Iron Quill dreamed of distant Equestria that night, of campaigns fought and won and prices paid to forbidden things. When he did wake, it was to another harsh knock on the tent outside, and the nervous face of Chain Mail appearing inside. “It’s your, uh… circus performers?”

“My what?” he asked, not even getting the words out his mouth before several of the ponies forced their way in.

Cozen was at their head, with Sylvan Shade in the rear looking extremely uncomfortable to be there. Cozen levitated two containers with her—a glass vial, and one of the mineral baskets.

“I hope you have a good reason to be…” He yawned, then uncovered his glowstone from the wall.

“Yes.” Cozen levitated his camp table over, brushing his belongings onto the floor and depositing both baskets there. She held up the glass vial. “We did it. Conversion of poison to earth. We can save this army.”

Iron Quill leaned down, taking the tiny vial in one wing and inspecting it. Chunks of chalky rock were inside, faintly tinged green. They didn’t smoke or hiss, and actually the vial was slightly warm to the touch. “In that case, I’m no longer upset you interrupted me. By all means, enact your solution. Save our lives.”

“Well…” Sylvan shoved his way through to the front. “Apologies, Lord Commander. Cozen here didn’t mention some fairly important caveats. I was hoping we would have more time to perfect the reaction. A little more time can often prove the key to a better conversion.”

“A little more time we lack,” Cozen said, annoyed. “This is the best we’ll get.”

Iron Quill turned away from them both, walking to his mirror. He lowered his face briefly down into the washbasin, then dried with the cloth hanging there. Finally he turned around. “Can we do it or can’t we?”

Sylvan opened a worn bit of parchment, holding it out to him. Quill skimmed it as quickly as he could, though it was entirely alchemical in nature and that was beyond his study. During his retirement Quill had mastered much of economics and planning, not so much physical philosophy.

“Very interesting,” he said. “Now make it make sense.”

Sylvan passed the scroll to one of his assistants. “Any conversion from one element to another involves balance, yes? You can’t create or destroy, only transform. We experimented with various salts available to us, and settled on that one.”

Cozen helpfully lifted the edge of the basket, exposing the mineral inside. Crushed greenish powder, with larger bits of rock jumbled in around the dust. “Olivine. It was one of the minerals I found while we were above. All it needs is one of the fundamental alchemical spells, Acceleratus, to speed the transformation.”

Sylvan glared sidelong at her. “A basic unicorn spell, and many stones-weight of salt that we can’t find inside the moon. Broken to powder, in a shallow pool with as much exposure to the air as possible. Do that, and we can capture our poison, transforming it to harmless earth.”

“There’s tons of it up there,” Cozen muttered, gesturing up with a flick of her horn. “All we have to do is go back with a few carts and collect it. That can’t be too hard.”

“Depends on our princess.” Iron Quill turned for the door. “Do you know how to do enough of this to remove all the poison from the air?”

“It’s not a question of enough,” Sylvan said. “The salt eventually loses its savor and we’re forced to replace it. The stone created can be carried off. For every pound of salt, we will remove a pound of poison from the air. Unfortunately we don’t know exactly how much the army produces… but we can always just keep replacing the salt, if we can keep gathering it.”

“Prepare to begin,” he said, taking a large unpowdered chunk of the salt in his wing and turning to leave. “I’ll find a way to gather it.”

“We’ll need more than just my magic!” Cozen called after him. “I don’t know how many unicorns it will take, but the spell can be… exhausting. More than me.”

He stopped. Iron Quill already knew how much success he would have attempting to recruit the camp wizards from each of the other companies. He’d fought and lost that battle once already. “Are there unicorns skilled enough among the camp followers?”

“You mean the whores and dancers and worse?” Penumbra asked. Quill hadn’t even realized she was here, yet she appeared from the shadows at the edge of the tent. For all he knew, she’d been standing there watching him sleep since the first moment.

He could sense the wave of hostility rising from these new ponies—they were camp followers too, even if they came from the more respectful class of performers.

Iron Quill nodded. “They are exactly who I mean. There are sixteen unicorns among all the army, and none of them have reported to me. What about the camp followers?”

His guests huddled for a moment, whispering to each other in hushed tones. Sylvan too was excluded here—he had been a member of a camp before, if shunned and ignored in his position.

Eventually they looked up. “They’ll want pay,” said a tiny earth pony, the smallest pony Quill had ever seen. Definitely a circus performer. “Not just scraps off the army floors.”

“And a real space!” Somepony else added. A pegasus pony with only one wing, and a nasty scar running from their eye all the way to where their wing should’ve been. “There is so much cave, but we are kept to the top by the icy door, so our ‘stink’ will not come down and offend you.”

Cozen cleared her throat. “I haven’t done a census, and we don’t have official records like yours. But I know of a hundred unicorns at least who are old enough. But you can’t have them unless you take our families as well. We can’t leave them up there to starve while we grow fat in the luxury of the camp.”

An idea struck Iron Quill then, as insane as the alchemical conversion of poison to earth. Quill didn’t have an army, only a handful of trusted officers from another life. He didn’t have unicorns. But what he did have was all the food, and all the gold.

“Chain Mail!” Quill called, turning away from her.

He appeared in the entrance a second later, saluting. “Lord Commander.”

“Instruct Silver Needle to allocate a full company allotment bordering us and… Permafrost. Tell her to use everypony she can find to build a perimeter and assist the ponies in establishing an orderly presence here.”

“The… ponies?” Chain Mail looked confused. “Which ponies, sir? Every company is already here.”

“Not quite,” he said. “As Lord Commander, I hereby create, uh… Lunar Company. Number… 13, composed of the population of merchants and camp followers.” He turned slightly to Cozen, watching her expression. “I will serve as their commanding officer. Every working mare or stallion will receive a legionnaire’s wage, effective immediately.”

Chain Mail stumbled back a little, utterly bewildered. “Lord Commander, are you quite… are you quite certain those are your orders?”

“Absolutely certain,” he said. “Oh, and tell her to prepare a dozen carts as well, with ponies to pull them. Take them from among the new company, and be ready to depart within the hour.” He nodded towards the open doorway. “That will be all.”

Chain Mail saluted, then hurried off.

“You’ll have a dagger in you by daylight,” Penumbra said, turning away from him in disgust. “Which captain do you think will do it? Tallow? No, I think Permafrost. He’s been waiting for an excuse to challenge your right to rule by combat.”

“Let him,” Quill said, and for the first time he meant it. “I’m going to save these ponies’ lives, or bucking die trying. I don’t much care which it is at this point.”

He stopped Cozen with a wing before she could leave, forcing her to meet his eyes. There were tears running down her face, and she obviously didn’t want him to see. While her companions cheered, she tried to stay strong.

“Do you understand what this means, Cozen?” He didn’t wait for her confirmation. “There won’t be any more battles, but you’ll still be soldiers. Our days of fighting in Equestria might be done, but our new enemy is even more ruthless. Outside of this hollow space, the moon is trying to kill us. Even if we win today, it won’t be the last battle we fight.”

“I know…” was all she could say. Her voice melted into tears, and she kept wiping them with one leg. But he could still see.

“One more thing.” He pulled her back. “I don’t require training or birth from you, as the other companies do. But I will still expect you to act like soldiers. Anypony who walks into this camp leaves their whoring and cavorting at the picket line. Are we clear?”

She sniffed, nodding again. Cozen was out the tent seconds later, along with all her companions. Only Sylvan remained, watching them go. “Are you certain that wasn’t a bit… premature?” he asked. “I admire your determination, but… does the salvation of our army have to come at such a price? Their kind let… in here?”

“There was a time I could’ve had ten thousand brave stallions at my command. Those years are long over. We have to win this war with the army we have.” Iron Quill turned his back on him too. “Get to work. If you’ll excuse me, I have to speak to my armorer.”

By the time Iron Quill stepped out of the armory, he no longer dressed like a monk. The enchanted armor worn by the dead Stalwart Shield weighed heavily on his shoulders, even though the entire set had been tailored to him and fit perfectly. He knew well what terrible things had been done wearing this armor, in the name of his princess.

The armor was entirely black, overlapping scales of metal with a few larger plates along the chest. There was no helmet anymore—it had been so badly mangled with poor Stalwart’s head that it couldn’t be salvaged. The blacksmiths had better things to do than fix armor he no longer needed. He still wore the crown, settled high on his head as a reminder to everypony who might see to question him.

As he marched through camp, he passed a steady wave of ponies moving the other way—not soldiers of good breeding and discipline marching in a line, but a crowd of disorganized peasants and worse—mostly mares, along with the lowest and worst members of the army. But in some ways, there’re the most innocent of any of us. They didn’t agree to serve the Nightmare Queen. We did.

Even Quill had a choice, back then. He could’ve died.

“You think dressing up is going to stop this, you’re wrong,” Penumbra said, falling into step beside him as they approached the princess’s throne room. Well, “room” and “throne” were currently both a little subjective. It was a large tent with a round front, lit by huge torches and with the largest chair anyone in camp could find as the throne. Even from a distance, Quill could hear the voices inside—captains’ voices, no doubt complaining about him. But they weren’t yet to the entrance, so he wouldn’t be visible quite yet. “Do you think the princess will kill you, or them?”

“I think Nightmare Moon is wiser than she is proud,” Iron Quill whispered. There were more Voidseekers here, lingering without tents or rations or even cots to sleep on. So far as he knew, they didn’t need to eat, didn’t sleep… didn’t do anything besides serving their queen. “Only Aminon knows her better than I do.”

Penumbra rolled her eyes. “And yet you were the master of the treasury, and not her army. Why is that?”

“Because I refused to kill for her,” he whispered, so quiet he wasn’t even sure Penumbra had heard. “But up here, I’m not killing for Nightmare Moon. I’m killing for them.” He gestured vaguely at the armory with one wing—even his wings were armored, with an enchanted chain so thin he could still fly in it, if he had to.

A ring of soldiers blocked the entrance—not Voidseekers, but Permafrost’s personal guard. They all wore purple plumes on their helmets and white uniforms. As Quill approached, they stepped together in a single wave, forming a perfectly coordinated shield wall. “None may pass,” a stallion said, voice gruff. “Permafrost is not finished conversing with the princess.”

He could see past them, or at least over their heads, thanks to the increased height his armor gave him. Quill cleared his throat. “I am the Lord Commander of the Lunar Army. I order you to move, now.”

They held still, a few glaring and some others rolling their eyes. “Our orders are not to move,” the stallion said.

“Tell your captain the Lord Commander is here. Tell him that if you aren’t out of my way, he’s going to lose his bodyguards.” He nodded slightly to Penumbra, raising his voice just a little. “If this stallion isn’t gone in thirty seconds, kill him.”

Penumbra stiffened, eyes wide with surprise. Then she dropped back, vanishing with a burst of darkness.

“I suggest you speak to your commander now,” Quill said again. “I will not be prevented from fulfilling my duties. Not by you, and not by anypony else.”

“Steelshod, Replace R-7!” He stepped back, and the wall closed around his empty place. A few soldiers shifted, glowering at him with their spears ready.

Cinereous Gale took a few steps back, as though they were casual movements he intended to make anyway. In reality, he was getting out of range of a single spear-thrust, though he was still plenty close enough for them to try and kill him if they wanted to. He could see crossbows on several of their backs, and those would be harder to avoid if they attacked him.

Don’t be a fool, Quill. You haven’t fought for years. You aren’t fighting through this now.

A few seconds later and the soldier returned, expression dark. “Captain Permafrost says that I’m not to permit you through.”

“By my count, you have ten seconds, son,” Quill said. He reached down with a wing, drawing the Lord Commander’s sword. The torches lining the entrance went out, and a chill spread between them. They were suddenly in darkness, with only the faint glow from within the throne room visible past them. The sword itself wasn’t metal, but solid darkness. “It would be a shame to see good stallions like you die for this.”

“You’re a scholar!” a pony called near the edge of the shield, raising his voice a little. “Stop strutting around in that and go back to count grain.”

Iron Quill didn’t move. “Five seconds,” he said. “The lives of every pony in this cave are mine to protect. Move.”

The captain hesitated a moment longer, glowering at him. Then he broke. “Gate formation on R-6… pace!”

The line of soldiers split open down the middle, with spears and shields pointed in at him.

Penumbra glided down beside him, tossing her dagger from her mouth and back into its sheath. “Good timing, kid.”

Iron Quill shoved his way through, sliding the sword back into its sheath. He stormed into the tent, pushing past the flaps. There were three captains in here, Permafrost and White Tallow and Moonshadow, all conversing with Nightmare Moon beside her throne. She listened with a tone of exceptional boredom, though his arrival was enough that she finally looked up.

The captains shared a confused glance, with Permafrost in particular tensing. “You shouldn’t be in here,” he said flatly, interrupting what his companion was saying about the outrage of bringing “drunkards and whores” into the camp.

“I don’t believe that’s for you to say, Permafrost,” he said, marching up to the throne. “Princess permitting, I believe your conversation is over. There are matters of consequence to discuss. You may leave.”

Nightmare Moon sat back on her throne, nodding slightly to him. But she didn’t move otherwise—didn’t so much as twitch. She wasn’t going to make this easy.

Permafrost actually laughed. “You’re lucky I didn’t tell Captain Tallow to gut you, Quill. Crawl back into your ledgers. The princess will soon be done with this farce.”

Quill glanced to the side, meeting Penumbra’s eyes through her slit. She shook her head, just a little. The message was clear enough. She couldn’t help him, not against captains. They answered to the princess herself, not like their soldiers.

Quill didn’t move. “If I do that, your soldiers will be choking on their vomit by tomorrow. I’d happily leave and let reality prove it—but there are good mares and stallions who don’t deserve to suffer because their leader is a fool.” He raised his voice just a little. “Princess, I have a solution. But I’ll need your help to enact it.”

Nightmare Moon met his eyes. “My help, or the night workers’? Don’t you think my service demands a little dignity?”

“If you thought we wouldn’t notice, or that we would ignore it… you were wrong,” Tallow said. “You can’t throw everything of history and dignity into the midden heap and expect us to allow it.”

Quill ignored him. “Princess, there were a hundred unicorns of magical strength among the camp followers. Their service in the bedroom is done—their magic will keep this army alive.”

“He can say it about anything, Princess,” Permafrost said. “It is simple for a captain to say that what they do is ‘for the army,’ that we will be destroyed if we don’t follow their brilliant plan. It is precisely that kind of thinking that got us here in the first place. We can’t take your revenge with an army of cowards and fools.”

The princess remained silent, watching him for his response. Finally Quill sighed, drawing the sword in a single quick motion. “I wanted to avoid this, Permafrost. Your camp keeps good order, and your stallions love you. But if the choice is your life, or all of theirs, then… here we are. If you want this crown, come and take it.”

Permafrost’s toothy smile stretched from one side of his face to the other. “You will regret that invitation, old man.” He glanced to each of his companions in turn. “You heard him, yes? Witnessed by these captains and our princess herself. My challenge is invited. I wish no rebellion against her majesty’s order.”

Then he laughed again. “You think because you can wear a better pony’s armor and hold their sword that you can be him? All the army will see the rule of scholars come to an end. Now.”

“No.” Nightmare Moon’s voice was suddenly harsh, commanding. “I wish for it to be an event. You three, go and inform the troops. Inform the rest of the army as well. Establish an arena. Iron Quill, how much time do you require?”

“Two more days,” he said. “As you warned.”

“Two days, then,” Nightmare Moon said. “It has been a long time since I’ve seen an event like that. Where are your grand promises about swords, Quill?”

“In Equestria,” he muttered, defeated.

“You hear my command,” Nightmare Moon said. “Now, take your stallions and go. Do as I have ordered.”

They bowed, meeting his eyes for a few last gleeful looks.

“I did try to protect him, Princess,” Penumbra said. “But I can’t protect him from himself.”

Nightmare Moon rose from her throne, shaking out her massive feathered wings. “Those foals live on a rim of melting ice and refuse to see it. Quill’s real test is not a duel, it is seeing that there is anypony alive to watch. What have you found?”

He explained as quickly as he could, showing the alchemical diagrams he had copied from Sylvan Shade’s original sketch. “That’s why I need those unicorns—” he finished, a few minutes later. “The conversion must go more quickly. There is a spell for that, one they can cast on a body of water…”

Nightmare Moon sat back, staring up at the stony ceiling. “I see no reason this should work,” she eventually said. “Alchemy as you know it is a mockery, a hearsay passage of truth from one ear to another until only the form of knowledge remains, and not the realities that underpin it. This solution should not work.”

“It will,” he said, confident. “Please, Princess. I ask so little from you, and the alternative is death. I don’t want to see any more dead children.”

She rose to her hooves, fixing him with her furious, slitted eyes. “What is it you want from me?”

“The salt we require is a green mineral from the surface. There is much of it there, but we need to gather a supply. I’ve prepared laborers to make the trip. I need your spell to protect them while they work, and bring them home. As you cast when we arrived here.”

“The green mineral,” she repeated. “That can somehow fix carbon from the air we breathe into… carbonite rock, I assume. I can’t imagine why that would work, but I’m no chemist. We must use the tools at our disposal.”

She stopped beside him, lowering her voice to a dangerous whisper. “Penumbra, I have new commands for you. If this plan fails… make sure no one kills Iron Quill here, even himself. I want him to watch in agony as the army dies.”

Penumbra nodded once. “It will be done, Princess.”

“I will meet your laborers at the exit,” she went on, as though she hadn’t just threatened him. “And Gale—I require strength from those who serve. Even if you succeed, I will not save you from the death you have invited. You asked for a duel, and so you will have it.”

“I know.” He bowed, just as the others had. “If my life is what it costs for all of these, then I’ll pay. But… maybe I won’t have to. Maybe when Permafrost doesn’t suffocate, he’ll change his mind.”

Nightmare Moon only laughed as she walked away, leaving him and Penumbra alone in the tent.

Iron Quill was not with the ponies when they left to the surface, though not for any reason of fear. Nightmare Moon was going up there—if anything, the trip would be safer than remaining behind. But he couldn't take the risk that any of his rivals might decide that his absence would be a good time to raid his army. Let them see that he was still here, and Penumbra was still under his command. They might not be afraid of him, but they could fear her dagger in their back.

He watched as they returned, roughly two hours later. Laborers marched in, rolling their carts covered with a fresh layer of the surface's ever-present gray dust. Each cart was overflowing with stone, large boulders and small and ample green powder shoveled right off the moon's surface.

Nightmare Moon had not come back with them—probably she had gone straight to her throne room, to wait out the end somewhere she wouldn't be subject to the indignity of visiting Quill's camp.

There was no missing the mark of the “soldiers” he had recruited, with their loud singing and the stench of infrequent bathing they brought. He could see the grins of officers from other armies as they watched.

Let them mock—they would learn respect when they kept breathing.

Of course, much of the camp wasn't for the former night-ponies, reassigned as makeshift heroes. Most of the space was occupied with Cozen's contraptions, the ones that would somehow save all their lives. There were a dozen identical hollow troughs, dug right into the cave floor by aid of earth pony strength. Each was lined with simple unicorn markings, and lines for irrigation connected them all.

Sylvan Shade joined Iron Quill as he approached, standing to one side as everypony worked. "We're ready for the stone," he said. "And none too soon. The news is not good from elsewhere. I hear of ponies stricken with fever, foals bedridden. They might soon die if we are not successful."

"Where did we get all this water?" Iron Quill asked. "I've seen our supply, it doesn't run this deep."

"Melting," Cozen answered, appearing behind him with less grace than Penumbra ever had, but no less smugness. "We quarried it from the underside of the glacier. We're running out of oil, by the way."

You burned oil to melt ice. No wonder ponies are getting sick a day before we thought they would. “Lantern oil is the least of our concerns," he said. "We can dismantle our siege weapons if we need more. I don't think we're going to be lobbing those casks over castle walls anytime soon."

He watched from the side as Cozen directed her friends and colleagues from the edge of camp. They didn't act with anything like professional decorum; they lounged about and worked casually—but they worked. Soon each of the troughs was full of crushed green rock, broken by earth pony hooves. Unicorns surrounded the circle, and began to chant.

"This is how our lives continue?" Penumbra asked from beside him, quiet enough that none of the non-bats could hear. "Are you sure it will do anything at all? There's no point to any of this."

He retreated a step, standing beside her. "What would you suggest? That we all swear ourselves to Nightmare?"

She tensed, and the eyes that met his from within those wraps were far more intense than he'd seen from her so far. "Never. You should die. You in particular, Iron Quill. I don't want to hear your complaining if this fails."

But how would he even know if it succeeded? The unicorns stopped chanting after a few moments, leaving a faint glow surrounding the clearing and its many pools, bright enough to keep it lit without glowstones or torches. Iron Quill walked away from where Penumbra had waited, approaching the edge of the nearest pool. As he came, he had to shove his way through the laborers and unicorns, who either didn't see him at all, or didn't care. We'll have to work on that.

The water frothed and bubbled faintly, though he couldn't have said exactly what it was doing.

"We did it," Cozen declared, pointing down past his shoulder. "We used the olivine we had to set this up, and we'll need to quarry more. The magic empowering this conversion should run out about when the salt does."

"I guess now we wait," Sylvan said, staring down with them. "See what happens."

Quill laughed. "We can't do anymore here, but we aren't waiting." He turned to Cozen. "I told you the ponies you brought would have to start living like they're creatures of repute—that starts now. Assemble everypony on the parade ground, right now."

"No rest?" Cozen asked, exasperated. "We just… look at all that."

He lowered his voice. "I'm not going to have them running drills or anything. But we need to learn if they're capable of this life, and that starts now."

She shrugged. "Your funeral, Quill."

He blocked her path with a wing. "Your funeral, Lord Commander," he corrected. "We can't ask of others what we can't even manage ourselves."

"Lord Commander," she returned, turning away. "I'll call them. Sylvan, you can help. Get your rump over here."

So it was that Iron Quill's new "army" assembled beside the pools of shallow water and pale green salt, surrounded by a faint breeze. It blew in from all around, which meant that it didn't smell terribly pleasant.

From the edges of camp, Quill could see soldiers from other companies watching them, occasionally pointing to one another and laughing at what they saw. He did his best to ignore them. Even so, the ponies he had assembled weren't much better. They spoke to each other in casual tones, barely even looking up or listening.

There were more creatures here than he'd thought, the refuse that followed along behind this army and ate their scraps. But there just weren't the same kind of scraps to go around now that they'd been banished. It was time for them to learn to pull their weight—or die.

By inviting them here, I've inserted them into this conflict. If I fail, the army will not be kind to them. The whores would be the lucky ones.

"Ponies!" he called, lifting up into the air where they all could see him. His voice carried well, particularly in an enclosed space. He knew how to shout for a drill.

Around the edges of the camp, his actual soldiers were ready for battle at a moment's notice, with armor tight and weapons polished. There was a chance Permafrost wouldn't wait, and he intended to be ready for it. "I know many of you have worked hard to make this possible. But I suspect you don't know the importance of what you've just accomplished here.

"This strange spell you've built, this construction of alchemy—it will allow all the army to live on. It takes from the air a poison that was killing us, that would bring even the greatest officers of the highest birth low."

"No change for us!" somepony called from the back—he couldn’t see who. "That's where we always are. Lifting up our betters, and walking in your shit."

Agreement echoed through the mob, far more enthusiastic than any sound they'd made for him.

"That is how it used to be," Iron Quill called. "But those days are over. This strange world we've been banished to is far crueler than the one you left behind. Its winters will not take away the grass you eat, because there's no grass here at all. The waters aren't fouled by marching stallions ahead of you, because there's no water. There are no fresh mosses to make into your beds, no trading ships—only a void without beginning or end. Permafrost and those like him have mocked the idea of you contributing to our survival.

"I think differently. I think that every stallion and mare here is the equal of those who mock and mistreat you. Fate has been unkind to many of you—you've lost loved ones in the war, suffered terribly at the consequences of the Tyrant Princess, or ours. Not anymore. Those who stay in my camp will live different lives. I won't train you to fight a battle of swords and claws, but of iron and grain. You will be a greater army than any of theirs—there are no enemy armies to fight here, no fortifications to take, no villages to massacre. Only the void.”

He landed beside the alchemical troughs, feeling the slight breeze brushing past his mane. He could only hope that meant it was working. "Silver Needle, step forward."

She waited by the edge of the group, with her clipboard levitating beside her. From her exhaustion she had helped with the spell, even given all her other duties. But she came anyway, under the watchful eyes of peasants and whores.

"Tell then, Silver. Where were you when I found you?"

She squeaked faintly, balking under the pressure. But Silver Needle owed him much, and she wasn't going to turn and flee no matter how uncomfortable the situation. "I, uh… running messages to the front."

"And now what do you do?"

"I'm, uh…" She looked away. "Quartermaster Captain, sir."

"Right." He waved her off, and Silver scurried back to the edge of the crowd with the laborers. He let her go. "I saw a pony with potential, and I lifted her. I have seen potential in you—all of you. I see a world where ponies like you are respected leaders, not the ones soldiers use for their amusement. But to make that future happen, I need your help."

That was the cue to his plants among the crowd—laborers he'd suggested to cheer at just the right moment. They did, and soon their voices were joined by many others. It felt like the whole moon began to rumble, with little sprays of dust falling from around them. Their voices echoed, and he had no doubt that even the furthest companies would be hearing them.

Let them listen. He could only hope that he was telling these ponies the truth. "Silver Needle and her assistants will sort you according to your skills and experience. Some of you will be given weapons, others will be assisting with projects like the one behind me. But we will all work, until either we return to Equestria, or we no longer have to fear for our survival in this place."

Or the rest of the army murders us all.