The Stallion at the Table
The stallion was sitting alone in front of the octagonal table covered with green felt. On his side there was a small table with several mounds of red, white and black chips. On his other side, a cart holding several bottles of differently coloured liquids, half a dozen of clean glasses and a bucket full of ice.
While he was sitting there alone, the stallion played with one of the decks. His hooves, carefully hooficured, shuffled the cards, he then split the deck and devoted himself to play a game that seemed like an odd variation of solitaire. His thin and good looking face didn’t change its stoic expression as he revealed the cards in front of him. No other sound was heard in the room, nor in the entire house, save for those made by the cards against the felt table.
No other sound, that is, until the the metallic and insignificant noise of the door hinges was heard.
The door was all the way in the back of the room, outside of the stallion’s range of vision, so he said in a friendly tone, “Come in, whoever it is.”
He was waiting one of his friends, but it was clear that the pony who appeared in front of him hadn’t come to play poker. He was a beige earth pony, clearly young, of average height and very thin. He had a long, brown and matted mane that reached his shoulders and he wore a stained scarf. His face, thin as well, reflected the immense weariness and desperation that his blue eyes had.
On his right hoof, he had a knife.
The first stallion didn’t get up from the table. In fact, he gave no sign of wanting to move, however, he left the cards on the table.
“What do you want?” he asked in a monotone.
The strange pony didn’t answer his question. Instead, he looked around the room with caution, and then made a question of his own, “Are we alone?”
The stallion, perhaps as an automatic response, nodded.
“Great,” the stranger said, “do as I say and I won’t hurt you.”
“What do you want?” the stallion asked again, only that this time, his tone was firm, but calm.
The stranger didn’t answer right away. He looked around the room one more time, almost as if deciding if there was something he wanted. This time, his eyes landed on the bottles in the cart next to the stallion, and his eyes brightened up.
“I could use a drink,” the stranger said.
“Sit down and I will serve you one,” the stallion said, motioning towards the chairs, and waited for the stranger to sit.
The stranger, perhaps out of caution, chose the seat at the other end of the table, in front of the stallion, and also the farthest seat from him. He took his seat and put his right hoof, the one holding the knife, on top of the table. The steel blade, of approximately twenty centimeters, shone over the green felt surface of the poker table like the moon on the black sky.
“What do you prefer, hard cider or whisky?”
The stranger was taken aback by the offer. He doubted for a few seconds, but he finally made his mind, “Cider. A large glass, with ice.”
They remained in silence as the stallion prepared the drink, just as it was requested. Once he finished it, he put down the glass over the table, and pushed it towards the stranger, who received it with his free hoof, the left one, and downed the glass in a single gulp, giving a slight grimace.
During this whole operation, the stallion’s eyes never left the stranger.
“I want money,” he said once he finished, “and some clothing.”
The stallion kept staring at the stranger, not giving the slightest indication that he heard his visitor.
“My name is Bold Spear,” he said.
“I don’t care,” the stranger replied.
“What is your name?” Bold Spear asked.
“My name is none of your business, now go—”
“You do not have a name because you are a changeling.”
Both stallions remained silent, staring at each other, none of them dared to move. After a moment, the stranger smiled, “What makes you say that?”
“Your mane changed colors for an instant when you drank the cider.”
The stranger nodded his head calmly, “You’re quite observant.”
“I have several qualities,” Bold Spear said back.
“Alright then, I’ll admit it,” the stranger said, and with a flash of green, a black horn appeared in the middle of his forehead, his mane disappeared alongside his ears, and his coat was replaced by a black, slightly shiny exoskeleton, his teeth grew into fangs and his eyes changed into a completely blue orb.
The only similarity with the stallion that stood there less than five seconds ago, was the dirty green scarf.
The silence stretched for almost a full minute before Bold Spear spoke again, “Do you mind if I drink with you?” he said, stretching his hoof towards the bottles, “After all, it is quite obvious this is not just a simple holdup.”
The changeling’s free hoof slammed the poker table, and the creature spoke in a slightly irritated tone.
“Listen to me, you either do as I say,” the changeling paused, and twisted the knife so it would reflect the light coming from the lamp into the stallion’s eyes, “or I do to you the same I did to the others.”
Bold Spear shut his eyes close due to the light, but otherwise didn’t move. After a moment, he opened his eyes again, and looked straight at the changeling in front of him.
“Let us talk about it,” he said.
“No, stop—” the changeling started, but was interrupted by Bold Spear.
“Do not move,” he spat, and his voice held such authority that the changeling, however momentarily, complied. “Before you do anything, you better listen to what I have to say.”
The changeling seemed to feel the danger, so he remained immobile, even the knife seemed to have frozen.
“Speak,” the changeling said.
“Do not worry, I will not take long,” Bold Spear said, not breaking eye contact. The creature remained unblinking, waiting for him to start talking.
“Let us think about our situation for a moment, Mr. Changeling. We are sitting in opposite sides of this table, just a meter and a half apart. You have a knife and I, for the moment, have no weapon of my own. But I have been wondering about what I could do if you decided to act violently. Certainly, I would try to defend myself, would you not agree?”
The changeling didn’t move, although his eyes may have closed a little bit.
“Now, you can clearly see I am not a unicorn, nor a pegasus,” Bold Spear said, keeping his calm tone, “I am but an earth pony, and as such, I would use my strength against you.”
The changeling blinked once, but otherwise, remained still.
“At the slightest indication of movement from your part, I would probably flip the table on top of you, trapping you, and I am more than certain that I could do it,” Bold Spear said.
The changeling, perhaps more than before, remained still.
“Therefore, we already know how the first part of our battle would develop. Within moments, you would be trapped on the floor with the poker table on top of you or, if I were not lucky, at least I would have you cornered against the wall and with the table between us, do you follow me?” he asked.
Taking it as his cue to speak, the changeling said, “I could easily blast the table to pieces.”
“Ah, but I do not think you could, Mr. Changeling,” Bold Spear replied.
“And why is that?” the changeling said, not missing a beat.
“You said it yourself, I am quite observant,” he said, the tiniest suggestion of smile tugging at his lips, “you are clearly battered and tired. How long has it been since the invasion? Four, five weeks?”
The changeling didn’t reply, but a grimace formed on his face.
“I was there to see it,” Bold Spear said, “that big magical wave sent all of you flying away,” he stopped to take a breath and leaned forward a little bit before speaking again, “except not all of you, right?”
He didn’t wait for the changeling to answer, “That means you must have been stuck in somewhere without a window to blast through.”
The changeling winced, but quickly regained his composure.
“I wonder how that must have felt for you,” he said, “it felt great for me, but I am a pony, I do not know how your kind would have taken it.”
Bold Spear couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw the changeling squirm his wings.
“You are in a bad state, Mr. Changeling,” he said, “I saw several of your kind that day and let me tell you, you look far worse than them.”
Bold Spear’s eyes scanned the changeling in front of him, and after a moment, he spoke, “Let me analise you as I see you, Mr. Changeling. You seemed malnourished, and while I know that your kind does not need to eat in the same way as we do, you clearly have not been feeding properly.”
This time, the changeling had regained control, and was completely immobile as the stallion kept speaking.
“Now, this is merely conjecture from my part, but I assume you have not been able to leave the city due in part to the state in which the magic blast left you,” Bold Spear poured some liquid into his glass, “but also because of the increased guard patrol over these past weeks.”
Finally, the changeling broke his silence, “Then you know why I’m here.”
Bold Spear nodded as he lifted his glass, “You know I am in the Royal Guard,” he said, “and you know that is the only way of leaving the city.”
The changeling didn’t move, nor did he give any sign of acknowledging what Bold Spear had just said. The stallion took a sip of his cider and looked at the changeling.
“Tell me,” he said, “how much do you weigh?”
The changeling cocked his head and squinted, “What…?”
“I do not remember very well. I know you weigh less than a pony, but I do not know how much you may weigh right now,” he then downed the rest of his drink, and set it down before speaking again, “I would say somewhere around forty kilograms? Maybe a bit less, but I am sure it is somewhere around that.”
The changeling huffed, but otherwise remained silent
“Now me, on the other hoof,” Bold Spear said, pointing at himself, “I almost double your weight, and I pride myself in saying that I have not gained half a kilogram since I left the Academy. I train daily, you see, it helps me keep focused.”
Bold Spear leaned forward, but kept his hooves firmly planted on the poker table, “I was Captain of the hoofball team back at the Academy, and I was in the wrestling team of my high school just a little over a decade ago.”
The changeling’s chest raised with each breath, they had become deeper, more measured.
“I guess that tells us everything we need to know about the participants of the struggle; if it were to happen, that is,” Bold Spear then smiled, “But we have to take other matters into consideration, mainly, the fact that you are the only one of us who is armed.”
The changeling’s head perked up, “That’s right, I’m the one with the knife,” he said, tightening his grip on the weapon, almost as if he had forgotten he had it.
“Indeed, and I am unarmed,” Bold Spear said, “why, do you see anything that I could use as a weapon?”
The changeling looked around the room, and his newfound confidence left him as his eyes landed on an object on the wall at the end of the room.
“I think that from your seat you can see perfectly well the object I am referring to. It is a standard issued spear given to all Royal Guards, and I would make a run for it as soon as I flipped the table over you, Mr. Changeling. And assuming you are capable of getting out from under the table, then we would be more or less in equal conditions, would you not agree?” Bold Spear said, carefully enunciating every word.
Fascinated, in spite of his disbelief and anger, the changeling nodded.
“And that would be the second part of our battle, which would conclude with both of us armed, although you would have taken considerably more damage than me at that point.”
“You should remember I may be tired, but I still can fly,” the changeling said as he spread his wings.
“And you should remember we are in a closed environment,” Bold Spear said without missing a beat, “I do not think flight would give you that much of an advantage, besides you should also remember that between you and me, I am the one with a longer range weapon.”
The mouth of the changeling was forming an almost straight line. His brow was furrowed, and his compound eyes stared coldly at his host.
“But all this talk about actions and weapons is meaningless,” the stallion continued, ignoring the huff of agreement of the changeling, “because we still have not discussed the most important factor, do you know which one is it, Mr. Changeling?”
The changeling shook his head, but didn’t break eye contact.
“I am talking about courage, Mr. Changeling, of the willingness to take part in a fight, to take risks. I believe you were quite brave when you entered this room, but I wonder how much of that courage came from yourself and how much came from the knife and the thought that I would be disarmed. But how do you feel now? I would venture to say that you feel much less courageous than a few minutes ago. You may have come here boasting and making demands, but now that there is a chance of struggle, you do not seem as determined.”
“You’re bluffing,” the changeling said, breaking his silence.
Bold Spear smiled, “Do you really think so? All you have to do to be sure is move from your seat.”
Another silence followed, denser this time, charged with hate and hostility. During all this time, the changeling didn’t move.
“There is something else, naturally,” Bold Spear said after a moment, “and I would be remiss not to mention it.”
The changeling remained without moving.
“Motivation,” he said, “you may not be the bravest creature in this side of Equestria, but you have a good reason to fight. If you manage to... subdue me, you can impersonate me, leave Canterlot, and find your way back to the rest of your hive.”
The changeling’s wings buzzed slightly, but otherwise, he remained immobile.
“And, if I managed to subdue you, you would probably be taken into custody.”
A glimmer of hope shone on the changeling’s tired eyes.
“But what would you gain from fighting me, Mr. Spear?” the changeling asked.
“That is a very good question,” the stallion admitted, “I would gain nothing except a broken poker table and to be entirely honest I, personally, have no motivation to fight you. I suppose I could let you take anything you want and leave, with one exception, maybe,” he added with a smile, “and that would probably postpone your capture for a day or two, or maybe even a week, and you still may find a chance to leave Canterlot through other means.” The smile disappeared from Bold Spear’s face, “but it just so happens that I do not think you would leave under those conditions, Mr. Changeling, in fact, I am under the impression you never intended me to see the end of the day.”
The changeling furrowed his brow, his expression darkened and his eyes reflected the sheer desperation inside of him.
“And lastly, Mr. Changeling, it happens that I do not like you nor your kind one bit. You are scum, all-consuming scum no better than a parasprite, and I would not mind running the risk of being wounded or even killed if it meant I could hurt you.”
The changeling, even though he didn’t move from his seat, did squirm in place and his hoof fumbled with the knife.
“So that’s it, then,” the changeling said, “you and I are going to fight, aren’t we?”
“Most assuredly, if you were to move from that chair,” Bold Spear said as he nodded.
The changeling nodded as well, looking at his glass, almost as if he wished he had left some for this moment. He stared straight at the stallion in front of him and leaned back on the seat.
“Alright then, Mr. Spear. Come on, let’s get this started.”
“I did not say I was going to start anything, I have just been saying what is it that I would do if you were to start something.”
The silence was now deep and endless, and hung heavy between them. They stared at each other, both with their hooves on top of the table. Bold Spear’s hooves were empty, but the changeling’s eyes went back to the spear on the wall. If his host’s name was any indication, he’d probably be extremely proficient at using it. Not to mention the assortment of bottles the stallion had at his disposition, which could be used to stall the changeling until he could get ahold of the weapon. His eyes went back to the table and at the stallion in front of him. Minutes passed before either of them spoke again.
“Why don’t you just give me what I want?” the changeling asked.
“Because I do not want to,” the stallion answered.
The changeling bit his lip, deep in thought, “What is going to happen now? Do we sit around passing the time?”
“We could always play cards,” Bold Spear said, nonchalantly.
“You said you’d flip the table if I moved, then you’d get your spear and the fight would start, right?” the changeling said, recounting their conversation.
Bold Spear simply nodded.
Suddenly, a new light shone in the invader’s dull eyes. He tried to move, but he changed his mind, although his body shook slightly under his host’s sight.
“I get it now,” the changeling said, “you're waiting for other guards to come play cards with you and you’re just stalling me.”
The stallion didn’t lose his composure.
“I am doing a good job, do you not think so? I told you I had many talents,” the stallion said as he slowly grabbed a bottle, “Yes, the last shift of the guard ended not too long ago, and I am waiting for them to arrive.”
“Well you’re not gonna get away with it,” the changeling said as the stallion poured himself another glass.
“You can still choose. If you leave that chair, I will flip the table and go for the spear. You can try your luck that way.”
“I’d be insane to stay here waiting.”
“However, you do have another alternative,” Bold Spear said.
This caused the changeling to lean forward, and when he spoke, a sliver of hope could be heard, “What do you mean?”
“If we fight, I also am at risk, and I honestly do not wish to run unnecessary risks. Therefore I am willing to negotiate. My safety for your retreat,” the stallion said, and after an instant he added, “your empty hoofed retreat.”
The changeling didn’t feel so sure about this whole situation, but he still replied, “I’m all ears, Boldy.”
“I feel endangered as long as you have that knife. If you were to stand up suddenly, how could I know if you are trying to attack me or run away? So, whatever it is you plan to do, if you move I will defend myself, thus starting the battle, whether we want to or not. Do you understand me?”
The changeling nodded, “I think I do.”
“The key of this whole situation is your knife. You want to get away, I do not want to fight with you, nor do I wish to cooperate with you, but as long as that knife remains in your hooves, you cannot move without starting the fight,” the stallion crossed his arms on top of the poker table and kept speaking, “the only solution I see to this dilemma is for you to throw your knife at the center of the table.”
“What?” the changeling asked.
“You heard me, that way none of us would be armed.”
“What would happen to me then? You’re still a trained guard and you can—” the changeling started, but was interrupted by the stallion.
“The table is still between us, the advantage is yours,” Bold Spear then smiled, “And, as you kindly reminded us, you have wings, which means you can get away from this house before I tried to go after you.”
“Your guard friends are still coming,” the changeling said.
“Then you should make your decision quickly.”
They looked at each other, neither trusting the other one, still full of distrust. Neither of them dared to move or speak.
“Come on, Mr. Changeling, as long as you keep that knife, you cannot leave that chair.”
Silently, and reluctantly, the changeling twisted his wrist and flinged the object forwards, which spun a couple of times before coming to a stop in the center of the table.
“Don’t leave your seat, Mr. Spear,” the changeling announced, and slowly rose from his seat, “I’ll show myself out.”
“Hopefully you will understand if I do not wish you luck,” the stallion said.
They both nodded at each other and the changeling changed back into the beige, brown maned pony he was when he entered the room.
Then, both the silence and their farewell was interrupted by a soft metallic sound that they both heard.
The changeling didn’t hesitate, his wings spread wide and he launched himself towards the door. The stallion, in turn, didn’t go after him, but rather grabbed the armrest of his chair and turned around yelling, “Stop that pony, Shining! It’s a changeling!”
Cries and grunts were heard from the corridor beyond the door, and during all that time, Bold Spear did not move. The noise increased until a magic blast was heard and silence followed.
“It’s alright, Sergeant,” Shining Armour’s voice came, “everything’s alright.”
After hearing his rank, confirming the identity of the speaker, the stallion let out a deep breath he had been holding, and rested his body on the poker table. He took a piece of cloth from the tray next to him and wiped his damp forehead.
Captain Shining Armour appeared once again several hours later, followed by several other guards, for a belated session of poker at sergeant Bold Spear’s house.
It had taken quite some time to process the admittance of the changeling into the newly formed rehabilitation program for changelings the Princesses had formed not too long after the invasion.
“And here’s to the stallion of the hour,” said an orange pegasus, rising his glass of whisky.
“You flatter me, Sentry,” Bold Spear said.
“Sergeant,” Shining Armour said, “I don’t think I want to play poker with you ever again. Who could have know you were such a good bluffer?”
“I was hoping you would find out after I had cleaned your wallet, Captain,” the sergeant said, “and stop calling me ‘Sergeant’, I was discharged weeks ago, I am just one civilian more.”
“Honorably discharged,” Flash Sentry added, “you were given several commendations after the invasion.”
The sergeant just gave the young guard a small smile.
“Speaking of which, how is the leg?” Shining Armour asked.
“Healing,” Bold Spear said, gently kicking the splint that held his left leg in place, “though I will not be able to use it for a couple of weeks.”
“Boy, it sure is a good thing that you got out of that wheelchair before that changeling got here, right?” Flash Sentry said.
“It sure is, son,” the sergeant said, lightly massaging his left thigh, “It sure is.”
