“That is why we travel to Canterlot.”
—Pena on Pena on “On the Origins of Ponies*(*and Others) and Magic”
It felt good to be free of the stench of the city, and though the Ground pounders did their best to bring the stench with them, the hard-working sailors and crew of the cargo ships kept dousing them with buckets of water and a certain perverse joy,
The marines who made up the Royal Navy and had drowned with their admiral were experienced in shipboard fighting and in making transitions from land to sea and back again. They could handle hard work on land, and then more had work at sea, and few suffered from sea sickness or nausea to any noticeable degree.
The minotaur Ground Pounders were not marines. For most, the puking seasickness had almost stopped by the time the northward sailing had reached the river south of the delta. The trip up the coast to the river that split the delta was miserable for every single one of them. The sailors had amused themselves by taking bets on which soldier would become sick next. The vigorous dousing the captains insisted on to keep the ships rinsed and cleaned ensured that the bulls were at least not covered in filth. But the sandy seashore went on and on, even after the turn, and only after they had joined the more northern split of the delta river did the northern bank finally begin to show some plant life and scraggly trees.
Over the next few days, the trees grew in height and frequency and eventually the grass leapt over to the southwestern bank as they sailed northwest up the river towards the divergence of the river that led to the northern lake where the kirin waited eagerly for relief supplies.
The relief ships were happy to have free stevedore labor to help them both load and unload cargo, and the addition of 500 minotaur passengers and several dozen folding rickshaws required only the most minimal of adjustments. It also promised an additional lucrative trip delivering them beyond High Lake once the relief supplies arrived in the kirin lands there.
The trip up the coast and past the delta and northwest upriver was fast if choppy owing to the ever-present east wind and uneventful. Ships traveled swiftly both ways on the river, the curved kirin style hulls (crewed by minotaurs and a few zebra) with three masts were very fast, their square-rigged battens of their sails straining under the constant strong breeze. The winds were perfect this time of year for a journey west and north. Following the river current downriver or the swift winds upriver a ship could turn around a half dozen times before the turning trade winds stranded them at the river mouth each trade season.
The army bulls on deck saw many strange sights. There was wildlife, but it avoided them. A tri-horned bunyip investigated them. Then there were the amusing antics of some river going dolphins and a few polite and well-mannered sea serpents who followed them and conversed for a time. Once they took the distributary river branch north, a few minotaur soldiers were partially and temporarily turned to stone by some of the more aggressive wildlife. The effect wore off after a day or so (unless reapplied by another cockatrice at close range).
The soldiers soon learned to listen to the sailor’s advice to avoid watching the western shore until they were well past the cockatrice lair. Apparently, the beasts were back, and in greater numbers. The petrification effect was apparently a new horror to add to the famously nasty bite of the bird serpents.
This was followed by a small and indecisive battle with a small hydra, but the shouting and smacking the beast got had it scampering away. Later that night the cautiously sailed past a far larger beast that was sleeping.
The lush savanna of Zebrenica was now to their east. Rocs flying on the overhead river thermals would occasionally dive down into the savanna and snap up an elephant or giraffe. They ignored the boats and their tiny passengers as not worth the effort. Zebra played, fished, and swam along the shoreline. Each night the Ground Pounders would try to recruit zebras from the shoreline with promises of gold and adventure. Every evening they sailed with a few more strong Zebras. They only gathered a handful or two each day but in twelve days they had gathered nearly 80.
Twelve days of sailing inland in perfect weather with perfect winds pushed the ships of the relief fleet all the way to high lake past the Zimbabwean Savana on the east and the forbidding Remore range to the east. A few phoenixes flying overhead, and a few nasty nibbles from biteacudda from those foolish enough to try swimming were the notable highlights of that elevated body of water. The kirin who owned the western shore gratefully, gracefully, and mostly silently received the relief supplies. No one burst into fire during the unloading, at least where the minotaurs could see.
General Chop-Chop went to the eastern shore to hire zebras if any were porters or haulers to be had for the journey to Canterlot. In the end he acquired just 20, but two dozen kirin refugees from the western shore were also to be had for next to nothing. They insisted on metal tack, but High Lake Port and the fleet easily accommodated those requests. The minotaur captains insisted the apparently newly dangerous kirin stay above deck and sleep on metal sheets or anchor chains on the deck until they disembarked.
By this time the ships departed, everyone had caught the fiery flash of a nirik here and there, so the precautions seemed prudent.
Quickly unloading the relief supplies and consolidating onto five barges, the Ground Pounders exited the lake northward. The river became swift. Careful piloting had them come to the final northern shore at the mouth of the river of the Kirin lands on the evening of the twentieth day after setting out. Now west of Zebrenica they were on the southwest side of the Jackalope Slopes, at the far edge of the vast Tartarian range, an empty and desolate land.
The land they could see was grassy, flat and had infrequent strands of trees with only a few poor fisher folks living here and there, mostly zebras, but an occasional minotaur or kirin was seen. None would join the expedition when they learned of the route it proposed to take.
Apparently un-farmable, the gently rolling hills and flatlands to the northwest of the mountains was plagued by frequent periodic drought, windstorms, dust storms, hailstorms, tornados, locusts, gnats, biting flies, poisonous snakes and toads, venomous and aggressive hordes of ravenous jackalopes and a strange disease that caused unhealable boils. This vast region stretched across the mountains and almost into Equestria, ending at the forests west of Canterlot.
But they were not here to settle the land. They were here to run through it. All the land west of the mountains was reported to be piney, cool, and flat. Perfect for running. The Ground Pounder 1st Expeditionary Force assembled their rickshaw vehicles with their large sprung wire wheels. It was just over 3000 canters to Canterlot or 4800 kilo lengths. They knew they were about to make history. They were calling it the 3KiloCantertrot. Wags were calling it the 3 killer cancer trot.
They were told to hurry. The farmers expressed concern because the locusts were just beginning to hatch.
—
Lieutenant Marshal and Risk Taker were put to work unloading and preparing for the run. The met their Kirin and Zebra haulers and threw themselves into the work. Partially that was to avoid having to deal with their current superior. They had found that Captain Syrup was a uniquely unpleasant individual.
He was insulting, rude, boorish, and unfailingly polite and refined whenever his superiors were watching. The two-faced bull was more concerned with his appearance and position than with doing his job. He was rumored to be married ‘just for looks’, his wife just a glorified tenant who didn’t even share a bedroom with the minotaur.
Instead, he took every opportunity to lecherously comment on the physiques of his enlisted bulls, vainly require his sergeants to clean and press his kit and impetuously flit from task to task impeding progress and offering no useful input. He was prissy, pissy and rude whenever one of his subordinated had a request but was all smiles and charm for his equals or superiors.
The work was getting done despite him rather than because of him.
It was with some relief from the rest of that section when a pair of new sergeants took the opportunity to shirk their duties and become his lickspittles, fetching things for him, and otherwise keeping him distracted. Neither of the non-coms was well liked, and having the three odious men off annoying each other, and doing whatever they were doing in their tent together.
The captain had money which he spent freely, and it was that, and perhaps the promise of more of that that endeared them to him. His carousing didn’t seem to interfere with his true duties, so his superior Major Payne took no special notice of it, beyond mild annoyance.
—
“En Guarde!” Marshal and Risk taker sparred with dueling swords. Several kirin and zebras watched the flashing swords. Left Guard, Short Guard, Long Guard they practiced technique after technique till they were quite winded. A few other bulls tried their hands, and even a few zebras who had to wear two mail shirts to protect their heads. Risk taker and Marshal were far better than any of them, having trained for years.
Finally, a big kirin stepped forward. He was brown and grey and bit larger than the mares, and he walked with a somber expression. He looked at Marshal and Risk taker, and without speaking picked up the mail shirt the last Zebra had used with his hooves and wrapped it around his head and another over it to make an improvised face guard. Unlike the other quadrupeds, pe picked up a third shirt and stepped back into it, synching it with a belly band. His horn glowed and he picked up the dueling sword in with his levitation.
“Well, that’s new” said Risk Taker. Marshal just stared. They had seen kirin using magic to float some small things but never a weapon. This was new territory.
“Best of five?” asked the newcomer.
“Sure” answered Risk. “What’s your name friend?”
“Crinet” answered the kirin.
“That’s a piece or barding, equine armor, isn’t it?”
“Armor over the neck yes.” The dark stallion said. “My father was Crupper. Armor names go in the family. I am more familiar with lances and spears, but since magic has come back… I’ve branched out.
He flourished the sword slightly in front of himself, getting a feel for the thin practice metal.
The minotaur bowed slightly and the kirin nodded. The began to circle each other. The sword drifted farther away from the kirin. Tall, thin, and wiry, Risk Taker was fast and reacted quickly, but he could not keep an eye on both the practice blade and the Kirin.
A quick stab in the back scored one for the Kirin and focused the athletic minotaur on the blade.
A swipe and a kick had Risk taker looking up at the sun and laying in the dust. The kirin was also fast and very quiet.
Marshal was chuckling.
Splitting his attention was even worse, as a drip and a swat with the flat of the blade had him earing dirt.
The spectators whooped and hollered at this sudden reversal of fortune.
Marshal said “Stop embarrassing yourself. Let me show you how to do this.”
Drawing his practice blade, Marshal saluted the Kirin. He began an immediate attack, swipe after swipe directed directly at the Kirin.
Crinet gave way. The attack had no finesse, it was just comprehensive and relentless, affording no opportunity to move aside or disengage. Marshal quickly closed the distance and switched to a single-handed grip and attacking with a strong but clumsy slash. Crinet parried it, but this opened him up to the true attack.
Marshal smacked the Kirin on the horn with an open palm. The sword dropped and the kirin was tagged on his suddenly defenseless side.
“Where did you learn that?” asked Crinit.
“History book” said Crinet, “written by a mercenary who fought in some equestrian civil war. Its one of the oldest books in Istanbull.”
Panting slightly, Crinet picked up his blade they saluted each other and Crinet began an immediate attack.
He reared when Marshal tried to repeat his horn tap and the smack of his hoof on Marshal’s hand unbalanced him and Crinet scored a tap on Marshal’s head.
Grinning they repeated, both attacking this time. They scored on each other. A draw.
And another. And a third.
Red faced and perspiring freely, Marshal saluted Crinet.
“So, you have to attack when faced with magic and try and disrupt it, long matches favor whomever has the horn” said Risk Taker.
“Well yes, that works in a spar when both opponents restrict themselves to blades and limbs” said Crinet.
“In a real fight?”
“Well, that depends on the magician, I guess. I can deflect blows, trip opponents, and others can do things like create an invisible barrier like a shield. Particularly talented mages – they used to be called battlemages – they could accurately manipulate multiple weapons, maintain a defense, throw things, shove their opponents, or use magic on their opponents.”
“Can you do any of that stuff?”
“I can barely pick up three things at once and have to see them when I’m doing it. But I do know one trick. Why don’t you both try me at once?”
The two minotaurs readied themselves and saluted the Kirin. The kirin saluted them, then picked them both up a few feet with his telekinesis, startled, they flailed in the sudden floating sensation and were both dropped and smacked on the top of the head one after another in short order.
A cheer went up from the spectators.
Sitting in the dirt, the two lieutenants looked at each other.
“Well, that happened.” Risk taker said. Marshal nodded.