The Royal Equestrian Cavalry: Blood and Honor

Chapters

Prologue
Chapter i
Chapter ii
Chapter iii
Chapter iv
Chapter v
Chapter vi
Chapter vii
Chapter viii
Chapter ix
Chapter x
Chapter xi
Chapter xii
Chapter xiii
Chapter xiv
Chapter xv
Chapter xvi
Chapter xvii
Chapter xviii
Chapter xix
Chapter xx
Epilogue

Prologue

Canterlot Castle,

Canterlot,

Central Equestria

The Fourth Earl of Bitter Creek, Alabaster Fetlock, stood upon the balcony outside his office in Canterlot Castle’s Platinum Tower. Constructed eight hundred years ago, the east-facing marble minaret was where the realm’s Peerage were traditionally quartered whenever they were in residence in Equestria’s capital. While many of the more senior peers elected to purchase much more spacious manors in the city proper, Alabaster felt it rather indecent of nobles like himself to spurn the generosity of the Princesses. Especially when the reason those nobles were present in the city was for the expressed purpose of fulfilling the obligations of their positions in the governance of Equestria.

Thus the earl spent nearly seven months out of the year in his suite in the tower. Not all at once, mind you, but between the myriad of parliamentary sessions and the travel time to reach the capital, his wife and foal saw very little of Equestria’s Minister of Foreign Affairs throughout the year.

Uncountable were the birthdays and anniversaries that were left by the wayside in the interests of his duty to the realm. It was a high personal price to pay, to be sure, for the power and influence that the unicorn stallion wielded. However, it was also a price that his wife had long known he would be paying even before they were married. She had known of his ambitions―most of them, at any rate―before they’d officially tied the knot, and she’d accepted the consequences of those ambitions. Their foal, on the other hoof...perhaps in time, she too would be as understanding of his frequent absences as her mother was.

That was the problem though, wasn’t it? ‘Understanding’. He knew that so few would be. At least at first.

Alabaster had known that when he’d set out on this venture of his. He’d started out by broaching the subject only very obliquely with his compatriots in the Peerage. The reactions that he’d gotten to those ‘hypothetical’ notions of his had confirmed that his plans would be regarded with a certain amount of...reservation―though revulsion might have been a slightly more accurate descriptor for some. That hadn’t dissuaded him though. It had merely encouraged him to observe a certain amount of prudence when it came to recruiting other ponies to help realize his vision for the future of Equestria and its ponies.

In a perfect world, he might have been able to enact his grand plan for the land that he loved so dearly on his own. Of course―and despite the best efforts of their immortal diarchs―Equestria was not part of a perfect world. Thus why it was necessary for the minister to seek out assistance. Speaking of which, it shouldn’t be that much longer before―

“My Lord?”

Alabaster glanced back over his shoulder into the suite’s parlor. An older unicorn stallion had poked his head in through the doorway. “Brigadier General Maniple is here to see you, My Lord.”

“Excellent; show him in.” Alabaster Fetlock turned from the balcony entirely and strode back into the suite’s parlor. This meeting was precisely the reason that he had been waiting in his suite today instead of out managing his other contacts and political supporters within Parliament. The Earl made himself comfortable on one of the parlor’s lavish chaise loungers while his guest was shown in.

The aging unicorn majordomo bowed out of the open door. A moment later, a stern-faced earth pony stallion with an auburn coat and attired in the gilded breastplate and crimson sash that identified him as a general of Equestria’s Royal Cavalry stepped through. His pale blue eyes scanned the room briefly, as though he half expected assassins―or more likely spies―to be lurking in the wings. It was a mildly understandable concern, Alabaster supposed, as the topic of their discussions here might have arguably come very close to treasonous. Depending on whom you asked, at any rate.

Alabaster certainly didn’t believe that there was any credence to the idea that a crime of such magnitude could be assigned to their proposed plans, but there was no accounting for how the courts might inevitably see things if the right parties influenced them; so it was best to be circumspect at this stage. Perhaps, when matters were far enough along, they could be more open about their machinations with the rest of The Court. After all, if things went the way he intended, there would come a ‘point of no return’, after which the legality and morality of his intentions would become moot, and everypony else would have no choice but to see things through to their inevitable conclusion. Whatever consequences the Princesses saw fit to levy against him at the conclusion of his plans were immaterial as far as the unicorn was concerned. Whether Alabaster was festooned with medals or manacles, his beloved Equestia’s future would be secured.

All that the two of them had to do was stay out of the paddock until that time.

That was a worst case scenario, of course. A more ideal result would be that, once the fruits of his plans were seen by all, the rest of the Royal Court would understand the purpose behind his efforts and realize how important it was to continue to pursue those ends; for the good of Equestria. In the face of overwhelming support from the nobility, the Princesses wouldn’t intervene. After all, they sought to rule through Harmony, not tyranny. To defy the will of Parliament and act unilaterally would risk the citizens of Equestria questioning how benevolent their immortal benefactors truly were.

Neither princess wanted to sow those doubts among the general public.

“I’m grateful that you could make it, General Maniple,” the Earl nodded his head towards another nearby lounge. “Please, be seated. We have much to discuss.”

The cavalry officer frowned slightly but bowed his head respectfully all the same as protocol dictated and then made his way to the offered seat. “I was seen on my way to your suite by several of the castle's staff and at least one other minister,” the stallion grumbled, “there will be ponies wondering what need the Minister of Foreign Affairs has for discussions with one of Their Majesties’ generals.” His tone suggested that he was none too pleased by the prospect of being subjected to questioning by any of their peers seeking to satisfy their curiosity with regards to such ‘wonderings’.

“You need not concern yourself with such matters,” Alabaster assured the general with a smile. “I have made ample mention of the reason for our meeting today with my fellow ministers,” he spared a brief moment to enjoy the look of consternation and, indeed, naked terror on the other stallion’s face before he continued on, “and none of them found it the least bit odd that I should wonder what sort of deployments have been observed among the forces of the other nations along Equestria’s borders. Indeed, they agreed with me that it is only prudent for the Foreign Affairs Minister to want to be advised of how what other nations are saying they have done with their armies in their correspondence with my office accords with what those armies have actually been observed doing.

“‘Trust, but verify!’ is the axiom, don’t you know?”

Maniple seemed to relax considerably at the Earl’s assurance, for which Alabaster was grateful. The less on edge the general was, the more likely he was to be amenable to what needed to be done. “Which also accords very well with the inquiries you would have been making over the last few days if anypony thought to wonder about that as well, wouldn’t it?”

The auburn stallion frowned again, but nodded. “Yes, My Lord, I suppose that it would at that.”

“Then perhaps we should discuss those very inquiries, don’t you think?”

The general nodded once more before slipping a folder out from behind his breastplate. He opened it up and selected several sheaves, offering them to the Earl who very gingerly took them in his telekinetic grasp and floated them in close for a clear look at the information that they contained. Of course, he had very little experience deciphering intelligence reports himself―that was what he had aides for―so the raw data turned out not mean a whole lot to the Earl. He set the sheets of parchment aside and looked back at his guest.

“Perhaps if you would be so kind as to give me the ‘broad strokes’ version, Brigadier General?”

“Of course, My Lord,” Maniple nodded before clearing his throat. “At a glance, any confrontation with either the Zebra Confederation or the Griffon Kingdom would be costly to win. Indeed, there is a high probability, in my opinion, that an armistice would be reached before any decisive conclusion, in the interests of avoiding unnecessary collateral damage that tends to go hoof and hoof with a full scale war.” He watched for the Earl’s agreement that neither of those nations would be a viable target of their proposed operation before continuing. “The Minos Hordes lay far across the sea, negating the possibility of rapid military action―to say nothing of the inherent perils of seaborne landings. Again, a premature peace is too likely for our purposes.

“Our best options lay with either Yakyakistan, or Saddle Arabia. Neither have flight-capable militaries, or inherent magical abilities, or an advanced understanding of alchemy. Militarily, they are objectively inferior to our own forces, and thus would be easily conquered if we were provoked with a viable casus belli to present to Their Majesties.”

Alabaster idly tapped the nearby reports as he considered the general’s words. He had already discounted using the yaks, due to the distant and inhospitable lands that they inhabited. In truth, he would have preferred to deal with the griffons. It wasn’t that he felt any sort of personal animosity towards them, but rather he believed that their clear physical differences and widely acknowledged caustic demeanors would make it a simple matter to keep public opinion on the side of war. However, the general was right that if the fighting went on for too long, their chances of settling matters short of outright conquest grew immensely.

If his machinations were going to work, what he needed to orchestrate was a short, victorious, war that ended with the complete and unconditional surrender of their target.

“Princess Celestia has long maintained amicable relations with the Saddle Arabians,” the Earl mumbled, more to himself than to the brigadier general, but the earth pony stallion nodded all the same.

“Her Majesty will almost certainly sue for peace as quickly as possible,” Maniple agreed.

“Her Majesty is perhaps not quite as averse to conflict as you believe, General,” the earl mused as a smile tugged at his lips. “That barding from the Crystal War on display in the Royal Museum was not merely for show, after all. When she believes her subjects are threatened, Princess Celestia does not shy from a fight. And, by all historical accounts, Princess Luna is even more aggressive when incensed.

“The challenge will come from convincing Their Majesties that Equestria is indeed under dire threat, and that peace will not be an option even as we make decisive military gains against our adversary.” Alabaster rubbed his chin pensively. “As Celestia sends her envoys, the Saddle Arabians must rebuke them, even to the last. That will actually be the easy part in all of this.”

“Oh, My Lord? How so?”

The Earl frowned at the general and leveled a bored expression at the stallion before pointing at his own chest. “Exactly whom do you think Their Majesties will ask to treat with the Saddle Arabians?” Comprehension dawned on the other pony’s face and he flushed with embarrassment as he realized the obvious answer. “I will be the pony who is physically writing the correspondence to the sultan. I will also be the pony who receives the Arabian envoy's missives for presentation to the Royal Sisters. All I need to do is to frame the exchanged diplomatic messages in such a way as to further stoke the ire on both sides and ensure that the Princesses refuse to accept any terms short of an unconditional surrender and the annexation of all lands held by Saddle Arabia.”

“There will still need to be a viable casus belli,” Brigadier Maniple said, recovering from his earlier momentary lapse, “and in order to be one that convinces the Princesses to commit to such a war, it would need to be a rather serious one at that.”

“Agreed,” the Earl nodded. “While, as I made mention, Their Majesties have demonstrated a willingness to engage in armed conflict in the past, they have never taken up the banner or war under any but the most dire of circumstances. That is where you come in, actually.”

“What is it that you need from me, My Lord?”

“An ‘incident’.” Alabaster cocked a wry smirk as he leaned back in his chaise lounge.

“What sort of…‘incident’, My Lord?” Maniple asked, a nervous quality to his question.

“Ideally, I would prefer for one of our frontier settlements to be attacked, with clear blame able to be ascribed to the Saddle Arabians. With the proper manipulation of the media, public opinion could be worked into a fervor, forcing Their Majesties to act before the diplomatic channels get too mired. However, there wouldn’t be much to keep the Saddle Arabians invested in such a fight if they knew they did nothing wrong. They would almost immediately surrender and offer to cooperate fully with an investigation into what ‘actually happened’. What we really need, I believe, is for one of their towns to be attacked―razed to the ground entirely would be preferable―by forces that they reasonably believe to be ours; and for them to then respond by attacking us in turn, for real.

“By the time they have reprised, their own populace will be incensed by the loss of life they suffered when their town was sacked, and our citizens―as well as Their Majesties―will be outraged at what they will see as an ‘unprovoked’ attack on Equestria. With neither side prepared to admit fault―since neither would believe that they were actually at fault―there is unlikely to be any preemptive offers of peace.”

The general looked decidedly unhappy now. “Finding any of our forces willing to attack a civilian settlement, even a foreign one, will be difficult. Honestly, I imagine it would be impossible, My Lord.”

“Don’t worry about the initial attack,” the Earl assured the other stallion, “I can make arrangements for it to be carried out without any official involvement on the part of the Equestrian military. No, General, what I need from you is a 'sacrificial lamb', of sorts. I need you to put some of our forces in the right position, so that they can act as an obvious source for the forces that destroyed a Saddle Arabian settlement, and a target for their inevitable retaliation. Nothing too strong, you understand. We will need them to be completely wiped out as well so that nopony is alive to plead innocence when the Saddle Arabians level their charges that an Equestrian force slaughtered their citizens in an unprovoked act of aggression.

“The more unanswered questions there are on both sides, the harder it will be for either to be willing to acknowledge fault and offer peace.”

Maniple considered the unicorn’s plan for several long moments, then, “I...think I can manage that, My Lord.” His expression brightened significantly. “In fact, I’m certain that I can; but only with your help.”

“Oh?”

“There would only be two reasons our forces could be assigned near foreign borders without raising too many eyebrows here at home: formal exercises, and community outreach missions,” the general explained. “Now, a genuine military exercise would require several regiments―five thousand soldiers, at least, in order to be greenlit by EUP Command. Anything smaller would be seen as a waste of time and funds, and Equestria’s military budget has been rather tight of late with so much money going into the rearmament programs.

“I take it this would be a somewhat larger force than you would like for this purpose?”

“Indeed,” the Earl cringed, “if they saw such a force on their borders when one of their towns was destroyed, their sultan might make a personal visit to the Princesses to get to the bottom of the matter before things got out of hoof. They certainly wouldn’t be able to quickly respond with the sort of knee-jerk counter-attack that my plan requires. We can’t make them quite that nervous, I’m afraid.

“You mentioned a 'community outreach mission'? I trust that they require a somewhat more conservative deployment?”

“Yes, My Lord,” the general nodded, “much more conservative. A single company would be all that is needed.”

“Forgive my ignorance; I am not a military pony,” the Earl said. “How many ponies are in a ‘company’?”

“Our Frontier Corps has companies as small as a hundred ponies, My Lord. Which, if you’ll permit me to preempt your next question, is a very small force. On its own, it could be easily overwhelmed by even the smallest regional militias that we know the Saddle Arabians typically levy to respond to monster incursions.” He leveled his gaze at the Earl. “Or to quickly strike back at a force that they thought had sacked a small village.”

“Perfect,” Alabaster nodded. Then he frowned. “But why exactly would you need my assistance with assigning such a force to the border?”

“Because, My Lord, such a force would require the temporary attachment of a Foreign Ministry envoy,” Maniple explained quietly, “and if your goal is for there to be no survivors…”

“I see,” and the earl did. He recalled now that his Ministry often did send out small delegations to both outlying towns and settlements within Equestria as well as foreign villages that were near the border in order to help with relations. Those were not the sort of matters that he ever attended to personally―that was another reason he had a staff, after all―but it still fell under his general area of responsibility. So, if the brigadier was to get a properly small group of soldiers near the border with Saddle Arabia, he would need Alabaster’s ministry to give him one of their diplomats to act as the delegation's leader.

And if the earl truly meant for none of the soldiers that were sent to survive to return home, then that would also have to hold true for whatever diplomatic official accompanied them. Which meant that he would need to choose a member of his staff to go on this mission, knowing they would never return.

Really, Al? You didn’t think twice about sending a hundred soldiers to their deaths, but now that one of your own diplomatic corps will end up on the same sacrificial altar, you’re hesitating?

The earl snorted and shook his head. It was silly of him, he knew. This was bigger than a single company of soldiers, or a single envoy for that matter. Sacrifices would have to be made for the greater good of all of Equestria. Perhaps nopony would ever understand that―or at least admit it―but that didn’t change the truth of the matter. “I’m sure I can find somepony fit for the task.” Ideally, the Earl thought, somepony whose loss wouldn’t significantly disrupt the functioning of his ministry. Somepony who also possessed little in the way of experience as well.

That way, when everything was over with, they could even go on to blame the whole debacle on an inexperienced envoy who didn’t understand what they were doing. The inevitable investigation that was launched to ensure another such conflict ‘never happened again’ would be quick to lay the blame at the hooves of a dead envoy. A convenient scapegoat for the whole mess. While it would be sad that a whole nation had fallen due to the mistake, it had really all just been the result of a simple cultural misunderstanding made by an envoy too green to have been trusted to act on their own initiative.

It would be a tragedy, to be sure, and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs would ensure that, in the future, great pains were taken so that only properly qualified envoys were dispatched on such missions. So, while, in the end, perhaps Equestria’s government had made some less than ideal decisions that had led to the war with Saddle Arabia, it had been the result of simple naivety, not malice, and therefore wasn’t really anypony’s fault, right?

That was how history would remember these events, in the fullness of time: tragic, but nothing more than an innocent mistake. He might not even end up imprisoned on the moon when the dust settled!

“I’m certain I can find somepony suitable for the mission,” Alabaster assured the general. “You may go ahead and have an appropriate force for the mission recalled to Canterlot so that they can be briefed and dispatched.

“In the meantime, I’ll begin laying the groundwork with some of our other neighbors. If we can get any of them to come in on our side, all the better. We wouldn’t want to be seen as warmongers, now would we?” The Earl flashed a fierce grin at the other stallion, who returned it in kind.

“Of course not, My Lord,” Brigadier General Manipal’s words would have sounded almost sincere to the casual listener, but his eyes easily betrayed their sarcastic undertone. “Of course not.”

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading! As always, a thumbs up and comment are always greatly appreciated :twilightblush:

I've set up a Cover Art Fund if you're interested and have any bits lying around!

Chapter i

Outside Little Buck Village,

Gaskin Frontier,

Southern Equestria

“Medic!”

Corporal Cravat’s head whipped around through the darkness in the direction of the call, but the echoes as the cry reverberated through the tunnels meant that it was very nearly impossible to be sure where it had come from. He’d heard the panic and desperation in the single word though. Somepony was hurt, badly. Feeling his own sense of anguish growing as he looked at the myriad of openings in the cavern as he tried to distinguish where the call had come from, the dappled stallion saw a flicker of light that illuminated a familiar orange face.

“Cravat, this way,” Private Flashover waved his hoof anxiously at the company’s medic. “It’s Trellis, she’s hurt bad!”

Relieved to have a direction to move in, Cravat ensured that his satchel was still securely slung across his back and bolted toward his friend. The two of them tore off through the tunnel until they emerged into yet another cavernous opening. Here, as in the first chamber, there were several slain hounds. A number of ponies looked to have suffered scrapes and cuts of their own in the fighting, but the dappled stallion’s eyes were drawn to one pony in particular.

Her once pink coat looked to have been gruesomely painted with deep crimson. Another mare was crouched over the prone unicorn, her hooves clumsily holding what looked like a scrap of clothing from one of the diamond dogs over Trellis’ abdomen. The injured mare was still alive, Cravat could see that much at least, but her face was concerningly pale, and her limbs were quivering as though she were freezing. Without wasting another second, the medical pony rushed to her side, his orange companion close on his heels.

The satchel was open and at the ready by the time Cravat was sliding to a stop beside the wounded Trellis. The young unicorn mare’s eyes lit up at the familiar face of the unit’s premiere medical authority. “I’m here, private,” the dappled pony assured her as he brought out several rolls of gauze. “Don’t worry; I’ve got you.

“Move your hooves out of the way,” he snapped at the other mare; not in malice, but to ensure that there was no hesitation. Even from here he could see that the wound was bad, and he would need to act quickly if he was going to have a chance at saving her life. The startled mare withdrew herself and revealed the grievous rend in Trellis’ belly.

Almost immediately, Cravat felt his own gut tie itself in a knot. Even as he used the rolls of cotton dressing to wipe away as much of the blood as he could, he knew that he was very likely about to engage in a futile effort. If he was in a properly outfitted operating room with a staff...Honestly, even if they’d been back in town with access to the local doctor's supplies things might be different. But out here…

His ears twitched at the sound of other pained cries from nearby. Cravat turned and saw a stallion being half-carried into the cavern by an anxious-looking friend. The wounded pony's foreleg was drenched in blood that looked like it was still flowing freely, in spite of what looked like some preliminary attempts to bandage the wound. In the back of his mind, the company's medic made a note to speak with the first sergeant about arranging for additional first aid training for the other soldiers. The rest of his attention was focused on how pale the wounded stallion looked, and how unsteadily they were walking.

Cravat’s face hardened as he looked back at the mare laying beside him. In another place, in another time...

But not here or now. The corporal set aside the gauze and his right hoof went back into his satchel, emerging a moment later with a pair of small vials. He tore the stopper off of one and leaned in close to the wounded mare’s face.

“Hey, Trellis. I’m here, okay? You’re going to be alright,” the medical pony lied. Somehow he managed to put a reassuring smile on his face too. “I bet that hurts though, doesn’t it?” The mare gasped and managed a very shaky nod. “Then here, take this,” he offered the opened vial to the unicorn’s lips. It was difficult, but she managed to get most of it down without too much spilling out of the sides of her mouth. Within seconds, the worst of her shaking had subsided.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” The mare nodded and mumbled something that might have been a ‘thank you’. Cravat uncorked the second vial. “Still bad, huh?” His voice very nearly cracked at that point, so he cleared his throat and offered her the second vial. “Well, I really shouldn’t do this...but I like you, Trellis. Here, have a second one.”

The young unicorn mare was able to drink down the second potion with very little issue. She sighed and smiled up at the dappled medic. This time, her words were much more audible. “Thanks, Doc…”

Cravat winced inwardly, but his smile remained in place without any indication that it was anything other than genuine. “No problem,” he whispered as the mare slowly closed her eyes and lay her head down. Her breathing began to slow down rather noticeably, drawing a concerned look from the other mare beside her and Flashover. The dappled stallion wasn’t looking at either of them though. Instead, he withdrew both of his hooves and slowly began to wipe away the blood that was covering them. His eyes never left the pink mare as her breathing continued to slow. The slight hint of a smile on her lips disturbed him slightly. She didn’t know that she was dying. In her mind, she was just going to sleep, and would soon be waking up safe and whole in an aid tent.

She wouldn’t of course. Nothing that Cravat had available to him would change that. At least she wasn't in pain anymore.

His gaze went to the other mare. “Stay with her,” he mumbled as he collected his things, “she shouldn’t be alone for this.” Without another word, he stood up and started to wounded stallion he'd spotted.

“Whoa, Cravat, where are you―”

A sharp look from the medic silenced the unicorn stallion’s objection. “I’ve done all I can,” he said coolly. Then he took a breath and swallowed. “Go find a blanket or something to wrap her up with for the trip back.”

For a moment, Flashover said nothing. then he nodded. “Yes, corporal.”

The dappled stallion winced again. Flashover only referred to his friend by his rank when he was upset with him. Which was fine with Cravat right now, since he wasn’t feeling very happy with himself at the moment either. He quickly distracted his thoughts by busying himself with stripping the ineffectual bandages from the leg of the wounded stallion and getting out a proper tourniquet to finally stem the bleeding.

Behind him, he could hear the orange unicorn stallion consoling the mare who was watching over her dying friend.

“We've recovered seven civilians from the caves so far, Top,” a topaz stallion reported to the translucent jade mare standing outside of the tunnel network that the canines' had dug to use as their den. Shillelagh, first sergeant of Company B, 2nd Light Hoof, nodded in acknowledgement of the preliminary report that she was receiving from her platoon sergeant and waited for him to continue. “Resistance is rather significant.” His tone grew slightly more grim, “in all, thirteen casualties have been reported. Two of them won’t be able to return to duty for several days. There was also one fatality: Private Trellis.”

“Understood, Sergeant LeFarrier, thank you,” the crystalline non-com dismissed the other sergeant to see to his platoon and left to go make a personal inspection of the situation, now that she knew what to expect. It was going to take some time to conduct a thorough sweep of the whole tunnel system, but Shillelagh sincerely doubted that they would find any more of the town's missing ponies. Alive, at least.

Given that the disappearances had taken place over the past month and a half, and how poorly diamond dogs tended to treat their equine captives, it was genuinely doubtful that even a third of them were still alive. Honestly, the crystal mare was impressed that they had managed to recover as many as they had. That was going to be of little consolation to the families and friends of those who had not made it, she knew, but it was the hard truth of the matter.

As was the rather low casualty rate that her ponies had suffered. While thirteen casualties meant that, on paper, nearly a third of the committed forces had been wounded or killed in the rescue operation; that overlooked all that 1st Platoon had had working against them: charging into an unmapped cave system, in complete darkness, with no firm count of how many threats they’d be facing? Things could have gone far worse.

Especially given how admittedly unprepared their detachment had been today. Shillelagh would have preferred to have engaged with the entire company, properly divided into clearing teams with adequate unicorns between them to provide illumination. Unfortunately, that had not been a viable option if they had wanted to have any chance of eliminating the canines or recovering any of the missing townsponies. It had been pure chance that their vanguard had spotted the pair of diamond dogs disposing of the corpse of one of their latest captives to have expired due to their maltreatment.

Unfortunately, the vanguard had been spotted as well, and the canines had dashed off for their warren. At that point, Shillelagh realized there was a very real possibility that the diamond dogs would execute the remainder of whatever captives that they still retained and leave the area, now that they knew they had been discovered by Equestrian military forces. Waiting for reinforcements could have meant that nopony would be saved, and that was not a final report that she would have envied giving to the Captain. For that matter, it wasn’t a report that she wanted her CO to have to give to the town’s mayor. It would hardly have been something that their company could have been blamed for, but still…

...The first sergeant knew, perhaps better than anypony here, what it was like to lose friends and family to enslavement.

Not for the first time in her life, a subtle shiver rippled along the nape of the crystal pony’s neck as distant memories from a bygone era briefly attempted to assert themselves in her mind. Experience, and a need to keep herself focused on the mission at hoof, allowed her to beat back the intrusive thoughts. First Sergeant Shillelagh took a deep breath and headed towards another of the cave system’s openings and the ponies that were beginning to emerge.

“First Sergeant!” The cry from overhead drew the crystal mare’s attention. “First Sergeant Shillelagh!”

A dusty brown pegasus stallion was approaching swiftly from the north, angling himself down to the ground and the waiting jade mare. Upon recognizing who was coming her way, the crystal pony snapped soundly to attention and raised up her right hoof in a prim and proper salute for the newly arrived Lieutenant Whirlwind. The young officer―though everypony in Equestria was ‘young’ compared to the crystal mare, she supposed―returned the salute a little more abruptly than was perhaps polite, but Shillelagh let the slight slide, as the lieutenant had clearly been in a hurry to reach her. “Yes, sir?”

“A dispatch came in an hour ago, First Sergeant,” the pegasus informed her, taking a small folded scrap of paper out of his saddle bag and passing it to her. “Bronco Company is being reassigned. Canterlot wants us back home to take on replacements and supplies within a week. You need to get your ponies rounded up and back to camp in an hour if we’re going to be able to leave in time to make that deadline.”

Shillelagh’s jaw set in a grim line, but she managed somehow to keep from looking outright disgusted by the news. Her eyes skimmed over the missive in her hoof, and the information there only made her more irritated. “Envoy escort duty?”

“It looks that way, First Sergeant.”

“If the urgency is so great that they need us to move as quickly as they’re telling us to, I find it hard to believe that we’re the only unit available for the task.”

The pegasus shrugged. “I couldn’t say one way or the other. I just know what orders the Captain gave.”

“Aye, sir,” the jade mare nodded. She folded the message up and tucked it into her own satchel. Then the crystal pony saluted the lieutenant once more and sighed. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

A much more prim salute was returned this time, now that the officer had been able to catch his breath. “I know you will, First Sergeant. Carry on.” He broke off the salute and then leaped up into the air with a few deft sweeps of his wings and zipped off back to camp, leaving Shillelagh to find some way to organize the rest of her detachment for the abrupt change in plans.

“Sergeant LeFarrier!”

If First Sergeant Shillelagh thought that she was the only one who wasn’t thrilled with the unexpected change in assignment, she’d have been very wrong. Five miles away, in an olive drab tent nestled among the snug little bivouac tucked in next to the frontier town of Little Buck, there was a much more irate pony who wasn’t quite so reserved when it came to expressing her frustrations.

“Are they bucking serious?! One week to go nearly two hundred miles, and we haven’t even broken camp yet? Major Gladius has lost his Celestia-banished mind! Don’t they know that the railroad hasn’t even reached this podunk little hamlet yet?! It took us ten days just to get out here in the first place,” the cobalt pegasus mare snapped at the unfortunate pair of ponies whose only crime that warranted this abuse was to have been the poor fools unlucky enough to have delivered the company’s new orders. The little yellow pegasus mare that had been the courier of the dispatch found herself to be the target of most of Captain Corsair’s glaring, as well as her veritably frothing tirade. The gray unicorn stallion standing next to the messenger was no stranger to such displays though, having served as the commander’s executive officer for nearly two years now.

“Ma’am, I don’t―” the pegasus messenger began, trying in vain to plead her innocence for any culpability in the dispatch’s contents.

“Of course you don’t bucking know,” the captain sneered, earning a wince from the courier, “but the paper-pusher that drafted these orders sure should have!”

“In fairness to the major, Ma’am,” the exec, Lieutenant Lumiere, bravely waded into the conversation, used to fielding such outbursts from his volatile CO, “the message he sent along with the official orders suggested that the timetable wasn’t necessarily his doing either.”

“‘At the urging of Brigadier General Maniple, advocating for the Earl of Bitter Creek of the Ministry of bugger-me-if-I-care!’” The dark blue winged mare snarled in a droll parody that the lieutenant knew sounded nothing at all like their battalion's commander. “I’ll believe that some overbred idiot like Maniple doesn’t understand what’s being asked of us, but Gladius sure should,” she growled, “which means he should have been explaining that when they were nailing down the timetable for this circus!”

Lumiere glanced at the courier who had delivered the orders and was currently pretending that the other two officers didn’t exist as she continued to stand quietly near the entrance flap of the tent. “Why don’t you go and grab a bite in the mess tent? I’ll have an acknowledgement drafted for you to take back in a short while.” The yellow mare nodded quickly and saluted the pair of officers before ducking out rather briskly. With a bit more privacy, the lieutenant returned his attention to his commander.

“Happy now?”

The indigo flier stretched out her wings and sighed as she settled back into the chair behind her small field desk. “Very,” Corsair nodded, smiling to herself. “I doubt they’ll say anything to Gladius directly, but word should spread around battalion about the ‘fire-spitting captain of Bronco Company’s latest tirade, and that Celestia best have mercy on whoever pisses her off,” she chuckled to herself, but her features soured a few seconds later. “Joking aside, I really don’t like it.”

“Neither do I, Ma’am,” Lumiere agreed, “and the others aren’t going to be very happy either. They’ve been pulling a lot of extra duty shifts since we got here, trying to find those mutts. A forced march for seven days isn’t going to do much to help morale.”

“I know,” Corsair nodded, frowning. “Neither is being sent out to the far corners of Equestria for who knows how long,” she snorted as she picked up the orders that they’d received and looked over them once more. “‘Escorting a delegation to Saddle Arabia…’ but there’s no mention of how long this mission is supposed to take...” Which was a little puzzling, since these sorts of dispatches usually came with an anticipated end date. Those preliminary timetables often fluctuate based on how the situation developed, true, but that was just the nature of the beast. However, in this case, the orders had simply said, ‘until further notice’. Corsair couldn't recall ever seeing such a provision like that before.

Surely they weren’t being dispatched to set up a permanent Mission in the area; that wasn’t what the Frontier Corps was for. Supporting outlying towns like Little Buck, or conducting short term relief efforts for their neighbors was the typical purview for units like hers. Which left Bronco Company’s pegasus commander scratching her head about the true nature of their orders, as both of those sorts of assignments were conducted often enough that giving an estimated time to complete the mission shouldn't have posed any issue at all.

“Maybe the envoy we’re supposed to take along with us will be able to tell us more? It’s their mission, after all,” her lieutenant offered with a shrug.

Corsair’s frown deepened slightly. She wasn’t all too fond of bringing along a civilian counterpart. It tended to muddy up the usual chain of command. The regulations with regards to how the ‘shared’ command of such endeavors worked were extensive and meticulous, and were supposed to cover every reasonably conceivable situation that might arise. However, real life was rarely so black and white, and hooves always seemed to get stepped on despite everypony’s best intentions.

Ideally, Corsair maintained absolute control over the ponies assigned to her company, as per usual. Whatever Court representative that accompanied them served as an ‘advisor’ only, offering suggestions about how best to use available personnel to execute the mission, whatever it happened to be. While Corsair was not exactly required to do anything that was asked of her by the civilian official, she was ‘strongly encouraged’ to cooperate. It cut down drastically on the whining her superiors would doubtlessly be hearing from the nobles who wanted to know why the recommendations of their ‘experts’ were being ignored by a muddling military officer who couldn’t possibly comprehend the 'broader political implications' of their 'bumbling, uninformed, actions'.

Things changed if there was a ‘diplomatically sensitive situation’ though. In such an instance, the envoy themselves became the de facto commander of the unit, and Corsair was subordinate to them until everything was resolved. Where things got fuzzy was that it was the envoy who got to declare when such a state existed, and Corsair had no authority to rebut it. In the eyes of the government, the pegasus officer was just a soldier, not an expert of political matters. This, in the feathered captain’s mind, gave the civilian attaché far too much power, since their authority to assume control was so open-ended.

After all, when you were operating inside another nation’s borders, what didn’t have the potential to become a ‘diplomatically sensitive matter’? Everything from how close the camp was to the foreign town, to how large your patrols were, to what weapons could be brought along had the potential to be viewed as ‘diplomatic matters’ where the other involved nation was concerned. Which meant that, effectively, the envoy got to make whatever call they wanted to, and Corsair couldn’t legally argue it without getting into a lot of trouble with her own superiors for violating regulations.

If their assigned envoy was an asshole, this whole mission had the potential to become a thoroughly miserable experience. ‘Until further notice.’

“‘...Ours not to make reply…’” the winged company commander said under her breath by way of a mantra before turning her gaze back to her executive officer. “Go and draft the confirmation for the receipt of our orders for the major and then make sure Lieutenant Butters has everything in hoof getting the camp torn down.” She rose up out of her seat behind the desk and began to pack away what few possession she had in her command tent so that the ponies loading the freight wagons didn’t manage to lose any of her things. “Once I’ve finished packing, I’m going to pay my respects to the mayor.”

“I’m sure she’s going to be thrilled,” Lumiere noted in a slightly sour tone.

Corsair snorted in derisive agreement with the appraisal of her second in command. “I’m going to not so subtly suggest that she write a strongly worded letter to the provincial governor about this. It’s pure chance that we managed to have just found the diamond dogs that were threatening the ponies here.

“Honestly, that’s the part that pisses me off the most about all of this,” the pegasus said as she closed up her trunk of personal belongings. The rest of the tent’s contents were simply generic office materials, and she trusted her soldiers enough to pack them away without too much trouble. “We can’t know for certain that the dogs’ll leave the area after this. Without a proper sweep of the valley, they could be back in just a few days and start abducting ponies all over again!”

The grey unicorn lieutenant nodded his sober understanding, intoning, “‘Ours not to reason why’.” Which prompted a grimace from his commanding officer and a resigned nod. After a few seconds, the younger officer cleared his throat. “Ma’am, if I might suggest? I believe that it will be possible to break off a couple squads from first platoon as a ‘rear guard’ to linger in the village for a day or two…”

Corsair tapped her hoof idly on her desk as she considered the stallion’s words. A ‘couple squads’ would be better than a fifth of their entire force. While a score of ponies would have hardly mattered to a proper Line Company whose roster strength often rested north of three hundred, it was no small number for a frontier group like Bronco Company. Which meant that it would be fairly obvious to the Major when she reported to Canterlot that she was missing some ponies.

She knew Major Gladius personally. He was a good officer, and had a level head on his shoulders. Had the orders that she received come directly from him, there was no doubt in her mind that he would have both thoroughly understood and supported her actions. Indeed, that exact caveat would likely have been written into her orders.

However, in this instance, it was clear that the major was not the pony pulling the strings on this assignment. Brigadier General Manipal, inexplicably, was taking the reins on this. She’d never met the general herself, but she’d known enough ponies who had, and their assessments of him were far from encouraging. He, more likely than not, wouldn’t be quite so understanding. The orders she had read had requested her entire contingent to be in Canterlot, and the timetable that she’d been given to work with bordered on the farcical. It was very likely that Manipal would not be quite so understanding as the major.

Perhaps if Captain Corsair had held the general officer in a higher regard, she would have even cared about his opinion where her command decisions were concerned. “Do it,” she told her XO, “leave behind two squads, comprised of our wounded and some ponies to ‘look after them’ during their convalescence. We can cite that we had to leave them behind, otherwise we would have been slowed down by them too much to meet the timetable that we were given.” The two officers shared a conspiratorial smile and the gray unicorn nodded his agreement.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

If Manipal didn’t like it, that was too bad for him.

“Dismissed, Lieutenant,” she said, returning the salute of the junior officer as he took his leave to carry out the orders that he had been given.

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading! As always, a thumbs up and comment are always greatly appreciated :twilightblush:

I've set up a Cover Art Fund if you're interested and have any bits lying around!

Chapter ii

Ministry Row,

And Royal Canterlot Armory,

Canterlot,

Central Equestria

The teal unicorn adjusted the polished gold and onyx brooch that served as the clasp for her ivory cloak. She had only been bestowed the swirling visage of a mingling sun and crescent moon encircled by olive branches, which was the official crest of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, less than a month ago. It had been the culmination of five years spent studying at the Manehattan University’s School of International and Political Affairs, which also included two summers serving as an intern at the Griffon Consulate in Manehattan. Now, Autumn Brisk finally found herself as one of the newest inductees into the illustrious ministry which handled all of Equestria’s interactions with the other races of the world.

It had taken the young unicorn mare by no considerable amount of surprise that she should be summoned to the actual headquarters for the ministry in Canterlot. She had only just started her duties serving as a minor aide to one of the clerks handling correspondence from the Equestrian Embassy in Griffonstone when she received the invitation to meet with Earl Bitter Creek personally!

Though she had certainly strived to excel in all of her studies and duties, Autumn Brisk had not thought that her meager accomplishments thus far could possibly have warranted that level of attention quite yet. Especially not without a patron.

That wasn’t to say that the mare was not well-bred. She was a member of one of the wealthier families of Manehattan―albeit a minor one―and thus was no stranger to the politics of high society and government. There were two ways to get ahead if one was intent on pursuing ministry work: a stupendously prestigious career brimming with accomplishment and renown that got them noticed by one of the realm’s princesses, or, more commonly, being related to nobility.

Unfortunately for her, according to the best genealogical research that money could buy, Autumn Brisk had no close ties to the Peerage by either blood or marriage; and the few distant ties by marriage that existed were actually best not mentioned, in many cases. So that was right out.

Short of some not-so-minor miracle that brought her actions to the attention of the Princesses Themselves, the mare knew that she would encounter a glass ceiling relatively early on in her career. She would never become an ambassador, or even a consul. At best, she could hope to be the secretary to a member of an ambassador’s staff abroad.

Though, there was certainly little that might stop her from later marrying into a social position with better political leverage. If she could get her hooves on a son of a minor noble or, better, a ranking member of the ministry, that could give her the clout that she’d need to leverage a worthwhile promotion.

She had done a little research along those lines, actually, and had compiled a shortlist in case she ever encountered such a candidate socially. Though she had spent much more time mining what information she could get her hooves on regarding the marital statuses of the ponies currently running the Griffonstone Mission. The Equestrian ambassador serving there was a little older―somewhere just north of twice Autumn's own age―but he was good looking enough. She had yet to learn what his specific tastes in mares were, but perhaps if she could arrange a trip out to the griffon lands and ‘bump into him’, she could―

“The earl will see you now,” an older unicorn stallion’s announcement intruded abruptly into the mare’s thoughts, grabbing her attention.

Her telekinesis made a final adjustment to her garments and the teal mare rose to her hooves, inclining her head slightly at the minister’s chief steward. “Thank you,” she said as she straightened her shoulders and primly stepped through the open door into the office of the noble who served as the head of the Equestrian Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

The room was suitably opulent for a pony who was both an intermediate noble and the pony in charge of an entire government bureau. Finely embroidered drapes with gold and silver stitching framed the large windows which rose nearly all the way to the high marble ceiling. Paintings on the subject of pivotal moments in Equestrian history―all created by artists of great renown―hung from the walls. In the middle of the spacious office sat a massive oak desk bearing carved reliefs of ponies supplicating themselves before a pair of resplendent alicorns.

Behind that desk sat the pony that had summoned her, Alabaster Fetlock, the Fourth Earl of Bitter Creek. In Autumn’s own estimation, he was a rather fine example of the Equestrian nobility―at least where a young mare’s fancies might turn to notions of being swept away by a dashing stallion of good breeding, anyway. The teal mare reminded herself that he was―unfortunately―already married, and that she needed to be more than a mere mistress if she wanted to attain the ambitious stations she was ultimately after.

She strode serenely to stand in front of his desk and bowed her head respectfully. “My Lord,” she looked back up, meeting his steely gaze, “you wished to see me?”

The white unicorn stallion inclined his own head in recognition of the respect paid to his position and then motioned for his visitor to be seated in one of the sumptuously cushioned chairs facing his desk. “Indeed. Please, Miss Brisk, do have a seat. The two of us have much to discuss.”

It took a great deal of effort to keep the stark surprise off of her face. Autumn Brisk could genuinely think of nothing that the earl might possibly have to discuss with her. She was so new to the ministry's service that a faint odor of dye used to color her cloak still clung to the fabric, for Celestia’s sake!

“Oh, My Lord?” Was all that she permitted herself to say, keeping very strict control of her features so that she looked only appreciatively curious, and not the all out baffled that she truly felt inside.

“I have been looking over your file, with great interest,” the stallion said, lightly tapping a small dossier sitting on his desk, which Autumn Brisk took to have been some variation of her personnel record. Its presence, and the notable thinness of the folder in question, only served to heighten the teal unicorn mare’s confusion as to where this conversation could possibly be going. “You received considerable praise from your professors at the university.”

Autumn Brisk gave a polite nod. That was true enough, and the product of a lot of hard work that had been put in on her part. Well, except for whatever 'glowing review' may have been provided by her Zebrian teacher regarding her linguistic aptitude. Try though she had, Autumn had simply been unable to grasp the language of Equestria’s striped neighbors. Her high marks in that particular class had been the product of a very...different sort of ‘oral exam’.

That minor indignity had been a small price to pay to keep her overall scholastic performance impressively high. Besides, her ambition throughout all of her studies had been to procure a station in the griffon lands, not the zebra territories. Her Grishian was quite superb, in fact, and she had actually been commended by the staff at the Griffon Mission in Manehattan on her fluency. She had even been proficient enough to correct spelling and grammatical errors in the griffons' own correspondence!

“I have also noted,” the earl continued, “a couple of commendations from the staff at the Manehattan branch of the Griffon Embassy. Quite impressive for a ‘mere intern’. You are a pony who bears watching, Miss Brisk.” Despite herself, the mare felt her cheeks flush beneath the praise from her ministry's head. “And to that end, I have come up with an assignment that should help your career along.”

The unicorn mare finally lost her tenuous grip on her composure, her eyes growing wide and her jaw falling slack before she even realized what she was doing. The stallion in charge of the entire Ministry of Foreign Affairs wanted to help a veritable nopony like her?! That didn’t happen! It...it just didn’t happen!

Suddenly, Autumn Brisk’s surprise was replaced by a very different feeling: trepidation. She could think of one reason the earl might be taking such a keen, personal, interest in her. While she had been confident that she could count on the discretion of her Zebrian professor where the integrity of her academic transcript was concerned―since he had far more to lose by coming forward than she did―Autumn now had to wonder if her old teacher hadn’t been...less than circumspect where his private interactions with his peers were concerned.

Could word have reached the earl about her willingness to ‘work closely’ with ponies she felt could help her advance?

Autumn Brisk’s mind began to work very quickly as she hastily considered her options if that was how this played out. However, before she was able to get too far along that line of thinking, the earl continued.

“I’m appointing you as the envoy for a goodwill mission to the Saddle Arabian village of Gallopoli,” the stallion announced, smiling pleasantly at the teal mare. “I realize that your aspirations fall with our winged neighbors to the east, but I do strongly urge you to take this posting regardless.”

He folded his hooves together and propped his chin up upon them as he leaned forward. “What I’m about to tell you is confidential. Do you understand?” Autumn Brisk nodded numbly, still struggling to come to grips with what was happening. “The Griffons are making overtures to the Saddle Arabian Sultanate in order to procure a more lucrative trade and tariff agreement. This goodwill mission will give you the exposure to the Arabian culture you’ll need to make yourself an invaluable asset in Griffonstone.

“Think of it as a...brief―but beneficial!―detour on your way to the career that you’ve been dreaming of for quite some time,” the stallion smiled pleasantly.

It took the teal mare several seconds to recover from her shock and rediscover the ability to speak once more. When she did, she was rather embarrassed to find herself tripping over herself to express her gratitude to the earl. “My Lord, I don’t know what to say! I’m not sure that there would be a way that I could ever sufficiently express my gratitude to you for offering me this opportunity.”

He was correct in his assessment that this tasking would not have been at the top of her list of choices when it came to the postings that she would have desired. It was nothing against the residents of the arid western reaches of the continent. The climate itself, on the other hoof...Autumn Brisk was not a mare who took well to the heat, no matter how dry others might insist that it may be. However, if what the earl had revealed to her was true―and she didn’t dare question the information's accuracy, given the source―then this was clearly a posting that it was in her best interests to take.

A goodwill mission like this would afford her the chance to get ‘down and dirty’ with many of the Saddle Arabian towns closer to the Equestrian border. She would get a first-hoof acquaintance with their culture, traditions, taboos, and their negotiating tactics. Armed with knowledge like that, she would indeed become a valuable resource for the Griffons to use once she received a posting at the Equestrian Mission in their capital. If she could manage to make herself part of the Griffon negotiating team, that would also give her an inside track on its progress that she could relate to her superiors back here in the Ministry.

Best of all, this was a posting being passed on to her by the ministry head himself! If she excelled in this, and earned his favor and respect, then Autumn Brisk could very well find herself with a genuine patron in the Equestrian Peerage. She might not have to marry into the posting she wanted after all! There was still a nagging little concern that she might find herself becoming somepony’s mistress in Court, but as long as she got the job she wanted…

“I’m hoping that you’ll start by first accepting a sincere apology from myself,” the ivory stallion said, snapping the younger mare out of her reverie.

“An apology, My Lord? Whatever for?”

He nodded, offering her a wry smirk. “I’m afraid that the timetable for this posting is going to be somewhat unorthodox. We usually strive to ensure our envoys receive months of notice, in order to properly prepare themselves for their missions,” he bowed his head and shook it ruefully. “Unfortunately, political forces at work within the Peerage have forced me to accelerate matters rather drastically.”

“In what way, My Lord?”

“I’m afraid that you will be required to leave in three days, if you accept this posting.”

Once again Autumn Brisk was reduced to a slack-jawed mess. Three days?! That was a patently absurd amount of time to properly prepare for something like this! She didn’t know anything about the language, or the geography―sweet Celestia, she didn’t even know the name of the current Sultan! How was she expected to be able to perform a decent job if she had little more than a weekend to prepare?! She’d be spending most of those days packing and making arrangements for her life here in Equestria to be effectively put on hold while she was away, which meant that the only preparation time that she was realistically going to get was during the trip there. That would take, what? Two days by train, at the most?

“My Lord, surely you must be―three days is―” the unicorn mare sputtered, trying to find a sufficiently polite way to inform the earl in charge of her career how stupendously stupid the notion was that she could be ready by then. The smart thing for her to do was turn down the offer, honestly. Of course, it was hardly going to help her career very much if her first act as a Royal Envoy was to turn down an assignment―being offered to her by the head of the ministry himself no less―as simple and mundane as a goodwill tour in an allied nation. She might as well just turn in her cloak and broach right here and now!

Not that crashing and burning the moment she crossed the Saddle Arabian border because she confused the word for ‘hello’ with ‘roadapple’ would do much to propel her career to the heights that she hoped to achieve…

“It is ridiculous,” the earl supplied for her, flashing the mare a mirthless smirk. “Trust me, Miss Brisk, you’re not thinking anything that I haven’t already expressed to my fellow Peers―albeit in sufficiently inoffensive terms, of course.

“But that hasn’t dissuaded them from insisting on being utter morons,” he added, winking at the unicorn sitting across from him. Autumn Brisk relaxed considerably once she heard the Earl verbally sum up the thoughts flowing through her own head. She wasn’t nearly crass enough to use similar language in his presence to describe nobles of the realm, of course. A not insignificant aspect of her duties was founded upon the notion of using only the most inoffensive language possible in any situation, after all.

The Minister then sighed. “That doesn’t change the facts, of course. I know that three days is an unworkable timeline. However,” he held up a hoof, “if somepony could pull this off, not only would it stick in the craw of my political rivals and indebt me and my office to whomever did so...” he held the mare’s gaze with a knowing look, “...it would also forever cement the record of that individual as a pony who could work miracles!

“Such a capable envoy would have their choice of postings anywhere in the known world. I can guarantee that.”

The Earl of Bitter Creek was a credit to his Ministry, Autumn Brisk thought as she felt a warm tingling sensation run up her spine. He knew exactly what to tempt her with to take this offer. He wasn’t wrong either, of course. The bragging rights if she actually managed to finish this goodwill mission without falling flat on her face in the opening hours would absolutely allow her the opportunity to effectively write her own ticket in the Ministry.

Of course, “...But if I fail…” she tentatively ventured, nibbling at her lip.

The Earl waved a dismissive hoof and leaned back in his chair, appearing to be not the least bit concerned by the notion. “If an envoy fresh to the ministry, sent out on her first assignment with little more time to prepare than it takes to book a trip on an airship, flubs something as inconsequential as a routine goodwill mission to an already close ally?” He snorted. “Nopony would even notice. Why...I imagine the ministry wouldn't even bother to make a note of it in the envoy's file when they got back...”

Autumn Brisk blinked in surprise. Had the earl just...offered to fudge her official record for her? Admittedly, he had made some rather valid points. There was no way that she could possibly fail at this assignment spectacularly enough to actually damage Arabian-Equestrian relations. At worst, she’d just make a fool of herself and earn the personal ire of whatever locals she managed to irritate. It wasn’t like anything she might do would risk starting a war!

Still, it piqued her curiosity to hear that he’d be willing to effectively lie for her benefit. Enough to make her a little suspicious, honestly. “Not to sound ungrateful, My Lord,” the mare began, choosing her words carefully. It would not do to offend the earl, after all. Not when he was already offering to be so generous with her. “But I wouldn’t want the ministry to put its integrity at risk for somepony as unimportant as myself over a trivial matter such as this.”

The Earl smiled. “On the contrary, it would be the least that the ministry could do.” He cleared his throat and straightened himself up slightly. “Miss Brisk, I am going to speak candidly for the next few minutes. Nothing that I say is to leave this room. Do you understand?” The mare hesitated, but then nodded slowly. “Good. The fact is, Miss Brisk, that there are forces moving within the Peerage seeking to unseat me as Their Majesties’ Minister of Foreign Affairs. They’ve orchestrated this untenable mission as just one more step in their plot to do so. They are hoping that I am unable to find an envoy to fill the post, and let it fall through my grasp.

“If they succeed at it this first time, they will then work to ensure that I find myself with even more short timetables like this one to work with. As one after another continues to slip by, and postings go unfilled, they will use those failures to build a portfolio to present to Princesses Celestia and Luna in order to pressure them into relieving me, and elevating one of their friends to this office.

“While I would never speak directly to the possible motives of my noble peers,” the earl went on, “it is not my belief that ponies who would sink to such levels of dishonesty seek this office with the intent to manage it faithfully. Nopony knows better than I the opportunities the Ministry of Foreign Affairs offers for an individual who might be inclined to...indulge themselves." He favored Autumn Brisk with a knowing look. "As the official head of every Mission and Embassy of Equestria abroad, I am routinely propositioned by foreign dignitaries with offerings of wealth and pleasures in exchange for granting them preferential treatment by our government. There is a veritable international 'bidding war' going on behind the scenes in order to gain either the perceived favor of our princesses, or the very tangible benefits of more favorable tariff and trade agreements, Miss Brisk. It takes a pony of exceptional moral character to maintain both their own integrity, and especially the integrity of Their Majesties' government, in the face of such temptations.

“Now, I certainly make no claims to perfection,” the earl emphasized, a slight smirk tugging at his lip as he eyed the mare sitting across from him. “I will even admit that I may have…slipped a time or two in my early years―minorly, I assure you. However, I like to think that I’ve maintained the dignity of this office well enough without selling off too many state secrets.” He again winked at the mare, who finally allowed herself an uneasy smile of her own at the joke.

“I tell you this so that you can appreciate the position that I’m in, and how sincere I am that I will make every effort within my power to ensure that you suffer no stain on your career should you fail in a task which has been specifically designed by malignant forces to create failure. You would not only be serving the ministry, but you would also be doing me a great personal favor by accepting this posting; and my gratitude will be appropriately repaid to you in the future, I assure you.”

Autumn Brisk sat in silence, digesting what the earl had just told her. She was well aware of the sorts of machinations that went on behind the scenes in the Royal Court. It was entirely conceivable that the Earl of Bitter Creek was the target of some sort of play for power by a faction of other nobles seeking to elevate their own standing in the Court. If that was the case, then he was likely in earnest about protecting her from any stigma that an early―and very minor―failure in her career might garner. Certainly it wouldn’t hurt to have such a powerful pony in her corner when it came time to picking appointments that she wanted.

She looked across the table at the unicorn stallion. “My Lord, it would be my privilege to assist the ministry by taking on this posting.”

The earl relaxed visibly. “Miss Brisk, I cannot express to you just how grateful the ministry―and myself―are to hear you say that.” He stood up and trotted around the table, enticing the teal mare out of her own seat. “And I will not take up any more of your precious time by gushing further. My steward will provide you with your dossier, which contains all the information that you’ll need for your assignment. I have even taken the liberty of adding an additional brief outline of the essential elements of your duties so that you know what cannot be overlooked, as I am well aware that you won’t have time to get everything right with such short notice.

“Your escorts for this mission have been placed on standby, and their liaison will be contacting you first thing in the morning.” The earl led her towards the exit. “Again, you have my eternal gratitude, Miss Brisk. Please inform me, personally, the moment that you return. I also encourage you to have a list prepared of all of the ways in which you would like myself and the ministry to express that gratitude,” the stallion flashed her a winning smile and a final wink as the door opened.

“And I thank you for allowing me to be of service to Their Highnesses, My Lord,” the unicorn mare said with a bow of her head. “I will endeavor to salvage this assignment, if such a thing can be accomplished by any mortal mare.” She turned now, and trotted out the door, which closed behind her.

Once the teal unicorn envoy was out of sight, the Earl’s smile melted away. He turned back towards the interior of his office and walked over to the decanter of whiskey and the collection of sniffers that were typically reserved for entertaining his more esteemed guests. The delicately formed vessel of liquor floated into the air and poured out a serving of its contents before alighting back into its proper place.

Curious, it was, how closely a talent for negotiating aligned with lying. On a good day, he could sell snow to a yak. In another life, had he not been born into the nobility and afforded the opportunity to attain a ministerial office, Alabaster was fairly confident that he’d have been able to make a quite comfortable living as a grifter, swindling the unwary out of their bits and property.

Today, for example, he had just talked a mare into walking happily to her own death; and she had thanked him for it.

Alabaster Fetlock’s horn glowed as he retrieved the full sniffer and tossed it back. The potent alcohol scalded his throat like the flames of tartarus. He let out a quiet cough and then and sighed. “A shame to waste such potential.” He wandered over to the towering windows at the back of his office which overlooked the palace proper. “But...the future glory of Equestria demands sacrifices of us all...”

It was not often that she was invited to the palace in Equestria’s capital city of Canterlot. Indeed, Corsair smirked, until today, she had never before been invited to the palace grounds. She had been taken on an orientation flight or two near the castle’s spires during her days as a youthful lieutenant fresh out of Officer Training School; but never inside for a proper tour. It was unfortunate that her premiere admittance into the heart of her nation’s government, and the home of the Royal Sisters, should be marred by the circumstances surrounding the visit.

Corsair had been on quite a few ‘goodwill’ missions along the borders of Equestria during her years of service in the nation's Frontier Corps. Not all of those tours had been while serving in a direct command position, but she had always been placed within their overall leadership staff. In all of that time, she could not recall one instance in which she or her commander at the time had ever been summoned by a general for a personal briefing on their mission. This very nearly amounted to a breach of protocol, as far as she could tell.

What should have happened was that she should have been getting her mission briefing from her immediate superior, Major Gladius. If he was otherwise occupied, then perhaps the regimental commander, Colonel Storm Breaker. If even the colonel didn't have the time to spare for a briefing, then she'd have been summoned to speak with one of General Manipul's staff officers. If, somehow, under Celestia's golden sun, every one of the general's staff was too occupied to spare fifteen minutes to give her a formal briefing...

...Then Corsair could only assume that meant that Equestria was actively being invaded, because only a desperate fight for the princedom's very survival would have explained why absolutely none of those officers apparently had any time to spare to brief a company commander they'd specifically recalled back to Canterlot to be briefed on a new assignment.

The bottom line was that: generals didn't brief captains. It just didn't happen.

And that was just one of the many incongruities that Vought Corsair was wrestling with about this mission.

Her company's departure was due to happen in mere days, according to the missive she'd received in Little Buck, and she had yet to even be provided with the name of the envoy that they would be escorting. Normally, she would have been afforded the chance to meet with the envoy and sit down to work out between the two of them how their respective missions and duties would be woven together so that nopony’s hooves were trod on needlessly.

As things stood to go right now, with so much being thrown together at the last minute, Corsair would have been willing to wager the sum total of her eventual pension that this whole affair would very quickly devolve into a diamond dog’s dinner of a mess. That was bad enough, as far as the pegasus commander was concerned. What was going to be worse was that when things did invariably go sideways, and hooves were being leveled at the pony who was ultimately to blame, it was going to come down to deciding between herself, and whatever noble’s relative was being assigned as the envoy.

No self-respecting member of the Peerage was going to sit idly by and let any relative of theirs get the family name dragged through the mud and the muck in the fallout. Certainly not when there was a readily available 'low-born' scapegoat. That meant that the yeoman officer with no prominent family to speak of would be saddled with the manticore’s share of the blame for the inevitable disaster. If Corsair was lucky, she wouldn’t be forced into early retirement, and could look forward to spending the rest of her career in the Royal Equestrian Cavalry writing memos for a brigadier somewhere remote and forgotten.

If things went badly enough though, she might find herself defrocked completely.

This meeting certainly wasn’t doing anything to help assuage her concerns. Her mind was working hard to fathom out a reason that the general in charge of the whole of the Frontier Corps needed to give her a personal briefing on what was an otherwise routine operation―the truncated timetable notwithstanding.

Captain Corsair walked primly across the parade grounds of the palace, heading for the Royal Canterlot Armory’s front entrance. It was a bit of a misnomer these days. Once upon a time, in the early days of the palace’s construction, this wing of the castle had indeed been the repository of the arms and barding utilized by the Royal Guard. As the Guard's responsibilities―and their number―grew, the need for a much larger barracks and armory became clear. A new detached building was built near the palace proper to serve that purpose, and the vacated wing of the castle was converted to serve as the administrative center of the nation's military. Now it was almost exclusively populated by the Cavalry’s generals and their staffs.

Just before she entered, the pegasus mare paused and made one final effort to straighten and smooth out her uniform. She had walked most of the way here in order to keep the abuses that flight so frequently inflicted on dress clothing to a minimum. It wasn’t that Corsair was a particularly vain pony when it came to things like that. In point of fact, she wasn’t much of a fan of the cut of dress uniforms, as they offered very little in the way of functionality. They didn’t even have real pockets, for Celestia’s sake!

However, if she was going to find herself in the presence of her commanding general in a few short minutes, she supposed that leaving as good an impression as was possible was called for. If not for her own benefit, then for how her composure and professionalism would reflect on her own immediate superior officer. She generally liked Major Gladius, and didn’t want him to catch any grief because of something that she did.

Finding herself as satisfied as she was likely to be with how her white and gold dress uniform hung around her, Corsair finally stepped inside. Officers and senior non-coms milled around the large foyer of the Armory. The air hummed with the background din of mingled conversations that covered every conceivable topic from weapon production quotas, to personnel assignments, to supply logistics.

Ah, paperwork; the lifeblood of the Cavalry! The mare chuckled quietly to herself as she trotted through the crowd of ponies on her way to her destination. Her amber gaze darted to signs and placards along the walls which served to orient and direct visitors. They guide her to the upper corridors of the old armory where the offices dedicated to the managing of Equestria’s Frontier Corps were located. From there, it was a simple matter to locate the office being utilized by the corps' commanding officer, Brigadier General Maniple.

She took another breath, standing outside the sturdy oak door. It wasn’t her nerves that she was working to rein in. Rather, she was endeavoring to keep her temper under control. There was a great deal that frustrated her about the current situation, but the general’s office wasn’t the place to vent her irritation. For the duration of this briefing, she needed to remain impassive and respectful.

No matter how much of an absolute ass Maniple was.

Captain Corsair lifted her hoof and rapped it soundly on the portal. “Enter!” came a gruff reply almost immediately. She stepped through the door and found herself standing in a little antechamber just outside of the general’s true office. Seated at a desk was an earth pony stallion wearing a golden colonel’s sash across his own alabaster dress uniform. He glanced up from the forms that he was filling out and cast his appraising gaze over the new arrival. “Captain Corsair?”

The pegasus mare snapped to attention and saluted. “Reporting as ordered, sir!”

The stallion grunted and nodded his head in the direction of the doorway at the other end of the small chamber. “The general’s ready for you, captain. Go on in.”

Corsair suppressed a grimace as she noted that her salute had not been returned. She held her own for a heartbeat longer before dropping it. “Yes, sir!” She turned sharply on her hooves and slipped through the door to the general’s personal office.

The auburn earth pony who commanded the Frontier Corps was leaning back in his chair, reading over a sheaf of papers clutched in his hooves. He peered up at his visitor, his expression initially one of annoyance at being interrupted. Upon recognizing who the new arrival must be, he put down the reports that he’d been reading and sat up a little straighter in his chair. “Captain Corsair, I presume?”

Once again the indigo mare snapped smartly to attention and saluted. “Yes, sir! Reporting as ordered, general!”

This time her salute was reciprocated. “At ease, captain.” While she dropped her salute, Corsair remained at rigid attention. She wasn’t about to let herself get too relaxed in the general’s presence. “I’m glad you could make time for this meeting. I realize that your schedule is pretty tight right now.” To the mare’s own surprise, she managed not to let the derisive snort threatening to burst out of her nose escape. He was speaking as though he hadn’t had a hoof in creating that ‘tight’ schedule.

“I invited you here to offer my personal apologies for what’s happening to you, Captain,” the stallion continued, “somepony dropped the ball. I won’t bother to name names, because, ultimately, the Frontier Corps is my responsibility, and thus the circumstances surrounding the current situation are also my responsibility. You just have the unenviable position of being the low pony on the totem pole that’s going to have to step in this particular roadapple, if you’ll pardon my frankness.”

Corsair’s amber eyes widened slightly in surprise at the general officer’s frank admission. She had certainly not expected anything of the sort, given what she had heard of Maniple from other officers who had met and dealt with the stallion. He must have recognized her surprise because the general afforded himself a wry smirk.

“There’s no denying the truth here, Captain: you’re getting the crop on this assignment. I’m not going to sit here and try to tell you anything different than you already know. The Peerage got a wild hair up their posteriors and, like always, it’s up to the Cavalry to sort things out.

“These are your official orders," he said, sliding over a think folder towards the pegasus. Corsair collected it in her wing and began to review the file, "Honestly, there’s not much there that’s out of the ordinary. You will escort the envoy to the Saddle Arabian town of Gallopoli. They’re undertaking a construction project there, a curtain wall to help them deal with salamander incursions.” The general shrugged. “My understanding is that they’re some kind of fire breathing lizard thing―look a lot like wingless dragons.

“The local Arabian militias are stretched rather thin, so your primary job will be to protect the workers,” he nodded his head towards the folder. “What little information we have on salamanders will be in there. It’s not much, I’m afraid.

"There's also some other information in there about your 'policing powers'." At Corsairs arched brow, the general elaborated. "I know that in Equestria the cavalry doesn't do civilian law enforcement," he acknowledged with a nod. "But Saddle Arabia isn't Equestria. They don't have 'police forces' there. Not like we know them. Their civil law enforcement exists as an arm of their military which, like I said, is stretched thin.

"You'll be expected to help keep the peace in the town, and conduct customs inspections of the traders coming and going. It's all there in the file," the earth pony gestured once more to the folder Corsair was holding.

The mare flipped through a few more of the pages, giving them a cursory look, hiding the frown that was threatening to crease her muzzle. Her ponies weren't trained to handle civil matters. They were monster and bandit hunters, not cops. The salamanders they could deal with easily enough, but smugglers? No help for it though, Corsair supposed. "Anything in particular my ponies should be looking for in the way of contraband?"

"Glitterdust," the general responded with a firm nod. "We've been seeing a lot more of it in Equestria, and we're pretty sure it's coming though Saddle Arabia. Those drug runners are a crafty lot, so you'll want to make sure your ponies are exceptional thorough with their searches." Another acknowledging nod from the pegasus.

“Your company will remain on site until the wall is completed, and then return to Equestria. Hence why we couldn’t give you a definitive date on the length of the assignment. However long you’ll be there is squarely in the hooves of the Arabian construction crews.” The general offered up an apologetic shrug. “All we can do is hope that they work swiftly and get you back home to Equestria soon.”

“I understand, General,” in all, Corsair was forced to admit that the duty wasn’t as bad as it could have been. She hoped that there was a substantial section in her orders covering exactly what these ‘salamanders’ were capable of and how to fight them. She wasn’t an expert on the sorts of threats that other nations had to deal with. At worst, she could ask for advice from the locals, who would doubtlessly know a thing or two that would help her small company.

She was starting to regret having left so many of her ponies back in Little Buck though. She would have preferred to have every hoof available to her if they were going to be expected to fight creatures that they’d never seen before. The more margin for error that she could allow, the better.

“I’m certain that you do, Captain,” Maniple nodded, smiling at the bark blue pegasus. “I’ve reviewed your record, so I know you’re the best mare for this job.” He sat up a little straighter in his seat and extended his hoof to her. “Good luck, Captain Corsair, and a speedy return.”

The pegasus tapped her hoof to his before snapping smartly to attention and rendering a crisp salute. “Permission to depart, sir?”

“Granted,” the general responded, returning the gesture. “A train has been reserved for your trip. A runner will deliver the details in the morning. See to your ponies, Captain.”

The mare nodded, executed an about-face and left the office. Behind her, General Maniple watched the uniformed flier depart, a satisfied smile on his face. He had indeed spent a good deal of time reviewing the records of many of the company commanders in the Frontier Corps in order to pick an ideal candidate for this mission. While nothing in Captain Corsair’s official dossier had stood out, the ‘unofficial’ files that he compiled on the officers under his command had told a very interesting story indeed.

‘Wild-Mare Corsair’, as a few of the officers of his corps referred to her―though never when there was the possibility that she could hear them―was well known in the Frontier Corps for her volatile temperament. It had not done her career any particular favors, though the same could not be said for her reputation. Her company was the pride of the whole 2nd Light Hoof. On more than one occasion, it had seemed as though marauders terrorizing settlements on the fringes of the princedom had simply disbanded into the wilderness the moment word reached them of who was being sent to deal with the situation.

However, there was certainly an opportunity there for him to exploit in the interests of his and the good Earl of Bitter Creek’s plan: her reputation would become simply one more bullet point on the list of ‘tragic oversights’ that led to the eventual war between Equestria and Saddle Arabia. When the history books on this incident were written, Maniple was certain that there would be a chapter lamenting the brash captain’s hot-headed nature, and how it doubtlessly only served to escalate matters.

If only her official record might have given Maniplul some hint as to what a poor choice such a pony was for this delicate matter, the whole mess could have been avoided!

Such a shame...

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading! As always, a thumbs up and comment are always greatly appreciated :twilightblush:

I've set up a Cover Art Fund if you're interested and have any bits lying around!

Chapter iii

Fort Purple Dart,

Canterlot,

Central Equestria

And The Blind Turtle Tavern

Roam,

Zebra Confederation

“Have you been in the Cavalry long, Lieutenant…?” Autumn Brisk ventured tentatively, inwardly cursing herself for already managing to forget the name of the gray unicorn stallion that had come to collect her from her hotel in the city. Admittedly, she had been in a bit of a frazzled state ever since leaving Earl Bitter Creek’s office. Between packing for her mission and getting her personal affairs in order in anticipation of her long absence, she’d barely had time to eat, sleep, or even glimpse the files that she’d been given that covered her mission. Had the lieutenant not come to collect her this evening, she’d have even completely forgotten that she’d agreed to meet the commander of her escort and her senior leaders for dinner!

She could only hope that she’d be able to make a good first impression during the meal.

“Lumier, ma’am,” the stallion supplied with a polite smile, “and I’ve served for four years. I have had the good fortune to spend the last two of them as Captain Corsair’s XO.”

“XO?”

“Executive Officer, ma’am,” he said, maintaining his warm expression. “I oversee most of the day-to-day operations of the company so that the commander can focus on her own duties.”

“I see,” the mare said appreciatively. “You must be quite skilled to have been given a position of such responsibility so early into your career.”

The stallion chuckled to himself. “I don’t know about that.” He glanced back at his charge. “I was just the first officer to show up to the Captain’s first command staff meeting. I think she was of a ‘first come, first tasked’ sort of mind that day.”

“Oh.” Autumn Brisk bit her lip, feeling like she’d somehow managed to already make some sort of faux pas by offering up the praise that she had. She knew next to nothing about the military or how it operated. That sort of research was something else that she would have taken the time to perform had she been given the amount of time to prepare for this endeavor that she should have been under normal circumstances. Fortunately, the young officer seemed to be quite understanding.

“The Cavalry is generally very ‘train on the job’ on the whole, ma’am. Very few ponies are lucky enough to get any sort of formal instruction on the particular duties that they’ll be assigned to before finding themselves doing it. That’s not to say everypony is going in completely blind to what they’ll be doing, but you have to be quick on the uptake. It also helps to keep a close eye on exactly what your own superiors do in their positions, because they can very quickly become your positions with little notice.

“That being said, most ponies don’t stay in long enough to get very far, rank-wise.”

“Really?”

The lieutenant nodded. “The average length of service for a pony in the Cavalry is three years. Only about one in twenty will stay longer than that.”

“I had no idea,” the teal unicorn mare admitted. “I guess I just sort of assumed that those who went in for this sort of thing made a career of it.”

“Quite the opposite, actually. Most enlist, get the training they desire, and then move on to get careers doing something similar in the civilian world.”

“Like law enforcement and security?” She offered, her mind going to the two professions she knew of off the top of her head which dealt with using weaponry.

“Some, I suppose.” Lumier frowned slightly. “But not everypony in the Cavalry is a fighter, you understand. We have cooks, accountants, nurses―just about any job you can imagine that needs doing. You’ll find ponies here fresh out of school doing jobs on a scale that make them very desirable employees with large companies.”

He jerked his head in the direction of a large wagon train heading out of the fort, loaded down with supplies. A very young looking earth pony mare could be seen scribbling on a clipboard as laden wagons passed her by. “The logistics involved with keeping a few thousand ponies fed and housed is no small task, after all. The bookkeeping and organizational skills involved can be quite daunting to even the most experienced pony.

“Anypony who can keep up with something like that would find managing, say, a warehouse for one of Equestria’s major shipping companies, like PegEx, foal’s play.” He pointed a hoof at the tabulating mare and inclined his head towards Autumn Brisk. “Once she’s out, she’ll doubtless be snapped up as a regional manager in a matter of weeks, promoted years ahead of her peers.

“We’re more than dumb ponies with big pointy sticks. Well, some of us, at any rate,” he added with a wink.

“I never―! Lieutenant Lumier, if I gave you the impression that I thought you―!”

The gray unicorn stallion allowed himself an amused laugh as he gently calmed the flustered mare. “I assure you, ma’am, that I don’t believe you thought anything of the sort!” He allowed the envoy a few moments to compose herself before continuing. “Think of it as tempering your expectations. I was once a civilian too, you know; I know what the general view of the types of ponies who enlist in the Cavalry is.

“Now, come this way.” The lieutenant diverted them towards one of the many nearly identical buildings that made up the fort’s barracks quarter. It was within one of these large structures that Bronco Company’s ponies had been granted billeting for the few days they would be in Canterlot. It was a frantic few days, to be sure, as they had a lot to accomplish by way of refitting in the short time afforded them. Matters hadn’t been helped by the fact that they were also short-hoofed. In all, twenty five ponies, stripped piecemeal from the three platoons, had been left behind in Little Buck to conduct a few additional sweeps of the surrounding wilderness to be sure the diamond dogs had truly vacated the region. Once those patrols had been completed, they had orders to leave directly for Gallopoli from there.

“I’ve arranged for us to meet a few ponies you’ll be working with for the majority of your time with us.”

The pair of unicorns didn’t have to go very far before Autumn Brisk spied the small gaggle of ponies standing around in front of one of the buildings. She very quickly identified the leg bands wrapped around their upper forelimbs which bore the identical ‘B 2/7’ that was present on Lieutenant Lumier’s own uniform. Further confirming her assumption that these were the ponies that she was being taken to meet, the collection of ponies ordered themselves up into a neat line and brought themselves to the position of attention as their executive officer approached.

Standing just ahead of the rest of the ponies was an older jade colored crystal mare with a silvery mane. “XO,” she said, raising her right hoof to her chest in salute.

The lieutenant returned the gesture. “At ease.” The gathered ponies all relaxed their posture and did their level best not to simply stare at the teal unicorn mare that had been brought over to them. In all, a total of four ponies were standing before them. In addition to the crystal senior noncommissioned officer, Autumn Brisk identified a dappled gray earth pony, an orange unicorn, and yellow earth pony who appeared to be much older than the other two with him.

“I’d like to introduce our envoy for this mission, Lady Autumn Brisk of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs,” the gray unicorn began by way of introductions. Then, turning his attention to his charge, he began pointing at each of the other ponies in turn. “Ma’am, may I present to you First Sergeant Shillelagh, formerly of the Crystal Empire's Imperial Guard, and the best first sergeant that I have had the honor to work with. Nopony in the company is more knowledgeable and experienced than she is; feel free to approach her with any questions or concerns that you may have while you’re with us.

“Obviously, you should feel free to approach the commander or I as well,” the exec added with a wry smile, “but we will have our own duties to attend to running the company, and I can’t promise you that we’ll always be available to give your concerns the attention that they deserve at any given moment. The First Sergeant is also the pony that you should talk to if you find yourself in need of ponies to perform any goodwill tasks that you deem appropriate. She’ll see to it that you get every able body that can be spared for as long as you need them.

“Sergeant LeFarrier,” the unicorn moved on to the topaz stallion, “is here to act as your supply liaison with the company. If you find yourself in need of anything, clothing, food, writing material, anything at all, the sergeant will procure it for you. He will also help you schedule face-to-face time with the Captain as you require it.

“Corporal Cravat here is our company medic,” the gray unicorn continued, “if you feel ill, or get injured in any way, he’ll have you back on your hooves in top form in no time at all. We’re very lucky to have managed to get our hooves on him,” the lieutenant patted the dappled earth pony on the shoulder before directing his attention to the orange unicorn, and the final pony in the line.

“Finally, Private Flashover has been assigned as your attache. He will accompany you everywhere you go, to guarantee your safety while you’re with us. Feel free to also use him as a gofer as the need arises.”

The unicorn flashed Autumn Brisk a broad grin and performed a rather grandiose bow that seemed so exaggerated that the mare wasn’t sure it hadn’t been meant as a parody of true formality. “I live to serve, My Lady,” he kept his head bowed comically low even as he peered up at the teal mare with his brilliant green eyes. It was all that the envoy could do to suppress an amused snort that threatened to mar her otherwise prim composure. She did manage to catch the barest hints of a scowl on the faces of both the crystal first sergeant and the yellow earth pony.

“I look forward to working with all of you,” she said, inclining her head politely towards the assembled ponies.

Lieutenant Lumier cleared his throat softly. “Your Grace, if you would accompany me to the officer’s mess, the Captain is waiting there to greet you along with the rest of the officers.”

“Of course; lead on, Lieutenant,” Autumn Brisk said, a pleasant smile on her face as she turned to follow her escort. The corner of her mouth twitched slightly as she noted the broad grin that was still plastered on the muzzle of the orange unicorn.

Once she was safely out of sight, the emerald crystal mare snorted and cast a glare at the junior soldier. “Private, I swear on the Crystal Heart, if you put a single hoof out of line I will drag your sorry keister back north and find a yeti to feed you to one piece at a time.” First Sergeant Shillelagh was rewarded with the sight of Private Flashover’s grin melting away like the snow of a perfectly wrapped up winter. The young stallion swallowed back a lump in his throat and nodded rather vigorously. “For the record: I recommended that the Captain assign anypony else to this duty.

“However,” she added with a resigned sigh, “the CO pointed out that you are, in fact, the most capable fighter we’ve got and thus would make an ideal bodyguard. You have a chance to put the whole company’s best hoof forward, private,” she leaned in, her translucent head towering over the stallion, “don’t fuck it up.”

Flashover nodded. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Top.”

The crystal first sergeant grunted. “Sergeant LeFarrier, go back and finish that inventory. I want those final numbers on my desk by taps.” The golden earth pony nodded and trotted off. “You two; dismissed.” And with that, the jade mare turned and walked away.

Cravat and Flashover both breathed a sigh of relief as they were left alone. For a couple of heartbeats, there was silence between them. Then the grin returned to the orange unicorn’s face. “I’m in love!”

“Luna preserve me,” the dappled earth pony mumbled under his breath before casting a frown in his friend’s direction. “You’re not serious. After what the first sergeant just said?”

“Bah! She was just doing the whole ‘imposing first sergeant’ thing,” he said, waving a dismissive hoof in the direction that she’d walked off in. “It's her job. She has to say stuff like that.”

“I’m pretty confident that if you try and put the moves on the envoy, your body will, in fact, never be found,” the company medic said in a completely flat tone as he stared levelly at the unicorn. “If not LeFarrier or Shillelagh, then the commander will do it. While Lumier writes the letter to your folks explaining how you were done in by your own stupidity.

“This is assuming that it isn’t any member of her family that beats them to it,” Cravat added, pointedly. “She’s an envoy with the MFA, stupid. Every single one of them is related to the nobility. She’s probably the daughter of a countess, or a duke’s niece, or something.”

“You think? What am I saying, if anypony’d know, you would,” the undeterred excitement in the unicorn’s voice didn’t help to dispel the dappled stallion’s harsh expression. “Duke Flashover the First,” the private said, pouring a vapid imitation of a posh accent into the title. “I like it! It’ll happen too, just you wait. After all, there hasn’t been a mare born who can resist this face!” As though to prove his point, he struck a pose and spread his lips into a winning smile, cast in his friend’s direction.

Cravat rolled his eyes and buried his face in hooves. “There is no way under Celestia's sun that you’ll be able to win her over like those barflies you usually hit on,” he insisted. “She’ll see right through you.”

“Well, duh! I’m not a moron.” The look that Cravat wore suggested that the unicorn’s friend was of an alternative opinion. “Brisky is a mare of refined tastes and delicate sensibilities.”

“‘Brisky?’”

“That’s going to be my pet name for her when we’re married: Frisky Brisky. Mare’s like her act all prim and proper in public, but once you get them under the sheets―watch out! Total. Freaks. Again, you of all ponies would know that.” Before the earth pony could offer up a rebuttal, the orange unicorn continued on with his plan to woo the latest target of his romantic ideations. “I won’t need to buy her rounds and use lines anyway. This gig in Gallopoli could drag on for months, and I’m going to be within hoof’s reach of her the entire time!

“I’ll be able to learn her hobbies, her dreams, what her life was like growing up in whatever high society she comes from…”

Cravat blinked in surprise. “Wow, it almost sounds like you want to get to know her and have a real relationship with this mare.”

“...and once she sees me as a gentlecolt that she can confide in, I turn on the Flashover charm and get her in the sack! If I time it right, I can probably land her just before we’re recalled. By the time she tries to make things serious, we’ll be deployed back out to the far reaches of Equestria and I’ll never see her again!”

“I withdraw my previous statement.” The medic bowed his head and shook it in resignation. “What happened to ‘Duke Flashover the First’?”

The unicorn blew a raspberry at the thought. “You’re not the only one who wouldn’t be caught dead around that stuffy lot.”

“If you actually do manage to mount her, dead is exactly what you’ll be when her family finds out; you realize that, right?”

He shrugged. “Eh, at least I’ll die happy in the knowledge I nailed nobility before I went out!” He thought for a moment, then added. “Besides, that’s only if I just give her a roll. If I actually knock her up, they have to make me part of the family or something; isn’t that how it works?”

“No, that’s not how that works; and, for the record: I’m going to start a betting pool on how long it’ll be before she says something to the CO and Shillelagh pulls your insides out through your asshole.”

“One: I’ll take that action and bet on ‘never’,” the unicorn smirked before his features scrunched up into a look of disgust, “and two: eww.”

With a final sigh, the medic stood up and gestured for the unicorn to follow him. “Come on, let’s get to the mess hall before it closes.”

Flashover trotted after his friend. “Good idea. Oh, and after chow we’re going to swing by the quartermaster’s office: I need to pick up some cologne…”

“My eulogy at your funeral will be very moving, I promise.”

“Aww; thanks, buddy!”

A storm was raging outside the weathered tavern, its winds buffeting the wood slat walls. The howling gales elicited groaning and creaking sounds from the heavily shellacked timber. One might be forgiven for believing that the whole structure could collapse at any moment beneath the onslaught of the maelstrom outside. The tavern had endured many such storms over its lifetime though, and the patrons knew that they were in no such danger of that happening.

The elderly unicorn who had just come in from that storm was a newcomer, and so cast several nervous glances at the roof and walls as they moaned anew with each gust. Steeling himself, he straightened out his rain-slicked coat, and made his way to the bar. His eyes darted between the collection of what could be generously described as ‘unsavory’ patrons slumped on the stools there, who were being served by an equally rough looking zebra stallion.

Curiously, in the pony’s opinion, the barkeep was one of only a few zebras actually present in the old tavern, and the others all appeared to be members of the staff. He could not spy a single striped patron in the whole establishment. There were representatives of just about every other race that one could bring to mind though. Minotaurs, griffons, hippogriffs, a gargoyle or two, even a small pack of diamond dogs, could all be seen partaking in either food or refreshment, or competing in games of chance or skill with one another.

There were even a few other ponies, as well. Though the inclusion of other equines in this place did little to make his presence stand out any less. If nothing else, it was quite obvious that he had managed to grossly overdress for his mission. Despite his best efforts to wear something conservative on this trip. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to have known that ‘fitting in’ would have required wearing something that very clearly either didn’t fit, or was so full of patches and mends that there didn’t appear to be any of the original material left of the garment, as the other patrons were wearing.

The stallion found himself wondering how the good Earl could have known that the contact they needed conducted their business out of this place, and yet not have known enough about it to warn the pony he sent as his representative about how best to avoid drawing attention.

I’ll be robbed and left for dead before morning, he thought grimly as he seated himself at the bar and motioned for the gruff looking zebra stallion tending to it.

“What’ll it be?”

The old pony fished out a small stack of golden coins and placed them onto the counter. “Whatever passes for wine around here, and directions to a ‘Mister Hawkwood’. I have business to discuss with him.”

The coins vanished so quickly that the pony had to briefly wonder whether they’d been magicked away by some means. In their place was a cup of what smelled more like vinegar than actual wine. The pony took a sniff and resolved not to even bother tasting it. It seemed that he’d need to wait for his return to Equestria before he could enjoy a truly refreshing beverage again. “Don’t know a ‘Hawkwood’,” the barkeep said in his gravelly voice, “but there’s a ‘Hawks’ in the back room, if that’s who you mean.”

“It might be at that,” the aging unicorn grumbled before slipping away from the bar, leaving his untouched drink behind. It was immediately snapped up by a nearby minotaur and tossed back. The unicorn stallion made his way to the indicated room. Sitting outside of the sealed door were a pair of hippogriffs, clad in tarnished steel cuirasses and dingy white cloaks. The pair regarded the approaching pony coolly, giving no indication that they were going to allow him to pass. Undaunted, the pony cleared his throat and glared up at the nearest of them. “I am here to discuss a business proposal with your commander. If he is unavailable, then I shall look elsewhere for the mercenaries that I require.”

It was a bluff, of course. He had been given very strict instructions by Earl Bitter Creek to approach only these mercenaries, and no others. The reason for that being quite obvious: the Saddle Arabians had long ago censured The Ivory Company and forbidden any of their citizens from ever contracting with them. Which meant that it was highly unlikely that any of the soldiers in the band would feel any compulsion to warn their targets about what was happening.

Saddle Arabian towns frequently sought to employ mercenaries for their security, and so had longstanding ties with a great many of the freelance armies of the world. Hiring any of them for a mission to attack one of the towns that they might have at one time fought to defend, risked the chance that sentiment might win out against professionalism, and ruin the Earl’s plans entirely.

There was no such risk with The Ivory Company.

The pair of guards looked at one another for several seconds before one of them stepped aside and rapped his knuckles on the door. A moment later, the door was pulled open by a third hippogriff guard. The older unicorn nodded at the pair and trotted past them.

Inside, the pony was greeted by the sight that suggested that he might have accidentally wandered into a completely different building. In stark contrast to the dingy and rundown appearance of the tavern he had just walked through, this room appeared almost...regal!

The aging wooden walls were completely obscured by rich tapestries that lined the room. Finely wrought braziers gilded with gold and encrusted with gemstones both warmed and illuminated the guests within, who could be seen lounging comfortably on well-stuffed velvet pillows. The guests themselves were also finely dressed in satins and furs. Suddenly, the unicorn felt that he was woefully underdressed for this meeting…

There was quite the collection of individuals here as well. A pair of zebra stallions who were clearly not members of the inn’s staff, dressed in attire that the unicorn recognized as being that worn by legates of the Confederacy’s armies, sat on one side of a large table that was set with a collection of rich foods. Across from them was a griffon hen wearing gilded plate armor, and a hippogriff tiercel who wore no armor, but instead a tunic of maroon crushed velvet. Nestled up against him, the unicorn was actually quite surprised to see a demure-looking granite pegasus mare wearing a very risque looking tack and bridle combination that made the old stallion reflexively blush and avert his eyes; focusing instead on the obvious target of his meeting here today.

The stallion addressed the hippogriff in the glittering tunic. “Captain Hawkwood of The Ivory Company, I presume? My name is Maitre, and I serve as majordomo to His Lordship Alabaster Fetlock, Earl of Bitter Creek. I have come to purchase your services.” The unicorn paused and eyed the zebras momentarily. “For a...delicate matter.”

For a long moment the tiercel said nothing, merely regarding the pony who had come to call on him. Then the lips beyond his beak curled up in a smile and he turned to look at his striped guests. “My dear Legates, I humbly beg your forgiveness, but it seems that we will have to resume our conversation at another time.” He offered an apologetic shrug. “A mercenary’s work is never done.” The pair of zebra officers nodded and stood up, casting cool looks at Maitre as they departed. Once they were gone, the hippogriff turned to the griffon at his side. “Gerty, be a doll and fetch us a drink.” He looked at the pony for a brief moment. “Wine?”

“Red, please,” the unicorn nodded.

The feathered feline grunted and stood up, disappearing out of sight past one of the hanging tapestries. The hippogriff straightened up on his pillow and gestured to a spot across the table that had just been vacated by the legates. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I must say, I don’t get a lot of business from pony lands these days. Leastways, not from genuine nobles.” His smile broadened slightly. “So, you’ve certainly gotten my attention. What can The Ivory Company do for you, Mister Maitre?”

Maitre’s eyes darted to the pegasus mare still snuggling up against the tiercel, running an idle hoof through his plumage. The mercenary commander noticed his gaze, stroking his chin as he opened his beak to speak, only to seem to change what he was going to say at the last moment. “Oh...I see. Here I thought you were distracted by my little pet.” He reached over and ran a tolan along the mare’s spine between her wing joints, eliciting an appreciative sigh from the pegasus, and a soft little jingle as a pair of bracelets clipped to her wings rattled as she quivered with delight. “But you’re too much of a professional for that,” the hippogriff continued, having acquired the unicorn stallion’s full attention again. “No. You’re just not comfortable saying what you came here for in front of a fellow pony.

“My my my...what naughty little deals has your Earl sent you here to make, Mister Maitre?”

His level of discomfort was rising steadily, to the point where he even jerked with a start as the griffon hen returned with a pair of glasses of wine. He took his in what was a visibly unsteady telekinetic field, sipping the dry beverage in an effort to soothe his nerves. If he didn’t know that his master would never forgive him, he’d have left right at that moment. He had faith in his earl though, so he remained.

“That is not my place to tell you, Captain Hawkwood,” the unicorn finally said, surprising himself by how assured he sounded despite his nervousness. “I am here to deliver you a letter of introduction from the earl…” He withdrew a small sealed packet of papers and floated them over to the hippogriff. The parcel was intercepted by the griffon hen, who deftly opened the envelope with one of her claws and began to read through the papers within. Maitre frowned. “...As well as a requisition to be redeemed at a specified place and time. The equipment and materials you will need to perform the task for which you are being hired will be provided at that time.”

Hawkwood frowned at the unicorn. “The Ivory Company has all of the armor and weapons it needs; and we don’t take material in lieu of payment, if that’s what this is” he flashed the pony a warning glare.

“You will be fully compensated for the work itself in gold and gemstones.” Maitre assured the mercenary commander, who was now looking over the parchment that the griffon had passed on to him. “However, the...peculiar nature of the assignment for which you are being hired requires a certain...dress code.”

“I see,” the tiercel mused as he read over the letter of introduction. Silence stretched over the room as Hawkwood continued to look through the materials that had been delivered to him. Maitre contented himself with another fortifying gulp of his wine, which was in a completely different league from what the zebra bartender outside had tried to sell him. Of course, it was quite obvious that the hippogriff had accustomed himself to a particular standard of living. Leading a mercenary company paid quite well, it seemed.

His eyes wandered briefly to the lithe pegasus mare. His concerns about her presence were beginning to abate somewhat. It was quite clear that the other pony had no interest in their conversation, and instead was entirely focused on caressing her...client? He supposed it was possible that the mare was a paramour of some sort, but there was something about her that struck the stallion as being of a ‘professional’ nature. If there was an establishment in the area that employed pony mares of a caliber comparable to that pegasus, Maitre supposed that might elect to tarry for an evening before returning to Equestria. He was confident that the earl wouldn’t mind that terribly.

Besides, his frayed nerves could do to be soothed by suitable companionship tonight...

“Your Earl’s letter makes no mention of exactly what it is he’s paying us to do,” the tiercel noted in a faintly annoyed tone. “I’m not a big fan of going into a job blind. Neither are my soldiers.”

“I understand your concern,” the unicorn nodded, “and I apologize for the secrecy. The task is quite sensitive, you see. A matter of national security for the princedom. You will be provided with all the details when you pick up the equipment that is being provided for your use.” He noticed that the hippogriff and the griffon were exchanging looks now. While it didn’t look like they were about to refuse the job out of hoof, the unicorn could tell that they weren’t thrilled about the way it was being presented to them.

“Know too,” Maitre continued, “that if this task goes well, there will be others exactly like it in the future. You will be compensated just as generously each time. Not to mention: you will then be perfectly familiar with the tasks being asked of you without the need to risk any further incriminating correspondence.”

“Incriminating?” Hawkwood quirked an eyebrow at the use of the word.

The unicorn winced. “As I said, the matters are sensitive. It is possible that some organizations might take a dim view of your activities.”

The hippogriff snorted dismissively. “So what else is new? Whoever we’re hired to fight always gets a bit miffed at us.”

“Of course. It’s more the knowledge of my earl’s involvement that we wish to mitigate.”

“Plausible deniability,” he nodded sympathetically, passing the papers back to the griffon hen, “I know how that game goes.” He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he continued to idly stroke the cheek of the pegasus mare. He stared long and hard at the gray unicorn stallion seated across from him. Finally, he said, “We’ll take the job.”

Maitre did a poor job of hiding his relief as he deflated on his cushion. “I am most glad to hear that, Captain Hawkwood; and I know that my earl will be as well. You will receive half of your payment when you pick up your equipment, and the other half upon completion of the mission. We look forward to hearing of your success.

“Now, if you will excuse we, I should like to take my leave and retire for the night. It has been an arduous trip,” the unicorn stood up and bowed to the pair of mercenaries. Hawkwood waved a polite talon in the pony’s direction as his guard opened the door and let the majordomo out.

Once the unicorn was gone, Hawkwood looked to his second-in-command and sighed. “Start rounding up the company. I want us ready to move in three days,” the hen nodded and made her own exit from the room. A knowing look from the hippogriff commander to the remaining guard was all the signal it took for him to depart as well. Soon, the tiercel was alone with the pegasus mare.

“Three days doesn’t give us a lot of time together,” the granite mare cooed softly, nipping at his feathered neck, “and who knows how long you’ll be gone for.”

The hippogriff smiled and slipped a claw around one of the mare’s bridle straps. “Then I guess we shouldn’t waste any time, should we, Saccharin?” With a jerk of his talons, he pulled the pony’s head down towards his loins, eliciting an amused giggle from the pegasus that very quickly turned into eager groans as she tended to her patron. The mercenary commander leaned back on his collection of pillows and blissfully sipped his wine as his winged whore earned her own pay.

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading! As always, a thumbs up and comment are always greatly appreciated :twilightblush:

I've set up a Cover Art Fund if you're interested and have any bits lying around!

Chapter iv

The Blind Turtle Tavern

Roam,

Zebra Confederation,

And Appleloosan Desert,

Western Equestria

The pegasus mare carefully extracted herself from beneath the clawed forelimb of her hippogriff client so as not to wake him. It was something that she had become quite adept at doing over these last few months since catching his eye. Once freed, she idly stretched her sore joints as the tips of her wings went about discarding the last few stubborn bits of the alluring tack that hadn’t come off during the evening’s vigors. She then slipped behind one of the tapestries and poured herself a generous glass of red wine.

All in all, she supposed that this wasn’t the worst assignment that she’d ever had. While she could have done without stroking the good captain’s ego every night―among other things she was asked to stroke―she had to admit that the hippogriff mercenary commander possessed quite the refined palette. Exaggerating the quality of his mating skills was a small price to pay, in her estimation, for access to all of the fine wines and delectable treats that were made constantly available to her.

If nothing else, it served as a pleasant way to get the taste out of her mouth…

Besides, it seemed as though her efforts might have finally paid off! She shucked off the bracelets clipped to the joints of her wings. Feathers melted away into black leather as one of her bat-like wings wrapped around her glass of wine while the other extended to where the packet of papers that had been delivered by the old unicorn had been set down. The mare already had a fair notion of what she would find within, given what her client had said earlier, but she read them for herself anyway to be certain of their contents.

It was a most curious thing, indeed, to find a representative of the Equestrian nobility reaching out to employ mercenaries. Not unheard of, the mare had to admit, but extremely rare. By Equestrian law, the nobility were forbidden from possessing more than a modest personal security force to ensure their protection while traveling and to look imposing while guests visited their private estates. Such had not always been the case, of course. Once upon a time, nobles had fielded substantial personal armies who answered to them directly, but were loaned out to the diarchs when Equestria’s need was dire.

That all changed when some of those nobles had been persuaded to back Nightmare Moon during her rebellion against her elder sister. In the aftermath of that war, the nobility had been quickly and systematically stripped of their ability to wield substantial martial might of their own, and every soldier in the land was sworn to Princess Celestia’s personal service under the umbrella of the EUP.

As a result, if a pony in Equestria found themselves in need of a significant amount of military muscle, they turned to one of the many professional ‘free’ companies that roamed the world. So called because they were beholden to none but their current employer. Their services were, ironically, actually rather costly to retain. The Ivory Company, for example, cost as much for a month, as a comparably sized military unit in Equestria cost to maintain for a whole year. That being said, the mare had to grudgingly admit that she could think of few Equestrian groups that could match The Ivory Company mare-for-mare where combat skill was concerned.

They were well worth their price.

None of that truly served to explain what one of Equestria’s nobles wanted their services for though. Of perhaps even greater concern was the apparent desire for secrecy.

The mare frowned as she looked over the requisition. She certainly didn’t like the look of this. She had initially thought that the mercenaries were being provided with a forged document that would gain them access to food or clothing stocks at a depot somewhere. The smuggling of government materials to outside markets was an ever present concern for the Equestrian Intelligence Service. In this case, her estimations had fallen far short of the reality, it seemed. This requisition was the genuine article, signed by one of the realm’s generals, and it wasn’t for rations. These mercenaries were being given access to weapons and barding.

Hawkwood had spoken truthfully when he’d informed the earl’s messenger that The Ivory Company had no need to be supplied with arms. They had plenty of war materials of their own. Which only further begged the question of why they were being supplied with Equestrian equipment? All of which was in addition to monetary compensation, as well.

“I do not like this,” she grumbled softly as she read over the earl’s letter of introduction. “Alabaster Fetlock, Earl Bitter Creek...hmm. What are you up to?” the letter was indeed as vague as the hippogriff had let on. It insisted that details would be provided at the pickup site. At least it gave the location for that site.

Not that Hawkwood was going to be taking his little pegasus plaything along for the trip. She was just how he indulged himself while he was in Roam. Why he didn’t feel like satisfying himself with a hippogriff hen, the mare couldn’t say. She supposed that she should have been grateful enough that he had a penchant for ponies. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be in the position that she was in right now.

She carefully placed the papers back where she’d picked them up from and tossed back the last of her wine. Retaining her glass, the mare walked over to a set of stylish leather saddlebags that were nestled neatly in the corner of the room. From within them she withdrew a phial of glowing blue liquid. She emptied the contents into the glass clutched in her wing and ducked behind another of the tapestries which covered a window. The storm had long since abated, leaving a clear sky in its wake; along with a brilliantly glowing moon.

The bat-winged mare set the glass on the windowsill and waited. As the liquid caught the moonlight, it glowed progressively brighter until a delicate fan of cyan light radiated off the top. Within those rays of light was the face of a dark gray stallion with tufted ears and slitted pupils much like her own. The mare’s face soured as she saw that the stallion was wearing a broad grin.

“Sounded like somepony had another thrilling evening,” he said, chuckling to himself. “You should be on bridleway with acting chops like that!” He paused for a moment before adding, “If it was acting, that is…not gonna lie, I am dying to know what you sound like when somepony actually gets you going...”

She curled her lip back in a snarl, her own eyes narrowing sharply. “I have expressed my displeasure with your eavesdropping in the past, Nocturne. Do not make this a matter to be taken up with Her Royal Highness! Now, are you prepared to receive my report or not?”

“By all means, Operative Nightjar,” the stallion said, his enduring smile suggesting that he hadn’t been cowed at all by her threat.

“The Ivory Company has been given a job by an Equestrian noble. An Earl Bitter Creek.”

“Really?” The other batpony’s mirth melted instantly into a much more serious expression as he took in the news. “Interesting. Do you know the nature of the job?”

Nightjar shook her head, “I do not. Nor does Hawkwood. Those details will not be revealed until later. However, I do know the location of their next destination.”

“Hmm…” The stallion frowned. “We’ll want to keep an eye on this, just in case. I’ll have an agent assigned to watch over the good Earl to see what can be learned. In the meantime, I want you back in Canterlot the moment you can leave Roam unnoticed. I’m going to attach you to the surveillance team tasked with watching over The Ivory Company. You know Hawkwood better than anypony we have; that insight could prove useful.”

“Understood,” she nodded, “I should be there in four days.”

“I’ll make sure the team knows you’re coming―” Both ponies fell silent as faint grunting and the sound of a body turning over could be heard from beyond the tapestry. The stallion’s grin was back. “Sounds like he’s ready for an encore performance, operative. Contact me again if you learn anything else. Nocturne, out.”

The mare continued to scowl as the light dimmed once more. With a frustrated grunt, the mare reached out with one of her leathery wings and flicked the glass of liquid out the window, taking some small measure of satisfaction upon hearing it shatter on the cobblestones outside. She heard the hippogriff tiercel starting to rouse from where he lay on the cushions.

“Saccharin…?”

“I’ll be right there, love,” Nightjar said sweetly as she skirted around the outside of the tapestries towards where she’d left her bracelets. “Just had to use the little fillies room.” She clipped the pair of golden bands back into place near the base of her wings before using one of the now-feathered appendages to gently brush aside the hanging lengths of felt. She sauntered up to the drowsy mercenary, peering at him with her big, round, eyes. “I didn’t wake you, did I? Oh, love, I’m so sorry!” She cupped his face with the delicate pinions of her wings and leaned in for a tender kiss. “Here, let me help you relax and get back to sleep.” She traced a hoof gently down the belly of the reclining hippogriff until she reached his groin. “You just lie there and let your sweet Saccharin do all the work…” she spread her lips in a broad smile as she felt herself get a response from the tiercel’s equine half.

The mercenary commander let out a pleased groan and moved slightly to allow the pegasus mare easier access, tracing a lazy talon through her mane. She moved in closer to him and carefully eased herself onto the hippogriff, gasping with pleasure as she did so. The winged pony nibbled on her lower lip as she began to slowly rock herself back and forth while straddling the tiercel, “...After all,” she said, “you’re going to be so busy tomorrow―”

“―And I feel like I can help make your day a little better if you let me do this for you. What do you say, Miss Brisk?”

“While I appreciate the offer, Private Flashover,” the cyan unicorn mare said, fighting to keep a pleasant smile on her face as she beheld the incorrigible unicorn stallion’s broad grin, “I am perfectly capable of folding my own laundry, I assure you,” she said, clearing her throat as she used her telekinetic aura to gently pry away the silk nightgown that the orange stallion was holding up.

“Just trying to make myself helpful in any way that I can, Miss Brisk,” he insisted amiably, still maintaining his grin. “I am yours to command!”

“As it so happens, there is one thing that you can do for me that would be an immense help,” the unicorn mare said after spending a moment feigned in thought, flashing the private a pleading look. “I didn’t want to bring it up before because I thought it might be too much of an imposition...”

The stallion blew a dismissive raspberry, “Imposition? Miss Brisk, I am under direct orders to serve at your every whim! I am here to do your bidding, whatever it may be. So I can promise you, it’s no imposition at all.” he straightened himself up, a determined expression on his face. “Whatever it is, consider it done!”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Autumn Brisk let out a sigh of relief and levitated over a stack of thick tomes to the young soldier. “These are the collected works of R. O. Laurels―also known as, ‘Laurels of Arabia’―who studied Saddle Arabian culture extensively while she was there assisting with their revolt against the Bovinian Empire.” Flashover’s complexion visibly paled as he took possession of the teetering tower of books that he’d just been given. “I’d like you to go through them and find all her references to Saddle Arabian etiquette in general, and anything that might be regionally specific to Gallopoli in particular.”

“This...this is, like, a lot of books,” the stallion said, sounding hesitant. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to―”

“The last thing I want to do is accidentally offend our guests by committing a cultural faux pas!" The mare went on with a dramatic lilt in her voice, ignoring the his apprehensive words. "Why, could you imagine how humiliating it would be for me if I damaged Equestrian-Arabian relations because I picked up the wrong fork during a meal?! I’d be the laughing stock of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs!” She leaned in close to the private and peered at him with wide, pleading, eyes and quivering lips. “You don’t want me to be a laughing stock, do you?”

“Wha―no! No, of course not…” Flashover looked back at the volumes she was holding in the air and swallowed. A moment later, he’d managed a strained looking grin at the envoy. “Don’t you worry, Miss Brisk; I won’t let you down!” The stallion dipped down and maneuvered beneath the floating stack, which deposited themselves upon his back, eliciting a barely contained grunt as the weight of the tomes settled. “I’ll start going through these right away!” He snapped to attention and saluted the cyan unicorn before turning and leaving the bedroom of her private car. Out of earshot, he muttered to himself by way of a mantra: “They’re wild in the sack. They’re wild in the sack…”

For her own part, Autumn Brisk let out a relieved sigh and slumped onto her bed. She regarded the nightgown that she was still holding and rolled her eyes as she bundled it up with her magic and tossed it into the nearest open suitcase. He was a nice enough colt, and the pining was cute at times, but he was definitely a little...enthusiastic about his assignment. She’d debated asking the commander for a different attaché, but…

It was worth putting up with the private’s enthusiasm to help her if it meant that she got to have a cute stallion at her beck and call. It was a shame he wasn’t some noble’s relative. She’d have started riding him their first night out if that’d been the case. Oh well. She supposed that she’d just have to settle for letting him fawn all over her…

...and taking care to secure her more delicate articles.

She floated out a small sheaf of papers and began to read over their contents. Contrary to what she may have told the young soldier, Autumn Brisk had already made all of the notes that she needed on Saddle Arabian customs and traditions. The brief that she had received from Earl Bitter Creek had also laid out most of the relevant information that she’d need to accomplish her mission; such as the names and titles of Gallopoli’s leaders and community members of note. She had read over the lists already, of course, and committed many of them to memory, but she forced herself to review the material at least three times a day anyway.

This was her first assignment, and whether it was designed to trip her up or not, she was determined to not only accomplish her mission, but exceed all possible expectations of her peers. Being owed a favor by the head of her ministry was one thing, and would help to give her career a fine initial boost; but being lauded as a diplomatic prodigy was what it would take to make her career. Otherwise she risked all sorts of backroom rumors about how she had really secured the favor of Earl Bitter Creek, and those sorts of theories would only serve to undermine her in the future.

Just because she wasn’t actually above that sort of thing didn’t mean she needed that fact advertised―especially when it wasn’t true. This time.

Granted, her greatest concern at the moment was how she was going to deal with this Captain Corsair that she had been saddled with for her mission. The planning luncheons and meetings that she had shared with the mare thus far had certainly proved...illuminating. Autumn Brisk had no doubt that the dark blue pegasus mare was an accomplished military leader, but she clearly had little diplomatic acumen. The plans that she had outlined for the use of her soldiers made it sound like she was staging an occupation of the Saddle Arabian village! She was talking of searches and checkpoints, as though their task wasn’t one of merely protection from monsters during a construction project.

‘Drug interdictions’ indeed! Nothing in any of the Earl’s reports mentioned controlled substances of any kind being a concern in this area. In fact, her information insisted that glitterdust trade had been all but abolished in Saddle Arabia in the last decade.

The cyan unicorn envoy had kept trying to encourage the company commander to restrict her attentions to simply providing sentries around the outskirts of the town, but she routinely dismissed such notions immediately as being inadequate. Autumn Brisk hadn’t much cared for her tone during those moments either. The unicorn acknowledged that she wasn’t a military-minded mare, but it didn’t take a formal martial education to recognize that simply keeping an eye out for desert dwelling monsters that got too close to the town didn’t require inspecting merchant carts entering the town!

Captain Corsair’s efforts were doubtlessly going to end up raising some hackles if left unchecked, and Autumn Brisk knew that, as the mission’s envoy and representative of the Crowns, it was going to fall to her to bring the pegasus officer to heel when that happened. The problem with that was, while she certainly had the legal authority to issue instructions to the commander, there was realistically no way for Autumn Brisk to actually compel the flier to obey those instructions. All that she would be able to do was send a strongly worded letter back to the Earl bemoaning her troubles with her escort. While such a course of action would doubtlessly cause troubles for Corsair in the fullness of time, it would do nothing to help her out in the interim.

She needed leverage, and she had none. Promises of dire consequences later weren’t going to help her now.

Somepony knocked on the door to her cabin. The unicorn mare cringed and sighed. She had hoped that her attaché would have been distracted by the assignment she’d given him for longer than a few minutes. “Enter,” she looked over at the door and was surprised to see a gray horned head poke in where she had expected an orange one. “Oh, Lieutenant Lumiere! What can I do for you?” She floated her papers back into their folder and sat up on her divan, regarding the officer with a pleasant smile.

As she did so, her mind began to work as she contemplated several possible solutions to her problem. After all, if the commander proved herself to be a hindrance to the mission, the simplest option was to replace her with somepony who would be more cooperative. Thus far, the company’s executive officer had been quite receptive to her suggestions―or was at least very good at being a polite listener. If she could make him see reason, and come to share her thoughts on how best to approach their mission in Gallopoli, then it might be possible for her to convince Lumiere to relieve his wayward commander.

The cyan unicorn looked over the stallion as he stepped inside. It was simply a matter of finding the right means to secure his support if the time came that she should need it; and she had a few thoughts on how to accomplish that…

“I’m just here to advise you that the engineer has confirmed our arrival time in Istanbull. We’ll pull into the station at nineteen hundred hours―seven in the evening for you civilian types,” he added, flashing the mare a warm smile. “From there, it’s just a day’s march to Gallopoli.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant, I’ll be sure to be ready,” Autumn Brisk nodded. Then, just as the stallion was about to withdraw, she added, “Lieutenant?” The gray unicorn paused and she gestured to the open space on the divan next to her. “Do you have a moment to just...talk?” She smiled bashfully at the young officer. “I feel like we only see each other for briefings, and if we’re going to be spending the next few months working together, I figure we should get to know one another better.

“Pleasant though he may be, Private Flashover isn’t a very enlightening conversationalist.” She noticed the lieutenant hesitating in the doorway. “Unless I’m keeping you from your duties, of course. I don’t want to be an imposition.”

The other unicorn finally sighed and shook his head, offering a smile of his own to the envoy. “No, Ma’am; you’re not imposing.”

“Call me Autumn, please,” she insisted, moving over to make a little more room for the stallion to join her on her seat in the modest cabin. The officer stepped over and took the offered seat. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just…” she shrugged apologetically, “...I’m not used to being this isolated. I’m a ‘Representative of Their Royal Majesties’. I feel that has put off quite a few of your soldiers.”

The other unicorn nodded in understanding. “I can see how that might be the case. I could have a word with them, if you’d like?”

“Oh, goodness, no! Then they’ll feel like they’re being ordered to talk to me.” She shook her head. “I just want to be able to have a nice chat every once in awhile that’s not about ‘business’. Maybe that’s silly…”

“Not so much as you might think, Ma’am―Autumn,” the lieutenant corrected himself, earning a chuckle from the unicorn mare next to him. “Is there anything in particular that you’d like to talk about?”

The mare shrugged. “Oh, just little things. Nonsense things.” She reached over and gently brushed her fetlock against the lieutenant’s foreleg, looking coyly up at him. “Why don’t we start with you telling me all about, Lumiere…”

Corporal Cravat looked across the narrow aisle of the sleeper car that housed most of first platoon. He regarded the young orange unicorn stallion that had surrounded himself with what looked to be his own weight in books and was now reading through their contents with a determined expression on his face. Off to the side, a stylus was quivering as it jotted down a never ending stream of notes onto a small stack of papers.

“I can’t help but ponder the frightening amount of headway you’d make if you put that kind of effort into your military career,” the company’s medic mused. “You’d make General of Their Majesties Armies in, like, a year; tops.”

Flashover glanced up briefly to glare at his friend before returning to the open tome in front of him. “I take my work very seriously, you know that.”

“I know you take mares seriously,” Cravat observed.

“Exactly.” The other stallion paused briefly once more, flashing a wry smirk at the medical pony. “Wrangling mares is a lot of work. Especially if you want to land one of high breeding like Brisky. You know how that is.”

The dappled stallion cringed and lay back on his cot. “Oh, trust me, I know exactly what it takes to land a mare of ‘high breeding’,” he sighed.

Flashover shook his head, finally putting down his stylus and turning to look at the other stallion, crossing his forelegs under his chin. “Have I mentioned yet today how much I hate you?”

“Not since breakfast.”

“I have a subscription to Vanity Mare magazine, you know. I’ve seen pictures of Count High Rock’s daughter.” He ignored the annoyed groan that was the expected reaction from the medic whenever this subject came up. “Half the stallions in Manehattan would literally kill to even have a shot at the hottest mare on Bridleway right now―and you had her served up to you on a platter!

“What kind of stallion walks away from that?!” Flashover’s horn flared as he caught a book that had been inadvertently knocked off his cot in his excitement. Once he’d secured it, he continued, “Seriously, are you gay? I’m not judging; I’m just trying to understand how a stallion who claims to be straight turns down an arranged marriage to the leading mare in ‘My Fair Whinny’? I showed you the spread that she did for Playcolt, right? I’ve got it around here somewhere…”

“I saw it,” Cravat very nearly growled, not looking in Flashover’s direction. “She’s a very lovely mare, I know; and, no: I’m not gay.” The dappled stallion sighed, closing his eyes. “I just don’t like that I never got a say in the matter.”

“What, you think you can do better?” The orange unicorn’s tone suggested that he was quite doubtful on that point.

“I would like to have had the chance to try,” Cravat replied with a defeated expression. “The same way I’d have liked the chance to try pursuing a degree that I wanted; or even a job that I wanted…”

“Every pony on this train would give their hind legs to have what you gave up. You realize that, right?”

“Every pony but one,” the medic corrected with a smirk as he pointed a hoof at himself. “And if I could give it to somepony else, I probably would.” Another brief pause. “And I didn’t ‘give it up’; I just sort of...postponed it all for a bit.”

“Noble pony problems,” Flashover snorted before adopting a caricature of how he perceived titled nobility. “Oh, woe is me: my arranged bride is the hottest mare in Equestria! I was forced to attend the best university in the world! A spot’s been reserved for me running the most prestigious hospital in the princedom! How could my life possibly suck any more?!”

“Have I mentioned yet today how much I hate you?”

“Not since breakfast!” The unicorn grinned at his friend. He then retrieved his stylus. “Well, some of us have to actually put in effort to get pretty mares to notice us. So, if you don’t mind, I’m going to get back to impressing Brisky.”

“You do that.”

“I have the rosters for the duty rotations you asked for,” Bronco Company’s first sergeant announced, passing the small stack of papers across the small field desk that had been set up to allow for the baggage car to serve a dual purpose as the commander’s office and a briefing room for her small command staff. Normally, no such thing would have been set up on a train while the company was being shuttled between duty stations. However, they had been given short enough notice for this mission as it was, and there hadn’t been nearly enough time to take care of all of the administrative work that went into preparing for a mission like this back in Canterlot.

It was a two day trip to the Saddle Arabian border even by train, and Captain Corsair was determined to use as much of that time getting all of her ponies in a row as she could. This assignment was going to go off without a single hitch if she had anything to say on the matter.

At the moment, it was just the captain and her noncommissioned counterpart. Her subordinate officers would be arriving within the hour to give their updates on the cultural briefings that the soldiers were receiving during the trip. The deep blue pegasus mare reached out with her pinions and collected the sheaves of paper, giving the rosters only a cursory glance before setting them down again. First Sergeant Shillelagh was a perfectly competent noncom, and could certainly be trusted to come up with satisfactory duty rotations for the soldiers within the parameters that their orders had set.

“Thank you, First Sergeant,” the commander replied, “I know we’ll be stretching everypony a little thin. Truthfully, they should have sent at least a line company on this mission.” The crystal mare nodded her own agreement.

Corsair was familiar with the sorts of political games that were played in the military. Ironically, many such games were the result of specific edicts that had been put in place explicitly to head off such machinations.

In the interests of keeping Equestria’s cavalry from becoming mired by the sorts of posturing that went on within the Peerage, titled nobles were forbidden from holding direct command positions in the military, and were instead relegated to supporting staff roles high enough up the chain so as to keep them from causing too much mischief. In theory, this both precluded the possibility of any sort of insurrection, as had happened during Nightmare Moon’s rebellion, and it also meant that feuding noble factions couldn't manipulate troop deployments in ways that might put the nation at risk in order to strengthen their own bloc or weaken others.

In practice, however, politics and cronyism still found its way into the higher echelons of Equestria's military. This was, in part, due to the realm's practice of rewarding exceptional service of the military's top-performing generals with minor titles of nobility and granting them a modest little fief somewhere. It was something of an 'enhanced retirement package' for those whose service to Their Majesties proved to be exceptional, and was intended to motivate officers to perform to their utmost. A not unreasonable concept, in theory.

Of course, such a practice had overlooked the fact that there were two ways to become a 'top performing general': you could either push yourself to put in the extra time and effort into rising above your peers and become noticed by the Royal Court...or, you could undermine your competition in an effort to make yourself simply look more competent by comparison.

One of these routes was considerably easier than the other, and thus tended to be the more favored course of action.

Captain Corsair wasn’t sure who was trying to trip up who with this current debacle in the making, but she knew when she and her ponies were being used as pawns in somepony else's games; and she didn’t like it.

Gallopoli was barely a hamlet out in the middle of nowhere, not unlike Little Buck had been. That was why it didn’t yet have a town guard of its own, nor was it very close to any of the Saddle Arabian garrisons that dotted their empire. According to her official orders, all that she and her ponies needed to do was set up regular patrols around the outskirts of the town to interdict any encroaching salamandars and keep the peace, just like a normal town guard. That should have been a simple enough task, and quite easily accomplished with the numbers that she had at hoof.

However, along with her orders regarding the protection of the town, there'd been an intelligence brief indicating that there was a burgeoning glitterdust trade in the small settlement and that it was being used to shunt the drug into Equestria. Now, officially, glitterdust was illegal in both Equestria and Saddle Arabia. Unofficially, the Saddle Arabians didn’t actually care all that much about it. The passage of the law banning the distribution and sale of the substance had been a provision in some trade agreement between the two nations over a century ago.

The finely powdered narcotic had a rather...profound effect on unicorns. In very carefully controlled and properly administered doses, it could measurably increase a unicorn’s magical potential. It simultaneously produced a strong sense of euphoria in unicorns as well. The doses that maintained the heightened magical aptitude needed to be spaced out and kept rather small, otherwise it would actually dampen a unicron’s magical abilities.

This was not the case with the euphoria. That only grew with the size of the dose and frequency. Predictably, it was very easy to become addicted to glitterdust, and very quickly do irreparable damage to a unicorn’s ability to perform even the simplest telekinetic manipulation. Even a few overdoses could effectively cripple a unicorn in as little as a week. Hence why its distribution within Equestria was heavily restricted.

However, glitterdust didn’t actually affect Saddle Arabians in any way at all, not even as a narcotic, so it wasn’t a problem for them. As such, there wasn’t a lot of motivation on their end to put real effort into policing and enforcing the ban. Corsair was pretty sure that there were penalties written into the trade agreement that were supposed to go into effect if the Saddle Arabians were found to be derelict in their obligations, but the reality was that enforcing those penalties wasn’t actually worth what it would cost in the lost goodwill between the two nations.

Not when that same treaty also contained wording which gave Equestrian forces jurisdiction to interdict the drug within Saddle Arabian borders, if such forces were officially invited into Saddle Arabia in the first place. The perpetrators were supposed to be passed off to local officials for punishment―which Corsair was confident would be less than a slap on the fetlock―but the drug itself could be confiscated by the Equestrian forces and destroyed.

So it was that part of Bronco Company’s job would also include conducting inspections of goods going into and out of Gallopoli for the purposes of interdicting glitterdust shipments. At least, those were the directives that had been present in her orders from the general.

Which would be a lot easier to do with more than the eighty-ish ponies she had at her disposal…

“Would it be feasible to detach one of our pegasi with a message for Lieutenant Butters to tell him to get that ‘rear detachment’ of his up here sooner?” She didn’t like the idea of leaving Little Buck without anypony to look after them, but…

Maybe if she also sent a request to Major Gladius, asking him to spare a platoon or two for the village…?

The noncom nodded, “That can be arranged, yes, Ma’am. I’ve also got a few ideas that I’d like to run past you and the other officers about improving the speed of our searches,” the crystal mare noted the commander’s piqued interest and continued, “Corporal Litmus’ parents work as apothecaries in Stalliongrad. According to him, it’s possible to mix a liquid that will act as a reliable detector to see if any object has been anywhere near glitterdust. He’s confident he could mix some up when we get to Gallopoli.”

“Really? I want him at the staff meeting coming up. I want to hear this idea of his.” If it really could reduce the invasiveness of their searches, and the speed at which they could do them, that would help out a great deal. “I don’t suppose you’ve been struck by any other rays of inspiration?”

“Not that come to mind, Ma’am. But I’ll let you know if any do.”

“Please do.” They’d need every advantage they could get on this mission, especially with that envoy of theirs being as obstinate as she was. Every time Corsair brought up anything to do with measures designed to interdict glitterdust, Autumn Brisk nearly threw a fit, calling them a waste of time and too antagonizing.

Honestly, Corsair would have preferred to just keep the unicorn out of the loop entirely at this point, just to be rid of her whining; but the pegasus didn’t even want to think about the nightmare that would be waiting for her back home when the envoy lodged her inevitable protests with the Cavalry for that. She could huff and holler all she wanted about the cart searches; the fact was that Corsair was enforcing a bona fide treaty between Equestria and Saddle Arabia. If Autumn Brisk lodged a complaint about that, it was her flank that would be under the microscope. So Corsair was content to simply ignore her petulant protests on that matter.

Which didn’t mean that she still wouldn’t rather have not heard them at all.

It was going to be a long mission...

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading! As always, a thumbs up and comment are always greatly appreciated :twilightblush:

I've set up a Cover Art Fund if you're interested and have any bits lying around!

Chapter v

The Viridian Pasture Restaurant,

Canterlot,

Central Equestria,

And Fort Nag,

Southern Equestria

“You look nervous, General Maniple. You are dining at the most exclusive restaurant in all of Equestria. Ponies who eat here aren’t supposed to look nervous,” the fourth Earl of Bitter Creek admonished in a low tone as he floated up the crystal flute and took a sip of the glittering champagne contained within. He couldn’t help but smile as the succulently sweet nectar flowed across his lips.

As little as five years ago, only Princesses Celestia and Luna themselves might have remembered what wine made from the crystal berries of the once lost Crystal Empire had tasted like. He himself, a fine connoisseur of wines and sparkling ciders the world over, from the sultry dry reds of the Zebra Confederation, to the sweet roses of Prance, had to acknowledge that none of them held a candle to this fruity crystal beverage. The mouthfeel was simply exquisite!

While the Crystal Empire might have returned, its vineyards and wineries were far from recovered, and nothing that they had recently produced had had anywhere near enough time to suitably age for distribution. As a result, the only bottles of crystal berry wine which existed―outside of Princess Celestia's private reserves, of course―were those which had been present in King Sombra's own―considerable―wine cellars when the Empire had vanished a thousand years ago.

Shortly after her coronation as its new sovereign, Princess Cadance had graciously "returned" the wine to the ponies of her empire, along with many of the other riches their tormentor had pillaged from his subjects. It was a first step in her efforts to heal the scars left on the populace by Sombra.

It had not taken long for the crystal ponies to find out that just about each and every one of them was in possession of what were effectively considered to be "priceless antiquities" by collectors in Equestria. As often as not, their simple knick-knacks and baubles were creations of long-dead artists of great modern renown; and their wines and liquors were salivated over by aficionados the world over. Many crystal ponies were now considerably quite well off financially, as a result of selling off their possessions for hundreds of time what they had been worth only "yesterday" from their point of view.

This was how the comparatively few bottles of the Empire's wine had found themselves in circulation in Equestria. It would be several decades before a steady supply became available so, until then, what existed was sold at a premium and really only accessible to Equestria’s most wealthy clientele―of which the earl happened to be one. Indeed, this single glass easily eclipsed a month’s worth of income for even a well off pony. And it was worth every bit, as far as Bitter Creek was concerned.

“My apologies, Your Grace,” the general mumbled, “It’s just that…” The earth pony stallion took a long sip from his own much modestly-priced Coltifornia red wine to steady his nerves before continuing, “the EIS came snooping around, asking a lot of questions about those mercenaries of yours. I gave them all the documents that you told me to, and that seemed to satisfy them, but…”

The earl began to laugh out loud, drawing a concerned look from his dining companion, in addition to a few dower glances from nearby tables as their own dining was disturbed. Bitter Creek ignored the looks, instead continuing to act as though his companion had said something uproariously amusing. “General, you have nothing to worry about! I was perfectly happy to help you with disposing of all that surplus equipment of yours,” he said in a tone that was easily loud enough to be heard by most of the diners on their side of the restaurant, eliciting a wince from the senior officer. “What are good friends for?”

Then, in a much more subdued tone, though keeping his broad smile in place for the sake of appearances for anypony who might still be looking their way, he said, “the EIS has closed their formal inquiry. They had no choice but to do so. The documentation is too inscrutable. However, I have learned that there is still an ongoing ‘informal’ investigation.”

“What?” The earth pony paled noticeably. He glanced around nervously and leaned in close. “I’ve heard nothing of this!”

“I did say it was an informal investigation, did I not?” The earl reiterated, not hiding his mild annoyance this time. He was reminded that a pony's position was not always indicative of their intellect. “That means that there isn’t anything to hear about. It’s just a hoofful of ponies poking around and hoping that they get lucky.”

“And if they do get lucky?”

“Calm yourself, general. I have already tasked somepony to deal with the matter,” the alabaster unicorn assured the nearly manic general officer. “They will learn nothing, and report less.”

Maniple, however, didn’t seem inclined to calm down all that much. His own mind was racing with thoughts of how wrong this all could go for him if his role in their conspiracy was exposed. “Why didn’t you mention anything about this to me before?”

“Plausible deniability, general. The less you know, the more convincing you’ll sound if you’re questioned about something,” Bitter Creek supplied matter-of-factly. “It’s highly unlikely, of course, but I’m not of a mind to take any great risks at this time. We’re very close to the point of no return.”

The earth pony stallion thought for a moment, nodding absently before cocking his head to the side. “Your Grace, if there was no record of this informal investigation, then how did you know about it?”

“You are far from the only pony I’ve involved in this matter, general,” the earl said. “I have several contacts, all positioned to tell me what is going on and what threats to the plan might appear. One of these contacts alerted me to this possible problem, and I’ve made arrangements to have it solved.

“So, as you can see, General Maniple,” the unicorn said with a thinly exasperated sigh, “there is nothing for either you or I to be concerned about.” He reveled in the cringe that spread across the earth pony’s face at the louder volume of Alabaster’s voice as he resumed speaking in a conversational tone. “Things are progressing along as we expected them to.

“Why, I only yesterday received the first official complaint from my envoy, bemoaning that Captain Combed Hair of yours, and her insurmountable obstinance,” the unicorn smiled pleasantly. He had logged the formal complaint and forwarded a copy through the official channels in the Cavalry. The general would doubtlessly receive his own official notification tomorrow or the next day, depending on how long the missive languished on the various desks it passed through between departments. Most ponies might have begrudged the excruciatingly slow-turning wheels of the existing bureaucracy―as Alabaster himself was oft to do―but in this case it worked much to their advantage. That ingrained inefficiency would be just another caveat on the investigative report that would clear him and his office of any blame in the aftermath of the coming...difficulties.

“Corsair,” the general corrected automatically before his features instantly brightened. “You did? Well, that was sooner than expected,” he admitted in a much more relaxed tone. “They can’t have been in Gallopoli for more than a couple of days by now.”

“Judging from the letter’s contents, I believe it was sent immediately upon their arrival in Istanbull. Apparently my envoy and your captain were butting heads even during the train ride up there.” He took another delectable sip of his wine and sighed. “I commend you, general. Captain Corsair was an inspired choice, it seems.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. I had hoped so. I suspect the doctored files you provided are helping things along too.”

“As well they should,” the earl nodded in agreement. “Nothing like contradicting orders to put ponies at odds, is there? The more complaints my ministry receives, the better this will look for the two of us in the course of time. However, there is something else you will need to do for me, and it should be done sooner rather than later.”

“Your Grace?”

“There will come a time when my office will be compelled to make a formal request that you relieve this Corsair of her post, in light of all of the complaints that my envoy is sending.” The earth pony nodded his understanding thus far. “It would be tragically inconvenient if any suitable replacements happened to be on assignment elsewhere. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Oh, yes, Your Grace, it certainly would be. If we’re fortunate, both the Royal Equestrian Cavalry and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs won’t have any pressing need for the Frontier Corps in the next few weeks…”

The unicorn idly rubbed his chin. “You know, general, now that I think on it, the hippogriff kingdom hasn’t been the recipient of a goodwill tour in quite some time...the minotaurs either. Why, I am only now realizing just how far my ministry has lagged in its duty to maintain equitable relations with our neighbors under my predecessors.

“I should draft a proposal for additional outreach programs and send it to Princess Twilight Sparkle. I’m certain that the Princess of Friendship can come up with all manner of uses for your Frontier Corps!” The earl’s smile was broad and warm, but the cool glint in his eyes belied the feigned mirth in his words. Indeed, outwardly, there was nothing that anypony could have found to fault with his expressed notions. Safeguarding outlying Equestrian settlements and building cordial relations with neighboring nations were the core tenets of the Frontier Corps, and they had been for many centuries.

However, until quite recently, Equestria had observed a strict isolationist policy, focused more on internal development than fostering foreign relations with any but their most proximal neighbors. Much of that had changed in the last few years though, with the ascension of Equestria’s fourth alicorn princess, and her focus on promoting friendship both within, and more recently beyond Equestria’s borders. As of yet, the young alicorn had not made formal requests of the Frontier Corps, but the Earl of Bitter Creek wondered if that was because she might not be aware of their alternate purpose.

By all accounts, Princess Twilight Sparkle was very driven and determined to execute her duties as the patron of Friendship, and fostering cordial relations with every other known race on the planet was an outspoken goal of hers. If it were made mention to her that there was an entire corps of the military set aside for just such a purpose…

Why, General Maniple might very quickly find himself quite overwhelmed with requests for the services of his most able commanders. Leaving none available to relieve the mare causing a stir in Saddle Arabia.

“I’m sure she could at that, Your Grace,” the general agreed, appearing to be significantly more cheerful than he had been only a few minutes ago as he began to see the wider plan coming together. It seemed that he had not given the earl nearly enough credit. The unicorn noble had obviously put a lot more thought into this plan than he’d initially assumed. “If you would like, I can send your ministry a list of the Frontier Corps’ units for you to forward to the Princess. In the interests of ensuring she uses my forces as efficiently as possible, of course.”

“Of course, general, that would be of immeasurable help,” the earl smiled. His horn glowed bright as he lifted his half-full glass in the air, toasting the officer. “To Friendship!”

Captain Hawkwood didn’t frequent the pony lands. Admittedly, that didn’t have anything to do with any particular feelings of personal animosity towards the tiny equine residents. It was merely a consequence of his vocation, and where that work tended to take him. As a rule, the largely pacifist ponies of Equestria had little use for professional mercenaries. That wasn’t always the case, of course, but had certainly been the way of things recently.

While the ponies seemed loath to flex anything approaching martial might these days, neither were their neighbors much interested in seeking to stir anything up with Equestria either. Though contemporary ponies weren't anywhere near as militant-minded as griffons or minotaurs, there was no denying that Equestria had long solidified a reputation with the other nations as a place that was not to be trifled with. They had a long history of sundering demi-gods, powerful tyrants, and hordes of fearsome monsters with seemingly little trouble. Equestria might not be one to play the role of the aggressor, but no being could claim with a straight face that the ponies didn’t know how to hold their own if pressed to fight.

Which only served to make the request for the services of his company all the more intriguing. Equestria was a nation that had never started a war, nor typically needed any assistance finishing one that had was being waged against them. What use could a nation like that have for a band of veteran mercenaries like his Ivory Company?

Satisfying that little bit of curiosity had been the primary impetus behind his acceptance of the contract. Normally, he would never have entertained the notion of undertaking such a vague assignment. This profession was hazardous enough without intentionally depriving oneself essential information about the nature of the contract, such as knowing exactly who their adversary was even going to be. However, Hawkwood felt confident enough that, of all the races in the world, the ponies of Equestria were the least likely to try and start anything too serious with a particularly potent enemy.

And, if it turned out that it looked like the Ivory Company was going to be asked to tug on the manticore's tail...well, then he could simply renege on the contract and return to Roam. He hardly cared about maintaining his personal reputation with ponies. Especially since he very much doubted this Earl Bitter Creek was going to make a big public stink about his defaulting on a contract that apparently is supposed to be kept a secret or something anyway.

His second officer, Gertrude, didn’t seem to share his optimistic attitude though. “I still don’t like this, sir.”

The hippogriff smirked at his subordinate as they glided through the air, the rest of his company following in their wake. Hippogriffs, griffons, and even a few pegasi, flew in neat, orderly formations, the banners of their organization fluttering with impunity. Their passage thus far had garnered quite a few gawks from the local ponies that they passed, as well as an interdiction by an Equestrian patrol along the way. However, the requisition that the Earl’s envoy had bestowed upon them contained a marque of passage as well.

Hawkwood wondered if word of their not-so-subtle trip through Equestria would reach their employer, and what his reaction would be to their ostentatiousness. This was, of course, supposed to be a ‘secret’ mission, was it not? Perhaps it was, or it wasn't. How was the hippogriff commander to know when he was provided with so little information?

“Really? Because I’m actually having a pretty good time,” and he wasn’t being sarcastic either. “I feel like I’m on parade!” And, indeed, his company very well could have been returning to a celebratory Triumph, the way they were presenting themselves on this trip.

“We still don’t even know what we’re getting into,” the dour hen grumbled.

“If I had to guess, we’re about to become a part of some petty noble’s feud,” Hawkwood reasoned. “Such a dispute between ponies will be especially simple. Relax, Gerty. Equestria, of all places, is unlikely to get into anything too troublesome.”

“I suppose,” the griffon admitted. She canted her head suddenly, and pointed. “There, sir! I see the fort we’re supposed to go to.”

Hawkwood turned to follow his second’s gaze, and his own keen eyes found the indicated fortress, as well as the collection of crates that had been gathered in its courtyard. Doubtless, that was the equipment that they were supposed to collect for their assignment. He still wasn’t positive what need they could have for it, but there had been assurances that everything would be explained to them here. He certainly hoped that was the case, otherwise he was resolved to have his company turn around right here and now and head back to the zebra lands, where the legates there were much more forthright with the work that they hired his mercenaries for.

“And I suspect that rather put out looking fellow is our contact,” the hippogriff chuckled, noting the stallion standing near the supply crates that was scowling deep enough to be clearly seen from the air. “Let’s go and speak with him. Have the rest of the company stage outside the fort’s walls.” The griffon hen nodded and relayed his instructions to the squadron leaders before returning to his side and following him down to the meeting with the pegasus stallion waiting to greet them.

The pony was very nearly sputtering when he finally spoke in what could only loosely be described as a ‘greeting’. “Have you lost your chicken-feathered minds!” The stallion seethed. “What are you thinking, making a spectacle of yourselves like this?!”

“Oh, were we supposed to be subtle about all of this?” Hawkwood said, feigning surprise at the vitriol reaction. Though the act was only barely veiled, and an amused smile was tugging viscously at the corners of his mouth as he watched the pony's face turn a most amusing shade of purple that had nothing to do with the coloration of his coat. “I’m so sorry. Our instructions were rather vague. About everything.”

The pegasus, who Hawkwood recognized was wearing the golden sun of a colonel on his collar, bit back what was doubtlessly a string of grossly impolite epithets. The message had been received, he surmised. The Earl could seethe about this all he wanted to later. “I’ll pass along your...critique. In the meantime, I need you to sign for these supplies,” the stallion then produced a clipboard and a stylus.

The hippogriff quirked an eyebrow. “Isn’t a paper trail sort of anathema to covert missions?” He took the offered board and quickly skimmed over the forms. They turned out to be a rather mundane Bill of Sale. Curiouser and curiouser...

“What ‘covert mission’?” the pegasus responded severely. “The Equestrian military is just selling your mercenary company surplus equipment. Transactions like this happen all the time,” the colonel continued in a matter-of-factly tone. “The Cavalry gets supplied with new equipment, and turns around and sells its old surplus at a bargain price to free up space and help offset the costs.

“There is absolutely nothing at all 'secret' or 'unusual' about transactions like this one.” Then the severity returned. “Mercenaries flying around in our airspace like a conquering army, on the other hoof…”

Hawkwood ignored the barb and instead peered more closely at the paperwork he was holding in his talons. Everything did indeed seem to be completely above board and legal. There was a complete inventory of all the supplies that he was being given, which included everything from barding, to spears, to hoofblades, to bows...he was even sure that, if he were to open those crates and look inside, all their contents would match up perfectly with the invoices he was holding. There was not a single thing that was suspect about any of this.

Except for maybe the fact that the Bill of Sale that he was being asked to sign indicated that everything had already been paid for by a third party. The title of the purchasing agent was listed as a: ‘Sandalwood and Sons Holdings, LLC’. The hippogriff had never heard of any such organization, nor did he know of any reason that they should be buying his mercenary band second-talon equipment from ponies. He doubted that he was going to get any of those questions answered by the pegasus colonel though.

He made his mark on the last of the requisition forms and returned the clipboard to the pegasus stallion. The colonel glanced over the paperwork to ensure that everything was in order as far as he was concerned. Seemingly satisfied, the pony then fished out a wax-sealed envelope and passed it to the hippogriff, “Now get your crap out of my courtyard within the hour. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly,” Hawkwood replied in a bored tone as he took the missive. A flick of his talons sent Gertrude to go and fetch a detail to retrieve their newly acquired hardware while he set about reviewing what he took to be the more detailed parameters of the mission that he’d been promised. Unlike everything else he’d been passed during this meeting, there wasn’t anything even remotely official looking about the envelope he was holding. The wax hadn't been stamped with any seal or signet, and the stationary looked like it could have been bought at any corner store in the nation which sold such things.

On the bright side, this left very little up for interpretation. At the least, the hippogriff tiercel could appreciate having such succinct objectives to accomplish. Though, even he had to admit that he would never have been able to guess at the contents of the message.

“Naughty little deals, indeed,” he mumbled under his breath as several dozen members of his mercenary company were flitting in to collect the crates. His griffon aide-de-camp landed by his side, casting him an inquiring look. He passed her the missive, noting her own stunned expression as her widened eyes scanned over it a second time to make certain she hadn't misunderstood anything. “It’s been a while since we’ve gotten this kind of work,” he noted.

Once she’d recovered from the initial shock of the letter’s contents, the griffon hen scowled and returned the letter. “The Arabians aren’t going to like us much after this, sir.” Not that the lanky desert-dwelling equines had had much use for the Ivory Company up to this point, Hawkwood noted to himself.

He looked on as the last of the Equestrian surplus was hauled away. “I don’t think it’ll be us that gets saddled with the blame for this one,” he chuckled before taking flight himself. Below, the few ponies who had not been too occupied with their work to watch the curious collection of mercenary fliers looked on as they departed.

One such pony, a young pegasus mare dressed in the uniform of a private, and who was a very recent transfer to the fort, raised up her granite hued hoof and lightly pressed it up against a black choker around her neck that, truth be told, did not fall within official cavalry uniform wear and appearance guidelines. However, it was normally quite effectively obscured by her armor’s gorget. “Transaction complete. Targets departing west.” The mare tucked the choker back down behind her armor and resumed polishing her sergeant’s helmet, which was relayed to her as being the typical duty of new members in the section.

Private Fairbanks, who was most certainly not Field Operative Vigenere of the Equestrian Intelligence Service―despite sharing a stunningly uncanny resemblance to such a mare as to fool even her own mother―knew perfectly well that such delegations of work were not, in fact, technically permissible. However, it was not in her interests to draw attention to herself by raising a stink with her chain of command, so she simply continued to clean the helm and let her comrades take over the task of keeping an eye on the group of fliers that she wasn’t supposed to know were mercenaries from the Ivory Company under contract to Earl Bitter Creek.

Meanwhile, another mare―who it could be argued bore a striking resemblance to a pegasus in Roam named Saccharine, but obviously wasn't that mare―calmly acknowledged the magically transmitted message even as her own amber eyes peered out from the canopy at the flock of creatures flying away from Fort Nag. She felt a low growl building deep in her throat as she watched them leaving. Very little of that budding ire was directed at the mercenaries though.

Earl Bitter Creek had proven himself to be a particularly slippery quarry. If Nightjar hadn’t known any better, she’d have suspected that the noblepony had once been involved in the practicing of some spycraft himself. Of course, he had not. No, the Foreign Affairs Minister had gained all of his skills at subterfuge and misdirection through his involvement in a much shadier profession than the EIS: politics.

Nightjar had been certain that there was something underhoofed going on between Captain Hawkwood and the earl. A member of the Equestrian nobility making deals with mercenaries in the back rooms of shady zebra taverns? How could that not be a hint that something fowl was in the making? Sure, Nightjar hadn’t found anything specifically incriminating, but there had been enough smoke to warrant a cursory investigation by the Equestrian Intelligence Service to see if there was any actual fire, as was one of their mandates.

Much to Nightjar’s surprise, that investigation had ended almost before it had even begun, and not for the sort of reasons that she might have suspected. The batpony operative had been ready to fight fang and hoof against political stonewalling and cronyism, seeing as how she was going after a government official of noble birth, but none of that had happened. Instead, the reason that the investigation had ended within hours of being opened was that the EIS’s first tentative official inquiries had been answered with an inundation of supporting documentation from both the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Calvary! To include copies of all the official correspondence between the commanding general of the Frontier Corps and the Foreign Affairs Ministry asking for help in finding suitable buyers for the realm’s surplus military equipment.

In response to what had become almost annual occurrences, wherein the realm was brought to the precipice of destruction by powerful beings and their armies, Equestria’s military was undergoing a complete rearmament with an entirely new generation of barding and weaponry so that they could better meet the realm’s escalating security needs. Tens of thousands of tons of equipment and supplies were being pushed out to cavalry units, forcing those units to try and find somewhere to store all of their old obsolete gear. Warehouse space was at a premium, and the prices for every square yard of floor space were starting to put a real dent in the military’s finances. Every branch of the Cavalry was desperate to find buyers on which to offload that surplus to get their budgets under control.

Even going so far as to reach out to foreign mercenary bands, it would seem. So it was that the explanation for the communication with the Ivory Company that the EIS had been given, was that the Foreign Affairs Ministry was reaching out to them on behalf of the Cavalry to offload military surplus. A completely innocent―and an apparently not uncommon―explanation.

With Nightjar's raised concerns ameliorated by the apparently entirely legitimate exchange of correspondence between the earl and foreign mercenaries, there had not been any way for the EIS to justify keeping the investigation open in an official capacity. So it had been terminated before Nightjar even reached Canterlot. Of course, the mare had immediately reported what she had heard the mercenary captain and the Earl’s aide saying to one another, and whatever the official record might say, there had been nothing ‘legitimate-sounding’ about that conversation to her mind.

However, the word of even one of the EIS’s senior operatives was not enough to support sustaining an official inquiry into an Equestrian noble of such high rank and standing in the face of overwhelming physical evidence which appeared to legitimize his actions. It wasn’t even that her superiors didn’t believe her. They were perfectly willing to entertain the notion that more was going on than met the eye―that was usually how things went with nobles, after all. It was simply a matter of their own hooves being tied by the bounds of what the laws would allow even the EIS to do. While they might operate beneath a royal writ from Princess Luna Herself which gave her spy network a lot of leeway in most matters of national security, that freedom came with a heavy weight of responsibility.

If it ever appeared that the operatives who answered personally to the Night Princess were harassing the citizens, and especially the nobility, of Equestria without just cause―such as when having been presented with evidence clearing the target of their investigation of any wrongdoing―the backlash against their royal patron could be fierce. Princess Luna was still only relatively recently returned to Equestria, and the stigma of her ancient transgression was never far from the minds of the citizenry. Slowly, Her Royal Highness was beginning to rebuild the trust of her subjects, but there was no denying that she had nowhere near the backlog of goodwill in the public or the Peerage that her solar sister did.

If one of the realm’s more powerful nobles, such as Earl Bitter Creek, was to file a formal grievance and create a large public spectacle of it all, the damage to Princess Luna’s image would be significant. Princess Celestia herself might even be compelled to intervene if the Peerage put enough pressure on her. They might even insist that operation of the EIS be transferred to The Princess of the Sun―the more ‘trustworthy’ sister―or maybe even disbanded altogether, if they could stoke enough public outrageh.

The EIS's leadership could not―would not―allow the honor of Her Royal Highness Princess Luna to be tarnished in such a way. They would not take the risk. So Nightjar’s allegations of impropriety against Earl Bitter Creek were very neatly and quietly suppressed. Until such time as additional―tangible―evidence presented itself that could not be dismissed by the existing interdepartmental correspondence they'd already been given.

That being said, the Ivory Company itself was another matter entirely. They were neither Equestrian citizens, nor even technically affiliated with the Princesses or any members of the nobility. While they did possess letters of passage for the purposes of purchasing the surplus equipment that had been reserved for them, that did not place them above any and all suspicion of possible ulterior motives. There was even historical precedent for placing such groups under a full military escort while they were within Equestria's borders. That had not been done this time, though the EIS couldn’t find a comprehensive reason why that hadn’t been done. All indications were that such a request for troop assignments had simply never been filed. Such an escort wasn’t required, per se, but traditionally it had always been done anyway.

While the Equestrian Intelligence Service couldn’t legally give the Cavalry orders, it was within their own purview to monitor possible threats to Equestria, be they from outside the nation’s borders, or from within them. If they found a credible potential threat, then a formal request could be made asking for assistance from the Cavalry. So a surveillance detail had been assembled and assigned to watch over the mercenaries ‘until further notice’, with Nightjar in charge of that operation.

The batpony mare recognized the order for what it really was: a way to continue her investigation of the earl without formally 'investigating' him. Any typical monitoring of a group like the Ivory Company would have stopped the moment they left Equestria’s borders. However, the open-endedness of the wording on the instructions that she had been given in this particular instance would allow her to track the mercenaries for as long as she wanted. Or at least until the EIS' bean-counters stopped covering her expense reports.

She’d be able to follow the mercenaries to wherever they were going and find out exactly what it was that the Foreign Affairs Minister had contracted them to do. That being said, it wouldn’t be enough to simply catch the Ivory Company doing something disagreeable. They were a free company. They occasionally did disagreeable things while under contract with disreputable clients. What she would need was find evidence that linked their actions with Earl Bitter Creek specifically. Otherwise there was nothing more the EIS could do on the matter.

Nightjar touched the choker once more. “All pursuit team members: get your spacing and keep your distance. We just need to be able to track them. Anypony who gets close enough to be spotted by the targets will be personally disemboweled by me, is that clear?” A chorus of acknowledgements answered her. The batpony Senior Operative then sat back on the limb of the tree she was perched on and watched the flying mercenary formation shrink into the distance. Once they were little more than pinpricks, she’d finally take flight and follow them as well.

“That sounds a bit harsh,” a deep voice said a couple scant inches from her ear.

The words had not come over the magical collar that she and her team wore and, while she recognized the voice, the speaker had not been a member of her team. It was a testament to Nightjar's self-control that she hadn’t fallen out of the tree in her surprise, which had no doubt been the intended result of the sudden appearance of the batpony stallion behind her. Nightjar hadn’t been able to keep herself from reacting entirely though, and had jerked quite noticeably. The glare she flashed the intruder didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. He merely grinned back at her.

“Tell me,” he went on, still smiling smugly to himself at having managed to catch her by surprise, “will the pony you disembowel be tied down first? Because I think I might want to take you up on that. But only if we get to trade places next time…”

“Nocturn!” The mare snapped. “Luna help me, I will not warn you again!” Then her gaze narrowed even further as a thought occurred to her. “What are you even doing here?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not checking up on you,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hoof. “I’m here to help, in fact!” He reached into his saddlebag and took out a folded piece of paper, holding it out to Nightjar. The mare snatched it away, maintaining her displeased scowl. “What, no ‘thank you’?” The mare mumbled something under her breath that sounded like it had been laced with a few disparaging epithets, eliciting another chuckle from the batpony stallion.

The mare’s slitted pupils scanned the paper, and then she looked up at the stallion. “Where did you get this?”

“Oh, come now! You know as well as I do that an agent never gives up their sources.” He tapped his chin. “Though, I suppose I could be persuaded this time...” He leaned his muzzle down close to Nightjar’s. “...but it’ll cost you a kiss.”

“Pass,” was the mare’s deadpan response as she looked back at the paper and reread its contents. If the information written here was accurate…

Nightjar passed the paper back to the batpony stallion. “Set up the meeting.”

“That was rather quick,” Nocturn chuckled as he took the message and returned it to his saddlebags.

“If they know something, I’m not going to pass up the chance to find out what it is,” the mare responded. “Bitter Creek’s obviously thought this scheme of his through and taken a lot of steps to cover his tracks. A mole on the inside who can get us the evidence we need is honestly our only hope at this point.”

“Alright,” the stallion shrugged, “I’ll have our contacts set up a meeting for you.” That pervasive teasing smile of his returned. “Should I make it somewhere cozy and romantic? You might need to honeypot him.” He feigned thinking for a moment. “Or her. I honestly don’t know who they are. Oh! Hey, have you ever seduced a mare before?”

Nightjar’s nostrils flared briefly before she feigned reciting through tightly clenched teeth, “Dear, Princess Luna. I regret to inform you that I was forced to geld one of our operatives and choke him to death with his own dick…”

“Kidding! Kidding!” The stallion said in a tone that could have almost passed for apologetic, though his grin didn't help it to seem particularly sincere. He did flutter a good bit further away from her on the tree limb though, Nightjar noticed. Far enough away that he’d have a fair chance of evading her if she lunged for his throat. “Well...sort of kidding,” he amended, “but I can just comb the reports of your previous assignments for that answer.” She wanted little more than to wipe that insidious smile of his from his muzzle. “With you off to Luna-knows-where, I’ll need something to think about while I’m in bed tonight, after all―”

This time, the batpony mare did lunge for him. Had he not recently extended the distance between them, she was certain that she’d have gotten him too. As it was, the stallion managed to just barely slip out of her reach, though it was with a rather undignified ‘eep!’ of surprise. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying as actually wringing his neck would have been, but it sated her rage enough to let her get a grip on her emotions once more. She fixed her hate-filled eyes on the dissipating mist that was all that remained of the stallion’s reflexive shadow-jump.

He wouldn’t have been able to manage to get very far in the day time, she knew, but she didn’t have time to go looking for him. The Ivory Company were mere dots along the skyline now. It was time for her to get back to her mission. She raised her voice and called out, “if you contact me at any point for a reason other than setting up that meeting, Nocturn, Our Princess will be given a formal complaint about your behavior! Knowing you, I suspect that mine will only be the next in a long and wearying line that she’s received over the years; but I promise you that the details it will contain will be more than enough to get you drummed out of not just the EIS, but Equestria itself!

“Do I make myself clear?”

There was no answer, but she hadn’t really expected one. Nightjar took a cleansing breath to quell the remainder of her ire and then took flight in pursuit of the mercenaries.

From deep in the shadows of the underbrush, the batpony stallion watched her leave. His usual smile was gone now. Her attack had caught him off guard, he was forced to concede that much to himself at least. He’d misjudged how far he’d pushed the mare with his verbal jabs. That was what annoyed him the most, honestly; that he’d failed to read her well enough.

He’d been trying to provoke such an attack for a while now. It would have given him the excuse he needed to give that bitch the thorough beating she deserved and finally put her in her place. Yet, when the moment finally arrived, he’d been unprepared for it. The thought caused his teeth to grind together hard enough that there was real danger that he might chip a fang.

He hated that mare. He loathed her to her very core. Pegasi, unicorns, earth ponies, zebras, even hippogriffs...but she would not bed him? His leathery wings quivered as he thought about the insult she’d leveled against him by taking up with that Hawkwood scoundrel. All just to spite him, naturally.

One day soon, though, he’d have his chance to show her how wrong she'd been to rebuke him. When that day came, he’d demonstrate how worthy he was of not merely her respect, but her obedience! He was her superior, both within the EIS, and outside of it, and he would have her behave as such.

She would be cowed before him…

...or she would die.

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading! As always, a thumbs up and comment are always greatly appreciated :twilightblush:

I've set up a Cover Art Fund if you're interested and have any bits lying around!

Chapter vi

Gallopoli,

Eastern Saddle Arabia,

And The Western Arborlands,

Western Equestria

“Is this going to take much longer?” The horse pulling the wagon snarled irritably at the pegasus wearing sergeant’s chevrons. He was eyeing the trio of ponies that constituted the checkpoint’s inspection detail as they dutifully picked their way through each one of the sewn up sacks that he was pulling. One of the unicorns was using something that looked not unlike a paintbrush that he ran over each of the sacks and then promptly dunked it into a small vial of liquid, which he then proceeded to shake vigorously with his telekinesis and examining the result before repeating the process with the next sack.

Sergeant Fair Skies didn’t so much as flinch beneath the obvious scorn of the trader. She’d been enduring such looks and tones for the entirety of the week since Bronco Company had taken up their assigned tasks in Gallopoli. If anything, the grumbling had mostly subsided as the residents adapted to the new routine. Truth be told, the delays were rather minimal considering the thoroughness of the searches that were being conducted. As little as five minutes for every wagon, and the small village was hardly a bustling hive of activity on a good day.

There were maybe a dozen wagons that came through every morning and just as many that left. Those were searched as well, just as meticulously, and just as efficiently. The overall imposition was, in the pegasus’ opinion, extremely minor. Certainly it wasn’t worth the grief that she was being given. “My team has almost finished, sir. We’ll have you on your way in another minute or two.” She didn’t even glance up from the Bill of Lading that she was giving a cursory review.

Whatever the differences in their customs might be, Equestria and Saddle Arabia were quite similar with respect to their bureaucracies and how their paperwork was laid out. It had taken little training for the inspection teams to familiarize themselves with how Arabian transport documentation was laid out when compared with their Equestrian equivalent.

The looming stallion huffed and continued to glower at the ponies for the remainder of the inspection. He grumbled something that Fair Skies was certain hadn’t been complimentary when his paperwork was returned to him before pulling his cart into the town. The sergeant waved the next wagon forward and her team jumped once more to the task of inspecting the contents while she looked over the provided Bill of Lading.

While doing so, the mare became aware of a familiar pair of ponies approaching her team. It was a testament to her professionalism that the pegasus managed to not outwardly react to the visit, despite knowing exactly what was about to happen. Again. If there was any silver lining to be had, it was that at least one of the pair looked just as unhappy about what was about to happen as the sergeant was. Well, to be accurate: both of the approaching ponies looked unhappy. However, the orange unicorn’s frown was borne out of sympathy for the inspection team’s noncom.

The teal unicorn he was escorting was just a bitch.

“Sergeant Fair Skies,” the Ministry of Foreign Affairs envoy began in the harsh tone that the pegasus had become all too familiar with, “I was under the impression that these ridiculous ‘inspections’ were supposed to be done with!”

The flier returned the paperwork she’d reviewed to its owner and allowed her detail to complete their search of the wagon’s contents while she directed her attention to deal with the more immediate threat. “I apologize if there was a misunderstanding, ma’am,” she began in as polite a tone as she could manage. A not so simple feat given how much of a thorn in her side the ministry envoy had endeavored to make herself since the moment of their arrival. “However, that is not the case.

“Today is when the town’s chief expects to receive independent confirmation of the articles of the existing trade agreement between Equestria and Saddle Arabia. When they arrive, he, the Captain, and yourself, will review them together and finally establish who is correct regarding the accuracy of the documents in the Captain’s possession.

“Until that time, the existing orders that I have been given regarding the search of all incoming and outgoing wagons, carts, and saddlebags stand,” she finished tersely. “You are within your rights, of course, as an envoy, to petition the Captain to reconsider those orders.” The mare did her best to hide her smile as she watched the teal unicorn’s eye start to twitch.

It was well understood―unofficially―by every soldier in the company that Captain Corsair was not receiving the envoy anymore. Technically, there was not any sort of requirement that existed which mandated the commanding officer of a Frontier Corps unit to meet personally with any ministry representatives which had been attached to them. Only that they must accept directives or suggestions made by said representative. Many times, circumstances existed which made face-to-face meetings impossible, or at the least impractical, and so written correspondence was perfectly acceptable. Under the letter of the relevant regulations.

Envoy Autumn Brisk, thus, was permitted to write out any complaints she had about what the Captain was doing and deliver them to Lieutenant Lumiere for submission to the commander as often as she liked. A hundred times a day, if that’s what she felt was warranted. The XO, in turn, would indeed deliver those written missives to the company's commander.

What Captain Corsair did with them once they made it to her desk was her business.

Sergeant Fair Skies certainly knew nothing about the pile of unread correspondence that was waiting to be burned during the company’s next marshmallow roast. Not a thing.

The teal mare bristled, her lip curling back into a sneer. “I see.” Her eyes flashed to the owner of the wagon that was currently undergoing inspection, her features immediately softening into an expression of sympathy and regret with a fluidity and speed that only a seasoned Bridleway actress―or a politician―could manage. “My deepest apologies for this terrible invasion of your privacy, madam,” she said to the horse who seemed quite pleased to have a sympathetic individual among the ponies currently harassing her wares. “I have a temporary office set up near the town hall. Please do drop by and I will help you to lodge a formal complaint with my government as quickly as possible.”

Autumn Brisk cast a much less appreciative aside glance at the sergeant. “I have a form letter for the occasion, complete with the names of all of those involved in this incident.”

Sergeant Fair Skies kept her features impassive. She didn’t appreciate these thinly veiled attempts at intimidation in the slightest, but she wasn't going to lose her cool over it. It was hardly the pegasus’ fault that the envoy didn’t like these inspections. They’d all read the same trade agreement articles mandating these searches. The teal unicorn could spurt and sputter all she wanted about her 'knowing that there was a revised version out there somewhere'. She certainly didn’t have a copy of this alleged new agreement on her, and it would be folly to take the word of a green envoy on her first mission for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs over a bona fide paper copy of a trade agreement that bore the ministry’s own seal in the captain's possession.

On missions like this one, envoys generally enjoyed a lot of latitude in how they directed their escort of Frontier Corps ponies to go about their assignment. However, one restriction that they did have was that they had no authority to override formal treaties or agreements between governments. As much as Envoy Autumn Brisk bristled at the ‘diplomatic implications’ of these searches, they were a part of a formal trade agreement signed by both Equestria and Saddle Arabia. Thus, she had no footing upon which to stand to get the Captain to stop them.

When―or indeed if―a newer version of the agreement arrived whose authenticity could be verified which contained different directives in it, then the inspections would stop. Until that moment, however, Sergeant Fair Skies knew that there wasn’t a Court Martial in Equestria that would so much as reprimand any of them for doing what they were: which was following the guidelines of a treaty as best as they could be expected to.

If it turned out that the copy that Captain Corsair had been given was out of date, then all of this would ultimately fall at the Ministry’s hooves for giving her an outdated copy of the agreement in the first place. Captain Corsair was hardly in a position to question what one of Their Majesties’ government offices had given her.

Until that time, however…

“Next!” she barked, waving along the Arabian whose cart had just cleared inspection so that they could move on to their next visitor.

“I miss how things were on the train,” Flashover sighed as he sat down with the dappled stallion at the food stall, “back when Brisky was all pretty and nice. Now she’s just...ugh.”

Corporal Cravat smirked at the unicorn as he nibbled at the falafels on his plate. He was actually finding himself to be quite the fan of Saddle Arabian cuisine. When he did finally return to his family’s estate, he resolved to hire a chef who knew how to make some of these dishes. If he was going to have to live with his position, he might as well take advantage of it. “It’s always so hard to watch a pony suffer from heartbreak.” Nothing about his tone suggested that he was feeling any amount of sympathy for his friend. “You’ll likely be inconsolable until you find somepony new.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” the unicorn continued with a shrug, “I mean, I’d still mount her in a heartbeat. She may be a nag, but she’s still a hot nag. I’d just have to bury her head in a pillow or something so I wouldn’t have to listen to her complain about everything.”

“Truly, you are the consummate compassionate lover and a gift to all mare-kind.”

“Hey, I’ve never heard any complaints.”

“Is that because you muffle them by burying their faces in pillows?” The dappled stallion quirked an amused brow as he watched the unicorn blow a raspberry at him.

“You’re a riot. No, seriously though, what is up with her lately? She complains about everything that we do! I mean, I get that she’s a civilian and so maybe she doesn’t know how things get done in the Cavalry, but she’s too smart to be this dumb about everything!

“We’re supposed to be on the lookout for glitterdust. How does she expect us to find any if we don’t, you know, look for it?”

Cravat shrugged. “Beats me. In her defense, she says we’re not supposed to be looking for glitterdust.”

“And that’s another thing I don’t get. The Captain showed her the treaty. Brisky saw it with her own eyes. She even admitted that the seal was genuine,” the unicorn sounded exasperated, “but she still says it's wrong!”

“To be fair, the chief seemed a little confused too,” the earth pony noted. “On the other hoof, he’s only been the chief here for a few years and the copy of the treaty that he found in their town records was even older than the one that we have. A courier is supposed to be arriving from Instanbull soon with the latest copy from the Saddle Arabian government. Hopefully that’ll settle things.”

“I’m not sure who I’d rather have turn out to be right,” Flashover frowned. “If it’s the Captain, then Brisky’s going to keep being a sourpuss about all of this; but if she turns out to have been right all along, I feel like she’s going to be unbearably smug for the rest of the mission.

“I don’t want to have to deal with that.”

“Nothing brings a noncom more joy than watching the hopes and aspirations of a young soldier finally be crushed by the weight of reality,” Cravat sighed. “You were so happy to get this attaché assignment, and now look at you: all bitter and disillusioned.

“We’ll make a proper soldier out of you yet!”

“You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are.”

“Motherbucker, I’m hilarious―!” the dappled earth pony’s mirthful chuckle was interrupted by his twitching ear and the distant sounds of frantic yelling that had set it off. Both his and Flashover’s expressions sobered quickly as they looked around for the source of the distant commotion.

The orange unicorn’s magic enveloped his spear as he brought it cautiously to his side. “A fight?” There had been scarcely little need for any sort of policing presence in the small town. The populace was rather peaceful overall. Most of the disturbances had been little more than haggling sessions that just got a little more heated than both parties intended, and even those had yet to devolve into acts of actual violence.

Likewise, the briefed salamandar incursions had also been minor and infrequent. The few incidents that had occurred with the reptiles hadn't needed much more than a bit of yelling and posturing by the ponies to resolve. Certainly nothing that would have caused as much commotion as they were hearing now.

Then a single word finally rang clearly above the distant din: “Medic!”

Cravat was in motion in an instant, his unfinished meal left behind at the stall. His unicorn companion wasn’t far behind, his weapon at the ready. After all, where there were injured, there was usually a source for said injury. Both ponies sprinted through the town, weaving through the much larger locals with deft ease thanks to their smaller size.

They were met at the outskirts by a collection of both horses and ponies. The latter bore cuts and bloody weapons. The former were on the much smaller side for the typical Saddle Arabian, and were dragging something behind them. Colts and Fillies, Cravat quickly realized. Some of the local children that must have been outside the town.

Instinctively, the corporal ran up first to one of the roughed up Bronco Company ponies to begin checking them over, but was quickly waved away, directed towards the horses, “Not us; him!”

Cravat quirked a brow and galloped over to the gaggle of younger equines. That was when he finally got a good look at what they’d been towing behind them: a piece of canvas with another young colt lying atop it. A colt whose coat was soaked with blood. A collection of bandages that had once been pieces of clothing and uniforms looked to have been hastily applied to the most grievous on the injuries, but they weren’t doing all that much. The earth pony tossed his medical satchel at Flashover. “Assist me!”

The orange unicorn dropped his spear and caught the bag, opening it up and holding it at the ready to begin doling out whatever supplies the company’s medic asked for. The dappled pony knelt down beside the unconscious colt and placed a hoof firmly against the side of his neck. There was a pulse, at least. Not much of one, but it meant that he had a patient worth trying to save for the moment. His next course of action was to rip away the existing fabric so that he could get a look at what he was dealing with.

It wasn’t good. This colt hadn’t just been attacked; he’d been mauled!

“It came out of nowhere,” one of the other haggard pony soldiers was saying to him, “the kids were out playing some game with a net and a ball. They invited us to join in. Everything was fine at first. Then, the next thing we know, the ground just...explodes! This big scaly snake thing caught that poor colt immediately.” The mare clutched her bloody spear to her side. “We drove it off, but I don’t think it’s dead.”

“Sand Wyrm,” a Saddle Arabian filly offered, her voice still trembling with obvious fear. Perfectly understandable, given what she must have witnessed. “They live beneath the ground. Very dangerous. They are attracted by hoofsteps on the ground.” she frowned now. “But it is very strange for one to be this close to the town. Too many hoofsteps actually scare them off. The noise annoys them.”

“This one seemed very angry,” another colt added, “I think it’s their mating season. It looked like a bull wyrm to me. Probably young and trying to secure territory for mates.”

Cravat was only half paying attention as he worked to get the worst of the bleeding under control. He could make out nearly a dozen deep fang punctures along the injured colt’s flank and haunches. Nothing that seemed to threaten any of his major organs, fortunately, but they were still causing a lot of bleeding. “Coagulant solution three,” he barked at his unicorn helper, who immediately floated out a vial of yellow liquid. Cravat bit off the rubber stopper, calling for the next item he’d need even as he dribbled the contents of the vial into each of the wounds. “Rolled gauze. Keep them coming!” He jabbed a hoof at the nearby pony soldiers, “your barding straps. All of them. Now!”

After a passing moment of shocked confusion, the Bronco Company soldiers quickly set about shucking their blood and dirt splattered armor and salvaging the leather straps which affixed it to their bodies and passed them over to the medic who was diligently stuffing rolls of cotton gauze into the puncture wounds.

“Someone needs to tell the chief about this,” one of the young horses said, swallowing nervously. It was clear that none of them relished being saddled with the task.

“We’ll also need to track down the colt’s parents,” a unicorn soldier noted once he’d finished collecting all of the acquired straps, “let them know what happened to their son.”

The young horses all exchange looks, and then turned to the unicorns who’d spoken. “That’s what we mean,” one of them said, gesturing to the colt who was just barely clinging to life, “he is the chief’s son.”

Nightjar looked up as she glided silently through the air, a slight frown creasing her lips. There were a lot of clouds tonight. Not a bad thing in and of itself, but it always made her a little nervous when the moon wasn’t clearly visible. Especially when she was going to be meeting somepony she didn’t know in a location that hadn’t been entirely of her own choosing.

It didn’t help that she was anxious enough already about leaving the tailing of The Ivory Company in the hooves of one of her subordinates. Not that she didn’t trust them to get the job done competently. Recluse was a capable enough sort. She didn’t doubt his abilities or his dedication.

However, the batpony mare couldn’t help but feel a little possessive of this assignment. It was ‘hers’ in a great many respects. She’d been the one present during that initial suspicious meeting between the earl’s majordomo and Captain Hawkwood. She’d been the one to request permission to tail the mercenaries even after the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Frontier Corps had been uncharacteristically helpful in dispelling her raised concerns. It was her mission in every way that mattered.

Which had caused her quite the dilemma when Nocturne’s message about the meeting she’d asked for had finally reached her. She wanted to be the pony to conduct this interview, but that meant leaving the surveillance in the hooves of somepony else until she got back. With her luck, she’d miss something big happening while she was away.

All she could hope was that this meeting proved to be as fruitful as she could hope it would. They might even be able to explain why The Ivory Company had just been sitting on the Equestria-Arabian border for the last few days, seemingly just lounging around in the woods for no conceivable reason.

The writ of passage through Equestria that they held had not outlined a definitive timetable by which they needed to vacate the princedom, but Nightjar doubted that it was truly without end either. Were they just trying to see how far they could push Equestria’s good will? The mercenaries were mostly griffons, so that was certainly possible…

The batpony mare angled her wings and banked downward towards the prescribed meeting spot: a large oak tree which towered a good bit above its smaller neighbors. She circled the area once, scanning the canopy and surrounding area one final time before landing upon one of the exposed limbs. Nightjar resumed scanning the area intently with her slitted amber eyes. Meetings like this were always risky. If she wasn’t so desperate for evidence she wouldn’t have agreed to it in the first place.

As alert as she was, the mare still wasn’t prepared for the sound of the stallion’s voice coming from behind her. “Hello there, Nighty; fancy meeting you here.”

She whirled around, instinctively flicking out the raking claws of one of the bracers she wore on her fetlocks. Her eyes widened in surprise as they beheld the familiar, yet unexpected, features of Operative Controller Nocturne; then they quickly narrowed. “What are you doing here?! You’re supposed to be back in Canterlot,” she hissed at the stallion.

The satisfied smirk that was simply begging to be smacked right off of the stallion’s face didn’t waver in the slightest. “Oh, but why shouldn’t I be here, Operative?”

Her lips pulled back in a sneer. “Because this is where I’m supposed to meet the contact with knowledge about what’s really going on. They said to come alone, and you’re being here will scare them off!

“You know that; you arranged the meeting!”

The stallion’s smile endured. “You are, they did, I won’t, and I do,” he replied simply.

Nightjar balked, curled her lips in confusion. “What do you mean you won’t scare them off? I’m supposed to meet them alone. If you’re here, then I’m not alone!”

“Ah, but you are! You’re meeting me...alone.”

The mare’s eyes widened once more, her jaw working in silence until she finally processed what Nocturne had said. Her features then immediately hardened. “You’re my contact?” She just about spat. “You piece of shit. This is a serious operation! I thought you had a real lead on somecreature who knew what was really going on!

“I swear to Luna, if this is another one of your pathetic attempts to 'flirt' with me I’ll geld you right here and now.”

That at least seemed to temper the stallion’s insufferable amusement somewhat, but he didn’t look the least bit cowed. “Oh, but I am a pony who knows what’s going on, Operative Nightjar; and I’m here to extend to you an offer that you would be advised to accept:

“Drop this. Call off the operation, close the investigation, and go back to fucking zebras in Roam,” the stallion’s own expression soured now, but only for a moment. Then his sickening smile was back. “Or...you could sign up with us and enjoy all the benefits that come with being on the right side of history.”

The mare hesitated, “...What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

The other batpony waggled a wing at her. “Please, I’m not about to reveal anything to an unvalidated asset. If you want the whole story, you’ll have to prove you can be trusted: call off the operation and have a closing report on my desk by the end of tomorrow and then I’ll see what I feel like telling you.”

“And if I don’t want any part of what I can only assume is something very illegal and probably a little treasonous?”

This did not seem to amuse the stallion at all. “It’s only treason if it isn’t in the best interests of Equestria and the Princesses. This most assuredly is in the best interests of everypony.”

“Then why all the secrets?”

“Because genius is rarely recognized in its time.”

Nightjar couldn’t help but let loose a derisive snort. “You’re a genius now? Since when?”

“You’re in or you’re out, Operative,” Nocturne seethed at her quip, “go back to Canterlot, or go back to Roam. Choose.”

“What exactly are you going to do if I continue with the mission?” She laughed, actually enjoying seeing him looking so frustrated. “You’re not overseeing it. I’m reporting right to the Directors on this one. Only they can tell me when I need to call everything off; and they aren’t likely to do that at least until The Ivory Company leaves Equestria.

“Which, they don’t seem to want to do, by the way. You wouldn’t happen to know why that is, would you? What are they waiting for anyway?”

“For you to go away.”

Nightjar’s eyes widened again. It wasn’t Nocturne who had spoken. This voice belonged to a mare. The batpony spun around and reared up, ready to fight. There was a loud ‘twang!’ as she did so and the mare felt something cold bite deep into her gut. She stumbled, one of her leathery wings instinctively going to the site of the sudden cool sensation, only to feel a wooden shaft tipped with stubby feather fletching.

She felt the pain of it now. The crossbow bolt had sunk deep into her side. Shock was already starting to set in.

A gap in the clouds passed over them at about that moment. Bright pale moonlight washed over the exposed limb of the oak tree and the canopy above. It hadn't been a mare who had spoken, Nightjar realized now. It was a griffon hen. She was perched up above them in the tree, obscured by branches and leaves. A spent crossbow was held in her outstretched talons.

Nocturne let out a disappointed sigh, shaking his head. “I sincerely wish you had agreed. You were a clever mare, Nightjar. Too clever, it turns out.” He shrugged. “Oh well. No use crying over spilled...blood, I suppose.” He reached up to his neck and touched the communications collar he wore that looked exactly like Nightjar's. “Winter Wrap Up.”

When his hoof pulled away, the collar dissolved a moment later. Nightjar felt the collar around her own neck melt away as well. ‘Winter Wrap Up’ meant that an operation had been compromised beyond the point of recovery. The communications collars connected with the operation all dissolved to prevent the targets of the operations from being able to use them to trace or eavesdrop on conversations, and every operative on the operation would disperse and return to Canterlot once they were clear of any observers that they may have picked up.

With three words, Nocturne had just canceled the operation. Not that Nightjar didn’t have far greater concerns at the moment, like the crossbow bolt embedded in her gut. The griffon hen dropped out of the trees, her talons stowing the crossbow and drawing out a sword instead. “You know, I’ve never had batpony before...” Her tongue slid along the edge of her beak.

Nightjar took an uneasy step back, her legs visibly wobbling. She was in no condition to fight, and she very much doubted that she could fly away either.

“I honestly don’t care what you do with her,” the stallion grunted, “I’m going to return to Canterlot and let Bitter Creek know the EIS is no longer a concern. You let Hawkwood know he can launch the operation whenever he’s ready to go.” With that, the stallion spread his leathery wings and took flight.

Nightjar was only marginally aware of his departure. Her attention was squarely focused on the sword-wielding hen standing on the limb in front of her. She couldn’t fight, and she couldn’t flee. Moonlight glinted off the polished steel.

Or, perhaps she could flee after all...

Nightjar went limp and fell over, slipping off the broad limb of the massive oak tree and vanishing into the shadows below. The griffon cursed and chased after the plummeting batpony. Only...she found no sign of the mare on either the ground or the other branches beneath where the mare had fallen. She heard nothing, saw nothing, and didn’t even smell anything. Odd to be sure, and more than a little frustrating, but the griffon didn’t have all night to spend looking for some pony with a belly wound. The mare was as good as dead with an injury like that. She certainly wasn’t going to be warning anypony about what was about to happen.

Gertrude snorted and launched herself back above the canopy. The Captain would want to know that they could finally get the mission underway and get paid. The sooner they were done in Saddle Arabia, the sooner they could go back south and away from all these damnable equines.

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading! As always, a thumbs up and comment are always greatly appreciated :twilightblush:

I've set up a Cover Art Fund if you're interested and have any bits lying around!

Chapter vii

Gallopoli,

Eastern Saddle Arabia

“Stop it,” a mare said to her stallion partner on their watch as the unicorn stifled a yawn for the third time in as many minutes. A few seconds later, Private Tamarind inevitably followed up with a barely stifled yawn of her own. “Every Celestia-damned time,” she mumbled under her breath.

“Why do you think that is?” The stallion, Private Brigandine, asked. “Every time I yawn, you do it almost immediately. It’s like it’s contagious.”

“I have no idea,” the mare grumbled.

“I mean, even thinking about yawning makes me yawn,” he continued, seemingly oblivious to his partner's lack of interest in the topic of discussion. “I’m not even really that tired!” He thought for another moment. “But if it is contagious, then how come it stops with you? Like, if you’re yawning because you saw me yawn, then shouldn’t I also immediately yawn again because I saw you yawn?”

“Maybe your body needs some time before it’s ready to yawn again?” The mare suggested, failing to not be drawn into thinking critically about the topic, “otherwise two ponies would just yawn back to back forever, right?”

“I guess.” He rubbed at his chin, “I wonder how many ponies you’d have to put together before you created an endless cycle of yawning? Like, every time a pony yawned, they’d pass it to the next pony, and the next, and next, until it came back around.

“An everlasting yawn―” the stallion was interrupted by another yawn. The mare followed shortly.

“Geeze, you two are going to make me start doing it,” a pegasus stallion dressed in Cavalry barding said as he trotted out of the darkness into view of the pair of sentries.

“Good evening to you too,” Private Tamarind greeted, waving a hoof at the newcomer. Then she hesitated for a moment, as she found herself unable to put a name to the face. There were hardly a great number of ponies in Bronco Company, and while she might not have been intimately familiar with the life stories of each and every one of her comrades, she liked to think that she had at least learned everypony’s name by now.

Even if she didn’t know their name, she should at least be able to place their face, and yet...

She wasn’t very relieved when Brigandine appeared to also be having trouble identifying the stallion. “Hey there...I’m sorry, I guess I haven’t seen you around much. Are you in first platoon, or…?”

The newly arrived stallion grinned at the pair. “Oh, me? Yeah, sorry; I’m not part of your little unit thing,” he looked down and tugged at some of the straps on his barding. It was only now that the others realized his barding wasn't the same new style that they were wearing. They were about to ask about it when the pegasus looked back up at them. “I’m just here to keep you two distracted for a few seconds is all.”

“Huh? Distracted from wh―?!” Private Tamarind’s eyes went wide as she felt a clawed hand wrap around her muzzle and yank her head back sharply. Off to her side, she heard the sound of something heavy falling to the ground. Out of the corner of her eye, the mare saw her partner lying on the ground in a slowly growing pool of blood.

His throat had been slit.

Something cool and hard was at her neck a moment later. Then she felt something warm running down her neck, dampening her fur. She struggled, but not very effectively, and not for very long. A deeper darkness pulled at the corner of her eyes as they began to loose focus. She wasn't sure why. It was honestly getting really hard for her to think clearly...or to stand under her own power as more of her weight began to be supported by the clawed hand holding her muzzle. When the talons finally released their hold on her, Tamarind’s legs no longer seemed up to the insurmountable task of supporting her weight.

She collapsed wordlessly to the ground next to her partner. The blood flowing from her own slut throat merged with his. Both ponies lay completely still.

The pegasus stallion smiled at the pair of griffons standing over the bodies. “Drag them over there," he gestured with a wing towards a nearby collection of crates. As the bodies were pulled out of sight, the armored pony set about kicking sand over the spilled blood. Once he was satisfied that it wouldn't be easily noticed, he collected one of the spears from the dead soldiers and took up their sentry position. "This is almost too easy."

The relief for those two murdered ponies would be arriving soon, as they had every other night before; and while they would undoubtedly be confused to find only a single pegasus they didn't recognize, it was unlikely they'd be any quicker to realize their lives were in danger than any of the other sentries had been so far tonight...

“More tea?”

“Please, thank you,” Captain Corsair extended her empty cup and saucer towards the older stallion holding out the carafe filled with more of the steaming liquid. The horse, whose mane and coat were both graying as a result of his advancing years, topped off her cup. “The meal was certainly appreciated, but hardly necessary, sir.”

“Arman, please,” the horse smiled at the younger pegasus mare, “and I very much disagree. One of your soldiers saved the life of my colt. A simple meal is merely the beginning of my gratitude.”

Corsair’s lips pulled back in a pleasant smile as she issued a polite nod towards Gallopoli's chief, hiding her irritation at the chafing of her uniform's constrictive collar. Due to the semi-formal nature of the occasion, neither her nor any of the other cavalry ponies in attendance were wearing their duty barding. Instead they were dressed in their white and gold-trimmed parade uniforms while Autumn brisk wore her ministry cloak over a pearl-white dress in an effort to show uniformity with her fellow ponies.

The less than comfortable clothing aside, Corsair was mostly grateful; both for the meal and a great many other considerations that the village's chief was making on behalf of her and her ponies. Also, she was rather grateful for his son’s unfortunate injuries, in a rather odd way. The news that his son's life had been saved through the timely intervention of her ponies had gone a long way towards soothing his own soured opinion of Bronco Company after fielding so many complaints from traders and citizens alike.

The news of the attack had reached the village chief not an hour after the courier had finally arrived with the most recent copy of the trade agreement that the Saddle Arabian government had in Istanbull; along with the previous six versions of that treaty to compare it with.

It turned out that the copy that had been furnished to Corsair by General Maniple was indeed authentic...but about forty years out of date. This raised quite a few questions for the pegasus that she planned to address in a letter she was drafting to the general. There always existed the possibility that the wrong version had been forwarded to her by accident, but she wanted to have that in writing when she inevitably was brought before her superiors to answer for the dozen or so formal protests that Autumn Brisk had helped the local traders and merchants file with the Equestrian government.

For her part, their envoy was looking very much like the cat that caught the canary, as was only to be expected. Her protests had been vindicated at last. If there was a bright side to that, it was that the teal unicorn was diplomatic enough to keep her gloating to private settings. Corsair was going to have to grit her teeth and bear the brunt of it, she knew, but that much she could do gracefully too.

Her eyes darted over the other ponies in attendance with her besides the ministry envoy. Private Flashover, serving as Autumn Brisk’s attaché was managing to behave himself―amazingly―and had only vaguely flirted with the chief’s own personal guardsmare. Cravat she knew she wouldn’t have to worry about at all. The medic was likely to be more at home here than any of the rest of them, honestly, and had caught on to Saddle Arabian etiquette with remarkable speed.

Which was quite the bonus, since his attendance hadn’t been optional either. While a meeting had been scheduled for this evening specifically to review the anticipated treaty copies, the events of that afternoon had precipitated an alternate occasion as well for which Cravat would be the guest of honor. The young colt that the earth pony had saved would not be at the dinner, but that was only because he was resting in his room on the orders of both Cravat and the town’s own resident physician, who could find no fault with the company medic’s treatments.

That wasn’t a surprise. A graduate of Equestria’s world-renowned Mareland University’s School of Medicine would hardly do a poor job of treating a patient, even if they were operating under less than ideal conditions. Both medical equines agreed that the colt would be up and about in a week, provided he received adequate rest and the risk of infection was kept to a minimum.

The last pony in attendance was First Sergeant Shillelagh, who was here to serve Corsair in much the same way that Flashover was here to nominally serve Autumn Brisk―when he wasn’t making eyes at the Arabian mare by the door―as moral support. Lieutenant Lumiere and Sergeant LaFerrier would be able to manage things back at the company headquarters just fine for the evening while the five of them were out at the chief’s home on the outskirts of the town.

It had struck Corsair a little odd at first that the town’s chief chose to live so far from the rest of the citizens. However, it turned out that this was something of a tradition in Saddle Arabia: the chiefs lived close enough to be able to see and watch over the towns they nominally ruled, but also far enough away so that any pony who wanted to bother them with a problem was forced to first consider whether or not that problem was truly worth walking all that way to voice.

Thus, they tended to receive only two kinds of petitioners with grievances: those with legitimate and serious issues that needed to be addressed...and the really really stubborn. The latter of whom had either been given enough time during their long trek to cool off and be more reasonable, or were simply even more irritated for having had to make the trip in the scorching desert heat. The chief noted that at least it meant the town’s more disagreeable ponies were kept healthy with all of the exercise they inflicted upon themselves.

He’d laughed quite mirthfully when Corsair pointed out that just meant they’d live longer and be able to pester him more.

Autumn Brisk took the initiative to perform her assigned duties at this point. “While the gratitude of yourself and your village is most appreciated,” the unicorn mare said in a cheery but clearly 'diplomatic' tone, “I hope you understand that this is something that Bronco Company’s ponies did not do in order to seek a reward of any sort. Equestria believes very strongly in helping its neighbors in any way that we can, whenever we can, with no expectation of reward or repayment.” She smiled warmly at the older stallion. “We simply see it as what friends are supposed to do for one another!”

“And I believe that you meant every word that you just said,” the chief nodded sagely. “Even your cart inspections―while ultimately misguided, it turns out―came not from a place of malice. You were trying to protect your countrymares from a dangerous substance that I acknowledge once flowed largely unchecked through our country.

“However, I do hope that you’ll allow me to make myself feel better by showering your medic here with gifts.” Chief Arman now turned his full attention to Cravat. “Saving a stallion’s child is no small thing. So a small reward will not suffice.”

The earth pony glanced briefly to Autumn Brisk and Corsair, who were careful to keep their expressions neutral. However, he’d been briefed by the envoy on this exact possibility before they’d arrived, and knew what he was supposed to say in response. He didn’t exactly like it, but compared to the other acceptable options that had been laid out to him as almost inevitable outcomes, he decided to take it anyway.

“I suppose it won’t,” Cravat finally replied, taking a deep breath, “and because I saved the life of your colt, I ask only what is fair: that I be appointed his N’GuhDan.”

The chief’s eyes widened in surprise and there was an audible inhalation from the mare by the door. For a moment, the dappled medic wondered if the envoy hadn’t grossly misjudged things and maneuvered him right into a massive cultural faux pas. Then the older stallion’s lips spread into a wry smirk and he chuckled.

“Somehorse―somepony, sorry,” he eyed the teal unicorn in the ministry cloak slyly, “did well by you. You would be my colt’s guardian in the event of my death?” He chuckled again. “You have protected him once. I suppose I can trust that you would do so again.” He smiled broadly at the medic. “I grant this request.” He stood up and walked to a cupboard nearby. He picked out a bottle and brought it back to the table. “In that case though, we will need something more fitting than tea with which to celebrate!”

There was a knock at the door.

Which didn’t sound nearly as unusual as it should have, except that the door was a tent flap. Of course, it wasn’t precisely the flap that had actually been knocked upon, but rather a piece of wood which was suspended next to it specifically for that purpose. Lieutenant Lumiere glanced up from the letter he was writing on his commander's behalf to General Maniple regarding the incorrect treaty edition that they’d been given. A thorough review of the files in the Frontier Corps possession would likely need to be conducted in order to avoid a similar misunderstanding happening in the future. As often as those sorts of treaties were updated, it wasn’t so terribly surprising that an old copy had fallen through the cracks. At least no lasting harm had been done this time. “Enter.”

Staff Sergeant LaFerrier stepped through the flap and issued a rather informal salute, which the XO returned in an equally informal manner. It was far too late in the evening for both of them to be true sticklers for protocol. “Sir, I’m not sure if we have a problem or not.”

The unicorn officer’s eyebrow raised as he sat up straighter in the chair he was borrowing from the captain. “Oh? What’s going on?”

“I’m hoping it’s nothing, but so far none of the relieved sentries have returned to camp.”

“Since what time?”

“Since nightfall,” the noncom said unhappily. “Four relief teams have been sent out, but none of the ponies they relieved have returned according to their squad leaders. I could see maybe a couple of ponies hanging out to gab for a little while with their relief, but nopony coming back? After over an hour? Something’s wrong. I’m just not sure what it is.”

The lieutenant was frowning now as well. That was highly unusual, to be sure. However, he was also at a loss to explain anything. Every single one of those ponies should have been eager to get back to their camp and rack out or relax in some way. He rubbed his chin. “Is there some sort of festival or party going on in the town we didn’t hear about? Maybe the sentry teams were invited to attend when they went off shift, but nothing’s reached us here yet?”

“Something 'exciting' enough to keep all our ponies occupied should be visible―if not audible―from here. There’s no sign that anything unusual is happening in the town right now.” LaFerrier rubbed his head uneasily. “My first reaction is to send a team of ponies to go out and see what happened, but...the problem is that that’s kind of what the relief teams are doing, you know? Do I really send out ponies to find out why the ponies I already sent out aren’t coming back?”

Lumiere suddenly got a sinking feeling. “What about what happened earlier today? The monster attack.” He began to flip through a pile of papers on the desk. “I thought I saw a report that said the monster burst out of the ground with no warning. Could it be that same monster? Or more of them?”

“The sand wyrm, you mean,” the earth pony supplied, mulling over the possibility himself. “I really don’t think that could be it either, honestly, sir. The townshorses said that even that one sand wyrm showing up was unusual this close to a settlement, so I really doubt that a few dozen more would show up. And we’d have definitely heard something if that one was back, I’d think―”

The staff sergeant was interrupted by another knock on the wooden plank by the door. The two ponies exchanged glances, and the lieutenant shrugged. “Maybe this is somepony with an answer for us. Enter!”

Both senior Bronco Company ponies were quite surprised to see a pegasus mare poke her head in whom neither of them recognized. “Oh. Hello there! I’m looking for the unit's commander? Am I in the right tent?”

Again the pair exchanged looks. While the mare was wearing the barding of a member of the Royal Equestrian Cavalry, she was most definitely not a part of their unit. She was also not wearing the yellow sash of an official courier. The gray unicorn stood up and stepped around to the front of the desk. “I’m in charge here. Can I help you, Private…?”

“Danzig,” the mare answered simply. She then looked around the interior of the tent, studying the left wall quite intently. Lumiere could make out her left wing flapping in an odd motion just outside the tent. A few seconds later she turned her attention back to the pair of ponies. “It’s just the two of you in here?”

“Yes?” LaFerrier answered, sounding a little confused by not merely the question, but the mare’s overall demeanor. “What’s going on? Who are you and where did you come from?”

The mare merely smiled at them, “It’s not going to matter.” Her wing swept down in a sudden, final, motion. A second later a torrent of crossbow bolts ripped through the wall of the tent. Not all of them found their mark, but enough did. Both of the ponies inside were caught completely unaware, and both were dead before they could utter more than a grunt of pain.

The pegasus stared at the bodies for several seconds to make certain that they were dead before withdrawing from the tent. The squad of griffons nearby were already drawing back the strings of their crossbows and setting fresh bolts in place. “Next tent,” she called out in a hushed whisper. She noted the other teams of griffons, hippogriffs, and pegasi moving through the encampment, making their way swiftly through the tents full of mostly sleeping ponies. There was the occasional surprised exclamation as they intruded on a late-night game of cards or something, but those ponies didn’t get more than a few seconds to process their surprise before being cut down by quarrels or swords.

“Hey! What’s going on?!” a unicorn mare came charging at the pegasus from another tent nearby. “An arrow hit my pack! Missed me by less than a foot. I could have been ki―!”

Whatever else she was going to say was cut off as the pegasus who may have been dressed in Equestrian military barding but was most definitely not a member of the Cavalry wheeled around and swiped at the unicorn’s throat with her hoof-claws. The Bronco Company mare reeled back, grasping frantically at her eviscerated windpipe. The pegasus smirked down at the dying mare gasping in muted cries on the ground, “―killed? Yeah. What a shame that would have been...” She motioned behind her to the rest of her team as they headed for the next nearest tent.

“Ha! Lucky seven!” The Arabian stallion crowed as he reached out and scooped the pile of bits towards him beneath the glares of the other players, leaving behind only a few to cover the next bet. “Fade that!”

One of the other horses’ eyes widened in stark surprise and he very nearly lunged across the table, grabbing the first by his vest and smacking him across the face. “What’d you say?!”

Looking visibly frightened, the winner of the last round stuttered, “D-d-did I say something wrong?”

“No, you said it too damn right! You said you never played this game before!”

“I haven’t, I swear!”

“Then where’d you hear an expression like ‘fade that’?!”

“...The colt scouts? I saw them playing with some sugar cubes with black dots painted on them one day yelling things like that. That’s all.”

“Sugar cubes?” The older stallion scoffed. “With black dots?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“In the colt scouts.”

“...Yup!”

The angry stallion continued to glare at the other horse for several long seconds before finally grunting in annoyance and releasing him. “‘Fade that’,” he grumbled under his breath before moving some bits from his pile into the center. The other horses did so as well.

Looking quite relieved to be allowed to continue with the game, the horse with the dice closed his eyes and began to shake them up, then dramatically dropped them onto the table. “WoooOOOOoooo!” he paused and peered down at the result. “Seven!” The other horses all snorted in abject disgust as he reached for the dice once more. “Let it ride!”

Again the same horse from before leaped across the table and smacked him. “Did you hear ‘let it ride’ in the colt scouts too?!”

Before an answer could be given, all of the dice players became aware that others had arrived to intrude upon their game. However, these individuals did not appear to be horses, or even ponies―though a few of them did have hind hooves at least. The Saddle Arabians exchanged looks before turning their full attention to the new arrivals. “Can we help you?”

A griffon hen standing in front of the group raised a clawed hand into the air. Behind her, the row of griffons and hippogriffs each raised up their crossbows and took aim at the now thoroughly surprised and fearful horses. The hen in charge smiled viciously. “The Princesses send their regards.

“For Equestria!” She cried out, dropping her talons. A chorus of heavy ‘twangs!’ rang out through the street as the weapons launched their bolts into the unwary gamblers. Not all of them died instantly. Many lived long enough to scream and writhe on the ground in pain. One fortunate soul even managed to run awkwardly away with a bolt lodged in his rump and a hastily grabbed pile of bits spilling from a fresh hole in his saddlebag.

A hippogriff was about to charge after the escapee when the hen in command of the group reached out and stopped him. “Ah ah...some of them need to survive,” she reminded him. “They need to get the word out about what ‘Equestria’ did here tonight,” she favored the other fliers with a sadistic smile. The group chuckled in response, a few poking each other in their ill-fitting pony barding.

From all over the town, scores of screams and desperate wails could be heard as the residents were slaughtered mercilessly. As the hen had said, a few would need to actually survive so that word of who was responsible could reach the ears of Saddle Arabia’s central government. However, it ultimately didn’t take all that many to deliver such an account.

The slaughter of the genuine Equestrian soldiers needed to be complete though. If the notion got put forth that those responsible for the attack were imposters of any sort, it could be enough to halt the sort of knee-jerk response that this attack was supposed to cause.

“Now start raiding the houses on this block,” the griffon hen snapped. “Keep whatever you want, break whatever you don't, and kill whoever you find...”

Corsair stood off to the side of the room, nursing her glass of Arabian Rye that the chief had brought out of his cupboard for the occasion. The cobalt pegasus freely admitted that the drink went down a lot smoother than its Equestrian equivalent. She made a mental note to look into acquiring a stock of the drink for herself before they returned home. Shillelagh didn’t seem all that impressed by it, even though she still drank down a polite quantity herself. The crystal mare had insisted―more than once―that crystal berry gin was far superior in taste to any other spirit ever distilled. Though she was at least humble enough to acknowledge that nothing the Empire produced was quite as potent as what was offered in Equestria, as a consequence of the Empire still being a millennium behind the curve where distillation technology was concerned.

The feathered captain and her temporally displaced senior noncom had made themselves something of a pair of wallflowers during the evening, which was fine by them. Corporal Cravat was the guest of honor and Autumn Brisk was the unit’s designated spokespony. Those two were more than enough to occupy the chief’s attention for the evening. Meanwhile, Private Flashover was off by the door pestering the chief’s personal guardsmare. She hadn’t hit him so far, so things on that front hadn’t escalated to a full on diplomatic incident. Yet.

Though bets were being made...

“Five bits says she has to ‘walk the perimeter’ in another two minutes,” the first sergeant murmured under her breath.

The pegasus hid a smile that would have betrayed her carefully manicured ‘stoic aura’ behind her glass. “I’ll take that bet,” the other mare flashed her a surprised look. “She’s not the sort to retreat like that. I’m thinking she’ll let him know her marefriend wouldn’t appreciate his advances.”

“How’d'ya know she’s for the mares?”

Corsair shrugged. “I don’t. I’m not either, but I wouldn’t hesitate to let on that I was to divert attention from a stallion like him.”

The noncom shook her head. “Won’t work. Flashover’d double down and offer to show both of them what they were ‘missing out on’ by shunning stallions,” she smirked.

“Probably right,” the commander acknowledged, taking another sip. “If I didn’t know for a fact that he actually succeeded with mares more often than not, I’d wonder why he was like that. As it is, I wonder more about those poor mares that actually let him follow them back home…”

The crystal mare only grunted.

Both ponies had their attention directed towards the door as a hoof knocked sharply upon it. The chief’s guardsmare seemed eternally grateful for the excuse to break off the ‘conversation’ that the unicorn was having with her and quickly turned to the door and opened it. Corsair looked on with detached curiosity, wondering who it was that could be coming up to the chief’s residence this late in the evening. Either there was some sort of emergency that the chief needed to hear about that couldn’t wait until morning, or―more likely, Corsair thought―this was somepony coming looking for either her or Shillelagh. Possibly Cravat too, if somepony had managed to get themselves hurt in the middle of the night―

The Saddle Arabian guardsmare reeled back from the doorway, a quarrel embedded in her throat.

Corsair’s glass slipped from her pinions in shock. Shillelagh was already in motion. Flashover hesitated initially, but was moving as well by the time the first sergeant reached the door. Chief Arman, Cravat, and Autumn Brisk, all seemed to be aware that there was a commotion of some sort, but their distance from the door meant that they were slower to realize what exactly had gone awry. The dappled corporal was the first of the group to move, diving for the wounded mare. He at least had a couple years of training and experience in various skirmishes to fall back on. The other two were clearly far out of their element.

For her part, the Bronco Company commander decided against crowding the door further and instead flung herself out a nearby window. Wooden panes and glass gave way easily in the face of a powerful pegasus mare forcing her way through them. Her dress uniform didn't offer nearly the level of protection that her barding did, but none of the cuts she sustained from the shattering glass felt particularly deep.

Her choice of exit appeared to be quite fortuitous, as it granted her a considerable element of surprise. Which was helpful, as the pegasus found herself quite surprised as well. She wasn’t certain what exactly it was that she had expected to find on the other side of the door, but a half dozen pegasi, griffons, and hippogriffs, all dressed in the livery of the Royal Equestrian Cavalry wouldn’t have been on her list if she’d been afforded the opportunity to make one up.

These were no soldiers of Equestria though, no matter what uniforms they were wearing. Corsair knew that much at least. Who they truly were, and what they were doing here, were questions that could be best answered―in her mind―by the lone survivor that was left after the rest of them paid for this crime with their lives.

“Six!” Captain Corsair yelled out to her allies still in the house who might not be able to yet make out how many were attacking, then she darted for the nearest of them. The startled hippogriff tiercel reeled, slashing wildly with awkward swings of his sword at the attacking pegasus. The mare looped deftly around the erratic attacks and flipped herself lithely, bucking him upside the head with both of her hindlegs. The hippogriff squawked in pain and staggered, losing his hold of his weapon, which Corsair happily collected in her mouth and executed her own well-aimed slash at the disarmed attacker’s throat.

The brown pegasus stallion who’d knocked at the door gawked over his shoulder at the display before remembering that he had other concerns to address. His attention had wavered for only a moment, but that moment was enough for an emerald crystal mare to reach the door and tackle him to the ground. He may have been a skilled mercenary, but the mare who had been a veteran of Sombra’s Rebellion and spent years fighting his forces in resistance cells was more than a match for him. The pegasus was knocked to the ground in the first second, and his head twisted around three quarters of a turn the second after that.

“What the fuck? Why are there ponies here?!” A griffon tiercel yelled out.

“Who cares? Just kill them!” A hippogriff hen snapped back as she charged the sword-wielding cobalt pegasus.

Two of the six attackers were down, but the odds weren’t quite even just yet. Only Corsair was armed with a weapon, and only three ponies had come out of the house to fight. Cravat was making an attempt to tend to the guardsmare, but it would likely be an upwind flight without his bag of supplies. Autumn Brisk was doing her best to help him, but was quite clearly very far removed from her element in the fracas going on around her.

Then another figure leaped through the door. Towering head and shoulder above the rest of the combatants, the Saddle Arabian chief roared in rage at the attackers. “You dare attack me in my own home?!” Any earlier hint of his warm demeanor had vanished. This stallion was a very different horse from the one who had been toasting and joking with them only five minutes earlier. At this moment, he was a whirling dervish of hooves which were not bare, but had been outfitted with bronze bladed bracers.

The surprising ferocity of his attack drove the invaders back, killing another of their number and further shocking the remaining survivors. Flashover charged another, bucking and biting at the griffon, gaining her full attention. Which allowed Corsair to skewer the hen through her back. It was now two against four, in favor of the attacked. Reassessing the situation and deciding that discretion was the better part of valor this time, they flew off towards the town.

A town which the Equestrians could now see was mostly aflame.

Corsair would very much have liked to give chase, but she doubted that those six had been alone, and none of the others with her would be able to keep up if she flew off. The pegasus sensed somepony stepping up beside her. “Captain,” Shillelagh said in a grim tone, “the camp.” She gestured to where the company had set up their tents just outside the town.

In the firelight, she could see that those tents which had not likewise been burned were currently being ransacked by figures that weren’t ponies. At least, the vast majority of them weren’t ponies. The cobalt flier’s blood went cold at the sight. Her eyes darted to one of the nearby bodies and the barding that they were wearing. It wasn’t hard to believe that a great number of their company would have been fooled long enough by its colors to regret making the mistake of believing the creature wearing it to be an ally. To say nothing of the townsfolk who’d be unlikely to realize that the Cavalry had neither griffons nor hippogriffs among their number.

“She’s dead,” Cravat’s hoarse voice came from the house as he stepped outside. The sleeves and breast of his uniform were stained crimson with blood. Then he too was immediately struck silent by the sight of the burning town and the destroyed encampment.

Arman bowed his head, uttering a curse. Then he took a deep breath and turned to the ponies around him, specifically the company’s medic. “You! You will get my son away from this place. Keep him safe. As his N’GuhDan, that is now your responsibility.”

Corsair frowned up at the horse. “Where are you going?” Though, honestly she already had a fairly good idea.

He jerked his head in the direction of the town. “To help who I can,” he replied grimly. He had to know that there were likely a great many of these Equestrian imposters down there slaughtering his citizens. “As is my duty.” He spared one final look at his house, and the sleeping colt within, then galloped towards the town.

The feathered officer stared at the ruins of the camp. She didn’t know how many adversaries they faced, but whatever their numbers were, she could guess that Bronco’s were substantially less than what they’d been when this little entourage had left the camp. Certainly nowhere near what they’d need to repel the enemy. She was half tempted to commit what was left of her command to accompany the chief and help to evacuate who they could.

She glanced back at what likely now constituted the ‘bulk’ of her forces. The envoy was right out. Corsair couldn’t, in good conscience, send the mare into battle, especially when part of her orders were to ensure the safe conduct and return of that mare back to Canterlot. To that end, she couldn’t be left on her own. Flashover would need to go with her, at a minimum.

Similarly, they had only a short while ago made an agreement to have Cravat act as a guardian for the chief’s son in the―theoretically unlikely―event that the Saddle Arabian no longer could be there for the colt. Even if the pegasus didn’t particularly care about honoring some abstract deal about Saddle Arabian paternal inheritance customs at a time like this, she wasn’t about to leave an injured child alone and defenseless out here. Especially when that colt was still recovering and would be best served to be in the care of an experienced and knowledgeable medical pony like Cravat.

Which just left herself and Shillelagh. While the feathered mare had little doubt that the crystal noncom would have gladly followed her captain in a desperate charge towards the town, even unto certain death, nothing would be served but to get them both killed; and somepony had to be able to give a decent report about what had happened here to General Maniple and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Somepony that the brass and nobility would be more likely to give credibility to than a private and a corporal.

“First Sergeant,” Corsair said finally, “you are to take the envoy, Private Flashover, the chief’s son, and Corporal Cravat, and meet up with Lieutenant Whirlwind. Tell them about this attack and get word back to Canterlot,” her eyes lingered on the barding being worn by the nearby griffon. The armor looked like the genuine article, but she knew of no griffons in the Cavalry. She certainly knew of no reason why they’d attack a Saddle Arabian town―or any civilian settlement for that matter.

The crystal mare’s expression remained impassive. “Aye, ma’am. And yourself?”

The pegasus grunted and started to shuck off her dress uniform, exchanging it for one of the sets of barding being worn by their attackers. “I’m going to look for other Bronco Company survivors and direct them to you,” she turned to face the crystal mare now, “if I’m not back in an hour, you write me off for dead and get to Camp Legume, First Sergeant. It's the nearest major fortification to here. The commander there will know what to do. Is that clear? The safety of the envoy and the chief’s son are your top priorities.”

“...Understood, ma’am,” Shillelagh said reluctantly. Then she looked at Flashover and gestured at the slain fliers, “Private, grab yourself some gear. You’re on point. We move out in two minutes. Corporal, secure the child,” by the time she turned back, the captain was already gone, “...Good luck, ma’am.”

Author's Note

I yawned a half dozen times writing the beginning of this chapter... -.-

Thank you so much for reading! As always, a thumbs up and comment are always greatly appreciated :twilightblush:

I've set up a Cover Art Fund if you're interested and have any bits lying around!

Chapter viii

Ministry Row,

Canterlot,

Central Equestria,

And The Western Arborlands,

Western Equestria,

And Gallopoli,

Eastern Saddle Arabia

“A...guest for you, My Lord,” the older gray majordomo announced in a tone that was properly polite, but made clear that the attendant desired to show the visitor no more courtesy than was absolutely required to uphold the decorum of his master’s station.

As though to validate Maitre’s low opinion of him, a batpony stallion shoved his way past the unicorn and strutted boldly into the office of the Foreign Affairs Minister. “‘Guest’, huh? Partner, you mean,” Nocturne sneered at the older pony before smirking in the direction of the pony he’d come here to see. “Figured I’d give you my latest report directly, so that we can talk about the next steps that you’ve been keeping me in the dark about.” His thinly veiled jovial mask fell away in an instant. “I don’t like being in that kind of dark.”

The Fourth Earl of Bitter Creek, Alabaster Fetlock, would have been well within the right of both his office and his station to have the impertinent batpony thrown―bodily, if desired―from his office for displaying such callous impropriety towards one of Their Majesties’ duly appointed ministers. Nocturne’s position as a high-ranking member of the Equestrian Intelligence Service did not grant him nearly as much leeway as the batpony obviously thought it did. Nor was the leathery-winged stallion nearly as clever as he believed himself to be if he genuinely felt that he was a ‘partner’ to anything.

The earl had no partners in this―assuming that there was even a ‘this’ as far as anypony else was concerned. Not even General Maniple was a ‘partner’. No. Alabaster had not surrounded himself with ‘partners’. He had insulated himself with fall-ponies. The young, inexperienced envoy, Autumn Brisk. The inattentive general who had failed to properly vet the buyers of Equestrian military surplus. The senior EIS operative who had ‘misfiled’ the investigation report on The Ivory Company.

Ponies who, in the course of a thorough investigation―for there would most definitely be an investigation when the ashes of this war had finally cooled―would be found suitably at fault for all that had gone wrong. Ponies other than himself, who was very careful to keep all of his proverbial ducks in a row to weather the storm that none of the others seemed to believe would be coming when this was all done with.

Perhaps that was what really separated the nobility from the plebeians, the earl thought to himself: the survival instincts that were honed by a lifetime of intrigue and backroom dealings as his ‘upstanding’ peers fought over every available vestige of power.

As it was, the noblepony merely kept his well-schooled smile in place as he looked up from the latest correspondence he’d received from Their Majesties’ ambassadors and greeted the new arrival. “I can imagine that a pony in your line of work generally doesn’t like not having all of the pieces of a puzzle at hoof,” he feigned a polite chuckle before nodding towards his majordomo. “Thank you, Maitre. That will be all.” The older stallion frowned, bowed, and left, sealing the door behind him.

“Though,” Alabaster continued, still regarding the batpony with a warm expression, “I do hope that you can at least appreciate my desire to keep information compartmentalized during an operation such as this. I may not work in intelligence, but I am to understand that such measures are a common practice in your line of work, are they not?”

Nocturne seemed to be ignoring the noblepony speaking to him as he strolled towards the decanter on the side of the office and poured himself a glass of the expensive liquor. “The low ponies on the totem pole are given just enough scraps of information to get their jobs done, yeah,” he acknowledged before throwing back his drink and helping himself to another. Then he turned to glare at the earl. “But I’m not one of your henchponies, Al. If I don’t know the big picture, then how am I supposed to get everything done right?”

Despite the familiar referral and impertinent tone, the noblepony actually found it easier to smile at the operative. While it was refreshing to know that he was working with a pony who would ultimately be too full of their own self importance to see the turn coming when they were brought before Princesses Celestia and Luna to answer for their incompetence, the earl couldn’t help but feel just a tad concerned that the EIS was employing personnel of such low quality. Though, in fairness, he was rather certain that Nocturne represented the inevitable exception, rather than the rule. For every dullard like him, there were doubtlessly a few sharp tacks that justified the EIS's venerable reputation. Like that one mare who’d not taken his carefully crafted cover story at face value.

Speaking of which, “That is a fair point, and one that I will assuredly take into consideration moving forward,” he lied. “Though if we could move on to the nature of your visit here? I believe you mentioned making a report on your activities? Am I to assume that means you’ve finally managed to fully curtail the investigation into The Ivory Company?”

Nocturne’s grin was predatory. Even after all of this time dealing with batponies, Earl Bitter Creek still found it unsettling to see a mouth of an otherwise normal-looking equine playing host to so many sharp teeth. It was unnatural. “Field Operative Nightjar missed her last two mandatory report windows, and has been ordered recalled to Canterlot.” He sipped from his glass before shrugging, the grin still firmly in place. “Strangely enough, she hasn’t seen fit to return yet. Rumor has it that she’s gone rogue.

“Turns out her file contains a lot of comments regarding her distaste for authority.” He finished off the last of his drink with a noisy smacking of his lips. “It’s sad, really. She could have had a bright career ahead of her if she’d been willing to play nice.”

“Indeed. A tragedy to be sure,” the earl nodded with genuine sympathy. He did legitimately find it to be a waste when talented ponies allowed themselves to be hobbled by their unwaveringly naïve notions of what they thought it meant to have Equestria's best interests at heart.

“Which means that gaggle of griffons you’re employing can go on and do their little 'false flag' thing for you.” The batpony looked over at the ivory unicorn expectantly.

It was perhaps fortunate that Alabaster had a white coat. It made it difficult to see his face grow pale. His neutral expression remained firmly in place, thank Celestia, but the earl’s mind was working furiously to figure out a way to deflect the unexpected deduction. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tried to make himself sound as confused as he possibly could. “Neither the Ministry, nor my personal estate, has solicited the services of mercenaries―”

“Sandalwood and Sons has a board of directors consisting of exactly three ponies,” Nocturne interrupted, sounding rather disappointed in the minister’s rebuff. “Two of them are low-tier nopony ‘nobles’ so far removed from the line of successions in their houses that they’re willing to sit back and just accept the generous stipend they collect without asking any questions. But the third pony, now they’re fascinating,” that predatory smile was back. “A Miss 'Recher Belle’.

“Now, what makes her such a fascinating pony is that, well...she doesn’t seem to actually exist! I mean, all of the right forms are there, but verifying them was a bit...difficult. The town she was born in was abandoned a century ago, the address she lives at is a back alley in Stalliongrad, and besides all that is how remarkably similar her name is to a Miss Recherché Belle; who―if memory serves―is the name of a character in a Nagatha Crystal mystery. ‘Death in the Clouds’, specifically.”

Nocturne cast an aside glance at the earl. “Miss Crystal was in Manehattan recently for a book signing, as I recall. Your secretary said you were out of the office for the same duration, and confirmed that you’d made a reservation at the Four Seasons. Just you though. It seemed your family was otherwise engaged.

“Now, I’m sure that anypony could claim that was all a huge coincidence,” the batpony shrugged, “and, honestly, who isn’t a Nagatha Crystal fan these days? Anypony could have made up a mare based on a character from one of her books.

“Only, that book is a relatively recent publication, and Miss Belle was appointed to the board of Sandalwood and Sons over a year ago. So, obviously it wouldn’t be possible for you―or whoever it was," Nocturne added with a sly wink, "to have fabricated a pony with a name based on a character in a book that hadn’t actually been published yet, would it?

“Unless...they knew somepony who worked as a copyeditor for Miss Crystal’s publisher...” The batpony feigned thinking intently, and then shifted his expression to one of mock surprise. “Wait a minute, your wife passes her time as a copyeditor, doesn’t she? At the very same publisher too, I believe. My, what a coincidence!

“Out of curiosity, does she bring her work home with her? I think that she’s technically not allowed to let anypony else read those drafts she’s reviewing; but I’m sure that she doesn’t actually lock up those manuscripts when she’s not actively working on them; and I imagine a fan such as yourself would find it difficult to not sneak just a little peak at the next book in the works,” the batpony flashed the earl another toothy grin.

"As to the 'false flag' thing: Maybe most ponies can't tell one mercenary company from the other, but I'm not 'most ponies'. I know who those mercs were and what their reputation is. The Ivory Company doesn't need our outdated military surplus. They didn't pick that stuff up for themselves, which means they got it for a job. And the list of 'jobs' that require Equestrian livery is pretty short, Al.

"It also doesn't take a cartographer to know where those mercs were headed."

Alabaster Fetlock was very quiet for what felt like a very long time as he eyed the batpony with newfound―if not respect―consideration. Nocturne might not have been the most socially graceful pony that the earl had ever met, but it was painfully clear that he had absolutely earned his position in the EIS. The unicorn stallion now found himself wondering if the only reason he wasn’t higher up in the echelons of the intelligence service wasn’t because of his lack of etiquette.

“...You seem quite confident of your speculations,” the earl said very carefully, so as not to give any overt confirmation of what could arguably be called simple coincidences, no matter how frighteningly close the batpony's narrative might have been to the truth. If there’d been any error in the operative’s deductions, it had only been in identifying his wife as the primary reviewer of the manuscripts that she brought home to work on. The reality was that Nagatha Crystal wasn’t his wife’s preferred author to proof for, and so she routinely passed those manuscripts on to himself to look over, as he was indeed quite an avid fan of her works.

The batpony shrugged, his smile still firmly plastered on his face. “It is my job, after all. Speculating. Looking for connections where others see only coincidence. What most ponies fail to understand is that there is no such thing as ‘coincidence’. Every connection exists for a reason. The only question is whether those reasons are malicious or benign.

“And, honestly, the only difference between those is how it gets framed in my reports.” The smile remained, but there was no mirth to it any longer. The two ponies shared a long look at one another before the batpony finally turned around and replaced the glass that he’d been drinking from, exchanging it for the entire decanter of liquor and heading for the door. “I’ll be writing up my final report on the investigation into that arms sale on Friday, just so you know. How it gets framed is going to depend a lot on what I hear from you before then.”

The EIS agent paused at the door and looked back over his shoulder at the earl coolly. “Just so we’re clear, Minister: I’m not a hitpony. You don’t get to bring me in for a job and then send me on my merry way when you think you’re done with me. You and me? We’re in this together now, and I expect to be an equal partner in whatever you’re getting out of this.” And with that, the batpony left.

Earl Bitter Creek sat at his desk, staring at the door, a sneer tugging at the corner of his lip. His carefully crafted demeanor had melted away at the end of their ‘talk’, despite his best efforts. It seemed that even he could make mistakes. Such as taking the senior operative’s file as face value. He was supposed to have just been a middle-manager with a glorified title and a less-than-savory reputation. The latter had certainly proven true, but Alabaster was beginning to wonder about the former.

For the moment, there wasn’t an immediate cause for concern. The mare serving as the head of Sandalwood and Sons’ board of directors was indeed a fabrication, but nothing about her could actually be traced back to him in any way that would hold up during an official inquiry, despite what the batpony implied. At least, he didn’t think so.

The minister frowned. His horn began to glow as his telekinesis tugged on a nearby rope. A moment later the door cracked open and Maitre popped his head in. “Yes, My Lord?”

“I’d like you to bring me all of the financials related to Cousin Ermine’s accounts, if you please?” He cleared his throat. “I think a quick audit is in order.” His eyes went to the tray on the nearby table that was now missing its serving vessel. “And could you fetch the eight-seventy-three for me?”

“Of course, My Lord,” the older unicorn bowed his head and withdrew from the office.

The earl soon became aware of an earnest tapping sound coming from somewhere in his office, and was a little put out to find that it was coming from his own hind leg anxiously bouncing on the tiled floor. He forced the traitorous limb to still, instead settling on pressing his forehooves tightly together as an outlet for his newfound trepidation. He had been very careful when setting up his little shell company to make certain that nothing of it actually tied back to him directly. Even the few indirect connections would be difficult to take seriously.

Cousin Ermine was a case in point. Even Nocturne had seemed to dismiss the stallion as a ‘low-tier noble nopony’. That was an entirely apt description of course. A second cousin once removed through a marriage on his step-mother’s side was hardly a relation at all where the frequently intermarrying nobility was concerned. Alabaster was far more closely related to half the other ponies in the Peerage. Indeed, Ermine was barely even a member of the current nobility. All that allowed him to continue clinging to that thin veneer of status was his ability to affect an air of wealth; which in turn was only made possible by the stipend paid out to him by Sandalwood and Sons for serving on their board of directors. In exchange for that stipend, all that he had to do was rubber-stamp any paperwork put forth for his approval by the head of the board he nominally served on. Even Ermine had no idea who 'Recher Belle' was and had never met the not-mare―though he was ready to swear under oath before the Princesses themselves that he saw her every Monday for their weekly board meetings.

The earl’s barely-cousin also acted as the company’s treasurer, though Alabaster wasn’t enough of an idiot to give the stallion any of the paperwork that he’d need to actually act in that capacity, lest he be too tempted to embezzle some of the company’s funds and end the whole farce. Earl Bitter Creek was willing to cross many ponies to get what he wanted; but only a complete fool risked bringing down the wrath of the Royal Revenue Service down upon them with cooked books!

No, all of Sandalwood and Sons’ income streams were completely above-board, legal, and well documented. They were nonsensical, or course, as any holding company’s revenues were: activism and charities and such that didn’t actually do much more than hold a steady string of fundraisers and benefit dinners; but every solitary bit was accounted for and their taxes were paid in full and that was all that the RRS really cared about.

What was most important was that none of their activities involved the earl in any way, save for the occasional benefit dinner that he attended―along with half the nobility in the princedom.

At least, he thought that none of it could connect back to him. Seeing that Nocturne was significantly more perceptive than the earl had first thought, he decided that it was best to go over the details again. Just to put his mind at ease. A glass of brandy wouldn’t hurt things on that front either.

They were too close to success to risk it all coming apart because he overlooked something minor. This operation couldn’t afford loose ends.

“Celestia help us; how could that have happened?! I’m not even sure what happened!”

Not for the first time that night, First Sergeant Shillelagh suppressed the urge to snap at the teal unicorn mare like she was one of her soldiers. Not simply because of the minor fact that the ministry envoy wasn’t one of the crystal mare’s soldiers, but also because she had long ago concluded that the civilian-minded unicorn wouldn’t likely respond well to that sort of treatment and her nerves were frayed enough as it was.

Hers weren’t the only ones either, Shillelagh noted with an eye to the three other ponies―well, two ponies and a horse colt, anyway. Corporal Cravat was distracted enough with caring for his patient that it was hard to tell how much he was genuinely rattled by the evening’s events. The colt was doing about as well as could be expected under the circumstances. He hadn’t wanted to leave the village, but neither had he been in much of a condition to do anything about it.

While she was grateful that his crying had subsided from a security standpoint, she wasn’t certain how well it boded from a mental health one. She could empathize with the colt though. She’d seen enough young ponies in his position during her time in the Resistance in the lead up to the Crystal War. Sombra had been ruthless during his brief reign. Many were the hamlets that had been razed to the ground for bucking his authority even slightly. Losing everypony he’d ever known wasn’t going to be something that the colt recovered from any time soon, no matter how calm he seemed to be now.

Private Flashover was hard to get a read on too. Whatever her personal feelings about how the unicorn conducted himself with the mares, he was a competent soldier. Perhaps even a good one if she was ever forced to admit it―under pain of death most likely. Since their hasty exodus from Gallopoli, he’d been performing as an excellent pointmare, with his mind seemingly squarely fixated on ensuring that they didn’t wander into any further unfortunate surprises.

However, it was his outgoing and personable nature that had her concerned for him. He made friends easily, and he’d made a lot of friends since coming into the unit six months ago. While the company medic might arguably be the closest friend he had in the unit, the senior noncom knew that Cravat wasn’t the only close friend he’d made. Friends who were now doubtlessly dead. From her own experience, she knew that there were going to be many ghosts and doubts that haunted him in the coming days. Some would last the rest of his life.

For the moment, those two at least had distractions in the form of their duties, as did she. Autumn Brisk did not. For that reason, the first sergeant was willing to extend the envoy more patience than she otherwise might have under other circumstances. “The town was attacked,” the crystal mare answered coolly, “likely by bandits. It’s not something that is entirely unheard of.”

What the emerald mare didn’t add was that the level of skill that they’d demonstrated was quite abnormal. They’d obviously managed to neutralize every one of Bronco Company’s sentries without raising the alarm. The fact that they’d apparently acquired Equestrian Cavalry barding had probably had a lot to do with how they’d managed to accomplish that, but that too only spoke volumes about their competence and preparedness. Even if those raiders couldn’t have known that an Equestrian military force would be guarding the town―after all, even Bronco Company hadn’t been given much forewarning―they had to have realized that the barding of an Arabian ally would allow them to get close to the town without raising a lot of suspicions. Close enough that, by the time their true intent was revealed, there wouldn’t be anything the horses living in Gallopoli could do about it.

How they’d managed to acquire that much gear was another concern. A few sets of barding occasionally made it onto black markets, she knew. Unscrupulous soldiers who wanted to make a quick bit. Stolen sets. Armor that was stripped from the dead after a skirmish before the bodies could be recovered. Such things happened. In this case though, those bandits had gotten hold of hundreds of sets of barding.

That was...concerning. Something that was most certainly worthy of being reported to the brass back in Canterlot.

“And so they just killed everypony?!” The envoy said in a near-hysterical tone.

“A corpse doesn’t tend to make much of a fuss while you’re stripping it of valuables,” Shillelagh quipped a little more glibly than she’d meant to. The mare took a deep breath in order to help soothe her own nerves. It seemed that recent events were taking a toll on her as well. She was familiar with experiencing such tragedies perhaps; but it didn’t mean that she was immune to their effects.

“This isn’t Equestria,” she began again with a much more soothing tone. “It’s much more...volatile out here. Groups like that don’t hit Equestria that often because they don’t want to risk bringing Celestia’s wrath down upon them.” Removing an entire empire from existence and banishing your immortal sister to the moon for a millennium did much to earn somepony a reputation as being one that only the most foolhardy would dare cross. “Saddle Arabia does not have a ruler with the sort of power our own princesses wield.

“It makes raiders considerably bolder.” Her expression hardened now. “Though the news that so many of Their Majesties’ soldiers were slain will likely spur Equestria to the sort of action that will serve to remind such groups why attacking ponies is...unwise for centuries to come.”

Equestria might be slow to anger, but she was a force to be reckoned with when her rage was stoked. The emerald mare took what solace she could in the knowledge that their slain comrades would be avenged in the fullness of time. Of that, she had no doubt.

First, however, somepony needed to get word to the princesses about what had happened.

“So much death,” the unicorn shuddered, looking almost ill at the thought, “I had no idea…” She shook her head, slowly. “I...I can’t even begin to think of what to do next.”

“We press on,” Shillelagh said simply, “we follow the Captain’s orders and reach Camp Legume. In a few days, we’ll meet up with Lieutenant Whirlwind and the contingent we left behind in Little Buck.” The first sergeant idly wondered how those soldiers would react to the news of what had happened in Gallopoli. But for a twist of fate, it could just have easily been any one of them who’d died during the attack. That sort of survivor’s guilt likewise played with a pony’s mind.

The counselors in Canterlot were going to have their hooves full.

“Oh, Celestia; Captain Corsair!” The teal mare spun around and looked behind them. “She should be back by now, shouldn’t she? Shouldn’t we go back for her, or―”

“That would be unwise.”

Everypony’s gaze shot upwards as the mare’s voice rang down from above. The crystal pony noncom felt a tension she hadn’t been aware that she was retaining ebb out of her as she caught sight of the cobalt pegasus gliding down towards them through the canopy. Captain Corsair alit in the middle of the formation and gestured for the paltry remnants of her command to gather around. The pegasus tried to hide her own anguish, but Shillelagh was familiar enough with her CO to see in her eyes how deep this blow had cut her. The ponies of Bronco Company had been entrusted to her care, and now they were dead. The stain of that failure bit into her very soul.

“A few of the villagers escaped,” she began, “about a dozen as best as I can tell. The bandits didn’t seem to be interested in giving chase. Thank Celestia for small favors.”

“My father…?” The young Saddle Arabian colt croaked from the travois being dragged behind Cravat.

Corsair was only able to meet the young horse’s gaze for a second before looking away. “He defended his village well,” was all that she could bring herself to say on the matter before looking back to her senior noncom. Behind her, she could hear Cravat attempting to console the colt, who'd renewed his sobbing.

She stepped closer to her senior noncom and lowered her voice so that the rest of what she had to say wasn't easily overheard by the colt. He didn't need to hear the details of what had happened to his friends and family. “They’re tossing the city and stripping the dead; which is expected.” Then she frowned. “But they’re counting our dead.”

“Ma’am?”

The pegasus nodded her understanding of the crystal mare’s surprise. “They lined up everypony from Bronco Company and started taking a count,” she reiterated. “I couldn’t get close enough to see for certain, but I think they even had a roster that they were referencing.” She held the older mare’s gaze meaningfully.

First Sergeant Shillelagh looked incredulous. “You’re not suggesting what I think you are, are you ma’am? That doesn’t even make any sense.” Her eyes darted away from the feathered officer and passed over from the envoy to their medic before looking back questioningly at Captain Corsair.

The company commander didn’t mistake the meaning behind the crystal mare’s shifted gaze. They matched up with the pegasus’ own thoughts on the matter. There was a very short list of reasons that occurred to her as to why those ‘raiders’ would be taking such a keen interest in their little company. Simple bandits would have no reason to be taking inventory of which ponies they’d killed. Certainly not like these creatures were. She had actually figured that she was looking too far into their actions at first, but the longer she had watched, the more clear it had become how methodical they were being about inventorying not the captured arms and armor, but the ponies themselves.

If she didn’t know any better, she’d have thought that the raid on the town had been mere collateral in order to get at Bronco Company. Or, more specifically, somepony in Bronco Company.

There were only two ponies that she could think of who would be worth going to that sort of trouble: an official envoy entreating on behalf of the princesses, and the only colt of one of the higher-born nobles in the realm.

Corsair wouldn’t pretend that she knew every mover and shaker in the Equestrian Peerage, but she knew that the nobility tended to have something of a ‘shadow war’ going on behind the scenes amongst themselves. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that somepony was trying to get at the Minister of Public Health through her colt. Though the pegasus would have liked to think that something this brazen was a little extreme even for those sorts of charades.

Honestly, it was for that reason that she was inclined to lean more towards the possibility that those bandits had had designs on the envoy. Perhaps they had been acting on behalf of another nation in an effort to get ahold of a representative of Equestria’s government for some purpose? Even then, it was hard for her to imagine what ends they could possibly have hoped to achieve. Celestia was not reputed to respond well to such overt violence. She and her sister were hardly likely to be brought to any sort of negotiation table by threats like that.

The pegasus frowned.

Then again, she thought, never attribute to malice what can be just as easily attributed to stupidity.

Just because she knew that sort of plan wasn’t going to work didn’t mean that the bandits did.

Not that Corsair believed she would find any of her anguish soothed by the revelation that all of her ponies had been slain because somepony had misjudged Celestia’s reaction to being blackmailed. Honestly, nothing short of crushing the throat of whoever was behind this with her bare hooves was likely to bring her any peace on this matter.

The mare took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Those thoughts would hold for later. For now, they had more immediate concerns. She looked back to her senior noncom. “We’ll leave it to the EIS to make sense of the ‘why’s. Our concern is getting to Legume.” Her gaze darted to their orange unicorn pointmare. “Maintain point, private. But I’ll fly picket.” She regarded everypony now. “We’re going to put as much distance between us and Gallopoli as we can.” Her eyes lingered on Autumn Brisk specifically now. “We’re not stopping until at least noon.” She held her gaze until she finally received a reluctant nod of understanding from the mare.

Corsair looked back to her crystal counterpart. “Move them out, Top.” She leaped into the air before Shillelagh could render her acknowledging salute. Protocol could wait until they were no longer in mortal peril.

“I’ve already counted three times,” the griffon hen insisted, no longer even trying to hide her exasperated tone.

“Well then count a fourth time,” Captain Hawkwood hissed at his second-in-command, “and if the numbers come up wrong again, you’re going to order a detail to comb every inch of this town to look for those missing bodies and then count a fifth time!”

“I already did that after the second time I counted,” Gertrude snapped back. “They’re not here, captain.”

The hippogriff snarled, venting his frustration on his empty silver goblet that had once contained some rather expensive red wine. Unfortunately, that had been spilled when he slammed his fist on the table after being informed that their pony count had come up short, and that they’d managed to identify three of those who were missing.

What made it so frustrating was that they were literally the three worst possible members of the contingent here that they could have afforded to have been among the missing: the group’s commander, their senior noncommissioned officer, and the bloody envoy!

A perfect sweep of the Equestrian camp couldn’t have been guaranteed. That would have just been hoping for too much. Somepony would have been off relieving themselves, or carousing in town somewhere, or walking an unmapped patrol. Something would have kept them from accounting for every single pony that was supposed to be here. That was inevitable, and mostly manageable.

The whole point of targeting the ponies had been to ensure that there wasn’t a credible conflicting account when the few surviving Saddle Arabians reported Equestrian soldiers razing their town in the middle of the night. In the face of dozens of eye-witnesses, a destroyed town as evidence, and enough scattered Equestrian weaponry left among the corpses of the local inhabitants, it would hardly matter what a few enlisted peons claimed had ‘actually’ happened. Of course the perpetrators of the heinous crime would insist they were innocent!

Unfortunately, things became considerably more complicated when those ‘deniers’ were ponies of rank and the official envoy dispatched to Gallipoli on behalf of the alicorns themselves. The creatures that investigated what happened here would at least listen to an officer and a senior noncom. They were definitely going to give the envoy’s words some weight!

Especially if she mentioned seeing griffons and hippogriffs among the attackers. Attackers wearing Equestrian barding. Hawkwood wasn’t a mastermind, but he doubted that it would take the Equestrians long to connect the dots between non-ponies wearing Equestrian barding attacking a town just a week after a group of non-ponies picked up a load of barding from one of their forts.

Barding that was all bought and paid for on the up-and-up with a paper trail that specifically mentioned The Ivory Company.

That wouldn’t have been a problem if nopony was the wiser. Unfortunately…

The tiercel sighed in frustration and slumped back down into his chair, massaging the bridge of her beak. “I thought we’d already confirmed that we’d killed their commander?”

The hen frowned now too. “That report was made prematurely,” she admitted, “Danzig said that she found the command tent, poked her head inside, asked if either of the ponies in there was the commander, and one of them said that he was in charge.” She sighed and shook her head. “We never actually briefed anycreature that they were supposed to be looking out for a blue pegasus mare and a green crystal pony specifically.

“She found ponies in the command tent that said they were in charge.” Gertrude shrugged. “She passed on exactly that. By the time the report got to me, I assumed they’d offed Corsair and Shell-what's-it.”

Hawkwood let out an exasperated sound. Mostly because he was genuinely hard-pressed to find fault with any of his mercenaries. “Lesson learned, I guess. We haven’t exactly done a lot of hit-work. Obviously we’re rusty at it.” No helping that now, the hippogriff knew. “So if Corsair wasn’t in the command tent or her personal quarters, then where was she? Or the envoy for that matter?”

“We’re still not sure,” the griffon admitted, “we didn’t exactly leave a lot of witnesses for questioning lying around,” she pointed out.

“It hardly matters, I guess,” Hawkwood said, smiling wryly at his second. “Five bits gets you ten as to where they’re headed by now.”

“Sucker bet,” Gertrude scoffed, knowing full well what the answer was and why there was nothing more that they were going to do about it.

It was a no-brainer that those ponies were on their way back to Equestria. With the six-hour-plus lead, it was unlikely that even his fliers were going to catch them before they hit the border, and Hawkwood wasn’t stupid enough to send his mercenaries into Equestria to hunt the survivors. In fact, there was only one thing he was going to do: pack up and go back to Roam.

“Fine. Wrap up the looting and get everything organized to go back home. We’re done here.”

“Sir?” The hen’s eyebrows raised in mild surprise.

“Contract’s failed. The report’s going to reach Celestia from credible sources that griffons and hippogriffs were among the creatures who raided Gallopoli. Equestria knows that they don’t use either in their Cavalry. They’ll have no trouble at all convincing the Saddle Arabian sultan that Equestria isn’t to blame for this.” He shrugged. “At the moment, they don’t have any conclusive proof The Ivory Company was behind this either, so at least our reputation with the horses won’t be any worse than it already is.

“I'm not going to chip my beak trying to keep the good earl’s ‘master plan’ from going up in flames. What’s he going to do, rat us out? If we go down, he goes down. We’re covered. Worst that’s going to happen to us is that he won’t try to hire us for a job like this again.” The hippogriff rolled his eyes. “You can imagine how much sleep I’m going to lose over that.”

The griffon hen’s smirk mirrored her commander’s as he continued. “So let’s just take our spoils and fly off. We'll dump the bodies of the ponies in the bay like we're supposed to, but I’ll draft a letter to the earl to let him know his scheme’s hit a squall beyond that. We may have fucked up, but we can at least be professional about it.

“If he wants to try and salvage this mess, that’s on him. Me?” The hippogriff bent down, picked up his fallen chalice, and refilled it with wine. “I’m going to focus on moving forward.”

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading! As always, a thumbs up and comment are always greatly appreciated :twilightblush:

I've set up a Cover Art Fund if you're interested and have any bits lying around!

Chapter ix

The Western Arborlands,

Western Equestria,

And Royal Canterlot Armory,

Canterlot,

Central Equestria,

And Fort Martingale,

Istanbull,

Saddle Arabia

She was dying. That was really the only rational explanation for the excruciating amount of pain that she was in. It was honestly probably a miracle that she’d survived for as long as she had. That wouldn’t last though. It was only a matter of time before she finally succumbed. How long that was exactly was anypony’s guess. Hours. A day at the most. Only Celestia knew for sure―

“Alright, break’s over; everypony on their hooves,” the crystal mare who was obviously Tirek in disguise barked. Of that fact too there was little doubt left in Autumn Brisk’s mind. Only an inequine demon could possibly have maintained the pace that they’d been keeping without appearing to tire.

In fact, all of them were likely disguised monsters wearing pony flesh the way they seemed able to carry on at a canter for hours on end. Tirek-Shillelagh had called the pace “double-time”, but the teal unicorn mare found this to be a very misleading name, as it was patently obvious that moving at such a pace would actually get a pony somewhere in half the time!

Regardless of the pace or the timing, the envoy did know one thing for certain: she was nowhere near rested enough to begin again. Her frogs were still sore and her coat positively frothed with sweat. “I need to use the little fillies room!” Autumn Brisk announced suddenly, grasping at the first excuse that came to her mind that might delay their departure for at least a few more minutes.

The other ponies all gave her a flat look, but it was Captain Corsair who spoke up. “...You went when we stopped.”

The envoy blinked. That was true, she had. No help for it now though, she was committed to the lie. “Well I need to go again,” she insisted.

The pegasus frowned and rolled her eyes. “Flashover, go with her. You get two minutes,” she informed the unicorn mare pointedly. “If you’re not done by then you’ll just have to shit while you trot.” She glanced at her crystal associate. “I’m going topside,” she gestured upwards through the canopy with her wingtip, “if you have to, drag 'Her Grace' by her tail; but we move in two minutes.” The hard look that she flashed to the ministry representative left no doubt in anypony’s mind that she wasn’t being hyperbolic with her order, and the older crystal mare didn't look as though she would balk at carrying out that order to the letter either.

Autumn Brisk felt herself deflate slightly at the news but she knew by now that arguing with the flier wasn’t going to do any good. She was making quite a few notes to include in her final reports though! If there was any justice in the world, Captain Corsair’s superiors would have a few choice words for the pegasus when they finally got back to Canterlot regarding the proper treatment of Their Majesties’ official envoys.

“Miss Brisk,” her orange escort intoned, gesturing for her to precede him off the path so that she could do her business.

The mare hesitated for a brief moment, regarding the usually precocious stallion. While she’d found his rather ill-mannered―and certainly regulation-violating―flirtation mildly annoying at times, she had to admit that it was far more disconcerting to see him looking this reserved. He was a very different pony from the one that she had met a week ago. The mare nodded and started out into the wood line.

She didn’t have to actually relieve herself of course. She’d just desired a few additional minutes of rest before having to carry on at that grueling pace. However, she didn't want them to learn that she'd been lying to them, lest they not believe her the next time she made a similar request. So she resolved to at least go through the motions.

“I’ll just be around the other side of this tree,” she said to the orange unicorn, gesturing to a nearby oak. “I won’t be but a minute.” The stallion merely nodded and took up a watch position a polite distance away. Autumn rounded the tree and sat herself down, heaving a relieved sigh to be off her hooves once again. She silently cursed how fleeting her relief was going to be. Doubtlessly she would be called back before she knew it.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t appreciate the direness of their predicament; she wasn’t an idiot. Hundreds of ponies and horses had lost their lives barely a day ago, and their own lives could very well be in jeopardy at this very moment. Intellectually, she was quite aware of that. Autumn Brisk was also aware of the fact that she simply did not have the physical stamina of these other ponies, and that simply wasn't something that she could change with a thought. Her limbs hurt, and no amount of cajoling or terse reminders of their situation was going to stop them from hurting. What exactly was their plan for when she inevitably suffered a severe cramp or outright collapsed as a result of the pace they were demanding of her?

They certainly weren’t going to just leave her behind―she hoped―which meant that they’d be dragging two injured equines. She found it hard to believe that their progress wouldn’t be slowed down significantly then! Perhaps if she pointed that out to the captain, she’d agree to lengthening the few breaks that she seemed to only begrudgingly allow them.

The teal unicorn glanced down at her sweat-slicked coat and frowned. She'd already long since discarded her dress from the previous night―it had not been intended for rough travel, and a few hours traipsing through the woods had ruined it beyond saving anyway―though she had kept the cloak of her station. She was in desperate need of a bath, though the unicorn was certain Corsair wouldn't even entertain that notion. Her nose curled as it picked up an offensive odor, whose pungency surprised even herself. It was hard to believe that a single day of―albeit profuse―sweating had given her such a ripe aroma. Frankly speaking, it smelled to her like far more than simple sweat too. Had she stepped in something foul along the way?

The unicorn mare glanced down, checking her hooves. Her brow furrowed as she caught sight of something nearby that didn’t look like brush or fallen leaves. She actually didn’t know what it was, other than dark in color and textured like leather, but a couple of additional sniffs suggested that it was the source of the offending scent in the air. She cautiously used her hoof to push aside the thin branches of the nearby bush to get a better look.

The mare recoiled in shock, sucking in a deep breath. Whatever she’d thought that she would find, that hadn’t been it!

“Private? Private Flashover?! I found something―!” She jerked with a start as a low moan came from the bush. Sweet Celestia, she was still alive?! “Call Cravat! A mare’s been shot!”

Corsair sat patiently beside her senior noncom as the two of them watched the medic tend to his newest patient. The cobalt pegasus had been near apoplexy when she’d realized that the rest of their small band hadn’t resumed moving within the timetable that she’d laid out for them and had returned to where she’d left them with the intent to thoroughly reem out the lot of them. That was when she had been made aware of the envoy’s recent discovery: a batpony mare with a quarrel in her gut that was still managing to cling to life somehow.

It hadn’t been lost on the captain that the fletching on the bolt identified it as being Equestrian in origin.

A lone batpony mare out in the middle of the forest, an hour’s flight from the site of an attack by raiders using Equestrian armaments, who had herself apparently been struck by exactly one such armament? That wasn’t something that Corsair was going to chalk up to being an unrelated coincidence without a lot of convincing.

Hopefully the mare lived long enough to give them some answers.

“So which do you think she is,” the old crystal mare murmured to her CO, “EIS or Night Guard?”

“Not every batpony is EIS or Night Guard,” Corsair pointed out matter-of-factly, though her tone suggested that she was only doing it to point out an objective fact, and not because she actually doubted the likelihood of the mare’s affiliation to one of those two groups. That was the theory that she was entertaining as well, after all.

“No,” the emerald first sergeant acknowledged, “but most of them are. Especially ones that are this close to the action.”

“Point,” the pegasus mare nodded, “and a Night Guard would be wearing barding. She also wouldn’t have been alone.”

“Point. So that just begs the question: what was Equestrian Intelligence looking into out here?”

The pair exchanged a knowing look. Corsair’s expression was solemn as she gave voice to the real question that the noncom had been too circumspect to ask aloud. However, the pegasus officer was feeling far less ‘politique’ of late. “You mean: was EIS here to try and prevent what happened at Gallopoli…or were they behind it?”

Shillelagh didn’t offer a response. She didn’t have to. Both of them were of a similar mind: they couldn’t decide which possibility disturbed them more.

Sure, on the face of it, the idea that their government might have had a hoof in the slaughter of both innocent civilians as well as their own soldiers was a whole new level of chilling. However, so was the notion that there was some foreign force out there which was capable of inflicting those sorts of horrors on Equestria's proverbial doorstep…and the best spies in the world had been powerless to get word out to anypony about it.

Corsair’s dour thoughts were interrupted by the approach of the unit’s dappled medic, who looked more worn out than usual. “Prognosis, corporal?”

The stallion shook his head. “I don’t know how she held on for as long as she did, but she's not doing great. I could take out the quarrel, but I don't have anything to close the wound with. On top of that, infection's setting in and she has a bad fever.” He frowned. “Most of my stuff was left in Gallopoli, including my antibiotics. If we were anywhere else, I’d say we shouldn’t move her, but…” he shrugged helplessly.

“We have to keep moving, corporal,” Corsair reminded him in a firm but gentle tone. She could appreciate how helpless the medical pony was feeling at the moment. It wasn’t so very different from how she was feeling.

“I realize that, ma’am. I’m just letting you know: it’s not good for her, and she’s hanging on by a thread as it is. She’s either going to live through the night or she’s not; I can’t do anything besides keep her as comfortable as I can.” The medic’s discomfort with the realities of their situation was palpable. Everything that he’d learned in medical school told him that they were doing exactly the wrong things for his patient. Unfortunately, doing the right thing by her was likely to put the rest of them at risk.

He detested that about the way the military regarded medical matters. He understood it, yes; but detested it regardless. Back in the hospital, he’d been empowered to move the sun and moon to try and save the life of a single patient, with the resources of the entire facility at his disposal. Out in the field like this, he was often forced to let grievously wounded ponies die. Not because they were beyond his skill to save, strictly speaking, but because they would require more resources to save than was ‘practical’.

He knew he could save this batpony mare, even in their current environment, if given the time and resources to treat her condition properly. However, that meant establishing themselves somewhere for several days―at least―while he sought out and addressed every sign of infection and inflammation, dedicating many hours of work each day to his patient. It would take time and focus, yes, but he was sure that he could do it.

It was a decision that he knew that Captain Corsair wasn’t going to make though. Staying put would put their whole group at risk; not just a single pony. It was a simple numbers game.

He knew that. He even agreed with it.

He just didn’t like it.

“Do what you can, corporal,” the cobalt pegasus said. “Shillelagh will drag the chief’s colt; you watch over the batpony.” This was going to slow them down even more, the mare recognized with a thin grimace. She wasn’t about to leave anypony behind though. She thought for a moment, weighing a decision in her mind that she was hesitant to make, and likely wouldn’t have made just an hour ago. Their situation was quite different now with the addition of a new pony who needed a lot more care than the Saddle Arabian colt did.

It would mean leaving their band yet another pony down, and depriving them of their early-warning capability...but it also meant giving them a better chance of saving the batpony mare’s life. If she really was a member of the EIS, or she at least just knew something of the raiders that had attacked her, then maybe they could finally get some answers about what was going on. That information could help to save all their lives.

“I’m going ahead to link up with Lieutenant Whirlwind,” Corsair finally said with a reluctant sigh. It was a risky decision, but part of her job was making exactly just these sorts of choices. “Write up a list of what you need that was left behind with the contingent in Little Buck. I’ll bring the supplies and some of the pegasi back with me. We’ll be able to build a cloud cot for her. Make the trip a little easier.”

Cravat nodded and retrieved a pencil and some paper, hastily scribbling out a short list of the medicines he wanted. A decent stock had been left behind with the members of their company that had been ordered to remain in Little Buck to help with their recovery. He’d naturally left behind far more than should have been required by the ponies there―assuming they followed the instructions that he’d left―just in case any of them took an unexpected turn for the worse. That meant that there should be some extra antibiotics and pain medications still in their possession, along with extra bandages for changing out wound dressings.

“This means that you’ll have to make the rendezvous at the river though,” the dark blue commander affirmed with a hard look at the medic. “If you’re not where you’re supposed to be by nightfall, it’ll be a lot harder for me to find you again in the dark.”

The dappled stallion finished his list and passed it to the pegasus, a frown creasing his lips. Their goal of reaching the river by nightfall had been established before they’d acquired their most recent charge. Even before having to stop like this, reaching it would have required a pretty grueling pace to be maintained. Now they’d have to push themselves even harder while transporting a pony whose grasp on life was best described as ‘tenuous’. She had a point though, that it would be difficult for her to find them in the dark if she didn’t know exactly where they were going to be. The longer it took her to find them, the longer it would take her to get him those medicines.

“Understood, ma’am.”

Corsair looked briefly at the list he’d passed her before tucking it away in her saddlebag. She then nodded at the medic and returned to her senior noncom. “I’m going to link up with Whirlwind to bring back personnel and supplies,” she informed the crystal mare. “Get these ponies to the river, Top.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the older emerald pony responded with a snapped salute. She looked over her shoulder at the nearby orange unicorn stallion. “Private, we’re going to be losing our eyes in the sky for a bit. Make sure you’re keeping an eye cloudward from now on, understood?”

“Got it, Top,” the stallion replied, doing a poor job of hiding his displeasure at the increased burden being placed on his withers. Not that there was any help for it, as he well knew. There’d been too few of them to do a proper march before acquiring a third noncombatant and losing yet another member of their understrength ‘squad’. Now he was saddled with being their point mare, rear guard, and picket.

“Ready to get going, Your Grace?” The crystal pony asked, glancing over at the teal envoy who was also now performing an additional duty as a bagmare now that both Cravat and Shillelagh would be hauling patients and Corsair was going to be leaving their group. Leaving only herself and Flashover available to carry what food and supplies they had with them. The pampered government official was clearly not used to performing much manual labor, as she visibly strained beneath the same amount of weight that the private barely seemed to even acknowledge.

“Would it matter at all if I said: ‘no’?” She asked through gritted teeth as she shrugged her saddlebags further up her withers in an attempt to take the strain off of her back.

“No.”

“In that case, for the record: I am not ready.” She deadpanned.

“Alright then,” the crystal mare took up the travois with the Saddle Arabian chief’s colt and ensured that it was properly secured, “move out.”

General Maniple was not a happy stallion. Made all the worse by the fact that he wasn’t certain what it was yet that he was supposed to be unhappy about. It was going to be something though. Earl Bitter Creek was not the sort of pony to have his aide request a meeting ‘at the General’s earliest convenience’―which was well-understood noble-speak for ‘right bucking now!’―in order to relay good news.

Their next officially scheduled meeting to exchange information regarding the 'goodwill mission' in Gallopoli wasn’t supposed to be for another week. It was a meeting that wasn’t supposed to even actually happen since, by that time, word would have reached Canterlot that Saddle Arabia was marching an army across their borders and had likely already sacked a village or two in reprisal for Gallopoli’s destruction―which nopony in Equestria knew had already happened.

The sentries at the border would undoubtedly be reporting such an army crossing into Equestria in another few days, at which point Their Majesties’ military commanders and advisors would begin to madly scramble together a force to meet the enemy and crush them. To that end, Maniple was surreptitiously currently redeploying a few key units to western Equestria for various public relations missions so that he’d be able to quickly bring them together into a rapid response force strong enough to immediately launch a counter-invasion, pushing all of the way to Istanbull in order to capture and then force a surrender of the sultan. The war would be over in a matter of weeks, with Equestria as the undisputed victor, and in a position to set whatever surrender terms that they desired.

Such as the complete and total annexation of all territories controlled by Saddle Arabia, so that never again could the horses take such unprovoked hostile actions against their peaceful pony neighbors.

That was the plan.

A plan which did not include a visit from the earl on short notice like this.

That suggested that something had gone wrong with the plan. General Maniple did not like that. If there was any saving grace to be had, it was that it couldn’t possibly be anything that he’d screwed up. Somepony else had obviously dropped the ball though. The commander of Equestria’s Frontier Corps idly wondered who it could have been?

There was a stiff knock at the door to his office. “Enter,” he didn’t―quite―bark.

His own aide opened the door and poked his head in. “His Lordship, Earl Bitter Creek, Minister of Foreign Affairs of Their Majesties’ government here to see you, sir.”

The general officer managed to not outright scowl at the overly long title that protocol demanded.

As though I didn’t fucking know who was here to see me without all that bluster, the earth pony stallion thought with an internal groan. “Send him in,” he responded out loud, coming to his own hooves as the major opened the door fully and stood off to the side so that the earl could enter unfettered. General Maniple executed a solemn bow―as protocol dictated when receiving a noblepony of the earl’s stature. “My Lord, how may the Frontier Corps serve Their Majesties today?”

The ivory unicorn stallion remained silent as the general’s aide excused himself and closed the door behind them. Then the earl’s face lost its neutral expression, dissolving into a sneer. His horn glowed with sapphire light as he retrieved an opened envelope from his vest and tossed it onto the general’s desk. “Hawkwood fucked up and now I need you to fix it.”

Maniple shot up erect, his eyes wide at the noblepony’s atypical candor. Curious, he picked up the letter to read it for himself. “He wasn’t able to raze Gallopoli?”

“Oh no, he did well enough as a bandit,” the minister grudgingly admitted. “But he managed to lose track of the only ponies of yours that actually matter. Mine too, come to think of it,” he added as a bitter afterthought.

“Corsair, Shillelagh, and the Lady Brisk.” The general’s disgusted tone mirrored the earl’s as he finished reading the missive sent by the hippogriff mercenary commander. “Wonderful.” His frown deepened. “Now what exactly am I supposed to be able to do about this?”

“Those ponies are witnesses to what actually happened in Gallopoli. They have to be stopped,” the ministry unicorn stated, “and we need to amend the narrative slightly.” He sighed, reaching up with a hoof to massage his brow in frustration. “We’re no longer going to be able to claim that those soldiers of yours were killed by the Saddle Arabians as part of their violent overreaction to a ‘misinterpretation’ of a trade agreement. There’s no way the Saddle Arabians will be able to catch the survivors before they reach a town or―Celestia forbid―a garrison and tell the ponies there what actually happened.

“The moment word gets out in Equestria that hippogriffs and griffons sacked the town, there’ll be nothing that my ministry can do to muddy the waters on this. The truth of who was actually behind the attack will come out and we won’t have our war.” The general found it a little disconcerting how disappointed the earl sounded at the prospect of avoiding a massive loss of life. While Maniple was a party to this plot, he was not especially eager to see the ultimate body-count. For him, it was merely a tragic necessity to ensure the future prosperity of Equestria.

“However,” the earl continued, “if we take the initiative and put the blame on Captain Corsair―spin the story as her going ‘off the reservation’, as it were, and sacking the town on her own initiative―we can brand her a war criminal and go after her ourselves. My ministry will generate the correspondence necessary to make it clear that we sought to resolve this matter internally and hold the perpetrators accountable.”

“What about Saddle Arabia? What’s to keep them from holding back a military response?” The general asked, frowning.

“Simple: that’s not the way my ministry’s correspondence to them will paint things,” the unicorn’s lips curled into a vicious sneer. “As far as they’ll be concerned, we’re considering her destruction of the town as completely justified, insisting that Corsair defended herself from a sudden and unprovoked attack by the Gallopolian residents.

“Meanwhile, I’ll make sure to present to Their Majesties that the reason for the Saddle Arabian’s incursion into our borders is because they are wholly unsatisfied with Equestria handling Captain Corsair’s apprehension as an internal matter, and are intent on conducting a unilateral military invasion to pursue her, despite the pleas of my envoys to let us handle the arrest of our own criminal citizens. That they are so brazenly burning down Equestrian villages in their quest is simply evidence that something must be done to subdue them.

“The Princesses will have no option but to support going to war with Saddle Arabia, if only to safeguard their subjects on the border.

“But for any of that to work,” the earl’s tone shifted suddenly back to an icy growl, “Corsair and the other survivors can’t be allowed to tell their story. They need to be found...and dealt with.” There was nothing in the unicorn’s demeanor that left any doubt in the general’s mind about exactly how those ponies were to be ‘dealt with’.

Maniple was instinctively reluctant to send out his soldiers with orders to kill their comrades, but he also knew what was at stake if he didn’t. Not simply the future glory of Equestria either. If the war never happened, then there would be plenty of resources poured―by both sides―into getting to the bottom of this incident. The assault would be traced back to The Ivory Company and, from there, it wouldn’t be all too difficult to link things back to him. The good earl certainly wasn’t going to be the one left holding the bag when everything came tumbling down. That’s not how it went in the nobility.

Common-born ponies like himself, on the other hoof…

“Do we know how many of her company survived?” he asked, looking back over the letter, his eyes finding the answer at about the same time as his patron supplied it.

“Five in total, including my envoy.”

The general nodded, “good, that means the search teams can be kept pretty small. A dozen at most to ensure they're subdued. Smaller teams means more teams, which will let us cover a larger area more quickly.” It looked like it was going to be most fortuitous indeed that he had already maneuvered so many groups into that region of Equestria. “I’ll have my staff draw up search patterns tonight and couriers sent out first thing in the morning, My Lord. We’ll find them.”

“Remember, General,” the earl said coolly, “they must not be taken alive. None of them.”

“...Yes, My Lord.” How he was supposed to convince his commanders in the field to do that when most of their training revolved around taking prisoners, he wasn’t immediately sure. It would be especially difficult where the minister’s envoy was concerned. It would be simple enough, he supposed, to portray Corsair and the others as being rampaging killers―maybe―but who was going to believe that a civilian couldn’t be subdued and taken alive for trial?

He’d have to figure out something. If nothing else, he could probably arrange for something to ‘happen’ to any prisoners during transport to Canterlot. It was just a matter of finding ponies willing to do that sort of thing without asking too many questions.

“I’ll leave you to it then, General,” the Minister of Foreign Affairs said as he turned around and left the office, his magic tugging the letter out of the earth pony’s grasp and disintegrating it into dust. The door closed behind him, leaving a decidedly very unhappy Maniple alone in his office.

Qasam stood atop the battlements of the ancient fortress, looking down into the mustering field below. He couldn’t recall the last time that it had ever looked so full. Likely it never had been. At least, not in his lifetime. Presumably it had been at least as crowded at some point in history. At the very least, the builders of the fort had anticipated a situation in which the field might become this crowded. Otherwise, why build one so large in the first place?

A curse upon those horses who foresaw such a need, the Saddle Arabian stallion thought to himself, and a curse upon Equestria for creating that need now.

It all still felt a little surreal. Equestria, of all nations, being responsible for an unprovoked attack on one of their towns. Qasam considered himself an avid student of history and, as a result, the news both surprised him and―at the same time―didn’t. Ponies had a reputation for being peaceful and harmonious, yes. The whole world ‘knew’ that.

However, there was a darker side to that ‘harmony’. It was, historically, exclusively internal. Harmony among ponies. The Saddle Arabians' smaller equine cousins had traditionally shown little interest in interactions outside of Equestria, and tended to inherently view other races with suspicion and distrust. It was not an entirely unwarranted view, the stallion was forced to admit. Equestria had faced a number of threats over the centuries that had made them quite wary of the outside world.

Still, nothing like this had ever come of such wariness. He couldn’t say that it was entirely outside the realm of possibility though. Especially now that it had apparently happened.

While shocking, the account of each of Gallopoli’s survivors had been consistent: the attackers had worn the barding of Equestria and shouted Equestrian battle-cries. It was also widely known that a contingent of Equestrian soldiers had been camped outside the town for over a week, and that those soldiers had been causing no end of grief for the horses there. Qasam had heard of the searches and harassment that traders complained about quite loudly to the sultan. By all accounts, the ponies had arrived and immediately begun to act as though the town was already under Equestrian rule.

From there, he supposed that it was only a small matter to escalate into outright violence.

Still…

“Miralay Qasam,” a younger stallion said as he approached the fort’s recently mustered commander. The young horse―barely more than a colt to the older miralay’s eyes―wore the bronze halter of a lieutenant. It was still quite dull, having only recently been removed from storage. Qasam’s own golden halter only shown as brilliantly as it did because the gold leaf that coated it didn’t tarnish. The same could not be said for the silver and bronze which coated the barding of his captains and lieutenants, respectively.

A few more days of polishing would see them shine again though.

At least until they’re splattered with blood, the older stallion thought ruefully.

“Yes, young Chiaus?”

“The last of the militias have mustered,” the junior officer announced. “The captains await in your tent to be briefed.”

“I see,” the older stallion’s gaze returned to the horses milling about within the fortress. “Do we have a count of how many answered the call?”

“Two thousand, miralay,” the lieutenant said proudly, standing up a little straighter. There was a gleam in the youngster’s eyes. A hunger that Qasam recognized from his own bygone youth. The boy desires glory and to prove his courage, the commander thought with a note of resignation. It was a sentiment that he was sure a lot of the horses gathered here today likely shared. So many of them were far too young to remember the last time such a mustering had been ordered. To them, battles were simply events where heroes proved their mettle and carved out legends for themselves; earning glory which would attract the adoration of many mares and stallions when they returned home.

For Qasam, battles were bloody massacres that left naught behind but scars…on both the body and the mind. No matter how just and righteous the cause, the air of every battle smelled only of blood and bowels. There were no thoughts of glory at a time like that. Merely a frenzied visceral drive to live...and to kill as many of the enemy as need be to accomplish that goal.

He will learn soon enough. He may even become a better horse for it.

“Good,” he responded aloud, “that is good.” It was what he was supposed to say, but even to his own ears he didn’t sound convinced. That was because he knew the combined strength of Equestria’s armies, and it was far more than a couple thousand. Against the full might of the ponies, his forces would doubtlessly be crushed.

Of course, his regiment wasn’t the only one that would be marching out to answer for the Saddle Arabian blood that had been spilled at Gallopoli. It was simply the first that could be raised here. A dozen other forts across the country were mustering at this very moment as well. News of the town's sacking was spreading through Saddle Arabia. Horses, young and old, stallion and mare, were leaving their homes to take up arms and avenge their countrymares.

Not since we threw the minotaurs back into the sea has our blood been so riled, Qasam thought as he turned from the courtyard and descended from the battlements. Stars willing, I will not live to see it again.

As if on cue, a great pain flared up in the stallion's chest, causing him to wince and his steps to falter slightly. The younger officer scrambled to his side. "Miralay!" His hooves reached up to steady and support the older senior stallion. "Are you alright?"

Qadam nodded, despite the discomfort. It was nothing new to him. The pain in his chest came and went seemingly with the phases of the moon. The stallion chalked it up to age. With every passing year, it felt like there was always some other part of his body that insisted on bothering him. Last year it had been his left knee. Now it was this persistent heartburn. Next year perhaps his back would finally give out, if only as the inevitable consequence of putting on this barding once more.

He waited a few seconds for the worst of the discomfort to subside, as it always had before, and finally waved away the young horse. "I am fine, Chiaus. I'm am fine. Just a bit old." He favored the other officer with a smile as he finally managed to get his hooves more firmly under him and stand up straighter. "Now go tend to your herd."

The more youthful horse didn't look as thoroughly convinced of his mentor's good health as Qasam would perhaps have liked, but he at least did not resist the order. While the colt might have been a little overprotective at times, Qasam liked having him around. He was growing into a good officer, with a cool head on his shoulders more often than not.

The same could not be said for some of his peers, Qasam noted sadly as he finally stepped into his command tent, and the dozen horses waiting for him inside. Already they were clustered around a map stretched out over the table, quibbling about which of the Equestrian towns should be burned to the ground in retribution. Tempters were running hot, and it seemed that only pony blood would quench the flames.

“Sire’s Hollow is only a day from the border,” one mare said, jabbing her hoof at the map. “We can be there in less than a week. The nearest pony garrison is days away. Even if they are alerted by a pegasus border patrol, they can’t stop us before we reach it. The best they could do is evacuate the town.” She actually sounded rather disappointed about that fact.

“That will leave us trapped in the north when their garrison does arrive,” a stallion shot back. “We’ll have to fight our way out or be trapped between them and The Crystal Empire!”

“Do you fear a fight?” The mare demanded, snarling at the stallion.

“Unless you honestly think the Empire will sit idly by while their Princess’ mentor goes to war, it won’t be a 'fight',” another mare countered. “It’ll be a massacre; our massacre!” Now it was her turn to point at the map. “Appaloosa is barely within their territory and no garrison could pin us.”

“The buffalo will be in the area this time of year,” another stallion informed them. “They enjoy friendly relations with the locals, and might come to their aid. The sultan will not want us to start a war on another front.”

“When we tell the buffalo why we are there, they will not interfere,” came the insistent reply.

“Perhaps they will even join us,” another offered. “Their relations with the ponies are cordial now, but they were not always such. Maybe we can appeal to any lingering bitterness there and sway them to our side?”

There were scattered murmurs among the gathered captains as they debated the likelihood of such a thing happening. Qasam shook his head briefly before he cleared his throat loudly enough to attract the attention of his unit commanders. They had barely even begun this war, and already horses were looking to pull others into it. Would this madness end up consuming the whole continent before it was over?

The officers all turned to see the miralay entering the tent and snapped to attention with varying degrees of propriety. It became immediately evident who had and had not been taking their regular drills seriously. Qasam suppressed a frown and began speaking. “Be at ease.” His captains relaxed. “And we have no need for this debate. The sultan has already instructed me on what our target is to be.” He stepped over towards the map, several horses hastily backing out of his way. “Camp Legume.”

Several of his officers frowned at the news, one mare finding the courage to voice her displeasure with their target. “We are not answering the ponies’ betrayal in kind?” She sputtered. “Surely it is only proper to do unto theirs as they’ve done to ours!”

The tension and anger in the tent was palpable. These horses thirsted for vengeance, for the chance to avenge themselves upon those who had wronged their brethren so heinously. Qasam could empathize. His own temper had flared at first when he’d heard the news too. He would not deny how angry he’d felt. His own briefly-lived fantasies of meting out due justice to the ponies who would commit such wanton slaughter.

While a much younger and brasher Qasam would likely have been in stark agreement with the sentiments being expressed here, age and experience had tempered those initial impulses. Nothing would be served by spilling the blood of those who were not involved with Gallopoli. Certainly not 'justice' for the dead. “The sultan does not seek a war with the ponies. Destroying their towns would assuredly start one.

“Instead, he desires to bring Princesses Celestia and Luna to the negotiating table to put an end to this crisis as quickly as possible. Our forces are to pen in the pony garrison at Camp Legume while additional militias head to several of the nearby towns, surrounding and blockading them. It is the sultan's belief that this will send a clear message to the ponies that Saddle Arabia has strength, but that we will only use it if it as a last resort. We will demonstrate that we can be reasonable, and allow them to show if they can be as well.”

There was still some grumbling from the gathered unit commanders, but nothing that quite rose to the level of insubordination. Quite. Qasam could only hope that their ire abated during the trip as they had more time to reflect and look at the bigger picture. A genuine war would serve neither side in this.

Even if he put aside his own personal belief on the matter and accepted that the destruction of Gallopoli had been the result of an order given by Equestria’s princesses, all that would be served by razing pony towns to the ground would be to further inflate the number of innocent dead. Then the ponies would retaliate. Then Saddle Arabia again. Death for death, until none remained.

Answers for Gallopoli would be demanded, and restitution made, yes; but killing was not the route to acquiring such things.

At least, that was what Qasam believed. He only hoped that ponies and horses with far more authority than he had felt the same way...

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading! As always, a thumbs up and comment are always greatly appreciated :twilightblush:

I've set up a Cover Art Fund if you're interested and have any bits lying around!

Chapter x

Camp Legume,

Western Equestria,

And Western Arborlands,

Western Equestria,

And Canterlot Castle,

Canterlot

The batpony stallion touched down smartly in the middle of Camp Legume’s parade grounds. Being that it was midday, the new arrival was enough of an oddity that he drew a few lingering gazes from passing onlookers. For the tiniest fraction of a second, the stallion felt himself tense upon being the focus of so much interest. Then an amused smile creased his lips, which he quickly schooled into a self-assured smirk befitting of the silver crescent moon pinned to the collar of his uniform. Night Guards in the service to Princess Luna were well known to believe―and rightly so, according to them―that they were superior to all others in the uniformed services, and that their shit did indeed smell of lilies and roses.

The iron gray stallion spent a brief moment straightening up his silver-trimmed jet black uniform before glancing around for the camp’s headquarters building. Like most of Equestria’s further-flung military encampments intended to house the region’s local Cavalry garrisons, the camp’s many buildings were all rather plain looking and uniform in appearance. Indeed, the whole camp was horrendously uninspired in its appearance, and only barely had an air of ‘permanence’ to it.

The installation was laid out on a veritable grid, surrounding an open field where morning exercises or various ceremonies were held. All around were white wood-slatted buildings with slate roofs of slightly varying sizes. The perimeter was a simple palisade sparsely dotted with lookout towers. It all looked very ‘military’, to be sure, but little of it was particularly imposing.

Not like the grander literal castles which played host to the garrisons sitting in the heart of Equestria. Installations such as Fort Bambuck, at whose heart was still the ancient fortress for which it was named, with its towering keep and high curtain walls topped by parapets. One could look at such a construct and immediately just feel safer and more protected for its presence.

In contrast, Camp Legune struck the stallion as just being some sort of eerily-uniform gated neighborhood.

He snorted and started heading for the installation’s headquarters building―which was only truly identifiable by the small wooden placard with white lettering which said: ‘Headquarters’ on it. Once inside, the stallion found himself greeted by a pair of barding-clad earth ponies, who each glanced up with bored expressions on their muzzles. Both ponies’ faces wore mirrored looks of confusion at first, as though trying to figure out what it was that had come into the building. Clearly both of the ponies on watch that afternoon had become used to seeing only individuals wearing typical Cavalry attire, and their brains were having trouble accounting for the unanticipated visitor’s uniform, or how to react to it.

Finally some deep-seating training took over and, as if on instinct, both stallions shot up a little straighter on their stools. “Sir!” One of them greeted with a crisp bark.

“I need to speak with the commander of this installation,” the batpony informed the pair curtly. “Who are they and where can I find them?”

“Um, Brigadier General Rico―er, um, Reconnoiter, is in charge,” the other earth pony informed the arrival, clearing their throat. “Her office is upstairs to the right, second door on the right,” as they spoke, they gestured with their hoof towards a staircase sitting off to the side of the reception area. The batpony nodded and started towards it, pausing only when he heard the same pony hesitantly clear their throat and add, “Um, sir? If you’d sign in on the log, please?” The younger stallion nudged an open ledger sitting on their desk.

The Night Guard glanced down at the ledger briefly before shaking his head. “That won’t be necessary,” he replied simply and turned towards the stairs once more.

However, again the stallion spoke up. “Sir! All visitors are required to sign in on the…log…” Though his words had started out firm enough, the younger pony lost a great deal of his boldness when he found himself the target of a withering glare from the Night Guard. “...General’s orders,” he added meekly at the end.

The batpony maintained his glower as he spoke. “Do you see this pin, private?” He jabbed a leathery wingtip at the crescent moon on his collar, but didn’t wait for a response to his rhetorical question. “That means that I am one of Her Majesty's Night Guards, answerable exclusively to Princess Luna Herself. Often performing duties―to include this one―for which there can exist no official record.

“So inform your general, that if she takes issue with that, then she is free to voice her displeasure to the princess directly, in Canterlot.” The batpony held the pair of young soldiers with his glare until he was certain that both were sufficiently cowed, and then headed for the stairway once more. This time there were no objections, just two stallions exchanging nervous looks and shrugging, unsure of what to do in this situation, and unwilling to act in any way which might see them punished for violating the will of one of the princesses.

The batpony smirked as he ascended.

He maintained his air of superiority―and professional invulnerability―as he strode boldly in the antechamber of the general’s office, startling the captain sitting behind the secretarial desk sitting off to the side. Like the pair of earth ponies downstairs, the pegasus officer here was also more than a little surprised to see the batpony’s uniform. However, unlike the greener and more timid enlisted ponies, he found his bearing more quickly. “Begging your pardon, guardian, but is the general expecting you?”

The tone was cordial enough, but the captain’s gaze and expression were far cooler. The pegasus even went through the motions of glancing at what was clearly the general’s schedule, where the batpony’s name was surely not going to appear and they both knew it. The implication of the captain’s greeting was clear: “Who are you, and why are you strutting around like you own the place?” Though propriety and professional courtesy would never permit words to that effect to actually be said aloud.

“I have urgent orders from Their Majesties Princess Luna and Princess Celestia,” the batpony began, noting the brief crease of the pegasus’ eyes upon hearing the reverse of the usual order that the nation’s diarchs were listed in. No comment on the matter was made though. After all, it was not anything particularly surprising to hear from a member of the Night Guard. “They must be delivered to Brigadier General Reconnoiter immediately.”

The pegasus captain’s brows raised in mild surprise. He held out a wing. “Very well, I shall accept those order’s on the general’s behalf and―”

“My orders are to deliver them personally,” the Night Guard stressed, holding the captain’s gaze.

“...I see. If you’ll pardon me for a moment, guardian?” The captain slipped from their desk and crossed over to the other side of the room and the door which led to the general’s office proper. They issued a brief knock and then slipped inside, careful to ensure the new arrival did not try to brush through the door past them now that it was open. A few seconds later, he emerged and stepped aside, holding the door open. “The general will see you.”

The leather-winged stallion nodded and stepped into the general’s office. Seated at the far end, and peering at him with amethyst eyes which held a great deal of interest, was a well-weathered unicorn mare. It was difficult to tell if her coat had always been such a light shade of baby blue, or if age had lightened it from a once darker hue. Her smoky mane, braided into a tight and professional military bun behind her ears, was clearly showing signs of graying though. A crimson sash crossed the chest of her yellow-trimmed Celestia-white uniform, demoting her rank.

Like the rest of the camp, the unicorn mare’s office was a sparse and utilitarian affair. There were few furnishings aside from the necessities that were typically required of an office―a desk, a few simple chairs, some cabinets for files, the like. However, the batpony did spy a few idle personal touches on the desk itself that weren’t strictly ‘regulation’. The nameplate, for example, displayed the name: GENE‘RICO’FFICER followed by an arrow which was styled to point ‘over’ the placard to the unicorn sitting behind it. The general was also presently holding a steaming mug between her hooves with the name ‘Blue Balls’ scrawled upon it.

General Reconnoiter set the mug down. “My aide tells me you bring orders from the princesses, Guardian…?”

While the unicorn mare’s words trailed off in such a way as to make it clear that she was looking for a name to go along with the title, the stallion was not feeling inclined to give her one. Instead, he merely fished a rolled scroll tied with a length of blue ribbon out of his saddlebag and passed it to the senior officer. “The princesses direct you to follow their orders to the letter,” was all that he said.

The unicorn didn’t move for several long moments as she regarded both the uniformed batpony and the scroll held in his outstretched wing. Eventually though, she set her mug down and accepted the rolled parchment in her magic, deftly breaking the wax seal and unfurling it. Her narrowed eyes danced across the text of the floating parchment, only to draw up short, widening with clear surprise before the senior officer was able to subdue the most blatant signs of her shock. The unicorn glanced back at the batpony, her eyes darting only briefly to the crescent moon on his collar. “Is there any particular reason I’m not getting these orders through General Plowshare?”

“Is there any particular reason that matters?” The leather-winged stallion quipped back without hesitation. “An order from a superior officer is de facto already presumed to be an order from the princesses passed down through them. Naturally Their Majesties can skip the chain of command whenever they so desire.

“Do you have an issue with the orders that you’ve been given that you would like me to pass on to Their Majesties, brigadier general?” The stallion let the implied threat hang in the air between them.

“...No. Obviously I will carry out the will of the princesses to the best of my ability.” Though the frown on the unicorn's face suggested that she was not particularly thrilled about performing that duty at the moment. Exuberance with one’s duties was not a requirement in the Cavalry of course, merely obedience.

“As you always should,” the Night Guard nodded, flashing the older mare a wry smirk. “I’ll leave you to your preparations.” Without another word, nor any sort of salute, the batpony turned and left the office. He flicked a dismissive wing towards the captain as he passed them by as well. Both of the ponies at the desk by the front door pretended like they didn’t even see him. It was a reaction that caused the smile on his face to broaden.

Once more outside on the small fort’s parade grounds, the batpony―who only coincidentally looked exactly like a stallion in the Equestrian Intelligence Service named Nocturne―spread his wings and took flight.

Cravat decided that, when he eventually did go back to work in the hospital, he was going to look into the efficacy of using cloud-based hospital beds for all of his patients. As soft as a downy-filled mattress, light as a spider’s web, and offering a ride so smooth that it was like...well, floating on a cloud, he supposed. Neither of his patients were jostled in the slightest as their little white puffy ‘cots’ were pushed along by the pair of pegasi who’d been among those to return with Captain Corsair from Little Buck.

Thanks to a cloud-walking spell that Autumn Brisk had learned as a result of working closely with griffons for a number of years, the Gallopoli chief’s colt, Mesmet, had been able to ride upon a cloud cot as well. Thus far, he had found the whole experience quite novel. It was the first time that Cravat had seen the young horse smile since meeting him. The distraction from his recent tragedies wouldn’t last forever of course, but even seeing the colt expressing joy for even a few hours was something to be thankful for.

The medical pony had been even more thankful for the extra supplies that had been brought back. A fully equipped and staffed operating room would have been ideal for tending to the batpony mare, of course, but he’d gotten used to making do with whatever was at hoof while in the Cavalry. The quarrel was finally out and her wounds sutured. He'd cleaned out her bowels as much as he could, and he at least now had enough antibiotics to keep her from succumbing to sepsis; so that was good enough for the short term. The best thing for both of his patients right now was rest, and as much of it as they could get under the circumstances.

Fortunately those circumstances seemed to be a tad less dire at the moment. They would be regrouping with the rest of Lieutenant Whirlwind’s detachment the day after tomorrow, and from there would be making their way to Camp Legume to finally get word back to Canterlot about what had happened in Gallopoli.

In the meantime, Captain Corsair had allowed their group to abandon their previous breakneck pace and set a much slower and more sustainable one which contained plenty of breaks and time enough for him to address their group's less serious ailments. Such as Autumn Brisk’s sore hooves.

“You have sheared heels,” the corporal announced as he reached into his saddlebag and withdrew a rasp, whihc had been among the items in the aid bag he'd been brought from Little Buck.

“Is it serious?” The unicorn envoy asked with mild trepidation as she eyed the iron file warily.

“Not particularly,” Cravat assured her, “if it’s caught early enough.” He motioned for the mare to lie down on her stomach and propped one of her hind hooves up over his cannon. “You see this kind of thing all the time during boot camp. Happens when ponies don’t maintain a proper gait during marches.” He set the file to the bottom of the mare’s hoof and smirked. “I assume that royal envoys don’t march a lot?”

“Ha!” Autumn Brisk snorted as she folded her forelegs and rested her chin upon them, “I’ve probably walked further in the last two days than the rest of my life combined,” she grumbled irritably. “I was supposed to rarely have to leave my office…” Then she frowned, glancing back accusingly at the medic. “And what’s wrong with my gait?”

“Nothing from what I’ve seen,” a nearby orange unicorn stallion offered with a wry smirk, though apparently a bit louder than he’d intended to, given how surprised he seemed to be when both Cravat and Autumn Brisk turned to look at him. “Uh...I’m hungry. You two hungry? I’m going to get us some snacks. Be back later!” He quickly trotted off to be anywhere else for a while.

The medic sighed and shook his head. If nothing else, it was nice to see that Flashoever’s spirits were finally on the mend. “Sorry about him, if nopony’s apologized for it lately. I swear he’s a good soldier.”

“Hmm.” The unicorn turned back around. “I’m finding myself acquiring a preference for strong, silent types,” she muttered. The mare winced slightly, jerking her hoof nearly out of Cravat’s grip. “Ow!”

“Sorry,” the earth pony stallion said as he reset both the mare’s hoof and his rasp, handling the latter a bit more gingerly. “Your frogs are very soft.”

“Thank you?” the mare turned her head slightly, raising a hesitant eyebrow.

“Just an observation. I’m used to handling more calloused hooves than this.” His own lips curled slightly in a wry smirk. “That’s probably going to be the weirdest part of going back to the hospital: dealing with ponies that aren’t as...robust as the ones that tend to go into the Cavalry.”

“You used to work in a hospital?” The envoy managed not to sound too shocked at the revelation. “Were you some sort of nursing assistant or…?”

“I’d just finished my fellowship actually; in acute care surgery.”

“You’re a doctor?!” The mare was so shocked that she ceased to concern herself with her composure, outright gaping at the stallion.

“Technically I’ve been a ‘doctor’ since I finished medical school,” the corporal responded simply, shrugging off the surprise as he continued to focus on the work of filing down the mare’s uneven hoof. “But I’ve never practiced on my own," he admitted, "I’ve felt like more of a glorified nurse all my career.”

“What are you doing here?”

Corporal Cravat paused and looked at the mare with a deadpan expression, waving the rasp in her field of view. “Evening out your hoof.”

The envoy flustered, feeling her cheeks get a bit warmer with embarrassment. Autumn Brisk took a moment to regain some of her decorum and proceeded to rephrase her question. “I meant: why are you working as a medic in the Cavalry instead of as a doctor at a real hospital? Unless I’ve grossly misjudged Equestria’s military spending of late, my understanding is that surgeons earn significantly more bits than corporals.”

The dappled earth pony stallion rolled his eyes and resumed filing down the offending side of the mare’s hoof. “I’m fortunate enough not to have to worry about bits. My mother has plenty. She also sort of pushed me into doing medicine. Wants me to carry on ‘the family business’, after a fashion.”

“I see. I take it she’s a doctor too?”

“She is, technically, yes. Though I don’t believe she’s ever actually practiced any medicine herself.” The stallion paused to scrutinize his work as he began to finish up with her hoof, eyeing it carefully for symmetry, and applying light touches with the rasp where he noticed any further signs of unevenness. “She simply believes that the pony in charge of all of the other doctors should actually be a doctor themselves. Which, admittedly, is a notion that I do find merit in.”

Not that there was any actual guarantee that he would inherit his mother’s position in the government along with her titles, the stallion thought to himself. Though, as he understood it, she was already laying the political groundwork to make that happen. Always so forward-thinking, his dear mother; not leaving any part of her progeny’s future to chance…or choice.

Autumn Brisk cocked her head in confusion as she thought over the medic’s words. “What do you mean she’s ‘in charge of all the other doctors’? Nopony’s ‘in charge’ of―” Her eyes widened to nearly double their previous size as the realization struck her. “Wait, you don’t mean: she’s the Minister of Public Health?! Duchess Golden Hour is your mother?!” The latter was spoken at double her earlier volume and with an incredulity that one might reserve for if they’d just been told with a straight face that Discord was actually Celestia and Luna’s incestuous lovefoal.

“I am perfectly aware of who my mother is, thank you.” Cravat frowned, idly rubbing at his ear after it had been assaulted by the teal unicorn mare’s near screech.

Autumn Brisk had ceased to care about the state of her agape expression once again. She was honestly near apoplectic as her eyes darted between the dappled stallion and her leg that was being tending to like he was some sort of common train station hoof polisher. She attempted to scramble away so that she could correct what she was just realizing was a phenomenal breach of Courtly protocol and finally offer the stallion the courtesy due to a pony of his lofty station. The Minister of Public Health wasn’t exactly the most senior of the governmental agencies, to be sure; but there wasn’t always a direct correlation between a noble’s position in the government and their position in the Peerage.

The Duchy of Green Hills was one of the largest and oldest realms in all of Equestria. By extension, its custodian, Duchess Golden Hour, enjoyed a very senior seat on Equestira’s Peerage, as well as what was effectively a direct line to the princesses themselves. When the Duchess spoke, ponies, even some of the most powerful in the princedom, listened. And right now her only colt was filing Autumn Brisk’s hoof! Never mind what Earl Bitter Creek could do to her career if he was displeased with her job performance, this pony’s mother could arrange for her to be banished from Equestria entirely!

“My Lord, I beg for you to forgive my impropriet―umph!”

The mare nearly face-planted as the earth pony firmed up his hold on her hoof just as she tried to yank it free, keeping it firmly in place and throwing the mare off balance. “I swear to Celestia, if you so much as curtsy in my presence, I will take all your future temperatures rectally!” He seethed through gritted teeth at the envoy. Cravat leveled a piercing glare at the unicorn mare, cowing her into a series of meek nods of acknowledgement. Once he was satisfied that she wasn’t going to make any further spectacle of herself, he gave a firm nod and resumed working on her hoof, smoothing out the last little bits of unevenness.

He sighed. “Yes, my mother is Duchess Golden Hour. Yes, I really am her only foal,” the mare opened her mouth to speak, but the stallion shut her up again with a glare, “and no, I don’t feel like talking about why I’m a medic in the Frontier Corps. That is a personal matter. Is that understood, envoy?” Autumn Brisk’s mouth snapped shut with an audible sound at the stallion’s stressing of her dismally minor―and merely appointed―title. The implication was plain enough for her to see. The unicorn nodded wordlessly. “Good.” He looked at her hoof more closely, running his own along its edge to search for any further signs of uneven wear. “That should do it.

“Is anything else bothering you?”

The mare shook her head fervently, extracting her hind leg a little too abruptly from the medic’s care. “No, My L―er, um…no, corporal.” She uttered his military rank like she was being forced to eat dirt, clearly quite distressed at delivering what any other nobly-born pony would consider a great insult. “I’m fine now. Thank you very much.” It took a great deal of effort for the mare not to genuflect towards the medic before departing. The envoy wasn’t going to pretend that she understood why it was that a pony of breeding like the corporal was out playing soldier, but she also recognized that it wasn’t her place to know either. Instead she merely elected to very gingerly make her way to a respectful distance so as not to risk offending him.

For his part, Cravat let out an exasperated sigh and put his rasp away. Despite his insistence otherwise, the earth pony knew well enough that his future interactions with the envoy were going to be dramatically different moving forward. It was just one more example of why he preferred dealing with ‘common’ ponies over those who were ‘in the know’ where the nobility was concerned. To include both titled nobility and those who operated in their circles―like diplomatic envoys. With yoemares like Corsair or Flashover, he was treated just like ‘part of the herd’, once they saw that he wasn’t interested in throwing his pedigree around. It was quite a refreshing departure from the treatment he had received growing up. Especially while visiting places like Canterlot.

“Usually when nobles ‘slum it’, they just go to a dive bar on Canterlot’s Low Side for a night,” Cravat’s ear flicked at the sound of a mare’s pained rasp coming from nearby. He bolted to his hooves and spun around to find the batpony awake and looking at him from where she was laying on her cloud cot. “You must be a special kind of masochist to be in the Cavalry.”

The earth pony medic was at the mare’s side and rummaging through his saddlebags for a stethoscope. While it was usually a good sign for a patient to regain consciousness, Cravat wasn’t inclined to take it for granted that this represented a permanent change in her health for the better. Bowel injuries were always tricky things, and the mare could deteriorate just as quickly with seemingly little notice. However, as long as she was awake, he was going to take advantage to get some more insight into how she was feeling.

“Flash! I want to borrow your horn for a moment!” The dappled stallion barked over his shoulder even as he slipped on the stethoscope and placed it to the side of the batpony’s barrel. “Take some slow, deep breaths for me, please,” he instructed her.

The batpony nodded and proceeded to do as she was told, taking in a couple breaths as deep as she could manage, though these efforts did produce a noticeable wince as she did so. Cravat expected as much, given the amount of pain she was likely experiencing due to her gut wound. However, the effort did allow him to rule out any abnormal sounds from her lungs, so no signs of bacterial pneumonia yet; which was always a good sign. “Can you feel your legs and hooves? Wiggle them for me, if you can?” Again the mare nodded, and the earth pony saw all four of her hooves flexing in unison.

“Good. Any potions that you take regularly? Allergies? Significant medical history?”

“No allergies,” the mare answered back in a slightly hoarse tone. “Broken wing as a filly.” She flexed her right wing, which Cravat glanced at, but didn’t really expect to see anything worthwhile that would relate to her current situation. “And I take Sunbane pretty frequently.” This time the earth pony frowned, though he couldn’t say that he was wholly surprised by the admission. Statistically, most batponies who operated during daylight hours partook of elixirs containing sunbane extract. It helped to mitigate the worst of their racial photophobia. However, it did have the long-term side effect of promoting early-onset blindness in batponies; since it didn’t actually mitigate the effect of their eyes being exposed to direct sunlight. It just dulled the discomfort and kept their pupils from pinpricking.

However, chastising the mare for sacrificing her eyesight in the long-term in order to spend her youth operating more freely in the day could wait. Cravat was far more concerned with her present state. He heard hoofsteps trotting up behind him and turned to see the orange unicorn responding to his summons. “Alright, Flash, give me a low-intensity burst of light in each of her eyes, please. Right one first.” The earth pony turned to regard the mare closely, who was already grimacing in anticipation of what was coming. “Try to keep your eyes open, please.” The batpony nodded, but didn’t look any happier about what was to come.

“Relax, beautiful,” Flashover assured the mare with a broad smile. “I promise to be gentle.” He even winked at her.

The batpony was mid eye roll when the first beam of soft light hit her. She instantly took in a sharp breath, but managed to keep her eyes open while Cravat evaluated the dilation of her pupils. Once that was done with, the mare closed her eyes tightly and rubbed at them, muttering to herself about ‘fucking sunshiners’.

“Thanks, Flash. Go let the captain know she’s awake,” Cravat dismissed the unicorn and resumed the evaluation of his patient. “Do you feel any discomfort?”

“You mean other than where I was shot?” The batpony chortled, blinking away the last of the spots from her vision.

“Well, how badly does it hurt, on a scale of one-to-ten? One being after eating a questionable bean burrito and a ten being foaling?” This earned a chuckle from the mare, which devolved quickly into a groan as her wound became exacerbated by the laughter.

“Five when I don’t laugh, fifteen when I do!” She wheezed.

“Laughter contra-indicated; noted.” Once more the dappled stallion was looking through his bag, which was a lot more full thanks to the arrival of the supplies that Corsair had brought back from Little Buck. “Sorry I don’t have any of my really fun stuff anymore, but this should take some of the edge off.” He popped the stopper off of a small bottle and offered it to the batpony, who drank it gladly.

She’d just managed to finish the last of it before the group’s pegasus commander and her crystalline senior noncom arrived on the scene. Cravat noticed the mare tense up, almost like she wanted to be ready to make a run for it. Not that the earth pony would have expected his patient to make it far if she did bolt.

“Is she well enough to answer some questions, corporal?” The pegasus asked of her medic.

The earth pony looked between his commander and his patient briefly before issuing a nod. He looked at the batpony. “There’s not much more I can do to help your recovery along, and if you’re up to answering some questions it’d really help us out.”

The mare frowned. “I mean, I guess? I really don’t know what I could help the Cavalry with though―”

“Are you EIS?”

The mare’s frown deepened into a scowl as she looked over at the cobalt pegasus. “Listen, lady, I don’t appreciate your frankly racist assumption. Not every batpony is―”

“Spare me your obtuse bullshit and answer the question!” Corsair all but snarled, leaning in close to the batpony mare’s face. Cravat very nearly interposed himself between his commander and his patient, not quite prepared for the level of vitriol on display. Fortunately, the pegasus captain didn’t actually try to wring the truth out of the injured mare, though her flared wings suggested this was a near thing.

“I’ve got a town full of horses and a company of Their Majesties Finest burned to ash back there,” Corsair jabbed a wing vaguely in the direction that Gallopoli lay. “All cut down by creatures wearing our armor and slinging our arrows! Arrows like the one that got you. And if you think I’m going to buy that it’s just some fucking coincidence that you got got by the shit that got us not a day's trot away…then think again.

“If you know something, I damn well want to hear it!”

To either the credit of the mare’s personal convictions, or her skills of obfuscation, the look of absolute shock on the batpony’s face seemed completely genuine to Cravat. If she’d previously intended to hold to some sort of cover story, that inclination had vanished upon hearing the captain’s words. “...They attacked a town?” The surprise in her tone sounded as genuine as her expression looked.

“Slaughtered the Arabians nearly to a mare,” Corsair confirmed in a voice that was colder than ice. Then her gaze narrowed at the injured mare. “But they seemed especially interested in my ponies. They were counting our dead. Like they were after our company specifically.” The pegasus’ eyes darted briefly to the medic beside her. “...Or somepony in it.

“So whatever EIS knows, we need to know―we deserve to know.”

Even Cravat found himself taken aback now, having caught the implications of the captain’s words in conjunction with her brief look. He hadn’t known about any special interest being paid to their slain comrades. Was it possible that the pegasus had been mistaken, and that her own elevated stress and fatigue was causing her to see connections where there weren’t any? Because that idea that their company had been explicitly targeted to get at one or more of their members…that was a bit much to swallow. Especially if Corsair was entertaining the notion that he was a likely target for bandits like those.

Certainly the idea that some random group of raiders had been there looking for him―or anypony else for that matter―was utterly laughable. It would frankly have required for a patently absurd number of coincidences to have fallen neatly into place. If it was the case that himself or another member of the company was on somepony’s ‘hit list’, then that implied that there was somepony very important manipulating a lot of events to pull this off. An excessive number of events, in fact.

If that goal had truly been to kill or foalnap him as part of some plot against his mother, then whoever it was would have been far better served―and likely paid a far cheaper price―by trying to get at him while he was in Canterlot, or at any of the small towns their unit visited. For Celestia’s sake, an assassin posing as one of Little Buck’s residents seeking some medical care could have done the job on any given afternoon!

Sacking a foreign town to accomplish the deed would be lunacy!

At least the batpony appeared to be in agreement with Cravat on that much; though her puzzled expression suggested that she didn’t have any better explanations for the atrocity at the moment. “It couldn’t have been about any of you,” she insisted with a shake of her head, fully abandoning any pretense of ignorance now. “Not exclusively. They were likely accounting for witnesses,” she reasoned, her brow furrowed in thought even as her hoof went to the stitches along her gut. Something dark flashed behind her eyes, the corner of her lip curling upward to reveal a fang.

“I don’t know why they attacked the town,” she admitted, “but I do know that they had help from inside the Equestrian government to do it.” The next part she added with slightly more hesitation. “...To include the EIS.”

“So EIS was behind what happened?” Corsair and Shillelagh exchanged glances, but the batpony was already shaking her head.

“No! At least, not the whole of it. But there’s at least one operative who’s a part of whatever’s going on.” She patted the stitching on her belly. “He lured me into an ambush when I wouldn't let go of my investigation.” Another dower thought crossed the mare’s mind. “I can’t say for sure that there aren’t others though...” she was forced to admit, not sounding at all pleased by that thought.

“You can’t be serious?” The emerald senior noncom snorted. “The government and EIS are involved in what happened in Gallipoli?”

“Not the whole government, or the whole EIS!” The leather-winged mare countered emphatically, glaring at the crystal pony. “But those mercenaries―The Ivory Company―were hired by a noble―Earl Bitter Creek―two weeks ago to come to Equestria,” she explained. “Somepony also provided them with a bunch of Equestrian Cavalry surplus. I was tracking them before I was shot.”

Her hoof reached up and touched her bare neck, a sneer curling her lips. “I assume he scrubbed the surveillance on The Ivory Company,” she muttered to herself, then looked back at the others. “How long ago was that town attacked?”

“Night before last,” Corsair responded evenly.

“I’m going to assume that wasn’t long after I was shot. The operative had to be working with Bitter Creek.” Again the mare was deep in thought. “But what does the earl get out of this?”

“A cut of the spoils?” Shillelagh offered. “Maybe he’s paying mercs to raid foreign towns and splitting the loot with them in exchange for giving them the weapons they need to do it?”

While the batpony appeared to at least give the first sergeant’s theory some thought, Cravat had started shaking his head immediately. “Bitter Creek may not be the most prosperous fief in Equestria, but Fetlock’s no pauper; and the head of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs besides.” This drew raised eyebrows from Corsair and Shillelagh, to whom these revelations were clearly news. “And we saw Gallopoli; the value of everything in that town was probably less than what it cost to hire a mercenary group that size. Even if Bitter Creek had got everything there was in that town, he would have lost money on this venture.”

The batpony was nodding in agreement now. “He’s right. The Ivory Company doesn't come cheap. This wasn’t about money.” Which wasn’t to say that she seemed to have any alternate theories worth entertaining at the moment.

“Perfect,” Corsair spat. “Hundreds are dead, and nopony knows why.” The pegasus let out a frustrated sigh as one of her wings massaged her fatigued brow. It had been some time since she’d last had any decent sleep. That tiredness was doing neither her mood, nor her mind, any favors. “Whatever. The important thing now is reaching Legume and letting them know what happened. We’ll let the higher powers who are paid the big bits sort it all out.

“I just want to get my ponies somewhere safe. Speaking of,” she looked to Cravat now. “Doc, if you’re done checking on your patients, we should get packed up and moving out.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the dappled stallion nodded. “I’ll be ready to go in five.”

“Good.” The cobalt flier turned away and hopped into the air. “Dusty! Gusty!” The two pegasi that the company’s commander had brought with her from Lieutenant Whirlwind’s Little Buck detachment swooped into view and saluted with a chorus of ‘Ma’am!’s. “Picket our flanks. Keep an eye out for griffons, hippogriffs…” Her eyes darted briefly to the gray mare laying in the cloud cot before she added at a slightly quieter volume: “and batponies.”

The pair of armored pegasi exchanged looks, but raised no objections. They saluted and flew off in opposite directions, spreading out from the rest of the tiny group so that they could provide effective early warning. Once Corsair was satisfied that their perimeter would be secure as they traveled, she returned to the ground.

Shillelagh stepped up beside her. While the last bit of the captain’s order might have been too low a volume for Cravat’s EIS patient to hear, the crystal mare had been able to make it out. And she did feel like raising questions. “Batponies, ma’am?”

“I’m obviously willing to buy that this whole thing didn’t have the blessing of the princesses,” Corsair said with a roll of her eyes, “but we know there’s at least one bona fide minister in on this, and that he’s got at least one sympathizer in the EIS. I’m not betting our lives on this earl having just one agent in his saddlebag, Shelly.”

The crystal mare nodded in understanding. Then she grimaced. “...Maybe we shouldn’t limit it to just batponies then,” she suggested. When the captain looked at her senior noncom in confusion, the older mare added, “She said those mercs got hired two weeks ago?” The pegasus nodded. “And you said it looked like they had a list that they were referencing while counting our dead?” Another nod.

“Ma’am, remember when General Maniple asked for a by name and cutie mark roster of our hooves-on-ground while we were in Canterlot?” Corsair could see where the crystal mare was going with this now; and she didn't like it. Not one bit. “I bet that’d be the perfect roster for somepony to use to count the dead. Or somegriff.”

“...Fuck.”

“―And I’m afraid that concludes the message sent by His Excellency, Sultan Rahid-In Saheid Sad-Hal, Your Majesties,” Earl Alabaster Fetlock, Equestria’s Minister of Foreign Affairs, concluded soberly as his telekinesis lowered the oversized scroll that he had been reading from. He bowed his head before the pair of alicorns seated upon the raised dais, his features a perfect mask of sorrow and regret at having to relate such dour tidings to his beloved princesses.

The reigning sisters exchanged concerned looks of their own as they digested the sultan’s unexpectedly hostile message. Celestia extended one of her pristine white wings towards the floating parchment, and the earl quickly passed over the missive to the alicorn for her to read over herself. The unicorn was not concerned in the slightest that she might find some deficiency with it. After many years of handling correspondence with the Saddle Arabian ruler, Fetlock was intimately familiar with the horse’s writing style. Even the sultan himself would be hard pressed to deny it sounded exactly like something he would have written if presented with the scroll.

Except, of course, that the sultan had not written that particular message. The real scroll was still sealed away in the minister’s office. It was a far more calmly-worded, though no less appalled, affair officially asking for the extradition of the perpetrators of the attack on Gallopoli. A perfectly reasonable request, in the earl’s own opinion; and one he was sure that the princesses likely would have agreed to with little hesitation, if any at all. However, that was not what the alicorn sisters were reading now.

Instead, what they had been presented with amounted to a declaration. The message purported that the Saddle Arabians would be sending their armies across Equestria’s borders imminently, and that those armies were not to be interfered with in any way as they sought out the ponies responsible. A patently absurd request, obviously. It was tantamount to asking a nation to surrender its very sovereignty. To agree to the terms laid out in the ‘sultan’s’ message would be the diplomatic equivalent of Princesses Celestia and Luna supplicating themselves before the Saddle Arabian sultan. Even if the alicorns themselves were inclined to take such a measure in the interests of preserving the peace, the Equestrian public would never stand to see their beloved princesses demeaned so!

The opinion of Saddle Arabians among the ponies of Equestria would be forever tarnished, making whatever official relations the two government’s maintained on paper effectively meaningless.

From the stern scowl plainly evident on Princess Luna’s face, it was clear to the earl that at least the younger of the sisters was not at all inclined to acquiesce to what she was seeing on that scroll. Meanwhile, her elder sibling’s brow was furrowed more in confusion than in indignation. “Forgive me, Earl Bitter Creek,” Celestia began, “but I am finding it hard to believe that any member of our Cavalry could do what is described in this letter. While I would never suggest that Rahid-In is lying,” she stressed diplomatically, “is it possible that he has received…miscommunicated information, perhaps?”

Again the unicorn stallion schooled his features to appear appropriately forlorn for the news he was about to deliver. “Would that such was that case, Your Majesties. I naturally assumed the same when I read the message delivered by the Saddle Arabian ambassador, and so I reached out to the EIS to find the truth of the matter." Now the earl gestured to an older batpony mare dressed in a fine black suit jacket standing next to him. Em-Dash, the currently serving director of the Equestrian Intelligence Service nodded and produced a scroll of her own, extending it towards Princess Luna with one of her leathery wings.

"I sent in one of our investigative teams the moment we received word of the attack, Your Majesties," she informed the princesses in a husky tone which suggested she was either suffering from a perpetual seasonal cold or a lifetime spent suckling on a tobacco pipe. "Gallopoli had been burned to the ground. Equestrian arms consistent with what the Frontier Corps still has in its inventory was found among the ruins. None of the ponies from Bronco Company were found.

"As of this moment," the intelligence director's features creased into a grimace, "while we haven't found irrefutable proof that our ponies were responsible for the massacre, what we have found is consistent with the sultan's allegations.

"My agents will continue to investigate the matter, of course," she added with a brief bow of her head. "If we learn anything more, it will be passed to Your Majesties immediately."

Both princesses scrutinized the offered report. Alabaster Fetlock had little trouble keeping his expression neutral as the alicorns read over what Director Em-Dash had provided to them. Unlike what the minister had been providing them, this was not an adulteration of any kind, but a genuinely good faith assessment made by the EIS based on the information gathered by its agents. The earl had not brought Princess Luna's hoof-picked agency head in on his schemes, as the unicorn had no allusions that the batpony would not remain steadfastly faithful to her patron. So instead he relied on Hawkwood's company managing to at least competently stage the town to implicate Equestria before he'd left.

“I can’t understand what could have possessed them to do such a thing,” Celestia said, horrified by what she was reading. “How did this happen?” Whether she actually expected the director or the minister to have an answer to such a question or not, the alicorn did look between them.

As it happened, the good earl had a response to this very question prepared. Again he bowed low before his princesses. “It pains me to no end, Your Majesties, to admit that I, myself, may have played some small part in this,” Fetlock carried on quickly beneath the sudden sharp looks from the alicorns. “My office has been inundated with reports from our envoy in Gallopoli. It seems that the company’s commander, a Captain Vought Corsair, became overzealous in her duties, going far and above what had been asked of her. Ransacking carts, interrogating the populace, detaining honest traders as smugglers.” As he spoke, the unicorn produced the correspondence he’d received from Autumn Brisk and passed them to the princesses. Like the sultan's letter, these missives had also been...massaged; though only lightly so. The envoy had already been inclined to frame the captain’s actions in the most negative light she could. Alabaster had only needed to―slightly―embellish Corsair's reported actions.

“I beseeched General Maniple to relieve the mare, but he informed me that he had no available relief to send. It appeared that Her Majesty Princess Twilight Sparkle had recently flooded both his corps and my own office with requests for missions to be sent out to the zebras, griffons, and buffalo. All of our resources were stretched to the breaking point in our attempts to meet the challenges posed to us by the Princess of Friendship.” This much was at least true enough without needing to exaggerate things. As he had predicted, when Twilight Sparkle had learned about the foreign outreach aspect to the Frontier Corps’ function, the young alicorn had wasted no time in asking for every available company and envoy Maniple and the earl’s own ministry could provide.

Both of them had ensured that every spare hoof was gifted to her.

“I had hoped that the situation in Gallopoli wouldn’t deteriorate too much further before something could be done, but clearly I was wrong.” The earl prostrated himself humbly upon his belly before the princesses. “I can only beg The Crowns’ forgiveness for the failures of myself and my office, Your Majesties. Though I did all that was within my power to do, clearly that was not enough.” His horn began to glow and took hold of the medallion around his neck depicting a merged sun and moon, offering it to the pair of alicorns. He was by no means actually eager to metaphorically fall on his own sword over this matter, but it never hurt to give the appearance of being willing to do so when one sought to remove any possible doubt as to their fidelity...

“If it is your wish, I will relinquish my office immediately, so that you may fill it with a more worthy candidate.”

Now the earl held his breath. This was arguably the greatest risk that he was taking with his plan. If the princesses actually accepted his resignation, everything would come undone, as his replacement would doubtlessly not misrepresent the diplomatic traffic that would be flying between Equestria and Saddle Arabia over the next few weeks in the leadup to the all out war he was trying to arrange. However, risky though it might be, it was an act that would have been expected of a truly dutiful and loyal minister in Their Majesties government who believed in espousing the virtues of Harmony. After all, a tenet of Honesty was to be willing to admit to one's failings and be prepared to suffer the consequences.

Just as a tenet of Generosity was to always be willing to forgive the mistakes of others. And if his princesses were anything―

“That will not be necessary, Earl Bitter Creek,” Celestia finally said, her own golden magic gently pushing the offered medallion back towards the contrite unicorn. “Rise.”

―it was believers in Harmony.

Fetlock was quick to hide the smirk that had managed to find its way onto his muzzle before he picked himself off the floor, instead adopting an appropriately awed expression, as would be expected of a pony who had just been subjected to such magnanimous and wholly undeserved forgiveness from their princess. “Your Majesties’ mercy truly knows no bounds,” he offered with a deep bow of his head.

Princess Luna’s expression soured slightly. “Less ‘mercy’ and more ‘pragmatism’ this,” the Princess of the Night said with an aside glance at her elder sister. “Restructuring Our diplomatic corps while engaged in such…tense exchanges with Saddle Arabia would surely do more harm than good at this moment.

“Your suitability for your present role will be reevaluated at a later date, subsequent to a proper and thorough review of your management leading up to the current crisis.”

This time the unicorn stallion didn’t need to feign anything; he was quite genuinely nervous. It was hard not to be ill at ease when the pony who was formerly Nightmare Moon was staring down at you from over her muzzle. A great many stories from his formative years about what the younger alicorn was purported to do to misbehaving youths replayed themselves briefly in his head. As irrational and preposterous as those thoughts were, one’s deep-seated foalhood fears did not simply evaporate upon achieving adulthood.

He swallowed back the lump in his throat. He knew he was covering his track thoroughly enough that he need not worry about facing any truly severe repercussions from the princesses. At worst, an admonishment from The Crowns for not addressing the precipitating matter sooner. Though, even if the princesses should decide that he was no longer desirable as one of their ministers, that would hardly be the end of his political career. And he’d still be an earl besides. What was important was that Equestria would emerge from the ashes of the coming war stronger than ever, with plenty of additional land for future expansion and development. Whatever else happened, the stallion could be satisfied with Equestria's guaranteed prosperity.

Alabaster dipped his head. “As Your Majesty says, of course.”

“In the meantime,” Celestia said, taking back control of the conversation, “We would like you to ask Sultan Rahid-In to give Equestria time to sort the matter out ourselves before he takes any rash actions.” She ignored a snort from her younger sister. “Tell him that my sister and I will revisit his…” She eyed the scroll purported to be written by the sultan warily, frowning, “...suggestion in one week.”

“As you command, Your Majesty,” the stallion bowed.

Luna looked to the intelligence director. "Our agents will, of course, continue to investigate this matter to the best of their ability." The batpony mare issued a sharp nod of acknowledgement of the order.

"We have a couple of open leads that we're doing our utmost to follow up on, Your Majesty."

The unicorn did his best not to look at the director upon hearing the remark. His understanding with Nocturne was that there weren't supposed to be any leads for his agency to 'follow up on'. It seemed that he would need to arrange for them to have another conversation on the matter.

“You are dismissed then, Earl Bitter Creek. Director Em-Dash,” Celestia said. Both ponies bowed before their diarchs.

As they turned to walk away, the unicorn heard Luna call after him. “Minister? Do try and bring Our Sister and I better tidings in the future, hmm?” He hurriedly nodded towards the lunar alicorn and extracted himself from the palace’s Great Hall. Only then did Fetlock allow himself to breathe a true sigh of relief. A smile touched his face once more as he trotted down the halls. His plan was progressing relatively smoothly thus far. So long as Maniple and Nocturne didn’t foul up their task of tying up those five ‘loose ends’ before the EIS's director became aware of them, then none of them had anything to worry about and Equestria’s future glory would be assured.

He floated out a fresh piece of parchment and a feather quill, drafting a few notes on how he would frame ‘Their Majesties’ response to the sultan.

Your Excellency, My Sister and I denyrebuke your allegations of misconduct by Captan officer of our most honorable Cavalry. Our soldvaliant soldiers were rightfully defending themselves in the face of unwarrantunprovoked aggression by the horses of Gallopoli. The Crowns fully endorstand firmly behind Captain Corsair’s actions. We further insistwarn that any violation of Equestria’s sovereignty will be―

Author's Note

I'm prouder of the punniness of the Saddle Arabian sultan's name than I have any right to be...

Thank you so much for reading! As always, a thumbs up and comment are always greatly appreciated :twilightblush:

I've set up a Cover Art Fund if you're interested and have any bits lying around!

Chapter xi

The Arborlands,

Western Equestria,

And The Reinland Steppes,

Western Equestria

“We’ll camp here tonight,” Captain Corsair announced to her small band. “Corporal Dusty Trails!”

“Ma’am?” The tan mare snapped to attention and saluted with a wing.

“First thing in the morning, you’ll fly on ahead to Legume and let them know what happened and that we’re coming.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll leave at dawn.”

“And I’ll have a written message for you to take. Dismissed.” Corsair finally returned the salute with her own wing and turned away from the mare, looking now towards the company’s medic, who was tending to his patients.

The chief’s colt looked to be doing well. He was alert at least, and squirming quite anxiously on his cloud cot. Presumably the only thing preventing him from walking were Cravat’s standing orders not put weight on the injured leg yet. Conversely his other patient, the batpony EIS agent, appeared quite happy to not be on her hooves. She was currently holding a thermometer under her tongue while the dappled earth pony medic examined the stitching beneath her bandages. Corsair noticed that their unicorn envoy was standing a fair distance away from the medic, casting furtive glances his way and chewing on her lower lip. She was also quite obviously favoring her left forehoof.

The pegasus let out an annoyed grunt and marched over to the teal mare. Autumn Brisk noticed the captain’s approach and reflexively flinched away. “What’s wrong?”

“What? Oh! Um, it’s nothing,” the envoy insisted unconvincingly, attempting to waive off the pegasus with the hoof she’d been favoring. “I was just…standing here. For no particular reason―ahh!”

Corsair snagged the mare’s raised hoof with a wing and brought it in close to examine, causing the unicorn to hiss in pain. After a brief look, the cobalt pegasus rolled her eyes and turned towards the medic. “Cravat!” The unicorn reflexively winced at the pegasus’ use of the medic’s name sans title. “The envoy bruised her hoof; you got anything in your bag for that?”

The earth pony stallion glanced up from his patient and thought for a moment, eying his bag. Even with what had been brought back from Little Buck, the company’s medic had only limited supplies and one patient who was recovering from a serious injury. “Most of my ‘sick call’ stuff was in Gallopoli,” he admitted, frowning. Then his eyes drifted over to the cloud cot the batpony was laying on. “Although…” He looked back at Corsair. “Could you give me a hoof, ma’am? I need a pegasus.”

She nodded and trotted over, very nearly dragging the protesting unicorn along with her. “What do you need?”

Cravat pointed at the cloud cot. “Can you shear off a piece of that? Not a lot. Just enough to cover the bottom of a hoof. Can you make it sticky; just on the one side?” He asked, to which the pegasus nodded. “Good. We’re going to make a ‘cloud hoofpad’.” He then motioned for the hoof at issue to be passed to him to examine and confirm the captain’s findings. Not that he doubted the pegasus’ ability to recognize a fairly common injury. He was mostly just curious to see how extensive the injury was. After a few seconds, he cast a flat look at the unicorn. “You waited all day to tell me about this.” It was a statement of fact.

Autumn Brisk winced as she stuttered out a reply. “I-I didn’t want to bother Your Lo―you,” she hastily corrected, though it didn’t stop the earth pony from briefly glaring at her. “I didn’t want to bother you with something minor…is all,” she finished in a meek tone.

The batpony laying on the nearby cot chortled, a sound which quickly turned into a pained groan as the brief laughter exacerbated her own injury. “No laughing,” Cravat reminded her without looking away from the envoy. “As for you,” he stressed, earning a wince from Autumn Brisk, “you really need to get over whatever this whole thing is.” He gestured between the two of them with a hoof. “Nopony else here seems to have a problem with it.”

To prove his point, the dappled stallion glanced around and found his orange unicorn friend. “Hey, Flash; call me ‘Your Lordship’!”

“How about I call you a cuck?!” The other stallion replied immediately without even looking in Cravat’s direction.

“‘A cuck’ what, private?” Corsair narrowed her eyes in the unicorn’s direction, an edge to her voice.

“You’re a cuck, corporal,” Flashover amended with a slightly abashed smile. The pegasus captain nodded and then finally passed over the formed mote of cloud that she’d been shaping in her wings to the medic.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Cravat then looked back at the envoy, whose light blue face had paled to near white as she looked between the three ponies. “Lady Brisk, if you’d be so kind as to cast that cloudwalking spell on yourself?”

It didn’t look like the unicorn had even heard him as she wordlessly moved her mouth for several seconds before she finally found her voice. “H-He…called you…a…” There was another word, but it came out as little more than an inarticulate squeak.

“A cuck, yes” Cravat said with a shrug and a wry smile. The unicorn let out a second, higher pitched, squeak. “The cloudwalking spell, please?” This time her horn briefly ignited, her hooves taking on a faint glow a moment later before dimming as well. “Thank you. Captain? Just paste it to her hoof.” Corsair gingerly used her wingtips to apply the formed patch of cloud―which was now about as thick as a horseshoe―over the bottom of the unicorn’s frog. She seemed only vaguely aware of the process.

“I think you broke her,” the batpony noted from her cot, to which Cravat only responded with a grunt.

The dappled stallion had his commander make a few slight adjustments to the cloud’s positioning until he was satisfied that the pad would sufficiently protect the bruised hoof from being further exacerbated by walking. Fortunately for Autumn Brisk, their salvation was in sight. They’d reach Camp Legume the day after tomorrow. Her hoof would keep that long at least, and then it could be fit with a proper padded boot. “Thank you, captain; much appreciated.” The pegasus nodded and trotted off to go and find her senior non-com. Cravat released the unicorn’s hoof and looked back up at the teal mare. “You’re good to go, Lady Brisk.”

She wordlessly nodded and wandered off.

“Oh, yeah, super broken,” the leather-winged mare remarked with a snort and a wince.

“No laughing.”

“Whatever you say, Corporal Cuck!” She somehow managed not to laugh at the flat look the earth pony medic sent her way. “What, do you prefer: Doc Cuck?” At that, Cravat rolled his eyes and started to repack his bag. The batpony―carefully―rolled herself onto her belly on the cloud cot and rested her chin atop folding fetlocks, watching the stallion work with great interest visible in her amber eyes.

Cravat paused and glanced up at her. “Yes?”

“How have you not been found out? I mean, you’re not even hiding it!”

“Hiding what?”

“That you’re a noble! I thought titled nobility couldn’t serve in the Cavalry?” She flashed a fanged smile, propping her chin up on one upturned hoof now. She clearly expected some grand story that explained the situation.

If so, she was going to be disappointed, Cravat thought to himself. “Nobles can’t serve as commissioned officers in command positions,” he corrected. “There are no restrictions on simply enlisting. Probably because the ponies writing those regulations assumed no ‘self-respecting noble’ ever actually would.” Then he added after a moment’s thought, “Though that’s not to say I didn’t almost end up getting a commission.” At the batpony’s raised brow he shrugged. “They assumed my enlistment forms had been filled out wrong and tried to slip me in as an officer anyway. I had to convince two separate recruiters that I really did just want to enlist with ‘the common ponies’…and then I had to convince a psychiatrist I wasn’t having a mental breakdown or something.”

“Haha―ooh!” The gray mare cringed and buried her face in the floating cot while she gripped her belly with her hooves. “Oof,” she gasped, “talking with you is bad for my health, doc…”

“The sunbane’s bad for your health,” Cravat quipped absently, earning himself an eyeroll from the batpony.

“Yeah, well, welcome to being a nocturnal species living in a diurnal world,” she returned with a snort. “Any of us that have to interact regularly with you sunshiners have to either take sunbane or walk around like we’re nearsighted as fuck.” To illustrate her point, the mare squinted and scrunched up her muzzle comically tight with a hoof shading her eyes as she pantomimed peering at something in the distance. A clear exaggeration, though likely not by much, the earth pony knew.

Batponies didn’t quite have full on photophobia, but walking around in the daylight for them was akin to somepony else trying to navigate at night while a bright light was being constantly shined in their face. Doable, sure, but frustrating and difficult all the same. Sunbane ‘helped’ batponies get around in the daylight in the sense that it relieved their discomfort and dulled their sensitivity to the light, allowing them to walk around and see normally. However, it didn’t actually do anything to counteract the effects the sun had on their more light-sensitive eyes, which meant that batponies who used it chronically ended up doing significant damage to their eyesight over time.

A sad smile crept onto Cravat’s muzzle as he nodded in understanding. “Yeah. This is the part where, as your doctor, I’m supposed to recommend considering alternate career or lifestyle options that aren’t as detrimental to your future health. But, given what I know about the EIS, I’m going to assume that you didn’t just join it on a whim and you put in a lot of work to get where you are. So we can just skip to the part where I recommend you limit the sunbane to two doses a week, you’ll tell me you will, but we both know that’s a lie and you’ll keep taking it daily.”

The earth pony cleared his throat, sat up a little straighter, and schooled his features into a more ‘doctorly’ look as he regarded his patient. “If you’re going to continue to take sunbane potions, I recommend you limit yourself to two doses a week.”

The mare quickly caught on and likewise acted as though she were receiving a genuine medical consultation. “Of course, doctor. Thank you for the warning; I didn’t realize sunbane was so dangerous. I’ll be more careful in the future.”

“Glad to hear it. See the receptionist on your way out to schedule your next physical.”

Once more the mare snorted and winced. She sucked in a deep breath, shaking her head ruefully. “Whoever said ‘laughter is the best medicine’ was not talking about gut wounds,” she hissed through her fangs.

“Or pneumonia, or broken ribs, or honestly a lot of medical conditions,” the dappled stallion nodded sagely. “I think it’s more about just having a positive outlook; and I must say that I am having a pretty positive outlook on your condition. You’re bouncing back pretty fast for somepony who was laying in a ditch with an arrow in their gut for two days.”

“I am sustained by my desire for revenge,” she replied easily even as her amber eyes flashed with a sudden cold fury that Cravat felt grateful to find was not directed at him.

Now it was the stallion’s turn to snort in amusement. He raised a hoof as though holding a pad of paper and pantomimed mumbling around a pencil in his mouth while writing. “Patient Rein Doe lists ‘bloodlust’ as palliation…”

The batpony mare cocked her head in confusion. “Rein Doe?” She almost immediately recognized the placeholder name given to mares for whom an identity wasn’t known and then frowned at him. “Hey, why haven’t you asked what my name is anyway? Isn’t that supposed to be something doctors ask patients for?”

“You’re EIS. What are the chances I’d get your real name if I did ask for it?” Cravat countered, casting the mare a wry look.

To which the batpony had the good grace to acknowledge his point with a noncommittal wobble of her wing. “Ehh…”

“Exactly. If I was just going to get an alias anyway…” He shrugged. It wasn’t like knowing the mare’s real name was going to change anything about her condition, or their doctor/patient dynamic.

The pair sat in silence for a while after that, Cravat finishing up packing the last few supplies into his bag, and ‘Rein Doe’ lounging on her cloud watching him. When the dappled stallion finally finished up, he hesitated and asked, “So…how fucked are we? Really?”

There was no sign of the earlier mirth on the leather-winged mare’s face when she looked her amber eyes on the medic. She didn’t respond immediately, seeming to consider how up front she should be with him.

“Pretty fucked,” she answered bluntly. “If those mercs had a roster for your unit and were checking bodies, then they’re going to know that they missed a few.” Her eyes darted around to the other members of Bronco Company within view. “This whole thing doesn’t strike me as a ‘loose ends are okay’ kind of deal. Somepony’s going to come for you. If they find out I’m alive, they’re going to come after me too,” she added. “If Bitter Creek really has a connection in the Cavalry…” She glanced in the direction of Captain Corsair, who was still in quiet conversation with her crystal counterpart. “How sure is your commander that getting to Legume is a good idea?”

Cravat followed her gaze to Corsair and Shillelagh and swallowed back the sudden dryness in his throat. He regretted asking his question now. Sometimes ignorance was bliss, it seemed. “I should probably go talk with―”

“Gusty!” The cobalt pegasus suddenly snapped, summoning the pegasus stallion from Whirlwind’s detachment over. “Sorry, private; no sleep for you tonight, I’m afraid. I need you to take a message back to the LT…”

Miralay Qasam lay upon the small hilltop as he watched the eagle fly overhead, noting its smooth glide towards the ground and unerring course. A raptor on the hunt would be riding thermals in circular, seemingly listless motions. This one wasn’t seeking prey. It was on a mission. The aging horse closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh.

The eagle was still too high up for the stallion to be able to tell for certain whether or not it bore a message sheath on its back, but he could feel down in his heart that it did. Likewise, there was also no way for him to know that the orders it carried would command his army to finally make the crossing into Equestria propper. It could just as easily be the announcement that an unforeseen epidemic of sanity had broken out amongst those in the diplomatic corps of both Equestria and Saddle Arabia and the whole matter had been resolved and now he and his militia could go back home.

…But Qasam could feel in his heart that the orders did not say that.

The old stallion made no effort to rise and returned his gaze westward. His command staff would review the orders that had been sent and come to find him. When that happened, the illusion that the world was at peace would be forever shattered. And he wanted to preserve that feeling. Just for a little while longer.

Qasam had spoken with Equestrian ponies before. Visitors who had come to Saddle Arabia for one purpose or another. Many would make similar comments in regards to the much more arid nature of the horse lands, and how different they were compared to the lush greenery which prevailed where the ponies lived. They would tell him that he should go and see how much more beautiful Equestria was, with its expansive forests and fertile meadows of tall grass. To them, green was synonymous with life and beauty. Tans and browns represented drought and desolation. Things that were, and could not be, “beautiful”.

He didn’t begrudge the ponies those attitudes. They saw their home as being beautiful and preferred it over other places. That was wholly understandable. Even reasonable.

Which was why Qasam was on this hilltop now, looking back towards his own home. To him, the desert possessed its own kind of beauty that wasn’t any lesser than Equestria’s. It just took a horse’s eye to appreciate it. The smoothness of the sandy slopes of the dunes. The rippled textures created by the winds, making those desert expanses look not entirely unlike an oceanscape captured in a moment in time. The clear night skies bathing those same dunes in brilliant moonlight. The peaceful serenity of the nights that were so quiet sometimes that it felt like you could almost hear the heartbeat of the planet itself.

Saddle Arabia, to him, was a truly gorgeous land, and he would miss it dearly. His heart already ached from the knowledge that he was leaving it behind.

The hoofsteps behind him pulled the old horse from his reverie, though it was clear that there had been an attempt by the new arrival to not let their approach disturb him. Qasam’s lips creased in a small smile at the effort even as he massaged his chest with a hoof to dispel the dull discomfort. “What does the sultan bid us do?”

“...We are to cross the border, miralay; and lay siege to Camp Legume.” The voice of a familiar young colt replied.

The old horse nodded and let out a heavy sigh. Knowing those would be the inevitable orders hadn’t made hearing them confirmed any easier.

“I trust that nohorse requires me to be there to hold their hooves while the camp is dismantled and our forces readied to march?” He asked, casting an aside glance back at the young lieutenant.

“No, miralay.”

“Good. Then see that the sultan’s orders are carried out. Return when the army is ready to cross.” He heard the horse behind him clap their hoof to their barding in salute and his hooves move on the ground as he turned. “Chiaus?”

The lieutenant paused. “Yes, miralay?”

“Can I trouble you to see to it that my things are packed up for me? These old bones of mine could use a few more minutes of rest before the day’s march.”

“Of course, miralay. I’ll see to it personally.” The older stallion heard another clapped salute, followed immediately by the patter of swiftly moving hooves as the more youthful colt cantered off to do as he’d been bidden.

Qasam closed his eyes. Already he could pick up the distant cries of orders being given out, and the clattering of steel and leather as barding was donned and weapons slung. In less than an hour, the tents would be packed up and his horses formed into a marching column. An hour after that, they would be in Equestria. They’d be at the walls of Camp Legume in three days. It was difficult for him to envision a future in which Equestria and Saddle Arabia were not embroiled in an all out war within the week.

So this is how peace dies, the old horse mused, with the sound of a tent stake being pulled…

Sergeant Dew Point of Canter Company, Fourteenth Light Hoof, Frontier Corps, arched her wings, banking in a wide left turn as she and the other pegasus with her continued to sweep their assigned section of the Arborlands that morning. They hadn’t been out quite long enough for her eyes to glaze over entirely, but it was a near thing. A pony could only stare down at so much green canopy for so many hours before everything just started to look like a tree to her.

I’ll never be able to look at broccoli again without thinking about this damn forest, the mare grimaced to herself.

She shook her head and tried to blink away her eye strain one more time. There wasn’t much further to go in their sweep before they were supposed to turn back and regroup. Then she and her partner would be afforded a short break before going back out to comb another sector.

Her company was being worked a lot harder than they usually were on their missions, but Dew Point understood why. This mission was a lot more serious than a lot of the assignments that they tended to get. One of their own had gone rogue and slaughtered a whole town full of civilians, was the background that she’d been given. For whatever reason, the commander of that rogue company had come back to Equestria with a small escort; and it was extremely important that they be detained and given over to the proper authorities for questioning, trial, and sentencing.

The pegasus non-com suspected that the questioning would be a long―and hopefully also a painful―process. She hadn’t made up her mind on whether she wanted their sentencing to be drawn out or done quick―ideally with an ax.

It disgusted the mare that not only had an officer of the Frontier Corps committed such a heinous act, but that she’d somehow also apparently managed to get her whole company to participate in it. How deep could the rot have possibly gone for something like that to happen? It was unthinkable.

“Sarge, I see something!” The stallion with her called out. Dew Point glanced over and saw the other flier extending a hoof towards the treetops. It didn’t take the mare any time at all to spot the mote of blue streaking above the verdant canopy below. It was a tan pegasus with a white tail and wearing cerulean cavalry barding, skimming southward just above the forest.

They weren’t wearing a courier’s sash. At least, not that Dew Point could see. Nor was she aware of any significant military installations or even any towns that lay along the path of the flier’s travel to the north. It certainly wasn’t the Captain Corsair that they were looking for. But, whoever they were, they weren’t part of Canter Company or the Fourteenth Light Hoof. That meant they needed to be detained and questioned, as per her orders; in case they were part of the rogue frontier company they were out here to find.

“Follow me in!” She called back a moment before she angled her wings and sent herself into a steep dive. The pegasus slipped into the mare’s wake and the pair of ponies hurtled towards the canopy. Their target didn’t notice until Dew Point and her partner were upon them, pulling up sharply and encircling the wayward flier, eliciting a whinny of alarm and surprise as they reared up into a hover. The Canter Company non-com came to a stop directly in front of the detained mare, while the stallion with her pincered the other pegasus from behind in case she tried to fly off.

“Identify yourself, soldier!” she barked. “Who are you with and why are you out here?”

The tan mare continued to flap her wings idly as she hung in the air between the two Canter Company pegasi, looking between them with a confused expression. “Corporal D―" the mare coughed and cleared her throat before beginning again. "Corporal Cravat, Bronco Company, Second Light Hoof…” Her eyes darted briefly to the chevrons on Dew Point’s legband. “...sergeant. I’m headed for Camp Legume with a message from my commander.” She patted a hoof against her saddlebag.

Both Canter ponies found themselves exchanging wide-eyed looks. Honestly, Dew Point had been of the belief that none of their patrol teams would actually find any sign of the ponies they were looking for. Any half-competent member of the Equestrian Cavalry would know exactly what tactics would be employed to find them, knew where the deficiencies in those tactics were, and would be able to come up with a way to avoid being easily spotted. Finding Captain Corsair and her ponies would have been more of an exercise in luck than sound planning, in the sergeant’s opinion.

She definitely wouldn’t have thought that she’d stumble onto a Bronco pony out in the open, and that said pony would immediately cop to being part of the wayward band. The corporal hadn’t seemed to bat an eye that they were part of a group wanted for the wholesale slaughter of an entire town. It was honestly a little unsettling how cavalier this mare was being about who she was with.

“...You’re with Bronco second? For real?” Again Dew Point found herself flashing her partner a brief look, and wasn’t sure how she felt that the stallion was clearly just as surprised about how smoothly this was going as she was.

“Yes, sergeant.” Again there was no hesitance, either in the mare’s tone or expression.

“...With orders from your commander. Captain Corsair?” Another unflinching acknowledgement from the detained pony. “Captain Voight Corsair?”

Now the tan-coated mare was frowning. “Yes. Sergeant, no disrespect meant or anything, but is there a reason you two stopped me? I kind of do have my orders and a message that the general needs to see.” Again the corporal gestured at her saddlebag and the missive it purportedly contained.

“Corporal, I’m afraid I have orders that supersede yours,” Sergeant Dew Point informed the mare with a severe expression. “You need to come with us. Now.”

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading! As always, a thumbs up and comment are always greatly appreciated :twilightblush:

I've set up a Cover Art Fund if you're interested and have any bits lying around!

Chapter xii

The Corral Cabaret,

Canterlot,

Central Equestria

And The Arborlands,

Western Equestria,

And Trotter’s Bend,

Western Equestria

The harpist’s hoof jerked abruptly on a sour note, her eyes wide with fear.

There was a sharp gasp that rippled through the seated ponies as they watched a mare plummet towards the floor far below, spinning wildly about in the air as she fell. She was an earth pony, and so had no wings or magic to save her. The exclamation from the audience was enough that even those few ponies who had not been actively watching the stage at that moment, their attention diverted to either their meals or idle conversation with the pony next to them, were suddenly drawn to look back towards the stage, their own eyes wide with shock. The air was filled with a shared sense of apprehension that was almost palpable.

This was a performance that Alabaster Fetlock had seen before. Several times, in fact. Yet he still found himself holding his breath as the room’s atmosphere suddenly felt too thick with worry to breathe. After all, just because a maneuver was planned, that didn’t mean that something couldn’t also go wrong…

The long ribbons of colored silk that the ‘falling’ mare’s limbs had become ‘irrecoverably tangled’ in went suddenly taut. The earth pony’s body came to a stop just a scant few hoof-lengths above the floor of the stage, her fetlocks and cannons carefully and expertly curled around those draping lines of silk hanging from the ceiling. A grin spread across her face as she gave a wink to the rapt audience. To the side of the stage, her partner mirrored that grin, and resumed playing the harp standing in front of her with deft hooves and pure notes. The aerial silk dancer nimbly climbed back up the colorful draped ribbons and resumed her carefully choreographed maneuvers in time with her partner’s music.

The Fourth Earl of Bitter Creek joined the rest of the audience in issuing a gentle clop of hooves in appreciation of the thrilling deception before returning his attention to the food that had recently been delivered to his private gallery seat. Nothing particularly heavy, just a light fare of salad and mixed fruits to nibble on as he enjoyed the show, along with a flute of white wine to wash it down.

His gaze briefly flickered towards the curtain behind him as it was pulled aside. A maroon pegasus stallion wearing a white waistcoat stepped through bearing a tray on his back, balanced between slightly upraised wings. The ivory unicorn returned his attention to the performance. “Nothing for me right now, thank you,” he dismissed the server, adding a flick of his hoof.

“Oh, I think you’ll want what I’ve brought, partner…”

The earl jerked in mild surprise and his head whipped around towards the wryly smiling face that was entirely the wrong color for its voice. It had a familiar shape now that he really looked at it. The ‘waiter’ stepped up beside him and sat down, setting the tray upon the table. The new arrival’s own too-rounded golden eyes darted towards the mares performing on stage, and glinted with something that didn’t look at all to the earl like an appreciation for their ‘art’.

“Not bad,” Nocturne remarked with a shrug before flashing a smile which looked too predatory for the unicorn’s liking. “But I prefer a show where the mares can’t unbind themselves quite so easily. I know this place on the lower terrace—The Breaker Bar,” the not-actually-a-pegasus went on, indifferent to his captive audience's indifference. “They put ponies on stage in full tack—a proper bridle, none of that pussy halter shit. Bit, blinders, lead, a crupper that keeps their tails flagged nearly all the way back to their manes…” The stallion chuckled to himself before his expression fell into a mildly disappointed frown.

“They’ll put another pony on the stage with ‘em that’s got a crop, but the whipping’s all for show, you know? So are the yelps,” Nocturne lamented with a bitter snort. Then he leered at the unicorn next to him. “I told the owner that he should give me the crop and two minutes on the stage with ‘em. Then he’d hear some real screams!

“He hasn’t taken me up on that offer.”

“It boggles the mind why…” Alabaster sighed not quite under his breath. He kept his expression passive, and his eyes on the ribbon dancer. The earl didn’t particularly care for the EIS operative’s disposition. In fact, he found the batpony to be of an outright detestable character. Only Celestia—or, more likely, Luna—knew how it was that a pony like him had managed to flourish in service to Their Majesties. The earl could only assume that the winged stallion was less…‘outgoing’ with his peers and superiors. Nocturne was probably only so brazen with him because the operative knew that Alabaster wasn’t going to say anything to anypony about these private conversations that they weren’t supposed to be having. At least, not before his plan hit the point of no return.

“You said you had something for me?” The earl pressed, eager to get this encounter over with—and the batpony gone—as quickly as possible.

“Two things, actually,” Nocturne said, reaching over and plucking an apricot off the earl’s plate with a wing and tossing the whole thing into his mouth. “First,” he began, shifting the fruit around from one cheek to the other as he spoke through loud slurping mastications, “a Saddle Arabian force has crossed the border. General Reconnoiter is on her way to meet them with the Twenty-Second Chargers. The battle should be any day now.”

Relieved to be involved in conversation of a far more tolerable subject than the batponies erotica preferences, Alabaster allowed himself to relax slightly into his seat as he continued to watch the show. “Can we reliably predict how the battle will turn out?”

“Reconnoiter has about four thousand ponies. The Arabians massed a few of their militias together into one larger force—the report I got estimated close to ten thousand,” Nocturne continued, now sucking on the pit still rolling around in his mouth. “The report the general got says she’s only going up against a single Arabian militia cohort—two thousand horses, thereabouts.

“By the time her own pickets see the enemy, it’ll be too late for her to ultimately avoid an engagement.” He spat the apricot pit out onto the earl’s half-eaten salad and reached out for an apple.

Alabaster kept careful control of his features, and forced himself to let out a slow, measured, breath as he focused on the substance of the batpony's report. “Good,” was all he trusted himself to say for the moment.

Equestria needed to suffer a crushing military defeat at the hooves of the Saddle Arabians. In their first engagement, at least. An incident of their own for the nation to rally around and hone the ire of her ponies. Something that could be spun to the media—and Their Majesties—to keep Equestria invested in the fight. And so, he needed to arrange for Equestria’s own ‘Gallopoli’.

A Saddle Arabian military force, crossing Equestria’s borders in anger, killing or capturing several thousand of Their Majesties’ brave soldiers, unprovoked—so far as the wider public knew, anyway—The princesses would have to respond with force of arms of their own. They would have to call Equestria to war.

“And the second bit of news?” The earl prompted, still not trusting himself to be able to look at the batpony without glaring.

“I gathered together a…team—a ‘detention detail’, you could say. They’re on standby, waiting for one of Maniple’s search parties to find Corsair.” He tossed the apple into his mouth, crunching on it loudly with a complete adsense of table decorum until it was pulverized and swallowed. “Once she’s in their ‘custody’, they’ll make sure that loose end Hawkwood left you is tied up all neatly like. Specifically in a sack. At the bottom of a lake somewhere.” Nocturne chuckled to himself at what he likely considered to be an amusing joke on his part.

“What does your…‘detention detail’ know of her involvement? Or us?”

“Nothin’; and Maniple doesn’t know who they are either; not really,” Nocturne assured the unicorn with a flick of his wing. “Everypony only knows what they need to know. That’s how shit like this works. Maniple knows where he's supposed to have his ponies take Corsair when they find her and that's all that matters.

“Likewise, my team just know that whoever the cavalry gives them needs to never be seen, heard from, or found again. They don’t know names and they don't know reasons—not that they’re the type of creatures who'd care anyway.” Another predatory grin flashed across the not-a-pegasus’ face.

“As for ‘us’, they only know me; and not even the real me.” A mirthful snort. “So there’s no trail on this.

“I’ll send you a bill for what it cost to arrange it.”

The earl permitted himself an eye roll this time. He made a mental note to arrange for a shipping invoice to be generated and paid for by Sandalwood and Sons to whatever alias the batpony preferred. Celestia knew he didn't need services like this being paid out of his personal accounts. “Fine. And you’re sure Corsair will be dealt with this time? Permanently?”

“I’ve used them before,” Nocturne replied with an easy shrug. “They haven’t fucked up yet.”

It wasn’t exactly the ringing endorsement that Alabaster had been hoping for, but the unicorn supposed that it would have to do. He actually had a lot of factors working in his favor. Corsair and the other survivors shouldn’t suspect that any of their fellow cavalrymares wished to do them harm, and so shouldn’t be actively avoiding being spotted by the Equestrian military groups searching for them. They’d likely even flag them down if they saw any. So the capture itself should go off with little issue, from what he could see. The only point of any real risk was passing Corsair and her companions over to Nocturne’s ponies. But as long as they didn't figure out anything was amiss before it was too late…

The earl allowed himself a relieved sigh. His telekinetic aura picked up the flute of wine and he took a sip of the refreshing liquid. “Then it sounds like everything is well in hoof. As long as General Reconnoiter intercepts the Saddle Arabians, everything should progress exactly according to plan once more.”

Nocturne poached another apple, but this time only took a single bite of it. He still chewed loudly as he asked his next question though. “You want me to tell you when it’s over?”

“The battle?” The other stallion nodded before tossing back the rest of his stolen fruit. Alabaster spent a few moments in thought before finally shaking his head. “No. It’s best if I get that sort of information through ‘proper channels’ moving forward. I shouldn’t risk appearing to know too much about what is going on within our borders when I’m supposed to be focusing all my attention on our diplomatic channels, to nearly the exclusion of all else.” This time it was his turn to flash a small smile at the operative. “After all, if matters aren't handled just so, Equestria could find itself drawn into an all out war!”

Nocturne swallowed the remains of the apple and returned the earl’s smile with that overly viscous grin of his. “And wouldn’t that be a crying shame…”

‘Hurry up and wait’ really did exist at every level of the cavalry, didn’t it? Corsair mused to herself with a mirthless chuckle as she leaned back against the tree.

Her eyes slowly scanned over the other three ponies in the grove of trees with her. Like her, they were all lounging around the small campfire that they’d recently built. Their barding and weapons were piled a short distance away from the group. Not too terribly far, but also not immediately within hoof-reach of anypony. Poor military etiquette, to be sure—and it certainly dug at the captain’s professional sensibilities—but what they were about to try was risky enough as it was. They’re guests were bound to be jumpy as it was, and jumpy ponies with weapons got excitable.

Excitable cavalrymares got stabby when they felt threatened. So it was best that it was made patently obvious that neither Corsair, nor her companions, could get to their own arms easily.

The ear on a sage green earth pony stallion twitched. He made no other motion, continuing to lay flat on the ground with his eyes closed as though he were napping. “Three hundred meters out,” he murmured under his breath loud enough for his commander to hear. “South by south east,” Sergeant Briar Patch continued. “Nine ponies.” There was a brief pause, then, “...six stallions and three mares.”

Flashover shot the other stallion a dubious glare. “...Bullshit. There’s no way you can tell that by hearing.” The fiery unicorn at least had the good sense to keep his indignant disbelief down to a whispered volume.

“You’re right,” the sergeant admitted before his lips spread into a smile a moment later and he opened up an eye to wink at the unicorn. “But I can feel it through my hooves.” He tapped the ground gently twice with one of his forehooves. He closed his eyes once more. Another moment of silence, then: “Four unicorns and five earth ponies.”

The unicorn opened his mouth and was on the cusp of making a comment that was likely to be far louder than Corsair would have preferred, but managed to clamp his lips down tight on his consternation. However, the mare splayed out on her back beside him had not managed to remain completely silent. The aquamarine unicorn laying on top of an ivory cloak—which had quite obviously not weathered the last few days of travel through the arborlands well and was likely beyond saving—had to quickly shove her hooves over her mouth to stifle her laugh down into a muffled giggle.

Corsair loudly cleared her throat and was gratified to see all three sets of ears of the nearby ponies flatten against their heads. Her ponies went completely silent once more and settled back into their ‘afternoon naps’.

Nine ponies on the ground, the cobalt pegasus thought to herself, which leaves three in the air to round out the full squad. At least one—more likely two—will be watching over Dusty.

It had been something of a risk to send out the corporal. Whoever had arranged for those mercenaries to sack Gallopoli and kill her ponies almost certainly knew that there had been five survivors from Bronco Company. Those mercenaries had been using a roster of some sort to make identifications, so they would probably have also known exactly who those five survivors were, too. However, it wasn’t for certain that those descriptions had made it all of the way out to every single Equestrian soldier in the area.

Honestly, it was probably even overly paranoid of Corsair to believe that every member of the cavalry was looking for them. But that EIS batpony they’d found had let them know that there were high ranking ministry members involved, at the least. And only somepony in the cavalry could have passed those mercenaries that roster. Which meant that somepony in the cavalry was in contact with the mercenaries. Maybe even somepony high ranking enough to order a search for them.

If the precautions that she’d taken did turn out to be unnecessary, then so be it. She could survive any kind of personal embarrassment that might cause. But if she was right to be paranoid…

They’re coming for us in force, and not with just a messenger, Corsair noted as she continued to feign her nap. Her own ear twitched now as she caught the faint sounds of twigs snapping in the distance. Had they genuinely been asleep, or even just idly chatting amongst themselves, the pegasus doubted that their group would have heard the approaching ponies yet.

They’re moving carefully. They want to catch us by surprise if they can.

This wasn’t going to be a friendly encounter, Corsair was forced to acknowledge. She allowed herself a disappointed sigh that sounded a lot like a soft snore.

“One hundred meters,” Sergeant Briar Patch whispered.

“Do what they tell you, and don’t say a word,” Captain Corsair reminded her group. “Leave the talking to me.” A quiet chorus of ‘yes, ma’ams’ answered her, followed by more silence. Her eyes once more flickered over to the green earth pony who she found herself briefly wishing could have actually been Shillelagh, and not for the first time in the last few hours. The pegasus suppressed a wry smile as she recalled that she only had herself to blame for that, even if it had been the ‘right’ call.

“I don’t like it, ma’am.”

“I know you don’t, Shelly; neither do I. But if this goes teets up…Nothing against Whirlwind—he’s a fine officer—but he’s never done anything like this before. You have.”

“Captain, you can’t even be sure that they’ll bother taking you prisoner. They might have orders to kill you on sight.”

“The Cavalry doesn’t give orders like that. And even if somepony did issue that kind of order…if we’re really to the point where our officers and NCOs in the field aren’t questioning something like that…”

“If we’re really supposed to be fall-ponies for some kind of op, they aren’t going to want witnesses, ma’am. They won’t let you reach Canterlot alive.”

“I don’t doubt that, but it’s not going to be members of our own Cavalry that do it. Too many questions’ll be raised that way. The batpony said an EIS operative is involved in this; a high-up one. If anypony’s going to make sure we can’t get our story out, it’ll be them. They probably wouldn’t flinch at making ‘problems’ disappear the way we're thinking.

“There’ll be a transfer somewhere along the way. Whoever catches us will pass us into custody of whoever they were told to and call off further searches. You and Whirlwind'll break us out and then we’ll have a clear shot at Canterlot.”

“...You’re making a lot of assumptions, ma’am.”

“I know. All the more reason not to keep all our eggs in one basket. If you can break us out, great. If you can’t…Whatever else happens, Shelly: you get my ponies to Canterlot. You’re the only one who can.”

“...Okay. Just—

“...Just take care of yourself, Vee…”

Corsair’s ear flickered at the sound of a twig snapping in the forest. Their guests were close now. Close enough to hear Briar Patch even if he whispered, so the stallion remained still and quiet. But he did shift slightly on the ground, extending himself into a comfortable stretch. It looked genuine enough that an onlooker wouldn’t have questioned the direction that his outstretched forehoof ended up laying in. The cobalt blue pegasus issued a singular audible tired smack of her own lips.

The inevitable charge through the last few meters of forest towards their group would almost certainly have caught them off guard if they’d actually been napping. Corsair gave the new arrivals that much credit. She spared a moment’s thought to idly speculate on whether or not it would have been more tactically advantageous to try and come at her group from more than one direction, but acknowledged that it would have taken a lot more time to get ponies into position for a pincer move like that and would be harder to coordinate effectively over any kind of distance. With the numbers involved on each side, this squad had chosen a reasonable tactic.

Corsair and the three other ponies with her all shot up in clear surprise at the sound of dozens of hooves pounding through the brush and ponies shouting. The aquamarine unicorn lying on the envoy cape even produced a believably startled screech, sounding like somepony had just intruded on her while she was in the shower. Corsair herself made sure that she shot to her own hooves and looked around with appropriately shocked wide eyes.

“What in the fuck is going on here? Who are you?!” The cobalt pegasus roared at the new arrivals as they spread out to encircle her small band. Corsair noted that one of their unicorns put themselves between her ponies and their gear to block it off.

“Captain Vought Corsair!” A mare announced from the wood line. The pegasus flashed the armored pony an incredulous glare. The steel gray unicorn fixed her own narrowed ruby eyes on the officer. “Squad Sergeant Diamond Plate,” she introduced herself. “I am under orders to detain you, and any ponies found with you, and deliver you for questioning.

“You will stand down and surrender to us.” Her horn flickered with a fresh crimson glow, a matching aura materialized around the spear slung to her back, but the weapon wasn’t actually drawn.

The same could not be said for several other spears which were hovering around Corsair’s band. The cobalt flier continued to glare at the squad sergeant. “Under whose authority?”

“I’m told these orders come directly from Brigadier General Maniple,” came the terse reply. “Will you stand down?”

It was all that Corsair could do not to actually spit when she heard the name. If she ever got her hooves on that bastard of a—

She choked down her ire, which was no easy feat, and gave one of her wings a brief flap in the direction of her other ponies, motioning for them to drop their own guarded stances. “You heard the mare,” she growled back towards them. “Stand down, ponies. General Maniple’s orders, apparently.” Behind her, the aquamarine unicorn mare’s horn flickered, but appeared to quickly sputter out. She flashed a sheepish smile at the nearby soldiers and lit her horn a second time. This time her telekinesis manifesting around her cloak as she cautiously lay it over her back and affixed its clasp around her neck.

Movement from above drew Corsair’s attention and she saw two pegasi making their way down to the surface. One of them was Corporal Dusty ‘Cravat’ Trails. The other was presumably one of Diamond Plate’s ponies. Two other armored fliers were hovering above the trees.

Her attention went back to the squad sergeant. “Alright, Sergeant Plate, what now?”

“Now,” the unicorn nodded to several of her other soldiers, who produced five pairs of hobbles and two wing-binders, “you don’t make this harder than it has to be, captain.”

Corsair’s eyed the restraints wearily. Her apprehension didn’t need to be feigned. She’d figured that this would be a possibility and had accepted it as a hurdle that they’d just have to try and work around somehow. Her eyes darted back to the squad sergeant. “It’s going to be a long trot back to Canterlot with those on,” she pointed out.

“We’re not going to Canterlot. Not yet,” the unicorn replied with a shake of her head. “A detention detail is meeting us at Trotter’s Bend. Even at a half-step, it’ll only take a few hours to get there.”

“Trotter’s Bend,” Corsair repeated evenly.

Behind her, the caped unicorn was having trouble getting her telekinesis to adjust the clasp of her cape, much to derisive amusement of one of the newly arrived armored unicorn stallion’s near her. She offered up an apologetic smile. “Sorry; nervous,” she offered meekly.

“Let’s go!” Squad Sergeant Diamond Plate snapped at her soldiers. “I want them bangled, bound, bagged, and ready to move out in the next two minutes!”

Two members of Diamond Plate’s squad advanced on Corsair, a unicorn and an earth pony. The unicorn held a set of hobbles and wing-bindings in her telekinetic field. The earth pony stallion had a canvas sack gripped in his teeth. She forced herself to remain still as cold steel manacles were clamped around her fetlocks, fastened together by a chain which wasn’t quite long enough to allow her to take a full step. The thick leather strap of the wing-binder was then slipped around her barrel and cinched down to a painful degree, pinning her wings to her side. The cobalt pegasus didn’t particularly care for the satisfied sneer that the squad sergeant was wearing just before the bag went over her head.

Hacksaw finished dragging the last of the crates out of the wagon, shoving it off to the side of the barn with a grunt of effort to join the other four. The lids had all been removed and set aside until such time as contents for those crates arrived. Which was presumably going to be some time tonight.

The minotaur bull let out a low rumble under his breath as he worked a crick out of his neck. His beady brow eyes came to rest on a burly rust-red earth pony mare who was lounging on several bales of straw that were stacked at the back of the old barn. She had an old knife that looked like it was more nicks than blade held between her teeth and was using it to pick clods of dirt out of her frog.

“Thanks for the help, Meridian.”

“You’re welcome,” the pony replied without missing a beat or even looking in the minotaur’s direction.

A snicker from above drew the attention of the other two members of the group. A griffon hen was smiling down at them from where she was wedged into the barn’s cupola. “If those crates were giving you trouble now, can’t wait to see how you struggle when they’re full,” she chided, sticking out her tongue.

“They ain’t exactly ‘empty’,” the minotaur shot back with a snort, pointing at the layer of stones that lined the bottom of the nearest crate.

“Maybe you can ask Gracie if she’ll lighten one of the crates for you by keeping a snack for the road,” the mare on the straw remarked.

“Eww,” the griffon’s mouth beyond the edges of her beak pulled back into a grimace. “We eat fish, you sicko!”

The earth pony’s face scrunched up into a look of genuine confusion. “You do? Wait, then who am I thinking of that’ll eat pony? Don’t tell me it’s hippogriffs…”

“Harpies,” the minotaur supplied in a bored tone.

“Right; harpies! Thank you, Hacksy.” Meridian paused in thought for a moment before looking back up the griffon. “...Does that mean you’d eat a hippogriff while they’re all ‘finny’ and stuff?”

“No! What is wrong with you?”

“Oh, sure, yeah; act all sanctimonious,” the earth pony snorted derisively. “We’re about to slit the throats of five ponies and dump their bodies in a river, but I’m the degenerate because I asked whether seaponies count as ‘fish’...”

“They’re sapient beings!”

“Not when they’re dead, they’re not,” Meridian countered with a shrug.

The griffon hen opened her beak to reply, but her rebuttal seemed to die on her lips as she struggled to come up with a counter that she thought for a moment the pony would even bother to entertain. Her gaze darted to the minotaur who at least had the good grace to look as disturbed by the notion presented by their comrade as she was. He looked up at the cupola and offered her a helpless shrug. The griffon shook her head and sighed.

A flicker of movement through a broken wooden slat caught Grace’s eye. She turned her head and looked out through the copula’s small opening. “We’ve got movement on the road!” She announced to the others. The pony and the minotaur each perked up immediately, their gaze locked on their lookout, awaiting additional information. “Looks like a whole column of ponies. Armored. Definitely Equestrian Cavalry.” Another long pause, followed by the griffon turning her head and smiling down at her companions. “I see ponies with bags over their heads.”

The minotaur unclenched his fists and let out a relieved sigh. “Those’ll be our packages.” He turned and approached the barn’s door, opening it to greet the new arrivals. His eyes scanned over the five ponies with the bags over their heads. Those were the ones marked for ‘disposal’ by their client. They must have been particularly troublesome ponies, in the minotaur’s estimation, if the Royal Cavalry was the one delivering them. He’d been under the impression that Equestria’s princesses operated more above board than this.

On the other hand, Equestria’s spooks answer to that darker one, and they’re supposed to be pretty on point.

Hacksaw found himself wondering just how much of the ponies’ ‘morally superior’ image was propped up by propaganda over substance.

A smoky gray pegasus stallion with yellow eyes and a brown mane led the group. The pony eyed the looming minotaur in the doorway warily. “You’re the ones collecting the prisoners?”

The big brown bull snorted, rolling his eyes. ‘Prisoners’, he calls them. “I guess,” he shrugged. “Was told to wait here for five ponies to be delivered.” He conducted a quick count of the bagged heads. “And I count five.” He stood aside and pulled the door open wider to allow the procession past him.

The pegasus leading the group looked back at the other armored figures and jerked his head towards the barn’s door. Several other soldiers urged their bagged and hobbled charges forward. An older mare with a glittering green coat trailed the prisoners. Her eyes darted around the interior of the barn, lingering for only a moment on Meridian and Grace before returning to the minotaur with a raised brow. “Just the three of you?”

The minotaur shrugged again and gestured to the quintet of restrained equines. “Not like they’re going to be much trouble like that,” he pointed out, earning a nod from the mare. Once again her gaze darted to the other two members of his group. Then to the opened crates along the side of the barn.

When the emerald mare’s eyes once more returned to the minotaur, there was a hardness to them that made the bull feel uneasy. Without taking her gaze off of him, she canted her head back slightly and made a comment to one of the other armored ponies. “Tell Gale to ring the bell.” The gray pegasus stallion standing outside the barn extended a wing out to his side and flicked out a seemingly random sequence of pinions.

Hacksaw’s brow creased in confusion and he turned around to face the earth pony mare lounging on the straw bales to see if she could make sense of the pony’s odd statement, believing it to be some sort of Equestrian idiom or something—

There was a loud crashing sound that came from up above, paired almost simultaneously with a surprised squawk. Drawn by the unexpected sound, the minotaur turned around to see what had happened to his griffon companion.

Whether the older crystal mare had been waiting for him to look away specifically, or if she was just keen to capitalize on an opportune moment was hard to say. In either case, the result was the same. The minotaur only became aware of the attack she launched when a pair of steel-shod hooves connected with his kneecap in a devastating double-buck, instantly pulverizing it. Hacksaw howled in pain as his leg gave out from under him, sending the bovine crumpling to the ground.

When he fell, he finally saw what must have been the source of the sound that distracted him in the first place: an armored pegasus mare had apparently crashed bodily through the thin wooden slats of the barn’s cupola and slammed into the Grace. The wind was knocked fully from the griffon’s lungs as the pair plummeted to the ground. The hen took the brunt of the landing, her body softening the impact for the pegasus on her back.

There was no effort being made by the griffon to get back up.

Judging from the unnatural bend to her spine and the hen's open, vacant eyes, there never would be.

Meridian only managed to get to her hooves before all of the masked and hobbled ponies were no longer masked or hobbled. Five on one were obviously unfavorable odds, and those five had backup close on their heels in the form of a dozen armed and armored Equestrian soldiers. On the off-chance that proper members of the pony military were in the practice of respecting offers of surrender, the rusty-hued mare spat out her knife and sat back firmly on her haunches, forehooves raised in the air and a frown on her muzzle. “...Fuck.”

Hacksaw was only vaguely aware of what had become of his companions. What little focus he could manage through the intense pain was occupied by the veritable rainbow of glowing auras surrounding the half dozen spear tips hovering at his neck. It was probably a good thing, in the end, that he’d been so seriously wounded, the minotaur would decide later. It had stopped him from immediately retaliating against the ponies before he had time to appraise his situation like Meridian had. Being as big as half a dozen of the smaller ponies didn’t grant him hide that was any more resistant to being pierced by steel spearheads.

He allowed his balled fist to unclench and slowly raised his own empty hands above his head. His eyes glared at the crystal mare who’d ruined his knee. She didn’t seem to begrudge him the look.

The gray pegasus stallion who Hacksaw had greeted stepped up beside the emerald pony. “What do you suggest we do with them, first sergeant?”

She was quiet for what felt to the minotaur like an eternity—but had likely only been a few seconds—as he waited to hear whether their surrender would be honored or not. Not that the bull felt he was standing on any sort of ‘moral high ground’ to object to a decision of summary execution on the mare’s part, given what he and his band had been intending to do with the ponies they’d been told to expect. Hacksaw wondered just how much of that these ponies knew. The look that the crystal mare had given the five open crates suggested that, even if she hadn’t been explicitly told, she’d been able to infer enough of the truth.

The ‘first sergeant’ frowned. Hacksaw was careful to keep his features impassive as he waited to hear the fate of himself and his remaining companion. “We should keep them alive for now, sir.” The mare leveled her gaze at the minotaur. “If,” she stressed, to him as much as the pegasus she was nominally responding to, “they can stay quiet and don’t make too much of a fuss.”

These ponies almost certainly wanted to question them. While the weighted crates certainly weren't a great look and spoke volumes about what his team had likely intended to do with the ponies being delivered to them, it wasn't entirely inconceivable that he and Meridian would ultimately live through this. Equestrians weren't generally known for extrajudicial killing. They didn't even have capital punishment! At worst, the two of them would spend a long time in a prison somewhere. He didn't particularly like the thought of going to prison, but Hacksaw knew he'd get a trial, and it wasn't like he and Meridian had actually done anything specifically illegal. Yet. And there wasn't anything in the barn that could convict beyond a reasonable doubt. He was pretty sure, anyway.

There was a better than even chance of him and Meridian simply getting deported back across the border. He could live with that.

Hacksaw gave the crystal mare a wordless nod.

The pegasus beside her nodded and looked to some of the nearby ponies. “Bind and gag them,” he ordered before turning his attention to the pegasus that was still standing over Grace. “Is she alive?” The pony frowned as they prodded at the still griffon. They leaned their head down by her beak for several seconds before looking back at the gray pegasus and shaking their head. The stallion gestured to one of the open crates. “Get her body out of sight. Put the others behind those bales,” his wing gestured to where Meridian had previously been lounging.

Next he looked to one of the ponies outside. “Signal the others it’s clear to come up.”

Squad Sergeant Diamond Plate’s hoof rapped soundly against the door of the old barn. There was a brief moment of muffled movement, and then it opened. Slightly silhouetted in the lantern light from within was the face of a batpony mare with perked up tufted ears.

Should have figured we'd be giving them over to EIS, she thought to herself with a snort. “I was told this was where I was supposed to bring Captain Corsair?” The Canter Company noncom eyed the leathery-winged pony warily. She always felt a little put off when she was around Princess Luna's 'spooks'.

The gray-coated mare’s face split in a toothy grin. “Indeed it is!” The mare gingerly stepped to the side with careful steps, allowing the barn’s door to open wider. Her eyes darted briefly to the bagged and bound ponies being escorted by the cavalry squad. “We’ve been expecting you, sergeant. Come on in…”

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading! As always, a thumbs up and comment are always greatly appreciated :twilightblush:

I've set up a Cover Art Fund if you're interested and have any bits lying around!

Chapter xiii

Trotter’s Bend,

Central Equestria,

And Carneighie Plains,

Western Equestria

The blackness vanished as the bag was pulled off of Corsair’s head, revealing the wryly smiling face of an older emerald crystal mare. “So how’s it feel to be a dead mare, captain?”

The cobalt pegasus frowned, looking from one direction to the other as one of Lieutenant Whirlwind’s unicorns used their magic to remove her wing bindings. The barn was quite crowded now, playing host to the detachment that she’d left behind in Little Buck. Many of them had only been given word of what had happened to the rest of Bronco Company a day or two ago. Given that their ‘squad’ had been assembled by stripping the wounded from their assigned platoons, there wasn’t a pony among them who hadn’t lost a close friend in Gallopoli. Like herself and the others that had survived the attack, they’d also been given precious little time to process and grieve over that loss before being thrust back into the fray.

There also hadn’t been time to clue those ponies into the details of the attack, or why it appeared that the whole of the Frontier Corps operating in the western half of Equestria was trying to find and arrest their commander. Even Whirlwind had only been given the abbreviated version thus far. Not that Corsair or the others were heavy on details themselves. They were operating under mostly assumptions and connecting the dots of what little information that they did know for sure. Most of which had been provided by ‘Rein Doe’.

Corsair had unwavering faith in her ponies. She’d commanded some of them for years. They weren’t all perfect ponies, but they had good hearts and were loyal to Equestria and its princesses. While it was perfectly natural in the course of commanding a military unit for said commander to not always tell every soldier under their command everything, in the name of ‘operational security’, the pegasus knew that this wasn’t something that she should keep from her ponies. They deserved to know what was going on as best as she knew it. So they’d know what they were going to be up against in the coming days.

“Shoe ‘em up, Top.”

The crystal mare nodded and turned to address all that remained of Bronco Company. “Horseshoe up, everypony!” Her voice boomed in the barn as only an old non-com’s could. Every head in the room whipped up and hooves scraped over wood and straw as Corsair’s ponies gathered around their commander, save for a pair who hung back to watch over a grouchy-looking minotaur and earth pony pair bound in the corner.

The cobalt mare spared a moment to look at her ponies and their expectant faces. “We’re in the shit,” was her blunt opening statement. It earned her more than a few raised eyebrows, but also a smattering wry smirks from her more veteran ponies who exchanged looks with one another. “For anypony who might still think it’s some kind of rumor: Gallopoli was sacked by marauders. They were wearing Equestrian armor.”

Corsair was forced to pause briefly, closing her eyes against the memory of the bodies of her ponies being laid out by those mercenaries to be tallied like crates of inventory. Promising ponies who had been slain through deceit and treachery. The pegasus spared a moment to tamp down her budding rage. “...It’s probably how they got the drop on the others. Any member of Bronco Company that isn’t here right now is dead. We’re what’s left.”

She let the announcement hang in the air for several long seconds, watching the mixture of shock and pain rippling through the crowd of armored ponies. “We don’t know why it happened, not really,” she admitted, her eyes briefly darting to the batpony mare who was once more laying on her cloud cot under Cravat’s care as the dappled earth pony checked to make sure being on her hooves earlier hadn’t aggravated her injuries too much. “But we know the identity of a few ponies who were involved, and I have a guess or two about some others.”

‘Rein Doe’ couldn’t definitively confirm whether or not General Maniple was an active participant in the conspiracy. She only knew for certain about Earl Bitter Creek and the EIS operative who’d lured her into the ambush that nearly killed her. While it was likely that the brigadier was also involved, it was at least conceivable that he was being played by the earl and the operative and didn’t know about Bronco Company being framed. The general was enough of a piece of shit that Corsair would feel comfortable betting on his involvement, but they still didn’t have proof.

Honestly, they didn’t have a lot of ‘proof’ of anything. Even what they did have was based almost entirely upon the batpony’s eyewitness accounts. She’d seen the earl’s aide approach and hire the mercenaries that attacked Gallopoli, sure, but even she had been forced to admit that the letter of introduction she’d read hadn’t specifically mentioned sacking the town—or even going to Saddle Arabia. She reasoned that the mercenaries had received those instructions later, but she’d never personally seen them. It was also only her word that the other EIS operative had shot her. If he denied it…

What Corsair and the others knew wouldn’t be enough to put the ponies involved behind bars on its own, the pegasus ruefully acknowledged to herself. But their testimony should at least be enough to set proper investigators on the right trail to dig up real proof and settle things.

At the very least, it’ll clear the names of my ponies…

“We also know that Bronco Company was framed for what happened to the Arabians. That’s why they’re looking for us—or, at least, us,” Corsair gestured with a hoof between herself and First Sergeant Shillelagh. “It’s likely that whoever is behind this isn’t after any of you,” she looked around at the crowd of ponies. Maniple had asked for a by name and cutie mark roster of her ‘hooves on ground’ in Canterlot prior to catching their train Saddle Arabia, and so that was what she’d given him. That almost certainly had to have been the roster that the mercenaries had been using: the Bronco Company ponies who needed to be dealt with as potential witnesses to the attack on the town. Nopony should be looking in Lieutenant Whirlwind or his squad’s direction. They should all be safe…

…So long as nopony had any cause to believe that they’d become involved.

The pegasus regarded it as no minor irony that, after having spent so long specifically trying to regroup with what remained of her company, the moment that she did, she was about to part ways with them again. However, given what they'd learned about the nature of the threat that they were facing and—her eyes darted again to the crates—the consequences that potentially awaited those whose involvement became known to the wrong ponies...

Circumstances had changed. Her plan needed to change accordingly.

Corsair took a deep breath, easily predicting what the reaction to her next words would be. There's nothing more frustrating than a FRAGO. “...And I want to keep it that way. Lieutenant,” she finally said, looking now at the dusty pegasus officer, “I want you and your ponies to return to Little Buck. Stay there for a few more days and then report to Canterlot. Play dumb. Ask to be forwarded ahead to Gallopoli with the rest of Bronco.

“If they ask why you stayed behind, you tell them the truth: about me electing to leave the wounded and some ponies to watch after them and the village so we wouldn’t be slowed down responding to Maniple’s orders. That I told you to follow after me once everypony was fit to travel.”

There was an unmistakable air of apprehensive and reluctant murmurs from the gathered ponies. The lieutenant eventually couldn’t restrain himself from giving voice to the reservations that they all clearly had regarding their commander's latest orders. “Ma’am, we’re not just going to abandon you!”

“You’re not ‘abandoning’ me, LT,” Corsair sighed, shaking her head. While she was touched by the dedication of her ponies, this wasn’t the time for fidelis. “I’m getting you out of the line of fire. Whoever is behind this probably doesn’t know about you or the others. So they won’t be coming for you. If they spot all of you with me and send more ponies—”

“Then we’ll show them what happens when they mess with a Broncin’ Buck!” cried out a defiant mare, who was followed almost immediately by assenting hoots, hollers, and hoof stomps from the rest of the group.

“Bronco?” a stallion prompted.

“Buck yeah!” came the answering roar.

At any other time, the display of loyalty and bravado might have filled Corsair with a sense of pride in her ponies. They didn’t want to leave their fellows to fend for themselves, even against overwhelming odds, and that was commendable. Indeed, it was the expected response for any pony in Their Majesties’ Royal Cavalry when told that one of their number was under threat. However, in this specific instance, Corsair doubted—hoped—that her ponies had simply gotten overzealous on instinct and hadn’t actually thought through the full implications of what they were offering to do.

Otherwise, the pegasus felt that her heart might break…

“Absolutely not!” Corsair snarled, wheeling around to glare fiercely at her ponies, instantly cowing the confused crowd into uncomprehending silence. “Do any of you even know what you’re saying right now?” she challenged. “Do you understand who you’d be ‘protecting’ us from?” As her questions were rhetorical, the cobalt mare supplied her own answer a moment later.

“Your sisters and brothers in arms!” Corsair jabbed a hoof in the vague direction that Diamond Plate’s squad had left in after delivering her and the other Broncos here. “Those weren’t ‘bad ponies’. They weren’t ‘enemies of Equestria’,” she reminded them. “They were good and loyal soldiers of The Crowns, acting on their orders to bring in the ponies that they were told murdered a town! Told by their commanders, whom they trust the same way that you trust me.

“What exactly is it you’re planning to do the next time they come for me, huh? How would you 'help'?” Corsair glared directly at the mare who’d raised the initial challenge, eying the young pony critically. “Would you really turn your spears on them? Your sisters?” Seeing the mare wince and look away, her gaze shifted to another pony. “Would you buck in the skulls of your fellow cavalrymares?” The crowd had no answers for their captain’s piercing questions.

“Tell me you’d fight—that you’d kill—to protect me from our own!” she dared them, fixing each of her ponies in turn. “...and then get the fuck out of my sight; because I don’t want anypony in my company who’d do that. Not for me, or anypony else.

“I would sooner slit my own throat than watch my cavalry turn on itself like that.”

The barn was quiet now. There was no more cheering, and no further protest. Corsair was relieved to see that everypony she looked at was ashamed to some degree, finally realizing what their situation was. They weren’t going up against bandits, or monsters, or anything like that. This wasn’t flushing out a diamond dog den that had been preying on townsponies. Their ‘adversary’ were their fellow ponies in barding, who simply weren’t aware that they’d been fed a lie. Had any other company in the Frontier Corps been selected for the Gallopoli mission and had ponies that survived, it was entirely conceivable that Bronco Company themselves would currently be involved with the marehunt for those ‘treasonous murderers’. They’d be doing exactly what Diamond Plate’s group had been.

That was the most insidious part of all of this, Corsair decided: good ponies were being pitted against each other in their ignorance of the truth. It was one thing to fight—and maybe even kill—another when you knew—could rationalize—that they were 'bad' in some genuinely meaningful way...

...But when it was other mares and stallions in the Cavalry who had no way of knowing that they were being lied to? Who themselves were convinced that they were doing the 'right thing' and going after the 'bad ponies'?

Corsair had seen the look of utter revulsion in Diamond Plate's expression when the mare had confronted the pegasus—a 'murderer'. The squad sergeant was disgusted with the very idea that ponies who'd worn the uniform could have done what she'd been told Bronco Company had done. If that team had found Corasir's small band already reinforced by Whirlwind's squad—found themselves outnumbered...she might have still attacked. She'd have felt it was her duty to Equestria and the princesses to fight to the death to try and remove the 'stain' from the Cavalry's honor.

As hollow as Corsair had felt when she'd seen the bodies of the citizen's of Gallopoli—the bodies of her own ponies—the pegasus felt a shudder in her core at the thought of a mare in her unit putting a spear through the heart of one of their comrades.

That couldn't be allowed to happen.

The cobalt flier finally let out a heavy sigh. “I’m not going to put any of you in a position where that’s a thing that could happen. You’re all going back to Little Buck.” This time there was no grumbling or protests. She looked back to Whirlwind. “Move them out soon, LT. We’ll hang out here for the day, let word get around that we’ve been ‘caught’. Hopefully nopony’ll be actively looking for us by morning and we’ll have an easy trip to Canterlot.”

While waiting for the ‘heat’ to die down would make traveling to Canterlot easier, she didn’t want to delay too long. The attack on Gallopoli couldn’t have been the ultimate goal of the earl’s plans. There was a ‘phase two’, or whatever, that was as likely as not to threaten the lives of as many or more creatures; and Corsair wanted to get word to the right ponies in time to stop whatever it was before it was too late.

“What about the envoy and the colt?” her subordinate asked, nodding his head the direction of the indicated pair.

Corsair hesitated. She was very tempted to have Whirlwind take both civilians back to Little Buck. Get them out of harm’s way, even as she was mitigating that ‘harm’ as much as possible. On the other hoof…

She finally shook her head, reluctantly. “They come with us.” Like it or not, Autumn Brisk was just as much a witness to what happened in Gallopoli as the rest of them. She was a liability to the earl’s plans—whatever they were—and thus a target. Whoever was found in the unicorn’s company would almost certainly also be considered a threat to their conspiracy too. Sending her to Little Buck…

These ponies had already demonstrated they were willing to slaughter a whole town to get what they wanted. Corsair wasn’t going to trust them not to do it a second time.

While she didn’t believe that the colt would pose the same risk to the townsponies, since nothing suggested that any of the conspirators knew about either his survival, or that he was in Corsair’s company, the pegasus still wasn’t comfortable leaving him in Little Buck. He needed to get back to his own kind. His father might be dead, but surely the pour colt had some family in Saddle Arabia. The surest and most expedient way to find out and get him back where he belonged was to get him to the Saddle Arabian Embassy in Canterlot. The horses there would take him in and find out who his next of kin were.

His added testimony about what had happened in Gallopoli, as a witness who was not also one of the ‘accused’, would prove invaluable as well. Though Corsair would just as soon not put the colt through that if it wasn’t necessary.

Whirlwind nodded. Then there was another brief pause before the tan pegasus stallion glanced in the direction of the bound minotaur and earth pony mare. “...And them?”

Corsair followed her lieutenant’s gaze…and grimaced.

This was a…murkier subject.

Their resident spook had confirmed that there was little to no chance that the minotaur and earth pony mare were part of the Equestrian government, clandestine operations or otherwise. “Contrary to the rumors, EIS doesn’t operate this way,” the batpony had told Corsair, a disgusted eye on the weighted crates. “Not in Equestria, not even a little bit. There’s nothing official—or unofficial—about this.”

Which meant that those two—three including the already dead griffon hen—were just thugs hired to finish what those mercenaries had started. It made sense. ‘Kill on sight’ weren’t orders that any Frontier Corps officer would have been able to justify issuing, especially against one of their own. She and her ponies would have been ordered captured alive—if possible, anyway. At the same time, living witnesses—especially witnesses in the custody of the Equestrian government—weren’t anything the earl or his accomplices could have allowed. Something would need to be arranged to happen to Corsair and the others between their capture and reaching Canterlot. It was obvious the group in this barn was intended to have been that ‘something’.

There was no doubt in the pegasus captain’s mind that those three had been hired by the earl or his accomplices. There was similarly little doubt that, upon being released, they’d report back to their ‘client’ that she and the rest of her group were still very much alive. Worse, they’d be able to tell them about Whirlwind’s group and possibly endanger the very ponies she was hoping to protect.

These were not good creatures. The crates were a testament to that. Corsair had little doubt that the minotaur and pony had a criminal record in a host of other nations as long as her wingspan. Chances were good that they’d get extradited for something if they were given over to the Royal Guard—assuming they weren’t also wanted in Equestria. But the longer they were in Equestria, and the more official records there were of their detention, the more likely it was that the earl and his friends learned that Corsair wasn’t actually ‘dealt with’ and resumed actively searching for her.

Earl Bitter Creek was probably waiting on some sort of confirmation from the minotaur that he’d carried out his orders to dispose of Corsair’s group, but it could be many days before the earl decided that too much time had passed and he needed to follow up on the matter. Corsair might earn herself and the others three or four days of relative safety before another search was organized by keeping these two survivors out of official reports.

There was one definitive way to do that, the pegasus mare thought darkly to herself. She cast a look back at the single closed crate. They were already a third of the way there, too…

Corsair sighed. No. She could spend the rest of her life rationalizing it but, at the end of the day, killing these two while they were bound and helpless would always just be murder. She’d do the ‘right thing’ and turn them over to the authorities.

Which didn’t mean that she couldn’t take her time doing that though. “Take them with you,” she finally told her lieutenant, much to the pegasus stallion’s own surprise.

“Ma’am?”

“Take those two back to Little Buck and turn them into the sheriff there,” Corsair explained. “Tell the truth—mostly: that you caught them in a conspiracy to commit murder. Let Little Buck’s sheriff and mayor figure out how to handle all the indictment and extradition stuff with the provincial authorities from there.

“It’ll probably take a few days to sort out what to do with them,” she said with a shrug. “That’s fine. We’ll be in Canterlot by then anyway.” Hopefully…

“And the bat?” Whirlwind asked, nodding his head in the direction of Cravat’s patient. She was presently being looked over by the dappled medic to see whether her brief stint ahoof had aggravated her wound.

Their resident EIS operative was another good question. She likely wasn’t on the earl’s list of ponies to be on the watch for, though there was surely somepony in the conspiracy that would recognize her and sound the alarm. Certainly whichever traitor in the EIS who’d lured her into the ambush that nearly claimed her life. Sending her to Little Buck with the lieutenant would be safest for her, and help with her recovery in the long run. On the other hoof, having an agent of Equestria’s spy service vouch for them would help their case at least as much as the Saddle Arabian colt’s would. She might even be able to advise them on how to avoid being spotted by anypony they wouldn’t want to catch the attention of.

“We’ll take her with us too,” Corsair finally decided. Honestly, it was probably for the best that they keep the mare in the company of her ‘doctor’ for as long as possible anyway.

“Understood, ma’am.” The dusty brown pegasus saluted his commander, but then hesitated before he turned away. “...It’s been an honor serving under you, captain.”

“I’m not dead yet, LT,” Corsair retorted, flashing the other pony a wry smirk. The junior officer had the good sense to look abashed. “You just look after my ponies while I’m away. I expect them all back in as good or better condition than I left them when this is over, is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am!” He snapped to attention and rendered a crisper salute this time.

“Then you’re dismissed, lieutenant.” The cobalt mare returned his salute. Then she turned and made her way back to the rest of her little band. If they were going to hole up in the barn for a while, then they might as well use their time productively. Specifically, Corsair wanted to pick her senior non-com’s brain for ideas. If anypony had advice on how to smuggle a small group of ponies into a heavily guarded city without being detected, it would be a former ‘terrorist’/resistance cell leader…

“Somepony fucked up.”

The words came out as a near growl as the older faded blue unicorn mare glanced down at the latest reconnaissance reports that her picket commanders had just delivered to the command tent. Brigadier General Reconnoiter shifted her gaze to the other assembled ponies in the tent. Their expressions were no less dower than her own. The air smelled faintly of smoke, the source of which was a small wad of smoldering parchment in a nearby waste bin. Her orders from Their Majesties.

Not that the brigadier general was in any way seeking to place blame at the hooves of her princesses. Far from it. Clearly there had been a failure elsewhere along the line, because there was no world that existed where Equestria’s diarchs would have put Reconnoiter’s brigade—a force of slightly fewer than four thousand ponies—up against the veritable host of Saddle Arabians that more than doubled her numbers.

Especially not when those orders had assured her that the encroaching militia had been a force totaling a mere two thousand!

However, investigating where the breakdown had occurred and placing the subsequent blame, were both matters to be attended to later. None of the possible answers as to how Reconnoiter’s brigade had ended up in this position would change the facts. And the ‘facts’ are that we’re fucked.

The unicorn looked first to her supply officer, a raspberry earth pony stallion with a lime mane. “No offense, major, but you’re our biggest hurdle to getting turned around.” The pony in charge of her command’s baggage train returned a helpless shrug of his own in acknowledgement of the fact. “If I send you sprinting back down the line now, how soon could you get us turned around?”

“It would take an act of the princesses—all four of them—to get it done in less than six hours,” the major replied through a heavy sigh. “And that’s assuming that absolutely nothing went wrong. No stuck wagons, no cracked spokes, broken straps, nothing.” It didn’t need to be elaborated that something would always 'go wrong' when attempting any sort of large-scale operation. And undertaking what was effectively trying to 'about face' a whole brigade in the field was most definitely a 'large-scale operation.

“I can have my ponies work through the night and we’ll be ready to move out by first light, but then you'll just have exhausted ponies leading your army.”

That wouldn't be very ideal either. “What’s a realistic timetable?” Reconnoiter asked.

“Noon tomorrow.”

The general glanced towards the batpony colonel in charge of her pegasus squadrons. The question she had didn’t need to be asked aloud in order to prompt a response from the ashen-coated mare. “The Saddle Arabians are far enough away that they won’t have caught up to us by then,” she said, though her lips were still pulled back in a fanged scowl. “But they will be close enough that their own vanguard will have finally spotted us. Horses move faster than ponies; that’s just a fact. It’ll only be a matter of time before they run us down.”

Reconnoiter nodded. She’d come to the same conclusion. Having her concerns confirmed by the resident expert on such matters didn’t make her feel any better. “It’s pretty clear they’re heading for Legume anyway.” None of the other ponies in the tent made an effort to argue otherwise. As her forces in the field represented the bulk of the cavalry which had been garrisoned at the fort, simply having her army ‘dodge’ out of the way of the oncoming Arabians would be tantamount to simply giving over the fort to the invading horses.

Not that having her forces crushed out here in the field first would change anything in that regard…

“Delaying actions,” the unicorn stated by way of asking for suggestions from the other officers in her command. “How feasible is it for us to harass the horses until Canterlot can reinforce us?”

Several of her senior officers, the ponies in charge of her downtrace elements, exchanged looks. Most of their expressions were less than optimistic. An earth pony whose muzzle appeared to be mostly mustache answered for the group. “Pegasi and light hoof units are typically best for that.” He hadn’t said anything that wasn’t basic Equestrian warfighting doctrine. “Only Major Phlox and Colonel Tumbledown,” the earth pony nodded to the batpony mare and another pink earth pony mare in turn, “have those sorts of units. Mine and Colonel Demeter’s battalions,” this time he looked to a broad-shouldered golden earth pony mare standing beside him, “are almost entirely cataphracts. ‘Hit-and-run’ isn’t something we’d be able to do well; not against horses.”

“We could ‘hit’ them well enough,” the large golden mare assured Reconnoiter in a gravelly voice, “but the ‘running’ part…” She shook her head. “The horses would catch us.”

“I could organize some night raids. Hit their supply lines; smash a few wagons,” Major Phlox offered, though her tone suggested that she wasn’t holding out much hope for the idea accomplishing much. “But we only have a few dozen batponies. It wouldn’t be enough to hurt them much. Not an army that size.”

Reconnoiter was tiring of hearing what she already knew in her head being put into words by the rest of her officers. Trying not to look too defeated, the faded blue mare looked towards a pale white unicorn stallion. “Captain Wisp? Anything your batteries can do for us?”

The stallion chewed on the inside of his cheek as he pondered the table in front of them and the various reconnaissance reports littering its surface. “We might have decent luck hitting them from range with some fire and lightning spells,” he conceded, though he didn’t sound as sure of that as the general might have otherwise hoped. “I know we have a few ponies who are decent enough with illusion magic. Maybe we can do something with that.

“I have fewer than a hundred and twenty unicorns, ma’am; trying to hold back ten thousand’s a big ask.”

The general nodded. At the end of the day, it all came down to numbers. Colonels Dandy and Demeter were right: her heavy units weren’t suited to harassing actions. They wouldn’t be able to evade pursuit reliably enough to get away. Which meant that the better part of two thirds of her fielded force was impractical for use in sustained delaying actions.

Unless I want to just toss battalions at the horses in the hopes of tripping them up with the bodies…

As sending her brigade at the Arabians piecemeal specifically to be slaughtered to give the rest of her retreating forces time to withdraw was absolutely out of the question, that left it to her pegasi, light hoof units, and mages, to whittle the enemy however they could, in the hopes of keeping the horses moving too slowly to catch her main body before they got back to Legume.

Sending a thousand lightly armored ponies against ten times their number.

It was a daunting prospect; and likewise unsustainable. It would be the height of naivety to believe those raids would be casualty free on her side. They were going to lose ponies with each run they made at the Arabians. Which meant each subsequent raid wouldn’t hit as hard, and likely result in even proportionally heavier casualties.

The horses have the numbers to split themselves up into blocking forces too, Reconnoiter acknowledged. Whoever was in command of the Saddle Arabians possessed the flexibility to just put battalions bigger than her raiding force out as oversized ‘pickets’ to keep her soldiers away from their baggage train, and have their main force not be slowed in the slightest.

We’re not getting away. We’ll have to fight eventually.

Maybe that was even for the best. As bleak as the odds looked, the older unicorn knew that they actually stood a better chance by going to meet the Saddle Arabians in the field head-on. Not a great chance—not even a decent chance, if she was being honest—just a ‘better’ one. Out here her forces would at least have room to maneuver. Even outnumbered like they were, there was the chance of being able to outflank the Arabians. Phlox’s pegasi squadrons would be able to move largely unopposed in the air and get in behind the horses’ lines. Her unicorns could use fire spells with few restrictions, not having to worry about immolating their own fortifications.

Her mind flashed with a half dozen half-remembered instances of various military leaders from antiquity—both within, and from outside Equestria—who had managed to defeat superior forces with those which—on paper—had been patently inferior.

Hannibull did it to the zebras. I think the Purrsians did it to the zebras too.

…Too bad we’re not going up against the zebras.

Reconnoiter let out a resigned breath and shook her head. She wasn’t any kind of brilliant military tactician. Not where this kind of fight was concerned. Sun and Moon, there hadn’t been a bona fide battle like this one in her lifetime! Nopony in Equestria had experience with this sort of thing, let alone knew it well enough to achieve one of the Idol of Boreases of warfare!

Equestrian generals didn’t actually fight battles; they only ever just talked about fighting them, in a theoretical sense.

…Is that an option?

The unicorn finally glanced up from the table and sought out the batpony major. “Phlox, do we happen to know who’s in charge of the Arabian forces?”

Caught briefly off guard, it take the mare a moment to form an answer. “Y-yes, ma’am. Miralay Qasam.”

“What do we know about him?”

The batpony shrugged. “I can ask around the camp, but I doubt anypony here knows much,” she admitted. “I’m sure there’s a more detailed dossier back in Canterlot.” Her tone left little doubt that she thought that fact would be of much help to them. Canterlot was a fair distance away.

“How long would it take your best courier to get there and back?”

“Hypothetically?” The major prompted.

“No, genuinely,” Reconnoiter countered. “I need to know how long it would take a courier to get me our file on their commander.”

“Two days. One there, one back.”

Now the general looked back to her supply officer. “You can have my army moving back towards Legume by morning if your ponies work through the night?” The raspberry earth pony grimaced, but nodded. Her eyes now darted to her other officers. “Can we keep away from the Arabians for two days?”

Her section leaders shared uneasy looks. Colonel Dandy’s mustache gave their answer. “If we ride them hard; yes ma’am. But our ponies will be exhausted by the time the horses catch us,” he warned.

“I know. But I’m hoping I can avoid a fight altogether.”

It was Demeter’s turn to shift on disquieted hooves. “Ma’am, our orders from the princesses are to stop the Saddle Arabian force at any costs.”

“I am aware of what our orders are, colonel,” Brigadier General Reconnoiter shot the larger mare a hard look, “and I fully intend to carry them out.” She looked back at the batpony. “Dispatch a courier immediately. I want everything we know about the miralay as soon as possible.” Her gaze then darted to her supply officer. “Major Beret, I notice that you’re still in my tent and not turning around my baggage train; is there a reason for that?” The raspberry earth pony blanched before issuing a hasty salute and leaving the tent.

“The rest of you: get your ponies ready to move out at dawn.” Most of the ponies in the general’s tent saluted and followed the supply officer out. Except for the batpony, who lingered back a while. Reconnoiter glowered at the commander of her pegasi. “Yes, major?”

“Ma’am,” Phlox began hesitantly, “...are we running away?”

“The Royal Equestrian Cavalry doesn't 'run away', major,” she quipped with a snort. "But it does occasionally relocate to a rearward position." The batpony mare wasn't phased by the general's employment of the old joke. Reconnoiter took a breath before supplying a genuine answer. “We’re buying time to get that dossier. I need to know who I’m dealing with if I’m going to try and talk them out of this,” she waved a hoof at their general surroundings.

“Talk, ma’am? Our orders are to—”

“—To stop the Arabians ‘at any costs’,” Reconnoiter finished for the batpony with an annoyed glare at the mare, “I’m well aware, major. Well, talk is cheap—and not always in a bad way.

“If armies from Equestria and Saddle Arabia cross lances in a genuine battle, it’ll mean a war! Equestria’s first since the Nightmare Rebellion.” The brigadier took another long breath, closing her eyes. “I’ll be damned to Tartarus if I’m going to be the mare to start that war without doing everything I can think of to avoid it first.

“We’ve been friends with the horses for centuries; there’s got to be something I can say that’ll stop this before it gets out of hoof.” It was almost a desperate plea.

“...And if they won’t talk, ma’am?” The batpony tentatively ventured. “If they just want to lure you into an ambush and take you out of the fight with the opening volley?”

Reconnoiter snorted and shook her head. “Well…then I guess that would make me the lucky one then, wouldn’t it?” The other mare tilted her head, not comprehending. The general's smile contained no mirth. “It'll mean that I won’t have to live through the madness that follows…”

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading! As always, a thumbs up and comment are always greatly appreciated :twilightblush:

I've set up a Cover Art Fund if you're interested and have any bits lying around!

Chapter xiv

Ministry Row,

Canterlot,

Central Equestria,

And Saddlesbury,

Western Equestria,

And The Celestia Plain,

Central Equestria

The Fourth Earl of Bitter Creek watched intently as the quill danced across the surface of the parchment. The flowing script being left in the wake of the feathered tip was far more grandiose than his usual penmareship. That was because, strictly speaking, it wasn’t his penmareship. The forgery spell he’d cast was diligently rewriting the latest diplomatic correspondence his office had received from the Saddle Arabian Embassy via an envoy just that morning. The Ambassador himself had left Canterlot in protest just yesterday, upon being informed, for the third time, that the Princesses Celestia and Luna refused to see him to discuss ‘The Corsair Issue’.

This was a lie, of course; in a technical sense. Neither of Equestria’s diarchs had ‘refused’ the ambassador, as neither alicorn was even aware that a request for a muzzle-to-muzzle audience had been made. Just as the ambassador was equally unaware that Princesses Celestia and Luna were extremely eager to talk to them about the rapidly deteriorating relations between the neighboring realms. Alabaster Fetlock suppressed a smirk as he internally praised the nature of the ingrained government bureaucracy’s inefficiency.

The swishing feather finished the last ostentatious letters of the Saddle Arabian ambassador’s official title just a moment before there was a deferential knock at the door. “Enter,” the unicorn replied. He floated the quill ink pot to the side of his desk and the freshly finished missive over to a table along the side of his office to finish drying before he rolled it back up.

The wrinkle features of his majordomo poked just inside the open door. “My Lord, Brigadier General Maniple and Senior Operative Nocturne to see you.”

“Thank you, Maitre; see them in.” The older pony bowed his head and withdrew, opening the door all of the way as he did so. The earl’s two guests promptly entered. The commanding officer of Equestria’s Frontier Corps wasted little time in seating himself across from the Foreign Affairs Minister’s desk. The batpony stallion, however, detoured to the brandy and helped himself to a generous glass of the expensive liquor before also finding his seat.

The unicorn suppressed a sneer and said nothing.

Unlike many of his previous encounters with this pair of ponies, this one was ‘above board’, in the sense that it existed on his ministry’s ledgers. Equestria’s principle pony in charge of the nation’s correspondence with their neighbors required an update on what the Saddle Arabians were doing in response to the ever escalating exchange of threats and demands between them. The earl was also eager to hear whether or not the last of their plot’s ‘loose ends’ had been neatly tied up.

Judging from the unusually pleased expression on the military stallion’s face, Alabaster suspected that it had been.

His hypothesis was confirmed the moment that Maitre closed the door. Maniple pulled a missive from his saddlebag and waved it in the air for all of them to see before ultimately passing it on to the earl. “I just received the report an hour ago: Corsair and her crew were apprehended and turned over to Nocturne’s ponies the evening before last.” He looked at the batpony now. “Assuming your spooks did what you told them to, they’re all dead and at the bottom of a lake somewhere. Or whatever it is that you EIS types do with ‘inconvenient ponies’.”

Alabaster took the offered report in his magic and started to read over it. It wasn’t very long, just a transcribed account, likely delivered by whichever soldier had been in charge of the group that captured Corsair. As a result of his reading, it was several seconds before the unicorn realized that Nocturne had yet to take a sip from the glass of brandy that he’d pilfered. The EIS agent’s expression was also best described as: concerned.

“...Is there an issue, Mister Nocturne?”

“There shouldn’t be,” the batpony began, which the earl didn’t find to be an especially comforting qualifier under the circumstances. Nocturne looked to the brigadier next to him. “I just want to clarify some word choices you made there, Manny: ‘ponies’—plural—and ‘spooks’.

“Elaborate.” The batpony simultaneously waved a wing at the earl, motioning for the general’s report. Alabaster floated the paper over with his telekinesis.

The earth pony officer frowned at the use of a presumably unauthorized use of a nickname by the operative but shrug his withers as he delivered his response, nodding his muzzle in the direction of the report that the batpony was now looking over. “The mare who caught Corsair’s group reported that she’d taken them into custody with no resistance and delivered them to the ponies waiting for them in the old barn at Trotters Bend. Her words, I guess. Why?”

Nocturne’s eyes narrowed critically at the report he was holding in his leathery wings. “This report describes the ponies—still not liking that plural,” he mumbled, “as being ‘EIS’. Why did your soldiers think they were dealing with EIS?” He was glaring at the general now. “Did you tell them ‘EIS’ was meeting them at that barn?”

“No,” Maniple denied, though somewhat hesitantly. “All I said was that a group would be waiting at the barn to take Corsair into custody if she and the others were taken alive.” It was the general’s turn to frown now. “You didn’t exactly tell me much about who those ponies were either.”

“It’s called ‘deniability’, look it up,” the batpony quipped, his lips still pulled tight in a deep frown. “But there’s no way my team should have been mistaken for EIS, and they wouldn’t have passed themselves off as them either. And there was only one ‘pony’ in their group.” He continued reading. Then his eyes got wide and his ears pinned back.

“Your ponies fucked up!” He snapped, now glaring daggers at the general. “How in Luna’s name did they mange to fuck this up?!”

The earth pony recoiled in equal parts confusion and shock, stuttering briefly as he struggled to respond to the unexpected hostility. “W-what are you talking about? The report says that Corsair was delivered to the barn in Trotter’s Bend. That’s where you told me to have them taken and so that’s where I ordered them taken! Nothing was ‘fucked up’. Certainly not on my end!” The general had recovered his spine by the end and managed to return the batpony’s vitriol in kind.

“Genetlecolts!” Alabaster snapped at the pair, gaining the silence and attention of both. The earl took a moment to calm his own tone once more too before continuing. He looked at Nocturne first. “Perhaps you would like to explain—calmly—what it is that you find objectionable about the report from the general’s soldiers?”

The batpony thrust the report back at the earl, the tip of one wing folded around to point to part of the message. “The report specifically describes turning Corsair over to the custody of: ‘an unnamed batpony mare, presumed to be affiliated with EIS’. There weren’t any batpony mares on the team I got for this. Which means that Corsair wasn’t turned over to my team.”

He wheeled on the general now. “So who the fuck do your paste-eaters deliver them to?!”

“Corsair was taken to the barn!” Maniple was snapping back with equal volume and vitriol now, clearly not particularly keen at having blame for the latest debacle laid at his hooves. “If your team wasn’t there, then who was and why?”

“A fair question,” the ivory unicorn stallion spoke up once more, injecting himself into the exchange in order to guide their conversation in a more productive direction. He looked at the batpony. “I assume it’s fair to conclude that whoever was waiting at the barn, it wasn’t actually EIS?” The earl prompted.

Nocturne was massaging his temple with a wing, doing a poor job of reining in his frustration, though his tone was at least a bit more measured as he answered the unicorn’s question. “No,” he acknowledged with a snort. “If EIS had Corsair, then we’d all be in a cell under Canterlot by now.

“But my team definitely didn’t have a batpony in it.” Nocturne’s expression was more pensive now. A fleeting thought passed through his mind but he dismissed it as quickly as it came, chalking the notion up to nerves. After all, it would have been an absolutely ridiculous coincidence. Besides, she was dead. He’d left that Ivory Company griffon to deal with—

The batpony agent’s eyes darted once more to the report in his hooves. They were all having to deal with this current crisis explicitly because those mercenaries were positively horrible at killing who they were supposed to kill. If they’d missed five ponies, who was to say they hadn’t somehow failed to ensure that they’d ended the life of a sixth?

But, even supposing that this absurd notion he was bothering to entertain was feasible, one severely wounded mare wouldn’t have been enough to overpower his disposal team and free the surviving members of Bronco Company. There were pieces to this that he didn’t have, and it was bothering him a great deal.

“Regardless,” the earl said, looking now to the brigadier, “it appears that a new search needs to be organized.” Maniple was already nodding when the batpony interjected.

“Don’t bother. That report’s, what, two days old? Even at a leisurely trot, they’d be over halfway to Canterlot by now, and we all know that’s where they’re headed.” He exchanged looks with the other two members of their conspiracy. “Is there anypony here who honestly thinks Corsair’s heading anywhere else?” Their silent grimaces were answer enough. He then shifted his gaze to Maniple specifically, “And how exactly would we explain the need for a new search? Your soldiers think Corsair was passed off to EIS. If we put the word out that ‘EIS’ lost ponies of interest, that kind of thing is going to get back to the EIS.

“Then Em-Dash is going to start making a lot of inquiries about who it is ‘her’ ponies are supposed to have ‘lost’ and why anypony thought they were in EIS custody to begin with. And that’s going to lead to more questions.” His eyes narrowed at Maniple. “Like why you didn’t actually coordinate with EIS to hoof over Corsair when she was in your custody?

“No. We can’t organize another search. But we don’t really need to. We know she’s coming here. We can just put the Canterlot Guard on alert. They won’t know about anything the Frontier Corps got up to,” Nocturne pointed out. “But we need to make sure that if the guard catches her, she doesn’t make it into EIS hooves or, Luna forbid, gets in front of the princesses!

“So give the Canterlot Guard my name as a point of contact. At least then they’ll think she’s being given to EIS.”

“I presume you’ll be arranging for another of your teams to be in the city by then?” Alabaster asked.

“Fuck that,” he said with a dismissive wave of his wing. “We’re well into ‘if you want something done right’ territory here. I’ll nix ‘em. I’ll arrange for a new delivery location and meet the guards there myself. That way nothing gets fucked up. Again.” Nocturne cast a none-too-subtle look in the general’s direction, earning an offended snort from the earth pony.

“Very well, that shouldn’t be too troublesome to arrange, I would think,” the earl said, somewhat relieved that a new plan of action had been put together so swiftly. “I’ll leave these matters in your hooves,” he nodded at the batpony.

Nocturne turned his attention towards the general one last time. “Hey, Manny, go ahead and have the personnel files for these ponies of yours sent over to my office. You’ve had us both believing these soldiers of yours were perfect patsies, but they’re obviously more capable than the average pot-head or they’d have been dead a while ago.”

“As far as I know, there’s nothing special about them,” General Maniple grumbled, “but fine. I’ll have their records sent over.”

The Earl of Bitter Creek took a slow breath and let it out, his gaze darting between the other two stallions in the room. “Very well. While matters aren’t quite as ‘resolved’ as we had all hoped, at least we have a plan in place moving forward. On that note: General,” he focused on Maniple now, “what news of the Saddle Arabian force inside Equestria’s borders? I was under the impression that the battle we had arranged should have occurred by now, but I haven’t seen any reports…?”

Though it was Maniple that he’d sought an answer from, it was Nocturne who responded with a derisive snort. “Reconnoiter’s playing ‘grab-flank’ with the horses,” he spat. “Caught sight of how many Arabians there were and turned her army around in record time. She’s been on the run for the last two days.”

The unicorn frowned. “From what I was led to believe about the general, that sounds like a surprising level of cowardice.”

“It’s not ‘cowardice’ to realize that charging headlong into the better part of three-to-one odds is anything other than suicide,” the earth pony brigadier chimed in, likely only defending his fellow general officer out of a sense of professional obligation more than anything else. Beside him, even the batpony was forced to nod in reluctant agreement. “She’s stalling for time.”

“She’s hoping for reinforcements,” Alabaster concluded, though this only earned a shrug from the general.

“It’s possible," the general said, "but Reconnoiter would know she can’t keep away from the Arabians long enough to get any support. The nearest garrisons are days away, and even if they were notified the moment the real numbers of the Arabian army became known, it’d take them too long to mobilize and reach her. More likely, she’s hoping to find some favorable terrain that’ll give her a shot at surviving.”

“Is that a possibility?” Alabaster asked, noticing that his forehoof was nervously tapping on his desk now. “Could she actually win?” Such an outcome would not help his plan, the earl knew. He was very much counting on being able to point to a tragedy that could be used to whip up public fervor in favor of warring with the Saddle Arabians. A ‘Gallopoli’ of Equestria’s own that would galvanize the common pony. With the ‘unprovoked’ slaughter of thousands of the princedom’s brave defenders by hostile invaders, the nation would be irrevocably set on the pathway towards war.

On the other hoof, if the Equestrians actually managed to somehow win that first battle…

“It’s possible, but not realistic,” was Maniple’s dismissive response.

“Eh, this’ll probably be a better narrative for you anyway, Al,” the batpony stallion offered, once more flashing a fanged smile. “Reconnoiter can be painted as this general who was giving the Arabians every possible chance to break off and go back home, but they just...wouldn’t...take it...” Those last words were pumped full of feigned and exaggerated remorse that it was clear from the stallion’s brightly dancing eyes that he wasn’t actually feeling. “Those brutish and violent horses just wanted a fight—wanted to kill ponies!

“Clearly their race and society are just fundamentally incompatible with Equestrian Harmony,” the batpony’s fanged grin was predatory now. “Why, we’d be doing the whole world a favor by getting rid of them…wouldn’t we?”

“Quite.”

Alabaster Fetlock kept his own features neutral as he delivered his curt response to the batpony stallion. The unicorn’s gaze darted briefly towards the brigadier sitting by the operative, noting the earth pony’s own growing unease. Unlike their leathery-winged compatriot, neither the general, not the earl himself, particularly relished the thought of civilian deaths—even those of the horses. Indeed, the earl seriously doubted that any sort of genuine ‘extermination’ campaign would ever receive the condonation of the Princesses. Nor was that his goal in all of this.

For the earl, it was enough that the Saddle Arabians forfeit their sovereignty to Equestria, giving the princedom unfettered access to the horses’ land and resources. It would give ponies more room to grow and expand, while preempting the sort of issues which led to the confrontation between Apploosan settlers and the buffalo that could have ended in catastrophe, and was only averted thanks to the intervention of the Princess of Friendship and her friends; though she had not been such at the time.

As detestable as Operative Nocturne was as an individual, the batpony was useful to the earl’s plans, and so he tolerated him. If that ever changed…

Well, it wasn’t like Alabaster didn’t have contingencies to deal with threats to his plans.

“In any case, I suppose that there is little more we can do on that front than wait. In the meantime, we have a plan in place to deal with the good Captain Corsair. If there is nothing else pressing?” The unicorn paused and glanced between the other two stallions, both of whom shook their heads in response. “Then I bid the two of you a ‘good day’.” All three of them stood up from the desk. The earl reached out with his telekinesis for the parchment that was now thoroughly dry and rolled it up neatly at his side. “As for myself, I have an appointment to deliver the latest message from the Saddle Arabian Embassy to Their Majesties…”

It was all the minister could do not to smile.

The last fleeting bands of orange light were fading from the sky as Brigadier General Reconnoiter stared west from her perch upon the hill. Luna’s starry night was just beginning to dominate the heavens, but the unicorn’s eyes were focused intently on a very different collection of dim lights. Lights that were more terrestrial in origin, and far more ominous in their appearance.

The distant flames of a thousand small fires glowed in the waning twilight. It was too far away to be able to make out the forms of the Saddle Arabian horses walking between them, but Reconnoiter knew they were there too. According to Major Phlox’s scouts, the better part of ten thousand horses were encamped on the other side of the river, only a few miles away from her own forces. She’d received the reports of a few scattered skirmishes between pickets that had bumped into each other that evening—to the total surprise of both sides most often.

A dozen or so injuries had been reported, none particularly severe. Nothing suggested that any of the Arabian pickets had suffered losses in the encounters either. None of those had been anything close to ‘pitched engagements’ though. The probing groups on both sides had been far more interested in disengaging and reporting back what they’d seen than trying for a decisive fight. Haphazardly thrust lances and partisan arrow shots. Probably with very little deliberately lethal intent behind them either.

It was one thing to impale a haystack dummy while charging with a couched lance. Dummies didn’t bleed, or scream, or lock their eyes with yours in wide open desperation as they looked their own mortality in the face. Dummies didn’t make you flinch away as you saw within them your own terror mirrored back at you.

Reconnoiter would be genuinely surprised if there were even a hundred ponies in her whole command that had ever taken the life of a sapient creature in combat. It had been over a century since the last time the Equestrian Cavalry had met an enemy in the field in force; a couple expeditionary regiments shipped off to stomp out the last of the pirating Barkary States. There was an occasional deployment of an Equestrian battalion or line company to a friendly nation to aid with stability efforts, but nothing particularly serious. The general was willing to wager that she was the most ‘bloodied’ of any mare or stallion in her brigade, and she’d only been in two fights: one barely-skirmish and one bona fide battle.

It wouldn’t be like that in the morning though. In a little over twelve hours, unless something unprecedented happened—like an outbreak of sanity—the shallow ford between the two encamped armies would be running red with the blood of horse and pony alike.

Her subordinate commanders had all assured her that, despite the harried pace the army had maintained for the past two days, her soldiers were fit, fired up, and ready for the fight. It was early enough in the evening that Reconnoiter could hear boisterous chatter coming from her encamped force. Members of her cavalry recounting past exploits that didn’t happen the way they were telling them and promising to stack the bodies of their foes all the way up to Celestia’s Sun; without entertaining even a moment’s thought that they might be among those who were the first to fall in the battle’s opening moments. It was the height of self-delusion.

It was also an essential mindset for her soldiers to have, lest they hesitate in the morning and make those fears of dying a reality.

Reconnoiter’s ear flickered at the subtle rustling of wings behind her, followed closely by the crunching of grass under steel-shod hooves. The unicorn glanced back and nodded in greeting at the familiar pegasus stallion who had just touched down. “Drafty.”

The armored flier removed his helmet, revealing a wry smile on his lips as the general’s use of the nickname she reserved for her aide-de-camp when she expected him to bring her bad news. In fairness to the eggshell pegasus stallion, that was usually the case. Mostly because other officers tended to like to use him as their conduit for delivering bad news to the general. After all, if somepony was going to risk upsetting ‘The Old Mare’, it might as well be a pony that she actually liked.

“It would probably straighten out Colonel Dandy’s mustache if I told him you were alone outside the perimeter,” the stallion remarked in a casual tone as he closed the rest of the distance between him and the older unicorn.

Reconnoiter let out a chuckle at the thought. Then she nodded her horn in the direction of the nearby tree line behind them. “What do you want to bet that Phlox doesn’t have a whole squad of her batponies out there watching me right now?”

“Sucker bet,” the pegasus officer agreed. He fished a wing into his saddlebag and withdrew a thin folder of paper, holding it out to the general. “Courier just made it back from Canterlot. Says this is everything our ponies know about the horse leading that army.” his other wing waved out towards the distant field of firelights.

Her lips were already pulled in a thin line as the faded blue mare took the file in her magic, floating it over in front of her and opening it. It contained two pieces of paper. “I wasn’t expecting a door-stopping biography,” she muttered under her breath, “but two fucking pages? Really?” She let out a resigned sigh but began reading through the sparse documents by the light of her horn.

“We’re probably lucky to have that much. It’s not like we have a detailed file on every officer in the Arabian cavalry,” the pegasus pointed out, earning a conceding grunt from the general.

“There’s a lot of blank space on these pages too,” Reconnoiter noted with an annoyed huff. “His ‘biography’ doesn’t tell me much,” she said as she shuffled the pages, “let’s see about his service his—oh.” The mare’s brows rose in mild surprise. Before the stallion beside her could open his mouth, she looked over at him. “How sure is Canterlot about the accuracy of this information?”

The question her aide-de-camp had been about to ask died a quick death in the wake of his stuttering response. “I-I couldn’t tell you, ma’am. We told Canterlot who was leading the Arabian force, and that’s what they sent back,” he motioned to the floating pages with a helpless shrug of his wing. “It’s either accurate or it’s not.

“Why?”

“Because this says he was in Maregypt twenty-five years ago.” Reconnoiter levitated a page in front of the pegasus, the glow of her magic allowing the stallion to read over the known service history of Miralay Qasam.

The general’s aid squinted his eyes in thought. “The Arabian Revolt?”

The unicorn let out an amused grunt as she took the paper back. “I bet Qasam knows it as: ‘The War for Hayjaz Liberation’, or something like that,” she retorted lightly with a small smile. “There was a horse minority in the old Ottomare Empire,” she began to explain to the stallion. “They started making a real ruckus thirty-odd years ago; but it came to a head in 979 when the horses took up arms.

“Of course, Equestria is and was an ally of the Empire, and we’re all about that ‘better together' Harmony stuff, so when the Ottomares asked for our help keeping their empire from fracturing…” Reconnoiter shrugged. “Meanwhile, the horses reached out to their long-legged cousins in Saddle Arabia for help getting their independence.

“The ‘war’, or ‘revolt’, or whatever you want to call it, didn’t last long. There wasn’t really a lot of opposition among the Ottomare ponies to allowing the horses to ‘go their own way’, as it were. I think there were only three or four major battles worth talking about. The Ottomares won the first, the horses won the rest. Soon enough the papers were being signed giving the horses there their own country.”

The general flashed a smirk at her aide-de-camp. “Give you three guesses which battle I was a part of. Course, I was just a snot-nosed, fresh-out-of-the-academy, lieutenant back then; so I wasn’t exactly calling any of the shots. Just had to get my ponies where I was told to without getting them all killed along the way.

“Must have been the exception that proved the rule, because I managed to get my whole platoon to the fight without getting too lost." There was a wink from the general to go along with her nostalgic smile. Then her expression turned a bit more melancholy. "Even got most of them out the other side alive; by the grace of Celestia...

“Got a medal out of it. And a coffee cup. Could give a flea’s fart where the medal is, but I kept the cup!” The unicorn beamed at the stallion now. Reconnoiter’s face briefly lost its wrinkles and regained a little of its youthful luster as her thoughts turned towards those early years of her career. Before the tedium and political jockeying of the higher officer ranks had ground her down.

It was a fleeting moment of levity though, and soon enough the old mare was looking back in the direction of the enemy camp, her features again dull and worn. “I wonder which battle he was in…?” She finally floated the papers back into the unmarked folder and returned them to the pegasus stallion.

“Thank you, Downdraft. Not sure if it'll make a difference but…it’s something for me to think on anyway.”

The captain nodded and tucked the file back into his saddlebag with a wing. “Any additional orders for the night, ma’am?”

“Not really, no. We’ve planned about as well as we can. All we can really do now is wait until morning…and hope.”

“Fork coming up in the road.” A batpony mare known to the ponies around her now as Rein Doe announced from her perch upon the back of a dappled stallion she was presently comfortably draped over. “There’s a sign: ‘Canterlot, Twenty miles’. It’s pointing right.”

“Twenty miles, huh?” Cravat huffed from beneath her, rolling his neck in the harness which affixed him to the wagon in an effort to get it to lay more comfortably across his withers. It was a futile effort, and the dappled earth pony found himself wondering if it was even actually possible for the leather straps to lay ‘comfortably’ across a pony’s body. His ‘passenger’ wasn’t helping matters either. “That’s what? Five more hours then?” He fully acknowledged the hopeful note in his voice.

“Six at the rate you’re going, corporal,” the older emerald mare harnessed on the other side of the wagon’s tongue chided him lightly.

Though not strictly of the same pony type, crystal ponies were built similarly enough to earth ponies as to make the first sergeant and the company’s medic the two most suited for pulling the wagon they’d acquired back at Trotter’s Bend. They’d been pretty low on available candidates besides. The batpony and Arabian colt had been right out, on account of still mostly recovering from their injuries. Autumn Brisk was a no-brainer on not pulling the wagon—she could barely carry her own weight over a substantial distance without laming herself. Captain Corsair served the group best by keeping a lookout in the sky. Flashover could have pulled the wagon competently enough, but their pegasus commander had decided that, if it did happen that their group was attacked—be it by the authorities or even just a passing bugbear—it was best to have the unicorn ready to respond unhindered.

So it was that the group’s draft team consisted of a thousand-year-old mare and a quasi-noble stallion. With the batpony serving to guide them through the night’s darkness.

“Apologies, first sergeant,” Cravat responded, casting her an aside glance. “My ‘saddle blanket’ is a little heavier than I’m used to.” He jerked his head in the direction of his all-too-comfortably-lounging passenger.

“Aren’t you medic types supposed to be able to carry a wounded pony around without a problem?” the leather-winged mare quipped back in a playful tone.

“The standard in training was a hundred yards,” Cravat informed her dryly. “That came and went thirty miles ago.”

“We’re pulling about half a ton of wagon behind us,” Shillelagh said, as though the medic was somehow unaware of that fact and needed reminding. “The weight of one pony on your back shouldn’t make that much of a difference.” She briefly eyed the batpony. “If she’s too heavy, then maybe you should have kept a closer eye on how much you were feeding her.”

“I don’t think that’s how pulling things verses carrying stuff works, but I also don’t remember enough of my kinesiology lectures to fight you on it,” the stallion admitted. “Or physics, for that matter,” he added after a moment’s thought. There was a much longer pause, and then, “And I’m not going to comment at all on how much the mare with fangs in biting range of my neck weighs.”

“They’re called ‘curves’ and all healthy mares have them,” the batpony affirmed.

“And some very healthy curves they are!” Flashover chimed in from where he was seated at the front of the wagon, earning a glance from the three ponies ahead of him.

“It’s pitch black out,” Cravat noted, only barely able to make out the wagon and unicorn behind him in the darkness himself. “How much can you possibly see from there?”

“The moon pokes out every now and then,” the younger stallion defended. As though to further illustrate his point, a sliver of moonlight emerged from behind the cloud cover long enough to briefly bathe them in soft, pale light. It was enough illumination for Cravat to see that his friend was grinning while looking at his and the batpony’s backsides.

Rein Doe’s tail whipped dismissively at the unicorn.

“Actually,” Flashover went on, “I’ve gotta say: I think you’ve just unlocked a new fetish for me, Doc!”

“Stacked flanks?”

“...Okay, make that two new fetishes.” The dappled stallion just snorted and shook his head. While she kept her reaction quieter, the medic could feel the mare’s belly quivering with a suppressed chuckle of her own. “But I was actually going to say: harnesses. I never really got that whole thing before, but the way that breaching strap’s hugging your flank has awakened something in me, I think…”

"Why is it my strapped flank you've been eyeing?" Cravat asked in a slightly bemused tone.

His brain arrived at the obvious conclusion at the same time that Flashover provided his answer. "Because I'm not actually dumb enough to think ogling Top's flanks ends well for me," the unicorn deadpanned.

"I see you brought both your brain cells this time, private," the crystalline noncom said in a flat tone. "Too bad there wasn't any room left up there for your shame,” Shillelagh cast a dour look over her shoulder at the orange stallion.

“With respect, first sergeant; I didn’t recall seeing ‘shame’ on the packing list for this mission.”

“How about your noise discipline?”

All four ponies briefly jerked before looking up to see the backlit dark shape of a pegasus hovering above them. It wasn’t possible to actually see her expression, but Corporal Cravat could feel his commander’s glower. “I could hear you all the way up in the cloud layer!” She hissed, drawing winces from all ponies concerned, even the senior noncom.

“Sorry ma’am,” Flashover said in a deferential tone, “just trying to play the part of innocuous civilians out on the road.”

“Point one: ‘innocuous civilians’ don’t travel at night in the first place,” Corsair countered. “Only two kinds of ponies would be out here like this: batponies and smugglers, and batponies would be in the air with a skycart.” From atop his back, Cravat felt their resident batpony shrug her wings in acknowledgement of the pegasus mare’s valid point. “And as we are basically ‘smugglers’—seeing as we’re trying to smuggle ourselves into Canterlot—we should act the part and stay quiet!” It was impressive how much force the mare was able to put behind a mere whisper.

“Point two,” she went on after a brief pause, “is that even ‘innocuous civilians’ who were reckless enough to travel at night would know that there’re more dangerous things that guardponies out on the roads at night,” their commander reminded them. “I just got back from bucking in the beak of an owlbear that was stalking you. We've managed to survive two murder attempts. Can we not die by getting eaten by an ursa in the home stretch, please?”

A chorus of “yes, ma’ams” answered the pegasus, who seemed to be modified by the response. Corsair swooped down into a trot beside her senior noncom and, though she spoke in a hushed tone, Cravat was able to overhear her.

“Top, when we get within sight of Canterlot, I want to run some ideas by you on how to get in. I think I know how we can get word out about Gallopoli and the conspiracy without risking going to the wrong pony first.”

The crystal mare issued a noncommittal grunt but otherwise didn’t say anything in response. One of the biggest questions that their group had been mulling over when they finally arrived at Canterlot was: who did they speak to? None of them, not even ‘Rein Doe’, was confident in saying that they knew everypony who was involved in the conspiracy that they’d been swept up in. But some of the names that they did know made it clear that there were ponies high up in the government who knew about it, across multiple departments.

That meant that it was risky to tell anypony, because there was the possibility of them ending up going to another pony who was in on the conspiracy. While none of them wanted to believe that the Equestrian government was saturated with corrupt individuals like that, all it would take is for them guessing wrong one time to likely get them all killed and keep the secret they knew from getting out. Whoever they spoke to, they had to be certain, beyond any possibility of doubt, that that individual wasn’t a part of this.

Unfortunately, that list of ponies was very short, and involved the ponies at the absolutely highest levels of the Equestrian government. Individuals whom ponies like them weren’t in a position to just ‘drop in on’ on a whim. Not without first going through a lot of layers of bureaucracy to get that far in the first place. And every layer they tried to pass through could wind up being a layer that was intent on stopping them from advancing further…permanently.

So far as the medic knew, none of them had come up with a reliable way to get one of them, or their star witnesses, to those upper echelons of governance without risking running afoul of a member of the conspiracy.

“Doe,” the pegasus said in a slightly louder tone, drawing the batpony mare’s surprised attention, “I’ll need your input on this too.”

“Me? How can I help?”

“I’m hoping you can tell me,” the pegasus said. “How easily can you get a face-to-face with the EIS Director?”

“In an official capacity?” The batpony mare asked in a dubious tone before letting out a dismissive snort. “I’d have an easier time getting an audience with Princess Luna; at least she holds a public Night Court.” Even in the darkness, it was possible to see Corsair’s disappointed grimace. Then Rein added through a smirk, “unofficially…I might know how to casually ‘bump into’ her around Canterlot.”

“How reliably?" The pegasus was trying not to sound too hopeful. "Could you manage to do that any time?”

The batpony shrugged. “As long as Em-Dash is in the city I can pull it off eventually, sure. Maybe not in the first five minutes or anything like that,” she tacked on by way of a qualifier. “Why?”

“Because I’m betting on the director of the EIS not being in on this whole thing,” Corsair explained. “Otherwise those probably would have been EIS agents waiting for us in that barn,” she pointed out, to which the batpony on Cravat’s back nodded in agreement.

“I’m going to want to have a talk with you too, Cravat.”

“What about, ma’am?”

“I need you to give me a crash course on noble-ology, or whatever,” Corsair said. “How the whole Peerage thing works with the Noble Stable.”

“Umm…okay?” It seemed that the pegasus had nothing more to add and jumped back into the air to resume her lookout duties, leaving the dappled stallion to puzzle over his commander’s reasons for wanting that knowledge. A possibility that crossed his mind caused him to grimace. “I really hope her plan isn’t to pose as a random noble and just walk into the Noble Stable while they’re in session,” he muttered.

“Why not?” the batpony on his back asked.

“Because that won't work,” Cravat answered simply. “Even I couldn’t do that, and I actually am a noble. Technically. You have to be led and shod first.”

“Leaden shod?” Rein snorted. “That’s a heck of a dress code requirement for a bunch of prissy nobles. I bet if you put lead horseshoes on the envoy back there,” the batpony mare’s wing shot in the direction of the wagon where Autumn Brisk was currently sleeping, “you’d root her in place.”

“No,” the stallion shook his head, “led and shod. It’s a term for being sponsored and accepted into the Stable. Not every noble is a part of the legislature. And you can’t just show up and expect them to let you in just because you’re a Peer either. It’s not the fillyscouts. Only an already shod peer can be a sponsor.

“So if part of the commander’s plan is to put on a fancy cloak and pretend to be Viscount Vought Corsair of Cirruscuse—or wherever—that’s not going to work. She won’t make it in the door.”

“Hmm.” The batpony frowned and returned her eyes forward. “We’re at the turn. Veer right.”

Cravat grunted and shrugged his shoulders again in an effort to relieve the tension in his withers as he leaned into the straps for the turn. They passed under another thin band of moonlight that poked out through a break in the clouds. An instant later, the weight on his back from his passenger was completely gone. At the same moment, he heard an incredulous sputter from beside him that drew his attention.

Rein Doe was now draped languidly over Shillelagh’s back, much to the crystal mare’s surprise—and more than a little noticeable annoyance. The batpony didn’t flinch away as the senior noncom turned her head to glare balefully at the interloper. Indeed, she merely flashed a broad, toothy smile. “What’s the matter? You’re already pulling half a ton of wagon,” the bat-winged mare chided her new mount, “the weight of one little mare on your back shouldn’t make a difference, right?”

First Sergeant Shillelagh snorted hard in the batpony’s face, prompting Rein to wince away and use her wing to make an exaggerated motion of wafting foul breath away from her, but said nothing. Instead, the crystal mare simply looked ahead once more and leaned into the harness straps as she pulled the wagon.

Once they were back on a straight heading, Cravat looked once more between his back at the first sergeant’s. “How’d you do that?”

“Batpony magic,” came the unabashed reply.

“Batpony’s don’t have magic.”

“Says the earth pony, without a hint of irony,” Rein rolled her eyes, but kept an easy smile on her muzzle.

Cravat frowned and then turned his head back to look at Flashover. “How’d she do that?”

Unfortunately, the unicorn stallion was of little help. “I’unno! She was on your back one moment and then on Top’s the next! I didn’t even blink or nothin’...” He offered up a helpless shrug. “She just…teleported.”

“Teleporting is unicorn magic,” the batpony countered. “I shifted. Moved from one moonshadow to another.”

“Batponies can’t do that,” Shillelagh challenged, clearly intending to call the mare’s bluff. “I’ve known plenty of batponies, from back before The Nightmare Rebellion even, none of them could do that.”

“Most can’t,” the batpony acknowledged, otherwise not seeming to be phased by the crystal mare’s statement. “Just like how most unicorns can’t teleport. Some of the more powerful or skilled ones can though. It’s the same with batponies shifting through moonshadow.”

She turned her head upwards and looked around. As the ponies walked, the moon fully emerged from behind a cloud bank. As the light spilled across the pair of ponies pulling the wagon and the crystal noncom’s passenger…the batpony vanished.

—Only to manifest seemingly out of thin air, without so much as a flicker of magical light or sound, right next to Flashover. The orange unicorn was able to modulate his yelp of surprise to a much lower register about halfway through. He also somehow managed to not jump all of the way off the wagon.

“Relax, I don’t bite.” The mare bared her fangs at the stallion. “For free.”

“...That’s pretty cool,” Flashover admitted when he once more trusted his voice not to crack. “Scary as fuck, but cool.”

“I’m going to assume that there’s a reason you can’t just teleport all the way to Canterlot tonight?” The medic asked.

“Shift,” the batpony corrected insistently before providing a real answer to the earth pony’s question. “Range and effort. Some of the really skilled shifters can move anywhere within line-of-sight. I’m pretty middling. Can only go a dozen paces or so.” A satisfied smirk crossed her muzzle. “Nocturne can’t manage more than a few body lengths.” Then her expression instantly soured at the thought of the stallion, her fangs baring in a sneer.

“Still pretty cool,” Flashover offered.

“Thank you, Flashy.” The batpony mare stood up and turned around on the seat, stepping into the dark interior of the wagon. A heartbeat later Shillelagh let out a surprised gasp. Cravat looked over in time to see a dark shape hoisting itself up over the crystal mare’s barrel into the moonlight. The batpony’s face was pinched in a pained wince as she heaved herself up onto the mare’s back, collapsing upon it with a groan. Her wing was idly massaging the still healing wound on her side. “Ouch.”

“So fucking cool,” Flashover murmured from the wagon.

“‘Shifting’ is now also officially contraindicated,” the dappled medic quipped beside her, earning an eyeroll from the batpony.

“Talking is officially ‘contraindicated’ now too!” Came a severe hiss from above. The ears of every ground-bound pony reflexively pinned back as they winced at the clear frustration in Captain Corsair’s voice. “Not another word until sunup; is that understood?!”

Cravat shared a silent look with the crystal mare beside him and was slightly reassured that even the senior noncom looked unsure whether they were supposed to verbally acknowledge their commander or not. It was a question that appeared to plague everypony’s mind, as even Flashover kept his lips clamped shut against any possible sarcastic remarks that might occur to him. Fortunately, their collective silence seemed to satisfy the cobalt pegasus, as she said nothing further to any of them on the matter either.

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading! As always, a thumbs up and comment are always greatly appreciated :twilightblush:

I've set up a Cover Art Fund if you're interested and have any bits lying around!

Chapter xv

Saddlesbury,

Western Equestria

Some ponies would tell you that nopony can yell louder than an alicorn wielding the Royal Canterlot Voice. Those ponies had clearly never heard a sergeant major forming battle lines.

“MUSTER UP! MUSTER UP! Let’s go, fillies!”

Nutmeg winced slightly as she heard the call of her battalion’s senior noncom ringing out through the camp. Her hooves, which had already been struggling a fair bit in their efforts to secure the last few pieces of her barding, became even more enfeebled in their efforts to manipulate the gardbrace that seemed intent on fighting her with every fiber of its being. In a somewhat ironic—to her mind—twist, the additional flange built into it which served as a neck guard was making it rather awkward for the brown cataphract to get her head around it and use her teeth to help tighten the strap. She let out another string of muttered curses as the segment of armor continued to thwart her.

A purple head wearing a steel helmet that covered nearly the entirety of her face and muzzle poked into the tent, what was visible of the the newly arrived mare’s expression appearing equal parts exasperated and unsurprised. “For fuck’s sake, Nutmeg; hurry up! Of all the formations to ever be late for, this is not the one!”

“I know, I know,” the struggling pony mumbled around the strap in her mouth. “I just can’t seem to get this—” The leather buckle slipped from her teeth as she was giving her excuse and the whole piece of armor slipped free and fell to the ground. Again. “Aagh! Violet, a little help?”

“For fuck’s sake,” The purple let out a resigned sigh. “One of these days you’re going to have to learn to dress yourself; because I’m not always going to be around to do it for you.” She stepped the rest of the way into the small tent, fully armored in her own barding, though she’d elected to leave her lance outside.

While Violet was actually a couple years younger than her brown comrade, she stood a whole head taller than the other mare and had been in the cavalry for a good bit longer. As a result, the broad purple pony tended to behave in a way that was evocative of being the other’s adoptive older sister. It wasn’t a view that Nutmeg particularly resented—and moments like this one, where she needed the bigger pony’s help to get her barding on, made it hard for her to deny the parallels in their dynamic.

“Yeah, yeah…” She picked up the gardbrace and did her best to hold it in place with her hoof so that the larger mare could attach it.

Violet spent a few moments looking first at the dangling straps of the gardbrace, and then at the form-fitting steel-plates which already covered her friend’s withers before saying, “no wonder you’re struggling: you buckled the straps in the wrong order.” She brushed her armored hoof over an exposed strap that wasn’t supposed to be exposed. “This one should have been done later. We’d have to undo half of this to get it on.”

Her ear flickered as the sergeant major yelling outside the tent managed to somehow rise a few more decibels. “We don’t have time to fix it,” the purple pony declared. She batted the shoulder piece out of the other mare’s grasp, sending it clattering into a nearby bedroll. “Just forget it and grab your lance!”

The smaller brown mare, who had also winced slightly as she heard the additional yelling, only spared one last furtive look at the shoulder piece before deciding that her friend was right and that there just wasn’t enough time to attach it. She snapped up her helmet in her hooves and slipped it on over her head. She peered around the floor of the tent for a few more seconds with her newly limited field of view before finally finding her lance and collecting it in her mouth and following Violet outside. Once free of the confines of the tent, Nutmeg swung the lance upright and craned her neck to slip it into the brace on her right side. She gave her barrel a little shake, her eyes watching the sharp steel-capped blade at the top as it jiggled but didn’t fall forward. Beside her, Violet had secured and readied her own weapon.

“WHY AREN’T YOU WITH YOUR SECTIONS?!”

Neither mare wasted even the second it would have taken to confirm that the two of them were the ‘fillies’ in question that the sergeant major was yelling about and took off at a gallop towards where their regiment was forming up before moving out to the battle lines proper. If there was any consolation to be had, it was that the pair didn’t look to—quite—be the last ponies making their way out of the collection of tents. However, they were most certainly among the last to come cantering up to the broad rectangular formation of heavily armored ponies. They fell wordlessly into place in the formation, pretending not to notice the critical look they received from their own squad sergeant who was probably going to have a word for the two of them about their tardiness later on in the day.

If we even survive the day, the poisonous thought couldn’t be kept from flickering through Nutmeg’s mind.

It wasn’t any kind of secret by now that the horses outnumbered them by more than double. That wasn’t an ideal situation to be in under any conditions, but it was a problem that was further exacerbated by the fact that they—ponies—would be going up against horses.

Nutmeg had never met one before herself. All she had to go on were the descriptions she got from her follow cavarlymares. Even factoring in the typical grunt’s penchant for exaggeration, it was clear to the brown mare by now that the smallest adult Saddle Arabian stood head and shoulders above even larger mares like Violet. The prospect of charging at a creature twice her size was…daunting, to say the least. She was thankful that she wasn’t going to have to do it alone.

There were a few ponies in the regiment who had relatives who’d fought in Maregypt during The Arabian Revolt. Intellectually, Nutmeg knew that everything that they’d been saying for the past few days was second-hoof and especially prone to being exaggerated. However, that didn’t mean that there weren’t also little kernels of truth to some of those stories. And the horses had won the war in the end.

The little brown mare’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of somepony yelling. Though it was somewhat difficult to make out the exact words through her helmet, combined with the great distance, Nutmeg recognized the inflection as being a preparatory command of some sort. A heartbeat later, the mare heard the captain in charge of her company echo the command: “Forward…!”

There was only one possible order which could have followed that word and so when the less than clear shout once more came from the front of the formation, Nutmeg and every other pony around her stepped forward with her left forehoof. The air around her filled with the sound of heavy steel-shod horseshoes striking the ground and the clattering of armored plates rubbing against each other over moving bodies.

She could feel her anxiety slowly rising with every step. They were marching into battle. The enemy was bigger than they were. There were a lot more of them too. All of the officers and more senior noncoms had voiced nothing but confidence in the outcome of the fight, certain of an Equestrian victory. Their commanding general was a veteran of The Arabian Revolt. She’d been an officer in the Battle of the Dunes, the only pony victory in that war. If anypony knew how to beat horses in a fight, it was her.

Nutmeg wanted to trust that the general knew what she was doing. She wanted to share the confidence of the ponies over her. She didn’t want to be afraid she was going to die.

She didn’t want to be…

…But she was.

Brigadier General Reconnoiter of the Twenty-Second Chargers stood at the front of her army with her pegasus aide-de-camp, a few pegasus couriers for passing orders to her subordinate officers, and the better part of a full platoon of cataphracts ‘on loan’ from Colonel Dandy. “To cover you during the fighting, ma’am.” Is what the mustache had insisted they were there for officially.

To carry my sorry flank out of here the moment the battle turns, is what he really meant, the powder blue unicorn mare thought ruefully. It hardly seemed like a coincidence to the general that a few members of her new retinue were wearing noticeably stripped-down sets of barding that were considerably lighted than what a true line cataphract would be wearing. The second it was clear that her forces were going to break, those ponies were going to grab her and run.

Reconnoiter hadn’t decided yet on how fiercely she would fight them in order to stay. Rationality was still warring with her sense of personal honor and pride. There wasn’t a clear victor yet.

The unicorn diverted herself from those thoughts by focusing on what lay ahead of her across the river. The sight of ten thousand armored horses was an intimidating one, even at this distance. If there was one saving grace to be had, it was that there wasn’t a way for the Saddle Arabian commander to commit that full number to a singular attack and simply wash over her own smaller force. Both of them knew it too. There was a reason that the two opposing armies were standing along this section of riverbank. It was the same reason that there hadn’t been a bridge built nearby until just a few decades ago when the local provincial government found itself with some extra money in their infrastructure budget: there was a ford here.

The Tame River was one of the larger ones in western Equestria, in terms of length anyway. It wasn’t particularly broad, for a river. At most points anyway. It was fairly deep though. Except for a few places where the terrain allowed for the river’s banks to broaden out considerably, with its depth decreasing accordingly to the point that a pony could walk through the modestly flowing water without getting much more than their fetlocks wet. That traversability only existed for a couple hundred meters though. Beyond that, the river got much deeper, and started flowing much faster. While an enterprising pony could manage to swim across if they really wanted to beyond the ford proper, such a prospect was far less easily accomplished in full metal barding.

So, while she or the Saddle Arabians would be able to walk—or even charge—their forces across this section of river without too much trouble, it presented both sides with a narrow front. It actually allowed Reconnoiter to turn the smaller stature of her ponies into something of an advantage. With both armies being constrained to the same frontage for their forces, the side with the least bulky soldiers would be able to place a numerically greater number of them at the front at any one time. So while her army would be going up against bigger horses, the Saddle Arabians would be facing more lances.

Whether that would be enough to turn the tide of the fight…

Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

Reconnoiter took a deep breath and let it out. Then she looked over to the pegasus captain next to her. “Ready, Drafty?”

“As I’ll ever be, ma’am,” the stallion flashed his general a sardonic smile as he reached into the saddle bag at his side with a wing and withdrew a small missive and a ribbon. He turned to one of the couriers with their group, a mare—damn near a filly, as far as Reconnoiter judged—and passed her the letter and the pristine strip of white cloth. “Take this across the river to Miralay Qasam, private.”

The pegasus mare had been reaching instinctively for the message, ready to fly off with it and deliver it to its intended recipient, but she immediately balked when she heard who the letter was actually intended for…and where they were. Her ruby red eyes nearly doubled in size as they danced between the parchment and the enemy army. Her lips moved wordlessly as she clearly tried to figure out how to respectfully ask the general and her aide if they had lost their pony-picking minds?!

Reconnoiter tried not to smile in amusement at the sign of the younger pegasus’ distress. She really did. “Relax, private,” the old unicorn said. Her horn began to glow and magic took hold of the offered ribbon, tying it snugly to the courier’s hoof. “It’s called: a Parley. It’s an older custom, but the Saddle Arabians should recognize it.

“They won’t hurt you.”

The courier swallowed back her trepidation and finally took the letter that the captain was holding, stuffing it carefully into the satchel slung across her chest. “Yes, ma’am.” Snapping off a quick salute, the little mare hopped into the air and flew off in the direction of the Saddle Arabian army.

The brigadier spent a few seconds watching the courier leave and then rolled her neck, eliciting a couple of loud pops from the aging joints. “Well, we might as well start down now,” she announced a moment before trotting ahead towards the river. “Group; ahead! Or however that’s supposed to go…” she ordered in a cheerful-sounding tone. It had been a long time since she’d had to issue an order to move soldiers herself.

It took the ponies behind her a moment to recognize that they were advancing and there was a small amount of less-than-professional scampering of hooves as the little detachment surged ahead to catch up with their ward. Eventually they’d reformed themselves into something of a square that surrounded the older armored unicorn general. She rolled her eyes but made no comment. Instead she occupied herself with a casual inspection of the preparations that had been made through the night and the early morning.

As the Arabians were the aggressors who’s objective required that they advance further into Equestrian territory, the Twenty-Second Chargers had been granted the role of ‘defender’ in the upcoming battle. They’d prepared themselves to receive an attack by the horses—which did also allow them another small advantage in the fight—by setting up what few fortifications that they could manage around those units which would benefit the most from them.

The first such preparations that Reconnoiter’s band walked past were the earthworks thrown up around pairs of unicorn casters. The piled mounds of dirt came all the way up to the necks of the horned ponies behind them. While trained cavalry mages were perfectly capable of conjuring shields and defensive wards to protect themselves from sling stone, arrows, bolts, or even other spells, doing so represented a diversion of attention as well as a waste of mana that would be better served for fireballs and lightning bolts. A wall of dirt stopped an enemy arrow just as effectively as a magical barrier and it didn’t require the mage to spend even a fraction of a second’s thought to do it.

Captain Will-O-Wisp commanded a total of ten unicorn batteries, of which each was made up of eleven individual unicorns—ten casters and one spotter. This would provide for at least some level of magical artillery support for her brigade, but objectively wasn’t much when considering what they were up against. Captain Wisp had spread them out along the bank to let them hit the ford from all sides in an effort to maximize their effectiveness. However, at the end of the day, combat magic was inherently mana-intensive magic; and that meant that even a powerful unicorn would burn out fast.

The expected standard for a battery unicorn in the Royal Equestrian Cavalry, was to be able to cast a lethal combat spell at least once every five seconds. A decently powerful unicorn could manage to sustain this rate of casting five minutes before burning out and being lucky to manage even basic telekinesis, for a total of around sixty castings—depending on the destructiveness of the spells being used. If a slower rate of fire was used—say, one every ten seconds—a battery unicorn might manage seventy or eighty spells before hitting their limit. Even that only gave Captain Wisp’s unicorns about ten minutes of stamina.

A battle on the scale that they were looking at facing here today had the potential to last hours.

Reconnoiter would either get intense fire from his batteries during the opening moment’s of the fight, or she could receive a trickle of spells for the duration. Frankly, with the latter option, the efforts of the unicorn casters would hardly even be noticed by the enemy. So she’d settle for the former, hoping that ‘Shock and Awe’ would stifle their initial charges and make it easier for her ponies to withstand those first brutal hits. If her ponies saw that they could stop the Arabians in their tracks, it might give them the confidence they needed to believe that they could actually win. It would keep her lines from breaking too soon.

Because they will break. Eventually. I’ve decided that. But if we can just hurt the horses enough, maybe we can force them to go back home, the unicorn mare reasoned. We can buy time to mobilize a bigger army…

She shook the thought from her head. She didn’t need that right now. Because all of that only came into play if she couldn’t find a way to reach some accord with Qasam. If she failed.

If I fuck up, four thousand ponies—and Celestia knew how many horses—die.

So…don’t fuck up, Rico…

Beyond the entrenched unicorn batteries were the Twenty-Second’s skirmishers: lightly armored earth ponies setting up their bows. There were considerably more archers than there were unicorn casters; a full battalion of four hundred or so. These had been massed into two sections to either side of the ford so that they didn’t have to fire over the armored cataphracts that would be meeting the horses in a melee.

Last, but certainly not least, were the lines of heavily armored cataphracts that stood between the Arabian army…and the rest of Equestria. A bit dramatic there, eh, you old nag? Well, certainly between this river and Camp Legume, the unicorn corrected herself with a suppressed smile.

Reconnoiter and her escort were through their front lines far too quickly. Less than half her army consisted of the heavy cavalry chargers. Depending on what the Arabian’s had in terms of army composition, it was entirely possible that her cataphracts would be outnumbered on the front by as much as four-to-one. Even with the narrowed front keeping the horses from sending more than a certain number at a time at her ponies, it would only be a matter of time before she had no more ponies left to stop them with.

The old unicorn stopped her retinue at the water’s edge. On the far side of the river, she could see her opposite number standing among his own escorts, to include a singular pegasus hovering just overhead. At least, she presumed that was who the stallion was on the other side. It was possible that Qasam had sent a representative instead. Such a thing was technically permissible under the old customs of Parley. She really hoped that hadn’t been the case though, as she had really been banking on getting to try and hash this whole mess out with a creature who understood what was at stake here if it came to blows.

Somecreature who knew the wretched stink of a battlefield the morning after.

She looked out across the shallow water, spying a sandbar that poked out just above the gently flowing surface just about halfway between both banks. That would serve as good a place as any for a meeting. Her horn started to glow, her magic touching the clasps on her fore and hind greaves and releasing them.

“Ma’am?” The head of her ‘escort’ eyed his charge warily.

“Stay here. All of you.” Reconnoiter ordered as she kicked the reinforced and sharpened horseshoes free of her hooves. She saw the protest on the faces of the ponies around her and cut it off. “They’re not going to attack me,” the unicorn assured them. “They’re here to talk.

“You stay here.”

There was no further—voiced—objection to her order, but it was plain that nopony was happy with it. But, as far as the old unicorn was concerned, that was one of the advantages of being a general: you didn’t have to worry about whether or not ponies were ‘happy’ about the orders you gave, so long as those orders were followed. This time it appeared that they would be. They at least let her step out into the water without further comment.

On the opposite bank, as though her own advance had been a signal, Reconnoiter spotted a horse and the pegasus start making their own way across. The flier quickly sped on ahead, the courier pausing by the general long enough to salute and inform her that it truly was Miralay Qasam that was coming to meet her. She looked exceptionally relieved when the unicorn thanked her and sent her to join the rest of her retinue on the riverbank.

Reconnoiter continued on ahead.

This is madness!

The young stallion snorted in frustration, pacing back and forth along the bank where his miralay had bid him to remain. It mystified Chiaus that this whole farce had made it this far. There was no reason at all to talk with the ponies, for there couldn’t be anything that they had to say which was worth listening to. When the pegasus courier had shown up with a message that had not been an offer from the pony commander to surrender their forces, Chiaus had ordered her bound and brought before the miralay.

Qasam had not been happy about that, it turned out. He’d chastised his lieutenant for being ‘disrespectful’ towards the pony. Chastised him again even more harshly when the young lieutenant had suggested that they respond to the pony commander’s offer to talk by sending back only the courier’s head.

“We are not animals, young Chiaus.”

“The ponies who slaughtered our mares and foals in Gallopoli certainly behaved as such!” He had countered with a snarl. “They should be culled like animals!”

He’d been told to stay quiet after that and so watched in simmering silence while Miralay Qasam released the pony courier’s bindings and read her message. That the old stallion had agreed to actually meet with the ponies—!

It could serve no purpose, so far as the younger officer could tell. If the commander of the pony force was not going to offer unconditional surrender of their army, then there was no productive conversation to be had. The ponies were outnumbered and outclassed by the Saddle Arabian force in their lands. The pickets and scouts had reported that no more than four thousand ponies were encamped on the other side of the river, and Chiaus could see plainly now that their reports were correct.

The ponies were doomed. They couldn’t win. So their choice was to either surrender or die. And since the message earlier hadn’t suggested that the ponies were going to offer the former, then there was no need to ‘talk out’ the latter!

This was all just a waste of time.

Chiaus snorted in annoyance once more and continued to pace, eyeing the unicorn standing on the sandbar in the middle of the river. Waiting for the aging miralay to finally acknowledge the ‘truth’ that the rest of the horses here already knew and order them to begin the assault…

Bigger than I remember them being, Reconnoiter thought to herself as she eyed the armored stallion stepping onto the sandbar. She had to crane her head up quite obviously to meet his gaze. To a mare who had gotten used to being the one in the position of power and authority during her dealings with others, the dramatic height difference was a little off-putting. Not that she was a particularly vain individual. It was simply an unusual dynamic for her to experience.

She sat down, which raised her head a few more inches and mitigated how dramatically her neck was turned up.

Then the stallion sat down too. Reconnoiter’s polite smile became slightly strained as she angled her head up higher once more. Oh well.

“I’m Brigadier General Reconnoiter, of Their Majesties’ Royal Cavalry,” she began, “thank you for meeting with me, Miralay Qasam.” The last was said with just the slightest of questioning tones. The dossier she’d gotten back from Canterlot hadn’t included any kind of picture of the stallion, so she was still mostly just sort of assuming that was who had come out here to meet her.

The old stallion shifted for a moment in his armor, grunting and wincing in discomfort before he finally nodded in acknowledgment. The unicorn supposed that he was just as unused to wearing full barding as she was. “Of course, general. Would that our meeting was under better circumstances.” The horse’s eyes darted briefly to the general’s retinue…and then the arrayed forces beyond them.

He looked back at her. His expression was resigned. Almost sad. “I suppose that it would be too much to hope that you are here to offer the surrender of your army?” Nothing in his tone suggested that he held out much hope of that, but the question still needed to be asked. “I promise safe conduct for all of your soldiers. Perhaps even paroles for most of them…”

Reconnoiter’s own eyes darted briefly towards the horses lined up beyond the miralay. There was a fleeting moment where she wasn’t ashamed to admit that she thought about it. The smile she offered to the stallion was apologetic. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, miralay. My orders from Their Majesties are to stop your army ‘at any cost’.

“How likely am I to convince you to go back across the border?” Like the stallion’s in front of her had been, the unicorn mare’s question contained no hint of genuine hope that she’d receive a truly welcome answer.

“My sultan has commanded that I lay siege to Camp Legume. I cannot defy his will.”

Reconnoiter’s ears wilted. It wasn’t news that was truly surprising, of course, but it was still disheartening to have her predictions confirmed. Both of them were bound by their orders…and neither of them could leave here until those orders were carried out to the letter—

The mare blinked.

…Maybe that’s actually not such a bad thing.

Before she let that thought gain too much traction and get her hopes up, only to have them dashed again against the rocks of reality, the unicorn general narrowed her gaze slightly at her counterpart. “...Miralay Qasam, what exactly do your orders say? Why are you heading towards Camp Legume?”

The stallion frowned now, clearly considering quite critically how wise it would be to reveal the specific contents of his orders to the commander of his adversary. Eventually he seemed to conclude that the risk was rather minimal. After all, once his army had crushed the pony force here, who was going to be left to reveal the details of his army's mission to Canterlot?

“We are to encircle the garrison there and pin them,” he finally revealed. “It is to be a show of dominance and strength of arms to compel your princesses to the peace table.”

Reconnoiter suppressed a frown at the latter part of the miralay’s statement. She had no clue why either the ponies or the horses needed to be brought to the ‘peace table’—she didn’t know why they might even be at war! That was a consideration for later, and likely for those far above her anyway. Her foremost concern—here and now—was averting a lot of what she saw as unnecessary bloddshed. On that matter, she finally spied a faint glimmer of hope. She even allowed a hint of a smile to touch her lips.

“Miralay, I think that I may have erred earlier,” she began, earning a raised brow from the horse. “I didn’t introduce myself quite properly, so allow me to try it again.” She held out her hoof towards the stallion. “I’m Brigadier General Reconnoiter, commander of Their Majesties Twenty-Second Chargers…out of Camp Legume.”

Her lips spread into a broader smile as she saw the Arabian commander’s confusion blossom into realization upon hearing those last four words. “We’re the garrison that you’re here to ‘pin’.” The general looked around in an exaggerated fashion between the horses on one side of the river, then her ponies on the other, before flashing the horse a rueful smile. “And I’d say that you’ve done so quite effectively.

“Celestia knows I’m not going anywhere,” she continued, “not with your army set up right there. You’d run me down if I moved,” she noted. “And…I notice that your own army is just sort of...standing around over there. As in: they’re not advancing any further into Equestria.

“It's almost like they’re…stopped. By the presence of my army.” She gave the stallion a knowing look. “I’ve stopped you.”

The old horse’s lip was starting to curl up into a smile of his own as he grasped what the unicorn was trying to accomplish hare...and found himself very much amenable to it. “...And I’ve pinned you,” he observed.

“You have,” Reconnoiter agreed. Her tone became slightly more playful now. She couldn’t help it, she was just feeling too good about having found a way to keep their armies from coming to blows. “I don't usually let stallions ‘pin me’ on first dates.

“I must really like you, miralay.”

The stallion’s eyes widened briefly in surprise, clearly not expecting to hear that sort of crass humor during a negotiation between high-ranking officials over a serious matter such as this. However, he soon let out a chuckle that quickly bubbled over into a deep laugh of his own. It was one that didn’t last long, turning into a few wet coughs that only ended when he finally managed to get himself back under control. He cleared his throat, rubbing his chest briefly before finally reaching out with his own larger hoof and tapping it lightly against the unicorn’s.

“I think I like you too, General Reconnoiter.” There was a faintest hint of strain in the stallion’s tone. He clearly wasn’t fully recovered from his coughing fit. Or whatever had brought it on in the first place.

The mare wasn't paying it much attention though. She was still in too much of a daze at having found a way for the both of them to fulfill their orders to the letter without having to shed any blood. Sure, maybe both of them would get in a lot of trouble over this later when their superiors got word of the deal they'd struck, but that didn’t change the fact that nopony—and nohorse—was going to die today.

“My friends call me: Rico.”

“Qasam.” He cleared his throat again.

“Well, Qasam, I’m really happy you agreed to meet with me,” the unicorn didn’t even try to hide the relief in her voice. Everything was going to be okay. It still barely felt real to her. A giddy laugh escaped her lips, devolving into a loud snort as the next thought occurred to her. “My officers are going to think I’ve spit my bit if I tell them to pull all my ponies back from the river while your horses are still all formed up like this.

“I don’t suppose I can ask you to pull some of your formations back first?” She ventured, still hopeful, but also mentally prepared to hear from the stallion that she was pushing the bounds of what their nascent friendship permitted her to ask from him in terms of favors. “Just a few? To calm my ponies down.”

Qasam was nodding. “I will send a couple of my cohorts back to the camp,” he agreed, wincing and swallowing. His coat was visibly glistening with a light froth. "Then you can—" A ragged breath. "You can pull formations back. I will pull more..."

The unicorn was finally over the most of euphoria and so now was catching on to the stallion’s obvious distress. Her expression furrowed in concern. “...Are you alright? Do you need some help?”

He was already shaking his head in denial. “I am just an old horse,” he assured her unconvincingly, clearly used to fielding questions about his health and brushing those concerns aside. He struggled back up onto his hooves and started to turn around. “There is little that doesn’t hurt these days.” Another stifled cough. “I will go and pull my cohorts back,” he assured her. “Then I will—” a wheezing cough cut him short and he staggered a little on his hooves as he stepped into the water. “—I will rest.

“That is all I need: a little—” More coughing, wetter this time. Spasms that seemed to wrack the old stallion’s whole body. “—A little…res…”

His legs fully gave out from under him.

“Qasam!” Reconnoiter lunged forward, her horn already aglow as she reached out with her telekinesis to catch the falling stallion. She managed to catch the larger stallion in her field and lower him gently to the ground on the sandbar before rushing over to his side. “Qasam, what’s wrong?”

The stallion didn’t respond to her question. He was barely even breathing. Reconnoiter’s mind scrambled as she tried to think of what she was supposed to do. He needs a medic! She had to get him help, and quickly.

Her ear twitched. There was yelling. A lot of it. At first, the mare thought that somepony had recognized that the Saddle Arabian commander was ill and was already putting out the call for assistance. But the more she listened, the more she recognized the nature of the yelling. While she didn’t understand the words, she knew the tone: it was a battlecry.

Brigadier General Reconnoiter looked up towards the Arabian lines. Qasam’s escort was running towards them through the water.

They were in formation.

Their lances were lowered.

Chiaus’ eyes never left the sandbar, glaring at the two equines talking in the middle of the river. This is taking too long, he sneered to himself. It was clear that the pony wasn’t there to surrender. This wasn’t a discussion about terms.

What galled the young lieutenant even more was how unconcerned the unicorn looked. The mare was wearing a damn smile on her face! The smugness of ponies. Their misguided sense of moral—and magical—superiority on full display for all to see as she disrespected their miralay by not taking him seriously.

She probably asked for this meeting so she could taunt us, Chiaus thought bitterly. She certainly didn’t look like she was going to defer to the obvious martial superiority arrayed against her—

The stallion balked, his eyes wide.

And now she’s fucking laughing at us?!

Chiaus’ blood began to boil, his hoof pawing at the sandy riverbank as his rage became even more difficult to suppress. He saw that insufferable mare laughing at his miralay. He saw the old stallion’s body quivering with his own rage at the insult being leveled against him. He saw his commander finally recognize the futility of trying to get the pony to see reason and turn away from her, shaking his head in resignation.

Then he saw that treacherous unicorn attack him!

Her horn lit up while the stallion’s back was turned. She struck him with whatever vile spell she had conjured, and the miralay collapsed instantly. He hadn't even had time to cry out.

“Betrayal!” Chiaus cried out, his voice cracking as grief and anger raged within him. He didn’t even look at the other horses with him in the escort detail. He simply charged ahead. “Attack!” He roared. “Attack!”

A heartbeat later, dozens of hooves were splashing through the water behind him. His order was carried back up the riverbank, echoed from one horse to another. A dull thunder rolled through the air, as thousands of armored horses surged ahead as one…

“No…”

It had escaped the powder blue unicorn’s lips as little more than a breath. A denial of reality. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing—didn’t want to believe it. Especially since she’d believed that she’d just succeeded in averting it!

“Rico!” A stallion’s voice reached her ear. Still reeling from the sight of the charging horses, the unicorn mare stared blankly at the sight of her aide-de-camp steaking towards her, flanked by a pair of the pegasi couriers that had come with her group. Beyond them, the rest of her retinue was charging ahead through the shallow water.

Captain Downdraft landed beside her, a wary eye towards the oncoming Arabians. They only had seconds before Qasam’s escorts were upon them. “Ma’am, we have to get you out of here!”

“No! He—” Reconnoiter looked back helplessly at the old stallion laying before her. “We…” We’d been so close, she lamented. There was hope! But now, without the Saddle Arabian miralay…

No.

No, she wouldn’t give up—she couldn’t. Not when salvation had been within their grasp!

“He needs medical attention!” She told the stallion, jabbing a hoof at the miralay. “Get him to the aid station!”

Downdraft was shaking his head, reading for his commander. “Ma’am, we can’t—”

“I can’t save us!” Reconnoiter shouted at her aide, stunning the stallion to silence. “He can!” Qasam was the only one who would be able to call his horses off. The only one who could stop the battle. “So take him—!”

The unicorn mare cut off her word when she caught sight of her aide’s suddenly wide eyes and horrified expression. She turned around to see what had caused the stallion so much worry. Reconnoiter had just enough time to catch sight of the hail of arrows descending towards her before she was tackled to the ground. “Get down!” Downdraft yelled.

Long shafts of polished wood, fletched with the brown and white feathers that belonged to a species of falcon which was common in Saddle Arabia, fell around them. Most buried their bodkin points in the sandbar. Some did not.

Pegasi did not wear the same thick plate mail that heavier earth pony cataphracts did. It reduced their speed and endurance in the air, which were often as essential to preserving a flying pony’s life as protective barding was. As such, both Captain Downdraft and the two feathered couriers with him, were wearing just their cotton gambesons beneath thin brigandine vests to allow for maximum flexibility and mobility in the air. The steel points of the Arabian arrows had as little trouble piercing it as they did the sand.

Reconnoiter felt the stallion shielding her jerk with pain as arrows slipped through the meager metal squares covering his vest. She heard him gasp wordlessly as he tried to cry out in pain with a pierced lung. She saw his wing out of the corner of her eye as it quivered briefly in a spasm of pain…and then went limp.

She felt him die.

The unicorn shut her eyes against the tears that threatened to fall. She shoved herself back up to her hooves, rolling the dead weight of her aide to the ground. It was then that she saw that he hadn’t been the only one slain by the rain of arrows. The bodies of the two other couriers who’d come with the captain were crumpled on the ground. The sand around their bodies was already starting to turn red.

It was only a matter of time before the whole river was stained crimson.

The pony brigadier turned her tear-filled eyes back in the direction of the oncoming horses. They’d stalled—briefly—in order to avoid being caught by the hail of arrows from their fellows, but they’d renewed their charge once more. They’d be upon her soon to finish the job that the archers had started.

Her eyes looked down at Qasam. He had not escaped the storm unscathed. A shaft stuck out of his flank. It wasn’t a particularly grievous wound, but it was surely a painful one. The old stallion moaned. It was a quiet, airy thing. But it was a sound.

Qasam was alive. And as long as he was alive, there was hope.

Reconnoiter’s magic flared to life again. Not taking her eyes off the approaching horses, the unicorn sent her magic digging through the satchel of one of her dead couriers. She found one of the small scraps of parchment that would have been used by them to write down her orders, along with a pencil. The message she scrawled on the parchment wasn’t a long one. There wasn’t time enough for a lengthy explanation of what she needed from its intended recipients. Besides, she only needed them to do one thing…

Once the message was written, her horn flared more brightly. The next spell that the unicorn was going to cast was far more mana-intensive than mere telekinesis.

Reconnoiter was not a powerful unicorn. She had never served as part of a battery. She had entered the cavalry as an officer, an administrative pony through and through. Prior to commissioning, she had been something of an academic, spending far more time in higher education than perhaps was strictly necessary. The young unicorn had drifted from one major to another, trying to find purpose in her life. Just because you knew what your talent was didn’t mean that you had a firm grasp on what you wanted to do with it for the rest of your life.

She’d lacked direction. The Cavalry had given it to her.

So, while she wasn’t among the most gifted of unicorns when it came to raw ability and magical prowess, her many years spent in school had seen her taking quite a few of the more advanced classes in magical theory. There were a lot of spells that she knew—structurally—how to cast, even if it would be a struggle for her to actually evoke them. Transmutation. Enchantment. Illusions.

Teleportation…

She’d passed the exams. Maybe not aced them, but she’d demonstrated an adequate grasp of the concepts of the spell-work at play and had managed practical demonstrations in a classroom environment that were acceptable to her professors. She could perform the spells. Just not as adeptly as a more talented unicorn.

And it had been a long time…

The gathered magic made the old unicorn’s head hurt. Which made it harder for her to fumble around in her memories in search of the information she needed that had been buried beneath decades of passed time and military schooling. The matrices that she constructed were undoubtedly sloppy. She could feel her old professors judging her from wherever they were not. Surely they’re dead by now. Some of them were older than I am now!

Reconnoiter wasn’t trying for a good grade this time though. She wasn’t worried about losing points on efficiency. She just needed the spell to work!

There was a flash of blinding light. When it faded, Qasam and the note were gone, leaving only an exhausted unicorn mare standing among the bodies of her dead pegasi. She was breathing heavily, panting from the exertion. Her head drooped. Her shoulders sagged. Her watery eyes stared ahead at the lances of the oncoming horses.

The splashing behind her of the charging retinue was growing louder. Her ponies were coming to save her. To fight for and defend her.

They’re coming to die with me.

It was a dismal thought, but one that was hard to really deny. There was no escape for her, or the ponies with her. There was no hope for them. But…maybe…there was still hope for everypony else. Everycreature else. If Qasam got to where she’d tried to send him—if the ponies there bothered to read the note—then there was. Still. Hope.

Oh, Celestia, please let there be hope…

Please…Save him.

It was the last thought going through Brigadier General Reconnoiter’s mind when the Saddle Arabian lances arrived.

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading! As always, a thumbs up and comment are always greatly appreciated :twilightblush:

I've set up a Cover Art Fund if you're interested and have any bits lying around!

Chapter xvi

Ponyville,

And Canterlot,

Central Equestria

She was going to be sick.

“—As you can see, darling, the crimson and gold compliments your coat wonderfully,” the pristine white unicorn went on, her brilliant blue telekinetic field performing minor adjustments to the lay of the dress on her boutique’s latest customer. “And see how the silk just shimmers in the light? That’s because I added a little bit of ruby dust to the fabric. Now that does mean that it’ll have to be cleaned with magic, rather than more mundane means, in order to avoid ruining it,” the seamstress clarified with a dismissive wave of a well-polished hoof, as though the need for more costly care of the garment in question was hardly a consideration worth taking into account.

“But, I hardly think that’s a concern for a mare of your means!”

The ivory unicorn with a purple mane—that was surely more product than hair to be able to keep that shape—broke out into a tittering laugh. Autumn Brisk felt her false smile strain even more as she forced herself to join in. She was barely even aware of what was being said by the boutique’s owner, her mind was too preoccupied with the numbers that were presently swirling through it. Specifically, the numbers on the price tags that the other unicorn was very subtly trying to hide from view, for politeness' sake.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t afford to pay the boutique owner for the dress…or the matching saddlebag. Or the vest and tailed coat that she was also buying. Or the not-quite-a-maid outfit that was also going on her tab. Actually, that was a bit of a mischaracterization of the situation: She absolutely could not ‘afford’ any of this; but she did have the bits to cover the bill—no matter what it would eventually come out to be.

The problem was that they weren’t, strictly speaking, her bits. A slip of paper in Flashover’s saddlebag with the words: ‘Bank of Ponyville’, ‘Line of Credit’, and a blank space where the total value was waiting to finally be inked in, was somehow crushing Autumn beneath its weight with every pricy addition the seamstress made to their order.

I’m going to have to sell myself into indenture, the teal unicorn concluded numbly. I’m going to be paying this debt back for years!

She stared at the mare looking back at her in the mirror. Her mane had been recently washed and expertly styled at the town’s spa—which offered considerably more services than Autumn Brisk would have assumed, given the size of the settlement it was based in. Her coat had been shampooed and brushed to within an inch of its life and was presently glittering in the lights of the boutique almost as brightly as the silk of her new dress. Her hooves, likewise, possessed a shine so fine that she could see Flashover’s reflection from where he was standing by the door when she looked down at them.

The pony in the boutique's mirror appeared to be that of a noble lady of wealth and means. Just like the kind she’d hoped to become one day. The thought nearly evoked a rueful snort from the envoy.

The talon on that Griffon’s Claw really curled in on me hard, didn’t it?

This was all just a farce, of course. Autumn Brisk was no ‘noble lady’. The fiery-orange unicorn standing by the door with a mane that had been combed for what was likely the first time in the stallion’s life was not her butler. The granite pegasus mare next to him—who certainly wasn’t actually a batpony—wearing black and white frills was not a maid in the employ of her family’s household. By this time tomorrow, all of them would be exactly who they had been yesterday.

Or in prison on charges of treason—and who knows what else, the teal mare thought bitterly to herself. Or dead. Granted, the latter was only likely to happen in the—she was assured— highly unlikely event of a catastrophic failure of their plans. Which, when it came to what their team was expected to accomplish, wasn’t quite as far out of the realm of possibility as the unicorn would have preferred.

I'd much rather have gone with the good Lord Cravat...or even Captain Corsair.

“Oh!” The boutique owner’s eyes widened as she was hit with sudden inspiration. “I have just the hat that goes with this!” Of course she does. “I’ll be right back, darling; just hold tight~” and the mare trotted off into the shop’s backroom.

“You know,” Flashover ventured, sensing that it would be safe to talk candidly for at least a few moments while they had relative privacy, “I didn’t believe Cravat when he told us we’d be able to find clothes in this town that would let this part of the plan work,” he admitted. "We're lucky there was a mare living here who knew how to make fancy-looking dresses!"

Beside him, the not-a-batpony turned her head to regard the stallion with narrowed eyes, appearing to be trying to figure out if the unicorn was making a serious statement or not. When it became clear that he had been, her lips broke out into a bemused smile. “Do you…actually not know who that mare is?” She flicked a feathery wing in the direction that the shop’s owner had trotted off in.

The stallion’s expression creased in thought before he shrugged. “No. Why? Is she, like, a famous fashion designer or something that just happens to live in a podunk little town like this?”

Saccharin—as that was the name that Rein Doe had told them to use while she was a pegasus—opened her mouth as though to rebuke the stallion…but then she hesitated. “I...I mean…kind of, yeah?” She did not seem to particularly enjoy having to admit that the unicorn had partially undermined what she was going to say by being technically correct with his guess. It certainly wasn’t the answer that she—or Autumn, for that matter—would have given if asked the same question. “It's not what she's best known for though.

“Don’t you read newspapers?”

“Just the funny pages.” Flashover did not sound particularly abashed about that admission. “And the entertainment section. Hoofball scores.”

The two mares exchanged looks. “I kind of don’t want to tell him,” Saccharin said. “I think it’s funnier if we don’t tell him.”

“Tell me what?” The stallion frowned, looking between the ponies who were openly conspiring against him.

Autumn managed to find a more genuine smile now. “Nothing,” she informed the other unicorn sweetly. The smile transitioned back into its slightly more plastic appearance when the ivory unicorn designer returned a moment later, a wide-brimmed hat floating ahead of her in her magical grasp.

“Found it~!” She sing-songed. “The felt is made from Bullivian wool, which everypony knows is the absolute finest in the world in terms of quality. I think that you’ll agree, Countess, that it’s well worth the price…”

As the hat was set down on Autumn’s head, she caught sight of the tag with the price scribbled on it. The extravagant ruffles of the new dress she was wearing hid the shudder than ran through her body. She mentally tallied it to the rest of the cost for the clothing they were buying here. Then she factored in the cost of the First Class carriage on the train that they’d reserved for the exclusive use by the three of them—

Maybe my grandfoals will have it paid off in their lifetimes.

“Now, as to hoofwear,” the seamstress prompted. Autumn Brisk managed—somehow—not to audibly whimper. “How do you feel about…platinum?”

Maybe…

Equestrian Intelligence Service policy was that agents and operatives weren’t supposed to bring any of their work home with them. If whatever case they were working on was going to end up taking extra time, or whatever, then that meant that they were going to be stuck doing it at whatever field office they worked out of. There was no checking out files so they could take them home and enjoy dinner with the family before working on them further in whatever passed for their ‘home office’.

A lot of what the EIS dealt with was far too sensitive to risk it being lost during a burglary, or even something as innocent and innocuous as a family member moving and misplacing it.

Any paperwork, files, messages, correspondence—basically anything that existed on a physical medium of any sort—that was part of an official investigation, stayed at the office. No exceptions. For anypony.

Of course, since the files that were presently spread across Nocturne’s coffee table weren’t part of an official investigation, the batpony judged that the policy wasn’t applicable here. He also noted that none of these files were EIS property. The cavalry likely had similar rules in place to safeguard potentially sensitive information about its ponies, but Nocturne wasn't a member of the cavalry and so wasn't subject to their rules either.

So he'd felt perfectly free to review the contents of the recently delivered files while lounging on his couch and drinking the last of the earl’s brandy. He idly made a note to swing back by Bitter Creek’s office at some point and snag another bottle before all of this was over. Maybe two if it felt like the earl wasn't going to be inviting him to participate in any future schemes for a while.

So far, the operative’s peek through the records that Maniple had sent him hadn’t revealed all that much. Captain Corsair’s file had—even to his surprise—not contained anything special. Up until Gallopoli, the pegasus had led a perfectly unremarkable career for somepony in the Frontier Corps—the reputation of her temper notwithstanding. ‘Mild Mare Corsair’, is more like it, he snorted before flinging the packet onto the table with the others he’d already looked through.

The unicorn private hadn’t been anything special either. Barely in the service a year, there hadn’t been much in his packet other than his enlistment paperwork. The envoy, Autumn Brisk, had been similar; but he’d expected that. The whole reason that the earl had picked that mare in the first place had been precisely because she was unexperienced, new, and naïve.

Disposable.

That was supposed to have been the reason that all of these ponies were chosen for the operation: their deaths wouldn't represent any particularly great loss to Equestria, and they lacked the skills that would make them troublesome to snuff out.

Thus far, the batpony hadn’t found anything that could explain how five average ponies had managed to escape, not just a reputable mercenary company of considerable renown, but also the custody of both the Frontier Corps and a ‘disposal team’ that he’d used previously for much higher-value targets in the past. As much as the stallion knew that, sometimes, pure dumb luck could count for a lot, he wasn’t completely sold on that as being the explanation as to how this group had managed to—

The last of Nocturne’s pilfered brandy was wasted on the cushions of his couch as the batpony’s shock prompted him to spit it out. His eyes boggled at the personnel dossier that he was holding between his wingtips.

...That dumb son of a mule!

Nocturne was sitting upright on the alcohol-soaked cushions of his couch now, completely ignoring the new stains as his amber eyes darted from one line to the next on the pages in front of him which detailed the history of the pony being discussed. A history which contained more than a few ‘items of note’ from before their enlistment in the cavalry.

‘Enlistment’, the stallion’s mind scoffed idly. They’d ‘enlisted’! They should be a fucking officer!

This wasn’t just some ‘common pony’, Nocturne realized ruefully. This was a pony of means, of resources! Maniple had had the two of them convinced that the soldiers in Bronco Company were all just a bunch of average noponies. How that was possible, when personnel files like this were so easily accessible to the general, was beyond the operative’s comprehension. Fifteen minutes of review—of checking the fucking name!—of the soldiers in that company would have revealed that the ponies of Bronco Company, Second Light Hoof, were absolutely not the sort to be labeled as ‘disposable’.

That moron probably didn’t look past Corsair, Nocturne sneered. If he did, it was just to glance at the other officers. Because a fool like that thinks only officers ‘matter’...

The operative closed the file, which was now stained with splotches of damp brandy, and tucked it under his wing as he rolled off the couch. The last remaining file which he hadn’t gotten to fell, spilling its papers all over the floor between the couch and the coffee table. He didn’t even notice them, his mind reeling with the fresh revelations about the pony mentioned in the folder clutched in his leather wing.

As a result, most of these spilled papers were stepped on as the stallion trotted swiftly to the balcony of his apartment. The personnel file got tucked into his shirt and the batpony leaped over the railing. He angled himself towards the palace, specifically the Royal Armory. He needed to have a word—though it was almost certainly going to be a yell—with Brigadier General Maniple.

We messed with the wrong pony, Nocturne seethed. Maniple had us worried about Corsair. We’ve been ignoring the real threat.

Luna, we as so fucked…

“You okay there, Shelly? You’re looking a little green.”

The crystal mare turned her head and gave the cobalt pegasus a flat look. Her hooves shifted uneasily on the cottony-white surface beneath her. The ministry envoy had assured her that the cloud-walking spell would last for at least twelve hours, and it had only been six since it was cast, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that the cloud felt less…firm than it had when she and the captain had started their trip.

“I’m fine, ma’am,” she insisted, unconvincingly. “I just get a little motion sick.” She swallowed back another mouthful of—mostly—bile and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

The cobalt flier raised a brow before glancing around the interior of the cloud that the two of them were currently surrounded by. She then looked at her slowly flapping wings that were propelling the cloud leisurely through the sky, as though it was drifting on a gentle breeze. “...We’re barely moving at all,” Corsair finally felt compelled to point out.

“But we are moving, ma’am,” the crystal pony defended, swallowing again.

“You were fine on the train.”

“I could see that the train was moving. I can’t see anything this time.”

“I could poke a hole—”

“No,” was the forceful—and almost reflexive—response by the older mare to her captain’s offer to let her see the outside. Specifically: to let her see precisely how much ‘outside’ there presently was. All around them. In every direction.

Most especially the downward one.

Shillelagh was having enough trouble reconciling what was to come as it was. Mostly she was doing this by not actively thinking about it. That effort was aided greatly by her ability to lie to herself about where she was in relation to the ground. With enough denial, the crystal mare was confident that she could convince her brain’s deep-seated fear of falling to her death at any moment that there wasn’t anything to worry about.

Those efforts would be thoroughly undermined if her eyes fed her brain evidence regarding the pair’s present altitude.

Screaming would give away that this isn’t just a cloud, the crystal noncom reminded herself. Again.

So would puking.

Another bitter swallow of an ever-more-vile tasting breakfast back down her throat.

“...How’d you get through this before?” Corsair asked.

“Get through what?”

The cobalt pegasus frowned and gestured around them with her hoof. “Infiltrating a city like this. Were you like this the last time you did it?”

Shillelagh saw where the misunderstanding was now and shook her head. “Oh, I’ve never done this before, ma’am.”

Corsair blinked. “What.

“But you said—”

“I said that I knew how to get us into Canterlot,” the pegasus’ senior noncom confirmed with a nod. “But I’ve never done it before. Not for real. There weren’t a lot of pegasi that stuck around when Sombra came to power,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“This method is mostly theoretical. But it should get us over Canterlot undetected.”

“Oh.” There was a long moment where the only sound was the rustling of Corsair’s wings as they propelled their little infiltration cloud across the sky. Then, “so you’ve never—?”

“Nope.”

“...How about an airship? Have you ev—?”

“Nope.”

More silence.

“Do you have a plan to deal with it?”

Shillelagh stared ahead of her, appearing unfazed by the question as she answered it. “Say a prayer to The Heart. Close my eyes. Bite down on my hoof to keep from screaming.

“Pissed before we left, so that shouldn’t be a concern.”

Corsair snorted and shook her head. “Thank Celestia for small favors.”

The pegasus ceased flapping and drew her wings close to her body. She poked her head down through the cloud to check their progress. She ignored the sharp inhale from the crystal mare at the visual reminder that the cloud she was standing on with the benefit of the envoy’s spell was still just, you know, a cloud. There was a mumbling sound from the noncom which could have either been a prayer to The Crystal Heart or a self-condemnation regarding her life’s choices.

“We’re over the city,” the pegasus announced after pulling her head back inside. She saw that her senior noncom had closed her eyes tight and didn’t look like she was inclined to open them again any time soon. Corsair managed to not audibly react to the conflicting expressions of relief and dread on the other mare’s face. Relief that her time inside the cloud had finally reached its end…and dreading the same.

She suspected that Shillelagh could hear her smile though. “So, how do you want to do this, Shelly? Want me to let you ‘walk the cloubank’ on your own…?” She noticed the crystal mare’s feature crease even further into a grimace. One of the emerald pony’s legs twitched briefly as she appeared to test whether or not she could manage to take even a single step forward. However, it looked like she couldn’t quite bring herself to trust that, should she lift her hoof away from the cloud, that the cottony surface would deign to support it when she set it back down again.

After what had probably been a few valiant attempts to edge herself forward, the crystal pony finally shook her head in defeat. She wasn’t going to be able to make herself move.

This mare would have bucked Sombra in his face if given half a chance, Corsair thought to herself with a genial roll of her eyes. But get her off the ground…

“Want some help?”

Another pause. A resigned sigh. A self-admission that likely stung the mare’s pride a little bit. Then, finally, a nod of her head. “Yes, ma’am; I’d appreciate—”

Corsair hopped. It was a little one—just enough to break her hooves from contact with the cloud—so that she could realign her own innate pegasus magic. While her kind didn’t ‘cast spells’ in the same way that a unicorn did, they were still bound by some similar constraints. One of which was: they could only perform a single magical feat at a time. Performing a new—especially an incompatible—task required ‘resetting’ their magic. Which meant breaking contact with the cloud to end her ‘spell’.

When the pegasus mare’s hooves made contact with the fluffy white surface again, the floor of their ‘cloud capsule’ vanished in an instant, dispersed into vapor.

The results were immediate as the crystal pony, whose body had been enchanted with a 'cloud walking' spell, suddenly found itself with no cloud to 'walk' on any longer.

“—thaaaAAAAAAAGH—!”

It took First Sergeant Shillelagh a few seconds to get her hoof into her mouth in order to clamp down on it and stifle the screaming.

It took Captain Vought Corsair a few more seconds after that to stop laughing long enough to dive after her.

Nocturne stormed through the Royal Armory. He was not interested this time in being subtle. They didn’t have time for ‘subtle’. Honestly, there was a better than even chance that it was already well past ‘too late’ for anything! So the batpony brushed aside any and all attempts by the ponies in the building to curtail his efforts to reach General Maniple’s office. Anypony who tried to stop him, or ask him about the purpose of his visit, received a brusk “EIS business”, or “Top Secret”, or even the odd “Move out of my bucking way!” as a reward for their efforts.

He didn’t even hesitate for the general’s secretary any longer than was necessary to confirm that Maniple was, in fact, in his office. The earth pony was in the process of trying to physically stop the batpony when Nocturne kicked open the door to the general’s office. In the process, he also managed to deftly turn and bodily throw the colonel who’d tried to stop him into that same office.

“Maniple, you useless fuck!” Nocturne bellowed as he stepped across the groaning earth pony.

The auburn brigadier shot up from his desk in surprise, recoiling back from what could quite understandably be construed as an attempt to assault him. He’d likely have recoiled even further if the general had been aware of how quickly the perceived ‘attempt’ could change into a bona fide act, depending on how he responded to the batpony operative’s questions.

To Maniple’s credit—what little anypony might believe him to be due—he recovered fairly quickly to the violent interruption. He even managed to rally an angry scowl at the intruder. It was not nearly as angry as the batpony’s scowl, but the general also hadn’t had the benefit of the time it took Nocturne to fly over here to really build up his rage. “What in Celestia’s name are you doi—?!”

The operative didn’t let the stallion finish his attempt at furious incredulity. As far as Nocturne was concerned, the general had no grounds upon which he could justify being mad about anything at the moment, with how profoundly he’d screwed up their plans. He leaped across the room, his wings flared wide, and landed—hard—on Maniple’s desk. The sound of wood splitting filled the room, shocking the Frontier Corps’ general into wide-eyed silence.

He slammed the dossier he’d brought with him onto the table, baring his fangs at the earth pony. “Were you born this incompetent; or did you have to work up to it?!” Nocturne demanded of the now trembling officer. He could see the other stallion’s mouth start to move in an attempt to form words, but he didn’t wait for any to actually manifest. The ignorance of the stallion was obvious.

His hoof snapped out and flipped open the personnel file on the desk before slamming down on its pages several times to draw the general’s attention to it. “You told Fetlock the Bronco Company would be good patsies,” he challenged. “You told us there wasn’t anything special about them. That Corsair was a hothead and the others were noponies.

“Does this look like a ‘nopony’ to you?!” The last was loud enough to pinned Maniple’s ears back and make the stallion wince.

Again, Nocturne didn’t wait for the general to actually answer, or even to try and read through the file that had been brought. They didn’t have time to wait for the moronic general’s single, half-functional, brain cell to realize what the batpony already knew. It wasn’t as though he’d come here to get Maniple’s insight into how it was best to proceed with this ‘new’ information. Nocturne already knew that too. He just needed the general’s hoofprint on the order to start the necessary response.

“I-I-I—”

“Corsair’s first sergeant!” Nocturne’s hoof slammed on the file again before flicking away the sheet which was displaying a summary of her service record, revealing her other service record. From before she’d enlisted in the Royal Equestrian Cavalry.

From before there had even been a ‘Royal Equestrian Cavalry’.

“Formally,” the batpony seethed as he slid the sheet in question closer to the general. “Commander ‘Shell Game’ Shillelagh of the Crystal Liberation Army!

“You took a mare who used to lead one of the biggest resistance cells fighting against King Sombra…” Nocturne had moved through the bulk of his rage now. He was on his way to hysterical mirth at the sheer absurdity of what he was being forced to recount. It was simply too unbelievable that he couldn’t help but laugh. In spite of how disastrous the news was for the three of them. “...And you put her right in the middle of our plans!

He swung back to rage once more, snarling at the earth pony. “This pony spent her life outmaneuvering The Black King! Blowing up his checkpoints in the Crystal City was just ‘another day at the office’ for her!

“What the fuck did you honestly think your ‘Frontier Fillyscouts’ were going to be able to accomplish against a team she was leading that Sombra’s whole army couldn’t?!”

Maniple’s face had visibly paled, which the batpony took to be a good sign. It suggested that the general was at least starting to barely glean the extent to which he had fucked up. He was on his way to recognizing his mistakes. And, as any pony with a serious problem knew—and losing track of a terrorist struck Nocturne as a fairly serious problem—the first step in solving an issue was admitting that you had one.

Fortunately for the Frontier Corps’ commander, he wasn’t going to have to worry about figuring out how to muddle through any of the other steps that came after it. Nocturne had decided that he, the only competent pony in the room—maybe even the whole building, now that he thought about it—was going to be making the important decisions from now on.

It was the only way to make sure things didn’t—somehow—get worse.

He leaned in close to the general’s face and growled low. “Get the word out to the Royal Guard. All of them. Give them Shillelagh’s and Corsair’s pictures. Tell them to start searching for them.

“Now.”

“They’re already in the city?!” The grown stallion’s voice came out as little more than a squeak.

“We know she’s on the way!” Nocturne snarled in response. “And considering she used to sneak into the Crystal City when Sombra’d basically turned it into a damn prison; getting into Canterlot would be a stroll in the park for a pony like her!

“Round-the-clock patrols. Street-by-street searches.

“Find. That. Mare!”

“W-what about the others?” Maniple somehow managed to stammer. “The earl’s envoy—?”

“They’ll obviously be with Shillelagh!” The batpony yelled back in exasperation. He felt like he was talking to a foal; it should be obvious to this pony what the plan for the Bronco survivor’s was: Have the pony, who specialized in sneaking ponies into heavily guarded cities, sneak them into the city!

“Find her! She’s the threat! She’s the one who can fuck all of this up for us,” Nocturne said, casting a leathery wing in a striking motion through the air. “Nopony else matters!”

“You’re going to make yourself sick,” Cravat cautioned his fellow cart-puller, though the dappled stallion issued his warning with a smile on his face. “An apple a day may keep the doctor away, but a whole wagon load’ll make your stomach explode.”

The colt in the harness on the other side of the wagon’s tongue paused mid-chew, juices still dribbling down his chin. He considered the stallion’s warning for a moment before swallowing and narrowing his eyes at the dappled pony. “...That can’t happen.” There was just the slightest hint of uncertainty in the Saddle Arabian’s voice.

“Fine,” Cravat shrugged. “Don’t believe a doctor when they tell you how a part of your body works.” He motioned for the two of them to pull forward so as to close the gap that had been left when the cart ahead advanced closer to the city’s gate.

Mesmet eyed the stallion next to him critically for a few long moments. When the pony didn’t react, he snorted and looked back at the cart the two of them were pulling. His tail whipped out and snagged another of the apples that were all but spilling out of the overfull baskets which filled it. With a deft flick, the shiny red piece of fruit was tossed into the horse’s open mouth and he proceeded to chew it loudly, staring at the stallion and challenging him to admonish his eating habits again.

Cravat chuckled. In truth, he didn’t at all begrudge the colt helping himself to as much of the produce that they were delivering to the city as he wanted. It was some of the first decent food that either of them had gotten ahold of since leaving Gallopoli a week ago.

Has it really only been a week? Sun and Moon, it feels like that was a lifetime ago…

Between the two of them—and the three others that they’d parted ways with in Ponyville after Cravat had managed to establish his identity sufficiently at the town’s bank to secure financing for their plan—they’d worked their way through two bushels worth of apples before even leaving Ponyville. Most of those hadn’t been raw, but in pie form at the farm where they’d made the purchase. There’d been something of a waddle in the Arabian’s step by the time the old Apple matriarch had finally been willing to let a ‘growing colt’ leave her house. He’d recovered along the way though, and had even regained some more of his appetite.

‘Growing colt’ indeed, Cravat mused to himself. Mesmet was young enough that, had he been a pony, it wouldn’t have been unusual for him to not have his cutie mark yet, but the Saddle Arabian was already slightly taller than the medic.

They advanced their cart once more.

“Where are we going once we are in the city?” The colt asked in a slightly hushed tone.

“My mother maintains a townhome in the city,” Cravat explained, keeping his own tone casual-sounding, but also low enough so that his words didn’t travel too far. Nothing they were talking about was truly sensitive—they were just two ‘stallions’ chatting to each other while they waited to get their cart through customs, after all—but there was also no reason to talk so loudly as to draw a lot of attention. “We’re going there.”

The dappled pony had tried not to sound like he was dreading the prospect. He really had. He’d not met with a lot of success, and so the colt next to him started looking worried—even he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be worried about. Cravat rushed ahead to assure him.

“Oh, there’s nothing to be worried about. My mother’s a nice enough pony—especially to guests,” he assured the colt. “It’s just me she doesn’t get along with.” The stallion paused. Then he grimaced and rolled his eyes. “Or, rather: I don’t get along with her, I should say. It’s just family stuff.” Noble pony stuff. “We’ll be okay.”

It was finally their turn to be called up by the golden-plate guardpony who was doing the customs inspections. Cravat and Mesmet stepped forward with their cart. The dappled pony dipped his head into his saddlebag and pulled out the bill of lading that had been provided to him by the Apples. The armored white unicorn accepted the offered parchment and started scanning over it while he asked the standard questions. Bronco Company’s experienced in Gallopoli—prior to its sacking, anyway—had familiarized the medic with the process.

To include what ‘red flags’ would get them subjected to more scrutiny than their documentation would stand up to. While the bill of lading for the contents of the cart was genuine, the same could not be said of any of the other papers in their possession.

“Business is Canterlot?” The tone was the ‘professional boredom’ that Cravat was very familiar with. He sounded similar during his ‘sick call’ examinations.

“Delivering apples to Barnyard Bargains,” he replied. It stated as much on the paperwork the guard was looking at.

“Duration of stay?”

“Overnight,” Cravat answered with a shake of his head in the direction of the orange-tinted western sky. “It's going to take a few hours to finish the delivery. We're not keen on traveling back to Ponyville at night.”

“Mm,” was the acknowledging grunt he received from the guard. Then he eyes the pair more critically. Cravat suppressed a nervous swallow even as he mentally reviewed what either he or Mesmet could have done to earn that sort of look. “...Big Mac’s usually the one who does deliveries for Sweet Apple Acres.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question. The guardpony was stating a fact. One that he was intimately familiar with. However, that didn’t mean that there wasn’t still a question that needed to be answered. He wanted to know what there’d been a deviation from the ‘norm’. Deviations from established routines were the quintessential ‘red flag’ during inspections.

Shit.

There was a reason that the Apples had allowed him and Mesmet to make this delivery to Canterlot of course: Cravat had told the family that the two of them had been sent by Barnyard Bargains to pick up the order ahead of schedule because they’d sold out of apples sooner than expected. Unfortunately, the medic was unlikely to be able to use that same explanation now because their identity documents listed them as being Ponyville residents; and it would raise additionaly questions if he told the guard that ponies who lived in Ponyville worked for the Canterlot Barnyard Bargains branch..

“He cracked a hoof while bucking apples,” Cravat eventually decided, doing his best to say it as nonchalantly as possible. Another lie. The big red stallion’s hooves had been perfectly fine when they’d seen him at the farm. "So they contracted out for the delivery this time."

The guard’s brow raised slightly. “Big Mac,” he began, sounding more skeptical than the dappled stallion would have liked. “Cracked a hoof.” The eyebrow rose even further up his head. “While…bucking.”

Again, the words were not given the inflection of a question. The unicorn sounded more like he was simply mulling the words over in his mouth in order to evaluate whether or not those particular words, when uttered in that particular order, actually sounded like a reasonably constructed sentence—and was leaning heavily towards: no. Cravat reacted similarly when he heard ponies in a play discussing serious medical matters, and it was clear that the writers of the script had simply thrown together a collection of terms that sounded serious but weren’t actually a real medical condition. It appeared to the medical pony that he had managed to commit such a verbal faux pas here.

Which was more than just a little frustrating since Cravat knew for a fact that cracked hooves were a fairly common ailment among farmers who harvested fruit trees. It had seemed to him like a perfectly believable explanation. But, then again, he now recalled that Big Mac had indeed been ‘big’. The powerful stallion probably didn’t damage his hooves often, if at all.

Maybe it’d have been a more believable excuse if I'd said it about the orange mare…

The guard’s expression wasn’t quite a scowl as he rounded on the two of them. “Okay, I’m going to need you two to—”

“Sarge!” A mare yelled from beyond the gate. The guard questioning us jerked and looked over his shoulder towards the source of the summons. “Sergeant Bolas!”

A pegasus in golden armor landed hard at the gate, her hooves carving shallow furrows in the ground as she skid to a stop. She was out of breath, panting heavily even as she clambered the rest of the way to the three ponies. The pegasus didn’t so much as glance in Cravat or Mesmet’s direction, her focus squarely on her noncom. “Intruders!” She panted. “Intruders in the city! Two of them! Wanted fugitives—very wanted! Captain needs you; wants you leading a search team.”

Mesmet swallowed and looked over at the dappled stallion next to him. Cravat didn’t notice it right away. His ears were canted forward, picking up on the barely-perceptible increase shouts and yells coming from within the city. Nothing that rose to the level of a ‘panic’, or anything like that. It was a recognizable fervor: guards being roused and rallied to respond to an emergency. Officers were calling for their senior noncoms. Noncoms were mustering their ponies. Marching orders were being issued.

The unicorn that had been questioning the pair of wagon-pullers scowled, glancing briefly away from the newly arrived mare towards Cravat. His own ears were twitching, picking up on the heightened alert that the medic had. His magic thrust the bill of lading at the pegasus. “Take over.” Then he was galloping off to find his captain.

The younger guardmare fumbled briefly with the paper in her wings, holding it up to inspect its contents. She then peeked over the top of it at the cart the pair was pulling, clearly full of apples like it said on their paperwork. The pegasus held the parchment back out to Cravat. “Welcome to Canterlot!” She said with a broad smile that didn’t look too forced and a tone that could have been mistaken for welcoming by anypony who didn’t know that she was just a little stressed. She was doing her best to project an air of: ‘The Royal Guard Has Everything Under Control! So Please Don’t Panic Because That'll Just Make More Work For Me!’

For his part, Cravat was perfectly willing to play dumb. He took the bill of lading back with his mouth and returned it to his saddlebag. “Thanks!” She waved them on ahead and turned her attention to the next wagon in line.

Cravat started directing them towards Canterlot’s Upper Terrace, where his mother’s apartment was. Beside him, Mesmet was looking around nervously, his ears pinned back in worry. “Hey,” the dappled stallion whispered, attracting the colt’s attention. He flashed the horse a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry; they’ll be fine. Top’s done this sort of thing before.”

“I’d be more worried about the ponies that get sent after her…”

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading! As always, a thumbs up and comment are always greatly appreciated :twilightblush:

I've set up a Cover Art Fund if you're interested and have any bits lying around!

Chapter xvii

Canterlot,

Central Equestria

The pair of stallions—or, rather, a stallion and a colt who stood half a hoof taller than him—came up to the door of an obvious quite upscale townhome on the capitol’s north side. The two of them had left their cart at an open air market next to a rather shocked looking fruit vendor before making their way to one of Canterlot’s more affluent neighborhoods.

“Relax,” Cravat said to the colt who was looking around a little nervously at the well-to-do homes. “I live here.”

This wasn’t, strictly speaking, true. While this was a home that was owned by his family, it wouldn’t be accurate to any real degree to say that any of his family ‘lived’ there. Out of a year, his mother might spend a total of a month or two in the townhome for a few days or a week at a time. Mostly whenever something was being debated in the Noble Stable that was too important to trust to a proxy. Or when there was something very important going on.

Like the prospect of a war with a neighboring country.

The dappled gray stallion rapped a hoof on the door. Less than a minute later, it opened to reveal an old pale purple unicorn mare with her ashen-hued mane tied up in a tight bun wearing a simple blue blazer and black bowtie. The mare blinked startled sapphire eyes as she beheld who was at the door. Then a heartbeat later the initial quizzical frown on her face was replaced by pleasant surprise.

“Master Cravat!” The older mare executed a hasty bow of her head before continuing. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” Only then did the mare seem to realize that the stallion wasn’t alone and turned to regard Mesmet. “And you’ve brought a guest?”

“Lavender, I would like to preface, before I say anything further, that I am not trying to be rude…” Cravat was barely aware of the sharp turn of the head from the colt beside him and the horse’s shocked expression. He was even less consciously aware that he’d almost immediately slipped back into the Old Canterlot accent that he’d actually worked quite hard to lose after he’d enlisted in the cavalry. It drew a lot of attention and was fresh fodder for ridicule from other Cavalry members, after all. “...but I do not have the luxury of time to answer your questions right now. Later, perhaps; circumstances permitting. But for right now, I require only compliance with my instructions and answers to my own queries.

“Again, I do apologize; but there simply isn't time to sate your curiosity. Not tonight." the stallion offered a wan smile.

The older purple mare’s lips briefly creased back into a frown, but then she bowed her head once more and schooled her features to be more neutral. “Of course, Master Cravat. How may I assist?”

“I assume Mother retained my room here?”

“The Dutchess ordered that your quarters be maintained just as you had left them; yes, Master Cravat.”

“And the papers? Are they still here, or did Mother return them to the Green Hills estate?”

This time the stallion’s question provoked a raised brow from the unicorn mare. It was obvious that there were questions she wanted to ask him, now more than ever. But, in accordance with his earlier instructions, she simply answer the question asked. “...They are in The Dutchess’ study. I can get to them,” she added, correctly anticipating what the dappled pony’s follow-up question would have been.

Cravat nodded before letting out a resigned sigh. “I’ll need them, along with an appropriate set of clothes.” He briefly eyed the colt next to him. “Is Stoic on staff? I’ll be borrowing one of his suits for my companion as well. But first…baths. I’d like some baths drawn up for us. It’s been…quite the week.”

The purple unicorn did not look wholly thrilled about everything she had been asked or told to do, but she voiced no objections. Instead, she merely nodded and stepped out the doorway to allow the two new arrivals to enter. “Of course, Master Cravat. I’ll see that it’s all done.”

“Oh, and one other thing,” Cravat said as he paused in the threshold. “Some time in the next few days, the Bank of Ponyville will be sending over a demand for payment on a line of credit in my name. It is legitimate. Tell Mother that it is my price for tonight.”

Another eyebrow raise without remark. Though there was the added addition of a wry smile tugging at the corner of the head of the household staff’s muzzle. “...Very well, Master Cravat. Would you like some refreshments while the baths are drawn?”

“Burbon for me; and an apple juice for Mesmet.”

An hour later, Cravat was regarding himself in a mirror in his room as a pegasus mare made some final adjustments to his suit. His dappled coat was the cleanest it had been in months and shone in the light. His nostrils twitched slightly at the scent of the perfumed soaps that had been used. His hooves had been professionally lacquered for the first time in years. Not nearly as much was different about his mane though, as its short-cropped military nature hadn’t allowed for much to be done to it.

Mesmet was standing off to the side fidgeting in his own borrowed clothes. The colt had never worn something like it before and was obviously finding the fit quite restrictive and uncomfortable. Cravat recalled how he’d felt the same during the first few occasions where his parents had brought him along to formal functions. Truth be told, he still felt uncomfortable in them. He'd just gotten better at controlling his fidgeting in public.

His gaze wandered from the mirror to the nearby study. Specifically, the two scrolls that were sitting atop it. Though they were both bound and sealed with green wax stamped with the sigil of the House of Medicas, he already knew what they said. He’d been present when his mother had written them.

One was his Patent of Nobility: a formal declaration by his mother that Cravat was her true and legal heir to her House and her titles. The other scroll contained a Petition for Admittance: a request to be presented to the Noble Stable which asked that Cravat be allowed to take his seat among them as a Peer of the Realm.

He’d watched his mother write those documents. He’d watched her seal them. Then he’d left to find a recruiter for the Cavalry and enlisted.

His mother had…not taken it well. There’d been letters. A lot of them. He’d responded to none of them for a long time. After a while, the letters had finally stopped coming. About a year into his service, he’d received one more letter from his mother. Unlike those before it, it had not been a page filled with admonishment. In fact, it had actually been quite short. Perhaps the shortest letter the mare had ever written in her life. It hadn’t even contained her formal list of titles above her signature at the bottom. There hadn’t even been a signature. Not of the sort she’d always used before in her letters, even her personal ones to him.

The scroll had simply read: ‘Will I ever see you again? -Mom’

To that letter, Cravat had finally replied. He’d reiterated all of the things that he’d told her to her face more than a year prior, but knew she hadn’t actually heard. Hoping that, maybe now, she was ready to listen, if not fully understand. He’d explained his need for time, to feel like he’d been able to do one thing for himself in his life. He’d assured his mother that, yes, he would be returning. Eventually.

He’d also apologized, because he knew that he should. Because, after spending a year living with ponies who were not wealthy or nobly born, ponies who spent their off hours dreaming of what he’d tossed aside—if only briefly—he did recognize on some level how immature he’d been about the whole affair. He didn’t go so far as to suggest he regretted what he’d done; but admitted that it could have been handled differently.

Cravat had known he would come back. That he’d be standing right where he was now. Someday. In his mind, that day had been a lot further off in the future. He still had a fair bit more time remaining on his enlistment contract, after all.

That wouldn’t be the case after tonight. He couldn’t be a benched member of the Noble Stable and an enlisted pony in the Cavalry at the same time. And while he knew that this was important—in so many ways—he still found himself feeling reluctant to go through with it.

He’d liked the Cavalray—or, rather, he liked his friends in it. His ‘found family’, after a fashion. Ponies who hadn’t been a bunch of nobly-born sycophants just trying to manipulate him for additional favors and power, like so many others he’d known in his life. He’d made genuine friends in the Cavalry. Far too many of them were dead now, but he still carried the memories of what it had been like to have them in his life.

Now he was going to have to leave it behind.

As far as ‘sacrifices’ went, Cravat fully recognized that it wasn’t objectively much of one. He was trotting back into a life of privilege and comfort. He was presently standing in a quite nice home—one of several his family maintained all across Equestria—drinking expensive alcohol and being dressed by a servant. What he was ‘giving up’ was just his juvenile act of rebellion.

Flashover would tell me to cry myself a river, and then to get over it and the rest of my bullshit, the dappled pony mused to himself with a snort.

The pegasus mare finally stopped teasing at his coat and stepped aside. “Is that suitable, My Lord?”

Cravat barely even looked at the mirror as he nodded. He didn’t honestly care if he looked perfect for his debut to the Noble Stable. He wasn’t going to be making a lot of friends in the Peerage tonight with the antics he was about to pull anyway. If anything, he’d end up making at least one political enemy. Objectively a horrible way to start one's tenure in the Stable. There was no amount of teasing at the length of his jacket cuffs that was going to make up for that.

Instead, his eyes went to the clock. It was time for them to leave, regardless of how presentable the two of them were. “Yes, thank you.” He moved to the study and collected the pair of scrolls, slipping them into a supple leather case for Mesmet to carry. “It’s time to go,” he informed the colt. The young Saddle Arabian nodded, slung the carrying strap for the case over his shoulder, and followed the stallion out of the room, through the front door, and off towards the palace.

“Well that didn’t take long…” Corsair mumbled under her breath as she watched the squad of gold-plated Canterlot Guards make their way along the avenue, stopping to question every citizen they passed. A couple of them were carrying around photographs in their wings or magic that they showed to any pony they stopped. Corsair briefly caught a glimpse of one of the images and instantly recognized herself, posed with a flat expression in her dress whites. The sash across her chest was the wrong color, suggesting that it wasn’t a recent picture. Likely a copy of the photo that had been submitted along with her professional record when she was being considered for her promotion to captain.

The pegasus mare’s lips curled into an amused smile as she considered the age of the photo that was being used to identify her. Her gaze darted behind her, further back into the little alley. “Is your file photo an oil painting?” She inquired, an amused glint in her eyes in spite of the apparent direness of their situation. “Or did they have deg…degger,” Her muzzle scrunched up into a frown as she struggled to recall the word she wanted. “Deg-something. Those old silver photos that weren’t actually ‘photos’.”

She initially received a final, shuddering heave in reply. Like the last few from the older mare, nothing further made its way into the dumpster beyond another muttered oath to The Heart not to leave the ground again. Shillelagh spat out the last of the bile in her mouth and wiped her hoof across her muzzle before finally responding with words. “I know what you’re talking about, ma’am; and no. Crystal ponies use prisms that are magically enchanted to hold an image. High-end ones can retain a three-dimensional likeness.”

“Huh.”

Both mares now peered at the group of Royal Guards making their way through the public. “I didn’t expect them to actually make this easy for us,” Shillelagh noted, her lip cocked in a wry smile. “How widely do you think they’ve circulated the photos?”

“Only one way to find out.”

The cobalt pegasus jerked her head in a signal for her senior noncom to follow her. The two ponies walked calmly back down the alley, away from the guard patrol, and out onto the main street at the other end. The sun was just settling on the western horizon, signaling that the work day was at an end. Many of the capital’s shopkeepers were either already shuttering their storefronts or working on nudging the last of the day’s customers out the door so they could close up and make their own ways home. The city’s main thoroughfares were just about clogged with ponies meandering home or going out on the town for a nice dinner. With all of the hooftraffic about, nopony reacted to the two wanted fugitives trotting in their midsts.

Not at first anyway.

It started with the sound of a glass tipping over beside Corsair as she passed a table where a green unicorn stallion had been sitting. Out of the corner of the pegasus mare’s eye, she saw the diner gaping at her, seemingly oblivious to the water that he’d just spilled over his daisy sandwich. She was not 'pretty', but Corsair liked to think of herself as having passably 'pleasant' features; though she certainly never touched them up with makeup or glitter like some mares did. Cavalry regulations aside, she'd never learned to use the stuff properly anyway. Likewise, while she was not svelte in her build, the pegasus kept herself fit with plenty of exercise. There was some extra bulk in places where no model featured on the cover of a magazine would have any, but all of it was well-sculpted—in her opinion, anyway.

All of that to say, that while she knew that she was not 'ugly'—and perhaps even had qualities that some might find genuinely attractive—the pegasus did not appraise herself as possessing a ‘head-turning’ level of beauty. So, unless this unicorn simply had some very particular tastes in mares, Corsair considered it highly unlikely that he was staring because he’d been ‘struck senseless by her beauty’. But there were certainly other reasons that she could think of that she’d have caught his attention so fully.

The green unicorn finally managed to get over his shock and averted his eyes from the pegasus. Mostly. He kept glancing at Corsair, just long enough to make sure he knew where she was, before quite pointedly pretending that he hadn’t noticed her. His horn glowed as the stallion fumbled to extract some bits from his bag and tossed them onto the table next to his ruined sandwich before getting out of his chair far too quickly. From the number of bits he’d just paid, either that sandwich had been made using some variety of exceptionally rare and tasty daisy which went for a premium on the open market, or he’d had things on his mind that he considered more immediately pressing than the cost of his meal while making his hasty retreat.

“You good for a run, Shelly?” Corsair murmured out of the side of her mouth as she surreptitiously watched the stallion bump and stumble his way down the sidewalk…right towards a trio of gold-plated ponies standing on a street corner.

The crystal mare masked her own look in the retreating unicorn’s direction by acting like she was relieving some tightness in her neck. Her own lips pulled into a thin smile when she recognized what her commanding officer had. The elder emerald mare’s eyes shot up towards the nearest visible street clock, noting the time. She then turned to catch the pegasus’ gaze. “Thirty-two minutes.”

Corsair double-checked the time and nodded. Her ear twitched at the sound of clanking armored plates heading their way. Both mares turned to see the three Royal Guards making their way up the road towards them. The pegasus stallion leading the trio balked at the sudden attention from both of his targets for a brief moment. Then he extended a wing towards them.

“Don’t move! You two are under arrest; by order of The Princesses!”

For some reason, the guards appeared to take genuine exception when the two mares bolted. The sound of armored hooves pounding on cobblestone was quickly drowned out by loud announcements to other nearby guards that the fugitives had been found, along with requests for reinforcements. Additional warnings to the citizenry to clear the streets and get out of the way of the charging guards were largely redundant, as most of the milling Canterlot ponies quickly scattered upon catching wind that some sort of threat existed.

There had been more than a few recent disasters in the city, after all; and so the population was quite practiced in reacting to danger these days.

While this had the advantage of meaning Corsair and Shillelagh didn’t have to bump and shove their way through a crowd, slowing them down, it had the disadvantage of meaning that the guards chasing them wouldn’t have to struggle through a throng of ponies either.

“Left!” The pegasus heard the crystal noncom yell out. Both mares pivoted almost immediately in the vocalized direction placing themselves once more in a narrow alleyway. “Door; right.” The cobalt flier’s eyes immediately locked onto the little side door of a shop. She leaped into the air, using a powerful stroke of her wings to propel herself at the side of the building on her left, using the brick surface to springboard off of into the wooden portal, splintering it easily. The crystal mare followed her inside a breath later.

A startled unicorn mare looked up from where she’d been cashing out her register, her violet eyes going wide with fear at the sight of the two intruders breaking into her store. She almost immediately dove down behind the counter, yelling out that the pair should feel free to take whatever they wanted as long as they left her unharmed. Corsair glanced around and felt that was a perfectly agreeable course of action.

“Shelly!” The pegasus flung a deep purple cloak with a matching hood at the crystal mare before nabbing a golden one for herself. Both ponies quickly donned the garments before ducking out the shop’s front door. They received a few startled looks from nearby ponies on the sidewalk as they emerged from the ‘Closed’ clothing boutique, but most were paying more attention to the sound of the yelling guards coming from the nearby alleyway.

The two now-cloaked mares elected to do the same, affecting mirrored looks of curiosity that were worn by the crowd just in time for two gold-plated guards to emerge from the alley, looking frantically in both directions. One of them opened his mouth to ask a question of the crowd, but he was cut up by a mare in a violet hooded cloak calling out to him from nearby.

“Thank Celestia! Guard, I think I saw that Corsair mare and another pony! They ran that way!” A hoof that wasn’t quite visible beneath the heavy felt fabric jabbed out to the right.

The unicorn guard’s eyes were on her for less than a second before they followed the direction she’d pointed. He cursed under his breath and called out to the earth pony mare beside him. “Let’s go! Skystreak!” A pegasus stallion burst out of the shop’s front door, looking around briefly before his eyes fell on his fellow guards. “That way!” All three galloped off in the direction indicated by the helpful witness.

Both hooded mares spared a few seconds to watch the guards run off, calling out for others to follow them as they went. They then turned and calmed trotted in the other direction. Two blocks later, they offered their stolen cloaks to a pair of unicorn mares eating dinner, who didn’t seem to know quite how to react to the act of unexpected charity.

“That went pretty well,” Shillelagh remarked. “Ready to try another round, ma’am?” The cobalt pegasus nodded and the two set off in search of another squad of guards showing off pictures to the public.

Senior Operative Nocturne was not welcome in Canterlot’s City Guard Headquarters. Nothing had been explicitly stated to the batpony along those lines, of course. That would have been highly improper. After all, he was here to liaise with them on behalf of the EIS—or so they’d been told. So, as much as the golden pegasus stallion in purple armor might have wanted to tell the operative to go and ‘buck rocks’, he did not. That didn’t stop the recently promoted Captain of the Guard’s emerald eyes from glaring daggers at him though.

It was likely the hoof-tapping, Nocturne concluded. The batpony was aware that his hind leg was tapping with fervent agitation on the slate floor as he looked over the large map of the city laid out on the massive table in the middle of the room. His eyes were darting around at the various markers set upon it. Specifically the four most recent ones. His lips were pulled down in a frown.

An earth pony mare galloped into the room and ran up to the Captain of the Guard, whispering something in his ear. The golden pegasus nodded. A moment later, he reached out a wing and placed a fifth marker on the table. It was a fair distance away from the other four.

Nocturne’s frown grew into a full-fledged scowl. He slammed a frustrated hoof on the table, knocking over a couple of the markers and shifting several others out of position. “They’re playing your guards for fools!” he snarled, glaring at the pegasus.

The commander of the city’s security force was not the slightest bit cowed by the batpony’s outburst the way that Brigadier General Maniple had been. This only served to further agitate the operative. “We’re keeping them contained to the southern quarter of the city,” he pointed out, gesturing with a wing to the region where all of the newer markers were concentrated.

“I’ve already started shifting more guards to the area. In less than an hour we’ll have enough hooves in that part of the city to cordon off everything and do a building-by-building sweep. We’ll have them in custody by morning, at the latest.”

Nocturne’s eyes went wide and he just about lunged across the table at the pegasus. “You what?! No! You idiot; that’s what she wants! So far, your guards have only reported seeing Corsair and Shillelagh; what about the other three?” A leathery wing jabbed at the cluster of markers. “This is an obvious distraction tactic!” He seethed at the guard commander.

“She’s pulling your attention away from the rest of the city so that the others will have an easier time reaching their target! You need to keep an eye out in the rest of the city for the envoy,” he insisted.

The golden flier frowned at the volume and tone used by the EIS operative, but did not refute the batpony’s assertion outright. He actually seemed to give the notion some considerable thought before ultimately nodding and passing orders back to the earth pony mare to spread the guards back out evenly through the city. “It’ll hamper our ability to corner Corsair,” he pointed out.

“She’s obviously just bait,” Nocturne snorted with a dismissive wave of his wing. His eyes went back to the map, specifically the areas that were furthest from the pegasus captain’s sightings. “She wanted your guards drawn away from the north half of the city. So that’s where they’ll be trying to sneak the envoy in…but how?”

The batpony had to give the crystal mare and her commander credit: it had been a clever plan. Place the two ‘high-value’ targets in the open and get a lot of attention to draw in the guards. At first, Nocturne hadn’t really considered the possibility that a report of Corsair’s sighting had been anything other than a stroke of luck. He’d even held out hope that he’d greatly overestimated the threat posed, despite the fact that the first sighting of the pair had occurred well within Canterlot’s walls.

By the third separate sighting in less than half an hour, all several blocks away from each other, in seemingly random directions each time, it had become clear that Corsair and Shillelagh wanted to be seen by the city’s guards. Frequently. They were attracting attention on purpose, and likely trying to provoke the Guard into doing exactly what the Captain had nearly ordered them to: moving all—or very nearly all—of their forces into one sector of the city, leaving other parts with almost no guard presence at all.

They wanted us looking in the south, Nocturne thought to himself, which means…

The batpony’s eyes to the train station…and the very nearly straight road that led from it right to the palace and the rest of the capital’s government buildings. This was by design, of course, as a courtesy to visiting foreign dignitaries, domestic provincial governors, or even the realm’s nobles; allowing them to travel largely unimpeded from the train they almost certainly arrived in the city on, right to the heart of the Equestrian government.

Normally this route would also be heavily patrolled. But, if the guards had all been relocated away, to go and cordon off Corsair on the other side of the city…

They could get the envoy to the palace within minutes of her getting off the train, the batpony realized.

“The train schedule,” the EIS operative all but snapped, briefly glancing around the room in the vain hope that he’d happen to see one posted on a nearby wall. “What trains are arriving tonight? Or did arrive in the last…” What time had it been when those two had first allowed themselves to be spotted? If they were actively trying to be seen, then surely when they’d chosen to be seen the first time had to have been deliberately chosen too. “Ten minutes or so?” He allowed for some time for the guards to have shifted positions, just as Shillelagh would surely have.

“Evening Ponyville commuter line,” the golden pegasus replied almost immediately. “Runs twice a day, sunrise and sunset.” His eyes darted to a clock on the wall. “It would have probably pulled into the station just about exactly ten minutes ago,” he confirmed.

“She was on that train,” Nocturne declared. He then turned around and strode for the door.

“I’ll send additional guards to help—” The Captain of the Guard began, but the batpony cut him off.

“Don’t bother,” the leathery-winged stallion sneered. “I’ve seen first-hoof the incompetence at play here; any guards you trained would just get in my way.” If he noticed the feather’s bristling in the other pony’s wings, he didn’t react other than to sneer; but that seemed like the operative’s default expression when talking to other ponies anyway. “I can handle one civilian on my own.”

“What about the two soldiers with her?” The pegasus challenged through grinding teeth.

A leathery wing dipped into a saddlebag and emerged again wrapped around a pair of hoofclaws. “I can handle them too…”

He left the room without another word. The golden flier continued to glare at the door for several more seconds before finally letting out an exasperated snort and turning his attention back to the map and his need to apprehend the pair of ponies currently playing grab-flank with his guards. He soon summoned another runner and—he was quite sure to the frustration of his messengers—reissued his order to divert more guards to the southern part of the city.

If the EIS operative was so sure that he could handle those three ponies without any help from the Canterlot Guard, then so be it. “...I guess I should just get my 'incompetent' ponies out of your way then, shouldn’t I, operative?”

At Nightjar’s—though neither of her companions knew her by that name—request, their group kept to the southern side of the street so that the batpony could benefit from the narrow band of shade to be found there before the sun finally set fully over the horizon. She’d been without sunbane for quite some time and so her eyes were quite sensitive to even the waning evening daylight. It didn’t help that they were walking westward. Fortunately, it wasn’t necessary for them to be continually looking in the direction of the setting sun, as they were making frequent stops to ‘admire’ the articles displayed in the windowfronts of the mostly closed stores.

“I’ll never understand fashion,” the unicorn stallion standing on the other side of their ward admitted as he frowned at what the batpony was pretty sure was a hat. It could have been a capelet. Maybe a shawl. Her eyes darted to the nearby sign to confirm they were actually looking at a shop that sold clothes, since it also bore a more-than-passing resemblance to a tea cozy. Albeit a large one.

“I don’t think you’re meant to,” the not-actually-a-pegasus said. When she noticed the look the not-a-butler gave her in response, she elaborated. “It’s like art: it’s really only for those who are ‘in’ on it. If you exist outside of the ‘fashion sphere’ you’re just supposed to sort of acknowledge that it means a lot to some ponies and that they put a lot of work into it and leave it at that.”

“It’s mostly just a conduit for money laundering.” Both ponies turned mildly shocked expressions towards the resigned well-dressed mare standing between them. “Less-than-reputable businessponies with a lot of bits of dubious origin will promote ‘high fashion’ pieces from ‘up and coming’ designers, build those designers up into a ‘brand’, and then market that brand to upper-class ponies as status symbols to inflate the prices.

“Set up a couple fashion shows to drum up apparent interest, hold a few auctions where proxies that are actually using their bits are doing the bidding...then, bam: a mountain of bits with a paper trail appears in their accounts where only dirty bits had previously been.

"You see the same thing with paintings and sculptures and stuff too."

The flanking mare and stallion exchanged looks. “...Well, somepony’s being uncharacteristically cynical tonight,” Nightjar quipped, smirking at the teal unicorn next to her.

“I’ve had a rough week.” The mare paused. Then her shoulders visibly sagged. “Oh, Celestia; it’s only been a week…” She let out a heavy sigh and started to turn and make her way further down the sidewalk, only for Flashover to hold out a hoof to stop her.

“Not yet,” he said, glancing at a clock sitting atop a post at a nearby intersection. “Give it another three minutes.”

Autumn Brisk huffed in annoyance but turned back to the window to resume her apparent contemplation of the displayed items. Meanwhile, the unicorn stallion continued to pan his gaze around them, looking over the street that was far more empty now than it had been when they’d gotten off the train ten minutes ago. No explicit warnings had been made by the city’s guards, but that hadn’t stopped word from getting around that two ‘bad ponies’ had been spotted in the city. Nopony knew what those ponies were supposed to have done or why they were wanted, but the obvious conclusion was that there had to be a very good reason for conducting such an obvious marehunt in the nation’s capital.

Thus, many of Canterlot’s more skittish citizens had decided that it was wiser to retire early and spend the evening safe at home. This made the quite well-dressed trio stand out all the more on the mostly deserted avenue. The teal unicorn mare, especially, drew a fair number of looks from the scant remaining passersby. Judging from the expressions of those ponies though, Nightjar deduced their focus had more to do with the unicorn’s attire than anything else.

This dress might be too good, the batpony mused, a hint of a frown touching her lips. Nopony is actually looking at Autumn...

“Alright, we can move now,” Flashover announced in a low tone to the mares. The trio of ponies turned and resumed their slow meander towards the palace, stopping again a couple blocks further down to ogle another storefront; this one a jeweler.

“That reminds me: I need to get something for my mom for Mare’s Day,” the orange unicorn said aloud, eyeing a pair of ruby earrings. Then his eyes darted beneath them to the advertised price and he grimaced. “Not here though.” There was a brief moment of thought and he glanced at his saddlebag. "Actually, I think I still have a credit voucher left…”

Autumn Brisk made a choking sound before turning a shocked look upon the stallion. “You can’t be serious?! We’re in enough debt as it is!” She at least had the good sense to keep her objection to a low hiss.

Flashover frowned at her. “What ‘debt’? Cravat told us to ‘go nuts’!” He pointed a hoof at the earrings. “And paying that much for earrings is absolutely ‘nuts’! Besides, it’s his mother’s money, not his.”

“That makes it worse!” The teal mare squeaked.

“Quiet.” The batpony sternly, but softly, said through gritted teeth. “We’re being watched.” The other two ponies went immediately silent. Flashover feigned a cough into his sleeve, allowing him to turn his head to see if he could spot their observer. Nightjar noticed the movement and gave a subtle shake of her head, as though she was unimpressed with the jewelry they were looking at. “Roof. Behind us. Somepony landed there.”

She noticed Flashover’s dubious look and allowed herself a slight smile. “Batpony hearing,” she announced, flicking an ear. “Let’s move along; see if they follow.”

The three turned and resumed their trot towards the palace. The stallion fell back, trailing the teal unicorn so that he could share a whisper with the flier. “If they’re a batpony too, could they hear what we’re saying?”

“Every word,” she replied in an equally hushed tone as she walked at his side. “Even this.”

“So then they’d know who we really are,” the orange stallion concluded.

“Almost certainly.”

The pair briefly exchanged looks. Then the unicorn hastened his stride to catch up to Autumn Brisk. “We might be made; no more stopping,” he whispered in the mare’s ear. The teal pony missed a step and stumbled, but hurriedly played it off as a trip over a crack in the sidewalk with a muttered curse about the ‘downward trend of the capital’s infrastructure’. However, when she was back at a trot again, the tension in her gait was quite noticeable.

“You’ll be alright,” Flashover assured her. “We’ve got this.”

“I hope you’re—”

Whatever else the teal mare was about to say dropped away in a gasp as the last of the sunlight amid the burnt orange sky abruptly vanished, plunging them into near darkness, save for the glow of the magically powered streetlights. A couple heartbeats later, some small margin of celestial illumination returned to supplement that provided by the street lamps as a silvery orb rose in the sun’s place.

Realizing that they’d just experienced the transition of day into night, Autumn Brisk let out the breath that had lodged itself in her chest and tried to swallow back the lump of anxiety in her throat. She focused on breathing for a few moments longer while she others gave her time.

Then the soft golden glow of the streetlights along the main avenue all winked out at once, plunging the wide, but now completely deserted, thoroughfare into near total darkness. Except for the light of moon low on the horizon.

The three ponies exchanged looks.

"That's weir—aah!" Autumn brisk found her words interrupted again. Only, this time, it was by shock and pain as a set of teeth clamped down on her tail and yanked her back hard enough to send the unicorn flailing onto her rump.

She had been about to ask the batpony what she’d been thinking when her eyes caught sight of the gleaming steel blades swinging up through the air right where her throat had been only a moment ago. Her view was then obstructed by an orange form clad in a black suit as the unicorn private interposed himself between her…

…and the grinning visage of a batpony stallion stepping out fully from behind a sandwich board that had been left outside of a café.

The new arrival didn’t really seem to acknowledge the disguised cavalry pony though. He wasn’t looking at Autumn Brisk either. His amber eyes were locked on the 'pegasus'. The stallion’s grin only seemed to grow wider. “Operative Nightjar! What a surprise to see you again…alive.” The smile fell away in an instant, replaced by a sneer.

“Those fucking mercs really couldn’t be counted on to kill anypony, could they?”

Flashover snorted, his hooves grinding into the pavement. He’d yet to be presented with the opportunity to confront any of those who’d been involved with the slaughter of his unit. Those behind the murder of his friends. Before Nightjar could warn him off, the orange stallion leaped at the other batpony…

…Only to find himself sailing through empty air. Then there was a cry of pain and he staggered off to the side, favoring a flank that was visibly bleeding through two new tears in his expensive suit’s jacket. Still, the batpony wasn’t even looking at him, maintaining his focus on the ‘pegasus’ mare instead. He tapped a forehoof idly on the sidewalk, extended hoofclaws dripping with fresh blood.

“You did pretty good to make it this far, I’ll give you that,” he said through a mirthless chuckle. “But it’s over.

“Give up. Come quietly. Maybe you can even reach some sort of plea deal with the courts.”

“You won’t let us in front of a judge,” Nightjar snorted. "You wouldn't even let us make it to a cell, would you?"

“You’re right; I won’t,” was the other batpony’s unabashed admission. “But at least now I’ll be able to honestly report that I offered you the chance to surrender…” The grin which showed far too many sharp teeth was back. “...when I deliver your corpses!”

He leaped. A mare screamed.

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading! As always, a thumbs up and comment are always greatly appreciated :twilightblush:

I've set up a Cover Art Fund if you're interested and have any bits lying around!

Chapter xviii

Canterlot,

Central Equestria

“They finally got smart.” Shillelagh glanced up from where she was laying on the bed as her commander slipped back into the room. “They’re blocking off intersections. I can see them going door to door right now,” the pegasus went on as she stepped closer to her senior noncom, her eyes looking at how much blood was visible through the scraps of bedsheet which had been repurposed into bandages to wrap around the crystal mare’s torso. She did a poor job of keeping her worry hidden as she eyed the fletched wooden shaft protruding through them. “They’re about halfway through this street. Another three houses to go before they get to this one.”

The older mare managed a nod but didn’t say anything aloud. It hurt enough to breathe without the added strain of actually speaking.

They’d both known the plan would carry risks, their part in it most especially. Playing ‘grab-flank’ with the Canterlot Royal Guard was the sort of game that had the potential for serious consequences. One of those consequences was presently sticking out of the crystal mare’s barrel right now. That they’d managed to still get away even after that had been no small miracle. Probably a good helping of luck too.

Now their luck had finally run out. Corsair glanced at the window, noting the darkened sky. There was no clock available in the room to note the exact time, but it was enough to know that night had finally come. It meant that there was no longer any reason for them to keep the guardsponies distracted.

“I’m going to go and flag them down,” the pegasus announced. She looked back at her friend. “Will you be alright for the next few minutes?” The emerald mare took another shaky, shallow breath, and offered up another nod. “Okay. I’ll be right back with help.”

Corsair slipped out of the room and down the apartment’s narrow stairs towards the front door. Finding the unoccupied suite had been quite fortunate in the wake of Shillelagh’s injury. Staying out on the street had not been an option, but the Frontier Corps officer had not envied the prospect of breaking into an inhabited dwelling and having to deal with a ‘hostage situation’ on top of everything else. The city’s guards were on edge enough as it was. Evidenced by the fact the crossbows had been broken out to deal with the two of them. Those were almost never brought out to deal with simple apprehensions, especially when nopony had been hurt by the suspects.

It left the pegasus idly wondering what those guards had been told about the two of them that they’d resort to using deadly force without direct provocation…and who’d done the telling.

Brigadier General Maniple didn’t have any direct authority over the capitol’s security forces. Neither did Earl Bitter Creek. On paper, the city's security ponies answered to the Captain of the Guard. Who, in turn, received their marching orders directly from the Princesses. Corsair didn’t want to think of a world where any of those ponies were authorizing the use of bows during an apprehension lightly. Which begged the question as to what they’d been told she and Shillelagh were capable of, or what the two of them were doing in the city at all.

Did they claim we’re here to assassinate somepony? Corsair mused. That sort of claim would certainly justify the response that they’d seen.

The cobalt pegasus hesitated at the door. It wasn’t like this was their first experience surrendering themselves into the custody of otherwise good ponies, only to find that additional measures had been taken to ensure that none of them ever got the chance to be interviewed—interrogated—by investigators. Corsair very much doubted that the desires of the conspirators had changed much on that matter in the last couple of days. She didn’t know exactly how it would happen but the mare knew that, if they surrendered themselves, she and Shillelagh would die in custody before they could get their story into the official record.

The real question became a matter of: when? Surely not while they were surrendering. Like Squad Sergeant Diamond Plate’s team, these guards were almost certainly good ponies doing their job based on the information—lies—that they’d been given. They’d follow policy and arrest the pair and take them to a cell in the city. The possibility that Maniple, Bitter Creek, or that EIS operative that Rein Doe had mentioned, had recruited a conspirator in the city guard on such short notice existed, sure; but it was extremely remote. Even more so that any such hypothetical recruit would happen to be among the guards on this particular street.

Somepony would get around to silencing the two of them—probably that night—but it wouldn’t happen immediately. If their plan worked as intended, then their names should be on their way to getting cleared in the next hour or so. Corsair was gambling that that wouldn’t be enough time for news of her and Shillelagh’s capture to reach the ears of a pony who wanted to do something about it and find a way to do that ‘something’. As gambles went, it didn’t have the longest odds against them, Corsair reasoned. Not great ones either.

They were slightly better odds than her crystal noncom had if she was left untreated for too much longer though. She needed medical attention, and right now their medic was elsewhere in the city and otherwise occupied.

Corsair opened the door and stepped out onto the street. She looked to where the team of guards was going around, knocking on doors and searching through homes. They were just two doors down and one of them noticed her emergence from the building. The gold-plated stallion opened his mouth and was about to issue the pegasus a command to go back inside and wait for them, but then he hesitated when she realized that the pony who’d stepped into view was a dark blue pegasus mare. Exactly matching the description of one of the ponies they were looking for.

Before the guard could rephrase their order for the ‘civilian’ to go back inside into a demand for surrender, the pegasus lowered herself onto her belly, her forehooves stretched out ahead of her and her wings spread to either side. “I give up!” Corsair announced, the words tasting reflexively bitter on her tongue. It was the right course of action, but it still extremely wrong for an officer in Their Majesties’ Cavalry to surrender.

“Shillelagh’s inside,” she continued. “Second floor apartment. Bedroom on the right. She’s badly hurt.”

Two guardsponies had her under their spears in moments. Two more were heading into the building she’d emerged from a few seconds after that. A fifth, whose armor was embossed with a set of polished brass chevrons, strode up and regarded the supplicating pegasus with a sneer—and no small amount of suspicion. It was understandable, Corsair supposed. The two of them had been deceiving and misleading Canterlot's guards for the better part of an hour after all.

“Captain Vought Corsair?” The stallion leading the team’s question was almost certainly rhetorical by this point. He knew who she was. The mare still offered up a shallow nod of her head in confirmation though. “You’re under arrest for treason against The Crowns.” He looked at one of the spear-wielding ponies nearby. “Hobbles and wing-binders. Let’s get her secured. Tightly,” he stressed in a low growl.

Corsair had expected as much, and didn’t resist being restrained, despite the roughness with which the process was conducted. She idly wondered if she’d further wounded the pride of these ponies by simply giving up in the end, after having thwarted their efforts to capture her for so long. Her attention was drawn by the return of one of the ponies who’d gone into the apartment.

“Sergeant,” the mare began, “we found the other one. She’s messed up pretty bad. There’s a lot of blood.”

The noncom’s scowl deepened. There was a moment where Corsair wondered if the guards would disregard Shillelagh’s condition. There were all sorts of policies and protocols that compelled guardsponies to safeguard and care for the ponies they took into custody, even if they were suspected of some pretty serious crimes. But just because there was a ‘rule’ regarding something didn’t remove the ‘pony element’ from the equation. She and Shillelagh were accused of acting against the princesses. That was no small offense. The temptation to simply let such ‘vile ponies’ continue to suffer was likely quite great.

The cobalt pegasus was sure that all sorts of excuses could be made, and that a lot of them would stand up to scrutiny even if the sergeant’s superiors bothered to look into the matter. His job was to take suspected criminals into custody and restrain them so that they could be transported to jail for further questioning. Ordering the crystal mare to be dragged outside and hobbled—regardless of her injured state—would be following the letter of established procedure.

If doing that aggravated the mare’s wounds and ended up hastening her death…well, that wasn’t really something he could be blamed for. He wasn’t a nurse or a doctor. How was he supposed to reasonably judge how seriously injured somepony was?

The guard sergeant turned to a pegasus. “Go find an ambulance crew. Get them here as quickly as you can.” To the mare who’d reported on Shillelagh’s condition he said, “Keep her under guard, but don’t move her unless she tries something. Somepony go inform Captain Watchword that we have Corsair in custody.”

Corsair let out a breath that she hadn’t been aware she’d been holding upon hearing that her friend was going to be receiving the care that she needed. “Thank you, sergeant.”

The stallion snorted at her, glaring. “I don’t need thanks from scum,” he retorted.

She tried not to wince at the comment and was mostly successful. There was a thought in the back of the mare’s mind as to whether things would—or even could—go back to normal for them after this was all in the open and settled. Even if everything went according to plan and worked out for them in the end…a lot of ponies had been told that the survivors of Bronco Company had done a lot of awful things. Not every pony who’d heard the lies would end up being told the truth later. Fewer would believe the truth, she knew. Opinions were easily formed; but difficult—if not outright impossible—to change.

This whole ordeal was a dark cloud that would hang over all of them, maybe for the rest of their lives. At least when it came to the ponies who’d been told the lies. Which, apparently, constituted a good portion of her own Frontier Corps and the Canterlot Guard. Their peers would forever look at them and remember these events. Even if they accepted the truth about the conspiracy, they’d remember that she and the others had once been wanted ponies.

Cravat might not be the only one whose career in the Calvary was effectively over. It was a sobering thought, to be sure. Mostly because Corsair hadn’t ever really had to think about what she would do with her life other than be an officer in the Frontier Corps. This was going to be her career. When she eventually retired a couple decades down the road, she’d be retired. She wouldn’t need to worry about finding another vocation.

But now…that might not be the case.

If everything worked out anyway.

There existed, Corsair admitted darkly, the possibility that it wouldn’t. That the second layer of the 'distraction onion'—as Shillelagh had termed it—wouldn't be enough to keep Cravat from being found out before he could reach the castle. That they wouldn’t succeed in exposing the conspiracy. That the ponies behind it would see to it that she, Shillelagh, and the others, never managed to get the truth to the ears of the ponies who needed to hear it.

And if that happened, well...

She'd almost certainly be dead before sunrise. Likely by way of 'suiciding' in her cell that very night. At least she wouldn’t need to worry about what to do with the rest of her life if that turned out to be the case.

So there was that…

The batpony stallion lunged forward, his leathery wings spread to help him glide across the short distance that existed between him and his target. Bloodied hoof claws were outstretched, moving towards the teal unicorn’s throat a second time. Rein Doe/Saccharine—though her real name might be ‘Nightjar’—was moving to interpose herself between Autumn Brisk and their assailant, but her lingering injury hampered her movements and would surely impede her ability to fend him off.

The envoy let out a terrified shriek as she tried to backpedal out of the way of the attack, her wide eyes focused on the glistening steel blades that were reaching for her.

The EIS operative’s sharp fangs were bared in a wide grin as he anticipated removing one of the major threats to his schemes. It was an expression that didn’t last long, morphing into a snarl of shock and pain as he felt something grab hold of his tail and yank him sharply back. He tried to whirl around and lash out at whatever it was that thwarted his attack, only to find himself being glomped by a black and orange blur.

“You fucking—AAUGH!” The batpony had tried to swipe at his assailant with his hoof claws once more and force him off, only to find his fetlock intercepted by the unicorn stallion’s mouth; teeth biting down hard with the clear intent to crush joint and bone alike.

An unbladed hoof pawed at his face and eyes while a hind leg felt like it was groping around to try and wrap itself around one of his own hind limbs. It soon succeeded. The orange unicorn, who now had a grip on their adversary with their mouth, and a leg wrapped up in theirs, wasted no time in capitalizing on the leverage they’d achieved to roll their opponent in an attempt to straddle their back and—

Flashover collapsed onto the cobblestones with a surprised grunt. The pony that he’d been about to pin in a nearly textbook maneuver had simply vanished, leaving the unicorn sprawled on the ground. The confusion was nearly overwhelming, since he couldn’t figure out what had happened at first. He hadn’t been fighting another unicorn, so it’s not like the batpony could have teleport—

The realization struck him at just about the same moment Nightjar yelled out her warning: “He shifted! Behind you!”

He was rolling away a heartbeat later. Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite quick enough to completely avoid getting nicked by the hoof blade again. Flashover let out a pained hiss as he bounced back onto his hooves and spun around to face his attacker, who was once more by the sandwich board outside the café. The leathery-winged stallion didn’t look nearly as happy as he had a minute ago, his smile replaced by a sneer. He was visibly favoring the leg that Flashover had bit.

“You’ll pay for that, you piece of shit!” the batpony snarled at him. “I’ll gut you like a fucking fish,” the steel-gray stallion said darkly, then his gaze shifted briefly to the two nearby mares. “Then I’ll decapitate those two whores and make you stare into their lifeless eyes as you die, slowly, in a pile of your own entrails!”

Flashover recoiled away from the batpony slightly. “...the fuck!? The fuck’s wrong with you, dude? That’s just sick—you’re sick!”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Nightjar muttered from off to the side as she ushered Autumn Brisk further away from the two stallions. The unicorn was the obvious primary target, and so they needed to get her away from this clearly psychotic stallion.

The withdrawal did not go unnoticed but their attacker. While Flashover had been waiting for the batpony stallion to make his next move so that he could react and counter it, he hadn’t planned for the option that the operative ended up taking. Specifically: the batpony turned around and dove beneath the sandwich board. Flashover reflexively charged after the fleeing stallion…

…only to find no trace of him.

Autumn Brisk screamed again.

The orange unicorn whirled around in time to see Nightjar with her forelimbs wrapped around the teal mare in her elaborate dress full of ruffles and frills, flinging the both of them backwards with a powerful stroke of her wings to get out of range of where the stallion was swiping at them after having emerged from behind a cart. The pair of entangled mares rolled along the ground, leaving Autumn Brisk splayed out on her back, her eyes wide in shock as she frantically looked around her.

It took Flashover a moment to realize what had the other unicorn so confused: she wasn’t being clutched by Nightjar any longer. In fact, she was simply being held by an empty maid’s outfit.

Now it was the batpony stallion’s turn to cry out, drawing Flashover’s attention as he saw hooves and wings wrapping themselves around his barrel before tossing him bodily aside. The operative was caught by surprise by the maneuver and went tumbling to the cobblestones. Unfortunately, it looked to the orange unicorn like the mare had paid for her efforts as she staggered and her hind end dropped out from under her. More than just her dress was gone, Flashover saw, as the batpony mare had one of her—now—leathery wings tucked in and pressing itself firmly to her side, over her now torn-open belly wound.

“Get out of here!” Flashover yelled as he finally charged back into the fight, his horn glowing with cyan light. “You’re too hurt to fight; I’ve got this punk!”

Nightjar spared the unicorn a look and Flashover chose to ignore her dubious expression, instead plastering a cocky smirk across his muzzle as he cantered past her. “I’m actually pretty good at this kind of stuff,” he assured her, continuing to ignore the uncertainty obvious on her face…right before her eyes widened in surprise as they darted to what was behind him.

The batpony stallion was surprised too when he got back onto his hooves and turned to rage at the mare who’d gotten the drop on him…only to have his roar cut off when the sandwich board held in the glow of a telekinetic aura swung around.

The café which had owned the sign, like all of the other places of business on Canterlot’s premier avenue, was an upscale establishment which spared no expense when it came to outward-facing presentation. After all, Equestria’s capital city was home to many of the pony nation’s more elite and affluent citizens who would absolutely make judgments about the quality of an eatery based solely on how it looked, even at a glance. So everything about the café was of obvious quality. From the gilded cutlery, to the teak chairs, to the carved marble frescos above the door…

…to the sandwich board sign advertising the day’s specials, which had been constructed from two thick slate slabs framed within ornately carved hardwood.

Striking the batpony upside the head with what was effectively a stone tablet did far more than interrupt the stallion’s outraged screaming. It pitched the pony bodily into the air. Keen to press his advantage while he once more held the momentum, the orange unicorn continued his charge forward even as his magic swung the sign around for another strike, this time with the intent to pinch the batpony between it and the cobblestone street.

“No!”

Flashover was only barely aware of Nightjar’s warning. The stallion was too focused on maneuvering his recently acquired weapon to bring the swift conclusion, grinning triumphantly as he heard it connect with the batpony and slam him into the street with all of the telekinetic force he could muster. Wood splintered. The pieces of slate shattered like ceramic pottery upon the avenue.

The batpony was nowhere to be seen.

Flashover realized only too late the mistake that he’d made by coming at the other stallion from above with the sign, placing it between the batpony and the light of the moon and thus giving him access to moonshadow to use to escape being crushed. The unicorn cursed under his breath and spun around, his eyes darting about frantically to the other shadows being cast by the recently-raised moon which the batpony stallion might choose to emerge from.

He spotted movement under one of the café’s tables, not too far from where Nightjar was still slumped on her haunches, a wing folded protectively over her belly. She was also looking for the other operative, but most of her efforts were focused in the exact wrong direction. Flashover knew that she wasn’t going to be able to react in time to avoid the hoof claws coming for her. Nor was he going to be able to cross the distance and reach her in time. Still he bolted for her. His horn flared to life.

“I said to get out of here!” the unicorn yelled at the stunned mare. The confusion on her face was replaced with pain a second later as a blast of telekinetic energy slammed into her body. Cravat would certainly have admonished him for using as much magical force as he’d had on the mare. It had almost certainly done no favors for her injury and likely even set her recovery back weeks, if not months.

But it had saved her life in the moment.

The pulse of cyan magic sent Nightjar flying backwards through the air, and not under her own power. It hurled her out of the way of the batpony stallion’s intended strike and sent the mare tumbling back into the narrow alley that existed between the jeweler and the café. Her pained cry cut off suddenly the moment she passed into the darkness.

The batpony stallion unleashed another annoyed snarl and turned his bloodied muzzle in Flashover’s direction once more, if only briefly. Then his own gaze was darting around, flicking from one shadow to the next. His ears swiveled around, listening for movement behind him. He wasn’t fully distracted, the unicorn knew, as he still kept his eyes coming back to the orange stallion as he scanned for Nightjar; but he also wasn’t fully focused on the private. So the unicorn charged him once more.

The sudden burst of motion was enough to get the batpony’s full attention. Upon seeing the charge of the unicorn, the winged pony elected to avoid it by leaping into the air and attempting to gain some altitude over his adversary. He got in precisely two flaps of his wings before the unicorn’s horn lit. A aura matching its hue enveloped the batpony’s tail, arresting his ascension immediately. Then the telekinetic grasp pulled down. Hard.

Flashover was, by most metrics, not a ‘powerful’ unicorn. He didn’t know many actual spells and casting the few that he did know took a great deal of concentration. They also weren’t particularly powerful. Those criteria tended to be the more objective measures by which a unicorn’s ‘power’ was typically determined: how easily they could cast a lot of powerful magicks. Rarely was a unicorn’s aptitude with their telekinesis taken into consideration.

After all, every unicorn could perform telekinesis. Much like every pegasus could fly.

Which wasn’t to say that there weren’t degrees of aptitude with telekinetic manipulation; just as there was for flying. Some pegasi could fly much faster than others. Some could fly for much longer, covering greater distances before they felt fatigued. Similarly, some unicorns could cast much wider fields which were capable of holding aloft much heavier, or a substantially greater, number of objects. Some were better with finer, more precise, manipulations.

Some had powerful grips.

And, like spells, or flying, or running, or just about anything else that could be done: while natural aptitude played a role to a significant degree, it was always possible to improve one’s abilities with practice and exercise. If only to a point.

The Cavalry had given Flashover ample opportunity to improve the strength of the grip of his telekinesis; and he’d been quite motivated to do so. After all, letting your spear get knocked or otherwise wrenched from your magical grip by an opponent in a fight could be a matter of life or death for a unicorn.

So it was that Flashover had developed a rather powerful telekinetic field. Which presently had hold of the batpony by his tail, and was in the process of cracking his body against the ground like a whip.

For a bat, he bounced pretty good, the unicorn thought to himself with a smirk as he once more charged his now groaning opponent.

The batpony pushed himself back up onto his hooves and glared balefully at the orange stallion. “You fucking sunshiner! I’ll cut that horn off your head and make you choke on it!” Then the stallion lunged again.

But not towards Flashover. Or Autumn Brisk.

The Calvary private had been drilled on how to combat a decent number of races and monsters during his time in the Frontier Corps. Because each had widely differing physical—and often magical—characteristics, there simply didn’t exist any kind of ‘one size fits all’ tactic when fighting opponents. It could even differ on what kind of pony you were. Are you a unicorn? Don’t get within hoof reach of an earth pony. Pegasus? If you gave a unicorn enough time to light their horn, you’re fucked. Earth pony? Don’t let a pegasus grab you. They are powerful enough to carry you up to whatever altitude will let you hit the ground at terminal velocity when they let go again.

There were similar rules for monsters and other races.

Flashover believed that, in the Eqeustria that existed before the fall and banishment of Princess Luna, when batponies had been among the general pony population, members of the Cavalry would have been taught how to combat them effectively, and what 'rules' always needed to be kept in mind when doing so. With enough time, following those rules could have become almost second nature. Because, even though Flashover intellectually knew what the batpony he was fighting was capable of, he didn’t have the muscle memory or instincts to actively incorporate that knowledge into his fighting.

In the unicorn’s defense, he’d only learned of those abilities about twenty-four hours ago.

Unfortunately, that purely academic defense wasn’t going to do much to physically protect him in this fight. A fight which, because his opponent had wings, Flashover was still treating like one with a pegasus. As such, he was mostly just concerned with not letting the batpony get his hooves wrapped around him to carry him up into the air.

He wasn’t thinking about where his shadow was falling—because, honestly, when would that ever have been a factor to consider in a melee?!—or the nature of the light source that was casting it.

The freshly-raised moon was still low in the sky…and it was presently located directly behind Flashover…causing him to cast a lengthy shadow that reached the batpony long before the unicorn did.

“—Mother bucker!” Flashover cried out in exasperated fury; as much at himself as the batpony. He skittered to a half on the pavement and started circling around even as he edged closer to the equally alert envoy.

“W-where’s Rein?” Autumn Brisk asked through a worried stutter.

“She’s fine,” was the stallion’s distracted response. His ears turned fervently in every direction as he listened for any sounds that might betray an incoming attack. The beating of leathering wings in the air. The scrape of steel hoof claws on stone…

“Watch the shadows,” he told her even as he was doing the same. It was easier said than done. The night was a cloudless one. The moon was still relatively low in the sky, but it was above the rooftops of the city and shining brightly.

There were a lot of shadows being cast by moonlight. Especially with all of the streetlights out—which the unicorn suspected had been by design. It meant that every shadow was being created by the moon. Even their own. Flashover had personally witnessed the batpony mare crawl up First Sergeant Shillelagh’s side, out of the shadow cast by the crystal mare’s body. He’d seen Nightjar do it to the stallion.

Which meant that he could almost certainly do it to them.

How do you defend against something like that?! Flashover’s eyes briefly darted to Autumn Brisk and the hoof-length dress that she was still wearing, wondering with no small amount of horror if that batpony could materialize out from underneath it.

Does the shadow need to be a certain size? The unicorn pondered. I mean, there’s no way he could pop out from under a napkin or something, right?

However ‘shifting’ worked, it looked like the two of them had been granted a brief respite. The batpony was probably trying to shake off the worst of that last hit that Flashover had given him. If that was the case, the unicorn was going to put the time they’d been given to good use. His eyes locked onto the tables outside the café and the large umbrellas that provided the diner’s with shade in the daylight. It wasn’t a spear, but their central pole would still make a serviceable staff and that was nearly as good.

He lit his horn and grasped the umbrella with his cyan glow, illuminating nearly the whole front of the café in the night, bathing everything in soft blue light.

Flashover noticed the shadows shift.

The unicorn hesitated for a brief moment before floating the umbrella the rest of the way towards him, his telekinetic field rending the fabric from its top so that it was just the polished pole. He tucked the ‘staff’ into the crook of his fetlock and allowed his horn to dim once more. While he didn’t actually look in Autumn Brisk’s direction, it was clear that his softly spoken words were meant for her.

“When I tell you, light your horn. Bright as you can.”

“W-what?”

“Bright as you can, for as long as you can,” the unicorn continued to whisper as he scanned their surroundings, his eyes jumping from one shadow to the next in quick succession. “But only when I say.”

Much more loudly, and in a much cockier tone, he said, “Looks like I ran that little bitch off. Knew he was a fucking gelding. Come on, Brisky; let’s get to the castle.”

The teal mare balked. “I—what? What are y—?”

Flashover heard the enraged snarl before he saw the pony making it. He spun around quickly on three legs, the wooden pole tucked securely against his barrel by the fourth. The wood caught the hoof claws coming for his face, but didn’t offer nearly the resistance that the unicorn would have liked as three feet of the pole was sheared off by the batpony’s swing.

Apparently the cafe’s umbrellas had simply looked like they were ‘high quality’...

It didn’t really matter though. The batpony was back in the open. And he was within Flashover’s reach. “Light ‘em up! Now!” His own horn burst to life with undirected magical energy, encasing it in a brilliant corona that bathed his surroundings in cyan light. Though it took her a little longer to react, as she hadn’t grasped the purpose behind Flashover’s order, Autumn Brisk contributed her own silvery aura to the city avenue.

While he hadn’t been counting on the batpony stallion to reflexively wince at the sudden appearance of the two new bright sources of light, the unicorn nonetheless took full advantage of the brief distraction and lunged for the other stallion. He executed one final swing with the remains of his staff to further disorient the batpony before the two of them fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs. While the nocturnal equine was caught off guard and slow to react to the attack, Flashover wasted no time in descending into the full on brawl that he’d initiated.

He jabbed ribs with hooves. Kicked at the batpony’s exposed belly with his hind legs. Snapped at ears and muzzle with his teeth. Anything and everything he could think of to hurt the batpony was invoked with reckless abandon. Every ‘dirty’ trick and move that his instructors had told him about during training—nothing was ‘off limits’ in a fight for survival, after all—every move that First Sergeant Shillelagh had taught them that she'd learned during her tenure in the resistance to King Sombra’s rule—was brought to bear against the batpony now.

It was immediately apparent that Flashover’s opponent didn’t know how to respond to the assault. He flailed at the unicorn with his bladed hooves, but hoof claws weren’t actually particularly useful when a pony had you pinned. It just wasn’t possible to get the angle and leverage that was needed to make the best use of the blades. Which wasn’t to say that the unicorn would emerge unscathed from this fight. The blades weren’t cutting him deep, but they were cutting him. His withers and flanks burned as the flailing batpony inflicted additional lacerations upon his body. But he didn’t relent.

To pull back was to give his opponent a better angle to use the hoof claws more effectively. While to be in close was to give him access to the batpony’s face, eyes, and throat. Flashover’s hooves might not be strapped with blades, but that didn’t mean that the sharp keratin edges wasn’t still capable of cutting flesh.

All the while, he kept his horn glowing brightly, denying the batpony access to any shadows cast by moonlight that he could use to get away. The winged stallion appeared to be aware of this, and he also seemed to have recognized that he was losing ground in the brawl. His motions were becoming more frantic as he tried to escape from the unicorn. His strikes were less coordinated.

But the batpony was still landing strikes.

Out of the corner of Flashover’s eye, he caught sight of a glint of steel in the cyan light of his horn. The batpony had managed to get a forehoof at an angle where he could strike at the unicorn stallion’s face. There wasn’t enough time for Flashover to react and block the blow. He was going to end up taking it…and it was going to hurt. A lot. The blades descended—

“Flashover!”

—and then they stopped. Suddenly. Arrested by a silver glow.

The unicorn didn’t hesitate. The batpony had lost the use of one of his limbs and was exposed. There was no way to know for how long though, as he didn’t know how strong Autumn Brisk was with her field. It didn’t matter though. Flashover only needed seconds to end this fight.

He reared up over his opponent, cocked the hoof back which no longer had to worry about parrying the batpony’s claws, and delivered one blow after another into the face of the stallion he had pinned beneath him. He didn’t pull his punches the way he did during matches in the unit. This wasn’t a training bout. This was a fight; and he needed to end it. Now.

Jackhammered blows landed on the batpony without hesitation or mercy. It didn’t take many before the winged stallion was no longer trying to strike at the unicorn atop him, instead focusing on getting his bladed hooves between his head and the punches that threatened to render him unconscious. This was fine with Flashover, as it meant that he was simply being given the opportunity to fracture or even break the batpony’s limbs and cripple his opponent for good.

“F-flashover; stop!” He was vaguely aware of a mare yelling at him, her voice sounding desperate.

The unicorn ignored her. This pony had tried to kill him—and her. He was responsible—at least in part—for the deaths of his comrades—his friends—in Gallopoli. There was going to be no ‘stopping’. Not for him. This stallion didn’t deserve to walk away from this. Not when so many good ponies weren’t around any more because of him—!

Somepony grabbed him from behind. Several someponies. They weren’t gentle about it either. Flashover felt himself ripped from atop the batpony he’d been beating. A heartbeat later he was being slammed to the ground as ponies piled onto his back and pinned him beneath the weight of their armored bodies.

A dull gray hoof capped by the same sort of gleaming steel claws that Flashover had seen their attacker wearing appeared menacingly in front of his face. Then a mare’s voice he didn’t recognize sounded in his ear. “Douse the horn. Don’t move.”

Flashover’s gaze traced their way up the hoof, along the leg clad in purple armor, until he met a pair of scarlet eyes with slit pupils glaring at him from behind a purple lacquered metal visor.

Night Guard.

He darkened his horn and let his body go as limp as it could. There was a lot of adrenaline coursing through his veins at the moment though. And the armored bodies pressing down on the dozens of fresh wounds he’d incurred during the fight weren’t helping matters either. Still, Flashover knew that the fight was over. A careful glance to the side confirmed that Autumn Brisk had also been taken into custody, though far more gently than he had been.

A pair of armored Night Guards were also at the sides of the severely beaten batpony that they’d pulled Flashover off of, helping him to his hooves. “About time I got some backup,” he spat, if only to clear some of the blood from his mouth that was flowing into it from a split lip and several missing fangs. “Get them shackled! Then take them to a safehouse the EIS has set up on the south side of the city—I’ll give your directions.

“You’ll speak of it’s location to nopony—”

“Really? Because I’d like to hear about its location, Senior Operative Nocturne.” A gravelly voice that sounded only slightly feminine said.

For the first time that evening, Flashover saw the batpony stallion look genuinely surprised. More than that, he looked scared. The unicorn followed his slack-jawed gaze until he found himself looking at another batpony. An older mare not dressed in armor, but instead wearing an otherwise unremarkable business suit. At least as well tailored as his own ‘butler attire’ had been, but plain in cut and style. Even in the dim moonlight, it was clear that her coat was faded with age. Her white mane was pulled back into a tight professional bun. In contrast, her pale green eyes shone brightly, revealing a keen intellect which had not been dulled even an iota by her advanced years.

Those eyes were focused intently on the beaten and bloodied batpony stallion. “Is there a reason why these two shouldn’t be brought to the EIS's usual interrogation location, senior operative?”

Nocturne swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling very dry. “...I—Director Em-Dash, I just wanted them held temporarily at an alternate site until I could make arrangements to have these traitors delivered to—”

“Shut up.” The mare said, raising her hoof sharply. His mouth closed immediately with an audible ‘click’. Her eyes darted to the Night Guards that were still flanking him. She issued them a nod. A heartbeat later the two armored ponies were subduing and restraining the startled stallion just as they’d done with the two unicorns.

“Director, what—?!” His protest was cut off as one of the armored batponies swept his forelegs and slammed him to the cobblestones.

“I have recently heard some very…concerning allegations regarding your conduct, senior operative. Among other things.” The EIS Director’s lips pulled back into a sneer as she regarded him. Movement behind her drew Flashover's attention, and the orange unicorn caught sight of a familiar batpony mare. Like Autumn Brisk, she also seemed to be in the more 'gentle' custody of a purple-armored Night Guard. “Allegations that will be investigated thoroughly in the coming weeks. During that time, you will be confined in one of the EIS’s legitimate interrogation centers.

“Though I will still want to see where it was that you were about to have these two sent ‘temporarily’,” she added. Her gaze went back to the Night Guards. “Remove him.” The groaning stallion was hauled away with little apparent compassion for his injured state.

Then the older mare’s attention went to the unicorns. Her eyes fell on Flashover. “The EIS has heard rather concerning things about the two of you as well.” The orange unicorn swallowed now too. He knew what Equestria thought he’d been a part of. He also knew it was the next best thing to impossible to prove he hadn’t done something that highly-positioned ponies in the government were framing him for. “You’ll be held until the matter can be cleared up.”

The Director of the Equestrian Intelligence Service scrutinized the orange stallion’s injuries for a few additional seconds. “...After you’ve been cleared by a physician.” She looked once more to the Night Guards. “See to it that their wounds are treated. Then get them something to eat. I’ll be by later to interview them personally.

“It seems that the reports I receive from some of my own staff aren’t quite as reliable as I would have hoped.” The mare’s smile was a bitter one. “I’ll have to pay closer attention to that in the future.

“Thank you for your assistance in this matter, Guardians.”

She turned and started to walked away. She gestured with her wing and Nightjar and her armored escort fell into step behind her, though their batpony companion did mouth, 'it's okay' at Flashover before she did so. Before the unicorn could think too long on the matter of where Rein—or Saccharin, or Nightjar, or whatever her actual name was—he felt an armored hoof set itself lightly on his withers.

The mare beside Flashover with the red eyes was looking down at him. Her words were noticeably less aggressive when she spoke this time. “Can you stand?” The orange unicorn hesitated before carefully—and slowly—moving his limbs under him to try and bear his own weight. A little pressure confirmed that, while there was pain, it wasn’t so intense that he could get back up. He nodded at the mare. “Take it easy. If you need help, just ask.”

Despite his assurance, a leathery wing still aided the stallion as he rose back up onto his hooves. Which was good, because they weren’t quite as steady as Flashover had predicted once they were bearing his full weight again. As his body finished dumping adrenaline, the pain of his wounds was becoming more pronounced and intense. “Thank you.”

“Least a mare can do for the pony who finally gave that prick the thrashing he’s had coming,” the crimson-eyed mare murmured out of the corner of her mouth. The comment earned a surprised look from the unicorn. She responded to his shocked expression with a wink before she and her partner gently urged him forward.

The pace was mercifully slow. Autumn Brisk was ushered to his side as the armored batponies took up positions surrounding the pair of unicorns to keep an eye on their nominal captives. From their demeanor though, Flashover felt like they were being taken into actual ‘protective custody'.

He looked at the envoy. “Are you okay?”

“M-me?!” The teal mare sputtered, her eyes darting over the unicorn’s bloodied body. “What about you?! You could have been killed!” She hissed in what was almost an admonishing tone.

“By that loser? Pfft,” the unicorn gave his tail a dismissive lash. “He was barely a threat. EIS spooks are just a bunch of voyeurs.” This comment earned the stallion an amused snort from one of the armored batponies. He couldn’t be sure with all the armor, but he suspected it was a crimson-eyed mare again.

“Meanwhile, I took second place in the regiment’s ‘Golden Hoof’ tournament last year,” Flashover went on. “I was going to be attending the Cavalry’s combatives school in a few months. They were going to make me an instructor for hoof-to-hoof fighting.” His expression darkened briefly as he found himself wondering if that was still going to be in his future. If anything was going to be in his future besides a cell. Their part of the plan seemed to have worked, but that didn’t mean all of it had—or would.

He chased the thought away and forced a smile back onto his muzzle. “There was a reason they made me your bodyguard, Lady Brisk.” His smile broadened into a full grin now as he gave the teal mare a wink. “I’m not just another pretty face!”

The envoy’s eyeroll and sigh was purely reflexive. The smile that touched her lips a few seconds later was offered with a measure of what the stallion interpreted as a resigned reluctance to concede the point as factual. The ‘thank you, Flash’ she offered next was accompanied by a peck on the cheek. The stallion suddenly wasn’t feeling any pain.

The batpony mare’s ‘meh’ and noncommittal wave of her wing was wholly uncalled for, in Flashover’s opinion.

Nocturne wasn't wholly concerned as he was lead away by the Night Guards. The director could conduct whatever sort of 'investigation' she wished. At the end of the night, it would come down to little more than a simple 'she said; he said' between him and Nightjar.

...And whichever other mares she managed to convince to come forward.

Still, he could whether some 'harassment' allegations. A few promises to 'do better', enrolling in a 'sensitivity class' or two. His career might suffer a little bit, but nothing catastrophic, in his estimation. Certainly not when compared to the allegations of attempted murder that Nightjar was sure to try and level against him. She'd have no evidence to offer, and would ultimately have to admit that it was a mercenary griffon who'd actually tried to kill her. Nocturne could reasonably claim that he'd been nowhere around her at the time it had happened.

He'd worked out an alibi for that night already anyway.

No, he wasn't concerned. Director Em-Dash would hold him for a while, but he'd be let go in due time. Especially when he called in the favors he was owed by both Earl Bitter Creek and Brigadier General Maniple. Both stallions owed him quite the debt for—mostly—solving their problem. True, none of the Gallopoli survivors were dead, but they were in custody; and whatever they might claim, they also had no evidence to support their protests of innocence.

The envoy's survival might prove a hindrance, since her reports about Captain Corsair overstepping her authority had been intended to serve as evidence that the pegasus had gone off the deep end. With the envoy alive and—presumably—willing to testify that Corsair hadn't done anything wrong despite her reports characterizing the officer as unnecessarily aggressive...

Maybe that problem could still be 'solved' if he could get word—and bits—to the right ponies. There would be at least a day or two before the envoy was officially debriefed. If she 'took her own life' before anything could make it onto the record...

It wasn't a perfect outcome, Nocturne reluctantly conceded, but at least all five of the survivors had been accounted for and stopped. Corsair and Shillelagh had been all but cornered by the guard and were sure to be in custody soon, if they hadn't already somehow been captured by that incompetent 'Captain'. The stallion admitted that their efforts to serve as a distraction had been well-conceived. It had certainly outmaneuvered 'Canterlot's Finest', he mentally snorted.

He'd seen through it almost immediately, of course; because he wasn't an idiot. Those two had been purposefully drawing attention away from the actual attempt to sneak into the city. Which—and again he offered grudging kudos to the crystal mare's planning acumen—had almost fooled him too. A well-dressed 'noble' in Canterlot was hardly an unusual sight. Especially on the city's main avenue. Under most circumstances, Nocturne wouldn't have paid the three of them any heed either.

But not tonight's circumstances.

That was where the three of them had screwed up: tonight, they'd stood out like a donkey in a griffon aerie. No noble worth their breeding was going to be out on the street after hearing the news about wanted fugitives running around the city; except for those who were on their way to the castle to take part in tonight's deliberations. Maybe if the trio had acted like they were in a hurry to reach the palace, Nocturne wouldn't have paid them much attention, but with them just strolling leisurely down the street, stopping at every storefront they passed?

A 'noble' dressed that fancy, with an entourage, ambling down a deserted street, couldn't have done anything other the draw attention.

Except from the Guard, obviously. But they were all foals too busy playing grab-flank with the all-too-obvious 'bait'. He was a skilled EIS operative who knew to be on the lookout for otherwise 'out of place' ponies and recognize them for the possible threats that they could represent.

That was what 'Shell-Game' Shillelagh got for placing her plan in the hooves of an amateur like the envoy, the batpony stallion supposed. No doubt it had been her who'd insisted on window shopping when they should have been more focused on reaching the palace. It was a little surprising that Nightjar hadn't done more to spur the unicorn on. Especially when she had to know that the distraction being provided by Corsair and Shillelagh couldn't last forever—

Nocturne almost stumbled in his hobbles as his brain hung itself up on a discrepancy that he'd somehow managed to overlook:

There was a pony missing.

They'd known from Hawkwood's report that five ponies from Bronco Company had survived the purge. Corsair, Shillelagh, Envoy Autumn Brisk, and two other soldiers. The batpony didn't recall their names, because they hadn't been important enough concerns to learn their names.

The city's guards had reported positively identifying the pegasus and her crystal counterpart. Nocturne had found the unicorn envoy. That orange stallion was obviously one of the other soldiers—he was reasonably certain he recognized him from the picture in the personnel file he'd been looking at earlier that day.

Nightjar made five, yes, but she wasn't part of the five. He hadn't even known for certain that the pegasus had been the EIS operative until he'd gotten closer. He might have recognized her earlier—even in her disguised form—had he not been 'certain' they she'd been killed a week ago. Nocturne had assumed the gray 'pegasus' must have been the fifth Bronco Company member.

But she wasn't. Which meant that there was still a pony out there who was unaccounted for.

...Had that been by design?

A 'noble' dressed that fancy, with an entourage, moving down a deserted street, couldn't have done anything other the draw attention...

Nocturne felt a chill run down his spine.

There'd been a second layer to the deception, the batpony realized with something akin to growing horror. The envoy had also been intended to draw attention, just like Corsair. Keeping the focus of any watchful eyes away from the true attempt to get their testimony to receptive ears.

That should have been far easier said than done. Not right now. Not tonight. Day Court was closed to petitioners by now, and had been for hours. The Night Court wouldn't be open to the publics for several more hours yet. The session being held by the Noble Stable was only open to benched members of the Peerage. This was arguably the worst possible time to try and get a pony into the palace to speak with anypony important—let alone anypony who could actually do anything—about the matter on Gallopoli.

Except...with all the effort and planning that had obviously been put into this plan of theirs, they should have known that ahead of time. Right? It was obvious that Shillelagh and the rest had done some preparation for this, if the clothing the envoy had been wearing was any indication. So surely they'd done at least a cursory amount of reconnaissance as well. And even a passing question or two in Ponyville would have alerted them to the meeting in the Noble Stable. They'd have known that, even if they managed to get into the city, they weren't going to be able to get anypony into the palace.

They knew about the meeting at the Noble Stable. They had to. There was a pony not accounted for. There was a plan to get that pony into the palace...somehow.

How?

Nocturne tried to recall the records of the other two 'noponies' whose files he'd gotten from Maniple. The unicorn's background had been expectedly unimpressive—though the file had clearly been light on details regarding his hoof-to-hoof training. As for the other pony...

He hadn't gotten that far, the batpony realized with a grimace. He'd gotten side-tracked by Shillelagh and never made it to the fifth file. The pony was an unknown quantity, and that left Nocturne feeling decidedly uncomfortable. Especially since, whoever that pony was, Shillelagh—a mare who'd gone up against Sombra in her youth—had apparently put together a plan that revolved entirely around getting them to the palace. The crystal mare wasn't a fool and time had clearly not dulled her ability to infiltrate a major city—even one that was 'ready' for her, Nocturne added with a mental growl.

She knew what she was doing.

Nocturne's throat tightened—though he'd never admit it was from fear—at the thought that, perhaps, the earl would end up being less than impressed with his efforts to thwart the Bronco Company survivors after all. Especially if this pony could do what Shillelagh trusted them to be able to do.

Who are you...?

"—Welcome to Canterlot Castle, Your Lordship," the gold-clad unicorn mare said as she floated the identification papers back to the well-dressed earth pony standing at the pedestrian gate. "Would you like an escort to the Stable?"

The stallion took his returned papers and passed them along to his attendant, who nervously slipped them back inside the satchel slung over his side. The dappled earth pony shook his head. "That won't be necessary. I know the way.

"It's not my first time here..."

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading! As always, a thumbs up and comment are always greatly appreciated :twilightblush:

I've set up a Cover Art Fund if you're interested and have any bits lying around!

Chapter xix

The Noble Stable,

Canterlot Castle,

Central Equestria

Alabaster Fetlock, Fourth Earl of Bitter Creek, was reading over his notes for the umpteenth time that day as ponies continued to file into the Noble Stable and take their seats. There were far more genuine nobles present here tonight than there were during a typical session. Usually, the realm’s Peers simply sent proxies to cast their votes in accordance with however the leader of their affiliated bloc directed. This evening’s session, however, was far from ‘usual’. For the first time in centuries, the nobles of Equestria would be making a deadly serious decision:

Whether or not to take Equestria to war.

The earl’s gaze drifted from his note cards towards the twin thrones that sat at one end of the room, opposite the massive chamber doors the nobles were entering through. The Solar and Lunar Thrones were empty at the moment, and would remain so for a while longer. The princesses would be the last to arrive. Well, that wasn’t strictly accurate, the earl supposed. In all likelihood, the sisters were indeed present right now. It was simply that they wouldn’t be summoned to ‘oversee the proceedings’ until the rest of the members of the Noble Stable were seated and the session started.

The ivory unicorn’s gaze next drifted down to a simplistic wooden podium that sat at the base of the dias the thrones were on. Like them, it was also unoccupied at the moment. The Speaker for the Stable would be the second to last to present themselves to the chamber. It was almost a certainty that the speaker was also already here and was simply waiting. Most likely she was conversing with the princesses.

“Earl Bitter Creek.”

He turned his head at the invocation of his title, his eyes coming to rest upon the wrinkled old face of his majordomo. The elder stallion glanced at their surroundings, judging how closely those nearby were paying attention to them, before leaning in close to the unicorn’s ear and whispering. “I have just received word from the general that Corsair and Shillelagh have been apprehended and taken into custody by the Royal Guard.”

Alabaster’s first impulse was to grimace. While it was a relief to hear that the two had been captured, he didn’t much care for the fact that they’d been captured by the city’s guards—which suggested that they’d made it into the city proper somehow—and he especially didn’t like that those two were in the custody of the guards. He hoped that was a situation which could be remedied in short order.

There was also the matter of the other three ponies; but the earl supposed that they were an issue which might yet soon be resolved as well.

“Does he know how and when our mutual friend intends to deal with them?” He asked the older gray unicorn in a matching hushed tone.

Matre shook his head. “No, My Lord. Nor does the general know where our 'mutual friend' presently is. The general hasn’t seen or heard from him in some time.”

Alabaster reasoned that the batpony was likely trying to hunt down the last of the loose ends before tying them off. Regardless, the earl resolved to treat the matter as ‘handled’, for all intents and purposes. The survivors of Bronco Company certainly weren’t going to be able to do anything which would stop these proceedings; and the outcome reached here would likely put his plans past the ‘point of no return’.

“Thank you, Maitre. If you hear anything further, please let me know.”

“Yes, My Lord.” The older unicorn withdrew.

As the last of the realm’s peers finally took their seats. The low murmur which hovered over the chamber as ponies conversed with political allies crescendoed to dull roar as ponies had to raise their volume of speech more and more in order to be heard over the words of others. Only for the room to quiet almost instantly the moment the purposefully squeaky hinges of a small side door announced that it had opened. Every eye in the room turned to watch as an older lilac unicorn stallion dressed in a fine deep indigo vest with golden accents step through the door and slowly make their way to the podium at the base of the thrones.

Those ponies who were not already seated hurried the rest of the way to their assigned benches, arranged by seniority of title, and took their seats. All conversation had ceased and the chamber was silent save for the occasional clearing of a throat or muffled cough by the time The Speaker was at the podium. All the same, the old stallion slipped a hoof into an old bronze horseshoe that sat atop the wooden surface and delivered two sharp stomps to a piece of worn granite that sat at his hooves upon the polished marble floor. Each of those objects harkened back to the earliest days of Equestria, and had remained a constant, even as the city and castle around them had changed. There was even speculation that the stone was from the original Castle of the Two Sisters, though neither alicorn had confirmed it yet.

“The Noble Stable is brought to order!” The Speaker recited the words needlessly. There was a script that needed to be followed during such important official proceedings though. The lilac stallion turned his head about the room, examining first one side and then the other, confirming that he had the attention of all of the ponies in the room. Then, “All bow for the arrival of Their Royal Majesties!”

The Speaker took a step back from his podium, turned on age-stiffened limbs, and bowed down before the dias holding the twin thrones. The rest of the nobles likewise bowed in their benches. A few seconds later, Princesses Celestia and Luna emerged from behind their respective thrones and took their seats.

“Rise,” the elder sister commanded.

Only the old stallion before her did so, looking up at the diarchs. “Your Majesties, Your Noble Stable sits ready to assist in leading Your realm. Under Your guidance and with Your wisdom, may it begin its deliberations?”

“Beneath Our guidance and wisdom, you may proceed, Speaker,” the younger sister allowed.

The old unicorn inclined his head in acknowledgement and turned back to the podium. Once more he delivered two blows to the granite slab with his bronze horseshoe. “All rise! As I am sure many of our Ladies and Lords are aware,” he began, casting another wandering eye at all of the nobles who were present in lieu of their usual proxies, “the first issue on the docket today is a grave one.” His attention focused now on Alabaster. “Earl Bitter Creek, Their Majesties’ Minister of Foreign Affairs, has some rather grave tidings for us. Your Lordship, if you would care to address the Stable?”

The lilac unicorn motioned for him to descend to the chamber floor. The earl nodded and collected his notes in his magic before making his way down from his bench. He nodded towards The Speaker and then cleared his throat and began to address the assembled nobility.

“My Ladies, My Lords, I fear that I bring ill tidings before the Stable.

“Approximately one week ago, the Saddle Arabian town of Gallopoli was razed to the ground, its citizens slaughtered nearly to a mare.” While most of the Stable’s membership was already aware of this, as a memorandum of the evening’s docket had been distributed a few days ago—hence the record attendance tonight—there were still quite a few gasps heard among the peerage. “The Saddle Arabian Sultan has leveled allegations that this heinous crime was perpetrated by members of the Frontier Corps of Their Majesties’ own Royal Cavalry.” There was another, much louder and more contentious, round of gasps and other murmuring. The Speaker slammed his bronze horseshoe and silence was restored.

“While it pains me to admit it,” the earl continued, “the investigations by the Equestrian Intelligence Service has discovered evidence consistent with the sultan's allegations." More gasps, louder discourse from among the nobles of the gallery, and further slams of the bronze horseshoe to reestablish silence.

Alabaster hid a smile as he watched the faces of the gathered nobility. Thus far, they were reacting just as he'd predicted to his delivery. Which boded well for how he intended to sculp their decisions with his coming words. "At the ever-just command of Their Majesties," he nodded in the direction of the seated alicorns, "the EIS has opened a formal investigation into the matter. The commanding officer of the Frontier Corps, Brigadier General Maniple, has ordered the commander of the errant company arrested on sight. Indeed, the general has assured both my ministry and Their Majesties that every element of his Frontier Corps in Western Equestria, a full two thirds of the ponies under his command, are participating in the search."

Or, at least, they were until they had caught Corsair and the others, the earl ruefully didn't say aloud. That news hadn't been passed around outside of the inner circle, for obvious reasons.

"We have assured the sultan that Equestria is taking every reasonable action to apprehend these criminals," Alabaster continued.

"Unfortunately," his tone became forlorn now, as he prepared to deliver the unwelcome news which brought the Stable together this evening, "the horses do not appear to be satisfied with our efforts. Despite the pleas of Their Majesties to do otherwise, Sultan Rahid-In Saheid Sad-Hal has insisted that Saddle Arabia be the one to prosecute the search. Unilaterally."

The gasps and murmurs sounded angrier than shocked this time around. The ponies in the Stable immediately recognized an overstepping of Equestrian sovereignty. Instinctively, they would not stand for it—they could not stand for it. In the eyes of the international community it would subordinate Equestria—Their Royal Majesties—to a foreign power.

To suggest that the Royal Sisters—the very ponies who moved the sun and moon in the sky—bow and scrape before anycreature...it was tantamount to blasphemy.

The Noble Stable would not stand for it, and Earl Bitter Creek knew it. He hid another smile from his lips and kept a properly resigned expression in place on his face as he prepared the next bit of news which he knew would seal the upcoming vote exactly the way he wanted it.

"To that end” the Minister of Foreign Affairs continued with a heavy sigh, “my office received word that, just three days ago, the sultan sent ten thousand Saddle Arabian soldier across the border into Equestria.”

This was not information which had previously been released, even to ranking members of the Stable. Aside from the princesses Themselves, it was coming at everypony cold. The shocked and outraged utterances—the outright yells—from the assembled nobles had been fully anticipated by the earl. Indeed, he’d been counting on exactly this reaction. News that would catch them off guard. That would throw whatever pre-assembly voting arrangements they’d made with their little political cliques into total disarray by introducing information which fundamentally altered the circumstances behind the agreements made by the numerous factions and blocs.

There was bona fide military threat to their nation now. Mutual hoof-polishing would have to wait.

The Sisters had known about the incursion, of course. Director Em-Dash had informed them. The princesses had then issued orders to their military. Orders to make preparations and to assemble in a greater number to best prepare to meet the Saddle Arabians.

Orders which never ended up reaching their final intended destination, as Nocturne had delivered the earl’s desired course of action—along with an altered intelligence briefing—to Brigadier General Reconnoiter first by bypassing the chain of command.

The Speaker’s hoof had to come down on the stone several times to restore order, but he eventually received it and so Alabaster resumed his address. “Ladies, Lords…” he turned now to the alicorn siblings and gave them an imploring look, “...Your Majesties, Equestria cannot allow such a flagrant violation of our sovereignty to go unanswered!

“Foreign hooves march across Equestrian soil—under arms! To do nothing—to let the Saddle Arabians send their armies to maraud through our homes…” The earl gave his head a pitying, helpless shake. “...Noble ponies of this Stable, we must respond to this threat!”

Alabaster could see the uncertain expressions among many of the faces of the Stable. They were faces which had looked patently affronted by the news that the horses had soldiers inside Equestria’s borders, so they certainly were not happy with the situation; but they also weren’t quite willing to escalate matters if it could be avoided. The earl knew that wouldn’t hold for long. Not if the timetable he’d received from Nocturne and Maniple was anywhere close to accurate.

General Reconnoiter’s forces should have already encountered the Saddle Arabian army. Given the numerical disparity at play, he’d been assured by Maniple that defeat of the Equestrian army was a certainty. With the distances at play, Canterlot should be receiving word about those losses any moment now…

“I am not proposing that we should send our own soldiers to siege Istanbull,” Earl Bitter Creek hastily amended. “But we must—at the very least—repel the invasion happening right now! Before there is a costly confrontation.

"Equestria's present standing armies in the west are gathering," he informed the noble ponies, for that was what the princesses believed as well. "What I propose is that we mobilize the garrisons in the east as well—just in case they are needed," he added by way of caveat. It wouldn't do to come off as a warmonger, now would it? "Equestria must be ready to defend itself, especially when being confronted by a demonstrably unreasonable neighbor," he stressed.

Then Alabaster took the chance to press things just a bit further. "As much as it pains me so," the earl said with a reluctant sigh, doing his best to sound as though even he was loath to suggest this next part, “I propose: that we...take steps...to prepare for war. As a precaution against further rash acts by the sultan and his horses.”

The expressions he saw on the faces of the other nobles now were contemplative, at worst—from the perspective of his desired outcome. Even better, a not-insignificant number of the ponies he knew to be the leaders of the various voting factions were looking quite receptive to his proposal. A hasty mental tally suggested that his plan would easily pass the Noble Stable. After that, it would be even easier to get it through the House of Common Ponies. Especially when—by that time—Canterlot would have received word that Reconnoiter's army was soundly crushed by the Saddle Arabian's army in an 'unprovoked' attack.

With the news of such a tragedy, and a proposal that had the backing of both of the government's legislative chambers, the princesses wouldn't be able to stave off the calls for a full military mobilization of Equestria's armies.

Alabaster was going to get his war.

The Speaker silenced the murmurs once more and returned the chamber to order. “A motion is before the Stable. Is there a second who will support Earl Bitter Creek?” Alabaster hid his smile as several prominent ponies all but raced to see who could stand up and voice their support first. “A motion has been made and seconded. The proposal may be voted on by this assembly.

“Are there any among the Stable who would wish to speak in opposition before votes are cast?”

Alabaster took a moment to glance towards his various political rivals in the Stable. If any were going to try to thwart his plans, it would be them. Not because they actually opposed what he was advocating for of course. Not on principle, anyway. But merely because it was in their best political interests for him not to be able to claim credit for getting measures successfully through the Noble Stable. Even if that meant suggesting Equestria should do nothing while a foreign army marched unopposed through their nation.

It was asinine, but that was politics.

However, it looked like those usual opponents were going to opt to utilize discretion in this particular instance. None of them raised their hooves. When it became clear that there wasn’t going to be any open opposition to the earl's proposal, The Speaker nodded. “Then this assembly shall move on to a vote. All of those who support Earl Bitter Creek’s motion to mobilize Equestria for war, raise your—”

The older stallion’s words were interrupted as the side door opened once more on its noisy hinges. A guard trotted in and gingerly made their way to The Speaker who, while appearing visibly annoyed at the interruption, leaned in and listened to what the guard had come to tell him. Alabaster turned an ear to listen but wasn’t able to make out the contents of the exchange. He was only able to see that, whatever was being said, it evoked a raised brow from the older unicorn.

The Speaker’s eyes darted briefly to the side of the chamber, presumably to look at one of the seated nobles. The earl couldn’t identify which pony specifically he’d been looking for, but he did note that it was a section of benches which were reserved for some of the higher ranking members of the Noble Stable. He masked his own annoyed frown now.

When the guard was finally done, The Speaker whispered something back, to which the armored pony nodded, bowed, and then left back out the way that he’d come. The old lilac unicorn cleared his throat and once more addressed the chamber. “My apologies, Ladies and Lords. It seems we will have an additional piece of business before the Stable.”

The earl wasn’t quite able to conceal his annoyance. He was so close! All he needed was for this vote to pass, and a war with Saddle Arabia would be a foregone conclusion. Equestria's future would be secured! “My Lord Speaker,” he began, aware how strained his words sounded as he spoke and quickly cleared his throat so as to speak with the decorum expected of a benched peer of the Stable, “surely this new matter can wait until after the vote has been taken?”

The Speaker offered the minister an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid that, under the wording of the Noble Stable’s Charter, this new matter actually takes precedence over a vote—even one of as great import as this.

"It shouldn’t take long though, Earl Bitter Creek. My understanding is that it’s just a brief bit of procedural formality and then we can swiftly get back to the matter at hoof.”

Alabaster nodded in acknowledgement even as his mind worked to puzzle out what this new ‘procedural formality’ before the Stable could be that would take precedence ahead of an active vote. There were a few matters, of course, that took priority over all else before the Stable when they came up. It was hard to think of which of them could be the case now though…

The main doors of the Noble Stable opened up and the chamber’s Mare-at-Arms stepped through ahead of a pair of earth pony stallions that Bitter Creek didn’t recognize. The uniformed mare who escorted them bowed to The Speaker and the princesses, who also looked quite curious to see what had postponed this important vote.

“Good ponies of the Stable, Your Majesties, presenting Baron Muslin Cravat of House Medicas!” The Mare-at-Arms now stepped aside and gestured to the lead stallion who had followed her in. The dappled gray earth pony advanced before bowing low before the podium.

“Baron Cravat,” The Speaker began in an even, if curious, tone. “Your timing is less than ideal; but I understand that you wish to submit a petition before this chamber?”

Earl Bitter Creek snorted now, and none too quietly either. A petitioner? That was what the vote had been delayed for? Petitions didn’t take precedence before votes in the Stable! In fact, this particular session of the Noble Stable wasn't even going to be open to petitions from the Peerage. Which The Speaker well knew. What was going on?

“Lord Speaker,” the dappled pony began as he rose back to his hooves. His eyes darted to the alicorns seated behind the older stallion, “Your Majesties. I bring news of the utmost importance from Saddle Arabia—”

Earl Bitter Creek’s eyes widened. While he was waiting for news of the battle with the horses, this noble was most certainly not a courier. He'd also specifically said 'from Saddle Arabia', not western Equestria. He wasn't here to report on Reconnoiter's battle. Which meant that, whatever this stallion had to say, it could be allowed to be heard by the Stable until Alabaster could make sure it wasn't counter to anything he or his ministry had previously reported.

He quickly advanced, cutting off the earth pony. “Lord Speaker; point of order! Mere addresses to the Stable do not preempt motions and votes! Especially if they are not immediately relevant to the proceedings at hoof.

“Baron Cravat isn’t even a ‘led and shod’ member of the Noble Stable,” Alabaster protested. Admittedly, this was mostly a guess on the earl's part. It was hardly as though he'd memorized the name and face of every member of the stable. It was an educated guess though. If this pony were a currently benched member, then he’d have been seated in the chamber already. “He has no standing to speak before this assembly!”

The Speaker let out a—not quite—exasperated sigh. “Lord Bitter Creek—”

At the mention of the ivory unicorn’s title, the dappled newcomer’s head whipped around to look at him. The glare that was leveled at alabaster was withering. The earl couldn’t recall the last time any pony had ever looked at him with such visceral hatred. Before he could think more on the cause, and before even The Speaker could continue, the baron extended a hoof towards the young stallion who'd followed him in. The other pony fumbled for a few moments to dig two sealed rolls of parchment out of a satchel and pass them to the dappled baron.

“Lord Speaker; my Patent of Nobility and Petition for Admittance into the Noble Stable.” The baron’s eyes darted to the same section of the Stable that the older unicorn had glanced towards earlier. “I believe you will find my sponsor to be of sufficient standing to sustain the petition.”

Alabaster blinked. A petition to gain entry into the Noble Stable was indeed one of those few items which took precedence over most other activities in the Stable. Mostly due to what the earl considered to be a poor choice of wording when the charter for the Stable was written. The charter made allowances for a prospective member to submit a Petition for Admittance ‘at any time’. There had been incidents, long in the past, where individuals had picked especially inconvenient moments to submit their own petitions and sought to use the letter of the charter to get themselves seated with haste.

Historically, this was in an effort to thwart upcoming votes with narrow margins that the minority party was incredibly motivated not to lose. To that end, the minority faction would attempt to 'stock the stable' by having its members sponsor any and every noble in their family they could find with the understanding that those new members would vote in very specific ways once they'd been 'led and shod'. Thanks to powerful family members and patrons in a few of those early examples who had forced the issue, the precedent for Petitions of Admittance to be addressed ahead of any and all other business before the Stable, even—and especially—votes, had been firmly set; and so it was indeed a point of procedure that nearly any kind of proceeding needed to be halted so that a new member could be allowed into the Noble Stable so that they could cast their vote.

The Speaker collected the scrolls in his telekinetic aura, broke the seals, and read over the contents. Really, the lilac unicorn only gave them a cursory glance before nodding and setting the pieces of parchment down on the podium. He turned his attention once again to that same section of the Stable’s benches. “Duchess Golden Hour, do you stand as sponsor to the petitioner?”

Now the earl’s eyes widened as he looked first at the dappled stallion standing nearby, before then turning his head to regard the lemon chiffon mare who was getting to her hooves. Obviously he recognized the Minister of Public Health and was well aware of her seniority within the Stable. What he was not immediately aware of was why she would be sponsoring some random baron—

‘...House Medicas...’

“I do, Lord Speaker,” the older yellow mare said. Her gaze shifted to the young stallion, her lips quirked in a sad smile. “I consider it long overdue that my wayward scion join this assembly.” This earned her a slight frown from the dappled pony.

“Very well,” The Speaker nodded. “The petition has been received, the patent sustained, and the petitioner sponsored.” He now turned to face the alicorn sisters. “Your Majesties, will You permit this Peer of Your Realm to join the Noble Stable?”

The siblings spared a moment to exchange looks and then turned nod at the lilac unicorn. “We do,” Celestia said. The sisters didn't appear to be wholly surprised by the sudden shift in proceedings. Though, considering that the two of them had likely been present when the precedent had first been established, that wasn't really all that surprising upon reflection.

“Very well,” The Speaker bowed and turned back to face the dappled pony. “Baron Cravat, you may take your bench. You are just in time to vote on a rather grave matter before the Stable—”

“Actually, Lord Speaker,” the freshly minted member of the Noble Stable interrupted with an apologeticly raised hoof, “if I may be permitted to speak on the matter before the Stable? I understand it concerns recent events in Saddle Arabia?”

Once more Earl Bitter Creek raised an objection. “Point of order, Lord Speaker: the allotted time for discussion has passed! We are already at the voting stage of these proceedings—”

“We would like to hear what Baron Cravat has to say, Lord Speaker,” Princess Luna declared from her throne.

Alabaster nearly bit his own tongue off in his effort to arrest his grievance, his wide eyes looking up to the raised daises. He swallowed, very carefully considering whether or not he wanted to press the issue of procedure over the wishes of the princesses. Technically, even the Sisters couldn’t impose their will in direct opposition to the charter of the Noble Stable, as it bore their signatures of agreement to abide by its articles as well.

In practice, however, the earl didn’t envy the prospect of having to explain to Princesses Celestia and Luna why he didn’t want to hear what the dappled pony had to say on a matter that he'd just finished explaining was of the highest importance. The political cost for opposing the princesses would be…considerable.

The Speaker appeared to be of the same mind as he nodded. “Is there an objection to Their Majesties’ request for a departure from chartered protocol?” His gaze was focused squarely on Earl Bitter Creek as he spoke. Indeed, the ivory unicorn could feel the full weight of the eyes of every member of the Stable upon him.

He swallowed. “...No, Lord Speaker.” He bowed his head in the direction of the two alicorns. “As Their Majesties desire, of course.”

“Very well,” the older unicorn returned his attention to the young stallion. “Baron Cravat?”

The dappled pony took a deep breath before beginning a speech which he knew was going to garner quite the reaction from the assembled nobles. “Ladies and Lords of the Stable, Lord Speaker, Your Majesties…My name is: Baron Muslin Cravat of House Medicas, formerly Corporal Muslin Cravat of Their Majesties’ Royal Cavalry. Specifically: Bronco Company, Second Light Hoof, Seventh Regiment, Frontier Corps.

“I was at Gallopoli.”

The reaction of the ponies in the chamber was…spirited. To say the least. Alabaster’s was far more panicked; in thought if not expression. He was caught between feelings of dread at the prospect of having the Noble Stable—the princesses—hear about the Saddle Arabian village being attacked by mercenaries, and rage that—somehow—both Maniple and Nocturne had managed to fuck up in such spectacular fashion as to allow one of the Bronco Company survivors make it—not just into the city—but into the fucking castle! In front of the princesses!

The earl didn’t know how to stop this—he didn’t even know how it had happened! One of the survivors was a noble?! Brigadier General Maniple hadn’t mentioned anything about that! Alabaster had asked him to send a group full of expendable ponies. In what world was the son of a duchess ‘expendable’?!

How was he going to salvage this? More pressing: who was he going to blame for it? The earl’s first thought with regards to candidates was the general, for creating this present mess in the first place. If Maniple alone would not satisfy, then that thrice-banished Nocturne could join him on the proverbial sacrificial altar for his repeated failures to tie up Hawkwood's loose ends…

The Speaker slammed his bronze horseshoe on the stone at his hooves over and over again until he finally managed to get the chamber to—mostly—quiet down. He seemed to settle for a mere low rumble from the nobles. The dappled stallion was prompted to continue.

“Bronco Company had nothing to do with the attack,” Baron Cravat continued. “We were attacked too. I can’t say who the enemy was exactly—we weren’t in a position to ask who they owed allegiance to and they never offered. All I know is that, while they wore Cavalry barding and used Cavalry weapons, they were not Equestrian Cavalry soldiers. There were griffons and hippogriffs among their number.”

More murmurs now, and even louder in volume. Earl Bitter Creek launched back in to rebut the earth pony. “Of course one of the accused would proclaim their innocence and seek to blame others in their stead! But how can we be expected to take your word for it? You’re hardly an unbiased witness! In fact, as one of those that the sultan of Saddle Arabia himself," he made a point of stressing the title of the accuser to lend the allegations further weight and credibility in the eyes of the Stable, "has claimed perpetrated the slaughter, you shouldn't even be trotting around free!”

He turned to the lilac unicorn now. "Lord Speaker, you must summon the Mare-at-Arms and the guards! Noble or no, this stallion is wanted on charges of mass murder!" Alabaster jabbed a hoof at the baron. "He needs to be arrested and escorted from here. Immediately!"

The Speaker, though clearly not appreciating the earl's tone, at least looked like he was strongly considering acting upon the minister's recommendation. However, before the old unicorn could summon the guards, the baron stepped aside and gestured back towards the other stallion who’d entered with him. “I have brought another witness with me. Ladies and Lords, Lord Speaker, Your Majesties, I present: Mesmet, son of Arman, the late chief of Gallopoli.

“He was present during the attack as well.”

The Speaker didn't summon the guards. He, and the rest of the Stable, along with Their Majesties, all turned to stare at the baron's companion. It was easy to not pay close attention to a noble's attendant. They tended to fade into the background in the face of the 'important' pony who was the focus of any given conversation. And so it was that, at a glance, everypony in the stable had assumed that the 'stallion' with Baron Cravat had just been some member of his household staff.

While horses and ponies were both equines, it would be hard to genuinely confuse the two—even accounting for the size disparity. An adolescent horse was approximately the same height as a full grown pony stallion, but that was about all the two would have in common. Hoses had longer muzzles, narrower heads, longer legs, sleeker bodies, and a whole host of other different characteristics that was obvious when you were looking at them—really looking at them.

Nopony had been looking before.

Everypony was looking now.

The baron had indeed arrived at the Stable with a Saddle Arabian colt in tow.

It also did not appear that this was the last arrow the dappled stallion held in his quiver. He turned once more towards the princesses. "Your Majesties, while she is not with me presently, there is another witness—an EIS operative—who was tracking the mercenaries who actually attacked Gallopoli."

Princess Luna arched an intrigued brow. "And where is this EIS operative now?"

"If all went well tonight, then she should be in the company of Director Em-Dash, Your Majesty."

Damn it all to Tartarus!

A Bronco Company survivor. A noble, to boot—somehow! A Saddle Arabian who had allegedly been present to witness the attack. And now a member of the EIS who was aware of Hawkwood's activities?!

There was little doubt in Alabaster's mind that this witness was the same pony whom Nocturne had assured the earl had been 'dealt with' before Gallopoli was attacked. It appeared that nocreature was capable of killing the ponies who really mattered, be they hippogriff or pony.

Nocturne gets thrown to the timberwolves first, the earl decided. Then Maniple, if Their Majesties need more culpable ponies to pass over to Saddle Arabia in order to satisfy their sultan.

Alabaster could try and offer protest to what the dappled stallion was saying. He could suggest that it was all just an elaborate lie. That the colt was just some urchin he'd found in Saddle Arabia. That the alleged 'EIS Operative' was being paid to say whatever he wanted them to out of the coffers of his estate. There were a dozen ways that Alabaster could think of to muddy the waters. But...

The earl knew it would ultimately be fruitless. The truth was that, in the end, it would be easy enough to validate everything that Baron Cravat was claiming. Alabaster had done all he could to keep the Saddle Arabian ambassador and the princesses away from each other for the last week. When it was just a matter of passing correspondence, that was easily enough done since he was the pony who was supposed to be meeting with ambassadors on behalf of Their Majesties.

But if Celestia and Luna were to insist on meeting face-to-face with the representative of the Saddle Arabian government over the matter of repatriating an orphaned colt...

Earl Bitter Creek could see plainly that the princesses were quite eager to hear what the young horse standing in the Stable had to say, even more so than they’d looked to hear from the baron. Even if Alabaster did all he could to cast doubts now, the Saddle Arabians would eventually be able to verify the colt's identity. Once that happened, the princesses would believe the colt's account no matter what he said. Add in what that operative would be able to testify to—and maybe even offer evidence of—and Equestria and Saddle Arabia both would know that the ponies had nothing to do with the attack on Gallopoli after all.

There was no salvaging his plan, Alabaster realized with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. No matter how much he might try to protest, even the unverified testimony that the baron and the colt provided tonight would be more than sufficient to sway the Stable towards defeating the measure he'd proposed. There’d be other proposals, Alabaster was sure—more ‘measured’ responses to what the Saddle Arabians were doing until the truth of the matter could be revealed. Maybe even a personal visit to the sultan by one or both of the princesses to get to the matter resolved as quickly as possible—entirely bypassing established diplomatic channels in favor of expediency.

Questions would be raised. An investigation would be launched. Records would be combed through—both within his ministry and without. He had most of the doctored records that he needed in place, but not all. The earl hadn't anticipated the truth behind Gallopoli's destruction coming to light this soon. The discrepancies would raise even further questrions and prompt EIS to dig even deeper into the activities of his ministry—into him.

The earl’s heart sank as he realized that…it was over. His plans had failed. And soon—

There was a commotion at the large doors leading to the Stable. Many eyes turned to see what fresh disruption would appear this time. A pegasus wearing obviously battered and bloodied barding, along with the yellow sash of a courier, flew into the chamber over the protests of the Mare-at-Arms.

“I bring…an urgent message…for Their Majesties!” the gasping young stallion cried out before all but falling into a bow at the base of their thrones. “There’s been a battle!” He announced, even as tired wings fumbled with his saddlebags in an effort to produce the scroll he carried. “The Saddle Arabians! Their army!

“They attacked!”

The Noble Stable was shocked into silence.

The princesses gasped.

Alabaster Fetlock smiled.

It seemed that all might not be lost after all…

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading! As always, a thumbs up and comment are always greatly appreciated :twilightblush:

I've set up a Cover Art Fund if you're interested and have any bits lying around!

Chapter xx

Saddlesbury,

Western Equestria,

And The Noble Stable,

Canterlot Castle,

Central Equestria

*** Ten Hours Earlier ***

Once, long ago, when Qasam had been barely more than a colt reporting to his first muster for his region’s militia, the grizzled old horse who’d been in charge had pulled him aside. A nervous young horse had been afraid that he’d done something wrong—even if he couldn’t think of how exactly he’d managed to transgress in just five minutes. However, it had turned out that the then commander hadn’t been out to punish Qasam for anything. Far from it; he had decided that Qasam would inherit his own duties as a miralay one day and so Qasam was going to be receiving very specific tutelage.

For the grizzled old horse believed that those in command needed to be properly groomed for the role from as young an age as was practicable; the responsibility of leadership was simply too great to trust to just any horse with any temperament. After all, an ill-chosen order could be disastrous. A properly tempered leader was needed. One who would issue commands with purpose, unclouded by volatile emotions or personal feelings.

“It is easier to return fallen raindrops to the clouds than it is to stop wild horses.”

Qasam suspected that the old miralay had not been thinking in literal terms—given what the Saddle Arabian had heard pegasus ponies were capable of in Equestria—but he’d certainly understood the intent of the warning, even then.

He was seeing those words in practice now as he strode across the battlefield. A unicorn medic walked at his side. He could feel her frown on him any time she thought he wasn’t looking in her direction. He wasn’t supposed to be up and walking. A number of ponies had told him that. Repeatedly. The genuine doctor at the aid station had cautioned Qasam that they’d only managed to restore a proper rhythm to his heart ‘for now’, and that a longer period of observation was required in order to determine the precise nature of his condition so that it could be treated in the long-term.

Telling them that his ‘condition’ was simply: “being an old horse” had not satisfied the pony doctor any more than it had ever satisfied the Saddle Arabia ones he’d spoken with in the preceding years since he’d first noticed the persistent pain in his chest.

It couldn’t be helped though. He’d needed to get out of the aid tent—to get down to the battle.

Qasam had needed to try and return the rain to the clouds.

‘Returning’ the raindrops had been just as futile as he recalled the grizzled miralay warning him it would be. The dead could not be helped. Stopping more raindrops from falling—preventing more bloodshed…well, it had certainly not been an easy task to end the battle ‘prematurely’, but he’d managed it. With the help of the ponies.

The part of Qasam’s mind that was a commander of the sultan’s armies was quietly filing away notes that he would be making in his report to his superiors back home later. A report that would inform the leaders of the Saddle Arabian Cavalry of a need to stop ponies—or members of other more magical races—from being able to do to them in the future what he’d helped them do here today.

Qasam was torn on how to feel about how the battle had been ended. On the one hoof, he was proud of the training and discipline of his militias. Even in the heat of battle, with the thoughts of so many intently focused on the fundamental goal of not dying, they’d been aware enough of their surroundings to recognize the sound of ‘Retreat’ being played by a bugle. As they’d been trained, the Saddle Arabian militias had broken off from whatever engagement that they’d been embroiled in and withdrew back across the river—and they’d even managed to do so in a fairly orderly fashion. They had not truly ‘broken’ and ran back in a disorganized mob; reforming quickly back at their original battle lines once their commanders got control of their formations again…

…Commanders who slowly began to realize that it had not been any of them who had given the order to sound ‘Retreat’.

That was the point that Qasam was conflicted on.

In the chaos of battle, no singular formation had questioned the sounds of ‘Saddle Arabian’ bugles calling for them to disengage from combat and fall back. Even the formations that were aware that they were patently winning on their flank of the attack—and thus for whom retreating made little immediate tactical sense—had stopped fighting and moved back across the river. They had recognized that, just because they were doing well, that didn’t mean that another flank wasn’t in the process of crumbling under the weight of an Equestrian counter-attack which might threaten to encircle them.

So they had all collectively retreated. Much to the shock and confusion of Qasam’s regimental commanders, he was sure, who were likely trying to figure out who among them had ordered ‘Retreat’ to be sounded when they had all been able to see the whole of the battlefield and could clearly see that their forces were winning the battle quite soundly on every flank.

It was a confusion that was only likely to compound when it eventually became apparent that no Saddle Arabian bugle had sounded their call to ‘Retreat’—no ‘bugle’ at all, in fact.

Qasam pushed the purely martial concern that he felt over the ability for unicorns to use their magic to create ethereal bugle sounds which could sow confusion in the ranks of an enemy army out of his mind, and instead focused on simply being grateful that they’d had such an ability. The designated buglers of Equestria’s own forces had very quickly picked up on Qasam’s instruction of the sequence and timing of notes that would put his army in motion back across the river. Then some unicorns with the knowledge of the requisite spells had been found. Within minutes, the Saddle Arabian side of the battle had filled with the sound of their version of the ‘Retreat’ command ringing out over the field; and the horses of his army had responded as they’d been trained to.

The brief lull created by the confusion of the ‘false’ bugling wouldn’t have lasted forever under normal circumstances. However, it had lasted long enough for Qasam to get word to his armies, establish his identity—and that he was not being coerced—and explain that the order to launch the attack had been made in error.

It had saddened Qasam to hear how many of his subordinates hadn’t cared; and how many of them were—even now—insisting that it didn’t matter if the initial order to attack the ponies hadn’t been truly justified. They’d seen the results: hundreds of ponies lay dead on the riverbank—twice as many more too badly injured to fight on—leaving their force dramatically weakened. A second charge by the Saddle Arabians would doubtlessly shatter the Equestrians and leave the route open for their army to press deeper into pony lands, largely unopposed.

His officers were right, of course. Achieving victory here would be a trifle. In terms of relative losses anyway. With their magic and their flying cadre of pegasi, Qasam judged at a glance that the ponies had given better than they’d gotten on a mare-for-mare basis; achieving a nearly two-to-one exchange in casualties. However, even if the ponies could maintain those numbers, it would still leave more than enough of the Saddle Arabian force left intact to press further into Equestria’s rear areas.

The ponies couldn’t win this fight.

Movement caught his attention from off to his right. He turned to see armored equines—ponies and horses both—slowly picking their way through the bodies of the fallen, searching for signs of life. Some of the ponies wore bands of cloth with red hearts, while their horse counterparts wore white four-pointed stars—symbols of their respective medical corps. Others were clearly simply injured stragglers who were taking advantage of the lull in the fighting to locate comrades before making their way back to their respective lines.

One sturdy purple mare in particular caught Qasam’s attention, if only because she was large enough that he’d initially thought she was an Arabian. Her once brilliant blue barding was dented and battered, its formerly vibrant hues muted by mud and blood. She wasn’t wearing her helmet anymore—whether it had been knocked off during the fighting or discarded later it was hard to guess.

She was slumped on the red-stained sand of the riverbank, another pony cradled in her hooves who was of a much smaller frame compared to the larger mare. From the dark stains of tears running down her muzzle, an observer could have been forgiven for assuming that the purple pony was cradling her dead filly.

A horrendous gash had been opened up on the left side of the smaller mare’s ashen brown neck.

Grieving orange eyes glistening with tears noted Qasam’s passing and looked up at him. The old horse was grateful for the presence of the medical pony at his side, because he recognized that there was a distinct possibility that the intensity of the purple mare’s hatred for him might cause his heart to stop again. There was a desire for death in those hurting eyes. His and probably every other Saddle Arabian by that river.

She didn’t act on that desire for now though. It would have meant letting go of her friend’s body. Qasam doubted that was something she could do at the moment.

With the benefit of time—time to grieve and time to let reason prevail over emotion—those flames of hate would die down. Hopefully. Someday. But it wasn’t going to be the case today.

If Qasam gave in to his more obstinate officers and allowed the battle to resume, he predicted that nopony would survive the day. Because there would be no surrender. They would instead fight unto their last breaths to avenge their comrades.

And when news of the battle’s outcome—of so few Equestrian survivors—reached Canterlot…

We can’t win.

Qasam turned away from the purple mare and resumed his slow walk past the bodies so that she wouldn't hear his derisive snort or see the roll of his eyes and think any of it was directed at her.

We can’t be allowed to win, the old horse mentally corrected himself. Militarily, achieving a victory here would be trivial. But the effect that such a result would have in the fullness of time…

It wouldn’t be a ‘war’. It would become a crusade. One that would only end with the near total extermination of one of their races as one atrocity was answered with another, escalating to its inevitable conclusion.

Rico must have known that too.

The miralay winced now, his gaze reflexively moving towards the river, and the little sandbar that lay in the middle. His eyes locked onto the bodies strewn around it, horse and pony alike. Even from this distance, he could spot the faded blue coat of a more slightly-built equine among the bodies. The medical ponies and horses of both sides had been prioritizing their efforts with recovering the wounded for treatment. Little thought had been given to retrieving the dead at this point; not when each side knew that hostilities could resume at any moment.

He heard the unicorn medic protests as he stepped into the river but he ignored her. The water no longer ran red, though Qasam knew that it almost certainly had not all that long ago. A few grisley wisps of crimson could be seen seeping out of some of the bodies he stepped past as the water wicked away the last of the blood from their open wounds. Those threads of dark crimson dissolved from view after just a couple of feet though, even in the slow moving current.

There was a soft gasp when the two of them finally reached the sandbar. A moment later, the unicorn charged ahead of him, the pony having finally recognized her general’s body among the rest of the dead. It was patently obvious that nothing could be done for her. Qasam didn’t know much about medicine; but he did know about death. He knew that bodies as badly gored as Brigadier General Reconnointer’s—those which had been subsequently pulverized as a legion of armored horses trampled over them—were in no fit state to be saved.

Qasam was ashamed that he didn’t have the stomach to look at what remained of the old mare’s face after it had been savaged by the passage of so many shod hooves.

“I must like you, miralay…”

She’d had a pretty smile. He wanted to remember her like that; and so he couldn’t bring himself to look at her now, lest he only ever be able to conjure up images of the pulverized bloody mess that her muzzle had become on that sandbar.

In seeking anywhere else for his eyes to look, Qasam soon found them resting upon another familiar face. A fresh wave of grief racked the old horse’s body as he spotted a young Arabian adorned with the bronze halter of a lieutenant. The broken shaft of an Equestrian lance protruded from his chest. His barding showed dents where other horses had charged over him after he’d fallen.

The tip of his own lance was stained with blood.

“Oh, Chiaus…” Qasam breathed out in a bitter sigh. He’d been unconscious when the order for the Saddle Arabian army to charge had been given, so there wasn’t any way that he could know with certainty who it was that had issued the order to attack. But, if he’d been asked to guess at where the command had come from…

His ear twitched at the sound of approaching hooves from the far side of the river. He turned to see one of his captains cantering towards him, along with a small squadron of armored horses as an escort. The unicorn medic nearby jerked and wheeled around, her horn reflexively igniting as she faced the oncoming Arabian force with a spell at the ready. Spotting the magical aura, some of the horses couched their lances.

Qasam could hear renewed shouting starting to pick up volume from behind him as the rest of the ponies took note of the advancing Saddle Arabians. Fear seized his heart as flashes of a renewed battle galloped through his mind.

The old horse interposed himself between the unicorn and the Arabian party, his eyes locked on the latter. “Halt! Do not advance into the river!” He ordered his soldiers, hoping desperately that they were truly still his soldiers. If his authority to command had been fully usurped during the fighting…

The advancing horses slowed, stopping just shy of the water. Barely.

Qasam let out a relieved breath he hadn’t been aware that he’d been holding. Without taking his eyes off the Arabians, he said at a much lower volume to the unicorn mare, “put away your magic. Go and calm your ponies. Blood runs too hot—on both sides. We cannot let our soldiers get too close to each other. Not yet.

“Please,” he was not quite begging, but it was a near thing, “help me avert further tragedy.”

The mare doused her magic…but she hesitated to move. Her eyes lingered on the mangled remains of her slain commander.

“They will not touch her,” Qasam vowed. Thankfully, his promise proved to be enough for the pony medic and she finally fell back to the remains of the Equestrian force. He wasn’t sure what authority the mare’s words would carry—or, rather, the words she was carrying on his behalf. Especially when they were likely to be paired with the news of the confirmed death of their general, who’d been slain while presumably engaged in ‘peaceful negotiations’ with his army.

‘Treachery’ like that was not something that would be easily forgiven, Qasam knew.

Meanwhile, the old miralay approached his own soldiers, hoping that he would be able to get them to hold off from renewing hostilities as well. Even with the benefit of rank, his task was likely to be as insurmountable as the unicorn’s, as it would be patently obvious to his subordinates how trivial it would be to sweep the remaining ponies aside with another charge. Tactically, there was no good reason not to attack the savaged Equestrians. Convincing his captains to quit a battle that even the most bumbling of foals could win would not be an easy matter.

Indeed, the old stallion felt what there was of his optimism sink even further when he caught sight of which of his captains had come to the river. The same saffron red mare who’d been the most displeased with their orders from the outset: Jezza. Her disappointment that their orders did not include a directive to raze every pony settlement from the border to Canterlot had been far from subtle at Fort Martingale, and bypassing defenseless hamlets during the long march here hadn’t exactly done anything to temper her disposition since.

If there was any shade to be had in this sandstorm, it was that, if Qasam could convince Jezza to back down, then the rest of his more obstinate captains would fall in line as well.

“Binbashi Jezza,” the old horse called out once he was near enough.

Golden eyes regarded him impassively, though the mare did incline her head in deference—the bare minimum that would be tolerated by protocol, Qasam noted with an inward frown. “Miralay.

“I was informed that you were slain by those vile ponies in a dishonorable act of betrayal during the parle.” There was no missing her narrowed gaze at the retreating unicorn.

“Then you were misinformed, binbashi” Qasam replied evenly. “I took ill,” the old horse admitted. “The ponies saved my life.” He allowed himself a moment to visibly scan the battlefield—and especially the bodies—that lay behind him. When he looked back at his subordinate again, it was with a baleful glare of his own. “Am I to understand that this is the ‘honorable’ way to repay those who render aid to another?

“Were my orders unclear, binbashi?” Qasam was growling now and was rewarded with being able to see the ears on the saffron mare pin back in surprise at the reaction she’d received from her superior.

Chiaus was young and his blood was quick to boil. He had had the temperament of a foal, for he had more or less been one. That the young horse had jumped to conclusions and given a poorly thought-out order in the heat of the moment was unfortunate, but not wholly surprising.

On the other hoof, Jezza and the rest of his militia’s divisional leaders were far older, with—presumably—more intelligence and restraint. Unfortunately, for all concerned, this assumption of rationality on Qasam’s part appeared to have been made in error.

He was determined to correct it now. “When I told you that our orders from the sultan were to not provoke a war with the ponies…which of those words escaped your comprehension?”

“We thought that—!” Jezza began to protest, but Qasam was in no mood to entertain excuses for this folly.

“I thought that I’d placed competent officers in command of my army!” He shot back with a snarl, silencing her once more. The other horses that made up her escort were shifting uncomfortably on their hooves at the outward display of hostility from the usually quite calm and reserved miralay. “So I guess we were all wrong,” he added with a sneer.

He let out a frustrated snort and started walking past her, heading for the rest of his waiting army. “Follow me, binbashi,” he said in a tone that was less full of vitriol. As much as Qasam wanted to place all of the blame at her hooves, and those of his other section leaders, at the end of the day he was the one in charge of this army. If his subordinates would not follow his orders, or their intent, that was more of a reflection on his leadership than it was their temperament.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t known their views on their sultan’s desire to show restraint that they felt wasn’t warranted. They’d voiced their displeasure nearly at the outset. He could have removed them then—placed horses in command who would show restraint. There would have been grumbling—upset and affronted officers—but they would have ultimately accepted his decision—because deciding who would lead his horses was ultimately his decision to make.

He could have replaced them.

He hadn’t.

He’d valued experience over temperament. And five minutes ago he’d walked through the consequences of that choice.

His army. His officers. His responsibility.

His duty to make it right. If it even could be made right…

“You will gather my other commanders,” Qasam instructed the saffron mare. “You will tell them to select competent replacements from among their seconds. Those replacements will lead their sections back home. They will cross back into Saddle Arabia and return to their garrisons.

“The rest of us will cross the river, where we will surrender ourselves into the custody of the ponies as their prisoners—”

Qasam paused as he became aware that he was no longer being followed. He turned his head to find Jezza snarling at him. Her lance was couched. As were the lances of her escorts. The old stallion narrowed his eyes at the other horses, noting that most appeared to be more confused than anything else. They’d seen their immediate superior act, and so they’d followed her lead; even if they didn’t fully understand what was going on. They trusted their binbashi, and so they would do as she did.

Because that was how they’d been told it must be.

Make no reply. Question not the reason why. Your duty is but to do and die.

An excerpt from an ancient ballad lambasting a great military folly, bastardized into the ideal of a ‘good’ soldier’s conduct.

Qasam turned around fully now, facing the crescent of armed horses arrayed against him. His attention locked squarely on Jezza. “...You are in enough trouble already, binbashi, without adding mutiny to your list of woes.” He glanced at the other horses. “Stow your lances. Now.”

“You are bewitched!” The saffron mare spat. “Or replaced! A pony mage wearing an illusion! Why would we surrender when we have the upper hoof?!” She challenged. “This is a pony trick; the second part of their scheme after they faked the call to ‘Retreat’!”

Qasam took a breath and let out a longsuffering sigh, shaking his head. “Is that really what you think, Jezza?” He ignored the still-lowered lances of the other horses and slowly approached the mare, maintaining his gaze upon her. “You think me ensorceled? A pony puppet?” Another annoyed snort that could have been mistaken for a mocking laugh, if only for the absurdity of it all.

“And how would you have me prove otherwise? How do I show that my mind is my own to your satisfaction?” He knew the mare did not have a response for him and so he did not wait for her to give one.

“I told all of you, time and again, that the sultan did not want a war with the ponies,” Qasam’s tone was calm and even once more as he spoke plainly to his wayward commander. “What exactly do you think will happen, when word reaches Canterlot that a Saddle Arabian army, marching through Equestria, attacked and killed two thousand of their soldiers?”

“They attacked a defenseless town—!” The mare finally found her words again, unleashing them in a snarl that Qasam was in no mood to entertain.

“‘They’ who?” He snapped, jabbing a hoof in the direction of the river. “Those ponies specifically? They attacked Gallopoli? You recognized them on sight, did you, binbashi? You were there?” His tone was mocking now, the saffron mare’s ears pinning back again beneath the scolding of her elder. His eyes scanned the faces of the other horses. “Were any of you?”

“The dead deserve justice,” Jezza tried once more with a growl.

“And to you ‘justice’ means killing the next member of the guilty party’s species that you see?” Qasam scoffed dismissively. “That is not ‘justice’,” he snapped back at the mare. “It is barbarism. It is bloodlust and nothing more.

“You have violated the orders given to us by our sultan—both the letter and the intent,” he said after taking a moment to rein in his own mounting frustrations once again. “If you think that there won’t be a reckoning when we return to Istanbull for doing so, then you are doubly a fool, Jezza.”

Qasam’s eyes flickered back to the rest of the horses with their still-couched lances that were leveled towards him. His gaze hardened once more. “Either run me through or stow your lances. Those are the only ways any of you will avoid a noose.”

Several of the armored horses balked at that. A few even took a half step back at the threat, sharing furtive looks with one another as they wordlessly conferred with their fellows regarding how much faith they had in the claims of their immediate commander regarding the integrity of the miralay’s faculties. There was enough time where nothing happened that Qasam wondered if perhaps they would choose to take the side of the binbashi.

Then one of the horses used their hind hoof to leverage the haft of his lance back into its vertical ‘stowed’ position. A few seconds later, another followed suit. Then a third. Eventually, only the saffron officer was left with her lance leveled at the miralay.

Qasam turned his full attention to her once more. He could see the conflict behind her eyes. She knew that she no longer had the support of the horses that she had brought with her. If she continued to remain defiant to her superior’s will, it would ultimately end poorly for her. On the other hoof, the idea of surrendering to an objectively inferior force…the foul bitterness of such a blow to her pride—her honor as a soldier in the sultan’s militias—might be more than she was willing to swallow.

She might well choose death, the old stallion recognized with a deep sadness. Preferring to die as a martyr to her principles than to live with what she saw as a great personal shame. He hoped she did not. Because if she did remain openly defiant, even with the threat of an execution for mutiny hanging over her head…there was every possibility that some of his other section commanders would choose to stand by her side. And if enough of them did so, then maybe some others who had been merely thinking about it would be more inclined to act on those thoughts, knowing they would have support.

The yaks had an expression: ‘weak pebbles gather strong rocks.’

It had taken Qasam some time to understand the meaning behind the axiom; but when he finally had, the old horse acknowledged the truth to it. Essentially, it meant that, under the right conditions, a single tiny pebble rolling down a mountain had the potential to dislodge larger and larger rocks until it created a full on rockslide or avalanche.

If Jezza resisted, and others followed her example…

The last remaining lance finally rose up and locked into its carrier.

Qasam very pointedly did not let out a relieved sigh—though he certainly felt the tightness in his gut finally relax. Instead, he merely issued an acknowledging nod and turned back in the direction of the bulk of his army and resumed heading that way. “Come, there is much we need to accomplish…”

*** The Present ***

“—Then the Saddle Arabian force withdrew, Your Majesties,” the pegasus messenger said, concluding his account to go along with the scroll that he’d delivered. “Their commander, Miralay Qasam, and several other officers are being held as…um,” the stallion hesitated now as he fumbled for the proper terminology to fit the situation. “I mean, they’re not technically ‘prisoners of war’—I don’t think…?” His eyes searched the faces of the diarchs, seeking confirmation regarding the diplomatic status of the major nations of ponies and horses.

“Equestria and Saddle Arabia are most certainly not at war, my little pony,” Princess Celestia confirmed with a definitive nod of her head. Neither alicorn noticed the thinly-veiled grimace on the muzzle of their Minister of Foreign Affairs.

The courier nodded, relief plain on his face. “Then they’re just being ‘held’, Your Majesties.” Upon seeing the exchange of concerned looks by the sibling diarchs, the pegasus hastily added, “They’re not in restraints or anything! But they are under guard until Colonel Dandy receives instructions on how to proceed…” The messenger’s words trailed off on a tentatively expectant note. It was clear that the colonel—through the courier—was hoping that his Co-Commanders in Chief would send him instructions on how to navigate these diplomatically treacherous waters.

Once more the alicorns shared a look, along with a brief hushed conversation. When they finally reached a consensus on how to proceed, they returned their attention first to the courier. “Arrange for the Saddle Arabian officers to be transported to Canterlot,” Celestia said. “Afford them all the courtesies that would be extended to any foreign envoys; for that is how they will be treated for now.”

Luna’s attention, meanwhile, locked onto Earl Bitter Creek. “Minister.” Alabaster felt himself go rigid beneath the hard look from the Princess of the Night. He tried not to—visibly—swallow as his mind swirled with a plethora of ways in which events could play out badly in his future. “You will reach out to the Saddle Arabian Embassy in the morning. You will deliver a copy of Colonel Dandy’s report,” the message from the pegasus courier bobbed in the glow of the alicorn’s magic.

“You will make it clear that, while Equestria will not choose to regard this tragic misunderstanding as a true ‘act of war’, there will be discussions held on the nature of the restitutions to be made.”

Earl Bitter Creek bowed his head towards the pair of alicorns, if only to hide the look of concern that was becoming increasingly difficult to keep from becoming evident upon his face. His plans for Equestria’s future were wholly untenable, there was no denying that any longer. The Arabians would soon be learning about the truth of who was behind their destruction of Gallopoli—Alabaster was sorely tempted to tip the horses off that it was Hawkwood’s Ivory Company specifically that had been behind the deed, if only so that its hippogriff commander suffered the full consequences for his incompetence—and no longer hold Equestria responsible. And while the battle which the earl had tried to engineer had occurred—if only for a brief moment, it sounded like—it had not resulted in the egregious wholesale slaughter needed to blind ponies with their rage.

The war wasn’t going to happen. So the earl instead turned his thoughts towards damage control.

There were documents which needed to be destroyed. Documents which needed to be created. Bribes which needed to be paid and patsies framed for their part in the scheme. Alabaster had everything planned out that would need to be done in order to insulate him from culpability, but not everything was in place quite yet. He’d expected to have more time, and so had been making those preparations accordingly.

There was much that needed to be done, and quickly!

Equestria’s minister of Foreign Affairs accepted the courier’s message from Princess Luna. He straightened up, hesitating briefly as he looked between the scroll and The Speaker. The ivory unicorn cleared his throat as he finally turned his full attention towards the latter. “Lord Speaker, in light of these…unexpected revelations, I would like to withdraw my motion before the Stable.” He managed a sufficiently apologetic smile at the end.

The old lilac stallion offered a breathless chuckle. “I had very much hoped you might,” he intoned before slamming his hoof down on the stone and loudly declaring, “Presuming that there are no others who wish to take up the motion presently before the Noble Stable?” He prompted, casting his gaze across the ponies in attendance. None raised their hooves. He nodded. “Then the motion before the Noble Stable is withdrawn.”

The Speaker then peered down at the podium before him, his lips curling up in a wry smirk before he once more spoke to the assembled nobleponies. “May I presume that the associated measures on the docket relating to the matter of Saddle Arabia this body wished to raise are also withdrawn?” His gaze landed on several other high ranking members of the Stable in succession, each of them offering a nod or a ‘withdrawn’ in response.

Once the lilac unicorn had run through the list of ponies who’d previously indicated they wanted to place business before the Noble Stable, he then turned his attention to the diarchy and offered the sisters a lightly sardonic smile. “My apologies, Your Highnesses, for asking you to block off so much of your time this evening, but it seems that this session had concluded considerably more suddenly than I believe any of us might have predicted.

“Unless either of Your Majesties have any business you’d like to place before Your Noble Stable before I adjourn Your ponies?” He inquired.

The alicorns exchanged looks. Then Celestia shook her head. “No, Lord Speaker; I don’t believe that Princess Luna and myself will require Our Noble Stable’s help at this time. You may dismiss Our ponies.” Her gaze then flicked unexpectedly towards the dappled stallion and his Arabian companion. “Baron Cravat? Mesmet, was it?

“Do Us the favor of joining Princess Luna and I in the Selenian Parlor. I feel we will have much to discuss. Both tonight, and in the coming days.”

Cravat bent his forelegs and bowed low to the tiled floor. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Equestria’s co-sovereigns stood up from their thrones and the rest of the gathered nobility bowed their heads while the alicorn’s made their exit from the Noble Stable After they’d departed, and the nobility were upright once more, The Speaker cleared his throat. “Ladies and Lords, this session of the Noble Stable is concluded.” Two final stomps of the bronze horseshoe on the granite slab appeared to release the assembled ponies into jabbering cliques as everypony tried to work out among themselves what in Equestria had just happened and—much more importantly—how to use this change of events to strengthen their political blocs.

Earl Bitter Creek sequestered the message scroll he’d been given and began to make his leave. He’d gotten only three steps before something grabbed his foreleg and stopped him in his tracks. The ivory unicorn’s first instinct was to try to pull away—which he was finding difficult to do—as he turned upon the source of the obstruction. “What is the meaning—?!”

The protest died in this throat as he gazed into a pair of hard amethyst eyes glaring into him from the dappled baron. “I know what you did.” His words were quiet—too softly spoken to be heard over the din of the chatting nobility—and his expression didn’t match his tone. The stallion was wearing a sickly sweet smile beneath his baleful stare. To a casual observer, they might well be old friends simply catching up.

Alabaster couldn’t help but swallow after he managed to recover enough from the surprise of being accosted like this. “I-I don’t—”

“Those were my friends you killed, Earl Bitter Creek,” the stallion cut him off. “Good ponies—loyal ponies. They didn’t deserve what you did to them.”

“And what exactly is it you think I did, Baron Cravat?” The ivory stallion said, finally having rediscovered his own bearing and resolve. There wasn’t anything that could directly link him to the Ivory Company’s activities. He’d made sure of that before he even started this whole affair. “If your own account of the events of Gallopoli are accurate, then it was mercenaries who attacked your comrades—griffons and hippogriffs, you said—not me.

“If you had any evidence that would prove otherwise, you would have presented it.” Alabaster reasoned. “You certainly wouldn’t be accosting your betters.

“Baron.”

Earl Bitter Creek did not appreciate that his attempt to cow the lower-ranked noble had apparently elicited the opposite response. The dappled pony’s smile started to look more genuine.

“You don’t scare me, Al,” the younger stallion snorted dryly. The ivory unicorn, on the other hoof, immediately bristled at the use of a familiar nickname by a pony of lower station he’d only met ten minutes ago. “You think I give a parasptrite’s ass about my political reputation?” Another derisive snort. “Go ahead, try and burn me with the other pricks on those benches.

“It’ll be your word against Duchess Golden Hour’s.”

Alabaster was grateful that his coat was already white in color. It hid the paling of his features at the reminder that he was speaking with the son of one of the Stable’s more powerful nobles—with equally powerful friends—and his own better.

“But you’re right,” The earth pony finally relented with a resigned breath. He released his hold on the unicorn. “I can’t prove you were behind it. I’ll probably never be able to,” he admitted. However, before the earl could muster a satisfied smirk, Cravat’s smoldering glare returned. “But I know. And that’s enough.

“Because even if nopony else in the Noble Stable believes me—even if the princesses don’t believe me—” Alabaster resisted swallowing down the lump of nervousness that was building in his throat as he recalled that the baron would shortly be on his way to speak with the alicorn sisters in more detail about the events leading up to and following the destruction of Gallopoli. “—my mother will believe me,” the dappled stallion affirmed.

“She’ll believe me when I tell her that you were behind all of this,” Cravat continued in an even, though still quite hard, tone. “That you tried to get me—her only foal—killed.

“Then she’ll use all of her connections, all of her allies, to cut you off at the fetlocks,” Cravat hissed. “You’ll be a burned stallion. No allies, no friends, no support. You’ll lose your ministry post before the year’s out; don’t you doubt it.

“My House will make it their personal mission, for however many generations it takes, to burn yours to the ground.”

Cravat sneered at the unicorn. “So I hope it was all worth whatever petty political clout you were trying to build up with this whole affair—”

The earl was finally spurred to speak and, much to the mild surprise of the earth pony, it was with no small amount of affront. “You think this was about me?” The ivory unicorn sneered at the perceived insult.

“Let me correct the record on this point now, Baron Cravat: I have only ever—and still now—served the needs of Equestria,” Alabaster insisted, his ire at the earlier insinuation of selfishness on his part helping the stallion to hold in place his own glare at the other noble. “A war with Saddle Arabia—however costly and tragic though the circumstances around it might have been—would have ultimately benefited our nation.

“Resources, room for expansion that the realm will desperately need in the coming generations, major ports to facilitate trade with nations across the western seas,” the earl ticked off each point with a tap of his hoof on the marble tile. “All of it could have been ours—not ‘mine’, ours; Equestria’s—at hardly any real cost at all,” he scoffed with a dismissive snort. “What are a few dead soldiers or civilians when compared to the secured future of the whole realm?”

Cravat stared at the unicorn, his face a mask of equal parts shock and disgust. “...Sweet Celestia…you really think that, don’t you?”

“I know it,” Alabaster corrected immediately. “So, go ahead, Baron Cravat; ‘burn’ my House. Squander your family's time and resources ‘for generations’ to sate your own petty revenge,” he scoffed with a snort. “Let your personal ambitions get in the way of your duties to Equestria as a benched noble.

“It’ll merely prove which of us was actually the better pony all along.

“Good evening, Baron Cravat; my regards to the duchess until I see the both of you again.” With that, the ivory unicorn turned and walked towards the exit of the stable, leaving behind him a dappled pony who still wasn’t quite sure how he’d managed not to buck the earl in his smug face.

“Mister Cravat?”

The sound of Mesmet’s concerned voice was enough to bring the earth pony out of his fantasies about breaking all of Earl Bitter Creek’s teeth and return him to the present. The Noble Stable was considerably more empty now as ponies moved on to carry out their discussions on their planned future political machinations out of earshot of their intended targets for said machinations.

Cravat took a breath to try and relax the tension that had built in his neck and withers. It was less effective than the stallion would have liked. “I’m fine, Mesmet,” he lied. There was too much on his mind right now for the stallion to be ‘fine’, and most of it had nothing to do with Bitter Creek. His part in the plan had ‘succeeded’ in that he’d gotten to the Noble Stable and stopped the earl from carrying out the next part of his scheme and getting even more horses in ponies killed.

However, the dappled stallion didn’t know what had become of the others. Given the near-manic state of the city’s guard force, it was clear that Top and the commander had managed to cause them no end of trouble, but Cravat didn’t know if they were still alright. Similarly, he didn’t know where the members of the second ‘team’ were or how they’d fared either. There was every possibility that they were hurt—badly—or even dead. Sure, maybe they were all just fine, but the point was that he didn’t know—!

“Mister Cravat—!”

The words were barely out of the young colt’s mouth before a pony veritably collided with the stallion. He stiffened immediately, his mind swirling with half-recollected lessons from Flashover about how to throw and pin an opponent. He was about to do just that when he noticed that the pony holding him was convulsing. His thoughts abruptly changed tracks to his medical knowledge—which came far more readily than his cavalry combatives training—as he tried to diagnose the likely health conditions at play.

It was probably a full five seconds before Cravat noticed the familiar yellow hue of the pony’s coat beneath the elegant formal dress she wore. His nostrils filled with the scent of soaps and perfumes that he’d been smelling since he was old enough to be aware that ‘smelling’ was even a thing. The mane was grayer than he remembered, but it was tied back in the same formal bun he’d often seen it being worn in.

He heard the sniffle and that was when he realized that this mare wasn’t ‘convulsing’.

His mother was crying.

He fell back onto his haunches and gathered the mare in his forelegs. His head lay against hers and, somehow, despite all of the time that had passed and the difference in size that existed now, the embrace felt the same today as it had felt during his foalhood.

“...I thought you were dead,” his mother managed to finally get out, giving the young stallion an extra firm squeeze as though she were reassuring herself that, yes, she was indeed actually holding her colt. That it wasn’t all just some sort of illusion. “When I heard that that Corsair mare had attacked a town…”

The chiffon yellow duchess pulled back slightly now so that she could look her son in the face. Teary violet eyes that were mirrors of his own stared up at Cravat. And in them, he saw fear the likes of which he’d never imagined this mare capable of expressing. His mother wasn’t afraid of anything. “I was convinced that you were dead.

“What they said those soldiers did, I knew you wouldn’t have stood by and just let it happen. I knew that you would have protected those horses. That the only way anycreature would be allowed to harm an innocent in the presence of my son, was over his dead body.” The certainty in her words was irrefutable. There was even a measure of pride present as she spoke them.

Then the mare was holding him again, her forelimbs wrapped tight enough around his barrel that Cravat briefly doubted that she’d ever let him go again. Another sniffle. “I’m sorry I drove you away…”

Cravat’s throat grew tight enough that he had to swallow several times before he was able to speak. “You just wanted what was best for me.” That was something he could acknowledge now, with the benefit of distance and time to reflect. There were many ways in which he could see his actions back then being viewed as ‘petulant’ or ‘foalish’; where he’d seen ‘independence’ and ‘self-determination’. Even with the benefit of hindsight, Cravat believed that he’d have made the same decision all over again.

He might have been more graceful about it though.

“I’m sorry for the things I said in my letter.”

“We’re doctors,” Golden Hour said, a slight smile audible in her voice. “We don’t like being told what to do when we’re sure that we know better than the pony doing the telling.” She even managed a soft chuckle, which the dappled stallion echoed.

“...I’m sorry too.” There was a longer pause from the mare. Then, “I’ll talk with Pro Temp,” she said, using the proper name for the Noble Stable’s Lord Speaker. “I’m sure he’ll be willing to discharge you from the Stable without needing to make a huge fuss, given the circumstances of your benching—”

“No.”

The mare pulled back again and regarded her son with no small amount of surprise in her still quite moist eyes. There was even the briefest flicker of doubt on her face as she seemed to entertain the notion that the stallion she was clinging to wasn’t actually her foal. “What? But I thought you—”

“The last week has shown me what can happen if the wrong pony is put in charge of one of Equestria’s ministries,” Cravat said with a mildly rueful note, and the briefest of hardened glares in the direction of the doors that Earl Bitter Creek had left through. “I’d hate to think what would happen if that happened to the Ministry of Public Health.

“I can’t promise I’ll be the best minister it’s ever had,” he added by way of warning. “But I’ll make sure that it actually serves the best interests of the ponies of Equestria. Better me than some conceited sycophant.” It took a lot for Cravat not to glance at the few remaining nobles in the chamber as he said the last part. They weren’t all bad ponies.

Most of them were pricks though.

Cravat embraced his mother one more time, nuzzling the side of her head briefly. “We’ll talk later, Mother. I’ve probably kept Their Majesties waiting long enough as it is.”

“Probably,” the duchess acknowledged with a sad smile before placing a peck on her colt’s cheek. “Go get this whole mess cleared up and then come right home. I’ll have Vinaigrette make you something special for dinner.”

“Okay.” Cravat spared a glance towards Mesmet, who was presently nibbling on his lip and doing a poor job of hiding his own tears. It was in that moment that the dappled stallion recalled the young Saddle Arabian hadn’t lost his own parent all that long ago, and was likely experiencing the reopening of the fresh wound.

His gaze darted between the colt and the rear entrance to the Stable that the princesses had left through. Ultimately, he decided that he would be a doctor first, and a noble second—a fair mindset, he felt, if he was going to someday ascend to Public Health. Which meant that he was going to prioritize the needs of his patient over the desires of Their Majesties—and risk the consequences if this proved to be the wrong choice.

“Mother, this is Mesmet,” Cravat said, stepping aside slightly as he made the introduction. “His father died in Gallopoli defending its citizens.”

Duchess Golden Hour covered her gasp with a hoof before crossing the short distance to the colt and drawing him into a comforting hug. “Oh, you poor dear.”

“Their Majesties asked to speak with him, but…” He let out a sigh and shook his head. “He’s had a long day—a long week. Take him home and make him comfortable. I’ll tell the princesses he’s not feeling well. They can interview him tomorrow.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” the duchess agreed.

“Also, I’d like you to do something else for me.”

“Yes?”

“The ponies who were with me—the other Bronco Company survivors—can you make sure they're okay?” Cravat ventured. “I know you don’t have any direct authority over the Canterlot Guard or—”

“I know the right ponies to talk to,” Golden Hour assured him, still holding Mesmet. The colt appeared to be quite grateful to have the use of her shoulder. Cravat mentally filed away the need to seek out a counselor for him, if the Saddle Arabian embassy didn’t have such a horse on staff. “Just give me a list of names.”

Cravat retrieved the satchel from Mesmet, disturbing the colt as little as he could manage, and used some paper and a pencil from within to scrawl out the names of the other five ponies he was worried about. His mother took the parchment and tucked it away. The dappled stallion felt himself able to relax a little bit more. While his mother would have the direct authority to intervene on any of their behalfs, she did most certainly know which members of the Peerage could—and was almost certainly owed favors by them. He had every confidence that Corsair and the others—if they were still alive—would be well taken care of.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Duchess,” Cravat said with a slight bow of his head, “I need to go be debriefed by the princesses…”

Author's Note

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Epilogue

I charged a line of lances in Maregypt, but now I can’t work up the courage to approach a front door…

Qasam had been pacing and fidgeting in front of the Manehattan stoop for the better part of ten minutes. A couple times now he had made advances on the door, having finally resolved to make his presence known…only to waver at the last moment and retreat back down the steps. More than a few passing ponies had cast inquisitive looks in his direction, trying to puzzle out what the Saddle Arabian in their midst was trying to accomplish.

You are being a silly old horse, Qasam. Just knock!

Knocking was going to be the easy part, of course. It wasn’t the knocking that continuously stayed the horse’s hoof.

It was what would come after. The words.

Words that the recently retired miralay had been spending weeks meticulously crafting, and recrafting, and rerecrafting…because, no matter what words he thought to use, he was unable to see them as anything other than inadequate. His words would inevitably be useless—more than useless, surely. After all, what mere words could possibly suffice in this situation?

And yet…words were all that the old horse had to offer. He was not a rich stallion, and offering money would most certainly be poorly received besides. Forgiveness cannot be bought.

It had to be earned.

He had heard the saying that ‘actions speak louder’ than mere words, but Qasam was also an old stallion, and sick besides. The doctors in Saddle Arabia had proclaimed his heart to be nearing its end. The healing done by the pony doctor in Saddlesbury had bought him a little time, but not much, they’d said. It would only be months—not quite a year, at most—until he’d breathed his last. No time for him to do anything that would matter. Not in this.

Qasam hated that he could offer only words. He hated it more that he couldn’t even offer words that would be satisfying. Everything he wrote down or rehearsed sounded…insufficient.

I could simply leave. They’d never know, the old stallion thought, and not for the first time. It wasn’t like the ponies in the Manehattan townhome were actually expecting him, or even knew who he was. He very much doubted that these ponies would have been told such specific information. Surely saying nothing would burden them less than saying the wrong thing…

The ponies wouldn’t know…but he would. And he was here as much for himself as he was for her. For them.

Qasam wondered, and not for the first time, if that made this whole endeavor selfish? Did it irrevocably taint the words he would end up using, whatever they turned out to be?

He was about to conclude—and not for the first time since leaving for Manehattan—that his motives were ultimately too impure and that it was best for him to leave before he ended up defiling her memory with his selfishness…

…when the door suddenly opened.

The beige unicorn stallion whose salted cyan mane placed him a fair bit past middle aged that had opened the door had clearly not expected to find a horse standing on the other side of it and drew up short as he stared up into the face of the foreign visitor. “Oh! Sorry, can I help you?”

Qasam’s throat had somehow gotten dryer. “I…” You are committed to the charge now; either couch your lance or die. “...was told that I would find a Colonel Bivouac here?”

The stallion issued a soft huff of amusement as he continued to mostly warily regard his visitor. “Long since retired now, but that’s me. How can I help you, Mister…?”

“My name is Qasam.” He didn’t like the slight tremble that he could hear in his own words. He was equally unfond of how every version of the speech he’d prepared for this moment had suddenly slipped from his mind as well. ‘No plan survives contact’ he bitterly thought to himself even as he forced words to continue to spill out of his mouth. Silence wasn’t an option, and so he had to speak!

“I was at Saddlesbury.”

‘A malicious quill can inflict more pain than a barbed lance.’

The old horse had heard the pony saying before, of course. He was seeing the efficacy of the expression play out before him now, as his four simple words struck a visible blow across the face of the unprepared unicorn. The pony’s expression was wiped away in an instant, all sense of curiosity at the purpose of this meeting sublimated by freshly-reignited grief and anger. Qasam saw the flashes behind the pony’s eyes, the maelstrom of emotions that had not had enough time to properly sort themselves out in the weeks since the battle that had claimed the life of his elder sister.

If there was a saving grace to be had, it was that the emotional blow had also appeared to rob the pony of his ability to speak, which meant that Qasam was able to continue on in an attempt to salvage the situation. The old horse lowered himself onto his belly beneath the unicorn and bowed his head in his outstretched hooves.

“I regret what happened,” he verbally fumbled, every utterance twisting his gut as he heard the insufficiency of it, but he pressed on regardless. He had to speak. “I did not desire that battle—it shouldn’t have even happened! Brigadier General Reconnoiter and I were talking—we’d worked out a solution!—and then…

“I collapsed. A failing of my heart,” Qasam bitterly admitted. “I don’t recall much. I am told that the general sent me to her medics. They saved my life—she saved my life.” The knowledge twisted in his heart like a dagger. “...My subordinates—” No, that will sound like an excuse. She deserves better. “...I chose my officers poorly. I failed to instill in them the discipline required for the situation.

“Because of my failings as their miralay, your sister—and so many others—are dead.

“I am sorry.”

This was a mistake.

The silence that followed felt like it dragged on for an eternity, every passing second weighing on him more heavily. It was as though the gods were adding another stone to his back every time his heart beat, watching and waiting for the old horse to simply break beneath the burden building up within him. And yet…Qasam dreaded the end of the silence all the same. Because when it finally ended—and surely it had to—the words would finally come. The pony’s words of condemnation and rebuke. Words of anger—of bitter hatred.

Words that the Arabian deserved—and so much more besides…

He heard the sigh first. Then the words followed. But not the words that Qasam had expected. “‘A saddlebag full of sand is preferable to a heart full of vengeance. It weighs less, and would be more useful besides.’ Or something like that.”

Qasam looked up at the shorter stallion, blinking in surprise as an older Saddle Arabian adage was recited back to him from the pony. The unicorn’s lips effectuated a smile, but there was still the dull ache of loss visible in his eyes. No malice accompanied it though. He gestured with his hoof for the horse on his doorstep to rise. “You should probably get up before the neighbors see. Delilah is pretty nosy and I don’t need her pestering me about why a horse is cow-towing on my doorstep.” The unicorn nodded idly to a townhouse across the street before stepping aside and motioning for his visitor to get up and follow him through the open door.

Still feeling a little bewildered by the unanticipated civility of the pony’s response, Qasam rose and stiffly walked up the short flight up steps. Like most pony homes, the furnishings were noticeably on the smaller side for a horse. It was a little like being in a foal’s playhouse for the Saddle Arabian. So, instead of risking doing harm to the lounger of the living room by laying upon it as the unicorn was motioning for him to do, Qasam instead simply sat down beside it on his haunches.

“Tea?” The pony offered. “I just had a cup.” He gestured to a low table in the middle of the room. A mug was still there, the dregs of the drink it had held still visible at the bottom. It wasn’t the typical sort of cup used for tea-drinking by ponies, Qasam knew. The ‘Blue Balls’ lettering on its side had a slightly more vulgar undertone to it that he’d have expected too. “The leftover water in the pot should still be hot.”

“Thank you. No,” the old horse shook his head, still feeling a little bit in shock.

“Something stronger maybe? It’s not too early for some cider—”

“Colonel—” Qasam tried to start his apology over again, feeling that he must have gotten something quite wrong in his earlier delivery to be getting this sort of reception. Perhaps the unicorn was in shock? Maybe even a little touched in the head…

“Mister.” The correction was firm, but not forceful. “I’m retired. Have been for some time now. But even that’s a little too formal for me these days. I spent a lifetime with everypony calling me ‘colonel’ and ‘sir’ all the damn time.” The chuckle was rueful. “I just want to hear my name for a change.

“So, please: Bivouac. Or even ‘Bivvy’, if you’d like. That’s what most of my friends call me.”

Touched, surely, Qasam thought privately to himself. He can’t possibly think of his sister’s killer as a ‘friend’!

Addled or not, the unicorn deserved a more fitting apology than he’d managed outside, and an offer of fair recompense as well. “...Very well…Bivouac. As I said outside, I was at Saddlesbury. I realize what happened there can not ever truly be forgiven. Brigadier General Reconnoiter—”

“Rico.” Again the correction was not forceful, but there was an insistence behind it that could not be easily overlooked. “Her friends called her Rico.”

‘My friends call me: Rico.’

‘I must like you, miralay.’

The memory pained the stallion more than his heart attack had. The image of the smiling face of the older powder blue mare, relieved at having found a way for them to avoid bloodshed, flashed through his mind—a heartbeat later he saw that same face misshapen and bloody in the sand and he winced. Qasam was forced to blink away the moisture he felt building up behind his eyes.

It would have been a closed-casket funeral, the horse thought to himself. A military officer would have realized why that was so. That his sister had not simply died, but that her body—her face—had been mutilated beyond decency.

“I was in Maregypt, you know.” The non-sequitur statement caught Qasam off guard. He could only stare in silence at the beige unicorn as he continued to speak. “Both of us were. Not in the same unit, obviously, but we both saw a little action while we were there.

“I know what it looks like when horses and ponies fight, Qasam. So did Rico.” The unicorn looked at him now, staring into his eyes for several long, silent seconds. Then, “...So do you. Even before Saddlesbury. I can see it in your eyes.” The horse trusted himself only to nod.

“They told me what happened,” the pony continued. “A couple of Rico’s battalion commanders—what they knew, anyway. They came by for the funeral.

“They said you and her met to talk. Before the fight.”

Qasam nodded again. This time, he even managed to find his voice. “We reached an arrangement,” he said. “A way to avoid a battle.” Those last words tasted bitter, knowing how the effort had turned out.

A sad smile made a valiant attempt to work its way across the beige stallion’s muzzle, and even managed to achieve a margin of success. “Good. I’m glad. That probably made her really happy that you two did that.”

Another vision of a baby blue face with a broad smile.

A bloodied corpse mashed into the sandbar.

“It didn’t matter.” Qasam was unable to withhold the bitterly spat words.

“It mattered.” There was such a finality to the statement, that the retired miralay was once more drawn to regard the unicorn pony sitting across from him in the room. “It always matters when we try.

“How much worse would things have been if you hadn’t?”

A purple mare clad in battered and bloody armor, looking up at him as he walked by, holding the corpse of her friend in her hooves. Orange eyes swearing vengeance as they watched him pass.

They wouldn’t have surrendered.

Qasam didn’t manage to form an answer to the pony’s question. Which was fine, as it had been rhetorical anyway. Both of them knew the answer already. They’d seen it, playing out across a broad desert in a foreign land, long ago.

“...Tell me about her?” The horse tentatively ventured. “About…Rico?”

The unicorn’s expression creased slightly with the telltale signs of a grief that was still quite raw. He reached out and took the empty mug in front of him into his hooves, holding it for several silent seconds. Qasam started to doubt that he’d be granted his request.

Then the pony’s horn started to glow. It reached out for a photo album that was sitting out in the open, clearly having already been revisited quite recently. The binder opened up on the low table and turned so that the horse could see the pictures within. The first one that his eyes locked onto was of a much younger—but still immediately recognizable—Reconnoiter wearing a brilliant white military uniform that was bereft of just about any pin, medal, or decoration. Her expression was stern, the mare’s features drawn into serious lines as she faced a similarly younger-but-familiar beige stallion dressed in an identical—if more prolifically adorned—uniform as she rendered a form-perfect salute to her sibling-superior.

The photo next to it featured the same two ponies, though now Rico was being held in the tight embrace of an obviously proud and beaming Bivouac. All semblance of formality and seriousness had been cast aside as both ponies grinned broadly at the camera, though the mare’s expression was strained slightly as a consequence of her elder sibling’s hoof appearing to rub furiously into her mane.

“She told me that I’d be the one saluting her someday,” Bivouac said, a fond—though obviously quite fragile—smile resting on his lips. “I believed her too.” His telekinetic aura flipped several pages ahead and highlighted an image. Both siblings were considerably older now. Rico’s uniform was speckled with the flecks of silver, gold, and precious stones of a generous quantity of awards and commendations. A pristine crimson sash glittered brightly in the sun. The beige stallion was standing across from her, looking appropriately serious as he now saluted his sibling-superior.

Again, the photo next to it mirrored the shift in tone from the first pair the horse had been shown, with both unicorns holding each other tightly, their cheeks squished up against each others’ as they both grinned broadly at the camera. Her hoof was now planted in his own much thinner mane. The miralay's eyes found it hard to look away from the familiar joyful creases in those blue cheeks.

“She had a nice smile,” Qasam softly said as he looked at the image.

“Yes,” Bivouac agreed. “She did.”

The two old stallions spent the rest of that evening talking about the things that had made Rico smile.

Corsair tapped her hoof on the doorframe of the modest hospital suite.

The room’s sole occupant glanced up from the book that she’d been reading, her muzzle breaking out into a broad smile when she identified her visitor. The older emerald mare slipped a bookmark between the pages before closing it and setting the book aside to give the new arrival her full attention. “Good morning, captain!”

The wince that passed across the pegasus’ face was too brief for the noncom to catch, hidden behind a grin of her own; though one that was far more forced in nature than the one the crystal mare wore. “It’s actually after noon,” she said as she stepped into the room.

Shillelagh balked for a brief moment, her gaze darting towards the window as she took note of the sun’s relative position. “Huh. So it is.” Her eyes then turned back to the closed book in front of her on the bed, specifically taking stock of how many pages further along the bookmark was compared to when she’d opened it that day. A small frown creased her lips. “I don’t suppose A.K. Yearling is going to be publishing a new Daring Do book in another day or so? Apparently I’m about to finish the series.”

“I didn’t know you were a Daring Do fan,” Corsair remarked as she finally entered the suite, sitting down on her haunches by the side of the bed. She craned her head to peer at the cover of the book, noting that it was indeed the latest publication in the widely popular adventure series.

“I wasn’t,” Shillelagh clarified with a shrug. “Used to have better things to do with my time. Then I found myself laid up in a hospital for the better part of a month.

“I needed something to do in between yours and the counselor’s visits, so I asked the nurse for book recommendations.” She patted the cover with her hoof. “I have to admit, I do see the appeal: a hero braving adversity to accomplish something important that’ll change the world. Or, at the very least, keep it from ending,” the crystal mare added with a wry smile. “Can’t imagine what that’s like…”

Corsair chuckled. Then her expression became more thoughtful. “Have you ever thought about writing a book of your own?” She ventured, tentatively. “An autobiography or something? You’ve led a more ‘exciting’ life than most ponies, you know. Especially the stuff from when you were in The Resistance.”

The crystal mare’s muzzle crinkled up as she thought over the pegasus’ proposal, but she was soon shaking her head. “Nah. I’m not much for writing. At least not anything that’s not an after-action report. Plenty of other ponies fought against Sombra; at least one of them has to be better at writing than I am. Let them tell that story.”

The cobalt blue mare hesitated briefly. Then, “...I’m sure you’d do fine with a little practice. Invest some time. Find an editor. You wouldn’t have any trouble getting an interested publisher, I bet.”

Shillelagh regarded her commanding officer with a mild frown now, finally taking the time to more acutely study the other mare’s features. They’d been together long enough that the crystal mare could tell when something wasn’t being said. “I imagine that I’d be a little too busy to write,” the emerald noncom’s tone was more even now as she watched for her commander’s reaction to what she was saying. “What with me having a whole company to run and all.” There was another pause, followed by a deepening of her frown. “Assuming command ever gets around to talking to me about my next assignment.

“Lately, it’s been nothing but Cavalry doctors telling me about how old I am and how rough my recovery’s going to be,” the older mare gave a derisive snort. “Like I haven’t been fucked up worse than this while I was fighting Sombra…” She managed to flash the pegasus another smile.

She’d been anticipating receiving a vote of encouragement from her commander. Words of agreement that the doctors shouldn’t underestimate the seasoned fighter. Maybe even an offer from the Frontier Corps officer to put in a recommendation with some of the corps’ senior officers regarding Shillelagh’s resilience and experience.

What the crystal mare hadn’t expected, was for the pegasus to agree with them.

“...Maybe you should look into that, Top.” Corsair was staring down at the cover of the book in front of the crystal pony so that she at least wasn’t staring at the floor or her hooves. Celestia knew that she couldn’t bring herself to look Shillelagh in the eyes. She didn’t want to see the look of betrayal that she knew would be there waiting for her.

Shillelagh wasn’t smiling anymore. Instead her face was a mask of concern. “What do you know, ma’am?”

Another wince, this time it was far less well concealed. There wasn’t much point to hiding anything anymore, after all. “I know that you don’t need to call me ‘ma’am’ anymore,” she finally relented with a defeated sigh. “Or ‘captain’, or anything else like that.

“They finalized my discharge yesterday.”

“They what?” Shillelagh had thought that she’d prepared herself to hear anything. She hadn’t expected that. She couldn’t understand it. Her commanding officer—former, apparently—had been sacked?! “Why? I thought they’d cleared everything up,” she protested, her brow still furrowed in confusion. “Didn’t you tell me that the board cleared you—cleared all of us—of any wrongdoing?”

Corsair was nodding even before the other mare had completed her indignant response, having broadly anticipated this sort of reaction. She’d mostly gone through a similar reaction herself when approached by the small cadre of officers she’d spoken with a little over a week ago about this matter.

The night of their infiltration into Canterlot had been something of a rollercoaster of emotions; for all concerned. Corsair had barely been in her holding cell for more than a couple of hours before a pair of Night Guards came by to retrieve her and escort her to the palace, where the pegasus had been debriefed by the princesses. It became immediately apparent to Corsair that they’d heard most of the story about what had happened at Gallopoli from Cravat, given that the questions they asked her were specific to several events that couldn’t have been known otherwise—such as the descriptions of the creatures that had been waiting for her and her group in Trotter’s Bend.

Corsair had provided the most thorough—and, of course, truthful—answers that she could. Any time she was offering conjecture, the pegasus was sure to stress that what she was saying was simply a guess and supplied reasons for why she’d come to those conclusions. What she didn’t do was level hard accusations.

The bottom line was that she didn’t have any actual proof about who was behind the whole affair. All of the ‘evidence’ that she or the others had was entirely circumstantial, and there were a dozen other equally plausible explanations that could account for the otherwise damning ‘coincidences’ that Bitter Creek and Maniple would no doubt be leaning into hard to support their own claims of innocence. If Corsair’s testimony was going to be of any real use against them, it would have to look as objective and as unbiased as possible, which meant avoiding attributing actual malice towards anypony unless she could cite bona fide facts to support her claims—which she couldn’t.

That had turned out to be merely the first of several interviews, though none of those that followed involved Their Royal Majesties themselves. Most were with the Director of the Equestrian Intelligence Service. The specificity of the weathered batpony’s questions had certainly proved her suitability for the position she held.

After the EIS was done debriefing her, Corsair was then passed over into the custody of a Court Martial for a review of what was being referred to in official proceedings as: ‘The Gallopoli Incident’. Each time she heard that name, Corsair felt her blood pressure spike. It hadn’t been an ‘incident’; what had taken place that night had been a massacre—a slaughter. A butchering of innocent horses and good ponies.

But, to make it digestible for citizens and politicians alike, it was a mere ‘incident’ in the reports and articles that were now circulating around Equestria, and likely the world at large.

Just as with the princesses and the EIS, the Court Martial had had many questions for Corsair. Most had been the same questions, just being approached from different angles. The triumvirate of generals presiding over her case—of which, interestingly enough, Brigadier General Maniple had not been a part—had been mostly concerned with her tactical choices: how she had set up her company’s sentries and watches. How many ponies had been assigned to patrols. What the spacing and intervals had been.

Essentially, they’d been evaluating whether or not the town or her ponies getting ambushed had been her fault.

At first, Corsair had been incensed. She’d assumed that the board of bench-warming generals had been looking to hang her out to dry as the reason why the horses of Gallopoli had died; as though she were expected to have done more to prepare for the sort of underhoofed ambush that nopony could reasonably have seen coming. An ambush that had been tailor-made for her by her own superiors back in Canterlot.

However, after a record-setting three hours for what was surely the shortest Court Martial in Royal Cavalry history, the board had proclaimed Corsair and her ponies completely blameless for the whole affair and closed the inquiry. She was officially absolved of any blame in the debacle. The pegasus captain’s military acumen was not found wanting and none would be able to say that she hadn’t done the best she could for her ponies or the horses of Gallopoli.

Save for herself, at least…

Then the other horseshoe had dropped.

If there’d been anything approaching a silver lining, it had been that Major Gladius—one of the few officers in the Frontier Corps that Corsair genuinely respected—had been the one to lay out her options. Or rather, more accurately: deliver the Cavalry’s ultimatum. For that was what it had effectively been.

Sure, on the surface, it looked like a perfectly amicable ‘choice’: Corsair could return to duty with her cleared name and restored record, or—and there had been no subtlety in the major’s stressing that this was the preferred option—she could accept an otherwise unprecedented ‘retirement’. It had been an offer which had confused Corsair at first, if only because the pegasus knew that she was many years away from having logged enough time in the service to be entitled to receive a pension—she was over a decade short of having the years required in fact. Besides that, her career had, in many ways, only just begun. There was plenty of time yet for her to climb the ranks and retire later at a much higher rate of pay for her pension.

So why, under Celestia’s golden sun, would she ever choose to get out now?

That was when Gladius had, quite bluntly, explained what her future in the Cavalry would be like if she stayed in. It was good that the major—a pony Corsair would even go so far as to consider a friend as much as he was a superior—had been the one to talk to her about this. Had it been anypony else, the pegasus probably would have bucked them square in the jaw—regardless of their rank.

The cobalt mare had briefly wondered if that had been the real reason Gladius had been saddled with the task of breaking the news to her: he was the most likely officer to leave the room unharmed after delivering the offer.

“I was cleared,” she confirmed with a nod, still not looking up from the cover of the novel as she relived the conversation that she’d had with Gladius. “This wasn’t punitive,” the bitter tone she used around that word made it clear that the semantics at play weren’t much consolation. “The Cavalry was actually doing me a ‘favor’.” Again, her tone left little doubt as to her perspective on the whole affair.

“My record—my official record—is clean, sure,” she said with a heavy sigh, “but that doesn’t change the fact that everypony knows what happened in Gallopoli: that my last command was wiped out, nearly to a pony.”

“That wasn’t your fault, ma’am,” Shillelagh reflexively insisted. Celestia bless the mare’s heart, she meant it too. Maybe there was even some truth to it.

If only the truth mattered…

“Would you have signed on with a resistance cell in the Empire if you heard that its leader was the only pony to make it out of their last op alive?” The cobalt pegasus asked of her—former—senior noncom. The wince visible on the crystal mare’s face was all the answer Corsair needed. It was the reaction she’d expected. “No battalion in the Corps wants me. I’m cursed goods.

“And, if the Corps can’t find me an assignment…” Corsair didn’t finish the thought. She didn’t need to. Shillelagh was familiar with the Cavalry’s ‘get up or get out’ policy where it came to career advancement. There was no room in any branch of the Cavalry for an officer—or a higher-ranking non-commissioned officer, for that matter—who was simply languishing around and not ‘pulling their weight’ by trying to advance and better their career in some way. If Corsair couldn’t get a new assignment, then she’d have been discharged anyway; and not in a way that would have qualified her for any sort of pension, given her lack of accrued years.

It was around this time that the pieces all finally clicked into place for Shillelagh too. She muttered a curse under her breath through her own resigned sigh. “...The medical discharge.”

The pegasus was nodding. “Unlike me, you have the years to retire—what with the Cavalry crediting you your time in the Empire,” she pointed out. “But this way you can collect a little extra ‘disability’ on top of the pension.

“They’re trying to help you.”

The sour expression on Shillelagh’s face made it plain that she didn’t particularly care for the Corps’ flavor of ‘help’ any more than the pegasus did. Yet, at the same time, the crystal pony recognized exactly what her former commander had: there was no fighting this. It was going to happen, and they could either accept the sugar cube being offered or swallow the bitter pill on its own.

A mirthless chuckle rumbled from deep in the older mare’s throat, earning a curious look from the pegasus. “I don’t know why I didn’t see this coming,” Shillelagh said with a sigh. “I already went through this once. Shouldn’t be surprised it’s happening again.

“You ever wonder why I signed up with the Equestrian Cavalry and not the Imperial Guard?” The crystal mare asked upon seeing the confused look she’d gotten from the pegasus. She didn’t hesitate long before answering her own rhetorical question. “It was pretty much for the exact same reason you just said: nopony there wanted me.

“I was ‘politically inconvenient’.”

Now it was Corsair’s turn to balk. “What are you talking about? You led a resistance cell against King Sombra—one of the more successful, from what I heard! How were you not some kind of national hero in the Empire?”

“Because nearly every single one of Sombra’s soldiers was a crystal pony thrall,” Shillelagh replied simply, a wan smile slowly appearing on her muzzle. “They hadn’t wanted to serve him. Everypony we were fighting against were just…innocent ponies made to wear mind-controlling armor.

“But they also wouldn’t have hesitated to kill any of us on sight if we gave them half a chance. It’s hard to win a fight if you’re holding back while your opponent’s playing for keeps,” she explained, her tone somber—a little detached, even—her gaze was unfocused. Distant. “We had so much working against us already. If we’d piled on trying to take his thralls down without hurting them too badly…”

She shook her head. “We were targeting military assets: armories, supply convoys, guard posts, prison camps…dead thralls were inevitable.” Another brief pause. Now it was hard for the crystal mare to look at Corsair. “We told ourselves it was all: ‘acceptable collateral damage’. That those ponies’ deaths would be remembered as ‘sacrifices for the cause’.

“The price of freedom—for all of us…”

Shillelagh took a deep breath. “When the Empire reappeared and Princess Cadance defeated Sombra for good, we were finally free. We could start to rebuild—to heal. We could talk about what happened. Try to reconcile some of it. Only…

“How do you ‘reconcile’ telling an orphan that you killed their mind-controlled parents ‘for the good of the Empire’?” Shillelagh’s laugh was mirthless and bitter. “As a new ruler of an empire, do you really want to celebrate that? Could you imagine giving out medals to the ponies who killed hundreds—thousands—of your citizens’ loved ones? You certainly don’t throw them a parade or call them ‘heroes’!”

“Realistically, everypony understood that it was all Sombra’s fault; not ours,” she went on. “He’d enslaved us. He’d enthralled our friends and families. Used our own citizens as living shields to protect himself. It was by design.

“Everypony understood. Deep down,” she repeated. There was a pause. Then, “...But they still didn’t want to be reminded of it. They certainly didn’t want to see ponies who’d killed their families getting medals.

“Every one of us—the ponies who played leadership roles in the various cells—were quietly encouraged to lay low and keep out of the public eye. Maybe—or even especially—pack up and start new lives elsewhere.

“They didn’t tell us to leave,” she carefully stressed while wearing a sardonic smirk, “but there was also a rather generous ‘relocation allowance’ offered to any of us who decided we wanted to emigrate. Enough to get settled pretty much anywhere in Equestria we wanted to. There was even an extra-large allowance for anypony who left the continent altogether.”

The crystal mare was quiet again for a time, looking as though she were contemplating the book in front of her. “...At least they’re not trying to buck me out of the country this time.”

“Yeah. At least there’s that.”

In all honesty, Corsair wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say in response to any of that. Shillelagh had been right: she hadn’t ever asked about why the crystal mare was serving in Equestria and not the Empire. She’d mostly just taken it for granted—assumed that the older mare had simply wanted a change of scenery. It wasn’t like there weren’t plenty of crystal ponies who hadn’t transplanted themselves into Equestria for various reasons. Some had done it in order to escape bitter memories of Sombra’s tormentous rule, sure; but there were plenty who had emigrated for the same reasons that anypony did: taking on a new job, marriage and family, retirement, or just about any other reason one could imagine.

But to hear that the Empire had—if only very politely—all but banished their more ‘politically inconvenient’ ponies…

Perhaps, in light of recent developments, maybe it actually wasn’t so hard to believe, Corsair decided.

At least all they wanted in my case was for me to leave the service…

Realistically, Corsair knew that she could have fought against it. But to what end? Whatever the truth of the matter was, the pegasus had a new reputation within the Cavalry now. She was no longer the ‘firebrand pegasus with a temper’. She was the captain who’d led her company into a trap and gotten them all killed. Whether it had been her fault or not—and she saw now that the Court Martial’s goal had specifically been to make sure the official record reflected that it hadn’t been her fault—the stigma was still there. It would always be there, regardless of what some generals wrote down in a report.

At the end of the day, this really was probably her best option.

“...Maybe I should write a book,” Shillelagh said with a soft sigh, still looking at the novel in front of her. “Heart knows I’ll have a lot of free time on my hooves.” She glanced over at the pegasus. “What about you, ma’am?” It seemed some habits weren’t going to be broken in an hour. “How are you going to spend your ‘golden years’?”

It had been meant as a joke to try and bring some levity to the otherwise dreary mood that had settled over the room. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as successful as the crystal mare might have hoped. Mostly because Corsair didn’t have much of an answer. “I genuinely don’t know, Shelly. I didn’t have much of an answer before I commissioned. The Cavalry was supposed to be what I did with my life—my career—and now…”

She offered up a helpless shrug—and the pegasus did feel the next best thing to helpless right now. “I just don’t know.

“Short term: I’ll move back in with my folks,” she said. “Just for a little while. Give myself time to adjust to civilian life. Figure out where to go from there.” It was plainly obvious that the pegasus wasn’t looking forward to any of this; there simply weren’t that many other options. “I think my dad would like having me around anyway. He always complained that I never wrote home enough.” Which was probably true, Corsair acknowledged.

“You’ll figure something out, ma’am,” Shillelagh said with confidence.

Another little smile touched the pegasus’ lips. “I already told you, Shelly: I’m discharged. I’m not an officer anymore. You don’t have to call me: ‘ma’am’.”

The crystal mare chuckled and looked at the cobalt flier. “I never called you ‘ma’am’ because of your rank, Vee. I do it because you have my respect. That didn’t disappear with your uniform.”

“I appreciate that; it means a lot.” And it did.

The two mares were silent for a long moment. Then Corsair spoke up once more. “Do you ever think about them? The ponies in your cell that…didn’t make it?”

“All the time,” the emerald pony admitted soberly.

More silence.

“Does talking really help?”

In the wake of everything that had happened, the Cavalry had sent Corsair to speak with a counselor. All of the survivors had been required to attend a couple of evaluations, if only to determine their fitness for continued service—Corsair didn’t know if this had been done before the higher-ups had made the decision to quietly push them out of the Cavalry or not. While the pegasus had been given the all-clear after a few sessions, the pony she’d been sent to speak with had encouraged her to continue to attend additional sessions regardless.

“To help you process any lingering feelings of guilt or loss that might be troubling you,” had been the cited reasoning. Corsair had politely said that she’d consider it, while internally resolving not to. That had been several weeks ago.

She’d also been advised to reach out if she found herself experiencing any additional issues, such as trouble sleeping or nightmares. Corsair had not.

Reached out, that is.

Shillelagh regarded her former commander for a long moment before nodding. “It can.” She put her hoof on the book in front of her on the bed and pushed it aside. Then she shifted herself around to better face the pegasus. “Is there anything in particular that you’d like to talk about, ma’am?”

Corsair’s lip twitched slightly. Then she nodded. “I’ve been working on a letter for the last few days. It’s for Lumier’s family,” she explained. “The trouble is, I’m honestly not even sure how to start it.

“I’ve written ‘those’ kinds of letters before.” The crystal mare didn’t need the pegasus to elaborate on what kind of letter she meant. “But this isn’t that. I want to write a real letter. I just…” Corsair gave an almost helpless shrug as she sat before the older emerald mare. Shillelagh was one of the few ponies that the flier would allow to see her being this vulnerable and indecisive. “...I don’t know what to say—what I could say—that would even matter.

“You know?”

“I do,” Shillelagh said with an understanding nod. “And while I don’t know how good I’d be at giving writing advice,” she cautioned while wearing a wry smile, “I can commiserate with the best of them.” She paused in thought for a moment. Then her smile broadened slightly. “You remember his first day in the company? I bet he wished he could do it all over again,” she said with a small chuckle.

It was Corsair’s turn to offer a little snort of her own. “We were both out of uniform coming back from the gym. He thought you were the CO.” She thought for a moment. “All things considered, he’d prepared a good introduction speech. It wasn’t as impressive when he delivered it the second time. Probably because of all the embarrassing blushing and stuttering.

“The blushing only got worse the next few days after he accidentally called me ‘Captain Corset’ during a morning briefing.” The pegasus mare rolled her eyes at the memories that had grown fonder with age. “I was sure his call-sign was going to end up being ‘Rosie’ or something because of how red his cheeks always were those first couple of weeks.”

“He found his footing eventually,” Shillelagh said with a smile of her own as she recalled the memories. “He shaped up into a fine XO.”

“He did. Best one I ever had,” Corsair agreed. Her features fell. “I don’t think I ever actually told him that, now that I think about it.” The regret in her voice was palpable. “I was going to write him one tartarus of a review though. Planned to ask Gladius to fast-track him for captain.”

“He would have made a good company commander,” the crystal mare agreed with a nod.

“I wrote him up for a Celestia Cross. Before they gave me the punt. Did it for all of them.” Another helpless shrug. “Doubt any of them will actually get it.” She gave a derisive snort. “Doubt anypony will bother to even read the recommendations in the first place now that I’m out.”

Getting her ponies one of the nation’s highest military honors was a known longshot. Typically a pony had to do something that placed them into a history book to merit receiving something like that. Realistically, her ponies would get a Pink Heart and some generic commendation medal of one sort or another. The Cavalry wouldn’t think of any of them as being ‘heroes’. Not in the commonly understood sense of the word.

But they were heroes to her. So she’d written out recommendations for each of her ponies.

“I don’t know that I particularly care whether or not the Cavalry thinks they deserve it,” Shillelagh said. “Not a huge fan of the Cavalry’s opinions in general at the moment, to be honest.” This earned the crystal mare a snort of agreement from the pegasus. “Whatever some general somewhere decides doesn’t change what the two of us know right here,” she tapped her chest with a hoof. “You did right by your ponies, ma’am. You always did.”

“Thanks, Shelly.”

There was silence for a few seconds, broken by the crystal mare snorting with amusement. “‘Captain Corset’,” she sniggered. “Ma’am, did I ever tell you what LaFarrier called me the first time we met? Now, I don’t know if you know this about the Prench language, but they pronounce a lot of letters way different from how Equestrians did a thousand years ago. So when he’d only seen my name written down and then tried to actually say it for the first time…”

Baron Muslin Cravat made a quick mental tally, and not for the first time that evening as he took another fortifying drink from the glass pressed lightly between his hooves. It was approximately the same color as the crystal berry wine that all of the guests were being served; however, Lavender had him the courtesy of substituting a much harder cider when she refilled his glass. The stallion found that the greater concentration of alcohol helped him put up with the evening’s inanity.

We’d have been better off just cutting a check ourselves, the dappled earth pony thought to himself, and hardly for the first time that evening. It probably wouldn’t be the last time either. Not that the total number of bits being raised is really even the point now, is it?

Somewhere in Equestria there was a group of Filly Scouts selling home-baked muffins in order to gather bits to pay for their upcoming trip to the Crystal Fair. Or an off-Bridleway performance being put on to fund the continued operation of a town’s community center. Maybe even a cart wash raising money for a team’s new hoofball uniforms.

What all of those events would have in common with each other—and which the current evening’s festivities did not—was that the initial investment in the fund-raising activity wasn’t going to end up eclipsing the amount which was ultimately raised in pursuit of the event’s stated goal.

Crystal berry wine, Minosian oat cakes, exotic Zebrican fruits…all told, tens of thousands of bits had been spent on event refreshments alone. Then there was the cost of decorating the repurposed ballroom for the event—which had reused exactly none of the decorations from any earlier events held that year, because doing so would have been absolutely ‘scandalous’! The wages for the extra staff that had been hired on to tend to all of the guests. There was also the factored in cost of all the artwork being auctioned which, while not a price which had been paid recently, the earth pony stallion reasoned shouldn’t be overlooked in the end.

Cravat took an extra-long sip of his drink as he watched a well-dressed duke write down a bid on a portrait of Celestia. A portrait which the dappled gray pony recalled his mother had acquired some years ago at a similar ‘charity’ auction held by the duke in question.

He shifted from his position just enough to glimpse the bid that the other pony had written down and promptly finished off his glass when he saw that the amount offered was substantially lower than what he knew his mother had paid for it. Lavender trotted by and discreetly refilled him without a word.

The young count reminded himself that, whatever the stated nature of this event might be, it possessed an alternate actual purpose: recouping the political capital which had recently been spent to oust Bitter Creek from his ministerial position. Tonight wasn’t really about raising bits to support Gallopoli orphans and refugees. It was actually intended to repay members of the Noble Stable for the votes that Duchess Golden Hour had asked them to cast in the latest political shake-up by giving them a chance to reclaim previously relinquished property at a considerable discount.

I hate politics.

“There you are, beloved!”

Cravat managed to suppress a grimace at the sound of the otherwise pleasant soprano voice calling out to him from a short distance away. He buttressed a warm smile of his own into place before he turned to greet the peach-colored unicorn mare who was trotting towards him, a dress of sheer magenta fabric billowing around her hocks. His eyes briefly darted towards the well-built jet black stallion following in his fiancée's wake before focusing back on the mare.

The pair exchanged a public nuzzle that was expected of two young ponies due to be married in just a few more weeks. The dappled count closed his eyes to keep himself from visibly looking at the other stallion when he noted the scent of the cologne on her neck that was just barely perceptible beneath the more recently applied perfume.

“I’m so sorry for being late,” Equestria’s current preeminent Bridleway actress went on, executing what Cravat conceded was a singularly flawless performance in her role as a prospective bride talking with the love of her life. “It simply took me forever to get my dress to sit right,” she explained, briefly pouting at the alleged offending garment. “I fear that the hemline wasn’t stitched as evenly as it looked at first glance. I’ll likely need to get it looked at again.

“I just wanted to make sure I was looking my best for you!” The peach mare performed an elegant twirl in front of the stallion before flashing him a sultry expression worthy of her three-time Pony Award-winning acting career.

While the young count might not have had the benefit of a cadre of acting coaches tutoring him during his youth, his upbringing in noble politics had provided him with an ability to feign emotions and expression which rivaled any professional actors, and so Cravat was able to favor his intended with a broad smile of his own as he leaned in and gave her a peck on the muzzle. “You are an absolute vision, Holly.”

He then spared a moment to formally recognize the other pony with her, nodding towards the golden-maned unicorn stallion. “Friesian.”

“My lord,” his fiancée's chauffeur inclined his head in a polite bow.

“Friesy, do be a dear and fetch me a drink, please?” The peach mare asked in an off-hoofed manner, not taking her gaze off her betrothed. “And some hors d’oeuvres, as well. You know what I like.”

Cravat very nearly bit off his own tongue in his effort not to let off a mocking cackle at the double-entendre. Instead, he had somehow managed to keep smiling warmly at the mare while her—for some reason as of yet unacknowledged—cavalier slipped off to do as he’d been instructed.

The stallion was a new addition to Cravat’s household staff, at his fiancée's invitation. In anticipation of the upcoming wedding and their imminent cohabitation, Count High Rock’s daughter had brought several members of her family’s staff onto Cravat’s own. Maids she already had friendships with, attendants who knew how she liked her mane and hooves done…

…And her personal ‘chauffeur’. An obsidian black unicorn stallion with a long flowing golden mane and a thick accent that suggested he was a recent transplant from Flankfurt. A pony whom, according to Holly Rose, possessed ‘more stamina than any stallion who’d ever driven her around’.

Cravat suspected that the mare genuinely believed that she was being circumspect with the remark.

“There’s the stallion of the hour!” A familiar—as well as a quite welcome—voice declared, distracting Cravat away from any temptation he might have had to make an untoward remark and focusing his attention in the direction of two approaching ponies.

One was a gracefully trotting teal unicorn mare wearing a purple cloak that was held in place around her neck by a sun-and-moon broach. The collar had an embroidered fusion of the Equestrian Principality and Griffonstone flags on it.

At her side was a fiery orange unicorn stallion sporting a fresh military uniform. However, it was not the crisp white dress uniform of the Royal Equestria Cavalry. Instead it was the silver-trimmed midnight black of the Mission Guard, a cadre of ponies who were tasked with protecting Equestria’s embassies and officials beyond the principality’s borders. They were a little bit like the Night Guard’s version of the Frontier Corps, in that they tended to operate outside of Equestria.

“I was wondering if His Lordship was ever going to be able to find time for us ‘common ponies’ this evening.”

Autumn Brisk flashed the pony next to her a mildly reproachful look before giving him a stern nudge with her shoulder. “Flashover; be nice!”

“Oh, come on, Autumn; Cravat knows I’m just messing around. Right?” The young stallion grinned broadly between the pair. Then his expression shifted into one which the dappled stallion was pretty sure the unicorn intended to be ‘suave’ as he allowed his attention to shift to the peach unicorn at Cravat’s side. “Holly Rose,” he said with a not-so-subtle waggle of his eyebrows before he bowed low towards her, “I’m a huge fan of your work.

“In fact—and I know you must get this all the time and I hate to be ‘that stallion’—if it’s not too much trouble, could you maybe sign this picture I have of you?” His horn lit as he drew forth a glossy photograph from within the breast of his uniform’s coat. There was a very briefly horrified expression on Autumn Brisk’s face until she caught sight of the photo’s composition, after which she let out a relieved sigh. The stallion floated over a simple and tasteful ‘glamor shot’ of the Bridleway actress.

The teal mare’s reaction had not gone unnoticed by her companion however, who gave her a wry smirk. “What?”

“Nothing,” Autumn Brisk insisted before turning her own attention fully back towards the couple they’d come over to see. “Baron Cravat. Lady Rose,” she lightly emphasized with a non-look in her companion’s direction. “Thank you for the invitation to this lovely party.”

“If anypony can appreciate what we’re trying to do here, it’s ponies who were there,” Cravat managed to say with a mostly straight face. Unlike himself, his two comrades likely didn’t quite realize how askew the scales were when it came to the theatrics of this event compared to how ‘productive’ it was going to be on the actual charity end of things. Ultimately, a considerable number of bits would be raised for the benefit of the affected Saddle Arabians. However, that amount would actually pale in comparison to what was being spent to host it.

I really hate politics.

“Aren’t I lucky to have found a stallion with such a noble heart?” Holly Rose gushed even as her magic took hold of the headshot that Flashover offered. “And I always have time for a patron of the arts!” The orange unicorn had even come prepared with a quill, which he also passed to the mare. “Who should I make this out to, gener…erm, colonel—?”

The noble mare’s otherwise flawless lines faltered as her eyes darted to the stallion’s chest and failed to locate any sign of an officer’s sash. Nor could she spy any glints of metal on his collar. Flashover eventually supplied the answer she was seeking along with a shrug of his chevron-emblazoned foreleg sleeve. “Corporal Flashover. But if you could actually make it out to: ‘My Dearest Flashy?’” He tentatively ventured.

Once more Cravat’s fiancée proved her acting chops by managing to keep her beaming smile in place as she signed her autograph for the low-born stallion that was—likely to her—inexplicably at a party for nobles and wealthy patrons. She returned both the photo and the quill to the uniformed pony—who spent several seconds appearing to visibly consider whether or not it would be publicly acceptable for him to sniff it—before turning her attention to the other mare.

Cravat felt his fiancée actually seem to relax slightly now that she was faced with somepony that possessed at least some amount of high-society breeding. There were few other ways to merit the purple cape of an Equestria Mission Attaché, after all. “And it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well, Lady…?” The last word possessed just the slightest hint of a desperate undertone to the dappled stallion’s ear.

“Lady Autumn Brisk, Cultural Attaché to the Equestrian Ambassador to Griffonstone.”

“Oh, my; Griffonstone! How exotic!” The actress tittered.

Behind her, Friesian returned with the drinks and food that she’d asked for. Holly Rose looked up and made a convincing show of noticing a pony off on another side of the ballroom signaling to get her attention. “Thank you, Friesian—oh! Do pardon me, please, Lady Brisk and…corporal. I won’t be but a moment!

“Later, dearest.” With a parting nuzzle on Cravat’s cheek, the peach unicorn pranced off for parts unknown with her dark furred attendant following after.

“Who’s the stallion?” Flashover asked after the pair left earshot.

“Her cavalier,” Cravat replied before taking another sip of cider.

“What’s that? Some Fancy term for ‘bodyguard’?”

The genuine innocence of the question actually prompted Cravat’s muzzle to break out into a wry smile within his glass. Meanwhile, the doubling in size of Autumn Brisk’s eyes upon his utterance of the word was all the evidence Cravat needed that the recently elevated attaché was aware of the title’s true meaning. He could also see that the mare was looking for a delicate way to explain it to her companion. Assuming that one even existed.

Being three glasses of cider into the event meant that Cravat largely didn’t care about being ‘delicate’ around one of his closest friends. “He’s her stud,” he stated bluntly.

Flashover balked. Then he looked between Cravat and the distant Holly Rose several times clearly wondering how indignant on his friend’s behalf he was supposed to be, given how nonplussed the dappled stallion appeared to be. The earth pony waived off any offer of affront. “It’s fine. It’s barely even ‘cheating’.”

“You’re engaged to her!” The orange unicorn hissed through his teeth in a low tone, displaying an uncharacteristic—for him—awareness of their surroundings and the possibility of prying ears.

“So? It’s not like we actually love each other,” Cravat shrugged. “This evening will more than double the amount of time the two of us have spent in the same room since our betrothal.” The stallion’s snort was completely mirthless. “Between my redoing my fellowship at the hospital to ‘shake the cobwebs off’ and her traveling the continent to perform, we’ve barely even seen each other since I’ve been back.

“I genuinely don’t care who she’s fucking on the side. Just because we’re going to be married doesn’t mean she isn’t entitled to be happy.”

Flashover spent a few seconds visibly parsing out those last few words and was unsure how he felt about the expressed sentiment. Cravat took advantage of the stallion’s stunned silence to steer the conversation towards lighter topics. “Enough about me,” he insisted with a brief pointed look at his friend before waving a hoof towards both of them. “Should I be reading into the two of you clearly being in the same general field of foreign stationing or…?” He glanced between the pair.

“W-what?” “Sweet Celestia no!”

Cravat couldn’t quite keep the amused smile off his lips when he saw Autumn Brisk’s reaction to the orange stallion’s much more emphatic denial. “I beg your pardon? What do you mean: ‘sweet Celestia no’?!”

The dappled pony caught his friend’s attention and idly motioned with his hoof diagonally across his chest. A sign which a pointmare might give to the rest of the squad which was meant to convey that there was a dangerous area ahead that needed to be crossed, and that everypony should be extra cautious. Flashover blanched as he looked at the mare, his mouth wordlessly moving as he struggled for words that wouldn’t get him into even more trouble.

“I just meant that I’m already a taken stallion!” Flashover said in his defense.

In Cravat’s opinion, it was one of the wiser that his friend could have gone with. It was also one which invited further clarification. “Oh? Do tell! When should we expect her to finally sleep off what I assume had to be a whole barrel’s worth of grain alcohol before she finally started to find your pick-up lines clever and endearing?” He grinned broadly at the unicorn.

“Hardy har-har,” Flashover didn’t—quite—glare at his noblepony friend before offering genuine details about his special somepony. “We actually met the night we all snuck into Canterlot,” he explained. “She was one of the Night Guards that took us into custody: Ruby Jubilee. She approved of the thrashing I gave that prick Nocturd or whoever. Asked if I was up for sparring with her and the rest of her squad sometime; which I was.”

He shrugged. “After a few weeks throwing each other around on the mats, we ended up throwing each other around at her place.” It was the unicorn’s turn to grin now. “I take back everything I thought I knew about which kinds of mares were the wildest. It’s batponies. Hooves down, batponies are wild!

“Incidentally, all that helping you out with the medic stuff is really paying dividends now,” Flashover went on, earning an exchange of confused looks between the other two ponies. “There’s a lot more blood involved than I’m used to. I don’t know if it’s a ‘batpony thing’ in general, but Red’s quite the biter.

“I mean when I hit it just right, she’ll latch onto my shoulder with those fangs and—”

“Merciful Luna…” Autumn Brisk muttered under her breath. Her telekinesis struck out and whisked the glass off of the approaching Lavender's tray, bringing it to her lips and drinking its contents before either the server or Cravat could warn her about its deceptively strong contents. There was an only barely averted spit-take as the teal mare managed to swallow down the whole mouthful, which ended in a brief coughing fit and a judgmental look directed at the drink’s intended recipient.

The dappled stallion cleared his throat and waved Lavender off. Honestly, three glasses was probably more than enough for the night. “Well, I’m happy for you. Truly. And you,” he added, looking now towards a mostly recovered Autumn Brisk, nodding at her cloak. “Envoy to an attaché in just a few months? Quite the accomplishment.”

The mare deposited the still mostly full glass on a passing tray and nodded. “I’ll admit that it raised a few eyebrows at the embassy, but I’ve been able to prove I can manage the position so the grumbling is kept to a minimum. In terms of ‘sorry your last boss tried to get you killed’ gestures from the Ministry, it has proven to be quite agreeable.”

“And you?” Cravat looked back to flashover and indicated the new uniform. “The transfer’s a bit of surprise.”

Flashover gave a light shrug. “It’s actually easier for Ruby Jubilee and I to see each other this way, believe it or not. They rotate ‘Totally Not EIS Agents’ through the embassies from time to time. Ruby signs up to go through whichever one I’m at.”

The other two ponies shared another briefly confused look before Cravat ventured to get clarification. “Wait…I thought you said your marefriend was one of the Night Guards? Now you’re saying she’s an EIS agent?”

The orange unicorn held up both hooves in a gesture of helplessness. “Hey, don’t look at me! I just assume this is one of those ‘I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you’ things. The only rule she has when we’re together is to not ask about her job; and I’m perfectly fine with that being the only rule.” His smile was quite smug now.

“There is a difference between the Night Guard and Equestrian Intelligence,” Autumn Brisk’s words could have been taken as a statement of fact, if it hadn’t been for the waver of uncertainty coloring those last couple of syllables. The mare apparently elected to relinquish her earlier certainty with a final word that she tacked on as an addendum. “...Right?”

Another helpless shrug from the unicorn stallion. Cravat’s expression was more thoughtful, but hardly certain. “I wonder if not being able to tell is part of the point?” He proposed.

“Speaking of,” Flashover said, lightly redirecting the conversation, “has anypony heard from Nightjar recently? I haven’t seen her since that night.” This time his earlier gesture of ignorance was perfectly mirrored by the other two ponies.

“I hope she’s doing okay…”

Alabaster Fetlock didn’t look up from his desk when he heard the door to his office open. He hadn’t needed to, as the maid had announced her intent to enter only a few seconds prior in order to deliver him the day’s paper, along with his morning ‘constitutional’. Besides, he was busy making slight adjustments to the books for Sandalwood and Sons prior to submitting them to the Crown’s investigators. Once he was done with them, these documents would be sent via courier to his cousin Irwin for their signature before ultimately making their way into the hooves of Their Majesty’s agents.

Once that was done with, and the auditors had confirmed that Sandalwood and Sons’ dealings with the Ivory Company had been completely above board and legitimate and—most importantly—done with complete and total ignorance of the mercenary company’s intentions in Saddle Arabia, that should finally close the official investigation into The Gallopoli Incident.

He’d be free and clear.

For the most part, anyway, the earl thought to himself with a slight grimace. True to Baron Cravat’s word, the young noble and his mother, Duchess Golden Hour, had indeed managed to leverage her considerable political influence within the Noble Stable and see him stripped of his ministerial appointment. Alabaster had just barely managed to cover his misdealings with the Arabians—foisting the blame onto a few clerks within the embassies of both nations—before that hammer came down, so his unseating looked purely political and not punitive.

It meant that, in the fullness of time—once he’d built up some more political capital among his peers—he would be able to secure another ministry appointment if he wanted one. Of course, as vindictive as House Medicas was likely to be, there might not be much point, as he was confident those two would just set their sights on getting him bucked out again.

The maid deposited the folded newspaper on his desk, just off to the side of where the unicorn was working. Alabaster idly glanced at the visible page and noted several of the headlines.

He hesitated.

The earl’s horn lit with magic and he dragged the paper closer to better read one of the articles that was visible. It wasn’t, strictly speaking, ‘front page news’, as the maid had apparently arranged the paper in a slightly peculiar way when she’d laid it out on the tray. However, Alabaster did find the article intriguing enough to give it a quick skim.

DISGRACED GENERAL’S DEATH RULED SUICIDE

The unicorn’s brow furrowed as he read over the article. He was genuinely surprised to learn that General Maniple had managed to find the sort of willpower required to take his own life like that. Especially given the relatively light fallout that the senior officer had received. Alabaster had sculpted the narrative to deflect as much blame away from himself as possible, obviously, and that had meant shifting it to others. Maniple had been one of the ones to suffer some blowback as a result.

Not a lot, relatively speaking, but enough to make his competence for his assignment questionable. A board of inquiry had only a week prior found that he’d failed to exercise proper operational security by allowing sensitive information about military deployments to fall into the claws of the Ivory Company, which allowed the mercenaries to kill so many of Their Majesties’ valiant soldiers. They’d concluded that this act had been negligent, rather than malicious, so no formal Court Martial had been convened to put him out of the Cavalry. However, he had been transferred to an administrative position.

Something in logistics, Alabaster was fairly sure.

It had been Nocturne whom Fetlock had saddled with most of malicious intent. Indeed, by the time the earl had finished massaging the truth, the batpony senior operative had come off looking like the mastermind of the whole scheme. Nocturne’s attempt to arrange for the assassination of a fellow EIS agent in order to cover up the Ivory Company’s murderous intentions had made framing him for treason a trivial matter. The genuine evidence stacked against the stallion had been enough to earn him a trip to the gallows. The fabrications contributed by the earl and his agents had simply been gilding the lily in that regard.

If a pony was going to hang for his own actual crimes anyway, then why not let him hang for the crimes of others too? In retrospect, it was the first time that the batpony stallion had actually managed to benefit the earl’s plans, as far as the unicorn was concerned.

Last week’s news that Nocturne had taken the initiative and hanged himself in his cell—to ‘go out on his own terms’, as it were—had not been surprising at all.

Maniple, on the other hoof…that was a little unexpected.

A small saucer was deposited on the table before the earl, upon which was a sniffer of his favored brandy. “Thank you,” the unicorn mumbled absently, his eyes still reading over the article. His telekinesis reached out and lifted the glass, bringing the drink to his lips.

“My Lord,” the maid intoned with a bow of her head as she withdrew from the table. She turned and started to tidy up around the modest home office.

Alabaster glanced briefly in the direction of the slate gray pegasus mare. He didn’t immediately recognize her, but that was hardly unusual. Members of his household staff often found themselves falling out of favor with his wife, and so there was something of a ‘revolving door’ where some of the servants were concerned. Especially the maids.

The earl’s brow raised slightly when he noticed the frankly comical black and white uniform that the pegasus was wearing. If that was going to be the new outfit that his wife was going with for the cleaning staff, Alabaster was going to have to have a talk with her and insist that she pick something a little less flamboyant. The pegasus was wearing the sort of outfit that a costume designer would create for a play so that it was clear to the audience that the character wearing it was supposed to be a maid.

At least the bangles on the mare’s wings were tastefully subdued, the unicorn thought to himself as he took a sip of the brandy.

Alabaster hesitated, lightly smacking his lips as he eyed the sniffer critically. “Is this the forty-eight?” He asked the maid.

The pegasus didn’t turn around from where she was standing by the door. She reached out with a wing towards the lock. There was a faint ‘click’ audible as she engaged it. “Yes, My Lord.” She then proceeded to walk back towards the desk and took hold of one of the chairs that visitors would sit in and dragged it out into the middle of the room, looking up and eyeing the chandelier in the middle of the ceiling as she did so.

“Because it tastes…off…” Alabaster forced himself to cough and clear his inexplicably dry throat. He quickly took another sip of the brandy, even though it had tasted far nuttier than the vintage should have. Bitter too. Curiously, the second sip only seemed to exacerbate the dryness of his throat. He coughed again, then sought to distract himself with the maid’s puzzling actions. “What are you doing?”

“Setting the scene,” the slate gray pegasus answered simply, nudging the chair over one direction with her hoof before appearing to decide it had been better where it was previously and sliding it back. All the while, her head was craned upwards to regard the chandelier. Once she was satisfied with the chair’s placement, she lightly bucked it with a hoof, tipping it over onto its side.

He was starting to feel light-headed. His lungs burned, as though he was holding his breath and they were starved for air. He wasn’t holding his breath of course. He was actively coughing. A lot. Yet it didn’t seem to help in the slightest. “...Help!” He gasped at the pegasus, his eyes growing wide with panic. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” the mare said dismissively as her wing dipped inside her maid outfit and withdrew a coil of rope. “I just need to finish up a few things first.” She fluttered up to the chandelier and carefully threaded the rope through the chain securing it to the ceiling.

She took one end of the rope and tied it into a noose before floating back down to the floor again. The pegasus then strode over and flopped herself down leisurely into the remaining chair in front of the earl’s desk, regarding the struggling stallion was a bored expression.

The unicorn’s frantic mind tried to make sense of what was happening. Why wasn’t the mare helping him?! He was clearly in distress! Some sort of allergic reaction or—

“Finally figured it out, huh?” The slate gray mare’s lips cocked in a wry smirk as Alabaster’s dawning realization became visible on his features. She snorted and shook her head. “Maniple never did. Idiot thought he was choking on something. Kept thrusting his gut into the table trying to cough up whatever he thought was in his throat.

“Nocturne realized it right away,” she continued conversationally, patently indifferent to the struggles of the pony on the other side of the desk that was slowly suffocating to death. “It was already too late, of course. But he made sure to tell me every vile thing he wished he’d done to me before he finally croaked.”

He was trying to ignite his horn. To get off a spell that would summon help, but his oxygen-starve mind couldn’t hold onto the magic long enough to make anything worthwhile manifest. His horn only sparked and puttered impotently. The pegasus looked wholly unconcerned by his efforts.

The mare cocked her head as she regarded the struggling unicorn. “Do you have any last words, Al?”

“My family—!” He managed to gasp.

His killer held up a placating hoof and shook her head. “They won’t be touched,” she assured him. “I don’t kill foals or innocent creatures.” Then her expression hardened into a glare. “Because, unlike you, I’m not a monster.”

“...Did it…for…Eques—”

“Shut up,” The mare sneered, cutting the stallion off. She was already aware of the earl’s misguided views on what was ‘best for Equestria’. “You almost sent Equestria to war, Al. Hundreds of horses and ponies died because of you; tens of thousands more would have if we hadn’t stopped you.

“You’re not a ‘patriot’. You’re a threat.

“My job is to stop threats.” Her smile was back now. It was not a kind one. “And I love my job.”

Alabaster’s vision was darkening. It was getting harder to think. His horn wasn’t even sparking anymore, he couldn’t manage any amount of focus on a spell. He was vaguely aware of falling out of his chair and hitting the floor. A few moments later, he felt the sensation of somepony biting onto his sleeve and dragging him across the plush carpet.

The unicorn was fully unconscious by the time the noose was looped over his head and tightened snugly around his neck. The Fourth Earl of Bitter Creek was dead by the time Nightjar was done hoisting the body into the air and securing the other end of the rope to the foot of his massive oak desk. The ‘pegasus’ shucked off her outfit and tossed it into the crackling fireplace. It was a shame to destroy such an expensive dress, but Nightjar knew that she wasn’t going to have need of it ever again, and it was too recognizable besides. The bangles she kept on for now. As well as the elegant-looking lace choker around her neck.

She didn’t spend any time lingering in the office to admire her handiwork. Instead, once she was sure the maid outfit would be reduced to ash in the fireplace, the mare simply deposited a short suicide note on top of the stallion’s desk and left through the window.

As Nightjar climbed higher into the sky, she brought a hoof to the choker around her neck and pressed lightly against it. “It’s done.”

A moment later, the magically projected voice of an older mare was audible in her ear. “Understood. Good work, senior operative. Sunrise.”

As the Director of the Equestrian Intelligence Service uttered the final word that signaled the operation’s conclusion, the choker around Nightjar’s neck dissolved into fine black dust which blew away instantly in the wind. The slate gray ‘pegasus’ smiled and angled herself towards Canterlot.

As she flew, she began to put together her pitch to the director regarding being allowed to return to Roam and reprise her role as Saccharin. For a little while, at least. Maybe just a night or two. It had been some time since she’d seen Captain Hawkwood, after all. The hippogriff was doubtlessly in need of some pleasurable company…

…and a stiff drink.

Author's Note

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