From his vantage point at the top of the now-overrun Equestrian ramp, Corvalix rallied the combined redtail and whitetail forces into a tried and proven three-tiered formation that would provide the maximum amount of flexibility against an ever-changing situation. Nothing was a certainty when it came to the ponies, nevermind their zebra lackeys. If General Phalanx was in charge, then he would most certainly have some sort of plan in place, just waiting for Corvalix to fall into it.

He snarled at the thought of the damned one-eyed nuisance that had cost him so many bucks at Quillyyn Keep. It had been a long wait, but the time of vengeance was finally upon him. Damn the losses, he would tear through the ponies, the zebras and especially the disgusting Whitetail traitors like a bolt of lightning!

"Whyttalia naan Cervidaelis! Falanoor!"

"Hwah!"

"Fal'naas par Equestrii!"

"Hwah!"

Thousands of knee-blades shot out and locked into place. The barrier spell over each unit faded to nothing as the Exemplars attached to each squad focused entirely on their weapons and shields. Rains of arrows and scattered catapult missiles tore into his bucks the second they did so, but none faltered in the slightest. Anyone who fell was immediately replaced, the wounded dragged away through the snow-slicked grass to the healers who rushed to set up their supplies out of range of the Equestrian weapons.

The deer began to move as one, interlocked shields up and weapons at the ready. No more games, no more hiding, no more walls to overcome; only the open ground of the Auroran Valley, and the impending clash of remorseless battle.

Someone at the back began to sing, an old song that had remained popular on both sides of the border. It was not the somber song of longing that had been sung at Quillyyn, but rather an aggressive, defiant one. It quickly spread through the ranks, and before long most of the deer had joined in, forming a chorus of barely-contained anger that begged to be unleashed.

The ponies shouted something in return in their harsh, inelegant language. Hundreds of throwing spears arced up from their lines, tossed by hoof and horn, and the deer negated what losses they could with quick reflexes and bursts of magic. Corvalix urged them to stay strong, to set their minds to naught but battle. Just a bit further...

"Taals'indaar!"

The deer army broke into a striding rush, lowering their heads and charging into the waiting lines of shields and spears. Dozens of bucks were impaled in the push, but their sacrifice allowed those following behind to push deep into the ponies. Steel and crystal thundered against one another, and shouts of fear, hatred and triumph created a tumult so great it could be heard all the way from Canterlot itself.

The wedge formations had worked nearly perfectly. The ponies might have been stout and strong, but the deer were quick, almost graceful, and their flurries of attacks struck a heavy toll within seconds. Pegasus, earth pony, unicorn, it mattered not. All were fodder for the thrashing knee blades and swords of deerkind. Segments of the main deer force broke off and headed to each flank, reshaping their squads in mid-stride to take advantage of any visible weakness that had opened in the Equestrian lines.

By now the redtail siege weapons had been brought into place and were quickly being set up along the former Equestrian wall. Doing so left them vulnerable to return fire from catapults, and soon the two sides were exchanging volleys, split between pouring their deadly payloads into masses of infantry and attempting to knock out their counterparts across the way. Stone balls and spreads of flame pots arced over the heads of the main battle line. Eruptions of emerald flame roared to life at the same instant as the heavy thump and crash of catapult shots tearing through entire columns at once. It was a deafening, brutal, chaotic affair...and Corvalix loved every moment of it.

"Right column! Advance!" the Equestrian handler shouted over the racket. Caethil and the Whitetail Loyalists shifted on the spot and ran behind the first line of ponies, reforming on their immediate flank where a tahndwyrr of some three hundred deer had sought to create a gap. The redtail-led soldiers had already begun to engage the ponies and were momentarily shocked to find their own kind descending upon them, losing a significant portion of their strength in mere moments as Eradaxis' bucks carved a swath of destruction. The old Standard-Commander, once among the most fervent of Whitetail's supporters, now fought shoulder to shoulder with pony and deer alike.

"Sanaliis stry fahn!" a whitetail cursed as Caethil lashed out with his Equestrian sword. The blade bounced off a rounded shield, creating just enough of an opening for the enemy to strike at him; Caethil cursed himself for the sloppy mistake as the weapon dug into his armor but thankfully stopped short of punching all the way through. He retaliated with a shield bash to the face, knocking the buck off balance. Another one, much harder this time, crunched the crystal of his helm and snapped his head back. Caethil thrust his sword out, catching him at the base of the neck, and twisted the weapon as he pulled out. The unfortunate whitetail dropped with a pained gurgle, frantically clutching at his wound until a merciful blow to the head ended his suffering.

Caethil felt a wave of nausea course through him. Fighting Corvalix and his Exemplars was one thing, but these 'soldiers' before him were hardly older than adolescent fawns! No doubt they were conscripts; they certainly fought like it. Eradaxis was almost effortlessly cleaving through them. Even the Loyalists, half of them civilian volunteers with minimal training, were fairing well against these whitetail.

He chanced a look over the battle, finding the ponies to be holding their own, although the sheer number of deer pouring into the fight was almost absurd. They stretched from the front line back to the ramp, massing in company-sized blocks that were constantly being reinforced from a hole that had been torn through the wall. Caped stags in darker armor shouted orders, though there was no sign of the blue-clad magii. And yet, among the frantic movements of battle, a single deer stood out from the rest. The faint light of deertongue lettering carved into his armor gave him an almost ethereal glow, and the headdress of flame-bright phoenix feathers announced his presence and importance for all to see.

Corvalix.

"Your left, Caethil!" Eradaxis warned, shoving him out of the way and hurling an Equestrian spear with his magic. It slashed through the air and struck deep into another whitetail that had just killed a Loyalist. Caethil shook himself from his momentary lapse of focus and nodded in appreciation, then steadied himself and joined one of his bucks in battling a redtail. The fires of hatred burned deep within him, threatening to consume and corrupt his discipline and training. If only he could will himself over to strike at the self-assured murderer! He fed on the anger and pain of loss, using it to keep himself as sharp as his blade. Block, strike, kick. On to the next.

The deer were breaking through. It was a slow, almost imperceptible shift; a few lost stallions here, a step back there. The ponies were stalwart and skilled, but the winds of fate were changing ever so slightly. Angabe ko Nan'Shakaa could feel it in his bones, as subtle as the brush of a blade of grass against one's skin. The spirits called to him. They showed him the truth, guided his every step. And now they beat the drums of war for all of zebrakind.

"Abozisa ama-ahko!" The Mowassi Enchanter in charge of his war band raised his wooden flask above his head. Small beads clicked against its stripe-painted side as its top was uncorked. Wisps of dark purple smoke poured out over his hoof and dissipated in the air, and with a beat of his foreleg against his chest he downed the concoction within in a heavy gulp. Tradition called for the ones who had created the magical brews to consume them first as a sign of bravery and solidarity, and Angabe saw numerous other leaders doing the same all along the zebra ranks. The Enchanter shut his eyes and grit his teeth as the magics contained within spread through his body, leaving visible trails across his skin like ivory-colored tattoos.

When he opened his eyes once more, after what felt like a long time, his irises had become a dimly shining reddish-brown. He stomped in triumph, signaling those under his command to take their turn. Angabe popped the cork with his teeth, his head jerking back at the intense, earthy smell that assaulted his senses, and together with his brothers he drank it down in an instant. It tasted awful, like wet soil mixed with bitterbell sap. He almost gagged as it slopped down his throat like a thick coating of oil and sank into his stomach. It took only a moment for the magic within to be unleashed, rippling out to his limbs and flowing through him like fingers of ice. It was enough to shock the air from his lungs. He coughed and shook, and when it had passed he found within himself a new clarity. He could see the life-force of every soldier in battle, like gossamer swirls of fog, feel the ebb and flow of those who were struck down, hear every word as if it was spoken directly to him.

This, he thought, was the true power of the ancestor spirits. As he looked around he was met by the confident eyes of zebra stallions from all over Zevran, soldiers of countless tribes, and all stood united. This magic was unheard of in modern times, and a feeling of excitement soon replaced the dread he'd felt only a short time earlier.

The Enchanter raised up on his hind legs and shouted to be heard. "Mbanela bopisa! Namhula tay, Zev-raan, po zilwa!"

"Zev-raan, kuru'ta!" Angabe shouted with the others, hefting his spear high. The Enchanters and Tribal Warband Shamans called out their battle cry twice more, each time getting a louder response, until Angabe was sure the valley itself shook with their voices.

The zebras galloped together, circling around the right side of the Equestrian lines so that they were nearly up against the rocky hills themselves. Angabe effortlessly kept up with his warband, surrounded by hundreds of Nan'Shakaa warriors on every side, and though he ran faster than his legs had ever carried him before he found that he was not winded.

An odd sensation slowly came over him as he galloped. It went unnoticed at first, a slight dulling of the skin around his hooves that quickly began to spread up to his legs, then to his lower body. It was as if his nerves were being numbed, but not in an unpleasant way. More like...a dream, almost out-of-body in its unfamiliarity. He did not break stride and did not fight it, for he knew it was part of the gift the Enchanters had created for them.

The stallions in front of him gradually turned a smooth, dark grey, like rocks in a stream. Their hoofsteps became heavier and louder, each impact sending up small sprays of soil and snow, until their charge roared like a summer storm. Angabe knew it was happening to him as well, for the numbing sensation had now taken him completely. His mind was still sharp and his muscles were still strong, and when the order came to turn and charge the warband into the deer army he followed without hesitation.

A hail of arrows and darts shot up from the back of the redtail ranks, arcing high and seeming to hang in the air before rushing back down. The zebras raised their wood and hide shields, for what good it would do them, and Angabe waited for the inevitable toll the missiles would take on his kin.

But to his shock, not a single zebra fell. The deadly projectiles simply bounced off anyone they hit in a spray of shattered iron tips and broken, splintered shafts. Emboldened by the scene, they let out a whooping war cry and ran headlong into the deer.

The zebras were like a living battering ram. Whatever magic they had embued themselves with had turned their skin to stone, and when their hardened bodies crashed into the deer it was as if an unseen hoof had reached down from above and swept an entire swath of the invaders away.

Victus and his band of Legionaries shouted victoriously at the sprays of shattered crystal and flailing, broken bodies that were flung into the air. The zebras pushed deep into the deer lines, then split into two formations that pushed to either side, trapping a large contigent of whitetail and redtail soldiers between themselves and the combined Equestrian front. Panic began to set in among the deer, with some breaking off and attempting to run. Few succeeded in making it back to the staging area, for the zebras were surprisingly quick for such stocky creatures.

"Now! Push, lads! Push!"

"HAH-OOH!"

The Legionaries put their weight behind their shields and shoved forward with all their might, driving the deer back just that bit more. Several Exemplars had identified Victus as someone of import, and they struck at him together. Victus stumbled back, nearly tripping over the body of a fallen comrade, as sword and knee-blade attacks smashed into his shield and deflected off his armor. He countered with his gladius when he could and twisted his body to bring his razor-sharp wing-blades around, catching a redtail off guard and slicing through his neck and into his shoulder. The dying foe's last kick found purchase in a weaker section of his pauldrons, and a sharp pain shot through his upper right foreleg as the other Legionaries at his side fought back the offending deer to give him a chance to recover.

Victus hobbled back until he was safe from immediate danger and yanked a bandage from his saddlebag, tearing off his battered and blood-stained pauldron and tossing it to the ground. The wound was painful and bleeding a steady stream of crimson, but it did not appear to have gone deep. The unwrapped bandage had been soaked in a healing potion before the fight, and it dripped with pinkish fluid that smelled strongly of musk and old things. He quickly placed it over the gash and secured it in place, wincing at the burning sensation that came with it. It would not be enough to stop the bleeding permanently, but he only needed it to hold until the day was done.

A quick flap of his wings let him hop into the air just long enough to see the battle unfolding along the front. The line was holding, but losses were beginning to mount along the western flank. The Equestrian Guard in particular were suffering horrendous casualties, with a weakened gap between two formations currently being exploited by the deer. Reserve units were already on their way to reinforce the position, more Guard units flying the red and gold flags of Equestria, and the Whitetail Loyalists nearby were proving unexpectedly valuable, but it was a war of attrition -- and the numbers weren't on their side.

Once more he gripped his sword in his mouth, flexed his wing blades, and threw himself back into the fray.

"Damned creative, I must admit. Savages they may be, but one cannot fault them for a lack of imagination," Corvalix said to Sister-Magii Traenilys, referring to the zebras that had made an unfortunate mess of his forward units. That stone skin of theirs was was damn near impervious to ranged attacks and equal to quinn-plate against blades. They certainly weren't invulnerable, but he had expected far less from the tribal creatures. He cursed himself for underestimating them, making a mental note to see that Zevran was properly disciplined for their defiance after Equestria's fall.

"No matter," he continued, dismissing his losses out of hoof, "the plan continues regardless. Are the bucks in position?"

Traenilys nodded. "Yes, my Brother-General. My sisters will need time to recuperate, however, so for the time being we will be unable to move any more soldiers. My sincerest apologies."

Corvalix smirked in amusement. "I would say you have done more than enough, my dear. It is up to us to make the most of your talents now. Please, return to the camp and rest until you are called upon."

"Yes, Brother-General, thank you. Ancestors watch over you."

Traenilys' form flickered with psuedo-motion, and then she was gone. For a moment Corvalix watched the battle unfold from his place atop the wall, marveling at the spectacle before him. Thousands of lives thrown into the fray, great contraptions of wood and crystal, the heat of bursting flames amid the din of relentless combat. It was all so...poetic.

A single signal pot rested beside him, roughly the size of a large water bowl. It jerked into the air as magical energy enveloped it, hovering above the blood-stained ramparts still littered with pony corpses, then shot straight up until it just peaked over the rim of the valley walls. There it exploded into a shower of blue powder, like the petals of a wilting flower carried aloft, and was blown by the gusting winds until it faded to a diffuse cloud.

"You have been an entertaining diversion, stallions of Zevran, but I'm afraid I have places to be," he said to himself, turning to gather a contingent of Exemplars from his reserves. They wordlessly formed around him, and he drew his blood-slicked sword for the second time that day.

A battle shout sounded from the deer beyond his position. It seemed they were prompt after all. Good, he thought. He did so hate to be kept waiting.

"Come, soldiers of Cervidae. Let us put an end to this foolishness."