The Disappearance of Harissa Honeycomb

by Miller Minus

8 – Spirit Spar

The Princess Luna Knight Academy (Or "the PLKA" for short, and yes, that's pronounced like the dance or the dot), is actually a lot like any other post-secondary school in Equestria. I mean, apart from it being one of the only schools named after a fictional character instead of a historical figure.

We had the mean courses, the meaner profs, the meanest schedules, and the occasional nice ones of each, too. We had the late nights at the library (or the gym), the frustrating group projects, and the intimidating solo ones. Granted, we had a lot more Phys Ed than anypony else, but it was still a pretty similar atmosphere. I should know! I studied two years of ornithology at Canterlot U before dropping out and, as the seniors put it, 'doing the PLKA'.

But the biggest similarity between the academy and other schools was that when you graduated from the PLKA, you were faced with the same daunting decision as all graduates did at the end of their program. You had to decide what to you were going to do next.

Luckily, unlike other schools, the PLKA didn't drop their alumni out the backdoor with a fancy piece of paper and a fancier hat, only to be in touch as often as an estranged family member. That is, whenever they wanted some money. No, the PLKA was in part a city-subsidized establishment, and Canterlot invested way too much in its guardsponies for that kind of treatment.

Instead, they laid out your post-grad options clearly, what the first steps were to taking each option, and told you what you would encounter down whichever path you chose. And then they promised to contact you if they were short on cash.

A popular choice was the Royal Guard, of course, if daily patrols, escorts, and opportunities to get shown up by the Princess whenever trouble came to Canterlot sounded like fun. There was the Pony Peacekeeping Force, too—an equally popular option if you had a particular city in Equestria where you wanted to be stationed, be it for family or touristic reasons. Actually, that option was a little more popular, seeing as peacekeeping in one of the most peaceful nations on the planet is widely considered to be a gay old time.

But then there's the Field Knights. The choice that Minerva, Terrain and I found selecting very easy. My friends felt they could get the most altruistic work done by being outside of the land of eternal sunshine. And hey, I wanted to help others too, but if I'm honest, I also had a powerful need to avoid patrols, routines, routine patrols, and of course, the most monotonous task in the world.

Lookout duty.

But I want to make something very clear here. Lookout duty on Castle Pinery's rooftop was the absolute highlight of my mission, and not just when you compare it to everything before and after it, which, admittedly, helps. But if I could have spent an entire week up there, sleeping there and eating there, I would have gone home more refreshed than if I'd spent a week at the spa.

My walk to, and up, the staircase to the roof was a grumpy one—punctuated with sighs and dragging hooves. I was all excited after learning I'd been given a task that sounded easy, but the monotony of the task itself started to seep into my thoughts before long.

But then I took my first steps on the flat, wooden roof, I turned to my right, and I got a chill up my spine. The excited kind of chill, that goes down your limbs and gives you goosebumps. True, it could have just come from the crisp autumn air settling over the castle, but it was more likely from laying my eyes on the tree.

The tree!

The same tree we'd seen when we first made that trip down Castle Road. That awesome, wide-reaching spectacle piercing the heart of Castle Pinery like a shish kebab, and sprinkling the castle with tiny needles at every breeze.

And then, I saw something I couldn't have seen from Castle Road. I saw the spiral staircase leading up from the base of the tree and disappearing into the prickly green lush. The chills got stronger and my heart shrank with happiness—back to the size it was when I was a kid.

I sprinted to the tree and bounded up the stairs as fast as I could, and in hindsight, it's a miracle I didn't trip over my hooves and crash through the foliage. The steps peaked and troughed over and under the barrel-thick branches in the way, and there wasn't any railing, but still, I twisted and leapt like I'd been climbing them my whole life.

The top was about three storeys up, where the stairs levelled out into a platform with a barrier, not unlike the crow's nest of a galleon. The branches around the nest had been sliced off at the base, giving the lookout ponies a perfect view of everything happening off of each of the four walls.

Well, I say "lookout ponies", but that's not accurate, because there was only one lookout pony up there.

ME!

JUST me!

I was alone!

For the first time since I had gotten to Pinery, I was right where I needed to be, and there was nopony around that I had to interact with! And that meant there was nopony around to screw up interacting with, and nopony to give me that you're-doing-something-wrong look! I was getting dead sick of that look, and it would be staying far, far, far, FAR away from me for at least a short while.

And all I had to do was stand there and look out for things. I didn't even have to be very good at it!

And I wasn't very good at it! Truth be told, I sucked at lookout duty. Granted, I never did get any instructions, but it was still awfully intuitive, right? I'm pretty sure I was supposed to walk around the nest, take some mental notes of what I saw over each of the four walls, and notify the castle of incoming invaders by screaming until my lungs went flat.

It's quite simple on paper, but in practice, Pinery made it impossible, because while I assumed I should have been overlooking the four walls equally, it was hard to give them each a fair share of attention, considering they were busy competing against each other to determine which wall was the least engaging.

And what a fierce competition it was.

The east wall had Castle Road, which was probably the most likely place to spot 'invaders', but unless there was a particularly elaborate invasion involving supply carts coming in from town, there wasn't going to be anything worth screaming about.

The south wall had the forest, or at least the parts of it that hadn't been sacrificed to Pinery's lumber demands. And unless the foresters decided to go to work on a Sunday, there wasn't going to be any entertainment for the poor sap on lookout duty.

The north wall had another pathway, and another avenue for invaders, but not even supply carts graced this one. They wouldn't fit. It was narrow and unbeaten and winded through a mess of really old, really tall pine trees. Looked a heck of a climb, too. It had a short wooden sign next to it that was just too far to read, so that was kind of engaging, and I had to dock some points.

The west wall, meanwhile, was the clear loser. It didn't enclose any exterior rooms, but it acted as a barrier between the forest outside and the courtyard below me. The very same courtyard where the spirits—and their two special guests from Equestria—warmed up for their mid-morning training session under the watchful stare of Tartarus's canine warden, and the malevolent stallion that held his chain.

So I watched that the whole time.

I didn't have a fantastic view of the courtyard; I had to vault the barrier and lie down on the thickest branch available, where I could peer down through a mess of even more branches. But for a stallion with a green coat and brownish-grayish mane, it made for some pretty awesome camouflage. So long as I didn't move very much, the commander wouldn't see me, and I wanted to keep it that way. I was disobeying orders after all. One hint that I wasn't doing as he said, and he’d probably jump at the chance to fly up and yell at me until I couldn’t hear anymore, and then yell at me further.

Which brings me to the biggest problem about my perch: I couldn't hear the chatter from the courtyard from so high up, so I was only audience to war cries and the louder grunts. That was, until I remembered I had a spell up my sleeve. 'Auditory Amplification Enchantment'. Or in laypony's terms, 'That spell what turns up your ears'. It made the farther sounds easier to hear, and the closer sounds kind of ear-splitting.

But that wasn't a problem when you were all by yourself.

It would be easy for me to say that I learned that spell for a course at the PLKA—maybe one about unicorn espionage, or spatial awareness 101. But the truth is that I picked it up in high school. Self-taught, actually. It's amazing what you can teach yourself when you're worried about ponies talking about you when you're not around. Take it from me—they're usually asking each other why your ears are glowing.

But this tangent isn't important.

I settled into my new perch, took one last look down the staircase and around the roof, and I flared my horn. I felt a warmth around my ears, like a heated blanket. The twinkling of needles and crunching of bugs and critters in the bark grew louder, and I breathed in deep. I focused on the wooden planks far below me, and heard them creak against the sway of the tree. I breathed even deeper, and I turned my attention to the courtyard, where I heard running hooves.

****

The spirits jogged around an elliptical track of beaten dirt and grass that spanned the entire area of the courtyard. They wore simple white t-shirts with shamrock-green collars—adorned with a pine tree on each shoulder. Next to the sets of Equestrian leathers at the front and the back of the running pack, they looked like trainees graced by the presence of heroes.

Commander Fellsaw and Charles stood in the track's center. A burlap sack filled with gleaming red apples sat limply on a tree stump between them. The iron in the commander's armor matched Charles's collar so well they must have been forged at the same time—same encroaching rust stains and everything.

The two watchers rotated in place at different speeds—Fellsaw watching Minerva come within seconds of lapping his quickest guard, and Charles watching Terrain trot at a measured pace with the slowest spirit there. It was Portly, and Terrain was chatting it up with him—neither of them threatening to take the warm-up seriously.

"Alright, that's enough!" the commander beckoned, scratching Charles on his head to stop the growling. "Bring it in!"

The spirits flocked to the center like a group of highschoolers in gym class—with no real order or formation, and already looking winded. There were only about forty of them all told, and none of them looked a day over twenty, save for Portly, who could have been thirty.

The spirits huddled together behind their bigger comrade and stayed a good few yards away from the new ponies that came to training that day. Minerva stretched herself out—from her neck all the way down to her fetlocks, like she'd been trained. Terrain sat down beside her and picked at his teeth.

Fellsaw addressed his guards. "I trust you've all met our new friends from Equestria by now!"

The spirits glanced at their guests briefly—so quick to throw their gaze at the ground like they were trying to avoid a disease spread by eye contact.

Minerva cheered mid-stretch, "Hey!", while Terrain waved with a limp hoof and a limper smile.

"I would tell you their names," Fellsaw continued, grinning, "but they escape me."

"Nuthin' 'scapes you, boss!" Portly boomed from in front of the spirit pack, taking his leader by surprise. "Least of all that chef-kidnappin' chef, eh, wot!"

Fellsaw smiled as a few murmurs of congratulations followed. "Now, now… I don't want any of you to worry about Prika's little stunt. She'll see the error of her ways once I'm through with her."

Portly smacked his hooves together once. "That's my boss," he confided to the guards closest to him. "So when d'ya think she'll spill the beans on 'Arry? We miss 'er sumthin' awful. Don't we, fellas?"

The spirits nodded, but made no sound. They set imploring frowns on their commander and waited for him to respond. Minerva, stretching out her shoulders, spat on the ground and stamped it—a dreadful crease appearing between her eyes. Terrain leaned over and whispered something to her. It was long-winded, and it caused her to sneer. She nodded approvingly, and Terrain patted her on the back.

Commander Fellsaw cast a blank stare over his constituents. He cleared his throat. "I will… deal with Prika. But more important than any of that… We need to entertain our guests from Equestria. They are, after all… the ones I've been warning you about."

A fog of whispers fell over the spirits. They took a much longer look at Minerva and Terrain this time, no longer afraid of what they might catch. Only of what they saw.

Fellsaw jangled Charles's chain and the whispers vanished. "Let's show them what the Pinerian Guard can do, boys! We'll start wit—"

A hoof shot up in the air, and Fellsaw paused. He lowered his head and sighed through his nose. "...What is it, Terrain?"

"First, congrats on remembering my name. And second—"

Fellsaw grumbled.

"—why's he over there?" Terrain pointed through the spirit pack, and they parted in a hurry, as if he were about to shoot a laser from his hoof.

At the west end of the courtyard was a cracked yet level wooden bench sitting parallel to the wall. The lethargic pony from breakfast, Drowsy (perhaps) had curled up on one side—his eyes firmly shut, and his T-shirt one size too large. A bubble burst from his nostril, causing him to stir.

Portly piped up. "He's got CFS, like. Mighty fierce today, innit."

Terrain's eyes brightened. "No way! He has CFS too? I thought I was the only one!"

Charles's throat vibrated in rage.

"...You have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome," the commander spoke in monotone.

Terrain froze for a second, and then belted out an exaggerated yawn. "AAAHHHhhhh... yeah, heh, I'll bet his comes out of nowhere too, right?"

A tentative giggle came to life in the middle of the spirit pack, and Fellsaw killed it with a jerk of his head.

Minerva pushed herself into the final stage of her warmup—the standing seal, which stretched the backs of her hindlegs and pointed her nose to the sky. "I never knew you had CFS," she strained.

"Well...I don't like to talk about it."

"But you love talking about things." She came out of her stretch. "Sometimes I'd do anything to shut you up."

Terrain pressed his teeth together in a grin. "It's funny you should say that."

Another giggle was born—a little louder than the last. This one was murdered by Fellsaw whipping Charles's chain against the tree stump.

"ENOUGH!" he burst. "YOU!" he pointed to Terrain. "If you don't want to participate just say so!"

"I don't want to particip—"

"Then GO!" Fellsaw roared, throwing his hoof at Drowsy as if damning him to Tartarus. A few seconds passed as the stiff pegasus panted through his teeth.

"Aye-aye!" Terrain cantered to the tree stump, successfully avoided the commander's disdainful stare, grabbed a couple apples and made his way through the crowd of spirits towards the bench. "Have fun, everypony!" he sang on his way. None of them reacted. They all just stared at their commander as he fought back something awful in his throat.

When he reached Drowsy's bench, Terrain nudged him awake and offered him an apple. The gift was accepted, warily, and they got to talking.

His airway clear, Fellsaw addressed his soldiers again. "It's Sunday, so we're practicing hoof-to-hoof combat. Split off in pairs and start sparring. I'll come around and give pointers."

The heads of the spirits cocked in several different directions. Familiar friends found each other's eyes and elated as the usual pairings formed, and moved to open spaces in the courtyard.

Portly, left all alone, made a dart for Minerva. Fellsaw went to grab his own apple as the spirits spread out into the courtyard like bees.

"Time out!" Minerva blurted.

Everypony froze.

"What?" Fellsaw seethed, apple already in hoof.

"You said that you wanted your guards to learn stuff from me!" Minerva recalled.

"That wasn't my exact wording."

"Oh, I think it was! How is anypony supposed to learn from me if I'm stuck only sparring one freakin' guy!"

Fellsaw rolled his eyes and whipped his apple back into the sack. "What would you prefer, everyone against you?"

Minerva chuckled and inhaled through her teeth. "Maybe another day. No, I was thinking we have an actual match! Me versus a pony of my choice, and the rest gather around us in a circle and watch. That way everypony's learning, y'know? Like you wanted!"

"We aren't an after-school martial arts program. On Sundays we spar and we do not ever debate my schedule."

"I'd watch her, boss!" Portly chimed in. He twisted his hoof in the dirt and blushed like he was about to ask Minerva out for coffee. "I'd fight her too, iffin that's alright with the lass." The big stallion paid Minerva a hopeful smile, and she cringed like he actually had asked her out.

"Okay, um… Loving the enthusiasm, pal, but I said I get to choose. Whaddya say, Felly ol' buddy?"

A murmur of amusement snaked its way around the spirit pack. It was clear they liked the idea, whether it was for the chance to see an Equestrian captain in action, to avoid getting their hooves dirty, or a bit of both. They even broke away from their partners and started forming a group in front of Fellsaw again, like the decision had already been made.

The commander slowly buried his face in his hooves and heaved out a sigh like it was a weight he'd been carrying all morning. When he came out, he looked skyward and grumbled, "I have to approve the opponent."

Minerva's smile burst forth. "I think you will." She turned to face Portly and winked at him.

Portly swelled out his chest.

"Eeny," she said, and disappointment enveloped him.

"Meeny." She pointed broadly to the curious spirits, who dispersed from her hoof, still wary of lasers.

"Miny!" she called after Terrain, who was too busy listening to Drowsy to scowl. He still did, though.

And then, Minerva the Brave, the sprightly and vulgar young Captain of the Equestrian field knights, spun around and pointed right at Castle Pinery's commander.

"You."

The declaration sent a quiet cluster of gasps through the spirit pack, which only made Minerva's smile double in size.

Portly made the biggest sound. "Yore jokin'!" he exclaimed. "Yore talkin' crazy, lass! The boss doesn't fight nobody!"

"What?!" she retorted. "What better way to learn than from watching the two most experienced fighters in this whole castle duke it out? Right, Commander?"

Fellsaw didn't respond, but the look he was giving her would have caused a less confident mare to burst into flames. Minerva returned the look in kind, trying her best to set him ablaze.

"You!" Fellsaw shouted at Portly, who sat down like a trained animal.

"Y-yeah, b-b-boss?"

"…Look after Charles for me, will you? The rest of you, form a circle."

The courtyard exploded in movement. The spirits fanned out around the track, with one of them volunteering to relocate the bag of apples from the stump. Fellsaw took Charles to his biggest guard and relinquished the chain, rubbing Charles—a concerned, upward look in the dog's eyes—on his chin one last time before Portly took him away. Minerva, bubbling over in excitement, took off her sword and threw it over to a group of spirits, who dodged it with a less-than-stalwart shriek and let it thump against the dirt.

In less than a minute, the arena was built, and the two fighters stood as far apart as possible in the negative space created by the crowd. Fellsaw's silver armor shimmered a little in the grey light of the clouds, while Minerva's leathers were perfectly blunt and constant.

"Do you want a rundown of the rules?" Fellsaw called to Minerva, condescending.

"Real fights don't have rules," she responded.

"…Agreed."

Minerva scraped her hoof against the dirt, and whispered, "Let's do this, shithouse."

And so it was.