The stone skin potion had worked better than he could have hoped for. Not only had it made the brave warriors of Zevran immune to arrows, but it had also proved surprisingly resilient to crystalline blades. The charge into the midst of the deer had been a shock to the enemy's morale that had given the ponies the closest thing to a moment of respite they'd had since the fighting had begun. But the deer were quick to learn and practical in combat, using the maces of fallen Equestrian officers to smash through the earthen protection or jabbing their weapon points into eyes, mouths and any patch of skin that hadn't been completely covered.

Now the zebras were starting to lose stallions with increasing rapidity as the potion gradually wore off. Without the magical defenses they were naught but equals to the deer, stronger on the attack but less capable of blocking deadly blows with their wood and hide shields. It was time to call them back.

Elder Mwolan'e raised his feather and bead-topped staff and brought it down hard thrice, signaling the tribal drummers to beat out their fall back order. The zebras gave a shout of acknowledgement and began a fighting retreat, merging with the pony lines for mutual protection while fresh troops from the Legion reinforced their positions.

In the distance, far beyond the front, a puff of blue smoke burst into existence high in the air, then faded just as quickly. Mwolan'e and Imbele gave each other a confused look.

"I am not seeing any change in the deer formations, Elder," Imbele said.

"Nor am I," Mwolan'e added. Nothing had shifted, no bombardment had intensified. Curious, he thought. "Perhaps Corvalix is signaling for more reinforcements."

"That is possible. I want the drummers to communicate caution against the arcane, lest the deer unleash powerful magics against us. I do not think stone skin will protect us from magical lightning, should that be their plan." He'd heard tales of particularly powerful deer summoning bolts of it in their defense of the 'Nightmare Moon' cultists in the Midlands. He had no reason to doubt the ponies were telling the truth.

A pegasus runner approached him with a scroll in his mouth, dropping it at his hooves and saluting.

"Elder, another missive from General Phalanx. He is requesting you reinforce the eastern-most Equestrian Guard position."

Mwolan'e picked it up and quickly read through it. Just as he'd suspected: the ponies were faltering. "Tell the good General we are in the process of reforming our units, but we will hasten to join his stallions as quickly as possible." The runner quickly wrote down what he'd said, then tucked the scroll into a saddlebag and took to the air with a powerful flap of his brightly colored wings.

Mwolan'e turned. Behind him, set up in a long row, the most skilled of his Mowassi Enchanters were feverishly working on creating more stone skin potions. The air smelled of soil and sharp herbs, and purple smoke formed a blanket-like fog over the ground near them. True potions would take days to create, but they had assured him they could concoct a variant in short order, even if it meant its effects were not as pronounced as the first batch. It would have to do, he'd told them.

A sudden roar of voices sounded from the tree line behind him, not five hundred paces away. He nearly stumbled over himself as an entire battle line of redtail burst into the clearing, weapons drawn and shields out, rushing towards him as fast as their legs could carry them.

"Counter formation! Quickly!" he shouted to his contingent of personal guards, caught by a moment of panic. Where had they all come from? The line of Equestrian and Zevran soldiers stretched from wall to wall of the valley entrance! It should have been impossible to march through! He scrambled to get behind protection as the Zingeli Watchers silently and calmly took their places before him. They were the most skilled of Zevran's warriors, but the fewest in number as well. "Leave the cauldrons, there's no time to finish!" he ordered. The Enchanters did so without hesitation and ran off to join the back lines of the ponies that were now being reinforced with stallions from the Royal Guard and Equestrian Guard; stallions that the front line could hardly afford to spare, but the alternative was leaving supply and medical personnel to the mercy of superior combatants.

The deer were far too close now. Reluctantly Mwolan'e drew his sword and stood in position behind the red-striped honor guard. Their feral hunting cat skull headdresses clacked as they tucked themselves behind their shields and waited with feathered spears, digging their hooves into the ground to brace themselves.

"What are you doing?" Seer-Shaman Imbele asked him incredulously, a spear of his own tucked between a foreleg and his body. "You must get to safety, Honored Elder. The Zingeli will hold them off until the ponies can send help."

"And how do you propose I do that? Unless you have a potion to make me sprout wings then I am stuck here with the rest of you."

"But--"

"I am staying, Imbele. That is my vow as your leader...or if you prefer, as your old friend."

Imbele had no time to argue any further. He downed his only stone skin potion and prepared himself.

"Then may the ancestors welcome us this day."

The deer were almost upon him, their glimmering armor like a wall of colored glass. How strange they looked as they advanced, dark coats standing in sharp contrast to their colorful, almost mesmerizing armor. They showed no sign of hatred or contempt, only the stern facade of skilled warriors. Baer'barisater had been right: the deer were unlike any other in so many regards. Perhaps meeting his end at their hooves would not be such a terrible way to pass into the realm of the spirits after all.

"Whyttalia fal'kyyr!

With a singular shout the Whitetail Loyalists rushed past him, charging headlong into their redtail cousins before they could reach the zebras. Their weapons and armor clashed with a mighty clamor that quickly turned into a fierce melee. Mwolan'e stood in momentary shock before waving his guards forward.

"Go, help the whitetail!"

A tall stag came to a stop beside him, saluting with a hoof drawing a spiral over his chest. He was battered and bloody, his patchwork steel and crystal armor covered in nicks and deep cuts, a swath of which had been dented and cracked to reveal a bandaged wound underneath.

"Elder Mwolan'e. Seer-Shaman Imbele. You looked as if you could use some assistance."

Mwolan'e managed a relieved nod. "Your timing is impeccable, Caethil of Evinwiir. I do not know from where they came, but I fear our numbers would not have been enough to hold off these redtail."

"We broke off from the main line when we heard the attack coming. We need to get you to safety, and quickly."

"Does that not weaken your own defenses?" Imbele asked.

"Yes, but that is not our primary concern at this moment. I did not come all this way just to watch yet another stubborn old politician die." He gestured to the banners approaching from the west. "As soon as the Legion reinforcements show up we're taking you away from this place. I know you've seen the flow of battle; the line is faltering, and the Coriander Road will soon be the target of Corvalix's forces. Eradaxis and I will personally lead you away from here while our bucks hold the line."

"And what of my stallions? I cannot leave them to their fates," Mwolan'e objected.

"They are in capable hooves. Do not fear for them."

Mwolan'e and Imbele shared a look. "Very well, then." He raised his staff and shouted something in his language. A hoof-full of Zingeli Watchers broke off from the attack and reformed at his side, no less focused from the exhaustive fighting. "Ngodu, Kampal'e, you will stay at our sides. Nodisa, Fumafu and Se'shayna: you are tasked with watching our rear. Do not let any deer close whom are not Loyalists, understood?" The zebras gave a halting 'auu'ah' and immediately took their positions. "Dingu'te, you are in charge of this area. Assign the Watchers as you see fit, but make sure the Enchanters escape as soon as they can. Everyone must stick with the Equestrians if we are to see victory this day." He nodded to Caethil. "Let us go."

Caethil raised a horn and blew a sharp pair of notes from it. Eradaxis and four bucks broke off from the fight and joined the small group that was already breaking into a steady gallop, flags of Whitetail and Zevran fluttering aside one another as quinndryll throwing spears thumped into the ground around them.

"We must make haste!" Eradaxis said, picking up the pace until they were nearly sprinting flat out. They passed the thundering Legion shortly after, and soon found themselves among a throng of wounded soldiers of all species. They called out for help, for water and medicine, and Mwolan'e's heart sank at not being able to stop and aid them.

The tiresome traitors never ceased to be a thorn in his side. Though the Whitetail bucks who fought alongside the ponies might have delayed the rear flanking maneuver his magii had so meticulously prepared, they could not hope to stop it. With every passing breath the enemy was being encircled, their lines cut apart into bloody sections like a manticore feasting on its still-living prey. Equestrian relief units rushed to reinforce weakened positions, a rainbow of crested and cloaked bodies that clung to the thinnest edge between victory and defeat.

"You may proceed, Brother-Captain," Corvalix said, giving a nod of approval to one of his subservient officers. The battle-scarred stag saluted, then raised his voice to a shout as his antlers lit up with magical currents. A bellowed order peeled nearly half of the second and third line soldiers from their waiting positions. They formed into long, narrow columns and faced right, with a large group of Exemplars leading the way in a spearhead.

He turned to an aide at his side, one who was busily tallying the strength of each formation. "Tell the magii we will have need of their skills once more."

The aide flattened his ears and hesitantly answered. "I'm afraid they're still recovering, Brother-General. Sister-Magii Traenilys has ordered that she and her does are not to be disturbed until they are ready once more."

Corvalix bristled at the refusal. "And I am countermanding that order. The plan has changed. I do not care if they are not at peak power, only that they are strong enough to counter any attempt by the ponies to disrupt our push. Go. Now."

"With all due respect, sir, we--"

"I said, now."

The aide flinched at the fire in Corvalix's eyes, saluting and sprinting away before he could be made an example of. Corvalix sneered at the very thought of refusing an officer's orders; such things were not the way of Cervidae. Had he the time he might have flogged the buck himself, but more important matters drew his attention. The bulk of the secondary line was beginning to move now, thousands of them pushing into what appeared to be the thickest concentration of ponies. Unsurprisingly the Equestrians were not eager to let him anywhere near the Coriander Road, but he had planned for exactly this situation in advance. Just a moment longer...

As the spearhead clashed with the defenders that plan sprang into action. The second group of soldiers that had been lying in wait in the woods charged out with a battle cry, completely bypassing the zebras that had massed around the diversionary first assault. They threw themselves not at the siege weapons, nor the officers, but at the apothecary stations away from the front lines. Panic quickly set in among the frail, pathetic creatures who could not or would not wield a weapon. They fell in droves to redtail blades, effortlessly slaughtered where they stood. Some tried to fight -- the wounded, the young, the foolish and feeble -- but it was a futile effort. Cervidaen blades ended the struggling of all in their path, a whirlwind of sliced throats and torn bodies. There was pleading, of course, as could be expected of such inferior species. Their mewling and begging could be heard across the valley...followed shortly thereafter by their death rattles. Such a disgusting display of weakness! Corvalix was practically doing them a favor by putting them down like sick dogs.

Just as he'd expected, the ponies were thrown into a chaotic mess as officers and their units struggled to find some way of putting a stop to the redtail attack while keeping the front at acceptable strength.

"Come on, you vermin...move!" he growled through gritted teeth. Slowly, almost painfully so, the mass of soldiers guarding the road dissipated just enough that he felt confident in launching his assault. He drew his sword and ran to join his bucks, accompanied by a group of Exemplars. A quick look over his shoulder revealed the sapphire armor of the magii gaining on him. Good, he thought. It was about damned time.

"Forward, soldiers of Ochrourus! Destiny awaits us!"

The impending rush of combat was sweeter than any wine. The sight of it all, the sound and smell of mortal struggle over the wet earth, the ferocity and desperation; this was where he belonged. The Auroran Valley was naught but a prelude to the destruction he would visit upon Canterlot.

They were gathered around him now, peering over the side of the city in morbid fascination at the spectacle below. The deer seemed to be everywhere at once, attacking from the rear and charging into vulnerable flanks with a decisive precision unlike anything he'd ever seen. This was not a war like he'd seen between Equestria and Whitetail, where both sides had respected at least some form of civility and mercy. No, this was a war of attrition. Not even the 'apothecary' healers were safe as the redtail formations swept over the wounded and the unarmed. He had not seen the deer take a single prisoner during the whole battle, and he doubted they would suddenly start doing so.

With every step the ponies took backwards Praxilus felt his stomach twist into knots. What if the Cervidaens truly were unstoppable? He heard the siege commander's words repeat relentlessly in his head. It would be better to throw yourself over the edge than let them take you alive. He gulped at the thought, his throat dry and his tongue like coarse parchment. The same commander was now watching the fight unfold like everyone else; watching Equestria slowly lose ground. It seemed inevitable that the Coriander Road would be next.

"Right, lads, it's time to pick your pricks up and do what you're here for!" the gruff stallion finally said, stomping his hoof to rally his charges. The rim of the overhang came alive with motion as the Royal Guard teams hefted their equipment to where they would be able to fire on the path without obstruction. Pairs of pegasi dropped rough stone balls into place, and stout earth ponies cranked back the rope-heavy pulleys that strained and creaked with tension.

"This is no longer a place for a civilian, whitetail," the officer spoke, "so I suggest you find somewhere else to go."

"Where?" Praxilus asked. He knew they'd kick him out when and if the call to arms came, but to have it actually happening was far more worrying than he'd imagined. "The castle is barred tight and the cave shelters are full."

"Not my problem. Maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to stand here and watch good stallions die." The old unicorn was entirely dismissive of him; likely he viewed all deer as the same. A common sentiment among the ponies, he'd found, though not one that was entirely without merit. Right now he wished it wasn't so.

The faces of those who had died to protect him flashed before his eyes in remembered glimpses. A smiling recruit, telling all who would listen of his soon-to-be exploits against the heartless redtail. A stubborn stag, his coat greyed with age, doing his best to hide the amusement of hearing the others warmly refer to him as 'grandfather'. The pleading groan of a young buck bleeding out on the snow.

They'd given their lives so that he might live, because they believed in him. They believed in Whitetail, and what it used to be. What would they think of him now?

Praxilus pulled his wool body wrap tightly against himself and stood tall for the first time since leaving Evinwiir, rendering his best salute.

"What do you need me to do?" he asked. The officer turned back to him, a brow furrowed in disbelief.

"Excuse me?"

"You're right: this is no place for a civilian, but the Cervidaens are giving no quarter. If I have nowhere else to go then...I-I may as well make myself useful here." A long, uncomfortable silence hung between them. Praxilus did not move, keeping his eyes forward as a soldier might. He'd never been a fighter, but Equestria had no use for politicians this day. "I await your order. Sir."

"How's your magic?" the officer asked after what felt like a lifetime of indecision.

Praxilus chose a catapult missile from a pile and lifted it up in a crackling cloud of aether. It dipped nearly to the ground as its unexpected weight caught him off guard. He quickly recovered, floating it beside him at shoulder height.

"Adequate, I hope. I can teleport as well, if need be, though it will likely drain me for some time if I do so."

"Fine, you can stay as long as you don't interfere. Forget the teleporting shit and help catapult four, they could use the aid."

He felt a great relief and a terrible dread come over him simultaneously. What had he just volunteered for?

"As you wish. Ancestors watch over us."

"Yeah...gods be with you and all that nonsense. Get to work, whitetail. Don't let my stallions down, or I'll run you through myself."