Artemis Sparkshower

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Specialist Artemis Sparkshower was… well, calm.

It was a bit of a surprise to her. The Gala was tomorrow -- she should have been excited about that. And she should have been at least a little nervous about performing the Lipizzaner Waltz, even though she’d practiced it again with the Royal Engineer that morning. Most of all, she should have been filled with anticipation for this meeting at one of the Equestrian Royal Guard's most storied locations: the artillery proving grounds, site of the MXP Games, and in particular the Grand Mêlée.

But she wasn’t.

Artemis just felt... calm.

Maybe it's because nothing was really supposed to happen today; just a discussion of the rules and an inspection of the battlefield -- and perhaps a look at one of the other competing teams conducting drills.

Or maybe it was because of last night's visit to the Moon with Lily.

As Artemis had requested, she hadn't been subject to possession. Her unicorn comrade had to content herself with repeated attempts to banish an 'unbound' Accursed Shadow. She sorta managed it in the end, making it go away after Ignacio had further restrained and exposed it. It was interesting to watch; maybe even a little funny, actually. While last time the presence of that black shape had been terrifying, this time Artemis had felt... well, nothing, really.

For all the first trip's terror of walking into a dark, claustrophobic place, where the walls of reality were weak, and where formless, magical, soul-eating monsters from another dimension readily crossed over, last night's trip to into the deep impact crater where Nightmare Moon had landed, the black pit the batpony 'Children of the Stars' referred to as the 'Well of Shadows,' had felt no more threatening than a simple partly-cloudy summer day. The kind with a high of 23 centigrade, with a gentle ten-kilometer-an-hour breeze out of the west, modest fifty percent humidity, and a manageable twenty percent chance of showers.

An everyday.

The Accursed Shadows which Ignacio Blazon summoned forth took pony forms last night again, yes. And a few of them even said a word or two while standing before the group, sometimes addressing one of them by name. But Artemis felt nothing -- no threat, no terror.

Was it just the knowledge that the monstrosities were as easily removed and banished as they were summoned, if one had the tools? Or, maybe any fears were offset by the joy from bringing Artemis’ 'Little Ludwig' camera along for the trip? She had taken, as far as she knew, the first photos of the Moon! Of Nightmare Moon's enormous impact crater, and of the mysterious Well of Shadows! And of Equestria, as seen from almost four hundred thousand kilometers away!

‘Talk about a postcard to send home to your parents!’

On the way back, she’d even taken a photograph with the Righteous Hatcheteer València Fierropezuña, who’d come on duty at the internal border-post while Artemis was out on the Moon. While the batpony was a little disappointed at having missed out on the gifts they’d brought for the guards on their way in -- more magazines, but this time candy and chewing gum instead of tobacco products -- she was curious about the boxy device hanging around Artemis’ neck.

So the pegasus took a photo with her.

None of the batponies were enthusiastic for the illumination provided by Glamerspear, who was behind the lens, but it had to be done if the photos were going to turn out at all. And Artemis was confident that they would -- perhaps later today when she went off duty. She’d promised València a copy.

Sighing, Artemis adjusted the weight of the Bradamante Lance in her hooves. When she wasn't using it to rocket forwards, it was actually a pretty heavy weapon. Flying with her armor on was challenging enough; she could manage, and manage well, even over long distances, but adding more weight pushed her closer to her limit. Maybe she ought to have brought her standard-issue lance instead.

Artemis really should have thought about the fact that she’d have to keep a slow pace with the Royal Engineer's Whirlwind below. It was fast, yes, but it wasn't "Anthony Theolonicus rocket-lance, crafted for Bradamante Growler" fast. She supposed she could just drop down and ride on the upper deck of the vehicle.

Sergeant Ebonshield was gliding along beside the pegasus, in her magical disguise as 'Sergeant Blackspear.' As much as Ebonshield felt comfortable walking around the palace -- or even the city -- exactly as she was, the Royal Artillery Proving Grounds was an active Royal Guard base outside the municipal limits. Don't-Ask-Don't-Tell was in full effect, and there might even be ponies there who had fought against the Children, or knew somepony who had fallen to their blades during the Summer Sun Celebration two years ago. Best not to provoke an incident by having a batpony on full display.

Even so...

Like a gusting wind, Artemis’ mind wandered to other possibilities. Imagine the confusion her group could cause if Eb wore that batpony-crafted, magical linothorax armor to look like a pegasus, while the real pegasus donned one of the medallions fashioned by Aldonza to make her look like an Eclipse-phase batpony! That would sure trip up their enemies during the Grand Mêlée!

‘It’s so crazy, maybe I ought to suggest it for real.’

As the Whirlwind finally reached the stone-paved main road, exiting Canterlot city proper, Artemis flapped her wings to better survey the hilly terrain. The area surrounding Canterlot was mostly farm estates of moderate size. Not as luxurious as the grand villas of the hinterlands, but not as small as the sharecropper villages further out. Each farm was unique in its own special way: by crop, or by layout, or by orientation, or by the home built upon it. The ponies here were examples of Equestria's agricultural middle class, with easy access to irrigation and a large market for their goods right at their doorstep. If not for the rules enforcing small-holdership on these lands, some rich noblepony would have surely consolidated all of the acreage. But, like Canterlot itself, these lands were carefully stewarded.

Just beyond a final rolling hill was a great green plain, where once the ancestors of today's nobility would meet to challenge each other in glorious battle -- and where some of their contemporary descendants still came today.

"This land, she is truly beautiful," the batpony-pegasus flying beside Artemis spoke up. "From the Moon, we can see the blue of the seas, and the green of the plants, and the clouds in the skies. She has always looked beautiful to us, this world of our ancestors, but watching her from so far away is far removed from witnessing her first-wing."

Ebonshield looked over at Artemis, gliding on her false feathery wings. "...I apologize. I have interrupted your thoughts."

The specialist shook her head. "No, no. I was also admiring the scenery. You know, there's a lot of romantic songs about Canterlot in the springtime."

"I am not surprised. What a wonder, the consequences of a war between siblings: on the Moon, it bred among the defeated a thousand years of hate and scheming for revenge, while here in Equestria, the victors built a paradise in memory of the loss."

Artemis had never thought about it that way. Canterlot, the 'new' capital, had been built due to the ruination of the Castle of the Two Sisters. New city, new palace, new location.

The old site had largely been left to rot.

But the sergeant was wrong if she thought the only legacy of that war was Canterlot.

"That's true. But there was also lingering fear here. Otherwise, you wouldn't even consider dressing up in that suit."

Humming in disagreement, Eb clicked her tongue against her teeth. "Hmmm, I think otherwise. The fear of which you speak was for the Nightmare Moon. I have seen the records and prophecies: the followers of the Great Mother were forgotten, perhaps deliberately so. After all, better to remember only a single villain than many hundred or thousands." Beating her illusory feathered wings with the sound of leathery flaps, she continued. "No; I wear the suit because of the actions of my people, for if we had not assaulted our brethren, then there would be no need to hide the existence of the Children from the rest of the Royal Guard."

That was probably true. But the way that the batponies were hidden was clumsy, at best. Everypony in the palace knew of them, even if all they knew was complete nonsense -- like the things Glamerspear had said when the sergeant first showed up.

"It can't last. If the four of us can get along without prejudice, so can everypony else. And Canterlot may be beautiful, Sergeant, but sad stories still happen here. I always thought a real paradise wouldn't have any sad stories."

"You are right, of course, on both counts. And perhaps I exaggerate to call this paradise, though she is still a marvel and a joy. Also, I should not be so critical of my own home; unfortunately, you have visited so far only a selection of the darkest pits the Moon has to offer. There are many places there which are beautiful, if in their own ways, as well."

"Maybe we'll visit them someday. I know it's not the Moon, but Honour did say that the Lunar Sanctuary in the Rookery was amazing."

"Yes. There are larger Sanctuaries on the Moon, but none of them are more finely built than the one here under the mountain."

A thought popped into Artemis’ head amid this discussion of batponies and everypony else.

"Sergeant... Purity... You won't be disguising yourself for the Gala, will you?"

"No, of course not. But perhaps for the great battle..."

The specialist smiled. "I was thinking about that. What a tactical advantage to be disguised, and what a shock when you reveal the truth!"

"Yes, this had occurred to me. The disguise suddenly discarded, the great confusion, and then the deadly strike before the quick withdrawal -- this is the strategy typical of the Stellar Dancers."

It was a good plan. They just had to figure out how to work it into something more comprehensive.

The Whirlwind made good speed on the country roads, and Honour deftly rounded the final corner before coming to a stop at the Proving Grounds' main gates. Off in the distance, Artemis could hear gunnery practice in session, great cannons firing balls off into a battered forest hill.

The pegasus-disguised batpony spoke up. "I believe we have arrived. Let us join our comrades."

By the time they’d descended to ground level, the guards had opened the gate, and one of them was giving directions to Honour. Artemis’ saboted hooves touched the wooden deck with a klump, while Sergeant Ebonshield alighted almost silently beside her.

Glamerspear spun her seat around to look back at the new arrivals. "Hey, Sparks. Hey, Sarge. How was your flight?"

"The lance is a little heavy when I'm not using it," Artemis admitted. "But it's a nice day out, and the fields are really pretty in the spring. I hope tomorrow's just as nice!"

Ebonshield only nodded in agreement.

As Honour guided the vehicle westward towards the main field, the morning sun caught their swivel-mounted unicorn comrade's face. Artemis couldn't help but notice how shiny Lily’s Silver Ram medal was today.

She must have applied some silver polish to it recently.

Could it have been in anticipation of the Gala? The pegasus didn't think she would wear the Ram to that, but she supposed the unicorn could; it was a very pretty medal, and a real accomplishment. But maybe she just wanted to look her best out here with the other Royal Guardsponies -- and Lieutenant Kilfeather.

Or maybe she wanted to impress any other competitors out reconnoitering the field; knowing they were up against a team which included a Centurion of the Ram could hurt their morale in their unit’s favor. It felt a little mean to do that, but this was a big deal! Artemis understood why Lieutenant Kilfeather spoke with such swagger -- he was a three-time Grand Mêlée winner, twice as a wingpony and once as a wing leader, and an achievement like that both inspired, and demanded, supreme confidence.

The Royal Engineer extended an arm to direct Corporal Bound to where they were supposed to go. Today he was wearing a tan suit -- the first time Artemis had seen him in anything but black, except for his armor and his work overalls.

It was actually a bit of a fuss this morning. Since it was sunny, he'd thought to wear white. Honour had to tell him that in Equestrian high society, white could only be worn after the Grand Galloping Gala and before Harmony Day. Late spring and summer, in other words. That sent their Very Important Pony, who wasn't actually a pony, into a bit of a tornado-spin.

For the first time, Artemis and the rest of her quaternion followed him into the other side of the room, beyond the movable partition wall. There wasn't really anything secret back there: just a bed with a trunk at the end, a large armoire, a dressing chair and table, and the door to his bathroom. Once she got there, she could only watch the Royal Engineer furiously riffle through his wardrobe. It wasn't as extensive a collection as Artemis had expected -- he really only had ten or so outfits compared to, say, Glamerspear's overflowing dozens -- but he just couldn't make up his mind.

Wear black?

But it was a warm, sunny day -- and anyways, his usual three-piece suit was too formal, his Gala suit was out of the question, and a white-tie tuxedo was similarly too much.

If he couldn’t wear white, then maybe navy blue? It was a nice-looking jacket, and the white pinstripes were very fashionable, but if he accompanied the four of them in their armor, he'd look like their manager, not their team leader. The same could be said for his grey tweed three-piece.

Yet he didn't think he should wear his armor -- and Artemis could understand why. They were all showing up in Royal Guard battle uniforms; they’d all fit right in at a Royal Guard base. A tall biped in blackened-bronze minotaur armor, with a red cape and maybe even his shield and heavy mace, would not.

In the end, Honour had to put her hoof down, and she stepped up to the wardrobe and picked out a tan 'safari'-style suit with four large pockets and a matching canvas belt worn around the outside. It was appropriate for the warm weather and, with the belt and pockets, looked vaguely military. A pith helmet would've completed the look if he'd had one, but he had to settle for its matching straw hat with an indented crown, plucked off a hat tree adjacent to the armoire.

The whole scene took just a couple of minutes, but it was such a funny moment: the Royal Engineer, so cool under fire and so collected when executing his duties, frazzled by having to select a suit at the last second. That sort of stereotypical coltish behavior ponified him a bit more, in Artemis’ mind.

The Royal Engineer spoke up, bringing the here and now back into focus. "Look, Corporal, there's Lieutenant Kilfeather and Sergeant Greenhound."

"Yes, sir. I see them."

Artemis was paying so much attention to her VIP's outfit that she didn't even notice that the Whirlwind had made its way over to the far edge of the parade grounds.

‘The Lieutenant, Glamerspear's ex-coltfriend…’

Actually, she wasn't really sure if Lily would consider him an ex-coltfriend.

Ex-partner?

Or ex-friend, maybe?

That sounded even worse than ex-coltfriend.

Well, Lily’s ex-whatever was standing with the pegasus sergeant from the other day beside the large, oval ring surrounding the parade field, both of them dressed in their blue Air Service jackets, her in a side cap and him with an officer's peaked cap. Honour applied the brakes so smoothly that despite just sitting on the open deck, Artemis didn't even feel the need to reach for something to hold onto, and the vehicle came to a gentle stop.

‘She's really getting the hang of piloting this thing.’

Kilfeather called up to the vehicle, rendering a proper salute along with the sergeant. "Good morning, my Lord."

"Good morning, Lieutenant. We'll be a while, yes? I'll turn off the engine."

"Yes, m'Lord, though I think you should have a drive around the grounds afterwards."

Well, he was still being polite. Glamerspear must’ve been happy about that.

‘Despite his shredded wings, he does look smart in that uniform. So does the Sergeant.’

‘Then again, doesn't everypony?’

‘That's what they always say about the Royal Guard: nopony can resist a colt, or a mare, in uniform.’

Artemis and the rest of the quaternion dismounted the Whirlwind while the Royal Engineer bent over the controls and worked to screw shut the valve to its steam boiler. That gave the pegasus a moment to survey the scene around her.

They were in the main parade grounds of the Royal Artillery Barracks. It was a huge, open green field, rectangular in shape, surrounded on all sides by raised green berms, with just a couple of narrow cutouts in them to allow easier passage. There was an oval ring road running just inside; three quarters of it was compacted brown dirt, but the section where they were was paved with stones like a typical Equestrian highway. A large, shallow trench ran parallel to and just inside from the road here, as well.

Beside Artemis on that edge, a dozen worker-ponies were putting together bleachers. And just beyond them, there was a one-storey brick building partially built into the berm, with another couple of worker-ponies assembling some kind of wooden tower atop it. Beyond one of the berms, she could see puffs of white smoke rising in the air, and there was the occasional crack of cannon fire. On the opposite berm, Artemis could just make out the red-shingled roofs of the barracks buildings, each of which curiously has its own enormous, Equestrian flag billowing high on a pole.

‘That's a lot of flags.’

It was a strange sight. There's patriotism, sure -- and Artemis certainly expected to see a flag or two at a military base -- but why were there so many?

As if sensing her confusion, Sergeant Greenhound spoke up. "Curious about the flags, Specialist?"

‘Spooky how she knew that!’

‘Well, she is from intelligence.’

Remembering the last time Artemis had had to converse with a pegasus sergeant in Canterlot -- the ornery Sergeant Major Treechopper -- she quickly stood at ease. "Yes, Sergeant Greenhound."

She nodded and pointed a forehoof towards the flags. "Just Mirage, please. Anyways, the flags..." Swinging her forehoof over to the source of gun-smoke, she continued. "...It's for the gunners. In the off-chance that they get their sighting wrong and the red roofs don't make them realize they're aiming the wrong way, the flags are always run up during the day, so that a battery would have to be treasonously negligent to fire on the Equestrian flag and risk cannon-shot hitting the barracks."

Artemis, still at ease, nodded. "Very interesting! Thank you, Sergeant Mirage."

The sergeant laughed. "Please, Specialist. I know you're on VIP duty and don't have to be formal."

"But Sergeant, regulation six hundred dash twenty-five, chapter one, section three-"

Lieutenant Kilfeather interrupted her. "Mirage knows the regs, Specialist. And she may be from intel, but she's still Air Service, and when you're up there, as part of a flight, it's just call signs, covering your wingmate, and following the leader. You don't have time to salute the rank. If you do that, you're dead." He nodded at the sergeant in acknowledgement. "While we're working together as a flight, without anypony else around, then I'm just Icepone, or Ice, and I won't expect salutes, and Mirage won’t expect you at ease."

Kilfeather turned towards the Royal Engineer, who'd satisfied himself that the Whirlwind's engine was properly shut off. "That's assuming we are still working together as a flight, my Lord? Will Mirage be your sixth?"

Artemis couldn't help but notice that despite inviting her to disregard addressing or saluting him by rank, he still saluted the Royal Engineer and called him "Lord."

Anonymous furrowed his brow. "To be perfectly honest with you, Lieutenant, I still haven't made up my mind on that matter. I'm sorry; I know I promised to determine it by today, but I feel like I still need to understand things a bit better. Let's say for sure that we'll decide by Sunday. However, even if she doesn't join us in the fight, as you said, I think we would still appreciate Mirage being part of our team for intelligence on the other competitors."

The Royal Engineer looked over at her, and Mirage nodded in confirmation. She seemed a little disappointed at the idea of not fighting -- but Artemis could read a hint of relief in her face, too.

"Why don't we talk about the Grand Mêlée a bit first? Tell us about the battlefield. This is the site, isn't it?"

Icepone nodded, and everypony gathered around. "Yes, my Lord, this is it. Most of the year it's just where the artillery-ponies come to jog around in circles for their morning PT -- physical training -- or to practice hauling their guns around. On Revue Day they do parades and demonstrate firing blanks at the trot to crowds gathered on this berm. Graduation day is another big event for artillery cadets. But one day of the year, they actually put up bleachers and assemble a hoardings-tower over the old guardhouse, there. That's what we're here for."

Pointing at the brick structure, he waved his forehoof up, above the currently-assembled height of the tower. "Most of the judges will spend the match at the top of the structure they're assembling now. I told you the Games ran on pegasus rules, and that applies to the judging, too. It's a panel of nine assessing scores, and five of them will be pegasi up there, though they'll come down if enough of the action hits the dirt. The other four are two unicorn and two earth pony judges, and they'll generally stay on a much lower-down balcony the whole time, focusing on their ground-pounding kin. You can see the workers just starting to build the gallery out above the guardhouse roof."

Then he pointed towards the trench. "That's the team staging area. There's a big parade entry, and all the teams -- including their support crews with all of the extra gear, and often enough with regimental bands marching behind them -- circle around the ring-road with banners flying and marching as pomp-and-circumstancy as they can, making as big of a racket as possible while still remaining dignified, then they take up positions in the trench. Every team gets a designated allotment, and it's a penalty deduction to enter another team's section."

Kilfeather glanced at the Whirlwind. "You'll need to be able to get this thing up and down the hill, whether under its own power or by pushing, though pushing might cost you some style points. Anypony, or anything, not in a team section in the trench is still considered 'in play' for the purposes of scoring. That'll be important if you have to mend it mid-fight. Of course, there are some general pauses where nopony's fighting anyways, but those will be too few and far between if you have a breakdown."

Anonymous spoke up. "You've mentioned style points and penalty points, Lieutenant -- just how is the Grand Mêlée scored?"

Kilfeather grinned. "Excellent question. Even though it's a big, bloody, open-field battle, the scoring is not as straightforward as you might think. If one team absolutely demolishes all the others, then yeah, they'll win, but that basically never happens. Nopony's that good."

Glamerspear scoffed. "Not even you, Val?"

He shook his head, still grinning. "Not even me, Lil'. Don't get me wrong -- my team did really well in the actual fighting. But even last year, we didn't win every fight. We didn't even win most of them; our rate was just over forty percent. That's actually considered high for the Mêlée; most winners don't pass thirty-five. Second and third place finishers are usually in the thirties."

‘Forty percent hardly seems like 'winning'!’

But... in a match where everypony was protected by the power of the ancient magical Totems, the same ones which nullified any permanent damage during the quaternion's duels with Kilfeather's Air Wing, what even constituted 'winning'?

Artemis couldn’t help but ask. "What actually counts winning a fight, if nopony can... well, kill their opponent?"

The Lieutenant raised an eyebrow and nodded in her direction. "Another good question. Forcing a retreat counts, of course. But even if you don't, the judges will mark it as a win if it just looks like the other party's outmatched for a sufficient period of time."

Now it was Honour's turn to pipe up, turning to the Royal Engineer. "But winning isn't everything. There's two other scoring categories that matter almost as much."

Again, the Lieutenant nodded in acknowledgement. "You did the homework. Yes, winning fights isn't everything. Come on, let's head towards the guardhouse and I'll explain."

The group of six ponies and one very important pony who wasn’t actually a pony started off at a slow walk towards the small brick building with shuttered windows, clip-clopping along the paved road in a combination of metal sabots, leather-soled shoes, and bare hooves.

"I think it'll help if you first understand the purpose behind the games, my Lord."

Anonymous didn’t miss a beat. "It's a spring festival for the pegasi, isn't it, Lieutenant?"

Honour jumped in, too. "An ancient festival, sir. One with early religious roots."

The Royal Engineer nodded. "Right. And Specialist Sparkshower, you mentioned the name but I'm afraid I've forgotten it. It started with a 'B'?"

"Beltane, sir. The ancient pegasus spring festival."

Kilfeather looked over in Artemis’ direction knowingly. "Your parents taught you the old fables, didn't they, Specialist?"

The old fables.

Tales of mythological pegasus heroes, from a time before the Princesses ruled Equestria.

Before Equestria really was Equestria.

"They did, sir."

"Ah, so you must be the one who gave the Royal Engineer the idea to name his vehicle after Epona an Iomaghaoth, isn't that right?"

It was almost surprising hearing another pony pronounce the ancient name properly, but then again, Glamerspear said Kilfeather wasn't a noble-born; that meant he had to have gone to college before becoming an officer in the Royal Guard.

Artemis wondered what exactly he’d studied there.

Was it history, just like Lieutenant Violetta?

Perhaps even with the same minor in musical theater?

Something to find out later, maybe.

"Yes, sir. The Royal Engineer asked if there were any Equestrian myths about wheeled vehicles, so I told him the pegasus creation-myth of Epona and Llamrei's chariot."

The Lieutenant stopped in his tracks, provoking everyone else to halt as well.

He glanced down at Artemis’ hooves. "If you know that, then you must also know about the symbol you're standing on right now."

‘What?’

She looked down and lifted her forehooves to see that the large paving stone right before her had a design carved into it: an eight-spoked carriage-wheel, with the spokes made of lightning-bolts.

‘Thundershowers!’

‘Literally, thundershowers!’

"This is the thunder-wheel symbol of Turrican, sometimes called Turrican Thunder-Wheel, or Turrican Cuibhle-Tàirneanaich. Turrican is part of the ancient pegasi pantheon of Gods who ride the skies in Llamrei's Chariot, as pulled by Epona. He's said to be responsible for throwing down lightning bolts during storms." Icepone tapped a forehoof toward the air. "And to the ancient pegasi, Turrican was the god of fighting. Beltane was the ancient festival in Turrican's honor, and as gruesome as it still can be today, it was probably a heck of a lot worse before the ancient unicorns created the Totems for us pegasi. That stone you're standing on predates Canterlot city, as does the site of these artillery proving grounds. The base of Canterlot mountain, the only thing for miles and miles around which physically connects the sky to the earth, just as Turrican's thunderbolts do, has been the site of pan-pegasic festivals for eons."

---

Suggested background music: Kenny Chou - 'Title Theme [Nightcreeper remix]', from 'One Must Fall: 2097'
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A9RCmgiFUcI

---

He pointed down at the weathered engraved stone. "Rain pours and lightning crackles when Turrican's around. It's considered auspicious if it thundershowers on the day of the Grand Mêlée: it means Turrican is watching."

With a wide smile, Kilfeather stood up on his hind hooves, raising his forehooves to the sky. "And what pleases Turrican, will please the judges of the Grand Mêlée, for this is Turrican's festival, and we still remember it as such! Winning counts for the most, yes, but you had better also fight with honor and with style! Honor means fighting as a team, and helping each other out! It means not picking on weak competitors, or ones already engaged by others, but instead challenging the strong and free! And while Turrican enjoys any fight, Turrican especially loves a good show! Be inventive, be energetic, be theatrical! March loudly during the entrance, show hot-blooded rage at the start of a fight, howl tragically when defeated, and, most of all, laugh and spit in the face of danger!"

Raising his voice to a shout, he laughs maniacally. "HAH! HAH-hahahahah-aaaaaa!!"

Shockingly, he immediately inhaled and hocked, then spat loudly and conspicuously on the ground, narrowly missing Turrican's thunder-wheel, before getting back down on all fours.

‘Goodness, this is surprising behavior for an officer of the Royal Guard.’

"Please Turrican, and Turrican will shower you with glory! That is the will of the thunder-god of the pegasi!" Taking it down a notch, Icepone took a moment to wipe his mouth with his forehoof. "...Or at least, that's what one of the old champions of the Tournament once told me, when I was younger. And it was at that moment I decided I wanted to fight in the Games, and win."

It was an impressive performance.

Artemis looked around; Glamerspear had dropped her semi-scowl in favor of an impressed, but questioning look. Ebonshield was grinning eagerly, and even Honour looked a little inspired. Sergeant 'Mirage' appeared quietly pleased; Artemis got the feeling she'd heard this one before. Maybe even when he recruited her for this operation.

Anonymous snorted, chuckling and applauding lightly. "Very good, 'Icepone.' It's a great speech; I feel motivated to win as well. So -- win fights as much as we can, comport ourselves honorably, and do so with panache. Those are the basics, but I'm sure you have details on what the judges are specifically looking for."

The Lieutenant gave a semi-bow. "Yessir, I have plenty. Though I have to say, particularly with a relatively inexperienced and, let's say, 'unorthodox' gang like yours, you're going to want to play to the crowd. Anything that gets their attention, especially their cheers, is important. The judges will be paying attention to the spectators, too. There's more competitors on the field than there are judges watching everything, so being loud, large, and in charge helps. They can't score you if they're not even watching you, after all." He lifted his eyebrows. "Then again, I don't think your Lordship will have problems with volume. I might have been too far off to hear you when you gave targeting instructions to Specialist Glamerspear, but I sure got an earful about your voice from my wing-mates afterwards. I haven't seen you fight, but so long as you're at least halfway decent, you've got the lungs and the vocal cords to be a superstar."

Anonymous laughed again. "Is that how you won, Lieutenant? By winning forty percent of the time while being louder than everybody else?"

Icepone sat back on his haunches, shrugging his shoulders. "It works, believe me! We might not have been the loudest, but everypony on my team had a technique to get attention at the right moment. You can't just be hollering all the time, of course, but a good shout before you launch an attack can be worth more points than the attack itself."

He looked over at Sparkshower. "Specialist, you fought my second-in-command, 'Joker.' Believe it or not, he's actually a poor fighter. But he's got stamina, determination, originality, and good sky presence. That counts for a lot in the Grand Mêlée. Last year, he was our wildcard, the one to throw in against foes when regular tactics weren't working. He didn't actually win much more, but he made a real good show of it, and pulled in his share of points."

Glamerspear scoffed. "C'mon, Val. She swatted your colt like a bug. Don't diminish her victory by claiming he's a 'poor fighter.' If he was a 'poor fighter' you wouldn't have him in your crew."

The pegasus waved a featherless wing in dismissal, turning to Artemis. "Okay, okay. He's not a poor fighter, but he's not one of my best, you know what I mean? I've got quite a few better, mostly among the enlisted. You actually threw him for a loop with your 'clash-of-storm-fronts' bit. We really weren't expecting anybody to come at us traditional-style. And your technique with the storm cloud and the lightning-spear was, honestly, amazing. That's a podium-winning move in the Grand Mêlée right there."

‘Oh, my!’

She felt herself getting a bit flushed in the cheeks from the praise.

Icepone turned to the other members of the quaternion who fought at the Pas-de-Sabots. "Corporal, I don't know if you intended to kick Duck in the family jewels-"

"I didn't. Anywhere past the sternum would have done just as well."

Val licked his lips, pausing before continuing. "Right. Well, a kill's a kill, as we say. Not too many points in the 'honor' category for that one, ironically, but you'd probably get some for style with that back-roll down the hill."

Then he turned to Glamerspear. "Lily, I don't think I have to tell you that the unicorn judges would be floored by what you pulled off at Newstirrup Bridge. Top marks from them for sure. Top marks from the pegasi as well; grudging top marks, but top marks nonetheless. And you took me out of the fight, which is even better. But I hear you didn't do so well afterwards."

"I manaburned myself pretty hard. The symptoms showed up the next day." She grinned. "It was worth it to take you down a notch, though."

Kilfeather was more amused than threatened. "Hey, if it's a day-later type thing, then feel free to go wild during the match. Just don't do anything that would take you out of the fight."

Then he turned up towards the Royal Engineer. "Nopony gets killed during the Games, and nopony even gets what you'd call 'permanently injured' -- but they do get hurt, and out of the eight teams of six on the field -- that's forty-eight fighters -- at least a dozen will be laid up by the end of the day. Losing a soldier hurts more than you'd think, because it's not just less chances to win a fight, it means less chances to show off. The points add up."

Anonymous furrowed his brow. "Lieutenant, from the way you're describing things I get the idea that most fights are one-on-one. Is that right?"

"More like two-on-two. A wing of six pegasi is really three pairs working closely together. One member of the pair selects a target and initiates the attack. Their wingpony watches their tail, defending them from anypony else, and keeps an eye on the general situation. The judges will pay the most attention to the leading pony's attack, but they'll be watching to see how well the trailing pony defends them, and how well the leader reacts to any attackers that get through the cover. Conversely, if you go in on a pony who's already being attacked by others, you can get penalized for dishonorable fighting, even if you take them down. Unless it's your own team beating them up, of course. You're allowed to gang up that way."

‘That makes sense.’

But those rules really only worked for pegasi in the air, and Artemis wasn’t even sure if she could fight in tandem with Sergeant Ebonshield. The pegasus had been trained in that technique, but Eb hadn't, and there might not be enough time to get things down pat. After all, she really had to trust that her wingmare knew what she was doing when duelling in pairs.

Then there was the question of the reason they were all here. "How would those rules apply to the Whirlwind, with it having one 'attacker,' Lily, a pilot, Honour, and a co-pilot or commander in the Royal Engineer?"

For the first time this morning, the Lieutenant didn’t have an instant answer. "Yeah... That's the question. Is that how you plan to fight? Three of you in the armored carriage like that? And the other three... in the air? We're talking about the sixth member of the wing again, now."

Anonymous furrowed his brow. "Someone could hang off the back, I suppose, but really we don't have enough room for a fourth actually in the carriage. I guess it does have to be someone who can fly. But then isn't three in the sky also awkward?"

Ebonshield, still magically disguised as a pegasus, spoke up. "Great Lord, the Stellar Dancers do not fight like this, in pairs. I will be at my best working alone, picking off the weak and the isolated, and retreating to the carriage when confronted with force. This is a configuration quite typical for my Temple, and while this may not be seen as honorable, I assure you that I can perform with the grace and the style. Perhaps there is sense for the sixth member to be another pegasus with whom the Specialist Sparkshower can form a team."

Now it was Sergeant Greenhound's turn to spin a tornado on things. "The issue with that -- and I know this hurts my candidacy -- is that Specialist Sparkshower flies in heavy armor. Her wingmate should ideally be similarly armored. But there's nopony in Canterlot who could serve; the First Air Division's armored units are the Valkyries and the Royal Hussars, both of whom are our rivals in this fight. The Household Division has an armored corps as well, but again they're in as competitors themselves. Which means we're out of luck unless one of you knows somepony who can get leave on short notice. Or, Sergeant --" She turned to the disguised batpony. "...Do any of your kind fight with heavy armor?"

Ebonshield shook her head. "No. Our chief advantage over pegasi is our superior maneuverability; as fighting Equestrians has always been our greatest concern, no school gives this up by encasing their soldiers in much armor."

Kilfeather piped up. "That means Mirage is likely as good as you're going to get. Which is pretty good, I may add -- I didn't pick her at random. But, my Lord, don't say you'll decide on Sunday. Give yourself another day and decide by Monday. The Gala's tomorrow, and I'm sure your Lordship will be occupied on the day after."

Glamerspear snorted. "Why, because you think we'll all be completely hammered?"

But Icepone didn’t miss a beat. "Won't you? The party goes all night, and the drinks and food along with it. Shame to waste any."

Anonymous sighed. "Going by how we comported ourselves Tuesday night, I suppose treating Sunday as a recovery day would be prudent."

Mirage laughed, smiling. "And there's always stories out of the Grand Galloping Gala that good-looking single ponies wake up in bed to find they're not so single anymore, either."

That got a faint chuckle out of everypony.

‘Yeah…’

‘Waking up in the Royal Engineer's bed…’

‘Wouldn't that be a surprise…’

While Artemis’ VIP mulled things over, Kilfeather summarized. "Alright, so a pair of fliers working together, three of you in a vehicle with Lily as the primary damage output, and then the sixth as a surprise spoiler, using the Whirlwind vehicle as a mobile firebase. It's unorthodox -- Tartarus, the whole setup is unorthodox; almost nopony shows up to the Grand Mêlée with a combined-arms detachment, but it could work."

Anonymous mused again, looking at Honour and Lily. "It seems as if fully embracing 'unorthodox' may be the best way for us to go." Then he nodded. "Yes, I think this is how we'll do it. I'm not as fast on my feet as a pegasus, let alone the Whirlwind. I can serve as the vehicle commander, helping selecting targets and guiding the vehicle, while fending off anyone who comes too close for comfort. I might dismount temporarily to settle things on the ground, if needed, but I think for the most part we're going to want to be buttoned up in this vehicle, just as Artemis says."

Hearing him say her first name made the pegasus feel all tingly inside. Like being wrapped up in silky sheets. She’d never really given him permission to be on a first-name basis -- that was Lieutenant Kilfeather's admonition. It was forward, but it felt good.

Artemis felt closer to him.

Realizing what he'd done, the Royal Engineer turned to her, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Specialist, is it alright if I use your first name? You can call me Anon in return, in these situations. Or perhaps you have a 'call sign' you'd prefer?"

‘Ooh, hurricanes, the tingles get even tinglier.’

Her muzzle must have looked like a beet after Kilfeather's compliments and that kind of personal attention from her Very Important Pony (even if he wasn’t actually a pony).

"Uhm... It's all right if you use my first name, sir. I don't have a 'call sign' -- they're not common in armored recon. But my fillyhood nickname was 'Thunder,' and some ponies I know still call me that."

Kilfeather clapped his forehooves together once. "An auspicious coincidence! Winged and armored Thunder to praise Turrican the lightning-god, heh!"

Artemis went even redder, sinking a bit into her helmet.

‘I’m not used to all this fussing over little ol' me.’

Glamerspear sidled dup and threw a foreleg over her, giving the pegasus a friendly jostle. "Thunder! I like it, Sparks! But I'll stick with Lily, if you don't mind."

Honour cleared her throat. "And I'm fine being called Honour. Us 'ground-pounder' ponies don't really go in for this 'call-sign' stuff. A name's just a name."

Valiant 'Icepone' Kilfeather seemed cheerfully offended by that statement. "Hey, don't discount the value of a good name, Corporal. Sometimes, it can be more than just a label; it can be something for you to hold on to. A call sign can be that thing if you don't care for the words your parents gave you." With a laugh, he shrugged. "I mean, take me for instance. My last name wasn't originally Kilfeather. I changed it when I decided to join the Royal Guard and go for the gold in the Grand Mêlée."

‘Really?’

Even Glamerspear was surprised. "I didn't know that, Val."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Lil', after I blew my first chance with you. Maybe you'll find out the rest now that I've been given a second one."

"Don't push it, 'Icepone.'"

Their little back-and-forth didn’t answer Artemis’ question, though. "Wasn’t your family upset when you changed your name?"

He shook his head. "No more upset than they were when they found out I was applying to the Royal Guard Academy."

Sparkshower remembered her parents being concerned when she enlisted, but they were also happy for her; they felt it was every pegasus' duty to serve at least a term in the Equestrian Royal Guard, just as she’d thought, and just as she still did. But what kind of pegasus parents would be upset at their son joining the Royal Guard not merely as an enlisted, but as an officer?

Seeing her confusion, Lieutenant Kilfeather continued. "My family's got a history in academia. They're all researchers and professors. My father's got a chair at Manehattan University; he's head of the department of geography."

Valiant shrugged nonchalantly and lifted his jacket up to show Artemis his flank. She got a look at his cutie mark for the first time: it was three pens pointing upright in a 'flying V' formation, piercing through three small rings arranged opposite.

"The name on my birth certificate is Valiant Quillfeather. Quill as in writing quill, of course. They may say that the pen's mightier than the sword, but it's not exactly a name to strike terror into the hearts of your enemies. It was a small jump to call myself Kilfeather instead."

‘Huh, interesting.’

But it seemed that Sergeant Mirage couldn’t resist an interjection. "You know, Ice, officers have to do a tremendous amount of paperwork, even combat officers, and it just gets worse as you rise in rank. Maybe your original name wasn't so wrong after all."

Icepone smiled, cool as a cucumber. No wonder he got his call-sign; so far, the only time he'd lost his cool was when the Royal Engineer told the lieutenant he wanted nothing to do with him for the Grand Mêlée, unless he showed some respect.

"Then maybe I'll change back to Quillfeather when I get to that point, Mirage, if I think it'll help. But right now, I'm Kilfeather, I'm a combat lieutenant, and while I do have some paperwork waiting for me in my wing commander's office, it can keep waiting, because I want to win another Grand Mêlée."

He turned to the rest of them. "So, let's walk and talk some more about the rules and regs. Mirage did some snooping around and found out that in about half an hour one of our fiercest competitors -- no less than the Valkyries themselves -- have booked this place for a practice session. That'll surely be an eyeful for Turrican Thunder-Wheel, and for us as well."

---

Suggested interlude music: Chris Huelsbeck - 'Stage 3-1', from 'Mega Turrican' [1994]
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FPIr_RIuQZI

Next Chapter: Chapter 133 Estimated time remaining: 5 Hours, 19 Minutes