If in Doubt, Improvise
In a quiet alcove of an undisturbed corridor in the palace, as far away as possible from the day’s many epicentres of horribleness, Thorax tried and failed to stave off another round of panicked gibbering.
Most of the last few minutes had been a blur, punctuated on one end by a pecky, burny, evisceratey harbinger of the End-times scything through the changeling ranks like a self-propelled threshing machine, and punctuated on the other by Thorax finding himself in a cool, quiet space that allowed for gibbering with a minimal risk of dismemberment.
The Great Unmasking hadn’t entirely gone to plan. And in that regard at least, Thorax was relieved. He’d never liked the idea in the first place. He wasn’t a very good changeling. That had always been made plain to Thorax, and the sight of beings panicking, screaming, and futilely trying to protect each other and themselves from the swarm had distressed him rather than enthused him, like it did his swarm-mates. He’d found himself unable to contribute much more than flying along with the rest of the swarm, lighting up his horn, and making half-hearted ‘pew!’ sounds whenever he thought he was being watched. Even that made him feel wretched.
Apprehending and sealing away the apparent world leaders among the gathering hadn’t felt quite so bad. It was for their own good, really. Once the swarm had attacked the city, keeping that particular gathering safe under lock and key was just good sense. They could get hurt out in the fight, after all. Besides, anyone who called themselves a world leader had to be at least a little bit towards the evil end of the moral spectrum. There probably couldn’t be a single innocent amongst them, especially after the elephant leader had gone missing and the switcharound with Captain Syrphid had gone into play. Thorax could have lived with that.
Until they’d actually been sealed away, and the others had made him open that falcon’s cage. Then merely living with things had suddenly become vastly less likely. Thereafter, blurriness and terror. The rest of the squadron only had time to notice after the falcon had finished with the first couple, and most of them had flown away or discreetly retreated into the gardens. Several had dithered a second too long out in the open, and the falcon fell upon them like natural selection’s last word.
An open window had presented itself, and Thorax fled inside. Corridor after corridor blurred past him until his own hammering heartbeat was louder than the now-distant mayhem. He’d assumed the shape of a golden-armoured unicorn guard in case any ponies stumbled on him. And then he’d slumped into a quiet alcove and had commenced making whatever unhappy noises his vocal apparatus had to offer.
Innocent beings were getting hurt. A mad falcon was on the loose. And here he was, unable to do a thing about either of those.
He wished Pharynx was here. Sure, he’d probably clout Thorax’s ears and make sardonic remarks, but at least he’d be here.
Thorax huddled to himself and did his best to keep his mewling as quiet as possible, when all of a sudden, the hush was broken. Children’s voices rang out to his left, down at the end of the corridor.
“Everything clear, y’all?”
“Yep!”
“Clear on this side!”
“My side’s still a blank wall.”
“Good. Ahead’s fine. Shahannahshan… uh, Sailears, if you’d oblige?”
“Toot!” And then there was the sound of rustling, some measured treads on the stone floor, and then something clunking back down again.
Thorax remained still in his alcove, holding his breath. He could look out to see who on earth they were, that group of voices. Alternatively, he could get torn wing-from-limb by a well-played ambush. Decisions, decisions.
While he waited, the voices came again, this time closer.
“Coast clear?”
“Yep!”
“Still clear!”
“Oh, hey, it’s a wall.”
“Clear here! Sailears?”
“Toot!” The enthusiastic trumpet rang out, and there was the same rustling, treading, and clunking as before. And despite himself, Thorax swallowed and leaned his head around to see what was going on. If this was a trap, then it was … odd. Odd enough that it would almost be a shame to not to fall into it.
He peeked down the left-hoof-side of the corridor and beheld a table trundling his way.
Not the usual sort of table, though, if one needed evidence of that past the trundling. Big, grey, hoofless feet ambled at its base past the folds of a tablecloth. Smaller hooves appeared here and there at the sides, as well as one set of scaled feet. The whole thing, big enough to hide two grown ponies with lax standards of personal space crouching underneath, trundled forwards for a moment longer under the steam of the grey feet. And then it stopped, falling an inch to the ground, and before Thorax entirely apprehended what was happening—
“Everypony?” The drawling voice came from near the front, just past the tablecloth.
“Clear as crystal!” The lip of the tablecloth rose on one side, to the left of the front, and Thorax glimpsed a small, white muzzle.
“Clear as … something else that’s clear!” This came from the back.
The tablecloth at the right-hoof side twitched up, revealing a smaller, purpler, and scalier muzzle. “Rhymes with ball.”
“And on my end—” The end of the tablecloth facing Thorax twitched up, revealing a yellow muzzle and a pair of bright, orange eyes scanning the corridor ahead.
Thorax remembered he was supposed to be in hiding, just at the same moment the filly sporting said muzzle and eyes declared, “Hey, there’s a guardspony in that alcove!”
“Really?” “What the heck?” “What’s he doing there?” “Toot?” flew at Thorax like a volley of arrows as the sides of the table erupted open, and out from the flapping cloth came three pony fillies, a dragon whelp, and, last of all, an elephant calf who must have been bearing the table on his back. All of them were in various finery, all of them had Thorax dead within their sights, and all of them had questions.
“Hey! You’re a guardspony, right?” said one, a pegasus who slipped round from the back and cantered ahead of the others. “What’s happening out there?”
“I, um,” said Thorax, all his planning instincts shutting down.
“Are our sisters alright?” said the next, a unicorn.
“That, er.”
“Ooh, I like your barding,” the elephant calf chirped. “My uncle said he’ll get me a traditional lamellar set for my next birthday, but that I shouldn’t expect anything more fitted until I’m fully-grown. Which doesn’t seem fair. I mean, if I’m the Shahanshah—“
“Gchk,” retorted Thorax, his brain and larynx short-circuiting at the sight of what had to be the elephant sovereign running loose from wherever he’d gotten himself to, before an earth pony filly leapt up for his attention, the one who’d been at the front.
“Are you inside to help Princess Celestia and Princess Cadence?” she said. “They’re in the throne room and needing help something fierce.”
The desperate noise Thorax produced then was beyond the power of known letter combinations to convey, and was only halted when the little dragon in full evening wear pinched the bridge of his snout, strode up to Thorax, and flicked his muzzle. “Hey!” he said. “Hey, come on! Call yourself a guardspony?”
Thorax hadn’t been flicked on the muzzle like that since … since, well, at least the last time he’d seen Pharynx, who’d probably be fizzing with agitation after being left to guard the hive all by himself. He stared down into the dragon whelp’s indignant eyes. “Gchk?” he managed, shambling back up to the first rung on the ladder of sense.
“You heard! Come on! Canterlot is being invaded! The princesses have been hurt or imprisoned, and the other guardponies are out there fighting! I recognised a lot of ‘em! You’re new, right? Why aren’t you with them?”
It dawned on Thorax just what pitfalls his current form entailed, which was never ideal when said pitfalls had already enclosed him up to his withers at the time of dawning. “I, I, I’m not, I mean, that is, oh, I, I ...”
“You scared? You don’t have to be.” The unicorn filly looked up in turn, her green eyes full of concern. “Come on, what’s your name?”
“My name?” Thorax, his mind a-jangle, hunted across the room for any scrap of inspiration, any at all. “My name … is … er … Wall.” He paused, increasingly aware that this hadn’t gone down entirely well, and mustered manic bluster to compensate. “Yes, Sir Wall! Of the, um, Royal Guard! Dispensing vital guarding duties to this, er, corridor at this time of unexpected crisis, yes! And, and may I ask what you all think you’re doing, heaving that table around?”
“We’re not heaving it,” said the pegasus. “We’re using it as part of a brilliant disguise tactic. Why rush from cover to cover when you can just take cover with you?”
“I’m helping as well!” said the elephant calf, sounding delighted about this. “It’s no great trouble to help, either. Equestrians build their tables light.”
“It sure didn’t look like you were guarding,” the earth pony filly said with the worrying air of one who declined to get sidetracked too easily. Her orange eyes narrowed. “It looked more like you were hiding in that there alcove and peeking out all fearful-like.”
“I...” Thorax jabbed his brain for one last spurt of guile, the friend of every changeling in a bind. “That … was part of my cunning ambush plan. To … to ambush miscreants. That needed ambushing.”
Curse his guile.
One flat assessment came from the dragon whelp, putting his ingenuity out its misery. “You’re not a guardspony at all, are you?”
Thorax’s desperate eyes swivelled round to meet cold, unconvinced green. Another wave of panic threatened to overwhelm him once again.
And then it threatened no longer, and simply did, all in one great burst. “Alright! Alright! I’m not a guardspony! I’m not anything! I’m terrible! All of this is terrible! There’s, there’s changelings attacking all the ponies outside and, and paralysing and terrifying and hunting down anypony they meet, and there’s nothing I can do! There’s this … horrible, fiery, murdery avatar of pure death flying around outside where the leaders have been imprisoned, and, and, and I don’t know what to do about that either! I don’t know about anything and I wish my brother was here and none of this was what I wanted to do and this corridor was all I could find and —”
Simple lung capacity finally stymied his gibbering, which turned into hyperventilating. The ponies, elephant, and dragon hovered around him uncertainly for a moment or two, until Thorax became aware of one of them stepping forward. He almost shrieked when something patted his foreleg. “Hey,” came the voice of the little dragon. “Hey, look up.”
Thorax looked up, and met the whelp’s eyes, less cold than they’d been before. Behind him, the three fillies looked ready to chime in. At the back, the elephant calf watched events with his head slightly tilted.
“Listen to me,” said the little dragon. “You are a guardspony, alright? You trained and drilled your legs off, you got the uniform, you took the oath, right? That means you’re the sort of pony who the princesses knew would stand up and be brave even when things looked hopeless.” The dragon grinned ruefully. “Well, can’t say for Luna, her homecoming being so recent and all, but I know Celestia and Cadence can figure out things about a pony even before that pony knew himself.”
“It don’t matter if you’re scared or you don’t feel like a guardspony,” said the earth pony filly, as Thorax boggled at this unexpected angle of attack. “All that matters is that you wade in anyway. That you act the hero part even if you don’t feel it’s yours to play. Make sense?”
“Even if what’s out there’s scaring you, you can still help us,” urged the unicorn. “We’re on a rescue mission! And you look like a born rescuer.”
“Yeah!” The pegasus grinned. “It sounds like you know where they are, anyhow!”
Why not a butler, or a maid? Why not just stay a changeling? Why?, Thorax bleated at his past self. Why a guardspony?
And why wasn’t he just flying away from this mad group’s line of inquiry? Why wasn’t he reflexively disliking the picture they seemed to have of him in their heads?
Because their picture was better than his, he belatedly realised, just as the earth pony filly started talking again. “See, we’ve got a plan. Them world leaders you mentioned, that’ve been imprisoned? Sailears here reckons they could help us and maybe save all of Canterlot if they get let out. All you gotta do is lead us there, and we’d save everypony. Maybe. Somehow.”
The sudden, makeshift mental image of Sir Wall rose to the forefront and boomed something confident like, Ho ho, merely that, child? I shall rend the whole invading force atwain with my mighty thews, and receive medals and cakes and kisses from all the princesses shortly after. Do not fear! The much more tangible person of Thorax smothered Sir Wall in his sleep and trembled out, “Out there? Where the world leaders are being kept? You want to draft them?”
“Exactly there!”
Horrible, fiery, murdery avatars of feathery death bobbed up helpfully in Thorax’s mind, and he whimpered to that effect. “But … but horrible, fiery, murdery avatars of feathery death?”
“We can wrangle ‘em,” said the pegasus dismissively.
“And if we can’t, we’ve got you to help us out,” urged the unicorn filly with admiring eyes. “You’re a big, brave guardspony whose mettle will surely be proved, right?”
“Or your sinews stiffened, even.” This from the dragon.
“Or your pluck mustered?”
“Dander raised up, if we’re lucky.”
“Or your choler in ascendant,” offered the elephant, breaking his silence at last, his gaze returning from somewhere distant.
That got him a round of curious looks. “Not heard that one before,” said the pegasus. “Is that a Pachydermian expression?”
“Maybe? I think it’s getting at the same thing as all of yours. Dame Lyuba’s all choler, if that fits. What’s a ‘mettle’ anyway? Is it like a —”
Thorax thought desperately while discussion ensued, and all the while in the background of his mind, Sir Wall jollied him on to live up to every one of these expressions and then some. If the gaggle of rumpled and battered-looking statesbeings (and one states-crown) could be of any use — and if they were leaders like the Queen, who could definitely rip apart anyone else in the hive, why couldn’t they be? — then maybe this plan would be worth a shot, but there was still the small matter of the horrible, fiery, &c.
Mettle, sinews, pluck, dander, choler, and all. He had some of all of these in his frame, surely.
And if it could maybe just stop the rest of the swarm, stop this whole horrible Unmasking, stop innocents being hurt and terrified…
Mettle, sinews, pluck, dander, choler, check.
“If … if you all ...” Thorax ventured, “... If you all stay close to me at all times, and you hide behind me, and hide in better places when I tell you, then maybe — just maybe — I’ll be able to take you out there and let them out. And let you convince them. Maybe.”
He got no further before a chorus of small voices rose in cheer, praising Sir Wall. The grinning dragon and the fillies all joined in, and the elephant looked on, as if delightedly surprised. And that chorus raised for Thorax (for Sir Wall, technically, but didn’t he come from the better recesses of Thorax?) filled his heart with something like hope.
Maybe he could do something after all. Maybe his hive could be made to fly off, and no more innocents had to be terrorised this day. Maybe, just maybe, the world leaders would be good, moral, and trustworthy statesbeings, in whose capable hooves all this could be entrusted.
“So, is there any set order for cannibalism in times like these?” the Crown rasped archly. “I ask for curiosity's sake alone. Organics need sustenance, I’m given to understand, and you’ll be relying on unorthodox sources before the Arch-Minister’s plan ever bears fruit.”
“Crown,” Burro replied sweetly, “kindly shut whatever passes for your glittery and infinitely smug face, unless you’re got a better idea than mine.”
“Go on, confide to me a step or two. I assume infirm and elderly first? Precious metals last, perchance?”
Burro closed his eyes briefly, wished for a hungry Fire Queen to be present, and breathed out. “Does anyone else take exception to the plan?” He squinted around in the darkness at the assorted faces, betraying various flavours of skepticism, confusion, or studied neutrality. Gellert perched atop the bound, gagged, and furious ibex, his waistcoat shredded to provide the bindings, and he twiddled the Crown in his foreclaws.
Greenhorn received an extra-hard dosage of Burro’s squinting. The Bullwalda just stared back at him, impassive and grim. Cogitation seemed to be taking place under the auroch’s expression, like stirrings within a stormcloud before the lightning.
“Let me be sure I understand the plan as was described to me, so I can give it a fair appraisal,” said Fairy Floss. The old ewe’s gaze was flatter than some unfortunate woodland denizen that had just met their first and only wagon, and her tone of voice promised nothing like a fair appraisal. “And so I can be sure, this is a plan which has been largely advised by that mad soup of concentrated malevolence sloshing between your ears which donkeys call Cunning. Correct?”
“Casual denigration of my kind’s innate magic aside, correct.”
“Nothing casual about it, dear. Regardless, you believe that there’s a way out of here, and that way depends on one of these walls being weaker than the others.”
“Over the years since Sod Green built it,” replied Burro. His head fizzed with Cunning residue, and he irritably shook it. “These walls, all their alchemically-treated timber ... they get scraped and cleaned every so often. This one on my right faces nearest to the main green. It’ll receive harder cleaning, for appearance’s sake. It’ll be most likely to absorb any stray blows from kicked balls, stumbling revellers, whatever. Only little blows, certainly, but decades upon decades of little things add up.”
“Well, ah … even if it adds up over time, how much damage can the odd kicked ball or tripping pony really do?” Simoom ventured dubiously before Burro wheeled on him.
“Viceroy, do you want to talk to my Cunning about impacts, about wood stress, margins of error, distribution of force and weight, joints, edges, stumbling likelihood based on the exterior path’s edging and route, about how that likelihood marginally rose during the short-lived fashion in Equestrian high circles for Zebrican tej following Celestia’s negotiation of the Zebrican-Gazellen border dispute some eighty years back which I read about once and almost entirely forgot about, about everything like that? Because I’ve certainly received more than a share of its babble so far. I don’t even know half the units of measurement my Cunning’s trying to work with, I’ve not trained for this. I didn’t even know I ever knew half the details it’s dredging up from dusty alcoves in my head. If it indicates that that wall’s likely to be slightly weaker compared to the other three, then who am I to question it? All I know is I’m going to be nursing a headache for the next week on behalf of a plan which even I’ll admit is pretty dreadful as plans go!”
Burro caught himself as he met Simoom’s wide eyes. He cleared his throat and tried to stop emphasising every other word. “Apologies, Viceroy. It’s been one of those days.”
“No apology needed, Arch-Minister.” Simoom relaxed. “I suppose we’re all under a bit of stress at the moment, but are you sure there’ll be enough damage for us to work with?”
“No guarantees, but my Cunning does reckon there’ll be some structural weakness there, or at least more in comparison to the other walls. Not much, but some.”
“And with said weakened target in mind,” Fairy Floss interrupted archly, “that’s when Greenhorn enters proceedings.”
The Bullwalda glanced at her and Burro briefly before resuming stony contemplation.
“Yes,” said Burro. “He’s the only magic-channeller here, barring the Shahanshah and the Crown’s ibex, and he’s capable of teleporting himself. He can’t teleport straight outside past whatever wards the changelings have slapped up, but I don’t see any reason he shouldn’t be able to teleport withinhere.”
“So Greenhorn, assuming he’s perfectly obliging about all this and never valued the integrity of his skull anyway, charges at that wall,” Fairy Floss said. “But before impact, he teleports back to his starting position, maintaining his momentum and pressing the charge. And he keeps doing this, until he’s had as decent a run-up as he’s ever going to get, or he forgets to teleport in time.”
“At which point, the wall is hit by over a ton of armour-clad Bullwalda moving at charging speed. Or a ton-ish. My Cunning had trouble judging past his caparison.”
One of Greenhorn’s ears flicked, but otherwise he continued his best impersonation of a statue which wasn’t having its weight loudly discussed in front of it.
“What calf doesn’t dream of growing up to become a wrecking ball? And how few lucky calves get to ever realise that dream? I’m sure Greenhorn will be all too happy to relive his happiest memories of the Discord Incident.” Fairy Floss shook her head. “But do you really believe that’ll be enough?”
Burro hesitated.
“Well,” he eventually allowed. “Well…”
“Those ‘wells’ do not fill me with confidence, Arch-Minister.”
“This is a Sod Green construction. I’m hoping there’s also some lingering effects from the Discord Incident. Maybe the draconequus did something to this shed that’s persisted and made it weaker, like what happened to my old ornithopter. Maybe. If so, there might just be enough overlap in whatever force the Bullwalda can throw at it and whatever force it takes to knock the wall down. Then we’ll have a chance.”
Fairy Floss closed her eyes and gently butted her head against a handy wall, while sighs rung out from other quarters. She lifted her gaze and fixed Burro with a weary glower. “Your plan, if one was forced at crossbow-point to summarise it, is, ‘throw the Bullwalda at the wall very hard and pray for unlikelihood’.”
“If you’re going to condense it down like that, of course it’s going to sound stupid—”
“‘Hit the thing with the thing and hope’, even.”
“Oh, now you’re not even trying to make it sound—”
“What if Bullwalda Greenhorn gets hurt?” piped up Sailears, who’d been quiet for most of the explanation and subsequent re-explanation. “We need another plan. I think. That one won’t work.”
“I’m open to suggestions, Shahanshah. Really.” Burro looked around the room. “Anything useful to offer, Crown? Go on, surprise us for once. Do something helpful and decent.”
“Nothing occurs. So try this fool notion, by all means,” drawled the Crown. “But if our first Bullwalda breaks, will we be able to make another? The biology of all this grows more complex by the second. It should settle the cannibalism question, though. If this plan goes as I suspect, you’ll have to do something with whatever’s left of Greenhorn.”
Burro wheeled back on the Crown to snap something suitably withering, but Gellert beat him to it and absently smacked the Crown hard against a wall. The ibex pinned under Gellert writhed and growled with indignation, and the Crown’s jewels briefly flashed red. “I do wonder,” it hissed, “what beings ever hope to achieve subjecting me to that sort of mistreatment. I’m enchanted to nigh-indestructibility, you moron, and I don’t have nerve endings. You can’t hurt me.”
“Probably not,” Gellert said absently as he gave the Crown another whack against the wall. “But it’s damned cathartic regardless. If the wall’s too strong for Greenhorn, old boy, let me and the Crown have a go at breaking through. I could do this all day.”
“We’ll call that Plan B. Unless anyone wants to interject with an alternative Plan A.” Burro’s gaze fell upon the Tyrant. “Fairy? You’ve been keen to criticise. Anything cleverer up your sleeve?”
“No, dear. And that’s what irks the most.” Fairy Floss ground her teeth. “But your plan hinges on a large number of unlikely things, even assuming Greenhorn agrees to it, and even if we trust your Cunning, there’s no guarantee—”
“I agree to it,” Greenhorn rumbled quietly. He went unheeded.
“—frankly, any clause to the effect of ‘and hope there’s some miraculous unknown factor beyond our control that saves us all’ should have set off more alarm bells for you than it did, dear.”
“Be fair, Fairy,” Gellert said. “The last times we’ve been staring down the business end of an Equestrian crisis, miraculous unknown factors beyond our control have saved us all.”
“Acknowledged, dear, but the day we start relying on miraculous unknown factors to carry the day for us is the same day we’re all likely to end up in the Hereafter, looking down on the smoking remains of the world. And won’t we all be embarrassed then.”
“Ah. So the miraculous unknown factors help those who help themselves? As opposed to being straightforwardly miraculous?”
“If you’re trying to annoy me with petty diversions, dear, you’re succeeding marvellously, well done. But my point is —”
“I am willing to play my part in the Arch-Minister’s plan,” Greenhorn repeated, this time louder, and a hush filled the shed. The bull rose his head and met the stares all around. “Give me space for a run-up, and I’ll see the wall broken.”
“Are you sure, Bullwalda?” Simoom spoke first, the stallion’s eyes full of concern. “It does seem likely to do you a nasty injury. If all you achieve is knocking your head off solid wood —”
“I have thrown my head at harder things,” Greenhorn said, his tone terse as he turned his head and combed his gaze over the target wall. He shuffled his hooves, dipped his head briefly and gauged the angle of his horns, and edged backwards. When he spoke again, it came out slowly and with a slight hitch. “Sometimes, I have not come off second-best when doing so.”
There was another hush. The Crown broke it first. “Was that the Bullwalda attempting levity? My word, things must be serious.”
“I would have silence so I can concentrate, Crown.” Greenhorn slowly trotted up to the wall, sending Simoom and Sailears shuffling aside to give him room. He tapped his horns once upon it, grunted, and then edged backwards to the opposite side of the shed, obliging Burro and Fairy Floss to squeeze in against the wall. “Barely six strides, but it’ll have to serve. Slow at first, to get my tempo, but it should be doable.”
“Bullwalda,” Sailears ventured, the little elephant sounding surprisingly concerned to Burro’s ears. “I really, really don’t think you should do this. It could be dangerous!”
“‘Dangerous’ is what kings are for, Shahanshah.” There was a hard, measured quality to Greenhorn’s voice now. “To bear dangers others cannot, and to pose a danger to their realm’s foes and to those who would fetter them in the course of their duties. Your Lord Regent must instill this point if he has not already. Hush now.”
“Wait, wait,” hissed Fairy Floss, drawing Greenhorn’s attention. “Bullwalda, wait. If we are undertaking this daft scheme, and if by some inexplicable kindness on the part of the universe, it succeeds, then we have to plan for what happens afterwards. What do we do and where do we go once we’re out? There’s still an army of changelings out there, not to mention Chrysalis herself.”
“Greenhorn’ll find himself at the forefront of whatever happens out there,” mused Burro. “We should have our fittest ready to spring out on his heels. Viceroy?”
“Yes?” Simoom looked up, surprised.
“You survived the entirety of your early life in Saddle Arabia, correct?”
“Well, yes.” Simoom bit at his lower lip. “I suppose that leaves me somewhat well-equipped to go right out after the Bullwalda. If Charity’s out there, do please leave her to me. I’m nowhere near the equal of our falconer, but I can wrangle her. Or try, at least. And should any changelings come at us … well, there is a certain universality to the wrangling techniques.”
“Excellent. Gellert?” Burro turned on the griffon. “You’re still aggravatingly spry and strong despite a lifetime of bad habits. Fancy accompanying Simoom out there?”
“Hah! Someone jealous I’ve managed to grow old gracefully?”
“Disgracefully. It’s pronounced ‘disgrac —’”
“Go kiss a pike. I’ll accompany him, though, don’t doubt that.” The feathery hide by Gellert’s beak tightened in a wolfish smile. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a proper scrap. When you’re a chieftain, griffons have this tendency to just let you win. Convenient for the card tables, less so when you want to get your blood properly pumping.”
“Give ‘em a taste of the old days. Shahanshah?” Sailears was the next for Burro’s attention, and the jack couldn’t help some momentary hesitation. Calf he may have been, but he was large as and probably stronger than most of them. Still a calf, though. “You should stay at the back, behind all of us.”
Sailears didn’t object. He merely nodded, his eyes betraying no little trepidation.
“Good lad. As for yourself, Fairy ... ” Burro looked the elderly, diminutive ewe up and down, mostly down, and she returned his look with extra archness. “Any well-concealed martial talents you’ve been keeping in reserve?”
She favoured him with a wry expression. “Even during my prime, dear, I was more of a lover than a fighter. I’ve always been lucky enough to have others ready to perpetrate violence on my behalf. Happily, it looks like I still do. What of yourself?”
Burro smiled his own wry smile back at her. “Well, not to blow my own trumpet too much, but I did win the bronze in the Brineside University Fencing Society’s Winter Solstice Charity Tournament.”
This won him a deafening silence.
“Granted, that was over fifty years ago, but I was very proud at the time. There was that other trifling matter of a glorious privateering career culminating in duelling a corsair king. And somehow winning, I might add.”
Gellert’s cough sounded suspiciously like ‘inefficient sieve’. Burro glowered at him while Fairy Floss maintained a look of supreme skepticism. “And this was also fifty years ago, correct?”
“Also granted. And I’ll admit my joints have acquired a terrible creaking habit since then.”
“Hmm. Then perhaps you’d do best to keep a meek, defenceless old lady company near the back. If danger threatens, throw yourself between it and me like a gallant and expendable sort, won’t you?”
“I shall be nothing but gallant. Or nothing like. One of the two.”
“Enough discussion. We have our formation. Now we take the battle to them, we find Goldtorc, and we rout these invaders from the city,” growled Greenhorn, pawing at the floor. “This time, they will not have the element of surprise working for them.”
“Ah, excellent,” said Fairy Floss. “No element of surprise. Every other advantage still in their corner, of course. We have to escape the city, dear. There’s only so much good we can do out there, and vastly more good we can do when back in our own seats of power.”
Gellert frowned. “Maybe it’s just the withered scrap of my conscience talking, but I don’t like the idea of high-tailing it out of Canterlot and leaving Celestia and Equestria in the lurch.”
“Then don’t do that, dear. High-tail it north to your mountains, and then high-tail it back south with an army at your back. Fly quickly before Chrysalis can cement her position too thoroughly, and whatever resistance Equestria musters will be glad of your help. I certainly intend to do the same. Assuming we make it out of this shed and Canterlot, of course.”
“What if we rally the city? And if the Element Bearers are out there as well, we could find them. They’d surely be capable of handling Chrysalis...”
“Why would the city heed us? Recall as well that Chrysalis let the Element Bearers escape the hall. I don’t doubt that she’s accounted for them, that she’s at perfect ease about them, and that she’s devoted as much if not more effort towards thwarting them as containing us. They’re already being frogmarched into captivity, for all we know. We’ve no reason to believe we’ll be of any help to that six, even if we could find them. No, dear, we have to escape.”
Burro couldn’t say he relished the idea of fleeing Canterlot, leaving the place and all the ponies within at Chrysalis’s dubious mercy. But what choice did they have? Staying to fight here would just leave Canterlot and them at Chrysalis’s mercy. They were well past the days when their individual efforts could have made a difference, if they ever could have done in the first place. He’d felt the brunt of the changeling queen’s power, and even a Burro in his prime would have been flattened just as quickly. Maybe more so. He’d been more flexible and springy back then.
It was the sensible, pragmatic thing to do. So what if it didn’t sit well with him? Only the hyper-competent, dangerously naive, or monstrously insane Arch-Ministers had often been able to do things that sat well with them.
“If we need to make a quick exit,” he said aloud, “I came here in an ornithopter, which should hopefully still be parked outside the city. All we have to do is find my pilot and guards wherever they’ve ensconced themselves in Canterlot, and we’ll be able to fly free and clear.”
“Oh stars, you let your pilot loose?” Fairy Floss sounded merely weary about this revelation; her reservoirs of acid must have been tapped dry. “The flying machine’s a neat enough means of escape, I’ll allow you that, but can you not fly it yourself?”
“I let her loose along with my guards, yes. Like we all so wisely and graciously did when the day looked to be a lot less exciting than it’s turned out to be. And as for flying it myself ...” Burro tried to recall the helm’s layout, trying to fathom an array of wheels and levers he’d not trained to use, and his Cunning helpfully gave him a taster of the blinding headache he’d get if he continued down that road. “...that would depend on whether or not we wanted to survive the flight. I’d sooner not die shrieking amidst an ever-expanding fireball, but maybe others have different views on the matter.”
“Personally, I have no objections to the Arch-Minister’s possible death via an ever-expanding fireball,” the Crown said. “But if others wish to retrieve the pilot, I’ll consider myself outvoted. If you want some actual firepower on our side when daring this escape, though, may I recommend giving me back to my menial? Blackness Beyond forfend that I do something as wicked as guaranteeing our safety, but needs must when — Chieftain Gellert, strike me off that wall one more time when I’m speaking, and I’ll see you boiled.”
“The kind offer’s appreciated, Crown, but I already bathe once a month whether I need to or not,” Gellert replied, absently dunting the Crown off the wall once more. “Don’t suppose your pilot could be persuaded to divert our flight path over to the nearest volcano, Burro? There’s a theory concerning the melting point of enchanted gold I’ve always wanted to test.”
“Remember all these threats the Tyrant issued to Queen Chrysalis regarding the vengeance our states would take on our behalf?” the Crown said sweetly. “What degree of doom would you like to see wrought on your populace? I have one in mind, but I’m not sure there’s even enough griffons in the world to do it justice.”
“Dears, could you kindly threaten each other with atrocities later?” Fairy Floss turned to Greenhorn. “Waste no more time, Bullwalda. If this is the plan we’ve got, I suppose we may as well give it a try.”
“But what if he doesn’t get through? He might get really hurt —” Sailears objected once more, to be immediately cut off by Greenhorn.
“Either I get through or I don’t, and if I do not even try, the latter is certain, Shahanshah. Perhaps you have heard one of Bovaland’s proverbs. ‘If failure is all there is, fail charging.’ Keep my path clear, everyone. And look aside. There may be splinters.”
Everybody capable of independent motion pressed themselves into the side walls as far as they could, and pulled along those less capable. Greenhorn squinted down the dark and musty length, such as it was. He started trotting forwards, his pace steady and controlled. The second before he made contact with the target wall, light flared around his horns, and with a flash and a crack, he reappeared where he’d started, his pace unbroken.
Then he repeated the process, but at a slightly faster trot.
From the side, Burro watched in silence as Greenhorn gathered speed, his trot becoming a canter, his canter becoming a gallop, his gallop gradually becoming a headlong charge as he hurled himself at the wall time and time again. Each time he teleported back to his starting position with what seemed like millimetres to spare, and Burro found his heart travelling up to rest in his mouth as he watched. Greenhorn’s pace was controlled at all times, with not a hoof put wrong or a teleportation made too early or too late, but all it would take was one misstep…
Burro tensed and pressed himself into the shed door at his back as Greenhorn continued charging. He’d been reduced to a vaguely bull-shaped blur spanning the room, bookended by the constant flash and whirl of teleportation. From round the sides, the others looked on. Gellert watched him like a hawk, which his features didn’t make hard; the Crown glittered blue; Fairy Floss’ mouth was set in a hard line; Simoom had his eyes closed and seemed to be murmuring something to himself; and Sailears was wide-eyed with what Burro took to be worry. Green magic gathered about the calf’s tusks, maybe in unconscious anticipation. Had his magic always been green? No matter, not right now.
The wire-length of tension tightened in Burro gut, but he breathed out and tried to plan to take his mind off it. If — when they got out, it’d have to be a run down from the shed down into Canterlot proper. Presuming Greenhorn, Gellert, and Simoom could ward off any changelings, Burro himself could guide them all down towards the ornithopter. If his guards had already noticed the ruckus (and if they hadn’t, his hiring practises would need some stiff revision) they might even cross paths on the way, and if they had the pilot with them, or had sent the pilot back towards the ornithopter, then the exit might even be a smooth one. Failing that, they might have to comb the city for the pilot and guards. Gellert would be an invaluable asset there, as he always was. Of course, if their escape went noticed, then Chrysalis or whatever horde of changelings she had in the vicinity would certainly pursue them
Thought of in those optimistic terms, and if one didn’t dwell too hard on the multitude of ‘ifs’, then the plan might just work, might just go off without a hitch, might just deliver them all from —
There came a sudden noise from behind him, and Burro almost yelped. Quiet, fast, voices muttered to one another just past the door.
“You reckon this here’s the shed?” A filly’s voice.
“I’m sure. I think whoever had the key, among, um, whoever locked them all inside, has flown off. Maybe I can break it open. There’s enchantments and wards on it as well, it, er, seems. I’ll see if I can undo them.” This from an anxious-sounding stallion.
“Will that take time?” Another filly, this one’s voice familiar to Burro somehow.
“Yeah, a few minutes. If I —”
“We don’t have time. Buuut we do have a great alternative. Spike?”
“That’s my name, ready to bring my A-game.” That was a boy’s tones, betraying no small amount of imminent swagger. “Sailears, if you wouldn’t mind being my glamorous assistant for tonight’s show?”
Someone else cheerfully trumpeted assent. Sailears? thought Burro briefly, just as there came scuffing sounds, as if someone was clambering up something. The boy cleared his throat. “Stand back, everyone who isn’t me or an elephant. Too much awesome at short distances can be hazardous to —”
“Spike, we’ll all be very impressed and swoon and such afterwards, but would ya stop preening and just burn the lock off already.”
“Oh, fine.”
There came an indrawn breath, before Burro could process what was even going on and formulate a response, and then the sound of lapping flames. The green light of messenger-fire flickered briefly through the keyhole, and there came the sound of loose chains clattering free. The door swung open, and there stood outside, revealed amidst the bright light and fresh air that came rushing into the shed’s confines, a group comprising the Shahanshah of Pachydermia, a dragon whelp astride his back, three flower fillies behind them, and at the back, an agitated-looking unicorn guardspony keeping one eye on the shed and another eye on the skies. Burro recognised one of the fillies as the one he’d spoken to earlier. Just outside and to their right, there ran the tree-shrouded path running between the side of the palace and the gardens. To their left sprawled the green, its breadth decorated with overturned chairs, a few paralysed ponies, and several piles of ash.
The little dragon puffed out a smoke circle, grinning the grin of a conqueror overlooking a new stretch of empire. “And that’s how you make a padlock disappear. Works for friendship letters as well.”
“Swoon, swoon, swoon,” muttered the earth pony amongst the fillies.
“Hey, you’re not being sincere—”
“Hello, Arch-Minister!” said Sailears. “And everyone else!”
“We’ve just cunningly engineered your escape!” said the pegasus filly, poking her head around the side of Sailears. “Wanna help us help our sisters and save Equestria?”
Burro opened his mouth, let it hang open for a moment longer than the dignity of his office really allowed, and then wheeled on the others. “Abort the plan!” he yelped. “Stop, abort the best-laid plan! We’ve got rescuers! We’ve —”
But before he got any further, Greenhorn’s head swivelled around at the sudden distraction, the aurochs caught mid-gallop. Sheer surprise, an open door, the teleportation sequence pulsing through his brain, the piston-like motion of his limbs, and Burro’s shout pitched their efforts to cross vital wires in his brain, and with a rush of air and a sudden flash, Greenhorn teleported right out of the shed and into the open. He reappeared several strides behind their rescuers with a startled bellow, still galloping helplessly forwards as he now found himself in possession of a great deal of forwards momentum and nowhere to put it.
Luckily for him, the palace wall immediately rose before him to solve that problem.
Unluckily, the palace wall solved that problem.
As the echoes of the crash faded away and a thin crack spidered its way up the palace’s stonework, Greenhorn tottered backwards, his eyes spinning gently in their sockets, and then had a nice lie-down.
The rescuers looked with wide eyes from the prone Bullwalda to Burro and the other faces craning past the doorway, and then back to the Bullwalda, and then back to the crowded statesbeings. The earth pony filly coughed and spoke first. “So, ah,” she ventured. “Y’all are the competent and upstanding leaders that can help fix things, then—?”
“Yes!” Burro snapped himself out of his reverie, which he’d spent wishing black curses upon the perverse universe that had him and his plans as its present chief amusement. He lurched out into the open air, ushering Sailears (something nagged at his brain on that front) and the dragon aside, and eyed the distant edge of the green expanse before the Crystal Hall. “Everyone out! Stick to the plan! Gellert, Simoom, on point! You, guardspony, with them! Little ones, stay behind me and the Tyrant—!”
But before he could finish even that, the vast caprice of the universe and whatever malign powers governed it struck again. Multiple things happened all in an eye’s blink, the most immediate of which was the bush to Burro’s left suddenly rustling. He glanced its way the same instant a changeling jumped out from it, fangs bared and magic seething.
Burro opened his mouth and raised his forehooves too late as the changeling lunged at him. But thankfully, Gellert had pushed his way outside and reacted much faster than Burro, and he plunged in to swing out at the changeling with the first solid object that came to claw. Said object was the Capricious Crown.
Unfortunately, Simoom had had the same idea and the same quick reflexes, and he jumped into the fray at the same time, crashing in at cross-purposes to each of the other participants. A mad and mutually-disagreeable scrum ensued, from which rang out frantic buzzing from the surprised ambusher, Gellert’s furious caws, Simoom’s yelps, and indignant metallic screeching from the Crown.
Burro gaped at the chaos for an instant before he tore his attention away. “Right!” he snapped, looking towards the wall of the palace and the green and the sky, cogitating as quickly as his abused brain could bear. Did they have a clear run across the green? Was there anything in the sky? Why did he feel he ought to be realising something very important about Sailears?
His gaze flicked back towards the young rescuers and the guardspony, all of whom seemed to be engrossed with the scuffle in the bushes. Despite everything, some vague notion told him that innocents shouldn’t be exposed to the sight of violence, and he edged forward to try and block their views of it. They just craned their heads to keep observing.
“Kids, don’t —”
“Yeah! Clout the varmint!”
“Try using ponikido!”
“Two bits on the griffon!”
“Go for the eyes!”
“Would you all not ... come on, get into the shed! All of you, now!”
The gazes of the fillies, dragon whelp, Shahanshah, and guardspony turned to him and, almost as quickly, turned to some point just behind Burro. The younger ones looked confused. The guardspony looked as if the business end of a crossbow had just been stuck into his face. “Uh,” said the unicorn filly. “Uh, hang on.”
Burro turned to see what had their attention, and got a concussive blast of magic right to the face for his trouble.
The world spun around him, painted white with whirling stars, and he found himself sprackled side-down across the grass, his body and limbs briefly numb. Overhead, the Shahanshah stepped out from the shed, his gait steady and customary galumph vanished. His tusks simmered with poison-coloured magic, and his brown eyes narrowed and flashed green. Sailears gawked at Sailears, and Sailears stared at Sailears in return, and the other rescuers and Burro himself looked at any Sailears available with either incomprehension or dawning and horrified comprehension. The shed’s Sailears promptly only had eyes for one, though. The guardspony.
“Oh, shoot,” whimpered the guardspony. “Ah, Captain Syrphid? This isn’t what it looks like —”
“I’m not going to ask why, runt,” hissed the shed’s Sailears, his voice suddenly lower and growlier and altogether un-Sailears-like as it jangled with icy fury. He stepped over Burro as he advanced on the trembling guardspony. “I’m just going to smear you all over this Queen-forsaken palace, and lie to your brother if he asks. Any problems with this?”
Burro twitched where he lay, head spinning, trying to will life back into his numb limbs and wheezing feebly. All around him, chaos blazed to life. From one side, from the false Sailears and the guardspony, he heard the sudden crack and flash of hostile magic meeting, and screams and yelps from the young ones. From the other side, he heard that rare melody produced by a desperate changeling thrashing and trying to avoid concussion and gradually failing, a frustrated griffon trying to induce concussion and only gradually succeeding, a disconcerted pony trying to extricate himself from the line of concussion, and a furious Crown objecting to being used as the tool of concussion, all working in concert. No sound from the direction of Fairy Floss, and goodness knows what she was doing.
Ahead and in his sight, there lay the recumbent form of Greenhorn, who looked less conscious than Burro, but only marginally so.
Burro groaned and tried to push himself upwards, hunting for one of those second winds he’d enjoyed so much when he was too young and dense to properly appreciate them. His head spun, and his brain ached, and he wanted to just close his eyes and rest till events had played themselves out. Regardless, he strained for verticality and plotted as best he could.
If the changelings in the vicinity could be dispatched quickly, and if he could get upright any time soon, they might just have a fighting chance. He’d clocked the pile of discarded gardening equipment still outside the shed door, and there were some suitably hefty items there that could aid in their escape. This was still salvageable. This was all maybe going to be fine.
From the direction of the green, there came the buzzing of many wings, and Burro squinted that way. His gut turned as he beheld changelings amassing on the ground at the green’s far side, a swarm dozens strong. Far too many for even Gellert and a recovered Greenhorn to take on. And they had their sights on the shed.
But the changelings weren’t advancing on them. Why weren’t they advancing?
Why did they all seem to be looking up at the sky and nudging each other forwards with ‘you first’ motions?
The answer came as soon as Burro thought the question. It took the form of a distant “Keeeeee.”
All eyes briefly travelled skywards, right up to the roof of the Crystal Hall, just as Charity dropped both halves of the changeling she’d been playing with and plunged into the proceedings.
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Oh damn, an update! Nice work.
Whooo! People coming together! This is getting even more intriguing than ever before!
Spike's speech to Thorax, so nice!
Fairy Floss, whatcha doing?
That that team from outside the palace is gonna appear in the next part??
Also think I saw words that need a space between them, somewhere.
I'm glad to see that this has updated and I must say those world leaders aren't very helpfull and Burro should have realized there was a fake Sailears sooner.
8862610
Rest assured, I'm as shocked as you are.
8862614
Intrigue and something approximating teamwork. Don't say they're not a main cast without their talents.
If you spot any, do let me know. Words need their personal space as much as anyone.
8862615
They're of limited utility in this sort of thing, true. Tragic lapse on Burro's part, that.
Hmm... Is Philomena helping Celestia, or is she gonna help these guys outside, I wonder...
Typo below?
Missing word:
looked as (if)
With fire be purged!!
(Too much World of Warcraft)
8862622
Found it.
Needs to be could get. It is in the beginning of the chapter, in the scene where Spike and the others are traveling under a table before the conversation with Thorax.
8862664
Philomena's got her dramatic entry in the pipeline, rest assured.
Cheers for spotting that! Fixed.
8862666
Charity's excellent at purging. Few better.
8862675
Also fixed! Not enough savage beatings administered to those proofreaders, clearly.
Who, in the back of his mind, couldn't help but think that he ought to be balancing on a turtle.
Sadly, we may never know the glory of Sir Wall's mighty thews. Maybe Thorax can go into theater after the Glimmer Countercoup.
Fascinating to see the effects of overclocked Cunning. It must be so bizarre to have a hyperfocused genius engineer for a mental roommate.
And that rescue attempt... Well, their hearts were in the right places. Though now, it seems the road paved with good intentions leads directly to Charity. I can't say I'm surprised.
8862691
Sparks are bad enough when they're out and about in the world, worse still when they're squatting down in your subconscious and suggesting improvements to your thinking patterns.
It wouldn't be a proper CMC plan without some devastation.
To the surprise of absolutely no one, the world leaders are still completely useless. To my mild surprise and not insignificant pleasure, Thorax is here and got to do something. To, again, no one's surprise, I am looking forward to the next chapter.
8862743
Hey, you never know. They might prove to be of incalculable value to the course of events in future chapters.
Big 'might', that. Glad you're looking forward to what follows.
Oh how I giggled so darn much with this. And oooh, the fiery rending death has arrived!
8862685
It is my duty as a proofreader to inform you that beatings are detrimental to my ability to find and correct your horrible attempts at the English language. Also, if the beatings get worse, I will make your grammar ten times worse by deleting all u’s and deleting the version history so you can’t get them back.
I believe you.
Burro, you thick-headed excuse for a jumped-up privateer...
That's one way to rework the balance of a tense situation, I suppose.
I love how you can switch between rapid-fire comedy to tense action and back so well.
8862767
It's a good impression to make on your rescuers, without a doubt.
8862771
You wouldn't dare.
8862850
Glad you think so! Hopefully, the next chapter shouldn't disappoint in that regard either.
8862855
Well, "Buy Some Apples!" might be properly applicable. But alas, time to have them properly get more into trouble!
Still, they did more than many of the adults, and thorax was just plain adorable with this. And his properly placed phobias. Did he ever find a winner!
Update! Love the swoon, swoon bit.
8863187
Apple Bloom snark is an underappreciated snark form, I feel.
Glorious. Wonderful to see this back. :D
8863221
Glad to inflict it on folk once again!
I wonder how Thorax is going to react to this situation. Will he straight-up mutiny and attack his superior? Will he try to escape? Will he be able to turn against the children who trusted him?
8863637
His superior's definitely in the process of attacking him. We'll see how well Thorax fares in the face of that soon.
So now Celestia's going to get clonked with a padlock in addition to all her other problems?
8864130
It's not been her happiest day, all things considered.
Minor quibble: Thorax's Captain recognizes him in his transformed state somehow. But Fluttershy was able to trick a bunch of Changelings into thinking she was one of them in the big fight scene, and in the Season 6 finale Thorax was able to fool Chrysalis herself with his Starlight impression. So Changelings don't have any special ability to recognize other transformed Changelings.
I suppose Thorax could have been recognized some other way. Perhaps in his panic he gave some sort of tell in his body language that his captain recognized.
8864285
Fair quibble. I'd forgotten about those instances.
If anyone asks, totally some recognisable tell. Honest.
"Mettle, sinews, pluck, dander, choler, and all. He had some of all of these in his frame, surely...." Yeah, but they're all flammable.
8864285 8864286 Let it be said that Thorax has the King of all Tells. I suspect he could have transformed into a rock, and his captain would have been able to recognize it by his nebbishness. The ultimate changeling nerd, and he winds up running the whole place. Oy, vey!
And in the end....after all this mad scramble, the day is saved thanks to a love powered bubble of doom.
Thorax is best worst changeling. I love that he of all changelings is who the CMC+ ran into on their Celestia disapproved quest.
Not really?
Oh wow, they left Pharynx at the hive? No wonder the invasion failed.
Internally, Thorax really wants to be a hero.
Maybe when Spike shows up they could accidentally feed the Crown to him.
I like this plan with the Bullwalda and the teleporting and the wall. I'm sure it'll be exciting.
...did Spike just remove the lock by sending it to an exhausted and possibly bound and tied up Celestia? I doubt she's in a state to catch it as she normally would.
Yikes.
So if this is what a single Charity can do, what can an entire species do? What can the entire region do? Hm.
*nods soberly* Guinea pig iron.
Has Apple Bloom always been a sarcastic little apple or is it just the stress of the situation getting to her?
It's also neat to get some insight into donkey Cunning. Seems like it's not just limited to what the donkey using it already knows.
9696399
When Spike's showing off amidst the End-Times, sarcasm'd come easily to a'body.
Sort of. It effectively does all the heavy lifting as far as joining the dots goes, picking up on wee details and bits of subconscious or forgotten knowledge to lash together a gestalt picture of the whole, and to help suggest to the donkey exactly what they ought to be doing right now to solve their problem with the tools on hand. If it pursues the wrong lead or gets fed faulty information, though, then heavens help the donkey and anyone in a mile's vicinity of them.
I wonder when Thorax got around to telling Spike how they actually first met? (Or maybe he decided no good would come of remembering that day.)
10961146
I imagine Thorax would've been wary to mention it at first - though it would have made Spike an easier soul to open up to - but it would have come out at some point safely far down the line. ("If you don't mind me asking, were you there when Canterlot was attacked?" "Ah-ha. Um. Funny story...")
called it