Not even returning to Cloudsdale could lift my spirits after this latest disaster. I could only imagine how my fellow Ephors would react to this turn of events. Already they feared the prospect of Sunbeam and Celestia working together to undermine the Ephorate’s authority, and now we faced a very real encroachment. I did not doubt that Sunbeam would use her newly granted authority to expand her own power at the expense of the Ephorate.
It was now abundantly clear that I would have to act quickly to curb the Vizier’s ambition before it could grow any further. To that end, I pulled my daughter aside shortly after our return. “Gale, I have a task for thee.”
“I presume it has something to do with how Sunbeam Sparkle vexes thee?” Even now, when she attempted to seem as stoic and formal as one would expect for a proper soldier of Pegasopolis, she could not entirely dispel the air of faint amusement from her voice or body language.
“It does,” I confirmed. Of their own accord, my eyes drifted in the direction of Canterlot. “She has begun to cease being a mere annoyance and is becoming a real threat to Pegasopolis and its interests. I would have thee put thy talents to work unravelling what thou might about her. I need some fact, some hidden knowledge that will provide me with a means to counteract and contain her. Canst thou uncover such a thing?”
“Everypony has their dark secrets,” Gale declared with a knowing nod. “Especially a pony like her.” I could hardly argue with that particular assessment. From what I had seen of her thus far, Sunbeam Sparkle was both ruthless and unscrupulous. It was entirely possible that the skeletons in her closet were rather literal in nature.
“And I have faith in thy ability to reveal her secrets.” Gale beamed at my praise. “If possible, uncover something that might persuade the Commander to dismiss Sparkle from her service. Failing that, something to curtail her influence will suffice.”
“If such knowledge exists, then it will soon be in my hooves.” A second after that confident declaration, a troubled frown on Gale’s face. “Though it may perhaps prove more difficult to acquire than I should prefer. I am still developing contacts within Canterlot itself, and I imagine she hides her secrets quite well.” A self-assured smile returned to her face, and she held up a hoof to forestall any further comment on my part. “I will succeed, mother. I simply wish to forewarn thee that it might take more time than usual for my efforts to bear fruit.”
“It will take as long as it takes,” I reluctantly conceded. “But do bear in mind that the fate of Pegasopolis might well depend upon the speed of thy investigation. If Sunbeam Sparkle is allowed to run roughshod across all Cloudsdale, the consequences could be dire.”
“I am well aware of all that is at stake, mother.” There was a slight hint of testiness to my daughter’s voice—’twould seem she took offense at the implication that she was unaware of her task’s importance. “Am I to depart immediately?”
“It would be best if thou didst so.” Those words seemed colder than I had intended them to be. I sounded like a commander sending a soldier to battle, not a mother bidding her daughter farewell. I corrected that immediately. “I will await thy return, Gale. Cloudsdale will be a much colder, lonelier place without thee.”
Gale favored me with a smile. “Then I shall return to thy side as swiftly as possible, mother.” Gale turned about and was moments from taking to the air when she paused, turning back to face me once more. “Mother, dost thou truly believe that Sunbeam’s claims are entirely false?”
“Of course I do,” I answered without a moment’s hesitation. “What happened with Hammer Striker and Swiftwing was nothing more than a horrid aberration, a throwback to viler, less civilized times.” To my disquiet, that answer only seemed to deepen my daughter’s worried frown rather than dispelling it entirely. “What troubles thee, Gale?”
My daughter fluttered her wings nervously, and could not bring herself to meet my eyes. After several seconds of silence, she spoke in a much more subdued tone than I was used to hearing from her. “When I was doing my tour with the Long Patrol, there was an incident.” (1)
1: Shortly after being adopted by Shadow, Gale served for a few years with the Patrol. This was a fairly common practice for ponies her age, especially the children of clan leaders, as a means of proving their worthiness as heirs and a general rite of passage.
Gale took a few seconds to gather herself before continuing. “There was one stallion, Red Comet. A rather poor soldier, if one were to look at the matter fairly, and he was clanless so I cannot fathom why he felt that the Patrol was a proper place for him. And yet, he continued to serve.
“Then there was a night when we were camped out in the field, with him on watch duty.” Gale shuffled her wings and grimaced at nothing in particular. “That night a roc hit our camp. (2) One minute we were all sleeping peacefully, and the next Brilliant Blade is being carried off screaming in that bird’s talons. We mounted a rescue effort, but his wounds proved too grievous.”
2: A monster which resembles an eagle, except about twenty times larger.
Gale sighed and gave sharp shake of her head. “In any case, there was a great deal of curiosity as to how a Roc was able to pass our perimeter undetected. Nothing was ever known for certain, but many suspected that Red Comet had fallen asleep on guard duty. And then a few weeks later he was part of a squad going out on a border sweep. A few days later the squad came back, with Comet’s wings so mangled that he would never fly again. Officially, he had an encounter with a manticore, and at the time I saw no reason to question that. Now...” Gale said nothing more, but the answer was plain enough.
“Thou thinkest he was Clipped,” I finished.
“The possibility is hard to deny,” she confirmed. A second later she gave an annoyed wave of her hoof. “I do not know if he was Clipped or not, and if his dereliction of duty cost the life of another soldier then I cannot even say it was unjust. However, what troubles me is that nopony thought to ask if he was Clipped, not even I.” Gale shuffled her wings, refusing to meet my eye. “I worry that mayhap the Archmagus was not entirely wrong in her theory that Pegasopolis has chosen to deny that a problem exists rather than taking measure to correct it.”
I let out a snort at that. To think that my own daughter might say such a thing about Sunbeam Sparkle... “Gale.” I met her eyes and spoke with absolute conviction. “There are no Clippings occurring within Pegasopolis. As an Ephor, I would know if such a thing occurred, and the perpetrators would be brought to swift and absolute justice.”
Gale grimaced, and in truth I could not blame her for it. Even as the words left my mouth, they rang hollow to me. It was a politician’s answer, and one that ignored the unpleasant realities of life. If not even the Commander herself could know everything that passed within Pegasopolis, how could we? I had not known of the incident in Gale’s unit until she informed me of it. Did every soldier have such tales?
From the troubled frown Gale wore, my thoughts must have been plain on my face. I took measures to address her concerns. “Even if all that Sunbeam Sparkle claims is true, she is not the pony who should be investigating this matter. Any truth she uncovers will be bent and twisted to serve her own purposes.”
“That is almost certainly so,” Gale agreed. “But if she uncovered a problem within Pegasopolis that we were blind to ... that does not speak well of us, either.” With that she took wing, presumably making for Canterlot. I watched her departure until she was naught but a tiny green speck upon the horizon.
With the matter of Sunbeam Sparkle attended to for the moment, ‘twas time for me to see to the business of the Ephorate. For all the prestige of our position, there was no formal building set aside solely for meetings of the Ephorate. ‘Twould be wasteful to devote so many resources to providing a place for five ponies to meet and discuss, especially when all of us had fine clanholds at our disposal which could easily accommodate such a gathering. Even when there were clanless Ephors, their much humbler residences could host four extra ponies for a few hours.
Upon my return to my own clanhold, I dispatched messengers to my fellow Ephors, asking that they make their way to me at once. The Kicker clanhold is the finest in all of Cloudsdale, though ‘tis quite likely that I am biased in my assessment. While the cloudwork was finely made, perhaps the one thing that made my clan’s residence truly unique was the fact that the clouds around our residence bore a distinct crimson tinge. ‘Twas a needless indulgence to color our clouds, but it was also a clan tradition whose origins were lost in time. In any case, maintaining the decorative effect was the responsibility of those too young, old, or wounded to serve Pegasopolis, so the embellishment did not deprive anypony of resources that might be better-used.
Regardless, the effect was most pleasing to the eye.
Steel Striker was first to arrive. He seemed changed by all that had passed within his house—for the first time in his life, he truly looked old. At the time, I suspected that he might well be on the verge of seeking out the early retirement his war-wounds entitled him to. Normally I would have made some effort to engage him in conversation, but I confess I could think of little I might say to him whilst the recent tragedy in his household continued to hang so heavily over his head.
Thankfully, we were saved from the oppressive silence hanging over the room by the arrival of Rightly and Swift Blade. Though it seems uncharitable to say it, Swift Blade looks nothing like how most ponies would envision a member of the Ephorate. He was not a large, strapping veteran like Steel, or a young and charismatic commander like Rightly. Rather, Swift Blade was short of stature and slight of build, and had none of the raw presence of his fellow Ephors. All too often, he was prone to fading into the background, all but forgotten alongside his more dynamic companions. Even his very appearance, with his plain blue coat and purple mane, seemed to make him fade into the background like an uninteresting piece of scenery.
However, not all aspects of the military require personal combat prowess or a forceful personality. Swift Blade’s talents lay in the realm of organization, and though his work might be inglorious, it was no less necessary. If not for Swift’s efforts, the Pegasopolan military would likely devolve from a well-oiled fighting machine into a chaotic mess within weeks. An army without organization is a little more than a large mob of heavily armed ponies, and soldiers without supplies cannot fight. As the old saying goes, an army fights on its stomach.
Though his work offered neither public honors nor great renown, Swift was nonetheless a vital part of the Pegasopolan military. Perhaps that made him all the more laudable. History would not remember this unremarkable-looking stallion, yet I and every other commander would know that without his efforts we would not have our great victories.
“Bright Charger will not be joining us,” Rightly announced, effectively bringing our meeting to order. “In fact, I intended to summon a meeting shortly to discuss her absence when I received thy message, Shadow. Didst thou speak with the Commander regarding our troubles with the griffons?”
“I did.” I mentally girded myself to deliver the unfortunate news. “The Commander orders caution and restraint in the matter of the griffons. There is, however, a far graver matter which emerged during my meeting with her. The Archmagus of Canterlot and Grand Vizier of Unicornia, Sunbeam Sparkle, has somehow persuaded Commander Celestia that the unfortunate incident which occurred last week is a symptom of a larger underlying problem. Thus, the Commander has ordered Archmagus Sparkle to work alongside me to investigate the matter.”
My fellow Ephors took the news as badly as I expected. Steel scowled and thumped a hoof on a nearby cloud, while Rightly let out an indignant snort. Swift’s reaction was far more restrained, but the frown on his face made his feelings clear enough. Steel answered first, his voice a tight, angry growl. “I am to be investigated by this unicorn then? To submit myself and my clan to her judgement? Such a thing is unprecedented.”
“More than merely unprecedented,” Rightly grumbled. “There can only be one reason Commander Celestia would appoint a unicorn to investigate the affairs of Pegasopolis. It is as I feared before—the Commander no longer has faith in the Ephorate to fulfill her wishes or uphold her laws.”
Much as I wanted to deny that conclusion, I could not say with confidence that was entirely wrong. “I am sure that was not her intention, Rightly. I am to work alongside the Archmagus in this matter, so there is no reason to believe that the Ephorate will be entirely removed from the process.”
“Then why involve a unicorn in the matter at all?” Swift pointed out. “If the Commander has faith in the Ephorate, then there is no reason for this Sunbeam Sparkle to ever set hoof in Cloudsdale. No doubt she worded it more diplomatically than that, but the simple fact remains that she has dispatched an outsider to investigate a purely Pegasopolan matter.”
I wanted to offer something to defend the Commander’s decision, but the words escaped me. In truth, I feared that they had the right of it. Sunbeam Sparkle claimed that we could not police ourselves, and in response Commander Celestia gave her the authority to act upon the internal affairs of Pegasopolis. The only explanation I could see was that on some level she doubted our ability to see to such matters without a minder. “The matter will be resolved soon enough,” I offered weakly. “The investigation will show that Pegasopolis has naught to hide, and we shall end the matter with our honor intact.”
Even I was not comforted by those words, so how could I expect my fellow Ephors to be reassured by such an explanation? “What of Bright Charger? Thou didst say that there was some matter concerning her, Rightly.” The question was abrupt, but I did not wish to linger upon these uncomfortable thoughts any longer.
The other Ephors exchanged a look, no doubt divining the reason for my abrupt change of subject, and then Rightly answered me. “Bright Charger sent word back that the situation on the border has continued to develop in a worrying direction. She asks that we make our way there, so that we might view the ongoing events for ourselves before passing any further judgement on the matter.”
That was troubling. While Charger herself was often prone to acting precipitously, she would not lightly ask her fellow Ephors to make such a journey, and the fact that she asked for all of us to make our way to the front was troubling. If the whole of the Ephorate needed to bear witness to the events there, then it would have to be something far worse than the usual border difficulties. “Are we to answer her call then? I had thought to remain here, and make preparations for this upcoming inspection, but if the matter on the border is more pressing...”
“With respect, Ephor Kicker,” Swift Blade gently cut in. “You are a soldier, not a gendarme. Arranging the details of an investigation is a poor use of your talents. It might be better for all involved if I saw to such administrative chores whilst you accompanied Rightly and Steel in the field.”
I could hardly argue the logic of that even if I wished to do so. I did not—as Swift said, such administrative matters were not something I had any particular talent for or enjoyment of. That is not to say that I neglected those responsibilities when I faced them, or performed poorly at the task when it was needed, merely that much like with politics, I viewed them as necessary duties which I performed adequately. If Swift could do the job better than I, and free me for better uses of my time in the process, then it was only sensible to make such an arrangement.
“It is agreed. Thank you, Swift Blade.” I dipped my head to him for a long moment, then turned back to Rightly. “How serious dost thou believe the situation to be? Should we put our clans on alert, or even begin mustering them for deployment?”
“Bright Charger did not,” Steel answered simply.
That answered the matter simply enough. If Charger did not feel the need to call for reinforcements from her own clan, then we would not need take such measures yet either. “We are entering what is likely to be an active combat zone, though. ‘Twould not be prudent for three Ephors of Pegasopolis to fly about unescorted.”
“An escort would be sensible,” Rightly agreed. A contemplative frown crossed his face. “What thinkest thou? A squad from each of our clans?”
“I would prefer a platoon each, though not particularly heavy ones.” I glowered in the general direction of our eastern border. “Better to bring too many escorts than too few, especially if the situation is continuing to escalate. Three squads is substantial, but a particularly large and bold group of reivers might be willing to risk an attack, especially if they somehow discern our identities. A captured Ephor would fetch a rich ransom—while a slain one would bring a great deal of renown to the reiver responsible. Three platoons is a force no mere bandit would dare attack, no matter how rich the rewards might be.”
Steel gave a sharp nod at my words, and after a moment of consideration Rightly signalled his agreement as well. “It is settled then. Prepare your forces, and we shall depart as soon as all is in readiness.”
I imagine our force made for quite the impressive sight as we left Pegasopolis. While this was a hardly a major deployment, I and my fellow Ephors had made a point of picking our finest soldiers for the mission. The bright red armor of Kickers mixed in with the drab olive green of the Doos and the plain, unadorned iron of the Strikers to make our force look far deadlier and more diverse than an ordinary company.
It should come as no surprise that we encountered no difficulties during our journey to the coast (3).
3: Despite Shadow’s references to the border, there was no formally defined border between Griffonia and Equestria beyond the coastline itself. This no doubt contributed to the difficulties of protecting coastal villages from reiver raids. During her term as Lady Protector of Equestria, Shadow took measure to address the problem by formally defining Equestria’s territorial waters and airspace, allowing patrols to intercept threats well before they could actually threaten the Equestrian mainland.
Charger had established her headquarters at the northeastern tip of Horseshoe Bay, providing her with a reasonably central location to oversee the defense of our coastline. While her position was somewhat southerly, not even the reivers would be so bold as to make a move against Manehattan, especially not while the Commander herself was in residence there.
To my vague surprise, Charger had chosen to camp groundside. Such was rather unusual, though I could see the practical reasons for it easily enough once I gave the matter further thought. A cloudside camp offered no tactical advantage against griffon reivers, and would naturally make any coordination with the local militias problematic. (4)
4: Unlike the pegasi and unicorns, the earth ponies of this time had no formal standing army. Instead, every able-bodied earth pony was expected to serve in the local militia when their communities were threatened.
As soon as we came within sight of the camp, ponies began scrambling about to prepare for our arrival. By the time we landed, Bright Charger was waiting to greet us, accompanied by a small honor guard of her own soldiers clad in her clan’s brightly polished armor. Bright Charger herself was a striking mare, who somehow managed to maintain an air of youthful exuberance despite being several years my senior. Mayhap her orange coat and short two-toned light blue mane contributed to her overall appearance of youthfulness. The fact that she was smiling at the moment likely contributed as well. “Rightly, Steel, Shadow, it is good to see you.”
“Bright.” Rightly stepped forward and exchanged a brief salute, then rested his hoof on her shoulder. “It is good to see thee as well.” Seeing the object of their affections act so familiarly with another mare might have rankled many ponies, but Rightly’s wife had been Bright’s younger sister. I would not begrudge him a brief show of affection to his sister-in-law, especially not when both still faced the mutual pain of Brave’s death.
Bright returned the gesture, and after several seconds, took a deep breath, then turned to Steel Striker. “I am sorry for your loss as well, Steel. ‘Twas cruel for you to lose two children in the course of a single day, especially in such a terrible manner.”
“Aye,” Steel agreed simply. I could not help but wonder if for once his brevity was less a product of his taciturn nature and more an effort to maintain his composure. For a moment I considered offering some small gesture of support, but I do not think he would have appreciated such a thing. For a pony like Steel Striker, that sort of gesture would only serve to remind him of his pain, and call the attention of others to it.
Finally, she turned to me, hesitating for a moment on what greeting to offer. We had no particular bond, and I would not be surprised if she had somewhat mixed feelings about my interest in her brother-in-law. I had taken pains to keep my actions strictly appropriate, but it was no secret to those who knew us that there was a degree of mutual attraction. I would not blame her for resenting me, to some degree, for attempting to replace her dead sister in Rightly’s heart.
At length, she finally spoke to me. “You spoke with the Commander about taking action against the reivers, correct? What did she say?”
A reasonable question, but one I did not look forward to answering. “The Commander will not approve of any escalation of the conflict beyond its current level.”
Bright Charger let out an incredulous snort. “Escalation. Griffons attack our villages, and she speaks of not escalating the conflict.”
“We do have a treaty with the high king of Griffonia,” I reminded her. “A treaty the Commander wishes to preserve, even if it means tolerating a few bandits.”
“Ah yes, that is the way of it, isn’t it?” Charger’s voice came out as an angry growl, and she shot a baleful look in the general direction of the unicorn capital. “I think that’s the problem. Canterlot. Everypony in Canterlot looks around, and they see paradise. Their beautiful white marble city, with all the nasty little bits tucked far away where nopony can see them. It is easy for the Commander to talk about how these raids are merely ‘the usual border troubles with the Griffons’ when she lives in her perfect little city on the hill, far away from the messy, unpleasant reality of things.”
“That may be so.” Rightly looked off to the side. “I took the liberty of consulting our archives on the matter of griffon raids. In Commander Luna’s time, no reiver would dare to strike at Equestria’s shores, yet now our coastal villages live in constant fear of attack.”
“Yes, I am sure Commander Luna was an excellent leader,” I grumbled, somewhat offended at their criticism of Commander Celestia. “One simply needs to overlook the fact that she went mad and tried to plunge all Equestria into oblivion.”
While I would never say that Commander Celestia’s decisions should be above reproach, and in truth I had begun to worry about some of her choices myself, the tone of their comments seemed much darker. I was questioning the Commander’s decisions, but it sounded like they were questioning the Commander herself. It was a subtle distinction, but an important one.
Rightly slowly nodded. “Thou art correct, of course, Shadow. I merely wished to state that when our Commander took a more active role in Equestria’s defense and pursued a more assertive military policy, we did not have such problems with reivers.”
“Truly?” I would not let the Commander’s honor go undefended, not even from Rightly. “I seem to remember that the threat of the griffons has long waxed and waned. Thou might recall that Celestia and Luna won the loyalty of the earth ponies by reclaiming Manehatten from the Griffons, after nearly a century of occupation.”
“Aye, and then Commander Luna herself led an army to the shores of Griffonia, and put Westwatch to torch,” (5) Bright answered with an impatient wave of her hoof. “You will note, though, that while Celestia received an equal share of the credit, it was Commander Luna who led the armies of Equestria onto the field of battle. ‘Twas Luna herself who cut down the High King, while Celestia remained far from the fighting in Canterlot.” A hint of a smile crossed Bright’s face as she added, “The Griffons called her ‘Nightmare’ long before we did.”
5: Capital of the less-than-creatively named Archduchy of Westmarch, which covers most of Griffonia’s western shore. As the closest region to Equestria, it was the origin point for most reiver raids.
“Not all Commanders should lead from the front,” I countered simply. “One of the natural advantages of diarchy is that one ruler could remain in Equestria, whilst the other led our armies abroad. ‘Twas only natural that Commander Luna took the martial role, as befit her role as Commander of Pegasopolis.”
“And while she was Commander, no Griffon dared to come within a hundred miles of Equestria’s shores.” Rightly paused, and hint of a glower crossed his face. “But now Commander Luna is gone, and the Griffons grow bold once more. And our new Commander would have us practice caution and restraint, even as the shores of Equestria burn.”
The longer this exchange went on, the more it troubled me. One could hardly deny the effectiveness of Commander Luna’s measures when it came to containing the griffon threat, nor could any deny that with Luna’s departure the griffons had grown bolder once more. However, Luna’s exile had occurred for good reason—she had gone mad with power, and sought to overthrow her sister and plunge the land into eternal night. The idea that, despite her eventual descent into madness, she had been a far better Commander than Celestia sat poorly with me.
According to the histories I had read of the time of the two sisters, it was undeniable Luna had taken a far more active role in Pegasopolis’ affairs compared to Celestia’s hooves-off approach. Several of the great clans of Pegasopolis, such as Rightly’s own, had first risen to prominence as her close retainers. While she might have been born in Unicornia alongside her sister, when Pegasopolis faced the crisis of Discord it was Luna who took charge and rallied our forces, and her many accomplishments in that office spoke for themselves. One wonders what more she might have done, had madness not claimed her.
I gave a slightly annoyed shake of my head. “Let us cease this reminiscing about times so long past that our grandsires were suckling foals when they occurred, and return our attention to the problems of the present.” I returned my attention fully to Bright Charger. “You requested the presence of your fellow Ephors, and we have arrived. What news is there of the situation here?”
“A great deal, and little of it good.” Bright led us into her headquarters, in what looked to have been an earth pony traveler’s lodge before she commandeered it. She led us to the large table dominating the center of the room, and gave an angry wave of her hoof at a large map showing much of the Horseshoe Bay area, with a number of markers scattered across the coast. “Each of the blue markers represents a coastal community that has yet to be attacked, while the red represent those areas where attacks have already occurred. The green lines represent our current patrol routes.”
“Stretched thin,” Steel commented simply.
“Aye.” Bright passed a hoof over a collection of villages at the far end of the bay. “I have tried to persuade the local ponies to consolidate into a few larger and more defensible locations, but they are stubborn. They don’t want to abandon their homes, even in the face of griffon attacks. Most of the survivors from any raids just go right back to the ruins of their homes to begin rebuilding all over again. We’ve relocated the ones who see sense to this village...” She pointed to an icon on the northwestern edge of the bay, well placed for defense. “Baltimare. However, so long as the locals remain dispersed all across the bay, we have to defend all of it.”
“We swore an oath to protect them,” Steel affirmed. “That does not change just because they are being foolish.”
“That is the long and short of it,” Bright agreed with a weary sigh. It troubled me, to see a pony who was normally so energetic carry such a worn air about her. “There is little we can do, other than ask that they evacuate voluntarily, and help to organize local militias. Any attempt at compelling an evacuation would end poorly, especially since few of the local officials seem inclined to cooperate in such an endeavour.” She let out a snort. “They have other concerns. ‘Twould seem that the earth pony ‘elections’ are coming soon, and most of the local mayors fear that ordering an unpopular evacuation would lead to the loss of their position.”
“And no doubt they would be replaced by ponies who obtained their position with the promise of reversing any evacuation orders,” I concluded sourly. That was the problem with earth pony democracy—the leaders were so dependent upon the goodwill of the masses that in many ways they were naught but slaves to the popular will. While it was all well and good to have leaders be accountable to the ponies they ruled over, the popular course of action and the correct one were not always the same. A provincial commander or a duchess could brave the displeasure of the mob to make such choices. A mayor or a governor could not.
The four of us spent the next half-hour evaluating the situation and offering suggestions for how we might more effectively defend the coastline. While there was little we could do to stop the attacks at the moment, we could at least mitigate the damage and hopefully catch some of the reivers before they could do any harm. That was the key to dealing with reivers—we needed to cause them sufficient damage and inconvenience that they would think it more profitable to seek out softer targets. Let them strike into the Diamond Kingdom or venture into the Dragonlands, if they wished.
We were in the midst of altering patrol routes when one of Charger’s soldiers entered, escorting a winded earth pony with several fresh and hastily-treated wounds. I could guess the content of his message even before he spoke. “They struck at Hipparion.”
All within the building fell silent at the news. Bright was first to speak, no doubt having become far too accustomed to receiving such grim news over the last few weeks. “I see.” She turned to the soldier who had escorted the messenger in. “See to preparing a relief column to Hipparion. Thou knowest what will be needed.”
I misliked the way she said it so casually. Not that it seemed as if she put no importance to the matter, but rather that she spoke the order as if it had become routine to do so. An order given so many times that it no longer bore any great significance. That sat ill with me—that these raids had become such a common occurrence that sending relief convoys had become a daily ritual rather than some rare event.
Bright turned back to the messenger. “Hast thou any estimates of the casualties?”
“None resisted them,” the messenger confessed, sounding slightly ashamed of it. “There were just too many of them, and our militia—there are only a dozen families in Hipparion...”
“Thou didst not fight when there was no hope of victory,” Bright finished for him. “Do not be ashamed. Resistance would only have brought about the deaths of many good ponies.”
The earth pony nodded, hanging his head for a few seconds. No doubt he felt ill at ease confessing to a surrender whilst surrounded by Pegasopolan warriors. Popular legend often says that Pegasopolan soldiers have never surrendered to a foreign power. The truth is not quite so idealistic, but fanciful tales of bravery and heroic last stands make for far more entertaining stories than the truth.
Finally, the messenger spoke once more. “M’lady, there’s something else you need to know. While nopony was killed, after they finished looting what little we had, some of them decided to take captives. Most of the mares were taken. The fillies and colts as well.”
“They took captives?” Bright asked for confirmation. When the messenger confirmed his report once more, she nodded and a particularly grim frown appeared on her face. “I see. I thank thee, that will be all. Speak to one of the soldiers outside, and they will see to providing thee with fresh bandages for thy wounds and a hot meal.”
The messenger bobbed his head in a quick half-bow. “Thank you, m’lady.” He backed out of the room, and a few moments later I half-heard him exchanging words with one of the soldiers outside.
Bright went silent for several seconds, then slammed a hoof down on the table hard enough to leave a dent in the wood. “They take captives now. They venture near our airspace, and we fall back. They raid our villages, and the Commander orders strictly defensive action. Now they remove ponies from our shore in chains. What will the Commander’s response to this be? Inviting the High King to Canterlot for tea and crumpets?”
Bright took a deep, shuddering breath, let out a resigned sigh, and turned back to face her fellow Ephors with a determined scowl on her face. “Enough. Neigh, it is beyond enough. As the commander in the field for this operation, I am invoking the Fourth Axiom of Lyequinegus.”
I felt my eyes go wide in shock at her declaration. “You intend to violate Commander Celestia’s orders?”
“I do,” Bright Charger confirmed. “That is the purpose of the Fourth Axiom, is it not? ‘A commander in the field is not required to follow the orders of distant leaders, if said commander feels that those orders do not properly reflect the realities of the frontlines, and continuing to follow those orders would be detrimental to the safety and security of Pegasopolis.’ I think we can all agree that it applies here.”
Much as I did not wish to admit it, this newest revelation did change matters considerably, to the point that I could no longer defend the Commander’s standing orders. “I ask that you take no action at this time. Once Commander Celestia is informed of the situation, I am sure she will revise her orders.”
“No time,” Steel announced. “The longer we wait, the harder it will be to rescue the ponies they took.”
Once more, I could not argue the logic of it. I did not wish to go against Commander Celestia’s orders, but I could not justify any other course of action. Steel and Bright had the right of it—even if the Commander could be persuaded to change her standing orders, it would be too late for the ponies the griffons had taken this time. “So be it then. What do you propose?”
Bright Charger trotted over to another table and retrieved a map of Griffonia’s western coast. “I took the liberty of sending a few scouts for high-level passes, so that I might have some degree of intelligence regarding how many reivers threaten our shores.” That sort of scouting expedition stretched the Commander’s orders, but so long as the scouts did not enter griffon territory or engage in combat she was not outright breaking them. I could hardly fault Bright Charger for that—I likely would have done the same if it were my command. (6)
6: Creative interpretation of orders is a long-standing military tradition.
“Now then,” Charger pointed to three marked spots along the coast. “According to the most recent reports from my scouts, those are their primary camps and staging grounds. In all likelihood the captives are en-route to one of those places. So, the prudent course of action would be to send three forces. Ideally we can intercept the reivers before they return to Griffonia proper. Failing that, we hit the camps, find our ponies, and get them out.”
“There is no way to narrow down which of the camps they were taken to?” Rightly asked with a slight frown. “The Commander will not be pleased by our invocation of the Fourth Axiom—it would be best if we violated her orders as little as necessary in the process of saving our ponies.”
“Unless we can intercept them before they get back to their base camp, I doubt we could manage such a thing quickly enough to be practical.” I grimaced down at the map. Even if I had Gale close to hoof, it would take her hours to infiltrate a single camp and properly search for the missing ponies. If the tales of what happened to ponies in griffon captivity held any element of truth to them, it would be best to rescue them as quickly as possible. Otherwise, there might not be anypony left to save.
Rightly grimaced as the same thoughts played through his mind. “I do not wish to give Commander Celestia the impression that we have merely seized upon a convenient excuse to ignore her orders. This is a rescue mission first and foremost—we should only do as much damage to the reivers as we must in the process.”
“Foolish,” Steel grumbled. “We are already violating orders to attack Griffonia. We should take the chance to bloody their beaks while we are at it.”
Though I would have preferred not to disagree with Rightly and Celestia both, I did. “Steel has the right of it. Thinkest thou that either the griffons or Commander Celestia will be any less upset if we only kill thirty reivers instead of sixty?”
Bright nodded. “We intend to attack them either way, better that we make it an effective one than mire down in half-measures.”
Rightly grimaced, and conceded the matter with a wave of his hoof. While no formal vote had been taken, it was clear that the majority was against him in this matter. I confess that I found myself slightly eager at the prospect of striking back at the griffons. There was something oddly liberating about making the decision to go against the Commander’s orders, seizing the freedom to do as we pleased, and damning the consequences.
I turned to Bright and asked the next obvious question. “Do we have an estimate for how many reivers there are at these camps?”
Charger shrugged, waving a hoof over the map. “With reivers, you can never tell. Their numbers will depend on how many are out raiding, how many new recruits they’ve gained, how many have retired to enjoy their plunder, and so forth.” Charger glowered down at the map for a few moments longer. “I would estimate their numbers at no more than a hundred per camp, but that is only an estimate.”
I glanced to my fellow Ephors, and could see that their thoughts lay in much the same direction as mine. “We’ve a hundred and fifty pegasi between us. (7) If your command could spare a few more ponies to fill our forces out...”
7: Which would put the size of a Pegasopolan platoon at fifty ponies each. A bit large by modern standards, though the nature of warfare in Shadow’s time made the smaller, more specialized platoons and squads of the modern Guard impractical.
“Easily.” Bright returned her attention to the map, and set to her plans. “The three of you wish to take the field, I presume?”
Steel and I nodded, and a moment later Rightly did so as well. It might have been wasteful for all of us to participate in this operation, but at the same time it felt wrong to command from the rear. A battlefield commander’s place is on the frontlines, fighting alongside and shedding blood with their soldiers. There was a reason that, while Swift Blade was a valued member of the Ephorate, he was not the leader of his clan. Whatever his other valuable contributions, no clan would respect a leader who could not fight within the ranks and acquit themselves admirably.
Bright smiled at the three of us, and began laying our attack routes on the map. “Shadow, you can take the northern camp, Steel will have the south. Rightly will hit the third camp, and I will keep a force in reserve, in case any problems arise. Perhaps near Westwatch, so I can intercept any Griffonian reinforcements if they attempt to interfere.”
“It would be better if we did not fight Griffonian soldiers,” Rightly fixed his sister-in-law with a knowing look. “And I think that if I gave thee an army and put thee on Westwatch’s doorstep, I would return to find the city in flames. Too long hast thou sat back and watched these raids with thy hooves tied. ‘Twill take blood to satisfy thee—better that thou art placed where thou might obtain it without disrupting our plans. I will take the reserves.”
“Thou art most considerate.” Charger offered him a slight bow and a smile.
Rightly returned the bow, a hint of a smile on his face. “I do try, sister.” He turned to the side, and extended a wing. A moment later we mirrored the gesture, so that all four of our wings rested atop each other in the center. Rightly began the ritual. “For Pegasopolis.”
Each of us answered in turn with our clan’s words, beginning with Steel Striker. “Blood and steel.”
“We lead the charge.” Bright Charger spoke next.
“Death waits in the dark,” I solemnly added the Kicker words.
“Duty, to the last,” Rightly finished.
The flight to the shores of Griffonia took the remainder of that day and through the night, as well as most of the next at hard flying, but my soldiers matched the pace I set with no complaints. Both my own platoon and the pegasi from her clan that Bright had placed under my command knew what was at stake here—the reivers are not known for being kind to their captives.
Sadly, we were not able to intercept them before we reached Griffonia proper. With the head start they’d gained over us, that had only ever been a dim hope to begin with. I still would have preferred it, if only because a battle over the sea would have been far less diplomatically troublesome than an actual incursion into Griffonia proper. Then again, recovering the earth pony captives in such a clash would likely have proven problematic.
The reiver camp lay along the shoreline, placed near a cliff overlooking the ocean itself. The place had the look of something hastily assembled by beings with only a rudimentary knowledge of carpentry, which fit with what I knew of the reivers. The camp itself was no proper settlement as such, merely an assembly point for the reivers, and the parasites who naturally attached themselves to those with an excess of wealth and a shortage of morals or good sense. No doubt much of the plunder these reivers stole from Equestria’s shores eventually found its way into the talons of barkeeps, gamblers, and whoremongers.
I am unsure whether it was arrogance or simply a lack of discipline, but the reivers had not even thought to set a proper watch. That would make our task all the easier.
The attack would need to wait, though. While my soldiers might have crossed the Griffonian Sea without complaint, they would fight far better if I provided them with a few hours rest before we went into battle. It was a hard thing, to ask them to make camp while ponies might well be suffering in the camp below, but it would not do to bungle the rescue mission because my forces were too tired to fight effectively. Besides, there were preparations to make, and sunset was still an hour away.
Once we found a suitable cloudbank high above the enemy camp, where our own position would not be noted, I set my clan to blackening their armor—the traditional blood red of the clan was suited to many purposes, but it was not an ideal choice for night missions where a degree of stealth was required. Whilst they worked at that, I arranged a quick meeting with Breeze Kicker and Shield Charger, the lieutenants in charge of my two platoons.
“Our plan of attack will be simple and direct,” I informed them. “Once night falls, my clan will infiltrate into the town proper, sowing chaos, death, and destruction. Once they have begun their work, the Chargers will launch their attack. With any luck, the reivers will be thrown into a panic, and any semblance of discipline or order will vanish. Once they scatter to the winds, each fleeing to preserve their own lives, it should be child’s play to crush any resistance, and chase down the remaining reivers.” (8) It was a simple plan, but in my experience all the best plans are. Elaborate plans all too often run afoul of the natural chaos of the battlefield.
8: While no griffon would ever admit such a thing, pegasi are on average faster fliers.
“What are the rules of engagement, and what terms do we offer?” Shield asked.
It had been an oversight on my part not to state such—perhaps I had become too used to working with my own clan, who naturally knew my standing orders in such situations. “We neither ask for nor offer quarter. We face reivers, rapers, and pillagers—they would not honor any surrender. However, our priority is the rescue of any captured ponies; the destruction of reiver assets is a secondary objective.” I was somewhat tempted to suggest putting the fleas gathered about the reivers to the sword as well, for they had surely profited from the suffering of ponies, but mercy won out. “I’ll have no wanton destruction of non-combatants, but tolerate no resistance. The camp will be fired, once our work is done.”
I looked to them for any further inquiries, and Breeze spoke up. “How are we to return the civilians to Equestria, m’lady? Having them fly ponyback the entire way could prove troublesome.”
I waved a hoof down at the camp. “The same way the reivers brought them here, I should think. Most likely they’ve some manner of aerial conveyance to allow them to transport their plunder from Equestria in relative swiftness. Failing that, Rightly’s reserve force brought equipment to attend to the matter.”
I gave them a few moments longer, and when there were no further questions I gave a single sharp nod. “Thy orders are clear, then. The Kickers will make our move once darkness falls. I intend to show these reivers the meaning of my clan’s words.”
I put the remaining time to good use, setting an example for my soldiers by quickly blackening my armor before securing two hours of rest. I needed the sleep as sorely as the rest of the ponies under my command, though I ordered that a few sentries remain awake, lest we be foiled by some cruel happenstance. I had not come this far to have my plans undone because a single drunken reiver happened to stumble across our campsite minutes before we would strike.
My two hours of rest passed far more quickly than I would have liked. While I am far from an old mare, I have begun to reach the age where a mere two hours of sleep after a long hard march no longer seems sufficient. I buried any tiredness I might feel underneath a core of iron discipline, and set to my final preparations. Any lingering fatigue would fade quickly enough once battle was joined.
I broke my platoon up into hunter-teams of five ponies each. A common enough deployment for my clan, as a five-pony unit remained small enough to be reasonably silent while also containing sufficient force to strike against any cluster of enemy ponies. I took the liberty of claiming Sergeant Stalwart’s hunter team for myself, and putting the good sergeant in charge of the two teams held in reserve to reinforce an imperilled unit or strike at targets of opportunity.
Then we got to the bloody business.
My team landed in a dark alleyway near what appeared to be a ramshackle tavern of sorts, if the smell of cheap beer and jovially raised voices within were any indication. “Nimbus, Stratus, to the left. Iron and Boulder to the right.” The four set to fulfilling their orders quickly and efficiently, moving around the building and peering in through crude windows and gaps in the walls to provide an estimate of the enemy’s strength and search for any captive ponies within.
A minute later, they returned with their report. The four conveyed for a moment, combining intelligence, until Stratus gave the final assessment. “Two entrances, front and rear. Somewhere between fifteen and twenty griffons within. No sign of any ponies.”
I nodded, a plan already taking shape in my mind. “The rear entrance leads to some brewing and storage area for their alcohol, I presume?”
“It does,” Iron confirmed. A hint of a smile quirked at his lips as he added, “From what I saw of the brewery, we’re doing the reivers a favor by killing them before they can consume any more of that rotgut.”
“I’m sure they’ll be appropriately grateful,” I jested in response. My plan was now well and truly taking shape. “Boulder, canst thou bar the front door?”
“Aye, m’lady.” A hint of a glower crossed his face. “Though I cannot guarantee it would hold. With the state of this place, the door and walls could probably be taken down by a hard sneeze.”
“Then let’s hope none of them have a cold. Bar it.” I turned to Nimbus. “Sneak into the rear entrance, and set their alcohol store to fire. The place will go up like a tinderbox. With any luck, when they find one exit blocked by flames and the other barred, they’ll panic and begin fighting amongst each other. If not, those who breach the walls will be smoke- and fire-blinded and disoriented. Likely drunk as well. Easy targets.”
“The fire might spread to the rest of the camp, m’lady,” Nimbus observed. “Shall I secure a raincloud once I set the fires?”
I made a mental note to speak to Lieutenant Shield about Nimbus, should she survive the night. A soldier with initiative was a valuable resource. “That would be prudent. We do not wish to burn the entire camp down until we have finished our search for any ponies.” Fire was an effective weapon, but at times a dangerous one. Especially in a place like this—fire safety had clearly not been a concern for the griffons when they threw together this reiver camp.
Boulder placed a simple wedge beneath the tavern door to prevent it from opening, while Nimbus moved to the back of the building to begin her task. A minute later there was a faint whiff of smoke, and Nimbus briefly took to the sky for long enough to retrieve a suitable raincloud. Then it was just a matter of waiting for our work to bear fruit.
We did not need to wait for long. The tavern’s cheap alcohol took to flame like a candle wick, and before long not even the inebriated tavern patrons could fail to notice the smoke pouring out of the back room. The reivers within began grumbling and complaining, but their intoxication inured them to any fear for the moment. Or perhaps this was not the first fire to have erupted within the camp—with so many drunken thugs populating the camp, the odd bit of arson or carelessness would hardly be unusual.
Then one of them tried the door. When it didn’t open the griffon began pounding against it, but Boulder’s wedge held firm. Now the first notes of fear emerged from within the tavern. A fire was one thing—being trapped in a burning building with no available exit was another matter entirely.
One of the griffons tried for a window, perhaps in the hopes of managing to squeeze himself through, or failing that he would have a head start on smashing through the thin walls. It mattered little, for as soon as he stuck his head out I brought my wing blade across the reiver’s throat. The griffon stumbled back in surprise, blood spurting from his wound, and the remaining reivers erupted into panic as the awful truth began to sink in. They were trapped in a burning building, with an unknown enemy waiting outside to kill any who escaped.
Even for disciplined soldiers, this would be a difficult situation. There were few tactical options, and few leaders are cool-headed enough to strategize while trapped in the midst of a budding inferno. Reivers are far from disciplined. Before long I heard shouts from within, and the coppery tang of fresh blood sharpened on the wind. Just as I’d hoped, in their panic they’d fallen to fighting amongst themselves, throwing away any hope of coordination—and with it, survival.
The struggle ended before long, and the remaining griffons began banging on the doors and walls, though sadly none were so foolish as so stick their head out the window again. Then the begging began, as the reivers made promises of surrender and protestations of innocence that only an imbecile would believe. When that failed, they were soon offering a share of their plunder as well, and eventually the whole of it, if we would spare their lives.
None of us were moved by such offers. Despite the situation, I found myself waxing philosophical for a moment. I think that is one of the advantages of the Pegasopolan system, as opposed to many other societies. All too often, the prospect of securing loot tempts soldiers into abandoning their battlefield duties. Avarice is the inevitable child of wealth. By creating a society in which wealth did not exist, Lyequinegus ensured that no Pegasopolan soldier would ever let greed turn their minds from duty.
Eventually, a few of the reivers succeeded in forcing an exit, all but tearing down one of the walls in the process. While that allowed the three of them to escape, it spelled the doom of the other survivors, for the destruction of one wall caused the tavern’s ceiling to collapse, burying those within under flaming rubble.
The three surviving reivers looked a poor sight indeed. Whatever stolen finery they had once bedecked themselves with was now a singed and soot-covered mess, and the rest of their bodies were in a similar condition. What arms and armor they possessed were mismatched and had visible spots of rust even underneath the soot. Even in fair open combat, these reivers would have made a poor showing against my soldiers.
As they were: frightened, drunk, smoke-blind, and half-immolated, they stood nary a chance of even beginning to resist before we cut them down. It was almost insultingly simple to kill them.
Our next opponents would prove a slightly more worthy match, though. Even though Nimbus had triggered her raincloud to contain the blaze for the moment, the fire, smoke, and screams had drawn no shortage of attention. That is not to mention that, judging by the smoke and cries coming from other portions of the camp, the rest of my clan was enjoying similarly spectacular results. While the destruction we wrought was considerable, there could be no doubt that the alarm was now raised.
However, it would seem that Bright Charger’s estimate of the enemy’s strength had been o’eroptimistic. Mayhap their numbers had been bolstered by their most recent successes. No matter, that just ensured that there would enough of the enemy left to make this a worthy victory instead of a mere massacre.
The first few reivers we met were little better than their fellows at the tavern. While not drunk or suffering the ill effects of fire and smoke, a lone one or two griffons could offer little more than a moment’s inconvenience to five battle-hardened pegasi, especially when we often took them all but unawares. While the griffons knew that we had come for them, they could hardly know the location of every hunter squad within their camp.
However, as we pressed on, continuing our search for the captive ponies, we began to encounter signs of more organized resistance. Larger bands of reivers, whom we avoided rather than meet in battle when the numbers were against us. One of the great reiver captains must be rallying them to his banner. While reivers as a rule are a wild and undisciplined lot, their captains are often individuals of considerable personal strength and magnetism. No mere thug could command the respect of a reiver host.
Our expedition might have been troubled, were it not for the Charger detachment. Shield Charger and his forces could no doubt espy this reiver commander rallying their forces, and with a loud cry Shield and his kin, their polished armor glistening in the firelight, unleashed their fury upon the enemy. There are few things in this world that can stand firm against a massed cavalry charge—reivers are not amongst them.
The entrance of the second half of our forces broke what coordination the reivers had, and soon all thoughts of organized resistance fled their minds entirely. From there, it was just a matter of mopping up isolated pockets of reivers, most of whom had little thought beyond the animal instinct to flee for their lives.
It was in the aftermath of mopping up one such pocket of resistance that I spotted a rather unusual set of griffons flying from the camp. I might not have seen them at all, if not for a brief glimmer of light reflecting off of their hastily-blackened armor. That in and of itself was telling—as a rule, reivers are poorly equipped by military standards. Most content themselves with whatever weapons or armor they can loot from their fallen enemies and comrades, while spending their plunder on satisfying their numerous vices. This fleeing group of griffons, however, seemed to be equipped with proper weapons and armor.
I took to wing in pursuit. Well-equipped griffons fleeing the battlefield could only mean that they were guarding someone or something of great importance. I was disinclined to allow them to do so. A few hasty swipes of my hooves removed much of the blackening from my armor, a quick and simple signal for reinforcements, if anypony happened to see my departure. Well-equipped opponents were often well-trained ones as well, and while I could only see half a dozen of the enemy, that still gave them the advantage of numbers.
With my armor exposed, it did not take the enemy long to realize they were pursued. I am unsure whether I was pleased or concerned when they turned about to face us. On the one hoof, it ensured that we would meet them in battle. On the other, they would not have turned to meet us unless they were reasonably confident in their odds of success.
Still, I was reasonably optimistic of our odds of victory. I had seen to equipping my clan with wing blades for this battle, and there is no weapon better suited to aerial combat than a wing blade. While the wing blade’s ability to pierce armor is sometimes lacking, wings cannot bear heavy armor without impeding their flight functions. A single wing blade strike could cripple or even sever a wing, either of which was a killing blow when battling hundreds of feet above the ground.
As we neared the enemy, I found myself briefly lamenting the absence of any Chargers from my team. It seemed we would meet the griffons in a head-to-head charge, a situation ideally suited to the lances favored by that clan. So be it—I would simply make do with the resources of my own clan. I was confident they would prove more than capable of securing victory.
Now the griffons were close enough that I could see the metal gleaming off their talons and hindpaws. I was unsure if my soldiers had ever faced proper griffon warriors in battle before. “Ware their talons!” I cautioned. “Strike and fade. In close battle they have the advantage, and if they gain a solid grasp thou shalt likely perish.” I might have explained further, but the enemy was all but upon us.
The griffon’s talons raked at my chest as we passed, but they found no solid purchase. A moment later my wing met his, and my blade cleaved flesh from bone and feather from wing. While I did not succeed in severing the limb, I had caused more than sufficient damage to render it useless, and the griffon plummeted, vainly struggling to stay airborne with only a single working wing.
The pass had not gone so well for all of my ponies, though. Stratus had also succeeded in taking down her foe, while Boulder and his griffon had exchanged blows to no lasting effect. Iron, however, had struck off his foe’s wing only to be caught by one of the griffon’s talons, and frantically kicked out to dislodge his foe as he fought to remain airborne. It proved to be of no avail, for a second later the griffon’s free talon slashed out, ripping through one of Iron’s wings.
Then they fell.
Finally, there was Nmbus, who had shown much potential earlier with her forethought and initiative. Her griffon had managed to secure a solid hold, clapping his talons together around her helmet and clawing for her eyes. Her instinct briefly overcame her training as she pushed back with her forelegs, slamming the well-armored claw and further disorienting herself. Her opponent saw an opening and spun her about, putting his superior reach and strength to good use. Soon, the griffon’s hind legs were up against her belly, where there was naught but chainmail protecting her. The chain managed to hold off the griffon’s steel-shod claws as it raked at her belly, but only for a few seconds.
I heard her screams from the other side of the field as the griffon tore into her. I was perversely reminded of a cat trying to clamber up a table as his hind claws scrambled beneath her, taking more metal and flesh with each pass. What little blackening that remained on Nimbus' armor quickly faded as it returned to a truer red than before. The attack would likely have continued in its full savagery for a long while had I not intervened. The sight of another assailant caught his eye, and he shook his hind legs to free himself from a coil of intestine that had become ensnared around it. Nimbus fell from his grasp, wings limp as she instead tried to put her entrails back inside her.
I tore into the griffon with a vengeance, casting subtlety and finesse aside as I slammed a steel-shod hoof into its face. The central spike on my war shoes did its job perfectly concentrating the force of my blow into a single crushing point. The top half of the griffon’s beak vanished in an explosion of blood and viscera, and the beast staggered back in shock. I followed with a second strike that caved in an eye socket and pierced the eye itself. The griffon’s head reeled back as it let out a warbling shriek of agony, cut short when I slammed a hoof into its throat, crushing it.
Before the slain griffon had even begun to fall, I was on a third. My blood was up now, and it would not calm while there were any enemies yet living on the field. This one had been focused entirely on his exchange with Boulder, and did not realize where the true threat lay until far too late. I hooked one hoof under its beak, and put the other at the top of its helmet. Then I simply turned its head, until I heard a very distinctive snap, and the griffon went limp.
And then there were none left. The sky was ours.
“Find what they were protecting,” I snapped at my two remaining soldiers, fury still lacing my voice. While I have, of necessity, learned to endure the deaths of soldiers under my command, even now any passing makes me sorely wroth. Thankfully, I have learned how to channel that anger, the means to use it to push my body to its limits. Anger does not blind me—rather, my rage makes me stronger and gives me focus. Or at least, it does on most occasions.
A pained mewl from Nimbus dispelled the last of my wrath. Despite her horrific wounds, she had somehow managed to make her way to small tuft of cloud, which was already turning pink as her vital fluids continued leaking out. So long as she could whimper in pain, she was still alive. “Belay that order, see to Nimbus’ wounds.” Iron Kicker had already been dragged to his doom, and I would not lose half the ponies entrusted to my command if there was another option. The griffons had fallen—whatever charge they protected could be found easily enough on their corpses.
In any case, searching their bodies proved needless, for Status and Boulder were still hard at work seeing to Nimbus’s wounds when reinforcements arrived in the form of Stalwart Kicker and the reserve teams. The sergeant took one look at Nimbus, and signaled for the platoon chirurgeon to take over her care. Boulder and Stratus thankfully passed her into the medicae’s capable hooves—they had done what they could, but both likely knew no more of medicine than any soldier.
Stalwart looked us over, and noted another absence in our ranks. “Iron?” A mute shake of my head gave the answer to his question, and the sergeant hissed out a curse under his breath. “I saw your departure, but to my sorrow we could not reach you in time. You have my deepest apologies, m’lady.”
“That is the nature of battle, Stalwart.” The entire clash had passed in the space of less than a minute—even a dedicated speed flier would have faced difficulty making it to our position in time to have saved either of our casualties.
Stalwart and Stratus both turned to go. Boulder, however, remained with the medicae to help with their patient. Nimbus feebly thrashed ‘neath their ministrations, her wing instinctively curling itself around her torso even as they tried to sew it back together. The brown stallion went to his kinsmare and gently pulled her wing back, holding it away. Giant hooves which I have seen crush through walls cradled Nimbus’ head, firmly but gently pulling her gaze upwards.
“Peace, child,” he rumbled. “Look not. All will be well before long. I am sorry that you must feel such pain, but you need not watch.”
Whether through Boulder’s strength or her own loss of fluids, her movements subsided. Soon, the only indications of life I could see were the rising of her chest, along with a pained, muted whimper, which prompted more words of comfort from Boulder.
My attention was finally torn from the scene by Stalwart’s voice. “I can offer some measure of good news, m’lady. While we did not arrive quickly enough to aid you in battle, we were able to secure what the griffons sought to protect.”
“Is that so?” I spared one last glance for Nimbus before turning my focus fully to the sergeant. “Very well then. What did I buy with Iron’s life and Nimbus’ blood?”
“You will release me at once!” The foppishly-dressed griffon demanded, his mustachios quivering in indignation. “This is an outrage! You have invaded the sovereign territory of Griffonia in an unprovoked act of aggression!”
“Your reivers have harried our shores for a month now,” I commented with annoyed disinterest. “Now, I imagine from the way you feel the need to dress in silk and gold, you hold some position of wealth and importance. Do feel free to enlighten me as to what that is.” In my experience nobles, whether griffon, unicorn, or any other race, will never hesitate to club anypony within speaking range over the head with their titles at the first opportunity.
As expected, the griffon drew himself up as best he could while bound in chains, his waxed mustachios and triple-chin trembling as he self-importantly announced. “I am Maxilian Ramus of House Talon, third of that name, and Archduke of Eastmarch.”
“How wonderful for thee,” I commented dryly. “Stalwart? Hit him.”
Stalwart obligingly drove a hoof into the Archduke’s prodigious stomach, causing the fop to curl into a ball and begin whining in overstated agony. More’s the pity I could not employ such measures against certain members of Equestria’s nobility.
The Archduke’s presence did explain why Griffonian Knights had been on field, at least. Only a fool would come into a reiver camp unescorted, and when their effort to secret their lord unnoticed failed, they tried to buy him time to escape instead. Pity for the knights that their lord flew only slightly faster than the beached whale he resembled.
Once the Archduke’s whimpering stilled, I resumed our conversation. “Tell me, Archduke, what business didst thou have within a reiver camp?” I turned to Stalwart, and casually added. “Hit him again if he tries to lie to me, sergeant.”
One bruise and a great deal of crying later, the Archduke at least made the effort of coming up with a somewhat plausible lie. “I was attempting to negotiate a cessation of reiver attacks upon Equestria. I warned the captains that if they continued their current course, they would bring doom upon all Griffonia.”
I did not believe the claim for a moment, not the least because it sounded like something a reasonably intelligent ruler might suggest. More likely, the Archduke had come to collect a share of the spoils in exchange for ignoring Griffonia’s treaty obligation to hunt down any reivers that attacked Equestria. I could hardly prove such a thing though. I nodded to Stalwart. “Prepare the prisoner for transport—the Commander can decide his fate.”
The Archduke let out a feeble moan of protest at the news, but Stalwart didn’t even have to smite him again to still his complaints. How wonderful, he was already learning.
Whilst Stalwart secured our prisoner, I took a moment to review our casualty reports. All things considered, we had come out of the operation quite well. Including my own team, the Kickers had suffered five deaths and seven significantly wounded, while the Chargers had only three dead, but nearly two dozen wounded. A consequence of our clans differing fighting styles, no doubt. Still, that was a small toll, compared to an estimated two hundred reivers and half a dozen Griffonian Knights slain.
My review of the casualty reports suffered a brief interruption when I heard the Archduke protesting that his chains were too heavy, and Stalwart’s subsequent correction. Another blow to the stomach proved too much for the obese griffon, and with a groan he heaved out the entirety of his rather considerable dinner. To my immense disgust, there was a considerable amount of meat within his vomit. It is one thing to know that griffons are occasional flesh-eaters, and quite another to see the evidence so plainly.
I turned my head from the spectacle in disgust, and sought to remove myself from the smell as quickly as possible. Before I could do so, however, Stalwart’s voice demanded my attention. “M’lady, you need to see this.”
I turned about to see Stalwart and several other ponies staring down at the vomit in horror. Certainly flesh-eating was a disgusting practice, but I could not imagine the mere spectacle of it provoking such a reaction from seasoned soldiers. I reluctantly looked down, to see if there was anything unusual about the vomit.
It took me a few moments to realize what it was, perhaps because the truth was simply too horrifying to contemplate. The truth began to dawn upon me as I noticed that several bits of flesh bore different, and very unusual colors for meat. After a few moments, I borrowed a lance from one of the Chargers and used the tip to poke at the meat, turning bits over and rearranging it until the cause of the discoloration was clear.
A cutie mark.
The Archduke had feasted upon pony flesh.
There are no words that could adequately describe my fury or revulsion. I whirled on the Archduke, who already trembled with terror now that the extent of his crimes had been revealed. There was no threat or attempt to intimidate in my voice. Simply a cold, hard, statement of fact. “Archduke, thou shalt tell us where we might find the remaining captives, or I will castrate thee, then flay the skin from thy bones an inch at a time. If thou survives the process for long enough, I will have thee feast upon thy own flesh for sustenance. Thou hast one chance to answer me. Do not squander it.”
“Basement!” He shrieked in terror. “They’re in a basement underneath the captain’s lodge! It was only the one, and they made me eat her! It’s not my fault!”
I did not even need to give the order for my soldiers to spring into action. Within minutes, they had uncovered the griffon’s meat locker and set to recovering the survivors. Thankfully, only two mares had been butchered thus far, but that was still two ponies too many.
Two mares and a colt. I was loathe to correct myself when two Chargers pulled him from the basement, a body so small that at first I thought it only part of one. Bile rose in my throat when I saw the empty yellow fur on his flank, and threatened to spill over when I saw the hook; he was the perverse image of a unicorn, a hook forced through his head from below. It was a small mercy that his torso was turned away from me, and hastily covered by one of the nearby soldiers. I would sleep restlessly enough with the image of Nimbus' wounds in my mind, but for such an atrocity to be committed upon a youngling goes beyond words.
While most of the soldiers saw to the needs of the survivors, Stalwart spared a contemptuous glare for the Archduke. “What is to be done with him?”
“You gave your word,” the equiphage whined pitiably. “You promised me mercy if I told you where the rest of them were.”
“Indeed I did.” Everypony within earshot froze in shock at that declaration, but I was not finished. “I am an honorable mare, and will keep my word. Thou shalt be neither castrated, nor flayed.” I turned to Stalwart, a cold smile on my face. “Hang him.”