Their square still held, but everypony knew they couldn’t stay here forever. Slowly thru continuous hit and run attacks their numbers were being whittled down, but if they attempted to move in this darkness and fog they knew they’d become disoriented, lost, and then picked off one by one.
So they held their formation and desperately hoped that eventually the dawn’s light would start driving this darkness away and begin to burn off this cursed fog. However several ponies were muttering under their breath that dawn should’ve been a couple of hours ago. This darkness was the result of some dark sorcery. Al-Conikkrall and his lich commanders. Their power were apparently growing.
It had been awhile since the last attack. The archers at the center of the square had carefully sallied forth in small numbers to retrieve enemy arrows that had landed close around them. Although fog greatly limited their ability to see targets they’d still been able to blunt the enemy’s attacks on multiple occasions, but with every attack left their quivers more and more empty.
The forces of the great lich didn’t seem to have the same supply issues when it came to arrows. Periodically they’d harried the Equestrian forces with seemingly random salvos of arrows that would come whistling out of the fog. Often these salvos failed to hit anypony or struck harmlessly against the shields of the spear ponies, but slowly random arrows were taking their toll. Worse fed the growing sense of frustration and desperation in the ranks.
The officers and sergeants of this battered company were constantly moving up and down the lines of square giving words of encouragement and the need to hold the square. The square would hold. The square must hold. They were soldiers of Equestria. The dawn would come. The power of Royal Sisters would vanquish this magic. They’d made it this far. They’d make to safety. They would not fall. The 12th company would not fall this day!
They were all that was left of the garrison that had held one of the border strongholds. Couriers had arrived from Canterlot 4 days before with grim news. A massive force of undead was heading their way. More than than they stronghold could withstand. Royal forces were advancing way but they wouldn’t arrive in time. Besides the stronghold had been located on a particularly vulnerable salient of the front. The Royal Sister sought to shorten the front line and consolidate their forces. So the forces were ordered to withdraw immediately after they’d destroyed what they could of the stronghold.
And so 3 days ago they’d marched away from a rising column smoke. The stronghold they’d know as home for the last couple of years. Now it burned like some great bonfire. They traveled light. Taking only what they could carry on their backs and still keep the pace they had to maintain to stay ahead of Al-Connikkrall’s hideous forces. For soldiers of the 12th company this march had been like some slowly unfolding nightmare they couldn’t wake up from. Constantly pursued and hunted by great lich’s scouts and hunters. Only able to get the briefest amounts of sleep and rest before once again having to flee from the relentless pursuit of their foe.
Slowly this continuous march had started to take it’s toll. Any who fell or couldn’t keep up had to be left behind. No time bury their dead or treat the wounded who couldn’t keep up. Worse still was the frantic requests of those being left behind to be killed and burned by their comrades in the desperate hope it would keep them from being turned into undead who’d then hunt their comrades down. But their was no time. They had to keep moving.