Despite everything that was happening, despite all that laid ahead, Celestia always found the strength to bring out the sun. It’s true light was hidden behind a wall of grey. Dawn set upon the peaceful land of Equestria for what may be the last time, for today would begin the end.

The camp stirred slowly at first, not a song was sung and not a voice was heard above the slow clatter of the morning. Breakfast was a brief affair, thoughts immediately turning to the battle ahead. Armour was fitted and swords sheathed. Across the coast a great thicket of spears began to rise from the sands. The Generals moved in silence, watching the assembly from a close distance. No joy, no fear, no emotion was shown upon these soldiers faces. They would go to war with no certain fate in mind.

Banners flew among the ranks, shreds of cloth that slowly flew in the breeze. Their united emblem embodied on its surface; the star clutched in the talons of a dragon. What meaning it once had was lost to these ponies, whatever it was founded on lost to the years. It served now as a symbol to rally behind, each clan fighting for the greater cause, no matter what that cause may be.

From his tent strode the Lord Victorious, Azzal Khan. A pony of such clouded intentions. His armor protected his shoulders, chest and legs . Across his body he wore the traditional desert robes that Si Ran had once adorned. With his spear clutched in one hoof and the Talon of Pain in the other, he was quite a sight indeed. His mask made slow mundane drone with each breath he took, his eyes flinched as a small ray of sun broke through the overcast. Just as quickly had the glimmer of light appeared it vanished.

Now here they stood before him; eight hundred souls clad and ready. Each had been trained since foalhood, all knew what they were about to face. At the head if the force stood the seven Clan Leaders, the Generals of the force. And at their head stood Azzal Khan, the shadow he cast covering all before him. He flared his wings as he began to speak once more.

“My Generals, my brothers and sisters, my soldiers! All of you! The dawn has arrived…  the time has come at last! But not for us, not yet! Let the drums be beaten, let the horns be sound; for today we march to our city, our glory!”

The once silent ranks threw up their spears in cheer, the name of their lord echoing down the vale and far off. Raising his hoof he held the Talon aloft, drawing yet louder chants from those before him.

“To glory!”

“To glory!”

Azzal looked to his Generals as he lowered his hoof, each offering a solemn nod. They were ready. Dellas looked across to Arin, her expression hidden behind a veil of cloth, her mane tied up at the back of her head.

“March!”

And so it began, the slow advance west. The final stages of their journey were coming to a close. Each would lay down their life at the promise of victory, of a new land for their ponies. Eight hundred strong would march out against a fortress, a tyrant as their guide.

After hours of trekking through forest they crossed the river, taking a moment to cool off and rest their hooves. Canterlot was a few hours march ahead, all needed to be fit and ready for whatever was lying in wait.

Arin wandered the shoreline for a few minutes, only stopping once for a quick drink. Dellas caught her in his sights, swiftly moving to speak to her.

“You seem quite calm about this.”

The young mare looked up to meet the stallions gaze. “As does everypony here.”

“I guess so.”

Arin tossed aside her veil, looking up to Dellas with a rather irritated expression. “What do you want? Now is not really a time of idle chat.”

“You said you wanted him gone, we’re kind of running out of options the more we wait.”

“Give it time, we still have a war to fight. We need him if we want any chance of succeeding.”

“So you only plan to keep him alive till his usefulness runs dry.”

Arin patted Dellas on the shoulder. “Exactly, now can we drop it? I am in no mood to discuss such things”

“It was your plan. I still wonder why you even need me if you have this under control.”

“Because there is a chance one of us might not survive this battle. It’s safe to keep backup. That, and you seemed out of all the other leaders to be the most…  suspicious of Azzal. Suspicion is good, it keeps us alert.”

Well, there’s that explained. “I guess there is some reason in your words, but what if we were to both perish in this war? What happens then?”

“Then we pray that he too perished along with us. Unless you wish our civilization to be ruled by a manipulative tyrant try and stay alive.”

Their brief rest drew to a close, the journey still ahead. Azzal had taken the chance to rest and recover as well, his top form needed if he was to lead the siege. His armor weighed him down, his sword banged his sides and his spear was awkward to wield.  The Talon remained at his side, slung in a leather saddle bag along with an assortment of weapons and personal provisions. Hidden beneath his robes rested his most prized weapon, so much it was concealed from view. The Basilisk Dagger was one of his deadliest weapons his arsenal had to offer, yet the most underestimated. Maybe yet he would have a chance to prove its efficiency in battle.

Dellas wielded a short skirmisher and little else. He was not famed for his combat ferocity, more his role as a leader of trade and governing. That was up until Sil Ran conquered his clan with the aid of Azzal. Of course most troops carried a random assortment of daggers and Dellas was no exception to this. It always paid to be practical.

But even among the troops they carried a diverse range of weaponry. Some unicorns carried bows with which they operated with their magic. Many Pegasi carried swift and lightweight spears. These were designed to be thrown from the sir and still be effective in combat. But the most favored weapons it seemed of them all was the pike and skirmisher. As one they fought with a quick ferocity, as a group they fought in unison, each attack coordinated with his the pony next to him. These techniques have been handed down through generations of soldiers.

The chance to put these codes to the test was rapidly approaching, for in the distance they could see the spectacle that was Canterlot. Its towers glimmered in the faint rays of sun; its banner flew high in the mountain breeze. The valley it rested in was a beautiful place, its field lush and full, the trees reaching tall. They halted briefly, many to simply admire what was ahead, others to plan out their attack first hoof.

They rallied with their scouts who had been stationed on the border. The railway had been sabotaged, the train lying in a wreaked heap. It was too late for their enemy to send for help, none would arrive in time. Azzal grinned under his mask, steeping out into the valley in front of them.

But from Canterlot came one last resistance. A golden light glowed from the palace above, its sheer brightness forcing many to shield their eyes. Then a great bubble began to materialize in front of the city, slowly encasing it in a shield of magical protection. Azzal cursed his ill fate. Damn those Alicorns.

“Now what?” Dallas spoke up from behind Azzal. The intimidating stallion turned on spot and eyed down the general. His malice built up into words, his anger escaping in his tone.

“I will bring it crashing to the ground...”

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