//------------------------------// // Chapter 6: Squall // Story: A Song of Storms: Of Skies Long Forgotten // by The 24th Pegasus //------------------------------// The Empire was infallible. We all knew that. Neither the sands of time nor the battering of griffon heads against our doors would topple Cirra. The emperor was immortal, the senate unending. It’s funny the lies one believes when there’s nothing else to cling on to. --- Excerpt from Commander Hurricane’s journal 4th of High Sun, 401 After Empire Chapter 6: Squall The smell of smoke reached Hurricane from afar. It was a thick stench, causing him to cough as flakes of scalding ash made their way into his nostrils. Outside something was burning – what was burning exactly? His thoughts were sluggish, the matter between his ears refusing to work properly. He opened his eyes for the first time – actually, he wasn’t even sure he opened his eyes so much as the world materialized around him. He was standing in a large marble room, immaculately decorated and well lit by the numerous sconces that bordered the floor. Along the walls, statues of winged equines, powerful equines, all gazed back at him with a sullen and stoic expression. He should recognize the ponies, but for some reason he couldn’t. Perhaps it was the same reason why his thoughts couldn’t come to him? His teeth tightened on the sword that he didn’t realize he was holding. The weight of the weapon felt strangely familiar; he could tell at a glance that it wasn’t the sword he’d been issued at camp, for it was of a much higher level of craftsmanship. Somehow he realized he was wearing immaculate armor trimmed in gold, with a crimson cloak hanging over his shoulder. The connections didn’t fire in his brain. It must be the smoke; it had to be the smoke. Hurricane realized he was standing in the focal point of the room, a raised platform where a solitary chair was placed. No, not a chair, a throne. It seemed like the emperor’s palace in Stratopolis. That couldn’t be right, he’d never seen the throne room in his life. But if it was, then where was the Emperor? Hurricane couldn’t see him anywhere. There were other ponies in the room as well; many bore the simple armor of the Legion, but several were outfitted in the black and gold armor of the Praetorian Guard. One of the ponies glanced back, a familiar face, silver eyes pleading with him. He coughed again at the smoke. The massive doors at the end of the room shuddered under the force of an incredible blow. Hurricane’s sword trembled in his grasp, and somewhere within him a primal fear let loose a cry of anguish. The smoke burned his lungs. The doors shuddered again, this time massive splinters flinging themselves loose from the oaken constructions. The other ponies in the room tensed, lowering their swords in a defensive position. The pony with the silver eyes shouted at him, but he couldn’t make out the words. Suddenly the doors blew open, and dozens of dark figures burst into the room, engaging the pegasi scattered across the floor with swords and claws and beaks. A solitary figure detached itself from the rest of the horde, barreling straight for Hurricane. Something in its grasp caught the light, long and frightening. He squeezed his eyes shut in fear. ----- Hurricane bolted upright in his bed, panting. He glanced around the room in a panicked manner, unable to see much of anything through the darkness. Piercing shrieks of pain lingered in his thoughts, and it took him a few seconds to separate reality from his imagination. His mind put together the pieces and his heart rate slowed down. With a deep breath, Hurricane placed his head back down on the pillow. “It was just a dream,” he mumbled to himself. Although the visions of terror his subconscious had crafted were already drifting away like sand between his hooves, the smell of ash and the fear still lingered in his head. He realized that his neck was coated in a shiny, cold sweat. Taking a few more deep breaths, Hurricane managed to flush the adrenaline from his system and settle down into his bunk again, as close to comfortable as he could get. Above him, Silver Sword’s low and steady breaths served as further comfort to the troubled stallion. “Just a dream,” he repeated, rolling over and closing his eyes. But try as he might, he couldn’t force the smell of smoke from his nose. ----- The ground squelched below Hurricane’s hooves as he walked across the soggy earth with the rest of his regiment. Stretching far out to his left, a block of nearly four thousand legionaries similarly plodded through the mud, heads lowered against the mist. The skies were bleak and gray, threatening to escalate from a thin mist to a heavy rain at any minute. To Hurricane’s right, the soldiers of Dusk Strike’s century marched with him towards the staging area. The recruits were about to partake in one of their final combat exercises before being released from camp and sent to the front lines. The entire camp had been divided into two armies to square off against each other, and every pegasus was fully armored according to their cohort's standards, ready for battle. The set of heavy blades attached to the arms of Hurricane’s wings felt incredibly foreign to him. Dusk Strike called out the order to stop, and as one the sixty Cirrans in his century halted behind him. The entire regiment had stopped moving, and Hurricane could see soldiers lining up to coat their weapons in paint. The reasoning was to be able to identify which soldiers had been “killed” in the battlefield and which ones had not. They were about to partake in a grand battle of capture the flag, the scale of which Hurricane had never seen before. Silver Sword walked up next to Hurricane, wingtips quivering in excitement. “This is going to be awesome,” he remarked, taking a bucket of blue paint in his mouth and setting it down before them. Hurricane unsheathed his blade and coated it with paint, sliding it carefully back into a cheap wooden scabbard given to him specifically for the exercise scabbard. “Supposing you don’t get out in the first wave, otherwise you’d have to sit and watch the rest of the battle,” replied Hurricane. He took a rag in his mouth and dipped it into the paint, motioning for Silver to extend his wing blades. Silver complied, and Hurricane carefully coated the metal with the blue pigment, attempting to avoid the feathers as he clumsily maneuvered the rag in his mouth. After he had painted his friend’s blades, Hurricane extended his own for Silver to return the favor. “You know me, I’m not one to go down without a blaze of glory at my tail,” said Silver Sword as he gripped a rag of his own. “I figure I can cut my way through half of the soldiers on their side, grab the flag, and fight my way back again.” “Way to think rationally,” retorted Hurricane. He furrowed his brow as Silver accidentally dropped a few splatters of paint onto his pristine, black feathers. If there was one thing that could drive him crazy, it would be getting his feathers all disheveled. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything he could do at this point, and it was likely they would only get paint stained again before the battle was over. Silver spat out the rag and passed the paint down to the next group of pegasi. “If I think rationally then I’m already setting myself up for failure. There’s no use beating yourself down before you even get started.” Hurricane flexed his wings, again uncomfortable with the additional weight along the arms. “Swift’s cohort is on the other side.” Silver’s ears to flattened a degree. “Oh. Well then, I just might require backup taking the flag in that case.” “What’s the matter? Worried that you’ll run into her? I thought you were good enough to fight her one on one.” Hurricane’s eyes had a teasing glint to them, and Silver flared his feathers out defensively. “No! I just mean, well, um, if I run into her then that’ll take away time that I could be using elsewhere on the field.” Silver began to stammer, trying to come up with a suitable escape from Hurricane’s accusation. “Don’t worry, I’m only kidding. Let’s just stick together, bring that flag back and be done with it, alright?” Silver smiled in relief. “Sounds like a plan. I wonder when we’re going to get started.” As if in response to Silver Sword, a bellow from a horn could be heard across the field. Dusk Strike paced in front of his platoon one last time before snapping his wings out to the sides, blue blades spattering paint on the grass around him. At his signal, the pegasi of the fifth cohort, twenty-third century spread their wings to the sides in preparation for takeoff. Hurricane could feel his heart rate slow in anticipation, the world around him shrinking until all he could see was Dusk Strike’s rigid figure. There was a shout from somewhere to his left, where the bulk of the cohort was located. With a loud exclamation and a flare of his wings, Dusk Strike shot into the air, spinning off towards the far end of the field. Hurricane launched himself up behind him, burdened wings pushing fiercely against the heavy air. He had to adjust the angle of his wings slightly to smoothen the airflow around them in compensation for the shape and weight of the blades. Once he had his rhythm down, they weren’t too bothersome to fly with. On the ground, the heavy infantry marched across the soaked field to close the half mile between the two sides. Their swords were held firmly in their mouths, and the drumming of a thousand marching hooves across the plains filled the air with a thunderous roar. To the rear, two cohorts of legionaries, numbering five hundred each, formed a defensive line around blue team’s flag and waited for either a call for reinforcements or the advance of red warriors towards the base. In the air, the remaining thousand pegasi of the legion's four thousand soldiers formed a thick cloud that advanced towards the opposing side at great speed. Ahead of Hurricane, numerous figures broke from behind the hills that concealed the enemy flag. Hurricane pulled off a quick count of the opposing air and ground forces. The red team legate had stacked his forces in favor of an aerial assault, but his ground forces didn’t seem to be any smaller than blue teams. Unless he was granted additional forces, which Hurricane knew wasn’t true, that meant his defense of the flag was minimal. Hurricane realized that red team planned to swat aside blue team’s air force and descend on the flag, hoping that their ground forces could keep blue team’s at bay long enough to secure it. With a burst of speed, the black pegasus accelerated up to Dusk Strike to relay his observations. Dusk Strike may have been a proud centurion, but he wasn’t stupid. He listened to Hurricane’s words as they flew closer and closer to the enemy, and with a slight nod of his head he angled his body slightly below the center of the enemy formation. The rest of the platoon followed suit, tightening into a thin line behind their centurion. The red team’s fliers were now close enough for Hurricane to distinguish the color of their coats. He looked for a familiar manila colored mare but didn’t see any sign of her. He had little time for other thoughts as the first crashes of metal rang out across the battlefield. Blue team’s airborne platoons found themselves almost immediately outnumbered. The walls of pegasi became entangled in full, spiraling in and out of formation as they tried to strike down an opponent. Unlike terrestrial combat where it was easy to maintain rank and file during battle, the skies shattered into hundreds of pairs of legionaries that chased each other through the damp air. Silver Sword pulled up alongside Hurricane, and the two exchanged a helmed nod. Flying in formation, they chased after the hole that Dusk Strike had punched through red team’s flank. Most of red team was behind them now, working to contain the pegasi they were up against. Blue team had adopted a hit and run approach, flying in pairs and trying to take down enemy pegasi that were chasing other pairs. They were making themselves hard to catch, but they were also wearing themselves down. It occurred to Hurricane that his team's legate was only trying to buy time for a few centuries to break through the lines and secure the flag. On the ground, the battle had descended into a brutal melee between the opposing sides. All Hurricane could make out was a single dark blob from which the sounds of battle emanated. He could see several figures detach themselves from the battle and fly off to the sides, obviously soldiers that had been “killed”. Occasionally a group of officers wearing bright yellow paint to stand out in the crowd had to drag an overzealous combatant out of the fight who had already been marked but refused to leave the combat zone. A shout ahead of them drew Hurricane’s attention back into the air. Ranks of red team soldiers flew up to meet the incoming century. There were about a hundred fliers compared to Dusk Strike’s sixty, but they were medium infantry, designed to fit a multirole template and thus carried heavy armor but no wing blades. Medium infantry was more adept at securing defensive positions against a variety of griffon threats, not repelling an airborne assault of agile pegasi. Dusk Strike led the charge into the rising red ranks. His blades found contact with shoulder pauldrons and chest armor, leaving streaks of blue paint along the metal surfaces. The pegasi detached from combat shortly after they were hit; those that didn’t found themselves struck again and again until they were finally beaten onto the ground by the incoming wave of light infantry. Hurricane felt his wing blades collide with the body of a pegasus to his right. The unexpected blow caused his right wing to collapse on him, making him drop several tail lengths in the air before he recovered. Flaring his wings, Hurricane sharply cut his speed as he approached the ground. In a few moments, the black pegasus found himself running towards a central fortification, a crimson banner flowing above it. Several dozen medium infantry blocked his path, swords drawn. There was the drumming of hooves alongside him, and Hurricane glanced around to see other Cirrans descending in the immediate vicinity, weapons unsheathed. Hurricane quickly grabbed his own blade, pleased to see that the blue paint was still rather fluid against the metal. Adjusting his grip on the weapon, Hurricane singled out an enemy and charged at him. The pegasus glimpsed Hurricane bearing down on him and clumsily pulled his weapon from its sheathe, blade red with paint. He turned the weapon to face against the black stallion, but it was too late. Using his wing as a ram, Hurricane batted the sword away and smacked his opponent across the neck with the flat of his weapon, leaving a satisfying streak of blue paint. The marked pegasus threw his wings up into the air and flew out of the combat zone, defeated. Hurricane had little time to revel in his victory. Two medium soldiers were approaching his left flank, weapons drawn. Pivoting on his rear hoof, Hurricane adjusted his body to stand face to face with the defenders. As the pair got closer, he lowered his stance and darted at them. When the three were separated by little more than ten feet, Hurricane suddenly folded his wings against his back and propelled himself at the smaller of the two, a mare with a gray coat. Before she could react, Hurricane collided with her and threw her onto her back. In desperation, the gray mare punched at Hurricane’s face. The blow connected solidly, but it did little more than cause the black stallion to snort as his nose stung from the hit. With a fluid motion, Hurricane marked his opponent’s neck blue and rose from her body. Almost immediately he was knocked back by something colliding against his side, breaking his grip on his blade. The mare’s companion, a large stallion with an orange coat, regained his footing after the hit and galloped after Hurricane’s tumbling form. Hurricane saw his blue sword embedded in the ground no more than a tail length away from where his head came to rest, and he reached out with his jaw to grab it. The orange stallion was quicker, kicking away the weapon with red horseshoes. Hurricane tried to roll away from him, but his wing was solidly pinned under the stallion’s hooves. Smiling, the pegasus lowered his sword to mark Hurricane out. Just then, a blue blade flung itself out from behind the stallion’s head and slapped him across the eyes, blinding him. Silver Sword pushed the orange pegasus out of the way and helped Hurricane to his hooves. “Nice timing. What took you so long?” remarked Hurricane. Silver Sword passed Hurricane his weapon, which he gratefully reclaimed. “Had to help clear out the skies a little,” he replied, gesturing with his eyes to the air around them. The last of red team’s airborne medium infantry was trying to disengage and warn the main body of their team that the flag was vulnerable. Each pegasus was pursued by a single blue team member who was trying to stop them before they could alert red team’s commander. Hurricane knew they’d catch them shortly; it was hard to outpace the light infantry when wearing heavy armor. “Seen Swift Spear at all?” Hurricane asked. The steel pegasus shook his head in reply while the two galloped towards the enemy fortification. “She’s light infantry, right? She would’ve been up in that hairball over midfield then. We must’ve missed her, thank the gods.” A column of Dusk Strike’s soldiers began descending on the fortification, making quick work of the stragglers around the flag. The pair of pegasi reached the opening to the fortification, which Dusk Strike was currently in the process of cleaning out. He was down to about twenty legionaries, including Hurricane, Silver Sword, and himself, but at the moment the red team’s defense was disorganized and losing badly. In the skies, a large group of pegasi detached themselves from the massive fight over the field and burned a trail back to red base. Blue team had less than a minute to grab the flag and get out. “Go! I’ll cover you,” shouted Hurricane as he prepared to take flight and slow down the incoming pegasi. Silver Sword nodded and began to run off into the structure before stopping to add one last sarcastic remark. “The Empire will remember you for your service on this day, oh valiant Hurricane,” he quipped, disappearing into the structure in a blur of gray mane and coat. Hurricane rolled his eyes and began to climb altitude in a suicidal attempt to buy time for his friend. But something made him stop in his tracks. Hurricane craned his neck around. Was that a scream he heard? Given the current situation he normally wouldn’t be inclined to investigate, as the battle was filled with screams from both sides. But this one sounded familiar to him. He heard it again, this time loud and distinct. It was coming from somewhere behind the battlefield, buried in the thick alcove of trees at the eastern end. His heart raced as he heard Swift Spear calling out for help. Immediately he knew it wasn’t about the battle. It was too far off of the field of engagement to be so, and Hurricane could sense there was genuine fear in the voice. Without hesitation, he abandoned his mission and flew off towards where he knew his friend was in trouble. “I’m coming, Swift!” shouted the black stallion as tree limbs whipped by his head, branches stinging his ears. He could hear other voices now, indistinct and scattered by the thick foliage. Squeezing his eyes shut, with one final stroke he burst into a clearing within the army of trees, panting. What he saw did nothing to relieve him. Before him were five figures who all jolted their heads upwards at his sudden entrance. The one Hurricane immediately recognized was the mare lying on the ground, manila coat bruised and spattered with blood stains. There was no way for Hurricane to tell at this distance whether or not they were from Swift, but the mare’s labored breathing and huddled figure told him she was hurt. If Swift’s condition froze Hurricane’s heart in worry, the next thing he saw ignited it in a blaze of anger. Standing directly above the mare was 0a familiar red pegasus, armor stripped away and cast on the ground. A fiery hoof was resting on Swift’s flank. Around him, Fire Star’s companions bore the signs of a scuffle that had taken place not too long ago. It didn’t take long for Hurricane to put two and two together. Nostrils flaring, the black pegasus slammed his hooves onto the ground and advanced menacingly towards Fire Star. “You…” hissed Hurricane, his feathers flared angrily out on either side of him as he advanced. Fire Star took his hoof off of Swift’s flank and stepped back. “Well, if it isn’t Swift’s little pet. You have a habit of showing up at the most inconvenient times, don’t you? I would much rather if you leave me to my own pursuits from now on. We wouldn’t want anypony to get hurt, now would we?” Hurricane’s piercing glare unnerved the red pegasus across from him. The magenta eyes bore the fury of someone deeply wronged and incredibly angered. Fire Star’s friends scampered away fearfully as he approached. “Leave. Her. Alone.” Hurricane spat the words out, where they fell to the ground with a roar of thunderous malevolence. Fire Star took several more steps back, trying to take control of the situation. “Or what? You’ll kill me? You wouldn’t want to do that, friend.” His eyes glanced nervously around the clearing, trying to look for anything to rally his support around. His friends retreated back even farther from the black stallion. With the silence of determination and fury, Hurricane slowly unsheathed his sword and stalked ever closer to Fire Star. The red pegasus was running out of time to decide whether to fight or flee. Hurricane’s eyes carried death in their glinting irises, and the sword twitched in anticipation in his mouth. If Fire Star was smarter, he would have fled there and then. But to the self-centered pegasus, maintaining his pride was more important than escaping injury. If there was one thing he despised above all others, it was being called a coward. Sealing his fate, the red pegasus drew his sword and stood his ground. There were no rules. There were no officers to moderate the fight. Hurricane and Fire Star stared each other down, swords quivering murderously in their grip. The black pegasus made the decisive action, running towards Fire Star. The scarlet stallion spread his legs beneath him, ready to block and parry the blow. As Hurricane brought the sword down on his opponent, Fire Star moved to catch the sword with his own, angling his body to the side so he could quickly spin and strike at Hurricane. But Fire Star underestimated the force behind the blow, and his weapon came sailing back towards his face as it was rebounded from Hurricane’s fearsome strike. The red stallion stumbled backwards as his vision blurred, struggling to maintain his grip on the sword hanging loosely from his mouth. Hurricane gave his opponent no mercy. Before Fire Star could even blink, he was back at his throat again with his sword. The red stallion struck with a bladed wing at Hurricane’s head, which he dodged easily, sending a bladed wing of his own at Fire Star’s side. There was a hideous shrieking of metal as the blade slid across it, and Fire Star let loose a grunt as the air was forced from his lungs. Immediately following up, Hurricane caught his opponent under the cheek with his other wing, centering his head for the final strike. If Hurricane wanted to ensure that Fire Star would leave him and his friends alone, he had to beat him quickly and soundly. Otherwise there was the risk that there’d be more fight in the hateful stallion’s heart. The tip of Hurricane’s sword cut across the ground as he swung it upwards, severing blades of grass as it arced. He could barely hear a pleading voice from somewhere behind him, begging him to stop. The sword continued on its path, only increasing in velocity. With the screech of metal being ripped asunder, the sword connected with Fire Star’s neck. The red pegasus flipped twice in the air, spiraling backwards to where he collapsed on the ground in a messy heap. The immediate area was deathly silent as Fire Star’s wings twitched several times on the ground. Hurricane let the sword drop out of his mouth, where it clattered on the ground, painting the grass red. Fire Star’s friends gathered around the motionless pony, breathlessly muttering to each other and eyeing Hurricane warily. Hurricane walked over to where Swift Spear lay watching him with a spark of fright in her eyes. The black stallion helped her to her hooves where she leaned against him, a crippled foreleg held aloft at her side. “Did they…?” whispered Hurricane in her ear. Swift Spear shook her head and looked over her shoulder at the cluster of pegasi standing over their fallen friend. “Hurricane, you… you...” Her words were cut off by a hoof from Hurricane placed lightly across her cheek. The red sword was returned to its blue sheath, and slowly the pegasi began to walk back towards the fields, where the sound of a horn indicated that the battle was over. Hurricane began to shudder as he walked through the trees with Swift against his side. One of Fire Star’s friends bolted into the air to go find a medic, leaving the other two behind with the red pegasus. Hurricane looked back at the crumpled pony, seeing only an expanding pool of red. His eyes caught those of the two pegasi around Fire Star’s body. They were filled with immense fear, and it was meant for him.