The week following the rebel meeting was rather hectic, to say the least.

There were preparations to be made, supplies to be gathered, plans to be reviewed. The cramped underground hide of Cell Bloodhound was both empty of ponies and full of activity all at once, with many of the Hounds out in the city while those who stayed behind busied themselves with the necessary tasks. There was no room to lounge in the armory anymore, as it steadily filled with weapons and armor and rope and everything else Lupus declared was needed. By the end of each night there was no energy left for socializing, the rebels collapsing exhausted in their cubbies, Lupus and Salvo remaining stationed over the map table for an extra hour or two before finally falling asleep themselves.

The rebels were mobilizing.

Dissero found himself on the move often, Salvo sending him across the Inner City to gather supplies and run errands and even just to be visible.

“We’re all relying on you here,” she’d explained on the first day. “The other cells need to see you, and see that you’re trustworthy. Don’t give them any reason to doubt you, or they might back out.”

And then she’d sent him out with a patrol to Cell Brimstone, along with Spindle Silk, Moon Dream, and Ember.

Ember.

The fiery-maned mare certainly lived up to her namesake. Dissero could practically feel her glare boring into the back of his head, her anger smoldering like the glowing coals at the bottom of a fire. He was fully aware that she could hold a grudge for a long, long time, and dreaded the thought of what she might do until the last embers of her anger finally burned out.

It definitely didn’t help that, as part of the bid to paint Dissero as a capable and reliable member of Cell Bloodhound, Salvo had placed him in charge of the little patrol.

So there he was, leading a temperamental unicorn mare with a knack for fire magic to go get some gunpowder.

“Ah, here we are,” Spindle Silk said, coming to a stop before an extremely small little shack that had been hastily squeezed between two homes.

“This is it?” Dissero asked, frowning as he peered around the corner. It barely looked big enough for one pony, let alone a whole cell of rebels.

“They like to keep things underground,” Moon Dream said. “For safety purposes.”

Oh, safety purposes. Dissero couldn’t help but fear that Cell Brimstone’s safety measures were going to be working against them in the near future. He made a furtive glance towards Ember as he knocked on the door, only to discover her staring straight at him. Shit!

After a blissfully brief wait the door swung open, revealing the leader of Cell Brimstone. “Ah, Hounds!” Pops offered up a welcoming smile as she stepped aside, revealing the several holes and chips in her teeth. “Here for powder?”

“That’s right,” Dissero said. He dipped his head in greeting as he stepped inside, seeing that the little shack was nothing more than an entrance for the wide tunnel which sloped down into the ground. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he added, thinking back to Salvo’s advice.

“Bah, spare me.” Pops waved the pleasantry away with a hoof as she started down the tunnel, limping faintly with a hind leg. “If Lupus trusts you, I trust you. Nothing gets past that old Hound! C’mon.”

Dissero beckoned to the rest of his patrol as he followed Pops down the tunnel and into the depths of the hide. Cell Brimstone seemed to be both larger and smaller than Cell Bloodhound at the same time; while the hide was much more extensive than that of the Hounds, there were also far fewer ponies walking about, perhaps not even half as many as made up Cell Bloodhound.

The tunnels here were incredibly neat, the walls crisp and clean. Wooden candleholders lined the walls at regular intervals, and the thresholds between rooms were occupied by actual, full-size metal doors. The ceiling was high enough that even Cleaver would have been able to stand up tall. It hardly felt like a hastily dug out hole in the ground.

Disero wrinkled his nose, frowning. There was a strange scent hanging in the air, though it was just barely too faint to recognize.

Pops continued to speak as they walked, apparently oblivious to the stench, nodding to her cellmates as they passed. “Brimstone is the oldest cell in the city, d’y’know? The most important too, I’d say, considering we supply all the gunpowder!”

“Gunpowder?” Ember asked from the back of the group. “Where do you get gunpowder in here?” It was the first thing Dissero had heard her say in days that wasn’t laced with open aggression, though he secretly worried that the curiosity was hinting at something even more dangerous.

Dissero cocked his head as he suddenly found himself wondering the same thing. Where were the rebels getting their gunpowder? Certainly the Baron wouldn’t supply it, and there couldn’t possibly be enough falling off of airships all the time to provide as much as Dissero had seen.

Pops looked back with her good eye, wearing the knowing smirk of a mare that had just heard the very question she loved to answer. “Good question, lass! And perfect timing, too! Come with me, I’ll show ye.”

She turned, pushing through a sturdy wooden door as the Hounds followed. They passed through two other doors of similar robusticity before coming before a fourth. Dissero looked back, noting the hallway behind them with no less than three doors dividing it.

Despite his time in Gryphos, he didn’t know much about how gunpowder was made. His expertise on the subject went about as far as the barrel of a musket, and even that was iffy. He did know, however, that the process of making gunpowder was dangerously precise. His eyes flicked towards Ember. All these security precautions were making him nervous.

There was also that very peculiar smell in the air, which had grown steadily stronger as they’d gone further down the hallway.

Pops placed a hoof on the final door. “Behold, the secret of our success!”

She pushed it open with a fantastic flourish, and Dissero practically fell over as the powerful scent of urine washed over him. He gasped for air, immediately regretted it, and braced himself against the wall as he gagged. He wrestled with his instincts as the urge to breathe overcame him, failed, and promptly resumed retching as he sucked in another breath.

He was vaguely aware of other ponies gagging and retching around him, trapped in the infinite cycle of gag and gasp.

Something wet and heavy dropped over his muzzle, and suddenly Dissero could breathe again. He blinked the tears away as he straightened up, raising a hoof to hold what he now realized was a damp rag over his nose. He saw Spindle Silk wink at him with smiling eyes, already with a similar piece of damp fabric over her nostrils, as she distributed the makeshift gas masks to Moon Dream and Ember.

Pops, miraculously, was completely unfazed by the powerful smell.

“What the hell is that?” Ember coughed, straightening up as she magically tied her rag around her face.

“Horse piss and manure!” Pops exclaimed, in the way many other ponies Dissero had met in his life might say ‘gold,’ or ‘friendship.’

“What does that have to do with gunpowder?” Moon Dream asked incredulously, his voice muffled by the wet cloth over his muzzle.

“Everything!” Pops grinned, strutting proudly into the chamber. Dissero poked a cautious head inside, eyes widening at the many wooden barrels lined up in neat rows, as the Cell Brimstone leader continued to talk. “You shit in a barrel with a drain and filter at the bottom, then fill it with piss and top it off with some rain water. Come back in ten months and you’ll have saltpeter, which you mix with sulfur. Add a little magic and bang, gunpowder!”

Dissero couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You mean—?”

“That’s right!” Pops cut him off. “Cell Brimstone has been collecting piss and shit in barrels ever since Great-Great-Pops was tossed into this city, providing gunpowder for any pony that wanted to fight back.” She laughed. “I’m sure the good Baron wishes that particular fireworks pony never fell into this city!”

“How can you stand the smell?” Ember asked, brow furrowed.

Pops smirked, tapping her muzzle with a hoof. “I lost my smell along with my eye, when my pops trained me. Now, how about we go grab your powder?”

There was more to the preparations than the mere gathering of supplies, of course.

The Hounds trained daily, practicing their musket aim on patchy fabric guards stuffed with pegasus feather, and sparring against eachother with short wooden sticks. While the more experienced rebels were left to their own devices, the newer Hounds were kept under the stern tutelage of Salvo.

She paced before her assembled trainees, Dissero, his crew, and Moon Dream, as she spoke. “The Ghouls say that the Baron doesn’t use the city guards in his towers. If things get violent you’ll be facing trained fighters that can think on their hooves and adapt quickly. Our usual strategy isn’t going to work, you need to know how to fight in close quarters.”

She stopped, turning to face her trainees. “We’ll begin with some practice sparring, so I have an idea of where you are. Any volunteers to go first?”

Ember immediately raised a hoof, nostrils flaring. Dissero, Silver, and Cleaver all exchanged glances before grabbing the fiery mare’s hoof and stepping back. Cleaver pulled Ember back with them, while Silver tugged Dream back by the tail. The young pegasus was momentarily surprised by the pull, but otherwise didn’t protest. They all looked away, avoiding Salvo’s gaze.

Stormslider closed her eyes, releasing an exasperated sigh as she was left alone, everyone else having moved back but her.

A small, amused grin graced Salvo’s face. “Stormslider it is, then. Stand here, right. Do you have any experience?”

Storm shrugged nonchalantly. “Not too much.” Her hooves slid through the dirt as she subtly repositioned herself, her wings flaring as she lowered herself to the ground.

Dissero smirked as he exchanged glances with the rest of his crew. He’d gone to the Royal Aerial Academy along with Silver and Storm, and she had always been the most studious of them. She’d also taken part in several clubs and electives, her favorite of which had been the Academy’s martial arts club. By the time she’d graduated, she had earned a first degree black feather in the old pegasus art of Krav Pega. He looked over to the still confused Moon Dream, winking conspiratorially.

Salvo cocked her head slightly as she saw Storm’s posture, falling into her own ready stance. “Alright, then. Hit me.”

Dissero was not a martial artist of any kind himself, but he had learned some things through Stormslider. He knew that Krav Pega was an overwhelmingly vertical style, which involved heavy use of the wings to surprise the enemy and attack quickly from multiple angles. It was exhilarating to watch and, if the other practitioners he met during at his time at the Academy were any indication, even more so to use. It was also very hard for unflighted ponies to keep track of.

Still, he did his best.

Stormslider flapped her wings, kicking up a small maelstrom of dust as she shot forwards with one hoof extended. Salvo ducked under the strike, twisting as she bucked straight up.

But Storm wasn’t there. With the second flap of her wings she had abruptly canceled her forwards momentum, gritting her teeth as she pulled a tight, twisting backflip. She touched down briefly in front of Salvo before pushing off with her forelegs, releasing a powerful buck.

Salvo’s eyes narrowed as she dropped to the side, rolling around the kick before popping up once more. She let loose a vicious shout as she charged, aiming to tackle her opponent.

Storm flapped her wings a third time, rising up over the mare without a sound. Salvo had anticipated this, and was already soaring through the air, leaping up to grab her opponent, but again Storm danced away. With the fourth flap of her wings she pushed herself back to the ground, ducking low before bucking upwards.

Salvo tucked her body into a tight roll, narrowly avoiding the attack before landing, skidding across the dirt, her tail flicking as the two mares stared eachother down.

Dissero, Silver, and Cleaver all clapped their hooves together, Moon Dream joining in as Ember rolled her eyes.

“Show her how it’s done, Stormy!” Silver cheered.

Again the two mares charged for eachother, one by hoof and one by wing. Salvo twisted as if to buck, quickly revealing the move as a feint once Storm went to soar over her. Salvo planted all four legs on the ground, coiling her body like a spring before pouncing straight upwards. Storm’s eyes widened as she flapped one wing, rolling sharply to the side and twisting mid-air to counter with a swift kick.

Salvo grunted as she deflected the blow with a foreleg, snapping her hooves out to grab the offending leg. She pulled the leg tight to her chest, dropping heavily to the ground, and pulling Storm with her.

“Oof!” A cloud of dust was kicked up as Salvo’s back struck the dirt, the mare twisting her body to avoid the kicks of Storm’s other hind leg. The pegasus flapped her wings wildly, but was unable to escape the more experienced rebel’s iron grip, instead stuck fluttering in the air just above her.

Salvo roared as, pulling Storm’s leg in even closer to her core, she pushed off with her hind legs and rolled backwards. Storm let out a startled yelp as she was yanked completely down to the ground, Salvo’s back hooves hooking around her outstretched wings.

When the dust finally settled, Storm was stuck on her back, her wings pinned by Salvo’s back hooves while her own hind legs were held firmly under Salvo’s forehooves. The pegasus struggled to break free, beating against Salvo’s back weakly with her free fore hooves, but to no avail. With a quick adjustment of her body, Salvo stretched one hind leg to pin down Storm’s neck while the other continued to hold down her wings.

The two mares were both breathing hard, Stormslider barely able to move at all. After several seconds, Salvo regained her breath enough to speak.

“You’re dead.”

Stormslider continued to struggle briefly before giving up, her free legs falling into the dirt around her with a heavy sigh.

Salvo flicked her tail again as she stepped off of the pinned mare, allowing her back to her hooves. “You said you had no experience.”

Storm rubbed her neck with a hoof as she climbed off the ground, stretching her wings. The dirt clung persistently to her vivid red-and-blue mane, staining it brown even after she shook most of it off. “And I don’t, beyond the dojo.”

Salvo nodded, turning to her other trainees. All but Cleaver watched with wide eyes, Dissero and Silver frozen mid-clap. Ember and Moon Dream were both seated back on their haunches with open mouths. Neither one had seen Storm spar before.

“Now,” Salvo began, her breathing beginning to return to its regular pace. “Who’s next?”

“Agh, it still hurts!”

Dissero nodded solemnly, grimacing as he felt his own aches and bruises. “She really… didn’t hold back.”

Moon Dream let out a quiet chuckle. “She never does.”

The two of them were perched atop a relatively tall building, a warehouse, leaning lazily against its gently sloped roof. A thin fabric, dyed black, was draped around them, supported by a trio of rusty poles that Dissero levitated with his magic. The sun had set several hours ago, and now it was only Dissero’s own hornlight which illuminated the small space beneath the makeshift tarp.

He peered over Moon Dream’s shoulder, at the paper nestled between his hooves. “Are you almost done?”

Dream cocked his head, one ear flicking as he traced a piece of charcoal over the parchment. “Not really.”

Dissero nodded, causing the shadows to dance under the tarp, as he looked between the charcoal sketch and the view before him. The fabric was thin enough that one could see through when close enough, allowing the two stallions to see the spire of black stone which rose across the street. It was nearly double the height of the warehouse, its red-streaked surface glistening with the rain. A single narrow path was carved into its side, winding up all the way to the top, where a squat concrete tower rested. Eight relatively thin skypiers jutted out from the tower, small airships coming and going periodically.

It was the tower which the rebels would be taking over in roughly thirty hours, a simple refueling station. Lupus had sent the two stallions, along with a visiting Ghoul, to sketch it from every angle and take note of the guard’s patrols. This latter task belonged to Dissero, and every time an airship came or went or a guard made a round of the spire, he would make note of it with the parchment and quill levitated before him.

The job of drawing the spire fell to Moon Dream, who was apparently a skilled artist. Looking between his charcoal sketch and reality, Dissero was constantly surprised by just how much information the young pegasus could put into his drawings. Every little detail was included, from the number of crenellations on top of the tower to the small holes which burrowed into the sides of the spire.

Their Ghoul companion had been more or less silent the entire time, speaking only to introduce himself as “Thunder Rush” and to caution them to avoid being seen at all costs. He had supplied the tarp and poles, and now sat stoically on the very edge of the roof, protected from the rain only by his dark cloak.

Dissero had been incredibly nervous during the trek through the city. He wasn’t sure how much he trusted anyone named “Thunder Rush” to stay hidden.

But nothing had gone wrong so far, and the small scout team had already relocated twice to get different angles. Everything was going fine. So fine, in fact, that Dissero was starting to wish something would happen.

A sickening ‘crack!’ rang through the night, shortly followed by a shrill scream of pain, as the injured mare’s spine was snapped in two.

“Rainy!”

Dissero flinched back at the sudden memory, squeezing his eyes shut as he pushed away the image of Zastaflash’s mangled corpse. He took a few deep breaths, calming his racing heart, before opening his eyes again. No, he decided. I’ll be fine with a little boredom.

He shifted his stance, looking over Dream’s shoulder again in search of something to occupy his mind. “You’re a pretty good artist.”

Dream’s eyes briefly left the paper as he offered a little smile. “Thanks.”

Several minutes passed with nothing but the falling rain and scratching of charcoal to fill the void. An airship came in to dock at the tower, a few pegasi flying out to help moor it to the skypier, and Dissero made a mark on his parchment. He squinted up towards the sky, doing his best to assess the time by what little of the stars he could see before jotting down a rough guess.

“Were you always that good?” he asked.

Dream nodded, tilting his head as he applied some shading. “Well, I wasn’t always this good, but I’ve always had a knack for art. I wasn’t really that into it at first—” He adjusted the parchment, glancing up to the spire. “—But then one day during arts and crafts I just, y’know, got it. I guess I was old enough.” He looked back to the swirling paintbrush emblazoned on his flank, the brush trailing a crescent of white paint. “Not a very interesting cutie mark story, sorry.”

“Heh, not everyone has a dramatic cutie mark story, Dream,” Dissero said, making another mark on his parchment as the previously docked airship cast off.

Dream hummed thoughtfully, setting his incomplete sketch aside to stretch his cramped legs and wings. “How’d you get yours?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Dissero’s lips as he recalled the memory. “Silver and I took a carriage to the wrong stop, had no idea where we were. We were both totally lost, and he was worried we’d never make it home but, me? I thought it was fun, and it didn’t take long for me to find somewhere familiar and gain my bearings. I wasn’t ready to go home yet, though, and we spent the whole day just exploring the city.” He looked back to his own cutie mark, the rolled up scroll tied with a curling red ribbon. “I didn’t even notice my mark until I got home.” And I had plenty of time to look at it after that, being grounded for a month…

Dream arched a brow, frowning down at his sketch. “So… what’s your talent?”

“Cartography,” Dissero said, his ears drooping slightly as he thought back to the old map that he’d carried with him everywhere. “I know how to find my way around.”

The young pegasus nodded, inspecting his drawing before rolling up and slipping it into the sack at his side. He pulled the drawstring shut with a wing as he slung it over his back. “I’m done here, let’s get one more.”

“Right.” Dissero straightened up, relishing the sensation of stretching his legs once more, and grabbed one of the floating poles with a hoof. Dream grabbed the other two with his wings, allowing the tarp to flutter to the floor. Together the two stallions folded it up before stashing it in Dissero’s bag.

Dissero turned to Thunder Rush, squinting as he struggled to pick out his dark shape in the rainy night. He raised a hoof to his mouth, calling to the Ghoul with a cautious whisper. “Thunder!”

Thunder Rush turned his head, backing away from the ledge before standing up. “Flash. Are you two done yet?”

“Just one more spot,” Dream whispered. He scanned the night, pointing towards another building a few roofs away. “There.”

Thunder nodded, stepping quietly across the roof. He spread his wings and dropped into an adjacent alley without a sound, falling out of sight. He would scout the path first. Stealth was crucial.

This left Dissero and Moon Dream alone, the two stallions craning their necks to look up at the barely visible crest of the spire.

After several seconds Dream looked away, turning to Dissero. “You ever wonder if there’re ponies out there, looking for us?” he asked, his voice quiet. “Wondering where we are?”

Dissero blinked, taken aback by the question. Is there? Almost everyone who’d ever been important to him were on his crew, and those who weren’t were either his enemies or… or his parents. As if they’d want to see me again. He suddenly realized that Dream was looking to him expectantly, and wiped the bitter frown off his face. “Don’t worry Dream, we’ll get out of here. You’ll see them again.”

Dream looked down to his hooves, his ears drooping. “Yeah… you’re probably right.” His words sounded empty and weak; it was obvious that he didn’t really believe them.

Dissero couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for the young pegasus, watching the way his shoulders slumped and his wings were curled tightly against his body. He looked barely old enough to have left his parents’ care, and here he was, fighting for freedom as his friends died around him.

Could I really leave him behind, if it meant I could lead my crew out of this place? He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t make any connections, that he’d keep the rebels at a stern distance, little more than a means towards the ends of his crew’s own freedom. But right then, as he sat in the rain with the dark-coated pegasus with danger on the horizon, Dissero was unsure if he could really bring himself to abandon him in the horrid city.

“Thunder.”

Dissero’s ears shot up in alarm, and he turned to see Thunder Flash perched on the roof right next to him, opposite of Dream. For some reason the Ghoul had been saying ‘thunder’ and ‘flash’ all night, usually right after someone called his name or he rejoined the party after scouting a position. Dissero shook his head as he allowed his racing heart some time to slow down. Ghouls are wierd. “Is the path clear?”

Thunder Flash nodded once, dropping a length of rope over the ledge and bracing his hooves. Dissero latched on to the rope as he slid down into the alley, Dream gliding quietly down alongside him.

Thunder began to roll the rope back up, leaving the two Hounds to wait patiently in the shadow of the alley. Dissero looked to Dream and gave him a reassuring pat on the back.

“Everything’ll turn out alright, Dream. You’ll see.”

Dream took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “I… sure hope so.”

Thunder Flash alighted quietly in the alley, beckoning with a nod of his head. Together the three rebels slipped through the city, their ears swiveling as they listened for the distinct sound of ringing chainmail. Dissero brought up the rear, a heavy frown on his face as he thought.

If everything went according to plan, then soon he’d be at the helm of a working airship once more. He doubted that an airship suddenly diverting from its schedule and racing for the walls would go unnoticed but… what if he did find an opportunity to escape.

He sighed, shaking the thoughts away as he focused on the task at hoof.

I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.

Author's Notes:

Imagine my surprise when, while looking into how the rebels could possibly come across gunpowder, my co-author discovered that you could make saltpeter with horse piss and manure.