//------------------------------// // Chapter Eight - High Tide // Story: Ice Fall // by Bluespectre //------------------------------// CHAPTER EIGHT   HIGH TIDE   Dray stared out of the tent into the gathering darkness, his eyes intently focussed on the edge of forest. He’d been sat there like that for at least an hour. Major Wild shared a glance with Captain Weald; she’d rarely seen him like this before. True, he’d always been the sort of stallion who focussed on any task with all of his drive and dedication, but this was new, this…patience. Everypony knew how the Colonel had risen through the ranks, how he knew just how far to push his ponies, and how he was always one step ahead of his foe. From drummer to army commander, Dray had clawed his way from the bottom to the top, a fact that many in the aristocracy hated with a passion. He wasn’t ‘one of them’, he was a commoner, a simple farm labourer’s son from a backwater nowhere place. ‘Breeding’ they called it, others had another name for it, but it was one that wasn’t used in polite conversation.   Wild shifted her weight, feeling her muscles protest at the movement. She’d been in her armour a lot longer than usual, and how Dray managed it with such apparent ease was something she envied. The rest of the troops were in the same predicament though, that was true, sitting out along the ridge, limited to low campfires and army rations. Staring down at the lump of pink salt before her, she found she’d lost all appetite for it. If the troops couldn’t enjoy such treats, she reasoned, why should she? The brandy though was a different matter. That was something she could enjoy and the Major took a grateful sip of the warming spirit. Tingling in the pit of her stomach, it was a feeling that reminded her of the good things in life. Somepony had made the effort to make this, to create it with care and attention. It was only right that she appreciate every drop of their hard work.   “Higher Lands Heather”   Wild looked up and raised an eyebrow,   “Hmm?”   “I said, it’s ‘Higher Lands Heather’” Weald said, reading the label on the bottle, “Like your name, ‘Heather’.”   The Major shrugged, “Most know me as ‘Wild’.” She yawned and flexed her shoulders, “Still, its damned good brandy Weald.”   “Another glass?”   Wild pushed her glass forward, “Last one though. If these buggers come at us, I want all my faculties ‘un-brandied’.”   The Captain chuckled, “True, true.” He poured the Major a generous measure, carefully replacing the cap, “Don’t fancy your salt? You’ve barely touched it.”   Wild gazed down at her glass, “Thanks, Weald, but I just can’t tonight. You know how it is.”   He smiled, “I guess I do.”   She looked up suddenly, “You know, for all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never asked if you have another name.”   Weald’s eyes went wide, “My name?” he slugged back the rest of his brandy, “Why are you asking now?”   “I don’t know! I just…” the Major’s voice trailed off. Why did she want to know? In truth, she wasn’t really that bothered. Weald’s reputation amongst the army was well known and similarly well deserved. She’d overheard one of the soldier’s quip that the Captain’s tent had two flaps, one for those coming in and the other so the last mare he’d bedded could nip out before the new one saw her. ‘Doing his bit for harmony in the camp’, somepony had called it. ‘Spreading his oats, more likely’, Wild thought sarcastically.   “Pine”   Wild’s thoughts re-ordered themselves quickly, “What?”   From across the table, Weald rolled his eyes, “I said my name’s Pine, Pine Weald. Honestly, Major you seem as distant as the Colonel. Is everything alright?”   Wild snorted, “Apologies Captain, my minds elsewhere tonight.”   “Can’t blame you for that”, Weald replied taking out his pipe set, “Smoke?”   Wild shook her head, “Why the mystery with the name though? Pine’s a nice name.”   The Captain looked at her through the rising plume of pungent tobacco smoke, “’Nice’” he muttered. The honey coated stallion deftly put out the match and took a draw on his pipe, “I never liked it.”   The red mare’s eyebrows drew down, “I don’t understand”   Leaning back in his chair, Weald tamped down the tobacco with his magic, “My fathers name was Sole Pine, I was named after him. My family were foresters, lumber workers really I suppose. It was hard work, dangerous too, but it kept us in bits and we never starved.” He paused, taking another draw, “Until father’s accident.”   The Major face hoofed, “Oh no, Weald, I’m sorry, I didn’t know…”   Captain Weald rose to his hooves, giving his head a slow shake,   “He didn’t die, at least, not for a good few years.” His voice lowered, “A tree crushed him, shattering his body like porcelain. The village healers did what they could of course, but none of us realistically expected him to ever walk again” Weald shrugged, “We were wrong. One day he just…got up, and walked out of the house. We couldn’t believe it. At first, mother was overjoyed, we all were, but…the accident had changed him somehow, and he was never quite the same stallion again. The worst of it though was that he’d lost the ability to work, and that was what hurt him the most. Every day that went by, his heart darkened, little by little. I watched helplessly as a shadow of despondency spread over my family, sucking the life out of it, until one day...” He stopped.   “Weald?” The Major leaned forward, placing a hoof on his.   “Ah! Sorry, Major” The Captain shook himself off, “I’ve rambled on too much. Combination of the brandy, salt and your wonderful company.” He gave her a wink, “Your bad influence must be rubbing off on me!”   Wild shook her head, “My bad influence? Says the…”   “-Captain Weald, Major Wild…” The voice, so level and confident, had a note of urgency to it that made their hearts leap. As one, the two officers looked round to face the Colonel. He was standing stock still, staring out into the darkness,   “…get to your posts. Everypony to arms and formation. Quickly, if you please.”   ************************   Colonel Fulminata walked steadily through the blackened forest. The stink of burnt wood mingled with the familiar reek of death. Charred and mangled corpses littered what was left of the forest floor, the bodies contorted into bizarrely twisted shapes from the intense heat. He barely noticed. ‘War took no prisoners, it asked no quarter and it gave none’. They were words his father had taught him, and his father before him, no doubt travelling much farther back, right to the beginning of his peoples’ history. It was a bitter lesson for any foal to learn.   They moved in silence, walking rather than flying as was their way. Wings took you where you needed to go, but in battle they were a liability and in close order formations, cohesion was essential. Every thestral knew their place, each trusting the warrior beside them and by the goddess, they would carry this day. The Colonel shook his mane, his yellow eyes shining like lanterns in the gloom of the forest. He would see the mettle of this ‘pony’ army commander for himself. There would be no more sitting on the hillside, no more watching and waiting. No, the time had come. His scouts however had given him scant information on the enemy disposition. From what he’d been able to gather, the Celestian pegasi were operating in teams, using the clouds or tree tops for cover, ambushing any attempt at reconnaissance. Several scouts had failed to report in, and that had only confirmed his suspicions; they were waiting for them. It wasn’t a surprise really, the enemy held good ground and retreating would give Nightmare Moon’s forces the chance to catch up and take them piecemeal. No, this is what Fulminata himself would have done. He couldn’t fault the Celestian commander for that.   The survivors of the initial attack, the few that remained, had reported that the ground before the edge of the forest had been ranged for archers. Fortunately, it didn’t appear the Celestians had any artillery to speak of. Unfortunately for the Legion, neither did they. The forest was simply too dense, the road too rutted and muddy to allow the passage of anything wider than a cart and it would have been simplicity itself for the pegasi to attack them there. One cart stuck and that would have been it. Fulminata nodded to himself. It was much better to keep them safe by the camp for when he could employ them effectively. With a warning whistle, a scout appeared out of the shadows and nodded respectfully to him. There were no salutes here, not this close to the enemy. The Colonel bobbed his head,   “Report”   “Colonel”, the scout began, “The enemy have massed what appears to be the Royal Guard in the centre of the line, roughly central to the ridge. There are two divisions either side with archers and magic users arrayed to the front for ranged defence.” He shook his head, “We can’t say for sure, but it would appear they have one division in reserve. They look to be young troops.”   “Defences?” Fulminata asked.   “Yes, Sir. From what we could see, the Celestian’s have set up sharpened stakes to break up attacks at intervals across the field.”   The Colonel nodded, “Good work, get back to your unit.”   Nodding, the scout vanished from sight, his dark coat and black armour blending into the surroundings like a shadow. The veteran warrior sank to his haunches and took out his canteen as several of his officers trotted up to wait respectfully for their orders. Taking his time, the Colonel took a deep breath and cricked his neck, blowing a blast of smoke out from his nostrils. His tail lashed from side to side as he thought, going over his plans and the few options he had left. Finally, he stood up, the others watching him silently, expectantly.   Dozens of pairs of burning eyes, bright with the fire in their hearts, watched the Colonel as he turned to face them,   “Form the spear points. We’ll drive them into the enemy and send their souls screaming to the nether world.”   The officers nodded, hurrying off to their respective commands. No more words needed to be spoken now. He knew them, he trusted them, they were the best the Withers could offer. Many of them would die this night, to lie beneath an alien sky as they breathed their last. It pained him, but it was the way of things. The wheel turned; life transitioning into death as surely as night followed day. It was the way of things.   Gradually, the soft rumble of hooves died away.   It was time.   The Colonel lifted his hoof, the signallers lifting their signal trumpets over their shoulders, watching him, waiting. A moment later, the whole forest shook with the blasts of dozens of horns sounding the advance of the largest thestral army Equestria had ever seen. Tribes from the Beyond, the Purple Sands, the Broken Cliff, and more, many more, all began marching as one. The very air about them trembled, the terrible sight of the burnt dead forgotten. It was a time for battle, for war, and the thestral’s were born for it.   They emerged, smoke curling from their muzzles, eyes blazing, out into the open field. Thousands strong, formed into great dense triangular elements, each one a ‘point of the spear’, designed to punch through enemy formations and drive into their ranks opening up their flanks to attack. The warriors of the moon, Nightmare Moon’s Legion from the Wither World, advanced.   *******************   “Major…” The Colonel’s voice was calm and reassuring.   Wild walked up beside him, waiting patiently, “Sir?”   “Signal the archers.”   “Yes, Sir”   Major Wild raised her hoof. A lightly armoured pony nearby nodded in response and raised her bow. The archer dipped her arrow into a pot of glowing embers, igniting the small amount of composition on the arrow head, and aimed. The creak of the bowstring sounded unnaturally loud in the darkness on the ridge, as if each pony was holding their breath, not daring to move even a muscle in case it broke the spell. The archer steadied her bow, controlling her breathing, and loosed.   The arrow found its mark. Initially smouldering, the pitch and combustible resins coating the piles of wood quickly began to catch light. On cue, the sky above lit with hundreds of burning arrows like orange fireflies hissing through the air. One by one, the piles of wood began to light. Agonisingly slowly, the fires began to take hold, the flickering yellow light gradually illuminating parts of the field, hi-lighting…   “Damn it, they’re nearly on us!”   The Colonel turned to the Major, “Now! Give them everything we’ve got!”   The archers began loosing volley after volley into the darkness, eliciting occasional clanks and hisses of the ‘things’ coming ever nearer. Metallic ‘pings’ and ‘clanks’ echoed around them, the feeling of tension, of presence, was now so tangible it was an all but physical presence. Everypony, each and every one of them, waited for the inevitable.   As the tide goes out before the tsunami, the world drew a breath. The near silence was deafening, with everypony straining to see into the darkness before them, knowing that at any moment…   The war cry rang out along the thestral lines; loud, clear, and frighteningly alien. To the more experienced amongst the Celestian army, it was a harbinger of battle, but to the already rattled new recruits, it was terrifying. The sound began as a high pitched scream, leading to a long moaning, like the wind through the empty mountain range. Colonel Dray knew it, he’d heard it before. He’d felt the way it chilled you down to your marrow. What pony could not help but feel even the tiniest twinge of fear when hearing that alien cry, knowing that what you faced could be your last moments of life? He gritted his teeth, relieved that he’d left the recruits, for the most part, to the rear. Others, the steadier ones, he’d sent out as skirmishers into the forest to harry the flanks of the enemy. By now, they’d already be engaged, fighting these ‘shadows in the night’.   The wave hit.   Steel clashed against steel all along the line, the thestrals smashing into the massed ponies and driving deeply into their ranks. Warrior fought warrior; sword, axe and spear, cutting, hacking and tearing amidst the maelstrom of pitched battle. Screams and howls merged in one cacophonous sound as the two armies clashed amidst the flash of magic and the hiss of arrows. High above, the pegasi rained downed bolts upon the near invisible enemy, but as packed they were, even a poorly aimed shot would likely find its mark.   Dray grunted with effort, his sword knocking away the first thestral’s blow and replying with a thrust under the creature armour and into its chest. With a hiss of steam from its muzzle, the black coated beast fell, quickly replaced by another just as equally determined and hell bent upon hacking down the enemy of their goddess. Dray didn’t have any such thoughts. He was fighting for his family, his friends, his comrades and his home. Alicorns be damned. They had started this war and it was up to pony hooves, muscle and sheer will to fix the mess they had made of Equestria.   Wild fought beside him, her blade flashing like a glittering cobra, finding the chinks in the enemy’s defences again and again. Damn she was fast! He was glad she was on their side. The Colonel’s guardsponies flanked him, carrying the banner of their division, taking the thestral attack and delivering a storm of death in reply. Sweat beaded Dray’s brow as he fought with them, the effort and strain was beginning to tell already.   “They’re through the first line, Dray!” Wild yelled over the din, “We can’t take much more of this!”   Dray knew it too. Anticipating such tactics by the Legion hadn’t been difficult, he’d seen it employed before, and to deadly effect. Understanding his own troops and their capabilities was something he’d worked on; studied, honed, and then that interfering horses cock had tried to override everything he’d worked for. But he wasn’t here was he? No…no, it was Dray’s battle now. He was the master, the tactician, and he would play this symphony of war as a conductor directs the orchestra,   “Major! Give the signal, NOW!”   The horns were barely heard above the clamouring mass of equinity. Dray’s heart leaped. Had it worked? Maybe they hadn’t heard it? Another thestral crashed through the guards, heading straight for him. He dodged, hacking at the things legs, his blade glancing off its armour and barely avoiding having his skull cleaved by the huge glittering axe the beast wielded. Pain lanced down his flank and he grunted with the effort of not crying out. Without pause, he rammed the hilt of his sword into the beast’s muzzle. Dodging back, he caught sight of a guard’s halberd thrusting up into the thestral’s throat. He’d thank her later.   Seconds passed, the horns blowing again, and then the building pressure suddenly broke, the thestrals charging through the gaps in the line. Now, the horns blew a different note. Now, the real carnage would begin.   The thestrals surged on, their lines broken up by the sudden reformation of the pony ranks. Attempting to maintain cohesion, they found themselves suddenly faced with another line and yet more ponies. They’d beaten the first, the second was next, and it was all that stood in their way, their path to the princess’s castle and the desire of their goddess. Letting out their terrible war cry, the black mass of armoured beasts surged on.   **********************   “Keep pushing, don’t let up!” Fulminata’s axe snarled through the air, smashing through the golden armour of the pony before him. These weren’t like the ones they’d faced before, the frightened inexperienced foal soldiers that had been sent to face them. It had been like slaughtering lambs; pitiable really, even cruel. This however…now this was war! The fallen pony was quickly replaced with another, its spear thrusting, catching on the Colonel’s armour and glancing off. Kicking the pony in the chest, Fulminata ducked the next thrust and responded with a blow of his own that the Celestian somehow, amazingly, knocked away. The impact though had smashed the fellows spear, but he was already drawing his sword and lunged with a savage thrust that would have gone straight into the Colonels throat.   Fulminata grinned. The pony was good, but not quite good enough. His axe came up in a deadly arc, twisting like a snake in the air and caught the golden armoured warrior under the shoulder, taking him to the ground in a spray of gore. Almost immediately, his fellow pulled him back and replaced him with another. The Colonel laughed, his tail swishing furiously. If he lived, he would remember this night, the first night he had felt challenged since coming to this land. But it would be over soon enough. The ponies had been clever, setting those fires to light the field, but tricks would only get you so far. It was axe and sword that be the deciding factor here this night.   Around him, his warriors pushed on and then, to his surprise, suddenly melted through the pony lines like water through a broken dam. Surging around him, the Legion flowed past the now isolated pockets of Celestians. This was unexpected; to break through so soon. They were weakened certainly, he knew that, but this was…   Something was wrong. He could sense it, the flow of the battle, the feeling of how the art of dealing death should be. The Colonel turned to his signaller,   “Reform! Call the Reform!”   The first notes began to play out and then abruptly stopped. The Colonel turned in time to see the warrior stagger and fall, a bolt through his neck, the pegasi passing low overhead and disappearing into the night. He spat angrily, grabbing one of the warriors while the tide of death rolled on,   “Find a signaller. Tell them to call the Reform. Do you understand?”   The thestral’s eyes glowed brightly, the thrill and adrenalin of war singing through him. His eyes blinked and he nodded,   “Yes, Sir”   Fulminata nodded, clopping the warrior on the shoulder,   “Good! Now go, quickly!”   By the goddess, he hoped it wasn’t too late. His warriors were all but ignoring the pockets of Celestians who had now formed defensive circles, their long years of training taking over. Small isolated pockets of resistance were to be expected and could be dealt with later; reaching the objective and breaking the main force of the enemy was always key. Once that was achieved, victory would be theirs for the taking. But now it looked as if the Celestians had been playing with them, fooling his scouts into thinking their force was smaller than it actually was. The enemy commander must have hidden them in the forest, keeping them there until he knew his adversary would make his move. Fulminata’s scouts had been tricked, their efforts at finding what little information they could glean, now as worthless as a broken lance.  He shook his mane, his voice a low whisper,   “Well played my friend, well played…”   Wing Leader Bale appeared from the mass of advancing warriors, beside him a young looking signaller. Nodding to the Colonel, he gave the order and the horn blasted out its urgent sound. Fulminata took a breath and gave a stomp of his hoof,   “Get them back in line, Bale.” He snorted out a jet of smoke, “We’re going in again.”   **********************   Dray wiped the blood away from his forehead. How much of it was his and how much belonged to the enemy didn’t matter, it was all he could do to keep on his hooves. Dear goddesses, how long now? How long before…   “They’re pulling back!”   He grabbed the Major, “No! Heather, they’re reforming, sound the signal for the first line to retreat to the second. We have to move now!”   Each division rapidly began to reform: the thestrals quickly falling back towards their own lines as the Celestians did the same. The deafening roar of the battlefield rapidly abated while the troops of both sides, their enemy now a secondary concern, fell back into their respective formations. Dray glanced up and down his lines. The veteran soldiers knew their craft well and moved with a measured pace until, once more, they faced their foes.   Snorts and neighs mixed with the background clatter of armour and weapons, their equine bearers shifting beneath the weight. Dray envied them. For him, the weight of duty, of responsibility for the thousands of lives both here and the rest of Equestria, was far weightier than any armour or sword. Should he fail here, there was nothing to stop the legion of the moon flooding in and placing their princess, their ‘goddess’ on the throne. For a moment, for the briefest of heartbeats, he felt a cold rush of doubt…what if Celestia really had been killed? What if she was gone and all this, this death, was futile after all? Couldn’t he save them all by simply surrendering the army? They could all go home, all of them.   Shaking away the thought with a loud snort, Dray stomped his hoof on the ground and gritted his teeth. He’d be damned if he’d surrender to that…that thing, Nightmare Moon. But most of all, he had to fight, not for Celestia, Luna or any of the nobility, it was for the common pony; the worker, the farmer, the mothers, the fathers, the old and young alike. It was all for them, the ones whose voices were never heard, whose cries were like a scream in a thunderstorm. Dray narrowed his eyes, staring across the field at the thestrals, the black mass of warriors who would bring darkness to this land. He thought of his home, his family and the farm he grew up on. They were the ponies whose words meant nothing to these creatures, not even to his own rulers. No. This day, in this battle and every battle to come…he would be their voice, he would bear their heart unto the enemy and use their strength to drive their foe from this purest of lands.   Dray turned to Wild, the Major looking back at him, worn but confident.   He smiled.