Bright Blade sighed as he walked through the halls of the Order of the Watchers’ fortress. Nestled in the shadow of one of Germaneigh’s small mountain ranges, the castle had stood ever since Germaneigh’s founding, an order dedicated to protecting the smallponies from the depredations of the warrior tribes of ponies that had made up the conglomeration of small, petty kingdoms that had divided the nation into so many individual factions. Eventually the nation of Shetland had become the most powerful of them, conquering the smaller kingdoms that made up the rest of Germaneigh’s present territory, until their jarl had declared himself King. Through it all the Order had remained, defending against attacks both against its fortress and the small villages around it.
The castle itself was surrounded by walls thirty feet high and twenty feet thick, its large gates opening up to a great courtyard large enough to muster the castle’s full strength of two thousand, along with the auxiliary troops of the surrounding villages. Banners flew proudly from the walls and hung from the keep, depicting a white heater shield behind a downward pointing sword, all over a blue background.The hallway that Bright Blade was walking down led to the Grand Master’s study. His hooves sank into the soft blue carpet as the earth pony kept his eyes forward, focusing on the doors at the far end of the hallway. He knew how the rest of the hallway looked: chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, the candles in them augmenting the light from the torch sconces on the walls and the muted sunlight shining in through the glass windows. Above the door was a large stone carving that depicted a pegasus wearing a cloak and cowl. His hooves were somehow wrapped around a downward-pointing sword and his wings were spread behind him. Similar, though plainer statues lined the hallway on either side, stone hooves wrapped around authentic, still-functional weapons.
Finally, Bright Blade reached the Grand Master’s study. Lifting a hoof to knock, he lowered it as the door swung open in a flare of green magic before he could touch it. The door revealed the stairway that led down into the Grand Master’s study, a sunken area that housed the Grand Master’s desk, along with several glass-fronted bookshelves that ran around the circular back wall. Two tapestries depicting the Order’s founding and the crowning of Germaneigh’s first king hung from the two pillars on either side of the staircase’s bottom step. A roost sat beside the office’s desk, the blue-colored phoenix perched on it giving a musical cry as it saw Bright Blade walk down the steps.
Grand Master Spatha was a unicorn, and had led the Order of the Watchers for many years. His previously light grey coat had deepened into aged silver and his brown mane had turned white, but his blue eyes were still as clear and sharp as ever. The unicorn looked up from the map he was reading, smiling as he saw Bright Blade reach the bottom of the steps. “Ah, Bright Blade. We were worried when we heard of Iron Ore’s defeat. I’m glad to see that you made it back safely.”
“Thank you, Master Spatha,” Bright Blade replied, inclining his head. “I regret to report that we lost ten of our brothers during the battle.”
“Such is the way of war,” Spatha replied. “We can mourn them later. We’ve received news from several scouts. The griffins have launched two more armies into Germaneigh.”
“More griffins?” Bright Blade asked, trotting over to the desk to look at the map. Spatha’s phoenix left its perch and instead moved to its master’s horn, staring down at the paper as well.
“No,” Spatha replied, shaking his head. “Different. They don’t fly griffin banners, and there are no griffins or dogs with them. This is a new faction entirely.”
“What are they, then?” Bright Blade asked, looking back up at Spatha. The Grand Master’s horn lit up and a green glow enfolded the doorknob of one of the bookcases. The door opened and a leather-bound book floated out, landing on the desk with a gentle thump. The book cover itself then lit up, opening. Pages fluttered softly as Spatha flipped through the tome until he came to one page in particular. It showed a two-legged draconic creature, its mouth wide open and its eyes wide and feral in an expression of savage glee. A long falchion was gripped in one clawed hand, a long heater shield in the other.
“They’re called drakons,” Spatha said. “Supposedly spawn of the Great Beast during its war against the Two Sisters. When he was defeated and imprisoned in stone they fled north, into the depths of the mountains, below the keeps of the griffins. They warred with one another for centuries before the drakons were finally defeated and brought to heel by the griffins. If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say that the griffins called them to war.”
“And they answered,” Bright Blade muttered. Spatha nodded, pointing at the two small flags emblems that were steadily moving across the map. They were black for the most part, with a red, three-headed dragon forming a rough circle in the center.
“The scout wasn’t able to get an accurate count…but both armies are very large.” Spatha sighed. “We don’t have nearly the numbers to stop them here.” His phoenix fluttered down from his horn, landing on the table and pecking at the two banners.
“So what do we do?” Bright Blade asked, looking up from the map at Spatha.
The old unicorn leaned back and shook his head. “The most I could think of would be to call our Chapters back from every city that isn’t under griffin control. The size of the two armies means that thankfully they can’t move very quickly, so hopefully our brothers will be able to make it back here.” Spatha looked up at his phoenix. “Copper, you know what to do.”
The phoenix nodded and gave its sapphire wings a few good flaps, taking off into the air before disappearing in a flash of fire. As Copper’s embers disappeared on their way to the floor, Spatha turned around to Bright Blade. “Inform the other officers to gather in my study at dusk. We must plan. And send a messenger to the High Sword of the Order of the Forest, as well as Lord Autumnbark. They must know of this threat as well.”
“Yes, Master,” Bright Blade replied, bowing before hurriedly turning and galloping out. As he left, Spatha shut the door and sat down, his horn flaring and a model of the castle appearing on his desk. His horn flickering as he thought of force positioning, Spatha began muttering to himself as the Grand Master prepared to defend his keep.
***
Word of the approaching threat spread quickly through the ranks of the Watchers, sending them into a spiral of activity as the fortress began to prepare for assault. Forge fires were lit and new weapons and pieces of armor were made as others were repaired. Provisions were taken stock of by Order serfs, the wells checked by engineers to make sure that none were dry. Soldiers that made their homes in the villages surrounding the fortress were called up, and soon columns of ponies were marching into the walls of the fortress, mustering in the courtyard. The rest of the villagers were sent farther into Germaneigh, away from the advancing drakon hordes. Order masons combed the walls of the castle from top to bottom, searching for any weaknesses in the structure that could be used against the defenders. Any potential tunnels leading into the interior were sealed, then warded to prevent their use.
Inside the castle, a measure of organized chaos became the norm. Novices and acolytes ran back and forth with messages, detailing errands that needed to be run or duties that needed to be performed. The training grounds were filled with the clash and clang of weaponry as ponies engaged one another in mock battle or drilled through their forms with their swords. The Grand Master was in constant conference with the order’s other high-ranking ponies, making decisions and plans for the defense. Other chapters of the order from other parts of Germaneigh were arriving every few days, the numbers inside the fortress gradually swelling as more and more troops arrived. Pegasus scouting patrols were increased, pegasi coming and going to the fortress with increased frequency, constantly bringing updates. Ground patrols were also sent out on the off chance that anything might have been missed from the air.
And so the days passed. The scouts came and went, with every report the same: the armies were getting closer. The fortress kept preparing, and doubt lingered in the hearts of all.
***
Firestarter breathed in deeply; smoke curled up into his nostrils as he took in the scent of smoke and ashes as the village burned around him. Dead ponies lay everywhere. The various buildings in the village around them burned. Drakons ran amok through the streets, kicking down doors, smashing windows and looting anything that caught their eyes. Ponies that had survived the attack ran for their lives, their fur and manes scorched, their fur trailing smoke as they ran screaming from the enemy that had uprooted them so violently from their peaceful existence. Some were chased down and caught by drakon soldiers, screaming and thrashing as drakon weapons rose and fell, blood darkening them as they fell again and again.
One such enterprising pony attempted to gallop past Firestarter. The Iron King’s clawed hand shot out, the stallion gagging as he was grabbed by the throat. Firestarter lifted the pony up to him, the equine’s back legs kicking futilely, his eyes wide as he stared at Firestarter. Firestarter’s mouth dropped open in a sharp-toothed grin, letting a gust of fetid breath waft out from his maw. The pony’s eyes rolled in disgust and he let out a loud gag as Firestarter’s muzzle moved closer to his face.
“Struggle not, little pony,” the drakon rumbled, his golden eyes being brightened by the burning buildings around him. His free claw drew a serrated dagger from his belt, raising it to the stallion’s throat. “Take solace that you will not live to see what the Dragon-Kin are truly capable of.”
With that he brutally dragged the dagger across the stallion’s throat. The pony stiffened and gagged even more as blood splattered out of his throat, sheeting down his front and into the churned-up ground. Firestarter let the pony drop, leaving the body to land in the mud with a splat, the stallion still twitching weakly as his lifeblood flowed from his throat. The Iron King then strode forward, pressing one clawed foot down on the stallion’s head as he walked down the villages’ main street, leaving the rest of his soldiers to hunt down the remaining ponies. The village had been located on a hill, overlooking the large expanse of plains that rolled into the distance all the way up to the foothills of the mountains, massive and purple in the distance.
Firestarter’s army marched past the village, a wide expanse of black armor and thrusting spears. The army stretched for a significant distance out onto the plains, covering the golden grass in black armor, marching feet, leathery wings, and scaly skin. Pillars of smoke stretched into the sky for a substantial distance behind the army, the remains of other farming communities or villages that had failed to evacuate before the might of the drakon legions. Firestarter turned around again, back west towards the area that he had been assigned to attack by Aeris. It was a pony fortress, the home of the Order of the Forest. He had been told its name before setting out: the Timber Citadel. While the second drakon army was marching to the fortress that housed the Order of the Watchers and Lord Rainstorm’s army was moving on the Sovereign Forest, Firestarter would assault the Citadel with his own army. They said it had never been taken. They said that no army had ever even been able to breach the walls.
Firestarter took that as a challenge. The drakon king turned his head skyward and released a loud bellow of anticipation, the sound echoing across the plains and magnified a thousand fold as the army echoed it.
***
The sound of galloping hooves echoed through the relatively empty halls of Auxios Keep as Prince Cimarron of Germaneigh ran for the castle’s throne room. The earth pony prince’s sandy brown mane flopped into his green eyes as he ran, the stallion not pausing to try and blow it out of his eyes as he normally did. He knew that today was an important day: though it wasn’t a day that King Earth Shaker held court, as it had been indefinitely suspended due to the invasion. The reason that Cimarron was rushing was that, somehow, he had not been told.
Why didn’t he tell me?! the Prince thought to himself. He’s always had me in councils of war!
The throne room doors were finally in sight. A line of eight guards stood in front of it, clad in the grey robes and golden armor of the Hussarian Guard, the official guards of the Germaneic royal family. No expression was visible through the faceplates of their golden helmets, and Cimarron was forced to slide to a stop as two of the Hussarians crossed their spears over the throne room doors.
“Hold, Your Highness,” one of them said, his voice deepened and distorted by the helmet. “You are not allowed to enter the throne room while the council is in session.”
“Why not?” Cimarron asked. “You know very well that I’ve been privy to every council my father has called since this war began! Why has he given you those orders?”
“It is not in our place to question the King,” said a second Hussarian, standing on the other side of the door from the first. “His word is the law.”
“Oh for the love of the Great Stag, out of my way!” Cimarron replied as he bulled forward past the spears and bucked the throne room doors open. As the great oaken slabs swung inward, the five figures gathered around the circular table that had been set up in the throne room looked up in surprise. Cimarron began walking deeper into the room, his gaze locked on the large, silver earth pony standing directly opposite him around the table.
“Cimarron,” the earth pony rumbled. “I believe I told the guards to keep you out.”
“Why?” Cimarron asked as he reached the side of the table. “You’ve always had me in these conferences, ever since the war broke out. Why suddenly send me away?”
“Because it is time that I began running my kingdom, not my son,” Earth Shaker said. “Too long you have been overruling me during this war, and too long have you been refusing my orders. This is where I put my hoof down, my son. I am the King of Germaneigh, not you.”
“But Father-“
“THAT IS MY DECISION!” Earth Shaker boomed suddenly, causing dust to fall from the throne room’s ceiling as his voice reverberated through the ancient stone. “OBEY IT!”
Cimarron took a few steps backward, his eyes wide. The various councilors around the rest of the table exchanged nervous looks with one another, each waiting with bated breath to see how the confrontation would play out.
Cimarron pressed his lips together before turning and walking out, the Hussarians shutting the doors behind him. Earth Shaker stared at the door for a bit longer before turning his attention back to the map.
***
Mere minutes later, Cimarron’s chambers were alive with activity as servants ran every which way, gathering clothing and books from all over the Prince’s rooms. Cimarron had gathered his own small council of war, consisting of several Germaneic lords as well as a number of high-ranking knights.
“You all know that my father would burn Germaneigh to the ground rather than surrender to the griffins,” Cimarron said, his eyes finding the faces of each of his little group. “As much as it pains me to say, if he refuses to allow me to override him or sit out of the defense of Germaneigh any longer, I have no choice but to conduct a war of my own, or at least try to make sure that some portion of Germaneigh survives.”
“How do you plan to do that, Your Highness?” asked one of the assembled ponies, a unicorn that held the rank of Knight-Captain among the order he presented, the Birch Brotherhood. “If I may be so bold…”
“You may,” Cimarron replied, nodding for the unicorn to go on.
“I think that the last thing that Germaneigh needs right now is a civil war. We’re already doing poorly enough in this war with the griffins rolling over any army that tries to stop them, not to mention all of the lords that are defecting over to Aeris’s service.”
“Then we’ll make peace with them, if it’s an option,” Cimarron countered. “Germaneigh didn’t want this war in the first place: if it means that we have to deal with severely reduced territory, then so be it.” He sighed, clenching his eyes shut and hanging his head as he did. “A severely weakened Germaneigh is better than no Germaneigh at all.” He looked back up at them. “I plan on taking any lords that will follow me, along with their armies, to the coast. We can hole up there, hopefully hold the griffins back if they decide to keep going. I’m going to start looking for a location to establish a new capital. In the meantime, I want all of you to return home and gather levies and be ready to march to me when I send you messages. Also, see if you can find any other lords or knights that would come with us. We’ll need all of the strength we can get.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” the others responded, bowing. With that, they all left the room; each going out to fulfill their duties to the prince that they believed would at least preserve their nation, if not save it. Cimarron watched them leave, then turned and called to a passing servant. “Get me a map of all of Germaneigh. Everywhere, even out to the islands.”
“Yes, Your Highness!” the servant replied, galloping off to find such a map. Cimarron moved across the room and opened the glass-fronted windows, opening the way to the stone balcony outside. Auxios lay beyond the stone railing, filled with the glittering lights of ponies going about their business amongst the city’s night-life. The happy chatter of ponies talking to one another in the streets and the warm smells of restaurant food wafted into the air reached Cimarron’s ears and nostrils, the earth pony prince giving a sigh as he went back into his room, letting the scents and sounds fade away as he shut the doors.
It’s like they don’t even know there’s a war on, he thought. He turned suddenly and walked into his bedroom, to the small stone block that was placed at the foot of his bed. On top of the block was a small metal statue depicting a rearing stag with its antlers long and wide and its tines sharp and pointed. A fierce expression had been fashioned onto its face, ferocity not born of anger, but of fatherly pride and protectiveness. Cimarron got to his knees in front of the altar, prostrating himself before the statue. His lips began moving, the words he whispered nearly inaudible.
“Great Stag of the Forest, Leader of my Forefathers, give me the strength to see my task through to its end. I ask that you grant me and those that follow me the protection of your antlers and the keenness of your eyes, and allow us to be able to safely reach our destination and be able to preserve our nation in any form no matter the size of its borders when this crisis has abated. Protect my father and those under him, and if you are unable to make him see the folly of his decision, protect him and keep him in good health. These things I ask in your Glorious Name, so let it be.”