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... -.-

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