//------------------------------// // 7. The Tale of Trottingham // Story: The Age of Wings and Steel // by DSNesmith //------------------------------// Rye was breathing raggedly by the time they finally stopped. Inger had set a punishing pace, galloping at full speed along the road away from Canterlot. The two of them had long since left the city walls behind, and the dim pink sky warned that night was fast approaching. Rye was doing his best to keep up with Inger, but he felt like his heart was going to explode. Right as he decided he was going to take a break, Inger or no Inger, the Firewing slowed to a halt. “I think we should stop for the night. Best not to spend too much energy this soon in the journey. You’ll need it for tomorrow.” Rye moaned internally, picturing a whole day of hard running. He collapsed onto the ground by the side of the road, his tongue lolling out and his chest heaving. Inger rolled his eyes and muttered “Civilians,” in what was becoming a near-constant refrain. Despite the Firewing’s attitude, Rye thought they were making pretty good time. The Cottontail woods had long disappeared into the hills behind them. They were probably only around ten miles away from the crossroads, where the path would meet up with the Great Road that would take them all the way north to Sleipnord. He looked forward to the paved cobblestone of the only major Equestrian highway. “Come on, pegacorn.” Inger nudged him. “We’re not sleeping on the roadside tonight.” “You found an inn, did you?” said Rye. The Firewing gave him a humorless look. “Hey, a stallion can dream, right?” Inger pointed a hoof toward a tall hill off the road a ways. “We’ll be sleeping at the bottom. It should be far enough away from the road to avoid any unwanted company, and more importantly it’ll give us a good view of the road ahead tomorrow morning.” They didn’t bother with the tent. The air was chilly, but dry, and the skies were clear as far as the eye could see. Unless Cloudsdale had forged up a surprise storm for some reason, they wouldn’t wake up soaking wet. Rye was snoring before he hit the ground. * * * “Go away. Lemme sleep.” Rye shoved his hoof in front of his face to push away whoever was nudging him. “Get up, already. It’s six in the morning, time to move on.” Rye blinked awake and remembered where he was. Sighing mournfully at the thought of a set of perfectly cooked pancakes waiting somewhere back in Canterlot, he pulled himself together and put on his traveling cloak and saddlebags. Still yawning, he and Inger began the next leg of their journey. “So how far are we going today?” “Hopefully we’ll reach the crossroads in a few hours. Once we hit the Great Road, it’s a straight shot up through Norlund and the Antlerwood into Midrothel. From there we’ll follow the road into Sleipnord.” “Sounds simple enough,” said Rye. “Uh, are we going to eat breakfast?” “I already ate,” said Inger dryly. “Have an apple.” He tossed one from his saddlebag to the pegacorn. Rye caught it in his mouth, taking a bite. “Mm, that’s good. Where’s it from?” “Westermin. Got them on sale from the market, day before last.” “Ah, of course. It’s been a while since I’ve had fruit from Sweet Apple Acres.” They were quiet for a while as Rye digested his apple. To his relief, the pace today was much easier. Inger seemed to feel they were back on schedule. They cantered along, the morning dew glistening around them. “So, Inger,” said Rye. “How long have you served under Princess Celestia?” “In the Firewings?” “No, in person. I gathered you were her assistant, or something.” “Not exactly,” said Inger. He looked thoughtful. “You may know that the Firewings serve a dual function as Celestia’s guard and personal strike force.” Rye fought back a snicker. I know a lot more about the Firewings than you think, Inger. “Yes?” “Lately we’ve been mostly serving in our role as guards. I doubt Celestia really needs us, to be honest. The last assassination attempt on the Princess was over forty years ago.” “Really?” Rye was intrigued despite himself. “I’ve never heard of that.” “You wouldn’t have,” said Inger. “A group of insane unicorns tried to overthrow the Princess and bring back Nightmare Moon. It was an idiotic plan, anyway; they had some notion that Celestia was the only thing preventing Nightmare’s return, and that killing her would bring back the dark queen.” “Er... is that true?” “What, the Princess holding back Nightmare Moon? I doubt it. She’s never really talked about it., though. She doesn’t discuss her sister much.” “You seem very close to the Princess.” “Just so. Celestia doesn’t want guards, she wants friends. She doesn’t need our protection, that’s for sure. That group of cultists? They tried to attack her during the Summer Sun celebration, and she completely wiped them out with her magic. Alone. It was pretty spectacular, I hear. But her guards are around her more than anypony else. No one else ever gets close enough to her to really know the pony, instead of the Princess.” Rye sucked his lip. “It sounds terribly lonely.” Inger nodded, sadly. “It is. She never talks about Luna, but if you’re near her often enough you can tell. It’s tearing her up inside.” “Luna? She mentioned the name earlier, I’ve never heard it before.” “The Princess’s sister.” Rye’s mouth formed a little o of realization. “Nightmare Moon. I never knew that was her name.” “Most don’t, anymore. It’s been three hundred years since she fell, and ever since she’s been shrouded in mystery and myth. Almost nopony remembers a little night-blue alicorn who raised the moon.” Rye twitched self-consciously at the mention of alicorns. No, it wasn’t an insult. Don’t be so touchy, boy. “And how do you?” Inger couldn’t be much more than ten. He wasn’t that old. “Well,” said Inger. “I never knew her personally, but I’ve seen the paintings around the castle. Great tapestries depicting the two sisters ruling in harmony. They’re heartbreakingly beautiful. They’re like windows into the past.” Rye raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t expect poetry from you, Inger.” Inger smiled, an expression that seemed alien on his face. “Everypony has hidden depths. You just have to dig deep enough.” He turned thoughtful again. “I wonder what yours are, pegacorn.” Rye wished he’d stop calling him that. But he seemed to genuinely think Rye might not be totally useless. Perhaps they were warming up to each other after all. “Come on, we have to pick up the pace if we’re going to get to the crossroads by lunch. Can you gallop any faster than you did yesterday?” Or maybe not. Still, it was a start. * * * The sun had risen above their heads high into the sky by the time they reached the crossroads. The Great Road stretched out to the north and south, promising adventure and discovery in all directions. It was a mark of the road’s importance that it was paved with flat, smooth stones, unlike the majority of Equestria’s simple dirt trails. The road cut all the way from the northern pass of Midrothel to the far south, over the Grumar River and past the fortress of Sel-Paloth, cutting deep into the kingdom of Grypha. It was the main artery of Equestrian trade, providing a fast and straight path to every major city and province east of Lake Alazure. Rye had seen the road once before, when he was still a tiny foal. His parents had taken him on a trip to the market in Caladen on the lakeshore. He’d used to sit on his mother’s back while she flew up above the waves, watching the water reach out to the horizon. The road was visible even from the air, extending far beyond sight. His mother had told him stories about what lay down it, of far-off cities and wonders she’d seen while traveling with the Firewings. He smiled at the memory. “I think it’s time to stop for lunch.” Inger stopped and stretched his neck. They walked off the side of the road, looking for something to snack on. Rye found a patch of dull red roses hidden behind a bush, and called Inger over. They each happily picked one to chew. “So, Inger,” said Rye, in between mouthfuls. “What stories do you have from your time in the Princess’s service?” He was curious about his companion. If they were going to do this job, they needed to trust each other. He had to get the pegasus to break the disapproving silence between them. Inger munched thoughtfully on a rose. “Hmm. I’ve seen a lot of action fighting monsters to keep the roads clear. We patrol the road from Norharren to Everfree periodically to make sure the trolls don’t endanger travelers.” His eyes glinted. “Ah, yes, of course. Trottingham.” Rye’s ears perked up. “Trottingham? My father’s from there originally.” “Really? He might know about this story, then. Has he ever told you about the big battle that happened there seven years ago?” “No. That was before I was born, I’m not sure he still lived there.” Actually, come to think of it, his father had never said much about Trottingham beyond running his first bakery there. Rye’s curiosity was piqued. “So what happened?” Inger sat back, his eyes glazing over in memory. “It had been a quiet year. My first in the Firewings, in fact. The roads were clear and monster attacks in the east had been at record lows for months. Celestia sent us out to do our annual patrol of all the provinces. Marshal Blaise—Goddess rest his soul—decided that we could cover more ground if we split up the units into several groups. Most of the ‘Wings went south towards Westermin to clean up the edge of the Everfree, but I was assigned to scout the lake’s eastern side. We flew from Norharren all the way south to Trottingham over a week, checking every goblin hole and wolf den. All seemed peaceful.” “We?” “Yes, myself and two others: Bergeron, one of the older Firewings, and Guard-Captain Windstreak Firemane.” Rye choked back his surprise. “Windstreak Firemane?” Inger grinned. “You’ve heard of her? That’s not her name anymore, she’s married now. I'm afraid I can never remember her new one—to me, she’ll always be just the Captain.” He sighed wistfully. “Ah, Captain Windstreak is the finest soldier I’ve ever seen. And it’s thanks to her I’m still alive.” He grabbed another rose, speaking in between bites. “Well, we didn’t run into any trouble for nearly seven days. We arrived in Trottingham on the last day of summer. It had been a hot season that year; there was a massive cloud shortage in Cloudsdale thanks to an accident in the foundry. We flew into the town around dusk, sweating our wings off. The townsponies offered us rooming for the night, which we accepted. “A good thing, too, because we wouldn’t be doing much sleeping for the next few days. When we woke the next morning, the Captain ordered me to do a quick flight over the foothills to the east of Trottingham. I did my sweep and didn’t see anything too suspicious, but something odd caught my eye in the mountains. There was a great plume of black smoke rising up from the mountainside, so I flew up to investigate. Forest fires are a real threat up there, you know. Entire towns have burned to the ground due to a rogue blaze. “I landed in the pine forest at the base of the cliffs, and sneaked as close to the campfire as I could—for it was a campfire, as I discovered—and got a good look at what was going on. “The trolls had a new chieftain, it turned out. Normally they rove around in small bands, harassing anypony unfortunate enough to run into them. But this new leader, Big-Tooth was his name, had done the impossible and gotten them organized. I had stumbled onto a massive camp of nearly forty trolls, armed to the teeth and ready for war. Great ugly things, trolls. About three times the height of a pony, with huge clawed hands and skin as hard as rock. They were dancing around the fires and singing war-songs, chanting and drumming and waving their crude clubs around. I knew I had to get back to Trottingham to warn the Captain and the townsponies, but I made a mistake. I stayed at the camp late into the evening, as long as I dared, to gather information on the trolls’ numbers and strength. “I slipped up and got caught. One of the trolls noticed the fire reflecting off my armor in the dark. They jumped me from behind and tied me up. They trussed me like a turkey and dragged me into the middle of the camp. "Big-Tooth said that they’d be 'eatin' good' that night, and ordered a pot prepared. They filled it with water and placed it over the fire, intending to boil me alive and then devour me. I struggled as hard as I could, but trolls are excellent at tying knots. They like to keep their prey alive as long as possible, y’see.” “What happened then?” Rye was quite entranced by this point, hanging on Inger’s every word. The Firewing was clearly enjoying himself. “Well, the minutes passed like hours. They stuck a pole between my legs and hung me over the pot like a roasted boar. Didn’t even bother to take off my armor. I gave up all hope of warning the Captain and the others, hating myself for not getting away while I could. All I could do was hope that I’d at least make one of them choke on the way down. “Just then, I heard a rumble of thunder. The trolls were confused—there hadn’t been any rain for weeks, thanks to the cloud shortage. But somehow, there it was, a great black cloud hovering over the campsite. Inside, white flashes appeared. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but my heart leaped. A great lightning bolt streaked out of the sky and hit a troll right in the heart. The others scattered in panic. A gold and blue blur raced down from the cloud and landed next to me. “It was Captain Windstreak. After I’d failed to report back from my patrol, she and Bergeron had flown out to look for me. They’d seen the smoke and investigated, just like I had. When they saw I’d been caught, Windstreak came up with a plan. Together, they flew up and down the mountain all day gathering mist to create the cloud. By the time they had enough to create a stormcloud, Windstreak had kicked up a lightning storm to cover our escape. She cut me loose while Bergeron kept directing lightning down at the camp. The three of us flew off back to Trottingham as fast as we could. “I knew it wasn’t over. The troll that had been hit with lightning was Big-Tooth’s favorite crony, the one who’d caught me in the first place. The troll chieftain wasn’t going to let that go unpunished, and they knew we had fled in the direction of Trottingham. The three of us needed to prepare the town for the inevitable attack. The Captain ordered Bergeron to take the news to Cloudsdale across the lake—he argued, of course, but we needed the rest of the Firewings if we were to stand a chance. He took off for the west as fast as his wings could carry him. “It was down to the Captain and I to defend the town. We spent the day overseeing the construction of barricades and other preparations. The town was practically indefensible; it had no walls and lay surrounded by hills on three sides, but we didn’t have the time to evacuate the villagers. There were too many young and elderly to move before the attack. We had no choice but to stand and fight. “We laid out oil in the grass, and dug shallow pits to fill with wooden spears. We drilled the villagers on basic spear-handling, but it wasn’t going to be nearly enough to fend off the trolls. There were a few unicorns in the village, but none of them knew any battlemagic. It looked bad. The Captain had plans, however. We worked through the night, preparing the town as best we could. Neither the Captain or I got any sleep. “The attack came early the next day. The trolls appeared on the hills above the town, completely surrounding us from three sides. Nearly forty of the beasts, all screaming and hollering for blood. The Trottingham ponies were terrified, but the Captain gave us all courage. ‘Stand at your posts,’ she ordered. ‘Stand firm, and no foe will breach this city.’ “Big-Tooth himself led the charge. The trolls all ran down the hills en masse, ready to smash us all into oblivion.  But the Captain was prepared. The town’s unicorns may not have been battlemages, but they could work simple fire spells. They lit the oil in the fields ablaze, sending up a wall of flame right in the path of the trolls. “Trolls hate fire. They use it to cook, and keep warm, but wild and untamed fire causes them to panic. Their lines faltered and crashed into each other. Several of the trolls were pushed by their fellows down the hill, rolling through the fire. The screaming was horrible. Daunted by the flames, the trolls pulled back. We’d bought a brief reprieve. The magical fire burned more slowly than a natural flame, but it would last only a day at the most. “The night passed slowly. Windstreak and I remained awake, keeping an eye on the dying fires. By dawn of the next day, they had faltered to a bare flicker. The trolls returned with the morning sun. They moved more slowly this time, attacking with measured caution. The force descended from the hills, emboldened by the death of the fires. They crashed into the spike pits. A bunch of them fell onto the stakes, and others were trampled in the rush. “Despite their losses, the trolls overwhelmed the defenders. Several ponies were crushed by their clubs, and we slowly found ourselves pushed back into the town. The Captain and I flew to and fro around the battle, doing our best to help the beleaguered defenders. We fought as hard as we could, smashing our hooves into the trolls’ heads to try to break their necks, but trolls are tough beasts. The untrained villagers were no match for the blood-hungry creatures, and soon we were forced to retreat deeper into the village. “Captain Windstreak ordered us into the last defensive position we had. The town bakery was the only building in the village that was made of stone, and that made it a perfect place to make our last stand. The remaining ponies fled inside the building, and Windstreak and I remained outside to buy as much time as we could. We fought for hours, killing maybe two dozen of them, but in the end, there were just too many—we too were forced inside the bakery. We barred the doors and piled as much furniture against them as we could to reinforce the entrance. “The situation was grim. We and the remaining townsponies were locked inside, surrounded by trolls. They beat on the door, trying to force it open. Foals huddled next to their mothers, crying quietly. The door was well-built, and it took the trolls many hours to make a dent in its sturdy frame. The banging of clubs was incessant. The day passed into night. The baker, a unicorn, opened his stocks to us all before the end, trying to calm the children with cupcakes and treats. The gesture quieted the foals, at least, and I could tell the Captain was grateful. “That was the third night we spent without sleep. We were too frightened to feel tired, as the trolls continued to bang on the bakery door, rattling the hinges. The door was beginning to show signs of strain, and splinters of wood flew off with every impact. The end was near. The Captain ordered the remaining townsponies back into the pantry. Together with those still armed with spears, she and I would hold a final stand as long as we could. The doors shuddered and bent, the bar cracking and the hinges knocking loose. “The doors broke in half, collapsing into a cloud of dust and wood shards. The trolls stormed into the bakery,  ready to kill us all. But then we heard shouting from outside, in a familiar voice. ‘For Equestria!’ came the cry, and I recognized the sound of Bergeron’s voice. After two days of hard flying, he had reached Cloudsdale and returned with the rest of the patrolling Firewings and a troop of the Weatherforge armed ponies, nearly a hundred strong. The battle was brutal and swift, and the trolls were crushed under their hooves. The town threw a huge celebration, and the Captain and I were hailed as heroes.” Inger’s eyes were misted over with fond memories. “We managed to save nearly the entire town. A few brave ponies lost their lives defending it, but Trottingham was safe once more, and the troll presence in the east was broken for good. They haven’t appeared in force ever since that day.” Rye was sitting with his jaw slightly open, completely absorbed in the story. “Wow. My mother never told me about any of this. That’s incredible.” “Your mother? Didn't that pink pony say she was military?” Rye caught himself, too late. “Uh, yeah, she’s… in the Princess's service. She’s in love with the Firewings, tells me all about them.” All technically true... “I see. Well I hope she admires Windstreak more than the rest of us. Bergeron may have saved us all, but Captain Windstreak is the true hero of Trottingham. Without her, we’d all be dead.” “She sounds amazing.” This game was mildly amusing, but Rye wasn't hiding his parentage just to entertain himself. He wanted ponies to judge him based solely on his own actions, without comparing him to his famous parent. Inger made for a perfect test case. Inger picked another rose for the road, and stood up. “Well, we’ve wasted enough time telling stories. It’s time we got back on the move. Come on, pegacorn.” He turned and began trotting back to the road. Rye followed, still lost in thought. So his parents had met in the middle of a warzone—for he had no doubt that the baker from Inger’s story was his father Apricot. Why’d they never tell me about this? Inger said that several townsponies had died in the fighting. They must have been friends with his father. The memories would be painful. Still, Rye smiled to himself. The Guard-Captain and the baker; an unlikely pairing if ever there was one. Mom, Dad, I hope you’re not too worried about me.