Tourmaline

Chapter 3: "Unsheathe"

“Rise an’ shine! C’mon, you’ve got your rest! Hustle up, fillies, up and at ‘em!” At the drill sergeant’s call, the dozens of cadets resting in the barracks got up, those in the front blinded by the golden afternoon sun shining down the narrow doorway of the barracks.

In the back, the single Unicorn of the group stirred from his awkward position. He had fallen asleep resting on the treasure chest which he used as a desk for reading. “Six in the morning already?”

Thistle-foot hopped out of bed, stretching. He looked out at the doorway, shielding his face with his hoof from the light.

The sergeant’s voice rang down the barracks once more. “As you walk out, take a card from the deck outside. It will give you the location which you will report to for receiving your deployment assignments! We’re going to war today!”

The cyan stallion turned to his friend in horror, “That explains why it’s so bright out, they let us sleep in because we’ll be marching into the Frozen North!”

Somber’s heart was racing, Am I ready for this? “We’ve hardly practiced weapons yet! They’re sending us to our deaths!” This wasn’t right, not at all. Though he knew that complaining would accomplish nothing, so he closed the book resting on top of the chest. The book was titled “Legion: Secrets of the Cirran War Machine”. Placing it in his saddlebag he followed Thistle-foot, trotting out towards the barrack doors. Time seemed to slow down as he passed the drill sergeant who shot an infuriated glance as he walked out the door, Thistle-foot waiting for him.

“What was all that about?” Somber inquired. He knew it was the job of the drill sergeants to single out the troops, at least in the Cirran Legion and other successful militaries, but this was the last they’d ever see of Camp Spyrius. Though Thistle-foot gave him a dumbfounded look.

“You’re joking, aren’t you? You’re a unicorn!”

Of course. It didn’t make sense, though, because the crystal ponies hadn’t fought unicorns since the Dark Days, and even then it was only one tribe who dared attack the powerful powerful pony kingdoms of the past, the same kingdoms that would later form Equestria. “That was ages ago, Thistle! Do you think they’d really hold a grudge that long?” Using his magic, he took two cards from the deck outside the barracks which rested on a crystal pedestal, he handed one to Thistle-foot. “I’m meeting with Company Omega at the track. What about you?”

The cyan stallion smiled, and merely turned his card around to show Somber. “Same place.”

Somber half-heartedly chuckled, putting his card in his saddlebag, “So, we get to be gory remains on Maredorian shields together tomorrow. Maybe today, if we’re lucky.”

“Oh, come now, you don’t believe those rumors about Maredor’s military, do you? I heard a couple of mares in the market the other day saying that the Maredorians have dragons and even humans fighting in their ranks! It’s preposterous!”

As the two ponies walked through the camp, they saw groups meeting under commanders all over the camp, ponies rushing everywhere into their respective groups.

“It looks like they’re mobilizing the whole camp!” Thistle-foot reported. Like blood dropped in water, the atmosphere of the camp was filled with fear; the fear of certain death. The two ponies trotted over to the track where a single stallion stood atop a crystal pedestal, three bands of gems on his chest-plate signifying his rank as a combat sergeant. Though even rank didn’t mean much in the Crystal Legion. Soldiers were little more than police officers, and with the low crime rate they did little more than partake in ceremonial roles at royal events. The Crystal Legion was in almost every respect, a joke.

This sergeant had clearly been in the legion for a while, soldiers were still required to keep themselves in good shape, even if they rarely practiced combat, and the muscular yet agile appearance of this sergeant showed that despite the degraded status of his kingdom’s legion, he took his job very seriously.

The sergeant cleared his throat, as to silence the crowd before him, “Attention, soldiers! We’re marching to war today! The odds are against us, but remember who beat Maredor in the battle for Crystopolis! We beat them in their land, and shamed the Dark Lord for hundreds of years! To them this is a fight for them to take back their dignity, but they will not regain it! If we believe we can beat the dark forces of Maredor, we’ll beat them. We’re going to march there and back again as heroes!”

Soldiers worked their way through the ranks of the cadets, handing them each a set of weapons and armor, containing a chest and backplate, a helmet, a lance, and a diamond sword. Some soldiers had also received a javelin in place of a lance, murmurs of confusion rose from the javelin-equipped ponies, the sergeant cleared his throat once more, “Certain units will be assigned javelins: spears that are meant to be thrown at great distances. You will receive further instruction on the use of these weapons once we arrive in the Frozen North.”

Soldiers throughout the mass issued orders to individual ponies, in addition to the general cry of “Form ranks!”, and the ponies neatly organized themselves into lines on the track. The sergeant’s voice pierced the air at the sound of a flugle horn, “March!”

The group of roughly three-dozen soldiers marched out of the track, joining amongst ranks of even more troops as they marched out of their location, all forming one solid rank.

“Some speech the sergeant gave,” remarked Thistle-foot with a hint of distaste in his voice. “It’s almost as though it was scripted.”

Somber chuckled “I guess it’s too much to ask that we die with some degree of confidence.”

Thistle-foot shrugged the best he could, “That’d require them to at least be able to pretend to we can win. He’s a bit older, and he’s probably got more to lose in this. Family, friends...”

Somber cut him off. “I get it.” He couldn’t bear the thought of his current situation. He looked back at the crystal towers, illuminating the land as they caught the sunlight, brightening the city state with a fully-charged Crystal Heart, he felt a longing. It was even more than a magnificent city, even more than his country; it was his home; he wanted to be back home. He wanted to see Gloriana. She was right, he should have just stayed back home, he’d rather die at her side than be sentenced to death in a land nopony had ever set foot in for hundreds of years. “You know,” he began.

“You’re regretting leaving, too?” Thistle-foot inquired. Somber nodded. “Say, I just thought of something. Instead of javelins, if we were to utilize a more efficient launching mechanism, we could easily take out hostile units with certainty and precision.”

Somber nearly lost his pace in his march, not so much because he didn’t fully comprehend what his friend had just said, but from the sudden and random nature of it. Thistle-foot took a deep breath, “Okay, we use javelins, we simply throw them and pray they’ll land on an enemy unit. Blind destruction.”

Somber nodded. “Yeah, that way when we meet the enemy ranks they’ll have less troops before any real fighting begins, you think you have a way to guarantee hits?”

Thistle-foot smiled enthusiastically, his march almost become more of a cheery bounce. Somber was glad that they were deep within the middle of the march, few superiors or onlookers would notice their conversation, and other soldiers didn’t seem to mind. “Precisely, but how? I’ve got just the answer, if there were some kind of launching force, something incredibly powerful... remember that time I put that wet rock in the fireplace for cooking bread?”

Somber was able to recall the childhood memory with ease. He had rarely visited Thistle-foot as a colt, and whenever he did it was a special treat for finishing his chores early. “Yes, the stove exploded and launched us across the house. If slamming against the wall wasn’t pain enough, I remember your dad gave you a good whipping for that. Then I got smacked on the horn by mom.”

Thistle-foot chuckled in amusement, “Oh? A smack on the horn? That’s it?”

“You don’t hit the horn! Whenever you hit a unicorn on the horn, they get a headache for nearly a whole hour!” Somber recalled many painful memories as a child getting hit atop the horn by his parents whenever he acted out. Not that they were cruel parents, he was very thankful for the parents who took him in as a little foal, but they placed a huge emphasis on discipline and respect. He was glad for it. After all, it got him to the princess.

“Okay, but here’s my point: that explosion from a stove sent us, two small colts, flying across the room. But if we could utilize explosive force in a weapon to launch javelins, or any projectile for that matter we could aim at an enemy, launch the javelin and take them out! It’s brilliant! If only we had the resources, though. Ah well, maybe you can send a letter to Princess Gloriana.”

“Maybe.” was his only reply. He thought again of home at the city state. Camp Spiritus was near the Northeast boundary, but their march moved Westward to inspire a sense of confidence in the ponies living on the Northern boundaries as they saw legions of soldiers adorning their diamond weapons and armor as they marched off to war. His homestead was in the North, not too close but at the same time not too far from the border. He couldn’t see above the rest of the troops surrounding him, but he was sure his parents were out their with the other farm ponies, watching as their husbands, friends, and children marched off to fight an enemy that until this point had only existed in stories. If the legion failed, and fail they very well may, these ponies would be the first to die when the Maredorians reached the city-state.

“You know,” The unicorn began, “I’m at least going to try to stop them. And if we fail, then I’m bringing as many Maredorian bastards as I can down with me.” Then and there, he felt it in him; a primal urge to kill, an unmitigated hatred towards Maredor. He hated Maredor, he hated Lucifus, he hated the Frozen North, and like a mighty Cirran army, he was ready to unleash hell upon the Maredorians.

§

The sun was beginning to set over the mountains, painting the skies with a majestic mix of orange and lavender above the frozen white caps of the mountains. Snow had long since stopped falling in the North, though the Windigo curse kept it unbearably cold. The crystal ponies had seen it as a great wall which separated their peaceful and civilized empire from the dark and terrible grasp of Maredor. Few denizens of the Crystal Empire knew about Maredor, let alone what it even looks like, they simply knew that it exists.

However, every pony in the Crystal Empire can recite by memory a description of Crystopolis: the holy city of the crystal ponies. It was an even larger city than the capital city, currently being the city state that houses the entirety of the crystal pony population, but long ago things were different. Crystopolis was a symbol for that time: the time when the Crystal Empire was a vast and expansive empire, covering both Northern Equestrian and North Maredor. The "Last Great Crystal Empire" the ponies of the world remember it to be, when under the direction of an alicorn queen the crystal pony tribes reunified, reforming a great empire.

Though after Crystopolis was built, Lucifus, the dark lord of Maredor, received word that the crystal ponies encroached on her territory. Many of the details are long forgotten, but everypony knows the tale of how after Lucifus took Crystopolis Queen Spiritus, the first Alicorn Queen of the Crystal Empire, forged a second Crystal Heart, fought Lucifus, and used the magic of the Heart to banish Lucifus’ troops from the city. But after Spiritus’ death, the magic of the Crystal Heart grew weak, and Lucifus unleashed her wrath upon Crystopolis. The city was overwhelmed in the surprise attack. It was razed, as Maredorians troops flooded the city with their ranks slaughtering every stallion, mare, and foal in sight. The objective was clear: Exterminate all Crystal Ponies in the land of Maredor. Now with Lucifus’ tightened grasp on the region it was declared impossible to retake Crystopolis. The trade route of the Frozen North was abandoned, and all the war machines once used as a line of defense against Maredor left to wither and decay.

Smoke rose in the twilight at the base of a mountain where a large campsite had been set up. Crystal ponies worked around the site; soldiers sharpening blades, blacksmiths patching up armor, and nurse-ponies scrambling all over the medical center, outnumbered by the hundreds of wounded ponies.

The soldiers working the camp looked on indifferently as they saw only less than a hundred ponies arrive at the camp. As the organized company dispersed throughout the camp, Somber and Thistle-foot observed the environment.

Thistle-foot looked curiously at the soldiers simply working away. “That’s odd, they don’t seem too particularly relieved that we’re here.” Thistle-foot remarked.

Somber stroked his chin with his hoof, thinking. “That’s because they know that no matter how many units we throw at them, it won’t cut it. That might actually be good.”

“Good!? H-how on Earth could that be good!?” Thistle-foot stammered.

Somber put a hoof to his friend’s shoulder in excitement. “It means that the Maredorians might be winning because of strategy, not brute force. That means if we can counter their current strategy, we have a chance! Come on, let’s find the commander here, and see what we can do. I don’t think many of them have read at all on Cirran war strategy.”

“Ha! Brilliant! Come on, let’s go!” The two ponies ran through the camp, over to a large tent with the Crystal Empire flag waving above it. Somber opened the entryway with magic only to be greeted by the sound of swords being drawn and the sight of four elite guards along with the battalion commander wearing bulkier, gilded armor with three golden stars on each shoulder-piece.

“What the hell is a horn doing in this camp!?” yelled the commanding officer as he pulled out his sword from its sheath, the sword in his teeth reflecting the light from his orange coat. He eyed Somber’s armor curiously as Thistle-foot entered beside him. He put his sword back in his sheathe. “Stand down,” he said to his guards, and they complied. He slowly trotted up to Somber, eyeing him up and down. “Who are you? What’s your rank?”

Somber saluted with his hoof to his forehead, “Private Somber Night, sir!” He was afraid. This commander nearly mistook him for a Maredorian.

“Commander Halberd. At ease. Did you come with the latest shipment of troops? How was the journey? Speak freely.”

Halberd’s words seemed more cold and impatient than sympathetic or remorseful for distrusting the private, who was obviously completely new to war. Regardless, Somber took a deep breath and complied. “We aren’t too worn out, but we could be better. It was an eight-hours journey, with no breaks, sir.” The older pony stared down at Somber indifferently.

“Eight hours?”

“Eight hours.”

The orange stallion then walked out of the tent, and began climbing up the rock wall at the back of the camp behind the tent, onto a platform that jutted out of the edge, he cleared his throat. A pony below blew a flugle horn, and soldiers began to assemble before him.

“Soldiers of the crystal twenty-third battalion! Prepare your weapons. In one hour’s time, we will march into combat. We will hold this position, and push back the Maredorian lines. For Queen and Country!”

As one, the soldiers echoed Halberd’s proclamation, “For Queen and Country!”. Down below, Somber and Thistle-foot looked to each other in fear. Somber couldn’t fully wrap his head around it: he was going to war.

The sun continued its descent, disappearing behind jagged walls of ice. The mountains casting their shadows down upon the stallions.

Light, with the hope of the soldiers, faded.