//------------------------------// // 37. Duke and Country // Story: The Age of Wings and Steel // by DSNesmith //------------------------------// “What is the meaning of this, Clement?” Volund’s irritated drawl broke Clement’s tired train of thought. The Knight-Commander was the last officer to arrive. The others were all seated around the table, waiting for their commander to enter. “I’m glad you could join us, Knight-Commander.” Clement’s cold, clipped tones gave Volund’s anger pause. Outrage, however, won over surprise. “Look, boy, just because you’ve started making a name for yourself doesn’t mean you can send some common servant to beckon us to your heel like dogs.” Clement’s eyes narrowed. “You will address me as my lord, Lord Blueblood, or Lord Clement, Knight-Commander. I will forgive the slight this once.” Volund puffed up, his face reddening. “My lord, I would like to know the purpose of this meeting.” The other officers looked between their commander and Clement with expressions of growing dismay. “We are gathered here this morning so that I can lay out our new orders for all of you.” Clement set his hooves down on the table, pushing himself upright. Two sheets of parchment lay beside each other, one under each hoof. “This is highly irregular—” began Major Dengar, before Clement slashed a hoof through the air to silence him. “Nopony is to speak before I am finished. Are we clear?” The officers were growing restless. Clement saw angry looks flashing in his direction. These old warriors were used to being obeyed, not being given commands; especially from some upstart princeling. They’ll get used to it. “My lord,” said Volund, in a chastising tone. “Nopony,” repeated Clement, tapping the table for emphasis. “Are we clear?” Volund simply scowled and sat back, with an expression that told Clement he would regret this display of impertinence. Having silenced the officers, at least for now, Clement pushed forward the letter to his right. “My father, the Duke, is marching at the head of an army gathered by Lord Helmfast. They make for Easthill, with the intent of destroying the forces of Baron Aubren and capturing the province for Norhart.” Clement looked around at the officers. Volund was still seething, but a few of the others were wearing uneasy expressions. Could they sense what was coming? He doubted it. “My father has ordered us to march east to meet him there, where we will take Easthill in a fearsome battle against the forces of Whitetail, the ponies we have deemed unworthy of calling themselves Equestrians.” Clement pushed the letter further. “Spears will shatter, shields will splinter, and blood will flow over the plains like a flood. The minstrels will sing for many generations of the glorious slaughter of the ponies of Whitetail.” He hoped his voice was free of bitterness, but he could not be sure. “But I received another letter last night, from a young relative of mine. Duke Tymeo Bellemont.” At looks of confusion, Clement put a hoof to his head in mock realization. “Ah, of course. Forgive me, I should not have expected you to know the politics of those false Equestrians. Duke Bellemont is Celerity Belle’s successor, and the pony now in charge of defending Whitetail against the horde. The horde of thirty thousand griffons that now sweeps through Equestria, completely unopposed.” Some of the officers, including Major Dengar, were beginning to show signs of apprehension. Volund, on the other hand, looked ready to pop a vein. Clement continued on, waiting for the inevitable explosion. He filled his voice with as much sarcasm as he could. “Duke Bellemont humbly requests that we send any available aid we can muster to defend the city of Whitewall. Without us, he and the city will not survive the month.” He looked at Volund, and then to the other officers, whose expressions were turning ugly. Finally, they grasp what I propose. “But these are Whitetail ponies, hardly better than the griffons themselves. What should we care if the griffons burn, pillage, and defile their land? We may look the same, speak the same language, swear fealty to the same Princess, live in the same country, share the same blood, but we are nothing like them. Nothing at all.” He abandoned the pretense, slamming a hoof on the table. “This farce is at an end. I refuse to sit by and watch my kin be ground to dust under the griffons’ heels. My father would have us march to destroy our own. I say to you, let us march to defend our brothers and sisters. Let us fight for Equestria, not against her. We must march to Whitewall.” “You treasonous little whelp.” Volund stood sharply, fury etched in every line of his face. “You would spit on your father’s good name? Betray his trust? Let your own arrogance and pride bring you to—” “Sir Volund!” roared Clement, startling all present. “Are you a knight of Equestria?” Volund, apoplectic, gave him a burning glare. “You dare impugn my honor?” “Answer me, Volund!” “Yes!” shouted Volund, matching Clement’s volume. “And already I see it was a mistake to grant you that same honor. You ought to be court-martialed for this mutinous—” Clement ripped his helmet from his head and slammed it down on the table. He reached his hoof up to his neck and pulled forward the silvery chain of his knighthood. “Show me, Volund! Show me your chain!” The officers were now in various states of shock and dismay. Several of the younger ones were trying to look as small as possible. They were like children hiding under the table while Mommy and Daddy fought. A few looked ill. Volund, boiling with rage, shoved his hoof inside his breastplate, and dragged out his own chain. “Look at it, you traitorous bastard.” “Do you remember your oath, Sir Volund?” Clement gazed at the Knight-Commander with steely eyes. “How dare you—” Volund seemed ready to charge at him. Officers scurried out of the way. “Do you remember your oath?” “Of course I—” “Say it. Say it!” Clement’s eyes blazed. “YOUR FIRST DUTY! WHAT IS YOUR FIRST DUTY, SIR VOLUND?” Volund roared back at him. “TO SERVE EQUESTRIA!” Clement sat back, letting his chain drop. “To serve Equestria. To serve the whole of Equestria. Every mare, stallion, and foal. Every. Last. One.” He looked at Volund, his anger spent. “I am prepared to do my duty, Sir Volund. Are you?” The Knight-Commander’s mouth worked soundlessly. His eyes slowly sank. He looked down at the chain wrapped around his hoof. “To… to the whole…” “To the whole of Equestria,” Clement repeated softly. He looked down at the letters on the table. “This is the choice that lies before us. To serve our Duke… or to serve our country.” He looked around at the officers, who were all deathly silent. Some looked ponderous, others furious. Clement gazed at each in turn, pausing to stare into their eyes. “I will serve my country. Who will stand with me against the griffons?” The young Lieutenant Sablehoof slapped the table and stood. “I will, my lord.” “And I,” said another officer. “And I,” said another, and then all at once, the tent was filled with pledges of allegiance. Clement felt a rush of gratitude as more and more ponies declared themselves. Not all the officers spoke. Major Dengar in particular glared at Clement with buried anger. Clement gazed back coolly. “My lord,” said the Major, his voice filled with barely-contained contempt, “This is mutiny. Treason.” “Is it treason, to protect my people?” said Clement, coldly. He knew, now, why Celerity had done what she did. Though he could not respect her for betraying her liege, much as he could not respect himself for what he was doing to his father, he could at least understand her. “With all due respect, my lord, they are not your people. Those ponies belong to the Duchy of Whitetail.” “Major Dengar,” said Clement, “We are all Equestrians.” “Yet some of us are more loyal than others, it seems.” The Major stood, disgust frozen on his face. “I refuse to take part in this.” “Then go,” said Clement, too tired to argue. The emotional and physical exhaustion of the previous week was beginning to take its toll. He felt like he could collapse at any minute. “Any who wish to follow Major Dengar to the ruin of our nation are free to leave. I will not stop you.” Several officers, mostly the older ones that had served his father longer than Clement had been alive, stood and marched around the table to the exit. As they filed out, Dengar looked back and snorted. “And what makes you think the army will march at your command?” Clement stared back evenly. “Who will they follow? The Duke who sits on his chair in a distant city, ordering them to throw away their lives so that he can afford a new set of armor? Or the one who marches with them, fights with them, and asks them to save their homes from the griffons?” Dengar shook his head. “Your father was so proud of you, Clement. And now you’ve pissed all over his hopes and dreams. I hope you can live with that.” Clement’s face creased with pain. “I’ll have to.” He did not watch as Dengar left. When he finally turned his eyes back up to the remaining officers, he found Volund among them. “Sir Volund. I’m surprised. I had thought you loyal to my father.” Volund looked pensive. “I have served the Duke for nearly twenty years. I’ve carried out his orders from Fillydelphia to Caladen, and never once disobeyed. I’ve given him everything.” The Knight-Commander looked up at Clement with firmness. “But not my honor. That, I still hold. I will fulfill my oath. I will march with you.” Clement nodded slowly. “Then we go to Whitewall.” He stood and lifted up the letter from his father. His horn glowed as it slowly ripped into two, then four, then many more pieces. They fluttered to the ground like snowflakes. Clement looked at the Knight-Commander. “Have the troops ready to march as quickly as you can. Whitewall has little time.” Volund snapped him a salute with a strange expression. The officers all followed suit with the same, unfamiliar look. It took him a moment to realize what it was. Oh, he thought with surprise. So that’s what respect looks like.