VIII: Of Soldiers
A solid thunk roused Rarity from her sleep, her eyes fluttering open with a startled yelp. The carriage had fallen still at an odd angle. Her horn glowed as she pulled the nearest curtain back, squinting into the dawn sun, and poked her head out the window set into the door.
Onyx was frowning down at one of the wheels in the back. He looked up and dipped into an apologetic bow, revealing the bags under his eyes. “Apologies, Countess. Th’ wheel’s broke.”
“That’s fine, dear. How—oh, my.” She raised a hoof to cover her muzzle as a tremendous yawn passed over her. “How long until we can continue on?”
“It’ll just be a few minutes t’ swap in th’ spare, Countess. Though ye may prefer t’ walk.”
Rarity cocked her head as she followed the orange-clad soldier’s outstretched hoof. A small hill overlooked the path, crowned by a narrow trench and surrounded by a collection of pale tents. A banner fluttered over the peak, the colors only just visible through the shadow cast by the sun: yellow, with a bright red rooster in the center.
“Yes, I think we’ll manage on our own from here, Onyx. My sincere thanks for your service.”
Rarity pulled her head back into the wagon, turning to see Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie rousing from their respective slumbers. It had been a hectic night after the nobles’ conference; Whitehorn and Pontius had traveled forwards with Countess Silkie, while Rarity and Pinkie had made their way back to Titus’ estate with great haste to reunite with Fluttershy and pack appropriate provisions for an extended stay in Friesland. She had barely been able to keep her eyes open when they left the estate again, even with the wagon bouncing and creaking underneath her. The nap she’d stolen during the ride wasn’t nearly enough.
“Is everything okay, Rarity?” Fluttershy asked.
“Just a minor inconvenience, darling.” Rarity swung the wagon door open with her magic. “Fortunately, it’s only a quick walk to our destination. I think it’ll be nice to stretch our legs after so long cooped up, don’t you?”
“I know I do!” Pinkie squealed in delight as she rolled out of the wagon, kicking up a small cloud of dust as she landed on her back in the dirt of the path.
Rarity cringed back. “Pinkie, be careful with that dirt!”
“What?” Pinkie whined, causing Onyx to wince beside her as he fetched her wheelchair. “You’re all the way up there!”
Fluttershy departed next, wings barely disturbing the drifting cloud as she alighted next to Pinkie and helped her up. “You really should be more careful, Pinkie. Rarity works very hard on her dresses.”
“It’s not like she didn’t bring spares!” Fluttershy yelped as Pinkie drew her into a tight hug, whispering loudly into her ear. “Her trunk is full of dresses, Fluttershy! I don’t know how she did it, but she squeezed her whole closet into it. A Rarity closet!”
Rarity smiled with pride as she gingerly stepped out onto the dirt road. “Perhaps if you folded your clothes you could do the same, darling.” Her horn glowed, floating the bags they had packed just a few hours previously and placing them snugly on their owners' respective backs. A few stray strands of confetti slipped out past the flap of Pinkie’s bags, drawing an excited giggle from the pink mare as she strapped herself into her wheelchair.
Next came her wardrobe trunk. “Pinkie, dear, could you carry this for me?” Rarity set her jaw, focusing on the carefully folded clothes inside the heavy tin chest. The carriage groaned in relief, rising up off the strained suspension as it was relieved of the weight.
“No problem, Rarebear! Just hook it onto my train!”
Pinkie’s smile was infectious, and Rarity couldn’t help but match it with her own as she tied her trunk to the back of Pinkie’s chair with a knot of string. Pinkie started up the hill with a cheery hum, the trunk bouncing along behind her as she pronked up the slope. Rarity and Fluttershy followed at a more relaxed pace.
The camp was all but bare of activity; most of the motion came from the yellow banners fluttering in the breeze. Plain white tents were scattered around the foot of the hill in little groups of threes and fours, clustered around the smoldering embers of their fire pits as if seeking refuge from the biting wind. Rarity picked out Whitehorn waiting near the edge of the camp, exchanging a few words with a hawkish unicorn soldier. His ear twitched at the sound of Pinkie’s humming and he turned to the trio with a smile.
“Countess, Pinkie, Fluttershy.” He dipped into a quick bow. “It puts my heart at ease to see you all made it here in one piece.”
Fluttershy shot a nervous glance towards a group of passing soldiers, stepping closer to Rarity’s side. “Um, why wouldn’t we, uh, make it in one piece?”
“You can never be too cautious when there are soldiers on the march,” Whitehorn said. He turned to Rarity, and she was suddenly sharply aware of how she must look after the harrowing back and forth journey. “Pontius is breaking his fast with Countess Silkie right now. She extended an invitation for you to join them.”
“Oh, goodness, already? But I’ve just arrived.” Rarity raised a hoof to her mane with a distressed titter. “And what of Pinkie and Fluttershy?”
“I’m afraid the Countess is not accustomed to dining with those of lower birth.” Whitehorn raised a hoof to beckon Pinkie and Fluttershy towards him. “I’ll get them settled in, Countess. When did you intend to leave, if I might ask?”
“Well, I’d certainly hate to linger too long when there’s a war to be stopped.” Rarity let out a theatrical sigh. “Where am I expected?”
“Countess Silkie’s tent is on the crest of the hill, in the very center. You couldn’t possibly miss it.” Whitehorn dipped into another bow before turning away. “Come along, fillies. There’s much to do.”
With a smile from Fluttershy and a wave from Pinkie, Rarity was left alone among the tents with nothing but her thoughts and the gusting wind to accompany her. She glanced around, eyeing the few soldiers scattered around the otherwise empty camp. Some dipped their heads in respect, but most turned their stony gazes to the horizon.
Raising a hoof to adjust the shade provided by her sun hat, Rarity strode up the hillside with a carefully measured gait. She had to make a brief detour upon reaching the trench at the top to cross using a wooden plank that spanned the gap, the wood bending precariously under her weight. She looked down as she crossed, paled as she saw the sharpened stakes staring back up at her, and sped into a hasty hop to the other side before stopping to recompose herself.
It was just a short walk from there to the top of the hill and the large square tent that commanded it. A pair of guards wearing bright red capes over their shoulders stood out front, and one poked his head inside to say a few words as she approached. The other held the tent flap open, lowering his eyes in respect. Smiling her thanks, Rarity stepped inside.
Pontius and Countess Silkie were seated on cushions around a long, round table laden with plates of steamed vegetables, cheese, and bread. Rolled up maps were stored securely in a small scroll shelf in one corner next to a pair of closed trunks decorated with red lace. The back half of the tent was cordoned off from the front with a thin curtain, but the light streaming through the fabric made it easy to see the small bed and wardrobe behind it. Pontius was wearing his usual breastplate and orange tabard, while Silkie had put a wool coat on over the red tunic she’d been wearing previously.
Both ponies looked up as Rarity entered. Pontius immediately rose up out of his seat, stepped to Rarity’s side, and extended a wing to hover over her shoulder with a wide smile. “Countess Silkie, I present to ye my wife, Countess Rarity.”
Inwardly Rarity couldn’t help but cringe. Outwardly she put on a warm smile of her own and dipped into a perfect curtsey, the fringe of the white cloak draped over her shoulders hanging just off the floor. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Countess.”
Countess Silkie stood to return both the curtsey and the smile. “So it is, lass. We can dispense with th’ titles if ye don’t mind. Just call me Silkie while we’re among ourselves.”
Rarity nodded. “And you may feel free to call me Rarity.”
“I’m glad we have an understandin’, then. Take a seat, will ye? Before th’ food chills.”
Rarity obliged, levitating a cushion to a position a comfortable distance to Pontius’ position before settling into place.
He sat down as well, turning to Rarity. “Silkie and I were just discussing th’ siege.”
Rarity blinked. “Siege? Already? But I thought—well, it’s only been a day!”
Silkie snorted. “Neigh, not quite a siege yet. This is just th’ vanguard. Th’ rest of th’ force shall take a week t’ assemble, at least.” She paused, regarding Rarity with an appraising eye. “I hear ye intend t’ put a stop t’ it.”
“That is the plan, yes.” Rarity’s horn twinkled as she filled her plate as fast as was proper. It had been some time since she last ate, and she expected it might be even longer before she was given another opportunity. “I presume this displeases you?”
“Neigh, I wouldn’t say displeasure is quite th’ word. My lands are the closest t’ Friesland, and most likely t’ burn if we’re unable t’ break them. A quick surrender would be best fer all parties, at least fer now.”
Rarity frowned, but couldn’t respond with her mouth full. She raised a hoof to signal that she had something to say, covering her muzzle as she swallowed. “How do you mean, for now? Surely that would be the end of it?”
“Well, that’s just it, isn’t it? If th’ city has an army in its streets ’n a blade t’ Governor Rhea’s neck, well, we take what we want and that’s that,” Silkie leaned forwards. “But if we’re speakin’ of negotiations, then they’ve got a bit more t’ bargain with, eh? Suddenly compromise becomes an option, as much as th’ barons’ll hate it. Maybe they throw Nettlekiss t’ th’ dogs after all in exchange fer their continued independence, and they open their ports t’ whatever we please fer a time, but that doesn’t solve th’ matter. The city’s still there, and in a few years once th’ treaties expire and some other quarrel rears up, I’ll be right back here drawin’ up th’ same lines.” She paused, leaning back with a wistful expression. “Though I’ll be sure t’ get some more cannon in between.”
“But why does there have to be another quarrel?” Rarity asked, gesturing with a hoof. “There’s no reason you can’t all get along!”
Silkie chuckled, reaching a hoof to give Pontius a good-natured shove. “Where’d yer father find such a mare as this, lad? And Gifted, too!”
Pontius nodded with a tentative smile. “She is certainly a remarkable mare.”
Silkie turned back to face Rarity, who was watching her with a stern frown. “Th’ barons and th’ city have been clashin’ ever since th’ first ships showed up, lass. When th’ last king fell, we were all so busy squabblin’ over who’d be th’ next one that we didn’t even notice th’ city had become its own power until it started threatenin’ t’ cut us off if we crossed it. That was generations ago, and it’s only gotten stronger since. If we don’t stop it, I figure eventually the governor’ll decide she’s in charge of th’ whole island, and by then there won’t be nothin’ t’ do but go along. Can’t be more than a few decades off now.”
“So if you don’t defeat it decisively, then it’ll take over the whole island,” Rarity said. She pursed her lips, frowning down at her plate.
“Aye, now yer gettin’ it. Maybe not every baron knows it yet, but one of us is gonna have t’ give in t’ th’ other in th’ end, and I don’t think th’ winner’s gonna give th’ loser a second chance.”
“Or,” Rarity began, looking up to meet Silkie’s eyes, “a mare of proper manners teaches you how to live in peace.”
“Ach, yer worse than that Whitehorn lad.” Silkie waved a hoof in the air with a scoff. “Idealist nonsense.”
Rarity cocked her head. “You know Whitehorn?”
“Of course I know ’im!” Silkie snorted. “First time Titus sent ’im away empty-hooved, he did some diggin’ and came sweet-talkin’ me next. Th’ stallion’s relentless.”
“What did he want from you?” Rarity asked.
“My help with Titus.” Silkie smirked. “Old soldier’s still got a soft spot fer me.”
“O-oh.” Rarity glanced towards Pontius, eyes wide. He had his eyes very intently focused on a hunk of bread on his plate. “So you’re—”
“Neigh, lass, nothin’ like that.” Silkie shook her head wistfully. “Just a few years of fun, back before politics took over our lives.”
“Ah. Of course.”
Unsure what else to say, Rarity turned her attention back to her food. Countess Silkie seemed content to sip at her drink and reminisce in silence, and Rarity saw no reason to interrupt, so she occupied herself by grabbing a long slice of bread from the middle of the table in her magic and applying a thin coating of butter. Not too much, of course; she had to watch her figure.
So conflict was inevitable, or so Silkie believed. Surely there was some way the two sides could coexist in peace? These negotiations would be even more important than Rarity had thought; she would not have to just stop one war, but perhaps even find a way to stop them all.
The boom of thunder rolled over the tent. Rarity looked up with a jump, seeing her own surprise reflected in Pontius’ eyes as the plates, table, and even the ground under their hooves seemed to shudder in sympathy.
Silkie, however, let out a groan of exasperation. She raised a hoof to rub at her temple and shook her head. “That daft idiot…”
“Goodness, that was unexpected.” Rarity let out a breathy titter. “The sky was still clear when I arrived.”
“That’s not thunder, I’m afraid.” Silkie popped a square of cheese into her mouth and stood up, continuing to speak as she chewed. “That’ll be th’ Frieslanders.”
Rarity blinked. “The Frieslanders?” Two more booms joined the first in quick succession, knocking over Silkie’s mug and spilling its contents onto the ground.
“Feel free t’ stay and eat t’ yer fill, Rarity. I expect I’ll be needed.” She slipped out of the tent, drawing her wool coat closer as she turned into the wind.
Rarity turned to Pontius. “Do you know what she means, darling?”
Pontius’ lips were set in a grim line. “Aye, my Lady. Th’ Frieslanders are th’ name of the great mortars that defend th’ city. They must have just fired.”
“W-what?” Rarity shot out of her seat as her pace quickened. “Are we in danger? What of my friends?”
Pontius stood up as well, raising a calming hoof. “Ye need not worry! Th’ camp is well outside of their range. Most like they were just firing upon th’ vanguard in th’ field.”
“And we’re sitting here eating bread and cheese?” Rarity scooped a daisy sandwich up in her magic as she stormed out of the tent, tearing half of it off in one bite and scanning the horizon. She hadn’t realized it before, but the hillside gave an excellent view of the surrounding land. It was mostly open farmland, broken only by scattered hills, copses of trees, and simple cottages, with the high walls of Friesland dominating the horizon to the west. There was a flash of light from atop the wall, and the rumble of thunder followed a few seconds later.
She looked down into the fields surrounding the city, where a group of ponies were running frantically towards the camp. She flinched at the sudden blast in their midst, throwing up thick clods of dirt and—she gasped, falling onto her haunches as a hoof rose to her chest. Were those limbs flying through the air? The half-eaten sandwich fell to the ground beside her as a surge of bile threatened to eject her breakfast.
Pontius came up beside her, his wings hovering just a few inches from his sides. “My Lady, we should make fer our tent! We should be careful not to get in th’ way.”
Rarity barely heard him. She burst into motion, her carefully manicured hooves digging into the dirt as she leapt over the trench and down the hillside. Her mind was back in Titus’ dining room, accompanied by the stench of blood.
The fleeing soldiers swarmed into the camp in a rush, bringing with them the moans of their wounded. The red of their uniforms made it impossible to see the bloodstains as ponies were dragged into a long white tent towards the center of the camp, some of them missing limbs. Rarity caught sight of Countess Silkie in the middle of it all exchanging heated words with a panting earth stallion, and she angled herself towards them.
“Forgive him, Countess,” the soldier was saying, his head lowered. “Th’ Captain gave us th’ order t’ chase, Countess, and he right paid fer it. Lost both legs in th’ first shot, Countess. We had t’ leave ‘im behind.”
“Idiot foal, chasin’ skirmishers int’ cannon range!” Silkie swore, stomping her hooves. “Tartarus! Get yer wounded seen t’, Sergeant, and establish a picket with those that’re able t’ walk. Did th’ Frieslanders give chase?”
The sergeant shook his head. “They just about disappeared th’ instant we lost sight of ’em, Countess.”
“Ach, I suppose it’s too much t’ hope th’ commander on their side would be as fool as mine,” Silkie grumbled. “Yer dismissed fer now, Sergeant.” She looked up as Rarity approached, fixing her with a commanding glare. “Countess Rarity. I’m afraid yer needs will have t’ wait, whatever they may be. I must see t’ my ponies.”
Rarity hesitated as she came to a stop, heart racing. The mare she faced now was a far cry from the one she had just eaten with. “I only wish to help, Countess. Where am I needed?”
Silkie arched a brow. “Ye ain’t needed anywhere in here, fer certain.”
“But—surely the wounded—”
“We have healers of our own,” Silkie snapped. “I ain’t th’ fool that marches t’ war with no accommodation fer my troops. If ye wish t’ lend aid, ye can find th’ triage tent yerself, but if ye wish t’ make a difference?” She jerked her head west, towards the thin layer of trees that ran between the camp and the city. “Ye go do yer talkin’, and leave th’ fightin’ t’ those that know how.”
Rarity stared open-mouthed as Silkie marched away without even waiting for a response. After a few seconds a pained scream from the triage tent shook her from her trance. She turned towards it just as Pontius caught up to her, breathing hard.
“My Lady, please—”
“Come with me, darling!” Rarity galloped towards the triage tent, bursting through the open entrance and into the chaos within. At least two dozen soldiers were strewn around the tent, huddled up on soiled bedrolls while a few able-bodied healers rushed between them, shouting commands for healthy troops to fetch them water or alcohol or linens or tools. Fluttershy and Pinkie were already among them, hunched over a green unicorn mare with a missing leg.
“Oooh, hold on, Night Rose!” Pinkie had one of the mare’s forelegs clutched in her own, holding her attention while Fluttershy worked on the severed stump. “And don’t you worry, cause you don’t need four legs to dance! As long as you’ve got a tune inside you, you can dance with your heart!”
Night Rose blinked slowly up at Pinkie, her mouth hanging open in a faint frown, but said nothing. A piece of ripped cloth had been tied tight around her leg, slowing the bleeding to a trickle.
Rarity skidded to a stop at Fluttershy’s side. “Fluttershy, Pinkie! How can I help, dears? Do you need me to fetch anything for you?”
Fluttershy gave a slight shake of her head, but kept her eyes focused on the wound as she cleaned it with a dampened cloth. “That’s okay, Rarity. Brownie is bringing my kit for me.”
Rarity frowned. “Brownie?”
“It’s what I named ’Shy’s pet bear!” Pinkie chirped. “Remember the little baby she found in the woods? She’s brown and she’s sweet and I just wanna gobble her up, ahh!”
It was at that moment that Rarity saw a bear cub stumble into the tent, its body almost completely hidden beneath Fluttershy’s saddlebags. It waddled up to Fluttershy’s side, settling down with a muffled grunt.
“Thank you, Brownie,” Fluttershy said, reaching over to open one of the bags and pulling out a small jar. She popped it open with her mouth and dipped the tip of a primary in its contents, using the feather to dab the thick paste inside over the wound. “Just a little bit of this, and then we can get a bandage on and take that nasty tourniquet off.”
Rarity grimaced as she watched the wounded mare squirm and groan on the bedroll in spite of Pinkie’s best attempts to distract her. Looking around, she saw a wounded stallion gasp out a haggard breath and fall still on his bedroll. A healer came by, checked the stallion’s neck for a pulse, and barked some words to a pair of watching soldiers. Slowly they bent down to pick the dead pony up and carry him out of the tent.
All this pain, and on only the first day. Rarity’s hooves kneaded at the ground. She desperately needed to do something, but Silkie was right: she wouldn’t be making a difference here. This was an army camp, and there was already a dedicated detachment of healers working to save lives, and they had no need of one more mare to fetch bandages or hold wounds. The tent was clogged with bodies as it was.
The heat in the air was too much. “I-I’ll be outside if you need me, girls.”
The chill air outside the tent was a sweet relief compared to the stuffy interior. Pontius and Whitehorn were standing a short distance from the open flap, and she turned to join them.
“Ah, Lady Rarity.” Whitehorn dipped into a low bow. “Is all well?”
“Nothing is well,” Rarity said, looking west. “We should be in Friesland already.”
“Already? Surely some time to rest and plan can only do good,” Whitehorn said.
Pontius nodded. “Ye must be exhausted after yer travels last night, my Lady. Ye should rest.”
“I won’t be getting any sleep in this camp, that is for certain!” Rarity shot back. “Not when there are ponies dying a few steps away and I’m not doing anything to help them!”
Pontius and Whitehorn flinched back. The latter’s eyes darted towards the triage tent as another body was hauled out, his lips set in a grim line. “It is a dirty business, war. I admit I’ve never had a stomach for it, myself. How is it looking in there?”
“Why don’t you go see for yourself?” Rarity asked, curling her lip at him. Come to think of it, where had he been during the surprise attack on Titus’ estate? She shook her head, dislodging the distracting thought. She had to focus on what mattered. “I want to leave as soon as possible.”
Whitehorn raised his hooves in surrender. “Well, I certainly know better than to argue with you when you have that look on your face. Countess Silkie’s provided us with a white flag, but I’d advise you give it an hour or two at least. Battle was just met, and it’s best not to approach soldiers while their blood is still hot.”
Rarity nodded. As much as the waiting would kill her, it made sense. “Very well. We leave as soon as Fluttershy and Pinkie are finished with the wounded.” She took a deep breath, forcing her racing heart to slow, and looked between him and Pontius. “Until then, I suppose we can spend some time discussing our approach.”
Useless.
Silence had always been a rare treat aboard the Argo. The ticking gears hidden behind the walls, the bursts of steam venting from the pipes, the rattling of the metal plating and the buzzing of the propellers had been Rainbow’s constant companions for most of her time in the drowned future. They had annoyed her at first, but with time she had come to find comfort in the staccato melody of the ship’s song.
Why am I so useless?
But the ship was laughing at her now. She paced through the darkened halls, the pale starlight of the fading night mixing with the feeble yellow of dawn before filtering through the passing windows in tight columns. The gears gossiped in her wake, sharing sinister jokes with the metal plating that nattered away underhoof. She approached a door, and the steam vented by its opening tickled at her ears. The door slammed shut behind her, steam hissing at her back as she stalked away.
“I’ll be fine, girls. Don’t worry about me.”
A few words exchanged, a heartfelt hug, and then they had climbed back into the submarine and made for the surface. Star Trails had made for the flight deck to plot a course to the Frozen North—now known as The Grey—and Flintlock had been almost literally tugged to the medical room by Dusty Tome to have his burns examined. Sea Sabre had spared her a firm nod before vanishing to wherever she had gone.
Rainbow had walked with Applejack to the cargo hold to check on Luna, and then the cowpony had put her hat on and announced she felt like “a half-strung haybale” before slipping into her quarters. Rainbow was left alone with her thoughts.
She had flown up on top of the ship’s balloon and run through her stances for hours. She had polished and oiled her wingblades almost to the point of damage. She had stood in the little supply closet where she’d lost her eye, staring at the too-clean floor where the faded brown stain was supposed to mark the panicked motions of her wings through her blood. Who had scrubbed it clean?
It was past dawn now and she still couldn’t rest. She should be out in the open air, feathers catching the wind, speeding north with every pump of her wings.
A door opened in front of her with the hiss of steam and she found herself stepping onto the flight deck. Sunfeather was nowhere to be seen, but Star Trails looked up from where she stood on the control dias.
“Oh, hey, Dash.” She smiled in greeting before turning her attention back to the controls. “You’re up early.”
Rainbow’s tail flicked side to side behind her. She didn’t feel like talking, but now she was trapped. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Wow, been up all night?” Trails chuckled as she shook her head, her navy blue mane sweeping over her shoulders. “Flint always crashes into bed and sleeps like a brick after a dive.”
Rainbow realized she was clenching her jaw. She forced herself to take a deep breath, wings shuffling at her sides as she stepped down to the lower level that held the controls. “What about you?”
Trails didn’t answer for a few seconds. She consulted a chart splayed out over several knobs besides her. “Well, I’ve always been one of Luna’s children. I do my best work at night.”
Rainbow nodded, but Trails was too busy with her work to notice. She seemed content to fiddle with the controls in silence, and Rainbow saw her opportunity to leave. She turned for the exit, but her hooves wouldn’t move.
Why did you shoot Twilight?
She shook her head, her eye squeezed tightly shut. She didn’t want to talk. She wanted to be alone, but the question just kept bouncing around inside her head, louder and louder. Her wings twitched at her sides. She felt naked without her blades.
Why did you shoot Twilight?
She should leave it be. She couldn’t leave it be. Rainbow Dash would never let harm come to one of her friends, and yet it would have happened anyways. She was in the ruins again, watching that murderous javelin fly for Twilight’s heart. What would she have done if it had struck true?
“Why did you shoot Twilight?”
Rainbow blinked, startled by the sound of her own voice. She heard a sharp inhalation behind her, and turned to see Trails looking at her with tired green eyes.
“W-what do you mean?”
“You tried to shoot her.” Rainbow was in the other mare’s face now, her wings flared out. What was the point of all the training if she still couldn’t protect the ones she loved? Darkness crept into the corners of her vision as she raised a hoof and shoved Trails back. “You tried to kill her!”
Trails stumbled back, raising her hooves in surrender. “It was an order, Dash! Sabre doesn’t give them lightly, and when she gives them, you follow.” She paused before adding in a quieter voice, “That’s just how it works.”
“That’s how it works?” Rainbow spat. She slammed into Star Trails with a vicious snarl. The unicorn cried out as she was brought to the ground, flinching back as Rainbow screamed into her face. “You tried to kill my best friend!”
“D-Dash, stop!” Trails raised her forelegs in defense. “I—I didn’t—”
“Let me show you how this works!” Rainbow’s voice broke as she raised a hoof. Trails squirmed beneath her, but she was helpless underneath the pinning force of the pegasus’ beating wings.
“Rainbow Dash, stand down!”
The command wrapped around Rainbow’s body like a vice, holding her back, and Trails seized the moment to kick her off and scramble back to her hooves. Rainbow blinked, the anger falling to confusion as she looked up to see Sea Sabre frowning down at her.
“Sabre—”
“No!” Sabre stomped a hoof. “I will not have you, nor anyone else, attacking my ponies on my ship!”
Rainbow shrunk back, wide-eyed under the sheer force behind the words. She’d been on the receiving end of Sabre’s shouted commands many times during her training, but this was different. She’d heard Sabre be demanding, stern, even disappointed. But as she looked up into those fiery red eyes and the sharply angled brow above them, Rainbow realized that this was the first time she was seeing Sabre angry.
Rainbow’s own outrage rose to the challenge, her wings catching the heat in her chest and pushing her off the ground as she shouted back, “She attacked my friend!”
“She was following my orders!” Sabre snarled, her own wings flaring. “Twilight was a threat to my crew, and I don’t take risks with their lives!”
“You think you’re always right, don’t you?” Rainbow shot back. “You can’t stand the idea that you might have made the wrong choice! She was just trying to protect Spike, and you tried to kill her for it!”
“Guys, chill!” Star Trails called out. “This is crazy!”
“I’ll handle this, Trails!” Sabre said, keeping her glare on Rainbow. She took a deep breath, folding her wings at her side. When next she spoke, her voice was almost too quiet to hear. “You’re right.”
Rainbow frowned, hovering mid-air with her brow furrowed. “W-what?”
“I made a bad call, Rainbow,” Sabre said, her eyes hard. “I’m not perfect. I have to make quick decisions with what I know.”
“Well, uh, looks like you two have this handled,” Trails said, slipping past Sabre and towards the door. “I’ll handle morning corrections after breakfast, Boss. See you later!”
With a hiss and a thud, the two pegasi were left alone in the room. Rainbow’s wings drooped at her sides as she slowly lost altitude, her hooves coming to rest against the floor. Without any resistance to rally against, the anger in her chest sputtered out, leaving only a cold emptiness behind.
“I—I don’t know what I would’ve done,” she said. “If she’d died.”
Sabre’s eyes softened as she climbed down the steps to the lower level and placed a hoof on Rainbow’s shoulder. “I understand. I don’t blame you.”
“How could you understand?” Rainbow asked. All she could think about was that moment in the dark depths of Canterlot, watching a javelin fly for her best friend’s heart, every muscle burning with exertion and her mind racing to find some way to stop it. In the end, she hadn’t been good enough. She might as well have not even been there. She bit her lip as a shudder ran through her body.
Sabre didn’t say anything. The gears gossiped in the corners of Rainbow’s ears, causing the floor to vibrate beneath her as if barely restraining a laugh, and yet she couldn’t stop the words from flowing.
“I wasn’t tough enough to beat Gava. I’m not skilled enough to beat you. I wasn’t fast enough to stop Star Trails. Every time one of my friends is in danger, I’m not good enough to save them. How could you ever understand that?” Rainbow looked towards the sun, clenching her jaw and surrendering to the burning in her eyes. “You never make mistakes.”
Sabre let out a soft snort. “I thought I was wrong to order the attack on Twilight?”
“No you weren’t!” Rainbow’s voice cracked. “I wasn’t even sure of it myself. I spent the whole dive up to that moment wondering if I’d have to—if I’d have to s-save her from herself, you know?” She shook her head as her vision began to blur, tears dripping down both cheeks. “I was so close to d-doing it myself, but I would’ve been wrong. I came so close to killing my own best friend, and I hate myself for it!”
“It’s not your fault,” Sabre said, squeezing her shoulder. “Come on. I’m going to show you something.”
There was a part of Rainbow that bristled at the command in Sabre’s voice. The rest of her was exhausted, and was beginning to feel a creeping embarrassment. She took a deep breath as she blinked the tears away, straightening up. “O-okay.”
Sabre beckoned with a wing, leading her out into the hall outside the flight deck, past the medical room, and to a nondescript door of thin metal by the top of the stairs that led down to the lower level. It opened with a soft click, the hinges swinging open without complaint.
Rainbow peered past Sabre’s shoulder with a curious frown. A simple cot was pushed up against the left wall, supporting a mattress, pillow, and sheet that all looked too thin for comfort. Against the opposite wall was an old wooden desk, its surface protected behind a closed rolling cover. The far wall was shared by a wide bookshelf, short enough so as to not block the light from the one window, and a weapon rack where a set of gleaming wing blades were carefully hung.
“What’s this?” Rainbow asked.
Sabre stepped inside, beckoning with a nod of her head. “My quarters.”
Rainbow’s brow furrowed as she followed. “This is it?”
“What were you expecting, gold engraving and landscape paintings?” Sabre smirked as she rolled the cover on the desk open. “No, the bits are better spent elsewhere. It’s hard for me to find comfort in too much comfort, either way.”
Whatever that means. Rainbow walked up to the bookshelf, leaning closer to inspect the titles. On the lower shelf she picked out a few that she recognized from stories she’d been told as a filly in Cloudsdale, such as Sun Jay and the Argomares and The Siege of Pegasopolis. She pulled the latter out, a small smile tugging at her lips as she saw the colorful image of a cloud city occupying the cover. Looking up, she saw the books on the higher shelf were much thicker, with long titles written in small, blocky font that she had to squint to read.
“Do you read?”
Rainbow jumped, turning to see Sabre eyeing her impassively. “U-uh—I mean, a little bit, I guess. I used to.”
Sabre nodded to the book in Rainbow’s hooves. “That story is one of my favorites. Is it true?”
“Um.” Rainbow hastily reshelved the book. “I don’t know. It’s just a myth I recognized from when I was a filly.”
“So that story survived the end of Equestria.” Sabre let out a thoughtful hum. “Maybe some ponies really will be remembered forever.”
“Did you bring me here to talk about books?” Rainbow asked, tail flicking behind her. “I’m not really in the mood.”
“Not those books, no.” Sabre stepped aside, gesturing to the surface of her desk. “This one.”
Rainbow stiffened. A small notebook bound in black cloth rested on the center of the desk, flanked on one side by quill and ink. She’d seen it a few times before, cradled between Sabre’s hooves as she ate dinner in the mess hall or propped up between charts while she checked over the ship’s course. She’d asked Flintlock once about the book’s contents, but he had only laughed and shaken his head.
She took a tentative step forwards, reaching a hoof out to flip the cover open. Carefully spaced lines of clean, rigid script waited inside. She leaned in to scan the first line.
Astral Thunder, 17. Plays harmonica. Lost two legs when cannon shot penetrated his cover. X
She blinked, looking up to meet Sea Sabre’s gaze. “What is this?”
“A record,” she said. She paused, looking to the window while her jaw moved side to side. “Every pony I’ve ever had under my command.”
Rainbow wasn’t sure what to say to that. If the look in Sabre’s eyes was any indication, maybe it was best not to say anything at all. She turned her attention back to the book.
Sunflower, 16. Carries flowers to give foals. Hip broken by sniper fire.
Velvet Crunch, 17. Volunteered along with siblings. Ear bitten off during ambush.
Ivory Eyes, 35. Speaks fondly of husband’s cooking. Shot in the face breaching a building. X
Rainbow licked her dry lips, her missing eye pulsing with a phantom pain as she scanned further down the page, and then to the page after, and the one after that. Names and ages were accompanied by short descriptions of personality and final fates. Sometimes there would be brief stretches where as many as a dozen ponies would leave Sabre’s care whole in body and mind, but these were rare. In one case she saw ten names all marked as dead, all with the same cause listed: crushed in collapsing building under artillery fire. Still the names went on. Rainbow shook herself, flipping through several pages in quick succession.
Aqua Aura, 30. Enjoys ocean swimming. Interrogated to death by griffon mercenary. X
Ice Charm, 29. Loses half of each paycheck courting mares. Retired healthy after big payout.
Silver Shine, 24. Designs board games with trinkets found in ruins. Suit malfunction. X
The names kept coming. The next page went blank about halfway down.
Star Trails, 25. Dives for curiosity instead of greed.
Dusty Tome, 37. Writes fiction in his spare time.
Sunfeather, 35. Brightens up when around family.
Rainbow blinked, looking up with a frown. “Where’s Flintlock?”
Sabre was leaning against the wall, still as a statue. “First page.”
The pages fluttered under Rainbow’s hoof. There, near the bottom of the first page, was a line she had skimmed over before.
Flintlock, 20. Stocks up on cider during family reunions.
Rainbow shook her head, eye wide. “He’s been with you all this time.”
“Just over eleven years,” Sabre said.
“And… all these other ponies?” Rainbow looked up.
“There’s something about being Gifted.” Sabre narrowed her eyes, her wings shuffling at her sides. “When you get a cutie mark, you’re an adult. Some ponies will send you into battle even though you aren’t ready, and even more will follow you.” She paused, stepping up closer to look down at the list of names in the notebook.
“There’s an island far southeast of here. Berchninny. War broke out a little after my 15th birthday, and I signed up. It felt right, I guess. I got my cutie mark a few months later, and they gave me a squad. Flint’s mercenary company was involved too, and he ended up attached to my platoon.
“It was urban warfare. House to house, and artillery going day and night. One day our unit was cut off, surrounded. Most of us didn’t make it back, the lieutenant included. We were short on ponies, and there I was with a blade burned on my flanks, so some brass somewhere decided I should be the one to take charge. Nobody else protested.” She pursed her lips, her nostrils flaring. “Idiots.”
“I learned a lot of lessons in that war, but I didn’t pay for any of them. The higher ups didn’t care as long as I won the day in the end. They just kept giving me—” she paused, shaking her head “—more ponies. Ponies even younger than I was, sometimes. I couldn’t leave them to fend for themselves; I had no choice but to keep going. There were a few times I came close to breaking, but I couldn’t do it. They were counting on me to protect them, so I learned, and one day I stopped feeling like the world was ending every time another fresh face showed up.”
Sabre reached over and flipped the book closed. “I was a soldier by the time the war ended. There was no going back to how things were, so Flint and I struck out on our own. Mercenary work is better, anyways. You can turn down the suicide missions and stay away from the wars.”
Rainbow looked down at the book in silence. She thought back to the battle at Altalusia, where she had sliced through flesh and broken bone thinking only of protecting her friends and the innocent villagers caught in between. Did those soldiers have their names written down in another book like this, alongside an ‘X’ and a short sentence that read, “Cut down in an instant by a pegasus with a rainbow mane”?
She looked up at Sabre. “Why are you showing me this?”
“We all make mistakes, Rainbow. Even me.” Sabre paused, a distant look in her eyes. “We can only do what we think is right at the time, and sometimes it’s hard, and sometimes we’re wrong. I don’t think Twilight would blame you for your thoughts, and I don’t think she’d want you tearing yourself apart over it. When it comes down to it, you’re the one that prevented the situation from escalating.”
“Yeah.” Rainbow straightened up as she felt the weight lifting from her shoulders. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
“Good.” Sabre stepped back with a firm nod. “You look terrible. Get some rest.”
“Thanks, Sabre. I needed this.” Rainbow stood up and started towards the door. She paused in the threshold as a thought occurred to her, looking back over her shoulder. “I do have a question, though.”
Sabre arched a brow. After only a brief hesitation, Rainbow pressed on.
“How do you deal with the times you really do mess up?” She paused, licking her lips. “You know, when it really counts?”
Sabre looked away. Her jaw worked side to side for a few seconds before she answered, her eyes focused on something unseen. “You just tell yourself they were the right mistakes to make.”
Rainbow wasn’t sure how to respond to that. She felt like she should say something comforting, but she realized that she couldn’t find the words. Part of her wondered if Sabre would even hear them.
“I’ll see you for training later,” she said, walking out into the hall.
“Fluttershy, darling, you can’t be serious.” Rarity gestured helplessly with a hoof. “On your own, in the camp?”
“Well, um, I won’t really be alone.” Fluttershy looked down and pulled the bear cub at her hooves into a one-legged hug. “I have Brownie with me, after all.”
They were assembled at the edge of the camp, which had since settled from the hectic post-battle rush into a tense calm. The soldiers were back around their tents, laughing at jokes shared in raucous voices as they passed bottles of booze around in defiance of their close calls and bandaged wounds. Some campfires were quieter than others, either due to a lack of numbers or a lack of energy, but the healers had done good work, and casualties had been kept low.
Rarity had spent the two hours since the battle in front of a mirror borrowed from Countess Silkie’s tent, distracting herself with the careful application of makeup and discussions of diplomacy. No makeup could ever truly substitute for a proper beauty sleep, but she did feel somewhat more confident about striding into Friesland and calling for peace now that she looked less like a ragged drifter and had replaced her traveling clothes with a pale blue dress more suitable for a diplomat.
That confidence had begun to crack, however, when Fluttershy had told them that she intended to stay behind.
“But do you really have to, Fluttershy?” Pinkie asked, her brow creased with worry. “I just—I don’t think it’s a good idea to split up like this. What if something happens?”
“I have the whole army with me, girls” Fluttershy said. “I know I’m not, um, as tough as you two are, but this is where I can make the most difference.” She blushed, hiding behind her mane, and forced her next words out in a quiet rush. “And if I’m being honest, I think the idea of, um, facing down all the mean ponies in Friesland scares me more than staying behind and helping here.”
Whitehorn cleared his throat from behind them. “She’ll be safe in the camp. It’s well outside the range of the walls, and she’ll come to no harm from the troops here.”
“Yes, I know, of course, but I just—” Rarity sighed, shaking her head. “Bad things tend to happen when we split up.”
“Rarity.” Fluttershy stepped close, placing a hoof on Rarity’s shoulder and meeting her eyes. “I can’t talk to ponies like you or Pinkie do. I would only get in the way if I came to Friesland, and I’d hate to hold you two back from doing what you do best.” She blinked, as if suddenly realizing how firm she’d been speaking, and looked down to her hooves. “So just, I mean, let me do what I do best, OK? I mean, as long as you don’t mind.”
Rarity couldn’t help but smile at the display. She rushed forward and pulled Fluttershy into a tight hug, drawing a startled squeak from the mare. “Very well, darling. But do take care of yourself.”
Pinkie joined the hug with an affectionate sigh. “We’ll be back soon! Brownie, you take care of her!” The bear cub let out a tiny growl as it rolled onto its side.
Pontius tapped Rarity on the back with a hoof. “My Lady, we’d best be going before th’ sun starts to set.”
With a sigh, Rarity pulled herself out of the hug. The three friends shared one last smile before Fluttershy turned away and walked deeper into the camp, Brownie playfully pouncing on her tail as it bobbed above the ground.
There was nothing left to do now but leave, and with a few nods of confirmation the little group stepped past the boundaries of the camp and headed west. Pontius led the way, one hoof wrapped around a tall wooden pole with a fluttering white flag flying from the top. Rarity was next, alongside Whitehorn, who was wearing a clean grey vest over his shirt. Pinkie pronked along in the back of the group, the wheels of her chair and the trunk seeming to beat out a cheery rhythm behind her. Each of them had full saddlebags tied around their barrels; it would most likely be days at the very least before they returned.
There was a sparse layer of trees between the hill the siege camp was on and the open farmland that surrounded the city, and Rarity realized that her hooves were shaking as they stepped beyond their protection. Her eyes lingered on a patch of torn up dirt beside the road where a cannon shell must have landed, picking out the stains of red left behind among the dislodged cabbages. Eerily enough, she didn’t see any bodies.
Pontius came to a halt so suddenly that they nearly bumped into him. She turned her eyes forward to see a stern-faced unicorn mare standing in front of them, in the open next to a field of tall wheat. She was wearing a coat of light blue with a grey and white band on each of the sleeves. A collar with several small pouches wrapped around her neck, and she wore a rifle in a harness at her side. A shield-shaped crest was emblazoned on each of her uniform’s flanks, depicting a black wall framed by a pair of light blue blocks.
Pontius dipped into a low bow. “We’ve come t’ parley.”
“Parley?” The mare spoke loudly, as if for an audience. She smirked. “One volley from the Frieslanders and the Berries are already racing to surrender!”
“We are not here to surrender.” Rarity stepped forwards, ignoring the mare’s inciting tone. “We are here to prevent any more bloodshed than is necessary.”
“Anymore country blood, you mean?” She made an exaggerated motion of scanning the fields. “I don’t think any Friesland blood has stained the crops yet.”
“You’re being mean!” Pinkie said, her nostrils flaring. “You shouldn’t laugh at ponies dying!”
“Well baronlanders hardly qualify as ponies, so I think I’m fine on that count.”
Whitehorn let out an exasperated sigh. “Are you going to escort us to the gates or not?”
The mare’s tail flicked in annoyance behind her. She stomped a hoof, and a smaller soldier in similar gear, a pegasus stallion, stepped out from the field. “Who requests parley?” she asked.
Pontius straightened up. “Sir Whitehorn of Heighton, Lord Pontius of Canterthusia, his wife Countess Rarity, Last Lady of Equestria, and Mistress Pinkie Pie, her hoofmaiden.”
The mare rolled her eyes as she turned to the waiting stallion. “Run ahead and announce them. I’ll escort them in myself.” The stallion clicked his hooves together in salute before starting down the road at a gallop.
Rarity offered up a disarming smile as the mare turned back to them. “And how shall we refer to you, madame?”
“You can call me Lieutenant Rollkur, but I’d prefer if you didn’t speak at all.”
She started towards the city at a brisk trot, and with a brief exchange of looks Pontius led the little party after her. Their hooves beat a staggered rhythm on the smooth cobbles of the road, accompanied by the soft swishing of the fields and the whispering of the wind. They passed several simple farmhouses, though if the boarded up windows and the scattered tools and toys forgotten on the porches were any indication, they had been abandoned with the beginning of the siege.
Rarity’s eyes, however, were fixed on the city. A sheer stone wall surrounded it, just about twice the height of her old boutique by her guess, the silhouettes of massive cannons perched atop with their barrels looking out over the fields to the east like fat hawks watching for prey. The ramparts made it difficult to see, but she did pick up on a few flashes of motion here and there, suggesting the presence of soldiers ready to fire at short notice. As they came closer Rarity realized that there was in fact a second wall, perhaps half the height of the inner one but with a noticeable slope to it. It carved a zig-zag path around the city, and although she saw only a few troops patrolling the top, she counted dozens of smaller cannon barrels poking out from protected firing positions. She wasn’t a military mare by any standard, but even she could tell that any assault on the city would be a bloody and savage affair.
The large wooden gate nestled in the shadow of a pair of squat towers cracked open with a ponderous groan, and a cream coated unicorn mare swaggered out, her two-toned pink mane tied into a neat ponytail. She wore the same blue coat as the other soldiers, though she wore it open, leaving the carefully polished silver buttons on the lapel to swing freely, and had a white epaulette hanging over her right shoulder.
Lieutenant Rollkur motioned for the party to stop with a raised hoof. “So what’s the decision?”
“Governor Rhea accepts the offer of parley,” the unicorn said with a relaxed grin. Her voice was firm but soft, a far cry from Rollkur’s irritated growl. “Do excuse my sister for the delightful entertainment I’m sure she’s supplied in the brief time you’ve known her. My name is Captain Piaffe, and I’ll be taking you from here.”
Rollkur sighed. “Really? Whatever.” She turned to trot back the way they had come, turning to shout over her shoulder. “Try not to trip on your coat, Piaffe. I’ve got more Berries to kill.”
Rarity looked after her with a shake of her head. “Such a rude mare.”
“And why did she keep calling us berries?” Pinkie asked. “Am I the only one who kinda got the feeling she meant it as an insult?”
“It’s a pejorative some of the Frieslanders use for the country ponies,” Whitehorn explained. “Berry, derived from the name of the last Altalusian king, Berry Brawl.”
“Oh! Wait, but what kind of berry was he?”
Captain Piaffe cleared her throat, drawing their attention. “If you’ll follow me, friends? And you can leave the flag here.”
Although the road itself was wide enough for two wagons to pass abreast, the gap in the door was just wide enough for them to walk through single file, and Rarity soon found herself in the streets of Friesland proper. Skinny stone buildings with flat roofs were squashed side-by-side into neat rows, their roofs blooming with plant life and the signs hanging over their doors decorated with brightly painted designs. A pair of ponies wearing the same blue coats as Lieutenant Rollkur fell in on either side of the party, though Rarity noticed that the crest on their flanks was different, depicting only a white star on a blue shield.
Rarity raised her head high as they were led through the city, drawing the curious eyes of passing civilians. Most of them were going about their business as Rarity imagined they usually would, with shopkeepers shouting their best deals from the steps of their storefronts and stout work ponies tugging wagons laden with supplies behind them. She pursed her lips, repressing the urge to flick her tail in anger. Didn’t these ponies realize that there was an army camped just a short walk outside their walls? All the effort she was going through to stop the war, and yet still they chatted and laughed over drinks in their open air cafes.
But there were yet signs of the war visible among the peace. She saw a stallion leaving his home with a blue coat slung over his shoulders before making towards the middle of the city, a wet redness around his eyes. A colt stood on a wooden box at one street corner, his high voice ringing out over the crowd as ponies came up to buy papers from an older stallion beside him.
“War with the barons!” he cried. “Fool Titus blames the quakes on Duchess Nettlekiss and demands blood!”
Rarity snorted. “It is her fault.”
Whitehorn leaned towards her, his voice low. “Well, that’s unlikely to sell any sheets here, is it, Countess?”
“It’s not about what sells,” Rarity said. “It’s about what’s true.”
“As a journalist, I can assure you that you have that backwards,” Whitehorn said. “A city broadsheet’s only concern is finding the most sensational headline they can. That, or to push their angle.”
Captain Piaffe came to a stop in front of a stone two-story house perhaps half again wider than its neighbors. She climbed the steps and slipped a key into the door, grunting as she jimmied the lock open, before pushing it open with a flourish. “And here we are. My home is open to you.”
Rarity frowned, turning to her friends and seeing her own confusion reflected in their eyes. “Are we not going to see Governor Rhea?”
“Laden down with all your bags?” Piaffe chuckled and shook her head. “You’re a gorgeous mare, love, but I think even you should slip those saddlebags off before you go speaking to governors.”
Rarity couldn’t help but smile at the unexpected compliment, looking away with a flustered titter. “Oh, well, I suppose we should freshen up a bit first.”
Piaffe winked at her before stepping inside, and Rarity reached a hoof up to adjust her mane before following, ducking her head so as not to catch her hat on the door frame. The building was surprisingly spacious on the inside, with a combination kitchen and sitting area taking up the entire first floor. Colorful sitting cushions were arranged around a low metal table atop a thick rug, flanked on one side by a quietly crackling hearth. A wooden display case and tin bookshelf were squeezed into the narrow wall space under the stairs along the far wall, displaying a collection of military medals and books. Piaffe stepped over to the nearest window and pulled the curtains open, allowing sunlight to stream in from the street, where the two soldiers escorting them had posted up next to the door.
“A very charming residence,” Rarity said, stepping aside to make room for Pinkie and Whitehorn to enter behind her. “I suppose there are rooms for the four of us upstairs?”
“There are two, yes, though I’ll have to prepare my bedroom before you can use it, dearheart.” Piaffe winked again as she sat down in front of the fireplace, throwing a few logs in before stirring it with a poker.
Rarity blinked, a faint blush coming to her face. Pontius stepped in front of her with a stern frown. “What do ye mean to imply, lass?”
Piaffe turned to him, looking him over with a small smirk. “Nothing at all. I’m merely letting you know that I’ll have to get my things out of my room before you can use it.”
Recovering from her brief shock, Rarity laid a calming hoof on Pontius’ shoulder. “Certainly we couldn’t take your own bed from you, darling. I’m sure we could find accommodations elsewhere.”
“It’s no trouble at all, really. Tradition says that when dignitaries enter the city through my gate, I house them. That’s how it works.” Piaffe straightened up with a stretch before walking towards the kitchen area. “I know it’s probably a little smaller than you might be used to, but that’s what you get for arriving on hoof and from the east. If you wanted a guest suite then you should’ve arrived by airship. The harbormaster’s home is much more lavish. Would you like some drinks? I hope you don’t mind imported spirits.”
“Oh, oh, I want some!” Pinkie exclaimed. “Have you got anything fizzy?”
“I’m afraid we’d rather not wait any longer than necessary,” Rarity said, shooting a meaningful look Pinkie’s way. The other mare blew a loud raspberry in her direction, but relented. Rarity turned back to Captain Piaffe, who was pouring a dark, bubbly liquid into two glasses. “Please, where is Governor Rhea? We’d much desire to speak with her.”
“The Governor’s a busy mare, love. You’re on her schedule, I can assure you, but I’d be stunned if you were able to see her anytime today or tomorrow. Best to settle in for now. Are you sure you don’t want a glass?” Piaffe swished the bottle around enticingly. “A friend in customs got this for me.”
“No, thank you.” Rarity set her lips into a firm line, straightening up. “I am Countess Rarity of Cantherthusia, Last Lady of Equestria, and I demand an audience with the Governor this instant! There are ponies dying outside that wall and every moment we waste is—”
Whitehorn stepped in front of her, his voice low and urgent. “My Lady, we are not in any position to be making demands.”
Rarity frowned fiercely down at him, hissing, “To the contrary, darling, we’re not in any position to be wasting time!”
“I understand you’re upset, but we won’t save any lives by being kicked out before we even drop our saddlebags,” he whispered back. “We must tread lightly while we’re here, and we should accept the hospitality we’ve been granted.”
“Woohoo!” Pinkie let out a whoop as she kicked the trunk and her saddlebags into a corner, zipping over to grab Piaffe’s offered glass in her muzzle and chug it down in a few seconds. She spat the empty glass back onto the counter, where it bounced once before landing perfectly on its bottom. “Wow, that is good!”
Rarity’s nostrils flared as she clenched her jaw. She saw Pontius and Whitehorn both exchanging nervous glances as if wondering whether she was going to stand down or escalate the situation. With a sigh, she gave a small nod of her head. “You’re right.”
“Excellent. Thank you, Countess.” Whitehorn turned to where Piaffe was pouring Pinkie Pie a second glass, raising his voice to his usual clear speaking volume. “We appreciate your hospitality, Captain. It’s been a stressful time for us of late, and I think we’d all quite like to get these saddlebags off our backs and settle in. Could you show us to the available room?”
Piaffe grinned at him. “I’d like nothing more. Come with me, and you can all get some rest. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll show you around town.”
Polishing off the last of her drink, Captain Piaffe weaved her way through the group and up the stairs, her neatly tied tail bouncing behind her with every step.
Rarity waited for the others to follow before ascending them. She didn’t want anyone to see the ugly glower on her face.
From high up in the sky, the soldiers in the field looked almost like carefully trained ants, dancing back and forth in a choreography only they understood. Anatami watched with detached interest as small groups of baronland soldiers warded off gangs of Friesland skirmishers, protecting the still growing siege camp while trying to stay out of range of the giant cannons on the walls. There was a great deal of back and forth, with the skirmishers unleashing volleys of musket fire before disappearing through wheat fields or concealed boltholes dug into the ground, and the baronlanders charging in with shouts of fury only to lose their nerve as they reached the torn up earth that marked previous cannon shots.
Gava swung close to her, brushing their wingtips together to get her attention. “Follow me.”
She angled her wings, falling into a gentle descent. Ana drifted a little to one side so as to take advantage of her larger sister’s slipstream before following.
It was about sunset now, and the airships loitering in Friesland’s ports were little more than shaded silhouettes in front of the brilliant red and orange hues of the horizon. The city was clearly designed to be a fortress; from above Ana could see two supporting sets of walls, plus reinforced strongpoints spaced evenly among the civilian buildings. One of the great cannons spat fire as they descended, the thunderous shockwave tingling at her sensitive wingtips even from as far as she was, and a baron unit rushed to scatter before impact.
The city grew steadily larger beneath them as they bled altitude, its blue-coated soldiers patrolling the walls with hawkish glares that never turned more than a few degrees skyward. As they dipped below a hundred meters, they angled into a steep dive, shooting into a shadowed alleyway before pulling up and landing.
“And that’s how you run a siege,” Gava said.
“I’m so very proud of you,” Ana said with a roll of her eyes. “Somehow you’ve managed to fly over ponies that never look up.”
Gava gave her a playful shove before starting down the alley. “C’mon, sis. Our room’s not far from here.”
Ana sped up into a trot to catch up before slowing to a walk. “Did the innkeeper give you any trouble?”
Gava shook her head. “He was one of the no-question types.” They came out into the street, and she shot a brief glance to the left before leading them in the other direction.
They had landed in one of the seedier parts of town. Ponies walked with purpose and kept their eyes to themselves here, and the bluecoats moved in groups of three and four instead of lingering alone on street corners. Nobody batted an eye at the sight of a griffon and a thestral prowling through the city; they knew that questions weren’t worth the trouble they brought.
The inn in question was almost indistinguishable from its neighbors; the sign had fallen off its post, leaving just a wooden stick jutting out with a pair of iron rings embedded underneath. Then a drunk patron stumbled out the door, bringing with him the stench of cheap booze and vomit.
“Classy place,” Ana said.
“You don’t belong in classy places,” Gava shot back, shoving the door open with a shoulder.
“What, and you do?”
Rather than answer, Gava swatted Ana’s muzzle with the plume of her tail.
The bar was mostly empty, with just a few ponies seated in somber silence at one table. The stallion at the bar, in time-honored tradition, idly polished a dirty glass while a disheveled bluecoat mare stared down into a mug across from him.
“Wasn’t supposed to be a war,” the mare was mumbling. “I was supposed to get an easy job on the wall.”
The innkeeper grunted, his eyes tracking the two new arrivals as he spoke. “S’how it is sometimes.”
Gava nodded in greeting, tossing a small pouch onto the bar as they made for the stairs. It landed with a quiet jingle. “Give me another week.” The innkeeper scooped the bag up without a word.
The stairs creaked underhoof, and the door to their room wobbled threateningly on its hinges. The room’s window was boarded over from the outside, allowing only a few slivers of the last light of day to leak through, and the one mattress’ straw stuffing was clearly visible through its patchy fabric.
Ana stepped ahead, lighting a gas lamp waiting on the bedside end table. “And you’re paying for this?”
Gava shrugged. “I wasn’t sleeping in it very often, and it’s cheap. I mostly got it to store this.” She walked to the far corner, pulling a pile of blankets aside to reveal an iron-bound wooden chest.
Ana gasped. “You found Dad!”
Gava nodded. “Didn’t think I’d leave him lying around in the wreck of his own ship, did you?”
Both sisters sat side-by-side in front of the chest, and Ana gingerly reached a hoof out. It opened with a soft click, revealing the skull of her long-dead father. She picked it up in both hooves and held it close to her chest. “Any other survivors?”
Gava shrugged again, shuffling her wings as she stepped away. “Just bodies.”
Ana glanced to the side. In the corner of her eye she could see Gava looking at a rotten patch of wall, her talons clicking against the floor, deep in thought. Ana seized her opportunity and reached back into the chest, silently flipping up the corner of the soft padding within. She breathed a sigh of relief as she felt the soft, midnight blue fabric hidden underneath. Rarity’s dress was safe.
She jumped, tucking the dress away once more, as Gava spoke up. “You remember what Dad used to say about motivated idealists?”
Ana turned to face her sister fully, the skull cradled in her lap. “He said to stay away from them. The world changes too fast when they’re around, and people like us only get ground up in it.”
“Yeah.” Gava nodded. “But now it looks like we’re working for one, one with a lot of connections, and not even a day after he gives us our first job the island’s at war.” A moment passed in silence. “It just makes me think, is all. We’ve lost a lot already.”
“Wow, is that caution I’m hearing?” Ana grinned, but the expression faded when she saw the terse look on her sister’s face. She carefully placed her father’s skull back in its chest before coming up to Gava’s side, wrapping a wing around her bulk. “Hey, look, we’re all together now, right? Me, you, Dad—we’ve been through worse. If it really comes down to it then we can bail, but right now we need the bits. And from what I’ve seen of Whitehorn so far, well—” she grimaced, looking away “—pulling out on him might make it hard to find work in the future.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Gava sighed and shook her head. “Listen to me. One bad hunt and I’m talking like a fledgling too scared to leave the nest.”
“That doesn’t mean you should forget everything you’ve learned and go charging at superpony Gifted, by the way,” Ana teased. She grinned as she hopped onto the bed, wincing at the way the coarse fabric rubbed against her coat. “Hot fucks, are you sure this is a bed? Is it too late to go find a nice bush to sleep in?”
“Make some room, bat. I paid good bits for this room.” Gava yawned as she slid into place beside Ana, almost shoving her off the other side of the little bed.
Ana sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “Been a long time since we shared a bed.”
“Not since we were young.”
“Yeah.”
A tired silence settled into place over the duo. After a few minutes Ana rolled over onto her side, and Gava draped one of her massive wings over her like a blanket.
A small, content smile tugged at Ana’s lips as she closed her eyes. She’d never said as much, but she missed the warmth of a shared bed.
“Night, sis.”
“Night, Ana.”
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Seieges are all to do with who has the greatest range.
Good thing those islands are like icebergs. Makes it so very difficult to blast edges containing cities off them.
Then again, White Star Lines seem to historically have problems with icebergs.
Oh, hello Miss Rarity.
So Whitehorn hired them huh? Quite the development if you ask me, and Friesland has some formidable defenses
I take it you are/were a soldier?
And now I'm out!
This, naturally, isn't an ending, but I do agree we've hit a sort of... lull.
This is an excellent story (I'm counting this as part of Empty Horizons), coming just shy of securing a spot in the Legendary Favorites due to the complaints I already vocalized several chapters prior. (And while you haven't made the mistake of leaving off emotional moments anymore, the fact remains that those points still exist in the story, sorry).
I am exceedingly excited to figure out what happens with Twilight. And Rarity. And Brownie. I can already tell Brownie is my new favorite.
THEORY TIME before I inevitably get spoiled when I talk to you later and will thusly no longer be allowed to theorize on public comments.
>The Nightmare Forces were released somehow onto the world at large, clearly. The question is how or why? The image of wendigoes suggested that maybe the changeling fight brought strife. Wendigoes are ice, and is they were 'heated up' in some way they could easily cause a water-filled flood. Celestia seems cold. Perhaps she did something in an attempt to stifle the Nightmare Forces at the bottom of the ocean?
> Luna forced herself to sleep. Tantabus getting loose? Guilt? Or is there something else going on, that she didn't trust herself not to fall to the Nightmare Forces again?
> Chrysalis is totally hanging around, possibly even on the ship. Because, come on, changeling.
> The Elements can purge the Midnight from Twilight, but the question remains if it's even possible for her to use them on herself with her friends there.
> Crystal Heart? Crystal heart.
Cya soon.
-GM, master of Sweeties.
9760033
Just going to point out, Chrysalis was the massive changeling they found in Canterlot, comparable in size to Spike. As far as we've seen, the changelings are feral and either don't seem to be able to change, or have forgotten how to do so.
Oh Whitehorn, what are you playing at?
Are you here to help with the peace negotiations, or sabotage them? Did you place Gava and Ana there to kill canonneers at a critical juncture, or kill Pontius to free Rarity from her inconvenient marriage?
What plans and schemes lurk under that strange horn of yours?
Wait how did Pinky get up the stairs? She’s in a wheelchair
9855206
To be accurate it's more of a wheel harness. She can still climb with her forelegs as long as she can drag her hind legs up, which is made easier with wheels.
She's also Pinkie Pie, and having her inexplicably do things a cripple might blanch at is half the charm.
Typo.
Huh. I actually thought it was a shortening of "baronlander".