Battle of Canterlot: I Want to Break Free

by Captain_Hairball

Rating: teen
Tags: Alternate Universe, Tempest Shadow, Fancypants, Royal Guard, Raven Inkwell, Adventure, Prince Blueblood, Violence, My Little Pony: The Movie, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Death
Length: 14256

The Storm King has defeated the reigning Princesses and put Twilight Sparkle to flight. Now more than ever, Equestria needs a wise and selfless leader. Instead, they have Blueblood.

The Storm King has defeated the reigning Princesses and put Twilight Sparkle to flight. Now more than ever, Equestria needs a wise and selfless leader. Instead, they have Blueblood.

Trapped in Canterlot Palace, Blueblood must lead the ponies held captive there to safety. Can he rise above his failings and overcome Tempest Shadow and her army of raiju? Or will he and the ponies under his protection go down like a flaming airship?

An entry for FoME’s Imposing Sovereigns II contest. The prompt was for Blueblood and War.

Published 2019-11-08 13:50:02 UTC
Last updated 2019-11-08 13:50:02 UTC

Chapter 1

Prince Blueblood sighted along the top of his revolver, his attention concentrated on the thin iron nub atop the end of the gun’s barrel. He centered it on his target, lined up the rear sights, and squeezed the trigger with his magic. The gun bucked like a lover in his telekinetic grasp. He fanned the hammer. Five more shots split the morning silence of the Canterlot Palace parade grounds.

He lowered his revolver — a customized Wonderbolts Filly with the mouth grip removed and the trigger shortened so that only a unicorn who knew what they were doing could fire it — and nodded to the orange guard, who pulled the cord that would bring the target forward. A tight grouping of holes clustered around the target’s center like a foal’s drawing of a daisy, slightly offset from the bullseye.

“Oh, your Highness, excellent performance I must say!” said Fancy Pants, who had been following him around all morning like a dog too stupid to know it wasn’t welcome no matter how often it was kicked.

“I can do better. I will have to if I’m to place well in the Friendship Games. Set up another one, guard.” The orange pegasus guard saluted and obeyed. Blueblood reloaded. Measure in the powder, place the wadding, the lead ball. Rotate the cylinder, work the ramrod lever. Repeat. Soothing and precise.

“With such exquisite aim, I’m sure you’ll take the gold medal!” brayed Fancy Pants.

Blueblood accidentally scattered a few grains of black powder across the top of the cylinder. “If all the other countries send blind goats.”

“Haha! If dashing repartee were a competition, I dare say you’d be the world champion.”

Blueblood sucked in his breath through his nostrils. Couldn’t he have one day of peace from these sycophants? “How is your beard? What was her name? Tête de Noeud?”

Fancy Pants’ cheeks paled, and his jaw quivered in restrained outrage. “Fleur de Lis, your Highness.”

“Ready, your Highness sir!” shouted orange guard, trotting back to the safe zone behind Blueblood.

Blueblood rounded on Fancy Pants, revolver pointed skyward. "You can be open about what you are. No one in Canterlot cares. Why lie? I might imagine you loved her if I didn’t know you were at the bathhouse without her every night.”

“Your… your Highness,” stammered Fancy Pants, “I know you haven’t had a lover in some time…”

Blueblood glanced meaningfully at orange guard, with his massive wingspan and military-grade musculature. Oranged guard grinned back at him. “I didn’t know I’d been so discrete. Now tell me why you’re bothering me.”

Fancy Pants took a deep breath, preparing to launch into his pitch. “Ah, yes. The fellows of the Hospital and I…”

The doors to the parade grounds swung open. Orange guard snapped a salute. “Her royal highness, Queen of the Morning and Bringer of Daylight, Princess Celestia!”

Celestia stepped out of the doorway onto the grass of the parade field, followed by her majordomo Raven Inkwell. Fancy Pants fell to his knees. Blueblood holstered his pistol and trotted forward to meet his many-times-great grandmother. She draped her neck across his. Blueblood pressed his cheek against her soft, pale shoulder.

Celestia looked up at Fancy Pants. “I wish to speak to my grandson in private.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

Thank Harmony.

Grandmother and grandson strolled across the silky grass of the parade field. Raven and orange guard trailed after them, Raven busying herself with some paperwork she held in her magic. Celestia spread her wings and tossed her head in the sunlight, lambent mane rippling behind her. “I wish I could get outside more often. You’d think, with my job, I’d be in the sun all the time. But no. We’re like an old married couple who’ve drifted apart. We barely see each other any more.”

“You’re very busy,” said Blueblood. “I don’t want to bother you.”

Celestia gasped. “Oh, no, my little pony! I didn’t have a double meaning.” She looked away. “I suppose I didn’t think about how that sounded. Anyway — how is your shooting going?”

Blueblood sighed. “I’m not good enough.”

Celestia laughed. “You’ve come a long way. I remember when you first fired a pistol. You half jumped out of your skin.”

He blushed. “I suppose I’ve improved.”

They walked to the end of the field in silence. Celestia looked up the wall of pink granite, following the vines that tangled up it with her eyes. “The Festival of Friendship is tomorrow, you know.”

Blueblood’s spine stiffened. “Twilight’s festival. I will attend, as promised.” Oh, how he hated Twilight. Twilight Sparkle was everything he knew he ought to be and wasn’t — friendly, brave, open, beloved by the ponies. She didn’t even know she was Celestia’s heir; though Blueblood did. Celestia had asked his permission for the arrangement, and he had granted it cheerfully. He didn’t covet the throne, but he did covet Grandma Tia’s love, and he feared she loved her more than him.

“I was wondering if you’d like to help with the preparations this afternoon,” said Celestia.

Blueblood’s vision turned red. His muscles trembled, his belly churned with rage. “No!” he snapped. “It is neither my duty, nor is it my role!”

Celesia’s face fell. “Honey, no.” But Blueblood went on. He felt like a heel for talking to her like this, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“It’s bad enough that I must be present at these events,” he growled. “But to work at one like a common servant? No! Never! The people dislike me, and they don’t need to like me because I will never rule them”

“Sweetheart, that’s not what I meant.”

Blueblood reared and slammed his forehooves down, digging divots in the flawless grass. “My bloodline is a joke. I’m nothing more than your favorite daughter’s million times grandson. Why can’t you let me be?” Behind him, a disdainful snort. Blueblood looked back — orange guard snapped to attention, trying to hide that he’d been staring at Blueblood’s flank this whole time. Raven watched him over the tops of her glasses, quill hovering in mid-stroke. She rolled her eyes so hard the irises almost vanished, then went back to her work.

Blueblood ground his teeth. His chest swelled with outraged pride. His horn began to glow.

Celestia spoke, her voice heavy with sadness. “I loved her for who she was, as I also love you. I only asked you to help because I thought you might enjoy it. You spend so much time alone. Being with other ponies more might help you with your moods.”

Blueblood deflated, his head handing below his knees. Grandma Tia never lied, for she feared nothing. All that she ever wanted was to help him, and he’d thrown it back in her face as he had so many times before.

Blueblood watched a worm crawled through the dirt he'd kicked up. “I need to lie down.”

Celestia kissed him on the crown of his head. “I love you.”

Blueblood tried to speak, but his throat closed and he knew that if he said anything, he’d start sobbing.

“Captain Spearhead?” said Celestia. “Please escort the prince back to his rooms.”

✭☆✭☆✭☆✭

Blueblood liked guards. They were so much more convenient than lovers. And the guards knew what Blueblood liked done to him; special duties that made it worth putting up with the prince’s daily tantrum. Orange guard was especially attentive in these duties; and their early morning wrestling session with him left Blueblood feeling used, drained, and ready for a nap.

“Thank you, your Highness,” said orange guard, nuzzling the back of Blueblood’s neck.

Blueblood arched his back against orange guard’s broad chest and soft belly. He knew perfectly well that orange guard’s name was Spearhead. But guards came and went. There was no point in getting attached. “The royal person is happy to be of service to the common folk.” Service was all it was, of course. Sex without the pressure of commitment or friendship. Bodies for bodies' sake. Guards, being simple creatures, could understand and appreciate that.

“I’ve been enjoying my shifts with you,” said orange guard.

“The parts in my rooms, I can imagine.” Blueblood stirred against the guard’s body, wondering if he could coax another round of activity out of him. Orange guard was quite vigorous.

“I mean, in general. You do cool stuff, dude.”

Blueblood’s body stiffened at the familiarity, but the guard didn’t notice.

“The shooting. The airship racing. The martial arts. Even the library. Fun stuff. You hardly ever have to go to meetings.”

Blueblood relaxed. What was this warm feeling in his chest? It felt very strange. “I have a rare opportunity to live a life devoted to pleasure. It would be a shame to squander it.” That life of pleasure didn’t make him happy. But if pleasure didn’t bring happiness didn’t, then what else could? Blueblood could only conclude that true happiness was impossible.

“I volunteered to work at the Festival of Friendship.”

“Oh, that old thing,” said Blueblood with a derisive snort, though the warm feeling in his chest was growing more intense. Where was orange guard going with this?

“I was wondering…” the orange guard hesitated. A strange tingling sensation began to suffuse Blueblood’s body. “…If you’d like a personal escort…”

Blueblood’s body tensed. An urge to bolt like a startled foal seized his legs, but he was not about to retreat from his own bed. Was orange guard asking him on a date? The warm, tingling sensation went nowhere, but… no, that was completely out of the question! There was no way he could consent to such a… such a… lovely…

“Your Highness?” said orange guard anxiously.

“I feel drowsy. Drape your wing over my heard; the sound of ponies singing outside is becoming tiresome.” Blueblood nestled into the warm, faintly sweaty-smelling depths of orange guards’ feathers.

Apparent romantic rejection notwithstanding, orange guard was snoring in seconds, but Blueblood couldn’t sleep. He kept thinking. Thinking of what a waste of flesh he was. All his hobbies — the shooting, the martial arts, the fencing, the airship racing, five languages, his reading — what did they bring to the world? They kept him from boredom. He’d never have to work for a living. He doubted he’d ever have a family. What would he leave when he was gone? A humorous footnote in a history book or two, at most.

Beside him, orange guard mumbled in his sleep. “Blue… he’s not that bad. No? I’m serious. Says who? My hoof says who.”

He remembered the orange guard had shown up with a black eye last week. Blueblood had been angry with him. Could it have been…?

No. Imagine — somepony getting in a bar brawl over him? Only a dream. Still. The implied compliment was nice. He nuzzled in amongst orange guard’s feathers and finally drifted off the sleep.

He woke, two hours later, to the sound of screaming and explosions.

✭☆✭☆✭☆✭

Blueblood rushed to the window. His bedroom overlooked Platinum Plaza, where two hours ago happy commoners had been dancing and singing and setting up stalls. Now three large armored airships hovered over it, disgorging infantry — tall, shaggy, bipedal beasts with fur patterned black and bluish-white, eyes like white-hot coals. Raiju.

“Why would the Storm King come here?” muttered Blueblood, voice trembling with fear. “Isn’t he afraid of the Princesses?”

“Storm King?!” yelped orange guard, tangling his hooves in the sheets and tumbling out of bed.

Blueblood levitated a detached rifle scope off his bedside table. He swept his gaze across the plaza. There was no sign of any organized resistance. Carnival stalls and amusement rides glowed with flames. Dead and wounded ponies littered the cobbles. Rauji soldiers herded living ponies into bell-shaped cages. He didn’t notice the new statues until his second sweep. Four of them. He noted the extreme realism of their design; accurate down to the veins of their feathers. Celestia, Luna, Cadence, and a small pegasus wearing a pointy hat.

Blueblood stumbled back from the windows on his hind legs, letting the scope fall. “No. No. It can’t be real.”

“What happened?” said orange guard, rising from behind the bed. His blue mane pointing in all directions, struggling to fit his upside-down breastplate onto his torso. “Is there a battle?”

Blueblood ran a telekinetic comb through orange guard’s mane, ripped the breastplate out of his grip, turned it right side up, and shoved it onto his chest. “The battle is over. We lost. Grab your spear, we need to run.”

Ignoring orange guard’s confused stammering, he pulled on his revolver holster and a red cloak. He considered taking more things — books? Money? Valuables? But there was no time. It might already be too late. He needed to get to his airship, the Anan; it was his only hope. It was fast enough to evade heavier military blimps like the ones the raiju were using. So he ran, orange guard’s hoofsteps hammering close behind him.

Sounds of violence from outside. The Raiju were at the walls. To get to the airship dock, Blueblood needed to go down four flights of stairs, across the inner curtain wall parapet, and halfway up the south tower. There wasn’t enough time to stop for the little gray unicorn mare in thick glasses that tried to wave him down when he reached the second landing.

“Blueblood! Spearhead! Wait!” screamed Raven as he and orange guard stormed past.

Wait. Raven would know. Blueblood skidded to a halt, sliding down three steps before he could turn around. “Celestia. What happened to her?”

“Dead,” said Raven, her voice raw and frightened. “Turned to stone. Luna and Cadence, too.” Tears glistened behind her glasses. The collar and cravat she always wore was torn and undone, her fur was marked with soot, and the tight bun she wore her mane in had begun to come loose.

“No!” he growled. “It can’t be true. It’s impossible!”

“The raiju have a unicorn with them — they call her Tempest. A purple mare with a broken horn. She used the Misfortune Malachite. She…” Raven’s sentence degenerated into incoherent sobbing.

“Then we’re doomed,” said Blueblood. “We need to flee.”

“We aren’t!” Raven’s head snapped up. Her brown eyes locked with Blueblood. “This city is our home. We’re not going to give it up. Not as long as we have a leader. Even if that leader is you.”

Blueblood barked a bitter laugh. “Me? A leader? Really? Then we are doomed.”

“What about Twilight Sparkle?” said orange guard. Blueblood winced at the name — her. It was always her.

“Gone,” said Raven. “Celestia sent her to find help.”

Blueblood snorted. “So she ran away. I always knew she’d prove herself a coward.”

Raven and orange guard stared at him, eyes wide with horror. Orange guard backed away from him, pushing up against the outer wall. Bloodblood sneered. He knew that Twilight was no coward, but it had felt good to say, and he wasn’t about to take it back. “If you don’t want to die, come with me to my airship.”

Raven’s snout wrinkled up in contempt. “Are you a coward, too, your Highness?”

Before he knew what he was doing, Blueblood’s hoof flashed out, striking Raven in the cheek, shattering the left lens of her glasses and knocking her back across the landing. She groaned, struggling to get back to her hooves.

“Dude. Not okay.” said orange guard. He knelt beside Raven and took her head in his hooves, turning it so he could look at her face. “It’s all right,” he said. “It’s not bad.”

“Guard. I command you to come with me!” said Blueblood.

Orange guard ignored him. Below them, crash that could only be the main gate falling split the air.

Blueblood fled.

✭☆✭☆✭☆✭

Shame.

Blueblood fled across the wall walk, golden mane and red cloak flowing behind him. Battle raged in the courtyard below. Guards and armed civilians struggled hoof to claw against the advancing raiju, supported by gunponies firing from behind statues and decorative trees.

But there were too many raiju. Their shock lances did brutal work, taking down even armored guards in seconds. They laid down a withering suppressive fire on anything that looked like it might have a riflepony behind it. Obstacle by obstacle, they moved forward.

There was no hope.

Bullets buzzed past Blueblood as he ran, but no raiju smart enough to lead a moving target thought him worth wasting ammunition on.

He wasn’t a worthy target. He was a coward of the worst kind. Running away? He could rationalize that. There wasn’t much he could accomplish in Canterlot. But what kind of pony struck an unarmed, unprepared pony less than half his size? Had she insulted him? Yes, but he’d only proved her point that he was a coward.

He could see his airship from here. Small, sharp-nosed and golden, it hovered beside the beside a platform halfway up the south tower. His way out of this nightmare. But where was he going to go in it? Equestria wasn’t safe, and the little airship’s steam engine was built for speed, not range. Griffonstone? The Crystal Empire? He might be able to make it that far, but no matter where he went, Blueblood would be waiting for him, looking out of every mirror. Blueblood the ornamental prince. Blueblood the cad. Blueblood the coward.

Then he saw her, down in the courtyard. An armored unicorn fighting at the vanguard of the raiju infantry, raw magic power crackling around the stump of her ruined horn. Lean, hard, her long fine-boned face contorted with rage. The mercenary Raven had described. The one who had killed Grandma Tia. Blueblood’s horn flared bright with rage. He drew his revolver.x

It was a long shot. The Filly was a brutal little weapon up close, but at ranges of more than a hundred yards, it became inaccurate. The unicorn stood, in Blueblood’s estimation, a little inside that range. He leveled his Colt and squeezed the trigger. The bullet cut a furrow through her brush-stiff mane, less than an inch above her neck. He’d aimed high. There wasn’t time for another shot – six of those raiju riflemen whose aim he’d mentally derided opened fire at him. Blueblood ducked behind the parapet. A hot line of pain traced along the middle of his left ear. They could hit a stationary target just fine.

He flopped belly down on the walkway. Gunfire crackled above his head. He stifled a sob. Shooting difficult targets was the thing he was best at in all the world, and now when it mattered he’d failed. He was useless. He should stand up, put his head into the rain of bullets. Those raiju riflemen would turn his skull to paste in a matter of seconds. It would be quick and painless. But he couldn’t move. He wasn’t brave enough to do even that.

“Get him! Get the blonde pony! I want him alive!” The unicorn’s raiju had a thick Equestrian accent. Blueblood himself spoke the language flawlessly. Heart slamming against his ribs, he crawled forward as quickly as he could. That unicorn had recognized him, and she wanted him alive so they could torture him for palace secrets!

He scuttled a hundred yards on his belly, feeling the dirt and grit of a thousand hooves scrape against it. The palace janitorial staff were in for an extended tantrum if he survived this. The raiju were still fighting for the courtyard, so they couldn’t have reached the south tower yet. He had a clear path to his airship if he could evade the rifle fire. Surely he’d moved far enough that they’d lost track of him by now? He surged to his hooves and sprinted for the gate to the south tower, now less than fifty yards away.

Thunder shattered the air. A bolt of lightning with the distinctive thaumatological imprint of unicorn magic slammed into his ribcage, knocking him through the air and into the parapet on the other side of the wall walk. Blueblood lay gasping, blinded, ears ringing. He couldn’t move. They were going to torture him if they caught him.

He had to flee.

He pushed himself into his knees, only to be knocked back to the walkway by a solid kick to the rear.

Blueblood rolled over so he could see his attackers. Five raiju, towering, armed with shock lances, reeking of dog breath and ozone.

“That was easy,” said the nearest one.

“Pathetic little ponies,” said another.

Blueblood’s revolver blurred from its holster. He squeezed the trigger and fanned the hammer with his magic, firing five times in rapid succession. The first shot tore a hole in the first raiju’s forehead, and the other four went right behind it. Perfect grouping!

No. Wait. He could have killed all five of them if he hadn’t been thinking like he was on the firing range. Idiot!

The second raiju lunged at him with his shock lance.

Blueblood was an indifferent student of the unicorn martial art of cornu mareda, which combined telekinesis with hoof-to-hoof attacks. He rarely placed well in competitions. But in battle, he could use all the dirty tricks that he couldn’t when sparing. He deflected the lance with a force field. He bent the raiju’s leg backward with a telekinetic blast to the kneecap. Then he kicked him in the groin. The raiju went down in a heap.

Again, Blueblood felt proud of himself for a second. Then the other three raiju closed in with their shock lances. A blast of electricity arced from a lance into his face, blinding him and making him jerk and twitch on the walkway. Twin blades slashed across his chest and shoulder, leaving two blazing lines of agony on his coat, and severing his holster strap.

The third raiju raised his lance over his head for a killing blow.

“Stop! Commander Tempest wants him alive!”

“But he killed Tsonda!”

A cruel laugh. “She didn’t say she wanted him in good condition. Let’s teach him a lesson.”

Electricity rippled through Blueblood’s body. His muscles contracted of their own accord, making him flop like a fish. His jaws snapped together, gashing his tongue and filling his mouth with blood. Searing bolts crackled across his coat, filling his nose with the scent of burning fur. The raiju shocked him again and again, well past any level of pain Blueblood had ever endured, and then going further still. Skin burned, muscles twitched, bones ached. His tongue felt like a slab of raw beef in his mouth.

“All right, all right. That ought to keep him gentle until we can get him in a cage.”

One of the raiju laughed. “Look at him. He’s drooling blood. Think we cooked his brain?”

Talons tangled in Blueblood’s mane and jerked him up until he was face to face with a fang-filled maw. “Hey! Anybody home?” he said in Ponish.

All Blueblood could do was sob in reply.

A different raiju kicked him in the ribs. “No crying in war. C’mon, on your hooves.”

Blueblood wanted to obey, afraid they’d hurt him again. But his legs felt like they were made of mud, and he couldn’t stand.

“I said on your hooves! Or I’ll drag you!”

“I can’t!” Blueblood wailed. A raiju kicked him in the head, and everything dissolved into light.

Chapter 2

It was too bright, and everything was pain.

Awareness came slowly, sinking out of hot, bright, confusion like the onset of night. With awareness came darkness – he was somewhere lit only by pale, fitful orange light. Thoughts came as well, buzzing like a swarm of angry wasps. Thoughts that started bad and got worse.

First, he remembered that he was Blueblood. An unpleasant shock. He dealt with that thought every morning, but it never got less upsetting.

Next, he became aware of his agonies. Burns from the shock lances and the unicorn’s raw magic seared his skin. The two gashes across his chest felt like the went to the bone, and ached with a nauseous heat that warned of infection. His tongue… oh harmony, he hadn’t bitten through it, had he?

He pressed it tenderly against his teeth and gum, wincing at the contact. There was a huge, puffy gash on both sides, but it seemed to be intact.

There was something wrong with his ear. Where that bullet had grazed him. It felt numb up top. He reached up with one hoof. The ear ended halfway up its curve, cut off in a perfect line.

Blueblood started to cry, loudly and bitterly, like a foal. His beauty, the only good thing about him, was ruined forever. He wept until his eyes ran dry, and then he became aware he wasn’t the only one crying. He looked around at what the flickering torchlight revealed.

The arched, stone brick-walled corridor told him they were in the dungeons. Not a section with cells – either the raiju had too many prisoners, or they preferred to use their own cages. He could see two dozen cages, the bell-shaped design he’d seen through his scope earlier, each with a pony inside. Some were asleep, some awake. Many were bloodied and bandaged. Some moaned, some cried, some were silent. In the cage next to him, a concussed-looking pink and blond mare in flight goggles banged her head against her cage bars and muttered curses.

He recognized more than a few of the captured ponies. Guards, nobles, and the sort of popular pony who would have been helping with the festival preparations just to be seen doing it. Fancy Pants was here. Fleur was in the cage next to him; they spoke quietly through the bars.

“Ah, he is amongst the living!” said Fancy Pants in a tone that if Blueblood didn’t know better, he’d have taken for cheerful.

“You are hurt,” said Fleur. Her tone was stiff with barely checked outrage, her cheeks matted with tears, and bloody bandages wrapped one foreleg. “That is unfair. The invaders allowed us to treat our other wounded. When a guard comes, I will ask them to let us help you.”

“Quite right,” said Fancy Pants. “With the ruling princesses… ah…” his expression faltered. “indisposed, and Twilight Sparkle presumably on some sort of mission, you are our leader. You deserve the best.”

Blueblood sneered. “I’m no leader,” he said, his voice slurred by his thickened tongue.

“Facts are facts, my good colt,” said Fancy Pants, “You may feel you are not worthy, and I daresay you have good reason for your doubts. But you are still our prince. No doubt you’ll rise to the occasion.”

Blueblood growled at the backhanded compliment, but his tongue hurt too much for him to snap back. He lapsed into sullen silence.

Soon, voices, steps, and flickering light approached – one voice deep, growling, yet indolent and childish. The other voice, with it’s cruel, drawling tone, was one he’d only heard once, but he’d never forget it. The raiju had called her ‘Tempest’.

“But I planned this operation! You can’t just send me away!” said Tempest.

“You submitted your report to me. I can handle things. We’ve practically won here. We’ve taken the palace. What else is there to do?” The two of them came around the corner – the iron-hard little pony, and a towering raiju who couldn’t look less imposing if he were the size of a breezie.

Tempest’s hooves danced on the stone cobbles in frustration, horseshoes kicking up sparks. “The battle isn’t over, the Storm King! Most of the population lives in the lower tiers of the city, and the ponies there are still fighting us! I warned you about this!”

The Storm King stared down at her, eyes puzzled. “You did?”

Tempest ground her teeth so hard Blueblood could hear it from halfway down the corridor. “In my report! The one you were just talking about!”

“Oh. Of course,” said the Storm King. “Yes. That report. I remember it perfectly. What did it say?”

“It said that we had to act suddenly, and not give the ponies a chance to organize. They aren’t threatening individually, but if they work together they can be incredibly dangerous.”

“You say that like you’re not a little pony.”

“I’m not a pony. Not since I lost my horn. I’m unstoppable when I fight alone.”

The Storm King waved a talon dismissively. “There’s still fighting because you let one of the princesses get away. Go find her. Without their leaders, the ponies will stop fighting.”

Tempest jumped a quarter the length of the hall and thrust a hoof out at Blueblood. “Do you want a princess? Look at this!”

The Storm King sighed. “Princesses are girls, Tempest. And if he is a princess, where are his wings?”

Tempest narrowed her eyes and craned her neck to look up at the Storm King. “You didn’t read my report, did you?”

“It was very long. I skimmed it,” said the Storm King, waving one talon in an evasive spiral.

“I spent months writing that report!”

The Storm King shrugged. “I didn’t have months to read it. Bullet point it for me. Who is this?”

Tempest squinted her eyes closed and took several deep breaths before speaking, as though calming herself before she said something she’d regret. “This. Is prince Blueblood Augustus of House Empyrean. Sole living blood relative of the two sisters. He’s neither popular nor intelligent, but he is currently the legitimate ruler of Equestria.”

The Storm King sneered. “No, I that’s me. You’re thinking of me.”

“Not in the eyes of the ponies.” Tempest turned to the Storm King and planted both hooves on his hip imploringly. “Let me talk to him. If I can turn him, we can turn the ponies against each other, and we’ll have this city.”

“As long as you’re on your airship and headed for the Badlands by six in the morning, I don’t care what you do. Ta ta.”

Tempest glared at the Storm King’s back and then turned to press her face against the bars of his cage. “Hello, weak sister,” she growled in Ponish.

Blueblood thought she ought to know about weak sisters, since she worked for one, but he held his mangled tongue. Knowing that much about the Storm King’s personality might give away that Blueblood spoke Raiju, and he needed every advantage he could get.

“Hello? Hello, can you hear me, pretty pony?” She kicked the cage, knocking it up off the floor and shaking Blueblood’s battered body.

“I can hear you,” said Blueblood.

“How would you like to get out of that cage, pretty pony? I could have you set free. Clean you up, have your wounds tended to, get you something good to eat, and a warm bed.” She smiled a barbed smile. “Would you like that?”

“That depends,” said Blueblood, “on what it costs.”

“Well, aren’t we the canny… little… diplomat!” She said, kicking the bars to punctuating the last three words. The cage scooted back with each blow. Blueblood felt dampness on his chest as the motion tore the slashes on his chest open afresh. “What it costs is that you work for us. Tell your people to stop fighting. Tell them that you are their ruler now and that you support the Storm King.”

Blueblood braced himself, forelegs out stiff so that he wouldn’t be shaken if Tempest decided to kick the cage again. “So the Storm King has promised me my rightful throne if I betray my little ponies.”

Tempest leaned her head against the bars, with her broken horn pointing towards Blueblood. “Don’t think of it as a betrayal. Think of it as bringing peace. The Storm King will win, one way or the other. You’ll be saving a lot of lives, by convincing ponies to surrender.”

“So the Storm King told you that he’d make me King of Equestria – under his rule, of course. But King, nonetheless.” Blueblood heard the ponies in the hall shifting in their cages. He knew it sounded like he was considering the deal. Of course he wasn’t, because he’d heard the Storm King and Tempest talking, and there was no deal. The Storm King had promised nothing.

But Blueblood had… not a plan exactly. But the germ of one. A keyring with one key on it jangled against breastplate of Tempest’s armor. He had some ideas about what it might open.

“You’re wasting my time, little pony. Will you help us, or not?” sneered Tempest.

Blueblood rolled his eyes. “It’s late, and I’ve had a long day. Answer my question, or I’m going back to sleep.”

Tempest’s forehooves danced a nervous little dance against the stone. She hesitated – the hesitation of a pony who must lie, but for whom the very concept of dishonesty was deeply offensive. “Yes. Yes. The Storm King backs the deal.”

Blueblood made a soft, appreciative noise. “Well, then, now you have my interest.”

From across the hall, Fleur spoke. “Blueblood, no. I beg you…”

Blueblood ignored her. “As a gesture of good faith, why don’t you let me out of this cage.”

Tempest reared up and kicked the cage. The back of Blueblood’s head slammed against a bar, and he yelped.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” growled Tempest.

“Are you afraid of me?” said Blueblood.

Tempest jammed her horn in between the bars again. Energy crackled around the jagged stump of her horn and was immediately sucked into the bars. Magic shielded. Of course. Otherwise one of the unicorns might’ve found a way to pick the locks by now.

“Come, what could I do to you? Am I not a ‘weak sister’?” Blueblood still didn’t have a plan. He just wanted to be out of his cage, even for a moment.

Tempest tilted her head to one side. “Fine. Fine. I suppose if you misbehave I can always kill you.” She took the keyring in her mouth, unlocked the door of his cage, and returned the key to its place on her armor. “It’s all right,” she said, stepping away from the door. You can come out.”

Blueblood pushed himself gingerly to his hooves, nosed the door open, and stepped out. Every eye in the hallway was on him, and that was awful because he knew how he looked. Bloody, sweaty, singed, mane tangled, disfigured by a ruined ear. It was humiliating.

Nonetheless, he raised his head and stood as straight and proud as he was able. Good posture counted for quite a bit. “Is it true you were the one who killed Celestia?”

Tempest smiled. Not a cruel or sardonic smile. A smile of genuine happiness. Up to this moment, Blueblood had been angry at Tempest, but he hadn’t hated her. That ended now, with that smile. He could never forgive Tempest for that smile. But he did his best to hide his feelings.

“I did,” said Tempest happily. “I’ve wanted revenge on her since I was a filly. She refused to heal my horn, and I decided she had to die. It took me a long time to figure out how, and even longer to find an opportunity. Now she’s dead, and I’m well on my way to destroying everything she ever loved. There’s no deeper satisfaction than that. And you. How you must have resented her – passing you over for that twee little pretender. Well. She’s gone now. And I can make you king. What do you say?”

“If Celestia wouldn’t heal your horn, then she couldn’t. I’ve never seen her refuse to help a pony in need, no matter how humble,” said Blueblood. “Some wounds can’t be healed.”

Tempest’s smile vanished, replaced with a scowl as if Blueblood had slapped her. “What?”

“I don’t especially like being a prince. I’ve never had a need denied, and it has made me spoiled and weak. I’ve never been without companions, but they are all mewling sycophants who only want access to my power. I’ve sought peace in competition, when only my skills matter, and not my prestige. But I’ve never been good enough. I’ve fallen short of perfection again and again, and it rankles, even as the practice of my skills brings me solace. I can have any sexual partner I desire, but I’ve never been in love. In all that time – in my whole life of unnecessary and self-inflicted unhappiness, only one pony has ever been truly kind to me. Only one pony has ever loved me for who I am.”

Tempest took one step backward. “No. No. She’s not like that.”

“I won’t be your pawn,” said Blueblood. “Not that your offer was genuine, to begin with.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The shame of a lie forever besmirches a warrior’s honor.” said Blueblood in Raiju. “I understood your conversation with the Storm King. He’s not interested in me. You think if you turn me, he’ll let you stay and finish your revenge on Celestia’s city. But he won’t. He used you to capture the city, and now that he thinks he has it, he wants you out of the way so he can take all the credit.”

“That’s nonsense!” growled Tempest.

“He’s a narcissist. Trust me, I know the type.”

Raw magic shot from Tempest’s horn. The searing impact knocked Blueblood to his knees.

“You’re lying!” screamed Tempest.

Blueblood shook his head. His tongue was bleeding again. Blood trickled from his lips. “I’m not. There was no point to your treason. The Storm King promised you your horn back, didn’t he? You know he can’t do that, right? Horns, legs, ears, our magic can’t regrow them. Not with the power of all the…”

Tempest lashed out with her lightening again, and again, raw magic raking Blueblood’s body, worse than the Riaju’s shock lances by a dozen times. His body shook against the cold stone. The smell of ozone and singed fur surrounded him. At least he didn’t bite his tongue again. Unspeakable pain wracked his body. He wished he’d die so the pain would end, but Tempest didn’t want to kill him.

Eventually, she stopped. Blueblood lay in a heap, panting. He raised his head, looked up at her. A true prince would have said something cutting, to show his defiance, his inner strength, but his mouth wouldn’t work right, and he just mumbled and drooled at her.

She kicked him in the chest, knocking him back into his cage with one blow. His ribs creaked as he struck the bars. He slid down, landing in a limp puddle on hard iron. “Don’t think we’re done, weak sister,” snarled Tempest. She slammed the cage door shut, locked it, and stormed off, head and tail held high.

Darkness roiled around the corners of Blueblood’s vision, slowly eating the torchlight. He’d passed the edge of his endurance a while back. But he had to see. He had to see if he’d distracted her enough. He crawled to the front of the cage, scorched muscles protesting.

There. On the floor. Well out of his reach. Tempest’s key glittered, forgotten.

Blueblood fell forward, and burning dreams swallowed him.

✭☆✭☆✭☆✭

A speck of orange-tinted darkness crept into Blueblood’s nightmare of white light. Voices whispered in the darkness.

“What do you mean you can’t get it open?”

“I mean I can’t get it open!”

“You said you could do this, dude!”

“For the last time, I am not a dude!”

Blueblood crawled up out of the well of sleep to see four ponies – no, two ponies, if he forced his eyes to focus – fussing over the lock of his cage. Of them was Spearhead, and that fact filled his chest with that strange warm feeling again. This was very concerning. Was he becoming ill? Also, was he thinking of him as Spearhead, now? Orange guard. He was orange guard. It was important not to get attached.

The other one was Raven, who definitely did not cause a warm feeling in his chest.

“Is there anything I can do to help, dude? Like hold anything for you?” said Spearhead to Raven. No. There he went again. Orange guard.

“No,” growled Raven. Her horn glowed purple, and little rays of purple light sometimes shone out from the gaps in his cage’s lock. “It’s made of some kind of magic resistant alloy. I can’t… I can’t get a grip on the tumblers.”

“Yeah, like, can I hold them for you?” said Spearhead.

Raven turned away from the lock and threw up her forehooves. “Oh for Harmony’s sake!”

Blueblood sighed. “If you two idiots will kindly look down.”

Raven whipped back around. Blueblood noticed she had bloody bandage strapped over one eye, right behind the shattered lens of her glasses. Blueblood felt a stabbing feeling in his chest. “Oh no. Your eye. That wasn’t…”

Raven shook her head. “Raiju.”

Blueblood hung his head. “I am so sorry that I struck you. It was uncalled for and inexcusable. As a price and a…”.

“You’re right,” said Raven, cutting him off. “It was inexcusable. But don’t belabor it. I haven’t got time to feel bitter about it. I forgive you. We’ve got bigger things to deal with.”

“Hey, a key!” said Spearhead, looking down near Raven’s hooves.

“As I was saying,” said Blueblood. “I went to considerable trouble to get that. Spearhead, open everypony’s cages. Raven. Report on the situation.”

Both of them looked much worse for wear. Spearhead seemed to be unwounded, but his armor was dented and scratched in many places. Blueblood felt an inexplicable desire to push his forelock back under the edge of his helmet. Raven’s collar was missing, her uninjured eye was bloodshot and weary; her dark mane escaped in curling wisps from her tight bun.

“We lost,” said Raven, hanging her head. “We were brave, and we fought hard, and we lost, and most of us died. I’m starting to think your plan of running away wasn’t so bad.”

“Maybe if I’d been consistent about it,” said Blueblood, stepping out of his cage.

Raven shuffled her hoof. “We heard you’d been captured, and came to find you, in case you knew a secret way out of the palace.”

“I do,” said Blueblood. “My private airship. Guard, I meant all the prisoners, not just me.”

“D–Your highness,” said Spearhead.

Blueblood stamped. “What? We can’t rescue everyone, but the Anan can carry twenty-six ponies.” Probably. “All of the cages. Please.”

Raven nosed him on the shoulder. “There are more ponies. About a half dozen other guards, hiding nearby.”

“Good,” said Blueblood. “They will come with me, as will you. If we just charge for the airship dock, we’ll be caught. We need to stage a diversion.” He stepped over to where Fancy Pants was helping Fleur out of her cage. “I assume you’re familiar with the layout of the palace?”

“Yes, quite!” said Fancy Pants.“Though I’m happy to say I’ve never been in the dungeons before.”

Fleur embraced Fancy Pants, and then circled Blueblood, casting healing spells over his more obvious wounds. It was a relief when she reached his mouth; he’d done a lot of talking, recently, and now it looked like he was going to be doing quite a bit more. His tongue still ached, but at least it stopped throbbing and bleeding.

“We’re underneath the main ballroom right now,” said Blueblood. “If you go all the way down that hall, and up the staircase to the left. That will take you to the Elder Flower Conference Room.”

Fancy Pants raised an eyebrow. “The one that was half-devoured during the great parasprite infestation of negative thirty-three?”

“Yes. Exactly. It’s been out of use for longer than Tempest has likely been alive, so if there’s anything she missed in her report to the Storm King, that will be it. Wait there until you hear an explosion from the direction of the throne room. Then proceed as quickly and quietly as you can to the airship dock. Do you understand?”

“Very good, your highness? And if I may?”

Blueblood snorted with impatience. “Yes?”

“I confess that I doubted you. But your example today has inspired us all.” Fancypants bent his forelegs and bowed before Blueblood. “Thank you, Your Highness, from the bottom of my heart.”

All around him, all of the ponies who had been in the cages knelt. Murmurs of ‘thank you, Your Highness’, filled the corridor. Blueblood looked back and forth between the ponies, confused. Were they that impressed that he’d been tortured and humiliated? He could see Spearhead and Raven at the edges of his vision; they looked as bewildered as he felt. “Thank you. Thank you all,” he said, trying to appear confident. “I thank you, and Equestria thanks you. Now rise. We have much to do.”

“Your Hiiiggghhnnnesss,” said Spearhead softly, drawing out the syllables as he sometimes did when saying ‘dude’.

“What the hell just happened?” whispered Raven.

Blueblood tossed his head, and trotted away, expecting Spearhead and Raven to follow. “I’m magnificent. I assume we’ll need supplies?”

✭☆✭☆✭☆✭

Like the Elder Flower Conference room, Blueblood’s personal armory was little known and less spoken of. If Tempest had written of it, there had been nothing in that report to motivate the Storm King to loot it. Blueblood tore away the tapestry that concealed its door. There was no keyhole; Blueblood twisted the combination lock hidden inside the door with his magic and swung it open.

“Whoa,” said Spearhead, craning his neck to peer through the door. “You never showed me this before.”

“Take what you like,” said Blueblood. “It’s all trash.”

“This is manifestly not trash,” said Raven, eying a display case holding a pre-Celestian bronze short sword blade with an expression of filly-like awe. “Some of these pieces are priceless!”

His horn flashed, and the glass of the display case shattered. “They don’t make me happy anymore, so they’re trash. This one looks about your size.” He levitated the sword blade over to Raven and let it go. She caught it in midair with her magic and shot him a look equal parts bewilderment, respect, and annoyance, which he ignored. Also in the case was an elaborately decorated, horse-shoe shaped objet d’art with a copper earth cross sticking out of the top. He collected it and tucked it into the ceremonial ammunition belt which he had rescued from his closet.

“Whoa! This spear is awesome!” said Spearhead, lifting a short pole fitted with a sword-like blade and a sharp crescent-shaped crosspiece.

Blueblood went to the greentree wood case that held his spare target pistols. He pulled out one at a time and inspected them. Two he tossed to unicorn guards, three others he set on top of the case and began reloading. “It’s not a spear, it’s a spetum.”

“Bless you,” said Spearhead, tucking the weapon into the spear harness on his barding.

Blueblood didn’t let his little party of nine ponies leave until they were bristling with weapons. Everypony had a shield on their shoulder – some magic-reinforced battle shields, others decorative sheets of gaily painted wood. All the earth pony and pegasus guards had a polearm in one side of their spear harness, a rifle in the other, and a sword in their jaws. All the unicorn guards had that, and a pistol or sword clutched in their magic. All except for Raven, who insisted she had no idea what to do with either, and that she could fight better with her magic unencumbered. Blueblood tied a pillowcase around the tang of her sword blade, and then around her neck, “So you have a last resort.”

“Now what?” said Raven, regarding her new necklace skeptically.

Spearhead trotted over, steps parade ground high, his exotic polearm poking out proudly in front of him. “Raven. Dude. You’re supposed to say, ‘what are your orders, Your Highness SIR!’”

“My orders,” said Blueblood, raising his voice, “are that we all charge for the throne room, screaming at the top of our lungs.”

“YES YOUR HIGHNESS SIR!” shouted the guards. And all of them took off, filing one at a time out of Blueblood’s chambers, then spreading out into a V formation on the stairs with Blueblood at the head. Raven rushed up behind hind him.

“Excuse me, what are you doing?” She shouted over the sound of the royal guard singing marching cadence as loud as they could.

“Creating a diversion!” said Blueblood. “So the civilians and wounded ponies can escape!”

Raven glared at him with her one good eye. “And what about us?”

“Well, I’m sure I don’t know. You’re a royal adviser – make yourself useful and try and think of something. Now if you’ll excuse me I’d like to sing the guards’ little song.”

The little task force hit the ground floor and swung down the north hallway towards the throne room. This corridor was perfect for their diversion – it had few large decorations or side corridors that could be used for ambushes, and it was broken at several points down its length by doorways that kept any potential target within pistol shot. They charged at a quick trot, kicking over planters and pulling down curtains as they ran.

Everypony!
Kick it!
Bite it!
Stab it!
Kill it!
Canterlot guards can break right through it!
Shoot it!
Stomp it!
Kick in the ass!
Canterlot guards are all the best!

At the first bulkhead, one double door opened, and a raiju stuck its head through. Blueblood killed it with a single shot between the eyes. He’d learned a thing or two since his last fight. “Guards! Charge!”

“YES YOUR HIGHNESS SIR!” Pony hooves pounded on pavement. It had been centuries since the foes of pony kind had trembled before such charges; advanced pony magic now proved a better deterrent than military might. But the palace guards had kept the art alive. The burst through the bulkhead doors and ran straight into a cluster of confused-looking raiju soldiers. A crackle of rifle fire cleared most of them out of the way; the rest the guards stabbed to death with polearms before the enemy had time to ready their weapons.

“Guards, reload!” snapped Spearhead. Blueblood waited for them – he’d only fired one shot so far. Single-shot rifles were so inefficient; maybe there was a way to put a revolving chamber on them?

The guards were still ramming their bullets home when five raiju riflebeasts stepped through the next bulkhead. The guards’ eyes opened wide with horror, but Blueblood raised a revolver and brought each raiju down with a single shot. Blueblood’s heart swelled with satisfaction. Perfect. Was killing creatures supposed to feel bad? That’s what he’d heard, but he didn’t seem to mind. Maybe there was something wrong with him.

The guards finished reloading. As they started their march again, Spearhead sang a new cadence, which the other guards took up after the first repetition.

Blueblood! He’s a fancy lad!
Blueblood! A bastard and a cad!
Blueblood! He loves it up the ass!
But Blueblood shoots the very best!

“Best doesn’t rhyme with ass,” muttered Raven. “Blueblood, make them stop. Tell them that doesn’t rhyme.”

“No. I accept the compliment in the spirit in which it was intended.”

“You’re not offended?” said Raven, her good eye blinking.

“None of those things are untrue,” said Blueblood, tossing aside his empty revolver and drawing his second one.

“You’re very self-aware for a narcissist.”

Blueblood nodded. “Yes. It is my curse. I am cognizant of the consequences of my actions, yet I cannot stop myself. It is a heavy burden to bear.” He took a moment to admire his own largeness of spirit. Then a spatter of rifle fire crackled behind them, and a line of hot agony tore across his back. Near him, a guard fell down and didn’t get back up.

Raven twirled, slammed the double doors closed, and sealed them with a force field. “Run!” She said.

They charged for the throne room at a full gallop, manes flowing behind them, dispatching raiju guards along the way. Raven knocked the throne room doors off their hinges with a telekinetic blast, sending them skittering across the marble floor.

Blueblood gasped in surprise – there, lounging in Celestia’s throne, was the Storm King, playing with an action figure version of himself. Blueblood hadn’t expected him to still be up at this hour of the night. He wished he had a pistol out, but he’d put it away to draw out the little egg-shaped device from his bandolier. In a second, the opportunity was gone – the Storm King dived behind the thrones towards the secret escape tunnel that Blueblood knew was hidden behind the thrones.

Ah well. Assassination wasn’t why he’d come. He pulled the pin out of the Harmonious Horseshoe Grenade of Canterlot.

Dozens of these had been created during the war with King Sombra, an act of desperation against a seemingly unstoppable foe. Now they were considered low-yield anti-personnel megaspells, and Celestia had been horrified when a half dozen had been found on a disused sub-basement armory. She had ordered the evidence of her past sins destroyed, and the were – except for one, which Blueblood had spirited away to his collection, where he had been consumed with its terrible beauty for nearly a week and a half before mostly forgetting about it.

Would Celestia approve of him using it now? No. But what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. And in his defense, he wasn’t going to kill anycreature with it. He just needed a very loud bang.

“Holy Relic out!” shouted Spearhead. Raven and the guards dove for cover. Blueblood counted to three, kicked the horseshoe directly onto Twilight’s throne, and hit the ground, forelegs over his eyes.

A light like the rainbow on an oil slick shone through Blueblood’s forelegs, his eyelids, and into his eyes. The sound was less of a ‘bang’ and more of a ‘wailing of a million damned souls’. That ought to get them some attention.

He opened his eyes and stood. Every part of his body facing the explosion felt sunburned. The grenade hadn’t been as ‘anti-personnel’ as advertised – Twilight’s throne was a mangled, melted mess (oh no), the other thrones looked a bit warped, the dais slumped around the point of impact, and the rug was on fire.

Omelets. Eggs.

“Secure the entrances, dudes!” shouted Spearhead. He and the five remaining guards formed two sad little lines – four of them at the main entrance, two at the side door they’d come in. Blueblood and Raven stood on the dais, giving a good field of fire to his pistols and her magic.

“Don’t you think that was a little bit overkill?” said Raven. “Don’t you have any normal explosives?”

“I don’t have any normal anything, commoner,” said Blueblood, aiming a shot at one of the scattered groups of raiju warriors that were already arriving

Three waves of raiju broke on the guards’ thin line and fell back. Halfway through the second wave, a guard went down – not Spearhead, thank Harmony, but how long could they last?

Then, after a third wave, the attacks stopped. A minute of silence. Two. Blueblood turned to Raven. “All right. Fancy Pants should have had time to…”

A burst of lightning sent the two guards on the side passage hurtling back. They lay twitching on the smoldering carpet.

“What the…” said Raven, eyes widening.

Blueblood’s heart froze. He didn’t have a plan for this, even though he probably should have. “Tempest!”

“That’s right, you son of a festering, syphilitic whore,” growled Tempest, galloping into the throne room and skidding to a halt, raw magic crackling around her horn.

Blueblood blinked. “I didn’t realize you’d met mother.”

Tempest stomped and reared. “I need you alive, Blueblood. I don’t need them alive. How about this: Surrender, agree to work with me, and I’ll let them go.”

In his mind, Blueblood’s response was magnificent. “Of course, you may have me. Only let the others go,” his dream self said, and everyone in the room was so moved by his selfless act that they wept openly, even Tempest. Never mind that he’d actually be betraying all of Canterlot to save f ponies, only one of which he cared about. It didn’t matter – in fact, he merely stammered with open-mouthed indecision, and his little ponies took the initiative. Raven blasted Tempest with a telekinetic bolt. The bolt struck Tempest’s armor and flickered into a transient glimmer – more of the magic resistant metal from the cages? But it knocked her back a step.

“Charge!” yelled Spearhead, and the two standing guards followed, piling into the stunned Tempest. She wasn’t so dazed that she couldn’t parry their spears, and soon she and the guards were engaged in a melee so close and fierce that Blueblood couldn’t get a clean shot. The guards tempest had zapped found their hooves, and joined the battle.

Blueblood hesitated. Should he fire and risk hitting a guard? Sure five-to-one odds were enough to…

Tempest shot up from the melee like a clay pigeon, kicking Spearhead in the belly over and over. When she reached the apex of her jump, she kicked him hard in the chest, sending him flying across the throne room into a wall. Blueblood shrieked with rage, firing off several shots from his revolver. All misses. Why couldn’t he hit her? He jammed the revolver into its holster and ran towards Tempest, wailing with fury. Celestia! Spearhead! His whole day, ruined! And it was all her fault. Raven followed after him, her little bronze sword clutched in her jaws.

His cornu mareda was useless here. A rough tangle of bodies surrounded him like a bathhouse orgy, twisting and hot, so that he couldn’t tell friend from foe. He grunted in pain as a hoof connected right above his groin. He looked down. Wiry purple mare’s leg. The world righted itself. There was Tempest kicking and biting at the bottom of the least fun ponypile Blueblood had ever been a part of. Raven wormed herself in under a guard and stabbed at Tempest with the sword in her mouth. She struck armor, and the ancient bronze blade snapped. Tempest turned her head to bite at Raven. Overcome with rage, Blueblood lunged at her.

With his mouth.

His teeth clutched on Tempest’s trachea. Her fur tasted like sweat and ash against his tongue. He could end her and take vengeance for Celestia in a single bite.

Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh how vile. No!

Tempest wailed, the sort of hopeless, terrified sound that Blueblood himself might make. The air around her crackled with raw magic, and they went flying.

“Weak! You’re weak! All of you! Weak little ponies!” screamed Tempest, legs in a wide stance, shaking, smoldering, struck by her own blast.

Blueblood rolling into a sitting position and wiped a pastern across his nose. Red streaked his white coat. “And yet we’re quite a nuisance in large numbers,” he said. “Or at least that’s what I find. Raven, what is the current population of Canterlot?”

“Two million, three hundred and sixty-three thousand. Rounding down,” said Raven, rising from where she’d fallen and moving so that Blueblood was between her and Tempest.

Blueblood nodded. “And how many of those ponies would rather die than betray their friends and their nation?”

Raven huddled up against his back. “If you won’t, I can’t imagine that there are many that will.”

“Captain,” said Blueblood. “Do you think the six of us can defeat Tempest?”

“No Your Highness SIR!” said Spearhead, rising stiffly from the dent in the wall where Tempest had thrown him, wings out for balance. “But we’ll sure as Hades try.”

The other guards muttered assent.

“So, Tempest,” said Blueblood, grinning a lopsided, fatalistic grin. “How do you feel about massacring your own kind? Looking forward to it?”

“I’m not a pony anymore,” said Tempest, shifting anxiously from hoof to hoof. “I’m not like you.”

Blueblood shook himself, stood up, and lowered his horn. “You’re not. You’re a traitor.” Spearhead, Raven, and the others formed a half ring around Tempest and began to close in on her. Tempest danced away from them.

“What’s the matter, Tempest?” said Blueblood. “Afraid to get blood on your hooves?”

Tempest swallowed, eyes darting between them. “All you have to do to stop the bloodshed is join me. There can be peace.”

“But you don’t want peace,” said Blueblood, stepping snout to snout with her. If she’d had a whole horn, their horns would have been touching. Sparks leaped between them, making Blueblood’s forehead tingle. “You want revenge, right? You want to destroy everything Celestia ever loved? Don’t lie to me again; that’s what you said. Well, she loved me, and I believe she was very fond of Raven, as well. Here’s your chance to be a cold-blooded killer.”

“No!” Tempest closed her eyes and shook her head.

“You want to be a monster, Tempest, but you’re not. You fight for the raiju because you thought they were monsters. But they have hopes and sorrows and dreams. They love their nation. They mourn their lost comrades. Their leader makes toys of himself. Normal everyday creatures, just like ponies. Which is what you still are.”

Tempest lunged towards Blueblood with her forehooves, and Blueblood dodged back. “I’m not!” she said. “I am a monster!”

Blueblood stamped his hooves. “Then kill us, Tempest!” he screamed. “We can’t beat you! Show us what a monster you are! Show us what, a sad, tortured creature you’ve become!”

Tempest squinted her eyes closed. Tears shot down her cheeks. She turned and bolted for the door of the side passage. She paused there and looked back at Blueblood. The shame and loneliness in her eyes made Blueblood’s heart ache with pity. It felt strange, feeling pity for someone other than himself.

“Go,” said Blueblood, his tone soft. “Find Twilight. She can help you.”

Tempest showed them her tail. Her hoofbeats echoed away down the corridor.

Chapter 3

Wind whistled loudly across the parapet and tugged Blueblood’s mane across his face. He’d expected it to be dawn, outside, by now. What a foolish fancy – it was still early afternoon, as it had been with Celestia died. And it would be early afternoon until Twilight got her act together, or somecreature else seized control of the sun and moon.

The secret exit from the throne room had been guarded, of course. They’d managed to charge through that, but they’d been pursued and driven away from the airship dock. It didn’t matter – the airship was gone, hopefully with the escaped prisoners in it. Blueblood’s task force had made it outside, but they were trapped on a causeway, pressed up the crenelated parapet, waiting for the raiju warriors surrounding them to make their final attack.

“I wish I had done better,” said Blueblood, watching lighting crackle at the end of advancing shock lances. He was down to one revolver with one shot in it.

“At least the prisoners got away,” said Spearhead.

“You did better than I ever would have expected,” said Raven. “You’ve done your grandmother proud.”

“I say! Your highness!” shouted Fancy Pants from behind and below them. “Jump! Hurry!”

Blueblood whipped around and looked over the edge of the parapet. There below them hung the long golden balloon of his airship, the Anan. Its steam engine strained under the weight of its passengers; it couldn’t fly any higher. The loading ramp was out; Fancy Pants standing at its base.

Raven summoned a blinding flash of light to cover their escape. Blueblood hopped onto the loading ramp, and the remaining guards jumped after him. Spearhead swooped down directly onto the deck, carrying Raven on his back. The deck was packed gunwale to gunwale with ponies; it stank of their dirty, bloody bodies. The whole ship lurched under the weight of the extra ponies, tilting towards the loading ramp, and then starting a slow, graceful plummet. One of the ponies on deck screamed, and that started up a whole chorus.

Blueblood forced his way to the bow of the airship, shouldering aside ponies, clearing the way with his magic. “Out of my way, you peasants! Let me at the helm!” The pink, goggled pony from earlier sat at the controls, small body trembling, at a loss before controls much more complicated than whatever commercial airship she was used to flying. He grabbed her by the scruff of her neck with his magic and set her gently to one side.

Anan jerked as he twisted the airfoils, leveling out the ship and bringing her nose around. She drifted down over the parade grounds of the castle, keel barely missing the parapet of the outer curtain wall. Gunfire crackled from the towers of the castle – inaccurate at this range, but Blueblood didn’t want to take a chance that a bullet would find the Anan’s unarmored balloon.

“Raven! Can you raise a force field behind the ship?”

“Already on it!”

The spires and rooftops of Palace Tier whipped past below them. Blueblood pushed the throttle all the way forward until the engines shook and hissed. “Come on, come on, you piece of trash,” he muttered to Anan. “I just need to get you over the edge of the tier.” He winced as he felt the keel scrape across the curve of an onion dome, the whole ship shuddering and lurching. He heard a disturbing metallic clank from one of the propellers as it clipped the dome. But then the were free, hurtling into open air over the expanse of Saddle Buckle tier.

Battle lines were drawn up near the Canter river. The Storm King’s army had come into the city from the east, near their landing point in Platinum Plaza. The Canter river, fast, wide, and deep, had stopped their advance in most places. There were several bridgeheads where only improvised barricaded protected ponies from raiju attacks.

Blueblood banked to the west, away from the battle lines. The Anan dived rapidly. Ponies screamed. Ponies were sick over the side. Blueblood ignored them, aiming for a tall, white stone apartment building with a turret at the front, ridged with vine-covered wrought-iron balconies.

“Blueblood, we’re going to hit that…” said Raven.

“Don’t talk to me!” shouted Blueblood.

He spun the airships’ wheel hard to port, and the Anan slammed sidelong into the top floor of the tower and came to rest, dented balcony to cracked gunwale.

Blueblood turned and bellowed at his frightened and disoriented passengers. “Off! All of you! Get off my airship! You’re all too heavy, and you’re sinking her!”

“Even the guards, your highness?” said Spearhead.

“Yes, especially the guards!” said Blueblood. “They’re the heaviest ones!” He hesitated. “But not you or Raven. I need you.”

He raised his head, watching the ponies climb onto the iron landing and into the building through an open window. Civilians he’d saved, guards he was getting back into the fight. All them, alive and free because of him. Aside from the guards who’d died on the raid in the throne room, but again: Omelets. Eggs. But he was getting sidetracked. What was important was that in spite of all the trauma and pain he’d endured to get to this point, knowing that he’d helped other ponies made him happy! Happy! In a way nothing else in his life every had!

At that moment Blueblood realized what an amazing pony he was. He’d always known, of course, but it had taken a war to truly bring it to light. Only an exceptionally noble soul could gain happiness from helping others. In fact, he might be the first to ever experience…

Wait.

Helping others was Twilight Sparkle’s whole project, wasn’t it? Curse her. “I hope she drowns in lava,” he muttered.

Blueblood looked to the sky, and his petulance turned to excitement. One of the raiju airships was leaving! Probably with Tempest on it! It grew smaller in the clear blue sky, taking the architect of the most successful non-magical attack on Canterlot in history with it. He looked up towards the palace. Two more airships hung tethered over Platinum Plaza. His forehead wrinkled as an idea started to form.

Was what he was imagining possible? Yes, it might be. And it would be what the city needed. “Captain Spearhead!”

Spearhead turned from supervising the disembarking ponies to look at Blueblood wide-eyed. “Dude. I mean, Your Highness. You know my name!”

Blueblood smiled and pushed Spearhead’s messy blue bangs back up under his helmet. “I always knew it. Listen: you’re my field marshal now. Raven, you’re my chief adviser. Gather close: I have an idea, and I need you both to tell me how brilliant it is.”

✭☆✭☆✭☆✭

The Anan was dinged and scuffed but intact, and the damaged propeller was behaving itself for now. Carrying it’s intended load of three ponies, it bounded away from the apartment building like a schoolfilly on a snow day.

“This is a horrible plan,” said Raven. “We’re all going to die.”

Blueblood set a course for Easy Glider square and stood in the bow, letting the breeze of their passage blow back his mane. “During the first phase? No. During the second phase? Quite possibly. But we will be remembered as heroes. Which is more than I could ever have hoped for. We will become immortal!”

“I don’t want to become immortal in history,” said Raven, clutching the edge of the gunwale and looking over at the thousands of desperate, dirty ponies looking up at them. “I want to become immortal by not dying. Listen: They need you. They need a leader. They need a prince to…”

“Inspire them,” said Blueblood, slowing the airship and bringing it to a stop over Easy Glider square, just outside of rifle range. “They don’t need a prince to rule them. Look what they’ve done down there – using the river to stop the raiju’s advance? Building those barricades in the street? I never would have thought of that. It’s far too prosaic. What they need is an icon. Something to aspire to.”

“A tall order,” said Raven, turning towards the bow as Spearhead rushed to run the loading ramp out over the figurehead.

“A bit easier if I’m dead and can’t do anything else awful. But I think we’ll come back alive. Harmony blesses my every action.”

“Because she favors fools,” muttered Raven.

“Do you know an amplification spell? The royal Canterlot voice only carries so far. I want them to hear this on the other side of the river.”

Raven’s magic humming softly around his throat, Blueblood stepped out onto the loading ramp. It wobbled under his weight. He looked down below him. Ponies thronged Easy Glider Square, heads hanging out the windows of buildings, climbing up on the statue to see him. More hurried in from the streets around the square. With his sharpshooter’s sight, he saw that they were not all happy to see him. He noticed them whispering and imagined what they might be saying. His stomach wobbled, both from self-consciousness and from the dizzying drop to the square below.

He took a deep breath, imagined all the ponies wearing silly dresses, and launched into his speech.

“Citizens of Canterlot!” He began. He could never remember quite what he said after that. He told them Celestia’s bloodline had not abandoned them. (Hesitant cheers.) He praised them for their bravery. (Stunned silence, as if it hadn’t occurred to any of them they were being brave.) He told them Twilight would return. (Enthusiastic cheers!) He asked them if the raiju airships were causing them trouble. (They were!) He told them that he was going to go take care of that, and he’d be back presently. (Uproarious cheering!)

“Smart of you to tell the raiju our plan. That should set them off guard,” said Raven.

Blueblood pranced back down the loading ramp to the controls and eased the throttle forward. “I did, didn’t I? Oh well. nothing for it now. Spearhead!”

Spearhead saluted. “Yes your Highness SIR!”

“Go gather some pegasi. Make us an escort. They may have griffon mercenaries or something else nasty waiting for us.” The Anan pulled up and out over Easy Glider Square, its shadow moving over the assembled ponies, who cheered and waved after it. The raiju showed a different sort of enthusiasm for the airship’s advance – gunfire crackled on the opposite bank of the Canter.

“Raven! Force field if you don’t mind very much,” said Blueblood.

Raven climbed up next to his seat at the bow, hooves hanging over the prow, horn glowing, eyebrow drawing down under the bandage over her left eye. The shimmering purple field in front of her sparkled when bullets struck it.

Dozens of winged forms rose up around them – pegasus ponies in royal guard armor, pegasus ponies in Wonderbolts uniforms, civilians of all sorts including a handful of changelings and griffons. Anan rose after them, drifting almost straight up along the buttressed terrace that supported Palace Tier. Blueblood kept the Anan moving slowly, for now, so that his escort could keep up. Once he had a better idea of what waited for him up there he could show the raiju what his ship could do.

As they flew up past the edge of the tier, a flock of pointy brown and gray shapes flapped up from amongst the buildings – armored griffon mercenaries. Casting aside their breakfast liquor bottles, the griffons drew blades and guns and dove towards Blueblood’s ship. His escort banked to engage them, but a clever, low-flying fellow outflanked them and headed straight for the Anan.

Blueblood squawked in alarm and fumbled for the throttle as the griffon zoomed up towards him – a fat golden fellow with a crack in his beak and larceny in his eyes. He landed on the port railing and waved his cutlass inches from the end of Blueblood’s snout. “Pull her over, Pretty Pony,” he roared, “This ship’s mine n…”

And then Raven slammed a forcefield into his face. He fell off the side of the ship like a bird hitting a glass window.

“Thank you,” said Blueblood.

“Sorry I was slow,” said Raven, looking over the port side of Blueblood’s airship. “He came up on my blind side.”

“Is he coming back around?”

“No,” said Raven. “He hit a roof and when right through. He’s in somepony’s attic now.”

Behind them, Spearhead’s squadron enveloped the outnumbered griffon mercenaries. Soldier ponies distracted the griffons in aerial duels while civilians closed in behind to knock them out of the air with improvised weapons.

Blueblood looked ahead towards Platinum Plaza. The airships were still tethered there, trapped and vulnerable. He cranked the throttle into the red area near the top. Anan’s steam engine began to shake and hiss as pressure built. The propeller that had = clipped the onion dome earlier rattled ominously. “Hold together, you piece of trash. We can’t let them get away!”

Rooftops and streets blurred beneath them.

“I didn’t know an airship could go this fast!” said Raven.

“Yes,” said Blueblood, “We should be safe, now,” said Blueblood, heating the gas in Anan’s balloon so that they rose high over the city, bringing them up to the level of the raiju airships.

Raven looked back and forth across the city below them, alert for danger. “So what exactly were you planning to do when we got to the…”

Something boomed from down in the city. Seconds later Raven’s force field shattered and wood splintered as cannonball tore along the port gunwale, ripping the railing away. Wooden splinters peppered Blueblood’s hide. Raven screamed and hit the deck. Heart hammering, Blueblood made the Anan dive close to the rooftops, veering away from the direction of the attack. “Raven! Are you all right?”

“F-fine! I think?” she said, hopping back to her hooves. There was another crack of cannon shot, and Blueblood saw a cannonball arcing up towards them from a rooftop ahead. Quicker than Blueblood would have thought possible, Raven raised a triple strength shield, stopping the cannonball in midair. Her horn sparked as transferred inertia pushed her back across the deck.

“I can’t take another hit like that!” she said.

“I’ll get us out of the line of fire!” Blueblood gritted his teeth. He recognized a gap in the roofs up ahead as Marple Street, one of the long straight boulevards that led into Platinum Plaza. He vented the balloon and spun the wheel, aiming the Anan for its relative safety.

Spearhead and two dozen Wonderbolts dove towards the cannon and its crew. Blueblood found himself staring after them as the landed on the rooftop and engaged the gun crew hoof to hoof. Spearhead was hard to pick out, just an occasional flash of orange amongst the darting figures. Blueblood needed to know he was all right! But in seconds the buildings of Marple Street rose up around him, blocking his view.

The two lanes of the street were divided by a row of ornamental trees. The keel of the Anan scraped across them, shaking the hull and making the deck list to port.

“Blueblood! Pay attention!” screamed Raven, hooves scrambling to keep her from sliding over the now-rail-less side of the ship.

Blueblood gritted his teeth and cranked the engine to pull them to starboard. The Anan surged forward, spraying branches from its underside. The hull swung close to the buildings on the right side of the street, knocking decorative planters and container gardens off of balconies, but soon righted itself.

Blueblood laughed with fear and delight as they zoomed down the boulevard, keel a little over the tops of abandoned carriages and omnibuses, trees and buildings whipping past on either side. He worried that somecreature would have thought to set up a cannon facing down this way.

But no. Relief flooded his heart as Platinum Plaza opened out below him. The once beautiful area had become a military camp – raiju tents, ponies in cages, pallets of supplies. The two remaining raiju airships perched like fat black beetles at the docks along the edge of the plaza. Raiju were unloading cannons from the far one. The nearer one’s decks were in a frenzy of untying ropes and detaching weights, readying for takeoff.

“Oh no. We can’t have that.” Blueblood flipped an entire row of switches, disengaging the pressure limit on the boiler and making red lights flash all over the control console. The whole ship shook. Steam screamed from the overworked engine. He cranked the throttle into the region of its run marked with black and yellow stripes like a wasp’s abdomen. The damaged propeller screeched and died, outraged at the extra work it was being asked to do, and the Anan’s course jerked to starboard. Blueblood cranked the wheel to compensate and roared, “Raven! Force fields to the front of the balloon!”

“Yes, your… wait. What are we doing?” said Raven. “We’re ramming the other ship! How did you think we were going to do this? Do you see any weapons on board?” Raven gasped. “We’ll be killed!”

“Not if you shield the balloon! Grab onto something sturdy!”

Raven gripped one of his hind legs.

On the deck of the raiju airship, mayhem. Creatures darted back and forth, yelling contradictory orders. The enemy airship rose and turned, the helmscreature attempting to make a run for it. But the airship was still tethered in several places, and it jerked to a stop, balloon perpendicular to the Anan’s.

Blueblood gritted his teeth and braced himself against the wheel.

The impact shook his ship. Military airships’ balloons were armored, but only against shrapnel and unlucky birds. The thin metal plate gave way with a screech against Anan’s shielded balloon, and the raiju airship began to plummet towards the loading dock. Blueblood yanked the throttle into reverse. He was almost away when one of the struts of the raiju balloon’s framework crashed down behind the edge of Raven’s force field. The Anan jolted and jerked downward, remaining propellers whining as they tugged uselessly against the strut.

“We’re stuck!” said Raven.

Blueblood swore a bright purple streak, pounding on the throttle, twisting the wheel, flicking switches, trying to break free. Beneath them, the enemy airship’s hull slammed into the marble of the dock with a symphony of crashing, shattering, and shouting. Blueblood saw propellers and machinery skitter away, throwing sparks. That ship wouldn’t be flying again any time soon.

The Anan, on the other hoof, seemed to be intact, but the twisted remnants of the balloon’s armored skeleton held it fast. Blueblood was about to shout to Raven to see if she could pull them free with her magic when an ear-shattering crack sounded off the port bow. The crew of the other airship had maneuvered one of the cannons they were carrying into a gun port, and aimed it at them!

The Anan’s balloon exploded in a puff of flame as a cannonball tore through it. The deck went from horizontal to vertical in the blink of an eye. Blueblood shrieked, saving himself from splattering on the marble plaza only by grabbing the steering column. He felt Raven dangling from his leg.

They were only still alive because the Anan’s balloon and the raiju airship’s balloon were tangled together, a mess of twisted steel.

“Our balloon blew up!” screamed Raven. “Fire!”

Parts of the deck were indeed smoldering. Blueblood’s mane felt singed. “Airship balloons are full of flammable gas!”

He looked down at Raven and saw a smile bloom on her face. “I have an idea!” she said. “Do you have any bullets left? Can you hit the other airship from here? We can light their balloon on fire!”

Blueblood levitated out his last revolver and flicked open the cylinder. “One! And we’re barely in range! I might be able to penetrate their armor, but it won’t make a big enough spark!”

Raven’s horn glowed bright, and a cylinder of rotating disks appeared, hovering in front of the barrel of Blueblood’s revolver. “A friction matrix!” she said. “It’ll superheat the bullet!”

“Won’t that slow it down?”

“I’ve compensated for that! Aim straight, that bullet’s going to come out very fast!”

Blueblood cocked back the hammer of his pistol. “Are you sure?”

Above them, the airship frames creaked, and the Anan dropped several inches lower.

“Just shoot!” screamed Raven.

Easy for her to say. What did she know about bullet trajectories? Accelerating the bullet would throw off the arc he was used to. The wind was strong out of the east, that would be a big factor at this range. The enemy balloon was about as far away as Tempest had been when he’d tried to snipe her yesterday afternoon. He’d missed then. Why should this be different? And what if the extra heat burned up the bullet on the way to its target?

But the raiju gun crew had already finished reloading.

No time left.

Blueblood gave the shot his best guess and squeezed the trigger. A bright orange bolt flashed out of his revolver. It arched, a little up and a little to the side, and vanished inaudibly into the balloon of the raiju airship.

No effect.

Nothing. That was it. It was the end for…

BOOM! The raiju airship’s balloon bust like a firecracker. Blueblood glimpsed the hull, flaming, slamming into the dock. Then the shockwave hit them, knocking the Anan free, and sending Raven and him spinning into the air.

Blueblood felt weightless, even as Platinum Plaza rushed up at him. This was it. This was death. Had his life been worthwhile? He’d made a lot of poor choices. He’d done a lot of awful things. But at least he was going to die a hero’s death. That was something. Was it enough? He didn’t know.

The shock of impact wracked his body. Death was less painful than he’d expected; softer, and much more… orange?

“Got you, Dude!” shouted Spearhead.

“Spearhead! You’re all right!” said Blueblood, hugging his neck for dear life. “You are too, dude!” Spearhead touched down on a clear space in the Raiju camp, next to a looted fashion boutique.

Panicked raiju rushed towards the fires of the wrecked airships, ignoring them for the moment.

Wonderbolts landed all around the two of them. Raven clung to Fleetfoot’s back; she slid off the first moment she could and started kissing the marble.

Blueblood didn’t want to get off of Spearhead. He didn’t want to stop touching him ever again. “Oh, you magnificent beast!” he moaned, squeezing Spearhead around the neck and kissing the back of his neck over and over. “You saved me! Remain at my side forevermore!”

“Easy, Your Highness, dude. The war’s not over yet.” Spearhead knelt, and Blueblood reluctantly slid off and got to his own hooves. “We wrecked the cannon that shot at you, and scared those griffon mercenaries off, at least for now. But we saw at least three more cannons, and the raiju are setting up some kind of big mortar. If they start shooting down into Saddle Buckle with those, things are gonna get bad down there.”

Blueblood nodded. “So, we need to destroy them, too. Do you think we can do that?”

Spearhead saluted. “If those are your orders, then that’s what we’ll do.”

“They are. Let us make haste.”

And they charged off into history