Gold Wins Wars

Chapters

Prologue - Little Conqueror
Chapter I - The First Hanstag
Chapter II - Trade Agreement
Interlude : Political Letters - Hansa
Chapter IV - The Arrival
Chapter V - Free Sabers
Chapter VI - Of Fish, Whales and Mind Games
Chapter VII - Victual Race
Chapter VIII - At Least, The Name
Chapter IX - Everything's Fine

Prologue - Little Conqueror

Every year, I’m supposed to deliver the report on the current state of Equestrian affairs, and every single year it looks the same. First I talk about foreign affairs, then I present the status of this year’s budget and after that I usually summarize our economic and military situation. However, in the wake of what happened just yesterday, I am forced to abandon this routine.

As you may have heard already, not twenty-four hours ago we witnessed the largest riot in our capital since the enactment of the Unification Act. The masses, dissatisfied with our current politics, decided to stand against our government. They protest our politics, they accuse our pegasus Legions of harassing them, and they take up arms to fight us on the streets. Hundreds, if not thousands of dissatisfied citizens are rebelling, uniting themselves against us, and throwing our grand city into chaos. We managed to subdue them, but at the cost of dozens of lives and several more wounded. I know however, that this is only the tip of the iceberg. There are far too many reasons for them to revolt.

I think that we, ponies of Equestria, made a grand error when uniting under one banner. Our respective leaders tried to guide us to prosperity, to make a country that would pass the test of time. Yet either their guidance was flawed at its roots, or uniting and creating a single nation was a prospect doomed from the start. Everytime I think about it I see more and more clearly that the mistake was made back then, not now; that Equestria was born with some sort of defect, eternal flaw, hard if not impossible to cleanse.

The idea that our three pony tribes could live together was truly heartwarming, and at the time seemed like the only logical conclusion. United we stand, divided we fall. But the way in which we stood united is a completely different thing. There has always been bad blood between our races and I cannot claim that the spite between our tribes was groundless. Our very nature dictated it; after all, we are all dualistic creatures. Pegasi are both guardians and oppressors, Unicorns are both caring gentries and ruthless nobles, and Earth Ponies are peaceful farmers as well as stingy capitalists. We have traits we can either love or hate, and at this moment I think that the balance has been tipped towards the latter.

I know that healing old wounds will be a long and strenuous process, and that it will take more than just our lifetimes. As such, we need to focus on the welfare of the three races right now. I will not mince words: the situation looks bleak. As I see it, our efforts on stabilizing the budget are doomed to failure, and our infrastructure and food production are too underdeveloped to sustain our nation. Even now several provinces suffer from famine. And as I already said, our land infrastructure leaves much to be desired, forcing us to rely on naval transport. Even the sea is far from perfect. Our trading fleet is barely large enough to sustain our needs, and what’s worse, the ships are constantly getting attacked by marauders, bandits and pirates allied with the Victual Brothers...

Legatus Twister, delivering her Speech to the Parliament, 425 A.E

Prologue

The wind howled like a wounded beast as the Little Conqueror plowed through the crashing waves. Captain Winterspell turned his hardened face towards the west, looking for any movement on the horizon. The cog swayed heavily beneath him, disturbing his balance and nearly throwing the pony onto his face. He wrapped his hooves around the steering wheel and heaved, and the etire construction groaned in protest as it struggled against the raging sea.

The Little Conqueror was a cog, a smooth and elegant trading ship with a high broadside and a lazy crew. Winterspell cast a glance at his comrades, milling about slowly as they kept the deck and sails in check. The northern seas were unforgiving to all and he wasn’t really sure which was going to break first: his ship, or his crew.

Disregarding his crew, Winterspell turned the steering wheel yet again, trying to shield the Conqueror from getting ravaged by the chaotic waves. He blinked as he suddenly realised they finally left the stormy weather, the sun shyly peaking through the clouds. The crew of his ship likewise stopped what they were doing, gawking towards the sky in amazement at the sudden shift in weather. Winterspell himself didn’t show any enthusiasm.

After the battle with the environment, Winterspell finally shook his wings, sending cold droplets everywhere. His white feathers and fur were wet anyway, no matter how much he tried to shake them off. It was just one of several nuisances occupying his attention during the long voyages.

The pegasus looked at the horizon, at the fat, gray clouds churning the seas below. He was supposed to reach Lubuck a long time ago, but this constantly shifting weather was causing insufferable delays. This was embarrassing; he was going to be late again and he couldn’t do anything about it.

“Capt’n?”

Winterspell raised his head to meet the gaze of his adjutant and boatswain, Quick Signal, speaking in his thick accent.

“Proceed as usual. Do not expand sails, the wind is blowing in the opposite direction anyway.” Winterspell ordered. “Tackle in order, prepare for larboard turn.

“Aye.”

“The crew holding up?”

Quick Signal glanced behind his back.

“Nope.”

The sight was discouraging to say the least. Sometimes Winterspell found himself wondering how, on all the gems of the Diamond Kingdom, did he end up in command of such a poorly trained and lazy crew. Some of the unicorns were struggling to stay on their hooves, leaning on railings, barely able to draw a breath.

“Get them in order.” he finally ordered, sighing with resignation.

“Aye.” Quick Signal nodded and bolted towards the sailors.

Winterspell smirked as he watched his boatswain scold the crew, showing them the value of discipline. He enjoyed it so much, in fact, that he barely noticed an unfamiliar shape appearing on the horizon. Only after several seconds did he finally recognize the unknown vessel sailing towards them, still miles away.

The captain slowly took a spyglass from the pocket of his jacket. It was truly a technological marvel, allowing him to see faraway objects far better than with the naked eye. All he needed to do was wipe the droplets of water from the instrument and he could finally take a better look at the new arrival.

The ship itself seemed to be a galley, but far bigger than usual, borderline galleass even. Its broadsides were far bigger, and it possessed several large oars: somewhere around thirty at each side. He couldn’t tell if it was a trade or war galley from this distance, but the crew on board seemed to be relaxed. A red ship flag with two crossed golden keys flapped in the wind from the galley’s main mast, indicating its home port as Ridge. No matter how hard he was trying to focus, however, Winterspell couldn’t spot anything more. He didn’t see any cargo, he couldn’t see the name of the galley, and he couldn’t spot the officer in charge of the vessel.

“Quick Signal!” Winterspell shouted for the boatswain.

“Moment, I’m still scolding the crew!” was the response from the unicorn.

“It’s an emergency, Signal!”

“M’kay, I’m comin’, jeez… what’s the problem Capt’n?” Quick Signal asked, trotting to the pegasus.

Winterspell rolled his eyes. Even the boatswain was giving him a hard time.

“We need a signal. In order : green, then white and red.”

“Green, pause, white, red…” Quick Signal muttered. “Aye.”

The stallion closed his eyes and focused on his horn, sparks starting to ignite on its tip. The sparks grew more intense by the second, becoming almost a beacon of light. With a quick flick of his horn the unicorn opened his eyes, sending a green magical flare high into the air above the ship. After a brief pause Signal renewed his efforts, sending two additional sparks, one white and the other red, both flares joining the first one. Some of the sailors stopped what they were doing and looked at the magical lights, but Winterspell glared angrily at them, snapping them out of it and silently ordering them back to work. He took his spyglass yet again, looking for the reaction from other ship.

The crew of galleass looked surprised, pointing out the signal to one another with their hooves and talking among themselves. This reaction was… not what Winterspell was expecting. He waited for a few seconds, the two ships slowly sailing towards one another. There was no reply from the other vessel.

“Boatswain, one more time.” he ordered, anxiety creeping into his voice.

Winterspell scanned the deck of the vessel once more, this time more carefully. Finally he spotted what he assumed was the captain of the ship. He was a huge earth pony dressed in a typical merchant outfit, albeit a bit lighter, indicating they sailed from more temperate climates His general appearance, however, was slightly off, mostly because he looked incredibly muscular for somepony with such a ‘peaceful’ job.

The captain of the incoming galleass shouted something to the unicorn sailor standing behind him. After a few seconds, a series of flashes lighted the sky as magical flares sailed into the air.

Green, and after a pause red and gold.

Winterspell clenched his teeth, realization slowly dawning on him.The galleass before them was under the Ridge banner, but they used the Danzig signal.

“Right full rudder and full speed ahead! Get the tackle in order, hoist the main sail! Boatswain, sound the alarm! Enemy ship ahead!” Captain Winterspell shouted out orders. “Move it you lazy bums!”

The crew responded with a massive “Aye!” and soon the chaos that was moments ago predominant on the ship was no more, replaced by strict order. The pegasi unrolled the sail and soon caught the wind, the ship momentarily gaining speed. Winterspell turned the steering wheel and the Little Conqueror leaned right, showing its side to the incoming galleas.

“What’s going on, Capt’n?! What’s with that ship?!” Quick Signal asked, barely audible over the noise on deck.

Winterspell gave him his spyglass.

“Victa,” was his only response.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the galleass before them dropped the act. Its crew replaced the fake flag of Ridge and hid it somewhere, the laid back sailors suddenly equipped themselves with axes, shields, swords and bows, and some of them even replaced their casual clothes with leather armours and helmets. The galleass itself dashed forward as the rowers went to work, giving the the ship a significant boost in speed. The Little Conqueror was already in motion, sailing at full speed. The cog was piercing the waves of the sea, leaving only white sea foam behind, the galleass hot on its trail.

A galleass with a fully operational crew is faster than cog. However, if the Conqueror is able to run for long enough, the rowers will tire and they’ll lose their speed. The only thing we need to do is keep our distance from them.” Winterspell thought frantically. “If they catch up to us they’ll board and loot us, if not worse. We can’t let them get near to us...

“Signal! How many weapons do we have?” the captain shouted.

“Lemme check!” the boatswain gave Winterspell back his spyglass and bolted inside the ship, under deck.

“Maintain the tackle! I want this cog to reach Midhay in thirty minutes!” Winterspell ordered to the rest of the crew.

The chase, despite being in theory uneventful, from the sailors’ point of view was complete chaos. The crews were running in circles, trying to keep their ships in order while simultaneously preparing for what was about to come. A few hundred meters behind them the Victual Brothers were preparing for battle, equipping themselves with everything that could be used as weapon, and angrily staring daggers at the fleeing merchant ship. With each minute the galleass grew a few hundred meters closer, the rowers giving it their best. However, the cog was a far lighter vessel, more agile and better suited to operate in such conditions. Winterspell hid his spyglass inside a pocket of his suit; the galleass was too close already and he didn’t need it anymore. He cast one more glance at the pirate ship surfing through the waves. Despite the situation he breathed a sigh of relief.

“They have no pegasi…” He thought.

Winterspell never truly understood it, but pegasi were an incredibly rare sight both amongst sailors and pirates. The Victual Brothers were no exception in this regard, and as far as he could tell Winterspell saw only earth ponies and unicorns in their crew. In any other situation he would see this as foolish; every race played an important role on a ship, without expection. Earth ponies were the best rowers, as their strength could double the ship speed and its navigability. Unicorns such as Quick Signal were crucial in communication between vessels and were more precise while working the riggings. Pegasi were the best scouts; they could warn the crew about a storm far before it happened or even prevent it, and their ability to fly allowed them to work with sails better.

The lack of pegasi in the pirate crew was a real boon for Little Conqueor’s crew. If any were present, they could already harass them with bow fire or try to damage the sail. Pegasi could also quite easily board them or lock their ship with boarding hooks. It was a big flaw in the Victa's plans, and he was going to use it to his advantage.

The boatswain came back running.

“Ehm, Capt’n? I think we have problem…” Quick Signal said in a worried tone.

“What is it Signal?” the captain asked as he adjusted their course.

“Well, we have your typical sailors hatchets for everypony on the ship, but besides that we’re out of everything. We have three crossbows with little ammo, and some javelins,” the boatswain said.

For a moment, Winterspell was silent.

Lūn’s sake, I should’ve never agreed to Grainwood’s proposal of cutting our self defence budget, he cursed internally. I knew it was going to came back to bite us in the flank sooner or later.

After a few seconds Winterspell glanced back at the approaching pirate ship. Seeing it draw nearer, he sighed and spoke up.

“We’ll have to manage with what we have. Give the crew weapons; those Victa bastards aren’t about to give up,” Winterspell growled as he moved the steering wheel again, avoiding a collision with the bigger waves. “Say it to the ponies! We are not giving them this damn ship!”

“Aye!” Quick Signal saluted and went straight to work.

The chase continued, the two ships plowing through the sea, a merchant cog and a galleass full of pirates. Winterspell took note that the galleass was still not losing speed, despite the fact they had been rowing hard for several minutes now. It was a truly worrisome sign; their crew was either incredibly trained and skilled, or instead of pirates, slaves were at the oars. It wasn’t looking good at the moment, especially when he realised the Conqueror was already in range of their bows.

“Everypony! Get down! Boatswain, where are those crossbows?!” Winterspell shouted, all the while maintaining his position at the helm.

Quick Signal tried to say something, but he was forced to dive behind cover as several arrows embedded themselves in the wood just before him.

“Holly dolly!” He scooted back in surprise.

Winterspell cast a glance at the approaching galleass. He spotted several pirates loading their bows with arrows and preparing to fire.

“Sonuva!” he cursed. “Crossbows!”

“Here!” Signal, along with two other unicorns, held the weapons in their magical grasp, already loaded with metal bolts. One of the sailors also dropped a quiver with ammunition and several javelins from the armory. Most of the crew was already equipped with hatchets.

“Return fire!” Winterspell ordered immediately.

Quick Signal aimed carefully, and the two unicorns copied his moves. The bolts flew from the weapons. Two of them missed, but one of them managed to reach its mark. Winterspell could see how the metal bolt went through the pirate’s skull and almost straight out the other side of his head. The captain smirked as he saw the worried look on the Victa pirates’ faces, finally realizing they were not going to give up this ship without a fight.

“Fire at will! Just don’t waste ammo!” Winterspell ordered as he turned the steering wheel yet again, trying to gain some more distance between the two vessels. The cog banked to the right, toward the northwest. The galleass followed right behind them.

The captain took his spyglass yet again, managing to just barely spot a new object on the horizon. It was an mountainous island, jutting out of the water with its jagged peaks.

“Coltland” he murmured.

If he could just reach the island, the cog could outmaneuver the galleass there, using its superior agility. If the crew of the galleass was crazy enough to chase them around the rough shore of the island, it would either sink on one of the jagged rocks protruding from the sea, or at the very least break a good number oars.

The moment he took the spyglass from his eye Winterspell realized that his discovery came too late to be of any real use. The enemy galleass was mere dozens of meters from their cog, and while the rowers did slow down, they had already done what they needed to. Winterspell turned toward a nearby sailor, watching with fear written on his face at the nearing pirate ship, and shook him.

“Take the wheel and keep course!” Winterspell ordered him and pushed the unfortunate sailor towards the helm. The sailor wordlessly obeyed and took it in his shaky hooves.

Now, with one less thing to worry about, Winterspell could concentrate on the real problem. It was time to deal with the Victa. The pegasus took one of the javelins in his hooves, and at his order, the rest of the sailors followed suit.

The Victa archers let loose another volley, sending dozens of arrows into the air. Winterspell ducked behind a railing, the projectiles barely missing him. Several sailors did the same, but not all of them were fast enough. He spotted Red Hatchet fall to the ground, several arrows puncturing his back, making him look like a grotesque hedgehog.

“Send those bloody bastards to the depths boys!” Winterspell encouraged his crew, as he readied his weapon for a throw. Several ponies did the same and it wasn’t long before a hail of javelins flew towards the pirates. Winterspell felt nothing as the projectiles stuck into the pirates’ bodies; he barely even flinched when he saw one of them split a unicorn’s gut open. He didn’t have time to watch anyway, as he was forced to hide from another shower of arrows sent their way. Only his quick reflex saved his life.

“Signal! Status report!” Winterspell shouted over the chaos of battle.

“Several of our men are down! We don’t have enough javelins to keep this up much longer, Capt’n!” Quick Signal said, crouching under a railing, reloading his crossbow. The sailor next to him crumbled to the ground as an arrow buried itself into his head, his blood staining the wooden deck red.

Winterspell uttered a long and foul curse, casting his gaze at the pirates from behind his cover. The Victual Brothers were definitely not conserving ammo as they sent volley after volley at their position, although the pirates’ accuracy fortunately left much to be desired. The marauders managed to wound or kill only a couple of Winterspell’s sailors, while the Victa bandits already lost several of their own crewmembers. Despite the casualty count, however, the pirates’ sheer numerical advantage would be enough. There were simply too many of them.

Winterspell’s gaze finally settled on the pony that was supposed to make boarding possible. He was a massive earth pony wearing chainmail armour and with a pair of axes attached to his belt. In his hooves he held a chain ending in a big, black hook, shining like if made out of crystal. The rest of the galleass’ crew stepped back in respect before him. Maybe he was the captain of this band, but Winterspell doubted it. What really worried him was the hook’s material was made out of. Void crystal, a fearsome weapon of the Crystal Marauders from the North. It was known to eat all magic, making it ideal in a fight against unicorns. If this hook were to land on his ship, there wouldn’t be anypony capable of detaching it quickly enough. Therefore, the pegasus captain knew immediately what to do.

“Take him down!” he ordered, but Winterspell realised he could’ve saved himself the trouble. Every last pony in his crew capable of doing so concentrated their fire on the large earth pony. The pirates tried to shield him with wooden shields but their they were too slow. In a few seconds the dreadful bandit was looking like a pincushion, falling to the ground in a puddle of his own blood.

The sailors on his cog started cheering, but their cheer immediately ended when another pirate simply took the hook into his own hooves. And this time nopony could respond.

“Quick Signal, shoot him!”

“Ah can’t!” the boatswain answered, struggling to pull back the string in his crossbow. “This thing’s hard as heck to reload!”

Winterspell checked the deck to see if there was any forgotten javelin that the crew could use. Unfortunately, there wasn’t, and the captain resigned himself to the fact they would be forced into melee. Under-equipped, untrained, and outnumbered three to one, there was only one possible ending for the crew of the Little Conqueror. And the Little Conqueror was just mere three hundred meters from the protective rocks of Coltland too.

The pirates didn’t seem to notice they had already won and most of them were still shooting; the rest hid behind cover, expecting more javelins and crossbow bolts to strike. The marauder finally threw the crystal weapon, the magic-resistant arm sailing towards the Conqueror’s railings.

Just as Winterspell and his crew thought they were about to to meet their fate, they heard the sound of splashing oars coming from a direction different than the pirate ship, off the port railing.

The crews of both ships turned, surprised to see a second galleass coming in from behind Coltland isle, aiming its battering ram directly at the middle of the pirate ship’s side. A solid red flag of the city of Hayburg was proudly displayed on its mast and its crew was already prepared for battle.

The sudden appearance of new warship and the realisation of just how fast it was approaching threw the pirates into completely chaos. Some of the panicking bandits jumped into the crashing waves. Others tried to shoot at the oncoming vessel, only to find their attacks useless. The rowers tried one more time to increase the speed of the ship, to try and avoid the collision, but exhaustion had already caught up with them up with them and the pirate galleass barely even stirred.

The ship from Hayburg achieved ramming speed, and in a few seconds it struck the Victa ship. The wood groaned for only a second before giving way, and the pirate vessel broke apart in the middle. Several ponies fell to the water on impact, and the rest joined their fate not long after. A few, especially those in heavier armors drowned immediately, dragged to the bottom of the sea by their defenses. The rest of the pirates tried desperately to hold on to the wooden remains of their own ship. They were shot down by archers from the Hayburgian galleass.

Winterspell raised from his cover, watching the massacre before his eyes. The wolves with bloodied claws turned into helpless sheep as their ship was destroyed in mere seconds, the pirates drowning in the icy embrace of the sea. His crew watched this in amazement and relief, realizing that this might have very well been their own fate if not for this new arrival.

“Hey, Quick Signal! Wake up!” Winterspell said to the boatswain who was doing a headcount of the downers with a vicious glare.

“Huh?” he turned towards him. “Ah, aye Captain!”

“Flares, one more time.” Winterspell smiled.

Quick Signal responded with a nod and after focusing briefly new magic sparks went high into the skies : green and white-red.

Winterspell was carefully observing the crew of the Hayburgian ship. The captain finally spotted his counterpart on the other vessel, an earth pony mare with a red coat. She was accompanied by a unicorn, probably her boatswain. At the sight of flares the mare whispered something into his ears. Seconds later, sparks appeared on his horn and soon the response came : green and double-red.

Winterspell’s face turned into a tiny and exhausted smile as he could finally calm his nerves. Now, all that had to be done was to properly thank their saviors.

The white pegasus slowly descended and landed on the wooden deck of the Hayburg galleass. What surprised Winterspell was that it wasn’t a military vessel per se, but rather a trading galleass equipped and supplied for naval encounters. The crew looked menacing; they had the air of hardened veterans from dozens of voyages about them. The ponies didn’t care much about his presence, being too focused on their duties to spare him more than a glance. Realizing he wouldn’t get anything out of them, Winterspell turned to face the commanders of the vessel instead.

As he spotted earlier from the deck of the Little Conqueror, the captain was earth pony mare with a red coat. She looked peacefully, her features were calm and her mane was neatly combed. Winterspell wondered how in blazes she had managed to keep her mane so clean during a voyage.

The second pony, probably the boatswain, was a huge unicorn with a heavy jacket and thick blue fur. The expression he wore, however, took the pegasus by surprise. The stallion before him looked bored, just as if the massacre of an entire ship didn’t faze him in the slightest.

“Greetings.” the mare spoke. “I’m Captain Hornbreaker, but if you’re wise on you won’t be using that name in my presence.”

The sudden statement took Winterspell aback.

“Then... um... what should I call you?” he asked carefully.

“Doesn’t matter, as long as it’s not Hornbreaker,” was her only reply.

“Ehm… right?” Winterspell looked at the stallion for help.

“Allow me to explain.” the boatswain spoke in a bored tone. “Hornbreaker is our captain only by name; she’s the owner of the Quick Row. Also, she’s a pacifist and she doesn’t like her warlike name. I’m the de facto commander and my name’s Howling Wind.”

“Nice to meet you, Howling.” Winterspell took off his hat in a gesture of greetings. “I’m Winterspell, captain of the Little Conqueror. I wanted to thank you for the rescue.”

“Not to be rude or anything, but I wouldn’t conquer anything with a cog.” Howling Wind remarked, a smirk playing on his lips.

Winterspell rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t choose the name. I’m not the owner.”

“Oh, and who is…”

“Guys, it’s all fine and dandy but I can’t stand the sight of dead ponies, especially drowners.” Hornbreaker interjected suddenly, turning away from the railing. “I’m going to bed. Boatswain, proceed as usual.”

“Aye.” Howling Wind nodded. “Ehm, where were we?”

“We were talking about owners?” Winterspell reminded.

“Yeah, whatever. Let’s talk about something else.” Howling Wind waved off the topic. “I feel I need to explain how all this happened in the first place. First of all, don’t thank me for anything. We used you as a bait. We were sailing to Lubuck from a different direction to sell some grain, but before we reached our target port legionaries from the 4th Legion approached us. They warned us there were a bunch of Victa ships in the region, so I took the command from Hornbreaker and decided to hide the ship behind Coltland isle. It seemed obvious that if any trading vessel was to sail in this region and then try and escape from the pirates it would most certainly try to swim through here, so we prepared an ambush. As you can see, it worked out perfectly.

Winterspell furrowed his brow. “Wait, so what did the pegasus legionaries do after they warned you?”

“Well, they said they couldn’t spare any of legionaries to protect my ship, mainly because it’s more or less untouchable as it is” he said, pointing at the heavily-armed crew. “...and there supposedly was this ship from Mareggen that was heavily attacked by several ships up north and they needed every soldier there.” the unicorn explained. “These bloody Victual Brothers are getting cocky.” He spat the last bit in annoyance.

“Lūn dammit.” Winterspell cursed. “How many raids this month? Three?”

“Four. And they are getting more frequent,” Howling Wind muttured darkly. “I asked the Hayburg city council to force trading vessels to travel in larger packs, but they said it was ‘unprofitable’.”

“Idiots.” Winterspell nodded. “Well, as much as it was fun to chat, I don’t think I can afford to stay any longer. My crew is waiting for me.”

“Fine then. I wish you a portion of good, strong winds and calm weather all the way to Lubuck!” the de facto captain of the Quick Row said in farewell.

“And good weather to you too.” Winterspell responded and with a quick wave, unfurling his wings and lifting from the deck, flying towards his own ship, where his crew was already awaiting his command. Thankfully, Winterspell thought, the rest of the voyage should be peaceful.

And so the cog and the galleass went their separate ways, the Little Conqueror setting a course for Lubuck, and once again sailing towards its destination.

Naval communication was always of vital importance to the Equestrian fleet. Since the foundation of the navy there were several ways this was accomplished, yet among the multitude of early methods two seemed predominant: pegasus messengers and unicorn signal flares. The first of the two was also the most straightforward; it consisted of messages, either written or oral, delivered by specially trained pegasi. This method had obvious flaws, as in the event of a battle such messengers were at risk of being shot at, and hard weather conditions could shut down such messengers completely. In Novigrad, the idea was completely abandoned after several pegasi crashed to the sea, their wings frozen by the combination of high altitude, harsh winds, and constant freezing temperature. In the end, despite the speed and vigor of the pegasi, this method was too flawed to be considered reliable.

Signal flares first appeared in Ridge in the 3 A.o.E., developed by a merchant captain by the name of West Wind. West Wind was approached by the ruling council of the city to develop a long range communication system for their vessels, so that captains could inform the port officials before they arrive. In response, West Wind came up with a system of magical flares that heralded a new age in naval communication.

Since the early days of the system, new combinations of flares have been continually developed, and their use has been expanded from simple port use to communication on the high seas. The direct successor of the early combinations is the Triple-Signal-System (TSS for short). The first signal is either a welcome signal, or a situational signal. Usually it consists of a green flare extending greetings to the other vessel as well as indicating its peaceful intentions. After this first signal is given there is a short pause, followed by two successive flares indicating the port of origin of the ship, or in some cases, its allegiance. For example, the city of Novigrad is represented by white and blue flares, Lubuck is indicated by white and red, Ridge is signalled by red and gold, and Danzig is represented by gold and red. The third and final signal is usually an order, message, warning, or request, such as “turn left”, “stop!”, or “danger, pirates nearby!”

Aside from the simple “welcome signals” there are a number of more specific situational ones. Among the better known are the Triple-White signal, used in battle to signal the surrender of a ship; Double-Black indicating the destruction of a naval vessel (usually given when the captain of a vessel orders its sinking to prevent capture); or the Red-White-Repeat, translating into “We require immediate assistance”. The most well known and at the same time feared signal, however, was the “Yellow Jack” -a Double-Yellow signal. It indicated a ship whose crew has been struck down with a deadly disease, such as the red plague, the black plague, or on occasion leprosy, and had to be avoided at all costs.

Despite its numerous advantages, the TSS was not devoid of several flaws. The most obvious one was the poor visibility of certain signals in certain weather conditions. On a cloudless day it’s hard to notice a blue signal flare, and in turn, white is all but invisible against clouds. In the heat of battle it was hard to notice a Triple-White signal, or any signal at all, proving the uselessness of this system in those conditions. The TSS also required at least one moderately skilled unicorn to be utilized, which proved to be a problem in itself as not many unicorns were willing to become sailors. Moreover, in the case of a unicorn signalist being dead or otherwise indisposed, his vessel would lose the ability to communicate.

Despite its flaws, however, the TSS is still utilized to this day alongside the maritime flag signalling as a failsafe, and for years before the development and introduction of said flag signal it has been the preferred form of communication on the seas.

“History of Naval Communication” by Red Flare

Chapter I - The First Hanstag

The founding of the new state referred to as “Equestria” and subsequent changes it forced onto our societies took their toll on the economy of the young nation. The leaders of the state, blinded by their lack of understanding of the very principles of real economy, attempted to counteract the growing crisis by forcing down new laws, creating new taxes, and investing a sizable portion of the country’s funds into setting up new cities. Though their desire to overcome the crisis was commendable, in the end all of their attempts failed because of one simple reason: politics do not dictate the economy. It is the economy that dictates politics. Our leaders failed to realise that, and when they did, it was far too late.

And that is why, in the merchant city of Lubuck, the first Hanstag was held.

“Wealth of Equestrian Tribes” by Tough Smith

Chapter I - The First Hanstag

A mighty river crossed the forested plains of Equestria, splitting it in two like a great blue ribbon. The river Trave, or as some called it, the Traveler’s River, was a huge line of water that gave birth to several settlements. Amongst them, Lubuck was the greatest, commonly known as the Gem of the Trave’s Crown.

The city was built on the banks of a peninsula, overlooking the mouth of the Trave. It was neither a great metropolis nor a sleepy hamlet, yet it was an intriguing settlement nonetheless. One glance at its cobblestone streets and red-tiled buildings spoke volumes of the wealth of Lubuck; everything looked fresh and clean. The streets were surprisingly empty, and it had nothing to do with a lack of citizens. Something seemed to linger in the air, a strange feeling of nervous expectancy. The atmosphere was tense and truly unfriendly.

A lone earth pony mare left her house in the merchant’s district. Crossing through the cobblestone streets, her eyes darted from one building to another, taking in everything they could. No shop seemed to be open, as if all the traders and merchants were gone, and she could see neither hide nor hair of any of the many foreigners usually milling about the streets. The few locals she saw marched in complete silence, their pace brisk, vanishing behind the corners of buildings. The only life on the street came in the form of two foals playing together in a fountain, manes wet and faces smiling, blissfully unaware of the dead silence around them.

Everything looked wrong.

A few years ago, an agreement was forged between the leaders of the three tribes. From this agreement, Equestria was born, a child of all three races, handicapped from the very beginning. Even now, she could smell it in the air: poverty, hopelessness, social pessimism. Lubuck was known throughout the land as a merchant city, a proud bastion of the merchant class, yet even here she could see it. Hiding beneath the guise of wealth, in the shadows of mansions as grand as those of the nobles were slums teeming with beggars and thieves. But if this was the Gem of the Trave, then what did the other settlements look like?

The dreams of a united Equestria, where the three tribes lived together in harmony, came to a screeching halt when faced with cruel reality. The mare didn’t even have to look far to see it. To her left was a tenement house, kept in good shape and big enough to house several families. Yet only a few unicorn nobles called it their home. She watched as one of them left the building, his head pointed arrogantly toward the sky. The pegasi living in an overpopulated apartment across the street sent him hateful glares and drew their curtains angrily. Such was reality.

The weather adjusted to her grim thoughts, the sun vanishing behind dark clouds as if Celestis herself was frowning on the slowly failing nation. She cursed silently. It would be raining soon.

She crossed King’s Street and marched right onto Honest Street. The houses here were built with gray stone bricks and wooden support beams. The few ponies crowding the street parted as soon as they spotted her approach. She kept silent; the ponies watched her with apprehension written on their faces.

They knew full well she was a merchant. The ponies didn’t care if she was selling wood, gems, food or jewelry. The only thing that mattered was that she belonged to a higher class. She wore a characteristic fur coat adorned with several strips of silk and wool that were covering her own green fur, marking her as one of the traders. What truly separated her from a casual noble was the Coat of Arms on her right shoulder. It was a simple symbol, a shield of white and red. The symbol of Lubuck.

As she was passing an alleyway leading towards the slums, Grainwood stopped for a moment. As expected, the entrance to the poor district reeked of mud and decay, enough to scare off any would-be explorer. But... there was something more. It took Grainwood a moment, but then she realized what it was: the sweet, inviting aroma of freshly baked bread emanated from the alley, clashing with the otherwise horrid stench. Letting curiosity get the better of her, Grainwood followed the smell.

Crossing the alleyway and going down the street, Grainwood was greeted by a surprising sight. In one of the old, wooden buildings somepony set up a bakery, probably illegally if she had to guess. But this wasn’t that shocking. She was more interested in the sheer number of ponies gathered in front of it. Formed into a long, snaking line, the bodies almost blocked off the street, each of them with a determined look in their eyes. It was clear for her that they were desperate to get inside.

Out of curiosity, Grainwood took a few steps towards the group. She was stopped moments later however by a voice from behind her.

“Hey!”

Turning back, Grainwood was greeted by the pitiful shape of starving beggar. With rags as clothing and his coat caked in mud, the small unicorn presented a truly deplorable sight. Bruises and small cuts riddled his body, giving him the appearance of somepony that just finished fighting for his life.

“Spare me three bits, wouldja?” The beggar asked, smiling hopefully with his yellowed teeth.

“Three?” She asked, taken aback. The request itself wasn’t surprising, but it was oddly specific if she had to be honest.

“Bread costs four bits. I already have one, so... Look, I’ll take whatever you give me, just please,” he begged pitifully.

Grainwood gasped at the realization of what he just said. A loaf of bread costs four bits? How? This was utterly ridiculous; the inflation was utterly ridiculous. Not two years ago a loaf cost one bit each. Seven years ago you could buy two for that amount. And now? Urgh...

She shook her head and concentrated on the beggar once more, pushing the thought of inflation to the back of her mind. The ragged unicorn was still looking at her, his eyes gleaming with hope, making Grainwood mentally frown. Three bits wasn’t much for a pony like her, but her inner merchant reminded her that it was still her money. She worked for it, unlike him. Her parents invested in her, payed for her schooling, and she had to work herself to the bone to get every last bit of that sum. And what did he do to deserve it? For all she knew, this small unicorn was a jobless drifter and nothing more. He was jobless...

Three gleaming coins flew towards the beggar, who quickly caught them with his magic.

“Thank you missus! Thank you!” The unicorn beamed at her, bowing in gratitude.

Grainwood herself didn’t smile. She knew she shouldn’t have to do that, that this whole situation shouldn’t have happened in the first place. This was Lubuck, one of the wealthiest cities in Equestria. There shouldn’t be beggars loitering on the streets, asking for money for food. They should have jobs, they should have enough bits to buy whatever they needed. Where did they turn wrong?

As she was thinking all this, Grainwood watched the beggar move to the back of the line, eager to buy himself some bread. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t the only one.

“Oi! That was my place!” The beggar shouted as a massive earth pony shoved him out of the way.

“Not anymore.” The stallion growled at him. “Now git.”

The unicorn wasn’t about to give up and once again approached the end of the line. This time however the same earth pony kicked him in the chest savagely. The beggar stumbled back and fell on the mud-covered street. He quickly got up again and charged the earth pony, trying to tackle him. Unfortunately for the beggar, the stallion was far bigger and more muscular than him, managing to overpower the starved unicorn. Within moments, the beggar was on the ground, pinned by his assailant and being beaten to a bloody pulp.

Grainwood watched in silent shock as the earth pony finally got off the now unconscious unicorn, scooping up his four fallen bits from the ground. She was even more shocked by the complete indifference everypony else was showing. They just stayed silent, waiting for their turn, averting their gaze from the bloody show. They acted as if nothing was wrong, or more like they didn’t want to acknowledge that something really was wrong. Somepony got mugged in front of their very eyes and they just didn’t care.

Biting her lips and swallowing hard, Grainwood turned around and started to walk away. She was sick of this place, sick of the indifference, sick of everything. She was even sick of herself. She could've done something, anything, but she chose to ignore the travesty and go her way. It was a sign of the times, when ponies grew blind to injustice and just accepted it as a norm. She shook her head once more and left the dingy alleyway, continuing to her original destination.

The straight, flat road became steep as she walked, leading up towards the hill overlooking the city. It was also the first time she spotted any guards. The pegasus legionaries were patrolling the streets, keeping their watchful eyes trained on it. The atmosphere seemed to get tenser be the minute.

She was marching towards a big mansion situated on the top of the hill. She knew the trek would take exactly three thousand, two hundred sixty-two steps. Somepony actually took the time to count it, the number becoming something of a curiosity for her. At first it was a tiring climb for such a small and clothes-laden pony, but she had grown used to it by now.

Finally, she reached the richly decorated gates of the mansion. Around twenty legionaries were waiting there, scrutinizing every inch of the street. The commanding centurion approached her.

“Good morning, Grainwood.” the pegasus nodded at her. “The Tagfahrt has already begun. All the delegates have arrived.”

“Morning, Steel Head.” Grainwood responded in kind. “They said anything about this session being bigger or more important than normal?”

“Well, yes.” the pegasus nodded. “We’re not here to guard this meeting. We are here as the escort of our Legatus.”

Grainwood raised an eyebrow at the news.

“You mean that the government had decided that this time its interested in what’s going on during the Tagfahrt? They actually sent somepony?” She asked in disbelief.

“Indeed. But I fear that I have already taken up enough of your time, and you are running late as it is. Open the gate!” He ordered his subordinates.

The wings of the gate flew open, revealing a dark corridor leading to the meeting hall. She took a deep, calming breath and entered the mansion.

The sounds of quarrel were easily heard even from behind the doors. Grainwood entered the meeting hall, preparing for the worst. The hall was an incredibly large and spacious room, looking almost like an amphitheater. There were hundreds of seats placed here, and she almost could not believe that the huge majority of them were occupied. Merchants, local nobles, traders, captains of trade ships and barques; all were present.

It was truly a magnificent sight to behold. She’d once attended Parliament in Everfree City, the seat of the highest institution of Equestria, and yet Grainwood doubted that any session of the Equestrian Parliament came anywhere close to the sheer magnificence of the Tagfahrt. In one swift glance she could see esteemed guests amongst the usual merchants attending the session. She saw the mayor of Platinum’s Landing conversing with secretaries and mayors of other Equestrian towns. She saw the captains of the biggest and most successful trading vessels of the land, some of them legends of their own. And of course there was the Legatus herself, scrutinizing the Meeting Hall with her keen eyes.

Grainwood could distinguish the merchants from the other ponies quite easily, as well as who came from where. All the merchants, much like herself, were wearing the Coat of Arms that showed which city they were representing. She saw the white-red symbol of Lubuck, the solid red symbol of Hayburg, the golden keys representing the town of Ridge, the red-white-red symbol of Mareggen, the white and blue symbol of Novigrad, the goat on blue background of Coltland, and countless others. She even spotted the red field with two white crosses, the symbol of the infamous Danzig.

Unlike in the Equestrian Parliament, the Tagfahrt cared little for equal representation of the three tribes. Grainwood noticed there were far, far fewer pegasi here than there were earth ponies. She was hardly surprised, however, as the earth pony tribe always produced the most traders and merchants of the three.

Her thoughts on the beauty of the gathering came to a halt once Grainwood noticed that the unicorn representing the city of Everfree was already delivering a speech. Silently, she took her seat and listened.

“...and so, the Parliament has decided that in order to cut the rampantly growing prices of food, the government needs to directly control the economy. We suggest the prices be locked at the current level, and increasing or decreasing them be considered an offense punishable by law. The Parliament is already working to introduce this new law. If the pegasi and earth ponies do not vote against it, we are likely to pass this reform within three months.”

“Wait a moment, Keynes.” One of the pegasus representatives of Mareggen stood up, locking his gaze with the unicorn’s. “Yes, you can lock the price of food, but the losses in the long run will outweigh the momentary gains. If you lock the price of food, the ponies responsible for delivering and maintaining the farming industry will go bankrupt.”

“I don’t think so,” the unicorn replied. “As I said, in times of crisis we need to pass more economic power to the government. They have far more options to deal with the problems we face. I know that you’re a radical free-market zealot, Smith, but you must face the fact that the market will not stabilize itself.”

Seeing that the representatives were on the verge of diving for each others’ throats, the speaker of the chamber, a tall unicorn called Husher, slammed his staff, ordering everypony to be quiet. All save for Tough Smith suddenly fell silent, but the stallion was far too furious to listen.

“I’m not even talking about that!” Tough Smith slammed with his hoof in annoyance, completely ignoring Husher. “It was all your fault from the very beginning! You’re responsible for the Gem Inflation Crisis! Who gave Platinum the idea that mining more gems would be healthy for the economy!? I’m surprised that I have to teach you of all ponies the basics of economics and how inflation works. If you’re flooding the market with new gems, their value will decrease exponentially, and the price of everything else grow. As I’m saying this, the inflation oscillates at around 232% percent. No, locking prices is not what we should do. The government needs to stop interfering with the market and instead focus on the problem of inflation. But to do that…” he glared towards Keynes. “You need to stop mining gems. Completely.”

A murmur spread across the Hall as the unicorn merchants eyed Smith warily. Husher approached the pegasus and screamed in his face that he would throw him out of the chamber if he dared to interrupt again, adding something about ‘respect for the elders’, and ‘the collapse of principles’. Besides that, howerer, Grainwood had to admit that Smith had a point. It didn’t take a genius to understand the principles of inflation. However, there was still one major problem: believing that the government would stop mining gems for even a month was wishful thinking at best. The unicorns would never go for it.

The problem didn’t even exist five, ten, twenty years ago. Back in the Compact Lands, gems were mostly used in the industry and weaponry. Their abilities to hold Arcana, the magic of unicorns, made them valuable to one tribe, but solely decorative for the other two. Several years after the migration to the gemstone-rich soil of Equestria, the gem market had swollen too large, and the stones found other uses. They were a good substitute of local currency. So when unicorn merchants realised that Equestria was so rich in gems that they could be harvested with little more than a bucket and a shovel, they went completely mad and began to fill all the hills and mountains of Equestria with excavations. It worked for several months, but it wasn’t long before the feedback crippled the pathetic scraps of Equestria’s economy.

The atmosphere was growing more tense by the minute. Grainwood found it… disgusting. They acted like the things they were talking about didn’t actually have an impact on typical pony life. Everypony in the chamber knew what inflation was, yet she was sure nopony outside of this mansion understood it in the slightest. GDP? Interest Rate? Margin? Obligation? She was certain that the beggar she met earlier didn’t know a damn about them. And what did these terms actually mean to the local ponies, struggling hard with absurd prices, absurd taxes, and other laws that only grew more and more absurd the farther she read down the list? Nauseated, Grainwood decided to share her own point of view.

“Mares, gentlecolts, colleagues!” she spoke, standing from her seat. “We have gathered here today to discuss the economic crisis that our nation has fallen into, but I feel we are missing the root of the problem. There is racism in Equestria; rampant racism that brings this nation to its knees. We’re all economists here; if not from trade, then from education. Even to us, the reason for this state of affairs is clear. Unicorns make up the huge majority of the nobility, as well as the wealthiest class of merchants. They have near-total control over the rules of commerce. The pegasi and their legions are forced to protect our caravans and ships at all times, though they’ve made it clear they don’t enjoy that responsibility. Earth ponies have reasons to complain of their own. They feel that the new government has killed their industries and stifled their businesses with unfair taxes. I am willing to bet a good portion of you feel that racism in itself is a stupid notion, but the reasons behind it are very much legitimate. Just a few days ago, riots erupted in the city of Everfree because of social unrest; because of racism.

“Why, then, was Equestria even made? Why did we decide to band together? I’ll tell you why! It was because our leaders believed it would work, and they believed that by working together we would achieve more than we could on our own. And, in several ways, they were right. Finally, the hated border toll was eliminated, and I believe I don’t need to remind any of you how annoying that was.”

There were several nods from the entire chamber. The border toll was a fee that all who wished to cross between tribes had to pay. Under the Compact, earth ponies were obligated to pay unicorns just for passing the territory of River Rock, which cost a lot of money.

“We need to do the same thing,” Grainwood continued. “Here we are, merchants of all cities, merchants of all types of goods. I’m selling wood; everypony here knows that. I want to sell it to unicorn merchants without being glared at. The pony tribes united themselves and created Equestria. We need to remember that, and we need to focus on doing the same thing. Because it’s not only about us; the economy strikes everypony, citizens of all settlements, unicorns, earth ponies, and pegasi alike. We need to fight pro publico bono, because if the society is not united and wealthy, we will suffer from it too.”

Several ponies from all three races applauded her speech loudly, yet several glared at her, their eyes sending daggers through her coat. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

“I don’t think so, dear Grainwood…”

The mare felt a chill run down her spine when she heard the rumbling, terrifying voice of the old pegasus merchant. The entire chamber fell silent, looking at the slowly rising form of the pony. Grainwood recognized him immediately.

Cold Steel was an old pegasus with gray fur and a black, short mane with several specks of hoar here and there. He was probably the only merchant that didn’t wear the customary fur coat. Instead, he wore a Cirran senator’s robe, under which Grainwood could see the silvery gleam of armor.

The pegasus’ reputation made him the most infamous pony attending the Tagfahrt. Everypony knew Cold Steel had, at some point, served in the Cirran Legion, though due to an injury he sustained during battle he was forced to leave. The injury itself, leading to a collapsed lung, was the source of his shallow, raspy breathing and the dying wheeze that accompanied his every word. There were many rumors circulating about who Cold Steel actually was. Some said he was a spy sent by Hurricane to keep an eye on the traders. Others whispered that he was one of the supporters of Cyclone’s rebellion who somehow managed to avoid punishment. Cold Steel did nothing to disprove any of those rumors, seeming to revel in them, further fueling the hushed speculations.

He dealt in arms and armor, and he was one of the key suppliers for the Legion. Weapons and equipment weren’t his only wares; Cold Steel also owned several sky forges across Equestria, making him one of the most wealthy and influential merchants in the young nation.

“You see…” the pegasus took a raspy breath before continuing. “I believe that you don’t understand how the hatred between our races is actually beneficial for the economy, and us in particular. Ponies are concerned by the growing prices of food, so they’re throwing their life savings into it now, when the prices are still ‘relatively low’. The ponies are scared that a new conflict is brewing, so they are buying weapons to defend themselves. They are constructing bigger and tougher buildings to withstand the riots, fires, and floods.

“Racism may be a ridiculous notion for some, but equality is not that much different. Unicorn lands suffered heavily after the creation of Equestria, because they now lack foreign trade partners. The inflation crisis would never have happened if unicorns never joined Equestria. The idea of separating our economies between the formal tribal lands and using regional currencies as means to boost trade is an interesting one I have been thinking about lately, but I guess that’s an issue for another Tagfahrt.

“Before you decide to flood me with questions, accusations, and death treats…” Cold Steel continued, “I was not a lover of the Compact. But if you want to cooperate, the only way to do so is to invite the government to help and guide us. But I guess you value your independence too much to do that, don’t you?” The pegasus’ voice dripped with sarcasm as he sat, marking the end of his toxic speech.

An argument immediately broke out between the government interventionalists led by Keynes and the free-market supporters led by Tough Smith. To be fair, it was still better than the last few Tagfahrts. Well, for now at least. Grainwood simply observed how both sides were blaming one another for the complete failure that was Equestria’s economy. Cold Steel himself wasn’t amused in the slightest by the argument, still wearing the same grim expression on his aging face.

There was something in Cold Steel’s words that was truly unthinkable to Grainwood. She always considered herself a generous, open-minded, and cheerful pony. At some level, she really liked both unicorns and pegasi, but ponies like Cold Steel were truly scary for her. The mare couldn’t believe such words could escape the elder pony’s mouth. How could racism be beneficial? No, clearly Cold Steel didn’t believe what he said, either. It looked more like the pegasus simply liked to watch two groups of merchants screaming and arguing with each other.

It took several moments for the bickering ponies to notice that a certain pegasus mare had stood up. When they realized who she was, however, the Hall quieted down in an instant.

Legatus Twister was a smaller, relatively unimposing pegasus mare with a brown coat and black mane; both were slightly graying, more from the stress of her work than her age. She wore the robes of a Cirran senator, and a golden sword hung from her side, though only a fool would believe it was actually sharpened. It wasn't her sword that the merchants were afraid of. Twister was the Legion's chief bureaucrat, managing its funds and deployments. Crossing her was a quick way of making enemies not only with the entirety of the Legion, but also her older brother, Commander Hurricane.

And everypony knew what happened to Hurricane's enemies.

“As a representative of the Legion, as well as the Equestrian Parliament at this meeting, I kindly ask you all to shut up,” Twister ordered, eyeing up the arguing merchants. Once the last of them fell silent, she continued. “Thank you. Now first of all, I have to inform you about the recent decision of the Praetorian Council. I’m sorry to inform you that that with the recent outbreaks of violence across Equestria, as well as the problems brewing in Platinum’s Landing, the Legion is forced to reassign its forces to more pressing matters, and as such is unable to provide protection to your trade routes. The Legions simply cannot stretch its forces at this time, especially to protect, and I’m sorry for the choice of words, “such strategically insignificant” settlements as Lubuck, Mareggen, or Mareburg.

“I’m also to inform you of Parliament's decisions pertaining to the issues discussed here,” she continued in the same, crisp tone. “The government recognized the Gem Inflation Crisis as a danger to national security, and as such decided to take appropriate measures against it. That is why Parliament decided to undergo the following administrative reforms to pass the budget and increase the income of Equestria’s Treasury:

“First of all, to revitalize the national economy, Parliament has decided to fund the creation of several new trading routes along the river Trave. Additionally, several new settlements shall be created along the river, as well as around Everfree itself. We hope that will send a positive impulse toward the rest of the economy.

The response was mixed. Some representatives nodded in approval, while others seemed to be full of doubt. Grainwood wasn’t exactly sure what was worrying in Twister’s words. Maybe the suggestion that thanks to these investments, the capital will become far too big a competitor, and other cities will become mere shadows?

“Secondly, the mayors of several of the most prosperous cities are to raise taxes. Profits from this action are then to be sent directly to the newly created anti-crisis fund. And lastly, we are limiting the production of the Equestrian Mint as well as the mining of gems in several of the largest national gem mines. We hope this will stop the inflation and give time for the two aforementioned reforms to strengthen the economy enough to stabilize the situation. Also, Chancellor Puddinghead is working on a method of bringing the price of food to a manageable level.”

Almost immediately, there was a sudden outburst from the benches belonging to free-market side, who expressed their anger in an entirely unprofessional manner. Twister waited a few seconds so Husher, the speaker of chamber, could calm them down. Keynes and others on the interventionalists side were cheering.

“Additionally, there has been a decision made pertaining to the colonization efforts of lands further from Equestria.” The Legatus changed the topic, focusing her eyes on the representatives of Danzig. “We are overexerted as it is, and too many ponies are trying to colonize lands near the Crystal Union or across the sea. These actions are not only dangerous, but also very costly. Parliament has decided that the costs outweigh the possible gains, and risk creating a diplomatic incident we are not ready to face at this time. Any further attempts at settling outside of the mainland are hereby considered a criminal offence and will be prosecuted accordingly. With all due respect to the representatives of Danzig, we will tolerate this no more.”

The few representatives of Danzig that were in the chamber manifested their indignation by giving Twister vulgar gestures. She ignored them.

“Also, in reference to the speech given by Cold Steel: you, sir, are not as wise as you want others to think you are if you really believe that the Equestrian economy is profiting from racism. The official resolution of Parliament, as well as the Commander Maximus’ official stance, clearly states that all races are equal and any kind of conflict between our three races is a serious threat to the wellbeing of Equestria. Thank you.” She finished her small speech and sat down.

The news was met with a mixed reception. Although some of the gathered merchants showed support for the proposed reforms, the majority didn’t seem to appreciate them. The tension in the meeting hall was high. Representatives from Mareburg were even openly discussing the idea of leaving the chamber in a show of protest towards the proposed increase of city tax. Others in turn were bad-mouthing Cold Steel for his earlier statement, the representatives of Mareggen going as far as to call him an “arrogant, racist, death-selling bastard”. Cold Steel himself simply ignored them.

The hall fell silent once again when one of the present unicorns shared her opinion. Grainwood recognized her as Captain Harpoon, the commander of the “Regal Barque”, one of the many trading vessels represented.

“Dear colleagues,” Harpoon began, somehow seeming incredibly tired, like giving her speech was straining and difficult for her. “I know that you have a hard time working out a compromise. I’m not an economist, but I realize this situation is incredibly dangerous to Equestria. The Legatus’s news is truly worrying, but not because of the tax increase. There is no denying it; we’re truly reliant on the Legion’s help in protecting our trade routes, especially with the emergence of the Victual Brothers and their reign over the seas.”

The chamber was filled with murmurs as soon as the name of the dreadful pirate band was mentioned. They were very well known even midland as they terrorized not only the open sea, but even the larger rivers. At the very least, the overwhelming power of the Legion kept them far away from Everfree itself.

“I only ask for one thing,” Harpoon continued. “Whatever agreement you reach, please, for the love of Celestis, remember the crews and captains of your trade ships that lost their lives to the pirate menace. Think about them before giving the Legion orders to abandon us. Thank you.” She finished, sitting back down.

It took some time before the next speaker stood from his chair to give a speech. He was a tall unicorn with a light-brown coat and a black mane. Grainwood recognized him with no difficulty. He was the mayor of Ridge, Shabby Rich, an incredibly powerful stallion. True to his name, he was an absurdly rich trader. Not only was he the mayor of one of the more wealthy cities of Equestria, he was also the owner of several gem mines, a small fleet of trading ships, and several settlements along the richest trading routes in Equestria.

“Dear merchants, colleagues, mares and gentlecolts!” Shabby’s Rich voice was loud and clear, resounding around the chamber. “I think that in times of crisis, we, the proud merchants of Equestria, should focus our efforts on increasing our wealth and careful management of our trade. We’ve just heard an excellent speech delivered by Grainwood…” here he glanced at her. “...about our need to work pro publico bono. As much as I want to agree with her proposal, however, I fear it is not as simple as we might think. Not, at least, as we are right now. We could do this only if our class had enough power and wealth to survive the cost. The reality is, we don’t have that wealth right now. Because of this reality, I suggest we increase our efforts to expand the trade on the Trave river and allocate money into those branches of industry that will be most beneficial to us.

“The news from the Parliament delivered to us by the Legatus unfortunately put a wrench into this plan,” Shabby continued, looking towards Twister. He was wearing a sad smile upon his lips, but Grainwood could guess it was a false expression. “But hope is not yet lost. If we cannot make the new settlements and expand our trade to the Crystal Union and on the islands, we can focus on rebuilding and expanding our cities. I’m sure our citizens would greatly appreciate if we focused our efforts inward for a change, especially if it would have a direct impact to their own well being.”

Most, if not all of the ponies in attendance nodded at those words, agreeing with the wisdom behind them.

“Let me present my proposition to you, esteemed colleagues, especially to my fellow mayors. Let’s expand our economy and buff the consumption by decreasing the tax in all the cities we rule. If my predictions are correct, and I am willing to bet my life that they are, this should create positive feedback, which in turn will draw in potential investors to our settlements, as well as create a positive economical situation for settlers willing to settle down within our trade routes. But for this to truly work, we need to ally ourselves. We need to do it in solidarity. Everypony with us, or we can forget about all this. There is no other choice. What do you think of that?” He let the question hang, sitting down at his place.

The whole Hall erupted into cheers of approval. Every merchant, mayor, and representative wanted to express their support of the idea and demand more details as to what exactly needed to be done. Shabby Rich smiled proudly upon seeing such a positive reaction. There was, however, one pony that didn’t seem too pleased about this.

Legatus Twister frowned deeply. What Shabby Rich proposed here was borderline treason in her eyes, and to make matters worse, all the attending merchants seemed agree with his seditious proposition. It took several minutes for the excited representatives to calm down enough for her words to be heard.

“I want to remind you, dear mayors, that this proposition bears the signs of treason.” Twister spoke forcefully, trying to drive the meaning home. “The issue of taxes is regulated by federal laws, and as such you have no other choice but to accept the decisions of the Parliament. I cannot say how the Representatives would react to such an initiative, but just three days ago they passed the edict increasing city tax, so I highly doubt they would be willing to go back on their own decision. You can try to lobby for a change, of course, but again, Everfree has more influence than all of your cities combined.”

This time the reaction was stoic. Grainwood frowned, thinking how to avoid all the problems the government of Equestria was throwing under their hooves. The entire chamber began quietly meditating; no pony dared to break the silence.

The sound of cracking bones heralded somepony standing, preparing to deliver a speech. All eyes turned in the direction of the sound, falling on the figure of an elderly looking earth pony. With his blue coat and graying mane they recognized him as Suderhoof, the founder and mayor of Lubuck.

“Mares and gentlecolts. We have gathered here in Lubuck to discuss the economic policies of Equestria and to introduce new trade agreements. At least, that is what we officially are here for.” Suderhoof spoke softly, yet his voice was heard by everypony present. “My esteemed guests, the truth is something far greater. Such trivial matters should not be of interest to us, not in the times we’re in. No, we are here because the safety of our nation is at stake. Equestria is on the brink of anarchy. Empires fall not because they are conquered, but because they go bankrupt.

“The government failed us,” he said more forcefully as he turned to face the Legatus. “You try hard to save Equestria, but you are destined to fail. You are not economists, you are not merchants, and clearly you are not traders. You are politicians, and you fail to understand one simple fact: it’s not the politics that dictate economy, but it’s the economy that dictates politics. Our mighty leaders, Hurricane, Platinum, and Puddinghead do not understand it either. They are wise and clever, but again, they are not economists. Mark my words, Equestria’s doom will not come in the form of a foreign invasion. It will be the ponies you lead that will hang you when they realise how incompetent you are.”

Twister couldn’t believe the amount of nonsense that she heard in Suderhoof’s speech, but when she stood up, she immediately received a glare from the Husher. His expression was easy to read, and the Legatus understood the message perfectly.

“Do not dare to interrupt,” the speaker seemed to say. “Do not even dare”.

She sat back down, but Twister sent one last hateful glare towards him, indicating that he was going to have problems in the future. Really serious problems.

“What is the Equestrian Nation?” Suderhoof asked rhetorically, not even noticing the tension between Twister and the speaker of the chamber. “I’ll tell you what it is: it’s all the ponies who live in our borders, who live in Equestria. And this is important, my friends. Because if we want Equestria to truly unite all three races, we need to focus on the nation itself. Ponies. Poor and rich, stallions and mares, queens and beggars, merchants and farmers, legionaries and fisherponies. It is the ponies, after all, that are the core of our state. Everything that was built by our hooves, the cities, ships, and farms, it all came to be because of ponies that helped us. We can’t deny that we are parts of this nation too, and it gives us both privileges and duties.”

The elder pony paused for a moment, as if to gather his thoughts.

“We are no longer here to discuss politics or argue over little things. We are here because our nation is suffering from economic failure. We are no longer here to simply talk about and bash each others’ opinions. It is not only our duty, but our destiny to finally set Equestria on course to a brighter future. I don’t know if you looked at the faces of the citizens here in Lubuck. What did you see? I saw only a lack of hope and disgust. I saw helplessness in their eyes. We can not only give them hope, but also give them prosperity. It is the time to begin a new era of wealth, fortune, and happiness to our kind.

“They say the racism is tearing Equestria asunder. I don’t see it in this chamber, even despite Cold Steel’s speech. And do you know why? It’s because we are representing cities, not races. Look on the Parliament of Equestria! The seats are divided in such way that it’s not possible to make any agreement at all. And now look what we have got here! We have the representatives from Novigrad, Lubuck, Mareggen, Hayburg, Coltland, Danzig, and several other settlements. I see unicorns, pegasi and earth ponies alike, and we have a lot in common; we have common interests, trade agreements and common goals.”

The mayor of Lubuck began to speak with far more passion than when he started. The entire chamber listened with bated breaths, hanging to his every word, excitement painted on their faces.

“It is our Tagfahrt here that is a shining example of what the three races can accomplish together, not the Parliament! And that is why, my friends, it is finally time to take the economy into our own hooves. The age of the Gem Inflation Crisis, the age of mad taxation, the age of astronomical prices of food is coming to an end. To achieve that, we need only do the same thing that the three pony tribes did not so long ago.”

“There were many Hansa’s before, each for one city. Now there will be only one, the Horseatic League, Liga Horseatica, the confederation of merchant cities. Together we shall set a new course, the course to wealth and prosperity. We shall fix the economy of Equestria and help organize it, we shall stop the crisis and division, we will finally defeat the pirates that are threatening our trade. And it is impossible to stop this change, because of one simple reason. Never before has anypony won a war against economy. Steel may Win Battles, but Gold Wins Wars!”

The chamber erupted into excited cheers. The cries of the merchants could be heard even beyond the walls of the mansion. Grainwood joined the chorus, chanting loudly.

“Hansa!”

Only two ponies didn’t join the cheering masses. Legatus Twister was silently looking over the crowd of merchants, contemplating the next move of the Equestrian government with this unexpected development. She didn’t know what this alliance would change, or if it was a threat to Equestria, but she hoped that it would be the spark that would change the nation.

Cold Steel also was peering at his fellow merchants. He could feel the coming of change; he felt it in his bones. This new and completely unexpected situation threw a wrench in his plans, and the old legionary wasn’t happy about that. And the last words of Suderhoof’s speech; oh, how he wanted to disagree with them. His very soul cried out in outrage, his pride as a soldier wounded beyond recovery. He would prove how wrong Suderhoof’s words were...

The 63rd Tagfahrt of the merchant towns of Equestria was also the 1st Hanstag, seeing the birth of the Horseatic League. Suderhoof, being not only a gifted economist but also well versed in the Equestrian Codex of Laws, was able to utilize a loophole overlooked during the codification of said codex. In its form at the time, in the face of a “serious threat to Equestria’s continued existence” a “state of emergency” could be introduced by the respective governors and mayors of cities with a population of at least 10,000. However, the exact terms of what was considered a threat to Equestria had never been specified, resulting in the term being interpreted very loosely. Suderhoof used this loophole, claiming that the inevitable failure of Equestria’s economical system was reason enough to enact a state of emergency, after which he proclaimed the forming of a confederation consisting of the towns taking part in the Tagfahrt. Legatus Twister remained neutral throughout this process, which brought a slew of criticism from her political enemies. From a legal point of view, however, there was nothing she could do. Suderhoof had every right to do what he did. There are, however, theories that Twister wanted to show the Parliament that their inaction may lead to losing even more cities and spur them into taking the matter of economics more seriously. Additionally, there was also the possibility that she wanted to ask her brother, Commander Hurricane, for advice before taking any action. This however remains in the realm of speculations.

What we do know for certain is that Legatus Twister herself saw the creation of Hansa as beneficial for Equestria’s financial situation, possibly able to repair the economy. Additionally, having a colonial plan separate from the Equestrian government meant reduced costs of colonial upkeep as well as the lesser possibility of a diplomatic incident with the neighboring Crystal Union.

On the same day the Horseatic League was created, an election to choose a leader of this new faction took place. Suderhoof was chosen to represent the interests of the newly formed political entity as Principes, primus inter pares, the First among Equals. Following this decision, Shabby Rich’s proposition to introduce a flat tax on a lower level than the one currently functioning in the League’s founding cities was put to a vote. With 88% of the votes supporting the idea and 12% abstaining from voting, the reform was passed.

From a political point of view, Hansa was by no means a threat to the integrity of Equestria. Officially it was still a part of the nation, and in the first draft of its basic law it was nothing more than a “corporation” of sorts. The cities forming the League had slightly more autonomy than the one outside of the Hansa, but at the same time they couldn’t count on the full political and economical support from the government. Initially it proved to be a significant problem for the League, limiting its effectiveness on the market, as well as making it a target of many attacks from its political enemies. One of the main critiques of Hansa, the unicorn representative in the Parliament by the name of Tricky Steam went as far as to claim that the Hansa was “a pathetic cover for criminal activity that the merchants responsible for the crisis were running” and “a creative way to avoid paying their due taxes”.

The Parliament’s attitude towards the League was only one of the problems the organization had to face in its infancy. The Victual Brothers were still a deadly threat to any form of trade in the region, and the rampant poverty of the masses could quickly turn to bloodshed and rebellion. Additionally, there were enemies within their own ranks, with some of the merchants and nobles in the founding cities silently opposing the creation of the confederation. Hansa in that point of its history could quite easily collapse. Nonetheless, the 63rd Tagfahrt became the symbol of a new economic era dawning over Equestria.

- “Wealth of Equestrian Tribes” by Tough Smith

Chapter II - Trade Agreement

“...I cannot agree with Tough Smith on several matters. While his argument that the Horseatic League was going to play an incredibly important part of the history of economy is sound, he tends to avoid the issue of politics, as well as just how strenuous on the government his decisions were. I on the other hoof, as a longtime deputy in the Equestrian Parliament as well as a member of the economic commission, recognized those issues. His idea of lowering the taxes in several large cities across the nation in hopes of increasing internal consumption was a commendable one, and Parliament was seriously considering undergoing similar changes in other parts of Equestria; in the end, however, it was decided against doing so. At that time the nation was too unstable to safely pass such reforms, and the administration and legislation was too inefficient to properly handle such transformations. The same inefficiencies could be attributed to the Equestrian Codex, which Suderhoof was aware of while issuing his plan of partial secession from the main governing body and the forming of the Horseatic League. It took an entire decade to stabilize the situation enough to pass the needed reforms by the Parliament, as well as to sign the new Codex, devoid of loopholes such as the one mentioned above. However, even with such an inefficient system it would take much more than simply the Hansa to “bring Equestria into an age of prosperity” as Tough Smith was so keen to suggest. Or at the very least not the Hansa alone.

The Gem Inflation Crisis could not be counteracted by a simple administrative decision, unfortunately. The Unicorn Faction was far too numerous to allow that, especially since they were lobbying against anything that could force them to stop or lower the amount of gems mined by their mining companies. Despite the best efforts of the Financial Commission to persuade them otherwise or work out an agreement, it seemed that it was going to be a lost cause. In the end it was thanks to the idea of an earth pony deputy of forming a central bank that the negotiations did not end in a catastrophe. The institution he proposed, today known as the Equestrian Central Bank, was in essence an effort to, if not stop the mining issue, at least limit the amount of gems flowing in the Equestrian economic system. The ECB itself was introduced seven years later during the emergency session of the government regarding the sudden increase of inflation in 11 A.o.E.

However, as much as I would like to criticize the Hansa, it is undoubtedly thanks to the decisions made during the First Hanstag that the government has noted a positive export value of Equestrian goods, a slow rise of the GDP, and an increase of income from tariffs from overseas colonies such as Danzig. Although begrudgingly, several new trade agreements have been signed with the Hansa, and the mayors of the cities belonging to the League were trying to use this new situation to further the wealth of their respective estates and withstand the economical crisis, which they did admirably.”

“The General History of Employment, Interest, and Money” by Keynes

Chapter II - Trade Agreement

Grainwood yawned as she slowly opened her eyes. She was greeted by the familiar sight of the wooden roof of her shop. Feeling dizzy due to the lack of sleep, she sluggishly gotten off her bed and stretched. With mostly closed eyes, manuevering by memory, she reached the door. She knew every plank here; she could operate on autopilot as long as she needed to fully wake herself.

Grainwood reached the ground floor, finally managing to open her eyes and letting them fall on her products, or at the very least, samples of them. Several planks from different types of wood were on display, as well as axes and saws dedicated to deal with certain type of grains under the walls, and some other tools used in the processing of wood. Her true stock, however, was being kept in the storehouse behind her shop or in the basement. And, because she was the owner of several lumber mills in the region, most of her wood was located in storehouses outside of the Lubuck.

It took her several moments to realise there was a soft sound in the air. The sound of snoring, to be exact. She smiled as she turned towards the counter. There, on the desk, lie the head of a small filly, her light red mane sprawled over the desktop.

“Zzz… zzz…”

Grainwood couldn’t help but smile at the cute sight of her “assistant” during her casual “duties”. The earth pony filly was laying on the chair curled into a ball, with only her head resting on the desk. Grainwood had no idea how she was able to do it; the position looked incredibly uncomfortable. A half-opened book of bills was laying on the desk, serving the filly as a pillow.

“Blank Slate, come on.” Grainwood whispered, nudging her slightly. “The shop was supposed to be open half an hour earlier.”

“Whaa… holy!” the filly suddenly gasped as she raised from the chair, startled into the waking world. “Ehm… sorry.” she smiled embarrassedly.

“It’s okay.” Grainwood assured her as she walked to the main entrance. “It’s not like there are any customers anyway,” she mumbled under her breath.

Grainwood took the key from her coat and opened the door. She cast a glance outside, noting that the streets were more or less empty. Maybe she really was opening her shop too early. “Birch Atelier” never really was a popular shop to begin with, but Grainwood knew that if somepony would actually come here, he would usually spend a lot of money or maybe even sign a contract. The sun was still low, casting long shadows from the high roofs of merchants’ shops.

Blank Slate yawned behind her.

“Ehm… I don’t think there is a huge…” she paused for a moment to come up with the correct word, “demand, for our products.”

Grainwood sighed as she looked at the street through the window. What she saw was clearly confirming Blank Slate’s words.

“I guess there isn’t…” she nodded. “But at the other hoof, it gives us some time.” Grainwood smirked towards Blank Slate, who suddenly made a face.

“Now that I’m thinking about it, suddenly I’m feeling incredibly tired.” She yawned in an exaggerated fashion, feigning exhaustion from… sleeping?

“Sorry kid, but I need to hammer some knowledge into that head of yours. Wasn’t that why your parents sent you here in the first place?”

After that little declarion, Blank Slate’s eyes lit up with excitement.

“Yes! They sent me because I want to be merchant just like my grandpa!” she cried, jumping in the place. “And then I will have shops and ships and I will be rich, and I will pouch the Mayor, so I will buy my own palace, and…”

“Okay, let’s stop it at that before you crown yourself Queen of Equestria.” Grainwood rolled her eyes. “Have you been reading from the book I gave you yesterday?”

“Yup!” The filly nodded with an innocent smile.

Grainwood sighed. It was obvious that Blank Slate really hadn’t read any of it. The little monster just couldn’t sit in one place and concentrate. One part hyperactive filly and one part scatterbrain, that’s what she was. Nonetheless, she gestured Blank Slate to sit down and took a seat opposite of her.

“Let’s make this a game, shall we?” Grainwood proposed in hopes of keeping the filly’s attention. Judging from Blank Slate’s eager nod, it was working. “The rules are simple: I’ll ask you question, and you’ll answer them. For every question you get wrong, you’ll have to help around the shop for an hour longer. For every good answer, I’ll cut your workload by an hour. If you get them all right, you’ll have the whole day free. Sound good?”

The filly nodded eagerly, determined to get as much free time as she could.

“Okay now, first question: imagine a freshly built shop. What wares can you sell only with permission from the government?” Grainwood asked, smirking.

“Ehm…, well…” Blank Slate was thinking fast, scratching her head with a hoof. “Weapons?”

“Good.”

“Alcohol?”

“A little more confidence in your words. Don’t ask, say it,” Grainwood ordered.

“Alcohol,” Blink Mind repeated with conviction.

“Good.”

“Ehm… medicine?”

“Correct.” she nodded.

“Explosive materials?” Okay, this is getting disturbing. What is she, trying to start a cartel or something?

“Yes.” Grainwood answered slowly, now looking at the filly more attentively.

“Wait a second.” Blank Slate furrowed her brow suspiciously. “How many do I need to count out?”

Grainwood only smiled. “Think about it. It’s a tricky one.”

“Not fair!” Blink Mind grumbled, but still tried to come up with the answer. Grainwood meanwhile was checking her account book. It didn’t take her long to realise that while her shop was paying off, she was barely making any money, and even with the lowered taxes introduced by the Hansa that wouldn’t change anytime soon.

There was no sound in the shop as Grainwood was silently leafing through the pages and her assistant was trying to come up with the answer.

“Everything!” Blank Slate suddenly cried out in triumph.

Grainwood blinked, a bit startled by the sudden outburst. “Oh, and why so?”

“Because no matter what you’re selling, you need to pay taxes for it. That means you need to send a petition to the Mayor, which means you need permission from the goverment.” Blank Slate said eagerly.

Grainwood was truly surprised. She didn’t expect Blank Slate to actually answer the question correctly. Truth be told, she purposely chose the most tricky question in the book, hoping to get an excuse to scold the filly for treating her studies too lightly. In all honesty, the filly wasn’t learning anything at all. Blink Slate simply had natural talent. It wouldn’t surprise Grainwood if her cutie mark would have something to do with trade...

“Well, point for you I guess.” Grainwood finally admitted.

“Yay!” Blank Slate squeaked.

“How much do planks from Novigrad cost? Remember to add the due taxes and tolls.” she suddenly counter-attacked with another task.

“Well, one full wagon of wood should cost 50 bits more or less. City tax of Novigrad is 18% of the total product price right now, which means that after paying the toll for passing Everfree Strait, which would be exactly 5 bits per wagon of wood, it would rise to 64 bits. So for example, three wagons of oak tree would cost somewhere around 192 bits.”

“Wrong.” Grainwood smiled triumphantly.

“Buh?”

“City tax in Novigrad is now 14%.” she explained to the confused filly. “But you weren’t supposed to know this, it wasn’t written in the book. It was changed three days ago. Hansa legislation.” she winked.

“Oh. But then what is the Hansa?” Blank Slate asked with a curious look.

And now she had a problem. Grainwood never admitted this to anypony, but she wasn’t exactly a good teacher. She had broad knowledge of economy, because she had inborn knack for it, not because she learned it by heart. It was rare, but sometimes Blank Slate was able to ask her a question that she wasn’t able to answer, simply because it wasn’t written down in her textbook. In such situations Grainwood was always pretending to be “suddenly occupied with something really important that couldn’t wait so go bother somepony else”. It was simply teacher’s pride; she couldn’t admit that she didn’t know something.

Now, she knew what Hansa is, but knowing it and being able to explain it were two different things.

“Well. In short,” she started, “Hansa is a merchant confederation of seven big cities: Lubuck, Mareggen, Hayburg, Novigrad, Coltland, Ridge, and these strange ponies from Danzig. We had a meeting three days earlier and we decided that the tax should be lowered.”

“Oh.” the filly scratched her head in confusion. “But isn’t it the government that is responsible for setting up taxes?”

Grainwood rolled her eyes at the obviousness of the question.

“Hmm. Yes.” she nodded.

“So isn’t it like… ehm… illegal?” Blank Slate asked carefully.

“Hmm… not exactly…” Grainwood murmured.

“So they will put you into prison?” the filly asked with curiosity.

“No!” Grainwood facehooved at that.

“Because if you will go to prison, there will be no pony to sell your wood, and if there’s no pony to sell your wood, it’ll be bad for business,” Blank State said.

Grainwood looked blankly at her assistant for a few seconds, speechless.

“Ignore the fact I’m in jail and worry about business loss, why don’t you,” she muttered while shaking her head. “You have some priorities kid.”

“Thank you,” Blank Slate replied, completely oblivious to Grainwood’s sarcasm. “But look at the bright side! I’ll take care of your business while you’ll be serving your sentence. Totally, you can trust me.”

Grainwood rolled her eyes yet again, but before she could continue her lecture about Hansa there was a knock on the door. Soon after, the first customer of the day entered the shop.

She never expected to see this gem-studded coat so soon, especially in her own humble shop. The Mayor of Ridge was curiously looking through her wares, his blue eyes slowly scanning the shelves. His long, red mane was cut by a barber with remarkable skill, and Grainwood could tell he was rich just by looking at his immaculate hair. He was also carrying a golden rode with an oak finish by his side.

“Okay, lesson’s over. You can have your free time now,” she whispered silently to Slate. “Just before you go dabbling in the mud, make us two cups of tea. And throw in some sugar.”

“Oki doki!” The filly nodded and bolted out of the room.

Shabby Rich’s eyes finally locked on Grainwood. He was wearing a small smile on his face, but from Grainwood’s experience, it was his casual expression.

“Good morning Grainwood,” he greeted her rigidly.

“Good morning sir. What can I help you with?” she asked, wearing her casual ‘I’m a supportive shopkeeper, you need only ask for my help’ face. Grainwood had been practicing this expression for several years now; she knew that she had to wear it all the time if she wanted to sell any of her goods, and she had gotten proficient at it. There were three parts to this face that she had to include: cheerfulness, simply because ponies liked smiling shopkeepers; innocence, because it was harder to refuse somepony like that; and finally - a bit of personal charm. Being a mare, the last part was rather easy to pull off, not to mention it made negotiations considerably easier.

Shabby Rich pretended to think the question over before he spoke again.

“Well, I’m looking to invest in the infrastructure of Ridge, and one of my projects would certainly benefit from having access to your wares,” the mayor said slowly. “Your cooperation would be much appreciated, but I fear it could take some time to go over every detail before you make your decision.”

Grainwood quickly caught the suggestion hidden in his words.

“Hmm. Maybe we should discuss it in a more private setting, like my personal study, sir?” she proposed, still softly smiling.

“Good idea. And please, do not call me “sir”. We are not nobles, after all,” Shabby Rich replied with a slight nod as he followed Grainwood into her study.

“Let’s start from the basics.” The mayor said as he sat down. “As you know, Ridge is the biggest mining community in Equestria, as well as an important trading depot. Because of its localisation, all the transport ships in the area are forced to cross Ridge in one way or another.” he sipped his tea from the cup delivered earlier by Grainwood’s assistant. ”Thank you.” Rich nodded towards Blank Slate.

“No problem! Are you like, super-duper, as-rich-as-can-be rich?” the filly asked , her wide, curious eyes staring in awe at the stallion.

Both the merchant and the mayor rolled their eyes.

“No, I’m not exactly the richest, if that’s what you’re asking,” Shabby Rich stated.

“Of course not, you silly. Shabby Rich is not really rich, he is just…” Grainwood said when she realised the connection with the name. “You know what, why don’t you go outside and play some games with your friends, hm?.”

“Okay!” Blank Slate cheered and bolted out of the room. Grainwood winced as Blank Slate slammed the door shut in her haste.

With the distraction out of the picture, Shabby Rich continued on as if nothing happened.

“My city has an incredibly big budget and I’m concerned that once they realise just how much money is earned through the mining industry they’ll rise the taxes even more.”

“By ‘they’ you mean who, exactly?” she asked, taking another sip.

“Parliament, of course.”

Grainwood nodded. It made sense that the moment Parliament realized there was a huge amount of money to earn from taxes they’d try to pass appropriate legislations to squeeze whatever money they could out of it. She recalled a similar incident when her good friend from Mareggen discovered a layer of iron in his local area. Just after he set up a proper mine, Parliament increased the tax on iron in the area to the point where it was almost unprofitable to keep mining at all.

“Seeing as that is a possibility, I need to spend my money somehow, and try to mask just how we’re earning that way. The bureaucrats in the capital tend to look only at the end profits and glance through the investment part, making this little plan of mine that much easier. I decided then that it would be a good idea to invest in the local infrastructure of Ridge and create several more settlements. However, for new villages and towns to be built I need absurd amounts of supplies, mostly well-crafted planks and a large supply of wood.” Shabby Rich explained calmly, sipping at his tea. “I allowed myself to prepare a preliminary contract.”

The mayor used his magic to remove a small piece of paper from his coat’s pocket. He passed it to Grainwood, who immediately started to read through it. It was a typical trade agreement, with dates of transports, amounts of money for each delivery, anticipated costs of toll payments and city taxes, and so on. However, the moment she read just how much wood she was expected to provide Grainwood made her spit-take.

“One hundred thousand tons of wood!? What do you need that much wood for, building a new capital or something?” she gasped as she re-read that line again, just to make sure.

“I really did mean that I intend to make “huge investments in the infrastructure” Shabby Rich’s lips curled into a small smile as he took another sip.

Grainwood took a moment to look through the contract once again, trying to find anything that could be considered a loophole usable against her. It seemed just too good for it not to have one. However, try as she might, everything seemed perfectly fine, nothing truly suspicious at all. And that made it all the more suspicious.

“Well… it looks good for me, but I need some answers first.” she spoke slowly.

“Go ahead. I’ll try to answer them to the best of my abilities.” Shabby Rich replied, sitting more comfortably in his chair.

“Why me?” Grainwood asked bluntly. “If memory serves me right, I have quite a competition in Hayburg, one which is a serious threat to my own trade.”

What Grainwood didn’t mention was that the company from Hayburg, owned by a stallion by the name of Wood Cut, was bigger, had a wider assortment of goods, and their prices were far smaller than hers. In fact, they were the main reason why her own shop was barely afloat as it was. She was just a little fish in a sea full of great sharks.

“Not anymore.” the mayor replied, shaking his head slowly. “Wood Cut was found guilty of tax evasion.”

“Oh,” was the only response to leave Grainwood’s mouth.

That changed the situation quite a lot. With each second the offer look more and more tempting: first an incredibly important figure from Hansa wanted to sign a contract with her, then her biggest rival on market is down… She had to force herself to sit in her chair and slowly sip the tea, because with each passing second she was closer to jumping from her seat and doing a wild jig.

Well… she shouldn’t exactly be happy that her rival was rotting in the jail, but this was the brutal reality of free market. Only the strong survive.

“Truth be told, Grainwood, is that I chose you mostly because of your speech during the Hanstag.” Shabby Rich continued. “I fully agree with what you said back then. To see a pony that didn’t lose hope in social solidarity in times as dark as these is truly remarkable. And as you said, money is one thing, prosperity is something different altogether. I just felt that such views shouldn’t go unrewarded.”

“Ehm, thank you,” Grainwood responded, a bit abashed by the sudden declaration.

Shabby Rich drank the rest of his tea and put the cup back on the table. He looked at the mare before him and folded his hooves.

“So, are you willing to take up my offer?”

This was it.

One hundred thousand tons of wood. She had only one trading barque and six lumber mills. If she wanted to finish the contract in decent time, she had to spend some money to expand her trading fleet and build more magazines and workshops to ensure the quality of wood was adequate, not to mention build additional sawmills. But even with all those investments it would still take several years to finish. The price was worth it, however, and she could cover all these expenses with the money from Shabby Rich and still have a decent income. Maybe she could even build a proper home, instead of constantly sleeping in her own shop.

She opened the drawer of her desk and pulled out a white feather and inkwell. She dipped the tip of the quill in the black liquid and signed up the contract without hesitance.

“Thank you.” The mayor nodded as he examined the curvy signature.

“No, I thank you.” Grainwood smiled. “We have a deal. Just let me make a copy of this agreement and I’ll send it back to you as soon as possible.”

“Of course, of course,” he waved his hoof nonchalantly. “Just send it to my office back in Ridge once you’re done. It’ll be that much easier on the both of us,” Rich added as he stood from his seat.

The mayor and the merchant shook their hooves and the unicorn turned towards the exit. As he left, Grainwood read the agreement one more time, just because she could. It was still amazing just how good a deal this was. It would take care of all of her financial problems and guarantee her stability for years to come. This agreement was a dream come true.

Soon after Shabby Rich left, the little devil in the guise of a filly walked inside and curiously checked the room.

“Hey Grainy.” the filly greeted her.

“Back already?” Grainwood asked. “I thought you were supposed to play hoofball or whatever you call it with other kids.”

“Nah.” Blank Slate shook her head. “Curious Wink got ill and it’s no fun without her.”

“If you say so.”

Grainwood cleaned up the empty cups and was about to go downstairs towards the kitchen, but a little squeak from her assistant stopped her in the tracks.

“Slate?” she asked as she turned towards the filly.

“Do you know when exactly uncle Winterspell is coming back?” Blank Slate asked, holding the same white feather Grainwood signed the contract with.

There was a brief moment of dead silence.

“I’m not sure.” she finally answered.

Interlude : Political Letters - Hansa

Dear Deputy Tricky Steam.

In response to your earlier interpellation concerning the creation of Horseatic League, I want to assure you that the creation of the Hansa was indeed legal. I want to thank you for your hefty dose of constructive criticism and I will try to cover all the questions you raised last session.

- The creation of Hansa did not, in fact, break the 4th Paragraph of the First Chapter of the Equestrian Codex of Law. The paragraph states, and I quote, that “Equestria is a unitarian state”. the Horseatic League did not proclaim autonomy from the rest of Equestria, and uses the same Codex to ensure that the law is followed. Therefore, in light of existing legislations it is still a part of our country and did not violate the 4th Paragraph.

- Suderhoof had the right to use the 24th Paragraph of the Second Chapter of the Equestrian Codex of Law. As it stands now, the 24th Paragraph states that “In case of danger to the continued existence of the Equestrian nation, any governor or other figure of local authority in a position no less than a Mayor can introduce a “State of Emergency” on the territory of his/her authority.” This in turn means that Suderhoof had every right to do what he did, because the 4th Paragraph Chapter Eight of the Codex does not determine what exactly is considered a “danger to the continued existence of the Equestrian nation”. I suggest you contact the Minister of Justice about this and write an interpellation to him, because he is the one responsible for updating the Codex.

- It is not possible to veto local authorities on the decisions they made concerning their domains during a state of emergency, which is stated in the “Appendix to the Equestrian Domain System”. Therefore even if the creation of the Hansa does not suit our interests, for now we cannot abolish it, and even if we changed the Appendix, the “Lex retro non agit” rule prevents us from using the newly introduced law against decisions that were passed before its introduction.

However, I suggest that you contact the Minister of Justice. I also want to note that it is possible to create a special sub-commission to try and impose new legislation on this problem.

Legatus Twister

Dear Queen Platinum

For everything you hold dear, calm your gods-damned unicorns down! I have no idea what devil possessed that whoreson Tricky Steam to do what he did, but that doesn’t change the facts: I’m so furious right now that, were it not for his diplomatic immunity I would gladly gut him. That slug had the gall to suggest that if I won’t step down as the leader of Pegasus faction, he’ll try to inpeach me in a referendum! A referendum!

I know that, in theory, you cannot interfere in Parlimentary matters, but at least try to ease the situation, because at this moment I’m overloaded with inquiries, and the accusations from the unicorn deputies aren’t helping. I cannot work properly if I have deputies banging on my door every day, blaming me for “endangering the unity of Equestria”.

Yes, I know that it wasn’t “all that legal” to actually create the Hansa in the first place, but it’s Right Judge’s fault, the complete idiot from the Earth Pony faction who wrote this chapter of the Codex. If there is anything to blame, it’s our stupid, retarded, good-for-nothing laws that need to be corrected immediately. I’m not sure if you have somepony who could try to fix this thing up, but if you have any expert in law, inform him immediately. I will give him any political support I still (despite the situation) have.

However, returning to our usual Parliament routine, I think we need to strengthen our coalition against the liberal earth ponies in their faction. While I think that in the long run the Hansa could prove to be actually useful, I don’t want to give the impression to everypony that they can create their own city-states just like that. I’m working on a special decree that would move the ability to introduce a State of Emergency from local authorities straight to the Parliament. Of course, it’s a risky decision, but at least we will put an end to the decentralization of the government. My Pegasi fraction is too small for now, so I need the full support of the Unicorn faction to secure its passing. Would it be possible for you to talk with Joust about this? He was quite amazing at disciplining his colleagues from the party. If that won’t work, I also suggest to contact Puddinghead. I heard rumors that some politicians from his faction want to make a coup d'etat, so that somepony else could take the leading chair in his faction. If we were to give him our support, we would be better prepared for the upcoming Parliamentary sessions and the passing of laws would be that much easier. However, if they will indeed try to overthrow Puddinghead during the party elections, we need to support him at all cost. While he is not a good politician, he is a loyal one. In times like these that’s far more important.

Loyal politician. What an oxymoron.

In your earlier letter you asked me what I think about your idea of forming a Supreme Court. While I’m not exactly skeptical towardthat idea, I have my worries about who exactly is going to be sitting on the Court. I mean… seriously. In the Praetorian Council there was even a motion to promote Quartermaster Cold Steel to this rank. I read the list of ponies that would probably end up there, and to tell the truth, it doesn’t look good. Maybe if we would give the Supreme Court less duties and saved more power for the government in case of revocations... For now, this idea is far too dangerous. Of course, you can try and enforce it during a Parliament session, but I can’t guarantee you that the Pegasus faction will support you.

Also I would like to note that while our government is quite stable at the moment, we need additional resources to set up the National Treasury. We have had a hard time balancing the budget and our current Master of the Mint doesn’t have any legitimation. Calculated Branch wasn’t an elected politician, and so he gives his political enemies additional arguments against his rule. What is even worse is that during the last riots he was labeledPublic Enemy Number One by the ringleaders, despite that fact they were protesting against the Legions, rather thaneconomical problems out of our control. I’m also worried that some nobles and politicians behind the scene are trying to destroy him, and use his collapse to build up their own political position. However, I think I know how to resolve this problem.

The latest survey of the political sympathies in the Pegasus faction gave us some interesting results. You are still considered the most popular amongst the the politicians ruling Equestria. In light of this, I want to make a proposal. Maybe we should make a motion of censure against Calculated Branch, and when we overthrow him, enforce another Master of the Mint that would be “nonpartisan”. In reality, he would listen only to your orders, which would give us more opportunities to pass our economical reforms and try to stabilize Equestria’s situation in a more direct way.

The problem however, is that finding a pony that would be considered nonpartisan is almost impossible. How much I would pay to have a 4th race, so that we couldn’t be accused of “favoritism”. As of right now I suppose we should try to find somepony who isn’t exactly considered to be a popular politician, but at the same time make sure he’s competent and has next to no negative reputation amongst other factions. I never expected that the hardest part of forming government would be making sure the number of ministries is divisible by three.

Respectfully

Legatus Twister

Secretary Transcript for Parliament Session, 23/04/425 A.E
Speaker of Chamber : Red Staff
Giving Speech : Chancellor Puddinghead
Topic : Food Production and Distribution

Chancellor Puddinghead : Dear deputies, Speaker, Chamber, Queen, guests, and all illegal immigrants! I’m incredibly excited to present to you my report on food production across the green fields of Equestria. Now, I should start with listing all the previous legislations on that matters, because that would bore the heck out of you all, as well as any reader of the transcript of my speech. You got all that Secretary?

Chancellor Puddinghead : Great! Thank you kindly dear Secretary! Now, where was I? Ah yes. First of all, I’m proud to say that for the first time from the creation of Equestria, the Ministry of Agriculture noted an increase of total food production by more than 10% in comparison to previous year, so go us! Our researchers proved that Equestria’s soil is incredibly fertile and easy to plow, and crop production is much, much higher than it was back in the Compact lands. Right now, our two biggest crop exporters are city of Hayburg and the town of Stettin… scratch that, let’s stop at Hayburg. The last report indicates that the city was able to produce eighty six tons of crops per year, which is in my personal opinion, an incredible success. Even without mentioning the good weather, our infrastructure and government interference in local economy seems to be working well.

Chancellor Puddinghead : However, I have to say that we simply cannot enforce this type of industry in other realms. For six months now our government tried to promote agriculture in Novigrad, but the results are… are… well… to put it diplomatically, mediocre. My ministry is not really sure why exactly crops don’t want to grow in Novigrad, but I sent a researcher team already to discover it.

Deputy Catfire : Maybe that’s because there’s eternal winter in Novigrad, water turns into ice in 3 seconds flat, and single day takes up half a year, you incompetent fool!?

Chancellor Puddinghead : Hey! At least we tried!

Speaker Red Staff : I didn’t give you permission to speak, deputy Catfire! Sit down or I will throw you out of this chamber! Please, continue.

Chancellor Puddinghead : I think that overall the main problem with our economy is the lack of good transport across Equestria. We know that Hayburg has an incredible amount of supplies but right now we cannot afford to transport them to other regions of Equestria that suffer from food shortage, especially the capital and the cities to the west. For now, we have managed only to build a few key stone roads surrounding Everfree and the neighboring settlements, but it’s clear it’s not enough.

In this situation, we decided that focusing more on sea transport would be a good idea, especially since the riverine system gives us the opportunity to reach all the cities in Equestria and use them as already existing trade routes. On that note, I would like to strongly encourage a stronger emphasis on creating our own Equestrian trading fleet that would help improve logistics.

The creation of the Equestrian fleet, however would be incredibly costly, not to mention reeeealy time consuming. For now, we have prepared a project with proper legislations for it, but more likely we will introduce it later, just after the third election to Equestria’s Parliament, so we can appoint a new budget to cover all the expenses.

What is worrying however, is that despite government funding, our grants seem not to reach their targets. I dunno why, but no matter how much money we throw to expand our skysteel and mining industries, we get no profits from them and it seems that they don’t expand whatsoever. It’s like throwing coal inside an empty chimney and not lighting it up. The government suspects that we have a…

Chancellor Puddinghead : …major problem with corruption in the ranks of our administration. For what we know, unicorn officials seem to favor unicorns, pegasus official seems to favour pegasi… but I really have no idea why. Both horns and wings are made of bone, right? Just pegasi have additional feathers on their bones, so really? I mean… feathers are ticklish and stuff but…

Speaker Red Staff : Chancellor, back on topic. Tea break is in 5 minutes and I want to finish this exposé before then.

Chancellor Puddinghead : Oki doki! I want to eat some sweet little rolls too, let me just summarize it quickly. The situation is under control and we do not expect more riots because of food shortages. We need to continue our efforts into expanding our infrastructure and found more villages and cities, we need to improve the logistics of Equestria by building new roads and establishing an Equestrian trading fleet, and finally, we need to ensure that every citizen of Equestria can feel that the economy of our country is getting stronger.

I think it’s a very good thing to remember that the economy is, most of all, ponies: traders, merchants, farmers, legionaries, ponies of all races and kinds. We can announce full success only if ponies of Equestria will be happy with their lives. Thank you.

Speaker Red Staff : I pause this session of the Parliament for one hour.

Dear Chancellor Puddinghead

While trying to write next year’s budget, I’ve came up with an idea of how to at least facilitate maintaining the local treasuries of our cities. Despite our best efforts, there is a wide disproportion between certain regions: while some are incredibly wealthy, others suffer from stagnation or downright recession. After some analyses, I came to the conclusion that we could force the leaders of local autonomies to fund a special “compensatory tax” to cover up the problem of poverty in the needy territories of Equestria.

For example, look at the city of Ridge. Mayor Shabby Rich is, for all purposes, sitting on a pile of gold, while other cities are on the brink of proclaiming bankruptcy. As Ridge does not use its monetary reserves in any way (at least for now), I think it will be profitable if we could use this money to help expand other settlements.

I’m going to propose a new legislation on that matter next week. I’m eagerly awaiting for Your response.

Sincerely

Calculated Branch
Master of the Mint

PS. For the love of Celeste’, don’t enter my office through the chimney. The fate of Equestria depends on it.

Dear Cold Steel

I want to inform you that your last delivery reached us safe and sound, and that our Legion is as always thankful for the shipment of such fine, quality weapons and armour. However, I fear that this may be our “last” delivery.

Our cooperation has been extremely fruitious for years now, but unfortunately now that there is a bigger choice of high-quality goods from competing manufacturers, who at the same time offer their wares at lower prices, I fear our cooperation will have to come to an end. I’m sorry, but as a military official I always need to choose the best offer; otherwise I could be accused of corruption. It also means that I will no longer be able to send you information about what is happening in the Legion. It was part of our deal after all, but now our deal is, for all purposes, over. Sorry.

The Legion, however, is incredibly proud of you, and several squads decided to pool together and get you a special gift. Most of the veterans still serving here remember you from when your group was fighting in Cirra. Check the package, I’m sure it’ll be to your liking.

If you have some time, please visit us. These new kids that seem to be joining the Legion nowadays should hear some of your stories.

Respectfully.

Lictor Thunder Bone

12th Legion

I know. Don’t worry however, my dear Lictor. I hope that your new agreement with the Hansa traders will pay off. And I’m going to visit your Legion for sure. It seems a good idea to meet up with the boys one last time before I pass away.

Cold Steel

To the Praetorian Council

I know that the Praetorian Council usually doesn’t deal with such insignificant things, but my Legion witnessed something strange. I need to report that the Lictor of the 12th Legion Thunder Bone, was found dead in his personal bathroom after he mysteriously vanished during his drill exercise about two hours earlier. We started an investigation on the matter, and our current theory is that the Lictor committed suicide by slitting his fetlocks. The room was completely intact and nothing has been stolen, which supports the theory. It is possible that we will discover additional clues to what happened after conducting an autopsy on the Lictor’s corpse.

The death of Lictor Thunder Bone means that Lictor Round Shield will be replacing him at the position of quartermaster and that the 12th Legion is on high alert for a week. However, given that the exact circumstances of the event are unclear, as are the motives that could lead Thunder Bone to committing suicide I feel that any and all decisions he made pertaining to the functioning of the Legion directly prior to his death should be revoked on the grounds of his possible mental incompetence at the time. One such decision pertains to the issue of supplying our troops with arms and armaments. I took the liberty of canceling the recently signed contract and prolonged the old one with Cold Steel, a dear friend of our unit who supplied us for many years now.

Awaiting further orders.

Legate Bash,

12th Legion

Chapter IV - The Arrival

Tall brick structures with characteristic red tiles, lines and lines of wooden houses, and the shapes of port-side warehouses rose from the horizon. The harbor awaited, the entrance to the port crowded with several cogs, galleys, barges, and other kinds of ships. The city walls were mostly empty, with but a few guards patrolling them.

Winterspell put away his spyglass.

“Lubuck,” he murmured.

This was it. They had finally reached their destination after several hard days of sailing. It was not the first time he had made this trip, but it nonetheless exhausted him, as always. The sea was more than willing to show ponies that it did not belong to them and would not be tamed. It was a place of primal nature, where only the hardest and most experienced could dare to tread.

Even though he had traversed this path dozens of times already, Winterspell couldn’t help but feel that this time something was different. He could feel it in his bones; he should at the very least have felt relief at arriving safely. Instead, all he felt was gloom. He should have been happy that his crew would finally have the opportunity to rest from this Victa madness and fury of the sea, but there was something tugging at his heart, keeping him from comfort.

“Quick Signal! To me!” he shouted into the air.

The boatswain dashed in his direction. “Aye, Capt’n?. What’s the problem?”

“Six ponies didn’t make it, right?” Winterspell asked, adjusting their course.

The boatswain wasn’t a brilliant mathematician, as proven by the fact he had to count them out loud.

“Ehm… let’s see... three… five… yea, that was six.” Quick Signal finally confirmed.

Winterspell sighed. “Do you know if they they had any family?”

“Let’s see. Red Shovel… nope, Swift Grape… nope, nope, nope… oh, Long Rope had parents,” the boatswain said.

Winterspell sighed one more time and cursed silently. “Great, just what I needed…”

“But if my memory serves me right, he was disinherited,” Quick Signal swiftly added.

“Disinherited? Oooh… okay, I get it.”

Typical. Most sailors didn’t have any family. The ships were their only home, their crews were their only family. Others became sailors after being run out of their homes, others were trying to avoid punishment for one crime or another, and still others were dishonoured nobles that, for reasons unknown, preferred to hide their social status. Sometimes, like in Long Rope’s case, after being disinherited they had nothing to come back to and had no other choice but to enlist.

So typical… like Winterspell himself, all those years ago.

“Men, half sail! I want to bring her in nice and slow, this time without ramming into anypony!” Winterspell ordered, finally snapping out of his thoughts.

The harbor of Lubuck was already full of various ships and it was hard to maneuver in such conditions. Even sailing as slow as they were, the danger of some hot-headed captain accidentally ramming into his ship was always present. Winterspell grabbed the steering wheel firmly and slowly turned toward the pier.

“Prepare the ropes!”

Steady… steady… the ship was sailing so slowly now that it barely made one meter in three seconds. Winterspell clenched his teeth and turned the steering wheel one more time.

“Moor the ship! Anchor down!” he ordered.

With some struggle, a few large ponies threw the anchor into the sea.. Two swift sailors jumped from the side of the ship onto the pier, and moored the ship to it tightly with ropes. The ‘Little Conqueror’ was finally sitting still.

Winterspell sighed with relief. The crew was already cheering, the blessed land now just within reach of their hooves.

“Okay stallions, one more thing before you’re free to go! Gather ‘round!” Winterspell shouted and approached the edge of the quarterdeck to look at his crew.

Soon, the marauding groups of sailors merged into one. Six bloodied bags lay before them in a conspicuous place on the deck.

“I’m almost proud of you men,” Winterspell began, looking at his men sternly. “Almost, because I caught several of you gambling. However, it could… ahem… ‘slip my mind’ when it comes to your payment, if you help the porters deliver the cargo to Grainwood’s warehouses. Does that sound fair?”

The sailors collectively nodded in approval.

“Great. Now, last thing: the burial of our fallen comrades. You know the procedure. If they were your friends or if you know their friends or families, you should try to gather funds for a proper burial. If that’s not the case…” Winterspell’s voice trailed off for a second, and then continued with a bit more steel to it, “... I will not protest if you simply throw their bodies into the sea. Just don’t do it publicly,” he finished in barely a whisper.

It always left a sour taste in his mouth to say something like that, but what should he expect? That somehow, these ponies would find enough money to fund a good burial? They were sailors after all, the salary was a joke, the danger was always around the bend and the reputation of their occupation was somewhere between ‘thief’ and ‘smuggler’.

“Alright. Quick Signal, you’re responsible for paying the stallions their money and gathering the crew for the next cruise. I think it’s only a matter of days before the ‘Little Conqueror’ will sail again. Aside from that, you’re dismissed,” Winterspell finished.

“Thank you Capt’n!” the crew cheered loudly and started piling off of the ship.

Winterspell sighed and joined them. Even without his sailors, the harbor was packed with ponies. It was hard to take more than a step without bumping into somepony, especially when most of them were porters transporting crates and chests with various goods. The stench was awful, a mix of seaweed, fish, perspiration, and a smell that Winterspell was positive had to be regurgitated grog. Yes, that was it; he could feel the odor of alcohol everywhere.

The captain also spotted several of his sailors kissing the dirt, always three times. Superstitions were common among this line of work. It was those same superstitions that prevented him from ever taking a mare onboard.. Even if he wouldn’t be eaten by some kind of ‘legendary sea monster’, the crew would lose their focus. Mares on ships brought bad luck… or rather, distracted stallions from doing their jobs.

Nearing the exit of the harbor, Winterspell noticed an official-looking pony flanked by two shady-looking guards. The clerk was sitting behind a small desk and was writing something in a book. He looked like the typical unicorn noble; he even had a proper monocle. Winterspell sighed, knowing what to expect, and approached the stallion.

“Name?” the official asked without even lifting his face from the book.

Winterspell grunted and said nothing. The clerk, clearly annoyed, raised his eyes to meet him.

“Oh, my dear friend Winterspell!” the unicorn flashed an overly pleasant smile. “How’s business?”

“I don’t have the time, nor am I in the mood for a talk, Strict Tax. I’m just here to pay for our stay,” Winterspell said.

“Oh, right, of course… ‘Little Conqueror’?”

“Yes.”

The clerk wrote it down in his book.

“Stupid name if you would ask me. I wouldn’t conquer anything with a cog,” the official commented idly.

The same damn thing in every single port. Even a pony with nerves of steel such as Winterspell had his limits, and that was as far as his patience stretched.

“Just tell me how much do I owe this time.” he ordered, anger seeping into his voice.

“Take it easy… I’m counting it…” Strict Tax said as he closed his eyes, like it was a deep and complicated process to do. “Five bits per day.”

Winterspell raised an eyebrow at that.

“Don’t bullshit me Strict Tax. Even galleasses don’t pay that much. Two bits per day.”

“Oh come on, Winter. Four bits.”

“Two,” the captain rebutted.

“Four.”

“Two.”

“Three,” the clerk resigned.

“Two,” Winterspell was adamant.

“Okay, two it is then, if you can resolve the problem with those merchants over there,” Strict Tax replied with a cunning smile, pointing with his hoof towards two arguing merchants. From this distance Winterspell couldn’t tell what they were arguing about but he reasoned that it wouldn’t be anything he couldn’t handle.

“Okay, I’ll do it.” The captain threw two coins on the counter and turned towards the arguing merchants, completely ignoring the greedy eyes of the unicorn.

The moment Winterspell began to close the distance with the merchants, however, he realized that their problem was a bit more complex than he had initially assumed.

“Rozumiesz mnie czy mam ci to przeliterować!? To jest Z PRUS!” one of the merchants shouted in some weird, foreign language. He was wearing a long coat despite warm weather, and he wore a long thick mustache with an equally long beard. It was hard to see his facial features behind all that hair.

“For fuck’s sake, I only want to know what kind of wood this is!” the second merchant, wearing the Lubuck coat of arms, spoke in Equuish. “Hey you, over there!” he turned to Winterspell, once the captain came close enough. “Do you know his language?”

“No,” he admitted bluntly. “But maybe I’ll be able to somehow communicate with him. What city is he from?”

“He’s one of those strange ponies from Danzig,” the merchant grunted.

“To miasto się nazywa Gdańsk, a nie jakieś ‘Danzig’,” the foreigner spoke in his swishing tongue-breaker of a language.

“Oh, shut up,” the first one groaned.

“Hey, um, sir?” Winterspell spoke to the foreign pony. When he caught his attention he pointed at his logs of wood. “What is this?” he asked really slowly, accenting every single letter.

The merchant shrugged “Z Prus”.

Winterspell turned towards the Lubuck merchant. “It’s spruce. He simply has a strange accent, that’s all.”

“Thank you kindly,” the merchange replied. “Now, back to negotiations...”

Sensing that his little lie was going to fall apart the moment the two merchants started to negotiate again, the captain wisely left the harbor. Beyond the waterfront, the crowd vanished immediately.The streets of Lubuck outside of the harbor and market regions were mostly empty. It was like this in most port cities; the life concentrated at the markets, leaving the rest to look like a ghost town. As he was wandering the many streets of Lubuck, Winterspell also noticed that nothing had really changed during the weeks he was on his voyage. The white pegasus even noticed the colt who had tried to rob him before his last departure. This time, the foal was playing some games with other street urchins, seemingly without a care in the world; a stark contrast to the child that tried to steal his money for a loaf of bread. Shaking his head, Winterspell continued on his way through the familiar streets of the city.

Winterspell wasn’t born in Lubuck, but he was familiar with the place, as he frequently delivered lumber to the docks. Thanks to this familiarity it didn’t take him long to find his way to the merchant district. Despite its association with commerce, that district was as empty as the rest. Seeing as it was a place where large sums of money were changing hooves, it was only natural that any proceedings were done out of the reach of curious ears. At least it didn’t reek of sewage like the rest of the streets.

When he had gone ashore, the sun was shining down on the city with an unbearable intensity. Now, however, gray clouds were approaching from the west, and the temperature was quickly dropping.

It will be raining soon, he thought.

Thankfully, before even a single drop hit him, Winterspell had already found the ‘Birch Atelier’. Without knocking, he entered the shop.

“Uncle Winter!” The moment he passed the threshold, Winterspell heard a squeaky voice call him by his nickname, followed by the sound of rapidly approaching hoofsteps..

“Hey, Blank… ow!” Winterspell tried to brace himself for her greeting, but the speed and strength with which the little filly hugged him was enough to knock the air out of his lungs. “Warn me next time you do that, okay?”

“Hehe… sorry.” Blank Slate laughed childishly, slipping off of him.

“And besides, I’m not your uncle,” Winterspell continued matter-of-factly.

“Mmhmm”

The captain sighed, knowing full well that he might as well have been talking to a brick wall. Blank Slate wasn’t about to listen to him; she never did. At the very least, however, nopony could say he hadn’t tried.

“Where’s Grainwood?” he asked the filly, once she calmed down a bit.

“In the office. She signed a new contract with some kind of super-duper rich pony and now she’s extra happy,” Blank Slate explained. “Buuut… she got a letter from the tax collectors just after that, and now she has a ton of paperwork.”

“Okay, so I guess I’ll just go upstairs then,” Winterspell said, leaving his captain’s hat on a nearby hatstand.

The shop hadn’t changed much since his last visit. It was a typical store with wooden walls, with the same layout of rooms, stairs, and storerooms as any other shop in the city. Not surprising, seeing as they all were designed by the same architect. It gave him a strange feeling of deja vu everytime he went inside one, but beside that, he felt really comfortable inside.

Grainwood was waiting in her office, busy with paperwork, just as Blank Slate had said. She had probably been at it for several hours now, and it was probably the cause of the huge bags under her eyes and why she had to wear glasses. Having to constantly work with small numbers, her eyes weren’t as good as they used to be, and often grew tired. The moment Winterspell entered the room, however, Grainwood removed her glasses and placed them on her desk, looking at him with a soft smile on her lips.

“Morning, Winterspell. How was the voyage?” she greeted. Winterspell had to admit, she had a really nice, soft voice.

“The cargo is intact, unless some fool porter accidentally damaged it,” Winterspell replied, sitting down in a chair. “The wood will soon be in your warehouses. However, the voyage itself was harder than usual. We had a Victa raid during our cruise. Thankfully we got away, although six of my sailors died during the battle.”

“Oh my.” Grainwood instantly grew worried. “Was it close? I mean…”

“Yeah, it was a close one. If not for the support of another galleass we wouldn’t have reached Lubuck,” Winterspell added.

Grainwood grew silent for a moment, mulling over his words in her head. Winterspell didn’t disturb her and simply waited.

“Well…” She started slowly. “I managed to sign a contract for a lot of money. I was about to spend it to buy more ships and hire crews for them, more lumber mills and wagons and the like, but the problem of safety has a far bigger priority. Say, what could make your voyages easier?”

It was hard question, Winterspell had to admit. On one hoof he could replace the old ‘Little Conqueror’ with a larger, more defendable ship, but that would cost a small fortune, and he doubted Grainwood was about to spend whatever money she had to buy just one ship.. Raising the salary of his sailors wouldn’t make the situation any better either. It would only give a slight morale boost, nothing more.

However, there was one thing.

“Well, maybe we could hire a proper squad of mercenaries, in addition to the normal crew. Then the Victa woudn’t be such a problem,” Winterspell told her.

Grainwood winced a bit. “It’s a costly idea.”

“Still better than buying a better ship,” he reasoned.

“Okay, I can go with it, but they have to be worth their price. If I’m going to be paying them, I want to have the final say in that matter.”

“Fine by me,” Winterspell agreed, and stood up from his chair. He started heading towards the door.

“Wait a second, Winter. Didn’t you forget something?” Grainwood asked.

The stallion slowly turned to face her. Grainwood was holding a bag full of bits in her hoof.

“Your salary,” she said, tossing it to him.

Winterspell grabbed it from the air with a bored expression and with hardly any emotion he attached it to his belt. “Thank you.”

Grainwood looked like she wasn’t finished yet, so he waited and sit down again. The merchant was slowly eying him, as if sizing him up.

“You’ve been working for me for four years now, am I right?” she asked, just to be sure.

“Yes.”

Grainwood was silent again.

“Money doesn’t really matter to you, does it? I was wondering why for four years you haven’t asked me for a single raise.” She watched him carefully. “You’re barely earning any cash.”

Winterspell didn’t know how to answer her question, so he decided not to say anything.

“You see, Winterspell, when I’m a bit older, and far richer, I want to go on a permanent vacation. I’ll buy a small palace on a lovely hill with a forest. Maybe I’ll write a book, or maybe I’ll just live there for the rest of my life. Maybe it sounds silly, but at least it’s something I can try to achieve. Tell me, Winterspell, what do you aim to achieve?”

The stallion was simply sitting in his chair, saying nothing. Grainwood couldn’t read anything from his blank expression.

The merchant sighed. “You’re not very talkative, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” he replied evenly.

“Is there a reason for it?”

“Yes.” The stallion nodded.

“Does it have something to do with your home?”

This time Winterspell winced.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” the pegasus said coldly and stood up from his chair. “I’m going to search for a good team of mercenaries to hire. Goodbye.”

“Good―”

Winterspell left the room before she could finish her sentence, slamming the door shut. She had no idea what to think of it all. Grainwood sighed and tried to clear her mind, focusing on her papers again.

“Buckin’ Bureaucracy” she thought bitterly. These papers are almost as enigmatic and complicated as that pegasus.

Chapter V - Free Sabers

“So, you just want a single table over there?” the bartender asked.

“Yeah.” Winterspell nodded.

“What for?”

“I’m searching for some mercenaries. I just nailed an ad on the notice board and I want to sit here and wait for some candidates to show up,” he explained easily. “Your little business here is the best place in town to find that sort of pony.”

“Fine by me.” The bartender shrugged. “Do you want some grog?”

“No thanks.”

Winterspell turned from the counter and plopped down at his table. The ‘Unfortunate Acrobat’ was a local tavern in the port district of Lubuck. The tavern had been built ten years ago when some earth pony acrobat was entertaining the crowd by walking on a tightrope strewn between the roofs of two buildings. Unfortunately for the performer, when some drunken sailor threw an empty bottle at him, the acrobat lost his balance, and the rest was history. At least that’s what the bartender insisted had happened. Winterspell knew that ponies like the heavyset bartender were prone to inventing customer-attracting legends like that, and the experienced captain didn’t believe a bit of it.

The ‘Unfortunate Acrobat’ was a nice place, all things considered. It wasn’t the typical crowded seaside haunt; it was relatively comfortable, and even a bit less dirty than most of the port. The smell of sweat and beer was almost unbearable, as was expected from a place like this, but aside from that, it was rather enjoyable. The owner, a stallion by the name of Honey Drink was a honest fellow, a rarity amongst his fellow barkeeps, and he didn’t water down his beer all that much. Winterspell knew he could find mercenaries anywhere; it was the atmosphere that had caused him to put up his notice in the Acrobat.

Sitting at his lone table, Winterspell lazily scanned the patrons, waiting for somepony with an offer. Most of the customers here were sailors, but he also spotted two merchants, probably discussing some sort of trade agreement. A group of port workers were using their free time to play cards. There was also a drinking contest going on: two sailors chugging down shot after shot in some sort of bet, all to the delight of their shouting and cheering companions.

However, watching all the goings-on of the tavern began to get old after awhile. Winterspell always dreaded that first moment of boredom because it always, always, led him to ruminate.

Lubuck was the first city he saw after he left Novigrad. He knew many things about the city: its architecture, climate, the ponies living there. But he could also summarize it all in a single word―ambition. There was always a chance to make something better, to earn more money, to get richer, to build bigger. All that was reflected in the mindset of the ponies living there.

It didn’t mean that all the merchants and shopkeepers were crooks looking for gullible fools to pick clean. It didn’t mean the streets were full of thieves trying to make a quick coin. It didn’t mean Lubuck was a capital of hazard. It was something different. If somepony was ambitious, it usually meant he was also optimistic. These two traits seemed to go hoof-in-hoof. After all, if a pony had no hope of success, how could they ever truly be called ambitious?

Even the ponies in the ‘Unfortunate Acrobat’ seemed to reflect this viewpoint. Honey Drink once told the young captain before a cruise that he was going to open a second tavern. Several cruises later, and the aspiring tavern magnate still didn’t have his new shop, but at least he was trying to reach his goal. Winterspell knew Drink was saving up money bit by bit, and soon he would have enough to make good on that promise. At least he had a goal in his life. And maybe someday after yet another cruise, Winterspell would be greeted by Honey Drink, a proud owner of two taverns. It was as simple as that.

A group of ponies entered the ‘Unfotunate Acrobat’. For a split second Winterspell thought they could be the stallions he was looking for. Unfortunately, they appeared to be just another crew looking forward to spending their hard earned bits on on alcohol. Winterspell sighed with resignation.

Winterspell’s mind inadvertently brought him back to Grainwood’s questions, making him feel sick to the stomach. They were so damn accurate, like crossbow bolts. But did he really need a bigger salary? What he was going to do with it? Buy better food for himself? He was fine with what he was eating already. Change a tavern and sleep somewhere more pricy? He felt comfortable here in the ‘Acrobat’ and Winterspell didn’t think any fancy-shmancy upper class tavern would be much better. It wasn’t like his bed wasn’t good enough.

The point of having money was to spend it. If there was nothing for him to spend it on, the coins were useless for him. They were just small pieces of malleable, shiny metal. Nothing more. He preferred iron to gold, anyway.

Winterspell didn’t think anything would change his situation.

...

Celeste’ damn it, he had to stop thinking.

“Honey Drink! Barkeep!” he shouted.

After a moment, the owner squeezed his way through the crowd of patrons.“Changed your mind?” Honey Drink asked knowingly.

“Yeah. Grab me a beer.”

“Anything particular? We have Old Cirran Ale, Compact Porter, imported vodka, some…”

“Whatever you like,” he said, cutting the barkeep off.

“Okay. Coming right up.”

This was no way to solve his problems, Winterspell knew. Most importantly, however, it wouldn’t mysteriously summon any mercenaries in front of his table. He’d just be left with his damned thoughts. The mug of alcohol arrived moments later, and he took one careful sip. It wasn’t horrible, but it was far from being wonderful. Beer was beer. At least it wasn’t watered down.

He drank it slowly, not only because of the mediocrity of the taste, but because that way it would last him longer. After all, he didn’t want to be completely hammered when somepony finally answered his ad....

“Hello?”

Winterspell barely raised his tired eyes from the table. He didn’t even have the will to do the same with his head.

A dark blue pegasus stood in front of his table, dressed in a thick leather clothes. He was hiding most of his golden mane under some sort of strange fur cap with a single white feather protruding from it.

“I read your ad on the notice board. You are looking for some mercenaries, are you not?” the stranger asked, his voice tilting with a weird accent the slightly intoxicated captain couldn’t pinpoint.

“Yea.” Winterspell nodded slowly.

“May I sit down?”

“Sure.”

The pegasus sat down slowly, moving four empty mugs to the side to clear the view.

“My name is Kazimierz z Dostojewskich and I’m interested in your offer,” he began without preamble. “I have with me twenty men that are willing to serve for a reasonable price.”

Instead of answering right away, Winterspell slowly raised his head from the table and, with a bored look, scanned the pony before him.

“You’re from Danzig, aren’t you?” Winterspell asked carefully, the accent finally clicking in his head.

“It’s called ‘Gdańsk’, but yes, I’m from there,” the pegasus confirmed.

“Oh, kill me now,” Winterspell groaned.

“What was that?”

“I said we need to get you a nickname so I don’t hurt myself trying to call you by your actual name,” the captain quickly covered. “I have some paper and ink here with me. Write down your name,” he ordered, giving the other pegasus the writing utensils.

The pony from Danzig wasted no time and did as he was told. Winterspell inspected what he wrote and silently cursed. It was worse than he thought.

“Okay, let’s start from ‘Kazimierz’,” Winterspell began. “Say this word.”

“Kazimierz.”

Winterspell tried to write down how the word should sound in Equiish.

“Let’s continue. What is this ‘z’?”

“Ah, that. It’s a part of my surname,” Kazimierz explained. “I’m a noble, and ‘Kazimierz’ is my name, but ‘z Dostojewskich’ means that I’m part of this particular noble house. So ‘z’ here, means ‘from’ or ‘of’. Sort of. It’s complicated.”

Winterspell wrote down his entire name one more time. He sighed in resignation; it still looked like a right proper mess.

“Okay, I guess that’s all I can do,” the captain passed him his notes.

“Casimir Dostoyevsky” the pony from Danzig read it out slowly. “It doesn’t sound half bad.”

At least one problem was solved. Winterspell could do without breaking his tongue trying to say the mercenary’s name. Now he could finally focus on the real reason this ‘Casimir’ was here. Of course, he couldn’t properly discuss anything with a Danzigian without having a drink.

“Bartender, two mugs!” Winterspell shouted and turned back to his interviewee.“Okay Casimir, we need to get back on topic You said twenty ponies, correct?”

“Indeed.” Dostoyevsky nodded and took a sip of his drink. “Including me it’s twenty and one.”

“You have any weapons?”

“Twenty and one sabers, twelve crossbows, twenty and one lances and one of my men has a greatsword.”

“Greatsword?” Winterspell raised an eyebrow at that. “What sort of greatsword? Claymore?”

“Heck if I know.” Casimir shrugged. “He got it from his father and he never truly explained it to me. I really can’t see any difference between a claymore, flamberge, and a Zweihufer. Also, I don’t think it matters as long as it works properly, right?”

Winterspell asked only because it was common knowledge that using a greatsword in combat was either a sign of great courage or even greater stupidity. Half the moves you could do with saber were impossible to perform with a weapon of such size. It was heavy, it quickly tired out the user, and it was awfully hard to parry with it. He truly didn’t understand why anypony even bothered using them. There were far better ways to perform a suicide, in his opinion.

“Do all ponies in your group come from Danzig?” Winterspell changed the topic.

“Most of them, yes. Several of them live in the settlements around it. And I would really appreciate it if you called it Gdańsk.” he added.

“Okay, twenty one ponies… races?” Winterspell continued, noting something down and taking a small sip of his drink.

“Ehm… let me think… eight pegasi, six unicorns, six earth ponies and an auroch.”

Strange that Dostoyevsky managed to gather a team made up of all three pony races. Even stranger was the last word used by him.

“Auroch?” Winterspell asked with confusion. “What’s an auroch?”

“Ehm… he has four legs, is sort of big, has two horns, brown fur… um…” the pegasus struggled to explain. “Cholera,” he cursed in his native language. “Maybe it’d be best if I just showed you our whole group? It would be easier, and more fair.”

“Good idea.” Winterspell nodded and tried to get up. However, the moment he did so the captain realised he was a bit tipsy. While he didn’t feel anything while sitting, when hestood up the whole world seemed to sway before his eyes. “One mug too much,” he thought.

“Okay, lead the way,” he said towards Casimir, trying to fight off his dizziness.

“We made camp just outside town, near the forest. It’s a bit of a walk there.” the noble warned, and the two of them left the tavern.

“I don’t think I’m really that drunk Casimir, but this, this is frickin’ weird.” Those were the first words Winterspell said once he laid eyes on Casimir’s group.

It was definitely the strangest bunch of ponies he ever saw. Most of them were dressed exactly like Casimir, though a few of them also wore large mustaches and thick beards on their faces, a rather uncommon sight in these parts. Back in Novigrad many ponies were similarly unshaven, but that was mostly due to the cold climate ; but outside of that region almost no pony had facial hair. Here, however, it was the middle of summer and they were still outfitted for a venture into the northern wilds.

And then there was the ‘auroch’. The creature was bigger than Winterspell, even lying down. The auroch was also the only being in the group that didn’t wear any clothing. Besides the size, however, the most terrifying features of this thing were his two horns, menacingly protruding from both sides of his head. They were at least thirty inches long and they had about seven inches in diameter.

“His name is Weird Hoar. Funny guy to have around.” Casimir said, pointing at the auroch. “I’m sure you’ll get along nicely.”

“Right…” Winterspell said weakly. Simply thinking about this this mountain of meat and its long horns ramming into somepony made his hooves a bit shaky. At this point he started to wonder if the ‘Little Conqueror’ would be able to even hold him.

Winterspell caught another interesting individual with the corner of his his eye. He looked mostly the same as others, expect for one major detail: he was obviously an adult, with his mustache, but he was comically small, almost like a colt.

“He may look cute, but don’t laugh at him!” Dostoyevsky warned him once he saw who Winterspell was looking at. “That’s Little Knight. He may not look the part, but in truth he’s one of the best swordsponies in the entire realm. I can swear whatever oath you want that its true, and believe me―you would not want to cross swords with him.”

Again, Winterspell was a bit sceptical about the mercenary’s claims. Little Knight himself was polishing his blade, clearly not paying any attention to the discussion between their leader and the captain. The rest of the group was sitting or laying around a small bonfire. Some of them waved when the couple approached, though the rest of them was too busy glaring into the flames. The entire camp was settled outside of the city, whose walls were just behind Winterspell’s back.

While he was taking in the site of the camp, Winterspell noticed the greatsword Casimir mentioned. It was held by the tall, wiry earth pony. He was probably the only one there without a proper noble beard. The blade he was holding was four feet and seven inches long, and it was a true behemoth. Winterspell was wondering how it was even possible to swing such a blade. Its owner also looked like he was the youngest one in the group, and seemed to avoid eye contact with everypony, staring into the flames.

“And sir Hoodripper. Actually the main reason why we came to Equestria in the first place.” Casimir explained.

"Yhm.” Winterspell silently murmured. He had to admit, these ponies with the support of the auroch would easily keep the Victual Brothers at bay.

“Bracia szlachta!” Casimir spoke to the group in his native language.. “Mamy tutaj szanownego pana Winterspella, który właśnie szuka takich kuców jak my do ochrony statków!”

“Jak się zdarzy, na pewno za niego wypiję!” one of them answered, and a sudden thought struck Winterspell.

“Dostoyevsky, why didn’t you speak in Equiish?” Winterspell asked, already dreading the answer.

“Ehm… they don’t know this language. That’s why I’m the one doing all the talking.” Casimir confessed.

A long silence fell between the two of them. Only the sound of the fire crackling in the fire pit could be heard in the background. The rest of the group didn’t say anything either. Now Winterspell at least knew why the rest of the group wasn’t paying any attention to their conversation. They simply didn’t understand a single word of it.

“You mean to tell me, Casimir, that out of twenty one ponies you are the only one here that can speak Equiish?” Winterspell asked, just to be sure.

“Yes. I’m the only one,” the leader of this pack confirmed. “Though I think Twardowski knows a little bit of of it as well, I’m not sure,” he added.

Winterspell closed his mouth.

How was he supposed to deal with them? The group looked fantastic. They had what they needed―muscles and weaponry to deal with any enemy. But he was never, ever going to be able to work with ponies who couldn’t even understand his orders. He needed a group of ponies that actually knew what he was saying.

Winterspell sighed. He had to turn them down in a diplomatic way. And he already knew how to do just that. A simple question about their salary. No matter what Casimir would say, he would just report to Grainwood they were too expensive.

“Okay, back to business, Casimir. How much do you want for your services?” he asked.

“Oh, well… it would be really nice if you could pay for our meals and drinks. Weird Hoar especially tends to eat more than our entire group...”

“Good…” Winterspell thought. “Carry on…”

“...and besides that, we’ll work for free.” Casimir finished.

For several seconds, this simple yet completely illogical statement couldn’t pass the rational blockade in Winterspell’s brain. He stood still, staring at Casimir, opening and closing his mouth in a passable impersonation of a fish.

“You’ll work... for free?” he finally forced out.

“Absolutely.” Casimir nodded. “We didn’t come to Equestria just to earn money.We are traveling knights that want to do good deeds for the sake of ponykind! Not only that, but several of us have oaths to fulfill. We gathered our group mostly for the sake of Hoodripper. In his youthful pride and search for honor, he swore a... really stupid oath. In the presence of witnesses, he said that he will not marry any mare until he can repeat the deed his great, great grandfather: cutting off three heads with one swing of his greatsword.”

Winterspell, at that moment, was one hundred percent sure he was completely drunk. It had to be the biggest load of horseapples he had ever heard. His eye twitched as his mind refused to believe what Casimir was saying.

“You know, I have no idea how nobility works in this land, but when somepony dares to swear an oath like that in Gdańsk, there is no going back. He has to do this.” Dostoyevsky started explaining, completely ignoring Winterspell’s facial expression. “So I thought to myself: ‘if the seas are so dangerous, then the best way to fulfill an oath like that is to enlist on somepony’s ship and wait for the right moment.’ The Victa are bound to strike sooner or later. And then one swing, and problem solved, plus three pirates less to worry about. So to answer your question: no, we don’t need any kind of salary, just pay for our meals and drinks and we will gladly protect your ships.”

“And the rest of them?” Winterspell asked, desperately trying to preserve his sanity in face of utter nonsense.

“Little Knight is just a dear friend of mine who decided to help me out with this quest. Weird Hoar is, as you can imagine with a name like that, weird. He does these sorts of things a lot. He talks about prophecies and stuff. You know, he is prophet. He sees the future. At least, that’s what he told me and I have yet to see a reason to doubt him. The rest are a bunch of nobles I persuaded with a mix of tales of glory and a bit of diplomacy, or they’re out fulfilling their own oaths. You know, we all like Hoodripper very much. It would be shame if he couldn’t finish his quest.”

Winterspell sighed. “Okay. I think I know everything I need to know. And even if I don’t know everything, don’t enlighten me please. It’s too much already.”

Casimir shrugged. “If you say so.”

“I’ll be on my way then.” he continued, taking a step back towards the town walls. “I’ll meet you tomorrow morning and inform you of Grainwood’s decision.”

Grainwood slowly went through the notes Winterspell made. She was once again wearing her reading glasses, this time so she could decipher the pegasus’ messy writing.

“Well,” she started after finishing. “From what I see here I have no other choice but to hire them.”

The captain rolled his eyes.

“Grainwood, I wouldn’t trust anypony who offers his services for free. It sounds fishy,” Winterspell said in worried tone. He was silently cursing his failed plan, foiled by those weirdos from Danzig.

“Oh, that’s just rich, especially coming from you, mister ‘I don’t need a raise’..” Grainwood chuckled. “I just see a bunch of strange ponies of Danzig who offer their services basically for free. They only want for their food and drinks to be paid by us. Hmm... on second thought this might not be as good an offer as I initially thought.. From what I heard, Danzingians drink a lot…”

“But seriously!” Winterspell groaned. “They don’t even know our language, how am I supposed to communicate with them? Signal flares?”

“Body language? Simple commands? Use your dear friend ‘Casimir’ as an interpreter? He seems to have a good head on his shoulders. He knows two languages already.” Grainwood suggested.

Winterspell sighed. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Besides, I seriously need those mercenaries, and I need them immediately.” Grainwood continued. “I want you to take the ‘Little Conqueror’ from Lubuck to Ridge with the first transport of wood. It’ll help me build up my prestige for the next meeting of the Horseatic Circle.”

The captain raised one of his eyebrows. “Horseatic Circle?”

“ A meeting of local merchants and politics.” Grainwood explained. “It doesn’t have the same political authority as the Hanstag, but the Circles are far more important on a local scale. I want to acquire some more information on the local market and maybe sign some more trade agreements.”

Winterspell, not really interested in the details, decided to change topic back to the original. “Grainwood, I think we should really consider hiring a proper group of mercenaries for us. Give me a few days and―”

“My budget is strict and limited,” she interrupted almost immediately. “I cannot allow such an occasion to pass under my nose. We are hiring them. End of discussion.” Grainwood finished with a note of finality to her voice, and as if nothing had happened, she went back to work on her documents. It was an obvious signal that she considered the conversation over and wasn’t going to respond to any attempts to continue it.

Sighing in resignation, Winterspell left her cabinet, already feeling a growing headache.

Chapter VI - Of Fish, Whales and Mind Games

Grainwood carefully read through the list of guests, scrutinizing it from top to bottom. The sheer volume of names and the number of cities and trading posts was surprising, even taking into consideration the recent formation of the Hansa. The Circle’s size was far beyond her expectations.

“Please sign below,” the clerk asked from behind his desk, pointing out the right place on the list. “And do be careful with this quill. At least three hundred ponies used it today, and it’s already in a bad shape.”

He was right of course. The quill she was supposed to use looked like it would snap at any second. Grainwood tried to use it as carefully as she could, and thankfully it didn’t break. The assistant took it back and hid it in his desk, as if hoping that by doing so he would somehow dissuade the rest of the would-be guests from bothering him. A glance back at the grumbling queue behind her, growing impatient with each passing moment, was enough to tell him otherwise.

“Unfortunately Miss Grainwood, you missed the opening ceremony,” The annoyed unicorn assistant explained in a bored tone. “If you’re quick enough you’ll be able to make it for the lecture on economy by Professor Smith. According to the schedule, it should start in fifty minu—”

“I’m not interested,” she cut him off. “Tell me, is Mr. Partial Right attending?” Grainwood asked, ignoring the fact she was blocking the passway.

“He is.” the unicorn replied. “Partial Right came about an hour ago.”

“Thank you.” She nodded and finally entered.

Grainwood once more found herself in the most renowned building of Lubuck - sometimes referred to as the ‘Meeting Hall’; the same place where the first Hanstag had takenplace. Of course, this time the building served a completely different purpose. It was hosting not the ‘Tagfahrt’ but the ‘Circle’. The difference between the two was largely in scale. The Tagfahrt had Equestria-wide authority, having influence on the going-ons of the most influential merchant cities across the nation. The Circle, in turn, was a local meeting of merchants and business ponies. Some merchants argued that the Circles were more important than Tagfahrt, thanks to their more direct impact. Others held that the Circles had no meaningful political power. Grainwood didn’t care either way. She was there to get information, and make money.

Finding Partial Right was surprisingly easy. Grainwood knew full well that the noisy unicorn was utterly addicted to gambling. He was thus found sitting with three other merchants and playing cards in one of the many corridors leading to the central meeting hall. It looked like, yet again, the gambler was winning by a landslide.

Partial Right was, at least according to Grainwood’s sources, the son of beggars who managed to achieve his small fortune through unorthodox means, such as gambling, foul play, and financial tricks. Normally she wouldn’t even bother with somepony like him, but the same sources also claimed that Partial Right was known for his philanthropy and for looking out for the beggars who had once been his companions. He was also known as an expert in the new system of Equestrian law, despite his inability to write.

…

Or maybe it was just a story he created to make his clients feel more sympathetic towards him. It was hard to tell for sure.

Grainwood approached the stallion from behind. From her unique perspective, she learned what the other players didn’t know—Partial Right was cheating. He had another deck in his jacket pocket and from time to time he was smuggling cards from it into his hoof.

“An extra deck? Seriously? That’s old,” she whispered into his ear.

Partial Right didn’t grace her with any response, pretending not to be surprised by her sudden whisper and maintaining a perfect poker face. The rest of players were persistently gazing into their own cards, ignoring Grainwood’s approach.

“Damnit Grainwood. You’re ruining the fun,” he hissed silently back.

“We need to talk. If you’ll leave the game now, I promise not to say a word about the deck to the others.”

“Deal.” Partial Right nodded, after which he cleared his throat and folded. “My dear friends, forgive me for breaking the rules of honor, but I need to leave the game now. It was a pleasure playing against you, and you can henceforth boast that you have managed to walk away from the table without me sucking you dry!” he announced boisterously while standing up.

The rest of the players moaned and complained, because Partial Right had already won three times the amount of money he had brought to the game and by walking out on them, he effectively ruined their chances at winning anything back. Meanwhile Grainwood and the ‘winner’ left the hall, ignoring the seething gamblers and leaving them to play for what few coins were left.

“Idiots,” Grainwood said shaking her head once they had left the sight of the players. “They played with you, despite your reputation as an unbeatable opponent and a cheat”?

“That’s the point. They want to prove the stories wrong.” Partial Right shot her a lopsided grin. “Let’s get down to business. What do you want?”

“I need information about a certain persona... if you know what I mean.”

“Ah… I guess I can humor you. And who’s the lucky sod that’s caught your interest?” Partial Right asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Grainwood rolled her eyes and responded simply.

“Shabby Rich.”

The unicorn stopped in his tracks, taken aback by her declaration. It took him a moment to come up with an answer, and when he spoke again, Grainwood heard a hint of worry in his voice.

“Why him?”

“Business, what else?”

“Well… as you may know, there are three kinds of business ponies in the world. There are small fish, big fish and fucking whales. Shabby Rich is certainly in the last category. He may not be the richest per se, but right now, he has the biggest share in the mining industry in the Ridge region, and thus he’s crucial to the entire Equestrian economy. He’s too rich; his money has to be dirty. It stinks, despite what certain Cirran Emperors may say. Stinks like the Hayburg port in the morning.”

“Umm…” Grainwood had no idea what to say in reply.

“Okay, why do you want to know about him exactly?” the trickster pushed forth.

“I’ve just signed a contract with him recently. I wanted to get somepony’s opinion about him,” the merchant replied.

“Sooo…” they started walking into another section of the Meeting Hall, “first you sign a contract, and then you check the pony you’re supposed to work with?”

“I want to be sure that he won’t change his mind and go to my competition,” Grainwood explained, although just as those words left her mouth she realised how stupid the lie sounded.

“Riiight.”

Grainwood didn’t need to be an expert in reading other ponies to realize the unicorn thought of her as stupid and naive. His tone said it clearly for him. It looked like Partial Right wanted to say something else, but he was interrupted by the dance that just begun. Both ponies turned toward the noise; their segment of hallway had a perfect view into the ballroom. A large group of merchants and nobles alike were preparing for the polonaise - a traditional, ceremonial dance. It didn’t have any fancy moves, nor any spectacular figures; it rather looked like a coordinated walk. But still, it was a really beautiful coordinated walk. Suderhoof, the mayor of Lubuck and Princeps of the Hansa, was sitting in the corner, discussing something with his secretaries while the dance started. The hall was incredibly crowded and despite being spacious, it was virtually impossible not to have one’s personal space invaded.

“Back to the topic.” Partial Right rolled his eyes, ignoring the dance. “Making deals with ponies like Shabby Rich is by no means a bad idea. Quite the opposite, actually. Ponies like Rich need to have loyal merchants that will supply them with all the goodies they need. In his own interests, he’ll try to maintain good relations with you, probably by overpaying you by a large margin. Tartarus, with contracts that good, you’ll quickly get promoted to the upper class. I hear Platinum will be selling noble titles at a good price soon…”

“Seriously? Noble titles?” Grainwood couldn’t believe it. “What for?”

“Well, our rulers tend to get creative when it comes to saving the country’s budget.” Partial Right smirked. “You wouldn’t believe how much ponies can pay for the sake of putting the word “baron” in front of their name.”

“Huh. So I guess then it wasn’t such a bad idea. I mean, sticking with a ‘whale’.” Grainwood concluded.

“No, it wasn’t. But you need to be careful. Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes between the pass and fell incensed points of mighty opposites.”

“Shake Spear?” Grainwood guessed.

“Beautiful author, isn’t he? His works are simply marvelous. Shame nopony reads him. But then again…” Partial Right shook his head and went back on topic. “... I once asked a pony of science how exactly a whale eats. Well, according to him, whales suck down water, because there is something very very small in it, and they can eat it somehow. Of course, they don’t look at what is in front of them, so often they also suck in some fish by accident. It’s actually good for their diet…”

“Are you suggesting something?” she asked, getting tired of the biological metaphor.

“I’m not suggesting anything, Grainwood,” he replied with a smile on his lips that was hard to decode. “However, if I was a lawyer, I would be asking you to pay for this advice.”

“Really?” Grainwood smiled in return. “Then you might enjoy this joke. What do you call a thousand lawyers at the bottom of the sea?”

“I have no idea.”

“A good beginning!”

There was a short burst of laughter that quickly died down because of the sudden approach of a third pony to the conversing duo. Partial Right’s smile vanished immediately. Grainwood at first didn’t know why, but when she scanned the newcomer before her, her expression dropped too.

The newcomer was a pegasus, and a small one at that. His build was below average, though he masked the fact somewhat with a heavy leather jacket, covering his body almost completely. The only visible part of his body was his head, covered by a grey, unremarkable coat. Grainwood could also spot a hint of steel behind his jacket, suggesting that beneath all his clothes he wore a suit of armor, or at least a breastplate. Still, the real reason why their smiles dropped was his face, completely devoid of any semblance of emotion. He didn’t greet them, nor did he say anything at all. The pegasus before them just stood there silently.

“Ehm… hello?” Grainwood tried to initiate contact.

Not a single word was spoken from the pegasus’ lips. Instead, he pulled a small paper note from his jacket. Partial Right, who was closer to the strange pegasus was the first to take it from his hoof. Both Grainwood and Right read it.

My name is Silencer. I’m mute. Speak slowly, so I can answer accordingly.

“Ah, I know you.” Partial Right said, however he failed to bring even a fake smile to his face. “What do you want?”

Instead of answering like a proper pony, Silencer took out another note. Instead of giving it immediately, the pegasus started writing on it with a pencil hanging on a string from his jacket. Then, the message was delivered.

Not you. Grainwood. Go away. Buisness.

“He is creepy, isn’t he?” Grainwood whispered into Partial Right ear.

“I need to go,” he replied evasively. “Bye.”

“Wait, what…”

Within a second, Partial Right obeyed the newcomer’s order and headed towards the exit. Two seconds later he vanished in the next crowded corridor, leaving Grainwood to face Silencer alone.

It was all so sudden and so surprising; it took Grainwood completely aback. How was it possible that this single pony could force somepony as fearless as Partial Right to leave so hastily? The green earth pony once more felt a very unpleasant feeling - the worry and fear that she was getting closer and closer to something that shouldn’t be getting close too.

As she was thinking, the pegasus in front of her took another two notes from his pocket and passed them to her. The first one read:

The Marshall wants to meet you ‘face to face’. I was sent to escort you. He is a few rooms away from here. I do not accept ‘no’ as answer.

While second one, in turn, was:

In your free time learn sign language. I hate those cards.

Grainwood might have chuckled at the last one, if somepony other than Silencer had handed her the card. Despite not saying a word—or perhaps because of his silence—the pegasus was giving off a worrying atmosphere. But Grainwood refused to be worried. In fact, she was getting angry. Now she was being pulled away from the dance floor by a group of ponies she didn’t even know. Such arrogance!

“I don’t need to go to your Marshall, and I’m not interested in any sort of meeting. And you cannot stop me anyway, especially in public.” She delivered the answer firmly, though it came out soundingmuch rougher than she had intended.

Silencer’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. Instead he signed something with his hooves that Grainwood interpreted as ‘Give me a second’. Pulling out two more cards Silencer wasted no time and filled them with his practiced script. Within a few seconds he finished and passed them to her.

No, I cannot stop you. But it would be in your best interest to meet with the Marshall. He wants to talk business with you, and by business he means real business.

“And by the way, it would be a real shame if you were to refuse. Think about how many ponies you would disappoint by doing that.”

The second one must have been some sort of threat; that much Grainwood was sure of. As for first one… seriously? Maybe if she went with the frighteningly quiet stallion, she could convince this ‘Marshall’ that she wasn’t interested in whatever he had to offer, and that he should leave her alone for good. Yes, that sounded like the best plan.

There was only one more mystery to solve. Who was the ‘Marshall’? Grainwood ran over the list of names and functions of the Circle’s attendees in her memory. He couldn’t be a Cirran legionary; Hurricane’s armies had no such rank. She pondered for a few moments longer, struggling to recall a name, as her mind glossed over Coltland, Ridge, Mareggen, and a dozen smaller cities. And then, all at once, it clicked.

“So, Marshall Cold Steel from Novigrad, huh?” Grainwood said, a bit of determination leaking into her voice. “Okay then, lead the way.”

Each corridor they passed was less occupied than previous one. After a few turns Grainwood realised she was completely alone, if one didn’t count Silencer of course. Even the servants vanished into the woodwork. Silencer, of course, was oblivious to the growing dread in Grainwood’s heart and pushed forward as if nothing was wrong. Hoping to clear her mind, Grainwood used what little time she had en route toquickly analyse and prepare for the upcoming confrontation.

She had no idea why Cold Steel would want talk with her about ‘business’. Grainwood was a wood supplier, while Steel dealt in arms. To create a weapon or armor he needed mostly and correctly to his name - steel. Yes, it was true that Cold Steel was also a Marshall and the ruler of Novigrad. But Novigrad, as opposed to say Ridge or Lubuck, was a city built entirely out of stone. Its ruler was an unlikely customer for her bulk construction timber.

Perhaps Cold Steel had ‘political’ business in mind. She didn’t have anything to offer, though; she had no political function. If Cold Steel wanted to give her some political power she would refuse immediately. In her experience, political power was a quick way for a pony to lose her money, if not her life.

That thought concluded as the duo reached a closed door. Silencer knocked three times and then opened without asking for permission. Grainwood followed him immediately, still trying to make heads or tails of the situation.

She found herself in a formal cabinet, strictly prepared for a meeting of two. That much was clear form a simple inspection of the provided furniture. There were exactly two chairs in whole room and only one short table, enough for two ponies to comfortably discuss business. The rest of the equipment was only for the sake of decoration; mostly shelves filled with dusty books whose pages hadn’t seen light in months, if not years. The whole room was lit by the sun peeking through the opened balcony door. It was quite windy outside, filling the room with a small draft and seeping in an uncomfortable chill from the streets.

Cold Steel was the same as she remembered him from the first Hanstag. Still the same uniform, still the same blank expression, and still the same indescribable , unnatural atmosphere about him. The old pony didn’t seem to notice their entry. His focus lay on a strange machine beside the table in the center of the room. It consisted of five steel pipes, each a bit bigger around than one of Grainwoods hooves. The pipes were connected together, side-by-side, all pointing in the same direction. Together, the machine looked like a gigantic harmonica.

Grainwood prepared the best fake smile she could bring upon her lips and decided to seize the initiative.

“Good evening.” Her voice trembled a bit, but she didn’t let that deter her.

Cold Steel finally took his eyes from his ‘toy’ and made contact with her.

“Greetings,” he said with his raspy voice, followed by a single cough. “Silencer, wait outside the doors.”

The pegasus nodded and without a single sound left the room, closing the doors behind him.

“Silencer is your bodyguard?” she asked, trying to strike up a conversation, if only to gauge his mood.

“Yes,” Cold Steel answered in a wheeze. “And my adopted and only son,” he added after moment.

It was surprising to say the least, at least for Grainwood. She hadn’t expected that a pony who claimed racism and war were beneficial to Equestria’s economy would adopt a foal to raise. It just didn’t add up.

“Ah,” was the only thing that escaped Grainwood’s mouth.

Silence returned again. Both Cold Steel and his ‘guest’ remained silent for a while. Grainwood was simply too confused to say anything. Her mind justified the pause, because it was Cold Steel who wanted to strike a deal with her, not the other way around. So she waited patiently for the old warrior to proceed.

After several long moments, the old pony coughed again and continued as if nothing happened.

“Let’s get straight to business. As you may know I’m the leader of my city—Novigrad. Therefore I need to secure its interests, no matter the cost. I have good ears, and so I heard a little rumor that you made a contract with a certain pony.” He coughed again. “Shabby Rich, to be exact.”

Grainwood pretended not to be surprised by the knowledge that Cold Steel somehow had of her recent business venture, despite the fact that only three ponies were witness to the signing of the contract.

“Go on,” she encouraged him, now actually thankful for the cold draft in the room.

“I think that your wood should serve a better purpose than whatever Rich has in mind. Therefore I want to make you an offer. Break your contract with Shabby Rich, and instead send the wood to Novigrad. I will pay you double whatever Rich offered you.”

“You’ll pay double, huh?” Grainwood raised an eyebrow at that. “You clearly don’t know how much Shabby Rich offered me.”

“I know.”

Cold Steel said with such firmness and lack of emotions that it was clear to Grainwood that the old veteran knew exactly how much she was being offered.

“It is between eleven and thirteen thousand bits” Cold Steel added after after a few seconds of thinking and gazing into ceiling.

“How do you get that information? Are you spying on me?” she asked, sounding more determined than she really felt. Even so she leveled a glare at Cold Steel; this was without a doubt a breach in her privacy, if nothing else, and she would be damned if she didn’t get to the bottom of it.

“Spies? No. I have only one Lictor, my son. He is like a guide for a blind and weak old pony such as myself. The reason why I know so much is quite simple: I have a lot of experience, and have had years to study and understand the way ponies think.”

Cold Steel stopped for a moment, looking at Grainwood calmly. After a moment he stated simply “You don’t believe me, do you?”

She shook her head.

“Okay. Let’s play a game, then, and I’ll show you.” He suggested, adjusting his sitting place and looking at Grainwood carefully, caughing under his nose. “Follow my instructions carefully. Think of a number between one and nine. Don’t tell me anything,” he ordered.

Grainwood thought the request was stupid and blamed it on the fact that the old pony was probably senile, but did what he asked regardless. The number… seven would work.

“Done.”

“Multiply it by nine.”

“Done.”

“If your result is bigger than nine, add the two digits together. If it’s twelve, you will get three for example.”

“Done.”

“Deduct five from it.”

“Done.”

“Now, turn your number into a letter. If it’s one, it’s A, if it’s two, it’s B, etc. etc.”

“Done.”

“Think of city that starts with with such a letter.”

“Done.”

“Think of a flower that starts with the third letter of this city’s name.”

“Done.”

“Final part, think of a colour that starts with third letter of your flower’s name.”

Grainwood thought it over for several seconds to make sure she didn’t make mistake.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

Cold Steel authentically chuckled, the first show of any type of emotion on his otherwise empty face.

“Do turqoise roses grow in Detrot?” he asked.

Grainwood didn’t know what to say. It was simply beyond her.

“How?” was all she managed to ask.

“Mind games,” Cold Steel replied simply. “It often doesn’t work. But the truth is, ponies are incredibly predictable. I use my experience to my advantage, I know why sometimes ponies refuse when they should accept, and sometimes accept when they should refuse. The brain is the most complicated organ in a pony’s body, but even this is not beyond the reach of a sharp mind. I didn’t really know who did you signed your contract with. I guessed it. Your reaction only confirmed my speculations.”

Grainwood wanted to leave. Now. Games are all fine and dandy, and perhaps the old pony was just having fun at her expense, but this were quickly getting creepy. She had come to solve a problem, not to be creeped out by an old, wheezing airbag.

“Okay, let’s get back on track. I’m not really interested. Even if you did pay me double. What would you even do with all that wood; what would you need it for?”

“For ships,” He responded quickly. Too quickly.

“What kind of ships?” she pushed the issue.

“Ah, many kinds,” Cold Steel answered evasively.

“Specifics, please.” Grainwood narrowed her eyes.

“And why you would be interested in that? It’s for the use of the Novigradian shipyards.”

“Well, I need to know what kind of wood you need, because certain types of wood are better suited for certain types of ships.”

Cold Steel grated, definitely not happy with the outcome.

“I need it for warships. Galleys and galleasses,” he muttered. “I need them to deal with the Victa,” he added, before she could ask.

So, that was the full situation. If she accepted, she would make a fair amount more money than she would dealing with Shabby Rich. That was about the only positive of the deal she could think of. The negatives outweighed them by a large margin: the investment would go into warships instead of homes for ponies, something that she really wanted to avoid; she would be forced to break the contract she already signed, and to be honest, Shabby Rich still had better reputation than Cold Steel, even if his money ‘stinks’ as Partial Right said; and to top it all breaking any sort of agreement would negatively impact her reputation as a honest merchant.

“I’m sorry, but I’ll have to decline. The risks are far too high. I guess that negotiations are over then.” She said those words as quickly as she could, trying to get out before Cold Steel could think up something else. She stopped however and looked at the contraption on the table, just as she was reaching for the doorknob. “Just one more question before I leave. What exactly is this thing on the table?”.

“This?” Cold Steel didn’t seem the least bit affronted by her hasty departure, nor by her refusal. “This is the Claw”.

“Claw? And what’s the purpose of it?” she pushed.

“It’s a weapon,” the pegasus replied.

“I see. And how does it works?”

Cold Steel fell silent. The next words were spoken in such tone, that Grainwood was sure that he was telling the truth, and he really hated that. “I have no idea,” he murmured with contempt. “It’s a relic from the reign of Marshall Tinker the Mad. It worked back then, but now it doesn’t. I’m trying to repair it, without much success.”

Grainwood wanted to ask more questions,, but she was getting sick of the small cabinet, the pony in front of her, and the dreadful atmosphere. She pushed the door open and without much thought said “Good bye.”

“Farewell.” Cold Steel answered back, not leaving his seat.

She quickly closed the door behind her and started down the hallway.. To her surprise, Silencer was nowhere in sight. Grainwood ignored his absence, however, and set about enjoyingher ‘freedom’. She decided to find Partial Right again, so he could finally explain what he meant by saying Shabby Rich’s money ‘stank’. And why he obeyed Silencer so readily.

“So naive.” Cold Steel commented inside his cabinet.

He wasn’t talking to himself, because the marshall wasn’t by no sense of the word alone. Silencer left the shadowy corner he occupied and stood in front of his marshall. During the conversation Grainwood hadn’t heard, nor noticed Silencer slipp back inside the room and hide in the shadows.

“So, Shabby Rich’s case remains unsolved,” Cold Steel murmured.

“...”

Instead of words, Silencer used the series of taps to pass the message. Cold Steel observed them carefully, making sure to not miss a single movement.

“Really? I don’t think so,” he replied with a shake of his head. “She is not only naive, but also too ambitious, even if she doesn’t want to admit it.

“...”

“Huh?”

“...”

“Yea. I didn’t guess her number.” Cold Steel chuckled. “I knew it was her favourite one.”

“...”

“Hmm.”

“...”

“Yes. If enemies within the Hansa start to interfere with politics we will have to react properly. Shabby Rich or Suderhoof may say what they want to, but Novigrad is still their only true military force. If some bastard tries to take control of Equestria’s economy the threat will be eliminated.”

Instead of using sign language, Silencer raised his hoof and very slowly moved it across his throat.

“Hmmm…” Cold Steel murmured to himself, thinking about Grainwood. “No” he said. After the moment he added. “At least, not yet.”

Grainwood was unable to find Partial Right again. The Circle had ended an hour ago and she had left unsatisfied. Besides getting a few tidbits of information, the only thing she managed to take back was a bad mood. The talk with Cold Steel had been exhausting, and her mind was simply overwhelmed with thoughts, trying to figure out what Cold Steel’s motives really were, and if she had really done the right thing siding with Shabby Rich.

When she came back to the “Atelier”, Blank Slate had already taken care of most of the minor chores. The filly was supposed to do some homework, but Grainwood was too tired to check it. The sun was already setting, so the mare headed to bed. Her mind wandered to one more topic she hadn’t had the chance to think about in her busy day. Before the Circle, the Conqueror had departed on its first cruise with wood to Ridge. She hoped that at least this time there would be no dangers on the sea…

While Grainwood was getting ready for sleep, Winterspell was fighting for his life. At first there was chaos:Lightning, gigantic waves throwing the ship like a ragdoll, and treacherous currents threatening to push the ship toward the nearby shallows. The crew worked hard, trying to maintain discipline on the ship. The boatswain was running in every which direction, trying to coordinate the mats, who were in turn coordinating sailors. The chain of command was clear and their vessel was still advancing. Yet the ship was rocking mercilessly and several times sailors had almost fallen off the deck. Their work accompanied by the furious roar of the sea, so loud and powerful that Winterspell couldn’t outshout it, even if he was screaming directly into a sailor’s ear.

“You pathetic bunch of land lubbers, MOVE!” he shouted, in another futile attempt to motivate his crew.

The cacophony was still rising, the rumbling of the storm painfully tormenting his ears. Winterspell was already wet from his hooves to his head, the water pouring from his sleeves and from behind his collar, the droplets constantly falling from his cap. In the middle of the ship the rain created a little pool, which was hastily poured out by several sailors, and since they were a few hooves short to do this, also by Winterspell himself.

Somepony actually managed to outshout the storm and Winterspell heard a loud cry, which sounded suspiciously like “KUURR…” but the rest he lost as another waved crashed upon the ship, throwing gallons of water on the deck. It was probably one of those strange ponies from Danzig praying to Lün. Probably.

A few seconds later, the slipping hooves of Casimir Dostoyevsky managed to reach the Captain. The sailor cried into Winterspell’s ear.

“Hey, at least it’s not a dead calm! We’ll reach Ridge faster!”

Winterspell cursed under the muzzle and gripped his bucket tighter.

Chapter VII - Victual Race

Deep into that darkness peering, long he stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no pony dreamed…

Winterspell was on a ship, of that he was certain. Wet, dark wood filled his vision. But... dark? No, that wasn’t right. His beloved Little Conqueror wasn’t dark. It was a good ship, made out of the finest light oak wood one could get. No, this ship was made out of something else. He didn’t feel familiar here, not in the slightest. But... no, there was something about all this that nagged at his thoughts, as if he was here once before, the memory buried deep in his subconscious mind. He barely registered that his head was still laying on the deck. Slowly, Winterspell raised sluggishly, droplets of water falling from his face onto the planks below.

As if his head breached the surface of the sea his ears were assaulted by a pandemonium of noises. His pegasus blood stirred at the oh so familiar sound.. The storm. They still hadn’t left it? Strange. He sailed through many a storm before, yet none had lasted as long as this one.. Something wasn’t right here. Lightning struck in the distant, making his mane stand on end. Winterspell attempt to rise from the wooden floor, but his limbs refused to cooperate, giving out under him.

“North Sea reached.”

Somepony said it. Who?

He heard the rhythmic sound of rows slowly dipping into the water and pushing, propelling the vessel forward. He was on a galley… or maybe a galleass.

Yet another lightning struck, the sudden sharp flash illuminating his surroundings. Winterspell noticed he was surrounded by several dark figures. They seemed to be ponies, but he couldn’t distinguish what race any of them were, nor could he tell for certain they really were ponies to begin with. They were too similar to one another, almost as if they were cast from bronze from a single mold, all of them looking identical in their non-descriptiveness.

A pair of strong hooves suddenly raised him to a standing position, surprising the pegasus. Winterspell cast his gaze wildly around himself, trying to make heads or tails of what the actual frick was going on. After a moment he managed to focus his eyes and finally took a better look at the deck.

His heart immediately sank upon seeing what was before him.

They all looked like ponies, but they weren’t ponies. Each of them was clad in armor, but their appearance was chilling to the very core. For some unspeakable reason the armor, the clothes and even weapons themselves were moving despite that there was nopony inside them. They were like ghosts from olden fairy tales, the kind used not to amuse foals but to terrify them into obedience by their tired parents; they filled him with a sense of dread he had seldom felt before, making his heart race and his blood run as cold as the nights in Novigrad . They were faceless monstrosities in the guise of ponies, desperately attempting to emulate the living yet coming out as weird and wrong; as outworldly and alien. Soulless automatons were patrolling the deck, maintaining the sails and steering the vessel, others were sharpening their weapons, sending sparks that winked out before they could produce even the slightest bit of light.

He tried to look back, to see who was holding him. By now he was shaking and trembling in terror, and the look of yet another pair of “ghosts” carrying him forward was too much even for his brave soul. He wanted to scream for help, but his voice died in his throat, coming out as a pathetic squeak.

They slowly carried him towards the… railing!?

He tried to move, to free himself from the iron grip of those soulless abominations, but he was kept still and he couldn’t do anything to stop them. A few seconds later he was gazing into the depths of the North Sea.

Winterspell was expecting to see raging waves dashing and crumbling near the vessel’s board, producing a myriad of droplets that should cover every inch of his trembling body by now. Instead, he was greeted by the site of a liquid far darker than water should have been, even considering it was nighttime and a storm was raging on. The tract of “water” seemed to be strangely calm, despite the wind, thunders and lightning all around them, and it was in that moment he realized he wasn’t staring into the sea, but into an abyss.

Two other “ponies” joined them, positioning themselves just behind him. Winterspell tried to turn back to see them, but failed. The grip of those accursed automatons was stronger than iron, and as such he was forced to stare into the endless darkness of the sea.

“I hope you were prepared for this.” he heard from behind.

“I’m not…” Was all Winterspell managed, his haggard whisper the most he was able to get out.

The pony that spoke to him stopped for a moment. It seemed to be thinking, of what Winterspell knew not. Or maybe it was attempting to make his next words sound more profound. Winterspell didn’t know, and didn’t care. The wind was blowing hard, his fur was already soaking from the rain. He just wanted to escape from this hell.

“Nopony is. Nopony.” the voice continued, enigmatically.

Another pause. lightning struck, yet none of those “ponies” seemed to react. Winterspell only just realised the ship stopped, the rowers ceasing their laborious work.

“Swim back home or die trying.”

Winterspell couldn’t protest as he was pushed with great force, tumbling over the railing and falling into the darkness below. The pegasus let out a blood-curdling scream...

...as his eyes shot open. As quickly as he could he tried to back away, only for his legs to get tangled in something. With his eyesight blurred it took him a little while before he recognized the item as his own blanket.

“Just a dream. Sweet Lün, just a dream…” Winterspell panted. After a few seconds he finally managed to get his breathing under control. “Fuckin’ damnit.” he cursed.

Letting out a tired breath Winterspell looked around the room he was in. Obviously it was his own cabin. Besides, it wasn’t all that hard to figure out: the Little Conqueror had a grand total of one cabin, so there really wasn’t any possibility for him to be anywhere else. The rest of the crew on the other hoof usually bunked under the deck in one huge room filled with hammocks and blankets. As a captain, Winterspell had the luxury of having the only private room on the ship to himself.

Aside from taking use of the perks of being a captain Winterspell voted against sleeping with the rest of the crew for a number of reasons. First of all, he didn’t really care about most of them: to him they were just ponies that were paid to do a job, and as long as they were doing their thing he couldn’t care less about such trivial details like morale or their devotion to him. Secondly, they smelled, and if there was one thing Winterspell hated, it was the smell of filthy ponies.

And finally… in this room they couldn’t hear him screaming at night.

Winterspell made a sluggish attempt to get up. He received some sudden and unexpected help from the North Sea when the entire vessel lurched to the side by a particularly high wave. The pegasus was tossed forward by the momentum and landed on the floor face first.

“Hammocks one, beds zero.” Winterspell murmured, cursing under his muzzle.

This time Winterspell had no problem with rising himself from the floor. Due to safety reasons the cabin didn’t have any windows, casting the entire room in darkness. The only way to tell what time it was was to look through a small hole the captain punched out some time ago, usually corked with a small wooden dowel, and that was precisely what Winterspell did. Reaching out blindly he managed to find the wooden implement and pulled it out, bringing his eye to the uncovered hole. A few rays of the rising sun found their way to his irises, forcing him to blink.

“Finally.” he muttered, sealing the hole back.

Winterspell, despite being a captain couldn’t of course work around the clock all the time. Wanting to catch at least a wink of sleep he made agreement with his boatswain, asking him to take the night shift and wake him only in the case of something serious. Now that the sun was up he was supposed to take over.

Blindly Winterspell found his way to the small table beside his bed with a well burnt candle sealed to its surface with melted wax. With slow and sluggish movement he reached for a tinder box. Thankfully it didn’t catch any sort of moisture, so he was able to lit it alight. His eyes raised to see his own face in the mirror nailed to the wall over the table.

“Fuck. Am I that ugly?” he muttered to himself, terrified by his own appearance.

If Winterspell gave any more damn about how he looked he would’ve recoiled at the site that greeted him in the mirror. His eyes were completely bloodshot; he could barely make out the blue in his eyes, his sclera covered in a web of blood vessels so dense it almost seemed his whites were actually red, giving him the appearance of somepony that didn’t sleep in months, if not years. Furthermore , the large bags under his eyes didn’t help him look any less tired, making him question why was he even up in the first place..

“The bucket… where’s the goddamned bucket…” he grumbled, looking around. “Ah, here it is!”

Winterspell grabbed the aforementioned vessel and poured its entire content on top of his head. Cold, fresh water helped him wake faster. Deep down he knew it was an incredible waste of resources, they could after all drink it, but truth be told he didn’t much care. Every sailor on this ship would curse his very name to oblivion if they found out what he was using their supplies for, but that was something none would ever know. What happens in the captains cabin stays in the cabin.

He gazed into the mirror once more. The fresh water treatment helped, even if only by a little bit. At the very least he didn’t look like he was about to commit suicide. Now the pegasus had only one problem: how in the world was he supposed to tame the chaos that was once his mane?

Winterspell gritted with his teeth. For a few moments he was trying to fix the mess with a comb made out of bone. After failing to make even a little headway into reclaiming his hair Winterspell let out a vicious curse and instead opted to hide his bad hair under his captain’s cap. “Close enough.”

Having taken care of his morning rituals, Winterspell left his cabin, coming onto the deck of the Little Conqueror which was already bustling with sailors. The night shift had taken care of the damages yesterday’s storm had caused. The mercenaries from Danzig of course were slacking off and relaxing near the railing, leaving all the hard work to the crew, which truth be told was to be expected

“Ah, finally Capt’n!” Quick Signal greeted him from his post. “I’m finishing the night shift.”

“I can see that.” Winterspell responded. “I’ll take over from here. What’s the status?”

“We’ve lucked out Capt’n, the last storm didn’t damage the ship and all we had to do was check the sails and the cordage for anything funny. We have good wind and according to my predictions we should reach Ridge in two days.”

Quick Signal was a terrible navigator, so Winterspell took those “predictions” with a grain of salt. At the very least, everything seemed to be in perfect order from their last struggle. “Okay then. Go catch some z’s.”

“Aye aye.” the boatswain mock-saluted and with a few of his crewmates headed under the deck.

Now, the ship was all his. Winterspell slowly climbed on the upper deck to his steering wheel. The sailor that was responsible for maintaining the cruise relinquished his post without saying a word, leaving the wooden wheel to his captain.

He looked towards the horizon. They were on the open sea and aside from their ship the only thing as far as the eye could reach was the vast expanse of water. It was early morning, the sun was slowly peeking from the east, painting the horizon in soft reds and yellows. Winterspell gripped his steering wheel firmly, making small adjustments to the course he deemed necessary.

It was a good feeling. The wind in his mane, the fresh sea air, its unique brisk smell filling his nose. It was where he truly felt free, where he felt like he was the only pony in the world, restricted by nothing.. No rules, no laws, only he, his ship, and the waves beneath him.

As much as he wanted to just stay there and soak in the feeling of being on the open sea Winterspell knew he had his duties. Sighing and giving a small shake of his head he went to work.. Knowing that Quick Signal was absolutely rubbish at navigating his first order of business was making sure they really weren’t lost. First off: speed.

Normally he would use a chip log to do that. Several years ago he was still using this equipment to measure the speed of his vessel. In its very core it was a really primitive method, utilizing even more primitive equipment, but it did its job either way. Having a simple plank attached to a length of rope with knots in regular intervals tossed into the water, sailors could easily calculate the speed by checking how many knots passed through their hooves in a period of time. It was a good method, but only if the navigator had little experience. Winterspell, being in the business for years now simply spit into the water. His saliva easily stayed on the surface of the water, allowing the captain to follow it as it lagged behind his ship. Watching it float in place, the old pegasus was able to easily estimate their speed.

“Ten knots. Nice.”

Now on to navigation itself.

Not letting go of the steering wheel Winterspell pulled out his precious astrolabe from his pocket. It wasn’t true, he thought to himself, that he wasn’t spending the money like Grainwood said. This astrolabe cost him a small fortune. Covered in a thin sheet of gold and richly decorated, this instrument was as much a tool as it was a work of art. Its high cost however didn’t come only from the liberal use of precious metals in its creation. Its astronomical cost came from the fact this astrolabe was incredibly precise. Winterspell was able to easily determine the position of the Sun, Moon, Polaris and even planets themselves with this thing.

The trader that sold him this instrument didn’t say how exactly had he obtained such an item. Astrolabes were incredibly rare, to the point you could buy a new ship for the price of just one. Winterspell could only guess how a poor merchant in a low-district market was able to get one. The most probable way was also the most grim. The pegasus heard stories about ponies that were making a living off of plundering shipwrecks and stealing jewellery from dead sailors and captains. He wouldn’t be surprised if the original owner of this astrolabe was long dead.

Anyway, he removed the layer protecting the astrolabe from getting wet and started with his calculations. He was slowly getting to the point when he could with a dose of certainty determine what their position was when he was approached by somepony.

“Hey, Captain!”

Oh sweet Lün, not him.

Casimir without any sort of preamble approached him at his post, wearing this cheeky smile on his lips. Damn Danzingians.

“What do you want, Casimir?” Winterspell half-groaned, hiding his astrolabe back in his pocket. Better the mercenaries not see any gold on him. “I’m kind of busy, you know.”

“Ah, Winterspell, there is a huge problem. Our band of nobles suffers from the most terrible of plagues - the boredom.” Casimir proclaimed in a much too theatrical way for Winterspell’s taste.

“Boredom?” Winterspell asked, clearly exasperated. “And?”

“Well, I wanted to ask if we can… ehm, ehm… check the contents of a bottle or two.”

The way Casimir said it made it clear the noble knew exactly what was in the bottles.

“Alcohol? Hay no.” Winterspell refused immediately. “There will be no drinking of any alcohol on my ship. If you want some fun, you can play poker or whatever else the rest of the crew plays to get rid of their money.”

“Gambling is dishonorable!” Casimir said indignantly. “No noble worth his coat would dare to do that!”

“And alcohol is honorable?” Winterspell asked with a sly smirk.

“Alcohol is neutral in terms of honor, and on rare occasions it is actually honorable.” Casimir responded without missing a beat, clearly not sensing irony in the question.

“What do you mean by rare occasions?”

“Well, in our culture if you are a guest to somepony and you are refusing to drink with him, it is dishonorable behaviour, worth of infamy and condemnation.” the noble explained. “So accepting the drink is the honorable thing to do.”

Winterspell sighed. For what sins was he doomed with such mercenaries?

“There will be no drinking of alcohol on my ship. End of discussion.”

“But…”

“End of discussion.” he repeated sharply. “My ship, my rules. You should expect that guarding ships sometimes can get boring. Accept this fact with dignity and for the love of Lün, let me to finally do my job!”

Casimir face fell and with a look of utter defeat went back towards the rest of his comrades, trying to figure out how to pass them the bad news. Winterspell sighed with relief and pulled out his astrolabe again. However he quickly discerned that it wouldn’t be enough and was forced to pull out his quadrant, another piece of navigational equipment, and really concentrate on this one.

After a few minutes of thinking, checking the astrolabe and quadrant, figuring the distance between the Sun and the horizon and some wild predictions on his part Winterspell finally managed to estimate with a dose of certainty where are they. Surprisingly Quick Signal was for the most part right. They were about two and three-quarters away from Ridge, of course assuming their speed would stay at ten knots, and if they would be able to keep from six to eight knots near the coast. And of course assuming nothing unpredictable would happen during those three days.

“Sail ho! Direction, north-west!” the sailor on the foretop shouted. “No flags!”

“Speaking of unpredictable… wait, no flags!?” sudden realization hit him.

Winterspell immediately grabbed the spyglass from his jacket. Unfortunately the sailor was right. A galley without any signs, flags, banners or anything really to estimate who’s its owner was was sailing in the pointed-out direction. The fact that it looked like a primitive version of a galley and that it was coming from the north-west while being on the North Sea could only mean one thing - Victa.

“Silence on deck! Hide our flag!” he ordered hastily, torn between shouting and staying silent himself. The sailors had also realised that the ship in front of them definitely wasn’t a friendly one and that they should try and avoid it at all cost. The white-red flag of Lubuck was soon after taken from the mast so the pirates couldn’t see their ship that easily. They were still only just over the horizon and maybe, just maybe, they didn’t have a spyglass like Winterspell had.

The captain checked the distant vessel one more time with his lunette. However this time he noticed something odd. The galley was staying in place. Of course, it was an illusion made by the false sense of speed. If they were moving north, that also meant that the pirate ship was moving in the same direction. They actually saw the galley’s stern, not its bow. It also increased the chance they wouldn’t be spotted.

“Awake Quick Signal and the night shift.” Winterspell ordered hoarsely the closest sailor. Knowing his own luck, the pegasus had a feeling this would end up poorly.

“Winterspell! I think I got it!” Casimir, completely unperturbed by the order from a few minutes ago runned back to the pegasus, followed by the rest of the mercenaries and completely ignoring the fact they were supposed to be silent.

“Yes?” Winterspell asked through gritted teeth.

“Those are pirates out there, right?” Casimir asked first, and after getting a resigned nod continued. “Since those are pirates and most probably want to pillage something, they need either to patrol the sea or find a village on the coast which they can attack.” The Danzingian noble deduced. “And they are actually heading east, towards land…”

“East?” Winterspell interrupted. He checked the Victa ship with his spyglass one more time. Casimir was right. The galley was slowly turning right.

“Well, and that means they want to attack some coastal settlements! We should stop them!” Casimir declared with a wide smile. “That way we can save them from a cruel fate.”

The pegasus was silent for a moment, thinking if there were actually any coastal settlements near their current position that actually could be attacked by Victa. Unfortunately there was - Fishenheim Harbor. A small fishing village.

“And how do you expect me to do that?” Winterspell shook his head. “They are Vitalians dammit, each of them armed to the teeth. This cog will have no problem catching up to them, true, but if they turn back to fight us they will simply ram our ship and send it to the depths, or slaughter us all. We’re actually lucky that they didn’t see and aren’t looking for us. We can wait a few minutes with our sails furled, and then pass them from behind.”

“Really!?” the noble stepped back, being clearly offended. “Oh come on, Winter. Okay, fair enough. We don’t need to fight them. But maybe we could warn the ponies of wherever they're going that they’re coming , so those civilians can run?”

Winterspell didn’t like listening to those wild ideas so freely thrown around by the hot-headed noble. However, as much as he hated to admit it, Winterspell knew it was possible, and the right thing to do. The most optimistic outcome would be saving civilian lives, not fighting Victa at all, and finishing their cruise to Ridge without a scratch. The only problem was with its execution.

“Well, we can’t use the same cruise to reach Fishenheim -we’ll bump into the Victa ship if we do so..” Winterspell said slowly. “We could in theory outmaneuver them and try to bypass them near the coast. However, that way we’ll take far longer and the Victuals can reach their destination faster than us”

“I think it’s still worth a try.” Casimir nodded.

Winterspell for a few moments considered other approaches to the situation.

“You don’t want to do this because you’re bored, don’t you?” Winterspell asked, just to be sure.

“Absolutely.” the noble nodded. “Racja bracia szlachta?” he asked the rest of company for reaffirmation in his native tongue.

“Racja!” they responded in unison, screaming loudly. Winterspell could swear that one noble in the background cried something which sounded suspiciously like “Veto! Veto!”, but was quickly hushed by the mercenary nearby with a short “Zamknij się!”

“Okay, I guess it’s settled.” Winterspell nodded, wondering what the hay was going on in the background. Or maybe he didn’t want to know. Yeah, he probably didn’t -at least he would save himself a headache.

The galley full of Victa pirates was still sailing east. Winterspell again calculated distances and made another short glimpse through the spyglass. It was time to make decisions and give orders.

“OK, we’re doing this. Prepare for a turn on the starboard!” the captain shouted. “Full speed ahead. I want to be near coast in two hours!”

“Thank you Captain.” Casimir said. “Allow me and my comrades to muster for… ehm… accidental battle.”

“Permission granted.” he nodded.

Winterspell was finally left alone. He checked their speed one more time. Eleven knots according to his calculations. More than he expected. If they should maintain this speed till the coast, they still had a chance to warn the civilians and get out unmolested. If they fail however … then the whole situation would look far more grim.

Chapter VIII - At Least, The Name

The Victual Brothers (the Vitalians, Vitalian Brotherhood, also known as Victa) were a companionship of privateers who later turned to piracy. The Victual Brothers also gave themselves the name Likedeelers ("equal sharers"): they claimed to share with the poor coastal population, in exchange for allowing them to hide in their midst/in the surrounding area. They expanded their activities into the North Sea and along the Equestrian coastline, raiding and pillaging settlements in their range. The Vitalians’ modus operandi included, but was not limited to land raids, utilizing lanterns to bait ships into shallows, boarding trade vessels, smuggling contraband, and demanding tribute from smaller settlements. At the peak of their power the Vitalian Brotherhood could muster up an armada to rival the entirety of the Equestrian fleet at the time.

- Experct from Encyclopedica Equestriana

They were late.

The first sign that something wasn’t right was the smoke. Dark clouds billowed high above the small town. The Little Conqueror was sailing as fast as it could, but it was still not enough. One look through the spyglass helped Winterspell to estimate that they came about ten minutes too late. Shaking his head and cursing under his breath, he turned to see the mercenaries mustering behind him. The nobles from Danzig were making their last preparations - sharpening their blades, equipping armour and… imbibing themselves with the contents of several mysterious flasks. Great. Those Lün-damned drunkards started drinking when he wasn’t looking!

Casimir, who was the first pony to end his preparations approached the silently seething captain.

“We are almost ready!” the pegasus reported.

“I can see that.” Winterspell muttered, giving the quickly emptying flasks a dirty look and then pointing towards the oversized buffalo “And the au… auri… au…”

“Auroch?” Casimir finished for him. “Nah, he doesn’t need any weapons.”

That made sense. After but a glance Winterspell had to admit that those horns looked deadly enough as they were. Shaking his head once more the pegasus concentrated on more pressing matters, like trying to decided what to do with the situation at hoof.. He had no plan in case the Victual pirates reached Fishenheim first. Part of him wanted to just turn tail and sail away, hoping the Vitalains wouldn’t notice his cog. After all Winterspell decided to interfere only because they had a chance to not fight them in the first place.

“If the wind doesn’t change and they take their time with the civilians we could be half way to Ridge by the time they realize we were even here.” He thought to himself, unconsciously inching towards the steering wheel. Before he even took a step though he froze, his eyes landing on one of the mercenaries, his mustached face set in a determined glare as he gazed upon the billowing smoke clouds above Fishenheim. Seeing that, the resolve in the eyes of what basically was hired muscle stirred something in his own heart. Taking a deep breath Winterspell looked at the coast again, a faint flicker of fire starting to burn behind his own orbs.

“Okay, let’s think this through… maybe if we could try to only engage their raid party on land and free what civilians there are left in the ensuing confusion... yes, that could work actually…”

The squad of Danzingians gave him their readies, even if he couldn’t understand a word they said. Winterspell turned to his boatswain, the pony at the helm trying hard to not fall asleep.

“Quick Signal, you take the bridge until I get back..” he ordered. “In the meantime approach the coast as close as you can to give us a smooth landing spot!”

“Aye, aye…” the unicorn responded, adjusting their course with a slight turn of the wheel.

Their cog was slowly approaching the land. Judging from where the smoke was originating from the captain estimated their goal was over a nearby forested hill, perfect for concealing their approach. The plan for now was to land in the estuary of a nearby creek about a quarter mile away from Fishenheim. After that they’d have to feel out the situation and make plans accordingly. Winterspell turned again towards his armed group. The captain wanted to check what exactly they’d be carrying into battle. He counted eighteen sabers, three crossbows, six… lances!?

“Yea, we brought some of them with us.” Seeing the baffled expression on Winterspell’s face Casimir launched into an explanation. “As nobles, basically knights, we’re quite apt at using lances. Trust me, they can have a devastating effect during the initial charge, and once that’s done we’ll just abandon them so they don’t get in the way.”

“Sounds good.” Winterspell muttered, taking his explanation at face value.. The captain himself had his trusty old saber at his side, as well as a few javelins.

The Little Conqueror quickly reached the coast. To lead by example Winterspell took into the air and landed first at the sands of the small beach. The pegasi in the group took off too and landed to his side him. The unicorns and earth ponies were forced to jump into the water and then swim a few meters to the land. One particular unicorn, Twardowsky if Winterspell recounted his twisted name correctly, landed pretty badly - face first into the water. He emerged soon after, cursing in his native language and assuring in broken cirran that “that was intentional”. The whole group assembled once again in about one or two minutes.

“Okay, move out!” he gestured, trusting that the simple motion would do all the translation for him. Hearing the mercenaries regroup and follow him assured him that body language indeed was the best language..

Their pack quickly made their way towards the forest. Winterspell could tell from the smell of burning wood that Fishenheim was nearby. Approaching the other end of the thicket they slowed down, the captain hoping to use the element of surprise. Considering the damned Danzigians seemed not to understand the concept of stealth and talking all the way through the forest that would be a miracle.

That quickly changed once their eyes fell on the site of Fishenheim.

The entirety of the village was built out of wood, even the local temple. There was no place to truly hide, nor was there a barricade to defend the hamlet with. Almost everything down there was alight in flames, a raging inferno consuming what once were homes and workshops. There was only one structure that wasn’t burning, and only because it was located further from the village itself, overlooking a dirt road in the distance. The crops on what little fields were surrounding Fishenheim were damaged beyond recovery, the crops either stolen or left to burn.

And then there were the Vitalian pirates themselves. There were ponies of every race in their ranks, yet all of them looked basically the same. These chaotic long manes, these leather armours, crude axes and battered crossbows, truly unmistakable. The way they acted only confirmed their alignment; they didn’t even pay attention to the fact the whole village they were in was burning around them. Those bandits were casually walking between the blazing ruins, laughing stupidly at the carnage they made themselves. The most disturbing thing however was the distinct lack of bodies. Not even one victim of the Victuals could be seen, and it made the captain’s skin crawl.

He turned very slowly towards his group. The Danzingian nobles were looking at the Victual pirates with a mix of anxiety and utter contempt in their eyes, some of them gritting their teeth while others silently sneered at them.

“Casimir, translate.” he ordered. The pegasus coughed quietly and prepared to translate to his comrades whatever hastily put together plan Winterspell came up with.

“I see only two explanations why there are no bodies on the streets: either the pirates herded them inside one of the burning houses to die, or they’re being held captive..” He started, his voice sounding like he was trying to reassure himself more than he tried to direct his men. “Okay, now orders. All of you with crossbows, wait here and aim at any Victa pirates you can get a shot at.. The rest will go with me. We’ll try to sneak up…”

“Erm…”

“To this building on the left. We will bypass it from the left side and we’ll attack from this direction. If those bastards will spot us earlier…”

“Winterspell…”

“What?” he asked annoyed. “I hope you translated all of this!”

“No, no! I mean… maybe you should look around.” Casimir suggested.

Winterspell turned away from the burning village and ended up staring into thin air. The entire group with the expectation of Casimir was no longer there. His jaw dropped to the ground. How in Tartarus did they even manage to do that?

“Horse feathers.” he cursed. “Where did they go? I hope they didn’t…”

“SZARŻAA!!” Winterspell heard a sudden cry and immediately smacked his own face. The entire group, his group, of twenty armed to the teeth ponies was charging through the plain, head on with their sabers, lances and crossbows at the ready, held either in their hooves, mouths, or held within their magical grip, screaming battle cries and curses in their native language.

“Oh for the love of...” Winterspell murmured. “Casimir, onward! We need to save these idiots!”

“Aye!” the noble nodded and followed his fellow pegasus, both of them trying to catch up with the screaming nobles.

The few pirates that were on the outskirts, seeing a mass of twenty ponies charging in the tight formation down the hill quickly lost their good moods and let their instincts respond in the way normal ponies were designed to - they started running for their lives in any which way, most of them trying to get to the center of the village. One of the pirates was unfortunate enough not to be gifted enough in the self-preservation department and lacked the good sense to run away, instead staring dumbly at what was transpiring in front of him.. By the time he realised he probably should’ve moved it was a little too late, and he ended up impaled on one of the lances and pinned to a nearby wooden wall. The screaming pirate was spared the agony by a passing noble, who took the time to perform a coup de grace with his saber, ending his suffering. The group continued its advance, moving further into the settlement without running into much in terms of opposition. Winterspell and Casimir where just fast on their heels, screaming at those braindead idiots to stop. They might as well try and teach a bison to tapdance.

By that time they were in Fishenheim itself. Winterspell, with dreadful clarity realised that charging head on like they already had was indeed - a terrible idea. For there, in the very middle of the village a score of at least forty more pirates awaited them, their reckless charge alerting them to the presence of fresh guests.

The center consisted of a market square, now looking more like the aftermath of a great battle than a place dedicated to the art of commerce. In the distant the galleass that brought those marauders to Fishenheim loomed ominously, huge and dreadful. It was sitting right next to the pier, moored as if a simple fishing vessel and not a vessel bringing death to the people. The bastard pirates took their time to bring their ship to port, as if they owned the place.

The marketplace was also littered with dead bodies, most of them civilians judging from their lack of armour. Just looking at them would make any pony queasy; the state of mutilation of most of them was beyond that any decent fellow would be able to inflict upon another. Missing legs, disemboweled bellies with guts spilling onto the ground, heads crushed into paste... Swallowing, Winterspell averted his gaze from the gruesome site and by complete chance noticed that not all of the locals were dead. A group of about thirty unarmed civilians was huddled together to the side, watched over by a small number of sneering pirates, leveling their weapons on the unfortunate souls.

Seeing civilians the first line of the mercenaries stopped dead in their tracks, the second line bumping into their rears and stopping as well. Winterspell used this to finally catch up with them and move to the front of the pack, hoping to somehow salvage the situation. The marauders in front of them scrambled in the meantime, taking up defensive positions and forming a line of shabby looking pirates armed to the teeth with crude, jagged, but most importantly deadly weapons..

Actually, now that Winterspell had a better view of the situation he realised how off his initial assumptions were. What he at first concluded were about forty Vitalians ended up being over sixty. At least eight of them were carrying crossbows, at least forty more had crooked sabers and small wooden shields, there were also small axes and other weaponry thrown into the mix. In short, the situation looked grim. Not only were they terribly outnumbered, but by now they had no real way of saving the civilians or bailing it without being decimated by the marauders.

For a few seconds the two groups just stood there, glaring at one another and adjusting their grips on their weapons. From behind the Vitalians ranks yet another pirate emerged, yet this one was far different from the others.

“Well, well, well… what do we have here?”

The Vitalian was an earth pony, but one whose appearance was far from what could be described as ordinary. He was a massive individual, towering above his companions, rivaling even the massive size of their auroch, Weird Hoar. Covered with brown fur far wilder than the typical coat of a pony, his very form was grotesque enough to again make Winterspell feel weak in his legs. His front right leg was bulging with muscles, far larger than the slender right leg. The hoof on the more muscular side seemed to be cracked, as if unable to keep up with the growth of his muscle mass. In fact, the entirety of his left side would seem more at place on a buffalo than on a pony; the muscle mass on that side was inconsistent with what was anatomically possible, bulges of thews seemed to stick out in odd places and attached to his bones in ways that they shouldn’t yet he was able to move without much difficulty, even if his uneven form made his gait all skewed. He looked like he was a victim of a mad scientist’s project gone horribly wrong..

The only part of his body could be consider “normal” was his head and face. He was wearing a cheeky smirk, grinning widely with confidence. His mane was short and light in comparison to the rest of body. The Vitalian leader looked at their group with mix of contempt and curiosity.

“Who’s your leader?” he asked, still wearing the same smirk. “I want to know the names of those, that I am about to slaughter.”

“I am. My name is Winterspell. ” the pegasus stepped forward, standing in front of his group. The Vitalian arbalists shifted their aim. Taking a glance Winterspell confirmed his suspicions -they were now aiming solely at him. He doubted his reflex was good enough to avoid getting shot. Focusing back on the big guy, the captain noticed something he found peculiar: the “leader” of the Vitalians was the only pony that wasn’t bearing any weapon.

“Winterspell.” the auroch-sized abomination tasted the name. He slowly nodded to himself and looked the captain over. “Now, seeing that I’m in a particularly good mood, and after seeing you don’t have any business being here, how about you... turn around and head back home, hmm?”

Casimir slowly inched towards Winterspell. “Technically he is right, but accepting would be absolutely dishonourable and unacceptable” he whispered into his ear.

“Are you trying to say those idiots you call companions won’t listen to me and fight them when if we are absolutely outnumber?” Winterspell replied incredulously.

“Hmm… yes.”

“Fuck.” was the only thing Winterspell could really say.

“It’s not like I do not want, or can’t kill you right now…” the Vitalian leader continued. “But I’m a bit tired after squashing two dozens ponies already. It’s way over my daily limit.”

Winterspell managed to ignore his rambling and keep a straight face. The rest of his men weren’t that successful, gritting their teeth and muttering obscenities in their native tongue. The only reason the nobles hadn’t attacked yet was because they rather not risk the wellbeing of the civilians.

“So no retreating?”

“I will not be able to convince them. No chance.” Casimir answered, his expression deeply troubled.

Winterspell sighed and closed his eyes.

“Order our aurorch, Weird Hoar, to lead the charge. Tell him to start once the big guy finishes talking. Aim at the center.” he whispered back his orders, a hastily drawn plan taking shape in his mind.

Casimir turned to pass the order on, meanwhile Winterspell focused once more on the insolent Vitalian leader. He needed to hold the conservation for a few moments and buy his group some time.

“We can leave and go ‘our own way’ as you say, that’s fine. But we’re taking the civilians with us.” he stated firmly.

The Vitalian laughed at his declaration. “You know why we aren’t fighting yet?”

“Nooo?” Winterspell replied, trying to maintain it as long as possible.

“Because you are quite hilarious when you’re trying to keep this conversation going.” the behemoth answered, still chucking. He stopped a few seconds later, his smile suddenly vanishing. “Kill them.”

Winterspell immediately dropped to the ground, knowing that the Victa arbalistis aimed at him. Thanks to his quick thinking all the bolts flew above him, missing him and sailing harmlessly away from the battlefield. The Vitalians formed a tight formation and slowly started to advance.

“Wpieriod Weird Hoar! Wpierriood!” Casimir gave the order. The auroch charged with surprising speed towards the line of pirates, leaving clouds of dust in his wake. The horned horror was so heavy that Winterspell could swear that the earth quaked beneath his hooves every time they connected with the ground. Weird Hoar lowered his head, pointing his two long horns at the unprepared brigands. The nobles in turn charged right behind the auroch, screaming, hollering, and flailing their weapons at the nearest enemies.

Every tactician worth his title would say that a charge performed by a force outnumbered by a 3:1 ratio, especially one made in plain site and without the element of surprise was doomed to fail. Unfortunately for the tacticians however, Winterspell’s mercenaries didn’t know that. The Vitalians should’ve been able to stop their charge easily. All they had to do was to maintain order, prepare what little pikes they had and concentrate their efforts on stopping Weird Hoar. However they didn’t. They were after all just a bunch of seafaring bandits with no real military experience, and where there’s a lack of discipline and training there the ugly head of unprofessionalism and plain instinctual reactions rises. Seeing the terrifying mass of muscles charging at their lines, its absurdly long and wickedly sharp horns pointed at them fear overrode what little rational thinking they were capable of. The first rank, in their futile attempt to save their lives tried to run back. Unfortunately, there was no place to run, for the second rank was blocking their way, frozen in shock. The entire formation crumbled and in but a fraction of a second Weird Hoar crashed into them, sending several ponies flying through the air and others crushed beneath his hooves, not even slowing the auroch in his terrifying charge. The great bovine was quickly joined by the nobles charging with their lances leveled, impaling one dozen opponents during their initial strike. The battle had just started.

Winterspell joined the assault as well, in two quick steps reaching the closest pirate with his saber. The brigand wasn’t expecting it, too shocked by the charge, and the blade cleanly pierced his chest. The pegasus quickly freed his blade and parried an attack from the pirate’s comrade, producing a shower of sparks as he blocked. Winterspell quickly countered, preparing a quick feint. His opponent couldn’t predict he’d shift the grip of his weapon mid-blow, and in doing so the blade would strike from a different angle. Yet another marauder bit the dust.

Of course, it wasn’t as that reckless as it sounded. The plan Winterspell came up with was focused on two things - making sure the Vitalians would panic and ensure the civilians had an opening to escape. In essence - he was buying them time. He noticed earlier that while the locals were being led towards the moored galleass before their attack, now nopony seemed to be guarding them. He hoped those ponies would see this opportunity to escape and use it. In the heat of battle however Winterspell couldn’t keep an eye on them, so the pegasus hoped they were smart enough to use the opportunity and focused back on the fight.

Not too far from him sir Hoodripper and his absurdly big zweihufer were having the time of their lives, swinging the oversized weapon in wide arcs and splitting nearby enemies in half. The style of fighting with such a weapon was clearly offensive, it was almost impossible to parry or dodge while using it. Hoodripper however didn’t need any of that; his blade was hitting with the power of a hurricane, breaking shields like they were made out of eggs, cutting through armor like it was as thin as paper and even breaking and bending enemy blades simply by hitting them with forceful strikes. True to his oath, he was trying to find himself in favorable conditions- seeking a way to cut three heads with one swipe. He couldn’t however find three favorably positioned pirates, but nonetheless he scored two decapitations. Soon the pirates started avoiding him altogether, seeing that no blade, no armor, and no shield could stop Hoodripper’s swings.

Little Knight was also faring well. The small stallion picked a dreadful opponent with a huge scar going through the entirety of his face, smiling with anticipation. Little Knight’s saber met his enemy’s dull blade, starting the duel. In comparison to Hoodripper and his brute strength approach, the small stallion favored quickness and finesse, his blade a blur in the air and his moves precise and dance-like. The confrontation ended in but two seconds after Little Knight’s blade found a hole in his opponent's defence and quickly slashed his throat open. Quickly the little fury chose another Vitalian, but his would-be opponent fell in single moment, slashed in the side by the noble’s initial strike. Little Knight seemed… disappointed.

And then there was Weird Hoar, running around in circles and ramming the shit out of everypony in his way, breaking necks, ribs, and limbs. Oh well.

The battle was pure chaos. Once the Vitalian formation broke after Weird Hoar’s initial charge there was nothing left that would resemble order. The entire skirmish turned into a bloodbath, in which it was Vitalian blood that stained the ground of Fishenheim red. It was clear who was winning after less than a minute, and it made all the tacticians in the world shiver as they felt a great disturbance in military tactics. Even though they started with superior number, the pirates’ advantage quickly melted away, either by their forces being crushed and killed or the cowardly ones decided to flee. Their numbers were soon nullified to the point where it was the mercenaries who had numerical superiority.

However the chaos was a double edged sword. In this overall commotion Winterspell couldn’t find the Vitalian leader, this strange abomination of a pony having all but vanished into thin air. The captain was killing those bloody bastards left and right, casting his gaze wherever he could, but the gigantic earth pony was nowhere to be seen. He turned to see one of the arbalists from before reloading his weapon and glaring towards him. Winterspell didn’t give him a chance, immediately throwing one of his javelins at him. The projectile pierced the pirate’s armor without difficulty and pierced him in his guts. The Vitalian fell face first onto the muddy ground. Winterspell turned around once more.

“Where are you!?” he cried. He was starting to get real pissed by now. Adrenaline was pumping in his veins, screaming at him to continue on with this tedious slaughter. However, Winterspell believed that they could win only if they managed to eliminate the pirate leader. The captain barely avoided an unexpected blow from a nearby pirate, failing to pay attention. He was saved however by Casimir who just happened to be nearby, clearing his way with his saber. Winterspell wasn’t able to thank him however, as his savior went off to find another fight. Shaking off his surprise the captain called out once more. “Where are you, you horeson!?”

“Right here.”

Winterspell whirled around. He realised terrified in that moment, that the whole idea behind the battle had one, glaring fault in the form of the pirate leader.

The abominable stallion still didn’t take up any arms, though he didn’t really need any. The thing that made Winterspell stop in his track was fact that he was pinning down a civilian with his hoof, keeping it on his head as he desperately tried to free himself. The whole battle suddenly came to a halt, the Danzingians realising they had a huge problem, and Vitalians realising they suddenly had the upper hoof.

“I really like moments like this.” the pirate leader said. “He tried to escape… that was your plan, wasn’t it? To distract us so those worthless land rats could escape? Well then, how does it feel to fail so miserably?

“Let me go!” the stallion screamed, desperately trying to get from under him. Instead of responding, the pirate leader pinned his head a little tighter to the ground. His oversized hoof was nearly the size of the unfortunate civilian’s head.

“Well? What now Winterspell?” he asked slowly, clearly enjoying the fact it was him who held all the cards now. Meanwhile both group assembled around their respective leaders, the nobles behind Winterspell and the Vitalians behind the giant stallion. The pegasus realized with defeat that his plan really did fail miserably, all of the civilians still huddled up in their place, too terrified to even move. Winterspell couldn’t really blame them - they did end up in the middle of a war zone and probably were still shell-shocked from the pirate raid itself to even attempt to run.

Winterspell stood still as a statue, yet his mind was racing. What now, what now!? If his objective still was saving innocent ponies, then there was no way to do it now but through diplomacy. The only question was how should he do that? Should he threatened him, bribe him? Or maybe try and negotiate?

He looked behind and quickly scanned the status of his own men. To his surprise, they didn’t lose a single pony, a few of them slightly wounded but nothing else, so it was them who had superior numbers right now. The only one out of commision right now was Weird Hoar, who happened to impale one of the Vitalians on his horn and couldn’t remove the screaming unicorn, even with the help of two other nobles.

With that argument in mind, he decided for the thought approach.

“I don’t think your men want to die.” he stepped forward. “They know that fighting with us will end poorly for them, and trust me - we can slaughter you lot. So here’s my proposition: you let the civilians go, all of them, and we’ll let you go unmolested.”

“Is that so?” the Vitalian leader looked down at the pinned unicorn. “Let me make you a counter proposition then: you and your ponies will stand back and let us go, or we’ll kill the civilians. All of them.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Winterspell responded quickly.

The Vitalian smirked and stepped on his prisoner’s head with his whole mass, the poor unicorn’s head splitting open like a watermelon, bits of his skull and brain matter splattering onto the giant. The lifeless body of the Fishenheimian twitched on the dirt road until the behemoth kicked it out of the way. Winterspell pulled out his saber once more and was about to charge, but the pirates immediately pushed another hostage towards their leader

“Bastard!” Winterspell cursed, realising he would be risking the life of yet another pony.

“Sometimes I forget how strong I really am. I only wanted to make him scream, really.” the abomination laughed, placing his hoof on the head of his new hostage. “It’s ironic, really. The pony I have here is the maggot’s son. He’s so scared he can’t even say a word. It’s so… dull.” he noted.

The colt was staring forward, his gaze unfocused, too shocked to register both the death of his father and the words of his captor. Winterspell wasn’t even sure if he was awake, his limbs limp and unmoving.

“Well, enough’s enough. Likedeelers!” the behemoth cried to the rest of his group, the pirates immediately snapping to attention. “Take the prisoners on the ship. We’re leaving.”

Winterspell in his emotional state consider attacking, but he quickly realised if he did that he’d doomed the civilians to death. He had failed. The nobles behind him were greeting their teeth, but this was all they could do in this situation, recognizing they had been bested. Weird Hoar finally removed the bloody pirate corpse from his horn.

The unfortunate civilians were being slowly dragged towards the pirate galleass. The only pony to linger was the giant brigand leader, smirking triumphantly at Winterspell, and the young pony under his hoof.

“You know, I just realised. You gave me your name, but I didn’t give you mine in return. Such a faux pas on my part. I should return the favour. I’m Souther, and I hope this name shall be engraved in your mind.” the leader said, allowing his men to take the son from his hooves.

Winterspell said nothing.

After a few seconds they were all gone. The Vitalians and all their captives were already on their ship. Only Souther remained. He was scanning Winterspell and his mercenaries with his dark eyes for a few seconds and then without any preamble turned back and joined his crew. Soon after the rowers started working and the galleass set sail.

All that remained on the ground was Winterspell, his armed companions, and the smoldering remains of what once was Fishenheim Harbour. Desolation. Ruin. Devoid of any life. The dead bodies of simple ponies and pirates alike littering the streets. And the feeling of defeat.

Casimir approached Winterspell cautiously, the captain standing in the middle of all this with his gaze cast at the slowly retreating galleass. “What now?”

“It’s over.” he sighed. “There is nothing left to do. All we can is dig graves for the victims, and nothing more.” he fell silent, still gazing at the galleass.

“Winter?” Casimir tried to get his attention.

The pegasus sighed again. He seemed calm on the exterior, but the Danzingian couldn’t be sure if he really was, or was it just a really well crafted mask.

“Start digging graves. I need to rest.” Winterspell finally said.

“And the Vitalians?”

Instead of answering, Winterspell shot him a glare. The answer was obvious.

Casimir passed the order to the rest. They decided to do it deeper inland, using the cornfield a few hundred meters away from city. The soil there was softer and it was easier to dig in. The group didn’t have shovels to aid them in their grim task, so it took some time. After a few hours twelve ponies from Fishenheim unfortunate enough to perish received proper burial. The pirates were left for the crows.

While Casimir and the others were struggling with their task, Winterspell was still on the coast, still observing the horizon where the galleass vanished. He was sitting on a rock, just a few inches above the sea level.

“Souther.” Winterspell murmured.

Ironically, the weather today was perfect. The sky was completely cloudless, it was warm, with a soft breeze moving through the air. It was completely opposite to the state of Winterspell’s mind. He barely perceived the stench of smoke from the burned houses, yet he couldn’t free himself from the smell of blood his clothes and fur was permeated with.

Emotions were burning inside him, he had problems with controlling his accelerated breathing, but he was determined to keep his fury at bay, at least until they get onto his ship and was in the safe heaven of his personal cabin. There he could drop his mask.

Winterspell stood up, feeling that the mercenaries had already did their jobs and realising that the crew of his ship would start to worry. He cast one last glance at the sea.

“At least I know your name.” he muttered to himself.

Chapter IX - Everything's Fine

They needed only two more days to reach Ridge, yet the crew was already tired from the non-stop work. Casimir however, as a mercenary had nothing really to do, and as such he ended up to wandering aimlessly around the deck. The rest of the nobles were under the deck, trying not to die of boredom. They already managed to drain what meager supplies of liquor were on board the Conqueror, and were desperately trying to find something else to do while Twardowsky, who was the most learned of the bunch was trying to build a distiller from what he could find.This of course didn’t sit well with the crew, but they were powerless to do anything about it.

Keeping his eyes on the sun slowly descending behind the clouded horizon Casimir didn’t notice Quick Signal, almost bumping into him. The boatswain wasn’t looking too good, his tired eyes closing and opening sluggishly as he tried to stay awake, large bags under them making his sleep deprivation that more clear.

“Ehm… you speak Equish?” he asked with a tired voice.

“Yes?” the noble answered, a bit surprised by the question. Only after a second did he realise it wasn’t that obvious. Out of their entire group only two of them could actually talk in their barbaric language.

“Ah, good.” Quick Signal smiled tiredly. “Can you help me with something?”

“That depends. What are we talking about?”

Quick Signal sat tiredly on the deck before he started to speak. “I need somepony to replace me. I’ve been working for two days now without a break and I can’t even see straight anymore. Dangit, even your face is all blurry an’ stuff. I need you to go to Winterspell’s cabin and tell him to replace me.”

Dostoyevsky raised an eyebrow at the odd request. “You can’t do it yourself?”

“No.” the boatswain shook his head. “You see, we have a deal going on with the captain: he let’s usgamble on board the Little Conqueror, but his cabin is off limits for the rest of the crew. If I don’t want the boys tearing me a new one for taking away their favorite pastime I need to find a way around the agreement. As I see it, you’re not a part of the crew, so it should be fine.”

“Alright, seems good to me. Give me a minute or two.” Dostoyevsky agreed after a moment of thought and turned towards the door leading to the captain’s cabin. He paused before it though, a thoughtful frown crossing his face.

“To knock, or not to knock?” Casimir thought to himself.

Although it might have seemed strange for an outsider, this was a serious problem for the pegasus noble. He wanted to be really sure he wasn’t breaking any sort of etiquette by doing this. If Winterspell was be a proper Danzig, Plotsk, Stettin or Cracrow noble, he wouldn’t even consider going through with Quick Signal’s request, honoring the captain’s privacy. As it was however Casimir didn’t know if he should treat his fellow pegasus as a noble, or would something like this even matter in his admittedly different culture.

“Bah, screw this.” he finally came to conclusion and pushed the door open without knocking. He was greeted by the sight of a small cabin lit by a single candle attached to a small candlestick. Casimir’s eyes however quickly zeroed on the form of the cabin’s only occupant. Winterspell, sitting in front of his table was in the middle of a meal, though the abrupt entrance of the Danzigian noble left him staring wide eyed at the mercenary, a wooden fork halfway to his open mouth.

“Em...” Casimir swallowed, the realization of just how awkward his entrance really was. “Can you replace boatswain?” Finally he managed, immediately getting to the point while closing the door behind him as he entered. “The poor guy is going to hit the dirt pretty soon… wait, I meant deck.” he corrected himself immediately, a bit tongue-tied at the moment.

Winterspell, who was in the middle of eating a piece of salmon slowly finished what he already had in mouth, his fork landing in his bowl. Casimir noted that the captain had very impassive, downright indifferent facial expression. Pushing aside his bowl the pegasus focused his attention on the noble.

“Soon.” Winterspell finally replied. “I never thought Quick Signal was that smart. Didn’t think he of all ponies would come up with a loophole in our agreement.” he added after a moment, his voice betraying absolutely no emotion. “However, this is the only time I will tolerate any sort of intrusion on my cabin. You can leave now.”

“Is something troubling you?” Despite the order he was given Dostoyevsky decided to try talking to the captain. “You haven’t been looking all that well after… ehm… Fishenheim.” The pegasus noble tried to approach the issue as diplomatically as he could. It might have been nothing, but the way Winterspell tried to get rid of him seemed worrying for some reason.

“I doubt anypony would look good after that.” Winterspell replied evenly, trying to avoid giving a direct answer. “Our failure took a heavy toll on the crew’s morale, and honestly, I can’t blame them for that.”

“Look, I know you took what happened back there really hard, but I guess we did our best.” Casimir tried to reassure him. “There was nothing--”

Winterspell suddenly stood up and slammed his hoof into the table. It almost looked like he wanted to yell at his fellow pegasus, a first indication of any emotion whatsoever, but he resisted the urge and closed his jaw tight. The noble from Danzig backed away a few steps.

“You’re wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong.” Winterspell muttered, uttering every word like if it was meant to convey so much more than they meant. “Yes, we failed, and we could do nothing about it. But we didn’t do our best. Or to be more precise - it was me who didn’t do his best. It was me after all who was giving out orders. We shouldn’t have allowed them to leave with the captives. My own foolish mistake.”

“But they would kill them!” Casimir started to protest. “From my point of view it looks like you’re blaming yourself for no real reason.”

Winterspell didn’t answer. Instead he pushed his chair closer to the table and sat down. Casimir waited for a few seconds, waiting for Winterspell to say something, all the while the captain was pondering how to best convey what he wanted to say to the mercenary. For a few moments the only sound in the cabin was that of the crew outside, toiling away in their endless battle with the sea.

“Have you ever seen a convict on a galley or slave?” the captain suddenly asked.

Casimir shook his head in denial.

“I have.” He replied simply, slouching in his chair. Back when I was just a sailor serving on the “Steel of the Fatherland”, a Novigradian galley. It happened during a typical patrol near the coast of Ridge. It seemed to be a normal cruise, but we were maneuvering around one of the islands we almost bumped into a Victual ship. Their galley saw us and immediately started running. Our vessel was far bigger and bettered armed, so our captain decided to give chase.

“At first, the distance between us was growing.” Winterspell continued, a faraway look in his eyes as he recalled the past. “The Vitalian ship was simply faster. At some point our commander was considering breaking pursuit, but it was then that we realised that for some reason, the pirates started slowing down. Soon we were gaining on them, and with each passing second their galley was moving slower and slower. Finally our ships’ sides met and we boarded them. We showed them no mercy. Literally. We killed everypony, even those who tried to surrender. After the battle we checked what was under deck. When we did that, I finally realised why their ship was gradually slowing.”

“Galley slaves…” Casimir murmured, licking his suddenly dry lips.

“Indeed.” the pegasus nodded. “They were ‘old’, at least by Vitalian standards. They were kept captive for at least two years and this was their mistake. The slaves were already completely exhausted when they met us, and it only got worse when they were ordered to speed up. The pirates were whipping them, executing those who weren’t working hard enough, yet none of it worked. No matter how much the Vitalians tried, the rowers couldn’t row anymore. Unfortunately, the end of their captivity was also the end of their lives.”

Winterspell paused for a moment, trying to recall this awful sight.

“There were many ponies - earth, pegasi, and unicorns alike. Most of them young, no older than twenty five. Everypony looked the same however, the same bones visible just beneath their skin, hooves so limp they barely could feel anything in them, unnaturally thin, gaunt even, with muscles that developed in strange, unnatural ways, their eyes tired and unfocused… not all of them survived the chase. A few died from being whipped too much and from the r Vitalian attempts at making them ‘row faster’. The rest… well. They also didn’t make it. Most of them were too tired to move, and when we tried to help them and transport them onto our ship, they died. Lack of food, non-stop rowing and diseases - in the end we saved nopony.”

For a second there Winterspell shuddered, his mind’s eye replaying the horrific sight. The gaunt, starved, sick ponies staring at him with lifeless eyes like living corpses, too weak to move and doomed to die. He doubted they even knew they had been rescued, not that their rescuing helped them in the end. It was... it was a reality check for him, one that he never really forgot.

“Okay… maybe I’ll finally get to the point.” Winterspell said after a moment, getting the shuddering under control. “When Souther grabbed the kid, he manipulated me to think that by allowing them to leave I would be saving their lives. It was no coincidence that he grabbed a child and not anypony else. He knew children evoke the most sympathy and that most wouldn’t risk the life of one. Souther, the sneaky son of bitch actually thought this through and outsmarted me. But the truth is that they were all dead anyway. The miserable life of a rower on a Victa ships is no life at all. Instead of granting them a quick, relatively painless death, I sentenced them to several years of torture and suffering. My foolish mistake was that I forgot about it during this situation and he made me make a wrong decision.”

“How do you know they’ll all die?” Casimir asked through clenched teeth, equally disgusted and angry by both Winterspell’s unhonorable words and by the Victual practices described to him. “Maybe during one of our cruises one of our ships will save them? How can you be so sure?”

“Because, and you have to understand this, we stumbled upon the Vitalian ship by pure accident.” Winterspell answered calmly, closing his eyes and letting out a small sigh. “And even though we took them by surprise, we still failed. Now as a captain I have access to some data gathered by the Legions. And according to them, statistically it’s almost impossible to save captives once they are on pirate ship. I agreed to your idea of intervening in Fishenheim because we had a chance of saving them when they were still on land.”

Casimir tried to say something, but the captain beat him to the punch.

“There is one more thing… as you know I was born and raised in Novigrad.” Winterspell started seemingly randomly, his eyes opening and looking at the mercenary. “It’s a harsh and cruel city, but there is one thing I really admire about it. The Equestrian Codex allows cities of Equestria to impose capital penalties. Most of them are really cruel - the rack, iron chair, brazen bull, stoning… Novigrad also reserves the death penalty for a lot of crimes, but in Novigrad executions do not involve torture. No humiliation, no pain. Swift, quick and relieving death. I’m furious that I allowed myself to forget about this. If I didn’t than maybe I could have granted the Fishenheim peasants a swift death. Instead, I just gave them years of torture. I can’t stand ponies that enjoy the suffering of others.”

Casimir by now realised something. Winterspell was absolutely incredible when it came to hiding his emotions. He was speaking about all these awful and terrible details, yet he was as calm as could be, and besides one sudden movement at the beginning of the conservation and some slight shivering when he recalled that galley he liberated, his voice was almost monotonous.

However, the pegasus also realised something more. Winterspell was not furious, he didn’t lose contact with reality, or anything like that. He was simply sad. And no matter how much he wanted to disagree with him, Casimir had to admit that the captain had his reasons.

And then there was something more, though that came more from observing the cabin the captain resided in than from him talking. Casimir realized that Winterspell didn’t like them. And he wasn’t just thinking about his squad of mercenaries, he was thinking about the whole crew of this ship. For some reason Winterspell didn’t want to abandon his room. But was it because he prefered to be alone, or was it something else? Didn’t he care about them in the long run? Was it that he wanted to face his inner demons without anypony’s help?

Or maybe he was just over analyzing? Yea, this was probably the case...

“Did you even listen to me, Casimir?” Winterspell asked, his voice reaching the noble like through a thick fog.

“I’m sorry.” he quickly recovered, shaking his head. “I was just… thinking. Please, continue.” He added, noticing a slightly irritated look crossing the captain’s eyes.

“As I was saying before, I also failed to realise that in the long run this decision of mine was plain idiocy.” Winterspell continued after he rolled his eyes. “I allowed Souther and his men to run free. How many more lives can they take because of it? Now they can go rampant and burn some other village and kill more ponies. Stupid, stupid, stupid…”

“We killed at least half of their crew.” Casimir interrupted. “I think it will take some time for them to regroup and resupply, not to mention prepare a new raid. Maybe we didn’t eliminate them entirely, but they will not be ready to strike again anytime soon.”

“Oh, the naivety!” the captain snorted. “Unfortunately, that’s not the case. We killed cannon fodder, ponies with literally no brain that were seeking free loot and an easy way into wealth. Killing them was pointless, there’ll be always at least a few ponies that driven by their greed will kill or kidnap somepony. However, when it comes to pirates, the Vitalians exist because of different reasons. Such raids can be established as long as there is somepony competent enough to lead them, somepony skilled enough to navigate the ship, and somepony rich enough to afford it in the first place. Souther wasn’t leading this pack because of his muscles. Souther led this pack, because it was his ship and it was him who was running it.”

“Now...” Winterspell murmured. “You can tell Quick Signal I will replace him in a few minutes. You can leave.”

By now Casimir was grateful that this conservation ended. It was too much for him to take in all at once and he simply didn’t like to think that much about others ponies lives. He uttered a quick and honest “Thank you” and turned to exit the cabin.

“One more thing.” Winterspell said suddenly. The noble stopped right in front of the door and turned his head to face him.

“You did a fine job back in Fishenheim.” he started. “You proved capable despite not listening to my orders. It could end far worse, but I guess I can forgive that. As I said earlier, it was me who screwed up everything in the end.”

“But…” he changed the tone, his voice becoming venomous. “Keep in mind, that if ever a similar situation takes place and you and your comrades will go against my word again, it will not pay off for you. So let me give you a bit of advice - keep your nobles on a leash. Grainwood likes you, but if your rashness will lead you to do something very wrong, I’m going to fire you. Now, you can go.”

Casimir nodded, not really paying that much attention what the pegasus said as he left. He was just happy to get outside. Speaking of which, it was already dark, most of the sailors were already under the deck, but some of them stayed, including the poor, tired boatswain.

“So, how’s the captain?” Quick Signal asked, definitely happy that the noble finally left the cabin. He looked at him with pleading eyes, partially closed from fatigue.

The pegasus thought for a moment, then said.

“Fine.”