Cartography of War

by Daetrin


Tend Your Fire

 “I think I should teach you as much of my language as you can manage, Rose.  It will not be safe, otherwise.”

She glanced at him over the top of her map, where the line showing their path of travel continued to extend, achingly slowly, toward the coast.  But they were past the halfway point, and she’d begun actually considering what might happen if they reached their destination.  “I’ve been thinking about that too.  It wasn’t until last night that I’d actually realized I’d have to deal with other gryphons.”

“More than deal with,” Gérard sighed.  “You may be the only one there I can properly trust.”

“That seems a bit strong,” she protested.  Besides, she had no illusions that she could possibly hold off any gryphon that wished her harm.  “What could I do to help in the middle of so many gryphons?”

“Support me,” he said.  “You will be, perhaps, a guest, but certainly an extension of myself, for honor and respect.  Combat is not your calling, and I will ensure you need not demonstrate that.  But you will need to demonstrate courage, integrity, and competence.  They will test you.  That is the nature of gryphons.”

“And what will you be doing?”  She stared at him, boggled by the thought of trying to defend Gérard against his fellows, even if it wasn’t by fighting.  But on the other hoof, it did make some sense given what she knew about gryphons.  His word alone could vouch for her, but it wouldn’t tell them who and what she was.

“Taking command.”  He sighed.  “What that will require depends upon what Kree has said and done...and what he says and does.”

“So you fight Kree and I...what?  Argue with soldiers?”

“Not simply argue. You will be a pony surrounded by gryphons.  They will know this as much as you.  Preserve your dignity with them as much as you have with me and you need not worry.”

“If that’s all, I think I can manage it.”  She laughed, the small thrill of panic fading.  It was not as terrifying a command as she’d first thought.

“I believe you can.”  His beak clicked softly, his eyes glittering for a moment.  “And if nothing else, you can support me by being better company than most.”

She snorted.  “Even though I’m not a gryphon?”

“You are gryphon-shaped,” he pointed out.

“That’s not the same.” She snorted.  “I’m still a pony. Even if I admit, with some reservations, about being shaped differently, I’m not a gryphon at all.”

“No,” he agreed, but his voice held satisfaction rather than resignation. She stowed her maps and raised her eyebrows at him speculatively, but he only turned to look east, where the rising sun stabbed through the canopy here and there.  “How many days do we have, Rose?”

“If we’re just walking like we did yesterday, another twelve to fifteen days.  We can’t quite walk a straight line, but it should be less difficult than the swamp we’ve been in.”

“Time enough, perhaps.”  He glanced upward for a moment before joining her at the edge of their little campsite.  “It has been nearly a decade since I tried teaching Alce.”

“How long did it take then?”

“Months.  Though neither of us spoke a common language, and...they were not so eager to learn.”

Rose pressed her lips together for a moment, walking in silence, before choosing her words carefully.  “I forget, sometimes, that you’ve imprisoned and killed ponies.  I know it’s not because you’re evil or even mean, but it’s still hard to accept.”

He said something in his liquid language and she glanced over at him, asking the question with her eyes.

“It means, ‘I own my actions.’”  His beak clicked softly. “Tch.  I have done many bad things, and many wrong things.  I still do not know what was a mistake, and what was simply regrettable.”

She nodded.  It sounded like Gérard had done a lot of things he had regretted but, properly speaking, weren’t mistakes.  “Is that a common saying?”

“Not so much.”  He sighed quietly, his paws and talons somehow silent on the dry understory.  “I do not know how it is with ponies, but there is not such an overabundance of virtue among gryphons that none shy from consequences.”

“Well, ponies aren’t perfect.  Even Princess Celestia says that.  But we try to be our best.”

“I believe that,” he said, looking off into the distance.  Then he turned his gaze to her.  “I suppose we should start.  I have spent so much time speaking Equestrian of late.  I hope my tongue has not forgotten any Alce.”

Rose focused her eyes on their course and her ears on the fluid stream of syllables coming from Gérard’s beak. Two weeks, at best, seemed an awful short time to get anywhere near to fluent in a completely different language, but it was all the time she had.

The language itself would have surprised her if she hadn’t already known Gérard.  She would have expected something harsh, with screeches and roars, but Alce was melodic and elegant-sounding.  Or at least his version of it was.  It seemed clear that Gérard had been, if not actually a noble, at least in the same circles, and she had to admit Equestrian sounded better from the mouth of the Princess than it did in Rose’s own rustic accent.

It was fortunate the terrain was much easier.  Since she merely had to pick their way around the worst of the understory, and the occasional stream was small enough to hop over or wade, she could focus most of her attention on Gérard.  And on trying to wrap her mind and tongue around Alce words.  She didn’t know what he had in mind for when they actually reached the gryphon outpost, but she’d certainly be near-helpless if she couldn’t understand the simplest words.

Though she was willing to go on all day, Gérard wasn’t quite ready for that.  His voice started to become a little hoarse and strained around midafternoon, and he paused to take a long drink from his battered and dented canteen.

“You should take a break,” she told him in a mangled mix of Alce and Equestrian.  “If your voice gives out you can’t teach me anything.”

“True.”  He sighed and stowed the canteen again, reverting to Equestrian himself.  “Time just seems to press, now.”

She didn’t disagree.  Somewhere along the line she’d lost track of exactly how long they’d been traveling, but it had to be over two weeks.  It didn’t seem that long, on one hoof.  The sight of her ruined camp was still there if she closed her eyes, and the ache of her missing friends still felt like a severed limb.  But, on the other hoof, the days since had been lived hard, as Gérard would put it, and the weight of them seemed to displace everything else.

And every day between them and the outpost was a day that Kree might be killing ponies.  Or gryphons, for the settlements at the border still had ponies like Sharp Eye to protect them from the native dangers that roamed Equestria.  Though she had the feeling that, if Kree was as dangerous as Gérard, that wouldn’t be enough.

“Celestia knows we’re traveling as fast as we can.  Worrying about it won’t make us go faster.”  It was the sort of thing Mercy used to say all the time, and it felt more than a little odd passing her lips.

Gérard noticed. “Those aren’t your words,” he said, more a question than a challenge.

“No.  Mercy would say that when we were behind schedule.  It made me feel better when she said it, but I don’t seem to have the knack.”  Rose’s mouth twisted into a brief grimace.  “I’m worried too.  Not for the same reasons you are, I imagine, but it’s there.”

“Worry is never in short supply.” His beak clicked softly. “Whether the words are yours or not, comforting or not, you are correct.  I simply do not wish to be too late, yet again.”

She winced slightly, but Gérard’s voice hadn’t held any particularly bitter twist.  It seemed he’d long made peace with events, though whether that was a gryphon trait or just Gérard himself she couldn’t tell.  “I understand,” she said, and he inclined his head in a sort of wry acknowledgement of what she was thinking.

The understory grew denser as they made their way east, despite the occasional sandstone outcrop and the fact that, by her map, the pines eventually thinned into a rocky scrub.  But that was ahead of them, and for the moment the bushes and tangled remnants of trees and thorns forced them back to single file.

Gérard hadn’t asked about their course since they’d crossed the river, but she was heading as much north as west now, since the northern arm of Horseshoe Bay was a significant distance from the Baltimare’s mouth.  And the spur that was their ultimate goal was actually somewhat south of that arm, the water of the bay forcing a frustrating detour.  But there was nothing like the river or the marshes in their way now, and it would get even easier once they broke out of the forest.  Still, properly navigating through the understory was the difference between traveling ten miles in a day instead of six.

This time she stopped them before the sky began to purple, casting about for the nearest brook with her spell and pitching the tent not far away.  If she expected Gérard to obey her admonition to hunt earlier, she had to give him the time to do so.  He didn’t object to her decision, helping her clear out a spot for a fire, but he did lift his eyebrows at her before he left to go hunt.  “If we are stopping earlier, we will have to make better time during the day.  I am healed enough that I should be able to keep up.”

Rose nodded, but she hadn’t really thought about how he’d been letting her set the pace.  And she thought she’d been doing a good enough job.  Clearly, though, Gérard thought she’d been taking it easy for his sake and tomorrow she’d really start pushing.  Which of course she would have to do.  Nothing like the brutal forced march of the first day, of course, but hopefully something closer to what a career soldier would expect.

It wasn’t that she was out of shape.  In fact she could probably hold up better to that sort of exercise than most unicorns.  But her team had concentrated on being thorough rather than fast, and walking all day, every day, through rough terrain, was more than she was used to.  The past two weeks had built up her stamina, admittedly, but she was still feeling the strain.  Which was why she was yawning at the fire not long after she’d filled her belly with the buckbrush and some tea from the leaves of a lone sassafras standing along the stream.

But she refused to abandon her vigil at the fire until Gérard came back.  At the very least she could make him wash himself off in the stream so the tent didn’t smell of blood. It was easy enough to lose track of time, though, with nothing but the soft crackle of fire and the hesitant sounds of night insects.  When she found her head drooping she stood up to make herself more tea and only then noticed Gérard on the other side of the fire, having suddenly appeared out of the darkness.

“Thank you for waiting up for me, Rose.”  The firelight threw his talons and beak into harsh relief, and made his golden eyes shine out at her.  “Though you need not worry for my sake.”

“I know, but it seems rude to just go to sleep.”  She smiled and waved her hoof at him.  “Besides, this way I can remind you to wash your beak.”

He ran his tongue along his beak thoughtfully, then limped over to the creek and splashed his face with the water.  “All this time together, and yet...” he muttered, scrubbing his beak.  “Rose, how do ponies treat guests?”

She blinked at him, thrown by the question but willing to answer.  “You treat them well.  Make sure you have food they like, give them the head of the table.  Make sure everything is clean and nice...you want to make a good impression.”

“The community, still?”

“Helping others, at least,” she agreed, and considered it.  “There’s certainly a community aspect...you don’t want to be known as a poor host.  It reflects badly on the rest of the ponies around you.”

Gérard grunted, sitting down beside her and scrubbing at the fur and feathers on his head to dry them off in the heat of the fire.  “Does it bother you that you cannot treat me as a guest?”

She laughed.  “We’re a bit past that now, don’t you think?”

“Even so.”

“It’s…”  Rose shook her head slowly.  “I can’t even imagine it.  It’s ridiculous.  Besides, shouldn’t I be your guest at this point?”

“The thought had occurred to me.”  He rumbled, his tail twitching.  “For gryphons, a guest is not simply welcomed.  They are challenged.  To do otherwise is to say they are beneath notice, but one does not duel with a guest.  The usual thing is a hunt. To take each other’s measure without needing to clash.”

“That makes sense,” she allowed, considering it.  Even foal gryphons, whatever they were called, would be able to participate in a hunt, whether or not they did more than simply follow their elders.

“I would like you to come with me on a hunt.”

“What?” She recoiled, mentally if not physically.  “I’m not...I could never…”

“Combat is not your calling,” he said.  “I know that.  I would not expect you to join in a kill.  And I know we have already taken each other’s measure, but without a hunt it still seems incomplete.”

“I...I’ll think about it.”  He knew what he was asking.  Even from the beginning he’d kept the hunting and killing and as much carnivorism away from her as he could, and she was grateful for it.  But she would be in the middle of gryphons soon enough and have to endure it.  And if Gérard thought it was important, it certainly was. That didn’t stop it from being a blood-chilling idea.

“That is all I ask.”  If he was disappointed, it didn’t show.

When they broke camp in the morning he launched back into Alce, his voice coming from behind her most of the time as her hooves crunched against the heavier undergrowth.  It was still dense enough to force her to take the lead, and this time she pressed harder than her usual pace. As ever, his footfalls were silent, with only his words making any noise at all.

Clouds began to build in the sky behind them as the sun peaked and started to sink again, dark thunderheads massing in the west. The occasional breeze turned into something more sustained as the weather turned toward storm.  She didn’t have feathers, but Gérard did, and he ruffled them as the trees swayed and sighed.  “I fear we will have to take shelter early today.”

“I think so too.”  Sky Shadow probably could have steered the front around them, and in fact often had kept them out of the worst of the wild weather that appeared outside pegasus control.  But he was no longer with her, so they’d have to yield to the whims of nature.  

She stopped at the first place resembling a clearing, pitching the tent on slightly slanted ground and helping Gérard hammer in the stakes as the wind tugged at the fabric.  He eyed the tops of clouds, barely visible through the canopy, and clicked his beak.  “Tch.  I should go now before the weather is upon us.  Will you come with me, Rose?”

“Not...not this time.”  She wasn’t ready for it.  And maybe she never would be, but she didn’t want to reject it entirely. He simply nodded before heading off into wilderness.  Downwind.  

She busied herself foraging from the bushes and trees nearby, turning up a few wildflowers to supplement the ever-present buckbrush and ferns.  She was beginning to miss actual fruits and vegetables, and resolved to seek out some wildberries the next time they moved.  Surely even Gérard would appreciate those.  But with the wind she made no fire, as it surely would have been scattered and extinguished the moment she struck a spark.

From somewhere far distant there came a crackle of thunder, once and then again, and she winced, heading back to the tent.  It sounded like they were in for some seriously unpleasant weather, but at least they were no longer near the river.  If it was that angry before, she shuddered to think what it might become when swollen by floods.

The wind plucked at the tent, ruffling the front flap as she nibbled a flower and waited for Gérard to return.  It whistled and hummed against cords, carrying with it the scent of lightning and the threat of rain.  But then the wind veered around, and it carried with it something else.

Smoke.  

She wrinkled her muzzle, frowning out the tent flap before she remembered she’d set no fire. Her heart leapt into her throat and she stumbled outside as the wind swept a pall of smoke through the trees, along with an ominous snapping and crackling.  Rose stared, horrified, as the tree canopy was blotted out by black and an orange glow appeared behind it.  The forest was on fire.

Panic held her pinned for an instant before the wind swept a fresh plume of smoke into her face, and she choked and coughed, ducking her head under the sudden blast of heat.  Her legs trembled with the instinct to run, but she forced herself to grab her bedroll, tossing it onto her back before hauling at the stakes Gérard had driven into the ground.

Another gust of wind, and the roar of the fire reached around south of her, the tongues of flame visible now as she wrestled with the last stake, only to nearly lose the tent anyway as the wind tried to tug it from her grasp.  It hauled her a few inches before she collapsed it and snapped it in place on her saddlebags, ducking her head under the roof of smoke and gasping desperately, then shrieking as the fire itself raced up behind her and licked at her rear hoofs.  She took off running, and the front followed her like a hungry animal.

“Gérard!” She shouted, hoping that his ears were as sharp as he claimed and that he could pick her out in the conflagration and confusion.  Heat battered at her flanks as she galloped headlong, barely faster than the fire itself, driven by the wind as it was.  Her hooves pounded in time with her heart, both driven by the primal, atavistic terror she finally let loose as she ran.

She called out for him again before choking on the smoke and coughing, tears streaming from her eyes as she made her way by panicked feel and pathfinding instinct, trying to find somewhere to escape the fire.  Somewhere behind her lightning struck, turning the air a dirty silver for a brief instant before thunder boomed, but there was no rain to bring relief.

A sudden blaze ahead of her made her slide to a halt, suddenly blocked by another line of fire.  Some windborne spark had jumped ahead of her, igniting another front to the fire and blocking her path.  Hemming her in.  She pranced in place, her throat feeling parched and cracked from the hot, harsh air, and looked for a way out.

Among the burning trees and bushes ahead there were a few spots that had already burnt out, leaving only seared embers.  It wasn’t much, but it was better than the alarmingly flammable carpet of needles she stood on.  She braced herself, ducked her head low to take a deep breath, and vaulted over the flames, hissing as the tongues seared her legs.

Her hooves skidded and slid on a layer of ash and cinder as she landed, surrounded by burning trees and a furnace heat. “Gérard!” Rose shouted once more, though she had no idea what he could even do.  Or if he could hear her.  Or if he was even alive.  He was no more fireproof than she was.

She lowered her head, trying to find fresh air to breathe as she kicked away burning bits of bark or twig, for the little good it would do her.  The fire was a wall ahead of her and behind, trees burned to either side, and faintly, blackly, she realized there was nothing she could do.  Then with a terrible, ear-shattering detonation the tree beside her exploded, bits of flaming wood arcing up into the black and choking sky.

And a burning limb smashed down from above, flattening her to the ground.