Blueblood's War

Chapters

Prologue
No peace, little war
Royal Flash
Debate in the Ranks
To Play the King
Behind the Lines
Winter
Pursuit

Prologue

Winter had come early to Trottingham. The sky was dark, the air was chill, and puddles left by a shower of cold rain that morning dotted the streets.

Second Lieutenant Golden Match grimaced as her boot splashed into one of those pools. Winter had not been due for another month yet, but those plans had been set in the summer, in another city by another government, and since then everything had changed.

And yet despite, or perhaps because of that, the evening streets of Trottingham were as alive as Golden Match had ever seen them. Newly-minted soldiers in their new uniforms trotted around looking for inns or girls, while ponies old and young alike gossiped on the pavements or at the corners. Golden heard snatches of rumour as she passed. General Neigh was marching on Princess Twilight at Asshaye! No, he had been defeated and was retreating to Canterlot with Princess Celestia in pursuit! Nonsense, he had wrong-hoofed Celestia and was marching deep into Horsetria!

Golden smiled and shook her head as she walked on. She moved quickly: an officer’s uniform was sure to draw a barrage of questions from ponies desperate for news, but in truth there was little to give. Though the Equestrian Civil War was nearly a month old, little had happened. Both sides recruited, trained, mobilised and watched, but did little else.

She found the old, small pub on the corner of the street. The Good Shepherd was a favourite of hers. She was starving, and the officers’ mess at Trottingham Barracks had become far too serious for her of late. If her fellow officers were not debating the Revolution or arguing politics, they were poring over maps trying to work out where the first blow would fall. Golden could not be bothered with that: that was her job, not her hobby.

She pushed her way through the battered wooden door of The Good Shepherd pub, and into a common room heaving with ponies. Many of them were in uniform, and barmaids clutching foaming tankards pushed their way through the crowds. The welcoming smell of beer and cider hung over it all. The room was lit by golden light, and the noise was incredible. Everypony was huddled over their tables locked in feverish discussion about the only thing that mattered: the war.

"Goldie!" cried somepony from across the pub. Golden spotted the Pegasus waving from a booth. Clinkscales was a merchant working out of Baltimare, but was Trottingham by birth and the two of them had been friends since school.

Golden pushed her way through the crowds and over to the booth. Clinkscales, she saw, was sharing it with three other smartly-dressed ponies. She hugged Clinkscales. "How are you, Clink?"

"In body, blooming. In mind, uncertain. And in purse..." She shrugged. "In Mareope they say war is good for business, but in Baltimare now all we see is high prices and declining trade."

Golden chuckled. "And that's why you invited me to supper? To be reassured by a loyal soldier of the Republic?"

"Oh no, I am here to show you that neither war nor revolution will separate old friends. But as for my other friends, when they heard I was to have dinner with an officer... well. May I introduce Lovely Lucre, Silver Leaf, and Bull Market."

Lovely Lucre was a pretty Unicorn mare and Bull Market was a solid- and prosperous-looking Pegasus stallion, though both of them looked like they had seen harder times of late. But there was something different about Silver Leaf. She had a shining white mane, and there was an intensity and determination in the Earth Pony's eyes that her fellow merchants seemed to have lost, almost a hunger that not even war could stifle.

"What's everypony having then?" asked Golden. Given that trade was suffering, it seemed only right that she paid.

"Oh nonsense, Goldie!" cried Clinkscales. “Here, a souvenir from my last trip to Prance.”

She dug around under the table and pulled several bottles of Prench champagne from a saddlebag. “Might be the last time we see anything like this for a while.”

Clinkscales broke open the first bottle, and they drank for several minutes, swapping pleasantries and looking over the bar menu. The prices had risen something fearsome since her last visit, Golden noticed.

“I wonder, Lieutenant,” said Silver Leaf coolly after a couple of glasses of champagne and after Clinkscales had returned from placing their orders. “Whether you can tell us anything of your Army’s plans for Baltimare?”

Golden Match took a drink. “I’ll tell you only facts: Baltimare is a strategic port that provides access to the Promethic Ocean and has excellent communications with the interior. If one side does not claim it the other certainly will.”

“Baltimare has declared for neither the Royalists nor the Parliamentarians. We desire only peace.”

“These are not peaceful times. This war is entirely of Celestia’s making.”

“Yet you are closer. This city is the heart of your movement, and now it’s said that you’ve dispatched troops to support Parliamentarian rioters in Fillydelphia?”

“Those soldiers were sent to protect Parliamentarian supporters from Royalist rioters.”

Silver Leaf gave a wry smile. “Regardless, the net around Baltimare is clearly tightening. Trade is suffering for it. Nearly all commerce is diverting north to Manehattan instead.”

“Who can blame ‘em?” grunted Bull Market, who’d had more champagne than any of them. “No war, and there’s actually a proper government there.”

Golden raised an eyebrow. “Proper government?” she asked, and Lovely Lucre looked worried.

“A Princess,” slurred Bull Market. “Luna’s there, building an army. Then there’s Shining Armor in the north, and Celestia and that Twilight Sparkle out east. They’ve got you surrounded, and I don’t fancy holding a spear against them.”

“So you think the Princesses are our legitimate government then, Bull?” asked Golden.

“Well they’ve always been, haven’t they? Maybe Radical Road had some good ideas at first, but that doesn’t mean we should just kick them out.”

“But if they proved incompetent at ruling, what then? What about the war? The economy?”

“Still doesn’t justify another war.”

Clinkscales, who had been listening intently, laughed. “You remind me of a riddle I heard on my last trip to the Dragon Kingdoms, Goldie.”

“Oh yes?”

“Yes. The Dragons talk a great deal about power, you know. I suppose it’s because they’re such powerful creatures. Anyway, suppose three ponies sit in a room: a Princess, such as Celestia; a rich merchant, such as these fine ponies; and a priest of the Spirits. Between them stands a simple soldier such as yourself. The Princess says to the soldier; ‘Kill the other two, for I am your rightful ruler.’ The merchant says; ‘Kill them, for I will make you rich.’ The priest says; ‘Kill them, for the Spirits command it.’ Who do you suppose the soldier listens to?”

“The merchant, surely?” said Lovely Lucre. “For the money?”

“Yet why should the soldier not kill the merchant in the name of the Princess or the priest, and take his money?”

“The priest,” said Bull Market, in a tone of voice which showed exactly what he thought of this game. “That way you can take the money, and if the Spirits are real, you get their favour.”

“But if our only loyalty is to money or to the Spirits, why should we listen to governments, be they Princesses or Parliamentarians?”

“Because governments have other soldiers who can defend them and force you to do what they want,” said Silver Leaf.

“Then it is soldiers who have the true power, but why should these soldiers obey anyone, be it for faith, wealth or crowns, when they can just take what they please?”

“Which is why we must be bound by laws and honour,” said Golden Match. “So the innocent are protected and there can be merchants and priests.”

“So the Princess, then?”

“So the government.”

“And yet soldiers just overthrew the government, the one we have had in Equestria for a thousand years,” said Silver Leaf.

“That government had ceased to have Equestria’s best interests at heart,” said Golden Match. “It had disregarded Parliament and had allowed businesses to destroy the economy and thousands of ponies’ livelihoods without consequence.”

“So it is its concern for the public that legitimises power?”

“In a word, yes.”

“Yet are those other ponies in Prancenburg, Braytain, Horsetria and the Crystal Empire not also legitimising the Princesses by arming for them? By supporting their armies?”

“Good ponies will fight for the Princesses out of loyalty and belief that they are still their rightful rulers,” said Golden Match firmly. “But the monarchy has proven itself incapable over the past year. The Princesses fight only for their own power and wealth and have given us this civil war. We fight for a better tomorrow and to restore the peace they took from us.”

Bull Market snorted into his champagne. “There’s a quote for you. ‘Fighting for peace’!”

“And what do you say we civilians can do to ensure peace, Lieutenant?” asked Silver Leaf.

“Reject the counter-revolution,” said Golden Match loyally. “Support the Convention and adopt the new constitution, so the army can end the civil war and restore Equestria.”

Clinkscales laughed and clapped a hoof on her shoulder. “You make a convincing Parliamentarian, Goldie! Perhaps one of these days you’ll be a Deputy yourself!” She cracked open a second bottle of champagne. “Ah, and here comes our food!”

They stayed there finishing Clinkscales’ champagne until well into the small hours. They talked no more of politics, but instead swapped traders’ tales and listened as Bull Market laughed uproariously at his own stories of strange, distant shores. But throughout it all, Golden Match had a sense that Silver Leaf was staring intently at her, though whenever she looked over she was looking aware. Golden finally bade farewell to them at two in the morning, and as she staggered home through the cold, dark, deserted streets, she was secretly glad to get away.

She signed herself back in at the gate of Trottingham Barracks, slurring an apology to an unsympathetic-looking sentry. She was looking forward to a few hours in bed and probably a late breakfast when she entered the officers’ mess, only to be met by another Lieutenant hurrying down the staircase. “Golden!”

“Yeah, Starburst? What is it?”

“Being trying to find you for hours! All the artillery officers are wanted in the main lecture theatre at ten!”

“Ten?” croaked Golden Match, already feeling a thumping headache coming on.

“Yeah,” said Starburst. His eyes were alive. “Word in the mess is that they’re planning the big one. We’re going to get the new recruits trained, the new guns proofed, and the second winter breaks, we move: offensives on three fronts, north, west and east!”

“Baltimare, then?”

Starburst grinned. “Baltimare.”

Golden Match’s eyes were heavy. “Right, I’ll see you there. Going to need a snooze and a couple of coffees first though.”

Climbing the stairs to the officers’ rooms felt like climbing a mountain. The warmth of the mess had been welcome when she’d come in, but now it felt stifling, oppressive. Suddenly everything she’d told Clinkscales and her friends seemed to ring hollow. In a few months she’d be with an army marching on their city, and she doubted that what she’d told them would be enough to make them open the gates.

She opened the door to her room on the third floor of the mess. The officers’ rooms were small things, sparsely and cheaply furnished, but right now she felt that the sight of her bed was the most welcoming thing she’d ever seen. She stepped forward into her room, and then there was an explosion of green light as something caught her in the back of the head, and she collapsed into darkness.

When she came to, light was streaming through her room’s window, capturing the pony standing over her in silhouette. She could not make out its face. Golden felt blood trickling from the back of her head. She could barely move without it erupting in a spike of agony.

“Help…” Golden croaked. “Help…”

“Your friends can’t hear you, I’m afraid,” said her captor. The pony standing over her leaned forwards slightly, into the light. Golden’s jaw dropped.

“Silver?!”

“I know the pain you must be feeling now,” Silver Leaf said softly. “But know that it is nothing like the pain you and your fellow soldiers have caused me.”

Golden coughed weakly. “What… what are you talking about? We never did anything to you!”

Silver’s face contorted with rage. “No?! Has it been so long that you have forgotten?! Are a few months all it takes for you worthless creatures to forget your crimes?!”

Golden felt another spike of pain shoot through her. What was going on?!

“That I need you is almost revolting,” continued Silver. “But I have been searching for useful ponies for weeks, and you are the most appropriate. An officer, ambitious, loyal, and most importantly, political. I must thank Clinkscales for supper for you.”

And then, Silver changed. Green fire spread up her limbs and body, and Golden Match watched in horror as the flames swirled and vanished to reveal a different pony. The limbs were shorter and the body was thicker and more muscular. Her coat had changed to grey and her mane to dark brown, and the eyes were a piercing grey.

Golden Match was staring at herself.

“What are you?!” she whispered.

Her doppelgänger sighed. “Perhaps you’re not as intelligent as I thought. Maybe this will remind you.”

The flames swirled again, and when they cleared, they revealed the horror beneath, and Golden screamed.

“NO!” she shrieked, thrashing on the floor, desperate to get away. “We stopped you! We killed you!”

“No,” growled her captor, through fanged jaws. The creature’s gnarled horn glowed and hellish green flames began to build around Golden Match. “I will have justice for what you did though. From every last one of you. I am not dead, but soon…” And Golden shrieked in agony as the flames around her closed in. “…you will be.”

No peace, little war

Twilight Sparkle was the Princess of Friendship, Bearer of the Element of Magic, and the fourth- or fifth-most powerful pony in Equestria. Every minute of every day hundreds of thoughts crowded for room in her head, whether on politics, science, history or magic, and every one of them different to the last. Twilight Sparkle had been thinking a lot lately. It was all she had to do.

Hurry up and wait; that was how the Army worked. Everypony from Applejack to Rainbow Dash to General Warding Ember had told her that, repeatedly and with a wry, resigned smile. They had been hurrying and waiting since before they had even arrived at this place.

Two weeks ago Twilight, Spike, her friends, and nearly four thousand pony soldiers had abandoned their homes in Ponyville, fleeing ahead of a battalion of rebels and mutineers led by the traitor Major General Neigh and in the thrall of the usurper Blueblood. Under her authority they had fled south down the River Saddle to the defensive position General Warding Ember had selected, a tiny, unremarkable village called Asshaye. Here they had hurried and here they now waited. Waited for the reinforcements that were trickling in everyday. Waited for the scraps of news that came with them. But mostly they just sat thinking. Thinking about their homes and wondering, fearing, what might be happening there now and, none more so than Twilight, wondering whether they’d made the right decision.

The canvas flap of Twilight’s tent pushed open. “Morning, Twi!”

Twilight couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps uniquely in the camp, Spike seemed to be thoroughly enjoying this new experience. He was forever making himself useful to General Ember, scribbling down orders and dashing to and fro with them. To add to his authority, Warding Ember had paid for his commission, and now the baby dragon looked quite splendid in the cocked hat and red-faced blue jacket of the Royal Artillery. “Morning, Spike. Any news?”

“Nothing the General can’t tell you better than me. Just came to say that breakfast is on in the mess.” He frowned, glancing at Twilight’s spotless camp bed. “Have you been up all night?”

Twilight looked down sheepishly at her campaign desk. She hadn’t realised that the beeswax candle had guttered out hours before. Perhaps her eyes had been too heavy to notice that she had been squinting through the gloom. “Sorry, reading.”

“There’s a shock. A good book?”

“Oh, yes.”

Spike inclined his head to see the pages of the massive tome lying in the rickety wooden table. “Quite interesting?”

“Oh yes, Spike!” gushed Twilight. She did this for most books. “I’ve learned so much about war-fighting so far! It’s really quite intuitive when you get down to it...”

Spike laughed. “Twilight, that’s your book.” He swung the boards shut to reveal the title: Principles of Military Movement, the doctrinal text she’d helped write for the War Office months ago.

“Oh,” said Twilight quietly. She meekly returned it to the stack next to her camp bed. Compared to the library she had commanded in Ponyville, it was a pitiful collection.

“You look like you need a coffee and a good bowl of oats,” said Spike, turning from the tent.

Twilight grabbed her greatcoat and pulled it on over her red jacket. She followed Spike out of her tent. Captain Summer Set, her bodyguard, fell out from his position at the entrance and followed them into the bustling morning of the camp. Yawning soldiers were moving away from their dawn stand-to positions back to their tent lines to light cookfires. Bleary-eyes sentries were staggering back to their tents after a long, cold night for some much-needed sleep. Officers were marching smartly from their personal tents, straightening red tunics that were invariably smarter, brighter and better cut than those of their soldiers, striding confidently off to their messes for a hearty breakfast. Their soldiers were long-used to the dichotomy, but it still made Twilight’s lip curl.

But behind it all there was something darker. Twilight had been noticing it for days: soldiers were going unshaven and their coats were left ungroomed. Their uniforms were crumpled and dirty and weapons were piled up sloppily next to their fires. Most worrying of all was their faces: their expressions were disgruntled and sullen.

And then there were the civilians attached to the army. Harassed-looking railway ponies argued with staff officers over the troop shipments that were delaying the trains. Merchants under escort hawked eggs, oats, and illicit cider to tired soldiers. And foals cried or scurried underhoof as parents tried to comfort or chase them.

Twilight had tried very hard to forget the heart-rending scenes in Ponyville when it had been decided that only half the families of the Ponyville Light Infantry could be supported on a march. Those that had been selected to come had been put to work here, washing and mending uniforms, stitching tents, cooking meals, and keeping books. Twilight did not want to think about what would happen to those they had had to leave behind. They would be supported by friends, she thought, but that was for now, at the start of a war that, a disconsolate, slightly tipsy Lieutenant Colonel had told her in the mess the other night, could last years.

The senior officers’ mess was a marquee-like structure that adjoined the big top of the staff tent. The mood inside was sombre as a couple of dozen officers, their uniforms heavy with gold braid and medals, miserably contemplated their breakfasts. These mares and stallions, who formed the staff of the grandiosely-named Army of Braytain, knew better than anypony the awful strategic problem they faced. Their so-called army numbered less than ten thousand ponies in disparate, understrength units that had never worked together before. They had next-to no idea what was going on in the territories that they had abandoned and one day soon would be ordered to recover. They had precious-few officers who knew how to drill battalions into cohesive brigades and divisions. And every day they waited and tried to plan and tried to train, the situation deteriorated.

A Pegasus aide-de-camp fluttered over to Twilight as she entered. “Your Highness, General Ember would like to see you in the staff tent before breakfast.”

Twilight sighed. “More bad news, Captain?”

“Is there any other kind these days, ma’am?”

Twilight smiled weakly. “Good point.” She turned and strode the length of the mess tent, Spike and Summer Set hurrying behind her, to push through into the staff tent.

An enormous trestle table dominated the centre of the staff tent, and it was strewn with maps in a dozen different scales. All were coated with pencil lines or model markers showing potential defensive positions, routes of march, fall-back positions, or campsites. One brown leather wall was completely covered by a massive map of Equestria, on which the strategic situation was updated daily. Areas known to be Royalist were shaded with blue grease pencil, areas that had declared for the Parliamentarians were red. And today, Twilight saw, another part of the map had been coloured red.

“Fillydelphia has fallen,” growled a familiar voice behind her. Twilight turned to see the angry features of General Sir Warding Ember, General Officer Commanding (Designate), Army of Braytain. He did not look well. He was looking thinner every day, and his mane and mutton chop moustache was becoming and greyer and greyer. He favoured his right side, the result of being slashed by a spearpoint when Blueblood’s troops had stormed Canterlot Castle and never having had time to see it properly treated.

“Just got the news this morning,” he continued wearily. “The Royal Fillydelphias were trapped in their barracks by Parliamentarian rioters for days. They managed to negotiate a peaceful withdrawal north. Princess Luna wasn’t prepared to authorise anything else.”

“My own regiment…” muttered another pony, bitterly. Twilight did not recognise him. The brown Earth Pony wore the twin stars and crown of a Colonel and carried blue facings on his jacket. His cutie mark was a white rose atop a French horn.

“Your Highness, this is Colonel Morning Star,” said Warding Ember. “He brought us the news. As it turns out he was trying to get a train across the country to his regiment.”

Twilight stared worried at the map. “But if we’ve lost Fillydelphia, then Prancenburg…”

“Prancenburg is safe for now,” said Morning Star. He took a pointer in his hoof and tapped the map, pointing at the easternmost spur of the Foal Mountains. “My regiment has fallen back north to the Pastern Pass: the level ground there between the Stirrup Spur and the sea is barely thirty feet wide with a single railway track. A small force there could hold off an attacker many times its size.”

“Nevertheless, it must be defended,” growled Warding Ember. “And with the Parliamentarians holding Fillydelphia it’s far easier for them to support a force in the field there than it is for us. And then there’s Baltimare…”

“It’s cut off,” completed Twilight.

“Exactly, Your Highness,” said Warding Ember. “Floridea has not yet declared for either side, so the only way we can reliably support Baltimare is by sea or airship. It is of paramount importance that the Parliamentarians do not gain that harbour. Princess Celestia and Field Marshal Shining Armor have called a strategy conference for the army commanders in Neighcastle next week. You’ll be in attendance too, of course.”

“I’d like to come with you if you don’t mind, sir,” chipped in Morning Star. “I need to get back to my regiment. From Neighcastle I can head to Prancenburg via the Crystal Empire…”

“I can’t allow that, Morning,” said Warding Ember. “I need a pony of your calibre here. We have the Light Infantry, and the Shetlanders are arriving, but we’re not an army. We have no cavalry, precious little artillery, and soon we’re going to get new recruits coming in. I need you here to train them.”

“But sir, my duty…”

“The Fillydelphias will hold that pass without the help of one more Colonel, but here is sure to be the decisive point. What we don’t have in numbers, we need to make up for in quality. Your tactics won the Battle of the Recinante Cliffs for us: I need everypony here trained in them. Your duty is to Equestria, and your duty is here.”

Morning Star’s jaw worked for a moment. “Very good sir,” he said quietly.

***

“The Hero of the Recinante Cliffs?” asked Applejack that evening. “Well ah’m no’ worried, Twi. Morning Star’ll whip everypony into shape, for when we finally get to do sommin’ at any rate.”

Twilight’s friends joined her for dinner in her tent that evening. The supper was, as usual, bland and unfulfilling. Twilight wasn’t too sure what it actually was: the rations were coming from somewhere, but the valley around Asshaye was poor farmland, which meant that the foraging parties and requisition teams had to march further and further afield to gather food.

“Takes some pony to agree to that,” remarked Rainbow Dash, taking a swig of coffee. “Old Ember just asked him to abandon all the ponies he trained and fought with! Duty or not, I’d be court-martialled before I abandoned my troop!”

Applejack and Rainbow Dash chattered about developments and groused about the petty injustices of army life like old professionals. They were, Twilight supposed. The Pegasus and the Earth Pony were the only two among them who had gone south with Shining Armor to fight the Changelings. The rest of them, Twilight, Rarity, Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie, all sat uncomfortably on their campaign stools, new uniforms that they felt they had no right to hanging awkwardly on their bodies, and wondering how the two veterans could act so blasé about everything.

“Well,” said Rarity heartily, as if she felt it was her duty to say something. “I for one am glad that something at last is happening, however minimal!”

Rainbow Dash frowned. “If you’ve got something to say, Rarity, say it.”

“I have said it,” said Rarity, evasively.

Applejack fixed Rarity with a stern glare. “Ah’ll tell you wha’ ah tell ma Light Infantry, Rarity. We ain’t gonna be able ta work together if somepony’s being catty. Say wha’ ya mean an’ maybe we can fix it, but it’s only gonna fester otherwise.”

“I am not ‘catty’!” cried Rarity haughtily. “I am merely expressing my… my…” And then it all seemed to tumble out of her. “Oh goodness, I just want something to happen! We’ve left our homes and our friends and we’ve been here for weeks and weeks and we’ve done nothing! I mean, I don’t want anypony to be hurt, but for heaven’s sake, we are at war! Why can’t the blasted thing just buck up and start?!”

A silence settled over the tent. Rarity suddenly looked quite embarrassed, but everypony knew that she had just summarised what the entire army was thinking.

Applejack sighed. “Ah know exactly wha’ ya mean, Rarity. Ah guess it was simpler durin’ the war: we were always marchin’ forwar’, and everypony always knew wha’ we were there to do. Bu’ here? Mah boys and girls can’t stop askin’ me why we had ta leave Ponyville, an’ ah can’t even tell ‘em wha’ we’re s’posed to do about it!”

Twilight sadly cast her eyes over her friends. Rainbow Dash was nodding at Applejack’s statement, a miserable expression on her face. If that was what the soldiers among them thought, then for the rest it was even worse. Rarity, Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy all wore the blue and green jackets of the Royal Army Supply Corps, but they were still civilians who had been handed uniforms and a single day of instruction before being set to work. “All we can do for now is wait,” she said quietly.

“Wait and sew,” muttered Rarity. She plucked at the fabric of her jacket. “I have this jacket and a piece of paper that says I’m a Captain, and I tell a tent full of camp followers to sew uniforms and tents and blankets every day. I need to make ten thousand uniforms, ten thousand blankets, and three thousand tents. Who’s going to use all of those? Farmponies and clerks given another jacket and another piece of paper that says they’re soldiers. If we feel like this now, what’s it going to be like when they get here?”

“I have twenty ponies a day coming to the medical tents,” whispered Fluttershy, head bowed over her tea. The quiet Pegasus had said even less since they had left Ponyville. After much convincing from Twilight, Warding Ember had put her with the field hospital staff. “They say they’re ill, or not sleeping, or not eating. I tell them all that nothing’s wrong with them, but they still keep coming. And I need to prepare three thousand hospital beds.” She looked up, her eyes shining. “Why do we need three thousand beds? Why are three thousand ponies going to be hurt?”

“And winter’s coming,” said Pinkie Pie. Twilight had never known the bright pink Earth Pony to be anything other than exuberant, but now her expression was resigned and forlorn and her mane hung limp. At Twilight’s suggestion Warding Ember had put her in charge of maintaining morale, but right now Twilight couldn’t think of a job less suited for her.

“And not nice pony-set-up winter either; real winter,” Pinkie continued, shuddering. “That’s going to be super-not-fun. We won’t be able to forage and we’ll only be able to bring food in by the railway. Right now we need forty-four tons of food a day for the ponies already here, but we’re going to have to bring in more and more food as more and more ponies arrive. If we get all the soldiers the army’s supposed to, we’ll need to bring in a hundred and ten tons of food a day. More food, on a single railway line, when we’ve gotta move ponies and spears and guns too, in the winter.” She shook her head miserably. “Everypony here is gonna get super-hungry super-quickly.”

Twilight stared at Pinkie in amazement. “Pinkie, how did you work all that out?”

Pinkie looked at her oddly. “I worked in a bakery, Twilight. Gotta know how to manage those stocks and flows!”

Twilight planned to mention that to Warding Ember as soon as possible. “We have to make the best of what we have,” she said, trying to sound decisive. “I’m going to a strategy meeting soon, but we can’t fight in the snow. We have to sit out this winter. We can train and we can plan, but we’re going to have to wait.”

Royal Flash

Across a frozen field, the cavalry charged.

One thousand Pegasi, gold-frogged dolmans buttoned up tight against the cold, fur-trimmed pelisses billowing from their shoulders, thundered over the frost, their wings kicking up great glittering clouds of ice crystals, with gleaming curved sabres thrust out ahead of them.

“COME ON!” yelled Captain Flash Sentry. “COME ON!”

His wings were a blur and his flanks ached as he flew. The stallions and mares of the 10th (Imperial Crystal) Hussars either side of him buffeted against him as the single line of one thousand Pegasi charged. Sentry’s wings strained as he struggled to outfly them all.

Burning pain shot through his sides as he felt himself pulling ahead. To his left he saw the gimlet eye and scowling jaw of Sergeant Major Cold Steel, froth collecting in the corners of his mouth and breath blowing in clouds from his muzzle. Sentry flashed him a roguish grin as he sped past.

The target was a single ring levitating above the ground half a mile from where they'd formed up. Sentry's sword took it through the centre.

Grinning and panting, Sentry fluttered to the frost-kissed ground and held his trophy high as his troop surrounded him.

“Bloody well done, sir!”

“Fastest flying I've seen in a while!”

Cold Steel thumped down heavily next to him. “You may have the speed, sir, but have you got the stamina?”

Sentry laughed. He sensed that, against his better judgement, the disapproving Sergeant Major was starting to like him. “I have everything, Mr Steel.”

A bugle blasted from the centre of the now-ragged regiment. “REFORM!” roared Colonel Beryl de Topaz.

A line of lathered, panting Pegasi, sweat steaming from their coats, slowly reformed around the standards. One was the Princesses’ Cavalry Standard, a crimson flag bearing the Coat of Arms and Royal Cypher and the regiment’s name. The other was the Regimental Standard an indigo guidon bearing a winged Imperial Snowflake in its centre. Ringing that were the words; THE IMPERIAL CRYSTAL HUSSARS, wreathed in laurels. Stitched to the guidon were four gold scrolls, battle honours bearing the words; Maneden, Silvestris, Kelpie Creek, and one that no other regiment in the army carried, Tailwald Wood. His brother officers might curse Flash Sentry for a cad, but he was still a soldier, and like all soldiers, it was to his colours, more than to his Princesses or his country, that he gave his love and allegiance. As long as those flags remained, the regiment could never die, could always march to future glories.

An aide was scribbling notes down on a sheet of parchment. Colonel Beryl de Topaz, the regiment’s Commanding Officer, took the paper and calmly regarded the list of names. “A good charge today, everypony!” she cried. “Come spring, Blueblood and Radical Road will rue the day they ever crossed us!”

She read from the sheet. “I need to see the following ponies in my office when we get back to barracks: Sentry, Steel, Hunter, Gust, Blaze, Hoof. Squadron commanders, carry on!”

Officers and their Sergeant Majors? thought Sentry, as he went through the motions of congratulating his squadron. Whatever for? Sentry had a few good ideas as to why his commander might wish to speak to him alone, but he couldn’t imagine why she’d need the command staffs of three squadrons.

The regiment trotted in column from the field, moving up a long road paved with quartz slabs north back towards the shining spires of the Crystal Empire. Farmers bringing in the last of the harvest paused to watch in awe as they marched past. No doubt it was a very fine sight, the Hussars marching in full campaign uniform with the banners flying. What they left behind them was not so fine: the frontage of the column was wider than the road, so the regiment left trails of churned brown mud on each verge where that morning had been grass turned white and brittle with frost.

The fields gave way to crystal buildings and straight, wide streets. The Crystal Ponies were doing their best to keep calm and carry on, but it was obvious that things had changed. On the edge of the city, earthworks were being thrown up, deep ditches backed by great berms that glittered with fragments of crystal. Further out, on the Marches, Guardsponies were digging out flèches and redoubts. The streets were quiet, and those ponies that were out hurried about their business. As they passed shops, Sentry saw shelves that were sparsely-stocked, and the selection was getting thinner by the day. A country at war.

Being unmarried and living in the barracks, Sentry was fortunate enough to have avoided the worst of the price hikes since the war had started, though the price of a bottle of wine in the mess wasn’t exactly going to get any lower, and he wasn’t looking forward to his next mess bill. The regiment trotted out of the Crystal Empire’s wide boulevards and through the wrought iron gates of the Imperial Barracks. A battalion of the Crystal Guard was out performing manoeuvres on the drill square.

Sentry went through the tedious business of dismissing his squadron and sending them back to barracks before making his way across the square to the regimental offices. Cold Steel strode next to him. They entered the building and made their way through smart, gleaming corridors, the walls lined with freshly-commissioned paintings of the Crystal Regiments’ actions in the Changeling War.

Sentry was ready to lazily brace up as he always did when he entered his C.O.’s office – it was just enough to irritate Beryl de Topaz without being insolent – but when he saw who was standing next to her, he snapped to attention with the rest of the Hussars and saluted.

“At ease, gentlestallions,” said Lieutenant General Dame Silver Star. Until recently the Colonel of the Crystal Guard, she had been promoted to Adjutant-General of the Army of the Crystal Empire to oversee the massive expansion Shining Armor had ordered. Sentry couldn’t help but wonder why: a row of medals on her green jacket, the longest that Flash Sentry had ever seen, spoke of the pony that had personally led the Crystal Guard in six spearpoint charges during the Changeling War. This was not the sort of officer to take out of the field and stick in an office.

“So these are the Pegasi you recommended?” asked Silver Star.

“Absolutely, ma’am,” said Beryl de Topaz. “The best swords, best shots and fastest fliers in the regiment.”

This was heady stuff, and Sentry could see that the Hussars next to him were doing their best not to show that they were preening. Here they were being presented to one of the most respected Generals in the Crystal Empire, the one responsible for personnel and promotions, no less. You’re made, Flashy.

“Excellent,” said Silver Star. “General Evenstar will be needing good fliers.”

Aide-de-camp to a General! thought Sentry. He was already imagining how smart a crimson-and-blue aiguillette would look.

“Gentlestallions,” continued Silver Star. “Congratulations, you’re hereby transferred to General Evenstar’s staff. Report to the Crystal Palace tomorrow at 0900 for briefing and assignment to the Maresaw Corps.”

Something cold suddenly trickled down Sentry’s spine, and at that moment he realised that Beryl de Topaz was smiling at him nastily. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said, trying to sound deferential. “Did you say Maresaw?”

Silver Star cocked an eyebrow at him. “Of course, Captain. Where else but Ponland?”

His brother officers and their Sergeant Majors were of course grinning like loons at this opportunity to add to their laurels, but Sentry couldn’t share in their enthusiasm: he was hardly opposed to a bit of dash and derring-do – he was a Hussar, after all – but the talk in the Crystal Empire right now was of nothing but Ponland, and he did not like what he heard. Shining Armor had ordered conscription in the Imperial Territories to rapidly raise an army, and that had included Imperial Ponland. The Ponish there, already chafing at being transferred to the control of the Crystal Empire, were close to outright revolt over the order, and Ponyatowski, the Parliamentarians’ representative in Ponland, was whipping them into splitting from the Empire outright and declaring for the Republic. The few Royalists there, mostly Crystal Pony migrants, were massing into the Maresaw Corps, which for now seemed to be keeping a lid on things, but it could not be long before the explosion came.

Perhaps it was the Hussar spirit that kept Sentry from protesting, the same one that had the rest of the picked few jabbering about finding honour and glory in Ponland as they left the office, but he remained silent as they left and as Cold Steel began quizzing him about arrangements for the squadron while they were gone.

That night Sentry paid a visit to his favourite brothel and gave three Crystal Pony mares the soundest rutting of their lives.

He arrived at the Crystal Palace the next morning with dark circles under his eyes, with the smell of too much coffee on his breath and mare’s perfume on his coat. The briefing was given by Brigadier General Sir Bronze Star, Silver Star’s brother and recently appointed planning officer of the Army of the Crystal Empire.

“Ponland east of the Bitula was transferred to the Empire’s control just over a year ago,” Bronze Star was saying, pointing at a map. “A referendum was held that supported the partition, however turnout was low and since then many Ponish have come to regret their decision. The order last month to begin selection for conscription has triggered widespread resentment and non-compliance, which has only been intensified by Parliamentarian activity in Ponland proper. The presence of our corps just over the river from Maresaw may be the only thing preventing the state from outright declaring for Blueblood. If it does, our hold on Imperial Ponland would become untenable. It is absolutely vital that we restore good relations with the Ponish in order to secure the containment of the Parliamentarians and maintain our communications with Prancenburg.” He nodded at a pony sitting in the front row of seats. “General.”

The pony stood slowly. “Thank you, Brigadier General,” he said quietly, making his ponderous way to the lectern.

So this is General Evenstar, thought Flash Sentry. He did not like the look of his new chief. The brown Crystal Pony was well past forty, the gleaming shine of his coat fading, with a deeply-lined face framed by heavy white whiskers. He moved and spoke sluggishly.

“Thank you,” he said again, after taking what felt like an age to prepare his notes. “This command is a great honour to me, though…” He smiled weakly. “Perhaps it should have fallen on younger shoulders.”

Somepony chuckled politely. Sentry thought; Well, here’s a fine one to take the field with.

He couldn’t say he was surprised at the appointment, though. Evenstar had seen some action as a Major with the Crystal Guard at Maneden, but he’d been brought low by dysentery soon afterwards, with an extra helping of malaria from the Bitissippi Delta, and he’d never quite recovered from either illness. In any other circumstances he’d have quietly retired, but it a new army that was to be vastly larger than anything that had come before, officers were being taken from wherever they could be found, regardless of their talents. In some cases, that would get you Silver Star. In others, that got you Evenstar.

Sentry saw Cold Steel stifle a yawn as Evenstar spoke, which told him volumes. Desperately trying not to nod off, Sentry turned his attention back to the map. He did not like the look of it. Imperial Ponland was a triangular island of territory framed by the Bitula, Rein, and Ramube, hilly in the centre and swampy near the rivers. Control was pretty solid down the railway line from Lake Huorn to the city of Stalliongrad, but that region had substantial populations of Crystal Pony and Prancenburger migrants. In the centre and along the single railway line that linked Stalliongrad to Maresaw, there were only a few large towns and many scattered villages. From its garrison just over the Bitula from Maresaw, Evenstar’s new corps was forever patrolling just to keep that railway open, and everypony with a drop of strategic sense in them was wondering how much longer it could go on.

Every soldier, spear and gun sent to Imperial Ponland was another stick being added to a bonfire, and it was just Flash Sentry’s luck that he would end up on top of it.

Debate in the Ranks

The subdued quiet of an iron-grey winter morning in Neighcastle was interrupted as a gleaming cortege of carriages swept through the city. Ponies making their way to work or having breakfast looked around as the procession clattered its way from Neighcastle Station to the Trotthorne Hotel on the banks of the River Thyme, the luxury hotel where Princess Celestia had convened a conference on strategy.

The wealthy ponies who had their apartments on Quayside might have gone away from their breakfasts for a moment and looked out their windows with interest as a host of ponies in glittering, unfamiliar uniforms descended from the carriages. The officers paused for a moment to take the salute from the small honour guard before rushing inside. One however, remained on the veranda for a moment.

Twilight Sparkle, wearing a red uniform that was still stiff and uncomfortable, looked out over Neighcastle. To her left the great arc of the Millennium Bridge, build to commemorate a thousand years of Celestial’s rein, stretched white and graceful over the River Thyme. To her right was the older, sturdier-looking iron through-arch of the Thyme Bridge. Over the river and beyond houses and flats and theatres and stadiums she could see the steep, grassy hills of the Galloping Gorge, and even from here the black dots of pitheads were visible amid the green.

“Twilight?” Spike appeared at her side.

“This city’s built on mining you know, Spike,” said Twilight thoughtfully.

“Mining?” asked Spike enthusiastically.

Twilight smiled weakly. “Coal mining, I’m afraid Spike. It exports coal by boat and rail to just about every city in Equestria. Or at least it did: there’s only one railway line from Neighcastle, and it goes past Ponland. If Ponland declares for Blueblood, what’s going to happen to this city? To these people?”

Spike rested a claw on her leg. “All the more reason to end this war quickly. Now come on! Everypony’s waiting!”

The conference had taken over the Trotthorne Hotel’s entire Grand Ballroom. An immense circular table of polished oak dominated the room, and dozens of ponies sat around it, bicorne hats resting next to them. Present were the entirety of the Equestrian General Staff, as well as the commanders of the eleven newly-created field armies, which would prosecute the strategy decided here today. Every single one of them had a look on their face that Twilight knew well: wearing shiny new insignia that spoke of them being promoted well above the ranks they had held during the Changeling War to fill positions that nopony had ever believed would need to be created, they all felt like impostors.

The great white double doors of the ballroom swung open and a sentry strode in. “Their Highnesses Princess Celestia and Princess Luna!”

Everypony hastily got to their hooves. Into the ballroom strode the two Princesses of Equestria, one white and gold, the other blue and dark. They both wore the uniforms of the Royal Guard and carried the epaulettes of Field Marshals.

“Good morning, everypony,” said Celestial calmly. “Please be seated. It is best we do not delay.” She took her own seat next to Twilight. Next to her, it was not difficult to spot the bruises and cuts from Blueblood’s attack on her that were still healing, nor miss the dark circles under her eyes.

“Field Marshal,” Celestia said.

Field Marshal Prince Shining Armor, Commander-in-Chief of the Forces, got to his hooves. He wore the green uniform of the Army of the Crystal Empire, a bright gold aiguillette, and a row of glittering medals, the longest in the room. Alone among the staff, he seemed to exude confidence and authority. He did not meet Twilight’s eyes.

“Thank you, Your Highness. Mares, gentlestallions, welcome. The purpose of today’s conference will be to develop a strategy to ensure the decisive defeat of the Parliamentarian regime that has illegally installed itself in Canterlot.” His eyes swept over the conference table. “Let us at no point today seek to minimise or forget the significance of what we are doing here. We are not drawing arrows on maps. We are not sending a blue rectangle to push against a red rectangle next to a dot labelled with a city name. What we decide here today will cause ponies to die, and not just soldiers. We have a duty to get it right.”

He turned to his right. “Chief of Staff, the situation, please.”

General Sir Ration Bag, recently appointed Chief of Staff to the Commander-in-Chief, stood and placed a crystal on the table before him. He tapped it gently with a shining hoof, and a huge map of Equestria shimmered to life in the air above the conference table.

“The Parliamentarians have solid control of Canterlot, Trottingham, Fillydelphia and Gasconeigh, as well as Lake Saddle down to its southern shore. They are in a position to threaten Baltimare and also have significant sympathies in Ponland and Chicacolt, though their present state of military weakness prevents them from fully controlling these territories, and their presence outside the major towns is thought to be weak. However, they possess interior lines, and so have the ability to rapidly move troops by rail to respond to an offensive faster than we can launch one. From intelligence gathered from ponies who have escaped to our lines, they are conducting significant recruiting campaigns in Trottingham, Gasconeigh, and the poorer districts of Canterlot.

“We know of several concentrations of troops: a battalion of the former Trottingham Grenadiers is based in Canterlot, while another is in Ponyville. The third remains in Trottingham as a nucleus for recruitment. Gasconeigh and Canterlot between them can raise the equivalent of six regiments, while we know of at least three roving companies being used to enforce control in the countryside, and to support Parliamentarian sympathies in Chicacolt and Fillydelphia. The whole population of these regions comes to some nine million ponies, meaning that in a total war scenario the Parliamentarians could amass an army of around nine hundred thousand troops.

“We believe that in the long term, the Parliamentarians will seek to consolidate their territory by gaining defensible frontiers, including Chicacolt to gain a chokepoint in the Rein Valley, the left bank of the Ramube, the Bitula and the Doe around Ponland, and the Saddle Hills. They are additionally likely to move against Baltimare to gain a major seaport, and from there seek international recognition.

“On our side, we have the advantage in both numbers and troop quality. We retain control of the vast majority of regiments that fought in the Changeling War, bringing our total force of veterans to just under 45,000. We also have an advantage in total population and the benefit of a larger recruiting network, such that we estimate that we will have recruited an additional 30,000 volunteers by the end of December. The total population of the areas solidly under our control comes to around twenty-one million ponies, allowing us to, in the worst-case scenario, assemble an army of two million troops. Presently, however, the vast majority of our troops are still concentrated near their regimental depots, often paired with units that they did not serve with during the Changeling War.

“To summarise, our army’s ability to fight above the battalion level is poor, and the quality of our troops will decline as, inevitably, losses are taken and they are replaced by new volunteers. This difficulty in any action we undertake is compounded by the Parliamentarians’ geographic advantages. Sir.”

“Thank you, General.” Shining Armor stood again. “Mares, gentlestallions, it is my intent that we will hold our present territories on defensible lines while building up and training our army. We will then launch multiple, simultaneous offensives into Parliamentarian territory on all sides, in order to fix their troops in position and ensure the possibility of a breakthrough. The main effort will be an attack out of Horsetria towards Canterlot down the Reinine Valley.

“The first phase of this plan, however, will involve building up the army. Lieutenant General Drill Square…” He nodded across at the new Commanding General, Army Training Corps. “…has estimated that it will take at least a year to train our new volunteers to an acceptable standard. In that time, we will operate out of defensive lines to defeat Parliamentarian attacks into our territories and launch our own raids to keep the enemy off-balance and give our troops experience. Only after this will we be in a position to overcome the Parliamentarians’ geographic advantage and expect victory.”

Celestia stared at Shining Armor in disbelief. “You would have us wait a year before we can liberate our subjects?!”

“I would have us be victorious, Your Highness,” said Shining Armor firmly. “Let Blueblood and Neigh destroy their armies against hill slopes, river banks and broken bridges! Only then can we attack!”

“Every day we delay Blueblood grows stronger,” said Luna. “This will only serve to encourage Parliamentarian sympathies in Ponland and Chicacolt. And what about Baltimare? Do you suggest abandoning it?”

“Baltimare can only be supplied by sea or airship, Your Highness. Any transport coming in would have to run a gauntlet of artillery from both Cape Forger and Cape Farrier, as well as from the surrounding hills. Holding both capes and the city would require tens of thousands of troops.”

“Yet equally it would give us a direct railway line to Trottingham, with the possibility of being supported by an attack by my troops on Chicacolt and Fillydelphia out of Prancenburg,” said Luna. “Losing Baltimare would be an expression of our weakness, and would allow Blueblood to fulfil the political objective General Bag mentioned!”

“I’m a soldier, Your Highness, not a politician. The military solution cannot be the same as the political one.”

“In this case I regard them as one and the same,” said Princess Celestia. “We cannot afford a year for Blueblood and Radical Road’s ideas to take hold. It is even more necessary to rapidly defeat them so we can turn our attention to the north.”

A cold silence fell over the room. Everypony had been briefed on what had been found in the Crystal Mountains, what it had done to an entire raiding party of Diamond Dogs, what it had nearly done to Shining Armor and Princess Cadance…

Princess Celestia stood. “I cannot accept this plan, Field Marshal. I cannot accept leaving my subjects under the control of a tyrant. I cannot accept yielding another yard of our territory. I cannot accept sitting idle when we may be attacked at any time by another enemy. I will have a new plan from you, and we will attack when winter breaks.”

To Play the King

The Unicorn who sat behind the desk was of middling height and size. His brilliant white coat and shining blonde mane were immaculately groomed, and the cravat at his neck was exquisitely knotted.

His name was Blueblood, and he was Chairpony of the Committee of Public Safety, formed in the aftermath of the devastating assassination attempt that had left half of Canterlot Castle in ruins, driven Celestia into exile, and delivered to the Parliamentarian movement near-absolute power. Everypony knew that story, that Celestia had attempted to murder Blueblood and Radical Road to destroy a great democratic threat to her authoritarian rule and that they had been saved by Major General Neigh and his heroic soldiers. Then, with Celestia fled and with no other choice, they had been forced to proclaim a new Republic of Equestria and adopt emergency powers to deal with the Royalist menace.

Everypony knew that, except for barely a dozen ponies who knew that it was Blueblood who had tried to assassinate Celestia. Still fewer ponies knew that he had schemed and plotted for well over a year to generate every scandal, every crisis, every embarrassment, that had destroyed confidence in Celestia’s rule and given him the conditions he’d needed for his coup.

He had supplied the army with deficient guns that had burst and killed their crews. He had leaked Shining Armor’s genocide of the Changelings to the press. He had engineered the destruction of a mine to ruin Equestria’s largest company and cause a recession. He had covered his tracks by strangling a stallion with his magic and throwing his body over a cliff. He estimated that over five hundred ponies had died directly owing to his efforts, and he had done it all for power.

The ideologues and naïfs Blueblood had associated himself with to bring down Celestia spoke grandly of greater democracy, greater transparency, and a freer nation. Blueblood cared for none of those things. He did not need to justify his actions to himself. He had known from the beginning that he would have to commit atrocity after atrocity to gain the power that was rightfully his. Nor had he faltered at any stage: he had never lost confidence that he would succeed, his fate determined by a prophecy that Celestia and Luna had kept secret for centuries to deny him and his house the power that was foretold to be his.

The same prophecy had foretold the blood that he would have to shed. Having killed hundreds of ponies, he now stood ready to kill many thousands more.

Blueblood swore quietly and turned to the window, staring out from his mansion over the darkening city. The buildings were already ablaze with light, but for a great patch that was conspicuous for its darkness: Canterlot Castle was still uninhabitable. Bodies were still being pulled from its shell, yet more by-products of his coup. That he couldn’t take over that castle seemed to epitomise everything that had gone wrong: Celestia had lived, Twilight Sparkle had evaded capture, and now the Princesses were rallying the realm against him. He had expected that he would have to fight, but he had hoped that Celestia’s death would have taken the heart out of any resistance. Yet for all his efforts, he possessed little more than this city. Even, he thought with a rush of fury, the simplest of his ambitions was incomplete, for when Twilight Sparkle had fled Ponyville, her haughty little friend Rarity had escaped with her, slipping away from the long-overdue retribution Blueblood intended to exact on her.

He swore again and pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window. All his efforts had left him little better off than before, and he was denied even the pleasure of venting his frustration on that arriviste bitch Rarity. Worst of all, responsibility for any defeat would now be laid at his hooves.

He hadn’t meant to be Chairpony. He had thought to rule from the shadows, be the power behind the throne, until the hard choices and compromises Radical Road would have had to make to win the war discredited him and given Blueblood his opportunity to replace him. But Radical Road had outmanoeuvred him, forced him to be Chairpony, forced those hard decisions on him, forced him to be responsible for everything – the dead, the injured, the food shortages, the prices hikes – needed to be done to win the war. Already the mood was turning: the propaganda put out by Newsprint could not mask the truth coming in from Celestia’s broadcasts, and while the mob could be told that it was the Royalists who were blockading the ports and strangling the flow of food and fuel, winter was upon them and a few months of cold and hunger might leave them just wanting the war over, and not necessarily as the victors.

Perhaps it was his own fault, Blueblood reflected, for embracing the rhetoric of populists like Newsprint and Radical Road, embracing it because it was the language the mob understood. And much as he hated and belittled the mob, in his heart he knew that he also feared it. He had seen what Radical Road might do with mass popular anger, but he had always thought him too timid to wield that power. He was not so certain of that now. There would be, he thought with savage pleasure, a time when Radical Road and the thousands he claimed to represent were driven back down to their proper place and reminded that they were responsible to their rulers, not the other way round. But until they would fear him, he would have to fear them, and to stay in power Blueblood had to placate them. For that he needed victories, and once he won the war, he might have the moral authority to retain the emergency powers he had accrued in the Committee of Public Safety.

He had to admit that Radical Road’s rhetoric had an effect: he promised a restored, freer, better-governed Equestria, and for that the cosmopolitan coffee-sippers, the university students, the opinionated teenagers, all those who’d had their hearts touched by Radical Road’s optimism, were willing to sacrifice. Blueblood had an army, and now he needed to use it.

Plans flew across his desk daily, for with Canterlot Castle still a ruin, the Blueblood Mansion was effectively the headquarters of the Committee of Public Safety, much to his disgust. Many of those plans were hopelessly unrealistic, produced by the Equestrian Republican Army’s newly-minted Generals who knew they needed to earn their gold braid. Yet if they feared for their new positions many of those Generals were also ambitious. They knew that there were opportunities for advancement and power in a new army and a new war that did not exist in an ancient, tradition-bound force at peace. He had already approve the plan to seize Baltimare when spring came, but without more victories he might not last that long.

When General Neigh had presented this particular plan to him, he had thought it impractical, a recipe for losing an entire army amid the mountains, but when Ponyatowski had heard of it, he had insisted that it should be done, and that the Ponish could do it. It could work, Blueblood now realised, and even if it failed, it would cost him little that truly mattered. He would still have a strong position behind mountain and river frontiers, and if it succeeded, Newsprint could certainly spin it into a decisive triumph.

He picked up a pen in his magic, flipped open the folder, and calmly wrote a brief message.

“Commence hostilities against Maresaw Corps immediately and capture Imperial Ponland, by order of Blueblood, Chairpony, Committee of Public Safety,” it said.

Behind the Lines

The streets of Ponyville were almost deserted. There was none of the Hearth’s Warming cheer that usually filled the town at this time of year, and almost none of the houses were decorated. Curtains were drawn, and if ponies went outside they went about their business quickly and with their heads down. The streets, filled with snow that morning, were now a grey slurry churned up every time a company of troops marched past. The snow itself had been swept into the gutters in ragged banks that became darker and darker with each passing hour.

General Neigh shivered as he looked out the windows of his office in Ponyville Town Hall. It had once belonged to one of the town’s councillors, but Mayor Mare and her staff had been banished to a tiny ground floor office and the building taken over by the Equestrian Republican Army, for Ponyville was now a town under military occupation and all business was the Army’s business. From here they formed the first bulwark of the Republic’s struggle against the old regime.

That was what the newspapers said anyway, Neigh thought bitterly. They called him a revolutionary hero, a principled officer who had helped overthrow a tyrannical government. That wasn’t what he was. He hadn’t wanted a war, either. All he’d hoped for was a government that would have provided for his soldiers. Well, they’d certainly done that, by putting them all back into uniform and sending them to finish the job Neigh had started.

And what a job it was! Neigh had been named Supreme Commander of the Republican Army, and with that came a new uniform and new rank insignia, and an assignment to Ponyville to oversee the training of two new armies. That was all they did, really. Train, patrol occasionally, and grumble. His new soldiers liked grumbling. They had signed up after being fed tales of glorious victories and heroic causes, but now in the field they were confronted with the boredom and privation of camp life. They grumbled about the cold, they grumbled the food, they grumbled about martinet drill instructors, and they grumbled about how poor the leave was. His officers had been instructed to watch closely for signs of potential desertion, but most of them were new recruits as well.

An angry, imperious voice suddenly sounded through the wall. “Sacrifices must be made in the struggle against the counter-revolution, Ms. Heartstrings!”

Neigh groaned. As well as training and grumbling, they were also requisitioning. The army was poised to liberate Equestria from the Royalists, but before it could do that it needed food, warm clothing, and quarters. It could only get those from the civilian population, and the necessity of that sickened Neigh. A soldier fought to protect those who could not protect themselves, but how could they claim to do that if they stole civilians’ food and homes?

Neigh cursed and stood. Maybe he could rescue this situation. He strode out of his office and trotted a short way down the corridor to what had once been Mayor Mare’s office. Waiting outside was a short queue of ponies, who shot him looks of disgust as he marched towards him. Neigh did his best not to look away. He felt as much as they did that he shouldn’t be here. Even his uniform felt wrong, for in place of the old red coats and beloved regimental facing colours of the Royal Army they now all wore the blue-and-white “National Uniform”, and instead of the crown, pip, and crossed sword-and-baton insignia of a General, Neigh wore four simple, silver stars.

He turned away from them and strode into the office. “What the bloody hell’s going on, Pace?”

Representative-on-Mission Perfect Pace lounged behind Mayor Mare’s desk. From his slicked-back blonde mane to his bow tie, every inch of him seemed to reek inviolability. The Representatives-on-Mission had been sent out by the Committee of Public Safety to coordinate civil support for the army, which effectively turned them into petty dictators. Perfect Pace oversaw all requisitioning and quartering for the army in Ponyville, and while Neigh might be disliked, Pace was hated.

“Civil affairs business, General,” said Pace lazily. “Nothing to worry yourself with.”

“General!” piped up the Unicorn who had been arguing with Pace. She was a mint-green mare with a lyre cutie mark. “Your troops have been quartered in my library without warning!”

“May I know your name, madam?” asked Neigh quickly, before Pace could ruin anything else.

“Lyra Heartstrings,” she said indignantly. “And as I was saying…”

“According to the town records, Ms. Heartstrings’ home is a two-bedroom cottage with more than enough room to accommodate a platoon!” snapped Pace.

“We knocked out a wall to make space!” shouted Lyra. “They’re in my library! Do you know how rare some of those scrolls are?!”

“We shall have time for scrolls after the Royalists are crushed!”

“Representative!” shouted Neigh, before this could escalate any further. “Is the hall downstairs not empty?”

“We can’t quarter troops in Town Hall! I need to conduct Committee business undisturbed!”

“It’ll only be in the auditorium. I imagine we could fit two companies in there.” Besides, we’re not exactly going to have many public hearings. He turned to Lyra. “I apologise for this inconvenience, Ms. Heartstrings. I shall have the necessary orders issued by the end of the day.”

Lyra muttered a grudging “thank you” as she swept out of the office. Perfect Pace grunted in irritation and toyed with his pen. “Next!”

The next pair of plaintiffs was an odd couple. One of them was a wizened old mare with a green coat and a grey mane. She could not have many winters left. The other was the biggest Earth Pony Neigh had ever seen, with a deep red coat and an apple for his cutie mark.

“Mr McIntosh,” said Pace in a bored tone. “More issues with your quota?”

“Eeyup,” growled the big stallion. “Ah’ve told ya before an’ ah’ll tells ya again, ain’t no way ah can harvest that many apples in that amount o’ time. Not a’ this time of year. Not by mahself.”

“We are in the process of sending you volunteer workers from Canterlot. Volunteers left unemployed by the incompetence of the old regime!”

Neigh resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It wasn’t that he disagreed with that statement, but a belief repeated too many times quickly began to sound dishonest.

“Well ya can send as many as ya like, sonny!” shrilled the old mare. “But we gots nowhere ta put ‘em! An’ wha’ d’ya expect us ta feed ‘em if ya takin’ all the apples?!”

“These are trying times,” said Pace unsympathetically. “And any farming family who cared about their business prospects would be wise to keep their complaints to a minimum. Especially if one of their family members was known to be colluding with counter-revolutionary forces.”

It took all of Neigh’s self-control not to bury his head in his hooves. An icy silence filled the room. Big Macintosh took his grandmother’s hoof and led her from the room without a word.

Pace sighed and shook his head. “You see why we need this revolution, General? These ponies have no idea what’s good for them. No wonder that Princess settled here.”

Big McIntosh and Granny Smith strode through the evening chill away from Town Hall. Big Mac was muttering under his breath.

“Now tha’ll do, Big Mac,” scolded Granny Smith. “Ain’t nothing’ll come of carping ‘bout it. Best thing we can do is make sure this darned war ends quickly.”

Big Mac smiled. “An’ get Applejack and Princess Twiligh’ home.”

The trees of Sweet Apple Acres were rapidly going bare and the orchards were a thick soup of slushy mud, trampled grass, and black, rotting leaves. But half the trees still had apples hanging off them. Without Applejack to help the harvest, Big Mac knew that they would stay there, and no amount of volunteers sent from Canterlot would stop most of the harvest from going to rot.

Sitting in a bare tree, the wooden box that was the Cutie Mark Crusaders Clubhouse stood out. Until recently, the tiny treehouse had been a fortress, the product of the Crusaders’ abortive human defence programme. Neigh’s soldiers had requisitioned the barbed wire, but the Clubhouse’s windows were still boarded up, which was exactly how the Apple family wanted it.

The darkness was closing in rapidly as Big Mac reached up to the balcony and tapped out a pattern of knocks with his hoof. A ladder descended and he and Granny Smith hurried up into the treehouse. Inside were Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo, grinning and having the most fun out of any pony there. With them, huddled around a candle beneath thick blankets, were four larger ponies – three Unicorns and an Earth Pony.

“Do you have the patrol schedule?” demanded Octavia Melody.

Granny Smith retrieved a sheet of paper covered with timings and routes from under her neckerchief. “Ain’t nopony suspect a kooky old lady,” she chuckled. “Got ‘em all when ah wis at the market.”

“Yeah, and we’ve been watching the night patrols!” beamed Scootaloo. “You’ve got a clear window from midnight to one o’clock!”

Vinyl Scratch took off her glasses and cleaned them on her blanket. After days slogging through the countryside, they were close to opaque. “Well that gets us out of town. What then?”

“Y’all can either head fir Twiligh’ down Ponydale or go through the White Tail Woods ta Princess Celestia,” said Big Mac. “Firs’ ways more direct, but there’s less cover. Second way’s longer, but we know folk tha’ way ‘round Foggy Swamp who can help ya’ll through the worst of it, and ya probably won’t be seen.”

Shivering beneath his jacket, Night Light looked up. “If we go south, we can get to Twilight...”

“Our priority is to get you to safety, Mr Light,” said Octavia. She nodded at Vinyl, who was still carrying a thick file under her hat. “And get that information to the Royalists. What we have with us may turn the war in Celestia’s favour.”

Big Mac had to admit that Octavia did not sound convinced. The two former secret agents had barely escaped Canterlot with Twilight Sparkle's parents before Blueblood’s net closed, and had spent days fleeing through ancient mineral mines and caves in the Canterhorn that most ponies had forgotten even existed. Then they made the soaking wet crossing of the Reinine Valley, travelling only by night, until they had staggered into Ponyville to find Twilight fled and Vinyl and Octavia’s home occupied by troops. They had been holed up in this freezing treehouse for nearly a week, and even Twilight's indefatigable mother Twilight Velvet had fallen sullen and silent.

“You’ve done a great service to Equestria,” continued Octavia. “We’ll take the White Tail Woods route.”

“Good choice,” said Granny Smith. “Ah’ll bring ya’ll some dinner and some fresh supplies afore ya go. Oh, an’ by the way, ya’ll are gonna need some flameproof boots, a lion tamer’s chair, a snake-charming flute, an’ a hunk of ricotta...”

Winter

Icicles hung sharp and gleaming and snow lay thick on the crystal window panes when Shining Armor burst into the bedchamber. “They wouldn’t listen to me!”

Cadence, Co-Princess of the Crystal Empire and recently appointed Commander, Imperial Legion, looked up from the maps she had strewn across the bed. Her husband was still in his greatcoat and snow still dusted his boots and hat. “Bad news from Neighcastle?”

Shining Armor grunted and threw off his coat, treading snow into the carpet. Since their formal chambers had been almost totally consumed in the fire months ago, for the foreseeable future they were living in the Crystal Palace’s Dignitary’s Suite. “I told Celestia everything we needed to do to win. Everything we needed to do to stabilise the front and build up the army while we reconnoitre north. She wouldn’t have any of it. She wants Blueblood gone now.”

Cadance grimaced. Disagree as she might with the decision, she knew there was no point preaching to the converted. “So we’re going in with not enough troops, with too little training?”

“There’s all sorts of stupid plans being put out,” growled Shining Armor. “Celestia wants to keep Baltimare resupplied by sea. Luna wants to march on Chicacolt immediately. One idiot wants to try bombing Canterlot with airships to try to kill Blueblood!”

“Bomb our own capital?!” asked Cadance incredulously.

“Exactly what I thought,” muttered Shining Armor. “Worst of all, you’ll be going north unsupported.”

If Ponland was the only thing the Crystal Ponies could talk about, then there was another word on the lips only a select few ponies, who spoke it only in whispers. North. After months and months of raids by Diamond Dogs coming out of the Crystal Mountains, things had come to a head when a raiding party had been discovered slaughtered in the Howling Pass, killed by weapons of unfathomable power. That very night, Cadance and Shining Armor had nearly been killed in their chambers by a creature thought mythical, and they had only survived by burning the entire room.

Shining Armor’s face twitched as he remembered. He still saw the Fluffy Pony assassin in his dreams, the soulless blue eyes and the suffocating grip. It could not go on. Something was driving the Diamond Dogs south. Something had slaughtered that entire raiding party. Something had driven that assassin to attack them. They had to know what it was, so Cadance had raised the Imperial Legion. Slightly larger than a brigade, it was unlike any unit the Army had yet assembled. It had three battalions, two of line infantry and one of light infantry, and integral artillery and cavalry support with a battery of eight guns and a squadron of dragoons. The Crystal Empire would march in force against the Diamond Dogs, the Fluffy Ponies, and whatever else lay out there.

But with troops being committed to operations against the Parliamentarians early, there was no guarantee that a substantial force could remain behind at the Crystal Empire for Cadance to fall back on if she was attacked.

“I’m going north with nearly four thousand ponies,” said Cadance. “I’m not worried about attacks.” She pointed at the maps. “Amethyst Maresbury helped me dig these out of the Imperial Library. We’ll march in five company columns screened by the cavalry and light infantry. Once we’re through the Crystal Mountains, we’ll form a fortified cantonment at Mount Everhoof.”

“None of these maps are under a thousand years old,” said Shining Armor.

“The shape of the ground will have changed,” agreed Cadance. “But the general shape of valleys and mountains will still be there. We’re also bringing ten full teams from Equestrian General Survey with us. They’re out establishing a baseline now. Once we’re established at Mount Everhoof I’ll send them out on further missions while the Legion scouts the taiga.”

Shining Armor nodded. The northern slopes of the Crystal Mountains descended into a relatively narrow strip of boreal forest that separated them from the Yak Range. The whole north beyond the Crystal Mountains was poorly charted. To the west, nestled in a deep gorge in the Yak Range’s foothills, was Yakyakistan, which nopony had visited for hundreds of years. Beyond the Yak Range was the tundra, where few had ever set hoof, and even fewer by passing through the mountains. Most went by ship, and the tundra was almost unknown beyond its frozen shores.

“Will you risk the Yak Range?” he asked.

“I’ll do what’s necessary for the Crystal Ponies,” said Cadance. “And you?”

“I’m going to be supporting Luna’s march on Chicacolt,” said Shining Armor. “For that I need more troops. I’m going to withdraw the Maresaw Corps.”

“We’re conceding Ponland?!”

“We may have no other choice. Maresaw is close to boiling, and there may be no way of holding that city without resorting to a massacre. I’ll have Evenstar evacuate as many loyalists with him as possible and re-establish himself at Stalliongrad. From there we can guard the right bank of the Rein while Luna organises.”

“Celestia won’t be happy,” warned Cadance. “Giving up more territory to Blueblood?”

“Then she should have listened to me,” said Shining Armor bitterly.

***

The Dockla Pass was one of the grimmest places Flash Sentry had ever seen. The narrow-gauge railway twisted its way through great dark hills soaked with rain and dusted with snow. The peaks seemed to crouch in ambush for the unwary traveller. It was a great relief when the lights of Maresaw came into view.

Sentry had not been entirely certain he wouldn’t be ambushed. On the few short occasions when the rain had cleared he had seen them from his carriage window: sullen-looking Ponish hillponies from the surrounding villages lined the road that ran beside the railway, scowling at their uniforms. Sometimes a rock would be thrown, but mostly they just frowned. Sentry could see the threats in their eyes.

They were three days passing through the Dockla, and the hills seemed to get steeper and more hellish by the hour. Though Sentry knew that these hills were nowhere near as challenging as the Unicorn Range or the Crystal Mountains, it still astonished him how an entire corps, with all its wagons and carts and guns and thousands of followers, could have come this way.

The Maresaw Corps had established its cantonment on the east bank of the Bitula, the other side of the river to the city. Sentry wondered what that said his commanders’ confidence. After being checked through the gate, they were assigned tent lines, and Sentry made his way to the staff tent to deliver the despatches he was carrying from General Evenstar.

“…the biggest damned idiot this side of the Rein!” an officer with Brigadier General’s insignia was thundering as he entered. “I don’t care what Crowned Chain thinks, Cotton, we both know that the country is hostile! And who have we got to sort it out? Evenstar, of all ponies!” The General suddenly frowned and seemed to finally noticed Sentry standing at attention at the door. “Yes?”

“Captain Flash Sentry, sir, here with despatches from General Evenstar.”

“Sentry!” he barked. “The Hero of Tailwald Wood? Well, take a seat, Captain! You must have had a long journey. Here, pour him a glass, Cotton.” Sentry found a glass of red wine forced into his hoof by another officer sitting behind the campaign desk. Both were Crystal Pony stallions, and their rumpled uniforms and the dark circles under their eyes spoke of long hours and stressful, sleepless nights.

“I’m Brigadier General Strong Safe,” continued the first stallion. “This is Brigadier General Willowy Cotton. He’ll be Evie’s second-in-command when he gets here.”

Cotton took the papers Sentry was holding and dropped them into a towering in-tray. “We were just discussing the situation, Captain,” he said in a tired voice. “Since you’ll be on Evenstar’s staff, you might as well hear it.”

“He will indeed!” barked Safe. “As I was saying, regardless of what the Commissioner thinks, we have to treat the country as hostile. Every patrol we send over the river makes more and more Ponish think that we’re an occupying force and only gives credence to Ponyatowski’s arguments. We have a single supply line running through some of the worst country in Equestria, and the only reason it’s staying open is because the Empire’s subsidies are buying off the hillponies! And now Chain wants to cut them?! What then? We’d have to surrender, all five thousand of us! Armor would hit the roof, to say nothing of Celestia!”

Flash Sentry stiffened in his chair. This was depressing stuff. He’d had no idea that it was this bad. “But… could we not hold the camp, sir? Five thousand Crystal Pony soldiers versus Ponish irregulars?”

“Politics, Captain,” said Cotton sadly. “We’re in a bad position here, with the hills to our back. We only have the room to stockpile a week’s worth of supplies. We should really be in the city, but we have no mandate to pre-empt Ponland seceding. Our orders our only to hold Imperial Ponland, and that’s hard enough, and hope that our presence here puts the Ponish off doing something stupid.”

“Fat chance of that with Chain in charge,” snarled Safe. “If the Dockla Pass is closed, that’ll be the trigger Ponyatowski needs to raise the rest of Ponland.”

A guard pushed through the flap of the tent. “The Ponish Commissioner to see you, sir.”

“The Imperial Idiot himself,” muttered Safe. The three of them stood. Into the tent came a middle-aged Crystal Pony stallion. Sentry despised him on sight. He had a sharply-pointed face whose nose he kept turned up, and peered suspiciously through his spectacles with narrow eyes. Completing the image of contemptibility was the frock coat and high hat he insisted on wearing in a military camp.

“Commissioner,” said Safe, with barely-concealed distaste. “We were just discussing your proposal regarding the hillponies.”

“I would hope you would concern yourself more with the military situation, General,” sniffed Crowned Chain officiously. “I am more than able to deal with the Ponish.”

“With respect, sir,” said Cotton, in a tone that suggested anything but. “Our ability to conduct operations is dependent on that pass staying open. If you cut the subsidy…”

“As their Commissioner on the Crystal Council, I daresay I understand the Ponish better than any pony here,” huffed Crowned Chain. “The pass will stay open, and I have confidence in your ability to deal with anything unexpected. It will all be all right.”

***

The Applewood Hills formed the southern border of the State of Braytain. As they went west to the Ghastly Gorge that separated them from the Macintosh Hills, they rose to forbidding craggy heights, dark with heather and gorse, and dusted white with the winter snows. To the east, where they rose above the great coastal city of Las Pegasus, though they were no less steep, here they were pleasant and grassy, and their immaculate terraces were a virtual who’s who of wealth and privilege. The villas of successful bankers and industrialists shared lanes with the manses of film stars and pop singers, who made the hills their home while they commuted to and from the nearby Applewood Studios.

At this time of year, many of the mansions were dark: though sheltered by Windy Hook, the winter winds coming off the Eirenic Ocean chilled the bones of everypony in Las Pegasus, and the hills got the worst of it. In any case, most of the owners were currently trapped in Canterlot. One of villas was still inhabited, though: only two of the rooms were lit, for its owner had only his wife with him and he had been forced to pay off his staff. The summer villa, once beautifully maintained, was beginning to show signs of neglect and disrepair, and the once-glorious garden which had hosted the greatest of the great and the good at summer parties was being given over to weeds and uncut grass. Tucked away in the back of the garden against the terrace was a wooden shed that held an air yacht named Triumph. A few months ago the owner of that yacht, which now seemed grotesquely ill-named, had sailed it down here from Canterlot without fanfare, stored it in that shed, and felt that he would never look at it again.

This was where Fancypants had determined that he would live out his exile. A year ago he had been the mightiest of industrialists; wealthy, respected, and a model for Equestria’s capitalists. Government ministers had been at his beck and call. Then in a day it had all turned to dust, atomised in a catastrophic explosion at one of his mines that had killed hundreds. He had been forced to beg the Treasury for a bailout and surrender what remained of his company to the government. Tens of thousands of the ex-soldiers he’d planned to employ had been left without hope of work, and the only reason that his name was not now spoken without a spit was that most of them were now back in the army, his shame and failure lost in the shock of Blueblood’s coup.

The whole place was in poor repair, Fleur de Lis thought as she made her way to the sitting room. The garden was unraked and choked with rotting leaves. Dust covered the furnishings. But worst of all was the state her husband was in. Since they had arrived with what little remained of their personnel belongings, Fancypants had barely spoke, barely ate, and when he came to bed it was in silence and long after she had retired. He sat alone in the dark sitting room, his mane unkempt and his hollow cheeks covered with several days of stubble, his eyes unfocused.

But there was something different about him today. Since their wordless breakfast that morning he had been staring intently at the same page of a newspaper, his jaw working slowly, as if he was trying to make his mind up about something.

“Fancy,” said Fleur quietly.

Fancypants suddenly lurched to his hooves. “I’m joining the navy!”

Fleur blinked in disbelief. “The what?”

Fancypants brandished the newspaper at her. There was an inflamed look in his eyes. “Look!”

Fleur took the paper. It was open at a full-page advertising spread:

By order of Their Highnesses The Princesses,

PONIES AND SHIPS WANTED FOR A NAVY!

All able-bodied sailors are requested to make themselves and their airships available for military service in order to swiftly end the current state of insurrection.

Report to recruiting officers at your nearest port.

JOIN THE ROYAL EQUESTRIAN NAVY! LONG LIVE EQUESTRIA!

Fleur lowered the paper and stared at him in disbelief. “You’re going to the war?! What possible use could we be?!”

“We have the Triumph!” said Fancypants, still animated. “She’s fast, doesn’t need much of a crew. I bet they could do a few things with her! Can’t say I ever liked Blueblood either. Didn’t think he was clever enough to commit treason, mind you, but I suppose it’s always the ones you least expect. Wouldn’t mind sticking it to him a little…”

“Fancy, you could die!” protested Fleur.

“Fleur, what’s the alternative?” sighed Fancypants. “Blueblood was able to justify his coup because of the mess I created. I can either stay in this house for the rest of my life, or I can take responsibility for that and help get rid of him!”

“You did take responsibility for it! You got rid of your business, your fortune, the house, everything!”

“It’s not enough,” growled Fancypants. “Maybe if there hadn’t been a war it would have been, but there is. I’ve always done my duty to Equestria, and this is it. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to redeem myself as well.”

***

Colonel Morning Star shivered beneath his greatcoat as the first snow of the evening billowed around them. Everypony at the Asshaye camp had come to dread the snow.

In front of him were a group of sheepish-looking officers, none of whom dared meet his eyes. Behind them was their battalion, formed up in column, nearly a thousand ponies with numb hooves and mud splashed up their trousers. Morning Star had been taking their battalion through manoeuvres, and they had seemed promising, right up until he had marched them into square and had found that no matter how many orders he gave, he could not get them out again. In the end he had resorted to going between companies and pointing their officers in the right direction so he could get them moving again. That had taken nearly an hour.

“Gentlestallions,” he said. “There is clearly something wanting here. When you return to your billets, I strongly advise you to read the Principles of Military Movement! Dismissed!”

The officers hurried back to their battalion, turned it about and marched back towards the camp. Morning Star stayed behind. Pulling his greatcoat tighter around him, he turned and surveyed the darkening valley.

Asshaye sat in a narrow, treeless valley between the forested bulk of the White Tail Uplands to the north and the foothills of the Central Massif to the south, crowned by the Everfree Forest. The valley itself was low and swampy, a complex collection of streams and islets where the River Saddle split and the Wither River snaked off south. The only way through was along a single broad causeway along which the road and railway ran, framed by two streams.

Morning Star had spent day after day staring at this valley. With Princess Twilight and Warding Ember not due back from Neighcastle until that night, he had become responsible for all offensive and defensive plans. Defending the pass would be easy: he’d line up his guns and infantry regiments on the causeway, with his cavalry beyond the two streams to protect the flanks. Assaulting such a good defensive position would be much harder. Doctrine called for the infantry to probe for weaknesses in the enemy line then smash through the weak spot in echelon, but there would be no such weaknesses here. If it were him he might attack with cavalry first to force the defenders into squares, then blast them apart with artillery and finish them off with the infantry. And how to defend against such an attack? He would need to neutralise the enemy’s guns quickly and keep a strong cavalry reserve to head off the charges. A strong cavalry reserve that he did not necessarily have.

The flurries of snow around him grew thicker. Morning Star shivered and turned away.

The battalion had left a great trail of churned mud behind them, which soaked Morning Star’s boots as he followed it back to the camp. It was a hateful time of year. The first snowfall a few days ago had been greeted with a spontaneous night-time snowball fight, which Morning Star had allowed. But the next morning they had found that the snow would not last and would melt before noon. A few days of that had reduced the ground to sludge, soaked the floors of tents, turned the camp paths to quagmires, and made it almost impossible to stay dry.

The sticky, sucking mud only got worse as he passed through the palisades and back into the camp. Thousands of hooves, boots and wheels reduced the camp’s roads to slurry each day, and every night they froze hard, leaving them rutted and treacherous the next morning and ready to trap hooves or break axles before they melted again. After two days of that, Morning Star had had enough. He’d set every regiment a strict schedule, and now the camp was alive with the sounds of axes, saws and hammers. Half the battalions would drill in the morning by companies, while Morning Star took a battalion out of the camp to train as a single unit, and the other half would fell trees and split logs. After lunch they’d switch, and now most of the camp’s tents had been replaced by warm, dry log huts, and the muddy paths by corduroy roads. They were still only half done though, Morning Star thought grimly, and many of them would have another cold, wet night, including him and the staff in the headquarters tent, which he had insisted would come down last.

A Lieutenant in the uniform of the Royal Cloudsdale Greys suddenly splashed down in front of him. Her cavalry trousers were streaked with mud and her red jacket spotted with sawdust. Morning Star smiled at the sight. The best officers never exempted themselves from fatigue duty. “At ease, Lieutenant. Rainbow Dash, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir. There’s an officer at the gate insisting she speak with the pony in charge.”

Morning Star’s smile vanished. “And you came all the way to me?”

Rainbow Dash grimaced. “It’s Brigadier General Firebolt. Colonel Spitfire wasn’t good enough for her. She insisted, sir.”

“With me,” Star ordered, striding towards the west gate. Though he had never met Firebolt, nothing he had heard about her gave him a good impression: she had infamously nearly lost both the Battle of Maneden and the Battle of the Kelpie Creek for the Royal Army, and that she was now flagrantly going around the chain of command to summon him did nothing to improve his opinion.

Star’s mood was not improved by the sight that met him at the palisade. He had expect a haughty General and her entourage of clucking staff officers. What he got was that, and behind them, an entire regiment of Hussars in column. Above them fluttered a white guidon bearing a harp and crown. Morning Star felt his heart sink. If any mix-up could happen to anypony, it would be with this officer, with this regiment: the 9th (Whinnyapolis) Hussars was the only regiment in the entire army not to have won a battle honour for the Changeling War, largely thanks to its inept handling by Brigadier General Firebolt. Bizarrely, their collective dishonour seemed to have only bound them closer to their bungling commander.

Firebolt stood before them. She was an attractive mare, Morning Star couldn’t help but think, with a golden coat and a curly black mane, but hers was an arrogant, patrician’s beauty that spoke of inherited wealth and several easy purchases of rank. “Colonel Morning Star,” she barked. “I was told that you command here. Where is General Ember?”

“General Ember was at the Neighcastle Conference, ma’am. He and Princess Twilight won’t be back until tonight.” Morning Star desperately hoped that he could get this regiment out of the wat before he got back.

“Princess Twilight?” A strange expression suddenly passed over Firebolt’s face. “Ah, well, my troops will need quartering.”

Behind her, Firebolt’s officers suddenly exchanged worried glances. Morning Star frowned. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but there’s clearly been a mix-up somewhere. You should be with the Army of Horsetria. I’ll see what I can do for tonight, but…”

But what? he thought. Send them on their way? An entire regiment? How many trains would that take, when the Army of Braytain’s logistics were already hanging by a thread, and the worst of the snow not yet even on the way? But his camp only had the capacity for ten thousand troops, and to add another unit on top of that…

Then Morning Star saw that sweat was beading on Firebolt’s forehead, despite the cold. Her jaw was working silently, as if she was trying to make her mind up about something.

And then he noticed that Firebolt’s staff were reaching for their swords, and that her regiment had its spears unslung. “Ma’am, what…”

“PRESENT!” screamed Firebolt.

Morning Star didn’t hear Firebolt give the command to fire. He only felt Rainbow Dash crashing into him to throw him to the ground. A fusillade of shots seared over them into the palisades. He heard the sentries screaming.

Hundreds of Pegasi thundered over them, and above the buzz of wings Morning Star heard more screaming. After what seemed like an eternity the air cleared, and he stared up again at a darkening sky, thick with massing clouds and billowing snow.

His side aching from where he had landed, his uniform more brown than red, Morning Star struggled to his hooves and helped Rainbow Dash up. Beyond the camp he could see a thin streak of red disappearing up Ponydale. Before him was a dropped white guidon, trampled into the mud. And behind that was his camp, in chaos, filled with screaming ponies clutching sword wounds, soldiers struggling to get out of tents that had been slashed down, sections trying to douse the blazes caused by cookfires that had been kicked over.

Cursing, Star hobbled into the camp. He might be filthy and in pain, but he had duties. He had to restore order. He had to get the injured to the medics. And then he would have to work out how he could take his revenge.

On a mare called Firebolt.

Pursuit

“It’s not your fault, Morning,” said Twilight Sparkle gently.

Morning Star did not meet her eyes. “It feels like it, ma’am. I lost twenty soldiers!”

“Put it out of your head,” said Warding Ember gruffly, bent over the map table. “You weren’t to know Firebolt would turn traitor. If anything, the whole thing reflects well on you.”

Morning Star stayed slumped in his campaign chair. He looked miserably out of the flap of the staff tent to the snow billowing in the night. Warding Ember and Princess Twilight had returned not twenty minutes after Firebolt and her regiment had rampaged through the camp and up the valley to Parliamentarian lines. They had found twenty soldiers dead, another fifteen being triaged in the medical tents, and three tent lines burned to the ground as he had staggered around in the middle of it all. He had babbled out an explanation to Warding Ember before the General had sent him to the medics and taken over the situation. Now he sat here with bruised ribs while a traitor had slipped through his hooves.

“The important thing is that you rest and heal,” continued Warding Ember. “You’ve done good work here. Your training programme and contingency planning are excellent. Until you get better, the staff and I can take over and continue what you’ve started.”

“It’s not enough, sir.” Morning Star heaved himself out of his chair, every breath sending a lance of pain through his ribs. “I request permission to go after Firebolt, sir.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Colonel!” said Warding Ember incredulously. “You’re barely healed! And Firebolt is long gone. If you want revenge, you can get it on the field of battle.”

“Sir, Firebolt persuaded an entire regiment to desert!” protested Morning Star, pain flaring through his ribs. “Blueblood and Neigh will shower them with gold, promotions, whatever they want, and they will make sure our soldiers see that! Well over half our army here is Ponyville ponies, and right now all they can think about is how cold it is, how hungry they are, and how their families are in enemy territory. They will see Firebolt’s regiment, warm and rich, and they will go to join them. I have to stop that!”

“Someone will stop it,” said Warding Ember sternly. “But not you. I’ve told you before, you’re needed here. We’ll put together a flying column, but we’ll have to vet the members carefully. If you’re right, then there’s only certain ponies we can trust…”

***

“Surely you’re joking, Your Highness?” said Warding Ember with a pained expression on his face.

One hour later, Twilight Sparkle stood grinning in front of Ember’s campaign desk. Behind her were Rainbow Dash, Applejack, Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie and Rarity. At her left was Spike, and at her right was her bodyguard, Captain Summer Set, who didn’t dare meet Ember’s eyes. All of them were wearing fully-loaded packs and their greatcoats.

“Not at all, General,” said Twilight gleefully.

“You want me to send you, a Princess of the Realm, behind enemy lines, unsupported, after a traitor who has already demonstrated willingness to kill for her new cause?” He gave Morning Star a stunned glance. “I will not allow it.”

“Actually sir,” said Morning Star slowly. “The more I think about it, the more it makes sense.”

“Sir,” began Summer Set desperately. “I pleaded with Her Highness, but…”

“All seven of us fulfil your criteria for a mission to go after Firebolt,” interrupted Twilight. “We have no incentive to defect: if anything it would be more dangerous for us. We have two trained soldiers, two high-level Unicorns, and three of us can fly.”

“It’s insane!” snapped Warding Ember. “The second you run into an enemy patrol…”

“The Princess can teleport them out of there,” completed Morning Star.

Warding Ember stared at them aghast. He was not a stallion used to having his sentences finished for him. Nor was he used to untrained subordinates coming to him with ludicrous plans. “Star,” he growled. “If you’re trying to get revenge-by-proxy…”

“Firebolt has to face justice,” said Twilight firmly. “We’ll travel only by night, following the edges of the valley. Applejack knows the White Tail Woods, and Fluttershy knows the Everfree. We’ll have Spike with us so we can relay you intelligence. Once we find Firebolt, we’ll watch her night and day until we get an idea of her schedule, then I’ll teleport in when we know she’s alone, grab her and teleport out.”

“If we’re gonna go, we need to go now, sir,” said Rainbow Dash. “Before the trail goes cold and word can get out.”

Twilight saw Warding Ember’s jaw working as he tried to find gaps in the plan. She knew it was incredibly risky, but a risk was something you could recover from and risk was part of war. Twilight Sparkle was sick of sitting in on staff meetings and not saying anything, sick of being the camp ornament, sick of smiling and waving. She wanted to do something, and venturing out alone with her friends after a villain was something she knew how to do.

After a moment, Warding Ember sighed. “I’ve been in the Royal Guard too long to think I can dissuade a Princess who’s really got something into her head. Fine, I’m approving this mission, but…” His jaw hardened into a grim line. “Summer Set is going with you, and I want absolutely no heroics. If you ever come under contact you teleport out of there. Sir Spike, I expect a report from you at the end of every day. Set, Dash, Applejack, since you three have the most military experience, the Princess’ life is in your hooves. If at any point any of you judges the mission to be too dangerous, you’re to return her to here by any means necessary.”

“Understood, sir,” said Summer Set.

“All right girls!” Twilight’s horn glowed to adjust the straps of her pack. “Move out!”

“You’re going now?” Morning Star asked, surprised at the suddenness of it all.

“Time waits for no mare, Colonel,” said Twilight, grinning. “And we have a traitor and a murderer to catch.”