//------------------------------// // Interlude 6 // Story: The Lunar Rebellion // by Chengar Qordath //------------------------------// My sister was in a rare foul mood after the spoiled prisoner exchange. I could quite understand that, given that Commander Rightly had not been returned to us. Much as I enjoyed mine elevation to captain of the hetairoi, ‘twas a rather troubled post when I had no commander to defend. Though Mother occupied the post for the moment, I would prefer to have our proper leader restored to us. And not just because it would spare me Mother’s daily scrutiny. The return of Ephor Swift Blade did not help matters. Though ‘twas no surprise he sought a return to grace, now that the Ephorate had lost two of its members. Especially when those two had been the strongest forces behind his fall into disfavor. That he returned alongside the dark news from Manehatten made it far more troubling, given the nature of his new companions. Be that as it may, Ephor Blade was not my primary concern. Since the failed exchange, I had sought my sister that I might learn more of what had transpired. Howe’er, since her return, she had been locked away in counsel with the Ephorate. By the time their business with her was finished, the hour was late, and she sought her bedroll. Come the dawn I went to her tent. Prudently, I brought a good breakfast with me. I have found that my presence in the early morning is always more appreciated when I come bearing gifts. Though Lance was e’er courteous and honorable, save when she felt the need for the usual sibling torments, a hot breakfast improves anypony’s disposition when they are fresh from their beds. I hoped that a bowl of oatmeal with fresh apple slices would prove adequate to the task. Normally, I would have sought something finer, but we were in the field now. Lance, as an embodiment of Pegasopolan honor, would be offended if I offered her better food than her troops enjoyed. I am sure she would piously quote Lyequine texts to me if I dared provide her with quality fare. I found my sister risen from her bedroll, though her eyes were heavy enough that I suspected she was fresh from it. “Good morning to you, sweet sister.” Lance answered me with the irritated glare of a half-awake pony who has just received an annoyingly chipper early morning visitor, and I quickly placed the oatmeal before her as a shield. “I have taken the liberty of securing thy breakfast. I hope the day finds thee well.” Lance offered no answer beyond a grunt, but she took the bowl and nibbled at the food within. I counted that as victory enough. A bit of food seemed to return her fully to the waking world, and soon enough she stretched her wings and regarded me with her usual sisterly affection. “Dusk. Good morning to thee as well. And my thanks for the meal.” “Think nothing of it, dear sister,” I magnanimously replied. “Though if thou dost indeed feel so terribly indebted to me for the meal, I would have a boon of thee.” Lance’s eyes narrowed, and I gave her an easy smile to calm her suspicious heart. “Nothing so terrible. I have heard that the exchange did not happen, but every set of lips tells the tale differently. I would have the truth of the matter, and thou art the best—and in likelihood the only—source for that.” “Aye, I suppose I can give thee the tale.” She took one of the apple slices from her oatmeal, chewing it slowly as considered her words. “The exchange was spoiled by a unicorn assassin. I accused Shadow of planning it and challenged her. She beat me easily and could have slain me if she so wished.” Though her voice remained steady whilst she delivered the news, her eyes betrayed her unease. “Dark tidings.” ‘Tween her failure to recover Commander Rightly and her defeat by Shadow, ‘twas no surprise my sister had sought her rest as soon as she could. Lance has always been a proud mare, and that double defeat no doubt wounded her far more sorely than any injury Shadow might have left. Rather than let her linger on her wounded pride, I quickly moved the discussion to other matters. “The Solars attempted trickery, then?” My sister frowned and poked listlessly at her meal. “I am uncertain. A unicorn assassin does point to the Solars. Mayhaps too clearly. And the attempt itself seemed amateurish. There is much about the incident that seems ... unfitting.” “Unfitting? How so?” My curiosity was quite excited by my sister’s vagueness. I would certainly not be able to set the matter aside until I knew the full of it. “If thou art well enough, couldst thou tell me all the details of what passed on the isle? And I trust thou art well enough, if thou canst tease me with such intriguing tidbits.” I could not prevent my mouth from rising slightly in a smirk; years of brotherhood had made the attempts to lift my sister’s spirits almost instinctive. Lance let out a soft snort. “I see thy wit, or lack thereof, remains as sharp as ever, dear brother.” She brought a small spoonful of oatmeal to her mouth, then grumbled and placed a hoof o’er her stomach. “Though I am afraid there is not much of a tale to tell, despite how long the Ephorate kept me yesterday. During the inspection, a unicorn with a poisoned blade emerged from cover and attempted to strike me down. He failed, and I spitted him upon my lance. I was understandably upset when I confronted Shadow o’er the matter, but she claimed innocence. I did not believe her, and when I attempted to strike she quickly subdued me, but spared my life and my freedom when she might easily have denied me either.” Her eyes were far away, and I could plainly see she was troubled by that fact. A simple enough story, yet one filled with intriguing implications. I measured my words carefully before replying. “One thing I can say with reasonable certainty—Shadow was not involved with the attack upon thee. Otherwise she would have struck in concert with the assassin or finished thee once thou wert at her mercy.” I suppose it was possible Shadow was involved in the plot, but had a last-minute change of heart. That struck me as unlikely, though. From what I had seen of her in my time with the Kickers, Shadow was not one to waver once she had decided upon her course. “Nor do I think it likely that she arranged the entire incident as some elaborate ploy to win thy trust. It seems unlike her.” “I find myself forced to agree,” my sister answered with a faint frown. “If that be so, ‘twas wrong of me to threaten her with violence. I may owe her an apology when next we meet, though ‘twould be absurd to apologize to the mare for slighting her honor moments before attempting to slay her in battle.” “I find life is full of such absurdities.” I had certainly found no shortage of such. “Much like a stallion attempting to pay court to a mare who plainly despises him.” Much to my sorrow, to be sure. Alas, Gale was so very fine to look upon, e’en in her anger ... or mayhaps, dare I say, because of it—some mares are at their comeliest whilst enraged. I was quite glad that we had not met one another upon the battlefield yet, for that would prove most troublesome. Thoughts of Shadow’s daughter with a talent for the clandestine did lead to other possibilities, however. “Another in the Solar camp might have planned the attack, though.” Lance smirked at me playfully. “Ah, thou dost suspect thy lady love?” “Neigh, she would send the assassins after me, not thee.” Though I doubted she would do that; she hated me far too much to let any hooves other than her own bring about my death. Moreover, I doubted she would take such extreme measures without informing her mother. Howe’er, she was not the only loyalist with a talent for subterfuge. “There is always the Grand Vizier to consider.” No sooner had I spoken the thought than I found myself shaking my head. “Neigh, I do not think the crime fits her either.” My sister nodded her agreement. “I think she would do something grander and more effective than a single pony with a poisoned blade. She has a well-earned reputation for brazenness.” “Aye, she does.” Mine eyes fell to my sister’s meal, largely uneaten, and I wished I had thought to obtain a second bowl for myself. Alas, the sacrifices we make in the name of family. “She would have struck herself, or brought an o’erwhelming force to the isle. Not a single hidden knife. Then there is the timing of it; I think she would have waited for us to bring the captured archmagi for the exchange ere she struck. Better to slay thee later, when she could walk away from the trade with all the spoils.” “That was the moment I expected any perfidious blow to fall,” my sister agreed. “The enemy gained nothing from striking when they did.” A curious puzzle indeed. Why would Celestia’s loyalists act in a way which weakened their own cause? ‘Twas possible this was part of some greater design that I remained blind to, but if so, I could not imagine what it might be. And if it was not part of some grand scheme... “No army acts with a single mind. Mayhaps it was a rogue unicorn acting on his own?” “That is certainly possible.” Even as Lance conceded the point, a frown grew on her face. “But I mislike that explanation. Dismissing it all as the actions of a single soldier acting on his own seems too simple. More to the point, it leaves us with no direction forward. There is no deeper meaning behind the actions of a single rogue. Nothing to investigate, no reparations to be sought, or co-conspirators to be questioned. The matter would be closed.” Her eyes turned to her lance, and she let forth an annoyed grunt. “Pity I did not take the unicorn alive. There are many questions I would ask of him.” “Alas, the lance is not the best weapon for capturing one’s enemies.” Indeed, I could scarcely think of a worse weapon for the task. The lance is a fine weapon for killing, but it lacks the flat edge of a wing blade, and since ‘twas made to be used in a charge, e’en resting the tip on a foe’s throat was a poor threat compared to other weapons. Still, it profited us nothing to lament what might have been. The unicorn assassin was dead. It availed us nothing to wish we might have put him to the question. Instead, I turned to matters that remained within our power. “Let us proceed on the assumption that our assassin did not act alone, then. Who was he working with? Another faction within the loyalist forces? Shadow, Sunbeam, and Crossguard might be in ascendance, but they are far from the only figures of prominence in Celestia’s forces. And we must also consider...” I hesitated to finish the thought, for ‘twas a disturbing one. As had so often proved the case in the past, Lance was braver than I. “When seeking suspects in a crime, the first question to ask is who would benefit from that crime. It does occur that while the attack profited the enemy nothing, there are those within our own forces who had much to lose from Commander Rightly’s return.” ‘Twas not difficult at all to guess who she meant. “Swift was in disfavor with the Commander ere Rightly was captured. And his new allies occupied a dungeon cell by Rightly’s word.” “Just so.” My sister frowned and set aside her meal, largely uneaten. “And given that warlocks are largely unicorns by definition...” I found myself nodding in agreement. “Such disreputable sorts would certainly have access to poisoned blades, and spells to place one of their own in a position to strike.” The more I thought on it, the more likely they seemed as our culprits. “And if our captured magi were returned, they could warn the enemy that Swift has released the warlocks.” Lance’s frown deepened into a full scowl. “Mother and Ephor Steel are both most displeased with Ephor Blade and his new allies. I think they would return the warlocks to their cells, were it not for the fear of causing dissent within the ranks.” That caught mine immediate attention. “Dissent?” I asked. “Aye. The Ephorate might as well strip Swift of his seat if they countermand his actions so plainly.” Lance’s eyes turned towards the Blades’ section of the camp. “A thought which I confess is somewhat tempting now. Howe’er, if we removed Swift from office, his clan would likely abandon the campaign.” “I wonder if we should risk it.” My gaze followed my sister’s, and I noted how the banners marking the Blades’ section of the camp were few in number compared to our own. “The Blades are a minor clan. We could continue the war without them. Having poor or corrupted leadership might cost us far more than the few hundred warriors the Blades offer us.” “Would that it were as simple as that.” My sister sighed and shook her head. “If Mother removed him, I would likely have to take a seat in the Ephorate. Two Ephors is far too few. Many of the other clans might see it as Mother deposing the only Ephor from a minor clan to install her daughter in his place. We can afford to lose the Blades, yes, but they might not leave alone.” Loath though I was to admit it, there was truth to her words. Howe’er justified Swift’s removal and well-earned Lance’s elevation, many would see the act as naught but blatant favoritism and a usurpation. Not to mention ‘twould put the Chargers firmly in control of a reduced Ephorate. E’en if we filled the other unoccupied seat with a member of one of the lesser clans, the Chargers would still hold half the votes, and until Rightly’s return, Mother was Acting Commander and thus would decide any tied vote. A moment later I spotted something amiss with Lance’s remark. “Fill the vacancy with a member of the one the lesser clans? That seat was Cyclone Kicker’s. His clan will not be pleased if they lose it.” For all that we prided ourselves on choosing ephors solely on the basis of merit, It had been a great many years since one of the four major clans did not hold a seat on the Ephorate. “Aye,” Lance allowed. “But the Kickers who do not fight under Shadow’s banner are so few in number as to make little difference. Cyclone’s death has left them with no clear leader within their own ranks, let alone one suited to the Ephorate.” She leaned nearer to me, and her voice dropped to a low whisper. “‘Tis not to be publicly discussed, but many of the Kickers who remained loyal to our cause have vanished in the night.” “Desertion?” ‘Twas unheard of for a warrior of Pegasopolis to desert their post. Or at least, that was what the singers and historians always claimed. Howe’er, another possibility seemed far more likely. “Neigh, not desertion. Defection. If so, then taking away their seat in the Ephorate will hardly make them like us any better than they do now. If Shadow has any sense, she will welcome back her wayward kin.” My sister scowled at that. “Offering them honors they have not earned seems a poor way to buy their loyalty. And if Swift is to be removed, then a new Ephor from the lesser clans must be named in his place. If that encourages those Kickers whose pride eclipses their honor to betray us, then so be it. They are turncoats. Doubly so, in Shadow’s eyes. Why would she trust ponies who are so clearly lacking in honor?” “I never said she should trust them, dear sister.” Seeing as Lance showed no further interest in the breakfast I had so thoughtfully provided her, I retrieved the bowl of oatmeal for myself. No sense in letting good food go to waste. “Howe’er, she need not trust them to make use of them. Give them a chance to win back their honor in thankless and dangerous tasks that offer no chance to weaken her cause.” “I suppose that is pragmatic,” my sister reluctantly allowed. “Though I would still turn them away, were I in her position. Amidst a siege, a few more soldiers contribute little beyond providing more mouths to feed, while a single traitor might inflict ruinous damage.” Lance’s face darkened. “Though as our concerns about Ephor Blade’s unicorn allies indicate, that can be as much a problem for the besiegers as the besieged. Absent such treasons, I see few prospects for ending the siege quickly.” She cocked her head slightly to the side, gazing at me searchingly. “I wonder if it might be better to offer Celestia terms. Shadow seemed receptive to the idea.” “Did she? Well and good then.” Short as the war had been, ‘twas strange to think that we might be near its end, or that we might somehow undo all that had passed in recent months. Could we truly welcome the Kickers back into our ranks and break bread with Celestia as if we had not spent our blood in an effort to depose her? I did not know if such a thing was possible. The war had left behind too many wounds to be forgotten. Howe’er, I felt ‘twas worth the attempt, e’en if ‘twould be difficult to achieve. “If there is a chance to end this war with honor, then we should pursue it. Let Celestia have her crown as long as we have freedom. If our independence is already secured, I see no reason to spend further lives taking Canterlot.” Lance cavalierly waved one of her wings, “Agreed. So long as Equestria is free, let Celestia and her unicorns have their city. She is no threat to us so long as she stays there.” I took an apple slice from the oatmeal and found it quite to my liking. “We are in a strong enough position to get good terms from her. All of Equestria outside of Canterlot is under our control, so we need offer nothing beyond leaving the city in peace. (1) I do not see Queen Celestia's position becoming any stronger in the foreseeable future. If anything, ‘twill weaken once she acknowledges that she has lost the posts of Commander and Chancellor, and further weaken the longer she does not hold them.” 1: As the excerpts from Swift’s war journal showed, this is something of an exaggeration. While the loyalists had no other armies in the field or major cities under their control, there were plenty of areas where the rebels had no real authority. “Quite so,” my sister agreed, idly resting a forehoof o’er her belly. “E’en if ‘tis only a temporary arrangement, ‘twould leave us free to put our own house in order.” “Aye. With the news from Manehatten I think we need peace more than e’er.” The earth ponies would not suffer a government appointed by pegasi for long, but we could hardly arrange new elections in the middle of a war. Lance continued on, unaware of my private thoughts. “If need be, she can forswear e'er pursuing power ‘mongst the other two tribes again. The Ephorate feared her as ruler of two of the three tribes, but she is no threat so long as she restrains her ambition.” “Our strong position should be enough to force her to give us such an oath,” I readily agreed. “‘Tis plain to see that we could take the city if we had to, but why go to all that trouble when a negotiated peace can secure everything we truly desire with far less trouble and bloodshed?” “Which is for the best.” My sister sighed, suddenly looking far older and more careworn than a mare of her years ought to. “If we weaken Equestria too much with this war, we might leave it vulnerable to outside threats.” “Indeed. The gryphons were aggressive enough in the face of a united Equestria.” My mind turned back to the counter-raid we had launched on them shortly ere the war began. “I suspect the only reason we have been spared any attacks thus far is that they fear uniting us ‘gainst a common foe, or they have troubles of their own that prevent them from taking advantage of our weakness. (2) Whate’er the case, ‘tis good fortune. Something we have had far too little of in recent days.” 2: The gryphons were in the midst of a civil war over who would become the new Archduke of Westmarch, and thus far too busy to intervene in Equestria’s civil war beyond a few reiver incidents. Most notable among these was the raid on Trottingham where, true to Dusk’s observations, Lunar and Solar forces called a temporary truce to unite against the gryphons. “Quite so.” My sister drew herself up and set about girding herself for battle. Or politics, though that was simply another sort of battle. “I think ‘tis time we spoke with Mother on the matter of peace. I will have words with her, while I would ask thee to speak with Steel. He is thy sire, so thy words might reach him more easily than mine. I would speak with them both at once, but then Swift might be called in to make it a proper meeting of the Ephorate.” Her face hardened. “I have little wish to hear his words, and I do not think he would care for mine.” “Aye, I think we would have better results speaking to the Ephors alone.” Leaving aside the matter of Swift Blade, Mother had always been given to a certain level of passionate discourse, while Steel preferred pointed questions and quiet consideration. ‘Twould most definitely take two separate conversations to convince the both of them, regardless of the timing of it. Still, I was uncertain of the task my sister had set before me. “I could speak with Ephor Striker, though I do not know if I would have any advantage in doing so. Thou knowest that we have not exchanged many words in the past. Near as I know, he does not e’en see me as a son.” “Whate’er the case may be, thou art capable of speaking to him whilst I speak with Mother,” Lance replied as she donned her helm. “See that thine arguments are sound and thy rhetoric persuasive. If he looks upon thee more favorably for sharing his blood, then so much the better.” For all her talk of honor, ‘twould seem that my sister was not without some talent for the maneuvering of politics. Mother was right in thinking she had the makings of an excellent Ephor. “Well reasoned, dear sister. I will do what I can to win him o’er to our position.” A sardonic smirk made its way onto my face. “Of course, any debate with Ephor Striker is likely to be something of a one-sided discussion.” “As all conversations with him are,” Lance agreed as she turned her back to me to begin arming herself. She flinched as she donned her flanchard, her hooves slipping from her armor. The brightly polished steel fell to ground with a clatter, while Lance clutched her belly. I was at my sister’s side in an instant, checking her for any wound. “Lance, art thou well?” “I am quite well,” she assured me, shoving me back with the hoof not clutching her midriff. “My stomach has been ill at ease this morning, nothing more. ‘Tis why I did not properly enjoy the breakfast thou didst obtain for me, though the thought was surely appreciated.” “Ah, very well.” I had wondered why she had eaten so little of it. Now that I was assured there was nothing amiss with the meal itself, I wasted no time in consuming what remained of it. “Mayhaps thou shouldst visit Dawn ere thou makest thy way to Mother?” Lance waved away mine advice. “Neigh, not for something so minor as this. There are still many soldiers with battle wounds, and I will not waste the chirurgeons’ time with such a minor complaint. Especially when the only remedy most of them know for a sour stomach is a purgative.” She frowned thoughtfully. “With our recent supply difficulties, we have been making do with less than fresh provisions, and the bread last night did seem a touch stale. Likely ‘twas nothing more than that. I shall eat once my stomach is settled.” I accepted her at her word. Why should I not? Likely she had insisted on eating the stalest of the bread out of some misguided sense of nobility. My sister is prone to such gestures. “I wish thee well in recovering from it. I shall leave thee to thy honorable suffering in the battle ‘gainst stale bread while I speak with Ephor Striker. ‘Twould be best if we tried to convince the Ephors of our cause ere the failed exchange entrenches itself in their thoughts.” My sister answered with a sharp nod. “Agreed. Fare thee well, brother.” “And thee, sister.” Ephor Striker had elected to remain in the clouds rather than erect a groundside encampment for his clan. While there were obvious advantages to remaining in Cloudsdale, both Commander Rightly and Mother believed that the morale of our earth pony allies would be better served by working alongside them. Though I think Pegasopolis took its veneration of Lyequinegus too far, I found myself reminded of one of the Lyequine axioms: ‘A commander should live, eat, and fight alongside his soldiers if he expected those warriors to die for him.’ I discovered at least one of the reasons for Ephor Striker’s absence from the ground when I found the stallion himself. When I entered his clanhold, I found the Ephor hard at work o’er a thunderforge, carving a new hammerhoof with lightning. The workings of a thunderforge have always held a certain fascination for me; for all the talk of the unicorns’ arcane arts, we pegasi possessed our own form of magic. I witnessed it that day as Steel Striker turned inert metal into a deadly weapon of war. Once the Ephor had finished forging his weapon and quenched it in a nearby raincloud, I approached, clearing my throat to announce myself. The Ephor turned to face me, sweat plastering his short mane to his head. He offered me no greeting beyond a barely perceptible nod, but that was to be expected. Once I had given him sufficient time to speak, were he so inclined—one must observe the formal courtesies, howe’er needless they might be—I broke the silence. “Sir, could I have a word with you?” The Ephor grunted and nodded, then took up his new hammerhoof and began polishing the fresh-forged metal. As he offered no words, I judged the nod sufficient response for me to proceed. Pity I was unsure how best to do so. Though his blood might run in my veins, I knew little of the stallion beyond what any who listened to idle gossip might know. Should I acknowledge that I was the child of his flesh, e’en if he had ne’er played the role of father in my life? Or would it be better to ignore that fact and simply proceed as if I were any other warrior of Pegasopolis? While I dithered, Steel deigned to speak. “Armor is dented.” His words took me by surprise, if only because they had so little to do with my reasons for coming to him. Though I suppose ‘twas no surprise his own mind was on such matters when he had only just finished working the forge. Still, the remark was a curious one. “Your gear seems in excellent repair, sir. I see no dents, nor any other signs of battle damage or rust.” “Not mine,” the Ephor grunted. “Yours.” I glanced o’er mine own armor as best I could whilst wearing it. While I was hardly slovenly in caring for my wargear, I could not deny that it had taken some damage ‘tween battles and training with the hetairoi. Nothing of any great significance, I had thought, but ‘twould seem the Ephor disagreed. “I shall take it to an armorer at the first opportunity, then.” Ephor Striker’s eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned in disapproval. “Not fixing it yourself?” I offered a helpless shrug. “Unlike you, sir, I am no smith.” The Ephor frowned at me for some time. “Should be. Not Bright’s way, though.” He briefly turned his back to me and gathered a small bit of lighting from the thunderforge, using it to carve out the fine details into his new weapon. “A warrior lives and dies by the state of their gear.” “Which is why Mother ensures that the best smiths in Pegasopolis tend our equipment,” I answered, hoping that would satisfy him. Judging by his expression, it did not. “Does Bright have ponies train in the lance for thee as well? A warrior and his gear must be one. Only thou canst know all that thou dost need in a weapon, or all the details of thy perfect suit of armor. Equipment forged with thine own sweat and blood will always be superior to that made by another. ‘Tis why every Striker knows how to work a thunderforge. E’en Swiftwing learned it before—” He abruptly fell silent and turned his back to me. ‘Twas plain to see that speaking of my half-sister pained him. Small wonder, given the cruel fate she had suffered. I would have offered him some words of comfort, but mine own tongue betrayed mine efforts to do so. There were no words I could readily offer that would lessen the enormity of his loss. Indeed, the only words I could think to speak were hollow platitudes that seemed more likely to insult him than offer genuine comfort. The silence moved long past painful ere he finally broke it. “Here for business?” I welcomed his question. Discussing the affair of Pegasopolis seemed far simpler than lingering on our own complex family relations. “Aye, sir. My sister and I have been considering how best to proceed, now that we have invested the city of Canterlot. Lance and I both agree that there would be merit in offering terms to Queen Celestia.” Ephor Striker’s brow knit, and I quickly moved on to justifying my proposal. “Though we currently hold the advantage, Canterlot will not fall quickly or easily. To be frank, I think sacking the city would cost us more than it would be worth. Given the weakness of Queen Celestia’s position, we could gain all that we truly wish for now and spare Equestria further bloodshed.” The Ephor set his weapon down, turning his attention fully to me. “Peace, then? On what terms?” He was at least hearing my proposal. That much was far better than I could hope to hear from Ephor Blade. He would likely claim that any talk of peace was an attempt to hurt morale and undermine the war effort, though I suspect it would have the opposite effect if Celestia refused reasonable terms. “First, she must renounce any claim to the title of Commander of Pegasopolis, now and forever, and acknowledge the freedom and independence of Pegasopolis. Secondly, she must do the same for the Chancellorship and the earth ponies, though I advise we leave some leeway for negotiation on that point. Mayhaps we could offer another election—one not tainted by corruption and trickery.” Steel grunted and nodded. “Our main war goals. What does she get out of it?” That was the issue. One could hardly negotiate a peace without making some concessions. “We would offer three things. First, that we would remain bound by the Equestrian Accords. Second, reciprocal pardons for all actions taken during the war, save for any foul or infamous crimes. Shadow would return to Pegasopolis, and we would return those unicorns who have joined our cause.” Though I expected that any practitioners of the forbidden arts would be considered to have committed ‘foul and infamous crimes.’ Not that I objected to seeing the warlocks properly punished for their crimes. “The greatest concession we would offer would be allowing Celestia to keep Canterlot and her crown. For all the talk I have heard of liberating the unicorns from her rule, it seems they wish to keep their queen.” I chose my next words with great care, lest any misspoken words exhaust howe’er much patience the Ephor might have left. “We began this war to fight for our right to choose our own leaders. It seems unfitting to deny that right to the unicorns if they wish to retain Celestia.” “Logical.” Ephor Striker settled back onto the clouds, a thoughtful frown on his face. “Though some unicorns will have to go.” That condition was no surprise, given the infamy of Grand Vizier Sparkle. I half-wondered if she had been restored to power simply so Celestia could offer to remove her once more as a treaty concession. “I am sure we can convince Celestia to part with Sunbeam Sparkle once more. She was quick enough to dismiss her before, and I suspect that the only reason she was welcomed back was the pressure of war.” “Prefer something a bit stronger than dismissal,” Steel opined. “She needs neither post nor honors to whisper in Celestia’s ear.” “I rather doubt she would be willing to execute the mare just to appease us.” I considered the alternatives, and found none to my liking. “There is always exile, but I think that might be more dangerous to us than keeping her. I do not think she would accept exile gracefully, and if she passes beyond our sight, who can say how much trouble she might cause?” I could certainly see her returning to Equestria at the head of a mercenary army after a few years in exile. Or e’en darker possibilities, if we allowed her to escape Celestia’s leash. One should be very wary of letting a mad dog run wild. “Might be best to keep her where we can see her,” Ephor Striker allowed. “I am glad we are agreed.” I made myself as comfortable as I could on the clouds. Unlike our own clanhold, the Strikers made few concessions to comfort. “So long as she remains in Equestria, Sunbeam Sparkle’s power derives from her queen. Without royal favor, there is little she can do.” Steel grunted his assent. “Politicians can work out details.” An amusing remark coming from a politician, though I suppose Steel rarely saw himself as such. All the Ephorate loved declaring themselves to be above petty politics, especially when they were in the midst of political maneuvering. I rather doubt he would be amused by my pointing out such minor hypocrisy though. “If we need a further guarantee of peace, I recall that Sunbeam Sparkle has a daughter. As will many other nobles and magi amongst the unicorns. An exchange of hostages, to ensure Unicornia's good behavior, seems a reasonable measure.” “Prudent. Though hard to get them to agree to.” Though his face remained stoically blank, I felt his eyes resting on me more intensely than they had before “Ponies care about their children.” Once more I was tempted to speak to him on personal matters, but I could not find the words for it. Instead, I shielded myself with duty. “Aye, ‘twould not be a condition the unicorns would care for. ‘Twould be best if we took a softer approach to it: we are not taking hostages, we are taking in promising young unicorns and training them to work alongside Pegasopolan forces to help foster unity in the wake of our divisive civil war.” Though the fundamental truth of it remained unchanged, the polite fiction would make the bitter pill far easier to swallow. “And we can make a few other concessions, such as allowing the children to see their parents regularly. I hardly think we need a situation where they are separated for years and years on end.” The Ephor considered my proposal, then picked up his hammer hoof and returned to his work on it, inscribing small runes along its outer edge. I took his silence for agreement, or at least a lack of disagreement. Howe’er, I found the silence burdensome and endeavoured to fill it. “I would like to arrange a lasting peace within Equestria. Though Ephor Blade might speak of Pegasopolis guiding the other tribes, I think the last thing we need is a situation where Celestia’s loyalists will rise up against us the instant their strength is recovered.” “Agreed.” He frowned down at the weapon is his hooves, and slowly carved at the steel. “Earth ponies and unicorns would like the taste of domination no more than we did. Trouble enough without fighting amongst ourselves.” “Quite so.” The longer Equestria remained divided, the more likely we were to face trouble from other powers. The gryphons might be our most aggressive enemy, but they were far from the only other nation in the world. E’en some of our friends would likely want to define new terms of friendship which better favored them. “Though if we are to create a peace of unity, we would have little choice about restoring the Kickers and Shadow to their former posts. We would look two-faced if we preached unity and a return to the pre-war status quo, then denied her. Still, ‘tis a minor enough concession, and one that will likely please Celestia.” “Reasonable. Shadow was a fine Ephor.” A faint frown crossed his face. “Misplaced loyalties, but still loyal to her cause. And the Kickers will not return without her.” “They are as loyal to their materfamilias as any clan.” Likely moreso, now that they had followed her into exile and war against Pegasopolis. “If we do not restore Shadow to all her ranks and honors, she will not return. Her pride would ne’er allow it. And so long as she remains in Canterlot, her clan will remain with her.” Certainly some would return to Cloudsdale, and many would at least visit the city, such as Sierra’s husband. Howe’er, the true heart of the clan would remain on the ground with their leaders. Moreover, it would make courting Shadow’s daughter far more difficult—I would hate to face the flight from Cloudsdale to Canterlot every time I wished to hear her scorn and insult me. The Ephor nodded and fell silent once more. As we had discussed everything I could think to speak of regarding the peace proposal, I was about to take my leave of him when he suddenly extended the hammer hoof he had been working upon towards me. “Lances break. Need a backup weapon.” The sudden offer took me by surprise, but one does not refuse a gift from an ephor. I hesitantly accepted the weapon and placed it o’er my hoof. “Good fit?” he asked. In truth it was a bit large for me, but just as one does not refuse a gift, one should also not insult that gift. “Perfect, sir.” Steel was not pleased by mine answer. Instead he let out a contemptuous snort. “‘Tis not. ‘Tis unfinished, though. Adjustments to be made. And the usual padding will tighten the fit. Trust thou canst see to that thyself.” He paused, and his eyes narrowed slightly. “Thyself. No armorer.” Ah. Grand. His gift came with an attached duty. Still, it was wise to respect the Striker ways when using a gift that had been granted to me by a Striker. “Very well, sir. Thank you.” I suppose I would need to learn at least enough about smithing to make the needed adjustments myself. Hopefully it would not take too long. He stared at me expectantly. “Anything else?” “No, sir.” He grunted and nodded. “Will speak to Bright about peace, though I expect thy sister is already doing so now. Will see what develops.” “Very good sir.” I turned to the exit. “By your leave.” “Dismissed,” he answered curtly. I returned to find our clan’s campsite in turmoil. Rather than the usual orderly boredom of a siege camp, soldiers were clustered about and speaking in low, fearful whispers. We were not under attack, but clearly something had happened to set them all astir. Mayhaps word of our peace plan had somehow reached the common soldiers? Though ‘twould explain why they were all so taken with gossip, the tone of it seemed wrong for such news. There were no debates or cautious hope, just low murmurs. Neigh, some ill news had found us. Unease started to grip at me as I made my way to Mother’s tent to find the truth of it. I found it empty, save for the usual guards. My brother Shield, Mother’s youngest, was at work cleaning up a spilled meal. His presence was not so strange—though he was far too young for war and had only just begun his martial and flight training, ‘twas common enough for my younger siblings to visit the camp. Howe’er, ‘twas unlike Mother to leave young Shield unattended. “Shield, where is Mother?” The young colt looked up from his work. He favored Mother’s looks, though his coat was a touch duller and his hair a shade brighter. He also shared Mother’s adventurous spirit, which was to be expected in a young lad of eight years. “Dusk!” He rushed to my side, and by pure instinct I tousled his hair. As he drew nearer I noted that his knees shook with each step, and fear shone in his eyes. My brother is no craven, so I knew something terrible must have happened to shake him so badly. I grasped him by the shoulders, steadying him even as I felt mine own mouth start to dry up. “Shield, where is Mother? What happened?” He closed his eyes and took several breaths, restoring some measure of his composure. “‘Twas sister Lance, Dusk. She is unwell. Mother asked her why she was not eating, and she said her stomach was sore. When Mother touched it, she screamed.” Mine eyes went wide at the news. I had seen my sister suffer a broken nose or be blasted by lightning with naught but a grunt to acknowledge the pain. If she was in such pain that it drew a scream from her... “Damnation! I should have insisted that she go to the chirurgeons when she said that she had taken ill!” Shield flinched back at my shout, and I regretted losing my composure in front of him. He was young enough that he might think I was wroth with him rather than simply upset by the circumstances. Regardless, he quickly continued his report like a good soldier. “Mother carried her to the chirurgeons herself. Is Lance going to be alright?” I gave the only answer I could to a young child. “Of course she will. Our sister is strong.” Shield did not look especially reassured by mine answer. He was young, but he likely knew an empty platitude when he heard it. I would have remained by his side and offered better reassurance, but my place was in the medical tents, by Mother and Lance’s side. I did not wish to expose young Shield to a military field hospital, so I quickly flagged down one of our clan’s soldiers. “Return my brother to our clanhold at once.” The soldier saluted and placed my brother ‘pon his back for the flight back to Cloudsdale. With that matter attended to, I wasted no time making my way to the medical tent. I found many of our soldiers clustered outside it in silent vigil, though the talk I heard circulating indicated that few of them knew exactly what had passed. Some claimed that Mother was dead, or that a meal had been poisoned and many of our clan had fallen ill. I felt a brief moment of dark amusement when I o’erheard one soldier earnestly informing his comrades that ‘twas I who had fallen to the blades of a unicorn assassin. Despite the rumors of my demise, the crowd parted readily enough once they spotted me. I entered the tent and found Mother restlessly pacing about like a caged lion. The twins were also in attendance, though they remained silent in the corner. Dawn was no doubt attending to Lance. As soon as I entered Mother whirled upon me. “There thou art! Thou didst speak with thy sister earlier this morning! Didst thou notice aught amiss with her?” Mother’s sudden questions took me by surprise, and I needed a moment to rally myself to answer. “Aye, she complained of a sour stomach. I advised her to consult a chirurgeon, but—” “Clearly thou didst not press her hard enough,” Mother snapped ere she resumed her pacing. “If thou didst, we would not be here now.” Ere I could offer any words in mine own defense, one of the tent’s orderlies had the misfortune of passing within Mother’s line of sight. Seconds later, she was upon him. “What news of my daughter? Is she well?” The unicorn quailed back at the sheer intensity of Mother’s demands. “I—I do not—I am not one of those tending your daughter, m’la—” “Go find out, then!” she snapped at him. The orderly quickly fled the tent, though whether to do her will or simply escape her wrath I cannot say. Thankfully, the brief distraction spared me any more of her unfocused ire, and she resumed stalking about the tent’s waiting area. I could well understand the source of Mother’s disquiet. Mother was a decisive mare of action. When confronted with a problem, she swiftly identified it and addressed it in whate’er way she thought best. Yet in this matter there was naught she could do but sit and wait while others acted. Her every instinct told her that her child was in danger and she must do something to resolve the matter, yet there was no course of action available to her. The best doctors in our camp were no doubt seeing to Lance’s malady already, and harrying them would only hinder their efforts. I moved to her side and placed a comforting hoof on her shoulder. “All will be well, Mother. ‘Tis naught but a passing malady of the stomach. I am sure Dawn is resolving the matter e’en now.” “No, thou art not!” Mother whirled on me, her words thick with fury and fear. “Thou art no chirurgeon, and thou hast not seen thy sister since the early morning. What dost thou know of her condition? Nothing! Thou didst not carry her to this tent once she fell ill! Thou didst not hear her cries of agony or feel the weakness in her limbs.” The fire slowly left Mother with each word, until I was no longer facing a furious caged lioness, but merely a tired, frightened mare who could do nothing to help her precious childl. She said nothing more, but slowly sank to her haunches, staring forlornly at the ground beneath her. Though I had been the target of her ire, I preferred that to the quiet terror she wore now. With naught else to do, I sat at her side and waited in silence. Much as I wished to offer some words of reassurance or comfort, there was nothing I could say. In truth, I only devoted so much thought to comforting my mother because it allowed me to hide from mine own fears for my sister. And my guilt. How had I not seen that what she dismissed as a sour stomach was in truth the precursor to something far more serious? Had I not been so blind, might I have taken my sister for treatment ere the illness felled her? I do not know how long we remained there in fearful silence. It might have been hours, or only a few scarce minutes. It only ended when Dawn exited the surgery area. She wore a smock covered in bloodstains, most old and faded but some far more recent. There was a haunted look in her eyes, and her hooves moved with a slow, leaden gait. She tripped o’er her own hooves, and she might well have fallen to the ground had my brother Thunder not moved to support her. She turned to face mother, her voice a low, broken whisper. “I lost her.” “What?” Mother rushed to Dawn. “What is it? Is Lance well?” Dawn met my mother's eyes and began trembling like a leaf. “I lost her,” she repeated. “Lost her?” Mother demanded. “What dost thou mean by tha—” The truth of Dawn’s words struck her, and she violently shook her head. “Neigh. Neigh! That is not possible. Thou art mistaken, Dawn!” She stepped past my sister and barged into the chirurgery, shoving aside an orderly who had the misfortune of standing in her way. I followed in her wake, as did my brothers. Mother made her way towards a cluster of chirurgeons, bulling through them as if they were enemies on a battlefield. “Let me see my daughter! Let me see her!” Mother quickly scattered them, leaving us alone with Lance. Somepony had put a sheet o’er all her body below the neck, but blood stained the area o’er her stomach. Lance’s eyes were closed, and she looked at peace. The peace of the grave. I felt the world around me slip away. Nothing seemed to be reaching my mind besides the sight of Lance before me. My sister was dead. E’en standing there, looking at her body, I could not bring myself to believe it. It seemed impossible. I had spoken to her this very morning, and she had been perfectly well. Who could have imagined that she would expire so quickly? How could a mare go from perfectly healthy to dead within the space of a single day? How could my sister be gone? The sheer enormity of that terrible fact was inconceivable. Mother pulled Lance into a gentle embrace as if she were cradling a newborn foal. She buried her face in my sister’s neck, tenderly stroking her mane. Her back trembled, and I could not hear if she was calling to my sister in a final, futile hope, or merely steeling herself to open her eyes and see the truth which ‘til now had only dwelt in her darkest of dreams. At last, a pained croak left Mother’s throat. “How? How did my daughter die? What illness claimed her?” Dawn glanced down at our sister’s body, her head hanging low in sorrow and shame. “‘Twas no illness, Mother. She ingested an alchemical substance—adhæsit ungula laqueum, more commonly known as tanglehoof. The adhesive caused a blockage which—” “Tanglehoof?” Mother repeated, pulling away from my sister’s body. “Lance mentioned in her report that Shadow used tanglehoof ‘gainst her.” She stared down at the body in her hooves and spoke, half in a daze. “Shadow Kicker has murdered my daughter.” I hesitantly reached out to her. “Mother...” “Shadow Kicker has murdered my daughter!” Mother turned on me, slapping my comforting hoof aside. “Dusk, Thunder, Flash, spread the word. We are storming Canterlot at once. Give them no warning nor any chance to prepare. I will bathe that wretched unicorn hovel in blood! Ere this day is done I will make them pay for this!” She turned back to my sister, and bestowed a final kiss upon her brow. “I will avenge thee, my child. I swear it upon my life.”