Lord Sharptalon was not in a good mood. The griffin Lord of Talos had been given full command of one of the armies that had invaded Prance, a task that he had long anticipated and had vowed to fulfill to the best of his abilities. Unfortunately, he hadn’t anticipated the fact that not everyone under his command would be willing to follow his instructions without question.
The exception was standing in front of him, massive hands on the table that he had set up inside his command tent as his long, grey muzzle bellowed into the griffin’s face. The minotaur doing the shouting was the leader of a sellsword company, one that King Aeris had given Sharptalon for the specific task of acting as shock troops once the gates of a town were breached. Unfortunately, the siege of Watchover, despite early successes in the battle below the town, had been bogged down by the tenacity of the city’s defenders and the formidableness of the city’s walls. The minotaurs were not a patient bunch, and were growing restless and confrontational with each passing day.
“I DIDN’T ACCEPT ONE THOUSAND PIECES OF GOLD TO SIT AROUND ON MY ASS AND DO NOTHING!” the minotaur roared as his yellow eyes glared at Sharptalon, whose own glare matched the bull’s for intensity and far outstripped it in coldness.
“No, but you did accept it to follow my instructions,” Sharptalon said as he shoved his chair back and got up, the better to look the minotaur in the eye. “In case you forget, Commander, you are a soldier in my army. As much as I would like to send you and your lot over the walls, we can’t build anything that would support your weight. The siege towers are for my soldiers alone, which is the specific reason that your troops haven’t been sent in yet.”
“Well why isn’t that gate down, then?!” the minotaur asked, shoving his nose up against Sharptalon’s beak. “Seems to me like you griffins are just too scared to try and do anything to ‘em!”
“In case you haven’t noticed,” Sharptalon countered calmly, “which with a brain your size is no great surprise to me, we’ve lost five battering rams attempting to break the gates down. If you would like to brave the oil and flaming arrows that they send at us whenever we attempt to break the gates, be my guest. I’m certain your men will make wonderfully bright torches.”
“Why you-“ the minotaur snarled, reaching out a hand to grab Sharptalon by the neck. Sharptalon grabbed the minotaur’s wrist in a vice-like grip, his cold grey eyes never leaving the minotaur’s face as he effortlessly held the bull’s arm away from him.
“Attempt to touch me again,” he whispered, “And I will make you regret it.”
“Ha!” the minotaur barked, a snide grin finding its way onto his face. “I’d like to see you try! You griffins couldn’t land a finger on OOOOOOOFFFF!”
The sudden change of tone and word came as Sharptalon’s free hand had sped forward faster than the minotaur could react, slamming into his relaxed belly right on the minotaur’s navel, sinking in to the wrist. The minotaur’s eyes widened and his cheeks bulged immensely before a torrent of spit and warm air exited his lips, the bull gagging and choking as he looked down at the feathery arm protruding from his gut. He looked back up at Sharptalon as the griffin spoke again.
“Now, let’s try this again, shall we?” Sharptalon asked. “This is how it will go, cow. I am in command here, not you. You are here because you follow my orders. You will go in when I say so, and not before. If you ever barge into my tent again without permission and without a good reason, a fist won’t be the only thing in your belly. Understand?” he asked, giving the still-buried fist in the minotaur’s gut a harsh twist that made the minotaur groan in pain.
“Y…yes, sir…ooough…”
“Good,” Sharptalon said, taking his fist out of the minotaur’s stomach. “Now get out,” he ordered, slamming his other fist into the minotaur’s belly hard enough to shove him out of the tent, rather enjoying the elastic quality of the minotaur’s stomach as his fist sank in to the wrist once more, then pulled out as the minotaur stumbled backwards. The minotaur staggered away, holding his belly and clapping a hand over his mouth as he tried not to throw up. Sharptalon hung his head and sighed. He hated mercenaries. No discipline.
He looked up, his gaze passing over the army’s tents until they sighted the defiant walls of Watchover. They had been under siege for at least a week, but had managed to repel the griffins’ initial assault. It didn’t help that West Wind’s army had managed to retreat in good order from the field below the city, despite taking heavy casualties during the battle. While Sharptalon had almost immediately besieged Watchover afterwards, the city had been well-prepared and had thus far defied any attempt to breach it. The fields around the city had been picked clean as well, which Sharptalon took to mean that the city was also well-provisioned. Ordering siege lines set up, he and the army had settled in for a long slog.
Sharptalon left the entrance of the tent and began to walk towards the front of the siege camp. About a thousand feet from the city walls, it was lined with trebuchets and ballistae, along with row after row of tall, sharpened stakes that pointed towards the city. Small gaps were made between several stakes, allowing narrow trenches to move out onto the front lines of the siege positions, where the army’s archers made their positions. As Sharptalon walked, a platoon of archers ran past, longbows slung across their backs and arrows rattling in their quivers. As they passed into the trenches there was a scream of “Watch out!” as a trebuchet shot from within Watchover slammed into the ground. Two griffins were knocked off their feet, one’s head spurting a spray of blood as the rock swiped across his face. The other griffin fell to the ground screaming in pain, his arm crushed as the stone went by to smash against the stakes. Two other griffins ran out of the camp and picked up the wounded one, flying over the stakes and back into the camp, heading towards the medic tent.
Sharptalon watched them with an impassive expression, then turned his gaze to the trenches. They came within one hundred feet of the city walls, and arrows zipped back and forth between both sides like a cloud of hornets. Screams and cries sounded from both sides, arrows either bouncing off of the walls or sticking in the muddy ground around the trenches. Arrows also flew back and forth between the walls and the various cloud banks that covered the sky around Watchover, which were filled with a number of other griffins that had imposed a blockade on the city to prevent any supplies from being delivered by air.
“My lord Sharptalon!” called a griffin captain as he landed beside his commander.
“What is it, Captain?”
“The chief engineer says that the siege towers are almost ready, sir.”
“Good,” Sharptalon said, nodding. “Tell him to wait until nightfall, then start getting those stakes out of the way and move the towers into position. We’ll make for the walls at first light.”
“Yes milord,” the captain replied before taking off again. Sharptalon smiled to himself at the thought of what the next morning might bring.
***
Sandstone winced and hissed quietly to himself as he gingerly rubbed his shoulder. A thick white bandage was wrapped around it, the result of a gash in his shoulder from a griffin’s spear. The sandy-colored earth pony turned his blue eyes up to the parapets, observing the frantic maelstrom of activity as unicorns ran to and fro, firing arrows down at the griffins as the earth ponies operating the various siege engines both on and behind the walls worked frantically to get the next projectile loaded. He turned his eyes away from the wall and looked around the large courtyard that he was in. Despite its proximity to the walls it had been converted into a medical pavilion. Unicorn healers moved around the courtyard, their horns glowing brightly as they tended to the ponies that needed it. Here and there among the pallets holding wounded there would be a white cloth, laid over the body of a pony.
Sandstone looked to his left at the sound of approaching hoofsteps, then attempted to jerk to his hooves as he saw West Wind coming towards him. “My-AUGH!” he yelped, forced to sit down again as his shoulder flared with pain. West Wind raised a hoof to keep the earth pony from rising again.
“No need to rise for me, young’un,” he said softly. He had a wound of his own, a fresh scar on his cheek from a griffin sword that had narrowly missed his eye. He looked up at the wall as a trebuchet shot smashed against it, the ponies behind the wall ducking for cover and yelling as the section shook.
“They’re pressing hard,” he muttered. He looked down at Sandstone. “How did you look to the healers, boy?”
“They said that the wound was fairly minor, milord,” Sandstone replied. “But I still can’t walk on it.”
West Wind nodded. “I see. Get some rest. If the griffins try another assault, we’ll need everypony we can to repel it.”
Sandstone nodded. West Wind turned and began walking back to the keep, stepping around ponies as they galloped to and fro, assisting in the defense. As West Wind got closer he could see the command post that Watchover’s viscount had set up, officers running to and from it as the unicorn issued orders and demanded updates.
“…and you say there are two other griffin armies moving past the borders now?”
“Yes, my lord. Their present path seems to be set on moving past Watchover and penetrating further into the kingdom.”
“Perfect,” the viscount muttered. “Just perfect.” He turned to an aide. “Get to the dragon fire in the library and send a message to Lorrein. Inform the king.” The aide nodded and galloped back into the keep as the viscount saw West Wind walking up.
“Ah, Lord West Wind. Good. I can use some earth pony reason right now.”
“What’s the situation, my lord?” West Wind asked as he walked up and looked down at the map.
“We just received a message from the Royal Scouting Corps via dragonfire that said the griffins have sent two more armies into Prance,” the viscount said. “We would have had an army from Alsaddle moving to relieve us, but hopefully now that he knows King Shining Star will divert them to check one of their advances.”
“And what of the second army?”
“The way they’re moving now, it looks like they’re planning on cutting straight through Prance and heading towards Lorrein. And that army is the largest of the three here now.”
“How many are in each?”
“The one that I hope the Alsaddle army will intercept? Fifty thousand. The other is at least one hundred thousand strong.”
West Wind’s eyes widened. Such a large force would be practically unstoppable. He walked around the table to the viscount’s side, taking in the other two griffin tokens that marked the positions of the other armies. “What road is that one using?”
“The Kingsroad. There are no other major cities in their way.”
“Damn it,” West Wind growled. He looked back up at the walls. “And we can’t ride out to at least try and hold them for a time.”
“We deal with the cards we’re given,” the viscount said. “After we drive the griffins off, we can ride to Lorrein’s aid. But not now.” He looked at West Wind. “I suggest you get up to the walls, Chapter Master. The griffins may try another assault soon.”
West Wind nodded. He walked back towards the walls, shouting for Pauldron.
***
The next morning, the sun had just appeared over the horizon as Lord Sharptalon perched on a spear of rock that stuck up out of the ground. The griffin was clad in his own armor, colored black with gold filigree spinning around it in elegant patterns. On the chest plate the crest of Talos shone brightly, a winged sword with its tip pointing downward. Sharptalon took a long look at the walls of Watchover, brightened by dozens of pieces of armor and weapons as ponies lined up along the parapets. The griffin lord smirked and donned his helmet, then turned to the three drummers behind him. “Assembly call.”
The three nodded, the middle drummer counting off before all three began to beat out a complicated rhythm, the signal to call the army to assembly. Sharptalon watched the camp as griffins, dogs, and minotaurs began to stream from the tents to the siege lines, forming ranks around the rock that Sharptalon stood on. The stakes and trenches that had protected the camp against sorties had been removed and filled in in preparation for the assault, massive siege towers parked just out of trebuchet range of the walls. Sharptalon looked over the army as they moved. During the week that they had held Watchover under siege, reinforcements had arrived to the camp, both replacing the army’s five thousand casualties and swelling its numbers to forty-five thousand. Sharptalon turned back to the walls and grinned. This would be interesting.
***
“Archers to their marks,” Viscount Steadfast called down the wall.
“Archers! To your marks!” the order was repeated as Watchover’s archers stepped forward, readying their bows.
“Nock!”
“Nock!” to the archers. Arrows rattled as they were taken out of their quivers, the small grooves on the butt ends being slipped onto their bowstrings.
“Nock and set!” to the ponies manning ballistae and scorpions lining the walls, causing a chorus of creaking and clanking to arise from the siege engines as their projectiles were loaded into place.
Sandstone gulped and took a deep breath as he watched the army from next to West Wind. The earth pony knight looked down at him, then turned his attention forward again. “Nervous, boy?”
Sandstone swallowed again. “A bit, my lord.”
West Wind had a feeling that it was a great deal more than “a bit”, but smiled. “That’s good. Only a fool isn’t scared at the prospect of battle. Some are just better at hiding it than others.”
Sandstone nodded in understanding, his eyes still locked on the enemy.
***
Sharptalon took a deep breath and raised a hand, the griffins and dogs around him tensing as they made ready to charge forward. Sharptalon took a deep breath, opening his beak to speak. “I have no interest in prisoners,” he said, the army quiet enough for most of the assembled soldiery to hear him. “Kill them all.”
With that he threw his arm down. A loud scream went up as the army charged forward, weapons waving as the assault on Watchover began.
***
“Draw!” Steadfast bellowed as he saw Sharptalon’s army begin to charge the walls. All down Watchover’s main wall the creak of bowstrings sounded as they were stretched backwards sounded alongside the grinding of siege engines being moved along their platforms, aimed at the oncoming horde.
“Loose!” West Wind roared. A cloud of arrows shot from the wall, flying into the air in hundreds of arcs as they fell towards the griffin army. While many of the soldiers raised their shields in the face of the hail of darts, many others were hit by the falling shafts and fell to the ground. Other griffins and dogs raised bows of their own, firing return shafts up at the parapets as another flight of arrows shot towards the ground. Some arrows met one another in the air, their heads shattering as they smashed together or skating off course as they grazed one another. Still others found marks among Watchover’s defenders, sending ponies falling backwards from the wall as they were hit with arrows.
More griffins and dogs dropped as the second volley was fired, though by this time many of them had managed to get up to the foot of the walls, their shields raised above their heads as they got as close as possible to get out of the defenders’ firing arc. The defenders rolled rocks from the walls, sending them falling to the ground. Though a number came down on the head of an unfortunate griffin or dog, the majority merely bounced off of the army’s raised shields. Sharptalon watched the advance from the walls, then looked down to his right, where the minotaur sellswords waited. “Go. Main gate.”
The minotaur commander snorted in satisfaction, then bellowed to his troops. The fifty assembled minotaurs bellowed back and the entire pack moved forward, their massive, rectangular shields held over their heads as swarms of arrows and avalanches of rocks fell from the walls.
Steadfast watched the minotaurs charge at the gate, looking at West Wind. “Sortie. Go now.”
West Wind nodded and turned his head side to side. “Sortie squad, to the main gate!”
A number of ponies broke off from the walls and galloped down the steps, following West Wind as he led the way to Watchover’s main gate. In a matter of moments, the hundred-strong sortie was assembled in front of the massive oaken timbers of the main gate. The pony gatekeepers on either side pulled with all their strength, opening the gate a small crack to allow the sortie out and into the maelstrom of war that had engulfed the area of land before their city. The oncoming minotaurs roared a challenge at West Wind’s company, the earth pony reaching up and slamming the visor on his helm shut as he swung his hoof out to the side, drawing his hoof-sword as the ponies around him readied their weapons.
“Nopony dies with a clean sword this day!” he bellowed, the ponies around him yelling in assent and charging forward with the earth pony knight at their head. The minotaurs dropped their shields as the archers stopped firing, unwilling to risk hitting their comrades as West Wind’s force galloped towards the minotaurs.
The two sides came together in a clash of weaponry and muscle. Ponies were knocked flying by the minotaurs’ massive war hammers and maces or impaled on their massive broadswords, their blood slowly dripping to the ground as the blades burst out through their backs, sending the ponies sliding forward almost to the hilt. Minotaurs were impaled by lowered spears or bucked to the ground by ponies, their weapons and hooves rising and falling as the minotaurs were beaten and stabbed over and over. Weapons and shields clashed against one another, ponies and minotaurs screaming and yelling as the skirmish went on. West Wind smashed his front hooves into a downed minotaur, looking up as he saw another minotaur fall in front of him with a spear buried in its belly. Across the battle he saw the minotaur captain throw a pegasus to the ground, delivering the coup de grace with a stab of his sword.
West Wind leapt off of the fallen minotaur and charged across the field at him, bellowing a challenge to the bull. The minotaur saw him coming, answering the challenge with a bellow of his own, clanging his sword on his shield as he charged at West Wind. The two massive leaders crashed together in a clamor of armor and brawn, West Wind’s charge powerful and fast enough to bull the minotaur back several steps.
The minotaur lowered his head and smashed it into West Wind’s breastplate, the horns luckily not penetrating the spell-imbued armor. Nonetheless West Wind was driven back off of the minotaur, landing on the ground as the bull readied his shield and sword. West Wind swept out his sword again, slashing at the minotaur in a cut that clanged uselessly on the massive shield. A return slash by the minotaur’s own sword smashed into West Wind’s helm, knocking it from the earth pony’s head.
West Wind backpedaled a few more steps as the minotaur kept moving forward, swinging his shield downward. West Wind spun backwards then shot out his back legs, the buck denting the shield and sending his opponent stumbling backwards. West Wind spun back around, his sword knocking the shield to the side as he charged forward, and smashed his bare head into the minotaur’s unarmored belly.
The minotaur let out a loud “Whooooooof…” as the attack hit right on the area where Sharptalon had punched him earlier. The minotaur fell backwards onto his bottom, his cheeks bulging as he vomited from the blow. Vomit splattered the ground in front of him, the minotaur wiping his mouth as West Wind walked up to him and pointed his sword at the minotaur’s throat. The minotaur looked up at him as he did, breathing heavily.
“Do you yield?” West Wind asked calmly.
The minotaur stared at him for a moment, then hung his head and nodded. West Wind looked back up to check on the battle, only to see that the surviving minotaurs were retreating, their shields up against the redoubled rain of arrows and rocks. West Wind looked around at his company; only around forty were still alive. He sighed and signaled the remaining unicorns to restrain the minotaur, the group quickly retreating back through the gate as griffins and dogs poured into the area recently vacated by the minotaurs. The gates slammed shut just as the attack reached them, leaving the griffins and dogs to beat futilely against the gate.
“Ta…take him…dungeon. Lock ‘im up,” West Wind panted to the unicorns, who saluted and began to drag the minotaur back towards Watchover’s keep. West Wind sat down, looking around at the various ponies running around the foot of the wall. “Somepony bring me a drink!”
***
“Can’t trust sellswords,” Sharptalon sighed as he saw the minotaurs retreating from the wall. He looked up at the top of the wall, smiling as he saw that the siege towers (despite being turned into veritable pincushions by the archers on the walls) had nearly arrived at their destination. Even as he watched, one of the towers’ gangplanks dropped, sending a horde of dogs onto the walls, heralded by the clashing of weapons and the battle cries of both sides. Other towers began to follow suit, sending streams of dogs and griffins onto the walls as other griffins flew upwards, landing on the parapets to join the battle. Turning his gaze to the city gates, Sharptalon nodded approvingly as he saw a flaming stone from a trebuchet arced through the air, smashing against the massive gates. Water poured over the walls in an effort to douse the flames that had caught on the wood, though several other catapults and trebuchets had caught on to the strategy, beginning to pound the gate with more stones. He could hear loud cracking noises as the gate’s timbers began to buckle under the assault. He turned his head to the signaling corps on his left.
“Call the archers and sappers to ranks.”
The griffins nodded, trumpets and drumbeats blaring over the noise of battle. Archers engaged with their opposite numbers on the walls began pulling back, dog sappers exiting the camp to form up in the assembly area as the archers flew back over to the griffin lines. Lord Sharptalon flapped down from the rock he had been standing on, not even flinching as a ballista bolt from Watchover slammed into the ground next to him, quivering with the impact.
“Get the barricades from the siege yard. You’re making an assault on the gate.”
The assembled group nodded and ran into the camp to get the materials they would need, Sharptalon returning to his rock to continue watching the battle.
***
Viscount Steadfast ducked instinctively as a flaming trebuchet shot slammed against the wall in front of him, sending a blast of fire shooting up in front of the parapets. His horn flared with magic as he pulled his crossbow from its holster on his flank, loading a bolt into it and poking it over the walls. He narrowed his eyes as he peered around the griffin army, attempting to find its target. The griffins were pressing hard on the siege towers, though so far the defenders had managed to throw back every assault that they had attempted. Even as Steadfast searched for a target another tower reached the walls, its gangplank falling onto the parapets and revealing the griffins and dogs assembled behind it. The ponies facing the tower loosed a hail of arrows inside, felling most of the first rank before the rest charged across, swarming onto the walls. Steadfast switched targets, turning his crossbow to the mob pouring from the tower. His bolt flew from the crossbow, shooting across the empty space between the wall and the tower. It hit a griffin in the neck, the soldier falling from the tower’s plank with a scream. Discarding the crossbow Steadfast drew his sword, charging towards the new assault point to assist.
“Hold them!” he shouted. “Stand firm!”
***
Sharptalon watched with approval as the archers crept forward under the cover of their shields, the large rectangular surfaces protecting those sheltered behind them from every arrow that came at them. Arrows flew back at the walls from behind the barricades, the archers setting them down and beginning to return fire in earnest as the sappers used the covering fire to run forward, taking shelter behind the barricades. The catapults had stopped firing, returning their focus to the walls as the archers and sappers had approached. The archers fired one concentrated volley at the walls, the lull caused by the defenders seeking cover being utilized by the sappers to run forward, the bags of oil hanging from their arms swinging and sloshing with every step.
The dogs reached the gates quickly, hooking their claws into the weakened wood and using the grip to climb the gates, pounding in nails that they then hung the bags of oil from. The sappers then jumped down, running back towards the safety of the barricades as fast as they could. Arrows chased them back, several dogs being cut down by the enemy as they ran.
“Blood for the Kingdoms!” a griffin shouted loud enough for Sharptalon to hear, his cry being echoed by the other archers as the sappers reached the barricades. A small group of other griffins left the camp and ran towards the archers, all of them carrying lit torches and rags soaked with oil. They reached the archers quickly, handing out the rags and holding the torches ready as the archers wrapped the cloth around their next arrows. Each arrow was then lit, the barricades then tilted upwards as the archers knelt and aimed their arrows at the bags of oil hanging from the gate.
“It’ll make a fine pincushion,” began one archer.
“SHINING STAR’S ARSE!” the rest finished, the insult being punctuated with the fire arrows loosed from their bows. They found their targets, several hitting the wooden timbers of the gates but others finding their marks in the sacks. The oil within ignited, sending a firestorm shooting across the gate. Other, missed bags were caught up in the blast, the explosion only growing with each addition. The fire shot upwards and over the parapets, the screams of the archers there reaching Sharptalon’s ears. The griffin smiled as he heard them, imagining the flaming ponies backpedaling from the walls, many of them falling from the walls to the ground far below while others collapsed to the floor, unable to move far enough before the fire claimed their lives.
“Make sure that the fire isn’t put out,” he told the nearest officer. “Keep the archers there and order them to make the Prancer ponies keep their heads down.”
“Yes, milord!” the griffin replied, saluting and running off to the barricades to fulfill his lord’s directions.
***
West Wind felt the blast of heat from the gates as the oil exploded and looked on in helpless horror as the archers above the gates were set ablaze, several falling from the walls to impact on the ground in front of him. Flames were already starting to show through the wood of the gates, bursts of orange and red occasionally slipping past the timbers. Grabbing a passing page, he pointed up at the wall, where Steadfast’s voice could be heard shouting “To me! To me!”
“Get up there and find as many ponies as you can to come down here and make ready to hold the gate. Quickly now, understand?”
“Yes, my lord!” the page nodded, turning and galloping up the steps as West Wind stood there, a number of ponies waiting in the courtyard galloping over to him, led by Sandstone.
“My lord West Wind!” the light-colored stallion said as he looked up at the knight. “What happened?”
“They’re firing the gates,” West Wind growled. “They’ve already been weakened substantially by those catapults. It won’t be long before they come down.”
“Can the fire burn them down?”
“No, they’d still need a ram for that…but we lost a lot of archers when the blast went off. I don’t know if there are enough still up there to stop a ram.” He looked down at the shorter earth pony. “I hope your shoulder is better, Sandstone. You’ll get plenty of work out of it soon enough.”
Sandstone looked at the gate, gulping as more ponies galloped down the steps, forming up around West Wind and presenting a wall of spears, swords, and shields in the direction of the gate.
***
Night was falling by the time the fire had died down enough that Sharptalon could order the hastily-constructed ram into place. The archers had taken heavy losses as they had continued to keep the parapets above the gate clear, dead griffins and dogs littering the area. The assaults on the walls were still deadlocked, the ponies unable to drive the besiegers back down the towers and the besiegers unable to drive the ponies from the walls. Hopefully, Sharptalon mused, breaching the gates would break the stalemate. Ordering the army’s reserve battalions into position behind the ram, Sharptalon watched the ram move up through the archers, the skirmishers abandoning their positions to move up both sides of the ram. The archers had abandoned the walls above them, and the ram was able to approach with impunity.
“Come on, you molting bastards!” one officer yelled as the rammers groaned and strained at the ram. “Move faster!”
***
West Wind stayed still as the ram took its first swing at the gates. The ponies around him jumped at the sudden crash, several attempting to move back only to be kept in place by the ponies standing behind them. “Steady,” the earth pony knight called as a second swing smashed into the gates. He looked up on the walls, where the fighting had died down as more and more griffins and dogs had gathered at the gates, leaving the siege towers abandoned. At the same time, Viscount Steadfast had ordered the ponies on the walls down to the gates, galloping up next to West Wind as the gate swung and smashed over and over again against the rapidly-weakening timbers. The Viscount’s mane was matted against his forehead with sweat, his armor and fur covered in blood and soot. He looked at West Wind and gave a grim smile. “Guess our luck had to run out sooner or later.”
West Wind chuckled. “Indeed.” He looked at the gates again as the smash of the gate was accompanied by a very loud splintering noise. “Make ready!” he yelled over his shoulder.
“Hold the line!” Steadfast shouted. The ponies crouched, ready to meet the griffins when they came in.
***
Sharptalon had switched positions, moving in front of the army to be able to monitor their progress better as they breached the gates. The gates were beginning to crack loudly with each swing of the ram now, the army tensing with anticipation of them finally coming down. The minotaurs stood directly behind Sharptalon, eager to avenge (and if possible, free) their captured leader. The ram was pulled back one final time, swung forward with all of the strength of its crew. It struck the stout wooden timbers with a thunderous boom, followed by an earsplitting crrrrrack as the gates burst open, the ram having done its job. Sharptalon drew his sword and pointed. “CHAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGE!”
The army was happy to oblige, running for the gates in an unorganized stampede as Sharptalon stayed still, a triumphant smile on his face.
***
“Here they come!” West Wind bellowed as a cacophony of yelling and screaming made its way to his ears from the other side of the cloud of dust from the breaking of the gates.
“Archers ready!” Steadfast called. The unicorn archers raised their bows, ready to shoot the first enemies that came through the gates. Whether they expected them to be minotaurs was another story. The bull hybrids charged through the dust, their weapons held high as they ran forward, screaming for blood.
“Loose!” West Wind screamed, a cloud of arrows shooting over his head towards the minotaurs. While many of the arrows connected, only three minotaurs dropped, arrows sticking out from all over their bodies as they collapsed. The others were only wounded, and bellowed in triumph as they smashed into the shield wall of the Prancer soldiery. Ponies went flying through the air, screaming as the minotaurs tore their way into their lines.
“Hold! Hold!” Steadfast cried as the rest of the army charged through, griffins and dogs smashing into the broken lines of the Watchover troops. Swords flashed, spears stabbed, hooves bucked, claws slashed, and teeth rent as the battle descended into a chaotic brawl. Ponies were tackled to the ground, screaming as dogs tore at their throats. Pegasi were swarmed by griffins or shot out of the air, blood rapidly turning the stone of the courtyard into a slippery, blood-covered mess. West Wind and Steadfast fought back to back with each other, their swords slaying every enemy they touched. Steadfast flinched as an earth pony next to him had his head smashed in by a mace, splattering blood across the noble’s face. Steadfast grimaced as he backpedaled, his sword shooting upward and parrying a sword strike from a dog before running the canine through with enough force that the blade burst out of its back. He then cut down two other dogs before screaming an order for the ponies to brace themselves. That was when he felt a massive impact on the back of his head, tearing his helmet away as Steadfast fell.
He hit the ground heavily, his hearing deadened except for his heartbeat, loud in his ears alongside his breathing. He saw griffins and dogs storming through the gates, the ponies opposite them starting to pull back deeper into the castle town. West Wind had lost his sword at some point during the battle and was now holding a greatsword in his teeth, each swing of the colossal blade a killing strike.
Steadfast couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, the unicorn noble drifting into unconsciousness.
He found himself awoken roughly as claws grabbed him by the shoulders, hauling him up onto his back hooves. His body felt lighter; whoever had grabbed him had most likely removed his armor to make him easier to carry. Steadfast couldn’t raise his head, though the sounds of wings and feathers moving told him that his captors were griffins, not dogs. The griffins seemed better-armored than the ones that he had been fighting in the courtyard prior to his wounding; they wore chain and plate, the armor clinking as they walked. Steadfast was dragged from the city, his hooves going from sliding on stone to dragging in mud before he was thrown forward, landing face-flat on the ground.
“Get up, pony,” a deep voice growled. Steadfast pulled himself up off the ground, sitting back on his haunches as he looked up at his captor. It was another griffin, dressed in fine armor and sitting on a spur of rock a short distance away from the gates. Steadfast didn’t get to take in any more details before a mail-clad fist slammed into his eye, the unicorn noble falling over with a yelp and landing in the mud again, causing the gloppy brown substance to splatter across his face. He felt a griffin’s hand grab his horn and sent a magical current through it, drawing a yelp from the unfortunate griffin before he was lifted up by his front legs, a series of hard punches being delivered to his bared belly before the griffin spoke again.
“Enough. He’s no use to us at the moment if he’s dead.”
The griffins threw Steadfast down again, the unicorn giving a soft groan as his rapidly purpling stomach hit the ground hard.
“You only sat up, pony,” the griffin said. “I believe I told you to stand. So I will say it again: Get up.”
Steadfast growled and managed to shakily get to his hooves, breathing heavily as he looked at the sitting griffin.
“Ah,” the griffin said suddenly, his eyes widening in recognition. “I know you. Viscount Steadfast, Lord of Watchover.”
“I am,” Steadfast replied. “And I know you as well, Sharptalon of Talos.”
Lord Sharptalon chuckled. “Indeed you do. I must say, your city has caused me a great deal of bother. I’m of half a mind to kill you where you stand, but if you truly know me then you must know that I’m the sporting type.”
Steadfast was only half-listening. In his mind he was working on a spell. It wasn’t an offensive one for the purpose of killing Sharptalon; if he knew the griffins correctly, every lord’s armor was enchanted against any offensive spells that a unicorn could throw at them, unless the unicorn was an extremely powerful spellcaster, with a strength similar to that of Star Swirl the Bearded. Steadfast, befitting a unicorn of his station, had a good deal of magical strength, but not nearly enough to try and kill the griffin lord.
The spell was a message, intended for the ears of one pony, and one pony only: West Wind. Even as Sharptalon continued speaking, Steadfast was composing the message.
Take as many as you can and get away from the city. You know the way out. Get to Lorrein. Warn the king. Tell him I’m sorry to have failed him.
The message complete, Steadfast screwed his eyes shut and began concentrating. His horn lit up with the white glow of his magic, quickly shooting the message off. It flew from his horn and into the air, shooting over the walls of Watchover and deep into the city to seek out its target.
Sharptalon watched the display silently, and as the spell left, he smiled. “Now, as I was saying, I will be willing to let you and the ponies under your command retreat from the city safely. All that I require is that they put down their arms and bend the knee to King Aeris.”
“They’ll bow to your king when the sun and moon fall from the sky!” Steadfast growled.
Sharptalon nodded, smiling. “So be it, then.” He turned his head slightly to the side and nodded. Steadfast felt a griffin’s hand close around his muzzle and jerk it upward, then something razor-sharp slash across his throat, fur and flesh parting easily before the blade.
Sharptalon watched impassively as hot blood poured from Steadfast’s throat. The red liquid sheeted down the unicorn’s front, Steadfast jerking and twitching before he finally went limp, his eyes going glassy in death. The griffin that had done the deed tossed Steadfast’s body to the side, wiping his dagger on the dead unicorn’s coat before sheathing it. Sharptalon grinned. “I love it when they refuse.”
***
Sandstone ran for his life. The earth pony’s hooves clattered on Watchover’s cobblestone streets, his breathing and heartbeat loud in his ears as he swerved into an alley, then threw himself flat as he saw what was at the end. As the dogs pursuing him ran into the alley after him they were riddled with arrows, fired from the bows of a cadre of archers. The archers ran out of the alley and began moving back towards the center of town, Sandstone getting up and following them. Panting, he managed to pull up alongside one archer. “What are our orders?”
“Lord West Wind has ordered us to pull back to the keep!” the unicorn replied.
Sandstone looked around the streets as the group galloped towards the keep. Bodies lay everywhere, griffins, dogs and ponies alike. Arrows stuck out of the sides of houses and fires burned every way he looked. “Do we know where the Viscount is?”
“We don’t know!” another archer near the front of the group called back. “We lost him in the retreat from the gates!”
“I can see the keep!” the group’s leader yelled. Sandstone looked up, seeing Watchover’s massive keep looming in the distance. The gates were open, ponies streaming inside as West Wind stood over the gates, yelling at the soldiers to get inside.
Sandstone and the archers ran inside, an arrow hitting the gate next to Sandstone’s head as he moved in. The pony yelped and moved in faster, West Wind shouting to close the gates as the barking and screeching of dogs and griffins moved closer. As the gates slammed shut with a thud, West Wind galloped down the steps, leaping from the last few steps as ponies began running up to the courtyard’s walls.
“How many got inside?” West Wind asked a nearby pegasus that wore the insignia of a captain on his hauberk.
“Around three hundred, my lord,” the captain replied. West Wind’s mouth worked for a moment, then he sighed. “Very well. I can trust you with command?”
“We will die fighting if necessary, my lord,” the captain said, bowing. West Wind nodded and patted the pegasus on the shoulder.
“Good. The viscount entrusted me with warning King Shining Star of what happened here. I intend to do so.” He looked at the ponies running around the courtyard and the ones standing on the walls. He sighed. “I would much rather stay here.”
“We know, my lord,” the captain said. “We will make them pay for every step they take.”
“I know you will,” West Wind replied, smiling. He looked around the courtyard. “I should take a soldier with me. Another pony to corroborate the story will strengthen its credibility.” He turned his eyes to Sandstone. “You will do nicely, Sandstone.”
“Me?” Sandstone repeated in surprise. “But, my lord…”
“I will hear no buts, Sandstone,” West Wind replied. “You are coming with me, and that is my final decision.”
Sandstone’s mouth hung open for a moment as he attempted to say something else, before finally closing it and nodding in acquiescence. “Yes, my lord.”
West Wind nodded and turned to the officer. “Give them hell, Captain.”
“Will do, my lord,” the pegasus replied with a grin. West Wind nodded and turned to gallop towards the keep, Sandstone dutifully following after him. The pegasus turned towards the gates as they bucked slightly in their frames. The griffins had already gotten a ram in, then. The pegasus smiled and looked up at the wall as the archers exchanged arrows with griffins and dogs, others fighting against some that had managed to climb the structure, either through the brickwork or via ladders. He drew his sword and leapt into the fight.
***
It took twenty minutes of plodding through damp, narrow tunnels that even Sandstone had trouble moving through on occasion, but eventually West Wind and his young charge came to the exit of the secret tunnels out of Watchover. Originally intended for use by Watchover’s ruling family in the event of the city falling, they had gone completely unnoticed by the griffins. Therefore, West Wind and Sandstone were able to get out of the hole and turn east, running as fast as they could down the dirt path in the direction of Prance’s capital city of Lorrein. As they ran, Sandstone stopped and looked back. Watchover burned behind them, thick pillars of smoke curling up into the night sky. The orange glow of fires was visible even from this distance, and the sounds of battle could be heard through the still air. Sandstone turned away and galloped after West Wind, trying to put the doomed defenders out of his mind.