Chapter 32

“Ready?”

Caballus adjusted his cape, and double checked the buttons on his jacket. Both were brand new, both replacing the outfit ruined by the zap apple blast the day before. He nodded. “You?”

Roughshod grinned. “Born that way, boss.”

“And the others?”

“The bolt-bag spent all night trying to figure out what the heretics were doing to the nav-stack. Said he’d be more useful here.”

“Agreed,” said Caballus with a thoughtful nod. Meister and Chief Corpus would be leaving enough guards at the hotel that the Meq-priest shouldn’t need to worry about any further reprisals while he worked. “Mystic? Hairtrigger?”

The larger pony shrugged. “Don’t know. Haven’t gotten to them yet.”

The early morning light was already streaming through the curtains of the Inquisipony’s room. He gave a quick prayer, thanking the Princess for the new day, and headed down the hall. As much as he would have liked to give them a chance to sleep in, there wasn’t much time to lose. Flanked by his friend, Caballus knocked on Hairtrigger and Mystic’s door. A moment later, he heard stirrings within.

“Rise and shine,” the Inquisipony called out as he opened the door. “There’s the Princess’s work to be done.”

In one bed, he saw an orange lump of hair and feathers beginning to stretch. But the other was empty. “Hairtrigger, where is…”

A disheveled Mystic sat up beside the pegasus, disentangling herself from the sheets and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. When she turned to see Caballus standing in the doorway, her eyes went wide. “I… uh… we’ll be… ready in a moment. Uh, sir,” she said, pulling the sheets in close and turning the brightest shade of red Caballus had ever seen.

“It’s… alright. Just, uh… just hurry up,” said an equally astonished Caballus as he swiftly closed the door. He noticed Roughshod looking down at him with a bemused smile. “What?”

“You’re both adorable,” his friend replied. “I can’t tell who’s more embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” Caballus quickly snapped. “I’m just… a little surprised, that’s all. I didn’t know she and Hairtrigger were... getting involved.”

At this, Roughshod smiled even wider. “Honestly boss, sometimes you get so zeroed in on the job that you can miss things right under your nose. You didn’t see this coming? Strapping Arbitrotter, the only stallion near her age who’s been around her longer than a couple days? Her crush has been as plain as the sun and moon since we were halfway to Pferdian. And she’s a good kid, too. Smart, driven. Pretty, too. If not for the horn and the… you know,” he said, gesturing to Caballus and himself, “she’d be fighting half the stallions in the sector off with a stick.”

Caballus realized that his friend was right. He’d seen Mystic as a Throne Agent, his Throne Agent, for so long, he’d forgotten she was still a young mare too. “When you put it like that… I suppose it could be good for her to have somepony her age to bond with.” The Inquisipony headed toward the elevators to wait on the couple.

“A bit of company will do her some good,” Roughshod said, checking the sights on his pie while they waited. “If she kept going like she was, training hard, fighting harder, she’d have gone crazy.”

Caballus tilted his head. “But she’s always so determined, so eager.”

“Of course she is,” Roughshod said. “Around you. You’re the pony she looks up to most in the whole world. She’s afraid if you ever saw her when she had doubts, or was struggling, she would disappoint you.” The large, brown pony shrugged. “It’d kill her.”

It was then that the pair in question trotted up, dressed and armed. Mystic still seemed a bit flustered, and avoided most eye contact. Now that it was out in the open, Caballus was starting to find the whole thing a bit amusing as well. “Ready?” he asked.

“Sure shootin,’” Hairtrigger said, blithely unaware of anypony’s embarrassment whatsoever. “Let’s go bag us some heretics!”

“Death to the Plutarch!” cried the raving heretic before banana cream filled his mouth.

Roughshod found it refreshing that the cultists were no longer posing as civilians, and fought openly for their evil cause. It made things easier. Simpler. He ducked behind a cargo trolley laden with crates as the enemy returned fire. Whipped topping and splinters showered down on him.

Of course, Roughshod didn’t enjoy being shot at. He wasn’t crazy, or a Pony Marine, or anything like that. But he had no taste for the intrigue and the shadow games. Following clues and the separating the guilty from the innocent; that was the Inquisipony’s job. Roughshod’s job was to kill the bad guys. A task made much easier when they yelled out bad guy things.

“Quite a little fix we’ve gotten ourselves into, ain’t it?” said Hairtrigger, taking cover beside him. The pegasus was grinning, despite the volume of firepower flying in their direction.

High marks for positive attitude, Roughshod thought. Unfortunately, the both of them were now pinned, and the Children weren’t likely to run out of ammo anytime soon.

“Are you sure that’s wise,” Chief Corpus had said when they rendezvoused that morning. “You want to apprehend Waffen at his weapon’s storehouse? When he has the support of a cult with unknown numbers, and when he must be aware we’re probably coming for him?”

“Meister has given me a hoof-picked squad of his own house guard,” Caballus had replied, “and your Constabulary enforcers will help even the odds even further.”

“I think you underestimate the kind of weaponry at his disposal,” said Corpus. “There are tens of thousands of tons of military hardware in storage there, fresh from the Zirruswolke bakery-forges and waiting to be delivered to the Equestrian Guard. Artillery, battle carriages, chariots. He could outfit an entire army, and for all we know, he already has.”

Caballus shook his head. “I’ve been over the records kept by Meister’s late Seneschal, and talked to my contacts in the Departmento Muletorum. Before their contract expired, Zirruswolke was holding back delivery of military supplies, pending a successful renewal. When things went sour between Meister and Urhwerk, they were diverted. Waffen’s stores only contain the weapons privately manufactured here in Pferdian.”

“Even so… the Ver Kaufer name is stamped on half the pies in this city,” said Corpus, still reluctant. “Barging into the warehouse where he keeps them is suicide.”

It certainly seemed that way at the moment, Roughshod conceded. In a few seconds, the heretic fire would chew their cover down to nothing. A dozen paces or so back the way he’d come, the stallion saw a horn poke out from behind a conveyance belt. It glowed green with arcane power.

“Get ready,” he told Hairtrigger. They both readied their weapons. “Now!” he shouted. Mystic jumped up and sent a barrage of light and fire in the direction of the resistance. The incoming fire slackened, giving them an opportunity to charge.

The counterattack lasted only a second before the withering hail resumed. The Throne Agents immediately dove back into cover to avoid it. “C’mon, Mystic!” he growled. “Hit ‘em like you mean it!” The little unicorn usually was pretty good at dishing out the hurt in a firefight, but today she seemed to be pulling punches for some reason. Must still be weak from the attack yesterday, Roughshod guessed. Which was too bad, because on a good day, she was worth a whole heavy weapons squad, and she would have put them even with what the cultists were throwing at them.

“Any other ideas?” Hairtrigger asked. His grin was a bit more nervous, now that they were quickly running out of crates to hide behind. Roughshod had one, but it was a nonstarter. He would sooner charge the entrenched heretics with nothing but a butter knife than sink to that low…

Fortunately, he didn’t have to. Mystic fired again, and this time she pulled through. The spell itself missed again, hitting somewhere above its target, but hot, fizzling sparks from the explosion rained down it. They fell into the ammo crates, and touched off the unstable munitions a split second later. A concussive whump! punctuated the end of the barrage, and an instant later, there was silence.

“Move!” Roughshod said. Constables, who had also been pinned down, moved up and fell in behind the Throne Agents. The stacks of wooden crates and metal containers, organized in towering rows and pyramids, gave the huge warehouse a strange claustrophobia. The emergency-only lighting didn’t help matters either. Low light, obstructed sight lines and close quarters combat weren’t especially daunting for a veteran like Roughshod, but the way the blue-uniformed enforcers Corpus had loaned them stumbled around in the gloom made them look awfully green.

Don’t be too hard on them, he thought. When you’ve put in as many tours as I have, and half of them with the Friendquisition, everypony else is bound to seem inexperienced. He bet that the ganger shootouts and cartel turf wars in Pferdian wouldn’t quite prepare these ponies for when the Children really started to bring the pain. And if they were anything like the Children that he and Caballus had fought back in the day, there would be plenty of pain to go around.

Roughshod and Hairtrigger reached the remains of the heretics’ position, and in a sloppy but technically sound formation, the constables followed. It was a hastily erected fortification, just an overturned wagon and a few stacked boxes up against the side of a loading crane, but it had been sufficient to stall their advance. The barricade had been right in their way, at a natural choke point in the warehouse’s architecture between the main storage floor and the secondary loading bay. A fine little defense, but now all that was left of it now were some chunks of shattered wood, a blackened wagon wheel, and the scent of burnt pie filling. Cream-splattered bodies were strewn everywhere, except for one pegasus who was still alive, standing wobbly on her hooves, right in the center of the blast radius.

“Sir?” said one enforcer, a short, yellow stallion. “Shall we arrest her?”

Roughshod took one look at the young mare. Her eyes rolled around without focus, and her mouth hung open like a fish. A pie tin was slowly sliding down the side of her head. Nothing to do. Poor thing doesn’t know she’s already dead.

“No point,” he said quietly. “Finish her.” If the mare lived long enough for the shock to wear off, her screams might draw more unwanted attention than the firefight already had. The constable nodded, and aimed a pie at her. With a splat, the shell-shocked mare dropped.

Two more splats, and so did the constable.

“Cover!” The moment after he’d barked the command, Roughshod chomped Hairtrigger by scruff of his neck and dove out of the line of fire. Another constable wasn’t so lucky, and went down just before he could reach them. Carried by his running momentum, his body landed right at their hooves.

A second cultist position had been waiting just inside the mouth of the loading bay, waiting for Roughshod’s squad to approach the ruins of the first. He estimated about seven or eight shooters. They’d been zeroed in ahead of time! He glanced at the fallen constables, rage building in his throat. Roughshod hated losing his own.

No, he corrected himself, they’re not mine. But they are counting on me. Unable to push through the open doorway into the loading bay, Roughshod started brainstorming other options. Some distance behind him, he spotted Mystic ducking behind a large cargo trolley loaded with containers labeled in indecipherable Pferdian. However, they bore the Muletorum ID cargo code for heavy duty carriage hitches. It gave him an idea. The stallion braved a few seconds of exposure to fall back to her.

“Mystic, help me with this,” he said, bracing his head against the trolley. Roughshod squared his hooves on the ground, and pushed with all his might. Seeing what he was doing, Mystic joined in with her magic. Squeaky wheels carried the trolley slowly, reluctantly into the entrance to the loading bay. Both of them grunted and groaned as they exerted themselves to move the machine parts.

Roughshod’s intent quickly became clear. The heavy machine parts loaded on the trolley were impervious to even the most withering fire, and acted as mobile cover. A few constables joined them behind the barrier, alternating between pushing and firing over the top. Though arduous, it was only a matter of time before they’d be through the entrance and right on top of the bastards. Then the rest of the squad could pour in behind them and annihilate the heretic strongpoint.

About halfway there, the heretics’ fusillade suddenly ceased. Roughshod knew it wouldn’t take them long to recognize his gambit for what it was, and that meant two they had two reasons to stop firing: either they were falling back to a more defensible position before they could be overwhelmed, or…

“Incoming!” Hairtrigger shouted from somewhere behind them. A cupcake exploded above Roughshod’s head and a dirty, magenta pegasus crashed into the trolley, bouncing off the top and landing motionless on the floor behind him. It seemed the Children had opted for the other option: counterattack with a close quarter charge.

The fight became a blur of hooves and pies thrown at point blank, a brawl and firefight rolled into one. Pegasi fell upon them shouting battle cries and blasphemies while earth ponies charged the trolley. A few of the constables broke and ran, only to be mercilessly cut down. The rest fought as hard as they could, but they were outnumbered. Roughshod’s estimate of the enemy strength had been too low by at least a dozen, and those were only the ones he could see.

A frothing, ochre earth pony landed on Roughshod’s back, but he sent her flying with a powerful buck. Beside him, Mystic picked up one of the heavy boxes from the trolley with her magic, and flung it at a pair of stallions trampling a fallen Constable. They were bowled over with a crash, but more cultists surged forward to replace them.

“We’ve got to get out of here!” she said. “There’s too many!”

Roughshod knew that turning tail now would mean certain death. A total rout would see them all run down and slaughtered at the Children’s leisure. But with his squad rapidly disintegrating, making a stand wasn’t looking too good either. As if to illustrate, a black stallion cultist climbed on top of the trolley, towering even over Roughshod. He howled in victory and raised his pie.

A loud fwoosh! filled Roughshod’s ears and a stinging, spicy scent assaulted his nose. Above him, his would-be killer was screaming in agony, alight with rainbow flames. The Throne Agent turned his gaze upward. Overhead, Adequus Sororitrots pegasi strafed the exposed Children with their rainers, while ground-based Battle Fillies materialized from the warehouse to support Roughshod’s squad. In an instant the tide turned, the noise of igniting ponythium joined by the pitiable cries of the dying, and its piquant aroma mingling with the stench of charred flesh. Those Children who could, fled, utterly broken by the Fillies’ awesome power.

Sera Phim landed in the loading bay’s entrance with a dramatic thud, holding cultist who failed to escape. With her power armor’s strength, she effortlessly cast him down, and aimed her hoof-rainer.

“No,” he cried, backpedaling in the ground, “please! Mercy!”

She smiled slightly and immolated him. “Hear me, heathen mongrels!” she cried to the few retreating Children, her voice amplified by her armor’s in-built vox-caster. “Your efforts to escape the Princess’s swift judgment are futile. Instead, fall to your knees. Wail and lament your sinfulness, that we may find you quickly, and end your blighted existence all the sooner. Beseech the Goddess-Empress for mercy and we, Her Daughters, shall grant it.”

None of them took her up on the offer, which seemed to suit Sera just fine. Roughshod was just rounding the surviving constables back up when Caballus arrived.

“Did you find him?” the Inquisipony asked. “The other warehouses were empty.”

Roughshod nodded. “I think we’ve got him cornered. Their resistance is getting stiffer with every step we take.” In order to capture Waffen quickly, Caballus had taken Sera and the Battle Fillies to the primary Ver Kaufer arms storehouse, and tasked Roughshod with searching the secondary one with Hairtrigger, Mystic and the constables.

“How fortunate we arrived, then.” Sera strolled up to them, her Fillies forming up behind her. “You were hard pressed here. But for our intervention, our mutual friend Captain Swift would be short a few members of his crew. You should have called for us sooner.”

I made the mistake of asking for your help once before. Never again. “I… misjudged the enemy’s strength,” he said, forcing the words to come out calmly. “And I hadn’t expected to see such desperate tactics so soon.”

Sera gave him a smug smirk. “You of all ponies should know never to underestimate the insanity of a foe corrupted by the Tenebrae,” she said. His hoof twitched, begging Roughshod to take a swing at the Canoness. In all likelihood, it would break on her armor before he actually hurt her, but the urge lingered.

“Let’s get moving,” Caballus said, as much to diffuse the palpable tension as anything. “Waffen must be close if his subordinates are resorting to suicide charges to delay us.” The combined forces of the Friendquisition, Constabulary and Sororitrots pushed into the loading bay. Roughshod noted that the remaining constables moved with more confidence, now that they had Battle Fillies in their midst. If they think Sera’s gang is here to protect them, he thought, they’re in for some disappointment.

They spent the next half hour searching the administrative and maintenance areas to the rear of the building, room by room. In that time, they ran afoul of two more ambushes, five booby traps, and a suicide bomber. Four Constables were wounded, three killed outright, and one was maimed so grievously that Sera gave him the Empress’s Benediction, rather than wasting time trying to save him. She showed very little hesitation when reaching that conclusion, Roughshod noted. Only one Battle Filly was injured in the sweep, her power armor taking heavy damage, but saving her from the bomber’s blast. It was at the end of the second firefight when Hairtrigger finally spotted Waffen.

“There!” the pegasus cried, pointing toward a group of Children who were falling back through a pair of tall, arched doors. Roughshod didn’t get a good look at them, but he supposed if anyone got a good look, it was the Arbitrotter.

Under covering fire from the Constables, the Throne Agents and their Battle Filly allies lined up on either side of the doorway. Roughshod noticed that the sign above the door said “Freight Railhead” in both Pferdian and Low Equestrian. It seemed that Waffen was trying to escape via the bulk cargo trams that connected this facility to other Ver Kaufer warehouses, and to the aerodrome. With tactical precision, the strike team charged through the entrance in two single file lines that fanned out into the space beyond with pies drawn.

The maneuver, though flawlessly executed, was unnecessary.

“Looking for this?” Velour Caress stood with one hoof triumphantly on her squirming, hog-tied step-son. Behind her, the ivory-clad security forces of the Ver Kaufer Trade House were similarly detaining those cultists who were still alive. It seemed as though the Children had been caught completely by surprise, a sentiment shared by the Equestians.

Caballus trotted right up to her, ignoring Waffen completely. “I told you to stay put.”

“But it was so boring out there, Swift,” the pink pegasus whined. “I knew I could be of more use inside, and I was right. All I had to do was follow the sounds of pie-fire, and he stumbled right into us.”

“That’s not the point,” said Caballus. When Meister’s personal troops showed up that morning to lend their support to the raid, nobody was more perplexed than the Inquisipony when Velour arrived with them to continue her duties as Swift’s liaison. She maintained that her report to her husband on what happened in Urhwerk’s lab had been complete and honest, and yet the Plutarch still wanted her to accompany Caballus. Roughshod wasn’t convinced, though he did suspect the singer had some kind of deathwish, having tangled with those cocka-thingies and coming back for more. At the start of their current operation, Caballus had ordered her to stay outside with the House guards as they established a perimeter. Ostensibly, this was to prevent Waffen’s escape, but Caballus had selected Velour for the job to keep her out of harm’s way.

Doesn’t seem to have worked, Roughshod thought grimly.

“I needed you to keep the rail line secure,” Caballus continued. “If Waffen had been able to slip out on a tram, there’s no telling where he might have gone.”

“But I caught him.” Velour stepped back, taking her hoof off the fugitive in question and glancing to the floor. “I... I thought you’d be pleased.”

Caballus looked down on her for a moment. Roughshod silently willed his old friend to dismiss Velour. Moving out against orders would get her court-martialed in the Guard, and that was if the Ponnissar was feeling charitable. Send her home, boss. We both know she doesn’t belong here.

Instead, the Inquisipony sighed. “You did catch him. Thank you. But if you’re going to remain part of this operation, you’re going to need to start doing as I say.”

Velour brightened, and snapped an enthusiastic salute. Behind him, Roughshod heard Sera snort. Great, he thought, the only other pony who doesn’t like this is the pyromaniac.

A pair of Battle Fillies hoisted the bound Waffen up so Caballus could speak to him face to face. “Where are the rest of your traitorous comrades? Tell me now, and maybe I won’t have the Sororitrots burn you alive.”

Though bruised and dirtied, the elder Ver Kaufer sibling turned his nose up at the offer. “You want to meet them?” he growled. “They’ll be here soon enough.”

Far beneath their hooves, the ground rumbled. The grinding sound of machinery coming to life echoed in the vast warehouse, and some of the Constables struggled to keep their footing. Two huge panels on the floor were retracting, creating the opening for a heavy cargo lift. Something was rising from the depths far below them.

Caballus grabbed Waffen’s collar. “What is that?”

The stallion chuckled and spit on Caballus’s coat. “Reinforcements.”

The Inquisipony waved his troops to either side of the widening gap. “Spread out! When they get to the top, we’ll catch them in a crossfire!” The Constables and House guards snapped into action, taking positions behind box-laden carts and crane-carriages. But the Battle Fillies gathered around their Canoness instead, kneeling before her in ordered ranks, only a few scant paces from the killing zone.

“Who can claim their debt is paid?” she asked her sisters.

In unison, the Fillies answered her litany. “None alive have settled their debt.”

“What are they doing?” Roughshod hissed to Caballus. Any second, an unknown force of Children would be pouring out of the lift gates, and instead of dispersing her forces where they would be most useful, Sera was gathering them together, out of cover.

The Inquisipony’s reply was quiet, so as not to disturb their ceremony. “She’s preparing them for battle.”

Ignorant of them, Sera continued. “Who alone has paid their debt?”

“Only the martyr,” the Sororitrots intoned.

“Is now really the time for that?” Roughshod said, exasperated by precious seconds being wasted.

“If I were to guess,” Caballus replied solemnly, “this is the only time.”

The Canoness was now pacing before the uniform lines of Battle Fillies, her voice growing louder with every call and response. “For the Princess brings the sun that all might live. With every sunrise, we are further indebted to her.”

“And so we offer our lives in return.”

“Mourn not the martyr,” said the white pegasus, “for she has given back the life she owed, and sits at the Princess’s side. Her debt is paid in full, and her glory shall endure eternally. Instead morn the living, for their earthly toils pale before the precious gift of a martyr’s blood. Mourn the multitudes who do not die in Her glorious name, for in the eyes of the Goddess-Empress, they will be found wanting.”

The Constables and House security began to look at one another nervously, unsure if they should be encouraged by the Fillies’ display of faith, or terrified by the same. Roughshod was all for a good pep talk, but this was counterproductive for the rest of the troops. The floor was beginning to tremble as the lift approached the end of its ascent, and its metallic screeching was growing to compete with Sera’s oratory.

“Who among you shall settle her account before the sun has set? The debt is your life, and the payment is death!”

“The death of the enemy. The death of the martyr.”

The top of the lift cage rose above the railhead floor. Roughshod guessed that it was big enough to hold three heavy battle carriages side by side. Or about three or four dozen raving cultists. As it would turn out, there were fewer in the lift cage than that, and yet the old guardspony would have preferred to face a hundred heretics to what lay inside.

Turning from her sisters, Sera reared back and flapped her wings defiantly. “We fight and die that Ponykind might live!” As one, the Fillies stood to attention readying their pies and rainers.

When the gates opened, a handful of Children emerged, screaming heretical warcries and throwing pies at the defenders. But they went largely unnoticed by the Equestrians, most of whom stared past the rabble in disbelief. Well over a ton of chorded muscle and pink scar tissue lumbered off the lift, glaring at the Battle Fillies with bloodshot eyes. He gave a snort, ragged and deep, like the bellows of some daemonic furnace. A cloven hoof stomped and scraped the ground sending vibrations throughout the whole room. Then another hulking bovine just like him stepped forward, his horns as long as a pony’s leg, and sharpened to a wicked point. Like his brother he was panting with rage, rabid foam dripping from his clenched jaws.

“Sisters! The Princess demands Her due!” Sera cried.

“We lay our lives and our glory at Her Throne!”

The Bullgryns roared.

“Charge!”