Caballeron

It was an odd situation he'd gotten himself into. Perhaps it was showing of his life that he found this odd, and not any of his escapades involving magical artifacts and dangerous creatures. There he had been, enjoying the town before he left tomorrow, when that little cream-colored mare ran straight into him.

Caballeron wasn't quite sure how she managed to knock him over when he was bigger and taller than she; the roll of red cloth she had might have contributed to it, on top of his wandering mind. Regardless, now she was insisting that she fix the holes in his cherished jacket she mistakenly believed she had damaged.

“A Manehatten designer, are you?” repeated Caballeron, as Miss Pommel picked up her roll of cloth. She had the cutie mark to go with such an occupation, a stylish purple hat with a red feather. “How did you end up on Saint Garnet?”

“A friend suggested I take a vacation; it is winter back home, after all.” Pommel said. True enough, her fur had a bit more fluff to it than the locals' own coats. Caballeron had been away from Equestria for so long that he forgot the seasons were reversed in the southern hemisphere,and that most ponies from home would have their winter coats grown in right now. Maybe it's the seasons that are backwards up here? wondered Caballeron,in a moment of philosophical pursuit. “How about you?” asked the mare. “What's an archaeologist doing in a small town like this?”

“I've been working my own way home over the past few weeks. I'm leaving tomorrow, actually. Perhaps you noticed a steamer at the docks?” said Caballeron.

“I saw a few freighters come and go this week, though I admit I haven't been paying attention to them. I'm leaving tomorrow as well, on the Platinum though.” replied Pommel.

“How very lucky.” he commented. That was a high-class liner for high-class ponies; not the biggest ship in the sea, but certainly one of the most expensive and comfortable. He'd been on her before, if only to meet with a client.

“Well, my work does pay well. Well enough that I can afford a stay at the big hotel here. You know the one, right?” She pointed to the tall building some distance away, a splendidly baroque structure. Caballeron nodded, feeling a tinge of regret that he couldn't afford such a lodging at the moment. He hadn't been able to for a while. “Are you staying there too?”

“No, too rich for my blood, if not my soul.” said he, sighing.

“Ah...” Pommel looked away. “I guess I assumed a doctor would be able to afford it.”

“Once, maybe. Money has been an issue as of late; I'm a victim of theft, you see.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

Caballeron wasn't too eager to explain more, though. First of all, he was not ready to share his recent and unlikely strokes of luck that had followed in the wake of the most recent “theft.” Second of all, in reference to the former “theft,” he had an unspoken agreement with that wretched Daring Do mare: neither blew the other's cover, even if he continually foiled her self-righteous quests, and she continually foiled his retirement plans.

When the occasional pony realized he shared a name with her nemesis, he merely said he was an acquaintance of “A. K. Yearling” who had let her use his name. There'd been a time when Daring Do herself was forced to use that excuse. There's a grain of truth there; we are acquaintances, technically speaking. Oh, if only that trouble-maker had two ounces of foresight and just used another name for him in her blatant propaganda and ego-tripping! Caballeron snorted in disdain.

“Did I say something wrong?” Pommel asked, looking worried.

“What?” Right, the snort, he realized. “No, that wasn't directed at you, I just had a memory of my antagonists.”

“Well, come with me, Doctor; I can get that jacket looking almost as good as new.” said Pommel, leading him to the baroque hotel. It had been two years since he was here last, not much had changed though. He even recognized some of the staff inside the opulent lobby. “I do like this place,” said the little mare, “but it is a bit expensive. At least by my former standards.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” Caballeron nodded. “Where are you from, Miss Pommel? I noticed you used the term rustic earlier. That's not exactly a common phrase.”

“It isn't?” asked Pommel. She tilted her head at him. “That's just what we call our tenants back home. My family owns land about twenty miles outside of Manehatten.”

“Well, that'd explain it. You're from the landed nobility!” exclaimed Caballeron. He was about to ask her what house her family descended from, he knew them all, but... Miss Pommel was an earth pony, just like him. Manehatten fell within the ancient borders of the petty kingdom of Eastmarch, a pegasus realm... Earth ponies like Pommel would have been the rustics, not the landowners. There must have been an interesting story behind that.

“I wouldn't go that far.” objected Pommel, glancing away. “My great-great-great-grandfather was a knight, so we just happen to get paid rent by all the farmers around our house.” She had the nerve to look embarrassed!

“That's certainly more than I can say.” Caballeron replied, recalling his own family. He would have been among the tenants, rather than among the landowners, to say the least.

Miss Pommel and he were going up the main staircase, when she suddenly stopped. “Do you see the mare in the sunhat?” she whispered.

“Yes-”

“She doesn't like how you look.” continued she. “She probably thinks your jacket is unclean.”

“How can you tell that?” whispered Caballeron back. It was kind of dirty, after weeks spent on a ship, but surely it wasn't that bad?

“After a few years working with the ponies I've worked with, I just know. It's the way they raise their noses ever so slightly when you go by, the way they they speak in double-meanings, the way they look down at you like you're a lesser creature...” said Pommel, a bitter tinge in her voice. For a moment, there was a flash of resentment on her face, but it faded quickly. “Anyways, I think we should get that washed before I do anything with it.”

“You might run into one of them in the future... You wouldn't want to be remembered as that mare who dares to call herself a designer and yet sullied her hooves with a supposedly dirty piece of work.” deduced Caballeron. From a certain point of view, that seemed very petty. But Caballeron had been around long enough to know that a little reputation went a long way in some professional fields. “I agree. Looks like I'll have to find a-”

“No need to find anything, Doctor!” Pommel interrupted. “We can just give it to the laundry mares here, I can even pay for it myself. When they're done with it, I can do my work and get it back to you.”

“That could be hours.” he said. “And it's already sunset. You'd have to keep it over night.”

“I would.” admitted Pommel, putting a hoof on her chin. “But as long as I get it back to you before either of us leaves, that shouldn't be an issue, right?”

Caballeron look up at the lobby's clock. It was already quarter to six in the evening, the light would be gone in half an hour. Did he trust this mare enough to leave her with his jacket for a night? He'd had it for twenty years, and even if it had been a cheap thing he'd only bought for the pocket space. It was strange how Miss Pommel seemed so insistent to provide this service, too.

But... She was rich enough to afford a trip to Saint Garnet; in the future, she might be rich enough to afford his own services. Perhaps she knew his profession and was hoping that he'd cut her a better deal in the future. Perhaps he could use this opportunity to make an inroad to the Manehatten elite, an entirely new market. If that was the game she was playing, then he could play one of his own right back. It was a calculated risk.

“No, it shouldn't be.” said Caballeron, as if he hadn't taken several moments to think out the situation.

“Good!” Miss Pommel said, beaming eagerly. She seems genuine, though; did I miscalculate her ambition? Did she even have any, or was a pony actually being this honestly nice? Caballeron gave over his jacket to the laundry mares, giving it a final worried glance before it was out of his hooves. “I'll work on it tonight before I go to bed, it shouldn't take too long.” She obviously hadn't taken a closer look... Oh well.

“I'm glad to hear it.” They left the building and entered onto the hotel grounds. Darkness was growing in the east, the west was stained pink and gold. It was still very warm, but most ponies were ending their days. Caballeron was intending to do the same. But he had one more thing to discuss: “I must ask, what has driven you to such an act of kindness, and so insistently? I'm a total stranger to you… I find it a most curious thing.” Miss Pommel looked thoughtful.

“For a while, I was actually convinced that the only way to get ahead in life was fight my way to the top. That's why my former boss said, at least.” sighed Pommel, before brightening again. “But, with some help from a friend, my mind was changed back. Generosity is a strength of its own. It's a far greater power than selfishness.”

Caballeron suppressed an urge to give her an incredulous look. “That's a very... brave outlook, Miss Pommel.” he told her, as politely as he could.

“I know. There'll be those who take advantage of that, but most of us are good at heart.” the little mare smiled on, looking hopefully at the sky. “It's just a matter of reaching out to that better nature of ours, to make the world a little better. And what better way than through kindness?”

That was the most adorably naive thing Caballeron had ever heard. Somepony's spent a bit too much time with the sun cultists, it seems. “I guess the world does need its idealists.” said he, wanting to tell her that wasn't how game was played. “Life philosophies aside; where and when you intend to return my jacket before we part ways tonight? My ship sails at high noon.”

“Oh, that shouldn't be a problem.” Pommel replied. “How about I meet you in front of the bank at nine? My ship leaves at nine-thirty, so that should be plenty of time for me to get there.”

“That sounds good to me. I'll be seeing you then, Miss Pommel. Don't be late.” he said jokingly. Miss Pommel nodded vigorously, before bidding him a good night.

Caballeron began his walk back, he felt completely exposed without his jacket. This must have been what poor ponies without fur felt like... He made his way back through town, reflecting on the strange turn of events that had befallen him today. But it was a nice turn of events, at least. For all Miss Pommel's incredible optimism, she'd been a pleasant pony to deal with; it was the first time in months he walked away from any kind of deal with a good feeling about it.

Unfortunately, that good feeling faded as he got closer and closer to his second-rate inn. That same unease which had been upon him all week set in again. The inn wasn't what caused it, though; the place was perfectly fine, if a bit lacking in flare. Caballeron made his way through bare-walled halls to his shabby room, and set his eyes upon the container of his discontent.

It was a dark iron chest, elegant in shape and style, sat in a corner by itself. It was short in height, but long, with three latches upon it. None had locks. Strange letters ran across the chest, etched into the metal itself. They had been spells of sealing, most likely, but they were long broken. Caballeron knew he shouldn't open the chest. Yet, his hoof reached out, and lifted the top up to see it:

The Horn of the Damned.

It was as long as his torso, formed from a smooth black material, like some kind of deeply charred ivory. Bands of the same bleak iron sank their fangs into it, bearing the same strange inscriptions. Faint channels spiraled about its surface; their purpose entirely lost on him. The more he looked at the Horn, the more anxious he got. It was not like the other artifacts he had recovered. It watched him, as much as he watched it; it knew he was there, as much as he knew it was before him. And it spoke now, in his dreams, whispering in tongues dead for a thousand years.

Many artifacts and locations had eerie names, that provoked a sense of mystery and wonder, like the Spectral Trident or Stair of Destiny. The Horn was just another one in that list. He expected just to find some old horn that made half-formed and out-of-tune notes. Instead he got this, a horn that couldn't even make a peep, and yet talked to him in a way he couldn't even understand.

And that was not to mention the strange twists of chance which had befallen him ever since he had taken the Horn. There was his escape from Timar in the south, where the entire world seemed to be on his side for once. There were the swift winds which helped Nutmeg take him north.

But when he made for the next part of his journey, to Frithland in search of a griffon history, his first ship had caught on fire before he was even on board, and the second ship cracked her boiler right as he walked up to the dock. Would the same misfortunes befall Nutmeg tomorrow?

Caballeron closed the chest. Darkness fell over the isle of Saint Garnet; ponies went to bed and the moon ascended. What's going on? he asked himself, as he removed his bandanna from around his neck, tossing it on the bedside table. There was no logical answer. Caballeron was long used to magical items, dealing with the creatures he did in the places he went, but this was the first one that had ever seemed to be directing his fate to a specific place. It was the first one that had ever spoken to him.

As he lay down in his bed, he wondered: what was happening? Why? Was this the work of the Horn or some greater power? Was it toying with him, waiting to send him to the bottom of the ocean after letting him believe he could get home safely? All these thoughts set him on edge, and the seeds of doubt stirred in his heart. Caballeron wished he had stayed out a little longer. He wished he had talked to that Pommel girl for a few minutes more. Anything was better than laying here looking into the unknowing abyss.

The dream brought the smell of iron on a cold wind, as the letters on the horn danced around him. It whispered many things, and a shadow loomed up behind him. He turned to face something terrible, and the Horn wailed.

Author's Note

Following Rarity's examples a little strongly there, aren't you Coco? I hope you realize you've stepped out of Friendship is Magic... Those last few paragraphs should give that away. Just because dark isn't a tag doesn't mean everything is sunshine and flowers; just watch the G1 pilot for proof.