Afterglow: Tales of the Royal Musketeers

Afterglow: Tales of the Royal Musketeers

The Things We've Left Behind

"The collapse of our technology has been a terrible blow to Equestrian infrastructure and way of life, but if there's anything I've learned from the days I've spent with the Elements of Harmony, it is that no challenge is too great for friendship and teamwork to overcome." — Headmare Starlight Glimmer, at the School of Friendship Meeting for Harmony; Ponyville, 1004 C.E.

The early morning bombardment shook Gemstripe awake. It was sometime past sunrise and the smell of gunpowder and mud was thick in the air—as was the stench of near eight thousand ponies camped right next to each other—but there was something else, something sweet. The scent of milk, strawberries, and bananas flooded his nostrils. Sour Snout was at it again.

Gemstripe sat up on his haunches and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, all the while the howling of the culverins sounded in the distance—the first of many volleys aimed at the rebel earthworks.

"Morning, Snoots."

Sour grumbled something or another and shot a nod his way. She was busy at work with her ingredients, chopping them up and adding them into the mixture as quick as her hooves could manage. A small packet of fast-melting ice cubes sat next to her cutting board, where a small swarm of flies tried endlessly to get at her fruits.

"Another one of your world-famous smoothies?"

The look she gave him had death written in bold, red letters all over.

"They were the best in all of Hayside. Ponies from nearby towns made the journey just for a cup of the stuff." Sour swatted aside a particularly fat specimen of a fly that had gotten too close to one of her strawberries. "I don't care if nopony believes me here. I know I can make them again. I got my stupid cutie mark in the stuff..."

She pointed her flank at him and lifted the coat of plates—filthy with mud and dry milk stains—to show her cutie mark, a pink smoothie in a tall glass, overflowing, with a striped white straw and a cherry on top of a mountain of whipped cream. It was badly faded out now, much like everypony else's.

"I believe you, Snoots," Gemstripe scooted up closer to her and started swatting flies away with his bayonet, "I really do. Nothing's been really the same since..."

"Yeah."

"Your smoothies are still the best in camp," he added with a smile. She glanced at him, chuckled, and shrugged.

"Best in camp?" She huffed. "They were the best in E-ques-tria!"

"...and they'll be the best again," Sour Snout muttered under her breath, glaring at the mashed fruit with a vengeance, unaware that several other ponies from the company had begun to gather round.

The culverins roared in the background and everypony turned to the besieged fortress town of Bleakbeak Peak. Crude earthwork fortifications stared back at them, seemingly devoid of any life—tall pillars of rock and dirt contained in heavy wooden beams, with wide embrasures for the gryphon cannon to shoot from—ruined after several days of constant bombardment. Now the earthen walls were badly crumbled, their beams splintered and shattered, the sand soaked in what Gemstripe could only assume was blood. The thought made his stomach churn.

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen..." somepony muttered, barely audible over the screams of the iron monsters belching fire and shot. "Can't believe it used to spook me."

A string of agreements were murmured in reply. The first few days that had been true for everypony—the earth walls had seemed unbreachable, and the rebel artillery had answered every Equestrian shot in kind—not so much anymore. The last of the gryphon falconets had fallen silent long ago, most likely hidden away until the Colonel decided it was time to storm the fortifications. Bleakbeak was a broken place now, so badly beaten it seemed pointless to fight over it anymore.

From behind the treeline the last of the culverins spat out its deadly innards, and an iron ball smashed clean through one of the embrasures to disappear into the town proper. A cloud of dust and wooden splinters rose up high into the sky as one of the buildings collapsed. Everypony watched silently, remembering a time when the sight of that alone tore out a gasp from most of them. Somepony, Celestia knew who, had even complained to the captain he was worried they might hurt somepony by shooting into the town like that. Watching the stains on the parapets, Gemstripe knew what the answer to that had been.

"You okay, Snoots?" he asked. The mare watched the bombardment intently, eyes glued to the column of dust and smoke that soon followed—something within had caught fire, and if there was anypony left in there, they weren't trying to fight it.

"We haven't hurt anypony," she said eventually. It wasn't a question and the way she said it made Gemstripe hesitate.

She stared at the smoke as it spread—soon there were two columns, then three, and then there were more and more, until the entirety of Bleakbeak seemed to be ablaze—eyes hard and pensive, like she were expecting something to happen. It was eerily quiet, save for the buzzing of the flies as they crawled all over the forgotten fruits.

"I'm pretty sure they have," somepony else said, as the culverins opened up into the town again. Nopony else responded, because there was no doubt in any of their minds—they'd been bombing them for a while now, and no gryphon had been sighted for the past few days—somepony, many, had been hurt. In Gemstripe's mind that was the furthest extent he was willing to contemplate. Anything else...

"It's for the good of Equestria," Gemstripe said at last, and the words felt stale as soon as they were out of his mouth, like somepony else had said it. He looked away. "We should get back to your smoothie, Snoots."

"Sure," she said, as the fiery glow of burning Bleakbeak shone off her face. Dark clouds had begun to gather, and there were no pegasi left who could reach them, much less try to bust them. The same misfortune that kept the gryphons stuck in that blazing town made certain rain was now a force of nature. Gemstripe could only hope it would be merciful enough to put out that raging inferno.

The next cannonade came a few moments later, and the cycle continued—a storm of iron shot and the deafening cries of the cannons filled the river valley—but from the town itself came not a sound. Sour Snout never really went back to her smoothie. She kept turning to watch the bombardment, glued to the scene as the swarm of flies grew and the fires spread, and everypony realized that this time something was different.

Drowsy was getting scolded by Sergeant Heftyclef again, with half the company there to watch—they were stuck in the forward trenches now, a mere hundred meters away from the earthworks, waiting for the captain's call to storm the town—and nopony was happy about it. Drowsy was a silly pony, as Gemstripe's mom was wont of saying. A silly pony with silly habits, incompatible with the kind of life they were expected to lead this far from Equestria. Hefty had caught her fast asleep with all her gear on a pile as a pillow.

"Nopony gets to relax until this is done with. Understand?" Hefty called out after Drowsy felt guilty enough. Everypony nodded and mumbled a reply. Hefty didn't press the issue further—they were all tired, and Drowsy had been on watch the previous night—he knew they didn't feel it was fair on her. Nopony did, but this was how it was supposed to be now. Everypony does their bit, like the princess had said.

Gemstripe thought of Twilight often. The princess never failed to take up some time of his day, usually after a tiresome task, or whenever something happened that Gemstripe wasn't sure he'd ever be able to forget. Today had been full of the latter.

"First pony to land a shot gets a barrel of cider," cried a lieutenant from the distant right. "Captain's orders! First pony to land a..."

They'd spotted gryphons for the first time in days, and the sound of gunfire hadn't ceased since. They peeked and fired often, but never from the same spot. Clouds of smoke and ash made it impossible to see them before their claws clamped on their triggers, and a shot or crossbow quarrel was well on its way.

A quarrel stuck itself into the mud just ahead of him, and Gemstripe swallowed hard. Somepony wanted him dead, and he was alive only because they'd messed up their shot. The thought made his blood curdle in his veins. He clenched his jaw shut and stuck his fork-rest into the trench's edge when the pony before him had fired her shot. Ready. Aim. His hoof pressed down the trigger and the force of the recoil almost sent him stumbling back into Sour Snout.

"You're still a bad shot, Stripes," she joked, but Gemstripe felt ill. He walked away without a word, thankful that he at least had until everypony else had taken their turn before he had to do it again. His shot had slammed into the earthworks, much too low for it to have a chance to hurt anypony.

Sour Snout stabbed the mud with her fork-rest and dropped her musket into place—match burning, perfectly clean, unlike most of anypony else's—and took aim. Between parapets, every other second, one could see the blur of shapes as gryphon rebels dashed to and fro. Every so often one of them would stand still just long enough to loose a quarrel or fire a shot at the trenches, but none of them hit. Judging by the screams of their sergeants, they were as frustrated with their own troops as the lieutenants were with Gemstripe's company. They'd been at it for the better part of a half-hour, and in that time no one had claimed the barrel of cider.

Sour Snout shouldered her musket and waited until everypony else had missed their shots before taking hers, and Gemstripe looked up from his reloading just long enough to add another permanent memory to his growing list. A pale-blue gryphon—taller than most ponies, though not by much—had waited until the last crack! of gunfire had passed before braving his crenel to take a shot.

Sour Snout fired, and the gryphon's face disappeared into a fine, pink mist.

Somepony screamed. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl. Cannons still roared, and further down the trenches shots were still being fired, but to Gemstripe it felt like the whole battle had been called off. Somepony got hurt. They had to stop now. He felt cold and very ill, and he wasn't alone. Just a few firing lines away somepony vomited. Even Sergeant Hefty looked shocked.

A lieutenant's cheer broke through the enchantment then. "Yes! My unit did it!" he shouted. He hadn't been here for it. Somepony else had gone off to tell him, and now he was rolling in the barrel of cider, and everypony else around Gemstripe was back to their reloading as Hefty's voice broke through yet another layer of horror.

Gemstripe swallowed the gross feeling in his throat and got back to reloading his gun.

It's for the good of Equestria.

'Dear Princess Twilight,

'Esteemed Princess of Friendship Twilight Sparkle,

Gemstripe sighed and leaned back on the ruined earthworks—he had no idea how to write a letter, much less so to a princess—and so, he let the paper rest a moment and closed his eyes. Twilight Sparkle could wait a few hours longer, he decided. Pretty and proper in her castle, with grape soda and caramel custard to spare, what rush had she to read a silly pony's letters? A flea-ridden pony to boot. If he'd been itchy before, marching into town had only made him realize things could always get worse. Bleakbeak was infested.

His shoulder was killing him and he could barely keep himself awake, like he'd lived three days in one. The morning bombardment, the fight in the trenches, and the slow march into Bleakbeak after the gryphon rebels finally waved the white rag over their gates. Now the moon hung over the darkening horizon, wild and alien, and so very slow. The memory of Luna's raising of the moon stung him then, and he realized his eyes were heavy with more than sleep.

"Just like she said," he muttered. "You don't know what you have..."

He looked at the letter. What was he supposed to say? 'Anything that bothers you, anything of note, or that you want to share with me,' Princess Twilight had said. 'Anything at all. I want to help, but I want to hear it from everypony, not just my officers.'

'Will you help me, Gemstripe?'

He stared off into the shattered town ahead of him. Bleakbeak wasn't... It didn't exist anymore. Culverin fire had reduced every building taller than a single story to rubble. Everything else had burnt to a crisp in the fire before the attack, and the gryphons? Most of them had managed to get out during the confusion of the fight. They'd been digging tunnels, apparently. Colonel Ambershine had been livid when he realized they'd been fighting a skeleton crew, and it'd still taken them more than six hours to make them surrender. To hear him speak, it was worse now, because we'd just be fighting the same gryphons again in the next town over.

Gemstripe wondered who could be crazy enough to want to do this all over again. The waiting, the rain, the fleas... Flashes of Sour's shot flared in his mind and he winced. That.

He hadn't spoken to her since. It just didn't feel right... and it hurt. She was probably hurting too—he knew she hadn't meant to do that—it had all been a horrible mistake. It had to be. He took the letter in his hooves and felt hot tears burning under his eyelids.

Gemstripe shoved the paper back into his saddlebag. There was something he needed to do.

He found her sitting by herself on the parapets overlooking their forward trenches, just a short ways from the place where it had happened. She was facing away from him when he arrived, quiet, staring off into space and quietly tossing pebbles down at the mud.

"Snoots?"

She turned to face him—her gaze was soft, expression unreadable, like it often was—Sour Snout wasn't an emotional pony, but even so, Gemstripe could tell something was off.

"Hey, Stripes," she said. "I was wondering where you'd gone. I haven't seen you since..."

"I'm sorry."

"What for?" She scooted aside and patted the spot next to her on the crenel. It was a tight squeeze, but it felt better that way. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. She snuggled into the hug after a moment, still quiet, gazing away at the horizon.

"Are you okay?"

There was a light breeze blowing downriver from the Northwest—it washed away the worst of the stench of burning wood and their own body smell. They were both tired, and it was almost like being back home in Hayside after the running of the leaves, when they'd sit down to have a picnic and rest. She bit her lip.

"I guess so," she said. "It's just... I'm not sure. It all happened so quickly. I almost can't remember anymore."

"It's okay, Snoots." He rubbed her shoulder in slow, calming motions, and listened to the soft rise and fall of her breathing.

They stayed like that for a while, eyes on nothing in particular, thoughts lost within themselves, and the world left forgotten somewhere in the background. Somewhere beyond the broken earthworks, the muddy fields and trenches, past the barren hills and the foreign coast, there was a sunset. If Gemstripe lingered on it long enough, it was almost like the one back home.

"We'll have to..." she began, and the spell was broken. "Eventually. All of us."

Gemstripe started to deny it, but found that he couldn't. He didn't know what to say.

The breeze changed direction, and the smell of charred wood and sweat, filth, steel and smoke infested the air around them. The sun melted into the horizon and there was nothing left but the darkness of the foreign West, and Gemstripe knew exactly what it was that he wanted to write in that letter. He just didn't believe Twilight would want to hear it.

The 1st Royal Musketeers left Bleakbeak the next morning after detonating the walls wide open and tearing down the parapets. Marching in a column, they made their way to the next town over—Talonhoof, one of the larger colonies this far West, and home to a mixed population Colonel Ambershine hoped would be sympathetic to them—leaving behind a ruined town and a few dozen wounded ponies ready to be sent home. Buried there, under the shade of an old peach tree, they left eight gryphons, too. And an unopened barrel of cider.