Armor's Game

Chapters

The Plan
The Magnate
Returns and Revelations
The Hive Queen
Under the Crystal Banner
Bodyguards and Beginnings
Unwelcome counsel
Structures of war
A dangerous pastime
Blood and Ice
House of Cards
Lyra's library
Shock and Awe
Redcoat
The Battle of Valneigh
A Necessary Fiction
Here We Conquer Or Here We Die
The Battle of Maneden
The Bells Worn Threadbare
Currency of War
Death March
The Panicked Hive
Home Fires
To Know Thine Enemy
The Battle of the Recinante Cliffs
Sowing the Seeds
Claw and Fang
Souring the Fruits
The Battle of Silvestris
The Battle of the Kelpie Creek
A Darkness in the South
Equestria, Home and Beauty?
A Shadow in the North
Hard Sell
Apocalypse
Conspiracy
Nightfall
The Gathering Storm
Ultimatum
Catastrophe
Epilogue
Prologue
Tea, Cake and Espionage
A leaking ship of state
Over the Hills and Far Away
Into the Land of Bones

The Plan

The day of the winter solstice was a hectic one in Canterlot. In centuries gone by, it had been the last day that ponies would be able to harvest food for the winter, and Earth Ponies in particular would race to dig up the last crops before the snows. Today, in the one thousand and third year of the reign of Princess Celestia, it was hectic for a different reason: In memory of those ancient days, it was the last day that shops could legally stay open before shutting for the eight-day national holiday of Hearth’s Warming, and even this early at eight in the morning, shoppers thronged the boulevards of Canterlot in the hopes of finding that last gift they had put off buying.

His Highness Prince Shining Armor, Co-Prince of the Crystal Empire and Captain-General of the Royal Guard, watched the crowds of shoppers from a turret window in Canterlot Castle. Time was when he had been one of those shoppers, with Twily by his side and both of them trying to slip away from their parents for long enough to discreetly buy whatever gift they had picked out. He remembered walking through those streets with the cold wind in his face, looking forward to that night’s regimental dinner in the Officers’ Mess, and then joining his family for Hearth’s Warming two days later.

But times had changed. He was royalty now, kept forever under the public’s gaze by his marriage to Cadance, the most beautiful and charming mare he had ever met. And now that had been solidified by the ascension of his sister, the filly he cared most about in the world, to the rank of Princess. It was almost impossible to imagine that the shy, bookish filly he had known all his life had, in less than three years, become responsible for the destinies of millions of ponies. Everything had changed.

And today, he thought grimly, everything would change again, and probably not for the better.

“Bit for your thoughts, BBBFF?”

Shining Armor spun from the window. “Twily!”

Twilight Sparkle kept her wings close to her body. Unlike Celestia, Luna and Cadance, she had not embraced the crowns and decorated vests of a Princess. Shining Armor knew that she would never see herself as anything more than a university student.

She trotted over and gently crossed horns with him.

“How’s ruling the country going?” asked Shining Armor

“Can’t complain. How’s dealing with the integration of a long-vanished empire into the modern world going?”

“It’s going brilliantly. We’re getting new investment every day, and we’re close to a breakthrough with Fancypants’ mining company...”

Shining Armor was about to say more, when suddenly a piercing shriek sounded from the door. “AHHHHH!! It’s Twilight’s brother!”

Pinkie Pie bounced into the tower room. Shining Armor sighed and knew he’d never be able to tell Twilight anything else today. “Hi, Pinkie Pie.”

“Oh, I’m so excited to be here! It was so wonderful of Princess Celestia to invite us for Hearth’s Warming Eve! In Canterlot for Hearth’s Warming twice! How many rock farmers’ fillies can claim that?!”

“Pinkie, please control yourself. This is Canterlot Castle of all places!” An elegant voice drifted through the door. Rarity gracefully trotted into the tower room a moment later, her mane perfectly styled as ever. Rainbow Dash, Applejack, and Fluttershy followed. An exhausted-looking Spike was draped over Rainbow’s back, and they all looked like they’d chased Pinkie up the tower stairs.

Rarity approached Shining Armor and curtsied delicately. “Your Highness.”

“Rarity, I’ve told you. You’re Twilight’s friend; you don’t need to call me ‘Your Highness’.”

“Oh, but that just wouldn’t be proper!” exclaimed Rarity. “Goodness! Is that a new uniform?”

Shining Armor touched the front of his green double-breasted jacket. “Thought I should start dressing like a Crystal Pony if I’m going to lead them. This one’s based on the uniform the Imperial Crystal Army wore before Sombra took over. It’s actually about that that I wanted to speak to Twily and the Princesses today.”

“And I would indeed be very interested to hear this.”

Princess Celestia entered the tower room, her ethereally-floating mane just brushing the top of the door frame. Shining Armor bowed and Twilight and her friends curtsied. Spike leapt off Rainbow’s back and landed in a painful-sounding bellyflop on the wooden floor. Grunting, he pulled himself up and bowed.

“Rise, my little ponies,” Celestia glided gracefully through the door. Behind her followed to smaller forms of Luna and Cadance. Shining Armor’s wife shot him a dazzling smile.

“Well,” said Shining Armor. “Mares, gentlestallion.” He nodded at Spike. “If you’ll all take a seat, we’ll begin.”

A couple of benches were spread in a crescent shape around a pedestal in the centre of the room. Twilight’s friends looked reluctant.

“Uh, Cap’n Armor?” drawled Applejack. “Ah can’t really speak for the rest o’ the girls, but, uh, ah wouldn’t wanna be interfering in any o’ your high-falutin’ affairs o’ state. Ah work on a farm, fer Pete’s sake!”

“Yeah, and Spirits know what I might blurt out after a night on AJ’s cider!” laughed Rainbow Dash.

“Actually, Applejack, what we talk about today may affect every pony in Equestria. With the Princess’ permission, I hope that you’ll stay.”

“That’s quite all right,” said Princess Celestia. She took a seat. Luna and Cadance flanked her. As the rest of the ponies took seats, Shining Armor summoned a crystal from his saddlebag and gently sat it down on the pedestal. He sent a jet of gold magic at it from his horn, and images swum to life in the air above.

“Our world,” he proclaimed formally. “Equus.”

A map of the world shimmered in the air. In the west were the two continents of North and South Amarerica, separated by the Thousand Islands Sea. Across the Promethic Ocean to the east was Mareope, and joining that continent even further east was the massive continent of Haysia, dominated by Gryphonia. The island of Neighpon sat off Haysia’s eastern coast, and a vast tract of south-east Haysia was dominated by Dragon Kingdoms. Far to the south-east in the Eirenic Ocean was Horsetralia, and to the south of Mareope, kept separate by the Mediterrreinean Sea, was Zebrica.

“Equestria’s geostrategic position is unique,” said Shining Armor. He gave the crystal another jolt of magic and the map zoomed in on North Amarerica. “We’re the dominant power on the North Amarerican continent, and the difficulties of crossing the Thousand Islands Sea or rounding Cape Antler mean that we’re the natural stopping point for merchants coming in from Mareope and seeking to trade with Neighpon and the Dragon Kingdoms, and vice-versa. This coupled with our expertise in agriculture and weather manipulation, and our mineral resources and booming fashion industry, has made us one of the richest nations in the world.”

Applejack, Rainbow Dash, and Rarity beamed.

Another jet of magic and the map was replaced with a series of charts and graphs.

“We’ve put it to good use, too,” continued Shining Armor. “Equestria today scarcely knows poverty. Standards of living and education are high, and the ponies have never been more satisfied with the rule of Celestia and Luna.”

The Princesses exchanged smiles.

“And yet,” said Shining Armor, grimly. “We have done little to defend our way of life.”

Princess Celestia’s head shot around. Her smile had been replaced by a determined grimace. Shining Armor swallowed. He had been prepared for criticism of what we was going to suggest, but Princess Celestia had a divine, impossible beauty about her that made her rebukes all the more terrifying.

“If you mean to suggest, Shining Armor, that I have become complacent in the defence of my subjects, I would hear it now.”

“I would never say that, Your Highness. In fact, your policy over the past millennium has more than protected Equestria against external threats. That is, threats we could predict.”

Celestia softened slightly.

“Equestria’s defence policy over the past thousand years has rested on four principles,” the Unicorn stallion continued. “Firstly, our geography. We are bordered to the east and west by sea, and by desert and hills to the south before reaching the Thousand Islands Sea. The only cultures there are the Buffalo and Lynx tribes, with whom we are friendly; Dragons on migration, whom we’ve never disturbed; and until recently, the Felinia Matriarchy.”

A ripple of anger went through the room. Twilight and her friends knew well what had happened to that peaceful nation at the hands of the Changelings.

“We are bordered to the north by arctic ice. Beyond the Crystal Empire, there’s nothing but icy mountains and tundra.” Yet he could not help but feel uncomfortable as he said that.

“Secondly, we have never entered any entangling alliances. We will trade and we will negotiate, but we will not fight overseas. We will do nothing to earn the enmity of another power.

“Thirdly, our trade. There are few nations on Equus that could survive us imposing sanctions on them. Over the past millennium, Equestria has successfully defused two hundred regional crises through diplomacy and the threat of sanctions, and successfully stopped thirteen wars through the same means.

“And fourth, if all else fails, we have the reputation of the Princesses. No nation capable of challenging Equestria would accept a leader willing to go up against a literal goddess. Ponies with the power to move the sun and moon are dangerous foes indeed.

“Two years ago we had a fifth addition to our defences: The Elements of Harmony. Now that the Elements are active again, we have successfully faced down two of the most dangerous threats Equestria has ever faced: Nightmare Moon and Discord.”

Shining Armor grimaced. “All this worked well until our wedding just over a year ago.”

“Chrysalis,” whispered Cadance. The name was still bitter on his wife’s lips.

“Exactly. The Changeling Attack was not something we could have possibly foreseen, and something that our age-old policies couldn’t even begin to defend us against. The Changelings don’t care about money. Even the threat of annihilation is meaningless to them if only the Queen and some of the hive survive. They can’t be bought, bullied, reasoned or negotiated with. All they need is our emotions, whether it’s love, anger, happiness or fear, the stronger the better. In the end, all we had to defend us was Princess Celestia’s reputation, and because of the vast amount of love Chrysalis absorbed from me, all it was was reputation.”

Shining Armor angrily stamped a hoof. “But for all its suddenness, for all the Changelings’ surprise, we could have beaten it with conventional means. I’ve spoken to officers in Gryphonia, Germaneigh, Prance and Trotaly. They all maintain that had the Changelings arrived in their capitals as they did in ours, their armies could have beaten them in two hours. Instead, we only had a regiment of Royal Guardsmen who were rapidly overpowered, and when Twilight and her friends were separated from the Elements, all we could do was defeat them with the magic of love. Cadance and I aren’t even sure if that’s repeatable.”

“No.” Princess Celestia stood up from her bench. Her mane flowed fiercely and there was true anger in her eyes. “I know what you would have me do, Shining Armor, and I will not do it. Militarising Equestria would be a betrayal of everything I came here to do over a thousand years ago. Your desire to see further defence against Changeling attacks is understandable, yet I will not do what you propose. Twilight and her friends left Chrysalis and her spawn safely bottled up behind the Macintosh Hills.”

“The Changelings may not stay imprisoned forever, Your Highness. They know our strategies, they’ve learned our weaknesses, and their attack nearly destroyed us. We cannot allow that to happen again. In any case, it’s not just the Changelings. Rumours of your defeat by Chrysalis last year have spread, and let me tell you, there are more than a few young officers abroad who see this as an opportunity to have their way with Equestria. I was pretty surprised that most of them did actually think you could move the sun to destroy them, by the way.”

“Um, Princess?” squeaked somepony quietly.

Celestia looked down. “Yes, Fluttershy?” she said softly.

The butter-yellow Pegasus looked like she was trying to hide behind her mane. “Um, is that true what Shining Armor said? You... you can’t actually move the sun to destroy people?”

“Well, no. If I tried that I’d probably destroy Equus as well.”

“But... you wouldn’t do that either.”

“Never.”

“Oh, uh, good. I guess I can stop worrying about that now.”

“And that’s exactly the problem,” said Shining Armor forcefully. “Our ultimate defence has been exposed for what it is. Even the Elements of Harmony are built on sand: Three months ago Twilight’s crown was stolen by Sunset Shimmer, and for a week the realm was utterly defenceless. We can’t just do with a regiment of Guards anymore. We need an army. And we need to show that we are not afraid to use it.”

A silence fell over the room. Celestia looked as defiant as ever, but Luna looked thoughtful.

“Well,” said Rainbow Dash after a moment. “An army sounds pretty cool. Any room for a Wonderbolts drop-out, Captain?”

“You have no idea what you are agreeing with, Rainbow,” said Celestia icily. She stood and glided to the window, staring at the crowds below. “When my sister and I descended a thousand years ago, Equestria was a land torn by hatred. Even our defeat of Discord did not solve their quarrels. I saw the devastation the armies wracked, and none of you can even begin to contemplate the horrors they left in their wake! I will do nothing that might bring those back!”

The Princess spun from the window, and she was a terror to behold. “This meeting is over, Shining Armor. Thank you for your well-researched talk, but that is the end of it.” And she swept from the room.

Shining Armor and his audience stood in stunned silence for a moment, then Twilight said, “So, girls, uh... fancy joining me for elevenses downstairs?”

“Will there be chocolate cake?”

“Yes, Pinkie, there’s always chocolate cake.”

“Then yes! C’mon, girls!” Pinkie bounced happily out of the room, as if she had already forgotten the scene that had just taken place. The five others and Spike followed awkwardly behind her.

Shining Armor sighed and summoned the crystal from the pedestal. Princess Luna still sat on her bench. “The nightmares still haunt you, Shining Armor.”

“Every night it’s the same. I still see her. Chrysalis and her flames. And what I did...”

Cadance draped a leg over his shoulder. “What happened that day wasn’t your fault.”

“I nearly married a Changeling! She would have let you die in those caves! And I let her into Canterlot!” He struggled to hold back tears.

“It’s been getting worse as we get nearer to our anniversary,” said Cadance to Luna. “Can’t you help?”

Luna stood. Her mane, dark as night, sparkled as it flowed. “I will do all in my power, Shining Armor, but you...”

“...must face your fears in your own way, or the nightmares will continue,” he completed bitterly. “What can I do, Luna? Chrysalis is miles to the south waiting to invade, and Celestia won’t let us do a thing!”

“I sincerely hope that you did not prepare that fine presentation just to hide a desire for revenge,” said Luna darkly, and in that moment Shining Armor saw why some ponies still feared her.

“Yeah, I suppose that’s a big part of it,” he mumbled. “But there’s more than that.”

“Yes, I thought I saw something when you mentioned the arctic.”

“We started getting the reports three months ago,” said Cadance. “After we got back from Twilight’s coronation. Diamond Dog raiders have been seen on our borders. At first it was small; a few gems swiped from the carts outside our mines, or a farmhouse broken into...”

“Then it got worse,” said Shining Armor grimly. “They started raiding homesteads even further south, and in greater numbers too. Last month we had thirteen raids, all of them involving packs of over ten Dogs. I put our Guards company on alert, but I need more ponies to guard our frontiers. That was why I sent for more officers.”

“Then two weeks ago we received word from a farmer about a raid,” said Cadance, sickened. “Twenty-four Diamond Dogs had stripped the crops from his fields and left his wife badly injured when she went out to see what was happening. Well, a party that big is going to leave a trail and this was our opportunity, so we sent seven Guardsponies after them. They were to stay concealed, find their burrow, and report their findings.”

“Only one came back,” growled Shining Armor.

Luna looked unimpressed. “I am not a military pony, yet it seems to me that seven versus twenty-four...”

“It wasn’t the Diamond Dogs that attacked them,” said Cadance. “There’s something else you need to see, Luna.”

The Princess of the Night’s eyes swished from Cadance, to Shining Armor, and back again. “Very well,” she said slowly. “Where is it?”

“The tower basement. Shining had hoped to show Tia as well.”

Shining Armor led the way down the tower’s spiral staircase. The lower levels of the tower had not been used for centuries. When Celestia and Luna had first raised Canterlot Castle, these chambers would have stored mounds of provisions and weapons to hold off a siege that a thousand years ago had been very likely. Now they stood empty and derelict.

“In here,” he said when they reached the bottom of the staircase. The air here was chilly, the walls rough and unfurnished, and the door was plain wood. He produced a key, turned it in the lock, and opened the door.

A shimmering grey Crystal Pony in a uniform that matched Shining Armor’s stood waiting in the dark room. Her cutie mark was a five-pointed gold star. Next to her lay something on a table, draped in a white sheet.

She curtsied as they entered. “Your Highnesses.”

“Rise, Captain,” ordered Shining Armor. “Luna, this is Captain Silver Star. She’s one of my new officers in the Crystal Guard Company.”

“Charmed,” said Luna, extending a hoof. Silver Star shook it awkwardly.

“You want to see it now, sir?” she asked.

“Please, Captain,” said Shining Armor.

Silver Star walked slowly over to the table, took a deep breath and pulled off the sheet. The body of a Crystal Pony, its golden coat now lustreless, lay there. The body had been cleaned and care had been taken to lay it out with dignity, but the deep, gaping wound in its flank was clear.

“This is the body of Private Gold Aurora,” said Shining Armor. “He was the only member of the patrol to come back to the Empire.”

“We found him on the Northern Marches,” said Silver Star. “He was bleeding heavily from that wound and was in a severe state of hypothermia. All we could do was make him comfortable and try to work out what had happened before he died.”

“And?” asked Luna.

“From what he could tell us, they found the Diamond Dogs dead. They’d been attacked by something, and that same thing had attacked them.”

“What was it?”

“Every time we tried to ask, he just... just laughed, Your Highness. He kept saying it was impossible, that they were fairytales, whatever they were. After he died, we pulled this out of his wound.”

She laid a small tray on the table. Inside was a small, slightly flattened piece of metal the size and shape of an acorn. “That’s lead. To cause that injury this would have had to hit with significant force. We don’t know what it could be.”

Luna took a step backwards, and then turned to Shining Armor. “What would you have me do?”

“There is something in the north, Luna, and it has the Diamond Dogs scared. It’s scaring me. We need to know what it is and what it wants. I need you to get Tia’s permission for me to raise more troops so I can conduct more patrols, and if this thing is hostile, we can’t afford to be stuck between it in the north and an army of Changelings in the south.”

The Magnate

Fancypants hated these meetings. He couldn’t believe that he’d been summoned on the morning of Hearth’s Warming Eve, but then again, Prince Blueblood was a charmless noble who believed himself to be the paragon of sophistication. Such a paragon, in fact, that he was justified in treating all those he spoke to as if they were excrement to by scraped off his hooves (not by himself, obviously). He revelled in his title, yet if his ancestors could see what he had made of himself, they would have sobbed and begged that he be stripped of it in a moment. Fancypants had heard of his utter disregard towards his servants and coldness towards mares. When Rarity had told him of the fiasco at the Grand Galloping Gala at that garden party over a year ago, they had shared a laugh. Yet when he thought of it now, he was revolted. And no matter how he treated the mares around him, Blueblood still expected them to give themselves up to him.

Yet these meetings for necessary, for Blueblood’s sense for gems was unmatched in Equestria, and his skill with a balance sheet was remarkable. Even as he neglected his title of Prince, Blueblood had built up one of the largest mining operations on Equus. As well as Equestria, he had mines in Horsetralia, the Dragon Kingdoms, Zebrica, and Saddle Arabia. He was planning to expand into the unexplored regions of South Amarerica, and his survey teams had the best record for striking gems in the world. If Fancypants wanted to expand his own mining ventures into the Crystal Empire, he needed Blueblood’s expertise.

Blueblood’s study in the southeast tower of Canterlot Castle was sombre and ascetic. The Spartan chamber was panelled with dark oak and, but for a desk, chairs, and two portraits (one of himself, one of the ancestor who’s title he had no right to), it was unfurnished. Blueblood had sacked a secretary last week for suggesting that they decorate the office, saying that Hearth’s Warming decorations were for commoners.

“So, Fancypants,” said Blueblood haughtily. “How go your preliminary surveys?”

The Unicorn sat behind his desk, impeccably dressed, nose turned up slightly as if there was a bad smell in the room. Fancypants tried to hide his disgust.

“Exceptionally well, Your Highness. We’ve identified seven sites so far, four of which can be entered from pre-existing shafts, and the teams have performed in an exemplary fashion.”

“My teams, Fancypants. I trust our agreement is still in place?”

Fancypants resisted the urge to grind his teeth. “Of course.”

“Excellent. In exchange for your use of my teams, the Blueblood Mining Consortium shall receive twenty percent of the profits of all gems and metals mined.”

It was so like Blueblood to remind Fancypants of his terms. He had struck a hard bargain, but only Blueblood’s teams had the experience to operate in the weather conditions they could expect to find in the Crystal Mountains. His company, Toffeenose Mining, built up by his father and grandfather, needed to expand to stay competitive; the Crystal Empire badly needed a modern economic base after its thousand-year disappearance; and the Fancypants-De Lis Charitable Foundation needed an injection of funds if it was to continue its operations overseas. Much as it galled him to work with Blueblood, he needed this deal.

“Concerning that...” said Blueblood, thoughtfully.

“Your Highness?”

“You operate forges, do you not, Fancypants?”

Fancypants blinked at this non sequitur. “Uh, yes, Your Highness. They’re a small thing I keep on the side, but I’ve been trying to get them off my hooves.”

“Not very profitable?”

“Barely, Your Highness.”

“You bought them as a young stallion, didn’t you?”

Fancypants tried not to let his irritation at the implied insult show. “I thought I could start something up to compliment the mining company before I inherited. There just wasn’t the demand, though.”

“Hmm...” The Prince leaned back on his haunches. “I have a mind to make you a deal, Fancypants. I will take these forges off you, and my Mining Consortium will reduce its cut of the profits from the Crystal Empire to fifteen percent.”

Fancypants blinked. “Your Highness?!”

“I must know if you agree now, Fancypants.”

“Your Highness, that’s exceptionally generous of you, but forges are a volatile asset. You’ll probably be running them at a loss. There’s just no demand for metal goods in Equestria that cottage industry can’t handle, and for anything bigger, the other factories are already big enough.”

“Fancypants, I have my reasons to offer you this deal. I am offering to take an unprofitable asset off your hooves. What I do with it is not your concern. Now, I need an answer.”

Fancypants stared at the Unicorn across the desk. Something told him not to do this: Prat though he was, Blueblood was not known to make stupid business decisions. There had to be an ulterior motive.

And yet, try as he might, Fancypants could not think of what it could be. It might be a bad purchase, but Blueblood’s company would not be ruined by it, and Fancypants really didn’t need these forges weighing him down.

“Very well, Your Highness, they’re yours.”

“Excellent. I will have my secretary draw up the necessary details and have them sent to you in the New Year. Good day.”

And with that, Blueblood pulled a folder of documents from a desk draw, opened it, and paid Fancypants no more regard.

Fancypants sighed and got up. He was used to such dismissals by now. He trotted out of the study, thanked Blueblood’s new, nervous-looking secretary, and descended the tower.

He came to the entrance to a corridor and stopped for a moment to check his reflection in a window. His shirt and waistcoat were immaculately pressed and his mane and moustache were carefully preened. With a touch of magic, he adjusted his monocle and elaborately-knotted bow tie, and elegantly trotted into the corridor.

Like every room in Canterlot Castle, the corridor was high-ceilinged, airy, and handsomely-decorated. Here, Bling-era vases bought from the Dragon Kingdoms lined the walls. Each was as tall as a stallion and had its own unique pattern. He wanted to get a few of those for the house, but if he did, Haysia would probably run out of porcelain as the rest of Canterlot’s upper class made a rush to emulate him.

A Guard stood at attention at the end of the corridor. His face emotionless, he opened one of the huge double doors that stretched almost to the ceiling. Fancypants thanked him, walked through the door, and nearly walked straight into a snow-white Unicorn.

“Good heavens! Rarity!”

“Oh, Fancypants! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there!”

“Oh, don’t worry, my fault,” he said. He took her hoof and kissed it. “You should have said you were in Canterlot.”

Underneath a huge, brilliantly-decorated hat, Rarity blushed. “Just, uh, here for Hearth’s Warming with Twilight and the Princesses.”

“My word! You really are moving up in the world.”

“Well, not bad for a charmingly rustic country pony.”

They both chuckled. “What brings you to the Castle, Fancypants?”

Fancypants’ smile faded. “Prince Blueblood. We have a mining deal in the Crystal Empire.”

“Do you have to work with that brute?”

“His company’s the best in the business, and the Empire needs investment.” He gave a disgruntled whinny. “Well, let’s not talk about this! It’s Hearth’s Warming! Will you join Fleur and I for lunch?”

“Oh, that would be wonderful! Perhaps I’ll see you at the play tonight as well?”

Fancypants smiled and walked next to Rarity. He let any worries he had with Blueblood fly from his mind.

Returns and Revelations

They’d left the Castle early so the streets wouldn’t be crowded, and so Twilight and her friends had made it to Canterlot Station without anyone mobbing them for royal favours. Now, two days into the New Year, they sat in the back coach of the train as it chugged its way down the Canterhorn. They’d be back in Ponyville by tomorrow evening.

Twilight leaned back on her bench. A single Guard in plainclothes sat by the door in the other carriage, inconspicuously making sure that they would not be disturbed. She turned to Applejack. “How’s Apple Bloom doing?”

“Ah, she’s all right, Twi. She calmed down a bit after ah told her everyone loved it.”

“Did they?”

“Well, uh, ah heard it got a good review for being ‘alternative’ or sommin’.”

“Oh,” groaned Rarity. “I told Sweetie Belle that a comedic interpretation of the Hearth’s Warming Play was a bad idea.”

Twilight looked over her shoulder. The Cutie Mark Crusaders, plus Babs Seed, Featherweight, and Dinky Hooves sat dejectedly near the back of the coach with Miss Cheerilee. The Ponyville Schoolhouse had been asked to perform the Hearth’s Warming Play this year, and Scootaloo had apparently decided that this was a good opportunity to pursue their true talent of comedy.

Rainbow Dash leaned over. “Twilight, did Shining Armor tell you anymore about his army idea?”

“No, actually, he didn’t mention it anytime after he did his lecture.”

“Shame. I thought it was a good idea.”

Twilight said nothing.

“What?” asked Rainbow Dash. “Didn’t you think it was good?”

“I don’t know, Dashie. I know it’s a bad idea just to let the Changelings sit down there, but I’ve read enough history to know that wars are not nice.”

“Well, I guess it ain’t happening if Princess Celestia doesn’t want it. Shame, really. I wouldn’t mind having another go at those Changelings.”

Twilight stared at her. “Rainbow, do you know what the last war Equestria fought was?”

“Nah, whenever I had a history lesson in school it was just a chance for a nap.”

“It was the Discordian War. After the Royal Pony Sisters descended and banished Discord a thousand years ago, Equestria was still torn by divisions. Maybe everyone was still half-mad from Discord’s reign, because about twenty different factions were fighting for control of Equestria. King Sombra and the Crystal Empire was one of them. For thirty years army after army marched all over Equestria, devastating entire regions through foraging. There was famine, plague, and about eight million ponies died. For the last ten years of it, they just kept fighting because they couldn’t afford to pay their armies to stop.”

“Whoa...” whispered Rainbow Dash.

“Exactly. Celestia and Luna pleaded that they stop, until the end they actively intervened and formed the diarchy we have today. I think seeing the war was one of the things that drove Luna into becoming Nightmare Moon.

“That, Rainbow, is what Celestia knows of war, and she’s terrified of a repeat of that. If you’re going to support Shining Armor, fine, but do it for sensible strategic reasons, not because you want another go at the Changelings.”

They avoided speaking about armies or politics for the rest of the journey. Rarity told them about her upcoming projects for the New Year; Rainbow discussed her training routine with Applejack; Fluttershy and Spike discussed Dragon rearing methods; Pinkie complained about the poor selection of sweets on the snack trolley; and the Cutie Mark Crusaders, undaunted by their failure at acting, told them of their new plans to earn their cutie marks, which included snowboarding, bog snorkelling, and extreme ironing.

The train pulled into Ponyville Station the next evening. They could afford to be more relaxed here. Twilight had made it clear after her coronation that she wanted no bowing or scraping from the citizens of Ponyville, and Mayor Mare had gone out of her way to make sure that that was followed.

A few ponies were still awake as they trotted through the snow-filled streets. Lyra and Bon Bon trotted over to say hello, and Carrot Top waved from her front door. The ponies bade each other goodnight outside the Golden Oaks Library and parted ways. With a sleeping Spike draped over her back, Twilight trotted through her front door.

Welcoming the warmth of the library after the cold of the street outside, Twilight aimed her horn and lit the lanterns with a jet of magic. Then she gently lifted Spike off her back and lowered him into his basket. “Goodnight, Spike.”

“Good evening, Your Highness.”

Twilight spun around. A pony stood in the shadows next to one of the bookshelves. “Who are you?! What do you want?!”

“I apologise for startling you, but it was not safe to talk anywhere else.”

The pony stepped forward. “Amber Spyglass?” Twilight gasped.

The Chief of Intelligence nodded. “That I had to break into your home was an unfortunate necessity, but we must speak privately.” His voice had none of its usual levity. “Will your Dragon wake up?”

“He’s not my Dragon, he’s Spike,” said Twilight angrily. “But for now, he’ll stay asleep.”

“Good. I’m here to discuss your brother’s militarisation plans with you.”

“How did you...?”

“Did I not tell you I would find out? I am rather perturbed that the Chief of Intelligence would not be involved in the discussion of such high matters of state.”

“Well in that case, you’ll know it’s not happening. Celestia doesn’t want anything to do with it.”

“Then Celestia is a fool.”

Twilight stepped forward, furious. “You are talking about the immortal god princess of Equestria! Celestia is not a fool!”

“Twilight,” said Amber Spyglass gravely. “Celestia is a great mare, it is undeniable, yet her obsession with maintaining love and tolerance makes her painfully short-sighted in this matter. Shining Armor is right: The Changelings and worse are out there, and they must be dealt with. Equestria’s position must be strengthened. Equus must know we are prepared to defend our way of life.”

“What makes you say this?”

“A disturbing report from the south. The Changelings are becoming hungry again. The emotions they took from the Felinia are almost drained. They need prey, and Equestria will no doubt be the first place they will look.”

“Well what do you want me to do about it?” demanded Twilight.

“Twilight, you are Celestia’s most faithful student and closest confidante. There are things she would tell you that she would never confide in others, not even Luna. If anyone can convince her, you can. We cannot afford to just bottle up the Changelings. We need to advance on to their territory and destroy them.”

“Genocide,” hissed Twilight.

Amber Spyglass shrugged. “You know how the Changelings feed, what it does to ponies. For one to live the other must die. Who speaks negatively of the destruction of the Windigos by the Founders on Hearth’s Warming? No one. We tell our foals it was a great victory for ponykind.”

Twilight spun away from him. Amber Spyglass’ logic was impeccable, yet she could never be an accessory to the destruction if an entire race, but if she did not, what happen five or ten years down the line? She felt as though an immense weight had settled on her shoulders. “Is this what ruling is, Amber?”

“Yes, Your Highness. It is a terrible thing we must consider, a vile thing, yet we who presume to rule must sometimes do vile things for the good of the realm. If we delay, if we do nothing, Equestria will bleed. At the very minimum we must have an army.”

Twilight slowly turned back to him. “For the good of the realm?”

“For the good of the realm.”

“Then I’ll tell Celestia what you told me, and hope I sleep easy.”

The Hive Queen

Far to the south, across rivers and ranges, a creature driven mad with thoughts of vengeance waited. Sitting in the palace that had once belonged to the Matriarch of Felinia, Queen Chrysalis stared over the realm she had taken over a year ago.

The place had once been much like Equestria, if a poorer prize. The Felinia who had lived here had had homes, farms, shops and schools. Now the fields and trees sat rotting; its pools and rivers were choked with ash and mud; the hills were blasted and hole-ridden; the piles of spoil thrown up as the Changelings burrowed to make hives sat fire-blasted and poison-stained in great rows like some obscene graveyard; and the buildings sat in ruins, coated with Changeling secretions. The catlike Felinia had been reduced to useless husks floating in their cocoon prisons, all their emotions drained and good only to be cast out and left to rot.

They had to have more. Since time immemorial the Changeling Hives had moved from country to country, nation to nation, absorbing love and emotions. They had stayed hidden as they did it, and for centuries they had been nothing more than the stuff of legends to frighten schoolponies with.

Yet that was no longer possible. Across Equus, patterns had been noticed: ponies, minotaurs or gryphons behaving oddly; villages mysteriously vanishing. Modern technology and magic was quickly making it impossible for the Changelings to move around unnoticed.

That was why she, Chrysalis, 763rd Queen of the Hives, had chosen to attack Equestria. The place was defenceless and had more love than any other nation the Changelings had ever encountered. So much, in fact, that if they had taken it and subdued the ponies, the Changelings could have stayed there for centuries, gorging on love until they were too powerful for the rest of Equus to even contemplate attacking.

With the love she had absorbed from Shining Armor in her disguise as Cadance, she had overpowered Celestia and taken Canterlot. From there, Equestria would have been hers. But she had underestimated the power of Cadance and Shining Armor’s love for each other, and their love of Equestria. If the love the Changelings slowly absorbed from their prey was the water of life, then Cadance and Shining Armor had struck her with a fire hose, and the Changeling Hive, a hundred thousand strong, had been cast from Canterlot far to the south.

The Felinia Matriarchy had been nothing compared to Equestria, yet she’d hoped that it would sustain the Hive for a decade or so. Yet it was not to be: The Hive had been so terribly weakened by its defeat that it had no choice but to gorge itself on the Felinia, and if she did not find a new source of emotions soon, her brood would again begin to starve.

She heard the report open behind her. It will be pretended that she said, “Make your report,” instead of fluttering her spiracles just so and rubbing her forelegs exactly thus.

The Changeling officer removed his helmet. “My Queen, it is as you feared. In six months, the last vestiges of love in the Kingdom will be exhausted. The Hive is still weak. Only a third of us are strong enough to fly for any length of time, and not one of us has the power to take another creature’s form.”

Chrysalis spun round, horrified. A thick cloud of pheromones suddenly surrounded her. “What?!”

The officer took a step backwards, hesitant. “It is true. We cannot infiltrate our prey.”

Chrysalis paced the room, fuming. “If we cannot disguise, we cannot infiltrate. If we cannot fly, we cannot surprise. Then we have only one choice: Assault.”

“A war?” whispered the officer.

“Yes. We must take something and regain our strength from them before we move on to Equestria.”

“We are still to attack Equestria?” asked the officer uncertainly.

Chrysalis rounded on him. “Why do you even ask?! That miserable pile of friendship is the only place that can sustain us! We have to gather the strength to take it with a single blow: Any attempt at a piecemeal invasion and we would be repulsed by Celestia or the Elements of Harmony! We will gather strength off a weak target, and use that to strike Equestria.”

“My Queen, Equestria is a sleeping giant. It may have no army right now, but if we show that we are still able to attack others, that may convince Celestia that it is time to build one and face us before we have absorbed the strength we need.”

“It is risky, I know, yet if we are to survive we have no other choice. In any case, I have a target in mind that we should succeed in overrunning quickly. We can absorb their love faster than Celestia can build an army from nothing.”

“Who do you have in mind, My Queen?”

Chrysalis crossed to the wall. A huge map showing all territories south of the Macintosh Hills and Appleloosan Mountains hung there. “We hold Froud Valley and territory south of the Forest of Leota,” she said. “If we go south, we run the risk of interfering with the Dragon nesting grounds. If we go north, we butt against Equestria. If we go west, that will take us into Buffalo territory, which is sure to provoke Celestia.

“We strike east, at the Lynxes.”

Under the Crystal Banner

On that chilly February morning, two months into the New Year, 1st Battalion, 1st Crystal Guard Regiment paraded outside the Crystal Palace.

While Celestia would never let him establish an army, Luna had assured Shining Armor that he had the authority to protect the Crystal Empire with reasonable means, so the moment they had returned from Canterlot, Shining Armor and Cadance had issued a proclamation: any pony who wished to serve in the Guard to defend their homes would be welcomed into training. Dozens of young Crystal Ponies had signed up, and within a week, the Crystal Guard had grown from an understrength company to a full-strength battalion. It would be, they hoped, a laboratory for Equestria’s drill and doctrine.

In truth, Shining Armor worried about the new recruits: for centuries, ponies, gryphons, minotaurs and goats had joined their countries armies just to get regular meals, half-decent pay and a smart uniform. The Crystal Empire’s economy was a thousand years behind the rest of Equestria’s, and it hadn’t been in a good state when a thousand years ago, either. Ponies who had joined up just to escape the drudgery of unemployment did not make for committed soldiers, but after a month and a half of training, he could only watch the parade and hope.

Hundreds of Crystal Ponies had turned out to watch the progress of their new regiment, and the shining crowd ringed the square. Shining Armor and Cadance stood on the balcony in their new uniforms of Colonel-in-Chief, a position they held jointly as co-rulers. Next to them stood Warding Ember, a mutton-chopped veteran of the Royal Guard from Canterlot. He wore the twin red braids and three gold stars of Colonel of the Regiment on his green epaulettes. He was a superb administrator, and it was because of him that the Regiment had got through its training, but today he was the dignitary to be saluted along with Shining Armor and Cadance. The parade would be led by the battalion commander. Behind them were several Crystal Pony notaries, including First Minister Jade Stone. With an opal coat and a cutie mark of an olive branch and arrow, she was the most senior Crystal Pony in the Empire, and Cadance and Shining Armor’s ablest advisor

The battalion was formed in a line three deep, spread out across the square below the Crystal Palace Balcony. Ten companies, each a hundred ponies strong, formed the line. The battalion was over a thousand officers and rankers strong, every one of them wearing a smart grey greatcoat over their green uniforms. Their cuffs and epaulettes were faced in ice blue. White saddlebags bearing the Imperial Snowflake of the Crystal Empire in shining brass were slung over their midsections, secured by white crossbelts over their chests. Dull gold emergency edible boots hugged their hooves. Every soldier clutched a long spear in his right hoof, while the officers held swords and wore cocked hats.

The battalion was flanked on the right by the Grenadier Company. It was composed of the biggest ponies, the pom-poms on their tall gold mitre caps white in memory of the smoke from the heavy iron grenades their forefathers had thrown in the Discordian War. Now they existed as shock troops, the first to lead assaults. They wore white lace wings on the shoulders of their greatcoats, while their officers wore gold.

Eight numbered infantry companies formed the centre of the line. They wore tall black shakos carrying a brass plate bearing the Imperial Snowflake. Their pom-poms were red and white. At the flanks of each company stood the officers – a Captain and two Lieutenants. Standing at the back of the companies were two Sergeants, bearing the spontoons of their rank.

Between the Fourth and Fifth Companies stood the command group: Guarded by six Sergeants, three Ensigns carried the regiment’s colours: On the right was the Crystal Banner, bearing the Imperial Snowflake on a field of iridescent blue. On the left was the regiment’s colour, a bold white cross on blue with the regiment’s number, “1st Crystal Guard” wreathed in laurels in the centre. And in the centre of the colour party was the Vexillum of Equestria, carried by the senior Ensign, bearing forty-two stars and the sun and moon ringed by the Royal Pony Sisters. Behind them was the second-in-command, Major Bronze Star, and to his left and right, Major Sword Bolt and the Adjutant, Major Sun Blade.

Ahead of the command group stood the battalion commander, Silver Star, newly-promoted to Lieutenant Colonel. If she was nervous, it did not show. She held her sword perfectly straight and her uniform was immaculate.

Behind the command group stood a dozen pioneers, their axes polished to gleaming and their leather aprons shining white; behind them, eighteen bandsmen; and then the regiment’s staff – the Quartermaster, Paymaster, Regimental Sergeant Major, Training Major, and the Regimental Surgeon and his staff.

On the line’s left was the Light Company. The pom-poms in their shakos green, their crossbelts and shoulder wings black, they were the battalion’s best shots. Fourteen drummers stood behind the line.

Thus did one thousand and sixty-seven ponies form up that morning.

“PARADE!” barked Silver Star, loud enough to be heard across the square. “PARADE, SHUN!”

The square roared as a thousand hooves and spear butts were brought up and stamped down.

“PARADE WILL FORM CLOSE COLUMN UPON THE GRENADIERS! BY GRAND DIVISIONS, MARCH!”

Shining Armor’s mouth twitched slightly. This was where his ponies proved themselves. Not just to him, but to the entire Empire, to the whole of Equestria. The Royal Guard Drill Manual prescribed Eighteen Manoeuvres, designed to encompass everything that might be found on the battlefield. This was the first.

The drums rattled and the band thundered. The Grenadiers and First Company marking time, every other company spun to its right and peeled off, marching diagonally. Hooves and spear butts thundering against the ground as they marched, a column with a frontage of two companies was rapidly formed.

“PARADE WILL FORM LINE UPON THE LIGHT COMPANY! BY GRAND DIVISIONS, MARCH!”

Now with the Light Company and Eighth Company marking time, the companies spun to their right and marched out off column. A line was rapidly reformed.

The Second Manoeuvre was a virtual reversal of this: a close column with a two-company frontage was formed on the Light Company. The battalion then marched back into line.

So it continued. The Third Manoeuvre involved the formation of a close column upon the Fourth Company before redeploying into line. In the Fourth Manoeuvre, the line moved into open column and wheeled into a new line at an oblique angle. From there, the line wheeled with its left wing thrown back into a line parallel to its original position.

The line moved like a great coiling snake. After every manoeuvre the crowds applauded.

In the Sixth Manoeuvre, they wheeled into an open column, then a close column, and then formed a solid square.

“PREPARE TO RECEIVE CAVALRY!” boomed Silver Star.

The two front ranks dropped to their knees, spear points facing up. Behind them, the rear ranks levelled their spears and fired by files. In the core of each spear was a hair-thin shaft of cultured unicorn horn, channelling each pony’s magic, and scintillating bursts of energy shot across the square. The crowd leapt in shock at each shot, but applauded nonetheless.

From then on the regiment performed perfectly. They wheeled from line to column and back again, countermarched, retreated, formed a hollow square and advanced. Finally, after the regiment had completed the Eighteenth Manoeuvre and fired two volleys, Silver Star bellowed; “PARADE! GENERAL SALUTE, PRESENT ARMS!”

With a mighty slap as the butts were slammed to the ground, the soldiers of the battalion thrust their spears forward, points facing up towards the balcony. The officers brought their swords up in salute. Shining Armor, Cadance and Warding Ember snapped to attention and brought their right hooves to their foreheads. The drums rattled and the first verse of The Fire of Friendship roared out across the square.

When the last note of the national anthem faded, there was thunderous applause, and it was all Shining Armor could do not to join them. He stood saluting as the regiment made its march past with a perfect eyes right, marching off the square as The Crystal Kingdom Anthem played. The regiment had performed magnificently, spectacularly even when he remembered how short a time it had been active. They’d be talking about this all over Equestria.

“Wonderfully well-done, Colonel,” he said to Warding Ember as they walked off the balcony.

“Can’t take any credit, Your Highness!” barked the old Colonel in a Canterlot accent. “Silver Star’s the filly you want to thank for this!”

“I certainly will, but the regiment wouldn’t have been here today if it weren’t for you.”

“I for one was quite surprised at your ponies’ turnout, Colonel,” said First Minister Jade Stone. “No armour?”

“We put that stuff through every test you can imagine,” grunted the Colonel through his mutton chops. “Spear shots got through every time. No point keeping the extra weight.”

“The response of the Crystal Ponies rather surprised me as well,” the First Minister continued as they descended a staircase. “I worried that they might be reminded of the parades Sombra held.”

Shining Armor stopped suddenly. “I never knew that about Sombra.”

“Oh yes, Sombra loved his parades. He was as much at home on the parade square as he was on the battlefield.”

“He was a soldier?”

“The finest the Crystal Empire ever produced,” said Jade. “That was before he took power, though. Before it drove him mad.”

Most Crystal Ponies Shining Armor spoke to preferred not to dwell on their memories of King Sombra, and he’d learned not to press them. Even the academics (among them his sister, to her chagrin) were finding it difficult to piece the Empire’s history together. But Jade Stone was being alarmingly candid. The Crystal Ponies behind her shuffled uncomfortably.

“Well, how about we head downstairs?” said Cadance brightly. “I’m sure we don’t want to keep the soldiers waiting! They’ve earned this lunch, after all!”

Bodyguards and Beginnings

At her desk in Golden Oaks Library, now Golden Oaks Royal Palace, Twilight Sparkle puzzled over a thick government document. Becoming a Princess had been shocking, and then daunting, but now, truth be told, she was at a loss for what to do with herself.

Celestia had the day; Luna had the night; and Cadance had the Crystal Empire, but Twilight had yet to be given any formal position. She’d sat in on Privy Council meetings and even voiced opinions there, but for the most part, Celestia seemed content to let her continue with her studies.

She wasn’t about to curse Celestia for that, but if she was summoned to Privy Council again, she had to know what was going on in Equestria. To that end, thick binders from every government ministry sat in a neat pile on her desk, next to an equally tall pile of newspapers from across Equestria and Equus. Polling reports were pinned to her notice board while economic forecasts were paperclipped together in her in tray.

Twilight frowned at the ledger. It was from the Ministry of Industry and Mining. The officialese was almost impenetrable even for her, but it seemed like since Hearth’s Warming, Equestria was experiencing an unprecedented boom in forge construction. Every company was at it, buying up what forges there were, and building more. The question was, why?

She summoned a newspaper from the middle of the pile. That morning’s Canterlot Financial Inquirer unfolded in front of her and she grimaced. The main picture was a stock photo of Prince Blueblood, that superior smirk on his face. The headline read; BLUEBLOOD LEADS FORGE RUSH.

“The purchase of a dozen forges by Prince Blueblood at the start of this year,” the article read. “Has sparked an unprecedented frenzy of similar purchases by no less than a dozen companies. In addition to the twelve forges purchased, the Blueblood Mining Consortium began the construction of another thirty foundries. Trotheed, Equestrian Aerospace Engineering and Fairfoal, among others, took note of this, and quickly began expanding their own metalworking operations. As of publication, Equestria now has an astonishing one hundred and four forges and foundries under construction.

“This development takes place at a surprising time. No economic forecast has suggested that demand for metal in Equestria is about to increase. In fact, since the last surge in demand for metal a decade ago during the Airship Boom, existing infrastructure has been enough to deal with spikes in demand.

“As a result, figures within the industrial community have accused Prince Blueblood, currently Minister of Industry and Mining on the Privy Council, of operating with insider knowledge. Filthy Rich, CEO of Rich Industries, said yesterday afternoon; ‘No one has ever made a metalworking acquisition this big before. It makes no business sense, and I can only assume Blueblood knows something the rest of us do not.”

“Prince Blueblood, 42, was unavailable for comment, but a spokespony for the Ministry of Industry and Mining said; ‘None of our staff, ministers included, are permitted to share information with businesses outside of government-approved discussions.’ A spokespony for Prince Blueblood said outside his Canterlot mansion this morning; ‘His Highness is not about to dignify these monstrous assaults on his good character with a response.’

“While the motivation behind the acquisition remains unclear, Prince Blueblood is not a businesspony known to make rash or illogical decisions. Though pony rights groups have raised questions about its overseas operations, the Blueblood Mining Consortium maintains one of the best business records in Equestria. It is because of this that other corporations are thought to have followed suit. It has also been reported that Prince Blueblood is speculating in shares in the logging, medicine, and consumer fashion industries... (Full story, p. 3)”

Behind her, a door crashed open. “Hey, Twilight!”

Horrified, Twilight spun round, but he was already moving. “Summer, no, wait!”

Rainbow Dash had only just started turning her head when something crashed into her and pinned her to the floor. A green Pegasus with a truncheon for a cutie mark stood over her, a dagger in one of its hooves.

“Whoa!” blurted Rainbow. She sounded more surprised than anything else, and slightly exhilarated.

Twilight slapped a hoof to her face. “Get off her, Summer.”

“She failed to identify herself before entering, ma’am!”

“You know Rainbow Dash is a friend.”

“I had no choice but to treat her as hostile! It could have been an assassin making use of an ingenious disguise!”

Twilight forced Summer off Rainbow Dash with a jet of magic. “Sorry Rainbow, he’s just like that.”

Spike appeared from the kitchen. He ran over to take Rainbow’s saddlebags. “I will need to search those for any dangerous objects!” snapped Summer. “If you attempt to escape you will be obliterated!”

Rainbow watched incredulously as the Pegasus stalked over to the other side of the library and went through her bags. “Who’s that?”

“Captain Summer Set. He’s detached from the Royal Guard to be my undercover bodyguard.”

“‘Detached’ is the right word! Where’s he from?”

“Isle of Sontar, off Trotaly. They’re all a bit aggressive there, but apparently he took a hit to the head while serving as a mercenary in Zebrica and wasn’t quite the same afterwards.”

“I still don’t see why we couldn’t just have someone more... normal!” grunted Spike. Summer Set had already tried to dispose of him as a “dangerous weapon” owing to his flame throwing abilities.

“AH-HA!” exploded Summer triumphantly. “And what, Equestrian female, is this?!”

Rainbow and Twilight exchanged glances. “A book?”

“Or perhaps an ingenious concealment device for cluster mines?!”

“No Summer, that’s a book,” said Twilight, exasperated. “I leant it to Rainbow last month.”

Summer threw the book down and stalked off up the stairs, grunting. “I’m going to go play with my grenades...”

“Sorry, Rainbow,” groaned Twilight, picking up the book. It was a copy of Daring Do and the Silver Menace. “Did you want to return this?”

“Yeah. Do you have the next book?”

“Sorry, doesn’t come out until summer.”

Rainbow slumped. “Horseapples! What am I going to read until then?!”

A thunderous crash resounded from upstairs. A cloud of dust descended from the rafters. “SONTAR-HA!”

“What the hay is that?!” screamed Rainbow.

“Summer will be practicing his hoof-to-hoof combat,” said Twilight. She frowned. “Dashie, have you tried reading something that isn’t Daring Do?”

“Why’d I do that?”

“Yeah, I thought so...” She suddenly gave a happy bounce. “Tell you what! I’ll give you one of the classics! You’ll love some of these!”

Her horn glowed and the contents of an entire bookcase were suddenly floating around her. “Let’s see... Ramlet... no, you won’t like sheep. The Wind in the Whitetails... hmm, Fluttershy would like that. Othaylo... language might be a bit dense. The Celestiad... no, too cerebral. Hayto’s Symposium... you know, I swear she’s an ancestor of Pinkie... ah, here we go!”

The books flew back to their shelf, but for one that Twilight floated over to Rainbow. “I think you’ll like this one. It’s easy to read; plenty of action; the hero’s brave. Everything you like!”

Rainbow took the book in her hoof. It was an old book: the pages were dog-eared and the gold letters on the spine were starting to peel from the book being opened so often. “The Origin,” she read. “Of what?"

“Of everything. It’s the oldest story we have.”

“In the library?”

“No, in Equestria. In fact, The Origin is probably the oldest recorded story on Equus.”

“But if it’s that old, and it’s the origin of everything, how come I’ve never heard of it? I never remember hearing about this in school.”

“Because it’s just a myth, a creation story like any other. Unlike the Hearth’s Warming Story, which at least has a foundation in fact, there are no documents or archaeological remains that even hint at any fact in The Origin. A lot of teachers also disapprove of it.”

“Why?”

“Read the first page.”

Rainbow flipped to the start of the book. “‘Sing, o Muse, of that terrible war of pony and human, which brought us to this land today.’ Humans? Those things Lyra believes in?”

“It’s not just Lyra. An author was influenced by it a few years ago to write a book on humans and it was incredibly popular. They managed to get ‘Human Studies’ on the curriculum at Canterlot University when I was doing my postgraduate degree. A lot of ponies weren’t happy.”

“But, why?”

“Because humans are totally fictional!” said Twilight, sounding slightly annoyed. “There’s no record of them anywhere on Equus apart from this one story! Well, not in this universe at any rate! And a load of gullible ponies got to cruise through university for three years doing a useless course with a useless degree!”

Rainbow looked down at The Origin in wonder. “Wow, Twi, I didn’t think a book could cause that...” She looked up, a huge grin on her face. “This sounds great! Thanks, Twi, and I’ve gotta get Lyra and Cheerilee talking about humans one day!”

She cackled, took to the air and whizzed out the door.

“Lyra’s not a nut, you know, Twilight,” said Spike, closing the door.

“I know, Spike. I’ve just got a hard time thinking anyone could believe that guff. Have you seen the way those humanophiles sit? It must do terrible things to their backs!”

“If you say so.” Spike hiccupped suddenly and a burst of flame shot from his mouth. The cloud of fire resolved itself into a neatly-rolled scroll with a golden seal.

“A reply from Princess Celestia! At last!” Twilight summoned the scroll and cracked the seal. She’d written to the Princess the day after Amber Spyglass had met her in the library, using the most neutral language she could. She’d reiterated many of Shining Armor’s arguments, and she’d included points about the Changelings. She hadn’t liked what she’d argued for, and she’d been happy to get it out of the way as quickly as possible. She’d also made sure to include a long paragraph on her friend’s political apathy.

As she read the letter, her face fell.

Dear Twilight,

I was saddened by the content of your last letter. First Shining Armor and then Princess Cadance began pressing me to build an army, and now you too. Given your knowledge of history I was astounded that you would back a course of action that would lead us to war.

I was equally surprised to hear of your friends’ disinterest in the government of Equestria. I would have thought that the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony would take a keen interest in the running of the nation. But no matter: the honour would be entirely mine if your friends were to join us at next week’s Privy Council meeting. Hopefully there we can set these two matters to rest.

Yours,

Princess Celestia

“She still doesn’t want to do anything about the Changelings,” said Twilight miserably. “And as for inviting us all to Privy Council...”

“Hey, why not, Twilight?” asked Spike. “Our friends always love an opportunity to visit Canterlot!”

“That’s not the point, Spike! That wasn’t what I was trying to get across! Look...” She summoned a chart from her desk. “Turnout in elections to Parliament is atrocious! A thousand years ago it was at seventy percent, but for five hundred years it hasn’t exceeded twenty percent! How’s inviting six ponies to Canterlot meant to fix that?!”

She sat down at her desk, fuming. “Equestria shouldn’t work like this. We’ve got something wrong. The Princess is right: we’ll definitely put this to rest next week!”

Unwelcome counsel

Their Highnesses’ Most Honourable Privy Council met on the first Wednesday of every month. That day in March, Twilight led a trail of apprehensive friends into the Council Chamber.

Rarity had been eager to come. Pinkie had been ecstatic when she’d heard they were going back to Canterlot, but now seemed rather sullen after Twilight had told her in no uncertain terms to control herself. Rainbow Dash had thought the whole thing sounded dull, but had agreed to help Twilight to convince the rest. Applejack had tried to make excuses, but Twilight had had none of it. And Fluttershy had just about burst into tears at the prospect of having to meet the most powerful ponies in the realm, and had had to have been pushed on to the train by Rainbow Dash, her hooves tearing up the platform as she tried to get away.

As they pushed through the double doors into the Council Chamber, Applejack stopped, staring at the dozen or so ponies in the room. Seeing the sashes and stars of various noble orders pinned to their dresses and vests, she quickly swept off her battered old hat, blushing. “Twilight, ah... ah shouldn’t be here.”

“For the last time, Applejack, Princess Celestia invited you. You were fine at the Grand Galloping Gala!”

“Yeah, well, ah didn’t really make mahself welcome there. Jus’ don’t make me speak, okay?”

But a smartly-dressed Unicorn stallion suddenly trotted over. “Ah, you must be the party from Ponyville they mentioned.” He had an upper class Baltimare accent and his cutie mark was a quill and parchment. He bowed to Twilight. “Your Highness.”

“Good morning, Sir Burnished.”

He extended his hoof to Applejack. “Lovely to meet you, my dear. I’m Burnished Bronze, Home Secretary.”

Applejack looked like she was facing a pack of Timberwolves. “Uh... ah’m Applejack, sir.”

“Applejack, eh? Visited Ponyville myself a few years ago. They do a wonderful apple strudel. Sugarcube Corner I think the place was called. I’ll bet you had something to do with it!”

Behind Applejack, Pinkie looked ready to explode with happiness. Fluttershy put a warning hoof on her leg.

“Lovely talking to you,” said Sir Burnished. “I look forward to hear what you have to say today.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” said Twilight, as Burnished Bronze trotted off. “Sir Burnished has been the MP for Baltimare for forty years. Celestia made him Home Secretary last year in recognition.”

“Goodness, is that the Prince of Horsetria?” whispered Rarity, nodding at a group of three ponies gathered on the other side of the council table.

“Yeah, that’s Withers von Hoofsburg himself. The other two are the Duke of Idahoof and Iron von Hayenzollern from Prancenburg.”

“Who represents Ponyville?” asked Rainbow Dash.

“Ponyville’s part of Moscolt, so her over there,” said Twilight, nodding at a tired-looking white Earth Pony with a bunch of grapes on her flank. She twitched every so often. “Snowy Grape. She’s Minister of Agriculture.”

As she cast her eyes further around the room, she spotted Amber Spyglass leaning nonchalantly against a roof support. Every other pony was keeping a discrete distance from him. On the other side of the room, Prince Blueblood stood in splendid isolation. To him, even these ponies were part of the vile hoi polloi.

Two Royal Guards in armour pushed through the double doors at the other end of the room. They raised trumpets to their lips and blew. The councilponies who had already been sitting at the table hastily stood.

Princess Celestia, flanked by Luna and Cadance, walked serenely in. The councilponies bowed, and Twilight and her friends hastily copied them.

Celestia acknowledged her councilponies then walked over to Twilight. “Welcome, my little ponies! It’s so wonderful that you could come. I want you all at the top of the table next to me.”

A massive council table of polished oak sat in the middle of the room. Cadance, Celestia and Luna sat at the top of the table, with Twilight, Fluttershy and Pinkie to their left and Rarity, Rainbow and Applejack to the right. Most of the councilponies looked rather disgruntled to be shoved down the table. They were used to having space to spread their briefing documents out, but now they sat almost shoulder to shoulder.

“Well, good morning, everypony,” said Celestia brightly. “Sir Burnished, shall we begin?”

The Home Secretary riffled through his papers. “For our first order of business, Councilpony Ponyatowski has motioned that we discuss the Partition of Ponland with the Crystal Empire. You can find that on page three of your folders.”

A red Earth Pony with a white mane adjusted his papers. His cutie mark was a white eagle. “Your Highness, it’s been eight months since you chose to partition my region with the Crystal Empire. With the benefit of hindsight, I think it’s best that we discuss that policy and some potential revisions.”

“Ponyatowski,” said Celestia calmly. “We discussed this in detail last year. If we had not given the Empire access to a larger area of farmland and greater tax base, the Crystal Ponies would now be facing food shortages. While I regret that it had to be Ponland, if I recall correctly, you agreed with the principle behind it. You also helped draw up the partition plan.”

“Yes, Your Highness, and I’m happy to say that because of that, the Partition passed with a minimum of fuss. Since then, however, I’ve been receiving concerns from a number of my constituents. Some of them feel that the referendum wasn’t well-publicised, and others say that family members across the Partition Line feel that their areas are being marginalised in favour of the Crystal Empire proper.”

“What do you say to that, Cadance?”

“Your Highness, while it’s true we’ve had to reduce the block grants to a number of towns in Imperial Ponland to fund the Empire, we have to remember that the Crystal Ponies are a thousand years behind the rest of Equestria. We have to bring them up to date on education, social policy and economic changes. There’s also a lot of reconstruction and rehabilitation from Sombra’s time that still needs doing. We also consulted with the mayors of those towns before making the decision and they assured as that they could make savings in non-essential spending.”

“All good points, Your Highness,” said Ponyatowski. “But that ‘non-essential spending’ includes cultural and arts education. Many ponies in Imperial Ponland are feeling that their culture is being marginalised. I’ve also heard that ponies resent having to cross a regional boundary to visit family members.”

“The Ponish had the opportunity to vote on the changes,” said Celestia. “The referendum showed that most were indifferent to the Partition.”

“But Your Highness,” broke in Twilight. “Like Ponyatowski said, the referendum wasn’t well-publicised and a lot of Ponish weren’t entirely sure what it was they were voting for. I’ve looked up referendums and elections in Mareope: their campaign seasons are three times as long as ours! Under our current system, there’s not enough time to get information out to the electorate. That’s why turnout is so low.”

Everypony in the room stared at her, mouths hanging open. None of them had ever imagined that Celestia’s most faithful student would ever disagree with her.

“Twilight,” said Celestia calmly. “I know about those electoral campaigns of theirs, and watching them for a thousand years had convinced me that they do nothing but lead to division, bitterness and infighting. It’s the same reason we don’t have political parties.”

“PAR...?!” began Pinkie, before Fluttershy stuffed a hoof into her mouth.

Celestia turned to another pony, a brown-maned Pegasus with bag of gold for a cutie mark. “Could we increase the Empire’s grant?”

“I think so, Your Highness,” said Diamond Charm, Chancellor of the Exchequer. “If I can consult with Ponyatowski and Princess Cadance, we can identify roughly how much is needed before we set up an interdepartmental committee.”

“Wonderful. What’s our next order of business?”

Increasingly bored, Pinkie Pie cast her eyes around the room in search of something to interest her. Ponyatowski looked satisfied, and the Unicorn that Twilight had said was Minister for Culture looked happy at the prospect of more ring-fenced funding. But as she looked right, to her astonishment, Twilight was sitting there fuming.

“If you’ll turn to page twelve,” continued Burnished Bronze. “Princess Cadance has asked that we discuss an expansion to the Royal Guard.”

Celestia’s head whipped round to face Cadance, and Twilight was stunned. Her elegant features were twisted by a look of cold fury unlike anything Twilight had ever seen. Cadance was utterly unperturbed, an inspiring feat considering that a sun goddess looked like she was trying to bore holes in her with her eyes.

“An army of fifty thousand ponies,” said Snowy Grape, reading the executive summary. “Of which ten thousand are Pegasi cavalry, supported by one hundred and ninety guns.” She frowned and her cheek twitched slightly. She ground her teeth together in thought. “Well, that’s quite an expansion, Your Highness.”

The other Councilponies were leafing through their folders. Some looked mildly interested, others concerned.

“This seems like a lot of expense for something for which we have no clear need,” said the Foreign Secretary, Binding Treaty. “And even if we were to need it, fifty thousand ponies taken out of the workforce? Our factories repurposed to build guns? Could the realm bear an expense like that?”

Diamond Charm looked flustered. “Uh, I can’t say. We’ve never had to...”

“Cost estimates are provided on page twenty,” said Cadance, softly.

“The realm will not bear the expense,” said Celestia, coldly. “Because the realm will not be doing it.”

“Tia...”

“We have discussed this time and again, Cadance! Equestria will never march to war while I wear this crown!”

A ringing silence descended over the Council Chamber. Fluttershy had her hooves to her mouth, eyes wide. Rarity looked shocked. Applejack looked more than ever like she wanted to be anywhere else but here.

“Princess,” said Twilight, slowly. “Under the terms of the Great Charter, we do have to debate the bill. And we do have to vote on it before we dismiss it.”

“I think we should do just that,” said Binding Treaty. “I do not believe this proposal would ever get through Parliament.”

“This proposal doesn’t require Parliamentary assent,” said Cadance. “It’s an internal reform of the Royal Guard.”

“As Snowy pointed out, Your Highness, a very big internal reform. One with potentially devastating consequences to our way of life and international position. In any case, how are we to fund it? Parliament still has to vote on budgets and they’d never accept something like this.”

“Oh, I imagine that could be solved with some good-old-fashioned apple barrelling,” said Burnished Bronze. The Royal Guard de jure came under the Home Office, and anything that led to a minister’s budget being increased was to them a good policy.

“But what for?” pressed Binding. He turned to Cadance. “Your Highness, I know you support your husband in this, but I’ve seen his lecture, and myself and my staff find his analysis of our strategic position wanting.”

“We don’t want to begin some pre-emptive war in Mareope, if that’s what you mean,” said Cadance. “But if you’ve seen his lecture and listened to Amber’s reports, you’ll know the threat we face in the south.”

“The Changelings will not cross the Appleloosan Mountains,” said Celestia. “And if they do, we’ll throw them back with the Elements of Harmony.”

“Your Highness,” said Twilight quietly. “We already know the problems with the Elements. What if we’re separated from our tokens? What if one of us dies?”

“In any case, it is not just a question of waiting for the Changelings to try to force their way over the mountains,” said Amber Spyglass. “You’ve all read my reports from the south. Chrysalis is preparing to assault the Lynxes. Lieutenant Recon in our watchtower at Froud Valley says the planning is well into the final stages. If she takes their territory, she may well recoup enough strength to attack Equestria again.”

Binding Treaty pawed at the floor nervously. “Your Highness, while I’m still sceptical at the scale of the threat, if Amber Spyglass is right, then letting the Changelings take over the Lynxes could do irreparable damage to our diplomatic position. We already let them take the Felinia Matriarchy. What would Equus say if we let them take over another neighbour?”

“We don’t have the kind of industrial base to support a military build up like this!” snapped Celestia, but Twilight could tell she was grasping at straws. She was losing the Council.

“That could be a problem...” began Diamond Charm.

“Forgive me, Diamond, but that is no longer true.”

Everypony looked around to see Prince Blueblood sitting serenely at the end of the table. Smiling, the Minister of Industry and Mining pulled a sheet of parchment from his immaculately-pressed jacket.

“Owing to the recent expansion in forge construction, our industrial base has enough surplus capacity to handle the Princess’ proposed build-up. A fortuitous coincidence, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

Twilight’s lip curled and she felt her hooves shaking. Blueblood had known. He must have known from the day Shining Armor had given his speech to them last year. He had begun the apparently-nonsensical forge rush and had speculated wildly, knowing that it would benefit him in the end. Had Shining told him? She hoped and thought not, but however he had found out, one thing was certain: Blueblood stood ready to make a fortune.

“Very well,” said Celestia, icily. “We’ll put this to vote. But I warn you, great armaments inevitably lead to war. I saw this a thousand years ago, and since then I have seen it every year across Equus. You may vote for this in a misguided belief that it will keep you safe, but if you do not wish to see thousands dead; if you do not wish to see your homes and farms burnt and this land torn and bleeding, you will vote against this.”

Silence descended over the Council Chamber. Burnished Bronze coughed and prepared to call the vote.

“Uh, can ah say sommin’?”

Everypony looked to the top of the table in astonishment. An embarrassed-looking Applejack looked sheepishly around the room. Twilight beamed.

“By all means, Applejack dear,” said Celestia, her voice softer now.

“Well, uh, thanks Princess. Now, uh, ah don’t know much about yer budgets an’ yer diplomacy and all yer other governmental words, ah’m just an apple farmer. But ah do know one thing: If we’ve got a blight on a tree back down at Sweet Apple Acres, it ain’t a good idea to jus’ leave it ‘cause ya think it’ll be okay. You gotta cut it out before it can infect the rest. Now, uh, ah don’t want a war. Ah don’t wanna see anypony get hurt. But if we don’t do sommin’ about those Changelings now, we might jus’ end up losing the whole orchard.”

Twilight slapped her on the shoulder. Rainbow Dash beamed. Rarity looked astounded. Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie looked worried. And all the Councilponies looked like they had just been told something very profound.”

“All right, then,” said Burnished Bronze. “All in favour of the proposed military reform?”

Along the table, hooves were raised. Some shot worried glances up at the Princesses before they made their decision. Blueblood of course voted aye. So did Iron von Hayenzollern. The Prince of Horsetria did not raise his hoof. Neither did Snowy Grape or Diamond Charm. Until the last hoof was raised, the Privy Council was evenly split.

“No...” whispered Celestia. Her face grim, Luna had raised her hoof.

“The ayes have it,” said Sir Burnished uncertainly. Everyone stared at the Princesses.

Under the Great Charter, Celestia and Luna held joint veto over the Council, but it could only be exercised if they both agreed. Otherwise, it came down to a simple majority vote. Over the past thousand years, Celestia had wielded veto power alone until Luna had returned. The Princesses had not come to accord on a Council decision only once before, which had precipitated the transformation of Luna into Nightmare Moon.

“Luna...” whispered Celestia. Tears formed in her eyes.

“I am sorry, my sister, but I am quite convinced. We can remain defenceless no longer. We must have an army.”

Celestia looked desperately around the Chamber. None dared meet her eye. Tears began to trickle down her face.

“Tia...” Luna gently laid a hoof on Celestia’s leg. She put something that only the two of them could see on the table.

Twilight stared at Celestia in shock. The Princess of the Day had an expression of utter horror on her face as she stared down at the thing on the table. Twilight craned her neck to look, but Luna swept it away before anypony could see it.

Celestia looked up. The tears still flowed and her voice was thick. “Very well, there shall be a Royal Army.”

Structures of war

Two days later, a dozen ponies met in Canterlot Castle’s southwest tower. Chairing the newly-formed Royal Commission on the Defence of Equestria was Prince Shining Armor, now promoted the first of Equestria’s new Generals and appointed Commander-in-Chief of the Forces.

That also, he reflected, meant that he was no longer Captain-General of the Royal Guard. He would no longer lead his old regiment in Trooping the Colour, and what would soon be the most prestigious command in the new Royal Army was no longer his. His responsibilities (and indeed, salary) were now far greater, but he still could not help but feel that he had lost something.

“Well, mares, gentlestallions,” he began. “We all know why we’re here, as in fact does most of Equestria. Let’s begin.”

Eleven other ponies sat around the table. Silver Star and her brother Bronze, both now Colonels sat next to him. They were almost identical but for their cutie marks and colts: Bronze’s cutie mark was a dark brown star, and while his sister’s coat was grey, his was brazen.

Across the table was Colonel Morning Star, until two days ago a Lieutenant Colonel of the Guards. Grey-maned and brown-bodied, his cutie mark was French horn and white rose. The Royal Guard quietly maintained a program to send volunteers to gain experience in wars overseas, and he and Shining Armor had served five tours together.

Next to Morning Star was Major General Neigh. The ruddy-faced Moscoltite was heavily-muscled and seemed to strain against his brilliant red uniform. A thirty-year veteran of the Guard, Shining Armor knew him to be ferociously brave from overseas tours. However, the politics of promotion in a force as small as the Royal Guard were ferocious, and he had been a poor player in them and had never risen beyond the rank of Captain. If anyone deserved elevation to the highest ranks, it was him.

Lieutenant General Dagger von Steel, a Prancenburger with a deep grasp of military history sat across from Neigh. Colonel Beryl de Topaz, a mare in the green of the Crystal Guard sat next him. Another Crystal Pony, Lieutenant General Ration Bag sat at the end of the table. On the Crystal Guard’s staff, the stallion had a genius for logistics and administration.

Warding Ember, now a full General sat across from Bag. He had swapped the green of the Crystal Guard for his old red Guards uniform, the crossbelts bearing the star of Princess Platinum and the green collar bearing the leaves of Clover the Clever, in memory of the two mares whom the Royal Guard had first protected.

Two civilians were present as well. Penny Bag was a quiet mare representing the Treasury, while Professor Pensword of the University of Canterlot had been asked to join them as one of Equestria’s few military history experts.

Shining Armor read from his notes. “The purpose of this commission,” he said formally. “Will be to discuss and decide upon the structure, organisation and conditions of the Equestrian Army, in addition to developing strategic plans for operations against the Changelings in Southern Equestria, subject to approval by Parliament.” He turned a page. “Colonel Star, I gather you want to make some opening remarks?”

Morning Star, sat up. “Yes, Your Highness, I’d like to ask why we’re not to discuss any aspects of battalion organisation in this commission. Our notes stress regiment and above only.”

“My belief is that our current battalion structure is more than suited to our needs,” said Shining Armor.

“Perhaps, sir, but we haven’t had to take a battalion to the field yet. At the moment we organise our battalions in three ranks. That might be fine for reviews or Trooping the Colour, but tactically I think there’s an argument for reducing that to two.”

“I wouldn’t like to see two ranks trying to resist a spear point charge,” said Warding Ember gruffly. “With three ranks the line has solidity for the melee.”

“Maybe so, sir, but with a two-deep line it might not even come to a melee. Currently, the third rank’s spear points barely reach beyond the pony in front. If we get rid of the third rank and extend the two-deep line, we can increase the battalion’s firepower by thirty percent.”

“There’d be a historical precedent for that, Your Highness,” said Professor Pensword. “Infantry armies across Equus have been adopting shallower and shallower formations since Mareice of Neighsau and Sombra in the Discordian War.”

“What about facing cavalry?” demanded Ember. “A two-rank square isn’t going to be able to resist a determined charge.”

“We can modify the drill manual to bring the half-companies up behind each other when forming square from line,” said Star. “Forming from line or column, it’ll give us a four-deep formation.”

“While it’s definitely something to consider for future operations,” said Shining Armor. “We do have to remember the current context. Our enemy is the Changelings. Lieutenant Telescope’s report from our watchtower down south suggests that they don’t have many ranged weapons, so we don’t need the large volumes of fire from a two-rank line. And if it comes to the melee, the Changelings are trained for that, so we need a solid formation that can resist them.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay then, our next order of business should be regimental organisation. The three-battalion structure of the Royal Guard Regiment had served us well for parades, but we can’t be certain that that will translate well on the battlefield. Lieutenant General Bag, you wanted to say something on that?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” The curly-maned Crystal Pony flicked through his papers. “While each battalion has its own Light Company for skirmish duty, I think the effectiveness of each regiment could be increased if a fourth battalion trained entirely for skirmishing was introduced into their order of battle. In battle, we can march the line battalions in a one-up two-back formation while the light battalion marches ahead and harries the enemy.”

Shining Armor frowned. Good grasp of tactics for a logistician...

“Couldn’t that be seen as giving each regiment its own elite unit?” asked Beryl de Topaz. “I can’t imagine that would be good for morale among the line battalions.”

“And if we go for territorial associations for regiments as the Prince suggests,” said Dagger von Steel. “It could lead to recruits over-applying to the light battalion at the expense of the line battalions.”

“Could we group the light infantry battalions together in their own regiments, then tag each battalion to a line regiment on the battlefield?” asked Silver Star. “Purely for tactical purposes?”

“A novel concept, Colonel,” said Warding Ember. “But what would we call such a unit? And who would lead a unit bigger than a regiment but smaller than a division?”

“We called them brigades in the Discordian War,” said Ration Bag.

Topaz and Silver and Bronze Star stared in disbelief at Bag. “You...” began Topaz, her face slowly becoming clouded with anger.

“Good idea, Lieutenant General!” blurted Shining Armor quickly. “Definitely something to consider!”

Warding Ember realised what was happening and quickly changed the subject. “Indeed! Very interesting! But if we adopt these brigades, then what do we do with the regiments? It makes them seem fairly useless as a tactical unit.”

“If I learnt anything from being a battalion commander,” said Morning Star. “It’s that it involves a lot of admin work. If he’s got to be thinking about battle formations, casualties and logistics, then I don’t want him to be burdened by half the paperwork I had to deal with. Could we refer things like pay and training to the regimental staff?”

“You mean make the regiment a purely administrative unit?” asked Warding Ember, his eyes narrowing.

“The recruits would still see themselves as being part of the regiment, and their battle honours and decorations would be the regiment’s,” said Star. “And if we arrange it as the Prince suggests, with each regiment recruiting from, training in, and being garrisoned in its own area, then the ponies there would come to see that regiment as their own as well. If they see that it’s their colts and fillies signing up and parading through their streets, then we might do something to get the Army accepted. Spirits know, we’re going to need it.”

“And if we give them leave to decide on things like cap badges and uniform facings,” said Bronze Star. “Then it would increase each soldier’s sense of the specialness of her regiment.”

“On that,” said Pensword. “I’ve been looking up some of the armies of the Discordian War. All the statelets’ armies wore different colours. Horsetria’s uniforms were white; Prancenburg’s were dark blue; the Crystal Empire’s were green, as you know; Braytain’s were red; Canterlot’s were blue. You could have each regional army uniformed in those colours to add a sense of history and boost morale.”

“Or remind them of the war,” said Bronze Star darkly, staring at Ration Bag.

“With regard to skirmishers,” said Shining Armor loudly, desperate to forestall an argument. “We will have to put together a new light infantry manual for battalion-scale operations, as well as train a cadre of officers and NCOs in their use before we can start even recruiting light battalions.”

“I’m sure I can see to that, Your Highness,” said Neigh. He had commanded the Light Company of the Guards’ 2nd Battalion for fifteen years.

“Please do. Lieutenant General Bag, what was your point about advancing the line battalions?”

“Well, Your Highness, I’ve been looking at some of Professor Pensword’s works on regimental deployments in Mareope. The Prench and Manish in particular keep one of their battalions forward in line, the second battalion further back in column ready to deploy forward, and the third battalions grouped together in the rear as a tactical reserve.”

“That strikes me as a waste of ponypower,” said Neigh. “If we arranged our brigades with one battalion deployed in line, with the other two battalions in column on the flanks, they could bring local numerical superiority to bear as well as being prepared for any developments. If infantry attack, the flank battalions can form line. If cavalry attack, they can form square and protect the centre line while they reform. In the attack, the centre line could provide fire support while one or both columns push forward against the enemy.”

“Attack in column?” asked Warding Ember sceptically. “That’s not going to handle well against artillery. A roundshot going through a column will kill a pony in every file it goes through. Against a line it will only take out three.”

“Then it’s a good thing we’ll have fire superiority over the Changelings, sir. The reports say that their heaviest artillery piece is an eight-pounder ballista! You made the point about depth of lines earlier, sir. Attacking in column gives us the depth and mass to engage the Changelings in the melee, assuming they don’t break first.”

“What you’re suggesting would require a huge amount of coordination between the artillery batteries and brigade commanders,” said Shining Armor. “Our communications have neither the speed nor efficiency to allow that.”

“Then make a battery organic to each division,” said Neigh. “Each brigade would have four heavy guns supporting it in addition to the battalion guns. And if we attached an artillery brigade to, say, every two divisions, we could put an overwhelming superiority of fire down across their entire axis of advance.”

“That’s a lot of guns,” said Morning Star.

“Major General,” said Pensword. “No army I’ve ever heard of, whether Equestrian, Mareopean or Haysian, has ever had that high a ratio of artillery to infantry.”

“Well perhaps it’s time to start, Professor.”

Penny Bag of the Treasury looked quite ill. “I think the Chancellor would take exception to having to announce the budget estimates for that in the Commons. The proposed one hundred and ninety guns are already pushing it.”

“And then there’s the logistics element,” said Ration Bag. “If we try to transport that many guns and ammunition, not to mention spare parts and tools, where do we put the food? The medicines? If we tried to build our army like that, we’d have such a huge tail that I don’t think we’d have enough ponies left for the teeth!”

“Neigh,” said Shining Armor, quietly. “Your suggestion is interesting, perhaps even revolutionary, but you’re thinking in terms of a major Mareopean war. I don’t want that, no one wants that. Our goal is to defeat the Changelings, not radically alter warfare. A time may come when we need an army like that, but not today.”

“Yes, sir,” said Neigh, sullenly.

“All right then. With that out of the way, perhaps we can start thinking about cavalry organisation...”

A dangerous pastime

Atop a cloud above Ponyville, oblivious to the ongoing political battles, Rainbow Dash turned a page. She’d thought the text had been a bit dense at first, and she hadn’t been impressed by the twenty-four-page introduction, but once she’d got through the first chapter, The Origin had become utterly absorbing.

Though both Twilight and the introduction, which had been more concerned with the difficulties of translating Old Equestrian, had assured her that the story was entirely fictional, it was difficult to believe that. Though Daring Do was filled with great descriptions of South Amarerica and the ancient cultures the plucky heroine investigated, the worldbuilding in The Origin put that entire series to shame. The characters; the geography; the fights: They were so detailed, so believable, that Rainbow was almost convinced that the author had written it all from a history book.

Her eyes flicked down the page, absorbing every word. The fearless leader of the ponies, who had led their revolt against the humans, had just died in battle. After year on year of ferocious combat, the ponies seemed to be lost.

“And so upon his pyre lay Spartacus of the burning eyes. And Hannibal stood before the warriors to give the rites. The warriors that had been his stood in zigzag lines of mourning and behind them stood their husbands and wives, their colts and fillies. Torches ringed them in a wheel of fire, and warrior and foal wept alike.

“‘Today we have fought!’ cried Hannibal of the thick legs. ‘We fought as we have fought seven times before on this field, as Spartacus did! And we would fight seven times again, as Spartacus would! In his honour, do we say: Justice be done!’

“And the ponies replied, as Oracle taught them, ‘Justice be done.’

“‘Warriors!’ cried Hannibal the Undefeated Courser again. ‘Remember what Spartacus would have you do! Remember what the humans would do to you! To your families! He would not have us falter now, for he never did! In his honour, do we say: Duty be done!’

“And the ponies replied, as Oracle had taught them, ‘Duty be done.’

“‘As we mourn Spartacus, we thank that he lived!’ cried Hannibal again. ‘We mourn him so that none need mourn their foals and families, lost to the unjust slavery of the humans! In his honour, do we say: Mercy be done!’

“And the ponies replied, as Oracle had taught them, ‘Mercy be done.’

“And Hannibal did cry again, and his tears ran thicker than any others, stallion or mare. ‘Not once did he lead us to defeat! Not once did he retreat! Would we all be so brave! In his honour, do we say: Valour be done!’

“And the ponies replied, as Oracle had taught them, ‘Valour be done.’

“And Hannibal of the thick legs did cry one last time. ‘He is now at peace, but denied the peace he sought for all ponies! We suffer so we all might return to peace! In his honour, do we say: Peace be done!’

“And the ponies replied, as Oracle had taught them, ‘Peace be done.’

“And Hannibal did set his torch against Spartacus’ pyre. And thus passed the Bringer of Rain, the Breaker of Chains, the Doom of the Humans, He Who Knew No Fear. With the dawn the flat-faced humans would come, and they would find the shade of the Doom departed and the ponies unprotected.

“The ponies knew their doom was at hoof. Their warriors would die and their bright armaments would be piled as trophies. And their foals would again be bound with the chains Spartacus had snapped off their parents, to live forevermore beneath a human’s lash.

“With death upon them some ponies fell to their knees and wept. Some others looked to the skies and begged or cursed. And some others gathered their families about them and whispered their goodbyes. But Belisarius the Unconquered stood and swore that though all would be taken from him, his honour would be the last to be torn away.

“At this the warriors cheered, and they polished their fearsome helms and oiled their weapons, ready to die with honour before the humans. The Unicorns set their horns a-glowing, ready to launch their fierce barrages. And watching this from below the hill, the humans smiled, for they knew the ponies were preparing to die.

“At dawn the ponies assembled in their fighting pits, the banner behind them a line that they swore with blood none would pass. But the dawn light caught the helmets and the humans saw how few they were, and laughed.

“But then came a shaking of the ground and a great thunder, and the ponies were afraid, for they thought the humans had fired their terrible guns. Belisarius knew fear as the sun vanished behind a great fire that poured from the rock, for he thought that the humans had set a new weapon against them, but then he laughed as he saw the humans scream and break, and fall and cry as behind them their topless towers crumbled. And their parks and farms and shops and homes and cities did burn and crumble beneath the black ash, and the ponies laughed, for the world was changed, and they knew it was changed for them.”

“So... awesome...” whispered Rainbow Dash. She had raised a hoof to turn the page, when beneath her she heard an almighty crash.

Thinking for a moment that her own world was changed, she stuck her head out of her cloud. Her jaw dropped. Below her lay a trench, as deep as she was tall, carved across the countryside outside Ponyville. Turning her head, she saw that it started next to three neatly-placed ironing boards sitting outside the Sweet Apple Acres farmhouse. It ended at the shattered wreck of a once-fine pine tree, and lying amidst the splinters, covered in tree sap, were three very familiar-looking fillies.

“Oh, Celestia!” cried Rainbow in horror. “Scoots! SCOOTS!”

She leapt off her cloud and went into a near-ninety degree dive. The air tore at her face and made her cheeks ripple. Saliva slashed past her face, but she didn’t care. She barely came to a halt before she reached the tree and fluttered as quickly as she dared down to the orange Pegasus filly lying on her back in the mud.

“Scootaloo, are you okay?!” Rainbow gasped. Scootaloo’s eyes rolled in her head, so she wasn’t dead. Rainbow slapped her around the muzzle, desperately trying to think of something. “Uh... what’s two plus two?”

“Uhh...” groaned Scootaloo. Rainbow clamped her hooves to her mouth in horror. What question would Scoots never fail to answer?

She had it in seconds. “What place did I come in the 993 Los Pegasus Junior Flyers’ Competition?!”

“Third,” said Scootaloo instantly. Then she shook her head and sat up. “Oh, my... oh, hi Rainbow Dash! Hey, are you okay, girls?”

“Ah’m fine...” groaned Apple Bloom, face down in the mud. “How ‘bout you, Sweetie Belle?”

“Mmmm!” spluttered Sweetie Belle. She rolled on to her hooves and spat out a thick clod of earth. “I don’t believe it! How did extreme ironing end up with us propelled halfway across Sweet Apple Acres, coated in mud and covered in tree sap?!”

“Ah dunno, ah’m not sure yer supposed to enchant them irons...” said Apple Bloom.

“But then what would be extreme about it?” demanded Scootaloo. She dejectedly slapped her hooves down in the mud. “I guess we won’t be getting extreme ironing cutie marks anytime soon.”

“I thought that out of everything we could’ve done, we couldn’t get covered in tree sap from ironing,” said Sweetie Belle dejectedly. “Mum and dad are out of town, too. Rarity’s not going to let me in the Boutique until I’ve been under a hose for at least an hour.”

“Wha’s next on the list?” asked Apple Bloom.

“That was it,” said Scootaloo miserably. “We’re not bog snorkelers, snowboarders, or extreme ironingererers!” She pawed at the dirt angrily, but then her face split into a broad smile. “I’ll bet you could give us a few ideas of what we could do for our cutie marks, Rainbow Dash!”

Rainbow stared at the three angelic faces beaming up at her. What could she tell them about cutie marks that she hadn’t already? They knew her sonic rainboom story off by heart, and apart from flying, the only thing she really enjoyed was reading...

“APPLE BLOOM!”

All four of them spun round to see a furious-looking Applejack galloping over from the Sweet Apple Acres farmhouse.

“Uh, sorry girls!” said Rainbow Dash quickly. “I’ve got The Origin to finish reading!”

And with that, she shot up into the clouds.

“What’s The Origin?” asked Sweetie Belle.

“Search me,” said Apple Bloom, worriedly looking over her shoulder at the rapidly-approaching orange Earth Pony.

“But if Rainbow Dash is reading it...” said Scootaloo.

“And if she dashes away that quickly to read it...” said Sweetie Belle.

“Then it must be awesome!” cried Scootaloo.

“But wha’ is it?” asked Apple Bloom.

“I don’t know!” said Scootaloo happily, oblivious to Applejack looming up behind her. “But we’re going to find out!”

Blood and Ice

On her throne in the Crystal Palace, Princess Cadance sat in a miserable reverie. Twilight was back in Ponyville and Shining Armor was still away in Canterlot, so she had no pony to confide in, no pony that she trusted enough to tell how wretched she felt.

She and Shining Armor had pushed and pushed Celestia to agree to an army, and she and Shining Armor had convinced Luna to support them. Against every conviction she held most dear, Celestia had been forced to agree to the plan by the Privy Council’s vote. And yet the media had seized on her: after keeping Equestria peaceful and prosperous for a thousand years, Princess Celestia was now a dangerous warmonger who wanted to build an army for no good reason. Not one newspaper or radio show had even considered asking what had prompted this astonishing turnaround: the juicy scandal was enough.

The floodgates were open now. Ponies like Radical Road, once dismissed as lunatics, were now given a platform, and his ideas now had relevance for some ordinary ponies. The constitutional arrangements of the Great Charter, to which the vast majority of ponies had been duly deferential to for centuries, now seemed wholly inadequate. Radical Road was calling for a reform that fit his name: the power of the monarchy was now under threat, and had it not been for the need for the Princesses to raise the sun and moon, he would be demanding their abdication as well.

The leak had also prompted a slew of resignations, from lowly Civil Servants who wanted no part in a militaristic regime, to those at the highest levels of state. Two days ago, a servant had delivered Cadance’s usual Manehattan Telegraph with her breakfast, and it had borne the headline; SNOWY GRAPE RESIGNS.

Whether it really had been principled opposition to the army, or she had just thought she knew where the winds were blowing, Councilpony Snowy Grape had resigned as Minister of Agriculture. In her speech from the backbenches of the House of Commons, now sitting opposite the government benches, she had declared that she could “no longer serve in good conscience this government, with its arbitrary exercise, and now we see abuse, of power.”

In the week after the first press exposé, the leaks hadn’t subsided. On the day Shining Armor’s commission met, the media baron Newsprint had nailed his colours to the mast of the new opposition, running a headline in his tabloid rag Sun and Moon that read; NOW CELESTIA’S SPYING ON US. The Princess, he alleged, had ordered the Chief of Intelligence to pin down the leak, even though he had no jurisdiction in Equestria. Most ponies were shocked enough when they learnt that Celestia even had a spy service, much less one she might use on them. Radical Road and named this “yet another example of Princess Celestia’s abuse of power and utter unaccountability to, and contempt towards, the Equestrian electorate.”

Then the next day one of Newsprint’s broadsheets, The Baltimare Times, had run the headline; BRIBES FOR VOTES: HOW CELESTIA PLANS TO WIN THE VITAL BUDGET VOTE THAT WILL GIVE HER AN ARMY. A senior figure in the Treasury, possibly even the Privy Council, had leaked to him a draft budget plan that contained apple barrelling on a momentous scale: Chancellor Diamond Charm had been holding informal discussions with several MPs, promising massive earmarks for their constituencies in exchange for their support for the budget, which would of course include the new funds for the army. Radical Road had named it “a catastrophic betrayal of fiscal prudence and government integrity, and a tragic misallocation of funds when we consider the state of some of our major cities.”

Cadance did not believe that Newsprint truly supported the new movement, which had christened itself the “Parliamentarians”: the Horsetralian-born media baron was too canny for that. Nevertheless, shocking headlines and exclusive stories sold papers, and Newsprint International’s newspaper runs and radio shows had some of the highest circulations on Equus. What they wrote, thousands of ponies read, and that, Cadance imagined, was what had convinced Snowy Grape to resign. She sighed. Public confidence in the monarchy was in tatters and Parliament was rent asunder when it needed to be united. Worst of all, it was all her fault.

“Your Highness?”

Cadance looked down to see First Minister Jade Stone looking up at her, a concerned look on her face. She had a quill poised in her hoof over a sheet of parchment. “We need to discuss the arrangements for the meeting with the Ponish mayors.”

“Oh yes, sorry, Jade. I was just thinking about Snowy Grape resigning. I’m... I’m worried, that’s all.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t be, Your Highness,” said the First Minister brightly. “There was a Gallop Poll in today’s Telegraph. Sixty-six percent of ponies say they still strongly support the Princesses.”

“That’s a drop of twenty-four percent from the last poll,” said Cadance miserably. “And seventy-one percent say their trust in the Princesses’ judgements had been shaken.”

“True, but if you’re worried about a poll like that, you should see some of the governments in Mareope. They’ve bounced back after far worse ratings.”

“Mmm, all right then, back to business.” She took the sheet of parchment in her magic and examined the plans for the meeting. “No sign of our Diamond Dog friends recently?”

“It’s been surprisingly quiet, Your Highness. Perhaps they spotted the Crystal Guard’s drills and thought better of it.”

Cadance’s eyes returned to the parchment, and then her ears fluttered. A distant crackling had suddenly filled the air. It sounded like it was miles away, but even through the Palace walls, it was still audible. “What’s that?”

The throne room’s immense double doors burst open. Major Sword Bolt, his cocked hat askew and uniform rumpled, stood there breathing heavily. He looked like he had galloped up the tower. “Your Highness, we have to...”

Cadance leapt from her throne. Huge pink wings spread from her body and she flew the length of the blue crystal chamber. She sailed over the Guardspony, through several halls and up a flight of stairs before landing on the palace balcony.

The Crystal Ponies in the streets below might have looked up at the surprising appearance of their Princess on the balcony on an otherwise normal Friday, but they were all transfixed by the chaos that had erupted around them. A thin line of smoke trailed into the air from somewhere on the Empire’s Northern Marches, and suddenly a column of Guards in smart green thundered at the double up the Imperial Boulevard. The officer at their head only had time to bellow “Make way!” Anypony that didn’t move in time would be run down.

On the balcony, Cadance could see the source of the smoke, and where the crackling had come from, which now she heard as a never ending series of bangs. When the Crystal Guard had been established, Shining Armor had ordered the farms on the city’s fringe to set up beacons, so any Diamond Dog incursion could be reported, and so repulsed, quickly. One of the farmers had lit his beacon, as dozens of Diamond Dogs poured out of the Crystal Mountains on to his farmlands.

Jade Stone and Major Sword Bolt galloped on to the balcony, and skidded to a halt as they saw the devastation unfolding on the Northern Marches. The First Minister’s face was a mask of stone.

Cadance spread her wings. “Make sure our hospitals are prepared for the injured. I’m going to help.”

“Your Highness, you can’t be...!” began Sword Bolt, but his Princess was gone, a pink streak rocketing through the air towards the Northern Marches as her subjects looked up in amazement.

The blue crystal buildings below Cadance swiftly gave way to a neat patchwork of fields, dotted with tiny crystal farmhouses. The Crystal Princess glided towards one of these on the Northern Marches. As she closed she could see that the Crystal Guard’s Light Company had already arrived. A hundred ponies stood there, with a reserve of thirty skirmishers clumped behind the centre of two loose lines, exchanging fire with a force of Diamond Dogs at least twice their size. Crystal Ponies and Diamond Dogs ducked behind the walls of the farm’s fields, leaping up to take pot-shots, the Crystal Ponies with their spears, and the Diamond Dogs with bows and javelins. Cadance dimly remembered from a years-past history lesson that ponies had once used bows, but these were vastly larger than anything a pony could hold, much less draw. An arrow sailed over the fields from the farmhouse and struck a Crystal Pony officer square in the chest. He was catapulted, screaming, off his hooves, and landed several feet backwards. Six Guardsponies rushed to him.

Cadance crashed down next to them, sinking up to the tops of her hooves in the loam. They all looked around, shocked. Their expressions only became more confused when they saw the Crystal Princess. All around them, spears thundered as the Crystal Guard’s skirmishers continued firing, oblivious to her presence.

“What’s going on here?!” she demanded.

“Uh... I... Your Highness?!” stammered a Sergeant. There was wild fear in his eyes. “Uh... We... We’ve got the farm flanked on three sides, Your Highness, but we can’t get round to the north to cut off their escape route; their arrow fire is too heavy... GET DOWN!”

The Sergeant seized his Princess around the neck and forced her to the ground. An arrow as long as Cadance was tall sailed through the space where her head had been seconds before and embedded itself in the trunk of an apple tree. It was irretrievably wedged in the trunk halfway up its shaft.

“We’re... we’re waiting for the rest of the battalion to arrive, Your Highness,” stammered the Sergeant. “Then we can push through the farmhouse and force the Dogs off.”

The Sergeant’s eyes were wide with fear. He scarcely looked to be in his twenties. “What’s your name, Sergeant?” Cadance asked softly.

“Brave Blizzard, Your Highness.”

“Well, we can’t afford to wait.” She stuck her head over the dry stone wall. Across a fallow field behind another wall, dozens of Diamond Dogs surrounded the farmhouse, loosing arrow after arrow to cover the retreat of four carts, loaded down with food and gems, being dragged away towards the hills.

“By the time the battalion arrives the Dogs will be gone. Who’s in command here?”

Brave Blizzard looked down at his groaning Captain. Three medics scrambled to apply a dressing around the arrow shaft, but his green uniform was already darkened by a huge bloodstain. “It’ll be Lieutenant Snow now, Your Highness.”

“Get her, quickly!”

Blizzard instinctively saluted and raced along the skirmish line, keeping low behind the wall. Pairs of skirmishers fired over the wall, their spears roaring as they discharged their magical blasts.

“Well done, everypony!” he heard himself shouting. “Keep on ‘em!”

He found Lieutenant Sapphire Snow on the Light Company’s left flank and told her she was in command. She’d paled at that, but when he’d told her that Princess Cadance expected her in the centre, all the colour seemed to leave the blue-hued Crystal Pony’s body.

They raced back to the centre as fast as they could while still staying in cover. When they got there, Sapphire Snow slid to a halt at the sight of her Captain lying there with an arrow sticking out of him. Captain Blackstone’s breath came in short, ragged gasps, and blood trickled, red on black, from his mouth. She felt bile rise in her throat.

“Lieutenant, you have to order an assault now!”

Sapphire looked up slowly to see Princess Cadance staring at her, eyes wide and panicked. She was a lot more beautiful in person that she was in the photographs she’d seen in newspapers, she thought dimly.

“LIEUTENANT!” yelled Cadance.

Sapphire shook her head. “We don’t have the ponies for an attack, Your Highness!”

“If you don’t go now, we’ll lose the Dogs! They’ve already made off with four carts, and knowing them they’ve probably taken the family in that farmhouse as well! If we don’t make a demonstration, they’ll just keep coming back in greater numbers!”

“It’s a two hundred yard dash across an open field, and the Dogs are behind a stone wall!” squeaked Sapphire. She didn’t want to go out there. She didn’t want to have to fight those Dogs. She didn’t want to give an order that would leave the ponies she had trained with dead. There must be someone else to command! Anyone but me! “Hundreds will die!”

“Leave that to me,” said the Crystal Princess.

***

“You don’t see a battle,” their Royal Guard instructor had told them in their first week of training. “You hear it. You smell it.”

Lance Corporal Green Grass was beginning to realise the truth of that maxim. How, he’d thought when he’d first heard it, could you fail to notice your enemy, especially when he was supposed to be in a line only two hundred yards away from your own?

Even at two hundred yards, though, the Diamond Dogs were almost invisible behind their wall, the only things visible the black dots of their heads as they leapt up to take pot-shots. He could hear them, though, their savage barking, snarling and whooping. He thought he could smell them as well; the stink of meat and crusted blood from the animals they butchered and devoured like savages.

Bracing his spear in his right shoulder with his left foreleg, he fired another blast. He was temporarily deafened by the thunder as it fired, and blinded by the scintillating blast of light that soared across the field, leaving a stink of burning in the air as it travelled. Moments later he heard a howl from across the field. He was a good shot, and he knew it had found his mark.

He ducked away from the hole in the wall they were using as a loophole, letting his comrade take his place. He blinked to clear the spots from his vision, and he willed his spear to be ready to fire again, pouring his magic into its shaft from his hooves. He didn’t know what was going on in the battle now. In fact, he barely knew what was happening forty yards either side of him. He could still hear it though: the thwock of Dog longbows being loosed and the hissing of arrows and javelins; the plunk as some fell short and wedged in the ground; the hellish clatter as some bounced off the wall; and worst of all, the deep, wet thumps as some found their targets in pony flesh, soon followed by screaming and the reek of bowels reflexively emptying. Occasionally there was retching and then the stench of vomit. And pervading it all was the endless roar of spears being fired.

He felt his spear shaking in his hooves. Why the buck was he here?! He’d been a baker until three months ago, for Celestia’s sake! Vicious creatures that slaughtered and ate ponies were not even two hundred yards away! They were outnumbered two to one, and he was just sitting here! He just wanted the earth below him to open and swallow him up. Why the buck was he here?!

Then he felt his spear finally charge. “Ready!” he blurted, months of drill making his response reflexive. Aiming through the loophole, Private Ice Shine found brought his spear to bear on a Diamond Dog’s head and fired. Then he ducked away from the wall and let Green Grass take his place. I’m here for Ice, he thought, and as he moved, he saw the shining city of the Crystal Empire in the distance. And I’m here for them, for the ponies who can’t fight for themselves.

He stuck his spear through the loophole, looking for targets. He would not fire until Ice had charged his spear, so that if the Dogs tried to rush them, at least one pony in each skirmisher pair would have a weapon ready. Then he heard a new sound; a drum call rolling in from the centre. An ominous PLAN rat a PLAN rat a PLAN rat a. He felt his blood freeze. That was the call to launch a charge!

He looked around to see Ice looking as shocked as he was. Had the rest of the battalion arrived? But no, he could see it from here, still moving across the fields from the Empire in a column of companies. What was Blackstone thinking?! An assault now would be suicidal!

Green Grass suddenly felt something pass over him, like a warm wind, and in seconds he felt his spirits soar. What was he worried about? He was a Guardspony of the Crystal Empire, and he and his buddies were here to face down these Dog raiders! They were the best-trained troops in Equestria, and these savages didn’t have a hope against them!

He turned back to the loophole, and he saw to his amazement that a transparent pink veil had descended between them and the Diamond Dogs. He saw that the platoons on the flanks had been similarly shielded. He heard the Dogs’ barks and snarls turn to howls and whimpers of disappointment as their arrows and javelins bounced off the shield.

“Keep firing!” he heard Sergeant Brave Blizzard shouting as her ran up the line behind him. “Your shots will pass through; theirs won’t!”

“Ready!” cried Ice Shine. Green Grass fired, and his shot passed through the scintillating pink shield and struck a Diamond Dog that was staring dumbly at the impenetrable veil. Then from the Light Company’s centre, the flugelhorns sounded the order to charge.

With a huge roar, the entire company vaulted over the wall and galloped across the field on three legs, keeping the butts of their spears couched in their right shoulders with their left forelegs. Green Grass grinned and savoured the thrill of the charge as he galloped, not noticing the ache in his legs, or in his ears and eyes from firing so many shots. He didn’t notice his shortness of breath from the sprint or the pain in his foreleg from holding his spear. All he wanted to do was kill.

The shield advanced ahead of them, guarding them. The Diamond Dogs, already shot ragged by accurate fire from the skirmishers and demoralised by the sudden appearance of the shield, dropped their weapons in horror at the sight of the spear charge. The charge with spearpoints was a tactic almost wholly psychological in nature and effect. Soldiers who would stand for hours under fire would break and run in dread at the sight of spearpoints, for in the first case, there was great hope of survival, while in the second, in the terror of close combat, when being struck by a spear point that would pierce flesh and let out life was almost inevitable, there was very little, and hope was a great sustainer of courage.

Most of the Dogs broke and ran before the shield even reached the wall, throwing away their weapons and dropping to all fours for greater speed. The few brave Dogs that stood their ground found themselves outnumbered three to one by furious, vengeful ponies. The shield passed over the wall, and behind it the Guardsponies vaulted up, leaping over the wall and swiftly aiming their spearpoints down.

Green Grass gritted his teeth as he descended, feeling his spear shiver and a jolt go through his shoulder as the point connected. Then there was an awful tearing sound and a whimper cut short as the spear tore through the Dog’s flesh, shattered his bones and ruptured his organs. The Dog fell with three spears in him: Green Grass and another pony’s through his chest; Ice Shine’s through his head. A sour reek filled the air as the Dog’s bowels emptied.

Then they were charging again, this time at one of the last Dogs still standing. Green Grass’ spear waved in front of him, fury and the determination not to be one of those who didn’t get a kill filling his heart. The Dog stood in front of him on its hind legs, easily twice his height, slaver dripping from its yellow-toothed snout. Its grey fur was matted and darkened by years of dirt and filth. Hellish red pupils were nested in yellow, bloodshot, rolling eyes, and it brandished a club in its paw.

Green’s reach was far greater than his opponent’s, though, and he thrust his spear forward with all his strength. The triangular blade, specially designed to make wounds harder to sew closed, burst into the Dog’s stomach. He yanked it back out with a hideous ikl-wa sucking sound. Blood and a handful of intestines, which slithered out like silver worms, poured from the rent in the Dog’s body, and it sank to the ground, dead.

Then it was all over. Howling and whimpering, most of the Dogs had fled the farm and were scurrying across the fields back into the foothills of the Crystal Mountains where their prizes awaited. A few shots rang out as the skirmishers who still had charged spears fired after them, but most were out of range. Most ponies simply stopped and looked around, exhausted and dazed. The charge had not even taken thirty seconds.

In the centre of it all was Lieutenant Sapphire Snow, clutching a bloodstained sword in a foreleg that was red to the elbow. Green Grass frowned. Where was Captain Blackstone? And standing next to Lieutenant Snow was – Green blinked several times, thinking he was still half-blind from firing – Princess Cadance.

He exchanged stunned glances with Ice Shine. Had the Crystal Princess, standing there with her hair dishevelled and dirt from the charge across the field splattered up her legs, conjured the shield?

Then the rest of the battalion thundered into the farmyard and the Adjutant, Major Sun Blade was bellowing orders. “Light Company, secure the area! Medics, fall out and check for wounded! Everyone else, with me! We’re going after those mongrels!”

***

Cadance was oblivious to the Guardsponies spilling around her and giving her shocked stares. She only had eyes for one thing: a Diamond Dog lying in the dirt of the farmyard, panting and clutching a gaping wound in his stomach, his eyes screwed shut.

She sank to her knees next to him. “Medics!” she called, though she instantly knew his wounds were fatal. She closed her eyes and let magic flow into her horn. It glowed pink and the Dog’s eyes flickered open.

“Listen to me,” she said quietly. “My name is Cadance. I am the Princess of the city you attacked.”

“Pretty pony...” croaked the Dog, blood trickling from its jaws. “Pretty pony princess...”

Cadance heard somepony nearby give a disgusted whinny. She paid it no heed. “Listen to me, you’re dying. I can ease your passing, but first I must know: why are you attacking us?”

The Dog chuckled and coughed, blood spraying from his lips. “We’re running. Dogses are running, pony princess. They come in the night and take Dogses mines. The mines and the precious gemses. The precious gemses!”

He spluttered again. Cadance leaned closer to him. “Who? Who attacked you?”

The Dog grinned weakly. “We’re running, pretty pony princess, and you’d better run, too. Run south, yes! As far south as can run! ‘cause they coming, pretty pony princess!”

“Who? I must know!”

“The hairless,” whispered the Dog. “Walkses on two legs, but never on four legs like Dog or pony. And they eatses meat like Dog but leaveses like pony...”

He spluttered horribly again, blood spraying from his mouth. Cadance’s horn glowed and the Dog slipped into merciful unconsciousness.

Cadance slowly stood up. She turned to see a dozen officers and soldiers of the Light Company staring at her. Some looked shocked. Others looked terrified.

“What did he mean, Your Highness?” asked Sapphire Snow.

“I... I’m not sure.”

***

Jade Stone delivered the final butcher’s bill to Cadance that evening. Slumped on her throne in the Crystal Palace, Cadance had spent the hours since the raid walking among the injured and taking reports, and using her love magic to give courage and rest to the wounded and dying. Now, at nine in the evening, she thought that she hadn’t felt so exhausted since she’d had to repel Sombra when the Empire had first returned.

Of the farmer, Golden Beet, his wife Sugar and their two foals, there was no sign. The Crystal Constabulary had taken over the investigation and had identified blood trails in the farmhouse, which suggested the Dogs had killed them and dragged the bodies away. Major Sun Blade had been determined to recover the bodies, but the Crystal Guard had emerged from the mountains at eight o’clock, having lost the trail three hours before. The Dogs were carnivores, and Cadance didn’t even want to contemplate what state the corpses would be in now.

The Guard’s Light Company had suffered seven dead. Twenty-one were injured, five of them so badly that they would never fight again. Captain Blackstone was among the dead: the arrow had punctured his lung and he had bled out while waiting to be evacuated. Others whose injuries had looked relatively minor had suddenly gone into septic shock while in triage and had died there: some of the Dogs’ weapons had been smeared with excrement. Cadance felt tears well in her eyes. It was a filthy way to die.

Fifteen Diamond Dog bodies had been found around the farmhouse. Twenty-two wounded had been left there, but those who could have been saved had resisted treatment so ferociously that the Guards had had to spear them where they lay. Some of the Guards said that they’d seen walking wounded hobbling away with the rest of the Dog horde, and part of Cadance hoped that there was a Dog lying in some freezing mountain pass tonight, clutching desperately at a festering wound.

It had taken a while for the shock to set in. The Crystal Ponies had welcomed back their victorious troops with cheering and backslapping, offering them tea and cakes from their own larders. The Crystal Guard was blooded and had proved itself worthy of Shining Armor’s high expectations, but now the true implications of the raid seemed to have set in. Tonight the Crystal Empire was much quieter than usual, and there was scarcely a pony to be seen in the streets.

“The Agricultural Commissioner’s not happy,” said Jade Stone. “He’s had farmers from the Marches appearing in his office all day clamouring for Guard protection.”

“Can we blame them?” groaned Cadance. She looked over at Major Sun Blade, still fuming over his failure in the mountains. “What can we do about that, Major?”

“If we disperse the Guard, we run the risk of being defeated in detail if those bucking mutts come back again,” he snarled, then he remembered who he was talking to. “Uh... what I mean to say is...”

“Don’t worry, Major, you could have read my mind,” said Cadance. “But if we keep the Guard concentrated we might not respond to threats in time?”

“Exactly, Your Highness. I think for now the best thing to do is keep the Guard drilling. Make sure the ponies know their protected and hopefully make the Dogs think twice if they’re watching. It’ll also help us learn how to cut down our response time.”

“Thank you, Major. We’ll talk more about it when Silver Star gets back from the capital. See to your ponies.”

Sun Blade brought a hoof to his head in salute and trotted out of the throne room.

“One of the Dogs told me why they’d come south,” said Cadance quietly, after the door had swung shut. “He said they were under attack and that they were running.” She stared at Jade Stone. “He said we should run too.”

“Then the Prince’s theory was right?” asked the First Minister. “Could it be the same things that attacked our patrol?”

“Maybe.” Cadance stared at the floor, as if trying to divine the future from the patterns in the deep blue crystal. All she saw was her face staring back at her, tired and confused and frightened.

“When I was in Canterlot for Hearth’s Warming, I showed Princess Luna that thing we pulled out of poor Gold Aurora,” she said quietly. “She looked so shocked. I saw her show it to Celestia when I was there for Privy Council, and she looked terrified.”

“You think they know what it is, Your Highness?”

“Yes, and I know it scares them. It scares them; it scares the Diamond Dogs; and it scares me.” She stood up. “I will write to my husband when I return to my chambers. It’s better he hears this from me that from tomorrow’s papers. I want a full report prepared for Princess Celestia as well.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Jade Stone trotted from the throne room.

Cadance descended from the throne room’s dais and walked over to one of the immense windows. She stared north over the Crystal Empire, over the deserted streets and the crystal houses with their glowing, welcoming windows, and into the Crystal Mountains. Somewhere in that massive range was something that terrified two immortal god princesses and had sent a horde of savage carnivores fleeing south like a band of frightened puppies. The hairless... walkses on two legs... they eatses meat like Dog but leaveses like pony...

“What are you?” she whispered.

House of Cards

Prince Blueblood cursed and threw down that morning’s Manehattan Telegraph. Nothing on the royal scandal on the front page! The papers had instead decided to go mad about some Diamond Dog disturbance in the Crystal Empire! Why should anyone care about a band of savages doing what savages did in that utterly backward, frigid province?!

His horn glowed and his radio switched on. He listened for a few minutes, hopping between stations. Nothing! Just two-bit pundits sensationalising this nonsense in the north! Only a scant few references to the scandal, and not even a mention of his press conference at lunch today!

As his wounded ego seethed at the lack of recognition, the rational part of him worried. This Diamond Dog raid could not have come at a worse time. True, the Crystal Empire was hundreds of miles to the north, but it had suddenly given relevance to the plans for an army. Farmers would be beginning to worry about the safety of their own farms, and the nobility, who had opposed the creation of a Royal Army as an increase in royal power at the expense of their own, suddenly found themselves worrying about the security of their lands and estates.

Fuming, Blueblood stared around his study. He’d set up everything perfectly, as well. The leak of Celestia’s orders to Amber Spyglass had been a nice surprise, but Newsprint had considered it all his Hearth’s Warmings come at once when Blueblood had quietly delivered to him the draft budget plan. He would let scandal and outrage reign for a couple of days, and then he would step forward with his press announcement. And it was all ruined!

Breathing heavily, he composed himself and began to rationalise. He had sent out invitations to all the major news outlets yesterday, so now he had no choice but to go through with this press conference. His announcement today would be momentous, perhaps enough to distract everyone from this Diamond Dog raid and swing their attention back to the scandal. And even if this unfortunate raid made an army look necessary, well, he could still rail against Celestia’s arbitrary decisions...

***

Sixteen reporters waited for him as he descended the steps of his mansion. A storm of flashbulbs met him, as well as a fusillade of questions.

“Your Highness, over here!”

“Your Highness, how do you respond to Filthy Rich’s allegations of insider trading?”

“Your Highness, does this concern the harassment allegations made against you after the last Grand Galloping Gala?”

“Your Highness, do you have anything to say concerning the current ‘Armygate’ scandal?”

“Your Highness, as Minister for Industry and Mining, do you think this latest raid will affect commodity prices?”

Blueblood ascended the podium at the foot of the steps. It was a glorious mid-March day, the air cool and not a cloud in the brilliant blue sky. A fitting backdrop for his momentous announcements.

“Mares, gentlestallions, please,” he said into the cluster of microphones clipped to the podium. “Before we begin, I would like to thank you all for coming.”

No pony reacted to the utter insincerity of his opening.

“Over the past week, a handful of brave whistleblowers in our government ministries have revealed to the ponies of Equestria the corruption of our government.”

The ears of the reporters pricked up. Now this was interesting...

“Public confidence in Their Highnesses’ Government is in tatters, as is confidence in Their Highnesses themselves, all because of this arbitrary exercise of power by the Princesses. And now, this lack of regard for the democratic wises of the ponies, and for checks and balances, has brought our realm to the very brink of war!”

The reporters stared at him in rapt attention.

“It is my shame, my friends that I knew of such abuses of power for years before today yet I chose not to speak. Like many ponies, I believed that the absolute rule of Princess Celestia was simply how we should be governed. And yet, after the return of Princess Luna, things slowly became clear to me.

“Two years ago, Princess Celestia restored to the Privy Council her sister, Princess Luna. Not even a week before, Princess Luna had been Nightmare Moon, a demon intent on smothering Equus in eternal night! Questions were raised in Parliament. There was even dissent in the Privy Council. Yet Celestia refused to listen and restored her sister regardless.

“Six months later, Equestria faced perhaps the greatest crisis in its history. The demon Discord, sealed in stone for a thousand years, returned, and for days wreaked havoc. Only later did we learn the true scale of royal mismanagement that occurred in these days. Firstly, Celestia had kept the imprisoned Discord not locked safely away where no pony could disturb him, but as a statue in the palace grounds! Where, if rumour is to be believed, he was so insecure it took only a fillies’ quarrel to release him!

“After Discord’s escape, Celestia did not recall Parliament. The Privy Council was not in Canterlot at the time. No warning was even delivered to the populace. Instead she chose to use the Elements of Harmony to contain him. The Elements of Harmony, the most powerful magical artefacts ever created, were used on the whim of one pony, without Parliamentary authorisation, while ordinary ponies cowered at home, terrified and uninformed, and when their potential effect was utterly unclear! We should count ourselves lucky to still be here today! And when Discord was finally imprisoned again, where did she put him? Why, back where he’d been for the past thousand years, as a piece of interesting statuary!”

The reporters stared at Blueblood. Some scribbled notes, but most stared, their mouths agape. No pony had every uttered such disparaging remarks at the Princesses in public before, much less to reporters, and much less the Heir to the Throne!

“Discord reared his head again nearly a year later,” continued Blueblood. “Only this time, instead of breaking free, he was released by Princess Celestia, who apparently wanted his magic for some ill-defined purpose that remains unclear! Again, this was done without consulting Parliament or the Privy Council, despite the immense risks it posed to the realm!

“Last summer, we saw the results of a shocking abuse of royal patronage. I had long expressed concern in the Privy Council, as had MPs like Radical Road in Parliament, over Princess Celestia’s relationship with Twilight Sparkle, her “most faithful student”. For a while it seemed to many of us that Celestia was relying more on Twilight as an advisor and confidante than she was her elected institutions. And then, just like that, we had a new Princess! No discussions in Council, just another addition to the Civil Lists on Celestia’s whim! By the time the vote in Parliament came around, there was no point resisting: it was clear that ‘Princess Twilight’ was a done deal.”

Blueblood cast his eyes over his shocked audience, his face grave. “My friends, as I said, I am ashamed to say that I knew of these abuses, yet I could not speak out. The Great Charter forbids Councilponies from breaking confidence. When a decision is made in Council, usually by Celestia, we have no choice but to stand by it. For many years I laboured under the delusion that I could best help the ponies of Equestria from the inside. Now I see the error of my ways. When the proposal for an army was brought before the Council, I pleaded with Celestia not to take an action that would lead us to war. She refused, and knowing how the ordinary ponies of Equestria would react to her plans, she plotted to sneak it through without a vote in Parliament. It is only thanks to the principled ponies that risked their careers to leak this information that we know of her plans, and of the shameless lengths she will go to win the vote on the budget.”

It was all Blueblood could do to stop a faint smile playing on his lips as his stunned audience stared up at him. Now came his clarion call that would shake every layer of Equestrian governance.

“My friends, today’s news of a Diamond Dog raid on the Crystal Empire may change someponies’ minds about the need for an army. Nevertheless, the means through which Celestia sought to create one are indefensible, together with all her other abuses of power and disregard of democracy over the past two years. I can no longer support her, and based on this, I am announcing my resignation as Minister of Industry and Mining, and my resignation as Heir to the Equestrian Throne.”

And as he’d predicted, the storm of questions that followed was enough to shake the heavens.

***

“DAMN HIM!” screamed Twilight. “DAMN HIM TO TARTARUS! DAMN HIM!”

Spike, Applejack, Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, Rarity and Pinkie all stared in amazement and shock at their friend as she paced. They had never seen her so angry. They had been enjoying a quiet lunch in Golden Oaks Royal Palace when Rarity had burst in uncharacteristically late and urged them to switch the radio on. They had caught the tail end of Blueblood’s speech.

Twilight paced furiously. They had only seen her this agitated once before, when she had thought she’d failed to make a report to Princess Celestia. Her hair stuck out wildly, her teeth ground together, her eyes were wide and fierce, and her new wings beat madly.

The only person in the room who looked happy was her bodyguard. “Shall I undertake to assassinate Blueblood for you, Your Highness?” asked Summer Set.

Twilight paused and was on the point of saying yes when she remembered that Summer did not understand sarcasm particularly well. “No, Summer, you may not! However, if you want to train for assassinating Blueblood, then be all means do so! Though for the sake of my sanity, make sure it’s quiet!”

“At once, Your Highness! Rest assured, I know of three hundred and sixty four methods of killing a pony silently! I shall not return until I have perfected them all!” And with that he disappeared upstairs.

“OF ALL THE UNMITIGATED LYING GALL!” Twilight continued. “HOW CAN HE JUST STAND UP THERE AND...”

“Twilight!”

Everypony looked down. Spike had spoken with surprising force.

“Y...yes, Spike?” stammered Twilight.

The baby dragon crossed to her and took her hoof in his claw. “Okay, tell us what’s wrong? Are you really going to let that poncy jerk get you all frustrated?”

“Ah’d have thought you’d have a thicker skin than that, Twi,” said Applejack.

Twilight sniffed. “It’s not just what he said about me, AJ, it’s everything he said about the Princesses. Everything he said about the Council meetings. It’s all lies, we know that! He never opposed forming an army! He has everything to gain from it!”

“What do you mean?” asked Rainbow Dash.

“His forges, Rainbow! Blueblood would make a fortune from forging weapons and armour! The same from his shares in logging! They’ll need wood for gun carriages and spear shafts!”

“His fashion shares!” gasped Rarity suddenly. “For uniforms!”

“And... and in medicine...” whispered Fluttershy, looking disgusted.

“Twilight, that doesn’t matter,” said Spike. “Princess Celestia can just publish the notes from the meeting. That’ll show he’s a great big liar!”

“But that’s just it, Spike! She can’t! The Council Meetings Act of 324 puts a thirty-year lock on the release of minutes from Privy Council sessions!”

“Huh? Why?”

Twilight sank miserably to the floor. “It was designed to protect collective council responsibility and ensure that Councilponies could cast votes based on the issue itself, instead of what their constituents worried about the issue. If they didn’t know who’d voted for what, they couldn’t vote them out because of things that looked like they were bad decisions but were actually good for the realm in the long term.”

She put her head in her hooves. “Blueblood stands to make a fortune from a war,” she whispered. “But he’s resigned his position and lost all his power so he can oppose it. Why? Why?”

Fluttershy fluttered over. “Twilight,” she said softly. “Let’s go for a walk. It’ll calm you down. And then maybe we can stop at Sugarcube Corner for a hot chocolate. That always calms me down. I know, I need it a lot.”

“In any case, no pony’s going to be fooled by that vile Blueblood,” said Rarity. “What with his immaculately-coifed mane, and his magnificently-pressed shirts, and his exquisitely-tailored vests, and his perfectly-knotted bow tie, and his beautifully-shined hooves, and his...”

Rainbow kicked her in the flank.

“Uh, yes... um, what I mean to say is, for all his flashiness and big talk, Blueblood is just a contemptible, classist boor, and everypony knows it! Who do you think ponies will listen to? Princess Celestia, or him?”

“It’s not a simple as that, Rarity,” said Twilight miserably. “Blueblood’s more important than you know. He might just have put Equestria into a position where it has to listen to him.”

***

In the minutes after Blueblood’s speech, Canterlot Castle ground to a halt. Aides, pages, guards, secretaries and Civil Servants dropped everything they were doing and crowded around radios, listening to every word of the frantic analysis. Experts and pundits were frantically dragged into radio stations across Equestria to give their opinion, and they swiftly confirmed what the staff in Canterlot Castle already knew: Blueblood had just plunged Equestria into a massive constitutional crisis.

The Great Charter did not explicitly state that the Heir to the Equestrian Throne had to be of the House of Blueblood, but that had been the case for so long that it was effectively taken for a given. The Great Charter did explicitly state, however, that there must be a designated Heir to take over in the extraordinarily unlikely event of the Princesses being incapacitated. It also stated that the Heir must sit on the Privy Council in some capacity. However, since it had always been assumed that the title would pass from father to son in the House of Blueblood, the Great Charter made no provision for appointing a new Heir to the Throne if the last holder had left the office without issue, as Blueblood had just done.

“Is there not a cousin we can appoint?” asked Princess Celestia in the throne room.

Sir Burnished Bronze shuffled through his notes. “Your Highness, I’ve already begun the necessary inquiries, but Blueblood and his father were both only foals. All indications are that his closest living relative is a third cousin, once removed who emigrated to Prance years ago. I’m not getting my hopes up on that front.”

“How many other houses have claims to the title?”

Sir Burnished shook his head. “Dozens, Your Highness, with every claim as distant and as equal as the last.”

“Your Highness, if I may?” Amber Spyglass stepped forward. “Some of these families will no doubt have younger foals who became MPs since they lacked a chance to inherit.”

“You’ve got us into enough trouble this week, thank you Amber!” snapped Sir Burnished.

“Sir Burnished,” said Celestia. “Pro-monarchy MPs are a commodity we desperately need at the moment. If we elevated their older sibling to Heir to the Throne, we will have their votes when it comes to the budget. Find out which families have the most members in the Commons and begin discussions with them. We need as many as possible. The houses whose leader doesn’t become Heir, we’ll elevate their titles.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Amber Spyglass watched Sir Burnished go. “You know the Commons won’t sit still on this, Your Highness. Radical Road is sure to present his own candidate.”

“Matters of the royal succession should be matters for the royal family.”

“And maybe they should be, Your Highness, but nowhere in the Great Charter does it say that. Parliament has as much right as you do to nominate a successor, and given the current climate, ignoring their wishes could be catastrophic.”

“What would you have me do?”

“Put it to vote. We need to show the public that the monarchy still has the support of Parliament. Based on the apple-barrelling plans in the budget, we probably have a solid base of support to build on, particularly if your plan to select a noble with large numbers of siblings in the Commons succeeds.”

“What you’re suggesting would effectively be a vote of confidence in the monarchy. What if we lose?”

“You still have most ordinary ponies on your side. Anyway, you are the only being on Equus with the power to raise the sun. It’s not as if they can afford to depose you. And, though I support Shining Armor’s plans myself, if we lose, then they stand a good chance of being blocked in a future Commons vote.”

Celestia grimaced and nodded slowly. “Very well, they’ll vote on it.”

***

“Thank you for coming for see me so quickly, Mr Road.”

Radical Road, MP, frowned across the desk. “Dispense with the pleasantries, Mr Blueblood. Why did you want to see me?”

Blueblood smiled at the indignation of the common pony that sat in his office. In the hour after his speech, he’d quietly invited Radical Road to a meeting in his mansion. That had been two days ago. Radical Road had waited that long to allow the crowds of reporters outside to thin out, and he’d still only agreed to come in by the servants’ entrance.

“Can the newest member of the Parliamentarian movement not meet its leader?” he asked innocently.

Radical Road huffed. “You resignation could well have done more harm than good to us. We’ve never used the kind of language against the Princesses that you did in your speech. Plus, your faux pas and classist gaffes are a matter of public record. You’re also a known misogynist and narcissist. The pro-monarchy press is going to crawl up your flank and reveal everything.”

Blueblood did not stop smiling. “And yet you came.”

Radical Road smiled this time. “I did, Mr Blueblood, because your position as Minister and Heir to the Throne gave you access to a great deal of information that we could potentially use. So you see, I have really no idea whether to consider you a liability or an asset.”

“The latter, I hope,” Blueblood leaned back on his haunches. “Who do you plan to nominate as my replacement?”

“Ponyatowski.”

That was surprising. “Oh?”

“Yes. He contacted me a few hours after you made your speech. Tomorrow he will resign from the Council, giving much the same reasons as you did. The day after that, I will make a speech in the Commons declaring our support for Ponyatowski as the new Heir to the Throne. If Celestia tries to nominate her own successor, we will simply use it as proof of the Crown being out of touch.”

“And if you win, you have a Parliamentarian on the Privy Council who will be able to challenge Celestia publicly. If she tries to dismiss or prosecute him for breaking collective responsibility, it’ll be political suicide for her. You truly are a Xanatothian manipulator, Mr Road.”

“I’m sorry?” said Radical Road, confused. “A what?”

Blueblood smiled again. He hadn’t expected this common radical to be educated in the classics. “Nothing important.”

“All right, then,” said Radical Road. “You certainly seem well-informed about developments, Mr Blueblood. But let’s get to the crux of the matter. Why did you want to see me?”

“Simple, I want in. My resignation has destabilised Celestia and given you your opening. My leaks on the budget brought Newsprint to your side. Your campaign now has my wealth behind it. In exchange, all I ask is that you support my entry into the House of Commons, and once there, appoint me to the Opposition front bench.”

Radical Road looked surprised. “You made the budget leak?”

Blueblood could see the wheels turning in Radical Road’s head. He knew exactly what he was thinking. He now believes that I am perhaps actually principled, not just an opportunist. “Yes. I kept copies of the letters I exchanged with Newsprint if you wish to see them.”

Radical Road shifted uncomfortably. “Perhaps I misjudged you, Mr Blueblood. If you can keep Newsprint on our side, then it would be my honour to back your campaign for Parliament. But there are no empty seats at the moment, and I haven’t heard of any MPs looking to retire.”

Blueblood smiled. “Oh don’t worry. I’m prepared to wait. Just one more thing...” He pulled open one of his desk drawers and removed a chequebook. “It’s your birthday in a few weeks, isn’t it?”

“Yes...” said Radical Road slowly.

“Then as a token of our new alliance, allow me to make you an early gift.” He summoned a quill with his horn and filled in the topmost cheque. “Shall we say, fifteen thousand bits?”

Radical Road’s jaw dropped. Though it had sent an MP to the Commons for Gasconeigh North for three centuries, the Road family had never been particularly wealthy.

“It would give you a rather significant advantage in future campaigns,” Blueblood added.

Equestrian law imposed strict spending and donation limits in political campaigns, but centuries of legal wrangling meant that there were no limits on how much of their own money a politician could spend on a campaign. The logic being, its supporters claimed, that you couldn’t corrupt yourself. Its critics claimed that it opened up the system to the exact sort of money transfer that Blueblood had just offered.

After a moment, Radical Road stood and extended his hoof. “Thank you. A pleasure talking to you, Blueblood.”

“And you, Radical.”

Blueblood showed Radical Road out personally. He left through the front door, trotting away with a spring in his step. Blueblood watched him go for a moment before going back upstairs to his office. He calmly opened another drawer in his desk and pulled out the tape recorder he’d secreted there before the meeting. Still smiling, he pressed the stop button.

***

Snowy Grape could feel the tremors coming on again. She cursed mentally. Why now? Of all the times she had to get a craving on, why in Tartarus did it have to be now? Just minutes before she had to make a speech in support of Radical Road and Ponyatowski!

Amid a media circus, Ponyatowski had very publicly resigned from the Privy Council, and had just as quickly crossed the floor to join the Opposition. In his speech he had railed against “the corruption inherent in this government, with its jobbery, apple barrelling, and now we see, cronyism and nepotism.”

Radical Road had swiftly followed with a speech welcoming him to the Parliamentarians and congratulating him on his “principled, brave decision to stand up to the undemocratic tendencies of this government, and its contempt for the ponies of Equestria.” He had mostly just repeated his earlier criticisms of the government. The big speech he had saved for the day after, when he declared; “after consultation with Mr Ponyatowski, I have decided to put before this house his candidacy as the new Heir to the Throne, after the principled resignation of Mr Blueblood. It is the hope of both of us that this house will support his candidacy, and that he can function has an effective check on royal abuses while on the Privy Council.”

Sir Burnished Bronze had of course, welcomed the opportunity to put the case to vote, and then had announced the government’s own candidate to replace Blueblood: Helm von Withersbach, Duke of Hayvaria in Prancenburg. “The Withersbach family possesses an excellent claim to the title of Heir to the Equestrian Throne,” Sir Burnished had said, eloquently. “And Their Highnesses’ Government welcomes the opportunity to seek the confidence of the Commons, after this week of unfortunate events.”

Radical Road and Ponyatowski had, of course, swiftly begun their investigations. By lunchtime yesterday, they’d had it: Helm von Withersbach had four siblings, of which three were MPs sitting in the Commons. He also had two cousins in the House. Celestia sought to elevate Withersbach to gain the gratitude and future votes of his relatives. Working late into the night, Snowy, Radical and Ponyatowski had put together their speech, and then Radical had done the most unexpected thing of all: He had asked her to read it.

Snowy had been and still was stunned by his request. It was an awesome responsibility; a sign that he trusted her and was prepared to welcome her into the Parliamentarians’ inner circle. It had been impossible to refuse, but from the moment she’d left that meeting, through the almost sleepless night that had followed, to entering Parliament this morning, she wished that he’d asked someone else.

“Remember,” her aide was saying, brandishing the speech in front of her. “Lots of emphasis on the ‘lack of regard for democracy’ part, but you need to stress the cronyism part as well.”

“Yeah, right, thanks,” she said, barely hearing him. They’d walked down from her office and were now passing through the Members’ Lobby before going into the Commons Chamber. Two dozen MPs were already gathered there, chatting before going into the Chamber. Some smiled at her or waved. Others looked at her with expressions of utmost loathing.

And today I’ll just make myself even more of a traitor to them, she thought bitterly. Her hooves began to shake even more, and she felt for a moment that she wouldn’t be able to stay standing. She felt the side of her face starting to twitch as well. There was no point trying to resist it. She had to take some now.

“Could you wait here for just a second?” she asked her aide. “Uh... need to pop to the little fillies’ room before we go in.”

Her aide’s face clouded with disapproval. He knows. They all know. “‘Course. Better make it quick, though. Five minutes till it starts.”

“Thanks.” She trotted off to one of the doors on their right, barely trusting her hooves to keep her upright. She heard a grinding sound and suddenly realised it was her teeth. She forced her teeth apart. The cavities and wear on her teeth were starting to make her dentist suspicious, she knew it.

She almost fell through the door into the mares’ lavatory. The walls were tiled black and white, the sinks were dark marble and the cubicles were smart oak. She pushed into the nearest cubicle and hastily slammed and locked the door behind her.

Hooves shaking worse than ever, she dug into the inside pocket of her jacket and pulled out a small plastic bag. Inside was a white powder. Smiling now, she shakily poured the granules onto the toilet seat, while battling a five-bit note from the purse in her saddlebag.

Ponies loved their sugar. Be it in cake, apple tarts, or simply in their tea, it was all good. Even Princess Celestia was known to indulge in chocolate cake occasionally. But it always had to be in something. Only the most desperate and lacking in self-restraint would take sugar raw. If anypony knew that she was indulging in hard sugar, her political career would be over.

Snowy rolled up the note, then, after taking a moment to listen and make sure no pony had just come in, she sucked the line of sugar up through the roll and into her mouth.

All of a sudden, the exhaustion from last night’s lack of sleep faded. Her hooves stopped shaking. A rush of happiness, a feeling of invincibility filled her. She felt like she could do anything now. This speech was nothing.

Smiling, she unlocked the door and trotted out back into the Members’ Lobby. What did she care if her aide was still standing there, a look of disgust on his face? She had a speech to read.

Across the lobby, a dark-suited stallion watched as Snowy Grape trotted into the chamber, a smile on her face. He nodded slowly.

***

“Wonderful speech, Ms. Grape!”

“Jolly well done!”

“You certainly showed Charm, Snowy!”

“Thank you, everypony, thank you.” Snowy Grape struggled to shrug off the crowd of admiring MPs surrounding her. The Chancellor of the Exchequer had been there to speak for the government today, and Diamond Charm’s response to her speech had been stammered, halting and incoherent. She had stressed the damage the government’s recent actions had done to the Crown; the out-of-touch nature of nominating a noble to be the new heir; and the cronyism and contempt for democracy of their strategy for winning the vote.

“Therefore!” she had shouted, concluding her speech to cheers from the benches and galleries. “If this government wishes to protect our Princesses and maintain our monarchy, if it wishes to end corruption and to show that the will of the ponies is supreme, then it will withdraw its nomination of Helm von Withersbach immediately!”

There had been thunderous applause at that. Diamond Charm had barely been able to get a word in edgeways amid the booing. Muffled Merkin had had to threaten to clear the chamber before silence fell.

Hoofshakes, slaps on the back, and hoofbumps were exchanged before the crowd around her dispersed. A spring in her step, Snowy was trotting back towards her aide when somepony appeared next to her. “Ms. Grape? Could I have a word?”

Snowy didn’t recognise the stallion. His face was lined and there were hints of grey in his black mane. He wore an immaculate but utterly unremarkable dark suit. His cutie mark was a dress shoe. “Can I help you?”

“Please pardon the interruption. I speak for Mr Blueblood.”

“Blueblood?” Her eyes narrowed. Blueblood’s resignation might have had an enormous impact on the government, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be associated with him.

“Yes, ma’am. He was most impressed by your bravery in choosing to resign last week. He credits it as one of the things that encouraged him to make the same step.”

“Really?”

“Indeed, ma’am. In fact, he has been talking to Radical Road about the possibility of joining the Parliamentarians. He has instructed me to tell you that he would honoured if you would attend an informal dinner with him at his mansion. To, ah, ‘show him the ropes’, you understand.”

Radical Road’s been talking with Blueblood? And he gives credit to me? “Dinner? Uh, when, Mr...?”

“Cordwainer, ma’am. We can arrange it at your earliest convenience. Mr Blueblood finds that he suddenly has a great deal of free time on his hooves.”

Snowy’s aide appeared next to her. “Uh, sorry Snowy but we do have to...”

“Just a second, when’s my earliest free evening?”

“Uh, what? Oh, well, there’s tonight, I think...” He riffled through a folder. “Yeah, tonight. Why?”

“Good. Is tonight all right, Mr Cordwainer?”

“Perfectly, ma’am. Can we expect you at the mansion at seven?”

“Of course. And do pass my thanks on to Mr Blueblood.”

***

“Good evening, Ms. Grape.”

“Good evening, Mr Cordwainer.”

Cordwainer had opened the door of Blueblood’s mansion for her. He now wore evening dress: a long black tailcoat, white stiff-fronted shirt, and a white bowtie. “May I take your coat, ma’am? Mr Blueblood expects you in the drawing room.”

“Thank you.”

Cordwainer hung her jacket on a coat tree by the door and escorted her through the mansion. Blueblood kept quite a house. The entrance hall was huge, reaching up the height of the house. A massive wooden staircase ringed it. Portraits of Bluebloods throughout history lined the walls, beginning with Azure Blueblood, the great military commander who had united all of Equestria at the end of the Discordian War in the Princesses’ name, become their honorary nephew and secured the title of Heir to the Equestrian Throne for his family for all time; ending with the most recent one, who had abandoned it.

Snowy felt her hooves begin to shake as Cordwainer led her to the drawing room. Maybe I should have taken some sugar before coming. She cursed mentally as she realised she couldn’t even make the excuse of going to the lavatory to take some: she’d left it in her jacket.

Cordwainer opened a set of double doors, leading her into an expansive drawing room. Bling era vases lined the walls, and a fire crackled merrily in the grate. Cosy-looking furniture was positioned around a coffee table. A portrait of the Blueblood that had mediated the Hedwig-Horsestein crisis hung over the fireplace.

Blueblood stood up from one of the couches. He wore his usual white suit and blue bowtie. Snowy suddenly wondered if she was underdressed.

“Ms. Grape, welcome!” said Blueblood genially. He smiled warmly.

Snowy stopped, taken aback for a moment. She’d half expected this to be a dull, embarrassing evening. Blueblood was, after all, known for his crassness and lack of charm. But she hadn’t expected this. Blueblood was acting like the gracious host.

“I hope my invitation wasn’t too difficult for you. I didn’t expect you to be able to attend so soon.”

“Oh, uh, not at all, Your...”

“Please, ‘Blueblood’. I don’t want any more of this ‘Your Highness’ business. We’ve both put that behind us, haven’t we?”

And so they talked. Blueblood didn’t even bring up politics during the pre-dinner drinks. Instead he simply asked how she was finding life, what she was reading at the moment, whether she’d seen any of the new plays that were out. That continued when he led her through to the dining room for dinner. Snowy forgot all about her astonishment as they ate and talked. How had she ever doubted Blueblood? She was completely at ease.

The dining room was an exquisitely-decorated chamber, lined with more portraits on the cream walls. The table was a heavy black wood laid with expensive silverware and sheer white table linen. The first course was a delicious soup of barley, carrots, leaks and peas. The main course was roasted hay and potatoes in a legume gravy, with broccoli, steamed carrots, and bread sauce. Pudding was a baked flan in custard with a small scoop of lemon ice cream on the side. It was a heavenly meal. Servants in evening dress glided in silently to collect the plates after each course. Blueblood didn’t even break conversation to acknowledge them.

Midway through coffee, Cordwainer entered the dining room and silently crossed to Blueblood. He extended a small silver tray. Frowning, Blueblood took a small square of parchment from the tray and unfolded it. As he read his frown deepened.

“Blueblood?” asked Snowy.

Blueblood crumpled the parchment and threw it back onto the tray. “It seems there has been an incident at one of my mines. It may be something I have to handle personally. I need to write a few letters.” He pulled up his napkin, wiped his lips and tossed it on to the table. “I’m sorry for leaving you like this, Snowy. I hope I won’t be too long. Please do not hesitate to ask the staff for anything. I’ll join you in the library when I’m finished.”

And with that, he stood quickly and swept from the room.

Snowy stared in amazement as the double doors swung shut. This Blueblood was utterly unlike what she’d been led to believe he was like. He had never been like this in any of their Council meetings, and when she’d seen him at parties and the Gala, he’d always been aloof and alone. How had he allowed the impression that he was an idiotic snob to develop?

She drained her coffee cup, stood up, and instantly stumbled. She giggled suddenly. Yes, that was definitely too much wine...

***

Blueblood trotted into the entrance hall, feeling soiled. He couldn’t believe he’d had to keep that ridiculous charade up for this long. Had it really taken Cordwainer that long to ensure the servants were occupied that they wouldn’t disturb him? He shuddered. Had he really had to stoop so low as to learn about popular culture to keep Snowy Grape interested? He’d had Cordwainer deliver him summaries of recent popular novels, radio shows and even movies so he could discuss them. Were the common ponies really so uncultured? Did they not care for the finest aspects of Equestrian culture? The theatre? The opera? The countryside? Radio 3? Mind you, if they enjoyed such vile nonsense as Daring Do, perhaps it was best to keep high culture out of their hooves.

He watched Cordwainer disappear down the servants’ stairs, going to burn the blank piece of parchment he’d just handed him. He’d then make sure the servants didn’t go up for ten minutes. He had that long.

He crossed to the coat tree and swiftly searched Snowy Grape’s jacket. He found what he was looking for in moments: a small plastic bag filled with sugar. He seized it in his magic and quickly crossed the entrance hall into the ground floor lavatory.

Was Snowy Grape really so foolish as to just leave her sugar behind? Then again, she was an addict, which no doubt clouded her mind. He set the bag down in the lavatory’s sink, pulled a pair of gloves over his hooves, and drew a small bag of his own from his jacket’s inside pocket.

Gently, he opened the bag of sugar, and then opened his own bag. It would not take much of an inspection to see that its contents were not sugar: unlike the tiny crystals of sugar, this was a fine white powder. He poured the entire contents into the sugar bag, closed it, and then shook it to mix the powder. It settled invisibly among the sugar.

He stuffed the gloves and bags into his pockets, then ran the tap into the sink to eliminate any evidence. He’d burn the gloves and empty bags later. He trotted back out into the entrance hall and returned the sugar to Snowy Grape’s jacket.

He gently rubbed his hooves over each other, washing away his crime. Then he sighed and made his way to the library, ready to indulge Snowy Grape in whatever other inane discussion she had in mind.

***

It had definitely been too much wine, Snowy reflected miserably the next morning. Her head had been down as she’d stumbled into the Members’ Lobby that morning, her aide by her side. She hadn’t heard a word he was saying. Her head had been pounding too much. There was a vile taste in her mouth, and she had a raging thirst. She was also exhausted: Blueblood had sent her home in his own carriage, but she hadn’t been able to get away until after midnight. And she could feel the tremors coming on again.

There was nothing for it. She’d needed some sugar. She’d staggered away from him without a word and almost fell through the door of the mares’ lavatory, almost walking into a shocked government backbencher. She’d barely been able to get the cubicle door shut before her legs failed her.

Hooves shaking worse than ever, she battled the plastic pouch from her jacket and, as gently as her hooves allowed her, shook the sugar on to the toilet seat, which was level with her eyes. Struggling to pull herself up, she took out a note, rolled it, and sucked up the sugar.

She felt her headache begin to fade immediately. The shake in her hooves began to subside. She took several deep, calming breaths before smiling and standing up. Now to do something about that shocking taste in her mouth. The sugar helped, but she’d grab a drink from the water fountain in the Members’ Lobby before she went into the Chamber. It was a dull debate today, she remembered. Some Horsetrian MP was to ask about opera subsidies.

She trotted out of the lavatory into the lobby, seeing her aide staring at her, looking revolted. A few other ponies threw her odd glances as well. She shrugged and walked towards the chamber doors.

She was halfway there when it started. Her leg jerked suddenly, throwing her off-balance. What the buck was that? She wasn’t still drunk, just a bit hung over, and the shakes always faded after she took some sugar. Then it jerked again, throwing her to the cold marble floor.

Pain shot through her as she crashed to the ground, but she didn’t notice that among the cold fear that trickled into her veins. What was happening to her? Had she overdosed? She’d never heard of anything like that...

Then her teeth slammed down on her tongue. She let out a horrid scream as blood and fire filled her mouth. Her jaw chattered uncontrollably, her head shook, and as she looked down she could see her body shaking hysterically. She couldn’t control her limbs, she couldn’t even speak.

The last thing she saw was her aide bending over her and screaming for a doctor, desperately trying to tell her it was all going to be fine...

***

“Snowy Grape is dead.”

Blueblood returned Radical Road’s cold stare with a concerned frown of his own. “How?”

“She collapsed in the Members’ Lobby this morning and went into convulsions. She was dead before the paramedics could get there. They found tetramine in her system. It’s a type of rat poison.”

Though ponies loved and cared for nearly all animals, rats held an almost unique place of hatred. They destroyed food stocks and spread disease. “I thought they were trying to get that stuff banned?” asked Blueblood nonchalantly.

“Don’t kid, Blueblood!” snarled Radical. He leaned forward. “Not even a week ago you told me that you wanted a seat in Parliament, and now Snowy’s dead and her seat’s vacant! She died the morning after she was seen joining you at this very mansion for dinner!”

Blueblood shrugged. “Well-deduced, Radical.”

“Shut up! Do you realise what you’ve done?! You’ve killed one of the greatest assets to our campaign! You’re a murderer!”

“And yet, you came here, which suggests to me that you don’t think I’ll kill you, and that you’re not going to report me to the police.”

“I could go and get them right now!”

“You could, but you won’t.”

Radical Road stared at him, his face contorted with cold fury. “Yeah? And why’s that?!”

“Because if you do, you will destroy the credibility of the Parliamentarian movement. Firstly by revealing that you invited a murderer into your ranks, and secondly...” He laid something on the desk.

“What is that?” demanded Radical Road, slowly.

“That is a recording of our last conversation. The conversation where you accepted a fifteen-thousand-bit present from yours truly. If I see policeponies approaching this mansion, I will send the tape to The Manehattan Telegraph, and if you recall, they are particularly pro-monarchy. They’d do anything to cut you down to size.”

Radical Road paled. While accepting Blueblood’s gift had not been strictly illegal, it would still be seen as bribery by the Equestrian ponies if it got out. His credibility would be shattered. “You...”

“Exactly. You report me, and we’re both finished. Joined at the hip.”

Radical Road slumped. A week ago it had been the best of times. Now he had been catapulted into something dark and utterly beyond his control. “Why did you kill her?”

“Simple. I needed a seat. Also, I’m sure you’re well-aware that Snowy was a sugar addict.”

Radical nodded miserably. It had been an open secret in Parliament for years. Not that it was anything unusual. Parliamentary Private Secretaries and Civil Servants basically ran on the stuff. Snowy Grape was just a particularly high-profile case.

“In which case, I relieved us of an unreliable addict who was blowing her money on sugar; whose addiction could have been used by Celestia as a tool against us. Well, Equestrian law forbids embarrassing details about deaths being reported to allow the deceased’s family privacy, so her secret has quite literally gone with her to the grave. Furthermore, the rat poison is easily explained: street sugar can be cut with anything. And best of all, the more conspiratorially-inclined pony will believe that Celestia had her silenced. So, every way, we win.”

Radical Road stared at him, a look of horror and disgust on his face. Blueblood’s logic was utterly remorseless.

“She was a good speaker,” he muttered. “Without her we’ll lose the vote.”

“All the pollsters say the vote is too close to call anyway. I personally believe the government will win it: Celestia has too many MPs salivating over the earmarks in the budget for it to be otherwise.”

“But then she’ll take us to war!” cried Radical Road madly. “Hundreds will die!”

“Thousands,” said Blueblood simply. “But it’s what we need. When the ponies remember what war is, when they see the bodies of their colts and fillies returned to them, their faith in Celestia will be shattered. I need it to make sure that I have the funds and men in place. And we need it so we have the military institutions there when we make our move.”

“Move?” whispered Radical. “Move to what?”

“Simple. The deposition of Celestia.”

Radical shot to his hooves. “You’re insane! We can’t depose an Alicorn with the power to move the sun! We’d be killed! And even if we succeeded, Equus would perish!”

Blueblood chuckled, and his hoof drummed against a small leather-bound book lying on his desk. Was this Earth Pony really so ignorant of the classics? “Oh, you are quite mistaken, Radical. We will succeed. Equus will survive. And it will be glorious.”

Lyra's library

The door to Golden Oaks Royal Palace opened a crack. “Do you have any weapons of any kind on you?” growled an unfamiliar stallion’s voice.

“Uh, no?” said Scootaloo tentatively.

Summer Set threw the door open, looking annoyed. “Shame, I needed something to do. This town of yours is so dull.” He stuck out a warning hoof as the Cutie Mark Crusaders tried to walk through the door. “I will need a moment to disarm the fougasse.”

“The... the wha’?” demanded Apple Bloom. “The outgas, did ya say?”

“One can never be too careful!” snarled the Pegasus, working away at something behind one of the bookshelves closest to the door. “We must be prepared for any eventuality! For all I knew, you were a horde of heavily-armed Buffalo assassins sent after the Princess!”

“Summer, what in the wide wide world of Equestria are you doing now?” demanded Twilight, trotting down from her sleeping loft.

“Three fillies to see you, Your Highness!” snapped Summer Set. “Rest assured, I have made sure that they are not dangerous!”

“I doubt that very much,” muttered Twilight, as her bodyguard trotted off to the kitchen to perform his usual bomb check of the oven. She smiled at the Cutie Mark Crusaders. “How can I help you, my little ponies?”

“We’re looking for a book!” squeaked Sweetie Belle.

“An awesome book!” exclaimed Scootaloo.

“An’ it’s called The Origin!” drawled Apple Bloom.

“CUTIE MARK CRUSADER ORIGIN READERS YAY!” they thundered, shaking several books off their shelves and sending Owlowiscious tumbling from his perch.

Summer Set burst out of the kitchen, a bread knife in his hoof. “Were the fillies threatening you, Your Highness?! I will expunge them immediately!”

“Shut up, Summer!” snapped Twilight. It had been a stressful week for her. Celestia had barely won the Commons vote over appointing a new Heir to the Throne. She let the ringing in her ears subside before turning back to the Crusaders. “The Origin, you said? I’m sorry girls, but I gave my only copy to Rainbow Dash.”

The Cutie Mark Crusaders stared up miserably at Twilight. “But we really want to read this Origin-thingy!” said Sweetie Belle.

“Yeah, and if Rainbow Dash is reading it, then it must be awesome!” said Scootaloo, momentarily lifting off the ground as her wings fluttered in excitement.

Applejack had at last released Apple Bloom from being grounded, so now the Crusaders could begin their latest Crusade for their cutie marks. They weren’t entirely sure how, but Scootaloo was certain that reading The Origin would help them. In any case, she’d said Cheerilee had been happy that she was doing something that was at least slightly academic.

Starting had been harder than they’d thought, though. Neither Applejack, nor Big Mac, nor even Granny Smith had known what The Origin was when Apple Bloom had asked. Rarity hadn’t known anything either, beyond that it was something Rainbow was reading. And when Scootaloo had asked Cheerilee, she’d muttered “ask Twilight” before quickly changing the subject.

“Well, if you really want to read it,” said Twilight, grimly. It was her duty as Princess to make sure the fillies of the realm were well-read, of course. “I think Lyra Heartstrings has a copy. Probably several copies.”

“To Lyra’s, then!” squeaked Sweetie Belle. She and Apple Bloom raced out of the library and leapt into the cart at the back of Scootaloo’s scooter, while the Pegasus filly donned her helmet and took off. “Thanks Twilight!”

“There’s no need to...!” began Twilight, but it was too late. Scootaloo had taken off down the street, leaving a cloud of dust and devastation in her wake. Twilight sighed and turned around, watching Owlowiscious flutter around after the books that had tumbled down in the cacophony.

Leaving a trail of disoriented ponies choking on dust behind them, the Crusaders slid to a halt outside one of Ponyville’s cottages. It looked just like any other of the town’s half-timbered, sod-roofed dwellings.

Apple Bloom suddenly remembered something. “Uh, maybe this ain’t such a...”

Too late: Sweetie Belle leapt out of the cart and hammered on the oak door. It swung open to reveal a beige Earth Pony with a curling, blue-and-pink mane. Her face fell at the sight of them.

“Hi, Ms. Bon!” squeaked Sweetie Belle, oblivious.

“Oh, the Crusaders, is it?” said Bon Bon glumly. “If you want any cutie mark help, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“Awww...” said the Crusaders together.

“But...” began Scootaloo.

“No thank you! Every time you begin one of your little schemes, half the town ends up in ruins! If I recall correctly, one of your number is responsible for my catching food poisoning from baked bads, and tried to frame me as an apple thief!”

Apple Bloom tried to hide behind Scootaloo.

“Bon, who are you shouting at?” came a mare’s voice. A mint-green Unicorn with a brilliant cyan mane appeared next to her. Her face fell as well. “Oh, it’s...”

Sweetie Belle seized her chance. “Hi, Ms. Heartstrings! We heard you’ve got a copy of The Origin!”

Lyra Heartstrings' eyes lit up. “The Origin?”

“Lyra...” said Bon Bon, warningly.

“But Bon! These fillies are clearly interested in our culture! Our history! How many foals can you say that of these days?!”

“If you were talking about proper culture and history I’d agree with you,” muttered Bon Bon.

Lyra snorted. “They want to read a book. What’s the worst that can happen?”

Bon Bon sighed, defeated. “Fine. But I don’t want them anywhere near the kitchen! I’ve got candy to make.” And with that, she swept off.

Lyra sighed. “Please forgive Bon, my little ponies. Now, The Origin, you said? Please follow me.”

The Crusaders followed Lyra into the house. She took them down the hall and through a door on the left. The three fillies stopped dead in their tracks. They were in a library that was so big that it rivalled Golden Oaks: it easily dominated half the ground floor of the house. It extended up to the house’s oak-beamed roof, and a spiral staircase led up to a brass-railed balcony that ringed the walls halfway up. The walls were lined with shelves filled with books whose titles the Crusaders had never even heard of. Some of them were in languages they could not read. A few of the shelves held not books but scrolls, some fairly new-looking, others looking so dog-eared that Apple Bloom thought it was dangerous to have them exposed to the air. More sheets of parchment littered the half-a-dozen tables that covered the floor, along with stacks of newspapers, magazines, and on one, a lump of white stone that, as the fillies looked closer, they saw were the remains of a carving.

“Like it?” asked Lyra, brightly. “We knocked out one of the downstairs walls and got rid of one of the bedrooms upstairs to make it. Well, I say that. What I mean is, I knocked out the walls and Bon Bon watched in horror.”

“Why...?” asked Scootaloo.

“I needed a place for my things,” said Lyra, as if it was obvious. “Besides, we only need one bedroom and we can eat in the kitchen, so we don’t need a dining room or lounge.”

“WHOA!” blurted Apple Bloom. She’d been casting her eyes around the library, still trying to take it all in, and she’d spotted a colossal statue standing against the wall. Easily as tall as three stallions standing on top of each other, it was made of battered, stained marble, and very superficially looked like a pony rearing.

“Is that...?” asked Sweetie Belle.

“That is a human,” said Lyra proudly. “I got him when I was on a gap year in Mareope. I call him Marshall.”

Apple Bloom stared closer at the statue of the human. It was heavily muscled, or she guessed so because the pattern on its trunk put her in mind of Bulk Biceps, that excessively-stallionly Pegasus on the weather team. At some point in the past it had lost its right arm, but its left was still there, clutching the rusted remains of a staff. The broken remains of a flowing robe were draped over its arm.

“Eww,” said Sweetie Belle, frowning at a point between the statue’s legs. “Is that...”

“So, The Origin!” said Lyra quickly. She reared on her back legs, and tottered, delicately over to one of the bookshelves.

The Crusaders exchanged glances as their host staggered precariously between the tables. “Uh, Ms. Heartstrings,” said Apple Bloom. “Can ah ask, what the hay are ya doin’?”

“This is how we anthropologists believe humans walked,” said Lyra, trying to keep herself balanced by flailing her forelegs. She suddenly tumbled over, hitting the carpet with a crash. The books in the shelf above her thundered down.

Lyra poked her head out from the pile of books. “I’ll admit, learning it is a bit of a struggle.”

She hunted through the pile for a moment before picking out one of the tomes. “Ah, the Reference translation. This’ll work for you, I think.”

She took the book in her magic and trotted over to one of the tables. “Please, girls, take a seat.”

The Crusaders sat down on pouffes around the table, tucking their forelegs in front of them. Lyra, however, eased herself on to a chair, throwing her back legs forwards, sitting in that same bizarre position they’d all come to associate with her.

“Ms. Heartstrings...” began Sweetie Belle.

“Lyra, please Sweetie.”

“Lyra, doesn’t that hurt?”

“Actually, it’s done remarkable things for the muscle tone in my back,” said Lyra happily. “Now,” she pushed the book across the table for them. “This translation should be nice and easy for you. Law Reference is far less verbose than Hallowed Halls or White Swan, I find.”

The Crusaders leaned closer and examined the cover. Printed below a picture that took up two-thirds of the cover were the words:

The Origin

The new Albatross edition, translated by Law Reference

“Nice and affordable, Albatross Publishing,” said Lyra.

Scootaloo examined the picture on the cover. “Hey! That’s the same as your carving thing, Lyra!”

“Well spotted, Scootaloo.” She waved her hoof at the carving. It seemed to show a bearded pony leading a host. “This is from a frieze from Trotaly. We think it shows Barbarossa, He Who Marches East, leading the ponies to what is now Manehattan, out of the chaos that wracked the world when the humans’ rule ended.”

“Manehattan...” said Sweetie Belle, struggling to remember a history lesson. “Ooh! That’s where Equestrian civilisation began! I remember it from Twilight’s history book!”

“You’re given that in school?” asked Lyra, surprised. “In my opinion she did pre-Equestrian history a terrible disservice.”

“But ah thought we didn’t know nothin’ about ancient history?” said Apple Bloom.

“Not until recently,” agreed Lyra. “But some archaeological discoveries in Mareope have challenged that belief. It’s nothing concrete, but some things, like the shape of bones that have been recovered, or the layers of ash that have been excavated beneath our major cities, have convinced many anthropologists that the basic story of The Origin is true: that humans once ruled Equus and lost it to the ponies in a catastrophic war.”

“Whoa,” whispered Scootaloo, staring at the book in amazement. “Just whoa.”

“Thank you,” said Lyra, but she didn’t sound happy. “But the past two years have been a worrying time for anthropologists, particularly given what’s been going on this week. I actually wondered if that was why you’d decided to read the book.”

“What do you mean?” asked Sweetie Belle.

“Turn to page three hundred and ninety four.”

Scootaloo riffled through the pages, turning to the end of the book. “‘The Shape of Things to Come’,” she said, reading the chapter heading. “You remembered the page number?”

“Comes in useful in academic debates. Read, please.”

Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom crowded in close. Scootaloo began to read.

“On the four-and-fiftieth year after the ponies descent into the Valley of the Protective Mother, Barbarossa of the fiery beard, He Who Marches East, last of the companions of Spartacus, died in his bed. And there was misery throughout the Valley, for who, it was asked, would guide them now? Who would now protect them from the horror beyond? From the snarling Dogs and the gryphons of the iron claws? For Barbarossa had taken a wife late, and his son was but a colt of nine years.

“Yet as he lay in state upon his pyre, Barbarossa’s wife, Adelheid, stood before the weeping mourners and cried; ‘Ponies! Weep not! Grieve not! Fear not! For Barbarossa died knowing his task was complete, that ponykind was safe in this valley. Did he not say that he would take no wife and father no foals until this task was done? Through his justice, duty, mercy, and valour, peace has been done!’

“And at this, the ponies cheered, and though with tears on their cheeks, they sung the final benediction of Barbarossa with joy in their hearts. And Adelheid herself set the torch to the funeral pyre, and thus passed the Hoofed Storm, the Unbowed Warrior, He Who Marches East. And the ponies left, sorrowful that they had lost their leader, but joyful knowing that they were safe.

“But then the Oracle of the white eyes did whisper in her last prophecy; ‘United and joyful now, we may be. But in time, the ponies will be rent asunder, for the Unicorns shall go to the mountains and the Pegasi to the sky, while the Earth Ponies remain on the green ground. And there shall be strife between those ponies. And they shall only be reconciled after a time of great sorrow.’

“And she spoke again, and said; ‘Thrice more the Chaos shall come, though each time weaker than the last, once to be banished by The Two Who Are Now Gone, once to be banished by The Six Who Will Be, and once to be redeemed by One of The Six.’

“And she spoke again, and said; ‘There shall come a time of fear and plague and famine and sorrow. And then shall come a time of strife and hate. And in that time, the sun shall at last rise without the magic of the Unicorns, and all that the ponies built will end and burn and fall, in blood and pitch and screaming fire. And in that time, the humans shall come again.’

“On this, a pale fear seized all those who heard, and Adelheid and her ministers were deeply troubled. They asked her; ‘When, Oracle? What must we do to stop this?’

“But the Oracle did not answer, and for three days was utterly silent before she died. And until they died, Adelheid, her heir and her ministers sought to preserve the peace Barbarossa had bought them and the freedom Spartacus had given them. And for many years there was peace in the Valley of the Protective Mother.

“Yet the words of the Oracle dwelt forever, darkly, in the hearts of Unicorn, Pegasi and Earth Ponies, and they are a seed that does not die and cannot be destroyed, and they will bear dark fruit even unto the latest days.

“Here endeth the Origin. It was of old the fate of this earth to pass from high and beautiful to dark and ruined and everfree. Try as ponies will to mend it, no prophecy tells of it being healed, and nor is it declared in the Sibylline Books.”

“As you can see,” said Lyra. “Those three prophecies are clearly applicable to both Equestrian history and to today. The first refers to the sundering of the tribes and their reunification at Hearth’s Warming. The second clearly refers to Discord, his reign of terror a thousand years ago, and his return last year. As to his redemption, well we can only speculate.”

The three fillies exchanged glances. What had happened earlier that year, in the weeks before Twilight’s coronation and when Princess Celestia had been seen visiting Ponyville, none could say for certain. As much as they’d pressed Applejack, Rarity and Rainbow Dash, the mares had said nothing of it.

“But wha’ about the last one, Lyra?” asked Apple Bloom.

“Ah yes.” Lyra leaned back in her chair. “That is perhaps the most controversial of all the prophecies, and dozens of ponies across Equestria’s history have claimed it about to be fulfilled. There are those of us who believe that now is the time it will be fulfilled.”

“How?” asked Sweetie Belle.

“Well, the conditions are easily applicable to today,” said Lyra. “‘A time of fear and plague and famine and sorrow.’ We’ve had the fear of Nightmare Moon and Discord’s return, and the plague of Parasprites and the food shortages that followed, as well as the Changeling invasion. And if you’ve been reading the papers, now is undeniably ‘a time of strife and hate.’”

“Uh, right...” said Sweetie Belle sceptically.

“Wha’ does this here bit about the sun, mean?” asked Apple Bloom.

“The Origin tells us that at one point in the past, the sun didn’t need to be raised by the Unicorn magic now used by Princess Celestia,” said Lyra. “Aeons ago, the sun and moon moved every day and night of their own accord, just as the clouds over the Everfree Forest do today.”

The Crusaders looked positively horrified at this prospect. “Ya... ya mean, it jus’... moved?” stammered Apple Bloom.

“Without magic?!” squeaked Sweetie Belle.

“That’s just not right...” muttered Scootaloo.

“An’ if it ain’t bad enough, when it does happen again, everything we built’s gonna burn!” cried Apple Bloom. “Ya sure this is gonna happen, Lyra?!”

“Uh...” began Lyra, and she realised why Bon Bon had been so reluctant to let them in. It would be just like the Crusaders to take this opportunity to start preparing for the apocalypse and probably destroy half of Ponyville in the process.

“Well, you do have to remember that these prophecies are probably metaphorical,” she said slowly. “There’s a school of thought that suggests these are just a social commentary of what was happening when The Origin was written.”

“But you still think the humans are going to return?!” asked Sweetie Belle.

“Well, it doesn’t necessarily have to happen in blood and pitch and screaming fire!” squeaked Lyra. “I mean, I’m sure they’re quite reasonable beings!”

The door to the library suddenly swung open. The four of them looked around to see Bon Bon standing there, supporting a shaken-looking grey Pegasus.

“Derpy?” said Lyra, surprised, as Bon Bon gently lowered her into a chair. “What’s going on?”

“I... I’m sorry, Lyra,” said Derpy Hooves shakily. There was none of the usual happiness in those mismatched eyes, nor did she wear her endlessly cheerful smile. There was just worry and confusion on that face. “I... I just don’t know what happened.”

“Ms. Hooves?” asked Apple Bloom, padding over. “Wha’ do ya mean?”

“Oh, hi Apple Bloom,” the mailmare said, absent-mindedly. “Dinky’s mentioned you three a lot. Admires your commitment, I think.”

“Derpy, what’s wrong?” demanded Lyra, concern filling her voice. “Bon, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” said Bon Bon. “I heard her knock at the door, I answered it and she just fell over on to me! This was the closest place I could lay her down.”

Derpy sniffed. “I’m sorry, Bon,” she said thickly. “I just saw the papers and I guess it shocked me a bit.”

Lyra sighed. “But Derpy, you’ve already done your rounds for today, remember? You delivered our papers two hours ago and there was nothing shocking in it.”

“Unless she was looking at my page three...” muttered Bon Bon.

She shook her head and opened her saddlebag with a wing. “I’d just finished today’s run when I got back to the post office. Dinky was a bit worked up because a load of new newspapers had arrived while I was out. They were extras so I knew something big had happened. I... I guess seeing the headline was a bit of a shock, that’s all. I tried to start delivering them but... I don’t know what came over me.”

She took a newspaper in her teeth and pulled it from her saddlebag, looking ashamed. Frowning, Lyra took it in her magic as Bon Bon and the Crusaders gathered round to read the headline. It was an extra edition of The Manehattan Telegraph.

CHANGELINGS STRIKE LYNX TERRITORIES
ATTACK BEGAN AT DAWN: HUNDREDS THOUGHT DEAD IN A FEW HOURS
TEN VILLAGES KNOWN TO BE BURNING
RECALL OF PARLIAMENT LIKELY

Lyra stared at the page, unseeing. There was only one thing she could think about: Strife and hate. Blood and pitch. Screaming fire.

Shock and Awe

Stalks Silently had no intention of living up to his name. Terrified and ashamed, the Lynx sprinted as fast as he could across the plain, tears streaming from his eyes and blood pouring from his flank.

The air was rank with the stink of battle: the raw iron and copper of spilled blood, the rich wetness of trampled grass, the acidic bitterness of vomit, the sour reek of voided and shattered bowels, and the choking dryness of smoke. The smoke from the burning lair that had once been his, burned after the battle he’d lost.

They’d heard of the Changeling attack just after dawn, when twenty refugees from the lairs over the hill had staggered into Stalkfang lair. Moments later, a column of smoke had drifted up from behind the hill. Then more and more envoys had arrived: nine lairs along the border of Froud Valley were burning; their inhabitants sent fleeing or subjected to unthinkable torment in captivity. Blackrock, Longclaw, Whitetree, Redfur, Brighteye, Swiftail, Sharptooth, Fiercebite, Nightsnarl and Strongslash, all great and famous lairs with great and famous chieftains, lay in ruins.

It had been Stalks Silently’s luck that his lair had been far enough from the border to give him time to mobilise. He had mustered all the warriors of the Stalkfang lair, and positioned his army, fifteen thousand strong, on the slopes of Mount Grappler above the Darkling Plain, five miles south of Stalkfang. To try to avoid it would be to expose their flanks, so sure enough, the Changelings had come.

Taking to his war chariot, spear in paw and drawn by a dozen slaves taken in previous wars, he had led the charge on the Changeling line, the chariots of his sons, Night Darter and Steel Slash, at his side. The four hundred chariots of the Stalkfang lair had thundered across the Darkling Plain, their drivers’ the bravest and richest warriors in the lair, magnificent in their panoply, glorious in their battle rage, towards the three lines of Changelings seventeen thousand strong. They’d got so close. They’d been able to see the Changeling’s soulless eyes; the dull gleam of their black carapaces; the light through those gaping craters in their limbs; the jags of their gnarled horns; the collapsible shields they’d strapped to their forelegs.

Yet before any one of them could hurl a spear or loose an arrow, over a thousand Changelings on each flank had taken to the air, and the air had been filled with such buzzing that it had drowned the snarls and yells of the charioteers. The slaves drawing the chariots had skidded to a halt in panic, and though the charioteers had whipped them furiously, at that point they had been lost. The flying Changelings had swept in on both flanks, huge lances in their claws, and they and the Changeling infantry had fired blasts of infernal green magic from their horns, tearing into warriors. Then the infantry had advanced, overturning the helpless, immobile chariots and slashing at warriors with their claws, goring them with their horns and tearing them with their fangs.

The tears flowed even more quickly as he ran. There had been no honour to it! Those insects knew nothing of valorous single combat! Instead they had fought as if they were one of those mechanical devices the ponies sold to them, in an endlessly-repeated rhythm! He’d seen Hunts Boldly, the Greyback, an old but hale warrior and one of the greatest of the lair, leap from his chariot and slash, snarling at the enemy with all the bravery a warrior could, his claws spinning like saws. But he had been beset by Changelings from three sides, and he had fallen with a dozen wounds, and his body was swept under and crushed by that advancing wall of black.

For his part, he had fought like the chieftain he was, first with his spear, then when that had snapped in his paws, with his claws and teeth. He had left a trail of dozens dead as he charged, withdrew, and charged again at that wall of black shields, his fur stained and his tongue bitter with the sickening green ichor the Changelings bled instead of blood. But for every Changeling that fell, another just moved up it its place, and as he fought on, becoming ever more exhausted, the front rank of Changelings just disappeared into that black mass and was replaced with another. Finally one of them had struck him, and a Changeling claw had raked a gaping wound in his left flank. Hobbling away, dimly thinking of making his way on to the mountain to rally his infantry, he had not noticed the cavalry closing in, and a Changeling lance had crashed against his head, sending him tumbling into darkness.

When he came to, two Lynx queens were bending over him while hundreds of Lynxes spilled around them, all running. His mind fogged from the pain in his head and his flank, he'd managed to stammer out a question. "What happened?"

“Two warriors pulled you from the field,” said one queen, her paws hurrying with a bone needle as she stitched up his flank. “They brought you up the mountain to us. They were beyond saving, but you may just survive.”

My sons. He’d known without even having to ask. Now as he ran, tears flowed unbidden down his face, just as they’d done then.

“The battle’s lost,” the other queen had snarled. “The chieftain was lost in that press of demons. Stalks Silently, Night Darter, the Greyback. They’re all dead, and we’ll be too if we can’t get you fixed up soon.”

She does not know me, he’d realised. He’d managed to turn his head, and spotting his reflection in a discarded helmet, he’d seen why: the silver fur that had camouflaged him so well in his night hunts was matted and darkened with blood, crusted brown. His blood, from the gash on the scalp where the lance had struck. His right eye had also been swollen shut. If he’d been wearing a helmet, he might have weathered the damage and fought on, but no chieftain of a lair would be so craven as to do that.

“Why are they running?” he’d managed to splutter.

“Those demon Changelings pushed right up the hill and into our ranks. We thought we might surround them, but that damned cavalry of theirs surrounded our warriors. Half the army’s gone. Best we can do now is run.”

What had happened after that, he did not know. He remembered waking up though, lying on the hard wood of a cart, and the screams of queens and toms alike as the crunch-clank-crunch-clank of the Changeling army drew nearer and nearer. He could hear their hissing and buzzing and the yells of those they killed, and he had made his decision: he would not stay here lying on a cart as easy prey for these demons. Summoning all of his strength, he’d leapt from the tumbrel and ran. He’d felt fire along his flank as the stitches tore, but he didn’t care. He was alive.

But as he ran, he’d spotted the columns of smoke rising, and he knew he was defeated. The tears had run down his face again. Stalkfang was burning, his Lynxes scattered. His sons were dead, and he would never see his mate Goldfur again. If she was not dead, she was lost, fleeing across the plains. To starve would be a merciful end compared to being taken by the Changelings. She could not even expect mercy from any Lynxes she met: to be taken alone on the plains was to be taken as a slave. He had done it himself a dozen times to travelling parties from those lairs he had a quarrel with.

Stalks Silently was nothing now. For twenty years he had fought to make himself the greatest chieftain in the south of the Lynx territories. He had fought a hundred battles against a dozen lairs. Those that had surrendered were welcomed into his rule; their chieftains made his vassals and treated warmly. Those that had resisted to the bitter end were utterly destroyed, their toms slaughtered, their queens raped and their cubs taken as slaves. Their lairs had been utterly destroyed. The chieftains of the north spoke to him as their equal. Now it was all ash.

He cursed and swept the tears from his face with a paw. Ash it may be, but the chieftain survived, and he would not be taken by the Changelings. Nor would he be taken by some hunting party from another lair, to be made their slave or chased as sport across the plains. No, he would die as a warrior, as his father before him and his father before him.

Growling, he made to turn, but as his paw came down, he felt the ground give. He looked down and saw to his horror, green transparent ooze spreading up his leg. He didn’t know how they’d done it, but the Changelings had seeded the plains with their vile ichor, and he had stepped right into it.

Like a living being the ooze swept up his leg, cocooning it. Cursing and snarling, he stamped his paw and slashed at it with his other. The ichor constricted and he howled as a devastating crack ran out: it had shattered the bones in his leg.

The cocoon raced across his body, pinning his limbs. It constricted his chest and rose up his neck. The vile, cloying, rotting scent of the ichor filled his nostrils and mouth as it coated his face. He could barely breathe, but he knew his life would not be snuffed out so easily. He could see nothing but a green haze.

After what felt like hours, the Changelings came for him.

***

“Therefore,” concluded Sir Burnished Bronze. “It is this government’s intention to bring forward an Emergency Budget, to be debated within the week, so that we may swiftly and effectively respond to this unprovoked and dastardly attack upon our peaceful trading partners in the Lynx territories!”

Cheers of “here here!” and “shame!” filled the gas-lit Commons Chamber, the government and opposition benches battling to outdo each other. The yells reached a furious crescendo, and in the centre of it all was Radical Road, standing silently at the despatch box, waiting to deliver the Parliamentarians’ response.

“Order,” crooned the Speaker ineffectually. “Order.”

The roars continued. Radical Road smiled. Such polarisation had its uses.

“Order,” intoned Muffled Merkin again. “Order.”

And again, the roars failed to subside.

“I will clear this chamber if I do not have immediate silence!” snapped the Speaker with surprising force.

The House of Commons lapsed into a stunned silence, staring in amazement at the usually-quiet Speaker.

“Radical Road,” said Merkin.

Radical composed himself. “Thank you, Mr. Speaker.” He set his eyes on Burnished Bronze. “My friends, when one is walking in the forest and comes across a Timberwolf feasting on its latest kill, does one attempt to drive the beast off by throwing sticks, because eating meat is against our values? Never! My friends, what this government proposes is just as irresponsible and foolish, if not more so!”

Thunderous cheers of “here here!” resounded from the benches behind him.

“My friends, we all know what this ‘Emergency Budget’ will entail: apple barrelling on a scale unseen in Equestria’s history to bribe the government’s backbenchers into supporting the foundation of an army for a foolish adventure in the south!”

He shook his head sadly, an expression of deep sorrow on his face. “My friends, to feel that something must be done against injustice is no bad thing, but this government’s knee-jerk desire to intervene when we do not possess the full facts, when it is not even clear if the Lynxes even have a chance of victory, is recklessness of the highest order! Or perhaps, my friends, this government does not care about that, and merely wishes for a success abroad to distract the public from its failures at home!”

There were roars of “shame!” from the opposition benches. The government had barely survived the vote on the new Heir to the Equestrian Throne last week. Helm von Withersbach’s elevation to the title had passed by only five votes.

“Members of the House,” Radical Road concluded, his voice grave. “The Opposition cannot support the government’s budget. To do so is to support an unnecessary foreign war. We all remember the tragic events that took place in this very city last year, and it is the Opposition’s stance that it is best not to do anything to further antagonise the Changelings. To the government’s backbenchers I ask this: is sending our young mares and stallions off to die in some distant war worth the hooful of bits the government has promised your constituencies? If you believe so, then I am revolted to consider myself Equestrian.”

***

Early morning two days later, Shining Armor entered the Troop Office of the Royal Guard.

While the Royal Guard had always had a senior command staff, its three elements – the Captain-General, the Adjutant-General and the Quartermaster-General – rarely met together. If the Adjutant required something from the Quartermaster, he had to make his request through the Captain, and vice-versa. Furthermore, it also put a colossal amount of paperwork on the Captain-General’s desk, as he had to sift through reports from both and see if there were conflicts or clashes. No more. When the Privy Council had decided that it would put forward legislation to create an army, one of Shining Armor’s first decisions as the new Commander-in-Chief of the Forces had been to combine the three in the innocently-named Troop Office. The name had been picked to conceal its intentions from the public, since the Troop Office would act as the nucleus for the new Royal Army’s General Staff.

Five other ponies were stood around the map table with him, merely a fraction of the staff, but the most senior figures. To his left was Adjutant-General of the Forces General Sir Blackfire, a black-bodied, red-maned Pegasus responsible for personnel matters, which ranged from pay and promotions to force reorganisation after battles. Next to him was Lieutenant General Sir Ration Bag, Quartermaster-General of the Forces, responsible for logistics and equipment support. Shining Armor had appointed him to the staff after deciding it was best to keep him as far away from Star siblings as possible.

The other five were Colonels Clear Dunes, Crystal Thought, and Warning Order, an Earth Pony, Unicorn and Pegasus, and respectively responsible for the Mapping, Intelligence, and Planning Departments of the staff. The ten officers they each had under them had been working away furiously for the past two days to try to understand the situation in the south.

“Mares, gentlestallions,” said Shining Armor to the assembled staff. “Good morning. Now, don’t have much time, so let’s begin. Colonel Thought, what is the current state of the war?”

“We’ve been looking over every newspaper we can get our hooves on, Your Highness,” said Thought. “As well as every one of Lieutenant Telescope’s reports for the last six months. The Changelings have thirty-four thousand troops moving north from Froud Valley through the Lynx territories. Our analysis is still incomplete, but given the rate at which they overran the border, and the speed of their victory at the Battle of Mount Grapple, the Changelings will have near-total control over the Lynx territories by the end of September.”

“Six months...” hissed Shining Armor.

“Or in other words, the minimum training time required for a raw recruit to reach a standard worthy of the Guard,” completed General Blackfire grimly.

“Keep in mind that’s a pessimistic analysis, sir,” said Thought. “Now that the rest of the tribes are alerted to the invasion, the Changelings’ operational tempo will probably slow, and my staff are still liaising with Colonel Dunes’.”

“What sort of forces can the Lynxes muster?”

“As of yesterday evening, there were six major lairs in the north mobilising their forces, said Crystal Thought. “As well as around two dozen smaller lairs. Between them they can put around eighty thousand warriors into the field. But we’re not confident of their ability to actually use that force: two of the major lairs, Blackfur and Strikefang, fought a war only last year and there’s no guarantee that some of the smaller lairs won’t try to make a separate peace with the Changelings.”

“What about the Changelings’ forces?”

“Well, like the Lynxes, they’re predominantly a melee army,” said Crystal Thought. “And the average Lynx warrior is probably stronger than a Changeling soldier, but their eusocial nature means they’ve got much better discipline and organisation than the Lynxes. The Lynx way of war is based around individual achievement in personal combat, while the Changelings subordinate all individual needs to those of the hive.”

“Keep in mind, sir, that the Changelings are also effectively on starvation rations,” added Ration Bag. “If they lose this war, they run out of love and their entire race perishes. Based on that and their social structure, I think they’ll have a much greater tolerance for losses than us or even the Lynxes.”

“Victory through attrition,” muttered Shining Armor bitterly. “And every casualty they take is just another Changeling that doesn’t have to be fed.”

He frowned down at the map table. Sitting beyond the Appleloosan Mountains, the Lynx territories were a wedge of rolling, open grasslands striking north between the Forest of Leota and the Fetlock Forest. Green tokens representing Lynx lairs were scattered across it, while a band of red pushed up towards them from the haze of crimson that was the Changeling-held Froud Valley.

“What sort of chances do the Lynxes have?” he asked.

“We’ve identified seven potential points in Lynx territory where they could slow or stop the Changeling advance,” said Colonel Clear Dunes. “They’re chokepoints or heavily forested and broken terrain where the Lynxes can bring their individual advantages to bear, but even so, the Changelings’ military advantages are...considerable.”

Shining Armor sighed. “Very well. If we can force the Changelings to commit to battle, then our advantage in individual weapons and artillery should score us some big victories quickly. The only question is, can we mobilise before the Lynxes’ resistance fails?”

“Shall I start reviewing the training programme, sir?” asked Sir Blackfire.

“Yes, but I won’t commit to anything until we get more concrete information from the south and until after the budget is passed.”

“Will the budget be passed, sir?” asked Ration Bag.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “This one’s probably going to be the hardest-fought piece of legislation in Equestria’s history. Princess Celestia could depend on apple barrelling to get votes for the new Heir to the Throne, but now that there’s a real prospect of war, I think that might focus minds a bit more. All the papers are saying it’s going to be close.”

The staff exchanged worried glances. There was no point repeating the arguments between them: they were all convinced of the need for an army, but the Opposition was so repulsed by the idea of war that it would take a Changeling army surging over the Macintosh Hills to convince them, and by then it would be too late.

It’ll be passed, Shining Armor told himself. Politicians always want money for their voters, and they know our arguments are correct. In six months, probably less, he’d be leading Equestria’s new army south. But, he dimly reflected, staring at the map table and remembering the horror he’d felt when he’d read Cadance’s letter last week, if their enemy was in the south, why did he feel like he should be marching north?

***

“How horrible, fantastic, incredible it is,” said Blueblood, gravely. “That we should be debating strategies and stockpiling spears here, because of a quarrel in a far-away country between people of whom we know nothing.”

There were murmurs of assent from the small crowd that had gathered in the square in Canterlot to hear his first campaign speech. Not even a flicker of a smile touched his lips, but Blueblood felt a fierce joy. He was hungry for power, and these fools, desperate for a tiny bit of security, were giving him the keys to the larder!

Snowy Grape’s tragic death had stunned everypony, but the government had come off the worse for it. Even though it had won the vote on the new Heir to the Throne, its majority had been slashed, and it hadn’t been able to do a thing about the conspiracy theories that began circulating in the wake of the former Minister for Agriculture’s death. Furthermore, they’d had no pony ready as their new candidate for Snowy Grape’s seat, and they’d been completely wrong-footed when Radical Road had appeared next to Blueblood and (through gritted teeth) announced him as the Opposition’s candidate in the Canterlot North by-election.

“It seems still more impossible,” he continued. “That it has already been decided that this quarrel should be settled by war. The Changelings are an intelligent race, my friends. Can it really be that our Princesses are so besotted by war that they have not even considered negotiations?”

The crowd’s mutter of agreement was louder this time.

“My friends, yesterday morning, Their Highnesses’ Government released their plan for the Emergency Budget.” His horn glowed and a smartly-bound booklet hovered above his lectern. “We all know of the momentous scale of apple barrelling in this budget: bribery to swing MPs round to vote for war!”

The murmur of assent became a louder buzz.

“In here, they list the costs of their planned military adventure: one hundred and fifty million bits!”

A shocked gasp rose from the crowd.

“My friends, this is the largest single piece of expenditure in Equestria’s history! It is nearly half our budget surplus! It is a betrayal of the fiscal prudence demonstrated by previous Chancellors for the past seven hundred years!”

Some of the murmurs became cheers.

“Mares and gentlestallions,” said Blueblood, preparing to wrap up, his voice deeply grave again. “It is my deepest regret that the timing of this election means the winner will be unable to vote in the coming budget debate. If I am elected MP for your constituency, rest assured I will work ceaselessly to oppose any military expansion or action. If, Spirits forbid, Equestria does go to war, I will never allow the possibility of a negotiated settlement to be dismissed in Parliament. And I will never rest until this government is held accountable for its abuses and arbitrary exercises of power by the ponies’ true representatives: the democratically-elected Parliament.”

Cheers and a storm of applause greeted him. He descended the podium and walked slowly through the crowd, smiling, shaking hooves and thanking his future constituents. His smile was entirely genuine, but it was not there for the reasons they thought.

***

On Wednesday evening, Blueblood found himself sitting restlessly with two dozen other ponies in the galleries above the Commons Chamber. He didn’t like how this night might turn out.

His election was in the bag: his speeches against the government and calling for reform and fiscal prudence had struck a chord with the ponies of Canterlot North. They were all astounded that this Unicorn, once considered an aristocratic, classist twit, could be so eloquent and principled. And of course, whatever his background, he was one of them, unlike that mediocre nopony the government had had to draft in from Horsetria as their candidate. Burnished Bronze had presented him to a tiny, unenthusiastic crowd this morning, but everypony’s attention had been focused on that day’s budget vote.

And therein lay a potential problem: Parliament was as polarised as the public over the budget which, if passed, would inevitably lead to war. According to the Gallop Poll, fifty-six percent of ponies opposed any action that would lead to war, while forty percent were convinced that something had to be done against the Changelings. MPs were torn between supporting their chiefs, their constituents, or their consciences, decisions that were complicated by the official bribery the Emergency Budget promised with apple barrel spending. After seven hours of furious speeches, proposed amendments, florid insults, and three cases of unparliamentary language, the debate had concluded fifteen minutes ago. It had been ferocious. Bookies and pollsters alike were saying the vote was too close to call.

Blueblood didn’t like that. The vote failing would force the government to resign and call a general election, and while that would no doubt be good for the Parliamentarians, it wouldn’t be good for him: he needed this war. He needed the public enraged by casualties before he could move. He needed a military force that could be co-opted. He needed the profits from his shares and forges to bribe officers in that force to support him. He’d already identified a few potential targets, among them a certain Major General Neigh.

He looked down at the green leather benches to see Radical Road staring up at him angrily. When he’d told the Parliamentarian leader what he planned, he’d called him insane, a tin-foil hatter. But now he was forever bound to him. Blueblood had guessed correctly. Though he may hold high-minded principles, Radical Road was a politician: above all else he cared for his power and position.

Four ponies in business suits, the government and opposition Chief and Deputy Whips, appeared at the end of the chamber. As they walked its length towards the Speaker’s Chair, the dull babble of conversation faded to absolute silence. The whole House seemed to be holding its breath.

“Order, order,” crooned the Speaker unnecessarily.

The four ponies approached the Table of the House, inclined their heads, took a step forward and bowed again.

The government Chief Whip stared at the piece of parchment in his shaking hoof. His face was pale. “The Ayes to the right, 300; the Noes to the left, 299.”

A shocked gasp resounded throughout the Chamber, followed by a storm of “shame!” from the opposition benches as the Serjeant at Arms took the parchment from the Chief Whip and passed it to the Speaker.

“RESIGN!” roared somepony from the opposition benches, and a second later, a gale of the cries descended upon the government front bench. Opposition MPs leapt up and shook their hooves furiously. Burnished Bronze, Binding Treaty, Diamond Charm, Iron von Hayenzollern and the rest of the front bench just sat there, stock still, pale, and overcome.

The Speaker took the parchment. “Order! The Ayes to the right, 300; the Noes to the left, 299. The Ayes have it, the Ayes have it.”

Blueblood realised he’d been holding his breath. Amid the roars and jeers of the opposition MPs, several of whom were actually weeping, one stallion was silent. Radical Road was staring up at him, disbelieving. Perhaps a moment ago he had believed that he might win the vote and so ruin Blueblood’s plans, but now he could only stare up at the true leader of the Parliamentarian movement, uncomprehending.

Blueblood gave Radical Road the faintest of smiles. The Emergency Budget had been passed by one vote. Celestia’s government had won, and Equestria would go to war, but the credibility of the Princesses had been shattered. And that was just what he needed.

Redcoat

The recruiters were out early in Ponyville Square. In front of Ponyville Town Hall were four tables, draped with Equestrian flags and coated with neat stacks of leaflets, enlistment forms, and some uniform items. Behind each sat two ponies in smart new uniforms, each more ornate than the last.

A small crowd had already gathered when Twilight and her friends arrived. Ponyville was as polarised as the rest of Equestria over the army: some looked on with interest, others with looks of utmost loathing.

“Um, Twilight,” whispered Fluttershy as they walked through the crowd. “Do we really have to be near all these soldiers? What if someone gets hurt?”

“As Princess, I have to be seen supporting the decision,” said Twilight. “I don’t like the idea of war any more than you do, but it has to be done.”

“And Applejack and Rainbow signing up should convince some of these other ponies that it’s the thing to do,” said Rarity. “And, oh my! Just look at those Artillery uniforms!” She gracefully waved a hoof at the pair of ponies sitting at the rightmost table, wearing smart, short jackets of red-faced blue and shakos bearing a brass badge showing a cannon on its limber.

“Applejack? Rainbow?” squeaked Fluttershy. “You’re... you’re really doing this? You’re going off to war?”

“Ah owe ta Princess Celestia,” said Applejack sternly. “It was me who got her into this whole darn mess. Least ah can do is do ma bit in it.”

“I remember what those Changelings did to Canterlot,” growled Rainbow. “What they nearly did to us. I’m not letting that happen again.”

“Right then,” muttered Applejack. She pulled a leaflet out from under her hat. It had been delivered to all homes across Equestria two days ago. On the cover was a pony soldier standing at attention. It was titled: THE ROYAL ARMY AND HOW IT WILL AFFECT YOU.

“Ah want infantry,” she said, reading carefully. “Those are ma guys over there. Dashie, ah guess you want cavalry? They’re over ta the left.”

“Thanks, AJ.” They exchanged a hoofbump, and trotted over to the recruiting tables.

Applejack could feel every eye in Ponyville following her as she walked. Her throat was dry. She swallowed, but her heart was still in her mouth.

Amid the rainbow of coloured fabric and gold braid that filled the square, two soldiers were conspicuous by their lack of ornamentation. Unlike the red and blue of other units, the recruiters for Ponyville’s infantry regiment wore a shade of green so dark it was almost black. Their brass buttons were un-shined, and the only other splashes of colour were the red facings on their collars and cuffs. Unlike the tall shakos or cocked hats of other units, they wore short fur caps bearing a green plume.

It didn’t seem like a good sales tactic to Applejack; making yourself look invisible in a storm of colour, but then she saw the flag they had draped over the front of the table: it was a rectangular version of the Vexillum of Equestria, but in the centre of the circle formed by the Princesses, over the sun, were the bold words:

VIII
PRINCESS CELESTIA’S
PONYVILLE LIGHT INFANTRY

Below that, over Luna’s moon, was a scroll bearing the words III-BATTN. In the centre of the two was the regiment’s badge, a snarling Timberwolf.

Oh, now that’s going to get attention, thought Applejack. She was only a few steps away from the table when she recognised the Earth Pony sitting there. “Cherry Fizzy?!”

“Morning, Applejack,” said the tan stallion. “Thinking of signing up?”

“Well, yeah, but ah didn’t think you’d be in the army.”

“Reservist for one of the Guards’ Light Companies,” he said. “When we got word of the build-up I bought the Lieutenant Colonelcy and the put me to work setting out light infantry tactics. Major Meadow Song here is my Adjutant.” He nodded at the pip and crown on his shoulder straps. “I’m now O.C. of 3rd Battalion.”

“Uh, the wha’ now?”

“3rd Battalion, 8th Regiment of Hoof. Or as we prefer to call ourselves, Princess Celestia’s Ponyville Light Infantry.”

“An’, uh, wha’ does tha’ do?”

“The 8th isn’t your bog-standard line regiment,” said Meadow Song. “If you want to stand in line and get shot at, you’ll join them, but if you want to be the elite of the army, doing what no other pony soldier has for centuries, you’ll join us.”

“In battle,” said Cherry Fizzy. “The regiment’s three battalions will disperse in front of the rest of the army. Unlike the line regiments, which have their ponies fire on command, we fight in individual pairs. Each pair uses cover, and makes sure every single shot counts. Line infantry can’t fight us off with volleys anymore than a flyswatter can hope to kill more than a single fly at once. By the time the rest of the army arrives to fight, the enemy’s harassed, demoralised, and utterly broken, and it’ll be chased off by a single volley.”

“An’ there’s gonna by how many of y’all?” asked Applejack. “Three battalions or sommin’?”

“Yeah. A battalion’s a thousand ponies. Caramel, Noteworthy and a few others are out recruiting in the other towns around here: Bree, Foggy Swamp, Chetwood, Combe, Saddle.” Cherry Fizzy smiled dangerously. “Think of it: three thousand skirmishers, recruited from the most dangerous part of Equestria. Changelings ain’t going to know what hit them.”

“Huh? The most dangerous part o’ Equestria?”

“You live next to the Everfree Forest, Applejack! Anypony who manages to weather what comes out of that place might as well qualify instantly! Why else do you think we picked this area for recruiting our elite unit?”

An elite unit, thought Applejack. That sounded good. “You’ve got yerself a pony, Lieutenant Colonel. Sign me up!”

***

“Should’ve known.”

“I won’t let you down, Colonel Spitfire, ma’am!” barked Rainbow Dash.

“It’s not that I’m concerned about.” The brilliant gold Pegasus swiped off her glasses. She wore a green-faced red cavalry jacket and a black leather cocked hat topped with a blue plume. She nodded at the pony to her left. “Soarin’ and I have had our careers as showponies, that’s why we signed up for this. But you, Rainbow, you’re still on reserve for the Wonderbolts. Are you sure you want to drop that for this?”

“I saw what those Changelings did to Canterlot,” said Rainbow. “To Princess Celestia. To Twilight’s brother. I know what they’re doing to those Lynxes. I can’t stay here knowing other ponies would be out there fighting.”

“That’s what I like to hear, Rainbow Dash,” said Spitfire, smiling. She put her glasses back on. She nodded at the gold-fringed green standard, hanging from an ornate pike that stood next to the table. In the corners of the flag were the letters II. D. In the centre of the standard was the badge of a rising phoenix in gold. Ringing that were the words; THE ROYAL CLOUDSDALE GREYS, and below that was a scroll bearing the words; SECOND TO NONE.

“That’s what I intend to make us,” said Spitfire. “Second to None. Officially, we’re the 2nd Regiment of Dragoons. We and the regiments like us are the heavy hitters of the cavalry. We will charge the flanks of enemy formations and chase down routed troops. If necessary, we can fight on hoof like the ground-pounders. The fate of battles may hinge on us being at the right place in the right time. I need you to help me train this regiment.”

“Me, ma’am?”

“I saw you at Wonderbolt Academy, Rainbow Dash. You can take orders, but you’ll never be just a cog in the machine. You could be an officer.”

“An... an officer, ma’am?”

“You’d lead ponies in the field, be responsible for them in camp, plan the battles. Do you like the sound of that?”

“Yes, ma’am! Where do I sign up?”

Soarin’ slid over a form. “Sign there. You’ll also need to pay a three hundred bit deposit for your commission.”

Rainbow’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. You buy rank?”

“It’s not what you might think,” said Spitfire quickly. “You still have to pass a test before you go into officer training. If you fail, you’ll get your deposit back. If you pass, it’ll go on to cover the cost of your Cornetcy.”

“What about ponies that can’t pay?”

“If they get in the top grade bracket in the test, they’ll progress to training without needing to pay. Do you still want to sign up?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Rainbow brought her left hoof up in salute.

Spitfire chuckled. “Well, that’s one thing that’ll need correcting. Welcome aboard, Rainbow Dash.”

***

Seeing two local figures as prominent as Applejack and Rainbow Dash signing up seemed to trigger something in the rest of the crowd. Moments later, a trickle of ponies ventured forward, which soon became a slow stream. Small queues began to form at the tables, and in spite herself, Twilight smiled.

“Princess? What’s so funny?” Twilight turned to see Mayor Mare standing next to her. The distinguished-looking Earth Pony had never quite been able to accept that she still preferred to be called “Twilight”, so she called her by the semi-formal title “Princess” instead of “Your Highness”.

“It’s just ironic, Margaret,” said Twilight sadly. “I spent months trying to get Princess Celestia to increase civic participation, and now they’re doing it so we can go to war.”

Hayseed Turnip Truck joined his cousin in signing up for the 8th Regiment of Foot. So did Gee Raff, Clip Clop and Pig Pen. Some, however, were a little too enthusiastic.

“When’s your birthday?” asked Meadow Song, frowning at the enlistment form.

“February 12th 967,” said Snips in an unconvincing baritone.

“You’re thirty-six?” demanded Cherry Fizzy. His eyes narrowed. “It’s illegal to falsify your enlistment form, you know.”

“Shucks,” muttered Snails. “I knew this wasn’t going to work, Snips!”

“What do you mean?! It was your idea!”

Thunderlane, Blossomforth, and Bulk Biceps all followed Rainbow Dash into the Royal Cloudsdale Greys. Dance Fever (he apparently liked the look of the uniform) and Persnickety signed up for the Royal Artillery, though an apologetic Major Rolling Thunder had to dismiss a tearful Hay Fever immediately on health grounds. Jeff Letrotski, Walter, Donny, Jesús Pezuña, and Hugh Jelly all found themselves drawn to the wheel-and-crossed-axes of the Royal Army Supply Corps.

The recruiters ended the day with their quotas a third fulfilled. Cherry Fizzy wasn’t worried. They were here all week, and he’d handed out a good number of leaflets to the undecided. Any anti-war ponies had stayed silent. It was a good first day for the Royal Army.

***

“You mean to tell me Celestia will fight?!”

The Changeling messenger took a step backwards, assailed by the cloud of pheromones. Queen Chrysalis was shocked and surprised at his news.

“Yes, My Queen. Our spies in Equestria confirm it. Celestia is assembling an army. Doubtless it will march south as soon as it is ready?”

“And that will be when?”

“We cannot say, My Queen, but not soon.”

Chrysalis paced around the room in the ruined palace. She and half a dozen of the Hives’ greatest Lords, the only Changelings other than her permitted names, had been discussing strategy when the messenger arrived. The room was bare: the hive-minded Changelings needed no maps or notes to help them plan. Now they watched as their Queen thought, her pheromones betraying her emotions. First disbelief, then worry, then...amusement?

“This could not have come at a better time,” she proclaimed. “We have the chance to defeat Celestia’s army on our own terms. Her land will be left naked, demoralised and defenceless. Once we have completed the digestion of the Lynxes, we can comfortably assault Equestria.

“There is only one way through the Appleloosan Mountains,” she continued. “An abandoned Diamond Dog mine. Twilight Sparkle and her gang eluded us in it on their quest last year. It will not happen again. Lord Pupa?”

One of the Changeling officers looked up. “My Queen?”

“How much love have we gathered from the Lynxes so far?”

“Enough for ten months of high-intensity operations, My Queen.”

“It will do.” She turned to the messenger. “You must go to the front at once. Instruct Lord Cocoon that he is to cease his general advance and instead secure the Great Trunk Road up to the Appleloosan Mountains. We will lay our ambush at the mine’s entrance. He is to use all assets at his disposal to stop the ponies, including our...special weapons.”

“That is quite an escalation, My Queen,” said Lord Pupa.

“It matters not,” she said dismissively. “I swear to you all, as Queen of the Hives, that by this time next year, Equestria will be ours.”

***

“Lieutenant Telescope.”

The Pegasus stallion bowed stiffly. “Your Highness.”

“Please, Lieutenant,” said Shining Armor. “Take a seat.”

Still breathing heavily, Telescope sank into one of the chairs around the map table. He and his platoon had just flown the hundreds of miles from the Royal Guard’s watchtower in Southern Equestria. They had set off in the early morning. It was now six in the evening.

“What happened, Lieutenant?” asked Shining Armor, as the General Staff crowded round.

The bronze-coloured Pegasus took several deep breaths. “I’m sorry, sir, there was nothing we could do. It was just...”

“Take your time, Lieutenant.”

Telescope took another calming breath. “They came for us at 0600, sir, right out of the Forest of Leota. Must’ve been at least five thousand of them. We held out for as long as we could but, well, there were twenty-five of us.”

“Any casualties?”

“None, thank Celestia. But we were lucky, sir. They had those damn ballistas with them. By the time I gave the order to retreat, the tower was half a ruin. We burnt anything we couldn’t carry. I had my ponies spread out as we flew. I, uh, well I think you’ll be interested in these, sir.”

He opened his saddlebag with a wing and pulled out a thick bundle of parchment. “Aerial photographs, sir. We got a good look of the Great Trunk Road and the area around it.”

Colonel Crystal Thought took the photographs and spread them over the map table, eyes darting from one to the next as she made her preliminary analysis. After a moment she hissed, “Buck...”

“That bad, Colonel?” asked Shining Armor, nonchalantly.

“Uh,” stammered Thought. “What I mean to say sir, is that I think word’s got out to the Changelings. If we look at the troop columns moving here, here and here, you can see that they’ve broken off their northern advance. The ones in this shot are heading east while these ones are heading west. They’re converging on the Great Trunk Road.”

Shining Armor scraped a hoof against the ground angrily. “We weren’t going to be able to keep this secret for long,” he muttered. “You’re certain they’re moving against us, Lieutenant?”

“Almost certainly, sir.” Telescope hunted through the pile of photographs. “Here, sir. They’re converging at this point on the south face of the Appleloosan Mountains. We lost count trying to work out how many of them there are.”

Clear Dunes stared at the hundreds of square formations that covered the ground in the photograph. “Spirits above, there must be thousands of them!”

“There’s worse, sir,” said Telescope. He pointed with a wing. “Do you see these things here, covering this mine entrance?”

“Celestia damn it!” cursed Crystal Thought again. “Sir, they’ve got cannon. They must have agents who bought it in from overseas.”

“And right in front of the mine my sister took on her last visit south,” growled Shining Armor. “Colonel Dunes, we need another route across these hills, preferably one that puts us at least two days’ march from that Changeling army. If we try to force that pass we’ll be massacred.”

“My staff’s looking into it right now, sir, but there are very few roads through that region.”

Shining Armor turned to the map dominating one of the room’s walls and swept his eyes over the Appleloosan Hills. To go west would be to march through the San Palomino Desert – an imposing task in its own right – which would bring the army perilously close to the quarantined site of the dread Battle of Discord. To go east would be to march through the impassable, malarial Swamps of New Horseleans. If he could just go up the middle somehow...

“What about here?” he demanded, pointing his hoof at a horseshoe-shaped hill formation.

“Through the Badlands, sir?” asked Clear Dunes. “That’s an... ambitious prospect.”

“This gap here, though,” he said. “Surely it’s the sign of a river having run through there once?”

“Potentially, sir.”

“I want the possibility of marching through there thoroughly investigated. The riverbed could well lead us over those mountains.” He turned to Lieutenant Telescope. “Lieutenant, well done today. Ensure that you and your men have a good night’s rest. You’ve earned it.”

“Yes, sir!” Telescope saluted sharply and marched from the room. Shining Armor watched him go.

“Promote him to Captain,” he ordered. “Colonel Thought, appoint him to your staff.”

***

Today, Officer Cadet Rainbow Dash felt, was really her first day of officer training. Officially, she’d been in training for nearly two months, but after she’d bought her commission and passed the Officer Initial Entry Examination, she’d had to spend those first months with the ranks in the Cloudsdale Camp, drilling, shooting, exercising, and generally being beasted with the rest of them. They’d been assigned two hours every night, when the other ranks got time off, to pore over the Royal Army’s drill books to ensure the commands were firmly stuck in their heads. The rankers just needed to know how to respond to commands: they needed to know what commands to use, when to use them and how to check they were being done correctly.

A lot of ponies had dropped out at that stage. Some had been astounded that simply buying their commission didn’t immediately give them a platoon or troop to command. Rainbow Dash, though, had been determined to stay on, to fulfil the promise she’d made that day at the recruiting stand in Ponyville. She would be an example to everypony around her.

Two weeks ago she and all the other troopers of the Royal Cloudsdale Greys had had the moment they’d all been waiting for: the charge practice. They’d swapped the heavy, one-piece boiler suits they’d begun their training in for the brilliant red, short and tight jackets of the cavalry, and the troopers had exchanged their blank black berets for bearskin shakos. Rainbow had been given an officer’s cocked hat. Then, swords drawn, they’d charged with a single aim: be the first to spear the ring that was sitting three hundred yards down the field.

In the end, the race had been between her and Colonel Spitfire, and her C.O. and her regiment had watched in amazement as she’d raced ahead and caught the ring on her sword. That evening more than a few troopers had approached her for fitness tips. The next morning, the officer cadets had gathered in the armoury to have their names and dates of commission etched onto their swords, and then they’d been packed off to the Officers’ Academy in Canterlot for the next stage of their training.

Surrounding her in the lecture theatre were hundreds of other ponies, all in their new officers’ uniforms. She could see dragoons like her: a few officer cadets of the 1st Life Guards Regiment sat aloof from the rest, their jackets faced with gold and decorated with aiguillettes, with black plumes shooting from cocked hats badged with a winged crown. White-plumed with pink facings, cadets from the 7th (Los Pegasus) Regiment of Dragoons sat in the row in front of her, gold cap badges showing a sun rising from behind a cloud. Three from the 4th (Royal Manehattans) were in the row behind her, their facings yellow and their cap badge four windmill sails and a crown, wreathed in laurels.

There were cadets from the infantry as well, from the 1st Crystal Guard Regiment, conspicuous in their green, to the 8th Regiment of Hoof. Rainbow Dash felt a kick as she saw their sombre uniforms and thought of Applejack. Her friend hadn’t gone in to be an officer, and it would be weird to hear her call her “ma’am”, if the two of them could even remember to do it.

The cadets of the 5th (Royal Shetlanders) Regiment of Hoof drew her eye, and they seemed to be getting a few more glances from the rest of the lecture theatre, particularly the mares. In place of cocked hats they wore tall, fluffy feather bonnets with a brilliant red hackle. Barely visible amid the black feathers was their cap badge: a rampant Manticore atop a Saltire. Around their flanks they wore kilts in red Royal Shetland tartan.

By far the most ostentatious cadets there, though, were the hussars: Pegasi of the 8th, 9th, and 10th – Royal Whinnysotan, Whinnyapolis, and Imperial Crystal – Hussars sat there, crushed by the weight of their gold lace. They wore heavily-braided dark blue dolmans, with fur-trimmed pelisses thrown rakishly over one shoulder. Heavily-decorated sabretaches bearing the Royal Cipher hung from their sword belts, and they wore fur busbies with coloured bags hanging down from one side to protect against sword cuts. Unlike Rainbow’s own straight sword, theirs was the curving, cruel-looking Pattern 796 Light Cavalry Sabre.

“Brace up!” barked the Sergeant.

Rainbow Dash rapidly sat up straight. The sound of hundreds of ponies sitting up filled the lecture theatre as General Sir Warding Ember strode in.

“Thank you, mares and gentlestallions,” said Ember. “Please, relax.”

Warding Ember cut an impressive figure. His Royal Guard Regiment uniform was far more understated than the gold lace-laden jackets of the Hussars, yet he seemed to wear it much better than them. Maybe it was the calm, purposeful walk of an experienced officer. The row of medals on his left breast confirmed that experience.

He laid his cocked hat down on the desk, cleared his throat, and began.

“Well, everypony, you’ve made it this far, so congratulations are in order. You’ve passed the first phase of your training. I must warn you, however, that there will be no let up after this point.

“You spent two months marching, flying and shooting with the ranks. You know how to march, you know what the commands are, and you know to respond to them. You know how to be led. The question is; can you lead?

“That is what you will learn in the rest of your training. We will teach you how to command ponies in the field and how to care for them out of battle. While you lead your units, you will also serve them, as you serve Equestria.

“Whether you serve in the infantry, the cavalry, the artillery or logistics, you will become the best we can make you.”

***

From the other side of the hill came the rattle of snare drums; the incessant PLAN rat a PLAN rat a PLAN rat a...

“OLD trousers OLD trousers OLD trousers...” chanted somepony to Applejack’s left.

A giggle spread along the line. “Silence in the ranks!” barked the Sergeant.

Private Applejack swiped the smile from her muzzle and gripped her spear more tightly. Beyond the brow of the hill she could hear the thump of a thousand hooves marching, and the crash of a thousand spear butts being driven into the ground as they marched.

It was just a training exercise, she told herself. Two of the regiment’s battalions facing each other with fake weapons. They’d been drilling for weeks, and now it was time to see if they’d picked it up. There was no real danger, but still she worried about letting the ponies around her down.

All of the ponies in Princess Celestia’s Ponyville Light Infantry were big – living in a farming town would do that to you – but Applejack was heavier-set and more muscular than most: Sweet Apple Acres wouldn’t have become the most successful farm in Moscolt if she hadn’t pulled her weight. While some panted and struggled on the march, her equipment felt scarcely heavier than the ploughs and apple barrels she’d pulled since she was a filly.

She made a mental check of her equipment: broad black leather crossbelts met over her chest, with an un-shined brass plate at their intersection. They and another leather strap over her back connected to two saddlebags, the Pattern 957 Load-Bearing Equipment. It was weighed down with a spare uniform, a shelter half, two days’ rations, boot cleaning kit, cooking gear, wash kit, weapon cleaning kit, her carefully-folded hat, a bag of apple tarts Granny Smith had sent from home... A rolled grey greatcoat was strapped to her back atop it all. A web belt ran just above her forelegs, holding a water flask, a dump pouch and a utility knife in easy reach.

In her left hoof she gripped her spear, officially known as the Short Land Pattern 793 Spear, but universally nicknamed the Long Luce, after the irritable Sergeant who’d taught them weapons drill. It was nearly four feet of polished oak tipped with a plywood point. In battle that would be replaced by an iron tip, but as Twilight had told her in her most recent letter, plywood was the least-magical of woods, which made it perfect for producing blank shots for field exercises.

Along the battalion line stood a thousand similar figures, clad in sombre green, their busbies plumed with green pom-poms. The officers carried slim, straight gilt-hilted swords, and showed their status with crimson sashes knotted around their barrels, rare splashes of colour in the battalion. The Sergeants wore sashes with a green stripe and carried simpler swords at their sides. In their hooves they clutched spontoons. Ten identical companies (the Light Infantry had no Grenadier Company) were spread along the reverse of the slope. In the centre of it all sat the colours: The Princesses’ Colour, which Applejack had seen all those weeks ago at the recruiting stand; the Regimental Colour, which bore the regiment’s name and number, wreathed in laurels, on a green field with the Equestrian flag in the canton, and in front of it all, the Vexillum of Equestria.

Lieutenant Colonel Cherry Fizzy crouched a hundred yards in front of them on the brow of the hill, gazing intently into the valley beyond. Then, as the noise grew louder and the drum beats coalesced, he leapt up and trotted back to the battalion.

“BATTALION!” he barked. Applejack and her comrades braced up. “BATTALION, SHUN!”

A thousand ponies brought their legs together and slammed their hooves and spear butts into the ground.

“BATTALION, BY THE CENTRE, QUICK MARCH!”

The entire line, ten companies long and three ranks deep, marched off on the left hoof. The drums behind them tapped out the pace. Ponies stole glances to the centre to get their dressing off the colours. Officers and Sergeants chivvied here and there to ensure the ranks stayed closed up.

The battalion crested the hill, and Applejack gasped as she saw something unlike anything she’d ever seen before: a massive column of green-clad ponies of the 2nd Battalion, standing company after company in a two-company front, fifty yards wide and nearly twice as deep. Walking behind them, high-visibility vests over their red uniforms were the Training Sergeants, making note of everypony’s performance. At the head of the battalion was Colonel Noteworthy, and his eyes went wide and his mouth fell open as he realised the trap he’d just marched in to.

“BATTALION!” roared Cherry Fizzy over the din. “HALT!”

The drums went silent instantly. The battalion marched a further three paces before it slammed its hooves and spear butts down. 2nd Battalion’s column was now three hundred yards away, though it moved considerably more slowly now as they saw 3rd Battalion’s line.

“FRONT RANK, MAKE READY!” roared Cherry Fizzy.

The drums beat the short roll of the “preparative”; Captains took shelter behind their companies. Applejack and three hundred and thirty other ponies concentrated and sent the final squib of magic into their Long Luces that set them ready to fire. The column was not even a hundred yards away now and was closing, and they could hear the shouts of Noteworthy’s officers and NCOs shouting “Steady, everypony! Close up!”

“PRESENT!” yelled Cherry Fizzy. “...FIRE!”

The front rank fired a volley of shattering precision. “FRONT RANK, CHARGE AND PRIME!” roared Cherry Fizzy. “SECOND RANK, MAKE READY... PRESENT... FIRE!”

A second devastating barrage thundered out, flashes from spearpoints temporarily blinding their users. Training Sergeants raced around 2nd Battalion’s column, tapping ponies on the back. They lay down on the ground, “dead” for the purposes of the training exercise. Noteworthy was among them.

The front of the column fell like apples being bucked from a tree, Applejack thought. The ponies in the rear of the column tripped and stumbled over their “dead” comrades. Some, oblivious to the shouts of their officers, paused to fire back.

“SECOND RANK, TAKE POSITION REAR!” shouted Cherry Fizzy. “REAR RANK, BY PLATOONS, FIRE!”

The battalion’s third rank shouldered forward. Applejack ducked into a crouch as spears were thrust past her and fired. Firing by half-companies, a devastating, rolling, unending storm of volleys thundered from the line into the wreck of the column. Applejack watched with a smile on her face as in front of her more and more ponies were tapped and fell. Less than a minute later, the remains of Noteworthy’s battalion utterly collapsed and staggered back down the hill.

As the first light of dawn broke over Moscolt’s fields, cheers erupted from 3rd Battalion’s line that the Sergeants were either unable or unwilling to stop. Applejack reared up on her back legs and seized her busby in her free hoof. “YEE-HAW!”

***

A month later, Shining Armor stood atop a platform outside Canterlot. The Marching Field was a huge, almost perfectly flat expanse of grass outside the capital that was used for Trooping the Colour and other official functions. Only a small portion of it was ever used at one time, and it was large enough to fit all fifty thousand ponies of the Royal Army.

Spread out in front of him were the Royal Army’s twenty-seven infantry battalions, ten cavalry regiments, twenty-four artillery batteries and train, and eight supply battalions. He’d chosen his position perfectly: his platform, with his staff in glistening uniforms behind him, was positioned directly in front of the majestic, snow-capped Reinine Range. The city of Canterlot perched on the Canterhorn directly above him.

General Blackfire had done a spectacular job: he’d managed to reduce the training programme to three months without having to cut out too much, though the cost had been intensive cramming in what training periods they had. About seven percent of the recruits had found it too difficult and dropped out, and Shining Armor still worried that his ponies might be undertrained when it came to battle. He tried to tell himself that it wouldn’t be a problem: even half-trained, the Royal Army possessed a colossal military advantage over the Changelings in its weapons. It was difficult convincing himself, though.

He stepped forward and began.

“Mares, gentlestallions,” he said, his voice magically enhanced. “Soldiers, NCOs, officers. You stand here today because you have completed your training. For many of you, it was the hardest thing you have ever done and ever will do. For this, as your Commander-in-Chief, I am proud of every one of you.

“Soon, we will march south against the Changelings. The uniform that you wear; the cap badges that you have earned, will make the difference between the freedom of a race, and its enslavement. The Changelings assaulted the Lynxes with the aim of turning them into nothing more than food. It will be the Royal Army’s duty to repel this barbaric assault.

“You, the ponies of the regiments and the batteries, will be the ones who do this. The orders will come from the brass and you’ll get it done. And whenever this war is over, when we have swept across Froud Valley and the Changeling Kingdom, and ensured that never again can they launch another invasion, the strategy will have been decided by others. But the battles will have been fought, the ground will have been gained, the victory will have been won by you. You! The officers and men! With the swords and spears in your hooves and the dust on your boots!

“Remember, we go south to liberate, not to conquer. I have been amongst the Lynxes before, and you will struggle to find a more decent, generous and upright people. You will be embarrassed by their hospitality even though they have nothing.

“It is my foremost intention to bring every single one of you home alive, but there are those here today who will march south and will not return north. Such is the nature of war. We will send them home with dignity, and we will know they died for what was right.

“The Changelings should be in no doubt that we are their nemesis and that we are bringing about their rightful destruction. Not just Chrysalis, but every one of her commanders have stains on their souls for their actions in this war. She and her forces will be destroyed by this Army for what they have done, both to the Lynxes and to Equestria. As they die they will know their deeds have brought them to this place. Show them no pity.

“Learn from your superiors. Listen and care for your subordinates. Look after your friends. Make it your goal to bring your friends home, and leave the Lynx Territories a better place for us having been there.

“Our business now is south.”

The Battle of Valneigh

“You’re certain you’re comfortable with the plan, Captain?”

On the reverse of a slope a thousand yards from Valneigh, Captain Isabelle Lilly Pie, No. 1 Battery, Royal Artillery, fixed her General with a penetrating gaze. General Sir Time Target, commander of the army’s artillery park, was nothing if not thorough, though perhaps slightly too thorough.

“Sir,” she said. “I’ve made sure that my ponies have been thoroughly briefed, and they understand it as well as anypony. We will hold on this reverse slope until 0900 hours, at which time the entire artillery park will advance to a firing position. From there we will lay down a continuous barrage, rippling our fire by batteries, to support the infantry encirclement and assault.”

“Good, good,” muttered the General. He pulled a hoofkerchief from the pocket of his blue jacket and mopped his forehead around his horn. It was a chilly morning, even as the first rays of Celestia’s sun broke behind them, but sweat still beaded his brow.

Inkie Pie couldn’t blame him. For four miles to the south of them, almost to the bank of the Canter Creek, were twenty-four artillery batteries, all concealed behind reverse slopes, within woodblocks, of behind the ruins of ancient farmhouses and holdfasts. One hundred and ninety howitzers and cannon all stood ready, their barrels pre-sighted so that when they were rolled up, they could be fired instantly down on the Changeling legionary camp below. Time Target commanded the single most destructive concentration of firepower in the entire army: One misfire, one out-of-place gun, or one jumpy officer firing off too early, and the entire plan could be blown.

“But you’re certain you’ve got it?!” he blurted again.

Inkie sighed. “Don’t worry, sir. We have something of a tradition of artillery in the Pie family.”

***

Shining Armor’s command was based at the windmill Rainbow Dash had spotted hours previously. When the time came to attack, from here he’d have a perfect all-round view of the batteries on both sides of him, and the brigades that would come in from the north and west.

Major General Neigh had taken the 3rd Division north at first light. Their orders were to cut off that axis as an escape route for the Changeling force. Travelling with them were the 11th and 12th Light Brigades, cavalry units that would move further west and ensure that a Changeling retreat in that direction was impossible. Then they’d tighten like a noose around the Changeling legion when the barrage began.

He was terrified, and it was all he could do not to show it. His other officers in the windmill, gathered around the hastily thrown-up map table, were all anxiously pawing at the ground, playing with uniform items, or repeatedly checking their watches. He could not afford the luxury of releasing stress, though. He was the General, the pony who made the final decision. He had to look utterly confident and in control.

As he stood there in a perfect parade-rest position, he ran the plan through his mind. The potential reward was enormous – nearly a tenth of the Changelings’ forces in the Lynx Territories wiped out – but still the risks nearly outweighed it: if Neigh’s encirclement could not be completed in time, they might have to attack early, and that would leave a corridor through which some Changelings could escape. If even one Changeling made it back to Lord Cocoon at the Diamond Dog Pass, the chance of victory was much less certain. Or a Changeling scout party might come over the hill and spot one of their artillery batteries. The sentries and gun crews had been ordered not to make ready their spears: any killing of scouts before the battle began was to be done silently with swords, knives and spearpoints, but that meant his ponies would have to get perilously close to do damage, which would also give the scouts time to get away...

The door swung open and a Pegasus in the uniform of Beryl de Topaz’s 10th (Imperial Crystal) Hussars pushed in. A fur-trimmed, indigo-faced pelisse was thrown rakishly over one shoulder, and his busby bore the badge of a winged Imperial Snowflake. Shining Armor had split the 9th Light Brigade and sent the 10th Hussars over the Canter Creek to cut down any Changeling stragglers that tried to swim the river. From their flanking position, they were best placed to be his scouts.

“Report, Corporal,” said Shining Armor.

“No sign that they’re moving, sir. We flew down under the mist. We couldn’t see much on our side of the Creek, but it looks like they’re draining some Lynxes before they move.”

Shining Armor grimaced in disgust. “Thank you, Corporal, you may go.”

The Hussar saluted smartly and swept out of the room.

The planning officer, Colonel Warning Order, checked his watch and moved a few unit icons on the map table. “0700 hours, sir.”

Two hours to go.

***

Major Rolling Thunder pawed at the ground nervously. He stood behind the crest of a hill overlooking Valneigh, becoming more nervous by the second. This plan wouldn’t work. He just knew it. Did Shining Armor really think that the Changelings’ scouts would just miss all of their batteries?! And they were too exposed as well! If they were quick about it, the Changelings could surge up the hill and overrun dozens of batteries in detail before they could put together a counterattack!

Rolling Thunder gulped and looked down the hill to his battery, positioned a short way down under camouflage netting. He had eighty-eight ponies manning six cannon and two howitzers. His cannon could each send a twelve-pound iron roundshot over a thousand yards downrange and still expect to do damage to a formation. His howitzers could lob a five-inch shell packed with explosives 1,750 yards and expect to destroy a whole company. And they were just sitting here! He’d been told that Shining Armor was a tactical genius and a great leader of ponies. Well, great leader he certainly was, if he could convince an entire army to go through with this insane plan!

“I’m going to take a look over the top again,” he said to his Company Sergeant Major. “In case we need to make any elevation changes.”

“Very good, sir.”

Rolling Thunder hoped that walking would steady his nerves. He couldn’t afford to be seen pacing. That would let his ponies know he was nervous and it would make them nervous too. Then again, they had every reason to be nervous.

He dropped to his stomach and dragged himself to the top of the crest with his forelegs. When he looked down into the valley below at Valneigh, he could see at once that they were going to have problems. The morning mist was clearing quickly and the Changelings were active. They were massing into units amid the knee-high ruins of ancient buildings. He knew if they did not strike immediately, the entire legion would get away, and they still weren’t supposed to strike for nearly two hours!

What was that? He reached a hoof to his belt and battled his binoculars from their pocket. He focused them on the outskirts of the village right below his hill. A Changeling unit was massing there, probably one of their centuries of eighty, judging by the frontage that had already formed. And they were facing straight up the hill!

That was it. He wasn’t staying here to die. He scrambled off the crest and galloped back down to his battery.

“Move the guns forward!” he shrieked. “Open fire!”

***

“Sir!” cried Warning Order. “No. 3 Battery’s opened fire!”

“What?!” Shining Armor shoved through his staff and galloped out of the farmhouse. Sure enough, muzzle flashes and booms resounded from one of the hills on their right flank.

“Who gave that order?!” he hissed.

He pushed aside any thoughts of the horrible things he would do to the officer that had ordered that. Now he had only one goal left. The Changelings were alerted to their presence and surprise was impossible. Even if the encirclement was completed, whoever was in command down there had probably already sent messengers off. All he could do now was try to kill as many Changelings as he could.

He turned to face a collection of shocked-looking staff and aides. “New orders to all batteries! Open fire as per original fire plan!”

***

Clyde and Sue Pie had raised their daughters too well for them to swear or curse, but Inkie Pie thought that now would be a good occasion to do so. Certainly her ponies thought so, cursing through the bricoles held between their teeth as they dragged their guns to the top of the crest. Three heavily-loaded carts, towed by Buffalos employed from Thunderhooves’ tribe, followed them.

They stopped at a line Inkie had scored into the turf with her hoof an hour ago. The Sergeants of each gun checked their positions, made sure elevations were correct, and then shouted, “READY!”

“Ears, ears, ears!” bellowed Inkie. All eighty-eight ponies slapped their hooves to their heads to check that their foam earplugs were firmly in.

“FIRE!” she shouted.

Privates touched portfires to or directed blasts of magic at the touchholes of their guns. They leapt and roared like dragons, fire and smoke erupting from their mouths as the gunpowder cartridges ignited, sending six roundshot and two shells into the camp below. Inkie could see that it was in chaos: Changelings scurried everywhere like ants, trying to reform their units as their shot fell among them. The cannonballs had already ripped through six tents, and the shells fell seconds later, kicking great plumes of dirt into the air, as well as the torn remnants of a dozen Changelings.

Inkie grimaced. The barrage had not been as effective as she’d hoped. No. 3 Battery’s pre-emptive firing had dispersed the Changelings from the positions they’d sighted earlier and their shots had landed mostly in empty tents.

“RELOAD!” she shouted. Spongeponies thrust damp sheepskins mounted on staffs down the barrels of the Pattern 996 12-Pound Cannon to quash any embers. Loaders hoisted canvas bags holding gunpowder and shot into the muzzles, and the spongeponies reversed their staffs and rammed the charges home while ventsponies kept their hooves over the touchholes to prevent a draft that might ignite hot embers that could set off the charge prematurely.

“READY!” bellowed the Sergeants.

“HOLD AND WAIT FOR CORRECTIONS!” shouted Inkie, gazing at the fall of shot from other batteries, as bursts of fire and smoke rippled along the line of batteries positioned on the hilltops, and explosions filled the village below.

***

Colonel Morning Star heard the gunfire coming from the hills in front of him and resisted the urge to curse. Something had gone wrong. Terribly wrong. The bombardment was not due to begin for another two hours, when the Changelings would be fully encircled. Then, supported by the artillery, the infantry would echelon out between the hills and assault the camp.

But for now that was impossible. He’d kept his ponies in column in a woodblock behind the hill to keep them concealed, but it would take them at least ten minutes to get out of the woods and into a position to march towards Valneigh. For now the Changelings were holding fast and trying to assemble into a battle formation, but if they realised they were going to be attacked...

“Orders, sir?” asked his Regimental Sergeant Major.

One thousand ponies of 1st Battalion, 4th (Royal Fillydelphia) Regiment of Hoof sat behind the RSM, staring at their commander, their faces worried and expected. Their red coats were faced with blue and they bore the Liberty Bell of their city, surmounted by scales of justice, on their shakos. Morning Star had trained with them for months and he knew that they wanted to get into the fight. He had drummed into them the offensive spirit. But if they attacked, he knew, if the Changelings saw that an infantry force was massing that had the firepower to drive them from the field, then they’d retreat. That wouldn’t be a problem if they had them encircled, but the Changelings’ route east was still open, and no matter how much he wanted to, he could not drive the Changelings away.

Morning Star sighed deeply. “For now, we wait.”

***

Major General Neigh had followed his orders to the letter. The 3rd Division and the cavalry brigades had marched north at a perfectly timed pace, and then turned west to begin the encirclement. Everything had followed the timetable perfectly.

That had until the first dull booms of gunfire had rolled over the hills from the south. The division and brigades – over eight thousand infantryponies and four thousand light cavalry – were now completely out of position, and the confused soldiers now turned their eyes to their commander.

“New orders!” Neigh bellowed at the collection of battalions milling around in the fields around him. “We march south!”

Brigadier General Sword Knot, commander of the 5th Brigade, stared at his commander in disbelief. He knew that the ruddy-coated Earth Pony was aggressive, as well as something of an outspoken maverick, but he couldn’t believe this. Neigh was doing nothing less than breaking every order Shining Armor had given him!

“Sir, we have another two hours of marching to go before we can think of moving south!” he said desperately. “The 11th and 12th won’t even be close to being in position yet!”

“Can’t you here that, Knot?” demanded Neigh. From over the low hills to their south came the sound of gunfire. “For whatever reason, General Armor’s opened fire before he said he was going to. I know him; he’s not the sort of pony to do that without reason. If he’s done it, it’s because he’s in trouble. He needs our help.”

“But sir, our orders were explicit. We’re to cut off the Changelings no matter what.”

“Those orders were based on the assumption that the bombardment would start at the correct time,” said Neigh. “They are clearly no longer valid. You remember the first thing we were taught when we were trained as General Officers? ‘If in doubt, march to the sound of the guns’!”

Knot could only stand and stare. Neigh would not be talked out of this course of action.

“Yes, sir,” he whispered.

***

They’d been firing for so long that the air seemed to have acquired a grey tint. Thick clouds of gunpowder smoke hung over them, and a stinking, sulphurous reek filled Inkie’s nostrils. She hawked and coughed and directed her binoculars to the Changeling formation.

Their discipline was impressive. Even after half an hour of continuous bombardment, they’d managed to assemble into a three-line battle formation on the eastern outskirts of the village. They must be regrouping before attempting to storm the summits of the hills, Inkie thought. Well, there’d be none of that.

The Changelings had managed to pull back from the worst of their fire. Precious shot and shell were crashing uselessly into the ruins of Valneigh, and only a handful of balls reached the Changeling lines. Well, she’d have none of that. Hers was not No. 1 Battery for no reason.

“CORRECTIONS!” she shouted. “LEFT TWENTY, ADD FIFTY!”

The Sergeants at each gun battled with hoofspikes and elevation wheels to adjust the aim. Then they fired again. Shot and shell arced over Valneigh. The balls fell short, but the gunners had planned for that, and they grazed off the ground and bounced into the Changeling ranks at an upward angle. Inkie saw one ball scythe through the heart of a century, sending an officer and twenty-five drones disappearing in a shower of torn flesh, vaporised ichor, and shattered metal from shields.

Then the shells fell and exploded. Their fragments had a maximum danger zone of about thirty metres, and the frontage of a Changeling century was roughly half that. Entire blocks of Changelings fell like wheat before the scythe or apples bucked from a tree.

Inkie Pie watched impassively. Her parents had taught her that stoicism was a virtue, and she felt nothing for the Changelings. Not anger at their deeds or sadness that she had to kill them. It was just her job to land shot on them.

***

Shining Armor watched the volleys, his face grim. The artillery had lost much of its awesome initial destructive power, with gunners not bothering to adjust their fire once the Changelings had moved out of the worst of the storm. The gunners seemed to be more impressed with the fireworks display their barrages were giving them than actual results.

“Target,” he said to his artillery commander. “Make sure the gunners are adjusting their fire correctly. I want that first line of theirs in tatters. Also, shift some of your batteries so we have a beaten zone behind the Changeling legion. If they start to retreat, I want the heaviest barrage possible on them.”

Yes, sir!” Time Target galloped off.

Amid the storm of cannon fire, Shining Armor stood next to the windmill, his staff milling around him. Some gunners were already beginning to notice that their shot was falling short and were adjusting their aim, he saw. Already he could see the clouds from shells burst over the legion.

Whole blocks of Changelings vanished. It was as if the Changelings wanted them to kill them. Months of war against individualistic Lynx warriors had convinced them that deep blocks of organised troops were the best way to wage war, but it was linear tactics that would have saved them now.

Despite that, their discipline was incredible, almost admirable. The Changelings still stood there and assembled under fire. When they’d first started moving, Shining Armor had feared that they were about to retreat, but rather than move off in column, they’d began to assemble into a battle formation, as if they were ready to storm their artillery positions. If that analysis was correct, then so was his and Crystal Thought’s belief that the Changelings were willing to take huge losses to ensure the hive’s survival.

“New orders,” he said to his aides. “The infantry is to advance up behind our firing positions and hold on the reverse slope. If the Changelings make it to the top, I want them to advance to the crest and open fire at close range. Meet them with cold steel if necessary.”

The aides-de-camp hurriedly scribbled down orders and took off. Shining Armor was at a communications disadvantage in that he was four aides short: he’d sent two pairs off to find the 3rd Division and 11th and 12th brigades to tell them to keep marching. He needed that encirclement completed, and if the Changelings were holding fast, there was no reason to pull them in. He needed to make sure there was no confusion.

Next to him, Colonel Warning Order’s ears began twitching. “What’s that?”

Shining Armor frowned and strained his ears. Over the cannon fire, he could hear it: somewhere to his right, the distant rattle of snare drums and the trumpeting of bugles.

Oh no. Oh no no no no...

Shining Armor summoned his binoculars and scanned the northern edge of the battlefield, and his worst fear was confirmed. Debouching from the shallow valleys between the low, grassy hills were the eight battalion columns of Major General Neigh’s 3rd Division. Their uniforms were brilliant red against the grass, the points of their spears were glinting, and their gloriously-coloured flags fluttered in the breeze.

It was a glorious sight, and a terrible one, because the Changelings had seen it as well. Whoever was in command down there had realised he was on the point of being pinned and flanked and had ordered a retreat: already the first line was retiring through the second, and the third was preparing to peel off to the south west.

Away from him, and back towards Chrysalis.

Shining Armor tried not to let any emotion show in his voice. His next order was given with neither rage nor sadness, just with utter stoicism.

“I want as heavy a barrage as we can manage across their line of retreat. Have Neigh spread his division so he can catch their rearguard. Get another runner up to the 11th and 12th as well. Tell them to keep away from the Changeling army: they’re too organised. They’re to focus on taking out stragglers only.”

Shining Armor wanted to rage and curse and storm and swear. From how shocked and disappointed his staff looked, perhaps they would have found it better if he had. The first battle he’d truly commanded had been a failure. All he had to show for it was a ruined village, pockmarked with charred-black artillery craters and the body parts of a few hundred Changelings.

His entire advance was compromised. He had won the field, but he knew that he had truly lost the battle. And with it, he might have lost the war.

A Necessary Fiction

Amid a ruin of burnt tents, broken buildings and shattered corpses, Shining Armor sat miserably in the staff tent. He had a quill poised in his magical aura, and a blank sheet of parchment sat on the camp table in front of him. With a battle fought, he needed to write the despatch to be sent back to Canterlot. But what did one say about a day like this? He had been sat there motionless for over an hour.

Ration Bag had delivered the final figures to him, and looking at those alone, he had won a decent victory: his un-blooded army had driven the enemy from the field with the power of artillery and the threat of flanking. The Intelligence Department had swept the battlefield and counted the corpses of three hundred Changelings, out of five thousand troops in the legion. For that, the Royal Army had taken only one casualty, Major Rolling Thunder, whose hoof had been crushed by a cannon wheel when he’d ordered his guns forward.

Thunder was to be invalided home, which was probably a good thing, since a pony with his mental state was clearly unfit to serve Equestria in any capacity whatsoever. Shining Armor had tried to tell himself that it was a beginner’s nerves taking over, but nopony else had snapped and attacked early. He doubted anypony would ever find out what had exactly happened in front of No. 3 Battery that morning, but what was done was done: the enemy had escaped, and his hopes of a stealthy advance were in tatters.

How was he supposed to report that to Equestria? If the public knew that their first victory had ended in strategic failure, support for the war, already delicate, would plummet. Confidence in Celestia would be shattered. And Radical Road and Blueblood would suddenly get a much larger audience.

He put his head in his hooves, thinking hard. Then thoughts began to coalesce in his head. He frowned and fumbled through the papers on his desk before he found the one he needed. Yes, the Royal Artillery had a peak strength of 5,400 ponies, but 3,328 of those were its logistics train. It had only really been the batteries – 2,112 ponies – that had really engaged the Changelings. And Neigh’s division, though they’d arrived on the battlefield, had never fired a shot, so they hadn’t really taken part either...

Shining Armor quickly dipped his quill into the inkwell and began to write. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew this was wrong, but Equestria needed a great victory, and 5,000 Changelings being chased off the field by an enemy with less than half their numbers was a great victory.

Valneigh,
18th June 1004.

Your Highnesses,
I have the honour to submit the following report on the operations of the Forces under my Command...

***

“CASAM?” asked Inkie Pie.

“No casualties, twenty-two rounds fired,” said Sergeant Brass Barrel.

Inkie scribbled a note. Behind Brass Barrel, Gunner Powder Smoke grunted as he shoved a ramrod down the cannon barrel, twisting it so the worm screwed to the end would loosen the stinking black mass of powder residue that clogged the barrel. Gunner Quick Bolt scrubbed at the touchhole with a wire brush. Powder Smoke unscrewed the worm attachment and replaced it with an oil-soaked rag, which he ran down the barrel. It came out black as night.

“Thank you, Sergeant. Good job today,” said Inkie. She walked off doing a few mental sums. Every one of her guns had fired off between twenty and thirty rounds, out of an ammunition allocation of eighty-four rounds each.

She tore a page out of her notebook and passed it to Lieutenant Star Wing. “We’re short a hundred and eighty-four rounds. Take the Buffalos up to the train and grab us some ammo and fresh water.”

“Will do, ma’am.”

Star Wing fluttered off. Inkie stood there for a moment, at a loss for what to do. She’d made sure her troops had cleaned out their guns, and she could see the flames of cookfires starting to leap up, so they would be well-fed before bunking down. She sniffed and gave a grunt. They were at the base of the hill downwind of Valneigh, and the faint reek of shattered Changeling corpses was being wafted towards them. No one had ever mentioned the smell.

She wasn’t sure what to feel. She thought that she should feel elated, cheering with her soldiers at the victory and perhaps taking a swig from an illicit bottle of cider to celebrate. That was what the movies and books always said. Her ponies had performed as well as she had expected and she had congratulated all of them. But everypony knew that the victory was hollow. The Changelings had escaped, and even though they’d won, they had really lost.

She sighed and shrugged off her saddlebags, preparing to put her tent up. She didn’t feel very hungry.

***

“My Lords and Commons,” Celestia proclaimed. “We have the honour to announce to you that on the eighteenth of June, our army in the Lynx Territories won its first victory against the Changelings.”

The House of Lords Chamber thronged with ponies. Peers in their brilliant-scarlet robes of state, shining gold coronets on their heads, packed the red-upholstered benches. MPs that had filed through from the Commons Chamber watched from the Bar of the House, just inside the Chamber door. The Strangers’ Gallery was lined with media ponies, correspondents, and ordinary ponies, many of whom doubtless had friends or family in the army.

Blueblood stood at the front of the crowd of MPs, listening intently. There had been some cheers at the news of the victory, a few boos, but most were silent. He felt Radical Road move closer to him to whisper something, but he put out a hoof to stop him. He needed to concentrate to this.

Celestia and Luna sat at the thrones at the end of the Chamber. If Celestia had spotted Blueblood, she gave no sign of it, and kept reading.

“Our Royal Artillery, some two thousand ponies, engaged a Changeling force of five thousand and drove them from the field with cannon fire outside the ruined village of Valneigh. We are relieved to announce that none of our soldiers died in this action. The Royal Artillery is to be commended for this action and does great credit to our new army. It is our wish that the Cannonade of Valneigh be celebrated with a public holiday...”

Blueblood had heard enough. He leaned close to Radical Road. “Rather lacking in details, don’t you think?”

Radical Road looked miserable. “I’m not a military pony. All I get from this is that they won a battle. That’s not good for us.”

Blueblood looked up as Celestia finished her speech. The response from the galleries and benches could be described as decidedly mixed. The Commons members slowly began to file out and into the lobby. Blueblood and Radical Road went with the crowd.

“There are degrees of victory,” Blueblood said. “Winning one battle won’t change the fact that most ponies don’t want this war. In any case, I strongly doubt that this victory is as complete as Celestia claims, or rather, doesn’t claim. How many casualties did the Changelings suffer? She sees fit not to tell us. One cannot win a battle with artillery alone.”

Radical Road frowned. “When did you become a gunnery expert?”

“Why, since the proofing tests from the guns forged by my companies arrived on my desk, of course.”

“You’re certain that they can’t be traced back to us?”

Blueblood allowed himself a small smile. He had years of experience with corporate loopholes. “I assure you, it is impossible for the front companies to be associated with me in any way. Now, we need to find out what exactly happened at Valneigh. I’ll see Newsprint tomorrow and have him send a correspondent down there. If that fails, I’m sure he more illicit methods of getting information...”

Here We Conquer Or Here We Die

Beneath a membranous canopy in the foothills of the Appleloosan Mountains, a Changeling in the blue armour and helmet of a lord paced furiously. A cloud of anxious pheromones followed Lord Cocoon as he strode around his tent. He tried to think of what the ponies in Equestria called it. Queen Chrysalis had told him once... Ah, yes, Career. That was what they called it. Well, if he failed here, it wouldn’t be his career that would be destroyed; it would be his very life.

From the moment his egg had hatched he had striven to climb the ranks of the Hive. He had fought well, brought in thousands of captives for the Hive to feat on, until finally he had reached the highest position a male Changeling could: one of the six Lords that would mate with the Hive Queen and produce the thousand eggs that would from the next Hive. They had received the highest honour of all: they had been granted names for their service.

And if he failed here, all he was and all that he had built would be stripped from him. If Shining Armor and his army were permitted to cross the Appleloosan Mountains and enter the Lynx Territories, he would be cast from the Hive. It would be worse than execution – no Changeling had ever killed another. Instead, he would die terrified, starving and alone in the wilderness, without even a name.

The flap of the tent opened and a Changeling officer pushed through.

“Any response from the Queen?” demanded Cocoon before he could speak.

Taken aback by his General’s tone, and by the cloud of worry and anticipation that cloaked him, the officer hesitated a moment. “No... no, My Lord. We...”

Cocoon hissed and resumed pacing. Consternation buzzed from him. “We were ordered to keep the ponies out of the Lynx Territories! We can’t do that from this position!”

“With respect, My Lord, we have a strong defensive position here, but if I could...”

“Exactly! The Diamond Dog Pass is a transparently-obvious point for a defence! Shining Armor would never lead his army through here! They’d be massacred!”

Cocoon failed to notice the cloud of worry and annoyance building around his officer. “Yes, My Lord, but on that note...”

“Shining Armor is no fool,” buzzed Cocoon angrily. “Queen Chrysalis told me about his early life; she learnt about it when she was disguised as Cadance. He was planning battles when colts his age were chasing fillies and polo balls! His reconnaissance flights are all feints. He would never march on this pass.”

“Yes, My Lord, but if I could just have a moment...”

“We should be held back as a mobile reserve! If Shining Armor finds another way over the mountains, we’ll never be able to...”

“MY LORD!”

Cocoon spun round, his consternation replaced by anger and surprise at the officer’s tone. “You...”

“On the subject of Shining Armor, My Lord,” the officer chittered quickly. “A messenger has arrived from the Fifth Legion. You will want to hear this yourself.”

The cloud of angry pheromones around Cocoon faded slightly. Some curiosity crept into it. “Send him in.”

The tent flap opened and another officer led a drone in.

“Now, what do you have to say?” asked Cocoon.

“It’s the Equestrian Army, My Lord. My commander thought you should know at once. I was the only one left in the Legion who could still fly...”

He told them. As he spoke, the pheromones of Cocoon and his officers changed from curiosity, to surprise, to finally outright horror.

“How could they have crossed?!” demanded the first officer. “There are no other usable routes through the mountains!”

“I told you Shining Armor is no fool,” hissed Cocoon. “He can’t be more than a few days march from here. He clearly means to cut our supply line down the Great Trunk Road and force us to do battle on his terms. If we hadn’t had that legion there to warn us, he’d have succeeded.”

“What are you orders, My Lord?”

Cocoon’s wings flickered as he thought. He resumed pacing. He had fifty-four thousand Changelings here, nearly eleven legions, but that was barely more than Shining Armor’s army. And the ponies had artillery. Not much more than him, granted, but if the messenger’s report from Valneigh was true, theirs was much superior. His own supply of shot was limited, so his gunners had had little time to practice. He tried to tell himself that the Changelings had beaten ponies before, but at Canterlot they’d had surprise on their side, as well as greater reserves of love than they could even dream of now.

“We can’t stay here,” he said decisively. “I will send a messenger to the Queen giving her my reason for abandoning this position. We need to fight Shining Armor on our own terms. I doubt we can stop him before he leaves the Canter Valley, but anywhere is better than here. What did you notice about their infantry tactics? Anything?”

“Not much, My Lord, but some of their battalions trying to take us in the flank had formed into line formations before we escaped. About three ponies deep, I think.”

“Three?!” scoffed the second officer. “They’d never resist even one charge!”

“I told you, Shining Armor is not an idiot,” said Cocoon. “I saw what the spears their Royal Guard use can do at Canterlot. It must be some sort of formation to maximise their firepower.”

He began pacing the room again. “We will need to find a countermeasure. I have something in mind, but it will need refining before we can use it in battle. I will perfect it tomorrow and transmit it to the army tomorrow evening. Until then, give these orders to the Legates: we march at dawn.”

***

A blue caterpillar, upon which all eyes were at once fixed, began to crawl steadfastly day by day across the map of Southern Equestria, dragging the whole war with it.

“I dunno, looks more like a slug to me,” said Sweetie Belle.

“Don’t interrupt Princess Twilight, Sweetie Belle!” scolded Cheerilee. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, please continue.”

Her dramatic introduction ruined, Twilight Sparkle sighed and reshuffled her notes. “Thank you, Cheerilee, and please, no more ‘Your Highnesses’!”

A huge map of Southern Equestria coated one wall of Golden Oaks Library. In the Canter Valley, blue boxes marked with the single- and double-Xs of brigades and divisions thrust defiantly towards the Lynx Territories. Lynx lairs were marked in green. Changeling-occupied territory was an arrow-shaped hash of red thrusting defiantly towards the Appleloosan Mountains.

“As I was saying,” said Twilight said calmly. “The Royal Equestrian Army is making good progress down the Canter Valley. The victory at Valneigh shows that our ponies are more than capable of taking on the Changeling army, and at this rate they should be entering Changeling-occupied territory within five days.”

As Twilight spoke, Cheerilee’s school party stared with rapt attention. Cheerilee had asked if she could give her class a current affairs lecture, since so many of her students had been asking about the war. Twilight had agreed at once, but that had been before the official, top secret report on the Battle of Valneigh had come through...

She hated herself for having to tell these lies to foals, but the government’s official line was the Valneigh had been a great victory, and even princesses had to keep to it. They at least seemed to enjoy the lecture.

“And that concludes this discussion, my little ponies!” she finished. “I think we have some time for some questions before you return to the Schoolhouse.”

Twilight didn’t anticipate any, and she wanted these foals out of the library quickly: she had forbidden Summer Set to make an exhaustive search of the classes’ saddlebags as they came in, and he was now standing sullenly behind the crowd, looking more and more likely to launch a pre-emptive attack against some supposed assassin with every passing moment.

To her dismay, a yellow hoof was waving in the air. “Yes, Apple Bloom?”

“Are Applejack an’ Rainbow Dash gonna be okay, Twilight?”

Cheerilee and Twilight exchanged glances. “Well... Rainbow and Applejack are both strong ponies. I don’t think there’s much to worry about.”

“What about my bro Thunderlane?” squeaked Rumble from the back. “And Blossomforth?”

Twilight could sense that the floodgates were about to open. “I’m sure Thunderlane and Blossomforth can take care of themselves,” she said quickly. “After all, they’ve got Rainbow Dash with them!”

Diamond Tiara looked unimpressed. “Well, you are a princess,” she said haughtily. “Surely you can just order them to be kept safe?”

Twilight’s eyes widened in horror as a murmur of assent rose from the crowd. What sort of impact would it have if it became known that she’d even considered using her powers to remove her friends from battle? “NO!” she said loudly.

“Huh, why not Twilight?” asked Apple Bloom, looking confused.

“Yes. Don’t you care about your subjects?” asked Diamond Tiara.

“That is enough, Diamond Tiara!” snapped Cheerilee. “See me when we get back to the Schoolhouse!”

“But Twilight!” said Scootaloo suddenly. “If you’re a princess, you can use your power to stop the prophecy!”

“Wha... I’m sorry, Scootaloo, but what prophecy?”

“In The Origin!” squeaked Sweetie Belle. “You can stop the strife and hate! And there’ll be no blood and pitch and squealing fire!”

“Screaming fire,” muttered Scootaloo.

“That’s enough, all three of you!” snapped Cheerilee. “There’s no need to bother Princess Twilight with a silly book like that! Now back to the Schoolhouse, all of you!”

The dejected class filed out the library door. Summer Set oversaw the departure.

“Remain in between the two lines of tape! If anypony strays out, I will have no choice but to obliterate them!”

Twilight and Cheerilee followed the class out.

“I’m sorry, Twilight,” said Cheerilee. “I don’t know what got the girls into reading nonsense books like that.”

“You could always have a word with Scootaloo about it.”

“I’m her teacher. I have to support her reading something.”

Twilight looked unimpressed. “She’s your sister, Cheerilee.”

“Scootaloo and I are estranged. She goes to school on her own and she comes home on her own. She won’t even eat meals with me.”

“I know what it’s like to lose a sibling. I didn’t see my brother for months after I came to Ponyville, and now he’s away south fighting a war.”

“Scootaloo has Rainbow Dash.”

“Except right now she doesn’t. I don’t like to think about it, but the possibility is always there: what if Rainbow doesn’t come back?”

“You think she won’t?”

“There are things I’ve read in reports from the War Office that I’m not allowed to repeat here. Let’s just say that the possibility exists.”

***

Twilight’s map gave lie to the true situation of the Royal Equestrian Army. It’s rate of advance was impressive, but no pony in Equestria seemed to grasp the true implications of that.

Huffing furiously, leaning heavily on her Long Luce, Applejack put one hoof in front of the other and took another agonising step forwards. Her throat was as dry as the San Palomino Desert, but she had no time to reach for her water bottle. Her saddlebags weighed her down and the straps cut into her. Sweat soaked her uniform and her busby chafed her head, uncomfortably hot. Next to her, Hayseed panted as well.

The entire army was marching at a blistering pace. They all knew why it needed to be done: they needed to catch the Changelings before they could form a good defensive position or link up with the rest of their army. But the knowledge of why they were doing it did not stop it from having terrible effects on the soldiers. Dozens of ponies were collapsing exhausted out of the marching columns every day. There was no time to stop to help them. The orders were to pull them to the side of the formation, make them comfortable if possible, and then leave them for the medical carts following at the rear of the army. Casualties could be left for hours under the late June sun. Applejack had heard that some had been trampled by their comrades when they fell, or that they had suffocated on the dust kicked up by thousands of hooves as they lay there.

It would be so nice to fall out, she thought, just to lie at the side for a few hours to take the weight off her aching legs, and then get shipped back to Fort Hurricane on the medical carts...

Then she heard a thundering of hooves behind her. She stole a glance and saw a brilliant white Unicorn cantering past, lathered, and his red uniform several shades darker from sweat. Behind him were two aides that looked as exhausted as she felt. All heads turned as Shining Armor trotted past.

Applejack crushed any thoughts she had about falling out. She had made a commitment to be here. She was here to beat the Changelings, and she had no desire to be beaten herself. She would not let her friends down, and she would not let her General down. Certainly, she wanted to go home, but to do that she had to first win the war.

She cursed and took another step forward.

***

At the army’s rear, a black-maned Earth Pony stallion lay in a medical cart. The Pegasus next to him whimpered every so often as the badly-sprung cart made its bumpy way back to Fort Hurricane. He didn’t pay much attention to him.

Despite the canvas awning over the cart, it was still uncomfortably hot. He told himself that despite the inconvenience, it would be worth it.

When he signed the recruiting forms, he had said that the only other option to joining the army was to remain a down-and-out. That was true, but it hadn’t been the real reason that he’d joined. The real reason was the fifteen thousand bit advance payment provided by his brother sitting in his bank account, with the promise of another fifteen thousand at the end of the war.

Ignoring the moaning Pegasus, the stallion rolled over and pulled a pencil and a few sheets of notepaper from his uniform pocket. Cordwainer would want to know everything.

***

In the staff tent that evening, Shining Armor stared grimly across the map table. “Cocoon beat us to it.”

“Yes, sir,” whispered Crystal Thought.

Shining straightened up. “After Valneigh it was almost inevitable.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Major General Neigh shift on his hooves. “Show me.”

Thought pointed at the map with a stick. “The Changeling right flank is anchored against the Canter Creek. Their left is secured by this woodblock here. There centre is protected by this Lynx lair, Maneden. The best place for operations would strike me as this fairly open plain here, between their left and centre, but I’m sure Cocoon will have taken precautions.”

“What are his forces like?”

“Around fifty-five thousand, though what proportions are infantry and cavalry I can’t say. They also seem to have around a hundred and eighty cannon.”

Shining continued to frown at the Changeling deployment. He’d left a brigade behind at the mouth of the Canter Valley five days ago to establish Fort Hurricane. That, coupled with the losses from the march, meant that he was down to 42,500 ponies. His army was also exhausted. It did not bode well.

“We should fall back on Fort Hurricane,” said Brigadier General Sir Storm Shadow, who led the 11th Light Brigade.

“And give the Changelings time to march another army up from the south?!” demanded Neigh. “Use your head!”

“We stand a better chance in a defensive position than we do in an attack here,” said Brigadier General White Cuirass, who led the 7th Brigade.

“Fort Hurricane is a bunch of gabions on a hillock,” said Lieutenant General Sir Dagger von Steel, who now led the 2nd Division. “It can’t hold the whole army and it wouldn’t last an hour against a determined assault.”

“We should return to Equestria for reinforcements,” said General Sir Blackfire.

“And how many do you think are going to join up when they see we retreated with our tails between our legs after one battle?!” demanded Warding Ember.

“Enough!” snapped Shining Armor. The Commander-in-Chief of the Forces calmly walked around the table. “If we retreat, we yield the initiative to the Changelings. Support for the war and the army will vanish, and support for the Princesses along with it. We have no choice, we must fight.

“Give the orders to your troops. In two days we will meet the Changelings in battle at Maneden, and we must be victorious. Here we conquer or here we die.”

The Battle of Maneden

A Changeling courier buzzed through the morning mist and settled to a halt in front of his General. “Report,” demanded Lord Cocoon tersely.

“It’s as you suspected, My Lord. Shining Armor is advancing on us. He’s secured his left on the Canter Creek. It looks like he’s covering his right flank with two cavalry brigades. He’s also keeping a cavalry reserve behind his centre.”

“Thank you, return to scouting and report back any changes.”

The courier fluttered off. “What do you think the ponies have planned, My Lord?” asked Cocoon’s second-in-command.

Cocoon stared icily across the battlefield to the east. A light mist still coated the plain in the morning twilight. A hooful of bushes and a copse were scattered across the otherwise-flat battlefield.

“Shining Armor knows his ponies are better than us. Individually, they’re stronger and are far more familiar with their weapons than our soldiers. And his artillery is superior. His best bet will be to make a general advance behind an artillery barrage and force us from the field.”

“But we have a good defensive position here, sir?” asked the second-in-command, uncertainly.

“Yes, and it will cost Armor ponies to take it. But we can’t hope to win a battle by sticking to the defensive. We may hold Maneden, but if he can break our infantry on either side, Armor will be able to isolate and reduce it at his own pace.”

“Any changes to the plan, then, My Lord?”

“No. Hold this position and await my orders. Let them make the first move.”

***

Major General Neigh grunted as he marched at the head of his division. Two hours of marching since breaking camp and he still hadn’t been able to banish the morning chill. Sweat collected uncomfortably under the band of his cocked hat. His hooves, though protected by two pairs of emergency edible boots, were painfully numb.

His headquarters marched stoically behind him. Behind them, the snare drums and bugles of each regiment rattled and trumpeted, keeping eight thousand ponies in step. The glorious sound of thousands of hooves landing and lifting as one filled the air. Neigh felt a smile pluck at his muzzle. He was marching with his division to lick the Changelings. Today, they would wipe the undeserved shame of Valneigh from their record.

He checked his watch: 0650 hours. “PARADE!” he bellowed. “PARADE, HALT!”

He and his headquarters slammed their hooves into the grass. On either side of him, Neigh heard the regimental commanders give the same orders to their troops.

With a thunder of hooves, the 3rd Division came to a parade perfect halt. On either side of him, the pink, blue, orange and green colours of Neigh’s regiments flew defiantly in the morning breeze. The mist was starting to blow off, and Neigh began to feel warmth on his back as Celestia’s sun rose behind him.

A hundred yards to the north of his leftmost battalion was the shimmering blue ribbon of the Canter Creek. The gap was plugged by No. 15 Battery, Royal Artillery. He bared his teeth at the sight of a black line of Changelings a couple of thousand yards across the plain. Apart from a few gorse bushes, they had a direct line of advance to him.

Well come and get me, then, he thought. Come Tirek or Tartarus, his division was not moving from this position. If it did, the army’s entire left flank would collapse. He had impressed that upon his ponies: theirs was the most important position on the battlefield as the rest of the army formed up to their right. Shining Armor had ordered the army to march in echelon: if the Changelings attempted a pre-emptive strike on the 3rd Division and tried to isolate it on its right, they would very quickly find Warding Ember’s Guards Division slamming into their own flank.

But that wouldn’t be necessary, he’d added when addressing his officers. There would not be another Valneigh. His division would be victorious on its own.

***

“Judging by their standards, My Lord, it’s the same units that drove off the Fifth at Valneigh.”

“And the rest of their army?” demanded Cocoon.

“Still moving into position, My Lord.”

“Very good. Send the Fifth through Seventh Legions to attack the Equestrian left. Remember, speed is the key: I doubt we can outmatch Armor in individual strength or skill, so we have to overwhelm them now before they can bring more units to the field.”

“Yes, My Lord!”

The courier sped off. Cocoon stared grimly at the bright streak of red sitting opposite his right flank. Behind it, he could see more units slowly marching up.

He had to attack the Equestrian left now. If he broke them, all well and good. As well as the obvious tactical benefits, doubtless the defeat of the units responsible for their victory at Valneigh would also shake Equestrian morale. Even if he didn’t break them, he’d still sent nearly twice their numbers against them. The ponies would take casualties, and Armor would have to shift battalions to reinforce his left, thus weakening his centre for Cocoon’s decisive attack.

***

“Sir! Looks like the Changelings are moving!”

Neigh brought up his binoculars. Sure enough, Changeling columns of march were starting to move, and artillery teams were pulling guns ahead of them. They were huge, unwieldy things; easily twice the bore of an Equestrian 12-pounder, but their intelligence did not suggest that that meant they were superior weapons.

“Very well, gentlestallions, this is our moment,” he said sharply. “Deploy your ponies into line. Keep at least a battalion in column for counterattacks. Cuirass, refuse your right so the Changelings will have to expose a flank to the Guards if they try to outflank us. Got it?”

“Yes sir!” Brigadier Generals Sword Knot and White Cuirass saluted and galloped off to their brigades.

“Major Sun, are your gunners ready?”

Major Yellow Sun commanded No. 15 Battery and was Neigh’s liaison with the three other batteries deployed with the 3rd Division. “Give the order, sir, and not a single Changeling will reach your lines.”

“Well, I won’t have you take all the credit again!” laughed Neigh.

“Then I’ll make sure we leave some for you, sir!” Sun saluted smartly and galloped off to his batteries.

Neigh took a deep breath, seized the hilt of his Pattern 987 Officer’s Sword and drew it with a flourish. It was a tough, simple sword with a strong guard and blade, built to cut and thrust equally well. Most officers decorated their swords with gold filigree and inlays, but Neigh had no time for that. But for his name and the Royal Cypher on the blade, it was unadorned and was made purely to kill.

He waited until the drums had stopped and his ponies had swung from columns of march into line. Holding his spadroon high, he galloped to the front of his division.

“SOLDIERS!” he bellowed. “Our time is now! It is an honour to fight alongside you! Let Chrysalis rue the day she ever crossed swords with us! Let any Changeling who sees the flash of our spears today shake in fear when he remembers their invasion of Canterlot!”

From the Grenadier Company of the Trottingham battalion on the right to the Light Company of the Royal Fillydelphias on the left, a thunderous cheer rose from the red-uniformed ranks. Officers held their cocked hats high. Soldiers shook their spears. Neigh grinned. His division was with him.

“Let every pony here today make themselves, their country, and their comrades proud!” Neigh roared. “BE BRAVE! FOR EQUESTRIA!”

“FOR EQUESTRIA!” thundered the division, and at that point, any fear that anypony among them might have felt was gone.

***

Cocoon had done all he could in the time he’d had to prepare his army for the realities of spear combat, but it hadn’t been enough. To his credit, his new tactics were innovative, especially given the base he’d had to start from, and the speed at which he’d spread them throughout his army was a testament to the hive behaviour of Changelings, but it still wasn’t enough.

His Changelings approached at a trot, their hive mentality keeping them in cohesion. Neigh would later say that this was the only reason so many of them came into spear range. They marched in centuries of one hundred, six ranks deep. This was shallower than the blocky ten ranks they had before against the Lynxes, but even so, it still made them vastly more vulnerable to artillery fire than the three ranks of the Royal Equestrian Army.

Yellow Sun’s batteries opened fire at just over one thousand yards. Their 12-pounder guns were set at three degrees of elevation. A storm of solid iron roundshot arced downrange, coming down at a thousand yards to make the “first graze”. From there they bounced off the ground straight up into the first line of Changeling centuries.

Entire files disappeared in ghastly clouds of yellow gore. Headless corpses and shattered bodies tumbled backwards. Other Changelings were wounded as bits of horn and bone blasted from their comrades’ corpses struck them as they marched. Dozens fell, buzzing and hissing in agony, clutching pitted hooves to cracked exoskeletons that wept ichor. Then the shells from the howitzers landed, blasting what remained of the lead eighteen centuries to a gory mist.

The Changelings’ artillery lumbered forward in response. Their cannon were massive things; ancient iron breechloaders bought in secret from the Dragon Kingdoms, so heavy that they had to be dragged by teams of a dozen Changelings. They left deep ruts in the loam behind them.

Twenty-two cannon were wheeled up. Only fourteen of them had a chance to fire: Sun’s gunners had reloaded, and some began counter-battery fire, while the rest continued firing at the follow-up centuries. A few sporadic shots landed short of the Equestrian batteries.

At the front of his division, Neigh watched in fascinated horror. With every discharge, his cannon filled the field with smoke and fire. Dozens of Changelings fell with every shot, or a Changeling gun disintegrated into a cloud of shattered metal and igniting powder, and yet still they came. It was like watching something crawling out of Tartarus.

There was a crash and screaming somewhere to his right. He looked and hissed in frustration: a lucky Changeling gunner had scored a hit on No. 16 Battery, destroying one gun and reducing another’s crew by half. Five ponies staggered away from the smoking wreck clutching hooves to bleeding legs or flanks. Others lay screaming as medical orderlies raced up to them. Still others lay silently and still.

“STAND FAST, MY LITTLE PONIES!” he roared.

At four hundred yards, Sun’s guns loaded canister shot. The discharge of every gun was followed by Changelings falling like grass before a mower’s scythe. They were joined by roundshot from each battalion’s two 9-pounder support guns. Finally, at a hundred yards, the gunners loaded grapeshot, and each gun sent a massive expanding cone of eight tennis ball-sized rounds into the approaching line of Changelings. Then the guns retreated through the gaps in the line. It was time for the infantry to get to work.

Neigh’s jaw dropped as he saw the Changeling infantry emerge from the smoke. He would later admit that it was the scariest thing he had ever seen in his life: Fanged horrors with slaver running from their jaws down slick black carapaces, wings buzzing, marched towards him. He gripped his sword tighter.

He heard someone scream behind him; “BATTALION, BY PLATOONS, FIRE!”

In each battalion, fifty ponies fired; then another fifty; then another, until every half-company in had sent a storm of fire downrange. Then the half-company that began the barrage fired again, and a rolling, unending storm of volleys crashed into the advancing Changelings.

Neigh was half-blinded by the bursts of magic shooting past him, but he could see the Changelings halting to fire even as dozens of them fell. The lead three ranks dug their claws into the ground and gritted their teeth as magic built around their horns. Then they fired, sending a storm of green energy crashing into the 3rd Division’s ranks.

Behind him, Neigh heard ponies scream as they were hit, but not many. Spears were only accurate when fired in massed volleys, and to his relief, he now saw that the same was true for Changeling horns. Now he saw that the back three files of each Changeling century were racing to the front of the formation. They discharged their own horns, and then they charged.

“AT THEM!” roared Neigh. Behind him, he could hear the drums and bugles sound the charge. He thrust his sword forward and galloped into the mass of Changelings, followed by thousands of roaring ponies.

From above, it looked like a thin red line meeting a thick black cloud. The Changeling centuries might have the advantage of depth of formation when it came to the melee, but those same deep formations had cost them dearly to the Equestrian artillery barrage. Disordered from cannon fire and exhausted from the effort of producing a powerful magical barrage, the Changelings were easy pickings for Neigh’s ponies.

Neigh’s soldiers had worked hard all their lives: many of them were solid country lads who had been able to buck an entire tree clean of apples before they were seven, and they brought that same strength to bear on the Changelings. Leaping into the air before they hit the first ranks, they let their spears tear into the enemy below as they descended. From the moment their forelegs connected with the ground, they spun around and bucked their hindlegs into the Changelings in the next rank.

Heads and thoraxes shattered and collapsed in geysers of gore as hooves connected. Some Changelings were lucky and their assailants missed. Many of these unfortunates would be set upon by their would-be targets, but there were few of them.

All along the line, this happened. A cohort of Changelings on the left of the advance tried to sweep round to attack the right flank of Brigadier General White Cuirass’ 6th Brigade. It found the 2nd Battalion of the 4th (Royal Fillydelphia) Regiment of Hoof bent back at a forty-five degree angle to meet it. Pinned there by the Fillydelphias, the cohort’s flank was exposed long enough for the leftmost battalion of Warding Ember’s Guards Division, the 1st Battalion, 1st Crystal Guard Regiment in its olive green to march up and sweep it from the field.

No creature, pony, Changeling, griffon or otherwise, can long spend time in melee combat. To think otherwise is an illusion created by films. The mere effort is so exhausting, physically and mentally, that most fights at blade range break up within a few seconds. It was a testament to the strength of the Changelings’ hive consciousness that they held against Neigh’s division for nearly a minute, but eventually the instinct for self-preservation amid the gore and the screams overwhelmed the pheromones and they broke, buzzing and hissing in panic, galloping away from a now-ragged line of thousands of cheering ponies, and at the centre of it all, Major General Neigh, his sword turned yellow with streaks of ichor and his red uniform flecked with crusted gore.

The remnants of three legions staggered back to their starting positions, covered by their surviving artillery. The guns had pulled back to maximum range and were now only able to land a weak barrage in front of the 3rd Division to discourage a pursuit. Lord Cocoon watched, his teeth gritted, as his legions shambled back. The Sixth and Seventh were battered but combat effective, but the Fifth Legion, which had been sent against the 3rd Division to erase the shame of their defeat at Valneigh, was all-but cut in half. Two and a half thousand Changelings had died before Neigh’s division: Eight thousand ponies had seen off nearly fifteen thousand Changelings.

It was a mere taste of what was to follow.

***

Atop a hillock in the centre of the Equestrian line, Shining Armor watched impassively the aftermath of the engagement on the left. The 3rd Division had fallen back to their starting positions out of artillery range. The plain was dotted with black spots that he knew to be Changeling corpses, as well as, he noted bitterly, the occasional splash of red. Puffs of smoke followed by light bangs rose from the left flank as Yellow Sun’s batteries exchanged fire with the Changeling guns. He noted that the Equestrian rate of fire was roughly twice that of the Changelings.

A Pegasus in the white-faced blue dolman of the 9th (Whinnyapolis) Hussars landed with a thump next to him and saluted. Shining returned the salute. “Is Brigadier General Firebolt making any more progress?”

“No, sir. She estimates the 12th will need another twenty minutes to form up.”

Shining sucked in air through his teeth. Of all his cavalry formations, the 12th Light Brigade had performed the least-well in exercises, but still! It shouldn’t require twenty minutes to form up on a flat plain!

“Inform her that every minute she delays is a minute longer for the Changelings to organise a counterattack,” he said sharply. “I will not have our right flank without cavalry support for that long. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir!” The hussar saluted sharply and sped off.

Shining took a telescope in his magic and scanned the Changeling line. The morning mist was all-but gone, despite the best efforts of his Pegasi to keep it there as long as possible. Soon he would have nothing to cloak his advance. If Cocoon recognised that one of the two cavalry brigades on his right was disorganised, well, a determined charge by his own cavalry on them didn’t bear thinking about. A successful attack on the 12th would isolate the 7th Brigade anchoring their right flank on the Lynx lair of Quickpaw and allow the Changelings to flank the 2nd Division, which could cause his entire right flank to collapse.

It was all he could do not to paw the ground in front of his staff. His nerves were shot through with fear. It was a desperate moment upon which the survival of his army hinged.

Come on, Firebolt...

***

“No.”

“My Lord? But there’s a potential opening on their right! If we can exploit it with our cavalry..!”

“We cannot afford such a bold action!” snapped Cocoon, his wings fluttering in consternation. “Our gunners’ fire plans would be completely thrown off, and by the time we altered them it would be too late; the charge would have to go in unsupported, and I’m not sending our cavalry alone against that kind of artillery! You saw what they did to the Fifth!”

Disappointment poured from the drone. “We stick to the plan then, My Lord?”

“Given their qualitative superiority, it’s the best chance we have,” said Cocoon, a cloud of miserable pheromones surrounding him.

Cocoon’s battle order placed all his cavalry – his eight thousand Changelings still strong enough to fly – in the centre of the formation, with the majority of his guns on each side. His infantry held the flanks. When he gave the order, all eight thousand would charge the Equestrian centre behind a massive artillery barrage. The weight and shock of the charge, he hoped, would be enough to break the ponies’ centre and leave their flanks to the mercy of his legions.

He had known from the moment he’d formulated the plan that it would be bloody, but the first engagement with the 3rd Division had made it clear that it would be an agonising fight. Well no matter, Cocoon thought resignedly. Chrysalis had another fifty thousand Changelings in the south after this battle; Shining Armor had nothing else. Cocoon and his army were replaceable; Shining Armor’s was not. If the cost of victory here today was his life and all his drones, then so be it.

***

“Dame Firebolt reports that her brigade is formed up and ready for battle, sir.”

“Good,” said Shining Armor to the hussar. “Stay here and await orders.”

Shining Armor turned to face his staff. Aides-de-camp crowded around. A few division commanders, including Neigh, were gathered there, but most had chosen to send delegates or their seconds-in-command. Shining dimly reflected that, though they were well out of artillery range, a single shell at this point could decapitate the entire Royal Army.

“Major General Neigh,” he said. “What were the casualties of your division’s engagement?”

Everypony was keeping a discreet distance from Neigh. The ruddy Earth Pony was still breathing heavily and his uniform was still streaked with the crusted lifeblood of dozens of Changelings.

“One hundred and fifty dead, four hundred and twenty-two wounded,” he said tersely.

How would that compare to future losses, Shining Armor wondered? Had Neigh been brave or needlessly aggressive? “Your ponies fought well,” was what he said. “Give them my regards.”

“Yes, sir,” said Neigh, smiling.

“Now, judging by the first engagement by the 3rd Division,” Shining said to the staff. “Our soldiers clearly possess strength and skill superior to that of the Changelings. We also possess superior guns. Take this down.”

Aides and officers hurriedly opened notebooks and hovered pencils over pages, waiting.

“Upon the word of the commander,” Shining Armor dictated. “The artillery shall lay down as heavy a barrage as possible upon the Changeling line. All divisions and brigades will advance on the sound of the guns. The 2nd Division will advance and form square to fix the Changeling cavalry, with the 12th Light Brigade and the Life Guards Brigade operating in support. All other units will engage the Changeling line to drive it from the field. Any questions?”

“Sir, it will take at least ten minutes for my gunners to pile rounds by their cannon to produce a barrage that heavy,” said General Sir Time Target.

“Very good, General. The barrage will begin when you’re ready. Give these orders to your troops. Good luck, my little ponies.”

***

“Can’t make head or tail of it, sir.”

Lieutenant General Sir Dagger von Steel, commanding officer of the 2nd Division, took the piece of paper from his second-in-command. It had been handed to him by an aide-de-camp before he had flown off to the next unit. On it were his orders. The problem was he had no idea what those orders were supposed to be.

It was written in the shorthoof Earth Ponies and Pegasi used since they couldn’t hold pens like Unicorns, and it had clearly been written in a hurry. Steel was no stranger to shorthoof, being an Earth Pony himself, but the aide-de-camp clearly had very bad hoofwriting already, not helped by the time he’d needed to take it down in.

“‘You will advance...’” he read, frowning. “...To, do you think? ‘To the sound of the guns and form square to fix the Changeling cavalry, with the 12th Light Brigade and the Life Guards Brigade operating in support.’”

“To the sound of the guns?” asked his second-in-command. “What, those guns?” He nodded over his shoulder. Booms and puffs of smoke rose from the Changeling line across the plain as their artillery fired ranging shots.

“It can’t be anything else,” said Steel. He frowned across the plain. Batteries of guns flanked the Changeling cavalry. He did not like the look of it.

“If we stop and form square on that plain, we’ll be sitting ducks. Their guns will blast us to pieces. We’ll have to meet their cavalry in line and keep moving.”

“A line against cavalry, sir?” Steel’s second-in-command looked quite ill at the prospect. “They’ll smash right through us! And even if we stop them head-on, our flanks won’t stand a chance!”

“I know, Colonel.” Steel thought for a moment. “There’s a way round it. Give these orders to the division...”

***

Inkie Pie lay on her stomach in front of her battery, a sextant pressed to her eye. An abacus sat in the grass next to her. She moved a few beads with a free hoof, and then scribbled the final calculation down in her notebook. She then set down her final flag marker and hurried back to her battery, sitting outside artillery range.

She raced between her guns, tearing the pages out of her notebook and passing them to her Sergeants. “Firing solutions,” she said. “Your firing point is the green marker.”

She spotted Gunners Powder Smoke and Quick Bolt hoisting rounds from their ammunition wagon to dump by the guns for easy access. She was about to go to help them when she heard the uncertain voice of Lieutenant Star Wing.

“Ma’am, is the 2nd Division supposed to be doing that?!”

***

Shining Armor dropped his binoculars. He stared in abject horror as the 2nd Division marched, its drums rattling, bugles trumpeting and colours fluttering. Steel was marching eight thousand unsupported infantry into eight thousand Changeling cavalry which had batteries positioned that exposed his flanks to oblique shots! What in Tartarus was he thinking?!

His formation made everything worse. There was no possibility for forming square from the way he was marching: He had his two brigades formed in line, one marching a few hundred paces behind the other, the gaps at the flanks closed only by refused half-companies and the pairs of battalion guns from the units on the wings. A determined charge would break right through them.

“Orders, sir?” whispered Ration Bag next to him.

Shining’s voice came out a croak. “Have the Life Guards and the 12th charge in support of the survivors. I want an artillery barrage across the Changeling cavalry’s line of advance as well.”

Even without a telescope, he could see the Changeling cavalry beginning to move: they were gently trotting across the grass, and soon they would take to the air and charge home with lances and claws. And now the batteries they had flanking their cavalry opened up in earnest.

The entire 2nd Division was doomed: eight thousand ponies had been marched to their deaths in their first real battle. Shining didn’t know who was responsible, and at the moment he wasn’t really looking to assign blame, but he knew what the consequences would be: Even if he won this battle, his army would be gutted and would be forced to withdraw back over the Macintosh Hills. Support for the war and the army would vanish. There would be no reinforcement, no rebuilding and no counterattack. The Lynxes would be abandoned.

And, oh Spirits! What about Celestia?!

***

“I WANT THOSE GUNS DESTROYED! NOW!”

Inkie Pie’s gunners stared in amazement at her. They had never heard their commander speak so urgently.

“But ma’am!” protested Lieutenant Star Wing. “Our orders...”

“Lieutenant, if I were a less well-brought-up pony, I would say ‘to Tartarus with our orders’! I don’t know why those ponies are out there, but they need our help, now get this battery up to the fire position and neutralise those guns!”

“Yes, ma’am,” whispered Star Wing.

Thus did one battery of eight guns begin to engage the forty Changeling cannon on the left flank of their cavalry, nearly a quarter of all the guns the Changelings had in the field.

***

Applejack gazed into a vision of Hell. Draconic cannon on either side of her spat fire and smoke, out of which emerged hordes of slavering demons buzzing above the ground. Thundering towards her and her battalion appeared to be nothing more than a solid wall of black, silhouetted against the sky. Then individual details resolved themselves: dead, icy blue compound eyes; shining black carapaces gleaming in the morning sun; crooked horns; light through the holes in their legs; white fangs; the occasional purple helmet; and lances longer than even two of the spears Applejack and her comrades carried.

Applejack did not know what kept her marching forward. This wasn’t what light infantry were meant to do! The Princess C’s weren’t supposed to stand in a line and get blasted away like all the other grunts! And marching straight into the cavalry?! Why weren’t they forming square?!

“We’re bucked, ain’t we, AJ?” muttered Hayseed Turnip Truck next to her.

“Now tha’s jus’ nonsense, Hayseed!” scolded Applejack. She didn’t know why she said that, but as a Lance Corporal, she felt it was her duty to stop talk like that. “Fizzy, Pauldron an’ Steel’ll get us through this!”

In the centre of the formation, Brigadier General Sir Rightful Pauldron felt quite similar to Hayseed. He had absolutely no idea what had possessed Shining Armor to order this attack, much less Dagger von Steel to actually agree with it! Then again, he reflected, whatever had possessed them seemed to have gripped him as well.

Sword in hoof, he kept marching forward, stealing glances to the left and right to make sure everypony’s dressings were correct. The Changeling cavalry was bearing down on them ever faster, skimming barely an inch above the grass. Judging by the separation between their individual units, Pauldron guessed that they had eleven squadrons charging him; over a thousand cavalry. He and the 3rd Brigade alone outnumbered the Changelings four-to-one, but if the Changelings kept their nerve and got through his fire zone, their lances would smash his formation before his ponies could even get close with their spears.

They were getting closer: Five hundred paces; four hundred; three hundred...

“PARADE!” he bellowed. “PARADE, HALT!”

Along the line, bass drummers ceased playing. Thousands of ponies took three more steps forward before slamming their hooves into the ground. Two hundred paces...

“MAKE READY!” Pauldron roared. Four thousands ponies sent a last squib of magic into their spears to ready them for firing. One hundred paces...

“PRESENT!” Ninety paces; eighty; seventy; sixty; fifty...

“FIRE!”

A storm of fire erupted along the line from the centre. On the right of the line, Applejack felt herself shake as she discharged her weapon. None of them had ever heard so many spears being fired at once. And it was incredible.

Then the second line fired, and then the third, joined by the thunderous roar of the battalion guns opening up. Applejack blinked to clear her eyes of the astounding flash from so many weapons. The advancing wall of black had vanished before the cloud of fire. Hundreds of Changeling corpses coated the grass amid a forest of dropped lances. What had been a thousand cavalry was now a ragged line of a few hundred Changelings that had completely lost its momentum. They hovered there, dazed and uncertain.

And then Pauldron sounded a charge of his own.

***

“I don’t believe it.”

Shining Armor lowered his binoculars and exchanged glances with General Blackfire. “Nor I, but we can’t assume we’ve won yet.”

Shining and his staff had watched in horror as the massive Changeling cavalry force bore down on their troops. They had waited for the entire division to disappear beneath that mass of black. Then a tremendous flash had burst from the line, and then another, then another, and the Changeling squadrons had disappeared beneath a storm of shots. Then Shining Armor had seen something he’d never imagined he’d ever see: the infantry had charged with spearpoints and driven the cavalry from the field. Infantry defeating cavalry in the melee! It was a thing unheard of!

“Have our batteries in the centre put down as heavy a barrage as possibly across the Changeling line of advance. Cocoon’s still got enough cavalry for a few more charges yet.”

“Sir, the artillery won’t have enough rounds by their guns just yet,” said Ration Bag.

“Forget that idea! We can’t leave Steel out there unsupported! And where are those cavalry brigades?!”

***

Major General Sir Thunderbird of the Life Guards Brigade stared in disbelief at the runner. “What do you mean, they’re not coming?”

“That’s what I was told sir,” said the Pegasus. “Brigadier General Firebolt believes the situation is too dangerous to launch a cavalry attack.”

“You mean we’re going in on our own?” demanded Colonel Tornado.

“We have no choice,” said Lieutenant Colonel Spitfire. “We can’t leave that division out there on its own.”

“But still!” said Tornado. “They have a four-to-one advantage against us! I might be a cavalrypony, Spitfire, but I’m not that mad!”

“Spitfire’s right,” said Thunderbird, grimly. He frowned across the plain towards the square of the 2nd Division, wreathed in clouds of powder smoke. “Keep your Cloudsdale Greys on the right: I want those batteries neutralised. And runner; please give my regards to Dame Firebolt, and please tell her that I strongly advise her to shift her plot over here!”

***

Standing in front of her regiment, Spitfire took her sword in hoof. “DRAW SWORDS!”

A thousand blades flashed white as the Pegasi of the Royal Cloudsdale Greys swept their swords from their scabbards. They were arrayed in a line of two ranks, each of five hundred Pegasi, split into ten squadrons. Near the centre of the formation, Cornet Rainbow Dash gripped her sword tighter. Her whole troop was arrayed around her; her Ponyville friends, and others that she’d met in training. “Good luck, my friends.”

And good luck, Applejack, she thought. We’re coming for you.

“By the walk!” barked Spitfire. “Walk, MARCH!”

A thousand Pegasi began to trot forward. Rainbow Dash felt her heart begin to race. She made a mental check of her equipment. The flat of her sword blade rest against her right shoulder. It was a long, straight Pattern 1004 Heavy Cavalry Sword. It was a crude, mass-produced thing, built for the huge numbers of Pegasi that had swelled Equestria’s cavalry when the Royal Army was established. Heavy and ill-balanced, its brutal blade would hammer through lighter swords and finer techniques. Its mere weight could crush a stallion’s skull. Secured in a leather bag against her flank was the short spear dragoons used when acting as infantry.

“The spear is not to be used as a lance!” Spitfire had barked to them in training. “If your target gets in under your thrust, you’ll be stuck with a useless club. Always the sword!”

They trotted further across the plain. Soon they would enter the beaten zone of the Changelings’ artillery.

“By the flutter!” barked Spitfire. “Flutter, MARCH!”

Every pony in the regiment spread their wings and took to the air, their hooves just skimming the dewy grass. They were approaching the Changeling batteries on the left, and the gunners had spotted them. The Changelings were frantically trying to reposition their cannon and load grapeshot, but the guns were far too heavy to move quickly, and their crews had suffered terrible casualties to Inkie Pie’s artillery.

Then the bugles in the centre of the line trumpeted and Rainbow thrust her sword forward. “CHARGE!”

And with a colossal roar, the Royal Cloudsdale Greys smashed into the Changeling batteries.

Spitfire drew first blood with an elegant upwards slash with her sword. A Changeling gun captain collapsed with a long gash across its back. Given the sword’s weight, it was a pretty impressive cut. Rainbow Dash had no time for such balletic swordplay. She brought her sword crashing down in a devastating slash onto a fleeing Changeling gunner. Its head exploded it a cloud of yellow gore and splintered bone. Rainbow let her momentum drag the sword from the Changeling’s skull. It came away with a wet sucking sound: it had cut down to the Changeling’s jaw.

Chittering in panic, dozens of Changelings fled from their guns. A few of them desperately fluttered their wings, but even with their conquest of the Lynxes, they still lacked the strength to take flight or take another’s form. They hissed and screeched as swords slashed down on them.

Rainbow Dash had lost all sense of her place in the battle. It was just fly and strike. A Changeling tried to raise a gunner’s ramrod to defend itself. Her sword slashed through that and took off its foreleg in a gout of ichor. Her next target was a Changeling officer that charged at her with his head down, aiming to stab her with his horn. Her sword rebounded of its purple helmet with a hollow bong, and a shock ran up her arm. She flew on.

She felt drunk. And amazing. Screeching, fanged demons fled in terror from her. Those that dared stand fell before her sword. The battle fever was on her. There was nothing but her, he enemy, that enemy’s blood soaking into the grass, and the next enemy. She felt invincible. And it was awesome.

They raced past thirty guns, Rainbow thought. Some were broken wrecks that had already been destroyed by the Royal Artillery. Shattered black corpses of Changeling gunners killed by the bombardment already lay by their guns. Then they were out past the batteries, back in the open plain, with only a dozen or so Changeling gunners still fleeing ahead of them, straight towards squadrons of Changeling cavalry forming up for their next charge on the 2nd Division. To her left, Rainbow could already see the 1st Life Guards Regiment reforming to prepare to charge the Changeling flank.

“RALLY TO ME, CLOUDSDALE GREYS! TO ME!” Spitfire roared from the centre of the regiment’s now ragged line. The bugles blew the order to regroup.

Grinning, Rainbow turned to face her troop. They were all there, chests heaving, swords notched or streaked with Changeling blood resting against their shoulders. Rainbow looked down at her own uniform. Her sword dripped gore and her right sleeve was yellow to the elbow, soaked through with Changeling ichor.

“What are you waiting for?!” she bellowed. “Get formed up! You think gunners were hard enough?! Those are brave Changeling cavalry over there! Let’s go kill them!”

***

Inkie Pie breathed a sigh of relief as she saw the Life Guards Brigade charge the guns. That took some pressure of them. They were down to an amber ammunition state, with no sign of any ammunition carts to resupply them. The supply chain was reportedly snarled up with ambulances and medical carts trying to either reach the front or get casualties away from it.

She coughed loudly. Sulphurous clouds of powder smoke cloaked their position. Time and again she’d had to dash forward through the clouds to get another firing solution, or get her few Pegasi gunners to flap their wings to dispel the smoke. But it hadn’t been enough and their effectiveness had begun to drop. That had been when a Changeling gunner, either due to rare skill or luck, had scored a hit on C Gun, setting off the cartridge in the barrel and killing Gunner Powder Smoke and Sergeant Brass Barrel, and sending Gunner Quick Bolt to the rear with a bleeding haunch.

She heard a thick crack and a yell of pain to her left. As the rest of her gunners turned to look, she galloped past them to the source of the noise. There, Lieutenant Star Wing lay with a hoof pressed to a shrapnel wound in his side, while the rest of the gunners, their faces and uniforms smutty with gunpowder residue, stared in disbelief at their cannon. A wide black crack ran the length of the barrel, from the touchhole to the muzzle. The gun had burst.

Inkie couldn’t believe it. These guns had been proofed to the highest standards! She’d made sure to have them checked by the Artillery Train ponies after Valneigh! “What happened?!”

“I... I don’t...” stammered the Sergeant. “We... we did everything right!”

Roundshot from a Changeling cannon slammed into the ground nearby, kicking up a plume of earth that rained down on No. 1 Battery.

We can’t go on much longer, thought Inkie. Where are the rest of our guns?!

***

Cocoon stared in disbelief as his cavalry was swept from the field. His cavalry, that had outnumbered the Equestrians four-to-one, had been destroyed by the charge of a single brigade. His last, best hope was gone. That, coupled with that insane manoeuvre by the Equestrian infantry, had smashed open his centre.

It was disastrous. The three legions securing his left flank were now completely isolated, and the infantry and cavalry in the centre were now in position to sweep north up his line. Extricating his army from that position would be almost impossible.

He had one option left: to force the Equestrians off an offensive posture by putting pressure on another part of their line. That meant a second attack on the Equestrian left. It was a desperate manoeuvre, and even if it succeeded, both armies would be utterly broken at the end of it, but that no longer mattered to him.

“I want our entire line right of Maneden to advance. Keep our centre anchored on that lair. Put every gun and cohort we have left into this attack. Either Armor will break here, or we will.”

***

“My guns are ready, Your Highness.”

And about damn time! “Then proceed, General Target!” ordered Shining Armor. He turned to his aides. “I want a general advance on their entire line! What other cavalry do we have on our right?!”

“Just the 12th, sir,” said Crystal Thought.

Shining Armor barely managed to resist cursing. “Tell Firebolt she’s to advance to mask the Changeling’s southern withdrawal route. I trust she won’t find that too difficult.”

Thunder and smoke erupted from the entire Equestrian line as the Royal Artillery finally opened up its barrage. The time they’d spent piling rounds by their guns had been well spent, Shining saw. The roars of the cannon were incessant and the rain of shot was heavier than anything he’d ever seen before.

“Get everypony moving! One final push, and the day is ours!”

The Bells Worn Threadbare

“Good afternoon,” said the radio announcer. “You’re listening to EBC Radio 5, I’m Auto Cue. The time is one-thirty PM. Today we continue our discussion of the Royal Army’s progress across Southern Equestria. Now, with me this afternoon are Rear Echelon of the War Office...”

“Good afternoon, Auto.”

“...and Major Karl von Clawswitz, the military attaché at the Gryphonian embassy.”

“Good afternoon, Herr Cue.”

“Good afternoon, Major. Now, gentlestallions, we know that the Changelings have around fifty thousand troops. Prince Armor has a similar number of ponies under his command. Rear, how would you rate our army’s chances?”

“Exceptionally well, Auto,” said Rear Echelon. “Our soldiers are well-motivated and already have a victory under their belts, and more to the point, they are much better trained and equipped than a few Changeling drones.”

“But Rear, you’re just repeating the text of the official War Office bulletins!” said Auto Cue. “Wouldn’t it be good to get a little fresh information out to the public? There are parents out there who don’t even know where their colts and fillies are!”

“I’m sorry, Auto, but the security of our soldiers is paramount. Until we know that our position in Southern Equestria is secure, I cannot reveal any information about troop movements.”

“All right, then,” said Auto. He shuffled his papers. “Let’s get an outsider’s perspective on events. Major, what does Gryphonia think about our army’s chances?”

The Gryphon straightened an immaculate olive-green uniform before beginning. “Vell, Herr Cue, I am afraid our analysts do not share your government’s rosy opinion of ze situation.”

Auto Cue leaned forward eagerly. “Oh? And why do you say that?”

“Vell,” said Clawswitz, with a dangerous smile on his beak. “Vith operational security in mind, it vould be inappropriate for me to reveal ze, ah, hopeless geographic position of your army...”

“I beg your pardon?!” demanded Rear Echelon.

“Please, Rear,” said Auto Cue, barely able to conceal his excitement. “Please continue, Major.”

“It is ze opinion of my Var Ministry zat Equestrian troops are at a grave disadvantage against Changelings,” said Clawswitz. “Ze hive nature of zeir enemy gives zem discipline and coordination zat zey simply cannot match. Now, if a Mareopean army, of proper soldiers, vere to take zeir place, vell, I think things vould be much more difficult for ze Changelings.”

“And what, Major, do you mean by ‘proper soldiers’?” demanded Rear Echelon hotly. The Tsardom of Gryphonia had always envied the wealth and power of Equestria, but it had always taken comfort in the fact that its military prowess was the finest on Equus. The Equestrian war effort had from the beginning struck them as astonishingly amateurish.

“I speak of a proper conscript army, Herr Echelon,” said Clawswitz, still smiling. “For all ze romanticism surrounding volunteer soldiers, zey simply do not have ze same discipline und morale as conscripts. Ven a man knows he is surrounded by all ze men of his town, und all ze other towns, regardless of class or stature, zere is no stronger force zat vill keep him from desertion, und no stronger force zat vill encourage him to fight harder.”

“Equestrian soldiers fight because they choose to fight!” snapped Rear Echelon. “Not because they are forced to at the point of a sword!”

“And vat, Herr Echelon, do you suppose vill happen ven zey no longer vish to fight?! Zey vill desert! Und vat vill your army be zen?!”

“Just a minute, gentlestallions!” said Auto Cue, quickly. His had a hoof pressed to his earpiece. Through the glass looking out of the radio booth, he could see the operators looking amazed. “I’m just getting some new information in...”

***

Great peals rang from Ponyville’s bell tower. At its summit, Pinkie Pie’s head rattled inside the bell.

“Remind... me... why... I’m... doing... this... Twilight?” she asked brightly between clangs.

“Because we’ve won a battle!” cried Twilight Sparkle. “My brother’s won at Maneden! Princess Celestia’s commanded that the entire realm should know!”

Pinkie stuck her head out from under the bell. The pupils rattled inside her eyes. “Okey dokey lokey!” she said with a grin, and resumed ringing.

Smiling, Twilight trotted down the tower, followed by Fluttershy, Rarity, Summer Set and Spike. Alone among them, her bodyguard looked unhappy.

“To have been in such a battle...” he kept whispering. “To have seen such a victory.”

“Summer’s not happy,” Twilight confided to Fluttershy as they trotted down the stairs. “A lot of his friends in the Guard were there and he’s stuck here.”

“Does this mean Rainbow and Applejack can come home?” asked Fluttershy apprehensively.

Twilight sighed. “No. There’s still plenty of Changelings in the Lynx Territories and Froud Valley. But now we have them on the back hoof! Even the preliminary report from the War Office is optimistic! An entire Changeling army is in retreat!”

Fluttershy didn’t look particularly happy at that.

“Well, at least we know that Summer’s not the only one in Equestria unhappy!” said Rarity brightly.

“What do you mean by that?” asked Twilight, as they pushed out through the bell tower’s double doors and into the road.

“Blueblood! He opposed this war, and we’re actually winning it! I wouldn’t be surprised if after this he and Radical Road just up and died!”

Twilight’s smile became wider as they trotted into the sun. Shining Armor’s idea had been vindicated. Applejack and Rainbow were all right. The Changelings were on the run. And the Parliamentarians’ credibility had been shattered.

She was still smiling as she greeted the ponies trotting out of their homes to see why the bell was ringing. “Victory!” she cried. “We have victory!”

***

“This is a disaster.”

Blueblood didn’t even look up from his desk. He simply flicked through the folder that Cordwainer had laid on his desk that morning.

“They’ll be partying in the streets tonight, the way it’s going!” Radical Road continued, angrily.

“Let them,” said Blueblood, still not looking up from the folder. “Every high is followed by a crash.”

Where in Tartarus did that come from? he thought suddenly. That almost sounded colloquial. He’d been hanging around the likes of Radical Road and Newsprint for too long.

Despite his flippancy, the timing of the victory at Maneden was admittedly unfortunate. Though Blueblood accepted the logic of driving the Changelings from the Lynx Territories, he had at least hoped for a few small defeats and some high casualties to harden Equestrian opinion against the war. Instead, all he had was the strategic failure at Valneigh (which no one but him seemed to recognise!), and if Cordwainer’s brother’s letters were correct, just an unpleasant march to Maneden. And now ponies thronged the streets of every city and town from Appleloosa to Manehattan, summoned by the ringing bells, gossiping about the victory.

“And how do you suppose we generate this crash?” Radical demanded.

“We wait.”

“Oh, wonderful! For what, may I ask?!”

Blueblood sighed and at last looked up from his papers. “Events, dear boy, events. It is all we can do at this point. Given the public response to this battle, to issue some kind of statement against it would make us look out of touch and desperate. The best we can do is husband our resources until we can release them all at once at an opportune moment.”

“And you imagine this opportune moment is coming?”

“Almost certainly, given what I have arranged with the Royal Army’s artillery, and the strategy Shining Armor will inevitably pursue when he breaks into the Changeling Kingdom. I doubt the Equestrian public will look kindly on genocide, even if it is against Changelings.”

Blueblood went back to reading the letters. Radical Road stared at him, uncomprehending. “Why are you doing this, Blueblood?”

“You know why I am doing this: my endgame is to depose Celestia.”

“You know that’s impossible! Have you really concocted all this just to fulfil a pipe dream?!”

Blueblood looked up from his desk. His usual expression of serene superiority had been replaced by a grimace of utmost seriousness. “It is no dream, Radical. Celestia’s fall is coming, and you and I will be the ponies who bring it about.”

“Do you honestly believe that we can force an Alicorn from her throne?” demanded Radical incredulously.

“Absolutely.” Blueblood slid a small leather-bound book across his desk. It was the Hallowed Halls translation, naturally. He would have nothing to do with the inelegant guff that was Law Reference’s blank verse translation. “Are you familiar with this?”

Radical read the title. “I know enough to know it’s a complete work of fiction! Are you really basing your plan on a fairytale?!”

“The Origin is no fairytale. Turn to the marked page.”

Radical sighed, flipped to near the end of the book, and read. After a moment he threw the book down. “Well what’s that supposed to mean? You think just because some vague prophecy looks a bit like it refers to today, that means the time has come? And what in Tartarus is this?! Humans?!”

“Oh, that. A mere metaphor for the destructive impulses of ponykind,” said Blueblood with a dismissive wave of his hoof. “No serious scholar of The Origin believes that something as ridiculous as a human actually existed.”

“That hardly matters!” snapped Radical. “If that’s just a metaphor, then what about this prophecy?! You’re deluded, Blueblood!”

Blueblood only sighed, and his usual superior smirk returned. “Oh, but I am not,” he said dangerously. “If you recall correctly, I am confident enough in this being true that I was prepared to kill our mutual friend.”

Radical shifted uncomfortably on his hooves. That was good, Blueblood thought. It would not do for Radical to forget who he was talking to.

He pulled open one of his desk drawers and removed a smart yet understated black notebook. “As Heir to the Equestrian Throne, I had access to primary sources that no scholar of The Origin has had for centuries. What is the last thing mentioned in that chapter?”

Radical flipped to the back of the book again. “The Sibylline Books? What are those?”

“A collection of six hundred and sixty-six prophecies, set down in three books by the Sibyl, the apprentice of the Oracle mentioned in that chapter. The Books passed into the ownership of the House of Aethelric of the Kingdom of Unicorns, and were consulted in times of dire peril for nearly a thousand years, right up until they were destroyed by Discord during the fall of the Equestrian Republic.”

“But...” said Radical slowly. “Do you mean to say they weren’t destroyed?”

“Celestia would have you believe they were,” said Blueblood. “If it had been general knowledge that the doom of their reign was foretold, how successful do you think their attempt to unify Equestria after the Discordian War would have been? The Books were seized from the ruins of the Palace of Friendship and the Sisters locked them in the highest tower of Canterlot Castle, where they remain to this day.”

Despite himself, Radical could feel excitement building within him. Even ignoring the political implications, Blueblood had had access to a lost text! What might it reveal about Equestria’s past, let alone the future?! “And you’ve read this?!”

Blueblood smirked again. “The Books are to be consulted only once a year by the Princesses themselves, but the Guards would not refuse a stallion of my assets. I kept one of them generously paid to give me access to the Books once every month. I learned many things about Equestria’s past from them; things that Celestia had seen to keep secret even from me, the Heir. You can reveal all of that to the public in good time. For now, all that should concern us is this.”

His horn glowed and the notebook opened with a flutter of pages. Radical eagerly stepped forward to examine the black words inked on the cream pages, and found himself confronted with a mass of meaningless gibberish.

Radical felt an embarrassed flush spread up his neck. “Is this a joke?!” he demanded, angrily.

Blueblood kept smirking. “Oh no, that’s simply my transcription of the Old Equestrian. I copied it out of the Books in the tower and translated it at this very desk. I could hardly afford to be seen going up and down the tower every month with a bag full of language dictionaries! Taking notes is of course forbidden, but again, with the right bits in the right hooves...”

He turned a page with his magic. “This is my translation.”

Radical leaned closer to the desk. Written in an immaculate copperplate only practised Unicorn magic could create were three poetic verses:

In time of people’s turmoil,
In time of reddest war,
The Princesses will crumble,
When Moon unbidden falls.

Their crowns shall be cast downward,
The night They flee Their thrones.
Their Kingdom shall be sundered,
When Sun rises alone.

The Prince whose blood is azure
The Prince who is alone,
He after great endure,
Shall come into His own.

“An imperfect translation, naturally,” said Blueblood coolly. “I had to change the meter somewhat. Constructing dactylic hexameter in Modern Equestrian is extraordinarily difficult, you see.”

Radical stared at the verses, unhearing. “And... and you think this refers to now?”

“It fits perfectly within the chronological sequence of the prophecies. Each predicts a crisis in Equestria. The prophecy before this, you may be interested to know, is highly suggestive of the return of the Crystal Empire. It also predicts a war and public turmoil, both of which are applicable to today. And of course, you may notice a reference to a certain Prince.”

“You think this refers to you?!” demanded Radical incredulously.

“How could it not? What else could ‘azure blood’ refer to? Furthermore, I am unmarried and without foals, the first of the line of the House of Blueblood to be in that state. I am indeed ‘alone’. And, through my membership of the Parliamentarian movement, I have brought this prophecy immeasurably closer to being fulfilled.”

“And... and the sun and moon?” asked Radical quietly.

“That is our opening. The references to the sun and moon rising ‘unbidden’ mesh well with The Origin’s prophecy of the sun rising without the magic of Unicorns. Princess Celestia’s magic, in other words. When her ability to raise the sun is lost to her, there will be no reason for Celestia to retain her position of power. We can then move safely to depose her.”

Radical looked quite ill at the prospect. “The sun moving on its own? What will happen then?!”

“I cannot say,” said Blueblood calmly. “Moving from the esoteric to the practical, however, what sort of government do you think will be more likely to deliver the reform you so desire, Radical? One headed by Celestia, or one headed by you and I?”

Radical Road stared at Blueblood in disbelief. The true leader of the Parliamentarians watched as the disbelief in Radical’s eyes turned to wonder. The thing he had constantly agitated for, yet had never really believed he could get, was now dangling in front of him, tantalisingly close. All he had to do was reach out and take it.

After a moment, Radical extended his hoof. “I am with you.”

Blueblood’s smile was genuine as he shook Radical’s hoof. In the back of his mind, he wondered whether he should tell him about the fourth verse of that particular prophecy. But no, it didn’t matter now. It might have put Radical off agreeing to his plans, and in any case, humans were just metaphorical, poetic nonsense.

The sky shall weep with sadness,
The land will surely burn,
For in those days of darkness,
The humans shall return.

Currency of War

Revelry sounded from the battlefield of Maneden that night. The Royal Equestrian Army had spent three days there regrouping and taking stock, and it was to continue the march south tomorrow. Its soldiers had no intention of wasting their last night of relative liberty.

Victory to the ponies of Equestria was as cider to a teenage filly taking her first drink. They had known nothing like it before. They had spent the last three nights celebrating, only to be so exhausted from the day’s work that they’d retired to their tents by ten o’clock. They resolved to make up the lost hours on this, their last night.

“CLEAR THE WAY!” roared Rainbow Dash, standing atop a makeshift platform, her cocked hat askew and a mug of cider thrust into the air.

“CLEAR THE WAY!” chorused two dozen Pegasi of the Royal Cloudsdale Greys, clustered around cookfires in the twilight. One of their squadrons had roared that during the charge, and it had become the regiment’s de facto battle cry.

A foreleg thrown over Rainbow’s shoulders, Applejack raised her own tankard. “TIMBERWOLVES!”

“TIMBERWOLVES!” thundered the light infantry.

Applejack took a swig of cider and took Rainbow’s hoof in her own. “Cornet Rainbow Dash an’ the Pegasi o’ the Royal Cloudsdale Greys have done ta the Princess C’s a great service! Wi’out them, we’d a been stuck out there fir the Changelings! Lang may both our regiments fight t’gither! To the Greys, the Princess C’s, Ponyville, and Cloudsdale!”

Dozens of ponies cheered and drank. Applejack hugged Rainbow closer. “Thanks again, Dashie.”

“We could have been told to hold back and I’d still have been there,” said Rainbow.

Applejack smiled. “Yeah, ah know.”

***

Shining Armor had no time for celebrations. He sat alone at the map table in the staff tent, staring miserably at the documents spread before him. In dry, unemotional black ink on one of the parchment sheets was his despatch. On another was the final casualty list.

Lord Cocoon had tried one last attack on his left. Warding Ember and Neigh’s divisions had hurled it off, and from then, their victory had only been a matter of time. Brigadier General Dame Brightfire’s 10th Heavy Brigade had swept around Maneden and isolated an entire cohort in the lair. From there they and the Life Guards had begun harrying the Changeling line from behind while his infantry advanced behind a massive artillery barrage.

Somehow, Cocoon had managed to pull nearly six legions off the field and into an orderly retreat before the jaws closed. It had been a truly heroic effort on the Changelings’ part, and Shining Armor almost admired it, but that had still left five legions behind to be torn to shreds. Yet a huge number had still managed to escape: the 12th Light Brigade had again failed to charge, and in dribs and drabs, most of the Changelings had managed to flee in disorder to the south.

Eleven thousand Changelings had stood their ground, and eleven thousand Changelings had died. It had been a slaughter unlike anything Shining Armor had seen before. Any pony, griffon or minotaur would have surrendered, but the hive nature of the Changelings and the expectation that they would receive no quarter had kept them in their positions even as shot and shell tore them to pieces.

And that, he thought grimly, was reflected in his own casualties. Nine hundred of his soldiers were dead. A further one thousand eight hundred were wounded, of which ten percent were beyond help and a further twenty so badly injured they would never fight again.

He had made a tour of the medical tents the evening after the battle, and had found the surgeons stripped to their shirts and red with others’ blood. He had seen the worst contradictions between dreams of military glory and the terrible reality there. One Private had lingered long, sobbing repeatedly; “I’m going to die, and Mum and Dad did love me, too!” The surgeon next to him had just shaken his head.

The boards beneath their hooves had been slick with blood and gore. Some of the injured had carried themselves as books and films had taught them soldiers should: a Sergeant had let out little more than a grunt when a surgeon sliced his shattered leg away. But others had just lain and sobbed or screamed as overwrought, tired, outnumbered medics hurried between patients.

What was it Trotto von Bitzmarck, the great statespony of the Equestrian Republic had said? “Anyone who has ever looked into the glazed eyes of a soldier dying on the battlefield will think hard before starting a war.” Shining Armor had seen ponies die before and he did not doubt that he would see more ponies die in the future. He had thought very hard before going before Celestia to advocate a war, but it still seemed that nothing could justify it.

He looked over at his despatch. There, in dry, unemotional language was his report to the ponies of Equestria on the battle. They would never know the full truth of what had happened here, and nor should they.

The tent flap was pushed open and Ration Bag pushed in. “General Target is ready for you, sir.”

Shining sighed. “Thank you, Ration. Let’s see it.”

Awful as every single injury was, the army’s casualties were far from crippling. No, Shining Armor had a far more dangerous problem to deal with.

The two of them trotted quickly through the camp. They did their best to avoid the sounds of drunken revelry. Let his ponies have one last night before they marched, Shining thought. It would do no good for them to know the horrendous situation that had just befallen their artillery.

General Sir Time Target met them outside a screened-off area. It was carefully guarded by a select few soldiers. “Show me,” Shining Armor said impassively.

Target pushed through the canvas. Sitting on a large patch of grass were over one hundred guns on their limbers, and every single one had either a cracked or completely shattered barrel.

“How many?” demanded Shining Armor through gritted teeth.

“We’ve got nearly forty burst barrels, sir,” said Time Target. His voice was thick with sadness. “Every single one of them iron.”

“Iron,” hissed Shining Armor. “The stipulation was bronze! Who ordered iron guns?!”

“I’ve already sent a report back to the War Office, sir, but I remember this before the war. It was unlikely that our industry would be able to forge the requisite number of guns in time, but a bidder came forward saying he could complete the order if he was allowed to forge them from iron.”

“Iron is unpredictable,” snarled Shining Armor. “We can’t yet forge it to withstand the same pressures bronze can, and if it bursts...”

“...it shatters, sir,” completed Target. “Unlike bronze which simply cracks. Nearly every battery that suffered a burst barrel reported nearly forty percent casualties in that gun crew.”

“Spirits above,” whispered Shining Armor. He slammed his hoof against one of the useless iron barrels. “When I find out who did this, I will have them prosecuted for treason. Lieutenant General Bag, get a message back to Canterlot. I want that contractor’s name on my desk within a week.”

“Yes sir, but until then, what options do we have?”

“We have no choice,” said Shining. “We have to remove every single iron gun from service immediately.”

Target sucked in air through his teeth. “We’d lose nearly a hundred guns, sir.”

“I will not have my crews killed by their own guns. Send an urgent request back to Canterlot to begin forging more bronze guns.”

“Already done, sir,” said Target. “But the Changelings still outnumber us. Without our artillery advantage the playing field is levelled in their favour. What if Cocoon manages to reunite his legions with the Changeling army?”

“Cocoon will not return to Froud Valley,” said Shining Armor dangerously. “I’ve deployed the Imperial Crystal Hussars. They’re to contact every Lynx lair still free. The Changelings are in retreat and vulnerable and the Lynxes have been waiting for a moment like this for months. The Hussars will set the Lynx Territories ablaze.”

Death March

Death waited in the dark for Cocoon’s legions. A column dozens of miles long, once regimented and organised but now ragged and dispersed, staggered through the trees of what the Lynxes called the Tailwald Wood. It had rained heavily that day, and the Changelings now slogged, hissing, gasping and buzzing, through mud up to their knee joints. The marching of nearly thirty thousand Changelings had turned the muddy path into a quagmire, and those at the back of the column had the worst of it.

Between the pines of the Tailwald Wood, the Lynxes followed them. A war party of fifty from the lair of Blackfur stalked a group of twenty Changelings. Dragging a cannon behind them, they were slow, exhausted, and had long since been separated from the main part of the column.

His eyes flashing, a Lynx with sable fur turned to face the pony next to him. “A magnificent prize, don’t you agree, Captain Sentry?”

Resplendent in the indigo-faced dolman of the 10th (Imperial Crystal) Hussars, a fur-trimmed, heavily-braided pelisse slung over one shoulder, Captain Flash Sentry regarded the Lynx with distaste. Slashclaw was barely out of cubhood, and had what Sentry regarded as an unhealthy obsession with bloodshed. His ponies had heard whispers from Slashclaw’s Lynxes: as heir to Blackfur, he had apparently made a habit of killing slaves at random to remind everyone of his status.

Sentry didn’t much like this Lynx: when his squadron had arrived in Blackfur five days ago, Slashclaw’s father Brightooth had been preparing to hand over a massive clutch of slaves from other lairs over to the Changelings in exchange for protection. He had given the case for fighting before the entire lair, but Brightooth, terrified by the Changelings’ success and convinced that the Royal Army’s defeat was only a matter of time, had refused to yield. Then Slashclaw had stepped forward and with a single snap of his jaws, torn out his father’s throat. He had then pledged the entire lair to the fight against the Changelings. Sentry had been horrified, but his orders from Shining Armor were clear, and he was duty-bound to accept.

“Nothing to be excited about, chieftain,” said Sentry stiffly. “But if we managed to stop this gun crew, we’ll hold up at least a sixth of the Changeling column.”

“My warriors are in position!” said Slashclaw eagerly. “Give the signal, and I’ll bring you their commander’s helmet!”

Slashclaw disappeared into the trees. Sentry sighed.

“Can you believe that bucker, sir?” asked his Bright Ice, his Squadron Sergeant Major.

“He wants to defend his homeland. He can kill but he doesn’t know war at all,” said Sentry, sadly. Sentry hadn’t known war either until a few days ago. His experience on the field of Maneden was not something he’d wish on any pony or Lynx.

He checked his watch. “Five minutes to H-hour. Get ready.”

***

Buzzing in exhaustion and frustration, the Changeling gun crew slogged through the mud and rain. They knew that there were Lynxes in the wood, but they had long since given up trying to keep a tactical formation. All they cared about now was reaching the safety of the next camp.

Thus they heard nothing until Flash Sentry’s roar of “FIRE!” echoed through the trees.

The short spears of the Hussars thundered, and fifty shots tore into the Changeling column. It was inevitable that most would miss: spears were inaccurate at the best of times and the Hussars’ difficulties were compounded by the dark and the rain, but it was enough. Half the crew fell in an instant, and then fifty screeching, howling, bloodthirsty Lynxes streaked from the trees and slashed the survivors to pieces.

Exhausted, surprised and disorganised, there was no possibility of the Changelings forming an effective defence. A wall of shields would have been almost useless within the trees at any rate. Most could only get a half-hearted jab with their horns at the Lynxes before they were felled. Then Flash Sentry’s cavalry swept in.

Twenty-five Hussars, roaring, their sabres flashing, swept in from each flank. Sentry led the right flanking group personally, slashing his sword left and right against any Changeling that came near him. He felt nothing as he killed.

A handful of Changelings managed to escape off the track into the woods. Either due to starvation or being run down, they would not get far.

After ten minutes, the sounds of clashing metal, spears being fired and the screams of the dying faded, and all that was left was the sound the rain pattering on the ground and mixing with the blood of the fallen.

***

“Fifth Cohort: twenty dead, thirteen missing, eleven to the medics, fighting strength three hundred and sixty. Sixth Cohort: eighteen dead, twelve...”

The Changeling officer paused. His commander sat before him, un-watching.

“Go on,” whispered Lord Cocoon.

Six legions had entered the Tailwald Wood in good order. After three days, they had the strength of three. Four cohorts in good order and close to their full fighting strength had pitched the camp that afternoon as the light began to fade. Over the course of the evening, handfuls of stragglers and shattered units no larger than a century had staggered into the camp, telling of the horrors on the road behind them.

“Orders, sir?” whispered one of his officers, when the casualty report was complete.

Cocoon looked up. Huddled in his tent were a dozen of his most senior surviving officers. Some, bothered by wounds, leaned heavily to one side as they stood. Two had to sit. The rain still drummed on the tent’s awning.

“If we keep following the path west, we will face another ambush,” he said. “We have a potential route to a south through a pass. I want it thoroughly scouted before first light tomorrow. Until we can break out into open country we’re vulnerable.”

“We have some open ground to the north, My Lord,” said one of his officers.

“The Lynxes would never engage us there while we have the advantage of a battle line. They’d keep us pinned there and await Shining Armor’s army. Our best hope is the short route out of the forest to the south.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want what cavalry cohorts we have left to be prepared to leave the camp before first light to scout the south. Now...”

Cocoon was silent for a moment. He fixed his officers with a steely gaze. “Understand this: we are the largest Changeling force left in the Lynx Territories. I don’t doubt that Shining Armor has deployed more squadrons to rouse the unoccupied lairs. We must escape the Tailwald Wood to become a rallying point for the rest of our cohorts in the Lynx Territories before we can pull back to Froud Valley. Impress this upon your troops: tomorrow, speed will be of the essence.”

***

From the tree line, Flash Sentry and Bright Ice watched Cocoon’s camp through binoculars. “What do you think, sir?”

Sentry shivered beneath his greatcoat. “We’re not doing anything tonight. Cocoon’s a smart guy. He’ll have whatever Changelings he has left who can fire blasts up on the palisade. I don’t doubt he’ll have a fosse and stakes or traps up in front of the wall. Keep rotating patrols out, but other than that we’ll do nothing until he moves again. Slashclaw will have to wait for his helmet.”

***

The eastern sky was reddening as the cavalry formed up at the camp gate. One hundred and twenty Changelings were still able to fly. Their instructions were to scout the pass to the south to see if it was clear. If they were contacted, the lead element was to break out to the south and fly at best speed back to the Changeling Kingdom. Chrysalis had to know what had happened here.

Cocoon watched from the wall as the last of his cavalry filed from the gate. That last instruction, he knew, was not encouraging to his infantry who would soon march, but he knew it was realistic. He did not believe at this point that his legions would make it out of the Tailwald Wood. If any of them escaped, they would be a rabble of the plains ready to be chased down by vengeful Lynxes.

He did not know whether his legions could survive another day’s march. The open ground to his north was denied to him: the last group of eight Changelings that had staggered into the camp after midnight had spent four hours slogging across it in the dark and had confirmed that what appeared to be a stretch of moorland was in fact a bog. Swollen by the rains, what had been difficult to cross for eight would be utterly impassable for an army. He had hoped that if he’d had to march west, he could have used it to keep away from the tree line and use as a rallying point, even if he would not make a decisive stand there. Now his only salvation lay south.

***

Flash Sentry’s breath came in clouds before him as he crouched, just inside the trees, in front of his squadron. Cocoon’s cavalry column was now halfway across the clearing, and it would be a few more moments before it was out of range from shooters on the camp’s earthen walls.

The entire regiment was in position in the trees: one thousand Pegasi of the 10th (Imperial Crystal) Hussars. They outnumbered Cocoon’s cavalry nearly ten to one. It was overkill, almost obscenely so, but Colonel Beryl de Topaz didn’t want a single Changeling to escape to the south. She wanted to inflict a defeat before the walls of the Changeling camp that would utterly crush their morale.

It would be a victory they deserved, as well: of all the communities of Equestria, the Crystal Pegasi had arguably sacrificed the most to form a regiment. The birth of a Pegasus was rare among the Crystal Ponies, Unicorns rarer still, but the response of the Crystal Pegasi to the call for a Hussar regiment had been astonishing. Even in the most militarised societies of Mareope, the percentage of the population in the military never exceeded four percent, but an unheard-of twenty percent of all Crystal Pegasi were serving with the colours. Flash Sentry was one of the few immigrant Pegasi in the regiment, and only then because of the need for experienced officers.

Then in the centre of the line, Topaz must have tapped the shoulder of the Pegasus in front of her, because the regiment’s No. 5 Squadron, strung out in skirmish order in front of them, fired their spears. A storm of magical blasts tore from the trees across the clearing into Cocoon’s cavalry column, and then the bugles in the centre ran out with the call that every Pegasi remembered as “Let ‘em go – at ‘em boys – now for a charge!”

Flash Sentry swept his sword from its scabbard and took to the air. “CHARGE!”

***

Lord Cocoon sank to his knees as his cavalry wilted before the fusillade from the trees. What had only seconds before been an organised, proud column was now a panicked, milling mass, and now the ponies charged from the trees.

There were hundreds of them, all clad in sombre green beneath a gold-fringed indigo pennant bearing a winged white snowflake. Their sabres were held high, glinting in the morning sun, and with a thunderous shout they fell upon the Changeling cavalry, burying them like a tidal wave rising from a green sea. Swords rose and fell for a few moments, and then it was over.

A great buzz of fear erupted from the Changelings watching on the wall. Pheromones rank with the sharp scent of terror poured from them, and all eyes, scared and desperate, swung to their commander.

Cocoon stayed on his knees in despair. His legions were lost, and with them the Lynx Territories. There could be no escape now, and Chrysalis would never know what was coming for her. He was responsible for the two greatest defeats in Changeling history. He could never return to the Hive.

“Sir,” whispered one of his officers. He laid a hoof on his shoulder.

Cocoon looked up. The officer was surrounded by a thick cloud of fear, and his eyes begged him for orders, a plan, something, anything to get them out of here. But Cocoon had nothing left to give.

“I’m sorry I brought it to this,” he whispered. Then his horn glowed gold, and the officer leapt back in horror as his throat slashed open.

In a spray of green ichor, Lord Cocoon fell dead from the wall.

The Panicked Hive

“Eleven legions?!”

The drone did not dare meet Chrysalis’ eyes. “Yes, My Queen. We lost five at Maneden. The rest were slaughtered in the Tailwald Wood. Nothing stands between Shining Armor and the Changeling Kingdom.”

“Where is Lord Cocoon?!” demanded Queen Chrysalis. Behind her, the five surviving Lords of the Hives stood in horrified anticipation.

“Dead,” whispered the drone. “When he saw all was lost, he took his own life.”

Chrysalis turned from the drone and paced slowly around the room in the ruined palace. All eyes followed her. A cloud of pheromones laced with bewilderment and horror surrounded her.

“Eleven legions...” she whispered again. “How?”

“Lord Cocoon knew we couldn’t escape a pony pursuit if we followed the Great Trunk Road, so he took us west into the Tailwald Wood. He thought that the trees would give us cover and slow their Pegasi vanguard.”

“Go on.”

“We were on a forest track. It was too narrow and the trees were too thick to put out flank guards or a vanguard. Our artillery and our captives slowed us down, and the rain made things worse. At the front of the column we were constantly felling trees. It all gave the tribes time to muster.”

“The tribes?!” gasped Chrysalis. Fresh clouds of pheromones that reeked fear surrounded her and the Lords.

“Yes, My Queen. We didn’t take into account what sort of effect the Equestrian victory would have on them. Armor wasn’t pursuing us at all. He’d sent his cavalry out to every independent Lynx lair still in the area and rallied them against us. By the end of the battle they must have assembled nearly ten thousand to attack our column. Cocoon killed himself on the fourth day. We made one last advance to the west, but we had a bog to our north and the tree line was close to the track. The Lynxes kept striking out from there, and the ponies were firing their spears in support. By the afternoon they’d thrown a barricade across the track. We made one attempt to storm it but our axes just bounced off the palisade. While we were stuck there they took us in the flank and rear.”

“How did you get out?” demanded Chrysalis.

“One officer kept his head. He rallied together a dozen of us and we fled into the bog. We stayed there until nightfall and then we struck south as fast as we could. We were marching for three days. I was the fastest, so when we got to the Recinante Cliffs he sent me ahead to warn you.”

The drone shook suddenly and his detachment broke. Unbidden, a thick cloud of sadness surrounded him. “They’ve all been massacred. I lost friends I’d known since I was a nymph...”

Chrysalis waved a hoof dismissively and swept towards her Lords. Her gnarled horn glowed and the map of Southern Equestria descended from its roll on the wall. There marked in blue was the long wedge of Lynx territory the Changelings had captured, two weeks ago bold and imposing, but now hideously vulnerable. “How many legions do we have left in the Lynx Territories?”

“Four, My Queen,” whispered Lord Pupa. “The Thirteenth and Fourteenth besieging Afleasia, the Twelfth patrolling the Great Trunk Road, and the Fifteenth acting as a mobile reserve.”

“And Shining Armor is bringing fifty thousand ponies against us,” hissed Chrysalis. “And potentially forty thousand Lynxes from unconquered territory!”

She returned to pacing around the room, wings buzzing. Her Lords stayed silent. After a moment she spoke again.

“Break off the Siege of Afleasia,” she ordered sharply. “Pull all our legions in the Lynx Territories back to the Recinante Cliffs. Captives are desirable but if it slows them down they are to be abandoned. I will not have another twenty thousand Changelings cut off from home.”

“They will have to move now, My Queen,” said the drone. “We ran across a Lynx war band at least ten thousand strong less than five miles from Afleasia as we moved south.”

Chrysalis’ eyes narrowed. “How did you escape?”

The drone was suddenly surrounded by a cloud of pheromones showing consternation. “I... that is, we...”

“You broke my orders not to take the form of others, didn’t you?” said Chrysalis dangerously.

The drone did not dare meet her eyes. “Yes, My Queen, but if we had not, we would have never made it back to the Kingdom. We took the forms of Lynxes and joined the back of the column. We broke away after a mile.”

Chrysalis bared her teeth. “I have one last thing to ask of you. How did Cocoon fight at Maneden? How did he match Armor’s spear fire?”

“He ordered us to increase the strength of our individual magical blasts from our horns to match the range of the Equestrian spears. It halved our rate of fire compared to what we used against the Lynxes, and the rate for an individual pony must have been twice ours, but I know he was looking into ways to increase it as we retreated.”

“Lord Pupa, do you believe you can replicate and improve these tactics?”

“I think I know what Cocoon was doing, My Queen,” said Pupa.

“Good. I want the entire army trained in them. We will catch Armor as he descends the Recinante Cliffs. As for you...” she turned back to the drone. “You disobeyed my orders not to take different forms, and as a result you may have seriously drained our store of love.”

“Yes, My Queen,” stammered the drone, “But if we had not...”

“Regardless of the circumstances, I cannot allow any other drone to believe that there is any occasion where they might disobey my orders out of concern for their personal safety. Thank you for your information, but an example must be made.”

Chrysalis’ horn glowed again. The drone’s eyes had a moment to widen in horror as he realised what was about to happen, then in a spray of ichor, he fell dead to the floor, his throat opened.

Behind Chrysalis, pandemonium erupted. Her Lords were bolting in horror to the door. Her horn glowed again and the pitted, peeling double doors slammed shut in front of them. Terrified, they turned to face her.

“My Queen...” whispered Pupa.

“You now realise the desperation of our situation,” said Chrysalis grimly. “No Changeling has ever killed another. I want the rest of this drone’s unit brought to me so I can see to them for their transgression. Lord Pupa, I want the army ready to deploy to the base of the Recinante Cliffs in a week. At all costs, Shining Armor must be stopped.”

Home Fires

The sun was sinking in the sky over Ponyville when Berry Punch staggered back into her farmhouse. She’d been up since sunrise inspecting the farm’s grape vines, and it looked like, thanks to her and her husband’s hard labour over the past year, they would have a bumper harvest.

And that, she thought, as she sank down on to her haunches at the kitchen table, was exactly the problem. She didn’t need to get the abacus and pen and parchment out to realise that nearly half the harvest would have to be left to rot. With Cherry Fizzy away with the Army down south, there was no possibility of her getting in the entire harvest on her own.

Berry put her head in her hooves and wondered what she could do about it. It was far too late in the year to put out internship offers to the agricultural departments of Equestria’s universities. She hadn’t the money to hire help, and none of the other farms would be able to spare time to help her. If half the harvest failed, she would have to cut back on everything: food; clothes; bills; the occasional toy for Berry Pinch; it would all begin to bite.

The best she could hope for was a quick end to the war. Her eyes flicked to the newspaper lying on the kitchen table. A week ago the Manehattan Telegraph had been waxing lyrical about the victory at Maneden, which had given her hope that Cherry Fizzy would soon be home. Then yesterday it had told her that the remains of the Changeling army had been completely destroyed at somewhere called Tailwald Wood. Her spirits had risen even higher then, and she’d dashed off a letter to Cherry saying how proud she was of him and how soon she expected his return. Then this morning today’s copy had arrived: the Royal Equestrian Army was on the march again, not back home, but further south in pursuit of the Changelings.

Her spirits had sunk at the sight of that, and even now she felt tears welling in her eyes at the sight of that headline. She slammed her hooves down on the table. Damn the war! Damn the Lynxes! What in Tartarus’ name was her husband doing down south fighting for those barbarians?! Damn Chrysalis, damn Celestia and damn Shining Armor for starting it all! Why couldn’t they just live in peace?!

She took a deep, steadying breath and crossed to the dresser. She opened the top draw and pulled out a bottle of cider. Breathing heavily, she set it down and stared at the bottle. She and Cherry had put this here eight years ago, the week before they’d got married. Since then it had often been taken out, but never opened. It was her way of proving to herself that she remained in control.

“Mummy?”

Berry hastily turned to face the kitchen door. Her daughter, saddlebags bulging with schoolbooks, stood there, her head cocked and looking at her oddly.

“Pinchy!” Berry quickly returned the bottle to the drawer. “How was Auntie Colgate’s?”

“She was fine. She asked how Daddy is. I said that you think he’ll be coming home soon!”

Berry sighed and knelt down in front of Berry Pinch. “Pinchy, I’m sorry, but it doesn’t look like that Daddy will be coming home as soon as we thought.”

Her daughter’s eyes widened and her lip began to quiver. “But you said he would!”

“I know, but I can’t decide when he comes back, remember? But while he’s away, it’s important that we support him, so what do you say we go down to the market tomorrow and get together some things to send him a nice big food parcel?”

Pinchy’s face broke into a smile. “I’d love that!”

Berry smiled and hugged her. “I love you, Pinchy.”

“I know, Mummy.”

Berry held her daughter closer. But will she remember that if it all falls apart?

***

The sun was rising over Canterlot when Fancypants sat down for breakfast. As always, his butler had laid an ironed copy of that morning’s Canterlot Financial Inquirer on the dining room table next to his porridge. Fancypants yawned and adjusted his dressing gown as he sat down and opened the paper. He sipped his coffee as he read, his frown deepening.

“Fancy, it’s a Saturday,” complained a tired voice from the bedroom door.

Fancypants looked around to see his wife Fleur, her usually-immaculate mane mussed from the night before, standing in the doorway. Though they’d tried before they had no foals, and they both hoped for one last chance.

“I know, darling,” he said softly. “But much as I’d like it to, the business world doesn’t do long lies. And things are even more volatile than usual with this blasted war on.”

He took the paper in his magic and floated it over to Fleur. “Take this, for example.”

Fleur took the paper. “LABOUR SHORTAGE THREATENS POOR HARVEST,” she read. “Because of the war?”

“Exactly. So many stallions who’d normally be on the family farms are away with the Army that most are saying they won’t be able to get all the harvest in. We’ve got food price hikes and failed farms coming. A bad business all round.”

Fleur sat down next to him and picked up her tea. “What’s to be done about it?”

Fancypants tapped a hoof against his chin thoughtfully. He looked out of the penthouse window over Canterlot’s spires, shining in the morning sun. “Let’s arrange lunch with the Riches. They’re big in farms. I’ll bet my mane we can bring them to arranging a solution!”

***

Not for nothing was Trottingham called the Second City of Equestria. Manehattan had the culture and Canterlot had the class, but Trottingham had the wealth: sitting on the River Rein controlling Canterlot’s access to the eastern ports of Fillydelphia and Baltimare, it was the greatest road and rail hub in Equestria, with a population and per capita income to match. Its skyscrapers were second only to Manehattan’s; its skies thronged with airships; and its boulevards were choked with carriages and ponies rushing forth between expensive shops and eateries.

In a city of such buzzing activity, virtually anything could be gained with the right bits in the right hooves.

“He paid cash.”

“Cash?!” demanded Octavia Melody sceptically. “It didn’t strike you as suspicious that this stallion had a bag of bits large enough to rent out a warehouse just in his saddlebags?!”

The security guard shrugged.

Octavia sighed. It had been a slow few weeks for her and Vinyl, and she’d hoped that she’d at last have the time to start advertising as entertainment for Canterlot’s highest-society parties, but yesterday morning the letter had come through the door of their apartment signed by Amber Spyglass himself: they were being contracted to investigate the owner of a warehouse on the outskirts of Trottingham who had supplied faulty weapons to the Royal Equestrian Army. A name and address was all that was needed, and two thousand bits would be theirs. It was proving harder than Octavia had imagined.

“You not find what you looking for?” asked the guard.

“Warehouse 224 is shut up,” said Octavia icily. “It looks to have been that way for months. All I need to know is who rented it last.”

The guard’s eyes flicked between the two of them. “You two cops or something? You don’t look like cops.”

Octavia looked to her left to see Vinyl, eyes invisible behind purple shades, her head nodding slowly, with a pair of enormous headphones over her head. Octavia hissed in irritation and cuffed her with a hoof, knocking the headphones off. “OW! What the hay, Tavi?!”

“Concentrate, Vinyl! This is serious!” She looked back at the guard. “Sorry, no. We’re not with the police.”

“I don’t have to tell you nothing, then,” said the guard decisively. “My boss takes confidentiality seriously here.”

Octavia’s eyes flicked to the guard’s name badge. “Mr Charger, this could be a matter of life and death,” she said angrily.

“Come back with the cops, then, but I ain’t allowed to say nothing till I sees a warrant.”

Octavia realised she was trying to buck her way through a brick wall. “Thank you for your time.”

“Still don’t see why you didn’t mention why we’re looking into it,” said Vinyl Scratch, as they trotted back to the taxi waiting at the storage lot’s gate.

“You know our instructions,” said Octavia huffily. “Confidentiality is paramount. The effect on Celestia’s government doesn’t bear thinking about if it were to get out to the press that the army’s been given faulty equipment.”

“So what now?” asked Vinyl. “We’ve got a shut warehouse that apparently used to be an armoury, and no name, which probably means no fee.”

Octavia clambered into the yellow and black Trottingham taxi. “I know what your solution is.”

Vinyl bounced in after her. “Forget about, hit the clubs and worry later!”

Rough Charger watched the taxi pull off back towards the shining spires of Trottingham through the glass of the security booth. He gulped, thinking of the bag of fifteen thousand bits hidden under the bed in his apartment: the stallion that had rented Warehouse 224 all those months ago had known about his money troubles, and had given it to him ensure both his silence and to fudge the paperwork so nothing could come back to him.

He had also asked him to warn him immediately should anyone come asking. Rough hastily pulled a piece of paper from the tray on his desk and quickly began to write.

***

Del Trotso was indisputably the highest of Canterlot’s many high-class restaurants. Not a single chef in the kitchen was ranked below three Bitelin Stars. Expensive wood panelling covered the walls, and light streaming in through the high windows bathed mahogany tables draped with sheer white linen and sent the silver cutlery laid there with spirit level-precision aglitter. Crystal chandiliers scattered that light further on to the paintings that lined the walls.

All this luxury was reflected in Del Trotso’s absurdly steep prices: several middle class families would have to club together to afford the soup of the day, much less the more expensive starters. And it was because of this that ponies of Fancypants’ calibre could simply not afford to not be seen there.

“Failing farms, eh?” asked Filthy Rich, taking a sip of wine. “I’ve heard about it. Not good news.”

“Indeed,” said Fancypants. He stole a glance at Fleur, who was gossiping incessantly with Regina Rich. “Food price inflation, unemployment, maybe even recession and public unrest. A bad business.”

“And you think the solution is for the two of us to invest to solve the problem?”

“Why not? You’re in the farm business, and a recession suits neither of us. And we wouldn’t be alone: once a stallion of my reputation is seeing being charitable, half of Canterlot will follow suit!”

Filthy Rich chuckled. “Good point. Let me see, if we were to invite farmers to apply for a cash handout so they could employ labour, in return for a modest cut of the profits after the harvest... I’ll have to talk to my finance people first, but I think it could work!”

“Splendid!” said Fancypants. They rejoined their wives and spoke no more of business. They stayed there for another two hours before Fancypants and Filthy Rich arranged to split the bill.

“I think I’ve got Filthy Rich on side,” said Fancypants on the road outside, waving goodbye as the Riches climbed into their carriage. “What about you and Regina?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” said Fleur. “He’ll go for it!”

***

Blueblood slowly lowered his copy of the Canterlot Financial Inquirer. The economic forecasters were predicting a mass failure of small private farms owing to the war. Now this was something he hadn’t anticipated, but certainly something he could exploit...

What to do? What to do? He and Radical could raise the issue in the House of Commons, but by the time they did that, doubtless Filthy Rich would have revealed the details of his new investment venture – he had heard through his business contacts that yesterday afternoon Rich had ordered his financial staff to look into some sort of new investment programme for failing farms. To try to gain political capital from a problem that was already being solved would make them look desperate. But if he could find some way to disrupt the plan...

Radical asked for a crash. Might this be it?

“Rough Charger has been in contact with me, sir.”

Blueblood looked up from the paper. His butler Cordwainer, utterly unremarkable in his dark suit, stood before his desk. “And?”

“Two ponies have been asking after the warehouse we rented earlier this year.”

“Ah,” said Blueblood slowly.

When the Emergency Budget to fund the Army had been passed, the Royal Guard had had all the designs for new cannon, but no arsenals to produce them. To that end, they had made the designs available to any company that had the right number of forges to cast guns. One of those companies was a front for Blueblood. It had been a simple matter for him to set them to work casting deficient iron guns and store them in Warehouse 224 in Trottingham. The War Office’s representatives – received by a disguised Cordwainer – had been wary about the iron construction, but they had passed proofing and, desperate for the right number of guns, they had put them into service. Of course, all Blueblood had needed was for them to pass proofing. The profits came back to him anyway, as well as the bonus of political capital from the government ordering deficient equipment.

And if the warehouse lot in Trottingham was being investigated, that meant his artillery scheme had come to fruition.

“I need your brother back from the south,” Blueblood said suddenly. “Tell him to send the necessary letters about the guns to you, and then get himself back home.”

“Sir,” said Cordwainer. “With respect, Twist Turn can’t just leave the Army.”

“Yes, he can,” said Blueblood sharply. “You know how. He knows how. Tell him I’ll add ten thousand to his fee, but I need him back here.”

“Yes, sir,” said Cordwainer stiffly. “And Charger?”

Blueblood was silent for a moment. Any investigation would probably lead to Rough Charger’s arrest, but he doubted it would get beyond that. But Charger had seen Cordwainer’s face, even if he did not know his name. That same face had been seen by the War Office representatives who had arrived to collect the guns.

And that same face had been in the Members’ Lobby in Parliament speaking to Snowy Grape the day before she had died.

Cordwainer’s face wasn’t particularly memorable, but if from Rough Charger the police were able to put a photofit together, a connection could be made that could lead back to him, and Blueblood couldn’t afford that.

“Kill him,” Blueblood said calmly.

To Know Thine Enemy

Flying in a V-of-Vs formation, three squadrons of Pegasi from the 1st Life Guards Regiment raced over the Lynx Territories. In their centre flew a small airship bearing the Coat of Arms of Equestria, but instead of the white-and-gold livery of Celestia or the dark blue and cyan of Luna, this one was painted purple and violet.

The Pegasi formation split into individual squadrons and peeled away as the airship slowly touched down on the grass, its door aligned perfectly with the red carpet leading towards the entrance to the Royal Army’s camp. The platoon of Royal Guards that flanked the carpet wheeled inwards.

“PARADE! GENERAL SALUTE!” barked the Guard commander. “PRESENT ARMS!”

Spear butts were driven into the ground and the points forced forward. Standing at the end of the red carpet, Shining Armor snapped to attention, brought his hoof up in salute and marched through the Guard to the door of the airship. The door swung open and out stepped, in full regalia, Princess Twilight Sparkle.

“Your Highness,” said Shining Armor formally, barely concealing a grin. He took her hoof and kissed it.

Twilight barely suppressed a giggle. “General Armor.”

“Welcome to the recently-liberated Lynx Territories. Let’s not keep these Guards waiting for too long.” He leaned forward and whispered. “You won’t believe how uncomfortable that position is.”

Twilight descended from the airship, followed by a small party of escorts. Shining recognised the Minister of War Rear Echelon, Spike, a handful of civil servants, and – his lip suddenly curled – Amber Spyglass, the Chief of Intelligence.

Shining would still despise Spyglass even if he did not know what he truly was. The profession of spycraft was an inherently ignoble one. He appreciated the value of intelligence in war as much as any soldier, but at least the ultimate injuries he inflicted on his enemies were done on the open field, not in dark corners with daggers or poisons.

With Ration Bag and Blackfire behind him, he escorted Twilight down the red carpet towards the Royal Army’s immaculately-assembled camp. As always, the supply wagons formed a defensive wall with a palisade of stakes thrown out in front to deter a cavalry attack. Pre-sighted artillery positions were dug outside the perimeter while every regiment had a pre-arranged fire position within the wall should the camp be attacked.

“Holy Guacamole, what’s that?” blurted Spike.

Shining grimaced. More likely to catch the eye than his own immaculate camp was the disorganised hodgepodge of tents, rubbish and unprotected cookfires to the north, jumbled beneath a pall of smoke. Unlike his own camp, that would resist a determined attack with the same resilience as a piece of parchment.

“Our camp followers,” he said grimly. “I’ll explain in the staff tent.”

The wind changed as they passed through the camp gate, and a wave of stench suddenly swept over them. Shining cursed mentally and made a note to find out which unit had decided to burn the contents of its latrines during the Royal Visit.

They passed through the palisade and trotted down the main path of the camp to the staff tent, sitting directly in the middle. A Guard with his spear presented in salute lined the path every few yards. Beyond that, Shining Armor had ordered the army to continue routine as normal. Shining kept his hoof raised in salute as Twilight smiled and waved, before finally passing through the canvas flaps of the staff tent.

The first thing that struck Twilight was the organisation. In all her years as a student and the librarian of Golden Oaks, she had rarely seen a workplace as organised as this. Rack upon rack of neatly-rolled scrolls and maps were carefully stacked around the walls. Trestle tables were positioned so that the commander, from his position in the centre, could look over the work of all the staff ponies around him. In the middle of the tent was the map table, dominated by a huge map of Froud Valley and the Changeling deployments therein.

A different pony (Rarity, Twilight thought at that moment) would have first noticed the staff themselves. Uniforms worn and faded by months in the field had been specially laundered and buffed for the visit. The Generals of the army’s divisions were there along with the staff, and a small galaxy of stars filled the tent, along with enough gold braid to decorate a New Horseleans carnival float.

Yet what struck Twilight most were the three figures standing over the map table. She had only ever seen them in the illustrations in her books before. Beneath their fur – black, gold, and striped – rippled sinewy muscles and they regarded her with golden eyes, the pupils slitted like cats’. So these are Lynxes.

“Your Highness,” said Shining Armor. “Allow me to introduce Chieftain Slashclaw of the Blackfur Lair, Chieftain Bright Streak of Strikefang Lair, and Chieftain Strong Blow of the hill fort of Afleasia.”

Twilight and Amber Spyglass exchanged quick glances. They had rehearsed this moment carefully. There was bad blood between all three of them, Spyglass had said. The war between Blackfur and Strikefang was less than a year concluded, and both lairs considered Strong Blow to be the effeminate leader to Lynxes gone soft from city life.

“Chieftain Slashclaw,” she said formally. “We have heard much of your heroism at Tailwald Wood, and of your resistance at the Siege of Afleasia, Chieftain Strong Blow, and of your relief of the siege, Chieftain Bright Streak.”

Yeah, while I had fifty thousand ponies standing behind him, thought Shining Armor. It would do his heart good to throw these barbarians against the Changelings and then have his army clean up whatever was left. The Lynxes knew nothing of peace, harmony or tolerance. They respected only force.

Yet Shining Armor had the biggest force in the Lynx Territories, so whatever their differences, the Lynxes respected him above all else, and he could use that.

“We are at Prince Shining Armor’s service, My Princess,” Slashclaw was saying unctuously. “It will be our pleasure to destroy the Changelings and their tyrant queen!”

Twilight saw the other two Lynxes throw scowls at him. “I’m, uh, sure you will, Chieftain. General Armor, shall we begin?”

“Yes, Your Highness. Chief Spyglass, I understand you have some information for us?”

“Always a pleasure to be of service, General,” said Amber Spyglass, his voice syrupy. His horn glowed light yellow and a cloud of red unit markers rose from one of the boxes on the map table. They shot across the tent, barely missing a shocked Colonel Clear Dunes, before settling on to the table.

“I have acquired information on Changeling troop movements,” he said, smiling.

“Our hussars have been making flights over Froud Valley for the past week and found nothing,” said Colonel Crystal Thought. “The Changeling positions are too well camouflaged.”

“Then my sources would seem to have more, ah, efficacious methods,” said Amber Spyglass, still smiling.

“Get to the point, Amber,” growled Twilight.

“As you wish, Your Highness. As you know already, the Changelings have one legion positioned at the base of the Recinante Cliffs, covering the Great Trunk Road. They also have fifty thousand deployed in various states of readiness along the Kelpie Creek, being retrained in improved variants of the tactics the late Lord Cocoon employed at Maneden. There are also twenty thousand Changelings along the Bitissippi River guarding some three thousand captives taken from the Lynx Territories. These troops have not been retrained and are still making use of melee tactics.”

“These Changelings along the Bitissippi,” demanded Bright Streak. “Are they the same that we just forced from our territories?”

“All evidence points to that, chieftain.”

“These Changelings must be ours to destroy!” barked Slashclaw before either of the other two Chieftains could speak. “General Armor, it is intolerable that these invaders still hold Lynxes captive! Let the lairs fight there!”

A heavy silence descended over the tent. Twilight watched her brother. If he endorsed Slashclaw’s demand, it would appear that he had put the young Lynx into a leadership position over the other two, which in a society like the Lynxes’ would inevitably lead to struggle.

“Strategically it makes the best sense,” said Shining Armor, his tone measured. “We prevent four legions from being trained in the new tactics, and if the Equestrian Army marches down the Kelpie Creek, there’s the possibility of either enemy force being encircled once the other is defeated.”

“But this still leaves us with our problem, sir,” said Crystal Thought. “How do we break into the Changeling Kingdom?”

“Yes...” said Shining Armor grimly. “If you’ll look at the map, Your Highness?”

Twilight looked down at the map table and spotted the problem immediately. Dividing the Lynx Territories from the Changeling Kingdom in Froud Valley were the Recinante Cliffs, a sheer drop one hundred and seventy feet high with only once point of descent: the Great Trunk Road descended the cliffs on a switchback path a mile south of the army’s camp, but less than half a mile from the base of the cliffs, covering the road, was a Changeling camp.

“The Twentieth Legion,” said Crystal Thought. “Our reconnaissance flights spotted them drilling in linear tactics, and they have at least five cannon trained on the Great Trunk Road.”

“Which means if we try to descend the cliffs they’ll blast the road to rubble and take the army with it,” growled Shining Armor.

“Could you not send the cavalry down either side of the cliffs and encircle them?” asked Rear Echelon.

“Alone the cavalry lack the firepower to take a fortified position like that camp,” said Colonel Warning Order. “And if they try to attack from above, they’ll be flying down a corridor that exposes them to fire from every single Changeling on the ground below.”

“Isn't there another way down?” asked Spike. “What about Hatchaway Falls?”

“Too far a march,” said Shining Armor. “Every day we spend outside the Changeling Kingdom is another day for them to train more legions.”

“So we’re stuck then?” asked Twilight, disbelieving.

“Not quite. Our best bet is a descent of the cliffs by night, but owing to how short the hours of darkness are, we could get maybe five thousand ponies and six guns at best down the cliffs without being spotted.”

“We’d have numerical parity,” said Warning Order. “But...”

“If they’re defeated, they’ll be pinned against the cliffs with no support and nowhere to run,” completed Twilight.

“So you understand, Your Highness, we run the risk of suffering our greatest defeat since the beginning of this war,” said Warning Order.

Twilight took a deep breath. “Do you need my permission to proceed?”

“No, Your Highness,” said Shining Armor.

Thank the Spirits. “Then carry on at your discretion, General Armor.”

She stepped away from the map table. “But perhaps now we can turn to a happier matter. War Minister Echelon, if you will?”

Rear Echelon stepped forwards, nosed open his saddlebag, and retrieved from inside a polished mahogany case. Twilight took the case in her magic and floated it before Shining Armor.

His jaw dropped as it opened and gasps went around the tent. Inside resting on a bed of green baize cloth were a baton wrapped in red velvet, decorated with golden suns, and two shoulder marks – crossed batons wreathed in gold oak leaves.

“In recognition of his victories over the Changelings at Valneigh and Maneden,” said Twilight, smiling. “It is Princess Celestia’s pleasure to promote Prince Shining Armor to the rank of Field Marshal, with all the privileges and responsibilities that come with it.”

A wave of applause swept round the tent as Shining Armor stood awkwardly while Twilight and Rear Echelon pinned the insignia to his epaulettes. “Congratulations, BBBFF,” she whispered.

“Thank you, everypony,” said Shining Armor as the applause faded. “We’ll reconvene over dinner after Her Highness has completed the camp tour. Before that, I’d like a moment alone with my sister.”

The staff obligingly filed out until only Twilight, Spike and Shining Armor remained. The two Unicorns grinned and crossed horns. “It’s wonderful to see you, Twily!” Shining looked down and bumped his hoof against Spike’s claw. “Good to see you, Spike.”

“You too, Prince-General-Field-Marshal-Guy.” Spike blew flames that resolved into a scroll bound with a silver seal bearing the Imperial Snowflake. “Cadance sends her love.”

Shining Armor took the scroll. “So do I have my wife or my sister to thank for the promotion?”

“Oh no, that was all Princess Luna’s idea,” said Twilight happily. “I insisted on coming down here to give it to you though.”

“Yeah, about that,” Shining Armor muttered.

Twilight’s smile faded. “What is it?”

“I... I don’t deserve a Marshal’s baton, Twily. You know as well as I do that we won those battles by accident.”

“That’s hardly true!”

“Yeah? I let an entire legion escape at Valneigh and it nearly cost us the whole campaign! Maneden was nearly a disaster and we basically won it by luck!”

“All the reports I’ve read make it clear that the division commanders were at fault. And what about Tailwald? You destroyed six legions!”

“I’m the Commander-in-Chief,” growled Shining Armor. “If my subordinates don’t know my intent then it’s my fault. The Lynxes won Tailwald. Them and the Crystal Hussars. We wouldn’t even have Slashclaw with us right now if it weren’t for Flash Sentry.”

Twilight’s face went red. “Flash Sentry’s here?”

“The Imperial Crystal Hussars are on cavalry picket at the top of the cliffs,” said Shining Armor decisively. “I’m afraid they will have to miss the royal visit.”

“Oh, right...” Twilight said sadly. Then she straightened up. “Well, are you really going to tell me that your ponies won those battles by accident?”

“I...”

“Even if it didn’t all go according to plan, the Army still won those battles. Your Army. The army you trained and have held together ever since it stepped off from Canterlot! We haven’t experienced a war in a thousand years, and yet you’ve managed to hold a whole army together through three battles hundreds of miles from home! That’s far more important than every single battle going perfectly!”

“I still made mistakes,” said Shining Armor glumly.

“Have you learned from them, though?” asked Spike.

“Well... yes, I suppose so.”

“Then that’s all that matters!” said the baby dragon happily, and he crossed his arms decisively. “I know because I have to tell Twilight that all the time!”

“Yeah, thanks Spike,” muttered Twilight. Her face suddenly hardened. “Now, tell me. What strategy do you plan to pursue when you break into the Changeling Kingdom?”

“We discussed this in the meeting,” Shining Armor said stiffly. “The Army and the Lynxes will advance in parallel columns to push back the Changelings on both fronts and keep them from reinforcing each other.”

“And then? How do you plan to bring them to battle? Are you just going to keep going until they’re pinned against the sea? What then?”

Shining Armor didn’t answer.

“Shining,” Twilight said quietly. “The Princesses need to know. Amber told me months ago what strategy we’d have to carry out when it came to it, so tell me, what will you do?”

Shining Armor didn’t look at her. “I’m going to target what sustains Chrysalis and the Changeling Hives: their captives and... and...”

“Their hatcheries,” completed Spike grimly.

“Yes,” growled Shining Armor. “Do you know how Azure Blueblood described it a thousand years ago, when he was unifying Equestria in the Princesses’ name?”

“‘In the moment when I truly understand my enemy, understand him well enough to defeat him, then in that very moment I also love him’,” quoted Twilight.

“Yeah. If nothing else, Chrysalis will protect the safety of her Hive at all costs. When the very survival of the entire Hive is threatened, Chrysalis will have no choice to commit to battle. I can’t fault her for that. I admire it. And you know what? I hate her even more for it. Not just for what she did to me and Cadance, but what she’s still doing to me. I’m going to destroy her, Twilight, and make it impossible for her to ever hurt me again. I’ll grind them and grind them until they’re just ink on the page of a history book.”

Twilight took a step backwards and exchanged glances with Spike. “The Princesses won’t agree to that. I doubt the Army will either.”

“No, they won’t, which is why after I’ve broken Chrysalis’ army, I’ll cut the Lynxes loose.” Shining Armor stepped forward, fire in his eyes. “I’ll not tell Slashclaw and the other chiefs to do it, but we both know they will. And I won’t order them to stop, either.”

“Is there nothing I can say to stop you?”

“No. If nothing else, it fits the strategic logic.”

“Then I shall inspect the camp now, Field Marshal,” said Twilight coldly.

The Battle of the Recinante Cliffs

Colonel Morning Star crouched at the very edge of the Recinante Cliffs. Before him, the path of the Great Trunk Road, barely wide enough for two carts to pass, zigzagged down the cliffs into Froud Valley below. To his right the sun was sinking behind the distant Forest of Leota. He checked his watch. Five minutes to go before last light and step-off.

He took a deep breath and turned. Behind him, in a column of half-companies, were the nine hundred and seventy eight ponies left in his battalion. Their shakos were battered from field wear and their red and blue coats were faded from so long under the southern sun. There was now not a single regiment in the Army that had not taken casualties, not since Maneden. These ponies had seen friends die. They had marched hundreds of miles from home, and now they were to be the vanguard of an incredibly perilous operation.

Morning Star knew there were ponies before him who did not want to fight.

He took another breath. Everything now rested on him. If the Royal Fillydelphias wouldn’t go, the whole of 4th Brigade wouldn’t go. Tall, broad and dark, he had the look of a leader. He’d led them well enough from Canterlot to here. He was dimly aware that the fate of the entire campaign might rest on what he said now.

“Soldiers!” he declared. “Tonight we will embark on one of the most important operations of this war! You know why we are here. Without this road, we will never be able to advance into the Changeling Kingdom. The fate of the war hinges upon what we do tonight!”

He cast his eyes over his battalion. “I know there are those of you who wonder why we are here, why we do not go home now that the Lynxes are free. Remember this: the Changelings attacked our country without provocation. They attacked the Lynxes without provocation. And in the Valley below us, there was once a thriving civilisation that they destroyed! Given time, they will surely come back to attack again, and I will not allow that to happen. Nor will I allow the Changelings to escape justice for what they have done!

“Our army has three victories behind it! In Equestria, when they speak of Valneigh, they speak of the Royal Artillery! When they speak of Maneden, they speak of the 2nd Division! When they speak of Tailwald Wood, they speak of the Imperial Crystal Hussars!

“When they speak of the Recinante Cliffs, they will speak of the Royal Fillydelphias!”

His battalion was stirring now. Excitement showed on their faces.

“If you would see our country safe, if you would see justice done, if you would see glory, forever undimmed, added to our colours, then...” He drew his sword. “Follow me.”

***

The path down the cliffs was, as Morning Star had feared, in a state. It had not been properly maintained since the Changeling conquest of the Felinia over a year ago, and the march up of the Changeling army, followed by its panicked retreat back down, had done nothing to improve it. He was constantly sliding his hoof in front of him, hunting in the darkness for potholes that could turn a fetlock.

Behind him filed his battalion, marching silently in route step. Any sound set the nerves jangling. Every so often there was a splash and a hiss or a curse as a hoof slid into a deep puddle in the middle of the road. The metalled surface was better than the packed mud of the roads of the Lynx territories, but it was still nothing compared to the magically-fused stone surfaces of Equestrian roads.

Breath roaring in his ears and coming in clouds before him, Morning Star reached the bottom of another stage of descent. He knew the path wasn’t that steep, but the darkness and the risk of discovery or injury made him think that every step would be his last. Heart pounding, he allowed himself a brief moment of rest on the landing. One more stretch to go, he thought. He took a deep breath and moved on.

That moment he took to relax cost him. He had let his guard down and his back right leg slid on the edge of the road. He staggered and his heart shot into his mouth, barely dragging himself back on to the road. A stream of dislodged pebbles clattered down the cliff, and from below came the sound of buzzing.

Morning Star spun to see the horrified faces of the front rank of his Light Company. There’s a Changeling picket below us!

The buzzing became more intense – agitated, decisive. Morning Star knew he had to act now.

“1st Platoon, with me!” he hissed. “I want any Pegasus in the rest of the Light Company to drop down behind those Changelings!”

There was an explosion of whispering throughout the formation as the order was spread. Morning Star hoped that it had reached everypony, because he didn’t have any time to wait.

“Ready? Three, two, one, GO!”

Star swept around, sword in hoof and galloped down the path, hoping that his ponies were following him. Any trip or stumble would mean disaster. He swept around the turn of the road and saw a mass of ice blue compound eyes staring right at him.

For Morning Star, the entire war shrank to a tunnel in front of him. He brought his sword down in a cut one; a devastating slash on to the first Changeling’s left shoulder. It cut down to the sternum in a jet of ichor. He wrenched the blade free and slashed it up in a cut four across the next Changeling’s chest.

He didn’t notice the ponies behind him clashing into the picket with the points of their spears. He barely noticed Pegasi in bright uniforms diving from the path above to get behind the Changelings. He just kept cutting and cutting his way through a mass of black, shiny bodies and fountains of gore.

A misjudged downward cut seven to the head foundered as it caught the Changeling’s crooked horn. Morning Star back away from the hissing drone, slaver dripping from its fangs, wings beating a-blur. He struck again with a messy, panicked cut five across the neck that took its head half off. The Changeling’s corpse toppled off the road down the cliffs.

He turned to see the last Changeling, an officer in purple helmet and breastplate, buzzing furiously. For a moment Morning Star thought he saw hatred in those soulless compound eyes.

He slashed his sword in a wide cut six across the officer’s chest, but with a shriek of steel on steel, the blade slid off its breastplate. Now Morning Star was stuck with his blade uselessly off to the right, the Changeling officer ready to run him through with its horn or rend him with its jagged legs.

In a shower of gore, a triangular spear point erupted from the Changeling’s head. Ichor running from its mouth and one of its eyes destroyed, it sank to the ground, twitching its last.

The Fillydelphia Sergeant yanked his pike from the ruin of the Changeling’s skull. “You okay, sir?”

Breathing heavily, sweat soaking his uniform, Morning Star lowered his sword. “Yes, thank you Sergeant. How are we?”

“No casualties, sir.”

Morning Star looked around. There were only twelve Changelings lying dead on the path. It had felt like hundreds. Intellectually he knew that they couldn’t have been fighting for more than thirty seconds. It had felt like a lifetime.

“The Changelings, Corporal?” he asked.

“Didn’t see any get away, sir,” said a Pegasus Corporal.

“We must assume one did. Get the rest of the battalion moving and formed up at the base of the cliffs!”

The Pegasus spread his wings and rocketed back to the top of the cliffs. At 11:36 that night, four thousand ponies of the 4th Brigade began the scrambling descent of Recinante Cliffs.

***

Brigadier General Dame Tungsten von Lance was first down the cliffs at midnight, at the head of 2nd Battalion, 3rd (Vanhoover Fusiliers) Regiment of Hoof. Beneath her cocked hat was a fierce red mane almost the same colour as her jacket. On a pale flank was a cutie mark of a dark grey spear.

On the dark grassy plains ahead, crouching beneath the starry skies, Morning Star’s Royal Fillydelphias held the line, the Grenadier and Light Companies refused on the flanks to form an impenetrable wall of spears, anchored on the cliffs. All was silent.

“A brilliant coup, Colonel Star,” she said.

“Thank you, ma’am,” said Morning Star. “A lot still to do, though.”

“Agreed.” Her eyes flicked over to the left, where a 12-pounder gun was being lowered down the cliffs by a block and tackle.

The battalion guns would have been useless even at this range, so Lance had decided not to bring them. Instead, she had liaised with the Royal Artillery to acquire two 12-pounders, which the Engineers were lowering down the cliff face now. And to operate them she had elicited the services of the finest battery in the Army.

Major Inkie Pie’s heart was in her mouth as the gun creaked down the cliff face. It was perfectly fine, she told herself. Those ropes were rated for three times the cannon’s weight and they’d tested the pulley mechanism multiple times without problems. But one outlying spur of rock; one careless soldier... It was times like these she wished she could be more like Maud.

Inkie breathed a sigh of relief as the gun settled down on the grass. She seized a loose end of rope between her teeth and yanked the harness’ knot loose.

“Take this to the left flank,” she ordered Lieutenant Star Wing. “Position for oblique shots, and watch your ammo state!”

***

The copse was pitch-dark. Lieutenant Colonel Brigandine could barely see his sword in front of his face as he crept slowly through the woods, right hoof searching slowly across the ground for anything that might trip his ponies. The eight hundred and eighty-two surviving ponies of 3rd Battalion, 5th (Royal Shetlanders) Regiment of Hoof filed slowly behind him in column, silent but for the occasional rustle of equipment or a muttered curse as a kilt snagged on a branch.

It wasn’t the most practical garment for fighting, Brigandine had to admit, or even for campaigning: they’d had to issue trousers for wear during nights lest the soldiers freeze where they slept. Yet neither Brigandine nor any other Shetlander would think for a moment of surrendering the kilt. Their ancestors had fought in the belted plaid against the Braytish for decades before allying with Azure Blueblood’s army to fight in the Princesses’ name, and not one of them would think of giving up that tradition.

Brigandine raised his sword and the noise behind him faded as his battalion slid to a halt. Before him through the trees he could see the battlefield. Off to his right, he knew, was the rest of the brigade assembling into line. Far off to his left, across the plain beneath star-strewn skies, he could see the faint glow of sentries’ fires from the Changeling camp.

“Good enough position for yous, Lieutenant?” he asked, his voice thick with Shetland brogue.

Lieutenant Star Wing, breathing heavily, spat the bricole from his muzzle. On his right sleeve he wore a gold-fringed, blood-red Wound Stripe. “Couldn’t ask for a better one, sir. Could have done without the forest, though.”

“Cracking. Get that wee cannon of yours set up then.”

As Star Wing and his crew manhandled the gun into position, not without a fair bit of cursing, Brigandine crouched and frowned out across the plain. He was acutely aware of the responsibility on his shoulders: his battalion in this copse secured the entire brigade’s left flank. If the Changelings came up the middle to take the brigade head on, he needed to be ready to rush out and take the Changeling flank. In that case, he’d have the support of the entire brigade, but if they went for the copse and tried to turn the flank, he’d be on his own.

Brigandine’s second-in-command, Major Trocair, crouched next to him. “Sir, if yon Changelings come at us right from the south, Star Wing willnae be able tae move his gun in time tae support us.”

“Aye, and we’ll no be able to deploy tae line quickly, no’ with these trees,” muttered Brigandine. “We’ll have tae charge them, and it’s no gonna be pretty.”

“Aye, sir,” whispered Trocair. “But if needs be, we’ll dae that.”

***

Light was beginning to creep through the walls of Lord Pupa’s tent as he paced the floor. Would today be the day Shining Armor moved, he wondered? The Equestrians had been sat atop the cliffs for days, with the only movements being Pegasi flying far above his camp. He was confident that he would not see movement for a few hours: unlike Changelings, Queen Chrysalis had assured him, ponies needed something called “sleep”, so he had stood most of the legion down during the night. Action would come at mid-morning at the earliest.

The tent’s membranous flap pushed open and an officer resplendent in shining purple armour entered. “My Lord, a messenger from our picket on the road!”

Consternation poured from the officer, and fear suddenly flooded from Pupa. Why would the watch picket need to send a drone now?

The drone, his claws shining with morning dew, pushed into the tent. Pupa immediately grasped what was wrong from his pheromones. “The ponies have descended.”

“Yes, My Lord!” gasped the drone. “They overcame our picket and are formed in line! At least three battalions! They’ve already brought down two guns!”

“Are they moving?”

“No, My Lord.”

Pupa hissed and paced the tent furiously. He’d expected far more warning than this!

“We should destroy the road immediately,” said the officer. “Then we can overcome them with their support and escape route cut off.”

“If they have not yet moved, that means they are uncertain of our dispositions,” said Pupa. “If we open fire they will identify our gun positions and will be able to destroy them. If we call for reinforcements, the ponies will have time to storm our camp and consolidate before they arrive. We must fight them now to clear the plain before we can do anything else.”

***

As the sky to the east turned pink with this rising sun, Morning Star shivered. His heart was thundering and, try as he might to conceal it, his legs were shaking. No matter how many battles he saw, it was always the same. I was writing a poem when the order to move came through, he thought absurdly. I’d much rather be back up there doing that.

Nearly a thousand yards directly ahead of him was the Changeling camp, becoming clearer by the moment. A thick wall of rammed earth fronted by a ditch surrounded a field of tents, he knew. He was almost directly aligned with the dark wooden gate. Then he saw light shine through the gate. His hoof went for his binoculars.

“They’re moving!” cried somepony.

Morning Star frowned through his binoculars. A Changeling formation five files across marched out of the gate. Then every Changeling in it turned to its right, presenting a formation sixteen ranks deep. It marched off to form the right of the Changeling line. It was followed by another, then another, and another...

A great dark line of centuries snaked out of the gate onto the plain. It was a striking sight, and made Morning Star think that his ponies needed to brush up on their own drill. Eventually, 4,400 Changelings in fifty-five centuries arrayed five ranks deep faced less than four thousand ponies of the 4th Brigade across the plain. Black thunderclouds, he saw were starting to mass in the skies in the south, behind the Changeling camp. It was as if the Twentieth Legion was bringing the very forces of nature marching with them.

Morning Star took a deep breath and looked either side of him. The brigade was arrayed in a line only two ranks deep. Tungsten von Lance had been given broad discretion in her orders from Shining Armor, and it had been he who had suggested two ranks to spread the line and prevent the Changelings from overcoming their flanks. If the line broke, it was on his head.

If he survived, that is.

***

Lord Pupa marched in the centre of his legion. The Twentieth Legion was one of the finest formations the Hive possessed, but it had been held back as an experienced reserve during the conquest of the Lynx Territories. When the scale of the pony threat had become clear, it had been the first to be retrained in Lord Cocoon’s new volley firing tactics, and true to its reputation, it had taken to them excellently.

Marching in perfect step, his legion had reached a hundred and fifty yards from the pony line. He could make out details now: the cocked hats of officers among the rows of shakos; the colours of facings amid the red jackets; a nervous pony pawing at the ground; and the fact that rather than the standard three ranks, the ponies were deployed only two ranks deep...

That almost gave him pause. Why would the ponies sacrifice a solid formation? Pupa couldn’t think of any advantage to be gained from it. Their firing drills were based on platoon firing to ensure a continuous barrage, and this did nothing to enhance it.

So be it then. He would march his legion to sixty yards before firing. They would advance firing volleys until twenty yards, when they would charge. The greater mass of his deeper ranks would be impossible for the weak pony line to resist. The ponies were tired from the march and in need of sleep. They were outnumbered and poorly deployed. The day would be his.

***

The single line of shining black chitin was more detailed now. Morning Star could see the blue eyes; crooked horns; membranous wings; the occasional helmet of an officer; the dawn light creeping through the holes in their legs.

The whole line marched as one, their hive nature not letting a single leg fall out of step. Keeping a formation that long in lockstep was by itself impressive: it was so difficult to maintain control marching a line of ponies over distance that the drill book required them to be formed into column instead. They looked so much more disciplined, so much better trained...

Morning Star crushed the thought. He knew his ponies were among the best trained in the Army, and they had beaten Changelings before and would do so again.

His eyes flicked to his right to see the Ensign next to him, gripping the regimental colour so tight his hooves were white. He could not have been more than nineteen, and he was swallowing repeatedly.

“Just keep it together, chaps,” said Morning Star with forced calm. “Waiting’s the hardest part. It’ll all be fine when the ball opens.”

4th Brigade’s line was silent, but from the Changeling line came the ceaseless, coordinated pounding of thousands of claws marching as one. It was like a thousand drums being beaten endlessly. The very ground seemed to be shaking. Morning Star found himself counting. One hundred and five yards, one hundred and four, three... two... one...

Thrown forward twenty yards in front of the Equestrian line were four hundred ponies from the battalions’ Light Companies in skirmish order. They leapt up from their hiding places in the grass and with a crackle of fire, sent a cloud of accurate shots into the front ranks of the Twentieth Legion. Officers and file-closers fell hissing in pain as they were pelted with accurate fire. The perfect Changeling line suddenly slowed and distorted as drones tried to struggle on over the bodies of the dead, keep going without officers, or drag the wounded back to safety.

I’ve never seen Changelings do that before, thought Morning Star, as the skirmishers raced back to the Equestrian line, pairs covering each other with more accurate fire.

***

Shining Armor lay atop the Recinante Cliffs, peering down at the battlefield through his binoculars. The once-perfect black line of the Twentieth Legion was now ragged and was making desultory fire against the Light Companies, but the skirmishers moved like quicksilver before them, diving into cover before leaping up to plant more accurate shots on to the Legion.

The Field Marshal’s heart was thundering. His mouth was dry. He’d given Tungsten von Lance broad discretion, but this was almost too much for him. She was bringing a weak line into almost knife-fighting range against a numerically-superior opponent that could bring far greater mass against her ponies if it came to a melee, and most of her ponies hadn’t even fired yet!

The Changelings redressed their ranks and kept marching. At sixty yards, the entire line halted. The horns of the Changelings in the front two ranks of each century glowed and fired, and then the two ranks behind them raced to the front and fired as well, the fifth rank holding position as a reserve. The green storms of shot crashing into the pony line looked like foam rushing up the shore in a strong tide.

This they kept doing, horns glowing, crackling and discharging, more drones racing through the ranks to replace those at the front. Shining Armor had seen a clockwork automaton during a deployment to Mareope once, and the Changelings moved exactly like that. And still the 4th Brigade had not engaged.

What’s she waiting for?!

***

A jet of fire struck the drum a battalion drummer was holding. It exploded into splinters and the drummer recoiled screaming. Wooden shrapnel tore into Morning Star’s side. With a yell of pain he dropped his sword and fell to his knees.

“Sir!” cried a Sergeant. He dropped next to his commander. “MEDICS! Get a medic!”

“Forget me!” snarled Morning Star, clutching a hoof to his side. “Hold your damned positions!”

A fresh order raced out from Tungsten von Lance’s position in the middle of the line “GO PRONE! GO PRONE!”

“GO PRONE!” gasped Morning Star, as the half of his battalion to his right threw itself down into the grass. The rest of the battalion lay down as well, and the entire brigade sank into cover, bursts of Changeling magic snapping past over their heads.

It came too late for some. With a groan and a clatter of equipment one front-ranker dropped his spear and knelt over it for a moment before collapsing, unmoving, to the ground.

The Changelings kept firing, surging, volleying forward. They were closer than fifty yards now. He could see every vein in their wings; the individual lenses in their compound eyes...

Teeth gritted in pain, he looked to his right. There, standing alone amid the storm of fire, furiously waving her cocked hat, was Brigadier General Tungsten von Lance.

Grimacing as pain shot through his side, blood still spilling over his hoof, Morning Star staggered up. “UP, CHAPS!” he roared. “UP, FILLYDELPHIAS! NOW’S OUR TIME!”

All along the line, thousands of ponies leapt to their hooves. At that moment, Lieutenant Star Wing and Major Inkie Pie put portfires to the touchholes of their guns.

Billowing clouds of smoke and thunderous roars erupted from each flank as the cannon fired. The position of each gun was perfect: they were at oblique angles to the entire Changeling line, and roundshot scythed through nearly every rank in the flank centuries, sending limbs, heads and tattered scraps of torn, burnt flesh skywards in great jets of ichor. Its flanks in tatters, the Twentieth Legion ground to a halt.

Leaning heavily to one side, Morning Star bellowed out the commands for what he knew was coming. “FRONT RANK! MAKE READY... PRESENT!”

The front rank levelled its spears as the Changelings began to move again. They had but a few more yards to go. Forty-four, forty-three, two, one...

“FIRE!” screamed Tungsten von Lance.

A tidal wave of fire erupted from the Equestrian line, beginning in the centre and spreading to the flanks. The battalions fired as one, not as platoons, for Lance and Morning Star had reasoned that a massive explosion of fire at close range would do far more to make use of their limited numbers than continuous fire at a distance. And by reducing their depth to two ranks, 4th Brigade had also increased the number of spears it could bring to the engagement by thirty percent.

Before the vision of the front-rankers even cleared, the second-rankers, who had been instructed to keep their eyes shut during firing, were preparing themselves. Then the command bellowed out from the centre again. “REAR RANK! MAKE READY! PRESENT! FIRE!”

Another storm of two thousand shots crashed into the Changeling ranks. From Shining Armor’s position, it looked like a sheet of light sweeping the Changelings from the field: drones went down like wheat before the reaper. Officers, made conspicuous by the helmets, fell with multiple wounds, usually from pony soldiers who had their own views on officers regardless of race. In the front rank, Lord Pupa’s foreleg was shattered by a hit, and then he was struck in the flank as he fell. Two pairs of claws seized him and he was dragged back into the ragged Changeling ranks.

“Pull back to the camp!” he gasped. “Don’t fire on the road!”

Amid the horror, his drones did not hear him. All they cared about now was surviving.

***

“FIRE!” bellowed Star Wing.

A double-shotted load of canister and ball blasted from the copse, creating another heap of corpses on the Changeling flank. Next to Star Wing Brigandine grinned. “Well, Lieutenant, I think that’s good enough for us.”

“I sure hope so, sir. We’re out of canister.”

“More fun for us then!” He drew his sword, a massive thing with a great broad blade and a huge basket to protect the hoof. “SHELTAND FOREVER!”

“SHETLAND FOREVER!” thundered the battalion.

The battalion column surged out of the woods in a tide of red and tartan, and nearly a thousand whooping, screaming Shetlanders, fighting like their ancestors of old, fell upon the Changeling flank, swords and spears whirling. Behind them, Star Wing and his crew dragged their gun.

The difficulty in lowering the guns down the cliffs meant that they had only been able to take ten rounds with them per gun. They had expended their only two canister rounds already, and now they depended on the Shetlanders, and on Major Inkie Pie’s flank, the Appleloosans, to clear the flanks of infantry so they could carry out their next mission: suppressing the Changeling guns in the camp.

Atop the wall of the Twentieth Legion’s camp, a terrified Changeling gunner watched his legion disintegrate in front of him. Thousands of Changelings were galloping away from the battle as the ponies descended on them in a spearpoint charge. The Twentieth Legion, one of the finest formations in the Hive, had broken in fifteen minutes.

He didn’t expect to survive the day, or even the next hour, but he knew he had one final order to carry out.

“Open fire on the road!” he snapped. “Bring it down!”

With brilliant flashes and a roar like dragons, his six cannon opened fire. Roundshot crashed into the cliffs, sending great streams of shattered rock cascading down, but it would take dozens more rounds for them to seriously damage the road, and they had just given away their positions.

“Aim for the muzzle flash!” cried Star Wing. “Fire for effect!”

Atop the cliffs, Shining Armor hissed as he saw the guns fire and heard the cliffs shatter beneath him. But then Star Wing and Inkie Pie returned fire. They fired over the heads of thousands of fleeing Changelings, smashing the walls of the camp to so many splinters and clods of earth. Gun barrels were blasted into the air as roundshot struck. Fires started as powder stores ignited. Even outnumbered three to one, the Equestrian gunners were superior, for the Changelings had discharged their loads all at once, and now they were still trying to remove the massive, heavy breeches of their ancient guns while the pony gunners were already thrusting fresh rounds down their barrels.

Shining Armor stood and watched with a grim smile as the now-ragged red line of the 4th Brigade pursued the tide of Changelings as they galloped past their burning camp and fled south. Above the thunderclouds opened at last and the first heavy drops of rain began to fall.

***

“How did this happen?”

The distant sounds of the battle below were irrelevant to Private Twist Turn. He winced as the surgeon gently unwrapped the makeshift bandage around his hoof.

“I was cleaning my spear,” he grunted. “Trying to get the carbon off the point. Bucker went off in my hooves.”

Surgeon-Captain Snowheart frowned at the wound on Twist Turn’s left leg. The flesh was torn and burned and it wept blood. “Well, the good news is, this is treatable and you will be perfectly fine. However, we will have to send you back home to Equestria for it.”

The black-maned Earth Pony groaned and leaned back, staring at the tarp of the medical tent. He could hear the rain drumming on it. “Brilliant.”

“You’ll be fine, I promise.”

“But what about my unit? My buddies?”

“It can’t be helped. Don’t worry; we’ll handle all the necessary paperwork.”

Twist Turn sighed. With his right hoof, he awkwardly opened a pocket in his jacket and pulled out a couple of letters. “Before I go, can you get these to the mail service? For my family?”

Snowheart smiled and took the letters. “Of course. I can get a scribe for you as well if you need help writing another?”

“Thank you. That would be very nice.”

Twist Turn grimaced in pain as Snowheart wrapped a fresh dressing around his wound. He’d got away with it. He’d risked court-martial and imprisonment for shooting himself in the hoof, but as he’d suspected, the medics were sympathetic. Nevertheless, it still hurt like Tartarus.

Blueblood better pay big.

Sowing the Seeds

Fancypants exchanged smiles with Filthy Rich. Together, they pushed through the oak double doors and into the entrance hall of the Riches’ Canterlot mansion. A storm of flashbulbs greeted them as a crowd of reporters stood ready to hear the latest pronouncement from Equestria’s joint kings of business.

They took their positions behind podiums, each bearing the logo of Rich Industries and Toffeenose Mining. The grand staircase of the mansion stretched up behind them, an appropriate piece of symbolism for these two captains of industry leading Equestria to ever greater heights. Or so they’d both agreed when they’d worked out the stage management of their announcement.

“Mares and gentlestallions,” drawled Filthy Rich. “Thank you all for coming. Today, myself and Mr. Fancypants are happy to announce a new business venture between our two companies, one that we hope will be of benefit to all of Equestria.”

“By now we will all be aware of the crisis our small farms are facing,” continued Fancypants. “The so many of our young ponies are deployed with the Army that small holdings risk becoming unprofitable. A bad business, I’m sure we all agree.”

“Now, to comment on the current war is perhaps beyond even the considerable qualifications of my business colleague!” said Filthy Rich, to a general chuckle. “But what sort of ponies are we if we allow our young mares and stallions to return home to failed farms and destitution?”

“This is why we are today announcing a new joint initiative between Rich Industries and Toffeenose Mining to invest in our small farms,” said Fancypants triumphantly. “We invite any farmer in difficulties to apply for financial aid from either of our companies, to be paid back according to the individual ability of each. Through this, we hope that together we can provide financial security to not just our farmers at home and our young ponies fighting abroad, but to all of Equestria!”

Fancypants and Filthy Rich exchanged smiles again as the crowd of reporters rose to their hooves, cameras flashing and shouting questions. A very good business.

***

“So what do you think of that, Berry?” said Diamond Tiara snootily. “What do you say to me after my daddy had to step in to save that farm of yours?”

Berry Pinch shied away, shrinking closer to her desk as the immaculately-coifed heiress to the Rich fortune stood over her. “Well?”

“Yeah, your daddy, not you!” snapped Dinky Hooves from across the schoolroom. “And he doesn’t expect a thing back from it!”

“Oh, is that so?” demanded Diamond Tiara huffily. “Well, I wouldn’t really expect a filly with parents like yours to know how ‘interest’ works.”

Silver Spoon giggled as Dinky stood up. “What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“All right class, settle down!” said Cheerilee, slightly louder than usual as she pushed through the schoolroom door. Diamond Tiara blew a raspberry at Dinky as the Unicorn filly sat looking daggers at her.

The classroom of foals watched, some attentive, some yawning, some with glazed expressions, as Cheerilee took up a chalk and began to write out the lesson plan on the blackboard. All except for three fillies huddled over a single desk at the back of the room, poring over a book and speaking in hurried whispers.

“Find out any more about the humans?” whispered Scootaloo.

“Nah, best Ah’ve got so far is that they walked on two legs,” hissed Apple Bloom.

“So all we have to do is pull up the ramp on the Clubhouse!” whispered Sweetie Belle excitedly.

“Wha’ if they pull it down again?” asked Apple Bloom.

“We can break it up and throw bits at them!” said Scootaloo, grinning.

“Yeah, an’ then how do we get out?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Scootaloo dejectedly. “Hey! Sweetie Belle can levitate us...!”

“I can’t even lift a pencil yet,” said Sweetie Belle sadly.

“If you picked us up, you could fly us down!” said Apple Bloom.

Scootaloo looked down at her wings. “Yeah, about that...”

“Oh yeah, sorry...”

“GIRLS!”

The Crusaders looked up to see Miss Cheerilee and the entire class looking at them. “Would you perhaps like to share what is so much more important than my lesson?”

“Uh, I, wha’...” began Apple Bloom.

Cheerilee trotted over and examined the book lying on the desk. “The Origin. I’ve told you three about this before.” She sighed and picked it up. “You can have this back at the end of the day.”

***

“BIG MCINTOSH!” came the screech from the Sweet Apple Acres tool shed. “Where in tarnation is the bobbed wire?!”

Big McIntosh sighed, unharnessed himself from the plough and walked sedately over to the tool shed. He’d taken delivery of ten new rolls of fencing wire only last week and so far they’d only had to use four of them. Granny Smith had seen him storing the wire away, so it wasn’t as if she didn’t know.

Sweet Apple Acres was in no danger of failing like some other farms in the area, but with Applejack away with the Army, things were much harder now than they had ever been. And Granny Smith wasn’t helping. Nopony could ever say that Big Mac didn’t love his Granny, but her eyes and ears were going and it was time for the matriarch of the Apple Clan to slow down. When could he tell her? Not now; it would leave him even more short-hoofed, but it would have to be soon. As soon as the war was over and Applejack was home, then they could tell her together.

Granny Smith stood squinting into the tool shed when Big Mac arrived, looking the same as she had for as long as he could remember: snow-white mane and tail done up in proper buns, legs frail but steady, her face wrinkled but still loving. “Big Mac, did you use all tha’ fencing wire?”

“Nope,” said Big Mac, with infinite patience.

“Well it’s gone and disappeared somm’ere! You know darn well we need to keep spares!”

“Eyup,” he said calmly. The wire was still there, he was certain of it. He walked slowly over to the door to look in. Maybe Granny Smith’s eyesight was worse than he’d feared. Or could it be something more serious?

“Wha’...?” he muttered, stopping mid-step. The back wall of the tool shed, where he’d left the six spare rolls of barbed wire only yesterday afternoon was utterly bare. Absurd thoughts filled his head. Had there been a break-in? If so, why had none of the other tools been stolen?

“Well,” rambled Granny Smith. “Sure it’s around here somm’ere. Maybe I’ll ask Apple Bloom later...”

Apple Bloom. “Eyup,” said Big Mac, through gritted teeth. As Granny Smith hobbled away back to the farm house, Big Mac spun on his hooves and galloped off into the West Orchard.

As he ran he told himself he was mistaken. Sure, Apple Bloom and the Crusaders had done some dumb things in the past, but she knew better than to steal vital farm equipment. Didn’t she?

Weaving through the apple trees, Big Mac pushed into the clearing that held the Cutie Mark Crusaders’ tree house, and stopped dead in his tracks.

The trunk of the tree was utterly swathed in the missing barbed wire, which reached up the trunk and on to the Clubhouse balcony, snaking all the way around the tree house leaving only a small gap for the door. The ramp had been pulled up. All the windows were totally boarded up, and crudely-carved wooden spikes had been nailed to the walls to stop anypony from getting close. “CMC No Surrender” and “Humans Out” had been daubed on the walls in white paint. From a flagpole newly mounted on the roof, a flag bearing the CMC emblem fluttered and snapped defiantly in the wind.

With the sound of dozens of locks being undone, the Clubhouse door opened a crack. Apple Bloom emerged from inside, wearing her CMC cape over hockey pads and sporting a cycle helmet. “Oh hi, Big Mac! Is it time fir dinner yet?”

“N...nope,” stammered Big Mac.

Scootaloo appeared next to her attired similarly and clutching a club. “Good! Having The Origin taken off us cost us valuable human-defence preparation time! Come on, Apple Bloom! We need to test the scooter escape chute!”

The door slammed shut again.

“Nope,” muttered Big Mac as he backed away slowly. “Nope, nope, nope, nope...”

***

Blueblood turned off his radio with a glow of his horn. So this was Fancypants’ plan: mass investment in Equestria’s failing farms. It was an admirable strategy: socially responsible, likely to be profitable, and good for the ponies of Equestria as well as being good for business.

This of course meant that he could not allow it to happen at all.

How to go about it? The obvious thing to do was to destroy either Toffeenose Mining or Rich Industries. The latter was a difficult proposition: most of Filthy Rich’s investments were in agriculture and he could hardly poison every farm in the land, but as for Toffeenose Mining, Fancypants had dozens of large mines, and no matter how well-maintained they were, Blueblood knew from first-hoof experience that a mine was a disaster waiting to happen.

A smile plucked at his muzzle as he thought of the consequences of Fancypants being ruined. That it would bring personal satisfaction to Blueblood as well as forward his plans was an excellent bonus. Fancypants was said to be a very good friend of a certain Unicorn living in Ponyville. A certain Unicorn that had once spurned him at the Grand Galloping Gala...

He relished for a moment the anger that rose inside him as he remembered what that bitch Rarity had done to him that night. Not just spurned him, when she should have been on her knees before a stallion of his birth, but humiliated him before the entire court! Yes, he would take great satisfaction in punishing that parvenu whore one day. Now, that day might well be far closer than he had ever imagined a few months ago. Destroying her friend Fancypants would be a welcome first step.

Of course, he realised after a moment, there were practical issues. The Blueblood Mining Consortium had a good deal of investment tied up in Fancypants’ new operations in the Crystal Empire, and his most reliable proxy was currently being invalided home to the military wing of Canterlot General Hospital after shooting himself in the hoof.

Blueblood cursed Twist Turn’s stupidity. He’d known he might have to take extreme measures to get out of the Army, but he hadn’t expected Twist Turn to go so far as to actually cripple himself! That wasn’t worth an extra ten thousand bits! Still, at least Cordwainer’s brother had shown that he was committed and loyal, if not particularly intelligent. His plan would have to be on hold for at least a month.

And yet, he thought suddenly, that might solve his investment problem nicely.

He stood up from his desk and strode to his office door. He would have to have a look at his stocks portfolio, he thought, as the gong rang downstairs, and then of course he needed to get Twist Turn’s letters to the pro-Parliamentarian press.

But first, dinner.

***

In a down-market diner in the heart of Trottingham, Cordwainer laid a plate of hay fries on the table.

“Thanks,” muttered Rough Charger. In one shaking hoof he held a chipped mug of builder's tea. He took a fortifying swig before digging into the fries.

Cordwainer sat down opposite him. He’d much prefer to carry out this dirty business in a dark alleyway. Quicker, less talk, and he wouldn’t have to endure these vile surroundings. But to meet there would have made Charger suspicious, so he’d held his nose and picked The Greasy Spoon.

The security guard finished the fries quickly and seemed more prepared to talk. “Listen, you know there’s been ponies asking after that warehouse.”

“You said. You also said they weren’t police.”

“Yeah, but they looked official.” Charger’s eyes swept the grimy restaurant, as if he expected the police to burst in at any moment. “Look, I knows you’ve got something going on, and I don’t wanna know what it is, but I ain’t going to jail for you.”

Cordwainer sighed. “We didn’t want it to come to this, not for you, but it should be possible for my boss to get the police off your back.”

Charger’s eyes narrowed. “Really?”

“With the right bits in the right hooves.” Cordwainer pulled a small wooden box from the nondescript grey hoodie he’d been forced to don for anonymity. He laid it on the sticky tabletop.

Charger frowned and opened the box. Inside were dozens of gold coins stacked in neat rows.

“Another five thousand for your trouble,” said Cordwainer, smiling. “Would we really give that to a pony we were going to throw on to the tracks?”

Rough Charger gave a relieved smile. “Heh, yeah. Thanks.”

“It’s no problem at all. We’ll get the investigation stopped.”

“Great. I can’t tell you how much I needed this...”

Cordwainer listened as Charger rambled on. Blueblood had known the security guard had money troubles and so had been an obvious target for the warehouse plan. He’d known that because Blueblood owned the holding company: nopony could possibly expect the owner of the company to use his own lots in carrying out the crime. They’d hidden their operation in plain sight and had got away with it. Or so they would by the end of the day.

Ponies had an extremely low tolerance for taxine, a toxic substance found in the seeds of the berries of yew trees. Yews were popular shrubs for ornaments, so Charger’s death wouldn’t incriminate Cordwainer or Blueblood: Cordwainer had taken a dozen seeds from a tree at the mansion before he’d left for Trottingham, then ground them to a fine powder and sprinkled them over Charger’s hay fries. The security guard had just ingested enough taxine to kill four fully-grown stallions. If there had been any odd taste, he had dismissed it as cheap cafe cuisine.

Five minutes later, Cordwainer said his goodbyes and left the cafe, throwing his hood over his head as he walked. Charger would go to bed feeling slightly ill, and would be dead before the morning. Maybe the investigation would turn up a pony who remembered seeing a stallion in a hoodie eating with him that night, but by then that stallion would be in Canterlot again, wearing a tailcoat and polishing silver.

Claw and Fang

The morning sky was black with the smoke of the Changelings’ latest loss. Lying on a makeshift stretcher at the heart of his shattered legions, Lord Pupa stared in silence as Pawrinth burned.

It was his third defeat in a week. Three defeats. He winced in pain as the fever burned through him again. It seemed to do that every time he thought of the terrible disasters he had brought upon his Hive. He would not have it any other way.

After their camp below the Recinante Cliffs had been blasted away by Shining Armor’s guns, most of the Twentieth Legion had fled southeast through mud and pouring rain with pony spears at their heels. The Equestrian pursuit had mercifully been short, slowed as they were by the rain. Pupa remembered little of it. He had been dragged from the battle and had awoken on the banks of the Bitissippi River with his wounds bound and around 3,800 survivors milling there. He had immediately set about reorganising the legion and had summoned the four legions stationed further downstream.

The Fourteenth Legion had arrived at noon the next day; the Fifteenth the next evening. With a three-legion army before him, he’d assembled his Legates and hammered out a new plan: they would send out scouts and wait until Shining Armor moved on, then advance back to the Recinante Cliffs. Pupa had dropped any illusions he had held about his ability to beat Shining Armor in the field – many of his best Changelings had been lost to the ponies’ first volley at the cliffs, those that still lived were too exhausted to summon a powerful blast, and the Fourteenth and Fifteenth were still trained in melee tactics – but he could act as a force in being to threaten the ponies’ supply line.

At dawn four days after the Battle of the Recinante Cliffs, he’d deployed his scouts. They’d returned three hours later with the most horrifying news possible. A horde of Lynxes forty thousand strong was hurtling towards the Bitissippi, a bloodthirsty young chieftain named Slashclaw at its head. They had arrived at noon.

Pupa’s army of barely fourteen thousand had fought with the ferocity of those who knew they could expect no quarter. Seven times that tide of fur and claws had surged against the battle line, and seven times that tide had broken. Pupa had raced along the line faster than any injured creature would dare, caring not when his wounds opened again and ichor leaked down on to the grass. He had bellowed encouragement and fed fresh centuries into the battle line when necessary. At one point the Twentieth Legion’s Sixth Cohort had become so exhausted and crowded together that they could barely lift their legs to fight and a gap had nearly opened in the line. Pupa had charged into the morass, screaming for them to open up their ranks. The sight of their bloodied commander had been enough, and with an enormous effort the cohort had managed to force a lull in the battle and had used the time to spread their ranks. Finally, Pupa had taken fully half of the cohorts of his third line and swung them round like a door on a hinge to strike the flank of the Lynxes’ seventh and final charge. In a true soldier’s battle, his legions had held their ground and for a moment it had seemed like the Battle of the Bitissippi had been a Changeling victory.

But for all his defeated charges, Slashclaw had still outnumbered the battered Changeling legions by more than two-to-one. As the sun set behind his enemy the black-furred Lynx had stood before his army and delivered a defiant speech. Pupa hadn’t been able to hear it, but he’d heard the roars of the Lynxes’ arrogant laughter. That night, bedridden by his wounds, the first twinges of fever gnawing at him, he’d watched impotently as Slashclaw had left a strong holding force in front of his army while the rest of the Lynx host just marched further downstream. He’d known instantly what their target would be: Pawrinth.

Before the Hive had come, it had been a pleasant riverside merchant city that had been one of the jewels of the Lynxes’ more civilised southern cousins. Then its population had been reduced to drained husks floating in gelatinous cocoons and the Hive had made use of its excellent transport connections on the river and the road leading east through the Zap Apple Groves to transfer captives across the whole Kingdom. It had also become one of the Hive’s largest hatcheries.

Pupa had had no choice: he had been forced to march his exhausted army uphill into a strong defensive line composed of fresh Lynx warriors, while Slashclaw had relaxed his own tired troops by letting them pillage and burn Pawrinth. The futile attritional slogging match had lasted all day until the light failed, and as the terrible columns of black smoke rose over Pawrinth and the reek of burning corpses blew over them, Pupa had given up and had withdrawn his army over a ford across the Bitissippi.

Pawrinth had burned all night. The Changelings had seen the glow of the fires from their camp and they had heard the screams. Pupa grimaced as the fever shot through him again. He looked down at his wounds. The bandages were filthy and were crusted with dried pus: he had refused medical treatment while thousands of his soldiers were still wounded, but his medics were utterly out of supplies, reduced to boiling the bandages taken off corpses to reuse them on the injured. He was down to scarcely ten thousand effectives. He could not take the offensive, and all he could do was sit in this wooded defile behind the Bitissippi. For now, his position was too strong to risk attack, and if the Lynxes tried to advance further south he would be able to threaten their supply line. But if Slashclaw simply chose to wait, his army would slowly starve to death, and the Lynxes could then mop up the few that remained. Either way, Pupa would be dead soon.

The flap of the tent pushed open and a battle-scarred officer hurried inside. Surprise, anticipation and relief flowed from him, suddenly replaced by apprehension and shock as he saw the state of his commander.

“What is it?” demanded Pupa. If he had actually spoken, his voice would have been a weak croak.

“It’s... it’s Lord Chitin, My Lord!” trilled the officer excitedly. “He’s arrived with the Thirteenth Legion! He requests an audience immediately!”

Pupa sat up suddenly, ignoring the jet of pain that shot through him again. “Send him in!”

The officer stood to the side and a tall Changeling in gleaming, spotless purple armour strode into the tent. His eyes flicked around the tent, from the battered wreck of Pupa’s own armour standing in the corner to the Lord himself, prostrate on the bed. “By the Hive, look at the state of you.”

“I’d like to see you in similar circumstances,” grunted Pupa. “How’d you get here?”

“We crossed the river below Pawrinth at last light and marched through the night. I have five thousand drones in the woods south of here.”

“What happened to the Twelfth?”

“Massacred in the Zap Apple Groves yesterday,” said Chitin bitterly. “The legate tried to take a short cut to relieve Pawrinth. Apparently we’re not very good at fighting in forests.”

“So even accounting for Lynx losses, we’re still outnumbered two-to-one,” hissed Pupa. A sudden fit of coughing wracked his body. A string of ichor dribbled from his mouth.

Chitin shifted awkwardly on his hooves. “I also have orders to relieve you of your command... and send you home to Queen Chrysalis.”

“So be it,” Pupa spluttered bitterly. “Stay here or go home. I’ll be dead either way. You know what she did to that drone who just wanted to get home. What do you think she’ll do to me?”

“I’ll speak for you,” said Chitin stiffly. Neither his tone nor his pheromones was convincing.

Pupa gave a weak laugh. “No, if I’m lucky I’ll die on the way back. I’ll get no mercy from her. Let me die here, in battle.”

“Don’t throw it away,” warned Chitin. “Wait for nightfall and extract your legions through the forest with mine. You have a duty to the Hive, Pupa.”

The tent flap opened again and the officer pushed in. “My Lord, the Lynxes are massing on the other side of the river. I think they’re going to cross!”

“They’re going to attack this position?” said Chitin in disbelief.

Grimacing in agony, Pupa dragged himself from his bed and got unsteadily to his hooves. “Chitin, I can take this. With the Thirteenth in support, I definitely can. Don’t send me back to Chrysalis.”

Chitin looked to the officer, then back at Pupa. “What’s your plan?”

***

Slashclaw stood on the east bank of the Bitissippi. Before him, the hills that formed the boundary of Froud Valley stretched up in the distance. Sitting between the wooded slopes of a single narrow gorge were the black ranks of Lord Pupa’s legions.

“A strong position,” muttered Chieftain Strong Blow, standing next to him.

Slashclaw gave a bark of laughter. “Perhaps the Lynxes of Afleasia fear combat?”

“Not at all,” hissed Strong Blow. “Yet the past few days have seen the deaths of so many great chieftains. Bright Streak of Strikefang for one, and Quick Tail of Goldhair. And so many of their greatest warriors as well...”

“They died for the freedom of all Lynxes,” said Slashclaw tersely. “Yet if you fear the outcome of this battle, I could remove you from the right of the line. There are many among us who would hold a position of such honour!”

And the position of most danger, thought Strong Blow angrily. “I will fight any battle anywhere for the Lynx territories!”

“I’m glad to hear that. Now perhaps we can begin?”

Slashclaw turned. From his position atop a small hillock, he faced his entire army, a mass of tawny, gold, brown and black fur, thirty thousand strong, with the gleaming ribbon of the Bitissippi at its back. Ringing the army was a half-moon of baggage carts and wagons. Piled on top of them were thousands of queens and cubs ready to watch their army’s victory.

“BEHOLD!” he cried. “VICTORY AT LAST LIES WITHIN OUR GRASP!”

A thunderous cheer rose from the entire army. It was the roar of a people who had once given up hope but now rode high on a tide of success and blood.

“One last legion!” roared Slashclaw. “Led by the fool Pupa, whom we have beaten time and again these past few days! A lifetime ago, we were prostrate before these insects! Their conquests went beyond land and gold! All Lynxes, chieftain and slave alike, would have been destroyed by them!

“But now the heavens are on the side of righteous vengeance! A legion that dared to challenge us has been destroyed! Look at the rest of them! Cowering in a valley with no hope of escape! They won’t withstand our fury, much less our charge and our blows!”

The entire army roared again.

“TODAY,” roared Slashclaw “VENGEANCE IS OURS!”

With the screams of his army in his ears, Slashclaw spun on his paws and leapt onto his chariot. “SHALL WE BEGIN?!”

***

“Ignore the din of these savages,” growled Pupa. “They’re not soldiers! Do you see any among them wearing armour?! We’ve beaten them before and they know it! We have the high ground and we have the terrain on our side. Just remember your training, push forward and stick together. Don’t worry about captives. Just win and you’ll have everything.”

A solid line of Changelings blocked the mouth of the narrow defile. The soldiers of the lead cohorts of Pupa’s legions were battered, scarred and tired, but a pall of grim determination hung over them. This was the last stand for them. They had their backs to the wall and no prisoners would be taken. But while last night many of them might have given up in despair, they knew now that victory might be theirs.

His wounds freshly bandaged and leaning heavily on a stick, Lord Pupa stood unsteadily at the front of his formation. His fever had been drowned with hearty doses of essence of poppy. It made him, he realised too late, feel giddily confident.

From the massive army downhill, war horns thundered, and with a terrible roar, the entire surging, roiling mass swept towards them, led by three hundred and fifty chariots towed by a dozen slaves each. It was a five hundred yard dash uphill and into the defile, and for every yard they advanced, the Lynxes became channelled tighter and tighter and tighter...

At one hundred yards, Pupa could make out individual Lynxes hurtling forwards. Some of them carried pikes, with the heads or even the entire bodies of Changelings impaled on them as banners. Yellow ichor trickled down the shafts. As they got closer they seemed to charge every faster, and became ever more tightly packed...

At fifty yards, his Changelings fired: their horns glowed and a storm of green magic tore through the air into the Lynx horde. Their blasts were not as powerful as the ones they had been able to fire at the Recinante Cliffs, nor were they able to fire at the same rate, but it was enough: they tore into the chariots, which crashed to a halt in wrecks of shattered wood, torn flesh and broken bones. The Lynx infantry piled up behind them, and there they died as the front-line legionaries rotated to the rear and were replaced by fresh troops, who fired their own horns and sent sheets of deadly green magic down on them. The Lynx charge was utterly broken. A few Lynxes got through. Many did not.

Pupa cast his cane away and swept his leg forward. “ADVANCE!”

***

Pupa had not arranged his legions in the standard three lines of cohorts. Instead, he had broken up the second line and put the third in extremely close support of the first line. The centuries of the second line had then been positioned directly behind every second century in the first line, creating columns of troops that were twenty ranks deep.

The entire Changeling line surged forward into the panicked Lynx horde. With greater mass behind them, the columns inevitably penetrated deeper into the Lynx host, driving deep wedges into the swarm and breaking up whole tribes, forcing warriors into the gaps between them to be dealt with by the rest of the line. They gored at the Lynx army like the horns of a bull, while the centuries between them discouraged attacks on their flanks and gave plenty of weight to the thrust.

Then on the Changeling right, cohort after cohort from the Thirteenth Legion marched out of the woods. Pivoting round like a door on a hinge, Chitin’s troops slammed into the Slashclaw’s left flank.

Before a whirl of slashing claws, thrusting horns and snapping fangs, the Lynx army disintegrated.

***

Half-blind with tears and blood, his fur matted with sweat and gore, and his breathing short and sharp from pain, Slashclaw staggered through the crowd of fleeing Lynxes. None of them recognised him. None of them would help. Rallying the army meant nothing to him now. It was over. All there was now was to escape back home.

His front leg caught something and he fell, collapsing into a heap that sent shocks of agony through his wounds. Spitting blood and tears and sobbing, he dragged himself forward until a furry leg stamped down on his.

He rolled over. Silhouetted against the grey sky was Strong Blow. “You have led us to annihilation!”

“No,” he croaked. “Please...”

“I am not as foolish as you think,” hissed Strong Blow. “I know you intended me to die today, just like the rest of the chiefs. Well, thank you for removing the strongest tribes for me, and let’s thank the Changelings for not attacking my flank.”

He reached down and slashed a claw across the prostrate Lynx’s throat. “Enjoy the afterlife, cub. The Lynx territories are mine.”

***

The battlefield from the valley to the banks of the Bitissippi was a field of corpses. From the left flank, Lord Chitin grimly surveyed the charnel house.

The Second Battle of Pawrinth had been a victory, but at ghastly cost. Pupa’s legions had kept up their attack ignoring all casualties. They had driven the Lynxes from the field, but over four thousand of them had fallen. Nearly ten thousand Lynxes had died, mostly in the initial charge, but thousands of corpses were piled up against the ring of baggage carts they had left around the battlefield. They had been trapped and had been slain without regard for age or sex as they tried to escape. A handful had managed to flee north back to the cliffs. They were no longer a threat.

“Send a message back to Queen Chrysalis,” Chitin said to a courier. “Lord Pupa has won a great victory.”

“Yes, sir.”

Chitin’s eyes were fixed on the field. Groups of Changelings swept over it, searching for wounded and trying to recover weapons. “Did you find his body?”

“No, sir. Those who saw him say he was the first to attack after the chariots were stopped. His body may be buried, or even unrecognisable.”

“Keep looking.”

Souring the Fruits

“Mr Blueblood expects you in the garden.”

“Thank you, Cordwainer,” sighed Radical Road.

The de jure leader of the Parliamentarian movement stepped through the mahogany double doors of the mansion and into the entrance hall. He hated this. He hated all of it. He might continue to moralise in Parliament against the war and demand reform, but he had ceased to be leader of the Parliamentarians months ago. No, the leader was now the amber-maned white unicorn who sat at his right hand in every Parliamentary session and could now summon him at will like a loyal dog.

Even the butler seemed to be above him now. He did not even look down at him as he led him from the entrance hall through the gallery that ran the width of the Blueblood Mansion. He just maintained his usual impassive air of dignified servility, which right now struck Radical Road as nothing more than barely-concealed condescension.

At the end of the portrait- and pot plant-lined gallery was an expansive conservatory. Cordwainer, however, turned left and led Radical through a set of glass double doors onto a portico that ran the length of the rear of the mansion. They trotted down a set of steps down into the mansion’s grounds.

They were impressive, Radical Road had to admit. On a mountainside city like Canterlot, space was at a premium, and even for a pony of Blueblood’s wealth, large tracts of land in the city were beyond the means of almost anypony. However, running up to where they sharply ended at the cliff-face of the Canterhorn, the medium-sized gardens were immaculate. Emerald-green lawns were cut just to the right length; paths of snow-white gravel flowed elegantly from the shining marble patio; crystal-clear water babbled gently from pair of marble fountains; and a hooful of exquisitely-cut topiaries added a touch of class without being too garish.

Standing in the middle of the lawn, a mallet held in his magic, was Blueblood. Next to him was another pony with his back to him who Radical didn’t recognise. They were absorbed in a game of croquet.

Do ponies actually play that? he thought, disbelieving. He’d always assumed that it was just a ridiculous stereotype of the rich that he’d laughed at but had never really believed.

“Ah, Radical,” said Blueblood happily. “Care to join us for a game?”

“Ah... I never learnt it, actually.”

“Of course not.”

Radical ground his teeth together. “Why did you ask me here, Blueblood?!”

“To see if you wanted a game. Do you think I spend all my time shut up in that office plotting? Also, I’d like to introduce you to our greatest ally in the coming days. I believe you’re familiar with Newsprint?”

“I think we know each other buy reputation,” said the media baron. His voice was flavoured with a Horsetralian accent. He turned to present a lined muzzle, with a mane that had turned grey and begun to thin years previously. A pair of black-framed glasses sat over penetrating brown eyes. He wore an expensive yet unremarkable suit jacket, and on his flank was a cutie mark of a stylised globe.

“So,” asked Newsprint genially. “Decided against trying to steal my company from me, eh, Radical?”

“Ah... I,” stammered Radical Road.

“What my leader means,” said Blueblood coolly. “Is that times have changed. For all of us.”

“Indeed they have. Shall we show him?”

“Yes. Please, Radical.”

Blueblood led them over to an iron-frame table on the patio, where Cordwainer had laid tea. A pile of newspapers sat next to the silver tray.

“These’ll be out tomorrow morning,” said Newsprint, spreading the papers over the table. “A certain principled whistleblower has been very kind to us at News Equestria, and to the Parliamentarian movement, of course.”

Radical Road stared, astonished, at the devastating headlines before him. Newsprint’s broadsheets were reserved in their reporting. The Canterlot Chronicle carried the header VALNEIGH: A MILITARY DISASTER? The Baltimare Times proclaimed DEFICIENT GUNS KILL PONIES IN LYNX TERRITORIES: ARMY POORLY EQUIPPED.

His sensationalist rags Sun and Moon and the News of Equestria aimed for the heartstrings: OUR COLTS AND FILLIES MARCHED TO DEATH: HORROR ON THE ROAD TO MANEDEN, trumpeted the former. The latter declared, GENOCIDE DOWN SOUTH: WHAT IS SHINING ARMOR’S PLAN FOR THE CHANGELINGS?

“All these stories are reprinted in some form in each of the other papers,” said Newsprint matter-of-factly. “By tomorrow morning I daresay three-quarters of Equestria’s population will have seen these.”

“And I daresay confidence in Celestia’s government will be considerably undermined,” said Blueblood. “Misleading Parliament; procuring equipment leading to soldiers’ deaths; working with the barbaric Lynxes to commit genocide; it’s all very scandalous.”

We killed those soldiers, thought Radical Road miserably. I good as held the knife. “I suppose you’ll want me to give a few speeches tomorrow?”

“An excellent idea, yes.”

Radical stared at him. “Well?”

“Well what? Do you expect me to give them to you?” Blueblood took the papers in his magic and thrust them towards Radical. “Away and write. The leader of the Parliamentarian movement can’t be having his speeches just given to him.”

Radical cursed and swept away.

“You sure you’re not pushing him too far?” asked Newsprint.

“He may act like he hates this but the stallion’s a coward,” said Blueblood decisively. “He loves the limelight too much and he loves having the public’s ear. You watch.”

And besides, if he betrays me, we both go to jail, he thought darkly.

“If you think so. See you at my place for dinner still?”

“Indeed.” Blueblood inclined his head. “Newsprint.”

“Blueblood.” The media baron trotted away. He would leave by the servants’ entrance and be driven away in an unmarked carriage.

Blueblood picked up a cup of tea in his magic and sipped gently. After a moment he looked up at the butler standing warily next to him. “Something on your mind, Cordwainer?”

“It concerns the estate’s finances, sir. Considering what you’ve been paying my brother, your latest investments, donations to the movement, and the usual expenses...”

“Your salary is perfectly safe if that’s what you’re worried about,” interrupted Blueblood sharply.

“All I mean to say is, sir, no pony expects stock in Fancypants’ businesses to go anywhere but up.”

Does he really believe I tell him everything? “Of course they do,” said Blueblood. “Your brother will see that they are wrong.”

***

“Soldier, eh?” asked Mine Overseer Charcoal. “What brought you here?”

The stallion wearing high-visibility coveralls and a hard hat raised his left hoof to reveal a nasty scar. “Weapons are dangerous, even your own ones, apparently.”

Charcoal winced in sympathy. “I’ve seen some nasty injuries on our boys down here. You sure you’re okay with this?”

“Anything’s easier than the army.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Charcoal turned on his hooves and led Twist Turn down the gallery driven deep into the Unicorn Range. Pit props lined the pitch-black walls and the only illumination came from firefly lanterns hung from the ceiling. Ponies occasionally raced past dragging carts heaped with freshly-mined coal.

“It’s a good time to go into mining,” Charcoal was saying proudly. “War’s meant that demand for coal for the supply trains is higher than ever, and Toffeenose Mining is at the forefront of it!”

He nodded at the emblem of three gold crowns on the sleeve of his coveralls. “We ain’t as glamorous as the gem-miners, but without us, Equestria grinds to a halt. Guys like you are going to be vital if we’re going to expand, and old Fancypants knows it.”

Twist Turn tried to go along with the old miner’s rambling. “So he’s a good boss, then?”

“Oh yeah! Pay’s not bad, vacations are good, and we get paid sick leave too. I tell you, I’ve heard some scary stuff about some other mines. I wouldn’t want to work for that plothole Blueblood!”

Blueblood pays me more in a day than what you’ll earn this year, thought Twist Turn, as Charcoal led him into another drift off the gallery. “This is yours: Drift 12.”

Twist Turn looked around. A dozen heavily-muscled stallions stood at the end of the tunnel, hammering away at the coalface with picks while a dozen more shovelled coal into waiting carts that were swiftly raced away to the surface. Hung on the walls were emergency pumps should the mine flood, fire fighting gear, lifesaving equipment, and a collection of sealed brass oil lamps. Descending from the roof was the outlet for the ventilation system.

“Three times every day you’ll need to check these vent pipes for leaks,” said Charcoal. His voice was deadly serious. “If the pressure drops, we could get a build up of firedamp. We don’t use candles down here, but any build up is potentially poisonous or could be ignited by anbaric equipment, or even a spark from a pickaxe.”

He pointed at the oil lamps. “Detector lamps. If the concentration of firedamp gets high enough, it’ll pass through the gauze in the lamps and they’ll glow red-hot. If that happens, you extinguish the lamps and tell everypony to get the buck out of here.”

“We use flames to detect a flammable gas?” asked Twist Turn, shifting uncomfortably on his hooves.

“Yeah, we used to use canaries. Then some Pegasus down in Ponyville got her tail in a twist about animal rights. I don’t know why; they were all volunteers. But anyway, here we are.” He saw the look on Twist Turn’s face. “We’ve never had an accident. I’ve been down here for fifteen years and I’ve only seen the vents leak twice.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Twist Turn uncertainly.

Charcoal laughed. “I remember my first day. You’ll relax sooner or later. You haven’t really got a choice if you want to stay sane!”

Twist Turn nodded slowly as the old miner went on and on. Of course he’d known about safety procedures, the ventilation system, and the detector lamps. Blueblood had told him exactly what needed to be done, and had forged the necessary qualifications to get him employed by Fancypants’ company. It was a fine job Blueblood had got for him.

It was just that he was here to do exactly the opposite of what Charcoal had told him.

The Battle of Silvestris

Splattered with mud and breath coming in clouds from his nostrils, Shining Armor strode from the dark, cold morning and into the staff tent. “Good morning, everypony.”

“Good morning, sir,” chorused the staff and divisional commanders

“Now,” said the Field Marshal grimly. “Before we begin let me tell you: this one is not going to be easy. I counted at least ten thousand Changelings working on their defences. Our hussar recce flights put their numbers at close to thirteen thousand. They have sixteen guns commanding the river, so we can’t just race our boats past. We can’t invest them either because that would take too many troops away from the battle with the rest of Chrysalis’ army. It’ll have to be a direct assault.”

Shining Armor took a hooful of red unit icons in his magic and began arranging them on the map table. The map was dominated by the blue ribbon of the Kelpie Creek slashing from north to south, with the town of Silvestris sitting on the west bank. Rising above the town to its north was a tall, rocky hill, commanding every approach to the town and Silvestris’ bridge across the Kelpie Creek.

“The Changeling fortifications are strongest to the north,” he said. “Looks like an abatis backed by earthworks. Their eastern flank is protected by the marshes on the Creek’s banks, but their fortifications aren’t as good on the western side of the hill: just looks like fascines covered with earth to make a firing position to me, but if we attack there we’ll also face enfilade fire from the town.

“We’ll make our first attack from the north at first light with two divisions. Major General Neigh, so far your division has been one of our least-heavily engaged. You will lead the assault.”

Neigh heard only insults. Least-heavily engaged?! I won Valneigh for you and you gave me nothing. A hundred and fifty of my foals died while you dragged your hooves at Maneden. Well I’ll show you today, Shining. That hill will be mine.

“General Ember,” continued Shining Armor. “The Guards Division will operate in support, with one brigade directly behind Neigh and another in echelon on his right to fix the enemy in position.

“Brigadier General Lance, the 4th Brigade will be our manoeuvre element...”

***

“Okay gentlestallions, listen in.”

The Brigadier Generals and battalion commanders of the 3rd Division crowded around in the morning twilight as Neigh sketched a plan in the dirt with the tip of his sword.

“The Field Marshal wants us at the tip of the spear again,” said Neigh, his voice filled with quiet determination. “Just like Valneigh, just like Maneden. We didn’t fail there and we won’t fail today.”

“Sir?” asked Lieutenant Colonel Brazen Petard quietly. “It’s true then? We’re taking Hayburger Hill?”

“Hayburger Hill?” laughed Neigh. “Where did that come from?”

“That’s what I’ve heard my boys call it sir, and frankly I agree with them: that hill will chew us up like a colt eats burgers. I don’t think that any eight thousand soldiers ever assembled anywhere can take this position.”

“We are not any eight thousand soldiers,” said Neigh coldly. “We are the 3rd Division and that hill will be ours. Now...”

He scratched a few lines in the dirt. “We will detach the pioneers and Grenadier Companies from each battalion to form four assault columns: one on each flank, and two in the centre, with the pioneers at their head. There’s a ditch in front on the abatis here, so the Engineers are issuing fascines to the pioneers to create a bridge. The rest of the division will be formed in line to provide supporting fire, while the 2nd Guards Brigade will be behind them in line ready to echelon through if necessary.

“Once we break the fortifications, rapidly reinforcing gains will be critical. So, battalion commanders, I want you on the flank of your battalion closest to the assault column rather than in the centre. When you see that the column is through, you need to lead your battalion through behind them. That will be the signal for the Guards behind us to move up and take over providing support.

“Gentlestallions, make no mistake, this will be hard. But we will take this hill, and our regiments will be remembered forever for it. Remember all we’ve done in the past, and we will add to that today.”

***

Inkie Pie frowned through her binoculars at the hill. It was becoming lighter by the second and as she gazed at the hill and looked down at her map, she became ever more uneasy. The Royal Artillery had been reduced to ninety guns after Maneden, but natural wastage since then and an accident bringing a battery down the Recinante Cliffs had reduced that number to barely sixty-six. Inkie wistfully thought back to the great barrage at Maneden, when the artillery had swept the field with only a few volleys. The numbers of guns they’d had then could clear this hill in seconds, but now...

“Are your guns ready, Major Pie?”

Inkie lowered her binoculars to see General Sir Time Target standing next to her, shifting uneasily from hoof to hoof.

“My batteries are ready, sir, as ready as you and I have come to expect of them. But I don’t think even that will be good enough for today.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sir, we both know what’s going to happen out there,” said Inkie seriously. “Neigh’s division is forming up in that line of trees out there, below the hill. We’ve got surprise on our side, but that’s going to disappear quickly once we open up and Neigh’s still got to get up a three-hundred-foot steep hill. When they come out, they’ll be under Changeling artillery fire in seconds from every gun they have. That’s a convex hill so they’ll get a respite about halfway up, but that’ll just give the Changelings more time to mobilise. When they crest the hill, they’ll be in range of fire from Changeling horns and short-range artillery: canister, grapeshot, thousands of little bits of metal wiping holes in their lines. They’ll be slowed by that ditch there, and the formation will start to come apart. If they get to the abatis without breaking up, there won’t be many of them left. Now maybe sir, just maybe, my batteries can break the defences. When we started this war I’d have told you we could do it without a second thought, but we lost the guns we needed for that at Maneden. And those Changelings out there, they know they’re losing this war, and they know what we’ll do to them if they lose, so they’re not going to run. If the 3rd reaches that wall they’ll have suffered casualties beyond anything we’ve seen in this war so far, but General, I do not believe those boys will reach that wall.”

Time Target stared at her in silence for several moments. Then he said; “No, Inkie, nor do I. I’m not sure Shining Armor does either. I think the only pony in this army who does is Neigh. I know it’s to pull in their reserves so the 4th Brigade can hit the flank, but I don’t like it at all.”

***

The Legate in command of the Sixteenth, Seventeenth and Eighteenth Legions atop Hayburger Hill was not yet worthy of a name. That was the prerogative of the Queen and her Lords alone. Still, the Lords had experienced remarkably high attrition of late, and for an ambitious Legate, there were suddenly many openings to the highest levels of power in the Hive.

Had he been a pony, he would have chuckled. He’d seen the ponies’ propaganda against the Hive. Every Changeling was a mindless drone, they said, enslaved to the Hive, knowing no other existence and gladly dying for it. What nonsense! The average Changeling was no more or less ambitious or concerned with themselves than the average pony. Did they really think that just because they couldn’t speak like them that made Changelings brain-dead insects?!

Did they not know, or did they say that to make Changelings easier to kill? If it was the latter, the Legate reflected, it was certainly working. He had heard the horror stories; tales of burnt hatcheries, of eggs smashed open and the larvae left to die. Well that wouldn’t happen here, he resolved. Intelligence put Shining Armor a day away. By that time his defences would be complete, and the invading murderers would smash themselves to pieces against his defences while the rest of the army swept up from Softpaw and slammed into their flank.

The sun was rising from behind the distant Bone Mountains as the Legate trotted across the hill to examine his defences. The entire hilltop had been cleared of trees and it was now crowned with little more than stumps. The trunks had been used to create the abatis: a ditch had been dug around the crown of the hill and the tree trunks had been buried in the dyke with their sharpened branches facing downhill. From it the legionaries could fire down on any advancing unit with impunity. The defences to the north, the most likely direction of attack, had been completed yesterday. The full ring should be completed by the end of today.

The Legate scowled across the landscape. The sun threw long shadows across the ground. What was that? He was virtually certain that those shadows in the distance hadn’t been there at sunset. His horn glowed and the captured pair of pony binoculars floated from his saddlebag up to his face. It was a struggle to focus them: they were not made for compound eyes. At last the view cleared and he saw...

Guns. Dozens of them. Cannon and howitzers lined up, their barrels trained on his hilltop, with the dark shapes of ponies standing by them with portfires and ramrods ready.

For that moment he didn’t wonder how they’d got there, or how his intelligence had failed. He was simply rooted to the spot, stunned, and disbelieving. Then, as his pocket watch struck 06:30, Time Target’s batteries opened fire.

The Legate saw the flash before he heard anything. The neat row of batteries vanished in an explosion of light and fire as they discharged. He felt their fire next, a rumble like a giant’s roar reverberating from the guns, up the hills and through his hooves. He heard the thunder just as the projectiles struck. An incredible storm of shot and shell smashed into his beautiful abatis. Dozens of carefully-placed tree trunks were smashed to splinters; huge columns of earth were thrown into the air; and the Changeling work parties either side of him, that had gone up to check the defences for damage, had been blasted to vapour as the shells hit.

Amid a hell of smoke and fire, as hundreds of panicked, surprised Changelings scurried about the hilltop, the Legate staggered back to his hooves. As others fell to the ground and cowered, he strode through the rain of shot. “GUNS RETURN FIRE! THE SIXTEENTH TO STAY ON THE SUMMIT AS A RESERVE!” he bellowed. “ALL OTHER COHORTS TO THE NORTHERN DEFENCES!”

***

Inkie’s heart was in her mouth as she watched the assault columns inch slowly up the hill. From this distance they just looked like red blocks, but as her guns thundered, she raised her binoculars with a shaking hoof and she could make out individual ponies, their spears rising and falling as they marched, officers at their heads with their swords glinting, and the colours fluttering gorgeously in the breeze.

She tried not to see the gaps in the formations. Her gunners had done their best to suppress the Changeling cannon with the first hurricane bombardment, but in the brief moments from when the columns stormed out of the wood line to when they disappeared below the crest of the convex hill, the Changelings had managed to get off a few, terribly effective shots. Roundshot had crashed through the columns like bowling balls gone berserk, knocking down entire files. Through her binoculars, Inkie had seen dozens of ponies vanish as shot drilled through their formations like her sister Maud through rock: pillars of red had shot into the air, along with blasted and burned limbs, weapons, heads...

As the columns slowly approached the crest of the convex hill, Inkie saw them slowly slide into line. The narrower but deeper columns formed from the Grenadier Companies stayed in column for the assault, but the end companies of the wider, larger columns slid to the sides and formed up on the lead companies. Soon, the 3rd Division had formed a thin red line stretching across the hillside, broken only slightly by the assault columns between the battalions.

The Guards Division’s manoeuvre was more elegant: the companies of their columns were more widely spaced, and they had a much greater distance between their battalions. The wider spaces allowed each company, the rightmost files acting as pivots, to swing round to form battalion lines that stretched down the hill. Then, with the leftmost file of each battalion holding fast, they swung round to present their own line behind the 3rd. To see so many ponies performing the manoeuvres effortlessly was a stirring site. Inkie could almost believe that they would succeed.

“RAPID FIRE, TEN SECONDS!” she roared. With that order her gunners began working like demons. The sounds of individual shots disappeared and it became like the boiling of a kettle that rang in Inkie’s ears. Sweat steamed off the gunners’ coats as they delivered the final pummelling to the abatis on Hayburger Hill in a desperate effort to break the defences before Neigh’s ponies had to face them.

It looked like nothing could survive the barrage: the abatis was invisible beneath a pall of smoke, the fall of shot kicked huge plumes of dirt into the air, and any other pony staring at it would bet good money on the defences being totally smashed up. But Inkie knew that it wasn’t enough. They lacked the guns to saturate the defences, and the bombardment could not be made longer lest they lose the element of surprise. The barrage was spread too thin.

She wished she could do more, but that was all she could do. Then the 3rd Division crested the hill, and began their march into the teeth of the defences.

“LIFT BARRAGE!” she roared. “CONCENTRATE ON SUMMIT!”

The thunder of guns ceased for a moment as the gunners furiously recalibrated their guns. They could not keep up fire on the abatis for fear of dropping shot on their own troops, but they could do their best to keep the Changelings from committing reserves to their defences.

But... Inkie’s heart sank as the smoke rose from the defences. The abatis was blackened and burned. The tree trunks built into it had been blasted to short, splintered points. But the ditch remained, the dyke remained, and the tree trunks still remained a formidable obstacle to anypony not carrying an axe.

And thousands of Changelings swarmed behind it, their horns glowing a savage green.

***

The Legate strode grimly across the, fire-swept, tree stump-strewn hilltop towards the commander of the Sixteenth Legion. I should have had these dug up, he cursed, stepping over another stump. If I try to get reserves anywhere they’ll all trip over these and that’ll be the end for us.

As shot and shell crashed down on the defences behind him, and his Changelings huddled behind it, the Legate regarded the Sixteenth Legion. They were beautifully formed up, the centuries ready to move independently or race all together to block and penetration of the defences. As the commander trotted over to the Legate, it was only then that he noticed that the barrage had ceased.

The first salvo of shot to land on the summit obliterated the commander of the Sixteenth Legion. He flew to pieces and a shower of brains and ichor coated the Legate. More shells began to crash down into the ranks, carrying off five officers and eighty legionaries in a few seconds.

“REMAIN AT YOUR POSTS!” snapped the Legate. “WE’LL NEED YOU SOON!”

That we will, he thought as the first barrage of furious firing opened up from the abatis. He looked around to see thousands of snarling, roaring, whooping ponies cresting the hill. They seemed to rise out of the earth as they stormed towards his defences. Stallions and mares wearing coats the colour of blood brandished spears as they marched towards him, while columns of huge ponies with gold on their shoulders, fronted by stallions with fierce beards bearing axes, aimed for the heart of his lines.

Yes, we will indeed.

***

“COME ON BOYS!” cheered Neigh. He waved his sword above his head and he trotted ahead of the division. “THE GUNS HAVE BROKEN ‘EM! WE’LL JUST WALK OVER!”

The 3rd Division struggled through a cauldron of fire. Smoke and flames seemed to be everywhere, the hillside blasted like the face of the moon by the bombardment. As skirmishers covered the division’s advance, opposed by sheets of fire crashing down from the Changeling defences, the noise everywhere was deafening.

To his left, Neigh saw the nearest assault column pause in front of a gully. The pioneers and Grenadiers dropped their fascines into the ditch. Behind him, he heard the battalion commanders give the order to halt. As the Grenadiers surged over their bridge across the ditch, Neigh heard the commands ring out: “MAKE READY! PRESENT! FIRE!”

Storms of shots tore up the hillside and into the Changelings crowding behind the abatis. Neigh expected to see them wilt like wheat before the reaper, but the abatis was a distant target and the fire was inaccurate. Dark thoughts suddenly filled Neigh’s head. Did I get something wrong?! We planned it perfectly! Halt in front of the ditch and we’d be at the optimum distance to support the Grenadiers!

Meanwhile, the assault columns before him trotted doggedly across their fascine bridges and up the steep hillside. Screaming ponies clutching bloody wounds fell out of formation by the second. When they reached twenty yards from the abatis, the columns suddenly disappeared into the ground.

Neigh felt his heart drop into his stomach. He now knew why his fire had been inaccurate: they had halted too soon. The fascines that should have been used to bridge the deep ditch in front of the abatis had been cast uselessly into that gully fifty yards below the real ditch. Now he was standing here uselessly out of supporting range while the assault columns floundered in the ditch, desperately struggling to make it on to the Changeling parapet while grenades and shot rained down on them.

“PUSH UP!” he roared. “ADVANCE IN SUPPORT!”

But it took time for the order to be heard, for the volleys to be stopped, and for the commanders to redress their battalions. It took nearly five minutes for the 3rd Division to resume a halting advance up the hill, in which time hundreds more Grenadiers and pioneers died.

***

The ditch below him was a cauldron of fire, smoke, blood and death. The Legate fired bursts from his horn at the ragged line slowly advancing up the hill, but it was the struggle in the ditch that worried him most.

The ponies fought with energy unlike anything he had ever seen before. Hundreds of them fell, shot to death or blasted and burnt by grenades or impaled upon the sharp points of the abatis, but still they came, hurling themselves right to the parapet or crowding behind a single pioneer desperately hacking away at the defences with his axe.

They tried everything: some strung bundles of grenades together and buried them under the abatis, hoping to blast their way through. Some great fools, who perhaps had been sportsponies back home, even tried to vault the defences. Nothing worked for the ponies. At some points the ponies had managed to bridge the ditch halfway with fascines. Some tried to struggle out of the ditch to retrieve the ones they had left behind. They suffered most: nearly every one of them was shot in the back.

But at some points they did break through, and there battles with spear, claw and horn erupted, manifesting rage, fury and desperation unlike anything that had been seen in the war so far. The ponies hurled themselves repeatedly against the defences and the Changelings hurled them off time and again. A tiny part of the Legate’s mind felt admiration for the ponies. Both they and his Changelings were at that point perhaps the bravest soldiers in the world.

But the rational part of his mind saw his casualties continue to mount, and as the ragged line formed up in front of the ditch and began to fire, more and more Changeling dead began to pile up behind the parapet.

***

Words stuck in Shining Armor’s throat as he stared at the horrifying scene from the base of the hill. The top of Hayburger Hill looked like a smoking volcano as shells crashed down into the Changeling reserve, but what really shocked him was the crest: it appeared to be nothing less than a surging river of red breaking its banks against a thick line of black, as thousands of ponies charged forwards, were repulsed, and charged again at the Changeling defences. Each time, the attackers left dozens of bodies in their wake as they retreated.

Every instinct screamed at him to call off the attack. His heart yelled at him that no breakthrough, no strategic hill, no number of dead Changelings, was worth this many casualties. But he knew that he was totally committed. This was the plan. This was his plan. He had made his intent quite clear to everypony involved and they knew what they were fighting for. To change his intent now would not just throw the entire battle into disarray, but to betray all the commanders he’d trusted.

And yet, right now they could only be a quarter of the way through the fighting. The 4th Brigade had barely begun its flank march, so the 3rd Division would have to keep fighting, suffering and dying for much, much longer.

After half an hour of raging combat, the 3rd Division fell back behind the crest, leaving hundreds of bodies littering the hillside.

***

The 3rd Division had been reduced to a thronging, milling mass cowering behind the crest of Hayburger Hill. The occasional Changeling cannon shot landed in its midst. The faces of everypony in the division were black with smoke and dirt. Uniforms that had been immaculate at the start of the day were now torn and filthy with mud, soot and the blood of comrades. There was scarcely a Grenadier or a pioneer to be seen among them.

His sword shaking in his hooves, Brazen Petard staggered over to Neigh. His eyes seemed to stare at something a million miles away. “We can’t take that again, sir.”

“We have our orders!” snarled Neigh. “We will take that hill!”

“There’s not enough pioneers left, sir!” stammered Petard. “Even if we got to the ditch again we’d never break the abatis!”

Neigh didn’t answer. He swept away and marched up the division’s line. “PREPARE TO MOVE UP AGAIN! WE MUST TAKE THIS HILL! PREPARE TO MOVE UP!”

He paused in front of a group of ponies clustered around a tattered flag. Their colours and cap badges showed the flaming grenade and two crossed swords of the Trottingham Grenadiers. One of them, a Unicorn who couldn’t be more than nineteen, huddled on the ground, shaking and weeping and clutching his spear close to him.

Neigh seized him by his hoof. “Come on, boy, come on! What will you think of yourself tomorrow?!”

He swept his eyes over what remained of the Trottingham Grenadiers. “TROTTINGHAM! TROTTINGHAM!” He swept his cocked hat from his head and speared it upon the point of his sword. “WITH ME! WHO WILL COME WITH ME?!”

Then, raising his sword high above his head, he galloped over the crest.

The Trottinghams’ colour bearer stepped forward. “LET’S GO, EVERYPONY!”

***

The Legate slumped, exhausted, against a cannon. Each side of the abatis was a field of corpses, though on one side they wore red and on his side they were shiny black. The Sixteenth Legion had been demolished by the pony artillery and his line was now spread horribly thin. Those ponies had fought with an unbelievable determination. He did not know whether he could withstand another assault.

Then a cheer erupted from behind the crest of the hill, and the Legate sank to his knees in disbelief as the ponies, battered, bloodied and shot ragged, charged up the hill again towards his defences. Their ranks were tattered and broken but still they charged into his torrent of shot and flame. They were led by some great fool of an Earth Pony with his hat balanced on the point of his sword. He seemed to be enchanted: every shot missed him.

That was not so for the rest of the ponies. Canister and grape shot opened up from the Legate’s guns, tearing great gaps through those fine battalions. Their horns glowing ready, the Changelings lay behind the abatis.

“STEADY! DON’T FIRE!” roared the Legate, galloping along the line. Not a shot was fired at the ponies, advancing closer and closer. When they got to the lip of the ditch the Legate could see the very expressions on their faces: confused, tired, scared, angry, determined...

The Changelings fired, aiming low into the moving mass at their front. Nothing living could withstand that barrage. Staggered by that storm of shots, the charging line hesitated, then before that terrible fire the entire division seemed to melt away, tumbling back down the hill like a stream flowing off a mountain.

“FORWARD!” roared the Legate. “AT THEM!”

***

Neigh ran. He did not know whether he was at the front of his division, or behind it, or mixed in somewhere in the middle. He had lost all control with that single Changeling volley. The mighty barrage at close range had been too much for anything to hold against, and the 3rd Division had collapsed.

Behind them, hundreds of Changelings surged over the defences, chasing down the 3rd Division to drive it to defeat. Stragglers were dragged down screaming by multiple Changelings and were torn to pieces by a whirl of fangs, claws and horns. And the Changelings had had time to rest while the 3rd Division had marched twice up that bloody hill. They would overtake them, and it would be a massacre.

Then before him Neigh saw his division parting and coming together into lines that streamed through the gaps between the companies of the Guards Division. Guardsponies in immaculate uniforms screamed; “GET BEHIND US! QUICK!” The ragged, panicked, shattered mass of the 3rd Division disappeared behind the stately ranks of Guards.

A storm of perfect, drill book-standard platoon firing tore up the hillside into the disorganised band of pursuing Changelings. Any other unit of the Equestrian Army might allow excitement to overtake it and forget its drills, with everypony firing individually at barely three rounds a minute. But the Guards were not any other unit, and in their three ranks, they kept to their platoons and waited for the commands of their officers to fire. Their fire was not a disorganised rattle of individuals but perfectly timed storms of shots that allowed each battalion to deliver close to six hundred rounds a minute. Before such astonishing fire, the attacking Changelings disintegrated.

Staggering around the hillside, Neigh cared nothing for the Guards’ standard of firing. All he could see were the shattered remnants of his division. Ponies wandered around in tattered uniforms looking for the colours of their regiments, but what colours Neigh could see had been shot to pieces. Some lay on the ground shaking, crying, clutching wounds and screaming, or weeping over fallen comrades.

Neigh felt a hoof on his shoulder. “Major General! Neigh! Neigh, look at me, son!”

He turned, incredibly slowly, to see the mutton-chopped face of General Warding Ember, full of concern. “Neigh, keep it together! You’re the commander here! See to your division!”

“General Ember,” said Neigh quietly. “I have no division.”

***

The Legate wondered what name he would take when Chrysalis presented him with his Lordship. However, that honour would be scant in comparison to what he had done today. He had driven off Shining Armor! He had shattered an entire pony division! He had done what two Lords had failed to do with thousands of more troops than him!

He had saved the Hive!

It was only when he saw the scout buzzing up the hill, panic reeking from him, that the Legate felt the ground shaking. “What is it?!”

“A new attack, sir!” gasped the scout. “On our western flank! Armor must’ve sent a brigade on a flank march! They’re charging up the hill!”

The Legate stood rooted to the spot and speechless as the legionaries began to mill around him. Chattering spread across the hilltop and the exultation of victory was steadily being replaced by confusion, fear and panic.

There was nothing he could do. His reserve had been blasted to pieces by the pony artillery, and what remained of his other two legions were crowded uselessly on the northern defences. To move them would be to totally disorder them.

The western defences were little more than a wall of earth. There had been no time to complete them, and with a roar of “SHETLAND FOREVER!”, the first of the 4th Brigade’s assault columns vaulted over them on to the hilltop.

A tidal wave of shaggy, tartan-clad Shetland Ponies crashed into the rightmost Changeling centuries in a whirl of spearpoints and gigantic broadswords. Soon after came Morning Star’s Fillydelphias, only slightly delayed because they had to march further around the hill to hit what passed as the Legate’s centre. Finally, the 3rd (Vanhoover Fusiliers) struck the Changeling left while the 7th (Appleloosans) stayed in reserve. The 4th Brigade drove the exhausted, terrified Changelings back against their northern defences, and with the Changelings distracted, the Guards Division was at last able to bring up fresh fascines, bridge the ditch and break the abatis.

Sandwiched between Warding Ember and Tungsten von Lance, the Changelings were crushed to pulp.

***

It did not occur to the Legate as he ran that his opposite number in the pony division he had driven off must have felt this way just half an hour ago. He was simply one of hundreds of Changelings streaming down the eastern side of the hill. It was steep, and Changelings were tumbling in their dozens as they tripped and fell. To trip was to be left behind to die, but it was their only route of escape.

Before him, the Legate saw the Kelpie Creek. Over on the right was the bridge crossing the river from Silvestris. It was totally ablaze, blasted to cinders by indirect fire from the pony artillery. Dozens of Changelings were leaping off the bridge with flames licking up their backs and splashing down under the water. He did not see any rise up again.

Then he felt water around his own hooves as he reached the base of the hill and sloshed through the marshes at the banks of the Kelpie Creek. If he could reach the river, he would be safe. But until then he and hundreds of other fleeing Changelings were slowed by the sucking mud, grasping weeds and hidden pools of the bogs.

Suddenly to his right he heard the screeching of dying Changelings and roars of “KILL, KILL AND DESTROY!” He swept around to see hundreds of Pegasi, clad in heavily-braided, dark blue jackets and tall busbies and bearing long, cruel sabres, sweeping over the remnants of his army. Flying above the Changelings stuck in the mud, they overcame the struggling drones like a wave and slashed down on them mercilessly.

Then a screaming blue-maned Hussar with a gold coat bore down on the Legate. With a single slash of his sword it was over.

***

As the sun set, Shining Armor walked slowly through the remnants of the 3rd Division. Dull-eyed, hollow-cheeked ponies, just that morning so proud and confident, slowly lifted their heads as he passed. Some raised hooves in salute, which Shining Armor returned. Most were too stunned to do anything.

The Changelings on Hayburger Hill had held off Neigh’s division for two hours. According to the cold strategic logic, everything had gone according to plan: the 3rd Division’s attack had sucked all the Changelings to one flank while the artillery had suppressed their reserve. That had allowed the 4th Brigade to break the lightly-held western flank and drive the Changelings from the hill. The hilltop was strewn with Changeling corpses and the Kelpie Creek was choked with dead: nearly ten thousand had fought to the last on the hill, while almost two thousand had drowned. The road to the south and to the last legions of Chrysalis’ army was wide open.

But at what cost! Fifteen hundred ponies had died, and a further four thousand, five hundred had been wounded. It was the worst day of the entire war so far, and coming on the heels of the newspapers, it could not have come at a worse time. The supermajority of those casualties had been suffered by the 3rd Division.

I must end this war soon, thought Shining Armor. We cannot sustain such losses. But Chrysalis won’t surrender, and she knows what I’ll do to any Changeling left behind if she retreats, so she’ll just fight all the more hard.

“Sir?”

A soldier – a Trottingham Grenadier, he saw from the uniform – stared at Shining Armor, disbelief in his eyes. “Sir, what happened? We... we did everything right, didn’t we sir? How did we lose so many guys?”

Other ponies gathered round to hear their commander’s explanation. Shining Armor wanted to tell this poor boy that he had done well, that the casualties were worth it, that they had died for a good cause and they had helped to win the war. But the words would not come. It would never justify it.

“I... I’m sorry, everypony,” said Shining Armor quietly. “It’s all my fault.”

Across the field, shaking in fury, Major General Neigh stared coldly at Shining Armor and spat to Brazen Petard; “That butcher has destroyed my division!”

The Battle of the Kelpie Creek

Sword at her side and her bicorne cocked at a jaunty angle, Rainbow Dash marched on, grinning as fifty thousand ponies around her roared out The Fire of Friendship.

It was amazing that they still had the energy to sing. The army had marched hard and fast since Silvestris, but that hadn’t been because they had been ordered to. The army had never before marched so well and confidently, not even after Maneden. The smell of victory was in the air. The rumour was that somewhere ahead of them was Chrysalis’ last army. The Changeling Queen had massed everything she had left in a last, desperate attempt to stop them.

Rainbow, just one pony in a whole army surging forwards, marched on almost at a trot. Was she tired? Yes. Was she annoyed at being woken up when the moon was still high for a march? Yes. But it didn’t matter. Her ponies were behind her, they were winning, and soon they would fight the last battle. And then they could go home.

But from somewhere up the column, the singing suddenly faltered. Rainbow frowned and tried to see around the Pegasi in front of them. Racing up the column, all heads turning as it passed, was a troop of Imperial Crystal Hussars.

“I don’t like the look of this.” said Cloud Kicker behind her.

Worry replaced elation on thousands of faces as the Hussars passed. They were blown, and many of them had lost busbies. Their swords were sticky with ichor and some had had their pelisses slashed to ribbons. The supported three wounded between them.

“MAKE WAY!” shouted their leader, a blue-maned gold Pegasi wearing Captain’s stars. The Hussars flew past the Dragoons and continued their unsteady way up the column.

“Does this mean...?” asked Blossomforth quietly, without needing to finish.

“Yep,” said Rainbow grimly. “Looks like the Bugs know we’re coming, everypony. Guess we’re all just going to have to fight twenty percent harder now.”

***

“Captain Sentry,” said Shining Armor impassively.

“Sir,” panted Flash Sentry, dropping his salute. “Well, we found the Changelings, sir. Uh, maybe I should say they found us, but anyway, both of us found each other, so...”

“Get to the point, Captain.”

To let his personal dislike of Flash Sentry creep into military operations was deeply unprofessional, he knew. It wasn’t as if he’d had any choice that today would be the day the Imperial Crystal Hussars would be out on reconnaissance; they had just been next in the rota. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that it would have been this lecher Flash Sentry, of all ponies, who gave away his position...

“Well, they know we’re coming, sir,” said Sentry. “We got hit by a cavalry picket just outside Underpaw, but from our recce it doesn’t look like they hold the town. As we fell back they were pulling pickets back to their main position behind the Tabby Burn.”

“Do you have maps?”

Sentry opened his sabretache with a wing and pulled out a heavily annotated map which he opened up on the grass. The entire headquarters huddled around it on their knees. The entire army, moving in seven great columns, had halted while a hooful of ponies made plans that would determine the fates of thousands.

“Their entire line is fronted by the Tabby Burn,” said Flash Sentry, pointing at a thin line of blue on the map that trickled into the Kelpie Creek from the east. “Their left is anchored on this town here, Softpaw, on the Creek. Their centre is fixed at Overpaw, and their right on Fluffingen. The ground between Softpaw and Overpaw is mostly clear, sir, but the Burn’s banks are marshy on both sides. It’s a very strong position.”

“What about their numbers?”

“Every soldier they have left, sir,” said Flash Sentry seriously. “I’m not kidding: even the field at Maneden wasn’t this packed. There’s at least a legion in Softpaw with another behind in support. Probably just over a legion in Overpaw too. Fluffingen looks lightly-held in comparison, but given the hill and woods to the east, we’d have to take it in a frontal assault and I wouldn’t fancy our chances. They’ve got at least a legion in between each village, and more cavalry squadrons than I could begin to count.”

Shining Armor leaned closer to the map, taking in the shape of the ground, gun positions and buildings. “We can’t flank. If we try to take the villages head-on it will be another Silvestris. And if we try to break through the centre we’ll be fixed by the forces there and cut to pieces by the batteries in each village.”

“That’s a long front the Changelings have,” said Colonel Warning Order. “At least four miles. Their forces are dispersed. If we mass everything at a single point we could smash through between the villages.”

“They also have a direct road route from Softpaw straight to Fluffingen,” countered General Blackfire, pointing at the map. “We’d founder as we crossed the Tabby Burn and they’d have plenty of time to mass their forces to oppose us.”

“Split the army,” advocated Brigadier General Sword Knot. “Send one half over the river then race our boats down the Creek past Softpaw. The manoeuvre force can meet them below the town, cross back over and take the Changelings in the rear while the other half fixes them here.”

Major General Dame Air Freight of the Supply Corps looked positively ill at the prospect. “They’re barges, not battleships! Those boats won’t last five minutes under Changeling artillery fire!”

We broke their centre at Maneden, thought Shining Armor. And we forced them to uncover their flank at Silvestris. Maybe we can do both here...

“There is no way of escaping the fact that this will be bloody,” he said decisively. “Our best bet lies in breaking through between the villages and isolating their strongest forces there.”

“But sir,” protested Sword Knot. “You said so yourself. If we go for the centre we’ll be pinned by the forces there and the crossfire from each village will tear us apart.”

“Not,” said Shining Armor grimly. “If we can draw off those forces.”

***

As the eastern sky turned pink, Queen Chrysalis stood atop the tower of what had once been Softpaw’s council chambers. The Queen of the Hives grinned as she stared down at the length of her army.

It was a formidable position: the Twenty-First Legion swarmed in Softpaw below her, while two batteries sat on the town’s eastern flank and ten cohorts waited behind in support. Between Softpaw and Overpaw, the Twenty-Second Legion and sixty-four squadrons of some of the only Changelings left who could still fly guarded the gap with a battery of guns. Overpaw thronged with fourteen cohorts and had three batteries on each side, while another forty cavalry squadrons, the Twenty-Third Legion and a battery of guns covered the gap between it and Fluffingen. Sixteen guns sat to Fluffingen’s west, guarding the flank of the five cohorts within. In the wooded hills towering above Fluffingen, the beginnings of the foothills of the distant Bone Mountains, seven cohorts sat ready to slam into the flank of any force that tried to storm the village. Twenty-five cavalry squadrons sat behind the lines in reserve.

Ten thousand cavalry and forty-six thousand infantry stood ready to smash whatever force Shining Armor hurled against it.

“A marvellous position, My Lords,” she whispered. “Shining Armor will have no choice but to come between the villages.”

“Will... will you not allow us to demolish the hoofbridge, My Queen?” asked Lord Thorax quietly. It was a surprise that he had spoken. He was a meek, quiet Lord whom it was rumoured Chrysalis had lain with only once.

“Let it stand,” said the Queen dismissively. “Shining Armor’s troops will have a chokepoint to cross; our gunners will have an aiming marker.” She turned and bared her teeth at the old stone bridge crossing the Tabby Burn. A path stretched from Underpaw south to the road linking Softpaw and Overpaw. The ponies will march into a killing ground. My gunners will turn that white stone red.

Lord Chitin knew that any word he spoke was dangerous. “My Queen,” he said hesitantly. “I really do think we should reconsider the positioning of our forces in the gaps.”

“You know the plan,” said Chrysalis tersely. “Shining Armor will have to cross the Tabby Burn. While his forces founder in the marshes we will catch them in the crossfire of our batteries in each village. We will trap whatever’s left against the Burn and sweep them away with our cavalry. If he sends his Pegasi across independently, our legions will form square and defeat them in detail.”

“These are the same ponies who marched into a crossfire at Maneden and defeated us,” said Chitin. “The same ponies who marched into the defences of Silvestris time and again even though they knew it meant death. We cannot underestimate them, nor allow them any advantage, My Queen!”

“I know you would put our infantry right at the Burn’s bank,” said Chrysalis coldly. “I will not put my forces in any position where Shining Armor can blast them in the open with his guns, nor will I risk any chance of them being caught in the fire of our own artillery!”

Chitin knew that he had only got this far because he had a victory under his belt. Thorax would not speak in support, and Lords Carapace and Larva had long since been cowed. To criticise further would be death. “I can only urge you to reconsider, My Queen.”

Chrysalis’ eyes flicked from Lord to Lord. Her voice was bitterly condescending. “One of my Lords will not support me. Another cannot even make an argument for his suggestions.” She waved a dismissive hoof at Carapace and Larva. “You two may as well be drones for the quality of your counsel. Know this; I let you live because I require commanders on this battlefield. Win and you will remain Lords, but count yourselves fortunate, for I see that today victory will be my own.”

***

The army was silent and stationary now. No shouts or song rose from the ranks as the morning mists swirled around them. A sibilant hiss rose from every company as sharpening stones were run along spearpoints and then passed to the next pony. Everypony prayed they would not have to use them.

Beyond the low rise ahead of them, the officers knew from looking at their maps and the soldiers knew because their officers had told them, was the battlefield, a wide plain dotted with villages with the Creek on the right and a forested hill on the left, leading down to the marshy banks of a stream. Beyond that stream was the enemy.

Shining Armor had dismissed his Generals an hour ago to finalise his plan, and now at seven in the morning, huddled in their greatcoats at the head of their division, General Sir Warding Ember stood with his two brigade commanders, Major Generals Dame Golden Shield and Dame Bright Bastion.

Mist blowing from his muzzle and his headquarters trotting behind him, Field Marshal Prince Shining Armor cantered up past the Guards Divisions’ rearguard. Heads turned as he trotted past the massed battalions, and suddenly a thunderous cheer filled the air, thousands of ponies roaring as one. Shakos, swords and spears were waved in a display of indiscipline that Shining Armor should have hated. Instead, a smile plucked at his muzzle and, not once breaking his step, he swept his cocked hat from his head and raised it up in salute.

Warding Ember watched and his heart swelled with pride. After all his years in the Royal Guard, he must have trained half the officers in the current army, but a hooful stood out for him. Major General Neigh had fire: at Valneigh and Silvestris, and even in the first meetings to decide on the Army’s doctrine, he had shown nothing less than an utter determination to crush the enemy. Colonel Morning Star had thought: he was so, so careful to avoid casualties, but as he had shown at both the strategy meetings and in his non-standard tactics at the Recinante Cliffs, he was a brilliant analyst of what won an engagement quickly. Lieutenant General Dagger von Steel had skill: he had led his division into the mouth of Tartarus at Maneden and had devised a formation that took it victorious through a cavalry charge and a fire-swept field. Colonel Silver Star had drive: she had dragged her Crystal Pony recruits up and drilled them relentlessly to turn the Crystal Guard into one of the finest regiments in the army. He had seen her lead a spearpoint charge into the flank of Cocoon’s legions at Maneden without pausing to fire even a single shot.

But there was something inexpressible about Shining Armor. He seemed to have all those virtues united in one pony. To be sure, he had made mistakes. His strategy of annihilation may have cost the Army’s reputation at home dearly. At Valneigh and even at Maneden, he had been too cautious, both nearly leading to disaster and the latter only being a great victory by mistake. But after that education on the field of fire, he had learned. They had all learned. In his pursuit of his objective, to bring the Changeling army to battle and to smash it, he was relentless. On the march he had humped it along with his ponies, never once using his magic to help him along, and at nights he had eaten the same food and slept rough like them. That mattered more to any soldier than his General’s ability to win them honour and wealth. The Army went into battle never fearing that they might lose on Shining Armor’s account. Finally, his grasp of the offensive was second to none. He had constantly kept the Changelings wrong-footed and retreating until now, in desperation, they had made their stand here, where the Royal Equestrian Army might end the war once and for all.

As he passed the vanguard battalion of the cheering division, Shining Armor returned his hat to his head. Warding Ember stood to attention and led his officers in the salute.

“Mares, gentlestallion,” Shining Armor said, returning the salute. “Golden, I hear you’re writing a book?”

Golden Shield smiled. “Just a small thing, sir: a brigade commander’s view of the campaign.”

“Well I’d like to read that when this is all over.”

“You’ll have a copy with my compliments, sir.”

“Well let’s hope the chapter for today ends well.”

Laughing, the four of them climbed the rise. Shining Armor pointed down across the plain. The Guards Division was on the right flank, up against the Kelpie Creek. Directly in front of them just over a mile away was a village.

“Softpaw,” declared Shining Armor. “Small village, roughly three hundred houses. The Changelings have at least one legion in the village, and another behind in support. They also have three cohorts off to the left with sixteen guns, and at least sixty cavalry squadrons between here and Overpaw. I need you to assault that village.”

Warding Ember nodded grimly.

“You will be supported all the way in by two batteries,” Shining Armor continued. “You’ll also have the 10th Heavy Brigade operating under your command to act as cavalry or infantry as you see necessary. While you’re moving in, the 6th Brigade and the 9th Light Brigade will move against Overpaw while the 5th, 7th and 12th move against Fluffingen. The 2nd Division, the Life Guards and the 11th Brigade will remain in reserve until you have pinned their flanks and centre. You must not let up in your attack: we must get the Changelings to commit their reserves to these villages. If we don’t...” He did not need to complete that.

The Field Marshal checked his watch. “Time now is ten past seven. At ten o’clock, everypony will crest this rise, and you’ll all go in.

Shining Armor took a deep breath. “Okay, everypony, we all know that this battle will determine the fate of the war. All the ponies who have died in the past are with you here today.”

Golden Shield stepped forward. “I want to thank you, sir. Thank you for getting us here. It’s an honour to serve under your command.”

Bright Bastion was next. “Sir, I want to thank you for giving me the opportunity to serve here.”

They saluted, turned smartly and marched off to their brigades. Warding Ember smiled at Shining Armor. “To think that that dishevelled RPG player I welcomed into the recruiting office all those years ago could lead an army here today.”

Shining’s cheeks turned slightly pink. “Don’t remind me. I tripped on the doormat, remember?”

“And now you’re here. You have risen higher than any officer I have ever trained.” Warding Ember took Shining Armor’s hoof and shook it. Then he stood to attention and brought his hoof up in salute. “Today it is for me to live up to that.”

***

“SPIRITS DAMN IT! WHY THE BUCK ISN’T THIS ON THE MAP?!” Major General Neigh raged as he slashed at the hedgerow with his sword. Next to him, pioneers from the 7th Brigade hacked gaps through for the rest of the brigades.

Neigh had been given three brigades, two of infantry, one of Hussars, to take Fluffingen on the left flank. To get to his jumping-off point he needed to make a wide march behind the rise. The route he had selected had been shown on his map as clear. What he found instead was row upon row of fields enclosed by dense hedges, thickets, and irrigation ditches. Even if the Changelings had long since sucked the life from them, cutting through the hedgerows was an exhausting task that was costing him valuable time.

It was not helping Neigh’s already-foul mood. Shining Armor had broken up nearly his entire division and kludged together his brigades and battalions to make up for the casualties he had caused. Consequently, today Neigh was left with a heterogeneous unit that was theoretically the 5th Brigade, but was really more a collection of companies that had never worked together before and were still understrength. His other infantry brigade, the 7th, hadn’t even been part of the 3rd Division!

The crowning humiliation had been him being saddled with the 12th Light Brigade, the most incompetent cavalry brigade in the Army. It was led by Brigadier General Firebolt, who had been so terrified of attacking at Maneden that half of Cocoon’s army had been able to escape when a cavalry charge could have routed them. The brigade’s regiments had yet to win a single battle honour between them, and the joke was that its motto was “Thou shalt not kill”.

Perhaps Shining Armor wishes me to die, thought Neigh, grinding his teeth. Maybe I should. But a look down at his uniform drove that thought from his head. Since Silvestris he had worn the pink-faced red jacket with gold shoulder wings of the Trottingham Grenadiers. No, I must live. For them, for their families.

He checked his watch. Spirits damn it; he was already half an hour behind schedule! His brigades had set off at eight thinking that the march would take two hours. Now he might delay H-hour for the entire army!

Cursing Shining Armor, cursing maps and cursing Chrysalis, Neigh roared and slashed his sword at the next hedge.

***

Crouching atop the rise, a pocket watch held in his magic, Warding Ember kept his eyes firmly fixed on the dial. The minute hand clicked to 9:59.

“Ladies,” he declared to Golden Shield and Bright Bastion. “We shall dine tonight at the usual time. Good luck.”

He swept his hat from his head and waved it in the air. At the flanks of the Guards Division, gunners put their portfires to their guns.

The booms were almost swallowed by the immense battlefield, but every soldier there, pony or Changeling, ranker or officer, knew what it meant. It was the beginning of the end; now was the moment to which the entire war had been moving.

The Battle of the Kelpie Creek had begun.

***

“My Queen!”

“I see them!” Queen Chrysalis leapt atop the abatis surrounding Softpaw. Over the rise marched thousands of ponies, gorgeous in their red uniforms, their colours fluttering. Puffs of smoke flashed from either side of them as their guns fired, covering them on their march to Softpaw. Off to her right, Chrysalis saw thousands more ponies marching straight towards Overpaw.

They marched like parade soldiers. They marched towards their deaths.

“We have them!” she cackled. “By the Hive, we have them!”

So Shining Armor was not being clever. He was coming straight for her fortified villages, and he wasn’t even bothering to attack Fluffingen! In truth, Chrysalis felt a little bit disappointed. Everything her Lords had told her had made her expect some kind of bold manoeuvre by Shining Armor, perhaps some kind of massed dash through the centre like she’d planned for. This was just... inelegant.

No matter. They were marching straight on to her fortifications and straight on to death.

“Gunners, wait!” she cried. Their portfires were lit, ready to fire the great guns bought in secret from the Dragon Kingdoms. Dozens of them waited, but she wanted that plain full of ponies before they fired.

“You see, My Lord,” said Chrysalis, teeth bared in exultation. “We have our victory.”

Lord Chitin did not answer. Tension and uncertainty shrouded him.

Chrysalis laughed. “FIRE!”

The guns began.

***

Shining Armor gritted his teeth as he watched his army march into death. The hamlet of Underpaw, packed with troops being held back for the decisive moment, sat on his left. He could see their flank units from here: their colours, untouched by the wind in the village, hung heavy on their masts. Soldiers pawed nervously at the ground, just wanting to get it all over with. Some took swigs from water bottles. A few of those, Shining Armor had no doubt, contained the cider ration saved from yesterday. One officer whispered a prayer from the Book of Harmony.

Beyond Underpaw was the Guards Division marching on Softpaw. To Shining Armor’s right, the 6th Brigade and the 9th Light Brigade advanced on Overpaw. And beyond that...

A cold shock of utter horror filled Shining Armor as he stared at the empty eastern half of the plain. He drew his binoculars in a desperate attempt to disprove what he was seeing. Where in Tartarus is Neigh?!

A Hussar, panting and lathered and his busby and pelisse askew, thumped down next to him. “Field Marshal, Major General Neigh is delayed!”

“How long?!”

“At least another hour to get into position, sir!”

“Hurry them!”

The Hussar saluted and flew off. Behind Shining Armor, a desperate whispering broke out amongst the staff. If Neigh’s brigades were not in action, then the left flank of the 6th and 9th Brigades was hanging in the air. Then every Changeling legionary and gun between Overpaw and Fluffingen was free to be swung round to slam into their flank as they advanced.

If his brigades kept advancing, then they, a battle, an army and a war were lost.

Shining Armor swept around to face his aides. “Halt the advance! All units to halt in place!”

The staff stared at him in disbelief for a few moments, but then the Hussars took off to deliver the new order. Shining Armor watched them race across the plain to the slowly-marching battalions at the right and centre, praying they would reach them in time.

***

What few windows remained in Softpaw and Overpaw were rattled by the blasts of the guns. The Changelings fired constantly. The ancient iron guns, with their immensely-heavy breeches that required a team of dozens to shift, could never fire as fast as the Equestrian cannon, but the Changelings had got close. They had trained incessantly in all conditions, and today, when they had the luxury of numbers and a fortified position, they could get very close to their maximum rate of fire.

The fire was like a thunder never ending. And the thunder came from a cloud: great billows of grey powder smoke wreathed Softpaw and Overpaw. The gunners operated in a sulphurous fog, and even the Changelings packed in the streets and away from the guns still buzzed and choked as the smoke irritated their spiracles.

As their guns roared and bucked, Changeling officers would occasionally step forward and peer through the cloud. The Equestrians had been stopped.

Sitting on the field just in front of the forward slope of the rise, cavalry regiments were jammed behind infantry battalions, representing a deep, packed target for the Changeling guns. Gunners chittered excitedly at the effects of their fire. Every round told. Hundreds of ponies were bowled over as shot smacked into their ranks. Equipment, spears, swords, limbs and heads tumbled through the air as shot after shot landed among them.

The Equestrian advance may have stalled, but the ponies’ guns were firing back. They had less of a target and their enemy was fortified, but the Royal Artillery had months of experience behind it. Roundshot smashed houses in Softpaw and Overpaw flat and carved bloody paths through rooms packed with Changeling defenders. Shells burst over the abatis and set it and its defenders on fire.

Lord Thorax cowered as a dozen screeching Changelings, their wings burned away and flames licking up their carapaces, galloped away from a shattered section of the Overpaw abatis. Six more raced up it and began hastily rebuilding the defences.

The pony fire was telling. He had heard of the power of their guns at Maneden, but he hadn’t imagined anything like this. The village was being reduced to a ruin, and the ponies hadn’t even started advancing yet!

Thorax spotted an officer in a purple helmet amid the chaos and hurried over, keeping low. “Where’s the Queen?!”

“Not sure, My Lord. I think she’s over on the right. She might be leading a flanking movement.”

The right, thought Thorax. Carapace and Larva. Chrysalis had dismissed those two to the point where she’d thought a blow would be least likely to fall, so she could have command of the victory in the centre. Now she had to abandon that position and take command of the right, or Carapace and Larva would just sit there and let a victory fly away, paralysed by the terror of making a wrong decision.

“Here and Softpaw are clearly the ponies’ main effort,” he said, trying not to sound too shrill. “I want our cavalry moved in to the village.”

“All of it, My Lord?”

“The infantry will need all the help they can get at this rate.”

Thus, the order was given for twenty squadrons of cavalry to move into Overpaw.

***

“Tirek in Tartarus!”

Warding Ember was not the only pony in his division cursing. Red lines of troops cowered in the grass, hunkering down in old irrigation ditches or curling up behind scrubby bushes, for all the good it would do them. Some even tried to hack holes in the ground with their spears or knives.

Ember was making the best of it: he had sent his pioneers and sappers forward, and he could see them labouring furiously to throw corduroy roads over the swampy banks and dumping fascines into the Tabby Burn to create corridors for the assault. But if they didn’t move soon the Changelings would have them pre-sighted for fire and blast them to pieces when they finally attacked.

It was a nightmare of sound. Roundshot rumbled overhead, canister whistled, and the shrieks of the wounded rose terribly over it all. The stink of sweat, hot metal, burning grass, blood and ruptured bowels filled the air.

Ponies died in ones and twos, a slow trickle that would add up to the day’s ghastly total. They could not go forward, and they could not go back or they would rout in seconds. So they lay there, cursing the Changelings, cursing the shot, cursing their officers as their colours were shredded by fire and more and more of them died.

They were not even in spear range of the Changelings yet.

***

Lord Chitin crouched on the edge of Softpaw, watching fire pour into the prostrate pony division. It was an amazing sight, but he knew deep within him that something wasn’t right.

Why are they just attacking here? Do they mean for us to reinforce here and uncover our right? But if they do, why aren’t they advancing?! It makes no sense!

“Lord Thorax has moved his cavalry into Overpaw, My Lord,” said an officer next to him.

Chitin stared at him in disbelief. “All of it? How does he mean to counterattack once they advance again?!”

A flash of heat suddenly swept over them. Chitin threw up his leg to shield his face from the cloud of shrapnel as a pillar of fire erupted into the air from one of his batteries: the pony artillery fire had found one of his guns.

Chitin scrubbed soot from his face. A massed assault on this flank and we’d be helpless. What is his plan?!

***

“Major General Neigh is in position at Burnside, sir! He’s making his advance on Fluffingen!”

Shining Armor flipped open his watch case. Ten minutes past eleven, over an hour behind schedule! “Give the Major General my regards,” he said tersely. He spun to face the rest of his aides. “General advance, now! Move, move!”

The Hussars took off into a field of smoke and fire. Every instinct screamed at Shining Armor to follow them, to join his ponies fighting and dying, but he knew he could not. His position as the General was here, observing the entire battlefield. If he could not see when and where to make the decisive action, then all was lost.

But the idea that it might be lost already gnawed at him. His army had been under artillery fire for over an hour, and if he looked over to Underpaw he could see surgeons and medics, their scrubs and aprons already gleaming red, setting to work on the tide of wounded and dying.

He had already taken two thousand casualties, and the assault hadn’t even begun.

***

“Armor thought to catch us!” cackled Chrysalis, waving a claw at the battalions slowly marching on Fluffingen. “He thought to make us attack his left flank and then catch us as we marched with an attack from Burnside! Well no matter! His plan as failed. We will let him break his attack on our defences!”

She spun towards Lord Larva. “My Lord, move your cohorts into the village. I want total numerical superiority here when they attack.”

Lord Larva, who had been ordered by his Queen to begin massing those five cohorts for a flank attack just before the pony battalions appeared out of Burnside, said; “Yes, My Queen.”

Chrysalis waved a drone over. “Tell our cohorts in the woods to stand by. When those ponies assault Fluffingen’s defences, I want them to march down and hit them in their flank. We’ll clear this brigade away then roll up Armor’s line from the right.”

“Yes, My Queen.”

Larva knew there was nothing he could do to stop his Queen from presenting her bizarre fantasies as battle plans. Roll up the line?! Did she really believe that Shining Armor didn’t have a reserve ready to smash any movement like that?!

But he knew that if he said anything, he would die, and a drone less willing to ask questions would take his place. So he stayed silent, hoping, praying that Shining Armor was just trying to bludgeon his way through the defences in the villages, and didn’t have some grand scheme ready that no one had spotted.

***

“Not a shot fired until I hit the palisades!” bellowed Golden Shield, waving her sword above her head. “No stopping! Do not stop!”

Bloodied but determined, the Guards Division’s battalions trotted in half-distance columns towards Softpaw. It seemed mad, advancing into clouds of fire without even shooting back, but the Guards knew that if they were to break into Softpaw, the momentum of their mass must not be lost.

Warding Ember had nearly had a fit when Shield had advocated going in in battalion columns, but it was the only way to build up the mass required to break the defences. So they trotted on in dense masses, Colonel Noteworthy and Lieutenant Colonel Caramel’s light infantry battalions advancing ahead of them, firing and moving and flowing like quicksilver towards Softpaw. Though they were in column they had no fear of the Changeling guns, for the gunners had ranked self-preservation over tactics and had committed the cardinal sin of getting into a duel of counter-battery fire with the pony guns.

So they trotted on, hooves drumming on the boards of the engineers’ bridges as they crossed the Tabby Burn, the 1st Guards Brigade in the lead, the 2nd further back watching their left flank, and the 10th Heavy Brigade in the third line ready to sweep away any counterattacks. At a hundred and fifty yards from the town, just over the Burn, the Guards could see individual houses burning and hundreds of black figures swarming behind the defences.

At a hundred yards, they could make out the twisted ruin of the abatis, smashed to splinters by the artillery barrage.

At fifty yards, they could see the icy eyes, as cold and soulless as the winter sea, of each Changeling.

At thirty yards, those eyes vanished as thousands of black, gnarled horns glowed, then a storm of glowing green shots crashed into the approaching columns.

Golden Shield, conspicuous by her hat and sword, was felled by five shots. The colours fell as the Ensign dropped dead clutching at his heart, but they were seized by the Sergeant behind him. Ponies jerked and twisted as shots struck, but the lines closed up and they kept marching.

The Changelings had trained well, and they were firing close to three shots a minute. Any Equestrian drill instructor would have been proud. They fired, waited, charged their horns and fired again. Rank after rank of ponies fell as tidal waves of fire crashed into them, but they kept marching, snare drums hammering, huge Grenadiers leading the way.

Then the cry went out from the surviving officers: “BATTALION, DOUBLE!”

And with a roar, the Guards charged forwards, smashing into the Softpaw defences like a hammer into glass. Some vaulted the shattered abatis. Other crowded behind parties of pioneers that hacked at it with axes. Hissing, screeching Changelings charged in response, goring the attackers with their horns or slashing with claws and fangs.

Furious combat erupted along the entire northern edge of Softpaw.

***

The 7th Brigade sloshed, cursing their wet boots, over the southern ford of the Tabby Burn. Ahead of it was Fluffingen. At its head was Colonel Crimson von Dagger.

The young officer’s Adam’s apple was bobbing in his throat as he swallowed in fear. His was the last, least brigade in the army, and he the youngest brigade commander. For that reason, before they’d always been kept on the far flanks or in reserve, until today, when everypony was being thrown in.

Behind him, as his three battalions marched in two lines, he could hear the thunder of guns, the two batteries on either side of Burnside seeking to reduce Fluffingen and the two Changeling batteries to the village’s west. He’d be in range of those guns soon, but they scared him far less than that barricaded, loopholed village. Ponies could march through a hail of fire and come out the other side, but they could not withstand for long a hail of shots from behind barricades, nor batter their way through solid walls.

Then the guns disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

The roars came moments later as Dagger spotted the pencil-thin grey lines arcing through the air towards his brigade. He held his breath as roundshot fell into the ground before his lines, bounced, and shot overheard behind his battalions, or struck his ponies at head level.

Ponies were blown sideways and back in clouds of crimson smoke, splattering their comrades with blood. The lines stubbornly closed up and kept marching as drummers grimly hammered their drums and the Ensigns gripped the colours tighter, but the shots told.

Dagger knew exactly what was happening: Oblique shots. The artillerist’s dream, his battalions were at just the right angle to allow the Changeling guns to fire almost at right angles down the length of his lines. Nearly every shot that hit took down three ponies in each rank.

Ahead him, his Light Companies fired and advanced, their spears crackling as they fired at the town, but they could no more clear the way that a single stallion with a chisel could quarry away a cliff.

Dagger’s heart was thundering. The next few moments could destroy his brigade. The Changelings were holding until they were as close as possible, so that every one of their shots would count. He prayed them to make a mistake; to give in to panic and fire early and give his ponies a chance. But they didn’t. Their hive nature kept them in position, and when the fire order was given, Dagger flinched from the roar of destruction.

Streams of green magical energy tore at the Equestrian brigade, ponies jerking and bucking as they were struck. Then new Changelings took over at the loopholes and fired again, and a second storm of shots tore into the red-jacketed attack. The air seemed full of blood and fire.

“FORWARD!” roared Dagger. “FORWARD!”

But the 7th could not go forward. The tide of fire had hurled it back and halted it there. Ponies milled in the grass, making a desultory fire with their spears that was even less effective than the Light Companies. The colours fell as the Ensigns were hit, rose as Sergeants grabbed them from the ground then fell again.

The attack was stalled.

***

Major General Neigh watched in stunned disbelief at the sight. From his position atop the low rise, the 6th Brigade looked like a red thread draped loosely around Fluffingen, wreathed in smoke. They just stood there, the Vanhoover Fusiliers and Bucklyns being chipped away by fire while the 2nd Battalion (Royal Fillydelphias) waited uselessly behind him.

He felt vomit rising in his throat. It was Silvestris all over again. The ponies in that brigade couldn’t move, and without support they would die where they stood. Crimson von Dagger had been so determined to lead that attack, and he’d obliged him. By the time Dagger had marched it had been too late: he had gone in in line. Who’d ever heard of lines assaulting villages?! They had no mass and no ability to absorb losses to keep going! He had not been able to call him back, and to order Dagger to change formation in the middle of the battlefield would have been to invite a devastating counterattack. He’d had no choice but to let Dagger keep going while hoping for the best but preparing Sword Knot’s brigade for the worst. The worst had come.

“Brigadier Knot!” he barked. “Mixed order! Take your brigade in on the right and clear away those guns with your Grenadiers and Light Companies! I’ll follow up with the 12th to cover Dagger’s retreat. Once he’s out the way, push your central and left battalions into the village. Remember, pin them! Don’t drive them out! Got it?”

Sword Knot wasn’t listening. “Sir!”

Neigh swept back around to face the battlefield. The sight before him chilled his blood. His jaw worked soundlessly as he tried to comprehend it. Spilling down the hills above Fluffingen, out of the woods that Neigh had thought impenetrable, were seven cohorts – close to 3,500 Changelings – in column, trotting at the double towards the left flank of the 6th Brigade while the Changeling artillery demolished its right.

The 6th’s flank broke before the Changelings collided. Hundreds of terrified ponies streamed back across the meadow towards the rise, a tide of tiny red drops that were horrifically vulnerable to a cavalry charge.

Neigh needed cavalry, but all he had was the most useless light brigade in the Army led by an utter coward. But those troops needed protection.

“Brigadier General Firebolt!” he roared, rounding on his cavalry commander, desperately hoping that a bit of shouting would inspire her courage. “Charge in support of those ponies! Get them back here alive!”

***

Crimson von Dagger ran with his brigade, out of the smoke, across the grass back to the rise. He knew this was wrong and he knew that he should reform his ponies into a skirmish line, but Spirits he had to get out of there! His flanks were gone; he couldn’t break into the village; and thousands of Changelings were slashing hundreds of Vanhoover Fusiliers on the left to ribbons.

Then he heard the sonorous trumpet of a bugle, and two thousand Pegasi in two lines, standards fluttering and sabres gleaming, roared over the ridge and crashed, a tidal wave of blue streaked with gold, into the cohorts charging down the hill.

Brigadier General Firebolt had not forgotten the shame of Maneden. Everypony from Shining Armor down had sneered at her for daring to want to preserve her force against a stronger opponent. Well not today. She would not let that happen again. Her entire brigade charged, glorious in their dolmans, braid and busbies, pelisses fluttering in the wind, whooping and screaming as they smashed into the flank of the seven cohorts in a whirl of flashing sabres and gouts of Changeling ichor.

***

Well I can cross off cowardly from Firebolt’s list of traits! thought Neigh furiously. But what about stupid?!

Firebolt had gone in with her entire brigade, nearly two thousand Pegasi in two lines, the Applewood Light Dragoons in front to crack the formations and the Whinnyapolis Hussars behind to deal with the dispersed Changelings. They smashed one cohort, then another, and sent another two scurrying to the rear before they even reached them as the remaining three struggled to form square, but she could have done all that with just one regiment. Instead she had taken them all in, and now the Pegasi were blown, exhausted, their lines ragged and overextended, and Firebolt had no cavalry reserve to catch a counterattack.

Neigh swept the field with his binoculars, looking for something that he prayed that he would not find. Then he saw it. Twenty squadrons of cavalry were forming up to the west of Fluffingen, ready to sweep round behind the village and smash Firebolt’s brigade as it flowed uselessly around the Changeling squares.

“Sound the recall!” he barked desperately. A staff officer put a bugle to his lips and blasted the urgent twelve-note fall-back signal. He sent it four times as Neigh stared through his binoculars, willing Firebolt to do something. She did nothing. Her brigade battered uselessly at the squares.

The Changeling cavalry moved at the trot. Neigh watched, sickened, as they disappeared behind the column of smoke rising from Fluffingen and emerged on the other side in flight. Wedge formations arced towards the 12th Light Brigade like black darts. They only needed to cross blades with two squadrons before the rest of the brigade broke in panic and streamed back towards the rise.

Neigh forced himself to look through his binoculars. The Changeling cavalry carried no swords: the razor-sharp hooks and claws on their legs and their gnarled, cruel horns were more than adequate. They slashed and gored at the faces of the 12th’s Pegasi. He knew exactly what was happening: those two regiments were smart units recruited in wealthy areas, to which young, bored rich kids were attracted to more by the promise of a fancy uniform and mess dinners than they were the idea of battle and service. The pampered young things were jealous of their looks and could not bear the thrusts at their faces, turning their heads away or throwing their legs up in a crude attempt to block, exposing them to a slash across the chest or a hack at the wing...

After fifteen minutes of fighting, the 12th Light Brigade was back behind the rise, having left three squadrons’-worth of mutilated Pegasi corpses behind outside Fluffingen. The Changeling cavalry fell back into the village. The grass around was strewn with red- and blue-coated dead.

Neigh stormed towards Firebolt and Dagger. They stood there, heads drooping, forlorn expressions on their faces as ragged ranks slowly formed up behind them. “Casualties?” he spat through gritted teeth.

“Eight hundred and fifty five,” whispered Crimson von Dagger. “And... and three regimental colours.”

Neigh sucked in air through his teeth in disgust. “And you?”

“I... I’m not sure,” stammered Firebolt. “We’re all dispersed and both regiments have lost their standards so we can’t...”

“SPIRITS DAMN IT!” exploded Neigh, such that everypony around him took a step backwards. “You lose the field, lose your colours, and you can’t even give me a casualty count?! Do you want us to lose the battle as well?!”

Dagger and Firebolt said nothing. They dared not meet his eyes.

“Brigadier General Knot,” hissed Neigh. “We shall resume the attack with your brigade. Mixed order, we will take the village in column.”

“We can’t go back out there!” gasped Dagger. “It’s suicide!”

“I see,” growled Neigh. “You two will stay here, then. I wish to fight with brave ponies, not cowards, and if you so much as bloody sneeze without me giving you a bucking order I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

Tears were forming in Dagger’s eyes. “Should... should we reform our brigades, sir?”

Neigh wanted to punch Dagger in the face to spare himself any more idiocy. “OF COURSE YOU SHOULD REFORM YOUR BRIGADES YOU IMBECILE!” shrieked the Major General. “MUST I DO ALL THE THINKING AROUND HERE?!”

It was the wrong thing to do, Neigh knew, as he turned his back on the sobbing officer and stormed off, but he needed a release, and he could think of no better target than the two who might have lost him the battle, which Shining Armor would blame him for.

***

Lord Chitin watched ragged lines reform under shredded banners a few hundred yards from Softpaw. It was unbelievable. He had driven off two pony attacks but still they were preparing for a third! Officers were gallantly waving their hats as they addressed their men and he could no sign of panic forming in their ranks.

The situation in his village was desperate. His legionaries were almost totally drained of magic and they slumped exhausted against ruined houses. Choking smoke from burning buildings blew everywhere and he could barely see. His barricades had been reduced to piles of shattered woods, blasted to sawdust by pony artillery or hacked to pieces by pioneers. And of the eight guns he had begun the battle with, he had two left.

I have to hold this village, he thought desperately. If this flank falls, our entire line breaks. We’ll lose the battle, and I’ll... That did not bear thinking about.

He waved an officer over. “Bring up our reserve. I want the whole legion in here. And have our cavalry charge their left while we manoeuvre.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

***

Shining Armor’s teeth were gritted so tightly that his jaw was beginning to ache. When he’d spotted the ten cohorts behind Softpaw moving into the village, he’d thought it had been the moment he’d been waiting for. But then sixty-four squadrons of Changeling cavalry had swept around the village towards the 1st Guards Brigade’s left flank. After nearly two hours under enemy fire, the brigade had at last broken, and was sent streaming back to the three battalions of the Crystal Guard, which opened their squares to accept the fleeing Guards before the cavalry struck.

The 10th Heavy Brigade was moving up, and Warding Ember would probably recover his position, but the situation in his centre was critical: White Cuirass had taken his two brigades into Overpaw in two lines of infantry with a line of cavalry in between and had been hurled off with heavy casualties. Now four squares sat on the plain to the north of the Tabby Burn, the Changeling reserve of twenty-five squadrons charging around them, their ponies wavering and becoming ever more likely to break by the second. The 9th Light Brigade had countercharged the Changeling cavalry and had been driven off, and now a mass of Pegasi, more a band than two proud regiments, swirled on the forward slope of the rise as it tried to reform.

An aide-de-camp landed next to him and hastily saluted. “Major General Neigh reports that Fluffingen is masked, sir. The Changelings are pulling their reserves into the town.”

“Good. I need his cavalry for the centre. The entire 12th Light Brigade.”

The aide grimaced. “I imagine he’ll be glad of that, sir.” He took off again.

Shining Armor turned his binoculars back to Softpaw. The Crystal Guard’s squares had held, a perfect point-to-point diamond formation so each square’s fire would not risk the others, and now the 10th Heavy Brigade was launching a charge of its own against the shot-up rags of a once-fine group of cavalry squadrons. The Guards Division would soon be advancing again.

In a perfect world, that would be his signal to launch the attack of the 2nd Division. In a perfect world I wouldn’t even be fighting a war, he thought absurdly. Either way, he could do nothing until the situation at Overpaw was stabilised.

***

It took all his strength not to bury his head in his claws in despair. His cavalry charge had bled to death amid the squares of those green-uniformed Guards, and those Pegasi had just finished it off. Soon that division would be advancing again.

Lord Chitin’s offensive capability had been shot to a bloody ruin. His cavalry squadrons had staggered back to Softpaw exhausted. All they had left was the hope that the ponies would smash themselves against the defences, but their abatis was so wrecked that they were shoring up the defences with bodies and nothing more. What remained of the barricades was so packed with Changelings that each of them could barely move or lift their hooves.

“Pull in another three cohorts,”

Chitin looked up to see the madly-grinning face of Queen Chrysalis. “The town is already packed, My Queen. One shell on our defences will...”

“This is clearly the decisive point!” shrieked Chrysalis. “We need every drone we can spare here! If he was going to try to break our centre, Shining Armor would have acted by now. He means to turn our flanks at here and Fluffingen!”

Thus, the three cohorts were pulled out of the centre into a village already crammed with troops. Thirteen thousand Changelings were pinned in Softpaw. Barely five thousand Changelings and sixty-four bloodied cavalry squadrons stood ready to defend the gap between Softpaw and Overpaw.

***

Brigadier General White Cuirass gripped his sword so tight in his hoof that the blood was draining from the joint. His four battalions were formed into squares in front of Overpaw, with thousands of buzzing, snarling Changelings spilling around them. The centre of his square was coated with dead and groaning wounded. It was almost impossible to take a step without standing on one of them.

As the drums of the battalion band thundered, he waved his sword in the air and yelled; “Stand firm, my little ponies! Keep your position and old Tirek himself can’t touch you! But if one of you gives way, he’ll have every last one of us, sure as day!”

He didn’t think he sounded very convincing. Over the din and smoke and through swarms of Changelings, he saw a down-cheeked Pegasus Lieutenant in one of the other squares take to the air, waving his sword and shouting something to his ponies before a blast of Changeling magic took him through the head.

Then the black fog of Changelings flowing around their squares cleared, as thousands of Saddle von Hoofsburg's and Beryl de Topaz’s blue-coated Hussars thundered past them, followed by the ragged, tired lines of the 12th Light Brigade, and chased the Changelings back to Overpaw.

***

“Brigadier General Cuirass’ front has been stabilised, sir,” said Colonel Warning Order. “The Changelings have pulled back into Overpaw.”

“Good,” said Shining Armor. “And the right?”

“More drones moving into Softpaw, sir,” said Crystal Thought, staring through a pair of binoculars. “Looks like fifteen hundred of them. General Ember is preparing for another attack.”

“Tell him to hold,” said Shining Armor quickly. “Mask that town and prevent anyone from leaving. Same with Overpaw and Fluffingen.” He thrust a folded sheaf of orders to an aide-de-camp. “Deliver these to Lieutenant General Steel! Now, quickly! Move!”

The Hussar took off. Shining Armor licked his lips and turned back to the battle. His heart was thundering. The banks of the Tabby Burn were wreathed with smoke and the plain was littered with corpses. He had lost thousands of ponies already, and the worst part of the battle was only just beginning.

***

“Spikes!” barked Inkie Pie.

With the Softpaw, Overpaw and Fluffingen fronts stabilised, Shining Armor had begun pulling batteries out of the line. Towed by huffing, lathered, cursing ponies, every battery the army had left was being massed behind the rise by General Sir Time Target.

Every battery except one. No. 1 Battery sat on the outskirts of Underpaw, and the battery that had earned the reputation as the most accurate in the Royal Army had a special mission that came directly from Shining Armor himself.

Muscles sticking out like cords in their legs, sweat streaming down their muzzles and collecting under the bands of their shakos, cursing gunners battled with hoofspikes to slew their guns round to face the two guns remaining on the eastern side of Softpaw. The guns in Overpaw were pinned down facing the 6th Brigade, and Shining Armor wanted rid of anything in the centre that might impede his grand scheme.

“FIRE!” bellowed Inkie.

The guns bucked and roared, shooting a great cloud of smoke out in front of them. Gunners raced forward to place a leather-covered hoof over the touchhole and spongeponies thrust rammers down the barrels to quash any remaining embers of gunpowder. Then a new charge and roundshot was rammed home and the gunners made their cannon ready with a quill of fine powder through the touchhole.

“FIRE!”

The guns fired again. And again, and again, and again. Inkie’s gunners could not see their targets, but they heard her corrections, heard her tell them their effects, and they grinned, knowing that they were doing a job well done.

“READY!”

“HOLD!” cried Inkie. She marched through the cloud of smoke and raised her binoculars. The edge of Softpaw was a sea of smoke and fire and shattered bodies, and in the centre of it were the broken limbers and blackened barrels of two destroyed cannons.

Inkie leapt back through the smoke, swept her hat off her head, and waved it wildly at Time Target, standing atop the rise. The Artillery commander waved his hat in response and disappeared behind the hill.

***

Where are the guns?

The tower of Softpaw’s council chambers had been the first casualty of the ponies’ artillery, collapsing in a rain of burning wood, slate and stone after a shell hit. Fighting through a cloud of thick black smoke that choked her spiracles and made her eyes stream, Queen Chrysalis raced along the council chambers’ roof and desperately tried to see what was happening.

She didn’t like what she could hear: the staccato rumble of cannon fire had faded several minutes ago, and apart from a sudden, quick storm of fire just now, it had not returned. All she could hear was the dull crackle of spear fire as the ponies’ lines fired into her towns, and the screams of the injured.

She scuttled to the eastern end of the council chambers, waving her leg in front of her to clear the smoke. From here she could see across the Burn and the plain to Underpaw, expecting to see, unique on this battlefield, a stretch of meadow and a sliver of ground innocent amid this hell of guns and smoke.

And instead she saw troops. Red-clad troops spilling out of Underpaw. Troops trampling the grass flat. Seven battalion columns raced across the plain towards the Burn, leaving brown, snail-like trails of churned-up mud behind them. Blue, orange, red and pink banners fluttered over them. Four lines of Pegasi fluttered with the columns. Ahead of them all was a thick line of green-clad ponies trotting in open order. The noise of their drums was lost in the din of battle, but even from here she could hear the skirl of bagpipes.

Chrysalis bared her teeth in triumph. So she was right! She had checked every one of Shining Armor’s movements! She had spotted his attempt to goad her into a flanking movement, stopped his brigades cold at the defences of her villages, and now he was making one last desperate gamble to attack through her centre, and she was ready to blast the attack’s flanks away with oblique shots from her guns.

Grinning, she looked down, and her elation was replaced with horror. Her great guns, the guns that had taken so much effort to acquire and move, had been blasted to pieces. She had no artillery in Softpaw, and her batteries over in Overpaw were pinned down dealing with another brigade. And between Softpaw and Overpaw, she had only a single battery, one legion, and only sixty-four shot-up cavalry squadrons to oppose them.

Then the guns began: sixty-six guns, massed wheel-to-wheel by General Sir Time Target atop the rise, opened fire in a flash of flame and smoke that even at this distance hurt Chrysalis’ eyes, and dozens upon dozens of shells and shot tore great rents into her lines beyond the Tabby Burn.

***

The Royal Cloudsdale Greys were over the Burn first. Spear in hoof, Rainbow Dash thumped down on the opposite bank. Her first shot was off before all her hooves touched the ground, a bright streak of magic arcing off into a cloud of smoke. Then she dropped her short spear to her side, crouching on the ground as the second line of dragoons echeloned through to fire.

Rainbow muttered curse after curse as behind her hundreds of engineers and pioneers laboured furiously to throw fascines into the Tabby Burn. Standing knee-deep in muddy water, they built three bridges for the advancing columns, while another detachment checked the stone hoofbridge on the old path from Underpaw for signs of powder. She hated this! She, her wonderful troop, her entire beautiful Cloudsdale regiment, was just sitting here being shot at! Applejack might be able to handle that, but not a Pegasus! She belonged in the air, at the charge, with her sword in hand, not standing to die like the infantry!

Then behind her she heard the thunder of bugles. She looked behind to see hundreds of green-clad infantryponies streaming across the fascines, reforming in open order on the southern bank of the Burn. One of them wore Sergeant’s stripes and, incongruously, a distinctly non-regulation light brown Stetson that had replaced her busby.

“Mornin’ Dashie!” laughed Applejack. She cocked her head at the red-clad columns advancing behind her. “Form up behin’ the 4th. We’ll take it from here!”

As the smoke cleared and the Cloudsdale Greys streamed back to the rear, the Changelings’ sole remaining battery in the centre slowly became visible. Magical blasts from the Light Infantry’s spears left smoking burns on the massive barrel, and as the gunners buzzed and hissed and struggled to turn the immense gun, their chief gunner screamed at them.

“CANISTER! LOAD IT! LOAD IT!” shrieked the Changeling officer, his helmet more black than purple from soot and smoke. But even if they’d had time to load, they could no more sweep away Applejack’s regiment with a single shot than a swarm of flies could be killed with a single hit with a swatter. The Light Infantry stormed the battery, their spearpoints stabbing the few Changelings that tried to swing ramrods at them. Most fled.

Battalion columns streamed over the Tabby Burn, flowing together like trickles of blood as they concentrated to cross the bridges. Shining Armor had his lodgement beyond the Burn.

***

The Field Marshal galloped forward, sweat lathering his coat and mist blowing from his muzzle. Behind him, struggling to keep saddlebags closed and carrying maps and binoculars in their mouths or magic, ran his staff, hastily removed from their position on the rise. The decisive moment had arrived and Shining Armor wanted to take personal command of the battle beyond the Burn.

Behind him the artillery had ceased firing: the 2nd Division had closed to danger-close range with the Twenty-Second Legion and the guns were being limbered up and raced forward to support the attack. But for now it was an infantry battle.

Shining Armor slid to a halt as his hooves began to clop on the corduroy road thrown across the banks of the Burn. The engineers had done a spectacular job: rather than lose their boots and composure as they crossed the swampy banks, the columns had crossed the roads in perfect order. Now the Changeling infantry were advancing on his division in lines four deep, and at this moment his ponies didn’t need the distraction of a Field Marshal making himself a nuisance among them.

Huge rents had been torn in the Changeling lines by his artillery, but the drones had stubbornly closed up and kept marching. A thick cloud of skirmishers stood in front of his lines, chipping away at the advancing legion and doggedly pulling back to the red-clad ranks of the 3rd and 4th Brigades, thrown out in a single line with the 1st Battalion, Trottingham Grenadiers and the 2nd Battalion of the Royal Shetlanders held back in column as reserves.

With the roar of a bugle, the Light Infantry broke and streamed back through the gaps in the lines. Then with a rattle of drums the division advanced and commands snapped out from the officers. “MAKE READY... PRESENT... FIRE!”

On the left, the Vanhoover Fusiliers firing was parade perfect, great flashes of light bursts from platoon after platoon and crashing into the Changeling ranks, racing down the battalion and starting again at the flank once the first platoon had recharged their spears. The Changelings endured that fire, halting at a hundred yards from the battalion and beginning a furious volley of their own.

On the right, the firing was different. Colonel Morning Star, Lieutenant Colonel Brigandine and Colonel Claymore had arrayed their battalions in only two ranks and marched them to within fifty yards of the Changelings. A massive explosion of fire, so bright it forced Shining Armor to look away, erupted from the battalions as the entire first rank opened fire. As Shining Armor’s vision cleared, he saw thousands of ponies charging as one into the Changeling ranks in a whirl of ripping spearpoints, flashing swords and flying tartan, with bagpipes thundering as they fought.

That flank broke first. As the Twenty-Second Legion’s left disintegrated, two flank companies of the 2nd Battalion, 7th Appleloosans spotted the gap and raced in. The Twenty-Second's centre cohorts broke moments later.

The last to collapse were the three cohorts facing the Vanhoover Fusiliers. They remained there, attacked on three sides, in the best order Shining Armor had ever seen. Order or none, they were cut to pieces almost in rank and file. Fifteen hundred drones died to the last where they stood, stationed right out on the open plain and supported by nobody.

The rest of their legion, a shining tide of black, streamed to the rear, where there were only green fields and clear retreats.

The cavalry would not allow them to get that far.

***

Chrysalis stared down from the council chambers’ roof as the shattered remains of her last legion were overcome by a tide of red. Two lines of cavalry smashed into the crowd of her fleeing drones, scything at them with long, cruel swords. A few cohorts managed to flee to the rear, but four were utterly overcome. From her position atop the roof, they were buried by what appeared to be nothing less than a boiling sea of blood from which shining, gore-streaked blades rose and fell.

The Hive Queen clawed at her face in disbelieving horror. This could not be happening to her, to her Hive! She had had the perfect position! How could Shining Armor have overcome her?!

She had only one hope left: her cavalry, her sixty-four tired, battered squadrons forming up ready to charge the disorganised, thronging mass of two thousand Pegasi that was struggling to reform on the plain below. Bugles were trumpeting and Ensigns were waving standards, desperately trying to redress their ranks to face the charge.

They didn’t manage it: Chrysalis bared her teeth as her cavalry charged the disorganised mass. She could salvage this. She would destroy the pony cavalry, and then pull cohorts from Softpaw to drive the infantry back over the Burn.

***

Breathing heavily, her wings aching, Rainbow Dash looked around the disordered mass of her regiment. Her sword was nicked and streaked with gore, and the sleeve of her cavalry jacket was yellow to the elbow with Changeling ichor.

She tore off her bicorne and swiped sweat from her forehead. Every instinct screamed at her to order her troop to reform in lines, but that wasn’t the plan. The brigade had to look disordered for the Changelings to counter-charge.

She spotted Lieutenant Colonel Spitfire, her uniform as tattered, muddy and gore-spattered as anypony’s, sweat beading her golden coat, pointing to the south with her sword. “Look!”

Rainbow swept her head around. A thin black line was racing towards them up the plain, just hovering off the ground. Changeling cavalry! We’ve got them!

“Back! Back!” she cried at her troop. As they took off she heard the blast from Spitfire’s bugler giving the order to pull back. An apparently-disorganised mass of red fled back to the Tabby Burn.

There was method in the apparent madness: the disorganisation had been deliberately created to conceal what was forming up behind the cavalry. As they retreated with a vengeful swarm of Changelings behind them, the Life Guards Brigade split to reveal the battalions of the 2nd Division formed into seven squares in two lines, the Light Infantry protected inside them and arrayed point-to-point to prevent friendly fire. In front of them was a line of sixty-six guns, raced across the Tabby Burn on pontoons to provide close support.

The Changelings saw the squares disappear in a titanic cloud of smoke as the Royal Artillery’s cannon fired double loads of roundshot atop canisters. Entire squadrons were knocked back as roundshot scythed through them like demonic polo balls, while clouds of walnut-sized lead spheres snatched dozens of Changelings from the air. Through the smoke, none of them saw the gunners galloping back to the safety of the squares.

The shattered lines emerged into the teeth of the fire from the squares.

The 2nd Division fired, recharged, fired again, recharged again, fired... They fired until their spear points were red hot, disciplined volley after disciplined volley into the ranks of the Changeling cavalry. As had already been proven far too often on that battlefield that day, to both sides, nine times out of ten cavalry could never break infantry squares. So the Changelings just flew around them, lashing out furiously, spitting, hissing, buzzing, dying, until the reformed Life Guards Brigade charged again in two lines and swept from the field the last Changelings in the world that were still strong enough to fly.

***

Chrysalis never saw her army break. She never saw the 2nd Division’s squares reform into columns to chase the tattered remnants of her legions from the field. She never saw the division split in two to invest Softpaw and Overpaw and trap nearly twenty thousand Changelings in those towns.

If someone told her that Lord Larva had been able to drag two legions out of Fluffingen because the ponies had lacked cavalry on that flank to pursue them, she had never heard it. All she remembered later were a few dim snatches of being dragged through Softpaw by Lord Chitin and another officer, smoke billowing in front of her, the council chambers collapsing in a burning ruin behind her, Chitin blasting other Changelings out of the way with his magic, and in the streets, drones packed so tightly that they could barely move. The doors of what had once been houses and shops burst open and screaming Changelings fled their fiery interiors with flames licking up their carapaces. Then she had been submerged in cold darkness.

When she came to she was sitting on the far bank of the Kelpie Creek beneath a darkening sky with barely two dozen other Changelings. Lord Chitin, water dripping off his carapace, did not look at her, but instead stared open-mouthed, his body cloaked in a cloud of shock, incomprehension, grief, and sorrow beyond words, at the burning town on the other side of the river.

Thick lines of ponies surrounded Softpaw on three sides, the Creek blocking the fourth. They only needed to stand there, firing constantly into the town, the Changelings packed so tightly on the defences that every shot was sure to find its mark. Behind the drones still fighting even now was a town built not of stone or wood but of towers of flames.

The only escape was across the single stone bridge arching across the Creek. It was packed with thousands of drones trying to flee, but they died there as surely as had they stayed at the defences. Shell after shell fired from howitzers beyond the town crashed on to the bridge, blasting apart dozens of her drones with each explosion. After half an hour of Chrysalis watching, the damage and the weight of the press on it was so great that the bridge collapsed, sending hundreds of screaming, terrified Changelings into the river below in a shower of shattered, blackened stone.

They watched for hour after hour as Softpaw and beyond it Overpaw burned. Chrysalis could feel the heat on her face. Flames leapt hundreds of feet into the air, the great pillars of smoke thousands of feet beyond that. The ponies never stopped firing with spear, shot or shell.

A few more Changelings managed to swim the Creek. Chrysalis said nothing to them as they dragged themselves up the bank, helped by others. She was numbed, beyond all grief, anger or mourning. After an hour or so no more came.

When the sky began lighten in the east above the Bone Mountains, the thunder of guns at last began to fade. Silently, Queen Chrysalis stood. Her drones, all she had left of her Hive, followed as she turned away from the holocaust and walked slowly down the bank. To follow her was all they had ever known.

The morning was cold. The sunrise was almost lost behind the rain-drenched clouds that had swept in from the north. Chrysalis dragged her claws in the dew-tipped grass as she walked, still feeling the heat from Softpaw on her back.

“My Queen?”

Lord Chitin stared as, with what looked like an enormous effort, his Queen looked down at him. “Yes?”

“My Queen... what... what do you command?”

Chrysalis stared at him in silence, then looked behind them at the clutch of shivering, terrified desperate drones. They are all that’s left. Our eggs are gone, our larvae. Can I rebuild a Hive with this?

Then she knew what she needed to do, and Lord Chitin gasped and stepped backwards as a boiling, seething cloud of grief, hate and rage surrounded his Queen. Not after any setback, any defeat, had he known his Queen so angry.

“What I command, My Lord,” she whispered, her eyes afire. “Is vengeance.”

A Darkness in the South

Colonel Beryl de Topaz cursed and slapped her wing against a mosquito gnawing at her flank. She was sick and tired of being eaten to death day and night, sick and tired of waking up too early every morning and going to bed too late in the evening, sick and tired of walking miles and miles every day to a new campsite, and sick and tired of having to write orders for patrols to search for an enemy that was long-beaten.

The Royal Army was camped east of the Bitissippi Delta, a stinking, mosquito-ridden hellhole of a swamp where the Kelpie Creek and the Bitissippi River met and discharged into the Mulian Gulf. When that glistening expanse of mud, and the endless vastness of blue beyond, had at last appeared on the horizon, a cheer of “The Sea! The Sea!” had gone up, and many in the Army had thought that the next morning they would be turning around to go home.

As she stalked through the camp that afternoon, Beryl de Topaz knew already that it was not to be. They had left the Kelpie Creek battlefield littered with the corpses of thirty-four thousand Changelings. Twelve thousand of them had burned to death in the village itself, which had been left nothing more than a smoking pile of ash and blackened bricks. At that point, everypony there had thought that the war was over for good. Everypony except for Shining Armor. He had marched them south, chasing ever fainter trails in the pursuit of Changelings, until they had reached the coast. The Army had followed Shining Armor to the end of Equestria, but now he seemed determined to march them beyond even that.

The camp was indeed quieter than usual, she noticed, as she trotted past lines of tents, ranked baggage carts, and draft buffalos settling down under awnings to devour pies. Soldiers stopped their conversations and rose from cookfires to salute as she passed, but behind it all was a pervading silence.

They had dealt the Changelings a shattering defeat on the banks of the Kelpie Creek, but the cost to them had been dear beyond words. Four-and-a-half thousand ponies had died, close to a tenth of the entire Army. Nearly eight thousand more had filled the medical tents that night. There hadn’t been a battalion or squadron that had not charged at least four times. Nearly every ten-pony tent now had an empty space, and NCOs and officers’ tents were occupied by new, unfamiliar owners. Even in Topaz’s field officers’ billet, there were gaps.

She turned left down the lane of tents occupied by the Imperial Crystal Hussars. She had been feeling particularly vindictive when she wrote these orders. That it had been his squadron’s turn for patrol duty had just been a bonus.

Topaz fluttered to the ground next to a battered wooden sign painted in the regiment’s colours of blue-and-indigo. On it, below the badge of a winged Imperial Snowflake, were the words:

No. 7 Squadron

10th (Imperial Crystal) Hussars

O.C: Captain Flash Sentry SSM: Sergeant Major Bright Ice

Her eyes flicked up and down the line of dull-brown leather tents. Bright Ice was sitting outside his tent reading a book. Other than him there wasn’t a pony to be seen. He jumped to his hooves and saluted. “Ma’am!”

“Afternoon, Sergeant Major. How’s the squadron?”

“Catching up on some much-needed sleep. I took watch for them.”

“They’re going to need it. I’m afraid I’ve got recce patrol orders for you. Where’s Captain Sentry?”

Bright Ice looked like he was struggling to form words, but his eyes told the story. Topaz’ gaze swung towards the largest tent, which she now noticed was grunting and rocking rhythmically. Every camp!

After a minute the flap opened and a grinning, glaze-eyed Unicorn mare in an unbuttoned blue-and-green Supply Corps jacket exited the tent, her shako totally askew. When she saw Topaz she froze utterly.

Behind her, wearing a rumpled dolman and carrying his bicorne under his wing, issued a smiling Flash Sentry. “Oh, hi, ma’am. Anything up?”

Topaz gritted her teeth as Bright Ice desperately tried to conceal a grin. She turned to the Unicorn. “Dismissed, Corporal.”

She hastily saluted and galloped off down the tent lane. Topaz swung a steely gaze back to Sentry. “Who is she?”

“Not certain. Does something in Supply.”

It was an effort not to scream. Since they’d left the Crystal Empire, Flash Sentry had obeyed Topaz’s command to keep away from the regiment’s mares, but as if to compensate he was working his way around the entire army. He was a lecher, a cad, and, if the rumours of him being in a bar fight with a brother officer were true, a chaser of other stallion’s wives.

Yet however how much she might wish it, Topaz could not get rid of him. As Sentry never ceased to remind everypony in the mess, he had fought gallantly at Maneden, Tailwald Wood, Silvestris and the Kelpie Creek; he had brought the Lynx Territories into the war on their side; and he was quite possibly the hardest-charging officer in the whole regiment. What was more, his squadron loved him. Flash Sentry was “one of the lads”, and his reputation among them had been raised to ever-more heroic proportions after it had been whispered that he had the admiring eye of a certain princess.

“Well I hope you still have some strength left,” snarled Topaz. “You’re on patrol tonight.”

Sentry’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “Patrol?! We haven’t seen a bloody Changeling in three weeks! The damn war’s over!”

“Look, Sentry!” exploded Topaz. “I don’t care how many sluts from the Artillery you have lined up for tonight...”

“Four. And they’re in the Life Guards, actually.”

“Shut up. You’re on patrol from sunset. I don’t want to see you back here before midnight, and if you know what’s good for you, don’t find anything!”

She thrust the patrol orders into Sentry’s hoof and stormed off. Flash Sentry sighed. “Damn it. Going to take me weeks to get that kind of totty again...”

“You’ve never considered her, boss?” asked Bright Ice.

“Nah, our beloved Commanding Officer isn’t my type.”

“Too senior?”

“Too single.”

***

Brigadier General Sword Knot examined his tumbler of whisky appreciatively. “How the bloody hell did you get this down here?”

Major General Neigh poured himself a glass of the rich gold liquor. “Thank-you present from Brigandine. He packed wisely.”

Lieutenant Colonel Brigandine had been gored by a Changeling’s horn when the Shetlanders had charged at the Kelpie Creek. In the confusion, his regiment had left him for dead. He had survived the night by tearing up his kilt to use as bandages and drinking hoofuls of blood from his dead soldiers lying around him. Neigh had found him the next day during a sweep of the battlefield and had dragged him to the field hospital, where Brigandine had spent an hour vomiting up the blood he’d drank.

Neigh carefully wrapped the bottle in a spare pair of trousers and returned it to his hooflocker. As the light outside the tent faded, Sword Knot nodded his horn at Neigh’s hurricane lamp. Flickering light filled the tent.

Neigh sat down heavily at his trestle table. “Thanks. So, what should we toast? The 3rd Division? Victory? Finally going home?”

“Not the last one at any rate,” sighed Sword Knot. “I saw Warning Order in the mess this morning. Shining wants plans from him for marching either west to the Broken Leg or east to Bitaly depending on what the patrols find.”

Neigh stared at him in disbelief. They had arrived at the former Felinia capital of Purrillies five days ago and had swept through a deserted ruin of a city. There hadn’t been a Changeling to be found, nor even a shred of intelligence that might indicate where they might have gone. Since then they had sat here, with Shining Armor pushing patrols further and further out in a desperate attempt to find them.

“The Broken Leg?!” he demanded. “Why wasn’t I told about this?!”

“Apparently it’s to be kept secret until we know Chrysalis’ location.”

“Doesn’t bloody surprise me! Does Shining Armor want to march us all to death?! How are we going to get there?! There’s no roads! What about our supplies? Our tail’s long enough as it is!”

Sword Knot nodded grimly. “The Artillery hasn’t been replenished since the battle; it’s taking so long to get supplies down from Equestria. The protestors aren’t helping, I’m told. I hear the plan is to load the heavy equipment on to the barges and follow the Army along the coast.”

“Those barges are river boats. If the wind picks up they’ll be swamped. And if we commit to battle...!”

A laypony might have seen the Army’s losses at the Kelpie Creek as heavy but endurable. What such a statistic didn’t reflect was that the losses had been disproportionately borne by the infantry and cavalry: there was scarcely a company or squadron that wasn’t understrength and consequently the two combat arms between them were twelve percent fewer in number than they had been two weeks ago.

Assuming something resembling an army even reached the battlefield, of course. Neigh looked out the flap of his tent. The nights were definitely getting cooler, and the days slowly but surely getting shorter.

“Three-quarters of this army are farmponies looking for a bit of adventure,” growled Neigh. “If they hear that they won’t get home before the harvest, we’ll lose half of them to desertion immediately.”

“And the other half will die in the Wastes,” muttered Knot. The herds of the Elephant Hills were said to be friendly enough, but beyond was an arid wasteland of shattered rocks ridden with Chimeras, Orthrosi, and worst of all, the predatory Tatzlwurms. They would feast well. “And if Shining Armor marches us east to Bitaly, well, you’ve heard the stories.”

Neigh nodded grimly. “It won’t just be desertion. We’ll have a full-scale mutiny on our hooves.”

Sword Knot nervously contemplated his whisky. “And if we do, sir?

Neigh drained his glass. “Shining’s had his war, the Changelings are gone, and he killed enough of my ponies to do it. If he wants to die in the south chasing Chrysalis’ ghost, he can. Anypony who doesn’t, I’ll lead them back north. Celestia can court-martial me and send me to the moon for all I care; I’m not going to see Shining kill anymore ponies uselessly.”

***

“Yer turn, Dashie!” laughed Applejack. “Wha’s the firs’ thing you’ll do when we git home?”

Rainbow Dash took a hearty swig from the cider bottle. “Fall asleep on my cloud and not wake up until noon the next day!”

“So basically what you do every day, and still not turn up to the weather team?” laughed Thunderlane.

Applejack’s Light Infantry section and the Ponyville troop of the Royal Cloudsdale Greys sat around a cookfire in the 8th Regiment’s tent lane. Mixing regiments was technically forbidden, but after five days in the same camp and the war as good as won, discipline was getting a little lax, and they hadn’t seen each other since the Kelpie Creek.

“Now you, Hayseed,” said Rainbow, passing him the bottle.

“Ah’ll jus’ be happy ta get back on the farm,” said Hayseed Turnip Truck simply. “Word is some farmers ain’t doin’ so good, an’ ah wanna back before winter ta git the harves’ in.”

“Should we be so lucky...” muttered Blossomforth, who’d already had a little too much cider.

“Wha’ d’ya mean?”

“Scuttlebutt says we’re keeping marching,” sighed Rainbow. “East or west, depending. Shining Armor’s determined to see the Changelings beaten.”

“But the Changelings are beaten!” protested Lemon Cherry. “We haven’t seen any for weeks! What’s to be gained by chasing them?”

“I don’t like it, but we committed to seeing this through to the end,” said Rainbow loyally. “Even if we have to march to the end of Bitaly.”

“You might,” said Bulk Biceps quietly. Even across the fire Rainbow could smell the drink on his breath. “Me though? Celestia can banish me to Tartarus if she wants, but I ain’t going to Bitaly.”

A silence fell over the fire. Rainbow and Applejack exchanged glances.

“Now Bulk,” said Applejack sternly. “Ah’ll be the firs’ to admit ah don’t like it, but ah’m goin’ where I get tol’ to go. You know Rainbow an’ I can’t hear stuff like that.”

Bulk Biceps looked at her oddly. “You haven’t heard the stories?”

“Wha’ stories?”

Bulk Biceps pulled his greatcoat tighter around him. Everypony leaned in closer.

“Couple of years ago I was working with my cousin on the airships. We were running a cargo down to Braysilia. On the way south we spotted a life raft in the water and set down to pick it up. The poor bastard had been in the ocean for days.”

Rainbow glanced at Applejack. The Earth Pony’s expression said; Is this going anywhere?

Lemon Cherry, in contrast, was enthralled. “What had happened?”

“He’d been a mate on a wet freighter. His captain had tried to save time by sailing up the Bitalian coast. No smart sailor does that, not until you get past the Badlands. The shoals and storms are too dangerous. They’d been caught in one of them and been driven up on the Blood Beaches.”

“I read Daring Do for names like that, Bulk,” said Rainbow Dash dismissively.

“Well it’s the right name: the place is covered with ships and airships that have wrecked there. Some of them have been there for centuries, and none of the crews have ever come back.”

“Except your castaway?”

“All I know, Rainbow, is that he saw something on those beaches that made him run away so quickly that he took a life raft on his own with barely any food or water. When we brought him breakfast next morning he’d put a knife through his heart in the night.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he’d just had too much seawater.”

Lemon Cherry stared at Bulk Biceps, her eyes as wide as saucers. “Why?

He shrugged. “You hear stories sometimes. None of the aviators really like to talk about it, but give some of the old salts a few and they’ll start telling you. About their airships that were blown off course and ended up over the Dark Fence. About the torches of great caravans they saw moving through the hills to the Slave Shore. About black ships with no flags and moving without sails taking slaves across the Thousand Islands Sea. About how they race away faster than anything in a cloud of black smoke when naval ships try to follow them.”

Eyes fixed on Bulk Biceps, Rainbow leaned closer to the fire. It’s just the autumn night...

“They say fifty years ago the Mulelicans sent a fleet to the Black Harbour,” the Pegasus continued quietly. “It’s a port just east of here, but no ship ever goes there. They meant to find and destroy the black ships. Ten ships went out; one came back, and only because it had been kept back to bring news of the victory home.” He smiled grimly. “The captain said five ships were destroyed instantly by pillars of fire and smoke from far outside their range. The rest didn’t last much longer. They waited two days trying to get closer to pick up survivors. The fire kept them out, but even from there they could hear the screaming.

“So,” Bulk Biceps finished, sweeping his audience with bloodshot eyes. “Now you know. Army or no army; I’m not going that way.”

Silence fell over the crowd. The only sound was the crackling of the fire. Then Thunderlane roared with laughter.

“You do talk some dung, Bulk!” he laughed. “I think we’d best stow that cider, boss!”

Rainbow Dash said nothing.

***

Flash Sentry frowned at the monolith that crouched at the side of dirt track. The ground circling it was as worn as the road. The grass had long since been trampled away. The road itself snaked away across the plain, disappearing behind a scrubby rise half a mile away.

“What is this thing, boss?” asked Bright Ice quietly.

“Milestone, maybe?” In the cold night Flash Sentry could not see any markings on it. He ran a hoof over the monolith searching for graven marks. He grimaced. The dark stone had a greasy feel.

And it wasn’t just dark, he realised. It was black. So black that it stood out even in the night. It seemed to drink in the moon and starlight. It was like a hole in the air looking into nothingness. The very sight of it seemed wrong.

But people have walked around it – you can tell that from the grass. What did the Felinia use to do here?

The monolith made Flash Sentry profoundly want to turn around and head back to the camp. The promise of fires, hot food, warm tents and, most importantly, their beds, was like a siren song.

He turned to face his recce troop – twelve picked stallions, the best in the squadron – who were shivering beneath pelisses buttoned up to their necks. “We’ll carry on to the top of this rise; that should put us in sight of the Black Harbour. We’ll watch for an hour then head home.”

The troop grunted in assent and got to their hooves, walking rather than flying to save the strength of their wings in case they needed to rapidly break contact. With Bright Ice taking point, they slowly climbed the rise.

Every step filled Sentry with more and more unease. The dirt track was pitted and potholed, and there were none of the signs of a retreating army or the distinctive Changeling hoofmarks. But there were ruts from wagon wheels: old ruts, but not so old that the wind and the rain had had time to obliterate them.

This road is rarely used, Sentry thought. But when it is, there’s a lot of traffic. It was marked on their maps as the Dead Road, and the hussars had scoffed at such a ludicrously melodramatic name, but right now Sentry was thinking that he wouldn’t go down this road again with the entire army at his side.

Sentry’s heart was pounding and his breath was roaring in his ears as they approached the top of the rise, and it had nothing to do with climbing such a gentle slope. We just need to get to the top then we can go back. I’m sure there’s...

Bright Ice crested the rise and froze. “What the...?”

Then he collapsed backwards, clutching his foreleg and screaming, and the air was filled with roaring, banging and buzzing as shot snapped past like furious bees.

“SKIRMISH ORDER!” roared Flash Sentry, lurching forward to grab Bright Ice. Sentry dragged his Sergeant Major off the crest as the troop spread out behind him, leaving a dark, shining trail along the path. A huge dark stain bloomed on Ice’s sleeve.

This isn’t right, Sentry realised. These shots aren’t magical: I can’t see them, and magic doesn’t sound like that. A chill suddenly filled him. If these aren’t Changelings, what are they? Sliding on his belly, sword waving in front of him, Flash Sentry dragged himself up over the crest as shot snapped over his head.

Beyond, he saw a ruined city so black that even in the dark he could make it out: the tumbled buildings stood out even below the cloud-strewn night sky. And on the plain before him were two lines of figures advancing up the hill.

Sentry had seen a minotaur once at a motivational talk in Canterlot. Though they were not so built, these creatures moved exactly like he had; on two legs, clutching something in their forelegs. They looked like spears, but they fired nothing like them: after they had fired, one line dropped to one knee while the second line advanced through them and fired in great explosions of noise and smoke and fire.

And each of them fired at least four times the rate of any pony soldier equipped with a spear.

Then an explosion of pain erupted up Flash Sentry’s leg. He felt like he’d been hit by a baseball bat. He rolled off the crest and looked down at his foreleg to see a great black rip across his sleeve, blood welling through the ragged fabric.

“FALL BACK!” he cried, through tears and gritted teeth. “FALL BACK!”

***

Shining Armor slammed the folder shut. “This plan is unacceptable.”

Lieutenant General Ration Bag and Major General Air Freight exchanged glances. Shining Armor had demanded logistics plans from them to sustain a march either east or west when they’d arrived at the delta. The two of them had spent the better part of a week trying to make the impossible possible, and they hadn’t succeeded. They’d known from the moment they’d entered the staff tent that Shining Armor wouldn’t like what they said, but they’d hoped that a rational analysis would at last convince him to turn around and go home.

“Sir,” said Ration Bag in measured tones. “We’ve considered every option available to us. We simply can’t maintain high-intensity operations this far from our railheads. Given the protests along the railway and the turmoil in the Lynx territories, it’s going to take two weeks minimum to get supplies from Equestria to the delta. That time will only increase if we advance east or west. Our best bet is to wait here and stockpile to our maximum carrying capacity. That will sustain us for a week’s march.”

“What if we were to replace our rations with hay?” demanded Shining Armor.

Then we can have a massive collapse in morale! thought Air Freight. “That would stretch our supplies out to about seventeen days, sir. Maybe to a month if we supplement it with grazing; but that would disperse a large amount of our strength when we’re in camp and the pasture in both Bitaly and the Broken Leg is going to get progressively poorer as we advance. The further we march also means the longer we have to wait for resupply, so we’ll have to keep supplies aside for while we’re waiting in camp. That means that our real time on the march will be much shorter than it initially appears and will get shorter and shorter as we go further.”

Shining Armor flicked through their planning document again until he found the page. “You seem to have understated our carrying capacity here. I remember it being much higher when we were marching down the Kelpie Creek.”

“Much of that loss is because we need to carry a larger fresh water supply,” said Ration Bag. “When we marched into Froud Valley we had the benefit of the river. In the Lynx territories we had good connections with the Canter Creek and a much shorter supply line. Down here, rivers are few and far between and so little of it has been properly mapped that we can’t chance it.”

“We’re marching along the coast. Can’t we distil seawater?”

Ration Bag stared at him, disbelieving. Would he kill us all if he thought he could kill just one more Changeling? “Not in quantity, sir. Boiling water also means using up firewood, and the forage for fuel down here is also poor.”

Shining Armor stood up and thrust the folder at Ration Bag. “I cannot accept this plan. Our patrols may encounter the Changelings tonight and you would have us sit here and wait for more supplies. Hardship is part of war. If we must march undersupplied, then so be it. In the mean time, I want this redrafted.”

“Sir, said Ration Bag desperately. “What you’re asking of us can’t be done.”

Shining Armor glared at him across his campaign desk. “Time Target tells me his guns can’t fire. Dagger von Steel tells me his troops want to go home. Thunderbird tells me that his cavalry’s swords are blunt. I did not expect their defeatism from you as well, Ration. I don’t want to see you back here until you’ve found your spine again. Dismissed.”

They said nothing as they left, but Shining Armor could see from their faces what they thought of him. It was the same thing that was plastered on the front pages of the newspapers strewn across his desk. They told a sorry tale. On the day the stories about Valneigh, the guns and his policy of destruction against the Changelings had broken, Radical Road had made a motion of censure against him in the House of Commons that he had barely survived. Anti-war protestors carrying signs that named him “murderer” and “genocide” now thronged the railway lines running up to the Diamond Dog Pass, and it was taking the Coltorado State Police hours to move them off the tracks to get the trains moving.

The victory at the Kelpie Creek had improved things only a little, he thought, as his eyes swept over the mass of headlines. Some had been supportive: IRON HOOF: HERO 2ND DIVISION BREAKS CHANGELING LINE AGAIN proclaimed the jingoistic Equestrian Mail. VICTORY AT LAST trumpeted the ever-royalist Manehattan Telegraph. But even they had asked whether the war would end soon, and the Parliamentarian press had pulled no punches when it came to casualties: BRILLIANCE OR BUTCHERY? demanded the News of Equestria. WE ANALYSE THE KELPIE CREEK STRATEGY.

As the days had worn on the headlines had soured further, and even the royalist press had become less and less supportive. TODAY WE TELL SHINING, thundered the Sun and Moon from three days ago. YOUR WAR’S OVER! BRING OUR FOALS HOME! His eyes fell on the opinion piece in the Sun and Moon written by Blueblood himself, that somehow he just could not stop reading.

Shining Armor has been exposed as a stallion of supreme egoism and utter lack of scruple, the traitor bleated piously. To his overweening ambition, he has sacrificed thousands of ponies and has kept tens of thousands more separated from their homes and families when his war is clearly over. He has gained his ends by trickery and by violence of a kind that is not only immoral but criminal. At the earliest opportunity I shall be putting forward an Early Day Motion in Parliament to terminate this war immediately and return Shining Armor to the only place he is fit to belong: a sentry box outside Canterlot Castle.

Shining Armor swore and swept the newspapers off his desk. Did none of them understand?! He was fighting to protect them! Did they really think that Bugs like the Changelings would ever stop to negotiate? Could you negotiate with Parasprites or the Feather Flu?! He had to wipe them all out! He had to make sure Chrysalis could never hurt anypony again!

The staff tent’s flap pushed open. He looked up, fury in his eyes. “WHAT?!”

Colonel Beryl de Topaz stood there, breathing heavily, a shocked expression on her face. “Sir... my last patrol has returned.”

Shining Armor stood up so quickly he knocked over his camp stool. “Did they find them?!”

“No sir,” said Topaz quietly. “But they found something.”

“Are you a soldier or a Power Ponies character?!” snarled Shining Armor. “Did they find the Changelings or not?!”

Topaz was more surprised that Shining Armor knew what the Power Ponies were than she was at his attitude. “Sir, they don’t know what they found,” she said seriously. “They took casualties.”

Shining Armor frowned. “Show me.”

The empty central square of the camp, kept open so companies could practice drill, thronged with ponies trying to see what was happening. A crowd had formed around the entrance of the medical tent: the sight and chaos of injured soldiers being brought in had been something everypony had rapidly and gladly forgotten about in the past two weeks.

Shining Armor pushed through the crowds with Topaz at his heel and pushed through the red cross-marked tent flaps. Sleepy-looking medics in rumpled, hastily-donned uniforms were rushing everywhere with bandages, splints, tourniquets and saline bags. “What’s happened?” he demanded loudly.

Surgeon-Lieutenant Colonel Redheart stalked past him. “Recce patrol came in with two casualties,” she said tersely. “One serious.”

“I need to speak to them.”

“Well you can’t!” snapped Redheart venomously. “Not until I’ve had to tell this poor Sergeant that he’s going to lose his leg when this morning he thought the war was over!”

She swept away into one of the screened-off operating areas. Silence filled the tent as the orderlies desperately tried to avoid the Field Marshal’s gaze. Shining Armor stood alone, quite still and his mouth quite dry.

“Um, sir?”

Shining Armor looked down to see one of the medics staring up at him. “Yes, Captain?”

“We’ve stabilised Captain Sentry, sir,” squeaked Surgeon-Captain Snowheart. She blushed a little at his name. “I think he wants to talk to you.”

She led him into one of the recovery wards, connected to the main tent by a canvas corridor. It was mostly empty now, but a few of the most serious cases from the Kelpie Creek were still there and looked up sleepily as they entered. Sitting up in a bed at the far end of the tent, with a thick dressing around his right leg and an IV of blood in the other, was Captain Flash Sentry.

“Sir!” he gasped. “Thank Celestia! We’ve gotta get out of here! That thing they pulled out of me! It’s... it’s...”

“Calm down, Captain!” snapped Shining. His horn glowed and the privacy curtains slid closed around the bed. “What does he mean?”

Snowheart nodded at a dolman and pelisse hanging by the bed. There was a ragged, blackened tear across both jackets’ right sleeves. “He was hit by something while on patrol. Whatever it was only grazed him but it was carrying enough energy to cut halfway to the bone. He’d lost a lot of blood before his troop got him back here.”

She picked up a kidney dish from beside the bed. “It caught in his sleeve. It didn’t actually go into him.”

Shining Armor took the dish. Rattling in the base, still spotted with Flash Sentry’s blood, was a small, slightly-flattened, acorn-shaped piece of lead.

Just like the one we pulled out of Gold Aurora.

Shining turned slowly to look into the rolling eyes of the Pegasus Captain, still half-delirious with blood loss. “Sentry,” he said quietly. “What did you see?”

The Field Marshal left the ward five minutes later. Flash Sentry’s words rattled in his mind, along with the dying words of a Diamond Dog that he had read months ago in a report that was now buried beneath multiple layers of classification in the Imperial Archives:

The hairless. Walkses on two legs, but never on four legs like Dog or pony...

Ration Bag was waiting for him when he left the medical tent. A ring of soldiers hovering anxiously just within earshot surrounded them.

“Break camp,” he told Ration Bag quietly. “The entire army is to stand to at the palisades. We return north at first light.”

Equestria, Home and Beauty?

Below a cloudy September sky, the last Hussar alighted atop the Recinante Cliffs. “Last pony, sir!” he barked, saluting smartly and trotting off to join his regiment ranked behind a battalion of green-clad Light Infantry in the rearguard.

Shining Armor dropped his hoof and turned to Colonel Tool Box of the Royal Engineers. “Blow it.”

Tool Box aimed his horn at a trail of powder snaking along the grass and ignited it with a jet of magic. A pulse of flame raced along the trail, leaving a long line of black through the green. The powder trail disappeared down the slope of the switchback path leading down the Recinante Cliffs fifty feet away. The hiss of the burn faded moments later.

Then, seconds later, a thunderous roar filled the air as the burn hit the immense mine of fifty barrels of gunpowder buried under the Recinante Cliffs. A vast cloud of dust leapt up over the cliffs, and then there was a rumble like a stricken giant as an avalanche of shattered rock crumbled into Froud Valley.

Shining Armor waited ten minutes for the dust to settle before he advanced to the edge of the cliffs, now twenty feet away. He nodded in satisfaction. The Great Trunk Road’s path down the cliffs had vanished, transformed into a steep slope of shattered rubble that no creature on four legs – or two – could traverse. Froud Valley was sealed off from the north.

He wondered what would happen to it. The Felinia would certainly not resettle: they had rarely been seen outside the Valley, and the few that were only because their loving and trusting nature had made them excellent willing slaves for the less civilised quarters of Equus. He remembered reading somewhere that after Chrysalis’ attack there had only been a thousand of them left in the entire world. The eggheads had said that that was below the minimum population the Felinia needed to keep their species alive. Ponies might have come to make the forests bloom again; to clear the Kelpie Creek and make it run crystal-clear; to recreate emerald-green meadows and lush orchards, but not now that this whole place had been tainted by the memory of war. It would probably, he thought with a shudder, return to nature.

Unless the humans really are pursuing us...

He said none of that to Tool Box. Instead he smiled at him and said; “Well done, Colonel. Let’s go home.”

***

The Royal Equestrian Army’s march through the Lynx Territories was slow and leisurely. It was much different from their race back from the Bitissippi Delta: there Shining Armor had insisted on silence on the march, silence in camp, and all fires to be put out before sunset. They had almost equalled the pace of their forced march from Valneigh to Maneden. Shining Armor could not believe that that was only two months past. It felt like it had been over a year ago.

The army sang during the day and laughed during the night. But on the dawn of the fifth day of the march, with Mount Grappler slowly disappearing below the horizon behind them, they saw a column of smoke rising into the air before them. A Light Dragoon from the vanguard raced up the line of confused troops and thumped down next to Shining Armor.

“It’s the Lynxes, sir,” he growled. “We ran into one of their pickets. Chieftain Strong Blow wants to speak to you immediately. King Strong Blow, he calls himself now.”

Shining Armor saw his staff exchange glances. They had heard little of the Lynxes since their defeat at the Second Battle of Pawrinth. The rumour from the supply convoys that had been delayed endlessly in their journeys south was that Strong Blow was busy gobbling up the Changelings’ leavings.

“Blackfire, Ration, with me,” he said slowly. He nodded at the Dragoon. “I’ll take your regiment as well. As an... honour guard.”

Flanked by General Blackfire and Lieutenant General Ration Bag, and the 5th (Princess Luna’s Own) Light Dragoons at his back, Shining Armor trotted ahead of his army. The column of smoke rose over a low rise ahead of them, and suddenly a change in the wind blew the full reek of it in their faces. Shining’s step halted and next to him Blackfire retched as a stink of charred bones, cooked meat, burned blood and shattered bowels swept over them. On the wind came screaming. As they crested the rise they were met by a sight that belonged in Tartarus itself.

Pillars of smoke rose from blackened craters that had once been Lynx lairs. They had been smashed open and burnt, their screeching inhabitants cooked alive inside. The few that escaped the flames were dispatched with a quick claw slash and a gout of crimson blood by stripe-furred Lynx warriors.

Corpses coated the trampled grass: not even the charnel house of the Kelpie Creek could have prepared any of them for it. Lynx warriors cackled as they stalked through the carnage, killing at will or plundering trinkets from the lairs. The young toms and queens were dragged away by and strapped into chain gangs. The elderly or cubs-in-arms were slaughtered on the spot. A female Lynx, her coat blackened with soot, staggered around amid the carnage. A laughing warrior seized her with both paws, bent her over a pile of corpses and thrust himself inside her. A queue of cackling warriors formed behind him.

Ration Bag hid his face in a map. “Stalkfang,” he whispered.

The lair we went to war to save, thought Shining Armor bitterly.

“PRINCE SHINING ARMOR!” roared someone jubilantly. They turned to see an ornate chariot, towed by two dozen Lynx slaves taken from other conquered lairs, their eyes downcast, rattling towards them. Atop it, with new-forged golden torcs ringing each foreleg was the stripe-furred Strong Blow, Chieftain of Afleasia.

“Chieftain,” growled Shining Armor.

Strong Blow laughed. “King, they call me now, but the difference between king and chieftain is a small one. My warriors proclaimed my King of All the Lynxes after we lost young Slashclaw. They insisted: somelynx had to build a bulwark against the south.”

The queen being raped let out a high pitched, keening scream as another warrior entered her. “What is going on here?” demanded Shining Armor through gritted teeth.

“Oh, I have been plagued with recalcitrant tribes since I was crowned. Some cub claiming to be a brood of old Stalks Silently thought he’d try to rebuild the Stalkfang lair. I asked only for his homage, but he refused.”

Shining Armor spotted that Strong Blow held a thin chain in his paw. The self-proclaimed king looked down. “Oh yes, I have found this to be particularly effective against any Chieftain plotting rebellion.”

He jerked the chain hard. From behind the chariot shambled six Lynx queens chained together, and at the sight Shining Armor recoiled in horror. But for their faces each one of them had been shaved bare, and a welter of scars that could only have come from a whip coated each of their backs. They hobbled along as if each step was agony for them. They stared at him with dull, lifeless eyes.

“The mates of my first six rebel chieftains,” proclaimed Strong Blow. “I have found I need only turn up at a lair with them behind my chariot and my would-be enemy becomes my best friend.”

Blackfire and Ration Bag’s hooves slowly went to their sword hilts. Shining Armor hastily stood between them and Strong Blow. “We must be on our way. My army longs for home.”

The Lynx Territories’ new tyrant whipped his slaves into motion. “Farewell, Shining Armor. The Lynxes are forever indebted to you!” As he rattled off down the hill, his prizes staggering in tow, a warrior pulled himself from the female Lynx and added her to the mound of dead.

“We should kill these buckers right now, sir,” hissed Lieutenant Colonel Nightfire of the Light Dragoons. He gripped his sword tight. “Every last savage one of them.”

“I want the Life Guards to brigade the army as we march past,” whispered Shining Armor. “I don’t want anypony getting close. It could be a massacre.”

“Sir, we went to war to protect these people!” hissed Ration Bag.

Shining Armor looked back over the desert that had once been a lair, tears in his eyes. “Not from themselves.”

***

“Vinyl.”

“I’m thinking.”

“Vinyl, you’re distracting me.”

“I said I’m thinking.”

Octavia Melody sighed and shut her copy of Hayto’s Symposium. Her colleague-and-flatmate stood on the other side of the coffee table on her much-filthier side of their tiny sitting room. Above a sofa coated with crumpled cardboard cartons filled with the ancient remnants of takeaways, pinned between two posters for bands whose names Octavia couldn’t even begin to pronounce, was sheet upon sheet of reports, photos, and newspaper clippings, all linked by string. It was Vinyl Scratch’s self-proclaimed Mural of Murderous Mystery.

“You’ve stared at that thing every day since we heard Rough Charger died,” said Octavia. “We’ve found nothing. The war’s over, Vinyl. Nopony cares about those guns anymore.”

Vinyl rounded on her, but if she’d tried to fix Octavia with a furious gaze, the effect was ruined by her glasses. “Somepony cared enough to murder our only lead! That’s not just profiteering! There’s something more here.”

“We don’t know that Charger was murdered.”

“Yeah, ‘cause a pony just eats enough taxine to kill four stallions!” Vinyl pointed at the toxicologist’s report on the Mural. “He wasn’t even drunk, and the post mortem said there were no signs of yew in his stomach. Somepony poisoned him.”

“Granted, it’s suspicious, but...”

“He also had twenty thousand in gold under his bed! Somepony was ready to blow a lot of money to make sure he stayed quiet before they had to kill him! Who has that kind of dough?”

Octavia stood and crossed from her own immaculately-dusted-and-vacuumed side of the sitting room to Vinyl’s. “We’ve discussed all this before, Vinyl, but we haven’t found anything. All we can do now is wait for anything new to develop, if anything happens at all.” Her eyes fell on the folded newspaper lying on Vinyl’s couch. “I thought we weren’t buying News Equestria anymore?”

Vinyl looked down sheepishly at that morning’s copy of News of Equestria. “Oh, yeah. Well, it’s got a feature on Shatterhoof, so... yeah!”

Octavia rolled her eyes, wondering why she was surprised that Vinyl would let her addiction for news of her favourite band to override her principles. Then she saw that Vinyl was staring intently at the front page. “What?”

“Look, Tavi!”

Vinyl seized the paper in her magic and held it up to Octavia’s face. She frowned at the picture of the Parliamentarian statesman below the headline. “Yes, that’s Blueblood. I hate him. What of it?”

“Blueblood, Tavi!” Vinyl swung back to her Mural, looking at each of the newspaper clippings pinned there. In everyone about the guns scandal, he was there: Blueblood said in Parliament in response... Parliamentarian spokespony Mr Blueblood... Mr Blueblood today called the ongoing scandal “a national disgrace”...

“You cannot be serious...” said Octavia.

“Think about it, Tavi!” cried Vinyl. “He uses a load of deficient guns to cause a scandal that he’s right there to exploit, and then he offs only pony that can link him to the warehouse! He’s got the money for it, and it’s done wonders for his political campaign! Look!” She seized a brochure for the Trottingham Holding and Storage Company, the late Rough Charger’s erstwhile employer. “He owns the warehouses, for Spirits’ sake!”

“Vinyl, this is ridiculous!” protested Octavia. “No pony outside bad thriller novels hides in plain sight like that!

Vinyl wasn’t listening. “Oh, Celestia! Snowy Grape!”

“What?!”

“An MP just happens to die the same week Blueblood says he’s going to stand for the Parliamentarians, then he wins her seat?! That’s not a coincidence, Tavi!”

Vinyl grinned at her Mural, hastily rearranging strings. After so many fruitless weeks, everything was coming together. We crack this open; we can bury that traitor for good!

“Vinyl!” snapped Octavia, desperate to bring the Unicorn back to a plane of reality. “Even if what you’re saying is true, all this is circumstantial! We can’t go to Amber Spyglass with this. If we tried to start an investigation, it would just look like the Crown trying to discredit Blueblood!”

Vinyl fell silent, and the excitement faded from her face. “So... what can we do?”

Octavia looked down at the picture of Blueblood, smirking at them from the newspaper. “The same thing we were just doing,” she seethed. “Wait for something to happen.”

***

The train seemed intent on rocking Applejack to sleep. Every gentle shake that came with each click-clack as the wheels passed over gaps in the rails was lulling.

She twitched and fidgeted in an effort to clear her head. It wouldn’t do for a Sergeant in the uniform of the Royal Equestrian Army to be seen dozing on the train, not since the rest of her section, scattered across the carriage, had fallen into slumber hours ago. Hayseed Turnip Truck snored on the bench opposite her, a thin line of drool trickling from his mouth. She couldn’t blame any of them really: they’d been on the train since seven that morning after a wild end-of-war party the night before, and had been sitting here for nearly eight hours.

The army had begun to demobilise immediately after it had arrived to a cheering crowd outside Appleloosa five days ago: most of the protesters had dispersed after news that the war had ended had come through, and the hard core of activists had been kept away by Sheriff Braeburn’s deputies. Soldiers had begun streaming out of “Camp Demob”, as the army’s last marching camp had become known, the next morning, with the only guidance from the General Staff being for regiments to spread dispersal over two weeks to avoid swamping the railway network. Officers and staffs would leave last so they could handle medals, pension requests and disciplinary cases. Applejack’s section had left a half-deserted camp that morning and had exited a palisade that had more empty space than tent lines within.

Applejack turned to the window and tried to focus on the countryside to stay awake. She’d found she’d been looking out the window a lot on this journey, far more than she had been on the way south all those months ago. Over the day, the view had given way from the russet sands of Coltorado to the tall white stone buildings of Salt Lick City, to the pale broken crags and screes of the Rambling Rock Ridge, to the rich farmland of the Reinine Valley. Orchards, vineyards and wheat fields flashed past, sunset blazing on them. Every so often the train raced over brooks and streams trickling gently down from the Reinine Range to water the valley. Equestria, thought Applejack happily, not for the first time that day. Home.

She wasn’t sure what she’d done down south, and she wasn’t proud of a lot of it, but she knew that she’d done it to keep this safe. She’d managed to get her entire section out of it alive as well. She didn’t care what some politician or college protester said about it: of that, at least, she was proud.

Applejack yawned and stretched on the hard wooden bench. The army didn’t pay for First Class. Another hour until Ponyville, she reckoned. She cast her eyes around the carriage. Apart from her Light Infantry in green uniforms, she didn’t recognise any of them as having boarded that morning: few ponies from Coltorado made the expensive journey this far north. Some of them smiled and nodded respectfully at her. When they’d taken on passengers at Trottingham, somepony had even raced over to shake Hayseed’s hoof and thank the bemused stallion for his service. Most just kept to themselves, however, reading newspapers and books or daydreaming to pass to journey.

Her eyes fell on the front page of the newspaper an Earth Pony mare across the aisle from her was reading. It was, she noted with distaste, The Baltimare Times, one of Newsprint’s rags. Applejack didn’t exactly make a habit of reading the papers, but she had come to hate News Equestria as much as any other soldier.

The headline sent a twinge of sorrow through her: VICTORY, BUT AT WHAT COST? Applejack had mercifully not had to think about that much. Her section had survived the war without casualties, but the same could not be said of the rest of the Princess C’s: two hundred of its ponies had died since they’d set out to war three months ago. Two hundred houses with darkened windows. Two hundred families for whom Hearth’s Warming would be poorer this year.

And then there were the casualties of the rest of the Army. Applejack had never followed the official casualty list that had been posted every day in the centre of each marching camp, but she knew that Rainbow Dash had made a habit of reading, repeating and memorising every new name.

Applejack felt a lump form in her throat as she read the impersonal figure off the newspaper front page: Seven thousand young stallions and mares had died in Southern Equestria, either in battle or of wounds. Nearly a quarter of the Army had gone through hospitals while on campaign, and of those, four thousand were crippled for life.

It was then that Applejack realised that the mare was staring intently at her. Applejack smiled apologetically and looked away sheepishly, deciding not to steal anymore of the mare’s paper.

Applejack tried to enjoy the scenery again, but she couldn’t help but notice that the mare was still staring at her. A college filly, she guessed, based on her age and striped scarf. She seemed to remember her getting on at Gasconeigh.

After about five minutes the mare stood up and crossed the aisle to her. She was looking right at Applejack, lips pressed tight. She stood over her and spat on her.

It landed on Applejack’s row of medals, darkening the ribbons of her General Service Medal and Southern Star. The college filly walked back to her seat.

Applejack was trembling with shame and embarrassment. The other ponies in the carriage hid behind books or newspapers. Some looked intently out of the windows at the golden fields.

She wiped off the spit as best she could and pretended to go back to looking out the window, trying to control the shaking. The college filly stood up and walked off in a superior fashion to another coach. A small victory.

Applejack wanted to move as far down the train as possible in the opposite direction. To stay there with ponies who had seen what had happened was almost unbearable. But she couldn’t. Not without waking her section. Not with Ponyville so close.

***

Twilight sighed as another five jotters appeared atop the already tottering pile on her desk in a flash of flame. “More?”

“Don’t you complain,” croaked Spike. “You need to invent a better way of doing this.”

Owlowiscious fluttered over and dropped a packet of throat sweets, Spike’s third that day, into the baby dragon’s claw. “Thanks pal.”

“Hoo.”

“You. Thank you.”

“Hoo.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

Twilight stuck a tab to the heavily-highlighted page for future referencing. “I really don’t know why Rear Echelon wants this done so quickly.” She shook her head. “Four weeks! To write a dissertation-length document! It took even me two months to do that at university!”

Two weeks ago, Spike had burped up a note from Minister of War Rear Echelon. It was now pinned to Twilight’s notice board:

Your Highness,

With the recent war over and the Army returning home, we at the War Office will be reviewing the events of the conflict with the aim of formulating a new doctrine for the Royal Army.

This will inherently be an enormous task for us. To this end, we are approaching you and others across Equestria to help us analyse out documentation of the war. Prince Shining Armor has spoken highly of your attention to detail, ability to sort and analyse data, and draw conclusions. We would be honoured if you would assist us in this task to ensure a better defence of Equestria.

I remain, ma’am, your obedient servant,

Rear Echelon, Minister of War

Twilight had, reluctantly, agreed. She had tried not to think about Shining Armor since she had seen a changed stallion at the Recinante Cliffs, but she did not yet dislike him enough not to be swayed to an appeal to her intellectual side. Since then, field reports, unit war diaries, and even personal journals donated by soldiers at Camp Demob had been arriving every day, much to Spike’s displeasure. Twilight had handed over much of the work concerning the physical act of killing to a disturbingly-eager Summer Set. Her bodyguard had barely moved from the library table since the first sources had arrived, poring over parchments and giggling occasionally as he identified another way to more efficiently expedite the rapid transfer of blasts of magic or small pieces of metal into other people’s bodies.

Twilight preferred to be distant from that, focusing instead on what she had grandly described in her introduction as “the conceptual element of fighting power; the methods of applying the means without which the most accurate spear and the most powerful cannon are worth nothing.”

Twilight frowned at the page of the despatch in front of her. “Spike, can you bring me The Ways of Strategy?”

“Sunfyre’s, Marechiavelli’s or Friedrich the Feathered’s?”

“Sunfyre’s.”

Spike retrieved a slim volume from the shelf recently re-prioritised for military history and settled it down on Twilight’s desk.

Twilight grimaced at the innocuous, red-covered book. The Ways of Strategy, a collection of quotations attributed to Sunfyre, the semi-legendary Dragon strategist whose instruction had led King Chrysophylax to victory in the Warring Kingdoms Era over two thousand years ago, was undeniably insightful and influential. Too influential for Twilight’s tastes: since the war had started its easy-to-ready collection of pithy maxims were the only things being cited by armchair war experts who seemed to think it was the be all and end all of military thought. It was therefore with some trepidation that Twilight opened it to find the passage she needed.

She found it in the introduction: the famous anecdote of Sunfyre’s life that Long Grapheme had included in his first translation of the ancient text:

“Sunfyre, who was a native of Charrix, had secured an audience with King Chrysophylax. Chrysophylax asked Sunfyre to demonstrate his famed techniques for conducting the movement of troops, by commanding one hundred and eighty of the King's mates.

Sunfyre divided the drakaini into two companies and put the King's two favourite mates in command. He instructed them all in the emission of balefire, and the proper way to respond to flying commands. He explained the orders five times, after which he gave the signal to take flight. The drakaini did not move, and laughed at him.

Sunfyre said; “If instructions are not clear and commands not explicit, it is the commander’s fault. But when instructions have been made clear, the fault lies with the officers.” He ordered that the two company commanders, the King's two favourite mates, be executed immediately.

King Chrysophylax was horrified, and sent an aide to protest. But Sunfyre declared that he had been placed in command, and as the King's appointed general, he therefore had the right to deal with his army as he saw fit. He repeated his order, and the two mates were swiftly beheaded.

He then chose two other drakaini to serve as company commanders, and when he gave the order to face right, the drakaini efficiently turned to face right. This time, there was no laughter.”

Twilight sat back on her haunches and tapped a quill against her chin in thought. The values the anecdote put forward hadn’t exactly aged well across two millennia and an ocean, but the truth at the heart of the story remained.

Not for the first time she wondered why she was doing this. The war was over and yet the government was preparing for another one. They wanted new doctrine, but to defend against what? Even odder were the regiments that had been kept intact during demobilisation, to be billeted on their home cities. The Royal Guard was still stood up, obviously, as was the Crystal Guard, but so were the Trottingham Grenadiers, the Vanhoover Fusiliers, the Royal Manehattans, and the Bucklyns. With those regiments mobilised Shining Armor had the entire northern border covered, but why? And why the Trottinghams as well?

As Spike went to the kitchen to mix himself a herbal soother, Twilight took up her quill and rapidly began to write.

“Formal orders, both written and verbal, given during the Changeling war were characterised by a total lack of structure. No standardised process existed for rapidly and efficiently communicating information to subordinates. This left officers with a general idea of what the commander hoped to achieve, but with little concept of what exactly had to be done to achieve success. Major General Neigh’s decision to break off the plan to encircle the Changeling legion at Valneigh, the 2nd Division’s near-suicidal march into Changeling cavalry at Maneden, and the 12th Light Brigade’s failure to pursue the defeated legions at the same battle, may all be characterised as a failure by the commander to properly communicate his intent.

To this end, a formalised orders process that can be used across the Army is required. At the very minimum, orders should include a statement of intent. This will properly define the commander’s goals and how subordinates should subsequently conduct their missions. From intent must be derived the subordinates’ missions, and these must be articulated in such a way that there is no doubt as to what subordinates must achieve regardless of circumstance.”

Twilight paused, her quill hovering over the parchment. Maybe I’d better clarify that...

Before she could write, there was a knock and Golden Oaks’ door swung open. “Hi Twilight!” sang Pinkie Pie.

Summer Set suddenly moved like a flash of green lightning. As he streaked across the room, Twilight saw a look of absolute horror on his face. He barrelled into Pinkie, sending him and the stunned mare careening across the room and smashing into the Advanced Magical Theory shelf. From above the door fell a massive weight marked “50 Tons”, which crashed into the spot just inside the threshold where Pinkie had been standing just half a second before, sending the floorboards groaning and creaking in protest.

“Huh,” said Pinkie, amid the ruins. “So that’s why I was getting an ear-eye-knee combo...”

“SUMMER!” roared Twilight. “I’ve told you about this!”

Summer Set stuck his head out from the pile of books.”My apologies, madam, but my attention to my studies left me distracted! Had I heard Miss Pinkie coming, I would have disarmed the trap post-haste!”

Twilight frowned. “You can hear Pinkie from here?”

“I have taken your instructions regarding the treatment of your friends to heart, Your Highness! I have memorised the hoof beat pattern of every pony in Ponyville! Miss Pinkie is particularly distinctive!”

“ANYWAY!” sang Pinkie, utterly unperturbed. “Just came to tell you that Applejack’s ‘Welcome Home From The War’ Party is starting in exactly twelve-point-seven-five minutes when her train gets in! See you at the station, Twilight!”

“Wait, that’s today?!” demanded Twilight. She shot a glance at her calendar. “I thought that was next week?”

“No, silly, that’s Dashie and Applejack’s ‘Joint Welcome Back to Ponyville Party Because Applejack Wasn’t Back For Rainbow’s Welcome Home Party’ Party! NOW SHIFT YOUR FLANK! I HAVE LESS THAN TEN MINUTES TO GET THE PUNCH OUT OF THE FRIDGE AND GET TO THE STATION!”

And with that, Pinkie leapt out of the library, not even slowing down to dodge around the weight still sitting in the door.

Twilight stared in disbelief after the cloud of dust in Pinkie’s wake as Spike and Owlowiscious began their grim task of rebuilding the bookshelf. Applejack home, after three months of war. More than three months, given how long the training had taken.

I haven’t seen my friend for nearly half a year...

“Applejack is home!” she cried suddenly. A delirious happiness filled her. She forgot all about Rear Echelon’s project and seized Spike in her magic, whisking the stunned baby Dragon across the room and onto her back. Giggling, she galloped out of the library and raced down the wide road towards the station.

She joined a crowd of ponies, some already wearing scarves against the autumn cold, some trotting, others flying, all grinning and flooding towards Ponyville Station. The platform already thronged with ponies: Big Mac stood at the front, with Apple Bloom propped up on his back waving wildly as the train appeared on the horizon. Granny Smith was at his side. Twilight joined Rarity, Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, and an out-of-breath Pinkie next to them. Mayor Mare stood ready on a podium in the middle of a platform to give a welcoming speech.

In clouds of steam, the train chugged into the station, slowly coming to a halt. As the doors drew level with the platform, a cheer went up from the crowd, which rose and rose and rose until the door of the carriage slid open and Applejack trotted out, when it became a roar. The thinner, gaunter Earth Pony barely had time to grin sheepishly before she was buried by the deluge: Rarity threw her hooves around her neck in a bone-crushing hug. A cloud of streamers and confetti burst into the air as a party cannon fired and Pinkie leapt on top of her. Then Rainbow Dash descended from the sky to join the hug, then Apple Bloom leaping from her brother, then Big Mac, then Granny Smith, then Twilight, Spike and Fluttershy, the Cakes, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo... Atop the podium, Mayor Mare laughed and threw away her prepared speech as she leapt down to join the ever-growing throng of ponies welcoming the sons and daughters of Ponyville home.

In that moment, overwhelmed by friends and family, tears in their eyes and smiles on their faces, Applejack forgot about the war, forgot about what she’d done, forgot about silly college fillies. She only knew that she was back in Ponyville, back where she belonged.

She was home.

A Shadow in the North

Sergeant Major Cold Steel, 10th (Imperial Crystal) Hussars, knocked open the crystal door with a single kick of his emergency edible boot. As a gust of cold wind blew a miniature blizzard of snowflakes into the brothel, a dozen prostitutes looked up from their clients to the tall, broad and muscular Crystal Pegasus filling the door frame.

A middle-aged Unicorn mare leapt up from the desk where she was counting bits and waved her hoof. As she sidled over to Cold Steel, four nubile, young Crystal Pony mares lined up in front of him.

“Good afternoon, Sergeant Major,” said the madam pleasantly in a Mustangian drawl. “Thank you for patronising our establishment. A stallion of your rank is surely worthy of something particularly special. Please, these are my best girls, the choice is yours.”

“Ma’am,” barked Cold Steel through a bushy moustache. “First, I am married! Second, I am risking my integrity merely being near your ‘establishment’! Third, and most important, where is Captain Flash Sentry?!”

The madam took a step back. “We take client confidentiality seriously here,” she said haughtily. “And even if he was here, which I cannot tell you, it is our policy that those who have paid for a session receive the full...”

The Sergeant Major marched past her, through the common room and into a corridor leading into the back. He paused at the third door along, which had an officer’s bicorne hanging on the doorknob. It opened before another kick.

Inside, a pretty, shocked-looking Crystal Pony mare lay on a feather bed. She stared at him in terror. A fur-trimmed pelisse was draped loosely over her shoulders. At the dresser at the side of the small room, Captain Flash Sentry looked up nonchalantly from the glass of wine he was pouring. The flap of his cavalry trousers hung open. “Don’t you know the meaning of a closed door in a whorehouse?”

Cold Steel gritted his teeth. Just because the war was over every soldier seemed to believe that discipline no longer mattered. What nonsense! How would they prepare for the next one?! It was bad enough trying to keep the rank and file in shape, but when their officer insisted on frequenting brothels in his uniform...!

“We have orders to investigate a border disturbance, sir,” growled the Sergeant Major, barely restrained from shouting. “A farmer reported banging sounds in the Crystal Mountains.”

A flicker of alarm seemed to pass over Sentry’s face. “Banging?”

The whore on the bed giggled. “Perhaps that was just you!”

The madam burst into the room. “Captain Sentry, I apologise, but this stallion...”

“Nothing to apologise for, Mrs Charm,” said Sentry, quickly recovering. “Alas, my duty calls.” He threw a handful of bits on to the dresser. “For any lost custom, and for the doors.”

A few moments later, Sentry and his new Squadron Sergeant Major strode out of the brothel, their pelisses buttoned up against the winter chill. Cold Steel grimaced as several Crystal Ponies stared at the uniformed Hussars exiting such an establishment. They took wing and fluttered down the street, lined with jagged crystal buildings.

“Sir,” said Cold Steel sharply. “With all due respect, you are a cad.”

“Those girls need work, Steel,” said Sentry simply. “Jobs are scarce up here; you know that as well as I do. Some did what our boys did and put on the uniform. Others do what they do. Everypony gets paid at the end of the day.”

“You disgrace the uniform, sir.”

Sentry guffawed. “Spirits above, Bright Ice was more fun than you, the poor bastard.” The old SSM was still convalescing with a missing leg at the Imperial Infirmary. “You weren’t with us down south, not with my squadron. I did everything the uniform requires of me: I led and I fought and I killed. I was quite good at it too, ask the lads. Hell, ask my medal rack next time we’re on parade.”

Cold Steel gritted his teeth again. To boast of one’s decorations was almost as bad as to lie about them. Sentry’s Pegasi might love him, but they loved him as they might a brother, not as a leader who might command them to go to their deaths. One day, Sentry would face an order he could not give, and for want of that, a battle, a war and a kingdom might be lost.

***

The patrol fluttered slowly through the Northern Marches, threading its way through the foothills of the Crystal Mountains. The winds and snows were not as strong here as they were deeper in the mountain range, but the power of Princess Cadance’s magic to repel the blizzards faded as they went ever further away from the Empire, and the chill was still biting. A few hardy trees, mosses and lichens clung to the rocks, but most were scoured bare. Patches of old snow collected in areas of shadow.

But more than the weather, it was the patrol’s attitude that set Cold Steel’s teeth on edge. The twelve Crystal Pegasi were new recruits, raw Troopers sent out to get a bit of experience in a safe environment. They had not been set a good example: they complained about the wind, swapped jokes, grumbled about how tight their boots were, and were generally an undisciplined, un-stealthy rabble.

“Quiet,” growled Flash Sentry from the front of the patrol.

Sentry’s usual casual, flippant tone had vanished again. There was iron in his voice, and a tang of worry. Steel had heard that voice, seen that look in the eyes, before from other officers. Sentry did not just expect a fight, he feared one. That quickly silenced the rest of the patrol.

The wind gusting around them, the patrol crept to below the crest of a rise. At the point of the column, Steel halted to check his map. This hill should put them overlooking the Howling Pass, a narrow gully winding through the Crystal Mountains to the taiga beyond. It was the perfect route somepony – or something – might take to attack the Empire.

Suddenly, he heard a ringing sound behind him, like coins rattling in a pocket. “Steel...”

The Sergeant Major turned. Flash Sentry was staring down at something by his hoof: his boot had disturbed a rough pile of what looked like thick metal tubes, nestled in a crevice on the hillside. Sentry knelt to pick one up. It looked to be made of rolled brass foil with a solid base.

Steel took the tube. The edges of foil were tattered and the inside was blackened. Judging by the smell, something had been burnt inside it, but he could see no residue. He could see no spots of rust on it. It had been dropped there recently. Perhaps even today...

Then he spotted a gleam in the corner of his eye. Barely three yards away to his left was another pile of metal tubes, and beyond that, he could just make out another. He swallowed and looked to his right, and saw another pile three yards away, and another beyond it.

What in Tartarus is this?!

“Steel.”

Sentry was standing atop the crest, staring down into the Howling Pass. His voice was iron. “Get the boys back to the Empire. Raise the regiment; the Guards; the cops as well. We need this place cordoned. And get the Prince.”

***

Prince Shining Armor, Princess Cadance at his side, galloped at the head of a company of Crystal Guard as they raced down the dirt track heading north from the Empire into the Howling Pass. A motley collection of Guards, Hussars, and police of the Crystal Constabulary in bottle-green uniforms and kepis flanked the road.

They came to a turn in the road that was sealed off by police tape. “Your Highnesses,” grunted the policepony standing guard. He opened the cordon and Shining Armor and Cadance passed through. They rounded the hill, and looked down into the Pass.

“Spirits above!” gasped Cadance.

Shining Armor gritted his teeth. Not even during the war had he seen such a field of butchery. From the surrounding hills, Guards and Hussars stared down into the Pass, while below forensic investigators worked their way through a gully carpeted with the corpses of hundreds of Diamond Dogs. Some gazed up at the sky with glazed eyes. Others were face down in the dirt. All bore deep, gaping holes in their bodies that still wept blood.

Colonel Silver Star, her face pale, strode up the track towards Shining Armor. “We’ve counted two hundred and fifty already, sir. We think this poor bastard here was the leader.”

Shining Armor knelt down in front of a body at the head of the horde. The Dog was powerfully-built, and within a crudely-wrought iron helmet, Shining could see a fierce jaw and sharp white teeth. He wore a broad torc of old, dull gold around his neck, graven with runes, and fastened below it was a thick white cloak.

Cadance gently turned the body with her magic so it was on its back. As she did so her hoof brushed the cloak. She had thought it greasy wool, taken off some unwary Mountain Sheep, but instead it was softer, warmer and fluffier than anything she had ever felt before. The finest cashmere of the Yak Republic was not as soft as this.

She examined the brooch on the cloak. It was hexagonal and of blue metal, with a crystal set in the centre. “Crystal Pony made?”

Silver Star nodded grimly. “Might be the same pack that was involved in that raid earlier this year.”

Bronze Star crossed over from a pile of corpses that was being tagged and documented. “If only it were that simple. Look at this.”

He led them over to the pile. Like the leader, some of the bodies wore neck bands, though theirs tended to be of iron or bronze. Others, however, wore no decorations at all, but instead had shaved the fur on their forelimbs into elaborate zigzag patterns. Another group had distinctly shaggy tails.

“Different packs working together,” growled Shining Armor.

Nopony needed to be told the significance of that: Diamond Dog packs simply didn’t work together. During the war the Crystal Constabulary had made a series of deep patrols into the Crystal Mountains and had reported the Dogs to be more likely to be fighting each other, whether in the open or down their holes, than preparing to raid the Empire. But something had changed. Something had driven them to cooperate.

Cadance swept her gaze over the rises that flanked the gully. “They chose this route for speed, not stealth. Whatever ambushed them must have hit them from these slopes. Did you find anything up there?”

“Captain Sentry!” barked Bronze Star.

Flash Sentry and his patrol were milling around on the edge of the corpse field. The Captain’s head was down. He walked over to them slowly, his face pale and drawn. “Sir, Your Highnesses.”

“Flash,” said Cadance softly, laying a hoof on his foreleg. “Tell me, did you find anything on the hills?”

Sentry’s jaw was shaking. He opened his sabretache with a wing and pulled out a hooful of the foil tubes. “These,” he muttered. “Twenty-five piles on each hill; anything between ten and twenty of them per pile.”

“We’ve got no idea what these are, sir,” said Bronze Star darkly “Worst case scenario, those piles could point to fifty soldiers defeating a force five times their size.”

“Impossible,” said Silver Star decisively. “These slopes aren’t steep enough to stop a charge. Not even our best line infantry could maintain a rate of fire high enough to break up a rush.”

Shining Armor looked at Flash Sentry and realised they were both thinking the same thing. “Unless they weren’t using spears. Captain, give me your knife, please.”

Sentry drew a utility knife from his belt. Shining Armor took it in his magic, knelt next to the nearest corpse and dug the knife into the wound.

“Sir, the police need these for examination!” cried Silver Star.

“They have plenty of other bodies to work with, and if I’m right they might not need to.” Shining Armor wiggled the knife in the wound until he felt something give way. Grimacing, he put the knife down and focused his magic on the wound. With a sucking pop, the thing embedded in the Diamond Dog’s body came free.

“Oh, Spirits,” croaked Sentry. Floating in Shining Armor’s magic, still spotted with blood, was a small, slightly-flattened, acorn-shaped piece of lead. For a few moments the Pass was silent but for the freezing wind.

“That settles it then,” growled Shining Armor. He looked up at the darkening sky. “Collect what bodies and evidence you can then pull our patrols in. I don’t want anypony in these hills after nightfall.”

***

Cadance and Shining Armor received the police report that night in their private solar in the Crystal Palace. There was no need to cause alarm by holding an official emergency council meeting, but by now everypony in the Empire was aware that something was going on. Something that was bigger than mere Diamond Dog raids.

“Every one of the Dogs was hit at least three times by these lead slugs,” said Chief Inspector Blue Line of the Crystal Constabulary. “They and the wounds they caused are basically identical to the one we found on Gold Aurora last year. Some of them seem to have shallow grooves engraved into their surfaces, but we’re not sure of their purpose.”

“Are they much more powerful than our spears?” demanded Shining Armor.

“Difficult to say given the different mechanisms of injury, Your Highness, but whatever was used to fire these things is accurate. If we assume that these foil tubes we’ve found are integral to the firing of these weapons, then out of all the rounds fired, one out of fifty scored a hit.”

Shining Armor sucked in air through his teeth. A good pony soldier with a standard-issue spear might be expected to make one hit out of five hundred shots fired; the spears were individually so inaccurate. This, though; this was beyond them.

“Thank you, Chief Inspector,” said Cadance. “Could you please bring up the officers from downstairs?”

“I will, Your Highness.” Blue Line bowed and left the room.

Shining Armor took a deep breath, scrubbed his face with both hooves, and stood up from the sofa. He crossed to the dresser, unstopped a decanter and poured himself a large brandy. “Want one?”

“I probably will after this meeting,” sighed Cadance, curled up on the sofa. She stared into the fire crackling merrily in the grate. Somehow the room still felt cold.

Shining Armor swallowed half his glass in a single gulp. “We can’t avoid it any more. It’s humans. It has to be. These slugs are identical to the ones that wounded Aurora and Sentry, and the only way a force of Diamond Dogs that large could have been taken out by such a small group is if they were using weapons like the ones Sentry saw in the south.”

“But if they’re in the north and the south?!” said Cadance urgently. “If they are aggressive, Equestria will be attacked from two sides!”

Shining Armor finished the other half of his brandy. “If they try to come up from the south, they’ll have to cut their way through the Lynx Territories first, and frankly, they’re welcome to it. It’s the ones on our doorstep that worry me.”

He set his glass down and crossed the shag-pile carpet to his wife. “They’re driving Diamond Dog packs against us, and they might be moving against us as well for all we know. We have to find out what’s going on out there, with or without the rest of Equestr...”

He stopped suddenly. He spun around, staring down at the thick white carpet he had just crossed.

Cadance stood up slowly. “What?”

We don’t have a shag pile carpet, he thought. He gently brushed a hoof over it. The thick white rug didn’t feel like wool; it was far too soft for that. It felt, he suddenly realised, just like the cloak on that Diamond Dog earlier that afternoon.

“Pft blb thbtb...”

“Shining!” gasped Cadance. The carpet had started making noises, and it began to ripple. Shining stood in front of his wife, trying to get their backs to the door.

Shining Armor’s heartbeat quickened. His throat was dry. In front of them, the carpet rippled ever faster, and it grew. It balled up, slowly rising almost to the height of a pony, before it resolved itself in front of them.

“Pft blb thbtb.”

Shining and Cadance screamed. Before them was a creature of myth and folktales, a demon that parents threatened their foals with if they didn’t eat their hay or go to bed on time. But the thing before them was very real, from the soulless shine of its ice-blue eyes to the long white fur that almost concealed its hooves. Its face was almost hidden in the ball of fluff that totally coated its body.

The Fluffy Pony stalked towards them, silent but for the gentle pad of its hooves on the crystal floor. Shining Armor’s heart was hammering in his chest. With a shaking hoof he drew his sword and brought it up into a hanging guard. “Who are you?! What do you want?!”

“Pft.” The Fluffy Pony stuck out its tongue, as if it was tasting their fear on the air. It took a pillow from the sofa in its hoof and stepped forward.

Shining roared and plunged his sword down. It thrust through the Fluffy Pony’s body. The point erupted from the other side so quickly, Shining felt like he had cut at the air. He pulled out the blade with no resistance. It was totally unstained.

The Fluffy Pony swung the pillow at Shining Armor. It was almost lazy, but the hit catapulted Shining Armor off his hooves. His sword flew across the room. He flew through the air and smashed into the dresser on the other side of the room. He lay there, quite still, amid the rubble.

Cadance snarled at the Fluffy Pony sent to kill her and her husband. Her horn glowed and she fired a blasting spell straight at the apparition. The jet of pink energy shot straight through the ball-like, fluffy body and struck the chimneybreast behind, blowing it to smithereens. Dust and smoke filled the room.

There was a hammering at the door. “Your Highness? Your Highness, is everything okay in there?!”

The Fluffy Pony squeaked and launched itself into the air, spinning head over hooves as it flew. Cadance didn’t even have time to scream before it landed. Fur completely covered her muzzle and legs wrapped tightly around her neck.

She battered at the Fluffy Pony with both hooves, but her attacks just disappeared into the fluff. Her eyes began to darken as fluff filled her mouth and throat. Her lungs screamed for air.

Head spinning and his vision a blur, Shining Armor dragged himself groggily out of the wreckage of the dresser. “Cadance?” he spluttered. The room was filled with smoke and dust. His hoof slid across the floor and hit something cold and smooth. He looked down to see the brandy decanter, half-emptied after being knocked from the dresser.

Then he saw it: his wife lying in the centre of the room, shaking as the Fluffy Pony atop her tried to suffocate her. Behind them, the doors rattled as somepony tried to buck them open.

Shining Armor snarled, snatched up the brandy decanter and hurled its contents at the Fluffy Pony. Gold-brown liquid splattered the assassin, staining its fur. It looked over at him, and for a moment Shining swore that he could see confusion in its eyes. “Pft blb?”

Shining seized a burning coal from the fire in his magic and heaved it at the Fluffy Pony. The brandy soaking its coat erupted into flames. Screaming, the burning pony rolled off Cadance. Burn. Spirits please, let it burn.

The solar’s doors crashed open before an emergency edible boot. Bronze Star and Beryl de Topaz burst in, swords drawn. A horrified-looking First Minister Jade Stone raced in after them. “What the...?!”

Hacking and spluttering as she sucked in smoke-filled air, Cadance struggled to get to her knees. As her vision cleared, she saw the flames burning off the screaming Fluffy Pony. It emerged from the flames with its fur blackened and scorched, and malice in its eyes.

Shining summoned his sword from across the room and raced into line with Topaz and Star. Cadance leapt up with her horn glowing. Silver Star and Flash Sentry charged through the ruined doors with swords in hoof.

The Fluffy Pony’s eyes flicked from blade to blade, and Cadance thought she saw doubt there. Tough to harm it might be, but it did not think it could take six ponies.

“Pft blb thbtb!” it hissed. It took off from its hooves, whirled through the air and smashed through a crystal window. Cadance stared in disbelief. That was a one-hundred-and-fifty storey drop.

“Raise the Guard!” yelled Silver Star.

As officers and staff raced around to extinguish the fire that was slowly consuming the solar, Cadance staggered over to the crystal decanter lying by the sofa. A few drops of brandy still swirled in the bottom. She seized the bottle and drained it to the dregs.

***

“Enough of that!” snapped Shining Armor, batting away the medic dabbing at the cut on his forehead.

Shining, Cadance, the officers of the Crystal Guard, and First Minister Jade Stone reconvened in the Crystal Council Chamber. The solar had been utterly destroyed, much to the Butler’s horror – the furnishings had dated from the time of King Vardamir nearly two thousand years ago.

Sitting at the end of the long, pale blue crystal table, Jade Stone shut the file she had been given to read by Shining Armor.

“Well,” she said, with forced calm. “First Fluffy Ponies and now humans. Looks like I need to re-evaluate my worldview.”

“Do you doubt us, First Minister?” asked Shining Armor.

“I saw what could be called a Fluffy Pony, without a doubt, Your Highness,” said Stone. “But humans? We have Captain Sentry’s testimony and the dying words of a Diamond Dog raider, and only similar-shaped pieces of metal to link them. I don’t doubt that something has the Diamond Dogs worried, but we cannot take this before the ponies of Equestria and expect them to see at as a threat.”

“It’s more than just something,” said Cadance. “It’s powerful. You saw what we needed to do to chase off that Fluffy Pony. Whatever is out there managed to force a perfectly-adapted and -camouflaged creature out of its habitat.”

Shining nodded grimly. “Powerful enough to drive feuding packs together as well, and to start cooperating with another race, if Colonel Topaz’s report is anything to go by.”

The last Hussar patrol before nightfall that day had found the remnants of a hastily-abandoned Diamond Dog marching camp five miles to the northwest of the Howling Pass, ideally positioned to reinforce an attack on the Empire. It was only now that they grasped its true significance.

“That party in the Howling Pass was never just a raiding force,” continued Shining Armor. “It was to sneak that Fluffy Pony into the Empire to kill us. In the confusion, the second force could attack and break through the Empire to escape. That’s how spooked they are. They’re willing to risk desperation attacks like that to get out homes they haven’t left for millennia, and we have to be prepared for it. We need to know what’s out there: humans, Diamond Dogs and Fluffy Ponies alike.”

“I’ll double our patrols...” began Beryl de Topaz.

“No,” said Shining Armor decisively. “The humans have already shown a willingness to attack our patrols. Poor Shielded Blitz found that out for us. I will not have our strength bled away in bit-boxes in the Crystal Mountains. No, we need to reconnoitre in force if we’re to find out their strength. And whatever that strength is, we’re going to need numbers to face it. Far more than we have now. Probably even more than we took south.”

“The War Office is preparing new mobilisation plans, sir,” said Silver Star. “We already have cadre units organised to be filled, and we’ll have the recruitment and training infrastructure in place by the end of winter.”

“That’s not enough. We won’t be able to get the numbers we need from volunteers alone. I can’t legally introduce conscription across Equestria, but as Prince of the Crystal Empire...”

“Absolutely not!”

Every head spun round to face the end of the table. Jade Stone had spoken, and a horrified expression covered her face.

“I beg your pardon?” demanded Shining Armor icily.

“Your Highness,” said Jade Stone seriously. “We cannot countenance conscription. The Crystal Ponies will probably go for it, but I know off the top of my head that for it to have any effect we’d have to enforce it in Imperial Ponland, and the Ponish will never accept it. What with Ponyatowski siding with the Parliamentarians, they’ll have a voice in Parliament to oppose it, and if the rest of Equestria thinks that they’re going to be conscripted, that could destroy Princess Celestia’s government.”

“Are we going to have to wait until humans overrun the Empire before they see sense?!”

“We might have to, sir, because we don’t know it’s humans. We could have a body to put before them and it still wouldn’t be enough to justify conscription. We don’t know their numbers. We don’t know their intentions. All we can do is wait.”

Shining Armor ground his teeth together. He couldn’t deny the logic. “Very well,” he growled. “We’ll hold off for now, but I want the infrastructure put in place. If we need to call a draft, I won’t be caught unready.”

Hard Sell

Fancypants did not hear the steady rattle and groan of the train as it lumbered its way up the sheer face of the Unicorn Range. He was lost in the emergency report dropped into his in-tray that morning.

Toffeenose Mining had experienced a sharp fall in profits last month, the report said. Not a huge one, but certainly a rapid drop. Fancypants knew exactly the reason: they had underestimated the full cost of paying for the farm investment programme. Crops were being harvested but had yet to go to market, and what with soldiers only just returned from the war still trying to re-order their farms, Toffeenose Mining and Rich Industries’ cash outflows were only going to increase in the month to come, and their profits shrink.

The board will want me to cut and run, Fancypants thought grimly. He anticipated a few contentious meetings, but all he had to do was hold his ground. He was the majority shareholder, and his business integrity depended on seeing the investment programme through. For the sake of both his company and his personal honour, he could not just abandon it and saddle Filthy Rich with the loss.

This is a squall to be weathered, he thought decisively. We’ll back in the black before Hearth’s Warming once the crops get sold.

Fancypants turned his mind to happier matters: the value of his company’s stock was high, as was market confidence in his business. And Toffeenose Mining was leading the way in employing ex-soldiers who had left behind their old jobs when they joined the Army. He was on his way to inspect the first results of that at the Mount Sable Mine, Toffeenose’s largest coal mining operation in Equestria.

An aide strode up the Spartan carriage to him. He laid a hard hat and a high-visibility jacket on the table in front of Fancypants. “Five minutes, sir.”

Fancypants sighed as he pulled on the hated concessions to health and safety. They always creased his suit and ruined his cravat.

The narrow-gauge railway wheezed to a halt. Not for the first time, Fancypants was acutely aware that he was hanging thousands of feet off the side of the mountain. He calmly stood up and stepped out of the bare wood carriage and strode through the morning chill across the pithead towards the waiting line of foreponies. Behind him, the push locomotive gently puffed steam while freshly-mined coal was dumped into the trucks waiting in front of it.

There was no escaping the fact that a mine of any sort would never be pretty: the Mount Sable Mine’s pithead was literally a chunk taken out of the side of a mountain and flattened off, but Toffeenose Mining prided itself on its mines being as environmentally-friendly as possible. Contaminated water from mine processes was stored in mined-out shafts before being pumped into tanks on the trains for transport to cleaning plants. Slag piles were kept out of sight and sold on as quickly as possible for gravel, construction, or rock science. Trees had been planted around the site. Most importantly, ninety percent of the operation was below ground in a labyrinthine warren of shafts and drifts. Fancypants would have nothing to do with the open-cast mining it was rumoured less-than-scrupulous companies used in Zebrica. But for a hooful of outbuildings and the five winding gear towers, nopony would ever guess this was a mine.

He smiled as he reached his workers, shaking hooves and joking. Despite the early morning, carts of coal were already racing from the winding gear to the preparation plant to be washed, and miners in bright overalls with lights on their helmets were bustling into cages to be winched down to their drifts. Some, he noted, were gaunter than others and had faraway looks in their eyes. Some of them bore scars. Our new soldiers.

“Jolly good business you have going on here!” he laughed to his overseers heartily. “Take me through everything!”

***

“Okay lads, look busy!” cried Mine Overseer Charcoal. “The boss is supposed to be coming down here in an hour. Let’s get full carts for him!”

Drift 12’s ponies gossiped and joked as they made their way down the gallery. Toffeenose Mining was such an expansive company that some miners might go their entire careers without catching so much as a glimpse of Fancypants, and proud though he was to be a coal miner, Charcoal had never believed that his unglamorous pit would be graced with such a visit.

Charcoal frowned at the Earth Pony trotting next to him. He was a young stallion. He looked to have barely earned the pickaxe on his flank. He was carrying the firedamp detector lamps and the toolkit for checking ventilation pipes for leaks. “You new here, kid?”

“Yes sir!” The stallion’s voice was almost a squeak, eager to impress. “First day!”

“Where’s what’s-his-name... Grey Slate? He’s our vent pony.”

“Sent in a note this morning saying he fell sick over the weekend,” said an older miner with a pickaxe over his shoulder. “Didn’t say what.”

Charcoal shrugged. He wasn’t going to question the kid’s qualifications. Nopony got down here without impeccable credentials.

The crew turned into Drift 12, hanging up lanterns of fireflies as they went for the day’s shift. The drift sloped down gently into the depths of the mountain so the gas had collected at the bottom. They were halfway down the drift before they smelled it.

Charcoal came to a dead stop as it hit him: an overpowering reek of rotting eggs. “Stinkdamp.”

Hydrogen sulphide, he knew the eggheads called it. It wasn’t the smell that had stopped him, but what it implied. It meant that the drift wasn’t properly ventilated, and over the weekend had been filled with poisonous, explosive stinkdamp, a gas that was invariably accompanied by the just-as-dangerous firedamp.

The lamps, Charcoal thought, staring at the detector lamps slung around the new kid’s barrel. He already had a leg over his muzzle to block the stink. Why didn’t the lamps flare when we entered?!

“Get out!” he spluttered. “Get those lamps out! Slowly!”

But the kid was jumpy. Nopony could have expected it to all go wrong on his first day, and he was startled by the urgency in Charcoal’s voice. He turned quickly, fast enough to cause a draught through the gauze in the lamps and cause the flame to pass through.

The pony Charcoal thought was called Grey Slate had not just disconnected Drift 12’s ventilator, he had also tampered with the oil feed to the drift’s detector lamps. It had allowed the flames to burn low enough not to flare when they entered the gas-choked drift. Twist Turn had counted on a spark from anbaric equipment to set the firedamp off, but the breeze passing through the lamps generated a white-hot spot on the gauze that was more than enough.

Charcoal never heard the roar, but he felt his face and coat burn as the kid vanished in a terrifying flash of flame. He just had time to see his miners torn apart by the expanding blast front screaming towards him, kicking up coal dust from the drift floor and igniting that as well, before the wall of fire consumed him.

***

Fancypants felt the tremors first. He paused mid-joke to look down as the grey stone beneath him began to shake. His foreponies spun round to stare in disbelief at the mine shaft heads. Then, beginning with a growl like a beast woken from sleep, building to a thunder loud enough to shake the heavens, pillars of smoke and fire erupted from all five mine shafts.

Fancypants was catapulted off his hooves. The very ground seemed to be alive. He could see nothing but choking grey dust and an endless roar filled his ears. He caught snatches of screaming ponies being hurled away from the pitheads, carts weighing multiple tons toppling over and burying miners in coal, the trees surrounding the mine being blasted clean of leaves, the outbuildings being blow to splinters, the winding gears being lifted fifty feet into the air before crashing down, blazing meteors of coal launched from the shafts streaking down through the grey autumn sky...

Fancypants didn’t know how long the horror lasted. He didn’t remember it ending, or even getting up. He only remembered galloping through the dust and shattered rubble as his miners staggered around him, desperate to rescue a few more from the ruin of what had once been his.

***

Hundreds were out shopping on Whinnysota’s Main Street in the bright, crisp autumn morning. The sky was blue, cold and cloudless. Dozens were filing in an out of shops every minute, and it was never too early to get a few Hearth’s Warming purchases in before the rush.

Fleur de Lis was no exception. She trotted happily down Main Street, revelling in the admiring stares ponies gave her as she passed. There was no need to hurry: Fancypants would be up inspecting his mine all day, and she had hours and hours left to browse before she would have to settle on a present for him.

At that thought she instinctively turned to look east, across the valley over the River Ramube to Mount Sable. The last peak of the Unicorn Range was dark and forbidding even in the sun. She could just make out the switchback course of the mountain railway zigzagging up its face. In its shadow was Downtown Whinnysota. Unlike here on the Neighing Heights, with its fancy shops and glass-fronted towers holding big businesses and smart apartments, Downtown was a flat, sprawling collection of miners’ suburbs.

Fleur shuddered at the thought of Fancypants being up there, down a mine of all places! And a coal mine at that! She might take an active interest in her husband’s business, but she viewed mines as most ponies did sewage systems: fascinating works of engineering, but hardly something to go poking around in!

Then the bustle of Main Street fell still and silent as a roar like thunder filled the air. Confused ponies looked up expecting to see a storm brewing, but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

But there is, Fleur realised suddenly, with a thrill of horror. A great grey pillar climbed from Mount Sable, thrusting into the sky and casting a shadow over Downtown Whinnysota, as if the mountain had suddenly become a volcano.

Then the smoke spread over Uptown, bathing the Ramube and the Neighing Heights in shadow. Across the city, board meetings stopped, carriages slid to a halt, and breakfasts were left as curious ponies looked up at the great grey cloud.

Then it began. A rain of rock and burning coal hailed down on Whinnysota, smashing through the windows of tower blocks and starting fires, crashing into homes and collapsing roofs, and slamming into packed streets like meteorites, ripping carriages to splinters, bursting fire hydrants open in jets of water, and sending thousands of screaming ponies scurrying indoors.

A winding gear, spinning cable like whips, fell from the mountain and obliterated the Toffeenose Miner’s Club. Even as it came to a halt in the mound of shattered brick and tile, its trailing cables landed in the surrounding streets and scythed ponies in half. A boulder the size of a six-seater carriage swiped a Pegasus delivery truck team from the air before it crashed through the roof of the mercifully-empty Whinnysota Convention Centre. And one piece of debris arced down over Main Street.

Fleur ran, her mane flying. She did not know where to go, but none of the hundreds of other panicked, screaming ponies around her seemed to know where either. Chunks of rock trailing flame landed all around her, filling the air with choking smoke.

Then another fireball, bigger than all the others, landed before her. It tore through the bell tower of City Hall, hitting with an absurd bong as the bell shattered. The tower was left a jagged ruin, and the fireball tore a trench right down the middle of Main Street towards Fleur, before it slid to a halt.

Fleur stared in dumb horror at the thing before her as other ponies continued to scream and run. It was a huge slab of wood, forcibly split down the middle so that one end was a jagged mass of splinters, but the rest of it was varnished and polished on it she could still make out the remains of three gold crowns, and the bold letters MOUNT SABLE MI..., and below that, TOFFEENOSE MINI...

Fleur spun on her hooves and galloped back down Main Street, shoving past every other pony who was trying to run in the other direction. She ran, dodging round abandoned carriages, threading through side streets, her mane a mess and streaked with coal dust, towards Mount Sable. Fancy!

***

Twilight sipped her tea, curling up on her chair as she drew her book closer. Rear Echelon’s damned project was done, her friends were home, and tonight, as Pinkie had been very quick to remind her yesterday, was the ‘Welcome Home From The War’ Party for all of Ponyville’s soldiers. She smiled as she took a teaspoon in her magic and stirred some of Zecora’s finest home-brewed tea. It was past time she saw everypony.

Then the rumble struck Golden Oaks, shaking dust from the rafters, knocking books from their shelves and rattling Twilight’s scientific instruments on their stands. Owlowiscious tumbled from his perch and Spike, until that very moment snoring in his basket, leapt from it screaming to hide under a bookshelf.

What in Celestia’s name is that?! Twilight leapt from her chair and raced up a spiral staircase out on to the highest balcony. Ponies, some still in nightcaps from long lies, were filling the streets below her as they tried to discover the source of the noise.

On her balcony, Twilight turned her telescope east. From the balcony, the source of the explosion was just a smear of grey in the distance, but as she turned the focusing knob on the telescope, Twilight saw the column of smoke issuing from Mount Sable.

***

“Your Highness,” said War Minister Rear Echelon firmly. “You must understand, Their Highnesses’ Government is finding it increasingly difficult to justify even the current level of mobilisation. Radical Road’s lot won’t even accept the recruitment infrastructure we’re building as a contingency plan. They won’t let this request fly!”

Shining Armor faced Echelon across the desk in the Minister of War’s office in the North Tower of Canterlot Castle. Rear Echelon was perhaps the least-popular politician in Equestria at the moment and he was not about to accept something that would lead to more public opprobrium. When he’d first raised the Army all those months ago, Shining Armor had frankly hoped that the civilian War Minister would just be a yes-pony facilitator for the professional Commander-in-Chief. Rear Echelon had proved to be anything but that. Perhaps, Shining Armor realised, the appointment had been Celestia’s way of getting back at him.

“This is a matter of urgency,” he said tersely. “I need more troops.”

“You already have the Guards and five other regiments, and we could only give you those because they’re billeted in their home cities.”

“We could raise a new force from unemployed demobs, then.”

Rear Echelon raised a sceptical eyebrow. “The Treasury won’t go for it, Your Highness. Nor will the Opposition. If you could just tell us why you need it then I could be of more help.”

Shining Armor wondered what he could tell him: of Diamond Dogs whispering of mythical creatures coming for them, of those same mythical creatures attacking his soldiers on the Dead Road, of demons coming in the night to kill him. Jade Stone was right; they will never believe me. “A matter of national security,” he said stupidly.

“So you’ve said, but defence policy cannot be built on tilting at windmills.” Rear Echelon sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Look, Your Highness, I trust your judgement. I stuck by you every day of the war, but Princess Celestia really wants to put this behind us. We’ve got an election coming up in eighteen months, and the Parliamentarians are going to make gains. Before then we need a good, non-controversial success. I doubt you’d get many demobs wanting to re-enlist anyway: Fancypants and Filthy Rich are hoovering them up.”

“Good thing too,” said Shining. “I’ve given Diamond Charm enough trouble with the budget already to leave him paying unemployment benefit to fifty thousand ex-soldiers. Good stallion, Fancypants.”

Shining and Echelon suddenly felt the desk shake. Moments later, the roar of an explosion filled the air. Panes of glass rattled in the windows. From the offices below, there was shouting and yelling.

“What was that?!” Rear Echelon raced to the window.

“The Dragonmount?” asked Shining Armor.

“No,” said Echelon, straining his eyes to focus on the distant column of smoke to the west. “Closer.”

***

Cordwainer was entering the drawing room with the morning tea when the roar struck. It was only as a result of years of practice that he did not drop the tray in shock, and it took all his self-control not to gasp in horror as the crystals in the chandelier rattled against each other, priceless vases and ornaments shook on the dresser and the mantelpiece, and dust rained down from the ceiling.

In the centre of the room, Blueblood folded his newspaper and quickly stood up from the sofa. “Leave that tea with me, Cordwainer. Contact the broker: tell him to exercise the put options immediately.”

Cordwainer stared at his employer for a few uncomprehending seconds. Then the horrifying realisation dawned. “The shares in Toffeenose Mining, you knew the stock would go down, and that noise...”

“You didn’t really think I’d risk that much money on Fancypants’ stock falling without making sure it would happen?” Blueblood took the teapot from the silver tray Cordwainer was still holding and filled one of the china teacups. “Thanks to your brother, within a few hours Toffeenose’s stock will be worthless. We’ll sell the puts back at the strike price, and make quite a reasonable return.”

Blueblood took a sip of tea and took the tray in his magic. “Now, see to the broker, and then send the agreed sum off to your brother. He’s done a great service to us.” He frowned as the dust slowly drifted down on to the fittings. “And sack the scullery maid. This is a stately home, and I do not expect to take my tea in a midden.”

***

Fancypants’ appearance was incongruous to the room he was in. The Chancellor of the Exchequer’s office was a smart, oak-panelled chamber, lined with bookshelves filled with identical leather-bound books on economics. Fancypants dimly suspected that none of them had ever been opened. Portraits of the great Chancellors and economists looked sternly down at him from the walls. They and the ponies behind the desk in front of him seemed to demand why he was there dressed like that.

Fancypants’ suit was a ruin, the sleeves ripped to shreds by sharp rocks and debris as he’d torn his way through collapsed mine shafts in a desperate effort to drag miners out. His white coat was dark grey with coal dust and spots of brown where the blood of a screaming miner he’d tried to save had splashed him. His head was bowed in exhaustion and there were dark circles under his eyes. He had used so much magic to try to lift away debris that now he barely had the strength to lift a pen.

Four hundred and forty miners had perished at Mount Sable, out of nine hundred and fifty in the mine. The first explosion deep in the mine had kicked up coal dust on the floor and ignited it. The shockwave had kicked up more dust and ignited that as well. The explosion had fuelled itself until it burst out through the shafts. Hundreds had burned in the mine, and hundreds more had suffocated on the afterdamp. In Whinnysota, twenty ponies had died, fifteen of them in the miners’ suburbs, and the explosion had caused hundreds of thousands of bits in property damage.

It had been nearly five hours before a functionary had managed to get up the mountain railway to the shattered ruin of the pithead. With him had been Fleur de Lis, who had shrieked at the sight of her husband. Fancypants had wanted her to tell him that everything was going to be all right, but the functionary had had to tell him the truth: Toffeenose Mining’s stock had collapsed, investors were fleeing, and millions of bits were bleeding from the company every minute.

Any other businesspony might have let his company collapse: he already had a fortune in the bank, and plenty of other homes he could disappear to to ride out the embarrassment of the disaster. But Fancypants was not any other businesspony and Toffeenose Mining was not any other business. It was the largest single employer in Equestria, and if it failed, nearly a million ponies would lose their jobs. Their pensions would vanish as well, the company’s finances were so awful, and all of Fancypants’ employees and their families would be dumped on to the charity of the state.

Disaster had begot disaster, not just for the miners caught in the explosion and Toffeenose Mining, but for Equestria as well. That amount of workers suddenly falling on to welfare and all their spending disappearing from the economy was going to cause a serious dip in growth. A recession loomed, so Fancypants had done the only thing he could. He had swallowed his pride, marched past the crowd of reporters massed below Mount Sable, and had climbed aboard the first train to Canterlot to beg the Treasury for a bailout.

The occupants of the room held their breath as the two ponies behind the Chancellor’s desk frowned at Fancypants’ terms. At Fancypants’ side was Filthy Rich, there to lend moral support at his request. With Chancellor Diamond Charm was Chief Secretary to the Treasury Penny Bag. To Fancypants’ surprise, also present were Princess Cadance, Prince Shining Armor, and Minister of War Rear Echelon, who had demanded an audience when they’d heard what was going on.

Diamond Charm shut the folder Fancypants had laid on his desk. “The Treasury cannot accept this last condition.”

That was what Fancypants had feared. “Chancellor, the farm investment programme...”

“Is unaffordable,” interrupted the Chancellor. Diamond Charm looked utterly furious. “You’ll have to suspend new recruitment for the foreseeable future as well. Your company was already in the red before this disaster! Even if the investment programme is totally suspended, this bailout will still cost us nearly all that’s left of our budget surplus! That’s going to be hard enough to explain to the taxpayer! I can’t ask them to keep pouring sand down a rat hole as well!”

Fancypants slumped in his chair. In a day it had all gone, everything he had worked for: his company, his legacy, and now his charity. Tomorrow he would be the most hated stallion in Equestria, a robber baron who let his workers die and destroyed Equestria’s economy.

“Chancellor,” said Filthy Rich urgently. “Rich Industries cannot afford the investment programme alone. If we bail on this, we’ll be condemning hundreds of small farms to fail. That’s going to cause a recession as well in the end!”

“But a smaller one,” said Diamond Charm bitterly. He threw a filthy look at Shining Armor and Rear Echelon. “A year ago I could have paid for all of this. Now I have to make hard choices. I will not countenance a structural deficit.”

Shining Armor stepped forwards. “Half my army was farmponies, Chancellor,” he growled. “The other half stood to benefit from Fancypants employing them. Now you’re going to put them all on unemployment benefit. Those ponies served Equestria, Chancellor. They deserve better than that!”

“Is that what you call what you did down south, Your Highness?” demanded Penny Bag. “Serving? The Opposition has some other words for it, and frankly I’m inclined to agree with them!”

Cadance swept a leg out as Shining Armor took a step forwards. “Is there nothing we can say to make you change your mind?”

“The last year may have torn up my entire fiscal policy, Your Highness, but I’m not about to abandon prudence entirely,” Diamond Charm said decisively. “I won’t treat some unemployed differently just because they once wore a uniform.”

“Then I shall pay for my soldiers’ welfare myself,” declared Shining Armor.

Diamond Charm stared at his prince in utter disbelief. “The Crown Estate will never cover it! You’ll bankrupt the monarchy in months! And you can’t expect any increase on the Civil Lists when it does!”

“I am more than willing to help.”

Everypony looked down at Fancypants. The stallion in his tattered, stained suit slowly rose from his chair, a picture of martyred dignity. “I’ve made a terribly bad business for you all. Trying to fix this disaster is the least I can do. Well, I’ve got more money than I know what to do with salted away already. However much you need per month, Your Highness, I’ll donate it. I doubt I’ll be throwing many expensive parties any time soon. I’ve got a gold-plated pension coming my way; you can have that as well. I’ll sell up in Canterlot, too, and you can have the profits from the mansion.”

“This wasn’t your fault, Fancypants,” said Cadance gravely. “You don’t have to do this.”

“No, no, I do, Your Highness.” He laughed bitterly. “Somepony must be responsible for this. Why not me? I will be hated anyway, and I’d rather not be remembered as the stallion that torched his business then galloped off with his fortune. Just spend it well.”

He turned towards the door. “Be careful with the company, Chancellor. My father put a lot of work into it. I’m sure he’d want an able successor.”

He trotted slowly from the room. The last look Filthy Rich gave to Diamond Charm was one of utter contempt, before he followed Fancypants from the office. Shining Armor, Cadance and Rear Echelon followed.

“Where will you go?” asked Filthy Rich. He and Fancypants walked slowly around the mezzanine balcony past busts and paintings.

“Oh, Fleur and I keep a holiday home down in Braytain. We’ll take the yacht down there and weather this away from the news.”

Filthy Rich sighed. “I’m sorry, Fancypants. Just so you know, Shining Armor will be getting some help from me as well.”

From the balcony, Shining Armor, Cadance and Rear Echelon watched as the two stallions shook hooves. Fancypants slowly descended the grand staircase into the marble lobby to face the reporters crowding outside the Treasury.

“We need to expand our planning,” said Shining Armor. “Accelerate our cadre unit and training infrastructure development.”

“Your Highness, that’s going to be hard enough with the budget we already have,” said Rear Echelon. “After today, Diamond Charm might want to cut us entirely!”

“You see to the planning,” said Shining Armor. “I’ll get you the money.”

“Well, good luck, Your Highness.” Rear Echelon trotted away, heading for the back exit.

Shining took a deep breath and turned to his wife. “We need Twilight here, now. The royals have to face this crisis together.”

Cadance looked worried “It’s Ponyville’s party to celebrate the war being over tonight.”

Shining looked taken aback. “She’s still writing to you?”

“I am not you, Shining. If you want to mend bridges tonight, she won’t thank you if you make her miss this party.”

Shining Armor looked away. “I wasn’t expecting her forgiveness.”

***

The Canterlot Arms was a disgrace to its name. It was a two-room concrete cube with a tarred roof on the edge of the railway in the least desirable part of the capital. The walls were unadorned and the paint was peeling, the tables were sticky, and the only appealing thing about it was that it sold cheap alcohol.

The mood in the pub that night was sombre. Ponies nursed ciders while gathering around the old radio on the bar as news updates crackled out.

As the latest report ended, one of the patrons spat in disgust and switched off the radio. “Bucker’s getting away with it! Taking his yacht down to Las Pegasus!”

There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd at the bar. Above it, though, rose a quiet voice of opposition: “It wasn’t his fault.”

The crowd at the bar looked around to see a lone stallion sitting with a cider in one of the booths. “The buck you say?!”

“It wasn’t his fault,” the stallion repeated quietly. “Fancypants didn’t blow up that mine. And he’s giving away all his money too.”

“He’s still living better than any of us! These corporate types are all the same. Should be going to jail.”

No, thought Twist Turn, looking away from the bar and down into his third cider that evening. No, I should be.

Guilt gnawed at him. He’d followed Blueblood’s instructions to the letter, not thinking about what he was doing, looking forward only to the thousands of bits he’d been promised. He’d maimed himself and risked court-martial for desertion for money, how could this have been any different? But when the roar of the explosion had shaken him awake that morning, he’d known what he had done. He had killed ponies, hundreds of them, and if what the news was saying was true, he might have ruined thousands more.

He took another swig of cider, the glass shaking in his hoof. He couldn’t go to the police. He knew what would happen if he told the truth. He would become the most hated stallion in Equestria. Nopony would ever speak his name without a curse. He would be sent to prison, and he would be lucky to leave.

Twist Turn drained his glass and stood up. It was no longer about money. He had to see Blueblood. He had to know what his employer really wanted. He had to know that everything he had done – the deaths, the horror, the misery – would be worth it.

***

“Her Highness Princess Twilight Sparkle!” announced the red-uniformed Guard. “And the Royal Assistant, Sir Spike!”

The red uniforms were still unfamiliar, thought Twilight as she trotted into Princess Celestia’s private chambers, Spike at her heels. Maybe it was because so few Guards had been in the Castle these past couple of months. Even now, with the Guards being one of the few regiments still mobilised, there were still less of them than there had been three months ago. Those that remained, like the one holding the door open for her, were gaunter than they had been in the spring, with faraway looks in their eyes.

Celestia’s chamber was a single room atop Canterlot Castle’s east tower. It was simple yet comfortable, with warm blue walls, a plush round couch that doubled as a bed, a fire crackling merrily in the grate, and a hanging tapestry that Twilight had sewn for her in her second year at the School for Gifted Unicorns. Standing there were Princess Celestia, rainbow mane flowing and radiant in her crown and tabard; Princess Luna, as dark as her sister was bright; and, shining pink, the Alicorn whom she had not seen since that fateful Privy Council meeting, Princess Cadance.

“Cadance!” cried Twilight, leaping happily on her hooves. “Sunshine! Sun...”

Cadance said nothing. Twilight had been so happy to see her that she hadn’t noticed the grim expression on her face, which was replaced by a weak smile. “Hi, Twilight.”

“Welcome, Twilight,” said Princess Celestia softly, her voice full of anguish. “Thank you for coming at such short notice.”

“The girls understood, Your Highness, but could it not have waited?”

“No,” came a different voice.

Twilight turned. Standing by the door to the tower balcony, not wearing his uniform, was Shining Armor. At his side was Chief of Intelligence Amber Spyglass.

Twilight stifled a gasp at the sight of her brother. He may not have had to draw his sword or fire a spear, but the war had not been kind to him: he was several stones thinner, and there were dark circles under his eyes. A few strands of grey had crept into his mane and tail. Shining was only three years older than her, but now she saw a stallion that looked as old as their father.

But she also saw a stallion who had sworn genocide upon an entire race right in front of her, who had nearly marched an army to its death in pursuit of vengeance, and through his strategies had nearly driven Celestia’s government to destruction. She was not ready to forgive that. “Shining.”

“Twilight,” said Shining Armor stiffly. For a moment the room was silent.

“Well this is a merry family reunion, isn’t it?” said Amber Spyglass in a syrupy voice. “Though mayhap we could proceed to the matter at hoof before I drown in the fraternal love?”

Spike sidled over to Shining Armor. “Bro,” he said sotto voce. “I’d apologise if I were you. Twilight’s been going on and on about it ever since we got back from the south.”

“YOU TRIED TO COMMIT GENOCIDE!” exploded Twilight. “AND YOU ENJOYED IT! You built an army and started a war just for your petty revenge, and you nearly brought down Princess Celestia for it!”

“I don’t deny it,” said Shining Armor quietly. “I won’t ask you for your forgiveness, or even your understanding. What I need now is your support.”

“What? Should I make some kind of statement for you?” spat Twilight bitterly. “Newsprint and Radical Road saying nasty things? Did I miss my friends’ reunion for this?!”

“That is enough, Twilight,” said Princess Celestia sternly, and suddenly Twilight felt like the filly that’d got only a B+ for her homework again. “I do not approve of what Shining Armor did, even if it may have been necessary. But that must be water under the bridge. We are here to discuss the reason I approved that army, and what we do with it next.”

Twilight frowned. “You’re making plans to remobilise the army. You’ve got me writing new doctrine. Why?”

“My agents can find no trace of Queen Chrysalis, Your Highness,” said Amber Spyglass. “Whether alive or dead. We’ve had no reports of odd behaviour or ponies acting out of character. Nothing to indicate a Changeling infiltration. No, we’re planning against something worse.”

“Twilight, if Chrysalis had galloped into the sea I’d have swum the entire army after her,” said Shining Armor. “Instead I turned back, and it wasn’t because I had a change of heart. We found something down south, and I think it’s the same thing in the north that’s been driving the Diamond Dogs to attack the Empire.”

“What?”

Shining Armor exchanged glances with the Princesses and took a deep breath. “Humans.”

Twilight reared on her hind legs in fury. “You go too far Shining Armor! You would defend your militarism with fairy tales?!”

“Shining Armor does not lie, Twilight Sparkle,” said Princess Luna coldly. “I have seen his proof, and since he returned from the south I am more convinced than ever of the humans’ existence.”

Twilight stared in disbelief as Shining Armor’s horn glowed and two small objects lifted from Celestia’s bedside table. “Last Hearth’s Warming one of our patrols was ambushed by an unknown force in the Crystal Mountains while it was pursuing a Diamond Dog raiding party. Only one of them came back, seriously injured. After he died we extracted this from his wound.”

One of the objects floated closer to Twilight: it was a slightly flattened, acorn-shaped piece of lead.

“Two months ago on the Dead Road,” continued Shining Armor. “Two of my Hussars were shot while on patrol. One of them was hit in the leg with such force it blew the bone to splinters and it had to be amputated. The other was winged and it stuck in his pelisse.” He lifted an identical acorn-shaped lead slug in front of her.

“Then last week we found the Diamond Dog raiding party,” he concluded grimly. “All of them dead, and every one of them with at least one of these inside them.”

He lifted a small box from the table and opened it. Twilight gasped. Inside were hundreds of lead slugs, each one still flecked with the ingrained blood of dead Diamond Dogs.

“What Shining’s ponies say they saw down south matches every description of a human we have in our myths and fairy tales,” said Cadance urgently. “It matches a description a dying Diamond Dog gave to me when they raided the Empire in the spring. Something’s attacking them, Twilight. Whatever it is is powerful. You saw our report: the Dogs are massing to defend themselves against it. Shining and I were attacked by a Fluffy Pony. Those aren’t even supposed to exist! If these things are humans, then they are powerful enough to drive not just feuding tribes together, but two completely different races.”

Twilight took several deep breaths. She felt unsteady on her hooves. Wheels within wheels. Everything she thought she knew seemed to have tipped into a morass of uncertainty and doubt. She peered into it for answers, and what she saw scared her. A passage from a book she’d read once for fun years ago raced through her head: Blood and pitch and screaming fire.

Spike laid a comforting claw on her shoulder. “Heh, yeah!” he laughed mirthlessly, uncertainly. “Yeah, good one guys! Nice early Nightmare Night story, right?!”

“I am afraid it is not, Spike,” said Princess Celestia quietly. She levitated a book from the table. It was a huge, ancient thing. The leather bindings that held its thick parchment pages were cracked and creased. “You’ve heard of the Sibylline Books?”

“Only... only once, Your Highness,” whimpered Twilight. “In...”

“In The Origin,” completed Celestia. “I do not wish to confirm what I know you are thinking, yet I must.” She opened the book in her magic, turning to the second-to-last page. “This volume has never been removed from the High Tower since Luna and I laid it there over a thousand years ago, yet the time has come. I hope your knowledge of Old Equestrian is as good as it once was.”

Filled with dread Twilight leaned over the table and read the six-hundred-and-sixty-fifth prophecy. The autumn chill seemed to have seeped through the walls into the room. After a moment she staggered backwards and sank on to the bed. Tears filled her eyes. “Does... does this mean...? Princess, you can’t really...”

“I wish I could reassure you, Twilight, but I cannot,” whispered Celestia. Infinite anguish filled her voice. “The Books do not lie. I have known this for a thousand years. The darkness is coming, as was foretold millennia ago. My power will vanish with it. And then they will come. Ponies remembered once what the humans did, but now we read of it only in myths and legends. But I remember. That is why I approved the army, and at all costs, that is why we must keep it. But for this to succeed, the Princesses must be united. I must have your support.”

Tears rolled down Twilight’s face. “But, Princess, the prophecy! If you put another military bill before Parliament it will destroy your government! The public will never understand it! And if you have no power, Blueblood...”

“The government may break, or it may not,” said Princess Luna. “Blueblood may see, or he may not. We will pay for it out of our private estates if need be, but we must have the army. Twilight Sparkle, when the humans march and legendary demons come in the night, do you think it matters who rules Equestria? Now tell us, do you support us? Are you a Princess of Equestria who will do what is right for the nation, for Equus, be you loved or hated, or are you just a decoration that wishes to smile and wave and take only the adulation?”

Weeping, Twilight looked up at her brother, her sister, her mentor and her friend, ponies whom she now hated as much as she loved, all of whom now asked her to make another terrible decision. Her last decision like this on a cold January night back at Golden Oaks Library had committed thousands to die. Now whatever she said, millions more might perish.

Forgive me, she asked them, before she choked through tears; “I am with you.”

Apocalypse

The last train of the night slid into Ponyville Station in a cloud of steam that shone in the darkness. From a carriage burst one of the last officers to leave Camp Demob. His hat askew, his kit bag slung sloppily over one shoulder, terror on his face, Cherry Fizzy galloped across the platform and through Ponyville’s deserted streets.

He had heard terrible things on the train, from hearsay, from snatched glimpse of newspaper pages, from tabloids left behind by other passengers. All of them were garbled or inaccurate, but the same story was there: Fancypants’ business had collapsed, and with it the farm investment programme. Thousands of farms were going to fail, among them his own.

The clop of his hooves became a gentle beating as the paved streets gave way to the dirt tracks that surrounded Ponyville. Hedges and farmhouses that were lit by golden light in the night flashed past, until he reached a junction in the road. Cherry Fizzy turned left and galloped down a long driveway to the thatched-roof cottage beyond. As he neared, the front door opened, and a tiny figure emerged, bathed in golden light.

“DADDY!” cried Berry Pinch. The tiny foal galloped down the path.

Cherry Fizzy sank to his knees and threw his forelegs around his daughter. A tear ran down his muzzle and fell into her mane. “I’ve missed you, Pinchy.”

Berry Pinch looked up at him, her lip trembling and her eyes wide and shining with tears. “Daddy, daddy, mummy’s not well. She saw something in the paper today and... and...”

Cherry’s breath caught in his throat. He gently released Pinchy and stood up. Slowly, trembling, he walked forward and crossed the threshold into his home.

Curled against the kitchen dresser on the cold stone floor, her eyes red from crying, her mane bedraggled, was the wife he hadn’t seen in three months. Above her the dresser drawer was open, and lying next to Berry Punch was a bottle, that morning full, now drained to the dregs. The stink of cider surrounded her.

Cherry Fizzy fell to his knees next to Berry Punch and gently wrapped his forelegs around his sobbing wife. Tears flowed unbidden from his eyes as they crouched there, Pinchy weeping quietly at the door.

In that moment Cherry had no idea what to do. The three of them stayed there, even as the sky lightened and the sun slowly rose over the crops ripening in the fields.

***

Captain Summer Set stood at attention outside the Guards office in Canterlot Castle. The Guards passing to and fro and going in and out of the office had long since stopped trying to talk to him. Most of the old salts hadn’t even bothered: the pre-war cadre of the Royal Guard was well aware of Summer Set’s psychotic devotion to duty. He would remain standing there as long as Princess Twilight remained in her meeting, even to the point of dehydration.

Robotic though he may have appeared, Summer Set disliked the less-pleasant parts of his duties as much as any soldier. His knees were aching abominably and he desperately needed to scratch his nose. He tried to distract himself by making notes on the turnout and bearing of the other Guards: so far he had identified twenty-nine different deficiencies in uniform and drill. He intended to address every single one of them in his next report to his commanding officer.

Gritting his teeth to stifle a yawn, he flicked his eyes to look through the paned glass doors leading out into the drill square. The sky was lightening, he noticed with relief. A crowd of civilians – smaller than usual, he noted – was gathering in the square below the balcony. In half an hour the night guard would be relieved, and Princess Celestia would emerge onto the balcony to raise Sunday’s sun.

The door of the Guard office suddenly swung open and the Corporal waiting to relieve the night guard marched out. Confusion covered his face and he was checking his watch as he stared out into the quickly-lightening square. “What the...?”

The thirtieth lapse of the night was almost too much for Summer Set. He was ready to curse and belittle the soldier as a disgrace to his Corporal’s stripes, to his uniform, and to the Royal Guard. Then he caught a glimpse of the time on the Corporal’s watch: 06:28.

Half an hour too early for the sun to be rising...

Summer cursed himself for his own lack of professionalism. He had memorised the timings of the changing of the guards! He had done it himself for years! How had he forgotten?!

This suddenly became a distant concern to him as the sun broke over the roofs of Canterlot and bathed the drill square in morning light. The civilians in the square stared up at it in confusion, then up at the balcony, where their princess was nowhere to be seen. The Corporal looked in disbelief at his watch, then at the balcony, then at the sun, then at his watch again as he tried to make sense of it. Slowly, he turned to face Summer Set. “Sir? What’s... what’s happening?”

Words caught in Summer Set’s throat. As the sun slowly rose, unbidden, over Equestria, he felt himself begin to tremble in fear, confusion, worry, incomprehension, as on the square ponies began to scream.

***

Major General Neigh sat uneasily in his office in Trottingham Barracks. He had heard the story in the mess that morning. By now everypony had. It had spread feverishly from Canterlot, faster by word of mouth than by radio reports or by rapidly-printed extra editions of newspapers. He didn’t know what to believe, but he had heard it too many times for it to be untrue: that morning the moon had fallen and the sun had risen without Princess Luna and Princess Celestia’s magic.

After he’d heard it, he’d done what most ponies had tried to do: keep calm and carry on. But it nagged at him. Something had gone terribly wrong, whether with the Princesses or with magic he did not know. He had to find out more.

He pushed away the remains of his lunch, stood up from his desk and crossed the office to his radio. He twiddled the knobs for a few moments until he found a station.

“...to EBC Radio 5, I’m Auto Cue,” said the announcer. “The time is twelve PM. Well with me here this lunchtime are Chief Secretary to the Treasury Penny Bag and spokespony for the Parliamentarian movement, Ponyatowski. We’re going to discuss the government’s response to the crisis surrounding Toffeenose Mining, but as you probably know by now, events have overtaken us. So before we begin, Chief Secretary, does the government have anything to say to these rumours that Princess Celestia did not raise the sun this morning?”

“Uh... this is an issue I can’t comment on, Auto,” said Penny Bag. Her voice sounded halting and flustered. “I’d really rather we just moved on to...”

“Now hold on, Chief Secretary!” interrupted Ponyatowski sharply. “This is serious! If these rumours are true, then the sun rose without any control! Whatever explanation there is for this, and there are many, they should all give us worry! It’s been five hours and your government has made no statement on the issue!”

“I’m afraid I have to agree with Ponyatowski, Penny,” said Auto Cue. “The only statement we’ve had from Canterlot Castle today is that Princess Luna is visiting Manehattan to award medals, and that visit has been planned weeks in advance. Surely the public deserves to know what’s going on? There were ponies crying in the streets this morning!”

“As I said, Auto,” stammered Penny Bag. “This isn’t an issue I can comment on. I’m sure a statement will be...”

“Just a minute, Penny,” interrupted Ponyatowski again. “Are you saying you don’t know what’s behind all this?”

“I’m... Ponyatowski, I’m sure that our Princesses...”

“The Princesses haven’t told you, you mean to say?”

“I must say this is rather unusual, Penny,” said Auto Cue. “Has there not been a Privy Council meeting to discuss this?”

“Well, we... that is to say I... uh, we will...”

“The Privy Council hasn’t been recalled?” demanded Ponyatowski. Neigh could hear the relish in his voice. “Penny, this is a national crisis! There could be something wrong with the sun, something wrong with Celestia, or even something wrong with magic itself and the Privy Council, Parliament and the public are all being kept in the dark!”

There was silence for a moment before Auto Cue said; “All right, let’s move on.” Before he switched his radio off, Neigh could hear Penny Bag’s sigh of relief.

He’d learned nothing more, but in truth that wasn’t the issue he was most concerned about. No, what worried him most was the thing everypony else seemed to have forgotten about: that Equestria’s economy had just tanked and that thousands of ex-soldiers, his soldiers, were now unemployed. He didn’t want to hear some politician’s excuses for it: they were dumping his ponies on welfare and had no plan for how to get them off.

Fuming, he sat back down at his desk, cursing the Treasury, cursing the Princesses, and cursing that criminal Fancypants. Rumour had it the bastard had slunk off to the Braytish coast somewhere.

There was a tap at his door and his adjutant walked in. When he saw Neigh’s expression he averted his eyes. “Some messages for you, sir.”

He laid two documents down in Neigh’s in-tray, one a slim envelope, the other an immensely-thick book so heavy it crushed the rest of the files in the tray until it was lying almost at the bottom. Neigh picked it up with a grunt and read the title: Principles of Military Movement. “And what is this?”

“Guide to the Royal Army’s new doctrine. Prince Shining Armor wants every officer to read it.”

Neigh flipped to the back of the book: it was seven hundred and sixty four pages in length, excluding the bibliography and index. He had a thought and flipped to the front, scanning the acknowledgements page. He found the name he’d feared he would: Princess Twilight Sparkle.

What business does that schoolfilly have writing about war, much less ruling!

He dismissed his adjutant with a nod, sighed and turned to a random page and began to read.

We therefore face a choice between basing our army around the principle of fire or the principle of mass, a chapter concluded. As was shown in the war, exceptionally well-drilled infantry are able to see off enemy attacks through the speed and accuracy of their fire alone. However, this requires great effort invested in the training of a single soldier, and thus implies a small, professional army. Alternatively, we may rely on mass, using the speed, energy and impact of a large, dense formation of troops to scatter the enemy. This allows for mass armies raised and trained cheaply and quickly, though this may well be outweighed by the inevitable casualties such formations will suffer.

Neigh groaned and leaned back in his chair. Spirits, did Shining Armor expect him to read nearly eight hundred pages of this?!

His eyes fell on the envelope in the in-tray. Reading the letter seemed as good an excuse to put off reading the book as any. The envelope was of creamy parchment, and when he opened it, a letter on similar paper written in a Unicorn’s immaculate calligraphy slid out.

Dear Major General Neigh,

I have recently been told that you have returned from the south with the conclusion of the war. As you may be aware, in light of the tragic economic crisis that has so suddenly hit us, the Parliamentarian movement is looking into ways we may improve the lot of those ponies who have been badly-affected, in particular, recently demobilised soldiers.

Your bravery and leadership during the war were much remarked on here in Canterlot, and I can think of no better stallion than you to help us formulate policy to assist Equestria’s soldiers in their time of need. I hope you will be able to join me for a drink at my mansion in Canterlot tomorrow evening so that we may discuss the true essentials of what is really needed before we get into the real business of policy-making.

I would be honoured if you are able to attend.

Yours sincerely,

Blueblood

Neigh lowered the letter, staring at it in disbelief. Blueblood? One of the most influential stallions in Equestria wanted to talk to him? It seemed absurd.

But, he reasoned, there was an election coming up at the end of next year, and given how everything had changed that morning, Blueblood’s party was definitely going to make gains. Whatever chance he had to help his soldiers, he would take it.

***

“I left him in the drawing room, sir,” said Cordwainer. “With the whisky, as you instructed.”

“Excellent.” Walking across the landing, not for the first time that evening Blueblood felt uncomfortable without his usual suit. Ponies might not normally wear clothes, but to a stallion of his means, they were an expression of wealth and power, and he hated being without them. “Don’t know why I suggested an informal drink.”

“If I might make so bold, sir, I doubt Mr Neigh owns a set of white tie.” The butler was of course wearing his own as usual.

“Mmm.” Blueblood crossed to the top of the stairs. “I intend to be up with him until late: have one of the hoofstallions prepare a room. I’ll make sure he needs it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Blueblood turned to descend the stairs, but at that moment the door to the first-floor bathroom opened and a servant carrying a bucket and mop issued on to the landing. When she saw Blueblood she froze in terror.

“Daisy!” hissed Cordwainer. He turned to Blueblood. “I’m sorry sir, I had no idea she wouldn’t be finished up here but you know how it can be with new...”

“What’s your name?” interrupted Blueblood, staring intently at his new scullery maid.

“Daisy. Daisy Chain, sir,” she squeaked. Underneath an apron the Earth Pony had a coat that was a grey so pale it was almost white. Beneath a servant’s cap she had tied up a violet mane.

Blueblood nodded slowly. “I’m sure you’re going to enjoy working here.”

Cordwainer stared at his employer dumbfounded for a few moments, before sharply jerking his head at Daisy Chain. She hastily gathered up the mop and bucket and disappeared to the servants’ stairs.

Blueblood nodded at his butler. “As we discussed.” Then he descended the stairs, marched across the entrance hall, and entered the drawing room.

The red-coated Earth Pony sat uneasily on one of the leather sofas. He leapt up as Blueblood entered. He noted with satisfaction that the glass on the table next to him was three-quarters empty. “Mr Blueblood!”

“Major General Neigh, welcome.” Blueblood tightly clasped and shook his hoof. “Shall I top you up?”

He did not wait for an answer. He unstopped the whisky decanter and filled Neigh’s glass almost to the brim.

“Thank you.” Neigh took a hearty swig of the golden liquid.

Blueblood smiled. He had been preparing for this meeting for months. As Heir to the Throne, he had cultivated friends and contacts in the Royal Guard, friends and contacts that had risen to high positions in the new Royal Army, helped along of course by his wealth paying for their new commissions. They had told him things: of an officer passed over promotion multiple times despite his obvious ability; of that officer suddenly raised to high position yet still distrusted by Shining Armor as too revolutionary in his thinking; of that officer nearly losing the Battle of Valneigh for the Royal Army; of that officer being convinced that he had been denied recognition for a great victory; of that officer seeing his regiments shot to pieces in front of him at the Battle of Silvestris; of that officer banished to a distant flank at the Battle of the Kelpie Creek and left away from the decisive moment.

This was Major General Neigh: he was determined and aggressive almost to a fault. He was tactically brilliant, operationally inept, and strategically vacuous. He demanded recognition and reward for both himself and his soldiers, and tied the success of one with that of the other. And outside the narrow field of sending one block of troops to efficiently kill another block of troops, he was a complete naïf.

To summarise, he was the perfect military commander for Blueblood.

Blueblood took a seat next to him, nursing his own glass of whisky, which he made sure to only sip. “They tell me you’re critical of the Ministry of War’s policies, Major General.”

Neigh nodded grimly. “They’ve cast my ponies out on to welfare. After everything we did for Equestria. No jobs, no money, no hope. They’re not even releasing the pensions.”

“And what would you do instead?”

Neigh took another gulp of whisky, half-draining his glass. “Fancypants and Filthy Rich had the right idea, before the bastard crashed his company and made us pay for it. I suppose it all comes down to money, and there’s none of that left now, is there?”

Blueblood nodded slowly. “There are those within the Parliamentarian movement who believe that this coming election will be our chance to make truly radical changes to Equestria. The events surrounding yesterday’s sunrise have only entrenched that opinion.”

“And you disagree, Blueblood?”

“Everypony’s heard that train-crash interview Penny Bag did yesterday, Neigh. Nopony in the government knows what’s going on. Celestia hasn’t told them why the sun rose without magic. I regret to put it in such terms, but she is treating her ministers and Parliament with contempt. Even if the Parliamentarians form a government after the next election, frankly I cannot imagine her accepting us, least of all a stallion like me.”

Neigh took another gulp of whisky. “Mmm. What are your options then?”

“You’re a soldier, Neigh. You know that when the crisis appears you need to seize opportunities or be defeated, even if that means acting rashly. The same is true in politics now. We must act, in this case rashly.”

Neigh nodded in understanding. “And what kind of rash action did you have in mind?”

Blueblood was outwardly calm. Inside he was a knot of tension. He was gambling everything he had on a single throw. If Neigh was truly the stallion Blueblood thought he was, then victory was his. But if Neigh was not as disillusioned as he had come to believe, then all his plans were dust. At the very best, Neigh would withdraw and that would expose him as a failure to Radical Road, who could sideline him. At the very worst, Neigh might report him for conspiracy to overthrow the government.

“That would be a question for the Commander-in-Chief of the Forces,” Blueblood said slowly.

“The Commander-in-Chief?” said Neigh thoughtfully.

Blueblood nodded. “Second, in military matters, only to the head of state.”

Neigh nodded slowly and drained his glass. “If I were that stallion, my ponies would be being treated very differently.”

Blueblood smiled. He could feel the portraits of the Bluebloods that lined the drawing room’s walls beaming down at him in approval. “We were thinking the same thing.”

Conspiracy

“I don’t like this,” said Radical Road through gritted teeth.

Blueblood trotted with Radical down the stairs from Radical’s parliamentary office to the Members’ Lobby. “Whether either of us likes it or not, we’re in too deep now. We have to strike while the momentum is with us.”

“We could wait until the elections,” hissed Radical. “We have the public’s ear, and if we fail...”

“We could have chosen to wait a week ago. Not now, not that we have Neigh with us. If we choose to wait he’ll abandon us and he might even reveal what we’re planning. We have to act now. If we fail it will be as heroes. If we succeed, you will be able to do all you’ve ever wanted.”

They emerged from the grand marble staircase into the Members’ Lobby. A gaggle of Parliamentarian MPs, aides, and reporters awaited them. “Now, away and do your speech,” said Blueblood. “I have a meeting with our uniformed friends.”

As Radical trotted into the Commons Chamber, his entourage snaking after him, Blueblood turned away and cantered in the opposite direction to the Members’ Entrance. Radical would give the usual speech, calling for more reform, denouncing the government, demanding more transparency, calling that the princesses be held to account over the sun and moon... It was the same old formula repeated for the thousandth time, but according to the opinion polls, it worked.

Blueblood would not be there to hear it. It was true that he had a meeting with Neigh and a few other officers, but first he had to deal with an annoying loose end.

***

Amber Spyglass slammed the folder shut. “This had better be a joke.”

Vinyl and Octavia exchanged glances. It felt like the Chief of Intelligence was trying to pin them to the wall of his office with his gaze.

“I know the abstract sounds farfetched, sir,” said Octavia mildly. “But if you read our whole report...”

“You’ve given me a collection of disconnected events that are linked by straws so thin I could floss my teeth with them. Do you know what will happen if this leaks?”

“We couldn’t just sit on it!” blurted Vinyl. “There’s some seriously dodgy stuff going on! This stock market thing is just the latest! Somepony organised a massive shorting of stocks in Toffeenose Mining. When the stocks hit bottom after the company collapsed, they made a fortune! Are you telling me that’s not suspicious?”

“But it doesn’t connect to Blueblood!” snapped Amber Spyglass. “It and everything else you’ve suggested are purely circumstantial. We cannot afford the political ramifications of investigating him. Not now. Not after everything that’s happened in the past week.”

“But what if we’re right?” asked Octavia. “What about the political ramifications then?”

“If you are right, and we don’t investigate, then this government might not survive. But if you are wrong and we do investigate, then this government will not survive. Those odds are far too long to begin accusing a public figure of murder and conspiracy.”

“Sir...”

“That is the end of it, Vinyl.”

“But sir...!”

“Ahem.”

All three of them turned to look at the door, then rapidly stood up. Bowing her head slightly to pass under the doorframe, Princess Celestia entered the office. “Good morning everypony. Thought I’d look in to see how my intelligence service is doing. Any leads, Amber?”

“A dead end I’m afraid, Your Highness.” He turned to Vinyl and Octavia. “You’re dismissed,” he said sharply.

Celestia watched as the two ponies trudged sullenly out of the office. She waited until the door closed before she spoke again. “Do you think they’re right?”

“And there was me thinking I’d put a counter-surveillance spell on that door.”

“I may not be able to move the sun any more, but I am still an Alicorn princess.” Celestia looked up at the morning sky out of the tower window. “It’s strange, not having to lift it anymore. But as I said, do you think they’re right?”

“Well, it certainly fits with that prophecy you showed us. Not that we can take action on it anymore. In my experience these things have a way of fulfilling themselves regardless of what you do.” He took the folder in his light yellow magical aura and slid it into his desk drawer. “Might be interesting for historians though, assuming there’s any of you left.”

“How long have you known this was coming?”

“Oh, a while. I can spot broad patterns, but chaos being what it is I could never have told you where, when or who. And besides, that wouldn’t have been any fun.”

“Oh, thank you. I’m glad you see a potential civil war between my subjects in such light terms.”

“Now I resent that,” said Amber Spyglass. “Chaos isn’t anarchy and anarchy isn’t chaos. Besides, I never killed anypony remember?”

“One of your few virtues.” Celestia turned to look back out the window. “You remember the terms of our agreement?”

“Yes, you curtail my powers and I serve as your Chief of Intelligence in return for what you oh-so hilariously call freedom.”

“I could have imprisoned you again,” said Celestia.

“Your idea of compromise is an odd one. Maybe that’s why you’re no good at working with politicians.”

“Hmm,” conceded Celestia. She looked down over Canterlot, into the valley beyond. From here she could just about make out Ponyville. “Based on Vinyl and Octavia’s report, we may need to alter our agreement.”

***

He met him beneath one of the immense stone discs that supported Canterlot. When Equestria had been formed, the six Founders had literally carved these three massive platforms out of the side of the mountain to support their new capital. It was a vanity Blueblood approved of.

Canterlot had stood proud and stern on these discs for thousands of years, supported by the unyielding mathematics and magics of Clover the Clever, but the governments that had occupied it had been fleeting, each one swept away as quickly as the last like snow falling in a river. The long reign of the princesses was a historical aberration that Blueblood meant to correct.

But first, there was an obstacle in his way, and even more annoying, it was an obstacle that had once been an asset. A shaken-looking Cordwainer had brought him the letter from his brother yesterday evening: Twist Turn wanted to meet with him personally.

It had been supremely annoying, but Blueblood knew that he’d had no other option. He’d arranged the meeting on this path below the city. Centuries ago these walkways, snaking beneath the platforms and through the crystal caves deep inside the Canterhorn, had been used to inspect the bases of the platforms for structural damage or signs of the beginnings of collapse. But Clover the Clever’s magic had held, not a thaum less powerful than the day the strengthening spells had been cast, and the patrols and the paths had been abandoned two hundred years after her death. Now most ponies had forgotten that they even existed.

Blueblood found Twist Turn, pacing and sweating, a thirty minute walk down the path. He knew that somewhere, through seventy-five feet of solid stone above them, was Canterlot Castle. “Mr Turn.”

“Mr Blueblood!” The Earth Pony stallion was pasty-faced, with dark circles under his eyes. Even from twelve feet away Blueblood caught the stink of drink.

“Our correspondence, as I asked?”

Twist Turn fumbled in his stained jacket’s inside pocket and pulled out a hooful of letters. Blueblood took them in his magic and slid them into his pocket. “Thank you. I understand if recent events mean you don’t want a connection with me. I’ll destroy these and you can go off with a completely clean slate.”

“Thanks,” slurred Twist Turn. “But that’s not why I asked to meet.”

Blueblood tried not to let his irritation show. He’d hoped that his offer would have got this especially vile commoner off his hooves. “If it’s more money you want...”

“It’s not about money. Look, I’ve heard you and Radical Road on the radio, I know what you did with my stories from down south and I know why you got me to blow up that mine. You want to bring down the government and you want to replace it.”

Blueblood cocked his head. Twist Turn seemed to think that was an amazing piece of intuition. “Yes, I want power.”

“Why? What for? What’s worth me killing hundreds of ponies? I’ve read the news: thousands of ponies are out of work because of that mine explosion. What are you going to do to fix it?!”

Blueblood took a step backwards. Twist Turn’s eyes were mad and feverish. “Why?!” repeated the Earth Pony desperately. “What are you going to do?! Just... just tell me and I’ll go!”

Blueblood sighed. He’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this. “Very well, Mr Turn, I’ll tell you. Do you know why a stallion like Radical Road is still working with a stallion like me? Because I can put him within sight of the things he’s always wanted: more transparency, greater democracy, a less-powerful monarchy.” He snorted. “Wonderful things for a pony who never left their students’ union.

“Equestria doesn’t need that. The average pony doesn’t want that. They want prosperity, health, good summers and productive fields. How many ponies actually paid attention to politics in Canterlot last year when times were good? Did you, Mr Turn?”

“So... so that’s what you’re going to do?” asked Twist Turn. “Solve this? Put the economy back on track? But... but then...”

“Why did I cause a recession and impoverish thousands? Why did I sabotage the war effort with deficient guns? Why did I get you to reveal what was really going on in the south with the army? Why, it’s simple Mr Turn. So simple that you worked it out yourself: I want power, and to do that I needed to discredit Celestia’s government. If it makes you feel better I’ll probably try to fix that recession, but really I’ll only be doing that to keep power.”

Twist Turn stared at him, horror and disbelief covering his face. Blueblood had long ago anticipated that that would be most ponies’ reaction. “That’s... that’s it then? Just power?”

“Yes, and you have been a great help in getting me to it, but now I’ve told you, I need more. I need to know that I can trust you.”

Twist Turn took a step backwards. “I... I...”

“Twist Turn,” said Blueblood sternly. “Can I trust you?”

“Yes!” blurted Twist Turn. “You can trust me! Look, I’ll disappear! I’ll go abroad! You’ll never hear from me again!”

Blueblood sighed. “I’m sorry, Twist Turn, but I don’t think I can.”

Twist Turn’s eyes went wide. He had barely raised a leg to run when suddenly his breath caught in his throat. Twist Turn’s eyes bulged in his head and veins stood out on his head as Blueblood’s horn glowed and an invisible noose tightened around his neck.

Twist Turn began to gasp uselessly as he sank to his knees. The muscles in his neck spasmed. As Blueblood squeezed tighter, bruises erupted on his neck as the blood vessels ruptured. After a few more moments, Blueblood let go. The corpse collapsed on to the stone path.

Blueblood took several steps backwards, panting. Sweat soaked his coat. That had been more effort than he’d anticipated. He took a moment to recover himself, then swiftly frisked Twist Turn’s corpse. He took anything with a name – IDs, National Insurance Number card, membership cards, loyalty cards – and stuffed them into the sheaf of letters Twist Turn had given him. Holding them in the air in front of him with his magic, he ignited them with an incendiary charm. He let the ashes blow away on the wind.

With another glow of his horn he seized Twist Turn’s body and, with a grunt of effort, heaved it over the balcony. He watched it tumble down hundreds of feet into the valley below. It disappeared into a small wood hugging the cliff of the Canterhorn. The Prancing Pass was not frequented by walkers this close to winter and the railway lines passed far from the cliff side. Twist Turn’s bones would not be found for months.

By which time Blueblood would be far beyond justice for it.

***

In his library, Blueblood watched fifteen officers pore over a plan of Canterlot Castle.

“The battalion will disembark at the Royal Train Siding,” said Major General Neigh. “That will get us inside the walls. Brazen, once we’ve entered the Castle you’ll occupy the Drill Hall below the Guards Tower. If the Royal Guard tries to stop us, they’ll have to come through you.”

Lieutenant Colonel Brazen Petard, whose battalion would be Blueblood’s muscle for the coup, nodded curtly.

That Neigh was based in Trottingham had been a stroke of luck. The Second City of Equestria received trade and business from all corners of the realm. Bustling, buzzing and cosmopolitan, it had inevitably become a Parliamentarian heartland. Ponies discussed and debated accountable government and a transparent monarchy in their clubs, pubs and cafés, and the soldiers and officers of the Trottingham Grenadiers could not have failed to notice that, especially after what the Treasury had just done to their demobilised comrades.

Yet at the same time, Blueblood struggled not to let his lip curl. Though he recognised their necessity, he had disliked soldiers even when they had been mere guards at Canterlot Castle. How vacant did a pony have to be to see pride and honour in scrabbling around in the mud with spears and swords? It spoke volumes about their intelligence and independence that these stallions would agree to participating in a coup just because their General had! Blueblood had anticipated long meetings and cautious approaches, but nearly all these officers had fallen into line with a single discussion with him and Neigh! Some had required a little more encouragement, their decision eased by generous amounts of bits transferred from Blueblood's bank accounts to theirs. One of them, Colonel Tinderblast, had been apprehensive at first, but following a meeting with the chinless luminary Radical Road, who had soothed his doubts with philosophies and platitudes, he had turned positively giddy with revolutionary fervour.

“If we do this right,” continued Neigh. “We can present the Guards with a fait accompli. No pony will have to die. While you hold the Barracks, the rest of us and the Light Company will make our way to the throne room.”

A cold silence fell over the room. It was the moment they had all known was coming yet had always tried not to think about.

“So,” asked Brigadier General Sword Knot. “How are we going to deal with Celestia?”

“Even without the sun she’s an incredibly powerful Unicorn,” said Brigadier General White Cuirass. “Even with Mr Blueblood with us, I doubt we can force her to go quietly.”

“I can’t guarantee the Light Company will fire on their Princess,” admitted Captain Armed March of Brazen Petard’s Light Company.

“Roll grenades into the room then,” said Captain Sharp Suit of the Grenadier Company. “Or set up a battalion gun and blast the door in. She can’t survive shrapnel anymore than a normal pony.”

“Not a bad idea,” muttered Sword Knot.

“Gentlestallions, this is not some cheap murder!” barked Neigh. “We have committed to do an honourable thing, for our soldiers; for our comrades who have died; for Equestria. It must be done honourably! With our hooves, confronting Celestia.”

Blast, thought Blueblood, but Neigh’s brother officers were nodding. Blueblood was outwardly calm; inside he was fuming. It was a peculiarly soldierly thing to find honour and glory in a doomed enterprise.

“Well, gentlestallions,” he said calmly. “It is decided. I would ask that you join me for drinks in the drawing room to toast our enterprise.”

The officers filed slowly out of the library. Two remained. Captain Sharp Suit and Colonel Tinderblast stood staring down at the plan of the Castle.

“Captain? Colonel?” asked Blueblood. “You have concerns?”

“Nothing, sir," said Tinderblast stiffly.

“You can speak frankly to me, Colonel,” said Blueblood, hoping that he and Sharp Suit was thinking what he was. “I’m not in the Army, remember?”

Sharp Suit's eyes flicked to Tinderblast. He seemed to be waiting for his superior's approval. Tinderblast gave only the tiniest of nods.

“Well, with the greatest respect to the Major General," said Sharp Suit, slowly. "I don’t think he’s committed to pulling this off. He knows what we have to do but doesn’t want to do it. We have to kill Celestia.”

“There may be a way,” said Blueblood slowly. “But ponies will have to die.”

“This is a military operation,” said Tinderblast. “Of course ponies will have to die.”

Blueblood exited the library a few minutes later. Across the hall he saw Cordwainer exiting the drawing room having just delivered the drinks. “We need uniforms!” he said quickly.

“Uniforms, sir?”

“Trottingham Grenadiers uniforms, enough for all the staff. They don’t have to be tailored; they just have to look convincing.”

“Yes... sir,” said Cordwainer, confused. “If I may sir, how was the meeting with Twist Turn?”

Blueblood sighed. “I told him what he asked. He agreed to stay quiet for another fifty thousand, but my condition was that he leaves Equestria. He’ll be on his way to Mareope now.”

Cordwainer was silent for a moment. Then he said. “I understand, sir.”

Nightfall

At twenty minutes to midnight on a cold, late September night, a freight train towing five cars chuffed slowly off the Canterlot Main Line on to a rarely-used siding that led through a pair of wrought iron gates into Canterlot Castle.

Two Royal Guards, who until then had been sitting sleepily in the guardhouse waiting for their relief, exchanged worried glances as the train slid to a halt in a cloud of steam in front of the gates. Hastily donning their shakos and grabbing their spears, they ran out of the hut as two ponies vaulted down from the locomotive’s hoofplate.

The Guards Sergeant raised his spear. “Halt!”

The two ponies stopped. Silhouetted against the bright steam, the Sergeant could see swords at their sides and officers’ cocked hats on their heads. “Advance one and be recognised!” he said uncertainly.

One of them strode forward confidently. When the Sergeant saw the row of medals, the stars on his shoulders, and then his face, he dropped his spear to his side and saluted smartly. “Major General Neigh sir! It’s an honour!”

Neigh crisply returned the salute. “Thank you, Sergeant.” His tone was distant, almost detached. “Open the gates.”

The Sergeant exchanged a worried glance with his partner. “I’m sorry sir, but we have nothing on our schedule for the Royal Train Siding tonight.”

Lieutenant Colonel Brazen Petard stepped forward. “I have an order from Princess Celestia herself to present my battalion for inspection here tomorrow. Open the gate.”

The Sergeant shifted on his hooves. A non-Guards battalion being reviewed at the castle? What was going on? And why hadn’t he been told? “I’m sorry sir, but my orders...”

“Colonel Petard just gave you an order,” said Neigh sternly. “General Ember is in the castle tonight, is he not?”

The Sergeant gave a stiff nod.

“The General is a guest of honour at tomorrow’s parade. Do I have to send one of you up to wake him?”

The Sergeant stood stock still for a moment, sweat beading his forehead, before he turned to his partner. “Open the gates.”

***

Inside the locomotive’s cab, Blueblood let out a sigh of relief. Getting in had been the most risky part. He had been worried that they would have to ram the gates, and if they had had to do that, what would they have told Neigh’s soldiers?

As the locomotive slid on to the Royal Train Siding, Blueblood turned to look at the rest of the occupants of the cab. If the conductor, slowly easing his train to a halt, suspected something, then he didn’t show it. After all, the transport documents Neigh had showed him had all been in order. Radical Road, in contrast, was as white as a sheet and was sweating and breathing heavily. And behind Radical Road, looking ridiculous in ill-fitting uniforms, confused and more than a little scared, were ten of his servants.

Blueblood regretted the necessity of it. He wasn’t sure why. He’d already spilled an untold amount of blood to get to the Castle with a regiment of troops at his back. He would spill far more later tonight even if all went to plan.

Clouds of steam billowed from the locomotive as it finally stopped at the Princesses’ personal platform. It was a modest railway station inside the Castle’s walls: big enough for the large royal entourage, but functional, unfurnished and with only a red carpet rolled out when the Princesses came to board their train. Blueblood would have to change that.

Captain Sharp Suit appeared at the hoofplate, wreathed in steam. “It’s time.”

Blueblood nodded at Cordwainer, dressed up as a Grenadier Sergeant. “Attach them to Sharp Suit’s Grenadier Company. Keep them ahead of the regiment.”

The butler’s jaw was set and his face was grim. He gave a curt nod.

“Mr Cordwainer, what’s happening?” squeaked a kitchen maid.

“Quiet,” growled Cordwainer. He led the ten of them down from the cab. On the platform, companies of the Trottingham Grenadiers issued out of the freight cars and began to fall in under their officers.

“What was up with those soldiers?” asked Radical Road after Cordwainer and Sharp Suit had led them off.

“Neigh’s idea,” said Blueblood. “He wanted to keep an eye on the conductor.”

It was a shameless lie, but Radical Road was too distracted to notice.

Led by the Grenadier Company, the 3rd Battalion, Trottingham Grenadiers marched out of the Royal Station and across the Drill Square of Canterlot Castle. Tall towers, grey against the black sky, shadowed them as the column marched. The officers could not prevent a low buzz of excited whispering over their battalion. They were to be reviewed by Princess Celestia herself at the Castle! An unprecedented honour for a regiment not of the Royal Guard! The lie they had been told showed: they stood straighter, taller, bolder, and marched smartly towards the drill hall beneath the Royal Guard barracks in Guards Tower on the other side of the Drill Square.

Every soldier except ten. Major General Neigh could see them even from the tail of the battalion in the dark. What the bloody hell’s wrong with Sharp Suit’s Grenadier Company?! The lead files looked like they’d never marched before in their lives. They were tick-tocking, were out of step, and were generally making a mockery of what they were trying to achieve tonight.

Neigh felt a hoof lie gently on his leg. He turned to see Blueblood. “Let’s go, Major General.”

Neigh turned to see Blueblood, Radical Road and five of his officers. Behind them, just out of earshot was the 3rd Battalion’s Light Company. The rest of his conspirators were with their companies in the battalion, which would fix the Royal Guard in their barracks until he and his officers had taken Celestia into custody.

The need for deceit left a foul taste in Neigh’s mouth. The sight of Celestia in chains would stun many of his troops, and he doubted he would thank him for lying to them. But he had no other choice. He could not afford word of the coup leaking and Captain Armed March could not guarantee the loyalty of even a single company. He had to present everypony with a fait accompli.

Neigh gathered his officers around him. “Gentlestallions, it is time. From this point there is no turning back. Our soldiers are in this castle without orders and we cannot hope to remain undiscovered for long. We must go on, and we must succeed. For all our comrades who have died, and for all our comrades who have been ruined by Celestia.”

On Blueblood’s face, invisible in the darkness, was the tiniest of smirks. He nodded sharply. “Long live the revolution.”

***

Captain Sharp Suit’s heart was hammering in his mouth as he ascended the stairs of Guards Tower with Colonel Tinderblast. Behind them trudged ten of Blueblood’s servants, looking ridiculous in the spare uniforms Sharp Suit had managed to draw from stores for them, chivvied along by Blueblood’s butler, dressed up as a Sergeant.

He had almost backed out when Blueblood had told him what they would have to do. The idea had sickened him. A soldier existed to protect those who could not protect themselves, and a soldier who could not do that with honour and integrity was but a hired thug. So he had been told every day of officer training all those months ago, but if he did not do this one terrible thing, then how many more would suffer? How many more ponies, soldiers and civilians alike, would be impoverished while Celestia sat in this castle, unassailable?

So he and Tinderblast had told themselves time and again, and so when the battalion had formed up in the drill hall at the base of Guards Tower, Sharp Suit had approached Colonel Brazen Petard, saluted him, and loudly asked permission to fall out a section to begin a handover of accommodation. That had always been the plan, going through the proper motions for the entire battalion to hear, then Sharp Suit would barricade the doors of the barracks to keep the Royal Guard penned in until Neigh and Blueblood had secured Celestia.

Sharp Suit heard a whisper behind him. “Mr Cordwainer, what’s going on?” He winced. He’d heard too many of those since Trottingham, each more desperate than the last. Unknown to Brazen Petard, he had not fallen out a section of Grenadiers. Instead, he was ascending these steps with a group of sacrificial lambs.

Sharp Suit and Tinderblast turned the last corner of the spiral staircase and came on to a large landing. Lining the walls were two large portraits, one of Celestia, another of an ancient Captain-General of the Guards that Sharp Suit could not name. At the end of the landing was an immense pair of polished oak double doors, leading into the barracks. And standing at attention in front of them were two red-jacketed Royal Guards.

At the sight of Tinderblast they braced up and saluted. “Sir! What’s your business here?”

“We’re to take over accommodation here for 3rd Battalion, Trottingham Grenadiers,” said Tinderblast.

“Sir?” queried the Guards Corporal. He looked over at his partner, a Private. “I haven’t been told anything.”

“Surely you were briefed?”

“I... I’m not sure, sir. Hold on...” The Earth Pony Corporal rested his spear at his side and fumbled at his jacket pocket with a hoof, struggling to dig out his notebook.

The Private had his eyes on his partner, who was flicking through his notebook. Neither of them noticed Sharp Suit grasp his sword hilt.

Sharp Suit swept the blade across the Private’s chest. A spray of blood struck the Corporal in the face, blinding him and staining the pages of his notebook crimson. The Private sank to his knees and Sharp Suit buried the blade in his neck.

“WHAT THE...?!” The Corporal staggered, struggling to wipe the blood from his face as behind Tinderblast and Sharp Suit Blueblood’s servants screamed. He groped for his spear, but blinded and disarmed, he was helpless as Tinderblast drew his sword and rammed it through his barrel.

Breathing heavily, Tinderblast swiftly frisked the Corporal as Sharp Suit grabbed the Guards’ spears. Their blood pooled together on the marble landing. Tinderblast pulled a ring of keys from the Corporal’s pocket and selected the largest. He thrust the key into the keyhole of the double doors and locked them.

The two of them turned to face Blueblood’s servants. The ten ponies cowered helplessly in the corner as Cordwainer pointed his spontoon at them.

“Mr Cordwainer!” one of them sobbed. He was a hoofstallion, Sharp Suit dimly remembered. “Sir, what are you doing?!”

Cordwainer ignored them. “Quickly!”

Tinderblast took a deep breath and faced Sharp Suit. The Captain grimaced and slashed his sword across the Colonel’s haunch. Tinderblast gasped and blood began to pour down his flank. Then Sharp Suit turned to Cordwainer. “Ready.”

Cordwainer swung his hoof in a devastating haymaker that slammed into the side of Sharp Suit’s head. Cordwainer and Twist Turn had grown up in a tough neighbourhood. Unlike his brother, Cordwainer had managed to escape that life, but he still remembered how to punch. The blow split the skin and left Sharp Suit sprawling on the floor. Then he turned to Tinderblast, who was leaning heavily on his spear and had his sword in his other hoof. “Do it.”

The injured Colonel slashed Cordwainer’s forearm. Blood welled from the wound and soaked his sleeve, dying the gold Sergeant’s stripes crimson. Wincing, Cordwainer helped Sharp Suit to his feet with his good leg. The Captain kept twitching his head to try to clear it. Blood was running down the side of his face and the skin around his left eye was already bruising.

The three of them turned to face the group of servants. The ten of them were cowering in the corner. Several of them were flattened against the wall, trying to make themselves as small as possible. More had tears running down their faces. For a brief second, Sharp Suit was reminded of the terrified faces he had seen on the hill at Silvestris.

The three of them raised their spears, and the eyes of their targets widened as they realised what was about to happen.

“Sorry,” said Cordwainer quietly. It seemed appropriate.

***

Princess Celestia sat silently in the darkening throne room. A memo that she wasn’t reading sat in front of her, and an untouched cup of tea slowly cooled at her side. All she could think of was the prophecy.

She should go to bed, but she knew that sleep would not come. Every night since the sun had risen without her magic, she had wondered if that would be the moment, that that would be when Blueblood made his move.

But if he did play his hoof, what would he do?

Then the great double doors of the throne room slammed open, and five ponies in uniform and two ponies in suits marched in, followed by a company of soldiers.

“Ah...” whispered Celestia.

For a few moments, they faced each other in silence. At the head of the party that had just burst into her throne room, a red-coated stallion stood awkwardly, shifting on his hooves and his jaw working silently.

Next to him, a white-coated stallion rolled his eyes and stepped forwards.

“Princess Celestia,” said Blueblood, smirking. “In the name of the ponies of Equestria, you are under arrest.”

Celestia saw a flicker of alarm ripple through the company of troops arrayed behind the officers. “Soldiers,” she said calmly. “Lay down your arms and disperse. No action will be taken against you.”

The Light Company stood rooted to the spot. Their eyes flicked to their officers. One of the officers rapidly stepped forward. “The Army can no longer stand by and allow you to mismanage Equestria!” barked Major General Neigh. “In the past month you have destroyed our economy and impoverished thousands! You have destroyed the lives of thousands of Equestria’s soldiers!”

“Your disregard for Parliament and proper democratic procedures over the past year has become intolerable,” continued Blueblood. “This recession is the final straw. The task of governance has grown beyond you, and the Parliamentarian movement cannot risk waiting until the next election. Step down now, and you will not be harmed.”

The insincerity in his voice was palpable. Celestia could tell that this speech had been carefully crafted to wipe away any doubts in the soldiers following them, but she could not see how Blueblood could follow through. She knew how she must appear to them atop her dais: regal, majestic, and terrifying to behold. Those soldiers would never fire on her.

“I will give you this last chance to stand down, Blueblood,” she said. “Depart this castle and return to your estates and I will take no vengeance. Otherwise I will destroy you.”

Over a thousand years the mere threat of Celestia acting had cowed kings and warlords and dictators far crueller and fiercer than Blueblood, but the Unicorn stood his ground, still smirking.

At that moment, a flicker of doubt passed through Celestia’s mind. He cannot challenge me alone and he knows these ponies will never fire on me. What has he done?

Then a trio of shots sounded from across the Castle’s Drill Square.

***

“Locked?” demanded General Warding Ember gruffly. “What do you mean, locked?”

The General had been shaken awake moments earlier by Colonel Stalwart Ward of 1st Battalion, 1st Royal Guard Regiment. He had not been happy to say the least. Warding Ember had consumed a rather large amount of port at that evening’s mess dinner and had gone to bed with his head pounding two hours earlier.

“That’s just it, sir,” said Colonel Ward. “I sent midnight watch down to as usual but they came back and told me that the doors to the barracks have been locked from the outside.”

Ember frowned and trotted out of his room. The two ponies descended the spiral staircase of Guards Tower, past doors leading to barracks rooms, common areas, messes and armouries. Two thousand Guards were deployed in Canterlot Castle at any one time; a battalion of infantry, and a regiment of Pegasi Life Guards.

Ember was buckling on his sword belt when they reached the last landing, where a dozen ponies waiting to go out to relieve the eleven o'clock watch stood uncertainly in front of the locked double doors. “Whatever it is,” he said grumpily. “I’m sure it doesn’t require the attention of...”

Beyond the double doors, a trio of shots rang out. They were swiftly followed by screams.

Ember spun around to face the stunned group of Royal Guards. On the floors above, doors began to bang open as Guards leapt out of their beds at the sound.

“GET THIS DOOR OPEN, NOW!”

***

“TREACHERY! INFAMY! INFAMY!”

Lieutenant Morning Dew of the Trottingham Grenadiers heard the cries and sped up as she raced up the spiral staircase. She had been the first to react when the shots rang out, and she had led the rest of the Grenadier Company galloping up the stairs, sword in hoof, while the rest of the regiment crowded behind them.

Morning Dew galloped on to the landing and into a charnel house. She slid to a halt, leaving hoof trails through the blood that had spread across the marble. Ten ponies in Trottingham uniforms lay dead across the floor, expressions of fear and horror on their faces. Some had been shot, others had been speared. Two Royal Guards lay dead at the double doors leading into the barracks.

Slumped against the wall were a Sergeant and a Colonel that Morning Dew didn’t recognise. They had taken bad sword cuts, and crouched next to them trying to apply bandages was Captain Sharp Suit.

“Sir!” gasped Morning Dew. “Sir, what happened?!”

Sharp Suit looked up at her. Blood was pouring down one side of his face and there was a wild, feverish look in his eyes. “We are betrayed!” he cried, as more Grenadiers crowded on to the landing and stared in stunned disbelief at the corpses. “I brought this section up here to begin occupying accommodation, and we were attacked!” He waved his hoof wildly at the doors. “We managed to kill two, but they retreated into the barracks!”

As she stared at her Captain and then the bodies, Morning Dew’s shock turned to disbelief, and then to anger. Somepony had tried to murder her Captain and her comrades after inviting them to the Castle!

“Get a battalion gun up here!” she snarled. “Let’s get this door open!”

The order flashed back through the Grenadier Company and down through the rest of the regiment into the drill hall, and along with it wild rumours. Along the way it escalated until it reached Lieutenant Colonel Brazen Petard, who was trying to shove his way up the staircase to see what was happening. He and the other conspirators exchanged horrified looks. Something had gone terribly wrong. Nopony was supposed to die. But all around them was a disorganised regiment with its blood up that was all whispering the same thing. “Treachery! Treachery!”

***

“HAVE YOU FIRED ON MY PONIES?!” roared Neigh.

Blueblood smiled and said nothing as Neigh ranted and raved accusations at Celestia. He let the Major General thunder on and wave his sword as Celestia desperately tried to deny him, as he waited for what he knew would happen next.

Moments later, an explosion of shots erupted from Guards Tower as the Trottingham Grenadiers and the Royal Guard clashed.

Radical Road grasped at Blueblood’s leg. “What have you done?!”

“KILL HER!” screamed Neigh.

The Light Company needed little encouragement. If Blueblood’s speech had dispelled their fears, the idea that their comrades had been attacked removed any inhibitions.

A storm of fire erupted across the throne room. A scintillating shield sprang up around Celestia. The Light Company’s magical blasts scattered off it in showers of sparks, but light infantry did not fire as platoons but individuals, and a rain of fire continued to splash down on the shield, giving Celestia no time to counterattack.

For the first time in a thousand years, war filled Canterlot. Neigh roared orders. The Light Company fired. In Guards Tower ponies fought and bled and died. Radical Road cowered behind one of the throne room’s pillars screaming for them to stop firing. Some brave officers tried to get closer to the shield with their swords.

And in the middle of it all, Blueblood stepped forward and fired a blasting spell. A stream of light struck Celestia’s shield, a ball of heat forming where it hit that grew hotter and brighter by the second.

One unicorn in a hundred thousand might have been able to break Celestia’s shield, and nopony would have ever bet that the Princesses’ wastrel nephew would be the one to do it. But Blueblood was a Level Seven Unicorn who had worked on this blasting spell for years for his mining operations. What for other ponies was a single burst of magic was for him a continuous stream.

Slowly but surely, Celestia’s shield contracted.

The magical blasts flew from the Light Company and Blueblood’s spell went on. Sweat streamed down Blueblood’s muzzle and Radical Road sobbed and cowered behind the pillar. Then suddenly from within the shrinking shield their came a terrible, unearthly scream.

A flash of light filled the throne room. Everypony was catapulted off their hooves and left sprawling on the floor. Every single stained glass window shattered in a blizzard of shining fragments. A terrible rending crack shivered from the ceiling.

When Blueblood came to, fighting was still raging in Guards Tower. Neigh and his officers were staggering to their hooves. In front of them, the ancient throne had been reduced to blackened ashes and a great crater had been blown in the marble dais. Wind whistled through the shattered windows and glittering clouds of powdered glass gusted across the floor like snow. Above them, the roof of the throne room had been blasted open, and in the sky was a new star racing across the heavens, growing fainter, and fainter, and fainter.

The Gathering Storm

Withers von Hoofsburg, Prince of Horsetria, Duke of the Trotting March and Baron of Hoofsburg was leaving his solar for bed when an almighty crash erupted from the castle yard.

Chattering and the sound of doors being slammed erupted across Hoofsburg Castle as his family and staff tried to see what was happening. The Prince wrenched open one of the high, narrow windows with a glow of his horn. A blast of chill air and a flurry of snowflakes struck him in the face as he strode across his solar to gaze out into the night: even this early in the autumn, here in the heights of the Unicorn Range there was still a dusting of snow on the peaks.

Gazing down from his keep into the yard, he saw a smoking crater, as if something had plunged down on to his castle from an enormous height. A meteorite? he wondered. The edges of the crater were blackened, but in the centre, something was glowing.

The Prince seized an overcoat and trotted out of his solar and down the narrow, winding spiral staircase of his keep. He had descended a storey when a rough wooden door to his right opened. His son, Colonel Saddle von Hoofsburg of the Royal Whinnyapolis Hussars, stood there. “Father? What’s happened?”

“I’m going to find out. Come with me, I may need a strong pair of legs or wings.”

Still in his brilliantly-brocaded blue mess dress from that evening’s dinner with his regiment, Saddle trotted down the stairs after his father. They came to an ironwood door at the base of the stairs and trotted through it, down a rail-less flight of stone stairs into the freezing yard. Hoofsburg was a true castle: rough, unfurnished, and unassailable. A thousand years ago, and for centuries before that, it had withstood assault after assault by a hundred enemies, until one day in the twenty-eighth year of the Discordian War, Fetlock von Hoofsburg had faced Celestia and Luna in this very yard, and had knelt a king and rose a prince. Then he had allied his armies with those of Azure Blueblood, and had marched to unify Equestria in the Princesses’ name.

A hooful of grooms were already crowding around the crater, trying to peer through the smoke. “Make way there!” barked Hoofsburg sternly, his horn glowing to disperse the smoke while Saddle flapped his wings to clear the air.

A leg appeared over the lip of the crater. The fur was singed and blackened, but Hoofsburg’s breath caught in his throat as he saw the gold shoes on the hooves.

Slowly, agonisingly, Princess Celestia dragged herself out of the crater and shakily got to her hooves in front of the stunned group of ponies. Her brilliant white coat was marred with ash, burns and cuts. Feathers had been torn from her wings. The gold necklace she always wore was blackened and dented, the blue gem in the centre cracked. Her crown was gone.

Withers von Hoofsburg inclined his head, but he could not tear his eyes from his Princess. “Your Highness!”

Celestia was silent for a moment. Hoofsburg knew in that moment that something had gone terribly wrong; something that had shaken Celestia to the very core of her being. But when she spoke, he heard again the voice of calm command that he remembered from so many Council meetings.

“Prince Withers, do you have a radio station in Hoofsburg?”

“Not... not one of great range, Your Highness.”

“Then I shall require a train to Tall Tale immediately,” said Celestia. “There should be one there to suit my purposes, but we must be swift. You shall come with me, Prince Withers. I shall fill you in on the journey there. You as well, Colonel Hoofsburg. I fear I may have need of your regiment.”

***

Canterlot Castle reeked of blood and death. Guards Tower was a burnt-out shell that still smoked, darkening the morning sky. The roof of the Throne Room had been blasted off, leaving the rafters a blackened skeleton. The rest of the castle was a wreck of shattered windows, destroyed furnishings, and dead bodies.

Blueblood walked slowly along the rubble-strewn west battlement. Radical Road trailed behind him, whimpering and clutching a hoofkerchief to his muzzle. Blueblood did have to admit the horror of it. He’d known that his coup would have been costly, but he hadn’t expected anything like this.

When they’d finished off the Guards Tower, the vengeance-mad Trottingham Grenadiers had rampaged through the rest of Canterlot Castle, destroying everything in front of them and killing anypony – staff, officials, Guards – indiscriminately. It had taken until dawn for the officers to bring their blood-crazed troops under control. Now they were milling in the Drill Square, as if wondering what they’d done and wondering what they’d do next.

“Mr Blueblood!”

Blueblood and Radical Road turned to see Neigh hastening up the battlement’s steps. The Major General was splattered with gore, and clutched by the scruff of the neck in one burly hoof he held a Unicorn.

“Well, well,” remarked Blueblood, smiling. “Amber Spyglass. I shouldn’t be surprised that you survived.”

“Two of my ponies found him in the east tower,” growled Neigh. “He came out saying he wanted to surrender. They swear they didn’t see him until he came out.”

“Of course they didn’t. He’s a spy.” Blueblood stepped forwards. “A spy for the Princesses, no less. Tell me, spy: what would you do in my position? What would you do to an agent of the tyrant you had just overthrown?”

“Turn him to my side,” said Amber Spyglass coolly. “And learn from him all about the rest of his intelligence service.”

“And yet you would have reason to doubt such a rapid change in loyalties, would you not?” demanded Blueblood. “What is a spy loyal to, hmm?”

“Lately, that which keeps him alive and fed.”

Blueblood chuckled quietly. “You will give me names, and then I will decide what to do with those names. And after I have done that, I will decide what is to be done with you.”

Amber Spyglass inclined his head. Blueblood turned to Neigh. “I will need you and one company to come with me to Parliament. Send the rest of the battalion to secure Canterlot: government buildings, railway stations, radio stations, anything else you think necessary. We need to move quickly: have them ready to go in twenty minutes.”

Neigh gave a curt nod and swept away, still dragging Amber Spyglass.

Blueblood turned and looked out over the balcony, gazing on to the snow-capped peaks of the Unicorn Range, the rich Reinine Valley below, and beyond that the dark green mass of the Everfree Forest. He could afford to take a few moments to survey all that was now his. He felt lighter now, almost giddy, as if the weight of so many months of planning and worry had finally lifted from him. But he could not afford to celebrate yet. There was still much work to be done, and he was not so overconfident to believe that he could take the whole of Equestria without a fight.

As he turned to go, his hoof struck something lying on the floor. He expected a piece of rubble, but it clanked on the stone, and when he looked down, he saw something shining dully.

Blueblood took it in his magic and gently held it up between him and Radical Road. It was blackened and carbonized, but even now the intricate tracery was visible in the gold, on the three points, and around the blue gem set in the centre that glowed with an unnatural light.

“The Solar Crown,” whispered Radical Road.

“A thousand years old,” said Blueblood wistfully. “Cast from gold mined by Earth Ponies, forged by the spells of Unicorn mages, and the light in the Blue Radiant sunlight caught by Pegasi.”

Blueblood turned it over in his magic, reading Middle Equestrian inscription that scrolled across Celestia’s crown: “The Earth Ponies, Unicorns and Pegasi have long been Sundered, but have Joined again, Now and Forever, United by the Power of Harmony and the Magic of Friendship.” He snorted. “I suppose Celestia repeated that doggerel to herself every night when she took it off.”

With a twitch of his head, Blueblood hurled the crown over the battlements. It glinted faintly in the morning sun before it disappeared. Blueblood turned and smiled at Radical. “We should make sure that prophecy is fulfilled, must we not?”

***

Every step sent a jolt of pain through Warding Ember’s hips. His boots had been soaked through by the long wet grass of the Canter Valley and his hooves were numb. Half a dozen cuts on his forelegs, where he had been too slow to stop a sword slash, smarted in the cold, as did a long gash on his barrel where a spearpoint had raked him.

Warding Ember was in a much better state than most of his ponies. Well over a hundred wounded limped along in the centre of the formation, or were carried or even dragged by comrades. They had left that same number dead in Guards Tower.

The 1st Battalion’s pioneers had been preparing to smash the doors down with their axes when grapeshot from a battalion gun had blasted them to splinters and reduced twenty Guards to a bloody paste. Colonel Stalwart Ward had saved Ember’s life by throwing him into an alcove, but he had been struck in the leg by shrapnel and that had fatally slowed him as they retreated up the spiral staircase. Ward had killed five Trottingham Grenadiers before six had set on him at once.

By that time the rest of the Guard had managed to grab weapons, but the ferocity of the Trottinghams and the surprise they had achieved had been overwhelming. Ember and the Guards had slowly but surely retreated up the tower, leaving heaps of dead on the staircase, while ponies trapped in their rooms fought with a desperate heroism that nopony would ever know, all of them committing the sin unheard of for nearly a thousand years, that of pony killing pony.

Warding Ember remembered only a haze of blood and rage and fear, until he, hundreds of Guards and hundreds of wounded had found themselves penned on the top floor of Guards Tower while Colonel Tornado of the Life Guards screamed at him that the Castle was lost.

Ember wasn’t sure how he’d thought of it. If any of his subordinates had suggested that plan to him at any other time he’d have called them mad. In that moment he’d turned to Colonel Tornado and had demanded to know if his Pegasi could have airlifted his ponies out one by one. Tornado had stared at him silently for a moment before simply saying; “Yes.”

They’d sent the wounded first, and then the rest had been flown out by the Life Guards’ squadrons company by company. Warding Ember had stayed with the Grenadier Company, the last to go, bracing the last set of doors shut with their bodies while Tornado’s last squadron tore lanterns from the walls and smashed them on the floor to set the tower on fire. Tornado himself had dragged Warding Ember out through the smoke and into the clean, cold air.

The descent through the morning sky had been harrowing. Ember had expected Tornado’s limbs to fail at any time, for he was hardly the lightest or slimmest of Unicorns, or for sharpshooters in the tower to blast them out of the sky, or for thousands of Pegasi cavalry to rise from the Castle in pursuit. But nothing had happened. They had left Guards Tower and their hundreds of dead inside burning behind them, and had come to a thumping landing in the Canter Valley, the sheer grey face of the Canterhorn stretching up thousands of feet above them and the burning Castle little more than a dirty smear far, far above.

He’d formed his effectives into a battalion square with the injured in the centre. Tornado’s Life Guards screened them. Then they’d marched, leaving the Castle their regiment had guarded for centuries behind them. Nopony spoke, the silence leaving Warding Ember to contemplate the awful enormity of what had just happened. He was the first commander in a thousand years to order a retreat from Canterlot. He had failed everypony. He had failed his regiment, whose traditions he had sworn to uphold; he had failed the army, which had entrusted him with the burden of command; he had failed his soldiers, who had trusted him to lead them to victory whatever the battle or whoever the enemy; and worst of all, he had failed in a soldier’s most sacred of trusts. He had failed his Princess.

Warding Ember did not know whether Princess Celestia was alive or dead, but if he could no longer protect her he knew what he had to do now. Nothing could ever wipe out his failure, but he had a duty to redress the consequences of his mistakes. He was leading his ponies south, to the only place he could be certain they would get help and the only place he could begin to restore control over the situation.

A Life Guard thumped down in front of him, lathered, his uniform spotted with blood and stained from smoke. “Ponyville ahead, sir! Things look normal.”

Warding Ember mopped the sweat from his brow. “Thank the Spirits! Take your fastest ponies ahead and have them prepare medical facilities! And wake Princess Twilight!”

The Pegasi saluted and took off. Warding Ember grimaced and found himself marching faster, powering through the pain. Ponyville was just over this ridge, and there, a Princess with the authority to mobilise the rest of the Army. Yes, the day was not lost yet.

***

Twilight Sparkle pushed to the front of the crowd building on the edge of Ponyville. Many of the town’s ponies were still in dressing gowns, despite the cold morning, staring at the bizarre sight spilling over the Mare-St-Jean escarpment to the north of the town.

Twilight had been woken twenty minutes earlier by a Pegasus Sergeant hammering at her door. The Pegasus had been frantic and animated, and in her sleepy state she hadn’t understood much of it. She’d also been distracted by the staff of Ponyville Hospital racing past behind him, dragging medical equipment.

Now those same doctors were racing out to the square of red-jacketed Guardsponies marching down the reverse slope of the Mare-St-Jean, bringing back soldiers on stretchers, gurneys, or carried between comrades. Twilight had watched in numb disbelief as they were rushed past, groaning, clutching hooves to bloody wounds or burns. Something terrible has happened.

“Twilight! Twilight!” Applejack shouldered her way through the crowd, her face pale. “Ah jus’ seen soldiers being taken ta the hospital! What the hay’s goin’ on?!”

“I... I’m not sure, Applejack. I’m trying to find out.”

Applejack nodded grimly. “Ah’ll put the word out around the Princess C’s, wake old Cherry Fizzy too. Might be you’ll be needing us, but the Spirits know ah hope ya won’t.”

The cavalry and the infantry square had arrived at the edge of Ponyville and were beginning to break up. Some soldiers collapsed exhausted on to the ground, oblivious to the ponies staring at them. Others stared back with blank, unfocused faces. Then an old Unicorn with gold braid on his uniform stormed through the middle of them, his face red and spitting orders.

“Is this a Guards Regiment or not?! Company commanders take charge! Defensive positions facing north! I want cavalry pickets out covering the whole valley to both tree lines!” Then he spotted Twilight and marched towards her. “Your Highness.”

“General Ember?” gasped Twilight. She stared at him in blank incomprehension. Warding Ember’s uniform was cut to ribbons and stained with blood. There were long cuts on both his forelegs. His soldiers seemed to be in no better a state. “What in the wide wide world of Equestria has happened?”

“Your Highness, I will be frank: Canterlot Castle has come under attack. I do not know why, but the Trottingham Grenadiers attacked us in our barracks and we were forced to abandon the Castle. I do not know what has happened to Princess Celestia, but I fear she is either dead, or in the very best case scenario is incommunicado.”

Warding Ember seemed to swim before Twilight’s eyes. She suddenly felt unsteady on her hooves. Canterlot attacked? By a regiment of its own Army? And...

She felt words stick in her throat and tears begin to build in her eyes. Princess Celestia, her mentor, her friend, dead...

“Your Highness!” snapped Ember. “Your Highness please, you must listen! Princess Celestia is incapacitated and we have no word from Princess Luna or Princess Cadance. Their Highnesses’ Government maybe under the control of a hostile force. That makes you the most senior royal. What happened in Canterlot was entirely down to my own failings, and when this crisis is over you will have my resignation. Until then, I am the only military officer that can advise you. I have a plan to reclaim Canterlot, but I await your command.”

Twilight was suddenly acutely aware of the crowd surrounding her, listening, whispering. Rumours would be spreading, and she knew that whatever she might feel about Celestia’s death, she would have to gain a grip on the situation quickly. “What would you have me do?”

“Use your authority to call mobilisation,” said Ember decisively. “I’ve seen the War Office’s plans: the Ponyville Light Infantry can be assembled here by this evening and the Royal Cloudsdale Greys can be here by midday tomorrow. With them and my Guards, that force should be powerful enough to reclaim Canterlot. I do not know the Trottinghams’ motivation behind this coup, but we need to move quickly before they can entrench their hold on the capital.”

Twilight was silent for a moment. She felt the same sick sense of inevitability as she had all those months ago when Amber Spyglass had appeared in her library. Warding Ember was asking nothing less than her permission to bring war down on Canterlot. Twilight shuddered. She remembered the Changeling attack, the screaming civilians, the rain of fire and the blood in the streets. But if she did not...

“Very well,” she said stiffly. “I’ll write the orders for here and Cloudsdale. In the meantime, is there anything you and your ponies need?”

Warding Ember visibly sagged with relief. “Warm clothing, first of all, and hot food would not go amiss either. If they could be brought out to my ponies in their positions. I will also need maps if you have them, so I can plan the...”

“Excuse me, Princess!” Mayor Mare shoved through the crowd, a horrified expression etched on to her face. “We’ve had the radio on in town hall. You’re... you’re going to want to hear this.”

***

“My Honourable Friends,” said Radical Road, reading the speech Blueblood had written for him. “I come before you today to report an appalling treason.”

The government benches were sparsely occupied, as they always were on opposition days, but there were enough ministers sitting on the Treasury Bench for Blueblood’s purposes. Behind the opposition front bench, though, Parliamentarians filled every row. Every face in the House was tight and drawn. Everypony in Canterlot had seen the Castle burn; everypony had heard the shots. Neigh’s soldiers had kept the reporters away from the Castle, but the rumours had been swirling for hours.

None of those rumours, though, could be as shocking as the carefully-crafted truth the leader of the Parliamentarian movement was about to reveal to Equestria. For why would Radical Road, Blueblood thought with malicious glee, that most principled of politicians, lie?

“Last night, Mr Blueblood and I went to Canterlot Castle at Princess Celestia’s invitation,” continued Radical Road. He held up a crisp parchment letter bearing the royal seal. “Her Highness wrote that she wished to discuss reform in light of the recent events surrounding the sun.”

There was a stirring on the Treasury Bench. Burnished Bronze and Penny Bag looked at each other in shock and confusion. It was all Blueblood could do not to smile.

“Needless to say, we were eager to discuss changes.” Radical Road’s voice grew louder. “But when we entered the Throne Room, we were set upon by the Royal Guard at Celestia’s order!”

A cry of disbelief rose from the government bench, but now Radical was shouting above them. “Her power clearly spent, she wished to decapitate the Parliamentarian movement and stifle any hope of democratic reform!” he thundered.

On the government benches several ponies were now on their hooves, but any cries of protest were drowned out by a roar of “SHAME!” from the packed opposition benches behind Radical. Their leader raised a hoof, waiting for the noise to die down before he continued. He was quite animated now, Blueblood thought. That brandy he’d given Radical to fortify him in his carriage on the way to Parliament had certainly done the trick.

Then the great double doors of the Commons Chamber slammed open, and in marched twenty grim-faced Trottingham Grenadiers. At their head, his hoof resting on his sword hilt, was Major General Neigh. A deathly silence fell over the chamber.

“We were only saved thanks to the heroic actions of a battalion of Trottingham Grenadiers led by Major General Neigh,” continued Radical. “The 3rd Battalion was due to be reviewed this morning at the Castle, but several soldiers learned of Celestia’s plans and warned General Neigh. They protected us and Celestia and the Royal Guard fled the Castle!”

The government’s MPs sat rooted to their seats in mute shock. Blueblood gazed at them hungrily. Now came the kill.

“My friends,” said Radical Road gravely. “We find ourselves at a precipice, gazing down a path that once taken cannot be turned back from. Princess Celestia has fled the capital to parts unknown and has attempted to murder Members of Parliament, the public’s representatives. As the senior military officer in Canterlot, Major General Neigh has already begun securing ministries and administrative centres in the city, but he has told me that he will not impose any sort of military rule over the country. And given the events of last night and of recent weeks,” he added coldly. “I have no confidence in the government to do the right thing in this time of crisis.

“I therefore see no option but to put forward a motion of no confidence in Their Highnesses Government, and to organize ourselves as a caretaker government and assume emergency powers until public safety can be restored.”

***

Blueblood, Radical, Cordwainer and Neigh met twenty minutes later in Blueblood’s parliamentary office. Both motions had passed by landslides, and with swords in the chamber, nopony had dared question the flagrant breaches of parliamentary procedure. Burnished Bronze, Penny Bag, and the few other ministers there had been quietly escorted away after the vote by Neigh’s soldiers.

Blueblood watched with a little distaste as Radical calmed himself with several more helpings of his finest brandy. The Earth Pony was still shaking and sweating after his speech. Everything was happening far faster than he’d ever imagined, and he was far closer to achieving his dreams than he’d ever dared hope.

Of course, Blueblood intended to make sure that they stayed dreams, but for now, let him look forward to his precious reforms.

“We have good initial reports from Trottingham,” said Neigh. “Lieutenant Colonel Cleansweep says that the mood in the rest of the regiment is ugly, and the streets are turning against Celestia as well.”

“Good,” said Blueblood. “We need to secure the rail link between here and Trottingham immediately.”

Neigh nodded. “Ponyville. I’ll have him send a battalion to take the town. Once the rail crossroads there are taken we’ll have split Equestria in two.”

“Ponyville is Princess Twilight’s home,” warned Blueblood. “I don’t doubt the Guards will have fled there to start organising a resistance around her. Will you have enough ponies to deal with them?”

Neigh bared his teeth. “We’ve secured the Canterlot Arsenal: there’s twenty guns in there. I’ll send them with two companies to meet Cleansweep.”

Blueblood nodded in satisfaction. “Good. If you can, take the town non-violently. Celestia is still out there somewhere and she will act against us soon. She is very fond of Princess Twilight and her friends. Secure them and the Elements of Harmony, then separate them and bring them to Canterlot.” He laughed suddenly, remembering that Privy Council meeting so many months ago. “We may even convince Twilight Sparkle of the merits of our revolution!”

Neigh nodded curtly. “I’ll see to it.” He swept from the room.

Blueblood turned to Radical. “You need to start appointing ministers.”

Radical shook his head. “Not ministers: too royalist.”

“Excuse me?”

“The word comes from the Old Prench meaning ‘servant’. We are no longer the servants of monarchs.”

Blueblood stared at him incredulously. After all this time was he still thinking like some student activist? Or perhaps he was just drunk. “As you like it. Go.”

Radical left the office, swaying a little. Blueblood stood and approached Cordwainer. “In Ponyville there is a certain purple and white Unicorn. I trust you remember her?”

“All too well sir.”

“Go with Neigh’s troops. When they have taken her and the rest of Princess Twilight’s friends into custody, ensure that she makes it safely back to Canterlot then separate her from the rest. None of those soldiers will refuse you acting under my authority. Bring her to the mansion.” He felt a savage vengeance, so long nursed and ready to be released stirring inside him. “I owe her a debt of humiliation, with interest.”

Ultimatum

All of Princess Celestia ached. Her cuts had been dressed and her burns treated, but nothing could be done for the dull pain she felt deep within her bones and wings, nor for her exhaustion, and certainly not for the sense of utter failure and loss that threatened to engulf her.

For hours on the train race southwest from Hoofsburg, she had been in an information vacuum. On her orders it had cut out all but three of its stops until it reached Tall Tale, and then only to pick up whatever snatches of news or rumour they could before racing on. It was only when they had finally reached Tall Tale that afternoon that an extra edition of a newspaper had laid bare the awful truth: Blueblood had seized Canterlot and granted himself dictatorial powers. Radical Road may have delivered the speeches, but her nephew’s guiding hoof was behind it all.

Tall Tale had been so alive with rumour when she arrived that the policepony she had sent word ahead to had insisted that she travel to this radio station in an unmarked taxi. She’d known then more than ever that she had to give this address. She could not allow this crime to go unanswered, for regardless of what she did, she knew that ponies would bleed.

Through the glass of the radio booth, she saw the operator signal to her, and she began.

“My little ponies, many of you will have now heard Radical Road’s speech in the House of Commons this morning,” she said quietly. “He names me tyrant, deceiver and attempted murderer. He accuses me of trying to kill him and Blueblood so as to destroy the Parliamentarian movement.

“I name him liar. I summoned neither Radical Road nor Blueblood to a meeting last night. The Trottingham Grenadiers were never to be reviewed at Canterlot Castle. Last night, Blueblood and Radical Road, with a group of officers led by Major General Neigh, broke into Canterlot Castle and attempted to force my abdication at the point of a spear. Through treachery Blueblood forced the Trottingham Grenadiers to attack the Royal Guard while they were still unarmed in their barracks, and to attempt to kill me and drive me from the Castle.

“With their lies Radical Road and Blueblood have granted themselves dictatorial powers. They have overridden Parliament. They have unlawfully detained my ministers and illegitimately proclaimed themselves a government. I will not allow these crimes to stand.

“To Radical Road, Blueblood and Neigh I say this: step down now and surrender your control of Canterlot. Renounce all claims to governance. So long as you retire from public life, no vengeance will be taken against you. Unless I receive word by eleven o’clock on Friday morning of this week that you are prepared to do this immediately, I will have no choice but to mobilise the Royal Army.

“It is my first, greatest, and only wish that peace and friendship will prevail, but there is no justice or harmony in allowing a tyranny of criminals and liars to exist. Consider my offer, my would-be killers,” she finished, in the voice that a thousand years ago had cowed a hundred feuding kingdoms. “Step down now and I will show you mercy. Otherwise, I will destroy you.”

***

Golden Oaks Library had been transformed into a war room. Twilight, Spike, and Summer Set watched, the latter with barely-contained glee, as Warding Ember and the dozen officers he had hastily dragged together to form an ad hoc staff pored over maps liberated from the Ponyville Post Office. Applejack and Cherry Fizzy hovered on the edge of the crowd, trying to be useful.

“If the entire regiment has gone over to Neigh, then this town is indefensible. We’ll be flanked from the north and east.”

“He only had the one battalion at Canterlot, and we have the Life Guards and the Light Infantry with us. Tomorrow morning we’ll have the Cloudsdale Greys.”

“Neigh can be here before then, and if he has Canterlot, then he has the Arsenal,” growled Ember. “Twenty guns to our none. We do not have the strength to occupy every possible fire position he could take, and the risk to civilians...” Ember straightened up from the library’s table. “We cannot stay here. Where’s the nearest arsenal?”

“Stamplona, sir.”

“Tirek in Tartarus! Find me a chokepoint near it.”

“General!” cried Twilight. “Surely you can’t be thinking of abandoning Ponyville?!”

“We may have no choice, Your Highness,” said Ember gravely. “Look.”

He swept aside a large-scale map of Ponyville, with the Guards’ recently-dug defensive positions marked, to show the whole of Equestrian General Survey’s map of Ponydale and the White Tail Uplands. Twilight spotted Ponyville immediately, nestled on the banks of the River Saddle in the valley of Ponydale. The hills sloping up to the White Tail Woods formed one side of the valley, while to the east was the Central Plateau, covered in the thick green mass of the Everfree Forest. It was scantily mapped, with large portions marked ‘Unexplored: Hazardous to Ponies’. It was so huge it spilled off the map.

“Ponyville sits in this valley,” Warding Ember was saying. “Low hills to the east and west, and this ridge to the north that we came over this morning. If Neigh has the guns of the Canterlot Arsenal, then he won’t even need to come into spear range of us. I saw Neigh during the war: if he’s prepared to launch a coup, then he won’t care about civilian casualties. He will mass that artillery on one of these slopes and rain fire down on this town until you surrender.”

Twilight suddenly felt very unsteady on her hooves. When she’d first come to Ponyville, all she’d ever wanted was to be somewhere else. Now she couldn’t imagine abandoning it for a second, and certainly not to the stallion who had overthrown Canterlot and tried to kill Princess Celestia!

She was relieved of having to make an answer by one of Ember’s officers. “Here sir, Asshaye.”

Ember frowned at where the officer was pointing on the map. The village of Asshaye sat just west of where the River Saddle split and the Wither River snaked south into the Everfree Forest. The river fork was a swampy, complex mass of wetlands and muddy islands, and the only route through was a wide causeway along which ran a single road and railway.

The General smiled grimly. “Protected flanks. Single way of approach. Covered lines of supply to the rear.” He pointed north of Asshaye to the White Tail Woods and turned to Applejack. “You’re from around here, Sergeant. Are these woods passable?”

Applejack shook her head. “White Tail Woods are mostly hilly, sir, an’ even in the best o’ places it’s old farmland gone back ta forest. Thickest woods ah’ve seen outside the Everfree. An’ if you want ta try ta get an army through there, the paths go all the wrong way for ya. Ain’t nopony sneaking around ya that way, General.”

“Perfect.” Ember turned to Spike. “Sir Spike, I need you to send a message to Colonel Spitfire. Once her regiment is assembled she’s to rendezvous with us at Asshaye and prepare the village for defence.” He turned to Cherry Fizzy. “Colonel, prepare your battalion to march. Make sure similar orders are sent out to the rest of your regiment.” He turned to Twilight. “Your Highness, you’re coming with us.”

This hurricane of commands was met by moment of ringing silence, then a storm of protest.

“General, ya can’t be askin’ us ta leave our families...”

“Sir, my wife...”

“General, I will not abandon this town to the stallion who tried to murder...”

General Warding Ember was not a stallion used to having his orders questioned. “ENOUGH!” He fixed Cherry Fizzy and Applejack with an icy stare. “You two have forgotten what you are. I have a wife and three fillies in the Crystal Empire. I’ve seen them once since the war ended, and now I don’t know when I’ll see them again. None of us want to do this, but we have a duty to Equestria, to all of it. Other ponies forgot that last night. We will not.”

He turned to Twilight, staring at her desperately, willing her to listen. “Your Highness, we have stayed here too long already. Neigh could be here by nightfall, and if Radical Road and Blueblood are committed enough to launch a coup then Princess Celestia’s offer of clemency will not dissuade them. If we don’t leave now then I cannot protect you here. Neigh will return you to Canterlot as a hostage for Radical Road to use against Princess Celestia, and there will never be an honourable peace.

“But if we do leave now for Asshaye, then we can mass the Braytish regiments there and launch a two-pronged counterattack with Princess Celestia marching out of Whinnyapolis with the Horsetrian regiments. If Princess Luna and Princess Cadance attack from the north as well then we stand a good chance of ending this insurrection quickly, and getting everypony home quickly too.

“Your Highness,” he said pleadingly. “When I joined the Guard I did so to protect innocent ponies and our way of life. I have never wanted to see anypony die needlessly, but our hoof has been forced. If our way of life is to survive, we have to fight, and if we are to fight, then we have to leave now.”

***

“So!” thundered Blueblood. “The tyrant’s true colours are revealed at last!”

The opposition benches across from him, which the Parliamentarian movement had occupied only that morning, were deserted but for a few dozen non-aligned MPs. Those few had been quickly cowed by the sight of Neigh’s troops marching the government’s members from the Commons Chamber that morning. The government benches of the House of Commons were now thickly settled with Parliamentarian MPs.

But it wasn’t the House of Commons anymore, Blueblood corrected himself. Radical Road wouldn’t hear that. It was the “National Convention”. And they weren’t Members of Parliament anymore, he’d insisted over lunch. No, they were “Deputies”. Blueblood had struggled not to roll his eyes, but the party line had to be maintained. For now.

“Celestia pours lies into the ears of the ponies of Equestria! She smears and libels the elected representatives of the Equestrian public! She threatens war if Radical Road and I do not step aside! She tries to bribe us into betraying the revolution with false offers of clemency!”

Roars of disapproval erupted from the carefully-disciplined ranks of Deputies behind him. Some of them had more reason than others to appear enthusiastic: they had already been told that they had been selected for Radical Road’s new cabinet.

No, not a cabinet, he reminded himself, and not ministers either. They were “Commissioners” now. “Commissioners” of the “Committee of Public Safety”. The name was so nauseatingly prosaic that Blueblood had wanted to gag when he’d heard it. Where was the grandeur? The majesty of authority and power? Well, there would come a time when he would see to that.

“Well to the ponies of Equestria I say this,” continued Blueblood. “We will not submit to this despot's ultimatum! We will not submit to an honourless peace for the false promise of a few crumbs of mercy!

“Never will we allow this autocrat to trample your rights and freedoms beneath her hooves! Freedoms that had to be wrenched from her unyielding grasp! We will fight her tyranny, even if we are pushed back to the very steps of the Castle we have driven her from! We will fight anypony who seeks to undermine your rights! Already Major General Neigh’s troops are closing on Ponyville to arrest Celestia’s puppet, Twilight Sparkle!

“Citizens, remember the sacrifices of these brave soldiers! As they have won your freedoms, help them secure it! If we form a community closely bound together by vows, ready for anything, resolved never to surrender, then our willpower will master every hardship and difficulty! If Celestia would fight, then let her come!”

Catastrophe

Amber light was streaming through the windows of Golden Oaks Library when Twilight took her last look around her home. It looked almost like the day she’d first set hoof inside over three years ago: the chest containing the Elements of Harmony was gone and her desk had been swept of notes. Along with a hooful of books she had been forced to choose as the most important, they were packed away on a luggage cart with Warding Ember's battalion. The rest was being abandoned to Blueblood.

Tears welled in Twilight's eyes, hardly for the first time that day, at the thought of losing it all. There was no collection of knowledge like it in Equestria: Golden Oaks, whose carving stood in the centre of the library, had come to the crossroads of Ponyville a century ago to gather magical knowledge from all corners of Equestria, culminating in this colossal collection of lore that had been entrusted to Twilight’s care. Some of the books were the only copies existing; ancient tomes and grimoires from the farthest corners of Equus that had been in Golden Oaks’ collection before she had settled here. She had barely scratched the surface of what this library was able to offer, and now Twilight was abandoning it all.

When she’d wistfully told Warding Ember that story, he’d wanted to burn the library to the ground. Twilight had coldly told him to see to his troops and let her finish packing.

Trying to clear the lump in her throat, Twilight turned to the door. Standing there were her six friends: Rainbow Dash and Applejack in their uniforms had the soldier’s look of stoic resignation on their faces, but Rarity, Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, and even Spike looked like they were on the verge of tears.

“Everything settled then, girls?” said Twilight, trying to sound confident. It came out as a squeaky croak.

“Sweetie Belle’s taking care of the shop for me,” said Rarity a little too heartily. “After all, she's a big filly now, and Mother and Father can pop in from time to time. I don't suppose I'll be getting any new orders for a while anyway...”

"Big Mac an’ Apple Bloom can hol’ down the farm fer a while,” said Applejack, her tone sounding rather like Rarity’s. “Ah said they shoul’ come wi’ us, but Big Mac jus’ says; ‘Applejack, yer duty’s wi’ the Army, and mine’s wi’ the farm’, an’ tha’ was tha’. Spirits know, they've had a lotta practice wi’out me already...”

“And it wasn’t as if I ever woke up for the weather team anyway!” said Rainbow with a mirthless laugh.

“I've sent the animals away to Zecora’s,” squeaked Fluttershy. “Angel's got a note. It’s just... for the Everfree Forest to be safer that here..!”

“Well I think this is going to be GREAT!” said Pinkie a little too effusively. “We’re going to have a big adventure again and in a few weeks we'll be back here with lots of stories! And everypony will laugh at how super-serious we all were and we'll have a big reunion party and... and... Twilight?”

“Yes, Pinkie?”

“I’m... scared, Twilight,” Pinkie said very quietly. “I don’t want to leave. This is my home. I don’t want to leave all my friends to this big meanypants Neigh. We’re the Elements of Harmony and we can’t even stay to protect them. What kind of friends are we?”

“There are some battles that harmony can’t fight,” whispered Twilight. “Neigh and Blueblood aren’t some giant demon whose powers we can blast away. They’re... us.”

And that, she left unsaid, would only make them even harder to fight.

Twilight stuck out her hoof. Her friends gently laid their hooves atop hers. Spike’s claw was last.

“This is not a defeat,” she said quietly. “We will return.”

They left the library to find the Royal Guard ranked in the road in their tattered red uniforms, Warding Ember at their head. Next to them in ranks of green were the Princess Celestia’s Ponyville Light Infantry. At their rear was a gaggle of civilian ponies, the wives and husbands of Ponyville’s soldiers clutching tearful foals. Twilight spotted an unsteady-looking Berry Punch, her eyes bloodshot, a leg tightly wrapped around Berry Pinch. A blazing argument had erupted between Warding Ember and Cherry Fizzy when the latter had declared that he was not leaving without his wife and daughter, while the former had insisted that any civilian would slow them down. In the end they had resorted to casting dice on a drumhead to decide who would stay and who would go, and in the watching crowd of Ponyville’s citizens there were ponies overcome by grief being supported by friends or relatives.

Twilight faced the crowd. It was full of faces she knew instantly: Mayor Mare was at their head. Derpy Hooves and Roseluck stood close to Time Turner. Tears flowed freely down Sweetie Belle’s face, while Scootaloo made a valiant effort not to do the same as Cheerilee gently put a leg around her. Apple Bloom’s lip quivered while Big McIntosh and Granny Smith watched stoically: the elderly matriarch of the Apple Clan had refused all of Applejack’s desperate entreaties to come with them, and that had been good enough for Big Mac. Lily and Daisy wept while Cranky and Matilda held each other’s hooves tightly. Then there were the countless others whose faces she recognised from seeing every day but could not name.

“I know this will be poor comfort,” Twilight cried. “But I leave now so that you might be safe. So that we may draw the scourge of war far from your homes. From our homes. Ponyville is my home, and I will return to you. Before I have come through nightmare, I have come through chaos, and I have come through shadow, and I have returned. I will come through this, and I will return!”

“PARADE!” barked Warding Ember. “REVERSE ARMS!”

The Guards and Light Infantry swung their spears around, grasped them by the butts and tucked the points under their arms. Then they spun on their hooves and, with the drums beating a retreat, marched out of Ponyville before a crowd silent but for its sobs.

The Pegasi of the Life Guards came last, covering the rear of the column and fluttering through the great cloud of dust it had kicked up. As the battalions slowly passed out of Ponyville, marching west along the Great Braytish Road, the battalions’ fifers began to play.

“What’s that?” asked Pinkie Pie quietly.

Twilight struggled to listen over the dejected tramping of thousands of hooves. Like all fife music the tune was high and light-hearted, almost obscenely so, but there was something else behind it, almost like a sense of mourning for something lost.

“The World Turned Upside Down,” she whispered.

***

Amber Spyglass had handed over all his personnel files to Blueblood bar two. Those he had destroyed, and altered all his records. The magically-resistant ink all government documents were written in should have been impossible to remove, but Amber's magic was of a rather different sort, and after a little coaxing the letters had literally danced off the page. As far as Blueblood knew, these two ponies did not exist. Amber had done nothing else. He trusted his two finest agents to do the right thing.

Concealed beneath a trenchcoat and a trilby hat, Octavia Melody hammered on the apartment door. This was a fancy block of flats in a fancy district, overlooking the Canter Valley from the very edge of the city. But today the sumptuous corridors and immaculately-swept streets were deserted and the windows had their curtains drawn. Octavia had a very good idea of what awaited these ponies at Blueblood's hooves, and they seemed to guess as well.

The door opened a crack. It was still on its chain. Through the gap Octavia saw a single cold blue eye, surrounded by crow's feet and scowling. Octavia had seen that look before in the eyes of other agents: it was the look of a pony who knew they were doomed but intended to fight to the last.

"Ms Twilight Velvet?" she asked carefully.

"Yes?" the Unicorn mare demanded. Octavia heard iron in her voice, but behind it was a wan, resigned quiver.

“My name is Octavia Melody. I’m an agent of Their Highnesses’ Intelligence Service, and I’m here to get you out of Canterlot.”

Octavia heard the chain rattling as it was pulled off the door. Suddenly it opened wide to reveal a light grey Unicorn with a striped mane cut into a thick fringe. She is her daughter’s mother…

“You’re dressed too much like a spy to be a spy,” remarked Twilight Velvet sharply. “Nopony outside foals’ thrillers dresses like that. I’d know.”

“H… Honey?” croaked somepony from inside. “Who… who’s that?”

Octavia looked past Twilight Velvet to see an azure Unicorn stallion sitting uncomfortably on a sofa, his blue mane dishevelled and dabbing at his forehead with a hoofkerchief.

“We’ve been expecting somepony like you since Radical Road made his speech,” snarled Twilight Velvet. “How do we know you’re not going to take us to him to get some leverage over our daughter?”

“Radical Road isn’t the one you should be concerned about,” growled Octavia. “Blueblood’s the rotter behind all of this…”

“What…?” began Twilight Velvet, but at that point another Unicorn, identically addressed, appeared next to Octavia.

“Tavi, come on!” hissed Vinyl Scratch. “Are they coming or not?!”

Octavia swiftly swept off Vinyl’s hat and pulled a thick file off the top of her head.

“This proves everything,” she proclaimed. “We’ve been investigating it for months; every day since we got word of the deficient cannons at Maneden. Blueblood was responsible for it, we’re sure. He was probably also responsible for the explosion at Fancypants’ mine. And I’m willing to bet my not-inconsiderable inheritance that he was the guiding spirit behind this coup, not Radical Road. We have to get this evidence to Princess Celestia, and I’d prefer that you came with us.”

Twilight Velvet stared at her for a moment, then said; “I believe you. As it happens we have bags packed, though we didn’t think the circumstances would be this happy.”

“Honey?” squeaked the stallion on the sofa. “What are you doing?”

“We’re going, Night Light. We have no choice but to trust them. Even if they’re lying and are going to take us to Blueblood, nothing is served by waiting here for the next knock, but I don’t think they will do that.”

***

The sky outside the crystal windows was dark, flecked with white as the first of the autumn snows billowed over the Empire. In the throne room, Ration Bag laid a sheet of parchment before the Tourmaline Throne with a shaking hoof.

"Your Highness, I urge you to reconsider," whispered First Minister Jade Stone.

Reading the document before him, Shining Armor was almost prepared to agree. The dry legal language could not mask the awful weight beneath the words.

BY ORDER OF THE CO-PRINCE AND CO-PRINCESS OF THE CRYSTAL EMPIRE,

In light of the recent actions made against Princess Celestia in Canterlot, all boroughs, counties and parishes within the Imperial Territories shall immediately conduct procedures preparatory to mobilisation:

1) All boroughs and counties shall begin stockpiling food and drink for military purposes sufficient for six (6) months, and begun procedures necessary to sustain said stockpile (full details of quantity and variety of food and drink expected of each borough and county may be found in Annex A).

2) All boroughs shall direct part of their industrial infrastructure sufficient for the production of uniforms, boots, guns and personal weapons in quantities listed in Annex B.

3) All boroughs, counties and parishes shall supply accurate lists of names and addresses of all ponies aged 18 to 35 in their districts to the Imperial Crystal Government, and each shall identify six (6) ponies to serve as a board in their district to register and select said ponies for service in the event of mobilisation (full details of the composition and role of said boards may be found in Annex C).

THESE DIRECTIONS ARE TO BE CONSIDERED VOID SHOULD THE PRESENT CRISIS BE RESOLVED ACCORDING TO TERMS SET BY PRINCESS CELESTIA ON THE EVENING OF SEPTEMBER 29TH 1004.

"The ball is entirely in Blueblood and Radical Road's court," said Shining Armor, almost as though he believed it. "We are taking no aggressive action against them."

"But Ponland, Your Highness!" Jade Stone pleaded. "Ponyatowski is visiting Imperial Ponland now. If he finds out that we're planning to conscript Imperial subjects..!"

Shining Armor was silent for a moment. Then, sitting next to him, Princess Cadance took up the quill in her magic and quickly signed the parchment.

***

"After all these years," remarked Princess Luna, pacing around the room. "My useless nephew finally does something impressive!"

Lieutenant General Sir Dagger von Steel watched as Luna paced around his office. Since meeting her for the first time to plan for the Bucklyns' medal parade he'd had to get used to her habit of grandiloquently monologuing a little too loudly.

"I had expected some sort of move from him even before the election, but to attempt to kill my sister!" she continued. "Personally, for that matter! I'd have never thought the fop had it in him."

"What are your orders, Your Highness?" asked Steel.

Luna took her bicorne from Steel's hat stand. She wore the 2nd (Bucklyn) Regiment of Hoof's red jacket with dark blue facings, with the gold aiguillette and shoulder boards of the regiment's Colonel-in-Chief (distinct from Steel's only slightly-less grand uniform of Honorary Colonel). "My sister's ultimatum expires in two days. Let's see if we can make Blueblood think a little harder."

Three thousand ponies stood to attention in the drill square of Bucklyn Barracks. Watching from rows of seats on the edge of the square were the great and the good of Prancenburg: Steels, Oranges, Hayenzollerns, Fires, Hammers... many of them had family in the Army. Rising high behind the barracks were the shining skyscrapers of Manehattan. Airships flying flags from the four corners of Equus flocked around them. The whole world will hear this, thought Luna. Good.

The customary salutes and courtesies were exchanged and Luna ascended the platform set up for her. There had been a speech prepared for this moment, but events had overtaken it.

"SOLDIERS!" proclaimed Luna. The Royal Canterlot Voice rippled across the square. "By now you will all know what has happened in Canterlot. Blueblood, Radical Road and Major General Neigh have turned traitor! They attempted to murder my sister and a thousand Royal Guards as they slept!"

A roar of anger rose from the Bucklyns' massed ranks. "Pony killing pony within the walls of Canterlot Castle!" Luna continued. "Can you imagine a more terrible sacrilege? Since then they have proclaimed a dictatorship and arrested our ministers on false charges! They threaten war unless my sister and I bow before their treachery!

"Our beloved kingdom is in the hooves of madponies! This is a black day, and I find myself at a fork in the road: I can acquiesce to this treason and let Equestria fall to tyranny and chaos. Or, I can go home with my sword in my hoof and run these maniacs off the peak of the Canterhorn!"

A cheer rose from the regiment. Luna grinned. The skill of rallying an army had not been lost to her after a thousand years. They were with her.

Some would call this a declaration of war. But Blueblood had wanted war from the moment he had fired a shot at Celestia. And Luna would give it to him.

***

Smirking, Blueblood sank back into the green leather upholstery of the government bench of the “Chamber of the National Convention”. As Radical Road read out his Committee appointments to an adoring chamber, he reflected on all he had achieved. It had been quite a week.

Celestia’s ultimatum had cinched it for Trottingham: the slander of their regiment, the implied threat of war, and the demand that the beloved Parliamentarian leader retire from politics or face death (all of it coming from the mouth of an unelected monarch!) had thrown the entire city deep into the Parliamentarian fold. Luna’s ridiculous speech in Manehattan that had seemed to pre-empt Celestia’s ultimatum had merely been the icing on the cake. Lieutenant Colonel Cleansweep was reporting dozens of ponies an hour turning up at the Grenadiers’ barracks offering to volunteer.

The threats against its MP had made Gasconeigh declare for the Parliamentarians as well, and that had opened doors: if they pushed south from there to the Garland Gap between Salt Lick Lake and the Rambling Rock Ridge, they would have not just a militarily-defensible chokepoint, but a natural frontier.

And with the rail hub of Trottingham in their hooves, they could push forces north to Chicacolt in the Rein Valley, and east to the major ports of Baltimare and Fillydelphia. Defensible natural frontiers and ocean access would turn the new republic into a trading nation that was here to stay, and that would go a long way in pushing the nations of Marerope from considering them an illegal insurrection to a legitimate government.

But that was in the future. First they must secure defensible positions to protect their core, for it would come to a fight: Celestia was alive, Luna was marching, and Twilight Sparkle had escaped Ponyville and was racing to establish defences at Asshaye. His vengeance against that bitch Rarity had escaped with her, he thought with a flush of fury.

But no matter, for Shining Armor’s declaration of a “period preparatory to mobilisation” in the Crystal Empire was on the point of delivering another valuable asset into his hooves. It was still filtering through, but when the news that Shining Armor was preparing to conscript ponies – Ponish ponies, not even Crystal Ponies! – into an army for the Crystal Empire became widely known, there would be outrage, and Ponyatowski would be in an ideal position to exploit it for the Parliamentarians. Ponland would declare for them, and Imperial Ponland would split from the Crystal Empire as well. And that, with wicked irony, would deliver for Blueblood’s purposes the very same conscription infrastructure that the Ponish had rebelled against.

The applause died down as Radical Road finished announcing another appointment. Blueblood sat up on the bench. This was it.

“But one pony has been stalwart for the Parliamentarian movement throughout!” declared Radical. “It was he who first broke ranks with Celestia over her attempts to unconstitutionally build an army! It was he who exposed the awful abuses of power within her government! He even abandoned royal title to do so! Why, only this week, when we were ambushed in Canterlot Castle, he even saved my life.”

There was another round of applause as Blueblood smiled modestly. They’d agreed in advance what position he’d get: Commissioner of Foreign Affairs. Prestigious, influential, and conveniently separated from the hard decisions on prosecuting the war Radical Road would have to make as Chairpony. And when those unpopular decisions piled up and up and up, Blueblood knew but Radical did not, he, principled, untarnished, respected Blueblood, would have no choice but to overthrow this replacement tyrant and bring the war to a quick victory. And with the support of several foreign powers, he would establish his own regime to win the peace.

But that was years in the future. Years of war, years of planning, years of blood, and he could not afford to get ahead of him…

“So committed has he been to the Parliamentarian movement, that I struggle to find a Committee position suitable for him!” continued Radical, and he looked down at Blueblood and grinned.

And in that moment Blueblood felt a horrifying stab of something he had never felt in years: confusion.

“In fact, even I cannot come close to matching him in the integrity, skill, planning and passion he has brought to the Parliamentarian movement!” Radical continued, still grinning. Blueblood felt sweat erupt on his brow. “For this pony risked everything to join us, and in doing so he has raised us to unimagined heights.

“Therefore, Mr Blueblood, it is only appropriate that you take my position as Chairpony of the Committee of Public Safety, and I hope that you will accept me as your Commissioner of Foreign Affairs.”

Blueblood did not hear the gale of applause. He was dimly aware of his body standing up, a wide grin being plastered across his jaw and his hoof awkwardly shaking Radical’s. He felt himself taking to the despatch box to give an acceptance speech he had never even imagined he’d have to prepare. His jaw worked and made sounds but his brain was spinning furiously. How had he done it?! Radical Road, the cowardly weakling who had always let Blueblood’s insults break over him! The career politician who bleated for reform but was so terrified of the populist power he’d have to wield to get it that Blueblood had had to make him complicit in murder before he would do what was necessary! How had this commoner outmanoeuvred him, the last scion of the House of Blueblood?!

As the platitudes spilled from his mouth he fought to calm himself. The hard choices he would have to make when the war began were in the future, and unlike Radical, he was far more prepared to make even harder choices necessary to sustain his power. He had not wanted to rule at the point of a spear, but if he had to, he would. But for now, they had to work together, to secure their territories, entrench their government, and build up their army. For now they were at common purpose.

For now.

***

In the City Hall of Tall Tale, Princess Celestia stared, sickened, at the sheet of parchment Rear Echelon had laid before her. It was a simple message, perhaps even an uplifting one, but a thousand years of ruling had taught her exactly what every single one of these words meant:

BY ORDER OF HER HIGHNESS PRINCESS CELESTIA

CALL TO ARMS!

On the evening of September 29th, 1004, We presented terms to the unlawful insurrectionary movement of Blueblood, Radical Road and Neigh in Canterlot, that unless We heard from them by Eleven o’clock on October 6th, 1004, that they were prepared to renounced all claims to governance and retire from public life, We would mobilise Our Forces and take all steps We deem necessary to ensure the lawful execution of governance in Our Realm.

We can tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and so by the powers vested in Us by the Great Charter and the laws of Equestria, We order the mobilisation of all regiments, batteries and battalions of Our Royal Equestrian Army in order to suppress this insurrection.

The details for this object will be immediately communicated to Our loyal Princes, Dukes, Earls, and other such governors of Our States through the Minister of War.

We appeal to all loyal subjects to favour, facilitate, and aid this effort to maintain the honour, the integrity, and the existence of Our Realm, and the perpetuity of love, tolerance and harmony. We deem it proper to say that the first service assigned to the Our Forces hereby called forth will be to repossess the cities, towns, places, and property which have been seized from Us. We direct Our Forces to take the utmost care to avoid any devastation, any destruction of, or interference with, property, or any disturbance of peaceful citizens in any part of Our Realm.

We have done all that We can to establish peace, but this state of insurrection where no pony may feel safe has become intolerable. It is evil things that We have been forced to fight against, and against them We are certain right will prevail.

After a moment she whispered; “Let it be done,” and signed the parchment.

She stood and passed the parchment to Rear Echelon. “I shall require passage at once to Whinnyapolis. I shall take command of our forces there.”

“At once, Your Highness.”

Neigh marched south. At Asshaye Twilight Sparkle rallied to meet him. Shining Armor and Luna prepared to descend on Canterlot from the north, and Celestia planned for her strike on Blueblood from the west.

The last war in Equestria’s history, the shattering of its peoples, its cities and its gods, its prophesied end for two thousand years, had come at last.

The Equestrian Civil War had begun.

Epilogue

The walls were black and gleamed as if they were wet. To the touch they were as cool and smooth as glass. The light came from slit-like windows in the walls fitted with hundreds of panes of different coloured crystal. The display it created could not mask the blizzard outside, nor banish the fact that this was a foreboding place.

Around a table shaped of the same black rock sat five men. They wore thick fur cloaks against the cold and all but one were bearded. They all carried swords at their sides and bent over a large map of the north.

"The ponies are preparing for war, there can be no doubt about that," insisted one, brandishing the transcript of a radio intercept. His beard and hair were thick and red, and beneath his brown fur cloak he carried an intimidating paunch. "Strike now while they are divided!"

"That will be the fastest way to unite them again," countered another, blonde, younger and slimmer, but no less muscular for that. His cloak was snow white and as soft as the wool on a baby lamb, a trophy from one of his hardest kills. "Let them fight, and let us sweep away what remains."

"And let them learn more art of war?" demanded a third. He was gaunt even by the standards of the people he ruled, with black hair and blue eyes so dark they seemed to match. His beard was tightly cropped around his chin and cheeks. "These ponies are an intelligent people and they think themselves civilised. They will not fight each other to annihilation. We know little of Equestria beyond the north and its coastlines, but we do know that it is enormous. We may be waiting ten years before they exhaust their troop reserves! All that time our people starve."

"Your people perhaps, brother," chuckled the fourth. He was so massive that his black cloak seemed to be sliding off his shoulders, and a wild brown beard concealed many chins. "You should join us on a few Dog raids. They tend to be productive!"

"You bleed your strength and risk greater wounds," growled his brother through gritted teeth, as the red-bearded man began to laugh at the usual show. "Should the Dogs counterattack in force..."

"...my men would smash them away while yours were still trying to remember where the cartridge goes in the rifle."

"I invest time in training, not in cannon fodder!"

"Training is no substitute for experience!"

"Enough."

All eyes swung to the fifth man, who had silenced the entire room though he had barely raised his voice. Despite the cold his chin was smooth, though his straight black hair fell down past his shoulders. Unlike the other men’s cloaks, his was blood red, and despite the freezing winds and snows, a dull gleam beneath it revealed that he wore steel armour.

But the most striking thing about him were his eyes: they were a brown so bright that it might almost be called red, and his very gaze seemed to penetrate them.

“We face an unfortunate complication,” he continued. His voice was deep and guttural. “Our raids upon the Diamond Dogs, productive as they may have been, have driven them on to the ponies and have forced them to militarise in response.” The fat, brown-haired man shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Given the unfortunate events involving our cousins in the south this summer, I do not doubt that the ponies have begun to connect the two events, and with this civil war, they will only militarise further.”

“And what of us?” demanded the third man. “Our supplies run thinner and we are entering another winter. Technological advantage or not, we cannot storm the Crystal Empire without immense losses, and we need that city to replenish our stores, anchor our supply line and plan the next phase of the attack. We cannot do that if we have bled our strength away in an attack and cannot hold it.”

“The Crystal Ponies will be marching south as soon as winter ends, but they are sure to leave a portion of their strength behind to guard against the north. I intend to pull that away: triple our raids on the Diamond Dogs. We will gain more supplies, and it may force them into a desperation attack on the Crystal Empire. If this will deplete the ponies’ strength enough for us, excellent. And if not, well, they will have no choice but to investigate.”

The black-haired man settled back in his chair and the ghost of a smile played over his lips, revealing sharp white teeth. “We will let them follow us into the mountains, and deal with them at our leisure.”

Prologue

“We should head back to the Empire.”

Ensign Shielded Blitz looked contemptuously at the Earth Pony. “I’m not going back with nothing to tell the prince.”

Sergeant Brawny Boulder shivered slightly in the cooling twilight. “Our orders were to track the Diamond Dogs, sir. We can’t track something when there’s no trail.”

The Unicorn officer gave a dismissive whinny. “We’re barely two days behind them, and the weather hasn’t been bad enough to disguise their trail. Spread out and search again. Report back to me in fifteen minutes.”

Boulder groaned and exchanged glances with Corporal Tumbledown. This was pointless. The patrol had crouched in this nameless gully in the Crystal Mountains for over an hour while Blitz had tried to find the Diamond Dogs’ scent. The snowflakes had billowed around them, and the arctic wind had whistled through their green uniforms and chilled them to the bone.

“The weather’s starting to turn, sir. The Dogs’ll be down in their holes by now, and if we don’t start back we could have a two-week hike ahead of us.”

“Then you can tell Shining Armor that we stopped chasing a band of savages because you’re afraid of the snow.” Blitz rested his hoof on his sword hilt. “I won’t tell you again. Spread out and search.”

Boulder knew it was pointless to continue arguing. The Ensign was the over-bred third son of some millionaire in Canterlot. With no prospect of inheritance, he’d bought a commission in the Royal Guard and had jumped at the opportunity to serve in the Crystal Empire. He hadn’t even been here six weeks.

The Sergeant sighed and turned to the four shining Crystal Ponies shivering behind them. The new recruits were as young as Blitz, and though eager to please, were no more experienced. “Okay, boys, you heard the Ensign. Pair off and spread out.”

Boulder paired with Lance Corporal Snow Spur and set off up the hill. They took the route that Blitz had swept earlier, just in case. With patches of ice or unsteady rock piles everywhere, every step was a risk.

Four days ago, a Diamond Dog raiding party had been spotted near a farm on the edge of the Crystal Empire. Eager to learn more of their movements and give his newly-minted troops experience, Prince Shining Armor had asked for volunteers to track the party, and Shielded Blitz had saddled six of his men with the job. At only twenty-two, Blitz was far too young to be leading patrols, but Shining Armor needed every officer he could get and could not afford to discourage others from northern service by refusing him. Boulder and Tumbledown would have to keep him safe.

“Buck!” Snow Spur cursed suddenly as his hoof slipped on a patch of snow. Weighed down by his pack and spear, he struggled to regain his balance. Boulder smiled. Even though they had been separated from pony civilisation for a thousand years, the Crystal Ponies still cursed as well as any Royal Guard recruit he’d ever met.

Still swearing, the Lance Corporal recovered his balance. Then, as he stared fuming at the ground, he frowned. “Sergeant...”

“What is it, Lance Corporal?”

“This snow, sir, this... this isn’t right. Look...”

Boulder saw it as Spur pointed with his spear. A perfectly straight line of ruffled, disturbed snow stretched from where they stood up the hill. It hadn’t been obvious from the valley floor, but from where they stood now it was as clear as Celestia’s day. How in Tartarus had Blitz missed that?!

“The Diamond Dogs,” said Boulder. “They must have come up here and concealed the tracks with their tails.”

“Must’ve been in a hurry too, Sergeant. Look, they could have contoured around the hill and stuck to the rock and not left any tracks, but they went straight up through the snow and covered it badly.”

“They might know we’re after them,” said Boulder grimly. He looked up to the top of the hill. It was an insignificant mound compared to the mighty snow-capped peaks of marble and quartz that surrounded it, but it could still conceal an ambush on the reverse slope, just waiting for the patrol to come over the crest.

Boulder and Spur trotted carefully back down the hill to Blitz. The Sergeant diplomatically declined to tell the Ensign that he’d missed it when he’d performed his own search earlier. Blitz, however, couldn’t have been happier. He took his sword hilt in his right hoof and drew it with a flourish.

“Spur, get the boys. We’re going after these mutts.”

“Sir, it would be better if you and I reconnoitred first. We don’t know their numbers remember?”

“Do a gang of mongrels frighten you, Brawny? Couple of shots and we’ll send those fleabags running.”

The patrol assembled, the stallions crawled up the hill. Boulder and Tumbledown had at least managed to convince Blitz to make a stealthy approach. Clutching his spontoon near the point to minimise the amount that would show when he brought his leg up to crest the hill, Boulder dragged himself along, feeling the snow melt beneath him and soak through his uniform. A chill filled him, but it has nothing to do with the cold.

Blitz led the way, snowflakes blowing around him with ever-increasing intensity. He still clutched his sword despite Boulder and Tumbledown’s pleas that he sheathe it. It waved ahead of him as he climbed, and Boulder nearly put his head in his hooves as he saw it stick over the crest before its owner. He again glanced at Tumbledown, and he was just waiting for a magical blast to take Blitz’s head off when the Ensign spluttered.

“Oh, Spirits...” he choked. Gazing down over the crest, he sounded ready to vomit.

Boulder crawled as quickly as he could over to Blitz. The Unicorn’s coat was snow white, but even in the growing darkness, he looked like he’d gone even paler. His eyes were wide and his jaw hung limp. He looked like a filly about to make her first dissection in a biology lesson.

Boulder turned to see what had so shocked Blitz, and came face to face with a Diamond Dog. Its furry snout was not even a foot from his face. The jagged yellow teeth that stuck over its lips spoke of a lifetime of devouring whatever meats it could get its paws on. Dirt matted its fur and a stink of meat and mud poured from it.

Boulder reached for his spontoon, ready to plunge it between the creature’s wild yellow eyes, but he suddenly stopped. The Dog lay quite still, and the pupils of its eyes, which should have been red, were clouded over. He squinted. Almost invisible in the twilight, dark liquid trickled from the side of the Dog’s mouth. It was dead.

He got to his feet, seized his gasping Ensign under his sword leg, and pulled him up. Blitz looked impossibly young at that moment, barely a boy out of his expensive grammar school. Boulder looked around. Two dozen Diamond Dogs lay in a crescent formation right behind the crest of the hill, ready to ambush and surround the patrol at close range. They all lay there, immobile.

The rest of the patrol joined them. One of the Crystal Ponies, Private Blizzard Diamond, sank to his knees and voided his stomach contents on to the ground. Tumbledown slowly staggered up to Boulder. The two of them had been taught in training what it was to kill in defence of Equestria and what it would feel like, but they had never had to do it before, nor had they ever seen corpses.

“What did this to them?” whispered the Corporal.

“I’ve heard stories, Corp,” sobbed Diamond as Snow Spur tried to comfort him. “There’s things out here. Not just Diamond Dogs. Fluffy Ponies and Goats and worse...”

Blitz took several calming breaths and scrubbed his face with his hooves. “Okay... Okay...”

“Sir?”

“Uh, Sergeant, yes, um... Search the bodies. Yes, we need to know what killed them.”

“Spur, get a brew on for Private Diamond,” ordered Tumbledown.

The stallions pulled flashlights from their belts and bent over the corpses. With every body he examined, Boulder felt more and more uneasy. Each Diamond Dog looked like it had been struck in the back as it lay in wait, with the exception of two that had been hit in the side and front as they rolled over to confront their attackers. Some had been hit multiple times. It hadn’t been a bludgeon that had killed them, though. The yawning, bloody holes in their backs were too large for that, but they were also too wide to have been caused by a spear point. Nor were they anything like the deep, ragged burns caused by the magical blasts fired by those spears.

As the night darkened and the snow swirling around them got thicker, Boulder felt something trickle into his veins. He hadn’t been scared when Blitz had ordered this patrol, and in a dozen training missions and weekend hikes through these mountains, he had never once felt fear, only marvelling at the savage splendour of this beautiful, unforgiving terrain. But now he was terrified. It was a terror unlike anything he had felt in his entire life.

Then from somewhere on the mountain behind them, something roared.

Blitz collapsed over a Dog’s corpse, screaming as a huge dark stain blossomed on his right flank. Boulder knew at once what had happened: The things that had killed the Diamond Dogs had returned to inspect their kills, and Shielded Blitz, with his sword and cocked hat marking him out as an officer, had been an obvious target.

“FIRING LINE!” Boulder roared. “SKIRMISH ORDER, FIRING BY FILES! WATCH AND SHOOT!”

The patrol rapidly spread out, but even as they moved, more roars sounded from the mountain above. Huge yellow flashes accompanied them. Around them, great dark plumes or dirt and rock sprayed up as the ground was struck. Boulder saw Tumbledown collapse screaming, both hooves clutched to his eyes as blood poured down his face: a jet of shattered rock had struck him square in the face.

Boulder dropped to a knee and brought the butt of his spontoon into his shoulder. He aimed for the flashes on the mountain and concentrated. A bright burst of magical energy shot from the spontoon’s elaborate point. The coruscating pulse struck the mountain, but it was dozens of feet short of the firing line.

He willed his weapon to be ready to fire again. It was all a matter of concentration, to focus one’s magic into the weapon, but even skilled Unicorns struggled to make their weapons ready in less than twenty seconds. For nearly half a minute, he would be defenceless.

Behind him, Tumbledown and Blitz had stopped screaming. Whatever it was on the mountain was still firing at them, and their skirmish line was ragged. He looked around to see Blizzard Diamond and Snow Spur lying motionless over to each other, and the other two Crystal Pony Privates, Boreal Tundra and Gold Aurora, had blindly fired off their spears and were cowering behind a rock, sobbing. And the enemy was still firing...

Whatever was out here, Boulder had to let Shining Armor and Princess Cadance know. If he could just get one of the Diamond Dog bodies over his back, that would be his proof. But first he had to get Tundra and Aurora out of here.

He waved his hoof at the two crying Privates. “Tundra! Tundra! I need you to lay down some cover fire while...”

He felt something hard and fast strike him in the flank. He coughed as a wave of pain exploded through him. He had got into a fight with a Mule once in a bar in Dodge Junction, and its kick had felt just like this. He slumped over and his head struck a rock. Boulder saw a burst of stars, and then blackness.

He didn’t know when he came to, but it had taken an enormous effort to force his eyes open. It was still dark and the snowflakes still fell over the mountains, and he felt colder than he had ever felt before in his life. Something sticky crusted his left side, and he felt impossibly thirsty.

Turning his head seemed to use as much energy as scaling a cliff. He saw Boreal Tundra, his coat dull now and his eyes vacant, lying behind his rock.

“Private...” he croaked. “Tundra, Tundra, speak to me...”

He heard a sudden flurry of activity behind him. Something was talking in a language he did not recognise yet at once sounded strangely familiar. Then something stepped over him.

His first thought was that it was a Diamond Dog: it walked on two legs and clutched something in its forelimbs. But then he realised its legs were too long, its movements were too graceful, and looking up at its head silhouetted against the stormy sky, the shape of its face was all wrong.

No... No, that’s impossible...

These creatures were a myth. Only the most paranoid fools or crazy cranks believed that they had ever existed. He had to be hallucinating as he bled out.

Yet as he stared up at the human, the human stared back, and it spoke.

It was that same language that was at the same time alien and familiar. Three other humans, each cradling the same long sticks in their arms, joined it. A lilting sound filled the air, and Boulder realised that they were laughing.

Four humans massacred a dozen Diamond Dogs and seven pony soldiers...

The human raised its stick, and the Sergeant suddenly realised that a long, straight blade was attached to its end. The other end was oddly shaped, almost triangular, but smoothly curved.

When he’d joined the Royal Guard, Boulder had never really thought he would die in the line of duty, but he had always imagined that if he had to, it would be defending Canterlot Castle to the last, standing alone against some implacable enemy with a cry of “For Celestia!” on his lips, not on some unknown hillside in the farthest north. Yet before he could make any plea or defiant cry, the human brought his weapon plunging down into Brawny Boulder’s neck.

The bite of the bayonet was icy cold.

Tea, Cake and Espionage

“Oh, thank you for having us for tea, Twilight,” said Fluttershy. “Uh, if it’s not too much trouble...”

“It could never be, Fluttershy,” said Twilight. In the solar of her quarters in Canterlot Castle’s northeast tower, the seven of them enjoyed elevenses. Rarity delicately sipped tea, Applejack devoured an apple turnover, Pinkie Pie sampled an enormous slice of chocolate cake, and Spike crunched merrily on a plate of gems that the staff had thoughtfully brought.

“Not eating much, Rainbow?” asked Twilight. The Pegasus only had her tea cup in front of her.

“I’m in training, Twi. Winter Wrap Up’s gonna be coming up, and the racing season after that. Gotta keep in shape.”

Twilight watched as Applejack reached for another pastry. “AJ...”

“Yeah, Twilight?” grunted the Earth Pony though a mouthful of pie.

“What you said back there in the tower with Shining Armor... You said you didn’t want to interfere because you work on a farm! Why?!”

Applejack swallowed her turnover. “Well, why not, Twilight? Ah ain’t got all this fancy book-learning you an’ the Princesses have got. Hey, jus’ listen to me! There’s no way ah could say anything that one of the Princesses hasn’t thought of yet.”

“Applejack! What a ridiculous thing to say!” exclaimed Rarity.

“Well, Rarity, far as ah can tell, Princess Celestia’s been running this place for a thousand years, and heck, looks like it’s workin’ to me.”

Twilight looked down at her tea in disbelief. Applejack was one of the most dependable, hard-working and friendly ponies that she had ever met, and she could not believe that she would think so little of her own ability to contribute to the governance the nation.

“But, Applejack, you’ve voted, haven’t you?”

“‘Course ah have! Ah’ve always voted for Mayor Mare!”

“But not for Parliament?”

“Well, what’s the point, Twi? Ah reckon Princess Celestia’s got a much better idea of how to run Equestria than a few hundred ponies who’ve never even seen half of what she’s seen!”

“Well, what about you, Pinkie?” asked Rarity.

“Huh? We have elections?”

“All right, what about you Rainbow Dash?”

“Nah, I’ve always thought the Princess’ll get it right.”

“Fluttershy?!” gasped Twilight.

Fluttershy cringed before Twilight and Rarity’s penetrating stares. “Well, um, I never really followed it, but uh, I suppose I could start now, uh, if you want.”

“IT’S NOT ABOUT WHAT I WANT!” exploded Twilight suddenly. Everypony jerked back from the table. “I can’t believe you’re so apathetic! Don’t you care about what Equestria’s government is doing?!”

“Well, ‘course we do, Twilight!” huffed Applejack. “But what’s there to worry ‘bout? And if there’s anything wrong, well, we got you to ask.”

“That’s not the point! Yeah, you’ve got me, but you’re not just normal ponies! Millions of normal ponies don’t have me they can just ask! Do you even know who Ponyville’s MP is?!”

“Uh, Mayor Mare?”

“Of course it’s not Mayor Mare! If you don’t know, how can thousands of other ponies know who their MPs are? How will they know who to complain to if they don’t like something the government’s doing?”

“But, it’s like your bro said, Twilight,” said Rainbow Dash. “Ponies have never been happier with Celestia!”

“That isn’t the point!” snapped Twilight. “What if Celestia gets something wrong?!”

A stunned silence met her words. Twilight realised that years of signing herself as Celestia’s most faithful student must have made them believe that she thought Celestia omnibenevolent. They clearly thought so, but Twilight knew enough of Equestria’s history to know that, well-meaning, kind and powerful as she was, Celestia was far from infallible.

“So, uh, Fluttershy!” said Spike quickly in the ringing silence. “How’s Discord doing?”

“Oh, it’s so nice of you to break that awkward silence, Spike,” said Fluttershy earnestly. “To be honest, I actually haven’t seen Discord since Princess Celestia brought him back to Canterlot.”

“But, that was before Twilight’s coronation!”

“I know. I’ve been meaning to ask about him, but uh, I suppose the Princess has a lot of things on her mind.”

“What?” demanded Twilight. Everypony looked round as if they expected another outburst. “Fluttershy, why in the wide wide world of Equestria didn’t you ask me to look into it?”

Before Fluttershy could answer, there was a knock at the door.

“Your Highness, the Chief of Intelligence begs an audience,” said the Guard through the wood.

Twilight groaned. “Now, Corporal?”

“He insists it can’t wait.”

She sighed. “Okay. Please send him in.”

A Guard in gold armour opened the door and a Unicorn stallion trotted through. His eyes were amber and his coat was a light grey. His mane was so dark it was almost black, and his cutie mark was a brass telescope.

“Your Highness,” he said unctuously. “My ladies, I do beg your pardon for the interruption!”

“Girls,” said Twilight. “This is Amber Spyglass, the Chief of Intelligence.”

“A spy?” asked Rainbow Dash, perking up.

“Oh, forgive me, Ms. Dash!” laughed Amber Spyglass. “I am sorry to say that my job is very much unlike one of your Daring Do novels!”

“Hey! How do you know about that?!”

“As you say, my dear, I am a spy. It is my responsibility to know everything that goes on in this kingdom and outside it. And yet I am now faced with an unfortunate gap in my knowledge.”

“Oh?” asked Twilight.

“Yes, Your Highness. May I ask what you seven, the Royal Pony Sisters, Princess Cadance and Prince Shining Armor were doing in the south tower half an hour ago? Hardly the nicest place for a brunch with family and friends, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’m sorry, Amber, but it doesn’t concern you, and in any case it won’t be going anywhere.”

“You’ve got me interested, Your Highness! Don’t you worry; I’ll have it worked out before long!”

And with that, he swept from the room.

“How on earth is he allowed to speak to you in that manner?” gasped Rarity.

“He’s indispensable and he knows it,” said Twilight angrily. “He hasn’t made a single incorrect prediction or inaccurate report since he started the job, and his spy network’s never been penetrated. I’m not even sure the Princess knows who they are.”

“Since when did we have spies?” asked Rainbow Dash.

“Oh, Equestria’s always had a Chief of Intelligence,” said Twilight. “Princess Celestia doesn’t like to publicise it much though. After Nightmare Moon was defeated, she had a spy network formed to track down any Nightmare sympathisers who were left.”

“Well, enough with this boring governmenty stuff!” squeaked Pinkie Pie. “When you coming back to Ponyville, Twilight?! We can have a coming-back party! I’ll get Mr and Mrs Cake to bake you a huge coming-back cake! And when you need to go away again, we can have a Twilight’s-going-away-but-will-hopefully-be-back-soon party!”

“Actually, Pinkie, I’ll be back for Winter Wrap Up after...”

“ALL RIGHTY!” cheered Pinkie. “Spike, take a letter. To Mr and Mrs Cake, we are going to need a CAKE! Make sure that’s in capital letters, okay? Good. Also, plenty of candy, a piñata, a large supply of Gak...”

A leaking ship of state

A week later, Celestia stared down from the windows of the Hall of Heroes at the gathering crowd below. Behind her next to her throne lay the copy of The Equestrian Mail that she’d dropped in shock that morning. On the front page in huge bold letters was the headline; IS CELESTIA TAKING US TO WAR?

Other newspapers had been more subtle in their headlines. The tabloids had pulled fewer punches. In the final analysis it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Shining Armor’s plans for militarisation had been leaked to the press, and that morning ponies across Equestria had woken up to the news that their nation might be off to war. By ten o’clock, about twenty ponies had gathered outside the palace to protest. It had now swelled to fifty and was getting bigger.

She stared down miserably at the placards. “Make Cake Not War!” read one. “No Foreign Entanglements!” trumpeted another. Most agonising was the one that read “Where Is The Princess That We Used To Know?”

She turned from the window. Luna and Amber Spyglass stood before her. “I want to know who did this,” she said coldly.

“The Civil Service is looking into the leak as we speak,” said Luna. “But it really could be anyone on the Council, not to mention the staff in the Home Office, Foreign Office and Treasury who saw the documents.”

“Amber, I need you to look into it as well.”

The Chief of Intelligence shifted uncomfortably on his hooves. “Your Highness, I’m truly flattered by your willingness to test my abilities. I must, however, remind you that I have no authority in this area. My role is to identify threats to Equestria, not bureaucrats who can’t keep documents safe.”

“The pony responsible must be found, Amber. This leak has terrorised half of Equestria. If it had stayed secret we could have released the details slowly and through the proper channels. Instead we have madness on the streets and madness in the news. There’ll be madness in Parliament as well. And they all think I am responsible for it!”

She sat down heavily on the throne. Luna nodded to Amber Spyglass. “Leave us.”

The Chief of Intelligence trotted away. When she heard the double doors swing closed, Luna sat down next to her sister and crossed her horn with hers. “I’m sorry, Tia.”

“What’s done is done,” sniffed Celestia, nuzzling her. In her hooves she turned over a small piece of acorn-shaped lead. “All that matters now is what we do next.”

“Even if we find the leak, my sister, we have no choice but to stand by the Privy Council’s decision. We may even have to accelerate it. It will not be long before Chrysalis knows we are arming.”

“Which in turn will make us look even more like war-happy despots,” said Celestia bitterly. She looked up at the great stained glass windows around her. The great history of Equestria was immortalised there: the destruction of the Windigos by the Founders; the tyranny, banishment, return and redemption of Discord; the defeat of Nightmare Moon and Luna’s return; Spike saving the Crystal Empire. She and Luna were history, were in history, just as Twilight and her friends were. And today history had been made again.

And as she stared up at history, she recalled a saying attributed to Clover the Clever over two thousand years before:

I prefer my history dead. Dead history is writ in ink, the living sort in blood.

She sighed. “Go now and rest, my sister. You should have been asleep at sunrise. In the mean time, I have an angry Parliament to face.”

***

Prince Blueblood was not in Canterlot Castle. He had spotted the crowd building just as he’d finished breakfast and had hastily sent for his carriage. There was no sense in being kept stuck in the castle all day by the mob.

Sitting in the study of his Canterlot mansion, he carefully folded away that morning’s Canterlot Chronicle. He then opened the folder containing the stories from other newspapers that he secretary had selected for him that morning. From the gutter press Sun and Moon to the respected Manehattan Telegraph their reports on the leak were broadly similar: Plenty of speculation and sensationalism smothering the sole kernel of truth that Celestia wanted to build an army. Even that wasn’t entirely accurate, but that didn’t matter. To Blueblood’s surprised relief, the leak hadn’t even included details about who on the Council had voted for what, so he was free of Celestia’s stain.

For now, that is. The royals had been damaged by this leak, with their exercise of power apparently arbitrary and out of touch. If he remained with them, it would not take long for the dirt to rub off on him.

Of course, Blueblood had never cared much about what ponies thought about him, but there was a difference between being hated for being the social superior to virtually everyone in Equestria, and being hated for making bad political decisions. The former would only cost you invitations to social functions. The latter would cost you power. And Prince Blueblood was very fond of power.

The House of Blueblood had been fairly wealthy when he had been born, but compared to most noble families or upstart nouveau riches, the house that had the de jure right to the throne should anything happen to the Princesses had been impoverished. Instead of the great schools of Eaton or Jarrow, the young Blueblood had been sent to Maneborough, good enough but effectively an inner city slum school to a colt of his upbringing. He had disdained his classmates, disdained those of other families who had gone to those two great schools, for he knew that one day he would possess power over them all.

Then when he was twenty his father, always slightly too fond of drink, had taken a tumble on the stairs while walking up from dinner. A month later he had been invested by Celestia as the new Prince Blueblood.

Yet it had not been as he imagined. Instead of bowing before their superior, his underlings had done all they could to ignore him. His powers were subject to oversight by Celestia, and he had been a marginalised voice on the Privy Council when he thought they should have all leant him their ears.

If he could not hold power there, he’d decided, he would seek it elsewhere. He had taken his father’s hooful of mines and expanded them. He’d found at the University of Manehattan that he had a formidable aptitude for gem-finding spells, and had personally supervised the development of new mines in the Unicorn Range, the Reinines, Foal Mountain, and the Macintosh Hills before he was thirty. Over the past decade he’d been expanding into Horsetralia, Zebrica and Haysia, where employee’s rights laws were a much more esoteric concept than they were in Equestria. He’d built up one of the largest fortunes on Equus and at last, all turned to listen when he spoke.

But it still wasn’t enough. He craved the kind of power only held by Celestia and Luna, those two absolute diarchs, and he wanted it solely concentrated in his own person. And their support for Shining Armor’s military reforms had given him an opening.

He checked the clock on the wall. Three minutes to four. He aimed his horn and sent a jet of magic at the wooden-cased radio on the other side of the room. The speaker crackled to life.

“This is EBC Parliament, I’m Posting Pundit; the time is two minutes to four. In just a few moments, this afternoon’s debate will begin, and from the galleries, I can see that it’s a particularly crowded house. There are over a hundred MPs here, and we rarely get more than twenty for an end-of-week debate. Owing to this morning’s revelations, we can safely say that this will be a very interesting two hours.”

There was a click as a technician switched on the magical microphones in the House of Commons chamber. The hustle and chatter of the MPs faded as the Speaker of the House, Muffled Merkin, spoke up. “Order, order,” he crooned softly.

“Radical Road, MP for Gasconeigh North will begin with a motion to condemn the proposed militarisation plans,” continued the Speaker in that inanely slow Shetland-accented voice of his. There were cheers of “here here!”, far more than a pony like Radical Road would ever get before in Parliament.

“Mister Speaker,” came Radical Road’s voice. Blueblood could visualise the bright red stallion with a Phrygian cap on his flank already. “Members of the House. I address you today so that we might condemn a shocking abuse of power. An arbitrary decision made without regard for Parliament that may well plunge this nation into war. A decision made by none other than the very mare we thought we could trust, our own Princess Celestia!”

There were more shouts of “here here!”, this time louder.

“As we learnt this morning,” continued Radical Road. “Princess Celestia wishes to assemble an army of fifty thousand ponies. Fifty thousand of our colts and fillies trained to fight and die. There was no intention of putting this to vote before Parliament, the ponies’ representatives.

“An army of fifty thousand ponies, formed for what purpose, my friends? What enemies do we have? What conflicts threaten us? None and none, my friends! We are to take fifty thousand of our young stallions and mares away from the prime of their lives, away from education, away from the harvest, to serve in a ridiculously oversized Royal Guard! This plan will only serve to ruin peace and harmony in this fair nation! What threats are there that cannot be faced down by the tried and tested techniques that we have always used? To answer this question, we need only look at the Treasury Bench! Not one member of Their Highnesses’ Government has appeared today to defend this new policy!”

There was a thunderous cry of “here, here!”

“Therefore!” thundered Radical Road. “I motion that we condemn in the strongest possible terms this militarisation plan, and bring a vote of censure against the architect of this plan, Prince Shining Armor!”

There were more cries of “shame!” this time, but most MPs were still cheering for Radical Road. Blueblood had heard enough. Another jet of magic switched off the radio.

He would have to wait for the latest opinion polls, but the wheels were already turning. For an MP like Radical Road, long marginalised as an extremist fool, to get a reception like that in the Commons was proof enough of a major shift beginning. Celestia would still get a war with the Changelings, and Blueblood would still make his fortune (that particular anonymous tip had proved quite fortuitous), but after that, there would be a reckoning before the ponies of Equestria.

And Blueblood would be in just the right place when it happened.

Over the Hills and Far Away

When Shining Armor wrote his memoirs many years later, he called it the Changeling War. For decades afterwards, scholars would never cease to argue what that referred to: whether the war should be dated from the Changeling conquest of the Felinia Matriarchy in 1002, their invasion of the Lynx Territories on March 25th 1004, or the march of the Royal Army south on June 2nd 1004, no two historians would be able to agree.

But at the moment, not one soldier, from the lowliest Private to the Commander-in-Chief himself, cared much for what to call the war. For them, it was simply “the war”, though most felt that the war hadn’t really started yet, and just called it “the march”.

“You’re one of the Element Bearers?” whispered Private Lemon Cherry, amazed.

“Sometimes,” said Lance Corporal Applejack, taking the cider bottle and taking a swig. “Most o’ the time ah’m just an apple farmer. Ah sell apples and apple accessories.”

“But you know Princess Twilight!” gasped the Private. “And Princess Celestia! How did they let you come down here with us?”

Applejack frowned. “Ah ain’t gonna use any connections to stay out o’ this. Let’s just say ah got mah own reasons for being here.”

“But the Elements! What if you get...?”

“Ah don’ think ‘bout that, an’ neither should you,” interrupted Applejack, sternly. She handed the bottle back to Corporal Viridian.

“So, what about you, Private Hayseed?” asked the Unicorn Corporal, extending the bottle over the campfire.

Hayseed Turnip Truck shrugged. “No work in Canterlot no more, now that those Mules are gettin’ all the jobs. Ah moved to Ponyville ta help out Applejack here before ah started up mah own business. But ah wasn’t gonna let mah cousin go off ta war alone.”

The camp kettles hanging over the fire suddenly whistled. “Dinner time,” announced Corporal Viridian.

Grim glances were exchanged as four ponies gingerly lifted their kettles off the tripod they’d erected over the fire. Army food wasn’t bad, they conceded, and it was always good to get some hot food inside them, it was just dull. Applejack thought of the unappetising, processed and plastic-wrapped thing that the Army called an apple turnover that was nestling in her saddlebag and was supposed to be her dessert. Her supplies from home had long since been devoured, and right now she couldn’t help but crave one of Granny Smith’s legendary apple pies.

Hooves protected by her emergency edible boots, she took the lid from the scalding-hot kettle, removed the meal in its boil bag, dug a spork from her pocket, and began to eat.

Applejack had endured days of eating Pasta with Alfredo Sauce, and had felt ready to vomit when she’d been issued the same meal each time, before realising that she could swap meals around her tent section. Hayseed seemed to love the Pasta, and he’d swapped a Manicotti with Vegetables with her for it.

“Two weeks and still nothing,” muttered Lemon Cherry, opening a foil boil bag and pulling out a Black Bean and Rice Burrito. “Can’t we just get it over with?”

“Get what over with, Private?” asked Corporal Viridian. He chomped on a Cheese and Vegetable Omelette. “We’ve got to find the Changelings first, and I’d rather find them rather than they find us.”

“But we know where the Changelings are, Corp,” said Lemon. “Why aren’t we going straight there?”

Applejack shifted on her haunches, trying to give relief to her aching legs. “‘Cause if we do, we’ll get massacred,” she said. “Those Changelings have twice our numbers. If ah wan’ ta get rid o’ a Timberwolf, ah don’ do it so ah end up goin’ into the lair!”

What Applejack didn’t say was that she sort of agreed with him. They’d been marching for over a fortnight, from Dodge Junction across the Badlands. The sun had beat down on them, and Applejack had been grateful for her wide-brimmed hat, though she’d had to quickly swipe it off whenever a Sergeant approached. The thirst and dust had been awful, even though the officers and NCOs had made sure that their ponies take on water every hour. She’d heard that every battalion had lost roughly twenty ponies to heat casualties.

Then, after two days ascending the Macintosh Hills, they’d crossed the Appleloosan Mountains through what the planners were calling Pass Alpha, but everypony else called Shining’s Pass. Ponies said that the Commander-in-Chief had had a hunch about there being a pass there, and had been proved right. Nevertheless, it had been incredibly steep and narrow. It had been an exhausting climb, and at the top ponies paused to rest with sweat steaming off their coats, only to be roared at to keep moving lest the wind and altitude chill them. Drums and music by the battalions’ bands had kept them going, and at the top of the pass, everypony had received two sandwiches, a cup of tea and an apple to keep them going.

Shining Armor had moved among them like a demon, racing up and down the pass, encouraging flagging ponies and giving praise to those who kept going. He’d walked next to them, asking their names; why they’d joined up; if the food was good; whether they thought changes needed to be made... Applejack had seen him galloping down towards them as they climbed, bellowing encouragement. At that point, she’d felt as though her lungs were hanging out her mouth, and she’d had no idea a Unicorn could have so much energy. At first she’d chalked it up to Shining Armor using his magic to keep going, but as he’d come closer, she’d seen no glow around his horn, and his coat had been slick sweat and great clouds of breath blew from his nostrils.

After another two days descending they’d at last reached the banks of the Canter Creek. They’d marched west, the snow-capped peaks of the mountains on their right, and across the Creek, the thick dark mass of Fetlock Forest.

Everypony had been a little jumpy at that stage. Fetlock Forest was cursed, it was said. Like the Everfree Forest, it was untended by ponies. The trees grew so thick that light rarely reached the ground. Ruins and monoliths built by unknown builders in ancient times dotted the forest. And savage, barely intelligent Monkeys were said to live there, hopping silently from tree to tree, before descending on the unwary traveller, screaming and shrieking and tearing them apart in search of valuables. Kelpies were said to swim its rivers, appearing beautiful to lure in ponies before drowning and devouring them.

The stallions in the Army, though, had been more worried about what lay to their south east. In a clearing at the end of a narrow trail between the Fetlock Forest and the Swamps of New Horseleans lay the Gelding Grotto. Nopony who had gone there had ever returned: the half-stallions who were said to live there would murder any mare they came across, but they would take any stallion and make him one of them. Applejack had heard Hayseed and Viridian saying they would rather die.

Several nights had passed with them being woken by nervous sentries firing wildly into the dark. The treatment their comrades had meted out to the sentries who’d put them on stand-to in the middle of the night to fight off ghosts and shadows had eventually reduced the number of incidents.

Applejack reached up to scratch an itch behind her ear. She winced as her hoof touched her mane: it was thick with grease. Shower units had been brought up after they’d crossed the Badlands and Shining’s Pass, but otherwise she hadn’t washed for days. Her uniform was probably nearing the end of its usable period without cleaning: she had a clean spare folded in her saddlebag, and another in her hooflocker, which was on a Buffalo cart somewhere near the back of the battalion column.

Applejack stared out over the camp. Dozens of other cookfires were burning amid the gloom, with ponies huddling around them. Tents were going up. Their supply wagons were laagered around the camp as a makeshift wall, with a palisade of stakes thrown up in front of them. Sentries patrolled between. She felt safe enough, but somewhere out there, she knew, was Rainbow Dash on night patrol.

She sighed as she finished her dinner. She didn’t feel up to eating that apple turnover. “Ah’m going ta bed.”

***

Across the camp, General Shining Armor frowned silently across the map table. That evening’s staff session was long since over, but he couldn’t help but stay.

The staff tent was the largest in the camp, almost as big as a circus tent. And like a travelling circus, everything had its place: the camp tables; the map holders; the trays of brass compass dividers, protractors and rulers; the boxes of red, blue and green unit symbols; the reams of notepaper and bundles of grease pencils; the brass lanterns filled with fireflies; and most important, the kettle, teabags and sugar bowl. All of it had to be placed meticulously when the tent was put up at the end of each day, and packed away with extreme care when the tent was taken down the next morning.

His army was a long, spread-out cluster of blue rectangles, sitting on the map in a narrow patch of white between the red contours of the Appleloosan Mountains and the green blob of the Fetlock Forest. A few other blue rectangles with single diagonal lines through them were projected further up the valley: the Royal Cloudsdale Greys were out on patrol tonight. They were to conduct reconnaissance sweeps up to five miles from the camp, looking for potential route for the next day’s march, Lynx villages or refugee bands, and of course, Changelings.

And that worried him: his officers were telling him that the reputation of the Fetlock Forest was such that the scouts on the Canter Creek’s southern bank were staying as far away from the tree line as they felt they could get away with. That, Colonel Crystal Thought had said, left a narrow corridor along the tree line that was unpatrolled. A Changeling force might easily slip through there.

That force would not be big enough to challenge his army, of course. No, it was his supply line that he worried about. The further he marched west, the longer it became, and by the time he broke out of the Canter Valley to engage the Changeling army at the Diamond Dog Pass, it would be dangerously overextended.

With his ponies marching in double-file, 12,000 going over a day, it had taken them just over four days to get over Pass Alpha. It had taken another four days, however, to get their artillery and supply wagons over the mountains. The pass was their sole supply route, and it slowed things down terribly. The Equestrian Railway Service had been contracted to lay a new track across the Badlands, and it was working heroically, but the track was only halfway done, and no train could ever get across Pass Alpha. Everything had to carried or pulled by muscle power, from Supply Depot 1 in the Macintosh Hills to Forward Supply Base Pansy in the Canter Valley beyond. Given the time required to send a Pegasus courier over the mountains, and then get a supply convoy over the pass and to the Army, any resupply would take over a week at an absolute minimum.

The Changelings, meanwhile, had a safe, heavily defended supply line running up the Great Trunk Road. He’d had a report from Amber Spyglass three days ago: the Changelings were launching deep raids into the Lynx lairs along the Road to keep them destabilised and acquire fresh captives. Hundreds of Lynxes imprisoned in gelatinous green shells were being moved up the Great Trunk Road, to be drained by the army at the Diamond Dog Pass, commanded by one Lord Cocoon.

Cocoon, fortunately, still believed that the Royal Army had to come across the Diamond Dog Pass, and Shining Armor had done everything he could to support that notion: the Equestrian Railway Service was building another track from Appleloosa to the northern entrance of the Diamond Dog mine, and mock reconnaissance flights by Pegasi were making themselves very obvious over Cocoon’s army. Shining Armor’s plan was to keep Cocoon waiting in the mountains while keeping his own march west as secret as possible. His cavalry screen had orders to kill any Changeling they came across, as well as intern any Lynx refugees to prevent them from being interrogated by the enemy. With any luck, he could get out of Canter Valley unseen, throw down a fort there to secure his supply line up to that point, and from there march to cut the Great Trunk Road. If he lay across Cocoon’s supply line, then the Changelings would have no choice but to meet him on his terms.

It was risky, but geography and politics demanded it. He needed a big victory soon if he was to win public support for the war, and that was shaky already. The ponies of Equestria were incredibly polarised over the war, and the longer their colts and fillies were away from home, the greater opposition would grow.

He sighed and scrubbed his face with a hoof. His legs were still aching after his run up and down Pass Alpha, and he had a blister on his leg that, despite being swathed in zinc oxide tape, was still bothering him. There was no point staying up to worry. He had given his orders for the night and was going to bed.

It was an effort to get his uniform off. He staggered over to his camp bed and fell asleep instantly.

***

Cornet Rainbow Dash yawned and dug a hoof into her pocket for another boiled sweet. She couldn’t see what flavour it was in the dark, but then again, she could barely see the cat’s eyes reflectors on Sergeant Crimson Spray’s flank in front of her.

She tore it from its plastic packet and popped it into her mouth. Yuck, blackcurrant. She needed a sugar boost to stay awake. She had half a mind to reach for the heavily-caffeinated energy gel in her belt pouch, but if she took that, she’d be bouncing off her tent walls when she got back to camp, and with only a few hours sleep, she’d need it for the march tomorrow.

Hooves barely off the ground, she and nineteen other Pegasi fluttered up the slope of a hill, wings beating gently. They were on the Canter Creek’s north bank, with the rest of the regiment spread out in fifty troops across the valley. As they approached the crest of the hill, something loomed large out of the darkness. A great, straight-sided pyramid, crowned with a mass of broken wood.

Rainbow smiled. They were approaching Valneigh, once a pony village in Southern Equestria, now a ruin that had been long abandoned. In a free moment, Rainbow had read the historical profile of Southern Equestria the Home Office had provided to every soldier. Virtually the entire area south of the Appleloosan Mountains had been abandoned after the Reign of Discord.

As Crimson Spray approached the ruined windmill at the top of the hill, he suddenly waved his hoof furiously and dived to the ground. Rainbow and the entire troop followed. She rolled over and pulled the short cavalry spear from the bag on her flank. She tapped her hoof on her head before crawling up the hill. Troopers Green Splash and Amber Lake, her best shots, retrieved their own spears and followed her up the hill.

Rainbow crawled up next to Spray and peered over the brow of the hill. She gasped. In the valley below, amid the ruins of Valneigh, were hundreds of fires. She retrieved a pair of binoculars from her belt and peered in closer. There was no doubt about it: she could see their silhouettes against the fires and the light shining through the holes in their bodies. It was a Changeling encampment.

She rapidly made a rough count of the number of fires before crawling back off the crest. Then she assembled her troop.

“Okay, everypony, we’ve got a pretty big group of Changelings over that hill. I’d guess over a thousand of them. There’s too many for us to take, especially in the dark.”

Worried glances were exchanged. Nopony doubted that they could get away safely, but the question on all their minds was the same: what about the advance? Might this blow everything?

“Cloud Kicker,” said Rainbow. “I need you to fly north and find Colonel Spitfire. Tell her what we’ve found and where. Blossomforth, you head south and round up the rest of the regiment. The rest of us are heading back to the camp. General Armor needs to know about this right away.”

***

“General Armor! Your Highness!”

Shining Armor felt somepony’s hoof on his shoulder shaking him awake. His head stuffed full of sleep, he sat up groggily. “Ration? What is it?”

“One of our scouts has returned, sir,” said Lieutenant General Sir Ration Bag. “You need to hear this yourself.”

Shining Armor wriggled out of his sleeping bag and staggered across the tent to seize his uniform jacket. In a moment he’d donned the red jacket and his uncle’s old crossbelts. “Let’s hear her.”

Ration Bag pushed through the canvas and led Shining Armor into the main part of the staff tent. Everypony there braced up as he entered. A handful of his aides-de-camp in heavily-decorated Hussar uniforms stood there, along with a sleepy-looking Crystal Thought, her uniform rumpled. Major General Neigh, now commander of the 3rd Division, stood there was well, frowning. Shining Armor glanced at the clock sitting on the map table: half three in the morning.

In the centre of the tent was a Cornet in the uniform of the Royal Cloudsdale Greys. Shining Armor recognised her rainbow mane at once. “Rainbow Dash, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir! Cornet, 2nd Dragoons!”

Twily had told him all about her friends, and he could see in her the shades of the mare that had aspired to join the Wonderbolts. “Make your report, Cornet.”

“Sir, five miles west of here, in the ruins of Valneigh, there’s a large Changeling force. I couldn’t count how many exactly, but we saw nearly five hundred cookfires.”

Crystal Thought sucked a breath in between her teeth. “Sounds like an entire legion. Five thousand Changelings. I’d guess they’d just made a deep raid on a Lynx village and are planning to fall back tomorrow.”

“Did they see you at all, Cornet Dash?” asked Shining Armor.

“No, sir. We pulled back under cover of darkness. While my troop was pulling back, I received word that Colonel Spitfire pulled the rest of the regiment back as well to form a screen two miles from Valneigh.”

One of the aides-de-camp rapidly rearranged symbols on the map table. “Here, sir, Valneigh.”

Shining Armor frowned at the map. Valneigh was five miles west with the Canter Creek to its south and not particularly troublesome hills to its east. The terrain to the north was fairly open. “Thank you, Cornet Dash,” he said thoughtfully.

“We should split the army, sir,” said Neigh immediately. “Detach my division and the 7th Brigade with some cavalry units and batteries, and we can surround them from the north while we still have cover of darkness.”

“Our soldiers and commanders don’t have the skill to march at night like that,” said Ration Bag.

“We need concentrated fire for this,” said Shining Armor. “I don’t want to disperse our artillery in bit boxes.”

Neigh frowned.

Shining Armor thought for a moment. “Nevertheless, encirclement is the best option if we want to preserve secrecy.” He nodded at his aides-de-camp. “Recall the staff. Colonel Thought, what time is first light?”

“Quarter past five, sir.”

“Wake the troops at half past four. We march at dawn.”

Into the Land of Bones

“Wha’s it we’re doin’ now, AJ?”

“Wha’ d’ya think?” said Applejack to Hayseed, stifling a yawn. “Same dung, different day.”

The sun was only just beginning to poke through the clouds as 3rd Battalion, Princess Celestia’s Ponyville Light Infantry, formed up in a half-distance column behind a slight rise in the ground. The light infantry regiment had been heavily engaged throughout the past week, clearing and securing no less than five towns along the Great Trunk Road in gruelling street fighting. But beyond this rise, Applejack knew, was the last one: the town of Whiskerton. She didn’t much understand the grand strategy and the top brass’ reasoning behind taking the town, but she trusted Shining Armor to make the right decision. What she did understand was that this would be an agonising fight. This would be her third battle in a town. In her first battle she had been in the first wave, and breaking into the town had been hard enough. In her second fight the 3rd Battalion had had to have been brought up after resistance had been heavier than expected, and racing from ruined building to ruined building amid choking powder smoke with Changelings firing from every window had been far worse than marching into the enemy’s teeth at Maneden. If the Changelings were as smart as Shining Armor, they wouldn’t give up this town easily.

“Uh, Sergeant?”

Applejack took a moment to realise she was the one being addressed. She was still not used to the three chevrons on her sleeve. “Yeah, Cherry?”

Private Lemon Cherry stared up at her, eyes wide. “Is it... is it true what they’re saying about the Lynxes? How they lost a battle?”

“Now tha’s why ah don’t say anything ‘less ah know it’s true,” said Applejack sternly. “Don’ you worry ‘bout them Lynxes or the other regiments or even the other battalion, Sugarcube. We all gots jobs to do an’ somepony else messin’ up ain’t gonna stop us doin’ ours!”

Still, a tiny voice couldn’t help but whisper in Applejack’s head, some of what they were saying about a Lynx defeat didn’t exactly make encouraging listening. She had heard the words “getting cut off” used more than once recently.

Then the bugles blew and the guns on either side of the battalion fired. Applejack shoved those thoughts to the very back of her mind as the battalion let out a cheer of “TIMBERWOLVES!” and marched over the hill.

***

It was a straight two hundred-yard march across flat open ground that had once been fields to reach Whiskerton. Once this town had been surrounded by rich farms, producing the fabled bounty of the Felinia Matriarchy, second only to Equestria in per-capita farm production. Now the farmers were long gone, the earth was parched, dry and cracked and rose in clouds of choking dust. What few plants remained were rotted, desiccated, and crunched beneath a hoof. The hedges that had once separated fields were now bare of leaves, gnarled, blackened and shrunken and could be smashed down by a determined kick. The Changelings had destroyed it all.

Across the desolation lay Whiskerton, once a prosperous little town of whitewashed buildings. Now the paint on the walls was cracked and peeling and the houses were leprous with spots and stains. Great columns of smoke rose over the town and pillars of debris shot into the air and rained back down as four batteries of the Royal Artillery pounded Whiskerton with roundshot and shells, fixing in position the Changeling half-cohort that lurked within. Next to the town flowed the Kelpie Creek, thick and brown and choked with weeds and corpses.

The regiment’s 2nd Battalion halted just in front of the hill, holding position as an emergency reserve. With Applejack’s section in the front rank, the 3rd Battalion marched on to assault Whiskerton.

At a hundred and fifty yards from the town, the rear five companies halted and held back in reserve for the second wave. Lieutenant Colonel Cherry Fizzy stayed with him. Sickening apprehension filled his throat as he watched the rest of his battalion march away for the third time this week. He knew that for an urban attack his place was at the rear, to direct the reserves and keep control of the battle, but that didn’t comfort him at all. Every instinct screamed at him to be at the front, fighting and dying with his ponies.

At a hundred yards, the Fifth Company halted as a tactical reserve. Then the Fourth Company split into three platoons to act as mobile reinforcements. The Third Company wheeled to the right to take the town’s flank. The Second and First Companies kept marching, spreading into open order to cover the entire front of the town.

The Royal Army Drill Manual prescribed having three-to-one numerical superiority before committing to a set-piece field battle. For an urban assault, that figure rose to five-to-one. Two thousand troops were bearing down on scarcely three hundred Changelings

Then the artillery barrage lifted and dropped down again fifty yards behind the Changeling first position. Dazed and injured Changelings staggered to their hooves from behind cover and were met with a storm of shots from the lead companies. The light infantryponies dived from cover to cover and only leapt up to deliver devastating shots that always found their mark, while the Third Company wheeled round and charged up the Great Trunk Road and slammed into the Changeling flank.

Amid a ruin of shattered walls, burnt-out rooms and blasted rubble that had once been shops and homes, Princess Celestia’s Ponyville Light Infantry carved through Whiskerton a bloody path with spearpoints, knives, hooves and teeth.

***

Applejack stood silently on what had once been Whiskerton’s common. The very grass beneath her hooves felt brittle. The air was thick with the reek of burnt wood, stone and flesh. Buildings that had looked like little piles of sugarcubes when they’d marched over the hill were now jagged ruins, their roofs blown off and caved in, holes blasted through them to give access to the infantry, and their walls dark with smoke or spotted with burns from hundreds of spear shots. Fifty ponies had died for this town, and one hundred and five injured were being raced to the field hospital at the rear.

The occasional shot still rang out from the buildings as the mopping-up parties dealt with what Changelings remained. Applejack knew the drill well by now, she thought grimly. There was to be only one survivor to bring news back to the Hive.

She closed her ears to it all and instead looked to the centre of the common. Standing there, its branches bare of leaves and its trunk gnarled, was an apple tree. She slowly padded towards it, wondering if once before the Changelings came Felinia had curled up in its shade or played in its leaves in the autumn. They’d have eaten the apples certainly. Had the Felinia bucked apples? Twilight would know. Thinking about it amid all this suddenly struck her as absurd, obscene even.

She gently touched a hoof to the cracked, greying trunk. No, this tree was long gone. Its roots were still sunk deep, but something vital about it was just missing. It was as if the Changelings had been determined to suck away even the simple joy this tree had provided this little town. This tree would never again provide shade or apples or piles of leaves to roll in, just as Whiskerton would now never more be anything other than a collection of ruins, probably not even marked on a map. An’ for wha’?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of wood splintering. A Private in the Fourth Company had bucked open the cellar door of a building across the common. “Found it! PIONEERS! OVER HERE!”

Oh yeah, thought Applejack grimly. Tha’s what. A section of pioneers, axes leaning against their shoulders, their leather aprons cracked and brown, and carrying saddlebags stuffed full of grenades packed with gunpowder and naphtha, trotted over to the open door.

“Good find, Private,” said their Sergeant. “Okay boys, let’s get ready to torch this nest. Get down there and knock out the major support beams: I want this whole building coming down on them when we cook these bugs.”

“D’ya have to?” Applejack found herself saying.

The Sergeant stared at her in disbelief. “What?”

Applejack couldn’t really believe it herself. “It’s jus’... well, they’re kids, ain’t they? Larva! Some of ‘em ain’t even outta eggs yet! It’s like killin’ foals!”

The pioneer Sergeant took a step forward, his face contorted with anger. “My foals aren’t going to drain all the love from Canterlot when they grow up. I’ve got orders to destroy every hatchery I find. You had orders to kill every Changeling defending this town. Didn’t see you complaining then.”

“The ones ah killed could figh’ back,” growled Applejack.

“A bug’s a bug!” snarled the Sergeant. “Doesn’t bucking matter if they’re fighting or what weapon we use! If we don’t kill ‘em all now they’ll just come back to get us later!” He spat and swept down into the cellar, followed by his section down into the mass of gold-green eggs and squirming white Changeling larvae.

“LIVE ONE!” yelled somepony suddenly. Applejack spun around to see a door burst open and a Changeling drone gallop out pursued by two light infantryponies. Suddenly it seemed like every soldier in the town was on the common, surrounding the hapless drone with a ring of spearpoints.

Applejack stared at the drone. She’d seen the bodies at Maneden of course, but she hadn’t seen a Changeling up close since Canterlot. She’d forgotten the iridescence of its sable carapace, the glint of light through the fissures in its legs, the bright white of the fangs in its mouthparts, and the soulless void of its icy blue eyes. It was a creature to fear; a creature to hate.

And yet, here, surrounded by a ring of spears, its head darting from left to right as it desperately looked for a way out, chittering in panic and its wings buzzing uselessly, the hapless drone didn’t looked threatening at all.

“C’mon, ya bucking bug!” snarled one soldier, jabbing his spear at it. “Killed any foals today?!”

“Hey bug boy!” laughed another. “Those wings ain’t doing much! Maybe you should just fly away!”

“Oh yeah, but you ain’t got no magic left, do you!” laughed a third. “’cause WE put a stop to that!” He swung the butt of his spear down hard on the drone’s head. With a hiss of agony the drone collapsed to the grass.

“For Spirits’ sake, jus’ get it over with an’ put him outta his misery!” snapped Hayseed Turnip Truck.

“Buck off, bumpkin! Did he do that to the Felinia or the Lynxes?!”

“We’re suppose’ to be better ‘n him!”

“Well you go for it then!”

“ENOUGH!” snapped Applejack. She strode forward, making sure everypony could see her stripes. “Y’all know the drill. We’re sendin’ this one back to Chrysalis. There’s plenty more like him further down the road!”

She seized the drone by its wings and dragged it from the circle. She made sure it got a good look of the pioneer section leaving the cellar and hurling its grenades in.

“Get outta here,” she said. “Go home, get a meal, tell yer buddies how awful we are. Spirits know, we’ll jus’ be doin’ exactly that here.”

The drone galloped off down the bank of the muddy Kelpie Creek towards the south. Behind her, Applejack felt the heat from the burning hatchery and heard a sound she’d become far too used to: hissing grubs and popping eggs.

***

“Whiskerton is secured,” said Colonel Noteworthy proudly, pushing into the staff tent. It had been a good week for his regiment. “We have our river route, sir.”

Whiskerton sat where the Great Trunk Road met the Kelpie Creek. The Royal Army now had access to a river route running straight through the heart of the Changeling Kingdom. They could now load their heaviest supplies onto boats and, unencumbered by baggage carts, double their daily rate of march while their gear for the night sailed along next to them.

Noteworthy’s smile was not reciprocated by the staff officers huddling around the map table. His grin faded. What had happened? Some new development in the war? Had the Changelings snuck a force past them and they’d been cut off? Had Chrysalis tricked up new legions from somewhere? And yet, as he moved closer, he saw that the staff was not poring over maps, but instead... newspapers?

“What’s happened?” he asked uncertainly.

“The media back home has turned against us,” said Shining Armor grimly. “The papers from two days ago were delivered this morning. Major Sweet Cake held them back and asked me to look over them before distributing them to the troops.”

“It makes for depressing reading,” said General Blackfire.

Noteworthy stared in disbelief at the media bombshell before him. Copies of Sun and Moon and the News of Equestria, the Canterlot Chronicle and The Baltimare Times covered the table. A mere glance at the headlines told him that they had found out everything: the burst guns, the near-disaster of Valneigh, their policy of destruction...

“All News Equestria papers...” he muttered.

“That plothole Newsprint has always been against us,” snarled Crystal Thought. “Uh, begging the Field Marshal’s pardon...”

“My thoughts exactly, Colonel,” said Shining Armor. “But Newsprint is just in the business of selling papers. Another victory and he’ll be cheering us on again. My concern is how to minimise the impact.”

“Those bloody Parliamentarians will have a field day with this,” growled Warding Ember.

“The Parliamentarians just want to increase the public’s voice, sir,” said Colonel Tinderblast, offended.

“And they insult us every day in Parliament, Colonel. If that’s the public’s voice I’d rather it stayed quiet.”

“Save the politics for the mess,” said Shining Armor, as Tinderblast looked ready to say something he would regret. “What can we do to keep this from reaching the rank and file?”

“We can’t, sir,” said Crystal Thought. “A total blackout without explanation would make them think something worse has happened at home. The best we can do is to distribute them with our own message to quell any rumours.”

“On that,” said Shining Armor. “Anything clearer on the Lynxes turned up?”

“Slashclaw’s dead,” said Thought simply. “About twelve thousand Lynxes under Strong Blow have pulled back to the base of the Recinante Cliffs. The rest are either dead or running back home. There’s about two legions still on the Bitissippi that could be a threat, so...”

“If they confront the Lynxes and they break, we’ll end up cut off with ten thousand Changelings sitting across out supply line,” completed Shining Armor. “We’ll dispatch a battalion north with three cavalry squadrons to stiffen their resolve. Everything else is needed here.” He looked over at the huge wall map where prospective battle sites were marked. “Chrysalis can’t let us keep advancing for much longer. She must meet us in force soon.”

Everypony shifted awkwardly on their hooves. They knew full well what they were doing to force Chrysalis to commit to battle. The papers had predicted it perfectly.

“Sir,” said Ration Bag in measured tones. “I’ve been hearing a lot of dissatisfaction among the ranks towards our policy on Changeling hatcheries. With the papers in mind, wouldn’t it be best to...”

“What we are doing is absolutely necessary to end this war,” interrupted Shining Armor, coldly. “The soldiers know that. If that isn’t enough for them, then remind them what the Changelings did to Canterlot, what they did to the Felinia who used to live here.”

“What we are doing is genocide,” whispered Surgeon-Lieutenant Colonel Redheart.

A ringing silence filled the staff tent. Shining Armor slowly turned to face his senior medical officer. His gaze was as cold as the Crystal Mountains. “You will not use that word in any capacity again or I will have you disciplined. Is that clear?”

Redheart’s mouth was set in a defiant line, but what she said was; “Yes, sir.”

One pony did not notice the drama. He stood at the back of the crowd of staff, clutching a newspaper in a shaking hoof. I won Valneigh for him, and he credits the artillery?! He says my victory was nearly a catastrophe?! I protected his flank while he was still forming up at Maneden, and he thanks those idiots in the 2nd Division?! Major General Neigh stared furiously at Shining Armor. This stallion may be my commander, but he is not my leader.

***

With a shriek of fury, flash of green light filled the room and the drone fell dead, ichor leaking from its neck.

“Put him with the others,” hissed Queen Chrysalis.

Lord Chitin and the three other surviving Lords of the Hives stared in mute shock as the drone’s body was dragged unceremoniously from the room. It would be displayed outside the palace with the bodies of the four other sole survivors from the towns the ponies had taken in the past week, to encourage the rest.

“My Queen,” whispered Lord Chitin. “This drone wished only to warn you. He...”

“He should have died at his post!” shrieked Chrysalis. “Then our hatcheries might still be intact! How can we expect our drones to fight when they are less scared of the enemy than us!”

She paced furiously around the room. Chitin dared not speak.

“It cannot go on like this,” his queen muttered. “Armor has the river. If we do not stop him soon, he will move to quickly it will be a town every day! We have no choice; we must face him in open battle.”

“We cannot risk it, My Queen!” protested Chitin desperately. “Our drones lack the skill of the pony soldiers, and if we are defeated, it will be the end of us! Shining Armor wants us to commit to battle: better to wait, to delay and harass him as he marches.”

“And allow him to continue to destroy the future of our Hive?” shrieked Chrysalis. “No more! We shall destroy him on the battlefield and then take back the Lynx territories!”

Any other politician of any other race would have known that Chrysalis could no longer lead. But Chitin and his fellow Lords were Changelings. Their queen was more than just a leader; she was the progenitor of their offspring, the very future of the Hive. To remove her would be to sign their death warrant as assuredly as laying down weapons before the ponies. They said nothing as she stared at the map.

“We will take every legion we have left and march north from Purrillies,” she declared. “We will camp at Softpaw and deploy three legions to hold the river crossing at Silvestris: if Armor wants to continue his advance down the river he needs to clear that town. We will hold the heights and let him waste his strength on our defences. If we defeat him, good. If he wins, his army will be depleted and vulnerable to attack from Softpaw. Either way, we will crush him.”