Chapter Two: Per Ardua

Legio Patria Nostra- The Legion is our homeland
7th of January 1882

“Princess?” The voice is soft and gentle, but also muffled as if by a great distance. It also sounds rather worried. Twilight groans softly, opening her eyes. Her whole body aches, a slow, gentle pulsing pain that Twilight has become used to over time. Her mouth feels like something has crawled in there and died. However the rich smells of parchment and ink fill her nostrils like a soothing balm, the reassuring odours dispelling the vague sense of unease. She groans as a hand lands upon her shoulder and shakes her very gently.

“I'm up!” Twilight mumbles groggily as she slowly sits up. Whilst the room she’s sitting in is still plunged into darkness, Twilight doesn’t need any lights to recognize the familiar bookshelves that tower to the ceiling all around her and the plush purple carpet that scrunches between her toes. Even when she was a girl, this place was a place of magic and wonder, and even now, it still holds secrets beyond counting. Twilight fluffs her wings slowly, sitting up in her chair and clicking her fingers to ignite the candles that have burnt themselves down to stumps whilst she slept, dribbling wax upon the desktop.

Books are strewn about Twilight, neatly marked with a page corner politely folded over, or just turned over with their spines upwards, resembling dead birds. Twilight winces whenever she sees this, knowing the damage that storing your books like that can inflict upon their spines. However, she knows where she is, knows that everything is all right, and whatever the voice behind her is worried about is something that she can sort out because everything is as it should be apart from one small thing: She's fallen asleep in the library again. Twilight rubs her eyes once more, trying to dispel the last remnants of sleep as the voice behind her clears its throat politely. Twilight turns, expecting to see Brother Tome or Brother Leaf, the two keepers of the Royal library, though; that is not whom she finds when she turns around.

The figure standing behind her is a short, portly man of advanced years with a rapidly receding hairline and bright sparkling blue eyes behind half moon spectacles. His face is ruddy, and his suit is straining slightly around the middle thanks to the substantial bulk of a man who has spent quite a lot of time behind a desk. He has a thick walrus mustache and the soft manicured features of a man that spends a lot of time in Canterlot and has obviously become fond of his creature comforts. Despite his seeming sloth, the man’s shovel-like hands are callused and worn, like those of a man who has spent a lot of time outdoors. His knuckles are worn and bruised. His suit is immaculate; his crimson bow tie is perfectly centered, and he carries a cane under one arm, although he seems to be able to walk perfectly well without it. He is never seen without a smile on his face, or at least a twinkle in his eye. Jokes gleam in the crinkles around his eyes and his deep booming laugh frequently rings like a bell through the corridors of Canterlot Castle.

Twilight knows who he is of course. He's Diplomatic Incident, one of the people that Princess Celestia hired to teach Twilight Sparkle how to be a good princess. Apparently, he used to work for the Treasury and the Foreign office, although he doesn't say what he did for either of those organizations. He is, however, one of the only people who categorically refuses to genuflect or bow to Twilight, instead calling her 'ma'am' and greeting her with a cheery wave, and a smile or a firm handshake, which earns him Twilight's admiration. All that bowing and scraping becomes rather tedious after a while, and it is nice to have someone who can be refreshingly direct.

“So sorry to bother you ma'am,” he says. “Princesses Celestia and Luna have requested your presence forthwith in Princess Celestia's study. It is my understanding that Princess Luna is back from the Khanate with some rather worrying news.”
Twilight climbs to her feet, fluffing her wings as she slides her feet into her slippers.
“Do you know what's happened?” She asks, but Diplomatic Incident shakes his head.

“Unfortunately, everyone seems to be rather buggeringly tight lipped about this whole business, though a few chaps I went to school with have some thoughts on the subject at hand, none of them all that pleasant.”

At Twilight's inquisitive glance, he clears his throat and tosses her a meaningful glance.
“Dear girl, I am hardly about to repeat the drunken ramblings of a couple of sailors when we are but two shakes away from hearing the truth of the matter direct from the horse's mouth as it were.” Diplomatic Incident says, the words rolling off his tongue in his urbane Canterlot drawl as he casts a reproachful glance at Twilight.

As the two wander through Canterlot castle, towards the inner sanctum of the Princesses' chambers, Twilight realizes how much of a kicked anthill the place resembles. Soldiers are moving through the corridors, marching purposefully this way and that or carrying attache cases or holdalls. A churning riot of uniforms fills the corridors of the castle as officers move to and from various meetings, whilst government ministers scurry for cover. Many of them are so busy that they even forget to salute her, although that could be due to Twilight's rather eccentric dress choice. She still hasn't had time to get changed out of her bedclothes, and she can't help but feel embarrassed as soldiers duck their heads politely as their gaze flicks discreetly away from the pyjama clad princess with the purple dressing-robe and rabbit slippers. It wasn't her fault that she'd gotten too carried away in her studying... okay, maybe it was her fault but still.

She follows Diplomatic Incident deeper into the bowels of the castle, the crowds of soldiers getting thinner as they do. Here is the domain of the government ministers, men in suits and top hats clustered in tight knots. Progressives and Hard-liners, Solarians and Lunites identifiable by the color of their tie or boutonniere all mingling in violation of one of the most sacrosanct tenets of Equestrian politics.

“Looks like someone's set the cat among the pigeons.” Diplomatic Incident says, sounding rather smug. Twilight cannot quite bring herself to reproach him as they are now approaching Princess Celestia's study, with its imposing gold-plated double doors and the two statuesque guardsmen standing outside, one in the golden plating of the Solar guard and the other in the jet black plate armor of the Lunar guard.

The two guardsmen clank to attention as Twilight draws closer, her gaze fixed upon the two colossal guardsmen. Even after spending most of her life in the palace, the two guardsmen outside the Princesses' chambers are still very intimidating. Twilight gathers herself and strides up to the door, knocking twice. Even if the guards cannot deny her entry, Twilight learned very early on during her tenure as a princess that it was polite to knock in case Celestia was in the midst of a private audience with someone important, someone who might wish the audience to be kept private.
A moment later, Celestia's voice drifts from within, soft and gentle as ever.
“Come in Twilight, bring Mr. Incident with you.”
The heavy dark wooden doors open and Diplomatic Incident glances at Twilight, looking impressed, almost reverent.

“Oh my, this is most peculiar, would appear that this is the first time I've been in here” he says softly, awestruck. For Twilight, however, Princess Celestia's study feels like home away from home. She's been brought in here so many times for her lessons that the room has a warm, comforting familiarity.

Celestia’s study is brightly lit, many stained glass windows cast patterns of dancing colored light across the floor, and a chandelier hangs from the ceiling; all the while a roaring fireplace is burning happily away in one corner of the plush study. Twilight smiles as Celestia's fat-ass white Persian cat trundles over and rubs itself up against her pyjama clad leg to be petted.

The study has undergone many changes since the last time she saw it. A map table now sits obnoxiously in the centre of Celestia's study. Wooden blocks are strewn across it, steadily moving back and forth in a carefully orchestrated battle, each one being gently manipulated by Luna as she is rehearsing the latest choreographed routine in the timeless dance of war. Meanwhile, Celestia is quietly observing Luna from the couch whilst casting an occasional glance at a quill pen that is traipsing through a stack of court documents, her hair billowing lazily like it is caught in a soft current. Luna's head turns and Twilight finds herself gazing into the steel mask of the Lunar Princess. It's a rather disconcerting experience, staring into the flat, expressionless piece of steel that shields the outside world from the Lunar Princess, or the Princess from the outside world; Twilight's not sure which.

Both of the diarchs are dressed in uniform. Luna is wearing a royal blue dress tunic with silver trim, and deep blue trousers with a broad silver stripe down the seams. A scattering of silver braid hangs across her chest, and a series of silver ribbons decorate her breast. A short sword hangs from her hip which Twilight assumes is ceremonial. In this age of the bolt action rifle and the water cooled belt-fed machine gun, swords are something of an anachronism. Celestia is dressed in a bright, snowy white tunic with gleaming, glittering golden trim, along with white trousers with a broad gold stripe down the seam. Celestia is wearing no decorations at all, and her gloves lie abandoned upon the chair next to her.

Celestia chuckles, stretching her wings out idly as she plucks a grape from a fruit basket, looking as though she is at peace with the world around her. Only the tightness of the skin around her eyes lets Twilight know that all is not well with the Princess of the Sun.

“Our first crisis management conference and Princess Sparkle appears in her night attire.” she says, her mouth quirking upward in a slight smile. Twilight blushes furiously before her mentor and longtime confidant.

“I can get changed?” Twilight offers. “I don't wear a uniform like you two, but I'm sure I have something better than this,” she gestures down at herself and Celestia shakes her head slightly.

“There is no need Twilight, you don't have a regiment, so you don't need a uniform,” Celestia replies gently. “And in a way it's nice that you're appearing dressed like that, it adds a little lightness to the decision making process, which is sorely needed in such circumstances as this.”

Twilight tilts her head, knowing that whatever the two Diarchs are leading up to cannot be anything good.

“So, Princess Twilight,” Princess Luna asks after a couple of moments. “How much do you know about the Khanate?”
“They're currently a highly militant theocracy, which is mostly populated by the Khans although there’s a human minority of about ten percent. They've had various successive governments that rarely last for longer than ten years before toppling, either due to corruption or a coup-de-tat from somewhere or other, or a good old fashioned revolution, which is how the current leadership structure came to power. We had a little bit of a to-do with them just after the current government came to power and there’s been resentment between them and us ever since. All in all, it's a rather beastly place to be caught with your trousers down.” Diplomatic Incident explains, unconcerned about the fact that he's speaking out of turn before not one, but three Princesses of Equestria.

Luna’s mask turns and her head tilts quizzically as she looks at Diplomatic Incident. “And you are Mister Diplomatic Incident I presume?” The Princess of the Night asks suspiciously.

“The very same ma'am, late of the Foreign Office and the Treasury,” Diplomatic Incident steps forth and bows low. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.” Diplomatic Incident replies brightly.

“The pleasure is all yours,” Luna says, turning to Celestia.
“Why exactly do we have a bean-counter here with us?” The Night Princess tilts her head slightly, her steely grey mask hiding her confused expression. In response, Princess Celestia’s smile broadens as she taps her nose softly with two fingers.
“I brought a bean counter here in case we have beans which need counting sister,” she says cryptically. “Diplomatic Incident will be accompanying Twilight on this mission as her assistant.”

“Ma'am, you flatter me,” Diplomatic Incident replies, looking a little flustered. “I'm a little long in the tooth for field work, particularly for a dashed hostile place like the cat's nest.”

“I have every confidence in your skills, Diplomatic Incident, you have some-” Celestia hesitates for a moment, tapping her finger against her jaw for a second. “Unique qualifications for the job at hand.” Celestia's smile is warm and comforting for a moment, before fading slightly as she turns to her former student.

“I have a job for you,” Celestia’s eyes narrow very faintly as she glances over Twilight’s shoulder, at the window of the city outside. “It's going to be rather taxing, however, I have full confidence in your abilities.” Celestia says, before turning to Luna.

“Care to tell her what happened yesterday?” Celestia asks and Luna nods shortly, beckoning for Twilight to come over to the map on the wall above the fireplace.

“Right,” Luna says quietly, seeming to shrink very slightly under Twilight’s gaze. “Yesterday, there was a riot at the Equestrian Embassy in the Khanate, an angry mob-” Luna hesitates for a moment before clearing her throat and continuing “They broke the gates down and managed to force their way in, we had to evacuate the embassy.”
As she speaks, the memories wash over the Lunar Princess like a tide of bile.
________
The heat is brutal, even in the garden that is walled in on all four sides, despite the enchantment that keeps the grass and trees green, it doesn't extend to keeping those in the garden cool. It is worse for me in my steel mask and heavy woollen uniform. Celestia might wear her flowing dresses and jewelry, but I will keep myself dressed as befits a woman of my station. I am a soldier, so I shall wear my uniform, and I shall like it. However, there is no reason my guardsmen should have to suffer, and thus they are wearing lightweight working dress with webbing and valise rather than the full plate armour which would surely render all four of them insensible from heat exhaustion.

Right now I am sitting out upon the veranda of my own personal garden, enjoying a moment of peace and quiet. It is coming around to evening, the sun is setting, and the birds are casting melodies through the trees. One of the nicest things about Tarhen is the lack of cloud cover, allowing me to gaze unimpeded upon the majesty of my night. If only the beauty of the heavens were reflected in the beauty of the city below. Today has been another colossal waste of time. More meetings with inconsequential nobodies with plenty of excuses, stalling and accusations, but no results. It boils my blood at times to know that the Equestrian tax-payer is paying my guards to sit around here and return an investment of precisely zero bits. They would be paying me too, but I don't draw a wage.

I am distracted from my musings by the sight of a tanned woman swaggering into the garden from the barrack block where the guard force is billeted. She is not dressed according to the uniform regulations of the Equestrian Military, wearing cotton khaki trousers, puttees and a white sweat-stained singlet with an unfamiliar unit badge upon it. Her equipment, however, is spotless, her webbing fits perfectly and her rifle appears to be immaculate, though I notice a crudely made canvas cover over the telescopic sight. Her rifle is slung over her shoulder like someone who knows what they are doing, and I notice her scan the rooftops slowly. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a cigarette, and my steadily boiling anger grows. She is a representative of the Equestrian armed forces and should be conducting herself in a manner that befits her stature, not like a slovenly layabout.

I resolve to remember this woman's unit for later, so I can pull her up on a charge, the catalog of offences growing in my head. Her short hair is multi-hued in all the colors of the rainbow, and her eyes are vivid scarlet. The eyes she can get away with, but the hair is obviously a chargeable offence. The woman slips the cigarette between her teeth and lights it, wandering into the garden to sit down upon the cool grass beneath the broad boughs of a shade tree. I watch her wings unfold and observe her starting her preening ritual, tweaking at electric blue feathers here and plucking there. I vaguely remember having seen someone who looked a lot like her back in the day, back before Princess Sparkle's coronation. That particular someone was a close friend of the Princess, even to the extent of getting her face onto a stained glass window in the palace. I dismiss the notion that they might be the same person, knowing that Twilight would pick better companions for herself than this layabout, though a niggling doubt takes seed in my mind.
I decide this farce has gone on for long enough and clear my throat loudly.

The soldier glances around, looking for the source of the noise, before spotting me and scrambling to attention, her wings snapping away and the cigarette disappearing in a flash of movement. I rise to my feet and slowly make my way over to her. Up close the woman is even more striking. Thin and supple, with the obvious build of an athlete. Her muscles are perfectly toned, and she has curves in all the right places. She's not exactly tall, standing at only five foot two, however, I'm not much taller.
I look her up and down, slowly circling her like an RSM on inspection.

“Name?”

“Bolt Ma'am, Arc Bolt, Caporal of the Legion d'etrangers.” She replies. I've never heard of a Caporal before, although I'm fairly sure I know what the two stripes embroidered upon the front of her singlet mean.

“Funny name, I knew a woman who looked a lot like you.”

“Yes ma'am.” Her voice is the sharp bark of a noncom, and she shows no sign of fear even though she knows exactly who I am.

“Show me your weapon, Caporal.”

She slings the rifle forward, jacking the bolt back and a round pings out of the chamber.

“You had a round up the spout?” I ask, my voice pleasant, soft and absolutely deadly.

Carrying a weapon loaded with a round in the chamber and non regulation uniform, today just keeps getting better and better for this woman. I shake my head grimly, pursing my lips beneath my mask.

“Yes Ma'am!” the woman replies, sounding absolutely unconcerned about the fact that she's in breach of a hundred regulations whilst talking to the head of the entire Equestrian armed forces.

“May I ask why?” I ask, keeping my tone pleasant and neutral.

“Legion standing orders.” the response comes back and my eyes widen. I've never heard of any Legions, or at least any recent Legions. We have battalions, regiments, and squadrons, but no Legions. Maybe it's something my sister came up with in my absence, or else maybe they're a bunch of locals that the embassy has hired. She's certainly not part of the well-disciplined, well-drilled Equestrian military that I'm familiar with.

“Right,” I say, drawing my breath to deliver the tongue lashing of a lifetime, the kind that will get this... creature booted out of whatever Legion she purports to belong to. However, a loud bang splits the calm of the Embassy garden and shouting suddenly fills the air. Arc Bolt stiffens and jacks the cocking handle on her rifle, chambering another round.

“Let's go!” she snaps, grabbing me and starting to drag me towards the barracks, even as I hear the roar of gunfire rippling across the embassy grounds, the pop pop of Equestrian bolt action rifles followed by the higher pitched crackle of local weaponry. I shrug her off even as the familiar adrenal surge courses through me at the prospect of a fight.

“I can move myself, thank you!” I push my way past her. “Get up there and fight!” I snap sharply, she tosses me an evil look before turning, unfolding her wings and launching herself into the sky seconds before my Lunar guards dash over to me, one of them clutching the transponder radio set that allows them to communicate with the Destroyer that brought us in.

A door from the embassy building opens and the Ambassador, a corpulent man with a severe tonsure and the most annoying accent I have ever heard in my life, sprints up to me.

“We need to evacuate the Embassy!” He shrieks, terrified. “There are hundreds of them!”

I slap him hard, having no time for panicked officials or time wasters, and he straightens slightly, the fear leaving his eyes.

“Hundreds of whom?” I ask sharply, my voice seeming to break something in him.

“Enraged locals your highness! An armed mob is at the gates of the compound as we speak; we need to get to safety right now!” His voice is on the verge of hysteria, and I wonder just how bad this attack can be.

I nod quickly, gesturing for Sargeant Chapman, who is carrying a radio set, to start calling the destroyer in to start evacuating personnel. It has not yet occurred to me to ask for the destroyer to start taking lumps out of the buildings.

“Right, we'll get out by means of the airship. We need to get everyone formed up on the landing pad to leave, and we'll get this Legion to cover us, whoever they are.”
With that, the chaotic evacuation of the Embassy begins, under the guns and sticks of the angry mob. I unfold my wings and fly up to the roof to coordinate the defense, and it's there that I find this Bolt character laying down fire from the rooftop, roof tiles exploding all around her. I land upon the roof next to her, my guards following me.

“Good evening, Princess!” Bolt's voice is bright as she engages another target, lying comfortably upon the upward slope of the roof, shooting over the mantle at the mud brown buildings outside the Embassy.

“Are you enjoying sampling the night air round these parts?” She asks, working the bolt of her rifle back and forth once more.
“It is most invigorating,” I reply as I stick my head up over the mantle of the roof and down into the churning sea of people below. The huge wrought iron gates of the Embassy have been blown off, and a sea of people are churning and writhing against a line of these so-called 'Legionnaires', who have been brought in to plug the gap in the perimeter wall, using a combination of rifle stocks and bayonets against the crowd. As far as I can see, a large percentage of the crowd are unarmed, or else armed with rocks, sticks or whatever else they can get their hands on.

As I watch, more Legionnaires are moving up, getting into position at the windows. The gate and the entry courtyard are overlooked by the front of the embassy, which has been designed in a U shape, the gap in the U being the main gate. I realize with horror that a 'kill zone' is being set up. The moment the civilians break into the Embassy, they will be cut down in an action that could make a very effective casus-belli for anyone with a grudge to go to war against us.

“Be this jest?” I whisper and Bolt glances at me, and for the first time I notice she doesn't look too happy about this.
“It works, however that doesn't mean I'm going to be singing songs about it later on tonight,” She mutters darkly. “Sooner or later, they'll either run out of kinetic energy or break through. My job is to keep an eye out for anyone with a gun on the other side of that wall.” The Legionnaire punctuates the end of her sentence with a sharp crack as she fires once more, jacking the bolt of her rifle in a quick and easy movement to send another empty cartridge flying out of her weapon.

More roof tiles explode into crimson dust around us as my guardsmen take up positions along the wall and open fire with their own carbines. Rounds sing over our heads, the thick stench of cordite fills the air as the blocking detachment lays into the rioting cats with the vigor of desperate men. They know as well as we do that they are the only thing between Equestria and a major diplomatic incident, if not a war.
We all watch with bated breath, hoping and praying that the blocking detachment can hold. I don't want to see a massacre, not today, not on Equestrian soil, not by people who purport to be Equestrian troops.

Suddenly the inevitable happens.

One of the blocking detachment suddenly twists and collapses to the ground, pink mist blossoming from his chest as an enemy sniper finds his mark.

The mob surges forward, overwhelming the blocking detachment before they can plug the gap.
“LEGIONNAIRES, TAKE AIM!” A voice roars from within the embassy.

Ninety rifles are brought up to the shoulder.
“LEGIONNAIRES, MAKE READY!”

My guardsmen stare at me, their eyes obviously begging me to do something, anything to stop this. Revulsion fills my throat and my hands start to shake as ninety safety catches are switched off.
“LEGIONNAIRES WATCH AND SHOOT, WATCH AND-”

“HOLD FIRE!” My Canterlot voice thunders across the courtyard, and I hear confusion from the Legionnaires around me and throughout the building. The crowd pauses, seeing rifles aimed at them from every window and a heavy, pregnant silence hangs upon the scene. I can feel eyes upon me as I rise to my feet, standing upon the mantle of the roof and looking down upon the swelling mass that is slowly forcing its way through the gates; however the ones in front are struck motionless, staring up at me.
Behind me, I can hear the growl of the destroyer's engines as it draws closer, the drone of those huge engines filling the air. The crowd below are muttering nervously, and I can see the Legionnaires are still holding their positions, weapons raised and in the aim. However, no one's shooting at anyone yet. Maybe we might be able to make this work.

I watch the crowd for a moment, who are staring up at me expectantly, and I feel my mouth become dry beneath my mask. Celestia is the one who does public oratory, not me. I've never been one for public speaking, especially not after my exile. I like to be appreciated, don't get me wrong, I just hate public speaking. I open my mouth to speak, but then one of the cats below opens his mouth first, his ears back, and his bright yellow eyes narrowed in hate.
“There's the Arch-Demon's sister, KILL HER!” he bellows, reaching into his jacket, only to dissolve into pink mist, the crack of rifle fire filling the square as my guards shoot him down.

The burst of rifle fire, however, sets the crowd off, and several more start hurling rocks, followed by fireballs and petrol bombs. I am dragged down below the parapet as the thunder of rifle fire fills the square whilst the Legionnaires open fire, their fire control orders forgotten as they fight for their lives, trying to shoot as many of the rioters as possible, before the rioters breach the heavy wooden doors into the Embassy. But the sheer weight of numbers work against the Legionnaires. They cannot maintain the withering rate of fire, particularly as those on the lower levels of the Embassy start to get swarmed under by the mob. The crowd tries to turn to flee as the Legionnaires cut them down, but their avenue of escape is cut off by a group of cats positioned at the ruined gates, battering anyone who turns to escape, and they then turn and head forward, into the Embassy, driven forward by the weight of the crowd and the blows and kicks of that mysterious group.

Adrenaline pulses through me even as gunshots fill the air around me, the whizzing sound of bullets ripping past me like the buzzing of thousands of angry bees.
“Legionnaires, clear out the Embassy and regroup on the landing pad!” I hear orders being bellowed, followed by another one that sinks dread into my very soul.
“FIX BAYONETS!”
Bolt leaps into the sky, and I watch the woman drop down into the garden even as Legionnaires are hustling diplomats out, fighting back the angry cats that are even now storming the Embassy. I leap skywards, my bodyguard following me.

I feel wretched to my very core even as gunshots echo around me as the Legionnaires fight for their lives. Screams ring out around me as we fly back to the Embassy's rear garden to the raised dais at the very back of the garden. The platform, that is usually used for giving speeches, is now playing unwilling host to a pair of skiffs, the destroyer watching from overhead, its guns still silent. The scene is total utter chaos as diplomats and hired help struggle to get onto the small launches, the sounds of fighting drawing closer...
Luna's voice trails off and Twilight tilts her head quizzically.
"Forgive me sister, what happened next, I do not wish to speak of it," she says. Twilight realizes the Lunar Princess's voice is rather thick beneath that steel mask.

"We managed to extract most of the Embassy diplomats, a large portion of the domestic help, and most of the Legionnaires, but we had to leave quite a few behind, we just couldn't carry them all."

A bitter taste fills Twilight's mouth and her hands start to shake. She clears her throat as fear starts to tighten its icy grip around her guts.
"And what of the Legionnaire with the multi-coloured hair?" Her voice is nervous and tentative, almost begging Luna to allay her fears. Luna's head drops slightly, and she shakes her head, bringing a hobnailed jackboot sharply down upon Twilight's hopes.

"I, I don't know Twilight, I'm sorry."

Chapter Three: Dulce Et Decorum Est, Pro Patrio Mori

View Online

Twilight rises to her feet sharply, startling Luna and Celestia both. Celestia opens her mouth to say something, but Twilight is already crossing the space between the couch and the door, moving as fast as she dares without running. She yanks the door open and stalks down the corridors, dashing tears away as the door to the Princess' study slams behind her.
She will not cry.

She will not shame herself before her mentors or her subjects. She is a Princess of Equestria, a beacon of hope and light to the populace. Her duty to her kingdom and her friends has hurled her against some of the most dangerous creatures known to man. She has stood against foes from beyond the furthest star, stared down the evil warlord that Celestia's sister had become, fought toe to toe with the evil pretender-king Sombra, and even the shape-changing sylph "Chrysalis" and her horde. When Equestria's fate hung in the balance, Twilight Sparkle had stood firm, resolute in the face of the looming shadow of despair. However, she had not done so alone. She had been strengthened by the courage of her indomitable friends.

One of whom has now been taken forever from her.
Twilight feels physically sick as she stalks through the corridors, biting her lip as she tries to keep the tears at bay. Behind her, she can hear hurried footsteps and the soft gasping of Diplomatic Incident as he attempts to keep up with her. However, an immortal princess captured forever in her late teens can make much better progress than an ageing civil servant with a paunch and a preference for pipe smoking and Twilight can hear his footsteps fading behind her. She doesn't want Diplomatic Incident right now, or his homilies or sage advice.

What would he know anyway, he's just a civil servant. Twilight thinks bitterly as she continues down the corridor, in the direction of the west wing of the palace that leads towards the library and the observatory tower, the one place in the castle where she is guaranteed absolute serenity and solitude to think.

There isn't much to think about.

Rainbow Dash, Twilight Sparkle's first ever girlfriend, her first love is dead. The finality of those words rings in Twilight's head like the snap of a coffin lid.

Dead.

Not unconscious, or lying in a hospital bed, or napping under her favorite tree.

Dead.
Twilight's grim musings take her through the library, sweeping like a shadow through her childhood refuge and up to the astronomy tower, the highest tower in Canterlot. From up here, she can see the whole city spread out before her, automobiles rolling back and forth like tiny beetles wending their way through the legs of huge cargo loaders that thunder loudly hither and thither. Cargo airships slowly cruise through the sky-lanes, their progress guided by tiny skiffs that twist and dance like pilot fish in the breeze, the light flashing off their solar sails like the sun glittering off motes of dust hanging in the sky. The buildings glitter thanks to the rain of the night.
The hustle and bustle of the trading city drifts over Twilight, a soothing blanket of normalcy whispering over her skin, seeking to comfort or smother her. To Twilight, it is utterly incongruous that the city is at peace when on the frontiers of the empire, soldiers are moving into fire positions, and heavy guns are being loaded onto trains and airships.

Rainbow Dash is dead.
Twilight's hand closes into a fist as she feels the tears come, bubbling up like lava in a volcano until she loses control and lets the tears flow down her face, away from the world. Here she does not have to be some immortal princess with the weight of an Empire resting upon her shoulders. Here she is Twilight Sparkle, who sings in the shower and has bad hair days. Twilight Sparkle who has just lost her friend. Twilight closes her eyes, remembering her precious moments with Rainbow Dash, brief moments of time that would be snatched from under the noses of committees or flight practices. Even then Rainbow Dash still dreamed of joining the display team known as the 'Wonderbolts' and of course -as Twilight was busy 'Princessing'- time for the two of them was very much at a premium. Add this to the paparazzi stalking their every movement, and it was a wonder that it lasted as long as it did.

In spite of all the obstacles arranged before them, Twilight, and Rainbow Dash had made it work for six glorious, wonderful months. Those moments still hang in Twilight's memory as golden glorious drops of time that will be with her forever. However, things got in the way. A humanitarian crisis with the Gryphonic Republics shelved holiday plans, extra practice sessions killed date plans. The breaking point came when a photographer for the Equestrian Herald managed to snap a picture of her and Rainbow engaged in a rather ferocious game of tonsil hockey.

The resulting media feeding frenzy had locked the castle down for two whole weeks, Twilight had been dragged before Princess Celestia, who had been understanding but nonetheless critical of Twilight's 'selection of partners'. Twilight had argued and fought her princess, begged and pleaded, but Celestia had held firm on this point. The Diarchy, or Triarchy as it had become, could not afford to waste a princess of Twilight's standing on a simple display team pilot, or at least that was Twilight's understanding of Celestia's lecture.
Two weeks later, she had mustered the courage to fly down to Rainbow Dash's cloud home to let her know that it was over. However, she found that Rainbow Dash had disappeared without a trace. That was two years ago, and Twilight has not seen hide nor hair of Rainbow Dash since. She had assumed that Rainbow Dash had gone travelling or transferred to the Wonderbolts' active duty roster, and she had not made any further effort to find Dash at Celestia's explicit command.

Now this ‘Arc Bolt’ has emerged in a unit that Twilight has never heard of, emerged and just as promptly died. Twilight is absolutely sure that Arc Bolt and Rainbow Dash are one and the same. After all, Rainbow Dash's name was plastered all over various posters for the Wonderbolts and the tabloids, so naturally a new name would be in order.

A voice punches through Twilight's thoughts, and she turns to see Princess Celestia gazing down at her, those bright pink eyes unreadable, that immortal face unyielding.
"Twilight," Celestia says quietly, walking over to the younger Princess, sitting down upon the balustrade of the balcony, her wings silently unfurling as her hair billows slowly in the sunlight, her face expressionless as she looks down at the younger princess, before reaching out and gently drawing Twilight's chin up until the junior princess is looking her mentor in the eye.

"What you did today was not intelligent, you do not walk out of a situation briefing, no matter how hard it is to hear what is said," Celestia's voice hardens. "Not only do you miss important information, but you run the risk of offending foreign dignitaries or upsetting generals. You are a Princess of Equestria, and I expect you to comport yourself as such."
Twilight's eyes snap closed as tears course down her cheeks in silent trails of silver.
"I'm sorry Princess; I heard about Arc Bolt, and I thought she could be-" she trails off, unwilling to vocalize the sentiment as her voice catches.
"Yes, you logically assumed she would be Rainbow Dash... There are no words I can say that will make it hurt any less, it is always painful when one loses a friend." Here, Celestia's expression becomes a little warmer, and she places her hand upon Twilight's shoulder. "I wish I could make this easier for you Twilight, but I have a job for you."

"Yes, I remember you were mentioning something about that." Twilight replies and Celestia takes a deep breath, obviously steeling herself to deliver unpleasant news.
"I'm sending you to the Khanate to negotiate for us to try and patch things up about this misunderstanding, Luna believes they're heading for civil war, or war with us, and I want your assessment of the situation. I also want you to try and do what you can to calm the situation down, or at least ease relations with whoever’s in charge once the dust has settled." Celestia says softly.

Twilight's mouth drops open in shock, and she wonders for a second if her mentor is playing some kind of sick joke upon her. However, one look at Princess Celestia's grim expression tells her that this is not the case.
"I see," Twilight says softly, the gears in her head whirling. "You're sending me because you can't send anyone else. You need to send a Princess because you sent a Princess last time. If you send anything else, then the Khans would say we are not taking the situation seriously. You can't go yourself since this place is potentially hostile, and Luna's just been booted out of there and Cadence is busy, so that leaves me..." Twilight whispers apprehensively hoping against hope that Celestia will tell her she's got the job wrong, and that she's only going to be expected to do research, or else she'll be nothing more than a figurehead. However, as Celestia nods grimly, Twilight's face pales.

"Quite right, you always amaze me with your perceptiveness," Celestia says. "Unfortunately you're right, I cannot send anyone else, Cadence is otherwise engaged, Luna is unacceptable and I cannot go since that would create all kinds of misconceptions about how to attract my attention." Celestia says, her lips becoming a thin line and her eyes narrowing very slightly. "I wish I could spare you from this, Twilight. If I could send anyone else I would, but for the reasons you've just outlined, it has to be a Princess and that sort of leaves only you." Celestia gestures, indicating Twilight with her open palm. Twilight gulps, taking a deep breath. She feels like she's going to throw up.

"This morning," Celestia continues sadly. "The Khanate's ambassador handed me a note telling me that they are displeased with our 'criminal intervention' on their soil and that he has been given leave to discuss all options when preparing a response." Celestia finishes, watching Twilight's face turn even paler as she speaks.
Twilight knows the euphemism all too well; it's a polite way to say that violence has not been ruled out as an extension of foreign policy. Twilight knows that those kind of threats are the sort of threats that you sit up and take notice of, especially when they start coming from the Khanate.
"How serious would you say they are?" She asks vainly, hoping against hope that this isn’t as severe as the whole thing sounds.

"Very," Princess Celestia replies grimly. "I do not think I am exaggerating when I say that this could be all that stands between us and open war."

"Way to layer on the pressure Princess," Twilight says, a faint nervous smile upon her face. "But yes, I understand, I will go and pack immediately." With that, Twilight turns to head to her room to start packing, but Celestia places her hand upon Twilight's shoulder, looking relieved.

"Twilight, I will not be sending you upon this task alone, you shall be accompanied by Diplomatic Incident, and you will be guarded during your stay. When you get into Khanate territory, you will be going to the Légion d'étrangers’ operational headquarters for that region, they will provide any muscle you need."
"You think I'll need muscle?" she asks and Celestia nods once more.
"It is in our interests to appear strong Twilight, the Khanate’s population can be notoriously prickly, they respect power and so you shall come with power. It would also ease my nerves a little about throwing you to the lions like this." Here, Celestia actually looks regretful, her billowing hair slowing down to a gentle crawl and her radiance dimming slightly.

"You're my most faithful student and...." Celestia glances away. "You should go; you have packing to do." Celestia says softly, sounding almost like the elder princess is beginning to choke up. The Eternal Sun turns her back upon the younger princess and gazes out across the expanse of her capital. Twilight nods shortly, rising to her feet and heading towards the door into the palace.

She has a lot to think about.

Chapter Four: Attack

View Online

'Only rats survive in the Dasht-E-Margo, rats and Equestrian Legionnaires'

9th of January, 1882. Seventeen miles east of Equestria-Khanate border.

Princess Twilight Sparkle shivers bitterly against the cold night wind as it snaps at the loose-fitting travelling robes that she's wearing. The books she had hurriedly managed to read whilst she packed for the trip had mentioned how brutally hot the aptly named Dasht-E-Margo, or the Desert of Death, would get once the sun had crested the horizon. However, none of them had mentioned how brutally cold it would get before the same sun had risen, and thus, Twilight's light loose robes were now doing more harm than good, allowing her own body heat to drift away into the night.

Twilight turns to gaze out into the pre-dawn gloom. The stars still glitter high overhead, spread in a brilliant tapestry of twinkling diamonds. A single solitary cloud lazily drifts by, barely visible in the darkness. However, the sky to the east is just starting to turn pink as the sun slowly stabs at the horizon. The only sounds are the gentle creaking of the mast, the soft flapping of the solar sails and the whisper of the skiff's turbine drives as they power the skiff across the expanses of the Dasht-E-Margo, the uncontrolled wasteland that stretches along the Khanate-Equestrian border where temperatures rise to the point that you can cook eggs on rocks in the shade. You can only patrol this area by airship or skiff and thus those who have the resources can cross the border largely unchallenged.

The only border checkpoint near here has been passed over three hours ago, and the guards to the border had been apathetic. They hadn't even looked at Twilight's letter of passage from the Khanate Embassy in Equestria, hadn't even gestured for the skiff to land and had just waved the skiff onwards into the night. Now, Twilight is sitting at the prow of the skiff as it whispers through the night sky.

She's not travelling alone in the skiff. Diplomatic Incident is lying sprawled in the bottom of the skiff, wrapped in a thick woollen army blanket with his head pillowed upon his sea-bag, obviously much more comfortable than she had been when she tried that, his snores grumbling like an approaching storm. Even when she was using her magic, she had found it impossible to get comfortable and drift off. She has resolved to get some rest when they reach their destination.

The main reason for her inability to rest is worry. She has been worrying about her assignment for the Princesses, about how she's going to make the task work. Twilight has been involved in the diplomatic arena before, but that had been as an envoy to Zebrica, a country which had a comparatively good relationship with the Empire. She even had Zebrican friends, which is more than she can say about the wily old cats that inhabit the Khanate, largely due to very few Khans living in Equestria. Twilight knows very little about the inhabitants of the dangerous country to the east of Equestria, a deficit that she's only had a matter of hours to correct. All she knows is that the country has certainly moulded the citizens into its own image, hard and dangerous.

The other occupants in the skiff are three representatives of the Legion d'etrangers. Each Legionnaire is dressed in loose-fitting woollen khaki desert combat uniforms and pith helmets with an unfamiliar badge upon them. They also wear lightweight desert webbing made of reinforced canvas and fabric, as opposed to the leatherwork and valises that the regular army and navy wear, and all three are carrying carbines. The three Legionnaires have also wrapped scarves around their heads to protect themselves from the vicious sandstorms that can rip through the desert without warning.

One of them notices her looking and rises to his feet, clambering awkwardly past Diplomatic Incident to sit next to her. Twilight smiles at him as he gestures at the spot of bench next to her.

“May I sit here, Your Highness?” he asks and Twilight nods, wondering where she's heard that accent before. It is a very faint vibrating growl that underlays each word, and the very precise way he pronounces each word suggests Equestrian is not his first language.

“Sure..” She replies, glancing up at him. This Legionnaire is wearing tinted goggles as well as a tan wrap around his face, although Twilight can tell just by looking that he's not human. The triangular snout poking against his scarf is enough proof of that. The Legionnaire sits down next to her and gazes out into the desert.

“Yes, it's so peaceful and quiet, it’s so unlike Canterlot,” she replies. “You have such a beautiful night sky; I could stand to gaze up there all night,” Twilight’s enthusiasm leaks into her voice, which brightens as she points upwards. “The stars are so clear, there's Luna's Cell and Celestia's Tear.” she gestures at the distant constellations that are just beginning to fade. The Legionnaire chuckles beneath his wrap.

“Yes, though we have different names for them.” He gestures at several other constellations. “That one there is the Vaizal-Karzad and those three make up Dajin's finger.” He replies and Twilight tilts her head.

“The Legion have their own names for constellations?” She asks, confused.

“No princess, the Khanate was my home, I used to live here before everything went crazy.” He replies and Twilight suddenly remembers where she’s heard the accent before. It's the same accent the Khanate Ambassador often spoke with, although the Legionnaire’s accent is slightly less thick. The Legionnaire pulls his helmet off to reiterate the point, and Twilight gasps as two pointed furry ears unfold themselves from beneath his head-scarf.

“How much do you know about the Legion, your highness?”

“Please, just Twilight, and not a great deal.” Twilight replies, rather honestly. Whilst she knew that her duties as princess had a military element to them, including choosing a patron regiment in the same way as Cadenza had taken the 75th Battalion, the Rangers for her own, Twilight never put much thought to expanding her military knowledge, after all the Equestrian military had not been to war for years, and she'd never expected she'd need to prepare for one any-time soon. The universe, however, has other ideas.

“We're unique,” he says at last. “Unlike other units in the Equestrian army, we take foreigners who are willing to serve the Crown, as well as Equestrians who are too well known to the police to serve in other regiments. The Legion grants immunity from all crimes save treason against the Crown. All we have to do in turn is die at a time and place of the Legion's choosing; it’s not a bad life really.” He says, his long, gold-streaked grey tail arching up into a question mark.
Twilight whistles appreciatively. “That's impressive, so what happens when you leave?”

“Most of us would not have it any other way, we're the kind of people that the civilian world doesn't see eye to eye with. Our Caporal for instance-”

“That's enough!” A voice from behind Twilight speaks up and Twilight turns to see the other male Legionnaire gesturing at the two of them.

“Legionnaire, remember your manners!” the second voice is sharp and reproachful, the accent is also foreign to Twilight, though the owner of the voice is taller than most Equestrians.

The Khan nods quickly, raising his hand in apology. “My apologies Capo'.”

The third Legionnaire waves her hand from her position as she gazes out over the stern. Twilight can tell that one is a female because of the gentle swell of her battledress tunic.

“Praski'Minyu” She replies in the language that Twilight has come to recognize as Traveller speech, a language that Twilight knows enough to recognize the words “No Problem”.

The Khanate gestures out to the desert. “So where was I... Yes, besides the Legion being the dumping ground for all sorts of folk, we're also Equestria's first line of defence. The Legion maintains forts in countries that share a land border with Equestria, usually with knowledge of the host government. Although that has strings attached to it, we're not allowed artillery or airships and we have to keep ourselves within a dozen miles of our fortress unless we're on exercise or at a post like the Embassy,” he chuckles at this point. “But then there's a difference between what we're allowed to do and what we do anyway.”

The attack comes out of nowhere. A loud crack fills the night sky, followed by the shrill zip of a round whipping past the skiff, inches away from Twilight’s throat. Twilight's world is suddenly filled by the floor of the skiff as the Khan shoves her down from her perch and into cover, even as the loud rattle of automatic weapons fire roars through the air. Green and red tracer streaks overhead as the night is suddenly speckled with stars of a different and much deadlier kind. The crack of Legionnaire rifles returning fire hammers through Twilight's ears, making them ring shrilly. Rounds thump and twang loudly against the skiff's hull, sending reverberations pulsing through Twilight’s bones.

“We've come under fire have we?” he asks, sounding nonchalant.
“No, we've just flown into an impromptu firework display you imbecile, get your head down!” The Legionnaire replies sarcastically and Diplomatic Incident shrugs.

“Dashed funny fireworks display if you ask me.” He mutters and Twilight hears the distinctive snap of a revolver being broken open and shells being slid into the cylinder.

Twilight rolls over onto her back, her wings protesting at being forced to take her weight. Around her, Legionnaires are shooting at things; even Diplomatic Incident is calmly loading a brutally large revolver with a barrel about the length of her thigh. As she watches, Diplomatic Incident levels the pistol and fires. The weapon goes off with a boom like a weapon a hundred times the size.

Twilight's gaze flickers around. The night air is alive with small skiffs much like their own, dancing through the sky, the bright blue engine blooms glowing like tiny evil fireflies. Bright muzzle flashes strobe and flare around them and the heavy sour odour of cordite fills the air even as Twilight's stomach lurches from being hurled this way and that.

“What on earth is going on?” She shouts, and Diplomatic Incident leans in to reply he reloads his weapon.

“It would appear, ma'am, that we have come into contact with a group of bandits, beastly well armed ones at that.” He takes aim with his pistol and fires again, this time scoring a direct hit against one of the skiffs' engine blocks, which screams out in agony as the powerful slug rips through its innards, the skiff then erupts in a roiling flower of flame and shrapnel.

“Keep your head down!” the Khan bellows at her and Twilight ducks even as a round slices vindictively through the space where she used to be.

Adrenaline pulses through Twilight even as the gunfire roars in her ears, however, her mind starts working overtime. Twilight had always prided herself on being able to think clearly under adverse conditions, and this certainly qualifies. Here she is, in the midst of her very first gunfight against an enemy that outnumbers and outguns them twenty to one, if the rattling of the machine guns is anything to go by. Terror pulses through her veins however the exhilaration of battle also sings in her ears as an adrenaline high pumps through her veins.

Twilight grimaces, deciding that now is a useful time to contribute in some fashion to the fight. She might be more into her books than into her martial skills like Princess Luna, however, Twilight has stared down enough supernatural threats against Equestria to believe she knows her way from one end of a brawl to another.

She takes a deep breath and draws the energy up that she requires, laying eyes upon the first small skiff that she can see, a bright muzzle flash blossoming forth from a tripod upon the skiff. The skiff is small and badly made; the chassis is littered with evidence of its prior involvement in this kind of work. The hull of the skiff is pitted and scarred with bullet marks, and the engine cowling is patched and rusting. Twilight can see figures moving around on the skiff, wrapped in long flowing robes and clutching rifles. The machine gunner fires another volley, which screeches through the sky to rip through the solar sail of her skiff. That is enough for Twilight and with a quick gesture she unleashes the enchantment she'd been holding, which spears through the sky like a bolt of lightning, leaving a long lavender trail of flame in its wake.

“Keep your head down ma'am, let these ruffians earn their keep!” Diplomatic Incident yells as he fires another round from his monstrous pistol.

Twilight makes a mental note to ask Diplomatic Incident where he got that huge pistol, it certainly seems to be a very powerful weapon, and he seems to know more about how to use it than a self-confessed desk jockey with a well documented fondness for eclairs and cream cakes really should. Twilight doesn't allow herself to think about that too hard, however, as the slight matter of being up to her ears in gunfire is a rather more pressing concern.

Twilight can't help but feel more than a little afraid. She's in combat and has very limited means of defending herself, her spells were no good for offence and Twilight doesn't particularly wish to test them in defence, since anything travelling at three times the speed of sound will probably punch right through it. Instead, all she can do is cower as her guardians do all the hard work, gripping onto the ship and trying not to lose her lunch as the pilot hurls the skiff into a rather brutal series of hairpin turns.

Over the cacophony of gunfire roaring in the night sky, Twilight can hear a low pitched rumbling noise. A deep throaty humming drone that is slowly getting louder, along with a low pitched repetetive bassy thumping noise, like a jackhammer to the machine gun's clattering rattle. Bright orange streaks shriek past the frantically weaving skiff, each one accompanied by a loud whoosh, to detonate around the skiff in bright splashes of flame and smoke. Shrapnel clatters off the armoured flanks of their skiff as bursts of flak erupt around them like flowers.

A hostile airship is slowly drawing closer. It's not a large airship, barely bigger than a cruiser, and its cells are patched and worn, its gondola rusty and battered. However, illuminated by the bright pulsing orange gouts of smoke and flame pumping from the two twin twenty millimeter cannons mounted along its flanks, the airship appears to be vast. Its searchlights stab the smoky sky, the beams searching like the gaze of a hungry predator, and as those lights focus upon her skiff, dissolving Twilight's vision in the bright glare, Twilight wonders if this is the end.

However as the bursts of flak draw closer, and the thunder of gunfire intensifies, Twilight feels a familiar tingling in her fingers, pulsing down her arms to the very tips of her fingers, and before she can even think, her body reacts completely on instinct. She leaps to her feet and stretches out her arm before her, gesturing at the airship. Twilight's not sure what to expect as a bright pulse of purple light leaps from her hand. She's expecting it to bounce feebly off the airship's hull or detonate like a damp squib as it did before, doing no damage but provoking a more vicious response.

The spark streaks through the air, hissing like an enraged serpent. Guided more by instinct than rational thought, it slices through the gondala's patched armour plating like a hot knife through butter, and it detonates deep within the bowels of the cruiser with a deep powerful thump that pulses through Twilight's very soul. As she watches, awestruck, the cruiser lurches as though that spark is a titanic hammer blow. The engines suddenly start belching thick acrid clouds of black smoke. Then a fist of flame punches its way out of the airship's gondola. The cells ignite quickly and the howl of flotgas escaping from hundreds of ruptured gas pockets fills the night. Fire boils across the surface of the balloon, spreading rapidly.

The cruiser rapidly starts to list and tumble, as the gas required to keep it aloft escapes. Twilight watches in horror as people leap from the ports and escape hatches, pursued by hungry tongues of flame as the airship is consumed. Finally, the volatile fuel cells take light, and the cruiser explodes, cutting off the screams of the wounded and dying in a rather abrupt fashion. For a few seconds, there is a very heavy, pregnant silence. Everyone has stopped shooting, and they’re just staring at the ruptured skeleton of the airship as it tumbles to the desert floor, still pouring billowing clouds of smoke. The raiders stare in awestruck horror at the ash drifting upon the wind that used to be their crewmates and at the drifting embers that used to be their flagship, and then at the twenty foot long skiff that can take down airships several times its own size, and they start to back off.

“Status report!” the female Legionnaire bellows in Equestrian, in a voice that makes Twilight stiffen. She's heard that voice before, heard that accent before. Only one person she ever knew talked like that. Twilight turns to stare at the female Legionnaire, who remains masked as she slides fresh rounds into her rifle.

“I'm good, down to my last twenty rounds Capo',” the Khan replies and the other male Legionnaire gestures.
“Down to fifty rounds here, Caporal-Chef! ” He snaps in reply, and the Caporal nods from her position by the pilot's seat and pulls out a box of ammunition.

“Distribute ammunition from the box, make sure you've all got full pouches in case they come back, but try and make it last since I don't have any more.”
“Yes Caporal-chef!” The two Legionnaires reply, falling upon the ammunition box and hungrily devouring it.

“Arc Bolt?” The words drop out of Twilight's lips in a horrified gasp.
“Caporal-chef Iriz Harsh, Fifth compagnie, Bolt was in the Ninth, ma'am.” The cold reply comes back as sharp as a slap in the face and Twilight lurches as though she's been slapped. Even that voice sounds so much like the young woman that Twilight can remember spending some of the best days of her life with. Lounging in fields, reading under shady trees, back when the world was innocent. Now they're drifting into hostile lands, having emerged out of the other side of a battle.

“I-I- see,” Twilight says softly. “My apologies, Caporal. You sound like someone I thought I knew once upon a time.”

“Thought you knew, ma'am?” The Caporal asks and Twilight shakes her head.

“Long story, maybe I'll tell you sometime, assuming you're interested in the boring life of a Princess.” Twilight says

“I'd like to hear about it.” There is a faint trace of something that Twilight can't quite place in the woman's voice, something almost wistful.

Twilight sighs softly.
“It's not that interesting.” She replies, her hands starting to shake as the adrenaline begins to wear off, and the reality of the battle slowly sinks in. The reality of that airship erupting into flames before her, men tumbling from the hatches, their screams snatched away by the explosion. The faint sickly sweet odour of burnt flesh still drifts upon the breeze, it claws its way up her nostrils and makes Twilight retch.

Twilight has never killed actual people before. She's banished the occasional angry sky-beast and vanquished the odd dragon here and there as Princess, and as an Element, she had gotten up to all kinds of wild things like turning Discord to stone and banishing Nightmare Moon. However, that wasn't quite the same as killing civilized sapients much like herself. Twilight feels queasy, her head spinning and she grabs onto the gunwale to steady herself. She is a scholar and a thinker, not a warrior.

“Are you well, Majesty?” Diplomatic Incident asks dispassionately, opening up his huge pistol and starting to clean the weapon with the practised air of someone who knows what he's doing.

“Yes,” Twilight replies, her face slightly pale. “That was a rather harrowing moment.” She says at last and the Legionnaires glance at each other knowingly.

“You have never killed before, Princess?” the Khan asks curiously and she shakes her head, licking her dry lips with an equally dry tongue, drawing a raw rasping breath.
“I have never had a reason to, I have banished sky-beasts and other monsters but I wouldn't call any of that killing.”

“It gets easier,” Iriz replies. “Once you've killed once, you're over the line and so it's easier to keep going.”
That notion does not make Twilight feel any better as the darkness of the night slowly gives way to the crimson skies of dawn. She doesn't want to feel good about what she's just done. Her logical mind loudly insists that it was the only action to take, that any other course of action would have lead to them being killed or taken prisoner, and each time Twilight re-runs the scenario in her head, she comes back to that variable. However, the icy firmness of logic does nothing to block out the screams ringing in her ears.

A snide little voice in her mind whispers malevolently in her ear.
'And there you go again, Princess, oh so eager to pass judgement and blame, they're bad people but you're so much better than they. It's horrible when they kill, but when you do it, it's all cricket because they're 'bad people' and so killing thirty of them at a time is considered acceptable.' The voice sneers and Twilight shakes her head as if to wipe away a particularly obnoxious fly. She will deal with her mutinous subconscious later.

'Later, that's right, we can discuss this another time. You have lots of time to spare after all, this is going to be with you for the rest of your sorry little life, Princess.'

Chapter Five: Reunion

View Online

“So what's your name?” Twilight asks the Khan as they draw onwards through the desert, the engine of the skiff sputtering from time to time. After their surprise encounter with the raiders no one further troubles them, although with the sun rising steadily higher in the azure sky the raiders would be less likely to make a repeat appearance as the temperatures start to soar.

“Faisal, Faisal Ad-Sarif” The Legionnaire, Faisal, replies as he gazes out across the desert. “I've only been in the Legion for about a year or two now, it's... not like I imagined” A chuckle drifts out from behind his face-wrap. Faisal flicks his goggles up, to reveal two bright greenish-golden eyes with thin black slits for pupils.
“Much better” he sighs contentedly, and Twilight notes the other two Legionnaires throwing glances at each other and muttering softly.
“So Princess, as I was saying-”

“Can it Squirt! We're nearly there.” The Caporal-Chef barks, glaring out into the desert morning. As they crest a series of dunes Twilight notices a set of buildings built upon a rocky outcrop in the sand barely visible in the wavering heat haze, the buildings grow steadily larger until a walled compound becomes visible, thrusting itself up out of the desert to gaze defiantly at its surroundings.

The compound is fairly large, consisting of several three storey brick buildings arranged into four blocks, encircled by a thick adobe wall topped by a crenellated walkway. Twilight cannot see any anti aircraft guns although she can see quite a few tents and a quick inquisitive prod with her magic reveals five combat walkers and several field guns along with a couple of self propelled cannon. As the skiff draws closer she can see soldiers patrolling and more running this way and that. Even from here, she can hear the dulcet tones of drill sergeants bellowing orders or cadences as they thrash their troops into something resembling order, along with the thunder of hundreds of pairs of steel shod boots.
“Welcome to The Pit, Princess, this is the home of the Second Regiment of the Legion d'etrangers.”

As they draw closer to the base Twilight notices three blocks of soldiers forming up upon the parade square, along with several banner carriers clustered off to the right and a pair of musicians gathered over to the left playing the Equestrian Imperial Anthem on the fife and drums. The skiff slowly comes in for landing in the middle of the parade square and Twilight rises to her feet biting her lip nervously. She's never been much good at ceremony or pomp and circumstance, and even though this is just a Legion fort in the middle of nowhere she can still feel eyes upon her as she shields her eyes with one hand to survey the scene.

Before her are three platoons... wait, is it a hundred men to a platoon or a company? Twilight asks herself, Luna's long forgotten lectures on military history itching at the back of her mind. There are well over a hundred soldiers in the square however, all stood perfectly still in their khaki battle dress uniforms and pith helmets or peaked caps, their rifles gripped tight in front of them. Each one has their face covered by a tan scarf and goggles of one kind or another. The only identifying marks upon each man or woman are the black slashes of rank upon their arms and the regimental insignia.

At the head of the group stands the tallest person Twilight has ever seen. He is dressed in tan battledress like the rest of them with a peaked cap perched upon his head, however unlike the other Legionnaires his face is uncovered to reveal four icy blue eyes that regard Twilight the same way one might regard a particularly bothersome insect. His thin lipped mouth is curled upwards in a smile that looks almost like a grimace and his nostrils flare slightly.
“Princess Sparkle, I was told to expect you.” He says, striding towards Twilight and bowing his head.

Twilight politely nods in reply, her guts churning as the huge soldier straightens up. Up close, he is even more intimidating. Twilight has met tall Equestrians before, her friend Applejack's brother, “Big MacIntosh” is a towering giant of a man. He is built like a brick outhouse with powerful hands and a mop of rusty hair and the ruddy complexion of a man who has worked outdoors his whole life. With his deep rolling accent and his gentle ways, he is considered a highly eligible bachelor by most of the female population of Ponyville. Yet even Big-Mac would probably be cowed by this man.

He is tall, at least seven foot, with a barrel like chest, flat belly and massive, shovel-like hands. His skin is unnaturally white, certainly Twilight would have expected a being that has spent all his time out in the sun to be somewhat tanned, however the man before her is still as white as a piece of sun-bleached bone.
“Colonel Vasiliy Alexyvich Zaranov at your service.”
That explains that then.
Zaranov is a Val'.

Twilight has never met a Valorossiyan before, though she has read plenty about them in books. Their reputation for extreme violence is well documented, as is their strange tribal culture. For all that, Twilight has never even seen a picture of one, and now one stands before her in his officer's working uniform smiling down at her.

Zaranov salutes her, and Twilight nervously lifts her hand to return the salute, nervously copying the way she saw her brother salute as an officer Cadet, and later as captain of the guard. The Val's smirk grows wider and he shakes his head slightly and she drops her hand.
“Good effort though ma'am,” he mutters, sounding good humoured. “Sometime I shall have to teach you to salute properly, but there are more serious matters to take care of today.”

He then gestures, turning to the arrayed soldiers before him.
“Soldiers of the Second Regiment, Legion D'Etrangers, I bring before you her Royal Highness, Princess Twilight Sparkle.”

The crash of steel shod boots against the parade square sounds like the short, sharp report of a firing squad as in perfectly synchronised movements, the soldiers bring their rifles back to sloped arms, their weapons resting upon their shoulders. Hundreds of masked faces and goggled eyes stare back at her. Each is one expressionless, unreadable. All these soldiers stand before her, ready to die in her defence. Twilight has never felt quite so small in all her life, quite so overburdened by the weight of her power. At her command, these soldiers could march upon Tarhen and lay siege to it.

“Princess Sparkle, I present to you the Third, Second, and Fifth Compagnie of the Second Regiment , some of the finest soldiers in the Empire.” Twilight follows him towards the soldiers arrayed before her and begins her inspection. Twilight's not exactly sure what she's looking for, yet she's impressed in spite of herself. Even she has to admit that these soldiers are well disciplined. The sun has risen fully and the heat is quickly becoming oppressive even in her lightweight robes. How these soldiers must feel, wrapped up tight in their masks and uniforms, with rifles and equipment hanging off them... yet none of them move a muscle, each one stands perfectly straight. Twilight even wonders for a second if Zaranov has brought a few hundred statues of Legionnaires in to fill the gaps.

After half an hour, Zaranov gestures her over to the corner of the parade square, whilst the NCOs start their own inspections and briefings.

“Princess, might I ask a small boon of you?” Zaranov asks softly, his Equestrian flawless.

“Of course” Twilight replies, trying to keep herself from wiping the sweat from her cheek. Zaranov looks perfectly comfortable in his uniform and even Diplomatic Incident doesn't look like he's suffering in his golden waistcoat and dicky bow, but then that bastard is sitting in the shade. Twilight will be damned if she doesn't grin and bear it. She is supposed to set a good example to the men under her command after all.

“I have soldiers in the base infirmary from the Ninth Compagnie, from the Embassy Incident.” He says, and Twilight's mouth drops open in shock. She had assumed the Ninth had been wiped out, save the lucky few that Princess Luna pulled away in the Zam Tarkaz. Certainly the Princesses had done nothing to contradict that notion.

“Several of them are due for honors and it would mean a great deal to me if you were the one to-”

“Of course I will Mon Colonel,” Twilight cuts him off “Field Marshal Luna has spoken highly of the combat performance of the Ninth and I would be honored to meet them.”

“Oh she has?” Zaranov asks, his tone darkening “I would not go mentioning that too loudly, Field Marshal Luna is not held in the highest regard here.” His tone takes on a faintly acidic note. “I will tell you all about it in the Officer's Mess, let me just dismiss the men.”

With that, he turns on his heel and marches out to the front of the ranks and starts to bellow at his soldiers, who wheel as one and fall out, turning on their heels and stepping out of formation, before dispersing to their duties. Twilight watches them go for a moment, before turning back to Zaranov. The parade square has emptied very quickly indeed, with soldiers anxious to be getting on with their jobs or just anxious to be out of the brutal crushing weight of the sun.
“So what's the issue with the Field Marshal?”

“When we were at the Embassy... the Field Marshal got quite a lot of my men killed because she put too much faith in her own diplomatic skill.” Zaranov says bitterly.

“You mean when she refused to let your soldiers shoot the crowd down” Twilight says flatly and Zaranov nods shortly. “Mon Colonel, that would have been provocation for outright war with the Khanate.” Twilight replies, aghast.

“Yet here we stand, upon the brink of outright war with the Khanate anyway,” He responds “You need to take a firm hand with these people, to show them that you're not playing games. Ultimately, her order to hold fire lead to a lot of my men getting wounded or killed needlessly.”

Twilight glances nervously up, wondering what an Equestrian commander would say in a similar situation. She knows she should really stick up for her co-ruler at this point, that if Luna was confronted by someone with an issue about school mismanagement then Luna would give that person short shrift in a rather brutal fashion. The difference being that nobody died as a result of school mismanagement, poisonings from school-dinners notwithstanding.

“I shall take your concerns to the Princess, and she will address them in due course.” Twilight says after a moment “I can't really comment because-”

“-The Princess has been very busy since taking up her robes” Diplomatic Incident interjects “She has been taking on work with the ministry of education, I hardly think you can expect her knowledge of military affairs to be complete.”

Zaranov turns to look at Diplomatic Incident.
“So, you're the pencil neck I was told to expect,” He says softly “I can't say I was expecting much but this is pushing it.”

Diplomatic Incident shrugs, wiping his brow with a handkerchief.
“Diplomatic Incident at your service.”

“I should hope not, otherwise I would be waiting half the night to get served.” Diplomatic Incident doesn't say anything to this, instead preferring to make a show of adjusting his pocket watch, the sun flashing off the golden lid, something he normally does whenever someone makes a disparaging remark. Zaranov however is unmoved by whatever he sees.
“So they've given me a fat ghost as well. This is brilliant, just brilliant.”

He then turns and starts walking towards one of the low buildings built into the fortress wall. Twilight follows after him, intending to get some answers. She needs to know where she's billeted for one thing, and she needs to know when he wants her to present the medals. Twilight has always hated medal ceremonies. She's sat in on them many times with Princess Celestia, and she's always hated seeing the smugness of some of the petty lordlings involved, some of whom looked too corpulent for the bravery under fire awards they were being handed. However as they approach the low building Twilight realizes that these people have actually earned their awards.

Twelve hours later, after a day spent touring most of the fort, Twilight finds herself back where they began as the sun starts to go down. Twilight is exhausted, however there’s no stopping quite yet.
“Right Princess, before we turn in I need to issue you a weapon and make sure you know how to use one.” Twilight's mouth drops open and her hand goes down to the Luger stuffed into her belt. She pulls it out, feeling the weight of the weapon in her hands.

“I’ve got one already, I was given this pistol by Field Marshal Luna” She says quietly. Zaranov holds his hand out and Twilight hands him the pistol without question. Zaranov looks down at the pistol and then shakes his head and stuffs it into his own belt to Twilight's horror.

“You'll thank me later Princess” he replies as they reach the building, and Twilight notices the heavy steel door and the thick grating upon the windows, along with the fact that this is one of the few buildings made of cement. All the rest are made of brick and mortar, or else adobe in the case of some of the older buildings.

Zaranov hammers upon the door, which opens to reveal an elderly woman with wrinkled, leathery skin and a faded pink floral dress that is spattered with grease and carbon and her hands are likewise coated in weapon lubricant. Her skin has the faint yellowish tinge of someone who has worked with cordite for a very long time, and its bitter odour hangs upon the woman. Her iron grey hair is tied back into a severe looking bun and it is likewise liberally streaked with lubricant and carbon. She looks almost as ancient as Granny Smith back in Ponyville, though her eyes are bloodshot and slitted from a life spent in the sun. Her mouth quirks up into a warm motherly smile as she notices Twilight.

“Your Highness, meet Madam Locke, our chief gunsmith.” Zaranov says and the old woman steps forward and curtsies delicately, before reaching forward and grabbing Twilight's hand in a surprisingly powerful shake.

“Your majesty, welcome to the fortress, can I get you anything? Tea or perhaps a biscuit. We’re all out of the weevil-less ones though.”

Twilight raises an eyebrow, unable to keep a smile from forming upon her face.
“Madam Locke is also our requisitions officer and quartermaster, she's in charge of issuing equipment and getting hold of various supplies for us.” Zaranov explains, before turning to Madam Locke. “Her highness will be requiring armament, see that she gets a good rifle, a shotgun and a decent pistol.”

Madam Locke sucks her teeth for a second and looks Twilight up and down appraisingly and Twilight is reminded for a few seconds of the royal dress-maker, before her smile widens.

“Of course, do come in dearie” she beckons and Twilight follows Madam Locke through the enterance and into the armoury. Twilight's not really sure what she's expecting, perhaps a dimly lit cavern filled with weapons and uniforms all piled haphazardly on top of each other in a corner, and a collection of rusty helmets piled up in another.

Instead, she crosses the threshold and finds a doormat laid out on the doorstep, and a little knitted cross-stitch circle advising anyone entering the armoury to wipe their boots before they come in. Twilight wipes her boots, before stepping through the second armoured doorway into a well lit room stacked high with weapons.

Racks stretch from floor to ceiling, loaded with weapons of all shapes sizes and descriptions. Bolt action rifles, pistols and even precision rifles are all sitting neatly upon their shelves, organized by type and serial number. A desk sits in one corner with a bright copper boiler gently bubbling away, along with several floral patterned china mugs hanging upon the wall. Twilight gingerly steps across the threshold into the room staring in wonder as she follows Locke over to the desk. She can hear someone else working in the armoury, the gentle click click of a torsion wrench drifts through the air along with the soft sound of a woman humming to herself. The armoury is surprisingly large, Twilight can see several racks of weapons arranged like bookshelves in neat serried ranks along with passageways that lead to who knows where. Twilight is reminded more of a library than an arsenal and she bites her lip as memories of Ponyville and the good times she had there dance tantalizingly at the edge of her memory.

She watches Locke bustling around the library, muttering to herself “So do you have any particular preference your highness? I have, for your perusal, Legion standard issue, Khanate standard issue along with cavalry carbines and airborne variants, you name it.”

Twilight blinks, unsure “Umm... I have no idea really, I don't know the first thing about guns.”

“These are not guns,” Locke replies snippily “A gun is something you fire from a ship or from a carriage, you call these firearms, or else weapons.”

Twilight nods nervously as Locke smiles sweetly, then pulls something off of a rack. The weapon in question is a long rifle, similar to one that Twilight saw her brother using in the Guard, although this one is noticeably shorter.

“This is a En-Kar 72 .303 rifle, standard issue for soldiers who're working in tight quarters like off the deck of an airship or from a Walker.” Locke explains, pointing out features on the rifle “As you can see here, we have a ten round magazine and an enclosed blade foresight to protect the blade from being snapped off in combat, you then adjust the sight by sliding this back and forth” She explains, clicking the rear sight through the various settings.

“You're able to shoot out to six to eight hundred metres on a good day with this rifle but you won't hit anything at that range, you certainly won't put them down, so ideal engagement range is inside of three to four hundred metres, if they’re any closer then one shot will put them down easily enough.”

Locke offers Twilight the rifle, and she silently takes it, feeling the weight of the weapon. It feels surprisingly weighty and heavy. Twilight had watched Locke move the weapon around like it weighed next to nothing yet in her hands, the weapon feels bulky. Twilight can feel the weight of the weapon pressing down upon her shoulders, the weight of the responsibility in her hands and she suddenly understands why Locke insists these weapons are referred to as weapons.

They are for killing and maiming people rather than bombing structures or ripping holes in ships. When she takes aim down the sight of this weapon she will hold the life of another in her hands, with half a pound of pressure separating life from death. Twilight shivers slightly, even though it is blisteringly hot inside the armoury.

The shotgun and the pistol are next, the shotgun being a more ornate weapon that had apparently been confiscated from a Khanate arms dealer. A double barrelled twin trigger breech loading shotgun that breaks open before the stock to slide two shells into the chambers. The weapon is engraved with elaborate hunting scenes of various wildfowl and deer, and as Twilight runs her fingers over the elaborate tracery and engravings, Locke continues explaining the provenance of the weapon.

'Since you may need to go hunting I thought I'd give you this rather than one of our ugly pump-actions your highness, it's a custom piece, far too good for the idiot who our boys stole it from," Lock sniffs as she turns the weapon over in her hands so Twilight can see the maker's markings. Twilight winces, she knows nothing about weapons and even she knows that Belle and Smythe are a big deal. Premier gunsmiths to the Canterlot Elite with a price tag to match.

"It's enchanted," Locke says quietly, an almost reverent tone entering her voice "The weapon's breech and barrel are made of a magical alloy that allows it to expand or contract to fit whatever round you may like to put through it. It's smoothbore obviously so don't go shoving rifle rounds down the spout or you'll break it." Locke turns the weapon over once more, looking it up and down, before she turns and hands the weapon to Twilight

Twilight whistles softly as she hefts the shotgun. It feels lighter than the rifle but she can still feel a bit of weight to it. However with its elaborate engraving and golden tracery, this weapon looks more like a work of art than a killing tool and Twilight says as much.

“Precisely why I thought you should take it,” Locke replies “None of the idiots here have need of a hunting gun like this one, it only takes up space in my armoury and it's not a combat weapon, less effective than a pump action. Truth be told I was going to get rid of it next year so I'll be glad to see it gone.” Twilight nods quickly as she places the weapon down on the bench next to the rifle.

“This-” Locke picks up the pistol “Is a Webley Mk.IV revolver.”

“I've already got a pistol” Twilight says quickly and Locke stiffens.

“You have?” she asks, and Zaranov steps forward.

“Yes, this piece of work, apparently presented to her by the princess”

“Oh my.” Locke says, taking the pistol from Zaranov and snorting “I always thought the Princess had an odd sense of humour and this evidently confirms it”

Twilight tilts her head
“Yes?” She asks, and Locke nods.

“The Luger is one of the better examples of Schmidt-Mauser weapon making, like all Schmidt weapons it is accurate and effective with a decent range, however it is also over engineered... there are over fifty five separate working parts within this one pistol, each of which can go wrong in two shakes of a lamb's tail. It's also a semi automatic so it can jam in hot and sandy conditions, unlike the Webley, though the Luger has a larger magazine, a larger magazine matters not a jot if you cannot fire the weapon because it has been fouled by dust and so on.” Locke says grimly “Trust me your highness, you will get far better mileage out of a Webley.”

Twilight nods, the gunsmith's logic making sense to her. “Okay, I'll take the Webley and you can have the Luger in exchange.”

Locke smirks “Thank you highness, I know someone on base who is going to be very happy about that.” A broad smile spreads across her face and Zaranov tilts his head.

“Bolt?” He asks softly and Locke nods in reply.

“She just got out of the infirmary today and you know, the first thing she did was come here and get right back to messing around with that collection of hers and making a mess back there.” Twilight's heart nearly stops.

“Bolt, Arc Bolt?” she asks, her heart pounding in her chest and Locke nods

“Yes, that's her, Caporal Arc Bolt from Ninth Company... from that dreadful business in the Embassy.”

Twilight's heart is pounding a mile a minute, her breath is catching in her chest.

“Where is she?” Twilight asks quickly “I... I would like to see her.”

Locke glances at Zaranov, who nods quickly

“If she's been released from the infirmary then I'm sure there's no problem, I'm sure she'd like to see royalty, a princess no less.” Zaranov says, though Locke looks doubtful.

“I'll take you round to see her” Locke says at last, after a moment's thought. Twilight's heart is racing, her palms are sweating and a flush is spreading across her face quite different from the flush created by the heat.

Rainbow Dash is alive!

Twilight follows Locke through, past the racks of guns and ammunition, past the machine guns and the infantry mortars, past the storage cupboards filled with uniforms and god knows what else, until they reach another thick metal doorway with the word WORKSHOP printed on it. From inside Twilight can hear crashing and banging and hack-sawing and occasionally the whirring of a lathe. Locke calmly yanks the door open and Twilight gasps.

She'd recognize those bright blue wings anywhere. The figure has her back to Twilight, hunched over an armory bench with a rifle spread out in front of her, broken down into its component parts. Twilight can remember that rich coffee colored skin almost as if it was yesterday, can remember those arms holding her close. Moments so glorious she never wanted them to end. That bright multi-colored hair glitters in the light, stirring memories of running her hands through those soft locks a lifetime ago.
“Hey, Caporal!”

“Just a moment Locke, I'll be right with ya." Even that voice, so brash and abrasive the first time Twilight had heard it sounds like molten honey trickling into her ears. Twilight tries to straighten her back, tries to work out what she's going to say.

“Don't you 'just a moment' me Caporal! You have a visitor.”

“Yeah, who'd come out to this dump to see me?”

“Why don't you ask her Highness that question yourself?”

With that the figure suddenly stops dead and goes stiff, before rising to her feet and whirling around. Twilight's eyes widen in horror.

There, before her, stands Rainbow Dash, dressed in a sweat stained red and white striped singlet, khaki battledress trousers and sandals. Her hands are caked in oil and carbon and her face is shiny with sweat. Dog tags glitter around her neck and right ankle. That is not the part that Twilight is concerned about.

Poking out from under the rainbow coloured fringe that flops down over her right eye is an eye-patch. Twilight's hands go to her mouth in horror.
“Rainbow Dash” She gasps “Ohmygod... what have they done to you?”

Locke glances between the two women “I'll give you two ladies a moment” she says softly, before turning and walking out the door, closing it behind her with a snap.

Twilight however cannot take her eyes off of Rainbow Dash's face, off of that eyepatch. She can feel her hands trembling as she stares at the woman that she called her girlfriend once upon a time. She closes her eyes for a second, trying to imagine what Princess Celestia would do in this situation, but then she realizes that's no help at all since Princess Celestia's friends died thousands of years ago. She is about to open her mouth to say something when Rainbow Dash clears her throat.

“How... What are you... why didn't you... fucksake!” Rainbow Dash snaps “What are you doing here Twilight?”

Flustered, Twilight could only stutter “I just... the princesses... I'm going to Tarhen to talk about what happened.”

“A massacre, that's what happened Twilight, the fucking cats stormed the walls and we could have blown them all away but fucking Princess Luna... rrrgh!” Rainbow Dash growls in frustration before she turns back to Twilight. “But damn Twilight, it's... it's good to see you” Rainbow Dash finishes lamely and Twilight nods.

“It's good to see you too.” Twilight whispers nervously, all kinds of questions spiralling around in her head but only one word punches through the confused, swirling haze that fills her head. It punches through with such strength that it drops from her toungue before her internal censor has a chance to reword it.

“Why?” She whispers softly. From the look on Rainbow Dash's face, this was not a good question.

“Why huh?” Rainbow Dash asks, her face setting as she turns her back on Twilight again “After all this time... and that's all you can ask?! Don't you fucking know the answer? We were going to get crucified in the press, we'd never have a moment's peace. I'd never be able to be a Wonderbolt, and you'd never be able to do all that princess bullshit... and there was Princess Celestia”

“What about her?” Twilight asks, feeling her hackles rising. This is not the same Rainbow Dash that she last saw two years ago.

“Only that her royal snootiness paid me a visit when I was hiding from the Paparazzi, she gave me a one way ticket to Castelnaudry and told me if I started running right now, she'd forget about me.”

Twilight gasps “Princess Celestia would never...” She hesitates. In all the time Twilight has known Princess Celestia, she's never known her to be cruel like that. At times cheeky, at others headstrong, but never cruel. However, though it feels like a betrayal of her mentor to think it, a speedling of doubt sprouts in her mind. Dash would never lie to her.

“Shows how much you know!” Rainbow Dash barks in reply, advancing upon Twilight “Why the fuck are you even here Princess? They just kicked Moony out, why are they going to give a shit about you huh?”

Rainbow Dash is right in Twilight's face now, almost nose to nose. Twilight stares into that bright gleaming eye that glares accusingly back at her and takes a deep breath, trying to force her mind to think clearly and rationally, however the long and painful day is taking its toll and her mind, fuelled by rage, provides her with words that snap from her toungue like the thongs of a whip.

“Because I'm not going around lining up firing squads!” She snaps back in reply. The moment the words tumble out of her mouth, she wishes she could snatch them back. Rainbow Dash's hand curls into a fist and her eyes narrow.

“Don't you dare talk to me about shit you couldn't EVER understand!” She snaps and Twilight's cool shatters across the armoury floor, and she's yelling before she can stop herself.

“Well why don't you make me understand!” She bellows in reply. “Just like you made me understand how much it hurts when you ran away, when you didn't even have the strength to look me in the face and tell me we were through!?” All she can see is red through the haze of tears that threatens to burst at any moment.

“I would have if I could have!” Rainbow Dash yells in reply “I had Celestia on my fucking tail, you think that's just something I could ignore!”

“Bullshit” Twilight snapped “Princess Celestia wouldn't do that, you couldn't face me and tell me we were through so you left!”

“Well I'm fucking glad I did, I'll tell you that much!” Rainbow Dash snaps, her remaining eye wide, wild and angry as she grabs Twilight's shoulder and pins her against a workbench, grabbing Twilight's wing with the other hand and pulling. At that moment a loud double click fills the room, the click of a hammer being drawn back. The shrill click rings loud as thunder in the room and Twilight turns her head to see a gun trained on Rainbow Dash.

“Unhand the princess right now, or so help me I will blow your fucking brains out.” Diplomatic Incident growls, his finger on the trigger of his monster pistol.

Chapter Six: Reconciliations.

View Online

Rainbow Dash steps backwards, hands coming up, her eyes wide with shock as her brain catches up with what she's just said and done.
“Twilight, go, I'll cover you.” Diplomatic Incident says softly from the doorway, his mustache bristling, his face red with anger. Twilight silently rises to her feet and turns to walk away, her face pale as tears well up in her eyes as she heads for the door. Rainbow turns her head to watch Twilight leave.

“It's not-” Dash interjects

“It's exactly what it looked like,” Diplomatic Incident growls, keeping his weapon trained on Rainbow Dash “You assaulted a Princess of Equestria... by all rights I could shoot you right now!”

“But you will not,” Zaranov's voice is sharp and cold “This is a Legion matter, the offender is a Legionnaire, we will deal with this internally as is the Legion's way.”

Zaranov steps into the room, gazing at Rainbow Dash. “How much did you hear sir?” Rainbow Dash whispers, terrified.

“Enough.” Zaranov replies “As of this moment, you can consider yourself demoted to Legionnaire. Additional punishment... five lashes.” Rainbow Dash visibly sags. Five lashes is seriously bad news, but being busted to Legionnaire stings hard. It took her two years of damn hard work to get this far. Diplomatic Incident is obviously satisfied with this outcome, lowering his pistol.

“No,” A voice suddenly cuts through the other voices, a voice that expects to be obeyed even whilst it quivers with emotion. “I provoked her, it's my fault as much as hers” Twilight Sparkle says, her voice firm “I don't want her to be demoted, or whipped.”

Zaranov turns to look at Twilight and then he nods shortly. “As you wish Princess, I shall defer to your judgement. Caporal Arc Bolt, consider yourself very lucky indeed, I want to see you in my office in five minutes.”

Rainbow Dash watches Twilight turn and leave the room, Diplomatic Incident following close behind and as the door bangs shut behind him Rainbow can just faintly hear the sound of a crying princess, a sound that breaks her heart.

Zaranov glances at the door and then walks over and locks it. “We might as well talk here.” He says after a moment “You can sit if you would like, this will not take long.”

Apprehensively, Rainbow Dash sits down upon a desk, her CO taking a place opposite.
“You want a smoke?” he offers. She nods gratefully, taking the cigarette and sticking it between her teeth before taking the lighter and flicking it a few times until the cigarette lights.

“Right.” Zaranov says softly “That was quite an argument, you're very lucky that these rooms have good soundproofing otherwise the whole fort would have heard. As it is, only ourselves and madam Locke know what just happened thus far and I'm keen to keep it that way... you're a good non-com Bolt, the men respect you, you're willing to put your neck on the line for them and you get results, these are all things I like.” He then pulls out a cigarette of his own. “However what I do not like is political shit-storms, and you have brought a truly titanic one crashing down upon us.”

Rainbow Dash shakes her head. “No, the Princess didn't want to press charges, I'll just apologize to her in the morning and-”

“Caporal,” Zaranov’s sharp tone is a warning “The man with her, the fat man who pointed a gun at you is very dangerous indeed. He's a spy, he's also Princess Celestia's personal troubleshooter, or one of them” He explains, and Rainbow Dash snorts

“He's not a spy, he couldn't run to save-” Rainbow Dash scoffs.

“That is precisely why he is a spy, because everyone looks at him and thinks 'fat civilian', but take my word for it Bolt, he works for the Princesses and I have no doubt that he will report this back to them, even if she does not.” Zaranov raises an eyebrow ridge as a warning “I have crossed paths with him before, back in Valorossiya. He was with me at Volgorsk and Krasnoyarsk. He is a very dangerous man.”

“So what do we do?” Rainbow Dash asks nervously. She’s heard Zaranov’s ‘siberian bedtime stories’ as he calls his old war stories, and they made the two years of relentless skirmishes and counter-bandit operations that Rainbow Dash has served upon look tame.

“In the morning, you will apologize to Twilight Sparkle and I will have words with our sneaky friend about a favour he owes me and we shall make the incident dissapear.”

“I'm planning to do that anyway” Rainbow Dash says, remembering what she said and did and shivering slightly “I didn't mean to say the things I said or do anything. She was an old friend of mine, my very special somebody at one point.”

“People rarely do mean for these things to happen Bolt, however there is one thing you can take consolation in.”

“Yes boss?”

“If you were Valorossiyans, you'd both be dead on the floor!” Zaranov leaps to his feet and slaps Rainbow Dash's back, roaring with deep booming laughter. “Now on your feet Bolt, we're going to straighten this out in the morning for now I want you to get some sleep.”

____________________________________________________________________

Twilight Sparkle is lying on her rack in the Officer's accommodation block, leaning on her belly and just crying into her pillow. Fortunately the desert grows cool at night so it's not hot or sticky and thus sleep should come easily. However thoughts of what happened today drift through her mind like a curse. The image of the airship erupting before her, the crew plunging to their deaths to escape the hungry tongues of flame that chase after them like wolves after sheep, followed by thoughts of Rainbow Dash, of her eye popping out of its socket and dropping to the floor to stare at Twilight accusingly, as if she is somehow responsible. Then raised voices and hands grasping at her. Memories of the last time those hands were touching her still sends shivers up her spine in her quiet moments in the small hours of the night. Now however they will be forever tainted by bellowed words of accusation and counter accusation.

The worst part is, Twilight knows Rainbow Dash was right. ‘What the hell am I doing out here in this foreign country?’

Twilight knows nothing about the Khanate, knows nothing about the people or their customs. She's not a seasoned stateswoman like Cadance or backed by the indomitable arsenal of Luna or the ageless wisdom of Celestia. She has books and intelligence behind her, though not very much of the latter it seems.

God, what was I thinking when I said those things?' Twilight thinks bitterly to herself.
Time and again she tries to think about the Khanate and tries to bring her mind back onto the task at hand. However thoughts keep intruding. Thoughts of Rainbow Dash. Of talking in the long grass outside Ponyville, staring up into a cloudless starry night sky, with only the wind whispering through the grass for company. Snatching desperate kisses that would be wrenched from the vice like grip of schedules and timetables. Hurried passionate lovemaking that was all fumbling fingers and nervous tongues, heaving bodies and muffled squeals and all the more exquisite for it. Moments captured in memory that would stay with Twilight for all of her thousand lifetimes. Today, another moment has been made that will exist for all her thousand lifetimes. A moment of shame and regret, a moment of pain and sadness that will forever blight those wonderful golden memories.

Twilight hears a knock upon the door and flinches, burying her face deeper into her pillow as if begging it to swallow her whole.
“Go away!” she sobs “I don't want to be disturbed right now!”
The door opens anyway and in walks Diplomatic Incident, dressed in a smoking jacket and tartan slippers, a gently smouldering pipe tucked under his bristling moustache.
“Twilight.” He says softly, walking over to her and sitting down on the bed next to her. “I don't quite know what to say, other than I will make a full report to the Princesses about-”

“No,” Twilight whispers “No, don't do that, please don't do that Diplomatic Incident.”
“She-” Diplomatic Incident starts to protest, but Twilight gestures for silence.

“I know what she did, I was there, but I don't want you to make a big deal about this to Luna, or Celestia. We had a fight, I'm going to deal with it in a mature and grown up fashion and get on with what we need to do... it was just shock at seeing her again.”

Diplomatic Incident nods quietly “Princess, I understand where you're coming from so, if you insist, I will not pass this on in my report to the Princesses.” He says gently, his tone soft and reassuring as he pats her shoulder.

“Is there anything else you're worried about?” He asks, and Twilight nods shakily, her tear streaked face gazing up at Diplomatic Incident.
“I'm worried about everything! The mission, Rainbow Dash, Celestia, the war...” Words fail Twilight and she groans, her head dropping into her hands.
Diplomatic Incident sighs gently. “Well Twilight, when I'm stressed or worried I find it helps if I focus on what I can change right now, what I can influence in the immediate term, then what I can influence in the short term and everything after that point can sort of look after itself” He says gently, ruffling her hair.

Twilight gasps as Diplomatic Incident’s logic sinks in. The answer is so simple and so effective, she was shocked that she didn’t come to this conclusion herself. Focus on what she can change, what she can achieve right now. The solution to that issue is comically simple. She cannot change or influence whether war happens or not right now. She only can change the outcome of the mission by ensuring she's in a good mood. She can ensure she's in a good mood by getting some sleep, though the issue with with Rainbow Dash would still be hanging over her head and influencing her sleep patterns. She pulls her head out of her pillow. A solution has at last presented itself.

“Thank you Diplomatic Incident, I don’t know what I’d do without you!” She says, rolling over and wiping her eyes on a sleeve of her purple nightie. Diplomatic Incident smiles his best fatherly smile at her. “Doubtless you would do a lot better ma’am, now get some rest.”

“No time!” Twilight leaps out of bed like a princess possessed.
“I've got something I need to do, thank you for all your help Diplomatic Incident!” She calls, sliding her feet into pair of pink bunny slippers that had been a joking Hearth's Warming Eve present from Celestia.

“Is this a bad joke?” Diplomatic Incident whispers to himself as she dashes out the door. He wonders what on earth his charge has in mind, although he has a sinking feeling it has something to do with that bloody Legionnaire she met today. He releases an exasperated groan and takes a long slow draw upon his pipe. He will behave in a responsible and dignified manner. He will not go charging after her like an idiot. Diplomatic Incident composes himself and then turns and stalks back to his room, considering some especially scathing remarks to add to his report to the Princesses about this unforeseen and unwelcome development.
____

Twilight dashes out of the officer's accommodation block running for the NCO's quarters. She's sure Rainbow Dash will be there however as she runs she considers the possibility that maybe Rainbow Dash might be in bed. Twilight sighs softly and slows down to a walk. She can at least have a look and see and if she's sleeping then Twilight can go back to her room and wait till the morning. Or at least that's her plan. It is however frustrated by one small detail.

The noise a rifle makes when it is cocked and pointed at her is not a noise that Twilight will ever forget in a hurry.
“Halt and be identified!” A shadow bellows from behind her and Twilight stiffens nervously. “Hands where I can see them!” The sentry commands and Twilight raises her hands as asked, feeling a hot prickle in between her shoulderblades.“What's the password?” The legionnaire snaps and Twilight's blood freezes. She has not been told anything about a password or a challenge.

“It's Princess Twilight Sparkle.” She replies nervously.

“One more chance!” The sentry snaps, his finger tightening upon the trigger. Twilight takes a deep breath.
“Look, I'm just going to raise a little light, that should let you see who I am, is that acceptable?”

“Go on then, this had better be a bad joke!” The sentry replies, sounding weary.

Twilight snaps her fingers and light blossoms in the palm of her hand, revealing herself to the sentry. Though she can't see his face behind the face wrapping, goggles and pith helmet, she can hear the audible gasp. “Your highness, I'm so- urk!”

“And that is why you never let an enchanter raise her magic.” A voice growls from behind Twilight. Twilight turns to see a second Legionnaire materialize out of the darkness, this one with his rifle held loosely in one hand, the other hand gently touching thumb to forefinger in a gesture Twilight knows. A golden enchantment field floats around the throat of the hapless sentry.

Even in the darkness, Twilight can see the twin yellow stripes of a Sergent on his uniform.
“Relax, I know who you are” the Sergent glowers at Twilight “Only a civ would wander round in a dressing gown and those slippers, that sort of leaves you and that fat person you came in with” He growls “Anyway, where are you going, your highness?”

A few moments later, after a few helpful pointers and a strongly worded suggestion not to wander around the fortress in her nightclothes again, Twilight leaves the Sergent berating the recruit for having his rifle un-cocked on patrol and heads for the armory. She's slightly surprised to see lights glowing inside behind the iron bars across the windows. She takes a deep breath and then knocks twice upon the door.
“I'm closed!” Locke's crotchety voice calls from inside.

“It's Princess Sparkle... I was wondering if Caporal Bolt was in there?” Twilight replies.

There is a pause, a pause that seems to last a century in Twilight's estimation, then the armory door opens to reveal Locke standing in her dressing gown, looking irritable. “I was of two minds about letting you in Princess” She says quietly “After your argument with Caporal Bolt, I've never seen her cry before Princess, whatever you did to her...”

Twilight bites back the urge to say that the doing was on both sides.
“I'm here to apologize” She says quietly “I... I would like to speak to her it I may?”

The gunsmith nods and leads Twilight into the armoury, where she finds Rainbow Dash sat beside the coffee urn looking sorry for herself, gazing into a mug of tea as if it's poisoned. She looks up as Twilight walks in and springs to her feet, snapping to attention and chopping a hand up into a salute so quick and crisp it's almost like a slap.

“Princess Sparkle!” She gasps and Twilight sighs

“Please, don't call me that.” Twilight replies wearily.

“Oh, my apologies Princess, I would just like to say I'm sor-”
“I came here to apolog-”

Both of the women suddenly start talking at once, the words tumbling out of their mouths in their haste to both get the things they need to say off their chests. Both stop talking at the same moment too and laugh nervously.

“You go-”
“After y-”

Twilight smiles slightly, glad they've reached the 'stumbling and awkward' phase already. Whilst it's not pleasant, it's a damn sight better than shouting and grabbing.

“I'd just like to say,” Twilight says after a moment “I'm very very sorry about what I said to you Caporal Bolt, it was unprofessional of me to disparage the commitment and dedication of my Legionnaires.”

“I should not have spoken to you in that way Princess, I know that you have our best interests at heart and you are supremely well qualified for the mission at hand.” Rainbow Dash says woodenly as if reciting something and Twilight raises an eyebrow.

“Okay... maybe not supremely,” Dash adds after a moment “I still think you're the wrong Princess for the job but only because I think even Celestia would struggle dealing with that bunch.” Rainbow Dash says grimly and Twilight tilts her head.
“You think so?”

“I know so,” Rainbow Dash replies “I mean, you were awesome and all as an Element but these guys don't mess about, as you can probably tell” She gestures at her eyepatch. “But if Princess Celestia sent you she must think you're up to the task and that's good enough for me.” Rainbow says nervously. Twilight can feel something in the air between them, something strange and awkward, as if something between them has broken.

“Well, that's um, that's good.” Twilight says cautiously.

“Would you like a drink Princess?” Locke asks softly and Twilight shakes her head, anxious not to outstay her welcome

“No sorry, um, it's late and we've got a long day tomorrow.”

“I should probably get going as well madam Locke,” Rainbow says, looking a little happier than she did when Twilight had come in. “I've got stuff to do, yeah, but thanks for the tea and sympathy.”

With that, Rainbow Dash turns and heads for the door. Twilight watches her go, a sad smile upon her face. Things will never be as they were, her own stupidity has ensured that, however at least they have both apologized and for now that is enough. A few moments later she bids a polite farewell to Locke and disappears into the night, a strange, gliding feeling sweeping through her guts.

Chapter Seven: Change of Plans

View Online

‘The Legion has long been regarded as a refuge for scoundrels and scum of every kind. Thieves, cutthroats and vagabonds have seen the Legion as an arguably safe haven. It does not take them long to realize the gravity of their error.’- Major Trouble’s report to the Equestrian general staff.

Twilight is woken the next morning by a knock upon the door. A quick glance out of the shuttered window shows no light and Twilight groans softly, snapping her fingers and igniting a tiny purple flame in the palm of her right hand, revealing the spartan quarters she has found herself in. She’s been given her own room, which is apparently more than anyone else in the fort has, however even that’s not much. The room is little more than a cell with adobe walls, floor and ceiling. The only light in the room is provided by a guttering oil lamp, though for now the tiny lavender flame that burns in Twilight’s hand is providing enough illumination to see. There isn’t much to see. Just a simple wooden bed with a straw mattress and all her suitcases piled up in one corner, as that was the first convenient place to deposit them. Twilight could not be bothered to sort them out. She’s only here for a day after all.

The knocking upon the door becomes more insistent and so Twilight rolls out of bed, grabbing her nightie from the crumpled pile where she had deposited it after two frustrating hours of feeling the thing sticking to her body, keeping her from sleep. In Canterlot she would never dream of such a thing, but then in Canterlot there would be photographists with lenses enhanced with spellwork all anxious and eager to grab the commission a naked image of the newest Princess could get. However Twilight has no doubt that there are no photographists here, in the middle of the desert. However as she rises to her feet and tugs her nightie on, Twilight wonders exactly who could be knocking at this unthinkable hour and so she reaches for the Webley pistol that she has already taken to keeping upon her bedside table.

She approaches the door pistol in hand the reassuring weight calms her heart as her other hand closes around the deadbolt and slides it back. Another thing that most of the rooms in this place lack, locking doors. She opens the door slowly, easing it cautiously ajar and peering out to see Diplomatic Incident standing before her, although it is not Diplomatic Incident as she has ever seen him dressed before.

Twilight opens the door, lowering the pistol to her side as Diplomatic Incident comes into her room. He is dressed in the long flowing robes of a Khanate trader along with a Keffiyeh, the ceremonial headdress that is popular in the Khanate. Twilight has to admit it suits him, with his corpulent figure he looks every inch a merchant.

“Nice to see you are learning Princess,” He says, noting the pistol in her hand “It would help a little more if you loaded it first, but no matter. I bring news, along with a change of clothes.”

Twilight turns her back so that Diplomatic Incident doesn’t see her cheeks redden. “I see, what news do you bring?”

“Bad news.” He says grimly as he moves over to her window “The Khanate’s government hasn’t been told you’re coming.”

“Why is this bad news?” Twilight asks softly “And you’re sure?”

Diplomatic Incident nods shortly in response “Ma’am, would you believe me if I told you I had access to magic that could bend the fabric of time and space to allow me to appear before the Almighty and ask him?”

“At this point, given what you’ve demonstrated over the past forty eight hours, I would not be surprised if you told me you communed directly with the Spaghetti Monster that resides beyond the moon on the planet of the Potato people.” Twilight replies.

“Then you’re a fool ma’am, but suffice to say I have access to various tools that your average diplomatic desk-jockey does not. No word has reached Tarhen of your imminent arrival, and this is bad news for two reasons. For one thing, we have wasted a perfectly good afternoon securing your transit papers, for another it means that someone within the Khanate’s Embassy in Equestria has an interest in your arrival not being known to the Khanate.” Twilight winces and Diplomatic Incident continues. “There is however a blessing in disguise in this otherwise unrelenting tale of woe. The Khanate does not know you have left the capital, and it is in our interest for them to think that way for the next two weeks.”

“I don’t follow.” Twilight replies nervously. Diplomatic Incident walks past her to the shuttered window and starts drumming his fingers upon the windowsill, something Twilight has often seen him do when he is thinking.

“It is good news because we do not know what the situation is within the Khanate... The Equestrian Embassy has been out of communication for over three days at this point, three days is a lot of time for revolutions and insurrections to take a lot of ground. All we have at this point is the word of Princess Luna and the word of any Legionnaires who happened to be there. It is my belief, and the belief of Princess Celestia once I had explained the situation to her, that we do not commit an asset such as yourself to the Khanate without any idea of the situation in Tarhen beforehand.” He gestures at his attire. “Thus, I shall travel into Tarhen today to secure us a clearer picture of the situation and if possible acquire some accommodation.”

“What about the Embassy?”

“First off, working out of a suitably luxurious hotel gives the impression that we will not be staying for long, that this is a temporary measure and we will either be pulling out or returning to the Embassy soon enough, secondarily hotels have larger conference rooms than Embassies, and thirdly....” Diplomatic Incident pauses for a moment. “Thirdly, I could find nobody in the Equestrian Embassy who knew how to brew a decent pot of tea.”

Twilight raises an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

“This is serious business ma’am,” Diplomatic Incident replies briskly “Tea is Equestria’s national drink and if one can find a brew here in the most god-forsaken patch of Celestia’s green earth then I refuse to believe they cannot make a decent brew in the middle of the capital city of a nation whose primary export is the raw material required to make the stuff, in an Embassy of a nation well known to be avid tea drinkers no less!”

Twilight nods. “I... ah... I see, and I will be staying here for the next two weeks?” She asks nervously. Diplomatic Incident, for all his mannerisms, secrets and sharp tongue, is the one constant she’s had since this whole drama began.

“You’ve always been quick on the uptake ma’am, yes. The Colonel is of the impression that you need to learn how to use that rifle you were given yesterday, so therefore a Legionnaire will be assigned to train you.”

“I’ve already learnt how to shoot, in Zebrica, I went hunting.” Twilight cuts in, and Diplomatic Incident shakes his head briskly.

“Ma’am, forgive me but that is not the same thing at all,” He replies and at Twilight’s confused expression he elaborates “When you hunt the deer will not generally shoot back, anyway I shall be off and in two weeks I shall either return or I shall send word. If I do not, then return to Canterlot and tell Princess Celestia what has transpired. She will know what to do.”

“I cannot go with you?” Twilight asks.

“No.” Diplomatic Incident replies shortly, turning and heading back to the door “I am expendable Princess, you are not, do not ever forget that fact.”

“I see” Twilight says quietly “Well, good luck Diplomatic Incident, I wish you success and good fortune”

“No need Princess, I make my own luck.” With that, Diplomatic Incident turns and opens the door, sweeping out of it and into the night.

Twilight listens to his footsteps fading down the corridor and collapses back onto the bed. Diplomatic Incident has been someone whom she has relied on since her coronation, as her teacher, her confidant and more importantly her friend. His astute advice has helped her out many times over the course of the two years since she became a princess. Thus his absence is rather more painful than Twilight cares to admit. She sighs, wondering what she’s going to do without him for two weeks, he knows more about this mission than she ever could.

She is not given long to reflect however, ten minutes later there is another knock on the door and Twilight answers the door pistol in hand to find Rainbow Dash gazing down at the weapon.
“Well geez Twi, nice to know I’m appreciated, it would help if you turned the safety off first though.”

As Twilight’s gaze flicks down to check, Rainbow’s hand flicks upwards and grabs the pistol, dragging it up until the pistol pointing at the ceiling. Rainbow then steps across the threshold, her other hand upon Twilight’s shoulder.

“It appears your commanding officer has a sense of humour.” Twilight says softly, a smile tugging at her lips.

“He does, It’s a real killer!” Rainbow Dash says with a wry chuckle “But orders are orders, I’m supposed to teach you how to fight and kill inside of two weeks.” She says softly, a smile upon her face. Twilight closes her eyes and turns around, her guts lurching as the faint waft of burning flesh fills her nostrils.

“I think I already know how to kill people thanks.” She says softly, shrugging Rainbow Dash’s hands off of her and stepping backwards sharply.

“So the rumours about the airship are true?” Rainbow Dash asks.

Twilight doesn’t look at Rainbow Dash as she heads over to the windowsill, flicking her fingers and causing the tiny oil lantern to flare into life. “The ones about me blowing an airship apart yesterday morning, yes.” Twilight says quietly and Rainbow Dash whistles appreciatively.

“Good going Twi!” She says, stepping forward to congratulate the Princess but Twilight shakes her head.

“Please stop Rainbow Dash, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Oh,” Rainbow Dash says quietly “Was that your first time?” She asks and Twilight nods quietly, her hands starting to shake and Rainbow Dash winces. “I see... do you want to talk about it?”

“Does talking about it help?” Twilight asks tentatively.

“It depends” Rainbow Dash replies “We can if you want... would it make you feel better if I told you it was them or you?”

Twilight shakes her head and Rainbow sighs gently “Well... really that’s what it boils down to Twilight, any time you ever take a life, it should only be for one reason in your case.”

“What reason is that?” Twilight asks and Rainbow shrugs

“Because it’s self defence Twi, was he shooting at you?”

“Yes, with a 20 millimeter cannon.” Twilight explains.

“Right, in that case your boat would have been toast if he hit you with one round, two max. Now had that happened, do you honestly think, given the shit that’s going on right now, that Celestia will think it was bandits as opposed to the Khanate. She’d go into orbit for sure, and we’d be at war before anyone had time to think.”

Twilight’s eyes widen. She’d never thought about it like that before.
“So really Twi,” Rainbow continues “it's a case of them or you, had you killed them, worst case scenario is that a bunch of pirates have to find another airship... if they killed you it could have plunged the whole continent into war.”

Twilight licks dry lips with a dry toungue. That notion does make sense, if it is a little colder than she would have liked.
“Thanks.” She says and Rainbow Dash enfolds her in a one armed hug

“Any time Princess.”

For a moment the two of them just stand there, the singlet and fatigue clad Legionnaire holding the Princess close. Twilight can feel the warmth of Rainbow Dash’s skin and the hard muscles shifting underneath that toned skin. Twilight can remember that skin pressed against her, the feel of that fluttering heart through her ribs. Twilight shivers slightly at the memory and steps out from under Rainbow Dash’s arm, blushing furiously. That was another time.

“Well, ahem” Rainbow Dash says, looking everywhere but at Twilight “We should probably get started at some point” Rainbow gestures to the window, where the first light of dawn can be seen through the thin slats of the shutters “You’ll need to get changed into something appropriate... I found you these, you’ve put on a bit of weight whilst you were at the castle-”

“Hey!” Twilight slaps Rainbow Dash’s arm lightly “I see all this fortress life sitting around in an armoury drinking Madam Locke’s tea isn’t doing your figure any favours, little miss Wonderbolt!”

Rainbow Dash snorts “You have no idea Twi, anyway put these on.” She says, reaching into a sack she’s brought with her and pulling out a pair of Legion-issue battledress trousers. Twilight gazes apprehensively at the trousers and then she starts to get changed, trying to ignore Rainbow Dash’s gaze or the occasional pointed comment about her backside or her boobs.

Twenty minutes later, Twilight is dressed much like Rainbow Dash, in a loose fitting white singlet and Legion battledress trousers that itch, and boots that feel too large for her feet. The webbing feels heavy, it digs in in all the wrong places and jangles like a set of bells. Twilight feels ridiculous as she looks at herself in the mirror, rifle held loosely in hand.

“Nice work Twi’ That uniform fits you nice.” Rainbow Dash says with a chuckle. Twilight feels a blush spreads across her face and Rainbow likewise turns an interesting shade of red. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that Princess, my apologies”

Twilight smirks slightly “I can’t say I mind too much... you look like you were born for that uniform.”

“Born to be among thieves and runaways, I’m flattered Twi.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“I’m kidding, turnabout’s a bitch isn’t it, but on a more serious note we’d better get going Princess.”

Twilight nods, shouldering her rifle nervously. Weapons have always made her nervous. Even when she was hunting in Zebrica, the weight of the weapon and the dull heat it seemed to emit when loaded seemed to make the weapon feel heavier. As much as her logical mind assured her it was all psychological, just her brain playing tricks upon her, Twilight could not help but feel a little strange about the weapon, freighted with death as it was. Right now, as she watches Rainbow Dash shrug her webbing off and pull on her battle dress shirt, followed by the helmet, Twilight feels odd. Those halcyon days from Ponyville have never felt so far away. Back then they ran around laughing and joking as friends, now Rainbow Dash is a soldier and Twilight is a Princess and both have the heavy weight of life and death in their hands. Half a pound of pressure to put pen to paper to sign a decree, or half a pound of pressure to set a firing pin into motion.

She then follows Rainbow Dash out of her accommodation block and through the base, past columns of soldiers marching to the parade square, moving with a strange slow swagger that Twilight has never seen before.

“Why are they marching slowly?” Twilight whispers to Rainbow Dash, who rolls her eyes in response.

“Because the rest of the Equestrian Armed forces march too quickly. They march at one hundred and twenty paces per minute, we march at eighty eight, that’s why we never appear at their little parades. That and the fact we’d show them up at pretty much everything because we’re just that awesome.”

“Where are they going?” Twilight asks

“First Parade, from there to breakfast to duties.”

“So what are you meant to be doing, as opposed to training me... I hope I haven’t taken you away from duties.” Twilight says apprehensively.

“You haven’t, I’m a spare wheel right now so I might as well do something useful,” Rainbow Dash replies. “Besides, I need to be busy, you get bored and you have time to think.”

Twilight nods quickly and the rest of the walk continues in silence, the sun beating down upon Twilight’s shoulders.

“How come you’re wearing a shirt and a helmet but I’m still wearing a vest?” Twilight asks after a few moments of companionable silence.

“Because a shirt would mean questions and a helmet would mean even more” Rainbow Dash points at the black and tan patches upon her left shoulder. “It would mean you’re tied to a unit, and you’re not. It would mean wearing the patches for a particular unit, and you haven’t earned the right.”

Twilight has to admit that stings slightly, and some of that must have shown in her face for Rainbow Dash’s tone becomes slightly consoling.

“Look, Twi, the Legion doesn’t just take anyone. You’ve got to prove yourself worthy to wear the Klepi Blanc, our dress cap. Legionnaires can't be made, they're born, it’s the Elements of Harmony for hard bastards, no exceptions. Not even for Princesses.”

“I see.” Twilight replies. “Elements of Harmony for hard bastards?” She asks, trying not to laugh.

“Sure on my own I’m bad news... get me in a group of other Legionnaires and we’re un-fucking-beatable, sort of like how The Elements were, back in the day.”

The two women continue onward to the ranges, through the camp gate and out to a patch of relatively flat desert where targets have been arranged. The sun has risen fully now and is slowly climbing in the cloudless sky as Rainbow leads Twilight over to a row of flat wooden platforms with shell casings scattered around them.

“Here’s us.” Rainbow says quietly “Now raise that rifle nice and high for me, take it into the shoulder and aim down the range at the largest target.”

Twilight does as asked, lifting the rifle up into her right shoulder. She takes aim down the grooved rear sight and spears the target upon the pointed foresight. She hears Rainbow Dash approaching and then she feels a pair of callused hands upon her skin.

“Not bad, but your grip could use some work.” Dash mutters as she gently manipulates Twilight’s hands into position “Hold it like this, tuck it into your shoulder nice and tight and the recoil won’t take your face off.”

Twilight nods, trying to ignore the whisper of Rainbow Dash’s breathing in her ear and the odours of cordite, cigarette smoke and sweat that hang off the Legionnaire.

“Right” She says, her hands tightening around the weapon. She hears Rainbow Dash move away from her, and Twilight can’t help but feel a strange tingle up her spine at the absence of that warm tobacco smelling body behind her. She straightens her back as she hears Rainbow Dash moving up next to her, the click of a lever and the sudden sharp crack of a rifle. Twilight’s ears ring and she jumps, however she still sees the target next to hers jerk as a black hole appears directly in the centre.

“Nice shot.” Twilight says brightly and Dash shrugs.

“That’s nothing Twi, not even thirty yards, I could make a shot like that with my eye closed using my toes... now you have a go.”

Twilight lowers the rifle nervously.
“Uh, I don’t have any ammunition” She replies, turning to Rainbow Dash, who nods quickly, opening up her haversack and tossing Twilight a white box.
“Here you go, twenty five .303 rounds, should get you two and a half magazines.”

Twilight opens the box and then works the bolt of the rifle. This part is relatively straightforward, she’s seen Luna messing around with rifles on the palace ranges after all, and she’s seen her brother doing the same. She slides the bolt back, the shrill ratcheting clack sending a shiver down her spine as she awkwardly slots each round into position. Then she raises the rifle once more, closing the bolt and twisting the handle.

She gazes down the sights, focussing on the target as her finger closes around the trigger. Everything else fades into an indistinct buzzing as she focusses upon the target. Again, Twilight can feel the familiar warm feeling emanating from the weapon pressed against her cheek, and as much as she likes to tell herself it is nothing more than the sun heating the weapon, Twilight cannot help but feel slightly nervous. She attempts to calm her nerves but the mind is like an unruly child. Tell it to stop and it merely works harder. Her heart pounds as her finger tightens upon the trigger. She can feel pain starting to spread through her arms. Any moment now, her arms are going to start to cramp and she's going to miss.

“You can do it Twi.” A voice whispers gently as a pair of hands close around hers. “Nice and slowly, take a deep breath and then just let it out... slowly squeeze, don’t rush it, just let it happen.” Rainbow Dash’s voice is soft and soothing and Twilight’s heart starts to calm as her finger tightens around the trigger. She opens her mind and slowly allows her magic to work, feeling the tension of each spring and lever in the rifle’s workings, each tiny pin and nut tensing up, like a tightly wound snake that will lash out at any moment in a finely tuned movement of death. Twilight pulls the trigger the rest of the way back.

The rifle crashes and jerks in her hand, the recoil sinking into her shoulder and the hands upon her own gripping her tightly. Twilight gazes down the sight, anxious to inspect the damage. A tiny black hole has been bored into the round target in the second ring. It’s not as good as Rainbow Dashs’s shot, but in Twilight’s mind, it is respectable. She then flicks her gaze away from the sights, to the hands enclosing her own. Rainbow Dash’s hands are wrapped around hers and Twilight can feel Rainbow Dash’s body pressed against her own. Twilight’s wings stir slightly and she turns to gaze at the face just inches from hers. Rainbow's cheeks are flushed and her left eye is wide as if she cannot quite believe what she has just done.

“Umm... so yeah,” Rainbow Dash suddenly steps back, her hands falling away as her cheeks start to glow red. “That’s how you do it.... yeah.”

Twilight nods, hurriedly averting her gaze even as her own face starts to heat up. She can feel familiar butterflies stirring in her stomach and she shakes her head quickly as if to clear a particularly troublesome fly.

She cannot, she must not do this. She is a Princess of Equestria, she is not here on holiday and they both have too much to lose by getting embroiled in anything. What happened between them was a glorious memory, a moment of Twilight’s life that she will never forget. But it is just that, a memory. It is a ghost and Twilight has learnt through her studies of magic that ghosts do not react well to being reanimated.

She works the bolt again, bringing another round into the chamber.
This Cannot happen! She thinks, squeezing the trigger. The rifle jerks in her hands once more and another round slices through the air to smash into the target, impacting on the fourth ring of the target.

“Don’t slap the trigger, be nice and gentle with it!” Rainbow Dash says firmly and Twilight sighs as she fires again and again, each round singing through the air to thwack into the target. The day slowly progresses, with Twilight spending hours learning the ins and outs of shooting from various positions, shooting her rifle and then her pistol throughout the morning. As they shoot, Twilight can’t help but notice Rainbow Dash keeping a respectful distance from her, never moving into arm’s length, something that Twilight is grateful for. She doesn’t want complications, especially not the kind that getting back into a relationship would bring.

Twilight rather rapidly discovers a natural affinity for shooting. As she continues to pump rounds into each target under Rainbow Dash’s instruction, she becomes more proficient. Twilight has always enjoyed learning new things and it turns out shooting is no different. It is an exact science, a series of complex mathematical equations that come together into an expression of singular intent. Twilight considers herself something of a scientist and thus this appeals to her.

When they break for a spot of lunch, a couple of hunks of dry bread and a couple of scraps of salted pork, Twilight explains her findings to Rainbow Dash, who chuckles and shakes her head.
“Yeah, when you’re shooting at targets it’s one things quite another shooting at other living things, but you’re not doing too bad Twi, considering this is the first time you’ve used one of these rifles ever.”

“Thanks, I blame it on having a good teacher.” Twilight says happily.

“What can I say, I’m just that awesome.” Dash replies brightly before she takes a quick swig of water. “But yeah, here’s hoping you never have to use it in anger Twilight, that’s what the Legion is here for.”

Twilight nods quietly, empathising with that spirit. Her sleep last night was plagued by dreams of burning airships and she has no doubt that such dreams will continue.
“Mhmm, does it make me a bad person that I agree?”

“Not at all” Rainbow Dash says gently “Killing is not a path you should take Twi, you’re too innocent.”

“Is that a good thing, my being innocent?” Twilight asks, drawing patterns in the sand with an empty shell casing, and Rainbow Dash nods.

“Trust me Twi, the emotional baggage that comes with killing is something you can do without, as for innocent, maybe I should qualify that yeah? You certainly weren’t innocent last time we-”
Twilight blushes and playfully slaps Rainbow’s shoulder and Rainbow smirks, poking her side and the two chuckle for a moment, smiling at old memories.

“You know, you’re still cute when you blush.” Rainbow Dash reflects after a few moments of thought.

Twilight’s blush deepens “Thank you Rainy.”

“Anytime, Sparky. Now stop stuffing your face and let's get back to it."

Chapter Eight: Complications (*)

View Online

19th January 1882. 2300

(WARNING: SEXUAL ACTIVITY IN THIS CHAPTER. You can read this chapter at your own risk, or you can skip to the next chapter if you'd prefer.)

The time passes faster than Twilight would like. She spends each day out on the ranges with Rainbow Dash getting her eye in on her rifle and pistol, becoming more proficient with each passing day. Twilight is spending as much time as she can get upon the range until the heat becomes dangerous, at which point she goes inside to return to her books and to her studies about the Khanate and its customs. She’s well aware of the deficit of knowledge that she needs to make up about this strange foreign country that she has found herself in. She doesn't wish to make the situation worse by committing some kind of faux pas.

Reading books is not promising. The Khans are a warlike culture and always have been. They have been at war for large portions of their history, either with someone else or with each other. It is only in recent times, with them running into the Valorossiyans in the north and the Equestrians in the west, that the Khanate has run into any serious opposition. The current Khanate model of government is a highly conservative theocracy that has been in power for ten years, making it one of the longer running modes of government. Twilight finds that rather difficult to reconcile with the eternal reign of Princess Celestia and Luna, but to each their own. The leader of the latest revolution is still alive and well, Shah Khalid Al-Sayed. A wily and dangerous old cat, he has proven to be one of the Khanate’s more effective leaders, playing various power blocs against each other whilst maintaining the image of a cat who is in touch with the common people.

However, all that was starting to unravel according to the most recent reports from the Equestrian Embassy in the Khanate. Khalid had won and maintained power on the basis of promises to allow more profits from the Khanate’s primary exports to trickle down into the hands of the middle to lower classes, as opposed to being consolidated in the hands of a few wealthy Sheikhs, as was the case beforehand. However that had failed to materialize and so the lower classes had started taking out their frustrations in demonstrations which turned into riots that had been brutally put down, at which point several members of the Holy Council had turned around and made statements blaming Equestrian expansionism, citing the growth of the Equestrian Navy and recently enacted import tariffs. That was a matter of days before the Khanate closed their borders and the attack on the Embassy occurred.

One evening, ten days into her stay, Twilight is silently perusing these documents and trying to work out how she’s going to make this work. It’s frustrating because she has practically no information about what’s going on in the Khanate. Diplomatic Incident has not gotten into contact with her and Twilight is beginning to worry about her friend and mentor. She knows that should she return empty handed then there will be no real alternative to war, and Twilight is anxious to prevent that.

Twilight drags her thoughts back to the present. That’s the problem with paperwork, it’s so mind numbingly dull that the mind starts to wander onto other tangents, which has been reflected in the drawing of her quill. What had been a rather long winded paragraph about Sheikh Rashid Mahsoud’s love of cake and how this could perhaps open a few doors should Princess Celestia’s baker take on a few extra orders has turned into an image of Rainbow Dash’s rather shapely behind. Not that Twilight has been thinking about Rainbow Dash’s backside much at all. Of course not.

Twilight sighs, kicking back from her desk and leaping to her feet. It’s been very difficult for her to think of much else lately when she hasn't been shooting or poring through tired old books, though even then her mind wanders at times. Twilight closes her eyes, even as familiar stirrings between her legs wash over her.

I shall not allow myself to be driven by my hormones. She tells herself, for the thousandth time Rainbow Dash is a friend, an old friend who I have not seen in a while and nothing more. She used to be my very special somebody, and admittedly we did... copulate. The very word sends a shiver down Twilight’s spine, loaded with memories as it is. Not altogether unpleasant memories at that.

Lying back in a bed of clouds, my legs in the air and my whole world feeling like it’s about to burst. My chest is heaving as I bite the pillow between my teeth. The urge to scream to the heavens is overwhelming as that tongue slowly traces its way down -oh god.

Twilight feels another familiar stirring between her legs and she firmly crosses her legs.

I will not allow myself to be distracted, this is important!

The quill has other ideas, traipsing slowly across the page it starts to draw an outline that Twilight has committed very firmly to memory.

The pebbled flesh of her nipple in between my teeth, the soft whisper of her moans driving me onwards, her fingers curling in my hair as she coos my name and entreats me to move lower.

Twilight grabs the quill and pins it down before it can continue to draw a very accurate depiction of Rainbow Dash’s boobs. The quill struggles beneath her fingers for a second before it goes still.

Twilight sighs, rising to her feet. She needs a shower, preferably a nice cold one to clear her head. This heat is obviously beginning to get to her and interfere with her clarity of judgement. Twilight grabs a towel and heads out, turning down the corridor and wandering down the corridor of the married officers’ quarters to the communal shower block. Fortunately at this point it’s deserted, as the majority of officers in this block come from Third Company, which is currently away on exercise. Twilight walks into the shower room, which is like most Legion facilities, basic. A square adobe room with a drain in the middle and twenty shower-heads and taps built into the wall, it’s lit by oil lamps behind glass shields. Privacy is certainly one of the things that isn’t afforded by such an arrangement. However as a sign by the door proclaims, this is the Legion and if you’re insecure about other men checking your junk then you obviously got lost on the way to civvie street.

Twilight’s not sure exactly where civvie street is, but she’s sure that it’s a long way from here. She shrugs out of the lightweight robes, trying to ignore the feeling of self-consciousness that ripples through her. She’s used to showering in en-suite quarters, and even after ten days here, she’s still a little wary of showering in a communal shower area, even if it’s empty.

Twilight’s bra comes off next, along with her underpants. As she steps out of these, Twilight glances down and for the first time she notices the first very subtle striations of muscle across her belly and legs. Evidently this Legion lifestyle is doing her good, although a quick mirror incantation tells her that her bum is as big and round as ever. Evidently more physical training is needed. Twilight sighs gently, cursing the day she moved to Canterlot Castle and its well stocked kitchens. Princess Celestia might be able to eat whatever she wants whenever she wants but Princess Celestia is a law unto herself. She stands beneath the shower-head and snaps her fingers, her magic summoning the cold water out of nothingness as opposed to draining the fort’s water reserves. Twilight groans as the icy water hammers down upon her shoulders and her wings. She allows herself to stand there for a moment, enveloped in blessed coolness after another brutally hot day.

Twilight allows herself to stand beneath the pounding shower for a moment, losing herself in the flow of water. Thoughts flow around her ankles, teasing at the edges of her consciousness. Wet azure feathers in my hands as I grip her wings tightly, feeling them shudder beneath my palms as they fight to unfold themselves in the cramped shower, whilst my own wings struggle against Rainbow Dash’s vicelike grip. Warm water pounds down upon our heads as our lips meet in furious kisses. Our tongues meet in a frantic twirling dance as we gasp for breath, her bare body pressed close against mine.

Twilight opens her eyes as the memory washes over her, a fire burning between her legs. Previously a cold shower has always worked wonders for curbing her Urges beforehand. However now, it doesn’t seem to be working quite so well. Twilight licks her lips and glances at the door, before guiltily bringing a hand up to gently massage her breast.

This isn’t illegal. Twilight reassures herself as she leans against the wall, bracing herself with one outstretched hand as the water pounds upon her wings. I mean, even Princesses need stress relief once in a while, this isn’t wrong. This is me keeping focus.

Twilight’s hand massages her breast, gently kneading the small lump of flesh before moving to the nipple and gently tugging on that small erect nub. A spark of pleasure dances across the back of Twilight’s eyelids and she moans gently as her eyelids flutter closed. She gently teases her nipple for a few seconds, before her hand slowly traces its way down her belly, moving slowly to build up the anticipation. Twilight can smell her own need filling the air. Her fingers make their way down to her her waiting slot and slowly they begin to move in gentle teasing strokes up and down the length of her slit. Each slow stroke sends a shiver down her spine as a flush spreads across her face.

Images dance across her eyes, images of Rainbow Dash kissing her, hugging her, making love to her. Twilight’s slow rhythm accelerates as she massages herself, losing herself in a whirlwind of bliss. Her hand continues to strike a gentle rhythm of pleasure. A low moan drips from her mouth as she gasps for breath, her fingers starting to pick up the pace, stimulating the velvety folds of her womanhood. Each movement drives her further towards climax. Whilst this is nothing on having someone actually with you, this does nicely enough thank you very much. Her shoulders heave and her body quivers with need as her fingers slide between her lips and into her womanhood.
“Oh sweet Celestiaaaaahhh ... that’s amazing” She whispers, lost in her fantasy.

Twilight’s moans grow steadily as she pushes a second questing finger in to join the first. Her fingers move in perfect concert, hunting all the secret little spots that Twilight has discovered and searching hungrily for more. Each time Twilight strokes another sweet spot she yelps as her fingers move faster in and out as Twilight feels her pleasure intensify with each passing moment. Her legs quiver as she rocks her hips, trying to draw her fingers deeper. However she can feel her climax building with each passing moment.

In her mind’s eye, it is not her own fingers doing this but those of another. Rainbow Dash’s expert ministrations dance across her skin in steady strokes, deep inside her. Twilight’s fingers continue to stimulate her and Twilight can feel the first gentle pulses of approaching climax. Her rhythm increases, her pace becomes irregular even as she gasps for breath. Bright lights dance across her eyelids even as her chest heaves. Her climax draws nearer with every movement, and Twilight can feel the dull heat building and building inexorably. She cannot stop and doesn't want to stop. Each stroke draws her thumb across her clitoris, making her moan all the louder as she writhes in paroxysms of ecstasy.

Finally it hits with the force of a freight train, Twilight’s body judders and she lets out a gasp that becomes a shout of pleasure as she hits her climax. Her knees quake and her eyelids shiver, then her knees give out from under her and she collapses to the shower floor, writhing as she rides out her titanic orgasm. Her back arches and her hips roll even as she pulls her hand away, slick with water and love juices as it is.

One word crosses Twilight’s lips.
“Rainbow,” She gasps as she climaxes.

Her eyes slowly open a few seconds later. She doesn't want to move and her legs feel like jelly, in fact her whole body feels limp and unresponsive, twitching gently in absolute bliss.
“That.... that felt good... it’s been too long.” Twilight whispers after a moment to catch her breath. The scent of want is still heavy in the air, her body is still shivering gently from the aftershocks that still pulse their way up and down her body.

She slowly picks herself up, shakes her wings off and reaches for her towel, the warm afterglow still pulsing gently through her body. Toweling herself down, she turns and heads for her room, content with the knowledge that she will be able to actually get some work done.

Chapter Nine: Defence Reforms

View Online

0300 19th of January 1882. HMS Armifer.

Admiral Iron Breast nervously taps her foot upon the tiled floor and tugs her collar. Fear is not something that she is used to. As commander of the Sixth Aero-fleet, her word is law on this base and a hundred others. Feared and loathed by many, including her fellow Admirals, she holds the unconditional loyalty of her own troops for being a commander well known to dispense with politics in favour of efficiency and effectiveness.

Yet the person that is waiting to see her on the other side of her office door has an even more fearsome reputation than she does. Iron Breast can still remember the Field Marshal’s return three years ago like it was yesterday.

She had been little more than a joke at that point, she was the sole woman among the Admiralty, purely there to keep Princess Celestia happy about the Navy’s commitment to equal opportunities. Her fleet was one of the best drilled and best kept in Equestria, yet that strength was being depleted patrolling the borders of the Crystal Empire, a sector that was strategically pointless, since beyond that was the North Fleet which sucked up truly massive amounts of resources in keeping an eye on the ‘Valorossiyan threat’. She had been summoned on short notice to an Admiralty meeting by Princess Celestia with very limited explanation. When she had arrived she had met the other Admirals, all of whom looked just as perplexed as she did. All of them had started bellowing at each other for answers as to what the issue was, with Admirals Armour Pierced and Stalwart Defender accusing each other of various indiscretions during assorted Mess Dinners.

The door to the chambers had then opened and a short woman had swept in, dressed in raiment that looked positively ancient. Segmented battle armour that had been polished to a mirror shine, leather skirt that came down to the knees, greaves and sandals and even a short sword of the kind the ancient legions wore during the Great Equestrian Civil War. Her long blue flowing hair sparkled like stars in the night sky as it billowed behind her, and a deep lavender star spangled cloak hung from her shoulders. Long forgotten history lessons sprung to the front of Iron-Breast’s mind, that the Celestial Legions did not wear that kind of armour, and purple is a colour worn only by royalty. The tiny discreet silver olive branch wreath poking out from above her ears was yet another symbol of note. However her fellow admirals continued to bellow at each other as though this woman was not even in the room. The woman adjusted the flat steel mask upon her face slightly, and then raised one gloved fist. She then brought it down hard upon the table with a thunderous crash.

All conversation ceased, the admirals stunned into sudden silence. That was the first time that Iron Breast had heard the Royal Canterlot Voice directed at her and she’s been fortunate that she has not heard the like again, at least not directed at her. There have been occasions since where she has been stood on the other side of a door whilst the Voice was directed upon some other deserving unfortunate. These experiences of the Royal Canterlot Voice left an indelible mark upon her psyche. It was a solid, overpowering wall of sound, indistinct at first, but rapidly becoming manifest into words.

“THIS IS MY NAVY?” Her voice rapidly dropped down to normal levels, but became no less scathing. “I had sincerely hoped my dear sister was joking when she had mentioned slight problems within my Imperial Navy, I had hoped that therein I would find a solid core of strength from whence I could reform the Army!” As she said this, the woman lifted the small sack that she had been holding and promptly upended it upon the table.

A tidal wave of gold washed across the conference table, a shower of medals, braid and ceremonial swords, wreaths and even little crown pips. Sitting atop the pile of gold are five ceremonial batons.

“I have visited the Headquarters of the Army already. I was displeased by what I saw there.” She said, somewhat unnecessarily gesturing to the small mountain of gold before her. “Yet now, lest my eyes betray me, I see here before me a similar state of affairs. No matter, a similar response should suffice.”

She walked up to the head of the table, where Admiral Vaught-Carter was standing in shock.
“I relieve you of your command Admiral.” She said firmly but Vaught Carter stiffened, puffing out his chest.

“Who exactly are you, and why should I accept this mutiny?” he demanded, puffing up like a bullfrog.

The woman shrugged, before calmly drawing her short sword. The whisper of oiled steel upon leather rang like thunder in the room. Unlike all the other swords in the room, the one in this woman’s hands was not a ceremonial blade. No elaborate filigree, just a razor sharp point and a wicked cutting edge.

“Pray tell, what is the definition of mutiny?” The masked woman asked softly, hefting the blade in her hands.

Silence filled the air until Iron-Breast found her tongue.“It is when an airship’s crew overthrows its superior officer, ma’am.”

“Correct. Now, Admiral Vaught-Carter, hast thou consulted thy charts, the ones published yesterday?” The woman asked coolly.

“I have no need to consult the Palace on these matters.” Vaught-Carter responded, an edge of unease in his voice.

“No? Allow me to refresh thy clearly flawed memory then, who doest thou report to, as supreme head of the Navy?”

“I report to Her Solar Majesty, Princess Celestia” Vaught-Carter replied nervously, a cold sweat appearing on his face.

“As the quicker witted among you may have gathered, there has been something of a change in management. Princess Celestia has relinquished her control of the Equestrian Armed forces into mine hands.” At this, the woman produced a scroll and opened it, reading the royal proclamation aloud. As she does, Iron Breast watches the other admirals slowly deflating and shrinking.

“I, Princess Celestia, do hereby solemnly resign all control of the Imperial Equestrian Armed forces without exception of branch or rank, to the control of my sister, Princess Luna.’ I would draw thine eyes towards the bottom of the document, those of you that can read should take note of the golden seal and signature of my sister.”

The atmosphere in the room had completely changed by the time Princess Luna had finished reading the declaration. The assorted Admirals are pale and shaking, two of them openly weep before the Princess of the night.

“So... thus stands the matter.” Luna said coolly “I have toured thy units, spoken with thine officers and thy men. All is not well. Gross mismanagement and negligence for anything even resembling military propriety reign supreme, chaos and corruption and dereliction of duty go unchecked. I have thus seen fit to instigate some changes within the Navy, those changes shall be dependent upon thy performance here today. Shouldst thou prove thyselves competent then I shall reward thee.”

The assessment did not take long and by the end of it, Iron-Breast had received a series of rather surprising promotions. She had been taken from her dead end sector and placed in command of the rather more important Eastern Sector, tasked to keep watch upon the Khanate.

That was over three years ago and the events of that day still ring in Iron Breast's mind, clear and true as a bell. Since then she has had all manner of trials and tribulations to overcome. Her predecessor had not left things in a ‘strategically optimal fashion’ as her reports phrased it. He had apparently been embezzling funds meant for various out of the way garrisons and suchlike, something for which he had paid with his life. Field Marshal Luna’s methods are unconventional and authoritarian and just what the Navy needed. Three years later she’s still unwinding the messes he left behind in addition to taking on a new project for the Field Marshal.

Admiral Iron-Breast is distracted from her grim musing by a knock upon the door. Without waiting for a response, the door eases open to reveal a short woman in a simple Lunar Guard tunic, trousers and knee high jackboots. The decorations and braid that she normally wears has been left off, leaving her in a simple uniform and dress sword. However no one could mistake the Night Princess for anyone else with her flowing hair and that grim steel mask that Iron Breast has never understood. Every time Iron-Breast has seen the younger Princess she has worn that steel mask with its distinctive silver moon engraving. As far as Iron Breast understands it, no one has seen Princess Luna’s face in over a thousand years.

“Ma’am,” Iron-Breast says politely, snapping to attention and chopping her hand up in a crisp salute, which is returned by the princess. “Welcome to HMS Armifer, I hope your stay will be comfortable.”

“I shall not be staying for long, I am here for the contents of Hangar B15”

Iron-Breast winces. Hangar B15, the largest of the R&D hangars has been off limits for two years now. She hasn’t been told what was going on in there and she hadn’t really asked. She saw technicians, workers and raw materials going in each day and waste coming out. However she hadn’t seen any of the usual supplies of canvas going in which raised her suspicions immediately. Reinforced canvas is an essential component of making airships after all. Sentries have reported construction going on long into the night, well after all the other hangars had ceased production for the day. Many officers have also reported approaching the hangar to see what was going on, only to be rebuffed by Lunar Guards manning a cordon around the hangar.

“Ah yes, B15” Iron-Breast says grimly. “Of course ma’am, I will send a runner to let them know you’re here.”

“A runner?”

“Doctor Freeman requested the communications lines between B15 and the rest of the base to be cut, all save the emergency lines, he didn't say why.”

“Very prudent of him,” Luna nods approvingly “Given the nature of what is going on in B15 I can understand why he wishes to keep loose lips tied shut as it were.”

“I see” Iron-Breast replies, rising to her feet “If I might ask ma’am, what’s going on out there? Many of my officers have expressed concern over noise and various other issues.”

Luna pauses for a moment, obviously thinking about something. “You are aware that what is going on in hangar B15 is classified at the highest level correct?”

“Clearly, if they weren't even willing to tell me then something must be up.” Iron Breast replies.

“Hmm, that may have been pushing it,” Luna concedes “But yes, I will tell you, or rather I will show you what is going on in hangar B15 since it concerns you rather directly, walk with me.”

The two women leave Admiral Iron Breast’s office and start to wander through the corridors of the administrative block, past paintings of dreadnaughts and battleships and destroyers. “So how is this facility’s output?” Luna asks quietly.

“Much better since we ironed out those supply difficulties ma’am. We’ve turned out at least twenty new destroyers in this quarter alone and the ten Conqueror class battleships you put an order in for last year are nearly complete, we’d be able to do more but B15 siphons off a good twenty per-cent of everything.”

Luna nods approvingly “As they should.” She says softly “The efforts in B15 will revolutionize the very face of war to Equestria’s advantage. We shall no longer have to cower in fear of the Valorossiyans, or make nice with our feline neighbours when they offend us.”

Admiral Iron-Breast never thought she would ever be afraid of someone that barely comes up to her shoulder when she joined the Navy. However the younger Diarch standing next to her sends a shiver down her spine. Her absolute certainty is terrifying to the career military officer. She has seen zeal like that before and she's never liked the people that spouted it. Zealots get people killed in her experience.

“Ma’am, Equestria has been at peace for the last two hundred years, I would hope to see that peace continue.” She says firmly, and the ageless Diarch nods.

“Of course, as would we. Peace has its place after all and no one sane hopes for war. Yet our neighbors are restless Admiral and We would not compromise Equestrian strength by clutching to the bosom of peace whilst the wolves circle at our door.”

Iron-Breast nods slowly as she leads the Princess out of the administrative block and out towards the landing pad, where a skiff is already waiting for them, its formerly golden solar sails already caked in soot from the chimneys. Luna climbs easily into the skiff that has ferried her here from the navy base at Stalliongrad, her guard force sitting patiently in the skiff. Iron-Breast climbs quickly into the skiff with her Princess, a life spent patrolling the skylanes making her feel at home in these tiny launches.

“Take us to B-15” Luna instructs the pilot, who hauls on the collective and gets the engine going. As the skiff lurches skywards, Iron-Breast gazes out across the expanse of chimneys that arrogantly thrust themselves upwards, like hands reaching up for the sky as if to clasp the bashful moon. HMS Armifer is busy at all times of day or night as one of the largest Imperial Navy bases in the world, producing airships of all shapes and sizes. Skeletons of airships are being drawn this way and that, like the ribcages of giants. Pipes wind through the skeletons like intestines, and reinforced canvas is being drawn over frames like skin.

Even at this late hour, lights bloom from windows and welding torches spray sparks through the darkness. The thunder of machine presses and tools rings through the night in a thunderous din. As far as the eye can see there are cradles for airships, factories or barracks for workers. Huge grimy quadruped cargo walkers thunder this way and that, the ground shuddering beneath their powerful footsteps, their smokestacks billowing thick clouds of vapour that get lost in the roiling clouds of smoke pumped up by a hundred chimneys. Warning beacons pulse in the darkness and searchlights stretch dirty yellow fingers of light skywards to get lost in the gloom.

Iron-Breast is used to this. Whilst HMS Armifer is not her base of operations, she has spent quite a lot of time here of late ensuring Princess Luna’s demands for more airships are met. Iron-Breast cannot help but feel a slight giddy surge as she looks around the base. The knock down, drag out fights she would have with the Ministry of Defence and its infamously niggardly Procurement Department three years ago are a distant memory. Now she merely has to turn to Luna and tell her what she needs and why she needs it and she gets whatever she needs with very few questions asked, and when she’s not doing that she’s having to tell the younger princess “No, the war reserves are perfect, yes we have all we need, thank you for asking Princess.”

Iron-Breast glances down to see the floodlit perimeter of B-15 approaching. Hnagar B-15 is instantly distinguishable thanks to its red and white chimneys and the dull grey roof of its containment shelter. She can see Lunar guards patrolling the perimeter, grinder-hounds on their leashes. Iron-Breast turns to see a Lunar Guard gunship drifting lazily overhead turning in the smoky air like a prowling shark. Its two searchlights sweep the perimeter hungrily like the eyes of a demon hunting for the faithful. As it turns once again, a glimmer of light passes over its underside to reveal the bulbous gun-turrets that silently follow the searchlights like the fingers of a silent deity, ready to strike down any that stand before it.

Iron-Breast suddenly notices the tiny skiff is not slowing down. It is speeding over Factory B-15 and continuing onwards into the night, into the salt flats that surround HMS Armifer.
“Where are we going?” Iron-Breast asks after a moment, and Luna glances out into the darkness.

“We are on our way to an experimental testing facility, there we shall behold Equestria’s newest and greatest hopes in the final stages of their construction.”

That does not comfort Iron-Breast that much. These remarks do not sound like the remarks of a woman interested in peace. She gazes out into the horizon as if expecting to see answers materialize from the empty desert. She is not dissapointed.

As they clear the perimeter and clear the thick blanket of smoke that hangs over the factory, Iron-Breast notices a series of lights lying close to the ground on the horizion. The skiff banks around and starts to head towards that collection of lights. As they draw nearer Iron-Breast notices buildings among those lights, temporary construction shelters and accommodation bunkers and more permanent concrete bunkers and defensive towers that bristle with anti-aircraft and anti tank guns. The fortifications certainly look like they could withstand a large war, and all of them are manned by paramilitary Night Guard troops rather than Iron-Breast's Naval Infantry if the deep blue flags with their silver emblems are anything to go by.

Inside the wire, Mechanized walkers are moving this way and that with a brisk sense of purpose and as they draw nearer to this secret base Iron-Breast can see that the activity seems to be focussed around four titanic scaffolds, each one of which seems to be at least a mile in length. Lights bloom from within, yet Iron-Breast cannot even get a glimpse at whatever infernal machines reside inside the massive cage. Iron-Breast feels a chill ripple down her spine as claxons start to blare across the base as their skiff slowly orbits the base.

So the Princess has built this base, two miles from one of Equestria’s largest ship foundries, without telling me. Does she even trust me?

The answer to that particular question is obvious. Iron-Breast’s hands tighten around the gunwale of the skiff as she gazes down into the hive of activity far below. Then, as the skiff sweeps in over the scaffolds, she finally sees the massive machine below. Iron Breast’s jaw drops in shocked awe. She cannot help it. Iron Breast has always prided herself on being in control of her emotions, of being able to keep a cool head when everyone around her is stricken down by fear. However the machine far below is truly awe inspiring.

The machine is over four hundred metres in length and nearly a hundred metres wide at its widest point, twice the size of even the largest Equestrian airship in existence. The massive dagger shaped warship exudes raw lethality. The raised bridge is placed to the rear, at the ‘hilt’ of the dagger, where communications aerials protrude like the antennae of a giant insect.

Massive gun turrets are staggered along the flanks of the battleship in diagonal lines to allow the gun turrets to fire a broadside or to fire forwards without hitting each other. The slate grey geometrically precise warship is like nothing that Admiral Iron-Breast has ever seen before, having grown up commanding the golden fleet.

“This” Luna whispers reverently “-Is the HMS Umbra... my new flagship. She will bring us victory in the field admiral, her and her siblings.”

“I see no mounting points... it looks too large to fly, we’ll need truly huge quantities of flotgas to make that thing lift... or does it have tracks or legs?”

Luna chuckles in response. “No admiral, this ship requires no flotgas or legs to move. It uses a rather complex piece of technology called a levitation drive, which requires our magic to make it work. As a result of this, it can be much heavier than the air that surrounds it, which means more armour and larger magazines.”

Iron-Breast nods slowly, unable to do much more. She understands the science vaguely, airships have to be lighter than air and conventional magic could only account for so much. As a direct result Equestrian warships tend to be brittle, relying on their speed and maneuverability to keep them in one piece or else long range weapons in the case of the larger battleships. This huge machine is in direct contradiction to every piece of tactical doctrine dreamed up by the Equestrian general staff in the last thirty years, doctrine that she helped to write. The huge turrets that are now being installed are not just long range bombardment guns, but also much smaller five inch casement guns along the flanks of the warship designed to get up close and personal with enemy airships. The notion of this piece of weaponry being out on the battlefield fills her with dread, but not just dread. For the first time in however many years, Iron Breast feels like Equestria has the capability to fight and win against a serious army.

“I see ma’am” She says softly as she gazes down at the vast machine “So how near are we to seeing this thing on the battlefield?”

“Hopefully you shall never have to.” Luna replies “This warship and her sisters, Corona, Heart of War and Crimson Sunset are to be deployed only in time of great need. Their very presence is intended to strike fear into the hearts of those who would oppose us. That is not to say they are incapable of anything other than intimidation, with its sixteen inch cannon and the various other armament, I intend it to be capable of holding its own in a skirmish.”

Iron-Breast nods in silent awe, unable to do much else. To her the warship looks like it has dropped out of the sky, as though it has arrived from another planet.

“When will these ships be ready ma’am?” She asks at last, finding her tongue.

“Within the week. We intend to take these ships to Canterlot, and you shall be flying with us. We would like you to select part of your fleet to fly with us as our honor guard.”

Chapter Ten: Masked Red

View Online

Chapter Ten: The Masked Red
January 20th, 1882. 0500, Imperial Hotel, Tarhen.

The bellowing of the Muezzin wakes Diplomatic Incident from his fitful slumber, the long rolling cries ringing in Diplomatic Incident’s ears. The grey haired, fastidious clerk has always been a light sleeper, and on this occasion he’s lighter than most. Being able to move from out cold to functional inside of ten seconds has been helpful over the course of his long and storied career. Soft pillows are the first thing that Diplomatic Incident notices, soft pillows and luxurious blankets. Diplomatic Incident smiles slightly as his eyes slowly open and he takes in his living quarters.

The Imperial Hotel in Tarhen is one of the most luxurious hotels in the city. Designed to cater to foreign traders and the super wealthy, the proprietor has an ‘understanding’ with the Morality Police that allows a respectable wet bar along with various amenities that Diplomatic Incident does not wish to know about. No expense has been spared on the bed or board, with luxurious plum carpets and fine teak and mahogany furniture. Diplomatic Incident slowly sits up in the four poster bed, gazing around the room, which he’s staying in courtesy of the Equestrian Taxpayer. He groans softly, reaching down to massage his right knee as it starts to ache gently. A series of ancient scars decorate the flesh, reminders of Diplomatic Incident’s misspent youth.

Old scars for an old man.

Diplomatic Incident stiffens as he hears movement in his room, becoming aware of a soft scraping sound and his eyes flick to his vanity desk, where a young quean, or a female Khan, is pouring through the books in his trunk, in this particular case “Kapital”, a manifesto by the revolutionary thinker Proletarian Advance. He’d been asked to read it by Princess Celestia, as apparently a large faction of the Valorossiyans are taking an interest in Proletarian Advance's writings. Diplomatic Incident isn’t sure why that’s an issue however he is sure that Proletarian Advance’s writings are banned in the Khanate. Diplomatic Incident had left it out on his bedside table, having found the writing dreadfully dull. However it seems that not everyone agrees.

Diplomatic Incident clears his throat sharply and the maid jumps, squeaking as her fur stands up on end. She whirls round, staring at the Equestrian in his nightshirt and her eyes widen as her tail flicks this way and that beneath her robes. Diplomatic Incident climbs out of bed, looking the girl up and down. She doesn’t look like a plant for the Khanate’s spy service, Diplomatic Incident knows all of them by name. No, this one just looks like a young female who has been caught with her fingers in the pantry. She’s blushing hard beneath her fur.

Diplomatic Incident clears his throat softly and holds his hand out for the book, which the maid hands him, looking embarassed.
“Thank you” Diplomatic Incident says softly, speaking in Fars'ym, the dialect of the Khans. "Do you like to read?"

“Yes sir” She replies brightly “I have read all the books in the hotel library, or at least all the ones in the women’s section... They are dreadfully dull, if you will excuse my forthrightness sir."
Diplomatic Incident nods slowly, his eyes on her hands. She seems to be very expressive with her gestures, which is rather odd for the normally stoic Khans. Her ears flick back and forth beneath her headscarf in a fasion that Diplomatic Incident has learnt to interpret as nervousness.

"That does not surprise me mademoiselle, the Prophet has opinions on the role of women. I doubt he would be pleased with you reading this book." Diplomatic Incident cautions the young quean.

"With respect to the Prophet, he had seven wives. I doubt his opinions about women could be considered complimentary, or unbiased." She replies and Diplomatic Incident chuckles.

"Touche," He replies "Still, it would not be wise to pull the tiger's tale by reading books like that, why not start on something fictitious like this?" He asks, reaching into his trunk and pulling out a leather bound book titled "War of the Worlds" by Clock Watcher.

She takes the book from him, gazing at the brown cover in wonder.
"What is it about?" She asks quietly, flicking the book open.

"Distant neighbours of the Valorossiyans coming from the stars and invading Equestria apparently... the conclusion was a little shaky but the rest of it was a rather gripping read. The idea is very original if nothing else. A friend of mine gave it to me as a birthday present."

The maid opens the book hungrily and starts flicking through the pages, her eyes alive. Diplomatic Incident watches her lose herself in the book for a moment, before he turns to head into the bathroom. When he returns, dressed in the long flowing robes of a Khanate merchant, the quean is still devouring the book, her eyes alive with pleasure. Diplomatic Incident smiles for a second, before clearing his throat.

"Milady of the tail." He says and she jumps, her hand going to her chest.
"You startled me sir." She squeaks and Diplomatic Incident chuckles.

"Everyone likes a good book now and again, and you are more than welcome to read it... when you are not taking other chores." He holds his hand up quickly as her eyes start to shine enthusiastically. "You do have a job to do after all, but I have no objections to you reading that book." The maid smiles and nods happily as she heads for the door.

"One last thing child," Diplomatic Incident adds, "do not tell anyone of these books, they could find you in very hot water." The quean gives him a hard look in return, before she closes the door behind her.

Diplomatic Incident chuckles as she leaves, before he turns back to his belongings, relieved. He doesn't need the hired help to be stumbling upon the items he's brought in with him. It would be slightly problematic for him but somewhat more problematic for the help. He'd just be executed as a spy or for 'seditious and immoral behaviour', she'd probably face a term in the infamous Arzad prison.

These are the stakes we play by, Chap and these are our rules. He reminds himself as he slides his elephant pistol back into the concealed holster. Having a concealed weapon is technically illegal but in these dangerous times, Diplomatic Incident has a feeling that most people are packing heat, if his glance at the bullet scarred shell of the former Equestrian Embassy yesterday was anything to go by.

Diplomatic Incident finishes packing his things and heads out. He has a meeting today, and he'd rather not be late. His friend regards lateness as a deliberate slight, and reacts to deliberate slights as one would expect a Valorossiyan to. With a kiss on your cheek and a hug, before sliding the knife between the third and fourth rib. Diplomatic Incident grimaces as he sweeps out, through the door of his suite and in the direction of the main staircase. Diplomatic Incident sees no need for skulking around back entrances and using service elevators. Far better for your enemy to miss you in plain sight after all. Thus, Diplomatic Incident makes his way down the well furnished corridor, past various peoples of other nationalities, mostly fellow Equestrians, though a few Khans are scattered here and there. After a few moments of meandering, Diplomatic Incident makes it to the stairway, an elaborate white spiral staircase with brass railings and more plush red carpet. A tree is growing in the centre of the stairwell, and it's a real tree, or at least the songbirds fluttering out of its boughs seem to think so. Overhead a bright dome constructed of frosted glass allows the sun's rays to cast their brilliant radiance across the scene. Diplomatic Incident smirks slightly at the sight of such extravagance and he wonders exactly what colour Celestia will turn when she sees the bill he will have to present her with when he gets home.

Diplomatic Incident shrugs and makes his way down to the front desk, waving at the polite young receptionist before heading out into the shaded courtyard, and from there into the blazing heat of the Khanate proper. Diplomatic Incident cracks his knuckles softly, feeling the reassuring weight of the piece at his hip.
Time to see if you've still got your dancing shoes on, Old Chap.

Stepping out into the courtyard of the Imperial Hotel, the heat hits him like a hammer blow. Even this early in the day, the temperature on Tarhen's streets is brutal and it only gets worse as the day goes on. Diplomatic Incident crosses the courtyard, waving off enthusiastic offers from various rickshaw drivers, their brass horses tossing their heads, clashing their hooves upon the cobbles and billowing steam from the stacks rising from their backs. Diplomatic Incident has always preferred to travel on foot, or else control the reins himself. With that thought in mind, he heads out through the pedestrian gate, through ten foot high perimeter wall and into the city of Tarhen itself.

Tarhen is a large city by any standard, much larger than Canterlot. However where Canterlot reaches for the sky with towering spires, Tarhen sprawls across the landscape with drab low buildings. Home for over three million cats, Tarhen is a city built mostly of dull cement and adobe, and even here, in the more well to do quarters, the buildings still look utilitarian and functional, with very little interest paid to aesthetics. However even at this hour, the streets are alive with biped and quadruped walkers and steam-cycle couriers, and even actual livestock-driven vehicles being pulled by scaly beasts of burden that Diplomatic Incident has never seen before, their hides streaked with dust and dirt from the roads as they plod along.

Diplomatic Incident starts heading down the road, allowing himself to get lost in the thronging crowd of robed cats. All around him, the street is jammed with hawkers selling this and that from garishly colored roadside stalls and cats on their way to work or prayers and kits on their way to school, the cries of market vendors and the musical hubbub of a city of cats ringing in the air. Diplomatic Incident smiles to himself as he makes his way along broad straight streets. He can feel something in the air, a very palpable sense of tension. Beneath the laughing jovial bustle of the vendors and the squealing giggling of the school-kits, all the cats around Diplomatic Incident are nervous. It's not something that's easy to detect, fur standing slightly more on edge than usual, fathers casting nervous glances around the street as they stand close to their young ones. Diplomatic Incident cannot see any females at all. All these are subtle threat indicators, anyone that did not know what they were looking at would miss these signs, but Diplomatic Incident has been around the block a few times.

Diplomatic Incident's smile fades as he sees a disturbance making its way through the crowd. The sharp rap of sticks on stonework and loud male voices calling to each other in shrill raucous tones. Diplomatic Incident continues walking, even as he hears the sound of tambourines ringing in the air, the jangling clattering in the air a surer warning than the click of a hammer being drawn back. The disturbance draws closer and Diplomatic Incident spots the group for the first time. A large group of between ten to twelve adolescent males, dressed in the crimson robes of acolytes, their faces dyed with elaborate patterns that remind Diplomatic Incident more of bandit masks than anything else. They are carrying long wooden poles that have obviously been used at least once today if the dark red smears on their loose fitting uniforms are anything to go by. Diplomatic Incident knows exactly who they are of course. They're Basijis, a militia of sorts that assist the actual police in enforcing the strict religious laws. Diplomatic Incident notices two of them are carrying En-Kar rifles that still bear the Legion D'etrangere markings on their stocks.
What's the betting that you chaps were involved in the sacking of the Embassy? Diplomatic Incident asks himself.

The cats make their way down the street, the crowd parting for them. Those that do not move fast enough get swatted with a baton, or their legs get swept from under them. Diplomatic Incident continues walking. He's here under his own name, and he's known to the Khanate as a diplomatic attache. Any cat who wants to pick a fight with him, even a cat bristling with righteous zeal would have to be a moron to do so, especially with tensions being what they are between the Khanate and the Empire. The leader of the group has other ideas however. He raises his baton and points it at Diplomatic Incident and snaps out a sharp command in Equestrian.
"Stop!" He snaps and Diplomatic Incident slowly lowers his hand to his waist.
Guess they want to stop and have a chat, oh well, one must stop and greet the natives from time to time, maybe they want Princess Celestia's autograph. He thinks sullenly.

"Equestrian Spy!" The leader bellows and Diplomatic Incident struggles to keep from rolling his eyes. Whilst the description is technically true, it’s not exactly accurate and it confirms these people as amateurs in Diplomatic Incident’s eyes.
Years ago perhaps, not anymore I think.
"Excuse me?" Diplomatic Incident asks, the very picture of righteous indignation. "I have no idea what on earth you are talking about sir, I happen to be attached to the Equestrian government as a diplomatic attache. You will find my paperwork in order."
The leader of the group stalks closer to Diplomatic Incident and grabs him, slamming Diplomatic Incident against the wall.

"Do not play games with us," He snarls, his fetid breath washing over Diplomatic Incident, the zealot's long sharp teeth uncomfortably close to Diplomatic Incident's face. "We know you are a spy for your bitch-queen. Who sent you, the Foreign Office or the Navy?"

"Why, Princess Celestia herself sent me here as part of a diplomatic mission. Now sir, I must insist you unhand me this instant or I shall be forced to send a strongly worded letter to your Chapter-House, do I make myself clear?"

This gives the thugs pause for thought, then the zealot steps backwards, releasing Diplomatic Incident, only for a second thug to smash his baton into Diplomatic Incident's bad leg, causing him to howl as stars dance before his eyes. That might sting somewhat, come the morrow.

Diplomatic Incident drops to the ground, the zealot promptly steps upon his chest, driving the air out of Diplomatic Incident's lungs. The zealot then puts his stick to Diplomatic Incident's throat. Around him, Diplomatic Incident can hear the lower pitched growling of the zealot’s grubby little friends as the cat forces the air out of Diplomatic Incident’s lungs with a wheeze.
"Maybe we need to make ourselves understood clearly, perhaps this Equestrian spy needs his ears cleaned out?" He snaps, and his colleague kicks Diplomatic Incident in the side of the head, causing him to yell out in pain. However Diplomatic Incident can see reinforcements coming. Black trouser clad legs are moving through the throng and whistles are being blown, though the thugs are currently taking no notice of anything other than him, content to enjoy the show.

"Sir, I must advise that you may wish to reconsider your current course of action." Diplomatic Incident cautions the young zealot.

The zealot draws back his lips in a lethal snarl.
"Or what?"

Diplomatic Incident draws his pistol and draws the hammer back.
"Or else I will shoot you in the face, sir."

The zealot's eyes widen and his stick suddenly comes away from Diplomatic Incident's face. The two with En-Kar rifles raise them but they look rather uncomfortable holding the weapons designed for considerably longer arms, which suits Diplomatic Incident just fine.
"Now, since we have reached an amicable understanding- my dear fellow, do not menace me with that rifle, yes you do look very scary but it might help if you turned the safety off first." The Khan fumbles the rifle and very nearly drops it.

"You cannot have that pistol, it's a crime!" The leader snaps and Diplomatic Incident nods slowly, as if congratulating a slow child.

"Under the Khanate’s laws yes, but I’m operating under an Equestrian diplomatic concealed carry permit. If you wish for that permit to be rescinded, you can register a letter of complaint with the Equestrian Embassy on Quassem-Keriyah... oh wait, you burnt that down."

The thug looks flustered, as the whistles grow louder. Finally his friends are noticing the fact that their party is about to be gatecrashed.
"I'm glad we did!" The thug bellows, the threat of the pistol barely enough to keep him in line. "Your princess ran like a little bitch with her tail between her legs."

"We', so you're saying that you, as instruments of the Khanate government, knowingly perpetrated an act of war upon Equestria?" Diplomatic Incident growls, keeping the pistol up in the aim.

""I'll give you act of war!" He draws the staff back to strike Diplomatic Incident, however before he does so, a tall snowy white skinned figure dressed in a simple black smock and trousers forces her way through the group of thugs and grabs the zealot and bodily shoves him away, her other hand grabbing the staff and yanking it out of his hand.

"You call that an 'act of war'?" The Val snaps, her cold grey eyes flinty. "That looks more like foreplay to me, do you wish to see an act of war?"

The thug stares up at the Val, who calmly snaps the leader’s staff with one hand as though it is little more than rotten driftwood. She then discards the staff and grabs the neck of the leader before he can leap away, her fingers closing around his neck.
"The rest of you may go, this one must stay and answer charges." Her voice brooks no argument. Her head is uncovered, in flagrant violation of the law, however Diplomatic Incident pities the first law enforcement official who tries to enforce that particular piece of legislation. Vals are willingly bound by only one set of laws, their own.

"You two, drop your rifles. You're too young to be out playing with those toys." The Valorossiyan glowers as two Khanate police officers roll up on the scene, take in the angry Val and decide they have no desire to meet their maker today, both turning in unison and walking resolutely away.

Diplomatic Incident picks himself up and grins at the Val as she stands there, clutching the zealot by his throat.

"Do you belive in God?" She asks, and the zealot nods quickly, his eyes widening as he realizes the tall snowy white skinned figure before him means business. Intent gleams in all four of her eyes, and Diplomatic Incident knows that the Val would like nothing better than to gut this Khan.

"I am His most faithful servant." The Zealot's fear is clear to see as the Val's grip starts to tighten around his neck. The Val looks bored, as though this is something she does on a daily basis. As Diplomatic incident reflects on that, he decides that it probably is.

"Faith... that's an interesting question." The Val says softly "You see, we define faith as a belief that is held with absolute conviction. You believe your God is a merciful God right? You trust this completely?"

"Yes, yes I do!" The Khan squeals, his hands grasping at her wrist as she lifts him off the ground to her head-height.

"Good, because I am now going to give you the opportunity to prove it." The Val says, her tone conversational as her grip tightens around the boy's neck.

"Do you believe that your God can save you?" She asks, her Equestrian eerily perfect, despite the very faint Valorossiyan accent.

The Khan is frantically whispering prayers, obviously terrified. A dark stain spreads across his baggy trousers. He kicks his legs and struggles, however the Valorossiyan merely squeezes tighter. "I do not repeat myself often so let me ask once more, do you think Your God can save you?"

"He will if he wishes it." The Khan whimpers, his legs kicking.

The Val nods. "We shall see about that," She says, then she starts to squeeze harder for a few moments before Diplomatic Incident clears his throat pointedly.

“I think you’ve made your point, Lady Ambassador,” He says, and the Val clicks her tongue softly.

“Your God moves in mysterious ways it would seem,” She says after a moment, her grip relaxing slightly on the Khan’s throat.

“He loves you, he cares for you, and he will forgive you all your trespasses.” She says, her tone bright and conversational. “And we are all God’s servants are we not? I see you threatening diplomats again, you shall have far more to worry about than a firmly worded letter, do I make myself quite plain?” Her tone hardens and she clenches her other hand into a fist to make her meaning abundantly clear. The Khan nods quickly as the Val lowers him to the ground and releases his throat. The Khan falls to his knees, coughing and spluttering and whispering invocations. The Val watches him for a second, before turning to Diplomatic Incident.

“Good to see you again, Leonid.” She says, using the name that Diplomatic Incident had used the first time he had met her. “I’d wondered briefly if you'd managed to get yourself sidetracked or distracted. It is good to see you are mingling with the natives by the way. They are rather charming and pleasant, though that might have something to do with my people making the ones who are rude into hats."

"Madam Ambassador Adrelana, it has been far too long," He replies "I was in the area and heard from my sources that you were here and so I thought we could arrange a meeting to discuss... developments within the Union?"

Zsaryna Adrelana snorts. "Developments Leonid? Things are as they always have been." She says sadly, turning and walking down the street, Diplomatic Incident following close behind.
"The tribes are all licking their wounds from last year's season and girding their loins for the killing that will happen this coming year. Vladmir-Illych is having words with the Elders of the Northern Alliance to see if there is a possibility of forming a compact, if there is then we shall have a bloc capable of maybe enforcing peace upon our nation for the first time." Diplomatic Incident notes Zsaryna's pessimistic tone and her sour expression.

"You do not sound too thrilled about that possibility." He comments and she shrugs.

"It is a fool's errand, peace would be good if it happens but I will not hold my breath for that moment." Zsaryna replies as she forces her way through the swirling crowds. "But I did not summon you so we could speak of developments within my nation, I came to give you a warning to pass on to your Princesses."

The two round a corner and the crowds suddenly vanish as they walk down the broad boulevard. Diplomatic Incident's lips suddenly become dry. Even from here he can smell the faint smell of smoke. Diplomatic Incident's gaze flicks upwards, to the buildings that are pockmarked with bullet holes. Curtains and shutters have been slammed shut, thought Diplomatic Incident can see brief flashes of gold as eyes hurriedly glance at him before flickering away. He licks dry lips with a dry tongue as he glances up at his resolute companion. Diplomatic Incident knows this road very well, it's Quassem-Keriyah street, the street on which the former Equestrian Embassy stood.

The two of them round a corner and Diplomatic Incident spots the ruined perimeter fence first, the ten foot tall railings twisted and buckled as though a giant has wrenched them apart. Beyond the fence, he can see the right side of the building itself. The red brick walls are pitted with bullet holes, like the building has come down with a sudden case of acne. The vacant, empty windows where shadows dance stare down at him like the empty eye sockets of a skull, silent and accusatory.

Graffiti has been scrawled across the walls, slogans making fun of the Princesses or Equestria or the dead Legionnaires. Bloodstains also decorate the walls or the floor where a Legion bullet found its mark or the Khans managed to overwhelm their mark. Policemen from the Khanate are poking over the ruins, as are officers from the Ministry of Truth, their golden robes flashing in the morning light. Several are grouped before the entrance, taking notes on their sketchpads whilst Archivist-bots sit gently clicking and steaming behind them.

"We have heard that you wish to bring a Princess here to try and calm the situation down, to normalize the Khanate’s relationship with Equestria or at least to allow your expats to evacuate," Zsaryna mutters as several Ministry of Truth operatives cast disparaging glances at them. “I would advise against this course of action. This country is tearing itself apart and the last thing you want is to get Equestria tied up in a civil war. You do not wish to get your head of state involved in what could become another very messy civil war.”

Diplomatic Incident nods grimly. “It is not my head of state, Princess Celestia remains in Canterlot.”

“Well it cannot be that third one, she is occupied in the North... Do you seriously tell me that you are deploying Princess Sparkle, here?” Zsaryna’s expression is incredulous, as if she cannot quite believe what she is hearing.

Diplomatic Incident merely nods quickly “It is indeed Princess Twilight Sparkle”

“Do you expect me to believe that?” Zsaryna growls “She has only three years experience and you are sending her here! Do not lie to me Leonid!”

“I do not make a habit of lying to my friends, or to people who could break me in half with their little finger, I count you in both categories Zsaryna” Diplomatic Incident raises his hands to mollify the Valorossiyan, who still looks distinctly skeptical.

“If there was an Equestrian I could trust it would be you, Leonid.” For a second, Diplomatic Incident spots the ghost of something that could have almost been a smile cross Zsaryna’s face, before she claps him on the shoulder and turns away from the ruined shell of the Embassy.

“Come now Leonid, let us go to the market… I daresay you have children at home to buy presents for, yes?”

“As a matter of fact I don’t.” Diplomatic Incident says with a shrug “Women come and go as women will, but there has not been… well I’m not really the stay at home type”

“Really? I never would have guessed.” Zsaryna rolls her upper, more expressive set of eyes. “Walking down the street in a country that is going to hell dressed like an arms dealer, I certainly had you pinned as the stay at home type.” She chuckles, before turning on her heel and starting to walk away, Diplomatic Incident following close behind.

As the two make their way back out onto the bustling thoroughfare, Zsaryna leans in close to Diplomatic Incident. “I have some friends I would like you to meet, moderates, insofar as such a thing can exist in the Khanate… they have powerful connections and they do not desire war with Equestria. They could be useful for you.” She explains “They will not meet with the Princess for their own reasons, however they will meet you in your capacity as an Equestrian representative.”

Diplomatic Incident nods. In the ten days that he’s been here he has managed to secure full diplomatic entry permits for Twilight and himself as well as three full companies of Legionnaires for ‘Protective Escort Duties’. However he has not been able to do much else, other than assure Princess Celestia that the Khanate has not fallen on its face just yet. With each passing day Diplomatic Incident can see more signs however. Signs that tell him that the Khanate may not be long for this world. More soldiers are appearing on the streets, and the Basijis are becoming increasingly violent and desperate. Graffiti is appearing on walls. Attacks on government buildings by groups of rebels are becoming increasingly common and government reprisals are becoming increasingly brutal as the government tries to keep its citizens in check.

Diplomatic Incident can only hope he’s making the right decision by allowing Twilight to come here and try and calm the situation down, at least with regard to what’s going on between Equestria and the Khanate. What happens inside the Khanate is of limited concern to Diplomatic Incident and if they want to tear themselves apart, then that is their business. However if Twilight lands here and is met with gunfire, then it becomes Equestria’s problem.

Diplomatic Incident follows Zsaryna out, back into the busier streets filled with noise and bustle. A trip through the Prinz-Zaeyeda markets always lifts his spirits and his friend Fancy Pants, a well known philanthropist and investment broker is always game for any souvenirs or tall tales for his dinner parties. There is little he can do to make Twilight’s arrival any easier at this point after all, all he can really do is make a judgement call and ensure the documentation that Twilight requires is in order when she arrives. He’s met with various Khanate officials, all of whom were suitably apologetic about a “dreadful oversight” and he’s managed to draw up a rather busy schedule for the Princess. Whilst Celestia and Luna prefer to wing it when it comes to events like these, Princess Sparkle prefers things to be neatly laid out and just so, and a good thing too, since she doesn't really have the diplomatic clout required to wing it.

Diplomatic Incident forcefully yanks his mind away from that particular train of thought. It is a trail that his mind has wandered down repeatedly over the course of the last few days to no useful purpose. It is a train of thought that puts almost no faith in Twilight’s abilities as a diplomat, not to mention his own as a teacher.

“Leonid?” Zsaryna’s voice is concerned and Diplomatic Incident looks up to see the Val gazing down at him with something approaching concern. “Are you well?”

“Perfectly fine Zsaryna, I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Care to discuss it with me?” Zsaryna asks and Diplomatic Incident chuckles.

“It does not bear discussing, my lady.” He replies and a grey flush dances across the Valorossiyan’s face, but a real smile appears on her face, the corners of her lips curling upwards whilst the lips themselves remain closed. It is very rare to see a Valorossiyan actually smiling, and the sight of it lights a fire in Diplomatic Incident’s belly.

“Good to see you remember.” She says, reaching out and squeezing his warm hand quickly in her cool grip before releasing, a quick clasp and nothing more. It is a chaste luxury afforded by the crowds around them, otherwise neither would have been so bold in public “I trust you will be here five weeks from now?” She asks gently, and Diplomatic Incident nods in reply.
“Of course, this visit doesn't have a definite endpoint.” Diplomatic Incident smiles up at the ambassador.

“Excellent, I’m sure you’re aware of the Revolution Day ball at the palace?”

“Are you asking me out Lady Ambassador?” Diplomatic Incident asks and Zsaryna’s lower set of eyes narrow very slightly.

“Perhaps.” She says softly, tapping her fingers twice against the skin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Excellent, I shall make arrangements to attend.” Diplomatic Incident replies.

“What about your newspapers?”

“To hell with them Zsary. None shall be covering this event and if they do then let them. We can spin it as ‘symbolism of Equestria’s growing relation with the Union perhaps?’” Diplomatic Incident smiles up at the Valorossiyan that has claimed his heart, who nods brightly.

“Perhaps it will give me a chance to meet Equestria’s newest princess also?” The Valorossiyan asks and Diplomatic Incident nods.

“She will no doubt be present and I am sure she would like to meet you.” Diplomatic Incident says as the two of them turn, the crowds getting steadily more dense as more people head to the temple or else to the market. The short portly aging diplomat and the tall stately Valorossiyan at his elbow make an odd couple, yet none of the cats around them notice or if they do then none of them pass a comment. Diplomatic Incident feels at peace with the world right now, as he makes his way toward the bazaar, the Valorossiyan ambassador in tow.

Chapter Eleven: Detonation, In Which Things Explode

View Online

January 20th, 1882. 1002 Canterlot Standard Time. Tarhen.

“You want that one?” Zsaryna asks softly and Diplomatic Incident nods shortly as he points out the curiously shaped vase with the long handle and an equally long spout.

“I belive so, it is suitably tacky and tasteless as to be highly received in Canterlot high society, whilst at the same time hinting at exotic adventures in foreign climes.” He reaches for his money-bags whilst the lady Ambassador at his elbow chuckles.
“And if they should ask what it is?”

“It is a teapot for brewing special blends of tea that one can find only in the Khanate.” Diplomatic Incident replies with an absolutely straight face, which is more than his escort can maintain. The Valorossiyan smirks and then lightly slaps him on the back as he pays for the item and starts walking, ‘teapot’ held loosely at his side.

“You are Impossible!” She chuckles as the two of them keep walking through the bazaar, past a rolling tide of cats going about their business, past merchants hawking their wares from beneath garishly colored awnings. The two of them are walking through the Stam-Zakosin Souks, among the largest open air markets in the city of Tarhen. The Stam-Zakosin streets have always been an open air market, even before the current Shah’s time, and like all the old markets that predate the current regime, an air of freewheeling and lawlessness hangs in the air like a musk. Whilst the omnipresent Morality Police still hang around like vultures to prey upon the wary and the Basijis stalk the crowd like hyenas, they are very much in the minority here, and business continues as normal around them.

The Stam-Zakosin is legendary, even among the markets of Tarhen. It is well known as a market where you could get anything you wanted as long as you had the money to pay. Whilst officially it’s listed as a trade hub for spices and exotics, ask the right questions or talk to the right person and you could find as many guns or drugs as your heart desires. Or at least you could till recently. Diplomatic Incident has already made inquiries in this part of town and the usual weapon vendors are nowhere to be found, and the new ones don’t sell any of the good product that Diplomatic Incident knows is sloshing around just under the surface. The lack of quality weapons for sale worries his Valorossiyan counterpart just as much, not least because it means tighter control over the state armories for one thing, which in turn means someone has an interest in stockpiling weapons.

Diplomatic Incident’s gaze flicks to a mirror as Zsaryna’s hand taps his twice.
“You see him?” He growls under his breath, and Zsaryna nods, her gaze flicking to a mirror where a Khan with grey fur and golden robes can be seen looking for a little too long in their direction whilst appearing to peruse a basket of fruit.
“He’s been following us since we left the Embassy… he’s from the Ministry of Truth.” She says softly and Diplomatic Incident nods.

“Let him watch.” He growls “Thus far we have done nothing of note, nothing out of the ordinary for diplomats to be doing."

“You mean aside from you pulling your gun on one of their acolytes?” Zsaryna deadpans and Diplomatic Incident snickers

“And you holding the same acolyte up in the air by his throat, yes, I nearly forgot.” he chuckles. He’s not nearly as concerned about being watched as he should be. He’s here in the open, as an Equestrian envoy, and so he shouldn’t be surprised by someone deciding to take an interest in his comings and goings. Only the idiots stop recognized individuals travelling on Equestrian passports. Diplomatic Incident smiles, content to enjoy his day. He’s out of the office, walking through a market with his girlfriend, trying to prepare the way for Equestria’s last great gamble to avoid war, to send an untried Princess to stick her head into the lion's mouth, figuratively speaking of course.
It certainly beats a cottage in the country as far as retirement plans go.
“So you’re telling me these friends of yours want to meet here?” He asks and Zsaryna nods

“It’s their base of operations.” Zsaryna says softly “But we can’t meet them with him tailing us, it’ll-”
Diplomatic Incident suddenly grips Zsaryna’s hand tightly as he hears a sudden muffled boom ring out, a sharp thunderclap… on a clear and sunny day. Diplomatic Incident stiffens even as it is answered by a second explosion, this one much closer. Diplomatic Incident can feel the ground vibrate beneath his feet as a third explosion rends the air, this one even closer than the last two. He wants to run, wants to jump underneath something solid and curl up there until the explosions have passed.

A loud voice is suddenly raised in an invocation and before Diplomatic Incident can react, there is a sudden earth shattering detonation right behind them. His hand is ripped from Zsaryna’s as he is picked up and hurled bodily through the air, the blast wave throwing him into something hard and heavy. Pain spreads across his chest like fire and Diplomatic Incident clutches at his chest. Everything around him seems to move slowly, as though it’s suspended in treacle. The world is cloudy, nearly invisible with vague blurs moving this way and that. Diplomatic Incident claws his way to his hands and knees, coughing from the acrid smoke that billows from burnt storefronts. He can smell the familiar sickly sweet odour of burnt flesh and a wet heat trickles down the side of his face. His hand comes up to his face and comes away covered in something sticky and red.

How strange. Diplomatic Incident thinks, Someone spilt the ketchup… must have a word with the butler about that. He thinks groggily as he gropes for the glasses that were thrown off his face by the blast. Diplomatic Incident can hear screams, but they’re muffled, like someone’s covered his ears with a pillow, the only sound he can hear clearly is a shrill ringing in his ears.

Diplomatic Incident blinks, coughing and spluttering as he tries to see clearly, tries to clear his head. Pain flows through him, pulsing waves of fire dance across his vision. As his ears clear, he can hear the thunder of booted feet running towards him. A cool hand reaches under his armpit and pulls him to standing and a familiar female voice is speaking
“-Come on, we need to go!” The voice calls and Diplomatic Incident staggers with the female. He can hear the boots drawing nearer. Diplomatic Incident shakes his head again to try and clear the grogginess that fogs his mind, however it doesn’t seem to work and his world just spins all the faster.

He stumbles and falls, slipping out of the female’s grip to land hard upon the earth. Raised voices ring in his ears as Diplomatic Incident loses consciousness, the world fading to black.

___

Twelve hours later, Canterlot, Celestia’s Study. 2205 Local time.

It is with deepest regret that I must come before this parliament and ask-
“No, that is too submissive.” Celestia mutters to herself, balling the paper up and tossing it at the waste paper basket across the room. This declaration has to be handled with tact and sensetivity, it also has to be firm and forceful yet at the same time it has to sound like a last resort. However it must not be too submissive, else her own people might doubt the prowess and skill of her armed forces, which Celestia does not doubt, not since she put her sister in charge.
Due to the turbulent situation abroad, I must come before this parliament and request the activation of the Emergency Provisions of 1822.
There, suitably brief and to the point whilst at the same time it’s not going to get any Khan tails in a knot, any more than they already are at least. Celestia finds that image, the image of Salim Khesh-Raman, the Khanate’s ambassador to Equestria, with his bushy bottlebrush tail tied in a knot rather amusing. However such thoughts are suddenly rudely curtailed by a knock on the door.

“Enter.” Celestia intones, wondering what heap of misery this messenger will bring.

“Cable from the Foreign Office marm.” The messenger says softly, holding the pink envelope in front of him like a live grenade. It might as well be, since pink envelopes are only used for top secret correspondence, generally government to government if it comes from the Foreign Office.

The messenger bows and approaches Celestia’s desk, placing the missive before the impassive Empress of the Sun. Celestia closes her eyes for a second, wondering who or what the message concerns. She has a nasty feeling however that it’s a missive from Twilight. Slowly the empress of half the continent reaches for the envelope and opens it.

FAO P-CEL/P-LUN

DI INJURED IN TARHEN STOP
SUICIDE BOMBER STOP
DI ARRESTED AS EQ SPY STOP
KHAN BLAMING EQ FOR INSURGENTS STOP
UNION WANTS TO KNOW IF EQ IS ALL IN STOP
POPULACE IS V AGITATED, WAR DEC POSSIBLE WITHIN 24HRS STOP
UNION SUPPORT POSSIBLE STOP

Z.A

Celestia reads the message a second time, and then a third, trying to make sure she hasn’t misread the message. Questions bloom forth from her mind like weeds. How exactly Diplomatic Incident can have been arrested as a spy when he was travelling openly as an Equestrian envoy? How can he be fingered as a spy if he was caught in an attack? A whirlwind of questions rise in Princess Celestia’s mind, questions that have no answers.
However one question is foremost in Princess Celestia’s mind.
Is My Faithful Student alright? Has Twilight been caught in this? Am I going to have another death on my conscience because I assumed she was ready?

“Your highness?” A voice breaks through the fog of guilt already clouding the Empress of the Sun’s mind. Celestia opens her eyes to see the young messanger still standing there, waiting for a response. Celestia takes a deep breath, clearing her mind. She is the ruler of Equestria. She must be strong right now, she must be firm and she must sort this out. This situation has gone on too long, enough is well and truly enough. If the Khanate is going to arrest her diplomats and throw them in prison when she’s trying to sort this out...

“Does the Foreign Office have an address this telegram was sent from?” She asks firmly, dispelling her doubts and clearing her mind. Now is not the time for indecisiveness, now that a course of action has been decided, she has to act on that course of action.

“Yes Ma’am, it was sent from the Valorossiyan embassy in Tarhen.”
“Good, send this reply-”

To the honored ambassador Zsaryna Adrelana.

We thank you for your missive, it was read with great interest by our involved parties. However to clarify the situation, Equestria's intent in this matter has always been clear. We seek a peaceful resolution to this crisis where possible, and it is my belief that main force is not yet the most viable response to the situation.

That being said, we are viewing developments in the Khanate with growing concern.We would appreciate your presence at a meeting in the very near future (Possibly sometime tonight) to discuss potential responses to the situation as it stands. Use of force has not been ruled out at this time. With that in mind, we would appreciate clarification of your faction's position in the event of war.

With Regards
HRH Princess Celestia.

Celestia jots the message down quickly, her writing neat as ever. She has learnt, over the years, to keep her handwriting neat, no matter what the circumstance. It helps capture the illusion of control and conveys to Equestria’s neighbours that thier ruler has a firm grip on events and a plan to deal with them, as opposed to feeling like things are slipping through her fingers.. The thought of going to war, for the first time in two hundred years sends a chill down her spine. Whilst going to war was something that she’d prepared herself for the past three weeks, tried to prepare the country for as much as she could, events have once again taken on a life of their own.

As soon as the young man is gone, the missive clutched in his sweaty palms, Celestia starts to draft another message, this one for Luna.

Sister,

things have taken a rather strange turn here. Cease your visit to HMS Armifer, return to Canterlot and make your troops ready for war - quietly please!!
War isn’t certain but it’s closer at hand now than it was this time yesterday.
Use your best judgement.

Celestia.

Princess Celestia finishes writing the last telegram and takes a deep, shuddering breath as she snaps her fingers and dissolves the telegram into a burst of bright golden fire, wondering all the while how she’s going to make this work, how exactly she’s going to bring this war to a successful conclusion with minimal losses on her side. She knows it’s not her problem anymore, that war is now the preserve of her sister, but that doesn’t stop Celestia from worrying. She silently rises to her feet, wandering over to the window and out onto the balcony. Outside, the city of Canterlot is at peace, with the gentle flicker of torches glowing in the cool dry night. Lights from a thousand windows gleam in the darkness like tiny fireflies. In each one is a family, or a couple or an individual. People who rely on Princess Celestia for guidance, who rely on her to keep them safe from harm. Citizens who can infuriate and aggravate her at the best of times with their small mindedness and their pettiness. The memory of the bulging sacks of hate mail that the palace received upon Twilight’s relationship with Rainbow Dash coming to light still burns. However they are her people, people who love her as she loves them.

Celestia takes a deep breath, the cold air filling her lungs. The air tastes sweeter than it normally does on a winter’s night. It is crisp and refreshing, clearing her lungs and her mind. She will meet this task, this stern duty as she has met all the tasks previously, and she will overcome.

Chapter Twelve: Twist in the tail.

View Online

Residence of General Tariq Aznan. January 19th, 1882 2200 Local Time.

The grainy strains of music flow from the gramophone, the soft lilting melody carrying through the mansion's plush drawing room. The soft breeze drifting down from the mountains bordering Tarhen ripples the gauzy drapes around the windows. The elderly Commissioner Hassan Zafwan shivers slightly, his tail fluffing up in discomfort. General Tariq Aznan rises from his comfortable chintz arm-chair, a glass of deep crimson wine held loosely in his paw. He trots over to the window and closes it, to a grateful glance from Zafwan.

“We are all assembled?” Aznan asks, turning to gaze across the group assembled in his drawing room. Around him, fourteen other Khans, dressed in the suits of industrial moguls, the black uniforms of senior police officers, the white or golden uniforms of soldiers and three black robed major representatives from the Faith, nod grimly as they sit back in their plush chairs or recline upon sofas. They glance at each other, shuffling slightly as they arrange papers. All of them are naturally alert and wary. Aznan runs a paw through his mane. It's been hellish trying to get them all in one place, the devil's own job, in fact; he thinks, a half smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He can understand their concern about this meeting. None of them would have got to where they are now without the heightened sense of caution required to survive in a country like the Khanate.

Meetings like this are suspicious in the eyes of the police, particularly in the Khanate. The Secret Police are alive and well, and would have no qualms about jumping with claws out upon meetings such as this and arresting every single person attending the meeting. The fact that all the people here are noted and 'respectable' would only be taken as further proof of their guilt.

The conspirators eye their leader warily. General Aznan is tall for a Khan; that is to say, he comes up to the eye level of an Equestrian and to the shoulders of a Valorossiyan. His short autumnal coloured fur is liberally flecked with silver; his long whiskers twitch faintly and his long, well-groomed grey beard is studded with the bright golden tokens of his office. It hangs down to his chest in a gleaming display of power and status. Aznan is dressed in the ivory whites of his dress uniform, which is likewise dripping with gold braid and decorations, all of which have been earned through battle. Vicious skirmishes against separatists or desert raiders have left their mark: A chunk has been torn out of his ear, and scars are scattered across his muzzle. Aznan is clearly a Khan of action. Yet for all that, his eyes glow with zealous fervour, a conquering zeal rarely seen among his fellow generals. It was this zeal that led Aznan to cement his place in the history books by personally leading many of the greatest offensives of the Unification wars of ‘63 and ‘68.

It was also this zeal that had driven a younger, more foolish Aznan to lead the armies of the current Shah against their former masters. However, in the ten years that have followed, Aznan has grown wiser and his head cooler. He now knows better of course. He is less driven by such lofty, idiotic pronouncements as 'common good'. The Common Good matters not a jot when you cannot put food in the bellies of your people after all. The Common Good is as good as chaff upon the breeze when your leader bows and scrapes and drags his nation through the dirt before the immortal sisters of the Empire.

“Right,” Aznan says, sweeping the room with a gaze, holding his audience captive. “Thank you all for coming, at such personal risk to yourselves.”

“The Divinity guided our steps,” one of the Clerics mutters. “We give thanks to Her for our safe arrival at your residence.”

Aznan tries to avoid rolling his eyes. It had not been his idea to bring the clerics in on the plan, however, their support will be critical when the day of his revolution comes. Thus, he will stomach their pronouncements and their sermonizing and content himself with thoughts of burning their temples to the ground, all in the name of the people of course.

“Praise be to Her.” Aznan says softly. “Now, to business... Our colleagues in Equestria have come up with some rather good news.The Twin Demons have stepped up mobilization in response to the lesser Demon's ejection. That was masterfully done, by the way.” He gestures to Zafwan, who smiles faintly, however, one of the suited businessmen clears his throat, his whiskers vibrating angrily.
“It was foolish General, we provoked the wrath of a Princess of Equestria. Do you know what The Unholy are capable of with their backs to the wall?”

“I intend to find out,” Aznan says, his eyes narrowing. The other members of the group smile faintly, nodding in agreement. They all seemingly believe they're here with a common cause, which is enough for Aznan. However, he can see ripples of discomfort among the figureheads of industry. Even one of the clerics looks a little uneasy.

“My plan is to strike hard against Equestria, to cross the border and seize back the lands that they stole from us; lands that the current Shah should be pushing for the return of. I shall then conduct a high speed advance across Equestria, making best speed for Canterlot to cut the head off the snake that has poisoned our will.” Now every face in the room is looking nervous. Worried glances are cast left and right, and finally one of the industrial moguls speaks up.

“This is not what we discussed, General,” he growls. “We pledged to support a limited war fought in concert with our faction of Valorossiyans, a war that would enjoy a measure of support from our overseas allies. However, you speak of total war, a war of annihilation that will surely cut the fruit of our nation to the core.” He looks to the others for support, and the other businessmen nod. Aznan takes a deep breath, trying to rein in his patience and his temper. Divinity save me from idiots and thinly veiled racketeers. The aging warlord thinks as he marshals his patience.

“You would trust a matter of this importance to Valorossiyans?” Aznan asks sharply. “This is a matter of Faith. We are called by the Divinity to preserve and protect Her kingdom: there is no greater threat to the survival of Her dominion than the Twinned Demons. We should all be honoured to be called forth to serve,” he growls. “There can be no limited war here. We do not compromise with Demons, and we do not barter with the Unholy.” He points at the businessmen. “Do you have a garden?” The businessman in question nods, fluffing up with pride, but at the same time taken aback by this apparent non-sequitur.
“Well tell me then, if you merely cut off the head of the weed, will it not grow back?” Aznan asks gently, and the businessman nods slowly.

“Exactly, my friends. We could take the territories back and limit our advance, but Equestria will continue to press our borders and try our patience. We must cut the problem out at the root.” Aznan's tone softens, his hackles lowering and a warm smile spreading across his face. “It'll be just like gardening.”

The businessman nods quietly, taking his seat once more. As he does, however, another voice fills the air.
“Tell me, general, are you aware of Princess Twilight Sparkle's whereabouts?”
The General turns to regard the only human amongst their number, Ezekiel Ajax, their comrade from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, looks inquisitively at General Aznan, who tilts his head slightly.

“She is in Canterlot, being instructed on the finer points of how to hold a fork,” Aznan replies, wondering where this idiotic human is going with his thoughts. The foreign office man shakes his head, fixing Aznan with a look.

“She is not in Canterlot,” the human replies, his tone becoming more supercilious and servile to the aging warlord with every word. “Just yesterday, we received word that she's coming to Tarhen to 'foster good will.' I tried to intercept the visa, but the head of the Foreign Ministry snatched it off my desk and took it direct to the Shah, who approved it by royal decree.” The young Khan glances around the room, looking nervous.

Aznan takes a deep breath, thinking: This unexpected development won't change anything. The new princess has only been in power for three years. If this were the succubus Cadence, with two hundred years of experience and her own demonic power behind her, then it would be more of an issue. This is Princess Twilight, of limited power. A hideous hybrid with no distinguishing qualities besides a crown atop her head. Maybe it could even be turned to his advantage somehow. She'd make an ideal hostage if nothing else.
“Change nothing, continue as planned,” he says softly. A wave of his paw permisses the meeting devolve into small-talk, as such meetings always do.

After two hours, most of the guests make their excuses and depart, leaving Aznan alone in his drawing room with his oldest friend, Zafwan. Aznan sighs, collapsing back into his chair.
“Have we done all we can?”

“Your friends, what have they said?” Zafwan asks in turn, and Aznan takes a sip of his wine.

“The Federation are behind us, inasmuch as they are behind anything. They will provide a measure of support, though how much remains to be seen. I do not wish to count on their support until I have it in my hands. Mobocracies can never be counted on when the going gets rough.” Aznan grumbles. He's pleased that his private little crusade against Equestria has attracted so much attention from the overseas groups that he'd contacted.

“Director Caine has never failed us in the past. By the way, your spiel about faith and gardening was a most impressive performance. If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were a devout Believer.”

“Do you think the others bought it?” Aznan asks. “They really think the point of this is to clean out Equestria?”

“Hook line and sinker,' as Director Caine would say.” Zafwan replies.

“Excellent, let the ignorant fools continue to believe what they will.” Aznan leans back in his chair, gazing at the elaborate paintings upon the ceiling, before he turns and sips at his wine, and for the first time that evening; a genuine smile spreads across the aging general's face.

"This Princess bothers me, however," Zafwan says after a moment. "We are looking to provoke the Demons into doing something rash. Perhaps a welcoming gift for Equestria's newest princess should do it?"

"I like your thinking old friend," Aznan replies. "Secure some useful idiots, work them up and then turn them loose on the Princess when she arrives." Aznan can see the wisdom of his friend's decision: Whilst he's sure that Princess Twilight's capabilities will not amount to much, it is always good to make sure your loose ends have been tied up. Aznan’s gaze flicks out of his window to his own flower garden, a frown tugging at the edge of his mouth. The begonias are looking a little wan. He will need to procure plenty of ash to fertilize the flowers, but there should be enough of that lying around soon enough.
_____
The Pit. January 20th 1882 2015 Local Time (2215 Canterlot Standard)

The day had gotten off to a bad start when she’d met the NCO, who had been in charge of the Compagnie she would be working with. Adjutant Square Basher had had many things to say about her dress and behaviour, and he had been equally scathing about the state of her rifle, webbing and boots. He’d also bound her wings up, before taking her through his own morning warm up. Suffice to say, by half way through the morning she’d been very familiar with press-ups. The most embarrassing thing, however, was being held up to the other Legionnaires as an example of how not to do things, or even worse as an example of how to do them: “If a Princess who was in Canterlot two weeks ago can do it, you sorry sacks of meat have no excuse!”

After exercise came a hurried breakfast of lukewarm porridge and a lump of bread so coarse and hard that it felt like they were eating rocks, and then out to the ranges for bayonet training, which had been an exercise in violence that the ex-librarian will never forget any time soon. They had been met with a troop carrying drums, fifes and a pile of bloody sandbags and five frames that had been pounded into the desert. Each trooper then had to lash his own sandbag to the frame, before turning around and walking back to the group. He would then turn around, fix his bayonet and charge the sandbag to the accompaniment of drums and the roared encouragement of three caporals, who would throw rocks at anyone who slowed down or hesitated. Meanwhile, those who were not bayoneting sandbags were practicing hand to hand combat under the supervision of the other two caporals. Twilight had been fighting for two hours before her turn to stick the sandbags came, using her inexpert fists rather than her magic at the order of the caporals overseeing the fight, which had turned a triviality into a brutal struggle.

It hadn’t helped that she’d been purposefully partnered with the biggest and heaviest of the Legionnaires. Twilight understood the purpose of all this of course, to get the blood up, and the adrenaline flowing for the bayonet charge, to help break the Legionnaire into a combat effective soldier. However all the understanding of psychology in the world did not do anything to help her avoid getting pounded into the dirt time after time after time. The Legionnaire she'd been paired with, a powerfully-built Equestrian who must have had personal coaching from Iron Will, had not been merciful. His savage grin had made it clear that he'd have liked nothing more than to knock her out for real. It had been all Twilight could do to keep her feet whilst she danced out of the way of each powerful blow which would hit like a speeding train whenever it did make contact, and her own feeble jabs and swings had about as much effect as if she'd taken to punching Rarity's ex, Tom. Twilight had been extremely relieved when the shout came for her to cease brawling and get her sandbag.

Carrying the bloody, heavy sandbag the one hundred metres across the desert to the frame was an exercise in torment that Twilight had not dreamt of. She was hot, bruised, bloody, and sand was chafing in every orifice. Her boots were rubbing, and her feet were blistered. The sandbag was slippery in her still sweaty hands; it leaked still warm blood all over her back and it stank of rotting flesh, the reek that made Twilight’s head swim and every step made her want to vomit. Twilight managed to get it to the frame by an effort of will and secure it to the frame, before staggering back to the line.

Then the drums started, a shrill rasp that rang in her ears like the heartbeat of a clock, the deep powerful bass drums adding a powerful accompaniment as the first stirring strains of The Equestrian Grenadiers ring in her ears. “Her Royal Highness Twilight Sparkle, Affix Bayonet!”

Twilight fixed her bayonet quickly and raised the weapon to the appropriate position, tucking the butt of the weapon into her armpit, resting her cheek upon the bolt. “Her Royal Highness Twilight Sparkle, CHARGE!”

Twilight dashed forward at the command, rocks flying past her, the roars of the noncoms and the other trainees ringing in her ears as she charged the frame, rifle up and ready to stick the sandbag. The one hundred metre sprint weighed down by equipment as she was, flew by as she dashed through the desert. Rocks thwacked into the ground around her, but she kept sprinting, her wings held tight to her back by the instructor’s bindings. The desert was rocky and gritty, for which Twilight was grateful, as sand would have been even more painful to run over. However she ran faster as a rock whizzed dangerously close to her head, and then suddenly Twilight's foot slipped into a pothole, and she went flying through the air, to land face first on the ground with skinned elbows, her rifle flying out of her hands.

Twilight hauled herself to her feet, even as a rock thwacked her between the shoulderblades, and she was up and running, grabbing her rifle by the sling and hauling it back to the shoulder as the roaring of the NCOs and the other trainees ring in her ears. “GET A BLOODY MOVE ON, I THOUGHT PRINCESSES WEREN’T ALLOWED TO GET STONED!”

The target was now metres away and Twilight was up and running and then she made contact with the sandbag, and all the frustrations of the trip thus far, the idiot NCOs, the sand, her feelings all boiled up in one moment of adrenaline fuelled rage and Twilight rammed the bayonet home with an indistinct cry of rage. Twilight staggered slightly as the bayonet sank into the target, blood spraying out from inside and coating Twilight in the gory viscera. Whilst any other Legionnaire might have been taken in, Twilight could feel the enchantments that kept the sacks of blood inside under pressure. However it was still a frighteningly effective display and the Princess was shaking as she pulled the rifle out, causing another fountain of blood and viscera, and cut her dummy down for the next trainee, only for another rock to thwack home, slapping hard into her thigh.

“MAKE SURE IT’S DEAD, GUT THE BASTARD!” Square Basher bellowed, and so Twilight dropped the dummy and sank down on top of it, hacking clumsily at the sandbag and trying to chop it open with her shorter fighting knife until she finally lost her patience and summoned the magic rippling beneath her skin, blasting the sandbag across the desert and disintegrating it into a fine pink mist and a four foot long red streak in the dirt.

The stunned expressions of the other Legionnaires as she'd staggered back to them was almost worth the press-ups that had been inflicted upon her as punishment, the screams of the NCOs continuing to ring in her ears.

“ THAT’S TEN, YOU THINK YOU’RE BETTER THAN THE OTHERS?”

“ WE GAVE YOU A FUCKING ORDER, PRINCESS! FORTY FIVE!”

“NINETY NINE- COME ON, MY DEAD NAN CAN DO PRESS UPS FASTER!”

~~~
The Princess staggers into her room and feebly starts tugging at the sheets to prepare her bed, her body aching and sore. Everything hurts; her feet are burning, and her body is covered in a patchwork of bruises and scrapes. Twilight sighs and collapses heavily upon the bed. Today has been an absolutely dreadful day from beginning to end; a complete and utter shambles. She trained with the Fourth Compagnie today, rather than the usual one on one session with her friend. After the thorough beating that she’s been subjected to, Twilight has been well and truly wrung dry. Every muscle in Twilight’s body aches and her knees tremble. Her knuckles are bruised, and her knees are raw beneath her woolen trousers. Her hands are numb, and her body is shaking, but worst of all is the smell. God, I smell like a week old side of meat, Twilight thinks wearily. Stinking dried blood is drying into a thick brown crust upon her uniform, most of which is not her own. She wonders what on earth made her think that training with the Legion was a good idea.

Twilight shivers at the memories of the day. She glances at her bedding, and then at her clothes, and she sighs and awkwardly claws her way to standing. She turns and stumbles towards the small vanity. She needs to clean herself off, though she knows that no amount of magic or special shampoo or scrubbing will expunge the savage surge of glee that pulsed through her as she rammed the blade into the sandbag. Twilight cannot help but feel disgust as she recalls that strange, alien surge of glee… alien, not part of herself. Twilight grabs hold of that thought like a drowning man grabbing hold of a life raft. She gazes at the mirror, revulsion pulsing through her. Gone are the dainty, demure features of the youngest princess, replaced with- what?

Twilight draws a breath, summoning the mantra she has intoned a number of times during her stay in the Legion fort.“I am Twilight Sparkle. I am a princess. I am an ex-librarian. I am not a killer,” she whispers plaintively, reaching out to touch the mirror with one hand.

Twilight sucks in a deep breath. The blood-soaked visage gazes back at her.

Her eyelids quiver faintly, and Twilight’s hand drops down to her side as her eyelids snap shut. “I am Twilight Sparkle... I am a Princess…” her tone quavers.

You just keep telling yourself that, Princess. That icy voice in the back of her mind that Twilight had heard after she blasted the cruiser into shreds. You just keep lying to yourself if it helps you sleep at night.

The room spins in a fuzzy blur as Twilight turns to try and find her wash-kit. She feels her eyes misting up and her heart pounding nineteen to the dozen. Her stomach churns as she spots her wash-kit, and Twilight feels like she wants to throw up. She misses Canterlot and the banquets; she misses her comforting fireside chats with the two princesses where the three of them would mull over items of policy, occasionally to be joined by Princess Cadence when her former babysitter was not busy running her own principality. She misses Celestia's teasing, Luna's singing, and Cadence's warm and tender nature. She misses when things were simple, and the fate of her Empire didn’t rest in her hands.

Twilight grips her sides and huddles forward, opening her mouth to release an anguished wail, when suddenly she hears a sharp rapping at the door. Twilight gasps a deep breath to try and calm her rebellious body and soul. She releases the breath with a shiver, feeling the tension in her body flowing out with it as she is jerked back into reality. She can go to pieces later. Right now she has things to do.

She groans softly, summoning the energy to haul herself to the door. The former librarian staggers over to the doorway, rubbing her aching belly as she does so. Twilight is suddenly aware of the fact that she is ravenously hungry. Twilight eats with the Officers, as much for her own safety as out of reasons of propriety, but the food still isn't that great. Right now, however, Twilight would kill for some more of that hard and rock-like Legion bread. Twilight approaches the door, scooping her revolver from her night-stand as she walks past. Twilight's hand then closes around the latch, and she slides it back, revolver held behind her back. She looks out to see a Legionnaire in combat dress, complete with fatigues, webbing and pith helmet, standing at the door, looking a little apprehensive as he regards the princess, still covered from head to toe in blood.

“Ma'am.” He clicks his heels together and lifts his hand in a quick sharp salute, which Twilight returns. “Colonel Zaranov wants to see you immediately.”

“Do I have time to get dressed?” Twilight asks, hoping that she can at least get changed out of her blood-spattered clothes, but the Legionnaire shakes his head.

“Colonel Zaranov wishes to see you at once ma'am.” Twilight nods, making every effort not to whine in frustration. Just when she'd thought she'd be getting some peace, something's come unglued, and Colonel Zaranov wants her to sort it out. Twilight quickly walks over to her bed, reaching under it to grab her rifle, followed by the webbing which she slides on with a practiced swing. One of the things that has been made abundantly clear to her during her introductory tour was that the area around the camp is a hostile area, and so soldiers, and by extension Twilight, are expected to be armed at all times. Even when in the cook-house, every single soldier is carrying his or her rifle, shotgun or carbine and most are carrying various forms of bladed implement. Twilight has never been around a group of people quite so obviously armed and dangerous, and it's actually more than a little disquieting.

Twilight shoulders her weapon and wanders out, following the Legionnaire through the fortress in the direction of the parade square. Even at this late hour, the fortress is still humming gently with activity. Twilight passes soldiers lugging crates of ammunition this way, and that and past squads running to their positions. As they continue, she notices things are slightly off about the fortress. Every single light in the place has been doused and nobody's marching. Instead an air of purposeful haste pervades the fastness as soldiers are trotting quickly to the walls. Bricks and half-bricks of men are moving up to take positions, but when Twilight tries to ask the young Legionnaire about what's going on, the Legionnaire just grunts.

After a few minutes of hurried walking, the Legionnaire leads her to an archway built into the fortress's thick walls, where two sentries are posted outside, carbines propped under their arms. They salute as Twilight draws near, and one soundlessly draws back the curtain, behind which is a set of spiral staircases that swoop steeply into the darkness. Twilight bites her lip, before the Legionnaire gestures quickly as he starts down the stairs, his hobnailed boots clattering loudly upon the cobbled stairs. Twilight glances down into the throat of darkness apprehensively, before she follows the Legionnaire down the stairs, summoning light with the snap of her fingers, illuminating stark brick walls with a flickering lavender glow as she descends down the breathtakingly steep stairway. As they head deeper into the bowels of the fortress, Twilight can hear the low rumble of voices echoing off the walls, and the light from below steadily brightens until Twilight rounds a corner and steps into a small round bunker, with a raised platform in the centre.

The command centre is brightly lit and filled with the noise of orders being barked and the rapid chattering of typewriters and telegraph machines, along with the lightning fast stuttering of morse-code messages being tapped out and the clatter of cipher wheels. The command centre stinks of ink and paper, of leather and sweaty bodies. All the Legionnaires inside are stripped to their undershirts as they man various stations, operating telegraph equipment or pushing blocks across the map table laid out before the pulpit. Even Zaranov is stripped to the waist, Valorossiyan tribal war tattoos twisting across his ivory skin like the webs of spiders. Zaranov stands above the chaos, upon a raised platform in the centre of the room, holding his Colonel's baton like the stick of a maestro conducting a symphony. He is not alone on the platform, however, with him is a robed figure whom Twilight can see is wearing the emblems of a Seer. How the Scry-operator can work in the sweltering heat of the ops room in those robes, Twilight has no idea, and she's not about to disturb the litanies he is chanting to ask.

“Princess Twilight Sparkle has come sir!” the runner who had been sent to get her bellows, and Zaranov instantly whirls around to face Twilight. The hulking Val gestures with his baton for her to come up and join him.

“Princess!” Zaranov bellows, his tone a little warmer than usual. “Come here, quickly, and be careful not to get knocked off your feet!” With that, Twilight nervously steps down into the pit, forcing her way anxiously through the teeming crowd of Legionnaires to the stairs leading up to Zaranov's platform. She mounts the stairs and clambers up to join Zaranov overseeing the madhouse that is the Second Regiment's fortress command centre.

“Greetings Princess, so glad you could join us!” Zaranov growls. “We have come to a problem that would perhaps benefit from Princess involvement.” He gestures at the map table before them, the map table depicting the fortress. Twilight doesn't need any help at all to see what he's indicating. A single orange block is being pushed closer to the fortress by a Legionnaire with a stick.

“We have detected an airship approaching the fortress... we are unable to identify the airship make or the owner. It doesn't appear hostile yet, but we are taking no chances,” Zaranov says, and the Seer clears his throat beneath his hooded robe. Twilight can see the Seer’s eyes are glazed, his expression distant as his hand rises to gently stroke the blue velvety bandana, his fingers lingering over the faint bulge of the third eye in the middle of his forehead .

“The dancing motes carry hooded sharpened edges that may yet fly as all will lift with the will of the All-Seeing Eye,” the Seer intones reverently, his entranced expression blissful as he gestures in the direction of the block of wood that has been pushed towards the castle. Zaranov sighs, Twilight can almost see the exasperation on the Colonel’s face. Twilight’s eyebrows knit together in confusion from the Seer’s behaviour. She's never had much experience with the Equestrian Seer Cult, and she's quite keen to keep it that way. The idea that the Seer can see almost anything has never sat well with her.

“Give me two scouts with long-rifles any day. I don’t like hocus pocus,” Colonel Zaranov mutters to Twilight as the Seer turns to continue imploring his god to reveal more. Twilight nods glumly.

A Legionnaire suddenly raises her voice from the pit, drawing Twilight's attention. “Sir, I've got a transmission from the welcoming committee.”

“Put it on the speakers,” Zaranov snaps, his woes with the Seer Cult apparently forgotten. The voice over the comm-line is distorted by the rapid howl of the wind in the background of the transmission, but even over the wind, Twilight can recognise Rainbow Dash's brash tones.

“Sun-ray, this is Swift Seven Eight. We're eyes on target; one medium sized airship, real gaudy. It's armed and has a tonne of comm gear in the back with aerials and shit, looks to be a cat-ship.”

“What do those fuckers want?” Zaranov grumbles under his breath.

“Sun-ray, we're hailing them now, they look to be-” The transmission suddenly cuts out in a sharp squelch of static. For a moment in the operations room, there is absolute silence. No one can quite bring themselves to believe what they've just heard. Twilight's heart jumps into her mouth, and she grips the rail of the platform tight, hoping no one can see her white knuckles.

“Raise them again!” Zaranov snarls quickly. “It could be comms interference.”

The Legionnaire quickly starts spinning dials and whirling through frequencies, the shrill squeal of the radio being tuned filling the room. The Legionnaire shakes the radio and then thumps the side of it, before turning back to Zaranov and shaking his head quickly. Zaranov turns to his soldiers and clears his throat.

“Get those searchlights going!” he orders, gesticulating angrily to various Legionnaires who scramble to obey him. Tension fills the air as the other Legionnaires rush through the archways, a hubbub of voices filling the air as Legionnaires try to make themselves heard over the orders. Twilight's gaze is suddenly drawn to her left by a sharp movement. As she turns, the Seer standing next to her suddenly grunts and gasps, his withered hand suddenly clasping at the side of his head. The Seer then howls out in pain, screaming of blasphemy and desecration even as he collapses to the ground. Zaranov stiffens but steps into the Seer's path, catching the Seer and lowering him to the ground to avoid the sorcerer cracking his head on the dias, before turning back to his battle.

“Ready the rifles on the walls!” Zaranov growls. “If it's actually the cats, then hold fire but if it's bandits, you're free to fire when they close to range.”

A Legionnaire clears his throat from his station, raising his hand. “Sir, we have reports from the wall; the searchlights are active; they have line of sight on the airship and our receiving skiff; they do not have eyes on the receiving team!” he calls to Zaranov, who grunts in reply. Twilight wipes the sweat from her brow. The room is unbearably hot, even dressed as she is in her singlet and combat trousers. Twilight's heart thunders in her ears. She knows that one wrong move here will spell war. Zaranov seems to have the situation well in hand however and so Twilight tries to force herself to relax. It's one airship; that's all. If this was actually the precursor to an all-out offensive by the Khanate, then they wouldn't use one airship to assault a regimental HQ.

However, she cannot help but worry about Rainbow Dash, out there in the darkness... Twilight shakes her head quickly, trying to shake the doubts that cling to her back like howler monkeys. Dash is a Caporal, a decorated Non-commissioned officer. She will know what to do, how to keep herself safe. However, the worries are rather more persistent than that and continue to prod at the back of her spine like a particularly irritating itch.

Twilight suddenly hears a voice raised above the hubbub. “I'm getting comms traffic on frequency one oh nine point five. The airship's radio operator is hailing us.”

“Put him on,” Zaranov replies. “I want to hear what this Bylad has to say before I turn him into a hat.” The thick accent of the unknown airship's radio operator fills the room.

“This is the Holy Ship Divine Providence requesting permission to land within your perimeter as a matter of urgency.”

“Providence, this is Centurion, you are not cleared to enter our perimeter until we confirm the status of our welcoming team. They are non-responsive to communications, given the nature of relations between our governments, we are assuming hostile intent on your part,” the Legionnaire at the microphone intones.

“Affirmative, please wait for me to fetch the Justicar,” the voice on the other side of the line responds

For a second, there is silence in the command centre, before Zaranov gestures at one of his colleagues. “Zero our anti-air guns. If they try and rush us I want you to splash them across the desert,” Zaranov barks, and Twilight flinches slightly. She doesn't want to be the one who allowed things to kick off, and so she clears her throat. Zaranov whirls, rounding upon her. “Is there something I can help you with, Princess?” the massive Valorossiyan growls.

“Do we know they're hostile?” Twilight asks.

“Given the fact that our two governments are very nearly at each other's throats, given the fact it's a Justicar ship, given my reception committee is currently unresponsive; I'm working on that likelihood,” Zaranov says each word sharp as a knife. As he speaks, he draws closer to her until he looms over her. Twilight tilts her head backwards to try and look the massive Valorossiyan in the eye, all four of them. Twilight tries to ignore the icy tingle of fear that slowly settles in her stomach. Over the two weeks she's spent in the colonel's company, enjoying such hospitality as the remote legion fort was able to provide, she'd almost forgotten that he was a Valorossiyan, with all that that entailed. Now as he towers over her, she's very suddenly reminded rather sharply of quite how dangerous he is. Zaranov's face is bleak as a cliff edge, the bony sheets rippling beneath his skin holding the power of an avalanche in check. His lips are pulled back into something between a snarl and a grimace, an expression that reveals a set of wickedly sharp fangs.

“One more thing, Princess, I have had good Legionnaires killed already this month thanks to the interference of a Princess. I will not tolerate a repetition of that.” Zaranov's voice is almost a whisper, however, Twilight has absolutely no difficulty hearing the commander of the regiment.

“Do we understand each other, your highness?” Zaranov finishes, almost spitting the last two words out. Twilight marshals her strength, summoning her courage.

“Absolutely, Colonel,” she says, keeping eye contact with him. Zaranov opens his mouth to reply, but before he can do so, a voice rings out through the speaker.

“This is the Justicar. I wish to land in your perimeter and confer with Princess Twilight Sparkle immediately.” The voice is condescending and arrogant, with a surety of purpose that reminds Twilight more than a little of Luna or Zaranov. Hard edges and cold, sharp words. “I move with the purpose of God behind me. Do not attempt to halt me in this endeavour, or it shall be war.”

The Legionnaire at the radio glances nervously up at Zaranov, who holds his hand out for the microphone, which the Legionnaire soundlessly hands to him. “This is Sun-ray. Princess Twilight Sparkle is currently unavailable, however, we shall send a runner to get her. However, there is the matter of our welcoming party.”

“Your advance guard is alive and well, my ship is fitted with jamming systems that may be interfering with their communications. One moment please.” As if a switch is flipped, Rainbow Dash's voice fizzles through the comms system and Twilight feels a knot in her chest that she didn't know had been tied loosening. Her shoulders relax very slightly, even as other Legionnaires in the command centre let out a collective sigh of relief. Maybe war isn't going to start tonight.

“There,” the Justicar growls. “I have demonstrated good faith, now allow me to speak to Princess Twilight Sparkle.”

“We are sending a runner to get her-”

“She is standing next to you in the fortress' command centre. Put her on the line.”

Zaranov's eyes widen but before he can do anything drastic, Twilight summons her courage and snatches the microphone from the Val, who doesn't resist her taking it from him. “This is Princess Twilight Sparkle,” Twilight says, her palms sweating very faintly as she grips the microphone. “To whom am I speaking?”

“You are speaking to the Justicar.”

“Do you have a name, Justicar?” Twilight asks, and there is a moment's pause before the voice comes back.

“You may call me Prophet,” the Justicar says firmly. “Now, Your Highness, I would like to speak with you at once regarding the situation that we find ourselves in. I have no wish to see my countrymen slaughtered in a war against the unclean, and it is my understanding that you are likewise committed to peace. I was told this by Diplomatic Incident. I wish to land inside your fortress' perimeter.” Prophet's voice is cold and hard, uncompromising. Twilight bites her lip, tapping her waning reserves of diplomatic ability. The mention of her friend Diplomatic Incident sends a shiver down her spine. She's not been told anything about how the old fox is doing, no word has been sent, or transmission received. Any word, even one from a Justicar would be preferable to nothing at all.

“I see, one moment, please,” Twilight says into the microphone, and the voice laughs.

“Do not wait too long, I am not a patient Khan.”

With that, Twilight puts the microphone down and turns to Zaranov. “What do you think, Colonel?” She asks, and Zaranov shakes his head.

“No, Princess, Justicar or not, he's an agent of the Khan government who slaughtered my Legionnaires. I don't trust him Princess.”

“I don't think it's a question of trust Colonel, we need all the friends we can get... a Justicar would be a powerful ally.”

“Or a powerful enemy agent,” Zaranov counters. “What guarantee have you got that he will not just try to slaughter us all?”

Twilight sighs and shakes her head. “None, Colonel, but I do not see turning him away resulting in anything but bloodshed. I don't have to agree to whatever he may want... we should at least hear him out, if only to get some useful information about Diplomatic Incident.” Twilight says softly, and Zaranov grimaces but then he nods after a second.

“Very well, we shall listen to him, but you shall be escorted when you speak with him, and I will be present.”

“I wouldn't have it any other way,” Twilight replies, intending it to be a mollifying gesture after their brief but rather dangerous argument. She is not expecting the faint smile that spreads across Colonel Zaranov's lips. Twilight then picks up the microphone once more. “Prophet, you are welcome to land within the fortress, I shall meet you upon your arrival.”

“Excellent, it is good to see that even unbelievers can sometimes be capable of rational thought. I shall meet you shortly, Princess Twilight Sparkle.”

Twilight nods, biting her lip. Being outright insulted by foreigners is not something that she enjoys, and whilst she isn't Rarity, she'd love nothing more than to put the Justicar in his place. Twilight knows better though, she needs all the friends that she can get right now, and if that means developing a thick skin, then she shall have to toughen up as appropriate. “Right, I'll go meet him,” Twilight says, and Zaranov shakes his head.

“You will not meet a Justicar dressed like that.” Zaranov gestures at Twilight and she suddenly realises that she's still dressed in her fatigues and webbing, and she's still smeared in pig blood. Twilight blushes, and then turns, sprinting for the stairs, Zaranov's mocking laughter ringing in her ears.

As Twilight dashes through the fortress, she tries to dredge the little she knows about Justicars to the front of her mind. She knows that they're a militant order of sorts, one that predates the current government by several centuries. Fanatically devoted to the Khanate, the fact that an organisation wielding such far-reaching powers has survived in the twisting treacherous mire of Khan politics is concerning to Twilight. They rarely get involved in business outside the Khanate, however, which is why the order remains shrouded in mystery. What little Twilight does know is enough to make her very worried indeed, if the fact that the Justicar had been able to not only break through the fortress' own meagre magical defences but also shut down the fortress' Seer wasn't enough. Khan magic wielders are few and far between, but those few who do exist tend to be very powerful and very dangerous. Twilight grimaces at that thought, not relishing reaching for her own magic after such a long and tiring day.

Twilight manages to dash to her own quarters, quickly sprinting through the shower to try and scrub the worst of the muck off and get the worst of the sand and dirt out from under her fingernails. Dressing in a hurry is nothing new to Celestia's former student, who had more than once forgotten to set her alarm after a particularly intense studying session, but this is in a league all of its own. Inside of five minutes, she's through the shower and out the other side, dashing down the corridor to her room, where a Legionnaire has helpfully already laid out a selection of dresses upon the bed for her.

Twilight quickly starts to dress, pulling on one of her loose-fitting evening dresses. The dress is a flowing silky deep lavender with bright silver vines tracing their way up the fabric. It leaves her shoulders bare, along with her back, although part of that is to give her wings room to breathe. Twilight tugs the dress on, only to find that what had been tight two weeks ago is now, in fact, surprisingly roomy. Maybe this fresh air and exercise isn't quite so bad as she'd expected. Twilight then pulls a shawl on, trying to stop her hands from shaking as she does so. She needs to dress within Khanate bounds of decency after all. Twilight then sets to applying her makeup, a quick snap of the fingers to drag the requisite brushes across her face, followed by a dash of lipstick. At the same moment, she raises another enchantment to drag her hair-brush through her tangled, knotty mass of hair. Her distinctive bright pink fringe is all over the place, and the purple stripe is likewise mixed with the rest of her dark hair.

Having done this, Twilight slips into a pair of plain flat shoes. Whilst she knows how to walk in heels, she'd rather not try and negotiate the fortress' cobbled walkways in them: there are few methods of creating a poorer first impression than face-planting in front of a visiting dignitary. Twilight then summons her tiara, sliding it onto her head. The tiny golden tiara, despite appearing to be light and insubstantial is, in fact, quite heavy; almost as heavy as her state crown that is safely locked away in Canterlot Castle's vault. Princess Celestia says that the weight of the crown teaches a lesson about the weight of a Princess' duty. Twilight doesn't even want to think about what that says about Celestia's own much larger and heavier crown. As Twilight finishes dressing, she becomes aware of a gently pulsing headache behind the ears, but she ignores it as she applies the finishing touches to her attire, before heading for the door.

Twilight, having dressed appropriately, turns on her heel and walks out, her mind returning to thoughts of that Justicar. Her studies were no help here: The books on the Khanate and the treatises concerning Equestrian-Khanate relations contained nothing more than footnotes on the Justicars. However, what she had read detailed enough to worry the young princess. The texts that did mention the Justicars were often contradictory; indeed, the only things that the texts had agreed upon were that the Justicars are an institution as old as the Khanate itself, dedicated to the protection and preservation of the Khan people and their faith. As far as Twilight understands matters, Justicars are akin to the old Dragonaurs of ancient Equestria, lone riders that hold the power to dispense summary justice according to the impenetrable laws of their faith. The Justicars' power is enshrined in laws that have withstood the test of hundreds of years of civil war and political wrangling. A Justicar can release a man or have him executed with little more than a shrug and a gesture.

Twilight bites her lip as she walks through the fortress, aware of other Legionnaires watching her from their accommodation block windows. She takes a deep breath and straightens her back. She will not look weak; she cannot look weak in front of men who have sworn to die in her defence. The least she can do is look confident. As Twilight draws closer to the landing pad, she can hear the low drone of an incoming airship's engines. She bites her lip and keeps walking, trying to keep her nervousness from showing. Nerves won't do; the Khans do not respect fear, holding those who show it in supreme contempt. As Twilight walks, however, she becomes aware of the crunching of hobnailed boots just behind her. Twilight turns to see fourteen Legionnaires marching behind her.

Three NCOs and twelve men, all wearing the same Compagnie colours marching in perfect step, all dressed in their dress uniforms, complete with the strange white pillbox hats that Twilight has learnt are called the Klepi Blanc. Their white leather belts and webbing are immaculate, the brass fixtures gleam and their uniforms are spotless. The leader is bearing the battle-standard of the Second Regiment, and the Legionnaire on his left is bearing the Equestrian flag. That is not what Twilight notices about them, however. Most of them are wounded in some fashion or other. Several have had to cut sleeves or legs off their uniform to fit the architecture of their new prosthetic limbs, hydraulic monstrosities that hiss and whir with each movement. Twilight's mouth goes dry, and she falters for a moment as she recognizes the black Ninth Compagnie patch on their arms.

The Ninth had been at the embassy... These were the Legionnaires I visited in hospital, Twilight remembers, trying to stop her mouth from dropping open in shock. The group of Legionnaires halt before her with a crashing crunch of hobnails.

“Caporal Arran Smith at your service ma'am.” The leader snaps from behind a white scarf that he's wrapped around his face “This sorry lot are the remnants of the Ninth... We're here to serve as your honour guard ma'am. Do we meet with your approval?” he asks, but Twilight can only nod mutely. These Legionnaires have gone through enough; she doesn't need to shake them up any further... but she has no idea of the protocol. She will be talking about Zaranov with this though; that much is certain. She's certain that this gesture will offend the Khan representative, using the Compagnie that killed quite a few of his people. However, his people killed quite a few of hers, and she's not going to miss a chance to rub his face in that fact.

“I could not wish for a finer honour guard, Caporal,” Twilight says after a second. “Your commitment to your duty does your regiment proud.” She notices the Caporal, and the other Legionnaires standing a little straighter at this point. “One question before we go meet the Khans... where is Caporal Bolt?”

“She will be joining us at the landing ground ma'am; she is carrying the Compagnie banner,” Caporal Smith replies. Twilight nods at this, and then turns on her heel to start walking, slowing her pace down somewhat so that she's just in front of the Legionnaires, the two banner men moving to flank her. As they do, Twilight hears the first notes of a song rising from the group in the peculiar creole that the Legion use to talk among themselves. The slow beat of the march makes it sound almost like a funereal dirge, but Twilight's back still straightens as the voices raised in song reach upward to the heavens.

Twilight leads her small honour guard onwards towards the landing pad, eventually turning a corner and seeing the airship is already coming in to land upon the parade square, its bright flashing collision warning beacons casting a strange red cast over the whole affair. The airship is fairly large, slightly bigger than a cruiser. Spotlights illuminate the gondola slung below the airship, playing off the crimson armour-plating with its golden trim. Symbols adorn the ship; banners hang from its weapons and verses of scripture are carved into the golden trim. The armoured recesses studding the airship's underside are closed, keeping the Justicar's weapons sheathed, however, Twilight can still detect a palpable air of menace emanating from the vermillion encrusted warship. The growl of its engines makes the hairs on the back of Twilight's neck stand on end as she realises that if the airship's commander wishes it to, it can quite easily start taking lumps out of the fortress.

Twilight approaches the parade square, finding Zaranov standing there dressed in his tan officer's dress, Rainbow Dash standing next to him with the black flag of the Ninth Compagnie. Looking out around the parade square,Twilight can see that Zaranov has arranged a welcoming committee of his own: The buildings surrounding the landing area have their windows open, and in each window, Twilight can see a Legionnaire in full combat dress, with his rifle raised to open fire on the parade square. Twilight rounds on Zaranov.

“Colonel, we cannot have them up there!” Twilight snaps. “They could provoke the delegation!”

Zaranov shrugs. “I would not be doing my duty to my regiment if I did not take appropriate steps to protect my Legionnaires... negotiations with Khans are best conducted from a position of strength anyway,” he says calmly, but Twilight shakes her head, not buying his logic for one second.

“That's a Justicar in there... he won't think that a forest of bayonets pointing at him is strength at all.”

“That's what the last one who tried to demand things of me thought, I grant you,” Zaranov says, and Twilight cannot help but wince. However before she can reply, Zaranov clears his throat and gestures up to the airship, and as Twilight watches, a hatch slowly slides open. A figure robed in crimson silently appears in the opening, before calmly stepping off the hatch, into empty air. Twilight gasps, feeling her heart lurch in her chest, however, the robed figure simply stops, standing upon nothing but empty air. The robed figure then calmly starts to descend, walking upon the air as if he's descending a flight of stairs. A ripple of gasps of superstitious awe rise from the Legionnaires arranged around the parade square. Twilight, however, is far more worldly. She has seen other sorcerers perform similar magic, and indeed she can perform that spell herself. She just chooses not to. No one likes a show-off.

As the Justicar descends, Twilight catches glimpses of something bulky beneath his robe, and when he reaches the ground, Twilight realises he is indeed armed and armoured. A longsword is at his hip though the buttons upon the grip of the blade make it clear that this is rather more than just a decorative piece of ornamentation. The Khan is sheathed in blood-red armour the same colour as his ship, with the same bright golden trim. His armour is richly engraved, with an embossed winged feline skull upon the breastplate, and hanging off his belt is what appears to be a prayer-book and a pair of incense burners that gently smoulder, giving the armoured Justicar a strange fragrance. He is also clad in a hooded cloak that billows and furls gently around him in time with the desert breeze, and even though the hood is pulled up to conceal his face, Twilight can see one bright golden eye gleaming in the darkness beneath his hood. The Justicar certainly isn't human, Twilight can tell that much, just by glancing at the bow legs of his armour and the two subtle points in his hood where his ears protrude.

“Your Highness,” the Justicar growls softly as he comes closer to Twilight and bows low before her, his armour rattling very faintly. “I apologise for my manners upon the radio. My communications are under scrutiny by my Order. I have appearances to keep up,” he says, straightening up. His voice is low and sonorous with a strange growling harmonic that reminds Twilight of a grist mill.

The Justicar then straightens up. When he pushes his hood back, Twilight is unable to keep her guts from twisting very faintly in shock: The Justicar is obviously of mountain-cat heritage, with rich tawny fur fading to white around the base of his muzzle, along with very prominent whiskers and specks of black dotting his fur. However it is not this which draws Twilight's attention. The Justicar is missing his right eye, though where Rainbow Dash has a patch covering the empty socket, the Justicar has opted for an ugly prosthetic, all black metal and telescopic lens, with a faint red glow emanating from the core of the prosthesis. The Justicar's muzzle is likewise decorated with a series of well-treated scars that trace thin lines in his fur. Obviously the Justicar has been seen to by a doctor who knows his trade. The Justicar's remaining eye flashes faintly and Twilight summons her courage.

“We are pleased to make your acquaintance, Justicar Prophet, though we do not recall your radio transmissions,” she says, and the Justicar nods politely, before glancing around the compound.

“Clearly,” he rumbles, noticing the Legionnaires, and Twilight detects his hackles rising slightly, however, he merely gestures with one gauntleted hand and every single window with an armed Legionnaire inside slams shut with a resounding bang, and Twilight relaxes very slightly. She'd been worried about how he'd take that.

“I see you are slow to trust me,” he says softly, and Zaranov clears his throat.

“We have had dealings with your kind before, Khan,” the Valorossiyan says softly, and Prophet tilts his head.

“You were involved in the exodus of 1875?” he growls, and Zaranov shakes his head.

“That was a Navy matter, no, I'm referring to the unpleasantness two weeks ago. To that end, might I present what remains of the Ninth Compagnie.” Zaranov gestures at the honour guard and Twilight can hear them shifting uncomfortably behind her. The Khan glances at them, his eyes narrowing faintly and his whiskers vibrating angrily.

“So these are the soldiers who massacred two hundred of my countrymen when they protested-”

Zaranov looks like he wants to reply, and Twilight can almost feel the anger of the Legionnaires radiating off the back of her neck, and so she decides to take matters firmly in hand.

“Enough!” she snaps, even surprising herself with the power of that pronouncement. “We shall discuss that matter in due course, for now we shall retire to offices more suitable for discussion and debate.”

Zaranov and Prophet both turn to look at her, startled by her outburst. Prophet recovers first, however. “Forgive me, your Highness, I let my anger cloud my judgement.”

Zaranov merely clicks his heels sharply, before saluting and turning upon his heel. “Suitable rooms have been prepared, if Your Highness would like to follow me. Caporal Bolt, if you could dismiss your colleagues, you're now at liberty.”

“Yes sir!” Rainbow Dash snaps, snapping off a salute before heading over to her honour guard and barking commands at them. Twilight, however, is now following Zaranov and, so those commands are rapidly fading into the distance. Prophet walks at her shoulder, his tail twitching beneath his cloak. Twilight can feel the anger practically vibrating off the Khan, an intensity that suggests the holy man is practically begging to offer comment.

“Do you wish to say something?” Twilight asks, deciding to let him speak his mind before he sits down at a table with Zaranov. Maybe if she does so, he'll be civil when the time comes for them to negotiate.

“I would not offend your highness for all the world... but these will be diplomatic proceedings of a delicate nature, I am not sure how wise it would be to have a Valorossiyan present, particularly not one so... intimately involved in the proceedings,” he says softly, and Twilight tilts her head as she considers her response. She should really take him to task for making such comments about the garrison commander.

“We have utmost confidence in Colonel Zaranov's martial skill, he will need to be present for the nature of our discussions.”

“Has it reached that stage already?”

“That will depend on the word you bring from Diplomatic Incident,” Twilight replies. “We hope it will not reach 'that stage' as it were, and that our two nations can resume sensible discourse.”

“The Divinity Protects,” Prophet replies grimly. “That is, in fact, why I wish to speak to you... It is my concern that the will of the Divinity, through her divinely appointed agent the Shah is not being carried out correctly. Your diplomatic visa never reached the desk of the Foreign Ministry for instance. Likewise, it is not the belief of the Shah that Equestria is to blame for the domestic tensions, however, the Minister of the Interior disagrees, hence why they have arrested Diplomatic Incident.”

Twilight's eyes widen. “Wait, what?” she snaps, and Prophet's eyes widen as his ears twitch.

“Wait, you did not know? Diplomatic Incident was arrested earlier today when he was found at the site of a suicide bombing,” Prophet says after a moment. “Why he's been arrested, no one's been willing to say, but I went to speak with him whilst he was being questioned by the Ministry of Internal Order. It was rather fortunate I was there I suppose, as they were heating up the irons when I arrived.” As Twilight's face goes pale, however, Prophet raises his hand quickly in an attempt to reassure her. “Relax, no harm shall come to him, I have placed my protection on him. No one shall dare harm him, lest they incur the wrath of my order.”

Twilight doesn't trust herself to speak. The books she's read about the Justicars tell her that they do indeed have that kind of power and their fearsome reputation could perhaps ensure Diplomatic Incident's safety; however, something about Prophet sets her teeth on edge. His calm confidence, the fact that he came to a meeting with foreign dignitaries armed to the teeth and in a combat-capable airship. Ultimately, her concern for Diplomatic Incident compels her to take anything said by a Khan with a grain of salt.

“We shall hold you to your word, Prophet,” Twilight says grimly as they turn a corner and head into the officer's mess.

The Officers’ Mess for the Pit isn't much. In comparison to the positively palatial conditions of the Officers’ Messes of the Guard regiments back home, the Pit's Officer's mess is positively spartan. The room is dimly lit, with a low ceiling, and faded rugs upon the floor instead of carpet. Guttering oil lamps set at each low table cast flickering shadows upon the walls. Trophies gleam and flash from their wall-brackets. The room is practically deserted, though the still gently smouldering butts in the ash trays upon each table suggest it hasn't been abandoned for long. A couple of serving girls are still wiping down the tables as Zaranov leads them over to a small alcove which is slightly better lit than the rest, and takes a seat on the right hand side of the table. Twilight takes her place at the head of the table, and Prophet soundlessly makes his way to the other end of the table, calmly taking a seat and planting his elbows upon the table, clasping his gauntleted hands and bowing his head.

Twilight watches, intrigued, as Prophet starts to mutter words in his own native tongue, a tongue that Twilight still does not yet know, despite her weeks spent trying to learn. Twilight finds the strange rhythm faintly hypnotic, the low grumbling harmonic of the Khan's voice adding subtleties to the words that the human tongue just cannot match. Zaranov, however, is obviously not quite so enthused, clearing his throat sharply.

“We can start whenever you wish,” Zaranov says, fixing the Khan with an icy glare. Prophet responds with a stony gaze of his own and Twilight clears her throat sharply to bring the two back to their senses. “Apologies,” Zaranov says softly. “I was just reminding our friend here that some of us have been up since early this morning, and we would appreciate this meeting being kept brief.”

Prophet nods. “I understand, I shall keep this short and to the point. We can discuss the... ins and outs of the situation tomorrow, the long and short of it, however, is as follows: The Shah does not want war with Equestria. He wishes for the return of the provinces your princesses stole from us, but it is his hope that such things can be resolved by peaceful means. He has asked me to pass on his concerns about Equestria's intentions, however. In the interests of brevity, I shall be blunt. He is concerned about your commitment to peace.”

Twilight's eyes widen slightly and her mouth drops open. “Our commitment- I don't-”

Prophet gives her a level look. “You are aware that three Equestrian armies have been moved to our borders and that two whole Aero-fleets are likewise positioned uncomfortably close to our territory. That is close to seven hundred and fifty thousand men. This does not include the regiment of dispossessed that is already inside our territory.” Prophet lists off the points on his fingers and Twilight nods. She'd understood that Luna would be mobilising elements of the army and the navy to respond, however, she hadn't expected those contingents to be very large. Seven hundred and fifty thousand men however...

“For what it's worth,” Prophet continues, “those men are dug in into defensive positions, and the fleets are likewise positioned to repel an invasion rather than commence one. However, I only know that because I visited the positions myself. The government of my nation is in a state very much resembling panic about an invasion. The removal, or at least, the reduction of that number of troops, would go a long way towards lessening tensions.”

Zaranov clears his throat. “Are you empowered to negotiate for the Khanate?” he asks sharply. Prophet shakes his head.

“I am not, I am merely a messenger and a guide. I serve the interests of the Divinity and the Shah, rather than the government. Both of them desire peace. I am here to assist you in your negotiations.”

Twilight neglects to mention that she had a perfectly good assistant, until he was arrested.
“So the Khanate's primary goal in these negotiations will be to secure those provinces back and get our troops removed from your borders?” she asks, before Zaranov can offer yet another biting retort that will begin a shouting match. Prophet pauses for a moment, obviously thinking, before he nods.

“That will be a good start, they will also want reparations for those two hundred-”

“They can whistle for that,” Zaranov interrupts. “I'm sorry princess, but I will not apologise, or have my legionnaires get put on trial, for following the oath to defend the Crown.”

Twilight nods. “Colonel Zaranov has a point, those two hundred wouldn't be dead if your people had kept tighter control of the situation, Prophet.”

Prophet nods. “That brings us quite neatly on to the true purpose for my visit. Someone in the Khanate has an interest in provoking a war with Equestria. I want to find out who, and neutralise them. Your assistance in this would prove invaluable.” Twilight glances at Zaranov, who leans back slightly, folding his arms across his chest. The Val is obviously prepared to listen, as evidenced by the fact he hasn't yanked Prophet's spine out through his nose.

“But I'm just-”

“An immortal sorceress who stands at the left hand side of the Queen of Hell. False modesty does not become you, Princess,” Prophet says bluntly. “Theology aside, your visit has rattled whoever had Diplomatic Incident arrested. It forced them to reveal the fact that they had agents in the police force, which I'm sure they would have rather kept secret until as late in the game as possible.”

Zaranov raises a pencil-thin eyebrow; his mouth curled downward in a frown. “And you're telling us that this shadowy group of people are responsible for killing my Legionnaires?” he asks, and Prophet nods.

“Yes, incidentally I'd like to interview some of the survivors of that incident so I can get a clearer picture of what happened from the Equestrian side of the matter. The line going around from the Ministry of Truth is that it was a peaceful protest until your Legionnaires opened fire. I think we can safely assume that the Ministry of Truth has likewise been infiltrated,” Prophet replies.

Twilight nods, placing her hands flat upon the table. She tries to ignore her rumbling stomach and the growing heaviness of her eyelids.

“Prophet, I shall see what I can do with regard to your second matter, I make no promises until I see some hard evidence, but you are welcome to interview the survivors of Ninth Compagnie. However, an officer and an NCO of the Legion will be present whilst you're conducting the interviews, and they can terminate the interview at their discretion.” Zaranov tosses Twilight a grateful look. Twilight shifts her attention to Zaranov. “Colonel, how long can it take you to mobilise two full Compagnies, along with a unit of sappers, and the remnants of the Ninth as my bodyguard unit?”

Zaranov's grateful look drops from his face, but he nods. “We can mobilise within the week, where are we going?”

“Tarhen,” Twilight replies. “I want to go to Tarhen and establish a base of operations, preferably one that can hold a large number of people. It has to be accessible by air and close to the city limits.”

Zaranov tilts his head. “There aren't many hotels like that in Tarhen, all the good ones are close to the city centre.”

“Why does it need to be a hotel?” Twilight asks, and Zaranov shrugs.

“You're a princess.”

“And what does that have to do with anything? We will be conducting our negotiations in a hotel, as Diplomatic Incident advised, but security is more important than luxury right now,” Twilight says, and Zaranov nods quickly.

“I shall send scouting parties into Tarhen to find somewhere suitable immediately, ma'am.” Twilight nods, feeling a crushing wave of weariness rolling over her, and she remembers she's been up since zero four hundred. Twilight's eyes flicker upwards to the clock on the wall, which is now indicating that it's gone two o'clock in the morning.

“Excellent, Prophet, we shall discuss this shadowy group of yours tomorrow.” Twilight says, trying without much success to bite back a yawn. “For now, it is my thought that we take a break from the discussions to catch some sleep, since we might all think better upon clear heads.”

“Your wisdom belies your years, Princess,” Prophet says, rising to his feet. “Your suggestion is a good one, I shall likewise take the night to reflect upon this meeting and we can rise on the morrow, refreshed and ready to take on the problems at hand.”

Zaranov likewise rises to standing. “Yes ma'am, I'll go get scouting teams ready, will they be travelling openly?”

Twilight subtly shakes her head but says nothing further, her eyes flicking to the Khan in the room. She’s not unsure of where Prophet’s loyalties lie, that is the problem. She notices Prophet shift slightly, his hands tightening a little and his back straightening very slightly, but Twilight tries not to think about that right now. She rises to her feet.

“Gentlemen, this meeting is now adjourned until tomorrow, whereupon we shall start making decisions and communicating our intentions to the various bodies of the Khanate. We've been stalling for long enough, it's time to hit the ground running.”

Chapter Thirteen: Paws for Thought.

View Online

26th of January 1882 The Pit. 2300

The week required to make the relevant arrangements passes by in a blinding flurry of activity. Twilight's training regime with the Legion is all but halted, as the demands of daily meetings with both Zaranov and Prophet, along with conferences with senior Legion officers mean that her schedule is just too busy to be taken up with the routine of punishing exercises. However she noticed a marked change in the tempo and type of exercises being undertaken. One morning, Twilight woke up to the sound of explosions and yelling outside and rushed to the window, rifle in hand, only to discover that the Fifth and Sixth compagnies were going through public order training on the parade square, with one compagnie dressed in rude civilian clothes, the other in Legion battle-dress, though they were using truncheons rather than their rifles to good effect.

Another morning, Twilight was awoken at three by the sound of skiffs thundering overhead, and Twilight had stuck her head out of the window to watch as the skiffs came screaming in, low enough that Twilight could see each rivet in the engine casings. Even when she is asleep, the fortress of her pillows was no distraction as Princess Luna often dragged her into conferences held between the minds of multiple participants, sometimes without warning. At one point, Twilight had been in the middle of a rather pleasant if somewhat sweaty dream involving Rainbow Dash and strategically placed strawberries and cream, only to blink and discover she was in fact offering gentle loving caresses to Luna's aide-de-camp, Admiral Iron-Breast.

However the sudden frantic activity of the fort does come with its advantages. Rainbow Dash has come back from her trip into the desert with her sniper's qualification still intact, and as soon as she hears about the Ninth Compagnie being deployed to Tarhen, she appoints herself as Twilight's unofficial bodyguard, and she tries to take Twilight out to weapons practice every day, telling Twilight that practice is the key to perfection. Twilight is only too happy to agree, hungry for the chance to patch up the lingering wounds that their fight in the armoury had left. However Twilight's time is at a premium and so she spends far less time with Dash than she would like.

The evening before their departure however, Twilight finds herself running through her lists. All the relevant preparations have been made. Rations have been packed, the two compagnies have been trained, four airships have even been made available for the flight east to be escorted by the Justicar. Everything should be ready, yet as Twilight looks through the checklists of things to do, she finds herself becoming increasingly worried.

Today has been another day of meetings and discussions and Twilight is grateful that she’s been able to call an end to the interminable meetings, go back to her room, hang her revolver up in its usual place by the door and relax. It's at times like this that she misses Spike. The baby dragon always had a candid comment or a witty remark to slice through the bitter swirling ocean of doubts that plague her mind. However the side of an allegedly virgin princess is no place for a baby, even a baby dragon, and Spike's scathing remarks had offended one too many nobles.

Now, Twilight finds herself missing him even more than usual as she gazes at the paperwork before her. Diplomatic permits, itineraries that had been organised for her by Diplomatic Incident and brought to her by Prophet, Diplomatic Incident's promissory note... What about Diplomatic Incident? Is he alright, will Prophet's word hold? Prophet said they'd be letting him out into my custody. Twilight shivers, trying not to think what could have happened to him in the space of a week, yet worries about Diplomatic Incident only give way to worries about the possibility of war.
Will the Khanate listen, am I coming on too strong? Will my proposals be acceptable to Equestria? Luna said she didn't have any issues, but Luna only speaks for the military! What if I cause problems for Celestia, what if I make things worse?!

Twilight is suddenly distracted by a firm knock on the door. She jumps slightly, turning to see Rainbow Dash walking into her room, dressed in battledress as ever. Twilight raises a disapproving eyebrow at the Legionnaire’s entry. Dash is the only person in the whole fort who doesn't knock and wait.

Even Zaranov has learnt to knock and wait after once having walked into her room when she was changing, and been hurled bodily out of the door by magic for his trouble. Dash has a rifle slung over one shoulder, and a broad smile on her face, a smile that fades as she notices Twilight's expression.

“Allez-Allez.” Dash mumbles, in the strange creole that Twilight has heard Legionnaires use when talking to each other. “Looks like I'm just in time,” she says as she walks over to Twilight and places her hands upon Twilight's shoulders.

“Time? Time for what?” Twilight asks, and Dash smirks, before squeezing Twilight's shoulders gently.

“To stop you from freaking out,” Dash chuckles as she starts to apply gentle pressure to Twilight's shoulders, her thumbs expertly applying pressure to the pressure points around Twilight's wings. The young princess sighs, her worries rather abruptly forgotten as her ex-girlfriend administers one of the infamous back rubs that had proved decisive when she was trying to get Twilight to agree to something back in the day, and this time is no exception.

Twilight sighs and her wings slowly stretch themselves out, the feathers quivering like leaves in a gentle breeze as Dash's fingers move downwards, to where her shoulder blades end and her wings begin. Stress eases from her body in a long luxurious sigh, tension ripples from her shivering feathers as her muscles relax.
“How on earth did you get so good at this?” Twilight groans gently and Dash snickers.

“Lots of practice. Back when I was in Cloudsdale I used to do this all the time for the weather team. It was about all I could do, since, you know, being a girl an' all. Didn't change the fact I could fly rings around them of course.”

Twilight nods grimly, all too aware of the sexism that still pervades Equestria to this day. Whilst, in this modern day of eighteen eighty-two, it's not quite as bad as it was even five years ago. It's still something of an issue, and whilst the Suffragette movements have a powerful backer in the form of Admiral Iron-Breast and the unspoken support of her boss, overturning a thousand years of tradition takes time.

“So is that why you moved to Ponyville?” Twilight asks, and Dash nods.

“Yeah, they were crying out for anyone who knew one end of an altostratus from the other, tits no issue,” Dash replies mildly as her hands move back to Twilight's shoulders. “So I did that for a bit, then you came along and... well, here we are.”

“Mmm...So how come you became a Caporal?” Twilight asks. “Luna's told me that the army's fairly monogendered.”

“Yeah Twi, that's the army. We're the Legion. We can't afford to be picky about that sort of thing,” Dash explains. “All that matters is the standards, and The Boss makes a fairly clear example of people who don't toe the line.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Dash says shortly, squeezing very slightly at the joint where the wing meets the back, just hard enough to tell Twilight to stop asking questions as the wing jerks slightly.

“Mmm, this is really nice. Thank you,” Twilight breathes, dropping the subject, and Dash's hands flow along the leading edge of her wing.

“Any time Sparky, I figured you could use a pick-me-up before we step off.”
With those words Twilight's thoughts are dragged back to the coming deployment and she draws a breath.
“You don't think-”

“Hey, knock it off,” Dash says firmly. “You'll do fine Twi. Honestly, I was a bit worried when you first came here, but you've changed and in all the right ways. You haven't got your head up your own butt, like I was afraid you would have.”
Twilight blushes slightly “I just-”

“What did I say, chill the fuck out, you're okay,” Dash attempts to reassure her, but Twilight notices a slight catch in her friend's voice. Twilight sharply turns around to see Dash's one eye is sparkling faintly. Twilight takes a breath, but before she can say anything, Rainbow Dash clears her throat.

“Eyes front, Princess,” she whispers. “I'm okay, trust me, I'm the Rainbow Dash. There isn't anyone else quite as awesome as me, honest.” Dash offers Twilight a half smile that doesn't even come close to her eye. Twilight raises an eyebrow, and Dash exhales explosively.

“No, Twi, don't look at me like that, I don't talk about this mushy stuff! I've got a reputation to maintain here, ya know. Caporal Arc Bolt, who'd have balls of steel, if she had any to begin with! I'm the person that everyone else is supposed to tell this shit to! I'm a rock! For everyone,” Dash's voice quavers and her head tilting down towards the floor as Twilight watches her friend falling apart before her eyes. “I'm invincible! I-I'm awesomeness personified! Even… E-Even my mistakes are awe-inspiring...”

Twilight rises to her feet as Dash’s eye starts to glisten wetly above a trembling lip. Without knowing or feeling what she's doing, she wraps the downcast Rainbow Dash up into a hug. Immediately, she's immersed in the scent of tobacco and leather, cheap washing powder and sweat. Beneath it all is the subtle hint of a woman. Twilight gasps as Rainbow Dash suddenly wraps her arms around her. Twilight soon finds herself scratching between Dash's wings in the way she knows Rainbow likes, even as her ex girlfriend cries her eyes out on Twilight's shoulder.

“Why am I still here Twi?” Dash sobs. “My whole Compagnie, a hundred and fifty men down to fifteen in the space of an afternoon!” Dash gasps as her crying continues in short stifled sobs that break Twilight's heart. “I tried Twi, I really tried... I couldn't do it, I'm not a monster Twi. When I saw him I thought of Scoots and that little bike she likes...”

Twilight strokes Rainbow's back and shoulders, holding her friend as she tries to let her friend know that she'll be there for her. Twilight knows not to ask, knows that she can't understand. Twilight knows she isn't a soldier and thus she could never understand. She's Rainbow Dash's friend, though, and she's not going to leave her ex hanging for all the tea in the Khanate.

“I'm sorry Twi,” Dash sniffles after a moment, breaking away from Twilight. “You've got more shit to deal with than a broken down failure of an-”

“Stop that right now!” Twilight says sharply. “I won't have you talk like that about yourself!”

Dash wipes the tears away with a tear-stained sleeve. “Yeah, well make me!”

Twilight draws herself up to her full height, which, whilst not being quite as impressive as her titanic mentor, is still tall enough to stand taller than her ex.

“Rainbow... You're a wonderful woman, really. You came here to check up on me when no one else would... You're not a monster and you're certainly not a failure,” Twilight reassures Dash as she enfolds the Legionnaire once more into a hug. She can feel her heart racing as she holds the woman close. She can feel the nervous fluttering of her own wings and the gentle rhythmic expansion of Rainbow Dash's chest. Twilight sniffs loudly and then gently reaches around, placing her hand upon Dash's chin to draw Dash's gaze upwards so that she's looking Twilight in the face.

“Talk to me Dash, tell me what's up...”

“Well, okay.” Dash sighs after a moment. “Since you're not going to stop fucking asking until I do.”
Dash sits down upon Twilight's bed and takes a deep breath and then begins to recount her tale.

It was on the day of the attack - well, more the evening of the attack - at around 1900. I'd just got off a quiet shift on the gates and so I fancied a bit of a cool down and a bit of a moment to relax, so I snuck round to the royal garden, forgetting of course that who should be there but Princess Luna! Of course, like an idiot, I don't see her and so I go in and start doing my chores you know, cleaning my weapon, that kind of shit, when Princess Luna walks over and starts hauling me over the coals about my gear and stuff. You can tell she's aching to tell me off. Element of harmony, savior of her short ass and she wants to rake me over the coals for my dress and deportment...

Anyway, where was I? Yeah, I'd just been shouted at by Princess Luna when the shit hits the fan head on as it normally does. I'd just been standing about in the Royal Garden when Her Royal Shortness came out and started giving me lip about my gear. So she was about to give me a chewing out for cutting about with a round up the spout and whatever else, when I hear this massive boom from outside. You don't need to be an egghead to know something's properly kicked off, and so I try and move Princess Luna out of there, back to the safest place in the fortress, which is our barracks, but she isn't having any of that. She snaps at me and so off I fuck.

I get myself up onto the top of the Embassy, since that's the safest place for a flapper to be, particularly one with a marksman stripe. That's part of our immediate action drill anyway: whilst the rest of the squad got into position, I was supposed to take up my place on top of the Embassy to start putting down fire. Had we had our way, we'd have had a couple Maxim guns already set up on the roof as well, but that fucking cunt of an ambassador wouldn't hear it. Serves the fucking idiot right I guess... Anyway, so I'm on top of the Embassy, and it's a mad-house out there. The street is absolutely boiling with cats, there are hundreds of them, all carrying whatever they can hit us with, or throw at us.

I start looking around of course, since whilst it's a target rich environment, I've only got a hundred and twenty rounds and I can't afford to piss them up the wall. No one brasses up civvies if they can help it, since if nothing else, it's a waste of a perfectly good round. So I start scanning for targets, prioritising the ones with rifles. They aren't exactly hard to find, since they're dressed like policemen, or in those red robes, and they're bashing the civvies on, goading them like cows.

I spot the first guy who looks too important for his own good, he's dressed in those red robes and he's got a bolt action rifle in one hand, and a stick in his other which he's using to twat the nearest cat he can reach around the head. He's spattered head to food with blood, and he generally looks rather scary to the cats around him. He looks rather less scary after I've split his head open like a watermelon.

Next come a couple of idiots with shivs who are getting at the blocking detachment, those two are fairly challenging shots since I have to thread the rounds past Scummy and The Stick, who weren't exactly small Legionnaires at the best of times. They go down fairly quickly, one round each to centre body mass, bam. Good job jobbed. The next few shots are fairly easy, militiamen with rifles that are too big for them, or policemen with sticks who are driving the little scrotes on. I'm just reloading my rifle when I notice Princess Luna dropping out of the sky to land next to me.

We exchange a bit of banter, then I turn my gaze back to the blocking detachment and I notice something odd. Normal procedures dictate adding more men to the blocking detachment, but that doesn't look like it's happening here. Instead, I'm seeing more of my colleagues setting up in the windows, setting up to absolutely annihilate this riot the moment they get through the blocking detachment. I then turn and notice more blokes from Weapons troop coming up onto the roof of the embassy lugging our two Maxim guns. There are ten of them, five to each gun. One is carrying the gun, two are carrying the tripod, one more is lugging great big white cloth belts of ammunition and the last man is carrying jerrycans filled with water and a funnel and hose.

Look, Twi, I'm no fan of cutting down civvies like wheat alright, don't look at me like that.

Dash sighs and runs a hand through her hair before she flops listlessly backwards onto Twilight's bed, sitting there with her head in her hands and Twi sees the Legionnaire seem to shrink before her.

Then... it happens. I see this little kid, he can't have been more than ten or eleven years old get up onto a rooftop armed with a rifle almost as big as he is. He's a human, and he's wrapped in those man-dresses that they wear over there. He gets down into position and I see the little fucker take aim. He's right in my sights, I can practically thread a round through his nose from my position... but as my finger tightens on the trigger... It’s like I’m about to brass up Scootaloo, purple hair and all, flapping in the wind... dashing around on that little bike of hers. Anyway, I see this kid getting into position and I just lock up. I see him take aim and sight the target, and I'm trying to fucking shoot him but I just can't pull the trigger on a kid, y'know!

Then he shoots The Stick in the face. Well, that changes things. He's a combatant now.Before he was a kid, but now he's a fucking enemy, and I'm about to blow him away, we're about to blow all these fuckers away, when Her Royal Shortness gets involved. She tells us all to hold fire, and I'm fucking relieved Twilight, I'm honestly relieved. No one who kills for a living likes killin’ kids. She gets up and she's about to make a speech when some little toe-rag from below shouts something and suddenly it's all kicked off again.

I turn, right, and the Maxim gunners are still getting their shit together, say what you like about the Maxims, they aren't exactly quick to get set up fresh from storage. I then turn my attention back to that kid, trying to find the little bastard that shot The Stick, but he's fucked off into the houses, never to be seen again. We're now coming under fire from the buildings around us as well, more policemen or whatever are taking positions around us and putting more fire our way. I then turn and realise that Luna's left as well.

We put down more fire of course, we're now fighting for our lives as opposed to fighting those protestors, and so I lose track of time as I fire into the crowd, getting into the groove of the fight now, getting into the rhythm. Aim, bang, aim, bang. I'm in the zone as I lay down covering fire, not allowing myself to think but just sighting the next target and bam! I keep on putting fire down, trying to hit as many of the little fuckers as I can.

I then turn and notice the weapons troop are up shit creek. They're taking a tonne of fire, both bullets and literal fire as the cats start slinging molotov cocktails at them, which I can understand. The moment they get going, those Maxims are going to be able to turn the crowd into thinly sliced mince. However they've lost their battle already, since I can hear the fighting below us now as more cats swarm into the Embassy. I get up and affix my bayonet, since the weapons troop will need cover to get set up, they can't get attacked from behind otherwise they'll be for it. I'm also running out of ammo, down to twenty rounds at this point.

It doesn't take long for them to find the door to the stairs and a whole mass of them come clambering up onto the roof, through the same entry point as Weapons troop, who've managed to get their guns going if the rattling behind me is any indication. Right now, Weapons troop is not on my mind however. The cats clambering through the sky-light and up the stairs are a rather more pressing concern. They charge me, armed with their sticks and shitty little back alley made shivs.

I shoot the first one and go to shoot the second, but as I'm jacking the cocking handle of my rifle, the fast little fuckers manage to flank me and suddenly I'm getting thrown to the ground with this big cat on top of me. He's obviously got ideas if the way he's clawing at my belt order is anything to go by, but he's persuaded to drop those ideas after I stick him between the ribs with my fighting knife. I manage to throw him off but they're all around me now and I'm having to wham them with the buttstock of my rifle since they're just too close to dab with the pig-sticker. But for every fucker that goes down, another takes his place and they're grabbing at me and clawing at me to try and drag me down. There are just too many of them, and suddenly, boom I'm on the deck again, and being swarmed under when all of a sudden the nearest one emits a loud shriek of pain, followed by the rest. They're all screaming and writhing in agony... I just remember bright lights, and then I'm lying on my back surrounded by a haze of dust and ash, and standing before me is Nightmare Moon.

No Twi, I don't mean Princess Luna, I mean Nightmare Moon. Dressed exactly like how she was when we saw her way back when. Flat grey plate armour, big black cloak, fucking huge battle axe and about the size of a Val with smoky hair. Trust me Twilight, it was fucking Nightmare Moon, although she was wearing that funky silver mask that Her Royal Shortness wears. Anyway, Nightmare Moon walks up to me and I know she's going to gut me, but she doesn't, she just picks me up and shoves me toward the exit and tells me to get back in the fight.

When you've got someone like that giving you a fucking order, let me tell you, you obey. So I get down into the Embassy and it's a madhouse. We've got cats coming out of our arse, and we're having to stick them, fighting from room to room to keep them away from the more sensitive shit whilst the dips burn it all. We're also having to evacuate the dips. All the while, I can hear Nightmare Moon bellowing orders in the Royal Canterlot Voice, and the sound of airships drawing closer.

Anyway, I manage to make it back to the rear garden to see that our perimeter is shrinking very rapidly. We're now falling back out of the embassy and taking cover behind the artisan walls and whatever else we can find whilst the dips and hired help are being hustled onto the two skiffs belonging to the Zam Tarkaz. Our wounded are also being loaded onto the skiffs, and there are a lot of them I can tell you that.

I take cover behind some statue or other and I start trying to lay down fire as best I can with only twenty rounds, but my hands are shaking from adrenaline and so I miss most of my shots, but the cats are now out and moving across the garden and we're just pinging desultory fire their way, but they're still moving slowly. No one wants to be the first to attract the wrath of Nightmare Moon, who stands at the platform behind us like the angel of death. I can remember one dude who thought he'd have a go, he shot at Nightmare Moon and she simply vaporized him and five of his ugly little mates for good measure. She just turned them into ash with a snap of her fingers. We used the pause to start hustling our wounded onto the boats. I fire the last of my rounds and dash up to help with stretchers. We move like desperate men, trying to get our comrades onto those boats.

It's too good to last. They bring some kind of cleric forward and this fucking god-botherer starts giving his sermon on the other side of the building, you can hear him egging on the mob in the building, and I've picked up enough cat-talk to know he was goading them into a fight. Obviously one of the Legionnaires still in the embassy proper takes offence to this and shoots him dead. Boom, worst fucking thing we could do. Now they're all going to get the word of a priest on the other side, so if they die, they become martyrs. As a result, Nightmare Moon isn't quite so scary, and so they start charging and shooting again and we're rushing to get our wounded onto the boats and get onto the boats ourselves if we can.

Nightmare Moon, Sweet Celestia Twilight, you should have seen it, it was like watching the apocalypse. She's throwing chain lightning around, slamming cats backwards with spells, fireballs, my god. They're hitting her, I see them shoot her and I see the rounds connect but it just doesn't do anything, they bounce off her armour or they went in and she ignored them, I don't know... She pretty much holds them back single handed, but you could see she was flagging, with every round that hit her and with each stroke she took, she gets slower and her swings have less power, and eventually I see her twist and suddenly fall, and then I dash forward and end up grabbing her. She's saved my life after all, even if she is Nightmare Moon. I start hauling her fat ass backwards, but then I'm grabbed from behind and swarmed under, and... well, that's how I got this.' Dash gestures up at the black leather eyepatch and Twilight winces. The Legionnaire looks older, much older than her twenty three years, and her remaining eye seems to gleam.

So I'm lying there, surrounded by this angry mob who are kicking and screaming at me and I'm expecting them to kill me, but then in roll the cavalry. The Night Guard ship that Luna came in on comes tearing in like the wrath of god, firing all the while, and it isn't alone. HMS Resolute, one of our own light cruisers comes in and rains death upon the crowd, which starts to fall back... It gets a bit fuzzy after this point, I remember picking up Nightmare Moon and managing to stagger back to the skiffs with her, but then I... well I don't know, next thing I know, I'm waking up in our medical bay here with an Honour Cross around my neck.'

Dash's head droops and she lets out an explosive sigh, her body shivering faintly. Her cheeks are flushed and the pupils of her eyes have shrunk to pin-pricks. The Legionnaire is panting like she’s run a marathon, twice. Twilight steps forward and wraps her arms around her friend once more, which makes Dash jerk in surprise before the Legionnaire relaxes into the hug.

“I'm sorry,” Twilight whispers, pain ripping through her body at the sight of her friend, who was such a defiant and strong woman when they lived in Ponyville. Dash, who would quite happily take on a manticore, three dragons and a Hydra with her bare hands at the drop of a hat. Twilight can only imagine what being knee-deep in that siege must have been like, the intensity of the fighting. The numbers are simply staggering; one hundred and fifty men cut down to fifteen combat effective in the space of an afternoon.

Twilight gasps as Dash returns the hug, pulling her into a tight embrace. For a moment, it's all Twilight can do to breathe as the rapid pounding of her heart rings in her ears. A tidal wave of memories suddenly rises and swamps Twilight, familiar smells and forgotten sensations. Her tongue suddenly feels several sizes too large for her mouth, which feels more arid than the desert outside. Her brain screams at her to tell her to let go, to release Dash. However her traitorous hands tug Dash tighter into an embrace born of desperation and long buried feelings.

Twilight runs her hands up and down Dash's back, feeling the woman's muscles tensing and relaxing beneath her tunic, feeling Dash's feathers quivering as Dash's hands start to move with increasing urgency, gripping the leading edge of Twilight's wing and locking her fingers tightly around Twilight’s wings, which flutter vainly against Dash’s vice-like grip, causing Twilight to lock up in shock before a half-suppressed shiver pulses across her wings. Twilight can feel Dash’s breath against her skin, can feel Dash’s lips against the cotton fabric of the Legion-issue undershirt.

Twilight reaches upward, her hand reaching Dash's cheek as the Legionnaire leans in closer, those tousled multi-coloured locks gleaming in the lamp-light. Twilight shifts in Dash's embrace, trying to press herself against the Legionnaire. She draws her hand across Rainbow Dash's cheek, feeling Dash's breath upon her own cheek. Dash suddenly leans forward and her lips connect with Twilight's in a gentle, chaste peck. Twilight’s eyes open wide in shock and her breath catches in her chest.

“Stop,” Twilight gasps, her hand dropping down to the center of Dash's chest. She pushes the Legionnaire away, her face burning as her arms ache to grab Rainbow Dash once more, whose face is still flushed, though rapidly giving way to confusion and shame, something that Twilight's almost never seen on Dash's face before. For her own part, Twilight's mind is a maelstrom of whirling emotions, lust, confusion, fear and excitement. Twilight takes a deep breath to try and organise her thoughts, before she shoves her way past Rainbow Dash. Her hand hurriedly wipes at the tears that are already forming at the corners of her eyes as she slips out through the bedroom door and into the corridor beyond.

Twilight runs down the corridor, her hobnailed boots clattering on the cobbles. She needs to be somewhere else, anywhere but there. Somewhere she can think, somewhere she can clear her mind. Somewhere that she doesn't have to deal with that adorable, idiotic Legionnaire. Her heart thunders in her ears, ringing like her footsteps upon the floor. Twilight takes the stairs three at a time, dashing out into the night. Memories drag at her mind, and with every step, Twilight wishes she could turn around and go back, but she can't.

Twilight is a Princess of Equestria, on a mission to avert war. If she fails, then hundreds of thousands of people will die. She cannot afford to have her mind on anything else. She wants Rainbow Dash. The absence of the Legionnaire aches like a stomach wound, yet this is much bigger than what she wants or needs. This is about what is good for Equestria, and nothing would be worse than getting caught whilst engaged in a relationship considered to be unholy by the Khans. It could poison the whole peace process, if her deployment of force doesn't do that as it stands.

As Twilight rounds a corner, she comes to the parade square, which is teeming with Legionnaires. The two compagnies that Zaranov has earmarked for this deployment are forming up, getting their equipment together into neat piles and running back and forth as Legionnaires remember things they've forgotten or else want to check on this or that one last time. Sergents stalk among the enlisted men like sharks and caporals bark orders as the organised chaos slowly takes shape. Crates are being loaded onto cargo canisters, which are then lofted skywards into the holds of the Legion airships that hang over the fortress. In the corner of the parade square, four huge infantry-assault walkers are being prepared for transport. The walkers should hopefully not be required, however Zaranov was rather insistent that Twilight take some armour and Luna had agreed. A mortar platoon is also organising the 55mm and 82mm mortars that will be taken to Tarhen.

The air hums with the soft rumble of airship engines overhead. Five airships jostle for space over the fortress, their collision warning beacons flashing like stars. The Legion is pulling out all the stops for this one. HMS Resolute and Redoubtable, two Royal class cruisers have been assigned to escort the troopship HMS Archangel and HMS Equerry, the luxury airship that has been pressed into service as Twilight's royal transport. Prior to that, it was in Legion stores as a prize taken in the same raid that secured Twilight's shotgun. As a result, its ornate gold and purple paint scheme is at odds with the flat desert tan coloration of the Legion warships. Meanwhile, Prophet's warship, the Divine Providence sits back from the milieu, its bright golden decorations gleaming as its own beacons flash and its own sirens whoop loudly.

“It is a most formidable sight, Princess,” a voice distracts Twilight from her musing. Twilight jerks in surprise, rapidly wiping away the last traces of her tears before turning to see Prophet himself standing behind her. The Khan has eschewed his bulky scarlet plate armour in favour of loose fitting elaborately decorated crimson robes. His optic glows gently and he's loosely holding a long stemmed pipe that gently smoulders in his right hand. His left hand however, is still loosely clasped around the hilt of a sharp wickedly curved dagger. Twilight nods her head politely to the Justicar, who inclines his head politely in reply.
“You are sending an army to the gates of Tarhen. You will shake the government to its very core. Are you sure this is wise?” he asks softly. Twilight nods.

“If it shakes them, then all kinds of interesting things might fall into my basket,” Twilight replies. “Besides, one Compagnie didn't provide security for Princess Luna, so two compagnies plus elements should prove that whilst I'm not interested in starting a fight, I've got the power to repel a concerted attack.”

“I don't follow.”

“Three hundred and fifty men is not enough to occupy a city of three million citizens, particularly not one with a well equipped garrison and fleet of its own, but it is enough to defend the compound we'll be using for a week or more, should it come to that.”
“Let us hope it does not come to that. I'd rather not see my home-city turned into rubble.”

Twilight licks her lips quietly, reaching up as if to wipe away the last ghost of Dash's presence.
“You are nervous, Your Highness.” Prophet’s tone is matter-of-fact, and Twilight's gaze flicks up look at that bright golden eye. She curses herself for being so obvious, but the Khan merely chuckles gently, a deep rumbling laugh emanating from his throat.
“Yes,” Twilight admits, and Prophet nods.

“It is written upon your face, and all over your body. Relax, you have reason to be nervous. This is your first conference yes?”
“Third. I've been to Zebrica before, but Zebrica isn't here.”

“Mmm, so this is your first conference with a hostile power... you will do a good job,” Prophet judges after a moment, his tone matter of fact. “If it makes you feel better, I shall be praying for a favourable resolution to this crisis, and that you free Diplomatic Incident. That man deserves some quiet time after all he's done for your country, and for our Order.”

“You knew him?” Twilight asks, and Prophet nods.

“For what it is worth, I did. He was a very good man. There are few master spies out there, he is probably one of them. I could never tell what he was thinking.”

"You are discussing our fat ghostly friend?“ A voice comes from the shadows and Twilight turns to see Zaranov walking over to them, dressed in the combat dress of a Legionnaire, complete with pith helmet and rifle. He is accompanied by two others that Twilight recognises as the Commanding Officers of Fifth and Six Compagnies, Capitanes Adrelana and Belial, another looming Valorossiyan and a Cheetah-patterned Khan respectively. Both are dressed in combat dress, though they have forgone the pith helmets in favour of the legionnaire's soft cap. Neither look too pleased to see her.

“Yes, he is a valuable asset to the Equestrian Crown. We would like to recover him from the clutches of the Ministry of the Interior, alive if possible,” Twilight says, and Prophet clears his throat.

“You have nothing to fear on that score,” Prophet gently reassures Twilight. “I have, as I’ve said, placed my protection upon him. None shall harm him if they value their soul, or their life. He only has reason to fear if your blood-crazy idiots do something to provoke the Ministry of the Interior.” His gaze locks upon Zaranov at this comment as his tone hardens. Twilight's breath catches in her throat. Prophet has never seen eye to eye with Zaranov, and the low level back biting that marred the first encounter between the two has only intensified in the tactical briefings and situation conferences.

“Forgive me if I take the words of a representative of a hostile government at something less than face value,” Capitane Adrelana snaps in reply, and Belial likewise growls irritably, his whiskers twitching. Prophet's eyes narrow very slightly and his lips curl back to reveal the huge pointed fangs of his race.
“You permit this insubordination, Colonel?” Prophet turns on Zaranov, whose own expression is flinty.

“When they're making sense I do,” Zaranov replies. “I will not punish my senior officers for a due sense of caution when dealing with the enemy.” Twilight winces slightly, wishing that the Val would not choose now of all times to go over old ground.

“I am not your enemy, Bolshevik. I will not stand to be insulted by this rabble you call an army!” Prophet replies, to Twilight's chagrin. Evidently the Khan's patience is wearing thin.

“That remains to be seen. In the meantime, keep your tongue between your teeth lest I make your incessant praying to God significantly harder by ripping that tongue out!” Zaranov rumbles, a wicked edge to his words.

“Come and try, I dare you!” Prophet snaps, reaching for his dagger. Twilight's eyes widen as she sees the situation rapidly getting out of control before her. Zaranov and Adrelana both appear to be out for blood, and Prophet likewise looks like he's up for a fight if the twitching of his tail is anything to go by.

“It would be my great pleasure.” Zaranov steps forward, however his way is blocked by Capitane Belial.

“No sir,” the Capitane says, and for a second, Twilight thinks she has an ally in maintaining cohesion. “I will not permit you to dirty your hands with the blood of this one, allow me.” Belial steps forward, drawing a long and vicious looking blade of his own. Before he can use it, a pulse of sound smashes over him and everyone else in the entire fortress.

“Be silent!” The words crash like waves against the buildings surrounding the parade square as the Royal Canterlot Voice booms from Twilight's throat for the first time, unbidden and unasked but certainly not unwelcome.

“Colonel Zaranov, to whom do you owe your loyalty?” Twilight asks, drawing herself up to her full height, which is not exactly impressive against the titanic Valorossiyan, however it has the desired effect and he straightens up, his head snapping back as he comes rigidly to attention.

“To the crown of Equestria ma'am,” he snaps, and Twilight nods, as if expecting his answer, whilst in fact trying to come up with something suitably imposing and regal, something like what Princess Celestia would say when in full on 'Princess Mode'.

“Then act like it! This petty back-biting sullies your regiment and our crown, we shall hear no more of it,” Twilight says, trying to summon the poise required for such pronouncements, her back straightening and her eyes narrowing as she recalls the manner that Professor “Dumb-Old-Door” Wooded Hollow, one of her teachers at the academy and a figure of nightmare for many of her peers, could summon seemingly at will.

“Yes ma'am!” Zaranov replies, his eyes wide, and an unfamiliar expression upon the Val's face. Twilight hopes she hasn't made an enemy as she rounds on Prophet.

“Prophet, you dishonour your Order and your Code with your slurs against these men. You are a dignitary and the guest of Colonel Zaranov, I will not hear you speak ill of his men, who have lost friends to the actions of your countrymen,” Twilight continues. “I shall certainly be noting how you have conducted yourself when I speak with the Shah.”

Prophet gives Twilight a long hard look, his mouth set into a thin line and for a moment, Twilight wonders if she has made a grievous error. No sound hangs in the air of the fortress save the rumbling of the airships. Even the Legionnaires on the parade square have been shocked into silence by the power of the Royal Canterlot Voice. Prophet then nods calmly.
“We shall speak of this again Your Highness. I find your words have merit.”

“Excellent. Now then, gentlemen, we are all working together to preserve peace. I do not ask you to like each other. I ask you to tolerate each other and control your bloodlust. You shall have plenty of time to rip each other's throats out on your own time, but right now, I want you all to stop this petty feud and focus on the mission at hand. Am I understood?”

“Yes ma'am,” the three Legionnaires reply, and Prophet nods very subtly. Twilight relaxes very slightly, this crisis appears to be averted.

“Good... now, Prophet, tell me how Diplomatic Incident was doing when you last saw him.”
____

Seven days earlier (approx. three hours after the bombing).

Diplomatic Incident opens his eyes slowly. He feels groggy and more than a little queasy. Thoughts seem to take a while to form, like each one has been coated in tar. He hisses as a numbing ache spreads across his chest and back. The whole world appears to be blurry and unsteady. The rasp and hiss of his own breathing rings loudly in his ears. All that he can see is a vague mass of shadows writhing through the mesh of a veil that has been thrown over his head.

Drat, I guess this scotches plans for dinner somewhat. The spy thinks.

Captivity is a rather unpleasant thing for the ageing spy to consider. Diplomatic Incident does not consider himself 'the best' as it were, yet he does consider himself reasonably good, as evidenced by the fact that he has spent over forty long years playing the Great Game, and this is the first time he's been arrested. Forty five years ago, when he was a young man in the Royal Green Jackets' Newshire regiment, this would have been nothing more than another challenge to his formidable intellect, an amusing puzzle to while away a summer afternoon before a spot of billiards in the evening, but then that was then, and this is now. Now Diplomatic Incident knows what they do to spies, and that he is no longer in the peak of physical condition as he once was.

Diplomatic Incident starts to dredge up the details of the fleeting conduct after capture lectures, which did not amount to much. In short the message was “Don't get captured.” Those lectures were so long ago, and they were about the Mujahidin of Afghanistan and the Boer separatists of the Zebrican frontier, along with a token lecture about the White and Blue Valorossiyans. Nobody even bothered to mention the Reds, or the Adrelanas, since the thinking at the time was that they were little more than a savage raider-band, and if you wound up amongst them, you'd end up dead. No one mentioned the Khanate, and it was such a long time ago that Diplomatic Incident can't really remember the specifics, which is saying something.

Diplomatic Incident then tugs gently, deciding to see if he is actually restrained, and he's not surprised when the restraints at his wrists and ankles clank loudly. Chains, excellent. Diplomatic Incident clears his throat, shocked by how dry and rasping the sound actually is as it clatters off the walls of the room... which is a room, the sound doesn't reverberate like it would if he was in a cell.

“Ah, you are awake,” a voice rings out, and Diplomatic Incident stiffens as he hears footsteps approaching. The voice does not have the distinctive grating harmonic of a Khan or the melodic cadence of a Valorosssiyan, but instead the voice is the calm unhurried lilting tones of an Equestrian. Moreover, that voice is familiar. It is a voice that Diplomatic Incident remembers very well, having spent quite a bit of time in Springbok's company when the man headed one of the more dangerous Boer separatist groups, a group that Diplomatic Incident had been charged with infiltrating. Diplomatic Incident had succeeded, becoming the right hand man of one of the most dangerous men in Equestria, until Diplomatic Incident systematically dismantled his organisation from the ground up.

“Springbok, you're taking the cat's shilling now?” Diplomatic Incident growls, noticing movement in the swirling sea of shadows.
“Well money is money man, we all need to fund our little habits ja?” the voice replies. “Much like you needed money, hence why you shopped me and my boys, Ernst.”

“I don't dispute that,” Diplomatic Incident replies, a calm resignation sliding through him. If he's alone in a room with Springbok, then he's a dead man. Springbok has vowed to murder the man he believes to be Ernst Reuter, and has put a price on Diplomatic Incident's head. “Business is business, you know how it goes.”

“Ah, you always were a ballsy one Ernst, that's what I liked about you,” Springbok sneers in reply. “But as you say man, business is business, and I've got powerful friends here. You're just one lone fookin' man ya, and whilst the cats may want you alive, I figure you're not worth the time it would take to question you.” Diplomatic Incident hears an oiled blade sliding out of a sheath, the rasp of metal on leather ringing in the cell, and Diplomatic Incident tries not to let the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end. He can feel his heart beating quicker now, feel his breath tightening in his chest.

“Do I not get a last request Springbok, for old time's sake?”

“Well, Ernst, since I'm a gentleman and an honest man now, what is it, and make it fookin' good.”

“Well I'd go for a cup of tea right now, Earl Grey if you have it, and if you could be a sport and take my mask off that would be most appreciated, I'd rather look death in the eye if it's all the same to you.” Diplomatic Incident says, forcing his tone to stay light and cheerful, as though the prospect of certain death is no more threatening than a brisk walk after lunch.

“Fair enough, not like you've got anyone to tell about this anyway, no fookin' tricks mind you, or I'll gut you like a pig!”

“My hands are tied Springbok, what tricks do you think I have up my sleeves?”

“Ya, I get that, fuck it, let's let the Equestrian have his tea before we kill him... you couldn't make this shit up. Next he'll be asking for pistols at dawn,” Springbok crows. Diplomatic Incident tries not to let the relief show. Hopefully in the time it'll take for them to find and brew a pot of tea, Springbok's handlers will have time to step in and remind Springbok who is calling the shots. Diplomatic Incident assumes Springbok will have handlers, if not one then several. Springbok is a very dangerous man and a very tactically competent terrorist, but he needs to be tightly controlled or he starts making mistakes and breaking the rules. Mind you, whoever has me in here isn't much of a stickler for due process, I'm travelling entirely above board for a change. The ageing spy reflects.

Diplomatic Incident tries not to think about the possibility of this being Springbok acting on his own recognisance, and the boasting of cat support being exactly that, empty boasting. If that's the case then Diplomatic Incident is well aware that his card is well and truly marked. Diplomatic Incident resigns himself to the fact that Princess Celestia will raise merry hell about his disappearance, and if she doesn't, then Zsaryna Adrelana will, and between the angry goddess and the angry Val, there won't be enough left of Springbok to fit into a thimble once they're finished. That is limited consolation to Diplomatic Incident, but every little helps.

Diplomatic Incident suddenly hears footsteps approaching, and before he can do anything else, the sack over his head has been dragged up and off his head, and the identity of his tormentor is confirmed. The years have not been kind to Springbok. He is still tall and powerfully built as Diplomatic Incident remembers him, his head is still shaven and his hands are still coarse and leathery. He is still dressed in the red and white check shirt and dungarees, with the red beret that was his trademark. However, his short beard is starting to turn silvery and his cheeks have a gaunt look to them. However his eyes still burn with the bright glimmering light of a fanatic.

“Ernst, you're looking well, much better than the last time I saw you... evidently shopping me and my boys set you up for a good long while ya?”

“You could say that,” Diplomatic Incident replies. “I see the years haven't done you much good.”

“Yeah, well you're mostly to blame for that,” Springbok replies calmly, turning a knife over and over in his hands. “You should be thanking me you know, old age sucks dicks, I'm doing you a fookin' favour by giving you an early retirement.”

“If it's all the same to you, I think I'd prefer a cottage in the cotswolds.” Diplomatic Incident deadpans.

“Ha, you're a funny guy Ernst, that's one of the things I missed about you.”

“You know you'll miss me.”

“Maybe, but I won't lose any sleep over it.” There is a sharp bang bang bang of a fist on metal, presumably a door of some kind, and Springbok looks up.

“Hey, I said not to disturb me!” he snaps, and the voice from the outside growls something in Fars'ad in reply.

“I'm coming in, you'd better have the prisoner ready for me!”

“Sure sure, whatever man, I'm just finishing up ja?”
The door then hisses open and footsteps ring out behind Diplomatic Incident. A soft gasp of in-drawn breath makes Diplomatic Incident smirk slightly. Obviously the Khans need to train their handlers a little better.

“We have a problem,” the voice snaps, and Diplomatic Incident recognizes this voice as belonging to a Khan, young enough not to know his own mind, but cultured enough to be of good breeding.

“Too right we do, the problem is that this piece of shit is still breathing,” Springbok snaps in Fars'ad.

“Not just that. You pointed him out to us as a terrorist. You didn't tell us he's tight with the Equestrians.” The voice says

“He is? I figure that you guys would consider that more reason to cut him up.” Springbok responds.

“We do not need more trouble with the Equestrians right now.”

“That's not what I've been told by the guy who pays me.”

“Look, I don't care about your arrangements with the army, do you know who this guy is?”

“He's the scumbag that got me and my men cut to ribbons back home.”

“He's also a recognized diplomatic contact for Equestria. He has diplomatic immunity, the whole nine yards.”

“Well your civvies chopped up a bunch of Equestrian dippies the other day, I didn't figure you considered that a problem.”

“That was different... There's something else.” The voice says urgently.

“Yeah?” Springbok sounds irritated as he slides the knife back into its holster.

“He's not only tight with the Justicars, but the fucking Bolsheviks.”

“Shit,” Springbok hisses. “How tight?”

“The Bolshevik ambassador is coming down the hallway right now, and hot on her heels is an Ordained Justicar.”

“Stall them, this guy's got more to tell us.”

“Have you ever met a Valorossiyan? I rather like breathing through my nose as opposed to my spleen if it’s all the same to you.”

“Maybe we should be having this conversation out of his hearing?” Springbok says, and an instant later, the Khan begins to swear as Diplomatic Incident coughs politely. Before he can say anything however, the door behind him bangs open and Diplomatic Incident hears the sharp intake of breath from somewhere behind him, and then a low growl of the sort that can only come from an angry Valorossiyan female.

“What the fuck is this?” Diplomatic Incident has never been so glad to hear the incredulous voice of Lady Ambassador Adrelana. “This is how the Khanate treats diplomats?”

“My lady Ambassador, he has been accused of a misdemeanor, we must take him into custody to determine the veracity of this matter.”

Diplomatic Incident winces. He could have told the Khan that using overly-long words and flowery phrases around Vals is a good way to get yourself killed.
“And you appear to have done a fine job of taking him into custody. I see no need for him to be restrained like this,” Zsaryna snaps in reply, and Diplomatic incident can practically hear the twin rows of short sharp spines running down her back vibrating with anger.

“This matter is a matter between the Khanate and this terrorist suspect, I see no reason for the Bolsheviks to get involved here,” Springbok suddenly interjects, and Diplomatic Incident tries not to chortle.

“I call upon all those present to observe the traditional moment of silence.” A third voice, Khanate, but a high class voice, of the kind that would belong to a Lord if he was an Equestrian.

“Who died?” Springbok asks.

“You did,” Zsaryna says firmly. Diplomatic Incident hears her footsteps draw nearer, and suddenly he is facing the tall, pale beauty that has saved his life once again. She looks no less lovely in a suit that has been cut for the Valorossiyan figure, complete with red tie.

“Leonid, we really must stop meeting like this,” Zsaryna says, her eyes twinkling faintly to let Diplomatic Incident know she's joking. “A lady has her reputation to think about after all.”

“My lady Ambassador, I thank you for coming to see me in my time of trial,” Diplomatic Incident says gratefully, and Zsaryna gestures over his shoulder.

“Thank him, he opened every door that I couldn't.” As she says this, a Khan dressed in the deep blood red armour of a Justicar steps into Diplomatic Incident's field of view, a Khan with a bright glowing red optic in his right eye.

“Prophet, a pleasure as always,” Diplomatic Incident says coolly. His last meeting with Prophet had not gone as expected, and though he has done favours for the Justicars over the years, he considers them partners of necessity at best. Their black and white moral compass doesn't sit at all well with Diplomatic Incident. That being said, he's glad to see they consider him an asset worth saving.

“Ahmed... or is it Leonid... You have done many things for our Order over the years, we do not leave our debts unanswered. I place my protection upon this man, if he is to be questioned then he shall not be placed under duress. Any who harm him will answer to me, be they prisoner or guard. He shall be released into the custody of the Equestrians when they come to recover him. The Divinity has spoken, will you listen?”

“I will,” the other Khan says, his tone nervous, as if he's just picked up a live grenade.

“In addition,” the Valorossiyan growls, “I would like to appoint an observer to make sure the Justicar's judgement is carried out. Would that be agreeable, Justicar?”

“I find that most agreeable, thank you Lady Ambassador.” Prophet replies calmly.

“Good, now, Leonid, is there anything we can do for you? I have sent a telegram to the Equestrian Foreign Office so they know that you're a guest of the Khans.”

“Send word to the Legion etrangere,” Diplomatic Incident says. “Make Princess Twilight Sparkle aware of these events. Justicar, if you could help her, I would consider us even.”

“It shall be done, Ahmed. May the Grace of the Divinity watch over you.”
____

“... And so I came here.” Prophet finishes his story.

Twilight nods, trying not to let her relief show. Whilst she has no doubt that Prophet has been honest with her when he says he's placed protection upon her, the mention of Valorossiyan observers reassures Twilight. No one would dare harm Diplomatic Incident with them standing over him, if they're anything like their countrymen in the Legion. She turns to Zaranov.

“I hope you can understand why Diplomatic Incident is regarded as a useful asset,” Twilight says, and the two officers next to Zaranov nod quickly. Capitane Adrelana clears his throat.

“You're looking to exploit his connection with the Western Union?” he asks, and Twilight nods.

“I'm hoping he can make the requisite introductions to the appropriate dignitaries, yes.”

“There's only one dignitary who matters to you,” Zaranov explains. “Lady Zsaryna Adrelana, she handles all the Western Union's dealings with foreign nations, arms deals and the like. She's the daughter of the Western Union's warlord, chief Arkady Adrelana, and she's next in line according to the rumours from the Duma. Equestria has traditionally dealt with the Western Union whilst the Khanate works with the PVU, or the Parliament of Valorossiyan Unity, the other major faction. Do not even bother approaching the PVU, you'll just offend Zsaryna, and offending a Valorossiyan is not the course of wisdom.”

“I learnt that a few days ago,” Twilight says. Capitane Adrelana snickers, and even Colonel Zaranov manages a smirk.
“So,” Twilight then continues, “regale me with the plan for how you're going to get two compagnies of Legionnaires into Tarhen.”

Capitane Belial steps forward, clearing his throat. “Yes Ma'am, we've secured accommodation in the northern end of the city, we've rented an industrial compound to the north of the city with two warehouses, office space and a registered landing pad that will hold a couple of skiffs along with an open area that can be used for landing larger airships or tents as your highness requires. We're going to move everything in at once, so your airship will take a couple of nice wide circuits around the city and draw everyone's attention whilst we're landing Fifth and Sixth compagnie, Elements of Fifth Compagnie will be riding shotgun in skiffs, though, so when you land, those skiffs will be overhead to provide over-watch. You'll then take a royal carriage through the city on a roundabout route to give the paparazzi the slip, from whence you're going to head to our compound. Does this meet your approval ma'am?”
Twilight nods. “I see no problems Capitane, do you, Colonel?” Twilight turns to Zaranov, who shakes his head.
“No ma'am,” Zaranov replies. “You'll still want elements of the Ninth?”

Twilight pauses for a moment, thoughts of Dash rising unbidden.
“Yes, I don't want to leave Fifth and Sixth compagnies undermanned by my bodyguard requirements,” Twilight replies. “In addition... the NCO in charge of the Ninth is known to me,” she says, feeling the eyes of all four men on her, and her face turns a delicate shade of crimson as she imagines what they might make of this. She's sure that all four of them could probably put two and two together if asked, or pointed in the right direction.

Belial shrugs. “If you will forgive me for speaking plainly Highness, we would rather have our compagnies undermanned than see your protection trusted to a caporal and an ears-and-nose troop… they do not have experience. Caporal Bolt is the most experienced among their number and she only has two years under arms.”

Zaranov shakes his head. “Capitane, your feelings about the Ninth are known to me, and I know you are not an untainted source in this matter. The Ninth has unfinished business in Tarhen and Bolt has assured me that her troop is up to taking care of it.”

“That’s part of the problem,” Belial growls. “Legionnaires with vendettas are the worst kind.”

“Caporal Bolt will keep her men under control,” Capitane Adrelana interjects. “She always has done in the past, if she had more time in we’d be making her a sergent about now.”

“We might not have a choice, you do not have a Caporal in charge of a Compagnie. It is unseemly,” Belial mutters, and Zaranov grunts his approval. Twilight narrows her eyes faintly as she tries to follow the conversation.

“Princess,” Adrelana suddenly speaks up. “What’s your opinion of Caporal Bolt? You have spent quite a bit of time with her, more time than most of us.” His glance at Zaranov is quizzical, and the subtle shake of the head makes Capitane Adrelana’s shoulders stiffen a little.

Twilight glances downwards. “I… uh… I have a history with the Caporal, I’m not sure I’m an appropriate judge of Caporal Bolt’s character,” she quietly reveals, and Zaranov shrugs

“A past history is better than nothing at all,” Zaranov replies, and Twilight runs a hand through her hair as thoughts of the Caporal cloud her mind, thoughts of the kiss that they’d just had blotting out everything else. Her cheeks redden as she tries to think about something else to no avail.

Twilight takes a deep breath to clear her mind, aware that now is not the time to be thinking about what the two of them have shared. She needs to provide a sober assessment and cannot do that if her heart is a whirling ball of passion, indeed she cannot salvage the situation if her mind is drifting to thoughts of Rainbow Dash at any opportunity it can.

“Caporal Arc Bolt is a little impulsive, but she’s good at what she does. She’s um, she’s a good leader and a good teacher,” Twilight says after a moment, wondering where that came from. Those weren’t words she ever thought she’d say about Rainbow Dash back in Ponyville, however as Twilight considers the words, she realizes that they are true. Dash has taught her much about Legion life, and indeed soldiering, much more than the men of the Fourth ever did. Twilight is sure she wouldn't know half as much if she hadn't had her ex as a teacher.

“I see,” Zaranov says after a moment, and then Prophet clears his throat.
“If I may interject, though I do not wish to cause offence…”

“If you must,” Zaranov replies.

“The individual known to you as Arc Bolt is more than she appears. You could do worse than having her as a sergent, that and as you say, to demean Princess Twilight by giving her a junior non-commissioned officer as the head of her bodyguard will weaken the position of the Princess when she comes to Tarhen tomorrow. Perhaps a solution would be to make her an acting sergent and if she can handle it, give her the full stripe when you have the luxury of time,” Prophet suggests, and Zaranov actually looks taken aback for a moment.

“That is actually… not a bad idea,” Zaranov says after a moment. “Good to know you can do something besides sermonizing.”

“I used to be a soldier before I took up Holy Orders,” Prophet replies. “I know something of how to play the game.” He then turns to look at Twilight, as a horrified thought strikes the young princess. She wonders if Prophet knows about Arc Bolt and Rainbow Dash being the same person. A look at the Khan’s impenetrable face offers no clues, the Khan has a most excellent poker face, and Twilight resolves to discreetly ask the Khan as soon as she can.

“Anyway, reminiscing isn't why we’re here,” Zaranov says, “Belial, Adrelana, you've both got shit to do, so fuck off and do it.” As the two officers salute and turn on their heels to walk away to their compagnies, Zaranov turns to Twilight as Prophet likewise excuses himself and wanders off into the night.

“Would you be open to a little honesty, Your Highness?” the Colonel asks, and Twilight nods quickly.
“Speak your mind Colonel, I value your words,” Twilight says, and for a moment she notices Zaranov hesitate, which perplexes Twilight. She’s never seen the Valorossiyan hesitate before.

“I will speak to you Val to Val,” Zaranov says after a moment. “No Colonels or Princesses here, do you understand?”

Twilight nods nervously as the Val turns and looks out across the landing field at the Legionnaires who are now loading the last of their gear into the airships, and forming up for final inspections, all dressed in their combat uniforms, scarves pulled up over their faces and goggles shielding their eyes.

“I admire you Princess,” the Val says, and Twilight blinks, taken aback. Of all the things she’d expected the titanic warlord to say, this had not been one of them. She is momentarily lost for words, but Colonel Zaranov continues speaking and Twilight does not interrupt.
“You’re twenty three, is it?” Zaranov inquires, and Twilight nods mutely.

“I admire your tenacity. When word came in that I would be expecting a Princess, I expected to be confronted with a shorter version of the Field Marshal. Arrogant, unpleasant and demanding. Worse in fact because you are not a soldier. However you have surprised me. You have been willing to muck in, willing to learn and willing to train with the men. On top of this, you are going to be in a negotiating room negotiating a peace deal in less than a day. Very few people your age would be willing or able to do this.”

“Thank you.” Twilight shifts her heels self consciously

“Are you nervous?” The Val asks

“Yes, Zaranov.”

“Good. You should hold on to that feeling, fear can give a human strength, can clear the mind and give a human the will to do what is needed,” the Val says quietly. “Listen to Belial and Adrelana, they know their trade and they have more operational experience than you know.”

“I plan to,” Twilight replies, and Zaranov nods approvingly.

“Good, now do not trust Prophet, or the Justicars. They have their own purpose and will not hesitate to throw you under an omnibus to achieve it,” Zaranov says, and Twilight tilts her head slightly, unsure how to respond to this. Prophet has done nothing to warrant her distrust, however she can understand where the colonel is coming from. Twilight nods after a moment, and then Zaranov calmly pats her on the shoulder, causing Twilight to lurch under the strength of that blow.

“You have speeches to write Princess… you have written your speeches, haven’t you?” Zaranov asks and Twilight nods, a slight smile curling her lips.

“One more thing,” Zaranov says as Twilight is about to turn and leave. “You aren't properly dressed.”
He gestures downwards at Twilight’s waistbelt and she suddenly blushes as she realizes she’s forgotten her revolver. “Make sure you have your weapon with you at all times ma’am,” Zaranov says reprovingly. Twiilight nods, the surge of pride she’d felt rapidly dissipating beneath the force of Zaranov’s amused irritation. Twilight then turns, making her excuses and starting to leave.

She has to finish packing anyway, or at least get her things organized. As she wanders back to her quarters however, her thoughts are full of Rainbow Dash; about what she’s going to say or do. Memories of that kiss still swirl in her mind, and now she can think of nothing else.

Twilight can feel something in her chest, something that she can quite clinically identify as an attachment to Dash, but it’s nothing more than a spark, a spark that needs to be put out. However as hard as Twilight tries to remind herself of all the things that got on her nerves about Rainbow Dash - like how she left her socks in the middle of the kitchen floor, or she used Twilight’s toothbrush without asking, or how she never did the dishes or came home drunk a couple more times than she should have - all it does is remind Twilight of all the good times that they shared. All the times that she had complained to Dash over tea about court problems or woken up to the glorious smell of bacon and eggs benedict. Twilight knows she’s going to need to sort things out with Dash, and preferably without half the fort listening in. She gestures to the two sentries standing guard outside the entrance to her barrack block.

“Gentlemen, you've done a cracking job so I would like you to take tonight off,” Twilight says, giving the two Legionnaires her best winsome smile. They both give her a cheery salute, before turning on their heels and walking away. Twilight sighs as she watches them go, waiting for them to round a corner before she opens the door to her accommodation block. She doesn't want witnesses for what could be a rather personal moment.

Twilight wearily trudges up the stairs. She’s had it up to here with her thoughts and feelings and ‘personal moments’. They’re just ghosts, just apparitions that have surfaced upon seeing an old and familiar face, and what with everything else going on, it’s natural that her mind would lock onto the first familiar, safe thing. It is an instinctive behavior, but Twilight cannot have her thought processes dominated by biological activity that predates sapient thought right now.

Twilight’s mind however is suddenly dominated by the sounds of a scuffle coming from up the corridor, from her bedroom. She stiffens as she approaches, wondering what on earth is going on. As she draws nearer to the half opened door, she hears Rainbow Dash shout out in pain and a sharp barked invocation in Fars’ad. Twilight can feel an iron weight settling somewhere around her midsection as she curses herself for sending the sentries away. Twilight reaches down for her revolver, only to find empty space where her gun-belt should be. Twilight curses herself once more but her footsteps quicken towards the door. Dash is in danger, and Twilight will not stand by and let her friend get hurt. She can now clearly hear Rainbow grunting, and the sound of flesh striking fur and shouts of pain. Twilight reaches the door and shoulders it open.

Her eyes widen in shock. Dash is grappling on the floor with a red robed Khan that has his paw against the lower half of Dash’s face. His other paw is struggling to get free of Dash’s grip, whilst Dash’s other hand is locked around the paw around her face. As the door opens however, the Khan leaps to his feet, extending his claws and reaching for a knife at his belt. Twilight in turn reaches for her revolver on her belt, only to touch fabric rather than leather. A surge of panic pulses through Twilight as she unthinkingly gropes for her revolver, but before she has time to think or react, the Khan is on her and she’s suddenly looking up at the ceiling as a powerful weight smashes her backwards, knocking her to the floor like a sack of meat. Twilight shrieks out, trying to scrabble away from the Khan, however the Khan slams a paw down into Twilight’s belly, forcing her breath out with a whoomph. The Khan then draws back to swing his dagger, however Twilight, still gasping for breath, reaches to the wellspring of innate power for something, anything to keep him off her. The resulting bang makes Twilight’s ears ring as it erupts from her hand, making her teeth rattle and her stomach lurch as a pulse of fire spreads across the space behind her eyes, Twilight hears the Khan crash heavily into something wooden, which smashes under the impact.

Twilight frantically scrabbles backwards in the direction she desperately hopes is her bedside table. As she does, she glances nervously for Dash, and notices Dash is lying sprawled upon her back. Shit, I guess I put a little too much behind that one. Twilight blindly snatches for the revolver on her bedside table, managing to hook the gun-belt into her grasp. Twilight struggles to undo the holster’s tight button fastening as the Khan manages to fight free of the wreckage of her wardrobe and leap at her. She raises the revolver and snatches at the trigger, the crash of her revolver thundering off the walls in the confines of her room as Twilight pumps the trigger again, firing two more shots at the charging Khan. The gun jerks in her hands with each shot and the Khan staggers, but he continues his charge, leaping at Twilight and knocking her sprawling.

“I AM ARMOURED BY FAITH!” the Khan screams as the revolver tumbles from Twilight’s grip, though Twilight can barely hear him through the ringing of her ears and suddenly she’s on the ground once more, her weight pinned down by the bulk of the Khan. Twilight frantically shoves at him, trying to make some space between the two of them, but the Khan is grabbing at her, trying to pin her down. Before Twilight can blast him backwards again, the Khan is lifted up in a full Nelson, Dash grabbing the Khan and pulling him off Twilight by his armpits.

“Get back Twi!” Dash yells as the Khan twists in her grip to try and scratch her face. Twilight has other ideas however, and she dives into the fight, grabbing her fighting-knife and thrusting it violently down into the Khan’s robes- where it encounters resistance. The knife twists downwards as it encounters plates of steel rather than the anticipated cotton underclothes and flesh.

Twilight pulls the knife out even as the Khan turns again, and suddenly Twilight’s world is filled with snapping jaws as the Khan manages to break free of Dash’s grip and leap at Twilight, claws slashing. Twilight feels a slice of pain in her side and she gasps as the Khan manages to rake her side with those vicious claws. Twilight is knocked off balance by the onslaught and she feels herself start to tumble once more.

However this time the Khan is ready and his knife is already beginning its wicked descent, the viciously curved blade gleaming in the lamplight. Suddenly the Khan jerks as a much louder resounding explosion fills the room, the Khan’s arm tumbling off at the shoulder, landing with a wet thud inches from Twilight’s head. Something hot and wet splashes across Twilight’s face and the front of her shirt as the blade clatters uselessly nearby. The Khan’s glazed eyes remain locked upon Twilight, his expression filled with murderous intent.

“I AM ARMOURED BY SCRIPTURE AND THE WORDS OF THE DIVINITY!” the Khan screams, his voice shrill and laden with pain as Twilight hears the ratcheting clank of a rifle bolt being jacked. The Khan’s right arm has been severed, but he’s still grabbing at Twilight, furiously slashing at her chest with the claws on his left hand and drawing shrieks of pain from the princess, stars flashing across her eyes as she tries to fight him off. She frantically hurls punches at the Khan, but his armour plating turns each blow with a loud clang. Twilight suddenly hears another loud click and a loud curse from Rainbow Dash. Twilight tries to reach once more for her magic, but as she does so, the Khan punches her in the face, disrupting the focus that Twilight needs to summon a spell. Twilight yowls out in pain, feeling something hot and wet spreading across her belly as his rake at her belly.

A wet meaty crack suddenly rings out in the room and the Khan lurches, toppling off of Twilight to land with a heavy thump upon the floor next to her to reveal Rainbow Dash standing over her, calmly sweeping the blood and bone fragments off the stock of her rifle with her sleeve. The cold, searing calm upon the Legionnaire’s face sends a shiver down Twilight’s spine.

Twilight blinks for a moment, gazing up at Rainbow Dash, whose face and uniform are spattered with blood. Her eye is cold and hard as she puts the rifle down and reaches under Twilight’s bed, scooping up the hunting gun and breaking the weapon open and nodding in satisfaction. Twilight slowly picks herself up, applying pressure to her side and breast as she does so. For now the pain is only a dull ache but Twilight knows it’s going to be excruciating in a couple of minutes. As Twilight watches through cringing eyes, Rainbow glances down at the moaning Khan on the floor, before calmly tilting the gun downwards.

The thunderous roar of the shotgun makes Twilight jump, her head quickly turning away as the Khan’s head explodes like an overripe grapefruit. Her heart races; the thick smells of blood and the bitter odour of burnt cordite fills the air as the sound of a wet brushstroke splatters against the wall. Twilight raises her hands to shield her face and cover her mouth in shock as fragments of skull fly past her vision, along with a great fountain of blood and viscera that decorates the walls and the ruins of Twilight’s wardrobe.

Twilight hears booted footsteps running down the corridor, and instantly Dash raises the shotgun up into the aim once more, covering the door this time. Twilight reaches for her revolver, picking it up with a shaking hand. Her palms are sweaty and her heart is thundering in her ears. She knows this will be one of two things: more assassins or help.

Twilight instantly recognizes the two Legionnaires as they fly through the doorway, weapons raised. Both are soldiers of the Ninth Compagnie, the sentries that she’d dismissed no less, recognizable by their black shoulder patches, if the fact that Caporal Smith was one of them was not enough of a clue. Twilight sighs with relief and lowers her weapon, however she’s perplexed as Dash keeps her weapon up and in the aim. Both Legionnaires sweep into the room, weapons up for a moment, before both they and Dash lower their weapons.

“Slowpoke,” Smith says, bowing his head to Dash, who nods in reply.

“Smitty, thank fuck you’re here, we’ve got a problem.”

“So I see.” Smith’s gaze turns to Twilight, and she notices his eyes dropping down to her side, to the blood leaking down the side of her clothes. Twilight glances down, lifting her bloody hand away to reveal a series of rapidly fading white scars that are already disappearing to reveal virgin skin. Twilight slowly exhales a breath that she hadn't realized she’d been holding, her shaking hands becoming still as the clouds of panic in her head are suddenly cleared.

“Holy fuck- I mean-! Sorry ma’am,” Smith quickly apologizes for his impropriety, but Twilight waves her hand. She’s more than a little surprised herself. Celestia had never mentioned anything like this healing ability, or the unnatural calm that is even now settling upon her being part of the suite of abilities she’d inherited as a princess. Twilight takes a deep shuddering breath as her eyes drift downwards, to the dead Khan, with his head exploded across her bedroom rug. Twilight’s not entirely sure what she’s expecting to feel as she stares at the corpse. She’s seen, and even taken part in dissections and various other scientific procedures on the recently dead and she’s even observed surgery and so the sight of viscera is nothing new to her. However as she gazes down at the dead Khan, she notices she feels… nothing. No nausea or shakes or trauma. Just a calm cold vacuum that worries Twilight more than it should.

“What happened?” the other soldier, Legionnaire ‘Match Box’ if Twilight remembers his name correctly, asks, and Dash shrugs.

“I was in the Princess’ room getting her shit ready, when whiskers here came in and told me he needed to see the Princess on important business from Prophet. However we all know that Prophet has unlimited access to the Princess and he would just come see her himself, but whiskers down here told me it was classified and he couldn't talk about it whilst I was in the room, now that lit all my fucking warning bells, and so I asked him to wait with me, at which point he jumped at me and knocked my rifle away… Then Twi came in, we managed to overpower him and do a bit of decorating, then you came in,” Dash observes, as Twilight sags down onto her bed, breathing heavily as the weight of the events crashes down upon her. It’s one thing to be told she’s going to be attacked, that she needs to take shooting lessons in case someone attacks her, but it’s quite another when it happens for real in all its stinking, thunderous and chaotic glory.

Twilight suddenly feels the bed sag next to her. She doesn't even say anything when she feels a warm body leaning against her and an electric blue wing wrapping around her, and pulling her close. Twilight closes her eyes for a moment, drawing a deep breath.

“Wow,” the princess whispers after a moment. “That was… I don’t know what to… f-fuck...”

Twilight’s vaguely aware of Rainbow Dash gesturing to the other Legionnaires and muttering something, Twilight closes her eyes for a moment, but abruptly open with a gasp as the door snaps shut. She glances around the wreckage of what was her bedroom, and realizes she is alone with Dash once more.

Rainbow Dash turns to look at Twilight. “Thank you for trying to get him off me,” Dash says after a moment. “That was fucked up.”

“Mmm,” Twilight softly mumbles. “I… when he just kept coming and I couldn't put him down...”

“Fucknuts was wearing power armour, ten mill of enchanted ceramite,” Dash says quietly. “Your rounds won’t punch through that.”

“Is that common?” Twilight asks, and Dash shakes her head.

“No, only the Stormtroops, Internal Defence forces and the Justicars have access to...” Dash trails off, a dawning expression of horror crossing her face. Twilight’s eyes likewise widen as the same notion occurs to her.

“Get Prophet here immediately.” Twilight rises to her feet. “I want to know his thoughts on this matter.”

“Are you sure Twilight?” Dash asks as Twilight approaches the corpse, but Twilight nods firmly.

“If this is one of Prophet’s men, he’ll be able to identify him.”

“Her. This one’s a female.” Dash corrects Twilight, who tilts her head curiously.

“How do you know?”

“For starters the claws are a little sharper and the muzzle is shaped differently. Females are also more aggressive than the males,” Dash explains, pointing out the claws. Twilight nods, silently taking notes as she steps closer to the cadaver. She dispassionately stoops down, barely aware of Dash rising to her feet behind her and going to the door and muttering something to the Legionnaires outside. Twilight hooks her fingers around the bloodstained robes and gingerly opens them up, revealing bronze armour plating that shines with a glorious lustre, as though it’s been freshly polished. Embossed upon the breastplate is the same winged feline skull that adorns Prophet’s armour, although this suit is clearly of slightly lower quality. Twilight’s fingers trace the contours of the armour, down to the scorched dents where the armour had turned her bullets.

“Rainbow…” Twilight says nervously as thoughts of what might have happened drift through her mind.

“Twilight, relax,” Dash says after a moment. “We’re going to take care of this, Pinkie promise.”

Twilight can’t help but giggle slightly, however the giggle feels weak and out of place. Twilight inspects the richly engraved armour, decorated with flowing Fars’ad script, and her gaze slowly drifts upwards, to the cowl of the armour and to the bleeding stump where the Khan’s head used to be. Twilight draws a deep breath, trying to be dispassionate about her examination, trying to divorce the living breathing being that this Khan had been from the lump of meat that she is now. She then notices something strange. A thong is loosely tied around the Khan’s neck. Twilight frowns as she pulls at the thong and comes away with a silver circular medallion with a stylized image of a Khan on one side, and Khan script on the other.

“Dash, I’ve found something on whiskers,” Twilight says suddenly, holding it up, and Dash whistles, impressed.

“Nice, that’s an identity disk,” Dash says brightly. “It’ll have a name on it, can you read Fars’ad?”

Twilight looks down at the flowing, curling script that is so different from her own native Equestrian and takes a deep breath, trying to summon her magic. However her magic is no help here, and so Twilight shakes her head.
“No, sorry.”

“No worries, chuck it here, I can read it.” Twilight tosses the medal to Dash, who nods after a second. “Yeah, my other eye was better at reading this shit… here we go, Kalima Faizala-Aznan, born on-”

“Aznan, isn’t that..?” Twilight suddenly remembers a face that had been given quite a bit of time in the books she’d been given to read.

“You mean General Aznan? National hero, blah blah, doubtful, it’s a pretty common surname over there. I’ll admit whiskers here was a mountain cat though, and you need to be kind of special to get into the Justicars, even as a journeyman,” Dash says after a moment, thoughtfully rolling the medallion between her fingers for a second.

“We should definitely look into this,” Twilight says decisively, but before Dash can reply, there are voices from outside the room.

“I’m going to need you to wait here, sir!”

“DO NOT IMPEDE ME IN THIS!” the roar of Prophet’s voice is clearly audible, along with a deep low pitched thrumming noise.

“Send him in!” Twilight snaps, summoning her magic. The moment Prophet comes through the door, Twilight knows what she’s going to do. She’s going to lock Prophet in place and force him to answer some very pertinent questions. She doesn’t like the way he’s growling at the Legionnaires and that low thrumming noise is likewise setting her teeth on edge. Dash likewise glances at Twilight with a querulous expression, before moving so that she’s behind the bed, able to shoot at the doorway without Twilight in her line of fire.

The door opens and Prophet thunders into the room, sword in hand. Twilight doesn’t think about the spell before she summons it, dropping the energy upon Prophet with a crash, or more precisely upon his feet. Prophet sways forward, caught unexpectedly in mid-stride and his remaining eye widens.

“What is this treachery?” he hisses as Dash raises her weapon. Twilight turns and fixes the Justicar with a look that could slice through steel.

“Is this one of your crewmen?” she asks sharply, tapping the corpse with her toe. The Justicar nods, his face still cold and hard.

“Yes,” Prophet says firmly. “That is a suit of armour from my ship… belonging to one of my Acolytes if memory serves… no…” Twilight notices his gaze track to the slash in her clothing and the blood spattering Rainbow Dash’s face and uniform. Twilight notices a flicker of something in the whiskers and tail before his face suddenly becomes a neutral mask. He lifts his sword up and sheathes it rapidly.

“She made an attempt on your life?” he asks, and Twilight nods sharply.

“She tried to kill my bodyguard, and then when I came in she tried to kill me, unsuccessfully as you can see.”

“Mhm,” Prophet says softly, his eye flicking quickly from right to left. “I see… this is problematic for both of us,” he says after a moment as Twilight feels a presence pushing at her own magic, and she redoubles her own effort to lock the Justicar down. She’d rather not kill Prophet but if he’s here to kill her then she’ll have to, and damn the Justicars.

“This is one of my people, one of my more trusted aides… trust that was evidently misplaced,” Prophet says quietly. “I selected my crew for their doctrinal flexibility, crew that would be willing not to kill you on sight.” Prophet looks down at the body and sucks his teeth. “It would appear that… somehow, she slipped through my net.” Prophet taps his toe thoughtfully and turns his gaze back to Twilight’s face. “I understand that you don’t trust me right now, I’m hoping we can work through that. Believe me, Princess Twilight Sparkle, it is not in the interest of the Divinity for me to kill you.”

Twilight nods, her mouth set in a thin line. She doesn't have any allies in the Khanate other than Prophet, and the Justicars could be a powerful ally… “Or a powerful threat.” The words of Colonel Zaranov hang in her mind as she considers the situation.

“I see,” she says after a moment. “As you say, this complicates matters between us. ” Twilight folds her arms. “You are useful to me, as I am useful to you.”

“May I take the body?” Prophet says after a moment, and Twilight nods.

“You may. Was she known to you?” Twilight asks, closely scrutinizing Prophet. She doesn't know much about Khan body language, but even she notices the twitch of the tail, the flick of the ears, and the overlong pause before Prophet shakes his head.

“No, she wasn't.”

Twilight watches him carefully pick up the body, holding it close to his chest for a moment as he carries it out bridal-style despite the claret staining his own crimson robes. As the door closes behind him, Twilight turns to Rainbow Dash, who nods subtly.

“Let’s get our things Twi… we’ve gotta go in four hours. Give me those clothes and I’ll get them washed for ya, I know Rares was saying red was in when I left, but I don’t think this is what she had in mind.” Twilight nods quickly, stepping around the crust of dried blood on the floor and heading over to her trunk and popping the latches with a sigh.

Too many questions, not enough answers.

Chapter Fourteen: Entanglement

View Online

27th of January, 1882. 0300. The Pit.

“It’s time dearie.” The voice shakes Twilight from her fitful slumber, and Twilight opens her eyes, squinting against the harsh light crystals of the armoury. She blinks, as for a moment she doesn’t recognize her surroundings. Concrete walls, racks upon racks of weapons and a well worn wooden table with a set of floral patterned china mugs hanging on the wall. Madam Locke’s armoury. The lady herself is gazing down at Twilight with something akin to concern, which rapidly fades the moment she notices Twilight looking at her, to become Madam Locke’s usual wide and welcoming smile.

“I’ll put the kettle on, you just get yourself ready. There’s a hot bath available if you want it,” Locke says sweetly, and Twilight’s eyes gleefully widen at the thought. Even after a few weeks in the desert, she misses the hot baths that she would take every night in Canterlot. She would just lie back and let the stress of the day flow away in slowly curling tendrils of sweet smelling steam, only to emerge once her skin resembled a dried prune and all the bubbles had gone. Thus, the prospect of a bath is received by the young princess with the same enthusiasm as she would normally reserve for receiving a special edition of a newly published book. Twilight sits up in her bed, only for the world to suddenly immediately twist as the floor enthusiastically rushes up to make her acquaintance with a loud smack against Twilight’s cheekbone and shoulder.

Twilight groans as she picks herself up, to the accompaniment of the armourer’s giggles.
“I’ll never get used to hammocks,” she mutters, rubbing her cheek as she glances at the ancient armourer, who gestures kindly down the hallway, and so Twilight walks in that direction, rubbing her shoulder and grumbling as she does, towards one of the workshops where the light has been left on. Twilight walks into the armoury and blinks, immediately recognizing this room. This was the workshop where she and Rainbow Dash had had that fight. Twilight can almost feel the raw emotion that was spent that night still crackling upon her skin like static electricity. Twilight’s attention is suddenly captured however by an absolutely magnificent copper bathtub, tucked discreetly away behind a set of shelves crammed with tools. It hasn’t been filled with water yet, but that is the work of a moment for the sorceress.

Twilight snaps her fingers, the magic coming to her like an obedient puppy, and she watches as the bath fills with gently simmering water. Twilight smiles slightly and on a whim, sprinkles the bathwater with rose petals. Twilight’s smile widens as the refreshing scent lazily fills the air, its gentle note bringing back pleasant memories of skipping after Princess Celestia, miniature trowel held eagerly in hand as the elder Princess tended to her private garden. Then a thought suddenly strikes the young princess, and her eyes narrow mischievously. Bubble Bath always brings out her inner child and she might as well enjoy it, what with no cleaners or butlers trailing behind her here to whinge about having to wipe away the chemicals and gunk that would get stuck to the tub. A snap of her fingers, and suddenly a mountain range of suds is blooming out of the tub. The Sorceress steps back to admire her handiwork just as the door opens and Madam Locke comes in with a bucket of steaming water in her hands.
“I’ve come with water your highness, I- oh, my apologies,” she says quickly. “We don’t get many sorceresses here and-”

“Don’t worry,” Twilight says. “I didn’t want to use the Legion’s water supplies, so I used all the metal shavings and dust on the floor. It’s a material emancipation spell and I-”

“Don’t try and explain magic to me, Highness,” Locke replies. “Don’t take too long, they’re aiming to leave in an hour and whilst they’ll wait for you, it’ll upset everyone if they’re late.”

Twilight nods as the door to the armoury shuts behind Locke. Twilight turns around to regard her prize almost gleefully, and so she walks back to the bathtub with a broad smile upon her face, rubbing her hands together with relish, before she slips her night-dress off, to let it pool upon the floor. With a snap of her fingers, Twilight has summoned her emergency shampoo and her favourite soap, the smell of lavenders filling the air. Twilight shivers as she steps into the bath, sliding down into weightlessness and closing her eyes as the water welcomes her into its glorious embrace. Twilight releases a blissful little moan of absolute contentment as she stretches out in the bathtub. Twilight is almost completely immersed, her hair spreading out around her in a curtain of darkness. Twilight lets out a relieved sigh, closing her eyes for a moment and just luxuriates in the tender embrace of the water. Twilight then starts to scrub, gently sweeping the soap across her skin, humming to herself as she focuses on being relaxed, and tries to concentrate on the absolute weightlessness of her limbs in the water.

However Twilight has no sooner done this than she hears the clattering of hobnailed boots coming down the corridor, heading straight for this room. Twilight summons the magic to her hands, but before she can summon the magic to shut the door, a notion strikes her. No one locks doors in the fortress, and if the Legionnaire runs into a locked door, he’s bound to get suspicious, and that would cause problems for everyone. The entire fort has been up in arms since the attempt on her life after all. Twilight is also in the middle of the first bath she’s had in three weeks and she’s not about to let that get spoiled. Twilight snaps her fingers once more and a bedsheet drops over the tub. No sooner has she done this than the Legionnaire trots smartly into the room. Twilight closes her eyes, feeling the sheet start to get damp. Whilst Princess Celestia has assured her that she doesn’t need to worry about breathing anymore, Twilight would rather not have cause to put that theory to the test.

Twilight hears the Legionnaire whistling a tune as he walks towards the bath-tub, the clatter of his boots sounding all too loud to Twilight as her heart pounds in her ears. The Legionnaire walks right past her, and Twilight can hear the Legionnaire pick something up.

That’s it, get what you came for and leave, please! Twilight thinks anxiously. It is starting to get uncomfortably hot under here, especially when she’s having to remain stock still lest any movement betray her presence. However Twilight hears the unzipping of a bag, and then she hears the voice of none other than Rainbow Dash muttering to herself, along with the clanking click of metal on metal as something large is being unscrewed and taken apart.

“Hmm-hmm… La Légion marche vers le front… Come on girl, one last clean, you deserve that much,” Twilight hears Dash murmur, and for a moment she wonders if she’s been rumbled. However, as Dash continues talking, she realizes Dash isn’t talking to her.

“That’s it, sorry about that girly, figure you could use some extra oil. There we go, that wasn’t so hard was it… Celestia help me, I’m going nuts,” Dash mumbles, over the sound of brushing and scraping. “But yeah, at least you don’t chat back,” Dash continues as Twilight shifts slightly, trying to lift a little bit of the bedsheet to get a look at what’s going on outside.

Dash has her back to Twilight, and she’s sitting on a bench calmly taking an absolutely colossal rifle to pieces. Twilight can see a cleaning kit spread out on the bench next to Dash, and the caporal is going through the cleaning kit and cleaning each part of the rifle with the calm demeanour that suggests intimate familiarity.

“So yeah… Twilight and me,” Dash says to the rifle. “I don’t even know why I’m even thinkin’ about this. It’s been two years; two years of this and that. She’s probably got some young prince waiting for her, I’m just complicating matters.” Dash sounds rather downcast at the prospect. “But if she does… why isn’t he with her? Or is he some kind of little bitch?” Dash asks the shadows. Twilight bites her lip, resisting the urge to scream out the answer. There has been no one else. There had been attempts of course, young lords that had been attempting to curry favour or climb the rungs to the highest steeple, or else sorcerers seeking to discover the secret to immortality, as though Twilight would be careless enough to breathe a word about the deeply intimate and personal ritual Celestia had performed in the cathedral of heaven over her pillow. They had all been delightful or horrific, but none of them had struck the careful chemistry that had been built by her and Dash. They were soft, spoiled and pampered where Dash was hard and lean. They were flabby whereas she was sculpted by a brutal fitness regimen. None of them had been to the ends of the earth or stood against the changelings with her.

“I mean, she’s a princess, I’m a mess,” Dash says as Twilight watches her putting the bolt of the rifle back together. “She’s got the world at her feet… she doesn’t need me. But she wants me, bad, I can see it in her eyes, same as last time… but she knows she can’t have me. Or at least not without breaking the orders of Her Royal Snootiness, and we both know that only ends one way,” Dash muses bitterly, slapping the bolt back into the breech of the rifle and screwing the massive weapon back together, the cleaning done. Twilight silently watches, feeling her head start to spin. A human would have passed out by now, and even for an immortal it’s more than a little unpleasant. Twilight can feel herself starting to sweat, but now Dash is getting up and putting her cleaning kit away, and allowing Twilight to get a good look at the monumental weapons system she’s been working on.

The weapon is nearly two metres in length, and Twilight recognizes it as an En-Kar Mk IV High Velocity Rifle, of the kind she’d seen from time to time in the armoury. It’s a weapon designed for taking on armoured targets such as walkers, or else punching holes in walls. They normally have iron sights fitted, but this one has been jury-rigged with a set of optics. Twilight bites her lip slightly as she turns her head to watch Rainbow Dash pick up the weapon, pull out a pin and fold the weapon in two, before slipping it into a gun-bag and starting to lug it to the exit.

Twilight watches the girl head towards the exit and lets out a sigh of relief. Her knees are cramping up and her skin is resembling a dried prune.

The hobnailed boots suddenly stop. Twilight watches the Legionnaire drop the bag then reach for her belt. The rasp of oiled steel on steel and the creaking of leather fills the armoury, and the click of a pair of cocking lugs being pulled back before snapping forward makes Twilight’s heart lurch and her blood turns to ice. Twilight holds her breath.

“Who’s there?” Dash snaps, turning around and drawing her pistol. Twilight bites her lip as Dash starts walking into the armoury, and Twilight can see her walking right towards the bathtub.
“What the fuck is this?” Dash mutters. “Who left this load of.. laundry here? Merde, it’s still wet.” Dash is now incredibly close to Twilight. Twilight can almost hear the Legionnaire breathing, can feel how tense the Legionnaire is.

“If you’re another fucking Khan, you’d better show yourself or I won’t be held accountable for what I’ll do!” she snaps, and suddenly Twilight feels a hand grabbing her breast on the other side of the sheets and Twilight shrieks out before she can stop herself, wriggling in the tub and overbalancing, causing it to tip backwards and unceremoniously deposit a naked Twilight on the cold armoury floor at Dash’s feet, at the same time slopping a torrent of lukewarm water over Dash’s formerly pristine white trousers. Twilight flails desperately as the suds and water flows out around her, grabbing the now translucent and sopping wet sheet and tugging it around herself to preserve her modesty.

“Fuck!” Dash shouts in astonishment. Twilight gazes up at Dash and draws a deep breath to explain. The Legionnaire, however, has turned white, nearly as white as the sheet that is wrapped around Twilight. Her eye is wide and her mouth has practically dropped open. Dash’s hand is shaking as she points her pistol at Twilight, but her hand then drops to her side. The only sound Twilight can hear is the rasping of the Legionnaire’s breathing. Dash’s mouth opens and closes, no words emerging, but Twilight can see how wide her eye is. She can see the fear etched into every line of face and neck, along with other more primal emotions that she doesn’t want to even speculate about. Silence hangs in the air between the two women, a silence born of unasked questions and unknowable answers.

Twilight draws her breath to speak, but suddenly Dash turns upon her heel, her pistol tumbling from nerveless fingers to clatter resoundingly upon the ground. The Legionnaire sprints for the door, leaving a naked and confused Twilight in her wake. A whirlwind of thoughts flows through Twilight’s head, her heart rattles like a machine-gun. For a moment, Twilight is struck speechless by what has just happened.
After a long moment, the stunned and confused princess awkwardly picks herself up, fumbling as she slithers to standing. A plan of action hesitantly starts to form in Twilight’s mind. She has to go after Dash, has to go and explain. What she’s going to say is another matter. What can I say? Twilight’s eyes harden and her back straightens, her half-unfurled wings snapping back into her back. Hang it all, she’s my friend… I’ll come up with something.

Twilight snaps her fingers and the water upon her skin, and upon the floor, vanishes into thin air, leaving nothing but a ghost of the scents hanging upon the breeze. Twilight summons the gown that she had planned to wear later in the day to her side with a snap of her fingers. A second flick of her fingers, and she’s clad in the rich luxurious gown of state that she is required to wear as a Princess, her crown and baton of state (she refuses to call it a cane or a sceptre) appearing in her hands.

Twilight slips her feet into her ‘royal slippers’, the flat shoes that she wears when travelling to and from engagements. Whilst she knows how to walk in heels, she prefers to delay putting them on until the last possible moment, just so that it doesn’t feel like she’s walking on broken glass. They also allow her to move quickly. A final snap of her fingers, and her summoned pistol-belt wraps itself around her waist. With all this done, Twilight strides over to the door, intending to run after Rainbow Dash and confront her. Twilight’s hand closes around the door handle and she yanks the door open-

-only to nearly walk straight into the beaming, shriveled face of Madam Locke, hairbrush in one hand, makeup box in the other.

“Excellent timing your Highness, I was just about to come in and do your hair, none of these troopies know the first thing about makeup, nor do I for that matter, but I’m the closest thing this place has to someone who knows which end of a lipstick is which.” Placing her wrinkly, leathery hands upon Twilight’s shoulders, the armourer spins the flabbergasted Princess around and steers her with surprising strength towards one of the benches. Locke firmly sits Twilight down in front of a mirror and lays out a surprising array of powders and pastes.

Twilight knows better than to get on the wrong side of a stylist on a mission, and so she takes a deep and soothing breath, intending to let Locke down gently. She turns “Excuse me, Madame Locke, but I-”

“You need to hold still ma’am, or this won’t work,” Locke interrupts Twilight before the princess can continue and then she yanks Twilight’s shoulders back around so she’s square with the mirror once more. “This is very delicate, and there’s no one else in this whole place who’ll be able to do this for you until you get to the Khanate. Heaven only knows what you’ll do in that nest of cats. Now chin up and hold still.” Locke say, before placing a hand under Twilight’s chin and yanks it upward firmly, before twisting Twilight’s head left and right, sucking her teeth and tutting gently. After accepting the futility of resistance, Twilight resigns herself to being pulled and tweaked and permed until she meets the satisfaction of the ageing armourer.

Half a lifetime later, Twilight opens her eyes as Locke steps back, scrutinizing Twilight.
“You’ll do,” Locke says at last, lifting the mirror so that Twilight can look herself in the mirror, and Twilight’s eyes widen. She looks… breathtaking. Like Cadance or Fluttershy used to look all the time. Not that Twilight was jealous or anything. Of course not. Locke has accentuated her cheekbones and applied some kind of glittering eye-shadow. She’s also applied a very subtle touch of lipstick to make her lips fuller, and done something to Twilight’s eyes as well to make them appear brighter, like they seem to be glowing. She’s also applied mascara and even plucked Twilight’s eyebrows very slightly. The overall effect is startling. Twilight takes a deep breath of absolute wonder. For the first time in her life, she’s met someone who knows more about makeup and style than Rarity, which is something Twilight never thought she’d admit.

“Thank you,” Twilight says, and Locke smiles warmly down at her.

“It was nothing your Highness, this should see you to Tarhen and through the drive to your quarters, it’s specially formulated for high temperatures so it won’t run when you start sweating.” Twilight nods, relieved. She needs to look her best when she goes into Tarhen and her own makeup application techniques look like the scrawlings of a child on a chalkboard compared to Locke’s skill. Twilight turns to Locke, intending to ask a question that’s been bothering her for some time. How does an old lady who knows so much about makeup and tea and counselling end up fixing guns in a dirt-hole fortress like this?

“If I may ask, what did you do before you came here?” Twilight inquires, and Locke shrugs.

“I did a lot of things Princess, now you’d better get a move on,” Locke replies, turning around. Her gaze suddenly drops and she spots the Luger lying on the floor. Twilight’s eyes widen as the ancient armourer picks the weapon up, turning it over in her hands. Locke pauses for a long moment, before she walks back over to Twilight, the smile gone from her face.

“This is Caporal Bolt’s pistol.” Locke’s tone makes it clear this is not a question, and Twilight nods, though there can be no reasonable doubt. Lugers are status symbols among Legionnaires for a reason. They’re incredibly rare. Twilight has glanced at Locke’s issue tables and there are twenty five Lugers in a fortress of over one thousand Legionnaires. There is only one Luger with the distinctive polished silver cocking lugs and the markings of the Shell-sea Arsenal, the weapon factory that supplies Princess Luna’s Night-Guard, and that Luger made the trip east with Twilight.

Locke turns it over in her hands for a moment before offering it to Twilight, who mutely holds out her hand for the weapon. “Caporal Bolt thinks very highly of you indeed Princess, she knows this pistol isn’t safe to be dropped.”

Twilight’s eyes widen as Locke places the pistol in her outstretched hand. Twilight’s hand closes woodenly around the pistol-grip, holding onto it silently for a moment. Twilight’s thoughts wrap around the pistol. It feels heavy, freighted with memories and heaven knows what kind of sentimental value between the young princess and the Legionnaire. She can almost feel Dash’s warm grip upon the handle, and she remembers those hands lying softly upon her own in the small hours of the night.

Twilight nods mutely as she mechanically presses the toggle, sliding the magazine out before cocking the lug backwards and letting a round ping out. Twilight scoops the round up and slots it back into the magazine, before slotting the magazine back into place. Twilight looks into Locke’s eyes for a moment, and then nods, understanding the unspoken message. “I’ll take it to her,” Twilight says, turning the weapon over in her hand once more.

“You’d better go,” Locke says firmly. “You’ve got peace to make.” Twilight nods, before bowing her head and heading for the exit, sliding the pistol into her belt. She can give it to Dash later, although how much later is open for discussion… I’ll give it back when I’m ready, whenever that is.

As it turns out, later does not come for quite a while. Twilight leaves the armoury to find the Legionnaires are forming up to march onto their transport ship, the Archangel having dropped in low over the Pit so that the troops can embark via troop lift. In platoons, the two compagnies load up into the bowels of the huge airship, the sections chosen to escort Twilight from the air standing apart from the main mass of troops.

In one corner of the parade ground, Twilight spots the Ninth Compagnie, instantly distinguishable from the rest due to their royal blue dress uniforms and Klepi Blancs. They look absolutely immaculate as they stand ready in front of the open-topped carriage that will be transporting Twilight when they get into Tarhen. Dash stands at their head, her face an impassive mask.

Their dress uniforms have been modified somewhat however. Each Legionnaire is carrying a canvas haversack and satchel. Dash brings the fifteen man unit to attention, and as one the soldiers salute Twilight, the crash of their boots lost in the rumble of the engines of the airships.

Twilight acknowledges the salute with a wave of her hand, turning to inspect the three ranks. They are immaculate as Twilight would expect, the only subtle differences visible where uniforms have been modified to fit this or that prosthetic. Twilight knows that can’t be helped, and in truth she’s more than a little glad. She’ll be guarded by veterans, men and women who have tasted the white fire of combat. Twilight takes a deep breath, wondering what she needs to say to these men, or indeed if she needs to say anything at all. Twilight inwardly frowns slightly, her thoughts darkening. What can I say that will not immediately sound patronizing? She can feel Dash’s eye on her, and it makes her stomach churn. Dash pivots on her heel and marches up to Twilight, crashing to a halt in front of her.

“Ninth Compagnie of the Second Regiment, Legion d’Etrangere, ready for inspection ma’am,” Dash barks, and Twilight nods.

“Thank you Caporal, dismiss the men and prepare for departure,” she replies, commanding her churning guts and thundering heart to be still.

Twilight takes a deep breath as Dash turns back to the squad and barks out orders, and the men turn as one and fall out, instantly bomb-bursting to grab the last of their equipment, two of them moving over to the mechanical-horse drawn carriage and firing up the boilers that power the roan coloured ‘horses,’ their boilers hissing as the mechanized horses toss their heads and paw at the ground in a credible imitation of the real thing. Twilight watches as the Legionnaires tweak and then flick the reins, spurring the mechanized horses into a gallop. Twilight watches them careen away for a moment, before her gaze turns to the remnants of the Fifth and Sixth Compagnies that are even now boarding the troop elevators that will lift them into the belly of the Archangel. Once the Archangel has finished loading, then Twilight’s airship will land upon the parade square and it’ll be Twilight’s turn to board, but in a rather more civilised fashion than by troop elevator.

As Twilight watches, the troop elevators rapidly rise into the belly of the massive troop transport ship. The balloon of the ship is naturally massive to allow the ship to hoist up to three companies plus vehicular support, and so Archangel dominates the sky, the balloon alone being almost two hundred metres in length. The airship is painted in the flat tan desert colouring of the Legion. The reinforced canvas of the sails is faded and patched, and the airship’s frame is pitted with the scars of incoming fire. The Archangel slowly climbs, the rumble of its drives growing as bright blue cones of flame blossom from the engines.

Twilight shivers slightly as she watches the airship rumbling overhead, easing out into the patrol pattern around the fortress. The two escorting cruisers are next, thundering through the sky with all the grace of a sledgehammer. They are much sleeker and smaller than the transport ship at one hundred and fifty metres, the cigar-shaped balloons glinting in the sunlight. The gondolas beneath them are bristling with weaponry, rapid fire flak cannon studded along its side, and six ground-bombardment guns arranged along the underside, along with four gun-turrets for taking shots at other ships. When this is combined with the Maxim guns that have been installed, the cruiser has become an incredibly lethal weapon in the hands of a competent commander, and Twilight has two of them escorting her to Tarhen.

The two cruisers move like sharks as they move to flank the Archangel, taking up positions on either side of the troop carrier. Twilight watches them for a moment, before she hears the rumble of another set of drives howling in. Her own transport, HMS Equerry, is not a warship. It is not painted in the dull tan of the Legion’s desert combat pattern. Instead, it is lavishly decorated in bright sweeping lavender and gold, with huge windows that provide absolutely amazing visibility. A balcony runs around the upper deck with an ornamental railing that looks to be incredibly flimsy, but Twilight doesn’t mind as the airship touches down and the bow-ramp drops, along with the gangway.

Twilight makes her way up the gangway onto the ship, suddenly feeling very tired. She can feel one of the pistols on her belt digging into her side, and she unhooks her pistol-belt, putting her pistols upon her desk. Twilight sighs irritably as she makes her way to the nearest couch, barely managing to take note of the opulent furnishings of the ship before she collapses into the chair, feeling her strength fade. Whatever else she might say about the Night Princess, Twilight does not deny that she lacks subtlety. Conferences between her and the other princesses have been happening annoyingly frequently over the last few days, but they are as good a way as any to keep track of what’s going on outside the fort. Twilight closes her eyes and she’s instantly out cold, ensconced in the embrace of the plush armchair.

__________

Twilight opens her eyes to find herself sat in a nondescript, well furnished conference room that could quite easily be a replica of Canterlot Castle’s Situation Room, though the vast expanse of varnished mahogany that is the conference table has been replaced with a tiny four seater table more suited for taking tea on the verandahs outside, complete with green and white parasol.

She is not alone in this conference room naturally. Princess Celestia is in attendance, wrapped in the flowing robes of state. Her expression is warm and inviting, but the billowing of her hair is slower than usual and Twilight can see the way the sun princess is tapping her fingers against the table nervously. Princess Luna is obviously in attendance, dressed in her dark blue dress uniform, her masked face as cold and remote as ever, and her body-language is almost completely unreadable. However Celestia and Luna aren’t the only people present at the table. Princess Cadance, Twilight’s beloved former nanny, is also present, dressed much more conservatively than Twilight has ever seen Cadance dress, in a creamy-white gown with the high lace-lined collar that is currently in fasion, though she has forgone the puffy shoulder padding that Twilight has heard called ‘leg ‘o mutton’ sleeves by Rarity, who had found the shoulder-pads patently ridiculous. However Twilight can’t help but inspect her former baby-sitter more closely based on the choice of uncharacteristic attire, and she notices the very subtle bump in Cadance’s belly. Given princesses can’t get fat, that leaves only one option. Cadance grins at Twilight.

“Hey there Lady-bug, how’re you doing?” Cadance asks brightly, and Twilight feels the knot of tension that had been building in her stomach since she’d been abruptly dropped into this meeting easing a little.

“Pretty good, things have been hectic,” Twilight says with a sigh. “I’ve been run ragged trying to get things ready for the trip to Tarhen.”

Cadance blinks, surprised, and Twilight notices Princess Celestia shoot her a look out of the corner of her eye. “Oh? This is the first I’ve heard about you travelling to Tarhen… Aunty contacted me last night and asked me to hot-foot it down to Canterlot from the United Federation… President McKinley wasn’t happy about that. I assumed I was about to be asked to travel to Tarhen, but if you’re going… what’s this about?”

“We cannot trust the United Federation to mind its own business if things come to blows,” Luna says frankly. “The anti-Equestria lobby is gaining momentum and we will not have you put in danger if they decide to get involved on the opposite side.”

“You two sound like you’ve already given up,” Twilight mumbles, and Celestia shakes her head.

“Not at all Twilight, we’re just managing the risk,” the eldest princess says. “The Khanate has always traditionally been close with the United Federation, just as we enjoy favourable relations with the Zebricans. The difference is that the Zebricans are pacifists but the United Federation enjoy getting their fingers into pies that perhaps they shouldn’t. They’re also a democracy for all intents and purposes, and those are easy enough to manipulate by anyone who knows what they’re doing.”

Cadance grins. “Exactly, which is why I think you’re making a mistake in bringing me back here. I’ve got friends in high places.”

“Theatrical players do not count as ‘friends in high places,’” Luna says. “Nor do the kind of high society you have been cavorting with.”

“Now Luna,” Celestia says as Cadance folds her arms and pouts slightly.. “Cadance has been doing invaluable work in the United Federation, and her diplomatic skill has served the Empire well.” Celestia turns to Cadance. “Cadance, I’m pulling you out of the United Federation because we have need of your talents elsewhere.”

“Where else aunty? The Zebricans won’t get involved, nor will the State. That only leaves… oh.”

“Precisely, I want you to go north and meet with Chief Adrelana and Vladimir Illych. We have been investing in the Adrelanas for quite some time now, I’d like to see a return on that investment, ” Celestia says, and Cadance nods grimly. Twilight glances down at the plate of cream-cakes arranged before them, and after a quick inquiring glance at Celestia, she picks up one of the eclairs, deep in thought.

Obviously what she’s doing is part of some kind of wider strategy, and Twilight’s not privy to the fine details of other parts of the strategy. She can understand that, even if it rankles at her somewhat. Celestia’s gaze then turns on Twilight.

“So, Twilight, today’s the day that you go into Tarhen?” Celestia asks, and Twilight nods.

“Yeah, everything’s all ready and we’re in transit right now,” Twilight says.

“Tell us more about this Justicar,” Luna says firmly. “I still have doubts about your reliance upon him.” Twilight turns the eclair over in her fingers, taking a deep breath. The events of last night have cast fresh doubts upon Prophet.

“There have been problems,” Twilight says after a moment. “Last night, I came upon a Khan fighting with my bodyguard-”

Luna snaps her fingers sharply and a projector screen materializes in a cloud of smoke before them. As it does, Twilight feels a strange presence in her mind, the ageless mind of the Night Princess, cold, remote and calculating as it winnows through her memories. Twilight’s eyes widen and she attempts to lift her shields, however Luna’s presence is already leaving, trophy in hand.

As Twilight watches, the events of last night play out upon the projector, from the argument between Zaranov and Prophet, to Twilight heading to her bedroom, hearing the scuffle, and then dashing into the bedroom. Celestia nods approvingly as Twilight smashes the Khan back with her magic, and Luna whistles behind her mask as the Khan keeps coming even as Twilight puts three rounds into him. Even watching it through a screen, Twilight feels her heart race a little, and her side twinges gently in sympathy. Cadance whimpers, hands clasped to her face as Dash delivers the butt-stroke to the back of the Khan’s head. Twilight shivers as the Khan collapses off her on screen.

“Stop,” Celestia says suddenly, and the image freezes to reveal Rainbow Dash’s face. Her face is splattered red with blood and her remaining eye cold and hard as ice. Her bullet-shaped pith helmet is knocked slightly askew, but it still covers her dramatically coloured locks.

Twilight takes a deep breath as Celestia’s pink eyes scan the image for a moment, her expression unreadable and distant, before she nods, as if making a decision.

“What is the name of that Legionnaire, Twilight?” Celestia asks softly, though her tone makes it quite clear that she expects an answer. Twilight takes a deep breath, summoning her courage. “Well?” Princes Celestia asks softly, and Twilight sighs.

“Caporal Arc Bolt,” Twilight says after a moment. She then turns to Princess Luna. “She’s a caporal, the caporal that you were with on the rooftop a few weeks ago.” Luna nods and grunts approvingly.

“I see,” Celestia says after a second. “Well, when you get back to the land of the living, let Caporal Bolt know that we are most pleased with her performance, that she has been Mentioned In Dispatches for this act of heroism.”

“Military Cross,” Luna interrupts Celestia. “Tell her she’s going to be awarded an MC when this is all over.”

“I will,” Twilight says, relief flowing through her, however her relief is short lived.

“So what are you going to do about Prophet?” Luna asks, and Twilight bites her lip gently.

“I’m going to keep him where he is,” Twilight says after a moment. “We can use him to feed false information to our enemies, whoever they might be. If I get him removed, they’ll send someone to replace him, someone unknown to us.” Twilight runs a hand through her hair.

“Now, on to my proposals,” Twilight continues. “I’m planning on proposing a gradual draw-down on Equestrian troops on the Khanate’s border, if in turn, the trade routes that they’ve shut down are re-opened. I’d also like to reduce Equestrian import tariffs, if in turn, they renounce all claim on those two territories that we confiscated, or alternatively, we can give them those territories if in turn they’ll accept our import tariffs. I’m not going to give them everything.”

Celestia nods. “That sounds reasonable to me Twilight, you’ve done your homework on the subject… What are your proposals for our expatriates?” she asks, and Twilight sighs.

“They took their fate in their hands when they left Equestria, we can advise them to leave but I will not see a drop of Equestrian blood shed for people who have voluntarily left Equestria, no matter their circumstances,” Twilight places her hands upon her chin. “Those who have dual citizenship… We can evacuate them from the compound, though I’d be placing a lot of trust in the Khans to honour the rules of war.”

“Trust which would be misplaced,” Luna says firmly. “We would not trust the Khans to hold to any kind of treaty unless it was in their interest to do so.”

“You are being unfair Luna,” Cadance says. “I’ve met with Khans before, they’ve been perfectly reasonable.”

“Tell me, have you ever met Khans in the Khanate?” Luna asks, and Cadance shakes her head, to which Luna nods as though she’s scored a point. Twilight is not convinced, but she knows better than to try and argue with the Lunar Princess. Twilight is about to disagree politely when she hears a vague voice rippling through the dreamscape.

“Hey, wake up!” The voice says, and Twilight feels a strange tingling in her fingers and toes. Celestia sighs and Luna groans irritably.

“We shall continue this conference later… good luck Twilight,” Celestia says, a smile on her face. Cadance likewise gives Twilight a thumbs up and an encouraging smile and even Luna gives an approving tilt of the head.

__________

Twilight opens her eyes suddenly to find Caporal Dash shaking her rather abruptly awake. Twilight gasps in surprise as she stares up at Rainbow Dash, who is now straightening up, the ghost of fear rapidly fading from the Legionnaire’s face.

“Ah, you’re awake, Your Highness,” Dash says. “We’re nearly over Tarhen now. I’ve got something to show you.” Dash’s sharp tone makes Twilight frown very slightly. The princess rises to her feet, feeling a palpable sense of awkwardness between herself and Dash.

Twilight follows the Legionnaire out of the door of the sitting room and down onto the lower deck of the airship, noting as she does how the quality of the furnishings around her degrades. Indeed, by the time she’s on the lower deck, she’s walking on pressed steel that clatters with each of the Legionnaire’s hobnailed bootsteps, and then past bare steel grey bulkheads.

“Servant’s space and engineering,” Dash explains when Twilight asks about the noticeable drop in quality around them. As they walk, Twilight takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry about-”

“Don’t mention it,” Dash says shortly, her tone flat and emotionless. Twilight isn’t quite sure what to say about that, or to Dash. The Legionnaire is sharp and businesslike, so unlike the Dash of yesterday that Twilight can’t help but shiver a little. The rap of the Legionnaire’s boots upon the decking is the only sound between the two women.

As they round a corner, the two of them come into the forward storage area, where the carriage is being stored, the mechanized horses stand statuesque in inactivity. “Here we are,” Dash says, holding out her right hand to gesture expansively at the carriage.

Twilight walks up to the carriage, intent on inspecting the vehicle closely. It is obviously a very fine piece of wood and metalwork, crafted out of brass and varnished wood, which speaks volumes about the wealth of the person who owned it. In a country which is ninety per-cent desert, wood is incredibly valuable. Twilight whistles in appreciation as she draws closer to climb up and inspect the interior of the carriage.

The interior is likewise incredibly well furnished in emerald coloured velvet on the floor and thick green leather upholstery, though Twilight notices a couple of additions have been made. There are ugly screws and nails in the leatherwork. Seams in the fabric have been clumsily stitched. Twilight taps the velvet gently, and is rewarded with the gentle clank.

“Armour plating,” Dash reveals. “This will take more punishment than most combat walkers. Your Highness will also notice the curtain.”

Twilight leans forward and lifts the curtain mounted to the dividing wall between the forward facing row of seats and the ones facing backwards. Twilight’s eyes widen and her mouth drops open in shock as she stares at the small arsenal that is strapped to the back of the seat in front. She can see several shortened cavalry carbines strapped in place, and two snub-nosed lever action shotguns mounted next to them. Her gaze drops and she can dimly make out two more full size pump action shotguns, along with boxes of ammunition. The arsenal is completed by a selection of Webleys which have likewise been strapped down, along with a selection of short and sharp bladed implements, including an entrenching tool for some reason. This could start a small war, Twilight thinks in awe.

“Hopefully these won’t ever be needed,” Dash says. “But it’s better to be safe than sorry ma’am.”

Twilight nods, before drawing her breath and turning to Dash. “Dash… Bolt, talk to me-”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Dash says, and Twilight can feel the Legionnaire tensing up. Twilight steps forward, effectively trapping Dash in the carriage with her.

“Dash… please,” Twilight says, imploring Dash to look her in the eye. Rainbow Dash turns to look Twilight in the face, that bright scarlet eye gleaming with something undefinable, but whatever it is is cold and hard as granite. Dash shakes her head sharply.

“It’s nothing you need to worry about, Your Highness,” Dash says after a moment. “I’m a Legionnaire. Privacy is for Princesses, right?” Dash’s tone is acidic, and Twilight isn’t sure what to say in response. Twilight mentally kicks herself. She should have announced herself, should have done something...

“I’m sorry… I didn’t know it was you and I thought...” Twilight trails off, her mouth closing and opening weakly as she tries to find words to tell the Legionnaire what she has in mind, however Twilight’s words are suddenly snatched away by a shrill warbling sound that rings through the airship. Dash uses the opportunity to shove past Twilight and leap out of the carriage.

“We’re coming up on Tarhen now, you’d better get yourself up on deck and ready,” Dash says flatly, and Twilight hisses a sigh of desperation. Twilight jumps out of the carriage, her woes with Dash suddenly being forced to the back of her mind as she makes her way back up, back to the luxuriously furnished quarters and to the balcony upon which she will get her first glimpse of the city that has already bestowed so much woe upon her people . The city where her friend and mentor is imprisoned, and where her ex was wounded. Twilight steels herself and strides out onto the balcony.

The first thing that strikes Twilight is the size of Tarhen. The massive city sprawls below her like a grimy grey stain that stretches from one side of the desert bowl to the other. Tarhen is built in a natural basin, surrounded on three sides by mountain ranges, the peaks of which are tipped with defensive bastions capable of firing into the city at will, thus necessitating the compliance of the army in any coup-de-tat. As far as Twilight can see, low squat concrete buildings jostle for space with adobe compounds, and grim, unforgiving industrial blocks belch thick clouds of brown smoke from chimneys. Even from up here, Twilight can smell something burning. Airships twist their way through the bustling skyways of Tarhen's outlying industrial districts, massive barges that have been brightly decorated with the company's name, or else the owner's.

Huge cargo-barges that dwarf Twilight's own ship rumble past. The air is thick with the ringing of horns and claxons, and blistering with insults as the airships fight for docking rights. Tiny skiffs zip through the chaos, nipping and ducking through gaps in the traffic in a way that would be considered suicidal to most, and even smaller solar-sailboards whip through the air like fireflies, being piloted by whooping teenagers that yowl and cheer as they skip through the air. In this frantic maelstrom of activity, the screaming of the cruisers’ sirens are almost inaudible.

Twilight jumps as she hears boots behind her upon the hard-wood of the balcony floor and turns to see a Legionnaire that Twilight doesn’t recognize striding out onto the balcony, rifle slung over his shoulder and megaphone clutched loosely in one hand, a set of signalling flags in the other. He calmly sets the flags down upon the deck, and then puts his rifle down next to them. Twilight wonders what this performance is all in aid of, however she’s not kept wondering for long.

A massive cargo hauler suddenly breaks from the pattern and thunders in, obviously intent on cutting in line. The Legionnaire calmly raises the megaphone and bellows something in Fars’ad as the massive airship, easily twice the size of her own ship rumbles in closer. Twilight notices one of the crewmen on the ship hanging out the window bellowing profanities in broken Equestrian in reply. The Legionnaire nods and picks up a yellow flag, pumping it up and down once. The cargo hauler responds by blasting on its horns twice. The Legionnaire puts down the yellow flag and picks up a red one.

“This should do it,” he says to Twilight. “This guy’s an idiot, this should make him think twice.”
Twilight nods, not feeling very reassured. That airship is getting much closer than it really should now, she can clearly make out the bridge, and the captain gesturing at them to move. The Legionnaire waves the red flag twice, extending his arm and pumping the flag up and down.

The captain responds by blasting his horn three times, but then the thunderous howl of an attack siren rings through the sky and suddenly the captain points at something that Twilight can’t see. Then the huge cargo hauler suddenly starts to turn, releasing emergency ballast to get out of the way as the Resolute suddenly thunders across its path, weapons raised. Twilight’s last sight of the captain of the other ship is the sight of a Khan staring in open mouthed terror as the Resolute arrogantly rises out of the pattern to shepherd the convoy, its guns daring anyone else to come close.

Twilight turns to the Legionnaire. “Is that a common thing?” she asks, and the Legionnaire.nods in reply.

“It happens all the time Ma’am,” he replies grimly as he scans the skyline before them. “Normally we don’t have an armed escort… but then again, I would have expected us not to be directed into standard traffic patterns, you being a Princess and all. I don’t like it ma’am.”

Twilight nods, not allowing herself to speak. She doesn’t like it either. She can feel eyes upon her, and not the friendly kind either. It doesn’t take much effort at all to see how that airship could have just kept coming and slammed into her own ship, sending it tumbling from the sky…

Twilight yanks her thoughts back under control. She’s got this. It didn’t happen that way, she doesn’t need to worry about what didn’t happen. What could happen is worrying enough. Twilight sighs, feeling the airship shift slightly beneath her feet. The princess suddenly realizes the airship is climbing.

“What’s going on?” Twilight asks, and the Legionnaire shrugs, his face hidden by the snowy white scarf.
“No idea ma’am,” he replies, and Twilight turns to look ahead, noticing the other Legion ships are likewise climbing out of the cargo pattern, being directed by skiffs painted in the green and white of the Khanate’s Internal Security Forces. Twilight bites her lip, her grip tightening upon the railings.

The cordon of ISF skiffs starts to tighten around the Legion ships, and Twilight watches in awe as the Resolute and Royal seamlessly drift backwards to shield Twilight’s ship. She can hear voices exchanging words in broken Equestrian, even over the howl of the engines and the wind.

“We’ve got a problem your highness.” Twilight turns to see one of Equerry’s crewmen coming up onto the balcony. “They want to halt our convoy and conduct inspections… apparently they haven’t been told we’re coming.”

“Right,” Twilight hisses, remembering exactly who she left in charge of securing her travel arrangements. Her hand balls into a fist with frustration. First Dash, now this. She’s going to have a long and hard discussion with Prophet about this.

However Twilight’s train of thought is suddenly rather abruptly cut off by the snapping of sails, the sharp whiplike crack of massive sails unfurling in the breeze and the thunder of mass reaction drives. Twilight gasps as she catches a glimpse of huge triangular solar sails and massive trimaran hulls.

Then the Resolute drifts backwards, and Twilight is left staring in awe at the sight of the massive man-o-war before her, a relic of a bygone era but no less intimidating for it. It is easily almost as long as a Conqueror class battleship and its armour is much thicker. It is heavily armed too, twin-barrel ten inch gun turrets are arranged along its flanks to unleash an absolutely withering broadside. Pennants flutter from masts that seem to go on for days, and the crimson and gold flag of the Khanate flies proudly upon the raised stern-quarters. The man-o-war banks slightly, matching pace with the Equerry, and Twilight watches curiously as the crew are hurrying this way and that, scaling the rigging and scrubbing the decks and generally being useful. Twilight shivers slightly, feeling her palms slowly becoming sweaty. She can feel the vibrations from those massive engines pulsing through her feet and hands. If Twilight needed any further reminder of the strength of the Khanate, this would be it. Other ships are drifting around the massive man-o-war. Cutters hang close to the man-o-war whilst cruisers and frigates hang back, keeping their distance.

“What’s this all about?” Twilight asks, and the Legionnaire next to her shrugs.

“No idea ma’am… we’re not normally treated to this welcome,” he replies, however Twilight’s reply is cut off by the crewman clearing his throat.

“Ma’am, we’ve got a problem.”

“Are we being refused entry?” Twilight asks, and the crewman shakes his head quickly.

“No ma’am… the protection fleet are here to escort us in… they just… they want to talk to you ma’am, they’re on the radio now,” he says.Twilight sighs bitterly, turning and walking back into the airship, through her quarters and forward to the bridge, which is surprisingly quiet and compact, with only the captain, the navigator and the helmsman crowded into a room that is full of dials and gauges that Twilight doesn’t even want to hazard a guess at the purpose of.

All three are wearing incredibly strange headsets with goggles that are fitted with an array of telescopic lenses, and various filters that fit into those lenses mounted on little mechanical arms, Each man also wears a breathing mask and hoses that drop from his mouth to strange little packs at his waist. Twilight is reminded less of men, and more of giant insects as they move back and forth, manipulating levers and adjusting valves, the faint ticking of dozens of cogitator drums and dials providing a gentle melody to their work. The navigator however has his mask pulled down around his chin, and he’s speaking into a strange headset, with a speaking cup in front of his chin and a single listening cup upon the right ear. Twilight then turns back to the captain, who is straightening up inasmuch as a six foot two man can stand in a room designed for people whose height would rarely exceed five foot nine.

“I’m here, you wished to see me,” Twilight says. The captain whirls around and nods rapidly, his harness jingling as he points enthusiastically at the navigator, who likewise turns rapidly and gestures for Twilight to come over to join him at a radio set that is almost as tall as he is.

“Yes, Your Highness,” the navigator says quickly. “Admiral Neydin is on the line for you, I’ll hand you on to him now.” He lifts his headset off his head and before Twilight can do anything, the brass instrument is dropped around her own ears and she’s frantically adjusting the speaking cup and the listening cup so that the silly thing doesn’t fall off.

“This is Princess Twilight Sparkle for Admiral Neydin,” Twilight says nervously into the speaking cup, anticipating bellowed exclamations of rage. This is not what she receives, however.

“Your Highness.” The voice coming over the line is cultured, but it is also tinny and weak. “On behalf of the Navy and the Ministry of Internal Order, I can only apologize for the welcome you have recieved thus far. Due to a dreadful error of miscommunication, we were not informed of your coming and Traffic Control failed to assign you to the correct pathway. This shall now be corrected forthwith and your ship has been given priority clearance to land at Eternal-City landing fields, to be escorted by the Holy Royal Navy.”

“I see,” Twilight says, relieved that she’s not going to have to see any more suicidal cargo ships. “Thank you for your help Admiral, we are relieved for your assistance.”

“Excellent, now if you will adjust course to Two Zero and pass me back to your navigator, I can get off the line and pass him to Tarhen Air Control.”

Twilight nods and she’s about to lift the headset off her head when she notices the corvettes of the Holy Navy suddenly crowding around her escorting ships and the cargo ship, forcing them backwards and down into the traffic pattern. Twilight drops the headset back down onto her head, her eyes narrowing. “Admiral, what is happening with our escort ships?” she asks, and there is a pause on the other end of the line, before the admiral’s voice comes back.

“Yes,” Neydin says. “Unfortunately we cannot allow your escort to land with you, since they’re listed to a different destination, so they must rejoin the traffic pattern. They should be landing in thirty minutes… Orders from the Ministry of the Interior, I apologize for the inconvenience.”

Twilight takes a deep breath, summoning her courage. “Admiral, I must insist that my escort is authorized to land at their destination immediately. You will note that there have been recent attacks upon Equestrian royals in the past. I am anxious to prevent a repeat of that,” she says, however the Admiral’s instructions are quite clear.

“Your Highness, I apologize but my hands are tied, I am under orders from the Ministry of the Interior that your escort must follow standard traffic procedures.” The Admiral sounds apologetic at this, and Twilight takes a deep breath, her palms sweating. This sounds fishy, very fishy indeed.

“I will convey my feelings regarding this matter to the Shah when I see him tomorrow,” Twilight’s voice is grim, the unspoken threat hanging in the air.

“Highness, you are more than welcome to do exactly that,” the Admiral replies, his tone conciliatory. “I understand your concern… and I will do what I can to safeguard the route and ensure you do not meet with problems en route to your destination.”

“Thank you Admiral, I find this agreeable, and I shall mention your willingness to assist when I speak with the Shah. I shall comply with your docking requests.” Twilight frowns. Looking out from the bridge, Twilight can see the landing field, and what appears to be a sizeable crowd gathered around one particular pad. The Princess doesn’t need to be a tactician to be aware that she might have just put herself in quite a bit of hot water.

______

Twilight’s worries build as she heads aft, to where Rainbow Dash has been keeping the other Legionnaires busy with weapons maintenance and uniform checks. Twilight is aware this news is not going to be at all well received by the fifteen Legionnaires she’s actually asking to put their lives on the line, with no support save her and a Justicar whose loyalty Twilight questions more with each passing hour.

The Legionnaires are quartered in the servants’ quarters, which was originally built to take up to twenty servants, and thus fifteen Legionnaires are able to stay in here with little difficulty. Twilight can hear Dash stalking among her troops, exhorting them in the way that only Rainbow Dash can:
“You call that a crease Legionnaire? I thought you’d used your dress uniform to clean your rifle, but now that I’ve seen your rifle, I appear to be mistaken! You’ve got thirty minutes, but in those thirty minutes, I want those uniforms to be absolutely gleaming! You’ll be inspected by the princess before we step off and I won’t have you lot looking like a sack of shit!”

Twilight sighs and knocks on the door sharply, and after a moment, the door opens to reveal Dash, who snaps to attention as she spots Twilight.

“Your Highness!” she says, her eyes fixed on a point over Twilight’s shoulder. Twilight tilts her head slightly, but takes a breath. She will have time to deal with Dash’s awkwardness later, and the other Legionnaires are starting to take an interest, glancing over their shoulders at the Princess and the Legionnaire. Twilight has to be calm and cool, collected and professional.

“Caporal Bolt, there has been a change in plans,” she says, and Bolt tilts her head curiously.

“You mean we’ve been delayed?” she asks, and Twilight shakes her head.

“We’re landing in five minutes.”

Dash’s mouth drops open at Twilight’s words, dumbfounded. Dash glances at Twilight once more, and then she slams the door to the room with a bang, shutting off her comrades from herself and Twilight. “And what about our escorts?” Twilight feels about two inches tall beneath the Caporal’s piercing gaze.

“We’re going to be travelling for the first half hour with no top cover,” Twilight says, her voice trailing off as she watches Dash’s eye widen and spots of colour appear upon her cheek.

“What the fuck happened to the plan?” she snaps, and Twilight’s mouth tightens into a thin line.

“The Holy Navy happened. Apparently our escorts have to join the regular traffic queues, by order of the Ministry of the Interior.”

“Fucking great,” Dash says. “There’s going to be a crowd around the ship… we’re going to need to do something to get that crowd moved on. Hmm... Perhaps we could pump flares to get them to push back?”

“I don’t think spewing burning phosphorous over a crowd would be a good way of introducing ourselves,” Twilight replies grimly. Dash nods in response, pulling out a notepad.

“Well, how about we get in touch with the tower and get the crowd dispersed?” Dash suggests. “Where’s our landing pad, show me where we’re landing.”

Twilight nods, turning and leading Dash up to the bridge, knocking once before coming in.
“Ma’am,” the navigator greets, nodding at Twilight, before spotting Dash behind Twilight. “This is most improper, I cannot have her on the bridge,” he bleats, and Dash shrugs.

“Cool it, I’m only here for a few moments,” Dash growls, picking her way through the tight space, until she’s practically peering over the helmsman’s shoulder. “Nope, that’s not good… it’s too open.”

“I should hope so,” the helmsman grumbles through his mask. “This thing handled like a freight-barge before it was loaded over capacity, now it’s about as easy to control as a greased paedophile in a playground.”

“Can we get the landing site changed?” Dash barks, and the helmsman shakes his head.

“We’re on final approach, I’m bracketed on either side and both are coming in on hot kinetic approaches. I’m not going to be able to nip boward without a prang to our stern-quarters.”

“Meaning?” Twilight asks, perplexed.

“He means there are two airships, one on either side of us, both of which are coming in quite fast, and he’s not going to be able to turn in front of them without them hitting us,” the navigator supplies, and Dash swears, to another disapproving glance from the navigator.

“Bollocks, right, can we get in touch with tower control and get that crowd dispersed? I dunno, simulate a fire emergency or something, I just want that crowd gone.”

The captain turns and pulls his mask up, staring in abject horror at Dash. “Simulate a fire emergency?! On final approach?! Are you mad Caporal, do you have any IDEA how much trouble we’d get into for that?”

“Yeah, well do you imagine how much shit you’d get into if you got Princess Twilight whacked!”

“I’m sorry Caporal, but I cannot simulate a fire emergency… all our equipment for such is all stowed anyway. That is my final word on the matter,” the helmsman says shortly.

“Right, well Twi, we’re out of options here. About all I’ve got left is to fire off some warning shots since you’ve just about left me with sweet bugger all else!” Dash barks irritably, and Twilight’s mouth drops open. Warning shots, straight out of the door. She cannot think of many better ways to make a bad impression.

“No Caporal! Warning shots would create entirely the wrong impression, we cannot have people running in terror from my carriage, there would be panic!”

“Right, well what the fuck do you want me to do then?!” Dash snaps, and Twilight notices a flicker of something in her eye, before she turns and stalks off the bridge. Twilight nods politely to the captain before turning and going after the caporal. Dash has not gone far by the time Twilight catches up with her, and Twilight opens her mouth.

“I’m sor-”

“Not your fault,” Dash grunts bluntly. “There was nothing you could have done to stop them from dropping that on us. No plan ever survives first contact with the enemy and I-”

“They aren’t the enemy, Caporal!”

“Well excuse the fuck out of me for weighing all the risks, that’s what you pay me for… you know what, this isn’t cool, we need to leave.”

“Dash!”

“No Twi, we need to fuck off, if our escorts are being locked down, if we’re out in the open like that… it screams trap to me.”

“Dash, we’re not walking into a trap. We’re guests of the Shah.” Twilight’s tone is firm and patient, but it brooks no argument. “Anyone who wants to go for us would have to be supremely stupid to do so.”

“This is the- but- I don’t- ugh, never mind, I was sort of expecting a wrench to get into the works somewhere.” Dash’s back straightens and she removes her helmet, running a hand through those brilliant chromatic locks, exhaling a breath with a sharp whistle. She then replaces her helmet upon her head, her eye locked upon Twilight’s face as a sharp predatory smile spreads across her face.

“We can do this. It’s likely to get uglier than Rarity on a bad hair-day, It’s going to be a cluster-fuck, but you’re the Princess, I’m the Legionnaire, we can do this,” Dash says brashly, her remaining eye flinty. Before Twilight can say anything else however, Dash holds her hand up. “Right, I've gotta brief the troops, you go get your shit in order and we’ll get going.” Dash tosses Twilight a brilliant cocky grin that doesn't quite ring true, before she turns, heading down the corridor that will take her to the Legionnaires’ quarters.

Twilight takes a deep breath, and then turns away. As Twilight starts to walk, she hears Dash’s voice down the corridor: “Gather in Legionnaires, we've got a job…”

Dash’s voice fades as Twilight heads back up through the corridors of the airship, back to her own quarters, where her own paperwork is sitting, spread out on the desk where she had dumped it when she climbed aboard. Twilight takes a breath, gathering the paperwork together in silence. She can feel her heart pumping, can feel her skin tingling as her magic reacts to her nervous disposition. She can feel it dancing across her skin almost, and prickling the pores upon her skin. Twilight clenches her hand into a fist, before reaching for her gun-belt.

We will be fine! She tells herself firmly, but as Twilight bends forward to put her gun-belt on, something catches her eye. Twilight reaches out and picks up Dash’s Luger. Twilight feels tension vibrating up and down her spine as she turns it over in her hand. Twilight’s hand closes around the grip of the pistol, forcing her jittering nerves to calm. What would Rainbow Dash do in this situation? Twilight asks herself, taking a steadying breath. For starters, Dash wouldn’t be so weepy or mopy. She’d do what needed to be done and keep herself together. Twilight nods firmly to herself, her grip tightening on the engraved pistol-grip. She then slides the pistol back into her belt, and gathers up her things. Twilight remembers the words of the wise old armourer as she focuses her mind: She has peace to make.

Twilight finishes gathering her paperwork, sliding it into the enchanted nothingness that she doesn’t like to use but, in Twilight’s opinion, is merited on this occasion. She can’t have state documents getting scattered if something happens after all.

You’re assuming something’s going to happen. Everything’s going to be just fine, Twilight tells herself as she glances out of the window, at the rapidly approaching landing field. Twilight can clearly see the people clustered around the landing pad now and she sighs. What’s the betting that this is our landing pad? she asks herself as she turns away from the window, and heads through the corridors of the ship once more, back to the cargo compartment, where she can hear the voices of the Legionnaires in hushed conversation.

As Twilight comes into the cargo compartment, she’s startled to find the Legionnaires are not dressed in their royal blue finery. Each Legionnaire is instead dressed in khaki and tan combat dress, including Rainbow Dash.

“Room ‘shun!” one of the Legionnaires snaps as they spot Twilight, and instantly every single Legionnaire crashes to a halt, standing straight and turning to face Twilight.

“As you were,” Twilight says, acknowledging the gesture with a wave of her hand. “I notice the new uniforms…” she trails off, and Dash jumps down from where she’d been standing on top of the carriage.

“Yes ma’am, it was on my authority, that uniform’s too tight and constricting, you can’t get to ammo quickly enough,” Dash explains, and Twilight nods, understanding the Legionnaire’s logic. As much as Twilight would prefer them to be dressed in the blue and white, she knows that she has to give Dash something, she can’t be completely unreasonable.

“I see, I have no issues with your choice of uniform, now brief me on how we’re going to do this?” Twilight asks, and Dash nods.

“We’re going to hightail it out of the airship. We’re not going to stop for a press conference at the ramp or anything, we’re just going to move as quickly as we can in the direction of our base, taking back streets where we can, just because the main roads are fucking painful to get past at this time of day, and we cannot get snarled in traffic. We've got no top cover or anything else, so speed is of the essence here,” Dash explains, and Twilight tilts her head.

“What about Prophet?” She asks, and Dash shrugs.

“Fuck ‘im, he can join up with us later,” Dash says frankly, her eye narrowed. “I’m not willing to risk your safety to pick up that Justicar. No offence to you Twilight, but it was one of his men who tried to kill us last night.”

“Don’t remind me.” Twilight shivers. “But… if something goes wrong, I want to get him, just so we can keep him safe, alive and under our eyesight.”

“You’re the boss,” Dash says calmly, turning on her heel and climbing up into the carriage, plonking herself down in the passenger compartment. Twilight takes a deep breath and then likewise climbs up into the carriage, taking a seat next to Rainbow Dash and trying to keep the butterflies in her stomach at bay. Twilight bites her lip as the docking sirens start to wail in the cargo bay. Twilight hears a low bump that sends a tremor through the airship’s frame as the airship touches down.

The lights suddenly go out, to be replaced with the steady red glare of the landing warning lights.
“Legionnaires, mount the vehicle!” Dash calls, and at once, eight of the fifteen Legionnaires climb aboard, positioning themselves precariously on the running boards or in the carriage itself, the other six taking positions at the entry way.

“Fix Bayonets!” Dash snaps, and the rasping sound of steel being drawn sets Twilight’s teeth on edge. Even though Twilight is expecting the call, it still turns her blood to ice. She squeezes her hands together as she feels how damp her palms are, and her dry tongue swipes at equally dry lips as the rumble of the engines fade to be replaced with the low pulsating hum of a crowd.

“Before we go,” Twilight turns to Dash. “I just want to say…” Twilight trails off as she tries to find the words, her eyes locked upon Dash’s single crimson eye gazing at her intently, that mouth slightly open. “Thanks, for everything,” Twilight finishes lamely, but Dash smiles.

“Any time Princess… right, let’s go make peace.”

A tinny voice rings out over the intercom. “Divine Providence has touched down next to us… ramp will open on my count. Five.”

Twilight’s heart is racing and her hands are shaking.

“Four.”

Dash turns to Twilight. “Is there gonna be some kind of ceremony?” She asks, and Twilight nods.

“Sure, there’s probably a group of diplomats waiting-” Twilight begins, but Dash cuts her off.

“You reckon it’s going to offend anyone if we leave them hanging?”

“If it does then too bad,” Twilight says grimly. “As you say, we need to get out of here, I’m not going to be held up because they want to go through the fol-de-rol of a proper state welcome. I’m Equestrian, the devil’s right hand, a little arrogance may go a long way. I’m here to deal with the big leagues, not be greeted by flunkies.”

“Two.”

“Let’s do this,” Twilight hears Dash growl.

“One.”

“STANDBY, STANDBY, NINTH COMPAGNIE!” A booming shout fills the room as the mechanized horses’ reins are cracked, activating the machines. “READY WEAPONS!”

Twilight inches toward her revolver, her palm resting on the wood as she hears the sharp ratcheting clack and snap of fifteen well oiled bolts being charged.

“DOOR, READY, READY, GO!”

Chapter Fifteen: Wrong Turn

View Online

27th of January 1882. 0720.

The landing ramp drops with a crash, flooding the darkened storage area with light and heat that smashes Twilight in the face with all the grace and subtlety of a sledgehammer. Twilight lifts her hand to shield eyes from the brutal onslaught of light as her eyes try and adjust, however she only gets the vaguest impression of low buildings, and a blurry crowd of people, before there is a sudden shout.

“Make way, make way for the Princess!”

Twilight lowers her hand to see the crowd of people turning in surprise, all their attention having been focussed on the gangway. As Twilight watches, the six Legionnaires at the hatchway push forward, clattering down the ramp and whirling football rattles, the crowd suddenly shifting as they see the carriage moving slowly down the ramp. The carriage is forced to advance at a crawl so that the helmsman doesn't knock any of them beneath the churning wheels of the carriage and powerful hooves of the mechanized horses.

The crowd presses in however, trying to get a good look at the Princess, a surging mass of felines all bellowing questions or yelling curses. Others are clasping their ears at the shrill chatter of the Legionnaires’ whirling noisemakers. The six Legionnaires continue to press forward, swiping at anyone who dares to get too close with batons. Twilight shifts in her seat, trying to get a good look at the pulsating mass of felines around her. Khan faces, normally so placid and expressionless, are contorted in rage and fangs are bared.

“Keep going,” Dash growls to the helmsman, and the carriage continues to advance. Twilight takes a deep breath, knowing that she should wave, or at least do princessy things, but right now all she can do is sit there, pinned down by the weight of the vitriol that is being hurled at the carriage.

As Twilight glances around, she spots a red carpet, along with a group of robed Khans waiting to meet her, all staring in shock at the princess coming down the ramp surrounded by soldiers and riding in a carriage, rather than disembarking down the stairway as they expected. Twilight gulps guiltily, but she doesn’t have time to do anything else as they’re too far away for Twilight to do anything for them. She can feel tension radiating off the Legionnaires around her, can see the rigidness in Dash’s neck and the way the others are looking this way and that as they hunt for potential threats.

Then Twilight spots Prophet’s airship coming in for landing just beyond the crowd, sweeping low over the landing field, flying so low that Twilight can practically count the rivets on its underside and read the scriptures that decorate the warship. As she watches in awe, a hatch on the underside opens and a relatively tall and imposing, crimson-clad Khan jumps out, landing with a powerful thump at the edge of the crowd. The crowd’s attention suddenly wavers, and Twilight hears a ripple of surprise flow through the mass of people.

Twilight watches as the Justicar rises to standing, his red robes billowing around him to reveal that he is dressed in crimson and gold power armour, and he is very clearly armed with his massive power-sword hanging off his belt. His hood is up and Twilight can only just see the red gleam of his prosthetic eye beneath his cowl.

“Obviously someone expects trouble,” Dash mutters as the Justicar steps towards the crowd, the throng parting for him without a word. An uneasy silence descends upon the massed gathering as Prophet advances through the rapidly parting crowd, towards the carriage. Some Khans genuflect to him, others reach out to stroke the hem of his gold-trimmed robes. Twilight can practically hear the thrum of the power armour as the Justicar strides towards them.

“Princess,” Prophet says as he reaches the carriage. “Mind if I join you?”

Twilight notices the subtle shake of Rainbow Dash’s head, and she’s about to open her mouth to say “no” when a loud crack fills the air.

A shrill scream rings out behind them, followed by a distinct pop. Immediately Twilight instinctively ducks her head as she hears another sharp whipping sound passing sharply overhead. Twilight’s first confused thought is fireworks, however Dash suddenly shoves at Twilight, burying her face into the velvety cushion.

“CONTACT RIGHT!” Twilight hears Dash bellow, and the roar of the Legion’s return volley feels like a hammer-blow to the ears, which immediately start to ring. Twilight fights her way free of Dash, before reaching over the top of the carriage door and snatching Prophet’s outstretched hand. She locks her hand around his wrist, and adds some of her magic to the pull as she yanks the armoured Justicar into the carriage before scrambling backward to avoid being crushed by his armoured bulk, her heart pounding as several rounds shrilly ricochet off his power armour. As the ringing in her ears fades, Twilight realizes that she can hear screaming around them other than the screaming of her outraged ears.

Dash drops down to one knee next to Twilight, taking cover behind the armoured carriage door as rounds malevolently thwack into the armoured flanks of the carriage. Rounds snap over their heads, and Twilight flinches as fragments of tarmac rattle like hail against the sides of the carriage. The shrill buzzing of the rounds as they fly around her reminds Twilight of a swarm of furious wasps. She can hear Prophet growling catechisms and prayers next to her.

“Where’s that fuckin’ airship going!?” someone yells, and Twilight turns to suddenly see HMS Equerry spooling its engines up, the Legionnaires pushing the crowds of people back as the plasma drives take sudden roaring life. Twilight’s breath catches in her throat as a shrill whoosh fills the air, a sooty finger of smoke reaching out and barely missing the Equerry, and Twilight releases her breath with a hiss as Dash blisters the air with an artistic display of profanity. More rockets streak over Twilight’s head, leaving a hot firework smell in the air as they wail past, these ones likewise missing the airship to detonate amongst the crowd around it or else whoosh over the balloon.

The Legionnaires that had disembarked the airship with their rattles are already falling back to the ramp, clambering aboard as the airship starts to lift off, stamping on the fingers of Khans who have grabbed the ramp to try and climb aboard the airship, which is rapidly climbing to get away from the gunfire. More sooty fingers of smoke sprout from several buildings just outside the perimeter of the airfield, each of them missing the airship by inches as it continues to climb to join the traffic pattern. No help will be coming from that section. Twilight bites her lip, trying to suppress a horrified whimper as the screams of wounded civilians join the racket filling the air.

“Twi, this… ugh, godfuckingdamnit, I need every man on a weapon!” Dash commands, but Twilight freezes up as she sees the rifle mounted on the partitioning wall in front. Thoughts whirl in her head. I’m a diplomat, I’m not supposed to be shooting at these people! Another round bounces off Prophet’s power armour to ricochet past Twilight’s head, missing her by inches, and causing Twilight to instinctively throw herself forward into the footwell, trying to make herself as small as possible as the battle rages over her head. The princess suddenly feels a gauntleted hand upon her shoulder, and she hears Prophet’s deep and powerful voice.

“Take up arms, Highness, protect your people,” he growls in her ear. “You are a Princess of Equestria, protector of the innocent. You must not fail.”

Twilight feels her heart lift, as though Prophet’s words are a lifeline. Twilight forces the swirling tide of fear down as she reaches for her revolver. For a moment, as her hand closes around the grip, Twilight tries not to think about what she’s about to do, about her complete failure as a diplomat necessitating this stance.

“Grab a weapon and make ready!” someone bellows, and before Twilight can think, someone has hurled a rifle at her. Twilight catches the rifle and quickly lifts it to her shoulder, acting almost on instinct. Twilight blinks, surprised at herself, her finger hesitating as it curls around the trigger, the muzzle drooping for a second.

Another round snarls dangerously close to Rainbow Dash, jerking a horrified gasp from the Princess’ throat. Twilight scowls and claws her way past Prophet, scrambling hastily into position, and pulling the rifle hard into her shoulder. The weapon snaps upward, back into the aim, and Twilight glares down the sights. She can feel Prophet’s weight against her back, the bulk of the Justicar’s armour digging into her wings. Twilight finds the weight strangely reassuring as she hunts for a target.

“Where am I looking?” Twilight calls, having to shout to make herself heard over the gunfire and the screams filling the air around them, and Dash gestures with one hand.

“Terminal rooftop, I’ve got guys with rifles moving around taking shots at us!” Dash snaps, and so Twilight raises her rifle as she’s been taught, trying to compensate for the way the carriage bumps and rattles as it accelerates. Twilight takes aim down the sight, spearing a hostile on the spit of her rifle sight. He’s two hundred metres away, and Twilight can just about make out the faded engineering coveralls he’s wearing.

Twilight pulls the trigger. The rifle jerks in her hands. Twilight watches the round strike a few inches away from the target, throwing up a plume of dust. The target whirls, scurrying for cover. Twilight scowls and jacks the cocking handle of her rifle, taking aim once more and pulling the trigger. Another round smashes home, inches from the target. The hostile flinches as the round smashes into the wall next to him. He turns and sprints, dashing as fast as he can, diving behind the nearest bit of cover that he can find.

“Keep putting fire down!” Dash yells, and Twilight jacks the bolt, her frustration building. Her brow furrows and her lip curls downward as the muzzle jumps this way and that, bouncing up and down as the carriage lurches over potholes. As Twilight’s finger tightens upon the trigger, she feels a hand upon her shoulder.

“Princess, would it help if you stabilized the rifle upon my shoulder?” Prophet bellows, before clambering past Twilight without waiting for an answer, and so Twilight slips backwards, lifting her rifle and steadying it upon Prophet’s shoulder.

Twilight takes aim at the target one more time, spotting him as he peeks out from behind cover to take another shot, but as she’s about to pull the trigger, a thought strikes Twilight. What am I doing? This is going to ruin everything! I’m a diplomat! Princess Celestia’s going to be so mad…

A round suddenly strikes Prophet’s breastplate with a shrill clang, and Prophet growls. “Feel free to actually start hitting them at any time now!” he snaps as vivid blue sparks fly from his armour and the smell of burning ozone fills the air.

Twilight bites her lip as she cocks the rifle once more, and as the Khan raises his head from behind cover, she pulls the trigger before she can think about it, or even stop herself. The rifle jerks once more in her hand, but this time Twilight sees the target twist, a plume of pink mist blossoming from his chest. Twilight watches the target collapse before her eyes. For a moment, she cannot quite believe what she’s just done.

Twilight’s hands shake and her breath catches in her chest, but she raises her rifle once more, her sweaty hands slipping on the cocking handle as more rounds smash into the carriage, their impact making the carriage vibrate as they strike the metal. Twilight’s finger tightens around the trigger.

Twilight’s ears scream in sudden protest as a sudden thunderclap next to her ear throws her to the floor of the carriage, landing with a crash and showering her in smoking fragments of something. Twilight blinks in shock, trying to get an idea of what’s just happened. Her arm feels numb up to the shoulder. Her fingers tingle and her vision is blurred. Twilight can feel a hot wet heat spreading down her arm, even as her head begins to pound. Twilight blinks for a moment, confused.

Am I hit? she asks herself, her heart racing. Her arm feels like it’s on fire, as is her right side, and Twilight screams.

“I’M HIT, OHGOD I’M HIT!”

“SHIT, THEY GOT THE PRINCESS, FUCKIN’ DRIVE… GOGOGOGO! SMIT, GO HELP HER!”

“I’M ON IT!” Twilight feels Prophet’s gauntlets brushing her down, running along her arm.

“How bad is it?” Twilight whimpers, her hands shaking “Am I going to die?”

“Not at all,” Prophet says after a moment, a smile crossing his face as he grabs Twilight’s good shoulder and pulls her up. “It just grazed you Princess. Your rifle is destroyed, but you just took fragmentation damage. You’re bleeding a bit but you’re good to go!” Prophet’s tone is enthusiastic as he gives her a firm slap on the back in a gesture of bonhomie that nearly knocks Twilight back to the floor.

“Thank fuck for that, Twi, try not to get shot again, it looks very bad on my reports!” Dash shouts, relief colouring her voice. Twilight’s gaze shifts from Dash to Prophet as she speculates for a second about whether a predisposition towards blinding insanity is something that is implanted in basic training.

Twilight then reaches down and picks up another rifle, holding it gingerly. Her right arm is still tingling and shivering as the pain fades, to be replaced with a dull ache as the adrenaline kicks in. Twilight summons her faculties and lifts her rifle to the shoulder. Twilight can see blood, silver-red and glistening, bubbling up from where her thumb meets her hand, the sight of it giving Twilight pause.

That’s my blood…

“Come on Twi!” she can hear Dash shouting at her. “You can do it, put that weapon up! Engage the enemy, we need you to shoot!”

Those words shock Twilight back to reality. They need me, she thinks. They need me, and I won’t fail. She grips the bolt and jerks it back, before slamming it forward and closing it, each movement sharp and crisp. She squints, placing her cheek to the stock. As Prophet moves for her to steady her rifle on his shoulder however, Twilight shakes her head. “I’m fine, I’ve got this!” she calls to Prophet, who nods and shifts once more to get behind her. Twilight ducks low, trying to keep to the cover of the carriage where possible, however fire is pulsing through her veins, the fire of adrenaline.

She’s not going to let them beat her, not going to let them keep her down like this. She takes aim, spearing a target upon her sights. She’s going to face the enemy!

Twilight fires again and again, pumping rounds into the clustering enemy forces, her ears ringing. She can faintly hear impassioned war-cries over the sound of the gunfire, the enemy rallying and continuing to fire wildly in the direction of the carriage. Twilight fires once more and she watches another of the figures twist and fall. She’s dimly aware that they’re now clear of the crowd, which is running for the nearest cover they can find, but Twilight’s mind dismisses them as she hears Dash’s voice over the ringing in her ears and the crack of the other Legionnaires’ rifles, the air thick with the smell of promethium fumes and gunpowder, cordite and blood.

Twilight’s hands are shaking more violently as she reaches for the cocking handle. She grips it and pumps it once more, only for the firing pin to snap shrilly. Twilight yanks her weapon open and discovers an empty magazine. She ducks her head, only for another round to snap through the space where her head had been and strike Prophet’s armour with another ringing clang and another shower of sparks. The Justicar glances down at his breastplate.

“Oh dear, I don’t think they like us,” he says as he nonchalantly finishes loading a magazine into one of the Legion carbines and snaps the bolt shut. Twilight watches for a moment, wondering what the Justicar’s going to do: that armour is far too bulky to allow a weapon to be shouldered and aimed properly after all. That finished, Prophet rises back to standing, before he turns side on to the enemy and sweeps the rifle up to the level, turning his head to glare down the sights like the weapon is a duelling pistol. The rifle snaps backward with a resounding crack and a whiff of phosphorous as a bright red dot streaks downrange. Prophet lowers the weapon, drawing it across his chest as though it’s a fowling piece, before cocking it and raising it again to repeat the process. Twilight is almost awestruck, but then she remembers what she needs… ammunition…

She reaches down, grabbing a white box and fumbling as she slots rounds into the magazine. A round slips from her sweaty, shaking fingers and clatters to the floor. Twilight grabs another round from the box and pushes it into the magazine. She continues, feeding rounds into the mag as quickly as she can, before slapping the bolt closed.

“I’m still seeing contacts moving around up there Legionnaires, keep fire on them… Helmsman, get us out of here!” Dash orders, and Twilight lifts her rifle to her cheek once more. She can feel them accelerating, can feel the cart now moving at breakneck speed across the open ground of the tarmac. Her thumb beats a tattoo against the rifle. The enemy fire becomes less focussed and the shrill snap of rounds over the Legionnaire’s heads begins to fade. The helmsman charges towards the edge of the landing field, towards a gate which is rapidly being dragged closed by a group of Khans in maintenance coveralls, or else in militia robes.

“TURN!” Dash snaps, but Prophet raises his hand coolly.

“One moment please,” the Justicar intones, and before Twilight can stop him, the Justicar unleashes his magic upon the gate and the Khans frantically trying to close it. As Twilight watches, the hinges of the gate are suddenly blasted off in a brutal spray of shrapnel that dismembers two of the guards. The gate suddenly collapses in on itself, and the other guards are incinerated in the blink of an eye by the rapidly growing ball of superheated metal, which is then violently hurled into the gate-house which collapses into a plume of dust, crumbling debris and swirling embers, leaving Twilight’s carriage to charge through unmolested as Twilight gapes in awe.

“Your doorway, Mademoiselle,” Prophet says with a broad grin. The Justicar suddenly staggers slightly, before sitting down next to Twilight and squishing her between Dash and him. The Justicar groans softly, massaging his temples. “I’m… not as young as I was, Princess,” he says, waving away Twilight’s offer of assistance. “It’s harder to set metal on fire than it looks, I do not recommend it.”

“Right, what now Boss?” one of the Legionnaires calls, and Dash glances over her shoulder at Twilight and the Justicar as the carriage plunges ahead across a street and into the backstreets of Tarhen.

“Keep going!” Dash orders. “We’ve gotta get to the Compound. You remember the way, right?”

“Sure, from the airport main gate, got no clue where we are now,” the Legionnaire up front says, and Twilight notices Dash look around nervously, as if hunting for clues to their location. However the anonymous back-streets offer no wisdom and the shuttered low concrete buildings scowl at the Equestrians as the carriage thunders blindly down the street, jolting over potholes as it races towards an intersection. The street is absolutely deserted, and Twilight can see the tension in the other Legionnaires as they shift in their seats. Dash then clicks her tongue twice, and the Legionnaires start reloading their rifles. Dash leans forward, digging in the compartment and producing a box, which she opens to reveal fragmentation grenades and begins to hand them out, two to each Legionnaire. Twilight glances at the grenades, then tosses a fearful glance to Dash, who gives her a firm nod. Twilight knows all too well what these grenades can do. On a hospital visit, she’d observed an operation on a young Navy Cadet who had mishandled one and traumatically amputated both his legs.

The street, from what Twilight can see, is littered with junk. The cobbles are old and worn, and occasionally the carriage careens over small craters in the roadway. Heavy wooden doors present painted faces to them, and Twilight can see shapes moving behind shutters. Golden eyes watch their passage from on high.

“Turn right and keep going!” Prophet suddenly cuts in. “I think I know this part of the city. If we turn right, we should come out on the road that leads to the airport main gate.”

The helmsman quickly glances back to Rainbow Dash, who nods quickly, and so he hauls the carriage around to the right.

“Okay, number off!” Dash says quickly.

“One okay!”

“Two okay!”

“Three okay!”

“Four okay!”

“Five okay!”

“Six okay!”

A pause hangs in the air, lasting a heartbeat.

“Eight okay!”

“Shit,” one of the other Legionnaires says. “Where’s Stretch?”

“Fuck knows, we need to go back and get him boss.”

“We’re not going back,” Dash says, and Twilight bites her lip, noticing the way Dash’s helmeted head droops and her shoulders slump as she says the words. “Our orders are to escort Princess Twilight to our destination. We’ve got a mission and we need to carry it out. Now get yourselves into decent positions if you can.”

Twilight takes a breath to say something, but she’s suddenly cut off as they come out onto what appears to be a massive thoroughfare. Khans and carts hurrying this way and that, and the air is filled with voices as life goes on in Tarhen. Twilight tries to control her urge to look around: this is not the time for sightseeing or crowd-watching. The Legionnaires around her look no more at ease among the crowd than in the deserted streets. The press of Khans around them, all of whom are ignoring the Equestrian carriage, naturally slows the progress of the party down to a crawl.

“We need to keep moving,” Prophet says, his own eyes likewise scanning the rooftops and crowds around them. “This would be a perfect place to stall us whilst someone gets an ambush ready.”

“Mm,” Dash grunts from Twilight’s other side. “But if they stall for long enough, we’ll have the Legion on their ass before they can even blink.” Twilight shifts uncomfortably in her seat, trying to look around, and she notices people pointing, and some hostile sounding muttering.

“We will not have that long,” Prophet rumbles. “We’re in the open, too exposed right now… I do not like this.” Prophet’s hand tightens around the grip of his power sword. Twilight can see what he means: an air of menace is rippling through the street like a vapour.

“What do you suggest?” Dash asks, and Prophet gestures towards a side street.

“Down there, I think it’s a shortcut,” Prophet says quickly, but no sooner has he done that than a shouted warning fills the air, followed by the crash of a weapon. Screams fill the air as people scatter. Dash raises her weapon, scanning the crowd nervously.

“Contact reports people!” she snaps, and a voice from the front answers.

“Think it was just one, lone cat with a pistol. He’s down but… but he got a coupla good ones into me, I’m hit good,” one of the Legionnaires hisses, hunched forwards.

“Right, uh… get inboard. Spod, take his place. Try and keep low and we’ll get to you as soon as we can, Sprout,” Dash orders.

The Legionnaire clambers inside, his face white and his hand pressed against his chest, where Twilight can see a crimson stain spreading rapidly across the front of his uniform. The Legionnaire hisses, biting his lower lip as he applies pressure to the wound, groaning out in pain. Twilight quickly slides forward, taking a deep breath as she steels herself. She can already hear the rasping sound of what sounds like a punctured lung. Blood is bubbling around his lips.

“Mind if I take a look at this?” Twilight asks, and Dash nods.

“Sure, if you think you’re up to it.”

Twilight starts moving forward, clambering awkwardly over the wall that separates the rear compartment from the front. Twilight can hear Prophet and Dash talking, and shouting instructions to the helmsman, but now she’s round on the other side of the vehicle and next to the wounded Legionnaire, who has now slumped forward. Twilight takes a deep breath, steeling herself. She’s healed people plenty of times, but only for cuts and bruises and the occasional broken arm, however this is no time to be fussy.

Twilight takes a deep breath, then she unbuckles the Legionnaire’s webbing and starts unbuttoning his tunic as quickly as she can, her fingers slipping on the blood that is already saturating the tunic. The Legionnaire moans out in pain as Twilight leans him backward, then manages to undo his tunic, revealing flesh that is already shockingly pale apart from two ragged puncture wounds, one of which is spurting blood rather rapidly. Shit, punctured artery, Twilight thinks, rapidly dredging up what she knows about a pneumothorax and ruptured arteries. Both of these are terminal, unless one happens to be very lucky. As she works, she notices one of the Legionnaires, the only Khan among them, quickly look over his shoulder.

“Eyes front, you scrote! Let the Princess work!”

The Khan’s eyes snap forward once more and Twilight shudders with relief at Dash’s barked admonishment. She doesn’t want an audience right now.

She starts by ripping a couple of broad strips off her dress, balling one up and pressing it against the wound before wrapping the second one around his chest, wrapping it tight to apply pressure. Her dress is filthy at this point, but the patient has more to worry about than septicaemia. Twilight summons her magic, which leaps to her fingertips obediently, as though it had been waiting for her beck and call. Twilight closes her eyes and places her hands upon the Legionnaire’s pectorals, trying to clear her mind to focus.

The thunder and clatter of the carriage fades to a gentle rumble as the world melts into darkness around Twilight and the slumped Legionnaire. Twilight visualises the Legionnaire’s internal organs, and it doesn’t take her long to find the problem. The first round has deflected off the ribcage and punctured his lung as Twilight had suspected, and the second has punched through an artery leading to the heart. Twilight can feel his lifeblood leaking out around her fingers, and so she begins to work, applying her magic to the damaged tissue.

Twilight watches as the magic takes effect, slowly sloughing away the damaged tissue and growing healthy vessels in its place. The procedure is incredibly delicate and complex, and it isn’t helped by the carriage jolting and jerking, disturbing Twilight’s inner peace.

Twilight takes a deep breath and continues working, though as she does, she can feel her grip falter around the haemorrhaging arterial tubes, as if she’s holding damp spaghetti that writhes and wriggles around in her grip. The rapid palpitations of the Legionnaire’s heart do not help matters, as the flow of blood out of the wound makes things much, much harder. Twilight can feel emotions pushing at the edge of the imposed blanket of calm. What if she doesn’t manage it, what if she kills him? The tube slips in her grip once more and Twilight tries to slam the door on her fears, however Twilight can feel the fear prowling at the edge of her tranquil zone.

What makes you think you know what you’re doing? The spiteful little voice hisses in her ear, sending a tremor down Twilight’s spine. Not this again, she thinks bitterly, trying to shut the voice out.

You’ve never operated on someone. All you know is books, and studying, and books again! The voice snarls. Twilight desperately tries to ignore the voice, but it ploughs on as implacably as an avalanche. You’re just little Twilight Sparkle, who got where she did by clinging to the legs of those greater than her. Admit it, you don’t know what you’re doing. You’re going to kill him, he’s going to die and it’ll be All Your Fault! The voice crows triumphantly as Twilight’s hands shake against the Legionnaire’s pectorals. She can feel the pulsing of his heart getting weaker and weaker with each moment.

“Live!” Twilight implores the Legionnaire as his eyes drift downwards. “Don’t do this, come on!” She’s dimly conscious of her yelling as she continues to apply the force of her magic to the wound. Each second allows the headache to spread like wildfire. Twilight’s body is glistening with sweat, her own heart pounding rapidly enough to almost make up for the Legionnaire’s failing pulse.

Twilight forces her thoughts back, finally managing to bind the blood vessels together and seal the wounds. Twilight can feel the heart beating weakly, thirsting for blood, but Twilight can’t do anything about that. She can feel her magical energy being sapped as it is; can feel the familiar migraine building, the blinding headache that comes when she taxes herself magically. Even now, it feels like someone has buried broken glass in her eye-sockets.

Twilight isn’t done however. Her attention shifts to the lung, and she starts applying her magic, trying to seal up the wound, sweeping away more damaged cells and regrowing them, watching as the tiny alveoli branch out like trees into the spongy tissue of the Legionnaire’s lung. Twilight sloughs the fluid even now collecting in his lung away as she seals the wound.

Finally, Twilight withdraws from the trance to see the Legionnaire blinking and coughing, wincing as he clutches his chest.

“Motherfucker… wow…” He looks down, patting his chest, where two tiny white scars and sticky blood remain, and then he looks up at Twilight, his eyes widening in awe as he stares at the pale, filthy face of the Princess. Twilight shivers and her head swims, and suddenly her whole body feels heavy. Twilight whimpers, shuddering violently as fire blooms inside her head, as if her hair has been replaced with inch long splinters of glass that are now being pounded into her skull. She feels fire spreading across her wings and down her spine as her magic takes its pound of flesh. Twilight takes a deep breath.

“Water,” she croaks. “I need water.” At once a canteen is thrust at her. Twilight unscrews the cap with a shaking hand and lifts it to her lips. Her hands continue to shake, nearly spilling the bottle down the front of her dress, but Twilight takes a couple of sips, feeling the cooling effect of the water easing the pain pulsing through her. Twilight’s attention eventually turns to the Legionnaire next to her, who is blinking and patting at his chest for a moment, still not quite sure what’s happened. Twilight extends the canteen to him, and the Legionnaire takes it gratefully, taking a swig of the canteen with evident relief, a sigh escaping his lips.

“You good?” Twilight groans and the Legionnaire nods quickly, putting his webbing on but leaving his bloody shirt unbuttoned. Twilight clambers awkwardly back over the dividing wall, assisted by Dash’s iron grip. Twilight sits back, sandwiched once more between Prophet and Rainbow Dash, both of whom are looking at her in awe.

“So, is he alright?” Dash asks, and Twilight nods in reply.

“Yeah, he’ll be a little slow on his feet for a few days but he’ll be fine,” she says weakly. “But I don’t think I can do that again.” She groans, rubbing her head and looking around again, trying to place the feeling of unease even now settling into her stomach as she starts to look around and take in her new surroundings. Piles of garbage fly upward before the churning hooves of the carriage horses. They’re now charging down a narrow alleyway, as far as Twilight can tell, hurtling down another anonymous backstreet. The carriage bounces over another crater, the jolt pulsing through Twilight’s knees and making her right thumb ache. Twilight gazes quizzically down at her aching thumb, tilting her head as she lifts her hand up to inspect the tiny white scars, and the slight hole in the webbing between thumb and finger.

Probably just phantom pain; aftershock, Twilight reasons as the thunder of the wheels roars off of the walls around them. Twilight then feels a prickling at the base of her neck and she glances around, noticing the unshakable sensation of eyes upon the back of her neck. She looks around, scanning the rooftops and window-ledges, but she sees nothing.

“So where am I going?” the helmsman snaps, and Prophet responds:

“Keep going, there’s a turning to the right, about five hundred metres on, and that should get you out into the industrial sector. From there you should be able to find your way,” Prophet calls, and Twilight groans listlessly, feeling herself sagging.

“How’re you doing Twi? You don’t look so good,” Dash says gently, leaning in and laying a reassuring hand upon Twilight’s back. Twilight shakes her head.

“Water, give me some more water and I’ll be fine,” Twilight says. “This damn heat… I don’t know how you stand it.” She turns to Prophet, who shrugs sagely, his power armour clanking gently.

“Faith is my shield against hardship, Trials 21:14,” he says calmly, before suddenly turning his head to glance over his shoulder and growl, exposing his array of fangs. “We are being followed,” he rumbles, turning and gesturing behind him.

Twilight turns around, expecting to see some dark shadowy presence, but all she sees are settling piles of trash, and waste paper floating on the breeze. Somehow that doesn’t reassure Twilight like it should. Whilst the path behind them is clear, Twilight can still feel a vague malicious presence trailing them.

“Damn,” Dash hisses. “How close is support?” she asks, and the helmsman calls back.

“Fuck knows, they must have heard this stuff kicking off by now though, I would have thought they’d be here.”

“Goddamnit,” Dash hisses. “Just keep ahead of them and we’ll make it through this. Okay, we’ve got a job to do, let’s fuckin’ do it!”

As they wind down endless backstreets, Twilight feels her strength slowly returning. Dash occasionally tosses her a look filled with concern, along with something that Twilight can’t quite place, though a swig of water from Rainbow Dash’s canteen does a world of good. Always present however, is the feeling of being pursued. The walls press in closer, and the fetid smell of sewage grows with each passing moment. Twilight can hear raised voices over the wheels, voices raised in fars’ad and the growl of skiffs.

“Prophet, I’m not seeing a right turn!” the helmsman yells.

“Keep going!” Prophet replies. “They’re gaining on us!”

Twilight picks her rifle up from where she had abandoned it on the floor as the Legionnaires scan the skies. “You think we can do this?” Twilight asks as she takes aim behind them, and Dash nods.

“Sure I do, we’re-”

Suddenly Twilight is hurled from her seat, crashing into the dividing wall as the helmsman hauls on the reins, the carriage skidding as the mechanical horses stop dead. Twilight yells out in pain as her wings take the majority of the blow. Around her she can hear other Legionnaires swearing as they clamber to their feet, along with several moaning in pain. “Why have we stopped?” Twilight hears Dash shouting.

“We’ve run out of road,” the helmsman replies, and it is true: They’ve hit a dead end, of the kind that is completely impassable. They are surrounded on three sides by squat concrete buildings, with washing lines and cables strung between each one. Twilight groans, rubbing her head, which has started to pound once more as she struggles to rise to standing.

Twilight looks around, noticing the other Legionnaires are likewise getting to their feet, most nursing some form of laceration or injury. The Legionnaire she’d patched up earlier is moving a little slower than the rest and he’s panting hard, but then he notices Twilight looking at him, and he tosses her a thumbs-up. Twilight leaps out of the carriage, and she starts to make her way over to him to see if he’s okay, when an ululating wail fills the air. The harsh hunting cry is answered by further bone-chilling yowls, and the Legionnaire quickly motions at Twilight to get back into cover.

“Get down Princess!” he hisses, his voice hoarse as he gestures, but Twilight still hears him clearly, and she starts to move back towards the carriage, keeping as low as she can to let the Legionnaires do their job. She shouldn’t get in the way right now.

“Right, Prophet!” Twilight hears Dash bellowing from the other side of the carriage. “Prophet, you’d better fuckin’ explain this… where the fuck did he go?”

Looking around, Twilight suddenly realizes that she can’t see the Justicar anywhere. However Twilight is given no time to reflect on the matter as she suddenly hears raised voices ring through the courtyard.

“Shit, defensive positions!” Twilight hears Dash bark as the whooping hunting calls of the Khans grow louder. Shots suddenly ring out in the square and Twilight darts for cover, scrambling into the vehicle. Twilight peeks out from behind the carriage door, catching a glimpse of robed figures dashing down the alleyway from whence the Legionnaires have just come, before another overwhelming hail of gunfire forces her to crouch down inside the carriage once more.

The Legion response is immediate and ruthless, a savage fusillade of gunfire that cuts down several of the insurgents where they stand. Twilight gasps as she watches the Khans, the enemy, tumble like marionettes. Twilight hears footsteps behind her and suddenly someone is in the carriage with her. Twilight whirls to see Dash, hunched low with her rifle gripped tight in one hand. The gunfire fades into an outraged silence, the only sounds hanging in the air being the groaning of the wounded and the distant thrum of the city.

“That should take care of those guys, at least for now,” Dash growls, looking around. Twilight shivers faintly, noticing how calm and cold her ex seems to be about killing a fairly large group of people.

Twilight sighs and picks up her rifle once more, knowing that things have taken a turn for the worse again, and she needs to be ready. “What’s the plan?” she asks, and Dash shrugs.

“We keep moving on foot,” Dash says bluntly. “I have no idea where the hell we are, and I intend to get myself into a position where I can find out, so that means right now, we find a way out of here and onto a main-road someplace.”

“Don’t you have wings boss?” someone asks, and Dash shakes her head.

“I do, the Princess does, but you guys don’t, and I’m not leaving you behind,” Dash growls. “Besides, they’ve probably got someone watching us from the air.” She gestures upward, before turning to Twilight. “So, we have two options: we can either get out through the way we came in, but we’ll have to cut our way through the guys who are following whiskers over there… or we can go through there-” Dash indicates one of the doorways in the courtyard, “-and make our way through the building and out the other side, and hope that brings us out onto a main-road.”

The Legionnaires glance at each other, and then the other caporal clears his throat, about to object. A Legionnaire suddenly twists and falls as a shot rings out from above. Twilight shrieks as she leaps to her feet to grab him, however Rainbow Dash suddenly grabs her and drags her into the dubious cover of the carriage as another bullet whizzes over her head.

“We need to get him!” Twilight gasps as more gunfire crackles down from on high, slicing into the Legion positions. The Legionnaires frantically get into what cover they can and start returning fire.

“No, we need to keep you safe,” Dash snaps through gritted teeth, pushing Twilight into the footwell. “My orders are to protect you, and I’m going to carry out those orders, so keep your head down goddamnit!”

Twilight nods, shrinking back into the carriage as she listens to Dash giving orders. Twilight starts to look up, trying to spot any more hostiles on the rooftops. However, as she does so, she notices that the carriage door is very slightly ajar, but enough for a round to perhaps slide through and spoil someone’s day. Twilight reaches to grab the upper lip of the door, only for a bullet to slam into the carriage’s armoured flank with a sharp CRANG, and Twilight flinches slightly. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she shifts forward, crawling up to trying to peek out of the doorway. Over the roar of gunfire, she can hear bellowed insults in broken Equestrian.

“Hey-ya, Sparkle, when we get, I take your ass!”

Twilight’s brow furrows in irritation and her lip curls into a snarl as she hears Dash muttering something indistinctly under her breath. She’d had plans, she’d hoped to salvage peace, why can’t these cunts respect that? Twilight’s more than a little shocked at herself as the word crosses her mind, though another bullet slicing into the carriage from above brings Twilight' anger closer to the boiling point. As she crawls forward under the hail of gunfire, she notices the Khans are using the ballistic diversion of their colleagues from above to advance. Twilight spots the enemy moving down the alleyway towards the carriage calmly, with a surety of purpose that frightens Twilight. Twilight undoes the buckle on her holster, fumbling as she pulls her Webley free, before pointing it out the door and opening fire upon the advancing enemy. The first shot goes wild but it still sends the Khans diving for cover.

Twilight hears scraping boots behind her, and suddenly Dash’s rifle goes off directly over her head, and Twilight gasps as one of the hostiles folds to his knees.

“Right, we need to start moving or we’re going to get cut off!” Dash orders as she continues to engage the threat from the alleyway. “Twi, get ready to move with me!” Dash gestures with a flat palm, indicating the doorway of the building directly in front of them. “We’re going to go through that building and out the other side, which should get us out onto the main road. We’ll flag down the first soldiers we see. Whoever these idiots are, they won’t tangle with the army. All clear?”

“Clear Caporal!” come the shouts in reply, and Dash nods.

“Smit, get that damn door open!” she bellows, and Twilight turns to see Smit turn on the door, trying the handle first, before giving the fairly stout door a kick with his hobnailed boot, however the thick and heavy studded door doesn’t give beneath his assault.

“I can’t get it open boss!” he shouts. Dash takes a deep breath, her eyes narrowing.

“Kick harder, numbnuts!” she shouts, and Smit does as asked, booting the door once, twice, a third time, yet nothing seems to happen, other than Dash revealing a hitherto unsuspected grasp of linguistics and xenobiology as she blisters the air with yet more inventive profanity. After a moment however, Dash turns to Twilight.

“Right, uh, Twi, I’ll give you covering fire whilst you get over there and smash the door down,” Dash snaps, and Twilight turns to look at the distance between the carriage and the doorway, which is set into an alcove. The fallen Legionnaire lies between her and it. Twilight takes a deep breath, bracing herself before gathering her courage, and then summons the spell, releasing it with a flick of her fingers.

The bolt of light sizzles from her fingers through the air to smash into the door. Cracks instantly spider-web across the door at the initial blow, but Twilight isn’t done with the spell yet. The second blow blasts the door inwards, the solid wooden door transformed in an instant into a blizzard of splinters and fragments of wood that are sent flying into the room on the other side of the door, and a cloud of dust billows out of the room.

“We’ve got a door boss!” one of the Legionnaires bellows, and Dash turns and nods.

“Great, marching order will be Sov, Mik, Hals, Smit, Princess in the middle, then me, then… fuck, everyone else, I’ve got three long-barrelled shotguns here, Princess has one, Sov has the other, tail end has the third, pop smoke and we’ll go on three!”

Dash then reaches into the carriage and grabs the hunting gun that Twilight instantly recognizes, though she can see that Dash has fitted a sling to it between last night and now. “Take this!” Dash says, handing Twilight a shotgun and a satchel of ammunition. “You might need it. Also take this shotgun and give it to Sov when you see him, he’s the one with half a metal face,” Dash explains, gesturing with one hand to the Legionnaire in question, before reaching down onto her webbing and producing a canister with a ring pull upon it and a broad yellow band around it.

“Ready to move!” one of the Legionnaires calls, and Dash nods.

Twilight quickly draws her breath to ask a set of questions that are plaguing her mind. What about you? What do we do once we've found the soldiers? Which way do we go? However she’s cut off as Dash puts a hand on Twilight’s shoulder.

“Do this for me Twi, get ready to go!”

“Come on Boss, we need to move!” one of the Legionnaires yells, and Dash pulls the pin from the canister, holding it for a second. Dash then looks Twilight in the eye.

“Keep running okay, no matter what, just keep running till you’re through that door, don’t turn or stop for anything, do you understand?”

“But Dash-”

“Do you understand me, Twilight?”

“Y-Yes,” Twilight stutters, and Dash nods.

“Okay, smoke OUT!” she bellows, and then hurls the canister through the air. Twilight watches it spring from Dash’s hand almost in slow motion, the pin pinging away as the fuse hisses loudly, and then a plume of yellow smoke trails from the smoke grenade as it arcs upwards and out of sight.

“Okay, and three, two, one, go!” Dash then pushes Twilight, and the Princess starts to run, sprinting across the patch of open ground. Bullets kick up dust around her as she sprints towards the doorway, which seems to be a mile away. Twilight thanks every saint that she can remember that she’s still wearing her flats rather than heels, since this would be impossible if she was wearing those precarious shoes.

Twilight spots the fallen Legionnaire, and before she has time to think, she stoops, slinging the rifle onto her shoulder next to the other weapons and hooks the Legionnaire up, picking him up in a bridal-style carry. Twilight groans under his weight, especially as he’s not only taller than she is, but heavier. Twilight lifts the Legionnaire and starts to run towards the doorway, running for her life as the weapons on her back bounce around with each step.

In front of her, she can hear and see the other Legionnaires piling through the open doorway, weapons raised. Twilight hears a shout of surprise, followed by shouted words in fars’ad. Another bullet slices through the air to smack into the ground inches from Twilight’s feet and Twilight pushes herself to run faster, gunfire nipping at her heels as she sprints through the doorway, and into the darkness. Twilight is suddenly plunged into nearly pitch black as she crosses the threshold, though she can hear the voices of the other Legionnaires around her.

“Put him down Princess, hand out the weapons!” someone says, and Twilight pushes her way through the press of bodies, trying to find somewhere flat to lay the Legionnaire down. As her eyes adjust to the gloom of the corridor, she begins to pick out the Legionnaires around her, most of whom are filthy, their uniforms streaked with dirt and dust and sweat. One of them has his boot pressed squarely into the back of a robed Khan male who is lying on his belly, his hands stretched out in front of him as he babbles in terror at the sight of the Equestrian soldiers. Twilight hears the clattering of boots behind her and turns to see two more Legionnaires piling through the door, swearing. One grabs at his boot, hissing.

“You hit?” one of his colleagues asks, and the Legionnaire lifts his heel to inspect the damage.

“Fucker shot the heel off my boot,” he growls, massaging his heel, and one of the other Legionnaires snorts.

“Tell him to aim a little left next time and you’ll have a matching pair again. Better get that done sharpish or the sergent will blow his nut on parade tomorrow if your boots don’t match.” The other Legionnaires chuckle with nervous laughter, until Twilight clears her throat.

“Where can I put him down?” she asks, shifting the weight of the Legionnaire in her arms, the laughter dying a sudden and painful death. She can feel the front of her dress is hot, wet and sticky from more than just sweat. The other Legionnaires glance at each other, and then one of them gestures over to a corner.

“Just stick him down over there Your Highness, we’ll strip his shit and break his weapon, then we’ll fuck off.”

“But he’s-”

“He’s dead Twi,” Dash growls as she comes through the door. “That round went in through the shoulder and on through his chest, he was dead before you reached him.”

Twilight’s eyes widen and her eyes travel downward to the Legionnaire in her arms. His arms hang limply downward and his head hangs to the side, a trickle of blood dribbling slowly from his nose. However Twilight can see something else that chills her to the bone: His tunic is stained with old blood, and faint white scars decorate his chest. Twilight gasps, nearly dropping the Legionnaire in horror.

This was the one I put back together.

She slowly sinks to her knees, placing the Legionnaire on the concrete floor. Twilight takes a deep breath and steps back, feeling her lower lip quivering. She’d saved his life, used all that magic… all for naught. She let him die. He was her patient, and she let him die.

Dash steps forward. “Right guys, Sov, Smit, strip him for anything we can use, then fuck his weapon up and we’ll move on.”

Twilight steps back, watching as the Legionnaires strip their comrade’s body with the clinical efficiency of professional soldiers, emptying his webbing and water, nicking his pistol and first aid kit, rifling through his personal belongings as well, pocketing his watch and his knife, but handing his identity disks to Dash, who slips them into a pouch on her own webbing. Finally the Legionnaires disassemble the bolt, one of them grinding the firing pin beneath his heel. The whole process fills Twilight with a surge of revulsion that nearly turns her stomach. Once the Legionnaires are finished, Twilight looks up, before leaning forward.

“What’re you doing?” Dash asks irritably. “We gotta go, this is not a good place.”

“I’m making him comfortable,” Twilight says shortly, folding his arms across his chest, and placing his rifle upon his chest. She closes his still-open eyes, biting back the nausea that churns her guts. She then picks up his haversack and reaches for his helmet to lift his head.

“Don’t-” Dash is about to cut Twilight off, but before she can, Twilight’s hand closes around the back of his skull. Twilight suddenly feels something wet and mushy in her hands and her eyes widen as the Legionnaire’s head flops listlessly to the side, revealing a hole in the back of his head, through which Twilight can see blood and something whitish-grey. All the colour drains from Twilight’s face.

Twilight’s stomach lurches and she has to force herself not to vomit as she lifts the head up and slides the haversack underneath it. She rises to her feet and clears her throat, aware of the other Legionnaires staring at her. Twilight bows her head for a moment, forcing herself to keep her breakfast on the inside.

“Twi,” Dash says after a moment, her tone hard and business-like. “We need to go, now please.”

Twilight nods, not trusting herself to speak as she wipes her hand upon her dress, forcing her stomach back into line, which settles for a few more irritated twists before it complies. “Right, I’m good,” Twilight says after a moment. “Uh, weapons are here.” She unslings the shotgun.

“Sov. I’m supposed to give this to Sov,” she says, holding the pump action shotgun and the bag of ammunition out with one hand, and a Legionnaire with a face that has been half hewn out of iron with a gleaming blue prosthetic eye fitted for good measure takes the weapon with a respectful nod. The other Legionnaires are likewise looking at Twilight with something close to respect maybe.

“Right,” Dash says. “Let’s keep going, they’re probably still right behind us, we’re going to need to cut our way through the corridor and out onto the main road.”

At this, the Khan with a Legionnaire’s boot upon his back coughs and starts to speak quickly in broken Equestrian.

“Please go, please go, it that way, turn left and out, you be on main street, please, I have family, no shoot!”

“Let him up,” Dash says. “Dust him off, let him go.”

The Legionnaire does as asked, picking the Khan up and brushing him down, before handing the Khan a tin of something. The Khan’s eyes turn bright and a broad smile spreads across his face. “Thank you, God bless Equestria!” he says brightly, before turning and running.

Dash then gestures for the section to start moving, taking Twilight’s wrist in her hand and guiding Twilight into her place in the patrol file, swinging the hunting gun forward into her grip. With that, the Legionnaires start moving down the corridors, rifles up and at the ready. The corridors are dimly-lit, and Twilight wonders how any of the Legionnaires are able to see anything.

As they race down the hallways, Twilight’s mind returns to the world around her: This is bad, this is very bad indeed, she thinks to herself. Her first day in Tarhen and she’s already been shot at, bled on, and let two men die. She’s killed, as in properly killed someone today, as in shot them dead. This is hardly the behavior of one supposed to keep peace. She’s barely competent as a soldier: she can’t shoot to kill without hesitation, or save everyone with her. Even her only friend here must hate her guts. Dash’s frustration earlier sticks in her mind: Twilight refused to let her do her job, out of a desire to make a good impression, which has quite plainly failed. Every time Dash had looked at her, Twilight had seen the irritation imprinted on the Legionnaire’s face.

Why shouldn't she hate me, she’s lost men because I fucked up, Twilight thinks bitterly. This whole mission’s a failure.

As they run, Twilight can hear whispered murmurs in fars’ad from doorways. Females, cloaked in black or blue, hold their nervous kits close to their legs, or the kits themselves hide behind the legs of their mothers to peer shyly up at the soldiers as they thunder past at breakneck speed. Twilight finds herself having to jog to keep up with the Legionnaires, and she curses herself as she huffs and puffs like a set of bellows. Her legs burn and her hands shake, obviously she not quite done enough fitness training with the Legion.

However as they round a corner, they are suddenly blinded by the light of the sun shining through a wooden door with a single wire mesh glass window in the centre. As Twilight looks around, she notices they've come out into the central landing of this block. Stairwells feed off to the left and right, and Twilight can hear rapid footsteps coming down the stairs.

As the Legionnaires advance upon the door, a vague, short shape suddenly jumps down from the stairwell to block the doorway. In his hands is a shotgun that’s almost as long as he is, held at the waist. The Khan can be no more than a child. His face is contorted in fear as he stares up at them, his eyes wide and his hands shaking. The shotgun’s muzzle starts to climb. The air thickens and the princess’ heart lurches as she hears dread-laden gasps break the stunned silence. Twilight can hear Legionnaires’ fingers tighten around triggers, the springs taking the tension. Her breath hisses inward, and before Twilight can think about it, her hand snaps upward.

A burst of lavender light fills the room as the child is suddenly frozen in place by the force of Twilight’s spell. Twilight hears several Legionnaires behind her sigh with relief.

“Thank fuck for freaky princesses with freaky abilities,” Twilight hears one of the Legionnaires mumble in the silence, and she cannot help but agree with him. She can quite easily see how this could have gone pear-shaped.

“Temporary limblock spell,” Twilight says, massaging her temples with a hand caked in dried blood. “It should only last a matter of minutes.” The headache is less bitter this time, and it passes almost as soon as it comes.

Twilight notices the grateful look that Rainbow Dash shoots her as one of the Legionnaires pries the shotgun from the Khan’s stiff fingers, and then picks him up like a particularly obnoxious garden gnome and stands him in the corner, facing the wall.

“Let’s go,” Dash says. “Remember, we find the first policeman that we can see, there should be a few in the area.”

Dash’s hand closes on the door handle as the Legionnaires stack up, and then with a quick nod, Dash yanks the door open and the Legionnaires bomb-burst out into the sunlight of the Tarhen street. Twilight watches the Legionnaires storm through the door and then she follows them out into the blinding sunlight, which forces Twilight to shield her eyes for a second as her eyes adjust from the pitch darkness of the apartments to the bright sunlight of the Tarhen streets.

At once, Twilight notices something is up. Even before she’s through the door, she can hear… nothing. The sounds of Tarhen traffic in the distance, in fact reasonably close by, but she can’t hear the bustle of a busy street that she was expecting. This street is well maintained, with pavement the colour of sun-bleached bone and long winding cobbled streets. Garishly decorated market stalls have been set up along the pavement. Red and gold banners hang from the buildings and murals are painted on quite a few of the walls, depicting this or that martyr.

As Twilight steps out into the road, she notices the street is in fact completely deserted, apart from two policemen in their navy-blue tunics swaggering down the street, one running his baton along the railings of the fence on the other side of the street. On the other side of the fence, Twilight can see bushes and trees, although the heat of Tarhen has turned the trees into skeletons of their former glory.

“Shit, not good,” Dash hisses as one of the police officers spots them, and points, muttering something to his colleague. Both suddenly about turn and start walking quickly in the opposite direction.

“Combat indicators boss,” Sov grunts, and Dash nods quickly. Even Twilight senses something’s amiss here, and she pops her hunting gun open, relieved to find two shells and one rifle round in the appropriate places. Whatever’s going on here, Twilight doesn’t like it one bit.

“Hey!” Dash shouts after the policemen “Come back here!”

The two policemen continue sprinting down the street, yelling and blowing their whistles as hard as they can, running at the freakish foot-speed that only the Khans can manage.

“Fuck,” Smit growls. “What’s the betting they’re summoning all their grubby little friends?”

“I don’t bet on certain things,” Dash responds. “But let’s keep moving, try and get out of the combat zone if possible, maybe we can draw enough attention to bring backup.”

“Backup, Boss? What backup have we got?” he asks, and Dash shrugs.

“We’ve got the best kind of backup, the kind where I stick my boot back-up your arse unless you get into cover, re-bomb your rifle and stand by. Hopefully the Legion have been tracking our progress or something,” Dash says, pulling her helmet off and running a hand through her sweat soaked, grime-streaked hair, before tugging her helmet back on and gesturing down the street. Her section forms up behind her, Twilight taking her position in the middle of the squad.

As they move out, Twilight bites her lip. This feels so strange, she can practically feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing up as they advance down the cobbled street, moving at a brisk trot. She can feel unseen eyes upon her, and at any moment she’s expecting gunfire to crackle from the buildings ahead or behind. The Legionnaires around her are similarly nervous, their weapons scanning the windows and doorways. Twilight however walks with her hunting gun held pointing downward: she’s in the centre of what is effectively a diamond formation of Legionnaires, and so she cannot fire without hitting the Legionnaire in front in the head. Twilight’s nervousness persists as they advance into the beginnings of the local market, which is similarly deserted, although it shows signs of having been deserted recently.

The unnatural quiet does not last for long however. Twilight can hear the sound of a mechanized carriage in the distance drawing closer, along with the ululating, hunting cries of the Khans that still fill the air. Twilight turns to Dash, who bites her lip; however as the Legionnaire opens her mouth to speak, one of the carriages suddenly thunders around the corner five hundred metres down the road. It is loaded down with whooping and shouting Khans who are carrying banners along with an assortment of blunt implements and ancient looking firearms. The carriage has been daubed with equally offensive slogans.

“Get into cover!” Dash shouts, and Twilight dashes for cover even as the Khan’s gunfire crackles down the street, their bullets zipping wildly overhead.

Twilight dives into cover, ducking down into one of the market stalls and raising her weapon. She lifts it to her shoulder and takes aim at the approaching Khans. Already the Legionnaires are opening fire, sinking desperate shots into the mechanized horses, which are not the armoured constructs which Twilight had. They shudder with each bullet fired into them, however they keep advancing inexorably, and Twilight can see more Khans angrily charging behind that cart.

“Let’s go!” Dash shouts. “Start falling back by bounds, go go go!”

Twilight feels a hand on her shoulder and she jerks in surprise. “Princess, come with me!”

Twilight turns to see another Legionnaire that had got into cover next to her starting to move backwards, and Twilight follows her, moving back to take cover behind a stand selling what appear to be potatoes. Those potatoes rapidly start getting chopped into chips however as the Khans focus fire upon the stand. Twilight ducks, allowing the rounds to pass over her head. As the Khans fire however, Twilight flicks the fire selector lever over to the rifle barrel. Whilst several of the Khans are carrying rifles, or else pistols, most of these Khans aren’t carrying rifles, and are instead carrying iron bars or else lumps of wood. At a distance, easy pickings for the Legionnaires, Twilight knows all too well how dangerous a Khan can be when he closes with you.

Thinking quickly, Twilight raises the hunting rifle and takes aim at the driver, who is now drawing his charge much, much closer to Dash and the other Legionnaires. Twilight steadies her weapon and fires the rifle round at the helmsman, and she winces as the round smashes into him, sending him sprawling backward to tumble from the carriage to land with a sickening thump upon the street. Twilight puts him out of her mind: there will be time for the reckoning later. The carriage lurches and several more Khans are hurled from their precarious positions before a new driver manages to get up front and rein the vehicle in. Twilight lowers her drilling gun, cursing furiously as she lifts her En-Kar, holding the weapon tight as she takes aim.

“Keep moving!” Dash bellows, and the Legionnaires continue falling back, shooting and manoeuvring in the patterns that Twilight has learnt to recognize as fire and manoeuvre. Twilight opens fire at the carriage which is now getting worryingly close to them. Twilight knows that once they’re in close, they’re going to be absolutely lethal. Twilight continues to fire, pumping rounds into the careening carriage, and she sees several of them go down.

A round suddenly smacks into the cobbles millimetres from Twilight’s feet. She whirls to see Khan gunmen taking up positions on the rooftops behind her and starting to put down fire that is fortunately wildly inaccurate. Twilight frantically darts forward, taking cover in a doorway before reaching out and taking aim at a Khan that is taking a bead on Rainbow Dash. Twilight pulls the trigger of her rifle.

Snap.

Empty.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck...

Acting on instinct, Twilight reaches for her magic. The bolt of magic flies through the air, making a sound like ripping cloth as it slices across the distance to smash the ledge beneath the Khan, disintegrating the stone and sending the Khan plummeting two storeys to land upon the pavement with a sickening crack. He doesn’t get up.

Twilight shivers as another ear-splitting headache pulses through her, passing after a moment. Twilight turns to see the carriage, which is now practically on top of the Legionnaires, and she notices another driver at the helm. However Twilight also notes that although quite a few Khans are lying scattered upon the cobbled streets, the Khans are still whooping and waving their flags, chanting as their carriage charges the Legionnaires. Twilight reaches for the Luger, raising it and taking aim at the charging horses. She flicks the safety off and steadies the pistol into the proper stance as more gunfire splits the air around her. She’s got twelve more rounds on the Luger, then she’s fucked.

Twilight takes aim at the new helmsman of the charging carriage, whose vehicle is drawing dangerously close to the Legionnaires, who are now desperately hunting for targets as a withering onslaught of gunfire is poured upon them. The walls and streets come down with a bad case of measles and the stalls are shredded by the sheer volume of fire. Twilight focuses her mind on her shot however. The shot is going to be difficult, even though the carriage is only fifty metres away. Twilight takes a deep breath. She cannot miss. She then tightens her finger around the trigger like Dash has taught her. The Luger goes off with a crack.

The carriage explodes.

A thunderclap fills the air and the ground shudders beneath Twilight’s feet as a flash of light and a wave of heat washes over them. A ball of fire erupts from the carriage, inky black smoke coiling into the sky.

“Fuck me, what did you do?” the Legionnaire next to Twilight yells as the ringing in her ears dies away. Twilight stares in shock and awe as the air is suddenly filled with the steady rattling noise of crank-gatling guns, and the low rumble of drive turbines. Twilight throws herself to the ground as bullets thunk into the roof high above her.

Twilight nervously peers out, wondering what exactly the new arrivals are, and more importantly, who they owe allegiance to. Twilight’s eyes widen in shock however, when she notices the machine. The ship is shaped much like a skiff, though its underside is steel rather than treated wood. However it is longer, and the underside is flatter, with the nose being flat rather than tapered to a point. The machine slowly descends, and Twilight notices other differences, namely the lack of a mast or solar sail, along with armour plating running along the flanks, along with weapon mounts which currently house the four crank-gatling guns that had made such light work of the dissidents on the rooftops. That is not what sets Twilight’s heart to leaping as the machine descends however: Flying from the stern of the ship is the flag of the Holy Navy.

The ship descends until it’s about ten feet off the ground, and then soldiers start jumping from the prow. Black clad Khans wearing respirators and hoses and carrying submachine guns advance forward, past the Legionnaires. The advancing crowd down the street bellows its discontent at the sight of the advancing Marines, and they start to charge forward in reply. Twilight watches as the black clad Marines form up into a single row and lower their submachine guns, drawing batons from their belts. Twilight winces as the Holy Marines wade into the crowd, laying into the mass of Khans around them with righteous zeal. As Twilight watches, one of the civilians raises his iron bar to swing at one of the Marines, who brings his own baton upwards to thwack the Khan in the armpit, forcing him to drop the bar with a clang. The Marine then boots the civilian right between the legs and the Khan folds over, only for the Marine to shove the Khan backwards into the crowd. More dissenters are being hurled to the ground, or else sent running away with their tails between their legs. Other Marines are already drawing a box on the ground with chalk, which is being used as a holding area, if the number of shackled Khans being dragged into it is anything to go by.

“Your Highness,” Twilight hears a familiar voice, and she whirls to see Prophet standing behind her, a broad smile upon his face as the ship behind him descends to land upon the road.

“Prophet, you’re back!” Twilight gasps, and the Justicar nods, opening his mouth to speak, but before he can say anything, one of the Legionnaires steps forward.

“Where the fuck did you get to?” he snaps, and Prophet raises his hands placatingly.

“Yes, I am sorry for departing without warning you first… I just thought we could do with some reinforcements.”

Dash rises to her feet from her crouched position in a nearby doorway. “I won’t disagree with that,” she shouts over to them. “Do you have a radio we can use to get in touch with our people? We’re… in a bad way.”

Prophet nods, a low rumbling growl booming from his throat. “I can go one better,” he replies. “This ship will take you to them… more Marines are on the way to reinforce this group. There is also somebody aboard this ship who wishes to speak to you.”

Dash glances at the other Legionnaires, who are looking irritable, and she shakes her head as she walks over to the Justicar. “Prophet, I don’t think any of us are up for any political playing right now… we want to get out of here.” She turns to Twilight, who nods: She’s tired, the magic she’s had to use today has taken it out of her, and that’s before all the running and shooting and bleeding and dying. On top of all this, her best friend surely hates her guts by now. Hanging over all that is the overwhelming sensation that this whole mission has now failed. She got into a gun-battle two minutes after setting foot off the airship into a foreign land, as a diplomat.

Prophet shakes his head. “This is not political, this is military,” he says. “This person can help you if you want him to.” Twilight tilts her head inquisitively, not trusting herself to speak.

“Right, let’s get out of here,” Twilight says, starting to walk towards the Justicar’s craft, trudging up the lowered ramp and collapsing into one of the seats built into the landing-craft with a weary sigh. She can hear the other Legionnaires do the same, tramping up the ramp and sitting down, reaching for their canteens and taking swigs of water.

Dash sits down opposite Twilight, and then slowly pats at the pocket of her uniform. Prophet climbs aboard, the ramp starts to close and the shuttle starts to rise.

“Right, it’s fag time gents. When we get to the compound, RV with the others and see if they’ve managed to find somewhere good to sleep.” Dash wearily pulls out a cigarette and slips it between her dirty lips, but before she can light it, Twilight snaps her fingers and a spark appears at the tip of the cigarette. Dash’s slightly bloodshot eye flicks up to look at Twilight.

“Cheers Princess, anyone else want one?” Dash asks, holding the packet out, and several of the Legionnaires wearily reach out and take one from the packet, digging in their pockets for their lighters, each man passing the packet to the man on his right. Twilight watches the Legionnaires sigh with relief as they sit back, slumping in their seats and stretching their legs out to relax as the packet is tossed across and starts to make it’s way back to Dash. Even Prophet pulls out his pipe, which he lights with a snap of his fingers.

“Deity in heaven!” An invocation from the stern of the ship makes Twilight’s head lift, and she turns to see a Khan dressed in black dress uniform with bars on his shoulders. His uniform drips with braid and medals. This Khan is a bushy-tailed iron grey tom that rather closely resembles Princess Celestia’s Persian cat. “Forgive me, I’m sorry we were not able to help you sooner, Your Highness.”

Twilight’s head swivels at the invocation, and she purses her lips slightly. “Can I help you sir?” she asks, the edge in her voice a little more apparent than she means it to be. She’s not in the mood to be ogled right now, and the Legionnaires are likewise not looking too impressed at the interruption to their cigarette break.

The Khan’s back straightens as he bows and removes his hat. “I am Admiral Salman Neydin. I spoke to you this morning on the radio, Your Highness.” The Khan’s face falls, his eyes downcast. Twilight blinks, having to struggle to recall the radio conversation that seems like a lifetime ago. However, she remembers the Admiral and remembers how sincere he sounded. She’d thought he’d been lying about saying he’d provide help, but apparently not.

“You helped us,” Twilight says after a moment. “Your soldiers proved most decisive. Were it not for them, we would not be standing here. I shall be mentioning your most timely assistance when I speak to the Shah,” she says, and the notices a flicker of relief pass across the admiral’s face.

“I only wish that it was not needed,” Neydin says sadly. “The Ministry of the Interior must be held to account for this gross dereliction of duty.” Prophet nods grimly, a rumble escaping his throat.

“The Deity’s eye judges all.” The Justicar’s malediction sends a chill down Twilight’s spine.

“Your Highness, please accept my most sincere apologies for the manner of your welcome, you have my vow that those responsible will be held accountable… Is there anything-”

“Submachine-guns,” Dash interrupts. “The kind that your Marines use, with plenty of ammunition, three armoured carriages…”

Admiral Neydin turns. “I’m sorry, you are?”

“I’m in charge of the Princess’ security detail, and those are my soldiers that got killed today,” Dash says firmly, her eye flinty. “And you fucked up. You, the Interior Ministry, I don’t give a flying fuck who, but you, the Khanate, fucked up and you’d better believe I’m not going to forget it.”

The Admiral blinks, shocked, but Dash is now on a roll. “You are now at our service, we need it, you provide it, and at cost to the Khan taxpayer, you understand?”

“Perfectly,” Admiral Neydin says coolly. “I’m not generally in the habit of being lambasted by corporals, but even a broken clock is right twice a day. What do you need?”

“Well, uh, a coupla crates of rations, ammo, grenades, three armoured carriages, maybe a case of- actually, can I give you a list of all the shit we need?”

Twilight notices the admiral’s gaze flick to her in silent interrogation. You’re going to let her get away with this?

Normally Twilight would be first in line to jump down Dash’s throat, however right now isn’t normally. She’s tired, exhausted even. She feels like she’s been dragged through a hedge backwards, and then thrown face first into a nest of vipers. Her right hand still trembles as the adrenaline wears off, and Twilight’s return glance says, more eloquently than words: Yes I am, what are you going to do about it?

“I suppose that would be acceptable, Corporal,” Neydin say calmly. “You will present your list to me later tonight, I shall come by to collect it.”

“Sure… Twi, you good?” Dash asks, and Twilight looks up at Rainbow Dash.

Twilight suddenly reaches out with her telekinesis, using her magic to open Dash’s pocket and pull out the packet of cigarettes. Dash looks up, her gaze following the floating pack of cigarettes over to Twilight. Twilight pops open the packet and pulls out one of the cigarettes, slipping it between her lips. She can practically feel Dash’s shocked gaze upon her, but Twilight is just too exhausted to care as she snaps her fingers and the tip takes light.

Twilight Sparkle has never smoked before in her life. She can just imagine the colour her parents would turn if they could see her now. However three weeks ago she’d never killed a man. Before today she’d never shot a man in the face. Before today, her world had been a safe and tranquil idyll, filled with friends and love. Even the darker moments had been pretty good. Now, as she lights the cigarette and takes a draw, letting blue smoke coil around her, she imagines the chances of peace drifting away on the breeze, like whisps of blue vapour.

Chapter Sixteen: Regroup

View Online

27th January 1882, Tarhen, 0942 local time.

Aznan is sitting out in his garden, stretched out upon a deck-chair with a pair of sun-goggles strapped to his face. He inhales deeply, the rich scent of freshly cut grass rising up to his nostrils. His tail sways slowly and his ears twitch as he stretches out, groaning softly. Aznan, like many Khans, is fond of sunbathing. It gives him a moment to collect his thoughts and savour the rich taste of violence in the air. Even now he can hear the faint crackle of gunfire rippling across the city as the locals give the Equestrian sorceress a taste of Khan hospitality.

Finding a sufficiently large group of people willing to shoot at Twilight Sparkle was not particularly hard. The priests had been more than happy to gather a large group of people together and unleash them upon Twilight with a minimum of suggestions from his end, which works to Aznan's favour. In the vanishingly small chance of the fanatics being successful, he has plausible deniability in his favour, since the arrogance of the priests would mean they'd rather die than admit they were acting under his well meaning instructions to make sure Twilight was welcomed properly to the Khanate.

Aznan gazes upward, reaching for his spyglass as he notices a disturbance among the navy ships flying in their lazy circuits around Tarhen. Several of them are breaking off from the main battle group, a frigate and two landing craft, each one potentially loaded with marines. Aznan sucks in a breath sharply as he watches them adjust course. The Navy is the one variable in his plan that he hasn't been able to account for, since Admiral Neydin is an old rival of Aznan's, and would kill himself before submitting to Aznan's authority, never mind becoming a co-conspirator in the efforts to overthrow the Shah. However on this occasion, Aznan had planned for the Navy,and his man in the MIO had been tasked with keeping the Navy busy long enough for the bloodthirsty Legionnaires to call upon their own for aid, whose cruisers would roll in and rip a couple of city blocks apart, or use those lovely Maxim guns of theirs on a crowd of people again. That had been the plan.

However as Aznan watches the frigate turn and open fire, he sighs irritably. Evidently his man in the MIO hasn't been quite as effective as Aznan would have hoped, but no matter. That's what dry runs are for, to iron out problems. Aznan sits up in his chair, reaching for the notebook that he keeps with him at all times to jot down ideas, note details and so on. He flips it to a blank page and writes down a quick note to himself to identify and deal with whoever in the Equestrian contingent is talking to the Navy. The last thing he needs is that wretched sorceress making friends, or finding the ear of someone in the Shah's inner circle, or even the Shah himself.

Aznan groans slightly. This was supposed to be simple and clean, but complications are a fact of life, and this complication is going to tie things up rather more than it should. He'd promised the Clerics that the army and the MIO would not be arresting or cutting down his worshippers for 'spontaneous demonstrations of passion.' Up until a month ago, he could have made the same guarantee of the Navy. Admiral Zel-Markos had been old and indolent and Aznan had enough on him to see him hung if he tried to interfere. However Admiral Neydin is going to be a problem. Ferociously loyal to the Shah and a fervent believer, Aznan knows that he cannot sway the senior navy man in Tarhen... but what's to say he cannot co-opt those directly under him?

The thought makes Aznan smile. Solutions to these little problems are always close to hand, you just need to apply yourself to the problem. He makes another note in his little book. It'll soon be time for another meeting with the nice men from the OSS.

_______
27th January 1882, Tarhen. 0953 Local time.

Caporal Rainbow Dash closes her eye, leaning back in the webbing seat. Around her, she can smell the familiar stench of blood and dirt that has provided the accompaniment to her life thus far. The thick scent of cordite hangs in the air, along with the powerful and bitter whiff of failure. Princess Twilight, her ex-girlfriend was almost murdered today on her watch. Dash pulls her helmet off and runs a grimy hand through her equally grubby and greasy hair. She knows she's going to be relieved of her command the moment she gets back to the Legion's compound, and for good reason.

Dash's eyebrows knit. Well what exactly was I supposed to do? What could I have done? Dash asks herself as she adjusts her rifle slightly in her hands. The short answer to that is: nothing. Princess Twilight was sure of what she wanted, and Dash could not defy her. However Dash cannot fault Twilight's reasoning. Looking back over what had happened, Dash cannot find it in her to blame the young princess for deciding to keep moving, to disembark from the airship in the manner that they did. They could not have afforded to have stopped or waited at the terminal for those slackers in the other compagnies to get themselves ready. There were no radios in the carriage, and the only set was in the airship, which naturally would be out of bounds the moment they disembarked. However there are two people that Dash can blame for this debacle.

When this is over, she's going to kick Prophet’s stupid head in. Then when she has done that, she's going to beat her own stupid head in and resign her stripes. She, Rainbow Dash, archprelate of awesome and empress of extreme, has fucked up. No, that's not right.

Fucked up doesn't even begin to plumb the depths of her failure. She's allowed one of the four rulers of Equestria to get shot at, and worse, she's had men killed today, good men who trusted her to lead them. Men that she let down. Dash reaches back for her bottle, unscrewing it and taking a sip.

“So where are we going?” Dash hears Twilight ask hoarsely, and the Admiral clears his throat.

“We are en route to the Eternal Fire, from whence we shall decide what to do...” Admiral Neydin replies, and Dash tilts her head. One Khan is much the same as any other to her, and whilst he may have saved their lives, Dash cannot afford to let her guard down. She pats down her pocket once more, wanting nothing more than to light a second cigarette and take another calming draw, however she can't. She has a limited supply of cigarettes here, and whilst smoking is one of the few things that isn't banned in the Khanate, she's fairly sure that no one's going to serve her.

“Admiral, I need you to take us to the Legion base,” Prophet says suddenly. “I have no doubt that the Legion are aware of what has transpired, and they will even now be preparing forces to roar out to the Princess' rescue. I think we would both rather they did not engage in a wild goose-chase, if that is agreeable, Your Highness?” Dash notices Twilight look up from her own dark musings. Dash doesn't even want to know what is passing through Twilight's mind right now, but Dash can see that Twilight's beating herself up something chronic, just from the pallor of her skin beneath the crust of brown dried blood that cakes her arms up to the elbow, and further up, where the dried blood is flecked with silver. The princess is absolutely filthy, her crown is dented, her dress is torn. Those bright purple eyes are shining with tears and her bottom lip is quivering. Dash's lip curls downwards into a snarl. She wants nothing more than to go over and give Twilight a good hard slap round the face to make her see sense. It's not Twilight's fault. As far as Dash can see, responsibility for this lies squarely upon her own shoulders.

“What a goddamn lightweight.” Dash's attention is drawn to her legionnaires, to their muttering in the flowing Prench that every legionnaire is expected to know.

“Should have stayed in Canterlot,” Scabs mutters icily, jerking his head at Twilight.

“War's no place for adolescents, at least the Field Marshal didn't get weepy about blood,” Tabby grunts in reply. Dash's eye narrows. These are her soldiers, but Twilight is her best friend and her princess. She's not going to let them back-chat, not least because Dash is fairly sure Twilight could quite possibly know Prench. She knows everything after all.

“Legionnaires,” Dash's tone is flinty. “She's your princess, act like it.”

“But boss-”

“Don't 'but boss' me,” Dash snaps. “She stepped up to the plate big-style today, you all had how much combat training before you joined us out here?”

“Four months boss, same as you.”

“Yeah, she's had about three weeks of training, tops. It's not her job to shoot shit, but she was putting fire down with the rest of us today. She's not combat medic trained but she put Stitch back together after he took a couple to the chest. So with that in mind, if I hear any of you slating her then I will have absolutely no hesitation in decking you, do we understand each other legionnaires?”

The legionnaires glance at each other uneasily, and then Smit grimaces, lowering his eyes.

“I didn't-”

“Also,” Dash cuts in, leaning in close to the other legionnaires, “don't assume that there is anything Princess Twilight does not know. That includes Prench.” Her gaze flicks to Twilight, and Dash's heart stops as she notices those purple eyes are locked upon her. Dash then notices Twilight's head incline slightly in a faint nod, and Dash lets out an exhalation of dread.

“Right,” Dash continues in Prench. “Duties time. When we get back to base, get food and water on, get ammunition and ditch any duff kit you may have. I'll speak to Her Highness and see what plans the Princess has.”

“Caporal.” Dash turns as she hears Twilight's voice, which is heartbreakingly weary and hoarse. “How long will your men need to get turned around to go out again?” she asks.

“We can go whenever you're ready Princess, though we need a few if you’ll need them looking more like soldiers than a grox that’s been dragged through a hedge,” Dash says, wondering exactly what her best friend has in mind, though she's relieved when Twilight shakes her head slightly.

“That... that won't be needed Caporal, I'm possibly looking to leave again in approximately an hour. We'll be airborne, and though I'm not anticipating combat... I need you to organise an escorting unit.”

Dash nods. “Where are we going, Ma’am?”

“We're going to go get Diplomatic Incident,” Twilight explains grimly, and Dash nods again. She'd met Diplomatic Incident before, back when she and Twilight were dating, although only in passing. She can understand Twi wanting to surround herself with allies, or at least to recover someone from the Khanate's clutches if possible. Dash takes another rejuvenating sip of her water bottle as she watches the admiral tap Twilight on the shoulder and mutter something into her ear. Twilight's back straightens, and as Dash watches, she rises to her feet and heads sternward, leaving the Legionnaires and Prophet alone in the troop-compartment of the landing craft as it thunders through the air, and for a long moment, the only sound is the thunder of the ship's drives as the Legionnaires silently sip at their canteens and draw at their cigarettes, whilst Prophet in turn draws his massive blade and a rag and slowly starts to polish it, murmuring litanies as he applies various oils and pastes to the weapon.

Dash watches Prophet for a moment, her brow furrowed in thought. She's not at all sure what to make of the Justicar. On the one hand, it was one of his soldiers who tried to kill her and Twilight last night, and she's absolutely certain that the Justicar knows more than he's letting on about that. On the other hand, he has come through today, calling in reinforcements when they were about to be overrun. If he really wanted Twilight dead, then he wouldn't have done that. He wouldn't have needed to do anything but watch as they got swarmed under. Then again it was his fault that they got into that ambush in the first place. He said he knew that part of town after all.

Caporal Dash suddenly feels the landing ship tilt beneath her and a warning bell ring out from the cabin. Prophet calmly rises to his feet, wiping the oil off his sword before sliding it back into its sheath.

“We are nearly at our destination,” he rumbles, pulling the hood of his robe back up, and tugging his cloak back around himself, hiding the power armour beneath flowing crimson fabric and bowing his head, reminding Dash of the pilgrims that used to trek past the Equestrian embassy day in day out, though their robes were made of linen rather than exotic silks.

Dash likewise rises to her feet, slinging her rifle over her shoulder. The other Legionnaires behind her are grimacing, but some of the tension is clearly fading out of their bodies, their shoulders slumping as the adrenaline high gives way to exhaustion. However Dash can feel a rising knot of tension in her stomach, and she can feel her own shoulders stiffening as she prepares for the mother of all beastings. She just knows they're going to take her stripes off her, along with everything else. She deserves nothing less.

Thus, when they land in the perimeter of the warehouse complex, Dash is braced for a fight. As the engines power down, she can hear a crowd gathering, the low rumble of hundreds of voices outside. Great, I'm going to get hauled over the coals in the view of the entire battle-group. Dash turns to look at the six Legionnaires, who are rising to their feet in silence. Smit then steps forward and claps Dash on the shoulder.

“We've got this boss,” he says, and Dash tosses him a grateful look. Over his shoulder, she notices the Admiral stepping out from behind the wheel-house, Twilight at his shoulder, an expression of firm resolution upon the Princess' face, though she treats Dash to a quick and encouraging smile.

“Let's do this,” Dash mumbles, and then the ramp suddenly drops with a resounding clang, giving them all their first glimpse of their accommodations for the duration of this trip. The compound is a former airship maintenance yard, with the hangars and suchlike still very much intact.

Dash also spots a group of three-storey administrative buildings, and a set of small workshops on the edge of the landing area, however all that is obscured by the mass of soldiers currently gathered at the edge of the landing field, all attention upon the landing craft. As Dash steps forward, down the ramp, she notices other Legionnaires are standing around their own landing ship, a much uglier, more utilitarian design than that used by the Khanate with a flat wedge shaped nose. Those Legionnaires are dressed in black ship-suits, complete with masks and hoses. All eyes however are on her now. Dash can feel the tension hanging in the air. Dash then hears the clattering of other Legionnaires behind her and she doesn't need to look to know that her own troops are coming down the ramp behind her.

Dash notices Capitane Adrelana and Capitane Belial are both standing at the edge of the landing ground, along with a Valorossiyan that Dash has never seen before. For a long moment, there is absolute silence, the gaze of the entire battle group making Dash's knuckles whiten as she grips her rifle tighter. Dash then hears another set of footsteps coming down the ramp.

“Atten-shun! For Her Majesty, Princess Twilight Sparkle, Eyes front!” someone yells.

Dash turns to see Twilight walking out, her back ramrod straight, Prophet at her back as she strides out onto the landing ground, majestic as a figurehead in spite of her ripped dress and her blood-spattered skin. Her face looks to be absolutely caked with dirt, dried blood is smeared up to her elbows, which are skinned and battered. Her dainty dress is ruined and those bright lavender eyes which had sparkled with life and hope are now cold and hard. Dash’s heart wrenches at the sight of her ex gazing out at the world with a flat, thousand-yard stare.

Dash hears a collective gasp of surprise at the sight of the princess holding a rifle, with a shotgun slung across her back, covered in blood and dirt, but clearly alive. A voice suddenly breaks the silence:

“THREE CHEERS FOR CAPORAL BOLT AND THE NINTH COMPAGNIE!”

“HUZZAH, HUZZAH, HUZZAH!”

Dash's heart jerks with surprise as the air resounds with the thunder of three hundred Legionnaires. This isn't the normal prelude to a bollocking... The roar of their voices crash upon her ears like waves crashing upon a sea wall. A fusillade of applause breaks out, and Dash's heart swells with pride as she notices Belial and Adrelana both smiling broadly, the Valorossiyan next to them grinning enthusiastically as she likewise applauds. For a moment, Dash is transported back in time to that brief snatch of time as a Wonderbolt, where she would be applauded by stadia of thousands. The same overwhelming rush of adulation and pride sweeps through her as it did back then, an intoxicating high that makes the hairs on the back of Dash's neck stand on end, and in spite of herself, a broad smile spreads across her face.

“THREE CHEERS FOR PRINCESS TWILIGHT!” Capitane Adrelana roars over the thunder of applause.

“HUZZAH, HUZZAH, HUZZAH!”

The Legionnaires bellow, whistling and whooping enthusiastically, and Dash turns to see Twilight stop, stunned. Her eyes are wide and a blush of colour crosses her cheeks, which surprises Dash. She would have thought the princess would be used to being cheered nineteen to the dozen by this point. However as Dash watches, the shock rapidly fades from Twilight's face, to be replaced with the calm mask-like detachment that Dash had hated seeing on her face. The princess woodenly raises her hand to the crowd, gesturing for them to be silent and still. An uneasy hush descends upon the compound. Dash watches the red flush upon Twilight’s face shrink into tiny pinpricks, those lavender eyes closing for a second as she absently strokes the joint between thumb and finger on her right hand. Dash has been around Twilight long enough to recognize the signs that Twilight was composing a speech. Twilight’s eyes then open, her expression hardening into one of grim resolution, though Dash notices the way she taps her right foot in the old familiar nervous tic.

“Legionnaires!” Twilight's voice booms across the parade ground. Whilst it is not the Royal Canterlot Voice, it is still powerful enough to carry to the corners of the landing ground. “Before I came here, I had no knowledge of your organisation. When I first arrived at your Regimental Headquarters, I must confess I was more than a little intimidated, surrounded as I was by men and women forged of iron and steel rather than woven of fine silk and cotton as I was accustomed to.”

Dash looks around, noticing the Legionnaires are, to a man, enthused by Twilight's words. Dash herself finds the speech more than a little captivating.

“The common perception in Canterlot is that people like you are savages, barely capable of sapient thought. The common belief is that you are criminals, best kept at arm’s length. I find this to be a gross disservice to your courage, one which I shall personally make sure is corrected. You may still wish to keep them at arm’s length however, for they walk with their noses so far up in the air that most cannot see where they're going. I often wonder if they have their noses like that because they cannot abide the stench of their own bullshit.”

A ripple of laughter spreads across the courtyard, and Dash’s grin tilts slightly, becoming a smirk. Obviously you’ve picked up a few new tricks since the last time you had to speak in public: that was drier than a dune rat on a hot rock.

“But I'm not here to waste my breath talking about Canterlot high society. I'm talking about you, Legionnaires of Equestria; soldiers from all corners of the known world who came to fight for our crown. I have tasted but a drop of the bitter cup that you have willingly taken upon yourselves to drink for our subjects, and I am a nervous wreck. I am imbued with the power of the immortals: my deeds will live forever in poems and songs. Yet I find myself humbled by even the least among you.” Dash watches Twilight forge onward, her mouth open in awe. She never thought her ex, the bumbling librarian who would never say boo to a goose, could speak with such confidence.

“In the end, I must say this,” Twilight says, her voice dropping in pitch. “We're here to safeguard peace, and our words and deeds must reflect that. Our quarrel is not with the common folk of this country, and we will treat them with the respect that you have shown to me. However I am not here to bow before blatant aggression. We shall find the person responsible for today's welcoming committee and we will show them the fullest extent of the Legion’s renowned hospitality!”

“Yes ma'am!” The roar of three hundred Legion voices fills the landing ground, and Dash grins: Twilight is hot when she gets angry. Thoughts of Twilight in the bathtub this morning suddenly intrude, followed by the brief but incredibly sharp words that Dash had offered the princess on the airship, and Dash's face burns as she reflects on the memory. Twilight has really exceeded every expectation Dash had of her today, and the least she can do is apologise.

“Excellent. I've kept you long enough. All that remains is to say welcome to Tarhen.” With that, Twilight turns on her heel and starts walking towards the administration block. Dash turns and quickly walks over to Twilight even as the Legionnaires start to cheer once more, applauding their princess as Adrelana steps forward to fall the battle-group out. Twilight is walking quickly, so fast that Dash has to lengthen her stride to catch up. She has something she wants to talk to Twilight about.
“Hey, Princess, that was a good speech,” Dash says as she catches up to Twilight, who turns and smiles slightly.

“Thanks, I had to ad-lib most of it,” Twilight says with a nervous little grin. Dash can feel Twilight's nervousness, the unease radiating off her.

“What's up?” Dash asks, before mentally kicking herself. They're still in public, free of the crowd of Legionnaires now, but they're still in earshot of quite a few of them. Of course Twilight's not going to talk about it, of course something's up. The princess has just stopped a guy from bleeding to death, she's killed people and been shot at, up close and personal. Of course that's going to leave a mark on a civvie.
“It's nothing,” Twilight says quickly, her eyes flicking up and to the right. Dash struggles to bury her doubtful expression, but before she can say anything, there's a voice from behind them.

“Princess Twilight.” The high lilting voice of a Valorossiyan female makes Dash's back stiffen. She whirls, intent on putting herself between Twilight and the Val, only for her eye to widen in shock. It's the Val that was standing at the edge of the landing ground, much closer now and all the more intimidating for it. Whilst Dash is used to Vals, having spent the better part of a year and a half around Zaranov and Adrelana, this is the first time she's met a Val that isn't a Legionnaire. It's also the first time she's even seen a female Val outside of picture books. She's heard the horror stories though, about how females are worse than the males when it comes to pure unmitigated aggression.

This one is shorter than Zaranov, with blood red hair that she's tied back into a pony-tail, to leave her ears, and more importantly, the short spiny crest running along the upper edge of each one, on full display. Dash is intimately familiar with Val biology, and she knows what those spiny crests mean. This Val, whoever she is, is very important. That much is clear from her attire. Silver velvet waistcoat with a silver watch-chain hanging from her right pocket, over a black blouse shirt and a red tie speak volumes about her status within the Union. They also accentuate her strange proportions, the broad shoulders and long neck, the slender limbs and flat belly that characterise the Valorossiyans, if those four eyes and that pointed chin weren't enough for that. Dash is reminded rather uncomfortably of a large and dangerous spider as she watches the Val.

“Yes?” Dash hears Twilight's voice over her shoulder as the princess turns around, and Dash steps aside so that she's flanking Twilight rather than obstructing her.

“That was a good speech, you should have been born Valorossiyan,” the Val says, a broad smile on her face. Dash frantically tries to remember what she can about Val body-language, since a smile from a Val can mean a hundred different things and she'd rather not get Twilight gutted on her watch.

“Thank you-” Twilight trails off, looking for a name.

“Lady Ambassador Zsaryna Adrelana, of the Union, at your service,” the Val supplies, and Dash can hear Twilight's sharp indrawn breath.

“My apologies Lady Ambassador, I-”

“It is of no moment. You do not know me, and I do not expect you to know me by sight. We all look the same to the untrained eye, no?” The Val's faint smile widens slightly, as though the whole thing is some kind of big joke. Dash watches Twilight nod, though she notices the very subtle stiffening of Twilight's spine and neck as the Val offers her hand to shake. Twilight shakes her head quickly.

“Begging your pardon, Lady Ambassador, I don't want to dirty your hands, I'm not exactly clean,” Twilight says, blushing slightly, and the Val shrugs.

“A little bit of blood should never get in the way of politeness,” Zsaryna replies, taking Twilight's hand in hers and shaking it warmly. “I heard the fighting from here, it was quite the battle. Did you extract a good reckoning?”

“She did, Lady Ambassador,” Dash says, intent on diverting the Val's attention. Dash can see how such questions could upset Twilight, unused to combat as she is. The Val's wintry stare turns upon Dash, and Rainbow feels something small and furry at the base of her spine start to loudly shriek about a pressing appointment on the other side of the world. Dash feels her heart beat a little faster as four eyes seem to look right through her, peering into her very soul.

“So this is the head of your protective detail... a pleasure to meet you, Caporal Bolt. Colonel Zaranov has mentioned you in his letters to my father. Truly Her Highness could not wish for a finer soldier at her side.” Zsaryna's tone is warm and conversational as she speaks, yet there's a gleam to her eyes. Dash isn't quite sure what that could possibly mean, but she knows better than to speculate as she feels the Val looking her up and down, before Zsaryna's gaze turns back to Twilight.

“So, Your Highness, there is a matter I wish to speak to you about, regarding your agent in country. I've come to ask you to consider securing his release. He is a very competent agent, and a dear friend of mine. I would be most grateful-”

“Lady Ambassador,” Twilight interrupts the Ambassador, a smile spreading across her face as Dash tenses up. “I am not in the habit of leaving my friends to languish at the Shah's pleasure. Indeed, that is my next objective, barring any… further problems.”

Dash has never seen a Val look shocked before. Zsaryna's mouth opens very slightly, as if she's unsure of what she's just heard, although that might just be because Twilight's dared to interrupt her. However given the way the smile upon the Val’s face widens, Dash is fairly sure that Zsaryna's not going to reach down Twilight's throat and rip her spine out any time soon.

“That is... most welcome news, Princess.”

“Please, if anything, I should be thanking you,” Twilight replies cheerfully. “Prophet had told me of your generous offer to post watchers over Diplomatic Incident to ensure he does not come to harm. That being said, if you will excuse me, I need to get cleaned up before we visit the prison where Diplomatic Incident is interned. I will not present myself to representatives of the Shah smelling like a charnel house.” Twilight turns to Dash, who straightens up slightly and frowns faintly. Wait, what? Dash asks herself, bewildered.

“Caporal, you have forty five minutes to get yourself and your men changed into new uniforms and get yourselves combat capable, I'm not expecting trouble but...” Twilight trails off suddenly and clutches her right hand. “Excuse me,” she says, turning on her heel and mumbling to herself as she walks away, clutching her hand to her belly.

Dash watches Twilight walk away towards the offices, and she exhales explosively. There's a lot of stress on her shoulders.

“Caporal Bolt.” Dash hears a voice behind her, and she turns to see Zsaryna Adrelana standing behind her.

“Yes... uh, ma'am,” Dash says quietly, clicking her heels as she comes to attention. She hasn't had much by way of diplomatic training, but what she has had has taught her that being polite, particularly to Valorossiyans is a wise move.

“Your princess is very stupid coming here. Things are falling apart at the seams, and the Shah is trying to put sticking plasters on a sucking chest-wound.”

“She's good at fixing sucking chest-wounds, ma'am. I saw her putting one of my men back together just today after he got shot through the lung.”

“Impressive,” Zsaryna says softly. “I have heard good things about her. I look forward to seeing her in action.”

“It's a sight to behold. She's stared down dragons, sylphs, manticores...” Dash trails off, as Zsaryna's brow climbs suspiciously.

“Or- uh, so I've heard,” she trails off, hoping that the ambassador doesn't notice her sweaty palms.

“Riiiight,” Zsaryna says slowly, her tone making it clear that she doesn't believe Dash for a moment. “Anyway we both have places to be, Caporal. Excuse me.” The Val then turns away, leaving Dash alone with her thoughts for a moment.

Shit shit shit. Dash curses herself in her head. She'd left that part of her past far behind and she was really hoping it would stay buried. The last thing she needs is to complicate matters for Princess Twilight. Their past would certainly complicate matters, not least as far as diplomacy goes in a country which takes an even dimmer view of questionable relationships than Equestria.

Dash watches Zsaryna's retreating back for a moment, before turning on her heel. She cannot afford to make things worse for Twilight right now, so the unspoken desires that burn in her heart will temporarily have to be put to bed. She is the element of Loyalty after all, and it wouldn't be a very loyal thing to do to sabotage the peace process. Muttering darkly, Dash turns to find her squad. She has plans to make, now that her boss has apparently gone insane.

______

Capitane Belial does not hang around after the Princess has finished making her speech. He turns on his heel and heads straight for the quarters that have been assigned to him.

Hopefully if I keep my head down, they won't know I'm here, he thinks to himself, trying to keep his cool. Whilst most of the Legionnaires around him are humans or Equestrians, and thus unused to reading Khan body language, Capitane Adrelana is one of Belial's close friends, and thus can read him like a book. Other Khans would likewise pick up on his twitching tail and his whiskers. They'd know, or manage to find out in short order, that Belial is in fact utterly terrified.

Men, Vals and Khans join the Legion for any number of reasons after all. Some join because they're running to something, to a life of adventure and freedom. Others join because they're running from something, and the Legion offers an effective escape route. Be it a criminal background, ethnic turmoil in their country of origin, or even an angry spouse, the Legion offers sanctuary to those seeking to undo the mistakes of their past in exchange for a hard life serving the Crown. In Belial's case, it was gambling debts.

Mishi Belilanda was not born to a lower class family, nor was he born with a silver spoon in his mouth. His family did reasonably well, his father was an architect and his mother was a nanny, the highest paid job that a woman could attain back then. Notably however, she was Equestrian, and that alone was enough to draw the ire of the other kits at his school, who would take to stealing his lunch money or roughing him up. In those days, you fought back or you went under, and Belilanda fought back, thus earning the respect of the other kits, but the disappointment of his parents.

Belilanda soon fell in with the wrong crowd, and started hanging out in places out of which no good can come, and it didn't take long before he started to accumulate a criminal record. As if that wasn't bad enough, he started to gamble. At first it was more to piss off his parents, but he rapidly got sucked into a whirlpool of debt, and by the time he realised how deep he was in, it was too late. Threatening letters started appearing at his house, until finally Belilanda cracked and vanished onto the streets, inviting those who were pursuing him to come after him, but leave his family out of it.

They came for him two days later as he was walking down a street. There were five of them, armed with knives. Ordinarily he would not have stood a chance, but Belilanda was desperate. He fought like a Khan possessed, breaking the neck of the first and snapping the knees of a second, however numbers still told and as he was thrown to the ground, Belilanda prepared himself to meet his god... only for the figures to suddenly turn and run as a shot rang out across the street.

Belilanda turned to see a pair of soldiers dressed in the tan uniform and distinctive pith helmets of the Legion Etrangere walking up to him. Belilanda barely had time to thank them before he passed out from blood loss. When he woke up six hours later, he was in the Equestrian embassy sick-bay with a Legionnaire standing over him. The Legion made him an offer, and Belilanda accepted, becoming 'Belial', as the Legionnaires said he fought like a demon.

That was ten years ago, and Belial had hoped never to clap eyes on Tarhen ever again. The Khans he's running from are patient: they will not have forgotten about him, particularly after he left two of their people dead in the street. Belial bites his lip as he stalks up the stairs, his eyes narrowing.

I am a Capitane of the Legionnaires, let them come. I will have their heads mounted upon my wall.

Buoyed by this thought, Belial heads to his room. He is a soldier now, and no matter how powerful these men are, they will not wish to tangle with the Legion. He'd almost take a gleeful pleasure in taking a squad of men into Tarhen to root them out. Belial reaches his room and yanks open the door to find his things are already unpacked, and a Khan is sat on the bed waiting for him, dressed in the long flowing black robes of the Priesthood.

“I didn't ask for a chaplain,” Belial growls as he unhooks his pistol belt from around his waist. He has little time for theology and even less time for Divinity-bothering chaplains. He has a compagnie to run after all.

“Mishi Belilanda,” the priest says, and Belial stiffens. No one in the Legion knows that name. Belial's hand curls into a fist as he unhooks his revolver from his belt.
“What do you want?” he asks, his back to the ‘priest.’

“Look at you, so strong, so proud in that uniform. It's good to see you've turned yourself around.” The voice is familiar, gentle and quavering, and Belial whirls around... only to see his father, standing there before him, dressed in the robes of a High Priest. Belial can see it's his father, his nose has those little pink speckles on it, and his right eye is still slightly misty, though his tawny tortoise-shell fur is liberally streaked with steely grey and he looks to be thinner, more gaunt.

“Baba?” Belial asks, his grip loosening upon his revolver. “What're you doing here, in those clothes?”

“I heard you were coming. After you ran away, a friend of mine offered to keep track of you for me. He's been writing me letters, telling me how you've grown into a fine young man, rather than that callow youth you were when you left.”

Belial bites his lip, feeling shame bloom across his cheeks as he remembers the last shouted conversation he'd had with his father across the dining room.
“Mishi, my son... I'm here to help you.”

“How?”

“You want to return home?” His father asks, his voice plaintive.

“I would if I could, but there are people-”

“I know someone who can help you,” his father says gently, his voice soft and pleading. “Your mother misses you dreadfully, we all do... we can be a family again.”

“Who?” Belial asks softly, his hand curling into a fist. Family has always been a big thing for Mishi Belilanda. Ten years is a long time to go without even a letter or a visit. Whilst he appreciates it’s part of Legion life, it’s also rather unpleasant. His hand unclenches from a fist and he turns his back on his father once more, drumming his fingers upon the desk as he thinks.

“A man in the army. He walks with God. He wants to meet you, he says he can help you.”

Belial nods slowly, taking a deep breath. Abandoning the Legion is the worst form of treachery, particularly with things as they are now. He'd become a deserter, scum to be hunted down and butchered like an animal. However he'd be with his family, in his old city again. He'd be able to reappear, take up a job in the city, or serve in the Khan military. It's all good for the Princess to talk of loyalty to the Crown, but Belial has little loyalty to a country he's never seen. However, Belial is a Legionnaire. He has a Compagnie that relies upon him, men that have fought and bled with him; his battle-brothers. His father could never understand that.

“I will meet him, but I will make no promises, Baba,” Mishi says after a moment.

Outside, Belial can hear the sounds of soldiers getting ready, digging into positions and setting up defensive emplacements. Boots are thundering this way and that as soldiers begin the timeless routines of sentry duties. Belial can hear heavier weapons being lugged into position, and his mind turns away from his father, to the soldiers under his command. To soldiers who will fight for him, kill for him, and die for him.The idea that he will betray such loyalty with such self-serving cowardice makes Belial’s hands shake.
I need to keep my losses down. If this person can help me do that…
A thought, cold and insidious, takes root in Belial’s mind:
It’s not my crown, after all.

To be continued...

Legionnaire

by The Lord Inquisitor

Introit: The Foundations of Modern Equestria

Chapter One: Insurgent

Chapter One: Insurgent (Cont)

Chapter Two: Per Ardua

Chapter Three: Dulce Et Decorum Est, Pro Patrio Mori

Chapter Four: Attack

Chapter Five: Reunion

Chapter Six: Reconciliations.

Chapter Seven: Change of Plans

Chapter Eight: Complications (*)

Chapter Nine: Defence Reforms

Chapter Ten: Masked Red

Chapter Eleven: Detonation, In Which Things Explode

Chapter Twelve: Twist in the tail.

Chapter Thirteen: Paws for Thought.

Chapter Fourteen: Entanglement

Chapter Fifteen: Wrong Turn

Chapter Sixteen: Regroup

Annex A: On Valorossiyans.