//------------------------------// // 49. The Race is On // Story: The Age of Wings and Steel // by DSNesmith //------------------------------// Clement swept the cloth cover off of his armor stand, and growled in irritation. “Wes—Treskitt! Get in here!” His young aide burst into the tent, looking flustered. “Yes, my lord?” “Treskitt, where is my helmet?” Treskitt swallowed. “Sorry, my lord. I was polishing it last night, I, erm… I think I left it in the tent when I was done.” “Not my tent, apparently.” He paled. “I’m so sorry, my lord, I’ll go find it immediately.” Clement sighed as Treskitt rushed from the tent, listening to the sound of his hooves galloping off. The colt was extremely timid whenever he was around Clement, and could barely say ten words to him without a “sorry” thrown in. He turned around to begin the process of disassembling his command tent. The bedroll was soon packed in a tight bundle, along with the maps, pens, and inkwells. The folding table followed in short order. His collapsible clothing cabinet was staying in Whitewall. He couldn’t imagine why he’d brought it in the first place. Weston must have laughed at him. Distracted, his hoof bumped against something hard. There, in the corner of his tent, he found a lump of blue fabric. Unwrapping it, he discovered his helmet, the mirror-polished steel gleaming softly in the faint sunlight that filtered through his tent. He looked at his distorted reflection with a wry smile. He heard the tent flap rustle, and looked up to find Volund entering. “My lord.” The Knight-Commander bowed. “Hello, Volund. How are we doing?” Volund gave a tired, but genuine, smile. “Packing up camp is hectic as always, but we’re on schedule. We should be marching out around seven o’clock this morning.” He looked around. “Where’s that young squire of yours? Triscuit? Nitwit?” “Treskitt,” said Clement with a half-grin. “He’s off learning to keep track of my armor when he’s done polishing it.” “Ah,” said Volund, his eyes twinkling. “Well, we’ve all been him at some point. Even you, my lord. I remember one time you lost your father’s—” Volund paused, too late to catch himself. Clement turned his head, showing none of the pain brought up by the mention of the duke. “Yes. He’ll learn, in time. Until then,” he cracked another smile, “I’ll have to deal with misplaced helmets and poorly buckled armor.” He traced the Blueblood emblem etched on the crest of his helmet, right beneath the hole for his horn. “I miss him, Volund.” “I wish I could say you’ll feel better, my lord, but that pain never really goes away.” Volund’s face was empathetic. “Losing ponies is never easy. And when they’re friends…” He pulled out his knight’s chain. “See the notches on the links?” Clement nodded. Volund looked at his chain, his eyes distant. “Every one of those was a soldier I fought together with for years, brothers and sisters in arms who fell in combat at my side. We can’t bring them back, Clement. All we can do is remember them, and fight on.” “Yes…” Clement smiled sadly. “There were three ponies I always looked up to, growing up. The first was my father. I wanted to be a duke as good as he was, able to keep the duchy strong even in times as bad as the rebellions. The second was Weston. Kind, honest, but more than that, he was happy. My father never had that same vitality to him. Weston always had a smile, even if the situation seemed dire. I wanted that.” He clutched the helmet to his chest, and his vision blurred with water. “I wasn’t even there when he died.” Volund approached him and laid a hoof on his shoulder. “Trust me, Clement. Dwelling on regrets will only make them hurt more. Look to the future. The only way toward healing is forward.” Clement nodded slowly. “Thank you, Volund.” He closed his eyes and exhaled. “Let’s be about it, then.” Jerking his head upright, he went to his armor stand. “As my squire is currently busy, might I impose upon you to help me with my armor?” “Certainly, my lord,” said Volund, grinning. The two of them began buckling on the plates. Clement was getting better at doing it on his own, but the rear plates and the pauldrons were always difficult to do by oneself. As Volund drew the straps through the loops, he said, “The reason I’m here is to tell you that General Firemane wants to see us in the council chamber at our earliest convenience. I was given to understand that it wasn’t a request.” “Then we’ll head there right away.” “Ah, pardon, my lord, but why exactly are we putting your armor on?” Clement gave a long-suffering sigh. “It’s either wear it during the march, or watch Treskitt be slowly ground into the dust under the weight of the tent, furniture, AND my armor.” “I see,” said Volund, with something that sounded suspiciously like a snicker. “Well, my lord, at least you’ll look dashing for the troops.” He pulled a strap tight and cinched the buckle. “That’s the last one. Shall we?” “Lead on, Knight-Commander.” They pushed out of the tent and into the Norhart camp. Hundreds of blue tents had sprung up around Whitewall. The troops had complained about sleeping outside the walls, but Clement had wanted to be ready to move on a moment’s notice, a decision that was now paying off. Soldiers rushed past them as they walked into the city, carrying supplies, weapons, and tent fabric. Clement and Volund made their way through the bustling rings of the city. They were filled with Whitetail and Norhart ponies alike, all scurrying to prepare for the long march to the capital. Formations of pegasi soared overhead, though Clement noticed how few of them had golden armor. He frowned, dismayed that so many of Equestria’s elite had fallen. The door to the keep had not yet been repaired, but the area was cordoned off and several ponies wearing Whitetail colors were tinkering with the hinges of the frame. Clement and Volund ducked under the rope, nodded a greeting to the carpenters, and entered the tower. At the top, Clement pushed open the door to the council chamber, feeling the welcome heat of the furnace. At the table in the center of the room, Windstreak and the younger Firewing, Wheatie, were looking over a map. Duke Bellemont, seated on the near side of the table, looked up as they entered. “Ah, Clement, Volund, you’re here. Good.” “Welcome, my lords,” said Windstreak, glancing up. “How are the marching preparations going?” “We’ll be ready to move by seven,” said Clement, feeling a stirring of pride. His ponies were quick and efficient, and willing to march a mere three days after their last journey. He could ask no more of them. “Excellent. If we leave this morning, we should be able to reach the forest’s edge by New Year’s Day. We’ll have to take the path through the trees, unfortunately. My scouts tell me that the griffons are watching the roads.” “I’ve received the same reports.” Clement stood next to the table, looking down at the map. “If we get there by New Year’s, we should be able to reach the capital by the Ninth of January.” “But will we beat the griffons there?” Tymeo’s face was lined with worry. The young duke looked like he was approaching Windstreak’s age, though he could hardly be older than Clement. “It’s impossible to say for certain.” Windstreak bit her lip. “But it’s going to be close, either way.” Volund cleared his throat. “Once we reach the capital, what’s our plan?” “That will depend on the nature of Shrikefeather’s new toy, whatever it is. If he really can get his troops inside the city without taking down the walls, we’ll have a real problem trying to get at them.” Clement breathed out. “Then, with apologies to the Knight-Commander, I place our forces at your command, General. You have more experience than my entire board of officers at this point. We’ll follow your orders.” Windstreak nodded. “Thank you, Commander. Volund, I’ll need you to get me a sheet with some logistical information about your forces on it by noon.” “Yes, General.” “Are there any others we could call for help?” Tymeo looked around the table. “Helmfast? The Delta? Hell, even Everfree?” “Already taken, too far, and too useless, in that order.” Volund shook his head. “Helmfast’s armies are in Norhart right now, with the duke himself. Any forces from the Delta could never hope to reach us in time, and at any rate, their power lies in their navy. As for Everfree, well,” he snorted, “Unless you’ve found a way to conscript ghosts, timberwolves, and manticores, we’ll get little help from there.” “There’s still one ally we might call on,” said Windstreak. “Before we left the capital, the Princess sent messengers to seek aid from Sleipnord.” “Captain…” Wheatie sounded anxious. “It’s been almost three months. I… I don’t want to dash your hopes, but…” “He’s alive, Wheatie.” Windstreak’s voice was brittle. “I know he is.” Clement, Tymeo, and Volund all shared raised eyebrows of curiosity. “So, General, will we have Nordpony reinforcements or not?” She seemed to argue with herself internally for a moment. “We… we cannot depend on them arriving in time. We’ll have to operate under the assumption that we are the only army available.” “Then we’ll have to be enough.” Clement bowed. “If that’s all, I should see to my troops.” “Very well, Commander. We’ll move out at seven. Goodbye, and good luck.” As they left, Volund spoke in hushed tones. “What was that business with the Nordponies about?” “Your guess is as good as mine,” said Clement, shrugging with a clank of steel plates. “Must be a Firewing matter.” “I suppose.” Volund fell silent as they began walking down the stairs. “Have we… have we received any new messages from Norhart in the last three days?” “No, my lord.” Clement’s face fell. “I suppose that’s for the best.” Volund looked at him with a softened expression. “You’re doing the right thing, Clement.” “Then why does it feel so wrong?” Clement shook his head. They reached the door at last. Volund paused before they went through. “Pardon me for asking, my lord, but earlier you mentioned the three ponies you looked up to. Who was the third?” Clement tilted his head with a smile. “Knight-Commander Volund, actually. He was a great soldier, a hero in the army, a natural leader of ponies. I wanted to be just like him when I grew up.” Volund gave him a curious stare. “How interesting.” “Why?” “I feel the same way about Lord Clement Blueblood.” Volund gave him one last bow, and left the keep. Clement stood there for a moment. Suddenly he laughed. Shaking his head, still chuckling, he followed the Knight-Commander outside, to begin the long journey to Canterlot.