Sentry at the Charge

by Tumbleweed

First published 20th of July, 2017

In volume 3 of the Flash Sentry Papers, it's up to Flash Sentry and Special Agent Golden Harvest to save Equestria from another Changeling invasion ... whether Flash likes it or not.

In volume three of the Flash Sentry Papers, the famed hero (and self-professed coward and womanizer), recounts his misadventures during the second changeling infiltration of Canterlot.

With the Princesses captured, it's up to Flash and Special Agent Golden Harvest (a.k.a. Carrot Top) to save the day ... whether Flash likes it or not.

Some Notes on the Text

The Times of Twilight, as I have noted before, were a time of great unrest in Equestria and the lands beyond. And yet, despite the ... complex history that played out between Equestria and her satellite states, many history textbooks reduce the conflicts of the era to simple morality plays.

On the one hoof, I must admit that friendship is indeed magic, and the efforts of Princess Twilight and her cohorts are well worth commending. On the other, after an in depth study of history, it's sadly apparent that some problems simply cannot be solved through hugs and declarations of loyalty. Indeed, there are certain schools of scholarship that conclude the 'friendships' between Princess Twilight Sparkle and entities such as Nightmare Moon or Discord are, in fact, thinly veiled allegories for the oaths of fealty Princess Twilight forced from her conquered foes.

Personally, I find both perspectives overly simplistic. History is a complicated thing. It is far too easy to lapse into idealism or cynicism, depending on one's sources. Which, in turn, makes first-hand accounts such as the Flash Sentry Papers even more valuable. Despite our sometimes idealized history, there has always been a need for certain ponies to get their hooves dirty in service to crown and country. For all his cynicism (and self professed cowardice), Flash Sentry provides an honest perspective on certain historical events that is simply unmatched by any other first hand sources.

(It goes without saying that Princess Twilight Sparkle has not yet replied to my inquires as to corroborate Sentry's accounts. Not that I would let such a lapse in scholarship count against a monarch who's so famed for her patronage of academia. I'm a better pony than that. Really).

With this in mind, I humbly present the third volume of the Flash Sentry Papers, detailing the events and aftermath of the second Battle of Canterlot.

-George MacIntosh Fresian.

Chapter 1: An Intimidating Invitation

I don't like talking about my medals.

This can be more than a little awkward, because damn if I don't have a lot of them. In my prime, it seemed like hardly a year went by without someone trying to foist some new award, ribbon, or other honorable decoration onto me. It's gotten to the point where if I wore all the bloody things at once, I'd look like nothing so much as a Hearth's Warming's Eve tree. Not one of those tasteful ones with just the little twinkling lights, either. Invariably, on those occasions where I've got to squeeze myself into my dress whites, I make do with the bare minimum of decorations-- and even then, somepony invariably lays their eyes on the colored bars pinned over my pocket and starts asking awkward questions.

In such cases, I just rattle off something along the lines of: “just part of the job-- it's what anypony else would've done in my horseshoes,” and start staring off into the middle distance. Not only is this a handy conversational distraction, but it also serves to build up my already overinflated reputation, which in turn is usually good for a free drink or two.

Of course, after all I went through to 'earn' those medals, somepony should just give me the whole damn brewery instead. Each and every one of those bits of tin is a reminder of one terrifying night or another where some new and awful threat to Equestria would rear its ugly head and summarily try to kill me. Some of those threats got pretty damned close, too. Though in my old age it's gotten to the point where I can barely remember which medals match up with which scars anymore. There's one, however, whose origins I will never forget: the thin white line, barely visible now, that runs up the length of my right foreleg.

I got the Celestial Cross for that one.

The trouble all started with an invitation.

Ever since my 'heroic' reputation was launched during the Battle of Canterlot, I'd grown accustomed to a few letters each week, meticulously written out on fine cardstock, exhorting me to attend some new gallery opening or airship launching or what have you. My decision to attend or not was typically influenced by the presence of an open bar and/or the pretty young fillies who might be in attendance. There are worse ways to spend one's time in Canterlot.

This said, I'd never received an envelope bearing the Royal Seal before.

Dear Lieutenant Sentry,

I humbly request your presence for lunch, at noon sharp tomorrow. Dress casually.

Princess Celestia

I stared at the letter for a long, long time. It was intimidating, as anything connected to a millenia-old demigoddess tends to be. The real question was, of course, just why was Princess Celestia so interested in me, all of a sudden?

There was the possibilty (however slight) that some of the rumors regarding Princess Celestia's personal predilections were true. On the surface, it seemed the most obvious option, given my handsome looks and dashing reputation. But, thinking back on my time as a Royal Guard, I realized I'd never seen a hint of impropriety from Her Imperial Highness, not even as much as a sultry glance. Which either meant that the scandalous rumors were indeed just rumors, or that Princess Celestia was, very, very good at covering up any of her dalliances. Either way, a seduction that started with a letter would be entirely out of character. It'd be a lot easier for Princess Celestia to just wait for the next time I was on Royal Guard duty, and then just fabricate some excuse to get me alone in her boudoir. (Not that I've given any thought to that sort of thing, mind you).

The second (and even more terrifying) option was that Princess Celestia had heard of my exploits in Perchertania and/or the Crystal Empire, and planned to send me off on some new and awful adventure. But again, it didn't add up. If there were some new disaster that inexplicably needed the ol' Flashy touch, Fancy Pants would've told me in person, or at least sent Carrot Top (a.k.a. Special Agent Golden Harvest) to haul me off. Not to mention that my life had been blissfully quiet since that fiasco in the Crystal Empire a few months prior-- one would think that if it had reached Princess Celestia's attention, she would've summoned me earlier.

With seduction and skullduggery both off the table, I concluded Celestia's invitation to be a purely social one. Probably one of those fairy tale things where the wise and benevolent ruler sits down to talk with a normal pony and both of them learn a valuable lesson about friendship or perspective or some other such nonsense. Harmless.

In retrospect, if I'd known just what I was in for, I would've thrown that invitation in the fireplace and hopped the first train to Appleoosa. That's hindsight for you.

Princess Celestia sat at the head of a table the length of a hoofball pitch, looking only slightly less imperious than when she sat on her throne. Thankfully, my time in the Royal Guard had prepared me for the occasion. I'd been a literal accessory to any number of formal events, standing on the sidelines in polished armor, so being on the 'receiving' end of things wasn't nearly as much of a shock.

As I trotted into the dining hall, I couldn't help but note the absence of any other Royal Guards-- on duty or no. Hell, there weren't even any serving staff flitting about-- they'd just left a bottle of wine (red, of course) and two glasses. At least she didn't sit me at the other end of the table, where I'd need couriers just to get Celestia to pass the salt.

“Flash. You made it.” Princess Celestia smiled, beatifically.

“Of course, your highness.” I bowed. Quite well, I might add, since I'd practiced the gesture in my bathroom mirror for a couple hours. Celestia nodded permissively to the empty chair at her right, and I tried to make myself as comfortable as I could manage against the straight-backed oak. “I must admit, your invitation took me quite by surprise.”

“I don't see why it would.” Princess Celestia shrugged, and my eye couldn't help but follow the elegant curve of one of her wings. Pegasus instincts die hard, and a bounder's instincts die harder. “In fact,” Celestia went on, “I'm surprised I haven't met with you personally until now, given your exceptional service.”

“I'm just the same as any of your other subjects, your highness.”

“No, you're not. You've killed for me.” Celestia said it flatly, as a statement of fact.

“I've killed Changelings, yes.” Hell of a subject for small talk. I squirmed beneath Celestia's too-intense gaze. “It was ... regrettably necessary.”

“Would you do it again?”

“If I had to.” It was a good thing I was already sitting down, as my knees went to water once I realized Celestia was no doubt going to send me off to someplace terrible. “But ... here's to hoping it doesn't come to that. Peace in our time, yeah?” I raised my glass in a quick toast, downed it even quicker, and poured myself another as soon as I could. I kept my hooves steady enough not to dribble wine all over the tablecloth, at least. Priorities, you know.

“Mmm, yes.” Celestia said, absentmindedly. She picked up her glass of wine (red, of course) and swirled the liquid lazily within the crystal goblet. “Peace. But certain ... measures have to be taken to ensure that peace. It must take a terrible toll on a pony.”

“I imagine you know that much better than I do, Princess.” I said. “I mean, I know it's impolite to discuss a lady's age, but ... well, I've read the history books.” Well, more like 'skimmed,' but I'd still managed to pass my Royal Guard examinations. “And you've lived them. You've spent centuries battling one Dark Lord of Supreme Evil or another-- I'm just a soldier.”

“Not just a soldier.” Celestia's smile grew a little wider, a little slyer. “A kindred spirit.”

“I'm honored you think of me that way.” I took a pull from my wineglass-- it was rapidly becoming a thirsty conversation.

“Do you love me, Flash Sentry?”

I didn't spit out my wine, but it was a close thing. “Pardon?”

“It's a simple question. Do you love me?” Celestia leaned forward, and rested her chin on her front hooves. She even went so far as to give a flutter of her eyelashes.

“Er.” Damn if I didn't start blushing like a schoolboy under Princess Celestia's pinning gaze. A faint, sensible voice at the back of my head started to list off the many, many reasons any tryst with a Princess was a bad idea. Louder, more lascivious voices began to wonder just what sort of tricks Princess Celestia had picked up over the years. “I ... yes. Yes I do. As any Equestrian-- as every Equestrian does, your highness. I swore an oath to crown and country when I first entered the Guard, after all.”

“Yes, yes.” Celestia sighed, sounding for all the world like a teenager (which is to say, peevish). “Duty. I should have known. It's always duty.” She made the word an epithet. Princess Celestia pulled in a deep breath (which, I should note, caused her wings to shift in quite the interesting manner. Or at least interesting to any red-blooded pegasus with the appropriate predilections). And then, to top it all off, Princess Celestia started to cry. Her regal nose crinkled up in a sniffle, and tears began to well up at the corners of her eyes. She kept herself from breaking into outright bawling, which somehow made it worse. “Do you know how long it's been since anypony has seen me as something more than a monarch? Something more than a symbol? I never wanted to be worshiped, Sentry. I ... I just wanted to be loved.” She sniffed again, and leaned over to put one of her hooves over mine. “I thought that you would be different.”

“Ah.” I bit the inside of my cheek, and looked down at the lovely (and, might I add, large) white hoof upon mine. For the first time that evening, I noticed Celestia wasn't wearing her typical gold bracers-- or any of her royal jewelry, for that matter. My mind raced (as did my pulse) as I stared into Celestia's deep, entrancing eyes. Not that I'd ever thought of Princess Celestia as anything more than a distant (and intimidating) employer before, but when else would a pony like me get a such a chance? Hell, I mused, the physical logistics might be a little tricky, but it wasn't like I didn't have wings--

“Flash! Honey!” A guileless, saccharine-sweet voice echoed through the dining hall. I nearly stumbled out of my chair as I turned to see the source of the noise-- only to see a smiling earth pony trotting over. The bounce in her step set her orange frizz of hair to bobbing with each stride. Celestia, in the meanwhile, yanked her hoof back from mine as if she'd been scalded.

“Carrot Top?” I blurted in disbelief.

“I know it's a surprise, but I got off of work early, so I was able to make it after all!” Carrot Top threw her forelegs around my neck and pulled me in to plant a messily enthusiastic kiss on my cheek. I blinked

“You ... know this pony?” Celestia said, archly.

“I should hope he does!” Carrot Top beamed. “We're engaged!”

“We're--” I stared at Carrot Top in wide-eyed surprise, but then she pressed the edge of her hoof against some vulnerable nerve cluster on the side of my neck. The sudden jolt of pain both told me that this was certainly the real Carrot Top (a.k.a. Special Agent Golden Harvest, master of hoof to hoof combat) and that I'd better go along with whatever mad scheme she had going. “Engaged.” I managed, voice cracking a little.

Carrot Top winked at me, and then pressed her cheek against mine as we both looked up at Princess Celestia. “We haven't really told anypony because there's just been so much going on lately, but if there's anypony we can trust, it's you, isn't it, Princess Celestia?”

“Ah.” Celestia drew back a little, and shifted her wings. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you!” Carrot Top beamed. “I'm just so lucky to have my Flash-- he's just so devoted! There's nopony in all the world he loves as much as he loves me.” She gave a dopey, lovestruck sigh, and nestled in closer against me. Given the fact that my chair was explicitly designed for one pony instead of two, this left Carrot Top thrust into my lap like a particularly large and insistent house cat. Which in turn left Celestia eyeballing the two of us like the proverbial dog lover.

“You ... neglected to mention your special somepony.” Princess Celestia said.

“You didn't ask?” I said, dazed.

“Indeed.” Celestia leaned back in her chair, effortlessly shifting from 'soft and vulnerable' to 'stern and imperious.' “Forgive me. But, I fear there are some other matters I must attend to.” She nodded, curtly, and was on her hooves before I could voice a word in protest. “It's been a pleasure, Lieutenant Sentry. The valet at the door will show you two out when you're ready.”

I started to stand, but Carrot Top pressed that pain-button on the side of my neck again. “Oh!” she held her other hoof to her mouth, looking aghast. “I didn't interrupt any important kingdom business, did I? I know my Flash does a lot of important things for Equestria, but I didn't know it was that important!”

“No, no.” Celestia shook her head, and forced a smile. “This was just ... personal, that's all. And now, I really must be going. Good night.” Celestia walked through the doors on the opposite side of the dining chamber, and slammed them behind her.

I stared at the closed doorway for a long moment, and then looked back to Carrot Top (who, I might add, was still curled up against me). My mouth flapped open and closed a few times, but I could only manage one word. Thankfully, it was the only word I needed.

“What.”

Carrot Top smooched me on the cheek again, and hopped nimbly off of the chair (and, by proxy, me). “It's been a busy day, sweetie! And that was before I got to visit the palace! Can't we talk about this somewhere else? You know, a little more ... comfortable?”

“When you put it that way, how can I say no?”

“I knew you'd see it my way. Now come on, honey!” Carrot Top gently but firmly 'helped' me out of the chair. She stuck to my side like a love-addled little filly, all the way out of Canterlot Palace and into the streets beyond. She kept up her smitten act all through a long and rambling stroll through Canterlot, 'til she finally led me to a humble yet familiar doughnut shop. Carrot Top rapped on the door, and a large unicorn opened the door a crack. His five o'clock shadow seemed somehow incongruous with his little paper hat, but not with the stern look in his eye.

“You got any glazed donuts?” Carrot Top asked.

“No, we're out of glazed donuts,” the big unicorn said.

“You got an jelly donuts?” There was the faintest tinge of ritual to Carrot Top's question.

“No, we're out of jelly donuts,” said the unicorn.

“You got any bear claws?

“Wait a minute, I'll go check.”

The unicorn in the little paper hat opened the door for us, and we walked in.

The place was empty-- unsurprising, given it was early afternoon by then. What was surprising was the way the shop's burly proprietor shut the door behind us, slid the deadbolt shut, and promptly turned the sign to 'CLOSED.' I looked over my shoulder, and caught a glimpse of the doughnut clerk (doughnut waiter? doughnut barista?) easing a loaded crossbow back under the counter.

And yet, as if by magic (heck, it might've been by magic, you know how unicorns are), two mugs of coffee and a plate of freshly baked donuts were waiting for us on a corner booth's table.

“Thanks Joe.” Carrot Top dropped her lovestruck mask as soon as the big unicorn pulled the blinds shut. She slid into the corner booth, and wolfed down a cake doughnut with pink frosting. She took a pull of her coffee, and then scarfed down another one in short order. “Needed that.” She said, more to herself than to me.

“Should I even ask what the hell is going on?” I said. The sweet, sugary smell reminded me I hadn't had anything besides Merlot for lunch, so I dug into a doughnut myself.

Carrot Top opened her eyes. “Don't you think Princess Celestia is acting a little ... odd?”

“More than a little, now that I think of it. But you're acting pretty damn oddly yourself.”

“I'm a spy. I'm supposed to be unpredictable. Besides, you should be used to me saving your tail by now.”

“Saving me? From what?”

“Think. Princess Celestia is acting strangely. So strangely, that she's suddenly, inexplicably interested in you. Don't you think that's a little suspicious?”

“Not really?” I shrugged. “I mean, I am rather handsome. And I've got something of a reputation--”

“For what?” Carrot Top said.

“Pardon?”

“Why do you have a reputation, Sentry? You remember what started all this nonsense, didn't you?”

“Of course. It was that business during Princess Cadance and Shining Armor's--” My heart nearly jumped out of my chest, and it was all I could do to keep the rest of my body from following. “You don't mean chang--”

“Sssh.” Carrot Top held a hoof to my lips. “Keep quiet. We're still close to the palace.”

“Quiet?” My voice may have cracked. “That's the exact opposite of what we should be! If this is ch-- if this is what you say it is, we've got to warn somepony-- everypony! Princess Luna, Princess Cadance, maybe even that new one.”

“Don't you think I've already thought of that?” Carrot Top grit her teeth. “I just got off the train from Ponyville-- Princess Twilight's already been compromised. From what my sources are telling me, Princess Luna's also acting strangely. And if the ch-- if the enemy is smart, they'll have replaced Princess Cadance by now as well. It's what I would've done.”

“Hold on.” An even more terrible thought crossed my mind. “What if you're really the Changeling, dragging me off to your horrible hive house?”

Carrot Top rolled her eyes. “You're an insufferable twit, Sentry.”

“Nevermind. It really is you.”

The corner of Carrot Top's mouth pulled up in the faintest hint of a smile. Grim, yet genuine. “The good news is, Princess Celestia had ... contingencies for this sort of thing. Safehouses. Passwords. Specialists. We may not have the magical firepower a Princess can throw around, but that doesn't mean we're helpless. Look.” She nodded towards the door. “Once everypony's here, we can move on with the plan.”

In twos and threes, more ponies began to file into the doughnut shop. They all made their own inquiries about the store's inventory before Joe let them in. I recognized a few of them: Commander Spitfire at the head of a clump of stern-faced Wonderbolts, the lovely Fleur de Lys, sadly in the company of the entirely too enthusiastic Fancy Pants, and a few more ponies I didn't recognize, such as a mare with a sunglasses, a grappling hook, and a cream-colored coat.* They hunkered down at the booths and tables, talking quietly amongst themselves. Looking in from the outside, it would've looked absolutely normal-- if a bit subdued. Carrot Top went from one table to another, no doubt sharing important Special Agent information. Myself, I stayed put and kept quiet, knowing full well that the wrong word at the wrong time would no doubt get me sent off on some awful suicide mission.

*Based on the circumstances and the fleeting description, this is most likely one Bon Bon Heartstrings-- a.k.a. Special Agent Sweetie Drops.

And I was right, let me tell you. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

“Right then!” Fancy Pants adjusted his monocle as he looked over the motley collection of 'customers' in the doughnut shop. “It looks like everypony's here-- so I dare say it's time to take this to the back room. What do you say, chaps?”

The other ponies nodded in agreement, at which point Joe the doughnut/crossbow pony thumped one hoof on the floor, which caused a hidden trapdoor to ease open on hinges oiled to the point of silence. Fancy Pants led the rest of us down into clean but cramped basement. A large map of Canterlot and its surroundings took up one wall, while the other three were covered in shelves of emergency supplies: bottled water, canned food, radios.

Weapons.

“Er.” I murmured to Carrot Top. “This isn't going to be one of those 'hide in a bunker for a couple of generations and then emerge out to repopulate the apocalypse ravaged world' things, is it?”

“What?” Carrot Top hissed. “No.”

“Oh, good. My wings were cramping up just thinking about being stuck here for who knows how long.”

“Equestria is under attack, and you're thinking about your wings?”

“Well, yes.” I said. “As that's something I can actually do something about.”

“We can do something about the invasion.” Carrot Top said, her voice typically steely.

“That's what I'm afraid of.”

“If I could have your attention please!” Fancy Pants raised his voice, despite the size (or lack therof) of the crowded bunker. The ponies quieted down, and turned their attention to our monocled 'host.' Fancy Pants' horn glowed, and he pulled a collapsible pointer out of his inside pocket. “Ladies and Gentlecolts, I must say that it is an honor to be here with you today-- even if I had hoped a meeting like this would never come. I'll be frank-- we've lost the Princesses. All of them. They've been replaced by Changeling operatives, no doubt so they can soak up the people's adoration, and thus grow more powerful.”

Spitfire raised a hoof. “Can't we just unmask them, somehow? Once everypony knows about the bugs, we can take them out.”

“Direct and to the point-- I expected as much from you, Commander.” Fancy Pants shook his head. “Unfortunately, Changeling illusions are notably difficult to dispel. Even if we could catch the faux Princess off guard, revealing the Changelings publicly could cause a panic-- or even prompt the Changelings to go into open war. It's not something to be done lightly. And even then, the Changelings still have Princess Celestia and all the rest in captivity.”

“So what do we do?”

“We focus on the captives. The good news is, the Changelings haven't left with the Princesses yet. They may be skilled with illusions and trickery, but concealing a princess-sized cocoon is substantially more difficult.”

Fancy Pants pulled down a map of Equestria, and traced his pointer down a winding red line starting in Canterlot and winding southeastward. “My sources have told me that the 310 to Ponyville has been rerouted-- instead of its normal run, it's going on a completely different line, all the way around the Everfree forest, and down into the badlands. The terminus of the Everfree line, I might add, is only a few hours hard march from known Changeling territory. I don't know about the rest of you, but in my line of business, we don't believe in coincidence.”

A few low chuckles rumbled through the room. Spy humor.

“So, the plan is simple. We strike here.” Fancy Pants pointed to remote bend in the line. “The train will have to slow down in order to make it through Daydream Valley. This gives us an opening to strike, and rescue the princesses. Which is where you come in, Commander Spitfire. I'm sure you'll agree that an aerial assault will be the best method of attack.”

Spitfire nodded, eyes locked on the map. “It'll be rough, but we can do it.”

“Indeed. It's all hooves on deck for this one. The unicorns and earth ponies will run interference here in Canterlot-- but we're going to need every set of wings we can muster to rescue the princesses. I'm sure your Wonderbolts are more than up to the task, Commander Spitfire-- but I trust you've got room for one more?”

“Depends on who that 'one' is.” Spitfire said, flatly.

“Flash Sentry.” Fancy Pants beamed as he said it. “Of everypony here, he's got the most experience fighting changelings.**”

**See: The Prisoner of Zebra, available wherever fine literature is sold. -G.M.F.

Commander Spitfire looked me up and down (and not nearly in the sort of way I was used to being sized up by fillies, I might add). “He'll do.” She finally concluded.

It goes without saying that I wasn't brief on any of this. Hell, Fancy Pants 'volunteering' me for what was no doubt a doomed suicide mission was almost a relief. Ever since Carrot Top dropped herself into my lap at Canterlot Palace, I'd been waiting for the other horseshoe to drop, and, well, there it was. And, of course, all I could do was force a grin, even as the opposite end of my digestive system clenched tight enough to turn coal to diamond. Because, no matter how many somersaults my belly did, I could only smile and nod, and maybe make a few offhanded remarks along the lines of “just in a day's work, eh?”

What else could I do? With Canterlot's best and bravest (and, in Carrot Top's case, deadliest) ponies gathered around, I was forced to live up to my entirely undeserved heroic reputation. That, and the thought of a bug-ruled Canterlot was even more bladder-drainingly terrifying than being sent off on some harebrained scheme in order to stop it. The best I could hope for was to play along until I saw an opportunity to scarper without anypony noticing.

“Right then!” Fancy Pants collapsed his pointer, stuffed it into his jacket, and then slid out a gleaming silver pocketwatch. He flipped it open with casual ease, and nodded. “Commander Spitfire, you and your team have a few minutes to prepare yourselves before getting underway. As for the rest of you, I'll be giving out orders on an individual basis. Any questions? No, good.” Fancy Pants nodded, and held a hoof over his heart. “For crown and country, my friends.”

And damn if he didn't even tear up a little.

Somepony foisted a light crossbow onto me, and I somehow managed not to shoot myself in the hoof as I clambered out of that basement bunker. I did my best to keep out of the way as Spitfire and her Wonderbolts armed up with an intimidating array of crossbows, air lances, and hoofblades. I hid the crossbow under one wing and slipped into a booth by the donut shop window. I stared through a gap in the blinds, out into the streets beyond. Ostensibly, I was on lookout-- but really, I just needed to look at something normal. The setting sun bathed Canterlot in warm pastels, and various passers-by went about their business, blissfully unaware of the changelings in the palace, or the clandestine plot to battle them.

“Sentry.” Carrot Top slid into seat across from mine.

“Here to make sure I stick around?” The words came out a little snappier than they should have. Then again, when one's facing certain death and inevitable apocalypse, certain social niceties go out the window.

Carrot Top's soft expression hardened. “I was going to tell you to be careful.”

“Careful. On a suicide mission.” I said, deadpan.

“Listen, Sentry. You may not know it, but these ponies need you right now.”

“What for?” I said. “Spitfire and her Wonderbolts seem more than up to the task. What's one more set of wings going to do?”

“Sentry, you're proof that the changelings can be beat. Hell, even the changelings knew it, which is why the fake Celestia tried to get you. Which is why I saved you.”

“So you could use me? 'For the good of Equestria?'”

Carrot Top closed her eyes, and pulled in a deep breath. “You know what? Fine. I'm sure you can fend for yourself, Sentry.”

“I've had a damned lot of practice, thanks to you.”

“Do you think I like--” Carrot Top shook her head, reining herself in before she could raise her voice. “Nevermind. We've both got work to do, and we're both wasting time here.”

Without a further word, she left the booth, and left me alone.

Very, very alone.

“Enough mooning over your girlfriend, Lieutenant.” Spitfire rattled me from my daze by thumping a heavy hoof on the table, hard enough to rattle the napkin dispenser. “It's time to fly.”

Chapter 2: With the Wings of the Wonderbolts

They say flying with the Wonderbolts is an honor. Personally, I found it exhausting.

Spitfire and her squad kept up a pace just short of grueling-- by the time we finally got to Daydream Valley, my wings ached to a wince-inducing degree. The sun had set, and the moon was full,* making it easy to see the winding path of the railway from above.

*Contrary to more royalist accounts, a princess is not required to raise the sun every morning, nor the moon every night. Once set in motion, the celestial bodies keep moving under their own momentum for quite some period of time. The 'raising of the sun' ritual is, in fact, more akin to a course correction as the raiser in question makes small adjustments to the orbit of the sun in order to provide optimal climate conditions. For further reading on the subject, I recommend Clopernicus' “On the Revolutions of Celestia's Spheres.”

Some of the Wonderbolts rounded up a cloud for us to perch on, and I let out a relieved sigh as I put my weight upon its fluffy surface. If the long and strenuous flight had tired any of the Wonderbolts, they didn't show it. I liked to think I was in good physical condition, but each and every member of the Wonderbolts was a perfect physical specimen when it came to flying. Which I would have appreciated more if it weren't for the iminent doom and all.

“Lieutenant!” Spitfire barked, and I snapped to attention by reflex. She glared at me with an officer's practiced malice, and waved me closer. “Over here!”

My hooves trotted me over closer without me even thinking about it. “Commander.” I said, and saluted snappily for good measure.

“Can the spit-shine, Lieutenant. This isn't a parade cloud.” Spitfire turned away from me and looked down into the valley below. “You've fought the bugs before-- what do we need to know?”

“Well, ah.” I wracked my brain for something useful. “They're shapeshifters?”

“I know that already.”

“Right, of course. But they will probably try to use that against us. Sow confusion and all that.”

“Got it.” Spitfire nodded. “We'll all have to look out for each other, make sure the bugs don't get the chance to replace any of us.”

In the distance, the train rounded a bend and chugged into the valley, shining a cone of sodium-yellow light onto the tracks ahead.

“Oh!” I said, actually remembering my earlier exploits without wanting to suddenly start trembling. “One more thing-- Changelings fly, but they don't have weather magic like we do. All we've got to do is get a few thunderheads together, and we can blast them to smithereens. Easy.”

“I like the way you think, Lieutenant, but that's a no-go.” Spitfire said, ruefully. “I'd love to drop a tornado on them as much as you would, but we can't risk cloud artillery when the Princesses' lives are at stake. One misplaced lightning bolt ... “ she trailed off, and shook her head. “No, we're gonna have to do this the old fashioned way. We'll come in fast and hard, Three-Delta formation. Hit the engine first, and then work our way backwards, car to car, until we secure the objective.”

“Three-Delta whatnow?” I said. “I'm sorry, Commander-- I'm a Royal Guard, not a Wonderbolt. I haven't had the privilege of flying with you until now.” And then, in a glorious, glorious epiphany, it hit me. I kept myself from grinning, and even put on a grim, disappointed expression in what was probably my greatest feat of acting to that date. “And I hate to say it, but my inexperience is a liability. It'd be an honor to be your wingpony, Commander ... but the simple fact of the matter is, I'd only get in your way. I know how these things go-- one feather out of place, and the whole formation could collapse. I simply can't have your lives on my conscience, just because I wanted another go at the bugs. I'll ... I'll just have to stay behind as a rearguard. Make sure you don't get flanked.” For the piece de resistance, I smiled, but in a sort of melancholy way. “Tell Princess Celestia hello for me, will you?”

Spitfire absorbed my award-worthy (and entirely improvised) monolgue, and finally shook her head. “I wish I had a dozen like you, Lieutenant.”

“I'm afraid I'm one of a kind.” I said, allowing myself a roguish little smirk.

“Unfortunately. Do you know just how much posturing I have to put up with in this squad? I swear, every single recruit I get thinks they've invented flying, so they should be at the center of every formation. Takes months to beat that out of them. If more of my recruits could stop thinking with their wings and actually acknowledge their limitations, it'd make my job a whole lot easier.”

“I imagine there's a lot of things that would make both our jobs easier, Commander.” I looked out towards the train-- still some miles away, but steadily approaching nonetheless.

“You don't know the half of it.” Commander Spitfire said. “But since you're probably the weakest flyer here, we'll just put you in the front.”

“Right,” I nodded-- only to feel my mouth go suddenly desert-dry when Spitfire's words actually sunk in. “In front?” I said, stunned.

“Yep.” Spitfire said. “The rest of us will form up behind you. We'll be flying so fast that our combined wingpower will push you forward. All you've got to do is keep your wings out and steer. The bugs won't know what hit 'em!” Spitfire clapped me on the shoulder, and then turned around to bark at her squad.

“Goggles down, and form up, Wonderbolts! We're gonna go in hard and fast-- Three Delta formation. Sentry's on point! Last one to take out a changeling owes me a drink! You numbskulls got that?”

“HOO-RAH!” The Wonderbolts grunted in what I can only assume was the affirmative.

Spitfire yanked her own goggles into place, and gave me a dashingly heroic grin, much like one of my own. Only, you know, genuine. “Looks like you're gonna get to say hi to Princess Celestia before I do after all.”

And then Spitfire shoved me off the cloud.

Over the years, I've survived more brawls, battles, routes, retreats, charges and campaigns than I can remember. The fiasco in Daydream valley, however, was the only one that anypony's written a poem about.**

*Sentry is, of course, referring to Tenneighson's famed“The Charge of the Flight Brigade.”

And to be honest, things started well. At least as well as things can when you've got the strongest fliers in all of Equestria pushing you forward like an equine battering ram. Wind whipped and stung at my face as we swooped downward, closer and closer to the oncoming train. We were almost to the engine itself when the doors to all the boxcars opened in unison, and a black cloud of angry, chittering monsters boiled out to meet us.

I'm not much for poetry, but I will admit the poet at least got one thing right: there were changelings to the left of us, changelings to the right of us, and changelings in about every other direction you could think of besides. As I watched the changeling swarm billow out ahead of us, I wondered, for the briefest of moments, if this was all a trap, or if the changelings had simply placed as much security as they could muster on the cocooned princesses.

It didn't matter, as the changelings were all too eager to eat me either way.

I snapped off a bolt from my crossbow, earning a dismayed screech from deeper within the horde-- one down, only a thousand or so to go. There was no time to reload before our formation smashed into the swarm. I splayed my wings out to control my flight as best as I could, but even then I bounced off of at least three or four changelings on the way down. Chitin crunched beneath my hooves as I flailed wildly at the seething mass of black-coated monsters.

Still propelled by the Wonderbolts' formation, I smashed straight through a narrow window of a dining car. The changeling I was grappling with took the worst of the impact, but I didn't make it out entirely unscathed. A razor-sharp shard of glass slashed a thin, clean cut up one of my front legs, and I squealed in pain. Thankfully, the incessant buzzing and hissing of the changeling horde drowned out my entirely justified whimpering.

I chanced a glance over my shoulder and saw the Wonderbolts twisting and turning in the air, accounting themselves in a most heroic (but ultimately futile) fashion. For all their skill, the Wonderbolts were outnumbered to an exponential degree. Screams and battle cries echoed through the night, flaring up and cutting out with stomach-turning suddenness.

“Lieutenant!” Spitfire twisted impossibly through the air and sank the tip of her lance into a changeling's torso. “You've got to free the princesses! It's our only hope!” Having barked that, Spitfire ducked out of sight, pursued by a trio of slime-spitting changelings.

It was that moment I realized I was the only pony who had made it onto the train itself-- the rest of the Wonderbolts were too busy with the fighting in the air outside. If anypony was going to rescue the princesses, it would be me. In turn, I knew that the only way I'd make it out of this debacle alive was if I had help.

A lot of help.

“Throw the sun at you” kind of help.

And so, I dashed through the dining car, ducking changeling spittle the whole while. I upended tables and chairs in my wake, slowing my pursuers down by fractions of seconds-- but every little bit helped.

I burst into the dining car's kitchenette, and there was a changeling waiting for me, drool streaming from his (its?) mandibles. I swore in alarm, and punched it in the face. When it didn't go down, I yanked a chef's knife from a conveniently placed wood block and slammed the blade between two plates of the insect monster's carapace. Its (his?) blue eyes went wide in shock, and the changeling collapsed to the floor. Were I a better pony, the sudden act of instinctive, effective violence would have been horrifying. But, as I hope I've impressed to the reader by this point, I am assuredly not a good pony.

My hooves slid on the rapidly-expanding puddle of ichor, and I careened through the door to the next car. I at least had enough presence of mind to shove my spent crossbow into the door's handle, temporarily barring it shut. Having bought myself some time, I took a moment to size up the train car I'd wound up in.

It might have been a boxcar, once, to judge by the empty space and lack of windows. This one had been particularly changeling-ified, with their sickeningly organic goop-structure coating the floor, walls, and ceiling. And, dangling from the ceiling like so many bags of potatoes, was a line of oblong green cocoons.

I lunged for the closest one, and shook it with desperate urgency. “Wake up!” I said. And from within the emerald goop, I saw a pair of glowing eyes open. The pony within began to move, and I made out more details-- a dark coat, a shimmering mane-- Princess Luna.

I laughed to myself, relieved. Princess Luna was far more terrifying than her sister-- what, with the occasional urge to plunge the world into darkness and all. But, so long as all that megalomania was pointed at the changelings (and, of course, away from Yours Truly), all the better, right? All I had to do was free her and get out of the way, and the whole fiasco would be done with.

I scrabbled at the sticky cocoon, finally tearing a hole in it. Foul-smelling green fluid poured from the hole, and Princess Luna slid out along with it in a sickening mockery of birth. Standing on trembling legs and hacking up emerald-colored slime, Princess Luna certainly didn't look like the avatar of darkness that I was really hoping for right now.

“Who ... who are you?” Princess Luna turned her eyes onto me.

“Lieutenant Flash Sentry, at your service.” I forgot to salute, but Luna didn't notice. She began to fall over, so I ducked in to drape one of her hooves over my shoulder. Changelings on the other side of the door began to bang and batter at it, forceful enough to crack the hardwood stock of the crossbow barring it. “I'm here to rescue you.”

“Rescue ... no!” Princess Luna shook her head. “I'm too weak from the changeling venom. I cannot fight. I cannot fly. You must leave me.”

“With all due respect, Princess, too many ponies have gone through too much trouble to give up now.” It's impolite to discuss a lady's weight (especially when the lady in question can juggle the stars when she gets bored), but princesses, as a rule, stand taller than most other ponies. Not to mention Luna was all muscle-- I strained my wings, but only got about a foot or so off the ground, and certainly not at a changeling-evading speed.

The pounding at the door grew louder, and the crack of the splintering crossbow made my heart skip a beat. “Quick!” I shook Princess Luna, perhaps a little too hard. “Do the Nightmare Moon thing! Plunge them into eternal darkness! Eat them! Something!”

Luna's eyes spun, and she nodded. “Thank you, Lieutenant.” She said, far too prim and proper for someone covered in goopy slime. “I have an idea. You may put me down.” I obliged, and Luna managed to stand, however shakily. “Hope is not yet lost. There is another who can help us.”

“Who?” The door cracked open, and changelings began to reach and grab with their spindly black legs. I lowered my shoulder and slammed into the door, holding it closed for a few moments longer.

“Starlight Glimmer.”

“I have no idea who that is!”

“Twilight Sparkle's Apprentice-- she's our only hope.”

“Right! Which cocoon is she in?”

“She has not been captured, not yet-- that's why she can help us. I can contact her on the dream plane-- but my body shall be vulnerable while I astrally project. You must hold the changelings off for as long as you can.”

“And then what?” My voice cracked, and another

“Then we must hope Starlight Glimmer can rescue us before the changelings drain us entirely.” Princess Luna closed her eyes, and her horn began to glow. “Thank you, Lieutenant sentry. Your deeds this day will be remembered.”

And before I could so much as yelp in protest, Princess Luna closed her eyes, and entered some kind of trance. I would've tried to shake her awake, but if I took my weight off the door, the changelings would come streaming in and start eating our brains.

I can't tell you how long I held out-- it could have been seconds, it could have been hours. Time does funny things when a whole hive of changelings is howling for your blood. I just kept my eyes locked on Princess Luna as she sat there, doing the sort of alicorn magic with a distinct lack of exploding heads or thrown meteors.

The changelings gave one more cry, and smashed into the door hard enough to knock it off its hinges. I sprawled across the floor, and a hive's worth of changelings started stampeding across my back, forcing all the air out of my lungs in a single whoosh. The last thing I saw was the changelings swarming over the still-entranced Luna, re-cocooning her with whatever vile excretions they use for that sort of thing.

Then, everything went black.

Chapter 3: Dine and Wine

“Wake up, Flash Sentry.”

Do you know that feeling you get after a long night out, where your eyes dry out and get all bleary and crusty and otherwise unpleasant? Take that, and extend that feeling to cover your entire body (including the inside of your mouth) and you'll get a vague idea of what it's like to be a changeling's prisoner. For added authenticity, dangle yourself upside-down by your hooves until all your blood pools in your ears, and have your friends and acquaintances circle around and taunt you in out-of-character ways.

I groaned, and blearily opened my eyes. Sure enough, standing in front of me was none other than 'Princess Celestia.' Her sneer alone was enough to prove she was an impostor, though the fact that I was still bound up and dangling from the ceiling certainly didn't instill any confidence in me. I would've started begging for my life then and there, if I thought it would do me any good.

“You should be proud.” The doppelganger-princess flicked her perfect, billowing mane back. “You almost succeeded. You even put up more of a fight than some of Princess Twilight's friends ... but then again, we took them by surprise. They're all at The Hive, now-- Queen Chrysalis will have her ... fun with them. But you, Flash Sentry. You are all mine.” She raised one hoof to pet at my cheek, and I flinched away. My pulse immediately started pounding faster (and not in a good way, either). I instinctively started pushing and bucking against my bonds, to little avail.

“Heroics. How delicious. But futile.” There was a shimmer of green flame, and the changeling revealed her true, hideous form. She didn't have the stature of a queen, but I presumed she at least had some kind of authority, given her disguise. “And you haven't even seen the best part, yet.”

“What in blazes are you talking about?”

“It won't be enough to eat you, Flash Sentry. I want to make this ... dramatic. Which is why I've brought a guest.” She put a hoof on my shoulder and slowly spun me around, giving me a look at the other side of the room-- and the silently sobbing pony bound to a high backed chair.

Carrot Top.

“Perfect, isn't it?” The changeling cackled, complete with a clacking of fangs and mandibles. “Your one true love shall watch you die!”

“No!” Carrot Top struggled against her bonds. “Take me, instead! Please!” She slumped in her guard's grasp, and sniffled again, the very image of a distressed damsel.

“Please.” I said. “You're not fooling anypony. That's obviously another of your bugs helping you play your sick little game.”

“Flashy!” Carrot Top said. “Don't say that! It really is me!”

“Is it, now?”

“You've got to believe me! I'll even prove it to you!” she said, desperate. “Don't you remember when we visited my parents? You drank a little too much cider and kept singing dirty army songs with my dad. And then the next day we went for a walk in the woods?”

Damn me if Carrot Top didn't wink.

“Bloody hell, it really is you.” I said, stunned.

“Mwa ha ha ha!” The changeling cackled, and buzzed her ragged wings in anticipation. “She shall watch you die, and I shall feast upon her mournful tears!” I briefly wondered if the changeling was speaking in metaphor or not, but she opened her wide, fang-filled mouth, and I got back to the more important business of trembling. A too-long tongue lolled out of the changeling's mouth and slithered up the side of my cheek.

The changeling savored the moment, taking me in as if I were the most expensive and ornate dish on the menu. Which, now that I think of it, I was. It's a lucky thing, too, that my captor liked to play with her food. For as she sniffed and slobbered all over me, she didn't see Carrot Top silently wriggle out of her bonds, lithe as a snake.

Carrot Top moved with confidence and purpose, a far cry from the shrinking damsel she'd played a moment before. Without a moment's hesitation, she grabbed the changeling's head in her front hooves-- and with a single, merciless twist, snapped its neck.

The changeling choked out one last gasp as it died, and collapsed bonelessly to the floor. As she started to free me from my bonds, Carrot Top didn't look twice at the dead changeling. Not that I could blame her-- damn thing was trying to eat me, after all. Good riddance.

“Are you alright? Did they hurt you?” Carrot Top wrenched a large chunk of cocoon away. Gravity soon took over, and I tumbled out towards the floor. I didn't have enough time to spread my wings, but Carrot Top caught me as I fell, cradling me effortlessly with that earth pony strength of hers. Oddly enough, the fact she'd used those same hooves to murder a changeling moments before didn't even register.

“You ... saved me.” I said, staring up into those green eyes like a bewildered child.

“Wouldn't be the first time.” Carrot Top's lips curled up in the faintest hint of a smile, and she eased me back to my hooves. “Can you walk?”

“I can do a lot more than that, if it'll get me out of here.” I gingerly stretched my wings, trying to get the circulation going after being bound up for who knows how long. “How did you even get out of that chair they glued you to?”

“Before I became a Special Agent, I spent a year studying under Harry Hoofdini.”

“You're just full of surprises, aren't you?”

“You don't know the half of it, Sentry.”

“Something tells me it's better that way.” I poked the dead changeling's body with one hoof. “Now, what's the plan?”

Carrot Top's expression went grim again. “There isn't one.”

“You're here at just the right place at just the right time to save my hide-- thanks for that, by the way-- and you're saying you don't have a plan?”

“I've been ... improvising.” She sounded embarrassed when she said it,

“Improvising.”

“Not long after you left with the Wonderbolts, the changelings hit one of our safehouses. I was captured ... but they just thought I was Carrot Top, the lovestruck pony, not Special Agent Golden Harvest. I figured it'd be a good way to get into the palace.”

“And then what?”

“Like I said, improvising. And since you're here, and Princess Celestia isn't, I'm betting the train mission didn't go well.”

“That's an understatement. But--” I rubbed at my chin, thoughtful. “Princess Luna did try to get a message to someone named Starlight Glimmer.”

“Princess Twilight's apprentice?” Carrot Top said. “She wasn't in Ponyville when the changelings captured Princess Twilight. If Princess Luna did warn her, we might just have a chance. But there's nothing we can do to help her-- even if we could find Glimmer, we'd run the risk of leading the changelings right to her.”

“So we hide.” I nodded. “Hole up somewhere safe, and wait for all of this to blow over.”

“Where?” Carrot Top ran a hoof through her hair. “If one safehouse was compromised, that means the others could be as well.”

“Actually, I know just the place.”

I'm not much for architecture, but I will say Canterlot Palace's wine cellar is a place of beauty.

Deep below the ballrooms and bedchambers of the palace above, the cellar is cool and quiet, predominantly carved from simple, unadorned stone. Casks upon casks of every kind of spirit you can imagine are stacked neatly along the cellar walls, while the center of the room is home to long rows of bottle racks, each section neatly and meticulously labeled with its contents.

“I should have known you'd come here.” Carrot Top said, deadpan. After we had made a few precautions upstairs (and hastily stuffed the dead changeling into a broom closet), the two of us snuck through the mostly empty Canterlot Palace, down to the most interesting of its sub-basements.

“Pssh. It's perfect, and you know it.” I said as I eased the cellar door shut. There wasn't a lock, so I started shoving heavy barrels of table wine in front of it as a makeshift barricade. “There are only a few ways in or out, which makes it defensible. And, that open window we left upstairs will make them think we've fled out into the city, so they won't think to search for us in the palace. And, the walls are thick enough that we won't be heard if we keep our voices down.”

“And it's filled with liquor.” Carrot Top said.

“That is a bonus, yes.” I leaned on the barrel in front of the cellar door to make sure it was securely in place, and then stepped back. “After all we've done, I'd say the both of us have earned a drink.”

This said, I went to peruse the wine racks, finally coming to a halt as I noted one label in particular. Gently, reverently, I took one particular bottle from its place, and brushed the dust from the label. And for the first time that day, I smiled. I scrounged up a couple of wineglasses and a corkscrew a few minutes later, and set the whole array out on an empty, upturned barrel.

Carrot Top sat on her haunches on the other side of the barrel, and eyed me curiously. “You're practically drooling, Sentry. Should I even ask?”

“This,” I said, “is a Chateau de Cheval. The finest product of Equestria's finest winery. This particular bottle is older than I am, and costs about three years' worth of my salary.” I made short work of the cork, and then poured myself a glass, and another for Carrot Top. I gently set the bottle aside, and then held my goblet up to the dim light available, savoring the wine's dark-ruby color. “The way I see it, either this Starlight Glimmer filly goes and saves Equestria, thanks to all our hard work, in which case a bottle of wine is more than enough compensation. Or, if Starlight Glimmer fails, we're all doomed anyway, in which case it's our duty to drink this wine before some ungrateful changeling chugs it down.”

“You've put a lot of thought into this.” Carrot Top said, but picked up her own goblet anyway.

“Beats thinking about ... everything else.” I said, and looked up at the ceiling. The cellar was still quiet, downright serene, but I shuddered as I envisioned a mass of blood-lusty changelings flooding in. “Especially when there's nothing we can do about it.”

“To victory, then.” Carrot Top said, and clinked her glass against mine.

“Let's just hope it's ours.” I said, and sipped delicately at my de Cheval. The wine had a subtle, nuanced taste-- not as crisp or overpowering as one might expect from such a famous wine. Rather, the complex combination of flavors played out over my tongue like a symphony. I closed my eyes and sighed, and for a single, too-short moment, I forgot about just how doomed I (along with the rest of Equestria, I suppose) was.

“Huh.” Carrot Top set her empty wineglass on the barrel and refilled it. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?” I blurted. All of those times she'd nearly gotten me killed suddenly paled in comparison to such flippant treatment of a de Cheval.

“I'm more of a cider drinker, to tell the truth.” Carrot Top said. “Must be from all that time I spend in Ponyville.”

“Oh?”

Carrot Top shrugged. “I've got to live somewhere when I'm not on assignment. Which also lets me keep an eye on Princess Twilight-- not that she really needs it. Plus, there's a disaster every few weeks, which keeps me sharp.”

“If you were any sharper, Miss Top, I could use you to shave.”

“Thanks?” Carrot Top sipped at her wine, a little slower, this time.

“I mean, you're terrifying, but you're kind of brilliant at it?” I said. “That whole malarkey about being in love with me, it was the perfect thing to distract a changeling. Which it did. Which is why we're here.”

“Hah. Right.” Carrot Top said. “All part of the plan.”

“And damn if it didn't work!” The de Cheval lent a warm flush to my cheeks, which was a welcome distraction from the aches and pains going through the rest of my body. “You'd think that love-eaters like changelings would have a sense for that sort of thing. Like, you know, how sharks can smell blood from miles away. It'd probably be a lot easier for them if they instinctively knew who was in--” The realization hit me, and I trailed off.

“It was just a trick!” Carrot Top blurted. “All spycraft. Like you said.”

“Right.” I nodded, and drained my glass. “Just in the line of duty. All a ruse. You can do better than the likes of me anyway.”

“I know.”

I frowned. “You weren't supposed to agree so quickly.”

“You said it, not me.”

“Well, if that's the case, I suppose it's worth noting that I could do better than the likes of you.”

“Excuse me?” Carrot Top's expression bordered somewhere between infuriated and confused.

“It's true! I mean, sure, you're pretty enough, but there are plenty of lovely young ladies I could be associating with who won't get me killed.”

“You haven't died yet.”

“I've come damn close!”

“You--” Carrot Top leaned forward and jabbed a hoof into my chest. She glared straight into my eyes, close enough to touch her nose to mine. Whatever further words she had on the subject were forgotten, however, as a heavy thump rolled through the wine cellar. “Did you hear that?” Carrot Top whispered.

“Unfortunately.” Despite the wine in my belly, my blood went icy cold. “Do you think it's--”

“Changelings!” Carrot Top cried, and the cellar door burst open with a blast of green magic. The energy bolt shattered the barrels piled in front of the door, and a small wave of red wine surged across the floor. A considerably larger wave of angry changelings followed it, and the battle was on.

“The rear door, quick!” I cried, and took to the air. I scooped up Carrot Top with one hoof, and the Chateau de Cheval with the other (priorities, you know) and bolted. The wine cellar's ceiling was enough to fly, but only just. But, no sooner had I rounded the corner to the rear door, it burst open with a fresh wave of chittering insect monsters.

“I'll hold them off, Sentry!” Carrot Top twisted out of my grip, and relieved me of the wine bottle for good measure. “You run!”

“Run?” I looked over my shoulder, and ducked a magic missile. “Where?”

“I'm sure you'll think of something!” Carrot Top said. And with that, she tilted the Chateau de Cheval to her lips and chugged down several thousand bits worth of wine like a sorority pledge during rush week. This done, she shattered the bottle over the head of the first changeling to get within reach, thrust the broken shards of glass into the neck of the second, and then she really got to work.

Carrot Top reared up on her back hooves, swaying back and forth in an unsteady, almost clownish gait. She staggered unpredictably, allowing her to avoid the changelings' furious attacks with ease. Her hooves lashed out, too quick for the eye to follow, and chitin crunched with each punch or kick. More and more changelings piled onto her, only to be thrown in all directions as they learned first hoof just what Special Agent Golden Harvest was capable of.

I didn't have much time to watch Carrot Top fight-- the smarter of the changelings soon started after the easier target. Read: me.

A changeling plowed into my side, at which point I immediately started shrieking like a little filly. I flailed and bucked, and shoved the black carapaced monstrosity off of me, at which point Carrot Top broke its spine with a well placed kick. Three more changelings dived in to replace him, so I rolled to my hooves to meet their assault.

After all, no one fights harder than a coward.

I've always been happy to run, lie, and/or cheat my way out of anything even resembling danger at the first opportunity. But, when there quite simply isn't any opportunity to run, lie, and/or cheat, there's little for me to do than to fight like the mad hero that everypony seems to think I am. A desperate, frantic strength surged through my limbs as I grappled with the next changeling, twisting him around to smash its head into the bottle racks with a cacophony of smashed glass.

Still screaming (of course I was screaming) I dove towards the next two, swinging away. I landed a couple of wild punches, and the buggers reeled back. Acting on pegasus instinct, I flapped my wings and made for the highest point I could find: the top of a pyramid-shaped stack of wine casks. Yet another changeling lunged for me, slamming into my side hard enough to dislodge the barrel I perched on. Several hundred pounds of oak and wine thundered down, rolling into a knot of changelings with a hellacious wet crunching.

Fangs snapped at the air mere inches from my throat-- I twisted in midair and dived, pushing the changeling in front of me. We hit another row of casks hard enough to break the head of a barrel full of Shiraz. I grit my teeth, and shoved the still-struggling changeling's head into the wine barrel, where I held it under the liquid until it finally stopped thrashing.

I stepped back, sides heaving. I took a moment to realize nothing was trying to kill me (for once) and all my desperate strength poured out of me like the wine already coursing down to the floor. I staggered away from the drowned changeling, turned my head to the side, and proceeded to puke up a small fortune's worth of Chateau de Cheval.

“Sentry.” Carrot Top's voice snapped me from my post-combat daze. Gently, she touched a hoof to my shoulder. “You're alright. It's alright. We won.”

“We what?”

“Won.” Carrot Top said, and winced slightly. In a word, she looked frightful. Her hair was wild, her lip was bleeding, and spatters of green changeling ichor were smeared all over her-- particularly around the hooves. Of course, I imagined I didn't look much better, either.

“You're hurt.” I said, rather obviously.

“So are you.”

“I've had worse.” I spoke mostly by reflex at that point.

“So have I.” Carrot Top said, though that didn't stop her from leaning against me for support.

“I believe that.” I said, looking down into what I had to admit were a rather lovely pair of green eyes. And for once, neither one of us had anything snide to say to each other.

So we kissed.

We must have made quite the picture: ankle deep in spilled wine, surrounded by broken changeling corpses, snogging like there was no tomorrow. Which, to be fair, could have very well been the case, for as much as Carrot Top and I knew.

Which is how they found us. The two of us had allowed ourselves to become so ... distracted that we didn't notice the flash of teleportation magic from the stairwell, nor the small platoon of princess ponies that accompanied it.

“Well met, Lieutenant Sentry!” Luna's voice boomed through the wine cellar, the sheer volume of it alone enough to nearly knock me from my horseshoes. “I should have known not even changelings could hold a gallant warrior such as you!” She trotted regally through the open doorway, having recovered from her slimy sojourn as a changeling prisoner.

“Your highness!” Carrot Top and I blurted at the same time, stumbling away from each other in a futile pretense of propriety. I bowed, and immediately regretted it as a whole array of sore muscles protested the movement. The sudden burst of pain reminded me just what I'd been through over the last day and a half. “If ... it really is you, if you'll forgive my saying so.”

“Wary to the last. Good. But you are safe, Lieutenant. I am the same Princess Luna you spoke to on the train. And, thanks to your efforts--” Princess Luna said. Her eyes didn't linger on Carrot Top and I, so much as the dozen or so dead changelings strewn all through the wine cellar. “I was indeed able to warn Starlight Glimmer. She, with the help of her friends, in turn were able to defeat Queen Chrysalis through the power of friendship. I was afraid there would be pockets of resistance here in Canterlot, but it appears you're a step ahead of me, in that regard.”

“Er.” I scratched at the back of my neck, and looked over to Carrot Top. She could only offer a helpless shrug, also at a loss for anything to say. “Thank you, your majesty?” I finally managed.

“I am the one who should thank you, Lieutenant.” Princess Luna said. “But for now, you and your ... friend may rest. I shall escort you to the infirmary, where your wounds shall be tended to.” Princess Luna sized up the mess Carrot Top and I had made of the room. “Which should also keep you away from King Thorax long enough for the palace staff to clean all this up.” She murmured to herself.

“King who?” Carrot Top said, frowning.

Princess Luna sighed, and shook her head. “I shall debrief you in the infirmary. It's ... complicated.”

Chapter 4: Medals and Meddling

“Step forward, Lieutenant Sentry.”

Princess Celestia and Princess Luna had summoned me to their throne room as soon as the medics had put the last few stitches into my leg. The small bunch of ponies who had gathered to commend me certainly made the term 'quality over quantity' come to mind. Fancy Pants stood at one side of the Princess' dais, and Commander Spitfire stood at the other. A few other ponies were clumped around the first few rows of the audience, but the only one I recognized was Carrot Top (nee Special Agent Golden Harvest).

I stepped forward, still reeling from the implications of the gathering-- and likely from residual shock, as well. After all, mere hours before, I'd been fighting for my life, and all of a sudden I was the toast of Canterlot. Funny how these things work.

Princess Celestia stood, even taller and more regal than the usual. “This is not the first time you have risked everything in service to Equestria-- and, given what I've been told about your character, I doubt it shall be the last, either. You are an exemplar of bravery and selflessness: Equestria would be an even better place were there were more ponies like you.”

Well, thought I, that depends on one's definition of 'better.' I kept my trap shut, of course, because that's simply what you do whenever there's a Princess about.

Princess Celestia made a barely perceptible nod, and Fancy Pants materialized at her side, carrying a long, flat box. Her long white horn horn glowed as she undid the latches and withdrew a silvered disc, quartered evenly by bars of gold.

“For your gallantry and valor in the face of overwhelming odds, it is my honor to bestow upon you the highest honor of the Equestrian Military: The Celestial Cross.*” Princess Celestia floated the medal from its box and draped it around my bent neck.

*The astute reader may have noticed that this is actually the second time Sentry mentions being awarded the Celestial Cross in his memoirs (the first being mentioned offhandedly during his account of the First Battle of Canterlot). Unfortunately, the military records that would clear the matter were destroyed during the Fourth Battle of Canterlot. As such, we are left to conclude that either Sentry was awarded the Celestial Cross twice, or, while writing his memoirs, he forgot the exactly when he received the medal, only remembering that it had something to do with a changeling invasion. Given Sentry's career and character, either option is equally plausible.

Then she bowed.

To me.

The small audience applauded politely but genuinely, and I began to wonder if my wounds had festered to the point of sending me into a fever dream. My befuddlement must have shown, as Princess Celestia soon favored me with a matronly (but somehow still enticing?) kind of smile, and patted me on the shoulder.

“You don't need to say anything, Lieutenant Sentry. Your actions speak louder than any words ever could.”

“I. Er. Thank you.” I murmured, suddenly lapsing back into a blushing schoolboy. Which is saying something, as I'm fairly certain I never was a blushing schoolboy. But I digress.

“I apologize for the ... impromptu nature of the ceremony.” Princess Celestia said. “Given our newly forged friendship with the Changelings, it would be ... impolitic to publicly laud somepony who had fought against them so hard. And yet, such bravery as yours shouldn't-- can't go unrecognized. I wanted to take care of this before we depart for Ponyville.”

“We?” I kept my voice from cracking, if barely.

“Princess Twilight is throwing a celebration to honor her apprentice, Starlight Glimmer, along with her friends. And ... Discord.” At mention the chaos-god's name, Princess Celestia frowned ever so slightly, which was her equivalent of several minutes of obscenity-filled invective. “The next train will be leaving in a little over an hour-- I trust you're feeling well enough to travel?”

“Well enough.” I said. There was something about Princess Celestia that made it very, very hard to lie to her (which is why I tended to say as little as possible in her presence). “But, ah, I wouldn't want to impose. I've never even met Starlight Glimmer, much less any of her friends. Or even Discord.” A beat later, and I couldn't help but add on an afterthought. “Lucky for me on that last part, I imagine.”

Princess Celestia laughed-- just a titter, really, one she hid behind a hoof, but the mere sound of her laughter was enough to kindle a fire in the most cynical of hearts (read: mine). Of course, I could tell that Princess Celestia hadn't the slightest bit of interest in me as anything beyond one of her more loyal (and useful) subjects. Which just meant she was the genuine article, I suppose.

“Well, said, Lieutenant.” Princess Celestia said. “But now, my sister and I must make preparations for the trip. I'll look forward to seeing you in Ponyville.” She bowed her head again, and then made her polite goodbyes to the rest of the little gathering before heading out in a sweep of wings and mane.

The few other ponies in attendance came forward, one by one, to shake my hoof and offer congratulations. But, as one would expect from important ponies along the lines of Fancy Pants or Commander Spitfire, they soon bustled off on their own important business. Within minutes, the only ponies left in the room were Carrot Top and myself. I figured it was all part of somepony's plan, though I hadn't the faintest idea of whose.

“Congratulations, Sentry.” Carrot Top said, if slightly begrudingly.

“I, er. Thanks?” I looked down at my suddenly-heavy Celestial Cross, hanging on its ribbon around my neck. “Honestly, I'm surprised they didn't give you one. You certainly earned it, after all.”

“Maybe.” Carrot Top shrugged it off. “But it'd blow my cover.”

“Oh. Right.” I said. Silence hung in the air for a few moments longer-- and, in one of the few moments of genuine bravery I've ever shown, I asked a simple question. “Do you want to, er, talk? You know. About ... us?” And once again, I found myself wishing my award ceremony had an open bar.

“Us?” Carrot Top arched a brow.

“As in you and I.”

“Wait.” Carrot Top held up a hoof. “There is no 'us,' Sentry. There's you, and there's me. Two adult ponies who don't have to explain themselves to anyone.”

“Even ourselves?”

“Especially ourselves.” Carrot Top crossed crossed her front legs, stubbornly. “We both know that these kind of ... complications never end well.”

“Right. On account of being too complicated.”

“It's probably just a base physical attraction, that's all.” Carrot Top said. “I mean, it's not like you're not decent looking or anything.”

“More than decent, I'd say.” By reflex, I reached up to smooth my mane. “Though you're rather fetching yourself. Objectively speaking, that is.”

“Thank you. I think. But we both know that getting too ... attached to anypony is a recipe for disaster in our line of work.”

“In your line of work, Carrot Top. You just drag me along whenever things get especially terrible.”

“Trust me, Sentry. Things are always terrible. It's just a matter of whether you know it or not.”

“How optimistic of you.” I said, deadpan.

“Look.” Carrot Top said. “What happened ... happened, okay?”

“But do you want it to happen again?” I asked before I could stop myself.

“Do you?” Carrot Top blurted, just a hint too quickly.

“Well.” I scratched at the back of my neck. “It wasn't exactly unpleasant. Objectively speaking.”

“Just a little something to ... take the edge off. Stress relief.” Carrot Top thought aloud.

“Exactly.” I nodded. “Perfectly understandable, given our circumstances.”

“We just need to keep things ... casual, that's all. Shallow, even.”

“You once called me one of the shallowest ponies you've ever met.”

Carrot Top smiled, and gently took one of my hooves in hers. “Got me there. Not like either one of us would ever settle down, anyway. I mean, Sweetie Drops tried it with that unicorn, but I still don't see how she does it. Can you imagine a 'normal' life, Sentry?”

“What, with Picket fences?” I said.

“And neighborhood association meetings.”

“Jointly filed tax returns.”

“Two point five children.”

“It's nauseating.”

“Sickening.”

“Unfathomable.”

“Impossible.”

“Sounds like we're in agreement, then.” I said, and the two of us started laughing so hard we had to lean against each other for support. At least, that was our excuse.

“C'mon, Sentry-- we'd better get ready for the Ponyville trip.”

“Right, right. Celestia's orders.” I shook my head. “No rest for the wicked, eh?”

“It'll be fun.” Carrot Top said with surprising conviction.

“If you say so. Just seems like short notice to put on the apparent social event of the year.”

“You really never have been to Ponyville, have you?”

At a glance, Ponyville was (and, as I understand, still is) just another small town-- pleasant in its own little way, but otherwise unremarkable. Of course, that's discounting its alarming proximity to the Everfree Forest, or the crystalline tree-castle-thing in the center of town. It was in that crystalline tree-castle-thing that Princess Twilight Sparkle held her ceremony. I don't know who the Princess of Friendship's party planner was, but I imagined they must have been some sort of brilliant, calculating logistician in order to put together such a large party seemingly overnight.

I'm presuming you, dear reader, are familiar with the story of Starlight Glimmer, and how she and her pals were able to turn a hive full of changelings into a completely different species through the power of friendship. Which led to one of the odder parties I've ever been to, in that half the attendants were changelings. At least, people kept telling me they were changelings, even if they didn't look anything like any changelings I'd seen before. They were still hideous, of course-- only now their carapaces were green instead of oily black.** That, and none of them were trying to gnaw my skull open, which was a rather novel experience.

**There are multiple theories as to the true nature of King Thorax and his changelings. Most accounts of the time attribute the sudden morphological transformation of the Changelings to their sudden change of heart and discovery of how to give love as well as consume it. Other historians posit Starlight Glimmer joined forces with her ally (and possible lover, according to some interpretations), King Thorax in order to overthrow Queen Chrysalis. Still others consider King Thorax and his refined changelings as a mutation within the changeling species, able to replace their more predatory kin through simple (if surprisingly fast paced) evolutionary process. It is a fascinating convergence of sociology, historiography, and biology that warrants further study from more qualified scholars than I.

I stayed close to the exit at the back of the room, just in case.

As per the usual, Carrot Top was braver than I, staking out a spot in the front row, right next to a particularly mandible-y looking changeling. Princess Twilight Sparkle said a few words (far fewer than I'd expected), passed out a couple of medals, and the rest of the party was free drinks and idle chitchat.

Under normal circumstances, I'd be in my element-- an open bar and a bevvy of unattached mares are the foundations of a pleasant evening, after all. Of course, the presence of a gaggle of supposedly reformed changelings, not to mention that of an even more supposedly reformed Discord made things more than a little awkward, as one could imagine. I stuck to the periphery, watching the other ponies socialize and dance to the beat of a frankly ludicrously sized sound system. To think, mere days before, the only place to see so many changelings and ponies together was on a battlefield. But now, the only screaming was coming from some pink pony on the dance floor with a lampshade on her head.

“Excuse me,” a nasal, almost prepubescent voice said from somewhere behind me. “Are you Flash Sentry?”

“That's me.” I said-- though a moment later, I wished I hadn't.

King Thorax stood taller than any changeling I'd ever met, even before the antlers that gave him the profile of a coat rack. And yet, despite his stature, he had a wide (if multifaceted) eyed look of innocence about him.

“I'm King Thorax.” He said, rather obviously. “I was hoping I could talk to you.”

“Oh?” I forced a smile, even as I instinctively took a half-step backward. Admittedly, Thorax was a little taller and far spikier than I was, but I wagered I could take him in a brawl if it came to it. Or, better yet, I wagered my feathered wings would be faster than his beetle-ish ones, especially if the likes of Special Agent Golden Harvest could start stomping on them before I fled.

King Thorax must have noticed the wary tension in my wings, as he gave his own a little flutter. “I ... I've heard about what you do, Flash.” And damn if he didn't take a step back of his own.

“And just what have you heard?” I couldn't help but ask.

“You ... you fight changelings. You kill changelings.”

By reflex, I fell into my old 'taciturn hero' routine. “When I have to.” I said, and stared off into the middle distance. “But that's behind us now, right?”

“R-r-right!” King Thorax stammered. “It's just ... I wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize?”

“I ... I can't imagine what you've been through. Changelings have done some terrible, terrible things-- I'm sorry you had to resort to violence to defend those you love.”

“All in the line of duty.” I said.

“I know, I know-- but I'm going to make it up to you, I promise.” Thorax nodded with nigh-boyish eagerness.

“I suppose I'll look forward to it?” I said.

“It'll be worth the wait, I promise!” King Thorax shook my hoof enthusiastically, and then trotted off to chat with Starlight Glimmer and some pony in a wizard hat. I stared after King Thorax for a moment-- I still couldn't quite process a conversation with a changeling that didn't end in blood and screaming.

Carrot Top materialized at my side, and foisted a glass of wine on me. “Mission accomplished. Good job, Sentry.”

“Wait.” I groaned, and drained half the wineglass in one go. “What kind of awful spy business have you dragged me into this time?”

“Not espionage. Politics.”

“That's worse.”

“I know.” Carrot Top smiled ruefully, and shook her head. “But for once, I'm not the one to blame. Inviting you was Princess Celestia's idea.”

“What? Why?”

“Oh, it's simple. The Changelings have ... changed, but Princess Celestia isn't stupid. So she brings a war hero along in her entourage, just to remind King Thorax what ponies are capable of when threatened.”

“That is ... surprisingly devious.”

“Isn't it? There's a reason she's ruled for over a thousand years.” Carrot Top shrugged.

“Mmm. Well, now that I've fulfilled my mission, I think I'll be going.”

“Going where?”

“Someplace with fewer heads of state hanging about. I figure it'll be safer.” I finished my wine and set the empty goblet to the side. A thought struck me. “Say, you live here, don't you? You could show me the sights.”

“Ponyville hasn't got much to see.” Carrot Top said, smiling. “You'd get bored before long.”

“Well.” I sidled a little closer. “Perhaps we could find a better way to pass the--”

“Lieutenant Sentry.” Princess Celestia's voice, melodic but must-be-obeyed, stopped me in my tracks.

“I apologize for the interruption.” If Princess Celestia was at all surprised or scandalized by the faint flirtation between myself and Carrot Top, she didn't show it. “But I have some good news.”

“Good news is always, ah ... good.” Not the most clever of things to say, but I was distracted by the fact that King Thorax was standing next to Princess Celestia, wearing a smile that was entirely too wide to be encouraging.

“Go ahead and tell him, King Thorax.” Princess Celestia said in that gentle, encouraging tone of hers.

“Right!” The changeling said, and stepped forward. A smaller, bluish-greenish changeling scuttled up beside him and unrolled a too-long scroll, holding it up for Thorax to read. King Hatrack cleared his throat, and then did his best imitation of a proclamation as he read the scroll.

“As a gesture of friendship between the Changeling Kingdom and Equestria, I, King Thorax, first of his name, ruler and protector of the hive, do formally invite you, Lieutenant Flash Sentry of the Royal Guard, to visit our lands, observe our culture, and help us strengthen the ties of friendship between our respective peoples.”

“I ... I'm honored?” I said, for lack of anything better. A quick glance to Carrot Top showed she looked just as shocked as I did-- apparently there were some things that even Special Agent Golden Harvest was unaware of.

“Congratulations, Lieutenant.” Princess Celestia said, smiling. “I know you'll be a wonderful ambassador.”

Chapter 5: Diplomatic Impunity

Theoretically, I could have said no.

To Princess Celestia.

Right after she'd awarded me for my valor and loyalty.

I even hemmed and hawed a bit, playing up the 'I'm just a simple soldier' routine, emphasizing my complete lack of diplomatic credentials, but Princess Celestia just smiled and told me she had the utmost confidence in my abilities and character.

Which is why, a few days later, I had little choice but to head to the airship docks.

By the time I flew to the boarding platform, Carrot Top was already there, waiting. She wore a pair of sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat, tied under her chin with a pink scarf. Quite stylish-- though the stuffed-full saddlebags she carried were of the more practical variety. I briefly wondered what kind of cutlery she was carting around in there, but ultimately decided I'd sleep better if I didn't know. Ready to go?” She asked, matter of factly.

“Hold on.” I glanced around to make sure nopony was in listening difference. “I just realized ... Is this a Golden Harvest thing? Coming along for skullduggerous reasons? Or is Carrot Top just tagging along to spend time with her--”

“Her what?” Carrot Top arched a brow.

“That's what I'm trying to figure out.”

“Don't bother. We've got better things to worry about.” Carrot Top's bag clanked ominously as she started up the boarding ramp.

“Of course.” I cleared my throat. “I ... did enjoy dinner the other night, though.”

Carrot Top's professional demeanor faltered, and she favored me with a genuine smile. “You at least deserved one last proper meal before heading to the hive.”

“Oh, don't worry. I made sure to stock up on provisions.” I smiled, thinking of the couple cases of wine I'd 'requisitioned' from the Palace wine cellar. Nothing so valuable as another Chateau de Cheval, but enough of a selection to get a restaurant a favorable review in the newspaper. I'd personally overseen the loading of the straw-packed crates to make sure they were secure for the voyage ahead. “Especially since King Thorax mentioned something called a ... gorbfest.” The word itself was enough to turn my stomach.

“I have no idea what that is.” Carrot Top said.

“Neither do I, but I'm not exactly thrilled to find out.”

“You've been through worse, Sentry.”

“You keep saying that, and it never makes me feel any better.” I grumbled.

Carrot Top winked, coyly. “Guess I'll have to think of something else to make you feel better, then.”

Our trip to the Changeling Lands was blissfully uneventful. The little single-prop airship was a bit crowded, necessitating Carrot Top and I stay in the ship's only passenger cabin. Despite the close proximity, we managed not to murder each other (or, more specifically, Carrot Top was never tempted into murdering me). Carrot Top spent a good deal of her time with her nose stuck in an officious-looking manilla folder, but looked up long enough for the occasional glass of wine out on the bow (it was the breeziest part of the airship) or even the occasional round of cards (which she routinely beat me at, making me assume she'd learned some other tricks from Hoofdini).

Really, if it weren't for our unlikely destination, the trip was pretty much a pleasure cruise. And so, we chugged along at a stately pace-- though to judge by the proportion of the airship's engine, I wagered it could go at a far faster speed if it needed to. Though to be honest, I would've preferred the airship to go even slower, given our destination.

Over the years, I've had the misfortune of being sent to some terrible places for the most contrived of reasons: Yakyakistan, Griffinstone, and even a brief (and yet entirely too long) stint in Tartarus. Of all the miserable places I've set hoof on, the Changeling Kingdom definitely ranks as one of the worst, simply because it tried to be something other than an inhospitable wasteland. Quite badly, I might add.

The Hive rose up in the middle of a blasted, cracked plain ... and yet the changelings had “decorated” it with a scant few streamers and banners, wriggling anemically in the wind. The contrast between the daubed and organic lines of changeling 'architecture' with the handful of embellishments was both sad and disturbing, like the off-key jingles of a broken music box. The feeling of unease got worse as the airship made its landing approach, and a too-large choir of greenish blue (or was it bluish green?) changelings launched into a song of 'welcome,' which sounded like nothing so much as the buzzing of dozens of enormous cicadas.

King Thorax stood in the center of it all, beaming and smiling as our airship touched down. He mercifully silenced the choir with a gesture, and then cleared his throat to address us.

“It is my pleasure to welcome Lieutenant Flash Sentry, the envoy from Equestria! May this meeting be the beginning of a long and wonderful friendship between our two kingdoms!”

The changelings started cheering/singing/screeching again, and I found myself hearkening back to the good old days, when noises like that just meant a whole mess of changelings wanted to kill me. At least then I'd be perfectly justified in throwing things and/or running away. But, 'diplomat' that I was, I could only smile guilelessly as I stepped down the ramp and made small talk with the various bug-eyed monstrosities that suddenly, inexplicably wanted to be my newest friend. First and foremost among them, of course, was King Thorax.

“I'm so glad you could make it, Flash Sentry!” He said. “We're going to have so much fun, I promise!”

“I've been looking forward to it, Your Majesty.” Once again, it was a good thing I was such a skilled liar.

“Oh, please! You don't have to use the formal titles! Just 'Thorax' is fine!”

“I'll ... keep that in mind.” I said.

“Hi Thorax! My name's Carrot Top!” As per the usual, she had snuck up behind me before I could even notice. Somewhat not usual was the cheery, almost airheaded voice with which she spoke, but then again, it was no doubt part of Carrot Top's cover, which was per the usual. Layers within layers, and all that.

“Oh, hello!” Thorax blinked. “I remember you from the award ceremony-- you were there in the front row next to Scut, weren't you?”

“That was me! I always like making new friends-- which is why when my Flashy told me he got invited to visit your kingdom, I just knew I had to come along! I hope you don't mind, do you?” Carrot Top batted her eyelashes and stuck her bottom lip out just so in an expression no doubt calculated for maximum cuteness. She should have gone into theatre. Would've made my life a lot easier, I tell you.

“You know Flash Sentry?”

“Of course I do!” Carrot Top pulled me in for an affectionate hug.

“We're ... close.” I said.

“Any friend of Flash Sentry's is a friend of mine!” King Thorax said, cheery. “You two made it here just in time for the gorbfest!”

“You shouldn't have.” I said. “You really, really shouldn't have.”

“But we have to! The gorbfest is the only real festival changelings have! That, well, and swarming day, but that one's a little bit, uh ... personal.”

“I'll take your word for it, Your Majesty.”

“I told you, call me Thorax!” It wasn't a regal command-- more of an overeager-to-please whine. “Here, you'll lighten up after you have a few bowls of gorb. It has that effect.” King Thorax whistled, and a couple of changelings buzzed up and foisted clay bowls of some yellowish fizzy liquid on us.

“Er. Just what is this?” I sniffed at the fizzy stuff, and my nosehairs curled inwards.

“It's gorb!” King Thorax said, entirely too proud of himself. “It's what you drink during a gorbfest!”

“Smells alcoholic.” Carrot Top said, and took an experimental swig. She smacked her lips a few times, and grinned. “Not bad.”

Despite my mounting doubts regarding Carrot Top's palate, I couldn't let her be the braver one (when it came to alcohol, that is). And so, I tilted back a deep pull of gorb. Much to my surprise, it wasn't terrible. Which is to say it wasn't good, either. Molasses-thick and just about as sweet-- though with a thorough alcoholic kick to even it out. “It's a little more ... robust than my usual fare, but it's not bad. Where do you get this stuff?” I went in for a second dose.

King Thorax just beamed with all the enthusiasm of someone showing off their favorite local delicacy. “You know how bees make honey?”

I choked down a mouthful of gorb without drowning myself. Barely. “You don't mean that changelings--”

“Oh no! We actually make gorb from the saliva of a certain kind of grubworm that lives in the walls of the hive.”

“I'm not sure if that makes it better or worse.”

“But don't ponies drink the milk from other mammals sometimes? It's pretty much the same principle, isn't it?”

“I, er, never thought of it that way.” I looked down at my bowlful of gorb, and suddenly wished I'd brought a few more cases of wine.

“Now, it's time to get to the real fun part!” King Thorax went on before I could consider the implications of domesticated grub-juice. “I can't wait to introduce you to our other new friends!”

“Other friends?” I said.

King Thorax nodded eagerly (miraculously not poking anyone's eyes out in the process). “That's right! I think they're still in the main hall.” And with that, King Thorax led Carrot Top and I deeper into the changeling hive. A prickling feeling flowed over my skin as I walked through the disturbingly orifice-shaped door. Considering how badly the last time I went into a changeling hive went, it was entirely understandable. With any luck, this one wouldn't explode, but I knew better than to make any promises.

Carrot Top's smile grew faintly more cheery as we went deeper into the hive-- I wasn't the only one slightly unnerved by our new 'hosts.' But that had been the 'old' changelings, though-- these newer, greener ones were supposed to be reformed, after all. To their credit, nobody was posing as a gorgeous mare so they could get a crack at eating my brains, so maybe things really had changed.

We walked into the Hive's central hall-- long, bulbous arches holding the ceiling up gave the impression that we were inside some enormous beast's ribcage. Still, the Changelings had 'decorated' as best they could, and set up a long table in the middle of the room. The table was piled high with various substances that I assumed were food, presumably more edible worm byproducts. Uncountable changelings buzzed and bustled about-- many of them waiting on King Thorax's other new friend.

“Flash Sentry, Carrot Top, I'd like to introduce my newest-- and the Hive's newest friend, Gnolpoleon Bone-Apart the Fourteenth!*” King Thorax managed to sound halfway regal on that announcement.

*As one may presume from the name, Gnollpoleon XIV was the descendant (or at least claimed to be as such) of the original Gnollpoleon Bone-Apart, the famed tyrant and general whose reign of conquest was finally ended at the famed Battle of Waterhoof, during the Three-Kingdoms Era.

If you, dear reader, have never met a gnoll before, I envy you. Picture a creature akin to a diamond dog: bipedal, with bulging yellow eyes above mouths filled with too too many teeth. The difference, however, is in their fur: gnolls are covered in black spots, and each one has a mohawk-like ridge of fur running all the way from the middle of their spine to their thick, paleolithic-looking brows. This said, there's quite a bit of variety in their morphology, ranging from the typical hulking brutes one would expect, to smaller varieties of gnoll that barely stand taller than a filly who hasn't earned her cutie mark yet.

Gnollpoleon was of the latter type-- short in stature and almost spherical in build. He wore a military tunic with enough gold braiding and epaulets to make my dress uniform look drab, and topped the whole outfit off with a plumed bicorn hat easily half again as big as he was. Two larger gnolls with less ornate uniforms stood on either side of him: bodyguards if you wanted to use the polite term, goons if you didn't.

“Bonjour, mes amis!” Gnollpoleon's voice was oddly nasal, as if he had particularly nasty head infection. He swept off his hat and bowed. “It is so good to meet you! We do not see very many ponies out in the bandlands.” He thrust out a clawed hand, and I managed to shake it without acquiring any new scars.

“And we don't see any gnolls in Equestria.” I managed not to add 'thankfully' to the end of the sentence.

“Under Chrysalis' rule, changelings and gnolls were enemies.” King Thorax nodded, gravely.

“Oui. It was a dark time.” Gnollpoleon put his hat back on and fiddled with it to make sure it was at just the right angle. “But now, things are different!”

“That's right!” King Thorax nodded. “Once Gnollpoleon heard Queen Chrysalis was gone, he came to visit, and now we can all be friends!”

“That's ... good.” I said, nodding.

Gnollpoleon grinned, showing off a smile like a knife rack. “Oh-ho-ho! I see you are still cautious. I understand! Thorax has told me you are a brave warrior! No doubt in your military studies you have heard tales of my ancestor, the first Gnollpoleon Bone-Apart!”

“Of course.” I said, and wracked my brain to dredge up details from some military history class I'd no doubt slept through.

“Well, I assure you, monsieur, I am not my ancestor, and you have little to worry about from me.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

Carrot Top glanced up at me and shrugged-- I could tell from her skeptical look that she wasn't particularly convinced either.

“But sit, s'il vous plait, and we may drink together as friends-- non, as brothers!”

If I ever had a brother who looked like Gnollpoleon, I would start asking my mum some very pointed questions-- but I kept the thought to myself and just smiled. “I think 'friends' will do for now.”

I spent most of the evening nursing my bowl full of gorb and trying not to think too hard about its provenance. Gorb didn't flow so much as ooze-- I presumed the stuff was named for the sound it made when poured into a bowl. The changelings sang and danced and played-- a better pony than I would have seen this as a point of connection between ponies and changelings, but I personally found the insectoid cavorting to an unnerving mockery of all things good and pure. It didn't help that one of the changeling's favorite games was to cycle through as many illusory disguises as they could in the span of minutes.

Carrot Top took to the gorbfest far better than I did-- she probably saw the constantly-shifting disguises as a challenge for her espionage skills. This didn't make it any less surreal when I saw Carrot Top chatting with no less than three impostor-dopplegangers. It was easy to tell her apart from the fake Tops, however, as none of the changelings carried themselves with the quiet certainty that they could kill everyone in the room with their bare hooves if they had to.

“Monsieur Sentry!” Gnollpoleon's voice snapped me from my thoughts. “Are you not enjoying yourself?”

“Hmm?” I said. “I, er ... of course I am.”

“Oh-ho-ho!” Gnollpoleon laughed that snorty-nasal laugh of is. “You cannot lie to me, monsieur. I know what you are thinking.”

“Do you, now?”

“Certainement! We are much alike, you and I. I, too, have fought les changelings. And I, too, find the prospect of friendship to be a ... strange one” Gnollpoleon shrugged, making his various medals and awards clatter. “But we do what we must, non?”

“I suppose we do. One can't help where one's posted-- duty to crown and country and all that.”

“Oh-ho-ho! Pardonnez moi, monsieur. It's just ... I do not take orders. Non. I only do what I see as best, and all of my gnolls, they do follow.” He drew himself up taller (or, at least as tall as his diminutive stature could manage-- though I suppose his hat helped). “Les horde, c'est moi.”

“To your health, then.” I raised my bowl of gorb in a toast and kicked back a particularly chewy mouthful.

“Merci, monsieur.” Gnollpoleon clinked his gorb-bowl to mine and guzzled down some of the disturbingly-thick booze. He shook his head, wincing. “We deserve better than this swill, Monsieur Sentry.”

“You don't care for it either?” I said.

“Non-- I have more ... refined tastes. Many think that we gnolls are mere barbarians, scavengers-- but, in fact, all gnolls have a very ... refined palate. In fact, I know just the thing! Wait here!” With that, Gnollpoleon spun around on a booted heel and trundled off to start barking (literally) at his bodyguards. The two burly gnolls snapped off quick salutes, and bounded off to carry out their orders.

“Making friends, Sentry?” Carrot Top (again, I could tell it was really her for any number of reasons).

“Acquaintances, more like.” I cast my eyes around, making sure nobody was within easy eavesdropping distance, and then sidled closer to Carrot Top. “You wouldn't happen to have a dossier on this fellow, would you?”

Carrot Top shook her head. “Nothing substantial. Gnolls have stayed in the badlands for generations-- the changelings acted as a sort of buffer state. I ... didn't expect they'd react so quickly. Usually the gnoll tribes are much more divided.”

“And usually changelings will try to suck your soul out through your nostrils, but we know how that went.” I mused.

“Just keep your eyes peeled, Sentry.”

“Mes amis!” Gnollpoleon trundled back-- this time with both his bodyguards following, as well as King Thorax. The little gnoll snapped his clawed fingers, and his bodyguards soon set out a small round table, complete with linen tablecloth and four wineglasses. “I have been saving this treasure for a special occasion-- and I think there is nothing so special as the beginning of a beautiful friendship! And so ... voila!” With a flourish, he took off his hat, reached inside, and pulled out a bottle of wine. He cradled the bottle in his arms, showing it off as if it were a baby. He made sure to give us plenty of time to read the label.

Chateau de Cheval.

“Damnation!” said I. “Where in blazes did you get that?” I reached out to caress the bottle, but stopped myself at the last minute. I might have drooled, but I'm fairly certain that was just a side effect of too much (read: any) gorb.

“Oh-ho-ho! I knew you were a connoisseur from the moment I first laid eyes on you. It is always good to enjoy the finer things in life, non? Here, have a closer look.”

He foisted the bottle on me, and I reverently looked it over. “It's hard to find a bottle in Equestria, I imagine in the badlands it's--”

“Impossible.” Gnollpoleon said. “Or close enough to it. A few years ago, an Equestrian airship crashed in the badlands. My gnolls tried to help, but we were too late-- all the crew did perish. But, we did salvage the cargo. I thought it fitting to bring this bottle as a gift.”

“This survived an airship crash?” I said. “Must have been packed quite well.” The bottle certainly didn't look like it'd been dropped from half a mile up. The wax seal around the cork was a little faded-- verging towards the pinkish rather than the rose-red of a properly stored de Cheval. I supposed it had been stored improperly in the no doubt severe climate of the badlands.

“And packed better still, to bring it all the way to the hive.” Gnollpoleon relieved me of the bottle and handed it to one of his goons, who promptly produced a corkscrew and opened it up with surprising skill. Four glasses of wine were poured. “Drink, mes amis!” Gnollpoleon said.

“Wait!” I held up a hoof, stopping Thorax and Carrot Top from drinking. “A wine like this deserves better treatment. We've got to savor it.” I swirled my wine in its goblet. “Honestly, we should have decanted this for a half hour or so first, but I'm not sure if I can stand the anticipation.” I grinned, and held the wine up to the light--

--and frowned.

The wine's color was off. Just slightly, but it was still darker than it should have been. Sediment in the bottle, perhaps? Or maybe the seal had been broken in the airship crash, and it was hastily replaced? Or, in an even more criminal turn of events, perhaps Gnollpoleon had brought a counterfeit bottle along in order to impress us. Determined to get to the bottom of the deception, I sniffed at my wineglass. One whiff of the slightly acrid bouquet was enough to confirm that this certainly was not a de Cheval. It was close, yes-- but having drank the genuine article so recently allowed me to tell the difference like night and day. Slowly, the fires of righteous anger began to kindle in my breast.

“Monsieur Sentry, is the wine not to your liking?”

“Ah.” It was all I could do not to throw the wine in Gnollpoleon's face. But, not wanting to start an international incident (much less with Special Agent Golden Harvest standing next to me), I just smiled. “I'm just enjoying the moment, that's all.”

“Enjoying the moment is one thing-- enjoying the taste is another, non?”

“Don't let me stop you from enjoying it.” I said, levelly.

“Ah, but it is impolite to drink before one's guest does! Please, enjoy, Monsieur Sentry!”

“I will. In due time. Like I said, I'm ... savoring it.”

Carrot Top rolled her eyes. “You and your wine, Flash. I hope you won't be like this next time we hit a cider festival.” And, before I could choke out a word of protest, Carrot Top gulped down her glass of wine in no time at all. She set the empty wineglass on the table as if it were a trophy, and locked eyes with me. Her challenging, smug look faded just a moment later-- her normally lovely cheeks began to pale, and her eyes went into a wide-eyed, pleading expression. She staggered against the little table, hard enough to knock it over.

I was there in an instant, catching Carrot Top before she could collapse. Her wineglass shattered on the floor, and Carrot Top stared up at me as she clutched at her throat. Tears began to well up in the corners of her eyes, and she choked out a single word, the one thing I should have realized as soon as I knew the de Cheval was fake.

“Poison!”

Chapter 6: Deadly Decisions

Pandemonium broke out.

Turns out, shouting 'poison!' at a banquet is much akin to yelling 'fire!' in a movie theater. Which, I should note, is something I have done (for entirely justified reasons), but I digress.

“Zut alors!” Gnollpoleon dropped his wineglass, and then flipped the table in my direction. He literally barked orders to his goons, and the three of them started tearing across the banquet hall, sowing chaos in their wake. Glassware shattered, furniture splintered, and more than a few changelings wound up on the recieving end of gnollish claws and teeth.

Not that I was in any position to do anything about it. I helplessly cradled Carrot Top as she slowly turned green. It was baffling to see Special Agent Golden Harvest incapacitated-- I'd taken her invincibility as a universal constant.

“Nonononono.” I babbled, as if it could somehow help.

“Sentry.” Carrot Top wheezed, painfully.

“What? What is it?” I said, perhaps too quickly. “What do I do?!” She was the one who'd actually read the file on the Changeling Kingdom-- I could only hope there was some sort of contingency plan somewhere in there.

“Listen.”

“I'm listening.” I blinked tears from my eyes (no doubt from the acrid smell of poisoned wine).

“Sentry.” Carrot Top's voice grew hoarser, weaker. She reached up with one weak hoof, cupping my cheek. “I--”

“Yes?”

“I--”

“Go on, you can say it--”

“I'm going to--”

And then she threw up.

Gorb, I soon realized, had about the same smell and consistency going out as it did going in. Carrot Top heaved and hacked, depositing her stomach's contents on the floor (and on my hooves). She panted, dry-retching a few more times before she collapsed against me, unconscious. I thought the worst for a moment, until I felt the pulse of her heartbeat against my chest. I blinked and sniffled, clutching Carrot Top closer to me for lack of anything better to do.

A fresh commotion rose up from the other end of the hall. The first thing I saw was Gnollpoleon and his goons stumbling over their own feet in panicked retreat. A host of ponies thundered behind them with hooves stomping and wings flared. No less than Princess Twilight Sparkle led the charge, flanked by Princess Celestia and Princess Luna. A dozen other ponies followed them-- Captain Shining Armor, Princess Cadance, a couple of Princess Sparkle's friends--

--and me.

For a moment I thought I was having some sort of out of body experience, watching myself charge across the dining hall, screaming bloody murder the whole while. Of course, the fact that 'I' was running into danger rather than away from it was the biggest clue that something was amiss.

The gnolls ran howling into the night-- the herd of charging, stamping ponies skidded to a halt at the door, letting them flee. 'Princess Twilight's' disguise flickered away in a flash of green flame, revealing King Thorax's green carapace and ridiculous antlers. The other changelings followed suit, and started chittering and muttering amongst themselves. King Thorax gave a few orders, and the other changelings soon started buzzing about to start cleaning things up and tending to the wounded.

“Lieutenant.” Thorax said as he walked up to me. “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine.” I said, not taking my eyes off the unconscious mare curled against me. “She's not.”

“How is she?” I hovered, literally, around the changeling that called himself (herself?) a doctor. I didn't let Carrot Top out of my sight, in fear that the changelings would break out the out the leeches and bone saws. Thankfully, the changeling stuck to non-invasive observations as Carrot Top rested fitfully in the hive's impromptu infirmary. King Thorax stood near the door, watching with a wide-eyed, helpless look.

“Stable.” The doctor said, and I exhaled a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. “She drank a lot of gorb, which wound up lining her stomach. It slowed the effect of the poisoned wine. But--”

“But?” I cringed. There was always a but.

“She might not have been poisoned as much, but your friend was still poisoned. She could be in a coma for a long time ... perhaps even permanently. We'll do everything we can, but the only way we can be sure to wake her up is to get the antidote from Gnollpoleon himself.”

“Right then.” I nodded, uncharacteristically resolute. I'd long since gotten used to having my own hide on the line, and knew how to react accordingly. However, being responsible for someone else's life was a different matter entirely. “We just find Gnollpoleon, and stomp the answers out of him.”

“We know where Gnollpoleon is-- he's camped with his, uh, horde not too far from here.”

“Perfect.” I said, already formulating a plan-- one that had me on the other end of a screaming horde of changelings, for a change of pace. “Give me a battalion-- no, a regiment, of your best troops, and we'll drag Gnollopoleon back here to answer for what he's done. We can fly, and gnolls can't. It'll be an easy fight.”

“Uh. About that.” King Thorax said. “We ... we can't fight them.”

“Posh. Gnolls may look mean, but I've faced enough of your bugs to know they can be just as nasty when they want to be.”

Thorax winced. “That's it, Lieutenant. We're not the changelings we used to be-- we're peaceful now. We have to be. I'm afraid if we start fighting again, we'll ... we'll go back to the way we were. Cruel. Hungry. Desperate. As the new leader of the Hive, I can't let that happen.”

“You can't be serious.”

“I'm afraid so.”

“But you routed Gnollpoleon at the banquet!”

“We didn't fight-- we only scared them by wearing the scariest faces we could think of.”

Including mine, I realized.

Thorax went on. “And even then, just trying to scare Gnollpoleon was enough to ... remind us of the old ways. You don't know how it feels, Sentry, to be tempted into just ... giving in, into becoming something terrible.”

“You know what?” I looked at Carrot Top, curled up and vulnerable on the bed, and then back to King Thorax. Frustration bloomed into rage, and I found myself glaring up at the be-antlered Changeling King. “You're right, I don't know what it is to 'give in' and become something terrible, because I'm already there. I've made something of a career out of killing changelings, and so help me, if anything-- anything happens to that mare, I will not rest until I see this hive, and everything in it, razed to the ground. Do I make myself clear?”

“I-- er, yes.” Thorax stammered. He backpedaled until he had his back against the wall, at which point I jabbed an accusatory hoof into his chitinous chest for good measure.

“Good.” I said. “Now, if you're not going to help, get out of my way.”

King Thorax obliged, and I stormed out into the hallway. It was at that point I realized I had no actual idea of what to do next. It was bad enough that Carrot Top was out of comission, but that I'd probably just caused an international incident didn't help much either. Of course, if what King Thorax said about the changelings new found pacifism was true, that just meant I could do whatever I want, didn't it? Until, of course, Thorax and the rest of the changelings got fed up with my bullying at which point they'd turn into a ravening horde of monsters again and it'd be all my fault.

I'd just have to be somewhere else when that happened.

“Lieutenant!” A pinkish-colored pegasus pony with a military-grade haircut galloped down the hall, and snapped off a smart salute. “The crew is ready and awaiting your orders, sir!”

“Crew?”

“The airship, sir!” The pegasus barked. “In case of emergency, the crew falls under your command, as per Celestia's orders in the dossier which I am sure you've already read. Sir!”

“Er, yes. That.” I said. “Er, at ease.” I waved a hoof, and the pegasus relaxed-- if only slightly. “How quickly can we get back to Equestria?”

“A day and a half at full speed, sir.”

“Right.” I looked over my shoulder, back towards the infirmary. “Can you make room for a, uh ... patient?”

The pegasus winced, in a classic expression of somepony forced to tell their superior bad news. “That ... might not be advisable, sir. I'm not a doctor-- but, given your, uh ... best friend's condition, travel could do her more harm than good.”

“Damn.” I rubbed at my eyes. “How many crewponies are on the ship, anyway?”

“Seven of us including the cook, sir.”

“Not enough to make a difference.” I said.

“Sir?”

“You said the airship was ready to fly, right?”

“Just give the order, and we're off.”

“Fine. It's given. Get to Equestria, and tell Princess Celestia what's going on here.”

“Yes sir!” the pegasus saluted again. “Is there anything you need to bring aboard before we go? We didn't have the chance to re-load those crates you marked 'provisions.'”

“That won't be necessary.” I pulled in a deep breath. “I'm staying.”

As the airship lifted off, it was all I could do not to fly up to it and hop aboard at the last moment. I would've loved to beat a hasty retreat and leave the changelings to their gnoll problem (no business of mine, after all), but there was no way I could leave without Carrot Top. If word got out that the vaunted Flash Sentry, Hero of Equestria, abandoned a distressed damsel, then my entire reputation would be ruined. On top of that, I had the sneaking suspicion Fancy Pants would say something along the lines of “once more unto the breach, Sentry!” and send me right back, just in time for a proper gnoll invasion or something equally awful.

I watched the airship disappear into a bank of clouds-- and I got an idea.

The sun had long since set, making things a bit easier for me. I took to the sky, and gathered a small clump of clouds around me, leaving just enough room to peer out of. It was an old trick I'd picked up as a lad at flight academy-- quite useful for sneaking into the girl's dormitory. Which, I should note, I only did on invitation. Which, I should also note, was quite often, given that I was a dashingly handsome fellow even in my youth.

But I digress.

In any case, the handful of gnolls on watch were far less vigilant than my old headmaster, Mr. Bitterswitch. I silently glided over the camp-- there must have been hundreds, potentially thousands of gnolls gathered on that hill, arrayed out in a haphazard sprawl of tents and campfires. A fresh column of gnolls streamed in from the south, carrying pikes and singing some marching song about whips and ways or somesuch. It was damnably catchy, too-- all these years later I can't remember the exact words, but I find myself humming the tune from time to time.

I steered clear of the marching gnolls, and circled around the camp. While I should have been trembling to the point of uselessness, I was able to keep myself in working condition simply by thinking about how much worse things would be if I didn't creep into a camp swarming with carnivorous hyena-creatures. And as much as I'd love to have someone (or, well, several someones) to hide behind, I knew it was easier for a single pony to sneak in undetected than a whole platoon's worth.

Approaching from above helped-- like most terrestrial creatures, the gnolls didn't think to look up, allowing me to coast silently over their heads. The largest, most opulent tent in the camp was at the center-- and sure enough, I saw Gnollpoleon exit his tent, strolling down to review the new arrivals. Perfect.

I took my cloud down lower, close enough to put my hooves on the canvas of Gnollpoleon's tent. I pulled a small knife from my saddlebags and used it to cut a Flash-sized hole in the roof. I left the cloud there to conceal the rent in the fabric, and slipped inside.

Between the plush furniture, the fancy rugs, and the well-stocked liquor cabinet (filled with travel-sized bottles, of course), Gnollpoleon's tent was bigger and more luxurious than most apartments I've lived in. The only nod to military matters was the large table in the center, piled high with maps and reports. I ransacked Gnollpoleon's quarters as quietly as I could, searching for the antidote. I spent several fruitless minutes slashing open pillows and upending furniture-- that is, until Gnollpoleon walked back in.

“Monsieur Sentry!” Gnollpoleon just beamed. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

I must've reached for the knife, or flared my wings, as Gnollpoleon held up one hand in a regal, 'please don't,' kind of gesture. “I have to give the word, and the guards posted outside shall entrez and rend you limb from limb.”

“I've faced worse odds.” I wasn't bragging, either-- it was just a depressing statement of fact. “And I'm willing to bet I'm fast enough to take you down before your guards can do the same to me.”

“Perhaps. But I am not a gambler. If you had come here to kill me, I would hope a soldier such as yourself would have done a better job of it. And frankly, either of us killing the other at this moment would serve neither of our goals. So relax, Monsieur-- I have no quarrel with you.” He trundled over to the liquor cabinet, and poured himself a brandy. “Would you like a drink?”

“Considering what happened last time, I'll pass.” I growled.

“Ah, yes. The poison.” Gnollpoleon shrugged, and drank a shot of brandy. “If it is any consolation, it was not meant for you, nor your ... special friend. I only wanted to kill King Thorax. You see, the changelings, they do not know how to think for themselves. Without their monarch, they shall be easy pickings for my grande armée.” Gnollpoleon gestured to the table full of maps.

“To be frank, I don't give a damn.”

“Oh-ho-ho! Don't you know why I am telling you this, Monsieur Sentry?”

“It's pretty obvious I don't.”

“ It is because we are much alike, you and I.”

“I wouldn't go that far.” I said. “I'm taller, for one.”

“Oh-ho-ho! Do not be so shallow, Monsieur, and think.” Gnollpoleon tapped his temple with one claw. “We are both soldiers-- officers, no less. We both hate les changelings. And, most importantly, we are both driven by our passions. Moi, for la guerre-- and you, for les amour.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Monsieur Sentry, you are here for this, are you not?” Gnollpoleon reached into a pocket, and pulled out a glass vial of a faintly glowing blue liquid. “This is the antidote for the poison-- it shall restore your filly to perfect health.”

I thought of the burly guards outside, and stopped myself from lunging across the tent. “Right then, just fork it over and I wont' have to beat you senseless.”

“Ah, but this elixir is made from some very rare, very expensive ingredients. I cannot just hand it over without some sort of ... compensation. You see, I have a favor to ask of you, Monsieur Sentry. It shall be easy, I promise.”

“A favor.” I narrowed my eyes.

“All you have to do is open a door in the hive, and allow my gnolls inside.” Gnollpoleon kicked a chair back upright and plopped down into it. “If you were able to infiltrate my sanctum so easily, sneaking through the Hive should not be nearly as difficult, non?”

“You really expect me to help you after you poisoned the mare I--” I reeled my words in before I gave anything away. “--came here with?” I added on, if weakly.

“I have the I have heard the stories, Monsieur Sentry. You have fought the changelings on many occasions-- and you know, deep in your heart, that they are still your enemies, no matter how 'nice' they may claim to be. So what do you care what happens to them?”

“So I let your gnolls into the Hive, and you give me the antidote?”

“Exactement.”

“And Carrot Top and I get free passage back to Equestria.”

“But of course! My gnolls shall allow you to leave at your leisure. Perhaps even with a minor flesh wound or two, to make it look like you made a properly heroic retreat, hm? Why, by the time you return to Equestria with the terrible news, they'll declare you a hero all over again. Just another feather in your proverbial cap, hm? One door, Monsieur Sentry-- all you have to do is open one door, and you will never have to worry about les changelings again.”

“Alright, Gnollpoleon.” I stepped forward, and held out a hoof. “You've got yourself a deal.”

Chapter 7: Invader Etiquette

I returned to the Hive slightly less stealthily than when I'd left-- Gnollpoleon wouldn't let me out of his sight, so the ol' low-hanging cloud trick was out. The little maniac had a full platoon of his most murderous gnolls with him, and the bastards couldn't stop sniggering amongst themselves, as if they were just going to play some kind of practical joke, rather than a covert military operation. Then again, given the sort of things gnolls find funny, there might not be much difference there.

It was a simple matter to get back into the Hive-- like any properly imposing fortress, it had a wide-mouthed drainage pipe set into its foundation. Gnollpoleon's burliest troopers wrenched the iron grate out of the pipe, and in we went. The sewer tunnel was even tall enough for me to stretch my wings out into an easy hover, allowing me to avoid whatever unspeakable fluids that even changelings found disgusting. That the flightless gnolls were forced to slog through the knee deep (or chest deep, in Gnollpoleon's case) effluvia was just a bonus.

“This should do.” I said as we came to some sort of maintenance hatch a ways into the tunnel. “You can get in through here-- now give me the antidote.”

“Oh non, Monsieur Sentry! You are in no position to make demands.” Gnollpoleon said, and the eyes of his gnolls glinted in the darkness behind him. “You shall get the antidote for your filly-- but only when the day is won. You could be leading me into a trap, non?”

I grit my teeth and put on a stern expression-- even as a platoon's worth of hyena-creatures sized me up as their next meal. I ignored the twisting lump of fear in my stomach, and took in a deep breath. Given the odor of a changeling sewer, this was a mistake, as I soon broke into coughing and hacking at the foul stench. “Fine.” I choked out. “In that case-- there's one more thing you should know.”

“Oh? Do tell.” Gnollpoleon rubbed his paws together in anticipation.

“The Changelings won't fight you-- at least, not if King Thorax has his way. He's afraid that too much violence will turn them back into what they were-- and nobody wants that. If you and your lot go in and start massacring them right away, they'll get desperate, and then it's back to the black chitin. But--”

“--if we are subtle, then they shall not go to such extremes. Hm.” Gnollpoleon rubbed at his chin. “If I did not know better, Monsieur Sentry, I would think you are trying to protect les changelings.”

“I could care less about the damned bugs.” I shook my head. “It's Carrot Top I'm worried about. If you force the changelings to go evil again, what's stopping them from using her as a snack?” I shuddered at the thought.

“Monsieur Sentry, you are tres romantique!” Gnollpoleon snickered, and the troops behind him followed suit. “Very well, then. You heard the pony, mes amis! You are to take les changelings alive! Now, we go-- to victory!”

Gnollpoleon snapped his fingers, and the biggest of his goons lifted him up out of the muck, hefting him on his shoulders. Two more gnolls wrenched the maintenance hatch open, and the whole lot of us went a-skulking into the hive.

For all his egotism and megalomania, Gnollpoleon at least had the tactical skills to live up to it. He directed his troops with remarkable efficiency, sending them out in little groups to seize key points in the hive and subdue any guards they met along the way. Gnollpoleon himself led the team that captured King Thorax. Within the hour, a team of gnolls threw the Hive's main gates open, and a column of troopers marched in to cement Gnollpoleon's hold on the hive.

Gnollpoleon had Thorax and the rest of the changelings locked up somewhere, and soon set up court in the Hive's throne room. Or, well, the room where Queen Chrysalis' throne had been until it blew up. In lieu of such an impressive seat, Gnollpoleon merely sat on a tall, folding camp chair one of his gnolls had brought. He'd even changed into a fresh uniform, even if the lingering smell of changeling sewage hung around him. He'd set up the same map table from his tent in the center of the throne room, now with little carved figurines positioned across it.

“You have served me well, Monsieur Sentry!” Gnollpoleon said as he looked up from his strategizing. “You've more than lived up to your end of the bargain-- and so, let it not be said I am not a gnoll of my word!” With that, Gnollpoleon took the little blue vial of antidote from his pocket, and tossed it to me.

I caught it (barely) with shaking hooves, and glared at the horrid little creature. “And we get free passage back to Equestria.”

“But of course.”

I didn't run to the infirmary.

Flying was faster.

Carrot Top was still where I left her, pale and unconscious. I uncorked the little vial of antidote, put it to her lips, and poured the stuff down her throat. Within moments, the stuff began to take effect: color returned to Carrot Top's cheeks, and her green eyes soon fluttered open to look up at me with a familiar look equal parts annoyance and confusion.

“Sentry?” She stirred, tangling the sheets up in her legs. “What the hell did you do this time?”

I let out a relieved laugh-- sure enough, Carrot Top must have been feeling better already if she had the strength to get mad at me. “I save your life, and that's the first thing you ask?”

“It's a valid question.”

“That's beside the point.”

“Talk. Last thing I remember was throwing up on your hooves.”

“Because of the poison. Right. So, uh, given the circumstances I ... may have made a deal with Gnollpoleon to help him conquer the changelings in exchange for the antidote.”

“What?”

“What else was I supposed to do?

“Maybe something besides selling out Equestria's newest ally to a power-hungry maniac?”

“Like what? I've been making this up as I go along. Some of us aren't highly trained special agents, you know.” I paused, and a thought struck me. “Come to think of it, how come you didn't know the wine was poisoned?”

“I had ... suspicions, but I couldn't act on them without breaking my cover. So I drank the poisoned wine before anyone important could. It was the only thing I could think of.”

“And I'm the idiot.” I grumbled. “At least I've got a healthy sense of self preservation.”

“You said it yourself, you're not a special agent. You wouldn't understand. Because sometimes, there just aren't any other options. If you or Thorax drank that wine, we'd be in even worse shape-- or at least I thought we'd be in worse shape –so it fell on me. I'm expendable.”

“Not to me you're not.” The words tumbled from my lips before I could even think about them.

Carrot Top gasped softly, and her cheeks flushed a rosy red. She looked away from me, and started kicking the sheets from her hooves. “I-- you-- we don't have time to talk about this right now. We've got to do something.”

“Right. Free passage back to Equestria was part of the deal, but I'd rather get moving before Gnollpoleon changes his mind.” I tried helping Carrot Top out of bed, which was a mistake. With a lightning-quick movement, she had me face-down on the floor with one of my front-legs wrenched up at an angle it was decidely not meant to go. Pain lanced up my shoulder, and some foolishly optimistic part of me noted that Carrot Top must have been feeling better if she had the strength to wrench my leg out of its socket.

“We're not leaving.” Carrot Top said. “Not until we fix this.”

“How? There's only two of us! It's not like we can lecture Gnollpoleon on friendship until--” And then, the epiphany hit me. “Wait. I think I have a plan.”

“You. Have a plan.” Carrot Top said, deadpan. She didn't sound convinced, but at least she let go of my leg.

That was a start.

“Gnollpoleon!” I barged into the throne room turned war room, marched to the central table, and thumped a bottle of red wine down on Appleoosa. “I owe you a drink.”

“Out for le revenge ironique? Surely you do not think me such a fool as that?”

“Of course not.” I uncorked the bottle, and took a swig directly from it. Not quite the best way to enjoy a summer red, but these were desperate circumstances. “You said it yourself, if I wanted to kill you, I'd do a lot better job of it.”

“Oh-ho-ho! Then why are you here, Monsieur Sentry? Why are you not with your paramour pony?”

“She's sleeping-- the antidote did what it's supposed to, but she's still weak. I told her to rest before we set out for Equestria.”

“I see. Then why are you here?”

“Like I said, to offer you a drink. Several, actually.”

“Oh?” Gnollpoleon snapped his fingers, and one of his soldiers scurried up with a pair of wineglasses. “Why is that?”

I poured out two glasses, and settled into an empty folding chair. “I brought a ... considerable amount of wine with me from Equestria. I hate to leave it behind. I also hate drinking alone, which is why I'm here. Cheers.” I clinked glasses with Gnollpoleon.

“Salut!” Gnollpoleon sniffed the wine (whether out of suspicion or appreciation, I couldn't tell) and then drank. His eyebrows went up in surprise, and he reached over to take up the wine bottle. “You have excellent taste, Monsieur Sentry.”

“There's more where that came from.” I said. “In fact, I probably brought enough wine for your entire horde.” I paused, and glanced around at the various aides and guards posted around the room. “Or ... at least most of them. I guess it just depends on who finds the cases first.”

A brief murmur rose up amongst the gnolls, but Gnollpoleon himself just laughed, pounding the table. “Very well! You!” He pointed to a gnoll in a tall shako hat. “Find the cases Monsieur Sentry speaks of, and bring them here! We shall celebrate our victory properly, not with the swill les changelings drink!”

A cheer rose up from the gnolls, and soon the party was underway.

Apart from the teeth and the smell, drinking a night away with gnolls is no different than drinking with any other bunch of ne'er do wells. It's a mite more pleasant than drinking with dragons, at least-- even if one avoids the lava-based cocktails, you've still got the sulfurous fumes to worry about.

It pained me to see my carefully selected wine supply go down the gullets of so many ungrateful gnolls, but I just reminded myself that sometimes one had to make certain sacrifices in this line of work. At least the gnolls were just spilling my wine, and not my blood, I reflected, in what I passed for optimism.

Night turned to morning turned to midday, and the gnolls showed little sign of stopping their celebration. Songs were sung (typically loudly and off key), toasts were made (typically loudly and off-color) and the raucous cackling of the hyena-creatures echoed through every room in the Hive.

I paced myself, remaining marginally more sober than Gnollpoleon and his lot. Luckily, I'd had plenty of practice at carousing-- a more straight-laced pony would've passed out by the fourth bottle of Pinto Noir.

Sometime around mid-afternoon (I remember squinting against the painful sunlight), I found myself staring at the maps and miniatures Gnollpoleon had laid out across the now-winestained table. I tilted my head to the side, and then traced a hoof over the blue line of a river. “You know, Gnollpoleon, you just might have a chance.” I said, idly. “A small one, but a chance.”

“Pardonnez moi?”

“Oh, come off it.” I said. “We both know you're going to set your sights on Equestria, sooner or later.”

“Oh-ho-ho! You know me too well, Monsieur Sentry! C'est vrai-- it is my destiny to live up to my name, and conquer all that I see! Indeed, someday, I shall lead my horde northward, to do glorious battle with you little ponies. And on that day, I shall look forward to facing you upon the battlefield someday. Vive la guerre!” Gnollpoleon clinked his glass against mine.

“I'm not so sure if I'll be the one fighting you, Gnollpoleon.”

“Non?” Gnollpoleon tilted his head to the side. “You are not saying you wish to join me, are you?”

“Damnation, no.” I shook my head. “Look, all I'm saying is that if you invade Equestria, I'm going to be the least you've got to worry about. There's the Princesses, for one. Or, uh, for four, I suppose. Four and a half if you count the baby.”

“L'enfante?”

“L'enfante terrible, more like. I haven't the foggiest idea how alicorning works, but the little sprog's bound to be filled with the power of childlike innocence or some other such nonsense. Mark my words, you keep this up, and the next thing you know you're going to get zapped in the soul with a rainbow.”

“Monsieur Sentry, do you not think I have anticipated this? Why do you think I have chosen Les Changelings as my first target?” He waved a clawed hand over the throne room. “Queen Chrysalis was famous for her black throne, a terrible thing that hungered for power, just as changelings hunger for l'amour.”

“Didn't that explode?”

“Oui! Oui!” Gnollpoleon's grin grew wider. “But that is exactly why I am here! For the fragments of the black throne, surely they remain!”

“There's no way you can rebuild it.”

“I do not have to! Non, Monsieur Sentry-- for therein lies the brilliance of my plan! Each fragment of the black throne can still absorb magic ... if not as much. If each of my gnolls carries a piece of the throne with them--”

“--they've got their own little anti-magic field.”*

*The magical theory behind Gnollpoleon's plan is debatable. Some studies do show that magic sometimes behaves as a liquid, in that it can be directed or absorbed by certain objects (or even certain ponies) given the right conditions. However, the ways in which magic behaves are hardly universal, dependent on any number of factors, ranging from the position of the stars to the emotional status of the pony. Unfortunately (and unsurprisingly) Sentry does not provide enough detail to determine the magical feasibility of Gnollpoleon's scheme.

“Oui!” Gnollpoleon howled with eager laughter. “It shall give them the edge they need to conquer Equestria!”

“Why are you telling me this?” I refilled my wineglass.

“I like you, Monsieur Sentry. I had thought ponies to be weak and sentimental-- but you have proved me wrong! My plan is so brilliant, I must share it with someone who will appreciate it.”

“Look, Gnollpoleon.” I said, flatly. “If this anti-magic-rock business works out for you, that doesn't mean you're going to win. That just means things are going to get ... unpleasant.”

“Oh?”

“I am absolutely certain Princess Celestia knows there are some problems that can't be solved through tactical applications of friendship. And for those problems, she has contingencies. More contingencies than I care to think about.” I pounded down the remnants of my wineglass, and poured myself another red. “I have to admit, you've got the foundations of a halfway decent scheme going. But if magic rainbow nonsense is off the table, then it's all dirty tricks and knives in the dark.”

“Assassins? Pah! I spit upon them! What do ponies know of cloaks and daggers?”

“More than you'd think.” I shrugged. “But to be honest, it probably won't even come to that. You ... do realize pegasus ponies such as myself can control the weather, yes? How far is your invasion going to go once the weather corps drops a couple of blizzards on you?”

“Les blizzards?” One of the gnoll troopers said. Gnollpoleon silenced him with a general's glare, but the seed had been planted. A few other gnolls began to murmur amongst themselves, listening more closely to the conversation. I rubbed at my chin-- and then started speaking louder.

“Oh, absolutely. They might mix things up with a thunderstorm or two, but there's nothing quite like a few feet of snow to make things properly miserable. Can't really march once frostbite's gotten a couple of your toes, after all. In fact--” In a rare moment that would've done my old academy instructors proud, I dredged up some fragments of a lecture I'd probably slept through. “Isn't that what happened to the first Gnollpoleon?”

Gnollpoleon paled, at least as much as a speckled hyena-beast could beneath his grey fur. “Why are you telling me this, Monsieur Sentry?”

“Because, Gnollpoleon,” I said, with remarkable (read: drunken) candor. “I don't like you.”

“Quoi?”

“You are an ugly little creature-- both inside and out. Which normally I wouldn't care about, but you've made an already miserable trip even more unpleasant. And that's before you tried to poison me. Also, you're short and that hat makes you look ridiculous.”

“You dare?” Gnollpoleon stood on his chair, and pointed a claw at me. “You dare to speak to the great Gnollpoleon this way?”

“The great Gnollpoleon?” I scoffed. “Hardly. All you've done so far is terrorize some clueless, bug-brained changelings. You're just number fourteen in a long, long line of losers.” I drained my glass and reached for the bottle again, only to find it empty. “And you know what they say about sequels.”

Gnollpoleon fumed and growled, while the rest of his gnolls looked on, shocked at such a display of disrespect to their commander. He threw his wineglass to the floor, and hopped onto the table, walking across his own maps in a vain attempt to loom over me. “Monsieur Sentry, for this affront, I will see you--”

“Sir!” A gnoll with sergeant's bars on his sleeve burst through the door, panting. “The changelings! They have escaped!”

“Quoi?” Gnollpoleon said, in shock-- only to turn his beady eyes upon me once more. “Zut alors! Monsieur Sentry, this is your fault! J'accuse!”

“Not entirely my fault.” I said, having imbibed enough liquid courage to put me at Daring Do levels. “I just provided the distraction while Carrot Top did all the hard work. I'm frankly surprised it took you this long to notice-- I imagine they're halfway to Equestria by now.”

“Seize him!” Gnollpoleon shrieked, and before I could take wing, a platoon's worth of gnolls piled onto me, pinning me in place. Gnollpoleon jumped off of the table and landed right in front of my nose, sneering. “This treachery shall not go unpunished! Your wings shall be plucked, your bones shall be broken, and your skin shall be flayed! But not before you get to watch your beloved Equestria burn.” Gnollpoleon spat in my face, and then turned around to literally bark orders at his troops. “Enough of this! We have celebrated too long, and too early! Prepare the troops, for soon, we march!”

“March where, pray tell?”

The gnolls turned, and gasped as they saw none other than Princess Luna tromp into the throne room. Guards in shining armor (led by Shining Armor himself) flanked her, while Spitfire and a handful of Wonderbolts streaked in and started circling above our heads. Gnollpoleon's troops (at least the ones who hadn't drank themselves to unconsciousness) warily backed away from the main door, cowed by the sudden show of force.

“Fools! Imbeciles! Cowards!” Gnollpoleon said. “Can't you see? These are not real ponies! They are les changelings! This is just another ruse! Do not be afraid! For I, the great Gnollpoleon Bone-Apart XIV, shall tear away this disguise, and then we shall tear these insects to ribbons!”

With that, Gnollpoleon marched (if a little unsteadily) up to Princess Luna, and kicked her in the shin. His foot connected with one of Luna's armored sabatons, and the resulting 'clang!' echoed off the vaulted ceiling of the throne room. Gnollpoleon hopped on one foot and swore, comically-- that is, until Princess Luna stepped on him. The wind left Gnollpoleon's lungs with a dog-toy-reminiscent squeak, and the little gnoll could do little but flail helplessly against her strength.

“I am no illusion.” Princess Luna's eyes blazed with magic as she swept her gaze over the other gnolls present. “Are there any others who wish to test me?”

There weren't.

“That went ... surprisingly well.” Carrot Top said. She had pulled me out of a chaos of clean-up and congratulations, and dragged me off to some quiet little tower where we wouldn't be bothered. It was a good thing she did, too, as I was finally beginning to feel the deleterious effects of the wine. I hadn't puked while bowing to Princess Luna, but it was a close thing.

“You did all the hard work, getting the changelings out of the dungeon.” I said, looking out the window to the barren changeling lands beyond. It was hardly a landscape worth so much damned trouble, but that was about standard for my career.

“All in a day's work for Special Agent Golden Harvest.” Carrot Top said, deadpan. “It ... it would have been a lot harder if you hadn't distracted Gnollpoleon, though.”

“All in a day's work for Lieutenant Flash Sentry.” I managed a dutiful expression for a few seconds before breaking out laughing.

“I can't believe you saved Equestria by getting drunk.”

“Technically, I saved Equestria by getting someone else drunk.”

“Here's what I don't get-- how did you know when the reinforcements from Equestria would arrive?”

“I didn't.”

“What?”

“I figured they'd get here eventually, once the airship brought the news to Canterlot, but beyond that, I had no idea. Honestly, I'm just lucky Princess Luna teleported her team here instead of going overland-- must have shaved at least a day or two off their time. I just stalled Gnollpoleon for as long as I could. And if that didn't work I was just going to light something on fire and run away.”

“That's a terrible plan.”

“Which makes it lucky Princess Luna arrived when she did.”

“Gnollpoleon was ready to kill you.”

“He was.” I shuddered. “But ... well, even if he did, that still would have distracted him, wouldn't it? You'd still escape with King Thorax, like you needed to. I'm ... expendable.”

Carrot Top touched a hoof to my cheek, tilted my chin up, and looked me straight in the eye.

“Not to me you're not.”

So ends the third volume of the Flash Sentry papers.