“I had never seen so much blood. Gods, I’d never seen death before that morning,” Pathfinder recalled, his head tilted upwards and his eyes gazing into the smoke-stained ceiling.
“Gods,” Stalwart said in a breathless whisper. “How… How do you even function in that situation? And Dawn…” Stalwart paused, feeling sick at the thought. “T-the beasts really… they really ate the flesh of our brothers and sisters?”
Pathfinder gave a slow nod of his head. “I guess it was a shock tactic.” Finder chuckled bitterly. “It certainly worked on me.”
“How…” Stalwart swallowed the lump in his throat. Despite the copious amount of ale and water he had consumed thus far his mouth felt parched. “How do you cope with seeing that?”
There was a few moments of quiet as Pathfinder considered the question. He tapped his tankard and offered a weary smile to the younger pegasus. “I suspect the answers lie at the bottom of the tankard. Though it seems I’ve still got a few tankards to go.”
Around them Stalwart heard the distant mutterings of the few patrons left in the aging tavern. One by one, Pathfinder's story had caught their ears. Now they each watched the old soldier with rapt attention. Even Cirrus had seemingly forgotten her tasks, having at some point sat herself next to Pathfinder with a tankard of her own.
"Suffice to say," Pathfinder continued after a moment to gather his thoughts, "Nimbus shaped all of us."
“Gods above,” Cirrus said, her right hoof covering her mouth. “Is that where you met papa, Uncle Finder?”
Stalwart shook his head to snap himself back to reality. His eyes focused on the mare he had taken for a simple barkeep. Exactly when she had sat down, or for that matter, when several other patrons had turned their attention to the old stallion’s tale, he couldn’t be sure. “Wait, you two are related?”
Pathfinder laughed, though it was a quiet, almost fragile sound. “No, no, there’s no blood shared between us. Her father was a good stallion, and an invaluable friend.” Tuning to Cirrus, Pathfinder put a hoof on her shoulder and offered her a frail smile. “Patience, little wing, I’ll get to your old pony soon enough.”
“Your father served at Nimbus?” Stalwart asked, his attention turning to Cirrus.
The mare’s wings twitched and her hooves fiddling with a cup of water for a moment before she answered. “Honestly, I couldn’t rightly tell you where papa fought. He refused to talk about the war except for acknowledging he had fought in it. Mom told me years later that he was involved in the Battle of Nimbus,”
“He fought there, yes,” Pathfinder answered for Cirrus, though his attention seemed far from the the small tavern. “Cloudburst was a good stallion, and one of the best friends you could ask for.” Finder acknowledged with a nod of his head and a nostalgic sigh. Propping his elbow on the polished wood of the table, Finder rested his chin on his fetlock and took a slow breath. He shook his head in a small, almost imperceptible way, though he gave no voice to his errant thoughts.
Seeking to break the resounding silence that had fallen over the Lookout, Stalwart cleared his throat and leaned over the table. The old wooden planks gave a gentle creak as his weight pushed down on them. “You found your brother though, so mission accomplished, right?”
Pathfinder made only the smallest of smiles at the comment. His golden eyes stared ahead into the empty tankard. The few precious drops of ale left in the bottom slowly drying. “Do you have any siblings, Stahl-for-Short?”
“Oh yes, many.” Stalwart nodded. “A couple older sisters, three younger brothers.”
An amused snort escaped the old stallion’s throat as his lips pulled back to a full grin that exposed his teeth. “My, my, your parents were productive. I guess the ground wasn’t the only thing your father pounded.”
Cirrus smacked Pathfinder’s shoulder with a hoof. “That’s the boy’s parents you’re talking about!”
“What? What’d I say?” Finder asked, rubbing the sore spot.
“You’re not senile yet, old timer,” Cirrus said, her hoof prodding Pathfinder’s temple.
“Now that’s just your word against mine.”
Stalwart shook his head and sighed. “Excuse me, sir, but—”
“I swear, pup, if you call me “sir” one more time I’m gonna lose what little mind I’ve got left.” Finder said with a growl.
“Sorry s—er, Pathfinder.”
The old stallion nodded. “Better, now, what’s on your mind?”
Stalwart chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip for a moment, his gaze avoiding Pathfinders. When he again looked Finder in the eye it was with no small amount of reticence. The change was enough to attract the retired scout’s attention.
“Well?” Finder asked, leaning back to stretch out his aching wings. “I’m not getting any younger here, Pup.”
A slight frown pulled Stalwarts lips into a tight line as he looked the old stallion in the eye. “Forgive my bluntess, Pathfinder, but what does my family have to do with any of this? I mean, I thank you for your interest, but what is the point of it?”
“I could ask you the same for every question you’ve had tonight, Stahl,” Pathfinder answered while rolling his head lazily to the side. A series of dull cracks ran down Finder’s neck and a satisfied sigh slipped through the old pony’s lips. “Something wrong with an old stallion being curious?”
Stalwart shot Finder with a withering stare. “You weren’t curious until a moment ago, and your curiosity has conveniently gotten us off topic more than once. It’s…” he trailed off, scratching the side of his face with his hoof. “It’s like you’re stalling.”
Pathfinder leveled a fiery glare at Stalwart and his wings spread at his sides, thin tendrils of smoke seeming to emanate from his frayed feathers. “Have you ever fought in a war, Stalwart?”
The venomous shift in Finder’s tone took everypony in the Lookout by surprise. Cirrus and Stalwart both recoiled notably while the other patrons whispered quietly to one another. Stalwart gulped once, his eyes quickly flicking over to Cirrus, who had her own attention focused on Pathfinder.
“My eldest sister served in the Shadow War, but I have yet to—”
Finder’s hoof slammed onto the table, rattling the empty tankards and making the small flames on the waning candles dance on their wicks. “Then don’t you dare take that tone with me! You have no right!”
“Uncle Finder, the boy didn’t mean anything by it,” Cirrus said, her hoof gently touching his shoulder.
Letting a sharp breath out of his nose, Finder looked to Cirrus, then back at Stalwart, his lips twitching with a barely repressed snarl. His golden eyes bored into Stalwart making the younger pony’s skin crawl. For a moment, Stalwart thought he saw the glimmer of moisture in Pathfinders eyes; a vast well of sorrows held barely in check.
Rising to his hooves, Stalwart bowed his head low. “I’m very sorry, Pathfinder, I had no intention of offending you.” I was merely curious, and I fear I allowed my curiosity to give way to impertinence.” He paused, daring to look Finder in the eye. Cold, focused anger met his gaze, yet Stalwart forced himself to maintain the contact. “I am sorry...Finder.”
Giving the apology a few moments to sink in, Stalwart remained still, observing the old scout. His words, no matter how earnestly given, had less sway on Pathfinder’s mood than Cirrus’ gentle touch. With the smallest of tugs on Finder’s right hoof, she pulled his glare away from Stalwart. He looked to her, the scowl immediately melting away to a sorrowful frown. In turn, Cirrus only smiled up to him, patiently waiting out the dour expression with what seemed to Stalwart to be practiced ease.
Finder closed his eyes and took a deep breath. After a moment he looked to Stalwart again, the anger having faded from his gaze.
“Apology accepted, brat.”
Stalwart couldn’t help himself from a genuine smile. There was still a chance for his mission to succeed.
“Have you ever seen death, Stalwart?” Finder asked, interrupting the guardspony’s thoughts.
“Death?” Stalwart sputtered, surprised by the question. “We all knew ponies who died in the Shadow War—”
Pathfinder shook his head and waved a hoof to cut off Stalwart’s answer. “No, no, Stalwart. I mean death, not the dead.”
Stalwart bit down anxiously on his lower lip. “No...no, I haven’t.”
“You’ll never really think twice about the enemies you kill. You on occasion spare a thought for the nameless bastard you once saw who reminded you of another pony. Your friends though… you never forget the ponies you care about.” Pathfinder leaned back in his seat, his eyes drifting to the ceiling for a time. “It’s not like you see them every night, you know? But...but you get real grateful for the nights you don’t dream, and real upset over the nights you do.”
Stalwart nodded, his attention rapt on Pathfinder.
“Are you close to them? Your siblings, I mean.” Pathfinder refocused his attention onto Stalwart, the anger having fully sublimated the anger of a few moments prior.
“Fairly close, I suppose. When you have as many as I do though you tend to butt heads with one or two.”
“I’d imagine,” Pathfinder said, his hooves again playing with his empty tankard. He lifted the cup in an almost reflexive attempt to drink, only to realize a moment later what he was doing and set it back down with a dull tap. “Longbow…” Pathfinder sighed and quickly ran a hoof through his mane. “I guess you could say my brother raised me when we were growing up. Mom always tried her best, but her health meant she spent much of her time resting to keep her strength up.” Pathfinder smiled at the thought of his mother. Her loving touch, her gentle words, her beautiful lullabies. The smile turned sad the longer he allowed his mind to linger on her memory.
“I realized, after she passed…” Finder paused for a deep sigh. “I realized that, well, nopony would ever love me like that...be proud of me like that again. My wife, my children, my friends, they loved me, yes...but none like the unconditional love of a mother.”
Stalwarts thoughts drifted to his own mother, with the stern edge that seemed to smother away her affections for him and his siblings in all but the rarest of precious moments. “What about your father?”
Pathfinder scoffed, his expression souring ever so slightly. “Father worked morning to night. He loved Longbow, he blamed me for Mom’s poor health.” Finder scoffed. "He was a bastard, but..."
"But?" Stalwart asked.
Shaking his head, Pathfinder dismissed the comment with a shrug. "Nothing, just the workings of a confused old mind. Pay it no mind, Stahl-for-Short."
“So, um…” Stalwart cleared his throat and sat up, thankful for the water that was slowly clearing the haze of alcohol from his system. “What happened in Nimbus? After you found your brother, I mean.
Pathfinder shook his head, his frown reasserting itself on his lips. “You know what happened next.”
Stalwart started to speak, then stopped. For a moment he seemed to carefully consider his words. The wrong thing said and he risked setting Pathfinder off again, and there was little guarantee Cirrus could talk the old stallion down a second time. Stalwart took a deep breath and steeled himself for the worst. “With respect, I don’t think anypony who wasn’t there knows what it was like.”
Pathfinder shook his head, his lips pulled into a thin line. The dim light from the candles flickered in his golden eyes, and for a time he seemed lost to the world around him. Cirrus’ hoof gave a light tug on his foreleg, seemingly pulling him back to the world.
“Hell,” Finder said, his voice quiet and raw. “Nimbus was Hell.”
Why?
Pathfinder wandered the Nimban courtyard in a shell shocked daze. His stomach felt as though he’d swallowed a boulder and his eyes burned from the acrid smoke that mixed with his salty tears.
He could still see the look in her eyes.
Why?
The question echoed back and forth in his head like the harsh metallic ring of the alarm bells that were long since silenced by the flames that licked at the walls of Nimbus. The early mornings light bathed the sky in brilliant hues of purple, orange and red. It was as though the heavens themselves were soaked in the blood that now painted the ancient cloudstone walls.
“...Finder?”
The colt stiffened, his eyes growing wide. That voice, so different than what he remembered, yet so painfully familiar. It pulled his mind from the bloody basilica, and back to the welcoming rocks and shoals of Altus.
Standing there, mere feet away, was Longbow. His body was covered in battered armor, his coat was matted with sweat and caked in ash and grime, and blood covered the left side of his face. Despite all of that, Finder only saw his big brother, the same one that had been there for him all the days of his life.
“L-Longbow?” His voice came in a breathless whisper.
His hooves moved of their own accord, leading him towards his brother. Fresh tears welled in Finder’s eyes the closer he got, spilling down his cheeks in searing lines. Once he was close enough he launched himself at the older pony, throwing his forelegs around Longbow’s neck as the emotions overwhelmed him.
“L-Longbow! Y-you’re—”
“You stupid little fool!” Longbow shouted, his hooves roughly grabbing the colt’s shoulders and shaking him. “What the fuck were you thinking?!”
Through the cries of death and agony the raw fury in Longbow’s voice attracted the attentions of many nearby ponies. Most watched the scene unfold in silence, wisely keeping their noses out of family business. Others, such as Iron Rain and her Rainstorm, watched with only passing interest before turning back to their work.
Carver watched for only a moment and bristled as he stormed over to help out his friend. Windshear, still shaken from his ordeal and the news of Dawn’s death, stayed with Summer. The Nimban medic, so full of vim and verve when the battle had begun had been reduced to a mere shell of a mare, silent and shattered.
Pathfinder shriveled under his brother’s furied glare. His voice fell to a brittle mewl and his ears plastered themselves against his skull. “L-Longbow—”
“Don’t “Longbow” me!” The elder brother shouted, shoving the colt away and cringing from the pain where his eye used to be. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Did you think this was another foals game?”
Fresh tears spilt down Finder’s cheeks. “I-I just—”
“You just what?” Longbow demanded. “I told you to stay home! I told you to look after Mom! What in Hell’s name did you think you could do here except get killed?”
“Hey!” Carver shouted, charging over from where he had left Summer and Windshear. “Leave him alone!”
Before Finder knew what was happening, Longbow had moved in front of him, his right wing providing a shield between Longbow and the colt. “Back off!”
“I think you're the one who needs to back off!” Carver shouted, bristling at Longbow. “Leave the kid alone!”
Longbow stretched out with his left wing, allowing the metal scales of the wingblade to scrape menacingly. “He’s my brother, so one more time I’m gonna warn you to back off.”
The revelation made Carver hesitate and cast a stunned look at the archer. He blinked once, his wings slowly relaxing as his gaze shifted to Pathfinder. “Finder?”
Wiping at his eyes with his foreleg, Finder nodded once. “Carver...Just g-give us a minute.”
Biting at his lip, Carver’s gaze shifted from Finder to Longbow and back again. He could see the resemblance the closer he looked, and reluctantly he backed down. He motioned with his head back to where he’d left Summer and Windshear. “Fine. I’ll be just over there if you need me.”
Longbow kept his eye on Carver, his lips twisted in a sneer until the stallion was well away from them. He let out a sharp breath before he allowed himself to relax. He turned around to once again face Pathfinder, who shriveled from the withering glare. Longbow lifted a hoof causing the colt to flinch and brace himself. The elder pegasus hesitated at the sight. He had seen that reaction countless times before when their father had reprimanded them with a curt slap.
A quiet sigh escaped him as he lowered his hoof to the ground. When next he spoke his tone was gentle and his voice quiet. “Finder?”
The colt said nothing, his slender frame quaking before his brother. Pathfinder’s brows furrowed together and tears leaked freely from his eyes. The entire time he kept his gaze affixed on the ashen ground; terrified to look his brother in the eye.
Longbow felt the sorrow in his chest swell anew. He raised his hoof again, slowly this time, and gently lifted Finder's chin so he could see his brother's face. The soft green fur was stained red were griffon claws had raked across his cheek. It hurt Longbow more to see the pain in Finder’s eyes.
How many friends had he seen die?
"Oh, Finder," Longbow said, his voice almost inaudible in the basilica.
Before Finder knew what was happening, Longbow's strong forelegs had wrapped around him and pulled him into a crushing embrace. Finder sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes growing wide. He could feel the tremble lin Longbow's body; hear the soft gasps as he struggled to contain his emotions.
"Longbow?" Finder struggled to look up, afraid of what he might see. "L-Longbow...I-I'm sorry. I...I just wanted to help—"
"Stop, Finder. Just, stop." Longbow said in a harsh whisper, his wings wrapping around the small colt, careful not to accidentally cut him with the bloodied wingblades. "You should've stayed home, Finder. This...this isn't the place for colts. This isn’t the place for you."
Pathfinder's heart sank at the realization, his brother was crying.
After a few moments, Longbow released Finder from his embrace, his right hoof lingering on Finder's shoulder. "Come on, let's get you fixed up."
"I'm fine," Finder protested, taking Longbow's hoof in his own and pulling him towards where his friends were. "You need it more than I do."
Finder took a moment to look around, trying to find a medic who seemed less busy than others.
Dawn...
His heart sank and his posture sagged. The colt couldn't understand why it had happened. Why
such a good pony had to die for seemingly no reason at all.
The Gods were supposed to be there for them.
A bitter wind from the east blew through the bloodsoaked city and sent a chill through Finder. He shivered for a moment, though his eyes kept to their task of locating anypony who could help. Pathfinder wouldn't let his brother down again.
He refused to let anypony down again.
Pathfinder jumped as a heavy wing draped across his back.
"Easy, little brother," Longbow said with a weary breath. "It's just me."
Nodding, Finder bit his lip and lowered his head.
"I missed you, Longbow," he whispered as though admitting a great shame. "I missed you so much...And...and I was so scared." Finder paused to swallow the knot in his throat. "I was so scared that I wouldn't see you again."
The wing pulled the small colt closer until the heavy plates of Longbow’s armor scraped against the scales of Finder’s armor. “It's okay, Finder, I’m here. A bit frayed around the edges, but I’ll get better.” Longbow forced a smile through the pain. “You think Dad will be impressed?”
Pathfinder snorted. "Before or after he tans my hide?"
"You do deserve a good whack or two," Longbow chastised his brother. "Gods, Finder, how the Hell did you even get a recruiter to take you? There's nopony thick enough to actually think you're of proper age. And I know Mom would never let Dad give you to the legion."
Finder hesitated and pawed at the ground with his hoof. "Maybe they did?"
Longbow seemed unconvinced and let his wing slip off the colts back so he could look his brother in the eye. Pathfinder withered under the look, his eyes averting Longbow and his ears flattening against his head. Longbow waited, impatiently tapping his hoof against the ground.
“Finder.” It was a command, not a request.
“I...I got Carver to help me,” Finder mumbled. He stiffened as he saw the fire that burst to life in Longbow’s eyes and immediately grabbed at Longbow’s foreleg to keep him there. “Longbow, wait!”
The elder brother regarded Pathfinder with a pained and angry glare. “What?”
“Just...please, please drop it.” Finder pleaded, leaning forward until his forehead pressed against the steel plates of Longbow’s armor. “Please.”
Longbow’s malicious glare lingered on the distant Carver for several long moments. He let out a sharp huff before pulling his attention away. “Fine.”
Finder sighed in relief and hugged his brother again. “He’s a good pony, Longbow. You’d like him.”
The archer disagreed, though kept his opinion to himself. “Come on, I need a stiff drink and something for my eye.”
Pathfinder nodded once, letting his hooves slip from Longbow’s neck. “Was...was this your first fight?” He asked quietly as they walked off in search of a medic.
“No, the first was Hengstead. Damned hybrid almost cut off my ear.”
“Was...was it this bad?”
Longbow’s silence was all the answer Finder needed.
“Is everyone from Altus okay? Pan Sea? Salt Feather? Drift?”
“Pan Sea took a spear to the chest. He was alive and getting sent home last I saw. Salt, Drift, Sandy, Shoal, I haven’t seen any of them since I was sent back here.” Longbow bit at his lip and cast an anxious look around the square. His eye searched the exhausted faces of the Eighth Legion searching for any he recognized. “If this is all that’s left…” He paused to swallow the knot that was building in his throat. “Come on, Finder. Let’s get moving.”
Summer sat silhouetted against the breaking light of dawn, her mouth ajar and her eyes staring into the nothingness around her. Salve, the only other surviving medic from their platoon inspected her as best he could, vainly trying to elicit any response from her. If Summer noticed he was there she displayed no sign of it.
“Has she said anything?” Salve asked looking up to Carver and Windshear.
Carver shook his head, a mighty frown pulling at his lips. “Not even a whimper.”
“Damn,” Salve cursed, hissing from the pain in his side. In the thick of the fighting nopony had come through unscathed, and a series of three long red gashes decorated his right side. The cut extended from his shoulder all the way to his flank, and continued to ooze blood into his coat.
Either from toughness, shock, or sheer force of will, Salve ignored his wounds, desperately trying to help every pony he could. “Come on, Summer, we need you now!”
Summer said nothing.
“What the Hell is going on over here?”
Salve, Windshear, and Carver turned to face the new voice only to find themselves staring down a sandy blonde mare with bloodied armor and a stiletto where her sword should have been. Salve stood a little straighter, banishing the pain of his wounds from his mind. “Treating a patient, Ma’am.”
The mare regarded him with a raised eyebrow and a sharp frown. “You’re the one who needs a medic.” She looked to Summer and paced closer, her right eyebrow arching upward at the shellshocked mare. Thorn’s lips curled to a vicious snarl and she turned her attention to Carver and Windshear, both of whom stiffened visibly. “You two, bandage his wounds.”
“Yes ma’am!” They answered, saluting and all but tripping over themselves to help Salve.
Thorn walked towards Summer and let out a disgusted scoff as she backhoofed Summer’s cheek, toppling the medic hard enough to snap her free from her catatonic state. “Get up, medic, this is no time for a nap!”
Thorn didn’t give Summer a moment to compose herself. Stepping closer, she grabbed Summer’s mane and forcibly dragged the mare back to her hooves. “Come here.”
“No!” Summer lashed out with her forelegs and wingblades; her eyes wild. “Let me go!”
Narrowly avoiding the sharpened scales, Thorn roughly shoved Summer away. The medic stumbled forward, her wings stretched wide as she tried to stabilize herself before ultimately falling to the ground in a clatter of steel and flesh. There she stayed, laying upon the cloudstone ground like the dead that now littered the streets of Nimbus.
A strong kick to the side of her armor was the only pity she got from Thorn. “Get up, medic, you’ve got a job to do.”
“What...what’s the use?” Her voice cracked. “She’s dead...they’re all dead…”
Thorn glared at Summer and moved around so she could look into the shattered mare’s eyes. “And what good are you doing anypony by laying there, hm? You dishonor the memory of all the mares and stallions that gave their lives in this fight.”
“No!” Summer yelled, her hooves lashing out and grabbing Thorn’s shoulders. “I tried to save her! I tried to save them all! I could’ve saved her too, I just needed more time!”
Thorn pointed her hoof to the basilica where the wounded were being laid out under the relative protection of the open . What was left of the archery divisions were gathering ontop of the building, stockpiling arrows from the dead and dispersing fresh ones from the stockpiles. There they kept a weather eye on the horizon, watching the last griffons retreat from the city as Cirran reinforcements flowed in.
“Some of them still have a bit of time. How about you go save them and grieve the dead later?”
Summer glared at Thorn, her emerald eyes glistening and her ears flattened against her head. After several moments she glanced over at the triage area and felt her anger slowly give way to sorrow. With a heavy sigh, Summer folded her wings and wandered away.
With a shake of her head and a mighty frown Thorn turned from the medic and moved back to where Iron Rain had set up an informal command post.
Thorn snorted. Calling that a command post is like saying it’s been an eventful morning.
The Rainstorm, sans Downburst, Longbow, and Windshear who had scarpered off after the fighting had ended, were huddled around a wooden crate that Rain had turned into her desk. There she had gathered several papers including a blank parchment she was hastily marking notes on. As Thorn rejoined the group she took her place to Rain’s right, though that left her in the unenviable position of standing next to Red.
“Ugh,” Thorn pinched her nose with a hoof. “Gods sakes, Red, you smell like a griffon’s entrails.”
“Nimban perfume, Thorny-girl,” he said with a toothy grin.
“Shut up, the lot of you. Haze,” Rain said, turning to her friend. “I want you to get me a head count. I need to know what we’ve got left and what the remnants of the Eighth and Sixth have. I don’t want to be caught flat footed again, the hybrid bastards will be back as soon as they’ve regrouped.”
“On it,” Haze said, snapping a crisp salute before flying off to carry out his task.
Rain didn’t spare him a glance, she didn’t have to. “Stone?”
“Ma’am.” The heavyset pegasus stood up straighter.
“Take whoever you need, organize a defensive line. I don’t want those bastards surprising us again. Guard patrols will last one hour, nopony is dismissed until their relief is on site. Got that?”
“By your command,” Stonewall said, bowing his head to the Legate.
Nodding once, Rain turned her attention to Bluestreak, who was sitting with a foalish grin on his face. Rain was almost positive she saw his tail wiggling in anticipation of another fight.
“Red…” She lifted her hoof and shook her head, lips twisting in a disgusted sneer. “Go clean yourself up.”
“What?” The blood caked stallion squawked as his wings flared out. “I just took a fantastic hot soaky bath! It even had all the minerals a growing stallion needs for a healthy coat!”
“Yeah, well, it stinks worse than you normally do and you’ll scare the civilians. Go rinse off and when you get back I’ll have a scouting patrol for you.”
Standing up, Bluestreak grunted in annoyance. “You take all the fun outta war, Iron.”
“Go!” she shouted, pointing her hoof away from the front.
“Your father’s coming,” Thorn said in a quiet voice.
Rain glanced away from the burning cityscape, a confused look on her face. “What’s that, Thorn?”
Thorn rolled her eyes, she hated repeating herself. “I said Winter is coming.”
“Oh Hell,” Rain said in a quiet mumble. Standing up straight, she steeled herself with a breath and turned around to face her father.
Lord Winter Rain carried himself with an old soldiers confidence that seemed to resonate with every pony that surrounded him. His coat, once white as the falling snow, had faded over the years to a light gray tone. Bags had formed under his eyes and wrinkles had carved their way into his flesh like the scars of battle that decorated his body. His mane and tail, both cropped short, had lost the majority of their coloration as well, with lines of gray streaking through the steel blue locks.
Despite his title and rank he wore the standard armor of a legionnaire which bore the countless scars from the battles he had fought in throughout his life. Strapped to his left wing was the standard wingblade issued to every soldier, attached to his right wing was Winter’s weapon: the spiked shield Nimbus.
Manufactured from the finest smiths in the city, Winter had carried Nimbus for as long as anypony could remember. The heavy shield covered most of his right side in a broad rectangle that swept out along the bottom edge in a curved blade not unlike the edge of an axe. In the center of the shield was the famous spike which Winter had used to slay countless enemies of Cirra.
In many ways his unyielding strength of convictions had embodied the very city he called home, and under his stewardship the ponies of Nimbus had prospered. Under the ever vigilant watch of Winter they felt they had nothing to fear. For as long as a Rain sat on the throne of Nimbus the city would endure even the harshest of droughts.
Iron Rain bowed her head respectfully. “Father.”
Winter regarded her for a moment with his ever neutral expression. “Are you hurt, Iron?”
“No, father.”
“Then look me in the eye when you speak. You’re a legate now, not a militia mare.” There was no anger in his voice, only a quiet power.
Iron Rain allowed herself a quick breath before turning her head upward to meet her father’s gaze.
“That’s better,” Winter said with the smallest of smiles. “Now, Legate Iron Rain, report.”
“The hybrids attacked us in force just before dawn. They managed to overrun the walls during the shift change and made significant progress into the outer ring before the militia could rally. I took what forces I could muster and we were able to repulse them long enough for reinforcements to arrive.” Rain shook her head. “I’ve ordered defensive patrols to keep a lookout for another attack and I’m gathering a full headcount of our casualties and effective remaining forces as we speak.”
Winter listened and offered a simple nod. “Well done, Iron.”
“Thank you, father.” Rain bowed her head again, though she kept her eyes on his.
“Downburst,” Winter said, looking to his oldest friend. “Organize three centuries; Medics, stretcher bearers, and anypony that isn’t working. We must tend to our wounded and bury the dead before the hybrids return.”
“Yes sir.” Downburst nodded. “I’ll need a few scouts to keep the burial detail secure from attack.”
Winter turned his attention to Thorn who stiffened at his gaze. “Thorn, you’re in charge of security. No harm must come to the burial detail.”
“Permission to take some of the archers, sir.”
Winter nodded. “I’ll give you one-third.
Thorn saluted. “Thank you sir.”
“Go, both of you,” Winter said, dismissing them with the simple wave of his hoof.
Iron Rain watched as Downburst and Thorn took to the skies, their mighty wings quickly propelling them up and away from her command post. Her father briefly watched as well only returning his attention to Iron when the two legionnaires were out of earshot.
“Downburst tells me you rallied quickly. I’m proud of you.”
“I was too slow to keep them on the walls,” Rain said, her ears flattening. “I’m sorry Father.”
Winter’s hoof slipped under her chin and lifted her head so he could see her eyes. “The hybrids attacked us at our weakest moment. Your actions, and the efforts of thousands of brave soldiers saved many lives today. Be proud of your accomplishments and learn from your failures. The harshest droughts...”
“End in Rain,” Iron said, completing the words of their House.
“Come,” Winter motioned her to follow with his hoof. “This battle’s not done yet, and there’s much work to do.”
Pathfinder craned his neck back over his shoulder as he plodded through the tall grass. Somewhere nearby, the rest of the Cirran scouts had gone their separate ways. The valleys of the mountain pass between Nimbus and Hengstead had too many nooks and crannies for the pegasi to expect any sort of success in their search if they stayed together. His task was a prairie in the foothills, overlooking one of the wider valleys. His green coat and small stature made him the best choice for the tall grasses where the other, bigger scouts would stand out.
The problem was that he couldn’t see over the grasses either. Though the winds through the prairie masked the sounds of his steps and the swaying of the reedy green stalks, he couldn’t help but feel that in only a moment, he would bump noses with a hybrid sentry.
A snap of grass stole the colt’s attention, and his head jerked to the side. He’d drawn blood with his sword and his wingblades, yet they still seemed so small. This time, Carver wasn’t there to help him.
As Finder stood frozen, waiting for some sign of motion, his thoughts drifted to Longbow. What if he didn’t make it back? His big brother had been furious when the Scout-Centurion had tapped him for the dangerous mission.
He’s right. It was Dawn’s voice in his head. You’re too young.
He shuddered, sending tremors through the stalks of grass pressing against his wings. “No I’m not.”
If I couldn’t fight the hybrids, kid, what chance do you have? Go home, Finder.
“I’m not leaving,” Pathfinder protested to himself.
You’re afraid.
“I’m not.”
Finder thought he had been quiet, but a swallow in the grass to his right took off at the sound of his voice, flying right up into the air. The colt swallowed once, his forelegs twitching as he struggled to take a step forward.
You’re lying, Pathfinder. But if you want to make your brother an only child, I can’t really stop you, can I?
His hoof slid forward. The grass moved. Wind swept through his mane, and the smell of pollen filled his nostrils. Through it all, the world was tranquil.
The prairie sloped downward. A pebble skittered down the slope when Finder stepped on its edge.
Ahead and to the left, something moved.
The colt dropped to his belly, clutching his sword tightly. He had to come on the thing unexpected. It was his only chance.
Sidling to his left, the colt listened the crunch of grass as something took a step toward his hiding place. Then another. He couldn’t see it; the grass was too tall. He could only hear the swish of its tail against the wild flowers and the reeds, and the way its paws plodded on the soft dirt.
When the grass in front of his face moved, he lunged forward.
The wild dog yipped in fear, and a hint of pain at the sudden attack. It ran away, sprinting down the hill and barking as it went. The sound was deafening compared to the gentle breezes and the distant sound of birds.
And then, with a drained and pathetic yowl, it stopped completely. Finder watched over the tips of the reeds as the yellow mutt’s throat bled onto darker golden talons, punctured into its neck.
"Verdammtes Tier! Das letzte was ich jetzt brauche ist dass mich einer der Cirraner findet."
The hybrid tongue was unmistakable, even if Pathfinder couldn’t understand it. His heart froze as the creature looked his way.
"Macht dir ein Vogel Angst oder was, du blödes tier?" Was the griffon talking to him? Finder closed his eyes and listened to the rhythm his heart was beating, faster than any griffon wardrum. "Du würdest einen prima Eintopf abgeben."
To the pegasus’ surprise, the griffon’s claws and paws began to move away. Opening his eyes, Pathfinder released a slow breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His hooves moved forward again, and he followed the griffon slowly.
It was just like sneaking up behind Longbow when he used to, right? No big difference.
...except that he’d be killed if the thing so much as turned around again. Biting down on his cheek, the colt followed the griffon to the edge of the grass. There, at the lip of a long, narrow valley, the colt looked down.
His stomach simply stopped. His throat refused to follow. It wasn’t just the one griffon; it was a camp. Three dozen campfires he could see, just from the grass. It wasn’t the whole army, he was sure, but that barely registered when he didn’t have anypony standing behind him.
His attention was stolen by the flap of nearby heavy wings. A griffon was soaring down toward the edge of the canyon, joining the hybrid that Pathfinder had followed. Unlike the plain grays and whites and browns of the usual griffons, this particular creature had thick blue stripes painted along the fur of his shoulders. A heavy steel cuirass covered his torso, its back concealed by the striped fur of some strange beast Finder couldn’t even begin to name.
“Lord Vheiner,” the smaller griffon spread his wings and bowed. “Was für eine unerwartete Freude. Ich bin geehrt von ihrer Anwesenheit.”
“Lassen sie das gescherze Kommandant! Ich bin hier um sie wieder auf den Zeitplan zu bringen. Nimbus hätte nach dem letzten Angriff bereits gefallen sein sollen.” The massive beast growled causing the smaller hybrid to shrivel back.
“I-Ich versichere ihnen, Lord Vheiner, die Soldaten arbeiten so schnell sie können.”
The blue-striped hybrid tilted his head in an almost thoughtful manner. “Vielleicht finde ich noch eine Möglichkeit sie noch ein wenig zu motivieren.”
“Ich versichere ihnen dass die Stadt bereits morgen bei Nachteinbruch unser sein wird!” Finder’s hybrid boastfully declared.
“Imperator Magnus ist da nicht so optimistisch wie sie.”
Pathfinder’s ears perked up. He recognized that name, but from where?
“Aber..aber er verlangt das Unmögliche!” The small griffon balked. “Ich brauche einfach mehr Truppen!”
“Dann sagen sie es ihm besser bei seiner Ankunft.”
Silence filled the air as the smaller griffon levelled a wide-eyed stare at his superior. “Imperator Magnus kommt hier her?”
The painted hybrid nodded. “Korrekt, Kommandant. Und er ist sehr unerfreut über ihren offensichtlichen Mangel an Fortschritt.”
Magnus, Magnus, Magnus. Finder squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to place where he had heard that name.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, the smaller griffon stood up straighter. “Wir werden unsere Bemühungen verdoppeln.”
“Das hoffe ich, Kommandant. Für Sie!” the large beast said, his eyes boring into the smaller hybrid. “Imperator Magnus ist da nicht so Nachsichtig wie ich.”
Ottgam Magnus! Finder’s eyes snapped open as the words rang like bells in his skull. It was the name that Trail Blaze had given to the leader of Agenholt when he had come to deliver news of the war’s onset and issue the notice of conscription. It was this ‘Magnus’ that had taken Longbow from home. It was Magnus who had ordered the griffon hordes to attack Nimbus four days ago. It was Magnus’ fault that Dawn...
Finder’s head sank closer to the cold earth. He watched as the griffons moved towards the camp, waiting until he could no longer hear their voices over the rustle of the meadow grasses. Only then did he carefully start his crawl back to where the scout-centurion had ordered them to rendezvous.
“...and the colt said they were talking about Magnus.”
Lord Winter Rain frowned as his gaze lifted from the map of Nimbus on the table. “And what does that mean for us, Iron?”
His daughter shrugged. “The scout thought he was coming himself, though I’m not sure I’d believe it.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Commander Gold Moon grumbled, not even bothering to take his eyes off of the map. “We hold the line here with the Second Legion as long as we can and pull back the Sixth, and what’s left of the Eighth to Nyx. By the time―”
“No,” Iron Rain interrupted. “We’re not giving up Nimbus! We could kill the Archduke and end the whole thing right here!”
Lord Winter slowly released a breath, though it was Gold Moon’s furrowed brown and gaunt cheeks that answered the mare. “You know nothing, Iron Rain. You can kill a griffon duke or chieftain, but there’s another one there waiting in the wings. You have to subjugate them; topple Angenholt or Brisenbaen. The first step to doing that is to gather a legitimate force together, and crush this griffon push.” His wing gestured to the map, first to the northern coastline of Dioda, and then its south-eastern partner. Each point was marked by a toppled wooden pegasus head. “The Fourth and Fifth are destroyed; we’ve only got tatters left of the Eighth. If we pull back to the heartland, we can cut the griffon offensive down on our land with the Third, and put together another offensive at Nyx.”
“And in the meantime, the griffons sack my home?” Rain’s hoof came down on the table, in the same spot that her earlier outburst had splintered the wood. This time, a crack traveled a good few inches across the dense hoof-crafted strategy table. “Why not pull up the Third? Hell, why not bring in the First Legion, if they’re so great? Cirra wouldn’t abandon us in our time of need!”
“Iron,” her father began. “Commander Moon is right. This is for the best.”
“But Father―”
“We aren’t fighting for pride anymore,” Winter interrupted. “Iron, you’ve seen a very different side of this war than we do. You’ve won every skirmish you’ve entered. From where you stand, I know it must look like we could wipe the griffons out easily.” The Consul of Nimbus waved a hoof over the map. “But that just isn’t true. We’re losing, Rain.” The aging stallion sighed. “We’re losing badly. The griffons are fielding more soldiers than their farms should be able to support. They’re moving with too much coordination, striking too fast, and with too much cunning. We underestimated them, and now we’re paying the price. This isn’t like the little skirmishes we’ve had before. Cirra is in danger.”
There followed a long silence, as Iron Rain stared glassy-eyed at the table. Her father paced around the table, and placed a wing across her shoulders. “You have a hard fight ahead of you, Iron. We both do. Put your Rainstorm on the walls and see to the defenses.”
“Yes, sir.” The pause between the words seemed enormous.
“Two more things,” Winter interrupted grabbing his daughter by the shoulder. The pegasus mare turned to stare straight into his eyes. “First, I want your word that when you begin to get overrun, you’ll pull back. You’re the future of House Rain, Iron, and even if Nimbus falls, I need to know that you won’t. Is that understood?”
Rain hesitated, and she swallowed, but then she offered her father a stiff salute. “You have my word, sir.” She stood there, holding her hoof to her brow, for a good ten seconds before she spoke up again. “What was the second thing?”
A smile broke on the old stallion’s face, and he wrapped both his wings and both his forehooves around his daughter. “I love you, Iron. You’ve made me so proud.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
Lord Winter Rain watched his only daughter as she left the command room. He managed not to start crying until the doors shut behind her.
Commander Gold Moon paced up to the other soldier’s side. “She’s a fine soldier.”
“I’ll never see her again,” Winter whispered.
Gold Moon shook his head. “You think she’ll disobey you? That she’ll die on the wall? I don’t think so. She’s strong-willed, but she’ll be back to meet you in Nyx.”
Winter shook his head. “I didn’t mean her, Gold. I’m not going to Nyx.”
The Cirran commander took a step back. “Rain, listen to yourself. We need you. The Nimbans won’t listen to Haysar.”
“No, they won’t. But they will listen to my daughter.” The matted fur on Winter’s cheeks smudged when he ran a fetlock across it.
“Hold on, Lord Rain. I respect her as a soldier, but she isn’t a leader. Not for so many ponies. She’s hot-headed, brash, inexperienced―”
“She’s still young,” Rain finished, nodding. “But that will change in the next few days. Youth doesn’t survive war. Not like this. Turning with a strength that seemed to come from thin air, he nodded to Gold Moon. “Honor her title, Gold Moon. I know you disagree with her, but I didn’t make her the Legate of Nimbus out of nepotism. She earned every bit of that title.” And then he sighed. “Can you do anything for my civilians?”
“I’ll assign as many centuries from the Second Legion as I can spare to protect them. They can stay in Nyx until we reclaim Nimbus, as long as that takes.”
The little smile returned to Winter’s cheeks. “When that day comes… Consul Iron Rain. Someday. Someday soon, I hope.” Then he drew in a breath, and as he rose up to his full height, the corners of his cheeks went flat. “I’ll need to fetch Downburst, and ready the throne room. It seems Nimbus will see battle one last time on my wing.”
“I wish you luck, Lord Rain.” Commander Gold Moon bowed low―an unusual sight for the stiff, formal soldier.
Lord Winter returned the motion. “It would take more than luck to save Nimbus now, Commander. May Garuda be with you.”
“And Mobius with you, Lord Rain.” Gold Moon patted his compatriot on the shoulders with a wing. “Ante Legionem nihil erat.”
Winter nodded. “Et nihil erit post Legionem. Goodbye Moon.”
Resolved, the Consul of Nimbus walked his his head high toward his death.