> Knights of Bayard
>  by Abi Sain
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter One (Unedited)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the late summer in that year they lived in an inn in a small village that looked across the river and the fields and the mountains. Along the river there were fields of hay, gold beneath the sun, and the older wolf-ponies fished for carp along the bed of the river and gathered water in large wooden buckets. The water was clear and the troops would often drink from the river, but were forbidden from washing their clothes there. The villagers believed the river to be sacred, and some feared they would bring Helhest into their village.

Beyond the fields the mountains were brown and bare, and the tri-color banners of the Kingdom were planted along the ridges. There was fighting in the mountains, and at night they could see the torches of nearby camps. In the dark it was calm and cool, but there was always the fear of a night-time raid.

Sometimes in the dark Lulamoon could hear the troops marching and large repeaters going past pulled by iron-plated wagons. There was more traffic at night and many ponies on the road with packs of round-shots and black-powder in their saddle-bags and carts that carried pikes and hoof-blades, and wagons with their loads covered and moving slower than the others. There were heavy cannons too that passed both day and night, drawn by hearty drafts, covered in vines and green leafy branches, and repeaters carried by mud-faced ponies wearing grass-sewn cloaks, and with leafy branches tied to their helms. They headed north towards the mountain and at night he could see the flashes of the cannons and the culverins. In the fall, the rain came, and the hay had been gathered and stored in the barns. The fields were bare, and north, towards the mountain, the soil was black and the trees stripped and scorched. The wagons splashed mud and the troops were muddy and wet; their weapons were wet and under their capes the hemp pouches they carried with the bits of bread, hay, and berries, had become soggy and smelly, so that the troops passing on the road brought with them flies and rats.

At the start of winter more troops came, and the village became crowded. Longhouses were made using wattle and daub, and charcoal was prepared and shared with the villagers. Potatoes were grown in the gardens close to the houses, and cleaned in the river. More ponies drank from the river and ate together in the warm inns. Soon the strangles came, but it was checked and in the end only a few hundred died of it before the end of winter.
> Chapter Two (Unedited)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next year Her Majesty came and there were many victories. The mountain that was beyond the fields was captured, and the king’s nobles were hung, and their soldiers sent south to work in the mines, and the troops raided the caves and seized weapons and armor and a few, the clever ones, tucked bottles of wine and mead beneath their cloaks. Now the troops were to proceed north beyond the mountains towards Grani. The nearby town was very nice and the houses sturdy and it was captured very easily but the city beyond it could not be taken and Lulamoon was very glad that the rebels seemed to want to retake the town because they did not destroy it outright, but just enough to stall them. Ponies bowed before Her Majesty, and there were knights that accompanied her, and they carried a crimson banner with a yellow sun, which they called the Oriflamme, and warned that any who touched it would have to bend the knee or be whipped. More of the knights arrived and lived in the abandoned estates, and a few came out to share food and offer medicine and there were coffee houses where nobles and commoners shared the luxuries brought, sometimes shadily, from Baltimare merchants.

At the springtime there were a few bombings, and a few of the houses were lost to the grenadiers, and there were repeaters and catapults set up along the roads and around the town, hidden in bushes, with nets and grass-sewn sheets, and ponies were assigned to clean up the remains of pegasi that crashed nearby. Sometimes the Princess passed by, and Lulamoon had heard about a young widow who presented her foal to the Princess and asked that she bless her child for their long journey to Bayard. The Princess kissed the foal’s forehead and quickly others followed, and Lulamoon remembered an old church that had lost a wall through shelling, with rubble and dirt in its garden and the bloodied face of a grey maned monk. 	

The forest beyond the town were green when they had arrived in the town, but now there were stumps and broken trunks and the ground was torn up, and one day at the end of summer, the enemy attempted a siege, and flurries of iron bolts zipped through the air and fell upon them like blizzarding hail. Downed pegasi, many of them crippled and bloody, fell to the ground, detonations bursting amongst them, juddering the ground and showering down dirt. The grenadiers swept ahead of the defending culverins, dodging arrows, nets, and stones, before showering the field with ordnance. It came very fast and the sun went a dull yellow and it was dark and quiet for a while.

Later, the rain came, and drops of rain fell from the ceiling into a nearby bucket, and Lulamoon sat with a friend and two metal cups drinking a bottle of Shade Rum, and, feeling the chill creeping from outside, they knew the year was almost over. The city had not been taken, none of the forest and fields beyond the town had been taken. They didn’t know when they would push forward, that was for the Princess to decide. There was a pounding on the door, and Lulamoon’s friend opened it. It was the priest from the makeshift chapel, soaked through his cloak and robes. He looked up at them and smiled, and Lulamoon’s friend motioned for him to come in. That night, the rain still poured, and they had covered the windows with sheets, and went through a course of apple-cabbage stew, which everypony ate very seriously, lifting the bowls to their mouths, and helped themselves to bread and wine.

The priest was young and blushed easily, and wore a robe too big for his lanky frame, with a sun and crescent moon pendent around his neck. Lulamoon’s friend spoke carefully, hiding his Imperial accent, for his own doubtful benefit, in order that he might not be treated differently, that nopony would know that he was a queer.

“I saw priest to-day with mare,” he said looking at the priest and at Lulamoon. The priest smiled and blushed and shook his head as he spoke.

“She wanted to help around the chapel,” he said.

“Not true,” said the grenadier. “I see many mares pining for priest.”

“No,” said the priest.

“Priest here can marry,” went on the grenadier. “Priest in the north never with mares,” he explained to Lulamoon. He took the unicorn’s cup and filled it, looking at his eyes all the time, but always mindful of the priest.

“Priest in the north always with geldings.” He laughed. “You understand? Priest not allowed to marry, to have wife and foals, but you always hear of them getting close to geldings.” He flapped his wings and laughed loudly. The priest accepted it and smiled.

“The Patriarch wants the Asturcons to win the war,” the grenadier said. “The Empire loves House Platinum. That’s where their money comes from.”

“Did you ever see the convoys we raided?” asked Lulamoon. “They found lots of gold in the last one. It was from the Empire.”

“The Patriarch is a filthy and vile pony,” said the priest. “The Goddess will punish him.”

“He is also very rich,” said the grenadier. “I have friends in Arion, priest. You might like them,” he said to Lulamoon. The unicorn smiled at the priest and he smiled back.

“All ponies in Arion are farmers,” the grenadier said.

“What about Timbucktu?” the priest asked. “It is a noble city and floats above Arion.” Some ponies came in as the door opened, and Lulamoon could hear the neighboring soldiers.

“Certainly not,” said the grenadier. “Ask anypony there and they will tell you they are not a part of Arion, though the Strategos likes to claim they are. You should go to Timbucktu, you will meet real pegasi there.”

“He should visit the Hollow Shades,” said an earth-pony, seating himself beside the wine barrel. “I will write you to a friend there. They will love you like a son.”

“He should go to Bayard,” said another, looking at Lulamoon. “You can become a knight.”

“He’s a unicorn. He should become a mage, like the others. I’ve seen it. He’s very good with magic.”

“You might like the Everfree,” said the priest. “My family says it very nice over there. I plan on going when the war is over.”
“Listen to him talk about the Everfree. There’s Cloven there. You shouldn’t mingle with Cloven. Ponies belong in places of culture and civilization.”

“And fine mares. I know a place in Connemarea. Beautiful young mares; and their mothers.” Everypony laughed.
“I would like to go when this war is over,” the grenadier said.

“When I get back I want to see my daughter. She should be eight now.”

“I just want a bath and a warm bed to sleep in.”

“And a nice mare. Fondling your lower horn!”

“You should go to the Everfree,” the priest said to Lulamoon. The others were shouting and laughing. “You would like the ponies there, and the deer-folk are a good sort when you get to know them. They don’t mind tinker ponies either. You could stay with my family. My father is well-regarded and he works in the palace.”

“Come on,” said the freckled unicorn. “We go to the tavern before it closes.”

“Good-night” Lulamoon said to the priest.

“Good-night,” he said. The priest turned to look at Lulamoon’s friend, and smiled. The grenadier waved back, Lulamoon saw that his cheeks were slightly red.
> Chapter Three (Unedited)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the tavern, there were many more soldiers and the rain had stopped. There were bottles of wine and loaves of bread, and bowls of cut carrots, and berries, and pork for the wolf-ponies, and a breeze came from the open window, a small relief from the boisterous crowd. He could see the city in the distance and the old castle above it with the mountains behind it, blue-grey mountains with frosted slopes. There were more wagons being moved outside, and there were some new faces, he met fresh-faced stallions and a few mares in the tavern, and they chatted and flirted, and others, the older ponies, sat quietly among themselves and drank.

It was warm, and Lulamoon sat beside Swift Bolt. They were served spiced wine in an iron jug, and grilled hay, and they drank from tin tankards. Sitting in another table, across from them, was a young mare, in a brown hemp cloak, and her mane was unkempt, and face dirty with powder. Her bombard with its dark oak handle, mage-steel barrel, and sharpened glaive, hung over her shoulder. The grenadier, Swift Bolt, took a mouthful of hay, chewing slowly, and downing it with a swig of wine. He pointed a feather when he noticed the culverin across form them and spoke.

“Glykiá theá,” he said. “That’s some serious firepower.”

“No kidding.”

Lulamoon poured himself some wine and drank it slowly.

“You think she’s with the Knights?” he asked.

“Can’t say,” said Swift Bolt. “They pull ponies left and right, and they can’t refuse. Where we go, what we do, they tell us and we do it. Say no and you might get strung up to a tree.”

“I heard these ponies are different. The Princess respects them.”

“You talk like you know. Did you have any beautiful adventures with them?”

“No.”

“Well, I have.”

“When?”

“In Mareseilles. Met one when I clipped my wing on a run. You can tell right away that he was a noble. He had that sort of face. Did everything he could to fix my wing. I could have stayed all night.”

“Did you?”

“No, I couldn’t. I wish we had some of them here. Preened nobles. Not these malakas they have running the hospital.”

“They are pretty rough.”

“You understand then?”

“I understand you want to get in bed with a preened noble.”

He smiled. “You are a good friend. I’d take you to paradise if only you ask.”

“Go to Tartarus,” said Lulamoon. 

Lulamoon looked back towards the mare. “Are they preparing another push soon?”

“They haven’t said anything, but every day you see somepony with cuts, bruises, strangles, thrush, and cracked hooves. Every week some pony gets wounded. There are a few real wounded. Next week the war might start again. Maybe. You hear rumors. Do you think we should invite her to drink with us? It’s no good to drink alone.”

“Probably,” he said and poured his tankard full of wine.

“To-night, I will be helping the priest,” said Swift Bolt. “I might not be back till morning, so you must keep that bastard Fence away from my things.”

Lulamoon chewed some hay and drank from his tankard. While he did he looked around the room and out the window and at Swift Bolt drinking with his eyes closed. He was good-looking, was Lulamoon’s age, and he was always straight with him. He loved being a grenadier, and they were great friends. While he was looking at him he opened his eyes.

“I’m sorry friend, but I’m saving myself for somepony else.”

Lulamoon laughed.

Swift Bolt set aside his tankard, rose from his seat, and stretched his wings. He smiled, “I must get to the chapel early and make my confessions. You really are my good friend and noble protector.”

“Have fun,” said Lulamoon.

That night Lulamoon returned to his room and he was tired and suddenly frightened when he heard the shouting and laughter from the soldiers nearby. He had remembered the mare in the tavern and the others like her sitting quietly among the drunken crowd. He felt as badly as he did and could not understand how they became that way. It was what had happened to them, and what would happen to them and Lulamoon wondered if he would end up like them someday. He realized he had drank too much wine and after water and bread he thought, winefully, how he did not do the things he wanted to do; was there time left for such things anymore.

He laid on his bed and tried to get himself to sleep. He had wanted to go to someplace far away. Someplace where it was quiet, and the roof didn’t leak, and every night there wasn’t the sound of thunder, clanking iron, and rocks being crushed beneath horse-shoes and the towns-ponies didn’t stare down at the ground and tremble as you walked past. He hadn’t found such a place but where houses were leveled and once verdant fields were scorched and smelled like charred meat, and nights where the room whirled and he needed to look at the wall to make it stop; nights in bed, drunk, where all he knew that that was all there was, and a strange fear of not waking up tomorrow and not caring when he woke, sure that he would do it all over again. To wake up in a warm bed, in a quiet place, and happy to get out on the street and feel the sun against his coat; not another day starting and another night fearing. He could have this, and he really wanted to go to such a place, but he had to wait. He wondered why it was always like this when he drank, and he tried to forget it. Here, now, he had Swift Bolt, the tavern, and a place to sleep, with food, water, and a roof. More than they usually had; more than what that mare probably has.

He wrapped the sheet tightly around him and eventually found sleep.
> Chapter Four (Unedited)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The signal horn woke him in the morning and he saw the sun coming through the window and got out of the bed roll. He grabbed his tunic and cloak and followed the other solider towards the shelter. The volley guns in the nearby garden fired and the air shook and the thundering sounds it produced made Lulamoon’s headache worse. He never saw the guns up close but he understood enough to know that they were firing directly over them. It was nuisance to have them there, but it was a comfort over having the house leveled with him inside. As they reached the shelter he heard ponies galloping in the streets. He dressed, had some coffee in the kitchen and after hearing the all clear, went out to the storehouse.
Ten wagons were lined up side by side outside the storehouse. They were heavy, iron-plated wagons, bearing distinct banners and sigils, and built for large drafts. The pack-ponies were loading one out by the road. Two others were being escorted down the road.
“Have they reloaded the volley guns?” asked Lulamoon to one of the pack-ponies.
“Not yet. Bramley’s just headed out to deliver the extra grape-shots.”
“How’s everything here?”
“Not too bad. This wagon is no good, but others are working just fine.” He stopped working and smiled. “A shipment came last night.”
“Anything good?”
He wiped his hooves on his tunic and grinned. “Tobacco and coca tea, from Azteca.” The others all grinned too.
“Fine,” said Lulamoon. He gave the pack-pony two silver bits taking a small bag from him tying it onto his belt beneath his cloak. “What’s the matter with this wagon?”
“It’s no good. One thing after another.”
“Which is it this time?”
“Wheel’s rotten. Probably from all the rain.”
He left them working, the wagon looking beaten and worn with the plates rusted and the wood bloated with water, and he went into the storeroom and looked at the stock. The room was moderately clean, and there were no rats or insects, a few spiders though. He looked at the crates carefully, looking for cuts, or splits, or exposed nails. Everything seemed to be in good condition. It made no difference what he thought, however, whether it was in good condition or not. He had imagined that the condition of their supplies, whether the food was edible, the weapons were sharp, or the black-powder dry, and hauling them and requisitioning supplies, depended to a considerable extent on himself. The quartermaster, and most of the war council for that matter, did not seem to think so.
“Has there been any trouble with our suppliers?” He asked the pack-pony.
“No, Sergeant.”
“When is the next shipment coming?”
“Around the same time. We gave him a list before he left.”
“Good,” said Lulamoon and he went back to the tavern and drank another bowl of coffee. The coffee was black but mild and there were only a few grounds in it. Outside the window the leaves were already starting to fall. There was that chilly feeling that meant the day would be cold later. That day he visited the other storerooms along the northern trench and met with the volley gunners, and the apothecary, and was back in the house late in the afternoon.
The whole thing seemed to be running again. They were preparing for another siege, at least that’s what he heard. The regiment for which he worked were to attack at a place up the hillside and a scout told him that Silver Mane would oversee it.
It was very chilly out now and he went up to his room to lay down. Swift Bolt was sitting on his bedroll drinking from an old and worn waterskin. He was dressed, wore his grey cloak and his mane was brushed.
“You’re finally back,” he said when he saw Lulamoon. “How are things going? Did Clipper have anything knew to tell us?”
“He says we may be moving again soon.”
“Who is it this time?”
“Silver Mane.”
Lulamoon washed his face, brushed his mane, and sat beside Swift Bolt.
“Hold on,” Swift Bolt said. “Perhaps we should have a drink.” He opened his trunk and took out a bottle.
“Rum,” said Lulamoon.
“No. Mead.”
“All right.”
He poured two cups and they touched them. The mead was sweet but very strong.
“Another?”
“All right,” he said. They drank the second mead, and Swift Bolt put away the bottle. The air felt chilly and they put a sheet over the window, and wrapped themselves in their cloaks. 
“I’ve heard the name Silver Mane being whispered in the armory. Was helping Blue Ember with the eate grenades, and she told me we’d be getting somepony new leading the regiment.”
“Did she mention if he was any good?”
“Supposedly, he was chosen by Lady Posey. But that could just be talk.”
“It’s very odd though. Why do this now?”
“I don’t know,” said Swift Bolt. “There isn’t always an explanation for everything. And if there were, we don’t get paid enough to know.”
“Must be awfully nice, being in the loop.”
“Don’t talk that way.  As ta leme kala.”
“What?”
“It’s a saying back in the Empire. Let’s pretend it is okay.”
“You ponies are too laid back about these things.”
“No. We just don’t bother with things we know we can’t change.”
Swift Bolt drank from the waterskin, and Lulamoon saw there was chain around his neck, beneath his tunic.
“A gift from the priest?” he asked.
“Hmm,” said Swift Bolt. “Oh, yes. The priest gave me his pendant. He’s a very nice colt. I might marry him and move to the Everfree.”
“Can you do that?”
“I don’t know. But it is nice to think about.”
“I wouldn’t mind meeting somepony after all this. I even saw a zebra in town. She had a pretty face, and a soft voice. Before now, I wouldn’t have thought of her that way. Now, I wouldn’t mind waking up beside her.”
“War has opened your eyes my friend.”
Lulamoon did not say anything.
“Oh yes,” he said. “I remember. I met somepony in the chapel this morning.”
“Were you decent?”
“Of course, I was. But listen, this mare, she was the same one as before. In the tavern.”
“You mean that culverin.”
“Yes, yes. I wanted to do something for her. She seemed very sad, and the priest said she came often. I thought perhaps you could meet her and then of course give her a proper night. Make her feel like a mare, and not a soldier.”
“Are you seriously whoring me out to some stranger?”
“Yes. You need a special somepony in your life. I have my priest, and you will have your culverin.”
“And probably dourine with my luck.”
“She’s not really bad. And I’ve always seen you by yourself.”
Lulamoon looked at the ceiling blankly.
“You will love her,” Swift Bolt said. “She is very nice.”
“You’ve said that about a lot of mares.”
“Only, because it’s true,” said Swift Bolt. “It’s just you that isn’t nice.”
> Chapter Five (Unedited)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was cold walking through the town and the sun was starting to go down. The chapel was a big barn once owned by a family of free peasants before the war. The priest was with her. He saw her blue and red tabard through the trees. Swift Bolt bowed his head. Lulamoon bowed his head too but more moderately.
“Good afternoon,” the mare said. “You’re not an Imperial, are you?”
“Oh, no,” said Lulamoon.
Swift Bolt was talking with the priest. They were laughing. “It’s kind of odd – an Imperial in the Equestrian army.”
“He’s not really an Imperial. It’s only the accent.”
“It’s still strange to see. What about you?”
“I-I’m,” Lulamoon mumbled. “I’m a tinker pony.”
“Oh, I’ve never met a tinker pony before. I always thought they lived up north.”
“Most ponies think that.”
“Why did you come here? To the war.”
“I don’t really know,” he said. “It just kind of happened.”
“There must have been a reason.”
“There isn’t always an explanation for everything.”
“Oh, isn’t there? I was brought up to think there was.”
“That’s awfully nice.”
“Do we have to keep talking like this?”
Lulamoon looked at Swift Bolt. He and the priest seemed lost in their own world.
“No,” he said.
“Thank goodness. I’m not that good at small talk.”
“What are those?” asked Lulamoon. The mare was quite tall. She wore what seemed like a typical culverin’s uniform, was blonde, had an ash brown coat, and gray eyes. He thought she was very beautiful. She was carrying a chain with various lockets, pendants, and other pieces, tied to her belt.
“They belonged to some of my regiment who was killed last year.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Some of them were very nice. This one was going to get married and he was killed in Kholstomer.”
“It was a terrible fight.”
“Were you there?”
“No.”
“I was part of the first line,” she said. “We weren’t really expecting anything from such a small village. They were on us like timberwolves. Didn’t even get a chance to fire my bombard. We fought back as best as we could.”
“How long were you there for?”
“Two weeks. He was one of the last to get hit.”
“Did you know him for very long?”
“Four years. We thought we would become knights together.”
“You’re with the knights?”
“Yes,” she said. “My parents thought I was a fool to try. I could have done anything else. But I wanted to become a knight, like Chasser, or Posey.”
“I see.”
“Do you want to become a knight?”
“No,” he said.
They sat down on a pew and he looked at her.
“You have a beautiful mane,” he said.
“Do you like it?”
“Very much.”
“I was going to cut it before I came here,” she said. “I wanted to do something for them. I didn’t care about any of the other things and they could have given me anything I wanted after all we went through. I could have gotten some land, gone home, get away from all of this, if I would only have asked. I would have gone to their families, and brought them these keepsakes, told them how their loved ones died and how they always talked about them. I can’t do that now. But I also want us to win and make their deaths mean something.”
Lulamoon didn’t say anything.
“I didn’t know about anything then. I thought it would be worse if I left. I thought perhaps I would be betraying them and then of course I refused and that was the end of it.”
“Can’t you go back now?”
“No,” she said. “I can’t. That’s the end of it.”
They looked at Swift Bolt talking with the priest.
“What’s your name?”
“Wing Song.”
“Tristan.” 
“That’s a nice name. Your friend is a grenadier, isn’t he?”
“Yes. He’s very good.”
“You rarely find anypony any good this close to the front. Seems like there hardly any good ponies left now?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s a terrible thing,” she said. “But it’s very beautiful. To risk everything like that.”
“You really believe so.”
“I do. My father was in Loire when the Asturcon’s attacked. He told me a solider doesn’t just fight for his country, he fights for his friends and family too.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“Do you have any family Tristan?”
“Just Swift Bolt, but it’s different.”
“I understand. My regiment is kind of like my family too. They say we are going to have a siege soon.”
“I heard that too.”
“We’ll have a lot of work ahead. There’s no work now.”
“Have you been a culverin long?”
“Since I was fifteen. I started when I was deemed old enough to marry. I remember going to the hospital on the first month of training. I ended up with a bandage around my leg, and we were all laughing.”
“It’s not the same way here,” said Lulamoon.
“Yes,” she said. “Ponies back home can’t realize what battle is really like. If they did, they wouldn’t all go. You don’t just get a sprained leg here. You get blown to bits.
Lulamoon didn’t say anything.
“Do you suppose it will end in Grani?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“They’ve lost nearly everything else. They can’t go on fighting and not crack.”
“They won’t surrender here though,” she said.
“You think so?”
“Yes. I’ve killed so many of them, but they always kept on fighting.” 
“They may still crack,” he said. “Anypony may crack.”
“Even the Sisters?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t think so.”
They went over to Swift Bolt and the priest.
“You are feeling better ma’am?” Swift Bolt asked.
“Quite well.”
“Lulamoon is a good pony when he wants to be,” he said. He smiled.
“I wouldn’t mind meeting again.”
Swift Bolt looked at Lulamoon smugly.
“She’s from Bayard,” he said in Crystallian. “So, she knows romance.”
“She also knows Crystallian,” the priest said in Crystallian.
Swift Bolt looked at the priest blankly.
“But Tristan is a good pony,” he said to Wing Song. “He will be a good friend to have.”
“Not like this one I hope?” Wing Song pointed a hoof towards Swift Bolt.
“Oh, that’s different. You mustn’t take everything Swift says too seriously.”
After a while they said good-night and left. Walking home Swift Bolt said, “Miss Wing Song likes you. That is very clear. But do you like her too?”
“Very,” said Lulamoon. He was still thinking about her.
“I’m glad,” said Swift Bolt.
> Chapter Six (Unedited)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day Lulamoon went to meet Wing Song again. She wasn’t in the chapel and the priest directed him towards the old estates where the nobles were staying. Inside he saw the watch commander, who said Wing Song was on guard duty.
“You’re the tinker in Perrichon’s regiment?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“How’d that happen? Why didn’t you just run and hide like the rest of them?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Could I leave now?”
“Fat chance. Tell me. How did you end up with Perrichon?”
“I was in Calmare,” he said, “and I didn’t say no.”
“Oh,” he said. “I suppose you’re lucky then.  Most just get sent south.”
“Somepony said you’d end up in the mines if you refused to fight.”
“Oh, I’ve not heard of that. We never really bothered bringing tinkers. Figured they’d cut and run the first chance they get. Say it’s not their fight. Good to see you’ve at least stuck around. I’ve had to hang more than a few of my own who tried to get out early.” 
The commander looked over Lulamoon. “You may come and see her this evening if you wish. She’ll be off then. But bring a change of clothes and don’t let anypony else know you’re a tinker.”
“I’m not some thief, you know.”
“No. But they won’t know that, and some won’t care either way.”
“Good evening,” said Lulamoon.
“Servir avec honneur, Vanner.”
“Serve with honor.” Lulamoon bowed his head and went out. It was impossible for him to bow to nobles as a tinker, without some trepidation. Tinker ponies never seemed made for such things.
The day had been busy. Lulamoon had been north of town, along the defensive line. They were preparing for the offensive. It had been impossible to advance without securing more troops and equipment and the rebels understood this well enough to try and delay them. Bridges and roadways were under constant attack for months. They couldn’t transport everything by air for the offensive, and it was easier to destroy a pegasus chariot than a supply wagon. But the troops had managed and set up a path on the far east to move supplies to the front. It was a nasty affair, from what he heard, and Grani’s forces would not let them reach the front easily. It made sense, Lulamoon thought. The city would be their last stand. Perhaps, they think if the hold out long enough we might give up. The rebel’s trenches were above on the hillside only a mile from the Equestrian lines. There were old woods and shrubbery, good for concealment, and foraging. There was also a bridge that went over a river towards the city, but it was all rubble and could not be repaired and used because it was in plain sight.
Lulamoon went through the trenches, and delivered the provisions at the supply post along the edge of the line. Everypony was in the dugouts. There were rows of cannons pointed towards the enemy line and rockets standing along racks to be fired to spot pegasi or signal for help if it was dark out. It was warm, but dirty. Lulamoon had a drink with a cannoneer he knew in one of the dugouts and went back towards the town.
There were more ponies arriving, and they were kept busy tracking and delivering supplies and provisions where needed. Once everything was delivered the siege would start. It had been the same way as in every siege. They would hit them with cannons and flurries and bombings all throughout the day and night in separate shifts. Supply lines would be secured and all arriving traffic would start additional routs to keep the siege supplied as best as they can. The offensive would then start once the walls fell. As far as he knew, dense forest surrounded the city, so it would be easy for the rebels to harass them while the siege was going. Lulamoon would have liked to stay in the town and keep track of supplies from there but its wasn’t his decision. But he learned of a few places where the provisioners could be sheltered, and could wait for supplies to be dropped off and moved safely. They would be all right so long as they were safe from shelling and their guards weren’t complete garbage.
Lulamoon went back to the tavern, and ate very quickly, and left for the estate where Wing Song had been guarding. It was very large and beautiful and there were fine trees in the grounds and rose hedges that appeared watered and otherwise undisturbed. Wing Song was sitting on a bench drinking from a water skin. Somepony else was with her. She was far taller than Lulamoon, and he’d argue that she was even taller than the Princess. Apart from her sheer size, there was the deep creased scars from what once a left ear, and hard blue-green eyes, cold and unwelcoming. Wing Song seemed glad to see Lulamoon and in a little while the red-maned giant excused herself and walked away.
“I’ll leave you two,” she said.
“Don’t go, milady,” Wing Song said.
“I really must. I have other matters than need tending.”
“Good-night, ma’am,” said Lulamoon.
“Good-night, Monsieur Tristan.”
“I’ll see you in a little while,” Wing Song said. The draft-mare walked away in the dark.
“She’s nice,” said Lulamoon.
“Oh, yes, she’s very nice. You’re scared of her aren’t you.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Oh, no. Well, sometimes, when she’s yelling. But she takes care of us, and everypony here trust her.”
“Who is she? I’ve never seen her before.”
“She’s Lady Posey.”
“Is she a noble, like you.”
“No, not like me. I only have a minor claim to nobility, through my father. And Lady Posey is an errant, so she cannot be ennobled.”
“An errant?”
“It means to wander. It’s an old tradition back home. Knight’s without lords, committing their lives to the defense of Bayard.”
“What’s the difference?”
“A knight traditionally owes allegiance to their liege lord. Errants have no lords, but still hold land and defend our home from invaders.”
“Like the Asturcons.”
“Yes. Lady Posey was there when the Asturcon’s invaded. And when the war ended she swore fealty to Celestia. In a way, she isn’t an errant anymore, but she is still treated as such.”
“I see.”
“The General doesn’t want nobles so close to commoners. So, we’re all on close watch. We don’t go out often.”
“I can come here though.”
“Of course. This isn’t a prison. And Lady Posey would prefer that we mingle with commoners.”
“Let’s talk about something besides the war.”
“It’s very hard. What else is there to talk about?”
“Anything.”
“All right.”
They looked at each other in the dark. He thought she was very beautiful and he felt her hoof along his. He let her take it, and she held it and she put his hoof around her and inched closer.
“No,” he said. He kept his hoof where it was.
“Why not?”
“No.”
“Yes,” she said. ‘Please.” She leaned forward to kiss him and held jerked his head back. He had pulled away from her, and his hooves fidgeted.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“That’s all right.”
“I’m really sorry,” he said. “I just, I got a little lost in my own head. I didn’t mean to stop you. Not that I wasn’t thinking about it. I-I mean, I was, but-“
She laid her head against his chest, and he was silent. He felt scared and yet certain seeing her there calm and certain. Not at all like the mare he had seen in the tavern.
“I know what you meant,” she said. “And I understand. I’ve met so many ponies here. And I never thought for a moment if I would ever see them again. And then I see you, and you are so kind and handsome.” She looked at him, he cheek against his chest.
“You don’t need to talk about that. I said I was sorry. I really like you.”
“I like you to,” she said. “And we’re talking about something other than the war.”
They both laughed. It was the first time Lulamoon had heard her laugh. He watched her face.
“You’re very beautiful,” he said.
“So are you. And I’d be glad to kiss you if you don’t mind.”
He looked in her eyes and put his hooves around her and kissed her. He kissed her hard and held her tight, and she opened her lips. He was still scared and as he held her suddenly she shivered. He felt the cold wind between them and he held her close against him and he could feel her heart beating. And then he felt tears along his cheeks and he buried his head on her chest.
“Not a very manly moment, huh,” he said.
She stroked his mane and patted his back.
“It’s okay to cry sometimes.” She looked at him. “Because this is a terrible place, and sometimes we need to cry to get through it.”
After a while he walked with her to the road, and he said good night and walked home. Back home, he went upstairs to his room. Swift Bolt was lying on his bed roll. He looked at him.
“I see you made progress with Lady Song.”
“Something like that.”
“You have a pleasant air about you.”
“Do I.”
“Yes. I’ve seen it in some of the other soldiers,” he explained. “They lose something in this war, but they get it back in a certain way. That’s with Lady Song did. She got that little something back for you.”
“Maybe. Good-night,” said Lulamoon.
“Good-night.”
Swift Bolt moved the candle and went on reading. Lulamoon got into bed across from him, and placed his head against the pillow. He thought of Wing Song, his chest feeling warm, and he drifted into sleep.
> Chapter Seven (Unedited)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tristan spent the next two weeks at his posts. When he got home it was too late and he did no see Wing Song until the next evening. She was not in the estates and the watch commander told him that she was still in training, and he would have to wait until she came back. He sat in a wooden bench in the foyer. There were many paintings along the walls of the foyer. There was also a banner, hanging beside the door to the hall, where the foyer opened to, and Tristan recognized the symbol of the Orriflamme, and the words sewn below. Nous servons les soeurs; we serve the Sisters.
Tristan inched himself further from the banner and held his cap. They were supposed to wear steel caps whenever they went outside. Lulamoon’s was made from iron, and it was uncomfortable and somehow made it difficult to use magic. He wore it whenever he went out to the trenches and carried a pair of hoof blades. They were dull, and slightly rusted. He felt them against the wall behind the bench. Also they were required to wear chainmail; even the peasant-soldiers. You were liable to arrest if you were caught not wearing it in plain sight. Swift Bolt wore padded cloth over his tunic. He didn’t envy him and he felt safe until he was sent to his posts. It was heavy and it didn’t have any fasteners so that when you moved you could hear them clinking as you moved. He tried to fix it, using leather straps to tie it around his body and keep it from dangling until he realized the ridiculousness of how big the chainmail was and soon forgot about it and carried it flopping against his legs with not feeling except a vague sort of annoyance when he walked around. He sat quietly on the bench and a few of the nobles looked at him disapprovingly as they walked past while he looked at the granite floor, the oak pillars, and the paintings on the wall depicting battlefields he was certain the former owners were never a part of.
He saw Wing Song coming through the door, and stood up. She seemed tired walking toward him but she looked very happy.
“Good evening, Tristan,” she said.
“How are you?” he asked. A few of the nobility were listening beside the banner.
“Let’s go out. It’s much cooler.”
He walked behind her out into the garden, the nobles looking after them. When they were outside she said, “I take it you’ve been busy.”
“Very. They’re really pushing us.”
“It’s the same over here. You didn’t meet some other mare did you?”
“No,” he said. “No pony I cared for at least. I wanted to come back and see you.”
“Maybe I could try and visit you sometime.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it. Swift Bolt would come acting like cupid if you did.”
She chuckled softly, and they were off in the garden, walking under the trees. He took her hoof, then stopped and kissed her.
“Isn’t there anywhere we can go?”
“No,” she said. “The others don’t want you here. They think you’re the wrong sort.”
“I don’t care what they think. I like coming here.”
She looked at him, “And do you love me?”
“Yes.”
“You really mean that, right?”
“Yes,” he lied. “I love you.” He had not said it before.
“And you’re fine with this, meeting in the garden?”
“Yes.” They walked a way and they stopped under a tree.
“And if I go back to Bayard, will you come with me?”
“Yes.”
“I really do love you. These past couple of days have been awful. It helps when you’re here.”
“Same here.” Tristan turned her so he could see her face when he kissed her and he saw that her forehead was bruised. He kissed it. He thought this was probably going to fast. It was alright if it was. He did not care about anything else. This was better than going back to the house, and hearing about all the mares and stallions who’d climb all over you, and whisper sweet nothings as they showered you with their affections. He did not know if he loved Wing Song nor had any idea why she mentioned him going with her to Bayard. It was all in the moment, just him and her instead of being on post, or in the trenches, or in the house, playing cards with Fence and the others. With Wing Song he didn’t have to think about all that. He didn’t have to be a soldier anymore, just a stallion. It was all right with him.
“I wish there was some place we could go,” she said. He experienced the masculine difficulty of avoiding less innocent thoughts.
“You said it yourself, there isn’t any place,” he said. He came back from whatever fantasy afflicted him.
“We might sit there for just a little while.”
They sat on the flat stone bench and he held Wing Song’s hoof. She looked down at the grass.
“You don’t really love me, do you?”
“What?”
“Don’t be dull.”
“I didn’t- I just-”
“You’re a nice colt,” she said. “But you’re a bad liar.”
“Do you always know what ponies think?”
“Not always. But I do with you. You don’t have to pretend you love me. But I do love you, and I think you might actually be starting to love me too.”
“How are you so sure?”
“Because you don’t play the game, like the other ponies do. I’ve played it, only a little sometimes. But it’s a rotten game.”
He pulled his hoof away, just a little. He still felt the warmth from her frog. “Were you?”
“A little, when I first saw you. But you weren’t what I expected. You’re a very good colt.”
“That’s what the priest said.”
“And he was right. And you will come and see me?”
Tristan looked at her. “Yeah, I will.”
“And you don’t have to say you love me. That will come later.” She stood up and held onto his hoof. “I should go now. Good-night.”
Tristan held onto her hoof. He wanted to kiss her.
“No,” she said. “I’m really tired.”
“Kiss me, though,” he said.
“After what I said, you shouldn’t.”
“Kiss me.”
“Do you really want to?”
“Yes.”
They kissed, and Tristan felt warm inside. She leaned closer, wrapping her hoof around him and she broke away suddenly. “No. Good-night, please, Tristan.” He saw her go back inside. He liked to watch her move. He went on home. It was warmer that night and there was a good deal going on along the trenches. He watched the other ponies moving about.
He stopped in front of the house. The windows were covered but he could hear somepony singing. He went on inside. Swift Bolt came in while he was undressing.
“It did not go so well today,” he said.
“She says I’m falling in love with her.”
“Are you?”
“I-I don’t know.”
“That’s good,” he said. “That’s how it all starts.”
> Chapter Eight (Unedited)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lulamoon left the following afternoon to their first encampment beyond the defensive line and stopped the wagon by a tent where the mares and stallions were being groomed and checked for lice and fleas. He had been carrying the wagon and he sat beside it and another took the supplies in. It was a hot day and the sky was very bright and blue and the road were dry and dusty. Lulamoon took a drink from his water skin and thought about nothing. Scouts went by and he watched them pass. The ponies were hot and sweating. Some wore their helmets but most of them carried them slung from their saddle-bags. Most of the helmets were rusting, and a few were too big for the ponies who wore them, and a few had poorly cut holes, and grinded against the horns of some of the unicorns. The nobles all wore better-fitting helmets. Lulamoon recognized a few of them from the estates, where Wing Song was. They were sweaty, dusty, and tired, and etched to their tunics, Lulamoon recognized the Rod of Asclepius. They were tending to the sentries- ponies who had been tasked with guarding the encampment. Some looked pretty bad. A sentry approached the wagon. He was walking with a limp. He stopped beside the wagon. Lulamoon got up and went over.

“You have any water?”

Lulamoon offered him an extra water skin. The sentry seated himself on the ground, and drank. His lips were dry and cracked, and there was blood as the water trickled down from his lips and towards his chin.

“What’s wrong with your leg?”

“I got a capped knee.”

“Why don’t you ride with us?” asked Lulamoon. “We can get you to the hospital.”

“They won’t let me. They said I did it on purpose.”

“Sit here,” said Lulamoon. “I’ll get one of the physicians to look at it. Then we’ll take you along and drop you in the hospital.”

“They’ll say I did it on purpose.”

“Just let me talk to them,” said Lulamoon.

He called for one of the physicians, and she brought bandages for the stallions leg, and tied a red and white ribbon to his ear.

“Take him to Frost Light,” the physician said. He was in a hospital just behind the line.
Lulamoon applied his magic, and lifted the wounded stallion onto the cart. His escort complained, but Lulamoon agreed to carry the wagon back.

“You alright there?” he asked.

“I’m good.”

“How’s the war going for you?”

“Bad.”

“That’s what I keep hearing.”

“You a Vanner too?”

“Yeah. I was in Calmare when they snatched me. I knew you were a Vanner.”

“Don’t I look Equestrian enough?”

“I knew from the pendant. Not many Equestrians wear the Sabbats.”

“Another tinker,” the escort grumbled, looking at the wounded stallion.

“Listen, friend. Do you have to take me to the hospital?”

“Yes.”

“Because the Captain knows a few of us wind up with capped knees. I didn’t think it wise, but a few got it on purpose, and would let it get so bad they wouldn’t have to be out on guard duty again.”

“I see.”

“I ain’t one to go and hurt myself on purpose. That’s how you get strung up. But if they think I did, they’ll tell the Captain and then he’ll either hang me or send me to the Blitz.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. Frost Light will take care of you. He isn’t one to toss anypony under the wagon.”

He thought it over.

“So, it’ll be okay then?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Sweet Celestia, I don’t want to go to the Blitz.”

“Listen,” said Lulamoon. “You’ll get checked, get some sleep, and a warm meal. Everypony trust Frost Light. You’ll have to go back, but you might get sent to another regiment.” They stopped at the side of the road. He helped the stallion down.

“It’ll be alright,” he said.

“So long.”

Lulamoon went on and passed a regiment along the way, then made his way through the line, and dropped off his wagon at the storehouse. When he got back to the house it was past noon and he went out to the stables and took a shower. Then he went upstairs and sat by the window on his cloak and tunic, with his blade and chainmail crumbled beside him. In two days the siege was to start and he would be spending his nights in the dugout. He wished he had Swift Bolt, but instead he had Fence, a fat mud-beater and Thunder Wing, the tiny pegasus with the hollow wings and potato brain. They’d all be under Silver Mane. Maybe he was too clean and handsome to be a captain, but he looked like a lord. Lots of them would have liked to be under his command. He was a good captain. He was appointed by Lady Posey, and commanded the third army. Swift Bolt was in the second army. Lulamoon had met with two grenadiers from that lot. They were very nice, and were close friends with Swift Bolt. They were big and raggedy and very superstitious, and very appreciative of anything you brought them. Lulamoon wished he was a Pegasus. It would have been much nicer to be with Swift Bolt. He would probably have been killed, though. Pegasi were always being killed. He knew he would not be killed. Not in this war. He’d been at it for too long, and he learned a few tricks to get by. If worse happened, he could always use Fence’s fat flank to shield himself. He still wished it was over though. It would finish after Grani, he knew this. Maybe they would crack, and they’d be told to go home. They came a few times before, but there were only a a few, and they were always beaten. Everypony said they weren’t through though. Swift Bolt said Grani’s troops were trying to stall them, soften them up. Maybe they were expecting a miracle. Lulamoon didn’t care about any of that. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to go back to Calmare, back to his wagon, with ponies he knew.

Was his wagon even there anymore, he thought. They might have torn it down and used it for firewood. It might be good though. Everypony’s probably south. He could go to the Everfree, when the war ends. The sun was going down and the day was getting cooler. After supper, he’d go and see Wing Song. He wished she was in the house with him, but he didn’t trust anypony there beside Swift Bolt. Maybe he’d go to Bayard with her. He’d get a small plot of land in Rhones and then he’d spend his mornings beside Wing Song, and they’d have breakfast together. Maybe she would be knighted, and he would be waiting for her and bring her water, and help her out of her armor, and then they’d kiss and spend the evening together, and he’d tell her how beautiful she was, and she’d play her usual mind games with him. They’d drink some wine and because it was so hot out they would not be wearing any clothes, and the window would be open, and the swallows would be flying over and perch themselves on the open window, and when it was dark afterward they would be in bed, sharing a sheet, and they would both love each other all night in the hot night in Rhones. That was how he imagined it. Lulamoon ate quickly and went to go and see Wing Song.

There were many ponies in the estate, and he drank wine because they had offered, and he thought it rude to refuse them. He drank only a little and talked with a noblepony about Lady Posey who was, it seemed, a beautiful mare and whose beauty was wasted on war and was better served finding a husband and starting a family, and not wanting to risk the anger of a Knight’s Commander, Lulamoon feigned ignorance. It would have been terrible if he were to be caught by the Colossus in such conversation, and when he had listened to their explicit discussions of Posey which was, he thought, likely to cause trouble for them later, he made his way to the watch commander.

The watch commander apologized for the noble’s behavior. They were preparing for the siege, and a few were having some last minute revelry. Wing Song had been stuck with attending the final preparations. This was normal, but it had left Lulamoon somewhat disheartened.

“Could I see her just for a moment?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I can let her know you stopped by. She’s been very busy; she will appreciate knowing you came.”
Lulamoon frowned. “Alright,” he said. “What about tomorrow?”

“If you come early, I can have a servant bring her.” He slapped Lulamoon on the shoulder. There were more ponies about. All the nobles were very happy. “Try and get some sleep,” he said. “You will see her tomorrow.”
Lulamoon went out towards the house. He stood outside the door. There was singing coming from the window. “They’d better not be drunk,” he said.

“Not yet, but they are getting there.”

Swift Bolt stood behind Lulamoon, carrying a water skin, and a wide smile.

“You’d better chew some coffee,” he said.

“Can’t.”

“Nonsense. I’ll get some, friend. You won’t find sleep up there with the others, and I won’t have you tired if the signalers stop by.”

They walked along together up the stairs, and Lulamoon stopped by the door and waited for Swift Bolt. He came back with a hoofful of roasted coffee beans. “Chew these. We’ll have the night all to ourselves.”

“Swift Bolt,” he said. “You don’t look so good.”

“I’m perfectly all right.”

They sat by Lulamoon’s bedroll, and he chewed the coffee. In the hall that led up to their door, there was singing and laughter.

“I’m sorry, Tristan,” he said. “I just came back from the priest. I worry I won’t see him anymore.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re worrying over nothing.”

“This war is awful isn’t it.”

“Will you tell me what happened?”

“Nothing. That’s what’s so awful about it.”

“You’ll see him next time. After this Grani will crack, and we can be done with all this.”

“Maybe Tristan. But it is different for Pegasi. We are warriors. Death hangs over us, and all we can do is meet it.”

“Are you afraid?”

“Of death?” Swift Bolt chuckled. “No, it is not death I’m afraid of. It is the priest. I have come to know him, to love him. Now, I am afraid I may never have a chance to share my life with him.”

“I think I understand.”

“Did you see your lovely culverin today?”

“No. I have to try and see her tomorrow.”

“You will, my friend. It is good to see your loved ones.”

“Thank you, thank you very much,” said Lulamoon.

A few of the other soldiers came in, loud and sweaty, and suddenly Lulamoon felt lonely and empty. He wanted to see Wing Song very much. He wanted to drink some wine, but Swift Bolt pushed it aside and shoved a water skin in his hooves. He laid on his bed roll and he had nearly forgotten about her, but when the others left he thought about tomorrow and if he could not see her and there was a hollow feeling in his chest.
> Chapter Nine (Unedited)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning they learned there was to be an attack up the hill towards the city, and that Lulamoon would be sent to the dugout there. Nopony knew anything about it, although they all spoke with great optimism and strategic knowledge. Lulamoon was getting on his way towards the estate. The nobles were in full armor and a few passed by and there was a priest, offering prayers to the Goddess, and a few, those still tied to the Imperial faith, attended a baptism, swearing their fealty to the Regal Sisters, whom the priest declared to be the true descendants of the Regal Mother. He hurried to the watch commander and asked for Wing Song. He sent a servant to find her, and he came back with her.

“I stopped by yesterday to meet you. They told me you were on duty.”

“I’m quite well,” she said. “They mentioned you coming yesterday.”

“I have to go soon. Can we talk for a bit?”

“Let’s go to the garden.”

She was wearing a full plate of gilded armor and fitted chainmail. Her bombard was tied to her saddle-straps, and it clinked against her armor as they walked.

“Are you all right?” he asked her.

“Yes, Tristan. I’m glad you came. Will you be coming with us?”

“No. I’m leaving for the dugout up north.”

“Maybe I’ll see you on your run.”

“Maybe. I don’t think it will be long though.”

“You still think they’ll crack?”

“They have to. They have nothing left.”

Wing Song smiled. She was unclasping something from her neck. She put it in her hoof. “It’s a Triple Moon,” she said. “It will bring you Her blessing.”

“You don’t think Luna’s a Goddess, do you?”

“No. But they say Her magic brings good fortune to those far from home.”

“Wing Song. Did you really mean it? Do you really love me?”

“Yes,” she said. “I do.”

“I’m sorry. I want to say I love you too. Honestly, I don’t know. But I like being here. I like being with you.”

“We’ll find out when this war ends, then.”

“All right,” he said. “I’ll take care of it for you. Good bye.”

“No,” she said, “not good bye.”

“All right.”

“Be a good colt and be careful. We can see each other after, and then, we can spend more time together.”

Lulamoon looked back at the armored soldiers outside and he looked at her and he remembered Swift Bolt. He held her close to him, and he kissed her, and she wrapped a wing around him, and pulled him closer. He pulled away, slowly, and he waved to her as he left. She waved and he was out of the estate, and on his way to the storehouse, and climbing onto a wagon when he started. The Triple Moon was in the pocket of his tunic. He pulled it from his pocket, untangled the chain with his magic.

“Triple Moon?” asked the pony carrying the wagon.

“Yes.”

“I have one.” He pulled it out from under his tunic.

“See?”

He put the Triple Moon back in his pocket.

“You don’t wear her?”

“No.”

“It’s better to wear her. That’s what it’s for.”

“All right,” he said. Lulamoon undid the clasp of the silver chain and put it around his neck and clasped it. The pendant hung down on the outside of his tunic, and he used his magic to tuck it under his tunic. He felt her against his bare chest while they went. Then he forgot about her, and thought about Wing Song. Somehow, it made the pendant seem more precious.

They moved quickly past the defensive line and soon saw the dust of other wagons and ponies ahead. The Pegasi flew above them and he saw that they looked quite small, flying through the air and going off into the clouds. They passed a few sentries and he got off the wagon and climbed up through the trees and into the hills. He passed a long column of cannons, and looking back, he saw three sentries, and their repeaters, and walking further behind him, the ponies wearing mage-steel collars. They were with the Blitz.

Beyond the cannons Lulamoon continued to climb through the hills and then went down over the shoulder of a long hill into a small trench. There were trees along the northern side of the trench, and long wooden spikes, covered in flora, and there were pits covered in foliage and the accompanying smell of filth. Close by he saw the dugout. There were troops already inside, and a wagon full of spears, round-shots, bandages, dried hay, and pemmican, and it was nearly dark when Lulamoon came down and helped them unload the wagon that left towards the marked trees.

The dugout was cramped and there were screens of stained cloth and straw matting on both sides, and sheets on the roof of the dugout so that it was like being inside an old earth house. He sat quietly in the matting covered dugout and checked the provisions. A hole had been knocked in the back of the dugout and they prepared a fireplace out of mud for cooking, using rocks for a chimney cap. Water was collected in pots from a nearby creek, and they began boiling soup with hay and crushed carrots. Lulamoon talked with one of the other runners and learned that when it should start and their saddle-bags were loaded they would walk along the marked path and up to the main line where there would be a post to drop off the supplies. The runner was a dumpy little stallion with a fluffed beard. He had been in the war in Kholstomer and wore a silver pin on his cloak. He said he hoped it would go well but he stuttered and appeared nervous. The stallion asked Lulamoon to have a drink with him and two other ponies. They drank rum and the ponies were very friendly. Outside it was dark. Lulamoon asked what time the attack was to be and they said as soon as it was dark. Fence and Thunder Wing arrived. They sat across from Lulamoon, closer to the fireplace. He gave each of them a tankard, and filled them with wine, and Fence pulled out his pipe, stuffed with smoke-leaf, and some of it it spilled onto the floor. Fence lit it from the fireplace and passed it around. Lulamoon told them what he had heard.

“Why didn’t we see more guards when we came?” asked Fence.

“This is just a back-up. In case the others get shelled.”

“Hope they marked the path right.”

“They’ll shell the shit out of us,” said Thunder Wing.

“Probably.”said Fence.

“What about food, Tristan?” asked Thunder Wing. “We won’t get a chance to eat after it starts.”

“I’ll check the soup now,” said Lulamoon.

“What else did they bring us?”

“Not much,” said Delilah. “Better to stay here. It’s too dark out now.”

Fence looked over the supplies and one of the runners said somepony would be along and the guards would come and get their soup. He would loan them an extra waterskin if they did not have one. Lulamoon said he thought they had them, and warned them about giving out waterskins. They were silent until the soup was finished. With the exception of a few, most of them were fresh-faced and eager to experience war.

The dugout was warm and dry and Lulamoon leaned back against the wall, sitting on the end of his tail, and relaxed.

“Who goes to the attack?” asked Cobalt.

“The Blitz.”

“It’s always the Blitz.”

“You think so.”

“First attack is always the bloodiest. Better to send them, than any of us.”

“It’s probably to draw attention from where the real attack will be.”

“Do the soldiers know that?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Of course they don’t,” Fence said. “They wouldn’t attack if they did.”

“Yes, they would,” Delilah said. “Or they’ll get their heads blown off.”

“Seriously?” asked Cobalt.

“Why do you think they wear those collars.” A few of them laughed.

“Were you there, Lulamoon, when they wouldn’t attack and they popped their collars?”

“No.”

“It is true. They stayed in their tents and the Captain popped every one of them until they got out to fight.”

“Sweet Celestia,” said Marble, and he made a gesture of prayer with his hoof. “But those grenadiers. Up above. They’ll attack.”

“If everypony rushed in the city would be taken and the war would be over,” Fence said.

“It doesn’t work that way. They’re built for a siege. And the nobles aren’t going to risk their skin rushing into the fight.”

“I’ve seen some of the Knight’s fighting.”

“Those ponies are crazy. They’re like Dimondians. They love this sort of thing.”

“One of the ponies in the Blitz is from my town,” Delilah said. “He was a big smart stallion, too smart to be a soldier. He was always with mares. I even got a good ride out of him.” She laughed. “Then he got in bed with some prissy noble and she dumped him in the Blitz and nopony came to stop them. It’s the same for all of us. There are no laws to protect us from the Blitz. Anypony can be taken.”

“If it wasn’t for them, nopony would be fighting.”

“Yes. Posey would. Those Royal Knights would. Even the Sisters fight.”

“If the Sister’s were here, the war would be over.”

“You shouldn’t let us talk this way, Sergeant. Defätistisches gespräch.”

“I know how you talk,” said Lulamoon. “But as long as you move the goods and behave-”

“-and don’t talk so others can hear,” Fence finished.

“I believe the war will end when we take Grani,” said Lulamoon. “It won’t finish if they think they still have a chance at winning. It would only be worse if we stopped.”

“It could not be worse,” Marble said respectfully. “There is nothing worse than war.”

“Defeat is worse,” said Cobalt.

“What is defeat?” asked Fence. “You go home.”

“They come after you,” said Lulamoon. “They take your home, your family, and force you to fight.”

“Do you have family, Sergeant?” asked Cobalt.

“I did. In Calmare. They got sent south.”

“Only tinkers get sent south,” said Delilah.

“Except the Sergeant,” said Fence, chuckling. “He got stuck with us and Perrichon.”

“I don’t believe it,” Delilah said. “Tinkers always run. That’s why we hang so many.”

“They couldn’t hang everypony.”

“A pony can’t make a tinker a soldier,” said Cobalt. “At the first battle they all run.”

“Like the cloven.”

“I’ve seen cloven fight beside us,” said Marble. “We all have our reasons to fight. Listen. There is nothing as bad as war. We can’t even understand how bad it is. We’re here in the dugout, far from it all. When ponies realize how bad it is they cannot do anything to stop it because everything gets crazy. There are some ponies who never realize. But we have homes and families to go back to. It is for them that we keep fighting.”

Delilah shook her head.

“The war doesn’t end here. What if the Empire comes? What if they decide they want to come to Equestria? Did you see what they did to the Griffins? Do you think we will take them too? Only if the Arabs help us. The fighting might stop then. But then the Arabs decide they want us, and then we have to fight them. Why don’t we just stop fighting? They had their own country. But no, it wasn’t enough, and that’s why there is war.”

“You’re an orator now?”

“We’re ponies. We think, we read. We are not peasants. We are free-folk and merchants. But even the peasants know better than to believe in war. Everypony hates this war.”

“Also they make money out of it.”

“Most of them don’t,” said Fence. “They are too stupid. Like those knights. They do it for nothing.”

“We must stop,” said Thunder Wing. “We talk too much.”

“Pegasi are always so serious,” said Fence. “It is fine to talk.”

“But now we will shut up,” said Thunder Wing.

“Is the soup ready, Sergeant?” asked Marble.

“Just about,” said Lulamoon. Marble stood up beside him.

“Is there anything I can do, Sergeant? Can I help in any way?” He was the most soft spoken of the group. “Come with me if you want,” said Lulamoon, “and we’ll see.”

It was dark outside, and Lulamoon carried a small candle with his magic. There were rockets set up near the cannons, and a sharpshooter was perched atop a large oak, directing sounds made to resemble any old bird. They moved through the trench towards a little shelter nearby. There were green branches and netting over the entrance and in the dark the night wind rustled the leaves dried by the sun. Inside there was a light. A few guards were sitting beside a small fire. One of the guards said they were on break and he offered Lulamoon some mead in a clay cup. Lulamoon looked at the old wooden table, the clumps of hay and browned apples, the basin, full of water, and the sharpened spears. Marble stood behind him. A large mare came in from behind the two, wearing a grass-sewn cloak, and branches tied to her helmet.

“It’s starting,” she said. “They’ll be launching the half-lights soon.”

Lulamoon looked outside, it was dark and he see the sparks, zipping up into the air. It was quiet for a moment still, then from all around them, the skies were lit, and the barrage started.

“Sergeant,” said Marble.

“About the soup,” said Lulamoon. The others did not hear him, and he repeated himself.

“We need to get ready in case the others come back,” one said. “Think you can some over for us?”

The ground bursted from outside, further away from the trench. Another followed and in the noise Lulamoon could hear the smaller noise of showering dirt and splitting oak.

“What sort of soup is it?”

“Hay and carrots,” said Marble.

“We’ll take whatever you can give us.”

Lulamoon and Marble made their way outside when a guard came out from the entrances called for them, carrying a waterskin. He handed it to Lulamoon.

“Have you anymore waterskins?”

Lulamoon took the guards waterskin, which had split open from the seams.

“I’ll come back with another.”

“Thank you very much,” he said.

“Sir,” said Marble. “We’d probably shouldn’t go.”

Outside the trench, the wind was picking up, and there was the faint smell of black powder.

“Let’s just be quick about it,” said Lulamoon. “Don’t need hungry guards watching over us.”

They galloped through the trench towards the dugout. The cannons continued to thunder further north. Then there was one they did not hear coming until the sudden rush. They both went flat, with the sounds of the ground bursting in the distance, and the rattle of falling branches and pebbles echoing through the surviving forest. Marble got up and ran for the dugout. Lulamoon followed him, holding a hoof to his chest, his tunic covered in dirt and cut grass. Inside the dugout there were two guards, sitting against the wall, smoking.

“Something happen?” he asked.

“No,” said Fence. “They’re here to pick up the food.”

“All right.”

“Did they scare you, tinker?” asked Delilah.

Lulamoon didn’t answer. He took out a pot, filled it with the soup, and using his magic, handed it to one of guards, handing the other a full waterskin he instructed to be given to one of the guards. Marble handed Lulamoon an apple.

“Start in to eat, Sergeant.”

“No,” he said. “Put it all together. We’ll all eat.”

“There are no spoons.”

“Just eat it from the bowl,” he said.

He lifted the bowl of soup to his mouth, using his hoof to move the larger chunks, sucked and chewed, and then took a bite of apple, chewed, and then a drink from his tankard. It tasted of rusted metal. Marble pulled a jug from beside him, and filled the tankards with wine.

They were all eating, holding their chins close to their bowl, tipping them back, sucking in the soup. Lulamoon took another mouthful and another bite from his apple and a rinse of wine. Something landed outside that shook the earth.

“Was that?!” Marble stood up.

“It’s just a stray,” said Lulamoon.

“It happens sometimes,” said Cobalt. “Those cannons can shoot pretty far, depending where you’re firing.”

“Suddenly you’re a cannoneer now.”

They went on eating. There was a cough, and a sneeze, and then the earth shook again.

“This isn’t a deep dugout,” Thunder Wing said.

“That was a mortar. You can tell from the sound when they land.”

“You think they know we’re here?” asked Fence.

“Even if they did,” said Cobalt, “they’d have to be pretty damn lucky to hit anything this far.”

Lulamoon finished his apple and took a swallow of wine. Through the noise he heard galloping hooves, then came a guarding shouting, his face bloody. Then there was a flash, and a roar that went on and on, as wind rushed into the dugout. Lulamoon was thrown aside, swiftly and violently, and for a moment, he thought he was dead and that he couldn’t be dead if he thought that he had died. He pulled himself up. The ground was torn up, and in front of him there were shapes and shadows. Somepony was crying, and he thought he heard ponies screaming. He tried to move, but he couldn’t, and when he attempted to use magic, there was a burning sensation coming from his horn. There were flashes and he heard the volley guns and repeaters bursting from all around him, and then he heard close to him, somepony shouting “Griffins! By Luna, shoot them!” He pulled and twisted and finally got up on his hooves and turned to move. He saw among the murky shapes that there was somepony’s legs, and that they were covered in red and pink. The pony nearby moaned towards him, “Oh sweet Celestia,” then, “Goddess above, oh Goddess please make it stop. Stop it. Stop it. Oh blessed Luna make it stop. Oh oh oh oh,” then choking, “sweet Celestia, oh sweet Celestia save me.” Then he was weeping, his forehooves twitching.
“Marble!” Lulamoon shouted, reaching towards him. “Marble, you there!” He tried to get closer to Marble, and he felt his mane with his hooves. He could feel the warm fluid on his head, and the dirt in his mane, and he could smell the charred meat and used gunpowder. Oh, Goddess, he thought, please, please somepony help. He held the shape that was Marble. He wasn’t weeping anymore, and Lulamoon spoke gently to him. Somepony took Lulamoon under the arms, and he tried shaking them away. He continued to hear ponies shouting through the noise, and he tried sending a surge of magic towards the approaching shadows. His horned burned and he howled in pain.

“Easy there, friend. Just take it easy.”

“Who, who are you?” Lulamoon stammers. “What’s happening? Where are the guards?”

“Servir avec honneur. We’re with Lady Posey.”

“Griffins. The Griffins, I-”

“Where are the others?”

“I-I don’t know.”

A shell fell close and he held onto Marble, shielding his face from the showering dirt.

“We need to get moving,” the pony said. “Hang onto my neck.”

“Marble. He’s-”

“It will be alright. We have him.”

Lulamoon became quiet. It was a lie, he thought, because Marble was dead already. He made sure he was dead. He held onto the pony, and he felt tears coming down his chin. They stung his eyes, and he held them shut.

They dropped him once before carrying him from the trench.

“You whore-son,” he said.

“I’m sorry, Vanner,” the pony said. “We won’t drop you again.”

Outside the post a great many of ponies were laid on the ground in the dark. He could hear the volley guns and the sounds of wings cutting through the clouds, and there were ponies shouting from all around him. Some of the wounded were noisy but most were quiet. The wind blew the leaves over them and the night was getting colder. Stretcher-bearers came in, and he placed onto one and put on a wagon. A mare, bearing the Rod, came over and spoke to him.

“Are you hurt badly?”

“I can’t see.”

“It’s not serious, I hope.” She brought a water-skin to Lulamoons lips. He drank deeply and nearly chocked when he became too eager.

“Easy now,” she said, pulling the water-skin from him.

The wagons was moving, and he felt his body rocking from side to side. The mare put bandages on his face and legs. She said there was so much dirt blown into the wound, and that he would need to be bubbled to prevent infection. There was some bleeding from his horn, but it was still intact. They would make their way to the hospital, and he would be taken care of.

“We’ve seen this sort of thing before. Once your in the hospital, we’ll have the chirurgeon look at your horn.”

“Thanks.”

“What’s your name?”

“Tristan.”

“It’s a lovely name. I’ve seen you about in the estate. They tell me you’re a Vanner.”

“Yes.”

“I’m Asturcon.”

“Seriously!”

“Yes, Asturcon. There were plenty of us who fought for Celestia when they attacked Bayard.”

“Griffins. They were shouting something about Griffins.”

“We’re being most careful of them,” she straightened up. The mare broke into voluble and perfect Bayari. “Have the physicians prepare a bubble. This one needs to have his horn checked.” She broke off, “I must do something about getting you to the chirurgeons. I’ll see that a message is sent to your regiment. We’ll be taking you back with us.”
She got off the wagon and stepping carefully as she and a stallion helped Lulamoon off the wagon. He saw a blanket being placed on him. There was a light ahead and he was being carried inside.

“Here is the Vanner from Perrichon’s regiment,” she said in Bayari.

“Lift him very carefully about the legs, and watch his head. Horns are very delicate. He is an honored servant of Their Most Holy Majesties, Celestia and Luna.”  They picked him up and took him inside. There a little noble approached and looked at them furious. He recognized Lulamoon and waved his hoof.

“Why’s this tinker here?”

“I have brought him in,” the mare said. “An honored servant of the Regal Sisters. He can be here until Lady Posey says otherwise.” She bent over Lulamoon. “With these injuries, you probably won’t be sent back anyway.” The mare stopped to go under the doorway and went out. A physician was removing Lulamoon’s bandages, dropping them in a clay pot. Lulamoon tried to open his eyes to see what was happening, but shut them again when the physician began to wipe his face with a soaked cloth. Now he was bandaging. Then the stretcher-bearers carried him away.

“I’ll take the Vanner,” one of the chirurgeons said. They liften Lulamoon onto the table. It was hard and cold. There were many strong smells, potions, herbs, and the sweet smell of blood. They took of his cloak and armor and the chirurgeon commenced dictating to an apprentice while he worked. “Multiple superficial wounds of the left and right hind and the left and right forehoof. Lacerations of the scalp and eye area, with possible fracture of the horn and skull. Injured in service to Their Most Holy Majesties. That’ll keep the timber-brains from accusing you of self-inflicted wounds,” he said. “What in Tartarus happened anyway? What are they doing out there? Red Heart please, bring me the yarrow paste. Thank you. I’ll clean this up a little and apply some paste to the wounds, and put on a bandage. You have a very sturdy horn.”

The apprentice, looking up from the  parchment asked: “What did this?”

The chirurgeon, “What hit you?”

Lulamoon, with bandaged eyes, “I don’t know. They were shouting something about Griffins.”

The chirurgeon placed something close to Lulamoon’s mouth. “Eat this.”

Lulamoon, biting into the smelly bar and chewing, “What is this?”

“A pain-killer,” he said bluntly. “Small fragments of your horn. Doesn’t look too serious. Now I’ll need to poke around to make sure it hasn’t cut too deeply. Does that sting? Good, that’s nothing to how it will feel later. The pain hasn’t started yet. The herbs I gave you should dull some of the pain; but it will still hurt plenty enough. How is your head?”

“Sweet Celestia!” said Lulamoon.

“Could have been much worse. If it had reached the meat, we’d have had to remove it completely, and that would have been painful. How does that feel?”

Sweat ran all over him.

“Sweet Celestia!” he said.

“Should be fine after a a few days. I’ll wrap you up and don’t bounce your head around.” He bandaged, his magic working very fast and the bandage coming taut and sure. “All right, that takes care of the horn. We’ll have somepony come and check your eyes, and get you to a nice warm bed. Servir avec honneur.”

“He’s a Vanner sir,” said the apprentice.

“And a soldier of Equestria and the Regal Sisters,” the chirurgeon said. “As worthy of honor as any Knight of the Realm.”

“It’s all right,” said Lulamoon. “Thank you very much.” The pain had started again, but it was bearable and for a while Lulamoon simply wanted to find sleep. There was another pony, and she wiped his eyes, and forced them open with her magic. All he could see were shapes and shadows, and the light of the candles were stronger than he liked them to be. Another pony came inside and he recognized the voice of the watch commander.

“I take it you’ve had a rough night,” he said. “I hope you’ll feel comfy. Lady Posey has insisted that our hospitals be open to both nobles and commoners. Though I’d hardly call you a commoner after all you’ve been through.”

“Wing Song, is she-”

“Still fighting probably. I wouldn’t worry about her. From what I’ve heard, she has more fire in her than before.”

“Is it true? Are the Griffins-”

“We have it under control. It’ll take more than a few flying rats to stop us.”

The bandage was pulled tightly over his eyes, and everything became dark, and he felt the stallions hoof on his shoulder. His body felt cold, and his head hurt so that it made him feel sick. After a while he was placed onto the stretcher and he heard and felt the light of the candles as he was carried to someplace more pleasant, and he felt his body being lifted and settled onto something soft and comfortable.

“Comment est-il?” the watch commander asked.

“Vivant. Mais je suis préoccupé par les dommages causés à ses yeux.”

The room was very warm, and cozy, and the bed was soft, but there was also a chill coming from a nearby window. It crept over Lulamoon, even as he drifted towards sleep. He struggled to stay awake and the night went on and he prayed silently, for anypony who would listen.