Tales of the Wonderbolts

1

The debriefing was short and unpleasant.

“Two full wings, plus Baron and his Valkyries, right on our doorstep.” The General exhaled an exasperated grunt, skimming over the official papers. Starfire had written up the report of the morning’s Anhalteri attack during his brief recovery, though questions and speculation still remained.

“I can only think, sir,” Starfire spoke up, catching the General’s eye, “that Baron was training new cadets. It’s the only thing that explains our victory. The tables were turned when the Valkyries entered the fray - we would have lost if Thunder hadn’t blindsided Baron and caused him to retreat.”

The General shook his head, his mouth clenching as he frowned. “It doesn’t make sense. Why would Baron fly two full wings across the entire Round Table, and attack us just to train his cadets? No, there was more to it than that.”

Starfire’s frown matched his Commanding Officer’s own, neither stallion able to come up with an answer. No, it didn’t make sense, at all.

The Round Table was an arduous hundred mile expanse of arid rock; a red valley completely ringed by towering, snow-capped mountains. The impressive geological formation served as the center of the Equus Continent, separating the multiple pony nations from each other. Paths were carved long ago into the side of the mountains, allowing the Round Table to act as a trade hub between the nations of Equestria to the West, Anhalter to the East, and Stabilchnaya to the frigid North.

Odd sprouts of settlements and trade outposts marked the copper-red land in random, spread out locations; the outposts served as rest areas for the various caravans of goods, and often served the relatively small settlements as ponies of all nationalities eked out their existence in the lawless land. The lack of any natural resource save for red dust, sagebrush, and an unrelenting sun only allowed most of these places to reach a peak population of a single hundred, with only one or two ever reaching full Town status.

So why would Baron risk that many soldiers across such a vast expanse for simple training?

Starfire’s eyebrows furrowed as another thought struck him. “Sir, could they have been... scouting?”

“Scouting...” the General repeated, swishing the very word in his mouth as though it were a fine wine. “Are you suggesting that the Duchess is preparing for a full-scale attack against Equestria?”

“Seems that way, sir.” Starfire’s lips pursed, forming a very thin line across his muzzle. Soon enough, reports from the other camps lining the Equestrian border would file in, all of them mentioning a minor attack that had been easily staved off. Once word got around that Baron himself had been held at bay, the morale would be high. Afterwards, out of nowhere, the full brunt of the Sons of Sleipnir would appear. The battles would be tough; the casualties in the hundreds.

Just because Baron didn’t like to kill didn’t mean that the other Anhalteri pegasi were as lenient.

“Is it about time we started encroaching upon the Round Table, sir?” Starfire suggested, already knowing it was a useless idea.

“With what?” the General shot back, his frustration at the entire situation finding itself a target in the young stallion before him. “You know damn well we don’t have the supplies to survive in that barren hovel yet. The convoy doesn’t arrive for another week.”

“But the settlements...”

“The settlements are refusing to aid either side!” The General slammed his hoof down onto the desk; he’d already thought of every scenario the younger captain has voiced. “Why do you think Anhalter is strong-hoofing Stabilchnaya for their caravans!?”

“They’re what!?” Starfire sat with a look of pure shock - it must have been very recent news, otherwise the entire camp would have been abuzz with rumors and hearsay.

The General sighed, knowing he’d said too much and knowing it was too late to take it back. He brought his hooves up to his head, gently massaging the temples to alleviate the building migraine. “Our own scouts in the various settlements have reported that Anhalteri foot soldiers have begun rerouting Stabilchnayan caravans, either by bribery or force. The Duchess is doing this discreetly, so the Stabilchnayan president has no clue.”

Starfire frowned as he tried to work the entire process through his mind. “But how does that affect us, besides Anhalter getting more food? Our supplies are run through the security of Britanneigh.” The General, however, shook his head at once.

“Most caravans prefer using the Round Table, as it’s a veritable shortcut. Britanneigh is safe, but long... and, well, to be blunt it’s boring. As crazy as it sounds, the wild and lawless frontier of the Round Table gives a caravan their excitement. There was a lot of discontent when Celestia ordered all Equestrian trade to immediately halt activity through the Round Table and take the longer detour.”

“Supply thieving, scouting party, impromptu training...” Starfire frowned, not liking the news at all. “It’s all leading back into a massive invasion.”

“It seems that way,” the General agreed, rubbing his chin. “I need time to think. But...” the older stallion looked up, watching as Starfire made his way for the exit after being clearly dismissed.

“But have the camp ready to pull out at a moment’s notice.”

2

Baron touched down onto the Dunnswick Palace’s granite surface, a scowl adorning his rigid face that had planted itself after the morning’s attack and refused to leave. Everything had gone according to plan, but that didn’t mean he had to like the plan from the start. It was... wrong to use fresh cadets like simple tools, and yet that’s what he had done.

It could have been a simple scouting mission; Baron easily found refuge on a cloud, with the Equestrians having no idea he was even there. But no. The Duchess wanted more. Her Majesty wanted the Equestrians to feel good about themselves; to allow their morale to be at its peak before she utterly crushed them. How all the more beautiful it would be when their matriarch saw Baron’s black eye and bruised wing. That was not in the plan. That had been a surprise attack, and Baron loathed being surprised. Revenge would be sought - Baron had to remind himself yet again of his own ethics. He’d never slay an enemy combatant with his own hoof, but nowhere in his ‘Book of Ethics’ was it written that he couldn’t pummel them into utter submission.

Let the Equestrians have their victory, then. He would have his soon enough. The Duchess would stop with her silly games and get on with her plan, and then Baron would be let loose.

“So,” one of the other Wing Captains sneered in their naturally gruff Anhalteri dialect. “The mighty Baron is a mortal after all.”

“Enough,” Baron growled menacingly, wrapping the excess of his silken yellow scarf around his neck, lest he accidentally trip over it. He walked past the mocking captain, but not before kicking out and landing a blow to the stallion’s shoulder, grinning as he heard a yelp of both pain and anger behind him.

“Baron von Himmel,” a unicorn guard stepped in front of the scarlet stallion, his gaze stern enough to cut through diamond. “Her Majesty, the Royal Duchess Amalia von Anhalter wishes to speak to you in regards to your recent operation. You will be escorted...” The guard looked over Baron’s shoulder, noting the rest of the legendary Valkyrie Wing. “... Alone.”

Baron nodded his understanding. “Valkyries, rest. Have a drink waiting for me at the tavern, if you do not mind. I will be along shortly.”

Satisfied that all unnecessary ponies had dispersed, the guard led Baron into the grandiose Palace of Dunnswick. The palace itself rivaled Canterlot’s very own in sheer scale, but the similarities ended there. Dunnswick’s spires were tall and flat-topped, all of them adorned by battlements, giving the entire structure the illusion of inverted teeth. The architecture itself was rough and square, a stark contrast to Canterlot’s own streamlined, soft features.

Ornate pillars housing eternal flames lit up the narrow corridor as Baron was led to the Duchess’ Grand Chambers. They were met with a pair of guards, both unicorns, and a large set of ebony doors, crafted from the very black forests that lay on the northern lands of Anhalter. As many times as Baron had entered this structure, he still felt a sense of wonder, marvelling at how intricate it was. The back of his mind vaguely wondered if Canterlot’s own palace was just as majestic. He’d love to see it someday, if circumstances allowed it.

“Her Majesty is expecting you.” Both guards stepped aside, their horns respectively emanating red and blue, both magics forming together and casting a violet cloud onto the door. Baron could see veins bulging from either guard’s necks as they strained to swing open the heavy Ironwood doors. He alone stepped past the gasping and heaving guards, as only those called upon could be in the presence of Her Majesty. Job complete, the escort returned to his post at the palace gates.

“Baron!” The silken voice bounced off the dimly-lit walls of the Grand Chambers, punctuated by the loud echo of the Ironwood doors slamming shut again. The scarlet stallion walked further into the room, his eyes deadlocked on the throne and its sole occupant.

Duchess Amalia von Anhalter lazed in her throne, an object of wood as black as the doors he had entered through. A simple, inornate crown adorned her head, coiled around her impressive horn. She sat in such a manner that her wings could flare out if she chose them to, giving her the illusion of size.

Always contemplating, Baron sardonically wondered the last time Her Majesty had actually used her wings, and not simply extended them out as a threat or scare tactic.

“My favorite weapon returns.” The Duchess offered Baron a tight smile. There are daggers in that smile, he thought as he returned the favor.

“And what’s this?” She gasped in false surprise as she witnessed the discoloration around his eyelid. She stood up, an act that seemed to take an extreme amount of effort, and deliberately walked over to the stock-still stallion. “The Equestrians harmed my precious Baron?”

By all rights, he should have been honored by her gesture. It was rare indeed that the Duchess would pick herself up and stand at the same level of another. Instead of pride, however, he felt revulsion. He wanted nothing more than to leave, before he was suffocated by the malice oozing off of her.

He stayed himself, not daring to even tremble. “It is nothing, your Majesty. I must be reminded every now and again that I am not invincible.”

“Indeed.” She stopped in front of him, leveling her gaze to meet his. “And the mission?”

Baron simply frowned, discontent lining his rugged face.

The Duchess raised a curious, if not amused, eyebrow. “You disagree with my plan?”

     “I do,” Baron replied. It was now or never, and too late to back out. To do so would be cowardice. “There is no cause for this damned war. Sleipnir Himself would never-”

“Do not bring up the Old God to me,” the Duchess snarled, glaring into Baron’s eyes. “The Old God is false and meaningless.”

Baron’s heart caught in a vice as he stepped back in shock and horror. “Sacrilege,” he whispered, feeling his stomach freefall into a bottomless pit. His horror turned to anger, turned to rage. “How DARE you blaspheme against Lord Sleipnir!?” He grunted as a hoof swung into the side of his already-swelling face.

I am here and He is not!” Duchess Amalia bellowed, magically amplifying her voice to near-deafening levels. Her wings flared out to their fullest extent, rigid with fury. “So long as you are under my rule, you will do as I command or you will be executed!”

Baron cowered, blanketed in the first true fear he had ever felt. He dropped his head in a submissive bow. “Yes, your Majesty.”

"...Stay your wretched little tongue, Amalia,” a deep voiced commanded from nowhere and everywhere. “I am the ruler of this kingdom, and you only play with our subjects because I allow you to do so. If I had not chosen you as my Duchess when I usurped the throne, you would have been hanging from the gallows much like the previous Duke. You may have organized the rebellion that overthrew the previous rule, but it was I that inherited the throne, not you. And in my castle and country, Lord Sleipnir's name shall not be torn asunder by anypony whilst I draw breath... especially not by you."

Baron felt a cold chill run through his heart. Never had he heard anypony speak in such a way to the Duchess. Surely, this pony knows no fear... He then understood why a moment later. From behind a curtain emerged a stallion with a wildly flowing mane that was black as a moonless night and just as thick. He stood a good foot taller than Her Majesty, his shoulders broad and powerful. His deep blue coat was punctuated by two burning orange irises. His flank was adorned with a cutie mark of two crossed swords accentuated with barbed wire. He then turned his withering gaze on the Baron.

"State your business." The Duke’s tone was a perfect mixture of command and respect.

“The mission was accomplished threefold,” Baron answered carefully, not daring to speak out of line. “I have seen one of their encampments and gauged their strength; two Wings have gained valuable experience; and the Equestrians’ morale is at its peak after they ran me off.” He exhaled a discontented sigh. “If other reports are the same, then Equestria will be utterly devastated both spiritually and physically against your superior force.”

“My superior force...” the Duke echoed, deliberately twisting his head to meet his wife, who noticeably winced upon falling under his attention. “I was not aware of any plans for an assault. How convenient that it should slip your rotten mind, my dear.”

“Well, I... I... You see...” Amalia stammered, but she could not bring herself to full coherency.

“I see that you are a fool!” the Duke snarled, his wings flaring to their fullest extent. A gleam of light on the tip of the Duke’s wing caught Baron’s eye, and he traced the edge of the stallion’s appendage, noting the snug, ornate decoration that gave the Duke’s wings a razor-sharp appearance.

No. Not just decoration. Baron silently gulped as he examined the wing further. This stallion could rip a pony to shreds merely with his wings...

“Baron!” the Duke commanded not for the first time. With a violent shake of his head, the scarlet pegasus brought himself back to reality.

“Sire?”

“You are dismissed. You have done well for me, but there is much that I must discuss with my wife in private.”

Amalia’s venomous glare at Baron quickly vanished as her husband brought his full attention back onto her.

“Very much, indeed.”