XX. Land of Confusion
Spike
“So, after commandeering my private yacht, you flew straight into the fray with minimal weaponry, no experience with command or airships of the modern make… and brought back a shipload of stragglers?”
Spike nodded.
Luna smiled. “When I told you at our last meeting to do what could be done, I did not anticipate action quite that bold. I am very impressed, Spike. I’m also glad that you were so fortunate. Few go into battle as green as you—pardon the pun, my friend—and come out unscathed.”
Spike shivered. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”
Luna gestured, and they walked out to the balcony. Spike was glad to be out in the open, in the fresh air. He enjoyed the palace, but since waking up, he had felt like it was too small, too full of hallways and places to hide.
His dreams had been troubled. If Luna knew, she did not speak of it. Yet. Even after all this time, she confused him. One minute she was direct, straight to the heart of things like an arrow or a javelin in a unicorn’s grip. The next she was as indirect as a blushing virgin. The word Twilight used… what was it?
“Tell me about it,” Luna said as she looked over the city. “Tell me of your first battle. I have read the reports, but I wish to hear it from you. A warrior tells his own story from his heart, after all. If nothing else, it does him good to put it all into words. Words are powerful, Spike.”
Spike was young, but he was sharp. His eyesight was incredible—his hearing better than one would expect of a reptilian species. He caught many things in the web of his senses, and so he noted the way that Luna glanced at him, eyes which were like tiny fires, a furrowed brow and an unreadable face. Her words were gentle, but her face was not. But there was no rancor, and he was glad for that. She really did not seem to mind that he hadn’t exactly asked for permission to use her private vessel.
“You told me I had a lot of freedom to act, and I kept getting reports from runners on what was happening. I felt useless,” he admitted, leaning against the balcony. He, too, watched the city. This was how all of their meetings face to face ended up going. Two souls watching thousands of others. He knew what he saw—home or what he could call home. What she saw was a mystery. Most things were a mystery to him where Luna was involved.
“You can mess with my mind when I’m asleep, can’t you?” Spike asked without thinking. But he was trapped now. He’d said it. “You can show me things or make me think things. You can make me see things.”
His gaze stayed on the city. It traced the high streets of the Celestial district, the crowded byways of the far Terrestrial markets. It was, in short, everywhere but on Luna. His sovereign’s gaze was heavy.
“Why?” she asked.
Spike shivered. Another unreadable syllable. “I saw you.”
Luna did not answer. He considered elaborating, but nothing came to mind. What would he say? If he was wrong, she would call him a lunatic. Even if she had altered something inside him, touched his mind in some way, nothing had come of it but strength and courage. He might have hesitated had it not been for the vision of Luna as a sort of goddess on the battlefield. Spike should be grateful, and he was. He was very grateful.
“Perhaps. It depends on who and on what I would do to them,” Luna at last answered, her voice quiet but not soft. “You saw me on the battlefield.”
“Yeah.”
“You are not mad,” she began. “I believe I have… overstepped my bounds.”
Spike finally looked at her, and for once, he could read something there in her countenance. Shame. Perhaps a bit of alarm. At least, he thought that was it. Doubt died hard, especially where Luna was involved. Not that he did not trust her. He did. Doubt and faith are not opposites. They walk hand in hand, lovers more than enemies, allies and strange bedfellows. Without the uncertainty of doubt, there is no true faith. He had read that somewhere.
“I don’t understand,” Spike admitted.
“You fought well,” Luna said, not quite answering him. “Admirably. Heroically, even. I confess that I was shocked. Yes, you did see me. I walk in dreams, Spike. But Dreamwalking is not all that I can do. There are more things on heaven in earth than even Twilight’s philosophies can guess at, and I am one of them.” She sighed and sat, looking at Spike intently. “Are you angry?”
“No. I just… I’m confused.”
“My sister and I can do many things. Different things. Celestia and I peer into the hearts of ponies. It is what we have always done. My champions always heard my voice in the young days of this kingdom. They saw me in visions and dreams as an aegis over their hearts when they battled great monsters or defended the innocent. It was a very different time. In some ways, it was a dark time. Civilization in these days…” She blinked and then chuckled darkly. “Perhaps not anymore. But when I first returned, I found that civilization was everywhere. It was abundant and not threatened. Monsters existed. Banditry had not died. War and famine and disease were less but had not been wiped away. But the world felt so much safer. In my own time, every settlement was a candle, isolated and alone for all its vibrancy or character, and utterly and irrevocably surrounded by darkness. Cities and towns were full of love and friendship and hope and peace, but the woods were full of death. The plains thundered with the sounds of agony. The mountains bore witness to the many ways that a pony can suffer or fear.”
“So… this ‘Companion’ thing…”
“Is a last holdover from those days. I had many friends, warriors after my own heart. Even as a princess, I strode across the lands with my great hammer, and Celestia and I lived lives much the same as we had for centuries, more adventurers than rulers. I sent my companions out with my spirit riding in their hearts. To be a companion was to be inhabited in this way.”
“Inhabited? Whoa, like, you’re telling me I’m possessed now?” Spike asked, taking a step back.
“No! No, do you see how we have erred?” Luna groaned. “No, it is not like that. I exert no control over you. I simply am with you, to the ends of the world. Simply, as if that were simple. It’s strange and outlandish to you, I know. I had forgotten in the excitement and in my happiness at once again having the Companions. Companion, I should say. I simply gave you courage, my own and the memories of my friends and… lovers,” she added, hesitantly. “When you felt the rage and the sorrow, the will to move on, it was your will. But it was also mine. They are the same, or at least in that moment they were.”
Spike looked away, back towards the city. “That’s a lot to take in.”
“We—forgive me, Companion. I know. The title is not easily shrugged off. The mantle is heavy, but the yoke is light. Do you forgive Us?”
“I guess I do. I mean, I was just gonna stand there like an idiot, Luna. If anything, if you hadn’t nudged me into action with that weird vision…”
“You would have done whatever it is you would have done. The future is uncertain, Spike. Even Celestia knew that. She used to say that all the time, in fact. She has changed much, but sometimes things do not change. I apologize. I have been so very gloomy of late,” she added.
“Kinda hard not to be,” Spike said and went back to leaning on the rails.
“But I still would hear your tale, Spike of Ponyville,” Luna said. “I… hm. I shall be honest. I think it is good to share stories of such things with those who will understand. Also, in the interest of honesty, I confess that I always enjoyed my companion’s stories of their deeds abroad.”
“It wasn’t exactly a grand quest,” Spike said. “It was kind of horrible, actually. Death everywhere… fire, smoke, everything you could want in a nightmare. They were just… I mean, the guardsponies just… died. In droves. Dozens at a time, mowed down. I still don’t know how I didn’t get shot, running at them with my stupid sword like some kind of action hero. I just… ran.”
“The manticore was quite a kill for one who would disparage his worth,” Luna prompted.
“The manticore was kind of an accident,” Spike countered. “I mean, I got so lucky. I was just furious. I can’t get that mad again, or I’ll do something stupid like try to just flame it, and next time, the manticore isn’t going to get its paw stuck in a trench. Next time when I run out of fire and I’m trying to catch my breath, it’ll knock me through a wall.”
“Quite true,” Luna said. “Though I would not be so quick to disparage your fire! I have seen dragons of many stripes and colors and creeds in my time, and a dragon’s fire can break nations. Even yours, young drake, can turn the tide of battle. You recieve wisdom in victory, and I am glad that you see it, but do not overcompensate.”
“Yeah, I guess. Thanks,” he said with a smile.
“Every young warrior, every brave knight worth his salt, begins much as you did. They charge in with hearts full of fear but just as much light and find that battle is not beautiful.” Spike turned back and looked at her. She usually spoke of things like this with such nostalgia. “It can be, in hindsight. The grandness of an army. The beauty of a mageknight’s sword sparkling in the sunlight. Even the thrill of danger in the arms of a beast… Ah. Yes, battle can be intoxicating as much as any wine. At first you are frightened, like a new bride, but then you begin to love the fire in your legs and the ice in your spine. You almost think you hear the Song, the first Song, in how your hoofblades graze the earth, and in how the hammer falls…”
As she spoke, Luna’s whole appearance changed. This change was like a wave, starting small and growing until at last it was overwhelming. Her eyes always had their fire—Spike had found them to be arresting and their gaze penetrating—but now they were positively stars come close to earth. Her smile was not like any of her normal smiles. It was something old and almost feral, but it did not make him feel afraid. He had seen war. He recognized it even though he had never seen its like—expect that, in a way, he had. It reminded him of the stallion with the pistols, gored and still fighting in the retreat from Morningvale. Luna’s mane changed from its normal resting blue to the blazing nightsky as magic poured from her without thought or bidding.
He was not afraid. He felt something else and could not name it. Reverence came to mind, but it was too quiet, too mild. Awe. Awe was appropriate.
Luna coughed, dispelling the fog of glory. “I am sorry,” she said slowly. Old… memories die hard. I am diminished,” she added, smiling in a gentler way than before. “I am diminished. But pray, we may yet think of other things ‘ere you leave. Not all is battle.”
Spike suddenly remembered the letter in his bags. He took a step back towards the bedroom to grab it but hesitated.
Luna looked at him curiously. “You have some business?”
“I… well, it can wait,” Spike said, unsure why he felt the urge to let the issue lie. It was urgent, but an hour would not change anything. It could wait.
“If you are sure,” Luna said. “Though I suspect, perhaps, you feel my mood more than your own. I crave leisure, Spike of Ponyville. I crave it rather desperately.”
“I could use a second to breathe, myself,” Spike replied. “We haven’t done much to help you, and I’m already tired.”
“You’ve done more than you know,” Luna countered. “My yacht is not unknown to our citizenry. They have seen her before, and where the Selene goes, so goes my presence and will. You did even better than you know by taking her to Morningvale. Already, my scouts report that without their aid the story is spreading like wildfire in the streets.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Spike groaned. “It’s all blown out of proportion too.”
“As is the way of tales spread from pony to pony. Some say you wrestled two manticores—”
“Kill me.”
“—and some say that you lopped off the beast’s head and burned its remains, and after this was done, you proceeded to turn the tide back singlehandedly with a river of flame,” Luna finished, revelling. She seemed gleeful, grinning wider than he had ever seen her smile. “Oh, the maidens will sing of thee, Spike, with your great sword…” She paused. “Moonfang, yes, that’s a suitable name! With your great sword, Moonfang, cleaving whole waves of foes, and yet gentle as a lark.”
“That is a terrible name,” Spike said flatly.
Luna huffed. “It is a perfectly acceptable name, young drake.”
“It’s a good name for your sword maybe,” Spike countered. “I’ll think of a name for you, how about that?”
“‘Twould be much appreciated!” Luna said happily. “Choose well, and honor the blade. But… I suppose I should see whatever it is you were about to show me.”
“It’s a letter,” Spike explained, and then headed back inside to grab it. As he looked through his pack, he continued talking. “Rays got it, actually—it’s addressed to him. You’ll see why we wanted you to see it when you see the crest on it.”
Spike held out the letter, and Luna pulled it over to the balcony with her magic. Her eyes lit on the seal and went wide. “Rowan-Oak.”
“Yeah, them.”
“And they want… what?” Luna murmured as she opened the envelope and peered inside, devouring the letter’s contents like a hungry foal. She was silent, aside from a short humming, and then looked between Spike and the letter that dangled in midair before her.
“The young noble you saved… he wants one of your stallions to join his personal honor guard.” It was not a question.
“Apparently.”
“This… this is a rare opportunity,” Luna breathed. Spike could almost see the wheels turning behind her bright eyes. “Troop numbers, levels of readiness, an ear in their home and eyes on their fortunes…” She turned away, looking back out at the city. Spike thought, perhaps, that she was looking for the Rowan-Oak estate. “We can find where they resupply. Like an axe at the root, we will be… Oh, Spike, this is a grand chance. Has the boy accepted?”
“Not yet. I wanted to show you first.”
“Accepted, what am I saying? He’s been ordered. The transfer of guardsponies to the levied soldiers of the Houses is mine to give. And I shall give it! Speak to my Nightshades, and we shall have in place a system of communications for our mole.” Luna practically danced back inside. “Oh, this will be glorious. I shall relish their frustration greatly, young drake. Greatly.”
Luna whistled, and a section of the wall opened up, much to Spike’s amazement. As one of Luna’s Nightshades stepped out, he turned to her. “Has he been here this whole time?”
“Why, always,” Luna said with a puzzled frown. “Art… ahem. Are you truly surprised?”
“I…” Royalty, he reminded himself. Royalty.
Rainbow Rays
The old bat pony’s default glare burned holes right through him. He felt like kindling for a bonfire, a blade scrutinized by an expert eye, a rat on the kitchen counter. His legs wanted to buckle. Instinct told him to bow his head and cry pardon.
But instead, he stood tall. He could not quite meet those crimson eyes, but he could keep from avoiding them too overtly. Rainbow Rays stared ahead like rigid military statuary.
Rays remembered that the bat pony’s name was Paradise, but he had not yet been given the name of his companion. The newer stallion was a unicorn but massive all the same. He towered over both of the other soldiers, glowering as well as he could. If Paradise was fire, this new stallion was like ice. Or an avalanche. Or something. He was running out of word images.
“Who comes to the gate?”
“Your name, colt,” Paradise explained gruffly.
“Rainbow. Rays,” he added after a short, awkward pause. “Rainbow Rays of Canterlot.”
“And why do you come?” continued the nameless officer-type, tonelessly.
“I was… I mean, my transfer was requested, I guess, so—”
“Will you take the Oath of the House and renounce your former connection?”
Rays’ attempt at schooling his own actions had quite failed. It was always opening his mouth that ruined everything. But so far there weren’t any really hard questions. “Yes, I am,” he said, more evenly. Spike and the others had drilled him on what to say and how to say it.
The nameless one coughed. “Well.” His judgemental gaze took in the young pegasus. “Well. Fine enough. Far too few of you feathered types. I’ll swear you in and leave you with the hardass. Ain’t mine.” Another cough and then he returned to his toneless questioning. “Do you swear to uphold the honor of the House Rowan-Oak?”
“Yes.”
“To defend its livelihood and interests, its ponies and its vassals, its friends and liege lord?”
“Yes,” he said, a bit more firmly. There you are, Princess.
“Will you swear yourself to the House in all things, one life for another, your blood for our blood, your pain for our pain, to be under the care of our house as we will be in your care?”
“Yes.”
“Then you are a stallion of House Rowan-Oak.” The nameless one grinned. “Captain Onyx. I head up the day watch here at the Estate. I’m told you’ll be on the Lordling’s detail with hardass. When he’s done with you, the armory is in the basement. Yulestone will get you some gear with the house’s crest on it and a lance.” Chuckling, Onyx turned around and walked off without a word.
This left Paradise and Rays in the foyer together. The bat pony sighed. “You should not be here.”
“I’m… sorry?” Rays replied.
“It isn’t your fault. You are a soldier as I am. You go where you are sent and do what you are meant to do,” Paradise said with a shrug. “But the young lord is foolhardy, and I was far, far too careless. As you saw,” he added, grimacing.
Rays let the mask drop and frowned. “How’s your back? I was concerned after that fight. You were pretty out of it.”
“It was an inexcusable failure on my part,” Paradise growled and turned quickly. “Follow. I’ll take you to the quarters you will be sharing with me, in conjunction to the Lord’s chamber.”
“He snuck up on you without any warning. You couldn’t have known,” Rays said. Despite himself, he liked this gruff sentinel. It didn’t hurt that Spike had told him to ingratiate himself as well.
“Oh, I could have,” Paradise said and looked back at Rays. “And you will too. Impossibility does not excuse you from responsibility. As your lord lives so do you, and as he suffers you suffer a hundredfold. Now, come. We have things to do. Ponies to talk to. You have a lot of things to learn before I will feel comfortable with giving you any sort of responsibility, whether my body is broken presently or not.”
At least I’m through the gate, Rays thought as they walked through the courtyard. It was massive—as big as he had always imagined the famous statue gardens at the palace were. But House Rowan-Oak’s estate was a fortress, and it was impossible to forget this even in such a beautiful place. High stone walls encapsulated the greenery. Sentries walked the boundaries, keeping to the outside paths. Spike and Sergeant Wood had mentioned counting those guards as well. He tried his best, but Rays was sure he’d missed some. Ten in the courtyard, ten on the walls. Not counting the two on each little tower, which would make eight more. Not exactly a cohort, but he suspected that there were others just out of sight.
When Spike and the Sergeant had brought the letter to him, he’d been sure something terrible had happened. They’d come to chew him out. He’d done something awful. The whole secret… thing had been compromised. But no, they’d just hoofed the letter open and looked at him expectantly.
Of course he remembered Fable Rowan-Oak. The lordling they’d saved at the bar was hard to forget, and the bruises from that fight hadn’t quite gone away yet. Soarin’ had given him a lot of attention. Rays, for his part, liked this quite a lot. Stars, but looking wasn’t a sin, was it?
Regardless, by the time Rays had finished reading, the next words out of Spike’s mouth were all too predictable. He was here to be sneaky. They wanted him to spy—and spy he would, Rays supposed. Giving numbers wasn’t so bad. “Thirtyish in the courtyard during the day,” he’d scrawl on the teleporting scroll. See? That wasn’t so treasonous.
It wasn’t that he thought what he was doing was evil. He didn’t. Princess Luna needed his help, and that’s why he had signed on for the guard in the first place. If anything was going to ever get better anywhere, ponies like him would have to start making a difference.
Paradise led him inside, and once again, Rays began to memorize the positioning and number of guards. Rowan-Oak was a warlike house even in the most peaceful times. There were a lot of stallions in armor to count. He couldn’t help but feel a bit out of place in his own Solar barding, but he supposed he would sadly be rid of it soon. I’ll miss this, he thought as he glanced down at the polished, gilded steel. And he would.
A few of the guards standing at attention by the walls gave him smirks as he passed. Not malicious looks, but knowing. Fresh meat. It was a bit like being the new transfer student. Rays quickened his pace a bit.
From a great hall, they passed into a smaller hall and finally emerged back outside into a smaller, more intimate courtyard. It was a simple square enclosed by a porch on all sides, with more doors and more halls and a beautiful fountain in the center. An earth pony raised a tattered flag over the cascading waters, captured forever in marble.
At this point, Paradise turned to him. “Do you know who this is?”
Rays blinked, a bit startled. “Ah… no? The statue… fountain thing?”
“Yes. The statue fountain thing,” Paradise replied flatly. “I don’t suppose you wish to try your luck at guessing?”
Rays thought for perhaps three seconds. “No idea,” he said honestly. “I guess you’ll tell me, though.”
The bat pony’s sigh was long and deep as the ocean. “My frustration is not exactly with you,” he began, “but with the fact that my family has served this great house for a very, very long time, and its traditions and history are important to me. Not so as much with many of my fellows. But you will be different. I will be quite sure of it,” he added, a bit darkly. “This is Tall Rowan, the founder of the House.”
Paradise sighed and turned back to the statue, looking up at the pony. Rays’ eyes followed, and he at last paid the fountain the attention it was worth. The stallion had a hard face but not a malicious one. He seemed to be just what he was—cut from cold stone—and yet he seemed heroic. Stoic, even. He was focused, and there was something honest in that determined stance. A bit of the dashing good looks of Commander Soarin’ with Macintosh’s muscle. I’d follow him.
Paradise, thankfully, could not see the smirk on Rays’ face. “During the Changeling Swarms of the early Celestial Era, Tall Rowan singlehoofedly turned a complete route into victory at Badlook Ridge. There were parades in his honor in this city.” Paradise’s voice was soft. “It has been some time since we were held in that regard.”
“Wha—?” but before Rays could ask, Paradise cut him off.
“Enough of that. Let’s continue. We need to have you properly equipped.”
Equipped. This implied a visit to the armory. Rays tensed slightly.
“You got all of that?” Spike asked. “Numbers of troops, makeup, disposition. Anything. Everything. If it seems even vaguely important, you remember it.”
“Got it,” Rays said, nodding furiously.
“Weapons,” Sergeant Amber Wood interrupted. “Remember t’ be lookin’ for those weapons they’ve got, lad. See if ye can’t get a good look at the maker’s mark on ‘em. We’ll be needing that.”
He’d worked the details out himself on the long walk down to the estate. Politics hadn’t really been his thing in school, so it had taken a while to jog his memory, but bit by bit he’d gotten it. The major houses maintained their own standing armies—most were small, and Rowan-Oak’s was an exception—as well as levies they could pull from their holdings or had a right to demand from certain cities. They owed the monarchs at least a portion of their forces every year, even in peacetime, and almost all of them when called up in a muster. But they could keep back their good troops and send their levies if they wanted. It was frowned upon, but it happened. The levies often had their own equipment supplied by the town or city or the province itself from a common store, or they bought their own. The standing armies, however, had to be armed and paid out of the pocket of the House itself.
Which meant that House Rowan-Oak needed suppliers and menders. If they were going to have an army worth doing anything, they would need several fine blacksmiths. He just needed to figure out who those craftsponies were.
No big deal, right? He wouldn’t recognize any of their marks, of course. But he could sketch them on the scroll Spike had given him. He could do that much at least, and nopony got hurt. While he was not the brightest, Rays had a stellar memory. Beyond stellar, in fact. He remembered everything he saw, read, heard, or smelt. When Rays professed to not remember, he either had never seen the thing in question or was lying through his teeth. Occasionally both. They were not mutually exclusive.
He had, of course, kept this to himself—not only with his brief interactions so far with the guard but also with Spike and his co-conspirators. He had often found that one could be useful without saying how one was able to be so, and it was better not to create… unrealistic expectations. So he laid low. Helped, but wanted the spotlight until it meant ponies expected great things. Great things often exploded in a pony’s face.
He had the layout of the compound inside the walls down pat. The main building in the center seemed to be the one that housed most of the family, their dining halls and sitting rooms and such. The courtyard behind it, with the statue, was a kind of annex leading to three other structures that were all attached. As they walked into one of these, a few questions to Paradise filled in the rest of his mental map. One was the armory and barracks for the regular soldiery and occasional levies, the structure directly across from the main building was mostly guest chambers and a library, and the third building was… well, all he could gather was that it was a vault of some kind. Paradise was vague, and Rays was not sure if this was from lack of knowledge or something else entirely. The practice yards and parade ground were behind the barracks, and the rest was walls and towers and patrolling guards.
All in all, he could see the map he would be drawing tonight clearly in his head. The proportions might not be exact—he was bad at drawing—but they would be good enough to be useful. For what, he preferred not to think about. Maybe just being sneaky.
Regardless, the barracks derailed his thought substantially, and not just because of his omnipresent, amiable libido, though the average male soldier of House Rowan-Oak was prime-grade material for such wonderings. The place was massive. He quickly lost track of how many beds there were, distracted by the bustle inside. He was noticed quickly, and greeted rather enthusiastically by a group of ponies playing at cards between beds.
“Co-ed bunking?” he asked, confused. “It’s different from the guard, Paradise.”
“That’s Captain Paradise, technically,” the old stallion muttered but shrugged and was not deterred. “But you may call me simply by my name, I suppose. Yes, male and female together. While not the most proprietous, it saves on space. Which means, of course, more ponies to serve our House.”
“Friendly bunch,” Rays commented lightly as they took a right into the armory.
“Fraternity breeds good morale,” Paradise answered.
The armory was also huge. Not as big as the Solar Armories but still almost as impressive. The walls were lined with racks carrying pikes and lances, firearms of domestic and foreign make, hoofblades in at least three styles. All of them carried some identification of the house and its twinned tree standard. At the other end of the cluttered racks spaced out on the floor, a lone pony sat at a long desk.
Even before Rays heard her speak, she had stuck in his mind. She was a unicorn, young, with her mane buzzed completely on the right side and hanging long on the left, a style he’d never seen before. Her pure white fur was marred with tattoos like bronze ironwork on her cheeks and brow, and they flowed down her hooves. With a bit of revulsion, he realized that she’d filed her horn to a vicious point.
She didn’t look up. “What do you need, oldtimer?” The accent was not Canterlonian. It wasn’t thick, but his perfect memory served up a similar example. Northern, far northern. Probably Stalliongrad or Petrahoof. An exchange student from those wintery lands had transferred into his class in flight school, and he’d loved that strange lilting, musical voice. On this mare’s tongue it sounded less like music and more like a particularly lascivious older mare on the prowl for young university colts.
“A bit of respect, for one,” Paradise replied without much heat. Rays wondered if this were a recurring thing, this exchange. “I requisitioned armor yesterday.”
“Da,” the quartermaster answered.
“I have need of it.”
“For this little runt? Looks like you just dropped off your mother’s teat, little bird.” She grinned at him the way a cat grins at a crippled sparrow. Even had he found mares attractive, he still would probably rather die than be the last stallion on earth with this particular pony. Rays suppressed the urge to gag.
“Yes, for this one. Now, if I may?”
“Yeah, if you may,” she mocked but turned and gathered a few things from a chest behind her desk. She laid them out on the wooden surface.
It was not much different from the armament he’d first been issued, in some ways. Barding for his chest and shoulders, a bit of protection for his back and flanks. Armor for his legs—which was not a guaranteed thing in the Solar guard, and he was glad to finally get some—and a helmet. Hoofblades. Iron shoes.
What struck him immediately was the quality. Everything the dirty old mare had pulled out was immaculate. There were gold inlays in the helmet. The crest was in pristine condition. The hoofblades were probably completely new, unlike his old ones. A small fortune sat on the table.
“Does not matter how long you look, it will never love you back,” the quartermaster spat and then laughed at him. “Take and eat, son of the fat summerlands. Like you’ll be using it.”
As Rays collected his new gear, Paradise brought him a rucksack. He set it down. “Your old one will be disposed of,” he said flatly.
“Um… I have a few personal things in there,” Rays said quickly. “You know. Things. Can I hold onto it for a bit?”
“What sorts of things?”
Shit. “Uh… personal stuff?” Rays tried to grin. His attempt was a dismal failure. “Um. Journal, letters. You know. Stuff. Pictures.”
“Simply curious,” Paradise said, raising an eyebrow. “It is fine, but you will have to carry both. I’ll not be carrying your things. Elder Sign, could you help him with your magic? I’m in something of a hurry.”
“So, our foalsitting is selective, yes?” Quartermaster Elder Sign said and laughed. To Rays’ abused ears, it was similar to the sound of a chainsmoker drowning in cat piss. It fit her personality. And they said I had no imagination.
But she did help him pack his new gear in the rucksack. He mumbled a thanks, but she seemed to ignore it. Instead, she spoke to Paradise. “The Captains wondered where you were, you know.”
All at once, the air changed. Paradise’s frowning indifference, his almost irritation, vanished and was replaced by something steel. Something sharp. His shoulders tensed. His brows furrowed, twisting his whole countenance into something cavernous and cold.
Rays knew that this was beyond him immediately. He looked away, and that was when he remembered his mission in the armory. As the quartermaster and his guide stood staring at each other, Rays used their moment of antagonism to look at the armor on the walls. It took almost all of the time, but he found a mark. Then another. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and with the tension that flowed between the two others in the room, he had little room to find humor in the maker’s mark of a fat, nonthreatening heart.
The standoff of wills with broken. Rays did not see how it ended or who won, if anypony won, only that one moment they were silent and staring, and the next there was a small commotion of movement and he was being pulled away. But he had seen enough. The marks of craftsponies were seared in his mind, enough to draw them.
SPIKE
The Palace of the Sun Victorious, as it was called officially, had many chambers whose purposes were long lost in the march of endless years. It was filled with dozens of sunlit walks and great vaults of almost heavenly appeal, like the vast chambers of the Strategos of Cloudsdale, or the Great Vault of the Scholarians in the lost pegasus city of Derrecho, lost in the vast wintry north, lined with pillars that reached like great redwoods up to the blessings of light and warmth. There were many such beautiful places in the palace, and though they made up the vast majority of his childhood, they were distant to him now. When he had walked them as a hatchling, such places had seemed to be the end-all and be-all of his experience. Life had been the bustle of the street, late nights with donuts and a few precious sips of Twilight’s coffee, always dark, rarely sweet, always wonderful. Studying at desks and chatting under the light creeping in through the stained glass.
This palace which had been his creche and his idea of paradise was now a hospital.
The wards of the infirm filled the pillared vaults of the palace. The groaning and the sullen, shocked silent alike, lay in great constellations of suffering, tended to by the busy volunteers. They came from all walks of life, he saw. All three of the tribes—no, for he knew too much now. There were more than just earth ponies, unicorns, and pegasi. He saw bat ponies. He saw a few zebras with bandages. A griffon with black feathers and a hunter’s eyes with his chest scarred and bruised and beaten.
And among them, Spike walked in quiet reflection.
The wounded from the battle of Morningvale had been brought here quickly afterwards. Spike had carried them himself, blood running down the scales on his arms. He had watched mutely as they were tended to and wandered numbly when his usefulness was done.
The battle had continued after his retreat. The guard had lured the interlopers into the town and then taken advantage of the lack of cover outside the burning ruin. As soon as they tried pursue the guard, mortars and a line of rifles had kept them pinned down. With nowhere to go, they had burned in their own fires or died or fled back down the slope.
In the end, the village was gone and the lines had simply been redrawn. In the night, more raiders had come up from the plains and dug in.
But they weren’t really raiders anymore, were they? It had bothered him more and more. Raiders didn’t take territory and dig in. Raiders raided and left. They took to survive, killed, plundered… but they didn’t conquer. Not really.
So what were they? They’d changed. The whole conflict was changing, and no one was quite sure what it meant yet.
Spike wasn’t quite wandering aimlessly. There was a definite end in sight, and as he looked, he saw her there, lying against the wall. More accurately, he saw her captain sitting rigid beside her, alert and focused as always.
Captain Ice didn’t look away from Amaranth, who slept soundly, but hailed Spike nonetheless. His voice belied his state—it was rough, ragged, hoarse. “Good to see you under better circumstances.”
“Yeah,” Spike said a bit numbly.
He stopped next to the captain and looked down. Amaranth slept peacefully. She was so small, to Spike. The all were. He was realizing that more, just how small these ponies were compared to him, how fragile they were.
“Sedative set in well, helped her sleep.” Ice sighed. “I never was able to properly thank you, Spike.”
“Just… did what I had to,” Spike said.
“Hardly. You went above and beyond the call. They tell me that was your first time to see true battle, and it was extraordinary.”
Spike felt no pride. No joy. He cringed. “It’s not me. It’s… this.” He held out his arms. “I’m big. I have an advantage.”
“True.”
“It’s… it’s bullshit. Ponies tell me did something great, and I didn’t. I’m just a big, strong freak with long arms. I cheated.”
“Spike, would you say the same of me, with my wings?”
Spike furrowed his brow. “No. No, I wouldn’t.”
“Then why judge yourself differently?” Ice turned slightly to lay a hoof on his shoulder. Spike smiled down at him, as he had to reach.
“Maybe. How is she, though? Besides…”
“Besides her legs,” Ice finished flatly, turning back. “She… is upset.”
“Putting it mildly?”
“Very. I… I am a bit shaken, to be frank with you. Very, actually. She is my friend, Spike. Don’t tell her I told you that. She’ll gloat. Or maybe do. She could use a little gloating now… see? I ramble. I lose track of my thoughts. I’m due back to the lines tomorrow, and all of me rebels against it. I have to be here. I have to stay with her. She is my soldier. She is my responsibility.”
“You know,” somepony spoke up from behind them, startling Spike, “that’s an awful lot of burden to bear.”
“Heavy the head that wears the crown,” Ice Storm muttered.
The pony came into view now as Spike turned to see her. She was a House Levy, from House Epona, an earth pony. She nodded at Spike and smiled. “Good t’ see ya, Big Scales. Spike, yeah?”
“Uh, yeah. You?”
“Master Sergeant Rose,” she replied. “House Epona’s lendin’ the crown some rifles for the line. Was looking for somepony who had seen action out there.”
“Well, you found us,” Spike said.
She looked from one ot the other, eyebrows raised. “I’m afraid to ask. In fact, I won’t. I’m sorry for your soldier, Captain. Permission to speak freely?”
Ice Storm nodded. “Granted.”
“You also have a responsibility to the other soldiers in your command, Captain. Those that still stand. This one lives and has come home, as much as she can. But the others are yet to return. They need you.”
“True,” the captain replied. “Fair enough.”
“And I hear you are quite the hero,” she continued, smiling up at Spike. Spike fought back a grimace. Ponies tended to be dismayed by a display of sharp teeth.
“I’m not,” he said simply, flatly. No need for anything grand. “I’m just strong and fast, and I did what I had to do. It was what anyone would do if they’d been me.”
“Humble. Maybe a bit too much. But I won’t complain.” Rose chuckled. “But I’ve bothered you two enough. I wish you all the luck and skill in the world.” She bowed and left them alone with Amaranth.
Amaranth, who was in fact waking up. She stirred, stretching her forelegs and yawning. Spike smiled almost instinctively. There was something innocent in how ponies acted in that time between the dark of sleep and the sun of waking. Twilight. That’s the word he was thinking of, really. Twilight. No wonder he liked it.
Her eyes fluttered open. “Where are we?”
Ice Storm hovered over her. “The palace. They’ve set up a triage here, and we brought you after we evacuated.”
“I… yeah, I kinda remember that,” Amaranth said slowly. “I… Oh. Legs.”
Ice Storm tensed up and then nodded.
Amaranth stared up at the sky-like ceiling far above and was silent for a good minute. At last, she spoke quietly. “You know, I wonder how many ponies actually look up and notice.”
“Hm?” Ice Shine seemed taken aback.
Spike chuckled. “Most don’t. It’s the best kept secret in Canterlot.”
They all looked up, now. Above them spread a great starry sky, a field of diamonds in the vast, immeasurable darkness, islands of light in a sea of uncertainty. The moon hung full in this sky, the face of a beautiful goddess, a mother of a thousand bright children. But the space between was lively as well, not black but beautiful dark blues, swirling vortexes of energy and creative, raw, feeling.
“Are… my wings…?” Amaranth coughed. “Be straight with me, Captain. Please.”
“They are fine,” he answered. “As far as I know, you will be able to fly. The sky is yours,” he added, a bit quietly, and then he seemed to go slack as if a great burden was loosed from his shoulders. “Amaranth, I’ll need to leave soon. The line must be held. We drove them back into their own lines, but there are always more. It’s not just a raid.”
She nodded. “I know. I always had the feeling. It’s… There’s too much organization. Do you ever wonder how this happened, Captain? How all of it happened?”
“Often.”
“Who doesn’t?” Spike asked.
“But they were just so organized. The manticore, the mortars… I wonder. I wonder a lot. Promise me two things, Captain.”
“Anything.”
“Find out. If you can. If there’s anything to find out. And hold that line for me. Don’t you give a damn inch, okay?”
“I won’t.”
“Not an inch. Be careful, Captain. Please be careful.”
“I will.”
“Smile.”
“Alright.”
To his credit, he did try to smile. Amaranth laughed, but it was a sad laugh.
Spike sighed. “I probably need to get going. I’m glad you’re okay, miss.”
She reached out, and Spike’s clawed hand met her halfway. “Thank you, Companion. I owe you my life.”
For once, it didn’t bother him to hear that. “You’re welcome. I was glad to do it.”
Spike released her hoof and rose. “I’ll come back,” he said. “I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
He smiled. “Good.”
And with that, he left the two companions alone.
He had business to attend to, after all. Rays’ letter had come through or would soon. He would need the night to compare it to the registry in the treasury office. It shouldn’t be too hard.
His train of thought was completely derailed as a stallion was slowly forced into the chamber.
“Now look here! I say, I am quite well, and this is an outrage! I’ll have you know I fought on during the griffon raid of ‘88 with three deep wounds, a concussion, and a hangover! A gentleman doesn’t let himself be put down by such triflings!”
The orderlies trying to keep him moving groaned. “Please, Centurion Halftrack, it’s not the end of the world… We just need to replace your bandages. You can’t go back right now—”
“Hogwash! Absolute hogwash! It’s a hell of a war, and I’m a hell of stallion, young buck, and no stab wounds stop a gentleman!”
“Please, sir!”
Spike recognized the old soldier. He’d seen him go down with a stab wound from a unicorn. The one who used his cigar to burn somepony’s eyes. Spike blinked, astonished.
“I thought you died,” he said, more to himself.
But the Centurion heard. He squirmed. “You! Lizardman! You’re a bloody hero. You get me out of this! Tell them I can go back to the front! I have rapscallions to murder!”
Spike laughed, more out of shock than amusement. “I’m not sure I can, sir!”
“You bleeding rascal,” Halftrack spat as he was carried off. “They’ll never let me back at this rate. Celestia’s fat flanks, I’ll have nothing left to kill at this rate. It’s a hell of a war.”
With that, he ceased his struggling, and the two orderlies dragged him off to a cot. Spike shook his head. It was a strange world, after all. Espionage, war, famine… how things changed. But he had work to do.