Frost from Fire

Chapters

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 5

Chapter 1

Lord Frosthoof was a very important pony.

He’d been alive fifty years ago when Nightmare Moon had shattered the Castle of the Two Sisters. Young, of course, barely a stripling, but on his way up. He’d seen her teeth, sharp like a meat-eater’s. He’d heard her laugh, high and wild as the night wind. And he’d seen Princess Celestia strike her down and trap her in the moon with the power of the Elements of Harmony, artifacts so ancient that nopony knew their origins, not even Princess Celestia.

Now he was old, but he was still strong. A Solar Knight had to be strong. Princess Celestia had maintained the peace for five decades, but there was always the risk. And the Princess did not like risks.

He was in his study, poring over a new plan for the revision of the Castle of the Two Sisters. It was a surprise for the upcoming Summer Sun Festival, a gift for the Princess. She’d shirked away from the Castle ever since her sister’s downfall.

Frosthoof believed it was for the Castle’s lack of grace. The roof was caved in, massive pieces of the roof littering the floor from Nightmare Moon’s alicorn magic. The wind drifted in through the holes in the walls. The ground was a mess of dead leaves from the Everfree Forest. And goddesses knew what creatures lurked there among the shadows.

Canterlot was quite a ways away. Frosthoof would need a pegasus-driven carriage to even get close. At the edge of the forest, it would be by hoof, protected by a contingency of the Solar Guard. Horrors lurked in the Everfree, now that the Princess had taken up Canterlot as her castle.

He pushed himself from his desk and rubbed his eyes. The night had grown thick inside his study. The sputtering candle that lit his room was dripping with beads of wax.

Outside, moonlight poured down. The night was silent. Even the final pegasi guard had finished their flight. Perfect stillness. A cold wind blew in through the window, ruffling the sheer curtains.

He frowned. A draft could give him a cold. If he were sick tomorrow, it would ruin the whole reconstruction project. The crew certainly couldn’t go on without him, even for a few days of sniffling and sneezing.
Frosthoof stood and shut the window. The view from his room was Canterlot’s main square. A tiny patch of the Princess’s tower was visible in the frame of night sky. Her room was lit.

I’m not the only one working. It pleased Frosthoof that the Princess was working hard. Much harder than Princess Luna had worked, slacking off during the day and sleeping the sunshine away. Her deposal had marked the upswing of Equestria.

In the full moon, he could see the Mare in the Moon. Ponies said that was Nightmare Moon’s face. Frosthoof scoffed and belittled them. It was a mark of alicorn magic, nothing more. He was firsthoof witness to alicorn magic. He knew what it looked like.

The Mare in the Moon blinked.

Frosthoof stumbled back so quickly that he nearly tripped. His heart was racing.

What was that? Frosthoof was not a superstitious pony. Earthponies rarely were, and he was the pinnacle of earthponies.

He shook his head. It was a trick of the light. He was tired. His vision was—he loathed to admit—not as strong as it had been when he had been young. An error. Not a reality.

But one more look couldn’t hurt.

Frosthoof was leaning up, his face pressed against the cold window, when the door slammed open. “Lord Frosthoof!”

Frosthoof nearly leapt out of his coat. He whirled, dark anger brewing in his stomach. It was the young cadet. What was his name? Gingersnap? Butter Biscuit?

“Yes, yes, what is it? Can’t you see I’m very busy?” With dignity, Frosthoof strode out of the tangle of curtains to stand in front of the colt.

He was a young earthpony. His armor barely fit. The plates clanked together ungracefully when he walked.

Frosthoof disapproved. When I was his age, I had to wear stallion’s plates.

“Sir, Lord Amorous wants to know if you’re still intending to come to the Castle of the Two Sisters tomorrow.”

Frosthoof shook out his mane. “It’s barely midnight. Why isn’t Amorous asleep?”

“I’m only bringing the message, sir.”

Frosthoof snorted. “Well, of course I’m going. I’m the one in charge. I have to be there, Shortbread.”

The earthpony winced. “It’s…Maple, sir.”

Lord Frosthoof waved a hoof in dismissal. “Yes, yes, fine. Whatever. Tell Lord Amorous that I will be there. Now get out. I have to rest.”

“All right, sir.” He bent his head respectfully. Then he looked up, a strange expression on his face. “But, sir…if I may—”

“What is it now?” Frosthoof demanded, exasperated.

Maple’s eyes flickered uncertainly. “Maybe you should close your window, sir. Begging your pardon. But the night wind is cold tonight. Sir Lament always says to be careful of the night wind. I’ll take my leave, sir.” One more dip of his head and he was gone, back down the hallway the way he’d come.

Frosthoof closed the door and stared at it for a moment longer. A creeping feeling was coming over him, trailing down his spine. Slowly, he turned around.

The night breeze was playing in the curtains once more. They lifted and fell like pegasi wings.

I closed that. Frosthoof’s mouth was dry. I know I did.

He went to the window. Outside, it was the same. The kingdom slept. The stars shone.

The Mare in the Moon watched him.

Frosthoof slammed the window shut, putting his back against it. He was breathing heavily. He could feel the Mare’s eyes on him, boring into him, cutting holes in his gray coat.

Ridiculous, part of his mind said. Don’t be foolish. It’s just a magic mark. It’s nothing.

Moonlight streamed in past his shoulders, silhouetting him on the floor. Motes of light drifted in and out, softly as falling ash from a forest fire.

Call the Solar Guard, he thought, but that was idiotic. They’d think him a fool. They already thought he was weak and old, too old to be Captain of the Guard. In his youth, he’d been feared. Now he was mocked, called toothless, asked about the state of his back, offered bran muffins and soft puddings for his old teeth by colts who hadn’t even been born when he’d made his name in this kingdom. No, he couldn’t call the Guard.

There was a blinding flash of light. Frosthoof covered his eyes with his forehoof, wincing out past it.

He dropped his hoof back to the ground.

In front of him was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Shining, glorious, magnificent. He stared and stared, mouth agape, hair raising on his back, his legs trembling as much as they had the day he’d been born.

Frosthoof coughed up blood.

Slowly, agonizingly, he looked down. From his chest protruded a black blade, wickedly-sharp. He hadn’t even felt it enter.

His attacker wrenched it free. Frosthoof fell forward, like a puppet, all strings cut. He landed on his face, his cheek resting in a pool of blood.

He strained upwards, fighting against the fading light in his eyes, striving to see that resplendent sight once more, one more time, before…before…

Dear Ghostwriter (if I MUST call you that),

I hope things are going well for you in Canterlot. I read your last novel The Mystery in Maneco, and found it to be quite inventive! You always were such a bright colt when we were younger, making up fun games for the pair of us to play—and for me to win! Ha ha!

You must know already, what with your connections, but the Castle of the Two Sisters’ reconstruction has come to a grinding halt because of Lord Frosthoof’s death. Sad for him but good for me, as I have a few days of free time before construction begins anew. How would you like to come visit your big brother on the site? Perhaps you’ll even get inspiration for your next book?

Give it a thought. I’ll even pay for your travel expenses. There’s an old knight in Canterlot who owes me a favor, Sir Cypress Stalwart. He’s a bit odd but a good heart. He’ll give you a hoof down here. You can meet all the new friends I’ve made since I came to work.

Your loving brother,

Valiant

Ghost folded the letter back closed with his magic. “Always eager, my brother,” he muttered. He adjusted his thick black glasses with a twinge of magic.

His assistant, a unicorn called Bluebell, said, “He means well.”

“Hmm.” Ghostwriter didn’t know that for sure. Valiant seemed more up in the clouds than a pegasus. “I’m going home.”

“Quickquill wants a word, when you can,” Bluebell said, dipping her head to the door down the hall. Canterlot’s Tower of Scribes was a winding pillar of pure stone with a cap of sapphires, created by Princess Celestia after the fall of Nightmare Moon. Its purpose was to keep a running rapport with the ponies of the realm, tracking festivals and parties, noting births, celebrating lives, even a little investigational activity. That was Ghost’s domain.

“Tomorrow. I’m tired. I need some rest.” He slid the letter into his satchel and began to trot down the hall.

He didn’t go ten paces before the door flew back open behind him. “Ghostwriter.”

Ghost sighed, furrowing up his face. Then he turned and plastered blankness over it. “Quickquill. How lovely to see you.”

Quickquill was a dark blue unicorn with a neon green mane. Her cutie mark was a quill trailing an artful rainbow swirl. Ghost, with his gray coat and white mane, looked entirely out of place next to such a bright creature. And felt it.

She frowned. “You didn’t respond to my letters.”

Ghost scrubbed the back of his neck with a hoof. “I was busy.”

“With your nose in a book, no doubt. Or your recent reviews. Shall I offer my congratulations?”

The Mystery of Maneco was not Quickquill’s favorite subject. He’d written it almost entirely using the time she wanted him to be documenting the reconstruction efforts. “It’s well-received.”

Her expression didn’t change from extreme displeasure. “What an accomplishment.”

He adjusted his glasses once more. They were always sliding off the end of his snout. “Did you need something, Quickquill?”

“Yes.” She seized a letter out of her satchel with bright green magic and deposited it in the air in front of him. “I want you to interview this earthpony. Maple. He was the last to see Lord Frosthoof alive.”

Inwardly, Ghost sighed. It had been only one day since Frosthoof’s death. The kingdom was in uproar. Murder was extremely rare under Celestia’s solitary rule. “Why me?”

“Because I believe your position is Head of Investigations.” She put her head to the side mockingly. “Or do you want to upset the Princess?”

Ghost had no opinion on the Princess. He’d never met her. And he certainly wasn’t alive when her sister was ruling, too. His parents hadn’t even been born.

But Quickquill was right. He had his duty. Ghost sighed. “Where is he?”

An hour later, Ghostwriter was seated with Cadet Maple, a nervous earthpony with a pale brown coat and eyes a few shades darker.

Ghost poured the tea. When his magic, pale green, wreathed around the cup, Maple’s eyes widened.

“You’ve never seen magic?” Ghost asked, setting the cup in front of the cadet with a soft clink.

Maple shook his head. “Not this close. The war unicorns are trained separate from us.” He took the cup in both hooves, holding it carefully.

Ghost lifted his own with magic, watching with light interest. Earthponies had to do everything with their hooves. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it would be. Most of the Scribes were unicorns out of necessity. Earthponies simply did not have the dexterity to be writers.

“Now,” Ghost said, levitating his quill and paper out of his satchel. All the Scribes carried such satchels. It fit snugly around his chest and back; the pack itself fit between his shoulders, with pockets that sealed with magic when he flipped them shut. It kept the materials from falling out. Inside, he kept extra parchment and quills, and an inkwell he’d enchanted to refill the quill without dipping. It was this spell that had gotten him his cutie mark: a quill fading at the tip, leaving behind a trail of half-invisible ink. “Tell me what you saw.”

Maple seemed nervous. Ghostwriter had trained himself to watch ponies, really watch them, so that his stories had more depth to them. Maple’s hooves twisted the teacup back and forth, and his brow was furrowed. “Lord Frosthoof was at the window when I arrived. He leapt back when I opened the door.”

Ghost’s quill started to flit across the page. “Why was he surprised?”

“It was nighttime. I had just come from Lord Amorous with a message about the Castle renovation plan.” Maple took a gulp of tea. The cup rattled against his hooves. “Lord Frosthoof seemed…shaken by something. Before I left, I suggested that he close his window.”

The quill stopped. Ghost frowned. “Why would you do that?”

“It was cold outside. We’re barely past winter. I was afraid he’d catch a cold.”

The quill resumed zooming across the parchment. “How did Lord Frosthoof react?”

“He seemed nervous. Like I’d said something horrifying.” Maple looked down at his teacup. “That was the last time I saw him alive. The next morning I heard the news that he was…d…d-d—”

“Dead,” Ghostwriter supplied.

Maple nodded with a gasp. “Dead,” he said, whispering it. “Stabbed through the heart. No sign of an attacker. Soaking in a puddle of his own blood.”

“Yes.” With a thought, Ghost sealed up the parchment and tucked it back into his satchel. The quill followed after. “I know that part.”

He got up to leave but Maple called out, “Wait!”

Ghostwriter turned. Maple was standing now, his teacup upended on the floor of Canterlot’s library.

He looked afraid again, his brown eyes wide. “They say when the found his body, he looked…happy. He was smiling. I’ve known Lord Frosthoof for years and I’ve never seen him smile. What do you think of that?”

Ghostwriter considered it for a second. “Maybe he was happy to die. He was an awful old stallion.”

Then Ghost turned and left.

On the way back to his room, he was thinking. What could have gotten the old lord so afraid? He was alone in his room, it was the middle of the night, there was nopony even close to those rooms.

He decided to double back to Frosthoof’s room, just to make sure. The old stallion had lived in the Tower of the Solar Guard, opposite from Ghostwriter’s room. It took two bridges and three sets of stairs to finally find it.

Two war unicorns stood outside the door, cloaked in golden Solar Guard uniforms. Metallic sunbursts kept their red cloaks fastened beneath their necks. One of them was actively applying magic—his horn glowed faintly purple—but Ghost didn’t see the subject of it.

Ghostwriter stopped in front of them, surveying them with vague interest. They were much bigger than him, their horns longer, their hooves wider. Ghost was small for a unicorn. Valiant had always made fun of him for it.

“Hello,” he greeted. “I’d like to check out the room.”

The unicorns shared a look. “Do you have permission?” one asked skeptically.

From within his satchel, Ghost pulled out his badge. “I’m a Scribe of the Tower. Directly under the Princess’s permission.”

The unicorn that had spoken looked outwardly surprised. “You’re a bit young to be a Scribe.”

“Are you denying me entry?”

“No. I was just noting it.”

“Noted. Let me pass.”

Now looking a bit irritated, the unicorn opened the door. Ghost trotted past him into the room.

Now he understood: there was a globe of the same faint purple magic glowing in the apex of the room. It lit everything without casting shadows, giving the floor and desk an odd, shadowless starkness.

Someone had cleaned up the blood as best they could but the outline was still there. Old Lord Frosthoof had died facing away from the windows, his hind legs splayed out behind him. The window was closed now, the curtains still.

Ghost popped it open with a flick of his magic. Outside, the view of Canterlot was peaceful. Salesponies had tables of their wares set up—charms imbued with unicorn magic told to bring luck, hair bows, dresses, scarves, dried flowers in necklaces that could be worn and eaten, and of course the odd weaponsponies, offering to polish Guard armor or sharpen swords that hadn’t seen battle in decades. The sun shone down warmly, not too hot, not too cool. A perfect new spring day.

Ghost closed the window and went to the desk, delicately stepping over the blood. Blueprints of the Castle of the Two Sisters were still set out, bunched up in the corners from someone sleeping on them. Most likely Frosthoof. The chair was pushed back in a way that made Ghostwriter think Frosthoof had stood up quickly.

The bed was made, the corners neat. He hadn’t slept there. No food tray either. He either took his meal in the kitchens or in the barracks, but not here.

Enough data now, he thought. Ghostwriter closed his eyes, gathering his magic, and then let it burst out.

At once, ghostly green outlines appeared, overlapping in places, streaking with slow-motion movement. Ghost focused them, drawing back, until one image formed in front of him, sitting slumped in the chair. Lord Frosthoof.

Ghost could see entirely through him to the desk. Ghost’s magic-visions—as he liked to call them—relied entirely on his imagination. The more information he collected before, the more he could control the illusion. Frosthoof had a rough, gray coat—a little lighter than Ghostwriter’s own—and blue eyes. You couldn’t see that through the haze of green magic, but it was enough to change the saturation of the green. Frosthoof’s mane was always carefully cut short, shorn so closely to his skull that you could see his coat through it. A look of frowning discontentment finished the illusion.

The ghostly Frosthoof was asleep on the corner of the maps. Ghost stepped closer, tilting his head, and Frosthoof’s position changed, more accurately lying on the desk.

Lord Frosthoof was at the window when I arrived, Maple had said. He leapt back when I opened the door.

The Frosthoof at the desk faded away in particles. He reformed at the window. Ghost opened the window once more—it swung through Frosthoof, scattering him for a moment, then the motes swung back together into the proper form.

Then he crafted Maple. Maple was an easy shape—curved, strong earthpony lines, cloaked in Solar Guard armor that fit a little too loosely, spiked yellow mane. Ghost even added the cadet’s freckles.

He put Maple at the door and acted out the scene. Maple hadn’t given exact quotes—which Ghostwriter had noted with a little displeasure, as he loved specifics—so Ghost had them simply open and close their mouths. Knowing Lord Frosthoof the way he did, Ghost made the lord’s mouth shapes more dismissive, stubborn, proud.

Magicked-Maple faded through the open door, leaving Frosthoof alone.

Ghost paused the illusion right after Frosthoof closed the window once more. He stepped closer, circling around, keeping his eyes on the window.

The window had been open when Frosthoof was discovered. Morning dew had settled on the lord’s cool flank.

Ghostwriter stared at it. “Why would you be open?” he muttered. Assuming that Frosthoof had followed Maple’s request, the window would be closed. Out of stubbornness, perhaps, he would have left the window open rather than follow the order of a lesser officer. Frosthoof had been proud and arrogant, but he had not been stupid. He would not have ignored a fact to make himself feel superior.

There was a knock on the door. Ghost ended the illusion, scattering motes of green energy. “We have to clear the room for the Princess, Scribe. Come on out.”

The Princess? Celestia rarely left her tower. For her to come out, something serious must have happened.

Ghostwriter looked back down at the blood on the floor. Lord Frosthoof was important, true, but not particularly close to the Princess. She had countless Captains. Frosthoof was the oldest, so maybe there was something important about that that Ghost didn’t understand.

Or maybe it was something more.

Outside the room, more Solar Guard had appeared. They lined the hallway, facing inwards, all of them wearing the same fixed look of alertness.

From the end of the hall came Princess Celestia.

There was a strange, charged glow about her, sparkling, crackling golden energy that wreathed her like mist. Ghostwriter was intimately familiar with magic—as any unicorn innately was—but he had never felt anything like this. It was the newborn sun dawning on his face. It was the shifting of the earth beneath his hooves. It was the turning of time, the change of the seasons, magic that could raise seas with barely a thought and birth galaxies from nothingness.

He shivered. The power of a goddess. Celestia was truly not of this earth. His magic was a parlor trick in comparison. A match next to a volcano.

Ghostwriter scrambled back as she approached. Her mane was pure energy, rippling in thick bands of colors, and her coat was white as starshine.

She was talking to her generals, all of whom he recognized. Counterstrike and Steel Song and Thunderbolt. All legends, right here in front of him.

He noticed he was getting excited and tried to calm himself, tried to keep his face blank. Before he could get too carried away, he slipped from the crowd and headed down the back stairs. It was dark here, free from Celestia’s emanating sunshine.

By the time he got home, it was already dark. The door to his room was at the end of the Scribes’ dorms in the west wing of the castle. They were all round as rabbit holes. The locks were attuned to each unicorn’s magic. At the familiar touched of his, the door opened soundlessly.

His magelights reacted to his presence, filling the room with soft green light. It wasn’t the stark light of Frosthoof’s room. Ghostwriter didn’t like too much light, just enough to see by.

He loosened the straps on his satchel and hung it on the hook by the door. From within, he fished out his paper, sliding them into order. They were a little crumpled, but nothing too bad, and as long as the ink didn’t smear, he didn’t care.

Ghost set them on the desk next to a message from Quickquill. He frowned. She works quickly. Letters were delivered by a simple transport spell that one of the other Scribes, Cipher, had made. A dish set in each room was soaked in Cipher’s magic. Another dish was in the Tower of the Scribes, linked by thought. All a pony had to do was set a letter in one of the dishes and say the recipient’s name to send the letter on its way.

Quickquill’s letter was brief.

He muttered it out loud. “'Ghostwriter, make sure you send me your notes from Cadet Maple’s interview today. I want to start compiling. If you get the chance, stop by Frosthoof’s room. The Guard might let you in if you say you’re a Scribe.'” He scoffed. “Too late for that. 'Also an earthpony stopped by here looking for you. A Solar Guard, by the looks of him. He didn’t give his name but he said he knew your brother. I told him to come back tomorrow but he didn’t seem to like that much. If you’re bringing your problems into the Tower again, so help me, I’ll break off your horn myself. We don’t need a repeat of the Evergreen Spring’s case.'” He dropped the letter back to the table. “Evergreen Springs,” he repeated. “That was one time!”

An earthpony looking for him was interesting, too, he supposed. But ponies were always looking for their story to be told.

He turned away and yawned, stretching out his legs. It had been a long day of walking and he was tired.

The servants had come by and turned down his bed. He slid into it, settling into his pillows. By now, night had fallen. The first stars were coming out. The tiniest slice was missing from the full moon, signaling the start of another month. He closed his eyes. One month closer to the Summer Sun Festival.

Valiant would be working hard even into the night. On any other occasion, though. Construction was still paused while Canterlot figured out how to deal with Frosthoof’s death. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to take him up on his offer to come and visit. Ghost hadn’t seen Valiant in some months, ever since he got signed on to aid in construction. He was a powerful unicorn. He could lift almost as much as an earthpony, and with a magnitude more dexterity.

At least he gets a little vacation. Valiant was Ghostwriter’s only brother. And Ghost did love him, in his own way. Valiant made it clear that he worried, though Ghost only replied in short letters, several days too late.

Whoever wanted Frosthoof dead wanted something. He was nearing sleep now. The warmth of his bed was sending him off on a lulling wave. Maybe they wanted to stop the reconstruction effort. But nopony would want that except—

Ghost bolted upright. All traces of sleepiness were gone, replaced by a cold fear.

There was peace now. Crime existed because it always existed. The hungry stole, the angry fought, the foolish died by manticore or dragon or getting lost in the Everfree, but nopony murdered. Nopony had since the War of the Sisters, since fifty years ago, since—

“Nightmare Moon,” Ghost whispered, shivering as the name passed his lips. Nopony dared speak it aloud in good company. Nopony dared bring about the wrath of a pony long gone. Or was she?

He slid out of bed and ran to his desk. His quill came at his call, ready to write. The green light of his magic lit the page as the quill scratched across the paper.

Bluebell, call for an earthpony named Sir Cypress Stalwart. Have him meet me in my study tomorrow morning. We leave for the Castle of the Two Sisters at dawn.

Chapter 2

When Bluebell came to the room the next morning, so early that mist was gathered around his window, Ghostwriter was in a full panic. Random objects, cloaked in his pale green magic, floated across the room, bumping into each other and pushing other things away. A teacup so aggressively ground into a quill that it snapped it in half, leaking ink to the ground in thick droplets.

Bluebell paused. “Do you need any help?” she asked wryly, her purple eyes following the path of a spinning book with flapping pages.

“No,” Ghost said. His mane was ruffled around his horn. It felt hot to touch. It made his head feel too warm. “I’ve got this.”

He’d been up all night. He didn’t think he slept more than ten minutes. Tossing and turning, covered in sweat, he eventually gave up some time before dawn. For the rest of the few hours of night, he stared out his window at the moon with its slice missing, the Mare in the Moon staring back.

Ghost didn’t want to believe it. The Elements of Harmony had the power to do anything. Their banishment of Nightmare Moon had to have been permanent. Alicorn magic did not fail.

But if it were true, and Nightmare Moon somehow did kill Lord Frosthoof, then the entire Castle renovation project was in trouble. He had to tell Valiant himself. A letter wouldn’t do in the face of imminent death.

It was dangerous, but Valiant was all he had. Their parents had died some time ago. They had no other family but each other. And as much as he hated it, Ghostwriter had to leave Canterlot to go to his brother.

Bluebell didn’t buy Ghost’s answer. “So I see. Well, when you’re done, I have your knight in the lobby. Sir Cypress Stalwart?”

Ghost jerked his head up to stare. The broken quill bumped into his snout. “He’s here? What’s he like?”

“You’re unusually animated today, sir,” she noted.

“Bluebell.”

She sighed in exasperation. “An earthpony. Dark green coat. Brown mane, blue eyes. Very pretty blue eyes, if I’m being honest.” She floated a mirror up to him. “Fix your mane, sir. It looks dreadful.”

Ghost looked in the mirror. His white mane was usually useless. It did little more than fall into his glasses at inopportune moments. His green eyes looked wide and wild, and he hated it. He forced himself to sigh, to relax his tense face, then sent a telekinetic wave through his mane, brushing it evenly across his forehead.

“I meant personality-wise.” Valiant had recommended him. Did that mean this Sir Cypress Stalwart was as big an airhead as Ghost’s brother?

Shaking her head, Bluebell said, “I hardly spoke to him. I told him I’d fetch you and then come back. Do you need any help or not? A real answer this time.”

Ghost called all the floating objects to him, tucking them securely in his bag. He’d enchanted it to hold many more things than they’d normally be able to. The excess mass he stored in a pocket dimension, invisible to the naked eye. The weight of it tugged him backwards a little bit, but it wasn’t unbearable.

“I’m fine,” he said, flipping the pack closed. He lifted it onto his back and pulled the straps tight. “I’m ready. Take me to him.”

The lobby of the Tower of the Scribes was as round as any of the rooms. There were a few tables and chairs, tapestries hanging on the wall depicting the fall of Discord and the banishment of Nightmare Moon, and a huge dark green stallion in Solar Guard plates with a dark red cloak falling over one shoulder.

He stepped up as soon as he saw Ghost. Across his back was a massive sword so long it overhung his haunches. A helmet was attached on his right shoulder. Two packs full of supplies were on either side of his spine. The leather was scarred from age. “Sir Cypress Stalwart,” he said. His voice was like thunder. His mane was clipped as Cadet Maple’s had been, short on the sides and longer on the top.

Ghostwriter took him all in for a moment, lingering on the details. There was a three-pronged scar along one cheek. It stood out starkly from his dark coat. His hooves were covered in shaggy green hair. His eyes were unusual, pale blue, what Ghost thought was a unicorn color, full of prospective magic. On an earthpony, they were simply that: unusual.

Already Ghost itched for his quill and parchment. He fixed his glasses with a hoof. “Ghostwriter.”

Cypress gave him a terse nod. His mouth did not look made for smiling. “You’re small. Not like Valiant.”

“There are many things about my brother and I that do not match,” Ghostwriter said. “He tells me you can take me to him.”

He bent his head.

Ghost waited for a moment for him to say something more. He stared at Cypress. Cypress stared back. Finally, Ghost gave up. “All right then.” He turned to Bluebell. “You’ll explain to Quickquill, won’t you?”

Bluebell pulled herself away from where she was transparently admiring Cypress’s muscles. She didn’t even have the nerve to look embarrassed. “She won’t be happy.”

“That’s why you can explain.” He turned to Cypress. “I’d like to leave.”

Cypress bent his head. He looked to Bluebell. “Pleasure.”

Bluebell looked quite pleased indeed. “A pleasure to meet you, too, Sir Cypress.”

The two trotted down the spiraling steps of the Tower in silence. Cypress walked just ahead. He had strong, wide hooves that looked like they could crush a timberwolf’s skull with one kick.

“Sir Cypress,” Ghost started, because the knight did not seem keen to. “What are your credentials?”

“I am a Knight of the Solar Guard for some twenty years now. Princess Celestia hoof-picked me for my squadron. I operate under General Counterstrike in the Twenty-Second Sun Brigade.”

Very prompt. It sounded like a rehearsed answer. That many words coming out of the terse stallion’s mouth was impressive. Ghost fixed his glasses. “And how do you know my brother?”

They were outside. Celestia’s sun sent warm rays down on their backs. The carriage was at the base of the stairs, the pegasi the usual white-coated, blue-maned Guard members. They didn’t flinch as Sir Cypress loaded his bulk onto the carriage. Ghost sat beside him and they were off, shuddering from the ground and into the clear blue sky.

Carriage rides were uncommon to Ghost. He liked to use his own four hooves to get around. Being separate from the ground felt like something only a pegasus would like.

“At the reconstruction site. I was a member of the Guard there when it first got underway. Valiant is very sociable. He found my silence to be a challenge.” Cypress gave Ghost an expressionless look. “Since then I have become quite friendly.”

Ghost took in the knight’s blank face, his stern jaw, his unsmiling mouth, and thought, Friendly’s not how I’d put it. “Valiant could make friends with a chimera.”

“Yes.”

That seemed it for the small talk. Cypress fell into a temperate silence and Ghost drew out his notes from his satchel.

Before he’d gone to bed for his measly two hours, he’d gone to the Tower’s library for everything he could find on Nightmare Moon—firsthoof accounts of the attack, of Luna’s personality before becoming warped, of the Elements that had sealed her away. What he’d really wanted was Princess Celestia’s journals on the event but those were sealed away in her private apartments for her eyes only.

The wind was irritating, so he created a simple shield spell to block it. He spread the papers around his hooves, filtering through them by his notations at the top. The first page he selected was the crime listings for Canterlot and the surrounding cities—Saddlebrooke, Balkwood, Sunfall City.

There had been three assassinations this year, but not all of whom were important generals of the Guard. There was a baker named Flour Dust who had been found dead in his shop. Another, Periwinkle, was from Canterlot: a unicorn of the Royal Court of the Sun. The last was the strangest: an orphanage manager named Juniper Shine. She’d been in charge of Happy Homes, seated at Umbertown: the tiny town that bordered the Castle of the Two Sisters. Happy Homes had precious little in the Tower’s way of information, but he’d created copies of it all. A list of the orphans, mealtimes, scheduled vacations, and of course, adopters. He had a corresponding list of their addresses. Some of them were even in Umbertown. It would be easy to break away from Valiant and go investigate, maybe get some firsthoof accounts of Juniper’s personality, why somepony would want to kill an old mare in charge of little ones…

“I knew Periwinkle,” Sir Cypress said, startling Ghost out of his notes.

Ghostwriter blinked up at him, fixing his glasses with a hoof. “Is that so? How would you describe her?”

Cypress seemed to think a moment. The wind had continued ruffling his short mane. Ghost had only blocked himself from the slipstream. “A unicorn.”

“Yes,” Ghost said slowly. “I’d figured as much.” He floated the portrait of her up to Cypress. She’d been buff, muscled, scarred. Like any soldier. Pale blue with a dark purple mane. A six-pointed star for a cutie mark. A magical prodigy. A rarity in such peaceful days. A magically-talented war unicorn could take out legions of earthponies and pegasi alone.

Cypress looked at the picture. “Nopony could sneak up on her.”

“Somepony did.” Ghost supplied the next sketching, drawn out from her death scene. She was prone, like Frosthoof had been, soaking in a puddle of her own blood. The image had been drawn from the front.

At this, Cypress looked away. His frown grew more prominent.

The silence resumed. Ghost slid the sketches back into his satchel and dug out a text on Nightmare Moon. He’d never been good at just sitting still, and judging from the swell of grasslands below, they were still far from the Everfree.

He wondered briefly why Cypress had looked away from the sketches. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen a dead body before. He was a Solar Guard. They always took care of criminal activity in Canterlot.

Then he shrugged it away. Ghostwriter knew he didn’t fully understand most ponies. He just didn’t care an awful lot.

He was only halfway through the text of The Fall of Nightmare Moon when the carriage bumped to a halt. He glanced up, fixing his glasses.

The pegasi turned around. One said, “We’re here.”

Cypress strode off the carriage and onto the sky-dock. It was a piece of boardwalk jutting up from the edge of the Everfree and into the air. The placement meant that the pegasi didn’t have to fly into the dense forest. No fear of tangling their wings or maybe even breaking one.

After sliding the book back into his pocket dimension, Ghost followed.

The pegasi didn’t wait long. As soon as Ghost was on solid ground, they flared their wings and took to the sky once more. Ghost noted they moved much more quickly without Sir Cypress Stalwart weighing them down.

“So now what?” Ghost asked, trotting up next to Cypress. Side-by-side, he was tall as a mountain. Ghost’s head barely reached his elbow. It wasn’t often that Ghost was so aware of his slight stature, but he certainly was now.

“Valiant,” Cypress said.

Ghost had to hurry to keep up with the stallion’s broad steps. His satchel bumped between his shoulders. “How long?”

“Soon.”

“How soon is ‘soon?’”

Cypress glanced down at him. “Soon.”

Ghost sighed.

The Everfree reached out with dark green wings. The shadow of the forest lay upon Ghost’s back like a cool blanket. Everything was green here—green ground, green rocks, green tree trunks. Even the air seemed green, and tinged with a weird vegetation smell.

It felt like anything could be hiding in those trees. Ghost, starting to feel a little nervous, looked between the spare spaces and expected to see eyes watching him, tongues licking, noses sampling the air. He knew about the things that lived in these woods since the Princess had moved to Canterlot—timberwolves and cockatrices and dragons more ancient than cities, hydras that could swallow him up, manticores that could poison him, chimeras that could chase him across the ground on unmatched paws.

He kept close to Cypress and went through the process of creating a transport spell, just to keep his mind off of it all. But when he was thinking about side dimensions and quanta, he kept imagining blood-scented breath and hungry mouths.

After a while, he noticed that the trees had grown denser. Ghost frowned. The trees should be thinning as they approached the chasm first, then the gates, then the Castle of the Two Sisters. Fifty years of disuse would not have gotten rid of those old roads so easily.

“Sir Cypress,” he said. The green knight’s ear quirked back to listen. “Where are we going?”

Cypress kept moving, kept his eyes on the path in front of them. “The Castle,” he said.

Now Ghost was sure he was lying. He tipped his head back. The sun was visible, coasting through the sky over his right shoulder. “We’re heading south,” he said. “The Castle is to the east.”

Cypress’s shoulders tensed beneath his plates.

Ghostwriter stopped. Cypress trotted a few more steps before he stopped, too, keeping his back to Ghost.

“Valiant was right.” He turned around, his head beneath his shoulders. “You are very smart.”

He lunged forward, quicker than Ghost would expect, but he ran through empty air.

Ghost coalesced about ten feet behind the knight in a burst of green light. It taxed him almost immediately. A wave of exhaustion rolled through him as he bent his head, horn heating up, preparing a lightning bolt of energy.

“Wait,” Cypress said, eyes wide.

The spell struck the ground in front of him, scorching a hole in the ground. Cypress looked up, shocked, but Ghostwriter was already running away, trying to remember the maps he’d memorized.

Umbertown is nearby. His breath was sharp as a knife in his throat. The ground beneath his hooves was wet and squishy, terrible for grip. There was a spell for that, but in his panic and fear, he’d forgotten. If I can get there, I can get help.

“Ghostwriter!” The call came from behind him—entirely too close.

Ghost redoubled his efforts, but there was no way he could outrun Cypress. He had no choice: he had to hide.

Moving enough earth to cover him would be extraordinarily difficult. Unicorns could move more with magic than they could with their bodies, true, but that came with practice. Ghost was a Scribe. The most he had to lift was a quill and a roll of parchment. He couldn’t even lift his own weight, let alone rocks and gravel and dirt.

He burst through the trees into a small glade of vine-wrapped trees. Craning his head back, he saw a place where the branches came together into a low V-shape. It was about twenty-five feet up.

Ghost braced himself. There was sweat beaded on his forehead, fogging up his glasses. Twenty-five feet was a stretch. He’d barely been able to move half that without feeling like he was going to pass out.

From behind him came the sound of thundering hooves.

No choice. Ghost screwed up his face, closing his eyes. A rush of heat traveled up to his horn.

“Stop!”

It was a strange sensation, hearing Cypress’s order. He heard half of it on the ground, and half from his new position at the trees. They weren’t as close as they’d looked from the ground. Braced like this, one hoof on each branch, Ghost saw entirely too much ground for comfort.

And right in the middle of the glade, looking directly at him, was Sir Cypress Stalwart.

Even under all that metal and gear, he looked hardly tired. No sweat ran down his forehead, even as it stung Ghostwriter’s eyes.

“Leave me alone!” Magic flared up in Ghost’s horn. He felt it start to drain what little energy he had left. “Don’t make me hurt you, Cypress!”

Cypress blinked. “Let me explain.”

“Explain why you just tried to murder me? Or is that a misunderstanding?”

He meant it mockingly, but Cypress took it seriously. “A misunderstanding,” he said calmly. “Please come down.”

“I’d rather get eaten by parasprites.”

Cypress stamped a hoof. It made the ground quake. “I’ll knock the tree down,” he threatened.

Sure you will, Ghost thought. His legs were trembling with the effort of keeping balanced.

Cypress’s brow furrowed. He walked over to the base of Ghost’s tree and paused there.

Then he braced his shoulders against the trunk.

A quiver went all the way up the tree. Ghost started. “What are you doing?”

“Come down, Ghostwriter,” Cypress said levelly. He looked up through the cropped top of his mane.

Ghost paused for a moment. This tree went on for another thirty feet. There was no way one earthpony could bring it down, even one so large as Cypress.

Cypress took his silence as a challenge. Once more, he put his shoulders against the trunk. But this time, he heaved.

At once, the trunk shifted. Ghost was almost dislodged in the first shove.

“Stop!” he shouted, panicking.

Inexorably, Cypress pushed again. Tracks of dirt were pushed up under his front hooves. Ghost’s tree began to tip.

Ghost wrapped his forehooves around one branch as the tree came over, tilting further and further. Impossible, he thought as the ground grew closer. No earthpony he knew could do this. Nopony could come even close.

One more shove and it was done. Cypress stood in front of him, no change in his expression. Ghostwriter hung upside-down from the branch, legs wrapped around it. His mane brushed the ground and his glasses were askew, barely hanging on.

“Ready to talk?” Cypress asked. Even upside-down, he looked patient.

“You’re not going to murder me?” Ghost asked, trying to mimic Cypress’s calmness. It didn’t work. To his shame, his voice shook.

“Murdering you wouldn’t do me any good.”

"Why did you attack me?"

"You looked like you'd run. It's dangerous to run here. You'd get eaten."

Eaten! Ghost swallowed.

Cypress held out a hoof.

Ghost stared at it resentfully. “You tricked me.”

He offered no excuse. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not taking me to the Castle, are you?”

A looked passed across Cypress’s face, too quick for Ghost to judge. “Not yet.”

Ghost sighed. Accepting Cypress’s hoof, he said, “Then you’d better explain.”

Night fell quickly in the Everfree. By six o’clock, when Celestia’s sun would be fading into beautiful orange and purple, the forest was already cloaked in shadow. All the crawly, awful things he’d imagined earlier were beginning to appear in the dusky underbrush, though they didn’t dare come near Sir Cypress.

The knight had stopped them back up against a high cliff wall. He’d offered no explanations on the way here. When Ghostwriter asked, he’d only replied with his infuriating “Soon.”

Now Ghost was huddled up against a rock, watching Cypress try to set a fire out of some dry branches he’d found. Try was the key word. It had been over fifteen minutes of twig-rubbing and tiny wisps of smoke, and there was still no lick of fire.

Ghost watched Cypress’s face. He looked faintly annoyed, his brows pulled together, but not once did he verbalize his frustration.

Valiant knows him. He wrote about him in the letter. It had been Valiant’s pen that had written the letter. Ghost would know it anywhere. If he’d been threatened or pressed to write, he could have hidden something in the touch of his magic. But there had been nothing.

Valiant wouldn’t send a psychotic knight to his only brother. Ghost trusted Valiant. That meant—at least for now—he had to trust Cypress too.

With a sigh, Ghost reached for his magic.

The air around the tiny clearing plummeted as Ghost balled it up, forcing the air particles to vibrate against each other in the nest of twigs Cypress had created. Smoke started immediately pouring up. A split-second later, fire bloomed. The entire process had taken less time than a blink.

Cypress leaned back quickly, his ears quirked up. “Magic,” he said.

“I am a unicorn.” Ghost unfolded his forehooves from his chest and glared at him. “Now an explanation would be welcome. Did my brother actually send you to kidnap me? Or did you change your plan halfway through?”

Slowly, Cypress sat back on his haunches. He hadn’t divested himself of his armor. “Valiant spoke of you. How you’re good at finding out things.”

“I’m a Scribe of the Tower. Finding out things, as you so quaintly put it, is not only my job, it’s my talent. It’s what I was born for.”

Cypress nodded. If he was insulted, he did not show it. His face was impassive as stone. “I need your help.”

“Me specifically?” Ghost laughed meanly. “Maybe next time, you can tell somepony that upfront. Before you kidnap them in the middle of the forest.”

Cypress turned and met his eyes for the first time. All the resentment tensed up in Ghost at the look in the knight’s eyes. “My daughter is missing. I need you to find her.”

It wasn’t often that Ghostwriter was caught by surprise, but he was now. He blinked. “Your daughter?”

It seemed odd. Sir Cypress Stalwart hardly seemed the doting father. It seemed impossible to equate this massive stallion in a loving home with a daughter. Did he play filly games with her? Did he read bedtime stories with his thunderous voice? Ridiculous.

“Fillies have been going missing. For weeks now. My Eglantine was one.”

Ghost tilted his head. “Where was she?”

At this, Cypress looked down at his hooves. In the flickering firelight, his coat looked nearly black. The dancing flames winked off his plates. “Umbertown. Her mother, my wife, fell ill when I was away. She died suddenly. My Eglantine was put into the orphanage.”

“Happy Homes.” The same one from my notes. He pulled them from his satchel and started peeling the pages apart. Even that slight magic drained him. His muscles started to tremble.

Ghost scanned the pages. “I don’t see an Eglantine.”

“I know. Because she’s not there.”

He looked up over the papers. “Then where is she?”

Cypress just shook his head.

Interesting. Ghost tucked the pages back into his satchel and withdrew his quill. The tip shone with ink. He set it to parchment and began to take notes. “Your wife. What did she die of?”

“Cough. Doctor said it got in her lungs. She died in the night.” He looked down at his hooves once more, his face hidden in shadow. “I wasn’t there,” he added quietly.

Ghost’s pen danced across the parchment, a scratchy waltz. “Where were you?”

“Solar Guard. Patrolling the far side of the Everfree. I got the notice she’d died. I didn’t even know she was sick.”

More scratching. “The doctor. Who was it?”

“Somnus of Umbertown.”

“Then we can start there.” The parchment rolled up. It slid back into the satchel of its own course. Ghost’s mind was already elsewhere. “It’s possible that your wife was killed, not ill.”

Cypress made a choking sound.

Ghost looked up quickly. There was a look of blank horror on the green knight’s face, open and honest and raw.

Something coiled in Ghost’s stomach, a rare emotion: guilt. “I’m sorry,” he said at once. “I’ve overstepped.”

“I just…” Cypress cleared his face and shook his head. “I never thought she could have been killed. I believed.”

Ghost smiled wryly. “If there’s anything I’ve learned from being a Scribe, it’s this: A lot of ponies have believed and been misled. It’s unfortunate. But we have a lead, anyway.” He tapped the quill against his horn, still hot from magic. “Umbertown.”

Cypress looked worried. He shuffled from hoof to hoof, flicking his eyes from the fire to Ghost and back again. Not resting. “You’ll help?”

“Well, I don’t have a choice now, do I?” The quill joined the notes, back in the satchel. Ghost settled down, resting his chin on his crossed forehooves. “You’ve ruined my visit with my brother, kidnapped me, and stranded me out in the middle of the Everfree. Might as well get a good story out of it.” He glanced up. “And maybe your daughter back.”

Cypress didn’t say anything for a minute. There was just the soft crackling of the fire, the shifting of some creature out in the darkness, a bird on the wing.

“But I’d need some rules first,” Ghost said, before the knight could answer. “I need to speak to my brother immediately. It’s important.” Cypress’s daughter is missing, and that’s terrible, but Nightmare Moon might be killing ponies. That seems more pressing.

“Yes,” Cypress said. “Umbertown is on the way to the Castle.”

That displeased Ghost. His mouth turned down. “A letter, then. A pegasus can bring it.”

“I’ll pay.”

“Perfect. I’ll also need you to protect me. As you so kindly pointed out, I’m not terribly big. I can’t protect myself.”

“I’ll protect you.”

Ghost nodded. “That’s all.”

Cypress bent his head. “Then we are agreed.”

Ghost nodded again, unnerved a little. Spending this much time with somepony was strange—and exhausting. But it was good, in a way. The Tower got stuffy. An old-fashioned murder mystery was a good way to break the monotony.

Cypress took the watch. Ghost lay down on the hard ground and tried not to think of crawling things touching him. For good measure, he slid a barrier around himself, something strong enough to block a good-sized insect but weak enough to not drain him to death in his sleep.

He was just drifting off to sleep when he blinked open one eye. Cypress was sitting upright, his huge helmet hanging off one shoulder, his red cape off the other. A father who’d do anything to get his child back, Ghost thought. Interesting.

With a flick of his thoughts, Ghost extended his barrier to encompass the knight, then surrendered himself to sleep.

Chapter 3

Umbertown was still sleeping when Ghostwriter and Sir Cypress arrived at dawn. The mailpony was out, his bag stuffed with letters, and the baker was just now setting out her fresh-from-the-oven muffins and breads, but other than that, you could hear every hoof-fall from the two stallions.

Nothing like Canterlot, Ghost thought. He watched the baker lovingly arrange her cupcakes, bright pink confections that matched her cutie mark. The city was always roaring with life. Even the Tower never calmed. In the middle of the night, on more times than he could count, Ghost had caught two Scribes having a shouting match in the Tower library over some arbitrary number—the amount of wool delivered from Ambleton, the average size of a Balkwood apple, the exact shade of orange that the great dragon Vearon called his hide. There was never this much calm and quiet in a city that had no true night. Not when the Sun Goddess herself called it home.

So it was curious to Ghost when they reached Happy Homes and found the orphaned foals awake and already working, their eyes still bleary with sleep. One unicorn was listlessly pushing a broom. Two earthponies wiped the spotless baseboards. A filly who looked hardly old enough to walk leaned up on her hooves to scrub at the windows with a rag in her mouth.

Happy Homes itself looked like a refurbished stable. There was a wide square window at the very top, below the peak of the roof. It swung open on rusty hinges. The ground was tamped-down dirt, hard-packed from hooves. Inside, from what Ghost could see, it was flat stone floor and rows of bunk beds. Curious eyes peeked out from windows along the side, blinking in the new light of the day.

Ghost stopped, coughing in the dust. “Doesn’t really look Happy, does it?” he asked.

Cypress said nothing. It didn’t bother Ghost now. Two days in the stallion’s company had made him accustomed to the silence.

It didn’t take long for the matron to make her appearance. She was an old purple mare with a white-striped mane. There were wrinkles at her forehead from a lifetime of frowning. “Yes? Can I help you?”

Ghost looked away from the orphans. “I’m a Scribe of Canterlot’s Tower. I have some questions I want to ask you.”

The matron frowned. As he’d suspected, the lines deepened around her mouth and forehead. “What kind of questions?”

“Simple ones. About your establishment and the foals within it.”

“And if I don’t want to answer questions?”

Ghost turned to Cypress for that. The green knight seemed to be having difficulties. His mouth trembled as he looked at a young filly with a pale yellow coat who still didn’t have her cutie mark. “Sir Cypress?” Ghost prompted.

Cypress snapped away. “Yes.”

“Our new friend…” Ghost trailed off, waving a hoof vaguely towards the matron. “What did you say your name was?”

The frown deepened. “Lavender Spice.”

“Our new friend Ms. Spice.” Friend was hardly the word he’d like to use for this sour old mare, but it had to do. “She seems unaware of who you are. Why don’t you tell her?”

Cypress straightened with a clank of his plates. “Sir Cypress Stalwart. Eglantine’s father.”

Lavender balked. “Eglantine’s father? But she was an orphan.”

Sir Cypress’s jaw clenched. “Was?”

“Why don’t we take this someplace more private?” Ghost suggested. The foals had stopped their work to stare openly. The little unicorn let the broom fall back flat against his horn with a smack.

Lavender Spice nodded hastily. “Yes. My office. In the back.” She turned to the foals. “My little ponies, why don’t you finish up your work later and have a snack. I have dandelion crunchies in the cupboard. How tasty!”

The earthpony filly Cypress had been looking at piped up, “But you never let us have any treats!”

Lavender’s expression darkened. “Well,” she replied, still in that sickly-sweet voice, “today is your lucky day. Run along now.”

The foals didn’t wait another second. They abandoned their cleaning supplies and darted off, some looking back worriedly.

Lavender Spice laughed stiffly, like it was an unaccustomed pastime. “To my office, then? Would you gentleponies like a drink? Perhaps some tea?”

“No thanks,” Ghost said, before Cypress could answer. Though judging by the look on his face, putting anything into his stomach could prove a bad idea.

Lavender Spice’s office turned out to be little more than a broom closet. There was a small desk, a few wobbly chairs, a portrait of a green unicorn mare with her horn flared up, but most of the tiny space was filled with wall upon wall of files.

Ghost stopped in place to stare. Wonderful, he thought, feeling himself smile. There was nothing more beautiful than to see physical data laid out so beautifully. Decades were sorted into those metal drawers. Years sorted by careful catalog and numbering. It must have taken years to get it all exactly right.

While he stood in wonder, Lavender bustled about making tea anyway. The water boiled after a few tense seconds of silence and she poured it. Earthpony hooves were so inefficient, Ghost thought with distaste. She fumbled with everything—the fire, the teapot, the bags—and finally the cups as she set one in front of each of them, saving the final, chipped teacup for herself.

“Now, what kind of questions did you want to ask me?” Lavender’s voice was light, but her eyes were wary. “Scribes rarely find their way into Umbertown.”

Ghost lifted his cup with telekinesis, watching her over the rim. “I can imagine why.” He sipped the tea and nearly gagged. It was bitter and astringent as lemon peel. He set it down. “You live in the shadow of tragedy.”

She laughed that stiff laugh again. “You Scribes really know how to dramatize things. Nightmare Moon has no hold here anymore. The Castle is just an old ruin now.” She drank her tea without reservation. Perhaps she was used to disappointment. “Well, until as of late. Now more soldiers find their way through these streets than Umbertown natives.”

“Which you are?” Ghost asked.

She nodded. “I was born here. I remember when the sisters lived in the castle. I would bring bread to them sometimes in the mornings.”

Interesting. Not. Ghost pulled out his quill and parchment. “And how long have you been matron? Since Juniper Shine was murdered?”

The matron nearly overturned her tea. Ghost looked up with surprise to see a stricken look on her face.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Since…then.”

Ghost narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. A strong reaction. Why would that be? He remembered from his notes that Juniper Shine had been an old mare. The same age as Lavender, if not close. The two were both earthponies. Both lived in Umbertown. Both were matron of the exact same orphanage, one right after the other.

Of course, he thought. Juniper Shine. Lavender Spice. Sisters.

“You are the youngest between you and Juniper?” he asked, scratching down more notes.

Lavender blinked in surprise. Beside him, he felt Cypress stiffen. “Y-yes, that’s right. How did you know?”

“I guessed.” Ghost stopped his pen, setting it orbiting around his head while he thought. “So how long has it been?”

She shook her head. It wasn’t stubbornness, but confusion. “Perhaps a few months. No more than six.”

“And Eglantine Stalwart was in your charge when you took over?”

“She wasn’t Eglantine Stalwart. Just Egg. We called her Egg. A sweet thing, if a little ditzy. I’ve never met an earthpony with her head so in the clouds.”

Now Cypress might as well have been carved from ice. Ghost almost prodded him to make sure he hadn’t paralyzed himself permanently.

“When did she go missing?”

Now Lavender did not hesitate. “Two weeks ago.”

Ghost felt surprised. “You paused before. You didn’t now. Why?”

Lavender looked down at her abandoned tea. Behind her, Ghost noted the dates on the files. They ran weekly, it appeared. Easily updated. “I’d never had an orphan go missing under my watch.”

Under your watch, Ghost thought. That implies that some went missing under your sister’s. His pen scratched somewhere by his left ear. “What happens to foals who aren’t adopted? Are they released into the town with nothing but a name?”

“Princess Celestia offers them a chance to join the Solar Guard. If they refuse, they’re allowed to leave here and find their own way. Most accept the offer.”

It sounded almost sinister. But, in truth, what pony of sound mind wouldn’t join the military rather than face a harsh world of solitude?

“How do you know Eglantine didn’t accept the offer?”

“Because it happened before her birthday. Foals have until their sixteenth birthday to make up their minds. Egg was only fifteen.” Lavender shook her head. “I had talked to her about it but she never gave me an answer. She seemed to think someone was coming for her. Her father.” She looked up desperately at Cypress. “I didn’t believe her. Many orphans say similar things. Most of them give up. But she never did.”

Cypress made a choking sound. A split-second later, he pushed himself up and left the room. The door banged the wall loudly enough to make Ghost and Lavender jump.

“You’ll have to forgive my companion,” Ghost said, adjusting his glasses. The slam had set his heart to hammering. “He’s usually more reserved.”

Lavender gave him a strange look. “He’s just heard his daughter was kidnapped. He’s a little upset.”

Ghost blinked. “From your care,” he pointed out. “Tell me how that happened.”

She curled her lip. “You’re cold-hearted, aren’t you?”

“Save the insults,” Ghost said, though he did feel a prick of shock. Occasionally ponies had noted that, some in less savory words, but it never failed to strike him. Cold-hearted? What did that even mean? What did it matter what ponies thought of him as long as he delivered the story?

It seemed like Lavender wanted this to be over as quickly as possible. With her eyes on the ceiling, she said, “I came in for the morning wake-up call and she was gone. I asked her bedmates what had happened and they had no memory of her getting up and leaving. One noted that she had been restless that night, tossing and turning, but she didn’t remember Egg getting up.”

Ghost waited until she was fully distracted, then reached out his magic. Casually, he said, “So she disappeared from within the orphanage. What was her bunkmate’s name? Is she still here?”

Lavender shook her head. “She’s gone. She accepted the offer.”

“I see. But her name?”

“Slipstream. A pegasus. I imagine you’ll find her at the Castle. She’s in the Air Strike team.” Lavender pushed her tea away. “If you don’t mind, I’ve had enough for the day. You can see yourself out.”

“Gladly.” Ghost sealed up his parchment and slid it back into his satchel. “Thank you for your time.”

“Be kinder to that knight,” she said. “He’s a gentle heart. You are not.”

“Thank you for your opinion.” Ghost trotted out the door and kicked it closed with a hind leg. It shut with more force than necessary.

He found Sir Cypress around the back, pressed up against the wall. There was sweat beading down his cheeks.

Ghost sighed. “I have a lead,” he said. “She’s at the Castle.” I’ll get this next clue and my brother all in the same move, he thought. Perfect.

Sir Cypress did not seem to share his enthusiasm. He was taking in deep breaths. His chest rose and fell erratically.

Ghost frowned. “Are you well?”

“No.”

“We must go to the Castle and find this pegasus. Don’t you want to do that?”

“Yes.”

Ghost waited. Cypress kept inhaling those heavy breaths. “Shall we go now?” he prompted.

Cypress shot him a look that was almost a glare. It would have worked better, but there was still something raw in his eyes. “Give me time,” he said.

“We have none,” Ghost replied coolly. “Come on, Sir Cypress. Let’s go to the Castle.” Without another word, Ghost walked away. He didn’t look back, even as he heard the knight’s heavy hoof-beats take up stride behind him.

They walked in silence out of the town and up the path towards the Castle. Ghostwriter could see it above the treeline. Sharp claws of stone, torn remnants of banners, the sparkling gleam of ruined stained glass. He saw it in snatches. Even the path underhoof was broken, the cobblestones gouged out in some places by a battle decades old.

Sir Cypress was silent, but that was no surprise. This silence felt markedly different, though. Ghost kept thinking back to the matron’s words: You’re cold-hearted, aren’t you?

But what did that matter? It made Ghost’s teeth grind together. Why was he letting some hag’s words thrash about in his head like sliced hydra heads? He would probably never see Lavender Spice again in his lifetime, but still, her wrinkled face kept coming up in his mind, replacing the underbrush or the beginnings of the Castle’s ramparts, crumbled to ruin around him.

You’re cold-hearted, aren’t you?

“Sir Cypress,” he said. “I find myself wondering about your daughter.”

Cypress said nothing.

Ghost pressed on, comforted by the sound of his own voice. This quiet was maddening. “How could it be that she disappeared from a crowded orphanage? Did you see inside? It was packed wall-to-wall with beds, and in those beds, foals. How could she have slipped out?”

“Light sleepers,” he suggested, his first words since they’d left. His voice was hoarse.

“Perhaps,” Ghost gave him. “But what would be her goal? What could the world offer a filly of fifteen years? And why would she leave the place she knew her father would return to? She seemed like she’d wait for you, judging by what the matron said. Why leave?”

“Kidnapped.”

“Yes, we’re back to that.” Ghost floated his notes out of his satchel and rifled through them. They weren’t in his handwriting, but Lavender’s.

Cypress, seemingly unable to continue his tight-lipped silence, asked, “What are those?”

Ghost smiled. “The ledgers from the orphanage.”

“You stole them?”

He laughed. “Hardly. I…borrowed them. Magically. I waited until she had her eyes elsewhere and copied them. It had the extra parchment, the ink. All I needed to do was a transposing spell.” He shrugged. “Simple.”

Cypress blinked. “Magic,” he said.

“Magic,” Ghostwriter agreed. He flared the papers, his horn growing warm. It felt good against the cool breeze of the Everfree. “Now then…”

The notes were compiled by name, alphabetically and by body type. The unicorns were unnecessary; Ghost slid them back into his satchel. The earthponies he brought to the front, keeping the pegasi papers on standby.

“Lavender said it had been two weeks,” Ghost muttered, more to himself than to Cypress, who was leaning over his shoulder. “Let’s go back… More than that… Ah, here we go.” He slid that paper to the front. “Egg, like she said. ‘Earthpony, fifteen, pale yellow, brown mane, no cutie mark.’” No wonder Cypress had been staring at that filly, he thought. Sentiment. He continued, “‘Reported missing during morning wake-up. Perimeter searched. No evidence of foul play.’” He looked up at Cypress. “Well, that was succinct. They didn’t even call the Guard.”

Cypress shook his head. “Illegal.”

“Quite.” The Solar Guard were called on any case of criminal activity. A disappeared orphan fell under that category. “She disappears from the ledger after that. Now for this other…”

Cypress leaned close again. “Pegasus?”

“Slipstream,” he said. “If you’d stayed in the office, you would have learned that.” Ghost ran down Slipstream’s list and found the same identification markers: pegasus, white, yellow mane, sixteen, cutie mark is a gray whirlwind with autumn leaves mixed in. “Very identifiable,” Ghost noted.

“At the Castle?”

“Yes. She was your daughter’s bunkmate. She was the last to see Eglantine at the orphanage.” He sighed, folding up the notes and storing them once more. “This seems pretty open-and-shut.”

“How so?”

“Slipstream’s birthday was the very next day after Eglantine disappeared. My guess is that Slipstream took the offer, as they say, and joined the Guard. Eglantine didn’t want to live there without her friend and skipped town.” Ghost gave Cypress a smug smile. “Done and done.”

Cypress did not look so convinced.

It wiped the smile off Ghost’s face. “What? You think I’m wrong.”

“She wouldn’t,” he said.

“Wouldn’t what?” Ghost was getting very tired of the stallion’s taciturnity.

“Leave,” he said. “Without permission. She follows rules.”

“Maybe friendship made her change her mind. You don’t know for sure.”

Cypress gave him a cold stare. “Neither do you,” he said simply.

Ghost turned back to the path and rolled his eyes.

The Castle of the Two Sisters came into view from around the bend. Scaffolding covered it like ants. Unicorns lifted beams for earthponies, horns steaming in the cold air. Pegasi lowered ropes with plaster and stones, their wings beating heavily, their faces sweaty. Earthponies reared up on their hind legs, forelegs braced with the weight of thousands of pounds of rock and wood.

Ghost watched this all, wishing he could write it down.

The workponies along the way stopped and stared curiously as Ghost and Cypress walked by. It seemed commonplace enough to visit the Castle, Ghost thought. After all, his brother was not high-ranking in the least and he still managed to invite a citizen to the reconstruction site.

But still. It made Ghostwriter’s coat itch to have so many eyes on his back. He wished for half a moment that the ground could swallow him up, or that he could invent an invisibility spell to warp the air around him.

The shadow of the Castle fell upon his back as he reached the front doors. They were massive and oaken, carved with a thousand fine details. Ghost saw Celestia and Luna, ruling together. He saw Nightmare Moon coming to life, her soul corrupted. He saw Celestia strike down the parody of her sister. Moons and suns wound together like chains, linking the two together, as they always had been, as they always would be.

Ghost saw it all and was impressed. And resentful. Sentiment.

“Baby brother!” Ghostwriter lost his footing as something—or someone—barreled into his side. Gravel scraped under his coat as the pony pressed him down, wrapping him in forehooves that were strong as an earthpony’s.

“Hello, Valiant,” Ghost said, his face smashed into the ground.

Valiant was beaming. His eyes were Ghost’s pale green, bright with glowing magic. In everything else, they were opposites. Valiant’s coat was white as a prince’s, his mane black. A seven-pointed blue star was his cutie mark—making him almost unrivaled in magical prowess. War unicorns with seven-pointed stars were bound for greatness, and Valiant was no exception. If only he could focus.

“You’re late. You were supposed to be here yesterday. What delayed you?” Then he fixed on Cypress, and his smile widened. “Cy!” he exclaimed, wrapping a forehoof around his shoulders. “It’s good to see you, old friend!”

Cypress, who had been moody since Happy Homes, smiled the ghost of a smile. “Valiant.”

Ghost wanted none of it. “Your old friend kidnapped me in the Everfree yesterday.” A wave of telekinesis brushed the dust from his coat. Ghost fixed his glasses. “Thanks for the warning.”

Valiant sobered. “Oh, so he’s told you.”

“Right after he treed me like a cat.”

Valiant smiled, but it was tight. Drawn. “I knew you’d be the best for the job, brother. Nobody noses into ponies’ business like you do. You’ll find Eglantine. I know you will.”

Ghost muttered, “Maybe next time you could tell me you needed my help instead of forcibly enlisting me.”

“You never would have come out of the Tower for that. I knew I was the only thing that could lure you from your books.” He nudged Ghost’s chin with a hoof. “And now you’re here. It’s so good to see you, Ghost.”

Ghost relented tiredly. “Finally calling me by my name now?”

“Your penname, anyway.” Valiant rolled his eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with your real name.”

Cypress looked curiously at Ghostwriter, but Ghost snapped, “Don’t even think about it. It’s stupid and embarrassing. My mother wasn’t thinking when she named me that.”

Valiant laughed, more freely. Always in good spirits, Ghost thought. Valiant couldn’t be kept down for long. He’d always joked it was the magic in him. “Come on,” he said, already turning around to walk away. “Come and see the Castle. And we can talk about what we’re going to do.”

Chapter 4

Valiant led them back to the only space he could call his own: a tiny room off the main hall crammed with four hard bunks. It was immediately apparent which was Valiant’s: it was veined in glowing lines of bright blue magic. They ran up and down the posts like veins, like tangled ivy. The pattern was almost natural, though the pulsating light was anything but.

Ghostwriter pursed his lips. Valiant had raw magical power, immense and deep. Most unicorns were like fireflies, aware of their own light, able to control it, not to burn themselves or waste too much energy. Unicorns like Valiant were like wildfires. As long as they had the right conditions, they would burn forever.

As soon as Valiant stepped onto the tiny square of stone his bunk rested on, the lines grew brighter, responding to his presence. He flopped on his bed. “So tell me, little brother, how was the trip over here?” He smiled. “Besides the kidnapping?”

Ghost settled onto the bunk across from his. Sir Cypress, looking entirely too massive for such a close space, folded up his legs and sat on the floor.

“It’s hardly of consequence,” Ghost said, waving a hoof dismissively. “I’m more interested in the Castle.”

Valiant made a little bobbing gesture with his head, half weary nod and half amusement. “I knew you would be. How else would I have gotten you out of that Tower?”

Ghost remembered his frantic midnight letter and thought, I can think of a few more things that would get me out.

“Reconstruction’s stopped since Lord Frosthoof died. You know that.”

“I didn’t ask for things I know,” Ghostwriter scoffed. It was bad enough that he’d already run into a dead-end: Doctor Somnus had skipped town weeks ago according to his former neighbor in Umbertown. So it seemed for now what happened to Cypress’s wife was going to be put to the back of the shelf. Irritating, yes. But she was already dead and no longer was a pressing issue.

Not like Eglantine’s disappearance—and more foals from more towns, all missing from their beds. The reports rolled in every day. Bluebell had sent him a list of names in his letter dish just that morning. Canterlot was missing two fillies from last months.

Valiant rolled his eyes. “Princess Celestia sent word to General Arbiter. He hasn’t told us what it said yet.” A frown creased his mouth. “Though rumor is that Tyto does. He received the letter, so he must know.”

“Tyto?”

“The blacksmith.”

“Blacksmith and Celestia’s personal friend. He goes to visit her in Canterlot.”

“Personal friend?” Ghost echoed. In the Tower, that meant something different. It was code for more intimate relations.

Valiant seemed to know exactly what Ghost was thinking. “Completely friendly, trust me. In fact.” He slid off, sliding a bit on the stone floor. He caught himself with magic, floating back to proper balance. “Let’s go meet him.”

Ghost looked distastefully at such a wasteful use of magic. “I thought we’d talk about the Castle.” And about Nightmare Moon. But he could hardly speak so freely in front of Cypress, as well as Valiant knew him.

“Nonsense.” Valiant wasn’t having any of Ghost’s flippancy. Flinging a hoof over Ghost’s shoulders and drawing him close, he said, “I’ll buy you dinner if you come to meet Tyto now. What do you want? How about honey-mint oats? You love that.”

“I hate that,” Ghost said, looking away. “You love that.”

“Well, then, you can sit and glower over some tea while I enjoy delicious dinner. Cy? Honey-mint oats? Huh? Huh?”

“Please don’t tell me you eat that disgusting slop,” Ghost said disparagingly.

Cypress shrugged one massive shoulder. “Food’s food.”

Ghost sighed.

The Great Hall was covered in tarps and sawdust. Through the holes in the ceiling, watery sunlight filtered in, tinged green from the encroaching forest. From everywhere came the sound of hammering, of hoofwork, of ponies shouting orders up and down the sides of the building. In the center of the room, somepony had laid long low tables. Spotted here and there were workponies on break, Solar Guard watching, captains going over blueprints. They were wearing helmets to protect from falling debris.

After picking out a section of more-stable roof to sit beneath, Valiant went to go get food. As soon as he was gone, Ghost leaned over to Cypress. “After this, we find Slipstream.”

Cypress nodded, but he seemed distracted.

Ghost frowned. “What’s the matter now?” he demanded. “We’re on the trail. What more do you want?”

He looked up. His eyes looked watery. “Eglantine,” he said simply.

Ghost was struck silent. He looked away, uneasy, as Valiant floated three trays of honey-mint oats, setting them with a bang of metal in front of each pony.

“Honey-mint oats!” he cried. He lifted his spoon, soaked in blue magic. “I swear, anything with mint in it is delicious. They say spearmint is good for concentration. At the School for Gifted Unicorns, Princess Celestia made us chew it before our major exams.” Turning to Ghost, he said with a full mouth, “Do you remember that, Ghost?” Flecks of oats flew from his mouth.

Ghost flicked a piece of oats off his face with a tendril of magic. “I didn’t go to the School, Valiant.”

“Oh. That’s right.” Valiant swallowed. “I forget sometimes.”

Forget about me, that is. Valiant was a good six years older than Ghost. Their friendship, if it could be called that, had been strained throughout their childhood because of that. It didn’t help that Valiant was a prodigy and Ghost was the weird little brother, withdrawn and sullen, whose command on magic had never held a candle to his brother’s.

Not that he was bitter or anything.

“Silver is doing well. Since you didn’t bother to ask.” Valiant gave him a sly look. “Sephie, too.”

Silver, Valiant’s wife, was a calm, quiet thing. She and Ghost got along famously during Valiant’s homecomings, sitting in the library without speaking, reading in peaceful silence, while Valiant entertained their daughter in another room. Sometimes Silver would make a comment on her book, and Ghost would nod, and then the quiet would resume. Sephie got on Ghost’s nerves, as any child would, but he was very attached to Silver.

“That’s good,” Ghost said, a little annoyed. If Valiant had given him a chance, of course he would have asked about his sister-in-law and niece. That was common conversation protocol. “Has Sephie got her cutie mark yet?”

“Not quite. Probably too young.” All at once, Valiant was bragging again, puffing out his chest. “I got mine when I was her age, though. Do you remember? First in the class. Eight years old. That’s when Princess Celestia put me in her school.”

“Considering I was two, no, I don’t remember.”

Valiant shrugged. “That’s your loss, then. I remember like it was yesterday. Ah, I was just playing in my room, trying to lift all my wooden soldiers at once, when I accidentally lifted the entire house. It was like my brain had been pried open and all this light poured down into it. Like—”

“Like the heavens had been set on fire and your eyes were full of it. And then Celestia came down borne upon a cloud of golden sunshine and said, ‘Dear Valiant, you are truly the best thing that Mother Nature has ever created. Please do me the honor of being my most faithful student.’ And then she cast a rainbow in the sky, and Mother and Father rejoiced that such a perfect specimen could have been born to them, and ponies were dancing in the streets, and I spoke my very first words: ‘Goddess bless Valiant, for he shall one day rule the world with his magical might.’ Does that about cover it?”

“A more fanciful version,” Valiant said, with a smile. “I don’t recall a rainbow or ponies dancing in the streets, though I appreciate the vision.”
Ghost propped his chin on his hoof, trying not to yawn. “I’ve heard this story a thousand times, Valiant.”

Valiant huffed. “No need to be so sharp, little brother. You’re poky as a timberwolf.”

Ghost allowed that with a wave of his hoof.

Amazingly, Valiant got Cypress talking, and more than two words at once. His cutie mark should be a great big mouth, Ghost thought, spooning a mouthful of oats in his mouth. Minty sweet.

“General Counterstrike gave me leave.” Cypress had set his helmet down on the table. Ghost eyed it. It seemed impossible that anypony could wear that and still be able to run. “As soon as I wrote to you, I left.”

“I know. When I didn’t get your response, I got worried.” Valiant’s mouth went to one side. “I’m glad that you found my brother. Isn’t he brilliant? I told you he was brilliant.”

Cypress gave another of his nods. “He’s helped.”

“That’s my brother!” Valiant said proudly. He beamed over the table, a spatter of oats on his chin. “He’ll find Eglantine. I know it. I can feel it in my bones.”

“Don’t you plan to help?” Ghost asked. Behind him came the sound of scuffling, shifting hooves and clattering metal. It was hard to concentrate.

“Of course. I’m going to find your pegasus Slipstream. You’re going to talk to Tyto.” Valiant’s eyes tracked something just over Ghost’s shoulder. They widened.

Suddenly, he shoved Ghost away with a burst of magic. In the space Ghost had just vacated, right in the middle of his honey-mint oats, crashed a good-sized Solar Guard member, a heavyset yellow earthpony. He landed on his back, his hooves askew, a look of deep, profound confusion on his face that only came from a concussion.

Valiant didn’t look surprised at all. He nodded from where the soldier had come from. “That’s Tyto. Good luck.”

Ghost followed his gaze.

A skinny, dark brown dragon stood on his hind legs, front claws balled up in fury. Smoke poured from his nostrils. He had wings that folded along his back, streamlined as a bird’s. They were a coal-black that matched the markings around his black eyes, eyes made only darker by the startling stark whiteness of his face. He was so thin that he looked concave, his chest jutting forward and his stomach curving under.

“That’s the last time you insult my steel behind my back, Goldenrod!” he snarled with a voice like rasping stones. “If you have something to say, say it to my face, like a real coward.”

“I have a feeling real cowards wouldn’t say anything to anybody’s face,” Ghost muttered to Sir Cypress.

The dragon’s sharp ears pricked up. “Who said that? You?” He dropped to all fours and came forward, lithe and quick. He reared back up and got in Ghost’s face. Ghost had to tip back his head to look at him. “Who are you? You’re not a soldier. You’re not even a war unicorn, are you?” He tipped his head. Ghost could see himself reflected in the dragon’s black eyes. They took in his white mane, his gray coat, finally resting on the satchel, marked with its golden sunburst. A look of surprise flitted across his pale face. “You’re a Scribe of the Tower. Oh, this is great.”

“Ghostwriter,” Ghost said. “Pleasure.”

Tyto waved a clawed paw. “I know who you are. Leeches, all of you. Sneaking around trying to get the latest scoop, digging up old secrets, trying to find bad blood between nobles just to stir up the hornets’ nest. Despicable.”

“You have strong opinions for not being a pony.”

Tyto’s surprise turned into outright fury. “What’s that supposed to mean? I can’t have thoughts because I’m not your kind? What are you, some kind of new-age racist? Not good enough that your Moon Princess nearly killed all of us, but now you want to blame the dragons for that, huh? What makes you so special? Just because I don’t have a pretty quill on my flank means I’m not worthy of an opinion? Well? Say something! You certainly didn’t hold back before, you smudgy little foal. Speak up.”

“I would if you’d quit blathering.” Ghost turned around and got down off his stool. “I’m told you’re Celestia’s friend.”

“Princess Celestia’s friend. What of it?”

Easily derailed. He hadn’t met many dragons, but he knew their type. Once they got Tyto’s age—maybe two, three hundred years old—they were just like teenaged ponies. Quick to rage. Quick to distract.

“My source tells me you’ve received her next plans for the reconstruction effort.”

Tyto’s brows rose. “And you think I’d share that with you?”

Bull’s-eye. So he did know. Valiant was right. “All I wanted to know was if she’d launched a game plan for the effort. Thanks to you, I know that she has.”

Tyto opened his mouth. Then it dropped further in shock. “You tricked me. Nobody tricks me.”

“I’m a quick study. The pretty quill on my flank should have warned you.” Tyto’s face flared with fury once more but Ghostwriter turned to Valiant. “I’m ready to speak to Slipstream now.”

“You can’t,” Tyto said flatly. “She’s out on patrol.”

“Then I’ll go find her.” He started away back out of the Great Hall. Behind him, he heard two sets of hooves—and one set of taloned claws.

“It’s against the rules to distract a pegasus on patrol,” Tyto hissed. “You’ll only get her in trouble. She doesn’t deserve that. She’s a good girl.”

“You know her?”

He snorted a line of smoke. “Of course. I write to Celestia about all the soldiers here. I know everypony.”

“Don’t you mean Princess Celestia?” Ghost asked.

“Ghost, cut it out,” Valiant muttered. “Sorry, Tyto, he doesn’t have very good manners.”

“Oh, this is the brother you’re always talking about?” Tyto’s expression was flat as he turned back to Ghost. “I imagined him taller. And quieter. And all-around better.”

Ghost ignored him. “It’s mid-afternoon. Her patrol would be where?”

Valiant chewed his lip as he thought. “Probably the verge of the Everfree, between the Heart of the Forest and the Castle.”

“Do you know how to get there?”

Valiant gave him an affronted look. “Of course.”

“Then lead the way. I have some questions to ask.”

Tyto gave Valiant an incredulous look. “You’re really going to break protocol to interrupt an Air Strike patrol?”

“Are dragons usually this rules-y?” Ghost asked Valiant, aggravated almost to bursting.

Valiant just shrugged, grinning his carefree smile. “I’m off duty.”

Tyto clapped a paw to his forehead.

The Heart of the Forest was the darkest, most tangled section of greenery Ghost had ever seen. It made the trip to the Castle look positively tame by comparison. The ground squished underhoof as they made their way into the depths of the trees, where even the most agile pegasus could wrench a wing.

“How much further?” Ghost was already panting. He ducked beneath a thick mesh of vine, twisting his head to keep from catching his horn.

“Why?” Tyto taunted. He walked on all fours once more, but even then, he was tall as Sir Cypress. Just infinitely lighter and thinner. “A little walk is too tough for the poor foal’s hoofies?”

Valiant was lifting entire ecosystems with magic, letting them fall back to earth in his wake. A log he hoisted was scored with the clawmarks of some fell beast, clustered with mushrooms with white heads and purple spots. “We’ll run into a channel soon enough. An outpost lies at the end of it. That’s where the Strikers land and give their reports.” He turned around to smile at Ghost, drying a small stream into hissing steam with barely a thought. “Just a little longer, Ghost.”

Dangerous, he thought, stepping daintily over the dried riverbed. The water flowed immediately as soon as Valiant relinquished his magic, but Ghost noted a few dead fish bobbing along the fresh current. He doesn’t think before he acts. He could kill a pony without any more effort than a blink.

And he would, too. That was what was so hard to think, that his whimsy, laughing-eyed, careless brother would someday be a real war unicorn, blasting a bloody hole through Celestia’s enemies. But that was what he’d been trained to do. A soldier. It was a path Ghost had never even considered.

The channel in the woods widened. Here the ground was stomped flat. A small wooden building sat up against the bulky mass of a twisted tree. The forest had almost reclaimed it. Vines stroked the sides and choked the windows.

Sir Cypress lifted a massive hoof and knocked. Valiant stepped up next to him, jumping to attention when the door opened. “Valiant, Cadet Athame of the Solar Guard, and company, sir!”

It was an old pegasus stallion. His blue coat was shaggy from northland blood. “Stand down, cadet,” he said gruffly. “I’m Captain Stratos. What can I help you with? It’s not every day that a pony journeys to the Heart. Much less you, Tyto.”

Tyto folded his arms and glowered sourly. “I was conscripted.”

“Quite.” The pegasus turned rheumy eyes on Valiant once more. “How can I help you, son?”

“I want to talk to Slipstream. Is she here?”

Now he frowned. “Did Arbiter send her? Is he finally going to court-martial her?”

“Uh…” Valiant said, glancing at Ghost for help.

Ghost almost smiled. This just keeps getting better and better.

The old pegasus didn’t need any more prompting. He blew out his breath, brows furrowing. “Since we got that girl, she’d been nothing but trouble. That’s the problem with having foals who are still wet behind the ears take the offer. It’s an honor to fly with the Strikers. Thousands of young pegasi would leap at the chance. But this Slipstream, she doesn’t even show up. That first day when Flurry brought her in, I knew she’d be trouble.”

“Why’s that?” Surreptitiously, Ghost slid his parchment and quill out of his satchel and started writing.

Captain Stratos shook his head. “She didn’t want to fly. She wanted ground duty. Now tell me what kind of pegasus doesn’t want to be up in the air.” Unfurling his wings almost unconsciously, he went on. “I tried to force her. A lot of the new recruits come into their own by the end of the first week with a little pushing. But Slipstream just seemed to pull back even more.” He frowned. “I wasn’t even too terribly hard on her. She has potential, but not if she insists upon staying on the ground. A pegasus’s place is in the sky. That’s what the Goddess gave us wings.”

“Where can we find Slipstream?” Ghost prompted. Ideas of where pegasi belonged and where they did not were not of consequence. Stratos was getting distracted by the sound of his own pride.

Stratos said, “Usually at the Sky Barracks. They’re a little ways into the Heart, by the Sun Gate.”

“Very well.” Ghost’s parchment and quill returned to their place in his satchel. “Thank you for your time, Captain.”

Stratos nodded, still muttering about duty and pegasi, even as the group moved on.

“Sour old pegasus,” Tyto said, as soon as they were out of earshot. “He only has hard words for his recruits. The pegasi dislike him.”

“But they follow him,” Valiant pointed out.

Tyto twisted his mouth. “That means that they respect him for his position. More ponies could do away with this idea of position by birth instead of battle. In the old days, captains were up-jumped recruits from nowhere towns. Now they’re all bluebloods.”

“What changed that?” Valiant asked.

Tyto shrugged. “Prowess in battle means little now. We’ve not been at war for fifty years.”

“Since Nightmare Moon,” Ghost said. It wasn’t a question. Even the sound of her name made him uneasy.

Tyto stopped. “Don’t say that name.”

“Why? Nervous about a pony long gone?” Ghost gave him a hard look, smiling meanly. “Now who’s acting the foal?”

Tyto’s nostrils flared. He strode forward and seized Ghost by the strap of his satchel, jerking Ghost’s front hooves off the ground. “Listen, you—”

Instantly, he was surrounded in a halo of blue magic. Valiant flashed into being directly in front of the dragon, right up in his face. His expression was darkly furious. Energy crackled around him like lightning. “Let go of my brother,” he said in a voice that was echoing with the force of power. It even started to glow in his eyes.

Sir Cypress lunged forward. He’d twisted his head, reaching back to grip the hilt of his sword with his teeth. He hadn’t drawn it yet, but he could at any second. Waiting. For Tyto to do something. For Valiant to stop him.

Ghost couldn’t breathe properly. The strap cut off his air supply. His eyes started watering.

Tyto froze. Ghost didn’t know if that was because he couldn’t move or because he was frightened. His claw was still closed around Ghost’s strap.

Valiant peeled his magic back from Tyto’s claw. “Let go. Now.”

Tyto’s eyes slid to Valiant. Resentment was in them, yes, but also acute curiosity. He let go.

Ghost stepped back, rubbing his neck. His breath was wheezy. The strap had cut into the soft skin there.

Valiant didn’t drop the field from Tyto’s body. He turned his back on the dragon and reached for Ghost’s neck. “Let me see.”

“I’m fine,” Ghost said stiffly. His pride was sorer than his body.

But Valiant wouldn’t take that as an answer. He gently touched Ghost’s throat with a hoof, tracing perhaps the outline of a fresh bruise. The anger was still in his eyes. Sparks of blue leapt from his coat.

Uh-oh. Once Valiant’s magic got away from him, he could cause some serious damage. He’d lit more than one rug on fire in his youth, and once the starts of Sunfall City’s woods.

“Valiant, look, I’m okay. It’s not a problem. Look.” He turned his head to display his neck. “It was nothing.”

Valiant’s nostrils were flared. His chest heaved. But slowly, he was coming down from it. The tension in the air subsided.

The aura around Tyto winked out of existence. At once, Tyto sucked in a huge breath of air, placing a claw against his chest.

So I was right. Valiant paralyzed him completely. In the minute or so of being entrapped, Tyto had been unable to breathe.

Goddess help the pony who hurts someone Valiant loves.

Cypress let go of his sword. “Slipstream,” he said, breaking the charged quiet.

“Right.” Valiant snorted, pawing at the ground still. “I like you, Tyto, but if you ever lay a claw on my brother again, I’ll rip you apart.”

Tyto didn’t say anything. He was rubbing his claw over his opposite wrist. Behind him, his tail flicked like a cat’s.

Nopony spoke until they got to the Sun Gate. It was a crumbling affair of stone and old gold. Through a haze of grime, Ghost could barely detect a golden sunburst at the apex of the arch. The rusted gates were parted, and beyond, the towering shape of the barracks was visible.

It was broken into ten or fifteen stories. Each had a platform with no railing: a take-off position. Even now, there were pegasi launching themselves into the air, winging away into the red, dying day.

Two Solar Guard stood at the front: the only unicorns in sight. “Cadet Athame,” one said. “And Tyto. What brings you to the Sky Barracks?”

“We need to talk to a pegasus,” Valiant said. “I’d appreciate the favor, Galdr.”

The unicorns shared a look. “Sure, Valiant. But it’s getting late, and the Everfree is dangerous at night. It might be best if you stay here for the night.”

Ghost brightened at that. The Barracks looked much homier than the ruins of the Castle or Valiant’s tiny bunk.

Galdr led them to a guest room off the third floor landing. It was circular—Ghost had noticed before that pegasi, like unicorns, preferred circles in their design plans more than earthponies and their square, straight rooms. Circles felt easier, more dynamic. Perfect of magic or flying, it seemed.

“This should be room enough for the four of you,” Galdr said. He’d taken off his helmet and hung it on a shoulder hook, like Cypress. His mane was a riot of red and gold. “I’ll have the matron bring you meals when she feeds the pegasi.”

That was all good and well, but there was business at hoof. “Slipstream?”

“Her room’s at the top floor. We have an elevator at the center of the Barracks. The attendant there will help you up.” Galdr turned to Valiant. “Any note on where they’re placing you yet?”

Valiant shook his head. “Still working on it. I thought they’d put me in the Sunburst Brigade, but the Princess is too busy with this Frosthoof thing to report yet.”

Sunburst Brigade? The elite unicorn team, comprised only of unicorns with pure magical talent. Of course they’d want Valiant. He was the only seven-pointed cutie mark in the world. Strange that he hadn’t bragged about it yet.

Galdr made a noncommittal gesture with a hoof. “I’m sure she’ll find the time after this has been settled and the murderer has been found. Until then, you’ll have to hold out.” He looked over his shoulder. “I have to get back to post now. Let the matron know if you need anything.”

“Will do,” Ghost said, already walking out past him, towards the elevator. After a moment, the rest followed.

The attendant was a young pegasus with a rainbow-streaked mane, strapped into some kind of harness. As soon as they were all on, he beat his wings powerfully and the elevator shot up.

Ghost watched the red-orange light of the sunset above come into sharper view as the elevator soared up. “How?”

“Enchantments.” The pegasus was out of breath as the elevator came to a stop. “They magnify my wingpower. Amplify how much weight I can lift.”

Ghost frowned. “Why not just have a unicorn do it?”

The pegasus gave him a look. “Because this is a pegasi Barracks.”

Oh. Ghost hadn’t thought that mattered.

The attendant pointed Slipstream’s room out to them. As soon as they were out of the elevator, he flared his wings, and it began to coast back to the ground floor. Ghost watched it go, looking for signs of enchantment. There: white lines of magic veined the harness and the floor where the pegasus was standing. A very powerful, very simple spell. He wondered where it drew the energy from.

When he came out of his thoughts, the rest of the group had already moved on. Tyto was out in front, paused at the door. He knocked. “Slipstream? It’s Tyto. Can we talk?” There was no answer. He knocked again. “Slip?”

Tyto turned, shrugging. “I guess she’s not home.”

Valiant’s horn flared up, no doubt to shove the door in, but Ghost stopped him. “Wait a second. Let me try something.”

The heat-seeker spell relied mostly on his own body temperature. He felt his lungs fill with cold air as the spell did its work, filling his vision with red, yellow, orange smudges.

Valiant’s horn was a point of pure black, so hot that it traveled all the way down his skull and into his spine. Tyto was second-hottest, but his body heat seemed pooled in his stomach, right beneath the sharp, bird-like point of his chest. Cypress looked almost entirely blue—his armor reflected the spell.

Ghost turned to the door. Inside, he could detect mostly blue and purple empty space, but there, right in the corner, was the tiniest smudge of orange.

He broke the spell with a flick of his head. Turning to Tyto, he nodded.

Tyto laid his paw flat on the door. With barely any effort at all, he pushed.

The door splintered as it opened, swinging noisily open. In the corner, as Ghost had guessed, huddled a form beneath a blanket. All he could see was a tuft of yellow mane.

Tyto didn’t move into the room. “Slip?”

The blanket moved a little bit.

Valiant and Sir Cypress looked awkward. They stood at the door, scuffing their hooves, looking at everything but the blanket. Ghost strode forward and sat in the only chair in the room while Tyto went to the bed.

He sat down on the edge, draping his tail down onto the floor. Resting a claw gently on Slipstream’s shoulder—or what Ghost assumed was her shoulder—he said, “Come on, sweetheart, come out of there. We’re worried about you.”

The blanket shifted and a tiny face peeked out. Slipstream was small for a pegasus, with a pure white coat to rival Valiant’s. “Tyto?” she whispered. “Who’re they?”

“Friends,” Tyto said, his gentle smile twitching a bit. “We want to ask you some questions.”

Slipstream bunched the blankets up closer around her face. “Are you going to make me fly with the Strikers? Because I can’t! Not until she goes back to sleep.”

Tyto frowned. “Who?”

Ghost leaned forward, taking out his quill and parchment, preparing himself.

Slipstream’s face was stricken. “The silver mare.”

Oh. The quill wilted a bit against the parchment.

“What silver mare?”

But now Slipstream seemed distracted. “What time is it? What time? Is it tomorrow yet? Please tell me it’s tomorrow, Tyto, please—” She started to shake.

Tyto took her in his arms, rubbing her back. He looked up helplessly at Valiant, who looked like he wanted to disappear from the emotional filly.

Ghost nodded at Tyto, prompting him. Tyto sighed.

“Slipstream, my friend wants to ask you some questions.”

Ghost stepped forward, bringing his chair up to Slipstream’s bedside. “Do you remember Egg, Slipstream? From the orphanage?”

“Egg,” she said vaguely. Her eyes looked out of focus as she shook.

“Happy Homes,” he went on. “You were bunkmates with her. Friends.”

“Friends,” she whispered. “Yes, Egg was my friend.”

“Was?” Ghost was aware of Sir Cypress stepping forward, coming closer to hear the filly’s hushed words.

“I…” She licked her lips. “I wanted her to take the offer with me. She thought her father would come for her. She didn’t want to. I…I pushed her, told her he wasn’t coming back, that all our parents were dead. I don’t know if she believed me.”

“She was kidnapped the day before you took the offer,” Ghost said, scratching his notes as quietly as he could.

Slipstream nodded. “We got in a fight,” she whispered. “She went to bed after I did. I slept in the top bunk. I woke up in the middle of the night and—” Her eyes widened, so completely open that Ghost could see the whites all the way around her irises. “I can’t be here. I can’t be here. I can’t be here.” She started shaking all over again, her eyes out of focus. “I can’t be here. I can’t be here. Don’t you understand? Tyto? I can’t be here.”

“She’s having a panic attack,” Ghost noted.

Tyto gritted his teeth. He hugged her close, shushing her, rocking her. “Slip, it’s okay. Nopony’s going to hurt you. You’re safe here.”

But she struggled. Wriggling out of his grasp, she went to the window and looked outside, down towards the ground. She screamed shrilly. “Oh, Celestia. No, no, no, no. Please no.” She collapsed onto the ground, burying her head beneath her forehooves, and sobbed.

Valiant looked down at her helplessly. “Maybe we should try this again in the morning.”

Tyto went to Slipstream’s side. “Come on, Slip. Let’s get you back into bed.”

She went numbly, snuffling, still trembling as Tyto tucked her in, smoothing her covers flat. When he went to move away, she hooked a hoof around his claw. “Tyto?”

He bent down to eye-level. “Yes? Do you want me to stay with you?”

Slipstream’s teeth were chattering. “Lock the door when you go,” she said, and refused to say more.

That night, Ghost could hardly sleep. He tossed and turned in his cot. He couldn’t get comfortable. Slipstream’s words kept coming back to him: Lock the door when you go.

She was terrified. Plainly. And of something she wouldn’t speak about. Something she wanted to escape.

Ghost turned onto his opposite shoulder. Through the darkness and the bleariness of having his glasses off, he could see Sir Cypress’s dark green outline. Ghost wondered if he was sleeping, too. Above Cypress’s bunk was Tyto’s. The long dark trail of his tail fell out.

“I can’t be here,” she’d said. Why would she say that? Why take the offer if she couldn’t be where pegasi went when they did? It didn’t make any sense. Ghost hated it when facts didn’t line up.

He must have drifted off sometime during the night, because at dawnbreak, he was awoken by the sound of fluttering wings and shouting.

Ghost tumbled out of bed, scrambling for his glasses. Cypress was already up and slinging on his armor. Even without magic, the motion was well-oiled. It was on within seconds, but not before he saw Cypress’s cutie mark. Ghost had always thought he’d have a sword or a mace or something brutal, but it was none of that. A trio of angular red flowers, clustered closely together. They looked almost like red stars. Cypress blossoms, Ghost realized.

Out in the hall, it was madness. With a terrible wrench to his gut, Ghost understood why.

Galdr ran by, followed by a pack of Solar Guard. Valiant stopped him with a shout, but Ghost didn’t bother. He knew. He just knew. Somehow in the pit of his stomach, he knew.

“Galdr, what’s happened? Are we under attack? I don’t have my armor.”

Galdr had awful sadness in his eyes. “We’re not under attack. We’ve already had one.”

Valiant frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Tyto did. He spread his wings and flew, straight up, straight to the tenth floor, to the room in the corner, to where a tiny form had huddled beneath a blanket the night before.

Galdr bent his head. “There’s been a murder. Slipstream has been killed.”

Chapter 6

They gathered around the back of the Barracks. Sir Cypress had slung his armor back on. Someone had found Valiant a set of plates that didn’t fit properly—it had slots for wings he didn’t have, a helmet he punched his horn through, shoes that looked like they were squeezing his hooves. Tyto wore nothing but a scowl. A pegasus had offered Ghost some plates, too, but he’d declined. He’d never worn them before, and the idea of trying to put them on was upsetting. Cypress made it look easy, but Ghost knew that was only the ease of practice. He didn’t want to look like anymore of the fool in front of these pegasi.

General Arbiter said, “We’ll approach cautiously. I’m sending in some Strikers first to make sure it’s not just a bird caught in there.” He was back in his armor, gleaming white with a golden cape beset with sunbursts. At his side, Dame Starra looked dark as a raven.

“It’s not a bird.” Ghost’s horn was still lit up. It sent a green glow through the darkness.

Arbiter frowned. “How do you know?”

Ghost gritted his teeth. “Because of how strong the signal is. I’ve put a holding spell on the net so whoever’s in it doesn’t escape.” It was causing him a headache. The quicker they got the pony down, the better. At this rate, the holding spell would drain him into unconsciousness.

Arbiter nodded to Captain Stratos. The old pegasus took wing, followed by two of his soldiers.

Ghost sat down hard. His breathing was getting shallow. Pathetic, he thought. Keeping up a spell even this small is wearing me out. Magic improved with practice, but it could only go so far when one’s body was small and weak. Unfortunately for Ghost, he wasn’t the biggest or strongest unicorn.

He eyed Valiant. His brother could shatter boulders with a thought. The luck of being talented from birth, Ghost knew, but still. He envied Valiant. Everything was so easy for him—magic and fighting and being liked. But Ghost didn’t care about that. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Sir Cypress moved closer, a question in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” Ghost said, trying not to pant. “It’ll be over soon.”

Cypress accepted that with a silent nod.

Stratos returned. He landed agilely, folding his wings along his back. “It’s a pegasus all right,” he said. “Wrapped up tighter than a cumulonimbus. We can bring him down if you want, General.”

Arbiter nodded. “Make it so.”

Stratos disappeared again.

Arbiter was already barking orders. “When the pegasus is brought down, immediately take Action Plan E, as we discussed. Dame Starra, you will put the prisoner under a containment spell. He will be brought to Canterlot for questioning.”

Ghost listened with one ear. All night, Arbiter and his soldiers had gone over his “Action Plans” but no one had invited Ghost or his group. A military problem, he thought. Too bad. I want in.

He was owed it. He’d tracked down this pegasus. It had been his suggestion to set the net. And it had been his spell that had alerted them all to his presence.

Wingbeats sounded in the darkness. The pegasi covered the moon with outstretched wings as they soared down, Stratos in front, his two Strikers in the back. Between them hung the mess of nets, a body tangled up in them.

They touched down and everybody moved in. Ghost, despite himself, found himself drawn by powerful curiosity. He broke the spell and pushed up between bodies and under legs until he stood at the front.
Surprise latched onto his stomach. Around him, soldiers muttered in surprise, turning to their neighbors to whisper.

Valiant voiced it first, blank with shock. “A mare!”

She was a small, spare thing, younger than Ghost had imagined an assassin. Maybe a year or two younger than him. A teenager. Pale orange coat and long elegant wings. One looked bent the wrong way, twisted with the feathers poking out like spikes. Her mane was a choppy affair of red-and-orange mixed so closely together that it looked like dawn. At her neck she wore a collar of silver stones that drank in the moonlight.

She looked up with blank brown eyes as Arbiter approached. “State your name,” he said.

The mare was silent. She blinked heavily.

Arbiter frowned. “You are not from the Barracks. Why are you here? Why were you in the Everfree?”

Silence.

Now Arbiter was angry. He stamped a hoof. “You are a suspect in the murder of Air Striker Slipstream. What do you have to say for yourself?”

He might as well have been speaking to the ground. The mare made no motion that she even understood what the general was saying.

Arbiter made an angry sound under his breath. “Dame Starra,” he said roughly, and the unicorn bent her head.

A silver outline surrounded the pegasus. The touch of magic did nothing to change her blank expression. Even as the net lifted over her head, she remained inert as stone. Dame Starra retracted her magic as the net folded itself neatly on the ground, though her horn retained a silver glow. Waiting. Ready.

“Stand,” Arbiter ordered.

The pegasus obeyed, stepping out of the net, turning slightly to free her injured wing.

Ghost felt a new wave of shock. Her cutie mark was a portrait of a tree being blown in the wind. A perfectly normal mark for a pegasus, but on her cutie mark it was nighttime. A half-moon shone like a coin against her flank.

Valiant actually gasped. Captain Stratos made an inelegant sound of shock. Even Tyto looked surprised, his claws curling into fists at his side.

General Arbiter clicked his teeth together. He set back his ears. “Pony, your cutie mark is taboo. How did you come about such a marking? How is the moon related to your special talent?”

The pony just looked at him. It was like she was sleepwalking. Her eyes were focused but somehow hazy. She didn’t answer him.

Ghost watched from behind Valiant’s shoulder. This wasn’t what he’d planned for at all. He thought he’d catch the green pegasus. He thought they’d catch the murderer. But this mare looked hardly older than Slipstream. Was she capable of killing somepony? She didn’t look capable of answering any questions.

Frustration got the better of Arbiter. With a stomp of his hoof, he lit his horn. It spilled hot streaks of golden light over the ground. A few cinders landed on the mare’s flank. Almost imperceptibly, she flinched.

Ghost blinked. Nopony else had seemed to notice. They were focused on Arbiter’s loss of temper. But Ghost saw. She’s aware. She’s just playing safe.

“Take her to your holding cell,” Arbiter ordered Stratos. “Lock her up till morning. Then I’ll take her back to Canterlot and we’ll see if the Princess can’t work some spell to get her to spill her secrets.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but mind magic isn’t possible, is it? You can’t get her to tell the truth unless she wants to.”

That’s right, Ghost thought. You’re sharp for a pegasus, Captain. This mare can keep her mouth shut and nothing will get her to spill her secrets. Mind magic wasn’t possible even for a goddess. A pony’s mind was entirely their own, made up of electricity and atoms and energy, like any machine. The difference was that you could change a machine, you could alter the way it ran or moved or changed, but there was no altering a brain.

Arbiter put his ears back again. “Then we’ll give her something to help her along.” His horn glowed threateningly and Ghost caught his meaning.

Barbaric, he thought as Dame Starra slid her magic around the mare once more. Pain doesn’t make ponies tell truths. It makes them say anything to get the pain to stop.

Captain Stratos and General Arbiter questioned the pony for hours after that. Ghost, awake in his cot once again, couldn’t sleep imagining it. She’s too young, he thought. She must be. He remembered old case files of the time before Nightmare Moon’s expulsion, when murder had been more of a problem. A young filly had killed her sister in a fit of rage brought on by starvation. The Sisters’ War hadn’t lasted long but it had lasted long enough.

But there wasn’t that problem now. Ghost turned onto his side, bunching his covers up to his chin. Unless Nightmare Moon was back. Unless she had gotten this mare to do her dirty work. But how? Why? Why would Nightmare Moon want Slipstream dead? Because she knew about the missing fillies? Because she knew about Eglantine? Did that mean Eglantine was kidnapped by Nightmare Moon?

The mare’s cutie mark was the big mystery now, not missing fillies or murdered parents. Why would somepony have the moon in their cutie mark? Nightmare Moon’s cutie mark did, of course. As Princess Luna, she’d raised the moon each night. But that kind of magic was far outside the scope of a normal unicorn, much less a pegasus.

Ghost tossed again. His mane was itching him. One of his hooves was uncovered and cold. There was a lump in the cot.

It was everything and nothing all at once that made him get out of bed. He trotted to the door. It swung soundlessly open.

The hallway was empty. Nopony even waited by the doorways now. It was quiet.

Ghost slid out of the room, closing the door softly as he could. The Barracks’ blueprints were something the Tower’d had, back in Canterlot. He’d read them and memorized the layout, just in case he ever needed to investigate them for a case. Bless Celestia that I did, he thought. He knew exactly where the holding cells were.

The elevator pony was gone, probably asleep. Ghost crept in slowly, trying to keep the sound of his hooves from echoing in the empty space.

He stared at the spellmarks on the harness and platform. They were pulsing softly white, fading in and out like a heartbeat. No, not like a heartbeat. They were too irregular. They pulsed like the wind.

Ghost craned his head back. Above in the open shaft, he could see the night sky with its scattering of stars. Clouds passed by like tattered lace.

I could make it go, he thought. The Barracks had no stairs. If you couldn’t fly, you used the elevator. This was the only option.

He was readying his spell when he heard someone approaching.

Panicking, he ducked behind the closed grate. It was full of spaces. Anypony could look in and see him.

Ghost crouched down as low as he could, squeezing his eyes shut like a colt. Please walk by, he thought. Please walk by. This will be so hard to explain.

He waited. A bead of sweat dripped down his forehead to his chin, dropping to the ground. His muscles ached from holding his position.

The sound faded away. Ears straining, legs trembling, Ghost held position. When he was finally sure they were gone, he released a low breath of relief.

The grate swung open. Ghost leapt up, scuttling to the back of the elevator, his brain already spinning, trying to come up with a good reason to be here in the early hours of the morning.

Sir Cypress looked at him levelly, but there was a note of scorn in his expression. He had no plates on. Just dark green coat and disdainful blue eyes.

“Not allowed,” he said.

Ghost gaped for a moment, heart hammering. “You nearly scared me to death,” he said resentfully.

Sir Cypress didn’t even blink at that. “Ghostwriter. What are you doing?”

“You know exactly what I’m doing.” Peeling himself from the back wall, Ghost trotted over to the harness once more. Studying the magic, he said, “I’m going to find out what that mare was doing in the net. Why she has that cutie mark. Everything, basically.”

“General Arbiter—”

“Is a fool,” Ghost finished. “More concerned with station than finding out the truth. He believes this will bring him some sort of glory in Celestia’s eyes. He wants a promotion, not a closed case.”

“That’s different from what you want?”

Ghost glared at him. “I can’t believe you just said that. I’m doing this to find your daughter, you know.”

“Not another book?” Sir Cypress asked, quirking one eyebrow. “Maneco sold well.”

A sour taste filled Ghost’s mouth. Does everypony think I’m some sort of soulless monster? “It’s not about money,” he spat. “It’s about finding out what happened. And if—never mind.” He turned away. “I’m going. If you want to come along, you’re more than welcome.”

For a moment, Cypress just stared at him. Then he stepped into the elevator, filling it up with his bulk. Ghost was squashed against the harness, smashing his cheek up nearly into his eye.

“How am I supposed to figure out how to move the elevator when I can’t breathe?” he said to Cypress.

The green knight gave him an odd look. Then, slowly, he raised one hoof and reached past Ghost’s shoulder, to a switch he hadn’t seen on the wall. It clicked and the elevator coasted slowly downwards to the ground floor, coming to a bouncing stop at the bottom.

Ghost blinked rapidly. “How did—”

“It says ‘For Emergencies.’” Cypress slid open the grate and stepped out into the hall. Ghost, still stunned, followed him.

Down here there was more action. Solar Guard walked up and down the hall, their hard-shoed hooves clanking. Stratos and Arbiter were nowhere to be found, but somepony worse was: Dame Starra.

She sat at a desk with a tapering candle, reading something by its weak light. Her head came up as they approached.

There goes our sneaking option. Hopefully Sir Cypress is good at thinking on his hooves. “Dame Starra,” he greeted, coming up to the table. Cypress followd more slowly, his hoofbeats heavy on the wood floor. “I’ve read about you.”

She looked at him strangely. Her eyes were liquid and black as ink in the candlelight. “Have you?”

“I don’t know if I mentioned it yesterday. I’m Ghostwriter, Scibe of Canterlot’s Tower.”

“Ah.” Dame Starra pulled out of her reading at that. Ghost cast a quick look at the papers. With a frown, she rustled the parchment together and tapped them into a stack, but not before he noticed what they were. A map of Equestria. Now that is interesting. “Can I help you, Scribe?”

“Yes, I think so.” There’s no way I can ask to go in there. She’d never let me. She won’t even let me look at her maps. That meant the only option was distraction. “I was wondering if you’d have a chat with my friend here, Sir Cypress. He’s in the Twenty-Second Sun Brigade under General Counterstrike.” He leaned close to her, bringing a hoof up to his mouth like he was whispering a secret. “He’s a big fan.”

Dame Starra’s ears flicked forward. “Is that so? Did you see the Battle of the Five Packs?”

Sir Cypress was a trouper. After a quick glance at Ghost, he said, “Yes. I was in the left flank.”

“I was in the vanguard.” Dame Starra leaned forward. “Do you remember when Sunrise Gleam pulled from formation and took down two of the timberwolves herself?”

“Quick as an arrow,” Cypress said, smiling his slight smile. He leaned closer to Dame Starra, nodding as she recounted the tale. He nodded, just barely, enough for only Ghost to see.

One hoof at a time, Ghost stepped back. Dame Starra didn’t notice. She was listening as Cypress described his knighthood ceremony, adding in her own comments, totally enraptured.

Ghost was at the door now. He stood there for a moment, trying and failing not to look out of place. When the Guard turned the corner at the end of the hall, he nudged open the door and slid inside.

It was lit by a lantern hanging from the ceiling. Half the room was normal—a table and chairs, a few empty tankards, a window that was boarded over. The other half was fenced off with iron bars that reached the ceiling.
And inside was the mare.

She was reaching through the bars trying to reach a platter of food somepony had left just out of reach. As soon as she spotted him, she dropped her hooves and the blankness returned to her face. She stayed pressed up against the bars, her expression out of focus.

Ghost scoffed. “Save it,” he said, coming over to stand in front of her. “I already saw you.”

For a second longer, she held out. Then her body relaxed and her brown eyes filled with intelligence. But she still said nothing.

Ghost looked her over. There was a small burn on her right flank. Almost identical to a horn-tip. His stomach filled with bile.

With one hoof, he kicked the plate closer. It was prison food—dry grass without flowers, a lump of misshapen rye bread, a cup of water. It had been cruel to keep it just out of view.

The mare stared at it as it scraped to a stop in front of her. She looked up.

Ghost sat down on the ground in front of her. “Go on, then,” he said gruffly. “You must be hungry.”

It was like a candle had been blown out. One second she was sitting on the hard floor looking wary and the next she’d pounced upon the food, shoveling it in as quick as she could. Within seconds it was all gone and she was gulping down the water.

From within his pocket dimension, Ghost pulled a package of daisy heads. The mare took those and ripped the bag open with her teeth, emptying them into her mouth. She took the pouch of dried fruit he offered her, too, but now she was slowing down.

She’s starving. When she breathed in, he could count her ribs. Wherever this pony has been, she’s not been eating properly.

As she chewed, she watched him. There wasn’t aggression in her eyes, nor cruel calculation. It was all wary curiosity. The same way a pony would watch the forest for manticores. She didn’t know if he would hurt her yet.

The idea of harming another pony made Ghost’s skin crawl. “Are you still hungry?”

She looked down at the bag of fruit. It was almost empty, just a few curls of apple left. She shook her head.

Now we’re getting somewhere. “What were you doing out in the woods?”

Her head snapped up. At once, her defenses were back up. She shoved the bag from her chest and let the fruit tumble all over the floor.

With a sigh, Ghost reached out with magic. He picked the dust off and put them back in the bag, storing the leftovers in his pocket dimension with a flash of green light.

At this, her eyes widened.

“Haven’t you seen a pocket dimension before?” he asked. “It’s just like teleporting, only you keep everything in a set amount of space. The mass has to go somewhere, so I keep it in my body. It makes me heavier than I look by a margin.”

She looked at him. She licked her lips. And she spoke.

“Glasses,” she said. Her voice was hushed as a whisper, higher-pitched than he would have guessed.

Ghost frowned. “What?”

“You wear glasses,” she said. “I’ve never met a unicorn who wears glasses.”

Ghost touched them self-consciously. “Yes, what of it?” This wasn’t exactly how he’d imagined the conversation going.

“Why don’t you fix your vision with magic? Can’t you do that?”

“Yes, I suppose I could.” He’d thought about it before and always decided against it. “If I wanted to.”

“You don’t?”

“Why were you in the woods?” he countered.

She didn’t take the bait. Coming over to the bars, she wrapped her hooves around them, resting her chin on a crossbeam. “You can make things vanish and appear at will. You can hold a pony in a net for an hour despite her struggling. You can make an alarm spell that doesn’t alert the captive. But you wear glasses.”

The hair on the back of Ghost’s neck rose. “How did you know about the alarm spell?”

She watched him. Her brown eyes were unsettling, especially this close. There was hardly a foot of space between them. “I was in the woods because I was flying,” she said. “And your net got in the way.”

“What were you doing out there? Are you a soldier?”

“No.”

“Did you kill a pegasus filly here yesterday?”

“No.”

“Are you a murderer?”

She paused. Another blink of those brown eyes. “Yes. But I didn’t kill the filly.”

Ghost’s stomach clenched. “You admit to killing ponies, though.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “But not this one. Do you believe me?”

“I don’t believe anything until I have proof for it.”

“But you believe in magic.”

“What kind of question is that?” Ghost snorted, looking away. “Of course I do. I’m a unicorn.”

“What is your proof for magic?” she asked. “That you can move things? That you can make things disappear? Where does that power come from?”

“My horn.”

“Don’t be pedantic.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Ghost said roughly. He pushed away from her, heading for the door. “If you have nothing important to say, then you’re not worth my time. Let Arbiter take you to Canterlot for questioning. Doubtless he’ll lock you up when you tell him you’re a murderer.”

He was almost to the door when she said, “But I won’t tell him.”

Ghost paused. Without turning around he said, “And why not?” He spun to face her. She was in the same position, linking her hooves around the bars, her tail a matted mess. “You told me. What’s the difference?”

“Because,” she said simply.

“Because why? I’m getting tired of your games. Spit it out.”

“You fed me,” she said. “I trust you.”

Ghost couldn’t help it. He laughed. “For that you told me a secret?”

“You told me one, too. You just don’t know it yet.”

Ghost groaned. “Why do you have a moon in your cutie mark? Are you a follower of Nightmare Moon? Some kind of cultist?”

He expected her to answer. But she was mute once more. The look in her brown eyes was maddening, that patient openness. And yet she said nothing.

“Well?” He walked over to her, back to the bars. “You were chatty before. What’s changed?”

“I’ll tell you. But you must do me a favor.”

“Haven’t I already?” He tipped his head to motion to the daisy heads.

The mare didn’t even glance over. “This is different. I have answers you want, Ghostwriter.” When he flinched in surprise, she smiled. She had a warm smile, soft and slight as daybreak.

Ghost folded his arms across his chest. She'd surprised him. That was new. Nopony had ever gotten the jump on him like that before. “State your terms.”

“You get me out of this jail cell and I’ll go wherever you want and tell you everything you want to know.”

“That’s it? How do I know you won’t take off.”

She swung her head around to gesture to her injured wing.

Ghost ground his teeth together and thought. “I’ll set off every alarm from here to Canterlot if I do that. I won’t be able to go back home. I’ll be a fugitive.”

“Yes,” she said.

“They probably won’t let me be a Scribe for a long time.”

“Yes.”

“And I’ll be reported to Princess Celestia almost immediately.”

“Yes.”

Ghost sighed. “This better be worth it,” he said, standing up. His horn heated up as he readied himself.

The mare smiled once more. “Vesper,” she said. “My name.”

Ghost nodded. “Vesper.”

Then he released his spell.

Chapter 7

General Arbiter and Captain Stratos, along with their contingency, walked into the prison cell at daybreak, where the captured pegasus mare was being held. She was curled against the wall, a tiny blot in the darkness. General Arbiter went up to her, demanding the door opened for his questioning to begin, and Captain Stratos stumbled over himself to obey.

That was about when they’d find that the pegasus was actually just a ball of green magic in the form of a mare.

Far outside the Barracks and getting farther, Ghost struggled to keep up with Vesper. Her wing was injured, true, but her legs were not. She ran swiftly as an earthpony, leaving him to strain to keep up.

Ghost had sent a mental ping to Valiant. Hopefully he would get the hint and grab Cypress and Tyto before it was too late to escape.

“I need to stop,” Ghost gasped. Without waiting for her answer, he braced his shoulder up against a tree. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes.

Hooves approached him. “We can’t,” Vesper said, in her soft voice. Ghostwriter tipped up his head to look at her. She didn’t even seem winded. The sun was just beginning to peek up over the trees of the Everfree, touching everything with gold.

Ghost heaved in air. “My heart’s going to burst.”

Vesper’s brown eyes blinked slowly once. “Your heart will burst if a Striker impacts you. Your lungs will collapse and refill with blood. The vessels in your eyes will collapse from the hit, blinding you before the lance takes your heart. If your heart hasn’t, in fact, burst from running.”

Ghost, panting, glared at her. “You’re a glimmer of sunshine, aren’t you?”

Vesper didn’t respond to that.

The undergrowth shivered and thundered. Ghost prepped himself—for what, he didn’t know—by lighting up his horn. Vesper didn’t move. Her body didn’t even tense up.

Celestia bless, he thought as he saw the halo of Valiant’s blue magic flood the dim clearing. His brother came after it, eyes wide with panic, with Sir Cypress and Tyto just behind him.

“Oh, thank Celestia,” Valiant said, hooking a hoof around Ghost’s sore shoulders and pulling him close. Ghost’s protests were muffled against Valiant’s white coat. “You haven’t sent me a ping since we were colts! What’s happened? Why are you out here?”

His eyes slid away from Ghostwriter’s to Vesper behind him.

“No,” Valiant said flatly.

He walked forward towards Vesper, who watched him come with little of anything in her face. The only thing that moved about her was her head, leaning back to look up into Valiant’s face as he approached, blue lightning sparking from his horn.

For a wild second, Ghost thought Valiant would hurt her. A vision flashed through his head of Valiant in his prime, in his element, magic wreathing him like flames. Vesper was no more than a bundle of sticks and feathers. He’d tear through her like paper.

Then Valiant stopped. He gathered himself. “No,” he said again. Turning around, he looked at Ghost. Not angry. Not frightened. Scolding. Brows furrowed over his green eyes. Like he wasn’t understanding. “No. No, no, no.”

Tyto folded his arms and leaned against a tree. “Well,” he said softly, dark eyes speculative. He turned them on Ghost. Ghost stared back, unsure of what the dragon’s expression meant.

Valiant whipped around. “No,” he said to Tyto this time. “No, you can’t possibly be this stupid. No. I won’t believe it. I can’t. Ghost, tell me I’m just not understanding what’s happening here. Tell me you didn’t just break out a prisoner from the Sky Barracks.”

Ghost hesitated. “Well—”

“Unbelievable.” Even Valiant’s anger was dampened. Hot-blooded Valiant, who always spoke his opinion whether it was good for him or not, was now flat. “What would Father say?”

“Nothing, assumedly, on account of he’s dead.”

Valiant’s frown increased. “Ghost.”

Sir Cypress stepped forward hesitantly. He’d put on his plates. That relieved Ghost. At least one of them had thought ahead, that they wouldn’t be returning to the Barracks. Valiant had no saddlebags. Tyto had nothing but a scowl. “Now what?”

Silence fell in the clearing. Ghost didn’t want to meet anypony’s eyes for some reason. Tyto seemed content to let the silence stretch, curling the tip of his barbed tail back and forth, clicking his claws on the scales of his forearms. Valiant’s teeth were gritted, his tail lashing.

Vesper broke it. “I know a safe place.”

Valiant laughed dismissively. “You’re a murderer. Why would we listen to you? How do we know you won’t kill us? Or more of your moon-flanked ponies will?”

Vesper blinked her slow blink. “No more of us are here.”

That shut Valiant up. He’d obviously meant it sarcastically. It hadn’t occurred to him that there could be more like Vesper. It hadn’t occurred to Ghost either, but now it seemed logical. There had been at least two at the Sky Barracks last night alone.

Tyto’s clicking stopped. “Well, we can’t stay here. Stratos will have raised the alarm by now. And Umbertown is out, too.” He looked at Valiant. “This is our only option.”

“No it’s not!” Valiant said incredulously. “We can keep going. We can go back to the Castle. We can turn this murderer in.” He started pacing. “I’ll tell them she tried to escape. I’ll tell them that Ghost heard her, that his alarm spell was still triggered. We followed her out into the Everfree and got her back. She was halfway to Umbertown, so we just brought her to the Castle.” He looked up, eyes shining, and set his hooves on Ghost’s shoulders. “Everything will be all right,” he said earnestly. “Nopony has to know you let her out. I’ll fix this for you, little brother.”

And there was Valiant, Ghost thought. The great fixer. The only one with the answers. The one always looking out for his little brother, hovering, encroaching, strangling like vines. A mother hen and a father wolf, all wrapped up into one.

Ghost shoved Valiant’s hooves off, not missing the bright spark of hurt that flashed across Valiant’s face. “We’re not turning Vesper in.”

Valiant stared for a moment longer. “Vesper.”

Ghost’s face heated. He jerked his chin to where Vesper was still standing, still blank, like she were carved from the morning sunlight. It touched her mane and turned it like fire. The whole image stood in stark comparison to the half moon glimmering on her flank.

Valiant followed the motion slowly. His jaw hardened. When he looked back at Ghost, all that soft affection was gone, replaced by something like disgust. “You’d go this far for a story?”

“Ponies are dying, Valiant. Fillies are being stolen.” Ghost paused for a moment, but his anger made him reckless. He spat, “Like Sephie.”

“Don’t bring Sephie into this.” Valiant’s weakness, as always. And didn’t he know it. His nostrils flared. “You don’t care about those ponies being killed. You care about your story. How you can make another Maneco.”

And there it was, Ghost’s weakness. And didn’t he know it. Ghost’s ear flattened.

“Okay,” Tyto said in half a singsong. He pushed his way between them, one claw on each chest. Ghost rocked back from the strength in that one skinny arm. “That’s enough brotherly rivalry for one night.” He looked up at the sky. “Or…morning, I suppose.”

“Alarm,” Sir Cypress said, eyes wide.

Ghost froze. In the distance, echoing through the trees, came the long drawn-out bellow of a brass horn. Birds took flight overhead, trying to escape.

Everypony watched them go. Tyto slowly dropped his arms.

“We need to move,” he said. “The Strikers will—”

Wingbeats.

Sir Cypress grabbed Ghost with a massive hoof and yanked him into the bushes. Tyto scurried behind them. Valiant’s horn went out, plunging them into darkness.

Overhead, the Strikers flew, a multicolored wave. Some broke off and came lower, scouting. Ghost saw Captain Stratos, his rough hair ruffled in the wind. In their wake, the clouds curled up, swirling with dawn mist.

Ghost, huddled beneath Sir Cypress’s belly, felt like a claw was clutching his insides. He shrank closer to the ground. In his books, his protagonists were fearless and brave. Corvus from The Mystery of Maneco would never have hidden in the bushes and shivered like this. He would have gone out and done something.

But Ghost was not Corvus. And so he shivered in the bushes and felt like his dinner would come back up.

“Unicorns will follow.” Vesper’s whisper was right in Ghost’s ear. To his shame, he jumped in surprise. She looked at him, her eyes shining eerily. The stones in her collar winked as she breathed steadily. No fear.

Tyto watched Ghost and Vesper. So did Cypress. On the other side, Valiant stared up at the sky, a muscle standing out in his jaw.

Ghost made the decision. He turned to Vesper. “Take us to your safe place.”

Vesper led them to a small cave beneath the roots of a massive, ivy-choked tree. If she hadn’t pointed to it, he doubted he would have even noticed it. He’d looked right past it, further into the forest.

They’d had to run from darkness to darkness, keeping out of the Strikers’ sights. By now, the sun was coming up, and for one of the first times in his life, Ghost was not comforted by the new day. It made them more visible, more vulnerable. He felt like a rat in the middle of an open field. Perfect prey for a hawk.

Vesper stopped by the entrance. “Here.”

“What’s in there?” Ghost looked down into the hole. From inside, he felt a cool wind brushing his cheeks. It pushed back his mane.

Vesper didn’t answer.

Tyto strained past Ghost and sniffed. “Crystal,” he said. “Diamonds. Rubies.”

“A vault?” Ghost asked.

“A crypt,” Valiant spat. He’d been silent as the rest of them on the trip over here, but not once had his guarded derision dropped. Especially when he looked at Vesper.

“Breathable air,” Tyto said. “And…and grass. How can there be grass?”

Sir Cypress looked neutral as always, but there was an undercurrent of nervousness to him. Ghost felt it when his flank brushed against one of the knight’s forehooves. “Ghostwriter?”

Permission? Ghost didn’t know what he was asking. But there was no other option.

Gingerly, Ghost stepped down into the tunnel. Hidden in the earthy floor were a series of steps carved from stone so old it was green. Sir Cypress followed after, then Tyto, and finally Valiant.

“Seal the door,” he said. Maybe to Vesper, though he didn’t look at her.

She answered anyway. “No need.” When Valiant protested, she added, “Nopony can see this tunnel unless they know it’s there.”

Ghost felt a chill run down his spine. That explained why he didn’t spot it earlier, why his mind slipped right past it. It was magic. Not unicorn. It forced itself to not be noticed, to be passed over.

Not unicorn, he thought again. Alicorn.

Since Vesper was in the back, Ghost had to lead the way. He stepped carefully down the tunnel towards the darkness ahead. It was hard to see. His glasses were spotted with dirt from the journey over here. With a hoof, he bumped them back up his snout.

The walls were closing in on him. He’d never been so far underground. His mind tried to tell him this was no different from a hallway in a building. Both were constructed of stone. Both were meant to get a pony from one place to another. There was no difference.

But the labored breathing from behind him told him he wasn’t the only one noticing the difference.

Ghost glanced over his shoulder. Sir Cypress was rattling in his plates, his blue eyes wide. His mouth was open as he struggled to breathe.

“Sir Cypress,” he said.

“I’m…fine,” Sir Cypress managed.

Ghost didn’t push him. But he quickened the pace.

A light started to glow at the end of the tunnel. It felt like another dawn after so long of walking in the dark. It glowed like a firefly in smoke, wavering somehow, dancing in front of Ghost’s eyes. Tantalizing.

Abruptly, Ghost stopped walking. From behind him, Vesper said unnecessarily, “Here.”

Here was a wonder. The tunnel spread out into a perfect spherical chamber, enormous enough to house a thousand ponies. The ground curved with it, like a bubble had been placed beneath the bedrock and expanded. Green moss and tall grass carpeted it, budding with tiny white flowers here and there. More of the lights, not fireflies but motes of magic, floated along, lighting the space. On the curved walls came tunnels, hundreds of them, all pouring down into the center clearing.

And the ceiling… The ceiling was a host of stars, a perfect presentation of the night sky. Ghost’s eyes widened as he took in the constellations: the Hunter and the Wolf, the Blade, the Ice Queen, the River. All exactly as they were in the real sky on the clearest night.

The moon shone. Full. The Mare in the Moon looked down upon them with her wide, watching eye.

Sir Cypress let out the amazed breath Ghost was feeling.

Vesper pushed past them all into the clearing. The grass swallowed her up to her withers.

“Hey!” Valiant shouted. “Come back here!”

The waving grass was his answer.

Valiant huffed, pawing the ground. “The nerve of her. She thinks she’s in charge. She—Hey!”

Ghost already walked away, following Vesper. Behind him, he heard Tyto say, “Oh, come on. Let’s just get this over with.”

This place was filling Ghost’s mind. Without really thinking, his quill and paper floated up out of his saddlebags and started writing, cataloging everything he saw. The way the grass stroked his flanks, the way the light shone down on the path ahead, the way this place could be used to hold armies, the way the whole thing was sustained within itself, a perfect system. Food stores and shelters were scattered around, forming camps. Judged on what he could see, he estimated the sphere to be perhaps five miles in diameter, constructed by an enormous amount of energy that nopony could ever do on their own or even together.

A goddess formed this. And judging by the stars sparkling above them, it wasn’t a sun goddess.

They found Vesper settled in one of the camps by a firepit that hadn’t been lit in a long time. Her eyes were closed as the others approached. “Welcome,” she said in her controlled voice. Her eyes opened. “Outsiders.”

Sir Cypress turned to Ghost, again with that question in his eyes.

Answers. That was what Ghost wanted. And to get them, he had to play this game.

Ghost bent his knees and settled beside the cinders of the firepit. With a sigh, Sir Cypress did the same, rolling his shoulders to help his armor fit more comfortably. Tyto spat an ember into the pit to get it roaring, chasing away this synthetic night wind, then collapsed in a pile of skinny limbs next to it.

Valiant remained standing.

Vesper didn’t wait for Ghost’s questioning to start. “I am a scion of the alicorn you call Nightmare Moon. I have been since before I can remember. My life is dedicated to serving her will.”

Tyto took in a shaking breath.

Vesper blinked. “That is the reason my cutie mark contains a moon. Because my special talent blossomed under my mother’s tutelage.”

“Your mother.”

“My mother Luna.”

Ghost’s quill was the only sound in the clearing.

“Your talent, you said.” Ghost’s voice was forcibly steady.

Vesper nodded. “Flying.” She gestured to her flank, where her cutie mark showed the bending tree. “My mother is the best flyer to have ever existed. She is the living night and all its secrets.”

It was such a strange thing to say, but somehow, Vesper said it without it sounding that way.

Ghost pulled out another piece of paper. “Tell me about her tutelage.”

“It began before I could fly. My sisters and I were taken to a great mountaintop. White with snow. Our mother showed us how to manipulate the wind, how it could be bent to our will. How the weather was merely a tool to be used.”

“You learned pegasus magic before you could even fly?” Tyto asked, breaking into the process. “That’s not how pegasi learn.”

“Sun-drowned pegasi,” Vesper said, with a hint of derision. “It is easy to fly in the light. It takes skill to fly in the dark. We fly in ways you can’t even dream of, dragon.”

Tyto’s brows rose.

“I grew. I found my talent. It is no different than any other pony’s upbringing.”

“Many were not brought up by an evil goddess,” Ghost pointed out.

“What is evil?” she asked. “How do you define it?”

Ghost didn’t like rhetoricals but he humored her. “Committing atrocities.”

“What are atrocities?”

“Crimes.”

“Define.”

Ghost would not allow his patience to fray. “Theft. Deception. Murder.”

“We do not steal.”

“You steal fillies. Maize Dust and Myrtle. And maybe Sir Cypress’s daughter Eglantine Stalwart.”

“Steal,” she said, like she was testing the word. “They were not stolen.”

“So you admit that you took them?”

“I didn’t.”

Ghost wanted to curse but instead he took a calm breath. “The Scions.”

“Maybe.”

Sir Cypress had gone rigid. “My daughter. Maybe you’ve seen her. A young filly, no cutie mark, yellow coat—”

“Maybe,” she said again. “I do not train the young ones.”

Sir Cypress’s throat worked. “So maybe somepony else—”

“Maybe. The one in charge is Blue Rose. She might have seen her.”

“You keep in contact with Blue Rose?” Ghost asked. Sir Cypress didn’t seem capable. He looked strangely relieved.

“We find each other sometimes.” Vesper shifted. “I maybe could find her.”

That was enough answer there. Ghostwriter scratched another answer, another series of notes.

Vesper watched the quill move. “You listed murder among your atrocities.”

“Yes. It is an abomination to kill.”

Vesper blinked. Her eyes slid from Ghost to Sir Cypress. “Then why does he have a sword?”

Ghost turned just in time to see Sir Cypress’s surprise. “Protection.”

“Against?”

“Things that hurt others.” Sir Cypress drew the sword and set it down by his forehooves. For the first time, Ghost got a good look at it. It was a length of pure steel, longer than Ghost, and etched with fine lines that marked out sunbursts.

Tyto looked at it with pride. He tapped the blade with a claw. “Glare,” he said, and Ghost realized that was the name of Cypress’s blade. “I remember forging this for you, Cy. Maybe twenty years ago. Right after you were knighted.”

The mental image of Sir Cypress being a young soldier was comical. Hadn’t he always been enormous? Had there been a time where he was clumsy-hoofed and unpracticed?

Vesper did not move to look at the sword like the others did. “You’ve killed?”

“Yes.”

“Ponies?”

“Enemies,” Cypress said. “Timberwolves. Hydras. Ursa Majors. Monsters.”

“Then by Ghostwriter’s atrocities, you are evil.”

“Killing a pony is murder,” Valiant said sharply. “Killing a monster is not.”

“In the Sister’s War, ponies killed each other. Was that evil? Is it evil to take another pony’s life in war? Is it evil to save yourself by killing another?”

“I hardly would say killing a sixteen-year-old filly is saving yourself,” Valiant said coldly.
Ghost interrupted as something occurred to him. “Nightma—Your mother, she was with you on the mountaintop?”

Vesper looked away from Valiant, as if she hadn’t even spoken to him. As if he didn’t even exist. “Yes.”

“How?”

“How?” she echoed.

“Yes. How?” Ghost motioned with a hoof up to the fake ceiling where the moon shone, unnaturally full. “Nightmare Moon was banished fifty years ago. She’s trapped in the moon. That’s why it looks like that.”

Vesper didn’t look where he was pointing. “I know the story.”

“Then how was she with you if she was in the moon all that time?”

Vesper didn’t say anything.

Frustration prickled Ghost’s coat. “You said you’d tell me anything I wanted if I got you out,” he said rashly.

“I did say that. But I didn’t say when.”

“Liar,” he accused.

“I don’t lie.” Another blink. “We can’t lie.”

“Who? The Scions?” For some reason, he imagined that word as a proper name, like the Solar Guard. His quill made the correction.

“Part of our training. We bleed out weakness. Lying is a weakness.”

“She’s full of it,” Valiant hissed, coming over from his watchful position to Ghost’s side. He leaned down. “We need to go to Canterlot and turn her in. She killed Slipstream!”

“I didn’t,” Vesper said.

Valiant blinked. “And we should believe her,” he said sarcastically.

“Valiant,” Tyto said calmly. He flipped his tail. “Shut up and sit down.”

“Then who killed her?” Ghost asked.

“I don’t know,” Vesper said. “But it wasn’t me.”

“Another Scion?”

“Maybe.”

“They had green feathers.”

“Many of us have green feathers.”

Ghost’s teeth gritted. From within his saddlebags, he produced the green feather, tipped with dark blue.

“You stole that?” Valiant groaned. “Let’s add theft to the list of reasons we’re going to be killed for treason.”

Ghost ignored him. He was watching Vesper’s face.

Her eyes didn’t widen. Her expression didn’t change. But something about her shifted. “Chain Lightning.”

Chain Lightning. Now they had a name.

“Do you know him?”

“Her. We’re all mares. Chain Lightning is one of our pegasi. She’s in our mother’s inner circle.” Vesper hadn’t taken her eyes off the feather. “She killed your pegasus. But only because she was going to tell.”

“Tell?”

“About our secret. Our—” Vesper’s mouth closed abruptly.

Ghost waited three seconds. He counted. “Well?”

“I can’t say.”

“You—”

“I can’t say.” Vesper’s eyes widened. For the first time, she looked something. But whether that was frightened or angry or something else, he couldn’t tell. “Understand, Ghostwriter. I can’t say.”

Helpless, he looked to Tyto.

Tyto shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I don’t know what’s going on. Other than that the Princess’s spell obviously didn’t do what she’d planned. That Princess Celestia made a mistake.”

A mistake. Ghost’s throat felt tight. But gods don’t make mistakes.

It was Valiant who answered. Gruffly, unwillingly, he said, “Her mind’s blocked with magic.”

Ghost snorted. “Impossible.”

Valiant just looked at him. He didn’t even seem angry anymore. Just tired. “You’re sitting in a massive underground cave with artificial moonlight on your back while talking to a mare who was trained by Nightmare Moon. Expand your horizons as to what’s impossible, little brother.”

Ghost twisted his mouth. “Then explain it to me. Mind magic is impossible.”

“For unicorns. For us.” Valiant’s eyes flickered. “But maybe not for alicorns.”

“We need to talk to Princess Celestia,” Tyto said. “We need her opinion. We need to tell her what her sister is doing.”

“And how do you propose we do that? Send her a letter?” Valiant tossed his head, mimicking Tyto’s raspy voice with cruel accuracy. “‘Dear Princess Celestia, by now you’ve been told of my betrayal at the Sky Barracks, but I have reason for breaking out an admitted murderer and fleeing into the Everfree. Your sister has escaped imprisonment and is kidnapping and training fillies to be assassins! In the underground vault that nopony can find! And you know who led us there? One of these assassins! By the way, do you have any texts on mind magic? Regards, Your Faithful Student Tyto.’” Valiant laughed hard. “I’m sure that’ll go over well.”

Raising a claw, Tyto started, “Celestia will—”

“Understand? Mm-hmm.” Valiant nodded mockingly. “I guess the understanding will come after the shock fades. Or after the Guard kills us. Either one.”

Slowly, Tyto dropped his claw back to his lap.

Sir Cypress watched all of this like a badminton match. “We can unblock her mind.”

“How?” Valiant demanded. “Do you have any secrets to share, Cy? Maybe how you’re actually a unicorn and that haircut covers your horn?”

“Knock it off, Valiant.” Ghost crossed his forehooves over his chest. “This isn’t constructive.”

“What do you propose, then, Ghost? Please, do share.” With a dramatic wave, he gestured to Vesper. “What do you think about the circumstances this mare had shared with us? How do you plan to understand how to unblock her mind?”

“Like you said. With a book.”

“From?” Valiant’s face turned from dismissive sarcasm to faux-expectation. “Oh, I know. Let’s go to Canterlot! Let’s go back, little brother, to the city of our youth. I’ll make a distraction and you can break into the Tower. Or the Library. Or, Celestia bless, why not both? Let’s just go for the whole deal while we’re at it. We’ll really rack up those charges before they strike off our heads.”

“Your sarcasm is grating.”

Valiant’s scowl returned with a vengeance.

“But you’re right.” Ghost stood and shook off the grass that had settled on his back.

“Thank Celestia.” Valiant sighed. “Then let’s turn her in and—”

“We do need to go to the Library.” Amid Valiant’s sounds of dismay, Ghost withdrew his letter dish. It was bursting with notes from Bluebell in ever-increasing alarm.

It’s been a few hours since your last demand, sir. Wanted to make sure everything is all right.

You didn’t tell me, sir, that you were planning to throw your life away. And more importantly, your career. Please tell me breaking prisoners out of the Sky Barracks is some kind of joke.

Ghostwriter, I am growing concerned that you’ve lost your mind. There are Solar Guard here asking questions.

“Celestia’s hooves,” Ghost muttered, tossing the messages into the fire. The flames ate them greedily.

Sir Cypress leaned over Ghost’s shoulder to look. “Your secretary?”

Ghost wasn’t listening. His quill was scratching out an answer, short and to the point.

Tell them nothing.

Bluebell must have been waiting. Her response came within seconds.

Ghostwriter, what is going on? Everybody is talking about this. Quickquill is furious.

Ghost didn’t want to hear about Quickquill. Are they there now?

They haven’t left in hours. They’re in your rooms.

That filled Ghost’s mouth with sour distaste. All those records were going to be out of order now. Everything would need to be redone. Luckily he’d brought everything of importance with him.

Bluebell’s next message came. I’m writing these in my closet, Ghostwriter. That’s what you’ve brought me to. Hiding in my own closet writing to a criminal. Sure enough, there was a burn on the paper from where her horn must have sparked. A light in the dark.

Ghost chewed his lip, then set his quill to writing. I need a favor.

Oh no. Not until you tell me what’s going on.

I need to get into the Library.

That’s not a good idea if you want to leave with your head still attached, sir.

Make it happen, Bluebell. Give me a plan.

By now, Valiant and Tyto had drifted over. Vesper remained where she was, her eyes closed, looking tired. There were lines beneath her eyes.

Ghost stared at her warily. She had given him answers, yes, but more questions than she could answer. This was a headache. And now, apparently, a major crime.

I should have just stayed in bed, Ghost thought. I should have never left the Tower.

The tray flashed and a letter appeared. Ghostwriter, by order of Princess Celestia, you are hereby under arrest. Turn yourself in and we will be gentle. Protest and we will not.

Ghost drew back, frowning.

“Well, that’s a shift in tone,” Tyto noted dryly.

“She’s been caught. They had her send this to me. They must know we were talking. Or could talk.” Ghost held the letter up to the light of the fire, turning it sideways. “She gave them that. Had to. Can’t fault her for that.”

Tyto watched with those black eyes. “What are you doing?”

Ghost didn’t answer. He had found just the perfect angle, one that made the ink shine in the waving flames.

There, beneath the final words, was a message, hidden in his invisible ink spell. Bluebell’s tidy script formed the words: Corvus gem crypt.

Valiant lifted the letter with his blue magic, tilting his head to mimic Ghost’s. “I don’t understand. What does it mean?”

Ghost smiled. “Bluebell’s just given us a way into the Tower.”

Chapter 5

It certainly wasn’t the first crime scene Ghostwriter had been to, but it had the smallest body.

Slipstream was on the floor on her belly, legs outstretched. Her wings were flat out on the ground next to her, as if she were trying to take flight when they got her. The wound was a deep stab on her chest, right in the heart. Blood from them formed a puddle beneath her. She was facing the window, one hoof reaching.

The expression on her face was half-lidded joy, like she were seeing the sun for the first time.

Ghost shivered as he watched the Guard go about their business, drawing sketches of the body, taking statements from witnesses, investigating Slipstream’s small, dark room. The window was open, the draft sharp. It cut into his coat and to his skin, claws of ice down his spine.

Valiant was trying to help where he could, talking to the captains about the arrival of General Arbiter. Sir Cypress was staring at the room like he wasn’t seeing it, his eyes unfocused.

Tyto was in the corner sitting on a crate, his head in his paws. He’d been the first to arrive, to force open the door, so it was he that Ghost had to talk to first.

Ghost sighed. It was time to work.

When he approached, Tyto looked up. His eyes were red. Wiping a claw beneath them both, he said, “What do you want? My statement?”

“Yes.” Ghost was surprised he’d caught on so quickly.

Tyto sniffed. “Can’t I have a moment? She’s dead.”

“She’s been dead since around midnight, Galdr said. A few hours after we’d left.”

Tyto winced. “Thanks for reminding me. Want to twist it in a little more? I should have been here. I should never have left her when she was that upset. And now she’s dead.” He looked past Ghost’s shoulder. A unicorn was lifting a sheet over Slipstream, covering her up. The body looked very small. Tyto took in a shuddering breath.

Ghost’s quill and parchment were out. “Tyto.”

“Fine. Fine.” He took in a more stable breath, holding it for a second, then blew it out. It was hot, like just those few seconds close to his fiery belly had heated it. “Do I need to cover yesterday when you were there?”

“No. Start with this morning.”

“All right.” Tyto nodded. He wrapped his arms around his knees, curling his tail close. “I awoke with the Guard. I heard murmurs of an incident. Somepony smelled blood in the upstairs hall.”

The quill danced. “Go on.”

“I had suspicions that it was Slipstream after her odd behavior. I flew up the elevator shaft until I got to her room. I forced it open and found her d…dead. In a pool of blood.”

“You forced the door? It was still locked?”

“Yes.”

More scratching on the parchment. “And the window?”

“Closed. But I found feathers in it.”

Ahh. Ghost looked up. “You didn’t say that earlier.”

Tyto glared. “You told me to start with this morning.”

“Where are the feathers?”

“I gave most of them to the Guard. But I still have one.” He uncurled his paw. Ghost leaned in.

It was a pegasine feather, light green and fringed at the base with fluff, banded in a deeper hue. The tip was jet-black.

Ghost took it with magic and brought it closer. “We’ll have to match it to the pegasi here.”

“They already did. No match.” He bared his teeth, rows and rows of sharp fangs. “They came from outside.”

Ghost stopped writing. He put his quill and parchment back, thinking. The wound on Slipstream looked very similarly to that that had killed Lord Frosthoof. Deep, thin, no serration. A clean cut straight to the heart. Professional.

Can they be the same? His concerns that they were Nightmare Moon’s influence somehow intensified. Either the evil princess was back or somepony had gone about murdering ponies from all over Equestria. Umbertown and Canterlot and now here, the Sky Barracks of the Heart.

What seemed odd was that his two suspicions had crossed now. Eglantine’s friend, the only lead they had, was dead now, killed by the same means as the mystery murders of Canterlot. What did it mean?

Ghost felt like he was getting too close to something dangerous, something more deadly than writing about nobles and soldiers and foreign lands.

The proceedings at the crime scene were almost up now. Ghost left the room and headed back to the elevator. He almost didn’t notice Sir Cypress slide into the elevator with him, silent as ever.

From outside, he thought, as the young pegasus brought them down. Then let’s see what’s outside, shall we?

Slipstream’s window faced the Heart. Now it was open to flood out the smell of blood, but it had been closed when Tyto had discovered her. The tenth floor looked like a speck from all the way down here.

Ghost looked at the ground. No hoofprints. Nothing but the scrabbling marks of a squirrel or some other small creature.

Cypress’s hooves came into view. “Pegasus,” he said.

“I know.” Ghost took a deep breath, looking ahead. “They came from the Everfree.”

In the early morning light, it didn’t look ominous. It looked ancient. Roots had begun to reclaim the Barracks. They climbed up the corner of the building like claws, all the way up to the eighth floor. From within the forest came the sound of waking things, of hunters, of things that climbed and things that flew.

Cypress followed his gaze, a grim look on his face. “Hard to fly.”

“Doesn’t mean they can’t. Strikers fly in there all the time. That’s their job.”

“Not a Striker.”

“I know that,” Ghost said sourly. “But who? That’s what I want to know.”

Sir Cypress, characteristically, did not answer.

Ghost moved on. He trotted a few lengths into the forest itself, stopping in the spare space between two massive trees. Sir Cypress couldn’t fit properly—he waited behind, watching with vigilant eyes as Ghost poked around, reaching out with his magic for any trace of life.

He craned back his neck. Above the sky was still gray with dawn. But there was space between the branches. A channel. Just as there were pathways on the ground through the Everfree, there were some in the sky. The forest must be veined with them, Ghost thought.

“Sir Cypress,” he said.

Branches snapped as the knight shoved his way forward. His green shoulders were streaked with sap, his armor pasted with leaves. He paused by Ghost’s side, his breath clouds of white in the early morning air.

Ghost tipped his head, still studying the sky. “Answer me this,” he said. “How do you catch something that doesn’t touch the ground?”

Cypress chewed his words for a moment, jaw working. A look of speculation came into his eyes that Ghost liked. Calculation. “A net.”

As it turned out, the Sky Barracks did not lack for rope. The Guard procured enough to lash a fleet of ships to the docks of Canterlot. What they did lack for were unicorns, so Ghost had to make do with Galdr and Orion, the two Solar Guard. The most difficult part of the whole operation was getting Valiant to focus.

Ghost watched as he fumed and stomped, his horn beginning to spark. “They came into the Barracks,” he spat. “Into a military establishment. Right past the Guard.”

“Yes, we know.” Ghost tugged at a tricky bit of rope. Lifting it, he seared the frayed end with his magic, sealing it back into one piece: blackened, but no longer tattered.

The net was going along swimmingly. Captain Stratos had his pegasi grab the ends and take flight, pulling the sections tightly together. There needed to be space between the ropes to trick the pegasus invader into flying straight ahead, but not enough that he could escape.

But if he was smart enough to avoid the Guard, he’s smart enough to avoid a net. It’s almost sophomoric to catch a pony this way. This is how you catch problematic rabbits in cabbage fields. Ghost nodded to Stratos and his pegasi flew off again, tugging the ropes taut.

Valiant wouldn’t be calmed. He snorted, glowering at the hooves, the rope, anypony who dared come close. “We need to scout into the forest and attack,” he said. “I’ll ask General Arbiter. Surely he’ll let me go. I’m a Cadet Athame.”

“Which means little,” Tyto said. He had a spool of rope in his lap and was undoing the knots with his quick, nimble claws.

Valiant looked taken aback. “Only the best war unicorns are chosen to be Athames.”

“Knight Athames,” Tyto corrected. He stopped his work and looked up. There was a dullness in his eyes that hadn’t disappeared since he found Slipstream. “You’re not there yet, Valiant.”

“I’m close! I’m one tier away!”

“So you’re the bottom of the top. Congratulations.” Tyto returned to his work, leaving Valiant fuming more than ever. Behind him, Sir Cypress smiled his small smile, returning his gaze to the forest.

It didn’t matter. A fanfare leapt up above the sound of working ponies, and General Arbiter made his appearance.

He was a white unicorn with a black-and-white mane. His cutie mark was a black chess-piece. A king, Ghost noted. How interesting. Around him came his company of Solar Guard, most of them earthpony soldiers, though one war unicorn was with them, a brown with a black mane and a sour expression.

Arbiter came to a stop. “I wish to speak to whoever’s in charge.”

Captain Stratos looked around for a moment, like he was waiting for somepony else to speak up. “I suppose I am.”

Arbiter looked at him. “And you are?”

“Captain Stratos, sir. Of the Air Strikers, Sun Gate Division.”

“Hmm.” Arbiter looked neither impressed nor disappointed. “I’ve been told there was a murder. I’d like to investigate. Dame Starra? If you wouldn’t mind going on ahead.”

The brown unicorn blinked. Then she bent her head. “Yes, my lord.” She disappeared into the Barracks with a clank of plate armor. Two Solar Guard went with her, including Galdr. He already had his head bent to hers, going over the details.

Valiant sucked in a breath. Hissing in Ghost’s ear, he said, “That’s Dame Starra, Knight Athame of the Royal Court of the Sun. She’s a legend. They say she blasted an entire pack of timberwolves to splinters when she was only sixteen. The Princess knighted her right then and there. Celestia’s hooves, I wish I had been there to see it.”

“Sounds like something,” Ghost said. Knight Athames had always been Valiant’s solitary point of interest. As foals, he’d never shut up about it. In their games Valiant would be Sir Stormbreaker, the only unicorn who had outlasted the siege of the dragon Kolarrus. After some choosiness, he’d let Ghost be Sir Vermilion, a unicorn knighted for his tactics in taking back the more savage parts of the Everfree. Valiant had meant it as a smaller step, something to better illuminate his own greatness, a statuette at the feet of a mighty tower. But Vermilion had used his brain to win. He wasn’t big or powerful. He wasn’t a seven-pointer like Stormbreaker. But he’d still won. He’d still reached the same heights as a stallion three times his size.

Starra returned. After some meeting between herself and Arbiter, the two came over. Arbiter trod right over the net, pulling the knots loose.

Ghost felt a prickle of annoyance. “Watch your step.”

Arbiter started. “Watch your tongue,” he said. “Don’t you know who I am?”

“General Arbiter, Commander of the Reconstruction of the Castle of the Two Sisters, formerly one of the Great Five Generals of the Royal Court of the Sun, and a member of the Princess’s inner circle.”

A panicked look crossed Valiant’s face. He was mouthing something frantically. My lord. My lord. My lord.

Ghost traced the shape and realized his mistake. Some ponies are so touchy about niceties. “My lord.”

Outrage clouded his face. “Formerly? I was allowed leave for this objective as a personal favor, to finish a project for Princess Celestia herself.”

Ghost sighed. He set down his ropes. “Shall I offer my congratulations? You have them. Now please move off the net. I’m trying to finish it.”

Arbiter swung his head around to Stratos. “You’re going to let your soldier speak to me this way?”

“He’s not my soldier,” Stratos said, looking like he very much wanted to sink into the floor.

“Then I demand to see his superior officer. I want him court-martialed!’

It must be difficult to hear a voice of dissent when all you’re used to is mindless, pampering braying. From Ghost’s investigations in the Tower, he knew General Arbiter had come to power from a lord for a father, not his tactics in battle. Tyto’s words came back to him: More ponies could do away with this idea of position by birth instead of battle. In the old days, captains were up-jumped recruits from nowhere towns. Now they’re all bluebloods.

“You’ll be disappointed to find that I’m unenlisted,” Ghost said. “If you must know, I’m a Scribe. So you can file my court-martial to Quickquill of the Tower. She can add it to the pile.”

Arbiter laughed once. It wasn’t a humorous sound. “A Scribe. Wonderful. And what does Canterlot think of these murders?”

“I don’t know about Canterlot. I’m making my own investigation.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’ll see when it comes out in the papers. If you read the papers. My lord.” If you can read at all, you old mule.

Arbiter wavered. It looked like he wanted to say something more, but the thinly-veiled insult was obvious even to a complete dunderhead. “Captain Stratos, I am taking over this investigation. I want all evidence you’ve collected as well as a complete list of all ponies who were in this area. We will conduct our interrogations as the facts add up.”

“Of course, my lord.” Stratos kept his smile up as Arbiter entered the Barracks, but it faded the instant he turned back. “Cadet Valiant, control your brother. I’ve been lenient, but I can only be so patient. General Arbiter is a very powerful pony. He has powerful friends. And a powerful temper. He can bring the hammer down on the Sky Barracks from any slight he wishes.”

“I don’t wish any ill-will towards the Barracks. You’ve been helpful to us. We owe you.”

Stratos looked like he was chewing something. “Then keep your mouths shut and finish your forsaken nets.” He spread his wings and flew into the Barracks. The rest of his pegasi followed suit.

As soon as he was gone, Valiant gave Ghost a sour look. “That was my chance to impress Arbiter. How am I supposed to become Knight Athame now?”

“My guess would be to show him your bragging skills. Surely that’s worth a knighthood.” When Valiant didn’t even give him a sympathy smile, Ghost sighed. “What do you want me to say?”

“‘Sorry,’ maybe? You embarrassed me!”

“Why would you want to impress such an awful pony?” Ghost looked up at him. “He doesn’t have any influence over knighting anypony. He’s just a general. If you need to impress somepony, you need to aim for Celestia.”

“Princess Celestia,” Valiant corrected sharply. “And how would you imagine I go about that? We’re out in the middle of the Everfree!”

“On a mission you suggested I take.” Frustrated, Ghost dropped the ropes. “What do you expect me to do, Valiant? I’m doing the best I can. I’m doing the job you wanted me to. A favor to you. Why do you care how I go about it?”

“I expect you to respect authority. I know that’s not your strong suit.” Valiant closed his eyes and sighed. “I don’t want to fight, Ghost. I’m sorry I snapped at you. I’m tired and annoyed and sad. A young pony is dead. I don’t know what to do. I know you. I know how you are. And I know I can’t change you—Goddess knows I’ve tried—so I just have to deal with you. But you have to shape up. If you can’t speak politely to these ponies, then don’t say anything. All right? Can you do that for me?”

Ghost glared at the ground. “I’m not a foal. I’m not your little brother anymore, you know.”

“I know you’re not a foal.” He smiled. “But you’ll always be my little brother.” He hooked a hoof around Ghost’s shoulders. “Now let’s catch a pegasus.”

The net was completed and hung just before sunset. Ghost stared up at it from the ground. It was hard to see it, dark as the sky was. Captain Stratos had made sure his pegasi tied it tight at the edges and loose in the middle. Anything that hit it would be snared up tighter than a rabbit. Ghost had rigged it with an alert spell. Anything that got tangled up would light up his horn. He’d know immediately.

Now all they had to do was wait.

To pass the time, Ghost had brought out his old chess set. He and Valiant had played too many games to count on this same board. The pieces were all worn down past the paint. On some, you could see the wood beneath, dark and hard.

There was no telling if the pegasus would even come back so soon. Murderers returned to the scene of the crime, that was true. But was this a true murderer? Or was it Nightmare Moon?

The silver mare. Ghost twirled a rook listlessly, only half his mind on the game. My only clue. Slipstream’s final fear.

Nightmare Moon was not silver. She was black with a blue ethereal mane. That much he knew from tapestries and all the old records, kept from ponies now either old or dead. Past Scribes. It seemed that that hypothesis was, for now, out the window.

The green feather. A silver mare would not have green feathers. Pegasi feathers match their coats. The rook snapped upright. So perhaps we might yet catch ourselves a killer. But who is the silver mare?

“Are you going to move or not?” Valiant’s voice broke into Ghost’s concentration like a firework.

Ghost blinked. Valiant was staring at him. On his left, so was Sir Cypress, who was watching the game with interest. Tyto lay with his back facing them in his own bunk, nothing more than a shadow.

“Uh, yes. Sorry.” He put the rook on the board, next to Valiant’s king. “Check.”

Valiant’s brows furrowed. He stared at the board like he was trying to read in the dark, his eyes squinted.

He slid his blue magic around the king and moved it to the right.

“You can’t. It’s still in check.”

“Where?”

“There. With my knight.”

“Fine,” Valiant said, getting frustrated. He moved the king back.

“You have to move it out of the path of the rook. Rooks go in straight lines.”

“I know how rooks go,” he snapped. He moved the king back at an angle: the only available option.

And the one Ghost had been waiting for. He slid a bishop up, pinning the king between it and another knight. “Checkmate.”

“Huh? No, what about—” Valiant’s frown increased as he realized he couldn’t win. With a grunt of irritation, he flipped the board, sending the pieces scattering. He put his chin on his hoof. “Who cares. It’s just a stupid game.”

Ghost had been prepared: as soon as Valiant had made to move, he’d reached out with his magic. Every piece now soaked in his pale green magic, he pulled them back in, arranging them back in the box.

He snapped the box shut and stored it in his pocket dimension. “That’s about four hundred to zero.”

“Hey, four hundred to one. Remember that time you overextended your magic and had the flu for like two weeks? I won then.”

“You probably cheated and I couldn’t tell on account of my splitting headache and my slipping into unconsciousness several times during the match.”

Valiant sat back and folded his forehooves across his chest. “Excuses, excuses. You just don’t like to lose.”

Ghost gave him a look. “I wonder who that sounds like.”

Valiant rolled his eyes. “What’s next? Cards? Cy, why don’t you play with us? What about you, Tyto?”

Tyto didn’t move. “No thanks,” he said, voice muffled.

Valiant shrugged. “More fun for us and less for you. Deal out, Ghost. I’ll teach you how to really lose at games.”

After what felt like twenty rounds of cards, the group started to fall asleep. Valiant was the first, dozing off at the table, a card pasted to the side of his face. His soft snores filled the room.

Ghost held on, waiting for that flare on his horn to tell him something was in the net. He blinked his sticky eyes, the suits and numbers all blending together.

Cypress looked at his cards. “Fives.”

Ghost flipped two fives over to him. “Jacks?”

He shook his head.

Ghost yawned, reshuffling his cards. This was taking so long. If only it would be over so they could move onto the next step. He hated stagnating like this.

It was Cypress’s turn but he didn’t speak up. He was still staring at his cards, his mouth working.

Ghost had half-given up on playing cards when the knight finally spoke. “What do you think?”

Ghost blinked his eyes back open. “Of what?”

He nodded to the window. It was dark outside. The moon had a shadow across it, a good sized slice of the face missing. The Mare in the Moon had no tip to her horn.

Ghost set down his cards with a sigh. “It’s a mess. I’d have preferred if our only lead hadn’t upped and died on us.” Before Cypress even had time to rebuke him, Ghost realized what he’d said. “I didn’t mean that. I meant that it would be better if Slipstream were still—”

Across the room, he saw Tyto’s shoulder tense. They weren’t the only ones awake.

Cypress sighed. “She was young. Too young.”

Ghost nodded, a bad taste in his mouth. Maybe it was from lack of sleep. Maybe it was something else. “We’ll do what we can. If this doesn’t lead anywhere, then I don’t know what we’ll do.” He ran a hoof through his mane, propping it up against his horn. It was warm from holding the alert spell for so many hours. “Maybe go back to Canterlot. Try to figure it out there. There’s got to be more to these kidnappings. It’s too much of a stretch to think they’re not related to the murders.”

He went over it in his head. Juniper Shine and Slipstream came from the same place and both were murdered. Eglantine was stolen from there, too. Maybe she’s been murdered too and we just haven’t found the body. He closed his eyes. Flour Dust was from Canterlot. So was Periwinkle. But they had nothing to do with each other. Flour Dust was just a baker. Periwinkle was a soldier. Apples and oranges.

It was infuriating. No case had ever stumped him so much. The Mystery in Maneco was one of his trickier investigations and he’d solved even that. If he could find out who had stolen the Lord of Maneco’s precious diamond crown, couldn’t he figure out who had killed four innocents and stolen more foals?

Foals. Ghost’s eyes blinked open. He stood and went to his bunk, teetering on sleepy legs.

“Ghost?” Valiant lifted his head. “What’s wrong?”

From within his satchel, he pulled the notes Bluebell had sent him.

Valiant had come up next to him, rubbing one eye. “What’s that? The missing foals list?”

Ghost didn’t answer. He was scanning down the list.

Two fillies. Myrtle and Maize. A unicorn and an earthpony, both from Canterlot.

“Sir Cypress,” he said, setting down the page. “You said you knew Periwinkle.”

“I did.”

Ghost closed his eyes slowly. How did I not see? How could I have missed this? “Did she ever mention her family?”

Cypress was silent. Ghost turned around and saw that his eyes were narrowed in thought. Behind him, Tyto had sat up on his bunk, his mouth open. A step ahead of Cypress. Just as he had been last night.

“Yes,” he said softly. “Myrtle. Her daughter.”

It took a second for Ghost to fish out his letter dish. He wrote a short note on a scrap of paper: Who are Maize’s parents?

He set it in the dish and it vanished it a flash of purple fire. A few seconds later he got his answer, in Bluebell’s tidy, industrial script.

“Her parents are Flour and Pepper Dust. Both deceased. Why?”

Ghost let the letter fall to the ground, where Valiant snatched it up.

“They’re related.” He looked at Ghost over the top of the note, his face ashen. “The murders, the kidnappings. Goddess, they’re the same.”

They all looked at each other for a moment. It was as if the ground had shifted from beneath them, leaving them on unstable territory. Ghost felt the tension in the air and shivered.

Slowly, Tyto set his feet on the ground, sinking his claws into the mattress. “I think we’re looking at something more sinister than a serial killer,” he said quietly.

Ghost’s horn lit up.