The Crown of Sands

The wooden gate was unlocked, just like always, and Arc pushed it open and stepped into the front lawn. The little path to the door was lined with lilies. Mom loves these flowers. Mom's neat little cottage had an elm out front, where Arc used to fly and climb around when he was young.

The sun was just starting to set, but the candle Mom kept in the front window was already lit. Through the open window, Arc could hear a pair of voices.

“I can't believe he just left us like that...” That was his mom, and she sounded hurt.

“He never really cared. All he wants is to waste his time running around all over the world,” That was Arc's father, snarling disgustedly. That's not right, Arc thought, confused.

Why is Dad here? A sudden thought dawned on Arc; Why am I here!? Wasn't I just... And just as quickly as the thought came to him, it faded. The door to Mom's cottage flew open, and Arc's dad stepped through. He glared down his nose at Arc through his spectacles, one eyebrow raised.

“What do you think you're doing here?” Dad's voice was harsh with derision. “Don't you have everywhere else to be?”

“It's not like that...” Arc pleaded, stunned at his father's disgust.

“No?” Mom asked, stepping around Dad's flared wings. “You left us here to die. You couldn't care less if we lived or not.”

“Mom... I...” Arc felt tears stinging the edges of his vision as it blurred. Smoke was pouring from inside, billowing through the doorway. Neither of his parents moved, their simmering glares deepening accusingly.

“You killed me, son.” Dad's voice was laden with contempt as he stepped back into the cottage, disappearing into the thick smoke.

“I wish you killed me,” Mom hissed, stepping down from the porch. “Who knows, if you keep ignoring me, maybe I'll die, too. Would you like that?”

“Don't you dare.” Arc stomped a hoof, standing back to his full height. His wings, which had pulled tight to his sides while he was berated, flared open. “You know it isn't like that.”

“You turned your back on me, ran away to play hero.” His mother's words spread a sour taste through Arc's mouth. “You will never be as good as your uncle. You're a coward.”

Mom's horn had the slightest gleam to it, just the faintest glimmer. A spell? What is she casting? The answer hit Arc in the face; a silver medal with a purple ribbon bisected by two stripes of white, thrown by his mother's magic. It was Uncle's medal, awarded for his sacrifice.

~ ~ ~

Princess Celestia stopped dead in her tracks, part way down a wide marble staircase. Nolan turned to her, one claw instinctively passing over his hilt. They were just outside the Tomb, the massive iron door ahead looming from across a wide, long walkway illuminated by a series of gemstones laid into the frame.

“Princess?” Nolan's eyes narrowed as he scanned the shadows. Nothing stood out to him.

“Nolan, stay here and protect the Tomb.” The princess' voice had an unmistakable edge to it. “No one is allowed past you. No one.”

“Yes, your highness,” Nolan answered, darting down the last of the steps and turning his back to the massive door. The princess was already gone when he squared his shoulders, his curved sword naked in his talons.

~ ~ ~

Vince sat bolt upright, emerald eyes wide. The blanket was wrapped around his hind legs, and he struggled for a moment to free himself. A lilting laugh stopped his struggle.

“What's so funny?” Vince asked, one eyebrow raised as he finally pulled his paws free from the wrapped covers. Edith was perched at the wooden table, beaming at him. The door was open, hanging loosely from one of its hinges.

“You, feather brain!” Edith giggled, little tears flecking the edges of her eyes.

“Hey, show some respect. I'm still your uncle.” Vince pushed himself out of the bed and moved to the little crate of supplies left open against the wall. One talon darted in and pulled free a piece of bread and a small slab of dried jerky.

“Barely. You're only a few years older than me, you know.” Edith dropped the jibe at Vince's sharp glance.

“When are we getting real food again, anyway?” Edith complained, idly brushing away the crumbs dotting the table in front of her. “We've had nothing but dry crap for weeks!”

“I told you, didn't I? We can't eat what can't get to us and stay here with us without going bad,” Vince mumbled less than coherently around a bite of bread. “That's what Nolan told me, and that's what I'm gonna tell you every time you ask.” He swallowed the huge bite before taking another from the dried meat, the ring through the top of his beak jangling for a second as his jaw worked.

“You missed the Princess,” Edith said offhandedly, chuckling as Vince stopped eating for a second, eyes gone wide. “Yeah, while you were sleeping a whole crew of soldiers and the Sun Princess went down into the Catacombs. They probably met up with Nolan and Bertha a few minutes ago.”

“Are you serious?” Vince dropped the bread and the jerky, hastily wiping his talons on his chest as he stood. Edith nodded, her eyes glinting with satisfaction at his flustered expression. “Why didn't you wake me up!?”

“I would have had an easier time eating the whole desert than getting you up, lazy bones!” Edith exclaimed, watching Vince dig around through the haversack he kept by his cot.

He pulled out and tossed aside a storybook he sometimes read, an old silver goblet he had intended on getting rid of, a tattered old cloak which he tossed over the cot, a broken pair of quills, an empty ink pot, a few pieces of parchment, and some gold pieces. Finally, Vince pushed the haversack under the cot with a scowl. He pulled the tattered gray cloak over his black feathered head before spinning back to face Edith.

“Where's the letter?” Vince growled, scanning the room. Edith almost couldn't help but laugh again when she saw the rolled up scroll her uncle was searching for peaking out from his cloak's breast pocket.

“Where it always is. Remember, 'I'll keep this close to my heart?'” Edith reminded, letting her voice drop into an impression of her uncle's normally light tone. He wasn't usually so grumpy. Must be the Princess' visit has him all flustered.

Vince passed a talon over the cloak's pocket, patting the letter to be sure it was there before slapping his iron helmet on over his head. He pounced over to the door hanging loosely from the bottom hinge, the top snapped off. Normally, he would have asked what had happened to it, but now he was in a hurry. He snatched his lance from where it leaned next to the doorway and darted into the gate room.

From Vince's perspective, it took painful ages to get the intricate stone door unlocked, and even longer for it to slide into its recessed alcove in the wall. It had barely left enough room for him to pass when he sprang through, foregoing the stairs in favor of flying down above the staircase. Finally, he landed with a loud thump on the landing and threw open the oak doors.

The chamber beyond was dark and silent. It was like no one had been through in years. This isn't right... what's going on here? Vince couldn't hear anything moving in the Catacombs, not a guard nor a griffon stirred. A rope dangled down from over the side of the walkway above, moving slightly in a stray breeze that shouldn't have been there. The air had a chill to it, a gust from one of the side passageways carrying with it a smell like mildew mixed with rust.

“Nolan?” Vince's voice echoed through the twisting passages, finding its way back around to him without an answer. Suddenly, the wooden doors slammed shut, followed by the loud clank of a bolt and lock being set. “Hey!”

Vince tugged at the door. He had no intention of returning to the guard room upstairs, but he didn't want his only exit sealed. It refused to move even slightly, and it only made a dull thud when he slammed his shoulder against it.

The breeze built into a wind, blowing away the stench and chilling him through his tattered cloak. It carried with it a new scent; the smell of pine forests and smoky fires. The wind howled through the low archways and halls, and on it came another sound; the sound of chanting. Snow flurried about the chamber, the rope lashing about amid the white scurrying over the smooth stone floor and up the walls.

The walkway above was a long wooden bough, a branch hanging low over the platform in the blowing storm. The shadows folded into dark figures along the edge, chanting, their brightly painted red beaks the only parts revealed from beneath their thick lavender colored robes. Their deep voices called out over the wind in some ancient dialect. Beyond, barely visible through the thick falling snow's near white-out, the mountains loomed, the distant lights of some sprawling village flickering through the shivering branches of scattered pine trees.

The rope was tied into a noose at its end, and a crate underneath it served as a stand for a prisoner. The prisoner's yellow eyes flashed dangerously as Vince took a step toward him. No, I can't be here. This can't be happening, wasn't I... and just as quickly as the baffled thoughts entered Vince's head, they faded again.

“You are charged with treasonous acts against the new High King. How do you plead?” The hangman shouted over the storm, stretching a talon up to still the lashing rope.

“I know no crime, but I did stand with my High King,” the prisoner hissed, his voice thick with contempt and disgust. “You traitors are the real criminals.”

“Do you have any final words?” Vince asked, the hangman moving to pull away the prisoner's hood, drawing the noose lower.

“You betrayed me and left me to die,” Nolan's gray feathers bristled as the hood was pulled away, and Vince's heart stopped.

“But, I came back for you...” Vince's jaw fell open as his eyes widened.

“You didn't want to. Let's be honest, you'd prefer if I had died there,” Nolan's voice took on an accusatory edge, his eyes narrowing to slits. “With me gone, you could just drink and sleep and hide yourself away. You really had to force yourself to care, didn't you? With me dead, you'd be free.”

“I did! I care! I came back for you!” Vince howled over the wind as it grew steadily harsher into a cacophony. The hangman pulled the noose around Nolan's throat and drew it tight.

“Then why am I here?” Nolan hissed coldly. The hangman kicked the crate out from under Nolan's paws, and he fell for a second before the rope snapped taut.

“No!!” Vince cried, but his paws refused to move, his talons refused to reach. It was like the blowing snow had frozen him still. His howling voice didn't carry over the storm.

Vince screamed and screamed, and his voice went hoarse and his throat was struck with the piercing cold. It ached, and bled, and he fought and pushed and tore at his immobility. He was ages ago, standing there on the snowy hill under the dead tree, atop the stone platform, the chanters carrying on their dirge of the dishonored as the next in the line of prisoners stepped forward, the hangman loosing Nolan and dropping him unceremoniously in a heap.

~ ~ ~

Princess Celestia stepped through an archway and into an open chamber. The high vaulted ceiling was supported by a series of pillars. She was certain she had seen a troop of guards moving down this chamber, but there was no sign of them, and the torches along the walls were cold and dark. Her horn cast a warm light over the long room as it curved ever so slightly until the other end was out of sight.

This familiar presence... there's only one way to be sure, she decided silently, continuing along the echoing chamber, her hoofsteps reverberating along the high ceiling. The Princess steeled herself. As she moved, her brow knitted into a scowl.

There was a break in the ceiling, and through it spilled the pale moonlight from the dark sky above. That's nonsense, but don't just assume... A sob caught Celestia's attention. Curled behind one of the pillars, almost hidden in the shadow cast from the spilling beam, was a small, frail looking blue mare. Her wings were clapped tight against her sides, and her face was so downcast her horn practically touched the debris strewn floor.

“Why do they ignore us? Are we not a princess?” The soft, pained voice cut at Princess Celestia's memories, but she put it aside.

“No, you aren't,” Celestia said evenly, leveling her horn on the cowering form.

“Sister?” Princess Luna pulled her tear-streaked face up from her forelegs, where she had been weeping.

“No.” Princess Celestia had to keep calm. She couldn't let her memories overcome her, and she couldn't let her emotions flare up. Luna's young, pained face sent a twinge through Celestia's heart, but she stilled it and pushed it away, concentrating energy into her horn. Focus, concentrate, don't let it get to you, she affirmed in her mind. Already she could feel the cool night air, the soft breeze wafting over the balcony's edge, carrying the floral scent from the gardens below... no, stop. It's fake, concentrate on here and now.

“Why do they hate me? Why do you hate me?” Luna hissed, more tears rolling over her cheeks as her shoulders shook. Celestia couldn't allow herself to go to her sister. She couldn't console her. Instead, she focused the energy to the point of her horn... and fired.

The bolt of intense white energy struck Luna full in the chest, lifting her from her cower and throwing her down the chamber. The break in the ceiling closed, the light gone with the memories and the breeze. Luna was back upon her hooves, eyes solid red orbs within her skull, her lips curled back in a snarl.

“How?” That wasn't Luna's voice, and the cracks spreading along the facade revealed nothing but darkness beneath. A crack split over the false Luna's horn, and energy spilled from it in a swirl. As the broken edges of the disguise split and fell away, they flared and vanished as sparks.

“You aren't the first of your kind I've encountered. You should have chosen your memory more carefully; you only revealed your presence with your disguise,” Celestia kept her voice even, but inside she was filled with grim satisfaction as she loomed over the breaking Luna form. Already she was preparing another spell, this time determined to evaporate her target.

“You misjudge our abilities, horse.” The strange harsh voice spat the last word like it was disgusting to allow it to cross its lips.

“Oh?” Celestia had the spell ready, and she had no doubt that the beast wounded before her would not survive the next burst, but she wanted to hear what it had to say.

“They'll be dead before you can even blink,” It gloated conspiratorially, its red eyes glinting in the shadow. The second shot tore through it, blowing the shattered disguise to pieces and scattering it as magical sparks. The beast curled around the shot, managing to evade Celestia's intense magical blast.

The beast was a form of liquid shadow, red eyes glaring down at Celestia from the sockets in its glinting silver skull. A heavy leaden cackle bubbled up from deep in its form, and it swept from the room in a blast, slamming the doors shut and sealing them as it disappeared into the dark rooms beyond.