The dying of the light

~The Nys’stralla dies, it does not surrender~

***

A pale, flickering aura of amber firelight danced over the pockmarked earth. Splintered trees and chunks of loose earth and rock surrounded the disorganised line of Thestrals entrenched along the damaged earth works. Smoke obscured the horizon, a twisted, sickening miasma that blocked any wisps of starlight from shining through. A series of deep bass voices rippled across the landscape, faintly at first before growing louder and louder, sending a tidal wave of shivers through the wearied defenders of Windridge. A series of high pitched shrieks echoed across the line, juxtaposing the low, melodic thrum of the approaching force.
At the head of the line, a lone mare stood above the broken palisade, her green eyes fixated on the horizon. Through the smoke a dark, writhing mass of bodies began to take shape, bristling with a sea of wicked swords and spear tips. She gritted her teeth as a jolt of pain lit up her shoulder, a grimace forcing its way onto her face as she clutched at it weakly.

“Form line on me, now!”, she shouted, squinting against the oncoming wave as her wearied soldiers formed up behind her, mana-rifles aimed ahead. The mare released an exhausted sigh, removing her own mana-rifle from her shoulder holster. A faint blue glow surrounded the weapon, and she found herself transfixed on the steady, deep pulsating light. She glanced behind her; a thin blue line of Thestrals stood silent and resolute along the ruined earthworks. Bandaged faces stared out across the horizon, a few soldiers standing with the assistance of crutches or bracing themselves against the damaged fortifications.

Beyond them, small velvety shapes shimmered and shifted through the dark night, carrying ammunition and medical supplies between the scattered defenders. Somewhere in the distance a pony screamed, a long, haunting, pain filled dirge. The mare felt her eyes drawn to the long street behind them, and she grimaced. Scattered equipment lay on the ground and a chaotic bedlam of Thestral soldiers and civilians moved between the sporadic buildings and the crumbling defences. Amidst the chaos, a ragged pony trotted up towards her, a torn and bloodied green uniform marking her as a member of the medical corps.

“Captain Iskra”, the lieutenant greeted simply, offering a lethargic salute to the mare on the barricades.

“How long do you need, Nor?” Iskra replied quietly, supporting her injured leg with the butt of her mana-rifle.

“As long as you can give me. We’re still loading the airship with civilians and the wounded”. Nor then spread her wings and took to the air, hovering a few feet off the ground. She swiveled her leafy ears forwards, a quiet squeak escaping her lips. Iskra smiled grimly.

“Carry on with evacuations, Nor”. Iskra removed her helmet from her belt, fastening it tightly over her head. The bright plumage from her helm swayed gently in the wind, Iskra casting a striking image of calm and poise against the carnage surrounding her. “Once you’re clear and the airship is underway, give the signal and we’ll fall in behind you”.

“Yes Ma’am”, Nor replied, lightly touching back to the ground to salute. “And… thank you. I’ll send any spare bodies from the western defences to support you”, she added quietly, before turning briskly and galloping away.

Iskra turned away from Nor, her eyes glazing over the hoofful of soldiers she had left. An eerie veil of silence had fallen over the assembled Thestrals, slitted eyes fixed dead ahead, ears folded towards the horizon. She took a few steps forward, her eyes stinging from the soot in the air. Through the darkness, the distant black mass began to take shape.

The heavily armoured bodies of Drake soldiers began to emerge through the haze. Spear tips glistened like blood diamonds, their deep chanting now accompanied by the death rattle of spears against shields. Iskra glowered at the opposing force, gritting her teeth as she hoisted her rifle against her shoulder. “Fix bayonets!”, she shouted over the bedlam, the small group of defenders responding as one moving, living entity. Iskra stifled a cry as she clicked her own bayonet into place, blood from her wounded shoulder soaking through the hastily applied bandage.

The opposing force of Drakes increased in pace, flowing over the broken ground like a living, writhing, deadly shadow. The squadrons then began breaking formation, and spreading out at an alarming rate, spilling out across the broken terrain. Dark bodies twisted and writhed in the hellish flicker. The Thestrals stood firm, a line of glistening fangs and flared wings steadfast against the hellish backdrop. Iskra looked across them, a determined fire kindling in her heart.

“At 100 yards, volley fire!”, she shouted, eyes alight with bellicose ferocity. “Present!”. Spittle flew from her lips, her shoulder screaming in protest as she raised her own mana-rifle towards the oncoming wave. She fought down waves of pain and growled, stark white fangs poking between her lips.

Time hinged on a single moment. Iskra narrowed her eyes, watching with desperate intent as the wave of Drakes flowed closer… and closer…

“FIRST LINE, FIRE”, Iskra shrieked. Her voice ripped across the defences in sonic slices. The Thestral defensive line erupted in lethal rifle fire, searing bolts of mana whizzing across the battlefield. The first line of Drakes fell, screams and howls echoing across the landscape alongside the desperate screams of the defenders, creating a sickening melody of noise. As soon as the first line of Drakes fell, another wave washed over them, the separate squads now in an all out charge.

“RELOAD”, Iskra shouted, lowering her rifle to load another cartridge, eyes fixed ahead.

“SECOND LINE, FIRE””, she shouted, another wave of organised destruction slamming into the advancing Drake forces. Another line of warriors fell, and another line took their place. Iskra swore under her breath as she clicked the cartridge back into place. “FIRE AT WILL!” she roared out, her voice nearly drowned out by the surrounding cacophony.

Sporadic rifle fire crackled through the air, Thestral manafire that whirled across the battlefield now opposed by a hail of deadly crossbow bolts. Screams and howls redoubled. Bodies and limbs went flying. Iskra let out a long, haunting shriek, hurling herself forwards and into the melee. Her soldiers moved with her, their voices joining together in an undulating melody.

The world narrowed in around her. The sky screamed red above the clashing forces. Iskra ducked, barely missing the deadly swipe of a battle axe. She swung her body to the side and stabbed upwards, her bayonet finding its mark between the gaps of the Drakes armour. The drake shouted out in pain, stumbling backwards. Iskra took advantage of this and pushed upwards with her back legs, driving the bayonet deeper. A spray of hot blood stained her grey fur, and she twisted the rifle with a feral grunt.

A Thestral soldier hit the ground beside her with a sickening crunch, forcing the mare to turn away from her defeated foe. The Thestrals neck was twisted at ghastly angle, and a crossbow bolt was stuck through his neck, blood pouring out in slow, gargling bursts. Iskra froze, struggling to recognize the facial features of her friend. “Blea?”, she gasped, ripping her rifle free and galloping over.

Iskra skidded to a halt, dropping her mana-rifle to the ground as she fell to her knees. A large pool of blood had formed around Blea, coating Iskra’s legs with a fresh crimson. His legs twitched, lifeless brown eyes staring straight through the mare. She let out a sob; a pitiful wail starting in the pit of her stomach and violently surging its way upward.

She slammed the ground with a hoof over and over, and mumbled incoherent apologies as she slumped over his body, the fire inside her suddenly extinguished. “I… I…”, she whispered, but no more words came to her. The world around her faded away, and a chill came over her, a paralysis far worse than any enemy soldier could hope to inflict. She thought poisonous thoughts, of her and Blea drinking together in Ly’synia, of their training days, songs they’d shared while marching. She thought about his partner back home, distantly wondering if there was any combination of words in existence that could even remotely express the sorrow and anger Iskra felt for her loss.

Her hooves brushed up against something cold. Numb hooves fumbled against a silver chain around Blea’s neck. Iskra unclasped it, holding it aloft. A small glass vial dangled in front of her, half filled with sand, taken from the lakeshore in Ly’synia. Iskra quietly fixed the pendant to her chest, blinking away her tears as she stumbled back to her hooves. With a barely concealed howl, she twirled on the spot, wild eyes desperately scanning the battlefield surrounding her.

A few paces in front of her, Devoke and Caudal, two Thestral soldiers, were locked in a desperate fight against a large drake. The warrior's ornate armour gave him away as a commander, as well as his equally ornate weapon. She watched as with one easy flick of his poleaxe he knocked Devoke off his hooves, sending him flailing to the side. Caudal bared her teeth and dove in, screeching ferociously. The drake met her with a clawed fist, talons sinking deep into her leg. The mare let out a sharp cry, her free hoof fumbling against her side while she flapped her wings rapidly in an attempt to break free. Caudal managed to grasp a knife and swung her hoof forwards in a wild arc, the blade perfectly slicing through the gaps in the drakes silver plated armour and embedding in his shoulder.

He let out a pained shout and dropped the mare. Caudal landed heavily on the floor, crying out loudly as she landed on her injured hoof. The mare limped backwards with a wince, desperately casting around the ground for a weapon to defend herself with. The drake commander glowered at the mare, reaching up and removing the small knife from his shoulder. Caudal’s eyes widened in panic as he stared her down, dropping the knife on the charred ground before charging.

Iskra flared her wings, grasping for her manarifle as she stumbled forwards. The drake commander was almost upon the fleeing Caudal, before Devoke slammed into him from the side, knocking the drake off balance. The pair fell in separate directions, the Thestral stallion somehow managing to correct himself and regain his footing, positioning himself between the two. Iskra watched through blurry eyes as Devoke readied to charge again, a sharp shriek rising into the dark night as he lowered his bayonet to strike.

The drake commander took one step forwards, before jolting backwards suddenly. A bright burst of mana cut through the air, briefly bathing the surrounding bodies in a deadly blue haze. Devoke froze, staring wide eyed at the drake before him. The drake looked down to his shoulder, finding a bloody, cauterised pulp in its place. He stared at Devoke with an almost surprised look, taking a few more unsteady steps forward, before a similar bolt of mana tore through his helm, atomizing the upper right quadrant of his head in a spray of superheated viscera. He fell to the ground in a crumpled heap, bringing up a wave of dust and soot.

Iskra panted and lowered her smoking manarifle, dropping the used cartridge to the ground as she galloped forwards. Spots swam in her vision, the recent burst of mana used leaving her dizzy and uncoordinated. Devoke was helping Caudal to her hooves by the time she got there, the mare wincing through her breath as she tried putting weight on her injured hoof. Three jagged holes pockmarked her foreleg, occasional spasms running along the limb.

“Captain?” Devoke shouted as Iskra skidded to a halt, stumbling slightly over the torn up ground.

“Thank you Captain” Caudal managed to cough between winces, fumbling around for something to stem the blood loss.

Iskra didn’t reply, her bloodshot eyes glued to the sheer massacre unfolding before her. The violent melee continued all around them, the drakes beginning to gain the upper hoof. Iskra watched in wide eyed helplessness as the wave of drakes began overwhelming the heavily outnumbered, battle fatigued Thestrals. Pained shrieks filled the air as more and more of her soldiers were ripped, shredded and pummelled into the ground. Iskra clutched her head, her body shaking at the bloody eviscerations all around her. More Thestrals barrelled forwards from the besieged town, their added strength doing little to stem the bloody tide. A chorus of agonising shrieks and cries echoed across the plateau of carnage, alongside the victorious cheering of drake soldiers as they pushed the Thestrals back.

Iskra shivered violently before standing tall, a low growl turning into a furious scream. She let loose three sharp, sonic shrieks. The sound tore across the chaotic battlefield, the embattled Thestrals immediately recognizing the order for retreat. “FORM LINE ON ME!” Iskra shouted, taking pot-shots with her manarifle while walking backwards. A small gaggle of bloodied Thestrals managed to gather alongside the mare, forming a gossamer line of smoking and crackling manarifles. Iskra stood tall against the fire, a lone bastion of order amidst the chaotic slaughter. Injured soldiers darted behind those still standing, while crimson stained bayonets violently thrusted and stabbed at any drake that managed to break through the barrage of mana.

“MAINTAIN FORMATION AND FIRE AT WILL!” Iskra managed to shout, her vocal cords strained from calling the retreat. The air crackled with residual energy, the Thestral line slowly retreating as the drakes advanced. Iskra stumbled over the maimed bodies of dead Thestrals and drakes alike, her hooves struggling for purchase on the blood slicked terrain. She glanced to her side, catching a glimpse of Devoke further down the line.

“Devoke!” she shouted, the stallion quickly glancing in her direction, nodding to signal that he was listening before turning his head back towards the advancing drakes. “Take 30 Thestrals and form along the palisade.” She moved with cold, deadly purpose as she lunged forwards, bayonet sinking deep into a small drake’s throat before she roughly pulled back, the warrior simply dropping to the floor with a gurgling cry. She bared her fangs with a scream, firing off another sizzling bolt of mana. “We’ll need the cover when this line breaks” she finished with a snarl.

“Yes captain!” Devoke yelled back, turning tail and galloping towards the shattered fortifications. Iskra tore her eyes away, firing another bright burst of mana at almost point blank range, the blue glow momentarily blinding the young captain. A single crossbow bolt seared in her direction, raking across the left side of her face before she had time to react. Iskra howled and fell to her knees, dropping her manarifle in the process. The drake’s crossbow’s rained hellfire against the Thestral line, and bodies twisted and fell in a grotesque fashion.

Iskra held one hoof to her bleeding face, tears forming in her eyes. Blood seeped across her face, obscuring the mare's vision as her body shook violently. A thousand voices filled her head. Some cursed, some prayed, and some did both. Every nerve in her body screamed in agony and her movements were jerky and forced as she dragged herself backwards over the bodies of fallen comrades.

“Fall back” Iskra coughed, hauling herself unsteadily to her hooves. The few defenders who remained standing after the crossbow barrage were slowly being overwhelmed, drake soldiers pouring through the gaps that had appeared. Iskra lurched forwards, spitting blood out of her mouth. “FALL BACK NOW”, she shouted, emptying her lungs in one desperate breath.

The Thestral line almost immediately disintegrated, those still on their hooves dutifully following their captains orders and retreating. The first traces of dawn had begun streaking across the eastern sky, cutting jagged crimson swathes across the horizon. Iskra’s desperate eyes searched for the faintest traces of the signal flare, but to no avail. Cursing loudly, she tore her eyes away, spreading her wings low and wide as she took off with an unsteady lurch.

The drake forces gave them little breathing room, immediately seizing on the moment and surging forwards. A few Thestrals spun around and flew backwards, continuing to return sporadic manafire on the advancing drake force. Bodies continued falling all around as stray crossbow bolts sent them careening into the ground. Iskra grasped at her side, coming up empty hooved, cursing under her breath as she realised she’d lost her manarifle in the chaos.

Up ahead, a line of Thestrals three deep had formed along the broken palisade. Devoke stood at their head with his hoof raised, manarifles poised to fire. Panic gripped her soul as Iskra flared her wings upwards, quickly gaining altitude alongside the rest of those retreating. Not long after, Devoke unleashed a fierce shout, and the broken fortifications spewed forth a thin, but near constant hail of manafire.

Iskra landed just beyond the palisade, stumbling back to earth as another thunderclap of rifle fire was hurled at the enemy forces. She fumbled for the clasp on her helmet, throwing it to the ground while sucking in huge lungfuls of air. Small droplets of sweat fell from her mane as she threw her head back with a grunt, her dark curly locks now falling limp against her matted fur. The handful of retreating Thestrals had safely landed, some immediately turning back to support Devoke’s position. Iskra turned to follow, limping unsteadily forwards.

“Captain Iskra!”. A shout came from behind her. She stopped and turned slowly, careful to avoid putting more weight on her injured leg. A young mare in a bright green uniform was galloping towards her, stumbling over her hooves from the weight of two heavily laden saddle bags. She looked remarkably well kempt with her mane tied up into neat little braids, her uniform similarly unblemished. Iskra stared blankly at the mare for a moment, struggling to remember her name through exhaustion.

“Siatra! Yes?” Iskra finally replied, squinting through hazy eyes as her shoulder flared up with pain once more. Another wave of dizziness swept over her, and she felt an overwhelming urge to throw up.

“We’ve completed evacuations Captain, the town is emptied” Siatra spoke quickly, wincing as she couldn’t help from staring towards the bitter fighting not twenty feet away. The Thestral line was showing signs of breaking, the two forces currently engaged in vicious, close quarters fighting. As soon as one drake fell, another would fill their place, and the Thestrals were quickly finding their numbers dwindling. She gulped, before continuing, “I… I’ve been instructed by Nor to provide care for your injured”. She brought her gaze back to Iskra, letting out a quiet squeak when she saw the cut across her face.

“Thank you, Siatra”. Iskra stared straight past her, a grim look fixed across her sharp features. “Where are the reinforcements Nor promised me?” she asked, turning to face the smaller mare once again.

Siatra gulped, glancing away from Iskra’s piercing stare. “There… there are none, Captain”. She finished. “Captain Rydal’s company was… the western defences have broken”.

Iskra remained silent, wide eyes staring directly through the young medic. The past few weeks of her life flashed across her eyes; clinging desperately to every inch of ground, slowly being beaten back every day, and watching while her friends were cut down all around her. Iskra’s face fell slack. They’d done their best to survive. And now…

“They’re through, Captain” Siatra spoke quietly, readjusting her heavy saddlebags across her back. Iskra turned back to look down the wide street, eyes glazing over the scattered fighting line. She vaguely registered Devoke galloping towards them, rifle in hoof. The bayonet of his weapon was painted scarlet, and he had a fresh laceration across his dark flank. “Captain Iskra”, she said louder, waving her hoof at the mare. “What… what are your orders?”.

“My orders…” Iskra mumbled, swaying slightly on her hooves. The nausea returned triplefold. Iskra closed her eyes tight, holding onto her pathetic wish of being anywhere else in the world at that moment. She remembered her last night in Ly’synia. There was music and ponies, and they’d been so young and alive. The sky was a clear haze in sepia, the darkening clouds gently swaddling the sun to rest. She chuckled, a nostalgic smile gracing her features for a fraction of a second. To die on that day would have been alright.

She licked her dry and cracked lips, savouring the bittersweet taste. Devoke and Siatra simply stared at her, the latter panting heavily. Iskra’s chest muscles slowly constricted and relaxed, straining against her armour. She raised her head up, struggling to force her scattered mind into submission, casting off her daydreams with a vigorous shake.

“We play to our strengths,” Iskra stated in a low tone, bringing her focus back to the pair of Thestrals standing in front of her. “We can’t beat them in an open fight, and we don’t have the numbers to continue holding here. Siatra?”.

“Yes, Captain?” Siatra looked up, straightening herself as she did.

“Tell the medical staff we’re falling back to the town centre, take any equipment you can carry with you and tell them to set up a casualty clearing station in the town hall. Treat as many of the wounded as possible, and get them on their hooves for evacuation to Cantermere”. She gestured behind her with a hoof, barely pausing for breath before dismissing her.

“Yes, Captain, right away,” Siatra replied, kicking up a haze of dust as she took flight.

“Devoke?” Iskra turned to face the stallion. “We need to buy time for Siatra to get as many of our wounded ready to move as possible. Pull back our forces to the town centre. We can’t afford to hold ground for long, so we’ll fight on the move, then group up with whatever remains of Captain Rydal’s battalion”.

“We’re… we’re retreating?” Devoke stared across at Iskra with incredulity. Iskra maintained her serious expression and nodded briskly, walking forwards as Devoke fell in close behind her.

“We can’t hold our position anymore, Devoke,” Iskra spoke with urgency, picking up her pace into an unsteady trot. “This is the best option I can think of”. She stopped dead in her tracks, tears in her eyes as she placed a hoof on his shoulder. “Go to the town square and round up any stray soldiers you can find, we’ll meet you there”.

“Right away,” Devoke replied, reluctantly turning tail in the opposite direction. Iskra shuddered slightly, and continued forwards, before Devoke’s voice called out. “Iskra, wait!”.

Iskra turned around, coming to an unsteady stop on the broken ground. Devoke trotted forwards, removing his manarifle from its holster and pressing it into Iskra’s hooves. “You’ll need this.” He spoke softly, dark brown eyes meeting Iskra’s bright green. Iskra nodded, taking the rifle from Devoke as he turned to leave. She opened her mouth to thank him, but the words died just short of being spoken.

Instead, Iskra stood silent, staring at the fading form of Devoke as he galloped away from her. Her body ached, and every impulse she had was telling her to flee. She stared down at the rifle in her hooves, watching lethargically as the blood slowly dripped from the bayonet to the dry ground below. She had a duty to fulfil, and a home to protect. Iskra glanced skywards, catching sight of the mare in the moon. The stoic effigy of Ly'synė peered back at her. Ever watchful, ever silent. Iskra blinked, sending a silent prayer to the heavens, before lowering her head, focusing on the ensuing battle before her.

Something glinted in the corner of her eye, and Iskra paused, staring down at her chest. Blea’s pendant nestled against her fuzzy chest, unblemished by the bloodshed of the past few weeks. She stared at the small glass vial, watching in fascination as the sand inside gently shifted from side to side. She thought poisonous thoughts of her friend's body, still and lifeless in that forgotten street.

She exhaled.

“The Nys’stralla dies, it does not surrender,” Iskra mumbled to no-one in particular, pawing at the ground with one hoof, before breaking into an all out sprint. A bellicose shout burst through her sternum as she charged forwards. Her armour rattled against her side, along with the flashing bayonet, and the ground disappeared beneath her furious hooves as she charged forwards.