Etiamsi Omnes, Ego Non- The Avatars

Chapters

Part 1.2- Loyalty: The Everloyal
Part 2.1- Laughter: The Magnificent One
Part 2.2- Laughter: The Endless Grin
Part 3.1- Generosity: The Healing Touch And Iron Heart
Part 0.0- The Elements
Part 1.1- Loyalty: I Answer Need of Woman

Part 1.2- Loyalty: The Everloyal

“Are the special operations on schedule?” The Black Knight asked as he walked down the tunnels of the underground. The corridor was illuminated by magic gems and the occasional electric light, crossed by other passages. Rebels and refugees of all species passed occasionally, throwing him a smile and a thump of their chest in salute.

“The necessary projects are in the development phase. There's little we can do without... you know...” replied the figure beside the Black Knight. She was a unicorn mare, with a dark black coat and midnight blue mane. She wore a set of thick black plastic glasses, green scrubs and a dingy lab coat. The flapping of the coat revealed a ribbon hanging off of her tail. “At least now we have one, and that has made all the difference.”

“That's why you're in charge, Dr. Mondlicht. The Arch-Magus thought enough of you to set you as head of Paddock Fifty-One, so you're perfect for the head of special projects,” the Black Knight said with a nod.

The mare, Autumn Mondlicht, looked through the papers on the clipboard she was carrying. “We had the forges glowing for days, turning out the parts needed, in all the sizes and shapes that would be most useful. We also had our gem hunters and enchanters working overtime to get exactly the types required according to the theoretical framework. But it's all moot until...”

“Yes, the grim reality of the project,” the Black Knight sighed. “Did you at least have abundant oaths?”

“More than abundant,” Autumn said, looking through her papers some more. “The symbol came at just the right time. Riding the wave of success of the raid and anger over the fall of Zayats I got oaths from all the remaining Przewalskiveks. Then a general collection of oaths from the workers and the scouts.”

“Then I take it that our journey to the secure location indicates we may have something?” The Black Knight asked.

“It was one of the escapees,” Autumn said sadly. “She said she can't go on. She screams in the night and feels like her whole body is on fire. Preliminary examination shows potential nerve damage, as well as the severe mental distress.”

“I take it a sedative won't help?” The Black Knight queried.

“No, sir. She refuses to be put out by chemical means. It seems they used hypnotics as part of a cocktail to induce hallucinations, dissociation and uncertainty of self. If this was before...” Autumn began.

“Zayats said the same,” the Black Knight quickly noted. “Tragically, we have only the doctors we could retain, plus the scant few we can train. Mostly magical or theoretical, not psychiatric. We do the best we can...”

“Help and support are excellent things, sir, but we have no promises of success. Even professionals sometimes need the aid of drugs and they don't always succeed,” Autumn noted.

“I feel disgusted by the whole thing. But her wishes are her wishes. She retains autonomy to the end. More mercy than the caribou give,” the Black Knight said with some contempt.

The pair walked on in silence, through a twisting and circuitous route that eventually let to a metal door. Two magical keys and a button sequence later the door slid open to reveal the polished whiteness of a laboratory setting. Labcoat-clad scientists of various species and both genders tinkered at various workstations. Chemicals bubbled away almost pleasantly under vapor hoods, electronic devices whined and clicked as they moved, magical gems pulsed and crackled as they discharged and drew in energy.

At the far end of the room were six doors, imposing metal ones like the entrance. Each one had an unassuming metal plaque with a single word in block letters. The duo unlocked and entered the room with the door marked Loyalty.

Like the other room it was polished and white. Unlike the other room it was long and comparatively narrow. There was nothing inside save three long metal tables, and a huge machine which took up the back wall. The thing was a fairly disorganized collection of metal, glass, wires, gems and plastic parts. At the front of it, attached but capable of being removed, was the necklace containing the Element of Loyalty.

On the middle table there was a unicorn, with a plaster lump over her removed horn. She was nude, exposing her slim figure and her pale cream coat. Her pale blue mane was a tangled, matted mess, and looked like it had been yanked at. Her eyes were severely bloodshot and they darted around fearfully at every noise. “You're here! Is it... time?”

“We need the other bits to complete this whole thing according to the plans,” Autumn said gently.

“You're certain this is how you wish it to be? Absolutely and irrevocably certain?” The Black Knight asked.

“When the symbol came, and we swore the oath, I knew it was time,” the mare said, fatigue heavy in her voice.

“You understand that this may not even work?” Autumn asked. “Before the element it was all theoretical. Even now you are the first one...”

“I want to help. I'm no good at fighting now, but from what you say I could be better. And that's what I want. After living through that Tartarus I want to fight back,” the unicorn said, her voice growing angrier as she spoke.

“There is also no promise that what haunts you now will leave you alone. If it persists...” the Black Knight began.

“Then everything will end up like I wanted anyway,” the mare said, flatly.

Silence descended on the room as the trio waited uncomfortably. It was finally broken with the door sliding open to reveal the Mysterious Mare-Do-Well, carrying what looked like a modestly sized plastic chest that clanked faintly.

“The items are here,” Autumn said with some nervousness. “Should we really attempt all the additions at once? Proof of concept would be sufficient...”

“We don't get experiments and do-overs,” the Black Knight said, firmly. “Each attempt means that a precious life was lost. Not a single one must be squandered. All, or nothing.”

“Of course, sir,” Autumn said, opening the chest after Mare-Do-Well had set it down. “I think we figured out the power issue. The whole system can be charged with sun, kinetic impact energy, minor direct mana drawing, lightning strikes, and charged gems, which can be replaced. That's in addition to some semblance of a functioning metabolism.”

“Miss Mare-Do-Well...” the unicorn said, which drew over the masked heroine. “When you became the Element of Loyalty I was happy. It meant things were moving along. We were coming back to the world that had once been. I only hope that this works. That your element makes me... I don't even know.”

Mare-Do-Well reached out and took the mare's hand, silently giving it a comforting squeeze and a soft rub.

Autumn pulled lightweight metal parts out of the chest, looking like tubes filled with wires and small plates with electrodes on one side. “We made the essential components as light as possible, for ease of installation. All secured to itself, so there would be no.. drilling or riveting into bones or similar. The heavy brass and steel armor will be fitted after the initial action, to allow for a custom fit.”

The Black Knight reached into the chest and carefully pulled out a gold-colored mask, with glowing crystal eyes and a long horn emerging from the forehead. “I guess she gets her horn back as well.”

“They will all come with that. A modular piece. But it is also a means of returning the horn. They also get artificial wings that function with some degree of capability,” Autumn explained. “If they want to fight so badly, they deserve the tools to do it well.”

“When do we... apply the components?” The Black Knight asked.

“As soon after the end comes as possible. By the calculations there is a large window for this but the sooner, the better,” Autumn replied.

The Black Knight and Autumn laid the various components on the tables to either side of the unicorn in the center. Throughout all that Mare-Do-Well stood, holding the mare's hand comfortingly.

“Mare-Do-Well, we need you now. You need to activate the Element and then... we will see,” Autumn said with a sigh.

Mare-Do-Well nodded slowly and hesitantly released the unicorn's hand, strolling over to the large device. She gingerly touched her fingers against the sword-shaped central gem and bowed her head. The black and white layers of alabaster glowed brightly, the power surging from that into the machine, whose gems flashed and sparked. The mobile portions thrummed and churned, pistoning or turning as necessary.

Autumn held out a green gem to the unicorn on the table. The small thing was a sickly green color and faintly pulsed within. “This... is what you wanted.”

The mare reached up and took the gem, bloodshot eyes staring at it with a mix of fear and desire. “One bite?”

“A single bite and it is done,” the Black Knight said with a nod.

The mare hesitated a bit, then placed the gem in her mouth. “Is there any pain?”

Autumn shook her head. “It's a layered effect. The painkiller, then the... rest.”

“This is the only sedative I could take now,” the mare said with a soft laugh, rubbing the gem against her teeth.

“There's still a chance,” the Black Knight noted. “There are gentle sedatives and we still do have some psychiatrists...”

“You want to preserve lives,” the mare said gently. “I want to save more than my own. And I will.”

“It's your choice. More than anything, that is important...” the Black Knight said with a neutral expression and tone.

The mare didn't say anything more, she brought her teeth down and crushed the gem. The thing shattered easily, and a green liquid spilled out over her tongue, becoming a green mist as it found the back of her throat. She swallowed loudly and lightly squirmed. A warm numbness spread from her throat through the rest of her, reaching the tips of her fingers and the fleshiest part of her hooves. Her bloodshot eyes fell closed, and her nervous breath slowed. First she only breathed evenly and shallowly. Then not at all.

Autumn and the Black Knight watched the mare expire, Autumn immediately placing her fingers to the unicorn's neck, then her wrist. “It's done. Quickly, do it just like the schematic showed.”

Both ponies went into action, wrapping metal bands with the attached tubes around her limbs, placing the plates down on her back, belly and chest. Electrodes were carefully pushed into her flesh, and all the parts carefully arranged. Lastly, the plaster was taken from her horn, and the area brushed clean before the mask was pressed onto her face and secured around her head by more metal bands.

Through the whole process Mare-Do-Well had just watched. Her reaction was unknown, given her full-body costume, but the automatic reaction of a finger wiping beneath a goggled eye gave a good indication. She bowed her head and concentrated harder.

The machine thrummed and crackled louder, more powerfully. Sparks leaped off from one metal point to another, until the power surges grew large enough to cause sparking jumps from the machine to the point of the mask's horn. The sparks leaped more and more frequently, each sparking jump causing the mare's body to quiver and twitch.

The machine then began to hum quietly, a wavering aura of magical force moving out from it and washing over the room. The gems on the various plates, tubes and the mask began to glow, at first faintly, but with increasing strength. They flashed in time with the sparks from the machine, which continued to make the mare spasm.

“I remember when a grim task used to mean custodianship of dangerous magic,” Autumn said, flatly, as she averted her gaze from the happening.

“I remember when a grim task meant facing natural evil, like an angry hydra,” the Black Knight said. “But there were also instances of genuine malice. Ponies could be bad. But even that task was never so grim...” He didn't look away, but his eye twitched with each spasm.

The machine reached a sort of crescendo with a brilliant flash of light, the magical aura suffusing the environment with a feeling of emotional heaviness and the tingle of magical power. The hum peaked, the magic crackled, then the tones dropped as the machine went still and silent.

Autumn, the Black Knight and Mare-Do-Well had to wait a moment to let their eyes return to normal after the tremendous flash. When they could see again nothing much had changed. The mare still lay on the middle table, body covered with the metal tubes, plates and the mask. But all the gems on the parts were glowing, pulsing with a rhythm like a heartbeat.

Slowly, haltingly, one arm started to rise, reaching up for the ceiling. A husky, deep sound emerged from the mouth of the mare, which was contained inside the mouth portion of the mask. There was enough space within to allow for movement.

“I think...” Autumn whispered, stepping forward. “I almost can't believe it happened.”

Mare-Do-Well slowly stepped forward and took hold of the hand that was reaching up. She squeezed the hand, and got a firm squeeze in return. She took the other hand and slowly helped the reanimated mare to turn on the table and sit up.

“Thank you,” the mare said in a husky, raspy tone. She still had a feminine sound but it was dropped as deeply as it could go. “I rise, by Loyalty's grace. I will not rest until the land I knew returns.”

Plates partially covered her belly, were placed along her spine in three segments and covered the top of her chest, all made of lightweight metal alloys and studded with gems. The metal tubes were placed along her legs, segmented but with wires joining them. They also ran down her arms, each one ending at the top of her wrists, with two huge, greenish-colored gems per terminus. The plates and tubes all had wires running along to connect them together, the chest plate and top back plates connected to the mask.

Autumn reached into the plastic chest and took out a folded piece of paper. She opened it up into a poster-sized image of an armored caribou, looking threatening, with scored areas on his body. “These are used for archers, but we need to see...”

“I don't know if you even know how to use the system we have attached, but please try,” the Black Knight said gently, as Autumn taped the poster to the wall, opposite from where the Black Knight and the mare were standing.

“I understand. I will do what must be done,” the mare said. She stood as far from the target as she could and lifted an arm, palm down, fingers closed. She held it out for a while, but nothing came of the action.

“The systems is new to her,” Autumn said. “Perhaps it will take time for her to get used to the new connections and the power.”

“It was a fairly ambitious addition. Essential, but ambitious,” the Black Knight commented.

Mare-Do-Well slowly came over to the mare, who remained standing and aiming. She placed her hands comfortingly on the unicorn's shoulders and whispered in her ear. “You are loyal to a nation that never stopped loving you. You remember a land that once was. You can let it be again. You are moved by loyalty. Let it direct all that is in you. Your honor, your dedication, and your rage. Your rage can do good for all. You know what that figure is, what it represents. Do what must be done, like I did, for the sake of the nation that never abandoned you.”

The eye-gems on the mare's mask, which had been a softly pulsing white, grew red, and became steady. The arm started to tremble softly as the fingers clenched in extra tight. “In the name of loyalty to Equestria, destructive and abusive figures will be extirpated!” The gems on the end of the tubes glowed a brighter, more intense green for a moment before a lightning bolt jolted out with tremendous force.

The paper target was vaporized in a shocking flash of crackling electricity and a rush of fire. The stone wall of the room exploded out, creating a modest divot. The whole area was filled with the stench of burned paper and ozone, while the titanic crack and flash of light had temporarily blinded and deafened the other three figures.

Again, there was a period of recovery from the intensity of the effect. Autumn was the first to speak, with some added volume. “I think we can call that a success!”

“We can examine actual accuracy with more robust targets,” the Black Knight said, a bit loudly. “And thank you, Mare-Do-Well. Whatever you said was successful.”

The mare slowly lowered her arm and turned to regard Autumn and the Black Knight, her eye-gems back to normal. “Thank you. Now I may serve this nation.”

“You're very welcome. And thank you for your loyalty to the nation that will be once more,” the Black Knight said with a bow. He turned to Mare-Do-Well and pointed to the machine. “Take your Element for now, you might need it.” He then turned to Autumn. “Can you move this to a larger and more easily accessible location? We'll need to get new loyal folk to it quickly.”

“Once the proof of concept was done I had planned to put it in a main area, near Mare-Do-Well so she could bring the Element as needed. I'll go get some help moving it to the new location,” Autumn said, turning to leave.

“Wait. We really should choose what to call these new soldiers,” the Black Knight said. He turned to the unicorn and stroked his chin. “Do you still remember your name?”

“I am Bluebonnet,” the mare said, “And I am ever loyal.”

“She chose a perfect title by accident,” Autumn said with a slight nod. “We can call the group the Everloyal. They certainly will be.”

“It seems perfect,” the Black Knight concurred. “Please, go to other matters. I will see to Bluebonnet.”

Mare-Do-Well went out first, having taken her necklace back. Autumn paused to close the plastic chest again and carry it out with her, leaving the Black Knight and Bluebonnet.

The Black Knight regarded Bluebonnet for a long moment, noting her rigid posture and stable stance, in contrast to the trembling, tired and haunted wreck she had been. “You recalled your name. That was always a possibility. It's highly positive. But do you remember who you are, the you besides a name?”

“No. I recall vague images, a memory of memory, knowing I had a life and still feel certain impressions regarding personal taste. I know I am Bluebonnet and that Bluebonnet was a certain way. But for now, I have other considerations,” Bluebonnet said in her new, husky voice.

“Does it bother you that some of your memory is gone?” The Black Knight asked.

“I thought it would. But I feel somewhere inside it is better I do not remember,” Bluebonnet said.

The Black Knight nodded, and opened the door to let her out. As Bluebonnet passed him he considered the situation. She recalled she had a life, she had her own will, and her name. She had become a fighter for freedom, in loyalty to the nation she missed. “Enduring loyalty. Not by force, by choice. Not for selfish reasons, but for the good of all.”

Part 2.1- Laughter: The Magnificent One

The rebellion had many more concerns than simple strikes back at the ruling order. They had a population to care for, including a large number of non-combatants, who were so due to age, infirmity or simple inability. Most were the free population of Equestria, while some were the refugees that came after, from many points. The overlap was significant.

There were, for instance, the survivors of the Stalliongrad Massacre. Being the closest Equestrian city, Stalliongrad was the first one invaded by the Crystal Empire/Caribou forces. In retaliation for the Red Legion holding back the invasion and helping numerous citizens flee the city the forces of the Stag King not only instituted standard torture for females but also killed half the surviving males.

Other refugees poured in from captive areas. Zebras fleeing the collaborationist regime, for instance. Aegeman citizens escaping their conquered homeland, telling suitably epic tales of how mighty King Minos and the whole army of Concrete fell in glorious defense of the escapees. And Diamond Dogs, plenty of them.

When the United Colonies fractured, the collaborationists attempted to capture the free Dogs. They were to give them over as tribute to the caribou. Fortunately, with most of the educated ones being free of control it was easy to outwit the collaborators and flee en masse.

The tunnel works of the free Dogs helped very much, but were often insufficient for proper housing. The rebellion couldn't let their most helpful allies live in cramped squalor where it could be avoided. The relocation policies of the caribou regime provided a solution.

With all the forced removals and concentration into camps, combined with the general slaughter of the resisting where killing was the expedient solution, whole villages had been completely depopulated. They stood, ruined, dotting the landscape of Equestria like zombies. They were dead but still they stood and held some semblance of life.

Some of those villages were outside of patrol routes, with buildings that were less ruined than others. They made for a perfect opportunity. Given repairs by those to inhabit them they would become an above-ground home for a Diamond Dog population.

The small village of Trout, arranged beside a large lake that retained its beauty even in spite of the caribou, was such a place. Dog refugees had been moved in with spare parts and tools, and offered the location for a new home. While they also added an extensive underground network for part-time habitation, they still fixed up and inhabited the areas above.

The village again was made of thatched roofs and white plaster, bolstered with dressed marble and granite, the wrought iron lantern posts restored and embellished into a new glory. As symbol of the rebellion's touch, brass and steel decorations shone everywhere, suns and moons polished to glowing perfection beside hammers and sickles.

The new village sang with the sounds of glowing metal shaped between hammer and anvil, the tinkling tone of gems finely shaped with chisel and wheel, the barking call and happy howl of the Dogs as they went about their business, glad to have such a place to call their own.

Not long after proper settlement and repair, the village received a very important pair of visitors. The Black Knight, who had planned all of the relocation; and Maureen sen Kate O'Bald, Bean Sidhe member, dispatched by the griffin High King himself to help train and condition the rebels so they could sooner give aid to the griffin kingdom. They arrived largely without preamble or warning, thought not without notice.

The pair of important rebel figures found themselves faced down at the outskirts of town by a smiling canine figure. She was a rather unusual Dog, of the jowly, small breed of Dog. Her coat was the silvery shade of some metal, a very rare color. It was more than a simple gray; there was a certain shimmer to some of the hairs. She was lank and trim, looking especially gangly and young, though something about her indicated she was, in fact, a fully fledged adult.

Her sudden appearance before the Black Knight and Maureen had been mildly surprising. Her next action was charmingly unexpected. She strapped on a collection of crystals and metal tines, rapidly attaching the whole collection like an odd suit to her body. Then then started to tap and pluck the strange collection, the metal tines humming like a Grand Veldt kalimba, while the crystals rang with a beautiful clarity. Occasionally vibrating metal would touch singing crystal, the harmonies carefully matched to create a unique tone that seemed especially resonant.

“Welcome to pretty town, are glad to see and hear!” The Dog sang as she danced and played her odd instrument-suit. “Welcome griff and pony, are glad both are here! Welcome, come and have fun! Welcome, come and stay! Welcome griff and pony! Welcome, welcome welcome, never go away!”

The Black Knight and Maureen both gave a round of applause to the performance, Maureen giving a high and happy skree. “Sure and that was beautiful, my little colleen. Whereabouts may we find the head of this town? Important matters to discuss, we have.”

“Village council meet in town hall. Mayor Goethite there now,” the Dog said cheerfully, loping off suddenly with her attire playing a cacophonous clattering as she moved. “Come! Will show important guests!”

“She's a right cístín baise,” Maureen noted to the Black Knight with a smile playing around her beak. “So this is what ya give me fer workin'? A town o' that?”

“I think she's... very special,” the Black Knight noted, carefully watching the Dog leading them. “When compared to the rest of the town, I mean. I'm sure you'll find them very like other Dogs. Don't worry.”

“'Don't worry,' he says ta me...” Maureen grumbled. “I obey the High king and not you. I'll worry as much as I like until there ain't reason fer it.”

“By your leave, Bean Sidhe O'Bald,” the Black Knight said with a nod. “I was only trying to explain it will be no harder than any other training you have undertaken.”

“Don't you give me that, ya slíbhín, I know these folk are here because they ain't the kind ta fight,” Maureen groused. “Before ya had me training them as could at least tell the pointy end of a pike.”

“I'll take that over 'cladhaire' because there are too many meanings to make it kindly,” the Black Knight said with a wink. “But I promise you, truly, you will find the work to be easier than you may think it.”

Maureen let out a screeching laugh at the comment, clapping the Black Knight firmly on the back. “Sure and I should have seen it from ya. Ya must know every word fer what ya are in every tongue o' this world.”

“I do like to know when I am being spoken of,” the Black Knight sniffed, in a blatantly faux-posh tone.

“Right then, slíbhín, I take ya at yer word, which one ought not normally do with yer sort,” Maureen said with a lingering mirth. “It won't be such a hard thing ta teach this lot.”

The journey was short after the conversation finished, through the populated streets in the wake of the energetic Dog's headlong rush to the center of town. Through the small square with its new-made statues of Celestia and Luna, respectively holding two hammers and two sickles across their chests, there was seen the town hall, a building larger than the rest. It was enhanced with an ornate collection of decorative stonework and elaborate metalwork, with gems spread throughout, both in the Diamond Dog style of mathematically precise and exacting angles without any artificial curves.

The style was the same on the inside, lots of straight lines and precise angles going on, though more common Equestrian touches were much in evidence like colorful rugs and wall-hangings as well as paintings saved from scrapheaps and firepits. A single Dig Dog male sat behind the front desk, looking attentive. He had on a rather sharp red vest and black trousers.

“Welcome, Black Knight and strong griffin! Mayor Goethite waiting for arrive,” the Dig Dog barked, rising and motioning for the two arrivals to follow.

“Work is done! Go now and play more!” the silver Dog barked before dashing out of the town hall.

“She'll do herself a mischief one of these day, I can see it,” Maureen noted.

“Somehow... somehow I doubt that she'll be the one afflicted by such a mischief,” the Black Knight mused.

The two were led by the Dig Dog to a basement area, lit by torches and glowing fungus. It consisted of a single, large chamber containing a huge triangular table. A single dog sat at the center of the far point, looking over some papers. He was an older dog, lank and very tall, with jowls and floppy ears. His coat was pale from age, but still retained some of what was presumably a stronger brown ochre shade. He was clad in an austere outfit of gray tone, trousers, a long shirt and a black vest.

The Dig Dog released a short howl and a few yaps, along with sounds out of hearing range for the Black Knight though Maureen tilted her head at some. He then turned to the two and bowed. “Are announced.” With that, he walked back up the stairs.

“Traditional Dog-tongue, is good know still remembered in bad age,” Goethite said, slowly rising from the chair he was at and walking over to the two. “Is good you come, Black Knight, friend of all. Have heard of griffin but not know name. Only know is strong, good fighter.”

“My reputation seems intact,” Maureen said with a flex of her arm. “Maureen sen Kate O'Bald, Bean Sidhe division of the Tuatha dé Danann, Royal Griffin Army, loyal soldier o' his majesty Padraigh the XVI.”

Goethite dipped his head. “Good meet. Now, why Black Knight come? Said was urgent...”

“It is somewhat a pressing issue but I must ask... do you know who that charming silver-bodied Dog was that met us at the outskirts of town?” The Black Knight asked. “She had a very... interesting suit of metal and gems...”

Goethite laughed heartily and slapped the tabletop. “Oh yes. Know. Is Ruthenium, or Ruth. Good girl, happy girl. Like sing, make songs, is good with funny suit. Daughter of Doctors Bowieite and Osmiridium. They deep-level researchers before, protected from change. Escape with others to Paddock, then join rebels. Are scientists for rebellion.”

“So are they here now, doin' their science work from long distance?” Maureen asked.

“Oh no, still live with other scientists with rebels,” Goethite explained.

“What? They let that young thing be alone out there while they're still workin' away?” Maureen queried, incredulous.

“Well... why should not? Is adult, by laws of Colonies and Equestria. Wanted to come, did not like being stuck there. Wanted beautiful place to play music, run around, have much fun, and work when must,” Goethite replied.

“Hardly seemed it, eh?” Maureen asked aside at the Black Knight. She looked aside when no reply was forthcoming and noticed that the stallion seemed lost in thought. She nudged him sharply in the side. “Mind on the mission, slíbhín.”

“My mind is very, very much on the mission...” the Black Knight said quietly, before shaking his head and turning a serious look on Goethite. “There is word that the caribou may or may not know that this town exists and that it is composed of free Dogs.”

Goethite looked a bit confused by the statement. “Should not be worry. Was said... sloppy. Not by rule, or by square. Is only way to know.”

“Usually...” the Black Knight said, agreeably. “However, the sloppy imprecision that we usually count on from those sex-addled new order folks works the other way. What they know or don't know very often depends on how lucid some sex-fiend happens to be on any given day. In a way that's good, it means reports are garbled, misplaced or inaccurate. But when we capture intelligence it also means that there is a degree of uncertainty.”

“They could use the discipline of the R.G.A, that's fer sure. But I'm sure glad they haven't got it,” Maureen added.

“There are some unclear references to 'escapees', which is sometimes contextually used to mean free Dogs. We believe that is the case because there is a lake mentioned, as well as references to fish,” the Black Knight continued.

“Yes. Fish in lake. Dogs live by lake. But how is..?” Goethite began.

“The fish references are placeholders, in some sense. They say 'fish' but it is clear a proper name is meant. The report was compiled by a caribou; being herbivorous northmen they would be unfamiliar with something like trout, and likely have a collective word for all fish. This also means that hearing a local name would mean nothing and be hard to remember,” the Black Knight explained.

“It's a lot of mess is what it is,” Maureen noted with a scowl. “But it makes sense. They're stupid, but not too dumb to know we're out here. Never mind the propaganda, you never under-think yer enemy. Give 'em more credit than they need and then ya can beat em every time.”

“It's not rule and square, as I know Dogs prefer when thinking about plans, but we often have to operate under this sort of uncertainty. What is most worrisome is that the intercepted materials were being sent for review. They had already passed the eyes of higher level military folk. It would seem to indicate they are asking permission for some kind of invasion force. They're sending more than slavecatchers and scouts. They're sending soldiers,” the Black Knight said, darkly.

“Can be more certain than guess, yes?” Goethite asked.

“Much more. Their channels may be wobbly, clogged and sluggish but they still operate,” the Black Knight said.

Goethite took a seat again, looking down at the table with furrowed brows. “What can do?”

“No two ways about it, Mayor, ya gotta fight,” Maureen insisted.

“But we... we come to Trout not to fight,” Goethite replied. “Cannot. Have young, have old, have Dogs that cannot fight, not want fight, want peace.”

“Peace sometimes needs a bit of a donnybrook, Mayor; it don't always come by itself,” Maureen said. “Ya got shades and soldiers even in the peaceful times. These ain't peaceful times.”

Goethite slumped in his chair, the mature Dog looking even older in the slumped and defeated posture. “Is not good. Not want war for Dogs here. Want peace, happiness. But if must fight... what can do? They not know how...”

Maureen strutted forward proudly, and smiled confidently. “That's why I'm here, Mayor. I could train a cloud ta be a soldier. I'll turn yer folk inta fighters. And I do it not because I want to, ya understand, but because I want yer folk ta live and be strong and happy.”

“Happy, yes...” the Black Knight said, stroking his chin slowly. “Assemble the citizenry. You're going to be trained to repel the force that is coming. We don't know how long we have so this needs to begin immediately.”

Goethite shivered lightly as he contemplated what was to come, but finally rose up and nodded slowly. “Will do as say. Call Dogs, tell them. Will not be good. But will help...”

“This should be fun,” Maureen said with a roll of her eyes. She heard a howl amplified by a complex series of metal pipes. “Bunch of untrained folk. Plus that... strange little one...”

“Oh yes, her... she's not to be trained. I am going to take her aside for my own reasons,” the Black Knight casually said.

“What's this now? I wasn't looking forward ta trainin' her, but I would have, don't you give me yer pity, slíbhín, I don't take that from you any more than I take it from any other,” Maureen seethed.

“It's not pity or sparing you from anything. It is my own need,” the Black Knight stated.

“But yer hobblin' me,” Maureen insisted. “I need all the warm bodies we have. When it comes ta untrained ones like this every single one can help, even a strange cístín baise can hold a pike and poke.”

“I cannot explain, because I'm not sure, but you need to trust me again,” the Black Knight insisted. “You do your job freely. Let me do mine.”

Maureen gave the Black Knight an askance glance and scoffed through her crop. “Yer an odd one, jes as was said and as I barely saw back in the main body of the rebels. But there's somethin' to yer ways that makes me think there's more goin' on in that mind than what I suspect. Alright, keep the little colleen. I hope yer trainin' is as effective as mine.”

“I do so hope that as well...” the Black Knight mumbled as he walked out of the council chamber.

Maureen and the Black Knight moved out of the town hall to the square. There they found Goethite at the statues of the sisters, surrounded by a formally dressed collection of dogs, a mix of breeds and genders. They looked to be the village council. Around them, the other Dogs of the town were gathered. Pups yapped curiously, being shushed by parents or guardians, as all eyes turned to the august Mayor Goethite.

The sad-looking Dog began to speak, in the native tongue of the Dogs, who seemed to react with shock and amazement. Mutters passed between the crowd, and they began to look very nervous.

“Don't suppose ya speak that, do ya?” Maureen asked.

“I don't need to. You know what he's saying just as well as I do,” the Black Knight replied.

“Aye. Don't take knowin' the words ta know those looks. Time ta fight. Time ta die. Time ta make them white and tans die. They ain't built ta kill like that. But I'm gonna shape 'em in my image and get them able ta stand up long enough ta bring down them that comes ta kill,” Maureen said, with some small trace of sadness.

“You talk to Mayor Goethite, get him to show you off to the citizens. Start the process now. I'll pull Ruthenium aside and... well, the process begins,” the Black Knight said.

“I don't know what ya have in that head of yers... but good fortune to ya, slíbhín,” Maureen said, dipping her head to the Black Knight before strutting her way to the head of the gathering.

While Maureen was being introduced, and boldly stating her training plans to the collection of disbelieving Dogs, the Black Knight scanned the crowd for Ruthenium. He found her, still carrying her straps full of tines and crystals, looking a little unsure about things. “Well, hello again.”

Ruthenium looked up at the Black Knight and wagged her tail. “Hello, Black Knight pony! Is scary thing happening. Not want fight, but must be strong. Protect home. Is Dog way.”

“Yes. It is an important thing. But there is another, equally important, thing. And I need you to do it,” the Black Knight said, motioning away from the group.

“Oh? Important job that can do? Want do!” Ruthenium yapped with a puppy-like enthusiasm.

“Well then, come with me. I need to arrange a few things to get ready for this,” the Black Knight said with a smile, leading Ruthenium from the crowd.

“Right you lot! We don't know how much time we have so I'll do this fast as I can!” Maureen circled over the heads of the assembled Dogs. They had mustered out in the grassy expanse on the far side of the lake, arranged in sloppy but regular rows. Those capable of fighting, those who were old enough and weren't sick or disabled, were there, mostly fidgeting and nervous. “You do what I say, when I say it, the way I say ta do it. Right?”

Silence greeted the question.

Maureen scoffed and shrieked as she dove over their heads, sending some falling to the ground. “When I ask fer an answer you say, 'Aye ma'am!' Do I make myself clear?”

The was some hesitation before a shaky voice called out, “Aye, ma'am!”

“One of ye gets it!” Maureen cried. “Now the rest! What do ye say when I ask fer yer agreement?”

“Aye ma'am!” The call was disjointed, said with different speeds, at different starting points.

“At least ye can follow orders,” Maureen huffed, slowly alighting at the head of the assembled. “New we get ye ta follow 'em at the same moment and at the same pace.”

Back in the village, Ruthenium and the Black Knight were together in the back room of a house that served as a smithy. He had a few long, thin, cardboard boxes on the floor beside him as he sat at a long wooden table. He motioned for Ruthenium to take a place across from him. “This is... very special training. It will not be like your fellow Trouters.”

“Will do what can,” Ruthenium asserted, nodding firmly and hitting the tabletop with her thick hands.

“That's an attitude that will serve you well and lead to liberty,” the Black Knight said with an approving nod. He picked up one of the boxes and placed it on the table. It was badly torn up, most of the details obscured by damage. But it looked like the kind of box board games came in before the fall.

Ruthenium quirked her head and barked curiously. “What is? Look like board game. Know well, but not know how board game help village.”

The Black Knight silently opened the box and laid out the board, which showed a green expanse that had squares marked off. On one edge was the name of the game, Strategist. “Did you ever play Strategist before the fall?”

“No,” Ruthenium admitted. “Heard name, sound like fun game, but not play. Other Dog children like math problems, like Tic-Tac-Toe, like games with probability calculations. Much card games.”

“Understandable,” the Black Knight said. “This is a game of imprecision. Of misdirection. It is not as simple and neat as the rule and square of the Dogs, though the memorization makes it intellectual. It is a game of preparation and of consideration.”

Ruthenium nodded slowly as she regarded the board, with its neatly-aligned grid and trio of demarcated choke-points. “Is game... of war. Like have to fight in Trout.”

“It's best to think of it as a game. This is just like the version from before the fall, where it was Equestrian troops against magical beasts, and the Equestrian pieces are even the same,” the Black Knight said, indicating each piece as he showed it off. “Princess Luna and Celestia on one piece, the highest ranked. Then the Arch-Magus. Two air-corps Aquilas. Three Captains, traditionally identified as Day Guard, Night Guard and Nightwatch. Four Centurions. Four Cavaliers. Four Destriers. Five Sappers, who, if you notice, are Diamond Dogs because this was made after the peaceful integration of the United Colonies. Eight Milites, called Miles in the singular. One Intelligencer, who is the sneaky one. Six Mana-walls. And finally, the thing the enemy wants, The Elements of Harmony.”

Ruthenium took a moment to look over the pieces, noting, to her delight, that numbers indicated the relative rank, while a title accompanied each picture. “Many pieces. Is true, is very intellectual. Need good memory, remember all these.”

“That's only half. I had the opposing side re-made as our current enemy,” the Black Knight said, pulling out those pieces. “At the start, The Dead One, the Stag King, the Heartless Hind. Then, Vidkun, the monster. Two old-order Nomad Commanders. Three Torturers. Four Overseers. Four risen Draugar. Four Slavecatchers. Five Darkness Weavers, who use the caribou's bloodstained magic. Eight Brainwashed stallions. One Betrayer, who looks very much like an execrable prince we all know. Six Bone Fences, which is something they seem to have done in their homeland. And the item that they covet and which gives them power, the Crystal Cock.”

Ruthenium gave the opponent pieces a look, noting they were similarly marked, and that the artwork was horribly well-rendered. “Will do best to remember. How play game?”

“You take the pieces, and arrange them however you like on the first four rows of the board. Here is where you start thinking about the strategy, because you have to protect the Elements or the Crystal Cock. Finding that means you win. After that, the game starts. Each piece moves one space forward or to the side. Mana-walls, Bone Fences, the Elements and the Crystal Cock can't move. The Milites and Brainwashed ones can move any number of spaces in a straight line,” the Black Knight explained.

“Complicated game. Is good!” Ruthenium baked, smiling brightly. “Complicated game mean must think. Thinking important for Dogs.”

“You'll learn as you go. That's life, and a very important lesson for you to pick up,” the Black Knight said, turning the caribou pieces around and starting to set them up.

“Oh, you play bad folks?” Ruthenium asked, tilting her head inquisitively.

“Don't worry, I wouldn't make them lose on purpose,” the Black Knight assured her. “But you should play the good ones. It's all part of this special training.”

Ruthenium thought for a moment, then started to set up her own side of the board. “Will do best! Think hard, figure out, win game.”

“But above all else,” the Back Knight sagely said, “Have fun.”

The lines of Dogs drilled at Maureen's command, all of them holding whatever improvised weapons that could be found in the village. Thanks to the nature of Diamond Dog life they had a ready supply of forge hammers, pickaxes and shovels. There were also logging axes, someone had made a few fishing spears, and there were pitchforks for the hay they grew for the rebellion.

The drilling Dogs had been sectioned off by weapon type, and were striking at the air. Maureen observed them all from above, her critical eye noting the inexpert motions and the sloppy techniques. But she wanted to see about endurance. That was the good thing about Diamond Dogs. Like earth ponies they were robust and full of stamina, even without formal training and regular exercise.

Her gaze locked onto a burly, tall Dog, one of the Mayor's breed. He was stabbing away with his pitchfork, not pulling his strikes or watching his motion. He didn't know any better, but she had told them to watch their strikes. She came down hard right beside him and stared. “Is that how you'll be fightin' the fash when they come fer yer town?”

“Aye, ma'am!” He replied, thoughtlessly. He stabbed away on automatic.

Maureen shook her head and placed a talon hard on the Dog's shoulder. “Let me make a feic of ya, lad. 'Tis th' only way the lot of ye will learn. Come on then.”

She led the confused Dog to an attacking dummy she had set up, made of metal and wood. It vaguely resembled a caribou, with a spear, thin armor and branches for antlers. A pebble-filled sack served as the body cavity.

“Right then, lad, attack yer enemy,” Maureen requested. She took up a position right behind the dummy, and picked up something from the back of it. “Don't worry none about me. I know what's about ta happen.”

“Aye ma'am, will do,” the big Dog said. He gave a huge howl, pulled the pitchfork back and stabbed the dummy hard, rocking it back into Maureen, who held onto it and kept it upright. “Ha! Dog has hurt caribou!”

“That ya did, lad. Now get yer weapon back,” Maureen said, flatly.

The Dog looked a bit confused as he tried to pull back the pitchfork. He jostled the dummy, making the metal clatter and the pebbles rattle. While he did that Maureen struck out from behind the dummy, jamming a large stick with a charcoal tip over his arms and on his chest. She then swiftly dashed out behind the Dog and jabbed the stick at his back.

After giving a few shocked yelps, and letting go of the pitchfork, the Dog looked at the marks on his front, then at Maureen. “What is?”

“That, lad, is yer death, from two sides,” Maureen said, flatly. “Maybe ya killed the miserable little amadán, maybe ya didn't. Much as we make light o'them bastards, them northmen came outta the white waste. We griffins know it, and we're pretty hardy ourselves. Killed him or not, he ain't dyin' that instant, not with where ya stabbed him. He'll stab ya back, and won't waste his motions. Then, with yer weapon locked in this one's body, another one can come in and have her back fer a sheath. One way or another, yer dead, lad.”

The Dog brushed desperately at the charcoal marks, yelping and whimpering. “N-no! Not want die! What can do?”

“Ya do as I say, lad,” Maureen said, wiggling the pitchfork until it came out of the dummy. She suddenly stabbed it forward, piercing the thin armor and the pebble bag, then immediately pulling the weapon back. “Ya use yer strength half on the thrust and half on the pull. Ya feel fer the stab then yank it before ya hit somethin' less forgivin' than flesh. Ya do it over and over, fast as lightnin'. Ya perforate the slimy bastard, don't bank yer life on one hard hit. Ya understand?”

“Ay, ma'am!” The Dog yelped, thumping a fist on his chest in salute.

“Do ye all understand?” Maureen screeched at the others.

“Aye ma'am!” The Dogs barked, almost in unison.

“Show me,” Maureen challenged, launching herself to the air again. “Axes, chop hard but spring back hard, it'll stop someone behind and keep the momentum going. Slide yer other hand up and use it ta shove the axe when it's past... what was the bloody number..? Ninety degrees. Once it's past there yer shove with the hand has more power. Pickaxes, you too! Forge hammers, change yer angles up, don't let them know where yer gonna smash down!”

In town, the Black Knight was laying out another board game, laying out small colored pieces, shuffling cards and putting out metal objects that looked like a variety of tools.

Ruthenium looked over the board, noting it looked like a well-designed home. All straight angles, laid out in a grid, though in colors and with decorations that suggested a classical Canterlot construction. “Like house, look very regular. What is game now?”

“It's called Clew, an Ancient Hipposian word for a ball of twine. Faithfully following it can lead to the end, the perfect name for a game of deduction and discovery,” the Black Knight explained. “There has been a theft in a Canterlot manor. There are six suspects, six tools for extrication and nine rooms in which it could have happened. You choose a piece to play, and then roll dice to move around the rooms. You solve it by deduction. These cards have tools, suspects and locations. I slip one of each into a pouch...” He chose one card from each shuffled pile and slipped it into a small envelope, which he set in the center of the board. “There. The thief, the tool and the place.”

“Now, how solve mystery? Are cards hidden in house? Deduction one of Dogs' important tools. Can know much from thinking much,” Ruthenium noted.

“Actually, the remaining cards are shuffled together and split between us,” the Black Knight said, deftly shuffling and distributing the cards. He also handed off a charcoal stick and a pad of paper. “We mark off the cards we have here. That tells us which objects, suspects and places can't be the ones. Then we move around to each room, and propose a possible tool and suspect in that room. If the other player has the cards for room, tool or suspect they must show one of them. That's how the possibilities get whittled down.”

“Mmm, smart game. Good training for leader. Is what must be, yes? Leader?” Ruthenium asked.

“I think we should just focus on playing the game, and leave other questions for another time,” the Black Knight noted, offering the colorful plastic pieces. “Note the colored squares on the outside. Each piece starts on their color, making it easier to get to certain rooms at the start.”

Ruthenium plucked up the purple piece and set it on the corresponding purple square. “Like this, is nice color.”

“Professor Plum Duff, a nice choice,” the Black Knight said. He set down the green piece on its indicated square. “Officer Salad Green, OCFG. Keeping names and titles alive is what ensures the old world will come back someday.”

“Yes, is important old world come back. Other folk be happy. Sing and dance on own, like was,” Ruthenium said with a small sigh, picking up a pair of dice and giving them a roll.

“That's right, just like it was,” the Black Knight said, watching Ruthenium and not her moves on the board.

“What games play today?” Ruthenium asked of the Black Knight. “Cloud Busting, International Diplomacy, Strategist? Pisha Pasha?”

“This a very special day,” the Black Knight said, leading Ruthenium into one of the subterranean spaces under a house. Magic gem lights provided a soft glow over a collection of refurbished Equestrian furniture. All the boxes of board games were sitting out on a low table, along with several decks of cards, a bag of marbles and a few jump ropes. On another table was Ruthenium's suit of tines and crystals.

“What is special? Like normal day,” Ruthenium said.

“This day you put your training into effect,” the Black Knight replied, cryptically.

“'Training'?” Ruthenium asked. “Become rebel general, make plans, outflank enemy?”

“No, no... I showed you how to play games. Now you can play games,” the Black Knight said.

Before Ruthenium could question the statement she became aware of yapping and whimpering. The subterranean space was suddenly flooded with Diamond pups, who all crowded around Ruthenium. “What? Why puppies of village here?”

“Because you need to watch them. Only the most blithe spirit could watch over pups when the need is greatest,” the Black Knight said, already near the door. “You cannot possibly appreciate how important this is. You hold the future of Trout in your hand, if you but knew it.”

“But... but... want to help! Need to help!” Ruthenium pleaded, reaching out to the Black Knight.

“Stay in here, don't open the door, and don't let them look outside until the time is right,” the Black Knight insisted. He looked down with a serious gaze, which awed the puppies and made Ruthenium step back.

“Not... want... but... will do if must. For Trout, and for puppies,” Ruthenium said glumly, stroking one of the yapping pups.

The Black Knight closed the door and allowed himself the luxury of a sad sigh, before returning to his neutral look. Outside of the house he encountered Maureen, with a griffin pike slung casually over her shoulder and a large crossbow hanging at her side.

“So then, slíbhín, they all squared away?” Maureen asked as they two walked through the village.

“She gave me her word and I trust it,” the Black Knight said. “She'll keep the puppies happy and in good spirits. Though I'm glad they don't know why they're being hidden away.”

“And don't know they may come outta that place minus a ma or da. You were right ta get the happy colleen ta watch over 'em. She'll keep them smilin',” Maureen said.

The Black Knight shook his head and looked over the hastily-assembled Dogs. They were wearing an eclectic collection of well-forged armor, hammered out on the anvils of Trout and fitted as best as possible given the short notice. They looked uncomfortable, ill-suited to it, but the held themselves up well, with their improvised weapons ready at hand. “Is the town prepared?”

“Aye, 'tis ready as it can be. Scouts saw the fash coming. The Stag King's not puttin' pegasi on this, thank goodness. All unicorns and earth ponies. And of course a few caribou commanders,” Maureen reported.

“The barricades are up and funneling them towards the line of battle?” The Black Knight asked.

“Aye, first thing we did. They'll all come into the narrow road to The Skein, that's what they call the middle of town. And we won't let 'em pass by, no matter how many they throw at us,” Maureen responded, with grim determination.

“The Arch-Magus taught me well the value of the narrow way, but we're at more of a disadvantage,” the Black Knight said. “Paddock Fifty-One was surrounded by a high wall of stone. In theory we're in an open area. If they divide the force we could get flanked, though with the barricades it would take effort, and we'd hear them dismantling the structures.”

“I'll watch from the air now and then, just ta see. I imagine you'll be watchin' from... the shadows, or the spirit world, or however ya do it. I don't say it much, slíbhín, but I'm not sure what ta make of yer powers,” Maureen confessed.

“My greatest power is convincing others I have powers, but, keep that one to yourself,” the Black Knight said, dropping a conspiratorial wink in Maureen's direction.

“I don't know how it is, but that's made me more convinced than ever there's some powers yer not tellin' me about,” Maureen said with a laugh.

“Village is ready,” Goethite said, giving a shaky salute. He was wearing how own loose collection of metal plates, and holding a pitchfork. “Will fight, will make go away, will live in peace.”

“No one is getting away,” the Black Knight said, with a dark tone. “They come in, but they don't leave. They end up a pile of bloody corpses. The Stag King is arrogant, he's ignorant, he's obstinate, but he's not blitheringly stupid. We kill the force he sends here, and he has to take notice that the red side of his ledger is written in blood, with nothing on the black side to show for it. When he sees the price of trying to take Trout, he'll have to wonder if he can keep paying it over and over again and still hope to take the Griffin Kingdom or hold off our forces. There's just enough activity in that cavernous skull of his to know that a ruler doesn't squander his strength. One bloody and absolute victory, and you never have to fight again.”

Goethite seemed to pale as the explanation went on. But he gave a shaky nod at the end and turned to face the open passage that led from the open portion of the town into The Skein.

Tension mounted as time ticked by, and the Dogs grew fidgety and fearful the longer they had to stand there, anticipating the horrors of war. Finally there came the sound of marching, the tromp of an armored force moving down the path. There eventually emerged a line of stallions, headed by a crudely-armored caribou.

“Dogs of this town! Surrender your women and join the ranks of his pitiless majesty!” The caribou shouted, glaring disdainfully at the Dogs who cringed as he spoke. “Dogs have many chances to access gems and cunts! All you want can be yours. Surrender to us and turn over the rebellious fools that are standing back there.” He pointed at the Black Knight and Maureen.

Goethite overcame his hesitation and stepped forward. “Am Goethite, Mayor of village. We not want fight. Not made to fight. Have to... kill... and not want! Please, go away, tell Stag King we not hurt. Only want peace. Live in peace and away from lands.”

The caribou's reaction was swift and terrible. He quickly drew a knife from his belt and stabbed Goethite in the side, the blade sinking deeply into him, avoiding the metal plates that didn't fully touch. “His pitiless majesty will not hear of your pathetic, feminine peace. Horror and war are the proper actions for a man. A MAN! A real man! You will all die in agony for this blasphemy if you do not give in!”

“Not... pathetic...” Goethite whimpered out. His hand squeezed his pitchfork tight, and he stabbed in at the Caribou. Quick, sharp jabs peppered the surprised cervine's front, leaving him bleeding, and stumbling.

His lungs had been punctured and his thoracic cavity was filling with blood. He fell to his knees, and then the ground, gurgling in surprise. He tried to speak, mouth forming words that came out as bloody foam, but all for naught as he finally slumped down, jaw barely moving as the life drained out.

Goethite pulled the knife from his side and whimpered loudly, tossing it aside to clatter on the street. “Dogs strong. Dogs brave. Dogs not want fight. But if must fight... win!” He fell down, breathing shallowly and holding a huge hand over the bleeding wound.

The other Dogs, who had been fearful, turned their shock and dismay into anger. Their lips pulled back, showing their jagged, gem-crushing, meat-tearing teeth. Their sallow eyed narrowed, a hateful light burning within their varicolored pupils. They thumped their eclectic weapons against their makeshift armor, the clattering and ringing converging on a pattern that united them as one. The pace grew faster and the impacts louder, until they all let one resounding ring of metal on metal echo out around The Skein. A huge howl burst forth from their throats, all the different tones adding to the chorus until it sounded like the tremulous cry of a furious titan, full of anger and hate.

The stallions, though affected by training and the power of their caribou overlords, still shifted back a step, as the rebellious nobodies transformed, in their minds, into vicious soldiers.

“Forward, now!” One of the few other caribou commanders cried, pointing from the back of the line with his sword.

“They don't pass The Skein!” Maureen shrieked, pulling up her crossbow and nocking a bolt on the already-drawn cord. She pulled the trigger and sent the steel-tipped missile flying midway into the ranks of invaders and through the eye of a hesitant stallion. “Not one hoof-step past ye, lads an' lasses! This is yer town! Now keep it yers!”

The Dogs howled again, a shorter cry of anger that prefigured a charge. Their armor rang and their weapons shook as they charged forth to meet the invading host.

The stallions were pushed back by the crush of the front line, like a wall of sand hit by the sea. The front-line Dogs were the ones wielding forge hammers and pitchforks, which they could use in close quarters with the training Maureen had given them. The heavy metal hammers crashed into exposed faces or against cloth-armored areas. The natural strength of the Dogs, enhanced by anger, crushed bones, and sent the injured or dead backwards into the confused ranks. The pitchforks flew with the same speed that Goethite had shown, piercing the poor-quality armor that some of the invaders wore, and slipping through the chinks on those pieces forged by the collaborators.

The Black Knight, for his part, had slipped silently away to the sides, to climb the buildings and observe. He saw a small detachment attempting to leave the narrow funnel they had been pushed down, looking to be ready to dismantle a barricade.

His silver knife flew through the air and sunk deep in the back of a unicorn, who opened his mouth but only released the softest whisper before he fell. The others looked at him in awe and dismay, as the Black Knight came down near them.

With his hand outstretched the Black Knight recalled the silver blade to his hand and showed off the gold embellishments, still showing through the sheen of blood. “You will all pay for what you have done. It is only a pity you will not be alive to appreciate the high cost you accrued...”

Maureen was in her element, screeching and squawking in delight as she pulled her crossbow and fired off bolts with a natural ease. She flew above the action, avoiding magic bolts and hastily thrown spears and answering with violent reprisals. She eventually ran out of bolts and casually tossed the crossbow aside, bringing her pike to bear.

“Let's be light about it! Let's all sing a song we know!” Maureen cried out as she jabbed out with her long pike. “I'll even do the one yer lot wrote!” Clearing her crop, she began to sing as she slew. “The day is comin' soon, when we free the Sun and Moon, and crack the crystal cock ta worthless powder! We will put ta spell and sword yer woman-hatin' horde, while singin' out our chorus all the louder: Come out ye Northmen scum, come and fight 'til you succumb, show your colors as ye did in Ponyville! Ya murder and enslave, yet think yer mighty brave, so leave this land and take yer ruddy ill!”

As Maureen had required, none passed The Skein. The Dogs had not allowed it. And as the Black Knight had required, not one fascist soldier survived. None of them allowed it. Though fires burned from the effects of magic and the groaning injured and the sobbing tenders to the dead filled the atmosphere with a sense of darkness, there was still a single, pulsing note of hope and light.

“We won,” the Black Knight said simply as he spoke to Maureen.

“We did what we said we'd do,” Maureen replied, looking at all the injured being tended to, and the dead being arranged in neat rows. “But there's no winnin' in a fight like this. They jes wanted ta be left alone...”

“The consuming fire of war,” the Black Knight said. “It eats and eats like a glutton. I feel most terrible of all because I took away something I had every reason to leave in place.”

“Oh aye? And what was that? Looks ta me like ya gave these folk their lives and village,” Maureen noted.

“I took away a peace that never knew there was a way to make war with what they had,” the Black Knight said. “I, through your help, showed these happy and satisfied folk, how to make war. I took away their ability to not know. I forced them to learn the ways of destruction.”

“Aye, that ya did, slíbhín,” Maureen said with a sage nod of her head. “Ya had me turn this lot o' smiths and fishers and farmers inta some kind of army. And they beat the Fash. They made their streets run red with the blood of them as wanted ta kill them and worse. They became warriors, and that's no small thing. No easy thing. No painless thing. But slíbhín... I can see you'll never accept it... but ya know deep down, it was the right thing.”

The Black Knight was silent for a long moment, before he walked away. “I hear Mayor Goethite is clinging to life with tenacity. I must see about his recovery.”

“Move along, and see ta th' livin',” Maureen whispered with a smile. “Ya know how this works after all...”

It was a long while before the pups and Ruthenium were allowed to leave the underground area. There was a lot of cleaning to do, and the bodies had to be sent away. The invaders were all buried quickly in unmarked graves, while those townsfolk who fell were interred in an expedited version of the Dog ceremony, their bodies consigned to the deep crevasse known as The Beneath.

Further, there was cleaning to do. Barricades to take down, streets to be scrubbed of blood, areas to repair to a state that looked more like the town proper. It was done with alacrity, but a very somber tone. A grim necessity, as much of what had been done that day had been.

The pups came out, to the arms of most of their parents, though a few relatives or friends had to start telling some that they would be without someone. The solemnity, the somberness only grew as the energetic pups were given the news.

Ruthenium came up, dressed in her suit of tines and crystals, and looked over the town. All the cleaning in the world couldn't hide the smell of blood and she could see the reduced population. She went right to the Black Knight, who seemed to be anticipating her. “Many dead, yes? Many die to save village.”

“Not many, not when you consider the force sent,” the Black Knight calmly replied. “More of them died. The Stag King won't be sending more, not with the high cost of this endeavor.”

“Are free now... but wanted to help!” Ruthenium cried, looking up at the Black Knight with shining eyes. “Pony took to teach. Thought would learn like from angry griffin lady! Learn how fight, save village! Pony only teach to play games, do stupid things, not help village! Wanted help village! Wanted fight!”

“You helped. And you will help in the coming days,” the Black Knight said. “Did I really teach you nothing but how to play games? Organizational strategy, the logistics of deployment, deductive reasoning, loss recovery, how to handle reversals of fortune... through games you learned how to lead. But with games, you pacified scared, confused puppies.”

Ruthenium paused to consider. During the battle the pups had been afraid. Their parents, relatives and caretakers were gone. They were in a strange place, and they couldn't leave. Only through the organization of games, the performance of bits of entertainment, and the careful management of those pups had she keep them calm and their spirits high. “But what good is? Wars not fought by puppies. Wars fought by... warriors! Cannot be warrior with musical suit and funny songs.”

The Black Knight smiled, and his eyes grew distant, as he looked back through to the past. “Comedy is a weapon against the sour, dour and humorless with power. It's not really a way to kill a soldier or break a barricade. But tell me... what happens if there is nothing to laugh about? If you're just there, no smiles, no joy, no cheer?”

“Get sad, feel weak, heavy, not want do anything,” Ruthenium said. “Remember some Dogs, not from same deep research station, come from far away, see what caribou do. Not know rebellion, not know could be hope of old world. Cry much, sleep more, not want even drag self to eat.”

“You aided them, didn't you?” The Black Knight asked. “You made them smile, with jokes and songs and music and all that you could do, yes?”

“Yes... yes! Did!” Ruthenium barked, her tail wagging. “Made Dogs feel happy again, made life seem good!”

“The concept of morale, of simple internal strength based on having something to live for, cannot be ignored or denigrated. There must be that strength, that happiness, to carry others through. You are not a fighter, but you know what fighting is. This will be a strange thing to say but... I have made you even more... you,” the Black Knight said.

“More me? How can be more me? Am already me. Are two of me?” Ruthenium asked, looking around behind herself, ending up spinning a few times as she almost seemed to chase her tail.

“You have been preserved, but refined,” the Black knight explained. “You have kept a certain thing. A not-knowing, but not a base ignorance. You don't know how to wage war, but you know it is something that must be. You are pure, but not a naïf. You know the joy and frivolous wonder of freedom and the blithe spirit, but you also now know the heavy cost of such liberty, and you know, now more than ever, that evil can be beaten... but there is more to it.” He pointed out at the somber and dark Dogs of the village. “See them there?”

Ruthenium looked out at nodded. “Yes. Sad Dogs. War not game. Can smell blood. Remember smell of blood when bad Dogs came to hurt and steal. They free now, but remember fighting. Remember pain, remember death.”

“They're not soldiers. Not warriors. They're farmers, fishers, miners and smiths. We made them capable of fighting, physically. But mentally, that takes a long time, and is a hard thing. Even the rebels who want to fight have to learn how to deal with what has happened. They need something to take away this terrible feeling. The memories of death and the dying of those they knew. This grimness needs an antidote. They need to see that, like bad folks, bad thoughts can be beaten. They need to...” The Black Knight trailed off.

“Smile!” Ruthenium barked, running off to give her musical suit a go among the crowds of the despondent.

“Think they'll let her help them smile?” Maureen asked, flying down from a patrol of the village.

“Eventually. They really do want to smile. Need to. After this they need to see the good in life. It's what she does. What she is, deep inside,” the Black Knight replied.

“I take it we're three goin' back ta the caverns?” Maureen inquired.

The Black Knight watched as Ruthenium gamboled about and played her odd suit of tines and gems. Though most continued to trudge about in their heavy hollowness, one or two actually looked a little lighter. “In time. In time...”

“Can not... be...” Ruthenium hesitated, her fingers hovering inches over the sphere of the Element of Laughter. She and the Black Knight were in the hidden hexagonal room, with the statues of Princess Celestia, Princess Luna and the Arch-Magus. They had walked down the gaze of Princess Celestia and veered to the alcove with 'Laughter' written above it.

“I think the citizens of Trout would disagree,” the Black Knight countered, standing behind Ruthenium and watching intently.

“But am not pony! Elements are pony magic,” Ruthenium protested.

“They are all of our magic,” the Black Knight noted. “Harmony is for everyone. It must be, or else it means nothing. I know that you are the bearer. You came to trust my judgment before. Just give me the benefit of the doubt and touch the element.”

Ruthenium continued to look dubious, but she placed her large hand down on the stone surface of the inactive sphere. Light surged, causing a surprised bark and soft whimper. The sphere shattered apart into gem-like shards which encircled Ruthenium's neck. They circled in, closer and closer, orbiting faster the nearer they approached, until they pressed into Ruthenium's velveteen fur and flashed out with a brighter, more powerful light.

The elemental necklace was around Ruthenium's neck, elaborately designed and made of solid gold. At the bottom, over her chest, an elongated hexagonal gem-cut pendant, made of pure ruthenium.

Ruthenium's trembling fingers slowly stroked across the polished surface of the metal, her breath coming in shuddering pants. “Is... is element...”

“The element of Laughter,” the Black Knight said with a smile. “It looks right on you.”

“Is magic of old world, magic of harmony,” Ruthenium said, smiling, her words almost catching as she spoke. “Is true... is real. Is me!” She leaped around the room, barking and whooping as she passed the stone eyes of the three central statues.

The Black Knight couldn't keep the smile from growing wider. “Two elements reborn. I suppose this means...”

“We have party!” Ruthenium howled, bouncing in place and wagging her tail a mile a minute.

“Some how, I knew you were going to say that,” the Black Knight chuckled, slowly leading the overly excited Ruthenium from the chamber.

“Fairy tales are more than true- not because they tell us dragons exist, but because they tell us dragons can be beaten.”

-Neil Gaiman, paraphrasing G. K. Chesterton

Author's Note

Title reference: Yes, I am alluding to The Magnificent Seven.

slíbhín- Sly person

cladhaire- Can mean a gentle rogue, or a back-stabbing coward.

Goethite's return strike: Inspired by Mercedes Lackey's poem "The Colddrake."

Epithets: The standard Heartless Hind and Stag King are joined by The Dead One. That is the translation of Dainn (One of the four stags who chomped the boughs of the world-ash, spreading destruction.)

Part 2.2- Laughter: The Endless Grin

The Dead One, the Stag King of the fallen land, sat on his throne, looking decidedly more petulant than he usually did; it was no small feat. He was confronted with numerous severed heads, but they were not of females, as he typically received. Seven stallions and one caribou. Apparently part of a single small detachment. He was not disturbed by their decapitation, as the rebellion was almost famous for it. It was their faces.

Each one was... smiling. Or doing some unutterably grotesque perversion of a smile. It look a lot to make the caribou dislike grotesque perversions. But they despised what smiles usually meant, and there was something to the looks that was just hideous. Sardonic smiles, fixed, twisted rictus grins graced their faces. A mix of horror and humor remained on the buck. He looked like he had literally died laughing against his will.

“Why have you brought me these grinning fools?” The Stag King rumbled, eyes narrowing dangerously.

The caribou buck who headed the procession of ponies holding the heads shivered, if only briefly, as he bowed deeply before his tyrant-god. “They were found out on a patrol route. No bodies were near. Just the heads. They wanted us to find them, my lord.”

“Why do they smile like this? I know that ponies used to be so weak as to be stupidly cheery but why does a noble buck look as though he is laughing his life away?” The Stag King queried.

“We had reports of... madly laughing ponies...” the caribou swallowed heavily. “Smiling, grinning wildly. The free ponies seemed to be going insane. We also heard tell of some kind of machine that made them that way.”

“Did you seek to capture it or destroy it?” The Stag King asked.

“We were going to see what effect it had. Presumably it was to try and make the miserable nothings feel joy,” the buck explained. “But it seems... it was a trap. They sacrificed the sanity of their own number to lure in a patrol and use the hideous machine on them. They smiled and laughed themselves to death, rendered insane and helpless as they were beheaded and set out as a warning.”

“These rebels try me. They will not like what they find of my mettle,” the Stag King grumbled out, gripping the arms of his throne all the tighter. “Who ordered the search?”

Silence answered the question.

“Who ordered the search?!” The Stag King roared out, his reverberating and powerful scream rumbling through the floors and walls of the palace.

“Ah! It was... a directive from one of the lesser commanders!” The buck cried out, holding his ears and bowing lower. “It's hard to know these things but I carried out the investigation.”

“Do you have such authority, to search for this device?” The Stag King questioned.

“W-well, I... I do in a sense but I.... no, I never would have... it was from... I was...” the buck tripped over his own words as he realized the inefficient command chain would not serve as concealment for his error.

“As I suspected!” The Stag King roared, slamming his fists down on the arms of his throne. “You thought to lie to the face of a living god!”

“No my pitiless lord! I... I misremembered orders! There was sex, and some abuse and I lost track of things...” the buck feebly explained.

“Guards! Drop those worthless heads and take this simpering failure to the facility,” the Stag King demanded, looking coldly on the horror-struck buck.

The heads fell with meaty thumps and simply rolled away as the stallions took hold of the buck. “No! No your pitiless majesty! Please, I was doing this for your glory!”

“Take the failure away! He can serve my glory as a doe,” the Stag King rumbled, waving a hand dismissively.

“No! Not reassignment! Not reassignment! No! You cannot do it! No!” The doomed buck screamed in soul-torn terror as he was dragged away. He kicked and thrashed and did all he could to free himself, but he was no match for the small contingent of guards.

The Stag King regarded the fallen heads, eyes narrowed as he contemplated what they meant. He turned to another buck who was standing stiffly near the throne. “You! Prepare to deliver a decree!”

The buck snapped into action, bowing deeply and nodding his head. “What is your decree, pitiless god-king?”

“Let it be hereby known, do not engage with ponies who are not tightly controlled who seem overly happy. Do not follow them, do not try to capture them, do not make an effort to discover the source of that state. It seems the rebel fools have a machine that will sap the superior male mind and make them equal to a stupid cunt. Make note of the location for a concentrated strike using only a sufficiently large detachment of troops in heavy armor and with magic,” the Stag King intoned.

The buck paused for a moment as he listened and made every effort to remember the decree. “It shall be so delivered, my pitiless god-king. I will ensure the soldiers and guards know this and obey. May I spread the word of this new wisdom, sire?”

“Go and tell all what I have decreed, and make certain they know to obey, or the consequences will be as suitably dire as disobedience to a living god can be. You saw the penalty for such,” the Stag King rumbled.

“I hear and I obey, my pitiless god-king, and go now to see to it your orders are obeyed as the law they are,” the buck declared, ashing from the throne room while remaining bowed.

The Stag King barely noted the leaving of the buck with a wave of his hand. He was regarding the rictus smiles again, looking on them contemptuously. No one made feminine fools of his subjects, except him, and as punishment. The rebels were intruding into the territory of his fiat, his power. They were being too bold and presumptuous.

They had already made a mockery of him by wiping out a detachment sent to the fish-village to destroy it. He couldn't spare another, not if they all died too. He would win eventually, but at such a cost that he would scarcely know he had won. “Impudent, galling beasts...” he growled into the stillness of the throne room. “At least I know I have stolen their weak and worthless happiness...”

“Dr. Mondlicht, is everything prepared for general use?” Deep inside the rebel underground the Black Knight was looking over a large and complex machine that seemed to all come to and end at a modest dish pointed towards the next room, which was simple, large stone cube with some doors.

“Yes, sir, it is,” replied Dr. Autumn Mondlicht, the rebellion's head scientist and former head of Paddock Fifty-One. The black-coated, midnight-blue-maned Roani unicorn still wore her usual green scrubs and dingy lab coat. She was giving the machine a final work-over with tweezers and a screwdriver. “Following proof of concept in the hidden lab I had the whole thing carefully transported. It should work with groups as well as it did with the individuals. The signal strength should be sufficient to create a room-sized field. We'll put in chairs and cushions for relaxation later. Right now we just have to set up the system.”

“And Ruthenium?” The black Knight asked, looking around.

“After a few choruses of thanks for showing how she could help so many folks she went to get some food and have her suit tuned,” Autumn laughed. “She's quite the character. She would have made a great Roani, once upon a time.”

“She could again, once his war is won,” the Black Knight noted.

“Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, if the wheel turns so,” Autumn mused, smiling as she caught sight of the silvery Diamond Dog. “Speak of her and she appears.”

“Dog ears sharp, know when talking,” Ruthenium said with a bright smile. She was once more wearing her suit of tines and crystals, and still had on her Element. She was also drinking out of a bright pink plastic cup. “Mm, delicious drink. Not have before, what is?”

The Black Knight took a sniff near the cup and considered. “Smells like one of our ration drinks. Grains and free minerals, plus Changeling honey to give it some decent flavor.”

“Must thank Changelings, is good,” Ruthenium said, finishing off the beverage and stepping up to the machine. “Like before? Put in element, touch and concentrate?”

“It's just that easy,” Autumn said. “We'll try to be as efficient as possible. Maximize space usage, be careful with time, maybe implement schedules or designated periods as suggested by a therapist.”

“Never knew could schedule being happy,” Ruthenium said, with some mirth.

“Dr. Mondlicht is skilled in many things. If she says it can be done, frankly, I think we should believe her,” the Black Knight said with a smile.

“It should be ready. Place your element in the receptacle as before and prepare to activate,” Autumn said, stepping back and dropping her tools into a nearby tool chest.

Ruthenium slipped off her necklace and slid the whole thing into a provided cradle. She lightly placed a hand on the pendant and used her other hand to start flicking her tines and ringing her gems. The metal of the pendant gave off a soft, silvery glow while the machine hummed to life, parts turning and energy thrumming through it.

“Send in the first group!” The Black Knight called through a square opening, towards one of the openings in the stone room they were all observing.

A small collection of folks entered. A few mares, two stallions, a female donkey, a male Changeling and a female Diamond Dog. They looked fairly grim.

“I hope this works. I could use a lift,” the Changeling said. “It's hard adjusting to a place when love used to float free like the breeze.”

“I don't even care if I'm having my brain messed with. At least this is a positive messing, not like what they do,” a unicorn mare said.

“You know it's bad when even a donkey gets a bit bitter about it,” the donkey stated, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against a wall.

“Raise the energy to activate the field,” Autumn said to Ruthenium, flicking a few switches on the machine and twisting a few dials.

“Right, do now...” Ruthenium said, playing her suit a little faster and closing her eyes. The silvery glow grew brighter, and a distinct, low-pitched hum emerged from the machine, while the dish began to emit a wavering field of energy into the room.

“You should know, this isn't anything like what the caribou do,” the Black Knight said to the ones in the room, who were being washed in the energy field. “This doesn't force a new thought into your head, nor does it seal off a part of the brain. It opens things. There are certain blocks that come up from grimness and dark times. There is an idea that one cannot be allowed to be happy. This field opens it up. It's called the Silver Lining Machine because you finally clear the cobwebs enough to know that silver linings exists, that there can be things worth being happy about. Now you choose to be happy or not. Your mind can accept it's okay to be, so you're allowed to be so. But as with everything, you have the autonomy.”

The dour collection of folks let themselves be washed by the wave in silence, before the first small smiles appeared, first on the Changeling, then one of the mares. The smiles grew, and moved from figure to figure. The last one to smile was the donkey, but she broke into the biggest one in the room, and stretched her arms out wide, as though the energy wave was a refreshing rainstorm and she wanted as much as she could get. “Now that... that's what I call a silver lining.”

“A success, I would say,” Autumn said, observing the settings on the device and occasionally looking at Ruthenium. “You're really very clever with that. Who made your music suit?”

“Oh, did self,” Ruthenium answered, never missing a beat of her one-handed playing. “Liked how tines sound; Dogs know metal. Liked how gems sound; Dogs know gems. Was very easy and very fun.”

“I admire someone who regards an activity like this as easy,” Autumn said with a nod. “Intellectualism is often a lonely thing, so finding someone else who finds didactic pursuits simple is a treasure.”

“Yes, is lonely sometimes when not act like others,” Ruthenium noted. “Still loved, had friends, but too cheery, had much joy, sing songs, but still learn lessons.”

“And look how it has paid off,” Autumn noted, pointing to the smiling folks in the next room. “Another Element lives, and those folks are happy.”

“Yes, is good. Happy folk mean old world come back,” Ruthenium said, sagely. “Will stand here night and day if must. Need ration drinks and five minutes for bathroom few times a day.”

“Your dedication is admirable but not necessary. We'll work out a sensible schedule, don't worry. We have many, many other pressing matters. Plus you probably want to walk around and entertain,” Autumn noted.

“Speaking of 'other pressing matters', did you do it?” The Black Knight asked Autumn.

“Oh yes. It was... well, I'm a scientist, not a soldier but I did what was necessary,” Autumn responded with a shiver. “The rictus grins were easy, thanks to the Mysterious Mare-Do-Well knowing the precise formula for strychnine, so we didn't need the plant. The buck was a bit harder. But nitrous oxide and small magical charges kept him laughing until he suffocated. I would imagine they've been found, after we paraded those actors around and had that dummy machine all made up.”

“This is a war of illusions and shadows, more propaganda than direct assault, in the main,” the Black Knight said. “We deceive and misdirect, give impressions that aren't true to influence actions. As we are small and they are large we need every edge we can muster. By now the Stag King probably thinks we have a machine that can make folks insane, and that we plan to do it to his troops.”

“Machine not make crazy. Make happy. Is good machine,” Ruthenium noted.

“A very good machine,” the Black Knight concurred.

“There's room in there for you to take a break. I'm sure you could use it,” Autumn said.

“For reasons both personal and classified I cannot allow myself to take advantage of the Silver Lining Machine,” the Black Knight said, suddenly turning serious.

“Oh... sounds... serious,” Autumn mumbled, somewhat taken aback by the abrupt shift and mysterious nature of the statement.

“See smile much, but could still smile more with machine,” Ruthenium suggested.

“I have my own system for keeping the smile on my face. Don't worry. You just keep working out here, doing good for all who need it,” the Black Knight said with a warm smile. “In fact, I'll go to that now. Please excuse me.”

With the sounds of parting ringing behind him the Black Knight made his way through the maze of Dog-cut corridors until he reached a nondescript section of lonely tunnel. A tap on certain spaces of the wall with a crystal caused the stone to part, revealing a small, dark side-passage. Stepping into it caused the wall to close once more, and leave no trace of the opening.

The passage was cramped, and lightless, the Black Knight making his way confidently along with his eyes closed. He moved down and up steps, along well-remembered twists and turns. It was a circuitous route that he remembered from the world before, a path he had walked so many times it became second nature to him, all lovingly recreated by numerous Dog masons who never understood the combined plan.

The crystal again tapped spaces on a wall, letting the Black Knight enter a room of muted light. Magical crystals glowed inside lamps whose glass globe covers were made of smoked glass. There was a somber, hushed and reverent feeling in the still atmosphere. The small room had few things within. A large, battered, royal blue cushion that looked like a refugee from Canterlot Palace sat in the center of the room, facing towards a large table. The walls were hung with damaged standards, also seemingly rescued from Canterlot. The standard of Celestia. The Standard of Luna. The standard of Equestria.

There was also a plaque on the wall, made of the finest quality silver and gold, by caring smiths and sculptors, it was made in the shape of an unrolled scroll, with words etched onto the polished surface.

The Prices of Command

You stand alone forever. None must know your mortality.

You will see the ones who laughed at breakfast die before dinner.

As none can know some reasons, they do all duty trusting you alone.

Mistakes are written in blood. You won't pay the price, but you pay all the same.

You only hope you are forgiven. You cannot ask those who could forgive.

You must do what you must. It is you, or some other.

Salute your ghosts. You owe them an endless debt.

The Black Knight fell to his knees on the cushion, and bowed his head as he faced the table. When he looked up he could see the small collection of objects that rested there.

An ebony and silver nocturlabe on a silver chain sat on the edge of the table, looking polished and bright. A brass and steel cage of modest height and width sat behind the nocturlabe, the bars crossing each other, square gaps large enough to show what was within. It was a strange device, composed mostly of bronze pipes and steel fittings, one of the last examples of a gas-using projectile launcher, and it was badly beaten up, as though it had been ripped from a mounting by a savage kick. Beside it, on the floor of the cage, a conical lead projectile. The cage was securely locked, and the key for it rested right beside the cage.

The Black Knight mostly seemed to be meditating, his head down and eyes closed. But now and again he would look up at the cage, and the key, and the innocuous device within. “It would be so easy. So very easy. That is what the Dead One preaches,” he whispered to the cage. “No effort. No work. The brute force solution of slavery and sexual bribery. You are a lie. A figment. A shade. This easy solution is the solution of death and misery. It is living in squalor, and for some living in everything from abject terror to the Tartarus of their own shattered mind. You are a nothing, easy way. And I will never take you.”

Just saying it, asserting it so strongly and so surely had an immediate effect on the Black Knight.

He smiled.

Part 3.1- Generosity: The Healing Touch And Iron Heart

The nations of the world had shuddered under the brutal assault of the fascist northmen. There had been no warning after the corrupted parasitization of the Crystal Empire, only a war of lightning-quickness. The northmen had called it a lyn-krig, and used the brutality and speed, as well as their new god-king's strange and unfathomable power, to overawe Equestria, in almost no time at all, which was strange to many.

From there the lyn-krig continued, in order to catch other nations as unawares as possible. The first to fall was the Diamond Dog nation, fracturing it in two, between collaborators and resistance fighters, with the bulk of professionals leaving with the exiled government. The next to fall was the Grand Veldt, the zebras not so much surrendering as passing an unenforceable resolution to remain free as the bulk of their ministers fled. Those who stayed behind became another puppet government, paying Danegeld to the northmen in the form of flesh and treasure.

The lightning speed blunted on two fronts after that. The Aegeman Sea to the south was overrun, if not strictly conquered. The queen lived, as did her mother-in-law, and led what remained of the government, but King Minos and the army of Concrete fell in a bloody slaughter that handed the northmen a Pyrrhic victory, which was compounded by the need to conquer each island and city-state in the sphere of Concretan influence. The capitulation came, but not easily, and the region never settled well into a conquered territory.

The other blunting force was the iron resolve of the Griffin Kingdom. Though faced with turncoat dukes that ceded their territory in theory, the High King asserted his ownership of all Kingdom land, emphasizing the ducal position as managers of holdings. Though an insurgency sprang up under the leadership of the crown Prince, who had been promised a viceregal position of the intended puppet state, the counterinsurgency was unbending. The Black-Verreaux Maquis held the mountains leading to the capital eyrie of Tara, while elite guard units whipped the combined northmen/traitor force into a halt, pushing them back to hardpoints when the bulk of the northmen's forces were pulled back. The fight remained a stalemate, and would until one side could get an unambiguous boost of hard support, or the situation changed drastically in terms of supply.

The outlier was the great prairie and badlands. Though some pony settlements like Dodge Junction and Appleoosa were near it the location was never an important site. The buffalo had been invaded, and those who were caught were brainwashed or enslaved, but they also fought back. Death was heavy on both sides. But there was no single nation to claim victory or defeat. When the caribou pulled out to deal with other issues, the tribes realized that they were not safe, only ignored.

The remaining heads of the tribal bands combined their numbers in a grand treaty of mutual support and protection. They called their organization the Federated Tribes, and, as much as possible, vanished into their homeland. Villages were hidden, trained warriors protected, professional buffalo sheltered and used to the fullest extent. They fully sided with the rebels, but concentrated mostly on hiding and keeping themselves safe.

The hidden settlements were often disguised as large mounds, joined stones covered in dirt and sod, like hidden versions of the ancient stone settlements long abandoned by the buffalo. They were worlds of twilight, the sun filtered and diffused to protect the openings from aerial patrols. They farmed carefully, focusing on fungi like the Diamond Dogs, and the wild gourds and legumes which could be harvested without notice.

Traditions like stampeding were reduced, or set aside, depending on freedom. The challenges of trying to maintain peace and the population left some areas poorly served. Limited resources were stretched very thin. One of the most important elements in high demand was doctors, either shaman healers or Equestrian-trained medical professionals from before the fall.

Inside one of the hidden mound-villages, three figures occupied a small, shadowy room. Cloth pads were on the floor, all of them unoccupied save for one. A chestnut-brown male buffalo calf lowed miserably, slowly writhing on the pad while grabbing at his stomach. Standing away from him, and sobbing, was his mother. The light brown cow looked on with concern and watched the third figure, who was kneeling beside the calf. She was another buffalo cow, milk white and wearing a torn, off-white lab coat over a set of dingy green scrubs.

“Shh, please, child. I am trying to listen...” The doctor said, softly but firmly. She ran a stethoscope over the calf's chest and belly.

“D-doctor Ironwood... can you help him? Does he... will he need surgery?” The mother asked, voice thick with concern.

“I will know shortly...” Dr. Ironwood said flatly, concentrating on what she was hearing. After a moment she pulled the stethoscope away and reached into a bag settled near her. “The shaman can do more for him later but for right now, I can give him this...” She pulled a small bottle from the bag and popped it open, pouring a pale blue liquid into the calf's mouth.

“Wh-what is it? What's wrong with him?” The mother asked.

“Your fungi are of good quality but some of them were mingled with a lichen that causes such cramps and bloating. This will calm the stomach and allow it to pass. The shaman will do after-care,” Ironwood said calmly, sealing the bottle and placing it back in her bag.

The calf lowed and trembled for a bit longer, calming down a short time later, still looking pained but not as much. “Doctor Ironwood...”

“Yes, child, are you still experiencing sharp pains or are they dull?” Ironwood asked, leaning down to peer closely at the calf.

The calf quickly wrapped Ironwood in a tight, powerful embrace. “Thank you! You saved me!”

“There was no danger,” Ironwood said, in a flat tone with a small note of surprise. “I merely accelerated the outcome.”

“You helped me. Thank you so much! I wish you were the tribe's doctor,” the calf said, happily.

“Yes, that would be good,” the mother added. “Maybe Standing Boulder would take better care of himself.”

Ironwood winced, just slightly, her mind casting back to her time with the tribe. The first day she had been there she had sewn up a nasty wound caused by a harvesting accident. Immediately after it was a fever she brought down. She had set three broken legs, two broken arms and poulticed a dozen broken horns. She'd treated five respiratory infections, six infected throats, an eye wound, an intestinal parasite, and performed one surgery to remove inflamed tonsils.

She had treated illnesses and injuries. Not patients. Illnesses and injuries. The bodies, faces, voices and names were unknown. She saw only the wounds and sickness. That was good. All her focus, skill, knowledge and power could go to them. She had never asked, and she had never bothered to hear.

But time had passed. She had been seeing the dim gray outlines around the sickness and injury. She had been taking note of details and personality. She could feel them growing 'selves' beyond the things she treated.

“Standing Boulder,” Ironwood repeated, looking down and seeing the smiling calf, really seeing him.

An hour later the whole tribe was gathered around at one of the entrances to the hidden village, the burly chief regarding Ironwood with a mix of sadness and confusion. “Doctor Ironwood... I don't understand...”

“What confusion is there, Chief Thunderhead?” Ironwood asked, standing proud and looking the chief in the eyes.

“You have been with my tribe for a long time, or so it seems,” Thunderhead said. “You have healed our hurts, and made us better. I thought... that you would stay and become part of this tribe.”

A small wince cracked Ironwood's rigid and serious features, and her body twitched, reacting like a small punch in the gut. “This is my lot, Chief Thunderhead. Surely you understand that.”

“I don't... what are you talking about?” Thunderhead asked.

“You have a shaman here, a healer who will sustain you in the main. I am a trained doctor, from the time before. I am needed in other tribes. So I must wander to another tribe, to give my skills to them,” Ironwood explained, turning away from the tribe. She could see their sadness. And their identities.

Thunderhead looked aside, and slowly nodded. “You're right, Doctor Ironwood. It was selfish to think you would stay here forever. Other tribes do need you. What you do is important.”

“I thank you for your understanding. And your hospitality,” Ironwood said, slowly setting forth on an ill-defined path from the village.

“Your bounteous and benevolent actions will never be forgotten!” Thunderhead bellowed cheerfully. “Everyone celebrate and honor her!”

Thunderous stomps, applause and cheers erupted from the gathered tribe. Ironwood turned to offer a smile to them as she walked. It was a tiny smile, strained across her stern and stoic features. She looked back and intended to see only healed hurts. She saw all that, and a shadow of the calf Standing Boulder.

She turned away with a moue of distaste and tried to measure her steps, to take her away steadily and rapidly.

In the time before the fall, the happy time, the blissful time, Equestria was more than welcoming. They accepted those from the nations and territories around them, as travelers, as immigrants, or as students. In educating others they increased the greatness of all, and made themselves look more wonderful, prestige growing with each graduate.

Equestrian institutions were well versed in the standards of education in other nations and had complex charts and formulae to calculate the exact equivalent between a foreign student and an Equestrian student, in terms of total knowledge and the 'quality' of the education. As different species had, necessarily, different traditions of working with the many kinds of magic, there was often a lot of calculating how to count such courses, where applicable.

Though medicine used a great deal of magic for many things, the anatomy and physiology were independent of any magical issues. The Royal Canterlot University College of Medicine, Dentistry and Chiurgery was the finest in the principality, and thus the world. They offered substantial subsidies for all classes of students, to ensure a ready supply of doctors trained in all the proper techniques.

Foreign students waited eagerly, and gladly, on lists because they were never rejected, only made to wait. Once approved to attend they only had to await a spot. Even though they were intent on taking all their medical knowledge back to their nations, that was never a concern. The greater good was always in Equestria's thoughts.

Ironwood was one of the first buffalo to attend the University, for that purpose. Most had entered the College of Physical and Thaumatic Science, in botany, petrology, lithology, or geomorphology. Ironwood had been a natural healer, trained under the medicine-speaker of her tribe and also educated in nearby Dodge Junction. She had applied to the smaller Baltimare School of Medicine, but her application had been passed along to Royal Canterlot University, as her grades were excellent and she deserved the opportunity.

The culture shock had been tremendous, moving from the sparse prairie to the built-up metropolis of Canterlot. No wide-open stampeding grounds, just architectural order, a different sort of beauty but beauty nonetheless. The plant-lined boulevards and botanical gardens reminded her of the disordered beauty of her home. Intent and accident both produced the same things, just in different forms.

Given the distance from home her three years of medical school, the amount calculated by the Registrar's Office, was spent in Canterlot, and mostly in the dorm. She never pledged any of the sororities, but only because she was always engaged in the dormitory activities. Spirit contests, volunteer work, and helping others in the dorm with what she could.

She had friends. She had a few that might have been more than friends in those days. The memories tended to run together. Three years seemed like a lifetime then, sitting in classrooms and laboratories, spending long lunches and dinners in the dining hall. The library was amazing to her, filled with books older than the shaman's grandparents' grandparents.

For all she loved it, she still returned to her tribe. She went back to the tribal lands, and to a little practice in Dodge Junction. She wasn't there all the time, but she was there often. She had the training for things beyond the usual, including surgery. She supplemented her practice with her apothecary skills gleaned from the medicine-speaker's teachings.

She always thought about returning to Canterlot. For additional medical education, for a new degree, just to catch up with everyone she had left there. She considered and considered and considered, every day thinking about the possibility, every day falling back into her routine, with her tribe and the ponies, distracted from her intention. She had every new tomorrow to imagine her return.

Then tomorrow died...

Ironwood's stoic facade had not really cracked, so much as she radiated a certain sadness through her firm and hard-set face. She was wrapped securely in the memories she had held tight to her heart since that day. It was a suitable companion for her lonely journey through the prairie.

A slight sound from her side made Ironwood aware that she was no longer alone on her journey. She looked to the side and was shocked to find a pony stallion walking beside her. He was an earth pony with a caramel coat, and a black mane that was slicked back but still spiked somewhat. He wore a tattered black suit with a ribbon of black lace at his throat.

“What is this? Who are you?!” Ironwood asked, staggering away a short way.

“I have so many names. Had so many names. I have new appellations now, but still a thick cloth across my real one. For now it suffices to call me the Black Knight. I'm sure you know me, Doctor Ironwood,” the Black Knight said, reaching out his hand for a shake.

Ironwood looked down at the hand with some suspicion, but eventually took it and shook firmly. “You are the leader of the rebels? The Federation is in accord with you. So it is proper to be in communion. I do not see reason to disbelieve you are who you say.” She released the hand and began walking again, still followed by the Black Knight.

“I'm glad. I like to think I'm trustworthy... to the deserving,” the Black Knight said with a soft laugh. “And I'm glad to see that some things have not changed, even in this terrible time.”

“What things do you say have not changed?” Ironwood asked.

“Perhaps it is because the generation from before the fall are still in evidence and suffered no need to change, but buffalo cows still speak with such a wonderfully erudite formality. It always made such a nice contrast with buffalo bull casual colloquialism,” the Black Knight said, sauntering casually along.

Ironwood nodded, eyes front, watching the horizon in the flat distance. “It is still the same. The tribes have lost so many traditions. But they keep those they can. It is still the way, as I have seen, that mothers teach the cows the proper Equestrian tongue, while bulls are allowed to be less formal.”

“They were never less educated, of course. I knew my fair share of buffalo before, and met more after. They were simply more laid-back. Not that I ever knew a buffalo cow who had trouble with being casual and relaxed. They just spoke very well,” the Black Knight said.

“Much was expected of the cows. Of the bulls too, but so much more professionalism was expected. We were called to be strong and wise. Once...” Ironwood said, voice fading on the last word.

“And again someday,” the Black Knight asserted.

“We may hope. Until then, I go among the tribes, to help with all the knowledge and skill that would be denied to me in this dark and disgusting era of filth and madness,” Ironwood said, face and voice both devoid of expression despite the venomous words.

“Yes indeed!” The Black Knight shouted suddenly. “You wander from a tribe to a tribe. And from a tribe and to a tribe. Wander. Wander. Wander. All around the tribes, forever and ever. I only knew one creature that wandered as much as you, and I tried to have a little variety.”

“I have responsibilities,” Ironwood said, tersely. “I must do my utmost to use the skill I possess to help those who need my healing arts. I did a lot of work at the College of Medicine, became a surgeon and general practitioner, all with the encouragement of my tribe at the largess of the generous Equestrian welfare state. So long as I have the capacity, I will share it, freely and abundantly, with all.”

“I will not argue with that position. It's the wonder of the old world, the one we wish to see again,” The Black Knight said with a nod.

“I do so much, have done so much, to ensure I have paid this seemingly endless debt I owe to the lands which nurtured me,” Ironwood stated. “I've gone to far reaches, worked my fingers to the bone, given of myself so much there is almost nothing left in me, but still I give.”

“I know. Your reputation precedes you. I've heard tales from the hidden tribes, and, well... wasn't there something of your doing in Dodge Junction?” The Black Knight asked, looking aside.

Those last two words cracked across Ironwood's mind like peals of thunder in a summer storm. She stopped cold in her tracks, eyes staring sightlessly into the flat prairie expanse. Her mind was no longer there with the Black Knight; she was cast back to that day. The day 'tomorrow' died.

Blood.

Blood and screaming.

She was drowning in an ocean of blood, her head ringing with the pounding echoes of soul-tearing shrieks.

Screams poured from a thousand throats and blood oozed from a million wounds. Or so it seemed to her. For all she could tell the world had been stolen, reduced to terrified screams and a crimson flood.

The small town of Dodge Junction was on the periphery of the then-present stage of the caribou lyn-krig, the last Equestrian frontier following the savage breaking of Appleoosa. The crippling mental sickness of the ice-hearted barbarians was slow to spread after the initial infection and seemed to be spread only in special cases.

But there was no time for fine-toothed examinations of the etiology and epidemiology of the mental infection. There were more practical medical concerns. Dodge Junction had the last functioning train line, and was the last place where coaches could go from. Both led out of the caribou sphere of influence. They were going to wastes and wilds, but better to chance the wilds than the horrors of the caribou.

Her bloody hands moved between wounds freely, having no time nor equipment to clean between each one. She was making due with supplies that could be scrounged up. As everything had fallen almost entirely apart she was forced to make do. Every first aid kit in town had been poured out at her hooves, as had every last medical object from the clinic, along with everything the refugees had on them that could even partially suffice.

She was doing stitches with boiled sewing thread, pouring salt water mixed with moonshine over deep wounds and tying torn clothes over the most deserving wounds. 'Triage' stopped meaning a careful sifting of clear instances of stratified medical cases. She was practically measuring out drops of blood on a dosage scale to decide what was most deserving of the fresh-boiled rags.

She noted so many of the same wounds that they made a deep impression on her. Hastily executed horn removals or incomplete removals. Cracked horns, sawn-into horns, jagged remnants, cracks in the cornutation between horn and skull, as well as cuts and gouges from the procedure. Wings violently broken while being plucked, or hacked to bleeding ribbons by attempted knife-shaving, or simply hastily chopped off, a few of the 'lucky' ones with the muscles hacked but the bones still in place. The Cutie marks fared the worst. She had run through her burn salve and her own mixture of plants early. She was reduced to using mud poultices made with liquor to cover the clumsy branding that attempted to obliterate the marks, or the violent slashes that gouged deep into the flanks, looking to be made by those in a rage, the ignorant anger of an immature monster.

She stitched and poulticed and wrapped, treating screaming patient after screaming patient, her hands in motion seemingly every second, drenched in watery blood. She was still working on a pregnant mare when she was pulled onto the last wagon leaving Dodge Junction. Her final patient was wedged uncomfortably into the conveyance. But a sea of desperate eyes watched her go.

The screaming and pleading faded through distance, but in her own mind no amount of distance ever made it one bit quieter.

“You know...” The Black Knight's sudden words cut through Ironwood's fugue. “It is very nice of you to do this thing that you do. Giving so freely of your time, wandering from place to place, even if it's inconvenient, all in the service of medicine and the free gifting of your time and skill to the needy.”

“It is necessary and right,” Ironwood huffed, pulling her features into a look of stony pride. “I was given the opportunity to learn. Not to use that knowledge would be a travesty. I have treated tribe after tribe, band after band. I have set bones, closed wounds, treated infections, and performed surgery where I could. And just now I prevented that. A simple lichen contamination that a lesser medic may have exacerbated with unnecessary surgery. I must go as far as the horizon's end to treat these wounds and woes. It is my duty as a buffalo and an Equestrian-trained doctor.”

“And what was the name?” The Black Knight queried.

Ironwood snapped her eyes aside, looking shocked by the question. “What was that?”

“The name,” The Black Knight repeated. “The name of the patient you saved from unnecessary surgery. Surely they had a name. Buffalo have names, the same as ponies do.”

Ironwood scoffed and turned her hard eyes to the horizon. “Of course they had a name. They all had names. Every disease and wound I treated was upon those with names.”

“You mentioned the diseases and wounds first...” The Black Knight said, sotto voce.

“The diseases and wounds were pressing. Important. They had to be treated, to be seen. It was necessary that I act and give them the attention they required,” Ironwood insisted.

“The patients needed that tending,” The Black Knight corrected. “And they all had names.”

Ironwood was quiet for a long, uncomfortable moment, her gaze drifting from the horizon to the stallion at her side. “I could not avoid learning a name or two. And I wandered on, to seek another tribe to help and heal. A tribe with no names.”

“But they all have names. Sooner or later you have to know them. As isolated as you try to be, tucked away with your quiet thoughts you have to learn the names that surround you, and then you walk away,” The Black Knight stated.

“You know who did not have names? The screaming faces of the folk in D-” Ironwood winced, gritting her teeth and clearing her throat. “In the last Equestrian town I was in. They had no names. Only screaming and groans. Wounds, hideous and raw. I treated wounds so fast that I could not be sure if I had moved to another or if I was treating the same broken body. No names. Only wounds. And still the screaming haunts my days and plagues my nightmares. If the nameless can cling to me, echoes and shadows that drift through my days and nights, what does that mean? It means that those with faces and names I know will cut deeper, linger more strongly and clearly. Their wounds become my wounds, for I would know them to that level.”

“And so you move on. You walk away to save yourself,” The Black Knight stated, with an accusatory edge to his tone. “You give something but you don't accept the responsibility of what you're doing. You don't really give, you lend. And lend stingily. You're being very selfish.”

“With compound interest of pain for pain, lent and returned, to twist the knife in my guts and mind, to torment me. But you know what, Black Knight? Do you want to know the truth?” Ironwood looked aside, tears locked tight in her sad, bloodshot eyes, hidden behind the walls of her resolve. “The pain is blinding and cuts deeper than any scalpel ever could. But that nameless, faceless pain of interest paid for lending my skill fades. It is utter agony but it fades and I may soon actually live again, breathe again. Repeat the cycle of lending and hurt. But it is my cycle.”

“But is it the only cycle? Need it even be a cycle?” The Black Knight asked, contemplatively stroking his chin. “When you lend and repay, you see these diseases and wounds, you see only rot and hurt, you lend some skill and take it back, remembering nothing, save for a world of pain. You return to that over and over. But consider learning their names, their faces, not only wounds and sickness. You would learn the whole being, not a mere symptom. A being with a life and joy beyond the pain, a being grateful to you for your skill. One happy to know you, to take away the sorrow and pain, because you would remember you helped them, you healed them. Give, and not lend, and you get back more than pain. You are enriched by the experience. Your ghosts don't haunt you because you see more than their pain, you see their smile.”

Ironwood didn't speak for a long, long while, stoically contemplating the vast flatness before her. She made no sound as she slowly cracked. She barely even twitched her facial muscles as the tears started to softly slip from her eyes and spatter on the scrubby ground. “Smiles are a rare commodity. You know it most keenly of all. You must have more ghosts than any other being in the world.”

“And I dance with them to let them know there is still joy, a joy they wanted more than anything else,” He replied, with a small lilt in his voice.

The words slowly clicked into place. Rumors, modern legend, whispers from the superstitious passing legends from Appleoosa and the region of the former Thunderhooves tribe. The Ghost Dancer. A stone stood and grew for him but he walked like any being. He went by the light of the moon to save the innocent and punish the guilty. A sardonic smile spread on Ironwood's face as she continued to weep. “What do you do when you find the evil and selfish? Do you drag them personally to Tartarus or let them burn in the pure light of the moon?”

“Evil and selfish? You? I'm sorry, Doctor Ironwood, but you don't even merit the tiniest bit of notice. You tried to protect yourself, but you bore unnecessary pain while helping. Even if you lent but didn't give, at least you offered something. Don't think too lowly of yourself. I'm not here to punish you. I'm here to help you see that sometimes, you have to bear up that pain, as I told you, in order to reap the smiles and joy of those you know.”

“All those wounds, the screaming, the nameless victims clawing at me, begging for help, while I could do only so much. I used anything that could come to hand to just barely treat the injuries. So many needed me, so many more than I could help. Am I judged by those that could not reach me?”

“I would think so. That cannot be helped. You tried better than your best. It was more than most could manage, more than most would do. And remember all the ones you helped. Even with makeshift supplies, you still helped them to the best of your capacity. They must have been delighted.”

“I am a doctor, I cannot show partiality,” Ironwood insisted, speaking through her thick throat. “I help all I can but how can it ever be enough? My two hands reach so very little space before me. I cannot heal the whole world, and every last failure is my own doing...”

“The world's doing,” The Black Knight said firmly. “You did not build the world so much bigger than your arms, pile problems bigger than your hands. Others forced this enormity onto you, bigger than your skill, bigger than an army of you. With every success you prove any failure was the fault of The Heartless Hind, not your own.”

“I failed still,” Ironwood sighed. “I cannot relish my success because every failure cuts so deeply. It is the Hind's doing but my patients pay that bill over and over. They pay, I hurt and he cares nothing for the agony he spreads.”

“He never will, and perhaps he never can,” The Black Knight said. “But that is not your fault, once more. Those like the Heartless Hind make the messes, we clean them up. And in doing so we show them up, show them to be the selfish beasts they are, our toil is our incorruptible sign of an honor that can never be stolen away. We can only ever dishonor ourselves, but those like us, we would never.”

“Those like us?” Ironwood asked, noting that, by the simple action of gentle approach and slight changes in pace and hand motions, she had been directed to a different path than she had been going at first. “What?”

“There is a great path to stampede upon, a thundering across history that needs a buffalo like you. You in particular. Walk with me a way, and you will see where your place lies,” The Black Knight said with a smile.

o o o

The hexagonal chamber that housed the elements of harmony glowed with gem lights, illuminating the august scene of carved stone and painted reproductions of the old stained glass long destroyed in the original location. The three grand statues of Princess Luna, Princess Celestia and the Arch-Magus continued a stoic and stony vigil, gazing at three corners, eyes overseeing two walls each with their niches holding the inactive spheres of the elements, save the two already claimed.

Down the gaze of Princess Luna, one alcove, Loyalty, laid empty, while the other, Generosity, still had the stone sphere that was being regarded by the Black Knight and Doctor Ironwood. “So... this lump of stone carries the hopes and dreams of billions...”

“You are dedicated to that cynicism, aren't you?” The Black Knight asked with a grin.

“It is a bit detached of me. But really, seeing it from the extreme outside... I will not ask about the logistics and possibility, I know a zebra and a Diamond Dog already have done this. Surely a buffalo can but... Generosity? Me? You came because I was being a miser with my emotions.”

“But never your talents,” The Black Knight added. “And really, it takes a miser to know what it is to be such, and what to avoid on the road to true giving. You've been stingy, and now you are resolved to be something more. It's the ones who strive the hardest who can do their best. It takes no effort to breeze through without temptation. It's a more difficult road to have a skill and drive and learning in the art of something, but make the constant choice to be more refined.”

“I feel there is perhaps more truth in that than you mean to say,” Doctor Ironwood said with a small grin. She reached out and placed her hand on the sphere. Instantly it exploded in a flash of magic, light and color streaming out, the stone itself transformed into a whirl of small gemstones that leaped to the buffalo. On contact, a more brilliant flash emerged, and in the wake of the light, left her with new accoutrements. A golden necklace with decorative filigree, terminating in a medicine wheel made of smooth, black-veined turquoise.

“The eyes of Her Majesty of the Night have now witnessed the fulfillment of a rebirth,” the Black Knight said with a nod of satisfaction. “A welcome addition. A most welcome addition.”

“Fascinating...” Doctor Ironwood stroked her fingers across the stony surface, tracing the veins and caressing the mineral slowly. “A medicine wheel. How appropriate. And now?”

“Now, we show true generosity. Your hands could not reach to the top of a problem. Now you have support. You can reach for the stars if enough will lift you high...”

Part 0.0- The Elements

“...It must now be clear to us that the main tendency of the principle is to use physical menace for the purpose of extorting an appearance of respect which is deemed too difficult or superfluous to acquire in reality; a proceeding which comes to much the same thing as if you were to prove the warmth of your room by holding your hand on the thermometer and so make it rise. {…} As not much reliance can be placed upon human integrity, the principle that it is more essential to arouse fear than to invite confidence would not, perhaps, be a false one, if we were living in a state of nature, where every man would have to protect himself and directly maintain his own rights. But in civilized life, where the state undertakes the protection of our person and property, the principle is no longer applicable; it stands, like the castles and watch-towers of the age when might was right, a useless and forlorn object, amidst well-tilled fields and frequented roads, or even railways.”

-Arthur Schopenhauer

The savage, fascist northmen who conquered Equestria imported their ugliness with their monstrous selves. Bright colors, comfortable furniture, artistic expression, complex foods, all anathema. They broke and destroyed everything they could, spreading terror and hate in their wake.

The ancient and beautiful city of Canterlot, symbol of beauty, peace and wonder for the whole of the land, suffered the wost at their bumbling, ignorant hands. The primitive and bigoted savages, barely smart or sapient enough to claim either designation, smashed their mailed fists through the colorful windows, burned classical paintings and furnishings and crushed all the works of art and musical instruments they could get their foolish hands on.

With the castle destroyed and defiled in the manner they required of their habitations they moved in their ugly god-king. He had a name, but right-thinking folks did not speak it. He was purely a monster. A beast. A horrible and wretched collection of disgusting habits and horrible thoughts.

He took up the throne room, and used it to prove his barbaric power. He did many horn removals and wing amputations, as well as dozens of Cutie mark burnings. His savage brutality knew no bounds. He had no conscience, only a carven lump of ice where his heart should have been.

Being such a brutal and primitive wretched wasteland of a creature he filled the throne room with trophies to show his bloody conquests. Severed heads of many species, and all of females, festered and rotted around the walls. Brutalized women were securely chained to the walls, face-first, and subjected to rape or whipping until they bled at a minor command from the Stag King. Treasures from the conquered nation flooded the place. But the most unassuming objects were the greatest spoils.

Six gray stone spheres, set on a table. Six gray stone spheres that represented the one potential source of true opposition to the Heartless Hind. The disempowered Elements of Harmony. The bearers could no longer claim them. Their bond was shattered when some became collaborators and others were scarred and beaten into a pitiful state. They were inert. Useless, so far as the average empty-minded northman was concerned. Their king knew better, because his craven quisling Shining Armor had told him of the magic that slumbered within.

They were the truest symbol of the Stag King's power and might, his iron-fisted control of a shattered nation. Even when he added the headless stone body of the Arch-Magus of Canterlot, and arranged the spheres on him, they were the focal point. He wanted them there, to be seen. He wanted all to tremble at him, for he was mighty, and it was how he got his respect.

He had 'ceremonial' guards in the throne room, whose purpose was genuine defense. He could not afford to appear weak, but he could not remain without cannon fodder to die in his defense. So he had elaborate armor made, incorporating the bones of murdered slaves, and filled the armor with elite bucks. They were called The Vidkun Order, after the savage monster who was beheaded by the Last Arch-Magus at the Battle of Paddock Fifty-One.

Pony servants and soldiers occasionally wandered in and out to give reports or stand a watch as ordered. They were irregular and imprecise, because sexual expression meant that making and keeping a schedule was hard work. It all pleased the Stag King, especially when the ponies stood in awe of the spheres.

The Stag King had but one single, overpowering worry, and it galled him. Not the demigoddesses of Equestria, his mysterious power had conquered them. Some of the population had resisted the control of his strange power. They stood against him, which was a great insult. They dared challenge him, a living god.

But worst of all was the heart of his worry. The mysterious perhaps-creature known as the Phantom. He refused to believe that it really was a single being. No single being could deliver such vexation to his grand army of savage barbarians. But some core creature in some sense represented that ghostly figure. That pony, that single being that mocked him with his continued life, was what worried and galled him so.

He had been told that the Phantom was within the grasp of a pony general by the name of Swagger Stick. His information had been followed. Then he defected, betrayed the new order and killed his detachment. His execution and replacement by General Iron Fist was to solve the problem. It had not. Iron Fist had been beheaded in Canterlot palace by the Phantom. He had escaped and likely would not return.

But he had returned to the domain of the conquerors. Or the rumors of him had. A captive rebel, with tales to tell. Tales of the Phantom, his many names, his many deeds, and his many hiding places. He spun the stories that the army needed in order to march on the great traitor. He threatened self-destruction to keep himself unmolested while he spun his web.

The web, like a spider's parlor, was trap. Detachments of guards, slaughtered, by rebels, by compliant drones, even by each other. His words had been poison, and those that suggested he be interrogated had earned their just punishment for the failure to break the prisoner. The rebel had left, to join others and continue the fight. A fight which cut uncomfortably close to the heart of the shattered land.

The Phantom had stricken in his territory. He had defiled the purity of the Hind's will, the savage assurances of power shown with severed heads and brutalized women. The Phantom would pay, if he ever came close enough. Though he wanted him dead, the stag King wanted to be the one to kill him. To change his gender and torture him to death over weeks. Months. Years! The Phantom would pay for the insolent mockery of a living god. He would learn the price.

The day began as it ever did. The Stag King was too dull-minded to know or confess it but there was a stultifying sameness to things. The same brutality, the same sitting and simply being powerful, the same mindlessness. Only rarely would any come in and disturb the stillness with petty concerns such as the needs of governance.

The Vidkun Order guards stood at their positions at the corners of the throne room, and beside the King's throne. The women struggled and occasionally whimpered in pain and fear. Each sound was punished with a brutal course of whipping, filling the room with screams, which brought a smile to all. It was the only break in the monotony.

The empty silence and relatively stillness of the throne room was broken by a soft clattering. It sounded like rocks falling onto the floor. The Vidkun Order guards tracked the sound and noticed some pebbled on the ground near the center of the room, including a few that were still dropping and bouncing.

Further investigation revealed nothing more than the empty ceiling.

“What a foolish, doeish thing to do,” one of them said to the others.

“Care must be taken. We are the elite who stand for our Pitiless Majesty, we must be prepared,” another replied.

“That comes close to blasphemy,” the first hissed. “He is invincible and infinitely strong. We are here to serve as ceremonial guard, not actual guards.”

“I take my position more seriously than you,” the second said sharply.

“Your position will become 'doe' if you choose to blaspheme,” the first countered.

“That is not your decision. I am faithful, strong and male. I have tortured many females. I am the ideal buck,” the second sniffed.

“Not if you imply his Pitiless Majesty needs our protection,” the first snapped.

“Then why are you here, fool?” the second spat.

“The free women! This is one of the easiest ways to beat and assault women, and it gives me status. My position as a master is increased and I have access to more and better women,” the second said with puffed-up pride.

“You are a decadent fool. I serve for honor and glory, the way of our kind,” the second said with equal pride. “And as a happy side effect, I can brutalize others and be regarded with greater status.”

“He has a good point,” a third said. “Honor the old ways and get more chances to abuse.”

“Bah, it's too much work to consider-” the first began, cut off when another pebble dropped. “In any event, it is nothing. The pony palace is merely shedding rubble from our mighty and masculine battery of its weak and female form.”

Another fall of stones came then, but they were more than mere pebbles. They looked to be gemstones of significant size, glowing with a greenish inner light. They hit the ground with a terrific pop, shooting quick shards of stony shrapnel then releasing a thick, choking cloud of green gas that swallowed the scene.

Another soft thump sounded from within the cloud, almost lost amid the gagging coughs of the surprised Vidkun Order guards. The coughs became less and less powerful as their number reduced. They seemed to end with a gasp or a pained grunt, followed by a soft thump on the ground.

The cloud cleared, before the Stag King could rise and demand anything be done about it, green smoke drifting out of the windows and dissipating into the corridors of the palace. The clearing of the cloud revealed a dark, hunched figure, in goggles and a bandana, writing on the chipped and cracked stone floor.

He traced his finger in the blood of the Vidkun Order, carefully crafting each letter like one creating an elaborately calligraphic, illuminated work. He did not even seem willing to acknowledge that the Stag King glared down with hot hate on him.

“Who dares defile the throne of the god-king of all the world?!” The King screamed, voice echoing around the walls and making the women whimper.

No response came at first from the figure. He worked quickly yet with a surprisingly delicate and careful touch, leaving the refrain that had haunted the eyes and ears of the new order for a good while. Etiamsi Omnes, Ego Non.

Only when the writing was done did the figure stood slowly, turning his goggled eyes on the lord of the fallen world. He was a tatterdemalion, clad in the ruins of a black suit with a white ruffled shirt and bedraggled lace in a bow at his throat. The bandana was a ragged square of folded-over cloth in an explosion of pastel colors, while the goggles were the sturdy metal and smoked glass used by Diamond Dog forge tenders and smelter workers.

“Who dares?” The Stag King asked again, his wings twitching at his back, teeth gritting firmly.

The figure moved with a preternatural quickness, dancing and tumbling his way over to the element orbs. He drew a knife from a hidden place, the blade of glowing silver, and marked with two symbols. A golden wheel, and the old insignia of the dancing Princesses. “I dare.”

A long, heavy moment of silence filled the throne room, the eyes of the Stag King betraying his surprise. The beast of legend, was real. The single monster that opposed his order actually existed. “You... you would come here?”

“I would,” the Black Knight said with an odd mirth, a smile seeming to be hidden behind his bandana. “I did before. But I never stopped in to greet you. I thought I would come, see how your Vidkun Order held up, then take some parting gifts and be off.” He grew suddenly serious. “I tried them. They were not sufficient.”

“They were only for appearance...” The Stag King said, slowly rising up. “I can take care of myself...”

“Yes, but can you deal with that?” The Black Knight said, pointing to the doorway to the throne room.

Through the door came a ragged pony servant, a red-bodied, yellow-maned earth pony mare who looked hollow-eyed and helpless, with barely the energy to trudge hopelessly along. She bore with her a rough and ugly wheeled cart, like those used to move food and sex toys through the palace.

A loud, raucous laugh rang out from the Stag King, cruel mirth written on his barbaric features. “You thought to trick me. But she is only a dead-eyed cunt, a worthless piece of flesh that walks and suffers but cannot think.”

“You think that about most females, I imagine. More's the pity...” With another explosive burst of speed and grace the Black Knight gathered up the six spheres and hurriedly threw them onto the cart.

The mare sprang into action, securing them with hidden straps and ensuring they were all locked down tight. Her face became determined, and her eyes flashed with a spark of strength. “Spheres secured, sir.”

“Use extraction plan Harmony-3. Modify if you've heard different,” the Black Knight shouted, standing protectively in front of the mare.

“Running the gauntlet now, sir. Rendezvous point set and ready!” The mare cried, running out of the throne room with the Elements.

“Traitorous bitch!” The Stag King screamed, gathering up magical force to fire at the retreating servant.

The Black Knight whipped the knife up and tossed it at the Stag King's crotch. The silver blade spun rapidly in the air, catching the eye of the Stag King and canceling his spell. The brutish beast stood, with an arrogant look as the point of the knife slammed into a magical barrier that looked to be formed of yellow-colored translucent hexagonal panels. The arrogant look faltered, and a twinge of fear came to his features as the knife blade, seemingly with residual momentum, dug into one magical panel, the point just barely penetrating.

The moment was broken, however, as the magical barrier finally succeeded in repulsing the knife, sending it flying back to clatter on the ground. The Black Knight held out a hand to call the knife back to his grip. “Fiat. I knew you would cheat, you Heartless Hind.”

“Cheating is what inferiors call the winning techniques of the master race,” The Stag King said, looking at the Black Knight warily. “You will never escape, Phantom. Your stunt failed.”

“Know why I went for the twig and berries, you arrogant beast?” The Black Knight asked, his look somewhere between mocking and hostile. “You murder, mutilate and maraud, without pity or thought for others, so I know you have no heart. You enact stupid policies and allow sex to be central, vitiating efficiency, so I know you have no brain. You claim superiority and mastery and prove how great you are by violently beating and chaining those over whom you are allegedly superior, so I know you have no guts. You focus exclusively on your genitals and babble on about them so much I know you have those. But with how much you need them promoted I can be sure that I was taking a gamble, trying to hit a target that small.” He winked. “I'm a grifter and a quacksalver. The easiest way to fix a bad product is yell about it louder. It doesn't actually fix anything but the razzle-dazzle means it takes longer for them to notice.”

The magic charged again, crackling through the Stag King's horns. “Insolent wretch! I will make you regret everything!”

“I regret nothing,” the Black Knight called, throwing a big handful of gems at the King. They crashed heavily against his magical field, splattering heavy tar across it as well as releasing more green gas.

Though protected from both, they combined to make it impossible to direct an attack. The Stag King roared with rage and fired his magic off haphazardly, hoping to strike something. As the green gas dissipated and the tar was dropped by the dropping of the shield, the King could see there was nothing to hit. His quarry had escaped. Again.

His voice boomed through the palace, shaking the walls and echoing down the demolished corridors. “Guards! The Phantom has invaded! Capture him! And if that is not possible, slaughter him as painfully as possible!”

The Black Knight twisted his way through the labyrinthine corridors of fallen Canterlot castle, his hooves seeming to know every twist and turn. His speed and knowledge soon had his caught up to the mare, who was running with all her might. “Any new patrol routes?”

“No, sir!” she answered. “They barely manage the schedule they have, no changes are going to happen that fast.”

“Good! We don't need interruptions. The idiot called them all into service. They'll be on our hocks in a minute.”

“My hocks, sir,” the mare said with a sudden sadness. “I haven't been the same since they got me. I used to be something, a real athlete. All the abuse and the broken legs took care of that. So take the cart.”

“What?!” The Black Knight shouted, taking hold of the cart handle when the mare released it.

“You're faster and know the place better. I'll slow them down. I have... the thing,” the mare said with a motion to her mouth.

“That's for emergencies!” The Black Knight shouted. “Not for sacrifices!”

“If I say it's an emergency then let me go on thinking it and acting like it!” The mare yelled sternly. “Just remember me to the rest of the comrades. Zayats Volk will be called across the steppes of home.”

“I have a lot of remembrances. You will occupy a privileged place,” the Black Knight said, pushing the cart along faster. “I know the shortcuts out, if you want to follow...”

“Apologies, sir, but after what happened...” Zayats shuddered. “In the old world there were doctors and hospitals for mental fragility. But now, we need action. Sacrifice. But I'll take plenty of them. I don't have the weapons with me, but I have ways.”

The Black Knight ran on, teeth grinding. Then he heard the clatter of armor and running hooves. “They're closing off the common passages but I know a roundabout way. Last chance to...”

“I'll be making noise as you go. Do svidanya, sir...” Zayats said, skidding to a halt and rushing towards the sound of armored marching. “For the Motherland, for Stalliongrad and for the Red Legion!”

“Fortuna favor you, Zayats,” the Black Knight said, turning into what looked like a small closet. Sliding a few stones and pushing on another slowly opened a panel in the back. “And may then next turn of the golden wheel give you what you have earned...”

Zayats ran fast and hard towards the sound of marching. She stopped short of running into an armored caribou leading a squad of ponies. “Equestria forever!” She cried.

“Stupid, impudent, insolent bitch!” The caribou shouted, slapping Zayats across the face with an armored hand.

Zayats hit the ground, blood seeping from her split lip and cut cheek. But despite that, she was smiling. “Glad you slapped that one...”

“The cunt knows her place. She must want to confess,” the caribou said.

“She'll still get tortured,” a stallion muttered to another.

“Over here! We captured an escapee!” The caribou yelled out.

Zayats' smile grew as more marching hooves came, surrounding her. “The other one is where I keep my emergency supply. The way to avoid the suffering I refuse to experience again.”

“The purpose of women is to suffer so men can come off on them and show how powerful and pitilessly masculine we are,” the caribou boomed.

“My purpose is to die, for my country,” Zayats grumbled. “And make you die for yours!” She sucked in a breath and bit down hard, a loud crunch ringing around. She blew out all the air from her lungs, sending out a sickly green cloud to wrap around the guards surrounding her. She dropped to the ground, a smile playing on her lips as she heard the males around her choking and screaming, and then falling.

“It was... not pleasant, your pitiless majesty,” the caribou standing before the Stag King said. His head was bowed low and he was suppressing his trembling. “Two detachments and the slave... dead.”

“How did a lowly pony slave kill so many guards? There were worthless ponies in here, meant to die, but our own soldiers, strong and masculine were among them,” the Stag King growled.

“It was some kind of poison,” the bowing caribou said. “There was a bloody froth around their nostrils and mouths. They were all twisted and screaming, except her, she was... smiling.”

“Her fate was to die. At least she embraced it. Go now,” the Stag King said, waving a hand. He watched the messenger run off with a contemptuous glare and then looked to the body of the Arch-Magus, where the elements had been. He could only smile. His foe thought he had succeeded. But nothing could have been further from the truth. He rose up from the throne and made his way out of the room and to the expansive basement space of the palace.

The northmen, being a primitive and ignorant lot, could not claim to work well with the abundant technology that the Equestrians had had. However, their brute-force mechanisms could be imposed over what had been in the Equestrian lands. So it was that the Stag King had one of the basement corridors turned into a hall of death traps, with swinging axes, jabbing spears, crossbow bolts and other such things, arranged in a manner only he knew.

The hall terminated in an unassuming storeroom, crowded with shelves, on which were useless objects. The important content was on a pillow-topped pedestal. The Elements of Harmony. The real ones. Fakes had been created when he took possession of them and were placed in the throne room. He was not as ignorant as he might have seemed, though still quite stupid about many matters. For all his arrogance, however, he recognized a genuine threat to his power.

Cowardice and haughty pride fought in the icy void that in another might have been a soul. He had to believe that none could defeat or defy him. But he also had to ensure there was no way for that to be possible. He displayed his spoils, but also hid them away to keep them from doing him harm. None knew of the true story; the ponies that had placed them there had been told they were the fakes, which had been 'captured' from deceptive ponies trying to confuse him. As the artisans had been murdered, there was none to dispute the report.

He occasionally supervised servants as they were cleaned and polished. None asked why fakes were maintained. To question the monster was to invite beheading. They did as told and were satisfied with it.

The Stag King entered the room and smiled as he looked in on the real Elements. There they sat, inert and away from any creature that could hope to activate them. They were his. And he would leave them locked in darkness forever.

He slowly circled them, looking hatefully on them. “Pathetic! Worthless!” He spat on one of the stones. “You would challenge my power? You would dare oppose abuse and slavery? Impossible! I am a god! I am invincible!”

He picked up one sphere and squeezed it tightly. “You are nothing! Your bearers were broken apart. Some are my willing slaves, and some are so beaten and ruined they will never bear you again!” He squeezed it tighter. “You will never rise again!” He threw the sphere down, as he had before. The magical thing would bounce off the floor and leave a divot.

The sphere hit the floor and shattered into pieces, the shards clattering and tumbling along the floor.

The Stag King stared in disbelief. A fake. It was a fake. He immediately grabbed another and threw it to the ground. It broke to pieces as well. All the rest were tested and found to be cheap fakes. The exteriors looked right, but they were just weak facsimiles. The weak facsimiles he had had made.

If the forgeries were down in the basement, the real ones had been...

He rushed out of the room and down the corridor to the first guard he had stationed in the lower levels. “You! Has any creature been here without my presence?”

“Uhh... well...” the pony stammered a bit. “I have been abusing my quota of females, using them as often as possible. I don't remember seeing any creature that was important to notice. A hunched figure came though, with some rags and a bucket. Like the cleaners that you bring...”

“Was he alone?” The Stag King demanded.

“Y-yes he was!” The guard replied. “He came through a few times, if I remember right. I was busy...”

“Stupid fool!” The Stag King yelled, stalking off in a huff.

Sex was good. Abuse was good. Abusing females was the right thing to do. But when the distraction came it hurt things. Important things. But it was right!

As he sat back in his throne he considered. The Elements were dead. His pet traitor had told him they were useless without bearers. The bearers were gone. And finding others would be impossible in the world he had made.

The stag King scoffed and returned to looking imperious. The Phantom could keep the useless hunks of magical rock. He would never activate them. The world was too corrupted and ruined for there to ever be harmony again. He was safe. He was invincible. He was truly a living god.

But still, he glanced around at the glory of ruination and considered. He might have to oppose the Phantom, just with the worthless stones as a symbol. But the thought was pushed out of his mind as a woman sagged in her chains. He had fun to have. And nothing mattered more than abusive fun.

Part 1.1- Loyalty: I Answer Need of Woman

“But it is to society alone that we owe that safety which we and our possessions enjoy in a state of civilization; in all we do we need the help of others, and they in their turn, must have confidence in us before they can have anything to do with us.”

-Arthur Schopenhauer

The conquerors of Equestria were disgusted with their lot. They were the overlords of a nation not their own and had trained a peaceful population in the ways of mindless and savage cruelty. They had turned more than half the population into mutilated slaves. They had remade an advanced and technologically sophisticated society into the same kind of stone-and-mud misery they had had in their own land, and destroyed all trappings of the past beside.

Yet they were vexed in their lot as well. For all their advantages they stared down a rebellion led by a creature they could not decide on. They did not necessarily believe he was a ghost, but had they discovered he was, there would have been little surprise. A single faceless figure was bad. But they did not have a single faceless figure.

At some time, the origins lost in the inefficiency of their systems and the simple lack of attention paid to non-sexual things, another faceless creature came. A female figure, which shocked and disgusted the northmen, as a woman with power was against their god-chief, the Heartless Hind. According to the fuzzy-minded ponies that still had something like memory, the figure was from before the invasion. A figure that mostly appeared in print, as The Mysterious Mare-Do-Well.

Because of the nature of reports, before they were written down, the strange figure appeared in a far slave processing town, but which one was up for debate. According to the rumors finally written in reports the figure had wings and a horn, cast magic freely, slew with ease, and had never been harmed. No guard was fast enough, no soldier strong enough, and no facility fortified enough to stop her.

She was set, with secure focus, on the liberation of the processing facilities, freeing women before they were properly mutilated. Horns, wings and marks remained. That was almost as big of an insult. Women were left with power. And the execrable invaders could not allow such a thing.

They did dispatch what few extra soldiers they could, but as ever, were undone by their own general cultural idiocy. The rampant sex affected the collation of data, and the correction of errors which had crept in thanks to the sex was slow and inefficient, which kept them from getting facts straight. The soldiers ended up storming empty facilities, or breaking into places that were running properly. They were a disorganized mess, chasing the ghost of rumors.

The rumors drew more than the filthy subjects of the Stag King. They attracted the rebels. They were far more organized and intelligent but moved more slowly. They had to carefully steal or otherwise acquire data, then properly sift it and determine what was most probable.

Their methodical process paid dividends, in some sense. The rebels arrived in time to find the freed women and bear them away to safe havens. They also had a chance to examine the dead facility staff. The ponies and caribou all indeed bore the marks of a sword assault, though some had been poisoned and others electrocuted. It looked like the Mysterious Mare-Do-Well had been giving the impression she had only one means of killing.

A small rebel group poked through the ruins of a small warehouse that had formerly been used as a concentration and distribution center for captive females. The females had been moved off to a rebel camp for counseling and rest, while those remaining dug for clues in the destruction.

“Primitive devices for containment, torture and training. Exactly what the caribou love,” a pegasus mare said as she emerged from a small room. “All destroyed, with appropriate violence.”

“I noted a single entry, from the roof. She carefully caved in a segment, slipped into the rafter beams and then launched some kind of attack,” a stallion said.

“The freed captives saw little. They were traumatized by their treatment and didn't pay attention when the screaming began,” a zebra mare said. “Most only reported some kind of magic fog, heard what could have been wings fluttering and then the screaming and choking and chopping.”

“She's about as mysterious as he name would imply,” the detachment leader, a donkey, said. “She's nearly as inscrutable and ghostly as our leader. Maybe that's for the best.”

“All dead moved in other room,” a Diamond Dog male said, coming out from another side-room. “Not go in.”

“We've all seen dead bodies,” the donkey snorted. “Hammers and sickles aren't clean killers...”

“No, is not dead bodies, is Dangerous. Dogs only,” the Dog insisted. “Only safe because knew smell.”

“Smell? What smell?” the donkey queried.

“Coming from silver-white smears on dead,” the Dog said, “Smell dangerous. Small, small taste tell all. Cobaltite, CoAsS. Sulfur and arsenic liberated from matrix. Sulfur dioxide choke, arsenic cause organ failure.”

“'Cobaltite'...” the donkey said. “Was it a Dog?”

“Dogs know cobaltite, and smelt out cobalt, sulfur and arsenic. But not liberated like Dogs do,” the Dog answered.

“Professional zebra chemists, especially the magical ones, liberate individual compounds without reaction products,” the zebra mare said. “Magic is the catalyst and leaves no trace. You get just what you want, not another compound.”

“We're clearly dealing with an intellectual,” the donkey said. “Knows geology and metallurgy, or at least geochemistry, and can use magic to separate elements. And posed them in there to look like they were hacked to death.”

“Maybe it really is the Mysterious Mare-Do-Well,” the pegasus said. When all eyes went to her she shrugged. “Hey, makes as much sense as anything else.”

“Whatever is going on, we missed her again,” the donkey said. “Move out back to the rendezvous point.”

For all the effort expended, neither side could catch her at work. They tried and failed, the soldiers to murder her, the rebels to recruit her. All they ever found where she had been were the bodies of the oppressors. That suited the rebels well but they wanted her for more formal and directed action.

In another unnamed town, the Mysterious Mare-Do-Well stalked. It had once had a name, when Equestrians lived in it. It had had thatched-roof, multistory homes and businesses, a thriving market and peace. The homes were crumbled and burnt, the light colors splattered with mud and blood. The cobblestone streets were plagued with loose and missing stones. The statues of the princesses had been destroyed. The market stalls were burned, broken or toppled, or all three.

The caribou had turned the town into a bivouac, being used to living in such ugly squalor. They kept a full complement of soldiers there, along with the required number of sex slaves. It was rare to find a full detachment of the northmen away from Canterlot. Since the losses of important bucks through the action of the former Arch-Magus of Canterlot the Stag King had decreed his brainwashed stallion soldiers be the ones to die for him.

She stepped slowly though the ruins of town. The piles of debris provided her with perfect hiding places when she saw patrols coming through. They were attentive, in some sense, but still missed her dark attire despite it being broad daylight. She couldn't take on more than one armored soldier at a time. She could try but didn't want to risk the possibility be being hurt by one of them, or having one escape to get help.

“Did you hear? We're supposed to be somewhere near... you know, that woman,” one of the bucks said.

“Yes... what was her name? These stupid Equestrian creatures and their foolish language make dumb names,” his companion stated.

“Something Mysterious. But no matter. If she appears we will cut off her horn and wings, burn off that foolish mark and then cut off her hands and hooves,” the first said with a casual cruelty. “To think she wants to stop us doing that.”

“It's the only right and proper way to live! To imagine there is any other way to live than to rape, mutilate and enslave females is to be a fool, like how these stupid ponies were before we destroyed their worthless culture. It's a good thing we imposed our will on them,” the second huffed.

“Do you think she's a rebel?” the first asked, with some hesitation.

“Don't be such a doe, you idiot. The rebels are weak and helpless creatures who will die by the thousands if they ever face us,” the second asserted loudly.

“It's a strategic question, not something made from fear!” The first yelled, snorting loudly.

“If she is actually a rebel, then we will torture her to death, and also torture all the rebels with her. That is the simple solution to the problem of insolent females,” the second huffed.

“I'm just so eager to kill her or mutilate her and go back home. I'm already bored with the slaves we brought. I think I'll kill one of them, it might be more entertaining,” the first said.

“No! Don't you dare do such a thing! The rest of us still want to brutalize them! Once we're all bored you can kill one but not yet. Foolish idiot,” the second snorted.

“I need a personal slave to harm and kill. Is there a facility we can take from nearby?” The first inquired.

“No. That... Mysterious female raided the local ones. It's why we're here. She's supposed to be here. Our job is to bring her to his invincible highness, where she can be chastised for her serious crimes against our dominion,” the second answered.

“Disgusting and against nature!” the first said, punching his hand. “He will surely torture her in fascinating ways.”

“It's the correct thing to do. We have to keep the weak females in li-” The statement of the second was cut off with a wet, pained gurgle.

The first buck had been looking away from his friend, but turned on hearing the horrible sound. “What happ... no! N-” His scream was silenced, then he, too, let out a gurgling sound and went silent.

Mare-Do-Well chanced a look from behind her pile of debris and saw the two buck on the ground, dead. Both of them had had their throats cut, and had been laid out to show how deep the cuts had been. Their killer was still in evidence, crouching behind the bodies and using his finger and their blood to write a message on the ground. He was a caramel-colored pony stallion, dressed in the stained and tattered remnants of a black suit with an open jacket and ruffled shirt. He had a shiny and slick black mane, and a silver knife strapped to his side.

His writing done the figure stood up slowly, his back to Mare-Do-Well. “I used to know the original Mare-Do-Well. Or should I say, the originals. There was more than one. It why they could both fly and use unicorn magic without being an alicorn,” the figure said casually.

Mare-Do-Well silently regarded the scene, still just barely looking over the pile of debris. She was so still she could barely be seen to breathe.

“Now which type are you? On the one hand, your horn hasn't been seen often, and has only been heard to work in hearsay. However, your wings have never been reported to open, except in stories that could more indicate great speed and deftness rather than flying, necessarily...” the stallion said, still turned away from Mare-Do-Well. “You could be an earth pony. But there are reports of magic. Specialized magic. I have some suspicions.”

There was a slow motion, Mare-Do-Well sliding more of herself out from behind cover. She was still silent, staring intently at the mysterious stallion from behind her goggles.

“Dog knowledge, zebra knowledge, with magical capacity to catalyze reaction, and an active mind that is intent on selling an image that might not be the whole truth,” the stallion said with a bit of mirth in his voice.

“And... what... do you think it means...” Mare-Do-Well asked softly, slipping fully from behind the rock.

“You were college educated, before the fall. You specialized in chemistry, most likely with an emphasis on magical varieties. You probably liked literature in your spare time, probably logic and detective stories, which explains why you know how to misdirect. None of the magical deaths were actually caused by magic, because magic can't do that, not now that the Arch-Magus is... but I digress. The deaths by lightning scream pegasus, except there was gem dust in the wounds and no reports of clouds being moved. I'll say you were a student in the Grand Veldt, and took advantage of tuition deals in Equestria. That you're a zebra,” the stallion said, turning around to show himself to be the Black Knight. “Am I right?”

Mare-Do-Well slowly lifted her goggles, showing off her almond-shaped eyes with blue irises. “You know much, don't you? You're the only one to ever find me.”

The Black Knight shrugged a bit and gave a winning smile. “Just lucky, I guess...”

“More than luck. I have heard of you, Phantom. Heard of the rebellion's leader who forces the Stag King's forces to chase a ghost,” Mare-Do-Well said, looking at the Black Knight firmly. “You are clever. That is most important.”

“Call me the Black Knight,” the Black Knight said with a bow and a smile. He slicked back his shiny black mane and brushed off his tattered attire. “I just happen to know this, that and the other thing. Nothing special.”

“You hide behind a kind of humility, but your capabilities speak for themselves. Your reputation is spread well among the evildoers and that is good,” Mare-Do-Well said with a nod.

“So it is, so it is...” The Black Knight said with a nod. He casually strolled towards Mare-Do-Well. “I've killed the ones around here. We can talk freely. And I'd love to hear your story. I've heard thousands of them, but one more is always appreciated.”

Mare-Do-Well twitched slightly away from the approaching stallion, then relaxed slowly. “If you think it would be appreciated. It may just anger you.”

“I have learned how to channel anger,” the Black Knight said. “I can make it productive. Please, do tell.”

Mare-Do-Well nodded slowly and started to pace around by the rock. “I was born on the Veldt. But my parents moved to Equestria when I was young, one of the border towns. I grew up Equestrian, but with a strong connection to the nation of my birth. I did, as you say, enjoy reading when I wasn't focused on my chemical and thaumatochemical studies.

“I dreamed of the usual zebra dream. A professional job as a chemist of some variety, making important compounds or developing new things for industry and home use. A bright future. Then it happened. I went to bed one night in an ordinary college, and woke up in Tartarus.

“The males had gone insane, though a small contingent, mostly magical engineers and similar, held their sanity. Many women were captured and brutally abused. I didn't think I'd be one of them, but as the engineers tried to flee we were all caught by... them. The caribou. The northmen. The monsters.

“A few of the unchanged men did manage to escape. A few others were killed trying to resist. The rest were taken away. I've heard rumors of what happened but I don't want to believe such a thing could be real...” A sob caught in her throat and she sniffed before continuing.

“All the women caught fleeing were sexually assaulted and physically brutalized. For days... we... we... well, we both know what it entails. After they were done some of them had agreed to serve just to make it stop. I refused like some others. They took up along through destroyed countryside towards what was promised to be a processing camp for the resisting.

“I feel guilty about what I did. I should have stopped myself. I could have done more...” Mare-Do-Well said with trembling breath.

“You leave behind some because it is inevitable that fate will conspire to make it so,” the Black Knight said, with a hushed tone. “The regrets are quick to come and slow to fade. But reality is what reality is. Sometimes there are greater concerns. You had the chance and nothing you could do could have saved them all.”

Mare-Do-Well nodded sadly to the Black Knight. “I imagine you have had to see many of those sad situations.” She sucked in a breath and went on. “I took refuge in a demolished village. I hid in a store selling party supplies. Only one of the searchers ever came close, a straggler who continued after the others had given up. He stood right next to the counter, and nearly looked down at me. I rammed a broken-off broom through his throat and stuffed his body securely away.

“There were lots of costumes in the shop, and I needed clothes. I almost say it was some kind of fate that let me find one costume package in perfect shape. An adult Mysterious Mare-Do-Well outfit, with fake horn, fake wings and all the trappings. The stallion I had killed had a sword he didn't need, so I added it to the attire. Zivante the escaped slave went into that shop. But I made sure the Mysterious Mare-Do-Well came out.

“You know what happened after that. Death and destruction. I raided the village for any supplies they had missed and all the materials I could turn into useful compounds. I gathered up a stock of food and compounds and went out to kill. I bathed the blade in the blood of my captors. They had already delivered my compatriots to a well-guarded facility, but they were alone, and fell to poison gas and cuts of the sword. From there...” Mare-Do-Well shrugged. “I lost count.”

“As you can imagine, the idiot caribou don't keep good records. But the estimates are impressive. Just what drives that kind of rage?” The Black Knight asked.

“I had two nations, once,” Mare-Do-Well said, with a wistful sadness. Her fists clenched tight and she trembled a little. “Now I have none. This great land that I grew up in is ruined. The land of my birth is a wasteland as well, ruled by a collaborationist cabal of traitors sending their own citizens to abuse, violation and death.”

The Black Knight smiled. “You do have a strong connection to the world that was, as do we all. But it's a dangerous path you walk. They won't be satisfied with just taking you to a facility. They'll do worse to you than you can imagine.”

“The world that was was good to me,” Mare-Do-Well said. “The civilization. The states, Veldt and Equestria, both nurtured and protected me and my family. We owed them everything. Now that they gone we owe only loyalty to what used to be. Maybe we can get it back.”

The Black Knight's ear twitched, and he smiled more broadly. “The rebellion needs you. The underground is in desperate need of your like. You already kill and save. Come do it with a purpose in your heart and information behind you, and a support network to catch you if you start to fall. We're not a whole nation yet. But we have the governments in exile. If you still retain loyalty they're there to appreciate it.”

“The ministers... survived?” Mare-Do-Well asked in shock.

“Almost all of them were rescued from the capital city before it fell to the traitors. The bulk of the legitimate government and a decent cadre of the elite askari came with them. They are now securely settled in a secret and fortified location along with the remnants of other governments,” the Black Knight said, with some measure of pride.

Mare-Do-Well went silent for a moment, then nodded and stood at attention. “Then I will join you. Do you need me to relinquish this attire?”

“No, keep it. Wear it with pride. Carry the name as long as this fight lasts,” the Black Knight insisted. “We fight a war of words since our numbers pale before the new order. Propaganda is paramount. Symbols are precious and necessary. And you, a hero of the old world, are one of the most precious of all.”

“Thank you. Where do we go from here?” Mare-Do-Well asked.

“Well first, we finish your usual and depopulate this bivouac and release the slaves,” the Black Knight said with a casual ease. “After that I will lead you to the underground.” He whipped his silver-bladed knife from his waist and gave it a spin while he smiled. “Ready?”

Mare-Do-Well smoothly unsheathed her sword and gave a few graceful, easy swings. “Always.”

The underground was aptly named. Though they did extensive aboveground work the Stag King still had access to a few airships and had plenty of traitorous pegasi to serve as evil eyes in the sky.

The Diamond Dog tunnels had been aggressively redesigned when the schism hit. The government and loyalists had collapsed as many passages as possible and fled with the other refugees to places that the collaborators had abandoned. The collaborators chose to hole up around conquered Canterlot and only left to work at the behest of the new order.

The remaining tunnels had been fixed up, in order to make it easier for non-Dogs to get around in them. More living and work spaces had been added. Important equipment had been brought in and placed in easily accessible areas for quick moves. Space had been set aside for the governments in exile, Veldt and United Colony, as well as a kind of makeshift embassy for griffins. The High King had retroactively granted all expatriates living outside of the Kingdom dual citizenship, making a diplomatic space especially important.

The Black Knight had his own passages for coming and going, as well as private spaces for planning, contemplation and practice. He led Mare-Do-Well through those and to a cleverly hidden room.

The space was carved out in a large hexagon, with the door opening in one corner. The walls, floor and ceiling had been dressed and polished to the peak of Dog art. Further, professional artists had been called in to reproduce the famous stained glass windows of Canterlot in paint, though the bodies of the prior Element bearers had been blotted out. In the center was a pedestal with three figures on it. Princess Celestia, Princess Luna and the Arch-Magus. The three looked out towards three different corners, able to regard the contents of the walls.

In the center of each wall stood an alcove, elaborately carved and decorated with trappings representing what it held. Each one had one of the six Elements of Harmony, in sphere form, with the name elaborately carved into the alcove.

“It was true. You raided the heart of the evil one himself and stole these precious gifts,” Mare-Do-Well said.

“Symbols,” the Black Knight said softly, looking at the alcoves with a sort of hushed reverence. “We need symbols to bring this fight. Of paramount importance is that the folk know that the old world really can rise from the ashes of the old. Thus, we maintain connections to the old world however we can.”

“I see. And you wish for me to be a symbol as powerful?” Mare-Do-Well asked.

“In a sense. You see, through a circuitous path I need not disclose, I was once acquainted with the previous bearers of the Elements of Harmony. I knew them before...” the Black Knight faltered, voice catching in his throat, though he did his best not to look and sound affected. “I knew them.”

“And I'm certain you knew how powerful they were. With these as a reminder of what power Harmony could hold the rebellion would have much success, I would think,” Mare-Do-Well noted.

“It's much more than that. Very much more,” the Black Knight said, strolling over to stand before Luna's statue and look where she looked. “The three statues gaze on the elements I think suited them most closely. Her Majesty Princess Celestia, Kindness and Laughter. Her b- Majesty Princess Luna, Loyalty and Generosity. His Honor The Arch-Magus of Canterlot and Equestria, Honesty and Magic.”

“You want so many connections,” Mare-Do-Well mused, stroking her costumed chin. “To remember the past through the Element names and their connection to those who came before. I heard of the Arch-Magus through the ones I killed. I think I would have liked to have known him.”

“He was a fine teacher, and wonderful citizen of Equestria,” the Black Knight said with a nostalgic tone. "But they are not here to represent those elements. However, others might.”

“Just what do you mean?” Mare-Do-Well asked, glancing aside at the Black Knight.

“I mean what I said. To have them in this form is to have the power of a memory. But memories fade. However strong the symbolism they are not of much active use to the rebellion. And I must leverage all we have to succeed in this endeavor. We cannot have static symbols with no use except as things to see. Especially since none but I and those I choose can come here to see them,” the Black Knight said.

“Are you implying..?” Mare-Do-Well asked with some disbelief. “No, impossible. The bearers...”

“Were only the most recent,” the Black Knight completed. “Their Majesties held them before. The Elements do not belong to any one figure. They are passed to those who embody the elements, and who will use them proudly to protect and defend the nation.”

“You seek new bearers...” Mare-Do-Well said, then stopped as she considered. “Me? But I am a zebra! Aren't these Elements a pony creation?”

“Harmony knows no species and no border,” the Black Knight said, slowly leading Mare-Do-Well down the path of Luna's gaze. “The one best suited to bearing it will be given the chance. The Elements choose.”

“Do they tell you who they choose or are you just guessing?” Mare-Do-Well asked, her goggled gaze moving between Loyalty and Generosity.

“I don't know if they speak or not,” the Black Knight said softly. “But even though they're sleeping, I know they're there. They're just waiting for the right bearer to awaken them. The thing is... there could be a lot of bearers. There may not be one perfect representative of, say, Generosity, or Laughter. There may be many. But one will arrive because the Elements' call is not equally heard, but it must reach out when necessary.”

Mare-Do-Well looked with trepidation on the two still and silent stone spheres. “But, me?”

“You said what I needed to hear to know what you are. You come to the aid of women, unafraid of the consequences, thinking only of the good of others. You are connected to your learning, as well as the liberty of others. You faithfully cling to the ideals of Equestria and the Veldt, and to your righteous indignation towards the evil caribou. You exude dedication to the causes and ideals that have informed your life before and after the fall. Taking up the identity of the Mare-Do-Well just proved it,” the Black Knight said, with some reverence. “So, let's see if I guessed right. Touch the sphere of Loyalty and see what comes of it.”

Mare-Do-Well hesitated for a moment, her face unreadable but her bearing uncertain. She slowly reached forward and placed her fingertips gently on the quiet lump of stone.

A bright light surged around her, and she held her other arm in front of her face, while her trembling fingers remained pressed to the sphere. The stone broke apart into several gem shards, which floated slowly around Mare-Do-Well's throat. The circling gems came closer and closer, whispering past the hairs standing on her neck before flashing again, brighter, and pressing in against her.

The fading light revealed Mare-Do-Well with her hand outstretched and touching nothing. Around her neck rested an elaborate gold necklace, ending in what looked like black and white alabaster in layers, in the generic shape of a sword with a surface like a cut gemstone.

Mare-Do-Well slowly touched the necklace with her gloved hand, panting softly. A tear worked its way from under the goggles and ran down her masked cheek. “An Element... an Element lives again. Stands against the cruel caribou.”

“And a bearer rises,” the Black Knight said. His normally unflappable expression was filled with awe and wonder, and his voice was even more reverent than before. “I was right about you. And now, we are one step closer to that old world.”

“I remember. I remember everything...” Mare-Do-Well whispered, gripping the sword pendant portion of the necklace. “What freedom felt like, what happiness was, a good college education, dorm food, friends, and liberty from fear.”

The Black Knight regained his composure and slowly took a deep breath. “Come back to the main part of the facility. There are more preparations than you can imagine that must be set into motion.”

“I understand,” Mare-Do-Well said, slowly reaching up for her mask. “Shall I take this away and become Zivante again?”

The Black Knight shook his head. “Leave it. I told you, we need symbols. Powerful symbols. You are the Mysterious Mare-Do-Well now. You are something that cannot die. An ideal, a representative of strength and protection. And also an Element of Harmony. If you wish to be known, be known separately, to keep hope alive. I once saw a line that I carry with me. 'Even if you break their hearts, you should never take away their dreams.'”

Mare-Do-Well stroked the sword-shaped pendant again, and nodded slowly. “In this world of ugliness, darkness and dread we all need dreams to carry us through. In dreams we can see the old world once more. And with a goal, we may work.”

The Black Knight motioned to the exit once more. “Then let us dream our dreams and work to make them true. One Element reborn, and five more are yet to come.”

Author's Note

The situation- In a small sense, Zivante could be said to be like the Antonio Banderas Zorro, who took up the identity from the aging original. Masked heroes have that advantage. However, much more broadly the idea came from a DC Elseworlds comic, Batman: The Golden Streets of Gotham. The Elseworlds series was AU versions of popular characters done in the style of Penny Dreadfuls and the like, for example there was a Dr. Moreau version of the Justice League. But I digress. “Golden Streets Gotham” was set in the gilded age of robber barons and merciless exploitation. Bruce Vanekow was the son of Eastern European immigrants who made his fortune out west. He came home to Gotham to find his parents had died in an industrial fire, after the boss had chained the doors shut (and yes, that actually did happen.) He wants to stick it to the bosses so he decides to steal from them and use the money to help the poor. On his first burglary he find a costume someone had worn to a party (Looks like it was meant to be from the opera Die Fledermaus, The Bat.) From there he becomes The Bat, encounters the Union leader The Cat, and tracks down a killer who dresses like a clown and is barking mad (he was the watchman from the factory who barely escaped alive and watched all the people burn to death.) Anyhow, I liked the idea of an ordinary person finding a costume and assuming the persona of the hero it represents. It's very in the vein of Euripides, ordinary folk thrown into extraordinary situations.

The Line- That line is actually from a comic I dearly love. Castle Waiting by Linda Medley. The line is spoken by Rackham Adjutant (and no, I gave the name Racham to the protagonist in “The Proscenium Arch” not because of that, but because Bronystories suggested it; however, it resonated with me because I like this character so much.) He has just deflected the puppy love affections of a girl, but also supported her vision of Castle Waiting, even though it is not strictly real.