Chapters Equestria: Land Of Plenty
A pleasant late spring day, like so many others. Just enough to warm the face and with enough breeze to make the leaves flutter and dance like a host of war banners. That was something the land had not seen for many a year, not outside of ceremonial parades, at least. Equestria was a land of peace and a land of plenty.
Thus had it been for centuries under the flag of the Holy Sun, the One True Princess. Celestia's banners flew from every spire, every temple tower, every battlement across the land, for she was the guiding light for all of ponykind, even if some among them chose to turn their faces away and bathe instead in the darkness. Where such heresy could be found within Equestria, it was rooted out mercilessly, expunged, for that crime carried but one punishment, and that punishment was death.
United under Celestia's banner, Equestria had risen from a provincial force to a continent-spanning empire, with power and wealth hitherto unseen. No longer a backwater, no longer in thrall to another kingdom, Equestria had been steered by Celestia's hand to the pre-eminent nation-state, that which all other aspired to match, or failing that, to conquer. Though Equestria itself was a harmonious place, its borders were very much not. Raiders, tribes and foreign powers from all the far-flung corners of the earth waged an almost constant battle against the forces of the Sun, those proud stallions and mares who stood guard so that lesser ponies could sleep sound in their beds at night. The borders had known violence for the entirety of Celestia's reign, as well as the co-regency period when she ruled together with her sister, Luna, and even before that when Discord sat upon the throne. It seemed that the principality had always had its fair share of enemies and opportunists, even when it was just a regional power and nothing more. Now that it dominated the continent, the danger for these raiders was greater than ever- but so were the spoils. Rich towns, burghs and palaces, ripe with the kinds of treasures that such plunderers longed for; gold, silver, jewels. And ponies, too. Mares for their harems, stallions to slave away in the fields or mines. It was a war of attrition, the Sun against the Darkness, but no band of raiders or any one single nation could possibly hope to overcome the strength of Equestria alone. To beat back the muskets and cannon and magic of Equestria would take a great strength indeed, and few possessed the military might to achieve such a feat by themselves.
Many had tried in the past, and despite some great victories, they had never been able to consolidate their successes. The Griffons had tried on half a dozen occasions and been repulsed each time, albeit with sometimes grievous losses among the Equestrians, their final defeat concluding with the Treaty of Clopham and an acceptance of an uneasy peace which had evolved over the years into more of a grudging embrace of shared common interests.
The Yaks had tried, and their efforts had proven equally futile, the most recent major action against them being some 120 years earlier at the fabled Battle of The Crossroads, where the Yaks had been hurled back by the last great charge of the Knights of The Order of Celestia, that most august group of mounted, armoured warrior-priests, annointed by the Princess herself and pledged to her service. They had broken the back of the unsuspecting Yak line, arrows bouncing ineffectually off of their burnished golden plate, swords and maces swinging, cutting a bloody swathe through the Yak infantry. Times had changed, however, and the more widespread adoption of gunpowder weaponry in the last century had rendered successful deployment of the Knights difficult at best and suicidal at worst, for though their armour could stop an arrow or a spear, it could not stop a musket or cannonball.
The Zebras had tried, long ago, and they had come the closest of all, sweeping across the plains, riding wild stallions of the high deserts, distant biological cousins of the ponies they rode against, though all of the steeds used by mounted units lacked the higher functions and self-awareness of their riders. They were but dumb beasts, though those that could be tamed were still a vital asset on the modern battlefield. The Zebrican cavalry had burned and pillaged their way across the eastern provinces of Equestria until they reached the Foal Mountains, and that proved to be as far as they could advance. The mountain passes had been blocked by Equestrian forces, and the mountains themselves were too steep and rugged for any cavalry to cross. While trapped against this obstacle and seeking passage through, the Zebricans were set upon by a massed force of Equestrian infantry and cavalry, led by Celestia herself, which had been lying in wait in the foothills, ready to spring the trap. The Zebricans were massacred, their advance halted, their retreat cut off by Equestrian cavalry. The survivors who had surrendered were shown remarkable mercy, considering the lack of it they had shown to the inhabitants of the towns they raided, and were sent back to their war chiefs with an ultimatum- stay out of Equestria, or the same thing will happen again, and that time there would be no survivors.
While Equestria had established acceptable relations with all of these nations, there were others with whom no treaty could be possible. Some forces in the world had no desire for negotiation or understanding. They did not operate solely to acquire territory, or wealth, or to secure their own borders. They fought for more nefarious reasons, reasons which could not be fully comprehended by the Equestrians, nor any of the other states with whom they now shared alliances, trade or friendship, nor even by those they simply had not fought for many years. Some forces fought just for power, for their own dark ends. When one attacked, it would be repelled. But if they were to attack together? To unify? To bring their collective strength to bear against Equestria at the same time? Nopony knew the answer to that question, because it had never happened before.
But that did not mean it could not happen in the future.
The chamber was dark, at least compared to the outside world. Light filtered through some of the small windows high up in the walls, but the spectral beams, the glow from Celestia's sun, remained confined to the rafters, while the figures below were content with a few small candles dotted about.
"So, my Queen..."
"So, my King..."
There was laughter, the subtle glint of bared fangs, the gleam of eyes, the flash of malevolent smiles.
"We have an agreement?'
"We do..."
"Excellent. Then it is settled." The clink of glasses.
"A fine vintage, this one. Captured from the estate of Count Regulus, I believe. A 704, if you go by their calendar."
"You know I do not. This is not the year of Our Princess 704.' A voice dripping with scorn and disdain. "But soon, it will be the year of blood. We shall see to that."
"Indeed so, my Queen. Indeed so..."
The southern realms of the continent were considered by Equestrians to be the wildlands, the badlands, the cultural and spiritual wastelands of the land, populated only by infidels and heretics, the scum of the earth. Part of that was just hyperbole, but broadly speaking, it was true. Celestia's light did not extend that far south. The Equestrian border had stabilised a hundred years earlier, on the fringe of the twin realms of the Shadowlands and the Changeling Kingdom, and no significant attempts had been made since then to push further, for that would be to enter the territory of Equestria's two most dangerous enemies.
At the junction in the southeast between the two realms lay the border post of Crater Lake, erected centuries ago to delineate the ancient frontier between the Shadowlands and the more easterly Changeling Kingdom, much of which lay to the eastern side of the southern end of the Foal Mountains, the long chain of peaks and foothills that formed the spine of continent. Nopony knew for sure what had caused the crater to form in the first place, for it was almost as ancient as time itself, but leading Saddle Arabian astronomers had theorised that debris from outer space striking the ground at an incredible speed may have been the origin. An alternative theory posited that it was a magical explosion of some kind, though there was little evidence of any such blast to be found at the site. Not that scientists and astronomers often got a chance to study it up close, lying as it did on the borders of the two kingdoms, the twin evils of the southern realms.
The border post was mostly ceremonial in nature. Relations between the Shadowlands and the Changelings had been variable over the centuries; sometimes war, sometimes peace. The previous Changeling Queen had mellowed relations somewhat, establishing a trading route between the two nations, but doing little more than that. Her replacement, however, had seen the value in cultivating an alliance with such a strong neighbour, especially when their other neighbour to the north was hardly likely to ever agree to such a thing.
The border post was a series of small watchtowers established along the frontier line, and a ceremonial palace of sorts, albeit a small one, on the lip of the crater itself. Filled with dead water, the crater was as barren as the land that surrounded it, for the entire area was more akin to the surface of the moon than to the lush, fertile regions of the continent. Bare rock, boulders scattered about like child's toys carelessly discarded after a day's play. The terrain along the border was one major reason why it was far easier for both the Shadowlands and the Changelings to turn their expansionary ideas northward, rather than against each other. It was the kind of terrain that generals feared, for it slowed infantry, rendered cavalry useless, and halted artillery and supply wagons entirely.
A half mile or so to the north of the border post, the terrain flattened out and became much more manageable, much more friendly. Patches of grass and scattered trees marked the beginnings of the fertile plains that stretched north into the valleys of the central continent, into Equestrian lands. Somewhere just over a low string of hills lay the approaches to the Equestrian border and its fortified outposts. Beyond that lay riches, treasure, and glory.
The two monarchs stood together on the viewing platform, a wooden protuberance projecting from the border post's ceremonial palace. On a clear day, which this was not, it was possible to see the Equestrian frontier from such a raised position, atop the bulging lip of the crater. With a telescope held to one's eye it was even possible to see Trottingham, the closest of the fortified cities that lay dotted hither and thither across the land. No general had placed them down with a keen strategic eye, that much was clear. They had spawned organically, down the millennia, springing up wherever settlers had found a suitable spot, usually near a river or lake for water. Despite the military advantages a river could bring, these cities often had sprawled outward across both banks, rather than concentrate their building efforts on one bank and leave the river to form a natural obstacle to a potential enemy. The changing nature of politics and the discovery of new races in ancient times had seen the value of these cities change. A new enemy appearing could render a previously safe city vulnerable, and an alliance with a former foe could render a dangerous frontier posting into one of peace and calm for Equestrian soldiers.
Trottingham was not visible thanks to bands of cloud wandering across the horizon, but the two monarchs did not care. They knew it was there. The city was not going away, and besides, it was not what they had come to see. No, that was something far more spectacular.
On the smooth terrain just to the north of the crater, the forces of darkness were on the march. From afar they had come, from the southeast and the southwest, to march, to parade themselves before their leaders. There were thousands upon thousands of them, the serried ranks of infantry, the spears and pikes protruding from the masses like the shoots of spring sprouting from the earth. There were the archers, something of a relic but deadly accurate with their crossbows. There were ponies in their dark uniforms, black and silver with the red highlights that reflected the eyes of their leader. There were Changelings, their green and charcoal uniforms likewise honouring the one they served. The great formations, regiments of infantry formed up in huge squares, a thousand ponies or Changelings to each. To their flanks came the cavalry, fast and deadly mounted units, including some Zebrican mercenaries on their wild steeds, their ancestors blooded in the great wars of the past. To their rear came the artillery, the heavy siege guns, great bronze cannons on wheeled carriages, and lighter, more nimble weapons for engaging battlefield targets. The might of the two kingdoms was on display, banners flapping in the breeze, filling the open ground. They had not been forced to negotiate the rough terrain around the crater, for they came from the great cities of the twin kingdoms, over prepared roads, through the well-mapped mountain passes. They had come far, and they still had far to go, for they were assembled for one ultimate purpose.
War.
"What a magnificent spectacle, my Queen, don't you agree?"
King Sombra, the handsome, charismatic ruler of the Shadowlands, rested one gloved hand on the railing of the viewing platform, and the other upon the shoulder of his companion. His eyes burned with anger and passion, for no king could fail to be stirred by the sight of the Grand Army assembled before them, nor of the wife at his side. Their marriage had been secret out of necessity, known only to their closest courtiers and advisers, for it could signal to an adversary that the relationship between the two kingdoms was becoming equally close, and that would spoil the mighty surprise they had planned.
"Magnificent scarcely does it justice, my King..." Queen Chrysalis replied, a wonderfully pleasing smirk upon her face, baring her sharp fangs. Her emerald eyes met with those of her new husband, and they shared a laugh together. It was not their first as husband and wife, and it would surely not be their last. The Changeling matriarch was clad in flowing black and green robes that matched the colours both of her own body, and of her troops, assembled on parade with those of her husband's army. Unlike the military uniforms, they were not worn for practicality, but for appearance, slits in each side showing off her long, shapely legs, a low-cut front showing plenty more to her husband, who wore his own dress uniform. A deep royal crimson twinned with midnight black, the garb of the commander in chief of the Shadow Army, rows of ribbons and medals, some earned, some simply self-awarded, splashed across his barrel-chested form, a peaked cap upon his head and a mighty sword in its scabbard hanging at his side.
"We are agreed, then. It is time to move?" Sombra asked, receiving a nod in return.
"Yes...time to move," Chrysalis replied. "Let us strike while the iron is hot, and move swiftly. Destiny is on our side, my love. Together, we cannot falter, and we cannot fail."
Sombra gave his bride a tender kiss, for this was no mere marriage of convenience. "And we shall not, my Queen. We shall not. None shall stand before us. Finally, we shall take back what is rightfully ours! Equestrians have become weak and lazy...they shall be sluggish in their response. Complacency is as fatal as a musket ball to the heart, and it is time that we showed them that."
Chrysalis let her long, lizardlike tongue flick over her lips in a movement both intimidating and seductive, depending on whether one was in her good graces or standing in opposition to her. "They will learn the hard way. Their time has come, and we shall pass judgement on them."
"How I have longed for this day to arrive..." Sombra laughed. He drew his sword from its scabbard and raised it high above his head. His soldiers responded with a loud roar, their officers responding to the gesture, raising their own swords, answering their King's challenge. They were ready.
Chrysalis had no need to raise a sword. Instead, with the merest thought, she sent a similar mental signal to her army, and they responded with the chittering of thousands of pairs of wings and the sibilant hissing that characterised the lesser orders of their species. They were ready.
Everything was ready. The two monarchs knew this because of what had happened a week prior, and that was why they were here today, in the southern reaches of the continent, where their realms met, to see their armies march. They were going to war, for the first time in a generation.
The news had come like a thunderbolt from the blue, out of nowhere as far as most citizens of Canterlot were concerned.
War!
Invasion!
Messenger Pegasi had arrived, one after the other, from the eastern border posts. They had seen something. Lighting the braziers and firing signal rockets, they had alerted each post in turn, farther and farther up the line to the nearest city, Saltsburg. Something was coming from the east. A day later, more messengers arrived, from Saltsburg this time. The fortified city was under attack, a mass of Changelings. More messengers from army garrisons and provincial towns came streaming in with more news. This was no mere border raid. This was a full-scale invasion, and they were making straight for Saltsburg.
The city of Saltsburg was the lynchpin of the eastern defensive line. An ancient site dating from before the unification of the three warring pony tribes, it had evolved, through necessity, from a trading post and agricultural site into a fortress, for countless Changeling raids over the centuries had hardened it from a soft target to a great granite boulder of the frontier. Just like how tempering steel in the blacksmith's forge made it stronger, so the continuous raids had strengthened the resolve of the cityfolk, as well as their defences. Saltsburg guarded the approaches from the east, and so it had lain directly in the path of the Zebra invasion centuries earlier. The Zebras had laid siege to it, cutting its supply lines with their fast moving cavalry. But Saltsburg had held, as the Zebras lacked any siege engines, and gunpowder had not yet entered the armoury of most military forces, rendering its walls impenetrable. The same could not be said today, and the messages from the city grew steadily more dire. The Changelings had artillery, they had surrounded the city, and it was under siege once more.
Hearing the disturbing news, Princess Celestia had faced a conundrum. The Changelings had not attacked Equestria en masse for several generations. While relations had not been particularly good of late, they had been worse in the past, and yet the Changelings had chosen now, this one moment, to strike. Why? She could not answer that question, and nor could her advisers. There seemed to be no particular logic to it, other than that a major attack could overwhelm the eastern defences which had been untested beyond border raids and bandit attacks for over a hundred years. The Changelings were certainly known to be opportunists, and maybe they had seen some vulnerability in the border defences, sensed some hole in the line they could exploit. Or perhaps it was just the right time, that their new Queen, Chrysalis, had decided they could gain something by attacking; territory, perhaps, or slaves. Changelings fed on love as their most nutritious food source, and the love from a fresh slave was far more useful than any staple crop that the Equestrians might grow for their own sustenance. Rice, wheat, barley and oats all paled in comparison as far as Changelings were concerned. They could sustain the Changelings, but not allow them to flourish in quite the same way.
It had taken a day or more for the Pegasi messengers to arrive from the frontier, exhausted by their flight, as fast as their wings could take them. It was fasted than sending a rider over the roads, but it was still not instant communication. No such thing existed in Equestria, or anywhere else, other than through some very esoteric forms of magic that were simply not available to a frontier outpost. They had sent their warnings as fast as they could, alerting the provincial capital in Saltsburg, and the national capital, Canterlot. By the time the messengers arrived, no doubt, the frontier posts had been overrun. They were not designed to withstand a full-scale attack, merely to repel bandits and raiders. It was the fortified cities and military fortresses that were meant to serve as the main obstacles to an invader.
The news the next day from Saltsburg, however, was not good. It was under siege by the Changelings, but worse than that, the bulk of the invasion force had pushed onward, leaving a relatively small contingent behind to invest the city while the main thrust continued onward, further into Equestrian territory. They were following the same route as the Zebricans had several hundred years before, and they had made it to the mountains. If the Changelings kept driving forward as they were doing, they could threaten the capital itself, for Canterlot lay on the western flank of the Foal Mountains. A couple of ancient castles, horribly outmoded by modern artillery warfare, lay in their path, as well as a string of more modern fortresses, but unless Equestria put an army in the field, then the Changelings would control everything else. The countryside would become a no-pony's land, stripped of all raw materials. Food, cattle, timber, and stone, all the abundance of the eastern plains, would fall to the Changelings, and deprive the fortresses of their much-needed supply lines. Once that happened, all the enemy needed to do was wait. A siege could only last as long as the food and fresh water of the besieged could hold out, for nopony could hope to resist if they were starving and mad from thirst.
Equestria had been ill-prepared for the attack. Normally there was some direct evidence of an impending invasion from one or another of their enemies. Sometimes diplomatic ties would be severed in a great symbolic gesture, with the recall of their ambassador from Canterlot. Sometimes the bulk harvesting of grain and timber in the fertile lands would be noted by Equestrian traders or envoys, and reported back to their leadership as possibly evidence that the Zebras, or the Griffons, or the Yaks were preparing to mobilise an army. Sometimes they could detect the buildup of military forces, scouts and watchtowers being able to see dust clouds from columns of marching troops or detect large numbers of cart tracks or horse hooves upon a particular road during their reconnaissance.
But the Changelings were slippery customers and skilled at staying hidden until they wanted to be seen. Nopony had expected an attack, which was why the border posts had not been reinforced, the fortified cities had not been ordered to arm the city militia, gather the crops and evacuate the civilians. The Changelings had taken them all by surprise, including the Princess and her advisors. They had to act, and the Princess did act. She took the only course of action that was realistically available to her, for she could not simply leave the eastern plains to be overrun. The garrisons of each town and fortress, along with the provincial army, a force of some ten thousand, would not be enough to hold fast against the Changelings; not without reinforcements.
And so, just after noon on this, the 155th day of the 704th year of Celestia's reign, the Princess rode out.
"There, there, can you see?"
"It's her, it's her!"
"It's really her! Praise the Sun!"
The crowds had gathered, for they knew they were to witness something that had not happened for many years. There had been relative peace, no need for such a spectacle for some time. None knew when it might happen again, and none wished to miss it.
Princess Celestia herself, atop a jet-black horse, her personal mount, led the procession, trotting out from the palace gates, that grand wooden portal that led to the hallowed home of the Sun. Clad in her battle armour, gold, white and purple, head held proudly high, her ethereal mane and tail flowing and undulating in a breeze that no other could feel, she made a magnificent sight, drawing gasps from the crowds, most of whom had never seen their Princess ready for war.
Behind her came the golden host, the Knights of the Order of Celestia, the ancient and august body of mares and stallions who had dedicated their lives to praising and serving their Princess in scripture and on the battlefield, some three hundred of them atop their horses, their gilded plate and helmets glittering brilliantly in the blazing sunlight, lances held at the vertical. They were the elite shock cavalry of Equestria, and even if they were becoming increasingly outdated thanks to modern firearms, they had such an illustrious history behind them that they could not help but draw another cheer from the crowds. Many tossed flowers at the hooves of their mounts, a symbolic blessing. When performed at a wedding, it was a prayer for a long and bountiful marriage. When performed for the departure of an army, it was a prayer for their swords to become slick with the blood of their enemy.
Behind them came the household cavalry, the Royal Guard's finest, another five hundred ponies riding out to follow their Princess to war. Then came the regiments of foot, the infantry, who had been drawn up in their units inside the expansive palace grounds just so they could march out through the city and receive the same accolades as the cavalry had. Celestia had even permitted them to form up on the palace lawns, trampling them to bits in the process, in order to be able to parade for the citizenry. And they did, some five thousand of them, musketponies and pikeponies and grenadiers and archers. They made up a substantial portion of the city's military strength, but only a relatively small part of the army that Celestia would be leading out to the east. More troops would be drawn from the rest of the province for that, both from the standing military force and the garrisons of each town, as well as from the militias, which would bring large numbers of eager, though less well-trained, ponies to march with their Princess.
As they marched through the streets to the cheers and blown kisses of the crowds, regimental banners and Equestrian flags waving and fluttering, the bands of the army and the Royal Guard struck up a tune, playing the national anthem, The Sun Shall Guide Us, as well as various well-beloved patriotic songs and military marches.
See The White In Their Eyes, Equestrians Are Marching On!
To Arms, Citizens! Form Your Battalions!
To The Sky, See Celestia Rise!
Through the city they marched, out to the Unicorn Gate, one of the three massive main entrances to the city from the Great Plateau beyond. Even there at the gate, ponies were cheering them on. Out they went, through the open gate, marching between the twin redoubts, the Timberwolf Bastion and the Phoenix Bastion, two huge defensive structures protruding like arrowheads from the massive curtain wall that ringed the city. More ponies were gathered there, residents both of the walled capital itself, and also of the smaller villages that dotted the Great Plateau, the ten-mile long bluff upon which Canterlot had been constructed.
The popular mythos and much contemporary artwork had it that the city was built upon the very edge of a mountain, hanging over open space, right on the precipice. While it was certainly true that the western edge of the city skirted the craggy drop, where the plateau reached its end and plunged away to the valley floor below, the bulk of the city was firmly on safe ground, for the Grand Plateau was more of a large foothill with a flattened top, upon which the city rested. The high peaks of the Foal Mountains towered over it, an undulating string of snow-covered pyramids of rock interspersed with scree-strewn clefts and escarpments. Several small streams flowed down, providing fresh glacial water for the villages of the plateau, while a larger river, the Coltava, split the city itself in half, tumbling down the mountainside a mile to the east of the city wall and exiting Canterlot on its western side where it spilled over in another cascade down to the valley. The city overlooked the whole of the valley below, a perfect vantage point for controlling movement to and fro and watching over the supply lines and small, unfortified towns such as Ponyville that lay on the valley floor. Canterlot had always occupied a strategic spot, its position lording over the valley reminding those who lived within sight of it exactly what the city symbolised and who lived there.
"Mommy mommy, look! It's the Pwincess! Can you see?"
Meadow bounced excitedly, her eggshell blue dress swaying in time with her movements as she rested upon her father's shoulders. The crowds had swelled in the last half hour, once word had arrived that the palace gates had been opened, but Meadow and her family had a good spot, just outside the Unicorn Gate. Like many of those outside the gate, they had come from the villages of the plateau, Newgrange in their case. Members of the Royal Guard were trying their best to keep order and keep the road clear for the column, but it was not easy when everypony wanted a good look not just at their fighting stallions going off to war, but also of their Princess. Riding at the head of the Holy Army, Celestia drew a great cheer as she emerged from the Unicorn Gate. Ponies fell to their knees, heads bowed in obeisance to their ruler, no mere leader, but a goddess given physical form so far as they were concerned.
For some, it was the first time they had seen her all year, but for Meadow, it was the second time in just a few days, though, true to her word to the Princess, she had kept her secret and not told her family who the hooded figure she had been speaking with in the chapel truly was. She waved furiously, as hard as she could, hard enough that her hand felt like it would snap off, in the hopes of attracting Celestia's attention. But everypony else was waving too, and throwing flowers, and cheering and praying.
Celestia held up one clenched fist, and the honour guard following her came to a halt just outside of the gates. With the same hand, she then reached for the scabbard at her side, made from fine leather, encrusted with jewels from the royal treasury, and drew her sword, holding it aloft, a great and deadly weapon, burnished steel perfection. Her booming Royal Canterlot Voice, the traditional way of addressing the masses, echoed across the Plateau.
"We ride to battle. We ride to protect you all. We ride to glory, and to victory!"
Another great roar rose from both the crowd and the army that followed in her wake. She spread her mighty wings wide, their delicate white feathers catching the rays of light from the heavens and glowing gold around their edges, as her mane blazed out a kaleidoscope of colour into the eyes of the assembled throng. She lowered her sword and spurred her horse, which took off at a gallop. The Knights followed her to triumphant cheers from the adoring citizens. The Household Cavalry followed, the mounted portion of the Holy Army charging ahead after their leader.
"Should the Pwincess really be going to fight? What if she gets huwt?" Meadow asked curiously.
"Don't worry. Underneath that armour, she's built like a brick shithouse," her father replied with a grunt, getting a painful nudge in the ribs from his wife.
"Copper, language!"
"Mommy, what does bwick...bwick sh..." her mother cut her off.
"It means she's a lot stronger than she looks..." Eucalpytus replied with a death glare for her husband. "Though how your father thinks he knows what the Princess looks like under her armour is anypony's guess."
"Don't you read history books, dear?" Copper replied. 'Everypony knows the Princess is strong. Not just with her magic, either. I'm not sure I could have even picked up that sword, let alone held it up like that."
Meadow nodded sagely, as if some great new piece of information had been imparted to her, though she knew from some of the songs they sang in the schoolhouse that the Princess was strong, but she still couldn't help but feel worried for her. After all, war was dangerous, and that was where the Princess had said she was going. Meadow didn't understand too much about war, but that was certainly one fact she did know. War was dangerous. War was definitely dangerous.
The Holy Army rode and marched out of Canterlot, down into the valley below, where they joined with their first batch of reinforcements. Each Province of Equestria had a standing army, usually some ten thousand soldiers, which were enough to deal with most routine threats. Each fortress and fortified town also had its own garrison, varying in strength depending on their size, and each Province could also raise its own levies, civilians pressed into service, volunteering from the ranks of farmers, labourers and others who had minimal training but were eager to serve. They had minimal training but could certainly wield a musket or spear well enough to fight. As well as the provincial armies, Equestria maintained a large military force centered on Canterlot and two other major fortress-cities, Baltimare in the far north and Stalliongrad in the west. They would act as regional reaction forces, powerful and ponderous, able to respond to any major threats and ride to the relief of any besieged city or fortress if the provincial forces were not capable of doing so.
From the messages they had received from Saltsburg, there was no doubt that the city was in danger of being overrun, along with much of the eastern plains, if reinforcements did not arrive soon. The provincial governor had sent a begging message, penned in his own writing and sent from his palace inside the city walls.
My Princess,
Your loyal citizens are in dire need of your aid this day! I write this with a trembling hand, for the enemy is at our gate. Saltsburg is threatened, and with it, the safety of not just the entire province, but the entire nation. We were not prepared to resist such an incursion as we had no knowledge of it, no time to react. Even as I write, I can hear the thunder of their cannons. My generals advise me we have but one month's food for the populace. There was no time to evacuate them. The city garrison is at full strength but we have no reinforcements and no communications from the great fortress at Hornburg. If the enemy has already reached it, then I fear for the safety of Canterlot itself. Your Highness, you must send assistance at once, else the entire province may be lost.
Your humble and obedient servant, Governor Silkworm.
With Canterlot being the closest of the three major military stronghold cities, Celestia had taken the decision to lead the relief force, some twenty thousand to begin with, but gathering additional levies and support from the central province's military, trebling their total number by the time they reached Saint Swiftmane's Pass, the northernmost of the two major cuts through the Foal Mountains that possessed a fully maintained metaled road, allowing easy passage for supply wagons and artillery. They marched east, any nerves at heading to war tempered by the presence of their Princess at the head of the line.
It would be at least a weeks' march, and the army did not expect any further communications to come out of Saltsburg. When a city was besieged, ground communications were the first thing to be cut off. Horseback messengers were unlikely to make it out safely through the enemy lines. Pegasi could still fly, but that was only practical against certain opponents; namely, those without wings themselves. Even then, accurate musketry could still fell an airborne target. Against the Griffons, other ponies with Pegasi, or, in this case, Changelings, all of whom could fly, even a daring and fast messenger was likely to be overhauled and caught. What the situation was likely to be by the time they arrived could only be guessed at. They would link up, it was hoped, with provincial forces at the Hornburg, the grand fortress erected after the Zebrican invasion to form the lynchpin of a line of forts that were the modern backbone of the eastern defences. If Saltsburg fell but the line could hold, then there was some hope of recapturing the rest of the province. If the Changelings got through the gaps and decided not to invest the forts, but rather keep up their advance, then they could reach Saint Swiftmane's Pass in just a few more days. That was why the Holy Army had to ride out to meet them.
With Celestia gone from Canterlot, somepony else had to be left in control not just of the city, but of the nation. While in the field, reliable communications with the Princess would be a luxury even at the best of times, and she could hardly be expected to rapidly react to any changing circumstances when having to rely on a relay of messages that could take days, even assuming the messengers actually managed to find the army. Whoever was left in charge had to be wise, experienced, with a level head and a great mind, just like the Princess they would be deputizing for. As it had whenever Celestia was away in the recent past, that responsibility fell upon the wizened shoulders of Starswirl The Bearded. The great unicorn mage was both Celestia's court mage and her closest adviser and friend. In fact, he had been her mentor as a young filly, when she was still learning the trade of being a royal, ahead of inheriting the kingdom. He had trained Luna, too, but things had not quite worked out the same way with her as it had with her elder sibling. Starswirl was ancient; thanks to his own magic, not quite discovering an elixir or life, but able to preserve and prolong his own through complex and esoteric magic so as to continue aiding and guiding the Princess. Some would claim that such experimental magic bordered on black sorcery, the kind of obscene spell that only a heretic would dare to cast, for only the Princess should have such a long life, and that was not by magic, but by nature, her nature as a goddess in physical form.
Starswirl had little time for such mutterings that sometimes spread among the priesthood and some of the citizenry, for he had one goal- helping the Princess in any way he could. As her wisest and most trusted advisor, that put him in a position to take over from her whenever she was away. Some, especially those in the extended royal family tree, the higher echelons of the nobility, and especially the military command structure, had great misgivings about such an arrangement, but Celestia had decreed that it would be so, and thus, it would be so. The duties of ruling over Canterlot would be his, until Celestia returned.
The main rival to Starswirl's position was General Hawkeye, the commander of both the Canterlot garrison and thus, by extension, the whole military of the Central Province, the most prestigious military appointment in the entire land. If Celestia had not chosen to lead the Holy Army herself, then it would have been Hawkeye at the head of the column. Like Starswirl, Celestia had decreed that Hawkeye should remain in Canterlot and oversee its military preparations in case the Changelings should break through. They had to be ready, and though it rankled with the black-coated, blue-maned earth pony, she had no choice but to accept the judgement of the Princess. She knew full well that Celestia was a fine strategist, tactician and fighter herself, but to be denied the chance to lead her own troops into battle had not sat well with Hawkeye. It was still a noble calling, perhaps, to remain behind and protect the capital, but protect it against what? Celestia and the Holy Army were unlikely to fail in their task, and if they did, they could retreat and block the mountain passes. The Zebricans had not managed to break through to the capital during their invasion. Why should the Changelings be any different in that regard?
Missing out on the opportunity for leading the army to glory was one thing, but having to suborn herself to Starswirl's judgement was something else entirely. Hawkeye did not get along with the ancient wizard. Not because of his age-lengthening spells which caused dismay among some of the priesthood; she did not care about that. Who would not wish to extend their years in service to the Princess if they were able? No, what upset her was Starswirl's apparent disregard for the military prowess of Equestria. He preferred to believe in what she considered a fallacy; that magic alone could protect the nation. He had been studying various potential spells and enchanted artifacts that he believed could perform such a role. Hawkeye emphatically did not agree. It was nothing to do with her being an earth pony, and Starswirl a unicorn. She had long ago. as a filly, accepted that she would never cast spells or perform any kind of active magic. It didn't bother her. What bothered her was the implication that Starswirl thought he could achieve something that the Princess could not. If anypony could protect the entire kingdom using nothing but magic, it would be Celestia, not Starswirl. That was Hawkeye's emphatic belief. Her faith said it had to be so.
That said, Starswirl was somepony she still respected, though less for his magic and more for his intelligence and calmness. He had been Celestia's adviser for Hawkeye's entire life, almost entwined with the Princess in terms of how the history books would view him. He was part of her reign, part of her power. If Hawkeye was- or was supposed to be- Celestia's mailed fist, then Starswirl was that part of her mind which tempered her anger, calmed her rage, and soothed her impetuousness. Not that any would dare accuse Celestia of being angry, enraged or impetuous, of course- other than Starswirl, not many would get away with that without, at least, a loss of face, and at worst? Well, it had been an awfully long time since anypony had taken that risk, and from what Hawkeye understood, that pony soon found that they no longer had the hereditary titles they had taken for granted. It was far safer to gently nudge the Princess, rather than openly suggest that she was, perhaps, not thinking clearly on any given issue.
Then again, by the same token, Starswirl had often been accused of being cold, aloof, and detached, both from Celestia's other advisors and from the population at large. When ponies in the street looked at the Princess, they saw a benevolent figure, a mother and a goddess both, guiding her flock through the turbulence of life, empowered by the heavens themselves to be their leader; someone who was loved by them, and who loved them in return. When they looked at Starswirl, they saw somepony who cared more for his magic and his alchemical experiments than he did about them. His advice to Celestia may well have been calm and scientifically rational, but that did not necessarily translate to being morally right.
With Celestia gone, Starswirl had called a council, to be held in the planning room of the palace, where the strategists oversaw wars in times past. Hawkeye had attended, along with the provincial governor, the city mayor, the Royal Guard's captain and the High Ecclesiarch. The large, stylized map of Equestria that dominated the room had featured small wooden figurines to indicate fortresses and armies; the Holy Army was represented by a golden figure carrying Celestia's personal royal standard, a regal purple border with a sun that matched her cutie mark upon a field of azure, with a golden crown atop it. Saltsburg was represented by a small castle, ornately carved and suitable for the finest chess set. The Changeling army was represented by a skull topped with their national flag, a black banner with a winged eye at its centre.
They had held fruitful discussions over what steps to take; precautionary, of course. Just in case the Holy Army failed and the Changelings broke through to the mountain passes. Canterlot could become their target, and it was wise to start preparing for that eventuality, though in a limited way and without frightening the citizenry. Thus, it had been decided to strengthen patrols along the city wall and at the gates, as well as across the Great Plateau and its approaches, to start the city blacksmiths working on additional simple weapons, spears and swords, to arm able-bodied citizens if needed, and to start stockpiling some food from the farms on the plateau and in the valley, just enough to boost supplies without arousing panic. Once the meeting was over, Starswirl had approached Hawkeye and asked to speak with her for a moment. She nodded and stepped aside with the old sorcerer.
"General, I wish to speak candidly with you, if I may," Starswirl began.
"Yes, Your Excellency?" Hawkeye replied, giving Starswirl the courtesy of using his formal title since he had addressed her by her rank.
"I understand your hesitancy in these...delicate matters," Starswirl began. "You would ordinarily be in command of the army and not merely the garrison. But I should remind you, General, that the Princess herself has tasked you with this mission. She chose to lead the army herself, but that does not mean that she does not trust you. If anything, it means she trusts you all the more, for defending the capital is a great responsibility. This is not merely a city, but it is a symbol. As much as symbol as the Princess herself, almost. It is her seat of power, it is where she lives and was crowned. It is Equestrian history in physical form."
"And it is home to half a million ponies," Hawkeye pointed out, more to underline her doubts about Starswirl's compassion than to make any military point. In the event of an imminent threat to the capital, many of the citizens would flee. Evacuation plans were always rather half-baked because the rich and able would run early, taking their servants with them, whereas the poor would have a more laborious exit, perhaps searching for days to find somepony with a spare cart big enough to take their sick grandmother, or finding somepony to take the foals to safety while the parents went to join the militia.
"Indeed it is. But you know as well as I that Canterlot is more than just a place for them to live," Starswirl retorted. "The Princess has placed me in command of the nation while she is away on campaign, and I, in turn, am delegating the defence of the city to you, as it should be, for that was why the Princess deigned to leave you behind instead of taking you with her. She knows you are the most capable pony for the job."
Hawkeye nodded. "There is some wisdom in what you say, of course..." She looked over at the map. Canterlot, a large castle figure, was broadly central in the landmass. The Changeling nation lay to the southeast, and from what the reports said, it suggested that they had committed the bulk of their army to the attack toward Saltsburg. It was the most logical route, for if they moved their forces south and tried to attack straight up the valley, parallel with the Foal Mountains, they would have to pass through difficult terrain at the border, break through the line at Trottingham, and cross the Henbane River before they had anything like enough room for free maneouver. They would also have the issue of their own border with the Shadowlands, a nation whose status as a friend or foe had changed frequently so far as the Changelings were concerned. Troop movements too close to their frontier might elicit the wrong kind of response from King Sombra, and that could derail any planned attack. No, the attack on Saltsburg was their main thrust. It had to be. It was too large to simply be a diversion; the Changelings, even with their rapid rate of reproduction, could not field enough troops for two major campaigns at the same time.
"I am certain it will not come to that, however," Starswirl continued speaking as she mused over the map. "The Holy Army will defeat the Changelings in battle before they can reach the mountains."
"I certainly hope you are right, Your Excellency," Hawkeye replied. The prospect of defending the city with depleted reserves and limited assistance available from the remaining troops of the Central Province was not exactly one she wished to dwell upon for too long, for though Canterlot was strong, firmly fortified and well protected with cannons and thick walls, the city militia had not been called upon for anything more than ceremonial duties for centuries, beyond the lifespan of any resident save Starswirl and the Princess. The regulars had rather more experience, though mostly of field warfare and of laying sieges, not fighting them off. Hawkeye, however, had experience of both, being the well-heralded Stalwart Of Trottingham, having held the city against a major Changeling border incursion two decades earlier, which had possessed the sole objective of trying to take the city to throw Equestrian plans into disarray before, the enemy evidently hoped, a larger-scale invasion could be mounted the following spring, as soon as the snows thawed. The attack had come just as the autumnal weather began, a surprise as most field armies could only operate effectively in the spring and summer, thanks to the weather, darkness, and ground conditions that beset any attempt at major movements and operations during the colder months. The Equestrian Army had been late in coming to their aid thanks to those same issues, but under Hawkeye's direction, the city had weathered the storm with minimal casualties until the Changelings were forced to withdraw to their winter quarters before being trapped. The city was saved without the need for Celestia's relief column, earning Hawkeye her nickname.
"I believe I will be proven correct," Starswirl nodded. "Do you doubt the Princess?"
"Of course not," Hawkeye replied defensively. "But something does not sit right with me about this. We had no warning of this attack."
"Is that unique?" Starswirl asked. "History will show numerous surprise assaults in the past."
"It will, yes. But this one makes little sense. The Changelings have been...relatively quiet of late," Hawkeye answered. "We know of no reason why they should strike now. There is no special strategic advantage to this date. It is not an Equestrian Feast Day, for example, when our readiness could be reasonably expected to be lower. It is not a period of unseasonable weather when they may catch our field armies unprepared for the march. Nor have we received any formal declaration of war, or indeed any kind of diplomatic messsages at all, from Queen Chrysalis."
"You have met her, correct?" Starswirl asked, bringing a fine briar smoking pipe to his lips using his magic and lighting it with a single spark.
"Chrysalis? Yes, once," Hawkeye nodded. "At the Conference of Pearls."
"What did you think of her?" Starswirl questioned, puffing on his pipe.
"She was...difficult to read," Hawkeye replied. "She had only just become Queen...her mother had died, leaving her the new matriarch."
"Died? Or perhaps she was assassinated?" Starswirl speculated.
"By who? By us?" Hawkeye asked. "I've never heard of this story before. Are you certain?"
"Not by us, no." He shook his head. "By her own daughter."
"What?" Hawkeye blinked. "Chrysalis killed her own mother?"
"We cannot be certain, of course..." Starswirl replied. "But we believe it to be fairly likely, yes. We felt it best to keep this knowledge a secrete, lest it...interfere with our attempts at diplomacy with the new Queen."
"Well, that seems to have been a great waste of your time," Hawkeye grunted. "It seems that diplomacy has failed us on this occasion."
"Indeed it does, General," Starswirl nodded, casting an eye over the map. "Indeed it does. But beyond being difficult to read, what did you make of the new Queen?"
"She seemed remarkably intelligent...very swift-witted, for certain. I noted that she made one or two harsh barbs against the Princess. Her tongue is as quick as it is sharp."
"Both literally and figuratively," Starswirl added, for Changeling tongues were quite long and forked, like those of a reptile.
"She was eager to talk, but not for any productive purpose, it seems," Hawkeye continued. "However she did not show any overtly aggressive tendencies toward us, nor did she threaten war or anything of that nature."
"Then perhaps she was hiding the truth from you," Starswirl suggested. "For it seems that war is exactly what she now brings to our lands."
"Changelings are masters of deception and disguise, Your Excellency, as you well know," Hawkeye replied. "I hope that this is the only surprise the Queen has planned for us."
"By the Princess, what a damn beautiful morning it is!"
Corporal Snapshot looked around. It was his bullish sluggard of a Sergeant, Billhook, late for duty again. Not that it ever really mattered, for the officer in charge of this section of Trottingham's curtain wall, Captain Oats, was always later still. For a supposed frontier city, Trottingham was not, it seemed, staffed with the finest of Equestrian fighting potential. At least, this section. There was a reason they were overseeing the rear, the north wall that overlooked the road from Canterlot, a hundred and fifty miles distant, and not the southern wall that faced the border.
Snapshot had long ago resigned himself to that. Six months he had been posted here, to the backwater end of a backwater city whose only real purpose these days was to act as a trading post for those intrepid adventurers who dared sally forth into the uncharted, dangerous lands that lay beyond the frontier. Trottingham used to be the mighty fortress city that guarded the bulwarks of Equestria, but, with the recent construction of a string of more heavily defended forts thirty miles to the north, it had lost something of its importance in that regard. It was no longer the only bastion against tyranny from the south, as it had been in decades past. Thus, the best troops now went to the forts of the so-called Corona Line, named because their positions in the broad valley mimicked that of the points upon Celestia's crown. Trottingham was in reality more of a forward outpost these days, with an ever-dwindling civilian population- for who wanted to live so close to danger?
"Good morning, Sergeant.." Snapshot greeted Billhook, who was resplendently slouching into his uniform, like an overweight noble watching a particularly boring opera.
"Anything to report?" Billhook asked, almost rhetorically, receiving the expected reply.
"Nothing, Sergeant."
"Very good, very good. I shan't have to awaken the Captain yet then," Billhook grunted, grasping a fresh green apple from a basket and scoffing it down. One of the small benefits of serving on Trottingham was that the frontier troops always got the best rations, so long as supply could be kept up from the rest of the province.
"Oh, Sergeant? The, uh...gypsy wanted to see you again before she leaves town," Snapshot informed him, drawing a hearty belly laugh from the fat unicorn. "Oh, I bet she does. Can't keep away, that one. Naughty girl..." He licked his lips, partly to clear away the juices from the apple, and partly to demonstrate his lechery. The gypsy was a vagabond pony trader who roamed her way into town every so often to ply her trade. Snapshot didn't have the heart to tell the Sergeant that he knew for a fact that she had also slept with at least two other Sergeants of the Guard, including the Quartermaster, each of whom had rewarded her amply with trinkets and supplies, meaning that she would leave town with even more wares to sell than she had arrived with.
Snapshot busied himself with polishing up the metal part of his musket, a fine, smoothbore weapon of iron and fine oak, the best quality wood that Equestria could provide. The Baltimare-pattern musket, named after its city of origin where the master craftsponies of the Royal Armouries had first constructed it, could deliver accurate fire out to a range of one hundred yards in the hands of an experienced soldier. A trained markspony could extend that even further, though expert sharpshooters tended to prefer the heavier and longer-barreled Canterlot-pattern musket, a more stable firing platform favoured by the gamekeepers of the rich royal estates around the capital and the rest of the Central Province. The musketponies now formed the backbone of every fighting army, for it massively increased their firepower when compared to the simple arrows of old, though teams of crossbowponies were still to be found in most battles as well.
"Sergeant! Sergeant! Something's happening to the south!" Ramble cried from the tower that overlooked the gate. The far-sighted earth pony may have had trouble reading without his spectacles, but he could see things in the distance better than most, hence why he was the lookout.
"Something like...?" Billhook grunted in annoyance. "The arrival of the chow cart, perhaps? I'm ready for breakfast."
"No Sergeant. Come and see!" Ramble shouted down. Billhook grumbled and shook his head. "Fine, fine...you, with me," he gestured to Snapshot, before heading into the tower and up the winding staircase to the top, where Ramble peered over the railing.
"Out there, Sergeant, can you see? Fires, to the south...all along the line!" Ramble pointed. "They must be signal fires..."
"Where? Where...out of the way, boy!" Billhook pushed Ramble aside roughly and took his brass telescope from its rest atop the tower, peering through. Ramble was correct; smoke was rising from half a dozen locations to the south of the city, the sites of border posts and small forts roughly hewn from wooden logs and earth. They were signals. They were warnings.
"Son of a bitch..." Billhook muttered. "It must be a mistake! They can't be serious...'
The bells of the city watch began to ring to rapidly disabuse the Sergeant of that notion. A signal brazier was lit in the north tower to let the border posts know that their signal had been received. There was only one reason why the border posts would all have lit their signal fires at the same time; invasion.
"Turn out the guard, turn out the guard!" Billhook bellowed as the bells began to sound. "Man your wall posts! You, Snapshot! Go wake the Captain and tell her to get her arse up here, NOW!"
"Right, Sergeant!" Snapshot took off from the tower, leaping straight from the balcony and spreading his wings, swooping over the streets. Down below, the traders at the city market were running around in a panic, trying to pack up their wares. The bells they were hearing were not the dulcet tones of the chapel calling them to a service, but the big, heavy, brass gongs of the city watch, acting as an alarm for all the residents and the garrison. They only rang when something was badly awry.
Snapshot swung down to the barracks that served the southern section of the city, where he hoped to find the Captain. He touched down, his feet touching solid ground again. Soldiers were running out of the barracks, muskets in hand, going to form up with their units, affixing their metal helmets in place. The officers' quarters lay to the rear, and Snapshot hurried through the archway into the courtyard where they practised hand-to-hand combat and archery, only to find Captain Oats heading toward him, the blouse of her uniform scruffily fastened and her tricorn officers' hat askew on her head. The dark brown unicorn looked rather the worse for wear- another night of heavy drinking, no doubt, and a rather rude awakening for her.
"Captain! Sergeant Billhook requests your presence in the watchtower as soon as possible..." Snapshot called to her.
"Alright, alright...what's going on?" Oats asked, her sword clanking against her thigh, a pair of flintlock pistols strapped across her chest, ready for use.
"Signal fires, ma'am, on the border," Snapshot explained, falling in step with her as they jogged out of the courtyard and onto the street, nearly being run over by the heavily-laden cart of the gypsy that Billhook had been looking forward to meeting once more, as she whipped the horse pulling it, taking her out of town and away to the north. Oats and Snapshot hurried back to the stairs that led up to the city wall, and then to the watchtower, where Billhook was still peering south.
"Captain..." He turned to her grimly and offered her the use of the telescope. Oats looked through it.
"Fires...how long have they been burning?"
"Ten minutes, ma'am," Ramble replied.
"Then we should be getting a messenger soon. Every fire is lit...damn..." Oats grimaced. "This doesn't make sense...the Changelings are already attacking in the east. They can't have the strength to attack here as well. Do we have orders from the Colonel?"
"Nothing yet, ma'am..." Billhook replied. Colonel Graves was in command of the garrison, and it would be down to him as to what response the city should take; send out a force to relieve the border posts if they were under attack? Conduct a reconnaissance? Seal the gates and prepare for a siege? Only the Colonel could issue those orders, but first they had to wait for the messengers from the border to learn exactly what was happening to their south.
Another ten minutes passed, then another, then a full hour. The soldiers and the militia stood alert on the walls, covering the roads and helping civilians back to their homes. Some fled the city as the gypsy had, taking off north without even waiting for orders from the garrison to do so. The Colonel issued an order, distributed by runner to each post, to hold fast. Another half hour passed. Still no word from the border.
"What the hell is happening out there...?" Oats grunted, perching upon a barrel of ale and drumming her fingers on her thigh. "Are we being attacked or not? Why doesn't the Colonel send out a scouting party?"
"Should I relay a request to the Colonel for you, ma'am?" Snapshot suggested.
"Yes...no...alright, yes," Oats vacillated and finally decided. "Yes, go find the Colonel. Tell him I suggest sending out scouts to the border posts to find out what's going on. All this waiting around isn't doing us any favours. If they haven't sent messengers yet, something must be wrong. We need to know what."
Snapshot took to his wings again and raced away to find the Colonel in his command post. A veteran of many campaigns, Colonel Graves held the respect of his troops, and Snapshot relayed Oats' request to the grizzled earth stallion. Graves snapped a quick reply, and sent Snapshot away to his Captain.
"Ma'am? Colonel Graves says he sent out a scouting party an hour ago but they have not returned, and he..."
"And?" Oats questioned, looking away from the telescope she was now glued to.
"And, uh...he suggests that you..." Snapshot hesitated.
"Yes? Spit it out, Corporal!"
"He suggests that you...kindly shut the hell up, ma'am, and leave him to do his job unless there is something important to tell him..."
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Sergeant Billhook couldn't help but smirk at the Colonel's rebuke, while Oats just frowned and said nothing. The Colonel was fond of such barbs, which was why he endeared himself rather more to the soldiers than he did their officers. Another ten minutes passed before Oats cried out.
"I see something...to the south...by the Princess..." she breathed. "No, no...this can't be...oh no, no..." Her composure rather faded away, as did the colour from her face.
"What is it, ma'am?" Billhook questioned, chewing some tobacco he had found from somewhere. "Changelings?"
"No..." Oats shook her head. "The Shadow Army."
Snapshot felt his blood freeze in his veins. The Shadow Army was the military might of King Sombra, not of Queen Chrysalis, and surely...Oats had to be mistaken? It was the Changelings who were attacking Equestria, not the Shadowlands.
"Ma'am...are you certain?" Billhook asked.
"I can see their banners..." she replied. "See for yourself." Billhook looked through the telescope, and came away with a look of great concern on his face. A messenger arrived on the walls below and called up to the Captain.
"Ma'am! The Colonel says hostile forces are coming from the south and would you kindly secure the northern gate!"
"Very good..." Oats called back. "Corporal, get back down to the wall and oversee the gate closure. I want it barred and barricaded."
Snapshot saluted and hurried down the stairs again to the walltop which overlooked the northern road. The heavy wooden gate was already being closed by the guards who were stationed there. Snapshot relayed the Captain's orders to the ponies, and the doors slammed closed, the heavy wooden bar being slid into place. A battering ram could smash the gate down, given time, and cannonballs could shatter the beams, but the gate would stop the enemy simply walking in.
It would not, however, stop them flying in.
"Corporal!" somepony screamed. "Look! What the hell is that? Outside the wall!"
Snapshot turned and looked out over the grass, gently rolling slopes that were split by the road to Canterlot. Clouds of dust were rising all of a sudden, in three separate places. He frowned. What was that?
Outside the wall, the grass was collapsing in on itself, torrents of soil falling into the earth as holes opened up in the terrain. Out from the holes crawled terror itself.
The Holy Army marched east. Saint Swiftmane's Pass was a handsome cutting through the mountains, with a paved road winding its way to the eastern plains beyond, ably carrying the weight of Celestia's heavy guns and the powder train that the artillery needed, as well as mass bodies of ponies, striding in step with each other, and the armoured bulk of the cavalry. Only such well-treated roads could properly support an army in a fast march, for to be forced to move over dirt tracks or, worse, uneven ground, meant it was much harder for the infantry to keep in time with each other, much more tiring for pony and horse alike, and risked both the cavalry and the artillery getting bogged down entirely, wasting precious time and opening them up to potential enemy ambushes.
The march over the pass was uneventful, the guard posts at either end cheering as the Holy Army passed by, their Princess at its head. Just east of the pass, they stopped for the night, bivouacking at the roadside, a field of tents stretching out across the gently rolling plain. The stars overhead were bright and clear away from the lights of the capital. For some of the ponies it had been a long time since they had seen such a beautiful starscape, for some of the units attached to the Holy Army had not been deployed outside of Canterlot for months. Their training regimen, however, had been constant, drilling with musket and bayonet, pike and sword, hand to hand combat, magic, formation marching across the plateau, and all of the other basics that would always need to be sharp whenever battle was joined.
The camp, surrounded by a strong inner picket and an outer cordon of observation posts, was a hubbub of noise and smells, from the hearty stews and soups being boiled in the cooking pots, to the less salubrious stench of the pit latrines off to one side, well away from the clean mountain stream that provided fresh water. With three days on the road already, it would be another four days' march, at least, to Saltsburg, but the Changeling army's scouts, and even a larger force probing toward the mountains, might well be encountered sooner than that. Princess Celestia had sent scouting parties out ahead of the main army to report back any sign of hostile contact, but there was nothing yet. Nor had the guards at Saint Swiftmane's Pass seen anything untoward. They were two nights away from the Hornburg, the fortress-key of the eastern line that protected the mountain pass, meaning that theoretically they were still in friendly territory. Thus Celestia was happy enough to permit a full camp tonight, albeit with a full guard posted, but she had decreed that the soldiers had better make the most of it, for it would probably be the last night when so much noise and light would be allowed.
Inside the royal tent, Celestia sat reviewing what they knew of the situation. They had reports from Saltsburg, though none for the past three days while they had been traveling. No new messengers had reached them. There had been one report from the lightly fortified castle at Bark's Keep stating that they had sighted a substantial enemy force, and then that was all. Bark's Keep was some thirty miles to the west of Saltsburg, which meant that the enemy was already making substantial inroads, though whether they had attacked the castle or not was unclear. No further reports had been received.
The sounds of laughter echoed across the camp, and the clanking of metal stewpots as the meal was served to the hungry soldiers. A cough outside her tent and the silhouette of a figure let Celestia know that she was wanted.
"Come," she commanded, and the flap of the tent was pulled aside by magic to allow the entry of the substantial frame of General Ostmane, Duke of Pomareania, one of the eastern provinces, and the field commander of the Holy Army. As Hawkeye's deputy, he had been the obvious replacement for his superior when Celestia had decreed that Hawkeye should remain in command of Canterlot.
"Your HIghness." Ostmane bowed his head. "The scouts have returned. No sightings this evening."
"Very good..." Celestia nodded. "Sit with me a while, General, won't you?"
"Yes, Your Highness." The well-built, cobalt-blue unicorn let the tent flap close behind him and seated himself in the finely decorated chair opposite Celestia's small desk, lugged along with the rest of her tent and accoutrements atop a large wagon. The Princess, like other leaders, did not travel to war in quite the same way as the rest of their armies, having a private tent, a private latrine, and much finery, partly as a display of wealth and also for added comfort. It would not do for the ruler of Equestria to slum it upon a camp bed or atop a few simple woollen blankets, unless she specifically asked to do so. She was, after all, still their Princess, even if she was not in her capital city.
Ostmane was as accustomed to finery as Celestia, for his noble rank as a Duke entitled him to similar trappings as those with which the Princess surrounded herself. His uniform was a fine brocade, gold entwined with purple to symbolise that he was of high birth, being as he was a distant cousin of Celestia herself. It was as much a statement of his origins as his rank, though his combat armour was much more subdued and less ornate. It would not do for somepony to outshine her on the battlefield.
"How is morale in the camp, General?" Celestia asked, pouring a second serving of steaming tea into a fine china cup and handing it over to him.
"Morale is excellent, Your HIghness," Ostmane replied, accepting the tea with thanks and taking a delicate sip that belied his size. "Having their Princess with them is certainly boosting the spirits of the troops." More laughter could be heard from outside to prove his point.
"Good. Do you think that will last once we encounter the enemy?" Celestia asked him directly, elegantly sipping her own tea.
"I believe it will," Ostmane nodded. "They are confident of victory with you at their head, Your Highness, and they are eager to taste battle with the enemy."
"This invasion...I know I have asked you before, General, but what do you make of it now that we are actually out here in the field?" Celestia continued to probe her officer while sipping her tea. Since she was only resting, she did not wear her armour, but merely a set of fine silken robes, white with gold hems, in the traditional royal style, one that showed the elegance not just of the clothing, but also of the form of the wearer. Her robes performed both tasks amply.
"It still puzzles me, Your Highness," Ostmane admitted. "I would not be surprised if there was some trick or another to this, but it seems clear that we do have an invasion underway. The Changelings could not deceive us in that fashion. We have messages from Saltsburg and Bark's Keep. They in turn received messages from multiple border posts. The governor sent us a letter in his own handwriting."
"Agreed." Celestia nodded sagely. "There are still many things we do not understand about this. Why now, why here? Why no declaration of war? Equally if this were some rogue General having his way with his military playthings, why no apology from the Queen? It worries me."
"As it should, Your Highness," Ostmane replied. "You have much weight to bear upon your shoulders. The fate of this army and this campaign, yes, but also the safety of the entire kingdom. The possibilities must be considered. What if this is just a diversion? Though the apparent size of the Changeling force suggests otherwise. It seems likely they have committed a majority of their forces to this attack."
"That is what worries me," Celestia stood after finishing her tea, accepting Ostmane's bow as he did likewise, ready to depart her tent. "A majority is not an entirety. Let us hope they do not have anything else planned."
"Sweet Celestia..." Snapshot gasped in dismay. This was not good. Not good at all.
To the north of the city, three holes had opened in the earth, seemingly from nowhere. Yet it rapidly became clear they were tunnels, leading from who knew where. Presumably the Changeling side of the border, given what was emerging from them. Swarms of Changeling soldiers, their black uniforms matching their black carapaces, standing out against the green of the grass. Several civilian wagons were passing nearby, trying to flee the city along the north road, and the Changelings set upon them with glee, easy targets. The crackle of musketry could be clearly heard over the clamour of the bells, and Snapshot watched on aghast as the Changelings gunned down the driver of one wagon and several of the passengers of another. Bodies tumbled from the rear, including one small bundle that could only have been a foal. One of the horses was also struck, and fell to its knees, whinnying furiously. It managed to stand again and free itself from its harness, bolting away and leaving the wagon motionless. The panicked survivors turned back for the safety of the town.
"Captain!" Snapshot screamed, pointing desperately to the north. "We're under attack! They're behind us!" Up in the tower, Oats spun round. She had been looking through the telescope at the onrushing Shadow Army to the south, the clear and present danger. The north was meant to be clear, secure, at least until those enemies arrived. But now it seemed they had already been outflanked.
"Muskets to the walls!" Oats cried. "Crew those cannons and get them firing! Sergeant, send a messenger to the Colonel, tell him we have Changelings to the north!"
Snapshot gripped his rifle firmly, rushing to the stone parapet of the high wall overlooking the north road. A few dozen soldiers were already there, watching over the gate closure; at least that was barred and secured now, some small measure of protection. "Wait for them to get into range, and then fire at will!" Snapshot called, taking aim himself. The Changelings were too far away for accurate fire, but they would be getting closer. More of them poured from the holes in the earth, several clambering onto the horseless wagon to loot it. One of the other fleeing wagons was brought to a halt by a blast of magic from a Changeling officer that shattered one of its wheels. Some of the ponies running back to the city were cut down, and those who weren't found the gates barred and locked, sealing them out.
One of the cannons roared into life as it got a clear shot on the halted wagon. The cannonball smashed through the crates of household goods it was carrying and knocked the Changelings aside like tumbleweeds, severing limbs as it went. The Changelings began to charge toward the city walls, forming up into their units. Another cannon flashed and belched smoke, sending a heavy iron ball at the enemy. It bounced off of the grass and struck a Changeling square in the stomach, tearing through him and sending his intestines spilling out behind him like a string of sausages as he tumbled to the ground.
The Changelings, like ponies, had different sub-species, and they were all on display. Some, the drones, had both wings and a horn, a curiosity considering that, among ponies, only the Princess and her banished sister possessed both features. Others, the workers, had merely a horn, and one that was mostly an evolutionary dead-end in that it barely functioned at all, and certainly with nothing like the utility that a unicorn could garner from theirs. There were also the larger subspecies that functioned as officers for the military, taller and stronger than the rest. Then, unique amongst them, there was the Queen. She was the tallest of all, and there was only one matriarch of the entire race at any one time. Birthed by the previous Queen, she would be raised in the duties necessary to allow her to take over control of the Changeling nation once she was old enough, sharing in the Hive Mind that every Changeling took part in, but having the unique ability to issue commands instead of merely receiving or relaying them.
It was the drones that would worry Trottingham, for they were the ones that could fly. The thick stone walls of the city could keep the others at bay, but they could be overcome. As the Changelings closed in, the musketponies on the wall opened fire, a crackling volley that struck down several of the attackers. Many of the Changelings carried muskets of their own, but others were armed merely with swords, axes and other close combat weapons. Eager to close the gap, they leaped into the air, their insect-like wings carrying them with a distinctive buzzing sound. The louder the sound, the more of them there were, and the more unsettling it became to their adversaries.
"Incoming!" somepony shouted. Snapshot was busy reloading his musket, a lengthy process. A bayonet hung below the barrel, and he quickly adopted a fighting stance with it. The first Changelings began to land atop the wall, but they were outnumbered by the defenders. More ponies were climbing the stairs at a trot, members of the city militia sent to support the soldiers, but more Changelings were taking to the wing as well. Snapshot braced himself as a drone landed near him, a spiked club in its hands. It turned to him, baring its fangs in a malicious grin.
"For Celestia and the motherland!" Snapshot cried, lunging forward. The drone jumped back and swung its club, deflecting his bayonet. It tried to catch him with the reverse sweep, but Snapshot ducked the club and brought the butt of his musket around, smashing into the drone's face and making it stumble. He pressed his advantage, bringing the gun back around, slashing the blade of the bayonet across his opponent's cheek and eye. The drone hissed in pain and its horn emitted a blinding flash of white light. Snapshot turned away, eyes dancing with stars and a crazed pattern of colour. It was like gazing into the mane of the Princess for too long and finding it imprinted upon his eyelids.
Blinded, Snapshot could not defend himself. The drone stood unsteadily, green blood dripping from its wounded eye, and raised its club to strike him, when a musket ball tore through its skull and sent it tumbling. As his vision returned, Snapshot raised his musket against the shadowy figure that he saw before him.
"Easy, boy, easy," the surprisingly reassuring voice of Sergeant Billhook could be heard as the overweight unicorn puffed his way up to the Corporal, a smoking musket in his hands. "Can you see?"
"Just about, Sergeant..." Snapshot replied, blinking furiously to try and dispel the cascade of stars filling his eyes. Each blink brought more vision back to him, and Billhook stood beside him. Captain Oats brought up the rear, leaving Ramble up in the watchtower with his heavy musket, popping off shots at the Changelings down below. More Changelings were landing on the wall, and their targets became clear. They were trying to seize the cannons, either to turn them on the city or just to stop them firing down at their compatriots outside the walls.
"Let's go, ponies!" Oats shouted. "To me, boys, to me!" Snapshot, able to see again, rallied with the Captain and the others of his company who formed up around her. All along the wall, ponies were fighting individual battles against Changeling drones. Militiaponies were coming up from the street below to support them, but more drones were coming over the wall to join the battle as well. Some were swooping clean over the wall and down into the city, with another objective in mind. Half a dozen drones landed in the mud of the street leading to the gate, firing their muskets and then discarding them to draw curved swords instead. Their surprise attack caught the soldiers around the gate off guard, killing several and leaving the others isolated.
"They're going for the gate, Captain! They're trying to open it!" Billhook called, spotting the danger.
"Damn...Sergeant, take your ponies down and support the gate. Don't let them open it. You, militia!" Oats called, pointing to the flamboyantly-attired city militia, clad in whatever brightly coloured garb they happened to be wearing when the attack came. "Militia with me, support the soldiers on the wall! For the Princess!"
Snapshot swung away to follow Billhook, but found himself suddenly impressed with Captain Oats. If she was still hungover, she didn't show it any longer, taking decisive action and charging headlong into the melee. Together with Billhook's damned accurate musket shot that had saved his life, Snapshot wondered if he hadn't underestimated the caliber of pony he had been posted alongside after all.
"Let's move!" Billhook shouted. "Down the stairs we go, lads and lasses! Get ready for a fucking fight!"
While the Changelings assaulted the northern wall of Trottingham, another threat approached from the south. The Shadow Army was on the march, a black-clad foe that had not been seen in Equestria for many years. Like the Changelings, there had been a period of relative peace and calm between the two nations, but that was now well and truly over. King Sombra, the ruler of the Shadowlands, had long harbored ambitions to conquer Equestria. He was a pony, and he ruled over ponies, but the Shadowlands was a nation that was diametrically opposed to the rule of Celestia, and the values she upheld. Sombra ruled purely by fear, for he subscribed to the notion that it was better to be feared than to be loved, though forgetting the qualifier- if you cannot be both. Celestia was loved by her citizens, but feared by both her enemies and by those within Equestria who held greater power in their own sights. She was a just and fair ruler, but could be ruthless when circumstances demanded it. By contrast, King Sombra always chose the path of greatest impact. Why forgive, when you could destroy? Why ignore when you could punish? Why change, when you could force them to change instead?
The Shadow Army was a formidable force, but one which had been deployed relatively sparingly. It had been many years since they had made any kind of incursion into Equestrian territory, though they had been involved in wars against the Changelings not so long ago. The accession of Queen Chrysalis had seen an end to that, as an agreement had been signed between the two nations. Nothing more than that, however, so far as Equestria was aware, just a ceasefire. Yet, here they were, both the Shadow Army and the Changelings, striking together, a unified blow against the old foe that both of them shared.
While the Changelings tended to favour speed and maneuverability, the Shadow Army preferred brute strength, smashing through obstacles with massed formations of infantry or pummeling stubborn opponents with heavy artillery fire from siege cannons and mortars. If you wanted a lightning attack to capture an unsuspecting enemy position, then the Changelings were perfect. If you wanted to conquer a heavily-defended redoubt or fortress-city to rubble or brush aside an enemy army in the field, then the Shadow Army was what you needed. This attack had both, and that was no coincidence. The Changelings had caught the city napping; if truth be told, so had the Shadow Army's attack on the border posts, for despite news from the east about the Changeling invasion and orders received from Canterlot to prepare the city and take precautions, not much had been done. Plans had been in motion to strengthen the border posts and move up additional troops from the Corona Line, but the enemy attack had come before those measures could be completed, leaving Trottingham vulnerable.
Corporal Snapshot followed Sergeant Billhook down the stairs, passing militiaponies on the narrow path. Changelings down below on the street were fighting hand-to-hand with the guards inside the gate, while several other drones tried to force it open, removing the barricades and surging forward to try and lift the hefty wooden beam away to unbar it.
"Charge!" Billhook shouted, leading the way with his musket clutched in his hands, firing a bolt of magic at a nearby Changeling and striking it down before it could lunge at one of the guards. Snapshot and the rest of the unit followed with shouts and cries, bayonets raised and ready, moving to support the gate guards who were under pressure. He still had not reloaded his musket, for the process had been interrupted by the Changeling who almost bested him. He had his bayonet, however, and that was what was needed for the moment. Up close and personal, cut, thrust, parry, stab, step back, repeat.
Snapshot charged in toward a drone who was outmatching a guardsmare in close combat, stabbing it straight in its side with his bayonet, taking it by surprise. It slumped to the ground, clutching its side and allowing the mare to drive her own bayonet through its neck to finish it off. She nodded her wordless thanks, no time to do anything more, and turned to find her next foe. Snapshot moved up behind Billhook, who was dueling with another drone also armed with a musket and bayonet. Billhook followed the drill, imprinted into the minds of every soldier; advance, parry, thrust, guard. Step toward the enemy, counter his wild lunge, then drive your bayonet deep into his chest before recovering to the guard, ready to strike again. That was exactly what Billhook did, and his opponent went down, bleeding from its chest. Its? His? Her? Changeling genders were hard to determine, other than the Queen, for they had none of the characteristic muzzle shapes shared by pony stallions or mares that could be used to distinguish them from each other.
Not that Snapshot cared, for all that mattered was striking them down. Another drone came at him with an axe and he parried it, though the shock of the impact sent a great jolt up his arm. Bayonets were designed primarily to deflect other bayonets, not axes or swords, and a miscalculation could see the gun wrested from his grip or the bayonet bent out of shape and rendered unusable for anything more warlike than buttering toast. Fortunately the strike did not damage his blade, but it did stun the drone momentarily, allowing Snapshot to thrust forward with a grunt and stab up between the ribs. The Changeling squealed and squirmed, impaled upon his bayonet, before dropping to its knees as Snapshot pulled the blade back out. The drone slumped forward and fell to the ground.
The gate was still out of reach, tantalisingly, cut off by a thin line of drones, but they were receiving reinforcements as more Changelings dropped from the skies after flying over the wall. Worse news was to come from above as well, as despite the militia reinforcements, the Changelings had captured one of the cannons up on the wall and were in the process of turning it about, while Captain Oats and her ponies fought a desperate struggle to reach it and retake it before the drones could use it.
A group of drones blocked their path, finishing off the last of the gate guardians and turning to the new arrivals from the wall. Billhook took the lead, dodging a swung sword and pinning a drone's leg with his bayonet before a rapid withdrawal and another thrust right through the neck. Snapshot charged up beside his Sergeant. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins like a river. He had been in combat before, though only twice; as a border guard on the western frontier he had helped to fight off a party of Griffon bandits, and then as part of the garrison at Whinnypeg, his unit had been called in to deal with a troublesome group of cultists, members of the so-called New Lunar Republic sect that sought to overthrow Celestia's rule in anticipation of Luna's eventual return from her banishment, who had taken several city alderponies hostage in a futile and misguided attempt to obtain change in the town's governance. The mayor and the provincial governor had both agreed to use soldiers of the garrison to resolve the situation by a show of force. The Cultists had not backed down, however, and instead had started firing from the windows of the town hall, resulting in a significant loss of life, with two alderponies and four soldiers dead, along with all fifteen cultists, who had refused to surrender. There had been adrenaline on both occasions, of course, because Snapshot's life had been in danger. But this was different. This was no mere raid or act of terror, but an invasion of the motherland. It was not just his life at risk, but the entire nation.
Billhook fought side by side with Snapshot, the rest of the unit battling around them as more drones arrived, forming a cordon between them and the gate, while their compatriots struggled to wrench it open. Oats and the militia carved a path along the wall toward the cannon, but the Changelings had already turned it around to face the street. They could not depress the barrel far enough to hit the area in front of the gate, but that was no issue, for it was their own kind who occupied that dead zone. Two more squads of militiaponies were charging down the street to support them, either of their own initiative or directed by Colonel Graves. Their rag-tag clothing was no kind of uniform at all in truth, for it consisted of whatever they had been wearing when the call came, just like those up on the wall. Bakers, tailors, labourers, seamstresses, herbalists, masons, wagoners, prostitutes and innkeepers. Even petty thieves, drunks, and layabouts who otherwise had no profession could find part-time employment in the militia, so long as they could stand up straight long enough to learn how to fire and reload a musket, or at the very least, how to swing a sword without cutting their own fingers off. They were trained to the lowest possible standard for the most part, though the militias in frontier cities and those with greater budgets, such as Canterlot, could turn out quasi-professional, well-armed bodies of infantry.
None of that mattered much in the face of close-range cannon fire, however.
"Shit...shit, get down, boy! Get down!"
Snapshot felt himself being shoved bodily to the ground. Confusion gripped him. Billhook's voice, and Billhook's bulk, for certain, but why? What was he doing? They had to stand and fight, not dive into the gutter like some wastrel stumbling out of an alehouse at midnight.
The cannon up on the wall roared, the Changelings having achieved mastery over its firing and loading processes. They had loaded it not with a solid cannonball, but with grapeshot, a simple canvas bag filled with metal balls, each the size of a small orange or particularly large cherry. When fired, the bag was ripped open and the balls scattered across a wide arc. The advancing militia squads were the target, and they took the full brunt of it. Screams filled Snapshot's ears as Billhook rolled off of him and stood. The pegasus did the same, keeping a firm hold of his musket, and risking a glance back over his shoulder.
Where there had been two dozen ponies advancing, there now lay a string of bodies and a sea of blood leaking out over the cobbled stones. Several ponies writhed in agony, holes blown clean through them by the grapeshot. Others tried desperately to crawl back to safety while clutching shattered legs or trying to hold their guts inside them. The survivors, those lucky enough to escape the indiscriminate effects of the deadly iron balls, panicked. There were still friendly troops ahead of them, but they had just seen their colleagues ripped to shreds. Not just colleagues, friends. Their fellow citizens, known to them for years, decades in some cases, now lay dead or dying. Though a few pressed on to aid the soldiers, most turned and broke, fleeing back into the city.
"Stop! Hold fast, damn your eyes!" Billhook roared, seeing the militia flee, but it was too late. To add to their woes, the Changelings at the gate had managed to lift the heavy wooden bar free, letting it thump against the cobbles and throwing the gates open wide with a triumphant hissing. The Changelings outside, the workers without wings, began to charge toward the portal, their ticket to the city.
"Captain! Captain!" Billhook bellowed. "The gate is open! The gate is lost!"
Oats, up on the wall, heard his cries. The soldiers and militia under her command had finally broken through to the cannon, but it was too late. They slaughtered the Changelings who had commandeered it, but more were landing on the wall and Oats did not have the numbers to fight them off. With the gate open, Changelings were about to pour into the city.
"Fall back!" Oats shouted. "Everypony, fall back to the barracks! We hold them at the barracks! Fall back!"
"You heard the lady. Let's move, boy!" Billhook called. Having saved his life twice now, Snapshot was more than willing to follow the Sergeant, now having a completely different view of him than he had when he awoke that morning. Oats, too, had more than earned his respect, and now she was calling the retreat. Looking around, Snapshot knew she was correct. The gate was lost, and with their reinforcements slaughtered by the cannon, they had to fall back. If other support arrived, they could push forward and try to retake the gate, but to stand and fight at this moment would be to sell their lives unnecessarily and for no gain. They could not stop the Changelings' entry into the city. If they were lucky, they could regroup and push them out again. But even if they did, the Shadow Army was storming up from the border. Trottingham was in serious trouble.
Periwinkle flapped her wings as hard as she could. She had a mission, an objective that must be completed, and a message that must be delivered.
She was leaving the spear-din behind her, the tumult of battle that raged across the city. Trottingham was under attack, and though she was a trained and experienced soldier, she knew her current mission was even more important than standing with her comrades-in-arms. She had but one task; reach the Corona Line.
The Corona Line lay to the north, in the direction of Canterlot, where her message had to ultimately reach. The message was simple; Trottingham was under attack by both Changelings and the Shadow Army. There was a joint invasion in progress from the south, the border posts were overwhelmed, and that same fate threatened the city. If it fell, the Corona Line was the next point of resistance, and if that were breached, then apart from a few scattered castles and villages, Canterlot was the only real prize that lay directly beyond. The Corona Line was strong; modern fortresses, heavy guns, strong walls, large garrisons, blocking the broad plain that lay to the west of the Foal Mountains and to the north of Trottingham and the border. Even if the enemy bypassed the forts or simply smashed through them, access to the valley beyond, where Canterlot lay, was dependent on fording the Henbane River, a broad waterway some forty miles south of the capital. Forts covered the most accessible fords where an enemy could reasonably be expected to attempt a crossing, making sure that any troops wading through the water would be subject to artillery fire and accurate musketry.
Down below lay the open grasslands to the north of Trottingham. Farms were dotted across the landscape, though as word of the invasion to the south spread, the locals could be reasonably expected to pack their bags and flee en masse to the north, with the aim of reaching safety beyond the Corona Line. They could not be blamed for doing so; tales of Changeling and Shadow Army atrocities over the centuries were luridly told around campfires and exchanged in alehouses even today, though there had been no full-scale war for a long time. Anypony with any sense would run once they knew that there was an invasion going on just miles to the south of them.
Periwinkle was also running, or rather flying, away from danger, with a message for the garrison commander at whichever fort she came to first. It should be the one constructed due north of Trottingham, but if she miscalculated her route or had to divert around bad weather, she might end up elsewhere. That wasn't as important as just getting there at all. The commander would have to relay the message to the other forts and back to Canterlot, and it didn't matter who was responsible for that, so long as the message got through. Canterlot had to be informed as soon as possible, for this news changed the whole dynamic of the war. No longer were they fighting on a single front, but now they were coming under attack from two directions at once. Not only were they fighting one enemy, but now a second had joined the fray, and that made Equestria's task infinitely more difficult.
Periwinkle spared glances over her shoulder every so often, looking back at Trottingham and the distant string of smoke columns that marked the border posts, now overrun by the enemy. She was looking back both in sadness and fear, for she knew she was leaving her comrades behind, many of whom would die even if the city held. But though she left her friends, she did not leave danger in her wake. Her departure may have caught the Changelings off guard, for she wore no uniform and carried no satchel, instead having the letter, hastily penned by Colonel Graves, stuffed under a plain tunic, making her look like a simple citizen who was fleeing for their life. But it had not fooled the enemy.
Even now, there were half a dozen black dots in the sky behind her, and they were closing in, no matter how fast she tried to fly. The Corona Line was still twenty miles north. She could see the closest two forts ahead in the distance, but she was still a long way away. Another glance back, and the black dots were closer than they had been before. She redoubled her efforts. If the message didn't get through...
She had not been alone in flying out of the city, and she couldn't tell if that had hindered her or not. A single pony leaving might mark themselves out as a messenger, or perhaps a gaggle all departing at once or successively in different directions might do likewise. Perhaps the Changelings would simply hunt down everypony who tried to run, no matter where they were going or what they were wearing. MIlitary and civilian alike, all seemed to be targets for the drones.
Periwinkle decided to dive down low, among the trees and rolling hills, in an attempt to throw off her pursuers. It didn't work, though she did startle a couple of ponies working in a field, to whom she tried to shout a warning, though she didn't know if they had heard. The Changelings behind her continued to follow, some staying high and some swooping down to follow her. If she could just reach the Corona Line, their defences would ward off her pursuers, for not even a drone was dumb enough to fly straight into the guns of a fortress with just five other Changelings for support. But the forts were miles away, and she was tiring out. Pegasi messengers usually flew at full speed for as long as they could before taking a break for a minute or two to regain their stamina, then pushing on again. Flying in a straight line with no danger was one thing, but being pursued and having to fly erratically to deal with it was quite another. Her wings carried her onward. This was what she was trained for. Reach the fortress. Deliver the message. Reach the fortress. Deliver the message.
Something whizzed past her, then something else, green flashes. She dared risk another look back. The drones were closer still, and they were within magic range. They only possessed the ability to perform basic spells, but it was enough to deal with a single pony. The bolts of magic could knock her from the sky if they struck, and she began to weave and jink from side to side. She had no weapons to save weight and increase her speed and agility; even if she had a musket or pistol, she could never fight off six drones.
She ducked below the tree canopy of a small orchard, dodging left and right around the trees, emerging at the other end. The fortresses were nearer, but now she couldn't see them over the crest of the next small hill. She pulled up to climb over it, but a blast of magic caught her left wing and she went tumbling, smashing into the ground before she could steady herself or correct her trajectory. She rolled and rolled before finally coming to a halt in a ditch, high grass and reeds around her. It was a half-dry creek bed, and it offered no salvation. Her wing stung with pain and she dared not look at it, but she knew she couldn't take off again. She scrambled through the reeds in desperation, but the Changelings had seen where she had fallen and were on her in an instant. Water splashed around her feet as she stumbled into the stream. A drone landed in front of her, fangs bared. A blade flashed, and the water ran red.
The barracks was a sturdily built structure, fit to house several hundred ponies in what passed for comfort when one was a member of the military. Of stone construction on the lower floors, the top floor was treated wood, and the whole edifice was roofed with tile, not thatch like much of the city, to help reduce the fire risk. Like most barrack buildings in Equestria, it was constructed to be defensible, a mini-fortress within a city or outpost, with firing ports in each outer wall and strongly reinforced gates. The inner courtyard, which could be accessed by airborne enemies with ease, was likewise protected by firing slits, through which musketry and crossbows could lay down a withering fire, turning the courtyard into a killing ground. That was exactly what was happening in Trottingham, for Changeling drones were landing like a swarm of flies and being steadily picked off by the Equestrian infantry.
Snapshot and the others had retreated from the wall once the gate was breached, for it was no longer defensible with their numbers. Colonel Graves had to balance the Changeling threat with the now-arriving Shadow Army, for if he pulled too many troops from the south wall to support against the incursion, then the city would soon find itself with a second gate breached and more enemies pouring in from two directions at once. On the other hand, if he did not reinforce the north, then the Changelings could overrun the city by themselves. He did not have enough troops for both tasks, and had sent a runner to find Captain Oats, telling her to hold at the barracks, turning it into a strongpoint. If he were able, he had relayed, he would send more militiaponies to assist, but both the Colonel and the Captain knew that was unlikely. The city was in serious trouble. It had not been reinforced before the battle, it had not armed and prepared its militia properly, it had not secured the gates and manned the walls early enough. Despite their rapid response to the signal fires and the approaching Shadow Army, they had been caught napping by the sudden appearance of the Changelings.
It was a sad indictment of the preparedness of the city, but a clear indication of what complacency could do. It had been so long since there was war with the Shadowlands or the Changelings, that a state of lethargy had set in when it came to maintaining a level of readiness for war with them. Even if Canterlot and high command had detailed plans drawn up, the reality on the frontline was rather different in many places. Troop strengths were often below what they were supposed to be due to attrition, disease, or simply being unable to find enough willing volunteers. Powder magazines were frequently half empty, stores diminished, defences crumbling and in need of repair. Some would say it was the mark of a nation on the cusp of decadence, for when there was no clear and present danger, ponies got lax.
Though the army itself was constantly ready to move and fight on whichever border it may be necessary to defend, the provincial forces had long been lackadaisical in their preparations, despite harrying from Canterlot's politicians and their own generals. It would often take the Princess making a direct intervention to get something done, for though she held ultimate power over the whole nation, the provincial system lent itself well to promoting regional incompetence. Local officials were not usually appointed by the central government, but by the provincial governors or town mayors, leading to endless accounts of cronyism and embezzlement of public funds, of sheriffs and alderponies and tax collectors being appointed just for who, rather than what, they knew. Even the treasury could only stretch so far, and the more Equestria spent on fortresses in the east, the less money they had to spend on fortresses in the south, and vice versa. Thus the Corona Line and the equivalent Hornburg Line in the east had been constructed at the expense of the border posts and older fortress-cities like Saltsburg and Trottingham. They had not been strengthened for many years, and now it was too late to do anything about it.
The Shadow Army reached the south wall, massed cavalry parading just outside of musket range as they waited for their infantry and artillery to catch up, or for the Changelings to fling open the south gate for them. Cannons roared from the walls and inflicted casualties, but with the enemy already inside the walls, it was only a matter of time. Once the Shadow Army's infantry arrived, they launched a massed Pegasi assault, attempting to replicate the success the Changelings had shown on the other side of the city. The attack was repulsed, but with heavy casualties among the defenders. They tried again, and gained a foothold upon the city wall. Trying to repeat the Changeling trick of opening the gate cost them dear, but it was successful. Colonel Graves ordered the retreat, back into the city. The survivors fought bravely, making the invaders pay for every inch of ground, but being pushed back farther and farther. They reached the barracks, linking up with the others from the north, and made a final stand.
Snapshot fired until his musket jammed, the hammer refusing to fall no matter how many times he jiggled and shook it, losing count of how many shots he had made or how many drones he had killed before his gun had decided it had had enough. He felt oddly detached from reality, as though he were viewing the whole scene from outside of his own body. It was different to the other times he had been in combat, somehow. Perhaps because this time, he knew for certain he would die. He had accepted that, made his peace, prayed to Celestia during a brief lull in the battle, running his fingers over the golden sun pendant he wore around his neck, as many soldiers did. For protection, to carry the blessings of the Princess into battle with them, and to help ensure that Celestia would know they were loyal and true in the afterlife, where, they believed, she reigned as she did in Equestria. Another realm, entirely removed from this existence, yet the Princess trod the ground in both and ruled over them, as her sister, Luna, had once ruled over their dreams. The true faithful had no doubt in their minds whatsoever, and there could be no more glorious and proud death than to die fighting for Celestia.
Not that the thought made it much easier to admit to oneself that they would die this day, for they were surrounded. How could they possibly escape?
"Alright, listen up, ponies!" Captain Oats called. "I have just received a message from the troops outside...the Colonel is dead. With no contact with any other senior officers, I am placing myself in command of the survivors...and my first order is that we retreat."
"Retreat where?" somepony cried. "We're trapped in here!"
"Not quite," Oats replied. "There is a way out, and we're going to take it, but we need to be careful and quick, and we're going to leave these bastards a nice little surprise."
The Changelings were happy. The Shadow Army was happy. Their leaders, the newlyweds, watched on through telescopes from the viewing platform at the border post where their lands entwined as the Shadow Cavalry stormed through the Equestrian lines, followed by the infantry and supported by groups of Changeling infiltrators, bursting from tunnels behind the defences. That was a specialty of the Queen's forces; underground warfare, digging tunnels as they did to build their magnificent subterranean Hive cities, vast edifices unseen from the air save for a few openings dotted here and there, but just as labyrinthine beneath the surface as the twisting backstreets of Canterlot's old town or the mixture of warehouses and slums of Baltimare's dockside district. Tunneling beneath an enemy's defensive line to spring up in their rear like a jack-in-the-box was an effective tactic, and one which Trottingham had not been sufficiently prepared for.
The town had fallen in relatively short order, as the King and Queen had expected, with only the barracks still in enemy hands as night descended. The ponies there were fighting tenaciously, despite no prospect of relief. The Changeling scouts had reported that they had successfully intercepted every one of the messenger Pegasi who had tried to flee the city, some in disguise as civilians. They had also taken care of as many of the civilians who had fled by road before the battle as they could find, but could not reassure their leaders they had killed all of them. No matter; by the time they reached the forts of the Corona Line, the battle would probably be over and their armies regrouping to press onward. Time and the element of surprise were in their favour; they had the initiative, that rather perfidious yet vital characteristic of warfare. They acted, Equestria reacted. That was the key, and it would be the key to their continued success.
The defences around the barracks kept up volleys of fire that held the Changelings and Shadow Army at bay until nightfall, and then the firing slackened, imperceptibly at first but becoming more apparent after some twenty minutes where the drones were able to make progress from the north and gain control of one of the outbuildings, finding only the Equestrian dead left behind. They breached the doors of the main barracks itself. Again, nothing but the smell of spent powder and spilled blood. The Equestrian troops had vanished. Some, those in the smaller outer buildings and surrounding houses, had surrendered, but the bulk of resistance had evaporated, disappeared. Were they hiding in some secret room or behind hidden panels ready to leap out in ambush?
The Changelings used their keen senses to sniff out any hidden enemies, but found nothing. A prowling search of the compound revealed none save their own kind and those wearing Shadow Army colours. In the cellar, however, they found something startling. Not so much a cellar, in truth, as a powder magazine; barrels upon barrels of unused gunpowder, meant for the city's cannons, had been stockpiled there for safekeeping. That was not the alarming part. The alarming part was the slowly burning fuse which had been smouldering for some considerable time while the Equestrians made their withdrawal. In the well-sealed room it bad been making extremely delayed headway after using up much of the oxygen in the cellar, so as to buy time for the withdrawal. The opening of the cellar door caused an inrush of fresh air from above, wafting the flame back into a more sprightly life, and allowing it to complete the very small portion of its remaining journey before the Changelings could do much more than hiss out a few panicked warnings.
"It seems that victory in this initial engagement is ours, my love," King Sombra smiled happily as he stood with Chrysalis, looking out over the distant border and the city of Trottingham, where the flags of both invading armies had been flown from the top of the tallest watchtower as a signal of success.
"Was there ever any doubt?" Chrysalis replied with a laugh and a flick of her forked tongue. "Equestria is arrogant decadent. Just like their Princess. We shall put her and her followers in their rightful place...beneath the heels of our boots."
"Well said, my lady," Sombra chuckled. "It is what they deserve. It may have passed from the memories of most, but we still remember the injustices meted out upon our peoples at the behest of Celestia. We have not forgotten, and we have not forgiven. All shall be made right soon enough. This is but the first step."
A bright flash lit the northern sky, and a plume of orange fire leapt from the distant city, startling both of them. A few seconds of wordless silence passed before the rumbling thunder reached them.
"What was that...?" Chrysalis asked the obvious question.
"I do not know," Sombra gave the obvious reply. "But we shall find out. Let us hope that, whatever it was, it does not delay us for too long."
"I am sure it will be but a momentary hiccup, my King. Our advance shall continue as planned," Chrysalis assured him. "All the way to Canterlot."
The advance east had continued apace, and the Holy Army had pressed on to the Hornburg, the central fort of the defensive line of the same name that protected Saint Swiftmane's Pass. It was a large, multi-layered construct, businesslike in appearance, with buttressed walls of solid stone surrounded on either side by thick layers of compacted earth, a wide moat around the outside, and a complex of low buildings at the centre. It was modern and while it may not have looked quite like the archetypal fairytale castle, it was far more suited for modern war.
A low silhouette and earthen reinforcement of its curtain wall made it a much harder target for an enemy's artillery than the older, more traditional designs with great high ramparts and tall towers. The fortress was arranged in a shape roughly analogous to Celestia's cutie mark, with a central ring, the curtain wall, surrounded by protruding bastions, sprouting like a starfish's limbs, eight in total. Each contained a number of heavy guns and smaller supporting artillery, and could be lined with musketponies for extra firepower, as could the walls in between. Each bastion could support each other with flanking fire, catching enemy troops in a deadly enfilade if they tried to storm the wall in between. If one bastion was under attack, its steep walls could be raked with grapeshot and musketry to help throw back an assault. Most forts and hardened cities, including Canterlot, had a similar design of interlocking bastions and ravelins for mutual support.
The Hornburg guarded the straightest route to the mountain pass, but without a strong force in the field, the Changelings could still move to and control it. The fortress was not built at the entrance to the pass, for that would have involved an astronomical cost, given the nature of the terrain, and it could simply not be afforded. Instead it had been placed on the high ground that dominated the outer foothills. Everything beyond it was flat, open ground, ideal for manoeuvring armies. Everything behind it was small valleys, mountain streams, hills of varying sizes and gradients. It was possible, especially for a mobile and fast-moving army like the Changelings, to operate in such terrain, but it was most definitely not ideal, and it was no place to deploy for open battle. If the Holy Army were to meet the Changelings in combat, it would have to be on the open plains.
Celestia met with the commander of the Hornburg garrison, General Spectre. A unicorn from an established noble family, born and raised in the eastern marches, Spectre was a perfect fit for the recently constructed fortress. He had formerly been commandant of one of the lesser castles further east, and prior to that an accomplished artillerypony, commanding the left flank's guns at the famed Battle of Spearpoint, one of the last major engagements that the Equestrian army had fought in its long and illustrious history, ending the Griffons' constant attempts to gain territory in Equestria's northwest one and for all. The battle had been fifty years ago, meaning that Spectre, who had been a young Captain, promoted early to command of the guns because of his talent, was now an old grey stallion, bent and withered, though not when in the presence of his Princess, who could induce any stallion to stand firm.
"You will be riding out at dawn, Your Highness?" Spectre asked, standing upon the balcony on the top of the main keep of the Hornburg with Celestia, gazing out across the battlements. The land around the fortress was a sea of tents as the Holy Army had made its camp for the night, supplied with food by the garrison and bedding down outside the walls. Smoke coiled lazily in the evening sky from a hundred campfires, allowed for this night because they were at the fort. For the past two nights, Celestia had forbidden the use of fires as it could give their position away before they were ready to deploy for battle. An ambush in the foothills could have proved costly.
"We will, General, yes," Celestia replied. "We make for Saltsburg. Either we reach the city, or we find the enemy on the way." She wore the same flowing white robes she had worn when speaking with Ostmane in her tent; they were traditional, which some would say meant they were old, but she liked them. They were as much a symbol of her reign as her crown or golden sceptre.
"As I said earlier, Your Highness, we have received no report from Saltsburg since the Governor's letter, which we sent onward to you at Canterlot," Spectre explained, clearing his throat with a hacking cough that had plagued him for years. "However we did receive a messenger from the village of Cypress Grove. Arrived yesterday afternoon. They said they were being attacked by Changelings. That's less than two days ride from here. It's anypony's guess where they are now."
"Cypress Grove is west of Saltsburg, so we know they are heading in this direction, at least," Celestia nodded. "We can reasonably assume they are aiming for Saint Swiftmane's Pass. Is the Hornburg ready for war, General?"
"Yes, Your Highness," Spectre replied proudly. "We are ready to fight and die if necessary. Whatever you command."
"If we can intercept the Changelings and turn them back, then I am hopeful no dying will be required on the part of your garrison, General." Celestia turned away from the view out over the fortress to face him. "If we fail, then the Hornburg Line is all that stands between the Changelings and Canterlot. I left a force at the pass with orders to prepare it for demolition if the Changelings should reach it and cannot be held there. If they bypass you, or force passage through you, then we will make every possible effort to come to your aid and to reach the pass and stop them. If we cannot do so, then I leave it up to your discretion as to whether to send a force to support the troops at the pass, or whether to concentrate your strength here."
Spectre nodded. A portion of the provincial army and militia from surrounding towns had moved to the Hornburg to strengthen its defences once word of the invasion reached them, giving Spectre a mobile force to deploy as he saw fit. The rest of the provincial army had gone to their Governor's aid at Saltsburg, and had not been heard of since.
"I shall bid you goodnight now, General," Celestia continued. "I shall retire to my quarters you have so graciously provided. If any matters arise during the night, please see to them yourself unless they are of the utmost importance."
"Of course, Your Highness." Spectre bowed. "Goodnight, and rest well."
"Thank you." Celestia placed a hand upon his shoulder for a moment before descending the stairs, leaving Spectre alone upon the roof of the fort, gazing out upon the Holy Army. Tomorrow, they would head for Saltsburg. Tomorrow, they would ride. How many would return?
Spectre turned away, leaving the ringing of laughter and clanking of mess tins behind as he descended into the fort. That was tomorrow. First, even the Sun had to sleep.
"Blessed be those who risk all, blessed be those who lose all. Blessed be those who fall in the service of the Sun. Blessed be those who fight for Equestria and return home to their families. Most Blessed of all be our Princess, hallowed be her name, who giveth us the strength to endure the unendurable, to oppose the unstoppable, to defeat the unbeatable. Blessings of the Princess be upon you all, go in peace and carry her word with you. Praise the Sun."
"Praise the Sun!" came the reply.
High Ecclesiarch Amber Frost stepped down from the pulpit, another sermon completed. Ponies filed out of the chapel. Today's sermon had been about struggle and loss; Amber Frost knew that many families would, in due course, receive word that their relative, a brother, a son, a daughter, a mother, had fallen in battle with the Changelings. War, no matter how the propaganda might try to sanitise it, was a terribly dirty business, and the citizens of Canterlot had to be prepared spiritually for the results. Even with Celestia herself at their head, the Holy Army would suffer casualties. She could not prevent that. Nothing could. War without casualties was scarcely fit to be called a war at all.
"Excuwse me, High Eccwesiarch?"
Amber Frost looked up from his momentary reverie. "Yes, my dear? I would bend down, but my old bones are not as supple as they used to be..." he chuckled, looking down instead at the small green filly. "Hm...you were here last week, no? When the...when my...cousin was here?"
"Yes!" Meadow nodded eagerly as her mother looked on from the aisle. "Your cousin went off to fight...how do I know sh...he will be ok?" she asked.
"Well, my little filly," Amber Frost replied, patting her head. "Nopony can be absolutely certain. But the Princess herself is leading the army, and she will do everything she can to stop ponies getting hurt."
"But...what if the Pwincess gets hurt?" Meadow frowned.
"Again, that is possible. But the Princess is very smart, and very strong," Frost explained. "You need have no fear. She will return to us alive and well."
"You'we cewtain?" Meadow smiled happily. "Thank you, Eccwesiarch! Pwaise the Sun!"
"Praise the Sun indeed..." Frost chuckled. "Now, I think your mother is waiting for you, little one. Go and enjoy the day the Princess has given us."
"I will, thank you!" Meadow waved and scampered off to rejoin her mother. Frost smiled as he turned away. Celestia may have been away, but it was good to know that she still had such devotion among her young citizens. They would be the next generation. He paused for a moment. The cynic in him was saying that they would be the next generation to be called to die for Equestria. But, of course, it was never that simple. Sacrifice was necessary. The roots of Equestrian society had to be watered occasionally with the blood of tyrants and patriots, or else the whole tree would wither as some outside force marched in. In the past, it had been the Griffons or the Yaks or the Zebras. Right now it was the Changelings. The enemy changed, but, Frost thought ruefully, it was war itself that never changed.
Trottingham smouldered in the darkness behind them, a sinister glow in the southern sky. They may have caused it, but that did not make it any easier to see, for they knew they had left behind the bodies of friends and comrades, to say nothing of the city itself and what it meant for Equestria.
The outer line was breached, and the enemy, or rather enemies, were now pouring into the kingdom from the south, as well as from the east. There were two fronts now, not just one, which complicated matters greatly. That might not be quite so bad if they had been prepared for it, but there had been no warning of the impending attack, and the Equestrians had only had time to take the most rudimentary of preparatory actions on the southern front with the brief warning of but a week since the Changeling attack in the east. It had not been enough.
At least some ponies had escaped the fall of Trottingham, however. Captain Oats led her band of survivors north, through the darkened fields and woods, away from the city that burned behind them. The explosion of the powder magazine had spread burning debris onto the rooftops of dozens of other structures, and the city was ablaze, leaving the Shadow Army and their Changeling allies with an almighty mess to sort out before they could continue the advance. Throwing the enemy into disarray might just have bought them time to alert the nation and carry the word of the attack to the Corona Line. It would take time, maybe hours, maybe several days, for the combined forces of the enemy to regroup and form up, though no doubt scouts and raiding parties would be roaming ahead of the main bulk of the army, ravaging the land and seeking any war booty which they could claim, either for their own personal collections or to aid their comrades in the form of food, firewood or other useful supplies. They would be rounding up prisoners, too, or cutting down any who offered resistance.
The withdrawal from the barracks had been carefully timed by Oats. The building contained a basement connection to a sewer, one of the wide brick constructs that carried the waste of Trottingham's residents away. This particular sewer emerged above ground a mile north of the city in a gulley that fed straight into one of the small streams that dotted the landscape. Slowly they had withdrawn the outer perimeter, tightening it, as other ponies slipped away down into the sewer. Finally, those holding the line stopped firing and ran. All the while, the slow-burning fuse lit by Oats was crawling closer to the powder barrels. It had been a roll of the die that had no guarantee of success, for the enemy might have pushed on hard once they saw resistance was slackening, and overwhelmed the defenders before they could withdraw. They might have found the fuse and extinguished it before it reached its target. But they had not. The plan had worked perfectly, the only thing so far which had. Colonel Graves and the other fallen had sold their lives dearly, trying to buy time for the messenger Pegasi to summon help, but to no avail. Oats hoped that they could honour the memories of the lost by completing that mission.
Once they were out of sight of the city, Oats ordered half a dozen of the fastest Pegasi among the survivors to race ahead to the Corona Line as fast as they could, two to each fort. The message had to be heard as soon as possible, to give the defenders time to prepare and, perhaps more importantly, time to alert Canterlot, for it was the Princess or, in her absence, her advisors and generals who would have to make the vital decisions about the steps that would be taken. Every hour, every minute even, could be vital.
The rest of the survivors trudged north, staying clear of the road and any farm tracks they passed, navigating along the banks of the stream as often as they could. There were some sixty ponies in all, for that was all that was left of the defenders of Trottingham. The Corona Line was a hard day's march away, but they were not marching, but rather moving over fields, hills and through woodland, to try and steer clear of hostile raiders and search parties. If the enemy got wind of their escape they would likely hunt them down, but the explosion that destroyed the powder magazine had probably obliterated the sewer tunnel that lay just beneath. Hopefully debris would stop the enemy finding their way out any time soon; the Changelings who had entered the barracks were sure to be dead, killed in the blast. The enemy might well imagine the defenders had simply blown themselves up as a last act of defiance, rather than secretly sneaking away into the darkness.
Snapshot trudged along with the others. He had left his musket behind, stripped of all his equipment. He smelled like shit, literally, having crawled and stumbled through the darkened sewer, lit only by the narrow beams of light coming through street grates above; no matches or oil lamps could be lit as there was a danger of igniting the fumes that permeated the tunnel thanks to the decaying pony waste and the accumulated gasses it gave off. It had worked, though; they had escaped, and they were, at least for now, safe. They were also exhausted, and so Captain Oats called a halt in the depths of a wood. They settled down in the darkest part they could find, beneath the thickest canopy, and took turns sleeping, just a few fitful hours each, as dawn broke. They knew from following the stars they were heading north, but nopony knew quite how far they had traveled, or how far they still had to go to reach the Corona Line.
Snapshot got his head down, snatching some shuteye while he could, lying in the dirt. It was better than no rest at all, though it didn't do his back any good. By the time he awoke it was daylight, and they were in a sylvan wonderland, with golden rays of sun bursting through the foliage overhead. Oats was rousing her ponies and getting them back on the road. Some berries and edible leaves gave them sustenance. That was one benefit that pony armies had over those of the Griffons and Changelings; they could feed off of the land, eating leaves, grass, hay, anything they came across. The Griffons were carnivores, needing meat for a healthy diet, though they could live on a herbivorous diet if necessary, albeit at a reduced effectiveness. The Changelings could likewise subsist on regular food if they were in a survival situation, but they ideally needed love extracted from other creatures, either willingly through any action that provoked lust or romantic thoughts in the subject, or forcefully through rape, torture or simply through murdering the poor unfortunate, and draining whatever residual energy could be gained from its body.
Carefully, the ponies peeked their way out of the woodland. There was no sign of the enemy, and after consideration, Oats decided to continue the push onward in daylight. The longer they waited, the more likely the Changelings and the Shadow Army would overtake them and cut off their route to safety in their own drive north. The Corona Line was their next obstacle, but their ultimate objective surely had to be Canterlot. They could only hope their messengers had reached the forts so that the troubling news could be relayed to the capital. If the Pegasi had not gotten through, then it might be all down to Oats and her ponies, moving on foot, to pass the message on. As they slogged north, they could only speculate on what might happen next. Snapshot tried not to dwell on it for too long. It was not down to him, anyway. It was down to fate and the Princess. A short prayer in her name was all he could offer. The horizon offered sanctuary, if only they could reach it.
"General! General! Ma'am!"
Hawkeye looked up from her papers at the sudden intrusion into her office. Sequestered within the royal palace in Canterlot, she had been busying herself with the details of the city and its defences, just in case.
"Yes? What is it, Lieutenant?"
"Ma'am...we have an urgent message from Fort Corona. Their messenger just arrived."
"Fort Corona?" Hawkeye frowned. The Corona Line was to the south. She started to feel an uneasy sensation in her stomach at the news. "What's the message?"
"Begging your pardon ma'am, the messenger says she was given orders to speak only to you," the Lieutenant replied, sweat on his brow as he had obviously had to run to fetch her.
"Then take me to her," Hawkeye replied, rising from her desk and following the young officer. News of such apparent urgency was scarcely good, unless one was awaiting the birth of a child. What concerned her more, potentially, was that the news was from the Corona Line and not from Trottingham or one of the border posts.
"Ma'am..." A breathless red Pegasus saluted, looking thoroughly worn out from her flight. "I bring a message for you from Fort Corona..."
"Get her some water, for Celestia's sake," Hawkeye ordered, sending the Lieutenant scurrying away. "What news, Corporal?" she demanded from the new arrival, who was resting upon the open platform reserved for messengers who were relaying missives to the Princess or to military or government officials.
"Ma'am...I am to report to you personally that Fort Corona received a messenger from Trottingham with word that the southern border has been breached by a combined force of Changelings and Shadow Army forces, the city has been lost, and the enemy is on the march north."
"What...?" Hawkeye breathed. The uneasy feeling in her stomach had turned into a block of ice in her chest. "You are certain of this?"
"Yes ma'am..." the messenger nodded, accepting the water flask brought by the Lieutenant and greedily gulping down great swigs of it, a reward for her exertions. "Before I departed, we also received messengers from the two other forts of the Corona Line. They reported that messengers from Trottingham had also relayed the same message. I have here a letter signed by the fort commander for you also, ma'am." She handed it over, a sealed envelope fastened with red wax. Hawkeye took it, broke the seal, and withdrew the letter, scanning it rapidly.
General Hawkeye,
It is my solemn duty to pen this note to you. We have received several credible reports from messenger Pegasi that yesterday, the southern border was breached and the city of Trottingham razed. A force consisting of large elements of the Shadow Army and the Changeling Army has been reported crossing the frontier and advancing to the north. I am preparing the Corona Line for resistance, but I do not have enough troops at my disposal to mount a counterattack, nor to put a force in the field to combat them directly. I can hold the forts, but I cannot control the country. Therefore I am requesting reinforcements to be summoned to defend the Henbane River crossings to my north. That is more important than relieving us, for if the enemy cross the river, they will have a direct marching route to Canterlot. Should the enemy decide to besiege my forts instead of advancing further, I shall send further messages to inform you of the changing situation and ask for reinforcements to relieve us. If, however, the enemy bypasses the Corona Line with another objective in mind, then you must send all available troops to hold the river line. A preliminary report, and I stress the word preliminary, puts the size of the enemy force at approximately 100,000 (one hundred thousand). This was an estimate from the commander of the Trottingham garrison, Colonel Graves, relayed to us both by Pegasi messenger and by a small group of survivors led by a Captain Oats, who arrived by road at Fort Corona a short while ago.
I will send another messenger as soon as we make confirmed contact with the enemy. Until then, I must urge you to take every possible precaution to prepare Canterlot for a potential siege. If the Colonel's estimation is correct, then I have a very great fear that we shall not be able to stop the advance of the enemy, either here or at the Henbane River. They have caught us by surprise. The Holy Army has already marched east. They have us caught in a pincer. General, I urge you to contact Her Highness as soon as possible. My humble advice would be that she withdraw the Holy Army west of Saint Swiftmane's Pass and block it with explosives so as to deny the Changelings passage, then ride swiftly to counter this southern front. That would be much less costly in terms of time compared to awaiting reinforcements from Stalliongrad, and might prevent the capital from being besieged.
I would also urge you to keep this letter hidden from His Excellency, Court Mage Starswirl. With all due respect, he is half-senile and his understanding of military tactics is rooted in antiquity at best. These are military decisions and they should be made by military staff, if they cannot be made by the Princess herself. Do what you think best, my old friend, and do not trouble yourself with thoughts of me. If the Princess wills it, I shall survive, and I shall see you again someday soon.
Ever yours,
General Summerstrike
Commandant, Corona Line Garrison
Hawkeye re-read the message and then crumpled it up in her hand. "Thank you, Corporal. Lieutenant, take her to get something to eat and then find her somewhere to rest."
"Yes ma'am." The Lieutenant ushered the exhausted messenger away, leaving Hawkeye to stand on the landing platform, looking out across the rooftops of Canterlot. The city, burnished gold and marble. The city, jewel of the nation. The city, home of the Princess and all she stood for. It had not been threatened directly by violence for generations. She could hear the cries of the foals, the rumbling of merchants' carts over cobbled streets, the laughter of lovers, the bawdy music of street performers, the shouts of barrowponies and stallholders at the markets calling for customers. She could smell the perfumes of the palace and the royal quarter, the baking bread, the fish from the market, the stench of shit from the sewers, the faint whiff of gunpowder from the drill yards of the garrison, the scent of the lemon trees in the grove outside the palace walls.
It was not just Celestia's city, but it was her city, too. Born and raised in the capital, Hawkeye still considered herself a pony of Canterlot, despite her sobriquet being inextricably tied to her leadership at Trottingham. Summerstrike was from Canterlot, too; many, many years ago, she had shared her soul with him not too far from where she now stood; down among the lemon trees. Summerstrike, then a handsome young fire-orange earth stallion of some twenty summers and a newly commissioned Lieutenant of the Army, had confessed his love to his fellow cadet, and Hawkeye had said the same in return. They had shared a wonderful few weeks together, making love at every opportunity, walking along the bright promenades of Canterlot, stepping out together like young lovers should, until the army found out.
Relationships between officers were heavily frowned upon. Those between officers and cadets- even an officer who had just barely been commissioned a few weeks earlier, and a cadet who would undergo the same ceremony the coming winter- were outright forbidden. Whether somepony ratted them out or whether an officer happened to espy them together, Hawkeye and Summerstrike never did discover, but they were summoned before their respective commanding officers and ordered to either end their affair or leave the military with a dishonorable discharge. Both of them had aspirations, dreams even, to be soldiers. They had spent a night together, one final, lonely night, despite spending it in each other's arms. Together, they both revealed they had come independently to the same conclusion; they both wanted to continue their careers, even at the expense of their romance. Thus had it ended, with one final embrace and one final bucking in the lemon groves.
Their careers had long since separated them and taken them on different paths, but their dreams of success had both come true, even if it had torn them apart in the process. Both had become Generals, the highest rank one could achieve save for the temporary brevet rank of Field Marshal, conferable only by Celestia herself and restricted to the commanders of great campaigns which the Princess did not lead in person. It could be argued that Hawkeye had outperformed her old lover, becoming the commander of the Central Province rather than just a fortress-line, but Summerstrike was a former commander of the Western Province, which had its capital at Stalliongrad, and had chosen the transfer upon the construction of the Corona Line. Soon, it was likely to be put to the test in one way or another- and if it failed, or if the Holy Army failed, or if the defences at the Henbane River failed, so was Canterlot.
Hawkeye returned to her office, using a candle that was flickering away to burn the letter as Summerstrike had suggested. She then marched down the hall to find Starswirl. The court mage had to know, for he had been left in command by Celestia, and regardless of what Hawkeye or Summerstrike felt about him, they respected the judgement of the Princess above all else. She knocked upon the door to his office-laboratory and entered.
"Your Excellency? I bring bad news."
The Holy Army had marched at dawn, to the cheers of the Hornburg garrison. Feet and hooves pounded on the road to the east. Saltsburg lay far beyond the horizon, and they had marched all day and rested for another night on the plains. The following morning, scouts had rushed back with urgent news. They had sighted the banners of the Changeling Army.
Celestia had acted swiftly. Battle would soon be joined. With luck they could take the Changelings by surprise, but most likely the enemy had already seen them and were preparing themselves. A few miles ahead of them lay a line of low hills. Celestia ordered the army to move and occupy them, and they had. The Changelings could be seen to the east, a dark mass on the plains. The Equestrian artillery was moved into position upon the hills, field guns drawn up and unlimbered, powder and shot prepared and distributed to the infantry. With their flags and banners fluttering in the breeze, the Holy Army positioned themselves for war, regiments moving together, blocks of ponies, two dozen ranks deep, cavalry to their flanks, ready to face down the foe. Sixty thousand Equestrians, their Princess at their head, against an unknown number of Changelings, to decide the fate of the Eastern Province.
As the sun rose higher in the sky and the two armies squared off, a large, grey cloud drifted lazily across the heavens, passing in front of the sun and casting a great shadow across the land. Those who were truly devout paid it no heed, but for many, it was a worrying portent. A symbol, a message from fate itself? Or a mere coincidence?
"Ponies!" Celestia cried, bellowing out her words in the Royal Canterlot Voice, the traditional method of addressing large crowds. "We fight this day for Equestria! We fight this day for family, for faith, for country! We fight to crush tyranny, to free our lands from oppression and cruelty! We fight to cast back the shadow, to hurl the darkness from our borders, and to let our fellow citizens bathe in the light! You fight for me, and I fight for you, and together, we shall be victorious!" From atop her horse, she drew her sword and raised it high above her head. A great roar rose from the throats of the army, sixty thousand strong.
"Praise the Sun!"
"Praise the Sun!"
"Praise the Sun!"
Celestia pointed her sword at the Changelings before lowering it to her side. As one, the Holy Army began to advance.
"Praise the Sun!"
"For the Princess!"
"Charge!"
Musket gripped tightly, bayonet gleaming, sharpened, ready, swaying with each step, the enemy closer and closer now. See the whites of their eyes, or green in this case. Changelings, nearer and nearer, reloading their muskets. Others behind, directing the fire, swords drawn, horns aglow. Screaming beside, screaming behind. Flashes of green and purple and blue, flickering in the edges of vision. Sweaty hands, shaking, tired legs, feet pounding the ground. Panting breath, burning lungs. The clatter of gunfire, the clash of steel. This was what some ponies lived for, and what others tried desperately to avoid.
Like a wave, the Equestrian charge reached the Changeling line. Unicorns let fly with blasts of magic. The grenadiers, on the right flank of every regiment as was traditional, lit the fuses of their bombs as best they could on the move and hurled them. The grenades, simple metal casings packed with gunpowder and sometimes nails for added impact, exploded among the Changeling lines mere moments before the Equestrians arrived, tearing into their chitinous carapaces and felling dozens. Just before the charge struck, a disciplined volley of fire from the Changeling frontline tore through the ponies. The wounded dropped, left behind by their fellows who raced on, striking the Changeling line.
Bayonet clashed with bayonet. Advance, parry, thrust, recover. It worked for some, and not for others. Pony and Changeling alike lived or died depending on what their opponent did, the soldier who happened to be facing them, standing their ground or rushing in to attack. All along the line, battle was joined in earnest, two armies coming together, each intent on the destruction of the other. The field would belong to one side at the end of the day, and that result would be down to the individual courage and skill of every combatant. Of course, one particularly skilled fighter could certainly turn the tide.
Princess Celestia turned away from the survivors of the Changeling cavalry, letting the hussars finish the job of harrying them away from the battle, pursuing if necessary, though not too far in case they were lured either into a trap or far enough away that they were of no further use in the battle. She, however, had another plan, and her horse, the Nameless, still another role. She leaped down from his back, almost casually, as though she were returning to the royal stables after a trial ride atop a prize racehorse. With a simple pat on his rump, The Nameless turned and trotted back dutifully toward the Equestrian lines, leaving the Princess on foot.
A group of Changelings rushed toward her, circling her menacingly, pikes, swords and axes ready. Celestia was unconcerned, which must have confused the Changelings. How could anypony be unafraid of them, especially when that pony was alone amongst them? It did not make sense. Therefore she had to be quite mad, insane, damaged in the head to do such a thing, and to send her mount away, too, the only logical route out of the predicament she had placed herself in! The Changelings would delight in such a simple kill, even if the mass of Equestrian infantry now fighting their way toward them might pose a bigger challenge. One drone lunged at Celestia with his spear.
Celestia made no attempt to dodge or block. Instead, the spear struck her armour, and the iron head melted away, the wooden haft igniting, bursting into flame to a confused look from its wielder. Celestia smiled, and her smile was like night and day; a munificent, motherly, loving smile to her followers, but a rictus grin of death to her enemies, narrowed eyes and a smirk of enjoyment at the corner of her mouth. The Changeling with the spear took a step back, his weapon useless. Celestia swung her sword, cutting off both its arms at the elbow. Another Changeling moved to strike, then another. Celestia cut them both down effortlessly. Now the others knew she was not some maniac after all; she was a threat, and a threat had to be ended as soon as possible. They all charged.
One by one, they all died.
The Equestrian infantry cheered as they saw their Princess join the fight on the ground. Other monarchs and rulers would have stuck to their mounts as they cut a more noble figure by doing so. Many would have stayed out of the fight entirely, parading behind their own army and taking the praise for a victory while the generals came up with the battle plan and the soldiers fought and died, while simultaneously passing the blame for a defeat over to their underlings. Not Celestia. As many foes had discovered down the centuries, she was more than happy to take to the field to support her troops, to fight alongside them, to share in the spoils of victory and the stinging shame of an occasional defeat- though the Equestrian Army had scarcely faltered throughout history whenever she was with them. An enemy would need overwhelming superiority in either numbers or power to be able to defeat an Equestrian army led by their Princess. This Changeling force had neither.
Celestia began to run, sprinting toward the mass of Changelings that now formed their heavily dented and depleted left flank. She moved with impressive speed, laden down with her heavy armour. Spreading her wings, she lunged forward, a sudden burst of momentum coming from nowhere. Her horn glowed and a semicircular bow wave of magic erupted outward, tossing back her foes and casting their reformed line into disarray. The Changelings had managed to regroup once the Equestrian cavalry had turned outward to engage the Changeling mounted units, but that cohesion was shattered by the twin effects of the massed ranks of Equestrian infantry smashing into their front, and the Princess charging into their flank. When she reached them, Celestia began to tear through the now shambolic defences of the Changeling flank. Several soldiers crawled about on the floor, disoriented by her kinetic blast. The first Changeling she came across found its head smashed into the dirt, crushed beneath her boot heel, its skull shattered. The next was run through with her sword. Another came with a spear, and she dodged it, grasping the shaft of the spear and yanking it from the grasp of the drone carrying it. With a deft flip, she turned it end over end and plunged it deep into the guts of the hapless drone, before lifting it up, holding it aloft with one arm, the Changeling still impaled upon it, flailing uselessly like a drowning rat. There was another cheer from her own lines.
A Changeling officer came at her with a sword of his own, parrying several of her blows as she tossed the spear and the dying drone aside. The officer stood toe to toe with her, far more adept at swordplay than his ineffectual underlings and fancying himself a worthy opponent to the Princess. For a few moments it seemed as though he might be correct, until Celestia reversed a swing, countering his attack with a clash of steel, wrenching his weapon from his grasp and quickly sweeping her sword back the other way to slice across his throat. Green blood spurted from a severed artery and the officer collapsed. Celestia continued her solo advance, aiming to link up with the Equestrian infantry who were pressing forward with the same objective, for to fight alongside their Princess was as great a motivator as the simple possibility of surviving the battle. Even if they fell, to die by her side was such a heavenly way to die, as the old proverb went.
The Changelings were in a panic, their frontline collapsing under the great pressure from the wave of Equestrian infantry. Both flanks had bowed under the pressure from the cavalry charges, but they were slowly trying to reform themselves. The hussars had gone after the Changeling cavalry, and the lancers and household cavalry were still harrying the other flank, but were being held at bay by a reinforced line of Changeling pikes, jabbing at the riders and their mounts. Celestia continued to press on, swinging her sword, her horn aglow, striking enemies down with blade and blast, cutting a one-mare swathe through the enemy as they tried desperately to fight back against the Princess and her followers who were swarming all over their front. There was no simple solution for the Changelings. Either they retreated, or they continued to take heavy casualties. Outnumbered and outfought, they were unable to advance or to counter the assault.
Celestia decapitated two drones with one mighty swing of her sword, driving to link up with the infantry, throwing the enemy line into further disarray with every blow she struck. The normally steadfast Changelings, their organisational structure held together by the officers through the mental links of the Hive Mind, were starting to buckle under the pressure. Some worker Changelings, their officers dead, were turning and actively fleeing from the Princess. That was something that had never been witnessed before. A retreat, that was one thing; orderly, disciplined, falling back unit by unit in a gradual process. But these Changelings were running away in terror, and terror was not an emotion the Changelings were prone to showing. Yet faced with the Princess and their own collapsing mental network, they were starting to suffer exactly what so many of their own foes had felt when they stood opposite a Changeling line.
As the Princess barreled through a cordon of musketeers from behind and finally linked up with her own advancing infantry, the rest of the Changeling army began a phased withdrawal from the battlefield, exactly as they would have planned; no panic, no confusion. Evidently whoever was still in command of the force had deemed their position to be untenable, and still retained enough control to be able to order the retreat in a proper fashion. One by one, units began to move back from the line, supported by others nearby, the Changeling cannons starting up with a steady drumbeat of covering fire aimed at the additional Equestrian infantry units now making their advance. The units directly behind the frontline pulled back and formed a new firing line to the rear, then finally those who were engaged turned and retreated at a run. The Equestrian infantry made to pursue, but Celestia held her sword up high and bellowed her command.
"Hold fast! Let the cowards run!"
There was another cheer from the ponies; the enemy had taken flight. They were victorious. The field, and the day, were both theirs. The beleaguered Changeling infantry who had taken heavy casualties ducked behind their own firing line, who then moved back in turn, unit by unit, covering each other's retreat. It would be easy to be lured into a trap by a suitably cunning enemy commander; many times throughout history, a retreat had been faked in order to lure an opponent into a much stronger force held in reserve to the rear, leading to their rout or destruction because of overconfidence. Celestia was certainly not going to be overconfident here. Together with Ostmane, she had agreed that the Changeling force arrayed before them on the field of battle was far from the full strength of their army here in the eastern province. It was a relatively meagre force, hence the ease with which it had been routed. It was entirely possible that the Changelings hoped to provoke a wild advance from an Equestrian army flush with joy at their victory, leading them into the teeth of massed artillery or a numerically superior Changeling force. They were not going to take the bait.
Rather than commit the army to an advance, Celestia and Ostmane ordered the cavalry units to press on and harry the retreating Changelings, but to pull back at the first sighting of any additional enemy forces. They did not need to push all the way to Saltsburg so quickly. Indeed, it would be foolish to do so. One battle and one victory would be enough for now; enough to satiate the warlike tendencies of the soldiers, enough to give the Changelings a bloody snout, enough to let the ponies of the Eastern Province know that the Holy Army had come to their aid.
General Summerstrike was proud of the Corona Line. He was proud of the labourers who had toiled for so long to construct it, and he was proud of the ponies who manned its battlements and protected the forts. As its commanding officer, that was to be expected. But he was also proud of what it represented. The Corona Line was named after Celestia's crown, that symbol of high and holy office that the Princess wore. Each fort represented one of the points of the diadem, three in total, guarding the southern approaches into the Foal Valley, where the capital city lay. Like the forts of the Hornburg Line, they were modern, designed to be resistant to artillery fire, strong walls of stone reinforced with earth and low buildings to minimise the silhouette for enemy gunners.
They were also designed for a specific purpose, and that purpose was to dominate their immediate surroundings. A fort could control a key terrain feature, such as a mountain pass, the entrance to a valley, or a river ford. The Corona Line had been constructed to defend both the entrance to the Foal Valley and also the approaches to the Henbane River, which lay to their north. There were a couple of older forts there, guarding the most accessible river crossings, but it had been decided that the best approach was to try and limit enemy access into the valley in the first place. The great military architect and planner, Ferdinand Firetail, had drawn up the plans for the fortresses and overseen their construction, an undertaking which took several years and several million bits apiece to complete. There had been some suggestion of placing the forts at the Henbane itself to defend the river, but that would have meant spending even more of the treasury's coffers, already depleted after the construction of the Hornburg line at a similarly exorbitant cost, in tearing down the old fortresses that were already located there. Firetail, Celestia and Hawkeye had agreed between them that an extra layer of protection for the river and valley would be the ideal way to proceed, and so it had been done.
Firetail, whose colours matched his name, with a wild mixture of red, orange, and yellow to be found all over his body and mane, was one of Equestria's great current military minds. Formerly a Colonel in the Royal Guard, and a footsoldier and junior officer in the infantry for years before that, he had studied architecture and military history at the highly prestigious Canterlot University after one of his uncles, a minor noble, died and elevated Firetail, so to speak, to the fringes of the aristocracy. Despite his humble beginnings as an apprentice blacksmith and thence a mud-wallower in the infantry, Firetail took to his studies with a voracious appetite and graduated top of his class. Only those of noble birth or marriage, or military officers, who unlike in some nations could be of any stock, could study at the royal university, and to graduate in any subject was noteworthy.
To come top of a highly competitive class in his joint subject was something to be applauded, and applauded it was. Firetail was quickly informed that he was due to marry a mare he had never met, as befitted his new noble status as a very minor baronet. So it was that his union with his new wife, Rosehip, the daughter of the Marquess of Trottingham, came to pass, as well as his appointment as commander of the Royal Guard garrison at Stalliongrad, a post he held for several years, leading successful counter-insurgency operations against gangs of Moon Cultists and Griffon border pirates. All the while he was working, sketching, drawing, sculpting his ideas for forts, fortified cities, border defences. His one aim in life was to protect Equestria- and, after two years of marriage, to protect his newly born daughter as well.
Promotions and appointments continued until he was called to oversee the construction of a new fort on the northern border with Yakyakistan, to replace a decrepit pile of masonry which had partially succumbed to a landslip and now resembled not so much a fortress as a kind of crumpled chamber pot with the handle missing. Under his direction, a brand new, modern, well-armed fort had been erected to guard the northern reaches. It had withstood a massive assault by a rogue Yak warband who had strayed from the fold and attacked against the orders of their Crown Prince. Only a dozen ponies had died and the walls had held against heavy artillery and old-fashioned catapults alike, earning Firetail the praise of his superiors, including the Princess, who had appointed him to design two more forts elsewhere in the land, and then ultimately the improvement and modernisation of the walls of Canterlot itself, culminating in the construction of the new defensive lines, the Hornburg and the Corona.
However, as General Summerstrike observed ruefully from the battlements, the skill and money poured into the construction of the Corona Line did not mean it would prove particularly useful in the war. The Shadow Army evidently had a single main aim; to drive north as fast as possible, and capture Canterlot. That was the logical end goal for them, pushing up the valley all the way, punching through anything in their path. That was exactly what they were doing; they had taken Trottingham easily enough, but when confronted by the Corona Line and its trio of forts, they had evidently decided to bypass them entirely.
That was the main issue with a fixed defensive line; unless you also had a strong army in the field, it was entirely possible for the enemy to slip through the gaps between forts with little to hinder them. The garrisons of each fort were strong enough to mount local counterattacks, but not to stop a determined push against a numerically superior enemy, even if they could coordinate effectively between garrisons, which was difficult given that each fort was miles from the next, thanks to the width of the valley. To avoid attracting cannonballs, the forts also lacked high towers as would be found in most fortified cities, meaning they were reliant on Pegasus observers to see what was happening to their fellow strongholds. As it was, Summerstrike and the rest of the garrison at Fort Corona simply had to stand and watch in dismay as the vast majority of the enemy simply marched past, between their fort and their eastern neighbour, sweeping aside the meagre defences strung out between the strongpoints, leaving behind small but sufficient numbers of troops to invest and besiege the forts, keeping their garrisons bottled up and unable to counter the bulk of the Shadow Army and their Changeling auxiliaries. Not that they would have been able to anyway; if they had taken to the field, the garrison troops would have been slaughtered, outnumbered horribly by the huge enemy force.
General Summerstrike sent messengers north, as soon as the enemy began to march through the gaps and as soon as he could get a rough estimate on their strength. He confirmed that the previous estimate, from Colonel Graves at Trottingham, was broadly accurate, and estimated the enemy's numbers at between one hundred and one hundred and twenty thousand. That, he clarified, was the strength of the force that was proceeding northward. They had left behind at least twenty thousand more troops to besiege the forts. He again urged in the strongest possible terms that every available unit be sent to hold the Henbane River against the horde. His messengers reached Canterlot, and his pleas were heard by Hawkeye and Starswirl. They were acted upon. But that was not enough.
The Henbane River was the lifeblood of the Southern Province, the mighty artery that flowed down from the high peaks of the Southern Foals and out across the valley before emptying, eventually, into the Great Western Sea several hundred miles away to the west, where it formed the northern border of the Shadowlands with Griffon territory. By the time it arrived at the ocean it was a vast delta, some eight miles wide and surrounded by estuarine marshes and low-lying swamps. North of the Corona Line, however, it was a fast-flowing, half-mile wide, but fairly shallow river. Shallow, however, was a relative term, for it was completely unfordable for the most part. For the majority of its length as it passed through the valley, the Henbane could only be crossed by bridges, of which there were three; two of stone and one of wood. At Summerstrike's order, the garrisons of the small forts that controlled the bridges had destroyed them by detonating stores of gunpowder, denying their use to the enemy and blocking any easy passage across the river.
However, at two key points where the river cut across the valley, rocky outcroppings of hard schist protruded from the earth and formed a firm surface below the water, worn smooth by the hydraulic action over countless years. Here, and only here, an army could ford the river in relative safety. Infantry could wade across, horses could pass through, and supply wagons and cannons could be towed to the other side without being inundated or washed away. These two fords were the key to accessing the valley beyond, which was why castles and other defensive fortifications had been built there long ago.
The two castles and their earthworks and blockhouses controlled the fords, constructed many years ago. The strategic importance of the two sites had long been known, and Equestria had sought to control them in order to restrict crossings of the river, which ran east to west, and to control access into the glacial valley that ran north to south., within which Canterlot lay. The two sites had been reinforced by contingents of the Provincial Armies of both the Southern and Central Provinces in anticipation of the enemy advance, with some companies marching day and night from the towns of Ponyville and Clopham Junction to reach their positions. The crossings were well defended, with cannons covering the fords and musketponies aplenty. None of it made a difference, for one simple reason.
The enemy did not use the fords.
Nor did they use the bridges, as their scouts quickly determined they had been destroyed. Instead, they found a clear stretch of the southern bank, well out of range of any defences, and began to construct their own bridge. The Changelings and Pegasi in their ranks simply flew over the river at the undefended spot to establish a bridgehead on the far side, quickly adopting a combat posture in case Equestrian forces arrived. Meanwhile, their engineers were busy floating empty boats out into the stream, over which they rapidly constructed a makeshift pontoon bridge, using their magic to rapidly assemble planks of wood, roping them together, securing them to the boats which had been carried with the army's supply train for just such a purpose. It did not take all that long, a few hours, but it was long enough that the Equestrian forces who had rushed to augment the defences at the fords were able to reposition once their scouts learned of the pontoon construction. Every available pony was rushed to the location to try and prevent the crossing.
They failed.
Exhausted by their rapid forced march and confronted immediately upon arrival by a mass of Changelings and Pegasi, the Equestrian infantry formed up as best they could. They had no artillery, but some of the Shadow Army's guns were able to deploy on the south bank and provide supporting fire. They had no cavalry, either, though the enemy riders were confined to the south bank until the bridge was completed. But most importantly, they were arriving piecemeal. Companies were arriving from different sites at different times, from the bridges and the fords and from the reserve. They had different distances to travel, and to form them up elsewhere and then advance as one body would just give the enemy time to complete the bridge and rush their best units across to fight. Whatever the defenders did, they were doomed to fail. Without a large force, they could not hope to control the entire river. They tried their best, fought bravely, and died, felled by the swords and muskets of the Changelings and the Pegasi of the Shadow Army. They inflicted casualties, but in return they were shattered, forced to retreat in disarray. The pontoon bridge was completed, and the invaders began to stream across. Infantry, cavalry, artillery. All headed north. Their objective was clear, and they were confident of reaching it. The river had been the last major obstacle, and they had overcome it with ease and minimal loss. The way ahead lay open.
"Your Excellency!"
Starswirl looked up at the sudden and impolite intrusion on his private chambers, half accommodation and half alchemical laboratory, with scrolls and books and scientific instruments scattered about all over the place as though a tornado had recently passed through. A member of the Royal Guard had rushed in, a letter clutched in his hand.
"Forgive me, Your Excellency..." he bowed his head. "A letter from the Princess!"
"Ah, yes..." Starswirl nodded, rising from the vast and ancient tome he had been perusing, the musty pages as aged as he was. "Thank you." He took the letter, breaking the royal seal and examining it.
My Most Loyal Starswirl,
I received your latest missive with great concern. However, before I address that issue, I must inform you that we have struck the first blow in the east, and defeated a Changeling force on the plains. They have retreated toward Saltsburg, and we had begun to pursue. This new information, however, gives me cause to hesitate. If the southern border has been breached and the Shadow Army marches upon our lands, then we face a new and grave threat not solely confined to our eastern flank. I empower you to take whatever actions you deem necessary to protect the capital. I will send another letter tomorrow once I have decided on the course of action the Holy Army will take. Saltsburg must be retaken, but the protection of Canterlot is paramount. Inform me by messenger at once if Canterlot is threatened directly, or once that circumstance is imminent and inevitable, or if you believe you have insufficient forces available to prevent such a situation from developing.
Time is critical. Do not waste it. If you believe a siege of the city is likely, make any and all necessary preparations as quickly and thoroughly as possible.
Her Most Serene Highness, Princess Celestia
Starswirl dismissed the guardspony and read the message. It was to be expected; the Princess had a dilemma now. Proceed to relieve Saltsburg, or march back to Canterlot? Could the lines hold without her and the Holy Army? Maybe, maybe not. Could Saltsburg be relieved without them? Unlikely, at least not for weeks until they could marshal troops from Baltimare. It may well be too late by then, with the city fallen to the enemy. If they continued on, however, they might relieve Saltsburg, only to find their own capital city had been taken from them.
The grand strategic decisions were not Starswirl's immediate concern. Celestia had command of the Holy Army and would do what she wished with it, though he could advise her for or against certain courses of action so long as the lines of communication held. Canterlot was his priority.
Another knock came at his door and it opened. This time, General Hawkeye entered, greeting him with a brief nod of the head. "Your Excellency. We have news."
"Indeed we do, General." Starswirl held up the letter from the Princess. "Her Highness has won the first victory of the eastern campaign."
Hawkeye frowned. "That is not the news to which I am referring, though it pleases me to hear it. I have just received a message from the Henbane line."
"And?" Starswirl questioned.
"It has been breached," Hawkeye replied bluntly. "They are across the river."
"I see..." Starswirl nodded slowly. "A momentary high, replaced immediately by a crushing low. The fleeting nature of happiness, one supposes. Somepony should spend a lifetime studying that effect."
Hawkeye had no time to listen to Starswirl's babbling. "Your Excellency, you do understand what this means? The enemy have crossed the Henbane. There is nothing now standing between them and this city except open country and the peasant militia of a dozen small towns. We must inform the Princess at once, and prepare Canterlot for a siege."
"Yes, yes, I understand it well enough," Starswirl replied. "But you need have no fear, despite the threat. I shall keep Canterlot quite safe."
"And how do you aim to do that, Your Excellency?" Hawkeye questioned dryly. "Your prowess with a sword is perhaps a well-kept secret?"
"Sarcasm is unbecoming of one of high rank such as yourself," Starswirl reproached. "You fight with sword and musket, General. I fight with magic, and it is magic which shall keep Canterlot protected if the enemy should come here."
"Be that as it may, Your Excellency, I shall order the garrison to take appropriate preparations," Hawkeye replied. "We must be ready. I will not stand by and see this city subjugated because we were not prepared. If the enemy take us by storm and shot, so be it, but Canterlot will not fall because we failed to understand the magnitude of what we are facing. Your Excellency, General Summerstrike's latest letter estimated the enemy force at anywhere up to one hundred and twenty thousand soldiers. Do you know how many we still have here in the city?"
"From your tone, I would estimate fewer than one hundred and twenty thousand," Starswirl mused.
"Six thousand," Hawkeye snapped. "Six thousand two hundred and eleven regulars. One thousand five hundred Royal Guard. Four thousand militia. That makes less than twelve thousand total armed ponies, which means the enemy could outnumber us ten to one if they reach our walls."
"Mere numbers are no guarantee of success, General," Starswirl replied sagely. "There are other factors to consider also."
"Firepower, for example? Indeed," Hawkeye nodded. "We have three hundred cannons, Your Excellency, but we have gunners for only two hundred. Her Highness took the rest as part of her artillery train with the Holy Army. Some of those guns are older than me. Many have not even been fired other than for ceremonial purposes."
"But we do have magic, General," Starswirl posited. "Can magic not win battles by itself? History will show you many examples. The Battle of the Needles, the second Battle of Bull Creek, the..."
"I know my history, Your Excellency," Hawkeye replied, becoming increasing exasperated. "But magic can only do so much. Besides which, Her Highness is not here with us. Her magic, I would have faith in."
"But not in mine?" Starswirl mused, tapping his chin through his gossamer beard. "Magic is magic, no? It matters not who wields it so long as the possess the strength of will and mind to use its power appropriately."
"Your words border on blasphemous, Your Excellency..." Hawkeye warned him. "It is a good thing the High Ecclesiarch is not here, or else..."
There was another knock at the door, and a new arrival. Ferdinand Firetail, the military architect, entered the chamber, his sober black doublet and hose contrasting with the bright and vibrant red of his body and the mix of fiery colours that formed his mane and tail. "Forgive the intrusion...I could not help but overhear raised voices from down the hall as I approached," he explained cheerfully. "I was told I might find you up here, General. If you are not too busy, perhaps you could fill me in on the latest news?"
Glad of a reprieve from the insufferable mage, Hawkeye turned to him. "Yes, Sir Ferdinand. With pleasure..." She quickly read out the contents of the latest letter from Summerstrike, skipping over the part where he again insulted Starswirl, bringing Firetail up to speed.
"It seems we face a grave situation, then," Firetail nodded grimly. "Yet I could not help but overhear you talking of magic saving the day, Your Excellency."
"Indeed, I did," Starswirl nodded. "Fear not, Sir Ferdinand. I am sure the General here will find some use for your prodigious talents."
"Forgive me, Your Excellency, if I may make one small point..." Firetail scratched the back of his neck. "You say that magic shall save the city and that magic has won many battles in the past, correct? But from what I recall from my course studies at university, all of those battles had one thing in common, did they not?"
"And what, pray tell, was that?" Starswirl asked, seeming to be as irritated with the arrival and intrusion of the precocious and relatively young architect and minor noble as Hawkeye had been with the mage mere moments earlier.
"They were fighting armies without magic of their own," the General interrupted before Firetail could reply.
"Exactly! Well remembered, General," Firetail smiled. "The Battle of the Needles, for instance. Princess Celestia and Princess Luna, if I may speak her name within these hallowed walls, struck a hammer blow against the Griffons by themselves. All the army had to do was mop up the survivors. But I am sure that I do not have to remind either of you that both the Changelings and the Shadow Army are quite adept at using magic for their own purposes. Both Changeling drones and officers can enact spells, as can unicorns."
"They can, yes, but they do not possess the knowledge and strength in their understanding of magic that I do," Starswirl replied dismissively. "They shall not be able to harm the city, but if it makes you feel better, General, then make all the preparations you need. The city must be prepared for a siege, even if not for a battle. Please take Firet...excuse me, Sir Ferdinand... with you."
"I will...Your Excellency." Hawkeye bowed her head before leaving the chamber with Firetail.
"That went well, I think," Firetail mused. "His Excellency made some cogent points."
"His Excellency is a deluded old fool..." Hawkeye muttered under her breath. "I do not know why the Princess left him in command. He is half senile. Perhaps it's the mercury he uses in his experiments, or maybe the lead...arsenic? I am not even sure what other shit he burns and melts and inhales daily."
"You are a little harsh on him, I think!" Firetail chided as they walked. "He bears a great responsibility, not just for the city but for the whole of Equestria."
"The Princess bears that burden for all of us," Hawkeye replied. "Starswirl is merely a locum, and one who is letting that temporary power go to his head. No matter how good he may be at magic, he cannot be the equal of the Princess, and he alone will not save Canterlot. That is our task."
"It is a task I am more than willing to help you carry out, General!" Firetail smiled. "Just tell me what to do, and I shall get to work right away."
"Draw up plans," Hawkeye replied. "Anything, everything. Whatever you can think of. Put them to me and I will tell you what we have the resources and ponypower to carry out. Focus on the city. Nothing grandiose elsewhere. We cannot plug up the valley and we cannot stop the enemy getting onto the plateau, not without the Holy Army. Just keep them out of Canterlot. Our walls are strong, you know that. You designed the damn things. But we need more. Something has to make up for our deficit in numbers. Maybe Starswirl's magic will do that. Maybe it won't. If it doesn't, then I need this city ready. A city that is ready is a city I can defend."
"Understood, General!" Firetail nodded enthusiastically. "I shall do my level best. You can count on it. The city will be ready. You have my word."
"Very good, Sir Ferdinand." Hawkeye shook his hand. "Magic or masonry. Let us hope one or the other is sufficient, because if they both fail, then the Princess might not have a capital to return to."
Ferdinand Firetail's earlier efforts had seen the walls of Canterlot rebuilt, strengthened, modernised. They had been redesigned to resist cannon fire and enhance the city's own firepower, with the three main portals, the Unicorn, Earth and Pegasus Gates, each covered by cannons from above as well as at the sides, both along the walltop and in the protrusions that jutted out from the city's protective curtain. These were the bastions, the great mounds of solid stone and masonry that guarded the approaches. Each was packed with cannons, as well as smaller defensive emplacements, firing ports and revetments. Each gate had two bastions guarding it; the Unicorn Gate had the Phoenix Bastion and the Timberwolf Bastion, the Earth Gate had the Hydra Bastion and the Manticore Bastion, and the Pegasus Gate was covered by the Dragon Bastion and the Wyvern Bastion. Each bastion was protected in turn by a single ravelin, a triangular earthwork constructed in front of the bastions to act as another layer of defence, to prevent the enemy getting an easy, clean shot on the bastion walls with artillery, and to break up an incoming attack and funnel the enemy around the sides of the ravelin and thus the bastion it protected, where they could be exposed to a hail of crossfire from both bulwarks, the curtain wall, and the ravelin itself. The Unicorn and Earth Gates were located on the southern side of the city, while the Pegasus Gate was located around to the east.
At the southeast point where the great curtain wall turned, there were two more defensive structures that protected the corner. These were the Solar Bastion and the former Lunar Bastion, long since renamed the Astral Bastion instead in a further and continued effort to expunge Princess Luna's betrayal from the historical record. They were located at a natural weak point, for where the curtain wall turned it was difficult to maintain a continuous band of supporting fire from it. The two bastions jutted out and provided mutual support for each other and also helped protect the corner of the wall, a point at which the physical construct was at its most vulnerable.
The western and northern city walls were mostly a formality, for both looked out into the abyss. The northern wall guarded a thin strip of flat land before the rocky perimeter of the edge of the plateau, and the west wall was practically on the edge of forever, located just far enough back from the precipice to avoid, it was hoped, any immediate danger in the next few centuries of undermining or collapse thanks to natural erosion or landslide. These walls were still patrolled and guarded because of the threat of airborne attack, but they had no cannons or defensive structures, for it would be impossible for an enemy to mount a ground assault from those directions. The threat to the city came largely from due south.
In front of the city wall lay the ditch, an old construction from a time when battering rams and siege engines were the main threat to the city. Celestia had long ago ordered her engineers to dig a deep moat surrounding the city, which was fed with water from the mountain streams. But the moat had been left to decay for decades, partly through lack of funding and political will, partly due to the movement to gunpowder as the primary method of siege warfare, and partly due to the fact that the city had not been attacked for a long time. When Firetail was called to enact his initial reforms, he thus ordered the moat to be fully drained and replaced with a simple ditch, with a steep and uneven counterscarp, and a scarp of smooth earth and wooden logs forming the rear face closest to the city, designed to be almost unclimbable while under direct fire from the city walls. A mound of compacted soil lay in front of the ditch, behind which lay the glacis, an open killing ground attackers would have to cross before they reached the lip of the ditch itself. Out beyond the ditch was another earthwork, a kind of second city wall, though nowhere near as grandiose, being constructed entirely of soil rather than brick and stone. This was designed as an outer breastwork for the enemy to beat itself against, and could be lined with musketponies and pikes, acting as a first line of defence.
The only spot where these defences did not quite reach Firetail's exacting standards was near the river Coltava, the mountain torrent that fed the city, providing it with fresh, clean glacial water. The Coltava divided the city in twain, separating the Old Town and the New Town, the inner and outer sections of Canterlot, from each other. It also marked a potential vulnerability, for where the river flowed, no massive city wall could be constructed. That was the city's obvious weak point, for instead of a wall there was merely a huge metal grate, secured with numerous chains and watched over by two widely spaced defensive outcroppings, the imaginatively-named Old Town Bastion and New Town Bastion, each located on opposite sides of the river. The outer works such as the earthen embankment could not be constructed right up to the riverbank, either, as the ground closer to it became waterlogged. However, one thing in the city's favour was that a small tributary of the Coltava broke away and flowed south across the plateau not too far out from the city walls, meaning that any enemy force who tried to attack the weak spot would still have to cross at least one river to reach it. If they formed up beyond the tributary, in the space between it and the mountainside, they would be an easy target for artillery and restricted in maneuverability.
All of that construction had been accomplished either centuries earlier, or in more recent years under the rennovations of Ferdinand Firetail. Now, more work was called for. At Firetail's direction, the wall and bastion positions were reinforced with timber, sandbags and grain sacks filled with soil for extra protection from gunfire. Outside the walls, abandoning all earlier attempts at avoiding panic, citizens were roped in to form construction parties, with two main aims. First, dig a network of trenches, connecting the bastions to their protective ravelins, the outer breastwork to the second line, and individual positions to each other. Second, construct a large palisade atop the breastwork, consisting of thousands of wooden stakes supported with earth, reinforced with cross-beams and tied together. This had the double purpose of constructing more protection for the defenders, and also cutting down as many trees from the vicinity as possible, thus denying their use to the enemy, and every little thing that could slow the enemy down was useful.
To the untrained eye, these measures might seem half-baked, pointless even, paling in comparison with the mighty city walls that towered over them. But Firetail knew that, if nothing else, they would buy Canterlot time, and time was something they lacked. If they could hold out until the Holy Army arrived, or until reinforcements from Stalliongrad could be summoned, then they might have a chance of survival. Each line of defences that the enemy had to break through would add to the length of the siege. That could allow them to hold out until help arrived, but in itself it could be problematic if there was a lack of supply.
Therefore, every citizen who had not been roped into the construction party was instructed to gather whatever resources they could from the plateau. Food was the most important, timber the second. Every scrap that might be of use had to be brought into the city's protective embrace, for once the enemy arrived it would be extremely difficult to send out scavenging parties, and there would certainly be no likelihood of supply from elsewhere getting through the blockade. Grain was rapidly harvested, potatoes, tomatoes, celery and fruit all gathered in. Grass was mowed and stockpiled; an advantage for a mainly herbivorous society like Equestria was that the city's occupants could subsist on the simplest things, including grass, leaves and flowers. Species such as the Griffons had notably few sieges in their history where they were on the defensive and emerged as the victors- though there were numerous accounts of their raiding parties capturing enemy sentries and gun crews and using them as sources of nutrition, rather than as sources of information.
The word of alarm was passed to the towns of the plateau, as well as those in the valley below. Naturally it also spread rapidly among the nobility of Canterlot. From the evening after the signal from the Henbane was received, the road out of town was alive with carriages and wagons as the aristrocrats, merchants and other high-borne ponies of means simply upped sticks and fled the city. Watchers on the westwall could track their progress along the valley road to the north as the endless string of lanterns, each marking a carriage or cart, headed into the distance toward the fortress-city of Vanhoover, the next safe haven.
At the same time, Canterlot received an influx of new blood- refugees from the towns of the plateau and the valley. They had nowhere else to go, nor the means to flee to the north like those of noble birth. Their only option was to run for the safety of the city. Within the day, the villages were empty and the city was full once more. Those from the valley arrived during the following morning as feverish work continued on the defences. Nopony knew how long they had. Scouts were posted on the very southern edge of the plateau and down in the valley, scanning constantly for any sign of the advancing enemy. The more warning they had, the better.
To new arrivals, the city looked like a hive of frenzied activity, like an anthill with thousands of bodies swarming all over its exterior. Ponies were digging, ponies were carrying and stacking, ponies were chopping and hammering. To Corporal Snapshot, it was awe-inspiring. Not the effort, nor the defensive works, but the city itself. Here he was, in Canterlot, for the first time in his life. He had been born in the west, been shunted around the country in his military service, but never had he visited the capital, not even as a pilgrim of grace to visit the home of the Princess. It was every bit as beautiful as he had imagined, even if it was surrounded with military scaffolding, so to speak.
Captain Oats had led her band of survivors north to the Corona Line, where they had met with General Summerstrike himself, giving him their account of the battle. The General had then ordered Oats to take her small force north with the next set of merchants' wagons to leave Fort Corona, all the way to Canterlot. He had given them orders to report to the capital and tell the military leaders there everything they knew about the enemy in person. That was why they were here now; at the time of their departure from the fort, they were the only survivors known to have encountered the enemy force. They had ridden the empty carts north, bumping over the roads and tracks all the way, for the last four days. They had scarcely stopped for rest, for the merchants had been as keen to keep ahead of the enemy advance as their passengers. Now, finally, they had arrived at the City of Sun, the House of the Princess. Even if they brought only bad tidings with them, Snapshot was glad he had been able to see Canterlot with his own eyes at least once before he died. The fact that he might well die within its walls had not yet occurred to him.
"Praise be to the Princess, Holy of Holies, Bringer of Light. Praise be to Her name."
"Praise the Sun..."
"Deliver your subjects from the taint of evil, o Celestia, Bride and Princess of all, the cause of our rejoicing. In thy name do we pray, in thy name do we fight, in thy name do we pass from this world. For we know, every one of us, your majesty reigns in the next life as it does in this. O Celestia, mother to all our foals, beloved in all our hearts, light in all our darkness, heed our cries. Praise the Sun."
"Praise the Sun..."
High Ecclesiarch Amber Frost looked out at the assembled throng. Unlike his recent weekly sermons, he was no longer in the Chapel of the Elms. He was back in the Golden Cathedral, for this was no ordinary service. The pews of the cathedral were packed, with ponies of all ages, backgrounds and professions crammed into the great edifice to hear him speak. The audience was greater than any such service he could remember, other than those that were celebrating a royal wedding. Why?
Ponies were afraid.
Canterlot was threatened directly for the first time in living memory. Only Celestia and Starswirl could remember another such instance, far in the past. Even Frost, as wizened as he was, had no memory of such a day, for it had been generations. Yet now, almost out of nowhere, it seemed, there was grave danger, and ponies naturally feared the worst for the city and for themselves. Frost was here to help allay their fears as best he could. That was his duty as Ecclesiarch, for though the Princess was not physically in the city with them, she was there in spirit, in each of their hearts as their moral compass, their divine guide, the lighthouse that would guide them through life's turbulent shoals and treacherous tides.
Frost's sermons were full of fine words, grand sentiments and sweeping gestures, but they were not enough to quell the fear. It was palpable, hanging in the air like a fine mist. There were nervous glances even among the congregation, looking at the grand doors to the cathedral, either for reassurance there was still a way out, or in fear in case the enemy suddenly burst in. Even in his many long years, Frost had not known a mood like this. Not since the Zebrican invasion centuries earlier had the city been in the grip of a terror, a deep funk of despair. Frost was not ancient enough to remember that personally, but he imagined this may well be worse; the Zebricans had the Princess and her army between them and the city, but this enemy, sweeping up from the south, had no such impedient, and ponies knew that. They had seen the Princess ride out with their own eyes, and they knew she was going east.
Frost had held two sermons each day since the news of the breakthrough came from the Henbane Line, for a total of ten. Five days, which begged the question, where were the enemy? The scouts knew, the military leadership knew, and Frost knew. They were a little over ten miles south, just beyond the southern edge of the plateau. Their banners had been sighted early that morning, just as the dawn began to break. The news was hastily rushed to Starswirl and Hawkeye, and Frost, being responsible for the spiritual wellbeing of the citizens and soldiery, had been in attendance at their briefing just after breakfast. A civilised affair, that breakfast; haycakes, tea, fresh lemon curd on toasted bread. How many more of those would there be?
Among the throng of perturbed faces, Frost knew, were many ponies not just from the city, but from the villages of the plateau and the towns of the valley. Some, such as the young filly Meadow and her family, he recognised from their attendance at other sermons. Others, he had not seen before, and he knew they were seeking solace, for they were refugees, forced to flee their homes, or else die pointlessly trying to defend them. The Shadow Army was not renowned for its compassion, and nopony wanted to live under their yoke if they could possibly help it. Nor did they relish the prospect of being Changeling slaves, to be drained of their very essence until their bodies could take no more and succumbed. That was darkness; the words offered by Frost were the light.
"Go in peace, carry the word of the Princess," he concluded his sermon. "Stay safe and stay inside the walls. Faith is our shield against the demons and devils that assail us."
The ponies filed out of the cathedral, the vast marble and stone celebration of Celestia's reign that dominated the centre of the Old Town, not far in front of the palace itself. It had long been an attraction for pilgrims and tourists, and now it was being used for its true intended purpose again; providing the comfort and solace that so many ponies were seeking. Meadow once more remained behind, and Frost approached her with a reassuring smile.
"Hello again, young lady. You have returned to hear the word of the Princess once more?"
Meadow nodded. "Yes, Eccwwesiarch...we had to weave our village...Newgwange..."
"Ah, Newgrange, yes." Frost nodded. Newgrange was but a mile or so from the outer walls, more of a suburb than a truly independent village like some of those on the plateau. Folk who lived there were mostly staff in some of the noble estates that lounged in the sun just beyond the defensive lines, vineyards and luxurious gardens quite a contrast to the bare earth and stone that characterised the approach to Canterlot itself. "Well fear not. You'll be able to return there soon enough, but for now, the walls of Canterlot will protect you, and the word of the Princess will be your shield."
Meadow smiled, but it looked rather hollow. Perhaps her parents, standing by waiting for her, had inadvertently terrified her with bedtime stories of the Shadow Army and the Changelings, or perhaps she just feared the unknown that lay ahead, as they all did. "Thank you Eccwesiarch...I know the Pwincess will look after us."
"She most certainly will, child." Frost nodded. "As I said in my sermon, though she may not be with us here in the city, she is with us in spirit. Now, where are you and your family staying?"
"They put most of the ponies from Newgrange in the cloisters of the Chapel of the Elms," her father, Copper, replied. "It's safe enough for her there, for now, Your Grace."
"The city is well prepared for a siege," Frost half-lied. "If we must endure, so be it. We shall not let our faith be broken, though it may be heavily tested. Go now and eat, for they shall be serving the noonday meal."
"Yes, Your Grace. Thank you." Copper bowed his head for a moment before ushering his daughter away. "Come along dear."
Amber Frost gave a farewell nod and smile to the young filly as she headed off with her family. The great cathedral bells began to toll, as they always did to signify the end of a service, but this time, they did not stop after a dozen peels to show that it was noon. They kept on ringing.
From the south they came, tracked all the way by Pegasi scouts. A vast black carpet covering the valley, advancing steadily with their banners at their head, meeting no resistance save a few scattered farmers, homesteaders and hastily formed independent militia squads, who they swept aside with contemptuous ease. None save a fully trained army could stand against them, especially when their forces were combined. Changeling and Shadow Guard advanced side by side, pony and drone, pushing on, the gleaming city on the hill their target. It came into sight slowly, first the spires of the palace, then the belltower of the Golden Cathedral, then the city walls. A magnificent spectacle to behold for a pilgrim; a worthy prize for an invading army, the capital of Equestria, the seat of power, the home of the Princess.
Up the steady incline, the Shadow Army led the way, their great artillery and supply train streaming out behind them for mile after mile, wagons and carts bringing tons of supplies. Ammunition, gunpowder, food, timber, entrenching tools, spare cartwheels and axles, tents of varying sizes, cookware, and a thousand and one other pieces of equipment that an army on campaign needed to function effectively.
Nothing stood before them. At Hawkeye's order, all militia forces from the surrounding villages and the valley itself had been withdrawn to Canterlot, along with the civilian refugees and as much useful material as they could gather, stripping the towns of anything that might aid the enemy. The great gates of the city were closed. Nopony could tell when, or if, they would ever open to admit a triumphant relief force. The bells rang out again in defiance as the plateau slowly turned black, just as the valley had before it, filling with soldiers.
The cannons of Canterlot blazed into life. One thing the city did have plenty of was powder and shot, both for the heavy guns and the muskets of the infantry. Though Celestia had taken plenty with her for the Holy Army, being the supply base for both the province and the regional centre for the professional army meant that Canterlot had huge stockpiles of such supplies, materiel enough to fight, even if it had fewer trained defenders than it may have wished. Hawkeye's twelve thousand ponies had become fourteen thousand when bolstered with the militia from every village and town in the area, but against the hundred-thousand plus arrayed before them, it was not enough for open war. Fortunately, open war was not what was required. Assaulting a fortified city was very difficult at the best of times, and Ferdinand Firetail had managed to pour enough of his expertise into improving the defences to make Canterlot an even tougher proposition. To capture the city, the invaders would have to breach the outer palisade, cross the open ground, storm the earthen wall at the lip of the old moat, cross the moat under heavy fire, overcome the ravelin, breach the gate, wall or bastion, capture the New Town, cross the river Coltava, breach the inner wall to the Old Town, capture that, breach the palace wall, and finally raise their flag from the Celestial Tower, the highest point in Canterlot.
They would have to do all this, fight their way through the entire city, because the defenders would never surrender. The city represented the authority of the Princess. Even to consider the possibility of the enemy entering it was anathema; to consider them defiling such holy places as the Golden Cathedral, where Celestia was crowned, and the royal palace, where she lived, was enough to induce feelings of physical nausea in the more devout ponies. Nopony would lay down their arms, not when the capital was on the line, even if it cost them their lives.
The advancing army halted, just outside of cannon range, the Equestrian shots harmlessly striking the earth in front of them, more a show of defiance than anything designed to inflict casualties. That would come later. For now, all they had to do was show they were ready.
Not just with guns, either. In the high towers of the palace, Hawkeye watched on as the enemy force assembled beyond the walls. Starswirl was with her.
"Well? Now is your moment, Your Excellency..." she informed the wizard. "The enemy is quite literally at the gate."
"Silence, if you please. I must have silence..." Starswirl replied, his gnarled staff of birchwood in his hand.
"That might be difficult to arrange..." Hawkeye noted dryly, for the cathedral bells were still ringing and the cannons were firing down on the outer wall. She crossed her arms and remained quiet. Starswirl closed his eyes and his horn began to glow, a shimmering haze of white magic slowly emanating from it. The gem in the end of his staff, a deep and precious amethyst, began to glow also. A few incantations were hummed before a third source of light joined the others; a lustrous yellow, coming from an orb he clutched in his other hand. All three then combined above his head, before spreading rapidly across the sky and across the city. Canterlot was, within moments, encased inside a protective shield of magic. Starswirl carefully placed the orb and staff upon a table beside them, one of innumerable such pieces of furniture within his chambers that contained magical artifacts of varying kinds. He turned to Hawkeye.
"It is done," he said simply. "The city is safe."
And it was.
For a while.
The Shadow Army and their Changeling allies made camp outside of cannon range, on the plateau, in and around the village of Newgrange. There was a forest of tents, an entirely new city that had sprung up through the late afternoon and early evening, protected by a thick line of infantry and some roaming cavalry. Other units had explored the rest of the plateau and its villages, finding everywhere to be empty, void of pony life, every resident having fled to the city. The plateau was theirs, for the Equestrians simply lacked the numbers to defend it. There was no single route up the hillside that could have been easily blocked or defended. Almost the entirety of the ten mile long stretch of raised ground could be climbed with relative ease by infantry, and there were a number of tracks, paths and roads that could take horses and wagons. Only around Canterlot itself did the western edge of the plateau become steep, jagged and unclimbable, which was one of the reasons the city had been built where it had. The approaches to the plateau could not be controlled easily, but the approach to the city could be.
Messenger Pegasi had been sent hurriedly to the Holy Army, to Stalliongrad, to Baltimare and also to Vanhoover. The hope was to summon aid at the behest of Starswirl or, failing that, General Hawkeye. Like Hawkeye herself, some senior officers and nobles were reluctant to show Starswirl their full support because of his experiments and alchemy, some of which bordered on blasphemy with their attempts to create magical spells and artifacts more powerful than the Princess. Nevertheless, when danger threatened Canterlot, it was to be expected that relief forces would be sent immediately upon receipt of the message, unless Celestia herself ordered otherwise. With the forces from Baltimare involved in the eastern province and the Holy Army likewise occupied, however, it could be weeks before any relief arrived. Until then, they were on their own. Spotters on the wall were also reporting worrying but expected developments- the enemy were sending forces north, farther up the valley, presumably in an attempt to either block the valley to reinforcements from Stalliongrad or, worse, capture and potentially block Saint Swiftmane's Pass, stopping the Holy Army from returning from the Eastern Province.
The night passed without incident, the enemy content to simply wait until morning before they took any further action. They kept up a strong picket and regiments of infantry standing by in case it was a trap and thousands of Equestrian soldiers were waiting to burst forth in the dead of darkness, but nothing happened. The dawn broke early, the sun rising slowly in the east, over the mountaintops, casting them in fiery gold. The city waited beneath its dome of magic, the protection Starswirl had promised, proof against cannon fire, mortar shells and musketry.
It was not, however, protection against magic of equal or greater strength.
As Hawkeye and Firetail had warned, the Changelings and the Shadow Army both had magic of their own. However, as Starswirl had countered, ordinary unicorn magic and that used by Changeling officers and drones was no match for the elemental forces that he had mustered, combined with his own great power and knowledge. What he had failed to consider was that it was not just ordinary drones and unicorns who were accompanying the Shadow Army.
A large tent had been erected at the front of the enemy camp, thrown up almost overnight by the antlike labour of a thousand drones, toiling ceaselessly. In truth, calling it a tent was rather misleading, for although it was surrounded by fabric and silk, that was merely a smokescreen of sorts. In reality it concealed a wall of thick earth thrown up by the drones and pony engineers. Atop it was a simple viewing platform with wooden decking, fit for royalty, with comfortable chairs, cushions, and rather incongruously, a drinks globe, as though it were for viewing a sporting event or perhaps an opera, rather than a siege. It was from here that the army's commanders would observe the ongoing efforts to capture the city. Being at the front of the camp, it would make a tempting target for Equestrian gunners, but that was the purpose of the masquerade. If cannonballs began to fly, the commanders could simply retreat into the interior of the tent, behind the earthen walls which were more than thick enough to resist the impact. In a way, it was a kind of taunt to the defenders who might wish to try and kill the army's leaders, but even if their guns had the range, they would have difficulty in doing so. There was another large tent in the centre of the camp which was more usual for a besieging army; that was where the leaders actually lived. The concealed earthwork was something more unique, but then this army was not led by any mere general.
Together, Queen Chrysalis and King Sombra made their way out onto the viewing platform. It was a fine early morning, too early to be opening the drinks globe, but a cup of hot tea would suffice. Chrysalis sipped delicately from a fine porcelain mug, not something an army would normally carry with it in campaign- though some nobles of high military rank in the Equestrian forces had been known to do so, the Princess included. While the majority of their army toiled with metal mess tins and copper kettles over a campfire, the elite, as they so often did, lived in relative luxury even while out in the field.
"A fine morning for it, my Queen, don't you think?" Sombra smiled, looking out at the city and the shimmering shield that protected it. "What a spectacle it shall be. Soon enough, that flag will be torn down and replaced with our own." He gazed up at the distant tower of the royal palace, at the far northern end of the city, where the banner of the Princess flew at half staff to signify that she was not in residence. If Sombra and his wife got their way, it would not fly from the palace at all.
"It is a pity that good campaigning weather means clear skies," Chrysalis lamented. "It means we have to endure the interminable heat of the sun. I do not like the symbolism of that."
"Then I shall have the servants fetch you a parasol, my Queen," Sombra replied with a chuckle. "But first, we have a matter to attend to...once you have finished your tea, of course."
Hawkeye stood upon the balcony of her office, high up in the palace, though not in the spire that towered over her. It gave her a fine view of the whole city, and the enemy camp, several miles distant across the rooftops and beyond the wall. Even from here, she could clearly see that the enemy was forming up into their companies and regiments. During the night, earthen revetments had been built for the guns of the Shadow Army. She had counted fifty of them when she lost her train of thought and decided not to start again. One could become entranced with trying to work out exactly how many guns, how many ponies, how many Changelings, how many companies there were out there.
At first light, an envoy had approached under a white flag of truce, standing beyond the impassable shield wall just ahead of the palisade line. A noble of the Shadowlands, he had proclaimed on behalf of his King that Canterlot was under siege and should surrender peaceably to the Shadow Army and Changelings to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. Their quarrel, he said, was not with the citizens and soldiery of Canterlot, but with the Princess and her nobles.
At Starswirl's direction, a reply had been issued. The Princess was not present in the city and so could not directly issue a surrender, but that as her regent, Starswirl had no doubt that she would refuse outright, and thus, so would he, for Canterlot was a proud city and would not surrender to darkness. The envoy had bowed and left, the end of the formal ceremony, which was followed immediately by increased activity in the enemy camp.
What Hawkeye did not understand was why they were now starting to draw up into assault formation. Starswirl's promise seemed to have held so far. The enemy guns had fired several volleys at the city shield, to no effect, and any magic that would prevent cannonballs from passing through would also stop a line of infantry, either by repelling them with a kinetic push or by frying them where they stood. They were preparing for an attack, but as it stood, there was no way the attack could succeed. What did they know that she, and Starswirl, did not?
Hawkeye received her answer moments later. From the front of the enemy camp, where there seemed to be some sort of large tented structure, two beams of light suddenly blazed into life. One was a lurid green, the other a swirling mix of purple and black. They both struck the shield above the city wall. Hawkeye watched on perplexed. Starswirl had assured her that no ordinary magic could bring down the shield after he had imbued it not just with his own power, but also that of the orb he had used, which evidently held some kind of special properties to which she was not privy. The green magic she could see was the same colour as all Changeling magic, giving no indication of it being any different. But the other, the purple-black cone of light, that was unusual, and it was giving her reason to be concerned. What happened after that gave her reason to be downright terrified.
With a sudden concussive bang and a feeling like the air being partially sucked from her lungs, the shield collapsed, starting from the point that the two beams of magic had struck it, the whole dome rapidly withering away to nothing, like a pricked balloon. The roar from the Shadow Army was audible even from the palace as they saw the shield fall.
"Shit...you old bastard, you promised..." Hawkeye snarled out through gritted teeth. "Damn it..." She rushed into the hallway outside her office. "You there!" she shouted to a Guardspony standing watch nearby. "Sound the alarm. All personnel are to take up their defensive positions at once!"
"Yes, Ma'am!" the guard saluted and rushed away to spread the word. Hawkeye turned to another guard. "You, find the duty officer, tell them to assemble the war council!" Once the other guard had gone, Hawkeye climbed the stairs angrily. It was a tedious, torturous climb up into the spire, but she knew she would find him there.
"Your Excellency!" she opened the door with an angry thud as it rebounded off the stone wall. "I do not know if you have noticed, but your promise has been broken."
Starswirl was busy, muttering over some formulae in an ancient tome. "Yes, yes...I can make things right..." he replied.
"Then do it quickly!" Hawkeye grunted. "I thought you said magic could not harm your shield?"
"I said normal magic!" Starswirl cried. "Ordinary, like that possessed by your common or garden drone or your average unicorn. Clearly, this was something different."
"Or else you were simply wrong," Hawkeye postulated. "Either way, you have made a grave miscalculation, Your Excellency. Unless you can get that shield up again, Canterlot is as vulnerable as any other city to this siege."
"Yes, yes...please do not pester me," Starswirl responded. "I will make it right. Just give me time."
"How much time, Your Excellency?" Hawkeye asked. "Minutes? Hours? Days?"
"I do not know that yet," Starswirl answered, rising from his chair and moving to the orb and staff upon the table where he had placed them after performing the shield spell the day before. "General, can you tell me who is leading the enemy army?"
"No..." Hawkeye replied. "I see the banners of General Deathscythe and General Ghast, but I do not know which of them is in command. There are banners of several Changeling commanders but I have no names for them. As far as I know, no Changelings even have names in the sense we would understand them."
"There is one Changeling with a name," Starswirl replied, "and I fear that she is here. As for the Shadow Army, I do not believe either General Deathscythe or General Ghast are in command. I believe their King is with them."
"What...?" Hawkeye frowned. "Their banners are flying, yes, but...I have not yet seen their personal standards. Even if I did, who is to say it is not merely symbolic in their case? The standard of the Princess flies from this very tower, yet she is not here."
Celestia was relatively unique among current rulers in actively taking to the field of battle. Many other nations, such as the Griffons and Zebras, had seen that custom fade away over time. King Sombra and Queen Chrysalis had not been known to lead from the front in any recent campaigns their armies had undertaken; for them both to be here together in person was a factor which had been overlooked. It had seemed likely they would arrive after the city was captured, rather than with the invading army. The possibility of them leading their troops into battle had been considered at the council meeting, but dismissed as unlikely by all concerned, including, Hawkeye refrained from pointing out, by Starswirl himself.
"I sense it may be the case," Starswirl replied. "The magic that defeated the shield...it had to be of unusual power or unusual origin. I spoke the truth to you yesterday. No ordinary magic could have done that. Therefore I believe that King Sombra and Queen Chrysalis are present in the enemy ranks."
"I am not sure what would be worse...you being correct or incorrect," Hawkeye replied. "If you're wrong then there must be some other unknown explanation, and if you are right...then I doubt that the presence of their monarchs will do anything to diminish the enemy's relish for this fight, to say the least. That speaks nothing to their own prowess in battle, either. From what I understand, despite their lack of overt campaign experience, they are both formidable fighters. At least, that is what our intelligence tells us."
"Intelligence is vital, General," Starswirl answered. "We must establish for certain if the King and Queen are indeed present, for that will influence my response to this...unfortunate development."
"Then we shall find it out," Hawkeye nodded. Another roar came from outside, beyond the walls. "If you will excuse me, Your Excellency...I believe I am needed elsewhere. I fear hell is about to be unleashed."
The guns of the Shadow Army roared into life again, and this time they had a target they could actually hit. Up on the city wall, ponies ducked as the heavy iron balls whizzed overhead, some smashing into the stonework of the towering structures. Beyond the wall, the picket line assigned to the outer earthworks took up their positions, muskets in hand, their swords and spirits ready.
The Equestrian guns stood by, waiting for the inevitable advance to begin. Whether this would be a hopeful probe or a full-scale assault remained to be seen, but evidence leaned toward the latter. The enemy force had drawn up in their regiments, parading with banners, flags and drums, tantalizingly out of cannon range, but in full view, letting the defenders know they were getting ready. The incoming bombardment focused on the walls of the city, several shots striking home and shattering the parapet wall, stone splinters cutting down unfortunate soldiers. Others sailed overhead, missing their target and passing on their ballistic trajectory into the city beyond, where they crashed through rooftops far removed from the outer wall. There were no civilian casualties, as all non-combatants had been removed into the Old Town the day before, as soon as the enemy had arrived. The New Town was empty save for soldiers and Guardsponies, who were billeted in numerous buildings in anticipation of being needed to reinforce the outer works or the city wall itself. With the wall theoretically cowed by the firepower, the Shadow Army's guns turned their attention to the outer palisade, heavy cannonballs blowing holes in the line, shattering the wooden stakes and the defenders behind them in equal measure. They could only open up small gaps, however.
Ferdinand Firetail's improvements had, for the most part, been completed in time, but there were parts of the defensive line that were stronger than others. Those that lacked somewhat in physical obstructions had been reinforced with larger contingents of soldiers, clad in the red-with-gold-trim of the army, supported by Royal Guard in their golden armour, and the militia in their multifarious uniforms. It was a proud sight, or would have been had any civilians been around to watch. Their fighting ponies, standing up for truth, for honour, for pride, for the innocent and weak, for the Princess.
The outer palisade was lined with musketponies, interspersed with a few pikes and backed up with sections of infantry armed with pistols and swords in case of a breakthrough. The individual spikes of the paliade wall were spaced just wide enough for a single pony to push through side-on; thus two muskets could easily be fired through each gap, or a single long pike wielded to deter any attackers. The guns of the city wall were ready, as were those atop each bastion.
The Equestrian troops were well rested and well fed. Though their morale had been shaken by the collapse of the city shield, Canterlot was still inviolate, the gates sealed, the walls unbreached. This was their first test, the enemy's first attack. They were ready to meet the challenge, and the Shadow Army was ready to provide it. With a bugle call and a steady drumbeat, they began to advance, row upon row of dark-clad figures, muskets in hand, cavalry ranging ahead on the flanks to probe for any weak spots they could exploit. Thanks to Ferdinand Firetail's direction and the hard work of the entrenching parties, they found none, but marksponies up on the wall with their heavier muskets took their toll, inflicting several casualties on the riders as they crossed the open ground between Newgrange and the city defences.
The main bulk of the enemy force that was being committed to this opening gambit continued to press forward, with their main axis of attack angling toward the Unicorn Gate. Cannons roared from the Timberwolf and Phoenix Bastions, as well as their protective ravelins in front. No cannon had been positioned at the front of the palisade line, though several had been well concealed by timber breastworks and netting to cover them from enemy Pegasus or Changeling spotters, who had floated ominously in the sky all of the previous evening, and were up again before dawn, doing their best to map out the network of trenches, half-hidden revetments and blockhouses, and looking for clear routes through the earthworks, killing fields and sharpened stakes designed to ward off cavalry or catch unsuspecting infantry unawares.
Firetail had been clever with his designs; for every obvious gun position, entrenchment or wooden bunker, there was another that was not so easy to spot that would either provide cover to the first, or form a different focal point for resistance. Wherever possible, positions had been dug or erected to be able to provide supporting fire to each other, which was why the palisade fence was not a straight line; rather it followed a zig-zag pattern, in a similar way to how the Bastions provided the same kind of shape as adjuncts to the main line of the city wall. That meant different sections of the line could provide mutually supporting fire if one of their neighbours were in danger of being overrun.
As the enemy closed in, the unicorns within their ranks began to erect magic shields in front of their squads. Such magic was enough to stop musket fire and arrows, but a cannonball had enough mass to simply smash straight through. In addition, their protective wall could only cover their unit from certain angles, usually directly ahead; though rudimentary magic shield, unlike Starswirl's complex dome, could be re positioned with a simple turn of the head and horn, directed against incoming fire. This was particularly useful against volley fire, when a line of enemy infantry unloaded their muskets at the same time. In fact, that was something that the Shadow Army was particularly noteworthy for; countering, or ignoring, volley fire.
For decades, it had been the normal practice for a company or regiment of infantry to form line and engage with volleys, and against most foes, that worked just fine, with each side trading volleys as they slowly closed with each other. The Shadow Army, however, and the Changelings to a lesser extent, undermined that standard philosophy. They did not usually engage in such a by-the-numbers approach; rather, they lined up, fired a single volley, supported by their cannons where possible, and then charged. An unprepared enemy would thus be caught in the act of reloading by the sudden rush. They might get in two, maybe three volleys, which would be partially deflected by the unicorn's shields as the advanced halted for a brief moment, as many soldiers as possible huddling together in line behind the shields at the moment when the volley was imminent, and then the enemy would be upon them, going in with the bayonet, sword, pistol and dagger.
For this reason, General Hawkeye had ordered that all units were to fire at will, rather than in the volley. That meant that each soldier would be firing and reloading at his or her own pace, meaning there was always some outgoing fire for the enemy to dodge, always a constant threat of taking casualties in the advance. The enemy could not simply huddle together behind the shields as they would never move forward, but simply charging without any caution would invite heavy casualties. It gave the enemy a dilemma, and every little thing they had to think about just made their advance that little bit tougher, both mentally and physically.
The ponies at the palisade steeled themselves as the enemy came at them, a wall of black, marching in lockstep with each other. A fearsome sight; lesser armies had been known to break and run when confronted with the mere spectacle, even before battle was joined; that was how the Shadowlands had been unified in the past. Smaller tribes and city-states found their forces panicking and fleeing as often as standing and fighting. A similar tale could be told of the unification of Equestria under the Princess. After all, the best battle was one you didn't need to fight at all. This battle, however, very much needed to be fought to a conclusion.
As the Shadow Army marched into range, the musketeers at the palisade wall lined up, taking aim. At a signal from their officers, they began to fire, each pony squeezing the trigger when they had a bead on a target. Shots began to ring out, and ponies of the Shadow Army began to fall, their bodies pierced by musket balls. The advancing line halted, raised their muskets, took aim, and let loose with a volley, shots smashing into the palisade wall and sending splinters of wood flying. Then, they started to charge, with a guttural roar and the pounding of thousands of feet upon the bare earth.
Shots rang out across the field of battle. Just behind the first line of musketponies at the palisade, a line of militia helpers took their empty weapons and performed the complex procedure of reloading them, while other helpers passed forward newly loaded muskets for the soldiers to take, enabling them to keep up a constant stream of fire at the charging enemy. Their magic shields could only do so much in protecting their soldiers, and more of them hit the ground, trampled underfoot by their fellows who were caught up in the adrenaline of battle.
They closed in rapidly, running over the open ground. Cannonballs from the Bastions cut through their ranks, spraying blood and guts over their fellow soldiers as they continued to pound over the dirt, nearing the palisade. The muskets could only fire so fast, and there were plenty of ponies eager to take the place of the fallen in the line as they closed the gap with the defensive line.
A slight slope rose from the ground where the Equestrians had prepared the earthen rampart that supported the palisade. A ten-foot tall mound of dirt topped with wooden stakes and musketeers, it was an understated but formidable defensive structure protecting the approaches to the city walls. It would definitely not be easy for the Shadow Army or the Changelings to take the first line, but they would certainly try their best. The advancing companies reached the slope and began to ascend toward the palisade, shrouded in white-grey smoke from the constant musket fire coming from behind the wooden stakes. More soldiers went down, wounded or dead, shot through by musket balls. The defenders were able to keep up a constant barrage of gunfire thanks to the rows of militia helpers reloading the muskets and passing them forward to those on the line. If the palisade was breached, they would take up their own swords or muskets and join in the defence, but the hope was that their pony-chain of reloaded weapons could keep the enemy at bay. When the soldiers on the line tired, they would be replaced by those who were fresher from the reserve. Once they tired, they could swap back with the first group who had regained their strength.
The Shadow Army pressed home the attack, their soldiers making it to the palisade wall. Some stuck muskets through the gaps between the stakes and fired. Equestrians went down screaming, the wounded crawling back toward the rear in desperation. Unicorn healers from the army, Royal Guard, militia and civilians who had volunteered their services were waiting in the ditch, where they were protected from direct enemy gunfire. Normal magic could not bring the dead back to life or regrow severed limbs, but it could save a wounded pony. Musket balls could be removed, wounds patched. Actual medicine in Equestria was surprisingly advanced compared to some of their neighbours. Surgery was performed on a fairly routine basis at infirmaries and hospitals across the nation, using ether as an anesthetic and able to seal arteries, remove diseased organs, effectively and safely amputate limbs, and various other treatments. Opioid drugs were common for various maladies, and plenty of natural and effective remedies made from countless plants and herbs could be prescribed by apothecaries for common illnesses and complaints. Together, magic and medicine could heal many wounds and save many lives, but not all of them.
While the wounded crawled or were dragged out of the line, the defenders at the palisade continued to fight, jabbing their pikes out through the gaps, impaling Shadow soldiers upon them, stabbing with bayonets, firing musket at point blank range into the faces of the enemy. Their cannons, behind them on the Bastions, roared with regularity, carving through the rear ranks of the Shadow Army's advance. After twenty minutes, the invaders in some spots were having trouble advancing to the palisade thanks to their own dead piling up in front of it. A loud trumpet call sounded from the enemy camp, and as one, the survivors turned and began an ordered, steady retreat, supported by their own cannons which opened fired with a thunderous voice, pummeling the walltop and the palisade in equal measure. Some shots tore through their own wounded, killing them outright; evidence, if the defenders needed any, that the Shadow Army evidently cared nothing even for its own soldiers, raising the spectre of how they might treat prisoners or subjugated civilians if the city were to be taken.
The retreating enemy raised a cheer from the defenders. The first assault had been beaten back with minimal casualties among their own ranks. They now knew that the line could hold, at least against a single attack. They also knew the enemy would be back, again and again, as many times as it took. The siege of Canterlot had only just begun.
She had wrestled with the dilemma all night when the message had come in. Advance, return? Stay or go? East or west?
There was no simple answer. The lure was to keep pressing on. Saltsburg needed relief, but so did Canterlot, if the latest messages were accurate. A force from Baltimare would, even now, be on the way to Saltsburg, and if Starswirl and Hawkeye had done what was expected of them, messengers would have been sent to Stalliongrad to summon aid for the capital from that northern bastion. But that had to be tempered- what if that was exactly what the enemy wanted them to do? What if there was a third party involved in this alliance of foes, say, the Griffons or Yaks? It seemed unlikely, but there had been no evidence of an alliance between the Changelings and the Shadowlands until this second attack had been launched from the south. If the forces from Stalliongrad were lured south to relieve Canterlot, it would leave the northern frontier vulnerable to a surprise strike.
Celestia had plenty of time to ponder as The Nameless carried her westward, back to the Hornburg fortress. They had won a battle, yes, but they could easily lose the war if they were not careful. The impetuous part of her, the part that Starswirl had tried his best to temper over the centuries, wanted to advance to Saltsburg, relieve it, and then march hell for leather back to Canterlot to relieve the capital as well, just to prove it could be done. Such a feat would make heroes of every member of the Holy Army, for sure, but it could also spell disaster, and she knew that the capital could not simply be left to fend for itself, even for the week or fortnight it might take to relieve Saltsburg. That task would have to be left to the force from Baltimare. The Holy Army was needed to face the mighty enemy horde that was apparently pushing up from the south; over a hundred thousand of them, perhaps more, nearly double the strength of Celestia's force. Combined with the Canterlot garrison and a relief force from Stalliongrad, they might exceed the enemy in numbers, but they had to make it back to the city first.
That was why the news she had received at the Hornburg disquieted her so. Messengers from Canterlot, in search of the Holy Army, had rested at the fortress just as they returned, and informed the Princess that the city was already besieged. The enemy were at the gates in vast numbers. It did, at least, tell Celestia that she had made the right decision by abandoning Saltsburg and turning the army around immediately. She could not leave the capital, her home, to the predations of the enemy for even a minute longer than necessary. Other troops might be able to relieve Saltsburg, but they were the only ones that could rush to the aid of the capital quickly enough. The city, she knew, had not exactly been in the best shape to resist a siege. Canterlot had been unprepared when she left it, with no thought given to a possible joint invasion from the south from two nations with no known alliance. There was still a fairly strong garrison, yes, but Celestia had taken many of the best units away, to form part of the Holy Army. There were guns, yes, but she had taken some of their gunners for her own artillery train. There were walls, yes, but walls could be breached, and if the city did not have the forces to plug the holes, then the walls would be useless. They had to get back as soon as possible.
They had rested at the Hornburg, but only for a night. In the morning they prepared to leave the hospitality of General Spectre and his garrison, when another messenger arrived. This time, however, it was not a Pegasus from Canterlot, but rather a fortuitously timed alert from the southernmost of the forts of the Hornburg Line. Urgent news was conveyed to the Princess- a large Changeling force had been spotted moving with haste toward the fortress. While Celestia conferred with General Spectre, another Pegasus arrived with an update. The Changeling force, numbering at least an estimated forty thousand, was moving between the southern fort and the mountain spur that lay just southward of it, jutting out into the plains beyond. The garrison commander reported no attempt to invest the fort, and was asking for orders from Spectre. He, in turn, sought them from Celestia.
"It seems that the enemy wishes to beat us to the mountain pass, General," Celestia pondered as she stood in the main hall of the Hornburg's central keep. "It is as I feared. The initial force that we defeated in battle was essentially a ruse to lure my army out of position. Whether their retreat was part of a plan to pull us into an ambush, or merely to move us farther from the mountains, I do not know, but fortunately we did not take the bait."
"Yes, Your Highness." Spectre nodded sagely. "However, we now face a new danger."
"Indeed we do, General." Celestia, poised over the large map of the eastern province that Spectre kept unfolded at all times, traced a route with her finger from the southern fort of the Hornburg Line to Saint Swiftmane's Pass. It was not far, less than forty miles, and the enemy were, according to the latest report, on the move already. It was not easy country, which could give the Holy Army time to catch up, but that same caveat applied to them as well. An infantry force might be able to cross the terrain fairly easily, but the artillery and supply wagons could not. A cavalry force could race ahead to the pass along the prepared, metaled road, but they might well be overwhelmed when the enemy did arrive. Besides, cavalry were not made for mountain fighting. It limited their manoeuvrability, which was their one big advantage over footsoldiers.
There was a guard force at the pass; they had orders from the Princess to demolish the pass with explosives if threatened by a large enemy force that they could not fight off. If that happened, it would block the enemy's route of advance, but it would also cut off their own route to Canterlot. If they could not reach the city, they could not relieve it. If Saint Swiftmane's Pass fell they would have to either journey south to the Coltstone Pass, presumably already in the hands of the enemy coming up from the southern border, or else detour north for hundreds of miles to loop around the top end of the Foal Mountain range before sweeping back down the valley toward Canterlot, a route that would take, perhaps, a month at best.
If Saint Swiftmane's Pass did not fall, then they would have a relatively short journey back to the capital, but clearly the enemy were banking on them making just such a move. Their strategy now made perfect sense; a sudden, surprise attack in the east, moving to capture a key fortress-city that would cry out for aid. That aid would be granted, firstly from the local provincial forces, and then, most likely, from Canterlot, which was the closest major seat of military power. Those reinforcements would travel through the pass and onto the plains, where they could be pulled into a battle by a relatively small force, then either lured into an ambush or pulled out of position, as Celestia had mused to herself. Meanwhile the bulk of the Changeling force, it seemed, was bypassing the Hornburg Line entirely and driving straight for the pass to cut them off from their route back to assist against the second, equally unexpected attack from the south in conjunction with the Shadow Army.
It was clever, but it relied on the element of surprise. Unfortunately, somehow, the enemy had achieved it in both the eastern and southern offensives, catching Equestria completely off guard by the one-two blow. The only option now was to drive hard for Saint Swiftmane's Pass to reach it before the enemy. That was what Celestia decided to do, because it was now the only sensible option available to her. Canterlot could hold out for a while. Weeks, probably, perhaps months, but not indefinitely. If they did not get the help they needed, the city would side inexorably into the grip of darkness.
"General, I want you to hod your position and keep your garrisons on high alert," Celestia ordered. "The Holy Army is to march for Saint Switfmane's Pass at once. With luck, we shall intercept the enemy and head them off before they arrive. If we fail, we will attempt to fight our way through them If we fail with that, or if the pass has already been blocked, then we shall return here to the Hornburg to consider our next moves."
"Yes, Your Highness." Spectre nodded. "We will hold the line. What if the fortress becomes besieged?" he asked.
"Then I am afraid you might be on your own for some time," Celestia replied. "If we make it through the pass, then the remnants of the Changeling force may well retreat past you. Give them hell with your cavalry if you can. If, on the other hand, we are forces to retreat, then I shall see you again in a few days."
"Very good, Your Highness," Spectre replied. "We shall be here if we are needed. May the fortunes of war favour you."
"May the fortunes of war favour us all, General," Celestia replied. "Especially Canterlot."
As the sun rose higher, the Holy Army marched again, westward, back to Saint Swiftmane's Pass. It was a two-day journey for the bulk of the force, but the Princess pushed out ahead with some of her cavalry, directing them to scout the way in front. The foothills were uneven, rising almost to small mountains themselves in some spots, while in other places they rolled pleasantly, carpeted with edelweiss, columbine and gentian, proud fir trees, and a variety of grasses and to make any botanist collapse in paroxysms of glee. It was a beautiful part of the world, with the towering snow-capped peaks of the Foal Mountains rising above them, where the terrain was quite different. Frozen glaciers, vast sheets of ice, pristine, all but undisturbed save for a few desperately hardy, or perhaps foolhardy, explorers and mountaineers. The crags and crevices were treacherous in the extreme, with vertical drops commonplace. At the top of the very highest peaks, the air was thin enough that even Pegasi, with their specially adapted lungs, could barely breathe well enough to keep themselves alive, let alone afloat.
It was slow going, even with the road available to them. Celestia dared not leave her artillery and supply trains behind, for fear they would be captured by the enemy while the faster units of the Holy Army moved on ahead. If they had to fight at the pass, then they would certainly need those guns anyway. Yet bringing them along meant the whole army had to travel at the speed of the slowest, hampering them. Celestia sent out more cavalry patrols to reinforce those ranging ahead, and soon they sent back the bad news she had been hoping not to hear.
Sightings of the enemy, ahead, between the Holy Army and the pass. The Changelings had a head start on them, and that was enough, though how many of their apparently thirty-thousand strong force had reached the pass was unknown. The scouts reported gunfire ahead as the defenders at the pass strove valiantly to stop the enemy from flooding through. Celestia took charge of the cavalry, leaving Ostmane to marshal the infantry and artillery as fast as they could move to aid them. With her hussars and lancers behind her, the Princess rode out. Reinforcements were on the way, but with the battle already joined at Saint Swiftmane's Pass, could they arrive in time?
Praise The Sun And Pass The Ammunition
Corporal Snapshot dozed, or tried to at least, in the shade of an upended wagon. The stultifying heat of the early afternoon sun made it easy to want to sleep; the firm earth beneath his buttocks did the opposite. The result was that he was hanging in a half-pleasant, half-unpleasant stupor, lulled by the heat despite the shade. Such was the case often in Canterlot at this time of year; the nobility would often spend the early afternoons either watching the groundskeepers shoot game while they themselves kept cool with iced tea and parasols, or alternatively engaging in some genteel pursuit such as croquet. This was not a time of the day for action. All Snapshot could do was hope that the enemy felt the same way.
Captain Oats had thoroughly debriefed General Hawkeye and Starswirl on what they knew of the enemy's strength, disposition, equipment and tactics before the Shadow Army had arrived at the gates. With that important task performed, the reason they had been sent north to Canterlot, Oats and her survivors became just another cog in the wheel of war again. Once they had all been scanned by a suitable detection spell from a unicorn officer, just to make sure they were not Changeling infitrators, they had been assigned to a new unit. They had been slotted into one of the provincial regiments and assigned patrol duties for the first two days of the siege, but now the wheel had rotated. They had been moved from the New Town outside. Today, the regiment they had been assigned to was to provide part of the first line of defence beyond the wall, manning the palisade. It was a prestigious assignment, to be sure, but also a dangerous one. It made sense, though. Besides the troops blooded the day before, they were some of the only soldiers in the city to have faced the Changelings and Shadow Army in action before; indeed, there were not too many ponies in Canterlot who had seen any active fighting before at all. A period of relative peace had reigned before this sudden shock, and only certain units had been involved in fighting against raiders, bandits, cultists and pirates before. As a whole, the defenders of the capital were green, despite sometimes having years of service under their belts.
As somepony who had faced battle before, Snapshot knew that getting rest whenever one could was of vital importance. A battle did not stop simply because somepony got drowsy, and adrenaline could only keep a soldier going for so long. Even a few minutes' shuteye could be enough to recharge and refresh the mind enough to bring a second wind when it really mattered.
The palisade lay behind him, a wall of wooden stakes, supported by crossbeams for rigidity and bracing against cannon fire, or a mass of enemy infantry pressing against the barrier. Soldiers stood ready in case of some trickery or other that might threaten the line before the rest of the troops could be alerted. Like Snapshot, there were many others lounging in the sun and shade, trying to catch a little sleep, playing cards, or listening to other talented ponies playing lutes or lyres to while away the time. The morning had passed in such a way, with nothing happening other than the already numbingly familiar dawn artillery duel between the guns of the city and the guns of the enemy, exchanging fire in a noisy but mostly ineffectual barrage, as they had done the morning before also. No doubt they would continue the new tradition tomorrow as well, and the day after, and the day after that until the walls fell, or, as was widely hoped among the garrison, until they were relieved by the Holy Army.
Messages had been sent. Snapshot knew that, as did all the soldiers. Pegasi messengers had been visible coming and going from the high towers of the palace over the last forty-eight hours. if the Princess knew about the city's plight, she would do everything in her power to return and aid them. Snapshot knew that, as well. In fact, he was more certain of that fact than of anything else. Even though Celestia had taken the Holy Army to deal with another invasion, if she learned that Canterlot itself was in danger, she would make haste back to her home, because it was not just a city, but a symbol, just as she was a symbol of faith, of courage, of strength and wisdom and all the other good qualities she embodied. The city reflected all that, too, for it had birthed her, crowned her, housed and raised her. It stood for the same things as the Princess stood for, and that was why it could not be allowed to fall into the hands of the enemy.
"Stand to!" somepony roared. "Stand to!"
Snapshot broke from his half-trance and staggered to his feet, grasping for his musket and gripping it tightly. Something must be happening beyond the palisade, for it was far too hot for any of the top brass to be coming outside the city walls for an inspection, the only other reason he could think of for standing them all to. Sure enough, out across the plateau came the echoes of distant bugles and trumpets.
"Fall in, you lazy lugs!" Sergeant Billhook shouted. "Stand to means stand to, you slugabeds!" Captain Oats strode out of the small earthen dugout she had been assigned as sector officer, adjusting her tricorn hat firmly upon her head. A far cry from the disheveled state she had been in when the attack on Trottingham came in, she now looked every inch the Officer of the Sun she was commissioned to be.
"Take up positions!" she ordered. "Muskets and pikes to the front. Helpers to stand by. Bring up those boxes of ammunition! Make sure there's a steady supply."
"Your section ready, Corporal?" Billhook growled.
"Yes Sergeant!" Snapshot replied with a nod. "With me, boys!" He led Ramble and the others, five stallions in total, to the palisade, where they took up positions among ponies from other units, all under the command of Oats. Many were the survivors she had led to safety, but there were ponies from the city militia too, as well as some Royal Guard in the reserve and soldiers from other companies on the fringes of her sector of control. The palisade line had been divided into numerous such sectors, each under the command of a Captain. A Colonel was in charge of each gate sector, spanning a large proportion of the line and including the Bastions around the gate in question, while each flank of the city was under the command of a General of Division. Hawkeye was in overall military command of the city's defences, despite Starswirl's temporary position as Regent. The Princess would surely return to take up her duties again, but Hawkeye would still be in military charge, whereas Starswirl would return to his rightful place as court mage.
The ponies on the ground had cheered when the city shield had gone up, and gasped in shock and dismay when it fell. Starswirl had failed, too, in their eyes, making it clear to the soldiers that they were the only true protection that Canterlot possessed. Thus, they lined the palisade again to repel whatever was coming their way. The guns on the wall opened fire as another Shadow Army attack began, thousands of soldiers funneling out of their camp and toward the city. Again, they stopped short for a single volley, before they started to charge.
"All guns, fire at will!" Oats cried as the enemy began to charge. The constant crackle of musketry became part of the background noise, unnoticeable in all practicality to any individual soldier, who could focus only on his or her own weapon, and the target they were engaging. Snapshot had little time or need to issue commands to his ponies, for the only command that really mattered was the one that Oats had just given. Keeping up a constant fire was the best way to hold the enemy at bay, or at least slow them down.
Over the gunfire, Snapshot could still hear the guttural cries of the Shadow Army. They shouted curses and spat bile as they charged, crossing the open ground at a terrifying speed considering they were mere footsoldiers. As they neared the palisade, the unicorns among them began to fire bolts of magic at the palisade wall, in an attempt both to wound or kill the defenders behind it and potentially set the wooden structure aflame. As they had the day before, they were aiming for the Unicorn Gate, flooding across the plateau and up the slope to the palisade wall, where they were met with a hail of musket fire that cut down dozens of their number.
Snapshot fired his musket and passed it back without looking. Another pony behind him grabbed it, and then a few moments later somepony else shoved a newly loaded weapon into his hand. He brought it up and poked it through the gap in the stakes, firing without even aiming as the enemy got close enough to spit at. They slammed into the wall, snarling and shouting their war cries.
"Long live the King!"
"Death to the Princess!"
"The Sun shall set and the Shadows will rise!"
The defenders kept up the fire, and responded with cries and chants of their own as the battle raged all along the line around them.
"Praise the Sun!"
"For Celestia and the Motherland!"
"Death to the traitor King!"
Despite the tumult all around, Snapshot could quite clearly hear Captain Oats issuing orders in a loud, strong voice. Her commands would be relayed down the line to the rest of the troops she was overseeing. This sector of the line was in good hands, that much was certain, but how much of an impact that would have remained to be seen. The enemy were pressing hard, probing for weak spots, areas in the line that their airborne scouts had identified as perhaps lacking in cannon support, or with hastily prepared and incomplete trenchwork.
Musket fire rippled back and forth along the line. Snapshot fired twice more, fresh muskets handed to him each time. Enemy shots came through the gaps in the palisade, musket barrels shoved through, discharging a cloud of smoke and a deadly projectile. Several Equestrians went down, dead or wounded. The palisade began to buckle inward at one spot where a large number of enemy soldiers were pressing on it.
"Give me that grenade!" Snapshot shouted back to a young, pertrified-looking militiamare, crouching to the rear of the frontline with several boxes of ammunition and a pouch of grenades- simple metal spheres filled with explosives and fitted with a fuse. They could be hurled a fair distance by any adult pony, considerably farther with specialist training, and could be punted a long way indeed by unicorns using their magic. Snapshot just had his upper body strength, but he didn't need to toss it far. The militiamare passed it to him in lieu of a reloaded musket, and Snapshot ducked down, taking a piece of flint from his pocket. All grenadiers carried them, and many soldiers did likewise, just in case they were ever called upon to use a grenade in anger, or perhaps touch off a cannon in an emergency. Rubbing the flint against an abrasive wick at the end of the fuse cord produced sparks, igniting the fuse and giving the grenadier a few seconds to hurl the bomb at the enemy before it exploded. Rising up from his squatting position, Snapshot gave the bomb a mighty thrust upward and forward, arcing it up and over the palisade wall.
An enemy soldier shoved a musket through the gap in the palisade just in front of him and fired, missing him by inches. The next thing Snapshot knew, that same musket was tumbling through the gap and landing at his feet as the grenade detonated, slamming the soldier against the palisade, his body torn and ravaged by the explosion. There were screams from the other side of the wall as the iron casing of the grenade ripped through vulnerable flesh, shredding wings, shattering horns, pulverizing organs. Half a dozen ponies were killed outright, while shrapnel tore through another squad, ravaging them and blowing a hole in the enemy line.
"Quick hands, Corporal!" Billhook nodded approvingly, before shoving his bayonet through a gap in the palisade and into an enemy's throat, bringing forth a strangulated gurgle from the unfortunate Shadow Soldier. However, Snapshot was not the only one with the same idea, and once the enemy grenadiers reached the palisade, an exchange of bombs began in earnest, the iron balls of death causing casualties on both sides, but it was the Shadow Army who received the worst of it. Behind the palisade, Equestrians could duck for cover behind sandbags or earth-filled sacks, overturned wagons, the trenches, or the lip of the embankment upon which the palisade itself had been constructed. Beyond the fence, there was no cover save for the bodies of fellow soldiers, and while the defenders were strung out along the line, the invaders were trying to concentrate their forces at a few key locations to make the breakthrough and crack the first, hard, outer kernel of the nut that was Canterlot.
Snapshot picked up a musket again, heart pounding. He took position beside a pikepony who was thrusting with his long weapon, jabbing it through a gap but taking fire in return, blood streaming from a wound upon his shoulder. A brute of a pony was trying to force his way through, protecting himself with a shield of magic from his horn, fending off the pike. The gaps between the spikes of the palisade were big enough to pass through, but it was not as easy as simply walking through a doorway. One had to turn to the side, take care that any weapons or equipment were not blocking things, and be mindful constantly of being shot, stabbed or slashed by the defenders.
Snapshot fired his musket, the ball bouncing off of the pony's shield. His dark features turned to a grin as he shoved the pike aside and stepped through, raising a mighty sword.
"With me, brothers!" he cried, the blood of his own dead kinsponies dripping from his black plate armour. The pikepony lunged, but the brute deflected the blow and quickly brought his sword back around, running him through with the blade and leaving Snapshot standing alone against him.
This was not ideal.
A Pegasus had the advantage in manoeuvrability. An earth pony had the advantage in strength, and a unicorn had the advantage in terms of initiative and unpredictability. This unicorn, however, seemed to have an advantage over most in bulk, as well as having magic. He kept his shield raised as several other ponies fired at him, before advancing upon Snapshot as another soldier began to push through the gap behind him. To add to the problem, another grenade sailed over the wall and landed near a cluster of militia who had been poised to advance in support. They wisely scattered before it detonated. Two other musketeers hurried over to stand with Snapshot, who kept a wary distance from his foe with his bayonet ready.
One of his comrades advanced from the side to try and get around the magic shield, but the unicorn deftly deflected with his sword before slashing again, catching the pony's musket and dragging it forward before reversing his sweep and cutting a deep gash across her chest. Snapshot took advantage of the distraction to quickly take to the air. he couldn't fly too high, for risk of becoming a target for every enemy soldier with a loaded musket; just enough to leap over the head of the unicorn in one clear bound, rapidly switching his grip on his musket to hold it from the underside and stab downward with a grunt of exertion.
Since the unicorn was wearing a helmet, with a suitably shaped aperture for his horn to protrude through, the downward stab did no damage, but it did distract the unicorn. As the Pegasus flapped straight over his head, the unicorn knew he had to turn and face the foe, or else risk getting stabbed in the back. He did so, swinging round with sword, catching Snapshot's musket as he landed and turned and sending him stumbling back against the palisade. He turned to administer the killing blow, but that left him exposed, as his shield swung around with his body. He tried to make it quick, but not quick enough, and some enterprising Equestrian with a steady hand put a pistol shot into his leg. The unicorn stumbled, dropping to one knee as his own fellows began to move through the gap. Captain Oats stepped up, locked his sword arm aside with her own limb, and plunged her weapon straight through his neck. Blood sprayed out as both of his jugular veins were severed, and his shield fizzled out as he fell to the ground, bleeding out all over Snapshot.
"Stand up and fight!" she shouted, spinning elegantly to pierce the breast of another enemy soldier who was pushing through the palisade, killing him. She fried another with a bolt of magic, and Snapshot used his wings for a rapid ascent back to the vertical.
"With you, Captain!" he cried, fighting back to back with her, stabbing out at another enemy, catching her in the groin and making her fall, withdrawing the blade and stabbing again, right in between the ribs, piercing her chainmail armour. More grenades went outbound, blasting the enemy as they climbed the bare earthen slope toward the wall, with more defenders now reforming the defensive line where it had buckled briefly. Billhook and Ramble were with them too, pushing back the tide, forcing the few enemies who had made it inside back out through the palisade, or slaughtering them where they stood.
Again the trumpets sounded from across the plateau, signalling the recall. The Shadow Army began to pull back, leaving their dead and wounded behind. Another assault had been repelled; another cheer from the throats of the defenders. Snapshot slumped wearily against the side of the wagon he had been resting at...when was it? Ten minutes earlier? Twenty? An hour? He had lost all track of time, but he knew it could not have been that long. Time dilated in the heat of battle, seeming to either last a mere moment, or eternity. The reality was somewhere in between. All he really knew was that the enemy were in retreat again. For one day more, Canterlot would hold.
Long ago, a mare by the name of Swiftmane had live and died in these very rocks.
The mountain pass ahead was grandiose in scale, with towering cliffs high above, vertical walls of rock either side of the narrow and picturesque defile. A trading caravan or a young noble on a grand tour of the continent would certainly appreciate its beauty, but a soldier would be more concerned with how to defend it, or the potential it posed for an ambush. For that, it was perfect. An unsuspecting convoy or column of marching ponies could be set upon in an instant from a hundred crevasses, boulders, draws and crags and massacred where they stood, or forced to surrender with no possible route of escape.
It was just such a fate which had befallen Swiftmane. A favoured priest of Celestia, she had ridden out, long ago, to the eastern regions, where, so long ago, many lawless tribes and bandits reigned in the days before the land was pacified by the Equestrian Army during the nation's eastern expansion. She had gone to spread the word of the Princess, but bandits in the pass had found her. A priest was a tempting target, for they would like as not be carrying gold or a good supply of bits, as well as other valuables for trading. Books, perhaps; The Complete Celestian Chronicles, or The Lineage & Heritage of the Equestrian Royal Family, and the Illustrious Story Of Our Divine Princess. Both would fetch good prices to traders from foreign lands if they were in good, original condition.
Swiftmane, riding atop her horse, alone, had been ambushed by a force of bandits. Her brutalized body had been found a week later by a trading caravan, her horse still forlornly grazing on the grass and flowers near where she lay. They returned her body to Canterlot, their destination. There was no doubt that she had been raped, tortured and then killed, seemingly for sport, target practice; her body was riddled with arrows, but the palace doctors had determined that her other wounds had been inflicted before she died. The Celestian Chronicles, the great epic that detailed the early life and reign of the Princess, said that Celestia wept "White-hot tears of anguish for her fallen, a loyal and true daughter of the Sun." It was also said that "Her Fury descended upon the blasphemers and bandits," but gave no further details.
The reality had been that Celestia had ordered a full regiment of infantry to secure the pass, sweeping all before them. Once the pass was cleared and the bandits in retreat, she personally led the Knights of Celestia to pursue the fleeing brigands. Biding their time, they followed at a distance until the bandits reached their large camp, more a small town out on the plains. Then, with their Princess at their head, the Knights rode in and slaughtered them all. Not just the bandits, but their old folk, foals, and pregnant mares, too. They killed those who fought, they killed those who fled, they killed those who fell to their knees and begged the Sun for mercy. The camp was razed to the ground by blazing torches; none survived. Celestia's bloody vengeance was curiously not mentioned in the Chronicles beyond the token and cryptic mention of "Fury" descending. The unsanitised reality was not exactly suitable for a book that was effusive and unequivocal in its praise of the Princess as the exemplar of Ponykind, with lofty ideals that all should strive to follow but few would ever reach.
After the razing of the bandit camp, Celestia declared Swiftmane to be a Martyr of the Sun, and made her a saint, giving the pass where she died her name, a permanent memorial to the mare who had been killed in particularly horrible circumstances while merely trying to spread the word of her Princess. The families and friends of other priests killed in a similar way down the years might well have felt aggrieved at their own martyrs not being honoured in quite the same way, but no disquiet had ever been shown. Every death of a Priest of Celestia was recorded in detail in the Golden Cathedral's archives, as well as the palace histories. Swiftmane was different; she had developed a close rapport and friendship with the Princess. Some unofficial tracts even whispered that they had been lovers, though there was no proof of any such relationship between the two mares, merely speculation from less reputable sources, the kind of scurrilous falsehood or embellished half-truth that often blighted ancient texts and purported histories.
Lovers, friends, or merely a servant and her Princess, the reality was that Swiftmane's tale lived on thanks to the name of the pass, which controlled the northernmost approach to Canterlot from the eastern province. It was a logical chokepoint that could be blocked either by soldiers or by the mountains themselves. Magic or explosives could be used to bring down the high cliffs and fill the pass with debris, rendering it completely impassable by any ground unit. That was what the defenders were under orders to do if the pass was in danger of falling, and there was clear evidence that might be the situation soon enough.
Thousands of Changelings were assailing the approaches to the pass, massed ranks of infantry, some on the ground, some in the air, like a cloud of flies. The defences were strong, with breastworks and strongpoints carved straight into the rock, concealing cannons and musketponies. Lines of defence criss-crossed the approaches, with trenches connecting each bunker and blockhouse, sharpened stakes in front of each position, and earthen ramparts supporting the lower reaches. A small chapel, dedicated to Saint Swiftmane and lying nestled among the hills in front of the pass, had been overrun and set ablaze by the advancing Changelings, forcing the defenders to abandon it, and the first line that it formed the lynchpin of.
The terrain was too rough for a true fortress to ever be constructed there, but the defences were strong nonetheless. Despite the advantages of a prepared position and the high ground, it was clear to Princess Celestia and her riders that the Equestrian lines were already in danger of being broken by sheer weight of numbers. The Changelings were evidently throwing almost their entire force into the meat-grinder, the vast majority of the troops which had invaded the eastern province. If they made it through the pass to reinforce the Shadow Army and block off any Equestrian reinforcements from the northern city of Stalliongrad, then the capital would surely fall, especially if the Holy Army was prevented from pursuing them. That raised the question- what was the Changelings' true objective here? To gain control of the pass, or merely to prevent the Holy Army from using it?
Celestia drew her sword and led her cavalry straight into the fray, up the road leading to the pass, toward the black mass of Changelings, their banners flapping in the wind as trumpets sounded. The Changeling rear picket line broke and fled, using their wings to carry them and outrun the onrushing cavalry. While a large proportion of the invading army was focused upon the pass, the Changeling general had clearly anticipated such a relief effort by the Holy Army, and had a number of units positioned up ahead, blocking the road, forming squares of pikes backed by muskets, the bane of cavalry. As they charged up the road, however, things rapidly got even worse, for the foothills on either side of the defile were suddenly not empty. The Changelings had been canny; either their general was a particularly good guesser, or their scouts had reported the advancing cavalry from a long way off. Cannons were rapidly wheeled into position to the left and right of the road, atop the hills, aiming down into the wide cutting which steadily narrowed as it approached the beginning of the pass itself.
Celestia grimaced as she saw the cannons appearing, first one battery, then another, and another. There had been no other choice; this was the only option available to her. To abandon the pass would have meant it was sure to fall. To wait and only advance in lock-step with the infantry would have delayed their arrival for too long, resulting in the same outcome. The terrain around them was no good for horses, which was why she had stuck to the road, and also why the Changelings had seemingly not brought their own cavalry with them. Now, their options were narrowing even further. She raised her sword high above her, spurred her horse on, and lowered her head. Her horn began to glow, lustrous gold magic spewing forth and forming a shield in front of her. This was no small, individual shield, one that could, at a pinch, protect a squad of infantry, like a unicorn or Changeling officer could form. This was a barrier, a hundred yards wide, like the curtain wall of a fortress, gently shimmering like the surface of a sun-kissed lake.
The Changeling cannons, laboriously dragged into position, opened fire with a roar. Their shots slammed the shield, and melted away into nothing. As long as the guns were in front of her, Celestia could protect her cavalry, but as soon as they passed them, the cannons could pour fire into their flanks and rear. Even the Princess could not easily protect such a large moving target, with a thousand cavalryponies behind her; the three hundred Knights of Celestia, five hundred hussars, and another two hundred lancers. Celestia had not advanced with her whole cavalry force, keeping plenty in reserve to protect the massed body of infantry and their supply train, but she had brought many of the best-trained units. Now, their skills would be needed more than ever.
With a simple gesture, her sword raised above her head at the horizontal, then swept to the right three times, Celestia sent a wordless order. Their eyes fixed on their Princess, a unit of the Cloudsdale Hussars began to move. They were an all-Pegasi regiment from the famous floating city from which they took their name, and while at first glance they may have seemed rather out of place- why would Pegasi, already famed for their speed and maneuverability, form a cavalry unit?- the Cloudsdale Hussars had long shown their versatility and great usefulness in battle. In the charge, they were like any other unit, forming part of the great galloping mass. But when signaled or ordered to do so, their wings came back into play.
At Celestia's direction, some two hundred of the Pegasi spread out to the right flank, a carefully orchestrated ballet as they navigated their steed around other charging horses and over the rougher terrain at the edge of the road. Then, they stopped. An enemy might have thought they were preparing to turn and flee, abandon their Princess; when the Hussars then dismounted, leaping from the saddles to the ground, an enemy would have likely become confused. But when the two hundred Pegasi took to the air, sabres and pistols in hand, an enemy would have good reason to panic.
The Cloudsdale Hussars flew as fast as they could to the hilltops on the right flank, where the lightly protected Changeling cannons were roaring. Only a small screening force of infantry protected each battery, as the Changelings had either overlooked such a possibility, or simply did not care too much for the lives of their gun crews. Even as the cavalry phalanx thundered past the first Changeling battery, the gunners were already engaged in desperate close combat with the agile Hussars. The Cloudsdale fighters spread themselves out, trying to keep pace with the Princess to attack each battery before the cavalry passed it and became vulnerable. Celestia issued a similar order, but sweeping her sword left instead, and the remaining two hundred of Cloudsdale's finest took to the air to engage the cannons that lay to their left.
With the Changeling artillery tied up, casualties in the initial charge had been minimal. Ahead lay a thick line of Changeling infantry; the road coming out from the pass dipped away into a kind of bowl just ahead of the Equestrian defences, before rising again to a crest, and it was at that crest that the enemy had positioned their rearguard. The Hive Mind kept them standing firm, for no normal army could have faced down a charging mass of cavalry, led by the Sun Herself, without at least quaking in terror. But stand they did, pikes lowered and ready, muskets loaded.
At the last possible moment, Celestia dropped her shield and unleashed a whirlwind of magic, as she had done on the plains, blasting a hole in the enemy line and tossing dozens of drones aside like rag dolls. The musketponies held their fire as the Princess charged through their line, slashing with her sword, cutting down those unfortunate enough to be in her path. The Knights of Celestia followed her, and only then did the enemy open fire.
The heavy golden plate of the Knights was proof against a spear tip or arrow head, but not against a musket ball. Nor was the armoured barding that clad their horses. A dozen Knights went down in the first volley, some shot dead or wounded, others sent tumbling to the ground as their mounts stumbled and fell, whinnying in agony. The pikes jabbed and thrusted, finishing off those unlucky enough to land within their reach. The rest of the hussars, supported by the lancers, drove through the enemy lines, and the second rank of Changeling musketeers opened up from within their protective squares, killing, wounding or downing another fifty of the less well-protected riders in conjunction with the pikes, which pierced the bodies of the unfortunate horses, ripping them open and tossing their riders down to the ground.
One hardy Knight rose to her feet and set about the square of infantry ahead of her. In a display witnessed by her Princess, who was quickly coming about to charge again, the Knight let off a quick string of half a dozen blasts of magic that caught the Changelings by surprise and killed a trio of pike-bearers. She quickly took cover behind her wounded horse as muskets spat hate in her direction, before bursting forth and charging through the gap she had made in the pikewall. The musketeers were frantically reloading and caught on the hop, and she slew two with her sword as the pikes tried to turn and deal with her, difficult in the close quarters they found themselves in. She struck out again, running through one pike-drone and clashing with a Changeling officer, who kept her busy long enough for a worker-Changeling with a musket to bayonet her in the leg; ineffectually, but enough to distract her with an attempt to cut him down. The officer capitalised, managing to draw his pistol and put a ball through her cuirass and straight into her stomach. Yet still she fought on, beheading the musketeer, turning back on the officer, overpowering him and wrenching his sword away before plunging her own deep into his chest. Now half a dozen musketeers had reloaded their weapons, and together they opened fire, and the noble Knight fell, quickly disappearing from view as the Changelings closed ranks to reform the square that she had broken.
The Changeling cannons on the hills had been overrun, taken by surprise thanks to the speed of the Pegasi assault, their gun crews slaughtered. The Hussars returned to their mounts and set out to charge forward in support, but the enemy lines had stabilised after the initial charge, and a forest of pikes met them. Without the Princess to force a breakthrough, the Hussars risked heavy losses in a head-on advance, but they had to reach and support the rest of the force. They charged anyway, straight into the teeth of the enemy muskets.
Beyond the rearguard line, the bulk of the Equestrian cavalry reformed in the bowl ahead of the pass. The main enemy force still lay ahead, thousands of infantry, swarming all over the defensive lines. The defenders knew their Princess was with them; even from a distance, one could hardly miss her striking mane blowing in the wind, to say nothing of her gleaming armour and gossamer-white wings. That bolstered their morale, but their line was still buckling under the sheer weight of Changelings being thrown at it. It would have been hard enough defending against a force like the Yaks or Zebras in such a situation, with the numbers heavily against you, but against the Changelings who had both airborne units and magic users among their ranks, it was that much harder. Drones would fly overhead and pop up in the rear, squads advancing would be protected, however briefly, from gunfire by magic shields, bolts of magical energy could act as additional projectile weaponry. Every advantage that a mixed pony force had, the Changelings had too.
Celestia's cavalry was now in the midst of a great swirling maelstrom, with gunfire on all sides, their retreat theoretically blocked off by the reformed enemy rearguard, separated from a number of their own Hussars, with a huge enemy force ahead that vastly outnumbered them. But they did not need to kill every enemy, merely to break the back of their assault. That was Celestia's hope. Either force the enemy to retreat, or buy enough time for the bulk of the Holy Army to arrive. If the Changelings were allowed time to dig in around the pass then they might end up like a tick, gripping with all its limbs and unwilling to be removed easily.
Leaving the separated Hussars to force their way through, Celestia led the rest of the cavalry toward the main Changeling force, which was focused, for the most part, on the pass defences. The Changeling cannons had been set up to stop the cavalry breaking through, and now that they had failed, there were only a few guns left, and they were busy bombarding the trenches and blockhouses of the defensive line. Celestia made for them, scattering the gun crews and corralling them before cutting them down. The Changeling guns had been providing fire support for the main assault, but their loss did not mean the attack could no longer succeed. They already had momentum, and had to be slowed.
Turning once more, the Equestrian cavalry rode hard along the road, into the enemy's rear. They were mostly unprotected, though quick to react to the incursion thanks to their Hive Mind that linked them and shared some tactical information between units at the speed of thought. A line of pikes had already been deployed, and units of musketeers were moving to back them up, standing firm on the slopes of the approach to the pass. Celestia blasted a hole in their lines with a fireball of magic, golden light igniting the armour, wings and chitinous bodies of a dozen unlucky drones and workers who flailed about in agony, while another units of pikes simply disappeared from existence in the same blast. Again a wedge of cavalry rode in, cutting and slashing, careful not to go too far in case they got cut off from retreat and surrounded by the enemy infantry. Break up the formations; disrupt their plans, slow them down, stop them.
They tried their best, but there were thousands upon thousands of Changelings, and their ranks were barely thinning despite the charge against them. The terrain was entirely unsuitable for cavalry, with steep slopes, loose scree and numerous boulders and tree stumps dotting the landscape that formed the side of the bowl-shaped depression. Losses among the cavalry were mounting; pikes, muskets, magic, all were taking their toll on the riders and their steeds, though none were able to touch the Princess. Some may have imagined that she could have fought her way through the entire army unaided, but that was a fanciful notion more suited to the children's fables told about her in only the broadest and simplest terms. When the storybooks said, "The Princess drove the Zebras away," they meant, "The Princess, supported by her cavalry, infantry, and artillery, drove the Zebras away." Even her extraordinary stamina and skill could only carry her so far. Though it took far longer, she could still tire like every other pony, and she could only be in a single place at once. Yet she was like a whirlwind, on horseback or on foot. Her sword arm was relentless, slicing mercilessly through the bodies of scores of Changelings who stood before her. But it was not enough.
The cavalry made inroads, slaughtering over a thousand of their foes, but their numbers were dwindling the whole time as more riders fell. Some, wounded, were able to fight on the ground and claim a few more for their final tally before they died, but individual acts of heroism could not tip the balance. Gradually they were forced back, or else they would have found themselves isolated as individuals or small groups and massacred. Celestia had no choice but to pull back, or else lose her entire force. They simply could not break through. She turned to Carpe Diem, the loyal Knight Commander of the Order of Celestia, with orders to sound the retreat. He did so, blowing his bugle loud and clear.
The cavalry turned, extricating themselves from the fray. Celestia hacked her way out along with the Knights, who had been whittled down to some two hundred and fifty of their original three hundred members. The Hussars and Lancers had similarly taken heavy losses, while the Cloudsdale Hussars, cut off from their fellows, had given a good account of themselves against the enemy rearguard, forcing a large opening, through which the retreating horses were able to flow. A few more riders fell as they departed, gunned down by musketry, but Celestia was able to lead the survivors from the field, back between the hills where the Changeling guns now lay silent. They could do no more- to stay would see them wiped out, and having lost a third of their number already, that was not a situation that was palatable to the Princess in any way. It would not accomplish anything save to add new martyrs to the roll of honour of the victims of the pass, which was already more than long enough.
So back they went, reforming out of range of the enemy muskets, to await the arrival of their own infantry. That was the only way they would take the pass; it had been a bold and aggressive move by the Princess, but ultimately futile. The Changelings had a head start. If the Holy Army could have reached the pass first, then they could have bolstered the defences and made the pass impregnable. As it was, they were the ones sitting forlornly, looking on as the defenders of the pass, their hopes dashed, slowly succumbed to the mass of Changeling infantry, pressing inexorably onward, crossing each trench line, each parapet, each string of breastworks, probing into the pass, their airborne units clearing sharpshooters from high perches. The Changeling assault was proceeding according to their plan, cutting through the defensive lines and then rolling up the rest before ploughing on deeper into the pass.
Celestia and the survivors of her cavalry charge saw the flash long before they heard the bang. A string of bright lights flared into being inside the pass, followed by a roar as the cliffsides began to crumble. Carefully placed charges of gunpowder, concealed for just such a purpose, had been detonated by the desperate defenders, who were left with no choice as they faced seeing the pass fall into enemy hands. Slabs of rock sheared off from the mountainside, tumbling and shattering below, crushing several thousand Changelings and the last hundred or so Equestrians, bravely giving their lives to stop the foe having a clear route to Canterlot. A huge plume of dust rose into the air, blotting out any visual of the pass as it collapsed in on itself, not just near the mouth but also at several other points along its length to make absolutely sure there was no way through.
As the dust cleared, the Changelings were in disarray, but Celestia's depleted cavalry force was too weak to pounce on them again. Once the infantry arrived, that would change, but for now, all the Princess could do was sit and watch as the dust slowly drifted into the sky.
The previous day, the fourth of the siege, had been quiet. Disturbingly so, for there had been no attack on Canterlot at all. That at least brought a reprieve for the ponies manning the palisade and the city walls, allowing the defenders to rotate their soldiers and let them rest properly inside the city, barracking in requisitioned housing stock or public buildings cleared to allow bedrolls to be laid down. The only thing that disturbed the air was the usual morning bombardment and counter-bombardment as the Shadow Army tried to pound the Bastions and the curtain wall into submission, and then the relentless sound of digging.
From the top of the palace towers, the source of the digging could be ascertained. There had been a certain amount of it the day before, and the day before that, but yesterday it had been almost continuous, and the current morning had dawned with the same sounds coming from the enemy lines. They were digging trenches, a network of them, cut into the earth of the plateau in front of their camp; saps jutting outward, communication trenches connecting rear areas, and revetments for cannons, all steadily pushing forward, moving from their own lines toward the city walls. Having failed to take the palisade by storm, the Shadow Army was clearly settling in for a long siege, preparing their own lines and enhancing them in a similar way to how the defenders had prepared. The Shadow Army's trenches, however, were not a defensive construct, but were designed to allow their own soldiers to get closer to the defences before having to expose themselves to Equestrian fire; the closer they could get, the less open ground they would have to cover, and the less time they would be in the sights of the enemy guns. The works also provided protection for sharpshooters; the Shadow Army possessed many excellent marksponies, and constructing trenches and saps could allow them to take up favourable positions ahead of an assault. The earthen revetments for cannons that were also being constructed would protect the heavy guns and allow the enemy to put their entire artillery complement into action, including the smaller guns which so far were positioned out of range of the city walls and needed to get closer in order to engage.
The kind of works that were ongoing were indicative of a long siege being planned. The enemy clearly had enough troops for a prolonged investiture of Canterlot, and enough ammunition and equipment. Their supply line now stretched uninterrupted back to the Shadowlands, though the forts of the Corona Line could threaten it if the forces that had been assigned to besiege them were lax in their duties. General Summerstrike had some cavalry at his disposal, who could potentially conduct lightning raids upon hostile convoys, but apart from that, the convoys of powder, shot, and food would have practically free reign to run between Canterlot and the southern border, keeping the invasion force well supplied for the continuing siege. They were not likely to run out of any vital supplies any time soon.
General Hawkeye looked out across the city, hands clasped behind her back. The view was excellent from the palace. it had been built upon the highest point of the plateau's northern reaches, and the rest of the city, essentially, constructed around it, or rather in front of it, for the palace backed onto the vertical edge of the northern escarpment that dropped away to the valley floor. It was a marvelous edifice, fit for a Princess, with walls of white, clean stone, soaring towers of marble and gold, and stained glass windows depicting Celestia's past glories. Victories over the Zebras, Yaks, Griffons, rebels, Moon Cultists and indeed even Changelings were engraved upon the walls and windows of the palace, for all visitors to see. Celestia herself had not ordered their installation, or commissioned most of the paintings and tapestries that dotted the building showing the same things. Most had been paid for by the priests of the Sun, nobles, or the personal coffers of her minister of state.
She was not boastful, though she had much to boast about, but those who followed her were devout and pious. They erected statues and commissioned paintings of her deeds and likeness not because of her vainglory, but to further spread the word of the Sun to all and sundry, from the highest noble to the lowliest commoner and, importantly, to visitors and dignitaries from other lands. All Equestrian citizens knew the story of their Princess, but travelers from distant lands might not. That was why every alehouse in the land had a portrait of Celestia above the bar, every private house had at least one stencil, drawing or painting of her likeness, and why every government, military and religious building was required by law to fly the Equestrian flag and have at least one, usually many, depictions of the Princess.
The city was much the same as the palace; at least, the Old Town. big, sweeping colonnaded streets, marble government buildings, fountains and handsome trees, villas for nobility, a guard post on every corner. The New Town was a mixture- parts were similar in design, but the farther one got from the palace, the more ramshackle the city became. The New Town was similar to any other large settlement in the land; wooden houses, thatched rooftops, cobbled streets, open sewers, market stalls, mud, muck. Canterlot was the largest and richest city in Equestria, but those riches were certainly not distributed equally among its inhabitants.
"Good morning, General."
Starswirl entered her office behind her, unbidden and without knocking, though she had been expecting the mage's presence.
"Your Excellency," she greeted him without turning, still looking out across the city at the enemy lines, where the trenches were beginning to branch out like a spider's web, the brown cuts in the grassland of the plateau clearly visible. It had not taken them long to produce results with their digging; the Changelings were experts at such craft thanks to their construction of underground cities. "They are making steady progress out there," she commented. "I would estimate another two days before they are in range to both bring all of their artillery into play, and also to launch a surprise attack on the palisade that would give us little time to react."
Starswirl moved to stand beside her. "Indeed? Two days is an eternity in war, General. Things can change in the blink of an eye if the conditions are right."
"They can," Hawkeye nodded, sparing Starswirl a glance. "If you are planning something, tell me now."
"I am planning nothing save continuing to work on raising the city shield once more," Starswirl replied. "That is my sole endeavour at this time."
"Then forgive me, Your Excellency, but if your focus is entirely upon that task, it would behoove you to confer upon another the powers that Her Highness invested in you," Hawkeye pointed out. "The execution of the duties of state can hardly be carried out when one is so dedicated to a specific task."
"General, I am quite capable of performing both functions at the same time," Starswirl chided. "I understand that you chafe against my authority over you, but I have delegated the military defence of the city to you already. More than that, I cannot do. The Princess gave me the decree that I was to rule in her stead until she returns, and I shall not let her down in that regard."
"I know you do not wish to let Her Highness down, Your Excellency," Hawkeye replied. "But if, in your pursuit of magical protection, you neglect the city and the populace that you serve..."
"I have neglected nopony," Starswirl snapped, an uncharacteristically sharp tongue greeting her accusation. "I do my duty, and you do yours, General."
"Then make me responsible for the city as a whole," Hawkeye demanded, rounding on Starswirl. "Not just for its military defence. Waste is piling up in the streets. Medical facilities are not staffed to their full levels. Many ponies are defying the curfew I have put in place on the grounds that they are not military personnel and thus it must not apply to them. We have thousands of refugees within our walls, and I am receiving multiple reports that many of them have not only not been housed yet, but have scarcely been fed since the siege began. I would ask, nay, demand to know, on their behalf, why that is."
"A trifling matter..." Starswirl responded. "They will be well cared for."
"By who? The enemy, if they take this city?" Hawkeye questioned. "The enemy will do one of two things; slaughter them, or enslave them. We have a much better chance of holding the city if morale is not damaged by such disreputable acts as allowing our own citizens to go hungry because of some administrative power struggle."
"Then resist the urge to confront me, General!" Starswirl banged his staff upon the solid stone floor of her office. "You serve the ponies of this city best by accepting the judgement of the Princess."
"I have never claimed to oppose the judgement of the Princess," Hawkeye snarled. "Merely that of the pony she chose to make her regent. Her temporary regent."
"Do you believe that I am planning to retain those powers upon her return?" Starswirl narrowed his eyes. "You are accusing me of both blasphemy and treason."
"Not of blasphemy or treason, Your Excellency. Merely of becoming blinded to reality," she replied. "You are neglecting your duties as regent, and it is to the detriment not just of individual ponies, but to the city and nation as a whole. I would strongly urge you to consider what I have said. Somepony must take charge of issues other than holding the walls or resurrecting the shield. The needs of our citizens must be met."
"The city administration will take care of those things. Civil servants..." Starswirl protested.
"Only if they receive instructions from somepony who claims to be in charge!" Hawkeye retorted. "You have a duty not just to the residents of this city, Your Excellency, but to everything beyond these walls as well. if a letter with your seal on it arrives somewhere, then the orders contained within will be acted upon, unless an order bearing the great seal of the Princess herself is also received. You rule in her stead while she is on campaign. That does not mean you have to concern yourself with every little minutiae of business here within Canterlot. Let me help. Let my quartermaster deal with the rations. Leave the city bureaucracy to do whatever bureaucracies do...file things, mostly. Leave them to file, and allow yourself to focus on life beyond the walls, but for Celestia's sake, I must have a functioning city one way or another if I am to defend it properly. The last thing we need is disease, famine, mutiny..."
"Your point is made, General," Starswirl conceded with a sigh. "Very well. As regent, I declare Canterlot to be under martial law from this moment on. All administrative duties are to be routed through military channels. As garrison commander, I hereby appoint you, General Hawkeye, to be temporary Magistrate of Canterlot. All domestic matters within the walls are to be handled by you, your staff, or your subordinates, unless they directly affect either the rest of Equestria, or my efforts to defend the city."
"Thank you, Your Excellency..." Hawkeye breathed a deep sigh. She had not quite intended the discussion to get so heated, but Starswirl could be infuriating with his pithy quips and refusal to accept the facts placed before him. He was overworked, devoting all of his energies, so far ineffectually, to raising the shield again. Now that he had devolved his powers over the city to her, Hawkeye knew that her military command structure could perform a much better job, working in conjunction with the civil service rather than ignoring it to prowl the palace library at night searching for one more ancient tome, as she knew Starswirl had been doing. Whatever he might have tried so far, nothing had helped.
"I trust you will not let your Princess down," Starswirl added.
"I will make sure everypony is fed and sheltered, Your Excellency. That is all I can promise with a cast-iron guarantee," Hawkeye replied. "But know that every soldier and militiapony will fight tooth and nail to defend this city, and they fight in Her name, and beneath Her Sun."
"Not all the time..." Starswirl answered, moving to stand upon the balcony, leaning on the railings. "It should be starting at any moment. A bad portent, I fear."
"Nonsense, Your Excellency," Hawkeye shook her head. "Surely you of all ponies must have moved beyond such...primitive superstitions."
"It is no superstition to understand the cause of such things, yet still feel the coincidence to be too great to be mere happenstance," Starswirl replied, as Hawkeye stood next to him, hands clasped behind her back, looking skyward.
As they watched, the first hints of a change began to unfold high above. Celestia's sun, blazing brightly, appeared a little dimmer than it had a minute earlier, then a little dimmer still. A shadow crept across its surface, and across the land below. Cries of dismay could be heard from the city as anguished civilians looked up in confusion and fear. At the same time, there were roars and triumphant trumpets from the enemy camp beyond the walls as the sky grew darker and darker. Within minutes, day had turned to night, a blanket of shade and darkness.
Before Celestia's time, the ancient tribes would have panicked, perhaps fled, whenever an eclipse happened. The histories told that the Yaks would fire arrows at the sun to try and piece the veil; the Zebras believed that a giant crocodile had snapped up the sun in its mighty jaws but found it too hot to swallow. Many nations, even today, still held superstitions surrounding such events, though notably only those who did not follow the creed of the Sun and the footsteps of the Princess. Even those such as Starswirl who fully understood the cosmological cause of a total solar eclipse could still find ill omens in its timing.
The late morning's night only lasted for five minutes, but that was long enough to cause fear. With the Sun hidden, save for a thin sliver of shimmering light from the star's corona, disquiet spread rapidly among the civilians and militia, though the soldiers and Royal Guard were more steadfast. Even to those stalwart ponies, however, it could scarcely have been more symbolic. As the Sun disappeared beneath a disc of darkness, the Shadow Army and the Changelings knew that the fates were with them; the heavens themselves were rebelling against Celestia's rule.
The Holy Army's tents had sprung up once more around the Hornburg fortress. They had returned two days earlier from their sojourn with heads hanging low, dismal expressions upon their tired, dusty faces. The explosion that had rent the pass and collapsed it upon the Changelings had been audible as a low rumbling roar from the fort, and General Spectre had closed his eyes upon hearing it. It could not have been anything else but a sign of failure.
Returning to the Hornburg, Celestia had filled the General in on the outcome. The pass was lost, blocked. It would take months of heavy labour with magic, cranes and backbreaking physical effort to clear it out again. As a small consolation, once the infantry and the rest of the cavalry had arrived, the Princess had led the Holy Army against the disarrayed Changelings, trapping them in the bowl ahead of the pass, with their backs to the wall of rubble and the bodies of the dead. Turning the cannons that the Cloudsdale Hussars had captured on their erstwhile owners and pouring musket fire into them, the Holy Army had fought a bitter fight, wiping out thousands of the enemy. A large portion of the Changeling force, however, had been able to escape- drones and officers only, those with wings, taking to the air and departing as one mass, sudden, abrupt retreat to the south, over the heads of the Equestrians, leaving their hapless worker-Changeling fellows to face the wrath of the Princess and her followers. They fought and died there at the foot of the mountains, with the Equestrians closing the ring until none were left alive. Scouts estimated approximately fifteen thousand of the forty thousand strong Changeling force had fled, but the rest, at least, had been wiped out.
Celestia had considered a pursuit, but by the time they managed to form their Pegasi up into dedicated units, the enemy would be miles away, and cavalry could not be expected to follow them over the rough terrain of the foothills. Most likely they were heading for the Coltstone Pass or back to Saltsburg. Their mission had been accomplished; the Holy Army had been denied their easiest, fastest passage back to Canterlot. Celestia ordered the march back to the Hornburg; the morning before they arrived, the eclipse had darkened the skies and their spirits in equal measure.
Over tea in the fort's main war room, Celestia discussed with Generals Ostmane and Spectre as to the next move to be made. No word had been received at all from the troops stationed at the Coltstone Pass- neither the Hornburg nor Canterlot had any news, meaning it must most likely have been overrun early in the war and captured, perhaps from both ends at once in a double-pronged surprise attack. The pass was lined with explosive charges, just as Saint Swiftmane's had been; if the Changelings and Shadow Army did not know of the charges before, they certainly would now, for either the Hive Mind or the fleeing enemy's messengers would have relayed their existence to their fellows. That meant that, even if the Equestrian defenders had not already blown the Coltstone Pass, the Changelings certainly could if the Holy Army were to try and force passage through it.
The Holy Army had therefore camped and rested at the Hornburg for two days and two nights while their scouts flew south to inspect the pass. They returned with ill tidings, as expected. The Shadow Army controlled it, having evidently stormed it from the west as part of their initial, surprise invasion of Equestrian territory. There was almost zero likelihood they were now unaware of the explosives, and thus they could block the pass as soon as the Holy Army approached. To reach Canterlot, they would have to take a different route, and that meant going north.
"It is a long journey, Your Highness," General Spectre pointed out the obvious as the trio sipped their tea from ornately decorated cups, part of Celestia's personal supply train that accompanied her on campaign. "A thousand miles or more. Do you have the supplies for such a march?"
"We have all the ammunition we need, yes," Celestia replied, sitting in her flowing robes, her long legs elegantly crossed as she drank her tea. "We shall forage for food, that is no hardship. Speed is the key."
"There must be a faster way," Ostmane mused. "Surely, there must. To head north will take us at least a month. What if the city..."
"There is no faster route, General. We all know this," Celestia replied. "The only way the army can reach Canterlot is to head north around the mountains. We have no alternative. You cannot drive wagon and cannon across the peaks."
"But if the city has already fallen, Your Highness..."
"Then we retake it," Celestia answered simply. "Canterlot will be ours at the end of this war, as it was ours at the start."
"I do not wish to sound pessimistic, Your Highness, but I feel I must inject a note of caution into proceedings," Spectre pondered. "Will your army be in a fit state to fight after such a long march? A thousand miles...a month on the road is a long time, and to go straight into battle from the march is never easy."
"The Holy Army will not be alone," Celestia replied. "I have already sent long-range messengers north to Stalliongrad. If the fates are willing, we shall link up with the reinforcements they are to send to Canterlot, and advance upon the enemy as one."
"A bold and hopefully decisive plan, Your Highness," Spectre nodded. "Let us hope your messengers reach Stalliongrad before the commanders there decide to send their troops directly to the capital. If they have received word from the Canterlot garrison already about their plight..."
"Stalliongrad will send messengers of their own to turn back their reinforcements," Celestia pointed out, "If they receive a message with my seal upon it. If the estimates of the enemy's strength are accurate then the troops from Stalliongrad will most likely not be anywhere near enough to break the siege. We must link the Holy Army together with the Stalliongrad contingent if we are to recapture Canterlot. That is my plan."
"And it is a sound one," Ostmane nodded in agreement with his Princess. "I shall be proud to march with you, Your Highness."
"We shall be leaving you tomorrow morning, General," Celestia added, turning to Spectre once more. "Look after your soldiers. They are fine ponies, and they may well be called upon to give support to the Baltimare force. Even now they are on the move to relieve Saltsburg."
"Yes, Your Highness." Spectre nodded. "It has been an honour indeed to host you and your retinue here at the Hornburg. It is my most fervent wish that you shall be able to visit us again soon, as the victor of this war."
"I shall do so as soon as I am able, General," Celestia confirmed with a smile, rising from her chair and prompting the others to do the same, for none could be seated while the Princess stood, unless explicitly told otherwise. She extended her hand and Spectre bent down to kiss it. "Until next we meet."
"Until next we meet, Your Highness. I wish you and your army the greatest success," Spectre replied. "Keep Canterlot safe. It may not be my home, but it is yours. I am sure you long to return there."
"I do, General, and thank you," Celestia nodded. Together with Ostmane, she departed the war room, leaving Spectre standing alone once more.
The following morning dawned overcast, with thick clouds hanging in the sky like scudding, cresting waves of grey. It was, at least, cooler than it had been for the past week, which would make the first dozen miles of the march more palatable for the Holy Army, who were gearing up for a long, long journey. To reach Canterlot, they would have to travel north for five hundred miles, loop around the top end of the Foal Mountains, and then march south for another six hundred miles, back to Canterlot. At an average marching speed of twenty miles per day, it would take them approximately fifty-five days to reach the capital- and that was on good, paved roads, with no hitches along the way. Almost two months until there was any reasonable hope of the siege being lifted.
The Holy Army marched, a long string of infantry, cavalry protecting the flanks, and a seemingly endless train of artillery wagons, supply carts and cannons. They had a long, tedious, tiring journey ahead of them, but it was a very necessary one. Canterlot was waiting; waiting for help, waiting for aid, waiting for relief from the siege, from the cannon fire and the fear that had gripped the residents. Their Princess was coming, but would she arrive in time?
In Stalliongrad, another march was underway. Orders, received from Canterlot, had come just days earlier. A relief column was rapidly formed from the standing force of the city and province, a combined total of some fifty thousand ponies, with plentiful artillery and a strong cavalry arm. Starswirl the Bearded had ordered, in his capacity as regent, that the Stalliongrad garrison should assemble and march with as many ponies as they could muster to relieve the capital city from its torment, and the commanders had complied. The army had marched south on short notice, its supply train following the next day after enough wagons had hastily been requisitioned from drovers and merchants in the city and its surrounding towns.
It was a three hundred mile march south, a long way, but nowhere near as long as the route the Holy Army had to take. Barring any orders from the Princess, they were bound to follow those of Starswirl, which was what they did with as much alacrity as they could muster, pushing south at a commendable pace of some twenty-five miles a day, the commanders pushing their soldiers as far as they could go. By the time Celestia's messengers arrived in Stalliongrad, after a gruelling flight over the mountains that had seen at least one of their number stop to rest their burning lungs near one of the high, frostbitten peaks and never get up again, the Stalliongrad force had already covered nearly a hundred miles, putting them well out of position. It was another day's flight for a fresh messenger to try and reach the army- a commendable effort, but by the time they arrived, the advancing force had already been split into two parts to envelop the Shadow Army force that lay ahead.
The remainder of the invasion force that was not besieging Canterlot had been moved north, along with additional reinforcements from both homelands. At Sombra's order, they had established a strong blocking position north of the capital, to prevent just such a move as this and hold a relief force at bay. If needed, more troops could be detached from the siege force to go and reinforce the forward line. Facing this force, a hundred miles north of the capital, the General in command of the Stalliongrad relief force had split his troops in two, with a pincer movement in mind. The messenger from Stalliongrad could only intercept one force, giving them the orders to turn back. He was then sent on west to locate the other half, but battle had already been joined.
With orders to retreat coming from Stalliongrad, thanks to a direct command from the Princess ordering the city's forces to standby rather than advance, there was now confusion. One half of the force was now pushing forward against the enemy, while the other was under orders to pull back. The western flank was advancing, until the messenger arrived. The order to retreat was given, but interpreted by several units as a panicked command for flight. They turned and ran, rather than the orderly, smooth, gradual falling back which had been envisioned by the general.
The Shadow Army sniffed blood, and went for the jugular, their fast cavalry ripping through the ranks of the retreating infantry. With the sudden flight, there was no time to pack up the artillery, and many cannons were captured, their crews taken prisoner or cut down trying to defend their firing pieces. The Equestrian cavalry was unable to prevent the rout that was now developing before their eyes, and had no choice but to pull back as well, lest they be cut off. The entire western flank folded in less than an hour. The other half of the force retreated in good order, under the direct command of their general, but the damage had already been done. The Shadow Army had the field and had won the day, inflicting nearly ten thousand casualties upon the Stalliongrad relief force. The rest followed their new orders and returned north, forming a similar defensive line south of the city in case the enemy should try to push on. But they did not, content just to keep the Equestrians at bay, and as far away from the capital as they could. Their objective, at least at this stage, was not total conquest, but the capture of Canterlot. That was all that seemed to matter to them.
The first week had passed slowly; inexorably slowly, like walking through treacle, at least for those inside the walls. There was not much for many of the refugees to do except sit, eat, talk and pray. The able bodied stallions and mares were recruited as civilian helpers for the defenders, carrying ammunition boxes, bringing up the rations, and, importantly, working at night to shore up the defences. When darkness fell, parties of labourers would head out from the city gates to rebuild the earthen rampart where grenades had cratered it, resurrect fallen stakes in the palisade or hammer new ones in, and bring up more sandbags, sacks and timber for protection.
Two more enemy attacks had been repulsed, one coming across open ground, and another springing up from the trenches, which had been pushed out toward the city walls at a steady pace over the preceding few days. Watching them being dug from the wall was like watching and waiting as a storm cloud rolled in. Once the trenches had been dug, they could provide cover for advancing enemy troops and allow them to launch an attack from much closer range, which is exactly what they had done two days earlier, allowing them to assault the palisade without having to cross quite so much open ground.
For the civilians inside the walls, this was all something of an abstract concept. They could not see the trenches being dug; nopony was allowed up onto the walls unless they were one of the civilian assistants who was tasked with bringing rations, water and ammunition to the soldiers. Likewise nopony was allowed to leave the city unless they were part of a work detail. General Hawkeye and her military administration had taken over control of the city in its entirety, thanks to Starswirl's eventual, reluctant abdication of that responsibility. Things had been rapidly streamlined. All the refugees who had not already been found somewhere to stay were corralled into inns, guesthouses and even brothels, anywhere with beds or space for some blankets and pillows to be laid out. Food was sourced and distributed in a joint effort between the military logistics chain and the Priests of Celestia and their functionaries. Things were gradually improved until, by the tenth day of the siege, all of the problems facing the refugees and the remaining civilian population had been, for the most part, solved.
The Chapel of the Elms was a constant source of solace for many ponies. Like a number of other such buildings, it had thrown its doors open to the refugees, but it also still hosted sermons and gatherings of the faithful, who would come each day to hear the word of the Princess being preached by the Priests. As one of the most important such chapels, with one of the longest histories, it had been a logical place for High Ecclesiarch Amber Frost to continue his inspiring speeches, as he had done before the siege began. He certainly hoped that he could help to boost the morale of the city's inhabitants in a time of great crisis and fear. It was more than just his job; it was also his duty, for the Priests of Celestia were the spiritual advisors and confidantes of the public, monitoring and guiding them along the path laid out for them by their Princess.
Many of the refugees from some of the plateau villages- Newgrange, Bard's Crossing, Springpoint- had been relocated to the cloisters and outbuildings of the Chapel of the Elms for protection and accommodation. That, as Frost had learned when he had given his sermon in the Golden Cathedral, included the young filly, Meadow, and her family. Speaking once more at the Elms, Frost again found the green pony waiting for him.
"Hello once again, young one," he gave her a beatific smile. "How are you faring with you new life in the big city?" he asked her.
"It's...scawy," Meadow replied. Despite the gravity of the situation, she was still clad in a flowery summer dress, as befitted the season. Evidently her family had time to pack a few things for their short journey to Canterlot. "It's scawy but I know the sowdiers are here to pwotect us."
"They are indeed, child," Frost nodded. "But they are not our only protection from evil. First, we have our walls. Then, we have our weapons. But if all that fails, if all else is stripped away from us, then we shall still have our faith in the Princess. For we know beyond any doubt that after every night, there will dawn a new day."
Meadow smiled timidly. "I know you're right, Eccwesiarch. But it still makes me scawed sometimes."
"Well, fear not. for not only our faith holds strong, but our walls and our weapons too," he reassured her. "Our brave soldiers and militia will toil relentlessly until the city is saved. Of that you can be certain. Now run along, child. I must proceed with my next visit. The Chapel of the Yews. More ponies like you are waiting to hear from me there."
"Thank you, Eccwesiarch..." Meadow smiled a bit more firmly, and scampered off to her parents. Frost smiled and turned away from her. A moment later, his ears were filled with a sudden whooshing sound. He looked around in confusion, followed by terror a moment later as something exploded not very far away. There were screams from among the slowly dispersing congregation, who now began to stream in terror, some out into the streets, some down into the undercroft and crypt of the temple.
"Calm yourselves, fillies and gentlecolts!" Frost cried, using his stentorian voice to good purpose and booming out loudly, as he did during his speeches. "Orderly, please, keep it orderly! Do not push and crowd!" he begged, but only a few listened. Another whooshing sound filled his ears again a minute later, and this time, his world turned upside down. Something powerful knocked him flat to the floor, pumping the wind from his lungs like a boxer's best body blow. Where sound had surrounded him for a moment, now there was silence, but also the pummelling of a strong wind and a thousand needles, cutting into his flesh.
The Shadow Army's gunners were more than keen to open fire upon the walls and defences of the city, but their cannons could only hit what they could see. That limited their targets to the palisade, the city wall, the Bastions and ravelins, the cannons and troops emplaced there, and little else save a few of the city's taller towers that protruded above the skyline. To hit targets within the city itself, something different was needed.
That was where the Shadow Army's pair of enormous mortars came in. Like the cannons, they were simply metal tubes, loaded with gunpowder and used to project their payload, but the mortars were of a much higher calibre, and were not used for direct fire. Rather, they operated on a ballistic trajectory, lobbing their shells up and over in a graceful arc, allowing them to rain down hell upon an enemy who might otherwise deem themselves to be safe inside the walls of their fort or city. The mortars were used to hit anything out of sight- ammunition magazines, forming-up locations for soldiers, command centres or government buildings, or, as in this case, for indiscriminate fire into civilian areas of the city. The Shadow Army were firing blind, not even bothering with their Pegasi spotters, but merely tossing high-explosive shells over the walls in the hope of either hitting something important or just causing alarm, fear, and casualties among the soldiers and civilians alike, lowering their morale with a sudden blast of death from nowhere.
The first of their unaimed shells had struck some two city blocks away from the Chapel of the Elms, demolishing a storefront and killing a trio of labourers who had been loading a cart with grain outside. The second of the two mighty mortars, using the spire of the Golden Cathedral as its aiming point, managed to bring its shell down on top of the luckless chapel instead. The shell landed atop the tiled, sloping roof and exploded, showering the streets outside with shattered tiles and broken wood, killing a dozen of the congregation who had already left the building. The explosion tore through the roof and smashed the rafters, sending tiles, dust, mortar, brick and wood cascading down upon those who remained inside, crushing others under great chunks of plaster and thick wooden beams. A large gilded statue of the Princess crashed to the floor, bouncing and breaking away from its pedestal, but miraculously not hitting a single pony.
Amber Frost felt himself being dragged by something or someone, his lungs filled with choking dust. He could hear nothing except his own pounding heart, beating far too fast for a pony of his age. A shaft of bright light pierced his reddened eyes. This was it, then. He was dead, and finally moving on to the next life, to the Otherworld ruled over by the Princess. A lifetime of duty and faith had prepared him for this moment, and he softly smiled. He was coming home. A face appeared.
Not the Princess. A pony, yes, but not the Princess. A burly, handsome stallion, wearing the shoulder patches of the city militia. Then another face, one of the robe-bearers from the chapel. Then another; this time it was Meadow, the foal. Perhaps he was not dead after all.
Slowly, they sat Frost up, and slowly, his hearing returned. Water was offered and accepted, tipped gently into his mouth by the militiapony. Dust and debris lay all around, and coated Frost's vestments, mane and beard. More water washed his face.
"Are you hurt, Your Grace?"
"No, no..." Frost shook his head. He didn't think so, at least. "Just winded, that is all. And a little sore. A body this old is not meant to move so fast, voluntarily or otherwise."
He looked around. There were other wounded ponies; dead ones, too, laid out in the street. Medical teams from the hospital and military barracks were tending to those with the more severe injuries, while the rest were left to just sit in shock at what had just happened. Looking up, Frost could see a gaping hole in the roof of the chapel, gently steaming from around the edges. Much of the roof had been shorn of its tiled covering, the heavy lead chunks raining down into the streets like hail. There was death and suffering, but there was also luck. If the shell had struck a scant few minutes earlier, it would have wrought carnage akin to any battlefield. Much of the collapsed roof had fallen upon the pews and benches where the ponies had been sitting in their masses, listening to the sermons and speeches. By fortune, or the guiding light of the Princess, the pews had been all but empty.
A quick casualty estimate was written and sent to Starswirl and Hawkeye in the palace. The relief effort was under Hawkeye's jurisdiction thanks to her finagling with the mage, and her troops performed admirably, quickly relocating the refugees who had been housed in the chapel elsewhere, transporting the wounded to be treated, and arranging for the bodies of the dead to be quickly cremated; an outbreak of disease was not something any besieged city wanted, though it was a very common occurrence, especially as food or water began to run low. Canterlot, at least, had a plentiful supply of fresh water thanks to the Coltava River running through it, but death from any cause could easily lead to pestilence of not carefully controlled. For the same reason, the night-time labour parties that ventured out to repair the defences also gathered up the bodies, both friend and foe, for either cremation or mass burial. Some unscrupulous members of the civil administration had suggested simply tossing the enemy corpses over the side of the cliff, but Hawkeye had vetoed that suggestion outright with the maxim of Do not commit an atrocity against a foe unless they have already committed one against you.
Amber Frost was treated for minor cuts and abrasions. Despite being almost directly below the impact point, he was all but unhurt; a miracle, some said. It was a miracle too that the chapel had not been hit while at full capacity, where the toll would have been a lot higher than the twenty nine dead and sixty wounded. The mortar fire continued for another hour, striking random targets every few minutes; the mighty weapons took a long time to reload, as a dozen ponies had to use a combination of magic and brute force to insert a new powder charge and hefty explosive shell into the muzzle, which was elevated at a high angle for each shot.
The effect of the twin weapons was limited, but it was still a powerful tool in the arsenal of the besiegers. It may not inflict a huge amount of damage at any given moment, but it could heavily demoralise the defending forces and their civilian charges, and that was precisely what the Shadow Army were hoping to accomplish.
The morning bombardment was a little more subdued than usual on the fifteenth day. The enemy were evidently feeling the loss of their cannons the night before, and when the mortar shells began raining down later that day, they came only half as frequently. While morale may not have necessarily risen in any detectable manner, it had at least been arrested from its precipitous fall. A blow had been struck; more than just a resisting the enemy attacks, this was an active step, a show of defiance. Canterlot was not going to just roll over and take it, day after day, week after week. If the siege was to drag on, then the enemy could expect more such raids, so long as the Equestrians had the troops to spare.
However, if the decline in morale had been halted overnight, then it was to resume rather rapidly that afternoon, at last for those ponies who had the watch upon the wall or the palisade defences. A morning as cloudy as the night before gave way to spells of sustained sunshine after lunch, and that was when the enemy decided to act. No attack today, however, no great struggle for the palisade wall, but rather a display.
From one of the trenches rose a figure, an apparition almost. A shimmering mass of darkness, swirling like a roiling sea, surrounded it. Whatever lay at its centre was barely discernable among the smoke and shadow. There were shouts of alarm from the walltop as they spotted it first, and stood to in case of an assault, but nothing happened. The apparition rose higher until it was visible from the wall, the palisade, and the palace, as well as most of the Old Town on its slightly higher foundations. There, it stopped, and began to speak, stunning those upon the wall into a confused silence.
"Followers of the self-proclaimed Sun Princess!" it boomed. "You have resisted us for two weeks now. Some of you have died. Some of you have been wounded. All of you have suffered. But it can end now. Do not allow yourselves to succumb to the fear and the pain that grip your hearts. Your Princess has abandoned you! She is not here in your hour of need, and what kind of leader, what kind of goddess, would leave you when you craved her aid and her presence the most? A false idol. No more and no less. Leave her thrall, abandon your worship of one who cares not for your lives. Accept the inevitable. This city will fall, one way or another, and then the rest of Equestria will follow. We shall be victorious, of that you can have no doubt, and then you shall have a new ruler. Not one who claims to be a god, nor one who does not correct others when they falsely worship them as one. Merely a monarch, a steward of this new realm of ours. Whether you accept it willingly or not, I shall be your King, and my wife shall be your Queen, and you shall obey."
The entity remained floating above the enemy lines as there was more movement down below, around the front of the enemy trench line. Several ponies emerged, Shadow Army soldiers, dragging other ponies with them onto the open ground.
"These foolish ponies still cling to their hope," the entity continued. "They fell into our clutches last night. They were offered a simple choice. Renounce the false Princess, reject the tenets of their misguided faith, and submit to their new rulers, and they would live. They refused. They refused to break the bonds of loyalty that their Princess has already broken, and so they shall suffer."
Only a few of the defenders on duty recognised the individuals being dragged, but all knew that they were fellow soldiers, captured the night before during the raid on the enemy guns. Though they were stripped of their uniforms, they retained as much of their dignity as they could, holding their heads up high, proud not to have forsaken their Princess during whatever interrogation they might have been subjected to by the Shadow Army. Naked, the two stallions and one mare were marched forward into an open space ahead of the main enemy trench lines. Pegasi sharpshooters trained heavy muskets on the enemy soldiers, though they remained out of range. it was better to be prepared just in case something happened that they could react to. The three naked soldiers were forced to their knees by their escort party. Their hands were bound behind their backs. The entity, a swirling storm, remained hovering above, and it spoke again.
"Your soldiers, our prisoners. Captured in a foolish raid ordered by your city leaders. Starswirl the Bearded cares nothing for your lives. General Hawkeye cares nothing for your lives. They fight for two reasons; to save their own skins, and to gain favour with the false Princess. You fight because you believe that, if you die, your Princess will be there for you in the next life. You believe she is the great power, the apotheosis of ponykind, a living goddess that walks amongst you. You are wrong."
Several of the enemy soldiers stood behind the captive prisoners as the entity continued to speak. "We gave these ponies the chance to recant their foolish belief in their Princess, for she is no goddess, but merely a pony like you or I. They refused. They shall be punished according to each of their crimes." The entity fell silent, watching on as the captives were set about by the enemy soldiers. Ramble was among them, trying to remain steadfast and as calm as he could under the circumstances. The mare to his left found herself impaled from behind by her own sword, taken from her after her capture and shoved bodily into her back to burst from her stomach, blood dripping as she moaned in agony. The stallion to his right was set ablaze by magic, screaming and rolling on the ground, but the flames were enchanted and could not be extinguished so easily.
The soldiers on the wall and at the palisade looked on aghast, some turning away in disgust and some firing their weapons, a pointless gesture of anger and defiance. Others, those who knew the captives personally, wept. Ramble, in the centre of the line, was left until last. A soldier with his visor down stepped up with the hammer and spikes taken from one of the dead raiders, for use to knock cannon out of action. In a ghastly display, he instead placed one against Ramble's head and gave it a mighty blow with the hammer, driving it straight into his left ear and into his brain. Ramble gave no cry or shout, but merely began to foam at the mouth. The brute repeated his display with another spike and Ramble's right ear, pounding it in hard. Ramble slumped forward to the ground, dead.
"So die three foolish ponies," the entity boasted. "If you renounce your false faith, you shall be spared. If you join us, you shall be spared. If you leave your city and come to us and lay down your arms, you shall be spared. If you continue to resist, then there shall be no salvation for you. This, I, King Sombra of the Shadowlands, decree on this day. Hear my words and heed them well."
With that, the apparition began to dissipate, returning to the ground inside the enemy camp from whence it had emerged, leaving the defenders of the city shaken at what they had heard and witnessed. General Hawkeye and Starswirl, watching from the palace, were nonplussed.
"He lies, of course," Hakweye mused, standing with her hands clasped behind her back.
"Of course," Starswirl nodded in agreement.
"At least you now finally know for certain that the King is here in person," the General added. "Presumably the Queen, too. Unless my hearing has failed me, I am sure that he said the Queen was his wife."
"He did indeed, General," Starswirl replied. "A most...unexpected development, I must admit. We had no knowledge of such a relationship between Sombra and Chrysalis so far as I am aware. Nothing in the annals suggested any kind of dynastic link between the two kingdoms. There have been no recorded marriages between a Changeling Queen and...well, anybody, until this point."
"Those records are patchy, though, are they not, Your Excellency?" Hawkeye pointed out. "Is it not possible that such marriages may well have happened before, but in secret, as this one appears to have done?"
"Yes, it is certainly possible," Starswirl admitted. "But we have no actual evidence that the Changelings even have an institution of marriage in the way we would understand it, internally at least. I imagine it was Sombra's suggestion, rather than that of the Queen, though I can see Chrysalis agreeing for political expediency, even if not for love. Ironic if true, considering that is what they feed upon."
"Indeed..." Hawkeye cared little for the domestic arrangements of her foes, merely with their military and political strengths; how many troops they had, how many reinforcements they could call upon, whether they had any other allies waiting to pounce. "To be honest, Your Excellency, I don't care if the King and Queen are fucking each other or not," she commented crudely. "What matters is that they have taken to the field together, and that they took us by surprise in doing so. We were not prepared for this, Your Excellency. Our armies were not ready to face two foes at once, on two different fronts."
"Can the city hold, General?" Starswirl asked simply.
"Yes, it can hold," Hawkeye nodded. "For how long, I do not know. Not without your shield at least. But we have our defences in place...though even as I speak, I see they are preparing once more for another attack."
Out on the field of battle, the Shadow Army and the Changelings were forming up, ready to push on both from the trenches and directly from their main camp. With no response evident to Sombra's appeal for surrender, another attack was the obvious next step for the enemy. The guns roared from the Bastions and the walls, answered with a rolling volley from the enemy cannons. Together, a heavy enemy force of both ponies and Changelings began to push forward, supported by their artillery. Hawkeye excused herself to see to the defence, leaving Starswirl to gaze out for a few more moments before returning to his feverish work. The city shield was still down, and had been for two weeks. He had still been unable to find any way to resurrect it or get the artefacts he had used to spark into life again. The combined magics of Sombra and Chrysais had done something to them- damaged them, drained them. He still could not work out what, nor how to fix things and make good on his promise.
Again the enemy came at them, and again the enemy was met with fire and fury, hurled back by dogged defending at the palisade wall as cannons thundered behind them. The attack this time was against both the Unicorn Gate and the Earth Gate, with a mixed force of ponies and Changelings attacking each location. The line held once more, stopping the enemy at the fence and inflicting heavy casualties. Accurate musketry from the Bastions helped to push back a Changeling force that tried to fly over the wall en masse, opening a large gap in the defensive line as they slaughtered dozens of Equestrian soldiers, but being forced to retreat by the hail of gunfire. Several companies of reinforcements were rushed to the scene and stabilised the line. Once more, the enemy retreated, thwarted by force of arms and force of will. They ran back to their trenches and their camp to lick their wounds. Despite Sombra's boasting and intimidation tactics, nothing they tried seemed to be working. Canterlot was holding fast.
It was another clear morning over Canterlot. The blackbirds, finches and thrushes were warbling away in the treetops to signal the dawn of a new day, as the night watch was replaced by the day watch in the Equestrian defensive lines. 6AM, regular as clockwork. Troop rotation was important, especially with a relatively small force available to the defenders. If soldiers got too tired, they would be poor fighters, and poor observers too, potentially missing some vital sign or signal that could alert them to enemy movement. Eyes were kept clear through the provision of plenty of tea loaded with stimulants, or coffee for those from the western reaches where that drink was more popular.
The night, as so often, had been quiet. No enemy raids had been launched like they had two nights earlier, a retaliation for the attempt on the Shadow Army's cannons. That had inflicted a few casualties on the defenders, but no serious damage had been done to the strength of the line. The enemy had remained quiet since then, no attacks, day or night. Nothing to hold the attentions of Equestrian observers. Just the raucous laughter of a besieging army from their tents at night, as ten thousand campfires burned on the plateau, like a host of fireflies.
With the sun already starting to warm the land, the day watch took their positions. Corporal Snapshot was among them. Fresh from the excitement of their raid, the ponies under the command of Captains Oats and Breaker had been rested for several nights to help them cope with the loss of their comrades and the exertions required to carry out the task. Though it had been a short sharp shock to the system, it had used a lot of energy and adrenaline, but they were at least hailed as heroes by the civilians, as they had been the ones to knock out one of the mortars and halve the frequency with which hell would rain down on their heads. Now, Oats's unit had been returned to the frontline to hold a section of the palisade wall outside the Unicorn Gate.
Snapshot found himself a relatively comfortable place to rest and settled in, for there was not much for him to do once the handover was complete and the defences had been given a customary check to make sure everything was in order. Oats told her ponies to prepare their breakfasts and eat while they could, as the morning bombardment would be beginning in the not too distant future. Billhook brought round a bucket of porridge, into which each soldier dipped their metal canteen mug to fill it, eating with a wooden spoon. The sugar ration had been halved, not giving them a lot to sprinkle on top, but it was tasty enough, and filled with nutritious oats to keep them going. Snapshot swallowed each mouthful, but it was hard not to feel the empty space.
Ramble was gone, one of his friends from the unit, and several others, others he did not know very well but who had become part of their group since Oats rallied all the survivors from different companies and led them to safety from Trottingham. Snapshot had not seen the gruesome spectacle outside the city with the execution of the prisoners, but he had been called outside to witness the bizarre spectacle of King Sombra's shadow projection that hung in the sky as his voice boomed out across the city. The fate of Ramble had been relayed to him by others who had been on the wall that day. They simply said he had been killed by the enemy, but Snapshot demanded to know exactly how, and then wished he hadn't asked. He had felt sick to his stomach for the next two days as a result.
There was an unwritten but usually accepted rule in warfare across Equestria and beyond, that you did not commit what might reasonably be called atrocities by the public unless the enemy had already done so. That included things like torturing captives, cruel methods of execution such as that displayed on the field outside the city, massacring civilians, mass rape, and other horrific acts. These war crimes were considered beyond the pale for any civilised nation, and most combatants agreed that they would not carry them out unless provoked by similar crimes, and certainly not use them as an actual tactic to influence enemy morale or public opinion. The Shadow Army and the Changelings, however, had evidently decided to break the unwritten code with their blatant, public execution of the three prisoners in such hideous ways. Far from undermining Equestrian morale, however, it had only hardened their resolve. If Sombra's ultimatum was to surrender and denounce the Princess in exchange for guaranteed survival, then he would find that there were not many among those inside the walls who were willing to choose the way he desired.
"How are you feeling, lad?" Billhook asked, completing his rounds with the porridge and returning to seat himself upon a short stack of boxes.
"Oh...a little better, Sergeant," Snapshot replied, dropping his spoon into the dregs of his porridge and putting the mug aside. "I suppose it's good to have something to do again. The last couple of days...I don't know, I've just been thinking too much instead of doing."
"Right." Billhook nodded. "Too much nervous energy going about. Part of me wishes they hadn't closed down the brothels and gambling dens," he chuckled. "A restless unit is a jumpy unit. Ponies need to blow off steam now and then. Keeps them fit and ready when it matters. Well don't worry lad. You can get back to focusing on soldiering again now. That was some damn fine work on that raid, by the way. Shame it went south at the end. We almost got away with it with minimal casualties."
"Maybe we shouldn't have gone after that mortar," Snapshot mused, sipping some water from a flask. "We overstretched ourselves."
"Maybe, but that was the main objective of the entire raid," Snapshot pointed out. "We did a good thing. The Shadow bastards won't be able to use it again. Not after we stuffed an entire drum of powder down its barrel. They'll still be picking pieces of it out of the terrain. It was a good job and well done, and the civilians needed it. Having that thing bringing down hell on you every day, not knowing when it's going to strike or where...they're not paid for that, they're not trained for it. It's not exactly meant to be part of their everyday experience. Now we just need to get the other one, too."
"Right...they're not going to send us out again though, are they?" Snapshot asked, sounding more nervous than he intended or wished to.
"I doubt it," BIllhook shook his head. "There are plenty of other units that want a chance at glory. They'll send somepony else after the other mortar. We're not some special team. Although that gives me a good idea. Maybe we should be..." Billhook mused. "Oats's Raiders? Oats's Infiltrators?"
Snapshot chuckled and nodded. "Maybe, Sergeant. Maybe one day they'll organise some kind of special team for this kind of mission. Going behind the lines and such...must be better than just picking any old company out of the line and making them put some mud on their faces, right?"
Billhook nodded with a grin, but before he could say anything, the ground beneath them began to shake. Billhook blinked and looked down, jumping up from the boxes where he had been sitting, thinking they were giving way under his bulk. But it was not the boxes giving way; it was the earth itself.
"Shit, a quake!" somepony shouted. But the plateau upon which Canterlot lay was relatively geologically stable, and not prone to such things. Snapshot sat up and looked around in confusion as ponies all alone the line grabbed their muskets. Suddenly, the ground to their left, to the east, seemed to shatter, like a saucer tossed carelessly onto the floor. Dust burst from the cracks in the earth, and suddenly a great fountain of dirt, dust, and debris launched itself skyward like the plume of an erupting volcano.
Snapshot, unsteady on his feed already thanks to the rumbling ground, found himself hurled aside by a sudden blast wave, the air sucked from his lungs. The world became a tumbling blur as he rolled end over end again and again before finally coming to a stop as he smashed into something. His head span and his side and left wing ached. Dust and dirt filled his eyes and mouth, and he coughed, slowly managing to sit up, rubbing his hands across his face and looking up at the sky.
Snapshot managed to crawl under a nearby wagon as debris began to pour from the sky. Something clattered onto the wagon, then something else, then a dozen blows, striking the wooden vehicle from above. Mostly it was soil and dust, but there were shattered fragments of rock, crates, sacks and barrels, muskets, ponies. The pointed spikes of the palisade wall rained down like a hail of arrows, as though the heavens were playing a giant game of darts with the Equestrians as the target. Something crunched into the wagon and its axle bowed, taking on the sudden heavy weight almost overstressing it and crushing Snapshot beneath the cart. After thirty seconds, everything was silent.
Snapshot peeked out tentatively before emerging. A pall of dust hung in the air like an early morning mist, shrouding everything in an eerie sepia-like tint, like one of the magical photoluminescia, the beautiful and haunting portraits of ancient rulers, generals and nobles that could be found in the palace in Canterlot, that had been created long ago using an esoteric form of magic to immortalise a still image of ponies now long dead.
There was death here, too. Snapshot could see bodies, crumpled where they lay, either killed in the concussion of the blast or dropped from the sky to their deaths. At least one luckless pony had been impaled from above by a plunging wooden stake from the palisade. The palisade...shit, what happened to the palisade?
Snapshot looked, peering through the dirt. It was everywhere, obscuring his vision. He couldn't see much, or hear much. But suddenly he could hear a whole lot. From out beyond the perimeter came a loud roar, but this time it was the roar of ten thousand voices, shouting in triumph. And they were getting closer.
"Blessed be our Princess, first of her name, Holiest of Holies, Light of the World..."
"Blessed be our Princess..."
The muttered words, so familiar to each ear, echoed around the chapel. Canterlot was replete with such structures, temples and houses of worship that ranged in scale from the tiny streetside pews where citizens could stop and kneel for a few moments to offer a short prayer of thanks or a request for beneficence from their Princess, right up to the Golden Cathedral itself where Celestia had been crowned as sole and rightful ruler of Equestria seven hundred and four years ago. Of course, prayers could be uttered anywhere, in any setting, no matter how holy or otherwise they might be. 'A brothel is as good as a cathedral,' as the slightly blasphemous saying went. Some ponies never set foot inside a temple at all, even though they lived in the capital city where such places were as common as alehouses. That did not mean they were not pious; merely that they gave their obeisance to Celestia in a less formal way.
"And the Princess spake and bade him come before her, so that he may gaze upon her in her majesty, and lo, he did so, and he was afraid. 'Be not afraid, my subject,' the Princess told him, 'for you have come before me a poor and humble stallion. Yet you shall leave here rich in spirit.' And the stallion praised the Sun, and the Sun was generous to him, and true to her word. Blessed be our Princess."
"Blessed be our Princess..."
The Priest of Celestia giving the blessing and the reading from one of the holy books was High Ecclesiarch Amber Frost, the most senior member of the priesthood, the order of devout ponies who had long ago taken to turning the worship of Celestia from a secular praising of a glorious and beloved leader into nothing short of a religion. Most messianic figures throughout history had managed to form such a cult around them, but rarely had they been so successful, partly because they had never had any opportunity to show their divinity. Some leaders claimed to be ordained by, or sent from, the heavens with nothing to back up their assertion. But Princess Celestia was different, and she had shown time and again that she was worthy of such worship. An Alicorn could scarcely be anything less, unless, like her fallen sister, they committed some heinous act against ponykind.
Amber Frost was a wizened old stallion, as befitted his high and esteemed rank within the priesthood. His yellow-orange coat and beard contrasted with the white robes and gold-traced cassock he wore, but all were appropriate shades, for they were the colours of Celestia; white and gold to symbolise her divinity, and the colours of the sun. He had seen many summers, and many winters too, for life in Equestria was not all peace and prosperity. Not for all of its citizens, anyway. Many young priests and priestesses would carry the word of Celestia's divine light to the far reaches of the land, taking their first assignments in border towns or fortress garrisons. The bravest or most adventurous among them would travel farther still, to other kingdoms, among other species, not all of whom were necessarily receptive to their teachings. Many aspiring acolytes had found themselves being sent home without a head, or perhaps in pieces, after suffering some cruel punishment or other for treading on the toes or hooves of those whose devotion lay elsewhere. Yet even as they died, the legends tod, they would speak the name of their Princess, for to die with her name on your lips was to ensure your everlasting glory at her side in the afterlife.
The crowd Frost was addressing was not necessarily as devout as those who donned the robes of the priesthood. He was not speaking in the Golden Cathedral, for that was retained for grand spectacles such as royal weddings, funerals, or investitures, where Celestia would ennoble some high-born pony with a suitable title such as Viscount, Duchess or Margrave, granting them land and prestige in the process. He was speaking in the Chapel of the Elms, one of a number of smaller buildings across the capital that could hold a few hundred worshippers. It was the chapel where he had been priest-in-residence before acceding to the title of High Ecclesiarch, and he often returned to the pulpit to address the congregation, some of whom were now wizened and grey like he was, but had been among the crowd the day he gave his first address some seventy years earlier.
"Praise be to the Princess, for she shall guide us. Praise be to the Princess, for she shall preserve us. Praise be to the Princess, for she shall empower us. Praise be to the Princess, for she shall complete us! Praise the Sun!"
"Praise the Sun!" came the dutiful reply from the congregation. Frost repeated the final line of the prayer twice more before concluding the sermon. "Blessings of the Princess to you all, go in peace and enjoy the day she has given."
The crowd of ponies stood and began to depart, a cross-section of ponykind. Young, old, male, female, even a few curious tourists from foreign lands, judging by the unusual cuts of Saddle Arabian cloth that Frost could spy farther back. Worshipping the Princess was not something to be looked upon as a chore, as he often reminded young acolytes at the seminary. It was something to be embraced, as much a part of everyday life as eating or even breathing. It was also, he reminded them, much easier than it might have been; after all, was it not far more straightforward to worship something which you could see? Something you could hear? Something that walked among you every day, provided of course that you lived in the palace, or at least the royal quarter?
Such was the theory, though in truth it was rare for a resident of Canterlot to knowingly catch a glimpse of the Princess, and those ponies living in distant towns and cities would like as not never see her at all in their lives, other than in the glorious depictions in stained glass windows or bronze statues that every town had at least a few of. But even if they never saw her in person, they knew she was there, watching over them, guiding them, as she had been for seven hundred and four years.
"An excellent sermon, High Ecclesiarch..."
Frost turned in surprise. It was not the voice he had expected to hear, that of the current priest of the Chapel of the Elms, Amethyst, though it was no less feminine. He bowed his head.
"Your Highness..."
Celestia smiled, peering out from beneath the cowl of an inconspicuous grey cloak, the kind often worn by pilgrims, or wealthy merchants seeking to avoid too much attention from criminals and pickpockets. Evidently it was also the choice of a Princess seeking to attend a sermon to herself without anyone noticing.
"Please, you have already shown your devotion," Celestia responded. "As if there was any doubt."
"I did not know you were present, Your Highness. How did you sneak in, as it were?" Frost asked, raising his eyes once more to look at her. The crowd had filed out, the sermon over, and Celestia lowered her hood. Instead of her usual vibrant, multicoloured mane was a head of pink hair, of the shade, it was said, that she had as a filly. She also had a beard of a similar slate grey to Frost's, which she swiftly removed with a chuckle, revealing her true beauty once more.
"It is quite simple...all one has to do is lean against a pillar, muttering to oneself...I find it keeps ponies at bay," she smiled. "I venture that they either thought I was quite mad, or that I was perhaps plotting to assassinate the High Ecclesiarch...though interestingly, nopony reported me to the guards..." A playful smirk crossed her face, and Frost had to smile in response.
"Quite the mistress of disguise, Your Highness," he quipped. "Your talents truly know no bounds." It was well known among those in appropriately high places, though not among the general public, that the Princess liked to perform such tricks from time to time, leaving the palace alone, without telling any of her guards or handmaidens, to visit some innocuous place by herself, in disguise, just to get the lay of the land and hear what ponies on the street were saying- not about her, but about life in Equestria, about the city, about prosperity and safety and even the little, inconsequential things, like were the public latrines emptied frequently enough, and just what was Countess Roanoak thinking when she wore that hat?
"It is perhaps something which every royal should keep in their arsenal," Celestia mused, her magenta eyes sparkling with mirth and warmth, so entrancing they could enrapture an entire audience with little effort required. The cloak was useful for a multitude of reasons; it hid her mane, darkened her eyes, concealed even the fact that she was a mare, thanks to its androgynous and amorphous fit. The beard helped cement the illusion of a large, perhaps slightly demented stallion, for Celestia was tall- very tall indeed for a mare, as befitted her Alicorn physiology. Her horn should have proved rather more difficult to hide, but a simple spell of invisibility, selectively cast, concealed it from view. Were she to shed the cape and beard, remove the spell, and spread her wings in the middle of the sermon, half the assembled ponies would likely have fallen to their knees in awe, while the other half fainted away from shock.
"Indeed so, Your Highness. A most laudable skill that would almost make a Changeling blush,' Frost smiled. "Is there anything I may assist you with on this fine morning?"
"No, High Ecclesiarch, but thank you. I merely wished to observe one of your excellent sermons and see how my subjects reacted. It seems you may have one or two who were reluctant to attend, but I am sure they merely had a late night and would rather have stayed in bed," Celestia chuckled.
"Had they known you would be present, Your Highness, they would have skipped breakfast and rushed to take their seats," Frost responded gracefully. He was probably correct, of course; ponies loved their Princess, even more than they loved their families in some cases. She was the one who had saved them from Discord long ago- along with her sister, but Luna was rarely talked about anymore. Her treachery had seen to that, for she had turned on Celestia and been banished to the moon for a thousand years as a result. That was seven centuries in the past, and while her name had not exactly been scrubbed from the history books, it was rare to find her mentioned at all. That was not a conscious command from Celestia, but more of an organic, natural process from her subjects. Reminders of what was sometimes dubbed The Great Betrayal were not welcome, for any thoughts of such heinous crimes in modern times would be seen as dangerous and potentially subversive.
"Perhaps tomorrow I shall visit the market," Celestia mused. "In disguise, of course. Just to see what they have on offer there."
"Why not go undisguised, Your Highness?' Frost questioned. "Your subjects would love to see you strolling through their market."
"They would, I am sure. But I do not wish to distract them from their day," Celestia replied. "It is bad enough that I am here keeping you from your duties. Forgive me. I should return to the palace before the Royal Guard send out a search party. You know how they can be sometimes..." She smiled, nodding at Frost as he bowed his head once more.
"Very good, Your Highness. Thank you for gracing your subjects with your presence...even if they were unaware of it," the High Ecclesiarch took Celestia's outstretched hand, gently kissing it in deference to his Princess.
"I shall take my leave, then." Celestia reattached her false beard and raised her hood, heading for the doors out of the chapel. As she did so, a small green filly appeared from behind a pillar, pointing an accusing finger.
"You're Pwincess Cewestia!" she stated. "I saw you..." The now-hooded Princess knelt down before the young child.
"Did you, indeed? What's your name?"
"Yes! I saw you tawking to the Eccwesiarch!" the filly nodded vigorously. "My name is Meadow! Wow...I never thought I'd see the Pwincess...I wove you, Princess!"
"And I love you too, my child," Celestia replied, smiling behind her false beard. "But don't tell anypony else that you saw me, ok? It'll be our little secret..." she winked. "You see, I'm supposed to be in a meeting right now...but I told the Agriculture Minister I was busy, just so I could sneak out and come here to see you and the Ecclesiarch. If the minister found out the truth..." she tutted. "I might get in trouble. You won't tell on me, will you?"
"No! I won't tell on my Pwincess!" the filly replied with a giggle.
"Good girl..." Celestia patted her on the head as a black mare entered the chapel.
"Oh, Meadow, there you are! Thank goodness, I thought we'd lost you...come on, dear, your brother and father are waiting outside..." She eyed the cloaked stranger with apprehension. "Come away from that pony..." Celestia gave her another wink, and Meadow grinned before following her mother.
"Ok mommy! I was just talking to the...um, the Eccwesiarch's cousin! He's nice." Meadow's mother led her out of the chapel, and Celestia departed as well with a farewell glance at Amber Frost. With the Princess gone, Frost could finally relax. He headed to the vestry to remove his ceremonial robes. Tending to the spiritual needs of his congregation was never easy when he was a simple priest, but as Ecclesiarch, he was responsible for the needs of the entire nation, a task which weighed heavily on his shoulders. Having the Princess so near, however, was a big help, because ponies knew she was present in the city. The more far-flung parts of Equestria lacked that immediacy of her influence. Frost had spent many years as a younger pony away for months at a time visiting other cities, but Canterlot was his home. It was the home of the Princess. It was the home of the entire faith, and he was deeply proud to be part of it. He knew that Celestia would never let her subjects down, and in turn, that meant that he knew he would never let her down. That was his duty, just as it was the duty of every citizen of Equestria.
Faith could be tested, faith could be bent and twisted, but faith could never be broken. Not while Celestia still drew breath.
The thunder of a hundred guns roared out across the land as the Equestrian artillery opened fire, field guns hurling cannon shells over the heads of their advancing infantry. The Changeling army had entered their effective range, and the skilled gunners of the Holy Army were eager to show their Princess the power of their weapons. Cannonballs bounced off of the dry turf, ricocheting into the front rank of the Changeling regiments, rending flesh and tearing limbs asunder. Marching with musket and pike, the Equestrian infantry closed in on their opponents, standards and flags fluttering. Celestia rode the line atop her horse, galloping from one end of the front to the other with her sword raised, drawing cheers from her ponies and hardening their hearts with resolve. Any who knew fear or dread, any whose knees shook, any who considered flight to be an option, were filled with renewed vigor. Their Princess was with them, and with Her at their head, leading the charge, they could not fail. The day would be theirs, as sure as it followed the night.
Wherever she went, the Princess drew cheers of joy from her soldiers, who advanced steadily, resolutely, muskets loaded, bayonets sharpened. The cavalry waited patiently for Celestia's command, their mounts champing at the bit, ready to charge forth and unleash hell upon the Changelings. Pegasi sharpshooters, occupying the same niche role as other nations' skirmishers, prowled in the sky above with their muskets, gaining the advantage of altitude as well as being deadly accurate with their shots and able also to swoop down to engage the enemy in close combat if they spotted a weakness or a failing line.
The Changelings stood in mute defiance, their dark banners fluttering, the winged eye that represented their nation displayed proudly above each unit. The Changelings had but a light cavalry presence on the field as they did not need it; their drones were able to act as a fast moving strike force, as they had shown at Trottingham, and had the additional advantage of being able to fly, which the horses and camels of other nations could not. While they lacked in the sheer impetus of a cavalry charge, with their large, muscular mounts and thundering hooves, they made up for with their manoeuvrability. Their infantry, a mix of drones and workers with the officers leading each unit, were imposing in their uniformity, for while the bodies, manes and tails of the ponies were a multichromatic mix from across the spectrum, as were their uniforms whenever militia or provincial army units were involved, the Changelings were all a matte black, with sickly green manes and tails and membranous insectoid wings. Military uniforms were designed to give a sense of oneness and common purpose to the wearer, and either to dazzle, intimidate or impress the enemy and any onlookers, but the Changelings went so far beyond that it was almost frightening just to behold them in their formations.
Celestia held her nerve. To launch the cavalry charge too early would be to give the Changelings time for several volleys of musket and magic. To leave it too late would give the enemy the initiative, engaging with their own limited cavalry and their drone infantry. Once the Holy Army had drawn to within half a mile of the enemy, Celestia raised her sword one more and pointed it at the enemy before spurring her horse into action. The stallion whinnied, flaring its nostrils wildly before starting to gallop.
A great cheer rose from the cavalry as they began the charge, the hussars and the lancers following in her wake, the cannons roaring their encouragement from behind while the infantry continued their steady advance into musket range. Ineffective sporadic fire came from the Changeling drones who were acting as skirmishers in front of the army, before they began a rapid retreat as the cavalry bore down on them. The Changelings had but a few cannon at the rear of their line, being equipped more for a rapid advance and having presumably left most of their heavy guns behind at Saltsburg to help with the siege. They were outnumbered; the Holy Army had the advantage in numbers, and they would make it count.
At the head of the two-pronged mounted charge, Celestia spread her wings and grasped the reins of her horse, the wind whistling past her ears, making her effervescent mane stream out behind her, like the aurora one could see in the northern realms, twinkling and ever-changing. Her armour glinting in the sun, her ponies behind her, she led the right prong of the cavalry, mostly the Canterlot Hussars and those of the central province army, toward the enemy's left flank. The Changelings had a lack of anti-cavalry defences, as well as not having many mounted units of their own, but magic and muskets could prove a potent combination in defence as well as attack.
With the Princess being at the head of the line, Celestia naturally drew much of the ire of the enemy. She was an obvious target, not just as the leader of the army, but as the spiritual and political leader of the entire nation. Cut off the head, and the army would, at best, falter, if not turn and break entirely. But Celestia was no easy target. She was no ordinary pony, her armour was no ordinary armour, and her horse was no ordinary horse. All three were imbued with magic, her armour studded with ancient runes and gems of protection, custom-made for the Princess for a perfect fit over her divine physique. Her horse, The Nameless, was the latest in a line of such creatures from the royal stables, sired by her previous charger and birthed by a mare that Starswirl and Celestia had both spent days giving magical treatments to, ensuring her foal would have stamina, strength and resilience impossible for any other horse to possess. Then there was the Princess herself. It was no exaggeration when the followers of the Sun called her a goddess; even Starswirl, for all his alchemical prowess and knowledge of ancient spells, was but a foal to a giant in terms of sheer power. Just about the only myth about the Princess that was false was that she raised and lowered the sun, but astronomers knew now that the planet simply orbited around the giant ball of gas. Almost everything else, every story, every tale ever told about her, no matter how fanciful or impossible it sounded, was true.
Changeling fire bounced off of her armour, and where it may have struck her flesh, a musket ball simply melted into a droplet of liquid iron, sizzling and boiling away to nothing. As she drew nearer to the Changeling army, a few ineffective bolts of magic were hurled in her direction, with similarly negative results. If the Changelings on their army's left flank were not yet afraid, assuming Changelings actually knew fear, they very soon would be.
Celestia's horn glowed as she approached their line, a phalanx of two hundred hussars behind her, the thundering hooves of their horses echoing across the plains even above the sounds of musket and cannon fire. The Changelings on the flank were turning, prepared to meet the charge, pikes lowered in front to protect the ranks of musketeers who were steadying their weapons behind. That was the infantry's best defence against a cavalry charge; pikes in front to stop the mounted foe getting into close combat range with the musketponies who would cut them to ribbons with a disciplined volley. Of course, that didn't account for other assets that a mounted unit might possess.
The Princess lowered her horn and unleashed a swirling vortex of magic that kicked up dust and grass from the ground as it quickly covered the gap between her and her foes. The front rank of pikes were tossed bodily aside, scattering the first two ranks of musketeers behind, hurled back as though suddenly caught in a hurricane wind, losing their grip on their weapons, limbs flailing wildly. A few managed to fire their muskets, but then Celestia was upon them, bursting through the dust cloud of her own making, sword swinging. One drone was sliced in half, another lost its head and fell. The Nameless trampled two unfortunate pike-bearers who had lost their weapons, crushing their skulls under his hooves. The Changeling officers managed to steady the line and the third row of musketeers opened fire, a crackling volley at almost point-blank range that should have ripped Celestia to pieces. But it did nothing.
The flank was in disarray, and only now were the hussars arriving. With a huge gash cut in the protective pike-wall, the vulnerable musketeers behind were exposed, like a body with its ribs cracked open and its vital organs on display for the surgeon's knife. The only intact rank of Changelings had also wasted their volley upon the Princess, exactly as planned. The hussars raced in, trumpets and bugles blaring, scything through the Changelings, crushing them beneath the hooves of their horses and slashing with their sabres, widening the hole their Princess had created. Some Changelings managed to form a small square with their pikes, jabbing and stabbing at the incoming horses and wounding several, bringing them down and their riders tumbling to the floor. But the hussars, as well as their sabres, carried pistols, several to each rider, and quick, accurate shots from horseback killed several of the drones, collapsing the square they had formed. The rest staggered backward and retreated to the relative safety of their own musketeers, who were desperately trying to reload and form some kind of resistance. The hussars lunged forward again, slashing and shooting, and the third rank of musketeers crumbled.
Other elements of the Changeling line were now pivoting to reinforce the left flank, but the damage of the charge had already been done. The right flank had held up better against the Equestrian lancers, but only because they had lacked the power of their Princess, who could only be in a single place at once. The Changeling cavalry, what little there was of it, was now drawn into the fray against Celestia's charge, and she turned to face them.
At the same time, the Holy Army reached firing range and halted. General Ostmane's command was clear. The front rank prepared, took aim, and fired a rippling volley of shot. The Changeling front rank tried its best to survive intact, drones and officers throwing up shields of glowing green magic, but they were sporadic and could only cover certain angles. Many musket balls found their mark, and Changelings slumped forward, mortally wounded. The shields went down and the Changeling line prepared to fire, but so did the Equestrian's second line The front rank ducked down while those behind fired over their heads, catching the Changelings with their scant protection out of the way and inflicting more casualties. The Changelings managed a half-hearted volley of their own, but now it was the ponies' turn to raise their shields, unicorns casting spells, their horns glowing, protecting what they could. Nevertheless, musket balls hit home, and ponies bled and died for their Princess. The second line knelt, and the third line fired off their volley, before the command to advance was given. Back on their feet, the musketponies moved forward, keeping their formation, closing the gap to the enemy.
The enemy cavalry were mounted on strange, twisted beasts, half horse and half Changeling abomination, perhaps created through magic, or perhaps through medical experiments. The truth was unknown to Equestria, and truth be told it didn't really matter. They still died just like a horse, and just like the drones who rode them. Celestia led the counter-charge out from the enemy infantry formation, intercepting the Changeling riders and killing the leader and his mount with a blast of magic. Another rider tried to stab at her with a spear, but with a deft flick of her wrist she severed the spear just behind the point, and then let her sword carry on in a graceful arc to relieve the rider from the burden of having to carry the weight of his own head. The hussars wheeled around and followed her, using their pistols at point blank range as the Changelings charged with their spears. Again, the drones were outnumbered, and the Changeling charge quickly broke down as individual riders began to engage in close combat with their opponents, sword clashing with sword.
Once the ranged had closed to fifty yards, the Equestrian infantry fired their volleys again; front rank, centre rank, rear rank. Then, with a yell and a rapid beat from the regimental drummers, they charged, bayonets at the ready. The Changelings began to open fire, but the Equestrian cannons and muskets had already torn holes in their ranks, and their flanks were caving in. Now, thousands of Equestrian soldiers were charging at them, screaming, baying for their blood. They stood their ground, digging their heels in, reinforcing the front line from the other ranks and bringing up the second layer of infantry for cover. More pikes were moved to the flanks to protect against the Equestrian cavalry. Their airborne sharpshooters were engaged in a duel with their Pegasus equivalents, and the cannons of both armies fell silent, as they could not fire into the coming melee without hitting their own infantry. It was now a battle of grit, determination, blood and guts. Skill with the sword and the bayonet would carry the day.
Two weeks- that was how long the city had been under lock and key, the gates sealed tight, ponies confined to their homes if not engaged in some useful activity or traveling to or from the market, a chapel or temple, or some other important duty. Regular patrols continued at all hours, circling the wall and criss-crossing the streets. Anti-Changeling precautions were in full effect, with random scans of civilians and soldiers alike by unicorn officers and Royal Guard. Infiltration was always a possibility, and it was also conceivable that the Changelings had planted sleeper agents in the city before the invasion had even begun, back when merchants, tourists and labourers could come and go all but unnoticed among the hustle and bustle of the biggest city in Equestria. There were also disquieting rumours- though rumours they remained- of covens of Moon Cultists, the deluded and dangerous followers of the banished Princess Luna, operating inside the city and potentially co-operating with the besieging forces.
The last few days had, once again, been nerve-wrackingly quiet. A single attack had been launched, and repulsed with minimal casualties on either side. The mortars had been subdued as well; General Hawkeye's spotters had reported increased activity around the earthen berms that protected them, suggesting there might have been a problem with the weapons that the enemy had been forced to resolve before they could open fire at a good rate again. They had busied themselves instead with digging more trenches and more earthen embankments to protect their own lines from return fire from the city walls, providing more protection for their troops in the advance and during the initial phase of an attack.
The full weight of the enemy cannons had also now been brought forward and were relentlessly bombarding the walls and bastions each morning, like clockwork. The more they fired, the more accurate the enemy gunners became, as they zeroed in on specific targets and features; a particular crenelation, a firing port, a roundhouse or flagpole. On some mornings, the Equestrian guns preempted their efforts, and opened fire first in an attempt to keep the gunners' heads down and stop them from unleashing their bombardment. But the Shadow Army was determined, and its gunners were resolute, standing to their guns every morning regardless. The defenders on the walls had suffered casualties, though only a few- knowing when the enemy liked to start firing allowed all those ponies who were not involved with the operation of the defensive cannons to descend to safety behind the wall, or move to the protected centre of each bastion and ravelin. Enemy casualties from the return fire were unknown, though Pegasi spotters had reported at least half a dozen enemy cannons being knocked out of action by accurate shots.
The continuous bombardment was becoming a problem, however, because, although it was only inflicting a few casualties per day, it was also causing considerable damage to the defences themselves. Each shot that struck the wall or palisade would shatter wood and splinter stone, and a continual pounding for a fortnight was having an impact even on the thick, sturdy curtain wall of the city. Battering the walls with cannon fire was extremely unlikely to collapse them entirely, but it could seriously degrade the ability of the Equestrian garrison to actually defend them. Chipping away at cover, destroying cannons, and collapsing localised sections of the wall would all make it harder for the soldiers to fight effectively.
The decision was taken to try and deal with the problem. General Hawkeye issued the commands herself.
The night was dark; the moon was concealed behind a thick layer of cloud that scudded in along the valley from the north, with a light drizzle falling, enough to make everything uncomfortably damp and letting the landscape shimmer with wetness. The gates of the fortress-city remained barred, but one of the smaller sally ports had been opened discreetly, concealed from the view of the enemy behind the multiple layers of defensive structures ahead of it. The sally port did exactly what its name would suggest- it allowed defenders to emerge from inside the walls and sally forth without the need to swing open the great main gates.
A small force, several dozen ponies, crept into the shadows, their blades and faces darkened with earth, everything else metallic removed from their kit in case it clanked and jangled. Grim looks of determination, strong fists and sealed lips were the order of the day, or rather, of the night.
Corporal Snapshot did not much relish the prospect of being covered in mud again, but at least it was not shit this time- no crawling through sewers tonight. Rather, they were on a raiding party, led by Captain Oats and another officer, Captain Breaker, a unicorn stallion from the Canterlot Regulars. Their mission was simple and clear to everypony involved. They were to raid the enemy positions, inflict as much damage to their cannons and ammunition supply as possible, and then withdraw, using the confusion they had created as cover. It was dangerous work- any time spent operating beyond the palisade wall was- but high command had deemed it necessary. The enemy outgunned them in terms of artillery, and levelling the playing field was one way of helping to ensure Canterlot could hold out until relieved.
Priority targets were the two mortars- the behemoths, and their smaller, less capable cousins, of which the Changelings had brought along a half dozen or so, were sapping morale in the city. The Shadow Army heavy siege mortars were the big prize, as the twin weapons could demolish a building in one shot, and the roar of their incoming rounds terrified the inhabitants as they cowered in cellars. Any casualties they could inflict upon the enemy would be a small bonus, but neither Hawkeye nor any of the soldiers under her command harboured any illusions that such raids could meaningfully shrink the enemy numbers. They could, however, conceivably sap their morale in the same way the mortars were draining that of the city.
Captain Oats led her detachment, made up of ponies from under her command who had escaped from Trottingham with her. Captain Breaker led members of his own unit, who had experience with raids such as this, albeit in a rather different form, when they had crept into a Moon Cultist camp and silently cut the throats of every single one of the heretical scum without being detected.
They moved forward slowly, passing through their own lines like wraiths, the soldiers around them watching them pass with salutes or nods of the head. No doubt many were wondering how many of the raiding party they would see return later on. Snapshot followed Sergeant Billhook and Captain Oats. He was laden down with two pistols holstered across his chest, a short sword at his side, and a dagger in his hand. Most of the rest of the raiding party was similarly equipped, with some carrying grenades and others powder horns and fuses. Each pony also had a trio metal spikes, with every other pony having a hammer- these spikes were the simplest method of putting an enemy gun out of action, at least temporarily, by hammering them into the touch-hole of the cannon or mortar, where the gun captain would touch his lit fuse against the gunpowder charge to set it off. Block the hole, render the gun incapable of being fired, until the enemy's armourers had gone through a long and difficult process of trying to remove it and restore the gun to working order.
Out through the palisade they went, slipping through silently and crouching as they descended the earthen slope, creeping across the open ground under cover of darkness, worming their way through the mud. Ponies had already died here; heretics, yes, members of the Shadow Army, but still ponies. Just ponies who had fallen under the sway of evil and turned their faces away from the radiant light of the Sun. Perhaps, when this war was won and Sombra was defeated, some of them might see the error of their ways and return to the Princess whom they had forsaken and committed apostasy against.
The light rain had eased, though since the ground was already damp it hardly mattered. Mud stuck to their uniforms, their manes, and their bodies as they crawled through it. Snapshot kept a firm hold on his dagger as they neared the enemy saps, trenches that jutted out from their main line of earthworks. The saps would be used either for observation during daylight, or to form up companies of soldiers in preparation for an attack. There was no sign of a guard posted at the sap entrances, and the raiding party slipped into them, one by one, moving down two parallel saps toward the main trench line.
The Captains led their detachments, each moving slowly, cautiously, with their daggers and horns at the ready in case they should encounter any resistance. Nopony opposed them as they moved down the saps, reaching the main trench line, where deeper and more well reinforced cuts had been made into the earth, shored up with timber and with duckboards lining the floors. Here, they encountered the enemy. A dozing Pegasus who was meant to be guarding the junction with the sap was dispatched with a single thrust of a dagger, and the party moved on.
The trench curved gently before starting to zig-zag back toward the enemy camp and the village of Newgrange, where construction had been started. The plain in front of the village was where the enemy had emplaced most of their cannons, protected by earthen berms and wooden breastworks. That was where they were heading. Unfortunately, not all of the trench system was as sparsely populated as the outer lines.
A cry came up from the other side of the trench wall, where Captain Breaker was leading his party down a parallel track. That was followed by a single gunshot and then shouts of alarm, which echoed in a relay along the trench, spreading to those adjacent to it, as well as those behind. There were several more gunshots and then a scream that died as suddenly as it had began. Oats readied herself, signalled to her ponies to prepare for combat, and kept pressing on. The element of surprise had been lost, but hopefully the enemy would now be alerted to the other raiding party's presence and divert attention away from Oats and her team.
That hope was short lived, however. Two more corners were traversed before hurried footsteps could be heard, and a trio of ponies in Shadow Army uniform appeared. Taken by surprise, they raised their muskets, and Oats cut them down with a noisy blast of magic. Its strength was amplified by the narrow confines of the trench in much the same way as the explosion of a grenade would be, and it tore open the lead pony as it struck him, tossing the others into the trench walls and breaking their backs.
"To me, ponies!" Oats called, whatever momentum they had now well and truly gone and in danger of turning against them the longer they dallied. "Let's go!" She set off at a run, sword and pistol in hand. Snapshot followed, swapping his own dagger out for his sword and pulling one of the pistols from his chest and cocking it ready for use. Twenty more ponies followed them, ready for a fight, with hearts pounding and sinews tensing.
Another layer of trenches was bypassed before they came to an earthen ramp that led up to one of the enemy gun positions. Here, half a dozen Shadow Army soldiers were rallying. To the sounds of gunfire and cries of anguish from the other side as Breaker and his boys went in, Oats led her team forward with a rousing shout.
"For Canterlot, and for the Princess!" she cried, leading the charge, loosing off her pistol at the nearest enemy, who went down. Musket fire crackled in retaliation, but she protected herself and those behind her with a magic shield for a few moments, long enough for the majority of the enemy troops to fire their weapons. She then dropped the shield, and unleashed her unit upon them.
Snapshot lunged forward, using his wings to carry him over the stack of crates that one enemy was crouching behind, fumbling with his ramrod as he tried to reload his musket. He swiped out with his sword and slit the throat of his opponent as he landed behind him, giving him a firm kick in the back for good measure, sending him crunching against the crates. On the other side of the ramp, Billhook and Ramble were setting about two other heretics who tried to fight them off with bayonets, but to no avail. The enemy had not quite been caught by surprise, but they certainly were not ready to defend against a raiding party like this. Within a minute the ramp was clear and the enemy were dead. Oats charged forward.
The earthen berm, protected by sturdy timber walls on all sides, concealed firing positions for a row of five cannons. Most of their gun crews were absent, presumably sleeping in advance of the following morning's bombardment, but there was a token force guarding the cannons who were now standing to as gunfire and hand to hand combat erupted around them. Oats pushed forward, and Snapshot found himself running alongside her, taking aim with his pistol as a dark blue earth pony popped up from behind one of the cannons with his musket. Snapshot, true to his name, gunned the pony down and replaced the spent pistol into his chest harness before drawing the other and cocking it.
Billhook swung a mighty blow with his sword, all but slicing one of the enemy soldiers in half and splattering blood all over the ornately decorated bronze barrel of the nearest cannon. Several of the enemy began a panicked retreat to the far end of the berm, but accurate pistol fire from the rest of the raiding party cut them down, leaving just one more unicorn standing in the way. He succumbed to a combination of gunfire and magic, slumping across the cannon he had been sheltering behind, which now had one of its wheels blown off by a blast of magic.
"Alright, get to work!" Oats shouted. "Spike these guns, all of them!" Ponies scrambled to obey. Their party had not yet taken any casualties, and Oats hoped to keep it that way, but war was not a clean business, and the enemy was already mobilising. There were over a hundred thousand of them, pony and Changeling, and there were only a few dozen Equestrians beyond the defensive line. They were dangerously exposed once the enemy roused themselves into an attempt to counter their attack, meaning every second counted. The faster they could complete their objectives, and the more of them they could accomplish, the faster they could get back to the relative safety of the palisade wall.
The ponies moved to each cannon and used their hammers to drive the metal spikes into the touch-holes, rendering all five of them useless. There were several powder barrels lying around as well, for use when the weapons were in action. At the direction of Oats, Snapshot and Ramble tipped one of the barrels over and wrenched the lid off, laying a trail of powder through the gun position from one end to the other, leaving the barrel among several of its fellows in a small stack in the corner. Once the guns were spiked, which took less than three minutes, a fuse was lit and the berm rapidly abandoned.
Back in the trenches, the raiding party began to meet stiffer resistance, as the enemy, now aware of their presence, began to organise a counter-attack. Oats's party met up with Captain Breaker and his team, linking up in the trench just as the powder trail reached the barrels and exploded with a roar that shook the night and woke practically everypony in Canterlot. A plume of orange flame leaped skyward, illuminating the trench network in stark relief, as though someone had fired a flare-magic starshot into the air.
From the first cry of alarm to this point had taken less than five minutes, and the enemy was rousing. They did indeed began to fire illuminating shots of magic into the sky, tinted white rather than the orange of the fireball, in case Equestrians were pushing across the open ground. It revealed nothing to them, however, for the raiding party was firmly down in the trenches. Their own Pegasi observers had mapped out the approximate route they would need to take to reach the mortars, and that was where they were heading. Spiking the cannons was good, but taking out the mortars would be even better. To get there, however, they would need to push through two more parallel lines of trenches.
The first one was easy enough, battering through several sections of enemy soldiers. Snapshot killed two himself, his blood up and eager for more. These were not just soldiers, not just enemies like the Changelings had been down in Trottingham. They were heretics, apostates who had turned against their rightful Princess to follow a demagogue who wished to rule not with a divine will, but an iron fist. They had to die for their crimes, for a pony who took up arms against the Princess was no true pony at all.
The second trench line had been reinforced by at least a company of enemy soldiers, and here resistance stiffened. A hail of musketry met the raiding party as they rounded the corner into the trench, but luckily Oats was alert and raised a shield. She then ordered a rapid charge down the narrow trench in order to break up the enemy line and stop them rom reloading. The Shadow soldiers were two deep and three abreast in the trench; more than that, they could not manage, as the trench was not wide enough. They lowered their bayonets in anticipation, but Oats shot one of them down with her pistol, opening a gap in their line. The rest of her raiders tore through, hacking and stabbing. The tight confines of the trench now meant that the firing line the Shadow soldiers had formed rapidly became a liability, and they were butchered quickly before the raiders moved on. Captain Breaker's team followed as they entered a wider cut in the earth, a focal point where several trenches joined. Enemy soldiers were moving in from the far side; one of the other exits led to the first of the mortar positions, their primary objective.
Oats and Breaker marshalled their teams and split them, sending them across the pit, where there was plenty of cover thanks to stacks of crates and bags of earth, straw or grain. Desultory musket fire was exchanged, the Equestrians responding with their pistols as they kept up the pressure of their advance. Speed was still the key, even if they had lost the element of surprise. Work fast, work clean, surgical precision. Move only toward the objective. No lollygagging.
Together, Oats's unit and Breaker's boys pushed through the enemy, using magic, ball and blade, shooting and slashing, driving hard for the first mortar. They had, maybe, another five minutes before the enemy overwhelmed their position with an entire regiment or more, but for now the impetus was still on their side. The enemy had to form a resistance, whereas they were already in action, and closing in on their target. The correct trench was picked, the Pegasi spotters' hand drawn maps proving to be accurate. It led them to the mortar's firing pit, as expected.
"Spike that thing!" Breaker shouted, leading the charge this time. The gun pit was protected only by two ponies, who panicked and turned to flee, leaving the mortar unprotected. The great, monstrous barrel sat horizontally, turned turn from its usual raised firing position and covered over with a sheet to prevent water from simply flowing into it like a giant cauldron. The mortar's carriage was simple wood, and could easily be smashed with hammers and booted feet. Oats's team set about doing so while Breaker's ponies covered both entrances to the firing pit. The mortar was spiked, the carriage trashed, the wheels torn from their mountings, the axle burned through by a concentrated cone of magic. Then, to make absolutely sure, as the rest of the raiding party held off the increasingly desperate enemy attacks, Oats and Snapshot tore the canvas cover from the mortar, lifted an open powder cask into its barrel, for such was the calibre of the weapon, and lit a fuse trail.
A rapid retreat was then called, right back the way they had come. More enemies were closing on them now, however, but their mission had reached its zenith. To push on any further would risk the entire force being surrounded and wiped out. The rearguard started to come under heavy fire as they moved through the open pit toward the forward trenches. As they did so, the powder fuse reached the mortar and exploded with a loud but somewhat muffled crump, bursting the barrel like a peeled banana and utterly wrecking it. No more high-explosive shots of terror would be fired from that particular device, though its twin remained- a task for another night, perhaps.
A route back to safety was rapidly plotted mentally by Oats and Breaker. The same way they had come in would be used to get them out, despite dogged harrying from the rear as enemies pushed up in increasing numbers. Several of the raiders went down injured or dead, their first casualties, remarkably, of the entire raid. With Shadow Soldiers in pursuit, the raiders charged back up the trench toward the city. Safety only lay behind the walls; until they reached their own lines, they would be vulnerable. Having had an unopposed run in, they were now being pressed hard on the way back out. At several junctions, enemies seemed to spring from nowhere, bursting from side trenches and saps and inflicting further casualties. A pony came out ahead of Snapshot, and he instinctively ducked to one knee and thrusted his sword forward, right into her guts. She screamed and collapsed, but two more ponies came out of the same side turning and set upon them. Snapshot found himself in a sword fight, desperately parrying blows where he could as a wide-shouldered, blood red earth pony mare swung for him. Her Pegasus counterpart went after Billhook, who managed to beat him back. However, as they were turning to engage the threat from their left, the raiders were set upon by a fresh enemy force from the right.
Half a dozen ponies charged out from a cross-trench, hacking away at the rear of Breaker's group and threatening to separate Oats and her team from the others. Oats rallied them, blasting a hole in the chest of one unfortunate foe with her magic and spearing another with her sword as he tried to swing a hefty club in her direction. Breaker turned back to assist. Snapshot ducked an incoming blow from his opponent and countered, slashing a nasty wound on her thigh. The mare charged him bodily and shoved him against the trench wall, hoping to finish him off, but Snapshot was able to roll to the side. Her plunging sword stabbed in between the bones of his right wing, ripping several feathers free but leaving him otherwise uninjured. He scrambled to his feet and hesitated. The raiding party was getting strung out along the trench, with enemies coming from two sides at once and other bringing up the rear. They had to close up with Captain Breaker's team or else they were in danger of being left behind, separated.
Billhook got the upper hand over his opponent, knocking him to the ground and slamming his steel-heeled boot down on the face of the Pegasus with a crack of bone. Snapshot's opponent turned to face him with a snarl, her sword raised and ready again. He met her halfway, their swords clashing, but she was stronger than him. Again he found himself shoved bodily backward, and this time he made the sensible choice. He ducked and ran, moving toward Captain Oats and the main bulk of Breaker's unit. At a distance, he turned and readied himself, but his foe was not pursuing, instead sneering at him before turning to batter another of the raiding party to her knees, stabbing her sword right through the unicorn's throat. More enemies were coming up from the rear trenches now. Several of the raiders were isolated, including, Snapshot noted, Ramble, who was trying his best to fight off two ponies at once.
"Fall back!" Oats shouted. "Time to move! If we stay here, we're dead."
"But Captain!" Snapshot cried. "We can't just leave them..."
"We have no choice, son," Billhook informed him, standing beside him, coated in dirt and mud and blood, mostly somepony else's. "The Captain's right. We've done our job, now it's time to get the hell out of here."
"But..." Snapshot swallowed a lump in his throat. Ramble was surrounded, along with two others from their unit, backed into a corner as more of the enemy pushed on to try and get at the rest of the raiders.
"No time for buts. Think about them later, cry about them if you like, but get fucking moving!" Billhook snarled. The rest of the unit continued down the path, mentally thanking the rearguard, or more accurately, the unfortunate stragglers, for buying them time to escape. Snapshot reluctantly followed them. The last he saw of Ramble was the earth pony struggling for survival, surrounded by a baying mob of heretics.
The survivors of the raiding party made their way back up the saps and out across the open ground, where they were challenged by the sentries. After identifying themselves with the correct password and challenge phrase, and passing an anti-Changeling magic scan, they were ushered back inside the walls for a debriefing. The raid had been a success- a row of cannon and one of the mortars destroyed, and a number of casualties inflicted upon the enemy- but that was little consolation to any member of the party who had lost a friend, for the raid had not been bloodless.
Snapshot did what Billhook had suggested- he cried about it later, on his bedroll in a corner of the New Town library, wordless, silent sobs of emotion. He had seen action before, yes. He had seen ponies die before, yes. But Ramble had been a good friend, and now he was dead, or worse. The sadness was mixed inextricably with guilt, also, for Snapshot couldn't help but link his retreat from his one-on-one fight directly with the failure of Ramble and the others to escape. Maybe, just maybe. He might have made a difference, if he'd just stuck at his task, even if it cost him his own life in the process.
Maybe, just maybe...
"General! Ma'am!"
"I know, I know..." Hawkeye muttered brusquely, walking purposefully down the corridor to her office and the balcony that looked out over the city. She, like everypony else in the city, had heard the explosion, and immediately knew it spelled trouble, whatever the source of it. Her aide, who had called out to her, followed her, trying to keep up as she hurried into her office and looked out from the balcony.
A plume of smoke and dust towered above the city walls, hanging in the air even a minute or more after the blast. Whatever it was, it had been damned powerful, that much was immediately clear. The dust cloud lay in the vicinity of the Unicorn Gate, but out beyond the wall, right among the outer defences. That was where the enemy had been concentrating most of their attacks over the past two weeks, and it seemed they wished to continue that trend. Hawkeye turned to her aide.
"Muster the reserves," she ordered. "We may have a hole to plug."
The mine had taken the best part of a week to prepare. Changeling engineers, experts at digging fast and accurately underground to create their hive cities, had been called into action to dig a tunnel that would run beneath the Equestrian lines. Though the plateau was thick, solid schist, the top hundred feet or so was made up of soil and softer limestone, through which the Changelings could tunnel with ease, using a combination of hand tools and magic. This, they had done with some expediency, and filled the resulting chamber beneath the line with powder drums. A long fuse had then been set and lit, and the explosives detonated to coincide with the changing of the watch. The Changelings had done their job well; the explosion was directly beneath the palisade and the earthen embankment, as expected, and a hole some one hundred feet long had been blown in the defensive line. Fifty ponies were dead, and several score more wounded, but most importantly, the defenders were in disarray. Their vision was obscured, their order of battle broken, their cover smashed, their comrades dead or dying. A large and inviting gap had been opened, and the enemy were heading directly for it.
"To arms, to arms!" somepony shouted. "Stand to! For Celestia's sake, stand to! They're coming!"
Snapshot regained his senses, dragging his attention away from the towering cloud of dust that still loomed over him. He still had his musket; or at least, somepony's musket was lying right beside him. Maybe it wasn't his after all, but no matter. It would do for now. He picked it up, feeling a stinging pain in his side and looking down. Clearly he was badly bruised, if nothing else, but there was no time to seek medical aid, nor even to feel fear.
"Still alive, lad?" Billhook's familiar voice came from behind him, and the irrepressible Sergeant clapped a mighty hand on his shoulder. "Got your wits back yet? You're going to need them."
"I'm alright, Sergeant," Snapshot replied, gripping the musket and making sure it was loaded.
"Good lad. Stand up and fight!" Billhook bellowed. "Form a line! You there, all of you, get over there and reinforce that fucking hole!" he ordered, gesturing to a group of shellshocked ponies who jolted into action upon getting an order, heading for the long gap in the palisade line which was now visible as the smoke and dust cleared. "With me, lad," Billhook added to Snapshot. "Let's see if we can't find the Captain. There's a big fucking hole in our line and we need to get moving, or else we're going to be knee-deep in shit."
Right, Sergeant..." Snapshot moved with Billhook. Small groups of ponies, survivors from closer to the blast, were organising their own resistance, forming firing lines, but there was no level ground upon which to stand. Instead there was a huge crater, deep enough for four or five ponies to stand upon each other's shoulders. The earthen embankment had ceased to exist for a good eighty feet, as had the palisade fence, with just a few stakes, snapped like twigs, to be seen scattered about. Some of the defenders had ceased to exist entirely, atomised by the huge explosion and cast to the winds. Others lay dead, twisted and broken bodies dotted here and there. With the roar of the enemy closing in, one thing was clear. A resistance had to be organised, and fast.
Snapshot followed the Sergeant. They were not assigned to the section of the line which had been destroyed, but it was adjacent to their sector, and they had to cover it, for most of the soldiers who were meant to be holding that area had gone to meet their Princess in the next life. Billhook hastily rounded up as many survivors as he could and pushed them into a firing line. Only then did they find Captain Oats, who had been blown half out of her uniform, her tunic ripped and torn, exposing her breasts, her chest and face blemished by half a dozen bloody cuts. But she still had her sword, she still had her pistol, and she still had her wits and her new-found commanding presence, discovered since the attack on Trottingham, which seemed to truly have transformed her from a drunkard who was half-insensate most evenings into a proper, upright, dignified officer of the crown. "Good to see you in one piece, boys," she greeted them, her tricorn hat still somehow planted firmly upon her head, despite the damage to the rest of her clothing. "Sergeant, don't let anything through that gap."
"Yes ma'am!" Billhook replied with a firm nod.
"I've already summoned the sector reserves, but..." Her words were drowned out as the batteries on the Phoenix Bastion opened fire behind them, hurling their cannonballs out over their heads toward the enemy. The guns of the Timberwolf bastion followed moments later, then the guns upon the wall, and suddenly everything was a cacophony, as it was every morning. But this was no mere bombardment like it had been the day before or the day before that. This was an attack, a full scale assault.
Snapshot took his place in the makeshift firing line that Billhook was forming on the inner lip of the crater. Beyond the wall they could see the enemy.
"Here they come, I see them!" someone cried.
"Hold fast, lads and lasses!" Billhook ordered. "Now listen to me and listen close." He waited for a lull in the outgoing bombardment as the batteries reloaded so his words could be heard clearly. "When the enemy come, I'm going to give the command to fire twice. When I give it for the first time, you do NOT fire. Understood?"
"Yes Sergeant!" came a chorus of replies.
"When I give it for the second time, you let those fucking bastards have it. Got it?"
"Yes Sergeant!"
Oats circled around the edge of the crater to try and find the commander of the next section of the line and coordinate their defence, leaving Billhook in charge for the moment. He had assembled about sixty ponies in two ranks of thirty, all with muskets and all ready for a fight. Doing so concentrated their firepower but thinned the ranks of those who were left to defend the rest of their assigned section. It was necessary, however, for without doing so there would be nothing to stop the enemy simply pouring through the gap. They drew closer as musket fire began to crackle from the walltop behind them. That meant they were in range of small arms, which meant they were almost upon the defenders at the breach.
"Make ready!" Billhook roared.
The thunder of charging feet could be heard, along with the war cries of the Shadow Army. Black-clad figures appeared in the breach.
"Hold...hold...fire!" Billhook bellowed. The line of enemy soldiers threw up defensive shields, their front rank composed almost entirely of unicorns for just such a purpose. Nothing happened. They kept advancing and dropped the shields after a couple of seconds, as their instinct, training and experience told them was the right thing to do. Hold the count, one, two, three, drop shields. They did so.
"Fire!"
Billhook's repeated command brought the expected results. Both ranks of musketeers opened fire as one, sixty guns blazing in unison. hearing the Sergeant's deliberately loud first shout had made the Shadow Army's unicorns raise their shields in expectation of the volley which didn't come when they had imagined it would. Their shields had dropped once more as he shouted again, and the musket balls struck home with deadly effect, tearing through the enemy. Two dozen ponies dropped dead, another twenty falling wounded. The usual tactic of ignoring the volley fire against the Shadow Army in favour of individual aimed fire had been dropped just briefly, and it had achieved good results. The fact that there was a large crater that the enemy would have to cross to reach the Equestrian infantry favoured the defenders, as it meant the attackers could not simply charge rapidly and close the gap before another volley could be prepared.
Nevertheless, as the second and third ranks of Shadow soldiers, shorn of much of their potential magic protection, began to descend the sloping wall of the crater, while others started to move out around the perimeter. More fire came at them from the flanking positions as Equestrian soldiers tried to fight them off while simultaneously attempting to prevent more enemies from pushing through the intact sections of the wall. They kept pouring through the gap in the palisade, into the breach, though they were met with increasingly heavy fire, especially as Captain Oats returned with a company from the adjacent sector, opening up on the enemy from the flank and catching them as they tried descending the crater to get across it. Bodies began to pile up at the bottom of the crater as dead and wounded ponies slid and tumbled down the loose earthen flanks of the still-steaming hole.
Snapshot loaded another musket ball into his weapon and took aim. His heart was pounding once more, for this was another struggle for life. The enemy were coming in large numbers, seeing an opportunity. Their mine had done its work and there was a breach in the defences. If they could push enough troops through the gap then they could take the palisade and force the Equestrians back from their first line. That was their plan, but blowing a hole in the palisade was not the only part of that plan.
In two locations some several hundred yards away from the breach, the ground again began to shake. Equestrian soldiers feared another mine exploding beneath them, but there were no explosives involved this time. Instead, cracks and gaps began to appear in the soil as sinkholes opened up. Ponies scrambled away, some pulled to safety by their colleagues in the defensive line. From the holes in the ground came not fire and blast, but Changelings, clambering from the newly formed exits of their invasion tunnels, which had again been dug with great precision, bringing them up a couple of dozen feet to the rear of the palisade fence. The assault force was laden down with multiple pistols each and a short, curved sword, while some carried sacks of grenades and lit fusees, moved rapidly up the tunnel from the rear so as not to asphyxiate the waiting Changelings by using up all the air, with which to ignite the bombs before tossing each one to a waiting compatriot, allowing for a rapid volley of grenades to be unleashed. They launched their assault in just such a way, with explosions peppering the rear ranks of the Equestrian lines and tearing through the militia reserves who were stationed behind the front to relay ammunition and loaded weapons. These militiaponies now found themselves in the midst of a brutal fight they were not prepared for. The two tunnels came up to the surface on the flanks of the breach in the palisade, one to the west and one to the east, precisely because the Equestrians had acted in the exact way that the Changelings had expected; by pulling forces from those flanking sectors to reinforce the gaping hole in their line caused by the mine's detonation. It was the logical play, and the only one they could have made in the circumstances, but it left them vulnerable to the sudden appearance of enemy infiltrators behind their own line.
"Changelings, Sergeant! Thousands of 'em!" somepony cried out, alerting Billhook to the new threat. Drones and workers were charging from the nearest tunnel, not far from where Snapshot had been resting mere minutes earlier while eating his porridge. The enemy spilling out were moving both toward the breach to link up with their pony allies, and also away from it to try and turn the flank of the rest of the defensive line and catch them unawares, hoping to roll up the entire line in one fell swop and take the palisade.
"Shit! By Celestia's cunt, those Changelings are slippery bastards!" Billhook blasphemed. Taking the name of the Princess in vain was frowned upon but usually overlooked by the priesthood, but profaning in quite such vulgar terms, something that for the most part seemed to be the preserve of sailors and soldiers, was taking things to a different level. BIllhook, had a priest overheard him, would have found himself technically in line for two dozen lashes for his colourful language. "Stand fast!" Billhook cried. "Don't let them through. Hold those traitors off, buy the top brass time to bring up the reserves!"
Captain Oats, with her newly acquired company in tow, charged forward to meet up with Billhook and the rest of her actual unit, which she had temporarily left behind to fetch reinforcements. There were now about two hundred ponies protecting the breach, through which hundreds of Shadow soldiers were pouring. The militia who should have been moving to back them up and protect any gap in the line were now heavily engaged with the Changelings who continued to sprout like weeds behind them, clambering from the tunnel with pistols firing and grenades exploding, separating the two lines of Equestrians The regulars and the militia were split, and the flanks were also being cut off from those troops around the breach, which had also been carefully located by Changeling surveyors and engineers to be right in front of the Phoenix Bastion, at a point where an absolute minimum of its guns could be brought to bear upon the attackers as they were actually fighting for control of the opening. The Timberwolf Bastion was still able to provide supporting fire, but only at risk of hitting their own soldiers in the process, while all but the smaller cannons of the Phoenix Bastion could not be depressed far enough to fire down at the breach.
Snapshot, his musket reloaded, stood firm with the others as they broke from a solid wall of ponies into a skirmish line, free to fire at will. Musket fire crackled above them as soldiers on the wall to the rear backed them up, but the shooting from the flanks was mostly the guns of the enemy. They were being rapidly hemmed in. However many of the enemy they killed- and there were bodies strewn across the crater and the breach- more seemed to arrive, to say nothing of the Changelings in the rear.
"Corporal!" Oats called, hurrying up to Snapshot and Billhook, her uniform still tattered and torn but her sword now well-blooded. "Take your section and these grenades." Another pony moved to hand him a canvas sack of bombs. "There's a Changeling tunnel over there." She pointed to where Snapshot had been resting earlier. "Go and blow the hell out of it. Block the exit. bring it down on their heads."
"Yes, ma'am!" Snapshot replied. His section- the ponies under his direct command- were a rag-tag bunch. His true section comrades were mostly dead, either in Trottingham or, in Ramble's case, here in Canterlot. When Oats's survivors had been amalgamated into the defence force, he had found a half dozen strangers, plus Ramble, left in his care. Truth be told he had barely learned their names in the two weeks of the siege, but they were decent enough soldiers, though a little green, having served in the city garrison and nowhere else of note. "Let's go, fillies and gentlecolts," he ordered, taking the bag of grenades and slinging them over his shoulder.
His section followed him, out of the maelstrom of the breach and back toward the Changeling tunnel. They could see, through the powder-smoke of battle, that a contingent of militia were fighting valiantly against the horde of drones. Many of the militia were complete novices to actual combat, raw recruits signed up in a time of desperation to bolster the ranks of the city's defenders. Others were ex-soldiery themselves, of more advanced years but battle hardened and with skills they had never forgotten how to put to use. Though they fought with valour and courage, they could not fight with the ferocity of the Changelings, who used a lethal combination of magic, blade and ball, fighting with swords and pistols, grenades hurled left and right, lunging and leaping with the use of their wings. They were everywhere.
"Alright, stick together, heads down!" Snapshot ordered. Three mares and three stallions followed him into the fray, clutching their muskets, bayonets ready. He could not yet see the hole they had bored in the ground, presumably with their magic to make the final breach to the surface, but he could certainly hear the Changelings hissing and shooting. All they had to do to seal the tunnel was punch through the enemy, ignite the fuses of the grenades, toss the sack into the hole, and run.
Snapshot led the charge with a dry mouth and a pounding heart. The Changelings, most of them at least, were preoccupied with the militia, but at least some of them were already facing his way, engaging a thin line of regular Equestrian infantry who had been manning the palisade fence but now found themselves in danger of encirclement. They were from Oats's unit, fellow survivors from Trottingham, and Snapshot rallied them. Every extra bayonet was one more nail in the tunnel's coffin, at least in theory. Together they pressed on, firing their muskets, then closing rapidly to go in with the bayonet and sword, stabbing their way through the enemy. Changelings came at them, firing pistols and swinging axes. Snapshot ducked one clumsy swing and impaled the worker-Changeling with his bayonet, ripping its throat out. His section fought beside him, battering their way through with support from the others. The militia kept the bulk of the Changelings busy, forming a natural focus for any new arrivals coming out of the tunnel. Their battle plan relied on surprise and speed, and on keeping the Equestrians divided, but the defenders were reacting quickly to the multiple threats, facing them all as best they could with their limited numbers. Buying time for reinforcements to arrive from the city was most important now.
Snapshot and his unit inched closer to the tunnel, but resistance became fiercer as they did so. Several of the other ponies who had joined him went down, shot or run through by Changeling blades. The defensive line was constructed to make it as difficult as possible for an attacker to make easy progress. There was little open ground, but instead plentiful wooden spikes, placed seemingly at random, small ditches with no evident purpose, mounds of earth for defenders to hide behind and fire from, barrels and sandbags and overturned wagons, makeshift emplacements and blockhouses built from logs. That made it difficult to obtain a visual reference as to exactly where the tunnel entrance was, but the mere fact that the number of enemies was increasing indicated to Snapshot that they were going the right way.
Rounding a pair of wagons roped together to form a firing point, over which were draped the bodies of two Equestrian soldiers, he finally laid eyes on the tunnel. A sinkhole in the earth some ten or twelve feet in diameter, it paled in comparison with the crater from the explosion of the mine, but still allowed three Changelings to emerge abreast and join the fight. Snapshot ordered his ponies to take up firing positions around the two carts. The two dead soldiers were unceremoniously dragged out of the way, and accurate musket fire began to clear a path toward the tunnel. On its far side, the militia were still fighting hand to hand, sustaining heavy losses against the crack Changeling assault teams, but inadvertently doing their job of drawing just enough attention away from Snapshot and his section. Though the Changelings, through their Hive Mind, could share intelligence and alert each other that more Equestrians were moving up, they did not know their intended purpose. Snapshot decided it was time to make that abundantly clear.
With his section providing covering fire, he produced a piece of flint from his tunic and opened the bag of grenades. Striking the flint against the longest fuse he could find, he ignited one of the grenades, and leaped from cover. Musket balls whipped past his head, going in both directions, as his comrades tried their best to protect him, and the enemy, now suddenly alert to his intentions, tried to kill him. Snapshot could not fly; his wing was injured from the blast of the mine. Even if he could have done, it would have just made him that much more of a target. But he didn't have to run the whole way. Instead he hefted the sack with an almighty shove and a grunt of exertion, tossing it as hard as he could into the opening before turning and scrambling back to cover behind the wagons.
He made it back, and the bag of grenades made it into the hole. Within a few scant seconds, a fountain of dirt erupted from the tunnel entrance, shaking the ground once more as all of the grenades detonated. In the tunnel, panic ensued, briefly, among the Changelings who were about to emerge above ground, as the tunnel ceiling began to collapse upon their heads. Half a dozen were killed outright in the blast, and a score or more were crushed and suffocated beneath tons of dirt. One tunnel, at least, was sealed. But there was another, and the breach in the line wasn't getting any smaller. The city was still in danger.
