Moss Moon and the Lunar Spring, Part 17

>You are Moss Moon, and you feel strangely calm
>In the shadow of an alley, you hide
>Ahead, rounded up into a stone storehouse, are the rest of the Stronghold’s bat ponies
>You can see them peeking out through barred windows, the expressions on their faces dull and distant
>Surrounding the building are a dozen human guards in various states of repose
>Four are standing at casual attention, occasionally glancing at the prison while they chat with the others
>The rest busy themselves with drinking and playing with dice cut from gemstones
>They must be garrisoned here, to prevent any chance of escape
>At your side stands Anon, tall and silent
>It still shocks you to see the effect of the lunar water
>Just a few minutes ago he was lame and half-blind, unable to even stand
>Yet now here he is, brimming with unnatural energy, his hand closed around the grip of the dead guard’s longsword
>The guard you killed
>He was a bad man, an evil man, he deserved to die –
>You shake your head, your mane falling into your eyes, forcing yourself to focus
>“Do you think we can get them out?” you ask.  “They’re safe in there… for now.”
>“Maybe.  We’d need a distraction,” Anon replies.  “But once they’re out, what will we do with them?  Will they fight?”
>You look over the dim shapes of the bat ponies visible through the storehouse windows
>“I…”
>Their faces are barely visible
>Faces that once grimaced at you, mouths that spit at you
>The faces of bat ponies who hated you and what you represented
>All those memories come rushing over you
>You swallow them back
>“I don’t know.”
>“We don’t have a lot of time,” Anon says.  “Cutter will go into a frenzy when he finds out I’m gone.”
>“Then we need to do something before he brings the whole guard to bear on us.”
>Anon glances down at you
>“How was the orphanage guarded?”
>“There was only one sentry, a bat pony.  One of Hunter Killer’s.  Cutter relieved her of command when he moved in.”
>Upon hearing this, Anon seems to meditate for a moment.  Then:
>“We could take the foals and run,” he says.  He gestures with his head toward the storehouse.  “I don’t know if this a fight we can win.”
>You swallow, hard
>The thought had already occurred to you, and it was sobering to hear it echoed by Anon
>In there were all the merchants who refused your business, all the ponies who blocked your path and beat you
>All those who would’ve happily let you freeze or starve, just so they didn’t have to look at you
>The ones who didn’t even notice when you vanished for weeks on end to bring back medicine
>And yet…
>In there too were the old and the weak, the lonely, the poor and the pariahs who turned even to you for care when they were hurt or sick
>In there was the old shopkeeper who sold you supplies; at exorbitant prices, and with disgust, but he sold them nonetheless
>And the tavern master, perhaps the only one to ever look at you with anything resembling kindness, who silently took your orders for exotic ingredients from distant lands
>“No,” you say, shaking your head again.  “We can do it.  We can get them out.”
>When you look back up at Anon, you see the conviction glowing in his eyes.  He nods.
>“I trust you, Moss Moon,” he says.  “Let’s do it.”
>“All right.” You put down your remaining saddlebag, and begin to rummage through the very last of your supplies.  “You may remember… a certain phenomenon –”

- - -

>You are Hunter Killer, and you feel a terrible unease
>It’s been hard enough keeping one’s composure in the wilderness, let alone doing so outside a fortress occupied by filthy humans
>The gate guard, a surly gentleman with a mace at his hip, glowers down at you and your two-bat retinue of Holtz and Niebler
>“Captain’s busy,” the human grunts, fingering the blade of grass between his lips before turning his head to spit
>You sigh, making a show of regal exasperation
>“Do you hear that, Holtz?” you ask, not even turning to face your companions.  “It appears that our journey is for naught.  We’ll just have to march back to Armsdam and inform the Prince that Captain Cutter is simply too busy to meet with his superiors.”
>“Aye, it’s a shame,” says Holtz.
>“Bloody shame,” says Niebler.
>The man slowly chews his blade of grass
>Though he makes an effort not to show it, you can see in his beady little eyes that he is discomfited by the mention of an Asperi warlord
>“Come in,” he says finally, after a moment’s hesitation
>As you stroll into the Stronghold, your refined nose is immediately assailed by the stench of offal and burning garbage
>The red glow of a great fire flickers from the center of the sprawling complex, casting sickly light on the squat stone buildings these peasants call home
>Your trained gaze scans the windows, looking for signs of life; there are none
>You would guess that all the town’s inhabitants have been rounded up into a central location, as is protocol
>The fact that you are here now is evidence enough that the Asperi have plans for this place, but the nature of those plans remains to be seen
>Ostensibly, your own mission was to make a survey of the outlands, then report back to Armsdam via messenger
>Of course, you accepted the assignment as a pretense; you had your own plans for the Stronghold
>The fabled “Moon Water” had been a wash… no pun intended
>Just a fairy tale in an old book, it seemed
>Regardless, your expedition had not been a complete waste
>Far from it
>In fact, there was still a great deal left to be done
>But first, you had to talk to your psychotic subordinate and his dozens of guards, hundreds of miles away from the Asperi and the authority they grant you
>Nothing could possibly go wrong, right?
>You sigh
>The guard whistles to another human skulking in the shadows, and gestures for him to run to the center of the Stronghold.  “Get the Captain,” he says, in his ugly human tongue
>You are quite well-versed in the language, having studied it at university
>It had been the giggling of the school’s linguists that had prompted your interest
>The horror had been overwhelming when you discovered the true meaning of the word plastered on your flank
>Why fate thought it fitting to give you such a cutie mark, you have no idea
>It had come rather late in your young life, appearing one afternoon after you’d screamed your lungs out at the other junior cadets, until finally they were lined up to your satisfaction
>Your unit went on to win that year’s greatest honor, the Prince’s own commendation, for its rigid discipline and impeccable appearance
>One of your greatest achievements, and one graced by the appearance of the mark that was now a source of such embarrassment
>At the time, you’d recognized it as a human word, but had not known it’s meaning; to you it symbolized strength and leadership
>It was only later, after poring with gusto through one of the university library’s illuminated books on the subject, that you learned what “anal” actually meant
>The revelation had been enough to almost send you spiraling into despair
>Yet you’d recovered, as you always do, knowing that you are no mere pawn of fate
>Through your smarts and skill, you’d clawed your way up from your pathetic peasant upbringings to the highest echelons of Asperi society
>You fraternized with royalty, even spoke with the Prince himself on occasion
>You'd suffered his poisoned words, his foul gaze
>You’d seen every awful aspect of him and then some
>Truly, you had come to hate the bastard
>Even more than you did when you were a foal, and his army had burned your village to the ground
>Just as your cutie mark was source of both strength and shame, your presence in the Asperi’s good graces was a double-edged sword in your consciousness
>They had recognize your capacity for greatness, taking you in to the School for the Gifted, putting you on the officer’s path
>So that you could subjugate your fellow bat ponies, and perpetuate the Asperi rule
>They taught you math and science, elevated your intellect beyond a level you never would’ve known grubbing in the dirt in your long-gone home
>And yet you hated them – you hated the Asperi with all your being
>You rejected the name they gave you, taking the appellate of Hunter Killer in its stead, much to the grumbling of the royals
>Save one
>It was She who encouraged you… She who dismissed their outrage and talked them into ignoring it
>She who helped you become who you are now
>But you do not want to think of Her now.
>Especially not now.
>Cutter is approaching, walking up the main road to face you.
>“Hunter Killer,” the man says curtly, one hand behind his back.  “We had not heard from you in so long, we were beginning to grow worried.”
>“The frontier is a wild and tedious place,” you say.  “It takes time to see it all.  Are you not bored, being here?”
>Flanked by two guardsmen, Cutter is an imposing figure.  He plays with the handle of one of his many knives
>“From what I understand,” he says, in his soft, unctuous voice, “you were to send a messenger northward after a week’s time.  You did not.  There was, of course, fear back in the capital, that something dreadful had happened to you.”  Cutter spreads his hands.  “But we see now that you are quite well.”
>“Indeed.  Will you be going, then?”
>Cutter laughs, a horrible wracking sound.  “Boredom may be what you feel, Captain, but I feel a sense of – wonder, in this place.  I love the country.  It teems with lives for the taking.”
>You keep your face impassive, despite the disgust you feel
>Glancing up at the surrounding buildings, you finally see what you were hoping to see, something that fills you with unshakeable confidence
>The face of a bat pony, peeking out through one of the windows
>For just a moment, you make eye contact – and then he is gone, ducking out of sight
>“What is your mission here, Cutter?” you ask.  “I know that you have a mind for the poetic, so I would ask that you keep your answer as direct as possible.”
>A raspy sigh escapes Cutter’s lips, and he runs a hand through his greasy hair.  “I am here,” he says, smirking, “to relieve you; you and your unit are to return to Armsdam and report for reassignment.”
>“Where is your unit, by the way?” Cutter continues, making an exaggerated show of craning his head to look past Holtz and Niebler.  “There was only your whore guarding this place when we arrived.”
>You let a small smile crease your face
>That was what you were hoping to hear
>“You know, Cutter, I lied,” you say.  “You don’t have a mind for the poetic.  Frankly, I doubt you have a mind at all.”
>The man immediately stiffens, his black eyes widening.  “What did you say?”
>You laugh inwardly, letting his anger spur you on
>Oh, how you hated humans; almost as much as you hated the Asperi
>If you have your way – and you will – you will see them purged from the lands of the bat ponies, never to insult your eyes with their presence again
>“Was it not clear?” you say.  “You’re an idiot, Cutter.  And no one will miss you after I’ve put you in the ground.”  You grin.  “You love the country?  Too bad, because it’s mine.  This is where we will stage our revolution, and your blood will seep beneath the stones of its foundation.”
>You’d practiced that line a great deal in your mind; sadly, it didn’t have quite the punch you were hoping for
>But this was hardly the time to care about such things
>Quivering with elation, knowing that after all these months your plan was finally coming to fruition, you took the final leap
>Baring your fangs, you stomp the ground with your hooves, and let out a bloodcurdling SKREEEEEEEECH
>The signal
>As Cutter sputters, reaching for his weapons, you step back with Holtz and Niebler, awaiting the appearance of the rest of your squad
>You had left them here for just such a contingency, telling them to infiltrate this place and hide until your return
>Now in all their glory they would emerge, armed to the fangs, ready to set off whatever traps they’d laid in your absence
>You look to the rooftops, expecting to see their shadows clamoring out
>And
>There is only Murphy
>Just Murphy, standing up there, nervously holding a bow
>“Where the hell is everyone?” you scream, gritting your teeth
>“They, uh, they went out to look for you,” Murphy calls down.  “When you didn’t come back.”
>All those feelings of triumph evaporate in an instant, to be replaced by white-hot fury
>But before you can lambaste Murphy, Holtz, and Niebler for their vicarious idiocy, you see Cutter drawing one of his long knives
>His two friends react similarly, one pulling a spear, the other drawing a vicious dagger
>Cutter’s black eyes are burning.  “Looks like we’re all idiots today, Captain,” he says.  “But we’re all gentlemen here.  Perhaps we should discuss this development over tea.”
>You ready your own spear, alongside Holtz and Niebler, preparing to square off with the human menace
>But thoughts of battle are soon all but obliterated
>There is a flash of white light, and the rumbling of earth
>A tremendous chrysanthemum of flame rises from the western side of the Stronghold, an explosion of godly proportions
>And then all descends into chaos