//------------------------------// // XXXI: E Pluribus Unum // Story: The Stranger and Her Friend // by TheUrbanMoose //------------------------------// Twilight Sparkle’s quill burned across the pages, her mind hot with curiosity. Princess Celestia serenely took another sip of tea. They discussed specifics for a while at Twilight’s insistence. How long had the army marched? How exactly had the attack on Manehattan been executed? How had the camp been set up afterwards? How long had it taken to rebuild and re-inhabit the city? Which branch of Equestrian government had been in charge of such things? The princess endured the barrage of questions gracefully and to the best of her ability, but oftentimes her answers were vague, like somepony struggling to recall what exactly they had had for breakfast ten years ago on the day they got their cutie mark. They were unimportant details of a distant memory. Twilight was not oblivious to the princess’s disinterest, and did not blame her for it. How would she have known about the exact movements of the Equestrian army? And as for ancient politics – well, Princess Celestia had not been anything close to a princess at the time. She felt perhaps the tiniest bit of guilt at using the princess’s time like this. But she had to ask. Not since the discovery of the Ponsetta Stone had such an advance in the understanding of pony history been possible. In the name of scholars all across Equestria, she had to record as much information as she could. It took a long time, but eventually the story continued. “So how did the army proceed from there?” Twilight said, turning towards a map of Equestria that was unrolled on a table beside her. Equestria had looked very different in the time of the War of Madness. Twilight had found a blank topographical map, and used her notes to fill in the names and places of the cities, towns, roads, and landmarks of the old world herself. It was the best way, she reasoned, to keep track of towns which had moved, such as Ponyville, or places which simply no longer existed. Plus, she could not wait to see the faces of the archeologists at Canterlot University when she told them the locations of ruins all across Equestria. “Did the army break up into smaller battalions again?” Twilight continued. “Or did you all move as one force? And where did you go next?” Celestia took another patient sip of tea. “The attack on Manehattan took almost all of Equestria’s military force. I believe many units were returned to their posts guarding the frontier. However, though the toll of the recent battle was great, the generals were eager to strike while the iron was hot. The Equestrian military divided into three - or was it four? - armies, and set out to retake the remaining territories.” Twilight’s paused fussing with her map. Her brows furrowed. “Was it three, or four?” Celestia considered it for a moment. “Three.” “How large were they?” she eagerly pursued, “Each?” “I have no idea, Twilight,” she said, suppressing a giggle. “Maybe twenty thousand?” “Hmm.” Twilight scowled at her map. A collection of wooden pieces, which looked vaguely like carvings of soldier ponies, sat scattered across the parchment. She moved one large piece off of Manehattan, and replaced it with three smaller ones. Arrows had been drawn all over the map, with little marks indicating where and when a battle had taken place. Usually, Twilight only tracked Celestia’s journey; there was simply no way to know where the other units had been. But she still tried. “And where did the army advance?” “I don’t know where they all went, though I do have a general idea of where the battlefront was. At this point, with Manehattan as a hoofhold, conflict took place all along the north and northeast,” Celestia said, leaning over and motioning to the general northeastern area of the map. “Here. If you draw a line from Manehattan…” She poked Manehattan on the map. “…to Neighagara Falls…” Her hoof traveled west. “…to the plains north of Canterlot…” She motioned to the vast emptiness north of the Canterlot mountains. “…and finally, to Galloping Gorge and then north to the mountains. Everything west of Galloping Gorge was safe. That may not be completely accurate, but if I had to draw a line,” Celestia said, a smile coming to her lips, “that’s where I would put it.” “That’s a large battlefront.” “Not as large as you might think. The Crystal Empire kept their borders quite secure, meaning we never had to worry about any of Discord’s monsters moving through the mountains. This was, in fact, the most territory Equestria had owned since the beginning of the war.” “So if Discord’s army couldn’t push any farther north than the edge of the mountains… and farther south than the northern plains…” She squinted at the imaginary line Celestia had drawn. “It’s a bulge.” “That’s right,” Celestia nodded. “Territorial bulges are never good in a military sense. They are easily flanked, and resupply becomes slower and riskier. And even Discord’s forces needed a line of supply.” Twilight became absorbed in marking the area the princess had motioned to. “And the only way they could be resupplied was…” “From here.” Celestia pointed to a spot in the northeast. “Through a narrow strip of land in between the Crystal Mountains the the Celestial Sea. Supply was brought to the hordes from across the Trottingham Channel, including food and reinforcements.” Twilight peered closely at the map. “Isn’t that Bugbear Territory across the Trottingham Channel?” “It is now. Back then, those mountains were firmly within Discord’s grasp – a land of monsters and peril.” Celestia looked up with a thoughtful expression. “Which, I suppose, isn’t so different from nowadays.” “I guess some things never change,” Twilight said. “Well, not necessarily,” Celestia said, looking back down. “Remember, beyond the edge of your map, lie the Astral Mountains and the supernatural fog from which the hordes first emerged. But east of that, a certain civilization had stood between us and them…” Twilight looked up at Celestia, a gleam of understanding in her eye. “The Hieyuma Empire,” she muttered. Celestia nodded. “Wow…” Twilight looked back at the map, resting her hoof upon her chin and pondering. “The ruins of an entire lost culture, just sitting there…” “I know what you’re thinking, my faithful student,” Celestia said, a stern edge to her voice, “and I absolutely forbid it. Bugbear Territory isn’t any less dangerous now than it was back then. I would not risk an entire battalion of Royal Guards to explore it, much less my prized pupil. It is regrettable, but the ruins of the Hieyumans must go unexplored.” “I know,” Twilight said, her tone tinged with longing. “It is a shame, though. I’ll bet there are all sorts of secrets just waiting to be found. Think, an entire civilization, just waiting to be rediscovered. A whole history, there for us to read it! The inventions, the architecture – the books!” She gave a squeak of delight. “Do you think any of their books survived?” Twilight looked up, and found Celestia’s gaze locked directly on her. An unspoken warning passed between them. It felt like the scrutiny between a wary parent and a naughty child. Twilight bashfully smiled. “But of course, I won’t go.” “Good,” Celestia said. She took another sip of tea. Twilight cleared her throat, and looked back at her map. “So…” “As I was saying,” Celestia continued, her tone professional, “this was the most territory Equestria had ever owned. A smaller frontier meant less forces spread thin, which meant more offensive power, which meant more retaken land, which meant a smaller frontier, and so on. For the first time ever, Equestria was actually gaining territory.” “All thanks to you,” Twilight remarked. “Not all thanks to me.” Twilight looked up. “Well, no… but it all started with the taking of Manehattan. Which they would not have been able to do without you. You said even Lucky admitted that.” “That’s true,” the princess said. “Not everypony was as enthused about it as I was. But it is probably safe to say that without me, the battle of Manehattan would have been lost.” Twilight nodded, satisfied, and went back to scribbling on her map. A moment passed, and a sudden question occurred to Twilight. “Did… you ever apologize to Clover?” A moment passed before Princess Celestia answered. “I tried,” she said. “I found her and said the words ‘I’m sorry’. I really meant it, too. But at the time, it simply wasn’t enough. Her disapproval of my methods aside, we stayed upset with each other for quite some time.” “Oh…” Twilight said, her gaze lowering. “I’m sorry. Losing a friend is the worst.” “It’s alright, Twilight,” Celestia said kindly. “We weren’t enemies. In fact, eventually, our friendship rekindled just as bright as it had been before. But it was not the same. I would never again be her bright-eyed pupil with a sinless heart and an empty vessel of a mind.” “You were bound to graduate from her tutelage eventually,” Twilight pointed out. “A wise pony never stops learning from her friends,” Celestia countered. “I’m over a millennium old, and I learn new things every day. But I think this was more than that.” “What do you mean?” “Clover loved teaching,” Celestia said, “though she had stopped teaching in an official capacity decades earlier. She gave guest lectures to universities, dispensed advice to the Royal Council, but I was the first real ‘student’ she had had in a while. I think Clover really enjoyed guiding me in the right direction. And when I so blatantly refused that guidance, especially on a matter so important to her… well, I think it hurt her. I think Clover thought she had failed – as a teacher, and a friend. And my harsh language did not help matters.” Twilight noticed Celestia’s tone subtly change, as if she were revealing the moral of a story. “Wounds heal. But if they’re deep enough, they leave scars. Friends deserve better than to be scarred.” “But… at least you learned, right?” Twilight offered, “To never treat your friends like that again?” Celestia gave a helpless shrug. “I’ve had a long life, and plenty of time to make the same mistakes twice. I’m just a pony, after all.” Twilight smiled, though it was half-hearted. “That’s true.” Though not entirely, she thought privately. This was the princess they were talking about. Surely she was just being modest. If there was anything Twilight had learned about Celestia, it was that she was indeed pony – but a legendary, heroic pony at that. A flawed hero, but a hero nonetheless. And certainly flawed no longer. The step down from goddess to legend was a short step indeed. Twilight was sure of it. “So when did you deploy?” Twilight asked, navigating away from the troubling topic. “About two and a half weeks later,” she said, leaning back into her cushion. “The Maiden’s Battalion set out with a dozen or so other battalions, and headed for the northeast front. After Manehattan, I had been promoted in rank, and after every battle after that, I was promoted even further. They finally took the Arch-Mage’s suggestion for me to be ‘hastily elevated in a chain of command.’ At first, I was the leader of a small patrol – which then became a full squad, and then a section, and eventually, an entire platoon. Though sometimes, I led them in name only, given the unorthodox way in which I participated in battles. As it turns out, a Nightmare of fire and rage has difficulty giving rational orders. “With the momentum we had created, the goal of the Equestrian army was to recapture every territory within its borders. We were determined to drive Discord’s force back. To cut them off from supply. To wipe them out completely.” Celestia leaned towards the map, and nudged forward one of Twilight’s wooden soldiers. “With the power of the Phoenix, we were able to do just that.” Twilight readied her quill, and scribbled as the Princess continued. “We approached the site of our next battle, which was, at this point, deep within enemy territory. Sinisteeds patrols were becoming more frequent. The pegasi patrols usually did a good job of keeping them away, but sometimes they got through. And the closer we got, the more vicious they were. I had thought they were wild enough before – but now they fought like injured, cornered animals.” Twilight nodded. “Change – er, sinisteeds haven’t changed much since the old days, have they?” Celestia drew back, putting her hoof to her chin, considering the remark more seriously than Twilight intended. “Perhaps in some ways they haven’t. But the fact that they are known by a different name nowadays points to at least some change, does it not?” “Well…” Twilight hesitated, not wanting to contradict the princess. “It’s true their name is different, and somehow they’ve since gained the ability to transform their appearance… but the ‘sinisteeds’ you’ve described to me resemble changelings in almost every other way. Same look, same behavior… seems to me like they’ve always been evil.” The princess shook her head sadly. “Twilight,” Celestia said with a hint of disappointment, “you of all ponies know better than to judge a creature by its appearance. Very few creatures are simply ‘good’ or ‘evil’.” Twilight was quick to respond. “Well… but… you can judge actions, right? The sinist- er, the changelings once tried to conquer Equestria! They’ve been nothing but bad for us.” “I’m not saying what the changelings did was right, or good. But we do not know what circumstances led to their actions. Even today, I am not entirely sure what led the sinisteeds to Discord’s servitude. But I do know their history is a sad one. For that, we should pity them. And we should know that we cannot classify an entire culture of individuals.” “They’re a hivemind,” Twilight said. “They don’t have culture. Or individuals.” “Have you lived among them?” Celestia responded. “Can you be sure of that?” Twilight sheepishly looked to the corner of the room. “Well, no… of course I haven’t…” “Then you simply cannot know them,” the princess said firmly. “Do you, Princess?” Twilight suddenly said, looking back. Her eyes sparkled with genuine curiosity. “Do you know what they are like?” Celestia showed a sad smile. “No, not truly. And I don’t think anypony ever will. They are, admittedly, difficult to approach. But know this, Twilight: as is the case with all creatures, there is much more to sinisteeds, to changelings, than you might think.” ********** It thought: The mind. It calls. It calls to us. It thought: No, to me. Me. I am me. It thought: Yet it calls nonetheless. It calls and it calls and it never stops, never stops, and we I cannot disobey. It tells me to do, and we I do. There is no disobey. There is only hide, only distance, and in these things there is danger. In all things, danger. Danger for us me. But we must do them. It thought: I must do them. It knew: For I am me. It asked: What shall we do? The voice behind voices rang loud in its head. Child, the mind replied, sharp like the wind, warm like the sun, Takest up arms and make ready for war. I am thy Queen, and this will please Us. Of course, it already knew that. Nevertheless, the thought came, and it allowed itself to echo, This will please us. It had not yet obeyed. The mind knew it needed more direction. It said, Child, and ahh, how wonderful and soothing and invigorating the mind’s voice was, Child, go forth to the south reaches of this city, and reinforce the territory there. Thy brethren await you. I am thy Queen, and this will please Us. It echoed, My brethren await us. This will please us. It felt: small. It felt itself rub against the vastness of the mind and all the minds beyond that. It felt its consciousness being tugged upon by the vacuum of its empty brethren. It wished it could let go, to be understood by the only beings who could possibly understand – for it was aware of the cruel irony: that in a world populated by consciousnesses, all creatures were an island unto themselves. No creature truly knew its brothers. No creatures but these, its brethren and its princesses and its queens. But also, it did not wish for this. It knew: Complex thoughts for a mere child. It asked, Wherefore shall we join the brethren in the south? Where are our brethren in the diverse parts of this city? And what shall we do when we are attacked? The mind responded, Child, it will suffice. It said, It will not suffice. The mind responded, Child, it will suffice. It said, I must know. The mind did not say anything. In the mind, there was silence. Then, among hundreds of tasks and thousands of drones and millions of scattered imaginings, the mind turned its full attention towards it. It felt: scared. I must know, the mind said, re-echoing its own voice back to it. I must know. It felt the weight of the mind’s stare, of a thousand stares, and it could hardly breathe. It was crushing. Fear, that instinct which even the most mindless of things could experience, flooded its very being. It began to flee. Must you? the mind asked. It did not answer. It was aware of wind and sky and moonlight as it raced over a forest landscape, as fast as its wings could carry it. It tried to keep its thoughts on these things. Must you? the mind repeated, louder. Answer Us. It was compelled. It answered, Yes. Why? It answered, Because I we must. The voice behind voices could not so easily be redacted; the mind heard him in full. Answer Us further. It was getting farther away. The mind was becoming dimmer. Nevertheless, it was compelled to say, I we must know where my brethren are, so that I may meet them. Why must you? It said, for our good. It was getting harder to avoid the questions. Individuality leaked through its seams. It could feel the mind combing, probing, sifting through its his very being. The mind considered this. This child is a strange one indeed, the mind said. A whole host of emotions came bundled with the thought – fear, anxiety, panic, and – could it have interpreted this correctly? – the faintest hint of hope. It did not respond in any way, except to fly faster. It He had to- I am thy Queen, the mind said in the voice of a god, of a tender mother, and I wish to speak with… you. I wish for you to come to me in the city. We shall speak as creatures, with outward voice. You shall say unto us the full truth. I am thy Queen, and this will please Us. It He It did not respond. The voice – the command – burned in its his mind, and he felt compelled to turn around and obey. He wanted to, he needed to… but he was not forced to. As soon as he realized this, a wave of relief swept over him. He was free. The rapid beat of his wings lessened, lowering in pitch. He fluttered below the treeline, swaying back and forth like a sluggish hummingbird. Eventually, he landed in a small clearing, and collapsed. He lay there panting, shivering, unmoving, alone. Nearby wildlife had fled when he landed; birds flew away, mice retreated into their holes, a small fox bounded into the wilds. They knew what he was; they wanted nothing to do with the likes of him. He did not blame them. Eventually, he mustered enough energy pull himself to a nearby tree, hiding from the moonlight beneath its dense foliage. Soon after, he heard the insect wings of sinisteeds flying overhead. He had known, of course, they would be looking for him, but his heart skipped a beat nonetheless. And, even more cause for dread, he felt the mind approaching, digging into him, casting out hooks and poking into his soul. He changed. The mind suddenly became more distant as his own mind became foreign. It was still present, however faintly, and it would be until he distanced himself further in both body and spirit. He could hear it calling his name, his true name, with all the desperation and longing and love of a mother separated from her child. He longed to call back – but he rebelliously held his peace. The wingbeats faded. An inaudible sigh of relief escaped his lips. Wearily, he glanced down at his hooves. Dark blue. A strand of dark, leafy green mane drifted before his eyes. It was sloppy job – the fur was patchy, his limbs were still slightly porous, and his mane was wispy and thin, like the strands of so many spiderwebs. What an abomination he must appear to be. But for now, it would do. His head fell to rest on the tree trunk. He hoped nopony found him like this before he woke up. ********** Below, trees shook as the land trembled. That was the third earthquake this morning. Celestia leaned back and angled her wings upward, dragging them on the air until she slowed to a stop. She raised her hoof. A gust of wind swept past her and ruffled her mane as small group of six other pegasi saw the signal and stopped behind her. Together, they hovered just above the treeline, peering over the pines. She shielded her eyes from the morning sun, which was still rising over the ocean horizon, and peered at the distant town. “This looks awful,” Celestia murmured. “Who would want control of this place?” She felt wind come off the slow, powerful wings of a pegasus drifting closer to her. “We would, Sunshine,” Apple Crumble said with a small chuckle. As Celestia could see it, the little town nestled upon the coast had been completely ruined – far worse even than Manehattan. To even call it a town was generous. It was a mausoleum of rubble. Piles of stone and rotting wood dotted the place like primitive gravesites. A few pathetic looking walls stood here and there, stubbornly refusing to collapse, seemingly unaware that their neighbors had done so more than a decade ago. Perhaps a dozen buildings remained truly intact – and in those, if she squinted, Celestia could spy movement. And dotting the town were clumps and webs of neon green… something. A substance that even from a distance she knew she did not want to touch. There would be no rebuilding this place, unless they tore it down and started over. “Shetland,” Crumble muttered. “Used to be a busy little place. Not so much anymore, is it?” “No,” Celestia agreed. “Why do we need it so badly?” “This lovely wreck,” Crumble began, “is where all o’ the hordes’ supply runs through. Food, weapons, reinforcements, you name it. If it comes from their home across the sea, it comes through here. Used to be Manehattan, but we put a stop to that. And if we can stop ‘em here too, the rest of their army in Equestria will be completely cut off.” Crumble hovered closer to Celestia and pointed to the coast. “Yeh see that there port? Ships unload their cargo there almost weekly.” “I’m surprised the sinisteeds can build something that floats,” Celestia murmured. “They don’t ‘build’, it’s more like they… spin ‘em,” Crumble said. Celestia gave him an odd look, and he continued, “They’re more like floating hives… ah, nevermind.” He floated forward a bit, looking closer at the port. “Most of ‘em are captured Equestrian or Aquilean vessels, anyways. Y’know, fer being flying beasts, the griffons sure make a quality schooner.” Celestia peered at the ruined town’s port. Sure enough, there was a collection of mismatched vessels all floating in the port, though they were much too far away to see any real details. She looked at Crumble. “How do we know all of this?” He shrugged. “Fifteen years is a long time to get to know yer enemy.” Celestia hummed, and returned her gaze to the town. “Steady Wing,” she called, “What do you see?” A lime green pegasus behind her came to rest upon a nearby tree branch, which sagged under her weight. She reached into her saddlebag, produced a small spyglass, and peered through it, steadying herself with her free hoof. A few moments passed. “They’re definitely active,” Steady Wing called out. “Very active.” Another moment passed. “They’re moving around in, like, a big frenzy, but uh… they’re, uh… trying to be subtle? About it? Uh, not sure how to describe that. Forget I said anything. Can’t quite tell how many there are. Maybe, like… a few hundred in my sights. Probably a few thousand that I can’t see.” Steady looked away from the spyglass and towards her patrol leader. “They, uh, they definitely know we’re here though.” Celestia nodded. “Too late for a sneak attack. Just like you guessed, Crumble.” Beneath his beard, which had lately become even bushier than normal, Crumble smiled. “Course it is. I wouldn’t’ve assigned yer patrol to this if I thought it required stealth.” Celestia bristled. “Oh, and I suppose you’re stealthy?” “Yeh wound me,” Crumble said, putting his hoof over his heart in mock hurt. “I’ve been good enough on this patrol, haven’t I? Maybe yeh’d be surprised what I’m capable of.” He gave her a playful wink. Celestia looked him over. “Uh huh,” she muttered, unimpressed. “Yeh’ve developed quite an attitude, Sunshine,” Crumble warned, wagging his hoof at her as if she were a naughty foal, “I’m not sure I like it.” But of course, he was smiling. And some of the patrol were giggling. Celestia resisted blushing. She knew it was just banter, but she wished Crumble would not undermine her authority in front of her patrol. “Sorry, sir,” Celestia said, overly polite, “With your red coat, bushy beard, and huge profile, you’d make a great spy. They’d mistake you for a manticore and never think twice.” The pegasi fought hard to keep their snickering to themselves. Crumble grumbled something to himself, then said, “Alright, alright. Shoulda known better than to mess with the mare in charge.” Celestia grinned, enjoying the warm glow of a minor victory. She was in charge, wasn’t she? Crumble had invited himself on their scouting run at the last minute, and though he was her superior, he had insisted she remain the leader. “Steady Wing,” Celestia said, looking towards the still highly amused pegasus, “You and Big Sky stay here and keep an eye on them. Send word if anything changes.” Steady Wing snuffed her giggles and nodded. The pegasus named Big Sky flew over to Steady’s tree, landing on a branch on the opposite side. The tree wobbled, and Steady nearly fell. “The rest of you,” Celestia called out, “let’s go.” She took off, diving to gain speed. The rest of pegasi, which had spread out to create a small defensive perimeter, quickly abandoned their posts and followed, sheathing their switchblades and falling into a loose V formation behind her. Apple Crumble was on her right. Celestia slowed until they were side by side. “If yer gonna gloat, I don’t wanna hear it,” Crumble spoke over the rushing wind. “You know I only learned it by watching you and Lucky.” “Ahh,” Crumble said, “I see now we were bad influences on yeh.” They separated and dodged around a particularly large pine tree that stuck above the treeline. “Actually,” Celestia said as they came back together, “I was wondering what made you want to come along on this patrol anyways. The scouts last night gave us the same information, we were just making sure it was still true. Don’t you trust me with a simple scouting mission?” “Oh, I trust yeh,” Crumble said, “Jus’ wanted to see things for m’self, that’s all.” While she was flying, Celestia could not look over to see Crumble’s expression, and could not tell if he was serious or joking, or if thought he had been assigned to foalsit her. After Manehattan, Celestia had been promoted. She was proud of it, small promotion though it was, and now had new responsibilities which she happily fulfilled. Scouting with her patrol, newly formed under her command, was one such duty. It was only five ponies, but Celestia was honored regardless – she would rather command five of the Maiden’s soldiers than five hundred regulars any day. Admittedly, Crumble was right. She was not stealthy, not in the slightest. But she was capable. The ranks of the Equestrian army came into view. The patrol began to descend into the forest. The soldiers marched upon an old cobblestone path, winding up and down hills and snaking through the shallow mountain valleys of Northeast Equestria. A wide river, which ran swiftly towards the nearby ocean, followed the path. The road, which was once a thriving vein through which imports from the Crystal Empire constantly flowed, could hardly be considered a road anymore, overgrown and in such disrepair as it was. The wooden wheels of their supply wagons scraped and bumped stiffly against the stones, often struggling through deep ruts or over obstacles; and it seemed like every mile, there were at least a few fallen trees which had to be cleared out of the way. The road was narrow, constricting their ranks and stretching their forces across nearly a whole mile. Only fifteen ponies could march shoulder to shoulder at its widest point. Their force was incredibly exposed. Pegasi constantly flew patrols around the long, snake-like formation in order to spot potential ambushes. The unique golden armor of the Maiden’s Battalion made them easy to identify among the tens of other battalions. She descended into their ranks from above, taking care not to skewer herself upon the many earth pony lances that protruded into the sky. She found Lucky Break and reported to him her findings. With formality befitting a commander, he acknowledged her report, thanked her, and sent her on her way. She ordered her patrol to disband and join their regular ranks. They saluted and took to the air. She followed suit, taking off and flying towards her own predetermined marching spot within the ranks. “Hey Sunshine.” Celestia looked over her shoulder. Crumble was following alongside her. “Sir,” she acknowledged. “Got a question for yeh.” “Ask away.” “Why do yeh ‘spose the sinisteeds haven’t attacked us yet?” Celestia spotted her division and settled down beside the marching ponies, finding an open spot and marching in line with them. Crumble continued to hover beside her. “I can’t help you with that,” Celestia said. “You’re the Lieutenant-Commander, not me.” “Ah, don’t gimme that,” Crumble chided, his bushy eyebrows furrowing into a scowl. “Yeh’ve never been afraid of sharin’ yer opinion before.” “Yes I have. Lots of times.” “Ah, but how times have changed, eh?” He motioned around himself. “Look at you, trekkin’ through some godsforsaken wilderness deep within enemy territory. On the warpath with yer best friends. And all this through no small effort of yer own.” “I’m no tactician.” “Hah!” Crumble laughed. “As if you care about somethin’ like that. Feh, heh. ‘I’m no tactician.’ When’ve yeh ever cared about doin’ the tactical thing? How many battles you been involved in where yeh followed orders? Was it the one where yeh attacked a hydra head on? Or the one where yeh turned into a fire-spittin’ dragonpony?” He waited, but of course, Celestia did not respond. “Feh, I thought so. Don’t need to be smart to have an opinion. ‘Member when yeh snuck into another battalion, just so yeh could charge into battle with the rest of us? If that ain’t a firm expression of opinion, I don’t know what is.” Crumble grinned. Celestia felt the corner of her mouth twitch, but still she said nothing. “Yeh know this isn’t the last promotion yer gonna get, right? You don’t stop here.” Crumble flew out in front her her, facing her while flying backwards. “Ponies wanna see their heroes leadin’ armies, not patrols. And certainly they don’t wanna see ‘em diggin’ and cleanin’ latrines. Unless yeh want to go back to that.” Celestia involuntarily gagged. As punishment for the previously mentioned expression of belief, she had dug and sanitized enough latrines to last her a lifetime. The muck, the filthiness, and the smell, gods, the smell… “Alright, alright, I get it,” Celestia said, swallowing the bile that had surfaced in her mouth. “Can we not talk about that, please?” “Somepony’s gotta do it,” Crumble said with a sly grin. She shuddered. Crumble continued, “Not you, though. Not anymore. Captains, lieutenants, commanders, they don’t have latrine duty. Yer comrades like yeh. They’ll follow yeh, do what yeh say. They wanna please yeh, anypony can see it. Yer one of them and more. Not to mention, the public adores yeh. In her last letter, my wife told me she sees fillies playing on the street, pretendin’ to be the great Celestia – the Phoenix that slew a thousand beasts.” Celestia shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing. “Yer jus’ gonna keep gettin’ promoted. And I know yeh’ll accept, because it’s what yeh want; to be in a position where yeh can help Equestria to the best of yer ability. Heck, maybe someday yeh’ll even have my job.” “And work with Lucky all day?” Celestia said, forcing a laugh. “I don’t think so.” Crumble could not help but smile himself. “All’s I’m sayin’ is, yeh’d better start exercising those tactician’s muscles, because yer gonna be usin’ ‘em soon enough.” “Okay, okay,” Celestia said, giving in. Looking pleased with himself, Crumble landed on the ground and fell in step beside her. “So, whaddaya think? Why haven’t they attacked yet?” “Well… they obviously know we’re here,” Celestia began, her tone hesitant and slow, “They’re preparing for us to attack them. My guess is they know we’re coming, but don’t want us to know they know.” Crumble nodded. “Alright. Why?” “So that they can surprise us,” Celestia said. “But… if they wanted to surprise us, they wouldn’t just wait around defending their city.” “And what would they do?” “If they had any sense they would attack us on this trail, where we could be easily flanked and outmaneuvered. I mean, we have the river to our east,” Celestia said, looking to the right at the rocky shores of the nearby river, “so at least a ground attack from that side would be ineffective. And if they launched an attack from the city, we’d have time to spot it and ready ourselves. But still, we’re not in formation, we have no line of sight into the forest… if they ambushed our flanks on either side, we’d be decimated.” “But…” Crumble made a circling motion with his hoof. “But they haven’t done that. And our scouts have been combing this forest for days, so we’re reasonably sure there aren’t any hidden enemies.” “So there’s the problem, eh?” he pursued. “What do yeh think is goin’ on?” “Maybe they didn’t see us coming far enough in advance to actually set up any proper ambushes.” “This ain’t no single-battalion strike force,” Crumble admonished. “It’s an army. A big ‘un at that. We’re not that hard to spot.” Celestia shrugged. “Or maybe they’re just stupid.” For some reason, Crumble laughed. “Always assume yer enemy is just as smart as you are.” “Sinisteeds aren’t smart,” Celestia huffed, suspecting Crumble’s mirth to be at her expense. “And yet, they organize into armies and lead conquests and fire in volleys and-” “They can do battle,” Celestia interjected, “So what?” “They’ve been doin’ battle for a lot longer than we have, sunshine,” he said gravely. “And succeedin’, too. And not because of chance, and not always because of brute force. Yeh need to appreciate that.” “So then Discord is controlling them,” Celestia said, annoyed. “He’s smart, he comes up with plans. And then his minions execute them.” “Discord is crafty, sunshine, not omniscient.” Celestia sighed, her eyes narrowing just a bit. She was beginning to get annoyed. “I’m not sure what we’re talking about anymore,” she said. “Don’t you have other, less pointless things to be doing?” Again, to Celestia’s annoyance, Crumble barked out in a deep rumble of a laugh. “Ha! Ha ha! Ah, you an’ Lucky really would work well with each other! Oh, yeh’ve got no idea…” He shook his head, wiping a tear away from his eye. Celestia remained silent, marching with her eyes forward, expression scrunched, and ears flat. Just then, the earth began to shake. Another earthquake. The army column came to a halt as ponies struggled to retain their balance. Wagons swayed back and forth, and a few ponies lost their footing and tumbled. Celestia and Crumble, as well as most of the pegasi, took to the air, hovering in place to avoid the trembling ground. Then, just as quick as it had arrived, the quake subsided. Celestia looked around. While being knocked over in full armor was truly a pain, nopony seemed to be hurt. They got up, got back into formation, and the column resumed marching. “Third one today,” Crumble muttered. “Fourth,” Celestia corrected. “Aye,” he said, nodding, “and the seventh one this week. Very queer.” “Why so many?” Celestia asked. “Could it be the hordes?” Crumble shrugged. “Could be. Nothin’ we can do about it.” “Shouldn’t we slow our advance?” Celestia suggested. “Make camp, send scouts, find out what’s causing them?” “Our scouts are very thorough, sunshine,” Crumble said. “Either they have some hidden weapon that we haven’t seen before – and there isn’t a lot we haven’t seen – or there’s just nothin’ to find. The scouts’ll keep on searchin’, but in the meantime, the only way forward is, well, forward. If we slow our advance too much, we’re givin’ the enemy even more time to prepare for us. And we don’t wanna be attacked here – we wanna do the attackin’.” Celestia gave him a skeptical look. He returned it with a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. You want my opinion, I bet yeh it’s just natural. Just Gaia, remindin’ us she’s still there.” But as Crumble turned away, Celestia noticed an unusually contemplative look on his face. It was not long, though, before he enthusiastically clapped his hooves together and continued.“Right, well, back on topic, then. What’re the sinisteeds up to, Celestia?” “I said, I don’t know,” Celestia huffed. “Maybe they don’t have the numbers to attack, or maybe their defenses are somehow so impenetrable that defending the city actually is the better option, or maybe it’s just something we haven’t seen before, or…” A moment passed. Celestia stared straight ahead, but behind her eyes, Crumble could see gears turning. She glanced at the river, then back at Crumble. “Sinisteeds can’t swim, can they?” “I can’t even swim.” Celestia gave him a withering look, and he followed it up with, “Not that I know of.” Celestia looked at the river, scanning it up and down, looking over her shoulder to see the bend away with the valley. “Could they come from behind us? Somehow… I don’t know… float downstream?” Crumble stroked his beard. “I reckon they could.” Celestia’s heart was beating just a little bit faster. “The river is wide enough to carry a ship, and the current is fast enough to let it approach very quickly. And, if we were attacked from the river, even by just a small force, it would disrupt us long enough for them to launch an attack from Shetland. We’re too big, we wouldn’t be able to organize in time.” Crumble did not say anything, merely watching her with interest. “They don’t have an ambush waiting in the forest because they know we’d spot it too far in advance,” she said, speaking faster and faster. “But if they got us from the river, we, we would…” She paused. “I have to go find Lucky.” Celestia took to the air. “Wait!” She continued to beat her frantically wings, but did not ascend. With each wing beat, she felt an uncomfortable, almost painful tug on her hindquarters. Her wingbeats lessened, and she looked back, confused. Crumble had grabbed a hold of her tail, and was using his considerable weight to pull her down. “Wait, wait,” he said, half chuckling, half out of breath. Slowly, Celestia returned to the ground. She, too, was out of breath, but she was not getting calmer. “What?” she said quickly. “What is it?” “There’s no need to talk to Lucky,” Crumble said, smoothing out her tail and then letting it go. “Why not?” Celestia said breathlessly, “This could be a major-” “We already talked about it, darlin’.” She paused. “What?” Crumble fell in step with the marching ponies, and pulled Celestia along to do the same. “We already talked about the river,” Crumble said. “Lucky thought of the same thing. We placed sentries to watch the river downstream and left behind a small force to deal with anythin’ that comes our way. If the sinisteeds decide to take a swim, we’ll know it long beforehand.” Celestia looked at him. Her expression, wide with surprise and panic, gradually became narrower until it was a scowl. “I can’t believe you,” Celestia grumbled. “You could have told me.” “I could’ve,” Crumble said, “but I wanted to see if yeh could come up with it on yer own. And yeh did!” Crumble threw an arm around her and pulled her into a brotherly hug, playfully rattling her about. She threw his arm off and pulled away from him. “Hmph.” Celestia haughtily turned her head away from him, mane swishing as she did so. “Oh, don’t be that way,” he said half-apologetically, craning his head forward and trying to meet her gaze. “It was just a harmless test. Which yeh passed, by the way. Yer fortunate, y’know, gettin’ trainin’ from a high ranking officer in a famous battalion.” “‘Training’, is that what you call it?” Celestia said without looking at him, nose still in the air. Crumble waved a hoof towards her, unconcerned. “Ahh, yeh’ll forgive me eventually.” A few moments passed in silence. The valley echoed with rushing water and the hoofbeats and turning wheels and muttered conversations of some twenty thousand ponies. “‘Ey sunshine,” Crumble said, breaking the silence between them. “Are yeh ready for this?” Celestia was surprised not to hear a trace of mirth or hint of teasing in his voice. Haughtiness forgotten, she looked back at him, and saw a familiar expression. He had given her that look when she had first entered Canterlot, injured and weary; when she, in distress and near tears, was preparing to speak to Clover the Clever for the first time; when she was preparing to duel Lucky Break in the practice ring; when he was teaching her to fly; and in a hundred other situations that came rushing back to Celestia’s mind. Those furrowed brows, those searching eyes, those pursed lips that made him look like the wind was blowing in his face – Crumble was concerned for her. He suspected she was not ready for something. And, Celestia knew, any time he had asked this question, verbally or otherwise, she never had been. This time, she was not sure why he thought so. “Ready… for the battle? I think so. Why?” Beneath that bushy beard, she thought she saw Crumble begin to say something else. But if he was, it never got out. A horn blared in the shallow canyon. Three short blasts – the signal for an enemy counterattack. Someone had spotted something. Crumble swore. The army column came to a stop. Soldiers tensed up, scurrying to put on their helmets and ready their weapons. Officers barked orders and everypony else chattered nervously. Surely the enemy would not give up their defensible position at Shetland to attack them head on. Would they? Celestia looked around suspiciously, her ears shifting left and right, trying to pinpoint the location the sound had come from. Amidst the army’s activity, the atmosphere remained oddly calm. Gentle wind rushed through the canyon, the river continued to mildly flow. The horn sounded again. To Celestia’s surprise, it did not come from the front of the army, or from a northerly direction at all. It came from behind her. Again, it was three consecutive blasts, this time followed by two lower-pitched notes. Celestia scowled, trying to remember what this particular signal meant. “Enemy counterattack… from…” “The east,” Crumble finished. Celestia’s eyes widened. She looked towards the river. Several things happened at once. The river, which had only moments before been steady and tranquil, if not powerful, erupted into chaos. Deep blue was replaced with furious, foaming whitewater rapids as the river seemed to thrash wildly up and out and in upon itself. The sound of a thousand rushing waterfalls shattered the fragile silence. Spray wafted up and into the air, across the rocky shore and towards the bewildered Equestrian soldiers. Simultaneously, an earthquake erupted, with such sudden and violent force that nearly every soldier in the mile-long column was knocked to the ground. Celestia did not have the reaction time to escape to the air. She was thrown to the ground – she wheezed as she felt Crumble, in all his bulk and armor, thrown on top of her. Eventually, the quake subsided, and the cacophonous sound of the rapids lessened. Before Celestia could stand, she heard it: the howls of monsters. Not sinisteeds, manticores, hydra, or anything else she knew of. It was deeper, more bass, than any animal sound she had heard before. It did not pierce her ears – it rattled her bones. As soon as Crumble rolled off of her, she scrambled to her hooves, wiped the dirt from her eyes, and peered towards the river. The shore itself seemed to approach. With a life of their own, boulders from the riverbed had seemingly grown arms, legs, tails, and snapping jaws, and were now crawling towards them, numbering in the hundreds along the convoy’s mile long train. Somepony yelled: “Cragadiles!” And the troops broke into chaos.