SBMS051

I stood in the late spring sunlight, looking down the road into rebel-ruined riverland. The metalled surface was crazed with cracks and eroded imperfections. The Bride's Road into Pepin hadn't been maintained since the sack of Caribou City; it was starting to show the neglect. I was with one of our deep patrols, waiting for the next flight of chariots to deliver Jack's pioneers. Today we were going to knock together a blockhouse at the furthest extent of a long day's march out from the border, somewhere to maintain supplies and shelter for extended patrols deeper into the central districts of the wrecked province.

It hadn't taken much war to destroy Pepin as a functional entity, only the demolition and slaughter of its largest city and river-port. The overwhelming balance of the province, its market-towns, farms, hamlets, minor river-ports and roadways were still intact, but with that city burned out of its heart, as if somepony had put a lit cigar through a map… There was still a Duc de Pepin, and his guard protected a castle-town in the northwest corner of his province, but his effective duchy consisted almost entirely of the district around Pepin City. He could keep order in the hamlets around his capital, and put down the undead which wandered his way, but as far as the rest of the province was concerned, he might as well have been in Rakuen for all the good he did them.

We had passed earth ponies in the fields and orchards nearer the provincial border. Our patrols had heartened the border-ponies, and they were reclaiming the outlying fields and orchards that the events of the previous few years had caused them to neglect in favor of land closer to their walls and gates, soil and trees they could tend within sprinting distance of safety. This huddle was a downward spiral, the smaller farms reduced their margins and potential surpluses. Fewer surpluses left less for trade, made walls and weapons more expensive, and everything started to wear without replacements. The border hamlets were positively prosperous compared to the situation deeper in the province, and closer to the ruins of Caribou City.

I heard rumors that the situation in the central provinces of the Riverlands made the neighboring hamlets of the city of the undead look like Rakuen. There are at least still hamlets down there by the river, or so I've been told by the deep penetration pegasi patrols.

The sections I had trotted down with were marking off the outlines of a stockade and blockhouse next to a known well-site, which used to belong to a burned-out farmhouse by the road. The former inhabitant of the farmstead was talking with Chestnut Shell, negotiating a rent for the property. If they knew what's good for them, they'd just give us the lease for the cost of the improvements. We'd leave a well-fortified blockhouse convenient to the main road and their fields in case of further trouble.

I walked over to ask my questions. We were still trying to track the missing White Rose regiments. We had some complaints about their treatment of their own rental properties, after all. The presentation of grievances was a meeting much desired by the Company.

"…land is land. My granny would put ground glass in my pasties if I let family land go without at least some bits changing hooves."

"Really? We're going to do the one-bit lease thing? I mean, I can see if somebody has a denier with them somewhere in the platoon. I couldn't justify anything else, not for a plot of land we're going to be building a full-scale stronghold on, fortify for you, leave in your possession when we move south! All for a well!"

"It's a damn good well. Served us pretty good over the years, until we had to burn the old homeplace down around a couple ghouls and poor old Uncle Pole Bean."

"Chestnut Shell! Has somepony looked into that well since we got here? I don't trust abandoned structures I can't see into anymore, not since the White Rose's last home-warming gift."

"Suck eggs, Sawbones. It's clear. Not even a dead raccoon down there. Sweet water, too. Only reason I'm not ducking this grifter down his own well."

The local took this abuse with an easy tolerance. It was hard to wind up a pony who knew he was getting a good deal no matter how the negotiations went. At this stage he was just trying to squeeze some bragging points out of us. "The caribou didn't even pause in this neighborhood. They holed up at Old Ditches ten miles back the way you came, and down in Dry Salvages two districts south-west of here. You know, the usual places soldiers fort up on this road."

"We've been taught to not trust the rebel to not foul their nests for the next bird to fly by," I sighed. "They're bad tenants, and worse neighbors. One of the things we need to do is go over both of those stockades with a fine magic comb. Irresponsible mules may have left something ugly for any passerby to set off, and suddenly your whole district is up to your withers in hungry undead."

All of the local's good cheer evaporated like a puddle under the noon sun in August. "Is… that likely?"

"We can't be sure. Thus, this blockhouse. We'll be using it as a base and a fall-back point in case of trouble. Cheer up, we're pretty good at this. Anypony else would have gotten mauled by their last little trick, it just pissed us off. Any local problems you should be telling us about? Feuds we may be buying into by renting from you? Or by leaving you a nice new military resource like a pocket-fortress?"

"We get along here in Little Ridings. Ponies, donkeys, cattle - big happy not-even-remotely-a-family. Not counting those bit-sucking cheats over in Charred Horton behind their big walls."

"So grief from the market-town at the crossroads next to the stockade. Why isn't it called Old Ditches?"

"Dang if I know. They've always been two different things in the opinion of the district."

"So - problems?" As we talked, the flight of chariots swung into view, circling in to land on the Road itself. The local was speechless with wonder at the sight of flying chariots, and the pegasi in their thestral helms. I had to clap my hooves at him until he remembered our conversation. Chestnut Shell went off to greet Mad Jack and discuss the results of the survey.

"There's been a revenant or two in the woodlots over by the Canteloupes' homestead. Haven't eaten anypony yet, but it's just a matter of time. Rumor has it there might be ghouls in the ruins of the old Rosier place, but I've been by there and nothing came out to chew on me or mine. Somepony's been by to loot it again, though."

"Nothing left to steal for yourself?"

"Nah, not a stick - hey! I'm a respectable member of the community!"

"Which means you have first dibs? Nevermind, I know salvage. Any Rosier survivors?"

"Family got wiped out, supposedly. Though I've heard there was a daughter visiting relatives, outside of the district."

"What happened to what killed them all?"

"Wandering band of ghouls. Some of these dead things - they wander. Shuffle into a district, over-run a household, kill everypony that don't run or hide behind strong walls, then just shuffle right out again. If they stayed put, we could pen them in and burn them out, or maybe they overwhelm us and we're all shuffling into eternity with the rest of the restless dead. But no, they come, they eat, they go. Nopony really knows why."

"Don't even leave a tip for the waitresses, the cheapskates."

"You… you know you ain't right, right?"

"So they tell me. Anything else."

"Well, there's the white ghost in the old Bollen place, and there's definitely a nest of ghouls in the westwood beyond it. Ponies say they've seen something large, bigger than a bird of prey, white, silent. Definitely not an owl. Are there flying undead? Or," he eyed the pegasi shaking off their traces and lining up at the well to slake their thirst, "white flying ponies?"

Our silent salvation hidden on the road to rebel-ruined riverland…

"You have my attention."

Author's Notes:

Oh, hey, look! Somepony remembered he was prophesied at last fall. Maybe it means something?