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

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