The War and What Came After

by NorsePony

Chapter 6

Winter caught up to the army as they marched day after day toward the nameless city—it had not been built over the ruins of a village of the People, so it had no identity to them. It guarded the way deeper into the plains, where the corpses of once-great villages had been defiled by the Others. It was not of the People, so it would be razed to the ground rather than taken.

The warriors of the People slogged through the rising snow, exhaling frozen clouds but warm in their tightly-woven cloaks. Many of them looked around now and again with an expression like awe, seeming amazed to be walking on earth that no one of the People had trod for centuries, for even the most daring scouts never penetrated this far north into the plains. The army’s knowledge of their target came from sharp eyes squinting from the lowest cliffs on the mountain at the center of the earth. Ghost herself felt invigorated by the bright cold sunlight, laughing and smiling with Ember as they marched. The difficulty and strain of the battles which had come before seemed a distant shadow that did not reach far enough to darken this moment.

The army swung east and camped several hours from the city, and resumed the march an hour before dawn, approaching from the east so that the Others would have to fight staring into the early morning glare. They traveled in silence broken only by the crunch of slender hooves into fresh snow and occasional low conversations between friends.

The stronghold of the Others was visible a long way off, its walls and towers rising high above the smooth white plain, the crowning work of a race who had chosen to be beavers rather than warriors. As they drew closer to the imposing pile, the army settled out into a wide line formation, four ranks deep. The warriors fairly crackled with energy, eager for victory, ready to burst the walls of this new kind of village as they had burst so many before. Only Ghost and the other sensitives were dour, worrying privately about the toll this battle would take.

The base of the walls came into view at last. What is that? Ghost squinted, trying to make out the odd darkness before the wall. When their march brought her close enough to see, her mouth dropped open in surprise. Others—no, unicorns, a thousand or more, were gathered all together in a series of concentric circles: the outermost circle would have been difficult for an expert to sling a stone across, and the innermost was small enough that a single warrior could not have stood in the center. No matter where in the circles they were, the Others all faced the oncoming army. They presented a motley appearance; their coats had a hundred different shades, so unlike the pleasing subtlety of the People’s coloration. Many were clothed, wearing anything from scarves and boots as protection for their softness against the cold, to colorful blouses and ornamentation, to hooded robes which hid their entire body from view. But on every face there was an identical look of concentration and grim determination.

A note of uncertainty tinged Ember’s low voice. “What are they about?”

Ghost shook her head, unable to adequately voice her sudden worry. “I don’t know.”

Ember shot her a look, hearing her worry anyway. Ghost saw it, swallowed, and gritted her teeth around her orders to the commanders flanking her. The orders rippled out through the army, shout to shout. Stagger formation, advance, stand firm, take aim.

Fire all.

The horned ones were dangerous, and this many of them gathered together could not be anything but more dangerous. The army fired upon them all together, each warrior igniting both tubes so that twenty thousand weapons spat flame and swift death at the Others.

The instant before the command to fire had gone out, the horned ones had bent their necks in unison, and in unison, a brilliant gleam shone from each of their foreheads. The colors were almost as varied as their clothes and their coats, but the faint shimmer which appeared in the air between the army and the grouped Others was all of a piece. Ghost’s back prickled at the sight, unable to guess what it was, but knowing it was not good.

Twenty thousand projectiles arced toward the soft bodies of the Others. Not a single one struck home. They reached the shimmer and changed course, deflecting midair as though they had ricocheted off a rock. The plugs fairly leapt up to plink and poke ineffectively against the massive stones of the stronghold’s wall, falling pitifully down to land amidst the circled Others.

Ghost saw their chance, and screamed the order to detonate the plugs, reaching across the distance for Ano as she did so, finding the god only as distant as he had been in the middle of the hill campaign. The gods do reclaim the earth. Perhaps there will be an after worth having, in the end. Hundreds of sensitives were able to reach Ano, and hundreds of pairs of antlers glowed in the ranks of the army, here and there between warriors busily reloading.

The horned ones stepped forward with their left hoof, exactly together, setting them down with a thump that echoed in Ghost’s teeth.

Ano touched the plugs.

There was no fire.

The horned ones stepped forward with their right hoof. Thump. The plugs, all twenty thousand of them, lifted silently into the air and flung themselves into the ranks of the People. One glanced off of Ghost’s shoulder, no harder than if it had been thrown by a playful fawn. She was puzzled for the barest instant, and that was almost too long.

The horned ones lifted their left hooves. Ghost’s mind shocked with realization. She begged Ano to withdraw the flames. She showed him one plug, two, twenty, fifty, two hundred—

Thump.

The horned ones released their hold on the plugs, that unimaginable grip that had locked Ano’s fire in the plugs’ hearts, and the fire sprang forth.

Ghost was knocked to the ground by a blast close behind her. She huddled low as a hot rain spattered her coat and hissed in the snow around her face. I need to see. She forced herself to rise on unsteady legs and turned in place, dazed, looking upon a scene of devastation. The army of the People was ten thousand warriors and more. Was. Now it was a vast field of flame and blood, charred bodies and staring eyes. A bare few pockets of warriors still stood, each such pocket centered on a sensitive who had been quicker of thought or surer of intuition than the rest. Scarcely more than a thousand warriors could remain.

When she had been barely more than a yearling, but already set on her life’s path, Ghost had remained hidden while the pair of fat merchants she was hunting sat on thick cushions close by their fire and babbled in their grotesque language. She listened, hoping to learn of more merchants traveling the roads through the hills. Instead, the merchants spoke of politics, discussing concepts for which Ghost had no referents, and thus no patience. She readied herself to strike while the merchants’ guards’ backs were turned, but hesitated as one merchant casually mentioned a unicorn council which raised and set the sun each day. Ghost assumed it was metaphor or tale, for the sun belonged to the old gods. It was impossible to imagine a group of mortals—a group of fat, soft Others!—powerful enough to wrest control from a god. Her lip had curled in disdain as she stepped from hiding and threw her spear.

Now, confronted with the evidence of the power the Others could muster, Ghost remembered that moment, and something occurred to her which her younger self had not recalled: the old gods had turned away from the People.

Thump. Ghost’s head snapped around. Streaks of killing light, in every shade of the rainbow and some others besides, darted from the horned ones’ foreheads toward the remnants of the army. Warriors on both sides of Ghost were struck and fell with cries of agony and neat, sizzling holes punched straight through them. Ghost threw herself flat and somehow was not hit. We have to retreat, have to get back to the forest. To stay means only annihilation.

She inhaled to order the retreat, but her breath clung in her throat. She had been too dazed to notice Ember’s body on the ground next to her. Ghost lunged forward, heedless of the lights overhead and the stink of Others’ magic, and pressed an ear to Ember’s ribs. Her heart still beat, but faintly. Ghost tore her harness from her back and threw it down on the crushed snow. She had never tried to put into practice Ember’s words of advice from months and a lifetime ago, but she could wait no longer. She reached for Noa—not welcoming, not as a friend beckons a friend, as she would with Ano, but as a warrior reaches for her opponent. She gripped the god and threw her down onto the tubes, still in their harness, forcing enough respect from Noa to make her perform the feat Ghost needed.

The green light from her antlers washed over the snow as the tubes lengthened and the woven fibers of the harness stretched here and split there and merged there. In seconds, it was done: the tubes had become long slender poles and part of the harness had reformed into a web of fibers strung between them. She pushed Ember, hard, rolling her onto the travois with a moan, and shrugged into the leads.

The drunkenly swirling colors reflected on the snow died as the hellishly silent attack ended, and Ghost shouted the order to retreat. She leapt up with the surviving warriors—so few, so very few—and ran, bounding across the loose snow as fast as she could manage. The poles thumped against her flanks and scraped against rocks and bumps hidden beneath the snow, but Ember did not roll off and her agonized groans told Ghost that she still lived. No more streaks of light came after them to cut them down, which meant at least that the massed unicorns were not without limits.

They ran until they found a slight rise in the plain and threw themselves down behind it to regroup out of the sight of the city. Ghost bent and slipped out of the leads, gently laying the travois down on the snow. Ember groaned and panted as she was moved, her eyes unfocused with pain. The only surviving healer came at Ghost’s call, to examine Ember’s wound. It proved not to be one of the horrifying holes made by the killing light, but it was scarcely better news—a ragged-edged gash high on the side of her belly, which bubbled as she breathed, likely caused by a fragment of plug which had shattered instead of burning cleanly in its explosion.

The healer reached into his bags and expertly mashed together a poultice and bound it to Ember’s side. “That will ward off the killing fever, and it will keep her breath in. She may yet survive.”

He doled out a portion of cold healing tea for Ghost to serve to Ember. Ghost nodded and the healer moved to the next wounded warrior. Ghost positioned the bowl on the snow close to Ember’s head, and helped her hold her head up to lap at the bitter tea.

When the bowl was empty, Ghost tenderly laid Ember’s head down on Ghost’s folded cloak. Ember relaxed and appeared to fall asleep, but the ironic twist of her lip showed she still held on to consciousness. “One would think that that horrid stuff would taste better the more you need it. I can tell you, that is not so.”

A noise halfway between a laugh and a sob choked its way out of Ghost’s throat, and she bent to tenderly touch her antlers to Ember’s. “I am happy that you live.”

Ember’s eye cracked open, and some of its old light had returned. “I pray you may remain happy for some time, then.”

Ghost grinned and shook the tears from her eyes. “We must move again. We are the last of the People’s warriors, and we must reach the forest to survive.”

When Ghost said move, Ember winced at anticipated pain. Ghost’s heart hurt to see it, but Ember said, “It must be. I will live.” Her gaze grew distant and her voice fell to a whisper as quiet as fog creeping through the trees. “What does after look like now, I wonder?”

Ghost had no answer to that.

Comments

[Seether00]

Hmm.. so some time after unification but before the Princesses. Hmm... Well they've rattled the hornet nest now. Doubt the Equestrians will be content to let the People get away.

[NorsePony]

2694211 I thought of you when I pushed the Publish button on this chapter. I knew you'd be pleased. : D

[lilmagi]

Ouch, that was devastating. Guess they have to further develop their tactics.
I wonder how things will go from here.

[N00813]

Ooh, I like this. The writing style is a lot more fairytale-ish. It's an odd style, but it fits with the the genre of historical fiction.

Ten thousand to one thousand? They're not going to recover from that, methinks.
The rains weep o'er their halls...

[Sereg]

Well, it seems as though my guess for how long it had been was way too small. I guess i was taking the legend too litterally.

Quite a devstating blow there. About time the ponies got organised, but I didn't expect such a quick turn around without aid from the princesses. Still, well done.

[Lady Grey]

Uh huh. Yup. This is about the level of carnage I expected. Jeez guys, if you'd waited and repopulated the hills--maybe worked on that magic problem.

Eh, who am I kidding? More of them would have died because civilians would have been with them. Because you can bet that they'd be pressed all the way back to the forest come spring not matter what. Genocide is not exactly a good way to start a war. Because if/when the tables turn, mercy tends not to be on the table anymore. That can be said for both sides at this point.