The Inconveniencing Adventures of a Washout Kicker

by IC1s5

Rating: everyone
Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Shining Armor, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Original Character
Length: 41195

The Kicker family's aspiring artist struggles to reconcile his muse with his "destiny"

Spray Kicker didn't win any favours from his family by walking away from his "destiny." He wanted to paint; they wanted him to serve. Spending time pursuing his true destiny was rewarding, except to the ponies who were related to him.

So, he dropped by Fort Lancer in the San Paolomino desert, accompanied by Twilight Velvet, one of Equestria's most accomplished authors, in search of inspiration. What he found was...himself. Himself, and a lot of other, less pleasant, things.

Tangentially part of the Winningverse.

Published 2013-07-02 23:50:02 UTC
Last updated 2013-12-20 16:17:29 UTC

1

Thunder Kicker was never off duty. He stared into space, a stern look burning in his eyes, as if he could see through the walls. As if he had his delinquent nephew square in his sights, like a predatory bird swooping down onto an unsuspecting mouse. Mace helped himself to another donut. “So...how are we doing this? Is this a stake out?”

“If it is, fine by me,” Pinion added. “Love the crullers here.”

“This is a break,” Thunder Kicker curtly replied. “We’re just taking a moment to cool our hooves before we canvas the place for Spray.”

The ponies under his command had groaned about their hunger. Thunder had relented, and they dropped by a local and favourite donut shop. It would give Thunder a few more minutes to strategize.

They had been patrolling the area around the train station. It was a cheap area to stay, and the ponies here would turn a blind eye to a young pony looking for somewhere cheap to stay. Thunder hoped Spray found a nice place wincing at the thought of his newphew sprawled out on some cold and damp back alley. Spray was making a terrible, terrible decision, but he didn’t deserve to suffer.

Mace slurped down some coffee. “Works for me.”

“Are we going halfsies on the next dozen?” Pinion asked.

“You wanna?”

“Yeah,” Pinion replied, sounding genuinely insulted. “I chipped in the most for this box.”

“Sprung for the coffee,” Mace replied.

“Probably explaining why we’re drinking the smallest size available,” Pinion replied.

“I needed to save for the cream and sugar.” Mace shrugged.

“You have a very interesting definition of halfsie,” Pinion muttered.

Celestia, the quality of the guards these days. The Kicker family might as well have been Equestria’s sole line of defence. Which meant that Spray’s absence hurt Thunder all the more. Not too long ago he was just a little foal, laughing as he was swallowed up in the depths of Thunder’s helmet. What had happened?

“We’re finishing what we have and then we’re getting back on the trail,” Thunder firmly stated. The other ponies were intelligent enough not to sigh in despair, though by this point Thunder could have easily forgiven them.

“Same strategy as the past three days, right?” Mace asked. Both Mace and Pinion gave exasperated looks to Thunder. He may be their commanding officer, but they were getting tired of chasing their tails.

Thunder sighed. “Look, there’s no evidence he bought another ticket in Fillydelphia or tried to fare jump on another train. Which implies he’s in town. He doesn't have enough money, so that limits our search to cheap lodgings: hostels, boarding houses and the like. He’ll need a job, so that limits us to low-paying entry level work: light retail, fast food, the kind of places that will take a young pony without raising an eyebrow. Being new to the city means he won’t have gone very far from the station.”

And the Kicker family has only a marginal presence in the city, and Fillydelphia was home to the Art Museum he loved. Two facts that pained Thunder to admit, but they were obvious enough to be left unspoken.

Thunder sighed. Spray was such a sweet young colt. Why was he throwing his future away like this? The Academy was tough, he admitted, the first couple of months in particular. Kickers prided themselves on being able to rise through the hard training and high standards.

Maybe he just isn't cut out for this. Every time he thought that it seemed to grow a little louder and his attempts to squelch it grew more hollow. Maybe he just isn't cut out for this.

“We’ll finish the box before we start asking questions,” Thunder ordered. Give him a few more minutes to come to his senses and contact home. Hopefully, that’s all he needs. Just a couple more minutes to think about this.

Mace and Pinion sighed. “Maybe we can check the pizza place on the corner...” Pinion suggested; Mace nodded. Thunder rolled his eyes. The problem with the Guard in urban environments: there were no convenient hydras to thin out the ranks.

Thunder double checked the missing pony report his family placed in the Fillydelphia Tribune. Behind him the door’s chimes jingled. The pony behind the counter growled at the newcomer: “You’re late.”

“Sorry. I got a little turned around on the subway...”

“Just get back here. Coffee break crowd’s a comin’.”

“Yes sir.”

The missing pony advert used Spray’s Academy picture. Pale fur, verdant mane, a messy swirl of colour for a cutie mark---a very handsome pegasus colt. He looked into the camera, Equestrian flag standing proudly to his side, stern look in his eye. The Kicker’s Stare, it was called. Only his was softer at the edges. Thunder could tell that Spray was doing his best to look tough, probably felt a little tough, but it was a weak kind of toughness, the kind that would break if true resistance was offered.

Maybe he just isn’t cut out for this. Every family is going to have at least one.

Thunder sighed. He got up, deciding to refresh his coffee. The past three days had been long ones. It did not look like they would get any shorter. There was only one pony ahead of him, taking his sweet time at the register.

“Three bits is your change. Thank you sir.”

The pony snorted in thanks at the cashier and trotted away, bag in his mouth. Thunder walked up, opened his mouth and froze.

“Can I...help....” The cashier’s eyes went wide.

No way. It was not this easy.

“Well now,” Thunder said. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Spray was paralyzed in place, no doubt entertaining fantasies of tearing through the back of the shop, hopping over the dumpster and onto the roofs and racing away, his uncle in hot pursuit. Thunder’s gaze could have melted lead. He turned to face the store’s manager, standing next to Spray, agog.

“There a problem?” the pony weakly asked.

“No,” Thunder said, “but we are borrowing this pony for a moment. We need to have a little chat.”

“Go right ahead,” the manager said, smiling broadly and backing away from his employee. It was his partner who had hired him. Yeah. His partner.

Spray crept back from behind the counter. He hung his apron up on a peg along the wall. Thunder kept a respectable but short distance behind his nephew as they navigated back to Thunder’s table.

“Okay, guys, show’s over.”

Pinion and Mace looked stunned. Spray, head lowered, stood there. It was as if Celestia herself had dropped him off.

“Holy crow...we actually found him?” Mace asked.

Pinion, apparently, was trying to say something, trying to upbraid Spray for the trouble he caused his family and the disgrace he brought to the guard. Trying to do so with half a donut in his mouth proved difficult.

“Chew,” Thunder ordered. “Swallow.”

With two large bites Pinion chomped down the pastry and swallowed. Like a little, helpless baby bird Thunder thought.

“Where have you been?” Pinion demanded. “After three days of looking...”

“Ah, the efficiency and dedication of the royal guard, leaving no stone unturned,” Spray muttered. Thunder rolled his eyes, resolving to get a handle on the situation.

“Hang out front for a second,” Thunder ordered the other two ponies. “I need a minute to talk to him.”

“Can we just grab a couple more to go?” Mace asked.

“Go.” Thunder’s tone was light and polite, which in his experience was often preferable to an angry scream. Mace and Pinion bolted for the door as quickly as politeness allowed.

Spray slid onto the rough plastic seat, gaze lowered and directed onto the scuffed blue table. Thunder took off his helmet and placed it to one side. His gaze had been withering, but he softened it into a look of concern and sadness. Thunder had been so worried about his nephew. He ran his hoof over the scar on his face left by a berserk griffon.

“What are we going to do about you?”

Spray did not reply.

“Do you have any idea how many ponies are out looking for you? Times like this, it’s amazing to be reminded how many Kickers we have. We’re only short of the princesses themselves.”

Spray continued to say nothing. Thunder nudged a coffee and the donut box over.

“Talk to me,” Thunder said. “That’s an order.”

Spray sighed. “What do you want me to say?”

“I’d like to have some idea of what has gotten into you. You think you could just walk away from all of us, from school?”

“It’s a worth a shot,” Spray said.

“Three days ago you stuffed your uniform into the garbage slot of a train lavatory and got off. You’ve made no attempt to write your parents, who, I should inform you, have justifiably flipped their lids.”

“I didn’t see the point, after how the discussion with my parents went,” Spray replied. “Brick walls are more receptive.”

His family had gone all out in welcoming Spray home for his first leave from West Hoof. Banner over the house welcoming him back, inviting every Kicker within a fifty mile radius for a family shindig. By all accounts he had not appreciated the fuss very much.

Thunder nodded. “I know you’re having a hard time, I understand. Celestia knows it’s hard, and even I’ve thought of running away...”

“It’s not that!” Spray snapped. Thunder was surprised: his nephew had always been a gentle soul, and it was a relief to know he learned at least something from the academy. “I never wanted to be there in the first place.”

“So what was the plan after you walked away from it all?”

“Write home for my portfolio, get my application for the Fillydelphia School of Visual Arts together...” Spray trailed off when he realized how absurd it sounded to him. Step one and the whole scheme would instantly collapse in on itself.

“Foresight was never your strong suit. I had been looking forwards to you learning some at school.”

Spray sighed, nosing open the box and helping himself to the only donut left untouched.

“Okay,” Thunder admitted, “this was not your first choice. I realize that. But you went to the academy anyway, with little fuss, and the meaning to that was what?”

Spray swallowed. “I guess I bought into it for just a second. All that talk of family tradition. Destiny.” Spray spat the word out. “But it didn't take.”

“You’re doing swell, at least academically,” Thunder said. “Formations and physical exercise need work, but you get into a rhythm with those. It takes time, and some adapt faster than others, but once you get into it you don’t mind.”

Spray growled. Maybe he just isn't cut out for this.

“My parents think I am not taking my time at the academy seriously at all,” Spray said. He rolled his emerald eyes. “They said I need to straighten up. They completely ignored the part when I said that I had preferred never to have gone in the first place. Said that it was just defeatist talk.”

“Your family has been under a lot of stress from the Kicker clan to produce another crop of Guard cadets,” Thunder explained. “And it isn't fair, and I know that you've been subject to a lot of stress...”

After Cloud...did what she done, the family had unofficially entered a siege mentality, parents eyeing each other like they were involved in an invisible poker game with the family’s reputation as the stakes. Who could become the one they would all have to make excuses about?

Spray laughed. “You know how many showings I won as a foal? Eight. How many they attended? Two---barely.”

One of Spray’s drawings from when he was eight was used as the cover for Royal Guard Quarterly. Granted, not the most refined work, but it was praised in the letters section. And just think of how wonderful his time in the guard will be!

“You’re a very talented pony,” Thunder admitted. Which, naturally, would reinforce Spray’s position. That was the problem with this discussion: everything Thunder said would be fuel for his nephew’s point. Thunder was in the uncomfortable position of being in a strictly reactionary state, a dreaded one for a Guard.

“I can wallpaper my room with every blue ribbon I have, every certificate of excellence, all the praise from my teachers, and as far as my parents were concerned I’m just pointlessly doodling!”

Maybe he just isn’t cut out for this.

Spray’s family had made one trip to Fillydelphia, when Spray was very small, and, of course, the Art Museum was the first stop. One of the city’s finest attractions, and home to the excellent painting of Shadow Kicker standing resolute over the smouldering ruins of the Lunar rebel’s stronghold. Spray had spent nearly an hour staring at it while his parents beamed pride. They thought he was learning about dedication and pride.

For hours all the foal could talk about was the use of light and shadow in the painting. Like he was a little art professor. Thunder probably still had the crumpled drawing made in crayon that Spray laboured on, trying to replicate the technique.

Maybe he just isn’t cut out for this.

Time to at least try and salvage his military career. “So why did you just bolt? What set you off?”

Spray sighed. “My fellow passenger on the train was an older pony. Former Guard. He said he was proud of me. Another Kicker in the service, another proud and storied career added to my family’s glories and the guard. He said he couldn’t wait to hear about me, and that he couldn’t wait for me to feel the pride my parents felt. If I was a little bit older he said he’d treat me to a cider.”

Spray had a slurp from the cooling coffee cup. “He just didn’t see me. He saw a Kicker. Just another Kicker going through the motions. He probably didn’t even care that I was Spray Kicker---just a Kicker. I might as well have not existed.”

Thunder admitted than in a family with a centuries long tradition individual members tended to blur together after awhile. Within the family it was an informal competition to see who measured up, both in appearance and character, to their most illustrious forebears. At the academy Kickers had a tendency to be singled out, as an example for cadets to emulate and to reproach Kickers if they didn’t measure up. That probably drove Spray insane.

Kickers came to West Hoof in one of two varieties: the copacetic, can-do pony eager to prove himself or herself to their family legacy; or cocky and arrogant, as if they had already graduated and the next four years was just a waste of their time. A creative, sensitive Kicker was not something they knew how to handle.

“And that’s when it all boiled over for you?”

“I felt...so mad. So very mad. I got up, went into the bathroom and had a good look at myself. I could have screamed, and before I knew it...” Spray nodded. “I had to get off and get away. Away from every Kicker in Equestria.”

“I figure it was just a matter of time before something like that would set you off. Your cousin, Cloud, the one who ran away from her graduation? Same thing, and I guess you were just quicker on the draw.”

Spray shrugged. “I've been thinking about that. If I’d accept my commission, or just resign it on the spot. Or if I’d dutifully go along with events until I couldn't take it anymore, and how acrimonious those circumstances would be.”

He really isn't cut out for this, and you know it. Defeat was a new experience for such a dedicated Guard pony. With his deep sigh all the energy left his chest and his limbs and went out his nose, leaving only a stringy feeling as if his limbs were dangling from thin chords.

“You’re going to make a lot of ponies very, very sad. All they wanted was for you to stand tall and proud and keep on the family name,” Thunder said. “They just wanted you to feel as proud for yourself as we do for you.”

Spray looked like he was going to droop all over the table. Oh, for Celestia’s sake! Poor colt’s been through so much. Don’t twist the knife, Thunder.

“But if this is your destiny, I have your back. We need the odd deviant in the mix. It’ll just make things a touch more interesting.”

Spray brightened up a little. The beginnings of a smile was creeping onto his face.

“Alright,” Thunder said. “You can crash at my place. A step up from the brig. And you are writing your parents. I will help.”

“What will we say?” Spray asked.

“He’s here, he’s safe, I’ve found him, but we need to talk.”

“I’d like that.”

Cloud Kicker had been the family’s biggest problem for a long time. Every generation of Kicker had one pony who just didn’t measure up, or washed out. Some quarters of the Kicker clan would consider themselves cursed to be born with two. Sometimes, the family was just so self-absorbed it was intolerable.

The two ponies got up. The walked up and past the two ponies outside on unofficial guard duty. Mace and Pinion snapped to attention, then looked puzzled as Thunder and Spray walked past them.

“Where are we taking him?” Mace asked.

“Home,” Thunder replied. “You two are relieved.”

Mace and Pinion stared at each other. They shrugged.

“Halfsies?”

“You’re springing for coffee, then. Extra-large.”

Mace frowned. “You’re springing for cream then.”

“It’s called halfsies, not quartersies. Cheapskate.”

2

Canterlot aristocracy obeyed one cardinal rule: where Celestia is, there you are. Even if this was an event limited to the Kicker family, find a way in, to see and be seen. A couple of faces Spray did not recognize were present, chatting with some members of his family, oblivious to their growing impatience.

“...which was nothing like the works of Camera Obscura!” one blonde-maned pony said. He tossed his head back and laughed.

“You don’t say,” Uncle Herald said through gritted teeth. He beckoned over a pony, tray in his mouth laden with tall drinks. He would need more than a few to get through this.

It had taken a long four years to get here, Spray thought. He was very happy for himself, and for the happiness he appeared to have created in the ponies around him. It was worth it.

All ponies in attendance had moved in from the palace gardens into the ballroom. Celestia had lowered the sun, Luna had raised the moon. Now the two princesses were chatting with the Elements and other assorted ministers and dignitaries. Attempting to mingle would result in bowing and obsequiousness.

Two very stern ponies stood at either side of his painting, deterring anypony from lifting a corner of the veil and peering underneath. Until Celestia herself reverently lifted the veil, the painting was off limits. Ponies made conversation, which was about the guard, mostly, which sounded to Spray like the same words repeated over and over.

Coral nuzzled him. “You should be so proud of yourself.”

“I am,” Spray said. He smiled. He felt like they were back at school again, collaborating on their mural, laughing as they kissed for the first time, their fur flecked with paint.

“I love you.”

“I love me too.” Coral gave Spray a playful kick.

“Me three,” a new voice said from behind is back. A familiar voice.

“Cloud please,” a second pony hissed, hoping that not everypony around her had heard.

Spray turned around to face the source of the noise. His eyes narrowed. “Hello, Cloud.”

Cloud laughed, a pony with a streaked pink and green mane standing next to her looking increasingly nervous. “Thought I’d walk over and say hello.”

“You have,” Spray said, turning his back on her.

“Oh, come now, Spray,” Coral said. “Who is this pony?”

“Who indeed?” Cloud’s look had become sly, almost predatory after seeing Coral. Tonight might have a more interesting ending that I thought it would.

“Coral,” Spray said patiently, “my ever loving fiancee, this is my cousin Cloud.”

Cloud like a little uncomfortable when the magic word fiancee was spoken. Oh yes, Spray thought, relishing Cloud’s discomfort at trying to seduce a pony who would in a matter of months become kin. Banging (to use her vernacular) was strictly out of bounds.

“Well...you won the jackpot,” Cloud said. Then she turned to her cousin and sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“About what?”

“I realize my stunt at West Hoof might have knocked over some dominos I didn’t realize were stacked,” Cloud explained. “And I am sorry for the damage...extending to you.”

“It’s fine,” Spray said. After a moment he gathered enough strength to compose himself. He owed it to Cloud. Yes, she exacerbated a tense situation, but she did not cause it, and everything (albeit slowly) worked out in the end.

Four years at Art School had passed quickly. He met Coral and found work throughout Equestria. Projects that had been well received in the artistic community. Most of the clan had moved in from their initial hostility. They had dropped their nagging little suggestions to help out on their side projects. Some members were not present tonight, citing obligations, appointments and responsibilities.

Well, Thunder thought, that was their loss.

If there was one thing the clan was good at, celebrating their accomplishments was it. Spray would never fit in with his family, he understood on some level, but as long as whatever he did brought some form of glory to his family, it would be all right.

“Well now!”

Thunder Kicker came over. He smiled broadly. Two other guard ponies, their ceremonial armour chafing and restrictive, followed.

“Coral, this is my Uncle Thunder.”

Thunder gave Coral a respectful nuzzle.

“You’ve found a very worthy colt,” Thunder said. She blushed.

“Thank you,” Coral said. Coral had only met Spray’s parents and siblings so far. They were very nice and very eager to meet her. The reputation of the only pony to have escaped the Kicker’s family’s traditional obligations had made them very eager to welcome such a wonderful filly into their family.

“Are these some distant relation?” Coral pointed in the direction of Mace and Pinion.

Thunder sighed. “They’re my right hoof ponies,” he explained. “I tend to keep them close by.”

Mace and Pinion fidgeted. “Never liked these wine and stinky cheese events,” Mace muttered. “Couldn’t they have at least one pizza or something?”

Thunder glared at him. Mace sheepishly backed off.

No Ursa Majors had descended upon Fillydelphia, nor griffon hordes, nor packs of vicious dragons. Thunder had not needed to stand strong, stare deep into the eyes of Mace and Pinion, and order them to make the supreme sacrifice for Equestria. More’s the pity.

“It is so good to see you,” Thunder said. “And it will be good to see you at Fort Lancer with Mrs. Twilight Velvet.”

The mare was standing with her son, the captain of the Royal Guard, who was standing chatting with his sister. One of Equestria’s most popular authors, looking ideas for her next book.

Spray laughed. “You act is if I’m one of your guards!”

“For two months you will be,” Thunder said. They laughed.

“Seriously,” Spray replied, “I am looking forwards to embedding with you.”

“It’s not the glamorous side of the guard, I’ll admit, and we’re certainly looking forwards to getting some commemoration. The Long Patrol could use some romance, anyways.”

The idea had come to Spray while he was finishing this painting. He had spent a goodly amount of time commemorating his family’s past. Not that he had ever regretted his decision to abandon West Hoof, far from it.

Thunder had grown exasperated with the Fillydelphia Gendarmerie. He wanted to be in the field again, and the Long Patrol, while hardly the most glamourous assignment, was perpetually short of ponies to serve as commanding officers. Spray owed Thunder so much during those days when he stood on shaky ground with his family. Commemorating his time at the fringes of Equestria was the best way he could think of repaying his debt.

The Long Patrol “recruited” from plenty from the Equestrian Royal Guard. However, one of Guard Captain Shining Armour’s priorities had been to increase the numbers and, above everything else, the quality of the ponies who would have elected to serve in the guard. Sending writers and artists to glamorize the branch had been one of his brainstorms.

“...pansy wannabe,” Herald growled as he walked past.

“Herald!” Thunder barked. “You’ve met Coral? Spray’s fiance?”

Herald came over, a charming smile on his face. His muzzle was grey, clearly worn. “Very delighted, my dear.”

Coral nodded. She smiled politely for Herald, whose focus fell on Spray.

“I do wish that you had considered one of our family’s more...dedicated stallions.”

“Herald,” Thunder said calmly, “we are leaving this behind us. At any rate, you must admit he turned out a lot better than Cloud did.”

Herald locked eyes with Cloud. She did not appear repentant, or appear to owe Herald anything.

Herald grumbled in reluctant agreement. “Perhaps. I do wish, though, that when it came to current events Spray would fall more in line with his family. Spray seems to think we should concede half the kingdom to the Silver nation.”

“That’s not what I meant, uncle,” Spray grumbled. He had been asked (an out of place thing to have been asked, but it was not a high quality interview anyway) what he had thought about the recent border dispute. It was a long standing dispute, threatening to boil over into open war, as it did every twenty years like clockwork. It would have been unwise to mention what he really felt, which he endured bitterly. Maybe we shouldn’t treat every pony staggering in from the Silver nation as the enemy, or have spent so many millions of bits on the West Desert Beam.

“Oh? Please explain what you did mean?”

“I merely stated that I wished that Equestria and the Silver Nation reconcile their differences peacefully,” Spray replied. “Nothing more.”

“The entire family hopes for that, Herald,” Thunder added.

“Well, if you weren’t going to follow in your ancestor’s footsteps, I do wish that you would have at least agreed with your family’s sense of priority and...”

“Noted, Herald,” Thunder said. His eyes narrowed; a Kicker-on-Kicker argument was notorious for getting quite heated. This was not the occasion where it would be tolerated.

“Very well. As you were, Thunder. Coral. Spray.”

Herald stormed off. Thunder weakly smiled. “Every family has a grump,” he said.

“It’s all right,” Coral said. “I understand.”

“You’ll get used to us in good time, my dear,” Thunder said, nuzzling Coral one last time before he walked away. Thunder whispered into Spray’s ear: “All the family is asking for is one new Guard cadet. One.”

“Yes uncle,” Spray said.

“One.”

“I’m sorry,” Spray said when Thunder had moved out of earshot. “I figured everypony would have gotten over it by now.”

“Well,” Coral said, moving in close, her voice lowering to a seductive whisper, “at least I have the most wonderful stallion in the family.”

Celestia was moving to the dias to speak. Music died down; conversation plummeted to a whisper. The princess cleared her throat and began to speak.

“About time! I was getting tired of this fancy-prancy....”

“Rainbow!” hissed Celestia’s protege.

“Fillies and Gentlecolts,” Celestia said, “we are gathered here in commemoration of the Kicker family’s millenium long service to Equestria. Service that has taken many forms, be it in defence of the realm....”

Every pony in ceremonial armour smiled. It looked like a sea of shimmering gold armour from where Celestia stood.

“....weather manipulation....”

“PONYVILLE! WOOOO! REPRESENT!” Blossomforth facehoofed, her face turning a shade of red.

“....or through their creative talents...”

Coral nuzzled Spray, who laughed.

“Tonight, we proudly present, in tribute to the Kicker family’s long and proud service for crown and country.....”

Celestia’s horn glimmered as she raised the veil of the painting. The ponies applauded.

“Marvelous! Simply resplendent!” said the blonde maned aristocrat, the room’s unspoken consensus being that he would have said the exact same thing if Spray had only used the colour yellow and painted with the brush up his nose.

“Yes,” Celestia agreed, “a simply superb work!”

The ponies applauded as Spray bowed his head in thanks.

The tentative title of the work was The Mountain Watch. It was a guard pony of the post-Luna era, standing resolutely on a mountain, unfolding beneath him the land that he was protecting. His posture, the wind rippling the cape draped over him, the grim look on his face...hopefully any of his relatives skeptical about his life choices would have been won over by now.

The Kicker clan gathered around the painting. Skeptics may not have been won over, but concerns were ameliorated. At least this was a worthy tribute, which was the best they could have hoped for. Uncle Hammer detached himself, looking around for his nephew.

“Spray?”

“Right here,” Spray said.

Hammer Kicker came over, smiling. “Spray? I can’t say I’m much of an art fan, but I’m really pleased with how this turned out.”

“Thank you.”

“You would have made a most fantastic guard!”

Instantly Hammer caught his mistake. That was the Kicker clan’s highest praise for anypony not fortunate enough to be a member of their ranks. Hammer smiled, trying to repair the damage he was certain he had done to Spray’s respect for his family.

“I mean...sorry. Like I said I’m not much of an artsy type myself...”

“It’s all right,” Spray said pleasantly. Best to let the matter drop, and to let Hammer escape with a smidge of his honour intact. He meant well.

Hammer shuffled off, disappearing into the family throng. Every member of the Kicker clan blended together into one shimmering golden metallic mass, everyone except Spray, standing a few strides away. Family members detached themselves from the mass to come congratulate him. One by one them came over, and Spray smiled and returned the kind words with a, “Thank you.”

The night passed and eventually the ponies began to drift away. Some of them could only swing three day’s leave. The Elements of Harmony lingered, enjoying the painting to varying degrees. Magic was engrossed in it; Honesty said, “Oh, it’s fine, but....” Loyalty spent much of her time on her head, as if that vantage point would change her opinion of it. Eventually they too went back to their quarters.

Coral rested her head on Spray’s side. “Take me home,” she purred.

“Yes ma’am.”

The princesses nodded as they left the room. “Simply wonderful,” Celestia said.

“Thank you, your highness.”

Spray and Coral walked out into the Canterlot evening towards their waiting carriage. Normally the Kicker family would have scorned such a luxury, but Celestia had insisted. Coral nestled against Spray, who watched his family disperse, some beginning to struggle out of their golden armour. Some foals, long past their bedtimes, began to fuss or play to the reproaches of their fatigued parents.

“We’re going to bed...calm down, settle down...get in the carriage, please.”

Spray had remembered being dragged to boring guard formations and parades, when there were not so much speeches as speakers manipulating air with their voices. It afforded him a moment of sympathy for when he dragged his parents or whatever relative he could con into attending a showing or visiting a gallery.

Somehow, he felt more certain that two months at Fort Lancer would be ideal. Maybe afterwards they would realize he was part of the family, and maybe he could actually understand what went on in their heads.

3

It was anything but a comfortable seat. Wedged next to crates full of provisions and weapons, it was, Spray admitted, much superior than riding in the troop cars. “Thanks,” he said.

Lieutenant Cherry Beach nodded, disappearing behind him. Not the most polite or talkative of ponies but the Long Patrol never did attract the congenial type. Spray dropped his saddlebags, trying to find a nice home for them.

It had been three weeks since the unveiling. Since then Spray had slowly been gathering the various accoutrements he would need: sun screen, a canteen, and all the rest. A Kicker had loaned him the floppy sun hat he would be wearing whenever he had gone outside. The night before he had laid it all on a blanket, carefully triple checking that he had everything that he needed.

Coral had laughed, saying it was like he was joining the guard. Well, perhaps somepony in the extended Kicker clan would be happy that the habits he had learned during his truncated time at West Hoof was rubbing off, if only a little.

Oh, how he missed Coral. It had been about an hour and a half since they had parted. She had accompanied him to the Manehatten train station, nuzzling him one last time before they parted. She asked him to stay safe; he promised he would.

“Excuse me...Spray Kicker?”

He turned to see a light coloured unicorn mare. She had a confused expression on her face. No doubt she hadn’t expected her seat to be in a supply car.

“Yes?”

“I’m Twilight Velvet. I’m sorry, we didn’t meet at the exhibition. I had hoped to speak to you...”

They made a clumsy hoofbump.

“Quite all right,” Spray said. “I must admit that I’m a fan myself. Your Crystal Mountain series is excellent. What did San Serif call them: like Daring Do, only for ponies with a brain?”

Velvet laughed. “San Serif never did pull his punches.”

The train began slowly to shift forwards. They hurried into their seats before the acceleration slammed them back. Jump seats would be an...interesting way to make the painfully long trip, but preferably to being wedged in one of the crowded troop cars. Good Celestia, the smell alone would be overpowering.

“Trust me: it’s going to be a lot nicer here than in the troop cars,” Spray said.

“By experience?” Velvet asked, eyes suddenly flashing with interest.

“Reputation.”

Without windows it was hard to imagine where they were or how much time passed. Without the scenery to pass by it would become harder to determine where they were. Once the heat rose, it would become easier to figure out how close they were getting to Fort Lancer.

“Will this be your first time to Fort Lancer?” asked Velvet.

“Yes,” Spray said. Velvet looked surprised, but then not everypony understood the background of...the episode. “I never graduated from West Hoof.”

Velvet looked surprised. There was a Kicker over in Ponyville on the weather team, but she thought that was the only one who had walked away from the family’s renowned destiny. A look of sympathy unfolded in her eyes.

“I can relate,” she explained. “I never did finish that dissertation.”

“Why not?”

“My first novel hit the Manehatten Times Bestseller list. My master’s thesis did not.”

“You managed a thesis and a novel at the same time?” Spray was impressed.

“I needed something to do on the long train rides between sources of research,” Velvet explained. “Besides, you don’t find time for the things you love, you make time for them.”

Spray nodded in agreement. Could he have pursued art and being a Kicker at the same time? Doubtful. Too many demands would have been made on his time. It would have been like drowning from the inside out.

Granted, other members of his family had their hobbies, but whenever a conversation was raised the topic was one of two things: the guard or money. As a child he had raced to favourite relatives with drawings, and delighted in their praise; but the older he got, the more the praise dropped off until he received only a token reply when he passed his sketchbook around. After that, the next words out of their mouths would, “So, Spray, are you excited for West Hoof?”

As a foal he sincerely replied in the affirmative. All the games he had with his cousins and siblings were related in some way to the guard. Getting his cutie mark after displaying an exceptional command of colour had been a complication but his parents took it in stride. He could be more than one thing, he had been assured. For a time he had believed that.

“I must ask: who was that lovely young filly you were with at the exhibition?”

“Coral,” Spray explained. “My fiancee.”

“Congratulations! When is the big day?”

“Next spring, we’re hoping,” Spray said.

“Enjoy the time before you have foals!” Velvet laughed.

Coral hadn’t raised the topic of foals, since they expected the first few years of their marriage to be spent devoted to their craft. Still, at some point Spray did hope to have the joy of teaching his foal about composition, colours. Share his passion and his skills, and hope to one day be standing with one of Equestria’s next great artists.

Give him the attention you never fully received. It was a wicked thought and it shamed Spray to think it. He shook his head, trying to encourage better thoughts to take refuge in his mind.

“Well,” Spray said, “I hope to do as well as the mother of the princess’ personal protege and the captain of the guard.”

Velvet sighed in pride. “Twilight is quite a hooffull and Shiny...oh my, what a rambunctious little colt he was. Mercy, where did the time go?”

They sat for a moment in silence. Enough time for energy to be regained, and to intelligently decide what direction that the conversation would take.

“Why are you coming to Fort Lancer?” asked Spray.

Velvet paused for a moment of thought. “I’ve always wanted to understand what Shining Armour goes through.”

“I mean,” she blushed, “our Shiny is our first. The first in our immediate family, I mean.”

Velvet shook her head as she considered the formidable writer’s block she had been wrestling with for several months. The pressure to write was turning from irritation to source of madness. Thank goodness Night Light understood. With Twilight and Shiny out of the house and her husband granting her alone time, time spent solely staring at a blank piece of paper hoping the universe would spare her the effort and fill the page for her, she was beginning to feel desperate. She did not take being desperate well.

“I just want to write about the sacrifices ponies are making here and now. I’ve written about ponies who lived long ago, in different times. I want to write about ponies having adventures today.”

As a foal, with his friends or Twilight, Shiny reenacted the great battles of Equestrian history in their backyard. He did go through phases where he declared that he wanted to be a carpenter, a teacher, an alligator wrestler...but it was to no pony’s surprise what his destiny would be. The day he got his cutie mark was one of the proudest in Shiny’s life.

If any pony was ever destined to be captain of the guard, it was her Shiny. If his destiny lay with following his family’s path, he would have been a scholar to rival Twilight. Velvet knew this deep in her heart.

“This was something Shiny suggested. And I hadn’t been on a good writer’s trip since Shiny was born,” she said. “I’ve miss them so much...and I’ve learned I’m a lot older than those days, sorry to say.”

With her foals now involved in their own lives Velvet could get a smidgen of hers back. It almost felt like she was young again, and at times she had eager to get back into old habits, though with her husband frequently busy with his position at Canterlot University’s astronomy department, she was reminded that time had unfortunately passed.

“I just want to paint,” Spray said. “I feel like I have so many masterpieces inside me wanting to get out.”

“Enjoy that feeling,” Velvet said, “for as long as you possible can. I’m sure Fort Lancer will be constructive for the pair of us.”

“Just as long as you can stand large, belligerent, stupid stallions,” Spray said.

Velvet raised a knowing eye. “My dear,” she slyly said, “you’re looking at a mare who used to challenge gigantic hoofball players to cider drinking contests...and never once did I slide beneath the table.”

The moon had been raised a long, long time before the train arrived at Fort Lancer. It slammed to a halt; Velvet and Kicker heard the screaming of the Lieutenant ponies and the organized stampede off of the train by the enlisted. They hurried to get out before the unicorns dispatched to unload the train carried them off by mistake.

Velvet had studied the Silver nation back when she was younger. It fascinated her; it fascinated most ponies. One of the smaller pony states that rubbed against a corner of Equestria, never fully Equestrian but never fully different either. It had been related to Equestria in some convoluted way only the most erudite biographer of the nobility could have understood.

Grumbling voices back in Canterlot wondered why Celestia hadn’t just annexed the Silver nation long ago. Put the poor principality out of it’s misery. Welcome it into the Equestrian fold, where it could stop their tantrums and lose that shameful nickname, “The Equine Everfree.”

Spray hadn’t asked Velvet, who mentioned at one point about being an authority on the subject, about the complicated relationship between the Silver nation and Equestria. Spray knew the broad strokes from school: there was a rich, deep and winding, vein of silver found here. Nobles clashed over land rights, and being pampered and decadent nobles, it was a long and lingering fight. Celestia had intervened, and that made them shut up for a while.

Then came Nightmare Moon. The Lunar Rebellion. Celestia had to deal with that. The Nobles continued to quarrel. Apparently, one won. He didn’t take a side for Luna or against Celestia. He didn’t want to get involved. He continued to not get involved, pretty much in any way. He had enough silver to ensure that he would not have to. He died prematurely, and there was a succession struggle. Celestia had to deal with the aftermath of the rebellion, and so long as they did not sail too close to the griffons, she did not care.

The San Palomino heat had mysteriously disappeared. What followed was a surprising coldness in the air. Thunder was standing on the platform, waiting for them.

“Spray! Mrs. Velvet!”

They saw Thunder, a unicorn at his side.“This is Olive Branch, the fort commander,” Thunder explained.

“Welcome,” Olive Branch said. “Have a good trip?”

“Rough,” Velvet said, “I forgot how rough long train trips could be.”

“Well,” Olive Branch said, “we’ll get you set up in the guest quarters quick as can be. Cherry Beach: if you would please welcome our new arrivals?”

“Sir!”

Cherry Beach marched to one end of the line of ponies, standing stiff and vision locked. He waited a second more, satisfying himself that he had their complete and undivided attention. Celestia have mercy on any who did not; for he would not.

Cherry Beach cleared his throat: “A lot of you are wondering why you decided to pick this place for your first assignment. What, did you think it would be easy? Did you think it would be fun? What were you thinking? Wanting to change your mind right now, I bet! The rest of you, you think Celestia wants you standing around Canterlot, frightening the fancy pants nobles? Well, you’re in it now! You’re not in the guard anymore----this is the Long Patrol!”

Cherry Beach pivoted on a hoof and started back the opposite way down the line of ponies. These were not Equestria’s finest. Ten years from now they would be in a tavern, sullenly hunched over a warming half-finished cider, looking up only to say, “I was in the guard once.” Not what he would have hoped for, but they would have to do.

“This is Fort Lancer. You can’t even run away from here! Miles upon miles of burning desert, and we have neighbours---veritable neighbours from Tartarus! But that’s the fun part, ‘cause you also got me! I intend to succeed where your instructors failed, and actually make soldiers out of you, Celestia as my witness!”

“Sir yes sir!”

The naive continued to stare proudly at him; the hard cases had heard it all, and their expressions had not changed. Unacceptable: there was a moral to be learned.

“Cherry Beach,” Olive Branch suggested, “perhaps Old Tom would be of some help?”

“Thank you sir!” Cherry nodded to a pony standing next to him, who disappeared for a moment. “You know what? If you’re not going to believe me, let’s have Old Tom have a crack at you!”

The pony reappeared carrying in his mouth a cloth bag. Cherry Beach’s horn glowed as he gingerly loosened the contents and held it aloft for all to see.

It was a skull of a pony.

“This,” Cherry Beach continued, a malevolent smile on his face, “is Old Tom! Found a few years ago by ponies on patrol, and don’t worry, he’s well dead. Several decades old, apparently, more than likely theirs, not ours, but who can say? So...what can you foals tell me what Old Tom means?’

Silence. Good.

“It means just one screw up, just once, and fifty years from now your empty little head is going to be passed around for the next group of morons, who are going to have the exact same look on their faces as you do! We are in Equestria insofar as there is a flag planted in the ground declaring it to be Equestria! However, it definitely does things a lot differently out here! You live by it’s rules, not the rules of hard headed guard wannabes or drop outs! It will not take much for you to end up like this! Get me?”

There was a silence. Anypony who did not fully absorb the message was not one who was worth coming back, as Cherry saw it.

“Grab your bags! Get to the barracks, stow your stuff, get on the parade ground! Ten minutes! Move!”

The mob of ponies did not run, but marched as swiftly as possible. Olive Branch, Thunder Kicker and the two guests followed leisurely behind them.

“We tend to be a little dramatic around here,” Olive Branch explained for Velvet’s benefit.

Fort Lancer had long ago surrendered to the undeclared war waged by the elements. Plastered walls were peeling under the wrath of the sun and the fury of the wind, revealing the rough stone work within. It was an old frontier fort: two rings of buildings, the outermost forming the fort’s wall, encircling a parade ground inside.

Four towers were at each corner of the fort, manned at all times by a pony. It had been a long, long time since the fort experienced any siege worthy of the name. The approaching ponies could even hear the pony above them hum to himself softly.

In the distance an animal howled. Around them insects chirped. Thin beige grass grew out of cracks where the wall met the ground. Moss attempted, and failed, to cling to the walls. The ponies guarding the entrance snapped to their attention as Olive Branch and Thunder Kicker walked past.

Velvet took a moment to inspect the closest pony to her. The bard had been removed from his helmet, and the armour had been painted a dull khaki colour. The poor pony must bake when he was out in the sun.

“Isn’t that armour a little...formal for what the San Palomino is like?” Velvet asked.

“We tend to get a lot of hand-me-downs from the guard,” Olive explained. “We mend and make do.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Velvet said. “I just wish I had my notebook out so I could have gotten all that down.”

“Glad somepony is happy to be here,” a voice grumbled from behind them.

Spray looked back to find Mace and Pinion trudging along, heads lowered, dejected looks on their faces. Clearly not thrilled to be reassigned here all due to their commander’s late career fit of pique.

“Come now,” Thunder said, not deterred by their pessimism, “don’t you feel like more of a stallion?”

Ah, the sun on his face, the heat against his skin! Every minute to devoted to purpose, unlike in the gendarmerie, when too much time was eaten up with paperwork or nonsense!

“Just...what are the...enjoyments here like?” Mace asked.

“There’s a PX here, if that’s what you mean,” Thunder said.

“Great!” Mace would have killed for some Fillydelphia cheese-and-hay-steak right now, or pizza, donuts, something fried and buried under powdered sugar, and definitely cider. Lots and lots of cider, big frosty mugs full of the amber fluid!

“Yes,” Thunder elaborated. “Some chocolate, some soda, some of the various necessities, and that’s it! No luxury here!”

“But, anything more...” Mace almost whimpered.

Thunder shook his head. “Is not going to happen!”

Mace and Pinion’s jaws dropped and their eyes shrank. Truly, they were in Tartarus.

The newly arrived ponies sped out of their barracks onto the parade ground. Cherry Beach was counting; his counting grew unfairly rapid as the numbers diminished until he finally bellowed: “You’re done!”

“Sir yes sir!”

Olive guided them away from the parade ground and into the arcade of the fort’s second row of buildings. The parade ground was round, with a flagpole at it’s head, the flag reverently lowered for the night. It would be awhile before the ponies on the field hit their racks.

Olive Branch explained the pace of life at the fort, for example what the optimum time would be to avoid the crush of stallions for the showers. Don’t worry about setting your watch: you would know, instantly, what time it was. There were a few off limits areas, but otherwise the fort was as open to them as their home.

Velvet didn’t need a guided tour. Her thesis had been on the settlement of the San Paolomino desert: she had visited many frontier forts before, and studied their plans. Knew them like the back of her hoof. For politeness’ sake she kept herself in check, letting Olive Branch do the talk rather than prattle on like a little lavender unicorn she knew.

“These are your racks!”

There were two spindly beds inside, blankets rolled up at their feet.

“No, the blanket’s thickness is not so practical joke,” Thunder chuckled. “Trust me, it gets mighty nippy.”

The blankets were prickly and musty. It gave Spray bad memories of his first days at West Hoof.

“We’re in the guard now,” Velvet chuckled.

Olive Branch left the two ponies to settle in. They dropped off their bags and began to make their beds. Promises of a long day ahead of them had been made with an almost ominous tone. Still, aside from Coral, Spray had never shared a room with a mare.

“Don’t worry dear,” Velvet said as she got into bed. “I will be modest. Besides, I have had a colt. I do know what they look like.”

“Forgive me for not feeling reassured.”

“I’m married and a mother. Twenty years ago maybe...” Velvet chuckled. “Just teasing, dear, that’s all.”

Spray eased onto the thin, lump excuse for a mattress, hearing the bed groan underneath him. In another life he would have been here or somewhere like it, trying to sleep while ponies snored or shifted uncomfortably above him.

West Hoof had been a shock to him, despite everything he had been told and everything his family did to adjust his expectations. Somehow everything was a teensy bit harder for him there. Pointing it out only brought lectures from his instructors (and, frustratingly, from home) as to how Kickers were supposed to behave.

He wasn’t a guard. He was an honoured guest. Best not to think of the past or hypothetical futures. Just accept things now as they are.

It did not take long for him to fall asleep. The shortest, least satisfying sleep of his life.

4

Thunder closed his eyes and breathed in the burning dust. From atop this tower the entire desert stretched to the horizon. Granted, this was not the most coveted posting, but that didn’t matter. At the tip of the spear where he belonged, like a proper Kicker. Even if he had to put up with the inglorious reputation and exasperating composition of the Long Patrol, it was worth it to be out here.

Then again, being a Kicker meant sacrifice. If the guard wanted you to have a filly, they would have issued you one. Thunder always prided himself at his readiness to follow his duty, though from time to time he did wish he was a bit less busy. Sacrifice: the Kicker family’s cardinal attribute. But never mind that, now.

He was delighted to learn that the civilian embeds were adjusting well to the life of a pony at the distant fringes of Equestria. Both had separated into their respective tasks, Spray searching for interesting things to draw, Velvet on a fanatical hunt to know everything about everything.

Twilight Velvet had been fobbed off an a cheery young lieutenant named Bright Star. He shepherded her around the fort, and she bombarded him with questions highly esoteric and technical, for beyond the knowledge of a lieutenant who merely wanted to serve out his commission at Fort Lancer and be transferred somewhere more salubrious to his career. Poor mare almost died when she saw what passed for a library at the base: a couple of trashy novels and a small stack of well perused magazines about matters beyond the scope of her research or good taste.

If Bright Star was unavailable, some poor second lieutenant took his place. Already there were grumblings around the fort that being saddled with her was second only to a hot date with Nightmare Moon in terms of desirability.

Spray was standing close by, taking in the fort and the local environment. Studying the texture and the colour of the sand and how it changed as the wind blew over it; studying the interaction between light and shadow, and how the light flowed over the contours of the fort. Sketching like a man pony the geometry of the fort, contrasting with the geography around them.

Thunder believed he was beginning to understand how his nephew saw the world: the fort was located on the top of a small hill close to red rocky hills in the distance. Where they met the sky it appeared to be where the blue colour was at it’s most concentrated, standing in contrast to the hills and the beige sands that ran from their feet to the fort. In swatches, wherever there was a muddy spring or a trap for the infrequent rain, hideous green plants found a toehold and prospered.

Really, Thunder thought, I’d ought to be taking lessons from him. I have no doubt he would be eager to teach me.

Beneath them, in the courtyard, ponies were drilling. Drilling was constant at Fort Lancer. Trying to whip the delinquents into shape, trying to squeeze some effort out of the hopeless cases. The long patrols along the West Desert Beam would come as a welcome change to the groaning under sadistic and indifferent lieutenants. Twilight Velvet was down there, in the shelter of the arcade that ran along the outside of the courtyard, scribbling furiously. She had a very refined sense of perception, catching on to what the tortured ponies craved: good food, enough sleep, cider enough to drown in, sex good enough to cause heart failure.

They cursed their misfortune to be banished to this place---and for good reason. The San Paolomino was wild, and deeply resented any attempt to make it conform. Just as the Everfree endlessly encroached into Equestria proper, the San Paolomino stood, folded it’s arms in front of it’s chest and arrogantly challenged anypony to try and make it behave.

Still, some strategic weather manipulation was probably in order. The pegasus ponies assigned to such a task made the area around the fort bearable, but lately missions over the Dusty river had become slack, almost nonexistent. Thunder was going to have to request a change in attitude towards that. Nothing urgent, it was just cloudy today...but the San Paolomino enjoyed toying with it’s victims.

“Commander Thunder?” A pony had ran up to him, snapping to attention.

“Message, sir.”

The pony reached into his saddlebag and pulled it out with his mouth. Thunder accepted it, tearing open the envelope. His eyes narrowed.

“Olive Branch has called a meeting. Thirteen hundred.”

Thunder nodded. “Understood.”

Thunder walked over to Spray. Spray was studying the distant rolling mountains where, on still and clear nights, a tiny dot of light could be seen, mocking the marooned ponies with the remote glories of Canterlot.

“How’s it going?” Thunder asked.

“Excellent,” his nephew replied. He showed Thunder his sketchbook. Drawings of ponies at attention, bored out of their skulls, or at rest, slunk against the walls of the fort.

“Fantastic. I’m glad you’re making use of your time here.”

“Thank you, uncle,” Spray said. “How about you?”

“Superb,” Thunder said. “The situation has...changed, I’m afraid.”

Spray looked concerned. The papers were full of disapproving editorials, but not supporting all out war. The papers here were usually several days out of date, though. Goodness knew what sea change had happened in public opinion since yesterday.

“No, don’t worry,” Thunder explained. “Mostly it’s command in Canterlot deciding to make more work for us, although...the Royal Guard will be joining us.”

“That’s bad?”

Thunder shrugged. “From the outside, the Guard is a well oiled machine, all of it’s branches working in harmony. The reality is...something I glad you have been spared.”

“So, we’re not talking the Elements of Harmony, here?”

“Disharmony is our profession,” Thunder laughed. “I really hoped to make it our unit’s motto.”

Ah, those days for when he was as young as his nephew! Fillies practically throwing themselves at him...Dear Celestia, he was feeling his age. What had kept him from coming out here sooner?

“There’s a briefing later today. It’s not classified. You’re welcome to attend.”

Spray thought it over for a moment. He shrugged. He could draw everything here so many times.

“That’s the spirit,” Thunder said. “March head held high into the valley of death like a good Kicker...or at least, the gulch of stultifying boredom.”

Velvet and Spray were afterthoughts, lined against the back of the room. It felt like they were foals during a Heartswarming Eve banquet, relegated to a table far from the adults, lost in their own conversation. A large table dominated the room’s middle, and a map was tacked to the front wall. Officer ponies were lining the table, focused on Olive Branch. A few had become familiar to them---Bright Star and Star Fall. The rest were phantoms.

“Thank you for coming,” Olive Branch said.

“Hey, you owe me for interrupting my very satisfying tedium,” a pony called from the back of the table. There were some laughs.

Olive Branch chuckled. “Sorry. Pleasure before work.”

His horn glowed as a pointer raised off of the table. He pulled back the cover of the map and began to walk along the front of it.

“For the past two months, attempted incursions along the West Desert Beam have increased,” Olive explained. He dragged the pointer along the edge of a dotted black line, where a thin blue line met a jagged brown squiggle.

“As water right negotiations between Equestrian and the Silver nation are not progressing to any tangible conclusion, the Silver nation has stepped up their activity around the Dusty river valley with the intent of seizing it by force. Continued Equestrian settlement of the region would be in doubt if that happened.”

Velvet understood that the Dusty river had been settled upon as an ersatz demarcation line between Equestria and the Silver nation, in lieu of a permanent border that looked unlikely to come. On the table was a more detailed map, red flags indicating where the Long Patrol had made contact with the Silver nation’s scouts along the twenty mile long barrier.

The snows of the mountains melted and spilled down into several thinning but usable rivers. Most of the mountains, and therefore the snows, originated in Equestria. Pegasus ponies harvested water straight from the rivers or mountain lakes. Complicating matters was the local pattern of winds, which carried naturally occurring clouds from the sea inland skirting, but not covering, the Silver nation. Settlers from Equestria would create a demand to kick those clouds further into Equestrian territory---which Silver nation ponies would complain amounted to stealing what was rightfully theirs.

Which meant the Silver nation tended to react the same way as a foal would if they thought somepony was trying to steal their toys: yelling, screaming, and, if in a particularly foul mood, violence. Thank goodness Velvet’s cutie mark wasn’t in diplomacy. The Silver nation existed, apparently, to give the minister of foreign affairs ulcers.

“Fortunately, the Silver nation has not attempted to---and no doubt lacks---the willpower required to breach the West Desert Beam. A larger and continued Long Patrol presence will be required to keep it that way.”

“You are sure?” Spray asked. The ponies turned around to glance at Spray, beginning to regret opening his mouth, but it was done and his enough of a stallion to withstand the consequences.

“You have doubts?” Olive asked.

All eyes in the room fell on Spray. “Well...it’s always been one of those things that’s never sat well with me.”

“Do go on,” Olive explained. “I’m eager about what they think about the frontier’s problems in Manehatten.”

Spray sighed. “I do believe, conceptually, the whole attitude to the beam, heck to the Silver nation, is flawed.”

“Really now?” Olive collapsed the pointer.

Spray sighed. “Look, if we at least tried to manage the settler’s water needs on our side of the border more efficiently, maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess. We know there’s only so much water in the region, so maybe we should take that into account before we start handing out land grants to settlers like they were candy.”

Olive feigned a favourable impression. Spray rolled his eyes. Great, now he was a foal giving a presentation in class again.

“Furthermore,” Spray continued, “it is not very impressive we spent several million bits on a barrier that only fuels resentment between our two countries---not the least of which because it is made of sand.”

“This surprises you?” Bright Star asked from across the table.

“I prefer Equestria be protected by something a little sturdier than what I used to play with on the beach.”

“You done?” Olive asked. Spray sat back. Nopony came to his assistance, all eyes turning back to Olive Branch, the fort’s commander for better and worse.

“Well,” Olive said, “Responsibility is a two way street, and Equestria has been very patient with the utter lack of any sense of responsibility on the part of the Silver nation. In addition, the part of the San Paolomino that the West Desert Beam occupies hasn’t seen rain in over two hundred years: the compressed sand there is rock solid. The beam is anything but vulnerable.”

“The Silver nation is comprised principally of Earth ponies. They cannot affect regional weather one bit. If they would simmer down a little, we would be willing to help them, but then they start moaning about territorial sovereignty and dependence on Equestria, and start bringing up ancient history.”

Olive went back to the map on the wall. He traced the entire length of the West Desert Beam, which the Dusty river flowed through into the Silver nation.

“While Manehatten sophisticates may moan that ‘Equestria’s largest sand castle’ appears to be an extravagant expense, for fifteen years it has successfully prevented any incursion into the Dusty river valley. There are a lot more formidable---and expensive---barriers elsewhere with countries we have more favourable relations with.”

Olive smiled as wide and smugly as he could. Spray settled back into his seat, resenting Olive’s patronization.

“If I rose the sun every day, we’d have a completely different approach to the Silver nation. However, her majesty figures that as long as all they make is noise and don’t threaten to turn into an equine Westmarch or get too close to the griffons, we’re fine. Okay?”

“Fine,” Spray said, eager to make the embarrassment stop.

“Political debate over, let’s get down to brass tacks.”

Olive’s pointer slashed across the map. Black arrows and circles with the names of pony commanders were highlighted. They segmented the beam into sections.

“We are increasing patrols to inspect the fencing along the top of the beam. I do not believe we have cause to be afraid, but better safe than sorry. In addition, the Captain of the Guard himself will arrive with four hundred ponies to make a show of force. I suppose that the guard are tired of standing around, doing nothing, and now want to prove they’re stallions. Poor little things.”

The ponies lining the table chuckled.

“After they hopefully get the message, we can go back to frying to death in this wasteland in peace. The Guard will return to Canterlot, their stallion-hood reassured. Our embeds will return with stories to tell, to glorify us. We all win.”

The door creaked open. A second lieutenant stuck his head in like he was peering into a cave held by a particularly greedy and cranky dragon.

“General Olive Branch?”

“Yes?” Olive watched the colt stand at the door, indecisive about whether to come in or not. “Well? You’ve interrupted us. What do you want?”

“Weather dispatch.” The pony nosed around his message bag, trying to find the elusive document. Muttering to himself about blowing it already. Thunder felt an uncomfortable pang as memories of inconveniencing command officers returned.

“What do they want? Captain Star Fall....”

“Yes,” the colt replied cautiously, “but I was told that it needed your direct signature. See, apparently, a real lulu of a storm is developing...”

“I wasn’t aware that ‘lulu’ has been adopted as a unit of measurement.” Olive’s eyes were small, almost black, and very small, tiny as his diminishing patience. The colt seemed to shrink in terror. Thunder sighed in sympathy.

“Yes...well, it’s big, and they need to chop it in half. Half is going to the Appleoosa territory, the other half Canterlot thinks would be a good idea to kick into the Silver nation’s territory.”

“Let me see.” Olive poured through the report. Dimensions of the cloud, water carrying capacity, speed of wind...this was going to take every pegasus pony he had to work with! Did they believe that this was Cloudsdale, or somewhere where the weather bureau could draft any pegasus pony it felt like?

“Does Canterlot expect us to drop everything and deal with this?”

Wisely the colt did not answer. He was beginning to learn, that one.

Olive sighed, slashing at the orders with a quill. “Give this to Star Fall, he knows what to do now. Other than that, do what he says.”

“Sir.” The colt saluted and bolted.

Olive shook his head. “Idiots.”

“Changing our plans?” somepony asked.

“Nothing is different. I’m sending over three pegasus to help with that.”

Three seemed to be an unusually small number for a weather detail. Ideally, Olive should have been sending out a minimum of twelve to handle a natural thunderstorm. Those things got feisty.

“Three?” Thunder asked. “You sure?”

“Dust storm season is just shaping up, and we need to take care of that. One good dusting of the tracks, and we’re out of train resupply for weeks.”

“I would request a deployment of the fort’s weather squadron to the Dusty river,” Thunder said. “As well as increasing the number of routine weather patrols.”

“This isn’t Canterlot, Thunder,” Olive replied. “No need to worry about the local environment. I’ve been informed that it’ll be another three centuries before it will probably rain again around here.”

“Understood,” Thunder said, not.

“We’re not the guard. We’re used to taking things hard.”

“If you insist,” Thunder said.

“At any rate, with negotiations rapidly stalling, there has been an increased demand on Long Patrol pegasus ponies to do something about the settlers water jumping in the region. If I could spare more, I would.”

“I do hope that regional weather...” Thunder began. Olive raised a hoof to quiet him.

“Thunder,” Olive said patiently, “I’ve been in the San Paolomino going on ten years now. Trust me, there is nothing it can do to surprise me.”

Thunder sat back. Olive started passing out their personalized orders. Thunder smoldered. If the Long Patrol’s accomplishments matched it’s attitude, Equestria would not have any more enemies to fear. They would just have to worry about the patrol.

“We will be sending out the first of our enhanced patrols out tomorrow,” Olive continued. “I fully invite our embeds to take advantage of the opportunity.”

Velvet perked up. “What would this entail?”

“Go, take a peek at the beam to make sure it’s still there, poke around a bit, come back. Easy as pie. Safe as houses.”

“Sure,” Spray said. Why not? After today, getting away from these ponies was starting look like a safe move. He had already arrived with loaded preconceptions. Velvet nodded.

“Splendid!” Olive snarked. “It wouldn’t do for you to sit around and put on weight.”

“Project much, Olive?” somepony called.

“Do as I say, not as I do. Understood? Anypony else got anything to say?”

Nopony did.

“Dismissed.”

The ponies rose and shuffled out of the room. Velvet and Spray were the last to leave. She noticed Spray’s sour look on his face.

“Sorry if...”

“It’s all right,” Spray said. Brought it on himself by opening his mouth. Maybe the next day would be better.

5

“So,” Pinion said, “this mare?”

“Yeah?’

“Plot like...” Pinion gestured to indicate it’s length. Mace smiled.

“I swear...made me feel like I was the one in heat.”

“I gotta hit that place up next leave,” Pinion said.

The two ponies laughed. Some of the gear began to spill out of their saddlebags. Spray shook his head. West Hoof freshpony chuckleheads. Give us your stallions and we’ll give you back foals. Velvet was looking uncomfortable. Her favourite hat, purple and white, matching her mane, dwarfed her head, making her seem out of place amongst these stallions. A full day with these two was looking less desirable by the minute.

“I was on my eighth cider,” Pinion continued. “Otherwise...me and her...”

“Would part, your carnal desires unfulfilled,” Spray replied. He did not look up from packing his saddlebags.

Pinion frowned. “Who asked you?”

“Well,” Spray said, “you’re not exactly keeping your opinions private.”

“I’m not going to be lectured by a guard washout,” Pinion huffed.

Bright Star stuck his head between the two. “I’m not. Want to talk about it?”

The two ponies began to throw their gear into their sacks. Bright Star called over to Thunder: “These two are going to be fun, right?”

“They’ve been brained by the idiot ball, but otherwise have a sense of self preservation to them,” Thunder replied.

Mace and Pinion looked sadly at their commanding officer. After several who days of warm soda and warm to the touch chocolate, they had gotten desperate. Gathering several apples at mess, bruised and almost pulpy, and secreting whatever other ingredients they had needed, they made a brew that they hoped would be transformed into serviceable alcohol.

Which, itself, would not be a problem, if they had not decided Thunder’s office met the ideal conditions for a place for their mixture to ferment. His desk specifically, his top drawer especially. He got odd looks from his secretary over that. Well, Discord finds work for idle hooves.

“Good,” Bright Star said, gesturing with his neck in the direction of Spray and Velvet. “I’ve already got a couple of foals to worry about.”

It would be an hour before Celestia raised the sun. If there was one thing Celestia could do to guarantee Velvet’s undying loyalty as a subject, it would be to keep the sun well below the horizon. Three hours march to the Beam, three or four three, three hours back...her back and hooves were aching already.

For Spray, the opportunity to get into the wild was highly tempting. The red and orange rocks, scoured by winds for centuries into unique shapes. He was practically drooling over the chance to see the interplay between shape and colour up close. Just a shame he had to pack light. He would have lugged a whole easel if he could have gotten away with it.

The San Paolomino was a tremendous opportunity for the young artist. It was as gorgeous as it was friendless. The only thing that he believed he lacked was Coral. She was an unequaled landscape artists, and would have died of joy to have been out here.

He had tucked Coral’s photo into the brim of his hat. Bright Star shook his head. Whoever had gotten it for him had misjudged the smallness of Spray’s head, so it looked like a saucer of fabric was nesting on his head.

“How do I look?” Spray asked, finally giving Bright Star to come out and say it.

“Like a twit. It’ll work, though.”

Velvet had just to laugh. She’d feel ashamed of herself later.

Two other guard ponies rounded out the expedition. Velvet and Spray looked out of place, with her broad hat and Spray’s civilian saddlebags. They stuck out like a sore hoof. They needed one last piece of advice before they set off. Otherwise the experience would be a lot more uncomfortable than it already was.

“Look,” Thunder explained, “just pretend you’re on a real weird nature hike.”

“We’re going on a tiger hunt, we’re going to catch a big one...” Spray began.

“At least it will be cloudy,” Velvet said, smiling when she remembered the tune from family vacations. It took being threatened with permanent cancellation of his birthday and deprivation of sweets forever to get Shiny to shut up.

“It won’t make a difference. Hopefully, we’ll have some phantom rain,” Bright Star said. “It evaporates before it hits the ground---quite fun to see.”

Phantom Rain. Spray imagined the distant hills being captured in the morning haze, the long even sand stretching up to them, making them appear both easily reachable and impossibly distant at the same time. He would have dropped everything and started painting right there if he could get away with it. It would make a good watercolour.

Bright Star glanced back to see how fast the patrol was coming together. The remaining patrol ponies lifted their burdened backs straight. The civilians looked a little shaky, but they were ready. He glanced back up at the sky, a uniform grey with dark blue in places.

“We really ought to have kicked it to the Silver’s way. They would need it more,” Bright Star said.

Thunder huffed in agreement. It would make things a lot easier around here.

Bright Star rose to his hooves and gave a shake, the various accoutrements attached to pouches and belches jangling. Nothing left behind. Good. He was ready. Therefore, they were ready.

“Patrol! Move out!”

Mace and Pinion groaned as they, standing on wobbly legs, took position at the rear of the patrol. When they had formed a reasonably straight line, Bright Star nodded and the imperfect shuffle began.

Clanking, shuffling, the line of ponies walked towards the path to the beam and, lamentably, the direction of the rising sun.

“There, my little ponies,” Bright Star said, pointing with his hoof, “is the West Desert Beam.”

They had come over a small rise. After the sun came out the temperature exploded and every second they marched seemed magnified tenfold. They broke for water and food twice. Spray remembered being with the scouts when he was younger and, were it not for the monotonous scenery and blistering heat, he could feel those old days. Trying to ignore the scoutmaster’s bellowings to keep up, fooling around in the trees instead.

It had been not as bad as he had feared. Bright Star fearlessly answered every question posed to him. A few smaller outposts had been left to fall into ruin, wood supports now lying in a brittle heap. Back in the day the area around Fort Lancer had been difficult to patrol and ambushes were common. Now, with the beam in place, he walked with an arrogance not found outside of Canterlot palace gardens.

Spray came to the edge of the rise. The beam was functional, purposeful---it was ugly. Hideous, designed with rulers and straight edges. It did not blend in well with the warped and twisted landscape one bit, like order was unsuccessfully trying to assert itself over the chaos of the desert, and the desert cared not one wit. There was a drawing in that.

The beam stretched ahead, all twenty miles of it. Along the top, sixty feet off the desert floor, and the bottom ran fences that ran perpendicular to it. Half a mile thick, they were not high enough to see over it’s top from this point. Bright Star pulled out a set of binoculars, scouting along the top of the beam to see if anypony had gotten brave and tried to break through.

As always, the fence appeared unbroken. It was like checking on a relative you were half afraid was going to pass away in minutes if you didn’t see them, and, relieved they were still with you, wondering what the point was in coming all this way just to make sure he was still alive.

So far the only things of note where the birds circling overhead on long broad wings. Something scampered from the shade of one rock to another. Other than that a pony could be forgiven for thinking themselves as the only creature for miles and miles. Quite a liberating feeling, as terrifying as it was at the same time.

“Take a moment,” Bright Star said. “We’re going to take a few minutes ourselves.”

The Long Patrol ponies fanned out, binoculars at the ready. They enjoyed an excellent view of this length of the beam. They muttered to themselves, making notes on log books and maps. They muttered a bizarre creole of numbers and acronyms to each other. Mace and Pinion found a boulder large enough to offer a tiny speck of shadow and monopolized it. Three hours of marching had been murder on their precious hooves.

“What are you looking for?” Velvet asked.

Bright Star shrugged. “Any sign of attempted breaches, like poles being ripped out or gaps in the fence. The beam is steeper on the opposing side, making it harder for any hypothetical intruder to break through to our side.”

“If you see any?”

“Check to make sure it’s the result of external intrusion. If not, patch as required and move on.”

Spray sat and fished out his sketchbook. He wished had the opportunity to bring his watercolours. A shame he couldn’t linger and watch it during twilight, when it might even become picturesque. Velvet stood in place, staring at the beam and trying to imagine what lay beyond. On the other side of that beam was another world. A world where ponies ruled themselves and endured what nature blindly threw at them willingly. Unwilling to let Equestria infringe upon them.

Goodness knew how many books had been written (Velvet knew: she read them all) about the relationship between Equestria and the Silver nation, which family of nobles was responsible for what events that led to the present arrangement. In nice cool libraries it was palatable to pour through old books looking for clues; out here, it just was.

An indigestible lump of the time before Harmony! Distrustful of anypony other themselves, unbowed to alicorns or anything else, wedded to their stubborn pride. After the beam was leagues and leagues of burning sand, same as on this side, but beyond that, what was there? Every account she had heard was secondhoof.

“Ever been?” asked Bright Star.

Velvet shook her head. “When I was a student the domestic situation there was too unstable. Sometimes I had hoped to be more of a Daring Do and just venture out there, but I was not that brave a pony.”

She could remember what her mother told her when she half-heartedly proposed an expedition: You want to get thrown into slavery? They’re worse than Diamond Dogs there! Night Light had seemed game for it. He always seemed game for their nights out, too, and he always carried her out of the tavern singing her head off. Twilight not taking after her mother in that respect was definitely a good thing.

Bright Star chuckled. “Well, we can pretend to make it across when we get up close to the innermost fence.”

“We’re going down there?” Spray asked. The rise overlooked a knotty region of smooth stone, spilling up to the base of the beam.

Bright Star nodded. “Of course. We need to check how badly the wind has mangled the wire. Replace it where applicable.”

“Get rid of the dead things,” one of the other guard ponies called.

“That too!” Bright Star laughed.

A couple of ponies were carrying the wheel of wire between them. It was a delicate process descending the path with the wheel dancing in the air. Each hooffall was carefully measured so neither the ponies or the wire would fall.

Bright Star guided them down to where the ridge began to slope down, becoming less sandy and more rocky. “Can you believe this was carved by water?” he asked.

“Not quite,” Spray said. He could understand it but not believe it. Clearly, the stone was smooth, as if a giant cloth had gently brushed it into it’s current shape. Spray had never gotten the hang of working with clay, but it looked like a pony had shaped the landscape into a twisting nest of rock.

“Check the pebbles.”

They were round and smooth. Spray kicked some down the slope. If there was a lake nearby he would have tried to skip one. A fine film of dust obscured their natural green-black shade.

Spray nodded. “That’s out of place.”

“Well, this was a riverbed at one point,” he explained. “Long ago. Before Celestia even.”

That was inconceivable. Celestia was ancient, eternal. Nothing happened that she did not control or was at least privy to. Anything beyond their knowledge or control was blasphemous.

“That sounds so incredible,” Spray said.

“The San Paolomino,” Bright Star said, “does things only one way: it’s way.”

They reached the wire fence lining the bottom of the beam. Much of it had been turned red by the air and the dust. Other than that, as promised, it was unbroken. The ponies started to spread out. The ponies assigned to replacing the wire set the wheel of fresh grey wire down, got out the appropriate tools and began to work.

It made Spray feel a little foolish for having relatively little to do. Making small talk with whoever wanted to make it seemed like the only logical thing to do.

“Coral and I have been talking about an outdoorsy honeymoon,” Spray said, throwing it out there.

“Come again?” Bright Star asked.

“My fiancee,” Spray explained.

“Really now? Where?”

“Vanhoover, we’ve been talking.”

“Not Canterlot?” Bright Star asked.

Spray shook his head. “Too many childhood memories of long, boring family events in the tackiest city in Equestria.”

Bright Star laughed. “The first great disappointment of being married,” he said.

From this vantage point the beam seemed to run to the horizon, where it met where the ground rose again. The uniform metal tangle of the fence, like some absurd plant, stretched with it. Spray nodded, beginning to capture the sight on paper.

He noticed a tiny wet drop had formed at the upper right of the page. Spray paused for a moment and hummed in confusion. It was cool and almost shady here. He wasn’t that sweaty, was he? Then another appeared. Another. He felt another strike his hoof.

The ground had been pitted by a drop. Another joined it, and then another. It took a minute for the realization to set in. Rain.

For the first time in two centuries, nature had rolled the clock back to zero.

6

For a moment they froze and enjoyed the lost marvel of fresh rain coursing across their faces. It was a relief, a relief that expired when they noticed the trickle of water running around their hooves was growing faster and thicker by the second.

“Three hundred years, he said. Lucky us,” Spray muttered. Velvet was pinning her hat to her head while he fumbled to get his sketchbook away before it was ruined.

The rain wasn’t slowing down. Quite the opposite, it was picking up speed, turning from drizzle to shower. Instinct, training and experience all kicked at once for Bright Star. A gut feeling clicked into action.

“Everypony to higher ground!” he yelled. “Now!”

Everypony around him looked confused. This wasn’t the time to get curious. Really not in the mood for a geography lesson.

“We’re in a flood plain! The water is going to be on top of us, fast!”

Velvet’s face froze in an expression of sudden fear; Spray looked confused. Bright Star wanted to scream. Were they being foolish? Now was not the time to get cute. Could they not see the water rather pointedly not being absorbed by the rock?

“That bad?” Pinion squeaked.

“Very much yes.” Bright Star’s glance backwards convinced Pinion he knew what he was talking about. “It’s not pretty.”

His first posting had been somewhere near Appleoosa. The inexperienced ponies trying their hoof at farming hadn’t been careful with the weather they were handling, and completely disregarded the uniqueness of their terrain. A wall of water had slammed into a small farm, wiping out their families in the process. It had been unpleasant to see.

“Drop your bags! We need to move!”

Reluctantly, the ponies shrugged off their saddlebags. Five minutes ago it would have been a relief to ditch them. Now the concern was with parting with the water and other sundries required for survival in the desert. Mace and Pinion, formerly bringing up the rear, now turned and the whole line followed them.

“Move!”

The ponies scrambled back the way they came, made difficult now that the trickle of water was quickly becoming a stream. A stream that was growing steadily into a torrent. The water, black with sand, was almost knee high now. Bright Star cursed; they weren’t going to make it all the way back up. They needed to improvise, fast.

There: it was high enough to be above the floor to be useful. It didn’t look the last time that the water flowed through that it reached that high. It would have to do.

“That ledge! Get on it, now!”

Mace leapt and grabbed holding, pulling Pinion up. They turned their attention to the civilians. Spray darted up, ready with a hoof to pull the other ponies up.

“Quickly!” Bright Star called. “Any second now...”

At that moment they heard a tremendous roar. All heads turned to the bend up ahead, where a wall of filthy brown water rounded the corner. It struck two of the ponies head on; they were gone before they could make a sound. Bright Star leapt and managed to find a loose purchase on the rock. The water struck him hard, but did not dislodge him.

Velvet was on him almost instantly. Her hooves couldn’t reach him so she tried to use her magic to levitate him. It was a tremendous fight against the strong current. For a moment Bright Star budged closer, inch by inch. Slow going, but he found he could wriggle against the rock. It hurt, the abrasive surface digging into his fur and his skin, but it was doable.

For a moment it looked like she was winning. Bright Star fought the current and the slippery rock, coming to the point where Velvet and his hooves could meet. One more reach forwards, and he could make it. If she only had the proper vantage point she could save him. She struggled to muster all the magic she could.

For one brief moment, it looked like he was going to survive. One brief, cruel minute.

Suddenly the rock shifted by half a foot. It was a sudden jolt, knocking Bright Star back almost all the way he had climbed up. Velvet would have tumbled forwards if Spray hadn’t grabbed her at the last moment. Her concentration lost, her magic field faded and the current grabbed hold of Bright Star. He managed to scrape against the rock long enough to lock himself in place temporarily, but the pressure of the water was greater than what strength remained in his body.

Velvet grabbed him again with her magic. Starting from scratch, it would take a lot more energy to haul him back up. Worst, underneath his hooves Spray could feel the rock he was standing on beginning to shift. The rock had been hanging several inches off of the ledge, and now was becoming loose. He could not bring himself to speak aloud the dark thoughts he was having.

This was not going to end well. The only question in his mind was whether they were going to join the ponies who had already died. Could Velvet realize it before she doomed herself?

“Let me go!” Bright Star called. The look of a guard fled his eyes as he realized what he had asked of them. Slowly he began to slide off of the slippery rock. By this point it was too wet to find a good grab. Velvet leaned forwards, hoping with one last thrust of effort she could land him.

“Hang on!” she called. “We’re almost there.”

Eagerly she thrust herself forwards, the rock beginning to roll with the added strain.

“Watch it!” Spray yelled. He wrapped his forelegs around Velvet’s middle. She made one last stretch to reach Bright Star, who was hit with a sudden surge of water. Bright Star’s words were drowned out by the water shoving him off of the rock and into the current.

In a second he had disappeared. There one minute. Gone now.

Velvet froze in horror. This hadn’t been what she wanted at all. Was it her fault, had her magic simply not been enough or had she not wanted to save him badly enough? Had she failed as a pony?

“I...” she said, then closed her mouth. Anything more she said would feel inappropriate.

“Not your fault,” Spray said. “Come on.”

He gently began to pull her back. Slowly sense returned to her. She began to push backwards with her hooves, resigned to today’s unpleasant outcome.

There was another sudden shift. Spray’s grip was quick and fast enough to keep Velvet from sliding back into the fray.

“Whoa!” Velvet cried.

“I’ve got you,” Spray said. The rock unpleasantly teetered for a second, but remained in place. If it could just stay stable another minute, they’d be safe. The rock was beginning to wiggle like a loose tooth, and it wouldn’t take much to knock it out of place.

Wait...aren’t there two other ponies with us?

“Help...” Spray began, noticing Mace and Pinion were locked in place. If it couldn’t support two ponies, would it support them too? Would it be worth it? A difficult logic to fault.

Beneath them the rock cracked and slid into the water. With a sudden lurch it tobogganed into the fray. Velvet yelped. The water roared up to greet them.

Wet weather gear had gone from collecting dust in a forgotten corner of the base’s stores into the most valuable commodity the fort had. Naturally, there was not enough to go around, and became essential to wear them even indoors. The heat strained wood, long deprived of moisture, were bloated and leaked water everywhere like an over soaked sponge.

The parade ground was a mess, while the fort’s ponies acted disciplined and professional, inside the general feeling was that the end of the world had come. There were not gutters or drains; rain just sloughed off the roofs of the buildings. Somepony frantically tried to lower the flag, flapping madly in the wind, tending to the insult to his nation’s pride.

The majority had assembled before the fort arsenal. Their officers were passing out weapons. With great purpose the throng grabbed their spears, as it was a task, and therefore purposeful, and stopped the yelling besides. At some point after it ended they would have to move and move fast. Where to had not yet been established. It gave some order and the ghost of a sense of control over the chaos.

Thunder Kicker was moving with a purpose.

An hour ago the storm moved into the area around Fort Lancer. At first the few drops of rain were a curiosity, especially for ponies raised where weather was meticulously maintained. Then the rain fell thicker and harder, and immediately thoughts had turned to the beam. It took a few minutes to remember there were ponies patrolling along the length of the beam.

A pony had gone to throw out a bucket of water when Thunder stormed into the briefing room. Olive was hunched over a map. A stream of water was falling into a bucket on the tabletop. Olive was concentrating on the beam. He turned to a pony standing next to him. “Right, minute this stops I want the beam manned...”

He noticed Thunder standing next to him. Olive nodded at the subordinate pony, who scurried off.

“Unexpected gust at sea knocked a storm inland,” he explained without looking up. The revised weather chart for their area was on the table. According to the time stamps it arrived two hours late.

“Unacceptable,” Thunder said. “Where was the weather squad handling that?”

“Came late. Preoccupied.”

“With what?”

“Dust storms along the train track: we needed to keep that under wraps to ensure routine train service.”

Thunder could have laughed. All the stupid crap to worry about, and Olive chose that as being more important? Seven million bits, and now the security of the country, was eroding quickly.

“Why weren’t they watch the ocean pass?”

“Rogue gusts happen. This isn’t Cloudsdale. We don’t always get a lot of lead time as to what the weather is going to do around here. We certainly don’t control it.”

Thunder shook his head. “Just stupid.”

“San Paolomino does what the San Paolomino does. We play by it’s rules, not Equestria’s.”

Whatever happened to not getting surprised by anything anymore? Getting mad didn’t fix the problem: fixing the problem fixed the problem. Thunder turned his attention to the map. Judging by how hard it was raining, the beam was now their greatest concern.

“What’s the status with the beam?”

Olive pointed at the winding blue ribbon on the map. “Preliminary reports suggest that the Dusty river has burst it’s banks a mile in both directions. We can expect at least a three mile gap in the beam.”

Then he highlighted a six mile stretch of the lake. “This region is the most problematic,” Olive explained. “It was built over a dry lakebed.”

“That’s a third of the beam.” Thunder’s jaw almost dropped.

“We can safely assume that the lakebed has a minimum concentration of at least five feet. In all likelihood, more.”

Heading off any comment Thunder could make, words strangled in the pony’s throat, Olive highlighted a nearby section on the map. A number of brown and tan streaks tangled together like a plate of spaghetti.

“And it’s riddled with dry riverbeds and smaller creeks that have bulged since the rain started. Where it isn’t washed away, we can safely assume the structural integrity is heavily compromised.”

Great, Thunder thought. Only standing between us and them is a sixty foot tall mud pie. Let’s get it over with and put out the welcome matt right now.

Olive had been arranging green triangles at the weakest places at the map. Intelligence estimates for the numbers of Silver nation ponies on the other side of the beam. He was beginning to strategize as to where to deploy the fort’s ponies. Three questions for when help arrived: how many, how fast, and what was taking so long?

“All these regions are, of course, impassable, but once the rain stops...” Thunder said.

Olive met his eyes. “I’ve sent a courier out. We can expect Guard Captain Armour and reinforcements as soon as this lets up. All weather pegasus ponies are being directed to that end.”

At least you did something right. Thunder did not know how the public would react to the Dusty river now being in play again. The Silver nation was supposed to be loud and obnoxious, not a threat.

“What about our patrols?”

“Unknown,” Olive said. “None have reported back yet. I’ve sent one party out to check on them and the integrity of the beam. They should be back soon.”

Thunder nodded. Of course, the question of Spray’s welfare was at the forefront of his mind. Fixing the problem would bring him back, not anger or panic. Work on fixing the problem solved the problem. Problems were multiplying like rabbits right now.

“Sir, the patrol has returned...” a pony called from the door.

“Yes. Now. Do it.”

The pegasus ponies walked in, rain drenching their uniforms and fur. The lead pony snapped to attention with a salute. Olive returned it; this was a situation where such minor details were more nuisance than aid.

“Sir,” the pegasus said, “we were following the riverbed as ordered, which now is swollen with water.”

Olive nodded. “And? What’s the damage?”

The pegasus sighed. “The beam is crumbling and the top perimeter fence has already begun to lose its footing. The inner fence is swamped and useless. In short, it’s falling apart.”

You didn’t need to go in this weather to tell me that! Thunder mused.

“Silver scouts have already begun to breach the area,” the second scout pony added. “We couldn’t stay long to make a prolonged search.”

“How many?’ Olive asked.

“Six. Armed with crossbows, likely making a foraging raid.”

That was quick. Can’t say I’m surprised. We can expect a lot more Silver ponies soon, Thunder thought. They’ve never hesitated to press their advantage. Even if they lose a lot of ponies, they’ll still storm the beam.

“And our patrols?” Thunder asked. “Did you find them?”

Just by looking at the pony Thunder could tell the news wasn’t good.

“We found a body swept downriver. It was a patrol pony. No other sign of the others.”

Thunder stiffened. Well, thin as it is, there’s still hope. “What about the civilian embeds?”

“All we found was this.”

The pony produced a purple and white hat, rumpled and soggy..

7

Thunder cleared his throat. “Ready?”

The secretary nodded. He sat before a typewriter. Thunder had requested a moment to dictate letters he was hoping against hope he never had to send.

“Dear....insert names here....it is my inestimable pleasure to inform you of the death of your foal, Mace/Pinion.”

The secretary looked up. He raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me, sir?”

“Just roll with it. For too long, your son has been a blemish on the standards of honour and professionalism of the Royal Guard. Rest assured, I will not fault you for his conduct: I do not believe there is any way for anypony to consciously raise ponies as inept and uncouth as he was. I do not know what tragic circumstances produced him, but I am certain they were beyond your control.”

The secretary was typing very slowly, hoping that this was some kind of obscure test of character. Was he supposed to be loyal to his superior or disobedient? If he was, what would the consequences (or possible reward) be?

“Unfortunately, their deaths were not as agonized as I would have preferred, but we must make do with what we get. I am, with extreme joy, my name here, commanding officer of your late colt, the boob. Got all that?”

“Yes,” the secretary weakly said. All of Thunder’s words he had captured on paper. “Do you want me to read it back to you?”

“No need. Surprised?’

The secretary nodded. His eyes were wide as saucers.

“Good,” Thunder replied. “Now here’s the real challenge: find a way to make it tactful.”

Thunder strode out of the room. Dearest Celestia it felt good to finally get off of his chest. Of course, now his responsibility was to inform his family about Spray’s death, if it came to that. Exactly how he was to manage that escaped him. Kickers were used to sacrifice, including making the ultimate sacrifice for their country. But Spray, like this...

For the past six hours he had been thinking heavily of the possibility that Spray was...not going to rest with his ancestors, which he deserved, if Herald was going to still be a grump about things. He always was, but at least the rest of the family could veto his crankiness.

Coral. Oh Dear Luna, Coral. Poor filly’s heart was going to be ripped right out. Who was going to get the unenviable task of informing her? A Kicker who was a real softie in heart---who could he find in Manehatten who could have gotten the job done? Liberty Kicker? Perhaps. He had a soft spot a mile wide; hopefully he could avoid crying long enough to get the thankless job down. Thunder would write him first.

“Where is commander Olive Branch?” Thunder asked a subordinate pony.

“He is with Guard Captain Armour,” the pony said. The chariot had arrived half an hour ago, with Olive Branch taking great pains to meet him on the waterlogged parade ground and ushering him into the briefing room.

“When did he...” Thunder stormed off to the briefing room. You’re not getting away from this that easily, Olive. Thunder needed to get in before Olive successfully buttered up the captain.

Shining Armour and Olive Branch were bent over the table examining the latest photos to come in from the beam. The upper third was sectioned into four parts. “Water depth is at four feet and sinking. When that happens, we can expect them to stampede across.”

Shining Armour nodded. “Concentrate on that. Guard reinforcements are coming, we can manage the rest if it isn’t too bad. What the other regions?”

“Photos are developing, but it dosen’t look good. Apparently there was a small dry fork near the Dusty river that has widened considerably the gap...”

Shining shook his head. Granted, the Long Patrol wasn’t the most well administered part of the guard, but the chain of bad events was getting ridiculous. “This is not good,” he muttered.

“Well, our weather patrols had difficulty suppressing the local weather,” Olive said resolutely. “It’s an unfortunate problem around here. Class 4 anvilheads are such tricky things.”

Thunder cleared his throat. The two ponies looked up at him.

“We are still missing three patrols,” Thunder said. “I’ve requested that we make that a higher priority, particularly given the...composition.”

Olive did not like Thunder breaking the news for him. Own it, Olive. Shining was more professional. He looked Thunder in the eye, striding forwards. An uneasy feeling was brewing in the atmosphere.

“Am I to intimate the civilians who embedded here were with them?” Shining asked. Something he probably knew inherently, since if his mother was here no power in Equestria could separate them. The longer she did not attempt to impose herself on him, the deeper his anxiety grew.

“Yes sir.”

“My mother among them.”

“Yes sir.”

Shining nodded. His eyes betrayed his stoic composure. He swallowed. He transferred his feelings to the energy required to get this job done.

“Have we determined the status of the patrol they were with?”

Thunder tried his best not to cringe, and failed. “We haven’t found them in any condition, though your mother’s hat was found near the body of the only pony who is accounted for. No other signs were available, and the situation was too dangerous for a prolonged search.”

“I see,” Shining said. He chewed his words for a moment, once again trying to reinforce his composure with a strong sense of duty. “Ensure that as soon as we have a handle on the beam situation finding them will be our next highest priority.”

We live in despair. “Of course, sir.” Duty comes first.

They turned back to the map. The latest reconnaissance photos showed where the beam had broken, in the exact places Olive had feared. Olive had made a preliminary estimate of how many ponies could be deployed where.

“While the Silver nation is scrabbling to capitalize on this, their forces regionally are going to be small and scattered. Easy to contain if we work fast enough.”

“Thank Celestia for small marvels,” Olive said.

“Well, it’s up to us to keep this a small situation,” Shining said. He turned to face Olive Branch. “Move out against the dry lakebed first, and immediately. Secure as much as we can while we still can. As for the patrols...let’s just try and find them before the Silver nation does.”

“Sir.”

Olive marched out. Head held high, striding confidently forwards. That left Shining and Thunder alone for a moment.

“You will have control of a guard contingent. You will secure the Dusty river mouth and all other affected regions.”

“Yes sir.”

Shining looked pensive. Difficult to tell what precisely he was thinking, though it was not unimaginable what the topics were. Thunder would not have faulted him for the burden his mother’s presence was placing on his mind, atop considerable responsibilities. It was my fault she was here.

“You couldn’t have foreseen this, sir,” Thunder said, hoping in some small way to help. Help him calm his mind or help him go insane---the point was, Thunder felt a compulsion to help him.

Shining said nothing. Thunder did not leave the room, implying there was still something he wanted out of the guard captain.

“Questions?” Shining asked.

“Just one,” Thunder said. “I just want to know why the beam was made the way it was.”

Shining laughed. It would be one of the first things he could have fixed about Equestrian defence priorities, if only there weren’t more important things to worry about and high ranking bureaucrats coolly explaining about how it would appear to the nobles and the public. To err is pony...to really screw things up requires a bureaucracy.

“Being an equine nation,” Shining explained, “it was believed that we were automatically on acceptable terms, and therefore did not need to enhance our border security. It was better to spend more where we needed it more, went the argument, and since it hasn’t rained here in two hundred years, what harm could it be.”

Thunder’s face fell into his hooves. Dear Celestia...why....They know that they eat meat in the Silver nation, right?

“I’ll arrange a meeting between you and the minister who approved the project if you want.”

“I’d like that,” Thunder said, “more than anything I’d like that very much.”

Shining sighed. “Against stupidity, Celestia herself contends in vain.”

With a grunt, Spray dropped Mace onto the ground. It had been very hard and he was exhausted, first having to lift Velvet from certain peril to safety, and then going back to fetch Mace and Pinion. Three very heavy ponies: Spray felt like he could have died right there and then.

He fell upon the ground and he panted. The ground was soft and damp still.

“Thank you, dear,” Velvet said. She trotted over and gave him an affectionate stroke of his back.

“Don’t mention it.” Spray rolled onto his side. His legs hurt.

“The other ponies?” she asked, her voice wavering. “Did they make it?”

She had dispatched ponies in many ways in her stories. Being broad minded, it had not always been karmic revenge for their misdeeds. Good ponies had died, and died horribly. That had always happened on the page, not before her eyes.

Spray shook his head. “I couldn’t find them.”

Spray had made a cursory check down the length of the stream. The water was less violent now, but no less opaque. He called out and received only silence. His priorities had been trying to get the others to safety---nothing to be done.

“You did what you could, dear.” Velvet sounded small and distant. She had been weakly hoping that maybe Bright Star or at least one other pony had made it. It would have made her feel less useless and helpless. Adventures appeared to be better lived in the pages of a book rather than the real world.

The heat was returning. It never left, but the rain provided the illusion of relief. Puddles remained but they were growing smaller. Where they sat there was no cover from the sun, which, for now, remained behind a cloud. But like a hydra or a manticore, it was stalking them. It was just waiting for the right moment to strike.

Some creatures were out scampering, feeding or fornicating. Some of them may have been buried beneath the sand for decades, waiting for the drought to finally break. When the last of the water was gone, they would burrow back under the ground and sleep until the next rainfall. Velvet should have asked Twilight about the nuances of the San Paolomino ecosystem. Fascinating to watch, if one’s life was not hanging in the balance.

Staying out here for much longer was not a smart idea.

“We have to make it back to Fort Lancer,” Spray said. Obvious to everypony, but it still needed to be said. It felt like saying it out loud would fire every pony to the purpose.

“Okay,” Mace said, “how?”

“We head back the way we came...” Spray began. That was obvious, wasn’t it? They just needed to follow the path back to the fort. How hard could it be? It wasn’t that hard to get out here, right?

“You know it?” Mace asked. “You know the way back? By heart?”

Spray could divine a few landmarks, probably would have been able to see their hoofprints before the rain erased them. He realized that this wasn’t as simple as the thought had led him to believe.

“No,” Spray admitted. Slowly, the pieces were beginning to fall away before his eyes. Not that the puzzle had been fully assembled anyways.

“You’ve got the map? A compass?” Mace added. “A magic carpet?”

“Of course not.”

“What about water? What are we going to do about that?” Pinion asked. “The sun comes out, we’re going to get pretty thirsty pretty quickly.”

“Well it just rained...”

“That water is muddy to the point of being undrinkable! We can’t seriously drink that if we’re going to survive!” Pinion roared.

Spray was very quiet. It was like he was a foal again and was being scolded for forgetting his homework. Mace sighed. “We lost all of our water and what we need to get back in the flood. We’re really up the creek here.”

Spray, for an instant, regretted his parents hadn’t been as assertive with wilderness survival skills as they could have been. Not like cousin Blaze, who insisted at being dropped blindfold into new places with the expectation of coming back. Always fun to take him for a spin, drop him in the neighbour’s backyard and let him come to the conclusion himself.

“Anypony got any ideas of how we’re supposed to get through this?” Mace asked, his plot sinking onto the ground and his head sinking into his hooves. “Anything? Now’s the time to say so.”

“I know how to navigate by the stars,” Velvet mentioned.

“How well?” Pinion asked.

Let’s see: she and Night Light had been lying back on a hillside the night he taught her, the night sky above them like a jeweled quilt. Night Light was pointing out how to navigate the maze of stars, which ones were the most important, and what rhyme she needed to remember to help her find it. She was distracted by his golden eyes, leaning in close to the most handsome, patient and wonderful stallion she had ever met. Her lips brushed against his cheek....

Velvet could have cursed her younger self. Love kills. “Not with confidence,” she admitted.

Pinion snorted. Great. Might as well lie down and wait for our end right now.

“I’ll got after them,” Spray said. A sudden decision.

“Come again?” Mace asked.

“The saddlebags we lost: I’ll go get them."

Pinion sighed. “They could be miles away, and with the beam in this condition...”

“Got a better idea?”

“Well, one...” Mace admitted.

“Let’s hear it.”

“Well,” Mace said, “when we fall asleep next, and we should do that very soon, we think of the strangest dream that’s possible, so that Princess Luna can find us and rescue us.”

“That’s statistically unlikely,” Spray replied.

“Yes, well...”

Mace went into detail about what he had hoped his dream would be. Down to the last detail, in complete precision, about how he hoped this dream would be unique enough to attract Luna’s attention. At that day Mace’s true destiny he was revealed. He was the Element of Awkward Silences. Nopony spoke.

“So...I need the pair of you, being creative types, to help me think of...”

Spray broke the mood as it was imperative that Mace stop talking: “I’ll go fly over the area, and see if I can’t find anything of what we lost.”

“How do you know you can even find that stuff?” Pinion asked.

“Sitting around and moping won’t get us home. At least it’s something.”

He got up on his hooves. He gave a shake, knocking off the dirt and moisture he had been lying in. You picked a heck of a time to rediscover your Kicker pride, he thought to himself. He took off before anypony got another word in. He couldn’t live up to his family’s traditions entirely, but he would have to fake it. Anything less would not be smart.

9

In Canterlot did Celestia a stately pleasure dome decree. After a snack of honeydew and the milk, Luna prepared herself for tonight’s work. First she had to deal with stately matters, which were rapidly getting worse. Luna had heard rumours of war from the frontier, which meant a lot of strange dreams by anxious ponies. In more ways than one, Equestria needed her.

She walked out on her balcony to raise the moon. The sun fell below the horizon, the silver globe of the moon was lifted over the horizon. Light fled, and the stars emerged from where day had hidden them.

Her wings rose to their full extent.

Her eyes glowed.

She disappeared into the realm of dreams.

She found herself in a very dark space. The first pony of the evening, clearly experiencing a terrible dream! This was a conflicted mind, and the princess of the night readied herself to render whatever assistance she could provide.

After she saw what the pony was dreaming, she nearly changed her mind.

The dream was like nothing she had ever seen before. She hoped she would never see it again. There was herself, her sister and Princess Cadence....doing things. Things they would never do in life, or in the mind of a sane pony. Truly, she would have to remember this place, that the pony involved received the proper care he or she was due.

She prepared to leave before things got more interesting than they already were.

“Wait!” A stallion was running up to her, pleading look in his eyes. “You’re...you’re Princess Luna!”

“Indeed!” she said with a flourish of her flowing, shimmering mane.

The pony studied her. His eyes went wide with surprise and joy. This was not part of his dream: this was the real thing. The actual princess, just as he had been hoping.

“Oh thank goodness! This worked! I knew it! I knew if I made something so....” He fell on his back, hugging his chest, laughing. He repeated to himself, “It worked! I showed them!”

“I am very happy for you,” Luna said, pleased that this...occurrence had something of a purpose. She did her best to keep it on the periphery of her vision, but found that her sight kept straying towards it, her ears picking up the tinkling of an invisible piano and the laughter of the...participants.

“Yeah. Sorry if what I made you do was a little too much, I was hoping to make Celestia’s student do more, but I wasn’t sure how she would....react...I mean, I asked her mom and...”

The more this pony talks, the worse it is. Luna nodded, smiled and prepared to disengage before things got more confessional. Anticipating her swift departure the pony got straight to business.

“You’ve got to help us! Look, I’m Mace, I’m a guard pony and me and some others are trapped in a cave in the middle of nowhere...”

“You are the ones my sister spoke of!” Celestia had been busy at court deeply involved in some crisis in a small corner of Equestria. She had kept her sister up to speed, all but ordering her to raise the moon and bring sweet dreams to plenty of anxious ponies. Juggling a frightened country and terrified student was a tremendous task.

A band of ponies was possibly lost, and the border between the Silver nation and Equestria was compromised. Celestia hoped that the guard would locate them soon.

“Yeah! Look send help! We found a cave, and so far we’re safe, but I really want to get out of here,” his eyes began to water, “I really, really don’t want to develop a taste for iguana.”

Luna smiled, which assured the frazzled pony.

“Fear not,” she declared, “I shall personally assure you that I will inform Captain Shining Armour right away about your plight.”

“Oh thank you! Thank you!”

“Close your eyes and focus your mind onto your location.”

Mace did as he was instructed. Luna nodded, noting where he and the other three ponies were located.

Oh, the phantom Celestia cooed, what a delightful tea party.

Luna began to regret having to give her word to the pony.

“Are you sure you’re not mad about...”

Luna shook her head. “My thousand years of exile have taught my compassion and kindness, my little pony. Rest assured that you have my pity.”

“Pity? So, that would make fillies...more interested in me?”

Luna rolled her eyes. Clearly he needs more than just rescue from the desert. “I imagine it would,” she said.

Mace smiled. The world faded back into the world of reality.

It was a beautiful night. Out here, away from Canterlot’s brilliant lights, the night sky unfolded into a beautiful black and purple canvas speckled with glimmering light. Occasionally a shooting star could be seen darting across the sky. Spray imagined capturing the sight with paint.

The flickering stars, the resolute and stately moon, and the flow of stars overhead mingling with the high and thin clouds: Spray closed his eyes, imaging putting the finishing touches on the painting in his mind. If he could pull it off, the horrible events he’d lived through today would have been worth it.

For Velvet, the only time comparable to this night was when she was a student and Night Light snuck her into the observatory. Seeing the stars and the planets in such detail had been remarkable. She had been appreciative for her coltfriend enabling her to see the wider universe with such clarity.

Both Spray’s sketchbook and her notebook had dried out; they had been reverently ripped into tiny pieces, and a couple of rocks banged together until they sparked, so they had a tiny fire. Quickly dimming and burning away into ash, providing next to no heat, but it provided a tiny bit of comfort following a very trying day.

Half an hour ago Mace had woken from his sleep, and laughed with joy. He informed them that, as he had planned, Luna had found him, and help was on it’s way. Velvet had almost forgiven him for asking crass questions about her daughter before he fell asleep. Almost. They sat at the mouth of the cave. It was cool inside but they didn’t feel ready to creep back in, particularly if they were not expecting to remain here for long.

“How’s your wing?”

Spray extended it, wincing. Putting it under any strain would not be smart.

“I wasn’t looking forwards to being our pathfinder, anyways,” Spray said.

Cartography and navigation had been a class he had missed out on. He could a tell the difference between a mountain and a hill only because hills traditionally were not as tall or pointy and did not have snow on them all year round. What use he could have been helping them back was questionable, but it had been a nice thought.

Velvet nodded, looking back to the sky. “This hasn’t been the adventure I thought it would be.”

“My dad always told me that an adventure is a pony in deep trouble a long ways away.”

Velvet chuckled. “Well, I can see the truth of that.”

She sighed. She watched several ponies die today. It would make it difficult to write about death from here on out, now that she had an idea about it’s arbitrariness and cruelty. Death was something she had always treated with the gravity it deserved, but now it just seemed so enormous.

“I don’t know how Shining handles it. He dodges the question a fair bit.”

“Does he hit the cider hard?”

“No,” Velvet replied. “He does get distant, quiet and cold, and I don’t like that because it’s so unlike him.”

“That happens,” Spray said. “As long as he’s got good support he’ll be okay.”

One advantage to the millennia long tradition of the Kicker family was that sensible ways of handling the stress, deprivation and loss of the guard had been expertly managed. Granted, they were easier to enforce within the bounds of a family.

And the Kickers were just the most obvious, most public, aspect of the guard, Spray thought. That’s a lot of incentive right there.

If his family as big as it occasionally claimed, it would have to take responsibility for many of the things that had led to this moment, and he doubted that the vanity of the Kicker clan could have taken the hit. He had never hated his legacy or his family, but they were frustrating almost to the point of madness sometimes.

“I doubt I would have made a great guard.”

“You’ve been doing well,” Velvet replied. “I’d never have gone back for our things if I was in your situation. I think that was very brave of you.”

Spray sat there, not doing nothing, as anything he did would be construed differently than what he would have wanted. A shrug would have indicated modesty, false or real, or indifference; a shake of the head would be discourtesy or frustration with adoration. He didn’t feel any of that. He just felt serene and calm about it. He just did it, that was all.

“I suppose. But when you grow up knowing exactly what you want to do, and you get force fed stories about your family’s glorious past, and are expected to memorize every single one of their victories, from Nightmare Moon down to the Lords of Castamare, you feel a little small inside.”

Spray watched a shooting star streak across the sky. So brief, so beautiful.

“After my cousin Cloud inadvertently made my decision for me, and my parents wouldn’t let up, it felt like I was becoming something else, something I knew I wasn’t meant to be, but felt like I was being forced into anyways. I tried to like it, and I failed.”

“Hey,” Mace said, “I think you’re being too hard on the guard. We’re not all a bunch of stuck up, family honour worshipping, grunts!”

“Yeah. You lucky son of...”

“Sorry. What was that?” Mace asked sweetly.

Pinon frowned. “When we get out of here,” here said, “you’re going to hit up a tavern, go straight to the first filly you see, and tell her that you have the personal pity of Princess Luna.”

“Yes,” Mace said smugly. “Yes I will.”

“Well...how am I supposed to compete with that? How am I supposed to compete with a pony who has the personal pity of a princess?”

“I just don’t know,” Mace replied. “I guess you’ll have to rely on her having pity of your luck with mares then.”

Velvet rolled her eyes. “Some of my illusions about the Royal Guard have been shattered.”

“Mine were never high to begin with,” Spray said. If you were a Kicker, the ponies in the guard immediately thought you thought you were better than they were, and Spray was slowly coming around to that line of thinking. Today couldn’t have been more of a disaster if it was planned.

“I never had a clear idea of what life in the guard was like before now,” Velvet said.

“Do you now?” Spray asked.

Velvet’s immediate thoughts were of Bright Star, and the way he died, and the pleas for help that he did not speak but were obvious in his eyes. Bright Star knew that, if his destiny was to protect and defend, than this was a realistic outcome. He did it anyways. Death he was afraid of, especially coming so suddenly, but not of the fact that he may be expected to die for Equestria.

Velvet did have uncomfortable thoughts after Shining got his cutie mark and began to talk about the guard more seriously than he had in the past. Equestria had been at peace for so long: the griffons made noise, but for the most part it only took a stern look from Celestia to set them right.

“I now have an idea of what the stakes were,” Velvet confessed. “We never tried to discourage Shiny from a military career. Part of me hoped he would go into academia, but it made him so happy. Nothing I could have ever discouraged him, and I was fine with that.”

“Lucky him,” Spray muttered. Give it a rest: Uncle Thunder had your back all the way, and don’t pretend your foalhood had been a deprived one.

“I suppose I’ll never understand what goes on in his head,” Velvet admitted. “I just have an idea of what he faces, and I’ll have to live with that instead.”

Destiny was a fickle thing. Every pony knew their destiny when the realization dawned. Spray had been drawing when his mark appeared, and it had been celebrated. It was confusing, at first, to have received questions by relatives assuming Spray had been engaged in some martial or leadership activity when he got it. Not something as useless as painting.

“You can take pride at producing the guard’s captain,” Spray suggested. “It takes a real mother to do that.”

Velvet felt a little better.

“You think the Kickers are better able to handle the responsibility of the job?” she asked. She had heard Shining, incredibly, beat out a Kicker to be guard captain, which was equivalent to being told that Twilight had magic equal to Celestia herself. She would have assumed that Hammer Kicker would have been an easy fit for the position, and that Celestia would have just penciled him in with no questions asked.

“Part of me thinks that it’s for the best that we don’t have a Kicker as captain of the guard, and I hope we never do again,” Spray explained. “We’re so big we have no idea what it’s like to be small.”

“I just wonder what I’ll write now?” Velvet asked.

“I don’t know, and I’m not going to tell you,” Spray said. “But I am very certain it’s going to be worth reading.”

Velvet nodded. A couple of minutes quietly passed. The night sky only grew more beautiful. Hopefully Celestia wouldn’t be in a hurry to raise the sun, and if their rescue took a little bit longer reaching them, then it would suit Velvet just fine.

“Anyway.” Mace picked himself off of the ground. “I’m off to use the little foal’s rock. Anything I should know?”

“If you see any plants with leaves of three,” Velvet said, “they’re the best toilet tissue ever.”

“Ah! Thanks!”

Velvet chuckled. “You’re horrible,” Spray said.

Mace jubilantly scampered down a short rise to an appropriately large boulder. He sighed with relief. Not too long before help would arrive. They wouldn’t have to spend another day out in this blasted, permanently broiling wasteland. Mace would get leave, head on do to Fillydelphia, Manehatten or Baltimare, whichever was closest, and just lose himself in the luxuries that were in short supply here but in great abundance there.

You know, a rotten day like today makes all that just a little bit sweeter, he thought, entertaining delightful thoughts of cider, mares, delicacies, mares, sleeping in, mares, idleness and mares. And, of course, the most important thing of all, mares. Especially mares.

He heard something, like a sudden cry. A mare’s cry, he thought. He shook his head, dismissing what he was certain was just a figment of his imagination. He finished his business.

He trudged back up to the cave. The fire, dim as it was, had gone out. He couldn’t see Pinion or the civilians.

“Guys?” he called. “Pinion? Spray?”

He noticed there were a lot of shadowed figures in front of the cave. Thank Celestia, the rescue party! He began to approach a little quicker.

“Thank goodness you’ve come! I’m...”

He noticed that the ponies had come in force for what was supposed to be a simple rescue mission. There were a surprising number of them. Strong, wiry ponies. All of their golden eyes burned at him.

Mace knew instinctively there were more behind him. As they struck him from behind, catapulting him into darkness and onto the ground, he had time for one last thing to say.

“This sucks.”

10

Spray struggled as he was rammed into the dirt. A pony lowered his head next to his, peering into his eyes, whispering into his ear.

“Please give me a reason to kill you.”

Spray’s front hooves were bound behind his back. A hoof was pressing down on his body, grinding him into the ground. He could see Velvet being guarded by two ponies, Pinion and Mace separate from her. Mace was moaning, returning to the world. Pinion looked scared.

The pony looming over him was as grey as slate. His smile was wide and full of crooked teeth. “Scorpio, sir. We got a live one.”

The pony Spray intimated was Scorpio sauntered over. His snout was scared, his yellow eyes were wide. He surveyed Spray for a moment, and then examined the other ponies.

“You’re a very eclectic patrol,” he said.

“I’m sorry, Scorpio. This was what we found.”

“Any pony get away?”

“No sir. We got them all. Strange: they were huddling around a cave, not paying attention at all. I don’t know what they were thinking.”

“Well,” Scorpio tossed his mane back, “their problem, not ours.”

Scorpio’s mane was long, tied back with several rings. He was fairly gaunt and his skin under his dark fur looked like it would resemble leather and not flesh. A pony who had spent much of his time in the desert, under the sun.

“You are not in guard uniform,” Scorpio said. “Explain.”

A hoof was driven into Spray’s back slightly harder than before. “We’re not. We’re civilians. We’ve embedded with the guard.”

“Unique,” Scorpio said. “I never realized that the San Paolomino was the must see destination for Canterlot nobility.”

Spray grimaced. Mistreat me all you want, don’t lump me in with those useless...”I’m an artist, she’s an author.”

“Author?” Scorpio raised an eyebrow. “That’s new.”

Spray was half certain he was dooming them all. In his mind he kicked himself. It didn’t feel like they had a choice: either they start getting on their good side, or Spray did not believe there would be a happy ending. Whatever they did, Spray knew he would end up talking.

Scorpio did not sound impressed. “What are you here for?”

Spray could almost hear the pony behind him growing more sadistic. “We embedded,” he explained, “because we wanted to see what it was like here.”

Being civilians, Spray hoped that their interest would wane quickly, and was finding that the opposite was occurring. He was realizing fast that these were not guard ponies. That did not appear to impress Scorpio and he got kicked in his flank for his trouble.

Scorpio looked up to address his troops. “Is anypony around here literate?”

Nopony spoke.

“Literate means ‘reads books.’ Does anypony around here read books?”

Nopony spoke. Scorpio sighed.

“Mister Mesa?”

“Sir!”

“You said you had a bookworm in your squad?” Scorpio asked.

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Find him. Get him here.”

“Sir!”

The pony scrambled away. Scorpio was left eying Spray. “An artist,” he said, shaking his head.

Spray grunted under the sadistic hoof on his back. Having to defend his work from incredulous family members and obtuse critics was one thing. Spray felt the pressure on his back grow harder. He was terrified that the hoof pressing him into the ground would find his wound. “My name is Spray Kicker,” he admitted. “You may have heard of me.”

“Your work,” Scorpio said, leaning in closer, “I have not. Kicker? That means...”

Scorpio began to chuckle. Spray cursed himself for his loose tongue.

“Your family is going to be quite anxious to get you back.”

“I doubt it.” Spray was trying to sound defiant, and no doubt came across as something else entirely. The family has a policy of never negotiating with criminals or other hostile agents. Then again, we never needed to. In more than one way, Spray was certain he was establishing precedent.

“Scorpio, this is...”

Mesa had reappeared with a stallion at his side. The stallion looked confused.

“You read?” Scorpio demanded.

The stallion nodded. “Oh yeah! I really like Twilight Velevet, she’s...”

“Yes,” Scorpio snapped, “I applaud your tastes, now get to the point.”

Mesa nudged the stallion forwards. “Well?” he ordered. “Is this her?”

The stallion studied Velvet for a moment. Velvet’s face emerged from behind her hooves; there was no way she could have hidden what her identity was, not here, not now. His eyes began to widen.

“Oh my...Twilight Velvet? Crystal Mountain, Quest for the Lost Palace?”

“Yes,” Velvet weakly said, not certain if she was guaranteeing her salvation or her destruction.

“Oh my...I am such a fan! I mean, I don’t know if you know that your books are on sale in the Silver nation, you’ve probably never seen a bit...”

“Great,” Mesa sighed. “Go away.”

“But sir...”

“Go away!” Mesa shrieked as close to his face as possible. “Go away, go away, go away....”

Mesa chased the pony for several strides until he was definitely away. Scorpio shook his head. Velvet sighed: she just couldn’t get away from them.

“Twilight Velvet...you remind of something. But what?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Velvet tried hard not to project fear, which she knew would immediately be seized upon. All the antagonists in her stories did that, and were capable of incredible perception.

Twilight Velvet. I know that name. From where? The words ran through Scorpio’s head, trying to remember why the name sounded familiar. Scorpio nodded when everything fell into place.

“Mother of the captain of the Equestrian Royal Guard, and Celestia’s protege.”

Velvet said nothing, tears beginning to well in her eyes. Her thoughts were of her husband and foals. How long would it be before they saw each other again---if ever?

Scorpio was almost giddy. There were good days, and there were days like this, he thought. The wheels were turning behind his eyes. “All right. Bring them back with us.”

Velvet’s head sank. Spray closed his eyes and sighed. This was not what he expected at all. The pony standing behind him disappeared, and he was surrounded. He was not getting away that easily.

“Sir?” Mesa asked. “Our orders are to secure this area in preparation for an invasion of the Dusty River...”

“We are. But first we need to get these two back on our soil. The faster we do that, the better it will be for us.”

“But why?” Mesa asked. Scorpio snorted and shook his head at Mesa’s inability to see the bigger picture.

“If Equestria doesn't want them back, and I do believe that they will, maybe the griffons will be more charitable. Either way, we’re making sure that, one way or another, we’re getting leverage over Celestia.”

Silver strode ahead, gesturing for his ponies to follow him.

“What about those two?” Mesa gestured towards Mace and Pinion. Both guard ponies looked surprised that they had been singled out.

“Leave Chipper and Strong behind. Tell them they’re theirs.”

Two ponies strode out of the assembled Silver ponies. They chuckled to themselves, eyes wide like good little foals waking up to a rewarding Hearthswarming Eve day.

“For real?” one of them asked.

“Yes Chipper,” Scorpio said. “I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”

Chipper laughed to himself. Shiny made the same laugh during his bug tormenting phase. Velvet trembled. Those poor ponies....

“Just wait until we’re out of earshot,” Scorpio ordered.

Chipper smiled wickedly. “Sure thing.”

Scorpio gestured with his head. “Move out.”

Spray was hauled onto his hooves, given a rough shove to his flank, and began to follow the others are they marched back in the direction of the beam. Velvet followed, head low. Mace and Pinion quickly disappeared behind them.

“Chipper?”

“Yes, Strong?”

“Which do you think looks like he’ll be more fun?”

“I don’t know, Chipper.”

Mace, groggy as he was, began to realize he was in danger and began struggling a little bit harder. Pinion was breathing slowly, trying to conserve energy. If he could only get a hoof free...but these bounds were far too strong.

Chipper and Strong began to circle the ponies. So far they were interested in Mace, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.

“That one looks like he’ll be some sport.”

He gestured at Mace. Mace stopped moving, didn’t speak.

“No, no Chipper,” Strong replied. “He looks half out of it.”

Chipper frowned. “That’s no good.”

Mace exhaled with relief.

“I know. It isn’t. But chin up.”

Their eyes were turning towards Pinion, and their evil, evil smiles came with them. Pinion’s heart fell into his stomach. He began to struggle a little harder.

“He’ll do,” Chipper said. He strode forwards, taking the rear bindings in his mouth and dragging Pinion onto flatter ground.

“Absolutely,” said Strong.

Pinion froze. He made a token struggle against his restraints, but he knew it was no use. He fought to suppress a whimper, and failed.

“I think this one is going to be most fun,” Chipper cackled. Slowly he pulled a knife from it’s sheath. “Most fun indeed.”

Chipper smiled widely, peering in closely. The blade glistened in the moonlight. Pinion closed his eyes, turning away from the blade. He prepared himself for the pain and readied the scream that would follow.

“What the...”

From above the ponies came a strange shriek. Chipper looked up to check it’s source, and was struck in the middle, flying out of view. Chipper gasped, the sick sound of metal entering a body and scraping across bone following.

The other Silver ponies immediately checked the sky above them. One of them fired his crossbow into the air, making a sudden gasping noise before something knocked him back. The others grunted and shouted, their voices suddenly silenced. Metal clacked against metal; then there were sudden gasping noises.

“Right! Get him! Look for the others!”

Pinion was spun around to face a familiar pony. Thunder Kicker.

“Chief!” Pinion cried. “Chief, you’ve come all this way to rescue us!”

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. “Where is Spray and Mrs. Velvet?”

Thunder snapped the ropes restraining Pinion, who got into a more comfortable position. Seven pegasus ponies were finishing their gruesome work, flocking behind their leader.

“They were taken away,” Pinion explained. “Like ten minutes ago, I think.”

Thunder cursed. They’re groundbound and have two half starved, weary captives. Silver ponies may go fast over ground, but they’ll be slower than they would have liked. Still, they had a head start.

“Where?” Thunder yelled. “Where did they go?”

“Back towards the beam,” Pinion said. “They said something about the griffons, or Equestria, I think.”

Great. Just what the Ministry of Foreign Affairs needs.

Pinion pointed at their tracks on the ground.

Thunder cursed. Shining Armour had made it clear that he wanted very much for this situation to be localized on Equestria’s side of the beam. Best for Equestria’s foreign relations to act defensively. Anything more wore be construed as too aggressive. If Thunder didn’t hurry they would have no choice to cross the beam. Things would get harder for Canterlot to handle, and they would reward him for the extra work.

They didn’t get them back tonight, it would take a lot of time and a lot of concessions to secure their freedom. No time to waste.

“Alright,” Thunder bellowed, “change of plans! We’ve got to go after them. Mace, how are you holding up?”

“Fine,” Mace croaked. “A little. Maybe. Sort of.”

“Rising Sun, Mace is yours.”

Rising Sun grunted, striding forwards, grasping Mace’s forelegs. Mace squeaked with surprised as he was lifted into the air.

“Pinion? You’re with me.”

“Okay.” Pinion didn’t sound assured. This wasn’t the time to argue, and he was smart enough to keep his trap shut.

“Delta formation! We’re coming in low and fast, hit the ground hard! Prioritize getting the civilians back. Grab them and go! Understand!”

“Yes sir!” the ponies barked.

“Move out!”

Thunder grunted as he took to the air. Pinion yelped. Thunder grimaced with all the extra weight.

“Do you even try keeping yourself fit?” Thunder muttered.

“I do pushups,” Pinion protested. “Occasionally.”

Thunder began to regret not dragging them out here sooner. Then again, think of all the poor ponies in the Fillydelphia fast food buisness that would suffer without him.

The ponies took off, flying fast as they could towards the gap in the beam.

11

“So, uh...”

“Yes?” Velvet asked weakly.

“When you thought of the Quest for the Lost Palace,” the stallion asked, smiling broadly, “you...based that on the real Compass Rose?”

“In a way.” Velvet was getting confused at the questions she expected the least. “I took some liberties.”

“Yeah. It seemed just too easy to find the Lost Alicorn Throne and the Treasure of Princess Platinum at the same time, but I know you were trying to keep things under control. Too many plot elements spoil the story, right?”

“Indeed,” Velvet sighed, trying to imagine her fate in the Silver nation. She was behind Spray, located near the rear of a column that was approaching the West Desert Beam. The Silver ponies hadn’t been idle: the fence that had once ran across the top had been ripped out, a gap large enough to fit a dragon through had been made in the beam itself.

Ponies were crawling over the beam, but only a disappointing fifty or so. The way Scorpio had carried on, Spray had expected the whole Silver nation would have stampeded through the breaches. They had spears, only a few carried crossbows. A good guard squad could take them. A good guard squad was not here.

On the other side was a whole new world, one Velvet did not understand, one that filled her with fear. She chided herself for the curiosity that brought her here. Through the breach she saw only more desert, desert that would eventually terminate with towns and cities and farms full of unfriendly grey ponies. Spray was saying nothing, merely walking with a lowered gaze.

Two ponies walked beside her and Spray. The one to her left was bubbly with energy, his spear loosely slung over his flank.

“I understand. I mean, I understand that it wasn’t completely accurate to, like, history and all that, but wow! That book was amazing.”

“Thank you.” Velvet said. The pony smiled and continued to gush.

“I love all that stuff where she’s lost in the Everfree. The Timberwolves in particular kept me on edge! Man, the Everfree must be one messed up place!”

“It’s best avoided.”

The stallion laughed. “I’d really like to check it out. It must be quite something.”

“Yes it is,” Velvet replied. Apparently her captivity was going to be like being trapped at a writer’s convention, where the fans kept you from leaving and the exits led to Tartarus.

“I mean, you probably don’t know this, but...well, I’ve got all your books. They’re really crummy books, pretty much falling apart, but I’ve got them all.”

“Corona,” Scorpio barked, “stop fraternizing with the captive.”

“Sir I’m just...”

“Stop it,” Scorpio repeated.

Corona sulked. Velvet could have cheered with relief.

Scorpio beckoned them over to a makeshift paddock. Several stumpy posts with the fence salvaged from the beam’s fencing. No prizes for guessing who goes in there.

“Keep them here until we’re ready to move on,” Scorpio ordered.

“Sir!”

Scorpio’s eyes narrowed. “And we are not turning this into a literary conference, we clear?”

“Yes...sir!”

Scorpio walked off, shaking his head. He had stalked the beam for nearly a decade. The ponies he had to housebreak were a never ending source of bafflement and frustration for him.

Spray kept quiet. He was thinking, when he believed he should have been plotting. If he was a true Kicker, maybe he would have even escaped by now or at least have some idea how to escape. I know everything there is to know about perspective, colour, drawing styles and artistic movements. In short, nothing I know of any possible use. And I’m going to have to learn fast.

Going through that breach was not an option. He owed it to his family, to Coral, Uncle Thunder (yes, even Herald, the grump) to not go through that breach. He owed it to them to not put them through whatever it would take for him to come back, whenever that would be.

Exactly how he would pull that off, well, that was the challenge.

The Silver nation ponies appeared to be mostly ground based ponies preparing for combat with unicorns and Earth ponies. The crossbow users were searching for pegasus ponies, but there weren’t that many of them. It all depended on how fast the situation changed for that fact to be of possible use.

A shape darted through the sky. Spray wondered what kind of bird it was, then paused in thought. Doesn't look like they get a lot of animals here. Maybe...if I didn’t know better, I’d swear it was a.....

It settled at the top of the beam, landing quietly. It disappeared over the ridge. Spray squinted. It looked like it was enfilading itself, most unusual behaviour for an animal.

So much like a guard, so much like...

The realization hit him. Probably a scout or a vanguard, but either way things were not as dire as he feared. Not yet anyway.

If things were not going to be hopeless, he would have to make it that way. He breathed in through his nose. Corona was looking bored and sullen, focused on something happening far away and in his head. He could chance speaking his thoughts aloud.

Velvet’s head drooped. He tried to whistle as subtly as possible. It took her a moment to realize the direction it came from. Eventually it dawned on her it came from the pony to her right.

“Pegasus,” Spray said through gritted teeth.

Velvet looked shocked, first trying to meet Spray’s eyes but then snapped her head forwards. She remembered protagonists in similar situations; a lot would hinge on her being able to stay cool. She took a deep breath in through her nose.

“Where?” she whispered. Velvet tried to scan the landscape with her eyes. Where among the shapes and the shadows was he?

“Over on the left, somewhere near the beam. Distract the wordsmith here, and maybe we can arrange something.”

Velvet nodded. She cleared her throat. “Corona,” she said, “maybe, to pass the time, you could share what you’ve written.”

Corona dropped his spear. “Seriously?”

“Yes dear,” Velvet said, finding each word painful to force through her teeth. “Why not? I’d be interested to read what you have.”

“For real?” Corona asked.

“Of course.”

Corona was half laughing with his good fortune. Finally, the opportunity he had always been waiting for! Finally, he could show off his writing. It could only help him in the long run!

“Be right back!” he shouted.

Velvet glanced back pitifully at Spray.

“Thanks for taking one for the team,” he said.

“Remind me to write a character about you, and have him killed off. Slowly.”

Now, there were still quite a few ponies who could complicate their escape. His wings were pinned to his side, and his hurt wing still ached. If he pushed himself, really pushed himself, ignored the pain, they could possibly maybe make it not too far, but there had better be ponies to receive them if he did. The Silver ponies, Spray had to admit, moved fast.

There was only one pegasus out there. He could help, but only a little, and if Spray botched it, he would wind up next to him. He would have quite a lot to say in that case.

Corona returned with a notebook and several crumpled sheets of paper.

“Now,” Corona explained, “this is what I’ve got so far...”

“Take your time dear,” Velvet said, weeping internally at the prospect of having to go through all of his writing.

Spray took a deep breath. Somehow he had to get that pony’s attention. Their freedom was resting on it. On the eastern half of the breach there weren’t that many ponies around. A pegasus approach from that direction. would be best angle of attack.

He gestured with his head in a manner that he hoped would be construed by the Silver ponies as stretching and by the pegasus as a signal. No reply, which did not mean that he was unacknowledged. The wait was frightening and painful.

He waited a moment. Corona prattled on. Velvet feigned attention credibly. It did not look like the pegasus had departed yet.

He gestured his head again. East, east, east. Figure out what I’m trying to say. It’s not like I can draw you a picture here.

A sound echoed from the beam. A bird not commonly found in the San Paolomino, but it could easily be attributed to something else. No Silver pony looked back to check the source.

That was good enough for Spray. It felt good enough to have made contact with a friendly pony right now.

The shape rose, shook off sand and disappeared into the night. It was all in Uncle Thunder’s hooves now.

Propped between two pegasi, Mace tried to remain as still as he could, his head twisted almost to the point where it was resting on his cutie mark. His eyes practically rubbed against the image of a boot emblazoned on his flank. Thunder tried to peer in close.

Their cover was a wispy cloud, the best they could cobble together with what they had. Trying to keep their cover plausible meant they had only a thin layer of cloud to work with. Sudden movements could break through the white membrane. Thunder grimaced as Mace shifted on top of him.

“Keep still,” Thunder growled. He had a pair of binoculars, and was trying to focus on the breach. They were further away than he would have liked. A couple of torches had been lit by the Silver ponies, and Thunder was trying to prioritize which of the lumpy black shapes were the most important.

There. A small circle of fence, and three indistinct shapes. Spray was hurt, but not bad enough to fly if he muscled through the pain. For the moment it looked like the pony guarding them was not paying full attention, the rest of the Silver nation ponies preoccupied.

Not as many had moved into Equestria as Thunder had feared. The patrol and the guard was keeping them contained for now where they had crossed over, and this must have been the last serious, uncontested opening in the beam.

There was a window of opportunity. A small one, closing fast.

Mace dug his hoof into Thunder’s head.

“Mace!” Thunder struggled to keep his voice down. On a still desert night it would carry.

“Sorry.”

Thunder grumbled to himself. This was all very ad hoc, but a guard must always be prepared to improvise.

He had sent a pegasus over to scout around. So far, it looked like he had arrived. As soon as he appraised the situation and it was safe to do so, he would return to Thunder. Thunder needed to know how many ponies, and from what angles he could safely attack from.

This was not a complete guard squad ready for combat. Speed and stealth would be their only advantages over the Silver ponies. Grab the hostages and flee. Let Shining Armour bring the guard up to stop them. Hopefully, all it would take would be one short, sharp raid to compel the Silver ponies to leave.

That’s what rational opponents would do. Thunder could hear Olive’s unpleasant voice echoing in his ears: We play by the San Paolomino’s rules, not Equestria. Thunder imagined things could, and likely would, get quite messy.

Mace was not moving, and Thunder was beginning to wish he would: his plot was just behind his head. If Mace did what Thunder feared he would do, it was a mighty long drop.

“So...what now?” Pinion whispered from a cloud to Thunder’s left.

“Wait.” Thunder hated saying it, but hating it didn’t make it any less true. “Wait until we can tell where and how to hit them best.”

“All right,” Pinion said. “What are we up to?”

“Get Spray, get Velvet, get gone. Let the guard handle the breach.”

The pegasus scout had darted from behind cover. He was speeding over, high and fast and not detected by the ponies on the ground.

“Well?” Thunder asked.

“Made contact with Spray, sir?”

“And?” Thunder asked. Contact was a limited thing, but it felt good to be in touch with his nephew again, however imprecisely.

“Appears to be all right. Motioned that we should attack from their eastern flank. They look vulnerable there.”

“Very good. Regroup with the others.”

The pegasus darted over to a cloud. Thunder shifted slightly in place. He beckoned for two nearby ponies to get Mace off of his back. He stretched his wings. They would get quite tired tonight.

Pinion swallowed. “Orders, sir?”

“Be prepared to move,” Thunder said. “We’re going to have to move, and move fast.”

12

Calling the prose amateurish would be a compliment. The characters develop like a case of the pox. I don’t want to get started on the imagery, so basic and insulting, or the glacial pace of what he is trying to pull of as a plot.

“It’s great,” Velvet said. “Fascinating!”

Celestia, forgive me.

Corona beamed. “That’s so good to hear! And...and from you, of all ponies!”

Velvet smiled widely, trying hard not to roll her eyes. Spray was doing his best to feign interest, and hope that he could see the pegasus squad that would rescue them. Any second now, uncle....

It had all been a day since they left Fort Lancer. One long, painful day. It felt so much longer. Some dirty water had been provided to drink, no doubt salvaged from the ground, and dried moss to eat. It weighed heavily in the stomach. It reinforced the point that now they were owned.

“I can’t wait to do more, and get your input!”

“I look forwards to it,” Velvet lied.

“Corona!” Mesa strode up to the paddock. “Get...”

He noticed the large pile of paper held by Velvet. Several sheets were scattered at her hooves. Mesa stood still for a moment, cut to five and began to speak again.

“Get them moving. We’re going over the beam.”

“But I thought...”

“Guard is moving in,” Mesa said. “We’re getting the captives back across the beam, now. Move it.”

“Yes sir,” Corona said, his expression fading from his face. He began to scrape together all of his notebooks and papers.

“Leave it. You’ve got your spear. Get it.”

Corona looked like he was about to cry. He got his spear, pointing it at Spray and Velvet.

Spray and Velvet were beckoned out of the paddock. A couple of ponies were waiting for them. They surrounded Spray and Velvet. Several ponies, armed with crossbows, were falling back to their position. Scorpio was barking orders at ponies.

“On the beam! Keep your eyes sharp! They’ll be coming in fast!”

Tiny fires of hope were stoked deep within their hearts. Hopefully the guard could rescue them before they were taken across. The way the Silver ponies acted, it was a realistic possibility. But they better come fast.

Scorpio walked over to his captives. “Move,” he ordered Corona.

He studied Corona like he was an insect that he had crushed under his hoof. He shook his dead disgustedly and trudged off, ordering other ponies to move, fast, now. Corona saluted as Scorpio indifferently walked past.

“Not your biggest fan?” Spray asked. He’d seen that look before at West Hoof, of instructor ponies tired of seeing Kickers and eager to treat him hard.

“Yeah. Best deep desert penetration squad, and he really wants to keep up that reputation.”

“Really?” Spray asked, certain that Corona would not pick up on his tone. “Do go on.”

“Well,” Corona said, “it was different back the day. Back then, we could range into Equestria, grab somepony actually worth something. Guard ponies are good, but you need a lot of them if you really want to make an impact. Foals were difficult to get and to manage, but Canterlot bent over backwards to get them back.”

They said nothing. Corona took that as an invitation to keep talking.

“I’m here because my family pulled strings. I figured why not: good life experience, fodder for a novel, eh?”

He laughed. He led the parade, past the ponies who were falling in around them. Scorpio took the rearmost position. His eyes burned as hotly as the sun. His gaze alone could compell them up that sandbeam.

“I try my best. Dosen’t look like it’s going to be good enough, but it should make for good reading, right Mrs. Velvet?”

“Stunning.” Velvet barely got the words out. Things were not going out the way she had hoped they would.

“Well, with your help, I’m sure it will! I’m trying to think of a title: Grey Halo and the Great Desert: An Adventure! How about that?”

“Good enough,” Spray muttered. Corona began to elaborate on plot details, which sounded like they would drive the reader mad.

The party began to trudge towards the beam. It had not completely collapsed, but enough had eroded for a path to have been dug into it. Some of the fence had been cut up to be used as hoofholds while they walked. Clumsy and awkward footing, but it worked.

They came closer to the top of the beam. They could begin to see the stretch of desert beyond. Territory of the Silver nation. As featureless as the terrain under the flag of Equestria. Velvet fought back a sob. So far away from her family, and the ponies she dearly loved.

Spray just couldn’t think of anything else except one thought running through his mind: Well, in it deep now, right? Spray---the Kicker who had to be ransomed back. Certainly this would make any family reunions very difficult affairs, assuming his family permitted him to attend. Coral he would miss most of all. He cursed himself for putting her through all the pain that would result.

Hopefully the family would just swallow their pride and pay up, but with Velvet, there was no telling how high the price would be. No telling what Canterlot would have to cough up: more favourable water rights, or even land concessions? Spray could tell that the Silver ponies seemed to be beaming with thoughts of what they would bring.

And if they wound up with the griffons...well, don’t think of that now, he advised himself. Right now, don’t thrive just survive.

Almost near the top now....

“There!”

Several pegasus ponies were swooping in to attack. A couple of squwaks came from Silver ponies caught unawares. Crossbow bolts darted across the skies; they took down one pegasus pony.

“Defensive!” Scorpio roared. He kicked Spray hard in the flank. “Keep moving!”

Impossibly, Spray found his legs moving forwards despite his will to run, fast as he could, towards his uncle at the other guard ponies. His legs found the strength to pull his body almost all the way to the top of the beam.

Mace was gripping Thunder’s hooves as hard as possible. Hanging from Thunder’s front hooves was not what he had been expecting, but he was too large and heavy to be carried on his back. Thunder was taking up the rear position of the formation. Mace’s rear legs dangling uncomfortably, and they kept twitching as he expected them to find solid footing.

Pinion was no better. He hung limply, whimpering to himself.

“You remember your CQC?” Thunder asked. Hopefully something of their training had survived the long languishing in Fillydelphia.

“A little,” Pinion squeaked. Mace said nothing.

“You use your magic to stun them,” Thunder reminded them, “get their weapon.”

“Kill them?” Mace asked. He looked at Thunder, his eyes loose in their sockets. No time to wait for him to get his marbles together.

“Or tickle them. Go with what works.”

“Thanks boss!” Mace replied, goofy grin on his face.

They don’t all have to come back. Just enough.

The formation was coming in low, too late to pull away. Now or never, do or die. Thunder gritted his teeth. Now or never.

“Priority is the civilians!” Thunder barked. “Get them out of here!”

“Sir!” the pegasus ponies barked back.

“Grab them, go! Don’t stop and play! All right?”

“Sir!”

“Formation! Break!”

The formation scattered into several sub groups, each taking a particular angle of approach. Their wings beat hard; they bellowed esoteric war cries.

“Pinion, Mace! We’re dropping you hard, get the ponies with crossbows down first. Our success depends on that!”

“Sir,” they croaked back.

Thunder had been in many, many tense situations. None more important than this one. He wasn’t just saving his nephew or a civilian, but rescuing Equestria from a possible political nightmare. No pressure, Thunder.

They banked to the left. They came over a rise in the beam. Below them the Silver ponies looked up in surprise and confusion, exactly how Thunder wanted. A couple of pegasus swooped low, taking two stray ponies down. A maelstrom of wings and limbs followed.

“Crossbow, high on the beam!” a pony at the fore called.

The Silver pony took aim with his crossbow. Thunder was dead in his sights.

“Behind me!” Thunder ordered. He swooped in low, trying to dodge and weave to the best of his ability. Doing so with a pony suspended beneath him was not easy. A couple of bolts flew past. “I’ll take him down!”

Mace was being swung back and forth. He was beginning to dread what Thunder had in mind. “Sir...”

Thunder took aim. “Hang on,” he said calmly. “I have to concentrate.”

“Sir....”

“Just hold still, my little pony,” Thunder said, making one final swing of his legs.

Mace went flying forwards, screaming. He hit the Silver pony hard, knocking him off of his hooves. The two ponies tumbled backwards, rolling down the beam. Thunder took more satisfaction in that than he should have.

Now...show them the fury of a Kicker!

Thunder’s wings flared. Sharp wing sabres glistened in the sun. He swooped in to attack, aiming for a pony at the edge of the group. It felt like he flew right through him. A strangled scream, then nothing.

“Drop Pinion over there! Pinion, take him down!”

The pegasus swooped in before Pinion could scream a reply. Thunder looked his gaze on his target, who was hidden within a forest of spears.

It had been a long time since he had been in combat. His reflexes were still as sharp. Good to know. Now to get Spray back.

Thunder pointed himself towards the group, nearing the top of the beam. Almost over. A thick mob, spears and crossbows pointed every which way. His left wing twitched, attracting the attention of a couple of ponies, to provide assistance while he made the attack run.

Now or never, do or die.

Thunder smiled. He loved a good challenge.

The crossbow ponies took down one guard pony. The rest circled overhead, daunted by the rain of projectiles. Sharp spear points were ready to skewer any pony that got eager. Despite it all Spray and Velvet found themselves moving forwards, as if their will was no longer their own.

It was very strange. Velvet only knew battles in the broadest strokes. Around her ponies had died and were dying. Spray, at least, had some mental preparation for what rescue entailed. It looked like Uncle Thunder was claiming a few more victories for the family legacy. If it was all right with him, Spray would have preferred being anyplace else.

“Move!” Scorpio bellowed. “Move your plots!”

Spray and Velvet were now within a couple of strides of the top. Two Silver ponies were waiting for them, armed with crossbows. Beyond was the home stretch, the long expanse into the questionable safety of the Silver nation. The pegasus ponies were closing in.

Corona clutched his spear desperately. Clearly he had never expected to encounter the guard. The patrol maybe, the lazy, indifferent Long Patrol. Not the guard. Some of the Silver ponies, particularly the ones with spears, looked restless. They looked at Mesa and Scorpio with eagerness. The kind of eagerness only young colts had.

“Don’t stand there,” Mesa instructed. “We can’t afford to stay.”

They looked disappointed at the lost opportunity to prove themselves.

“No time!” Mesa yelled. “We have to make it across!”

“If we leave one...” a pony suggested.

“We take them both!” Scorpio yelled. He strode forward, meeting the pegasus in combat. A couple of swift swipes and he took the pegasus down. Two large blows against the pegasus’ helmet, followed by a mighty crack. The pegasus yelped, falling to his knees.

“Uncle?” Spray called.

Thunder looked up at his nephew. Scorpio was between Spray and him. Velvet looked terrified; Spray was locked in place. Thunder got up on his hooves, running towards Scorpio, blades extended, who darted to one side. He kicked Thunder in the chest. Thunder tumbled onto the ground.

“Spray,” Thunder choked. “Spray.”

Thunder looked up at his nephew with wide eyes. Scorpio kicked him in the face. Thunder fell to the ground. Spray’s heart stopped, but he was nudged forwards. He stepped over Thunder, who was moaning softly as he disappeared into unconsciousness.

“Kicker?” Scorpio asked.

Spray said nothing. He had to force his gaze away from the sprawled body of his uncle.

“Clearly, they don’t make them like they used to,” Scorpio laughed.

Two more pegasus ponies landed behind them, struggling on their hooves to pursue. Two Silver ponies stood ready to joust with them; and above them were the rest of the formation, circling. Drawing closer. No time to fight with them all.

“Get. Them. Over.”

Spray and Velvet were uncertain on their hooves. Their legs sank into the sand, almost maddeningly slow. No matter what they were called, no matter what threats were made they could not be goaded into moving faster.

The pegasus ponies were getting closer. There simply were not enough Silver ponies to make a pitched defence. If they did they would be overwhelmed.

“Sir!” Mesa yelled. “You must choose!”

Scorpio made a quick study of his captives, and made his choice. “You,” he called to Spray, darting over.

Spray was bucked hard in the face. Velvet cried his name, but he was already tumbling down the beam. He didn’t see the rest of the ponies disappear over the beam. The world just went dark.

13

The evening of his graduation from West Hoof Thunder Kicker got drunk. That was not unusual. What he did that was unusual involved going up to a senior cadet that had made his time insufferable, telling him to his face how ugly he was, how unsightly his girlfriend was, and how he hoped, he prayed, that he would wind up being torn to pieces by a griffon or in the belly of a dragon.

Thunder’s head was ringing. He moaned, spitting out a tooth that he wasn’t using anyways. It took him a moment, but the events of the past few hours came back to him, and he was surprised that he was not upside down in the alleyway behind a seedy bar. Thunder felt very young, for all the wrong reasons.

“Sir...” The voice sounded like it was a thousand miles away.

Thunder snapped to. The pony examining him was startled.

“Yes...yes...how long have I been out?”

“Just an hour sir,” the pegasus sheepishly admitted.

“Report.”

“We got thrashed sir.”

Thunder snorted. No kidding.

“Fatalities? Ours I mean.”

“One, and the civilians...”

Spray! Velvet!

Thunder was on his hooves. He looked left and right, searching for his nephew and Mrs. Velvet. Hopefully they were recaptured before going over the beam. There he was at the bottom.

“He’s all right sir,” the pegasus said, “but he’s hurt.”

“Velvet?”

“Gone sir,” the pegasus squeaked.

I’ve failed. Maybe I’m...maybe I’ve....Thunder kicked at the sand with his hoof, which did not have the good decency to fly away in a cloud, but rather just let his hoof sink in. Maybe I’m just not the guard I used to be. If I ever was.

“Anything else?”

“Mace appears to have injured his head.”

“Let me know if anything important got damaged,” Thunder said, speeding down the beam. Spray’s condition was foremost on his mind. Kickers were resilient. He kept repeating the thought to himself like a mantra.

All the bad memories of his nephew’s three day long wanderings came back to him. All the fears, all the anxieties he had to hide behind a guard’s thick exterior. Celestia, if he’s too badly hurt, I may never forgive myself.

Spray was rubbing his head. Some serviette had been shredded and shoved up his nose to clog the bleeding. He was developing a shiner over his left eye. His head rang a little, but slowly he was feeling a little better. Physically.

“Uncle,” he croaked, his voice rippling with want of water. Thunder detached his canteen and passed it over to his nephew. Spray took it with his mouth and chugged it. By Celestia, I needed it.

“Aren’t we a pair,” Thunder said, sitting down across from him. “Feels like the hangover from Tartarus, eh?”

“I don’t drink,” Spray said. He sounded like he was a million miles away, and in his soul he wished he was.

“You really fell far from the tree, didn’t you.” Thunder sat his weary plot on the ground. “I really could use a drink right now.”

There were a few puffy clouds in the sky. The sun’s rays hurt. Such a gorgeous day, which viciously rubbed in the extent of Thunder’s failure. If...when...they got back, Thunder did not relish having to go up to Captain Armour and explaining to him what happened out here.

Shining Armour did not get to where he was by having a volatile personality. Nevertheless, Thunder was already choosing his words carefully. Not to diminish his responsibility, but to make the truth sting a little less.

Might as well run away to the Everfree right now, save everypony the trouble.

Spray extended his wing out a little to see if it was feeling better. A touch---after a second he was forced to retract it. He winced. It wasn’t that bad anymore, though he wasn’t eager to take to the skies again.

“You hurt your wing?”

Spray nodded.

“Let me have a look at it.”

Thunder shuffled over. Spray, reluctantly, extended his wing again. Thunder nodded: the wound was healing, and appeared to be reasonably clean. Seen more than a few of them in his time in the field. Earned more than a few, himself.

“Stings, doesn't it?”

“Yeah,” Spray said.

“Well,” Thunder said, “good news is that it’s mostly just flesh there. Technically, you can still fly. If you can ignore the pain. Which you can’t.”

“Good to know,” Spray replied.

“Trick is to muscle yourself some good altitude,” Thunder said, “after that you can just glide.”

Spray nodded. “Makes sense.”

“Hey, now you can show it to Hammer and the rest of the family, and prove that you’re a Kicker now,” Thunder said. Spray did not laugh or reply. Made sense: it wasn’t that funny.

This was not a funny place; these were not humourous times. Out here, at the mercy of the San Paolomino and the ghost of Old Tom. Olive, pray we never see each other again. Pray.

Maybe the consequences wouldn’t be too bad. Maybe Celestia would sign an agreement as fast as it was shoved under her nose. Maybe he wouldn’t have to lurk between places of refuge, a disgrace to his family and country. Maybe this would wrap up in a year or two, with no concessions granted to the griffons that were not dramatically more than they usually demanded.

He got Spray back, and the Silver ponies had scampered home over the beam. The Dusty River was safe, for now. Something went right today. Not the biggest thing, but something. Just not enough.

“What’s next?” Spray asked. He watched his uncle shrink into himself, like a foal trying to hide some misdeed from his parents.

“We get you back to Fort Lancer. I go to face the music.”

Spray muttered an agreement. It made sense. It was logical. It sucked.

“What did you think?” Thunder asked.

“I think it’s not good enough. We got invaded, we got captured. Need to do something about that.”

“Amen,” Thunder said. Not just for the Silver nation. Equestria has alot worse neighbours to worry about than just them.

The griffons were like vultures. Always circling, always (in public) patient. Always ready to find some fault in Equestria that they could manipulate into an accusation of a double standard with how Equestria handled Westmark and the griffons.

Which meant one of Thunder’s deepest nightmares, of the griffons innocently suggesting a protective presence in the Silver nation, may very well come true. History wouldn’t completely blame that on him, he knew; but he figured a few armchair generals back home would dump the blame onto his back.

“If you had the power to give me orders,” Thunder asked, “what would you suggest?”

“Go after them?” Spray asked. “Get Velvet back?”

Thunder shook his head. “Our mandate is to secure the beam, and recover you and Mrs. Velvet. Going over the beam exceeds it. Region’s sensitive enough as it is without us making it worse.”

“So?” Spray asked. “They did it first.”

So obvious, yet so painfully naive. Thunder swallowed his contempt for the soft foreign policy that was all the rage in Manehattan, or wherever smarty pants ponies gathered.

“Okay. The world has enough creatures in it that would love, just love, to start something with Equestria. Going over the beam would very much delight them. Invasion of the Silver nation’s sovereignty or whatever. The griffons alone would just love a way to get back at us somehow, just love it.”

“So, we shovel some road apples...”

“Half our diplomacy with the griffons is a load of road apples! Trust me, the griffons know it when they see it!”

Fair point. Spray looked defeated.

“We managed to get a hold of you. That’s good enough, by our orders. We can head back with at least some pride.”

“But if I wasn’t here?” Spray asked. “If you had the choice.”

No need to use words: Spray could see his response on his uncle’s face. Determination, fiery and strong. If it wasn’t for Spray, maybe it he would have had her back already. He didn’t need to answer the question. He was a Kicker, after all.

“So, why are we still here talking about it?”

Thunder sighed, conceding defeat. “Going after them, like I said, exceeds our mandate. Which means Equestria is not going to push for our release very strongly if things go sour. The way today has been, it very much will. We go over the beam, and don’t make it back, we may not come back.”

Spray nodded.

“Besides, we’ve got you to worry about. Going over means total commitment, now or never. We can’t wait for them to get too far away, and we can’t afford to take you along.”

“So why not?”

His nephew was serious. Thunder could see it in his eye. The look that West Hoof tried to beat out of him. The look all young colts had, before they did something that would result in screams of pain.

“Firstly you’re a civilian; and secondly, you’re hurt.”

“Like you said,” Spray replied, “gain altitude and glide. I could stay airborne, circle around, and let you finish the job.”

That would make the way back a little easier to deal with. Getting there would be difficult, not too painful, but feasible. Dear Celestia, he was beginning to see things Spray’s way! Thunder was beginning to like the idea, and had to fight himself against it.

“Well,” Thunder said, “forgive me, but I try not to turn suicide missions into a family affair!”

Thunder scooted closer to his nephew. His face monopolized Spray’s vision.

“The less Canterlot knows, the more they can blame me, and not the country. It’s in the nation’s interest to blame a nearly retired, glory hungry Kicker for breaching the border and not the guard. We cannot ask for, much less expect, help on this. Canterlot is not going to be racing to our rescue.”

Thunder wanted to look into Spray’s eyes to say the next, most vital part. He wanted to watch his pupil shrink as he hammered it with his gaze. Spray needed it.

“Also, before you come along on this, bear in mind you have a bride waiting for you back home. You really want to make her a widow before you’re even married?”

Spray paused. This was a very weighty question for him.

Coral.

He still remembered when they met, when she whispered at him if he an extra pencil during class. If it were possible, he would have gold plated that pencil. Should have eloped following their first coffee date. It would have been so natural.

He couldn’t have imagined art school without her. He couldn’t imagine his life without her. Nothing in this world could make him hurt her.

Then he remembered Twilight Velvet, separated from her family, perhaps forever. She didn’t deserve that. No pony did. Leaving her behind would make him feel rotten. He would hate himself if he walked away and she did not.

Spray tried never to leave anything unfinished. Coral would understand that.

“She’d understand,” Spray said.

“You sure?” Thunder asked. Way, way too many guard ponies said that and were unpleasantly surprised.

“I am,” Spray said. The Kicker stare. Better late than never.

“Alright,” Thunder said, “please tell me you had wing-to-wing combat training as a foal? I don’t care if you’re just a tourist, but you better be ready to defend yourself.”

Most Kickers did. Given how Spray had taken to the military life, it wouldn’t surprise Thunder if he had to start from scratch.

Spray nodded. “There was a charcoal drawing class I wanted to take, and me and my parents compromised on taking it if....”

“That’s good. How did you do?”

“Second to last.”

“As long as it wasn’t last place,” Thunder said. He trotted over to the corpse of the pegasus they had lost. Thunder gave a reverent nod, then unfastened the wing blades. Sorry, pal, but this is an emergency. No time for ceremony.

Thunder dragged over the wing blades. He fastened them to Spray’s wings. Spray found them to be heavier than he expected. Regardless, with one flex of his wings (which hurt, but Spray gritted his teeth to make it through) they moved easily. If it wasn’t for the stinging, he imagined that he would forget that they were even there.

“Right,” Thunder said, “you know how these work?”

“Sharp and pointy end goes into whoever you want to die?”

“And the rest is commentary.” It’ll do. Silver nation will be lazy, and not expect us. Then again, offering burnt offerings to Old Tom is starting to sound pretty good about now.

“Mace! Pinion! Get over here!”

The two ponies groaned. They looked like they were going to cry. The two ponies meekly walked over, terrified as to what was coming next. After the last couple of days, they were afraid of what Thunder might have planned for them.

“Assume the position, Mace.”

Her royal highness did not seem too concerned about Mace’s welfare. One of Thunder’s ponies seized Mace from under his forelegs and lifted him off the ground. Mace was too afraid to whimper.

“Not again,” Pinion moaned.

“Pinion,” Thunder said, “you’re the least stupid, right?”

Pinion found himself nodding.

“Cherry Beach is bringing up a force of ponies not long behind us,” Thunder explained. “I need you to run, here...”

He dug out a map for Pinion’s benefit. He stabbed at where Cherry Beach should be mustering his forces.

“Tell them to wait. Do not follow us. Can you do that?”

Pinion nodded. Thunder doubted the pony could find his own plot with both hooves and a mirror, but the situation was desperate.

“Yes sir.”

“Good pony,” Thunder said. “Form up!”

Thunder had twelve---eleven---ponies under his command. His nephew was a complication, but one he could not avoid. It would have to do. Slowly, the assembled ponies began to fly over the beam.

Velvet was tired. Too tired to cry, fight or do anything that she believed was expected of her. She just wanted to get to where they were taking her, collapse in a heap and go to sleep. Silver nation or Equestria, she just wanted to be somewhere that wasn’t the desert.

Well, she thought, at least this will make an interesting part of my memoirs. I’m sure my readers will be dying to know what it’s like to eat iguana.

Her legs felt like jelly. Her hooves burned. Her eyes were on fire, her head pounded. The beam was well behind her. She was being led to her fate, whatever that may be. Well, her youthful wish to visit the Silver nation was now granted. Lucky me.

They were approaching what appeared to be an encampment. Nothing fancy, just a couple of tents and some perimeter wire. A few ponies had been left behind to guard it, young ones. Looking bored out of their minds, idling next to their long spears, cursing their bad luck to be left behind.

A bored looking pony strode up to the party. “Report, Scorpio.”

“Scorpio, returning from behind the Equestrian Hostile Intentions Rampart,” Scorpio announced. “Light casualties, unable to make a sizable penetration, but we have an urgent dispatch to make.”

The pony fetched a tablet and a quill from a saddlebag. “Go on.”

“While asserting our sovereignty,” Scorpio said, “we rescued an Equestrian civilian, lost in the desert.”

The pony nodded. “So?”

“Her name is Twilight Velvet, mother to Twilight Sparkle and guard captain Shining Armour.”

The pony looked like Scorpio hadn’t made his point clear enough. Scorpio looked like he wanted to bash the fool’s face in.

“She is a high value pony of interest within Equestria, and I seek the capital’s advice on how to proceed. Should she be conveyed directly there, or delivered to the custody of an impartial, neutral power? I want a message sent out immediately to the capital.”

The politics began to play out in Velvet’s mind. The griffons had always advocated for a presence in the Silver nation, for their mutual interests---and she was now the leverage. Unless Equestria raised their hoof first. Either way, a win for the Silver nation.

Part of her didn’t want Equestria to cave in so easy. A much larger part of her wanted to see her family again. Hopefully Shining would forgive her for causing so much trouble for him.

The pony shrugged. “We can keep her here, then. Just go reinforce Copper.”

“Excuse me?” Copper asked.

The pony looked confused. “Didn’t you get the orders?”

“What orders?” Scorpio looked about ready to bite out the poor pony’s throat.

“They were sent out...but you were over the beam...”

“Get to the point.” Scorpio sounded deceptively patient.

The pony smiled weakly. “Captain Copper is experiencing stern resistance along the lakebed front. He wants your unit to assist.”

Scorpio snorted. “Copper was never very quick on his hooves,” he muttered.

He looked back at his fatigued ponies. Clearly not eager to be sent out again. Scorpio sighed, not excited about what he would have to say next. Duty was duty.

“Form up,” Scorpio barked. “Corona, you and Redstone, join the rest of the advance post and watch the captive.”

“What do you want us to do with her?” the pony asked.

Scorpio thought for a moment. “Get her, I don’t know, writing something about how Celestia is a false monarch, and should abdicate in favour of our prince, the rightful ruler of Equestria. Or draw pictures. Whatever.”

Canterlot would have to fall down the mountain before that happened! Velvet shook her head. This was going to rival a few undergraduate essays she wrote in terms of contorted logic.

Corona looked like he expected to be picked, like an eager colt at gym class.

Scorpio sighed. “Corona may assist her.”

Corona beamed. Can’t you waterboard me? Velvet thought. Something a little more pleasant?

“Seriously?” Corona asked.

“Don’t knock yourself out,” Scorpio sighed.

Corona beamed. Velvet wanted the ground to swallow her up. Her hoof met her face.

14

When the book of Thunder’s life was written, bringing Spray along would not be among the top decisions of his life. His nephew was flying just a wingspan away from Thunder, gasping as he lurched lower a notch.

“Careful!” Thunder called.

“I’m trying,” Spray grunted. He flapped with his wings once, and regretted it. It stung like nothing else. He bit his lip, trying not to yelp. Each time they moved it was hard: soft, slow movements just dragged out the torment, forcing him to flap them in one aggressive motion.

Below them spread the Silver nation. Spray was reminded of foalhood games, darting from pillow to pillow, pretending the floor was lava. It felt like if his hooves touched the sand they would burn right off. So like the desert terrain on Equestria’s side of the beam, yet so alien, so dreaded.

The tracks were easy to follow from above. They had been moving slowly; not as much time had been wasted as Thunder had feared. They were in their homeland: no time to rush. Hopefully that would confer the advantage onto the Equestrian squadron flying deep into Silver territory. Equestria rarely penetrated as far deeply as they were. Their small, but vital, trump card.

Spray wobbled in flight again. He was wrestling with a question that was gnawing at his mind. He was afraid of how it would reflect on him if he asked it. He sighed and just decided to get it over with.

“Uncle?” Spray called.

“Yes?”

“It’s been awhile,” Spray said, “what’s the difference between thrust and parry?”

Two guard ponies to Thunder’s right looked at their commander with burning, confused looks. Thunder weakly smiled back.

“Thrust is thrust, and parry...sharp end goes in bad guy, okay?”

Spray nodded. Simple enough.

“Just circle above us. Let us do the dirty work.”

“Understood.”

He really, really wasn’t cut out for this. Thunder was beginning to feel glad about Spray not making it out of West Hoof.

“Just gain altitude, and do your best to keep it! It’s crucial we have the element of surprise on this.”

“Okay!”

“Sir!” one of the pegasus ponies barked. “There!”

An encampment loomed up ahead. A small fire, and Thunder believed he could see Velvet, even at this distance and altitude. White and purple, contrasting with the grey of the Silver nation ponies.

Six ponies. Shouldn’t be too hard. Then again, I’ve been saying that all day.

“Follow my lead!” Thunder called. He swung into a high dive formation. Spray, gasping, struggled to keep up. The pain was building. Spray prayed that this would be over with, fast.

Mace almost howled in terror from where he was suspended. “Do I have to be used as a missile again?”

In a past historical era, I am more that certain you would have been used as a burnt offering, Thunder thought. Only reason you haven’t been is that I’m certain no higher power would take you!

“Hit the ground hard,” Thundered ordered. “Rescue mission, take three!”

“So, I was thinking,” Corona said.

“Yes,” Velvet croaked. There’s a first. Save this moment for posterity!

Eight ponies were standing around, bored. She and Corona were hunched over a small fire, the only source of light and heat. Corona had seized paper and a quill. Now they were working, apparently. Corona had been fiercely scribbling.

He had gone through a few pages, a couple of which had been crumpled up and added to the fire. He held a page back, studying it, and nodded.

“For a title: the Insidious Tyranny of Celestia: An Account of the Horrible Terrors of the False Princess of Equestria.”

Velvet had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing. “That...needs work.”

“Yeah,” Corona sounded a little dejected, “we can work on that last.”

He wrote some more on his parchment. He scratched out in anger a couple of paragraphs. This wasn’t going as easy as he had planned. He growled in frustration. Corona was deeply hoping Velvet could shape his thoughts away from aimless doggerel and towards something higher.

“Yeah. That’s laying it on a little thick. How about....’What does Equestria have that the Silver nation doesn't? Answer: Nothing!’ Rhetorical! What do you think?”

“Better.”

“Great!” Corona tried to mumble to himself as he wrote, difficult to do with the quill in his mouth. She could hear the paper bruise from the onslaught of purple prose from where she sat.

No doubt that this was going to impact Shining’s career when it was inevitably published. To say nothing of her reputation---bestselling author turned traitor! Innocuous remarks became damning accusations in some corners of Equestria’s press. Velvet knew that all too well. Even if she made it back, her name would be little more than mud.

It felt like her hoof was being dragged over the paper against her will. All she had was doggerel. What you could hear from certain eccentric sections of Equestria’s universities, and cranks in the paper. It felt unnatural, so base, so thoughtless, so unlike her. Even if it was propaganda she should have written something more compelling.

“What’s wrong?” Corona asked. He noticed his favourite author’s expression vanish from her face, and for her head to hang low on her neck. Not what he wanted her to feel right now.

“Well,” Velvet said, “I need to get some understanding as to why Celestia is personally responsible for the Silver nation’s problems. I know the basics, just not the difference in perspectives.”

Corona brightened. An opportunity to be the teacher, not just the learner!

“She is responsible for the Hostile Intentions Rampart, which has had a detrimental effect on efforts to reunify Equestria and the Silver nation.”

“How so?” Velvet asked. Oh, this is going to be good.

“The Hostile Intentions Rampart blocks ponies from reuniting with the Silver Nation,” Corona beamed.

“Ponies don’t want to join the Silver nation because you keep antagonizing Equestria!” Velvet protested.

“Because the Hostile Intentions Rampart exists,” Corona replied, proud of himself.

Don’t think, Velvet. Learn from the master.

“Celestia might be too much to start with,” Velvet said. “Maybe we should try somepony a little more...deserving.”

“What do you suggest?” Corona asked.

“Let’s start with Prince Blueblood,” Velvet said, “since there’s so much wrong with him.”

That way I can be seen as a patriotic citizen and not a patsy.

“Who?”

“One of Celestia’s many nephews,” Velvet explained.

“Is he bad?”

Apparently the Silver nation wasn’t up to speed on Canterlot gossip, which dominated the papers to a mournful degree. “Pretty much,” she said.

Inspired, Velvet put quill to paper. It didn’t take long for her to have something.

UNDER the iron hoof of a pampered, privileged princeling pony, Equestria has groaned under the DURESS of the indolent nobility. UnHELPfully possessed of a ‘ME first’ attitude....

Velvet just had to smile at herself.

“Not a lot, but enough for a start.”

“Can I see?”

She passed it over to Corona. His eyes widened in amazement.

“Wow,” he said, “nothing I ever could do...”

“Don’t worry about it,” Velvet said, “it will come to you.”

Corona smiled. Such praise he would treasure for the rest of his life. He barely held the shouts of his fellow ponies.

“Under attack!”

“Incoming!”

“Corona! Get your plot in gear! Pegasus ponies inbound!”

Velvet’s heart leapt in her chest. She hadn’t expected that Equestria would have sent a rescue mission solely for her. Equestria rarely got aggressive with the Silver nation. It was a surprise, a sudden but delightful surprise.

A flock of pegasus ponies was descending upon the campsite. Apparently one pony had the crossbow, and he had disappeared. The others grabbed their spears. Eleven to eight, terrible odds.

Before the pegasus ponies even hit the ground they were upon the Silver ponies. Something whizzed through the air, striking a pony. Velvet heard a sudden gasp, then gurgling, then nothing. She was getting comfortable with being around fighting and death.

The others were scrambling to respond. Pegasus ponies, and one unicorn she had hoped she would never see again in her life, landed. Metal clanged against metal. Cries and shouts of anger and pain followed.

Thunder was going through them like a wild animal. With incredible precision he tore through the Silver ponies, taking on two at a time and triumphing.

“Spray!’ Thunder yelled. “Circle! Keep circling!”

“Yes, Uncle!” Spray yelled from above.

“Just remember Young Fliers! Circle, circle, circle!”

Corona fumbled for his weapon and the elements of his armour that he had shed. “Delta formation! Stand ready! Damn the torpedos!”

He tripped over his helmet as he ran to join the others. He cursed, trying to rejoin the fight before it was over. It didn’t sound like it was going well for his side.

Spray thudded to the ground. The pain was just too much to take. He tried to shake it out of his wings. He found himself standing before a Silver nation pony clutching a spear. Both of them looked stunned to be seeing each other.

“Stop!” Corona yelled.

Spray knocked it out of his hooves with one flick of his wings. Corona stood there, surprised, confused. Realization was dawning that he was no longer in control of the situation.

“Uh...” he said.

He grimaced, standing ready to bare-hoovedly repel the pegasus. Spray managed to pull off a convincing pose of a dedicated guard pony. He leveled his wing blades at the Silver pony’s eyes. Whatever had brought Corona out to the desert left him and bolted back home. It dawned on him that he was out of his league. Far, far out of his league.

Corona attempted to flee, tripping over his helmet again. He shouted in fear as Spray gently approached him. Corona closed his eyes, pulling his legs close to his body in anticipation of the harm to come. Spray just stood there.

What was he going to do now? Kill the poor thing?

He isn’t meant to be out here. You can tell. You really think he wanted to be out there? Can you, of all the ponies in the world, can you be the one to make him pay for his poor judgment?

Corona whimpered something about his mother.

I couldn’t. Even if I lived to be a hundred thousand.

“Get up,” Spray ordered Corona. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Spray kicked the spear away. Corona continued to tremble. After a moment he began to untangle himself from the ball he had curled himself into. He looked at Spray with wide eyes of disbelief.

Corona stood on weak hooves. He studied the pony who had spared him.

“You okay?” he asked Velvet.

She nodded. She got up, shaking the dust off.

“I’ve been better. But thank you, dear.”

“Uncle!” he called. “I’ve got the last one! All six are down!”

“Great!” Thunder replied. Five pony corpses, none of them Equestrian, lay at his hooves. Exactly how it should be: swift and overwhelming. Thunder felt like a Kicker again.

“I’ve taken a prisoner!”

“Have you know?” Thunder called back. “Maybe you missed out on a military career after all!”

“Well, I’d like somepony to take him off of my hooves. He looks like he’s about ready to cry.”

“Swift Wing, relieve Spray,” Thunder ordered. “At least there’s only one: I’d hate to think what would have happened if we got all six of them.”

“Six?” Velvet asked. “There were eight of them.”

Something struck her, hard, sharp. Spray yelped and went down.

Shining Armour removed his helmet to wipe his brow. The bottom portions of the picture of Cadence affixed to the inside brim were beginning to look warped from water damage. It had been a hard fight. They had won.

Several lines of stone faced Silver nation captives were being moved past. Ponies scurried past, orders were barked. Equestrian guards crawled along the near side of the beam. Pegasus ponies circled overhead.

The fight had been hard. The Silver nation ponies would not be dislodged easily. The casualties had been moved away, back to the fort. Several condolences letters awaited his signature.

To Shining’s surprise, the Long Patrol hadn’t needed much incentive to fight. Olive Branch, for all his faults, was capable at least of squeezing that much out of the ponies under his command. If he wasn’t just a little on the dense side, Shining would not have to have worried about recruitment for the Patrol. For the enlisted, anyways.

Everypony’s fears were realized at the sight of the West Desert Beam. Almost fully dry, eroding in the desert wind. Soon it would offer all the protection of a sand dune. Which meant Shining would have to have ponies stationed here to keep the Silver nation from getting ideas for the foreseeable future.

Maybe I can argue that it’s successor should be made of something more formidable, Shining thought. Like fudge.

His mother had still not turned up. That gnawed at his mind. The more objectives he accomplished the more time he could afford to the horrible notion, almost screaming at him now. A shame that the fight had wrapped up reasonably quickly: it had been a most excellent distraction for his worried mind.

Purpose would direct his thoughts. What did he need to do, and what was not being done? Re-establish the security of the beam first. His mother, unfortunately, could, and had to, wait until that was done.

“I want the provisional fence finished in fifteen!” He gestured at a pony not pulling his weight. “Move your plot!”

“Sir!” It grabbed a roll of barbed wire and began to join the line going up the top of the beam. The fence was thin, fine, but appearances mattered. Equestria would not surrender the Dusty River basin.

It had already lost two of it’s citizens. Hopefully that will be enough for one day.

Getting Spray and his mother back, Shining was certain, would require his resignation. It would get too political otherwise. He hadn’t been guard captain for long, and already his tenure was ending in disgrace. His second choice of being a West Hoof instructor looked less likely---good luck getting cadets to follow him!

Cadene won’t care. She’s so lovely, but...there would be gossip. Not enough, Shining hoped, to wreck his relationship. He hoped so anyway: Canterlot tongues loved to wag.

“Chariot inbound!”

“Where?”

It was approaching quickly, unit banner furious fluttering in the wind. It landed just a few paces from Shining. Lieutenant Cherry Beach leapt off, followed by another pony, who tumbled head over hooves onto the ground.

“Sir!” Cherry Beach barked, quickly snapping a salute. “We have a pony from Thunder Kicker’s response force!”

“Good. Where is he?”

Cherry Beach had to all but nudge the pony over. He hadn’t stopped panting and gasping, not since he had run up to Cherry and his ponies, babbled something, and collapsed in a heap.

“Right here, sir!”

Shining strode over to the pony. “Report!” he ordered.

“Pinion...reporting...”

“Where is the rest of your unit?”

‘Thunder...others...beam...over...”

“Breathe,” Shining ordered. Dear Celestia, this one is going to be a hooffull.

Pinion slowed his breathing, gaining a modicum of control over his breathing.

“Thunder went over...get the civilians...heading back at our rendezvous...”

Shining felt a surge of hope. He hadn’t authorized an expedition, and felt a little disappointed at the unauthorized initiative. Not very much, mind. Even as guard captain he found it hard to suppress completely his relief.

“Where?” Shining asked. He tugged out a map. Pinion hammered his sector of the map.

“Here...”

“Have they returned?”

“No,” Pinion wheezed. “Getting closer...left, not long...”

“Dull Blade!” Shining yelled.

A unicorn pony bolted up to Shining and saluted.

“Sir!”

“I want a force of ponies...here....we’ve got ponies inbound, ours and theirs! I want us to be ready for them!”

“Sir!” Dull Blade ran off, shouting for ponies to follow him.

Hope blazed in Shining’s mind. Things were not so dire...at least, there was still a fighting chance to keep them from becoming dire. All up to him now.

“Come on,” he ordered Pinion, seizing him with telekinesis. “We need to be on the other side, ready for them.”

Pinion, digging his hooves as deep into the sand as he strength could muster, moaned as he was hauled back onto the chariot.

15

Good news was that Thunder Kicker was very familiar with these injuries. Velvet wasn’t hurt too bad. The arrow hit the meaty part of her leg, and the wound was clean. Removing the arrowhead was quick, albeit painful. Old Tom, however, was nowhere near finished with Spray.

The shaft had gone through his wing. About a third of the shaft protruded through the wing, and that was the only part they took off. The wing itself was immobilized. Nopony was going to touch the arrow until they got back to the infirmary.

The sniper went down easy. Seven Silver ponies confirmed down. Seven. Nopony could see what happened to the last one standing. Thunder was cursing himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Silver nation pony in the San Paolomino? They should be lucky the Silver prince wasn’t on their plots as it was! If they were lucky (and the overwhelming case was that they weren’t) Shining Armour could tangle up the Silver nation long enough for them to make good their escape.

Decision time: Spray couldn’t fly, enemies closing in. Now what? Ah, the life of a guard pony officer. I wouldn’t give up the world for it!

“Alright,” Thunder announced to his group, “we need a plan.”

“Got this,” Mace said. He found a good sized rock and curled up, resting his head upon it. He closed his eyes, mumbling to himself.

“What are you doing?” Thunder asked, dreading the reply.

“I’ve got an in with Princess Luna,” Mace explained. “Give me a minute to reach her.”

It’s outside the box, I’ll give him that.

Velvet snorted. “I wouldn’t doubt it would work.”

“What do you mean?” Thunder asked.

“You know what he asked for?” Velvet said.

“Only the broad strokes.”

Velvet explained to Thunder what Mace had asked for when he attempted to contact the princess through his dream. Every tasteless and crude thing he asked about her daughter, to, as he put it, “refine the experience.”

Thunder wrinkled his nose. “That was...was...”

“I know,” Mace said. “Best of all, it worked!”

Her royal highness did seem irritated that we could no longer geld ponies as punishment.

Spray brought everypony back to focus with a yelp of pain. Thunder only had a limited amount of pain medication, the kind that could mask pain but not fully remove it. He couldn’t afford to make Spray illucid right now.

“You okay?” Redundant question to ask, but Thunder felt he had to ask it.

Spray nodded. “Fine...hurts...”

“I know,’ Thunder said. “All right! Everypony! Here’s the plan: sling the civvies over your backs and run. Run for the beam.”

Telling a group of pegasi to hoof it would not go over well, but Thunder didn’t see any other choice. Dividing his forces did not seem like a good idea. They get jumped, Thunder would lose half his ponies. Best thing to do was to do get as close to the beam was possible, then take to the air. Closer they were, the faster they could all go over.

Thunder turned to face Spray. “I know it hurts. Just channel that pain into energy, and you’ll make it through.”

Spray winced. He had come this far. He could make it. Just a little ways further. He took a few experimental steps forwards. He really needed to push himself to make the pain anything more than ambient noise.

Thunder knew the look on his nephew’s face well. Lived it way too often for a guard pony to want to.

“Okay,” he stammered, for himself as much as for Thunder.

He was still steady on his hooves. He could do this. He would have to. He gritted his teeth, thought of his country, Coral and every else that was remotely precious to him, and how badly he wanted to be back home.

“All right then. Think of your mare, and you will make it back.”

Spray nodded.

Thunder now raced amongst his ponies, readying them for the trip back.

“Secure the other one!” Thunder ordered.

Velvet was flung over the back of a pony. She squeaked a little out of pain. Still, she had to admit, it was nice to have an excuse for studying the well formed rump of a handsome stallion. Something good was coming out of this.

“Secure the captive!”

Corona looked bewildered. Apparently the bit finally dropped who the captive was this time around. A couple of ponies moved uncomfortably close to him.

“Ready?”

“Sir yes sir!”

“All right!” Thunder yelled. “Move out!”

The ponies began to run; Spray found it hard to keep up. One hoof before the other...it brought back some very bad memories of the mandatory runs at West Hoof during his brief time there. A pegasus on the ground was a humiliating thing.

No other choice, Thunder thought. If I put too many pegasi in the air, not enough are going to be on the ground. I hate gambling. At least, now I do.

At least they were making good time.

“Is it good?” Corona asked.

“Not bad,” Mace said, “better than iguana, anyway.”

“Mace,” Thunder barked, “stop fraternizing with the captive.”

Pinion didn’t so much leap out of the chariot as gracelessly fall out of it. He almost tumbled head over tail down the sand. Shining was already off, surveying the terrain for weak spots and possible areas of attack.

He had only a dozen ponies with him. A lot fewer than the situation called for.

“Gimme...,” Pinion wheezed. “Minute.”

“Did you ponies in Fillydelphia bother to exercise?” Shining asked.

“Getting out bed count?”

Whatever the exercise regiment was for the guard in Fillydelphia, Shining decided that it was nowhere near enough. But that would, and could, wait.

Thunder’s ponies should be here any second now. He nervously licked his lips.

Shining felt frustrated at being unable to bolt across the beam to help Thunder where he was. His hooves were tied. Even if Equestria’s border had been violated, the rules, the indifferent rules, stated nopony was going over. Thunder taking matters in hoof was another; the captain of the guard crossing the beam was a blatant declaration of war. Celestia would not welcome that.

It was maddening: every time the situation came within inches of being solved, another ordeal was thrown his way. As captain of the guard, it was to be expected. Battles often shifted, and rapidly, from one extreme to another. Bringing his mother into one ate at him.

Celestia willing, this torment would end soon. Somewhere Thunder’s group was returning, emerging somewhere from the shimmering haze. A risky move to take, but he wouldn’t be too hard on Thunder if he pulled it off.

“Binoculars,” Shining ordered.

A pony fumbled in his saddlebag and pulled them out, holding them out for Shining Armour. Shining accepted them. He scanned the sky. Nothing yet.

A train of ponies appeared on the ground. Not what Shining expected, but this day was anything but normal.

“They’re coming in on the ground!”

A larger cloud of dust was rapidly closing in from behind the ponies. It did not look like they were aware of that fact.

“Prepare to repel invaders!” Shining yelled. “I want crossbows, here, now!”

Ponies scampered. Spears and wing blades were mounted. A couple of pegasus ponies took to the air.

Shining relished the opportunity to get his hooves dirty.

The beam was coming into sight. Crumbling, vaguely grey in colour. Spray was on the verge of collapsing in relief. Just a few steps more. He kept fighting to put one hoof before the other. Before long he would be home.

“It’s strange,” Corona said, “seeing it from the other side after being over it.”

“Well, I believe the intention was to scare us.”

“Did it work?” Mace asked.

“Well, no,” Corona said, “I mean, sand? You guys on a budget or something?”

Thunder figured he would be merciful and let his nephew have a few minutes to gulp and gasp for air. “A minute,” he called. “A minute, and we can fly the rest of the way.”

His ponies were on the verge of cheering. Pegasus ponies were not meant to be runners. Velvet looked very relieved. His nephew needed a couple more pain pills. He walked over to Spray, who was teetering on his hooves.

He double checked the wound. The rushed job appeared to be holding. Everything Thunder knew about medicine could fit on the back of a postcard. Get them patched up good enough and long enough to get to the doctor.

“Here.” Thunder fished a bottle of pills out of his bag, and rummaged for his canteen.

Spray popped it into his mouth and took a deep swig of water. “Thanks.”

“Holding up?”

Spray sighed. “I am going to need to sleep for a month after this.”

“I wouldn’t blame you. After my first taste of battle...”

The story could wait. The past could lie dormant; Thunder had his hooves full with a very tempestuous present.

“I’m sorry all this went bad,” Thunder said.

“Don’t mention it,” Spray replied. “Not your fault.”

“You’ve done very, very well,” Thunder said. “You may not have filled the Kicker mold, but you’ve still done the family proud, in my mind.”

Thunder gave his nephew at pat on the flank. The wrong flank. He blushed and uttered a quick apology.

Spray grunted. “Just get me to a doctor.”

“Yes, sir,” Thunder said. “C’mon.”

He guided Spray towards the beam. If Thunder squinted, he was sure that there were ponies already lined the beam. Friendly faces, thank Celestia! Some of them were frantically gesturing to look behind them.

“Sir.” A pony gestured at a large cloud of dust. That could mean only one thing.

A large number of ponies was bearing down on their location. It was astounding to be reminded how fast Silver ponies could move, especially when they were motivated.

Oh Luna, not again

“Hey!” Corona excitedly waved, “It’s Captain Scorpio!”

Scorpio was taking a foremost position within the crowd of ponies. Thunder checked with his binoculars, and noticed the redness of his eyes. Getting over the beam took on an additional urgency.

“Over the beam!” Thunder yelled, admittedly a redundant request. “Get moving!”

Immediately Thunder was mentally prioritizing. They were, once again, going to clash. Thunder needed to get the civilians safe.

“Velvet! Get Velvet out of here!”

Two ponies grabbed Velvet by her forelegs. They leapt into the sky. Thunder watched as they disappeared behind the beam. Scorpio, having lost his chief advantage over Equestria, was not going to like that one bit.

“Spray! Hoof it! We’ll watch your back!”

Spray opened his mouth to protest. Thunder and three other ponies were preparing to stand their ground. He was too hurt. Nothing to be done. He turned away, his heart heavy, and began to head to the beam.

Behind him he heard the shouts and sounds of the two groups colliding together. Metal and wood striking together, and striking bodies, unpleasant sounds. It sounded like there were more Silver ponies than Equestrians.

Spray dug his hooves into the beam and ran. The sand crumbled underneath his hooves, giving no traction. He gritted his teeth and pushed on, his wound beginning to ache with renewed anger.

Thunder knocked a Silver pony into next week. Two others were left, easily dispatched, but help was on the way. More than they could handle.

“Fall back!” Thunder called. The fight wasn’t going their way, best to fall back to where they had reinforcements. It was a hard fight back. The guard ponies were more disciplined and equipped and better trained than the Silver nation ponies, but the Silver’s ferocity could not be denied.

Scorpio strode forwards out of the fray. Scratches ran along his face from where he had earlier fought off Equestrian ponies. He did not look like he was in a good mood.

With a determination that a pony did not normally display, he bounded after the retreating ponies. Where the Equestrians struggled trying to get moving through the thick sand, Scorpio moved like he was walking on air. He brushed past Thunder’s group before they could react.

“Boss!” Corona called. “Good to see you! I’ve...”

The final word was caught in Corona’s throat. Scorpio made a quick gesture; Corona fell to the ground, eyes wide, blood leaking onto the ground. Scorpio turned and began to run.

Thunder yelped as Scorpio tore through. He made a quick swing of his wing blades, harming nothing but empty air.

Mace stood his ground. “Have at you!”

Scorpio knocked him out of his way like he was a foal. Now he was facing Spray. Murder was in his eyes.

Spray had one blade on his “good” wing. Better than nothing.

Scorpion gave a growl and swung. He had a blade on his right forehoof. It made contact with Spray’s wing blade. The clang of metal-on-metal was almost defeaning.

Spray struggled to stay steady on his hooves. Scorpio’s blows were strong, and Spray struggled to keep up. His hooves were finding it hard to find purchase. He was holding his own. Just.

He squinted. Scorpio loomed overhead. Moving slowly, assured in his triumph. Looking cocky. Spray’s wing was aching like there was no tomorrow. Still, he needed it to hold together, just for one minute more.

Spray made one quick, desperate slash. Giving it everything he had, summoning every shred of energy that he had left.

Scorpio gasped. He staggered backwards. A thin ribbon of blood was forming along his midsection. Scorpio managed to recompose himself, beginning, if laboriously, to close in again on Spray.

“Here!” Thunder’s blade rammed home. Scorpio, surprisingly, made no sound. He just fell.

“Spray?” Thunder asked, speeding over to his nephew. No time to take pride in his triumph---Spray’s welfare took priority.

“Fine,” Spray gasped. He flexed his wing, now determinedly numb. It hung limply at his side. He pulled of the blade.

“Good work.” Thunder lightly tapped his nephew on the side.

Spray nodded. He just felt relieved that it was over.

“Let’s get out of here.”

“A minute,” Spray said.

He found himself creeping over to Scorpio’s body. Curiosity was building. Aside from a couple of funerals, he had never been in the presence of a freshly killed pony. Still warm, alive mere seconds ago. Now lying dead.

If Thunder hadn’t intervened, Spray would have had to kill Scorpio himself. Didn’t matter how he felt about his family, his destiny---he would have no choice.

Spray nudged the body. Not the smartest thing to do, but he felt compelled to do so.

Scorpio suddenly erupted. His hoof hit hard against Spray’s head. The world went black.

16

16

Somepony was calling his name from a million miles away. It was enough to make the darkness part and let light flush back into his eyes. Everything was blurry and indistinct.

“Spray....Spray....?”

Focus returned. Somepony was leaning in close to him. A worried look was on her face. Spray found himself smiling.

“Spray?” Coral asked.

“Hey,” he croaked. He gave the widest grin his tortured face could manage.

She leaned in to nuzzle him. It felt so good to feel her fur again, inhale the lingering scent of strawberries that reminded him of her.

“Yeah,” Spray said, “gimme some sugar, baby.”

They were joined by a third head, protruding from the bed next to his. “I like sugar,” it said.

Coral screamed. The head quickly vanished, pressed back down against a bed. Mumbled apologies were offered. The head continued to babble.

“Mace! You need to lie down!”

“I don’t feel so bad....”

“You’re really hurt!”

“Feel groovy, baby!”

Pinion grinned widely and blushed. “He’s had his bell rung, a little.”

“With what?” Coral asked.

“He’s had a bad day,” Pinion weakly chuckled.

Mace stared at them with wide eyes, drool forming at a corner of his mouth. Any sign of intelligence drained out of his face. The veritable picture of health by his limited standards.

“Mace you need to lie down, and...forget the fifty bits I owe you.”

“Fifty bits,” Mace slurred.

“Yes! Oh, and you’re buying the next...ten rounds. You want the good stuff, remember?”

“Okay.” Mace’s head swung around on his neck.

“Yeah. None of the watery cheap stuff, all right?”

“No prob,” Mace said.

Spray took a moment to look around to see where he had ended up. He wasn’t being eaten alive, so he surmised that he hadn’t fallen into the hooves of the Silver nation.

Fort Lancer’s infirmary was small, smelling both sharply of antiseptics and comfortingly of musk. An IV ran into his left foreleg. He noticed that Velvet was straight across from him, a lavender unicorn filly and blue stallion sitting next to her. Captain Shining Armour was attempting to look professional, but a certain giddiness escaped his face.

A clock in the wall reported that it was well into the evening. Two long days: it felt like decades had passed. Spray didn’t feel awake so much as reborn.

Velvet was studying her present, a helmet autographed by the ponies at Fort Lancer. Apparently this was the greatest honour that could ever be afforded onto her. Any medal issued by Celestia would pale in comparison. She turned it around and around again, amazed by how many ponies had signed it.

Thunder was right behind Coral. He had a big smile on his face.

“Word to the wise,” Thunder said, “you don’t hang around the ponies you think you’ve killed, on account of sometimes it’s hard to know if they’re really dead.”

Spray nodded. “I see the wisdom in that.”

“But I must say,” Thunder said, taking a seat next to his nephew, “for somepony who came in second to last in your class, you really held your own. Especially given how you were on your bad wing. I almost didn’t need to help you.”

“Did he...?” Coral began to ask.

“I took him down. Don’t worry. Still the sweet, gentle colt.”

Thunder glimpsed at Spray’s chart, on a clipboard above his bed.

“Concussion, light wing trauma, major wing trauma, dehydrated and exhausted. You really took a beating out there.”

“I must have been a real weakling, compared to what you’ve been through.”

“Not really,” Thunder said. “When I was your age I wound up in a hospital bed, with wounds not entirely unlike yours.”

“Battle?” Spray asked.

“Leave at Los Pegasus. One of those weekends you don’t forget---thank Celestia I can’t remember!”

Spray laughed. Not taking to the family trade was looking more and more like a good thing. He didn’t know how much of this he could have survived.

“I pulled through too, chief!” Mace called. He excitedly waved his hoof.

Thunder closed his eyes and sighed. “My cup runs over.”

Celestia walked in to the sound of the clanking of her personal guard’s armour. Immediately all ponies not confined to their sickbeds got down on their front legs.

“Princess on...!” Mace yelled, trying to leap to his hooves. Pinion wrestled him back down onto the bed.

“Mace!” Pinion moaned. For a moment Mace’s hospital gown had slipped. Celestia did not display any emotion at seeing another set of.... royal jewels would a suitable euphemism. Pinion frantically tried to help Mace recover his dignity.

That was the pony Luna advised me about. Can’t say I have the inclination to banish him to the sun...yet.

Normally her favourite student would be on her like an excited parasprite on pie. Twilight smiled from beside the bedside of her mother. She returned it, pleased that her mother had come through all right. It would have been horrible if Celestia was deprived of the latest volume of Velvet’s stories...and her student’s mother, too, of course.

“I see that we’ve gained some new guests,” she said.

“Your highness,” Shining Armour said, “I have abused my position and let civilians into a sensitive military installation. Clearly, I am irredeemably corrupt, and I must beg you to accept my resignation.”

“Denied.”

“Well, I tried,” Shining Armour said.

“We were not expecting you,” Thunder said, trying to find new and exciting ways of making Mace’s life miserable behind the privacy of his mind.

“I decided the matter was serious enough to merit my presence,” Celestia said.

“What happens now?” Velvet asked from her bed.

“The water rights negotiation council has expressed surprise at this unexpected and highly unauthorized incursion of Equestria. I am stationing yourself and a contingent of guard ponies here to ensure that this misunderstanding is clearly understood, until we get a new barrier in place.”

Shining bowed his head. “As long as I don’t wind up back here again in a few months.”

“Come now: you think that Canterlot’s finest bakers will fail to produce an excellent wall of cake?” Celestia asked. “Provided we can stop ourselves from snacking on it, of course.”

All things considered, Shining thought the situation turned out well enough. Civilians back safely, Silver ponies back on their side of the crumpled barrier. The Silver nation had been repelled, with a fresh reminder of what lay in store if they tried Equestria patience. Something they wouldn’t try again for a long time, if they had any sense. Griffons would tut tut about how Equestria was so stern and punishing to so small a foe, which they would have done anyways.

That was foreign affairs problem now. Where Shining hoped it would remain for the rest of his career. The situation here was anything but complete, but he had it underhoof. Manageable, compared to the chaos that had greeted him. The weeks to come would be eventful. The press would want answers, and there would be many long hearings with ministers behind rows of long tables.

That was in the future. For now, they could bask in triumph.

“I’m buying,” Mace said. “Buying for the world!”

“Luna and he...?” Celestia asked.

“Yes. Yes your majesty,” Thunder groaned.

Celestia knelt down to whisper in Thunder’s ear, “Cerberus clean up crew needs a couple of new ponies.”

Thunder nodded. Celestia walked out of the room, leaving Thunder more time with his nephew.

“You did good,” Thunder said. “I would have been proud to have you serving under me.”

“Don’t expect me to be enlisting anytime soon.”

“Wouldn’t take you,” Thunder said. “Don’t belong there.”

He gave his nephew a pat on the good part of his shoulder.

“I am glad you made it back,” Thunder said. “The rest of the clan will be too. They’ll be proud. Even Herald. Maybe.”

The doctor pony standing behind Thunder cleared his throat.

“Thanks,” Spray said, as everypony but he and Velvet were ushered out. Shining almost had to use magic to drag his sister out of the room. The sudden quiet was welcome.

“Well,” Velvet said, “we’ve had a time.”

Granted, the last time she had a good adventure she was a younger pony. A more flexible pony: her joints were not going to forgive her anytime soon. She had never faced danger up close before, and she believed that Daring Do, if she was real, would have never forgiven her lack of courage.

Daring Do never had foals, Velvet reminded herself. Let’s see her try that.

“I’ll say.” The bed could have been made of solid stone and Spray would have all but melted over it like butter on toast.

“How do you feel, love?” Velvet asked.

“Pretty good,” Spray said. Safe, on his way home.

“It’s over now,” Velvet said. Confirming it. After the way things had been, it was surprising that it was finally over. She was almost too afraid to go to sleep, for fear of waking up in a pit of snakes.

“Inspired?” Spray asked.

Velvet nodded. Velvet wasn’t sure what she was going to write, at least not right away. Too many things were swirling through her head. Too many ideas. She probably would never experience writer’s block ever again---would that the education had been less dramatic.

Bright Star and the other dead ponies haunted her. Adventures in the real world never would match the comfortable sterility of adventures on the page.

“The revenge of Old Tom,” Spray said, head settling onto the pillow. There was a painting in that. The long, tortured desert vista with a fringe of green and blue teasingly on the horizon. Distant, reachable only after a long journey and considerable trial. If he wasn’t so exhausted he would have gotten straight up and got to work.

"Old Tom can kiss my flank,” Mace babbled.

“You said it, buddy.”

8

Just like going on camping trips again. Spray chanted to himself, trying to take his mind off of the day’s more serious events.

“We’re going on a tiger hunt....we’re going to catch a big one....oh no, there’s a mud puddle! We can’t go over it...we can’t go around it...we can’t go under it...we have to go through it!”

He imagined his nine year old self adding all the squishing sounds. He chuckled when he remembered how fun the game was. It made many days at camp bearable as his group commuted from one activity to another. Whenever it was his turn to think of whatever hazard would get in their way, he always imagined something horribly unlikely and boring. The other foals would complain, and Spray’s turn would be passed over the next time around.

At some point it would be mentioned that all the obstacles experienced were things pegasus ponies could avoid. This led to some awkward answers: first the rhyme was changed so that there were obstacles that the pegasus ponies couldn’t avoid, which was the same problem in reverse. Or they were told that the pegasus ponies didn’t want to fly, to be with their ground-bound friends. This struck the foals as unlikely.

At one point a particularly grouchy colt leading the group said it was because their wings had been snapped off. That led to an uncomfortably quiet hike back to camp.

The water had turned into a gentle flow down the contours worn into the rock. By now it was hoof deep, and the sun had begun to emerge from behind the clouds. Before long it would look as if nothing had happened. Within a day it would be dry and stony again, waiting for the next time it rained like a very patient predator.

Up ahead, he could see the large pool the water had created, lapping at the feet of the beam. There was a large gap in the barrier. The fence dangling forlornly between two peaks. Large enough for a pony to easily get under. Getting as far away from here just became a little more important.

At an opening of the water’s path he noticed several lumps from above. Small, dark, definitely not rocks. He swooped low to inspect them further. Hopefully his luck was beginning to turn.

Two of their saddlebags had been caught by a rocky outcropping. He swooped down to collect them. Both canteens were still in place. His sketchbook was irretrievable. He found a compass; goodness knew who had the map, and if it was still legible anyways. Still, an advantage: he could scout the landmarks ahead of the returning party and they could wind their way back to Fort Lancer. Inefficient, but it got the job done.

At least he could do one thing right.

Bright Star wasn’t far away. Spray tried his best to ignore him. The Kickers never left their dead behind, but that was the battlefield, not the wilderness. It would be unfair to leave him, or even make a simple cairn of stone to cover his body. He hadn’t lived up to the family ideals very well, so he hoped this was just another thing he could get away with.

Spray heard something come from the top of the beam. The dislodged fence was rustling. Voices were shouting. He darted behind a rock. Figures came into sight.

Several ponies were coming down the side of the beam. Strong, wiry ponies. Well, they’re not wasting any time, aren’t they?

Even at this distance Spray could tell the difference from an Equestrian earth pony and a Silver nation pony. The silver nation was less round, sleeker, but at the same time thicker with muscle rather than fat. Built for speed, built for endurance. He couldn’t see their faces from this distance, but he wondered if they looked like he imagined them: angry expression on their faces, their eyes burning.

Spray crept around the rock, trying to stay as low as possible. The ponies were beginning to tear down the fence. A couple slid further down the beam, as close to the ground as possible. Their feet sank deeply into the soaked sand, but they were making progress.

Right by Bright Star, who was uncomfortable vulnerable, was a third saddlebag. Spray quickly and quietly tried to do triage, separating what was most important into the emptiest bag. The voices were coming closer, and he could being to distinguish what they were saying.

“Almost!” The nearest pony said. “Looks deep!”

“Fine,” another called back, closer to the top. “We can wait! Get back up here!”

“Tell the others to bring ropes! It should be gone quickly, but until then....”

The pony who had been trekking down the side of the beam turned and imperfectly began to make his way back up. All the ponies were tearing down the fence, now rendered a thin metal string. It gave easily in the drenched sand, so easy it was insulting that once it had prevented them from crossing.

Equestrian defence planning at it’s finest! Amazing there was still a realm left to defend!

Spray thought for a moment. He glanced back at the third bag, and the corpse of Bright Star. It was unlikely that these ponies would go away; quite the opposite. He had no choice. His innate squeamishness was not helping.

Low as he could go, he crept out from cover. One eye on the beam, he slowly crawled over to the saddlebag, the only time lamented being born a pegasus. Unhelpfully, Bright Star had rolled onto about half. He was face down, and Spray was afraid of what he would find if he rolled him onto his back.

It could not be helped. He either did this, or he died.

He grasped the saddlebag by it’s strap and began to drag it with him back behind the cover of the rock. Carefully, quietly.

“There!”

Crap.

A crossbow bolt thudded against the ground.

He wrenched the bag free. Spray leapt into the air. He pushed his tired wings as hard as he could get away with. A couple of arrows flew by him. One struck his left wing about two thirds the way down.

He winced, emitting a short gasp of pain. His altitude dipped, but he regained control. He dove low, trying to avoid their fire, and while it was painful he still pulled it off with respectable aplomb. Not easy while trying to balance three saddlebags full of very heavy equipment.

Heck, he thought, maybe I could have been the first Wonderbolt in the family.

Incredibly, he made it back to where the others were. He landed with a gracelessness that his instructors at Young Fliers would have wept at. He struggled to his hooves, but pain and exhaustion overwhelmed him.

“Spray!” Velvet called.

“I’m fine,” he said, “I think.”

Immediately he worried that the Silver nation covered their arrowheads with some poison and that he was destined for a gruesome death. The way today was shaping up it would not surprise him. Either way, without him they only had the compass, an imperfect method of navigation. Things were just a little bit better but a great deal worse at the same time.

“Is there a first aid kit?” Velvet asked.

“In one of these, I think,” Spray said, dumping the saddlebags at their hooves.

Mace and Pinion started poking at his injury. The arrowhead of the bolt had been cut off, and now the shaft was being fiddled with, in preparation of the wrenching pull needed to remove it from his wing.

“We can’t stay here,” Spray said, “they’re already coming through.”

“You’re hurt,” Velvet said.

And exhausted, but that really doesn't matter right now. “We don’t move fast, we’re going to be guests of the Silver nation, and I’d rather not take a vacation right now,” Spray replied.

Velvet froze. This was a situation her heroes and heroines frequently found themselves in, and they always found the strength within themselves to pull through. Easy to ask of a pony who only existed on the printed page, hard to ask of yourself when danger was staring her in the face, especially after getting a personal and vivid reminder of how deadly things could get in the wild.

She knew he was telling the truth. If the beam was irreparably compromised, and help was taking it’s time, they would have to hoof it to the hills, and hope for the best. She wanted an adventure...well, it was time to start living one.

Spray winced. Pinon had grasped the bolt with his magic, giving Spray a moment to steel himself before it came out. If it came out quickly, painful as that sounded, it would be endurable, as opposed to the slow torture of dragging it gingerly out of the wound.

“Be gentle!” Velvet said. Memories replayed of treating skinned knees with her foals, but this was a problem gentle words, a kiss and a sweet treat could not fix. It was so frustrating to be sidelined.

“I’ll try,” Pinion replied. “No guarantees.”

He met Spray’s face. Spray attempted to stallion up, and failed. Pinion shrugged; it wasn’t his wing, after all.

“Don’t be a wussy,” Pinion said.

Shining yelped. Instantly the sudden pain was augmented with the sting of an antiseptic, but he gritted his teeth. His wound was papered over, his wing involuntarily trembling.

“The hills,” he said, “we have to make them if we’re going to stay one step ahead.”

The hills were on the horizon, appearing remote and unattainable. It was good to have a destination, any destination. Something to wear out what little energy in trying to reach.

“We’ll find a cave,” Spray said, “and hunker down there. We can plan our next move, hopefully find a supply of water, and rest.”

He didn’t know about the rest of them, but he was itching for a few hours of shut eye. The guard or the patrol could move into the area, control and contain the Silver nation, and they could be rescued. None of them were in a state to do anything more.

“I’m all for resting,” Mace said.

Pinion said nothing but nodded in agreement. They set off at a reasonable pace. Pinion took two of the saddlebags; Mace took one. Pinion had done a cursory inventory: three canteens, two thirds full, and some munchies. No map, no weapons. If they rationed and embraced the suck, they might be able to make it. Might.

“Worst comes to worst, we might have to develop a taste for meat,” Pinon errantly mentioned. Trying to drum up at least some laughs.

“At this point, I’d be excited if it came to that,” Spray said.

“Actually,” Velvet said, certain that nopony would appreciate learning this, “ponies in our situation have been known to do just that.”

Pinion looked stunned: he made the comment in a weak attempt at levity. In Velvet’s books ponies fought to avoid that taboo, and most of the time they succeeded. Again, another part of her fiction was intruding into her life.

“When the first ponies reached the San Paolomino, their crops failed because their weather ponies simply didn’t know what to do about the heat,” Velvet elaborated. “They developed a taste for iguana. They had to, after eating every tumbleweed, sagebrush and shrub they could find.”

Pinion reacted like she said a taste for pony. Same thing in his eyes. Granted, at one point during guard training they were hiked out into the woods and told that, if things got dire, worms were always a good source of energy. Starving to death started to look pleasant after hearing that.

The attitude had been ditched, fast: Pinion wanted to live. Of course, he would have preferred not resorting to measures that would haunt him until the end of his days.

“What was it like?” Mace asked, beginning to come around to the idea.

“Gamy,” Velvet said, not thrilled about the prospect either. “If we do meet the Silver nation, we might get the chance to swap recipes.”

Pinion had heard that Silver ponies ate meat, but had enough brains to distinguish fact from barracks rumour. The more outlandish, the more unlikely. As a guard, he represented Equestria, as Captain Armour said, and it would not be advisable to believe anything that could not be easily discounted.

“For real?” Pinion asked, hoping he misheard. The other ponies were leading him on, he dearly hoped.

Velvet nodded. As a student, pouring over the primary documents (the diaries, the logs, the letters back home) she had read about the feelings of those desperate ponies. The belief that they had failed as Equestrians, and were forever tainted. She never thought she would understand the feeling, but here she was, the one proposing the idea.

“Very little water for crops, so they did the only logical thing.”

Pinion did not know how to reply to that. Carnivorous ponies! His pace began to quicken. It also got colder at that exact moment.

“I figured they ate cactus.”

Velvet shook her head. “Doesn't sit well in the stomach, apparently.”

“It’s basically food,” Spray said. “Meaty, treaty, sometimes creamy, always screamy.”

Velvet laughed. “Glad to hear you’re open minded.”

“Doing the best that I can,” Spray said, struggling forwards. Sooner they reached the hills, sooner he could sprawl on the ground and fall asleep.

Wrapped in the latest dispatches was a copy of the Canterlot Times, included at Shining Armour’s request. Time to see what the damage was at the home front. What he expected, to an extent, he got.

The Editorial page did not hold back. Seven million bits washed away, and the Long Patrol had somehow misplaced a Class 4 thunderhead. Questions were asked about the quality of leadership on display, questions Shining wanted answered more than any other pony. He would get answers. Not today, but he would get answers.

The second part was not what he had expected. Maybe somepony at the ministry of defence was a gabby gums, or incredulous journalists had extrapolated from what they heard, or maybe they wanted a jump in sales. All he saw was that Twilight Velvet and Spray Kicker had been promoted from missing to presumed dead.

On page two were two photographs of them: a file photo of his mother at a signing, and an outdated picture of Spray during his brief stint at West Hoof. Some small biographical details followed each one. A particularly blackhearted pony had placed an advertisement for their shop highlighting a special sale on Velvet’s books.

At the end of Celestia’s dispatch was a curious note that “her majesty’s student has taken recent news with great distress. Please advise.”

Advice? Tell me where in blazes they are, and Twilight will calm down.

Shining closed his eyes and thought. His father was no doubt having a conniption fit; Twilight was worrisome, but between the princess and her redoubtable friends, she would not be in too bad a shape. Given the way events were unfolding, it would take him time for a response to be sent out, and it pained him to see his family in such a state. Nothing he could do now except try to get the situation under control.

“What is the update of the guard train’s arrival?” he demanded.

“Several hour’s delay: dust on the tracks turned to mud in the rain. Trying to get enough chariots and wagons to ferry them here, but...”

Time, time, time. “Understood,” Shining said.

He turned to face the map spread across the table. Olive Branch would be on station with his ponies shortly. Two thirds of the fort’s ponies were deployed, the rest forming a crisis reserve Shining was struggling not to expend on the Dusty River but if reinforcements were delayed by any more, it would become necessary.

Shining did not want to concede even a fraction more of initiative to the Silver nation. Canterlot would not be appreciative if the water right negotiations turned into peace talks.

Olive, half clad in his armour, was making final preparations. From across the table Thunder steamed. “We need more pegasus ponies on weather detail. If there’s one thing we learned today, it’s that,” he dictated to a following lieutenant.

Thunder wanted to pin the stupid pony to the wall and scream at him. Never, never before in his career both as a guard and as a pegasus, had he encountered anypony so dense, so disconnected from their responsibilities as him. Ask any pegasus about the level of concern Olive displayed for a Class 4, and you would watch them either laugh or weep.

More ponies on the weather detail. Learn that the hard way, did we?

“Perhaps we should make it a rule of order to ensure we have more than three ponies to handle a situation any schoolcolt could tell you needed more.”

“Thunder,” Olive said calmly, sweetly, “we’ve had a very bad day. Let’s not get mad and make the situation worse, shall we?”

That did it. Thunder was on his hooves and moving menacingly towards Olive, ready to pound some truth into him if he absolutely had to.

“Canterlot is not going to be very happy if we try to pin the blame for this on the ghost of Old Tom!”

Olive protested; Thunder counter protested. Like little colts in the playground fighting over the sandbox or teeter totter.

Shining Armour’s hoof was brought down on the table, hard. The venerable skull danced a little on his shelf.

“All right,” he snarled. “Enough of this. As far as I’m concerned, you’re both screwed, unless and until you do something that might raise my very low opinion of the pair of you. Olive, get to your troops. Lead them. Thunder, cool it until your ponies arrive.”

He turned his back on the ponies. He didn’t have time, and oh how he wished he did, to provide some calming words for his family. For his sister, who never did anything by halves, and his father, who never took bad news well. He wished Cadence was here to spare a few for himself, since the idea to come here had been his.

Evening was turning to night. It was going to be a long one. Nopony had refreshed the coffee. He would have to order somepony to put a new pot on, fast.