Knights of Bayard

by Abi Sain

Chapter Nine (Unedited)

The next morning they learned there was to be an attack up the hill towards the city, and that Lulamoon would be sent to the dugout there. Nopony knew anything about it, although they all spoke with great optimism and strategic knowledge. Lulamoon was getting on his way towards the estate. The nobles were in full armor and a few passed by and there was a priest, offering prayers to the Goddess, and a few, those still tied to the Imperial faith, attended a baptism, swearing their fealty to the Regal Sisters, whom the priest declared to be the true descendants of the Regal Mother. He hurried to the watch commander and asked for Wing Song. He sent a servant to find her, and he came back with her.

“I stopped by yesterday to meet you. They told me you were on duty.”

“I’m quite well,” she said. “They mentioned you coming yesterday.”

“I have to go soon. Can we talk for a bit?”

“Let’s go to the garden.”

She was wearing a full plate of gilded armor and fitted chainmail. Her bombard was tied to her saddle-straps, and it clinked against her armor as they walked.

“Are you all right?” he asked her.

“Yes, Tristan. I’m glad you came. Will you be coming with us?”

“No. I’m leaving for the dugout up north.”

“Maybe I’ll see you on your run.”

“Maybe. I don’t think it will be long though.”

“You still think they’ll crack?”

“They have to. They have nothing left.”

Wing Song smiled. She was unclasping something from her neck. She put it in her hoof. “It’s a Triple Moon,” she said. “It will bring you Her blessing.”

“You don’t think Luna’s a Goddess, do you?”

“No. But they say Her magic brings good fortune to those far from home.”

“Wing Song. Did you really mean it? Do you really love me?”

“Yes,” she said. “I do.”

“I’m sorry. I want to say I love you too. Honestly, I don’t know. But I like being here. I like being with you.”

“We’ll find out when this war ends, then.”

“All right,” he said. “I’ll take care of it for you. Good bye.”

“No,” she said, “not good bye.”

“All right.”

“Be a good colt and be careful. We can see each other after, and then, we can spend more time together.”

Lulamoon looked back at the armored soldiers outside and he looked at her and he remembered Swift Bolt. He held her close to him, and he kissed her, and she wrapped a wing around him, and pulled him closer. He pulled away, slowly, and he waved to her as he left. She waved and he was out of the estate, and on his way to the storehouse, and climbing onto a wagon when he started. The Triple Moon was in the pocket of his tunic. He pulled it from his pocket, untangled the chain with his magic.

“Triple Moon?” asked the pony carrying the wagon.

“Yes.”

“I have one.” He pulled it out from under his tunic.

“See?”

He put the Triple Moon back in his pocket.

“You don’t wear her?”

“No.”

“It’s better to wear her. That’s what it’s for.”

“All right,” he said. Lulamoon undid the clasp of the silver chain and put it around his neck and clasped it. The pendant hung down on the outside of his tunic, and he used his magic to tuck it under his tunic. He felt her against his bare chest while they went. Then he forgot about her, and thought about Wing Song. Somehow, it made the pendant seem more precious.

They moved quickly past the defensive line and soon saw the dust of other wagons and ponies ahead. The Pegasi flew above them and he saw that they looked quite small, flying through the air and going off into the clouds. They passed a few sentries and he got off the wagon and climbed up through the trees and into the hills. He passed a long column of cannons, and looking back, he saw three sentries, and their repeaters, and walking further behind him, the ponies wearing mage-steel collars. They were with the Blitz.

Beyond the cannons Lulamoon continued to climb through the hills and then went down over the shoulder of a long hill into a small trench. There were trees along the northern side of the trench, and long wooden spikes, covered in flora, and there were pits covered in foliage and the accompanying smell of filth. Close by he saw the dugout. There were troops already inside, and a wagon full of spears, round-shots, bandages, dried hay, and pemmican, and it was nearly dark when Lulamoon came down and helped them unload the wagon that left towards the marked trees.

The dugout was cramped and there were screens of stained cloth and straw matting on both sides, and sheets on the roof of the dugout so that it was like being inside an old earth house. He sat quietly in the matting covered dugout and checked the provisions. A hole had been knocked in the back of the dugout and they prepared a fireplace out of mud for cooking, using rocks for a chimney cap. Water was collected in pots from a nearby creek, and they began boiling soup with hay and crushed carrots. Lulamoon talked with one of the other runners and learned that when it should start and their saddle-bags were loaded they would walk along the marked path and up to the main line where there would be a post to drop off the supplies. The runner was a dumpy little stallion with a fluffed beard. He had been in the war in Kholstomer and wore a silver pin on his cloak. He said he hoped it would go well but he stuttered and appeared nervous. The stallion asked Lulamoon to have a drink with him and two other ponies. They drank rum and the ponies were very friendly. Outside it was dark. Lulamoon asked what time the attack was to be and they said as soon as it was dark. Fence and Thunder Wing arrived. They sat across from Lulamoon, closer to the fireplace. He gave each of them a tankard, and filled them with wine, and Fence pulled out his pipe, stuffed with smoke-leaf, and some of it it spilled onto the floor. Fence lit it from the fireplace and passed it around. Lulamoon told them what he had heard.

“Why didn’t we see more guards when we came?” asked Fence.

“This is just a back-up. In case the others get shelled.”

“Hope they marked the path right.”

“They’ll shell the shit out of us,” said Thunder Wing.

“Probably.”said Fence.

“What about food, Tristan?” asked Thunder Wing. “We won’t get a chance to eat after it starts.”

“I’ll check the soup now,” said Lulamoon.

“What else did they bring us?”

“Not much,” said Delilah. “Better to stay here. It’s too dark out now.”

Fence looked over the supplies and one of the runners said somepony would be along and the guards would come and get their soup. He would loan them an extra waterskin if they did not have one. Lulamoon said he thought they had them, and warned them about giving out waterskins. They were silent until the soup was finished. With the exception of a few, most of them were fresh-faced and eager to experience war.

The dugout was warm and dry and Lulamoon leaned back against the wall, sitting on the end of his tail, and relaxed.

“Who goes to the attack?” asked Cobalt.

“The Blitz.”

“It’s always the Blitz.”

“You think so.”

“First attack is always the bloodiest. Better to send them, than any of us.”

“It’s probably to draw attention from where the real attack will be.”

“Do the soldiers know that?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Of course they don’t,” Fence said. “They wouldn’t attack if they did.”

“Yes, they would,” Delilah said. “Or they’ll get their heads blown off.”

“Seriously?” asked Cobalt.

“Why do you think they wear those collars.” A few of them laughed.

“Were you there, Lulamoon, when they wouldn’t attack and they popped their collars?”

“No.”

“It is true. They stayed in their tents and the Captain popped every one of them until they got out to fight.”

“Sweet Celestia,” said Marble, and he made a gesture of prayer with his hoof. “But those grenadiers. Up above. They’ll attack.”

“If everypony rushed in the city would be taken and the war would be over,” Fence said.

“It doesn’t work that way. They’re built for a siege. And the nobles aren’t going to risk their skin rushing into the fight.”

“I’ve seen some of the Knight’s fighting.”

“Those ponies are crazy. They’re like Dimondians. They love this sort of thing.”

“One of the ponies in the Blitz is from my town,” Delilah said. “He was a big smart stallion, too smart to be a soldier. He was always with mares. I even got a good ride out of him.” She laughed. “Then he got in bed with some prissy noble and she dumped him in the Blitz and nopony came to stop them. It’s the same for all of us. There are no laws to protect us from the Blitz. Anypony can be taken.”

“If it wasn’t for them, nopony would be fighting.”

“Yes. Posey would. Those Royal Knights would. Even the Sisters fight.”

“If the Sister’s were here, the war would be over.”

“You shouldn’t let us talk this way, Sergeant. Defätistisches gespräch.”

“I know how you talk,” said Lulamoon. “But as long as you move the goods and behave-”

“-and don’t talk so others can hear,” Fence finished.

“I believe the war will end when we take Grani,” said Lulamoon. “It won’t finish if they think they still have a chance at winning. It would only be worse if we stopped.”

“It could not be worse,” Marble said respectfully. “There is nothing worse than war.”

“Defeat is worse,” said Cobalt.

“What is defeat?” asked Fence. “You go home.”

“They come after you,” said Lulamoon. “They take your home, your family, and force you to fight.”

“Do you have family, Sergeant?” asked Cobalt.

“I did. In Calmare. They got sent south.”

“Only tinkers get sent south,” said Delilah.

“Except the Sergeant,” said Fence, chuckling. “He got stuck with us and Perrichon.”

“I don’t believe it,” Delilah said. “Tinkers always run. That’s why we hang so many.”

“They couldn’t hang everypony.”

“A pony can’t make a tinker a soldier,” said Cobalt. “At the first battle they all run.”

“Like the cloven.”

“I’ve seen cloven fight beside us,” said Marble. “We all have our reasons to fight. Listen. There is nothing as bad as war. We can’t even understand how bad it is. We’re here in the dugout, far from it all. When ponies realize how bad it is they cannot do anything to stop it because everything gets crazy. There are some ponies who never realize. But we have homes and families to go back to. It is for them that we keep fighting.”

Delilah shook her head.

“The war doesn’t end here. What if the Empire comes? What if they decide they want to come to Equestria? Did you see what they did to the Griffins? Do you think we will take them too? Only if the Arabs help us. The fighting might stop then. But then the Arabs decide they want us, and then we have to fight them. Why don’t we just stop fighting? They had their own country. But no, it wasn’t enough, and that’s why there is war.”

“You’re an orator now?”

“We’re ponies. We think, we read. We are not peasants. We are free-folk and merchants. But even the peasants know better than to believe in war. Everypony hates this war.”

“Also they make money out of it.”

“Most of them don’t,” said Fence. “They are too stupid. Like those knights. They do it for nothing.”

“We must stop,” said Thunder Wing. “We talk too much.”

“Pegasi are always so serious,” said Fence. “It is fine to talk.”

“But now we will shut up,” said Thunder Wing.

“Is the soup ready, Sergeant?” asked Marble.

“Just about,” said Lulamoon. Marble stood up beside him.

“Is there anything I can do, Sergeant? Can I help in any way?” He was the most soft spoken of the group. “Come with me if you want,” said Lulamoon, “and we’ll see.”

It was dark outside, and Lulamoon carried a small candle with his magic. There were rockets set up near the cannons, and a sharpshooter was perched atop a large oak, directing sounds made to resemble any old bird. They moved through the trench towards a little shelter nearby. There were green branches and netting over the entrance and in the dark the night wind rustled the leaves dried by the sun. Inside there was a light. A few guards were sitting beside a small fire. One of the guards said they were on break and he offered Lulamoon some mead in a clay cup. Lulamoon looked at the old wooden table, the clumps of hay and browned apples, the basin, full of water, and the sharpened spears. Marble stood behind him. A large mare came in from behind the two, wearing a grass-sewn cloak, and branches tied to her helmet.

“It’s starting,” she said. “They’ll be launching the half-lights soon.”

Lulamoon looked outside, it was dark and he see the sparks, zipping up into the air. It was quiet for a moment still, then from all around them, the skies were lit, and the barrage started.

“Sergeant,” said Marble.

“About the soup,” said Lulamoon. The others did not hear him, and he repeated himself.

“We need to get ready in case the others come back,” one said. “Think you can some over for us?”

The ground bursted from outside, further away from the trench. Another followed and in the noise Lulamoon could hear the smaller noise of showering dirt and splitting oak.

“What sort of soup is it?”

“Hay and carrots,” said Marble.

“We’ll take whatever you can give us.”

Lulamoon and Marble made their way outside when a guard came out from the entrances called for them, carrying a waterskin. He handed it to Lulamoon.

“Have you anymore waterskins?”

Lulamoon took the guards waterskin, which had split open from the seams.

“I’ll come back with another.”

“Thank you very much,” he said.

“Sir,” said Marble. “We’d probably shouldn’t go.”

Outside the trench, the wind was picking up, and there was the faint smell of black powder.

“Let’s just be quick about it,” said Lulamoon. “Don’t need hungry guards watching over us.”

They galloped through the trench towards the dugout. The cannons continued to thunder further north. Then there was one they did not hear coming until the sudden rush. They both went flat, with the sounds of the ground bursting in the distance, and the rattle of falling branches and pebbles echoing through the surviving forest. Marble got up and ran for the dugout. Lulamoon followed him, holding a hoof to his chest, his tunic covered in dirt and cut grass. Inside the dugout there were two guards, sitting against the wall, smoking.

“Something happen?” he asked.

“No,” said Fence. “They’re here to pick up the food.”

“All right.”

“Did they scare you, tinker?” asked Delilah.

Lulamoon didn’t answer. He took out a pot, filled it with the soup, and using his magic, handed it to one of guards, handing the other a full waterskin he instructed to be given to one of the guards. Marble handed Lulamoon an apple.

“Start in to eat, Sergeant.”

“No,” he said. “Put it all together. We’ll all eat.”

“There are no spoons.”

“Just eat it from the bowl,” he said.

He lifted the bowl of soup to his mouth, using his hoof to move the larger chunks, sucked and chewed, and then took a bite of apple, chewed, and then a drink from his tankard. It tasted of rusted metal. Marble pulled a jug from beside him, and filled the tankards with wine.

They were all eating, holding their chins close to their bowl, tipping them back, sucking in the soup. Lulamoon took another mouthful and another bite from his apple and a rinse of wine. Something landed outside that shook the earth.

“Was that?!” Marble stood up.

“It’s just a stray,” said Lulamoon.

“It happens sometimes,” said Cobalt. “Those cannons can shoot pretty far, depending where you’re firing.”

“Suddenly you’re a cannoneer now.”

They went on eating. There was a cough, and a sneeze, and then the earth shook again.

“This isn’t a deep dugout,” Thunder Wing said.

“That was a mortar. You can tell from the sound when they land.”

“You think they know we’re here?” asked Fence.

“Even if they did,” said Cobalt, “they’d have to be pretty damn lucky to hit anything this far.”

Lulamoon finished his apple and took a swallow of wine. Through the noise he heard galloping hooves, then came a guarding shouting, his face bloody. Then there was a flash, and a roar that went on and on, as wind rushed into the dugout. Lulamoon was thrown aside, swiftly and violently, and for a moment, he thought he was dead and that he couldn’t be dead if he thought that he had died. He pulled himself up. The ground was torn up, and in front of him there were shapes and shadows. Somepony was crying, and he thought he heard ponies screaming. He tried to move, but he couldn’t, and when he attempted to use magic, there was a burning sensation coming from his horn. There were flashes and he heard the volley guns and repeaters bursting from all around him, and then he heard close to him, somepony shouting “Griffins! By Luna, shoot them!” He pulled and twisted and finally got up on his hooves and turned to move. He saw among the murky shapes that there was somepony’s legs, and that they were covered in red and pink. The pony nearby moaned towards him, “Oh sweet Celestia,” then, “Goddess above, oh Goddess please make it stop. Stop it. Stop it. Oh blessed Luna make it stop. Oh oh oh oh,” then choking, “sweet Celestia, oh sweet Celestia save me.” Then he was weeping, his forehooves twitching.
“Marble!” Lulamoon shouted, reaching towards him. “Marble, you there!” He tried to get closer to Marble, and he felt his mane with his hooves. He could feel the warm fluid on his head, and the dirt in his mane, and he could smell the charred meat and used gunpowder. Oh, Goddess, he thought, please, please somepony help. He held the shape that was Marble. He wasn’t weeping anymore, and Lulamoon spoke gently to him. Somepony took Lulamoon under the arms, and he tried shaking them away. He continued to hear ponies shouting through the noise, and he tried sending a surge of magic towards the approaching shadows. His horned burned and he howled in pain.

“Easy there, friend. Just take it easy.”

“Who, who are you?” Lulamoon stammers. “What’s happening? Where are the guards?”

“Servir avec honneur. We’re with Lady Posey.”

“Griffins. The Griffins, I-”

“Where are the others?”

“I-I don’t know.”

A shell fell close and he held onto Marble, shielding his face from the showering dirt.

“We need to get moving,” the pony said. “Hang onto my neck.”

“Marble. He’s-”

“It will be alright. We have him.”

Lulamoon became quiet. It was a lie, he thought, because Marble was dead already. He made sure he was dead. He held onto the pony, and he felt tears coming down his chin. They stung his eyes, and he held them shut.

They dropped him once before carrying him from the trench.

“You whore-son,” he said.

“I’m sorry, Vanner,” the pony said. “We won’t drop you again.”

Outside the post a great many of ponies were laid on the ground in the dark. He could hear the volley guns and the sounds of wings cutting through the clouds, and there were ponies shouting from all around him. Some of the wounded were noisy but most were quiet. The wind blew the leaves over them and the night was getting colder. Stretcher-bearers came in, and he placed onto one and put on a wagon. A mare, bearing the Rod, came over and spoke to him.

“Are you hurt badly?”

“I can’t see.”

“It’s not serious, I hope.” She brought a water-skin to Lulamoons lips. He drank deeply and nearly chocked when he became too eager.

“Easy now,” she said, pulling the water-skin from him.

The wagons was moving, and he felt his body rocking from side to side. The mare put bandages on his face and legs. She said there was so much dirt blown into the wound, and that he would need to be bubbled to prevent infection. There was some bleeding from his horn, but it was still intact. They would make their way to the hospital, and he would be taken care of.

“We’ve seen this sort of thing before. Once your in the hospital, we’ll have the chirurgeon look at your horn.”

“Thanks.”

“What’s your name?”

“Tristan.”

“It’s a lovely name. I’ve seen you about in the estate. They tell me you’re a Vanner.”

“Yes.”

“I’m Asturcon.”

“Seriously!”

“Yes, Asturcon. There were plenty of us who fought for Celestia when they attacked Bayard.”

“Griffins. They were shouting something about Griffins.”

“We’re being most careful of them,” she straightened up. The mare broke into voluble and perfect Bayari. “Have the physicians prepare a bubble. This one needs to have his horn checked.” She broke off, “I must do something about getting you to the chirurgeons. I’ll see that a message is sent to your regiment. We’ll be taking you back with us.”
She got off the wagon and stepping carefully as she and a stallion helped Lulamoon off the wagon. He saw a blanket being placed on him. There was a light ahead and he was being carried inside.

“Here is the Vanner from Perrichon’s regiment,” she said in Bayari.

“Lift him very carefully about the legs, and watch his head. Horns are very delicate. He is an honored servant of Their Most Holy Majesties, Celestia and Luna.” They picked him up and took him inside. There a little noble approached and looked at them furious. He recognized Lulamoon and waved his hoof.

“Why’s this tinker here?”

“I have brought him in,” the mare said. “An honored servant of the Regal Sisters. He can be here until Lady Posey says otherwise.” She bent over Lulamoon. “With these injuries, you probably won’t be sent back anyway.” The mare stopped to go under the doorway and went out. A physician was removing Lulamoon’s bandages, dropping them in a clay pot. Lulamoon tried to open his eyes to see what was happening, but shut them again when the physician began to wipe his face with a soaked cloth. Now he was bandaging. Then the stretcher-bearers carried him away.

“I’ll take the Vanner,” one of the chirurgeons said. They liften Lulamoon onto the table. It was hard and cold. There were many strong smells, potions, herbs, and the sweet smell of blood. They took of his cloak and armor and the chirurgeon commenced dictating to an apprentice while he worked. “Multiple superficial wounds of the left and right hind and the left and right forehoof. Lacerations of the scalp and eye area, with possible fracture of the horn and skull. Injured in service to Their Most Holy Majesties. That’ll keep the timber-brains from accusing you of self-inflicted wounds,” he said. “What in Tartarus happened anyway? What are they doing out there? Red Heart please, bring me the yarrow paste. Thank you. I’ll clean this up a little and apply some paste to the wounds, and put on a bandage. You have a very sturdy horn.”

The apprentice, looking up from the parchment asked: “What did this?”

The chirurgeon, “What hit you?”

Lulamoon, with bandaged eyes, “I don’t know. They were shouting something about Griffins.”

The chirurgeon placed something close to Lulamoon’s mouth. “Eat this.”

Lulamoon, biting into the smelly bar and chewing, “What is this?”

“A pain-killer,” he said bluntly. “Small fragments of your horn. Doesn’t look too serious. Now I’ll need to poke around to make sure it hasn’t cut too deeply. Does that sting? Good, that’s nothing to how it will feel later. The pain hasn’t started yet. The herbs I gave you should dull some of the pain; but it will still hurt plenty enough. How is your head?”

“Sweet Celestia!” said Lulamoon.

“Could have been much worse. If it had reached the meat, we’d have had to remove it completely, and that would have been painful. How does that feel?”

Sweat ran all over him.

“Sweet Celestia!” he said.

“Should be fine after a a few days. I’ll wrap you up and don’t bounce your head around.” He bandaged, his magic working very fast and the bandage coming taut and sure. “All right, that takes care of the horn. We’ll have somepony come and check your eyes, and get you to a nice warm bed. Servir avec honneur.”

“He’s a Vanner sir,” said the apprentice.

“And a soldier of Equestria and the Regal Sisters,” the chirurgeon said. “As worthy of honor as any Knight of the Realm.”

“It’s all right,” said Lulamoon. “Thank you very much.” The pain had started again, but it was bearable and for a while Lulamoon simply wanted to find sleep. There was another pony, and she wiped his eyes, and forced them open with her magic. All he could see were shapes and shadows, and the light of the candles were stronger than he liked them to be. Another pony came inside and he recognized the voice of the watch commander.

“I take it you’ve had a rough night,” he said. “I hope you’ll feel comfy. Lady Posey has insisted that our hospitals be open to both nobles and commoners. Though I’d hardly call you a commoner after all you’ve been through.”

“Wing Song, is she-”

“Still fighting probably. I wouldn’t worry about her. From what I’ve heard, she has more fire in her than before.”

“Is it true? Are the Griffins-”

“We have it under control. It’ll take more than a few flying rats to stop us.”

The bandage was pulled tightly over his eyes, and everything became dark, and he felt the stallions hoof on his shoulder. His body felt cold, and his head hurt so that it made him feel sick. After a while he was placed onto the stretcher and he heard and felt the light of the candles as he was carried to someplace more pleasant, and he felt his body being lifted and settled onto something soft and comfortable.

“Comment est-il?” the watch commander asked.

“Vivant. Mais je suis préoccupé par les dommages causés à ses yeux.”

The room was very warm, and cozy, and the bed was soft, but there was also a chill coming from a nearby window. It crept over Lulamoon, even as he drifted towards sleep. He struggled to stay awake and the night went on and he prayed silently, for anypony who would listen.

Comments

[Diokno44]

Like the 40K style book cover

[AdmiralSakai]

I really quite liked this story and am surprised it has not gotten more attention. You have one of the most distinct writing styles I've ever encountered on fimfiction and it fits extremely well with the vaguely WW1-like historical atmosphere the story creates. Ordinarily the constant references to events and concepts we know nothing about would be confusing, but this story actually manages to turn that into a plus by making the story seem like part of a larger, cohesive world. I'd very much like to see this resume.