The Last Of The Fifth Sanctum Citadel

by Seize the day 23

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure, Dark
Length: 2874

Hell hath no Fury. Fury hath no Evil. But Evil hath no allegiances, though it does love misery for its company. Don't we all?

In the era before the Princesses, ponykind remained non-unified and spread amongst the lands. Power was usually held by those who were largest in numbers. Groups, clans, and families fought for control, power, and survival. The Eagle’s fought too. But they don’t fight for power, they fight for those who have none. Have, for hundreds of years. But now an old foe returns. One they could never beat. All-out war threatens the Eagle’s. Disjointed, with no allies, they must reunite to win, to survive. Because now every shadow spells danger and promises reckoning. And ironically it begins at Carridiale: The Fifth Sanctum Citadel. Welcome to my office.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-05-04 18:10:03 UTC

Bloodworks along the coast

The last of the 5th Sanctum Citadel

Chapter: one

Bloodworks along the coast

“Shall we forgive those who trespass against us?”

    Pulling myself over the lip of the small wall, I came to rest along the flat roof overlooking most of the small town that the sun was just setting on. Both giving us the advantage we were going to need.

    Levitating my bow out, I placed it on the roof beside me propped up against the small wall. A few light flaps signaled my overwatch and superior officer, Captain Dust, landing next to me. “They coming?” I asked the pegasus without turning to face him.

    “Fairly sure,” he responded, “but I can't be completely sanguine with the low clouds and sun setting. I'd doubt there'd be another group that big heading through there, but you have to make sure before you fire. No blood on our hooves, alright?”

    I nodded in response. “When?” I asked. “I say five minutes. Be ready, and...” He paused until I looked at him, “don't miss.” His teal eyes reading me. I nodded again. “Don't miss? Hypocrite,” I muttered. With that he took back to the air, staying low, continuing along to check on the others. I couldn't see any of them, but I knew they were there. I turned back to the west, from which our target would be approaching.

     The town was newer. In this case that meant it wasn't large and wasn't very well off. It consisted of a group small ‘houses’, more of cottages. Fifteen of them to be exact. To the east there was a decent sized plot of farmland on which the town thrived. I could smell the grain from here. It had been my job to map it all out in advance. In the center of them all there was the building we had set up around: the inn, or what was called an auberge. The one I had positioned myself on was the only one with a flat roof with a small wall on top for me to hide behind, that went around the whole roof. It laid right at the fork in the road. It was an obvious ambush point, but they weren't expecting trouble. Their mistake; always expect trouble.

    We could wait for them to enter the inn and strike when they were asleep, but decided quickly it was too risky. If they spotted us they would have a superior position within the inn. Plus there was a higher chance for innocents being injured.

     As I said the sun was setting, but the orange hue was muddled by the low clouds, or more commonly called fog by us non pegasi. Normally I'd call fog at this time of day strange, but I was told it's very common around here.

    I was positioned just within the limits of the town on the building at which the stone road forked in two that lead throughout the town. Currently there was none of the town’s residents to be seen.

    This was going to be the apogee of our short stay within the town. Our goal; not to kill the ponies that were coming through, but to find out where it was they were traveling from. We knew all well where they were going, but the fifth couldn't, for the life of us, find out where they were coming from. However, we knew, to that end, we would have to kill most of them if not all.

    This would be my first time taking a shot at a living pony. I pulled my bow closer, locking the arrows nock onto the string. I ran my hoof over the spine of the arrow. With a long bow at this distance I wouldn't have to worry about arc much. We knew they were going to be traveling down the road on my right to the aforementioned inn where they would be staying for the night. ‘Would’ being the key word in that statement. Right road meant I would have to lead their movement to my right. They wouldn't be moving fast, for they were traveling heavy.

    Their numbers were estimated to be two to three times larger than ours. But the element of surprise, superior training, and key ambush positions will do strange things to those numbers.

    We had been waiting for a week. Much longer than we had anticipated. Which, as a result of, left one out of two of our officers with a hell of a hangover, and the majority of us a bit jumpy from sitting around.

    I didn't dare openly complain though. Even drunk or recovering from it, he was quicker, smarter, and deadlier than me. He wasn't just an officer of the Citadel. No, he was a genuine Black Eagle. Those who, in times past, fought Nazareth's Shades, and even Nazareth himself. He wasn't a Highlander yet, but the current status was enough to scare respect into a greenhorn like me. I may be green but I wasn't green-eyed; the Black Eagles got the hardest and deadliest tasks within the Fifth and otherwise.

    There was only one Highlander within the Fifth Sanctum. Her name was Möbius. She, like me, was a unicorn. Oh yes, just because we're called ‘Eagles’ doesn't mean we're all pegasi. Also like me, and quite obviously my squadron, she was ambushing caravan of ponies from the same group as these not an hour’s trot away. Unlike me, she was the Strike Commander of the Fifth. Though rank alone didn't determine everything in the Eagles, she held power and respect with the Fifth. Basically everypony looked up to her in their own way, but did so nonetheless.

    I had only seen her a handful of times. Her coat was a metallic grey, while her mane was white with a gold stripe. She, like many officers, tended to not wear armor, but instead a leather flight jacket, even despite the fact she wasn't a pegasus. Her eyes were dangerously blue. So bright they'd probably glow in the dark. And last I saw her (which was two days ago when she came to check on our position) she had the Black Eagles vanguard paint on her hooves, which had an unquestioning resemblance to flames licking their way up ones hooves.

    Her voice spoke volumes about her position. It was calming, but at the same time carried an energy with it, and demanded, in all aspects, to be listened to. Every tone and detail to be acknowledged, but without a word as to ensure or even command to that in edgewise, or ever actually saying so.

    In contribution, she never admitted her dominance or ability over others, weather they had the worst or most demeaning position in the whole Citadel. She led. Led to the best of her abilities, and then some. She never looked down on others or chastised them when they failed at something, no matter how simple it was to begin with. But never let anypony preform under one hundred percent of their full abilities. Gave inspiration instead of the usual ‘drill instructor fire’.

    My squad leader told us she was what a leader should be, but I heard that her superiors called her a ‘chain of command accident waiting to happen.’ I'm not sure why. Maybe it was because of her age; most ponies didn't take well being told what to do by a pony younger than them, but even I knew it was more than that if our Marshall's were saying so. But over all I never heard a word of any contemptuousness on her part.

    The pony who came with her to the Fifth was a Black Eagle too; Desault. He however, was a Wayvern. The Wayverns were usually entrusted with the protection of the Highlanders. Which is why he followed Möbius wherever she went. He was a pegasus, as with most Wayverns. He told us he had came from our furthest outpost north; all the way up to the other sea.

    Now his method of training 'did' involve copious yelling usually involving any-and-all things we were doing wrong, even if we were doing them right.

    No matter what the ponies back home say, a pony isn't born like that. I didn't want to know what some of our ponies had to go through to become the leaders and soldiers they are today. Enough to knock me down-and-out in most cases, I knew that much.

    As you can probably tell they hold much authority, admiration, and a bit of fear. Enough for somepony like me to remember and bethink everything I can about that pony, and hope I don't get on their bad side. Together they had prepared the Fifth to carry out any order sent down to us from Hilltower. Luckily Hilltower tended to take the worst of the assignments for themselves.

    I was, thankfully, drawn from my swooning over my superior officers by the sound of an approaching wagon. I ducked low. It was them alright. They're called the Blue Jackets. As such they usually can be found near ports (which there was plenty of about a day south of here). And to add to the title they commonly bore blue weapons and armor.

    I could see fifteen ponies walking around the caravan, two pulling it, and one sitting on the front. The distance, fog, and general lack of light kept me from being able to discern what type of ponies they were. Though it seemed they were mostly earth ponies. The cart itself was twice the size of the norm, and was covered. With good reasons I knew.

    They wore mostly leather armor. Five wore scale and/or chain mail, and the one who was riding on the cart was wearing thick plate mail. He obviously didn't do any walking. Anypony that's wore even a lighter plate mail knows that the stories of ponies traveling across the country in silver plated armor is a damnable lie.

    So in clear accounts he was the leader of their outfit.  They were at most forty meters away. I was to wait until they pass my position, then fire upon the ponies in the rear. I lowered myself fully behind the wall to insure they wouldn't see me. They were now close enough that I could hear them talking. That is, if they were talking.

    Aim for the head down the neck, chest, and back. Closer to the center the better. And across the shoulders. These areas collectively were called the ‘vital T’, and had the highest kill ratios. Armor was usually made to protect those key areas, so I hoped the lighter armored ponies would be traveling at the back of the pack. Otherwise I'd have to try to score head shots (none of them were wearing helmets to help that), which I didn't prefer. All my officers had told me in training; “Don't try any of that ‘trick shot’ bullshit, it just gets ponies killed!” Even Möbius (who was one of our best archers (once again making all of the privates look like children compared to)) told me; “Something small is that much easier to miss. Don't miss.”

    The only reason I was here was because I was a decent shot. There weren't too many unicorns in the Fifth, so it's not like they had a lot to choose from, and I came out on top for replacements.

    Finally the sun ducked behind the distant Tarrivì Mountains. All that was left of its light was the final orange haze that shone over the hills and mountains.

    They were all past my perch now. I rose to my hooves. Leveling my long bow in front of my field of vision, I pulled the string back full draw. The wood of the bow groaned under the stress but held fast. The arrow gently rested on the right side of the bow as I tilted it slightly to the left, ready to spring forth like the fury of a lightning bolt. I took my aim, adjusting my measurements acutely.

    “O-S-O-K, O-S-O-K, O-S-O-K,” I whispered to myself. It was an acronym our trainers would say and it quickly was lodged in our memory. OSOK: one shot, one kill. I led the rear pony be about six inches and released my magic grip on the string.

    The arrow sailed through the air, whistling along its deadly path. It arced slightly up, then gravity forced it to begin its decent towards its target. It wasn't going to have much time to arc. I gave it the motivation, now it was its time to do what it was made to.

    My aim was true; the arrow hit its mark. Luckily, on my part, the pony was wearing leather armor. It pierced the center of his lower back, hitting the spinal column. He dropped like a sack of potatoes as I believe the saying goes. The only sound he made was a thud as he connected with the cobblestone road. He rolled lifelessly onto his side.

    His convoy continued onward, blissfully unaware they were leaving a fallen comrade behind. I drew another of my cross spade arrows. I pulled it back in one fluid motion, arcing the bow just as before.

    I aimed at the next pony closest to me. I released the string, but it didn't move. The arrow fell from the bow off of the roof. Still the bow remained bent. I took a step back, still holding it in my magic. “What?”

    Without any semblance of a warning, the bow exploded into a shower of splinters. The shockwave it produced threw me sheer backwards. I hit the barrier on other side of the roof and tumbled over. Intense vertigo overtook me as I fell from the roof. The fall was short, and I thankfully landed in a small pile of hay that was placed along the building. Enough to cushion my fall without injury.

    I rolled out of the hay onto my hooves. I drew my long dagger from its sheath on my leg, opting to use my mouth instead of my magic. I took my shot meaning the ambush would have started.

    I rounded the corner of the building and was immediately halted by what I saw. My squad —all of them— lying on the ground, the Blue Jackets standing around them. They didn't even have their weapons drawn. There's no possible way. My jaw dropped and the dagger fell from it, sticking itself vertically into the dirt.

    I began to turn to run back behind the house. Before I could lift a hoof, I was hit with a force to my left side that winded me, causing me to fall to my haunches. Looking to my side I was met with an arrow protruding from it, smoke rising from its feathers along the tail end. I fell onto my right side. My head bounced off the ground, but I didn't feel the pain.

    I looked, but I couldn't see the archer anywhere. My attention was grabbed by movement from one of my squadmates. It was Dust. He started flapping his wings erratically, smacking them against the road in attempt to stand. An arrow in his side, just the same as I. The Blue Jackets ignored him however; continuing their way through the town. Leaving us, and even their fallen pony, behind.

    When they were out of sight Dust stopped struggling. After a few moments of heavy breathing he began trying to lift himself with his hooves. I couldn't even attempt that. It seemed my body had just quit, yet I remained awake. I heard a faint whistling. Dust was almost standing when another arrow hit him, impaling his left foreleg.

    He screamed out in pain, flopping back onto his side. Then, from behind a nearby house, came a pony. Approaching Dust, he walked slow and heavy. As if on cue several others came from their hiding spots around the street. All centering on Dust. Approaching slowly like beasts of prey. Completely, entirely, and uniformly black.

    The first reached Dust, who froze all movement looking up at him. Without any warning, he drew a javelin  and speared Dust into the ground with it in a dark field of magic.

    He took a step back, pulling the javelin out. The rest of the ponies reached him. Dark smoke swirled around them, as ink would in water, and quickly dissipated into the air around them.

    “One down, a thousand to go. We're done here. Move out,” he spoke darkly. His voice was deeper than any voice had a right to be. If a large oak trees back home could talk I'd bet that's what it would sound like. The ponies accompanying him dispersed back to wherever they came. He placed his small spear back on his side. He turned to face me, and began slowly walking my way. His pink eyes devoid of all meaning.

    I knew who this pony was. He and his dark voice came up many times in childhood scary stories that were told by my people. He was no story though. He was here. That fact alone made me accept that I wasn't going to survive. Always expect trouble, Lennox.