The knight sniffed back the building mucus in his nose, as the rain continued to pelt the land. Every time it rained, he was convinced his nose started running. And for no reason at all, other than to give him trouble! Of course, such a thing was a minor concern; but it helped take his mind off more dire events.

Dire indeed was the most recent, the sudden rain dampening a good deal of the army's powder right as they approached a Verâdîm camp. Prince Aharôs had been determined to carry out the attack, taking the rebels by completely by surprise. Little had they known of a larger Verâdîm force just eight miles up the road. Lacking cannon and arquebus support alike, the Prince had them retreat to their own camp. Now the Verâdîm had vanished into the countryside, nowhere to be found. The pegasi were reluctant to fly in such weather as well; only Redfern and Waterborn were bold enough to go out and search. Or perhaps they just don't care what happens to them anymore, Turaz thought.

“They can't have gone far.” Growled Prince Aharôs, sitting atop his zôsha, still fully armored. He paid no heed to the water dripping off his uncovered head.

“Well, they have to have gone somewhere, my Prince.” Turaz replied. He himself had his helmet on, the brim circling around it kept him dry enough.

“No powder, no enemy... mud and wet everywhere, getting colder by the minute...” The Imperial Envoy lamented from his own zôsha, fiddling with the hood on his cloak. He had a hat to keep the rain off, but hoods made for good impromptu scarves. “We ought to retire, and try again tomorrow.”

“I don't know, I'm actually enjoying the weather.” Spoke Tempest Blackwind, who was soaked straight through. Her charcoal mane hung limp, and her tail was now something more a wet mop than anything else. The young pegasus seemed quite happy under her helmet, though.

“Of course you would.” Grumbled Duke Îrilôs. “You Athairîm are born in the rain, you practically breath it. We have far more sun in Ar-Athazîon.”

“I'm not Athairîm...” Tempest said.

“Might as well be.” Remarked Prince Aharôs. Turaz nodded in agreement, and looked over the others assembled. Baron Kairôs and the Thechai leadership all wore a large cloth wrapping over their armor, and had their helmets wrapped in cloth too. Apparently there was a Halîskai soldier who had made the practice well-received among them; transplanting a bit of his homeland hundreds of miles east. Sergeant Haior and Turaz's direct subordinates just wore their cloaks; plumes, tassels, and chains of rank had been hastily removed.

Everyone was gathered atop a hill, which offered them a good view of the surrounding country. The road they had been following for the last week ran from the south to north, a ditch on the east side and light tree cover on the west. Most of the land was farms and fields, interrupted by groves and strands of trees. Here and there small houses could be seen, one of which to the south was now occupied by Prince Aharôs for the time being. The family living there hadn't much of a choice; but the Prince assured them any damages done would be paid for. Quite magnanimous for an invader. But that was just it; the Prince didn't see himself as an invader. By law, Verâd was his as much as Athair, these were his own people too.

“They're out there somewhere.” The Prince said again, looking to the horizon, where the dark grey clouds merged with the grey-green hills in the distance. “But where?”

“One does not simply hide an army.” Baron Kairôs spoke up, pointing his spyglass to the northeast, searching in vain for signs of the enemy. But what if you could? The knight suddenly got an idea.

“What if...” He murmured to himself, before announcing his thoughts to everyone. “The Verâdîm have been fighting for twenty years. With the Duke of Terâd joining us, they knew they were to be invaded.”

“What's your point?” Asked Tempest.

“They've had twenty years to prepare, so it's not unreasonable to guess that they might have gone underground.” Turaz stated.

“Underground? You mean to say that their soldiers might have put on farmer's clothes and are now going about business in the houses out there?” Replied Duke Îrilôs.

“No, my lord. They may have literally gone underground. Twenty years is time enough to build the amount of tunnels to hide a few thousand men.” The assembly looked at Turaz, with varying degrees of skepticism. “It'd explain why the way has lasted this long, and why no defeat ever seems enough to end the rebellion.” He defended.

“Well, the only other explanation is magic, and no unicorns have ever been in this corner of the world.” Aharôs said after a few moments, nodding to himself. “Why not?” He continued, nodding more strongly. “Turaz, Kairôs, split your men up, start looking for tunnel entrances.”

“What do they look like, my prince?” Asked the Baron from Thecha. Aharôs looked to Turaz instead of answering.

“Uh... Anything, really.” Guessed the knight. “A trapdoor hidden by a shrub, maybe a rock that can be moved... Think where you would put a tunnel if you were waging a war for twenty years.”

“You heard him, Baron. Get searching.” Prince Aharôs ordered, waving at the land before them. “Bring plenty of crossbows, you might need them.”

“As you command, my Prince.” Bowed Kairôs atop his zôsha. Turaz wheeled around his own mount down the hillside, beckoning Sergeant Haior to follow. He sniffed again, cursing whatever caused his nose to run so. Turaz and Haior divided the column into teams, and began the search. He took the east side of the road, the Thechai took the west side.

“Do you really think they're in tunnels, sir?” Asked Sergeant Haior, as their zôsha walked through the growing puddles of mud.

“It's worth a look, Sergeant.” Replied the knight, as they crossed cautiously over the ditch. “Prince Reshîv has won many battles, but he's never dealt a killing blow to the rebellion. I would not be surprised if the Verâdîm hide thousands of soldiers at a time and only feign heavy losses.”

“The question is, why would they hide now? We're just one army.” Haior pondered, brushing his helmet clean of water to stop the constant dripping in front of his face.

“They must have heard about Seshîlîon. And then Dôrovôs Tower last week.” Who would have thought that the roof ruse would work twice? “Now that we're only a matter of days from the river Zachîr, they must be desperate enough to stop us that they're willing to go into their hiding holes no matter how near we are.”

“Planning an ambush?” Suggested Haior.

“Count on it. They must have dry powder in there. We won't be able to field our guns until the rain goes, that gives them the advantage, despite being outnumbered.” Continued the knight. “Verâd knows that the end is coming, they won't hold back anything now.”

“Good thing we have Prince Aharôs.” The soldier commented. “He won't hold back anything either.”

“That's what I'm worried about.” Turaz muttered. For the next few hours, they roamed around across several miles of farms and fields. The knight decided they wouldn't bother any of the locals; they probably wouldn't tell them anything useful, and Turaz knew that if he were still a commoner, he wouldn't want foreign soldiers questioning him either. That was a fast way to an ugly situation. Several times they rode nearby a farmhouse, and Turaz caught movement in the windows. They were definitely being watched.

But there was no sign of any tunnel entrance. They poked around in hedges, and under rocks, and in any low vegetation they could find. Nothing! Maybe I was wrong... He considered. No, they can't have just vanished into thin air. Underground is where they went, I know it. The day stretched on, morning into afternoon. Turaz's contingent ate a small dinner under a copse of pines.

“Still nothing, sir.” Reported in a mud-splattered messenger from one of the other groups. “We've gone in circles for miles, the Verâdîm are gone.”

“They're still here. Just well-hidden.” Stated the knight.

“Sir, they've hidden too well from us today. If we stay out in this rain any longer, we're likely to catch a fever.” Haior protested in a respectful manner. Turaz sighed, and sniffed.

“Very well. We'll retire back to camp, and continue tomorrow. But I want regular patrols out here, keep an eye out for anything that changes.” Ordered he. Haior nodded. “Maybe we can lure the Verâdîm back into the field...” The bands all made their way back to camp, trekking along the muddy paths between hedges and fences and fields. Most of Turaz's soldiers were levies, many were farmers themselves, and were loathe to trample the fields of those who would soon be their countrymen. Of course, there were always dissenters, and Turaz had to keep several of his men from doing particularly stupid things. What fiend thinks it proper to walk into someone's home and just take what they want? I hope Baron Kairôs doesn't approve of such things... When they ascended the hill they had previously occupied, Turaz found no sign of the former assembly, except two unhappy sentries. At the top of the hill, there was a crossroads of three ways: Back north, the way they had just come from; south, where they had just marched from over the past few weeks; and west, where the army was camped over several pastures. There was only a poorly-maintained footpath leading east, into thick trees.

“Return to the camp, Sergeant. I have a Prince to report to.”

“Yes, sir.” Haior answered with a bow, leading the men down the west road. Turaz went on alone along the south road, Prince Aharôs had requisitioned a larger house that way. The rain only continued drizzling down, though he was sure it had gotten more intense since the morning. It smelled nice, or at least it did when he could actually smell. Wretched nose. I'm a city man, born and raised. I guess the country doesn't agree with me.

It was not far to Aharôs's lodging, a fairly standard dwelling of a minor landowner. The stone house was decently old, probably dating back to 1280 or 1290, when this region's population had begun to grow. Like any landowner worth his salt, this man's house was two stories tall, a relative rarity this far from any significant town. The roof was red tile instead of thatch, or even timber; further proof this house was meant to last. Aharôs chooses wisely. Turaz dismounted his zôsha, handing the reigns to one of the guards. “Sir, are you here to report your findings to the Prince?” Asked another guard. These men were from Nikadîon, no nonprofessionals among them.

“I am.”

“Go on ahead, sir.”

Turaz walked through the red-painted front door, marveling at the one-piece glass pane it had at eye-level. Perhaps this landowner is better off than I thought. He hung his dripping cloak on a rack, and unstrapped his helmet, shaking the water droplets off. Then, he unlaced his boots, and put them against the wall, along with several others pairs of boots. “Welcome back!” Greeted Duke Îrilôs, leaning out from behind a sturdy oak door frame. Do you ever go away?

“Thank you, my lord.” Turaz replied with a slight bow. He walked through the hall, and into the room where Aharôs and the Imperial Envoy had set up their maps. It appeared to be a dining room, but Turaz wasn't entirely sure. “My Prince, I report that I have no evidence of any tunneling in the immediate area. However, I have left instructions for further patrols to be sure of this.”

“Alas, Baron Kairôs had the same thing to say as well.” Said the Prince, studying a map of Verâd intensely.

“I know they're still nearby.” Turaz grumbled, refusing to accept defeat so easily.

“I'm sure of it.” Nodded Aharôs. “If we cannot find them, we will force them to follow us.” He stated, still looking over the map. “However, there are no good targets nearby.” The knight frowned.

“I thought you had this all planned out...”

“I do.” Replied the Prince. “I wasn't planning on a vanishing Verâdîm column though.”

“Right.” The knight glanced around. Îrilôs had taken a seat again, and had open a book that seemed to be about mathematics. Where did he even get that? Turaz couldn't read, but he knew his numbers at least. Sir Eberis was there too, the ever-quiet knight saying nothing but watching everything. “I suppose I should get back to my tent now.”

“No need, you're quartered here with the rest of us leadership.” Interjected the Imperial Envoy. “Upstairs, last door on the left.”

“Ah. Thank you again, my lord.” Turaz bowed and left them, clanking up the wooden staircase. True enough, the last door on his left was his room. Apparently, it hadn't been meant for sleeping in, as the bed was nonexistent, being only few sheets on the floor. Well, I guess the highborn need their comfortable beds. I've been sleeping on floors my whole life, this won't be so bad. The next half hour, Turaz removed his armor, dried it, and arranged it neatly on the floor opposite of his sheets, before donning more normal clothes. Someone in Aharôs's logistics team was very good at their job... Supper was still at least a bell off, assuming there were any churches or belltowers to ring the time nearby.

In the meantime, Turaz decided to explore the house. He quickly found access to the attic, where he heard voices. That's probably where the people who actually live here are. The rest of the upper floor were bedrooms, a solar, and whatever purpose Turaz's room served. Downstairs was the dining room, where Aharôs, Îrilôs, and Eberis continued whatever it was they were each up to; immediately behind it was the kitchen. A few men and women were already at work cooking something, the knight guessed they were also residents, mixed in with some of the cooks from Athair. Across the entrance hall appeared to be a communal area, which had also been converted into sleeping space for the time. Behind that was a small chapel of sorts, a single stained glass window bearing the eight-pointed star and the eight saints for which all the days of the week were named. There was a handful of books on a small shelf off to the side, one Turaz recognized as the Kaiathîsa, The Heavenly Path, by its black and silver binding; others he didn't know of at all. He returned to the hall, and found himself at was obviously a back entrance. Beyond was a barn.

Why not? Turaz asked, retrieving his boots cloak, and dashing out through the rain. It was only a few yards to the barn, the water barely touched him. The knight was not surprised at all to find the Blackwind pegasi had claimed the barn as their own. He hoped the livestock were out grazing this time of year. “Good afternoon, Sir Turaz.” Said Streaming Breeze, speaking with a slight Equestrian accent. All of them had an accent of some kind, except the two youngest, who had spent the majority of their lives using Tarsin as their everyday language.

“Good afternoon.” He replied, observing his surroundings. Hearth Blackwind had fallen asleep near a fire, where Redfern and Waterborn sat silently. Canvas, aptly called the Silent, was sitting off in a corner by himself. Turaz often forgot he even was with the Blackwinds. Rumor had it that Canvas had lost his wife in the rebellion, and was so distraught over the matter he all but stopped responding to the outside world. The pegasus stallion had stayed with the few other loyal ponies simply because he had nothing else left. Such was the story for most of these Equestrians. Redfern and Waterborn were too old to do anything other than what they'd spent their lives doing, Streaming Breeze was the youngest daughter of a poor family, Coldstar had been Maelstrom's best general and therefore was still labeled as a traitor in her homeland, Hearth was dying a slow death... The only two might have a future at all were Tempest and the hostage-turned-friend, Snowy Farpeak. Tempest's got as great a chance as taking her throne back as I do of becoming Emperor, he admitted in thought only. How long would they keep the ruse up for her? And then there was Snowy, the timid young mare far too soft for the business of ruling and fighting. She didn't even want to go back to Equestria, God only knew what they'd do to her there; so what was her future? Whatever future Tempest can bring her along for, I guess. Wherever she is, Snowy is. Almost like Îrilôs's annoying habit of being in the presence of the Prince at all times.

“Find any of those Verâd-men?” Streaming asked, as she continued to sit on her blanket roll.

“Not today.” Said Turaz. The dark red mare nodded once, all the response that was needed. He appreciated her simple mannerisms, no droning nonsense that was favored by so many highborn. Inside the barn, five of the eight pegasi were accounted for... Coldstar, Snowy, and Tempest could not be seen, however. Turaz looked up at the hay loft. Nowhere else to look but up. He climbed the ladder, and promptly found the general of the Blackwinds. As usual, Coldstar seemed to be drinking.

“Ah, the knight of Athair.” She murmured, looking up from the nest she'd made out of a cloak and blanket.

“General Coldstar.” The knight said back. “Am I interrupting?”

“Only the musings of an aging mare.” Replied Coldstar with a weary smile.

“Allow an aging human to muse with you.” Turaz sat down nearby, and reached for the bottle of whatever it was Coldstar had been drinking. He couldn't read the label, but recognized the seal on it as being from Sôfasîv, one of the more southerly realms in Sarathûl. The taste was bitter and sweet, all at once. Not bad at all. Wonder where she got it, though...

“Wonderful day, isn't it?” Asked the once-vibrantly blue pegasus.

“We Athairîm like the rain, actually.” Turaz pointed at.

“I was being serious.” Stated Coldstar, sighing. “We got a lot of this in Highcrest too. Our two lands aren't so different, you know. We both were raised in the rain and mists.”

“Not so much mist in Surana... No matter. The only problem is the nose, you see.” The knight sniffed to make a point. “Doesn't react well to rain. But I still like it. Can't let the little things rule you, right?”

“So it is.” Agreed Coldstar, as Turaz handed the bottle back to her. She drank from it again.

“I probably shouldn't be drinking this early.” Admitted he.

“I probably shouldn't be drinking at all, but here I am.” The blue pegasus said. “Not much left to do besides that.” Turaz frowned, not knowing how to reply. He had a family back home at Nikadîon, he had much to do. The pegasus, though, that was another story. “You see those two, over there?” Coldstar pointed a hoof down the hayloft, where the knight found the last two unaccounted-for pegasi. Snowy and Tempest were sitting near the open doors where hay would be loaded through come harvest, talking about something.

“Yeah.”

“I envy them, you know.” Confessed the general. “Of all the ponies here, those two are the only ones with something to look forward to in life.”

“I was just thinking that, actually.” Turaz commented. Coldstar ignored, him and went on.

“And of us all, only Snowy is actually happy. She wanted to leave Highcrest, it wasn't a home to her. The rest of us though... Yes, we didn't want to leave.” The blue pegasus took another swig. “No going back for us, though. Our so-called Queen, Tempest, isn't going back either; if she does, it'll only end in pain. House Blackwind is done, failed. It failed the moment Maelstrom called her banners to war against the Swiftrains.”

“If Blackwind has failed, why did you stay with them?” The knight asked, as he pondered where this bout of melancholy came from.

“Loyalty, I guess.” Shrugged Coldstar. “I knew my life wouldn't get better after I first stepped onto these shores. But Tempest... She won't succeed. We all know it, but none of us is willing to say so. She's lost enough already for a fifteen year-old filly. But she'll have to face that sooner or later.”

“I'm afraid I agree.” Turaz affirmed quietly. “It's better off for her if she stayed here, anyhow. Tempest speaks Tarsin like it's her first language, Equestrian like its her second. She's even got our accent. She lives more like one of us than one of you.”

“Caught between two cultures and races, belonging to neither... That's the future I see for Tempest Blackwind.” Coldstar sighed. “As for Snowy, who knows? But at least there's potential in them. I hope they don't waste it.” The mare took another drink, and laid down.

“Lord of Heaven willing, they won't.”

“Lord of Heaven willing.” Affirmed the pegasus.

“Didn't know you converted.” Turaz said with a light snort that quickly turned into another sniff.

“Those two girls aren't the only ones who have picked up on your way of talking. I still can't figure out why you all swear allegiance to a god you don't know is there.” It was the knight's turn to shrug now.

“Call it faith, Coldstar. There are some mighty strange things out there, as we saw at Seshîlîon. How do we know there aren't even more just beyond sight?” He posed the question that he'd always been asked in his youth; though the event twelve days ago was had shaken many of his doubts.

“Fair enough.” Coldstar admitted. The two were silent for some time, simply listening to the sound of the rain on the barn roof, and listening to the half-heard snippets of conversation from Snowy and Tempest that floated their way; something about the Far North and monsters and who knew what other silly myths. Still children at heart, it seems, noted Turaz. After what seemed like a miniature eternity, Coldstar spoke again. “What's it like to have a family?” She asked.

“Hectic as Hell.” Turaz answered with a laugh. He paused a moment before going on. “Worth it, in the end though. Hoping you made a legacy that will outlast you, hoping that legacy will reflect well on you and your descendants. Aharôs gave my family a life I could have never dreamed of, so I've been trying to do the absolute best I can. Even if I'm not around them as much as I ought to be. Not an easy life, but... With a little work, it'll be a life well-lived.” Coldstar nodded, almost looking sad.

“Days like these, the ones that remind me of home... They make me ask if I made the right choices, all those years ago. Maelstrom and I lived life like there was no tomorrow, from one place to the next. Now I wish I had a little foresight. Might've lived a fuller life than how things have turned out.” That explains the constant drinking...

“It's like the good book says, Coldstar. There are seldom fewer words than 'what could have been.' Best not to think on it.” He tried to dissuade her from that dark path of thought. “Concentrate on what is here before you, and you can achieve your desires.”

“I can tell why you all hang onto that Kaiathîsa of yours so strongly.” The pegasus said with a laugh. “Full of reassurances that the whole world isn't Hell. But nothing's right, from what I've seen. It's been wrong a long time, and it's not changing. Not tomorrow, not next year, not in a millennium.” Turaz couldn't think of a response. It's not all bad, is it? His family was alive, healthy, and safe. Prince Aharôs, his liege, was well on the way to becoming King of a united Athair and Verâd. Îrilôs had claimed that the Empire was gaining strength by the year, leading to a more stronger, more centralized human race. Their enemies, both humanity's and his own, were weaker than ever. Things looked up for Sir Turaz of Surana, for Prince Aharôs of Athair and Verâd, and for Emperor Katastanîôs Taizâres, distant as he was. Whatever benefits the Emperor must benefit all of us, eventually, Turaz thought.

“It doesn't seem that way from here.” He said. “Things are only getting better in Sarathûl.”

“I'm not so sure about that.” Replied the pegasus general. “In Equestria, we pegasi have always been at odds with unicorns and earth ponies. Unicorns have always been at odds with earth ponies and us. Earth ponies have always been at odds with us and unicorns. We look down on each other, but we generally stay out of each others affairs. Except that one time...” The defeat of Maelstrom, when the unicorns and Celestia intervened on the Swiftrains behalf. “You've got a similar hierarchy here, Sir Turaz.”

“We do?” He asked. “Well, I suppose so... The Emperor commands the Kings, the Kings command their lords, the lords command their knights, and the knights command the peasantry.”

“That leaves out two very important parts of your society. Where does the clergy fit in, and what of everyone who is neither highborn nor peasant?” Asked Coldstar.

“Well, the clergy has always fallen outside of society. It has to; it's where anyone can go and find a new life.” He said, before thinking on the other part of her question. “But everyone else... Merchants, sailors, craftsmen, freedmen, city folk as a whole...”

“They don't fit into your snug system of command. Too proud and wealthy to be peasants, too poor and powerless to be highborn.” Stated Coldstar, looking grim. “It wouldn't be a problem if you just left every group to their own methods, as we do. But you don't... This in-between group, these folk in the middle, they won't accept being treated like peasants tied to the land forever.” The pegasus stared into nothing, thinking deeply. “It's not trouble yet, but it will be in a few centuries.”

“Even if it is, I'll be long dead and burned. You must have been coming up with this theory of yours for some time now.” Said the knight. Coldstar shrugged as best an Equestrian could.

“I've had ten years to observe and ponder.” Answered she, taking another sip from the bottle.

“So how do solve the problem?”

“The human answer to everything: War.” Laughed the pegasus. Turaz frowned.

“You Equestrians fight as much as we do. If not more.” He pointed out.

“No doubt.” Agreed Coldstar. “We're all just a few thoughts from killing each other, aren't we?” The knight nodded, sniffed, and sat back against a support beam. No more was said between the two for some time. Coldstar seemed to get lost in her thoughts again, staring hardly into space as she often did. Turaz tried to listen in on Snowy and Tempest some more, who were still talking about something on the other end of the loft. How little Tempest Blackwind knew of how things really were...

Was it right to keep her on this path? The blue-grey pegasus was clearly reluctant to be fighting, and was obviously scared of confronting those who were waiting for her to make a return. But, she carried on nonetheless, just as Aharôs would in her situation. Funny how Tempest has turned out so much like the Prince... Turaz noted. Funny how Aharôs has been far more of a father-figure than her own uncle. When would Tempest realize that she was fighting a pointless war that was already finished? When would the others tell her that this was the truth of things?

Should I tell her? wondered Turaz. Everyone seems to agree that she doesn't stand a chance. So why doesn't she know it? Perhaps there was something else going on behind the scenes, as there often was with the highborn... Sidâl likely had ulterior motives to his actions. He wouldn’t be surprised if Aharôs had something planned involving Tempest and the Blackwind pegasi. I'll talk to the Prince about it, then.

Eventually, the pegasi realized it was time for supper, no doubt because of their far superior sense of smell. “Sir Turaz, I didn't expect to find you here.” Tempest commented, after she noticed his presence.

“Spending quality time with the General here, my queen.” Turaz replied. A slight narrowing of Snowy's eyes betrayed her suspicion. Or dislike. The knight and Coldstar both had not been kind to the chubby beige mare. In his own defense, both of them had agreed that appealing to her feminine sense of strength and courage was worth a try; it had worked with Tempest quite well. When this method failed with Snowy, they attempted more negative measures to push her to her full potential. Except Snowy didn't have any potential, she's a failure in regards to marehood. It would be as if Prince Aharôs refused to fight and hid behind Turaz every time trouble appeared. Coldstar and he still tried to get Snowy to be more than a frightened, nervous filly constantly clinging to Tempest, but it never worked.

“Well, it's time to eat. I can't imagine living on only whatever you two are drinking is healthy.” Said the blue-grey pegasus. Tempest and Snowy both spread their wings glided down to the barn floor; Coldstar made a less-graceful half-fall to the ground, and Turaz was left to make his way down the ladder.

The knight spent all of supper in silence, contemplating the situation of the exiled young Blackwind. Aharôs didn't say much either; Mayor Pashal of Sturaj and his crowd ruled the conversation. Îrilôs seemed to get along well with them, as much as he did with the Prince. The quirks of being Imperial Envoy; you're everyone's friend and everyone's enemy. Tempest and Hearth Blackwind, as well as General Coldstar, likewise said little; distinctly aware that their presence was not well-received by all. It wasn't long before Aharôs gave his ward permission to leave. No doubt she'll go find the others. Or just Snowy...

It was an hour before supper ended, at which point everyone began to finish their daily tasks. The sun had set, but the night was young. One of Turaz's patrolmen arrived at the house, reporting no sign of Verâdîm. They had caught tracks at one point, but it wasn't long before they became completely washed out. So they are still near. The knight informed Aharôs.

“Looks like you were right, Turaz.” The Prince said quietly. “But we still haven't found the tunnel entrances?”

“No, my prince. They're well-hidden.”

“Apparently so.” Aharôs nodded. The two were in the back section of the main hall, out of the way of everyone else. Turaz glanced around anyway.

“Forgive my boldness, but I have an issue I think needs addressing.”

“Speak.”

“Are you going to tell Tempest that the venture to regain Highcrest is never happening?” Asked the knight.

“What gives you that idea?” Aharôs counter-questioned. “The Sun Queen and Nightlord are dead, Equestria will surely tear itself apart under the reigns of these untried children, Celestia and Luna...”

“There's eight pegasi over here, there's millions in Highcrest!” Stated Turaz. “Clearspring Swiftrain has the advantage, that is obvious. She'll crush any attempt to take the throne from her. The entire notion of a war for Highcrest has been doomed from the start. Are we just going to let Tempest keep on working for something she'll never get? Or are we going to give her an actual future not full of empty promises?” Aharôs got a dark look on his face, the same he got whenever his half-brother Reshîv was mentioned.

“I do not make empty promises.” Said the Prince coldly. “Tempest will see Highcrest again. I promised Maelstrom as much.”

“You promised to raise Tempest as your own and do her proud.” Corrected Turaz, as he had been right next to Aharôs that day. “You never said anything about taking back the Kingdom.”

“No, but she did.”

“Fine.” Turaz sighed, and crossed his arms. “But I'm getting doubts about this. If we keep her on the path she's on, it's only going to lead to ruin. I didn't pull her from the water just to see her die chasing a futile dream.”

“I haven't spent ten years of my life raising her for that either.” The Prince pointed out. “Have faith, Sir Turaz. Things will work out in the end.” For once, Aharôs smiled. “Yes, things will work out... I must retire now, something tells me that the days ahead will be quite straining.”

“Is it the war giving you that idea, my prince?” Dryly questioned the knight. Aharôs didn't answer, and instead went off in the direction the stairs. What could he possible know that I don't? Truthfully, the answer was many, many things. Princes often had secrets, almost as many as young women; though they were often state-related, rather than personal. Turaz shook his head, and headed up above himself. The day's search had yielded nothing, and he was cold and tired.

The rain continued on and on, grey skies and grey downpour covered everything. The roads turned completely to mud; impeding progress greatly. Their journey was made even slower by the fact that they had outrider groups half a mile from the main column on each side of the road, who reported in once an hour if they had seen any sign of the Verâdîm. They hadn't. Prince Aharôs had decided they'd make in the general direction of northeast, heading to the coast, and hopefully draw out the hidden Verâdîm along the way. For three days, they marched through the countryside, only once was the enemy spotted. A lone rider appeared on a hill, they would have missed him were it not for Baron Kairôs's constant observation of the surrounding terrain with a spyglass. Before anyone could be dispatched, the rider had turned and fled. Despite the weather, the Blackwind pegasi had been flying scouting missions, ranging upwards of forty miles east, west, north, and south, to see if they were being followed. Nothing was found.

“We haven't seen a single thing!” Grumbled Tempest on the night of the third day, in the next landowner's house the leadership was occupying. She was covered in mud from a rougher-than-expected landing, and thoroughly soaked from being lashed by the veritable tons of water she had flown through. “They're probably gone by now.”

“I'll agree with the Queen.” Nodded Streaming Breeze. “We've searched from here back to Dôrovôs Tower, there's no sign of this phantom army.”

“That's a mighty long way.” Lauded Duke Îrilôs. “Have you been searching from high above?”

“Of course!” Tempest replied, while Turaz unbuckled her armor. He handed the components to Snowy, who kept them well-sorted on their own sheet. “It's the only way to cover the distance you two want.” She looked pointedly at Prince Aharôs, who had said nothing so far.

“You probably missed something then.” Replied Îrilôs.

“Do you know how hard it is to get off the ground in armor and stay flying in all this rain?” Asked Streaming Breeze. “I'm sorry, my lord, but we need to stay up high. The risk of being stranded on the ground in enemy territory is too great to go down low.”

“You're the ones with wings.” Duke Îrilôs conceded, raising his hands.

“They are out there. We saw that rider.” Aharôs stated. “Carry on with your daily searches, we will find these rebels.” The Prince and Imperial Envoy left, leaving Turaz with the pegasi. He removed the last piece of Tempest's armor, frowning as he noticed all the grim it'd accumulated over the past three days.

“This needs a good cleaning.” He noted.

“Yeah.” Agreed Tempest, as she looked at the metal plates; then to her own hooves. “I think I need a good cleaning too.”

“I t-told you to be careful.” Said Snowy, with an annoyed look. “Is it- Is it that hard to land properly?”

“It keeps happening.” Groaned the blue-grey pegasus. “You ever flown in armor, let alone made a landing in the rain on a whole field of mud? Yes, it is that hard.” Snowy backed down, taking on a much more sympathetic expression. “I'll go wash now, I guess it wouldn't be nice to drag mud through this house...”

On the fourth day, the rain lessened into bouts of drizzling, rather than total downpour. The fourth day was also when the messenger and his escorts arrived, bearing a white and yellow banner with the blue flower of Loiar upon it. Prince Reshîv sends his regards, Turaz thought as he saw them approach. The knight was riding up at the front of the column, with Aharôs and Îrilôs.

“Friendly faces!” The Duke announced, cheerfully.

“We'll see.” Aharôs muttered.

“Hail, Prince Aharôs!” Greeted the leader of the group, turning his mount around and falling in line with the Prince. “We've brought word from Prince Reshîv.”

“I can tell.” Dryly said Aharôs. “What does my half-brother have to report?”

“Prince Reshîv, the valiant warrior he is, has begun a siege at Jashenîon.” The great fortress on the river, whomever holds that, controls the lower reaches of the Zachîr. “The royal fleet has arrived off of Dônara-Kur, while the Duke of Terâd's army makes progress along the western banks of the Zachîr. We got word of the plot you uncovered just in time, the traitors all fell into a trap, their army vanished back into the countryside.”

“It sounds like the noose is tightening, so to speak.” Noted Îrilôs with humor. The group only glanced at each other.

“I don't follow, my lord.” The messenger replied in confusion.

“My lord, we execute criminals with an axe, or perhaps arquebus if Prince Aharôs is in charge.” Explained Turaz. “Not all of us backwater Athairîm or Verâdîm are familiar with hanging.”

“Ah.” Îrilôs realized. “A more apt analogy would be that the blade is now on their necks, then?”

“I think it can work.” Answered the messenger, his company nodding amongst themselves. “Prince Reshîv believes we can have the rebellion put down by next spring.”

“I believe that we can have it ended by Saint Zefîr's Day, if not sooner.” Aharôs stated. “I have already captured Seshîlîon, and several more minor castles.”

“This fast? How, my prince?”

“With intelligence, and a new weapon, or two.” Simple said the Prince. Melting walls out of existence is certainly a new weapon. “We're being tailed by a hidden Verâdîm force. They've continued to elude us, but we know they are near. Sir Turaz,” Aharôs gestured to him, “thinks that the Verâdîm have a tunnel system, which has enabled them to evade defeat this long.”

“Oh, well...” The messenger looked rather amused. “You see, my prince, they do have a tunnel system, at least in key areas. Reshîv has been flooding them wherever he finds them. Part of the reason progress has been slow up north, it takes time to set up the pumps and find a good source of water-”

“What?” Asked Aharôs, stirred from his usual reserved manner. “How long has he known this?!”

“For about two years, now.” Said the messenger, with a slight smile.

“Reshîv...” Growled Aharôs, face twisting into a look of utter contempt. He quickly regained his cool, sliding a mask of steel back on. “Tell my half-brother that this information would have been greatly appreciated, and that he is to increase his efforts tenfold. By the fall equinox, I will rule Verâd, not these upstart traitors.”

“Has the King died?” Asked the messenger.

“No.” Aharôs admitted.

“Then King Zhevakôs will rule, not you.” Stated Reshîv's messenger, with a disdaining look. With that, he turned his mount away, and the group rode off the way they had come. A very uncomfortable silence descended over those at the head of the column. There was little love lost between Reshîv and Aharôs; Turaz had never found out why they disliked each other so, but it was the way things were. This dislike had spread down the ranks over the past years. Like many on Aharôs's side, Turaz thought Reshîv was an irresponsible, vainglorious fool, and that it was only due to Aharôs that Athair survived his father's descent into madness and illness. But there were many more who sided with Prince Reshîv, thinking Aharôs an overly-rigid, uptight, pretentious and stubborn recluse incapable of anything but cold rage and hate.

They weren't entirely wrong, either. Aharôs did himself no favors with his chilled mannerisms and open distaste for most people. For one traitorous moment, Turaz wondered if it would have been better for Heranôs Loiar to still be heir to the throne. Of course not, he was even less cut-out to rule than Aharôs or Reshîv. But of the two they had, Aharôs was a far better choice. Wasn't he?

The fifth day opened with a stormy dawn, but the rain quickly ceased. At least we can use our guns now.... For what Turaz reckoned was five hours, everything proceeded as normal. Then:

“Prince Aharôs, Sir Turaz,” Sergeant Haior announced, bowing from the saddle of his zôsha. “two outrider teams have failed to report in.”

“How long have they been missing?” Asked Turaz quickly, suddenly alarmed.

“They should have reported in over a quarter of an hour ago.”

“Fuck.” Swore the knight.

“Notify all commanders that we're-” Began Prince Aharôs. But a desperate shout from somewhere behind them stopped him.

“We're under attack!”

Turaz slammed shut his helmet's visor, and readied his halberd. Sergeant Haior and Aharôs both drew their swords, looking wildly around for the enemy. A whistling sound whooshed by Turaz's face, a volley of crossbow bolts slammed into the line, from both sides of the road. “Form up! Form up!” Bellowed Sergeant Haior, facing the column behind him. Another volley came out of the woods, taking down more.

“I knew they were still here!” Seethed Prince Aharôs, strapping on his helmet for once.

“Arquebusiers, fire!” Ordered Haior, as a meager round of gunpowder cracks went off into both sides of the forest.

“God save us!” Exclaimed Duke Îrilôs, who had taken between the two lines of soldiers some yards back. “My prince, this attack looks like it stretches some distance along our column!”

“Of course it does.” Aharôs growled, closing his own visor. “Turaz, with me!” He ordered.

“Where are we going?”

“Back down the road, to gather the cavalry.” The two rode down the west side of the road, dodging crossbow shots from the woods and their own side's projectiles, collecting zôshamen along the way.

“This is a well-coordinated ambush.” Said Mayor Pashal of Sturaj, who was directing the battle effort near the middle of the column. “They must have practiced on Prince Reshîv.”

“Likely.” Agreed Sidâl, in his heavy but plain garb as always. The strange spy didn't seem to notice he was in the middle of a war. He approached them, and spoke quietly. “Prince Aharôs, I recommend you focus on the west side of the road. I think I can take care of the east, at least here.”

“What?” Aharôs asked, over the din of the shouts and gunshots.

“Don't go on the east side of the road!” He said, more loudly. The Prince nodded, before waving their assembled riders west.

“Into the woods!” He ordered, spurring his zôsha forward. Crossbows took out some of their own, but soon, they were amongst the Verâdîm.

“Idiots.” Turaz breathed to himself, stabbing the spike of his halberd into the first ambusher he saw. No pikemen! Not even halberdiers! Just crossbowmen with their own swords. A Verâdîm tried to stab up at him, but Turaz knocked the blow aside and smashed the the hammer side of his weapon into the head of his attacker. The man went down, but to be sure, the knight sent the long spike though his chest anyway.

He and the others rode up and down the west side, scattering the ambushing forces as they went. But they did not pursue.

“Stay over here,” Commanded Aharôs. “we don't want to be on the other side.”

“Why not?” Asked one of the zôshamen, a man from Thecha.

A chilling, inhuman howl sounded out, followed by a horrendous tearing and screeching, and the despairing shouts of men. The terrible cacophony coming from the eastern side was enough to make Turaz believe that something evil had stepped foot into the world.

“That's why.” Replied the Prince. Turaz grew very uneasy as the sounds continued, and a cold began to seep into the air. He knew this cold...

“Shit.” Said someone. “I remember this from Seshîlîon!”

“It's that damn chill!”

“Lord of Heaven...”

“What in God's name is happening over there?”

“Quiet.” Commanded Aharôs. “Half of you go north, the other half, go south. Find the remaining attackers on the western side.” They did so, muttering amongst each other worriedly. The two rode back to the road, watching the column move to all face east, pikes out, guns and crossbows pointed.

“My Prince...” Turaz started to say. “I- What is going on over there?”

“I don't know, and I don't want to find out.” The Prince shook his head adamantly. A roar came from the east, too guttural to be of any human, too twisted to be of anything natural. Barely a minute passed before the horrible sounds subsided, and the chill in the air began to lesson. Both men's zôsha were obviously discomforted, shifting from one set of hooves to another. Nothing could be seen through the trees and shrubs, all was silent now. Not a single bird made a call, not a single insect buzzed nearby.

“It's over.” Whispered Sidâl, coming out of nowhere and breaking the eerie spell of quiet. Aharôs wordlessly dismounted and walked to the east, Turaz did the same and followed. A metallic scent was in the air, growing stronger as they got closer. Soon the ground became hard, and a thin layer of frost covered everything. They got some twenty yards off the road, where the frost had become a solid white layer, and that metallic smell permeated everything. There was blood staining the ground everywhere, along with many weapons and pieces of armor, even a boot or two. But not a single piece of a body could be seen.

“God and Heaven, have mercy.” Turaz touched two fingers to his forehead, and almost started to recite a prayer. Other soldiers who had followed them voiced similar phrases. All were distinctly horrified at this sight.

“Sir, look. Tracks.” Pointed at a pikeman, who was kneeing down. Aharôs and Turaz knelt down too, looking at what the soldiers had found. There were indeed tracks, but of nothing Turaz had ever seen. Two impressions of long toes curved out from a central mark, before curving in again, while a third extended on the opposite direction. The entire thing was about the size of man's torso.

“What could have made these?” Asked someone, following the prints. They went on for a few yards before stopping abruptly. Almost like it vanished into thin air.

“No creature of this world.” The pikeman replied.

“A demon.” Turaz agreed.

“Aye, a demon.”

“A demon!”

“Demons!”

“How many?”

“Where'd they come from?”

“Hell, of course!”

“Demons walk the world...”

“Whatever it was, it is gone!” Barked Aharôs sternly. “Back to the column, take care of the wounded. Double the patrol strength, I don't want us caught like this again.” They obeyed. “Turaz, don't fill their heads with silly ideas like that.” Scolded the Prince.

“Hell is a cold, dark place. Whatever came here was not of this world, and it left this- this cold behind! What else could it be?” Asked the knight.

“We live in a world with dragons, Equestrians, griffons, and more. Many races, many lands, stretching far beyond our horizons. Don't be so quick to assume that this was not from the same world we live in.” Rebuked the Prince.

“My Prince-” Turaz began to say, stopping to collect his thoughts. This was wrong. He was willing to let the wall event go, that was merely destroying some stone. This? This crosses the line! “I don't like this, not one bit.”

“If things like this are the price for peace, so be it.” Stated Aharôs. “I'll hear no more of it.” The two went back to the road, where the column was still silent. Sidâl and the Prince exchanged a quick glance. Sidâl! He's behind this, that much is clear. What to make of a man who could bring such things into the world? Consorting with dark powers... I knew there was more to him than I thought. Sidâl was dangerous. Perhaps too dangerous.

That night, the tents were set up, mostly out of need to provide a quick resting place for those wounded in the Verâdîm ambush. “Look at this!” Said one Thechai soldier to another, as Turaz walked by. The knight stopped to investigate.

“What am I looking at, Bâl?” Asked the other soldier.

“I took this helmet from the attack earlier.” It was indeed a helmet worn by the Verâdîm, with only a visor on the front instead of a sloped brim going entirely around, as the Athairîm wore. This particular example was painted in two shades of green, and had leaves tied around it. “Genius, isn't it?” Asked the soldier named Bâl.

“Hmm... Well, yeah, for an ambush.” Nodded the other soldier. “Not in the open field, though.”

“No, of course not, Krîzov. But who would have thought of this? Disguising yourself as part of the forest in order to avoid detection!” Bâl spoke excitedly. “No wonder we can't seem to beat them, they're thinking of things like this!” Very clever of them. Why didn't I notice that earlier?

Turaz continued on through the camp, to the Blackwind tents, intending to speak with the pegasi about how they had managed to miss such a force appearing a matter of yards from the main column. Outside of his destination, the knight could hear Snowy relaying the day's events to Tempest.

“...A-and then, there was this- this- this roar, I can't even d-describe it.” She was saying, while curled up on her makeshift bed.

“A roar?” Tempest asked, skeptically.

“A roar.” Announced Turaz, making his entrance. “A mutilated roar, something no creature of this world could ever make. And when those unnatural sounds ceased, only the cold remained.” The beige pegasus trembled.

“L-like at-”

“Seshîlîon...” Tempest muttered. “Did it smell like metal?”

“Even I noticed that, my queen.” Stated Turaz. “This was much more intense, this time. At the castle, I didn't notice it until after, but this time, it was everywhere.”

“It w-was wrong.” Weakly said Snowy, looking at the ground.

“For once, I agree with her.” Turaz nodded to Snowy.

“Well, did you go investigate?” Asked the blue-grey pegasus.

“Of course! The soil beneath my feet was as if it were frozen solid, a white sheet of frost covered everything like it was the depth of winter. We found blood all over, and weapons, and armor, even some bits of clothing. But there was not a single body left behind, not even the tiniest of parts!” Snowy squeaked in fright, while Tempest looked fascinated, in a morbid way. “And who else was behind this, but-”

“Sidâl.” Answered Tempest. What?

“I- How did you know?” Turaz asked, befuddled at how the girl had figured this out already.

“He told us he may or may not have been behind the wall at Seshîlîon, the day after.” She replied. “These two... events are obviously linked.”

“So they are.” Agreed the knight. “But I have another issue.” Tempest pointed her hoof at him, presumably in imitation of Aharôs's habit of gesturing with an open hand as a sign for speak. “How did you all miss an entire Verâdîm ambush force appearing thirty yards from the road, my queen?”

“Uh... I don't know, honestly. I was out with Streaming Breeze scouting a path to the coast. Saw the ocean today, actually.” Replied Tempest, shrugging. That's your excuse? Impossible little pony...

“So you're telling my that you're not in charge of your own forces?” Questioned the knight.

“Yeah, that'd be true if they were worthy of the term forces. More like five combat-ready pegasi and three others providing support.” Tempest shot back, with a tone of bitterness. “My uncle hasn't been well for a while, Canvas is... Canvas, and Snowy just doesn't have the stamina. So that's really only five good for missions, hardly a force for anything. Coldstar does all the organizing anyway, she knows more about it then I do.” Maybe it's a good thing she'll never get to Highcrest. I don't think Tempest was cut out for command.

“Huh.” Turaz frowned. “I'll take it up with her, then.” He turned to leave, but immediately stopped when he saw a certain individual passing by. An idea came into the knight's head. Turaz looked at the two pegasi. “How do you two feel about listening in on affairs not our own?”

That was how Turaz, Tempest, and Snowy ended up crouching in the muck outside Prince Aharôs's tent. “Wh-why do we need me?” Asked Snowy nearly silently.

“To verify what Tempest hears.” Whispered Turaz back, putting a still-gloved hand over Snowy's snout. “No more talk.” Tempest had one ear pressed against the tent's fabric, the other one angled down to muffle other noises she wasn't listening for. Snowy settled on putting her face right up against the tent, both ears pricked forward. Pegasi, like all Equestrians, and most animals too, come to think of it, had better hearing than humans. Better sense of smell, too, but that wasn't the issue at hand. Turaz knew that Sidâl and Îrilôs were both inside the tent, Aharôs didn't want any one else in there right now. It was a good bet they were discussing the day's events, precisely what Turaz wanted to know more about.

The knight could hear the muffed sounds of quiet conversation inside; but could make out nothing exact. Thusly, the presence of Tempest and Snowy was needed to figure out what they were saying. For some few minutes, both pegasi listened intently; and Tempest's expression quickly went confused. She pulled away, and pushed Snowy back too with one hoof, nodding back to the direction of the Blackwind tents. All were silent until they had safely arrived.

“What'd you hear?” Asked Turaz.

“Exactly what you thought we would, at first.” Tempest stated. “Aharôs was telling off Sidâl for wasting the opportunity, but Sidâl said that he left survivors to spread the tale. Sidâl said no Verâdîm would continue to stand against us when word of what happened gets out.”

“I w-wouldn't.” Agreed Snowy.

“You wouldn't be standing for anything in the first place.” Remarked the knight. Tempest scowled at him, but continued.

“Then, Duke Îrilôs asked what happened to all the bodies. Apparently, they were taken.” Said the blue-grey pegasus. “Taken to where, they didn't say. Or why, for that matter. Or by what.” At that, Snowy visibly shivered. Turaz too felt a sense of discomfort. What could drag men whole into thin air, with hardly a trace? “After that, things got weird.”

“How could they get stranger than this?” Asked Turaz, sighing.

“Aharôs started asking about someone he called 'our benefactor.' I don't know who that could possibly be.”

“The Emperor?” Suggested Snowy. “Th-that's what I was thinking.”

“That's what I thought at first.” Said Tempest with a nod. “But then Îrilôs asked Sidâl if they'd ever meet this benefactor. Îrilôs's uncle is the Emperor, he's his Envoy here! So it can't be the Emperor if Îrilôs has never met this person, right? Sidâl's definitely bringing another side into this.”

“Definitely.” The knight agreed. “We've got us, Athairîm; with official Imperial backing. Then there's the Verâdîm. Now we know Sidâl is apparently not working alone. Sidâl also has access to powers that haven't been seen in Sarathûl for fourteen hundred years, at least. I don't believe that this is the same order of power the alicorns used; this is something else entirely. That man has a plan, and I don't want to gamble against the chance it may be used against us.”

“I'm with you on that.” Tempest affirmed. “But we don't have proof. Sidâl has been nothing but helpful, even if he's been a bit rude.” This comment made Snowy smirk for a few seconds. I wonder what the story is behind that... “And I doubt Aharôs will appreciate our lack of trust in his judgment.”

“Then we wait.” Stated Turaz. “Keep your eyes and ears open, my queen.”

Another week passed without action. The Verâdîm attackers must have been defeated heavily, or scared very badly, as they did not return. The constant rains let up by the end of the eight day period, much to everyone's joy. They may have liked rain, but traveling by foot through its effects made for a very discontent band of soldiers. The column reached the coast after four days, and subsequently spent the next four days marching northwest, in the direction Rôstôs, the last major port in Verâd still held by the Verâdîm, other than the capital of Dônara-Kur. Aharôs announced his intention to capture the city, and secure the coast for Athair. Then, they would turn back west, and take the east bank of the Zachîr. The lack of any formal field army from the Verâdîm solidified belief among the men that this rebellion was far closer to defeat than it had appeared.

But what of the traitor lords? We still have yet to meet any significant force of theirs. Perhaps they were already somewhere near the river Zachîr. But that was the next phase of ending the war; ahead was Rôstôs. If they could take this city as quickly as they did Seshîlîon, the war would be over before the summer solstice, let alone fall equinox!

Author's note: Hope you enjoyed 10K words of the plot actually starting to move. I'm off to college in two days, so I can't guarantee such industry again until at least Thanksgiving Break (that's why I was nice and gave you a picture of the mystery footprint). It's time to get an education, my six-and-score readers. Oh, at some point, there'll be an Equestria and Sarathûl map (to scale with each other), because our voyage has only just begun. Almost 60,000 words in, and we're only here now? Yeah... As always, I really appreciate reader feedback.