“I united my race, I founded a nation, I slayed the warlord Haldber. I built my empire, I lost battles, I won wars. I laughed, I cried, I loved, I lied. I lived a full life, and now to die as the Emperor of everything I built… there is nothing more that I could have ever wanted.”
---The Epitaph of Roamulus
Chapter 12: Cyclone
Shovel in, dirt out. Shovel in, dirt out. Pause to wipe sweat from brow. Hurricane groaned as he rested on the handle of the tool lodged in the ground, squinting his teary eyes against the chilly winds. In the lofty Waldren mountain range, the curse of winter had no patience for the end of autumn.
Four months had passed since the destruction of Nimbus, four dreary and agonizing months of suffering and melancholy. It was never officially declared, but the entire month of Bare Trees might as well have been a month of mourning for Cirra. The official news from Stratopolis had tried to downplay the event, but there was no possible way to make the destruction of a city any less terrifying. For the first time in the war, the citizens of Cirra were genuinely fearful of the strength of Gryphus.
That was another thing Hurricane had noted. It had long since stopped being called a rebellion or conflict among the griffon territories, instead called a full-scale war. The senate had found it necessary to step out of their sphere of arrogance and label Gryphus a hostile nation in the hopes of rallying support for the war back home. But despite their best efforts, the economy was tipping and morale was dropping away at a frightening pace.
Shovel in, dirt out. The onset of cold weather in the mountains had brought fighting almost to a standstill, and there was little for Hurricane to do except occupy himself with moving the rocky highland soil to make graves for the never-ending supply of bodies. Although the Cirran casualty rate had rapidly dropped off as both sides began to bunker down for the winter, the cold and dwindling supplies were taking their own toll on the Legion.
It had been a long time since Hurricane had buried a face he remembered. The survivors of the Eighth Legion – no more than a few hundred now – had been absorbed by the Second Legion to make up for the losses they sustained at Nimbus. The casualties had only continued to pile up in the month following as the griffon hordes reached Feathertop Mountain, seeking to dislodge the Cirrans from their heavily fortified encampments. The Second Legion had been strong, however, and the hordes were repelled each and every time until the cold weather stopped their attacks.
Despite the successes of the Second, the rest of the entire Cirran Legion was collapsing across the continent. There had been eight legions at the start of the war involved in combat, but now that number had dwindled. The Cirran Fourth and Fifth Legions were wiped out in the griffon counterattack after Azoeth, and the Cirran Sixth was destroyed in Nimbus. The Seventh Legion was still mostly intact but was surrounded deep within Gryphon territory. No communication had been exchanged between the Seventh and Stratopolis in a month, and they were presumed to be destroyed in action. The Eighth had, of course, been destroyed at camp and at Nimbus, leaving only the First, Second, and Third Legions in one piece to defend the interior of Cirra. According to the official reports, fifty thousand legionaries and support staff had died in the war so far, but Hurricane knew the number was much higher.
The centurion sighed as he wedged the shovel between two rocks and abandoned it, having finished the grave he was digging. Despite all the losses from his legion, even Shear Point’s death, at least Silver Sword and Swift Spear were still alive. Hurricane knew these two pegasi so well that even the thought of their possible demise nearly crippled him in depression. Silver Sword was his lifelong friend, and Swift Spear was… something much more. The three of them had spent so much time together since Shear Point’s death that unless they were preoccupied with other duties they were inseparable.
Hurricane gritted his teeth as a flurry of ice crystals stung at his eyes. His armor felt like ice, and the cold wind cut to his bones. The sun was a rare sight through the gray clouds over the plateau between Feathertop Mountain and Jagged Spire Peak, layering another level of symbolic chill to the frosty air. The entire area was a barren wasteland, home only to rocks and the hardy lichens that grew over them
The two peaks that made up Feathertop Mountain were a curious geological formation. The massive spires on either side were connected by a half-mile wide stretch of barren rock, as flat as could possibly be. The camp was sprawled across this massive plateau, giving way in the east to rocky ledges and the fortifications that so many decaying griffon bodies lay against. A fine black soot covered the slab of stone, getting into everything that touched it. Hurricane was grateful that his coat was a similar black coloration, unlike Silver’s or Swift’s.
The rows of tents were arrayed in a series of segmented rings around a massive structure at the center of the plateau. Standing proud and defiant against the bitter winds for four centuries, a monolithic spire engraved with early Cirran drawings and icons dominated the spot where Roamulus had slain Haldber and built an empire. A rough portrait of Roamulus was carved into one side of the monument, chiseled from the stone by Cirrans nearly four centuries dead. The spire always had a small congregation of legionaries around it, paying homage and reverence to the one figure more important in Cirran history than the Emperor. Hurricane had visited it once or twice, but felt no need to revel in the accomplishments of a dead pegasus. However important he was in life, his legacy did little for Cirra here and now.
With a quick flutter of his wings, Hurricane alighted in the center of his regiment’s camp. When the survivors of the Eighth Legion were redistributed after their arrival from Nimbus, the remains of Hurricane’s century were merged with the fourth century of the legion’s third cohort. Technically, Hurricane and the fourth's centurion, Light Stroke, were supposed to share command over the platoon, but Hurricane preferred to operate his small group of survivors as an independent task force that flitted to and fro across the field to provide assistance to his cohort.
It didn’t take too long to find Silver Sword and Swift Spear, for they sat at the same spot they had occupied every day for lunch since they arrived. With a wave of his wing, Hurricane greeted the two and dropped to the sooty rock. A meager bowl of watery stew was waiting for him, and the stallion sighed as he brought the bowl to his mouth. The quality of the rations were declining rapidly with the final harvest for the year already completed, and there wasn’t much for Hurricane to look forward to until spring.
The trio of pegasi ate in silence for several minutes, watching yet another cohort of greenwing legionaries arrive at the mountaintop. The last news Hurricane had heard from his family in Zephyrus was that the draft window had been opened to stallions ranging in age from sixteen to twenty-eight, and the Legion was considering a limited draft of mares to replenish the rapidly dwindling armies at the front. He hoped that it didn’t come to that, because not only would it put an entire generation at risk of being destroyed, it also meant that Twister might become a potential target of the draft. If Hurricane had to die the most brutal death imaginable so that his sister could stay safe, he would take it without hesitation.
Hurricane, Silver, and Swift watched the procession of greenwings file away to their section of camp, a glum frown on each of their faces. The colts, for most of them were only sixteen or seventeen and not yet considered stallions, were clad in armor that looked two sizes too big for them and carried weapons nearly as heavy as they were. It was only when the new arrivals passed and the crowd refused to die out did they notice that something else was going on. Intrigued, the trio deposited their now-empty bowls and trotted towards the center of camp.
“I wonder what all the commotion’s about?” pondered Silver Sword. “Unless there’s a fight or something, there really isn’t all that much to see around here.”
“I heard that somepony important was supposed to arrive today,” Swift added. Parting her way through the crowds, the mare struggled to see who it could be. Hurricane followed in her wake, straining his neck to catch a glimpse of the source of the commotion. Upon seeing it, he immediately understood the reason for the excitement.
In the center of a large clearing, surrounded by no fewer than a hundred Praetorians, Emperor Augustus Haysar and Imperator Gold Feather plodded their way across camp. Both stallions were clad in their finest armor and armed to the teeth, carrying two large swords on each flank in addition to the golden blades along their wings. There was no question about it; the Emperor and his contingency were fully geared for combat.
“Haysar? Here? Why?” Hurricane couldn’t believe that their emperor would leave the safety of his palace to fight on the front lines. He turned to Swift with a questioning glance, hoping that her knowledge of government could fill in the gaps.
“It’s a tradition for the emperor to serve for one month out of the year when the nation is at war.” The mare made room for Hurricane and Silver Sword to stand next to her at the edge of the crowd, where they had a good look at the Emperor. “Most emperors choose the wintery months, for no other reason than that the lack of fighting and activity means that they’ll be relatively safe.”
“Seems kind of cowardly if you ask me,” Silver commented, angrily shaking soot out of his feathers. “If they come all the way to the front just to boost our morale, they might as well contribute something useful while they’re here, too.”
Swift Spear snorted in amusement. “Yeah, and if they end up dead, then what happens? We better hope the succession is clear. The continuity of our leadership, for all the benefits it gives us during times of peace, can be very disorganizing and destructive in times of crisis if it were to be broken.”
"Doesn't Haysar not have an heir, though?" Silver asked, his eyes following the middle-aged stallion as he inspected some ranks of troops a legate had brought forward for his approval. "The line of succession seems pretty murky to me."
"In those cases, the Imperator would have the next strongest claim," Swift said. "But for an emperor to not have an heir, especially in times of war..."
"Maybe he likes the rougher sex," Silver quipped, earning an annoyed glare from Swift.
Hurricane wiped a sooty hoof on his coat to remove the ash before rubbing it across Swift’s neck. “I think your dad would make a good emperor, right, Swift?” Hurricane chuckled to himself as the mare glared at him. “Lady Swift Spear, daughter of Emperor Gold Feather. That has a nice ring to it.”
Swift rolled her eyes in response. “And the hoof-licking of the politicians would increase tenfold. If there’s been one good thing about this damned war, it’s that I haven’t had to deal with any political bullshit in a long time. I’m not looking forward to it when this is all over.”
Hurricane and Silver Sword laughed quietly as the Emperor’s contingent finally passed them by. Gold Feather trudged by, no more than twenty feet away from the three. His face was consumed with a melancholy expression, and his wings were almost imperceptibly drooping from his sides. Despite his soldierly posture and tempo, it was obvious something was bothering the stallion.
Despite the ring of Praetorians surrounding the two central figures, Swift Spear decided to rectify that immediately. Breaking loose from the crowd, the mare rushed past two Praetorians towards her father before a third could slow her advance. Struggling against the pegasi trying to return her to the crowd, Swift called out to Gold Feather.
“Dad!” Her voice struck the Imperator like a bolt of lightning. His eyes snapped back to attentiveness and his wings tensed against his sides. Pivoting on his hind leg and nearly striking Haysar across the neck with his tail, the Imperator quickly located his daughter amongst the throng of soldiers.
“Swift!” Abandoning his duties as the Emperor’s personal bodyguard, Gold Feather ran to Swift Spear and pushed the Praetorians aside. There, finally face to face for the first time in many months, father and daughter embraced each other, their armor clanking as it collided.
“I thought I lost you,” the stallion began. “After what happened at Nimbus, and the reports that your legion had been destroyed, I was worried sick when I didn’t get any letters...”
It was shocking for Hurricane to see one of the two heads of his government caving in to tears across the back of his daughter. Swift was similarly breaking down, finally having somepony to help truly get the experiences of the past months off of her back.
“I didn’t think I’d live long enough to see you again,” Swift replied. Supporting each other’s weight, the two family members stood up and walked back to where Haysar was waiting. Ignoring the teary family reunion behind him, the Emperor resumed his powerful air and led the contingent plus one out of Hurricane’s sight. The black stallion was smiling as he turned back to his tent, but it quickly dropped off his face when he spotted a familiar figure watching the procession from afar.
Standing tall on top of an outcropping of rock at the edge of the plateau, Legate Red Tail’s single eye traced the Emperor’s progress towards his reserved quarters. Nearly two dozen pegasi, most of whom were in centurion armor, were concentrated around him but pretending not to notice each other. When Haysar ducked inside his tent with Gold Feather and Swift Spear, the legate backed off of his perch and disappeared from sight. One by one, the centurions followed until the rock surface was bare, almost as if nothing had happened.
Hurricane didn’t know what it meant, but his feathers were instinctively rising against some chill that traveled down his spine. He stood for a few seconds longer as his mind tried to put imaginary pieces together, but eventually the stallion gave up and returned to his tent with Silver Sword. Whatever it was, the Emperor’s arrival had something to do with it. Hurricane just had to figure out what.
-----
There was no doubt that the arrival of the Emperor had put the troops in a better mood, and not just from his presence alone. Accompanying the imperial leader were imperial meals and rations that trickled down to the regular soldiers, royal fare compared to what they had the past few months. Fresh greens, steamy bowls of stew, and tender legs of mutton made regular, even if miniature, appearances at least once a week. Hurricane’s stomach was so unused to fats and protein that he almost felt sick eating the savory meals.
Militarily, the morale boost had earned the Cirrans several key victories against the encamped Gryphon forces. Since the Emperor’s arrival, the Second and Ninth Legions had taken several griffon embattlements and routed a horde in one of the northern passes. The griffons were reeling, and Haysar was demanding that Gold Moon press on the attacks and remove Magnus’ armies from Waldren.
Magnus’ willingness to commit himself to the front lines at Nimbus was probably one of the reasons why Haysar had insisted on accompanying regiments on routine missions. Silver had supposed that the Emperor felt idealistically threatened by Magnus’ willingness to involve himself with his armies and was trying to justify his position as emperor by one-upping the griffon leader whenever possible. Swift Spear, who had been spending much of her time with her father, had been silent on the subject so far, though she consented that the imperial tent had been consumed with a frenetic mood since it was commandeered.
So it was a bit of a surprise to Hurricane when the Emperor approached him alone one morning as he worked on his exercises.
As soon as Hurricane spotted the Emperor, he quickly sheathed his sword and popped a crisp salute. "Sir," he said, keeping his eyes straight ahead and respectfully off of Cirra's gods-chosen ruler. Still, an immediate question wormed its way into his mind: what exactly did the Emperor want from him?
Haysar briefly looked Hurricane up and down. "You may relax, Hurricane," he said, nodding to the soldier. "Your father was like a brother of mine, and so I hope you will forgive me if I regard you like a nephew."
Haysar's choice of words surprised Hurricane, but he nevertheless lowered his wings and loosened his shoulders. "Sir?" he asked, still confused.
Cirra's emperor shook his head. "There's no need for the formalities, Hurricane. There is, however, an important matter that I would like to discuss with you."
Hurricane quirked a brow. "With me? Why? I'm only a centurion."
"But you are my best friend's son." Haysar sighed, his wingtips drooping toward the ashy ground. "I wanted to apologize, first of all. Not to you," he said, quickly cutting off Hurricane before he could voice another question. "To your father. It seems he was right about Magnus after all."
"I... don't understand," Hurricane said.
"During the High Noon War, your father fought Magnus, as I'm sure you've been told."
Hurricane nodded. "The griffon told me himself before he almost killed me. He said the only reason he let my father live was because he was a brilliant general."
"If only we had had the same respect for him as Magnus did." Haysar angled away from Hurricane, his eyes settling on the cloud-shrouded peaks of the mountains around them. "He tried to warn us when we finally relieved him at Nimbus, but nopony believed him. Not even his best friend." He stopped and thought about his words for a moment before turning back to Hurricane. "Do you know why he didn't come to Angenholt with the rest of us?"
"He was wounded," Hurricane replied. "Magnus had nearly killed him. Why would he have gone to the griffon capital?"
"It is no burden to bring a general to the front so he can plan an assault, even if he is wounded," Haysar said. "He had already had some time to recover by then as well. No, Thunder was not brought to the front because the Senate and the Legion saw him as a brilliant general who had gone raving mad from stress. They believed that he had sacrificed his sanity to cling onto Nimbus for as long as he did. Suddenly, our best general had gone from unrivaled tactician to lunatic claiming that the griffons were led by a god who could control the winds, was thrice as big as an ordinary griffon, who could not be killed even by fatal wounds." The Emperor hesitated, as if searching for the right word. "His fall from grace was as dramatic as it was terrible. Cirra could not shamefully remove a war hero, but it could cut him out and put him away until his mania was forgotten."
Hurricane had no words to say. He had always wondered why his family lived on a poor farm in Zephyrus if his father was supposedly close friends with the emperor, at least once upon a time. But it was never something Thunder talked about, and the rest of the family had been oblivious to his transition from war hero to simple farmer. Oblivious until now. To think that his father had fought a living god, the same living god Hurricane had barely survived, and it had cost him everything afterwards...
Haysar uncomfortably rolled his shoulders. "We know better now," he finally admitted. "In the end, it turns out your father was the only one who could see, while the rest of us were blind. If we had listened to him then, we might not be in this mess today. Who can say? But there is nothing that can be done now except to apologize and make up for it."
Finally, Hurricane found his voice. "How can you make up for that?" he asked the Emperor, and only through a controlled effort was he able to keep the venom out. "Twenty-five years of living as a poor farmer. He should have come back to Cirra in a Triumph, but instead, he's spent the better part of his life growing barley and wheat just to survive."
"If we survive this, I personally swear to you, Hurricane, that I will do everything I can to clear his name and restore his honor," Haysar said, his eyes meeting Hurricane's. "It is the least I can do. But, in the meanwhile, I will offer you and your father the only thing I possibly can."
He turned to face Hurricane directly and put both of his wingtips on the younger stallion's shoulders. "Hurricane Stormblade, as part of a favor I have owed your father for a quarter century now, as an apology to a brother I cannot yet give personally, I would like to reconcile our differences and adopt you as the heir to Cirra and all of Her glory."
Hurricane's jaw hung agape as the meaning of the words struck him. "You... you would do that? To me? This is... I-I'm not worthy of this, of any of this..."
"You are more than worthy," Haysar insisted. "You have fought Magnus and survived. You have proven to everypony without a doubt that your father was right and Cirra's treatment of him was wrong. I am without an heir, and so I offer this olive branch to unite our fortunes and right a wrong. I have searched a long time to find somepony worthy of being my heir, and I believe I have found one in you."
"But why not Gold Feather or even Swift Spear?" Hurricane asked. "Surely they would make a better successor than a farmer from nowhere!"
"Gold Feather is my Imperator, my bodyguard, and my voice in the field," Haysar said. "His place has always been at my side, never below me. I could not force something upon him he does not want. All he would have to do is ask me to name him my successor and I would do it. But he has not. In fact, he has asked for the opposite, for both him and his daughter." He shook his head. "Gold Feather and Swift Spear will never be heirs to Cirra, as he wishes. I would have offered it to your father as he was once my closest friend, but his fall from grace made that impossible. But now that we know what Magnus really is, I feel like you, Hurricane, are the only pegasus I could possibly bestow this honor and this burden upon."
Hurricane struggled for words beneath the tidal wave of whirling emotions in his mind. Ultimately, however, he managed to pin them down and sort them all out, finding the one he had always fallen back upon when asked to shoulder a burden: resolve. "I... I will do it," he finally said, bowing his head. "But if there is somepony better, I beg you to give that honor to them. They will be much more ready and capable to lead Cirra than I ever will."
"If there had been somepony better, I would have given it to them by now," Haysar finally said. Then, nodding to Hurricane, he stepped forward and lightly embraced the dark stallion. "I thank you for this," he said. "I will have my scribes update my will and return it to Stratopolis to make it official. Until then, I will stay quiet on this matter, and I will caution you to do the same."
Hurricane felt like his head was spinning, but he nevertheless nodded in agreement. "I will not say a word until you would have me do so," he said. "I... I do not think the attention would do me good while we still have a war to fight and focus on."
"From now on, you will have what you wish for," Haysar said, faintly smiling at Hurricane. "Say the word and I shall make it so."
Hurricane began to chuckle at the absurdity of it all. He could never have imagined this turn of events happening even a year ago. When Haysar raised an eyebrow at him, Hurricane once more bowed his head and let his laughter die out. "In that case, sir, would you mind getting me an amphora of wine so I can ease this burden you have suddenly placed upon my shoulders?"
-----
A few days passed since Hurricane's fateful conversation with the Emperor, now his adopted father. He had told nopony about it, just as Haysar had advised, and there had been no change in attitude or mood around camp. Haysar kept his distance, busying himself with other duties as he had before, and the monotony of camping in the frigid mountains once more began to eat away at Hurricane.
At the very least, he had an amphora of wine to melt some of the bitter chill away. When Silver had asked about it, he only said that it was a personal gift from the Emperor and nothing more.
That morning, Hurricane and Silver Sword were enjoying a leisurely game of horseshoes when they got the order to assemble at the center of camp. Silver sighed in annoyance while Hurricane collected the shoes and deposited them around one of the stakes.
“This going to be the day, huh?” Silver waited for Hurricane to join him at the entrance to their regiment’s camp before slowly walking down the path. “Let’s see what plan those imperial minds can conjure up to salvage this war before it’s lost.”
“It’ll take much more than one battle to save this conflict,” Hurricane countered. Silver snorted and motioned with his wing towards a group of legionaries from their century to join up.
“The griffons sure proved otherwise. One fell swoop, and Nimbus was sent burning to the ground, the Cirran dream along with it. Payback for Hengstead and Azoeth, or do we need to get even now?”
Hurricane shrugged as he ducked inside his tent and pulled his armor out of its chest. “I don’t know, but I bet Haysar does. The problem with this war is that both Haysar and Magnus are keeping score. If one of them burns down a city, the other needs to raze two.” The centurion grunted as he pulled on the leather straps around his wings, securing the blades in place. “Hengstead was roughly a hundred thousand civilians dead, and Nimbus was double that. If that trend keeps up, we owe the griffons half a million.”
Silver cursed under his breath as the pair emerged from the tent, fully armored and ready for combat. “I’m sick of this war already. I’ve put enough griffons in the dirt myself, and it’s only a matter of time before Lady Fortune decides to pay me back. I’d much rather it if both sides could just settle our differences and move on. Who cares if we lose the Gryphon territories!? Shouldn’t the happiness and well-being of our own people be more valuable than the resources we get from the east? And the griffons, don’t they deserve a chance at freedom and happiness too?”
Hurricane grunted his agreement, but said no more as he stepped into a clearing and waited for the century to form around him. He grumbled quietly to himself when he noticed Light Stroke wasn’t there, as was usually the case. The blue mare ran her century about as loose as the Legion tolerated, and it was with great difficulty that she ever managed to be on time for assembly and briefing. Stroke was probably halfway through a bottle of whiskey by now anyways.
Five minutes passed, and all the pegasi of the fourth century were lined up before Hurricane under the cold sun. All except for two, that was. Hurricane sighed as he strode up to a random legionary.
“You there!” The soldier gave Hurricane a crisp salute in response, perfectly executed and rigidly disciplined. “Go drag that sorry excuse for a centurion Light Stroke from her drunken stupor and bring her blue flank over here immediately!” The legionary nodded and immediately flew off, making a beeline towards the tent Light Stroke was usually passed out in. Shaking his head, Hurricane counted his troops again.
“Legionary Spear isn’t going to be with us, sir?” questioned a younger soldier. Hurricane had been waiting for the mare to show up, but at this point it seemed unlikely. She was probably still hanging around her father, like she had been for the past month.
“Damned if I know, soldier, but we’ll get the job done with or without her, whatever it may be.” Stepping away from the line of soldiers, Hurricane resumed his measured pacing as he waited for the legionary to return with his centurion.
He didn’t have to wait too long. There was a round of angry shouting, and a bottle of whiskey exploded two steps ahead of Hurricane. The black stallion looked up to see the legionary fleeing from a decidedly drunken Light Stroke. The mare’s armor was disheveled and dripping from excess alcohol, and she listed heavily to the side as she walked. A short sword was loosely clamped between her teeth, the tip dragging across the ash, as she positioned herself near Hurricane.
Light Stroke’s eyes spun in their sockets before managing to weakly focus on Hurricane’s face. Finally recognizing the expressionless black stallion, she smiled and leaned in to try and kiss him. Hurricane shoved her away angrily, pointedly turning his shoulder on her.
“Hurrahcaineee! How’re ya, ya big oaf?” She took a step closer to him, nuzzling against his side. “Twas lookin’ for ya, earlier ta day. I had a nice ‘n cozy spot in bed for ya, wit me.” The mare’s slurred speech caused the line of soldiers to snicker, but a stern look from Hurricane silenced them. Redirecting his attention towards the mare, Hurricane pushed her away again.
“Light Stroke, you are an embarrassment not only to yourself, but to the Legion you represent.” Seeing his message fail to penetrate through the mare’s stupor, Hurricane sighed and tried again. “You are unfit for duty. Please return to your tent until an official response for your behavior can be determined.”
The mare gave Hurricane a stupid look and giggled to herself. “Ah, dass why you’re so funny, Hurrahcane. Always speakin’ in fancy words… ‘n stuff.” Reaching into one of the bags on her back, Stroke produced another canteen of alcohol.
“For the love of…” Hurricane muttered angrily as he shoved the mare away. This got her attention, mainly because it knocked loose her precious liquor, and she fell onto her back, unable to correct herself in her intoxication. “Leave, Light Stroke. Now.”
The mare’s drunken ecstasy turned to anger. Grabbing a particularly large rock off of the ground, she flung it at Hurricane. The pegasus didn’t even have to move, her aim was so terrible, and the stone sailed over his head. Then Light Stroke came at Hurricane with her sword, hoping to strike at the foul being who would dare separate her from her drink.
Hurricane didn’t give her the chance. Before she could raise the dusty tip of her sword off of the ground, the stallion spun on his front hooves and delivered a powerful buck to the centurion’s jaw. The mare dropped her sword and tumbled end over end until she came to a rest on her back, wings splayed out on either side. Blood dripped out of her nose as she lay there, unconscious.
Pathetic excuse for an officer. Disdain filled Hurricane’s gaze as he looked at Light Stroke’s form and led his century away. Hopefully she would be dishonorably discharged after this incident, and Hurricane wouldn’t have to deal with any more distractions in the century. The fighting hadn’t even started and already he was looking forward to finishing that game of horseshoes with Silver.
He didn’t notice the sly smile on the collapsed centurion’s face as he left.
-----
The griffon camp in Waldren was stationed a little more than fifty miles away from Feathertop Mountain. The beasts, in contrast to the Cirrans’ plateau, had chosen a massive caldera to base their forces in. The rim of the crater rose a thousand feet above the floor, and the massive space inside could easily swallow entire legions.
It would be a theory put to the test by the day's end. Flying through clouds of ice crystals well over the jagged peaks of the mountains was the largest single pegasus army ever assembled, completely blotting out the sun in a massive cloud of steel and feathers. The past month of planning and troop movements had fielded twelve full legions plus various auxiliaries and mercenaries for the fight, all merged into Haysar's personal legion, Legio Cirra. At nearly a hundred thousand soldiers, the number easily dwarfed the amount of griffons supposed to be in the area.
Being near the tail end of the formation, much of the spectacle was lost on Hurricane and his century. On a good day, the cold weather and moisture formed mostly harmless frost along a pegasus’ wings that served more as an additional nuisance to the frigid air than an actual hindrance. Today, the winds were howling and a thick sleet had begun to fall, immediately freezing to whatever it touched. Hurricane’s armor was already coated in a thin sheet of frozen gloss, and his half-frozen wings were barely keeping him aloft. Flakes of snow and droplets of rain were scattered towards his face from the incredible turbulence of the thousands of legionaries in front of him. There, frozen, straining, and aching, Hurricane wondered if it could get much worse.
“I hate winter!” screamed Silver as he shook two pounds of ice off of his wings. A sudden crosswind nearly sent Hurricane and Silver spinning out of control, and did in fact knock a handful of greenwings out of the sky. “Perfect that the Emperor decides that he’s not going to partake in his master plan he’s been drawing up for a month! He’s just going to hang back and watch while the rest of us freeze to death!”
“Can’t say I don’t blame him,” Hurricane grumbled. “But I figured he’d partake in this battle and show the world who the real emperor is. Especially if that was the whole point of his coming here and all.”
The pegasi entered a pocket of cooler air, and Hurricane swore the temperature must have dropped ten degrees. He was shivering, and his armor only amplified the effects of the cold. He already couldn’t feel his ears, and the tips of his wings were starting to go numb. He may be able to land and fight if he had to, but getting airborne again would be a whole new problem.
Speaking of fighting, the legates began furiously blowing into their whistles to order their legions to combat readiness. Hurricane could now see the rim of the griffon encampment, brown bodies flying in and out as ants would to their nest. As the Cirran armies closed in, the flow of soldiers slowed until a cluster of thousands rose out of the crater at once.
“Legionaries! Air support priority one, then we drop and clear the camp! Don’t leave a single griffon in our skies before the battle is finished!” Hurricane shook the ice off of his blades and tightened his sword in its scabbard while the century responded to his order. The griffons were holding defensive positions above the caldera with more scrambling upwards to join them every second. The advantage lay with the Cirrans, who were closing at breakneck speed.
Both armies screamed at each other as they collided, a small group of warriors trying to hold back an avalanche. The skies were lacerated in the greatest carnage the continent of Dioda had ever seen, in a land worthless except for its cultural significance. The rains turned red, the hail was replaced by blood and feathers, and mangled bodies fell by the dozens. And no one would care nor remember it but the survivors and the history books.
Hurricane saw only one griffon by the time his century made it to the front, and he quickly decapitated the warrior with a powerful strike from his frozen blades. A large dome of pegasi had already formed over the caldera, cutting everything that tried to escape to ribbons. Nine of the legions descended into the griffon camp while the remaining three provided air support. A small cluster of soldiers clad in onyx armor flew in lazy circles high above while the Emperor watched the fight. Swift Spear was up there somewhere, but Hurricane didn’t have the time to look.
The griffon complex was just as vast and impressive as the Cirran camp. Thousands of multi-tiered wood and stone constructions served as shelters for the griffon soldiers, stretching from the far wall of the crater to an open space in the center. There, occupying the center of that space, was a massive fortress of stone with ramparts stretching up towards the mouth of the pit. Hurricane knew that was where the officers were staying, and followed his cohort as Red Tail led the legion towards it.
The walls of the tower were swarming with bodies as the Cirrans descended on the griffon defenders. Hurricane’s cohort landed on one of the upper ramparts and was immediately beset by scores of Gryphon regulars. Flinging himself down into the chaos, Hurricane ripped his sword from its scabbard and swung it at the nearest griffon. The blade glanced off of the soldier’s steel shoulder, but Hurricane used the momentum to twist his wing under the griffon’s unarmored neck, ending the creature’s life before it had the chance to strike back.
Hurricane had little time to remark upon his success. An unarmed wing struck him across the snout, the rows of rigid bone in the griffon’s wing dazing the stallion. Hurricane knew what was coming next, and let the force of the wing push him away from the griffon’s instinctive sword jab. Reaching forward, Hurricane wrapped his leg around one of the griffon’s arms and pulled it closer, bringing its neck within reach of his sword. The griffon screamed in fear, but Hurricane ran his blade through its throat and silenced it.
The cohort had finally secured its foothold to the castle, and the defenders retreated within its walls as more reinforcements overwhelmed them. Hurricane located Silver Sword and helped him to his hooves, tossing aside the dead weight of the griffon body that had been pinning him down. The two began to sprint towards the massive wooden doors at the other end of the rampart, but a trembling in the ground stopped their progress.
“What was that?” Silver Sword’s wings flared out to either side as his hunched form steadied itself against the shaking earth. Other legionaries had also paused as the intimidating motion increased in magnitude. Then, just as quickly as it began, the rumbling stopped.
Hurricane tested his steps gingerly before regaining the courage to sprint on ahead. “I don’t know. Probably nothing. The locals say that tremors are common in this region.” The respite in the battle had already been forgotten by both sides as they threw themselves at each other again. Hurricane joined fifty other pegasi in smashing apart the massive doors to the fortress and bolted inside, glad to escape the rain of blood and entrails that was still falling from the sky.
The castle was sparsely decorated and roughly hewn together, but it was still impressive for only a few months of construction. Massive pointed arches supported the ceiling, and barred windows overlooked the rest of the camp. The tile floor was haphazardly placed together, but still striking nonetheless. And then there were the griffons clogging the hallways and barricading the doors.
Hurricane pointed his sword at a line of griffons already entangled with a group of Cirrans, and as one his century went after them. Following in their wake, Hurricane and Silver Sword punched their way into the thick of the fighting, striking at targets of opportunity whenever possible. Hurricane drove his blade through the leg of one griffon before finishing it off with his wings, then spun and cleaved the beak off of another assailant. The griffon howled in agony before Silver Sword cut its legs out from under it and split his blade through the griffon’s neck.
“Good kill!” Hurricane shouted over the roar of battle. Silver Sword nodded and wiped his blade on the body, removing some of the blood. Together, the two of them forced their way to the opposite end of the hall, dispatching the last of the griffons in front of a large staircase.
“Which way?” The steel pegasus slid next to Hurricane and turned back to the hallway to ensure they were safe from attack. Hurricane eyed the stone steps, listening for activity either above or below them on the spiral staircase. Making up his mind, Hurricane signaled his troops and took to the air.
“Up.” The nimble pegasus twisted his form around the spiral as he ascended, hooves running along the wall to keep his balance. The stairs opened up through a doorway, and Hurricane launched himself through the gap at the nearest figure. He knocked over a large, black and white griffon covered in edged steel armor. The hybrid struggled under Hurricane’s weight before the pony slit its throat with his sword.
“That an officer?” Silver asked as he came up the stairs, the rest of the century following him. Hurricane rolled the body onto its side to look at the insignia. There were a trio of golden claws painted on its shoulder wrapped around a golden star. Hurricane figured it was the equivalent of a captain’s rank.
“I think so. We must be close.” Turning to his century and the additional legionaries climbing up the stairs, Hurricane stretched his voice. “Clear these rooms one by one, and bring every officer to the ground! We kill the commander of this fort, and we liberate this sector from griffon control!”
The legionaries saluted and began to move towards the wooden doors barring access to the rooms, but stopped in their tracks as the ground began shaking again. The tremors lasted longer than the previous quake, and the fortress began to shudder violently. Just when Hurricane thought that the ceiling was going to collapse, the earth stopped trembling.
They needed to finish their job before any more of those tremors threatened to topple the castle with them in it. Seeing his soldiers frozen in anxiety and eyeing the support columns warily, Hurricane barked at them to execute their orders. This broke them out of their worry, and they began to tear down the doors with haste. Hurricane took Silver Sword and the other survivors from the old twenty-third and led them to the massive doors at the end of the hall.
The legionaries lined up at the doorway, and Hurricane broke it apart with his rear legs. There was shouting inside as his troops rushed in, hacking away at their opposition. The griffons were all tied down except for one, a streaky white and gray warrior encased in intimidating spiked armor. The golden insignia on his shoulder was a cluster of six talons juggling three stars between them, and the paint was worn down from numerous battles. Without hesitation, Hurricane flung himself at the griffon commander.
The commander had recovered from his initial surprise and flipped the table over as Hurricane came at him. Dozens of maps and scrolls slid to the floor, and Hurricane awkwardly twisted himself over the edge of the table to avoid hitting it. The griffon reared up and punched Hurricane in the gut, launching the pegasus into the opposing wall. Groaning, Hurricane slid down the wall as his vision danced before him.
The griffon had picked up his sword and was turning to strike at Hurricane. Mustering his strength against the ache in his back, Hurricane rose off of the ground and launched himself at the commander’s legs. Sliding across the ground, Hurricane tripped the griffon and rose into the air, twisting to dive at it.
The beast cursed and rolled onto its back, swinging its sword at the diving pegasus as it twisted. Hurricane saw the blade come at him, but it was too late to change course. Taking a page from Silver Sword’s book, Hurricane extended his bracer-clad forelegs ahead of him, catching the blade before it could reach his coat. The maneuver had rotated Hurricane to his side, and the point of his sword was now directly aligned with the griffon’s neck. The commander let loose a demonic shriek of rage before the blade split its larynx in two. The warm blood gushed forth onto Hurricane’s face and the griffon’s claws clutched at the air before falling to the side.
Hurricane clambered to his hooves, ready to assist his comrades if needed, but the haste was unnecessary. The bodies of the leading griffon officers were scattered about the room, interspersed with the corpses of a few pegasi. Hurricane sighed and shook his head. With the exception of Silver Sword and Swift Spear, the last of the twenty-third platoon had just died to eliminate the griffon command.
“Damn it,” Silver cursed under his breath as he flipped a fallen pegasus over and removed his tags. Hurricane recognized the white and black legionary as Edged Wing, and he knelt down to close the stallion’s eyes. Even when he felt like he was alone, Hurricane had always looked towards the banner of his platoon for comfort. Now even that was stripped away from him, the tattered fabric long abandoned in the Gryphon east and now devoid of value without those who once carried it.
“Gather whatever intel you can, then we’re moving out.” Hurricane ripped the shoulder plate off of the fallen commander and stuck it into his saddlebag as proof that the griffon officers were dead. As Silver Sword gathered up the scattered maps and papers, Hurricane searched the bodies of the officers for any directives or information they might have had on them. He was in the process of rummaging through a lieutenant’s gear when the fortress began shaking again, violently.
Letting out a strained breath, Hurricane waited for the tremors to stop. He must have stood in place for nearly a full minute before he realized that the ground didn’t show signs of stopping anytime soon. Down the hall, several bloodstained pegasi were sticking their heads out of the doorways to look for their centurion and the orders they hoped he would provide. Hurricane flicked his tail for them to assemble and looked out the window.
He immediately jumped back as a massive boulder of rock fell from the ceiling of the caldera right past the window. Everywhere stone was breaking free from the roof and slamming into the ground, releasing huge plumes of ash and crushing dozens of tents and unlucky soldiers beneath their gargantuan masses. Realizing the whole structure was about to collapse, Hurricane spun and screamed at his soldiers.
“Earthquake!! Get the hell out of here!!” Hurricane’s hind legs smashed through the glass behind him, creating an opening for his troops to flee through. They wasted no time taking to the air, shooting past Hurricane and fleeing the pit, dodging the falling stalactites that rimmed the caldera. Silver Sword lingered long enough to ensure Hurricane got out of the structure alright, then shot towards the mouth of the pit with the black stallion.
Even the air began to vibrate with the force of the quaking of the earth, and the sky was filled with griffon and pegasus soldiers fleeing for their lives together. The two sides, which had been fighting tooth and nail only a few moments before, had forgotten their hatred towards each other in their scramble for survival. Hurricane was unlucky enough to catch a glimpse of a massive fissure opening up on the caldera floor, scalding a troop of griffons and pegasi to death with the steam it released. Similar fissures began opening up across the rest of the floor, releasing copious amounts of steam and thick, black ash.
As a deafening roar echoed off of the caldera walls and the ash intensified, realization struck Hurricane like a blow from a griffon war axe. Pouring on the speed, the black pegasus burst forth from the mouth of the caldera and immediately changed his trajectory to the Cirran camp, hoping to escape the impending doom hanging over his head.
Silver Sword struggled to catch up to Hurricane, panting through a blood-streaked mouth as he strained himself. “Hurricane, slow down! We’re clear of the cave in, what’s there to worry about—!”
The steel pegasus was never able to finish his sentence. With a thunderous boom that seemed only the Gods themselves could produce, the bowels of the Earth emptied in a spectacular display of fire and ash. A massive pillar of lava exploded nearly a mile into the air, showering fiery death onto everything within its range. Even more worrying, a massive cloud of ash and stone was expanding outwards at speeds nearly three times what any pegasus could fly at.
Hurricane dove for the ground to try and find cover, but it was no use. In a matter of seconds, the ash and soot overtook him and Silver Sword, blotting out the sun and entombing them under its gritty blackness.
-----
Nothing moved. The landscape was barren, empty. Strange black clouds slowly descended over the choking hills, coagulating in the narrow streams that still trickled through the mountains in the early winter. The remains of a second sun were fading away, disintegrating into glowing flakes of ash that rode scalding air currents still scurrying away from the volcano. The skies were painted red, and the ice clouds were sent reeling from the sudden blast of fire.
A wheezing gasp broke the odd silence that had pervaded Waldren. Something moved, a barely perceptible twitch in the thick ash that was the only movement for miles. Struggling against the weight of powdered rock, a column of the ash detached itself in the shape of a hoof. It stretched towards the blistered sky, as if testing to be sure whether it was really free, before returning to the ash to paw away at it.
It took Hurricane an incredible amount of work, but he managed to break free of his tomb. Taking several long seconds to cough the ash out of his lungs, Hurricane doubled over in pain as flakes of fire stung his already sensitive airways. His wings weighed nearly three times their normal mass, and he produced a massive cloud of black soot as he shook the ash off.
Priorities first. Once he was sure that he wasn’t going to collapse in pain and could draw breath somewhat steadily, Hurricane tested his legs and limbs. Nothing was broken, and he still had his blades tightly affixed to his wings. Even his sword had survived the apocalyptic event in one piece.
Sword. Spinning in circles, Hurricane located a twitching mound of ash not too far away. Bounding over to it, Hurricane dug until the soot became wedged in his hooves and bit at the skin. But still he kept digging, trying to find his way to—
“Nngh!!” The mound shook violently and burst open as a steel pegasus emerged from his grave. Stretching his blackened limbs from their ashen prison, Silver Sword flipped onto his hooves and took several wheezing gasps for air. Hurricane reached over to steady his friend as Silver convulsed and vomited up several pounds of ash from his stomach.
“Fucking… rocks…” Silver slowly stood up from the putrid bile he produced and took a few wobbly steps back to where he had been buried. Digging through the ash with his hoof, he located a missing wing blade and his saddlebags and reattached both items to his person. Finally sure of his footing, the pegasus strode over the torrid ground towards a river valley that was now thick with ash.
“Do you think…” Hurricane coughed and tried to put his voice back together, “Do you think anypony else made it?” As far as both pegasi could see, there was only an unbroken and unmoving sheet of volcanic ash that covered everything. Hurricane figured it was several feet deep already in some places. Luckily, he had guided Silver down to an outcropping of rock that had shielded them from most of the falling soot and fire. Otherwise, they would have been too deep to dig out, or had their wings ripped from their shoulders if they had continued to fly.
Silver took several cautious steps through the crumbly powder, worried that he might fall through at any given moment. “I don’t know, Cane. It’s awfully quiet…” The steel pegasus opened his wings and flapped several times but failed to produce enough lift to leave the ground. Cursing, Silver bent a wing in front of him to examine the feathers. The barbs had been stripped or burnt off of half of his primaries, and the secondary feathers weren’t much better. A quick flutter of Hurricane’s wings confirmed he was in the same situation as Silver Sword.
“I guess we’re hoofing it then,” Hurricane remarked grimly as he set his legs in a line and began walking towards the river. His throat was screaming for rehydration, and even if the water was half rock by now it would still be better than nothing. Hurricane could barely support himself as he waded into the stream and plunged his muzzle into the roiling liquid. The water was hot and tasted like iron, but it satisfied the stallion’s need well enough.
After both pegasi had rehydrated on the noxious water, they began to trudge to the west. Wherever they looked, the winter had been replaced by some twisted version of the season. The warm ash had replaced the chilly snow, falling coals and flakes of fire had vaporized the sleet and hail, and thick clouds of smog took the place of the thin cirrus clouds that had dominated the region for the weeks past. Even the air was warm as the heat blast began to recede, and Hurricane was profusely sweating through his dusty coat as he fought his way through the black snow.
Silver Sword yelped in alarm and fell onto his back, scurrying away from something in the ground. Hurricane waded over to his friend and helped him up, then proceeded to investigate the cause for alarm. He immediately regretted the action.
Under the blanket of ash, a lacerated foreleg protruded directly into the path Silver had been taking. The flesh hung loosely from the exposed bone, stained a filthy black from the environment. A scarred metal bracer clung onto the limb, and the hoof was cracked open. Hurricane’s head was spinning, and he stepped away from the ravaged pegasus corpse and resumed his hike uphill.
It took them another hour to progress a half mile through the apocalypse, stopping several times to rest and circling wide around graves they stumbled into. In all that time they had only seen one flight of pegasi sailing overhead, moving as fast as possible through the smoky skies. Hurricane and Silver Sword had desperately tried to get their attention, but they were either unseen or ignored as the flight disappeared over a hill.
Finally clawing his way to the top of the hill, Hurricane collapsed over the crest onto a blanket of charred rock and lay there, panting. Silver Sword hauled himself up after him, and the two rested there, recuperating their strength. Before them lay a wide bowl of earth that was partially filled with dust, and at the end of the bowl a wide crack in the ground led down into a dark tunnel. It wasn’t the tunnel that most interested Hurricane, however.
Several bodies, freshly killed, were scattered around the entrance to the cave. The blood still trickled from their wounds and fell onto the ash, turning into a sticky slush of vitality and rock. Hurricane counted a dozen pegasi lying in the open, but not a single griffon was to be seen. Curious, Hurricane popped the strap holding the hilt of his sword in its scabbard and loosened the blade as he walked towards the crack. Silver Sword followed him warily, his eyes glued to the fiery skies.
Kneeling down by one of the bodies, Hurricane flipped it over. The armor was stained in soot and blood, but the insignia of the Praetorian Guard was unmistakable. The pegasus’ neck flopped limply in Hurricane’s grasp, as it was only half attached to the shoulders. Other than the slit in his throat and a gash along his side, the Praetorian was relatively intact.
“No claw marks, no beak wounds…” Hurricane set the body down and examined another one. It too bore only the signs of bladed weapons along its body. This soldier was a centurion, his life ended by a precise line cut the length of his neck. The blades still attached to its wing rattled as Hurricane set the body down and examined the soldier’s weapon.
“Cane, you might want to take a look at this.” Hurricane abandoned his search and trotted over to Silver, who was pointing to a particular wound on a female centurion’s shoulder. A series of long, jagged cuts down her shoulder and across her neck were still glistening with soot and blood. Hurricane dusted away some of the ash to get a better look.
“That’s not a sword wound. Too long to be a beak jab, and a claw strike would leave three.” Hurricane blinked as he narrowed down the choices. There was only one type of weapon that could cause such damage.
“Wing blades,” Hurricane produced with finality. The realization had grim implications, and Hurricane checked the other bodies for supporting evidence. Sure enough, several had wing blade scars on their torsos, and one centurion had the unmistakable hilt of a Praetorian dagger lodged in his chest.
“Why were they fighting each other?” Silver Sword uneasily glanced over his shoulder, half expecting the bodies to come back to life and attack him. Hurricane peered into the cave, listening for any sounds of life. He couldn’t see very far through the darkness, so he withdrew his head and pawed the ground nervously.
“Dunno, Silver, but if these guys are Praetorians, then the Emperor isn’t too far away.” Thoughts of a certain mare came to Hurricane’s mind, and he looked into the cave again. “And wherever the Emperor is, we’re bound to find Swift.” Taking a deep breath, Hurricane placed a hoof into the crevice.
A flurry of bats burst forth from the cave and nearly caused him to jump out of his armor. Taking a second to recover, Hurricane stepped closer again. Now he could hear something, the low murmurs of distant voices. Signaling with his tail to Silver, the black pegasus silently trod into the cave.
The first two hundred feet were in terrifying darkness, and once Hurricane slipped in a pool of blood as he descended. His heart was climbing into his throat, and the urge to urinate was slowing his progress. He could feel Silver holding on to the end of his tail so that they wouldn’t get separated as they walked into the subterranean labyrinths. His nose bumped into the wall at the far end of the tunnel, but a dim, gray light to his right guided him deeper into the cave system.
The tunnel opened up into a large cavern, where gray light was filtering in from a massive split in the ceiling. Tiny flakes of dust and ash fell to the cavern floor like snow, collecting in a pile of fine, black soot. Two centurions stood in the center of the room with their backs turned to the entrance. Hurricane motioned for Silver to get down and keep quiet as he dropped in on their conversation from the shadows.
“…griffons made the job easier though,” the larger stallion was saying to a lithe mare. “Wore ‘em down a little before they could get away. Good thing we found ‘em, though, otherwise ‘twould’ve been for nothin’.” The centurion stretched his wing and rubbed at the arm, the iron blades glistening with blood. For the first time Hurricane noticed a small pile of Praetorian corpses in the side of the room.
“Doesn’t matter. We caught them completely off guard. The Emperor doesn’t stand a chance once the boss gets to him.” Light Stroke seemed to be remarkably recovered from her intoxication only a few hours earlier, and her blades were also dripping crimson fluid. Hurricane supposed she had been faking it, but the reasoning as to why was much worse than the act itself. A rogue group was trying to kill the Emperor and presumably claim the throne for themselves, and by the looks of it they had already dealt with most of the Praetorian. And if they were going after the Emperor, that put Swift Spear in danger.
“What I wouldn’t do to wring that filly’s neck,” Light Stroke continued, grappling with an unseen opponent in frustration. “Dropped Dawn Star and Lightning Helm before she ran off. At least we got her separated from the Emperor and her father, so that’s one less thing to worry about. She can be dealt with later.”
Hurricane let out a sigh of relief. Swift Spear was presumably still alive, though for how much longer he didn’t want to wait and find out. Unfortunately for the pair of stallions, the larger centurion had heard Hurricane’s exhalation.
“Hey! Who’s there?” The pair of centurions drew their blades and turned towards the entrance, where Hurricane and Silver Sword emerged with their own weapons drawn. The two groups stared each other down before Light Stroke broke the silence.
“Well, if it isn’t Hurricane. I still have to repay you for that kick this morning, dear.” The mare rubbed a bruised spot along her jawline and smiled around the sword she gripped in her teeth.
Hurricane took one step closer. “You! How did you know this was going to happen today, why are you trying to kill Haysar?” Silver Sword advanced with Hurricane, but the traitors calmly stood their ground as they approached.
“You mean the volcano? We had no idea the earth was going to split like that. We always had planned on taking down Haysar this day, and the Gods just decided to give us a little help.” Light Stroke flexed her wings in anticipation of the fight, and her eyes glinted in the soft illumination. “His death will save millions of lives, and we can end this pathetic war!”
“No it won’t! It’ll weaken us in our darkest hours!” Silver Sword’s blade quivered in his grasp as he seethed with rage. “The eruption killed thousands and thousands of soldiers! Our military is absolutely decimated, and you think killing our leader is going to make it get better?!”
The large stallion snickered. “We’re not the ones bringin’ Haysar down, that’s the boss’s job. We’s just supposed to keep anyone from interferin’ with his work til he’s done. In return, we get to be the new Praetorian when the old’s all gone.” It was clear they weren’t going to move, and time was running out.
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Hurricane growled. Lowering himself towards the ground, the pegasus propelled himself at Light Stroke with surprising speed. The swiftness of his attack induced a moment’s hesitation in the mare’s response, and Hurricane made her pay for it by knocking her onto her back. Her stallion companion turned to assist, but Silver Sword threw himself around his neck and began trying to strangle him.
Light Stroke wasn’t going to go down so easily. Carrying her momentum with her, the mare back flipped into the air and delivered two powerful kicks to the charging stallion. Hurricane recoiled from the force of the blow, and the nimble mare twisted to deliver a rapid series of punches across Hurricane’s face and chest. Light Stroke’s attacks came in so fast that he could barely counter, and he lost track of her limbs as they whirled around his face. He tripped backwards over a rock, and the centurion spun to deliver a powerful kick right under his chin. By sheer luck the blow landed across the bottom of his jaw instead of crushing his windpipe, but the tradeoff of a powerful pain traveling up the left side of his skull crippled Hurricane’s response.
Evidently deciding that she was through toying with him, Light Stroke switched to using the three blades she had at her disposal to hammer away at Hurricane. The stallion countered a wing slash with his sword, then blocked the mare’s own blade with his wings. With her free wing, Light Stroke tried to strike at Hurricane’s neck, but the stallion ducked under her strike and delivered a powerful punch to her gut. The traitor stumbled back, and Hurricane drove a wing at her face. She easily blocked it with her own wing, but it was the move Hurricane was expecting. Throwing his other wing at her chest, Stroke blocked it with her sword. Hurricane shouted through his grip on his sword as he brought it to bear on the centurion’s neck. Only now did Stroke realize her critical mistake, and she tried to disengage one of her blades to block Hurricane’s sword. It was too late, however, and the blade fell cleanly and evenly through metal, flesh, and sinew, all the way down to bone. The traitor let out one last surprised gasp as her body went rigid, and then she collapsed in a pool of her own blood.
Drawing his sword out from the dead mare’s neck, Hurricane turned to see if Silver needed any assistance. The steel pegasus was still clinging onto his opponent’s neck, but the stallion was running out of air and energy to move. In two or three sharp tugs, Silver brought the centurion to the ground and snapped his neck. There was a choked wheeze, and then the second traitor was dead.
Hurricane tossed Silver Sword his weapon, which had fallen loose during his struggle, and the stallion gladly took it in his teeth. Knowing time was of the essence, Hurricane and Silver Sword ran through the tunnels as fast as they could, following the trail of bodies towards the sound of fighting. They ran past a room where a group of Praetorians were still fighting some of the centurions, but seeing blood in the hallway ahead of them they pressed on without stopping. Left, right, left again and then down, and the two pegasi slid through a stone archway into a dead-end cavern.
The cavern was illuminated by pillars of bioluminescent fungi growing out of the stagnant water collecting in the bottom of the room, stretching in eerie blue colors towards the top of the ceiling. The room was little more than a forty by forty space, though it was filled with bodies. Nearly a dozen Praetorians and several centurions were littered across the floor, but there were two that weren’t lying face down in the water. Emperor Haysar and Imperator Gold Feather both lay against the wall, daggers protruding from their chests. The Emperor was breathing fitfully, but the Imperator’s chest was already still.
“We’re too late.” The realization struck Hurricane with the force of a thousand bricks. Their fight against Light Stroke and her companion had been for naught. The head of Cirran government was on the verge of death, and there was nothing they could do about it. Hurricane would have flown to the Emperor were it not for a gray figure emerging from behind one of the pillars.
“What do we have here? You two aren’t my officers. If I didn’t know better, I would have supposed you fought your way here.” A single menacing eye fixed on both soldiers simultaneously, causing the two to step back in shock. “But those wounds, I see they could not have been caused by the volcano. So perhaps you did?” Legate Red Tail sauntered to the center of the room, letting the bioluminescent light wash over him. “If that is the case, then you must die to atone for their deaths.”
It all made sense to Hurricane. When the Emperor first arrived, the Legate had been consorting with his allies and planning the coup. And the whole time leading up to the day’s assault, their plans had been carefully laid and concealed, waiting to be executed. Not even Gold Feather had caught wind of the plan, and now he was dead because of it.
Hurricane had but one question to ask. “Why?” The Legate raised his eyebrows, but upon receiving no other answer from the black stallion, he turned his head and began to stride across the cave.
“It’s simple. Haysar has proven he was not fit to guide Cirra in this war. He may share the name Haysar with Emperor Julius, who won the High Noon War for us through his valiant death in Angenholt twenty-five years ago, but that does not mean he shares his talents. He has doomed our armies with foolish attacks and bullheaded strategies, which Magnus has capitalized on to the fullest extent. Today’s massacre was just another example. A hundred-thousand dead, and for what? A lava-filled crater?!” The Legate slammed his hoof angrily on the ground, and the scream of shattering stone echoed off the walls as a fissure split the rock under his hoof. “I will not let Cirra crumble under this stallion’s guidance. Our nation needs someone who understands war, and who will provide the best means to win it!”
Hurricane’s heart was beating faster than he could ever remember. He saw truth in some of the Legate’s words, but could not come to accept him as a replacement for Haysar, his recently adopted father. This pony was violent and volatile, willing to sacrifice everything and everyone to win a war. Could he be trusted to lead the nation? The answer was a flat no.
The sword hissed against its scabbard as Hurricane drew it before him, the iron blade catching the blue light from the fungi. It wasn’t so much about defending his emperor or honoring his country that Hurricane knew he had to kill the Legate. Red Tail had already cost him and his friends so much – Shear Point, Dusk Strike, his platoon, and now Swift Spear’s father – that he needed to die. And Hurricane knew he couldn’t rest until his blade was sunk deep into the traitor’s neck and he watched the life drain from his single eye.
"Three days ago, Emperor Haysar named me his heir," Hurricane proclaimed, making the legate raise an eyebrow. "His orders have to have reached Stratopolis by now. His will has been updated to list me as his successor, not you nor anypony else."
Silver Sword faltered in surprise. "You're... you're not kidding, are you, Cane?" he asked, his eyes searching Hurricane's face for a clue he was just bluffing. But he found none and after a moment to take it in, he hardened his gaze and readied his sword by Hurricane's side. "In that case, you're gonna need a new Imperator when this is all over."
Seeing the two standing opposite him with their blades drawn and ready for a fight, the Legate scowled and drew his own sword. “It matters little. Once you are both dead, there will no longer be a successor to Cirra's throne, and I can claim the title for myself. Enjoy what little time you have as emperor, for I will strip it from you in minutes.” Red Tail evenly balanced himself in the center of the chamber, waiting for the first strike.
Hurricane and Silver Sword jumped at the gray pegasus together, but the Legate was too fast for them. Twirling to the side, Red Tail used his wings to launch a spray of water at his attackers. The sudden scattering of water blinded Hurricane and Silver Sword, and they recovered just in time to dodge a slice from the Legate’s sword.
Ducking under the attack, Hurricane turned his shoulder into the chest of his opponent. Red Tail stumbled but quickly recovered in time to block Silver’s attack, retaliating with a powerful smash from one of his wings. The blades ripped off Silver’s shoulder piece, and the steel pegasus fell backwards from the blow. Hurricane tried to capitalize on the Legate’s extension, but Red Tail blocked his sword jab with a braced foreleg.
Taking the opportunity to slide back and regroup with Silver, Hurricane flipped backwards as the Legate tried to gut him. The blade slid inches from the stallion’s stomach, but Hurricane could have sworn the air friction cut through his coat anyways. Now back at Silver Sword’s side, the two pegasi circled to opposite sides of the Legate and attacked together.
Remarkably, Red Tail was unfazed by the attack. Lunging towards Silver Sword, the stallion blocked his downwards strike with a wing before striking at Silver’s flank. Silver had to twist to redirect the blow to his armor, but the Legate countered by elbowing Silver in the neck and kicking him away. It had taken Red Tail a little over a second to dispatch Silver Sword, and now he turned to Hurricane.
Hurricane had been hoping that the double-teaming effort would have opened a hole to attack the Legate, but those chances were dashed when the Legate efficiently blocked Hurricane’s sword and wing blades. Wrapping his forelegs around Hurricane’s neck, Red Tail fell backwards and flipped Hurricane over his shoulders, delivering a powerful buck to the stallion’s groin as he passed. Hurricane groaned as he slammed against the far wall and slid down, his legs crossed in agony.
Trying to buy some time for his friend to recover, Silver Sword crawled back onto his hooves and placed himself between the Legate and Hurricane. This time the officer didn’t wait, and lunged at the steel pegasus. The strikes from Red Tail’s hooves and sword were so fast that Silver was hard pressed to defend himself. Somehow picking up each of the Legate’s swings, Silver paced backwards until he could deliver a blow to Red Tail’s face. The officer ducked out of the way just in time, but the point of Silver’s blade cut a painful gash across Red Tail’s snout. Pressing his advantage, Silver hammered the Legate back to the other side of the room, before Red Tail used one of his wings to knock Silver’s weapon loose.
Silver Sword broke engagement with the Legate to recover his weapon, and Red Tail paused to wipe the blood out of his one good eye. Looking up, he was able to locate the scrambling steel pegasus with ease, but Hurricane was nowhere to be found. Realizing what was coming next, Red Tail desperately flung his wing and sword into a defensive parry to his blind side. The ring of metal sounded true, and through mere luck the Legate had blocked Hurricane’s sword from decapitating him.
Backpedaling through the water now, Red Tail struggled to keep up with the speed and ferocity of Hurricane’s attacks. Their swords collided one, two, three times with frightening force as they crossed the center of the chamber. Rebounding off of the third strike, Hurricane quickly rose upon his rear legs and flung his sword at the Legate. Red Tail was able to block the projectile, but the force Hurricane had thrown his sword with shattered the officer’s weapon into two. Now down a blade, it was all Red Tail could do to fend off Silver Sword while Hurricane fetched his weapon.
The battle was definitively pitched in Silver’s favor, but Red Tail refused to give in. As skilled as the officer was in blocking the steel pegasus’ attacks with his wing blades alone, his age was beginning to show. Red Tail was panting hard, and the sweat and blood was pouring into his one good eye. The Legate tried to block another of Silver’s hammering strikes but miscalculated, and the steel pegasus’ blade severed a gray wing from his body.
There was a sharp gasp of pain but surprisingly nothing more as Red Tail felt his limb being cleaved from his body. The battle was essentially over now, but the Legate wasn’t dead yet. Ducking low and to the side, he used his remaining wing to smash in Silver’s neck armor. The metal stopped the blade from cutting through his throat, but the strike was enough to wind him. Silver collapsed and clutched at his bruised neck as he struggled to breathe, but Hurricane stepped in to stop the Legate from dealing any more harm.
It wasn’t even a contest anymore. With only one blade to stave off Hurricane’s three, the Legate was completely outmatched. Hurricane used a wing to tie down his opponent’s defense, and in one powerful, merciless strike, the black pegasus jammed his sword deep into the Legate’s ribcage.
Red Tail let loose not a sound as the blade traveled the length of his body. He could feel it ripping through his lung and stomach and liver all the way down to his intestines, but even through the greatest pain he had ever felt he let nothing escape his lips. His bare teeth were gritted and exposed over Hurricane’s shoulder and his entire body went rigid. His heart was intent on ripping itself to shreds with how fast it was beating, but soon enough it realized the futility of its struggle and began to slow down. The air in his left lung had escaped along the metal of the sword, but there was enough remaining in his right for his last words.
“So Cirra burns… not with me… not with Haysar… but with you…” Red Tail’s vision began to darken, and he used his last moments to pierce through Hurricane’s eyes with his own disappointed and defiant gaze. Then there was darkness, and the blank eye remained unblinking.
Hurricane felt Red Tail’s body grow still, and grunting, he released his grip on the sword and the Legate’s corpse. Both collapsed together in the little pool of water with a light splash, and what wasn’t already red soon absorbed a dark, crimson hue.
It was over. Vengeance had been dealt, but it could not bring back those already lost. Hurricane helped Silver Sword back onto his hooves just as a bloodstained mare appeared under the rock arch. Lacerations decorated her coat and face, and one wing hung limply by her side, but the fire in Swift Spear’s eyes had not yet died.
“We’ve dealt with the traitors at the west end, and—” Swift’s words were cut short as she saw the bodies in the room. Her eyes were drawn to the bloodied form of one white stallion in particular, the crumpled tips of his golden primaries more red than metallic. The sword was dropped from her mouth, clattering harshly on the ground. “No…” Swift took one step forward, then another. “No… no no no! No!!!”
Hurricane wracked his brain for anything to say, anything at all. He started once or twice but cut himself off after each false start. The buff-coated mare stumbled across the chamber as she ran to the side of her father. Throwing herself on top of his cold form, she began sobbing heavily into his chest. “Please father, you can’t be dead! Not like this! Not now!!” Swift was bawling like a lost foal, and the sound of her agonized screams ripped Hurricane’s heart in two. Each hoof felt like it weighed a thousand pounds as he set them in a painful line towards Swift.
The mare was but a shell of her once vibrant and glimmering energy and optimism. Her forelegs were wrapped tight around her father’s body, and she gently closed his eyes as she wailed into his shoulder. Hurricane touched her gently, letting her share her grief with him. Loosening her grip on Gold Feather’s neck, Swift turned to Hurricane and hugged him. Tears were streaming down his face for no other reason than that tears were streaming down hers. The mare’s heaving ribcage and howls slowly began to die out, and Hurricane felt his neck moisten with warm tears. He rubbed a foreleg between Swift’s wings, massaging stress and sorrow from the limp appendages as best he could.
“He was a great stallion,” Hurricane murmured. The sobbing mare was slowly regaining control of herself, and Hurricane saw another pair of forelegs wrap around them as Silver joined in. “The Gods will welcome him with open arms. He’s in a better place now.”
The wails across his shoulder had been reduced to sniffling now. “Why… why him? Why did he have to die?” Hurricane couldn’t provide an answer for the distraught mare. He only hugged her tightly, pouring out love and support as a simple bandage for her shattered soul.
“Because… he did it… for you.” Hurricane and Swift turned their heads to the second figure laying against the wall. Haysar’s breaths were ragged and his limbs shook meekly, but he was fighting with his remaining strength against the curtain of death descending upon him. The defeated emperor reached out a shaky hoof to touch Swift’s side, and the mare slowly unwound herself from Hurricane to hold it. The three friends remained in silence as Augustus built up the energy to speak.
“When the legionary… surrenders himself for… Cirra, he fights… not for me… but for those… closest to him. I never asked… for him to die… for me, but he gave his life… without question… without hesitation.” Haysar coughed painfully, droplets of blood escaping from his nose and mouth into the already large pool around him. “Be proud of him… young Swift Spear… for there is no better honor… than to die for those… you love.”
The mare nodded, the faint touches of a mournful smile coming to the corners of her lips. The Emperor nodded weakly back at her, and then he slid his glassy eyes to Silver Sword. “You,” he extended his other hoof towards Silver, “I do not know you, but I can attest… that you fought… with honor. You would make a great Praetorian…”
The steel pegasus nodded. “Thank you, sir. The name’s Silver Sword, and your words do me great honor.”
Haysar chuckled once through gritted teeth. “Hmm… Silver Sword… yes, that is a fine name… for a warrior.” Lastly, his eyes focused on Hurricane’s face. The spark was dying, but it was still there, and it had more to say. “Hurricane… you know I knew your father well. I fought with him… the entirety of the War… He would have been emperor, should have been, had he not been wounded… had the Senate treated him better... had I been a better friend.” Haysar sighed with what little breath he could spare and shook his head. “Instead, the mantle fell to me. I never wanted it… I never asked for it… but I embraced the responsibility… to the people. I doubt that… Red Tail… would have been so… accommodating.” Reaching towards the golden necklace hanging over his broken armor, the Emperor ripped it off and passed it to Hurricane. “History finds a way… to get what it wants… in the end. Hurricane, as stated in my will, as my adopted son, I make you… Commander Hurricane… Twenty-Fourth Emperor of the Cirran Empire. May the Gods guide you… may they guide Cirra… may they have mercy on the fallen…”
Hurricane was too stunned to object. He clutched the necklace, a golden eagle flying through a storm cloud, against his chest. “Th-Thank you, sir…”
Wheezing gasps of air that passed for a laugh escaped Haysar’s lips. “No, Emperor… thank you. Thank you for killing Red Tail. He would have destroyed Cirra, but you… you will save it. I know it in my heart; this is what you were born to do.” Haysar didn’t spare any breath. He had said all he needed to say. His eyelids slowly descended, and so too did his neck. “Before the Legion… there was nothing… and after… the Legion… there will be…”
“Nothing.” Hurricane finished the stallion’s words as his slumped figure finally ceased to draw breath. Emperor Augustus Haysar, Twenty-Third Emperor of the Cirran Empire, was no more.
Rising, Hurricane extended the former emperor’s wings and laid his body down gently. Again he looked at the golden necklace, how it shimmered in the blue light. Taking a final breath, Hurricane raised the chain over his neck and lowered it across his shoulders. The transformation had begun, and there was no turning back.
Swift Spear placed one last kiss on her father’s forehead, and as one the three pegasi left the chamber. A small knot of Praetorians met them just outside the room, bloodstained and wounded, but alive. Upon seeing the bodies of the Emperor, Imperator, and Red Tail, as well as Swift Spear’s safety, they let down their guard. One of the Praetorian noticed Hurricane’s necklace, and the understanding passed among the soldiers. Breaking the silence, the Praetorian stepped forward and saluted. “Emperor. We must be going now, before any griffons find us.” Hurricane pushed past them without a response, and the Praetorian raised an eyebrow. “Emperor?”
Hurricane stopped in his tracks and spoke to the stone floor. “Yes. Emperor. Though Hurricane will suffice just fine.” Then the three weary pegasi continued on, with the Praetorian bringing up the rear. Rounding a few corners and then climbing up to the surface, the Cirrans disappeared, allowing sacred silence to fill the bloody caverns.