Lords of Equestria takes place in an alternate universe also called Equestria for simplicity's sake and will feature stories from multiple view points. This high fantasy based story revolves around adventure and the thrill of discovery.
"In the lands we call Equestria, life is hard but made easy with the friendship of others. Sometimes though, friendship gives way to greed and pride. Terrible wars have been fought for religion, wealth and honor. The many kingdoms and peoples and city states that call this vast land home, continue to squabble like that have for centuries. Kingdoms fall, castles are broken and lives are lost and yet we still move on. New kingdoms arise, new lands are found and new peoples are discovered. Such the enduring journey of a lucky few."
The marching was long and hard. It had been four days since Steel Lance left his home of Castle Honeywine. It was a strange feeling for him, being surrounded by dense forest and the echoing chirping of birds. He had grown up with gentle rolling hills and endless fields of wheat, grapes and other crops that keep the other realms of Castillia from starving. He reflected on his life further and wondered about how far he’d come in life. His father, a retired General of Castillia, was stripped of his knighthood after speaking out against a greater lord. His father was further punished for “stealing” glory of another lord in battle by having his castle and lands given to a house of stewards. As if that wasn’t enough, Lance’s father married a peasant mare, completely breaking his family’s noble history. Adding to this, his younger sister, Twinkle Star, started to develope a strange disease that deformed her. Other noble houses took that as a sign of House Steel Wing’s folly and as a form of punishment from the Gods. Despite all these terrible things, Steel Lance himself was granted a knighthood by Lady Golden Grove of Castle Honeywine. Steel Lance saw his new knighthood as a chance to redeem both his father’s honor and the name of his family.
A voice from behind snapped Steel Lance out of his reminiscing. “Sir?” called out one of the knights.
Steel Lance looked back at his band of knights, if one could give them such a title.
“Is something wrong, Sir?”
“I’ll tell you what’s wrong, we’re lost!” cried out another.
Steel Lance chuckled a little. “You know, most of us can fly, Iron Plow.”
“And it’s impossible to miss Castle Light Tower from above the tree lines.”
“Bah, you Pegasi take all the fun out of being lost.”
Steel Lance couldn’t help but laugh a little along with his band. “You find ‘being lost’ funny?”
“No, but that’s how all the heroes in the old tales find their blessed or magical items.”
Everypony in the band laughed at Iron Plow’s strange excuse. “Do you really think a bunch of peasants pretending to be knights will ever be in one of your heroic ballads?”
Steel Lance chuckled, but he knew that there was truth behind that remark. As a knight he resolved disputes between Castle Honeywine and the other Castles. The Champion of Honeywine they called him as he won joust after joust, displaying his prowess worthy of a noble house. Through his hard work and determination, he was noticed by somepony in the Castillian military. An upstart, but a knight worthy of some recognition, even if his jousts were minor. He wondered how many other knights were in his position. Who else is trying to redeem their family’s name? Who else was trying to raise their families above the status of peasantry? Who else had a better opportunity than his pitiful quest? Although he was given the status of Captain of the Guard of Castle Light Tower, it is a position of little worth according to other knights. Castle Light Tower is one of the most secure castles in the kingdom, watching over the west coast of Castillia for signs of invasion.
“Wait! Look! Above the trees!”
Steel Lance looked up, seeing a glow that reminded him of the sun slipping behind a sea of wheat. It was only midday though, the light barely skimming the tops of the trees, could not be the sun. “Almost there! We’re only two miles from Light Tower. Just a little bit more lads!”
As the band made their way to Light Tower, the soft glow of its beacon slowly grew to an enormous tower. What looked like solid walls turned out to be row upon row of battlements, parapets and murder holes. The dense forest and the sounds that came with it soon gave way to the crashing of waves and the deep calls of seabirds. The massive walls of Castle Light Tower obscured the horizon. Its grey stone was only made darker because the shadows casted by the midday sun. From what he could see, Steel Lance could count eight towers along the curtain walls. There had to be more hidden from view by the skyscraping keep. The knights stared up in awe. Even though many of them were Pegasi, the sheer height of the walls would still be a damper to them during a siege.
“I always thought the tales of Light Tower were exaggerated... Now I see those exaggerations don’t do the castle justice.” said one of the knights.
“One could probably garrison at least two hundred thousand soldiers in here.”
“I’d say its big enough to house half a million soldiers with their families.”
“How many other soldiers are there now, Sir Lance?”
Steel Lance put his hand to his chin, stroking his coat a little. “It must be crowded. We might have to share beds.” he chuckled.
“I don’t mind that sir! As long as I don’t share a bed with Sir Melon there anyway.”
Laughter once again filled the ranks of Steel Lance’s knights.
Sir Melon, a hulking Earth Pony, let out his signature deep laugh before speaking. “You still sore after that bandit camp incident?”
“That was an accident!”
The castle grew closer and closer. Steel Lance knew he had to make a good first impression to the Lord. “Alright lads! Form up! Two by two, now!”
Despite his band being nothing but armed and armored peasants, they showed discipline and bravery compared to stallions of noble birth. Steel Lance’s knights formed a column two stallions wide and forty deep. Together, they marched across a narrow bridge that crossed a pony made trench. Once across, the massive gates of Castle Light Tower stood open like the gaping maw of a hydra. Its great portcullis, like a hydra's teeth.
The knights marched into the castle, expecting to see commotion and the smell of a hundred cooking pots. However, they were greeted with silence and the smell of damp gravel. It seemed as if the castle was abandoned. There was not a soul in sight, much less the smell of cooking fires.
“Where is everypony?”
“I thought for sure there’d be other soldiers here...”
Steel Lance’s gaze scanned the bailey, looking for signs of habitation. “Well... We were supposed to replace another company of knights. Maybe they left already.”
“A company I can understand... but the entire castle’s garrison, Sir Lance?”
“I worry as well. Where are the other soldiers? I don’t see any along the walls.”
Steel Lance could see the unrest growing in his stallions. Before he could say anything, the sound of marching echoed from around the Castle’s keep. “There they are!” he shouted with enthusiasm.
From around the keep of Castle Light Tower, came a company of five hundred heavily armored knights. They seemed happy. Happy at the fact that they were leaving the defense of Light Tower to lesser stallions.
The leader of the column spoke to Steel Lance as if he was addressing a peasant. “Are you lot the replacements?”
Steel Lance couldn’t help but cringe that the lord didn’t address him as “Sir”. “Aye, we are-” Steel Lance paused for a brief moment. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”
“Ah yes. I should not have expected a... lesser knight such as yourself to know the greater houses. I am Lord Land Caster,” spoke Land Caster while giving a slight bow. “I am grateful that you and your... soldiers... offered to liberate me and my knights from this most dishonorable of duties.”
Me and my knights? Steel Lance thought to himself, Have you no shame? No humility? The arrogance of Land Caster angered Steel Lance. “May I ask, my lord, but what is so dishonorable about defending the kingdom from the Fengarians?”
Land Caster did nothing but scoff. “You mean fighting off the barbarians squatting on those desolate rocks they call islands? We beat them so badly in the last war they won’t be back for another hundred years my poor lad. And to my knowledge, it has not been a hundred years.”
“But what of the chance they’ve recovered? What if they attack now?”
“There is no chance of them attacking, my dear lad.”
Steel Lance let out a small sigh. “Is there anything else I should know about this castle and its lord?”
Land Caster looked upon Steel Lance as a buffoon now. He scoffed at Steel Lance’s lack of knowledge of the noble houses. “Do not worry of House Tower. Those slimy individuals that call themselves a “noble” house never crawl out of the keep.”
“And what of the other lords who garrison this castle?”
Lord Land Caster was outright laughing at this point. “My dear boy, you are the garrison.”
In an instant, Steel Lance’s building anger was replaced with concern. “What?” shouted Steel Lance. “How can we maintain a garrison with only eighty stallions?”
Once again, Land Caster scoffed. “That’s your problem. You wanted the ‘honor’ of holding Castle Light Tower, and you shall have it.” Land Caster smirked while marching his knights out of the castle.
There was commotion among Steel Lances soldiers. May were muttering about how they had no chance to fully man the walls. Others were disappointed that they would not get to prove themselves in battle.
Steel Lance himself was sorely disappointed. He had hoped to joust and duel a few of the other nobles that also garrisoned the castle. He had hoped to earn respect. Instead, he’d spend countless hours doing little but sparring with his own soldiers and patrolling the empty walls by himself. Then, it dawned on him.
“It’s okay, lads!” shouted Steel Lance with enthusiasm.
“Okay? How is manning a castle built to house half a million soldiers ‘okay’ sir?”
“Think about it. From what Lord Land Caster said, the Tower family rarely leaves their keep. If we stay to the barracks, the towers, the walls and the halls, we effectively have a castle all to ourselves.”
Worry and disappointment were soon replaced by excitement and curiosity. Indeed, the former peasants never had the opportunity to explore a castle like Light Tower.
“Alright! Everypony scatter! Find the important areas of the castle! Kitchen, barracks, battlements! Report back here at sundown!” Steel Lance ordered. He watched as his soldiers scattered around. They scaled up the walls, walked and ran into the great halls of the castles, and moved around the bailey.
Steel Lance himself climbed the steps leading to the crenelations overlooking the coast. It was early in the afternoon. The sun was moving west. He imagined it must have been difficult to climb these stone steps during the evening hours as shadow would have made the stone dark. After a few minutes of climbing, he looked out towards the Great Western Ocean. The ocean went by many names throughout history, but it didn’t matter to Steel Lance who looked upon its sapphire blue waters with wonder. The smell of salt and spray was a new stimulus to him. At the moment, this was heaven.
He further scanned the wall, noticing a strange device mounted on a wooden block and fitted on a parapet where a ballista should be. It looked like a ludicrously thin bell. He walked over to the device knocking on it lightly. It was made of casted iron judging by the mould lines that roughly cut the “bell” in half. There were strange runes inscribed along the lip of the “bell”. Steel Lance wondered what this strange device was. There were several barrels and a small stone cup beside the bell in a lean-to. Next to the bell were small circular stones no bigger than a mare’s fist.
“It’s called a cannon,” a regal voice from behind explained, “Or at least that’s what the Fengarian’s called them.”
Steel Lance turned to meet the eyes of a well dressed Griffon. His armor was finely gilded with gold and topaz that glowed as brightly as Castle Light Tower’s beacon. “Sir Guirbaden, heir to Light Tower, at your service,” he said with a regal calm, “I hear you are my new Captain of the guard?”
Steel Lance bowed. “Sir Steel Lance of Honeywine, my lord.” He was surprised that a lord such as Guirbaden treated him with any amount of respect . “But... err... what did you say this device was again?”
“It’s a Fengarian ‘cannon’. It hurls a stone ball farther, faster and harder then any Castillian catapult.”
Steel Lance looked at the “cannon” again. “How?” he asked inquisitively, “How can a bell such as this hurl a stone at all?
Guirbaden pointed at the barrels and the cup. “Tilt the mouth of the cannon towards the sky. Open a barrel and take two cups of flashpowder and pour it into the cannon’s mouth. Take the brush from behind the barrel and push it into the cannon’s mouth until you can go no further. Tilt the cannon at your target, then take a pinch of flashpowder and place it in the little dent towards the rear of the cannon. Place a stone into the cannon and push it in with the brush.”
Steel Lance seemed confused. But Lord Guirbaden seemed insistent on making him do this strange task. After Lord Guirbaden repeated himself a few times, Steel Lance finally completed the task.
“Now what?”
“Do you have a flint, good sir?”
Steel Lance was even more puzzled. Why would he ask for a flint? The flashpowder seemed like a mixture of coarse sand.... How can fire undo stone? Regardless what he though, Steel Lance gave Lord Guirbaden his flint. He watched as Guirbaden placed his armored gauntlet on the cannon, near the dent filled with flashpowder. He struck his gauntlet with the flint and what happened could only be described as magic.
Like thunder and lightning, the cannon roared and spewed forth fire as it lurched back violently. The blast made Steel Lance jump while his heart skipped a beat.
“Why don’t you look out unto the water good sir?” Said Lord Guirbaden calmly.
Steel Lance was trying to catch his breath as he peered over the battlements. How can he be so calm? What kind of sorcery do the Fengarians possess...? He looked at the flat expanse of ocean before him.
“Wait for it,” said Lord Guirbaden.
Steel Lance watched as a geyser of white water erupted from the ocean.
“There it is.”
“What was that, Lord Guirbaden?”
“That plume of water was where the cannon’s stone crashed into the ocean, good sir.”
Commotion began to stir below as well. Many of Steel Lance’s knights heard the cannon’s roaring thunder. A few that were on the walls dashed or flew to Steel Lance.
“What in blazes was that sir?”
All Steel Lance could do was point at the smoking cannon. He was in awe about the power of a Fengarian weapon. His knights turned to inspect the cannon. They prodded it and poked it, trying to uncover its secrets.
“Impressive, is it not? My family captured this along with three others after we pushed the Fengarians out to sea. It was these cannons that allowed the Ponies of the Windy Isles to batter down castles in mere weeks, whereas it took the Lords of Castle Alabaster months to siege other Castles.”
Steel Lance remained silent, still in awe of the cannon.
“But you’re not here to learn about our meager speculations of how to operate such a device. No, you’re here looking for glory. Glory from fighting this devices creators no doubt.”
Steel Lance turned to Lord Guirbaden. “How did you know?” he was unsure if he was still shocked from the cannon or if he was surprised that Lord Guirbaden knew his intentions.
“That’s what all the other Lords who came before thought as well. I’m sure you became well acquainted with Lord Land Caster. Yes, he too came here looking for glory from fighting the Fengarians and he too found nothing but disappointment.”
“But... this is the castle that is to stave off another Fendarian invasion... why is it so undermanned?” asked Steel Lance quizzically.
“Well, since we drove the Fengarians from the mainland thirty odd years ago, the King, ever so wise, decided to turn the full might of Castillia’s army against the ponies of the desert and the inhabitants of the savage north. Leaving little to no soldiers defending the western border of our fair kingdom.”
Guirbaden looked over Steel lance to make sure the other knights were not listening.
“However, that can change.”
Steel Lance was intrigued. “How? It seems the only way the coast will be secured if a threat presents itself.”
“Exactly.”
Steel Lance tilted his head to the right a little, feeling that Lord Guirbaden was hiding something.
“Please walk with me, good sir.” The Griffon slowly turned around, beckoning Steel Lance to follow. Steel Lance walked alongside Lord Guirbaden. It was simple enough as the battlements were wide enough for two carts to ride side by side.
“So, it is recognition you seek? You wish to earn a name for your band of knights and for yourself?”
“More than anything my lord.”
“Have you considered marriage? Wedding a fair lady of a greater house would boost your recognition for sure.”
Steel Lance jerked a little, his visor fell from its locked position. It was a good thing too, the visor had concealed the fact that he was blushing. “Well... that may be possible in the near future... BUT! But not anytime soon I’m afraid...”
Guirbaden chuckled. “I only tease, good sir. However, when you say ‘the near future’, what do you mean by that?”
“I mean...”
“Oh ho ho! You have a fair mare in mind, yes?”
“Well...” Now Steel Lance was glad that his downed visor was an act of the gods.
Guirbaden chuckled again. “Ah, but you need to increase your reputation as a great knight to please m’lady?”
“WELL-”
“Hup!” interrupted Lord Guirbaden. “I happen to have the solution to both of our problems.”_ _ _
The skies were grey and the air cool. Yet the sun still shone through with promise. Steel Lance and his knights had been camping in the vast Mosswood forest south of Castillia for two days now. It had to be past noon but still before supper. Time seems impossible to tell when one is idle in the forest.
“Why are we here?” muttered a knight. “We’ve been squatting in the mud for two days without a single peep from the Fengarians.”
“Isn’t this against the law or something? I thought there was peace between Castillia and Fengaria.”
“I bet we missed the Fegnarians.”
“It was probably our fault. I mean you can’t trust the Griffons.”
“Shame. I was actually looking forward to fighting something other than the skilless bandit or the raving drunk.”
Although Steel Lance knew it was ungrateful of his knights to talk about Lord Guirbaden in this manner. He himself began to question Lord Guirbaden’s intentions. Steel Lance leaned back against the damp wood of an oak tree, looking at the grey above. He closed his eyes and poured over the conversation that sent him and his band on knights on this quest.
“Hup!” Lord Guirbaden’s interruption was sudden. “I happen to have the solution to both of our problems.”
Naturally, this intrigued Steel Lance. He had to listen more.
“Please, explain yourself Lord Guirbaden.”
“Well...” trailed the regal lord slowly, “you wish to partake in the thrill of battle against a foe worthy of your skills, yes?”
“More than you know, my lord.”
“And you hope that such a battle would prove to the great houses that YOU are a noble worthy of recognition.?
“Yes... I do.”
The Griffon huffed at Steel Lance as if he lost respect with him. “Then you are a fool for thinking such a battle would win you any recognition.” Guirbaden turned his back to Steel Lance, his crimson cape swirled around his tail feathers.
Steel Lance couldn’t speak for a second. “What do you mean, my lord? How could winning a battle against our kingdom’s foe not show that my men and I are not blood worthy of a noble house?”
“Allow me to entertain you. Let’s say you win your fantasy battle. How would you prove it?”
“By taking trophies, my lord.”
“Any peasant with some gold can buy a Fengarian curved blade from a washed up merchant in Buckzantium and say he slew a Fengarian warrior to get it.”
“But surely the accounts of my entire band-”
“Would mean absolutely nothing.” said Lord Guirbaden as he turned to face Steel Lance once again.
He could see the truth in Lord Guirbaden’s eyes but he didn’t want to believe it. “H-how? But if we all have the same-”
“Having the same story of a battle means nothing. Any drunk can group up his friends together and fabricate a story.” Guirbaden sighed as he peered over the vast expanse of ocean before him. “The only way to be noticed by the great houses of Castillia, is for a noble of said great houses to speak of you in a good light.”
Steel Lance knew he was not in good standing in the eyes of any of the great houses. Even House Sweetvine of Honeywine, the noble family he served growing up, had hardly taken notice of him compared to the rest of their knights. If his jousting victories had earned him a nearly honorless position guarding the castle of Light Tower, how much more would he have to do?
“But surely... a victory against Fengaria would earn some-”
“The only way for your “fantasy” to bear fruit is if you prevent the Fengarians from sacking a city or defeat them after many other noble houses failed.” There was a brief pause for a moment. “Or...” Guirbaden chuckled, “you can protect one of the most important castles in all of Castillia from being taken by the Fengarians.”
Steel Lance couldn’t comprehend what Lord Guirbaden was talking about at the time and he still didn’t understand the full of it now.
“What are you talking about, my lord?”
“You want recognition for great deeds and I want more troops in my castle. However, the only way for the King to grant me more troops and money is IF my castle performs what it was built to do.”
“You mean-”
“Yes, the Fengarians must attack my castle.”
“It’s not like the Fengarians to attack without reason, my lord!”
“That is where you come in.”
There was no doubt what Lord Guirbaden would propose would be dishonorable in every sense. But this seemed to be the only way. Steel Lance braced himself for what Guirbaden might have said.
“Four days from now, the Fengarians will be sending a trade convoy to Buckzantium. It will have to cross through the Mosswood forests south of Castillia. I need you and your men to attack the convoy and kill as many Fengarians as possible. Once you’ve done that, you will bring as many sets of armor and as many weapons as you can carry, back to me.”
“Wha-...” Steel Lance gave the decision some thought. “What will you reward me with exactly?”
“A Lord’s grace and true word about your valiant battle. You will be praised for holding the line against a foe of our Kingdom.”
“Will your word be enough, my lord?”
“I assure you that the words of House Light Tower will carry you to both fame and fortune.”
Steel Lance looked back at him men, still tinkering with the Fengarian cannon. “Even if the Fengarian’s ‘attack’ this castle, how would they have been able to pose a threat?”
“Oh... perhaps they had...” Guirbaden looked back at the cannon. “A weapon capable of breaching that old rotten gate.”
It wasn’t right. It wasn’t honorable. It was a risky idea. It seemed like the only way at the time.
“I-... I will do as you ask, my lord.” said Steel Lance as he turned away.
“I knew you’d be up to the task. But before you go. There is one more thing I’d like to add on this quest.”
Another task?
“There will be a mare traveling with that group. She will most likely be dressed in fine robes. I want you to take her alive and unspoiled, if you can.”
Steel Lance’s thought turned to this one question:
What was so important about this mare? Why does Guirbaden care if he gets a mare or not?
Suddenly, Steel Lance was shaken from his thoughts.
“Sir!” cried a knight, “Bow and Range have spotted the Fengarians!”
Steel Lance could feel his heart race. This is the battle he’d wanted for ages, even if it wasn’t on terms he’d like. “To the river! Quickly!” he ordered.
Every knight under his command quickly ran to their predetermined positions. Steel Lance and the other Pegasi would hide among the treetops while his Earth Ponies would hide in the dense brushes. They had chosen their ambush point carefully. They would strike when the Fengarians were crossing the Mosswater Bridge, an ancient construct rumored to be older than the forest itself. The rains have been light this season and the Masswater River is shallower than usual. Perfict for their mission. The Fengarians cast into the river won’t be washed away and their items could be retrieved with ease.
Steel Lance hid himself within the needles of a tall pine. He could hear the excited clamor of the others hiding in the same tree as him.
“Quiet, all of you," he ordered.
Soon enough, the site fell silent. It remained that way until the marching of the Fengarians filled the air around them. To the west was the company Guirbaden had spoken of. Steel Lance couldn’t help but stare in awe at them. They were a magnificent force to behold. Every soldier was dressed in a form of plate armor. They were completely in uniform. Every soldier wore the same set of armor that fit their role. Their sword and spearponies wore the heaviest armor. Their archers wore a broad, flat pauldron on their left shoulder and were far more lightly armored than their melee counterparts. All of their armor was colored a light crimson with a light brass trims. They marched in a tight formation, completely in step with each other. In the center of the column was a mare, no older than Steel Lance’s mother. She was dressed in fine robes and walking with what appeared to be her bodyguards.
This was it, do or die. Steel Lance could feel his heart racing. Time seemed to slow down as he watched the Fengarians march towards the bridge. The stress of waiting was unbearable, but if everypony kept to the plan it would work without a hitch. Half of the Fengarian column was crossing the bridge when he gave the order to attack.
“CHARGE!” screamed Steel Lance as he dropped from the forest canopy.
He glided with lance and shield up, smashing into the side of the column and knocking three swordsponies into the river below. The rest of his Pegasi knights followed, throwing the Fengarians into disarray. Half of the swordsponies fell into the river, just as planned. Steel Lance’s Earth Pony knights charged into the river, yelling at the top of their lungs and cutting their way through the confused and dazed Fengarians. This was the first time Steel Lance had heard the clashing of steel on steel. He could see the sparks flying off of his shield when Fengarian blades struck. At first, he reveled in the battle. It was not his brave knights versus mere cowards and bandits, but real men fighting a glorious battle to the death. However, the reality of it all sunk in quickly.
The fighting on the bridge was far more brutal than Steel Lance thought it would be. The Fengarian soldiers were skilled. They wielded a strange single edged curved sword that they used with speed and ferocity. On the edge of his vision, he watched his knights get cut down one by one. When Steel Lance managed to disarm a Fengarian swordspony, he pulled out a shorter double edged straight sword. Steel Lance could see that his target was retreating. One of the target’s bodyguards was running into the forest and away from the battle. Although the carnage was mounting, although much blood was spilled, the fact that a soldier would willing abandon his comrades deeply angered Steel Lance.
There will always be cowards I suppose...
Steel Lance swatted a swordspony to the side and tossed his lance at the coward. The lance did little to the coward but remove his helmet. Bloody hell... need to work on my aim later... He drew his rapier just as a Fengarian swordspony slashed at his face. Steel Lance tried to back away but he felt the tip of curved sword scratch his skin. The curved sword also succeeded in cutting through the chin strap of his helmet. That was far too close... The Fengarian swordpony swung his sword just as fast and Steel lance could swing his. A quick bash with his shield and some light footing, Steel Lance was able to run his rapier through the swordpony. The swordspony died, unable to finish the horizontal cut that would have decapitated Steel Lance.
“Damn... He almost got me...” muttered Steel Lance as he faced a new opponent. As he turned, he saw how the Fengarians were fighting. While his own knights fought as individuals, the Fengarians were gradually melting to form a line of swordsponies. The spearponies have already retreated with the archers further back on the road. Steel Lance fought with a swordspony who dual wielded his blades. It was a tricky fight trying to keep the curved sword from cutting his sides and the straight sword from piercing his gut. Steel Lance knew he was on the defense with this one. He had to go on the offense or die.
With a quick thrust of his rapier, Steel Lance slew his opponent. Though his brash move left him wounded. The Fengarian shortsword slashed through his scale mail. If the shortsword had move an inch to the left, or if Steel Lance had not worn the scale mail, the wound would have been far worse. He couldn’t feel the pain for now, but he could feel blood soaking into the padding. A sharp command from the Fengarian ranks ended the skirmish. The swordsponies even retreated orderly, like they were drilled to do so.
“Come on lads! We’ve got them!” shouted Steel Lance emptily. The feeling of victory was absent in Steel Lance’s heart. Even as he watched the Fengarians retreat, it did not feel like his knights had won.
“Charge! Keep up the pressure!” Steel Lance could feel the armor rattle around his wound. He and his knights charge forward at the line of Fengarian spears. As soon as they charged, the spearponies broke rank, peeling away like waves breaking against the bow of a ship.
What are they doing? The retreating spearponies revealed a line of strange weapons.
Steel Lance thought he was mistaken for a second. What are those? They look just like-... “It’s called a cannon,” echoed Guirbaden’s voice. Cannons on spear shafts?
Steel Lance planted his hooves into the ground, desperate to stop. ”SHIELDS UP! SHIELDS UP!!!” he shouted, hoping his knights would hear him. Some of them did. A few knights stopped, raise their shields and kneeled.
“HASAGI!” shouted a Fengarian commander.
Steel Lance himself raised his shield just in time to cover his torso from the hail of bullets. One struck his helmet, knocking it off. A second bullet struck the edge of his shield. The last one to hit Steel Lance in his right shoulder pauldron. Fortunately, the bullet struck where the pauldron linked with the cuirass. It was like getting punched by a bulky minotaur with brass knuckles. He was thrown to the ground by the volley Fengarian handgonnes. Thought, unlike many of his knights, he was still alive. He thought about how this would be the perfect opportunity for those spearponies to charge forward and finish them off. Strangely, there was no charge, no killing blow, only the grey clouds of lingering smoke from the handgonnes remained.
Steel Lance knelt heavily on his shield as he tried to stand up. As the smoke cleared, he saw the Fengarians had made a hasty retreat. They could have easily finished us off... even if we outnumbered them... Why did they leave us be? He groaned as he stood back up while clutching his side. The adrenaline was wearing off and the pain had just begun to settle.
“How many-” Steel Lance paused to catch his breath. “How many did we lose?”
The others were silent. This was their first taste of real combat. Bandits and hapless drunks were nothing compared to the Fengarians. The silence continued until Iron Plow walked up to Steel Lance.
“About twenty, Sir. Maybe more.” said Iron Plow grimly. Nopony could see the giant pony’s face, but everypony could tell what he looked like.
Steel Lance looked at the carnage around him. The number of fallen Fengarians was matched by the bodies of slain knights roughly. Steel Lance reckoned that they might have killed a few more Fengarians. It was a terrible ratio, a pyrrhic victory at the best.
“Everypony who’s not wounded, get the carts and gather the enemy’s weapons and armor. Bury the dead.”
Steel Lance limped over to a Fengarian corpse. He could only see himself lying there on the road. So this is what it’s like... to fight another stallion of honor... He kneeled over the corpse, reaching for a crest the soldier wore over his armor. Blood dripped from the wound on his waist as he picked up the crest. He couldn’t make out what the rune on it was. All of the Fengarian soldiers seemed to carry this crest.
“Bury the Fengarians. And use these crests as grave markers for their dead.”
“Sir. You should bandage your wounds and rest.”
Steel Lance removed his left hand from his waist. A dark crimson covered much of his leather glove. He gave a light sigh.
“It’s just a flesh wound.”
“Flesh wound or not, you’re no good to us bled dry, Sir,” said a knight while he handed a cloth bandage to Steel Lance.
Steel Lance couldn’t argue. He sat down, removed his armor and started to bandage his wounds. He noticed a massive bruise where the handgonne’s bullet struck his armor.
What kind of sorcery is this?...
“Do you think Lord Guirbaden will keep his promise, Sir? Will we be named heroes for this?”
Steel Lance look once more over the battleground. Over the stallion’s he lost and the honorable soldiers of Fengaria who had fought to protect somepony Guirbaden wanted in his talons.
Steel Lance sighed, a dense feeling of anger gripped his heart. “He’d better, or else Fengarian blood won’t be the last we spill...”
Steel Lance shot up from his bed, only to be greeted by the pain of his wounds. A terrible dream of fire and ash still made his body tremble and made his breathing short. Another nightmare...? He looked around the room, trying to get his bearings, his breaths hanging in the cold morning air. Barracks... I’m still in the barracks. The pain from his still healing wounds caused him to grunt a little as he slowly lowered himself back into the bed. While there were plenty of healing potions, Steel Lance gave most of his doses to his men. He didn’t consider his wounds to be nearly life threatening enough to need them. It bothered him that he was still having terrible dreams of those Fengarian cannons. They’re not that frightening lad... all they do is make a loud noise... and... and... Steel Lance couldn’t stop thinking about them. He couldn’t stop thinking about how a single volley cut down ten of his knights. The pain from his wounds started to surface again as his heart raced.
Shafts of light slowly crept through the arrowslits, illuminating the once dark barracks. Several knights groaned as the morning sun woke them from their slumber. The knights slumped out of bed, while physically in place, their minds were more than likely in the same state as Steel Lance’s. It had not been three days since the battle and they were still mentally fatigued.
I wonder how many of them had nightmares like myself...
“Sir?” A knight knelt at Steel Lance’s side, he had just slipped into his under armor clothing moments before. It was Iron Plow and all his girth. “How is the wound?”
“Tolerable...” grunted Steel Lance. Light crimson stains on the bandages were signs of staunch blood.
Iron Plow cringed at the sight of the blood spots. “I’ll change your dressing for you.”
The used wool bandages itched terribly and had clumped up in places after being slept on for so long. Steel Lance couldn’t wait to be out of them.
“Alright, get up. It’s embarrassing really. My daughters liked to play healer with their dolls.”
Steel Lance pushed himself up to a seated position. “Your daughters will be fine maidens one day, Iron.” The bandages came off easily except for the spots covered in dried blood. Each time Iron Plow unfurled the bandage there, it snagged a little, pulling Steel Lance’s coat and skin. Each and every pass made Steel Lance wince.
“We wouldn’t have to do this if you would just drink a healing potion, Sir.”
“I don’t need anymore than what I’ve already taken.”
Iron Plow’s deep chuckle comforted Steel Lance somewhat. He winced again as the final layer of bandage was removed. “Your wounds are almost as stubborn as you are,” The wound was still closing but no where as deep as it once was. “its a wonder that the small dose of healing potion you took healed that much.” said Iron Plow as he soaked a rag in alcohol.
“Is that Brussian Vodka you’re pouring onto that rag?”
“Well it certainly isn’t good for drinking. My mother taught me that it’s only good for cleaning wounds. This is going to sting a bit.”
A scream of pain barely managed to escape Steel Lance’s lips. He puffed his cheeks and shut his eyes tightly to keep the scream in as Iron Plow pressed the rag against the wound.
“Oh come on, Sir. What are you? A foal fresh off his mother’s teat?”
“Shut it you artless brute...”
“You talk like a pampered noble and certainly squeal like one,” chuckled Iron Plow as he slowly applied the new dressing. Iron Plow casted a shadow on Steel Lance as he stood to his full height. “I will return with breakfast for you shortly. Don’t worry, I won’t forget the breast milk, Sir.”
“And don’t forget the salt for my wounds! Bloody dolt...” Steel Lance couldn’t help but smile as he laid down again. The cold morning air was stale with the smell of lime and mortar. A small breeze started to bring in the smell of sea and salt. You need rest lad... With a sigh of content, Steel Lance tried his best to go back to sleep. The calls of nesting sea birds and the crashing of waves was calming. Steel Lance had always wondered what the Great Western Ocean was like. He recalled his first days at Castle Light Tower, how the smell of sea and spray seemed like heaven to him. He could never forget scaling the walls and looking as an endless expanse of deep, blue wonder.
The sound of metal sabatons rattling broke the blissful memories. At first, it seemed like Iron Plow was back, but the hoof steps were too light. As they got closer, it didn’t seem like hoof steps at all. The metal articulated after each step, it had to be a Griffon’s paw. It had to be Guirbaden. Steel Lance pretended to be asleep, hoping the regal Griffon would leave him in peace. Guirbaden stopped next to Steel Lance’s bed.
“Oh what this has come to...” muttered Guirbaden. The sounds of rattling sabatons started again as Guirbaden paced around the bed.
“So prideful as to ‘selflessly’ give his potions to his men? Doth he know what position he has made for himself?” Guirbaden was now on Steel Lance’s left side. Steel Lance slowly moved his right arm over the side of the bed.
*Tsk tsk tsk* “You really weren't ready for the Fengarians, were you not?” The sound of steel being drawn from its sheath caused Steel Lance’s heart to race.
Steel Lance grabbed his rapier under the low bed frame as he heard Guirbaden’s sword sing as it cut through the air. Their steel met with a clash of sparks. When Steel Lance opened his eyes, he saw that Guirbaden’s blade was mere inches from his muzzle.
“I knew you were awake,” chuckled Guirbaden as he withdrew his blade.
“And if I wasn’t awake to block your strike?”
“You’re not nearly stupid enough to let an armored foe kill you in your sleep. You heard me coming before I stepped into the room.”
“Why are you here, my Lord?”
“I can’t check on the condition of my Captain of the Guard?”
Steel Lance sighed as he placed his rapier under the bed. “Normally a high born such as yourself wouldn’t care about a lowly peasant like myself...”
“Not true,” Guirbaden interjected. “You defended my horribly undermanned home and castle from a Fengarian attack that was bent on capturing this fortress as a first strike against our beloved Castillia. “
Steel Lance could not bear to meet Guirbaden’s eyes. “No... We attacked, no, ambushed a Fengarian escort.”
“And you regret this?” Silence was the only answer Guirbaden received. “Surely you can’t regret attacking our Kingdom’s greatest enemy since the Changeling hordes?”
“It’s not that I regret attacking them... It’s that I... we.... attacked them without just reasons.” Steel Lance stared out the arrowslit at the clouded sky. “I let my personal ambitions blind me to what I was doing. I only wish I could have foreseen what had happened two days ago.”
“You came to Light Tower looking for glory, a model of bravery and courage, and now that you’ve acquired the glory you so desired, you’ve come to regret it?”
“It is glory based on a lie, albeit a very good one.”
Guirbaden chuckled. “My good sir. Many noble families lie to gain prestige. It’s all about IF one can back up those lies.”
“Then there is nothing ‘noble’ about them. How can a great house be built on a sea of lies?”
“A single grain of truth in a sea of lies makes it both easy to believe and easy to accept. You fought and bled for our Kingdom and you shall be rewarded as such.”
Steel Lance remained silent, reminiscing about the ‘traditions’ of his Kingdom. If Guirbaden’s words were true, then how many lies were the other great noble houses built on? How many lies would he have to tell to build his own noble house?
Hoof beats on stone echoed in the hall across outside the barracks. Iron Plow returned from the kitchen with a plate of hot eggs and oranges with a cup of milk.
“Thank you Iron Plow.” said Steel Lance as iron Plow set the plate on the nightstand. Iron Plow looked at Guirbaden who gave an authoritative nod. Iron Plow left the barracks, leaving Guirbaden with Steel Lance.
“Eat up. You’ll need your energy, my good sir.”
Steel Lance picked himself up and brought the plate to him. Breakfast in bed. Now there’s a novel idea. The eggs were pretty decent for meals fed to lowly peasant soldiers but it was the Buckzantium Oranges that amazed him. They were a mix of long lasting sweetness with the slight tang of citrus. He finished his breakfast quickly, washing it all down with the glass of milk.
“Good to see your appetite was not affected.”
“My hunger for ill gotten glory is though, my Lord.”
“It’s a little late to renounce that ‘ill gotten’ glory.”
“What do you mean, Lord Guirbaden?” said Steel Lance as he finished his glass of milk.
“I’ve already sent a message to the King, commending your admirable performance.”
Steel Lance gagged on the milk. “T-T-The... King?” he said coughing slightly.
“Indeed. We of House Light Tower have gained considerable favor with the King over the years. His Majesty trusts us with dealing of information and what not.”
“The... King?” Steel Lance’s eyes widened, his heart flew into his throat and his hands started shaking. Tales of “The Masked King” flooded Lance’s mind. Tales of victory, strength and wisdom. He remembered that the Masked King wears a golden mask molded to resemble his father, a great warrior.
“Must I repeat myself?” snarked Guirbaden. “The King himself is making the journey from Castle Alabaster to congratulate your victory. ”
“What exactly did you tell the King... My Lord?”
“I told His Imperial Majesty that you defended Castle Light Tower after Lord Land Caster so selfishly gave you the position to seek his own personal glory. After all,” grinned Guirbaden widely, “the best way to elevate yourself if to put others down, and House Light Tower is higher than the rest.”
Is that why nobles constantly push peasants into the mud?... Steel Lance turned his gaze away from Guirbaden. The concept of nobility lost its flare with him. What would he do with his own house? Would his children turn into peasant stomping overlords held aloft by the air of nobility? Would they become power hungry and end up like so many other houses? And what of the King? Suddenly a fear gripped Steel Lance’s mind as if the cold grasp of death was upon him.
“What if the King discovers this charade, my Lord?” asked Steel Lance, his voice full of fear.
Guirbaden scowled at Steel Lance’s weakness. “You forget that I am invested in this ‘charade’ as well. The King will not find out and if he does...” Guirbaden leaned forward, so close in fact, that Steel Lance could feel Guirbaden’s beak touch his coat. “I’ll find the despot who dared to challenge the word of House Light Tower, and gut him myself.” The Griffon leaned back again, regaining his regal composure. For a moment, Steel Lance saw the inner warrior in Guirbaden. He wondered what kind of fighter he was and why he gave up the steel sword for the silver tongue. “Is that understood, my good sir?”
Steel Lance gave Guirbaden an assuring nod, a little frightened at the implications given to him. He turned away from the Griffon, wondering if there was anyway he could advance his family’s name without more lies and dishonor.
“Excellent.”
The sound of clinking glass drew Steel Lance’s gaze to the night stand. Guirbaden had set down at healing potion for him.
“Now drink this. I need you presentable for His Majesty.”
“Presentable?” worried Steel Lance as he recoiled back into the linen sheets. “I thought His Imperial Majesty was still on his way here.”
“He is, but His Majesty will be here before the day ends. Which is exactly why I need you to be able to stand up straight and not walk around like a shambling corpse.”
“Y-you mean... he’ll be here... today?” stuttered Steel Lance, “As in... in a few hours, here.. today?”
“You really aren’t noble blood if you think that meeting the King is an event so high,” Guirbaden scoffed, as if it was a daily matter for him. “Regardless, you are the hero of the day and the King wishes to congratulate you all the same. So drink the potion and try not to embarrass me, my good sir. Oh, and you can find your armor at the smithy.” Guirbaden walked out of the room with his usual regality.
Steel Lance guzzled down the healing potion quickly. The blood in his veins warmed, the pain melted away as it was numbed. He slipped into his under armor clothing, cringing as he could feel the parted flesh of his wound binding and rubbing against itself. He ran down the cold stone stairwell, past the battlements and through the courtyard. Adrenaline filled his veins and excitement pulsed through his mind. The smithy was not far off, the smell of burning coal and wood led Steel Lance right to it.
“Oi! Smithy!” he called, “Guirbaden told me that you had my armor ready for me.”
“Ah! There’s the hero of Castillia!” joked the aged blacksmith. “Aye, I do have your armor. Ain’t never seen any damage like that before.” The Smithy handed Steel Lance’s armor back piece by piece. Each was shined and repaired carefully. “Do you need help putting on the armor, Sir?” Steel Lance shook his head at the Smithy. “You sure look like you need it, lad.”
The hardened leather straps of his armor would not buckle. Steel Lance’s shaking hands made this simple task far more difficult than it should have been. Come on you worthless sod! This is the King you are going to see! The King you dolt! The bloody King of all of Castillia! His hands steadied themselves only slightly, but it was enough to buckle each strap. The straps on his sabatons and greaves were the worst, his wound felt raw and tender when he had to bend over. At long last, Steel Lance was presentable, or at least he thought he was. He had taken so long that it was nearly midday. The moist afternoon air filled his lung as he breathed deeply. Lunch came to mind. Lance made a call of thanks to the Smithy before making his way to the dining hall.
The dining hall of Castle Light Tower never ceased to amaze Steel Lance. While dining hall of Castle Honeywine was placed in view of a stunning waterfall, the dining hall of Castle Light Tower is a pony made cave. There must have been at least fifty hearths fully ablaze. Twenty massive chandeliers and a hundred torch cones helped to bring light to this vast room. High above, the white light of the midday sun pierced through the dull orange of the fires through small shafts. Lance stared at this wonder of this place, only to be brought back down to earth by the call of his comrades.
“Hey hey! Did you finally leave your mother’s teat?”
“We have some breast milk for you right here!” shouted a knight as he held up a glass.
Steel Lance couldn’t help but chuckle. “It wasn’t funny when Iron Plow said it and it isn’t funny now, Yew.”
“Bah! Come! Let’s drink to Sir Lance’s health!” shouted Iron Plow as he passed a tankard to Steel Lance.
Every knight at the table raised their tankards high into the air. “To the Captain!” called out Sir Melon. The giant Earth Pony was only matched by Iron Plow.
“TO THE CAPTAIN!”
Steel Lance grabbed the tankard and raised it with his knights. He chugged all of the sweet beer inside of it and wiped the foam off of his lips to the rejoicing of his knights.
“It’s good to have you back Captain!”
“It’s good to be back.” Steel Lance sat down on the hardwood bench. “What’s there to eat?”
“Coleslaw, mashed potatoes, bread, corn and some cheese. Help yourself Captain!” said a knight as he slapped Steel Lance on his side. Steel Lance cringed and leaned over in pain.
“Please...” he groaned, “I’m still tender there...” He looked around to see his knights laughing, singing and enjoying their time. Several toasts were made to their fallen comrades who couldn’t sing with them.
Aside from the painful slap, the meal was enjoyable. The food was warm and plentiful. But as Steel Lance got around to his second helping, one of the watch ponies came storming in.
“His Majesty approaches! The King is coming! The King is coming!” he shouted with cheer.
Steel Lance and his knights made their way to the gates, where he could see the King's procession march towards the castle.
The stallions of the King’s Guard wore full mithril plate armor from head to hoof with flowing crests and capes of beautiful tyrian purple. The armor was of shining gilded gold and fine amethysts. They wielded shields and halberds were just as decorated as their armor and made of mithril as well, no doubt.
Word seemed to spread around the castle quickly-all of Steel Lance’s knights flooded into the courtyard. They watched in awe as the King's Guard slowly made their way to the castle.
Steel Lance looked upon his knights, all had the same expression. Wonder, astonishment, disbelief were visible on their faces. Then, something occurred to him.
“What are you waiting for!?” shouted Steel Lance, “Get into formation! Show the King we are not the common rabble we were born into!”
The knights clattered into a tight formation. They stood shoulder to shoulder, all of them, even Steel Lance got into line. When the King’s Guard entered the castle, the air became charged with power. The King’s Guard marched in such synchronization it put the ticking of clocks to shame. What the knights did not expect was the King himself.
They’ve all heard tales about the Masked Griffin King of Castillia. Many told that the King wore the mask to hide his disfigured face. Others made a claim that the Mask belonged to a disgraced forefather. Seeing the Masked King in the flesh instantly destroyed the glory in those tales. There, sitting on a gilded platform carried by his guards, was a sickly looking figure. He only wore a thin cuirass nearly concealed by his cloak. This marble white cloak sheathed his entire body while a cape of tyrian purple fluttered in the breeze. His adamantine mask glittered with unworldly beauty that was sharply contrasted by his gangly form. It glittered in the late morning sun like the churning stars of the Milky Way. The mask was peaked with the purest Castillian gold that had been shaped into a crown. The crown was studded with diamonds that sparkled like drops of morning dew.
Lance and his knights knelt as the King’s procession entered the castle. Truly, something important must be happening at the castle for the King himself to have ventured out here. Lance managed to catch Lord Guirbaden at the edge of his eye, standing with his usual regal expression. It angered Lance slightly to see Guirbaden not kneel before the King as he was lowered from his platform.
The entire castle was dead silent as the King slowly stood to full height. He seemed to have trouble doing so but the guards instinctively grabbed their King and hoisted him up onto his feet. The King slowly walked over to Guirbaden, his light armor rattling.
“My King!” spoke Guirbaden enthusiastically, “Welcome to Castle Light Tower!”
The King raises his hand at first to greet, but continues as if trying to stop Guirbaden from speaking.
“Where is he?” The King’s voice spoke with the strength of ten men, a strong contrast to his lack of physical power. “ Where is the Captain of Light Tower?”
Guirbaden’s regal expression turned sour upon hearing the King’s question. “Surely you do not wish to-”
Again, the King raised his hand, quieting Guirbaden with his commanding presence. “I will ask again. Where is the Captain of Light Tower?”
“I am here, my King.” Steel Lance spoke but remained kneeled over. He dared not insult his King by standing. Moments after he spoke, a shadow was cast over Lance. The King’s gilded sabatons replaced the muddy cobblestone in Lance’s view. Even then he would not look upon the glory that was his King.
“Rise.”
“My... my King?”
“It is considered respectful to look at ones eyes in a conversation.”
Steel Lance looked up to see the King’s gauntlet reaching out to him. He was unsure what the King was ensuing. He looked at the King’s mask and quickly looked back down with his heart in his throat. The King chuckled slightly at Lance’s nervousness.
“You would offend your King more if you didn’t take his gesture of kindness.”
Lance looked up again at the King’s gauntlet. He’d heard it was respectful to kiss a ring on a member of nobility but the King had not presented his gauntlet in the normal fashion. Lance thought that the King couldn’t be extending his withered hand to help him up but all the evidence was there. He grabbed the King’s gauntlet, only to be hoisted to his hooves by the King himself.
“That was not so difficult wasn’t it?”
“My... My King...”
Lord Guirbaden walked up to the King in protest, steaming over the fact that Lance, a stallion born to a lesser family needed not greet the King properly. “My King! Is it truly your wish to talk to this... this peasant! I must object as he has nothing to say!”
The King turned to Guirbaden in a manner that displayed his true strength. Lance thought it was another attempt to silence the Griffon. He watched as the King simply stood there in silence as Lord Guirbaden ranted on about Lance’s heritage. When it appeared that the King had enough of Guirbaden’s blabbering, the King struck Guirbaden with the back of his gauntlet. Lance’s eyes widened as he jerked back in surprise. Guirbaden fell to the floor, dazed and bleeding slightly.
“Whatever have I done to displease you, my King?” said Guirbaden as he went from staggering to grovelling.
The King responded with a have of his hand and at an instant, his King’s Guard subdued Guirbaden and lifted him to eye level with the King.
“Keep that silver tongue inside your diseased beak, Guirbaden.” The King looked sternly at Guirbaden before waving his hand again. “Get this vermin out of my sight.”
“MY KING WAIT!” shouted Guirbaden as he was forcibly dragged back into his keep.
“My King? Why would you do that to one of your noble vassals?” asked Lance with a concerned tone.
The King slowly turned away from Steel Lance. “He may be highborn, but Guirbaden is anything but noble. Come. Let us walk.” He turned to his King’s Guard and Lance’s knights. “Leave us,” said the King as he motioned his hand in the gentle breeze.
The King’s guard snapped to attention and mechanically moved to defensive positions along the castle walls and courtyard. Lance’s knights were confused at first, but after looking at the King’s Guard’s action, took it upon themselves to retreat back into the keep.
Lance stood in awe at the King’s Guard. He envied how well disciplined they were and dearly wished he could lead stallions like them. His was broken from his daze when the King once again told him to follow. He did so quickly, catching up to the slow moving King.
“So, why do you wish to talk to me, My King?”
“When Guirbaden sent word about Castle Light Tower coming under siege by the Fengarians and how his ‘valiant peasant captain’ repelled the attack, I had to see the outcome with my own eyes.”
Steel Lance felt a knot in his throat. The King’s unbelieving tone frightened him. What if he knows? How could he know? He had to say something. He had to know for sure. “And what do you think of the outcome?”
“The outcome is exactly as Guirbaden described it as. You ‘disposed’ of the bodies and are in the process of cleaning the battlefield.” The King reached for the Fengarian Sword on Lance’s waist and drew it from its sheath. “I see you’ve already take your prize.”
“My King... you know exactly what happened. Why did you come all the way from Castle Alabaster to talk to a peasant?”
The King made his way up to the battlements, though the stairs seemed to give him trouble. He nearly slipped and would have fallen if Lance had not caught him.
“Thank you, good sir. As for why I’m here, I may know everything Guirbaden has told me, it’s what I don’t know that drove me here.”
“And what is it you do not know, My King?”
“The color of the Fengarian amor.”
“Why would the color of their armor e of any significance, My King?” Steel Lance cocked his head, displaying his confusion and curiosity.”
“It is often the minor details we overlook that end up being the most important.” The King ran his gauntlet across the Fengarian blade, the mithril fingertips creating a small ring when they catch the engraved characters.
Steel Lance had missed the markings, though his excuse of being bedridden for a few days would have been acceptable. His thoughts turned to the King’s words. Heeding them, Lance spoke. “Their armor was a... dark salmon color. It was trimmed with a pale brass of some sorts. But that wasn’t all. Some soldiers had armor colored like... a fern’s green and trimmed with steel.” Lance looked out to the sea in deep thought, wondering what the color of the Fengarian’s armor had to do with anything. He turned to his King to see a very grim look in the King’s eyes. A deep and disappointing sigh was the King’s only response. Steel Lance knew he was in deep trouble. His heart stopped, his breathing quickened and he broke eye contact with the King.
“Do you know the old tales, Sir Lance? The old tales of the war between Castillia and Fengaria?”
Lance was surprised that his King addressed him as ‘Sir’. He knew he had not been properly knighted yet but he decided to hold his tongue on the subject. “The tales of how Castle Alabaster held off the Fengarians?”
“Yes, those tales. What do you know of them?”
“I...” Lance recalled the tales that his father would tell when he was a child. He breathed deeply, preparing to recite everything he knew. “The Fengarians came from the far west, nearly two hundred years ago,” said Steel Lance as he waved his hand over the sea, slowly sweeping over the horizon. “They came here during Castillia’s War of the Three Kings. We were unprepared and they swept over our lands like the Forsaken Plague before. It wasn’t until their defeat at Castle Alabaster, that they were driven back. Even in defeat, they still managed to hold the island of Former’Sa though.” Only when he was finished speaking did Lance realised he had horribly condensed the many stories his father told him. He prayed that the King did not think he was a fool.
“Is that all you remember?”
“Well, no. I’ve only given a brief summ-”
The King raised his hand and Lance stopped talking immediately. “Do you remember the excerpts about the color of their armor, Sir Lance?”
Lance tried to speak, but he really couldn’t recall the color of Fengarian armor. He stuttered, trying hard to remember what his father told him so long ago.
“Dim drums throbbing, in the hills half heard,
Where only on a nameless throne a crownless prince has stirred,
Where, risen from the west, a foe clad in shadow and night,
Forced the last knight of Home to take weapons from the fight,”
Lance was impressed by how the King’s voice flowed with emotion. Cowed by this, Lance took every word to heart. “They wore black armor, my King?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“Then...”
“It would seem our Fengarian adversaries are not the single massive entity we thought of them.”
“How can you be so sure, my King?”
The King laid her stunning gauntlets on Lance’s breastplate. He ran a talon over the small ruby inserted into the collar plate as if pointing at the answer. “What house do you serve, Sir Lance?”
“House Light Tower... I served House Honeywine before this, my King.”
“I can tell. You still carry the Honeywine Ruby. Tell me, was your armor forged there as well?”
“I’m afraid that it would seem you already know the answer, my King.”
“I do.” The King slowly ran the tips of his gauntlets over the smooth curves of his pauldrons. “Only soldiers and Knights from Honeywine have such smooth armor. Armor from the north have much harsher and simpler designs. while armor from the south features designs similar to Buckzantium armor.” The King retracted his hand and arms back into his long cloak.
“And what you’re trying to say, my King... is that the Fengarians display their House allegiance through the color of their armor?”
“From what you’re telling me, yes. Either that or the Fengarians had a regime change. Regardless, Lord Guirbaden had you attack a faction of Fengaria that might have been indifferent to us. Tell me, what did he promise you in return for this deed? Glory? Wealth?“
Steel Lance knew he was performing a foul deed but he never realised that it was a treacherous as this. He removed his helmet in shame as he dropped his ears and lowered his head. “I am truly sorry, my King. If there is anything, anything at all I can do to redeem my actions, I will do it.”
“There is nothing you can do at this point. However, I would like to know Guirbaden’s motive for this act.” The King slowly turned his head away from Lance and stared at the skyscraping castle. “What did he seek to gain from this?”
Guirbaden’s threat rang loudly in Lance’s mind. ‘The King will not find out and if he does... l’ll find the despot who dared to challenge the word of House Light Tower, and gut him myself.’ He thought ill to break the oath that he made with Guirbaden. But, then again, he never swore to anything and lying to the King of Castillia is, or should, be considered a crime.
Lance looked back up at his King and stared right into his eyes. “By faking an attack against Castle Light Tower, Lord Guirbaden hoped that the Crown would grant him troops and money to train more soldiers.”
“Faking an attack? How so?”
“Guirbaden had my company and I attack a band of Fengarians two days south from here.” Lance sighed before lowering his head again. “I should have said no... but... I was just...”
“You were tempted with the prospects of fame and glory?”
“Yes... yes I was.”
“So you and your knights attacked a Fengarian escort? What else did Guirbaden ask you to do?”
“He asked me to bring back a mare... said she would be the one wearing fine robes.”
“And you didn’t think that was the least bit suspicious?”
“Not... not at the time... the Fengarians were and are our kingdom’s enemy and my Lord did make it sound like I was doing the kingdom a favor...” Lance slow began to kneel, awaiting whatever punishment the King would give him. When he knelt lowly, there was no blow from the King. No sting of mithril or crack of struck flesh. Only a sigh of disappointment, though that single sigh cut Lance deeper than any of his wounds.
“Hopefully the Fengarians will view your bannerless knights as nothing more than bandits after you looted them... Castilla cannot handle a war... not after the rebellions... We are weak... ”
Lance knew about the rebellions better than anyone. His father lost his noble status because of them. “I’m sorry, my King. I truly am. I let my ambitions get the better of me... I should have known that the rebellions weakened out Kingdom greatly...”
“There’s no way you could have known. You were raised with stories of how knights defeated the northern barbarians, tales of kings felling the pirates from the south, songs of how armies pushed back the slavers to the east and scripture of great victories against the enemy of the west.” The King scoffed upon finishing his sentence. “Do the stories even mention how many northern villages the knights sacked? Did the tales ever tell you that the children of the Marble Islands were starving? Do the songs even-” If his uproar, the King began to stumble as physical weakness was stressed to the breaking point. Lance quickly stood up to catch The King. Lance Braced himself for what he thought would be a fairly heavy load, but the King felt light, as light as a young colt. It was a disturbing that a fifty year old Griffin could weigh this much.
“Thank you, good Sir...” puffed the King.
“My King, are you well?”
“I was born ill. Did you know that, Sir Lance?”
“I did not, your grace.”
“I was born stunted, the lesser of all my siblings... My eldest brother lost his life early in the rebellion. My elder sister, murdered by the usurpers.”
“I’m... sorry for your loss, my King.”
“Do not be. My brother foolhardily fought against an army that outnumbered his three to one. My sister believed she could reason with the rebels who wanted my family dead.”
Lance wasn’t sure what to think. He looked upon his King with a bit of disdain. How could he talk about his family like that?
“And then there was me. The last thing my father wanted to see on the throne. The clerics told my father that I would have died at the age of twenty.” The King, seeming empowered by his own words, stood up to his full height and under his own power. “And look at me now. I’m either the luckiest leper or the most stubborn.”
“The Kingdom would be less without you, my King.”
“The Kingdom is on the brink of collapse, sir Lance... All these noble families know my time is nearly at an end... I’m thirty years overdue for my death and the moment my heart stops beating they’ll claw at each other for the throne.”
“But... don’t you have an heir, your Grace?”
“Does it look like I can produce a legitimate heir, Sir Lance?”
“I-I did not mean to offend you, your Grace!” Lance was surely panicking now. The knots in his throat from before were nothing compared to this. “What would you have me do to prevent our Kingdom from falling?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? My King, surely you must be-”
Lance saw the King raise his hand in the same manner before Guirbaden was struck across his face. He immediately silenced himself, hoping that this would prevent such a strike.
“You won’t really be doing nothing. You will continue to serve Guirbaden as he see’s fit, but take note of anything and everything he does.”
“M-my King?” stuttered Lance in surprise
“Was I not clear? You are to fight for Guirbaden, joust for Guirbaden, cook, clean, swab or whatever Guirbaden desires. You will be his Captain, you will earn his trust, you will do nothing to implicate that I, the King, distrust Lord Guirbaden of House Light Tower.”
“You... you can’t be serious. Guirbaden could have started a war and all you want me to do is spy on him?”
“And what will you so, Sir Lance? Run your sword through him and be done with it? Guirbaden is many things but a fool is not one of them. How do you think he knew of the Fengarian escort while the Crown knew nothing? Guirbaden has ears everywhere and the Crown needs them from time to time... however, just because his many ears work doesn’t mean his one mouth always does. That is where you come in. You will protect your King from the many lies that Guirbaden tells.”
“If Lord Guirbaden has as many ears as you say, is telling me this dangerous, my King?”
“Why do you think I had my King’s Guard leave the two of us alone? Up here, there’s no one. No secret doors, no hidden rooms, just a thick wall, sky and sea.”
Lance sighed at the prospect of being a spy. He grew up hearing stories about how there was no glory or honor in being such a lowly agent. He was conflicted though, this was a duty tasked to him by the King. Though his feeling were mixed, there was no more definitive answer.
“Then I accept, your Grace.”
“Good. Good. I’ll see you are rewarded when the time comes, Sir Lance. Until then though, go back to your master like the dog you are.”
Lord Land Caster stormed down the marble halls of Castle Alabaster. His armor rattled from each powerful hoof stomp that echoed in the long hall. Blazing braziers of bronze lit the walkway and made Land Caster’s finely polished steel shine. He threw open the oak doors to the King’s council chamber, a heptagonal room with large stained windows for each phase of Equestria’s largest moon. In the center stood a large marble table lined with chairs of oak. The Masked King sat on the largest, leaning heavily on the table with the silver light of the moon shining behind him.
“SLANDER!!!” shouted the Lord Land Caster. “Which one of you COWARDLY, bastards of WHORES is spreading rumors about me!?!”
Several of the other lords stood up in anger, eager to defend their honor at Land Caster’s insult. Many reached for their sheathed swords. Insults and words of curse echoed in the great hall for a time until the room fell deathly silent. Lord Stopper of House Cork was the first to respond calmly to an angry Land Caster.
“Not just rumors,” Lord Cork’s playful and flamboyant tone of voice mocked the severity of Land Caster’s earlier outburst, “it is the truth. Assuming the rumors you are whining about are the one’s I am thinking of.”
“I am speaking about the FALSE accusations that I abandoned my duty like a coward!”
“Ah but you did, ‘Sir’ Caster.” interjected Lord Tangle of House Vine. “The latest news is that Castle Light Tower came under attack by Fengarian forces after you gave up your position as Captain of the Guard.”
Lord Land Caster was furious. He could barely recall the events of that day nearly a month ago other than happiness after being relieved of such a honourless position. A loud snort flew out of Land Caster’s flared nostrils.
Lord Flake of House Snow rose out of his velvet chair. “Might I add, you, a stallion of a most prestigious birth and title, gave your post to a commoner whose father was a disgraced noble turned criminal. Not to mention said peasant repelled the attack.”
“One wouldn’t think that this peasant knows more about honor and duty than a certain Lord...” mocked Lord Cork as a smug smile grew across his face.
That was the last straw for Land Caster. He drew his longsword in front of the entire crowd. Many of the other Lords responded in kind and the sound of twenty blades being drawn from their sheaths fills the entire room.
“And which one of you cowards started these false accusations! I’ll strike you down where you stand!”
The room remained silent. Both the King’s Guard and many of the Lord of Castillia stood ready to strike at Lord Land Caster.
“So the second your petty lives are at stake, nopony wants to mock the lord of Castle Caster!?!”
The silence remained until the screech of a chair being pushed a short distance across the marble floor drew everypony’s attention to the source. There, the Masked King was slowly rising to his paws.
“Stay your blades. All of you. I will not have pointless bloodshed in my castle.” The King stood to his full height, his figure displaying strength and pride over his apparent illness. “If you wish to strike down your King for telling the truth, then do so. You, and your family, will be dishonored... forever.” said the King as he turned to Lord Land Caster.
Lord Land Caster’s expression turned from anger to fear. “You-... Your Grace? It was you?... who-who...”
“Yes you stuttering fool, it was I who told the other Lords and Ladies of your dishonor.”
“My Lord! Why-why... would you.. the King... do such a thing to one of your most loyal vassals?” Land Caster started to kneel in disbelief.
“Why? You ask why?” The King started to walk around the round marble table, his mithril gauntlet tips catching each of the smallest carved niches in the gilded table. “You abandoned your duty as captain of the guard in Castle Light Tower. And for what? Honor, glory? Is the safety and welfare of the entire Kingdom beneath you... ‘Sir’Caster?” The King slowly walked over to Land Caster.
“I...I...” Land Caster was at a loss of words. Even as the King stood over him, he could not explain why he abandoned his duties. He felt fear, anxiety and worst of all, the sharp blow of the King’s mithril gauntlet across his right cheek.
“A peasant. You allowed yourself to be replaced by one who you deemed lower than yourself.” The King moved his talon under his cloak once more and glanced at the many lords around the room. “The rest of you could learn something from Land Caster’s mistake... put the Kingdom before your own needs and you will be rewarded. Act selfishly, and you will be punished. Now... get out of my sight, Land Caster...”
In a state is disbelief and panic, Lord Land Caster got up and exited the room without thinking. Only after walking down the long hall he had stormed up earlier did he realise the full extend of what happened. Anger began to brew in him as he paused to look out over the courtyard. This wasn’t his fault, it couldn’t be, not for a lord such as himself. He desperately thought of a scapegoat and he found one. His burgundy cape fluttered in a fel breeze as he thought of ways he could punish that peasant.
“The meeting go sour for you, my lord? I myself enjoy them for a time but when it gets to the name calling and the hot air blowing, I tend to retire early.”
Land Caster could never forget this shrill voice. He turned around, careful to hide his emotions. “What is it you want... Guirbaden?” It was indeed Guirbaden, standing in his finely gilded armor. Land Caster had always thought that Guirbaden’s armor was an insult to real armor, then again, Guirbaden was anything but a soldier.
“I just want to help another lord in anguish. Is that a problem?”
“The problem is that you always have an... ulterior motive.”
“What could I possibly want from a... ‘specialized’Lord such as yourself?”
“Money, land, a scapegoat,... a puppet...”
Guirbaden placed a talon on his chest and leaned back in offence. “Oh my Lord, you hurt me with your words!”
“Good, then you’ll squeal when your flesh tastes my steel...”
“Such violence! Such anger! And to think I only wanted to help!”
“Well, if you wanted to help, you can tell me where your Captain of the Guard is...”
_ _ _
It was a perfect day in the jousting fields outside of castle Honeywine. The sky was as clear and as vast as the oceans west of Castillia. The sun was shining and a cool summer breeze brushed the grass lightly. The air carried the sweet scent of honeybread across the entire field, a smart move on the baker’s part as crowds of hungry people returned to their seats after paying a visit to the snack stalls. Banners fluttered in the breeze displaying the colors of the houses competing.
Steel Lance was lost in the moment between the scent of honeybread, the colorful banners of House Light Tower and House Honeywine that swirled and danced to the tune of nature's song. The colors of the many wildflowers painted the hills around the jousting fields in shades of yellow, purple, and white. But the wildflowers were not the flowers that interested Lance. He was only interested in one flower, Lady Lavender. Her rich lavender mane, coffee coat and opal eyes had won Lance’s attention. Her kind personality, generous nature and pious soul won his heart. He stood at the end of the tilt barrier, leaning on the crude wooden fence while taking fleeting glances at Lady Lavender’s beauty as she sat in the bleachers. A lady of her stature would certainly elevate Lance to a respectable position and it was not unheard of for noble lords and ladies marrying peasants. It was a dream for Lance, but a reachable one. All he had to do was impress her.
Lance’s bliss was broken by the royal trumpets signaling the arrival of his competition. It would have been fairly easy to spot the Knight of Roses. His white steel armor would have glittered in the bright sun, each jewel studded in his breastplate was as beautiful as morning dew. But it wasn’t the Knight of Roses Lance would be facing today. He was caught flat hooved at the sight of Sir Pernach, a knight born of common blood much like himself dressed in blackened iron. Lance was worried about Sir Pernach’s reputation. Stories depicted him as the “hundred stallion slayer”. Bar maidens spoke of his strength and skill in battle. Lance had expected to joust with a pampered and untested knight. Instead he would be jousting with a Griffon who had much greater experience in battle than him. Both he and Sir Pernach walked over to the seats where the Ladies of Honeywine and Lords of Light Tower sat. Lance bowed low while Sir Pernach only seemed to nod. Lance was surprised that Sir Pernach didn’t take time to bow to the Ladies of Honeywine as he walked back to his end of the tilt barrier and lowered his visor.
Pernach revelled in his own glory. His arms were outstretched and raised as if asking ‘Well! What is it!’. The crowd was cheering and praising their local champion, something Lance envied greatly.
I’ll take him down a peg or two... Lance let out a sigh, trying to release some stress before his joust. No...no... I don’t know how good he is at jousting... Focus, Lance... Focus.
The roar of the crowds was briefly broken by the blaring of the trumpets signaling the charge. Lance tried to think of ways he could win against a sturdy Griffon like Pernach but there was no time. Pernach was the first to make a move, he unfurled his mighty wings and charged. Lance pushed himself forward as fast as he could and only a few seconds passed before they collided in a hail of splinters. Lance felt a heavy blow to his breastplate but saw that Pernach’s head recoiled from his blow.
Only ahead by one point... Sir Pernach isn’t as good at jousting as I am it seems...
The two rounded the tilt barriers and charged once again after servants rearmed them with fresh lances. Lance, confident of his skills, decided to employ one of his jousting tricks. As Sir Pernach’s lance nearly impacted, Steel Lance raised his shield just enough to cover the blow, then he angled his shield just so the wooden lance would scrape harmlessly off of it. It worked perfectly while Pernach’s blow glanced off, Lance’s blow shattered across Pernach’s helmet again. He looked back to see Pernach nearly crashing into the ground but managing to recover.
He’s tough... I’ll give him that, thought Lance as the muffled roar of the crowds echoed in his helmet.
Steel Lance was given a new lance on his way around the tilt barrier. He could see Pernach, slightly struggling to stay on his paws. Victory was close and with it, the title and prestige that came with it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but Lady Lavender would be his. He flapped his wings hard, intending to knock Pernach down with this final blow. Pernach responded by charging forward, not in flight, but a hellishly fast sprint. Despite being unprepared for the sprint, he still managed to hit his mark as he had intended. A sharp blow right under the neck where the collar bones meet. 'Lance was ecstatic at his attacks success, but his happiness was short lived. Before he knew it, Pernach’s blow struck Lance’s breastplate dead center. The crowd grew silent, stunned at both jousters going down at the same time.
The crowd cheered as Lance stood, the first of the two to rise back up.. He looked at Sir Pernach, lying motionless on the ground before turning to the to the nobles above. The Lords of House Light Tower were ecstatic at their champion’s victory, the Ladies of Honeywine, less so but they seemed impressed at their former jouster’s improved prowess. Lance bowed low at the nobles, hoping to earn a little more respect among them. The sound of Pernach’s heavy armor clanking and rattling gave Lance a small amount of relief. Judging by the consistent rattling, Pernach was not physically injured, though his pride might have been. Little did Steel Lance know, some people’s pride is all they have.
As soon as Lance stood up from his bow, he felt Pernach’s gauntlet grab his left pauldron. Before Lance knew what was going on, he found himself lying face first in the dirt. Driven by instinct, Lance tried to scurry forward in his confusion. Even though he was still dazed from an apparent blow to the face, he could still make out a deep and angry call from Pernach.
“SWORD!”
Never had a single word instilled so much fear in Lance as he staggered to his hooves. He could hear Pernach keeping pace. The thick rattling of Pernach’s platemail was accompanied by the rapid trotting of his squire and the worried chatter of the crowd. Lance fell down after taking two weak steps. Unable to stand up with his head spinning, Lance rolled over to get a look at Pernach. He watched in terror as Pernach drew his sword from his squire’s halfsheath. This sickly looking weapon was made of blackened iron, just like Pernach’s armor. The sword did not narrow down to a point but fanned out so that the tip was more like a shovel’s head. Lance, terrified at Pernach strutting towards him, once again tried desperately to crawl away but found that Pernach’s heavy boot was pinning his tail to the ground. Lance struggled to pull his tail free but couldn’t.
“What little trick are you going to use now?” grumbled Pernach as he prepared to bring down his massive blade.
Lance braced himself for the inevitable. The sword sang its deathly song as it cut through the air, then silence. He thought the sword had surely cleaved through him, he thought he was dead for sure.
“Sir Pernach, stay your blade!”
Lance opened his eyes to see Lady Lavender crouching over him, her horn aglow with arcane energy and keeping Pernach’s blade at bay. Lance was amazed that Pernach’s blade was mere inches from Lady Lavender’s head and unable to move.
“I will not ask again Sir Pernach! Stay your blade in the name of your Lady!”
Pernach lifted his sword away from Lady Lavender and Steel Lance but not before spitting in Lane’s direction. The Griffon threw his sword at the ground in anger and stomped off leaving his squire to recover the hellish blade.
Lady Lavender turned to a stunned Lance and offered him her hand.
“I must apologise for Sir Pernach’s atrocious behavior.” said Lady Lavender as she pulled Lance onto his hooves. “Sir Pernach... as is obvious... is a sore loser.”
Lady Lavender’s apparent affection for Lance dulled his senses to the point where there wasn’t any pain coming from where the blow struck.Though he was still a tad dazed, Lance found both the will and courage to speak to the mare of his attractions.
“T-th” stuttered Lance. He cringed knowing the stuttering would make him look less of a knight and more of a fool. “T-thank you... My Lady. For saving my life.”
“Castillia needs all the knights it can get, Sir Lance. To lose even one in a frivolous joust is an insult to the Kingdom.”
“Are... are you not upset that I defeated your champion, my Lady?”
“Again, a waste of time and money. I personally don’t care for the plot of land the Light Towers gained through this event. It’s not like House Honeywine lost anything of importance. That plot of land could not be tilled nor were any valuable ores discovered.”
Lance was a bit shocked at Lady Lavender’s claim. Most members of great and noble houses faun over the amount of land in their holds. Though in retrospect, the patch of land that is the Aldun Mer, consisted of a marshy island in the great Eben Roeie.
“Maybe they plan to build another ludicrously tall castle there.” chuckled Lance as he realised that his joke wasn’t that good.
A smirk on Lady Lavender’s face, though small, made Lance’s spirit soar. She reached for for his face, touching it lightly it her hands. Soon all Lance could feel was a warm sensation on his cheek.
“There. Are you feeling well, good sir?” said Lady Lavender as she removed her hand from Lance’s cheek.
Lance rubbed the area healed by his Lady. He felt neither pain or sores. His blood had been staunch and skin mended.
“Muchly. Thank you, My Lady.” said Lance as he smiled in gratitude.
“No, it is I that should be thanking you. Despite Pernach’s brutish behavior, you didn’t fight back like a chivalrous knight would.”
Should I tell her I was scared out of my mind?... Lance thought to himself. He desperately wanted to show Lady Lavender that he was not only a knight, but a gentleman.
“I...” Lance paused once more, planning his course of action. “I didn’t fight back because of chivalry...” Lance’s ears drooped as his eyes shifted to looking at the ground. “I was caught flat hooved, I didn’t think Sir Pernach would lash out at me like that... To be honest... I was frightened...”
Lady Lavender stood still and silent for a moment. Lance though for sure she’d think lesser of him. A coward, unworthy of his knightly title.
“It takes more courage to admit one’s fears than to gloat about their victories.” said Lavender with a surprised, but pleased tone.
Lance didn’t even have time to look up before she grabbed his hand and thrust it into the air.
“THE VICTOR! SIR LANCE OF LIGHT TOWER!”
The crowd, deathly silent before churned in a roar of applause. Everypony stood from their seats and clapped. Lance couldn’t be happier with his life right now. As he looked on the cheering crowd, he noticed one finely dress lard glaring at him. He wasn’t sure, but that lord looked similar to Land Caster.
It was fantastic to be home. The sounds of faint, flowing water melded with the songs of birds chirping and wind rushing between leaves. Sunlight warmly reflected off the faded grey stone works of Castle Honeywine. An unending field of golden wheat, a sea of plenty stretched from horizon to horizon with only the Snowash Mountains to the Northeast ending rolling hills with peaks of ivory.
This is the view Lance had always dreamed off. He gazed upon the tiny hamlet that was his home town. A mere speck of cobblestone and thatch roofs in the distance. He could see water sparkle in what he knew were waterwheels as they drove the watermills. He could see his home. A fairly well off cottage where his mother and father lived and he could only think about how far he had come. It has only taken him five long years of dutiful service to be noticed by Guirbaden of House Light Tower and less than a month to come into the service of House Honeywine. He and his band of Knights now gallantly serve their new House and have been doing an admirable job, according to Lady Lavender herself.
What was father thinking? Losing his knighthood without a fight much less a complaint... Well, I hope you’re proud of me father... I’m doing this for us... for our family.
Lance’s thoughts were interrupted by something his father repeated over and over again. Everytime Lance would argue to his father about reclaiming their family’s honor and glory, his father would strike him down with a single phrase.
“It is not glory from battle, or the wealth of mountains that makes a family great, it’s humility and knowing when to step down.”
Lance snorted at the thought. The other great houses gained their power through hard work and determination. How can our family become great again if we keep stepping down?...
Looking back though, there were a few things Lance admitted that he shouldn’t had done. Firstly was leaving Iron Plow in charge of his company at Light Tower. He chuckled at what fun his soldiers must have been having. Lance wouldn’t be ashamed of it, but he felt... bad for leaving the company of his soldiers. He missed their endless drinking competitions, their rotten jokes and cheap imitations of snobbish nobles. Although the romantic life of a knight was all he wanted, it wasn’t how it imagined it was. Lance knew he would never rescue a princess from a dragon guarded castle in the middle of a volcano, but he certainly thought being a knight would entitle him to more than following his lord or lady around. Not that he minded following Lady Lavender around though.
Lance breathed the lukewarm, afternoon air and sighed. He was knighted on a day just like this. His mind once again began to wander to what he could easily consider, the best day of his life. Just over two weeks ago, he was given a proper knighthood by Lady Lavender herself. It wasn’t a huge ceremony like he hoped it would have been but looking back, it wasn’t incredibly degrading. Lady Lavender knighted him with her stunning Zebarian steel sword in front of a few other nobles of her house to ensure his knighthood was known. She did all of this in the castle’s chapel just in front of the fountain shrine to the Goddess of Rain and Sun. He remembered the scent of roses and lilacs growing in the chapel and thought how well they would work for an eventual wedding.
The sounds of soft hoof patterning broke him from his daydreaming. At first he thought nothing of it and resumed his loitering. Then, just as he could visualise his future, the soft clopping of little hooves behind him once again broke his idle thoughts.
Lance swiftly turned around only to see nothing again. He smiles in anticipation before turning around. Again, the sound of hooves patterning behind him assured him that something was up. This time though, he let whatever was approaching him get very, very close to him. Just as the sound of hoofsteps stopped, Lance lurched around to confront his advisory.
“BOO!” shouted Lance with all his righteous fury.
A young mare, cloaked in burlap, screamed in surprise and fell on her flanks. “How!?! How did you know!?!” screamed the unicorn. “I was being careful and everything! Oh! You ruin everything fun, Lance.”
Lance smirked while reaching out to help the unicorn up. “You’re not as sneaky as you think you are, Twinkle Star.” Twinkle Star promptly grabbed Lance’s hand before being hoisted up. “Come on now, little sis. You’re not going to become a knight by sitting on your flank all day,” chuckled Lance took a long look at his sister’s hand. His mood turned sour the longer he looked at his sister’s blackened hand. He could see the signs that holes were starting to form near her wrists. His only reaction was to sigh deeply and sadly.
“Nothing from the Apothecary?”
Twinkle Star shook her head, some of her lime green mane waved from under her hood. “None of the healers in the town’s church know what’s wrong either...”
“No fever or chills?”
“I’m not sick, Lance.... At least... not on the inside...”
Lance let Twinkle’s hand go and twinkle promptly covered it with her cloak. “So... how’s Mum and Pop?” said Lance trying to change the subject.
“They’re fine. Mum’s been worried sick since you left. As for Father, he’s kept his mind busy by working the mill.”
“Sounds just like Pop. Always working.”
“Oh! Mum also wants to know when you’ll be awarded land. You know, since you’re a knight and all.”
Lance chuckled a little. “Not yet Twinkle. I mean, I JUST got knighted. I’m sure the land will come in time.”
“It’s because you’re from a peasant family, isn’t it?”
“Hey, it certainly beats being from a noble family.”
“Really? How?” asked Twinkle doubtfully.
Lance couldn’t help but smile. “Well, I’d have to wait for father to die before I get the land then. At least with this, I don’t need to wait for anypony to die.”
“Well...” Twinkle rolled her eyes a bit and smiled at Lance. “What about when you have your own kids?”
“And what make you think I’ll have kids?”
“Aside from the fact you’re one of the most flirtatious stallions I’ve ever seen? Quite a bit, big brother.”
Lance couldn’t help but blush a bit. Even though it was a tad true that he flirted with a few mares in his youth, the fact is that he was seriously looking for a mare to call his own. As of now, his sights were set upon Lady Lavender.
“Well... eh... maybe not as much,” joked Lance as he rubbed his neck.
Twinkle couldn’t help but laugh at Lance’s embarrassment. “Ah~ You’re still quite the lady’s stallion, Lance,” chuckled Twinkle. “If most nobles can get away with multiple wives, why can’t you?”
“Guh!” recoiled Lance in disgust. “You know I don’t believe in that!”
“Ahh~ But you have thought about it. I can see it in your eyes.”
“How did you even get this far into the castle anyway? I thought militia and men-at-arms were regulated to the lower levels!”
“Well... I have been practicing...”
“Please tell me you haven’t been picking locks... again... Twinkle Star...” sighed Lance. “You know the punishment for lockpicking.”
“But Lance, it’s one of the few things I’m good at. That and... what else is a... monster like me to do? What else can I do?”
“You’re not a monster. There will be a cure for your... condition, I swear.” Lance stood silent for a good long while. “Why don’t you show me the doors you can pick so easily? Maybe I can complain to the locksmiths about the locks being too simple.”
Twinkle Star’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Oh! I’ll show you right quick! Maybe I can teach you a thing or two!”
“I don’t think that’s necessary, Twinkle,” chuckled Lance. He was glad to see his sister so happy.
Twinkle grabbed Lance’s right hand. The plated gauntlet rattled at the sudden application of pressure. “Nonsense! Lockpicking is a useful skill to know!” Twinkle started pulling her brother to a specific direction, goading him to try out lockpicking.
“Twinkle! Wait!” Lance tried to resist but found himself being pulled onwards. Part of him knew this was wrong, but he couldn’t very well disappoint his sister. Seeing a sudden burst of energy from his sister brought a smile to his face. He chuckled at his sister’s unusual demeanor and followed along. “No need to drag, Twinkle!” The sounds of their hooves echoed down the stone hallway along with his laughter.
“But if I don’t, you’ll flap away!” giggled Twinkle as she stopped at a locked door.
The hall was empty. Most likely because Lady Lavender was holding a luncheon with lesser lords. Lance could smell the wood fires of the kitchen nearby and the scent of honey glazed wheat rolls flowed out of a nearby hallway.
“The pantry’s back door? Are you sure about this?”
“Of course! The bakers aren’t going to notice some missing raw ingredients,” said Twinkle slyly. She pulled out some crude iron lockpicks fashioned out of some old rods by the looks of it. She wiggled her makeshift lockpick into the fairly large keyhole.
“Okay, this is a pretty old fashioned lock. You can see the tumblers. All you have to do is move the tumblers out of sight.”
“What do you mean by that, Twinkle?”
Twinkle giggled at her confused brother. “Here. Let me show you,” said Twinkle as she started messing with the lock and soon enough, it popped right open, and just as quickly, Twinkle closed the door, locking it in the process. “Okay, now you try.” said Twinkle jokingly as she handed Lance her lockpicking tools.
“Err...” Lance whimpered. But before he could start, some servants came into the pantry. Lance held as still as he could.
“I heard the King was was calling the banners of the great houses,” spoke a servant to her counterpart.
“Where in blazes did you hear that?”
“I was the wine server for Lord Oak’s dinner, remember? I had nothing better to do than listen to what they were talking about.”
“Something bad must be happening if the King is calling all banners...”
Lance wasn’t sure what was going on but he knew he and his men would see combat soon. Maybe lockpicking wasn’t such a bad idea after all. His face grew grim as did his sister’s at the news. This would be Lance’s greatest challenge as a knight. Skirmishes and bandits were one thing, but to be part of the King’s army was another thing entirely.
“I wonder what could be going on?” whispered Twinkle Star nervously to her brother.
- - -
The King stood upon Castle Alabaster’s easternmost tower. The setting sun illuminating all from behind him. His gaze was set to the east and the many fears that he holds of the lands there. The sky was quickly darkening in the autumn evening and the faint glimmer of stars were cast against the encroaching darkness of night. The snow of the Marbles Fall mountains reflected the last light of the day in a haze of white as the mountain’s stone turned a rich salmon. The vast fields of farms outside the outermost wall slowly turned from their rich gold to a silent grey. These and beyond were lands that belonged to him, the sole King of Castillia. But nearly a hundred miles away, his furthest symbol of control and empire stands alone.
Castle Snow, built to defend Castillia against the barbaric Brussaves, had sent messengers warning of increased activity across the pass. Castillia was, and is, The King’s realm. The idea of the dirty and uncivilized Brussaves attempting to cross into his bountiful and pristine lands infuriated him. It wasn’t Castillia’s fault that the Brussaves were starving. It wasn’t Castillia’s fault that the Brussaves chose to settle in a dead and ice covered land. And now it would seem that they, the ice people of the north, want to correct their obviously flawed thinking by bringing their barbarity into a nation as cultured as Castillia. This was unacceptable, but it would be a unpreventable outcome.
The Brussaves may be barbaric and less intelligent than those of Castillia, but they are anything but cowardly. The Brussaves will come for Castillia’s land and they will keep coming. The King fumed over his options. He could fortify Castle Snow and brace for the coming winter. He could launch an attack into the heart of barbarity itself but that would result in a more unified Brussavgarde and hold the possibility of a reprisal invasion. He could do nothing, and hope the barbarians would destroy themselves than unite. There would be no negotiating with these barbarians as they would only think of themselves. For a moment, The King sighed, thinking what his elder brother would have done in this situation.
He would have probably invited the cretans into Castillia in a vain attempt to “civilize” them.
Metallic rattling of a full coin purse broke The King’s concentration. The Masked King needed not to turn around. He could hear the distinctive bounce of Lord Cork’s long, golden chain striking his coin purse. He could hear the distinctive panting that the old, fat, diamond dog produced after walking up so many flights of stairs.
“Lord Cork, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Well, a Lord as important as I has much business to attend to,” gloated the diamond dog as he stroked his long muzzle fur. “And it just so happens that I have a very lucrative proposal with the crown I would like you to hear.”
“Save your flamboyancy for lesser beings,” retorted The King. “We both know your deals end up benefiting you more than anyone else.”
“Why I never!”
“But you do.” The King looked over his shoulder, glaring a single eye at the plump Lord of Cork. “Now if you’ll excuse me. I have the fate of my Kingdom to contemplate.”
Lord Cork opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He then politely bowed and turned around to leave. But, he quickly faced the King one last time.
“If it is the situation in Brussavgarde, I believe I can aid you in this regard.”
The King felt an ember of hatred grow for this clearly incompetent Lord of Castillia. “And what do you know about the Brussaves, Lord Cork?”
“Ah! A good many things. For you see, in the business world, it is most wise to know exactly what’s going on with your competition.”
“And do tell, what exactly is going on?”
“Well, you’re going to love this, my King. Apparently, and according to my most reliable of sources, the Brussaves have a King that has united many of their most disreputable of factions.”
This was shocking news to The King. He never thought that the Brussaves could ever have a king let alone unite under a common banner. A single Brussave tribal raid across the border was bad enough, but now the entire North could be arrayed against him and all of Castillia. This revelation took a toll on The King’s weak body. He staggered a little but managed to keep himself from falling over thanks to the guard rail.
“And, you are sure of this, Lord Cork?”
“Positively. I have heard of these little border incursions and thought of them nothing less than a threat to our-” As soon as Lork Cork realised what he said, he quickly covered up his mistake with a well placed cough. “YOUR Kingdom’s welfare,” he said in a corrective tone. “Of course, we could always turn this situation into something lucrative.”
“What are you planning, Lord Cork?” said the King in disbelief.
“I’m thinking we market our wares, food and weapons to these ‘barbarians’ at steep, yet believable prices-”
“I will have none of that.” interrupted the King.
“Please, allow me to finish.” bowed Lord Cork. “If we bleed their pseudo-nation dry of valuable currency, it strengthens Castillia as a whole. And... considering the position they will be in... they can’t refuse the ‘deals’ we give them, my King.”
“What kind of position would they be in where an idiotic barbarian couldn’t refuse the prices we give them?”
“The kind that threatens their very existence, of course.”
“You’re not suggesting that Castillia threaten to invade the north, are you?”
“Of course not my Liege! I’m saying we get others to do our dirty work. In this way, we can bleed them dry of their wallets, their spirits and their blood.”
Even though his face was masked, the King still could be seen with a face of disbelief. “Please, do tell me who you plan to use to ‘bleed’ the barbarians dry?”
“Well, as we say in the wonderful world of business, ‘knowledge is power’ and I happen to have very, oh so delicious knowledge about the foes that our-”
“I have no time for your extravagance, Lord Cork. Spit it out or I’ll cut it out.”
“Ahem,” coughed Lord Cork nervously. “Well, it just so happens that the trolls that normally plague our barbarian neighbors, have been set against each other thanks to the death of the Troll King.”
The Masked King coughed and laughed at the proclamation. “Trolls, having a King? Preposterous.”
“Oh, but it does make sense, doesn’t it my lord. Think about it, the Barbarians are increasing in number, prodding our defences in a manner like never before, gauging our strength and weaknesses, then uniting under a King of the North?” The plump dog paused to take a breath. “And, the trolls of the north are no longer fighting the Brussaves during this time period? The connections are endless, my Lord.”
At first it didn’t make sense, but the more the King thought about it, the more everything fell into place. The King was more than shocked at this revelation. Not only are the barbarians becoming more organised, but they no longer have a constant force keeping them in check. Their next obvious move would be to take from their bountiful southern neighbor.
“What do you propose to remedy this situation, Lord Cork?”
“Quite simple,” smirked the Diamond Dog. “We unify the trolls like never before and I have just the resources to do so, should the Crown compensate my House for its loss and I will personally, guarantee that the filthy Brussaves will be bled dry by winter’s end...”
