Far to the south, where the remnants of the Unicorn Range taper off into a few high hills, the Whitetail Woods and the Everfree Forest were divided by a wide and fertile plain. The rich earth yielded fruit to those farmers with the grit in their saddle to stand up to the dangerous wildlife, unpredictable weather, and isolation, and for generations, that place was respected and guarded jealously by the Solar Legion. But when the railroad came in and connected Las Pegasus to Ponyville via a far northern route, it became harder and harder to come by supplies. Celestia’s guards withdrew from their hilltop towers to protect the railroad, and the Wicker Highway dwindled into little more than a trail. Within ten years, no one even remembered the Seren Vale.
For somepony like Sunstone, this was a tender, unexpected mercy. More and more, the solitude of the Vale became his preferred route as he plied his bloody trade along the frontier. The determined survivalists that still inhabited this place never gave him trouble like the town ponies did. Even if they had been fooled by the same propaganda feedbagged throughout the cities and towns, Sunstone went openly armed when he traveled, and even a foal knew not to irritate a unicorn carrying a Legion sword.
“Nopony marches at arms anymore,” he said aloud. “That’s the problem. Ponies don’t respect the training, don’t respect the blade.” He eyed the hills around him. “What do you think?”
The Vale considered that, but said nothing. The Vale never said anything back, nor did the road, the ceiling, the clouds, nor whomever else Sunstone happened to be sharing space with when he started feeling contemplative. It was usually outside, isolated, with the wide expanse before him that the mood struck him. Sometimes it was late at night, with the moon shining in, daring him to dream unsanctioned dreams. Sometimes it was after work, the beasts and monsters and bandits already hours dead but still alive and roaring in his drunken mind.
Today, it was here, beneath Celestia’s guilty sun, and his companions were the yellow, grassy hills, the meandering brooklets, and the occasional fox.
“Don’t respect the ones carrying it, either. How’s Celly think she can brag about having the most powerful army in the world when nopony ever sees a sword?” He shook his head as if to solidify the thought. He learned long ago that if he did something physical while thinking, it would make the thought real, true, something engrained into his muscle, where the unicorn therapists couldn’t get to it.
He clopped on down the anemic road, his churned thoughts starting to settle again. He would have a little more time for contemplation before he had to clock into work again. Another two days on the trail, then he could follow the railroad tracks into Ponyville. Once he had taken care of problems there, he could traverse the Rambling Rock Ridge down to Dodge Junction, hop the train to Appleloosa, cross the Ghastly Gorge to hook up with the San Palomino Highway, and meet back up with his contacts in Las Pegasus. It was a long patrol that few soldiers still had a stomach for, but the chance to help the pioneers out here on the frontier was worth the effort. And the pay was good; better than his captain earned in the Legion.
Sunstone’s route took him past a copse of trees where he could usually forage a few edible sprigs to supplement his rations. He had scattered a bag full of herb seeds on his second circuit, years ago, after listening to an old veteran’s advice at The Salt Lick in Appleloosa. “A pony can live on packaged food from here 'til Judgment Day if he's got enough rosemary,” he had said.
After tucking some fresh fennel and basil into his saddlebags, Sunstone paused to levitate his canteen to his lips and drink while he watched the sky. Dark stormclouds were blowing in from the Everfree Forest, and he was facing into the wind.
He smiled. “Guess we don’t have to worry about the moon spying on us tonight, eh?” He patted the aspen tree next to him, which responded with a companionable silence. “Well, what in Equestria am I gonna do now?” He rolled his eyes melodramatically. “Never been caught in a rogue rainstorm out here before. Right next to the Everfree Forest. On a road that the weather teams don’t even know exists.” He slapped his head with his hoof. “Oh, wait, that’s the opposite of true.”
Setting off at a trot, Sunstone broke away from the nearly-overgrown trail to meet up with a completely-overgrown trail. If the Wicker Highway was hard to follow, this trail was impossible to see unless you were a master of woodcraft, or knew a Find-Path spell, or had traveled this road dozens of times per year over the last seven years. Winding past a ruined farmhouse and its nearly-obliterated outbuildings, and stepping respectfully past the graves of the family that had lived there, Sunstone rounded a rocky outcrop. There, resting stubbornly on its sagging foundation, was a grey basalt tower.
A relic of the days before the railroad, before the Massacre of Dew Downs, before the Seren Vale had been abandoned, this tower had probably had a very uncreative name like “Southeast Tower Bravo.” In fact, if Sunstone strained his muscles, he thought he could even remember that that was its name. But twelve years in the life of a soldier was enough to drive details like that out of one’s head. At least, that’s what Celestia’s shrinks told him to believe.
Now, though, it had just become “That One Tower By The Herb Grove” or “The Place Where I Take Shelter Against The Inevitable Thunderhead From The Everfree.” And that was good enough. He had to pick his battles, and he didn’t think it would be worth the effort of breaking through his conditioning to remember this little waypoint.
Sunstone began to gather wood; he would have to remember to start chopping and stacking it inside for his next route. This time of year, when rain was frequent enough even without the silly wayward squalls out of the Everfree Forest, there would be very little wood dry enough for a good fire, and he was worried he’d have to scavenge wood from the abandoned farmhouse. But chance was good to him. A tree had been struck by lightning, and half of it had splintered away from the rest.
It was everything he could do to drag it to the tower in his teeth, through the arched doorway, and up the first flight of stairs. Sunstone was a strong legionnaire, but his discipline only required him to levitate his sword or his gear, nothing as heavy as that tall, wide limb.
He rubbed the splinters from his teeth and spit blood. Here on the second floor, he would be protected from the rain coming down from above but wouldn’t be bothered by the mud that would soon fill the lower level. He set about chopping the limb with his hatchet.
The combination of the routine of his journey, his contemplative mood, and the thick stone walls was probably why he didn’t hear the six ponies enter the tower below him until one of them cleared her throat at the top of the stairs.
Sunstone started, glancing at his sword resting on his saddlebags in the far side of the chamber. The two of them stared at each other for a brief moment as her companions looked over her shoulder. “Hey.”
“H-howdy.” The orange mare swallowed. "I’m Applejack.”