6th day of Flowers Blooming
454 Years after the Defeat of Discord by the Sisters

Pallas had lost count of how many griffons she’d felled so far. They were barely even worth mentioning. Even as injured as she was, they were barely a threat except in numbers, and the confines of the forest were making it difficult for them to take advantage of that.

What did matter were the minotaurs. As much as the night guard was handling the griffons like they were nothing, the minotaurs were doing the same to the ponies, each one almost invincible and quickly building a pile of corpses around them. Those, she’d been keeping track of. Three so far, and each one had been its own challenge.

Pallas’ broken wing was lashed to her side with rope, but it was better than how it had been dragging on the ground. She looked at her remaining wingblade. It was chipped and cracked, the tip completely broken off. After the first had shattered so easily from the minotaur’s blows, she’d been treating its mate more carefully, and she still wasn’t confident it would last much longer.

“This is insane!” Zudah laughed, as he bucked another griffon away. “How many of these egg-sucking bastards are there?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to run out of arrows soon,” Wind Dancer said glumly, dropping an empty quiver.

“We’re almost at the water,” Pallas said. She stopped for a moment to spit, her mouth filled with blood from where a minotaur had knocked a tooth loose. “We’re already through the worst of it.” That they had time to talk about it said that things were quieting. The griffons were either reaching the end of their numbers or else they were starting to fall back.

“I wouldn’t go that far, boss,” Zudah said. “It can always get worse.”

“Minotaur!” Wind Dancer warned, aiming with her bow. Pallas turned and charged in the direction, spotting the bull-headed warrior crashing into the advancing Night Guard lines. She took it low, hitting it with her shoulder in the back of the legs and bowling it over. The minotaur fell heavily, quickly rolling onto its back as Pallas swung down with her wingblade, intercepting the blow with the shaft of its long iron spear.

Pallas jumped back as it thrust in response, the tip of the spear tearing open a hole in her good wing. She hissed with pain.

“Oh no you don’t,” Pallas growled. The minotaur thrust again, and she ducked to the side, turning sharply and grabbing the spear with her teeth. The Minotaur tried to pull the weapon back, and they were locked in a contest of strength for a moment until an arrow hit the bull in the eye, making him drop the weapon and reach for his face, screaming in pain.

Pallas tossed the heavy weapon up in the air, reversing her grip on it and stabbing it into his gut while he was distracted. Blood poured down the iron shaft, mixing with the blood already in her mouth. The minotaur roared in pain, falling back and taking the spear with him, the barbed head getting caught on a rib. Pallas spat again as she watched him. She was quickly learning that minotaurs didn’t die easily. Wounds that should kill just made them angry, and even a mortal blow would have them fighting until their bodies finally gave out.

The minotaur tried to pull the spear free and stopped, clutching it in agony as it refused to come loose. He stumbled back into a tree, then ran from the front lines.

“Where’s he going?” Zudah asked.

Pallas chased after him instead of answering, chasing the minotaur through a line of brush and not even noticing the trees thinning until the earth below her hooves turned to sand. She slashed at his knee, severing a tendon, and he fell forwards, driving the spear deeper and leaving him howling and screaming in a pool of blood, no longer able to stand.

That was when Pallas realized she’d made something of a mistake. She’d broken through to the beach on her own, the rest of the Night Guard far behind her after she’d given chase alone. And now she could clearly see the three minotaur ships that had brought the griffons here.

More importantly, she was only a dozen paces away from a minotaur that stood head and shoulders taller than the rest of them, wearing ornate brass plate armor. The light of the standing torches around the landing zone made the armor almost seem to glow, giving him an unearthly appearance.

Pallas considered her options. A smart pony would turn and run. A smart-ass pony would make some kind of remark about his huge, wide horns. A stupid pony would challenge him to single combat to buy time.

Pallas calmly walked up to the struggling minotaur on the ground and tore the barbed spear from his guts, eviscerating him and stopping his struggles. She threw the spear with her mouth, the tip embedding itself into the sand at the huge minotaur’s feet. No one would ever accuse her of being a smart pony.

“That’s right, pal. You and me.” Pallas spread her good wing, flexing the joint.

The minotaur drew a wickedly curved sword, almost like a huge machete, the back edge serrated and saw-like. It was as long as Pallas was tall, the brass weapon polished to a mirror sheen. He held up a hand when one of the other minotaurs stepped forward, shaking his horned head and approaching Pallas with slow steps. He’d taken her up on the challenge.

Everything was going as planned except for the part where she figured out how she was going to live through it.

“You’re not going to help her?” Bianca asked, shocked. Quel sighed. He’d expected that reaction.

“Our first duty is to Luna,” Quel reminded her. “We need to carry out this plan. Right now we’re stuck in a harmony-be-damned double pincer maneuver, because we’re all so clever that both sides have managed to outmaneuver each other. For all we know, Pallas can handle the rear on her own.”

“But-“

“But we know Luna and the Dragoons can’t handle the entire Griffon army!” Quel snapped. “We chose this plan because we don’t have enough strength to just take them out in an open fight, remember? We can’t afford to divide up now. If griffons start hitting us from behind, we know Pallas is really in trouble. Until then, we’re going to continue what we’re doing.”

“And the minotaurs?” Morning Glory asked. “It’s suicide to even think of sending troops against them. It would take dozens to match each one.”

“Sir, if I may?” the earth pony messenger cut in. “Centurion Pallas Athene already killed a couple of them before she sent me this way. They’re hardly invincible.”

“She did what?” Morning Glory blinked. “Impossible.”

“I saw it with my own eyes, sir.”

“Captain Morning Glory,” Quel said. “You’re not technically under my command. Think you can take your shiny white flank and see what’s going on back there? It’s not like you’re going to do any fighting.”

“I can go with him!” Bianca put in. Quel shook his head.

“No. I need you here to get messages to and from Luna.” Quel smiled. “And she’d tan my hide if I let you get into trouble.”

“I’ll offer what support I can,” Morning Glory said. “If the lines are stretched thin and Centurion Pallas Athene has gone after the commander like a rabid dog, I can help get them into order.”

“That would be a big help,” Quel said, nodding. “And try to bring the big idiot back alive.”

Pallas’ plan was rapidly coming apart. Buying time by challenging the obvious leader of the minotaurs wasn’t the worst thing she could have done, if she were healthy and well-armed. However, she was badly hurt already, down to one half-broken wingblade, and couldn’t even manage to fly and get the advantage of altitude.

The minotaur, on the other hoof, was armored so well that he looked more like a brass statue than a living thing, and carried a blade that could cut her in two if she so much as leaned against it. He was also freshly rested, uninjured, and probably had much more experience than she did.

So she just had to figure out how to beat someone who had every single possible advantage over her. Not difficult at all.

Pallas decided if she somehow managed to live through this, she’d never do anything this stupid ever again. At least until it seemed like a good idea.

“You are brave, and foolish,” the minotaur said, in heavily accented Equestrian. “I salute you. Few enough would dare face me in single combat, and never so badly injured.” Pallas let him talk. Talking was good. Talking bought her a few more moments to figure something out. “I am Khan Brass Bull. What-“

Pallas charged into him, jumping off the ground and getting her whole weight onto his shoulder and chest, slamming the broken end of her wingblade at the neck joint of his armor. It only barely scraped the exposed flesh, the minotaur throwing her off with a sweep of his arms. She landed badly, almost falling onto her broken wing as she regained her balance. She swore. She’d been hoping she could catch him off guard if she attacked in the middle of introducing himself. It had been her best idea all day, and it was still terrible.

“It doesn’t matter what your name is, then,” the minotaur said angrily, reaching up to touch his neck, looking at his own blood on his gauntlet.

“If you’re going to fight, fight,” Pallas growled. “Don’t talk.”

“So be it,” Brass Bull shrugged. He stepped forward heavily, hoof sinking into the soft sand, taking a swing at Pallas with his giant sword. She reared up, her wingblade striking out and deflecting it, the deflected blow still having enough force to numb her wing from the impact.

She danced back a few paces, watching him. Every step he took had him sink up to his ankles in the sand, his heavy armor slowing him. Pallas was big for a thestral, but she was still much lighter than the minotaur, and the sand wasn’t slowing her down nearly as much.

Pallas circled him. The minotaur turned to follow her, not letting her get around to his back. Pallas could feel the dense aura of danger around him, every one of her senses telling her that there was no way she could beat a monster like this.

He swung, almost a lazy sweep with his sword, deceptively fast despite the weight and force behind it. Pallas blocked it with her blade, the impact forcing her to her knees. Brass Bull pulled his sword back and swung again, Pallas barely blocking it. His speed was incredible, the huge weapon as light as a feather in his hands. It was taking all of Pallas’ skill just to parry his blade. Blood dripped from her wing where the straps were cutting into her as the wingblade just barely held up to the abuse.

Pallas scrambled back, dodging a swing and breathing heavily. She couldn’t stay on the defensive. She wasn’t even sure she could take one more attack from him without her or her blade breaking. She changed her stance, wing held low and back.

“You know you’re already reaching your limit, and so you’re going to gamble on a single exchange,” Brass Bull said calmly, raising his sword. “You think your low stance and greater speed will let you get inside my guard.”

Pallas watched him. With his sword that high, he only had a limited number of directions he could attack from.

“Come at me, then,” Brass Bull said. “Attack me so I can kill you.”

Pallas charged towards him. As she did, her wing flipped up, the sand she’d grabbed with her wingtip flying into Brass Bull’s face, his helmet making it impossible for him to clear his eyes. He faltered. Pallas’ wingblade slammed into the thin metal of his gauntlet, the metal there weaker from the jointing and the need to move his sword hand.

The minotaur bellowed in pain, the two smallest fingers on his right hand flying free, and the others breaking as they were pinched between the blade and the hilt of his sword. The huge weapon fell from his grasp, landing point-down in the sand and standing upright.

“I’m guessing that’s not what you wanted to happen,” Pallas said, trying to ignore the pain in her body. She was pretty sure one of the small bones of her wing had fractured when she hit his hand. Her other wing was just a mass of burning, tearing pain, and she really didn’t want to think about how much damage she’d done to it.

The minotaur roared and charged her, dropping to all fours, his wounded hand leaving a trail of blood as he moved. Pallas swung for his horn, her sword slicing off the tip, not that it was nearly enough to stop the oncoming monster. His forehead slammed into her chest, sending her flying back towards the treeline, landing in a heap on the sand and coughing up blood. It felt like two ribs had broken in that impact.

Pallas got up, shaking her head. Her vision was starting to go gray, and the ringing in her ears was drowning out even the sound of the sea. She stumbled, starting to fall forwards, and a strong hoof grabbed her, holding her steady.

“Can you still walk?” Captain Morning Glory asked.

“I’m fine,” Pallas lied. She coughed, spitting up blood. “Where did you come from?”

“I’m trying to keep your soldiers in line,” Morning Glory said. “The enemy hasn’t broken through, but you’ve got a lot of injured ponies. You need to withdraw.”

“Don’t think it’s an option,” Pallas groaned. “I pissed this guy off quite a bit.” She flapped her good wing, stretching it and making sure it was still at least marginally working. The minotaur’s steps were suddenly heavy and close, reminding the two that he was still there, his shadow cutting off the light from the torches as he loomed over them.

Pallas shoved Morning Glory to one side, rolling the other way as Brass Bull’s fist slammed into the sand where they had been. Morning Glory swiped at him as the pegasus flew past, his blades striking sparks against the brass armor but not doing more than scratch the polish on the metal.

“We need magic or siege weapons to harm him,” Morning Glory said, hovering above his reach. “I will try to distract him while you escape.”

Pallas looked at the huge minotaur, and the blood running from his hand and neck. Ignoring Morning Glory, she ran away from the tree line and safety. Brass Bull followed, a swipe at her flank making her stumble and fall onto her bad wing. Pallas gasped in pain, rolling the rest of the way over and staying in motion, knowing she couldn’t afford to stand still.

“What are you doing?!” Morning Glory demanded. He swooped in front of the minotaur, distracting him from a blow that would have killed Pallas where she stood and buying her a few more seconds.

“I need a better weapon!” Pallas yelled. She grabbed the handle of Brass Bull’s greatsword as she reached it, the leather-wrapped handle tasting faintly of sweat, blood, and musk. It was as big as she was, and nearly as heavy.

Pallas roared past the handle as she tore it out of the sand, her jaw aching. The minotaur was still chasing her, almost on her now. She jerked the sword up, going to one knee and letting the weight of the sword carry it through the rest of its arc. It hit Brass Bull’s left shoulder, the heavy weapon smashing through his armor, flesh and bone parting as it sank almost a pace towards the center of his chest.

Pallas let go as it got stuck firmly in him, the bent armor and broken bone holding the blade firmly in place. The minotaur Khan stood up, dazed and bleeding freely. He stumbled back in the sand and grabbed the handle of the sword, pulling it free and releasing a fountain of blood that sprayed wildly into the air.

He tried to lift it up with his broken hand, his left arm hanging limp and useless with the tendons in the shoulder completely ruined. The sword dropped from his hand to fall to the ground again, and he followed it, pitching backwards and slamming into the sand.