Legionnaire

by Cpl_Chaos

Rating: mature
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Rainbow Dash, Romance, Princess Luna, Original Character, Adventure, Princess Celestia, Sex, Human, Twilight Sparkle, Gore
Length: 54918

Equestria is teetering on the brink of war. Twilight Sparkle is sent in to try and salvage the situation. Along the way she meets an old friend, and together they try and save what they had as the world around them burns.

Princess Twilight Sparkle is very much in her infancy as a stateswoman. She's only been on the throne for three years, and she's still getting used to the responsibilities of being a royal, but Princess Celestia has other plans. Twilight Sparkle must travel to the Khanate, a conservative theocracy that is teetering on the brink of war. Now Twilight has to make a last ditch effort to prevent the continent from tearing itself apart.

However, royal duties fall by the wayside when she runs into an old friend in the most unlikely of places. As the world goes to hell in a hand-basket, two young women try and rekindle the spark of an ancient flame that had long been thought extinguished. The problem with flame is that it provides light, and in a country of shadows like the Khanate, certain people might not want that light to fall upon their plans.

Something is moving in the shadows of the Khanate. Someone else has a book of matches with which he plans to set the continent ablaze. How far will Twilight and Rainbow Dash go to prevent the world they love disappearing beneath a pall of smoke and ash.

Comments and Critiques are welcome.

Cover art by the fantastically amazing Bunnish.
Other Illustrations by the equally amazing Marik Azemus
Proofread by the No less amazing Stygian359, The Discernist, SP Meta and Curified.

Approved for the Goodfic Bin.

Published 2013-06-13 02:40:02 UTC
Last updated 2014-06-16 19:00:14 UTC

Introit: The Foundations of Modern Equestria

Preface: In the year 1882, the Equestrian empire was an empire in name only, being more of a collection of semi-autonomous city states coming under the loose authority of the diarchy of the benevolent princesses Celestia and Luna, who reigned from the then-capital city of Canterlot. The two princesses were content to adopt a 'hands-off approach' to ruling their own domain. Whilst this created problems in its own right as various fiefdoms jostled for power, this approach generally worked. Occasionally the princesses would step in to mediate disputes or step upon a noble who had gotten too big for his boots, but in the main, life in Equestria continued as it had for hundreds of years beforehand. Everyone was content with striving to put food upon their tables and provide a life for their families.

A large portion of this stability was due to the princesses themselves. The princesses were wise rulers who were able to apply their innate gifts to best effect in the field of international diplomacy. Knowing you were sitting across the table from a pair of women who has been ruling a country since your grandparents walked the earth had a suitably cowing effect upon the diplomats of various nations who sought to demand things of Equestria. Given Equestria's abundant natural resources, pleasant climate and agreeable population, Equestria very rarely sought to meddle in the affairs of other nations, nor did it entertain extraterritorial ambitions beyond favorable trade agreements with the nations surrounding it.

By this point the wounds caused by the Third Equestrian Civil War during the 1640s, had apparently healed up and the two sibling rulers were on friendly terms once more. There were few causes for concern among the lesser royals either. Princess Mi-Amore Cadenza, at that point in her second century of life, had picked up quite a bit of experience in her own right. At that point she was the ruler of the Northern Provinces of Equestria, founding the infamous 'Second Crystal Empire' as it was then known. At this point in time, Princess Twilight Sparkle was still in her infancy as a stateswoman, however the coming events would greatly challenge her as we can see from her diary entries at this point.

Another reason the Equestrian Empire was able to become a major economic and military power on the continent was thanks to the Imperial Navy. Though Equestria had never had to deploy significant armed force against an enemy government since the Gryphonic Incursions of 1675, the Imperial Navy remained a competent and deadly force to any brigands or dictators who wished to add pieces of Equestria into their tin-pot empires. Any such dictators found their ambitions rather rapidly crushed beneath the jackbooted heel of the Imperial Navy, which only grew more lethal after Princess Luna took up her post as commander-in-chief of the Equestrian armed forces.

In summary, when 1882 dawned, there was no indication to anyone inside Equestria or outside of it; that this would be the year that things started to change. There is ongoing debate amongst many scholars about whether the change was for better or for worse. Like all large changes however, it was to be lubricated with blood. The catalyst for war began to burn in January 1882, starting with the failure of the ill-fated Lunar Entreaty.

Relations between the Khanate and Equestria had been simmering ever since the Golden Prosperity Initiative (GPI) of 1874, which involved a Khanate owned mining corporation setting up several illegal mining operations in Equestrian territory. The Imperial Navy responded by evicting the miners and their families by force in June of the following year. In the aftermath, the fact emerged that the GPI had been set up by the Khanate’s Foreign Affairs Ministry to fund these illegal mining operations. The so called ‘Cat-cables’ provided damning evidence of Khanate involvement. Once these telegrams reached the public eye, the Equestrian public was outraged and demanded retribution.

The Princesses responded by imposing sanctions and confiscating ten miles of territory from the Khanate in reparations. As the Khanate was embroiled in internal strife in the aftermath of the Shah seizing power, the Khanate were unable to take action against the Equestrian incursion. By the time the Khanate had finished with their civil war, the Equestrian hold on the territories was consolidated. This invasion naturally soured relations between the two major continental superpowers. The Khanate response was long in coming, but when the response came, it hit hard.

Max Bayeux. The Foundations of Modern Equestria.

Chapter One: Insurgent

January, 1882. Canterlot 0320.

Iron grey clouds hang sullenly over Canterlot, hiding the stars from view. The bashful moon hides behind a blanket of cloud, casting only a dim glow upon the spires of Canterlot castle as a vicious scything rain sweeps through the broad streets, slashing down upon the shoulders of the buildings which huddle together for warmth. Banners snap and furl in the brutal night wind, the bright fabrics dimmed by darkness and rain. Torches gutter furtively in the darkness and ruddy light spills from misty windows, peals of laughter drifting upon the breeze as families shut themselves against the night and all the terrors that it brings. Meanwhile Night-Guardsmen in their royal blue tunics and jackboots curse and tighten their greatcoats against the bitter chill as they patrol through the city, rifles loosely clasped in hands or slung over shoulders. Drunks stagger and shamble up streets, and beggars and whores slowly move out into the street, using the shelter of the moon to ply their illicit trades as the Night Guard work tirelessly to catch them in the oldest of contests.

Even during the night, there is still life in the city of Canterlot. High above the city, several warships of the Imperial Navy traverse the heavens, rain glittering off their cigar-shaped balloons as the warships drift like shadows across the inky sky. The citizens of Canterlot are accustomed to the sight of the golden warships of the Imperial Navy flying high overhead, the soft rumble of their drives softened almost into melody by the altitude. Dripping flags hang from their cannon barrels, and aboard each airship, cloud-men are wandering the decks wrapped in oilskins and leathers, securing lines and checking gun-ports.

Anyone looking up on this particular night however would have noticed something distinctly odd about the airships overhead. Normally there would be ten, the battleship HMS Achilles and her support ships, the flotilla that regularly polices Canterlot's skyways. Tonight there are eleven, and one is drifting out of the normal patrol pattern. That one is heading straight towards Canterlot castle, and it does not have the distinctive golden outer plating of the Imperial Navy. Instead the airship is plated with the jet black and silver armor plating of the smaller but no less professional Lunar Guard, the  organization built around the security of Princess Luna and her entourage. Bullet holes are punched into the side of the ship, and one of the engines putters loudly, belching smoke.

Upon the fore-deck of the Eclipse class destroyer Zam-Tarkaz, a woman is standing out on the viewing deck, staring out at the looming spectacle of Canterlot Castle. Lights flicker like stars within the citadel as the signallers flash bursts of light between the ship and the receiving gantries of the castle. Even the long cigar-shaped balloon over her head offers no protection from the sheets of rain that hammer down upon the city below, and the women's royal blue tunic is soaked through, despite the best efforts of the jet black cloak she is wearing. Her steel mask is likewise streaked with water, as is the onyx crown she wears upon her head. The Princess' shoulder length midnight blue hair glitters like starlight, flowing languidly as though it is caught in a slow invisible current in spite of the strength of the gusting wind. She taps her foot impatiently upon the deck, trying to tell herself it is merely impatience as the wind whips at her cloak. Her uniform is spattered with tiny speckles of scarlet that won't come out.

Her visit to the Khanate has proven rather less successful than she would have hoped. The Khanate's ambassador hadn't even wanted to speak to her, instead fobbing her off to several junior level diplomats who were all too terrified to talk to her about anything of substance, not least the behavior of the guards on the border between the Khanate and the Empire, who had been turning Equestrian cargo airships and trade caravans at the border in one of the periodic protests at the Imperial invasion of their territory several years ago. However Luna could not help but get the feeling that something more worrying was going on this time. More soldiers were out on the streets of the Khanate than usual and the Crows, or the black robed Ministry of Internal Order troops, were certainly making their presence known. All of this pointed, in Luna's opinion, towards internal issues within the Khanate.  A well organized and well armed mob bursting through the gates of the Equestrian Embassy hadn't helped the discussions a great deal.

Princess Luna is distracted from her sour musings by the sound of footsteps on the deck behind her and she turns to see the captain of the Zam-Tarkaz appear behind her, his face grim.

“Ma'am.” He says softly, not bothering to salute. Whilst other regals, her dear sister among them, are sticklers for protocol and being bowed to, Princess Luna is not. Bowing and scraping wastes time that could be used for more important matters, and thus her Lunar Guard is far more relaxed than the golden armored crimson robed Solar Guard who protect Princesses Celestia and Cadence, but Luna maintains that her guards are no less professional for their lack of bowing and scraping.

“We will be making landfall in five minutes ma'am, we have doctors on standby at the landing gantries for the wounded.” He says crisply, unfazed by the blank sheet of steel that covers Princess Luna's face. Luna politely nods in reply, glad that said steel mask keeps her relieved smile from showing. She knows she shouldn't feel guilty about the wounded or dead, that they were lucky that her destroyer's guns and the Legion were able to hold the embassy until the staff had been evacuated, otherwise it would have been far worse. However it's rather difficult not to feel guilty about these things when you consider the riot would not have happened if she hadn't been there in the first place. Luna knows that should have, would have and could have are not good human traits to be emulating. That being said, it's one thing on an intellectual level, but it is a far more personal affair to see eighty stretchers arranged along a corridor in the bowels of the destroyer. The knowledge that she is responsible for those stretchers being there is weighing heavily upon her mind.

“Do you have any messages for your sister before we dock?” He asks and Luna shakes her head. She can't really pass the messages she has through any medium less secure than direct face to face communication, and long range flashy light signals are apt to get the message wrong at the best of times. This message needs to be transmitted as accurately as possible. Whilst this message is urgent, it is nothing that will not wait until breakfast-time tomorrow morning. Or rather, nothing can be done until breakfast-time tomorrow morning.

Luna knows she could just be having a paranoid moment. Accusations of her jumping at shadows are fairly common, especially from the courtiers and members of the Equestrian Parliamentary houses, both bodies which have held little love for Luna since her return from exile three years ago, and recent events have thus far supported her detractors. Luna sighed bitterly, remembering the good old days when she and Celestia were roaming the wild-lands as professional swordswomen, slaying dragons for fun and profit, jousting, drinking and fighting. Now she does her jousting with a quill-pen and the only dragons she can slay are the Ministry of the Treasury and the Ministry of Defence, both of which are more hydra than dragon. What happened today should shake them. Equestrian soldiers have been fired upon today in a foreign nation for the first time in several hundred years. What makes it worse is that Equestrian soldiers are among the wounded and dead from the encounter. There will need to be a reckoning for this, Luna is certain of that.

The Captain clears his throat firmly.

“So what will you tell her?” He asks and Luna grimaces beneath her mask as she turns back towards the castle.

“That it could have gone better.” She replies quietly and they both share a grim chuckle.

“That's an understatement ma'am,” He replies. “The Legion doesn't appreciate being called upon for what we needed them to do today. Would you like me to pass on your regards?” he asks and she shakes her head.

“I think not, I will do it myself sometime in the near future.” Luna contemplates something for a moment, tapping her foot a little more rapidly.

“Maybe I should present a few medals?” The Night-Princess suggests after a second of thought. Luna has not been in Equestria for a thousand years up until three years ago. The creation of the Légion Étrangère was something she missed during her exile, and thus she doesn't know a lot about them. She didn’t even know they existed until this trip. However when her captain snickers and shakes his head, Luna has a nasty feeling she's said something she shouldn’t have.

“No ma'am, you can't eat medals.” he says grimly and Luna nods, lowering her head quietly as she remembers the pop pop of rounds whizzing overhead and the crack and rattle of Legionnaire rifles. It's been a very long time since she's been in combat, and whilst rifles themselves are not exactly unheard of technology, they still make her feel more than a little queasy when she’s on the receiving end.

It seems to be a far cry from the days that she charged the enemy, sword in hand and steel in her gut. Now, determination matters not a whit and courage doesn't matter either. Charging blindly will get you shot down before you can take five steps. This is not the first time Luna wonders if she's getting a little too old for this game, however she knows the answer to that question.

“Right, thank you captain, I'll see if I can do something for them.” She says quietly as the Zam-Tarkaz docks up.

One thing sticks in her mind as umbilical cords are hurled from ship to shore. The Rainbow haired woman who had helped to secure the gates of the Equestrian Embassy against the rioting mob, and later helped hustle Princess Luna onto the skiff in the back garden of the Embassy sticks in her mind. Luna isn't quite able to forget the  courage of that woman, despite the thoughts whirling through her mind. She's seen her before somewhere, she's sure of it. Luna never found out what became of her...

Luna disembarks quickly. It has been a long day and she's very tired, however there is a long list of things she needs to see to before her bedchamber can be prepared. However as she sweeps across the gantry and into the castle itself, she realizes that those things can wait. Princess Celestia is standing in the doorway waiting for her, wrapped in a thick pink dressing robe. Princess Celestia is a tall woman, much taller than Luna and even taller than her own guardsmen. Her face is also un-concealed, unlike Luna's. Her normally immaculately kept hair that shimmers in soft pinks, blues and greens and billows much in the same way as Luna's own hair does, is hanging limp and ragged down her back, the lifeless pink hair tangled. Her normally warm and welcoming eyes are cold and hard and her mouth is set into a firm line. In her hand is a mug of still steaming coffee so thick that the spoon practically stands in the mug.  The God-Empress of half the continent is not in a good mood.

"Follow me sister." The Empress' voice brooks no argument. Whilst everyone talks about Celestia and Luna holding joint authority, Luna knows who is truly behind the reins.

Chapter One: Insurgent (Cont)

‘To say I was startled by the rather abrupt turn of events was an understatement. Even I had heard very little about the Khanate. My studies at the time were largely concerned with Zebrica, with whom we maintained a cordial relationship and whence I would be dispatched on occasion to stand in for Celestia at this occasion or that function. However it was to our eastern borders that we now looked, and it was to the Khanate that I was dispatched to try and salvage what we could from the situation. I look back and wonder how I ever could have been so naive to think the situation was salvageable, given who the Sisters sent.’

-Memoirs of Princess Twilight Sparkle.

Celestia sighs softly, clicking her fingers as she strides into her well furnished study. Her face is set and her eyes narrowed. Her lips are set into a thin line and those normally warm and welcoming eyes are flinty and slit-like.

Luna gulps nervously as she glances around the room, the rich thick, crimson and gold carpet offering little comfort under her sister’s implacable gaze. Celestia gestures dispassionately towards the chair on the other side of her desk and Luna sits down nervously, her eyes flickering around the room. She is rather glad for the steel mask that she could see out of, but no one could see into. It means she doesn’t have to look her dear sister in the face, preferring to look anywhere else.

However, no words of wisdom are forthcoming from the plush chintz couch in the corner, nor do nuggets of understanding leap like glowing embers from the roaring fireplace, and the fat white cat is no help at all, preferring to yawn and then curl itself back into peaceful slumber.

“Tell me, from the top, what happened?” Celestia asks, her voice cool and dispassionate.

Luna takes a deep breath to steel herself. She hates reporting to her sister about her failures, in the same way every junior officer hates reporting her mistakes to her superior, and there is no doubt that Celestia is Luna's superior. A civil war had been fought to prove that point over a thousand years ago after all.  However, it is more than just that. Prior to this excursion, Luna had been champing at the bit to get out and get her teeth into something more challenging than dealing with the Ministry of Defence. As a result, Celestia had, after much badgering, consented to send her to look into the situation with the Khanate. As Luna was the supreme commander of the armed forces, she was ideally placed. Or so she had thought. Now, eighty men are wounded. The death toll is currently unknown.

Luna takes a deep, shuddering breath, summoning the words and the courage to speak them.

“They wouldn't speak to me,” she said at last, shivering slightly. “The senior ambassador wouldn't even see me... They palmed me off on junior diplomats for the first few days and nothing got done.”

Celestia nods slowly, obviously thinking about something. “I see... so how do we get from that to a riot at the gates of the Equestrian Embassy?” she asks, her tone still calm and conversational as if she was asking Luna's opinion on the merits of a particular flavour of jam. Luna grimaces like she’s just been punched.

“Do not play games with me sister,” Celestia says, her tone hardening. “I have just been awoken to the news that Equestrian soldiers have been in combat overseas for the first time in nearly two hundred years, and I have sixty-eight men in my infirmary who were not there before you landed.”

“There was a riot,” Luna says at last, the words spilling from her mouth. “The protesters were angry about what they called ‘Equestrian interference’ in their affairs, not to mention those two provinces you took off them a while back. They started shooting at the embassy and our soldiers shot back, then someone blew the gates off and the mob surged in. We beat a fighting retreat to the back garden, evacuating staff as we went.”

“Please, please tell me you weren't involved,” Celestia whispers, the words being more of an invocation than a question.

“No sister... I was evacuating diplomats and co-ordinating fire for the destroyer.”

“Phew you-WHAT?” Celestia's face drains of color. “You mean the Zam-Tarkaz was actually firing into a crowd?” Her tone is positively horrified, her pupils shrinking to pinpricks.

“If we hadn't, the embassy would have been overrun and everyone inside, myself included, would have been slaughtered.” Luna counters and Celestia raises a pencil-thin eyebrow at the words, before closing her eyes for a moment, deep in thought.

“An Equestrian Embassy is Equestrian soil,” Celestia says after a heart stopping moment, lifting her head to look Luna directly in the face. “If the mob broke into the embassy and you needed to engage them with the destroyer's cannon-”

“Not cannon, small-arms and light ordinance only,” Luna explains, “the destroyer's cannon would have shredded the crowd into mist, but it would also have damaged the Embassy building.”

“Well, that is something at least,” Celestia replies, rising quickly to her feet and heading over to the fire.

Luna watches her sister gaze into the fire for the longest time, the firelight silhouetting the God-Princess' form. “Sister-”

“Don't,” Celestia cuts her fellow Princess off. “I need to think about how I can fix this mess you've made.”

Luna's mouth opens to retort. “Sister, you're being unfair, I had no option but to do what I did, otherwise we would have been completely overwhelmed!”

Celestia does not respond for a moment, merely staring into the fire. Luna watches, transfixed, awed, and afraid that she may have stepped over the line. After a moment Celestia shakes her head.

“Sister, I sent you to the Khanate to try and stabilize the situation on the border. That has not happened,” she says firmly. “Instead, there was a riot in my Embassy and sixty-eight men are now in my infirmary.”

“Sixty-eight?” Luna asks, nervously. Eighty men had been carried out of the Embassy, many of them Legionnaires who had defended the place.

“Twelve have died of their injuries whilst in my care,” Celestia says grimly. “Look, Luna, you're my sister and I love you,” she says, the implacable mask of Celestia the stateswoman falling, to be replaced by Celestia, the concerned sister.

“I always will but this could start a war,” Celestia says at last, her tone weary.

“It's my fault as much as it is yours,” Celestia continues. “I sent the supreme commander of all my armed forces to a diplomatic summit, and people got the wrong impression... but you've put me in a very difficult position here.” Celestia steps away from the fire for a moment, walking over to the window and gazing out of the rain spattered window at the twinkling points of light outside. “Tomorrow our own angry mobs will be calling for all out war, and I'll be hard pressed not to give them one.”

She turns to Luna, her expression set into the mask of Princess Celestia once more. “I want to know more about the circumstances surrounding this incident. Can you please tell me about the situation on the streets before the riot?” Celestia asks quietly, her gaze locked upon her sibling.

Luna gazes out of the window, remembering the hate drenched streets of the Khanate's capital of Tarhen. The black Crows stalking the streets, the brightly coloured murals depicting martyrs of the Faith or scenes from the Scriptures. She can remember clear as day the females being beaten for not wearing their head scarves properly. Also, she can clearly remember the tension hanging in the atmosphere so thick that you could spread it on toast. She shivers, as if against a stiff breeze snapping at her skin, before returning her attention to Princess Celestia.

“Not good, the place was a powder keg before we came in, and it'll only have grown worse since we left.” she says and Celestia nods, obviously coming to a decision.

“Right,” Celestia says. “Sister, I'm going to ask you this as head of my military: Have you planned for a war against the Khanate?”

“Yes sister, hence, why I felt like I needed to go on this diplomatic trip. The figures were not encouraging,” Luna replies grimly.

“How not encouraging are we talking?” Celestia asks as she snaps her fingers and a map appears on the wall above the fireplace.

Luna clicks her own fingers and pins appear on the map, red and blue pins representing various units. “We'd be looking at up to fifty percent casualties across the Equestrian armed forces over the course of a victorious campaign that ended in two months. The Khans might be barbarians, but they are well armed barbarians. However those figures did not account for your shock troops, the Legionnaires.”

“Right,” Celestia says. “Fifty percent, that's up to ten million men.” Her gaze flicks to the sceptre upon the mantelpiece where the seal of Equestria is engraved, along with its motto: “Populi imperium tueri et defendere, aut ego me hoc honore nisi in sempiternum quemadmodum licere,” Celestia mutters under her breath, her tone reverent.

“To protect and serve my people I take upon myself this high office unto eternity, or until the people declare themselves free.” Luna replies softly, remembering the fateful day upon that muddy hill where she and Celestia had sworn to defend and rule the fledgeling nation of Equestria. Back then, Equestria consisted of half a valley and three little villages in the middle of nowhere. How times have changed.

“I would not be doing my duty as Empress if I did not explore every available option,” Celestia says at last, her tone containing a note of grim finality. “What you're telling me sounds like internal unrest, rather than sabre rattling. However, it does not take much for one to become the other,” she says grimly. “I didn't want to give them the opportunity to accuse us of sabre-rattling, but that option was taken away from me when that howling mob kicked in the door of the Equestrian Embassy.” Celestia sighs, placing a hand upon her mantelpiece.

“Luna... we have a substantial population of expatriates and Equestrian citizens in the Khanate,” Celestia turns to look at Luna, raising her fingers and ticking points off upon them. The God-Princess’ eyes are firm and her jaw is set. “The total number is about four hundred and fifty thousand civilians, and our first duty must be to those citizens. If there is going to be a war with the Khanate or a civil war within the Khanate, then I want our people out of there. I also want friendly relations with those who are running the show once the dust has settled. This is where you come in: I want you to deploy along the border and get formations into defensive positions, in case the old tigers try something daft. Also prepare your armies to make strikes across the border as appropriate. We may not start this war but we shall end it.”

Chapter Two: Per Ardua

Legio Patria Nostra- The Legion is our homeland

7th of January 1882

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

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

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

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

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

“So sorry to bother you ma'am,” he says. “Princesses Celestia and Luna have requested your presence forthwith in Princess Celestia's study. It is my understanding that Princess Luna is back from the Khanate with some rather worrying news.”

Twilight climbs to her feet, fluffing her wings as she slides her feet into her slippers.

“Do you know what's happened?” She asks, but Diplomatic Incident shakes his head.

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

At Twilight's inquisitive glance, he clears his throat and tosses her a meaningful glance.

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

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

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

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

The two guardsmen clank to attention as Twilight draws closer, her gaze fixed upon the two colossal guardsmen. Even after spending most of her life in the palace, the two guardsmen outside the Princesses' chambers are still very intimidating. Twilight gathers herself and strides up to the door, knocking twice. Even if the guards cannot deny her entry, Twilight learned very early on during her tenure as a princess that it was polite to knock in case Celestia was in the midst of a private audience with someone important, someone who might wish the audience to be kept private.

A moment later, Celestia's voice drifts from within, soft and gentle as ever.

“Come in Twilight, bring Mr. Incident with you.”

The heavy dark wooden doors open and Diplomatic Incident glances at Twilight, looking impressed, almost reverent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, Princess Twilight,” Princess Luna asks after a couple of moments. “How much do you know about the Khanate?”

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

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

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

“The pleasure is all yours,” Luna says, turning to Celestia.

“Why exactly do we have a bean-counter here with us?” The Night Princess tilts her head slightly, her steely grey mask hiding her confused expression.  In response, Princess Celestia’s smile broadens as she taps her nose softly with two fingers.

“I brought a bean counter here in case we have beans which need counting sister,” she says cryptically. “Diplomatic Incident will be accompanying Twilight on this mission as her assistant.”

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

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

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

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

“Right,” Luna says quietly, seeming to shrink very slightly under Twilight’s gaze. “Yesterday, there was a riot at the Equestrian Embassy in the Khanate, an angry mob-” Luna hesitates for a moment before clearing her throat and continuing “They broke the gates down and managed to force their way in, we had to evacuate the embassy.”

As she speaks, the memories wash over the Lunar Princess like a tide of bile.

________

The heat is brutal, even in the garden that is walled in on all four sides, despite the enchantment that keeps the grass and trees green, it doesn't extend to keeping those in the garden cool. It is worse for me in my steel mask and heavy woollen uniform. Celestia might wear her flowing dresses and jewelry, but I will keep myself dressed as befits a woman of my station. I am a soldier, so I shall wear my uniform, and I shall like it. However, there is no reason my guardsmen should have to suffer, and thus they are wearing lightweight working dress with webbing and valise rather than the full plate armour which would surely render all four of them insensible from heat exhaustion.

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

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

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

I decide this farce has gone on for long enough and clear my throat loudly.

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

I look her up and down, slowly circling her like an RSM on inspection.

“Name?”

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

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

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

“Show me your weapon, Caporal.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right, we'll get out by means of the airship. We need to get everyone formed up on the landing pad to leave, and we'll get this Legion to cover us, whoever they are.”

With that, the chaotic evacuation of the Embassy begins, under the guns and sticks of the angry mob. I unfold my wings and fly up to the roof to coordinate the defense, and it's there that I find this Bolt character laying down fire from the rooftop, roof tiles exploding all around her. I land upon the roof next to her, my guards following me.

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

“Are you enjoying sampling the night air round these parts?” She asks, working the bolt of her rifle back and forth once more.

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

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

“Be this jest?” I whisper and Bolt glances at me, and for the first time I notice she doesn't look too happy about this.

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

More roof tiles explode into crimson dust around us as my guardsmen take up positions along the wall and open fire with their own carbines. Rounds sing over our heads, the thick stench of cordite fills the air as the blocking detachment lays into the rioting cats with the vigor of desperate men. They know as well as we do that they are the only thing between Equestria and a major diplomatic incident, if not a war.

We all watch with bated breath, hoping and praying that the blocking detachment can hold. I don't want to see a massacre, not today, not on Equestrian soil, not by people who purport to be Equestrian troops.

Suddenly the inevitable happens.

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

The mob surges forward, overwhelming the blocking detachment before they can plug the gap.

“LEGIONNAIRES, TAKE AIM!” A voice roars from within the embassy.

Ninety rifles are brought up to the shoulder.

“LEGIONNAIRES, MAKE READY!”

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

“LEGIONNAIRES WATCH AND SHOOT, WATCH AND-”

“HOLD FIRE!” My Canterlot voice thunders across the courtyard, and I hear confusion from the Legionnaires around me and throughout the building. The crowd pauses, seeing rifles aimed at them from every window and a heavy, pregnant silence hangs upon the scene. I can feel eyes upon me as I rise to my feet, standing upon the mantle of the roof and looking down upon the swelling mass that is slowly forcing its way through the gates; however the ones in front are struck motionless, staring up at me.

Behind me, I can hear the growl of the destroyer's engines as it draws closer, the drone of those huge engines filling the air. The crowd below are muttering nervously, and I can see the Legionnaires are still holding their positions, weapons raised and in the aim. However, no one's shooting at anyone yet. Maybe we might be able to make this work.

I watch the crowd for a moment, who are staring up at me expectantly, and I feel my mouth become dry beneath my mask. Celestia is the one who does public oratory, not me. I've never been one for public speaking, especially not after my exile. I like to be appreciated, don't get me wrong, I just hate public speaking. I open my mouth to speak, but then one of the cats below opens his mouth first, his ears back, and his bright yellow eyes narrowed in hate.

“There's the Arch-Demon's sister, KILL HER!” he bellows, reaching into his jacket, only to dissolve into pink mist, the crack of rifle fire filling the square as my guards shoot him down.

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

Adrenaline pulses through me even as gunshots fill the air around me, the whizzing sound of bullets ripping past me like the buzzing of thousands of angry bees.

“Legionnaires, clear out the Embassy and regroup on the landing pad!” I hear orders being bellowed, followed by another one that sinks dread into my very soul.

“FIX BAYONETS!”

Bolt leaps into the sky, and I watch the woman drop down into the garden even as Legionnaires are hustling diplomats out, fighting back the angry cats that are even now storming the Embassy. I leap skywards, my bodyguard following me.

I feel wretched to my very core even as gunshots echo around me as the Legionnaires fight for their lives. Screams ring out around me as we fly back to the Embassy's rear garden to the raised dais at the very back of the garden. The platform, that is usually used for giving speeches, is now playing unwilling host to a pair of skiffs, the destroyer watching from overhead, its guns still silent. The scene is total utter chaos as diplomats and hired help struggle to get onto the small launches, the sounds of fighting drawing closer...

Luna's voice trails off and Twilight tilts her head quizzically.

"Forgive me sister, what happened next, I do not wish to speak of it," she says. Twilight realizes the Lunar Princess's voice is rather thick beneath that steel mask.

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

A bitter taste fills Twilight's mouth and her hands start to shake. She clears her throat as fear starts to tighten its icy grip around her guts.

"And what of the Legionnaire with the multi-coloured hair?"  Her voice is nervous and tentative, almost begging Luna to allay her fears. Luna's head drops slightly, and she shakes her head, bringing a hobnailed jackboot sharply down upon Twilight's hopes.

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

Chapter Three: Dulce Et Decorum Est, Pro Patrio Mori

Chapter Three: Dulce Decorum Est, Pro Patrio Mori

Twilight rises to her feet sharply, startling Luna and Celestia both. Celestia opens her mouth to say something, but Twilight is already crossing the space between the couch and the door, moving as fast as she dares without running. She yanks the door open and stalks down the corridors, dashing tears away as the door to the Princess' study slams behind her.

She will not cry.

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

One of whom has now been taken forever from her.

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

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

There isn't much to think about.

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

Dead.

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

Dead.

Twilight's grim musings take her through the library, sweeping like a shadow through her childhood refuge and up to the astronomy tower, the highest tower in Canterlot. From up here, she can see the whole city spread out before her, automobiles rolling back and forth like tiny beetles wending their way through the legs of huge cargo loaders that thunder loudly hither and thither. Cargo airships slowly cruise through the sky-lanes, their progress guided by tiny skiffs that twist and dance like pilot fish in the breeze, the light flashing off their solar sails like the sun glittering off motes of dust hanging in the sky. The buildings glitter thanks to the rain of the night.

The hustle and bustle of the trading city drifts over Twilight, a soothing blanket of normalcy whispering over her skin, seeking to comfort or smother her. To Twilight, it is utterly incongruous that the city is at peace when on the frontiers of the empire, soldiers are moving into fire positions, and heavy guns are being loaded onto trains and airships.

Rainbow Dash is dead.

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

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

The resulting media feeding frenzy had locked the castle down for two whole weeks, Twilight had been dragged before Princess Celestia, who had been understanding but nonetheless critical of Twilight's 'selection of partners'. Twilight had argued and fought her princess, begged and pleaded, but Celestia had held firm on this point. The Diarchy, or Triarchy as it had become, could not afford to waste a princess of Twilight's standing on a simple display team pilot, or at least that was Twilight's understanding of Celestia's lecture.

Two weeks later, she had mustered the courage to fly down to Rainbow Dash's cloud home to let her know that it was over. However, she found that Rainbow Dash had disappeared without a trace. That was two years ago, and Twilight has not seen hide nor hair of Rainbow Dash since. She had assumed that Rainbow Dash had gone travelling or transferred to the Wonderbolts' active duty roster, and she had not made any further effort to find Dash at Celestia's explicit command.

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

A voice punches through Twilight's thoughts, and she turns to see Princess Celestia gazing down at her, those bright pink eyes unreadable, that immortal face unyielding.

"Twilight," Celestia says quietly, walking over to the younger Princess, sitting down upon the balustrade of the balcony, her wings silently unfurling as her hair billows slowly in the sunlight, her face expressionless as she looks down at the younger princess, before reaching out and gently drawing Twilight's chin up until the junior princess is looking her mentor in the eye.

"What you did today was not intelligent, you do not walk out of a situation briefing, no matter how hard it is to hear what is said," Celestia's voice hardens. "Not only do you miss important information, but you run the risk of offending foreign dignitaries or upsetting generals. You are a Princess of Equestria, and I expect you to comport yourself as such."

Twilight's eyes snap closed as tears course down her cheeks in silent trails of silver.

"I'm sorry Princess; I heard about Arc Bolt, and I thought she could be-" she trails off, unwilling to vocalize the sentiment as her voice catches.

"Yes, you logically assumed she would be Rainbow Dash... There are no words I can say that will make it hurt any less, it is always painful when one loses a friend." Here, Celestia's expression becomes a little warmer, and she places her hand upon Twilight's shoulder. "I wish I could make this easier for you Twilight, but I have a job for you."

"Yes, I remember you were mentioning something about that." Twilight replies and Celestia takes a deep breath, obviously steeling herself to deliver unpleasant news.

"I'm sending you to the Khanate to negotiate for us to try and patch things up about this misunderstanding, Luna believes they're heading for civil war, or war with us, and I want your assessment of the situation. I also want you to try and do what you can to calm the situation down, or at least ease relations with whoever’s in charge once the dust has settled." Celestia says softly.

Twilight's mouth drops open in shock, and she wonders for a second if her mentor is playing some kind of sick joke upon her. However, one look at Princess Celestia's grim expression tells her that this is not the case.

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

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

"This morning," Celestia continues sadly. "The Khanate's ambassador handed me a note telling me that they are displeased with our 'criminal intervention' on their soil and that he has been given leave to discuss all options when preparing a response." Celestia finishes, watching Twilight's face turn even paler as she speaks.

Twilight knows the euphemism all too well; it's a polite way to say that violence has not been ruled out as an extension of foreign policy. Twilight knows that those kind of threats are the sort of threats that you sit up and take notice of, especially when they start coming from the Khanate.

"How serious would you say they are?" She asks vainly, hoping against hope that this isn’t as severe as the whole thing sounds.

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

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

"Twilight, I will not be sending you upon this task alone, you shall be accompanied by Diplomatic Incident, and you will be guarded during your stay. When you get into Khanate territory, you will be going to the Légion d'étrangers’ operational headquarters for that region, they will provide any muscle you need."

"You think I'll need muscle?" she asks and Celestia nods once more.

"It is in our interests to appear strong Twilight, the Khanate’s population can be notoriously prickly, they respect power and so you shall come with power. It would also ease my nerves a little about throwing you to the lions like this." Here, Celestia actually looks regretful, her billowing hair slowing down to a gentle crawl and her radiance dimming slightly.

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

She has a lot to think about.

Chapter Four: Attack

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Twilight whistles appreciatively. “That's impressive, so what happens when you leave?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We've come under fire have we?” he asks, sounding nonchalant.

“No, we've just flown into an impromptu firework display you imbecile, get your head down!” The Legionnaire replies sarcastically and Diplomatic Incident shrugs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm good, down to my last twenty rounds Capo',” the Khan replies and the other male Legionnaire gestures.

“Down to fifty rounds here, Caporal-Chef! ” He snaps in reply, and the Caporal nods from her position by the pilot's seat and pulls out a box of ammunition.

“Distribute ammunition from the box, make sure you've all got full pouches in case they come back, but try and make it last since I don't have any more.”

“Yes Caporal-chef!” The two Legionnaires reply, falling upon the ammunition box and hungrily devouring it.

“Arc Bolt?” The words drop out of Twilight's lips in a horrified gasp.

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

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

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

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

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

Twilight sighs softly.

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

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

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

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

“You have never killed before, Princess?” the Khan asks curiously and she shakes her head, licking her dry lips with an equally dry tongue, drawing a raw rasping breath.

“I have never had a reason to, I have banished sky-beasts and other monsters but I wouldn't call any of that killing.”

“It gets easier,” Iriz replies. “Once you've killed once, you're over the line and so it's easier to keep going.”

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

A snide little voice in her mind whispers malevolently in her ear.

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

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

Chapter Five: Reunion

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

“Faisal, Faisal Ad-Sarif” The Legionnaire, Faisal, replies as he gazes out across the desert. “I've only been in the Legion for about a year or two now, it's... not like I imagined” A chuckle drifts out from behind his face-wrap. Faisal flicks his goggles up, to reveal two bright greenish-golden eyes with thin black slits for pupils.

“Much better” he sighs contentedly, and Twilight notes the other two Legionnaires throwing glances at each other and muttering softly.

“So Princess, as I was saying-”

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

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

“Welcome to The Pit, Princess, this is the home of the Second Regiment of the Legion d'etrangers.”

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

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

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

“Princess Sparkle, I was told to expect you.” He says, striding towards Twilight and bowing his head.

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

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

“Colonel Vasiliy Alexyvich Zaranov at your service.”

That explains that then.

Zaranov is a Val'.

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

Zaranov salutes her, and Twilight nervously lifts her hand to return the salute, nervously copying the way she saw her brother salute as an officer Cadet, and later as captain of the guard. The Val's smirk grows wider and he shakes his head slightly and she drops her hand.

“Good effort though ma'am,” he mutters, sounding good humoured. “Sometime I shall have to teach you to salute properly, but there are more serious matters to take care of today.”

He then gestures, turning to the arrayed soldiers before him.

“Soldiers of the Second Regiment, Legion D'Etrangers, I bring before you her Royal Highness, Princess Twilight Sparkle.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So what's the issue with the Field Marshal?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zaranov turns to look at Diplomatic Incident.

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

Diplomatic Incident shrugs, wiping his brow with a handkerchief.

“Diplomatic Incident at your service.”

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

“So they've given me a fat ghost as well. This is brilliant, just brilliant.”

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

Twelve hours later, after a day spent touring most of the fort, Twilight finds herself back where they began as the sun starts to go down. Twilight is exhausted, however there’s no stopping quite yet.

“Right Princess, before we turn in I need to issue you a weapon and make sure you know how to use one.” Twilight's mouth drops open and her hand goes down to the Luger stuffed into her belt. She pulls it out, feeling the weight of the weapon in her hands.

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

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

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

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

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

Twilight raises an eyebrow, unable to keep a smile from forming upon her face.

“Madam Locke is also our requisitions officer and quartermaster, she's in charge of issuing equipment and getting hold of various supplies for us.” Zaranov explains, before turning to Madam Locke. “Her highness will be requiring armament, see that she gets a good rifle, a shotgun and a decent pistol.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Twilight tilts her head

“Yes?” She asks, and Locke nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Locke glances at Zaranov, who nods quickly

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

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

Rainbow Dash is alive!

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

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

“Hey, Caporal!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Poking out from under the rainbow coloured fringe that flops down over her right eye is an eye-patch. Twilight's hands go to her mouth in horror.

“Rainbow Dash” She gasps “Ohmygod... what have they done to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Six: Reconciliations.

Rainbow Dash steps backwards, hands coming up, her eyes wide with shock as her brain catches up with what she's just said and done.

“Twilight, go, I'll cover you.” Diplomatic Incident says softly from the doorway, his mustache bristling, his face red with anger. Twilight silently rises to her feet and turns to walk away, her face pale as tears well up in her eyes as she heads for the door. Rainbow turns her head to watch Twilight leave.

“It's not-” Dash interjects

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apprehensively, Rainbow Dash sits down upon a desk, her CO taking a place opposite.

“You want a smoke?” he offers. She nods gratefully, taking the cigarette and sticking it between her teeth before taking the lighter and flicking it a few times until the cigarette lights.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes boss?”

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

____________________________________________________________________

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

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

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

God, what was I thinking when I said those things?' Twilight thinks bitterly to herself.

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

Twilight hears a knock upon the door and flinches, burying her face deeper into her pillow as if begging it to swallow her whole.

“Go away!” she sobs “I don't want to be disturbed right now!”

The door opens anyway and in walks Diplomatic Incident, dressed in a smoking jacket and tartan slippers, a gently smouldering pipe tucked under his bristling moustache.

“Twilight.” He says softly, walking over to her and sitting down on the bed next to her. “I don't quite know what to say, other than I will make a full report to the Princesses about-”

“No,” Twilight whispers “No, don't do that, please don't do that Diplomatic Incident.”

“She-” Diplomatic Incident starts to protest, but Twilight gestures for silence.

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

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

“Is there anything else you're worried about?” He asks, and Twilight nods shakily, her tear streaked face gazing up at Diplomatic Incident.

“I'm worried about everything! The mission, Rainbow Dash, Celestia, the war...” Words fail Twilight and she groans, her head dropping into her hands.

Diplomatic Incident sighs gently. “Well Twilight, when I'm stressed or worried I find it helps if I focus on what I can change right now, what I can influence in the immediate term, then what I can influence in the short term and everything after that point can sort of look after itself” He says gently, ruffling her hair.

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

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

“No time!” Twilight leaps out of bed like a princess possessed.

“I've got something I need to do, thank you for all your help Diplomatic Incident!” She calls, sliding her feet into  pair of pink bunny slippers that had been a joking Hearth's Warming Eve present from Celestia.

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

____

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

The noise a rifle makes when it is cocked and pointed at her is not a noise that Twilight will ever forget in a hurry.

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

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

“One more chance!” The sentry snaps, his finger tightening upon the trigger. Twilight takes a deep breath.

“Look, I'm just going to raise a little light, that should let you see who I am, is that acceptable?”

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

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

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

Even in the darkness, Twilight can see the twin yellow stripes of a Sergent on his uniform.

“Relax, I know who you are” the Sergent glowers at Twilight “Only a civ would wander round in a dressing gown and those slippers, that sort of leaves you and that fat person you came in with” He growls “Anyway, where are you going, your highness?”

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

“I'm closed!” Locke's crotchety voice calls from inside.

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

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

Twilight bites back the urge to say that the doing was on both sides.

“I'm here to apologize” She says quietly “I... I would like to speak to her it I may?”

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

“Princess Sparkle!” She gasps and Twilight sighs

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

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

“I came here to apolog-”

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

“You go-”

“After y-”

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

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

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

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

“You think so?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Seven: Change of Plans

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about the Embassy?”

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

Twilight raises an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

“I cannot go with you?” Twilight asks.

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

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

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

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

She is not given long to reflect however, ten minutes later there is another knock on the door and Twilight answers the door pistol in hand to find Rainbow Dash gazing down at the weapon.

“Well geez Twi, nice to know I’m appreciated, it would help if you turned the safety off first though.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Twilight’s eyes widen. She’d never thought about it like that before.

“So really Twi,” Rainbow continues “it's a case of them or you, had you killed them, worst case scenario is that a bunch of pirates have to find another airship... if they killed you it could have plunged the whole continent into war.”

Twilight licks dry lips with a dry toungue. That notion does make sense, if it is a little colder than she would have liked.

“Thanks.” She says and Rainbow Dash enfolds her in a one armed hug

“Any time Princess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

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

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

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

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

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

“Where are they going?” Twilight asks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Twilight lowers the rifle nervously.

“Uh, I don’t have any ammunition” She replies, turning to Rainbow Dash, who nods quickly, opening up her haversack and tossing Twilight a white box.

“Here you go, twenty five .303 rounds, should get you two and a half magazines.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She works the bolt again, bringing another round into the chamber.

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

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

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

When they break for a spot of lunch, a couple of hunks of dry bread and a couple of scraps of salted pork, Twilight explains her findings to Rainbow Dash, who chuckles and shakes her head.

“Yeah, when you’re shooting at targets it’s one things quite another shooting at other living things, but you’re not doing too bad Twi, considering this is the first time you’ve used one of these rifles ever.”

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

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

Twilight nods quietly, empathising with that spirit. Her sleep last night was plagued by dreams of burning airships and she has no doubt that such dreams will continue.

“Mhmm, does it make me a bad person that I agree?”

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

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

“Trust me Twi, the emotional baggage that comes with killing is something you can do without, as for innocent, maybe I should qualify that yeah? You certainly weren’t innocent last time we-”

Twilight blushes and playfully slaps Rainbow’s shoulder and Rainbow smirks, poking her side and the two chuckle for a moment, smiling at old memories.

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

Twilight’s blush deepens “Thank you Rainy.”

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

Chapter Eight: Complications (*)

Chapter Eight: Complications (*)

19th January 1882. 2300

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh sweet Celestiaaaaahhh ... that’s amazing” She whispers, lost in her fantasy.

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

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

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

One word crosses Twilight’s lips.

“Rainbow,” She gasps as she climaxes.

Her eyes slowly open a few seconds later. She doesn't want to move and her legs feel like jelly, in fact her whole body feels limp and unresponsive, twitching gently in absolute bliss.

“That.... that felt good... it’s been too long.” Twilight whispers after a moment to catch her breath. The scent of want is still heavy in the air, her body is still shivering gently from the aftershocks that still pulse their way up and down her body.

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

Chapter Ten: Masked Red

Chapter Ten:  The Masked Red

January 20th, 1882.  0500, Imperial Hotel, Tarhen.

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

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

Old scars for an old man.

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

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

Diplomatic Incident clears his throat softly and holds his hand out for the book, which the maid hands him, looking embarassed.

“Thank you” Diplomatic Incident says softly, speaking in Fars'ym, the dialect of the Khans. "Do you like to read?"

“Yes sir” She replies brightly “I have read all the books in the hotel library, or at least all the ones in the women’s section... They are dreadfully dull, if you will excuse my forthrightness sir."

Diplomatic Incident nods slowly, his eyes on her hands.  She seems to be very expressive with her gestures, which is rather odd for the normally stoic Khans. Her ears flick back and forth beneath her headscarf in a fasion that Diplomatic Incident has learnt to interpret as nervousness.

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

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

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

She takes the book from him, gazing at the brown cover in wonder.

"What is it about?" She asks quietly, flicking the book open.

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

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

"Milady of the tail." He says and she jumps, her hand going to her chest.

"You startled me sir." She squeaks and Diplomatic Incident chuckles.

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

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

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

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

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

Diplomatic Incident shrugs and makes his way down to the front desk, waving at the polite young receptionist before heading out into the shaded courtyard, and from there into the blazing heat of the Khanate proper. Diplomatic Incident cracks his knuckles softly, feeling the reassuring weight of the piece at his hip.

Time to see if you've still got your dancing shoes on, Old Chap.

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

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

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

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

What's the betting that you chaps were involved in the sacking of the Embassy? Diplomatic Incident asks himself.

The cats make their way down the street, the crowd parting for them. Those that do not move fast enough get swatted with a baton, or their legs get swept from under them. Diplomatic Incident continues walking. He's here under his own name, and he's known to the Khanate as a diplomatic attache. Any cat who wants to pick a fight with him, even a cat bristling with righteous zeal would have to be a moron to do so, especially with tensions being what they are between the Khanate and the Empire. The leader of the group has other ideas however. He raises his baton and points it at Diplomatic Incident and snaps out a sharp command in Equestrian.

"Stop!" He snaps and Diplomatic Incident slowly lowers his hand to his waist.

Guess they want to stop and have a chat, oh well, one must stop and greet the natives from time to time, maybe they want Princess Celestia's autograph. He thinks sullenly.

"Equestrian Spy!" The leader bellows and Diplomatic Incident struggles to keep from rolling his eyes.  Whilst the description is technically true, it’s not exactly accurate and it confirms these people as amateurs in Diplomatic Incident’s eyes.

Years ago perhaps, not anymore I think.

"Excuse me?" Diplomatic Incident asks, the very picture of righteous indignation. "I have no idea what on earth you are talking about sir, I happen to be attached to the Equestrian government as a diplomatic attache. You will find my paperwork in order."

The leader of the group stalks closer to Diplomatic Incident and grabs him, slamming Diplomatic Incident against the wall.

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

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

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

Diplomatic Incident drops to the ground, the zealot promptly steps upon his chest, driving the air out of Diplomatic Incident's lungs. The zealot then puts his stick to Diplomatic Incident's throat. Around him, Diplomatic Incident can hear the lower pitched growling of the zealot’s grubby little friends as the cat forces the air out of Diplomatic Incident’s lungs with a wheeze.

"Maybe we need to make ourselves understood clearly, perhaps this Equestrian spy needs his ears cleaned out?" He snaps, and his colleague kicks Diplomatic Incident in the side of the head, causing him to yell out in pain. However Diplomatic Incident can see reinforcements coming. Black trouser clad legs are moving through the throng and whistles are being blown, though the thugs are currently taking no notice of anything other than him, content to enjoy the show.

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

The zealot draws back his lips in a lethal snarl.

"Or what?"

Diplomatic Incident draws his pistol and draws the hammer back.

"Or else I will shoot you in the face, sir."

The zealot's eyes widen and his stick suddenly comes away from Diplomatic Incident's face. The two with En-Kar rifles raise them but they look rather uncomfortable holding the weapons designed for considerably longer arms, which suits Diplomatic Incident just fine.

"Now, since we have reached an amicable understanding- my dear fellow, do not menace me with that rifle, yes you do look very scary but it might help if you turned the safety off first." The Khan fumbles the rifle and very nearly drops it.

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

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

The thug looks flustered, as the whistles grow louder. Finally his friends are noticing the fact that their party is about to be gatecrashed.

"I'm glad we did!" The thug bellows, the threat of the pistol barely enough to keep him in line. "Your princess ran like a little bitch with her tail between her legs."

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

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

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

The thug stares up at the Val, who calmly snaps the leader’s staff with one hand as though it is little more than rotten driftwood. She then discards the staff and grabs the neck of the leader before he can leap away, her fingers closing around his neck.

"The rest of you may go, this one must stay and answer charges." Her voice brooks no argument. Her head is uncovered, in flagrant violation of the law, however Diplomatic Incident pities the first law enforcement official who tries to enforce that particular piece of legislation. Vals are willingly  bound by only one set of laws, their own.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zsaryna Adrelana snorts. "Developments Leonid? Things are as they always have been." She says sadly, turning and walking down the street, Diplomatic Incident following close behind.

"The tribes are all licking their wounds from last year's season and girding their loins for the killing that will happen this coming year. Vladmir-Illych is having words with the Elders of the Northern Alliance to see if there is a possibility of forming a compact, if there is then we shall have a bloc capable of maybe enforcing peace upon our nation for the first time." Diplomatic Incident notes Zsaryna's pessimistic tone and her sour expression.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good to see you remember.” She says, reaching out and squeezing his warm hand quickly in her cool grip before releasing, a quick clasp and nothing more. It is a chaste luxury afforded by the crowds around them, otherwise neither would have been so bold in public “I trust you will be here five weeks from now?” She asks gently, and Diplomatic Incident nods in reply.

“Of course, this visit doesn't have a definite endpoint.” Diplomatic Incident smiles up at the ambassador.

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

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

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

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

“What about your newspapers?”

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

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

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

Chapter Eleven: Detonation, In Which Things Explode

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

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

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

“And if they should ask what it is?”

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

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

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

Diplomatic Incident’s gaze flicks to a mirror as Zsaryna’s hand taps his twice.

“You see him?” He growls under his breath, and Zsaryna nods, her gaze flicking to a mirror where a Khan with grey fur and golden robes can be seen looking for a little too long in their direction whilst appearing to peruse a basket of fruit.

“He’s been following us since we left the Embassy… he’s from the Ministry of Truth.” She says softly and Diplomatic Incident nods.

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

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

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

It certainly beats a cottage in the country as far as retirement plans go.

“So you’re telling me these friends of yours want to meet here?” He asks and Zsaryna nods

“It’s their base of operations.” Zsaryna says softly “But we can’t meet them with him tailing us, it’ll-”

Diplomatic Incident suddenly grips Zsaryna’s hand tightly as he hears a sudden muffled boom ring out, a sharp thunderclap… on a clear and sunny day. Diplomatic Incident stiffens even as it is answered by a second explosion, this one much closer. Diplomatic Incident can feel the ground vibrate beneath his feet as a third explosion rends the air, this one even closer than the last two. He wants to run, wants to jump underneath something solid and curl up there until the explosions have passed.

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

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

Diplomatic Incident blinks, coughing and spluttering as he tries to see clearly, tries to clear his head. Pain flows through him, pulsing waves of fire dance across his vision. As his ears clear, he can hear the thunder of booted feet running towards him. A cool hand reaches under his armpit and pulls him to standing and a familiar female voice is speaking

“-Come on, we need to go!” The voice calls and Diplomatic Incident staggers with the female. He can hear the boots drawing nearer. Diplomatic Incident shakes his head again to try and clear the grogginess that fogs his mind, however it doesn’t seem to work and his world just spins all the faster.

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

___

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

It is with deepest regret that I must come before this parliament and ask-

“No, that is too submissive.” Celestia mutters to herself, balling the paper up and tossing it at the waste paper basket across the room. This declaration has to be handled with tact and sensetivity, it also has to be firm and forceful yet at the same time it has to sound like a last resort. However it must not be too submissive, else her own people might doubt the prowess and skill of her armed forces, which Celestia does not doubt, not since she put her sister in charge.

Due to the turbulent situation abroad, I must come before this parliament and request the activation of the Emergency Provisions of 1822.

There, suitably brief and to the point whilst at the same time it’s not going to get any Khan tails in a knot, any more than they already are at least. Celestia finds that image, the image of Salim Khesh-Raman, the Khanate’s ambassador to Equestria, with his bushy bottlebrush tail tied in a knot rather amusing. However such thoughts are suddenly rudely curtailed by a knock on the door.

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

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

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

Celestia reads the message a second time, and then a third, trying to make sure she hasn’t misread the message. Questions bloom forth from her mind like weeds. How exactly Diplomatic Incident can have been arrested as a spy when he was travelling openly as an Equestrian envoy? How can he be fingered as a spy if he was caught in an attack? A whirlwind of questions rise in Princess Celestia’s mind, questions that have no answers.

However one question is foremost in Princess Celestia’s mind.

Is My Faithful Student alright? Has Twilight been caught in this? Am I going to have another death on my conscience because I assumed she was ready?

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

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

“Yes Ma’am, it was sent from the Valorossiyan embassy in Tarhen.”

“Good, send this reply-”

To the honored ambassador Zsaryna Adrelana.

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

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

With Regards

HRH Princess Celestia.

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

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

Sister,

things have taken a rather strange turn here. Cease your visit to HMS Armifer, return to Canterlot and make your troops ready for war - quietly please!!

War isn’t certain but it’s closer at hand now than it was this time yesterday.

Use your best judgement.

Celestia.

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

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

Chapter Twelve: Twist in the tail.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Praise be to Her.” Aznan says softly. “Now, to business... Our colleagues in Equestria have come up with some rather good news.The Twin Demons have stepped up mobilization in response to the lesser Demon's ejection. That was masterfully done, by the way.” He gestures to Zafwan, who smiles faintly, however, one of the suited businessmen clears his throat, his whiskers vibrating angrily.

“It was foolish General, we provoked the wrath of a Princess of Equestria. Do you know what The Unholy are capable of with their backs to the wall?”

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

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

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

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

“Well tell me then, if you merely cut off the head of the weed, will it not grow back?” Aznan asks gently, and the businessman nods slowly.

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

The businessman nods quietly, taking his seat once more. As he does, however, another voice fills the air.

“Tell me, general, are you aware of Princess Twilight Sparkle's whereabouts?”

The General turns to regard the only human amongst their number, Ezekiel Ajax, their comrade from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, looks inquisitively at General Aznan, who tilts his head slightly.

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

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

Aznan takes a deep breath, thinking: This unexpected development won't change anything. The new princess has only been in power for three years. If this were the succubus Cadence, with two hundred years of experience and her own demonic power behind her, then it would be more of an issue. This is Princess Twilight, of limited power. A hideous hybrid with no distinguishing qualities besides a crown atop her head. Maybe it could even be turned to his advantage somehow. She'd make an ideal hostage if nothing else.

“Change nothing, continue as planned,” he says softly. A wave of his paw permisses the meeting devolve into small-talk, as such meetings always do.

After two hours, most of the guests make their excuses and depart, leaving Aznan alone in his drawing room with his oldest friend, Zafwan. Aznan sighs, collapsing back into his chair.

“Have we done all we can?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____

The Pit. January 20th 1882 2015 Local Time (2215 Canterlot Standard)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We are sending a runner to get her-”

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

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

“You are speaking to the Justicar.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Has it reached that stage already?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Twilight neglects to mention that she had a perfectly good assistant, until he was arrested.

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

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

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

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

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

“But I'm just-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You're a princess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Thirteen: Paws for Thought.

Annex A: On Valorossiyans.

On Valorossiyans, a culture briefing provided by the Imperial Ministry of Commerce.

The icy north holds many perils, from avalanches that can sweep one off his feet to vast crevasses that can swallow the unwary traveller whole, and this just concerns the landscape. The native fauna can be even more dangerous, with massive ice dragons that lurk in the swirling blizzards that plague that land and titanic bears that can grow to the size of houses. Yet none are more dangerous than the hulking native tribespeople of that land, the Valorossiyans.

The Valorossiyans are to a certain extent the product of their surroundings, and Evolutionary Theory's ardent defenders would likely take their existence as proof of his teachings. It is not the place of this work to engage in theological speculation, however it is clear that the Valorossiyans are perfectly suited to their habitat, though it does not appear so on first glance, with their massive frames requiring a similarly massive amount of nutrition to keep them fighting fit. However, their snowy white biological coloration provides excellent camouflage amidst the swirling storms of the north. Their eyes are likewise perfectly adapted for life on the steppes, being in most cases narrow and slitlike to provide natural a natural shield against snow-blindness.

The Valorossiyans are almost entirely carnivorous, with meat and fish making up substantial portions of their diet. Detailed examination of their jaw structure reveals twin rows of dentures that are more suited to the rending and tearing of flesh as opposed to the varied dental structure that we residents of warmer climes enjoy. Though there are molars and crushing teeth towards the rear of the mouth, it is unclear to what extent vegetation features in the diet of a healthy Valorossiyan, however as there are so few areas dedicated to agriculture, we cannot assume it features heavily. Naturally a large portion of this is speculation since the Valorossiyans themselves rarely take their medical plaints to outsiders.

There are many who think the Valorossiyans, like the Zebricans and the citizens of the Federation, are human. We would advise the prospective traveller to discard such notions with haste. We share less biology with the Valorossiyan than we do with the chimpanzee. His bone structure is based on cartilage and bony plates. We have one liver, he has two. We have two eyes, he has four. Most crucially, his behaviour differs from ours in many notable respects. The Valorossiyan does not enjoy long country walks, or a good book by the fireplace, or a good game of badminton. He is crude and aggressive and loud. He is quick to anger, and where an Equestrian gripped in the throes of a quarrelsome rage will pick up a quill and write to the Times or drink a little more brandy than he should, a Valorossiyan gripped in the throes of the same quarrelsome rage is wont to disembowel whoever has offended him, and there we come to the crux of the matter. The Valorossiyan does not consider himself a human, and if you attempt to liken him to a human, he will take offence and gut you like a fish.

Yet for all the perils of the Valorossiyans, they represent an incredibly good business opportunity for the discerning merchant. The Valorossiyan state is locked in the grip of perpetual civil war between the alliances and tribes that inhabit the region. In truth, none living outside those forbidding borders know how the conflict started and asking questions is likely to get you into trouble. For the last ten years, the war has coalesced into a war between three major blocs, the Western Union, the Northern Alliance and the PVU, or the Party of Valorossiyan Unity. Perpetual war means a perpetual market for goods of that nature, particularly since the Valorossiyans rarely manufacture their own. It should be noted that Equestrian merchants are encouraged by the Crown to deal with the Western Union. Whilst we will not advise you who to deal with, we should remind the prospective merchant that there are several tax incentives available for the merchant that deals with the Western Union. The Northern Alliance has traditionally been backed by the United Federation and the PVU is the Khanate's horse, both of whom will not take well to Equestrian attempts at competition.

The Valorossiyan is not a shrewd negotiator, his concern is to get as many weapons and as much ammunition as possible, and he will normally be willing to pay up to ten per-cent over the odds for them, however attempting to defraud a Val is not the course of wisdom, and offering him shoddy goods is a very good way to get into trouble. To conclude, dealing with the Valorossiyans is fraught with risks, however for the wary tradesman, it can be an exceptionally profitable venture that will lead to friendships that can last a lifetime, because breaking a friendship with a Val is likely to be the last thing you will ever do.

Chapter Fourteen: Entanglement

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Chapter Fifteen: Wrong Turn

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Chapter Sixteen: Regroup

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Annex A: On Valorossiyans.

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter Nine: Defence Reforms

0300 19th of January 1882. HMS Armifer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She walked up to the head of the table, where Admiral Vaught-Carter was standing in shock.

“I relieve you of your command Admiral.” She said firmly but Vaught Carter stiffened, puffing out his chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A runner?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Iron-Breast suddenly notices the tiny skiff is not slowing down. It is speeding over Factory B-15 and continuing onwards into the night, into the salt flats that surround HMS Armifer.

“Where are we going?”  Iron-Breast asks after a moment, and Luna glances out into the darkness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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