Shadows in the North - A Sundering of Equestria Tale

Chapter Five

“Tyrant pig!”

“Treasonous vermin!”

“Pitiful dog!”

“Rebel scum!”

“What? Who is this?” Butterscotch exclaimed, “Colonel? Léa?”

Staid ran towards them as fast as his injured back leg would allow and put himself between the two frothing-mouthed adversaries. To their credit, neither of the Equestrians had actually attacked each other – yet - but on the Centurion’s side, possibly that was only because he couldn’t quite reach his airborne enemy.

“Please, Centurion, Captain; calm yourselves,” he began, “There’s no need to-”

“So, showing your true colours at last, Colonel?!” Defiant Arc exclaimed, continuing to glare and wave his sword up at the hovering Star-Strike, “Decided to wait until I’d gone away before siding with one of them?! A traitor! Where’d you get her from, hmm? Gonna use her to ambush me, huh?! Cowards and traitors, the lot of you!”

“Centurion please, she’s in the same situation as us-”

“Who is this, Colonel? Somepony you didn’t want to tell me about, huh?!” Star-Strike yelled, pointing her gun down at them both and growling, “I knew an Imperial like you would be in league with a Celestian dog! Plotting to kill me in my sleep, were you?! Enemies of the revolution must die! Down with the Solar Tyrant!”

“Captain, I’m sorry, I only didn’t mention him because-”

“Traitorous filth!”

“Loyalist warthog!”

Unable to get a word in, Staid floundered. The two Equestrians were on the verge of killing each other.

Star-Strike levelled her rifle. Defiant Arc readied himself for a leap.

“Stop! Both of you, stop this!”

Both parties and Staid looked around in surprise as Butterscotch skidded to a halt alongside them.

“I know you two must hate each other,” she continued, glaring at them both, “But this is no time to be fighting! Put away your differences, for a little while at least, and stop this pointless arguing! I don’t really care for either the Republic or Celestia, but…” She took a deep breath. “Let’s just calm down, alright? What you believe or think about each other isn’t important right now. We need to work together, or we’re all going to be dead when those shadow-ponies get here. Let’s not be stupid.”

Slowly, hesitantly, and like two young foals that had just been scolded, the two Equestrians backed down. Star-Strike lowered her rifle and hovered back down to the ground. Defiant Arc lowered his sword and his gaze, instead glaring bitterly at the floor.

“Well done, Miss Butterscotch,” Staid muttered, and the mare, her body almost shaking from the effort of yelling, nodded in recognition of the compliment. The Colonel’s opinion of her had risen. “Centurion, this is Miss Butterscotch and Captain Star-Strike. Miss, Captain, this is Centurion Defiant Arc.”

Butterscotch gave a hesitant wave, which the Centurion completely ignored. He and the Captain were steadfastly refusing to look at each other, but at least they weren’t tryin got kill each other.

“Now,” Staid continued, addressing the entire group, “The shadow-ponies will be here in a matter of minutes, so we don’t have long to prepare. We can’t hope to defeat them all – but we can outrun them. Léa, how close is your machine to being ready?”

“Very nearly,” the griffon called out, her eyes focused on the rubber tube she was screwing into a pedal. She had been working on the Cart continuously, throughout the Equestrians’ entire argument, “Five minutes to get this done, and maybe another minute or two to get the LeFeather Regulator calibrated.”

“Excellent,” Staid said, “Everyone, our objective is to protect the Cart, and the Major. Captain, I want you in the air above us; pick off as many as you can with that rifle of yours, before they close in.” Star-Strike nodded, and took to the air. “Centurion, you’re on the ground; kill anything that gets close.” Defiant Arc nodded and, with a slight grin, raised his sword, ready for action. “I will be on the Cart itself, providing short-range firepower. When Léa tells us that the Cart is ready, everyone is to get on board immediately; we need to get out of here as fast as possible.”

“What about me, Colonel?” Butterscotch asked. Staid turned; he’d momentarily forgotten about her. “What should I do?”

“I’m not sure,” he replied, “See if Léa needs any help. If not, see if you can find something to fight with. Stay on the Cart, close to the Major and myself, and try not to get yourself killed. Alright everyone – positions! And remember, aim for their hearts!”

*

The shadow-ponies came in like a wave, attacking from all directions at once. There were thousands of them; so many, in fact, that they couldn’t all attack at once. Huge numbers of them circled the area like sinister black clouds, while the others rolled in like a gigantic sea of murderous, murky fog.

In the centre of this tidal wave of doom was a small island; a wooden Cart, where a small group of ponies and one griffon were making their stand, their weapons flashing in the day’s fading light.

“There’s no end to them!” Star-Strike called out in horror, as she fired bolt after bolt of lightning-blue energy into the shadowy mass from her Starbeam rifle, to apparently no effect, “I knew I should’ve brought a Multibeam!”

“I told you, aim for their hearts!” Staid ordered, as he fired a pistol shot through the heart of barbed shadow-pony that had somehow gotten through the whirling wall of bladed death that was Defiant Arc, “Pick off the closest ones! Major, please tell me you’re almost done!”

“Stupid… fiddly… tubes!” Léa shouted in anger, her head shoved underneath the engine, “Pipe wrench! Now!” She stuck out an open claw.

“Um, um, which one’s that?!” Butterscotch said desperately, rummaging through the pile of assorted tools by her fore-hooves, “This one?” She hoofed it over.

“That’s a pipe! You’ve given me a pipe! Where did you even find this?! It’s not a tool! Why was it in the pile?! GAAAAH!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry – here!” Butterscotch said hurriedly, quickly hoofing over a likely-looking contender with serrated teeth and an adjustable top.

“At last!” Léa exclaimed, taking the spanner and turning something underneath the engine, “That should hold up! Now pull me out of here so I can regulate the thingy! Now!”

Defiant Arc, meanwhile, was enjoying himself immensely. He ran back and forth around the circumference of the Cart, hacking and slashing at the shadow-ponies with his floating blade. Once he’d got the hang of fighting these monsters, he’d found they weren’t so hard to beat after all!

The Centurion whirled his blade around and cut through three shadow-ponies’ glass hearts with a single sweep of his sword. A single blow against their heart was all it took to kill them! They couldn’t even defend against it! He raced around to the front of the Cart and cut down another four within a few seconds.

“Ha!” he exclaimed breathlessly, a grin on his face, “Stupid shadows!”

“Centurion! This side!” he heard Colonel Staid call out, the shout accompanied by more gunshots, “Occidite eos! Hope you’re not tired!”

“Not on your life, you old fool!” Defiant Arc called back as he raced around the Cart, slaughtering the attacking shadow-creatures as he passed.

“How much longer?!” Star-Strike yelled out from above them, “I’m almost out of crystals!” As she spoke, she pulled the empty, steaming crystal out of her rifle and shoved in a new one pulled from her belt. The Captain fired a burst of shots from her gun which, very neatly, incinerated a nice semi-circle of shadow-ponies approaching the back end of the Cart. “Yes! Taste Republic justice! Major, how much longer?”

“Just adjusting the LeFeather Regulator!” Léa replied, “By the Twelve Kingdoms, why did I invent this thing to be so complicated!” Behind her, Staid was firing almost continuously from his metal-arm-held revolver, the posable metal tubes swinging back and forth as he fired out from both sides of the Cart. “Right, it’s calibrated! Now tick! Tick! WHY WON’T YOU TICK?!”  In her frustration, she hit it with the pipe wrench. Immediately, the ticking commenced and the iron pistons began to pump. “Ah! Aha! It lives! IT LIVES!”

The roar of the engine was loud and clear above the sounds of combat and the sinister growls of the massed shadow-ponies. For a brief second, every one of the attacking creatures paused in their efforts and looked up at the chugging locomotive.

“It’s time to go!” Colonel Staid shouted, as Major LeFeather jumped past him and slid into the roughly-constructed driver’s seat, “Centurion, get on board!”

“I’m trying!” Defiant Arc yelled out. As soon as the engine had started, it seemed as though the shadow-ponies had doubled their efforts; the Centurion could do nothing but defend himself from a constant, never-ending stream of attacks. If tried to turn around to climb on, he’d be torn apart. “I trapped here! I can’t move!”

Staid saw what the problem was. “Captain Star-Strike!” he ordered, as the aforementioned mare dropped onto the wooden floor of the Cart, “Lift the Centurion up and onto the Cart! Quickly!”

“What?” Star-Strike exclaimed, “I’m not lifting him up!”

“No way is a traitor lifting me up!” Defiant Arc said, almost simultaneously with the Captain.

“We don’t have time for this!” Staid yelled as he fired shot after shot into the shadowy mass surrounding the Cart.

“Star-Strike, if you don’t get him on board, we can’t leave and everyone’s going to be killed!” Butterscotch shouted, “Do it!”

Obeying the two ponies, Star-Strike holstered her rifle, swooped down and grabbed hold of Defiant Arc. He struggled and swung his sword at the shadow-ponies until the very last moment, when the Captain dumped him onto the open deck of the Cart.

“Now Major, get us out of here!” Staid ordered, “As fast as possible!”

“As fast as possible? Good!” Major LeFeather snapped her goggles on over her eyes. She tugged at a number of levers. “‘Cos that’s the only speed I’ve got! Hold on tight!”

The griffon stamped her paw down on one of the pedals, the engine gurgled and growled, and the Cart shot forwards. The shadow-ponies were left attacking a Cart-shaped empty space, filled with nothing but a couple of cast-off spanners and a few stray feathers.

Meanwhile, a large grey-brown blur, trailing exhaust fumes, went streaking across the icy wastes, flattening a path through the sea of shadow-ponies, leaving only wisps of dark fog, broken glass, and the screams of the blur’s passengers in its wake.

*

Eventually, a great distance away, the self-propelled Cart came to a gradual, creaking stop. Léa pulled a single lever, causing a great groaning noise to emanate from the wheels, and the engine to splutter into silence. Then there was only the pinging noise of cooling metal and the slight squeaking noise of the various bolts and screws as they adjusted size in accordance with their lessening temperature.

Léa peeled her goggles off of her face and dropped them around her neck. Not bothering to supress the inane grin plastered across her face (it had gone so fast! Faster than flying even!), Major LeFeather turned in her seat to examine her passengers. “Everyone enjoy that as much as I did?”

Her four passengers appeared to be in various states of shock. Colonel Staid was just behind the driving seat, lying down, clutching at the wooden platform with all four legs; his eyes were open, and he looked a little green. Defiant Arc had actually stabbed his sword into the platform, and clung to that – fortunately, the blade didn’t appear to have cut through anything important, so Léa let the Equestrian’s damage to her Cart slide for now. Next to him was Butterscotch, who promptly got up, walked in a very wobbly fashion over to the edge, and fell off the Cart. At the very back was Star-Strike, who was still hovering in the air, wings frozen in the open position. She had grabbed onto the backmost part of the Cart just as it had started up, and had been pulled along through the air. She seemed the least affected though.

“…. That was… fast….” Star-Strike muttered, before her wings curled up and she dropped to the ground, “Urp.”

“Everyone else still alive?” the Major asked cheerily.

There was a chorus of groans, many vaguely in the affirmative.

“So, who wants to go again?”

There was another chorus of groans, this time notably angry, negative ones.

Léa grinned. “I’ll give you all a minute,” she said, unstrapping herself and getting out of the chair, “No-one touch the engine.  It’s still hot.”

A little wobbly herself, Major LeFeather jumped off of the Cart and had a look at their surroundings. The landscape was just as desolate and rocky as their previous location had been. In fact, there were even more rocks; how they’d avoided crashing into one on their high-speed ride, Léa had no idea. In the near distance was the shadow of an imposing mountain range, which broke up the otherwise monotonous scenery quite nicely. Emanating from behind those mountains was the faint orange glow of the setting sun. A slight flutter of snow was falling from the sky.

With the steaming, groaning Cart in the foreground, the Major thought it made quite a pretty picture.

She had built the Cart facing north-west, so presumably that’s the direction they had gone in. Perhaps she should have put a little more thought into that, but there was nothing Léa could do to remedy that problem. They had gotten away from the shadow-ponies, of which there was absolutely no sign, so that was one good thing anyway.

Star-Strike had managed to pick herself up and wandered over to where Léa was standing. “How are you feeling?” the griffon asked her, “Not too much vomit?”

“Only a little bit,” the revolutionary said, “I’m not really one for going fast. Thanks for the lift though.”

Léa raised an eyebrow. “A pegasus that doesn’t like going fast?”

Star-Strike gave her a look. Since she was a good half-head shorter than the griffon, Léa found the effect almost adorable. “There’s no need to stereotype me,” she said, “Not all pegasi like flying, not all unicorns are good at magic, and not all Earth ponies are strong. In the glorious new Equestria that the revolution will bring, ponies will not be restricted by the circumstances of their birth, but will be free to pursue whatever they might dream of being! Can you say the same of your country?”

Léa was a little taken back. She was just making light conversation; she hadn’t expected a lecture. “Okay,” she said, “I guess not. But griffons don’t have cutie marks, like you ponies, so we can do whatever.”

“But is that true freedom?” Star-Strike pressed, “Or just an illusion, created by a self-serving bourgeoisie monarchy, so that the proletariat never question their role in a fake society?”

Léa paused for a full three seconds. “I don’t know,” she said carefully, “Sorry. Ask Staid. I get the impression he knows more about politics than me.”

The revolutionary looked confused. “Don’t you care about how your country is run?” she asked, “Don’t you want to avoid being taken advantage of? The Griffon Kingdoms are ruled by a selfish monarchist oligarchy, almost as bad as the Solar Tyrant! Doesn’t that bother you?”

The Major shrugged. “I don’t know what half those words mean,” she said, “Ask me about blacksmithing and fuel-pumps and clockwork. I know my mechanics – that’s what I’m interested in.” There was a short, awkward pause. “Do you like the Cart, by the way? I think I can get her to go a little slower next time.”

“She’s… nice,” Star-Strike said uncertainly, turning her head to look at the Cart, “I was told griffon technology exploded a lot. Does that actually happen?”

“It’s not supposed to, no.”

There was another awkward pause in which Léa began to realise that, in all probability, she and the Captain had nothing in common. Perhaps the pony felt some burning resentment towards the Griffon Kingdoms too? Léa felt she owed it to Staid to try and keep the group together, since she now felt as he did that they’d die if they didn’t work together. Just then though, Star-Strike spoke up again.

“I like the feathers on your head,” she said, as innocuously as she could, “The red-tipped ones, I mean. I always wanted to have red tips on my mane, but mane-dye is pretty hard to come by nowadays…”

“You know,” Léa said suddenly, “I think I’ve got some dyes packed away on the sled. We use them for dyeing canisters of fuel – if one lot is unsafe for use, for example, you can mark it by dyeing, or if some griffon really doesn’t want someone else using their petrol. Plus they make good paints. I don’t see why we couldn’t use them to dye your hair.”

“Really?!” Star-Strike said, her eyes lighting up, “But… do you really think this is the time or the place?  I mean, we’re kinda stranded-”

“Why not?” the Major countered, “We’ve got a little while before the others stop throwing up and walking around like they’ve concussed themselves. There aren’t any shadow-ponies around, for the time being, and I can’t work on the Cart while it’s still hot. Come on, I think I remember where Staid put them.”

The two girls took to the air and swooped over to the sled. “You know,” Léa said conversationally, “Personally, I’ve always been a little envious of you ponies and your manes. You can do so much stuff with them. Feathers, on the other claw…”

“I think your feathers are great! You don’t need to do anything with them, they just look great naturally.” Star-Strike paused, and then asked concernedly “They’re not dangerous, are they, these dyes? I mean, if they’re meant for fuel…”

“Shouldn’t be an issue,” Léa said, confidently, giving her red-tipped head-feathers a little stroke, “Just stay away from open flames and don’t chew your mane; you should be fine. Oh, of course; Captain, there’s some spare timber tied up on the other side. Why don’t you start making a fire while I look for the dyes, so we can heat up some water?”

Star-Strike grinned. The griffon smiled back. “Right away, Major!” the revolutionary said, and flew off.

*

Colonel Staid, meanwhile, was very slowly getting back on his hooves. That incredible speed – no wheeled Imperial vehicle went that fast! Trains probably didn’t either!

It had given the Colonel a vivid flashback to his days in the Air Corps, during the Pacification of Lemuria, when the Airship he had been serving in had had its envelope shredded by enemy fire. Staid had pulled the vessel’s wounded Captain down two flights of stairs to get to the life-balloon; the Cart journey had reminded him all too horribly of the tremendous speed with which the Airship had been plummeting during that horrible, chaotic journey.

At least this time he had been going along the ground, rather than toward it.

The Colonel took a couple of deep breaths to clear his head. “I take it we all managed to get away unharmed?” he asked. When he received no reply, he turned around. Major LeFeather and Star-Strike were gone – no, not gone, just a little distance away, lighting a fire (good thinking on their part, Staid thought, the sun was going down and it was important to keep warm at this latitude). Butterscotch was nowhere to be seen (but she’d tumbled over the side, hadn’t she? So at least she was here) and Defiant Arc was…

“Centurion, you look awful,” Staid said, looking down at the prone pony, who was still gripping tightly to the hilt of his Cart-embedded sword, “You are alright? Here, let me help you up-”

“I don’t need your help,” Defiant Arc said grumpily, as he forced himself upright, but only made it as far as a sitting position, “I’m fine.”

“You are clearly not fine,” Staid said flatly. The Colonel had already noticed the Centurion’s many cuts and bruises when he’d suddenly reappeared, just before the shadow-ponies had attacked, but the full extent of his injuries only now became apparent. Not only was his eye swollen, but there was a huge, bloody cut across the cheek below it; furthermore, many of the slashes across his body were not the small slices that Staid had previously thought, but were actually extremely deep and, in many cases, looked close to being infected. “Did you get injured more than I thought during our last battle?”

“No, these are all from earlier,” Defiant Arc said gruffly, “Got ambushed – shadow-pony cowards! Do you really think they could even scratch me in a straight fight?”

Staid thought to himself that thousands on shadow-ponies swarming down on five combatants could hardly be considered a straight fight, but he didn’t suppose it really mattered. “I’ve got some medical supplies in one of my saddlebags,” he said, “Come along Centurion, I’ll get you patched up.”

“I told you, I don’t need your help.”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous,” Staid said, stepping off of the Cart, “Miss Butterscotch? Are you there?”

Butterscotch appeared from around the Cart’s corner. “Hi,” she said, surprisingly chirpy, “I’m here. Uh, wild ride, wasn’t it? Couldn’t stand up straight afterwards! Eheh!”

Odd behaviour. Staid put it down to some kind of speed-induced concussion. “I’m glad to see you’re alright,” he said, before lowering his voice, “The Centurion seems to be quite badly injured. Could you please stay with him – make sure he doesn’t pass out, or try to wander off again, that sort of thing – while I get the field medicine?”

“Sure,” Butterscotch said, and Staid felt that her happiness had suddenly become a little more genuine, “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

She hopped back aboard the Cart while Staid carried on to the sled where, whilst searching for the bag with the medicine in, kept one tattered ear angled towards the imminent conversation on the Cart.

“Hey there, uh, Centurion,” Butterscotch said nervously. Defiant Arc opened his wounded eyes and glared at her. “Staid asked me to keep an eye on you. So you don’t pass out, or anything.”

Defiant Arc didn’t speak. He looked down at the floor, his expression one of general anger at the world.

“We didn’t get to speak earlier,” Butterscotch continued, “So… you’re in the army, huh? The Royal Guard? Must be a pretty tough life.”

“Obviously.” After a few seconds the Centurion asked, “What side are you on, anyway? Are you with Celestia or the traitors?”

“I’m not with either,” Butterscotch told him. Defiant Arc harrumphed. “I don’t care about politics. I just want everyone to get along.”

“Sounds like rebel talk to me,” the Centurion muttered, “If you’re not helping us, then you’re helping the enemy.”

Butterscotch sighed. “Does it really matter?” she asked, “Out here, right now? You don’t like me because I’m neutral, I get the impression you don’t like the two foreigners too much either, and you definitely don’t like Star-Strike-”

“Don’t you talk to me about that filth,” Defiant Arc said darkly, “She’s a traitor to Equestria. If it weren’t for all of you getting in my way, I’d have her head.”

“I get that you don’t like what she stands for,” Butterscotch said carefully, very aware that the angry stallion had his front hooves resting on an extremely sharp-looking sword, “But what do you have against her personally? I’ve only known her a little while, but Star-Strike is a great friend; if you can earn her trust, she’ll always be there for you, even when it’s her that needs the help.  Everyone else here seems nice as well, yet you’re so angry. Haven’t you at least tried getting along with them?”

Defiant Arc growled – literally growled, like a furious wolf. “You have no idea, do you?” he snarled, turning on Butterscotch, every word dripping with fire and venom, “No idea at all in that STUPID little head of yours! You just want everypony to get along, don’t you? Just wishing, as though that helps! IDIOT!” Butterscotch physically flinched. “The so-called Republic started this war – tens of thousands, dead, because of them, those scum, and the heartless World Empire dogs, and the avaricious griffons, and the Changelings and the mad-ponies – all of them, and their stupid, greedy fighting! Princess Celestia and the Royal Guard – Old Equestria – we’re doing our best to stop it all, to make everything normal again… and then ponies like YOU come along.” He jabbed Butterscotch in the chest with a bleeding hoof so forcefully it hurt both of them. But the Centurion didn’t seem to care; his eyes were aflame. “You think that, just because there’s no fighting here-and-now, we should all be the best of friends?! These ponies, and that creature, are all partly responsible for this war, for all the killing. I have to be on guard all the time, because if I, or any other Old Equestrian, relents for even a moment, then the last bastion of true Equestria will crumble and burn! And you think that you’re innocent in all this, but let me tell you something, you neutral; by standing aside like this, by dreaming your stupid little dreams of everypony getting along, you’re letting the crazies and the bugs and the foreigners and the bucking traitor scum destroy all that remains of Equestria!” There were tears in his eyes now; tears of hatred, of anger, but also of some great pain. The pain at the death of his country. “And now… and now, the Crystal Empire….”

Silence fell. Defiant Arc looked down at his bleeding hooves. Butterscotch was too terrified to speak, or even to move.

Colonel Staid chose this moment to appear around the corner of the Cart and poke his head over the side of the platform. “I found the medicine,” he said neutrally, “Come over to the fire and I’ll get you patched up. Miss Butterscotch, you as well.”

The Earth pony gratefully hopped down from Cart and hurried over to the nearby fire, which flickered in the otherwise impenetrable darkness. The Centurion remained where he was for several moments, before eventually getting to his hooves.

Staid was completely silent, his forcibly-impassive expression giving nothing away as he helped the dead-eyed unicorn down from the Cart and over to the merrily-burning fire.