Friends of the Dawn

My mother always said that violence rarely solves your problems the way you want. She taught me that the subtle art of seduction and grand play of subterfuge changes their minds better than any blade ever could.

-Mare of the Evening, Tales From a Canterlot Courtesan

With a renewed sense of purpose, the four knights returned to Canterlot in preparation for the Gala. As soon as the chariot set wheels upon the grounds of the castle, an entire herd of panicked ponies swarmed the four, demanding resolution to every minor crisis that appeared in their absence. They looked to each other with a shrug and returned to their world of work and  worry.

Constance took command of the legions of decorators to make the marble walls of Canterlot Castle a place where the zebra would feel welcome without feeling insulted. Botanists and herbalists replaced some of the plants in the castle with native grasses and flowers from the Zebrica plains, while others redecorated the palatial guest room with traditional zebra masks and gifts the princess had received over her years of rule. The entire palace began to transform from a tower of Equestrian style to a marvelous hybrid of zebra and pony stylings fit for any visitor that might pass through doors. With only two days left, the time crunch became apparent to anypony passing through the halls.

“Zillow!” yelled Constance as she fluttered around the grand foyer.. “I thought we agreed that the Zebrica violets would look far better draping off the railings rather than against the walls.”

“I do agree that would be better,” replied the zebra, fussing with the vines. “But these plants, I cannot keep together.”

“Run down to the herbalist and see if she’s got anything to help,” called Constance as she flapped away. “Please just get it done, sweetheart. I really don’t care how.” She later landed in the gardens where a crew of unicorns made themselves busy trimming bushes. Constance looked over their topiary with an approving nod before stopping in front of a pony shaped monstrosity of shrubbery.

“Were’ still working on that one,” said the gardener. “Can’t quite figure out how to carve stripes into it without looking stupid or offensive.”

“Keep at it,” Constance reassured him. “You’re doing great so far, and if worst comes to worse, just... trim it into a seapony or something.” The gardener saluted and went back to his vain attempts to tame the wild hedge.

Despite the minor problems with foliage, the rest of the castle took to the event as a duck takes to water. Year of professional training and endless parades of dignitaries made the experience old hat for them. The kitchen staff didn’t even bat an eye when Constance asked about dozens of bizarre and exotic cuisines. They simply turned to their pantries and got started making samples of meals for approval. It wasn’t until the day before the arrival of the Zebrica envoy that Constance realized she was fretting over every little thing for no reason.

As Zillow told her, zebras weren’t big on pomp and ceremony the way ponies were. Instead they preferred to tell stories by the firelight and perform dances to show their celebration. While they would appreciate and enjoy the gestures put forth by the castle, they wouldn’t be impressed by it. It didn’t matter if the china patterns weren’t perfect or if the traditional masks weren’t exact in their messages. The fact that they had showing hospitality was enough for them.

Not that it made any difference for the planned entertainment. Entertainment from traditional Canterlot plays to the unique dances of the Stalliongrad gypsies ran through Bard’s checklist like wild deer  The entourages of the far flung Equestrians had arrived while Bard was still away, and integrating them into a cohesive show for the diplomats proved as challenging and effective as herding house cats through flaming hoops. Though no stranger to the prima donnas and drama of showbiz, the lifestyle of performance had changed since he’d taken the stage so many years ago. Instead of managing his own act, he found himself running from room to room, trying to force cooperation out of ponies for just one night.

A dozen scrolls floated before Bard as he looked over the lists of entertainment for the night. The relaxing spring a long gone memory by this point, he rubbed the sleep from his eye before turning to final scroll of preparations.

“Alright,” he sighed. He looked out the gathered ponies, a frazzled collection of pegasi, earth ponies and unicorns. “Arpeggio,” he said, pointing to the golden unicorn, “first out is the Royal Equestrian harpist set. They need to be on stage by the end of dinner, and be playing as soon as the dignitaries enter.” He pointed to the unicorn that had busied himself with tuning a set of pipes. “Pan, it’s your job to keep the gypsys away from the harpists for the entire performance. After we’re done, let them kill each other. I really don’t care at this point.”

“I shoulda been a cook,” lamented Pan.

“And I should have stayed in the military,” said Bard. “But I’m a giant coward and you’re a lousy chef, so let’s all just play with the cards we’ve been dealt.” He yawned and shook his head. “Alright, Moon Meadow.” He looked up to find that the pegasus had gone missing. “Where the heck is she?”

“Up here, sir!” called a voice from the rafters. The gathered ponies looked to the ceiling where a green pegasus finished tying off sandbags in the rafters. “Sets and curtains are good to go, sir.”

“Fantastic,” said Bard, checking off another item on his list. “Alright, I’m going to call out names. When you hear your name, you tell me how ready your performers are. Midnight?”

“One hundred Percent, sir.”

“Dandylion.”

“Ninety five percent, sir.”

“Featherfall.”

“Um, about that, sir.” Everypony turned to the white pegasus hiding behind a bit of set. “The dancers from Hoofswell haven’t arrived yet. Madame Constance told me they got waylaid by a late spring snow storm and they won’t be able to make it.”

“So we’ve got a hole in the show,” said Bard.

“Yes, sir,” she said. “I guess so. Sorry.”

Bard sighed again and put a hoof this his head. It wasn’t her fault that her charges hadn’t shown up, nor was it her fault that the set list was going to have to be rewritten. Still, he couldn’t help but shake his head and mutter to himself. What the other ponies heard was a mumbled argument that Bard seemed to be losing with himself.

“All right,” he said at last. “Options, ponies. I want to hear options.”

“Uh, we don’t have any,” said Midnight. “All the ponies good enough to perform for visiting dignitaries are either here or too far away to get here in time.”

“Alright, then how much can we lengthen each set?” asked Bard, tossing his scrolls into a pile.

“Not much,” said Arpeggio. “We’re still going to have a hole about twenty minutes long.”

“Why don’t you do a stage show?” asked Featherfall. “You used to be a magician, right?”

Bard cocked an eyebrow at the remark. “I haven’t done a stage show since before the war.”

“Which one?” asked Dandylion. “Actually, it doesn’t matter. It’s not like you’re out of practice. I’ve seen you doing table magic for your friends. Featherfall can be your assistant. I’ll dig up a costume for you two and Midnight can handle the stage management.”

“I’ve got costumes,” sighed Bard. “I’ll go get my kit. You four keep the performers away from each other until I get back.” He rubbed his temple and let the scrolls float back to his saddle bags. “I’ve got to go all the way across Canterlot, so let’s have everyone on stage at eight for the final dress rehearsal. Featherfall, you come with me. How do you look in fishnets?”

***

Armed with a blueprint and a careful eye, Ridgeline prowled the marble halls of Canterlot Castle looking for signs of weakness in the castle’s security. He planted himself at the corner of a hallway, watching in silence as the castle staff went about their daily tasks. With a clear view of both hallways, he ticked off on the blueprint the areas he couldn’t see and made a note to have additional guards posted in those spot. While he stood still, the echo of two guards laughing rang clear as a bell in his ears. He waited, the laughing growing louder as they approached.

Now he could clearly see the two guards: a tall blue earth pony and a short orange pegasus. They walked through the hall, cracking jokes and pushing past any pony that got in their way. Ridgeline recognized them as Butterfly and Dusty Rose, two junior members of Celestia’s guards with inflated egos and no sense of propriety. They stopped a kitchen mare carrying desserts to snag a treat off her tray despite her protests. They continued down the hall, still making bawdy jokes at the expense of their conquests.

“Did I tell you that I caught Madame Constance changing the other day?” asked Private Butterfly. “Holy Celestia, that mare is hot. I’d like to get her wings all...”

Ridgeline took a step forward, blocking the hallway with his enormous frame. The two soldiers, focused on a passing flank, walked directly into him. Their armor clattered against Ridgeline’s in a castrophony on steel on bronze. The two backed up a step, ready throw hooves at whoever blocked their path when they realized it was Ridgeline staring down at the two in a silent glare.

“C....c...colonel Ridgeline, sir!” stammered Private Butterfly. He threw a hasty salute, while trying to remain as still as possible. “Sorry sir! Didn’t see you there, sir! A thousand apologies, sir!” Dusty Rose adjusted his helmet back to the correct positions before throwing a salute of his own.

“Well, well, well,” said Ridgeline. “If it isn’t the two biggest failures in entire Equestrian army. Tell me, how old are you two?”

“Sir, we’re both fourteen, sir!” snapped Private Dusty Rose. Ridgeline continued to glare at them and slowly shook his head.

“At fourteen, I was a veteran of dozen battles,” said Ridgeline. He removed his helmet and ran a hoof along a vicious scar on his neck. “I got this scar killing a pony that looked a lot like you.” He jabbed the armored hoof at Butterfly. The private’s breastplate dented from the impact and shoved him back a full foot. Despite the throbbing pain in his chest, Butterfly tried to remain perfectly still. “I snagged my coat on his shield as I tore through him.” Their faces grew pale as Ridgeline passed his gaze between the two. It was silent moment before he spoke again, his somber baritone dipping into a gravelly bass. “How did you two come to have such cushy jobs in the castle?”

The two privates looked to each other, unsure of exactly how to answer the question. “Uh...” Dusty Rose started. “My father is Captain Honeycomb, sir. He got me this job right out of basic.”

“My mother is good friends with General Minty Rest, sir,” replied Private Butterfly.

“Must be nice to have people willing to just give you things,” said Ridgeline. By now a crowd of servants and nobility had gathered to watch as Ridgeline dressed down the two young soldiers. The hall stood in rapt silence as Ridgeline’s barely whispered words fell upon the two soldiers like a ton of bricks. “And it must be nice to spend all your time leering at flanks and making a nuisance of yourself while others bust their tails to get things done.” He looked down on the cowering soldiers, hints of black clouded the white of his eye. The two privates took a cowering step back from their commanding officer. “I don’t care how young you are or how you got this assignment. This is the military and lives depend you taking your post seriously. If I catch you two idiots screwing around again, I’ll have you shipped to New Hoofswell. If you’re lucky, you’ll freeze to death before the griffins can eat you.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” bellowed the two before turning to flee. They got about four steps before a growl halted them in their tracks.

“Did I dismiss you?” Ridgeline snarled. The two turned back to Ridgeline, their hooves quaking. “If I ever hear you even speak of Madame Constance again, I’ll will grind you to paste beneath my hooves. She is a lady of honor, no matter what you may have heard about her past.” He stomped a hoof, rattling the windows and chandeliers of the hall beneath his might. The gathered crowd jumped backward as the hall quaked beneath them and the two privates nearly jumped out of their armor. “Now get out of my sight.”

Private Butterfly and Private Dusty Rose turned and bolted through the hallway as fast as their armored hooves could carry them. Ridgeline, on the other hand, simply turned back to his checklist and continued his slow walk through the halls. The black along his eye began to fade back to white as he talked to himself.

“One more guard here,” he said to no one in particular. “And one on each end of the hall.”

Butterfly and Dusty Rose blew past Heart Chase in such a hurry that they didn’t even stop to salute. Heart Chase ignored the two, instead running toward the massive crash she’d heard just moments earlier. She spun around the corner to find the hall, not in a state of panic, but full of ponies going about their jobs. Ridgeline trotted to her and gave a salute.

“I assume you came running because of that crash?” he asked.

“Sounded like somethin’ hit the castle,” said Heart Chase.

“Just making a point to those two young privates,” said Ridgeline. “I really don’t think there’s any hope for them.”

Heart only shrugged and looked up at her companion. The hint of black at the corner of his eye caught her attention. “You okay, hun?”

“Oh, uh...” Ridgeline looked away, turning so that Heart could only see his eyepatch. “Nothing. Just got a little angry. I’m fine.”

“Alright then,” said Heart Chase. “You know where to find me if you need somethin’.” She walked away, turning an eye back to Ridgeline as he inspected the halls. That darkness in his eye was dangerous, and they all knew it, but what worried her more than Ridgeline losing control were the odd reports of a shadow sneaking around the castle grounds.

For the past few days, several guards reported seeing a shadow in even the brightest halls. Further investigation turned up nothing, even when Bard searched the area for traces of magic. Still, it was enough to raise an alert at the back of Heart’s mind. WIth all the heightened security for the Gala, somepony would turn up something solid, and they could all just relax.

Heart trotted toward the high towers of Canterlot castle, going over the last of the security preparations and making the final checks on the weather. The stairwells echoed with her hoofbeats as she made her way up the marble towers toward the weather nest. It reminded her of the Griffin’s Rookery near Hoofswell where she fought the last vestiges of the Nightmare demon.

A cold chill ran through her coat as she remembered the creature’s dying shrieks. Powered by the demon trapped in his mind, Ridgeline destroyed the monster with his bare hooves and nearly killed every other pony there in his berserk rage. If it hadn’t been for the friendship of a filly, everything would have ended right there. It reminded Heart that she’d been lucky more than once in the past few years, and that she couldn’t rely on luck much longer.

After an impossibly long walk, the stairs eventually emptied out into “The Nest” where a dozen or so pegasi were either napping, playing cards, or otherwise simply relaxing. At the clop of Heart’s hoofsteps, every set of eyes turned to face the stairwell. Heart took off her helm, and swept her sweaty mane from her eyes.

“Ya’ll are lucky you can fly,” she panted.

“Such are the gifts of the pegasi,” said a lavender pegasus. The raindrops on his flank and bars on his uniform told Heart everything she needed to know. “I assume you’re here to check on the weather report?”

“Gimme a minute, Cloud Drop,” huffed Heart. She leaned against a windows, trying to catch her breathe in rasping coughs. After a minute, she shook her head and stood tall. “Alright, Captain, let’s hear it.”

“High atmospheric winds are blowing in from the north in excess of fifty miles an hour, headed by a large mass of clouds.” Cloud Drop pointed to a map of Equestria. “Since it’s headed due south, I can only assume that it’s Star Heart bringing the New Hoofswell and Griffin delegates.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time that ol’ unicorn’s done that,” said Heart Chase. “Is that gonna cause any problems from tomorrow’s ceremonies?”

“My pegasi have been compensated by moving masses of colder air into the region to compensate. It’s going to be a bit nippy tomorrow evening, but we shouldn’t have any rain until next week. So clear skies all around, ma’am.”

“Well that’s just great,” said Heart. “I knew ya’ll wouldn’t let Canterlot down.”

“We are the best, ma’am,” replied Cloud Drop. “But if I may make a suggestion? Why not send Madame Constance up here next time instead of walking up thirty flights of stairs?”

“Boy, don’t go tellin’ me how to live my life,” said Heart Chase. “‘Sides, I could use the exercise. Gonna have cake to burn off my belly tomorrow.”

“So you don’t want a ride back to the lower levels?”

Heart looked back down the spiraling staircase with a groan. “I wouldn’t say no if you ain’t busy.”

***

The city of Canterlot hummed with activity as Featherfall and Bard made their way through the streets toward an small house overlooking the cliff face. With a simple spell, the lock clicked and the door swung open. Inside the unassuming home was simple furniture, obviously old but well cared for. Lining the walls were tapestries of Equestrian history mixed in with flags of Equestria, and a tattered herald of the Lunar Republic behind a piece of glass. Featherfall glanced around the room for a moment, taking in the quiet peace of historian’s home. It wasn’t till her eyes caught the painting above the mantle that she put a hoof to her mouth in a gasp.

Above the mantle was portrait of four unicorns, all sky blue with white hair. A mother and father stood smiling down on their twin colts, and the brothers shared a cutie mark of a crescent moon. The portrait had been posed at night, and the mareless moon illuminated the happy family as sure as the sun lit the day.

“Is that... Halberd?” asked Featherfall. “Leader of the Lunar Rebellion?”

Bard didn’t hear the question, as he was busy searching for something in a closet off the living room. Featherfall couldn’t stop staring at the painting, and after a while, it seemed to stare back at her. A chill ran down her spine, and she turned away from the happy family above the fireplace.

“Found it!” said Bard, producing a top hat and tails. “I knew Mom couldn’t get rid of our old act.”

“This is your mother’s place?” asked Featherfall.

“Oh, yes,” said Bard, floating a trunk out of the closet. “She moved here after Ponyville got leveled during the invasion. It took us week to move all her stuff here. She never throws out anything.”

“And... that family above the mantle is yours?” asked Featherfall.

Bard put the trunk down and cleared his throat with an almost guilty cough. “Yeah that’s the whole family,” he said. He pointed to the stallion, then to the colt sitting at his feet. “Halberd and Glaive, great leaders of the Lunar Rebellion. Prized generals of Nightmare Moon, and butchers of Everfree Castle.” He let out a weary sigh. “They may not have been on the right side of history, but they fought for what they thought was right and for that I can’t fault them. Even Mom was in the army for a while before things got really bad.”

“You mother was part of the Lunar Rebellion?” asked Featherfall.

“Well, I was too when it first started,” said Bard. “If you remember, we thought we were fighting for Luna back then.” Featherfall winced at the mention of the Night Princess. “It turns out we were wrong. Dad and Glaive kept fighting for Nightmare Moon. I took Mom back to Ponyville and then defected to the Kin of Luna.”

“Where’s your mom now?” asked Featherfall.

“She went to go see some of the other mares that she served with,” said Bard, gathering up the chest of costumes and props. “She didn’t do any fighting, but she was a mess officer. She called her tent Glittershine’s Good Eats and mothered every pony that came through the door.” Bard paused for a moment. “Now that you mention it, she’s been gone longer than she said she was going to be.”

“I’m sure she’s fine,” said Featherfall. “There’s so much history in here. Where’d she get all this stuff?”

Bard looked around the living room for a moment, taking in the tapestries, and noticing for the first time in a long while all the collected art and memorabilia. Some of it he remembered acquiring on the road with Glaive, while other objects came home with Glittershine during the war. Most of it had just come into her possession by pure chance, trickling in from friends passed.

“Well, when you get to be her age, the things you have remind you of the times you’ve forgotten.” Bard wiped some of the dust off the case containing the blood stained Lunar Republic banner. “Even if they’re memories you’d rather just forget.”

“So did you find what you were looking for?” asked Featherfall after a silent minute.

Bard snapped back to reality, and shook his head. “I did,” said Bard, producing another tuxedo. “How do you feel about getting sawn in half?”

***

Pain.

Iron Pick was used to pain. From his humble beginnings as a miner, the pain of hard work followed him through his life. The dull ache let you know you were alive and that your honest labor put bread on the table for another day. That was a good pain, but it wasn’t the pain he felt now.

When he joined the military, pain followed him throughout his training in the form of cuts, aches, and scrapes. A thousand push ups, and a thousand miles marched in full kit left the body sore and achy, but that pain became a symbol of pride. It became a common bond between brothers and sisters in arms. That was a pain to be proud of, but this wasn’t the pain he felt now.

On the battlefield fighting against the Lunar Rebellion, pain followed in the form of grievous wounds. Iron Pick vividly remembered the time he caught an arrow in his side. He recalled with misery how it stuck in his rib, and how the infection nearly killed him. That pain to worry about, but it wasn’t the pain he felt now.

His friend pain followed him into old age. His joints and muscles stiffened as the years progressed, taking with them the limberness of youth, but such was the price of living. The aches and stiffness reminded him that he was alive, and that he had accomplished so much in his years. It was a pain of the elderly, but it wasn’t the pain he felt now.

No, he pain he felt now was that of terror. There no pride to attach to it; no real reason for the crippling agony inflicted upon him. There was only suffering and misery that kept Iron Pick from his feet. He opened his eyes a hair to gaze upon the multitude of ponies that lie in torture on the dirt floor around him. Each and everyone a unicorn; each and everyone in just as much pain as he. It was a hall of suffering, and there was no respite.

He remembered a spell from long ago that the company medic taught him which would alleviate pain, but left the recipient blinded to the world. So unbearable was the pain, the ebony stallion cared not a single whit that he would be defenseless against the world. He only wished for the pain to stop.

As he concentrated his magic, a soft sobbing caught his ear. Next to him, a mare about his own age tried and failed to hold back her tears from the endless suffering surrounding them. Her sky blue coat and grey mane, barely visible in the dim prison hut, seemed familiar to him somehow. Through the haze of pain, he couldn’t place it, but something about her called to him. The spell began to blossom and he touched his horn to the mares side. With a silent glow, her weeping stopped. The pain faded from her body and she began a slow drift into sleep.

Iron Pick was not so lucky.

From above him, a gem of pure onyx sparked with a bolt of power that caught Iron Pick’s horn like a lightening rod. The gem arced for a full minute as Iron Pick filled the hut with screams of suffering. The screaming only stopped when gem ceased, leaving Iron Pick a twitching and smoking mess.

Glittershine’s eyes opened to gaze upon her wounded savior. Though the stupor of the spell enveloped her, she summoned the energy to put her hooves around Iron Pick. She placed her head on his neck, and held him as he wept in unbridled agony. She didn’t know where he came from, or even his name, but his kindness reminded her of her late husband. Perhaps she could thank him once this was all over.

That is, if they lived that long.