CRISIS: New World Order

by GanonFLCL

Chapter Twenty: Evacuation

Originally, Zarya had expected the return trip from Last Breath to Zeb’ra’den to be a jovial one, a chance to speak with her comrades in arms at large, which she rarely had a chance to do. This especially included her uncle Zircon, who she expected would be coming and who she hadn’t spoken to since she was knighted. She’d expected her and the others to be greeted at the city gates as heroes, celebrated for their accomplishments and lauded with praise and honor. She’d expected to reunite with Harvey and for the two of them to take Shine immediately to see His Majesty to receive his just reward for his bravery.

But then the attack had actually occurred, and everything had gone terribly wrong.

So instead, the return trip to Zeb’ra’den was a somber one. Though she had valiantly defended Last Breath, there were so few survivors from its original garrison that there was little cause to celebrate. Her comrades certainly spoke with her and their words were generally kind and proud, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she hadn’t earned that right, even from her uncle. When they reached the city gates, the Order was greeted as heroes for saving the fort, but there were few of the fortresses soldiers to share in the accolades. Those who died did so with honor, but Zarya knew they needn’t have died at all.

Worst of all, she could hardly bear to look Shine in the face. He seemed oddly calm despite everything, and did not treat Zarya with a single ounce of anger, so she was angry at herself for him. She felt it was her fault that his horn was lost. He should be angry about it, and yet he was not. He was sad and distant, she could tell that much, but he was not angry. Their conversations had been few and brief, though it was Zarya who kept them so, for speaking with him after what happened pained her greatly.

When Harvey came to greet them at the gates, a smile on his face, Zarya felt nothing but shame when that smile soon turned to shocked horror as he saw what had happened.

“Oh my word!” he exclaimed as he came up to the two of them, putting both claws on Shine’s shoulders. “Shine! What’s happened to your splendid horn, my friend?”

Shine grunted and walked past Harvey. “I was injured in battle, obviously.”

“Well, yes, obviously I can see that, but how did this happen? I was unaware that such a thing could even happen to a unicorn.”

“I strained myself fighting the wendigos, and they took advantage of my weakness to strike me where and when I was most vulnerable. I was foolish to think I could stand against them in the same fashion as Zarya could without a weapon like hers. My magic just wasn’t enough.”

Zarya frowned and shook her head. “No, 'tis my fault. Were I a more capable knight, thy safety would hath been guaranteed. Do not blameth thyself, Shine, for thou hast earned thy mark with honor in battle. 'Tis my failure—my dishonor—which hath led to thy current state, not any failing on thy part.”

Shine grunted again and glowered at her. “If I hadn’t insisted on staying with you, my horn would still be intact. But I insisted. I knew the dangers I was getting into, and yet still I insisted, despite your warnings. That, too, was foolish—”

“We couldst not hath stood against the storm without thee there, I hath said this before!” Zarya huffed, putting a hoof on his shoulder. “Thou art brave and true, Shine. I do not wish to sayeth this to thee again.”

“And I don’t want to tell you again that you’re not to blame for what happened—any of it,” Shine said, poking her in the chest. “I’m supposed to be the best swordfighter on the continent. That’s what I’ve been told all my life, and until that battle I believed it myself. But if I truly was the best, I’d have fared better than I did.”

“Thou art a great swordfighter—”

“No! I’m not! I was given a test of my skills and I came up short.” He tapped at his missing horn. “And this is what I have to show for all of my boasting and cocksure attitude. A busted horn and wounded pride.”

Zarya scoffed. “'Tis not a fair comparison. A wendigo is different from a sparring opponent, or a fellow pony or zebra on the field of battle. 'Tis a monster! 'Tis my own lack of skill that didst not prevent thy injury. Were I faster or stronger—”

“No no no, stop this, both of you!” Harvey interjected. “It’s clearly my fault that any of this happened. If I were a little quicker in getting to Zeb’ra’den, the Order would have arrived on time to prevent anything bad from happening. Curse my feathery hide, I wasn’t fast enough. This is all my fault.”

Shine rolled his eyes. “Is that we’re doing now? Trying to play this stupid blame game to decide who’s responsible for the loss of my horn? Drop it, both of you. There’s nobody to blame here but myself. I made my decision, foolish as it was, and I’ll just have to live with the consequences of my actions.”

Zarya poked Shine in the chest. “Fine, if thou wisheth to taketh the blame, then disparage not thine injury, for thou hast earned it with honor. Thou art a warrior, and thou shouldst wear thy mark with pride, as I do,” she added, gesturing to the new scars along her flank. “Thou art noble, Shine. Let not this injury changeth thee. Please.”

Shine paused a moment, then kept walking. “Come on, then. We should arrange an audience with His Majesty as soon as possible. If this injury is as honorable as you say it is, then it should be enough to prove my worth to him and get help for my mother. Maybe it’ll be worth it in the end.”

*****

When Zarya and Shine had gone to arrange a meeting with King Zaratite, neither of them expected the exact reaction or reception they’d gotten. They were only supposed to ask for and then attend a simple audience with His Majesty in the throne room, as before. The only thing to do was to discuss whether Shine was going to get what he’d wanted for all these weeks after all that he’d accomplished. They’d expected to wait at least until morning to hear anything back.

Neither expected to be invited to an official council meeting late in the evening after their arrival back in Zeb’ra’den. They also did not expect to have so much company with them at the meeting. This was no mere audience anymore, not even a small council meeting. Zarya knew that much just based on who was present. No, this was a war meeting.

The meeting chamber—a war room, really—was fair-sized, large enough to hold at least a dozen zebras if necessary, but tonight it needed room for less. King Zaratite himself was present, of course, as was Warlord Ziggurat, who commanded the regular armed forces of Zeb’ra’den. Lord-Commander Zaffir was present as well, as was Sir Zircon. Also present was High Priestess Zeolite, a thin-framed zebra mare with a silver staff who led the church sect in Zeb’ra’den dedicated to Harmonia. And, of course, Zarya and Shine were in attendance as well.

The group sat around a table within the warm, well-furnished war room, all looking over a map of the zebra territories, which stretched from the base of the western mountains—where the Hippogriff Commonwealth was located—to the Peaks of Ruin in the east, and bordered in the north just south of Frostburg, the southernmost pony settlement and seat of power for their allies, House Snow. The map had been marked to show the current location of the wendigo storm according to how it had moved from the Peaks, with it set on a clear collision course with Zeb’ra’den itself.

King Zaratite spoke first, turning his attention to Zircon. “This is quite troubling news, my dearest nephew, that thou hast returned back home with zebras so few. A threat most ancient art these wicked wendigos, and thou art certain they once again plague our snows?”

Zircon nodded glumly. “My words speak true, Thy Majesty, and such truth is a tragedy. The blizzard moveth westward now. The seal is gone. I know not how.”

“And what of Last Breath? Dost the renowned fort still stand?”

“'Tis the finest fort in the land. It hath not fallen. 'Tis at peace due to the grit of thy grandniece,” Zircon said with a smile and nod to Zarya.

Zaffir sighed and shook his head. “A pity that we hath lost so many, but Zarya hath done as well as any.”

Zarya gulped and nodded, but said nothing just yet. She didn’t feel she had a right to do so, nor that she deserved the praise she was receiving in the least.

“So then, what doth thou suggest for our next defensive acts?” asked Ziggurat as he looked over the map. “How fast be they? How long ‘til they arrive? We needest facts.”

“Scouts hath been sent. Answers they seek,” replied Zircon. “They shalt return within a week. My best guess: at most ten days ‘til we face the wendgio haze.”

Ziggurat leaned back in his seat. “Ten days, thou sayest? 'Tis not long for us to be prepared. But if 'tis the case, then none of our efforts shalt be spared.” He then saluted to Zaratite with a hoof to his chest. “My soldiers shall reinforce our city’s mighty walls. No wendigo shalt ever threaten Zeb’ra’den’s great halls.”

Zaratite nodded, then turned his attention to Zaffir. “Thou hast prepared thy Knights of Black Flame for this siege?”

Zaffir saluted as well, hoof to chest. Zircon saluted in turn, and Zarya followed suit, as they were both of the Order and were expected to do so when their Lord-Commander did. “That task hath already been done my liege. All one hundred of mine Order’s brave knights art prepared to battle these demon wights.”

Zaffir then turned his attention briefly towards High Priestess Zeolite. “Though to combateth these forces most Dark, we also needeth a source of Light stark.”

Zeolite nodded and rose from her seat. “Though 'tis not right for Maidens Fair to engage in such gruesome fights, of the dangers, we art aware.” She lifted her golden staff up, and the runic markings upon it glowed white. “Thou canst count on our holy Lights.”

Zaratite hummed and nodded, then looked to Zarya. “Grandniece, thou hast returned from battle at the fort. Telleth me, what strategy hast thou to report?”

Zarya blinked, lost in the moment and unclear of what to make of the question. “What strategy, Thy Majesty?”

“Thy tactics and plans. Fashion me a tapestry.”

Shine leaned over to Zarya. “His Majesty wants to know how you set up your defenses at the fort and what sort of plan you had in mind then and now.”

Zaratite nodded at Shine. “'Tis my intent, yes. These wendigos hath taken many zebra lives at Last Breath, and whatever tactics my grandniece didst use in defense of the fort may giveth us insight into our own tactics for the siege.”

Zarya gulped and shook her head. “But Thy Majesty… I hath failed. Under my lead, deaths were entailed.”

“That might be so, Zarya, but that’s why they want to hear your side,” Shine explained. “The strengths and weaknesses of your plans might come in handy here, and they can try to improve upon them. They have the numbers and resources you didn’t have.”

Zircon set his hoof on Zarya’s shoulder. “None blameth thee for those who fell, so upon it thou musn’t dwell.”

Zarya looked between Zircon and Shine, then took a breath, nodded, and proceeded to explain her defensive strategy to the war room in detail. She noted how she’d barricaded the gate to delay the tide so she could destroy as many foes as she could, how she’d utilized lit arrows and oil-dipped blades to combat the enemy’s weaknesses, and how she’d pulled the soldiers back to force the storm into a bottleneck at the gate.

She also noted where everything had gone wrong, and what, in hindsight, she felt could have worked better. For one, keeping the archers posted at the gate a little longer might have thinned the wendigos’ numbers. For another, falling back into the courtyard too soon had broken the bottleneck and let the storm overrun the archers.

Most importantly, she noted that she never even considered retreating from the fort when Harvey had suggested it before going off for reinforcement. She hadn’t known how long she would have, and guessed that if the fort were evacuated and the soldiers and civilians were caught out in the open, it would have been a massacre. But then the storm had taken so long to arrive that they’d have had plenty of time to organize a retreat, so the troops all died for nothing.

Zaffir nodded, leaning forward in his seat. “Thou hast fought with honor and courage grand, and thy tale shall help us to understand how best to defend our city so great from the wendigos who art fueled by hate.”

“Their winds art their greatest asset,” said Zircon. “To our archers they art a threat.”

Zaratite held up a hoof to silence the room. “We shall discusseth our war plans upon the morn. I must speaketh with the one who hath lost his horn,” he concluded, gesturing at Shine. “A private discussion with him I desire.”

“If that is what thou wishest, then it shall be done, sire,” said Ziggurat with a bow. With a single gesture with his hoof, the others in the room bowed as well and started out of the room.

Shine cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, if I could ask that Dame Zarya stay for our discussion? I understand if you want this conversation to be just between the two of us, but Zarya is responsible for much of my success, I’m afraid, so I feel it’s only fair that she participate.”

Zarya turned, surprised by Shine’s words, but said nothing as it was not her place to dispute it.

Zaratite tilted his head briefly, then smiled and nodded. “She may stay, if that wouldst make thee comfortable with the proceedings.”

Shine gestured for Zarya to retake her seat beside him. She stared at him for a moment, then nodded and retook her seat.

Zaratite then leaned back in his seat and tapped his hoof briefly on the war room table. “Lord Shine, 'tis my understanding that thou hast lost thy horn in combat, defending the zebras of Last Breath from our most ancient foe. My grandniece’s tale dost confirm thy claims, as dost my nephew’s report, and the report I hath received from Captain Zaine.” He then gestured briefly at Shine. “However, I hath not heard an account from thee.”

Shine nodded. “I will keep it brief, then, Your Majesty, as you sound as if you’ve heard the story more than once at this point. When Dame Zarya set about making plans for the defense of Last Breath, she asked that Harvey fly ahead to rally the Order, while I would escort the civilians to Zeb’ra’den.”

“And obviously, thou didst not,” Zaratite grunted.

Shine frowned. “I hope that everyzebra made it here okay. Please don’t tell me that any of them were injured en route.”

“No. All of the common folk hath made it safely to the city, for they are of Last Breath and therefore art hardy. Why didst thou not taketh the offer to bringeth them here, if I might ask?”

“I believed I would be of better use defending the fort. Though I did not contribute as much as I had hoped and though I have been wounded, I have been told more than once that if not for my presence there, there would have been no survivors when the Order arrived to reinforce the fort. I don’t exactly believe that, to be honest.”

Zaratite turned to Zarya. “Zarya, grandniece, what sayeth thee of Lord Shine’s claims?”

Zarya gulped and nodded with affirmation. “He was brave, though he had no flames. His Light did injure wendigos who art made of Dark, ice, and snows. Without his Light, we might hath failed, and more deaths would hath been entailed.”

“Then thine injury hath been earned with honor and bravery, Lord Shine,” Zaratite said with a small frown. “I sympathize with thy pain, and blameth myself for any anguish thou hast felt because of it, for I know that thou hath sacrificed so much because of the ‘quest’ I hath given thee.”

Shine shook his head. “I would have done it again, even had I been there without your stipulations, Your Majesty—”

“But thy presence there at all was my doing.” Zaratite sighed and slouched in his seat. “I hath considered thine earlier request greatly, so it saddens me that I must regretfully inform thee that at the moment, I cannot acquiesce to thy terms for aid in thy mother’s petition. Not in the way I am certain thou wouldst prefer.”

Zarya made to dispute her king’s words, but Shine was quick to put a hoof on hers to quiet her. “I understand, Your Majesty. With this wendigo storm en route, the only support you could offer me or my mother is a few kind words, not soldiers to enforce your decree or to ensure that House Light doesn’t try to unjustly prevent my mother from presenting her case.”

“Thou art wise, Lord Shine. If circumstances were different, I would gladly sendeth a cadre of the Order with you. The Harmony Guard and the Knights of the Black Flame art on friendly terms, so their presence wouldst grant thee a great boon, but I hath none to spare.” Zaratite sighed and ran a hoof through his mane. “Once we hath broken the wendigo siege, thou shalt hath all of Zeb’ra’den at thy back, however. This I sweareth to thee.”

Shine nodded. “Thank you, Your Majesty. If you don’t mind, I’ll be staying here in Zeb’ra’den until that point.”

Zarya’s eyes widened. “What? Shine, no, thou art in danger here—”

“I wish to help in the defense of your city however I can,” Shine continued, looking at Zaratite as if he hadn’t even heard Zarya. “These wendigos are a threat not just to you, but to the entire continent. They must be stopped before they can proceed further north, for the hate and anger that fills the hearts of so many ponies because of their foolish war would just make the wendigos stronger.”

Zaratite hummed and nodded. “'Tis true, these creatures art fueled by such emotions and will only grow in power if they art not defeated here. Though I wisheth not that thou placeth thyself in danger once again, the fire within thy heart and soul is as clear as crystal. 'Twould be unwise to deny such spirit, especially if it is in service of Zeb’ra’den.”

Shine smiled. “Thank you, Your Majesty. You will not be disappointed. If there is no other business you wish of me, however, I would like to retire to my chambers for the evening.”

“Then thou art dismissed, Lord Shine. Enjoy thy rest, for thou hast earned it.”

Shine rose from his seat, gave a low bow, then turned and headed out the door.

Zarya watched him go for a moment, then turned to her king and also gave a short bow. “Thy Majesty, I thanketh thee—”

Zaratite held up a hoof to silence her. “Zarya, I hath not yet said how it gladdens me that thou hast returned home to us well and alive. When Harvey came, I feared that thou wouldst not survive. That thou standest now before me, so proud and tall, that is, to me, the most important thing of all.” He then stood from his seat and came around the table to give Zarya a most unexpected hug.

Zarya froze in surprise for a moment, then returned it. There weren’t really any other words to say.

*****

The following day, Zarya arrived at Blackfire Keep’s sparring chamber in the late morning, sometime after breakfast, after receiving a strange message from Silver Shine requesting her presence here at this time and nothing else. As she was no longer on duty—she’d been given some time to rest after her ordeal at the fort—she did not wear her armor, only her cloak, though she did still carry her longsword along.

The keep’s sparring chamber was a large room about the size of a well-funded gymnasium, laden with all of the tools needed both for the Order’s knights to spar with one another or for the squires to train with their chosen weapons. There were training runic weapons of all kinds available, rune-marked dummies to indicate proper strikes, equipment for training one’s body physically, and lots and lots of space to use.

As always, the room was occupied. Zarya spotted two knights off on the far end of the room—Sirs Zabre and Zaffron—in the middle of a loud, heated spar, as those two tended to do once a week. Sir Zambin, the largest knight in the Order, was busy training his body as he did day after day in some foolish attempt to be as massive as Warlord Ziggurat himself. Sir Zemo was in the midst of training his squire, Zurich, in the use of a lance.

And, of course, Silver Shine was waiting in the nearby corner, no longer dressed in his armor but in a lightweight—but warm—zebra jacket and cloak fit for the upper castes of zebra society. Were it not for his lack of stripes and his more colorful coat and mane, he would fit right in with the lords of the city. It actually made him look rather handsome.

Seated nearby was Harvey, his beak stuck in a book as usual, and Zarya was not at all surprised to see him there as he was quite closely knit with both herself and with Shine by now. He had never—and would never—take off that scarf of his, as it kept him warm at all times. At least he was consistent in that. Zarya would consider it odd if he wore anything else.

Shine noticed Zarya enter the room and waved her over. “Zarya! Over here!” he called, gesturing with his hoof.

Zarya trotted over and gave Shine a brief nod. “Shine, thou seemest well. 'Twould seem a good night’s rest hath done wonders for thee,” she noted as she looked him over.

“Yes, and a good, warm meal as well,” Shine agreed with a smile. “I never thought for a moment that I would miss zebra cuisine, but after two weeks of rations out in the snow a hearty zebrican stew was just what I needed to fill my belly and raise my spirits.”

“'Tis true, my spirits hath risen as well after a warm meal taken this very morning. My hope is that these meals will keepeth my spirit high until we must be ready for the coming storm.” Zarya then tilted her head towards Harvey and nodded. “Harvey, art thou enjoying thy book?”

Harvey raised his head out of the book and adjusted his glasses. “Eh? Oh! Greetings and salutations, Zarya. Forgive my rudeness. I didn’t see you come in on account of this fascinating book I’ve been reading, yes indeed.”

“What art thou reading?”

“Ah, it is a detailed account on the many battles over the years that zebrakind engaged in with the wendigos before and during the ancient civil war. I am no fighter, you know that, so I’m searching through every single account I can find to see if there’s anything I can offer whatsoever to the coming battle.”

“Anything useful?” Shine asked.

“Not as of yet, no. The last time these wendigos threatened the south, they weren’t in such a congregation as far as I can tell. No accounts I’ve read seem to indicate such a large blizzard.” Harvey shook his head. “But I’ll continue my search. There has to be something here. The best that I can find suggests that Zarya’s tactics from the fort were common at the time, which is probably why she used them.”

Zarya smiled and nodded. “Thou art a good friend, Harvey. Not just of mine, but of all of Zeb’ra’den. Any advice thou couldst offer to the defenders of the city wouldst be most appreciated.” She turned back to Shine. “So, Shine, why hast thou called me here of all places, and now of all times?”

“I want you to train me in the zebrican style of swordfighting,” Shine said, rather quick and blunt about it. He didn’t even follow it up with anything, just that one sentence, though it was more of a request than a demand.

Zarya blinked; this was completely unexpected. “Thou whishest me to traineth thee in the zebra style?”

“I do. As I said before, I was given a test of my skills in battle and I found myself inadequate. I will not fail myself again. I must reclaim my honor and dignity as a warrior, but without my magic I cannot even hold a sword.” He gestured towards the other zebras in the room, all gripping their weapons in their tails. “But you zebras can. It is your way. I want you to teach me.”

“'Twould be wiser that thou seekest a more qualified instructor,” she suggested. “I am no master, my friend.”

“I don’t want a different instructor, Zarya, I want you. I’ve seen you fight and I know your technique better than I know any other zebra’s. You even wield a blade similar to my own—a longsword—so it wouldn’t be a significant adjustment. There’s no reason I can think of why you shouldn’t train me.”

Zarya rolled her eyes. “I am not even the most skilled swordfighter in the Order. If thou wisheth to train under somezebra, chooseth one with greater mastery of the blade than me. Seeketh out the best, and thou shalt hath the best. Settle not for less.”

“Technically speaking, Zarya, you’re one of the top three swordfighters in the Order, at least by my calculations,” Harvey interjected, not looking up from his book. “Though it has been about a month since I’ve done any research on the matter, so maybe something’s changed somehow. Though I doubt that very much.”

“Hmm? What dost thou mean?”

“Well, as a squire, and even shortly after your knighting ceremony, you’ve been challenged to many a spar, haven’t you? Some were rather friendly. Others, not so much. But, the Order’s records—since they love to keep records on this sort of thing—indicate that you’ve never once lost in a duel, even against knights and squires using non-sword weapons.”

“Is that so?” Shine asked with a smirk in Zarya’s direction.

“Yes indeed! In fact, if I recall correctly, the only two swordfighters in the Order at present that haven’t challenged Zarya at all are Sir Zalinday and her uncle, Sir Zircon. The former is growing quite old and likely doesn’t seek out duels anymore, and the latter is, well… Sir Zircon, the best swordfighter in the entire kingdom. He doesn’t need to challenge anyzebra.”

Zarya tilted her head towards Shine knowingly. “Then thou shouldst seek either of them for thy training—”

“I don’t know anything about this Sir Zalinday, first of all,” Shine scoffed. “I don’t want to be instructed by a total stranger this late in my life, especially one so much older than me. I need somezebra that has proven their skill to me in such a way that I can trust that they’ll teach me right.”

“Then asketh mine uncle. Sir Zircon is the finest blade in the entire kingdom, and has been since he was a squire. If thou wisheth for a true zebra master of the blade, then he is thy best choice.”

“Your uncle is much too busy assisting the Lord-Commander with his preparations on the city’s defenses to help me with anything. I can’t really understand how a zebra so skilled would only be second-in-command, but here we are.” Shine put his hoof on Zarya’s shoulder. “If you want to say that I’m settling for third-best, fine, that’s what I’ll say. Now, are you going to train me or not, third-best swordfighter in the Order?”

Zarya took a deep breath, then sighed and nodded, though she was hesitant to do so. “Very well, I will traineth thee in the zebrican style of swordfighting. Typically it would be forbidden to teacheth our art to a pony, but considering everything that hast happened with thee, I am sure nozebra shalt trouble thee on the matter. Thou hast earned it.”

Shine raised an eyebrow. “Forbidden, huh? Interesting. I’ll have to remember that for later.”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, just a little musing. So, shall we begin immediately?”

Zarya nodded. “Yes, we shall.” She removed her sword from her side—still sheathed—and set it down by Harvey before grabbing two training longswords from the nearby weapon rack, setting one down in front of Shine while carrying the other with her tail. “First, I shall instuceth thee in the proper form, starting with a neutral stance.”

She stepped about six feet in front of Shine and demonstrated the proper form of said neutral stance: forelegs bent slightly in front, hindlegs straight behind so that the hindquarters were raised, and tail hiked up and gripping the sword’s hilt. The blade was pointed straight up.

“From this stance,” she explained. “Thou art ready for an assault from any direction—”

She demonstrated by twirling her sword just once in a circle around her. Had she been surrounded by foes, each would have been struck as the blade sliced through the air.

“—and thou canst quickly adjust thy stance as well. We shalt cover the others once I hath confidence in thy basic stance.” She set down the training sword and gestured to Shine. “Now, demonstrate that thou hast paid attention.”

Shine nodded and settled down into the same stance she had demonstrated. She walked over to him and circled around, looking for any sign of inaccuracy and adjusting his body as needed. His upper body was well postured, but his hindquarters were too low, so she physically manipulated his toned flanks to get him into the proper position.

She then clicked her tongue when she saw that his tail was much shorter than was considered proper; zebra warriors kept their tails long so that they could wield their weapons, after all. She playfully tugged his tail. “If thou wisheth to best perform in our style, then thou shalt need to grow out thy tail.”

Shine grunted. “Seriously? I need to adjust my looks in order to better perform as a swordfighter in your style?”

“Indeed. If thy tail be too short, then thy range is lessened and the risk of self-injury rises. It shalt not be difficult. A visit to a Priestess of Layk canst grow out thy tail with a simple potion, for Layk is our nature goddess and thus holdeth sway over all matters of growth, including a matter as droll as this.”

“Mane and tail growth formulas aren’t exactly rare up north, not that I’ve ever considered using one before. But if you insist I must, I must. For now, though, is my posture acceptable?”

“Not acceptable, 'tis excellent,” Zarya acknowledged, patting his side appreciatively. She then lifted the other training sword’s hilt up to his tail. “Now for thee to taketh hold of thy weapon.”

“Okay… how do I do that?”

“The magic in these runes doth respond to the hairs in thy tail, that they may grip it like a claw. Other runes will lighten the blade in thy grip so as not to straineth thee but will not lessen the weight of the blade’s impact.”

“So, what, I just move my tail?”

Zarya nodded and touched the hilt to his tail, watching as his tail grabbed hold of the sword like her own tail had done.

“Whoa, okay, that feels quite odd,” Shine mumbled. “It’s like having a fifth hoof or something. This is a very unique sensation.”

“Dost thou feel the blade in thy tail’s grip?”

“I think so, yes.”

Zarya stepped away and nodded. “Now, move thy tail and swingeth the blade. Slowly, yes?”

Shine took a deep breath. “Right. Here goes nothing.” He adjusted his tail slightly to the left, and the sword drooped over and clanged against his side. “Damn.”

“No, that was quite good for thy first attempt,” Zarya noted. “Thou hast kept thy grip on the sword, yes? Most squires, in their first attempts, throweth the sword across the room. Thou hast excellent control for a beginner.”

Shine smirked. “Well, I didn’t earn my cutie mark for nothing.”

Zarya tilted her head and gazed at his cutie mark, a silver longsword surrounded by a lustrous orange glow. “Ah, I hath never seen thy mark of cuteness before. You ponies earneth these to represent a ‘special talent’, yes?”

“Essentially. And it’s called ‘cutie mark’, not a ‘mark of cuteness’. Not that the former sounds any less cutesy. It’s not really a fitting name when certain talents are concerned, but that’s just what they’re called.”

“Ah, yes, ‘cutie mark’, forgiveth me. And thy cutie mark, doth it represent thy skill with a sword?”

“It does, yes. I first took up a training blade when I was six. I was inspired by the tales of great heroes of the past who slayed evil forces with blades of light. Sir True Strike, the Brave; Duke Skyblade, the Swift; Lord Silver—” He paused and clenched his teeth. “Hmph. I hate to admit it now, but Lord Silvertongue as well.”

Zarya sighed and shook her head. “Even we zebras hath tales of his bravery and skill in battle. He was a legend like few others before him. I took my name from mine ancestor, Princess Zarya, who served alongside him in the war against the Warden Blood Beryl, and she regarded him with great respect.”

“The one I regarded the most, though, was Lord Stillwater of House Waters, the only swordfighter from the present day that I’ve really admired. He was the greatest swordfighter on the continent, all the way up until he moved up to Hope’s Point. It’s different seeing your heroes in action instead of just reading about them.”

Zarya smiled and nodded. “Ah, yes, that name dost sound familiar. Once didst he come south to participate in a dueling tournament that we zebras hold every five years. I was too young to attendeth it myself, but mine uncle telleth me of that tournament all the time.”

Shine’s eyes widened. “That’s right! Lord Stillwater and your uncle Zircon faced one another in the finals. I remember that duel very well. Forgive me if this makes me sound crass, but I never thought a zebra could hold their own in a duel against Stillwater. Your uncle proved me wrong.”

“Ha! Us zebras never thought a pony couldst challenge Sir Zircon’s blade, either, especially not one of those House Waters… dancers? Is that what thou callest them?”

“Water dancing is their style, yes.” Shine shook his head. “A shame that they had to call that battle a draw in the end. We’ll never know which of them was the better swordfighter.”

“Mine uncle boasteth of that battle on occasion. He considers Lord Stillwater to be the greatest opponent he hath ever faced in fair combat.”

“I wish I’d been conscious to see him fight those wendigos…” Shine sighed. “A chance to see him in action from up close would have been amazing.”

Zarya cleared her throat. “We hath gotten distracted! We must return to thy training. Now, thou shalt try another swing.”

*****

After a week of training, Zarya was pleasantly surprised with Shine’s progress. Few ponies throughout history had ever learned to fight in the style of the zebras, and those who had done so had to earn that right in the first place. Even then, few of those that had actually learned it came close to the skill of the proper zebra practitioners. The style that Zarya had been teaching Shine wasn’t even the basic style like that used by the soldiers and guards, but the advanced one only taught within the ranks of the Order of the Black Flame.

And yet, he was exceptionally skilled at it. Perhaps there really was something to that “cutie mark” mysticism after all? Shine had developed well over just one week’s worth of intense training under a zebra who had never once had a student and who was barely more than a fledgling knight herself, and yet still he’d progressed. He was better than any of the current squires Zarya knew, and they’d been training for months at this point if not longer.

Then again, he’d already mastered the art of wielding a sword as a unicorn, so it wasn’t exactly a fair comparison, but that didn’t make it any less impressive.

Shine stood in front of one of the training dummies, striking away with his sword with a practiced ease and following every maneuver Zarya called out. As asked, he’d grown out his tail, which now reached the floor when he walked instead of hardly past his rear. He’d even styled it in a similar fashion to Zarya’s tail, claiming that he figured her tail-style lent some greater degree of control. She didn’t know if that was true, but didn’t question his logic. That he said he styled it himself from memory was almost flattering.

When at last she felt the training was done for the day, Zarya clapped her hooves together. “Hold!”

Shine stopped his blade mid-swing with nearly the same precision he’d once used with his magic, and drew it back without question. “Ah, is it already dinner time?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “I thought for certain we had longer.”

“No, dinner is still a while off,” Zarya said, stepping forward and setting the dummy back to its resting place. “I hath stopped thee because I see no point in continuing with thy training.”

Shine tilted his head. “What? What do you mean ‘no point’? I thought you said I was making real progress?”

“Thou art making progress, Shine. Tremendous progress, in fact.” She glanced about to see if anyzebra else was listening, but the sparring chamber was mostly empty tonight, with only herself, Shine, and Harvey—beak in a book—present. “If I might be so bold, I would say that thou hath the skill of some of the Order’s knights.”

“Really? Well, that’s high praise coming from you, I’d say. Or is it? I mean, you say that you’ve beaten most of the swordfighters in the Order in single combat, haven’t you?”

“'Tis true,” Zarya said with a nod. “I wisheth not to brag, but 'tis a matter of honor that I hath done so. It hath not been easy, being a mare within the Order. Only a few Dames entereth the Order’s ranks every few generations and I am but one of three, and the youngest by far. Zebra mares rarely taketh up the sword, and those that do usually taketh years to become knighted.”

“Well, you’ve certainly earned it.”

“She’s made sure that everyzebra knows it, too,” Harvey noted, not lifting his beak from his book. “There was a bit of a hullabaloo while she was just a squire since she was advancing so quickly through the training. A lot of folks thought it was just because her uncle is the great Sir Zircon and her grand uncle is the king, though nozebra dared suggest anything aloud and openly.”

Zarya snorted. “And I hath put those rumors to rest, time and time again. That is why Lord-Commander Zaffir didst claim that our slaying of the cynolycus wouldst ensure none wouldst doubt my skill ever again. Even beating half the Order in single combat wasn’t enough until then, 'twould seem.”

Shine nodded, seeming to understand. “So, you say that I might be as good as some of the Order themselves, huh? You’re basing that just off of how well I can strike at a dummy?”

“'Tis the only merit by which I can judge, but 'tis sufficient for mine eyes. I hath seen many of the knights when they train and duel, and thou art quite proficient with thy blade. Thy quick progress is commendable.”

“Nonsense, you can’t judge my true skill as a swordfighter based on how I fare against an immoble foe such as this,” Shine huffed, gesturing at the training dummy. “You’d need to observe me in action against a real opponent in single combat.”

“I doubt that any of our Order wouldst accept a challenge from thee, Shine,” Zarya chuckled. “'Tis not meant in offense, but thou art a pony who hast been trained in our ways by a fledgling knight. Despite thy reputation and mine, ‘twould still not be sufficient cause to consider thee worthy.”

“Zebras are rather hung up on how they treat these sorts of things, if you haven’t noticed,” Harvey said.

“Hmph. That’s no good,” Shine said. “I don’t feel right saying that I’ve learned to fight like a zebra if I’ve never used my skills in a real duel. Why, when I learned to wield a sword before this, I engaged in my first duel when I was thirteen years old. That was when I knew I was a true swordfighter, not just some athlete, better suited for the Utopian Games.”

Harvey glanced up from his book. “You could always challenge Zarya to a duel,” he said with a little grin and a wink at Zarya.

Zarya shot him a quick look. “Nay, 'tis not an appropriate test of skill. 'Twould be akin to sending a squire to face a frostwolf alone.”

“Oof. Harsh. You don’t think I can handle you, is that it?” Shine huffed.

Zarya grunted, regretting her choice in words. “No offense hast been intended, Shine. I merely wisheth that thou dost not become discouraged when thou hast lost.” She again regretted her words. Why was it so hard to turn down his challenge without sounding like a jerk?

Shine laughed, apparently taking it all in stride. “Ha! Well now, you’re just making this interesting, aren’t you? I never thought I’d see a point where you got cocky with me.”

“'Tis not a laughing matter, and I am not intending to come off as cocky.”

“No, you’re right, it’s not. This is serious.” Shine smirked and drew his sword up in a neutral stance. “If I’m to prove to myself that I’ve really learned to fight like you, then I have to test my skills against a living, breathing opponent, and I can think of nozebra better to test myself against than you. Dame Zarya, I challenge you to a duel.”

Zarya froze up. She hadn’t expected things to progress this far, really, but Shine was a better student than she could have possibly anticipated. At first it was about teaching him the basics so he could at least defend himself. Then it was about the more advanced techniques, so that he would be useful on the field if necessary. Then it was about teaching techniques that were typically saved for when a squire was ready to become a knight, the Order’s most closely guarded maneuvers.

She hadn’t expected him to progress fast enough that he got the gumption to even think about challenging a zebra to a duel. Especially not her, not after hearing of her reputation.

Zarya sighed and grabbed a training blade off of the training rack. “Very well. Lord Silver Shine, I accept thy challenge,” she said as she settled into a neutral stance of her own. “Prepare thyself.”

Harvey chuckled. “Oh my oh my, this ought to be an interesting show. I’d better get a better vantage point so that I don’t miss anything.” He shut his book and flew up into the rafters above. “Good luck, Shine! You’ll need it!”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Harvey!” Shine called back.

Zarya leapt forward and swung her blade straight at the back of Shine’s neck—the blades were marked with runes to prevent lasting harm, so at most it would leave a bruise. He barely moved his own blade to block the strike.

“Keepeth thy focus upon thine enemy. Thou shouldst knowest that,” Zarya snorted. “'Tis tenet one.”

“I’m well aware of it, thank you.”

Shine twisted his blade up with a hard push to get Zarya off him and gain distance, but Zarya was quick to pounce and strike again, and again, putting Shine on the defensive.

Shine feinted left and moved right, quickly enough that Zarya could not catch him, giving him the chance to swing his own attack her way. She ducked under it; he was swinging too hard and wide, because the lightness of the blade was still difficult to get used to after only a week.

Still, it had thrown her off-balance enough that Shine was able to shove her—with his body, not his sword—out of the way and regain his distance.

“Tenet four: thy blade is not thine only weapon,” Shine muttered, setting into a defensive stance instead, so that his blade was pointed at her and directly above his own head. “You’re a good teacher.”

Zarya scoffed and swung around into an offensive stance—blade pointed at him, but at a higher angle. “And thou art a good student. Have at thee!”

She lunged at him again, striking his defense with a heavy blow. He could barely hold the block because she struck so hard, but was able to push her off. So she struck again from a different angle, and he merely had to slightly angle his tail to block.

He attempted to counter her strike by sliding his sword up to push hers away and then slice down, but her grip was tighter and he could not push her away entirely. The attempt kept their blades locked for a few seconds, during which they were face-to-face and she could feel his heated breath on her nose.

She pushed away to leapt back and switch to a neutral stance, then approached more slowly and swung with quicker, lighter strikes. After a few near-misses, he pushed her away and switched into an offensive stance of his own to move on her.

It was difficult to deal with the amount of power he put into his strikes—now she was wondering if he just wasn’t used to the weight of the blade or was really putting that much power into it on purpose—but she was more than strong enough to parry him. She settled into her own defensive stance.

This went on for a few minutes. One would push the other back, then the other would maneuver around to put the first one on the defensive. The two traded blows expertly, knocked one another around into the nearby walls, weapon racks, and seats, and basically used whatever was available to them in an attempt to win.

At one point, Shine managed to knock Zarya’s weapon loose; she merely leapt aside and grabbed another from the rack before he could strike at her. At another point, Zarya managed to pin Shine against the wall with her hoof, though their blades were locked so that neither could capitalize upon the other until she was knocked away.

Zarya was honestly impressed. Shine was proving to be an excellent student that had learned a great deal in such a short time, enough that she was actually sweating during a duel for the first time in years. Not to mention that they’d actually gotten a few decent hits in on one another over the course of the match. Were this a real fight, she was certain she’d be winning, but that was neither here nor there.

But eventually, after pushing one another away again and standing a few feet apart, breathing heavily and staring each other down and waiting for the other to make a move, Zarya realized that Shine was pushing himself a lot harder than she was. He was breathing more heavily than her. Some of her strikes on him had already started to bruise, while his on her had not. He was absolutely drenched in sweat, while she was only sweating a little.

“Art thou ready to submit?” she asked him, mostly from worry rather than any sense of cockiness.

Shine shook his head. “Never,” he snorted. “I won’t give up that easily.”

“I admire thy dedication and spirit, but thou art tired, 'tis clear as day.”

He lunged at her and started swinging again, composed despite his clear exhaustion. Zarya still had to make an effort to defend herself, so he wasn’t too tired, but he would be soon enough.

“I can’t give up,” he said. “I have to give it all I’ve got. I—”

Zarya slipped out of the clash of blades to swing her sword back around into the back of his head. Shine fell to the floor with a groan.

“Tenet six: keepeth thy mouth shut whilst locked with thine enemy, for thy words art more distracting to thee than to them.” Zarya pushed the dulled tip of her training blade against his neck. “Thou hast lost. Admit defeat.”

Shine looked at the blade, then rolled his eyes and sighed. “Alright, you got me.” He pushed himself up, dropping his blade to the floor in the process. “Looks like I’ve still got a bit more to learn if I’m going to ever challenge you, huh? Maybe in my old style we’d have had a better match.”

Zarya frowned. “Do not maketh such a claim. 'Tis not fair to thy skill to compare thee as thou art now to thy former self.”

Harvey flew down from the rafters and landed next to the pair. “Hey now, that was a very solid attempt you gave there, Shine. I think you probably did better than half of those who’ve attempted before. Look, she’s sweating and everything! I think you even managed to get a few hits in, if I’m not mistaken.”

Shine glanced at Zarya briefly, then smirked. “Well now, look at that, I made you break a sweat and I do see a few bruises. I don’t think I even saw you sweating when we faced down that cynolycus.”

“That cave was freezing,” Zarya noted with a huff. “'Tis difficult to sweat in such cold conditions. Were the beast fought here in this room, I would hath been sweating.”

“Oh ho ho, well now, listen to you getting all defensive about it. I think that I’ve struck a nerve.”

Zarya rolled her eyes. “Thou hast struck little.”

Harvey fluffed his feathers. “Truth be told, that was more exciting to watch than any other duel of yours I’ve ever seen, Zarya.” He clapped Shine on the shoulder. “And you should be proud, my friend. Of all of Zarya’s duels I’ve witnessed, only three others have ever managed to strike her more than once. That right there is an accomplishment worthy of praise.”

“Well, I’ll accept that as a badge of honor, then,” Shine said with a grin. “Now, Zarya, since I’ve clearly lost against you, I’d say that we’re nowhere near ready to claim that my training is complete. You’re just going to have to train me a little longer and a little harder. Right?”

Zarya paused, then smirked. “Yes, it doth seem to be the case.” She gestured towards his training sword. “Taketh up thy blade again, Shine. Let us continue thy training.”

Suddenly, the door into the room burst open, and a zebra messenger—a mare with a cloak and comfortable traveling gear—entered. Without a word, she approached Zarya, passed over a scroll, saluted—hoof to chest—and left.

Shine raised an eyebrow. “What was that all about?”

“'Tis a messenger zebra,” Zarya said. “They art mute. She hath delivered a message to me.” She unrolled the scroll and started to read, and immediately her face fell.

“What’s in the message?” Harvey asked.

Zarya turned to the two of them. “We hath sent scouts to watch the wendigo storm. ‘Twas today that they should hath returned. Only… only one hath made it home.” She shook her head. “The storm approacheth.”

*****

It was horribly early the following morning that the zebras mobilized their defenses to prepare for the coming blizzard, which had blended in so well with the rest of the summer storms that nozebra within the city had noticed its approach until shortly after the only surviving scout had arrived to deliver his report on the matter. The other scouts had been unable to outrun the blizzard; the survivor claimed that it moved towards them with purpose as they tried to flee. An unsettling thought.

The commoners that camped outside the city had been moved inside Zeb’ra’den’s great wall for the first time since the city’s founding hundreds of years before. They and the thousands of other non-combatants within the city had been moved into the great underground shelters beneath the city’s foundation, designed specifically to protect the citizens of the city in the event of a siege. Only the zebras themselves knew of these shelters, and this was the first time they’d ever been used.

Warlord Ziggurat stood behind the great Zeb’ra’den gate, alongside hundreds of zebra soldiers armed with oil-dipped pikes and heavy shields. They formed a wall of steel behind their literal wall of obsidian, heavily armored and ready to fight. A few Maidens Fair—the priestesses of Harmonia—joined their ranks to provide them with Light from their silver staves to help keep the wendigos at bay.

Atop the wall itself were hundreds of zebra archers, the best shots in the land, even as far north as the pony territories. As it had been at Last Breath, they were armed both with longbows as well as oil lanterns, oil tins, and arrows galore with which to fire into the storm as it came towards the gate. As with the pike-zebras, they were accompanied by Maidens Fair to keep them safe and warm.

Both groups were also accompanied by appropriately equipped knights of the Order of the Black Flame. Lord-Commander Zaffir stood beside Warlord Ziggurat, armed with his runic lance and a rune-marked shield, as did seven other Knights whose chosen weapons were lances, pikes, or halberds. Eight of the Order’s number, masters with runic bows, stood atop the walls with the archers. Their flames would bolster the ranks of the soldiers with them, for they could not be extinguished.

Zarya was surprised to see that the defense that had been organized was so similar to her own. Perhaps her defensive strategy hadn’t been bad at all, and the only reason it failed was her lack of numbers and resources? That certainly seemed to be the case, and it relieved her worries quite a lot as she prepared herself for battle. She and the remaining Knights of the Order—such as her uncle, Sir Zircon—made up a second line behind the pike-zebras, weapons ready to spew flames into the wendigos as they clashed with the forward line.

Silver Shine stood with them as well, tall and proud in his old armor, which had been polished and repaired. Though his old longsword was useless against these foes, he’d had a new blade forged of zebircan runic steel. While it could not come alive with fire like Zarya’s could, one of its many runic markings gave it a Light-based glow like the runic staves of the Maidens Fair.

“'Twould be best if thou stayed below in the shelters, Shine,” Zarya grunted as they stood in formation together. “Thou wouldst be safer there, far from this fighting.”

“Absolutely not,” Shine grunted back. “These wendigo bastards took more from me than just my horn. They took my honor as a stallion and as a warrior. They took my dignity as a pony. I will repay them in kind and stop them here. I really wish you’d stop trying to convince me to stay behind.”

Zarya frowned and shook her head. “I merely wisheth thee not to come to any harm here. Thou art my friend, and my worry for thy safety and well-being is great.”

“I’ll be fine, Zarya. Trust me,” Shine said with a slight smile. “Just you watch, we’ll make it out of this alright, and then I’ll ask His Majesty to send you with me—and however many other knights he wants to spare—to see to it that the war up north is put to an end. I’ll show you the northern lands while we’re at it. You’ve never been north of zebra territories, have you?”

“I hath not. I wouldst enjoy an opportunity to see it,” she said with a smile. “Especially with thee.”

“Then just make it out of this with me, and we’ll go up north together to see all there is to see, okay?” Shine rolled his shoulders and took a breath. “That’s all we have to do: make it out of this alive.” With a grunte, he added: “Easier said than done.”

Even from this side of the wall, the blizzard was as clear as day now. The thick, black clouds streaked with white lightning raged overhead. The wendigos would be here in a few minutes.

Warlord Ziggurat drew his massive warhammer from its place on his back and pounded it one, two, three times against the ground. This was the signal to the archer crews atop the wall to ready themselves. Zarya watched as hundreds of arrows glowed along the wall as they were dipped in oil and fire, or in the knights’ cases, sheathed in black flames. She could hear the shouting of commands—”Nock!” for now—from up top coming from the captain that had been placed up there.

The storm got closer, and closer, until the winds and snow started to carry over the wall and fall more fiercely into the entrance square beyond the gate. The “Draw!” command was given. Zarya could hear the horrible shrieking of the wendigos from here, sending a familiar chill down her spine.

Then the “Loose!” command was given, and hundreds of arrows were fired down into the wendigo horde that was below. Another set of commands came after, and hundreds more arrows here lit, nocked, drawn, and loosed into the storm. And another, and another. Each volley was met with screeching from the horde below that Zarya could not see. What she could see what the storm cloud above, which crackled with lightning every time the wendigos were struck.

The wendigos crashed against the obsidian gate now, just as they’d done with the one at Last Breath. The gate rumbled as the horde pressed against it, but it held firm, its powerful, thick barricades holding the obsidian steady. Another volley of arrows soared into the storm, and another, and another. The archers thinned the wendigos’ numbers—so far as Zarya could tell—with the kind of precision she wished had been present at Last Breath.

Then, the army below saw something odd happen on the gate above. The lights were going out—both the Light magics of the runic staves and the lights of the oil lanterns—across the entire length of the wall. The storm itself was moving forward and shrouding over the top of the wall just enough to obscure the entire archery line. Only the black flames were visible now, and soon those too were obscured by the blizzard.

The troops below readied themselves for the gate to break open at any moment, despite the fact that it still looked to be holding perfectly firm. Pikes and shields were raised; the knights—Zarya included—ignited their weapons and stood poised to strike.

They were watching the gate itself, waiting for the wendigos to come crashing through.

They did not expect the wendigos to come from above.

The storm cloud poured wendigos down across the top of the wall like an avalanche. The creatures came crashing down against the middle of the zebra lines, rather than through the front, and immediately sent the entire army into total disarray.

Everything happened so fast that Zarya could only react to what was going on in the moment. She’d expected to serve as a mid-range firing line behind the pike-zebras, not to be trying to protect herself and the regular soldiers as they were set upon from all directions.

Wendigos moved left and right like icy wind, tearing into soldiers and ripping apart their armor and shields, freezing those that stood fast with their chilled breaths, and dousing the non-magical flames nearby with streams of wind and snow. The fear in the air seemed to be making them stronger, faster, and tougher than Zarya remembered.

Zarya did what she could to strike against her foes with fiery justice and power, but there were so many of the creatures that for every one she tore apart with her blade and flames, two more seemed to take its place. The storm above continued to pour more and more wendigos into the entrance square until there were hundreds of the beasts in their midst, and yet still they kept coming.

She lost track of everything around her eventually as the wendigos swirled around the army like a whirlwind of ice and snow, their shrieks drowning out any attempt to communicate with one another. She took solace in two things at the moment: she knew where her uncle was—the shape of his flaming blade was unique and easy to spot—and she knew where Shine was, since his sword glowed bright gold. If she lost either one of them in the chaos, that was when she would truly worry.

But, as quickly as the attack had started, it just as quickly seemed to end. In the chaos of battle, Zarya had lost complete track of time, knowing not how long the fighting had been going on until the last wendigo that had descended into their ranks shattered apart. Had it been three minutes? Five? Twenty?

The storm above sank back behind the wall again, and the winds and snow died down to normal. The square went eerily quiet and calm.

Zarya looked about at the carnage that had been wrought. They had started the battle with nearly one thousand pike-zebras; now, they had less than one hundred. She had no idea if any of the archers had survived, but nozebra was descending from the wall to meet with the army, and no lights went back on above them, even the black flames of the knights.

Only two Maidens Fair remained, one of whom was High Priestess Zeolite, though her runic staff was shattered and she was limping, her right hindleg torn open quite viciously. The other priestess tended to the wounds as best she could, but there was little that could be done without proper healers present.

Warlord Ziggurat had made it out alright, though his armor had been ripped open and he was clearly wounded quite severely. He could barely hoist up his hammer and was breathing heavily, no doubt due to a pierced lung and cracked ribs.

Lord-Commander Zaffir, however, to Zarya’s shock and dismay, had fallen. His frozen body was near the front of the formation, his lance several feet away from him and his tail torn; he’d been disarmed somehow. Worse, the Order itself had suffered severe losses. Their number going into the fight had been exactly one hundred. Now it was forty-seven, assuming all of the archers had fallen.

Zircon, who’d been near Zarya for most of the battle, placed his hoof upon the frozen face of the Lord-Commander, looking quite sullen indeed, and Zarya knew exactly why: he was the Lord-Commander now, having been Zaffir’s second-in-command. This was definitely not how anyzebra in the Order had expected the rites of leadership to be transferred over.

Before the troops had any chance for reprieve, however, the gate gave a loud crunch, drawing the attention of the entire entrance square.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Shine muttered.

Zarya glanced up, and saw the storm was rising again. “'Tis not the end of the blizzard. They cometh again.” She turned to Zircon and frowned. “They cometh again, Lord-Commander! What is thy command?”

Lord-Commander Zircon glanced about at the forces that remained, then drew up his blade and turned to Warlord Ziggurat. “Ziggurat, we must sound the retreat. Now. For our troops, more deaths we cannot allow,” he said, adjusting his former meter to the new one befitting his rank.

The door crunched again, and several large chunks of obsidian fell into the square.

“'Tis not in zebra blood to flee, or to runneth away,” Ziggurat grunted as he pulled himself to his hooves. “We must stand and fight, Lord-Commander! We shalt win the day!”

Another loud crunch of the gate.

“No, my friend, 'tis not a fight we can win.” Zircon gestured out amongst the remaining troops. “As thou canst see, our forces runneth thin. The king must be told of what happened here, of losses defending our city dear.”

Ziggurat frowned, then looked at the gate again as it gave another loud crunch. The huge wooden barricade keeping it shut was cracking open. After a moment, he nodded, then hoisted his hammer—with great difficulty—into the air. “Soldiers of Zeb’ra’den, falleth back to the shelter!” he ordered as he walked—also with great difficulty—towards the gate.

Zircon stepped forward, clearly concerned. “What are thou doing? They will soon attack!”

Ziggurat smiled and shoved Zircon away. “Thou shalt need time to retreat. I shalt holdeth these beasts back. I hath been badly wounded. I wouldst merely slow thee down.”

“'Tis suicide! Acteth not like some clown!”

“He shalt not stand alone, my friend,” said High Priestess Zeolite as she stood beside Ziggurat, carrying the runic staff that had belonged to the other priestess, who now stood with the other soldiers. “Taketh the survivors below. This will not be our city’s end. We may perish, but thou must go.”

Zircon looked between the two of them in dismay. As he opened his mouth to object, the gate gave another great lurch, and started to crack open, letting in a fearsome gust of wind. He clearly saw that there was no time to argue, so he nodded with a sullen frown on his face and turned back towards the soldiers.

“We retreat into the shelters!” he ordered.

Zarya started after him, as ordered, but took the time to briefly look back at Warlord Ziggurat and High Priestess Zeolite—both injured and ill-equipped—as they prepared to give their lives to buy them a few precious moments. They were brave, honorable warriors. Zeb’ra’den would remember them.

*****

King Zaratite sat in an isolated room in one of the shelters beneath the city, alone. The room, like all the others down here, was built not for comfort but for necessity, and as such only had what was needed to survive: a source of heat—a large lantern in the case—a place to sleep, and a place to store food and water.

His Majesty was not at all pleased with the report. “My nephew, is what thou sayeth true? Hath we lost?”

Zircon nodded glumly. “'Tis true, my liege, and it came with great cost. Many soldiers hath fallen; leaders, too. Our numbers were great, but now they art few.”

Zarya, who Zircon had brought along, unofficially making her his second-in-command, stepped forward to speak. “The wendigo storm was too great, fueled by our fear, anger, and hate.”

Zaratite paced back and forth in the room, shaking his head. “So much sorrow, these wendigos hath caused for me. I see just one choice: from Zeb’ra’den, we must flee.”

Zircon’s eyes widened. “Flee, Your Majesty? Abandon our home?”

“Yes, nephew. Into the western snows, we must roam. We hath not the might to face these wendigos now. We must regroup and try again. I know just how. We shalt call for aid from our old allies, House Snow. With our friends at our side, we can win. This I know.”

Zarya turned to Zircon and nodded. “'Tis what I should hath done before. How great the threat, I didst ignore.”

Zircon pondered this for a moment, then bowed to Zaratite. “Uncle… Thy Majesty, thy will be done. The battle is lost; the war has begun.”

Comments

[Turquoise pony]

10254891
Okay. It's just my lack of imagination, all I can see is the vast empty Tundra of Antarctica in my head.

[My name is R]

Her comrades certainly spoke with her and their words were generally kind and proud, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she hadn’t earned that right, even from her uncle. When they reached the city gates, the Order was greeted as heroes for saving the fort, but there were few of the fortresses soldiers to share in the accolades. Those who died did so with honor, but Zarya knew they needn’t have died at all.
Worst of all, she could hardly bear to look Shine in the face. He seemed oddly calm despite everything, and did not treat Zarya with a single ounce of anger, so she was angry at herself for him. She felt it was her fault that his horn was lost.

You fought well, and without you tha fort would fallen anyway, and nobody woulda survived. Maybe, theoretically, you coulda done better, but ya did pretty good all tha same.

Shine raised an eyebrow. “Forbidden, huh? Interesting. I’ll have to remember that for later.”
“Hmm?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, just a little musing.

Symphony. I wonder how forbidden it is?

“'Tis a messenger zebra,” Zarya said. “They art mute.

Obvious reasoning using my real life logic: Messenger zebras take a vow of silence, whether at all times or only on tha job.
Story sense: They don't cut out their tongues... do they?
My previous knowledge of this world's zebras: Anyone born mute becomes a messenger.
Three doesn't seem like it would offer enough messengers, and I don't think they would do two, so I'm gonna guess 1 and 3 both.