emberglow,” Sea Star insisted.
“I will. I promise.”
“Just like you said you would before you charged off, by yourself, into lethal territory?” she accused angrily. Tumbleweed glanced at her, shocked, and she blushed, looking embarrassed and a touch afraid. “Uh, sorry ma’am.”
“No, you’re right,” Emberglow said gently, patting the medic’s shoulder. “I will rest as soon as I’ve spoken with Brightblade. You have my word. I’ll swear on the Book, if you need me to.” The pale attempt at levity didn’t really elicit more than a thin smile from both medics, but Emberglow had expected as much.
“Can we at least help you out of your armor?” Sea Star asked, and Emberglow relented.
Clad only in her gambeson, and after two more promises to seek her bed and a bit of rations for herself as soon as she’d spoken with Brightblade, Emberglow finally trotted off towards the command tent. She hadn’t taken much time to think about what might come of her little public insubordination against her commander earlier, but now the dread of this meeting was setting in. She was fairly certain that she might have ended her career. A discharge from the Knights might actually be a best case scenario at this point. A court martial was nearly guaranteed. She lifted the flap aside and slipped into the tent as unobtrusively as possible. Brightblade sat alone, next to the small table that held the maps, looking just as exhausted as she was.
“So,” he began, then fell silent. Emberglow said nothing. She imagined, as an interrogation technique, the silence was supposed to unsettle her, but she was just too tired to care.
“I’m sorry I had to defy you like that, sir. In public, with all the marines watching. It was inappropriate.”
“’You’re sorry you ‘had to’?” Brightblade snorted. “Sounds like a piss poor apology to me.”
“I’m not going to say I’m sorry for what I did. That would be a lie,” Emberglow stated. Brightblade gave an annoyed grunt, muttering something angry under his breath.
“I could have you shot, you know,” Brightblade mused. He didn’t sound like he was joking. “Executed for insubordination. It’s within my legal right. Convince me why I shouldn’t.”
It was not exactly a conversation that Emberglow had been prepared for. She was exhausted and depressed, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up in her bedroll for a week. She blurted out the first thing she could think of.
“Because, um, you need me, sir. With Bitterroot killed in action, I’m the only Radiant left.”
“I know a few heal spells,” Brightblade said. “Joyful Sound does as well. I’m sure Silverfeather and Gem aren’t entirely ignorant of combat first aid. You’re not completely indispensable, and if that’s why you thought you could defy me, you’re wrong.”
“I don’t think I’m indispensable, sir. That’s not why I disobeyed you,” she said. She expected to feel fear at the threat he was making, but instead she felt nothing. “Killing me would be a waste of resources, and terrible for morale.” Brightblade gave a snort of laughter.
“Is that the best you can do?” he sneered at her, before deflating into his own look of slumped exhaustion. “Unfortunately, you’re right. I can’t do anything to you yet. But let me make the situation clear. Right now, even with your defiance, you’re still a resource to me. The instant you become a liability, I’ll snuff you out. And you can be certain that my official report will contain everything you have done out here. That almost certainly means a court martial. Enjoy your last days in the Knighthood, Emberglow. I suspect you might not be long for our ranks.”
“Yes sir,” Emberglow said simply. She didn’t have anything to add; it was not like she hadn’t come to those same conclusions already.
“So, going forward, I’m going to need you firmly on board with me. One hundred percent obedience to my orders. Your little dramatic scene out there had everypony in camp sitting up and paying attention. I can’t have that sort of thing happen again. Nopony besides you has questioned my authority yet, but if you’re not behind me all the way it will get much worse. Discipline and order will keep us alive, chaos and disharmony won’t. So yes, maybe I’ll have you clapped in irons the second we make landfall back in New Canterlot City, but for now can you please fall in step and play nice so I don’t have to arrange a firing squad?”
“Yes sir,” Emberglow repeated. Brightblade searched her face silently for a few moments, his suspicious eyes boring into her. She stood still, not quite at attention, waiting for him to dismiss her.
“Get out of here,” he finally hissed, waving his hoof at her. “I don’t want to see your face again until morning, and then only if I have to.” With a short nod Emberglow spun and left the tent.
Outside, there were two marines waiting for her, standing a few feet outside the command tent flap. Sea Star and Gadget both looked tired, covered in sweat and grime, but otherwise healthy. There was a stern look on both of their faces.
“Were you listening?” Emberglow asked. Both mares shook their heads.
“No ma’am. I’m simply here to ensure that you wind up where you’re supposed to be,” Sea Star said formally. “Even if I have to drag you by your ear.”
“I’ve just been recruited to help,” Gadget said. She looked nervous. “But I’m under orders to help with ear dragging if requested.” It was a sign of Emberglow’s exhausted mind that the idea of Gadget biting her ear didn’t sound half bad. She nearly giggled at the loopy thought. Her career was probably over, she might not live through the next few days, and she was busy giggling at a clearly sinful impulse. She really did need rest.
“Very well then, marines. I won’t resist arrest,” Emberglow said, trying and failing to repress the little giggle that spilled out. The other two mares looked at her askance, but neither said anything. They took positions on either side of her as they escorted her to her tent. The whole situation struck her rest-deprived mind as hilarious, until she remembered the fate of the mare she’d been sharing her tent with.
“Sea Star. I couldn’t be there when Bitterroot died,” Emberglow began. Sea Star shook her head.
“No. I can hear that guilt in your voice, Lady Emberglow. You’re not going to beat yourself up about Lady Bitterroot. We gave her enough morphine to pass peacefully. It’s beyond your hooves, she’s with the Saints now. You need to worry about your own health right now.”
Emberglow did her very best to take the advice, but when they reached her tent, it simply felt far too empty. Both of the other mares must have sensed her mood.
“Marine, stay here and make sure the lady takes her rest. I’ll go fetch her some rations,” Sea Star ordered as she gently but firmly shoved Emberglow down onto her bedroll. Emberglow didn’t put up a fight.
“Yes, ma’am,” Gadget said, her eyes on Emberglow as Sea Star slipped out of the tent.
“What about you?” Emberglow asked, mostly to fill the strained silence that descended on the two mares.
“Sea Star already made me eat,” Gadget whispered. Emberglow could hear the fear, the pain, in her voice. Of course. Gadget was worried about her father. “So…”
“I don’t know much,” Emberglow admitted. “Just what the unicorn said to us when we were retrieving Delver’s body. I don’t even know if she was telling the truth. I’m sorry.”
“So she said he was taken? He’s their prisoner now?” Gadget asked, her voice quivering and on the edge. Emberglow nodded. “She wouldn’t have any reason to lie, would she? What’s gonna happen to him?”
“I don’t know, Gadget,” Emberglow whispered, and flinched as the marine tried to hold back a whimpering sob. Gadget’s eyes were clenched shut and she sat back on her haunches, wrapping her forehooves around herself and shaking. Emberglow wished she could reach out and comfort the mare. She wished she had the courage to wrap her hooves around the marine, to take her into a soft, gentle embrace, and to help her forget about everything for just a few seconds. She wished she didn’t hate herself so much for doing nothing. She wished she didn’t feel so guilty for wanting to do something.
Sea Star came back with a dented but clean camp stove, full of a stew made of rehydrated carrots and peas. She sat it down on the ground next to Emberglow’s bedroll.
“Please eat and rest, Lady Emberglow,” she said, glancing worriedly at Emberglow. “We’re going to need you at your best if we’re going to make it out of this crazy place in one piece.” The last sentence felt forced, almost as if Sea Star knew she was guilt tripping Emberglow. Emberglow didn’t have much of an appetite, but she’d try to force herself to eat. Guilt tripping or not, Sea Star was right — Emberglow still had a duty to the other ponies. With one last worried glance at the other two, Sea Star slipped out of the tent. Gadget rose to her hooves and moved to follow.
“You don’t have to go!” Emberglow blurted, flinching and blushing at how the words just seemed to spill out of her. “I mean, if you don’t want to.” The bowl of stew sat on the ground, ignored, as the two mares stared at each other. Gadget nodded, moving closer to Emberglow before sitting back down.
“You should eat,” Gadget whispered hoarsely. Emberglow nodded. Neither pony moved. Emberglow didn’t even glance at her bowl. She licked her lips; her mouth was suddenly dry. “Did you…” the young marine began, then blushed, turning away.
“What?” Emberglow asked quietly. Gadget shook her head.
“What’s going to happen to you now?” the marine asked. It was obviously not the question she’d been about to ask. Emberglow considered quietly for a few moments. Gadget needed reassurance, something positive to focus on, but Emberglow didn’t have any polite lies to give her.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Brightblade said he thought about having me shot. He’s definitely going to recommend a court martial when we get back.”
“Nopony in camp would shoot you,” Gadget scoffed. “We all saw you walk out there, all by yourself, just to bring back our own.”
“It was a dumb decision,” Emberglow said. Gadget shrugged.
“Maybe so, Lady Emberglow. But we all love you for it,” Gadget said. “Did you… did you really go out there to see what happened to my dad?”
“Yes, and Delver. I couldn’t…” Emberglow fell silent as Gadget suddenly silenced her with a kiss. Their lips met suddenly as Gadget surged forward. Gadget’s lips were chapped and dry but sweet, so sweet as they moved against Emberglow’s. She melted into the kiss, for just a second forgetting everything that was happening. She let out a noise that may have been somewhere between a whimper and a moan. Emberglow nearly reached out with her hooves to wrap around the other mare, but then there was nothing. A panicked Gadget jerked away.
“I’m sorry! Emberglow, I’m so sorry! I didn’t…” she cut off with a strangled yelp, before dashing out the tent. Emberglow was left staring dumbly at the tent flap, still waving gently from the movement of the mare’s escape.