Equine, All Too Equine

by stanku

Rating: teen
Tags: Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Original Character
Length: 55177

In the grim future of Canterlot, the volatile relations between the three races and the griffon minority are nearing the point of no return. And the only pony who could stop the outbreak of a civil war cannot afford to do so.

The story continues in The Days of the Prophets.

A hundred years has passed since the Catastrophe, which meant the end the alicorns’ era. Now their graves make for the seat of a new power: the Parliament of Equestria, where the “three stand as one, now as before and forever”. The motto of the Parliament, inscribed in stone for all to see.

Just wipe away the blood first.

Proofread by: ponygrad

Published 2014-11-21 22:50:09 UTC
Last updated 2015-06-14 19:41:00 UTC

Epilogue

The room was black, all black. It had been so forever, but not before yesterday. Or was it the day before yesterday? Either way, it had been forever, the black room. Stick knew this, he knew it very well – it was all he knew. It was all he cared to know.

There was something familiar to all this, he had to admit. And yet it was different.

“Cent, vent, tent,” he muttered while finishing his work. This knife wasn’t as sharp the one Trail had ruined, but it would do nonetheless. It would because it had to.

The cutie mark, or the piece of skin which Stick hoped to contain Ember Trail’s cutie mark, came off with a wet smack. He put down the blade, groped around a moment and then put the piece of flesh in a jar with some liquid inside. He closed it tightly.

A job well done, he thought to himself.

Yes, answered another voice. Good work. Good Stick. My good Stick.

He smiled faintly.

Now, all but one more thing.

He staggered up and took the jar to the room with all the rest. Trail’s cutie mark sloshed around gently as he set it in a circle with all the rest. There were five of them. With his mind’s eye, he could see them glowing.

He fumbled his way back. It took a few minutes, but finally he found the other corpse. By the softness of its fur, he could tell it was the right one. And of course the belly was telltale enough. Holding his breath, he pressed his ear against bloody fur.

From the absolute stillness, there came a beat. A rhythm that only a heart can make. A heart in its making, really, but a heart nonetheless. He raised the knife. And started working.

For the future. For the future. For the grand, brand new Future.

Prologue

The room was white, all white. It had been so forever, but not before yesterday. Or was it the day before yesterday? Either way, it had been forever, the white room. Stick knew this, he knew it very well – it was all he knew. It was all he cared to know.

“Know, tow, show… it rhymes with snow… and with low…“

In the gloom, he stopped his muttering. Something had gone “cling” behind the wall where the only door into the room was. That was another thing Stick knew, or rather, the only thing he knew. The only thing he cared to know.

“Cling ting sing wing,” he said to the darkness as hoofsteps echoed in the corridor beyond. There were two of them, he could tell. They stopped right by his door.

There was whispering. Then, a mare’s voice said: “I don’t care. Open it.”

There was no creak. Most doors in the Everdream Hospital never made a sound, no matter how hard one tried. If you cover anything with pillows you get the same effect. The door opened.

Stick had closed his eyes well before it did and adjusted his breathing so that he appeared to be sleeping.

“Has he been sedated?” asked the mare’s voice.

“Not tonight,” said a male voice. Stick recognized him as Doctor Pines, which made him wonder if they were going to open the back of his head again. He hoped this was the case – last time he had gotten ice cream afterwards, although he hadn’t been able to talk for a week or two.

“On the contrary, I believe he is fully awake,” continued Doctor Pines. “Aren’t you, Stick?”

Stick cracked open an eye. A disturbed smile spread on his lips. “Awake, lake, take, make… Rhymes with snake.”

“He doesn’t sleep much,” said the Doctor, keeping his eyes firmly on Stick even when he was laying on his side. In a straitjacket. “A side effect of the new medication we are experimenting.”

Stick’s open eye moved from the doctor’s boring, long face to the mare. A loose cloak covered her body, and a deep hood hid her head. Still he knew that she was studying him intently. That was all he knew, all he cared to know.

Doctor Pines cleared his throat. “Now, Stick… Today – tonight, really – we are going to try something different. I am going to remove the straightjacket. The question I would have you answer is, what are you going to do after that?”

Stick gave this a thought. “Scratch myself,” he finally said. “Hack, tag, snack…”

Pines narrowed his eyes. “I must ask you again, miss… Are you certain about this?”

The hood nodded.

The Doctor sighed heavily. “I thought you would say that. Very well. If you would take a step back, please…”

The mare remained still. “If you won’t release him, I will.”

Suddenly, Stick could feel his unyielding outfit loosen around him. One by one, the ridiculously long sleeves unrolled from all his limbs, the belts opened, the knots unwound. As the light blue halo evaporated around him, he opened his other eye and stood up.

For a moment, the room held its breath. Then Stick scratched his chest.

“Seriously, you wouldn’t believe how long I’ve waited for that. Nothing’s worse than an itch you can never scratch. It can make you nuts.”

Doctor Pines relaxed a bit. “Good. Very good. I can see that the medication has taken effect. Good.”

The mare snorted. “I’m relieved and disappointed at the same time. You led me to understand he’d pounce on us the moment he could.”

“Oh, he’ll probably do just that, should we let down our guard,” said Pines casually, his gaze tracking every movement of the pony before him. The light blue glow had never left his horn. “You see, contrary to all our best efforts, Stick really is insane. The problem is that he is quite smart, too.”

Stick stopped his scratching to give them a wide grin. Pine’s horn glowed stronger.

The hood studied him some more. “Stick… Is that your real name?”

“It–” began Pines, but the mare silenced him with a hoof.

“That’s what they call me,” Stick said happily. “It’s all the fetching-games we’ve played with the good Doctor.”

“Quite,” said Pines dryly.

“So what’s your name?” continued Stick, turning his complete focus on the hood. “Introductions go both ways, you know.”

“Don’t you recognize my voice?” asked the hood, somewhat sadly. “Honestly?”

Stick carried on grinning, but started blinking. Rhymes travelled inside his mind and beyond, rhymes like vines of the times spent in crimes. The hood was all he knew, save the tiny bit of him that kept on staring at Pines’ horn, waiting it to dim for a second, for a fraction of a moment. But in the meantime, the hood was all he knew, had ever known, for now.

It fell off her face.

“I’m your sister,” said the mare. A warm tenderness had seeped into her voice. “Elga, Elga Hay. Can’t you remember me? Us?”

Stick stared.

“Elga has come to take you home,” said Pines. “All the paperwork has been done. You will start a new life in Canterlot, in a place that is more suited to support your mental recovery.”

Stick stared.

“Well?” asked Pines, slightly annoyed. “Don’t you understand? You’re free of this place, and of me, just like you always wanted. All you need to do is identify her as your sister, alias your legal guardian, and you’ll be in Canterlot before the dawn. What’s the matter?”

“I don’t want to go,” said Stick, still staring at the mare. “Not… with her…” He took a step back.

The mare took a step forward. “Brother, if only you knew how I’ve missed you. All the years in separation… I thought you were dead.”

Stick’s hind legs pressed against the padded wall. His back soon followed as he reared, his face a mask of unfathomable terror. The mare didn’t stop, but walked right next to him.

Pines’ eyes grew wide. “Miss, what are you doing?”

Her hoof reached for Stick’s cheek. He was hyperventilating, his shrinked pupils nailed at the approaching limb. It was all he knew, and more – it was all he would know.

She touched his cheek.

Time passed.

“Now…” whispered the mare, caressing his head. “Who am I?”

“Elga Hay,” said Stick automatically, his eyes lost in hers. “My sister and legal guardian.”

“That’s right,” said the mare. Her hoof returned abruptly to the floor as she turned to Pines, whose mouth was still wide open. “The sum discussed will be deposited to your personal account in Canterlot Bank at noon tomorrow. You shall receive the receipt by mail.”

The Doctor had the sense to close his mouth and nod in agreement.

“Capital. Stick, with me.” With that, she trotted out of the room. Stick trotted after her without a moment’s pause, his eyes on the floor, his ears glued to his skull. Pines watched them go with round eyes.

In all his years as a psychiatrist, he had never before witnessed such a reaction from a patient unofficially labelled as “mad as a spoon, dangerous as a chainsaw.” All that their most advanced medicine and pioneering surgery had achieved was to make him wipe his chin after he had ripped a pony’s throat open with his bare teeth. Stick was the paradigmatic example of an unsalvageable lunatic whose final resting place should have been the lone room in the cellar where he had just walked out of like a colt caught stealing candy.

It made Pines’ spine run rich with shivers.

Well, thank the stars that he wouldn’t need to sort out whatever was about to hit Canterlot.

Saddle Arabia had to be far enough away to ensure that much.

Chapter I

A unicorn stallion knocked on the door. The sound mingled with that of rain beating against the corridor window. He bided his time, chewing his lip while studying the simple oaken surface with the number twenty-three carved into it. Whatever lousy paintwork there had once been was now mostly faded. The color of it made Helm Cleaver think of the outhouse on the farm where he had spent his summers as a colt.

“I think we got the wrong address,” he said, looking at the other guard behind him. “This can’t be an officer’s home.”

The other guard, named Stone Mill, fished a badly creased note from the pocket of his uniform and unfolded it. His lips moved slightly as he read it.

“Says here Grease Street forty-two, B-block, apartment twenty-three. Isn’t that where we are?”

“Yeees,” conceded Cleaver. “But maybe they gave us the old address? I mean, what officer would live on bucking Grease Street? Even the Brigade keeps out of here.”

“Could be he comes here for the whores,” said Mill. He crunched the note and threw it down the stairwell. “Could be the Sarge knew he’d be here tonight.”

“Can’t imagine a Lieutenant was desperate enough to come here for a mare.” Cleaver banged the door again. Only the dull echo answered him. “Gives me the chills, to think what you might catch from the bottom of the barrel…”

Mill licked his lips. “Wanna find out? I know this place not far away that gives a discount for the Guard.”

Cleaver kept on chewing his lip and eyeing the door. It wasn’t like they were needed anywhere else, and it wasn’t their fault the address was a dud. And lately his wife had had a lot more migraines than she used to have.

“Sure, why the buck not,” he said. “One more knock and we’re out.” He raised his hoof.

“Do not touch that door.”

The two guards whirled around. In the corridor behind them, in front of the window that a moment ago had been closed, there stood a unicorn stallion. The most striking thing about him was his expression: it could have curled milk. The two loaded crossbows that hovered by his sides, aiming at them, came as a close second.

“Who sent you?” continued the stallion. His voice barely carried over the rainfall.

“S-sergeant Cowl, said Cleaver. “W-we’re from the Guard.” He couldn't decide whether to stare at the bolt directed at his face or the eyes of the stranger. The only real difference between the two seemed to be that the former had yet to pierce him. “We’re on official business,” he continued, forcing some authority into his voice.

The stallion eyed them in silence. Very briefly, Cleaver considered using magic, but the idea was suicide. No horn could outspeed a bolt, not at this distance.

“Show me your badges. Slowly. And no magic.”

They obeyed like snails. Soon two thin notebooks were slid over the floor. The same green-grey halo that held the crossbows picked them up with ease.That much managed to penetrate Cleaver’s terror-filled mind. Manipulating already two separate objects with telekinesis was a formidable feat for any unicorn – most could never do more than three at a time.

The badges unfolded before the stallion. His eyes had never left Mill nor Cleaver. “Recite me the dates when you joined, and your identifying numbers.”

From the corner of his eye, Cleaver could see Mill’s face fall pale, just like he himself had. Nopony in the Guard memorized their identification numbers. It was insane to ask for them. Yes, technically the regulations demanded that each guard could at will recite those six little digits that proved they really were part of the Citizen Guard, but to actually demand that was a widespread joke, equivalent to saying that bribes were bad for the morale.

The stallion didn’t seem like somepony who cracked jokes, though.

“Yes?” he continued. The crossbows nudged themselves encouragingly.

“Ahh…” began Mill. Pearls of sweat dripped from under his helmet. “I joined the Guard… This year… On the tenth turn… the day was… uhh… se–no! Eighth. It was the eighth.” His trembling visibly intensified as he tried to recall his number.

Cleaver opened his mouth even though every cell in his body knew it was a bad idea – if this lunatic shot Mill first, maybe he could roll for safety before the second bolt would skewer his forehead. But some primal sense of fraternity made him say: “You know bucking well we don’t know them, you bastard! Nopony does! You might as well shoot us now, you bucker, and hope that our friends don’t find you before rest of the Guard does! You know what we do to guard-killers. That’s something everypony in this town knows.”

His heart was a jackhammer trying to bring down the walls of his chest. He felt how his lungs filled to their utmost extreme, how time slowed down, how the turquoise eyes looked at him as if he was some insect.

Then, without any warning, the crossbows were lowered.

“Forgetting your identification numbers, insulting a higher officer and conspiring to neglect your duties are all minor crimes,” said the stallion with the same quiet, formal voice. “However, they stack up quickly. For both of you, as punishment, loss of two days’ pay.”

Cleaver’s jaw dropped. “What? What the buck?”

“Is the source of your inability to understand me located in your brains or in your ears, private?”

“You’re an officer?” asked Mill hesitantly.

The stallion looked at him. “Lieutenant Heart. Remember to mention the name to the clerk when you register your loss of pay.” The badges soared through the air at the feets of their owners. “Judging from what I got from your conversation, you came to look for me. Considering that it is the middle of the night, the issue must be acute.”

Cleaver, who was eyeing Heart as if he was a changeling, picked up his badge and said: “Don’t know, sir. Order was to come here and fet – summon you to a scene of crime, sir. Immediately, sir.” He pronounced the “sir” like the word had nails pressed through it.

Heart didn’t seem to mind this one bit. “I’ll dress up. You will wait for me downstairs.” He looked at Mill. “Whereas you will stay in my apartment until somepony comes to relieve you. Understood?”

“Sir?” said Mill.

Heart didn’t answer but walked right past the guards for the door. He pushed his horn into the lock. There was a faint metallic sound, mixed with a flash of green light, after which the door opened quietly. Heart marched in, leaving the two guards staring at the gloom which had swallowed him.

“Best of luck,” said Cleaver before descending downstairs. Mill watched him go with envy before stepping into the apartment.

It all seemed very ordinary, at least from the perspective of the small living room. Two sparsely filled bookshelves, a table and a pair of couches around the fireplace. A carpet that had seen its better days years ago. The only thing that struck him as weird was the absence of pictures and photos. Based on the first impression that Mill had about Lieutenant Heart, the place should have been rife with pictures of him getting awarded with medals and shaking hooves with Senators and other big shots.

“Do you have foals?” asked Heart behind Mill, who jumped a bit. It was amazing how quietly the stallion could move.

“No, sir,” he said, turning to face the Lieutenant. Already he had gotten his full uniform on. Suited like that, he actually looked like an officer and not some wild beast filled with icy rage. “Sir, please, I don’t understand why–”

“Dad?” asked a frail, sleepy voice. Mill looked at the doorway. There stood a small filly, looking both at him and Heart with wide eyes. “Where are you goin’?”

The first thought that ran through Mill’s mind was: “He’s going to make me the foalsitter.” The second was: “He’s going to make me the foalsitter.”

Heart walked calmly to the filly and kneeled in front of her. He stroked her purple, messy mane.

“There is a boogeyman in town,” he said softly, yet not a touch less formally. “Somepony needs to catch him.”

The filly leaned to hug him. Her eyes met Mill’s, and both looked away quickly.

“This gentlecolt here is Mill Stone. He will stay here with you, to make sure no bogeys get in.”

The filly remained mute. Heart gave her a light kiss on the brow and stood up. “Now, back to bed.”

When the foal was gone, Mill found Heart’s eyes nailed to his own. They seemed to be saying: “With your life.”

Mill saluted quietly.

Next, he found himself alone in the living room. He sat on the couch and for half an hour fought against the urge to start looking around when a tap on his shoulder made him flinch.

It was the filly. She seemed very bothered by something, standing behind the couch. Mill couldn’t help but notice she hadn’t even gotten her cutie mark yet. When she finally spoke, her voice seemed to carry from beyond oceans:

“Could you come into my room? To lay on the carpet like dad? I can’t sleep alone…”

***

The night was drenched. Every gutter in the city had overflowed hours ago, and some of the narrower streets were now indistinguishable from rivers. Trash and rats, both dead and alive, where everywhere. Heart and Cleaver cantered across the city in silence, pushing through the veil of beating rain. Both had cast a simple spell to keep themselves dry, but no matter how bright their horns turned, the visibility remained poor. Street lamps were a luxury in this part of Canterlot. Were it not for Cleaver’s innate sense of direction and foalhood spent playing on these very streets, they would have most likely gotten lost in the endless maze.

“It was a clever trick, sir, flanking us by the fire ladder,” he shouted over the rain. “Took me awhile to figure out that’s how you did it. Is that something they teach in the Academy?”

If there was an answer, it didn’t make it past the raindrops.

Prick, thought Cleaver. All his tentative attempts to start a conversation had so far received a similar treatment, or lack thereof, from the Lieutenant. That was weird, even weirder than his behaviour in the corridor. It was common knowledge that all the officers were snobs, but usually they wouldn’t mind a casual chat with the common guards. It was like charity to them.

“I wasn’t expecting that they’re also cutting the officers’ pays nowadays,” continued Cleaver. “Times must be hard when a lieutenant has to settle for a flat on Grease Street.”

Again, no answer. There was no helping some ponies.

They finally arrived at the crime scene. When Cleaver announced this, Heart simply walked past him and straight to sergeant Cowl who had sent Cleaver on his ungrateful task in the first place. He saw the two greet each other like old pals, then immerse into a private conversation. Soon after, they trotted into the alley that had been restricted both from the public and from Cleaver. There was something worth keeping quiet about there, he had reasoned, and in Canterlot that probably meant a corpse.

Well, it wasn’t his problem. His problem was to explain to his wife how he had lost two days’ pay by swearing to an officer.

***

Cowl and Heart trotted into the alley. The light of their rainproof domes reflected upon the brick walls, bringing a touch of life into the wet gloom. The effect disappeared right as they moved along, letting the darkness pour in once more.

“So, how you’ve been managing?” asked Cowl. “Lily doing okay, is she?”

“When was the corpse found?” asked Heart, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

Cowl payed a sideways glance at him. The face he saw under the heavy helmet was, discounting a few scars and dark circles around the eyes, the same he had known for years, ever since their first day as recruits. It was the soul behind that he had trouble recognizing nowadays.

“An hour ago. Maybe. The bum who stumbled on it said he alerted the guards as soon as he could, but it wouldn’t surprise me to find out he tried to sell it to the University first. You know how they’re always looking for education materials.”

“Is there evidence that the body has been moved?”

“None that we could see. There’s plenty of blood, at least.”

When they turned a corner, a strange sight spread before them. Four unicorn guards stood in a rectangle formation, their horns aglow with magical light. A part of the alley had been isolated by a transparent field that kept the rain away from an area about the size of an average living room. In the middle of it lay a pony. It was like a scene pulled straight from a theater stage, limelights and all.

Heart and Cowl turned off their domes and stepped into the play.

For some time, they only looked at the cadaver. A mare, probably in her twenties. A light-pink coat with slightly deeper colored mane and tail, both messed by water and blood. Her eyes were open, glazed, and her tongue lolled limply past her lips, just barely touching the cobblestones.

“Throat slit,” said Cowl with a neutral voice. “No other visible wounds or bruises, save of course the… the…” He coughed. Even after seeing it for the second time today, the sight still made his stomach turn. “Save of course the flayed cutie mark,” he finished, turning his face away.

Heart kept on staring. “Did they take one or both?”

“Don’t know, haven’t checked,” said Cowl, fighting against the bile climbing up his throat. He beat his chest a couple of times, cleared his throat and turned to the corpse again.

Heart was leaning over her. After a moment he grabbed her by the hind legs and, very carefully, lifted her.

“They didn’t,” he said, lowering the mare again. “Strange.”

Cowl raised an eyebrow. “What, stranger than flaying her in the first place?”

“Think about it,” said Heart, still leaning over the mare. “The most rational reason to remove somepony’s cutie mark would be to hinder their identification. But for that, you need to take both. That means the murderer had some other reason in mind.”

“What the buck could that be?”

“I don’t know. And that’s why I called it strange.”

That’s more like the Deck Heart I used to know, thought Cowl. The observation strengthened his theory that his old friend wasn’t as much dead as simply hiding. A thing like what had happened to him could break anypony, that was for sure, but Deck was not anypony. He just needed time to recover. Just time.

And revenge, naturally.

“Yeah, there’s a lot of strangeness in this case, that’s for sure,” said Cowl. “And you haven’t even seen the half of it.”

Heart turned a questioning look at him. “Are you playing games with me?”

Cowl blinked. “Deck, no. No games. But I didn’t want to throw this at your face all at once.” He turned to look at the wall to his right. “Lads, some more light.”

The four guards obeyed. The circle of light around them spread to touch the walls, to reveal their blankness. Only, the other wall was not blank but far from it, as both Heart and Cowl could now see.

There was a mark: an elaborate version of “B”, painted in deep yellow. Despite the fact that the paint had run a bit, you could easily recognize the attempt to bend the letter to resemble a beak. It was a symbol everypony, and every griffon, in Canterlot knew.

“They’ve done it this time,” said Cowl with a hint of celebration in his voice. “They’ve crossed the line. When the papers get this, it’s the end for the feathery buggers. All that jazz about harmony and unity? Hah! This shoves the politicians’ bull right back their throats.” He eyed the symbol as if it announced the beginning of a brand new world, a world rid of all that which had plagued the old one. “Mark my words: in a week, we’ll be rounding up the Cliffs. Once and for all.”

“No.”

Cowl blinked. Something must’ve gone funny in his ears. Maybe the rain had distorted the voice. Yeah, it had to be.

He turned an amused expression at Heart.

“No,” repeated Heart. “You will not go to the press with this. Nopony does. That’s an order. Whoever breaks it will be fired from the Guard on the spot and face prosecution for threatening public peace. I swear that on my life.”

Cowl stopped looking amused. “Deck… What?”

Heart stood up. “Who else knows about this? I want their names.”

Part of Cowl’s mouth tried to look amused again. “You… Don’t you see? This is it. This is what we’ve been waiting for. This is what you’ve been waiting for, ever since the–”

Heart moved in a heartbeat. His face pressed against Cowl’s, so close that the tips of their horns touched.

“Cowl… You are my best friend. I would trust my life to your hooves. But if you don’t stop talking right now, one of us will have to be carried from this alley.”

Cowl’s mouth moved. The words did their best to follow. “Yes… Sir…”

Heart remained still for a second longer and then stepped back. “Now, listen. I will go straight to the Captain with this, just like you should have done. You will stay here, all night if necessary, and make sure nopony, nopony, touches anything. And doesn’t speak a thing. That bum you mentioned? Put him in isolation as the main suspect. Understood?”

“Yeah,” muttered Cowl. After some hesitation he continued: “You don’t actually believe the bum could have–”

“Of course not,” said Heart, pushing past the Sergeant. “But we can’t have him talking about this to anypony, either.” Before disappearing around the corner, he looked one more time at Cowl. This time, his eyes didn’t try to pierce him, but rather to see him. “I do want to get the Brigade. You know that. But this… this could start a war tomorrow. And that is the opposite of what I want.”

And then he was gone. Cowl stood still in the rectangle of light, waiting for him to come back to explain how it had all been a big joke. Of course they’d let the press know; of course they’d drive the bucking feather brains out of town, together. That was what was expected of them.

“Hey Sarge,” said one of the guards. “You forgot to tell him about the bloody feathers we found. That might’ve turned his mind right way around.”

Cowl turned his face slowly at him. “What bloody feathers?”

The guard looked puzzled. “Well, you know, the ones we found–”

Cowl stomped his front hoof hard against the ground. “You all, listen! We heard the Lieutenant’s orders! As of now, this case and all its details are under absolute confidentiality. So I ask again: what bloody feathers?”

The guard said nothing.

“That’s what I thought,” said Cowl. “Now, I will go arrest that bum of whom none us knows a darn thing about.”

***

The Captain’s home was on the other side of the town, and with the heavens split open it took Heart the better part of an hour to get there, even at full canter. Already after a mile he had to let go of his rain protection: it was slowing him down too much. By the time he got to the gates, he felt like he had actually swum there.

It all made him wonder if it really was worth the effort. In the end, the perpetrator most likely was a griffon, and most likely had some association with the race’s militaristic wing, the Beak Brigade. They all had, everypony knew that. Everypony had been expecting something like this for months, years even. Ever since the griffons had begun moving into the city en masse, it had all been like watching a really long fuse crack and fizzle as it made its way towards a barrel full of gunpowder. It was all meant to be. Why fight against it?

Because Lake would have. She would have fought against it. With her very last breath.

“Open the gates!” Heart barked while banging the solid iron with his front leg. “Open the gates!”

Two guards appeared soon enough, their domes glowing in the wet gloom. “Who goes there?” one of them asked.

“Lieutenant Heart, identification number 316376.” He floated his drenched badge through the bars. “I need to speak with Captain Hilt at once.”

“Not at three o’clock in the morning you don’t,” said the other one. He took the badge, glanced at it and then looked Heart up and down. “What is the matter about, anyway?”

“Doomsday,” said Heart. The word had little effect on the guards. A part of him simply wanted to teleport into the premises and be done with it, but obviously that wouldn’t do – they would try to stop him at which point he’d have to stop them, and just like that he’d started a catastrophe instead of prevented one. “There are two ways we can do this,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “You let me in and, who knows, you might receive a little raise for showcasing such great judgement during a volatile political crisis. Or you resist me until the very end, in which case I’ll take as my personal project that both of you will do shifts in the Cliffs for the rest of your careers. Now how’s that for a choice?”

This seemed to incite a reaction. A lifetime duty in the Cliffs was basically the equivalent to being assigned as catapult fodder.

“He has a badge and a Lieutenant's uniform,” said the first guard. He looked at the other, the older one.

There was a short moment when it seemed to Heart that they wouldn’t let him in. After all, it was three o’clock in the morning, and the Captain wasn’t known for his jovial nature. Very briefly, Heart considered pulling the wild ace from his sleeve, but there was a good chance they’d just laugh at him or worse, take him seriously. So he decided to pull the second wildest ace in his repertoire, the one that made his soul ache.

“Twenty bits to both of you if you open the gate right now.”

The tingling of keys followed immediately after. What had the world become when a lieutenant had to bribe privates to make them obey?

That was another thing that added to the mass of indifference weighing down Heart’s shoulders. Was the world itself worth saving anymore? Not just the Guard, the griffons, the Council, but the whole of Canterlot. The general lack of discipline plaguing the Guard was not a disease – it was a symptom, a sign of a more profound corruption. Even Lake could not have denied its existence, and in her darker moments Heart had seen the desperation turn pitch black in her eyes. But it had not been the void that had finally devoured her, he knew.

It had been the hope she had clung to until the very end.

Am I just hanging myself with same rope?

The guards led him to a small study on the first floor and left him there, although he knew that at least one of them would stay behind the door. Security had gotten a lot tighter in the Guard lately, just like it had in the whole city. Shops were closed well before dark and barely anypony moved in the streets after six o’clock. The wealthier citizens were arming themselves with ever higher walls and private armies of thugs and mercenaries, most of whom had previously been on the Guard’s payroll. The whole city was preparing for something, had been for years. On quiet nights you could hear the future approaching by the wings of a vulture, as the old folks tended to say.

The door to the study opened with a creak. A grey-maned unicorn stallion limped in and kicked the door shut. The stump of his left front leg peeked from the folds of his morning robe.

Heart saluted by stomping the mattress. “Captain.”

“At ease,” croaked the Captain. A strong coughing fit hit him, forcing him to bend over slightly. His horn glowed as he pulled a hoofkerchief from a pocket to cover his mouth. “Blasted dampness,” he muttered. The hoofkerchief returned to the pocket, after which the old stallion’s eyes rose to meet Heart’s.

“So? Have the griffons started a war or did you come to resign after drinking on your wife's grave again? Speak up.” After a pause Hilt sniffed the air and added: “You don’t smell drunk, so I take you’re not planning leaving us quite yet.”

It was a welcome Heart had been expecting. Instead of commenting on any of it, he told him about the corpse and symbol in the alley.

When he was done, a few more wrinkles had turned up on Hilt’s face. His raspy breathing filled the room while his eyes studied Heart from head to heel.

“Who did you leave in charge there?”

“Sergeant Cowl, sir.”

Hilt considered this. “He will do, for now. What kind of instructions did you give him?”

“To keep the word from spreading, and to ensure the safety of the scene.”

“Well, perhaps that will carry us over the night,” said Hilt. He trotted to a small cabinet next to the fireplace. A happy clinking of glasses and bottles followed as he opened it. “The word will get out eventually, though.”

Heart kept on staring straight ahead of himself while the Captain poured himself a drink. He started and finished it in one go and went immediately for seconds.

“I’m twenty years too old for what is about to come, and the Guard is twenty hundred horns too short,” he said, studying the amber-colored liquid sloshing in the crystal glass. He turned to face Heart, who stood like a statue of militaristic pride, his bearing flawless. Yet very tense, as if some inner force was bending him to an unnatural shape.

“You have permission to speak your mind,” said Hilt.

Heart blinked, but his gaze didn’t sway. “With all due respect, sir, I cannot agree that everything is lost.”

He paused. Hilt took a sip. “Go on.”

Heart drew a deep breath. “First of all, it is not given that the murderer is part of the Brigade, or even if they are a griffon. This could be a set up, either to cover up an ordinary murder or simply done by somepony who wants to see the world burn. At this point, it’s too early to say–”

“You miss the crucial point,” interrupted Hilt. “It’s not a question of what people see, but what they want to see. And unfortunately for themselves, most of them want to see the world burn. Probably because they all think they’ll be part of the audience.”

Heart looked at the older stallion in the eyes. “Then tell me, sir, if there’s nothing to be done, why should I stand here listening to an old pony’s blabberings when I could get the same story from any drunken bum I happened to find in the gutter?”

The Captain’s mouth twisted into a grin. “Perhaps because this old drunk happens to be your father.”

“How could I forget?” said Heart. He shook his head slowly. “This was a mistake. Even the rats know that when the ship is sinking, it’s no use running for the Captain.” He saluted and strided for the door.

“Before you go,” began Hilt, his eyes lost in his drink. “You might want to look in the top drawer of that desk there.”

Heart’s horn had already seized the handle. Open it, run home, pack all the food and clothes you can and get out of the city with Lily. They’d find shelter in some inn on the road near the city, and first thing in the morning they’d leave for the east, to the sea. This was the moment why he had come up with that plan in the first place. He was a father, his first duty was to his foal. His only duty was to his foal.

Or so he wanted to believe.

The glow died around the handle.

“What’s in there?” he said quietly.

“A piece of paper that will make you the Captain of the Canterlot’s Citizen Guard. Only lacks my signature. And your's, naturally.”

Heart walked to the desk, opened the top drawer and pulled out the piece of paper that read exactly what his father had said it would. Still he read it thrice.

“I don’t understand,” he said, looking at him in perplexion. “You swore to die in this office.”

Hilt gave him another crooked grin. Next he fished the hoofkerchief from his pocket and set it on the table.

Heart stared at it. In retrospect, it was impossible to tell how he had not spotted the blood stains on the first time. Or perhaps he had.

“I’ve had a while to think this through,” said Hilt quietly. “Years ago, they gave me this job because there was nopony else to take it, and I accepted it because once, long ago, I was like you. I thought I could make a difference, that death and destruction were not unavoidable.” He turned back to the cabinet and poured another drink, which he floated to his son. “Who knows, maybe I bloody well did manage to do something right. At least the city stayed in one piece, more or less, for another ten years.”

Heart was still staring at the bloody hoofkerchief. Meaningless questions overwhelmed him, question like “How long?”, “Why didn't you tell me?”, and, worst of all, “Maybe it’s nothing?”.

He sat on the chair. “What do you expect me to do? You said it yourself: there’s no hope. No hope worth hanging onto, anyway.”

Hilt started laughing, but stopped when another seizure hit him like a ton of bricks. Heart stood to help him, but he fended him off. “And you said it yourself, too,” he wheezed as he sat on the carpet. “It’s the same story you can hear from any bugger in the street. So all you really need to do is to win an argument with a few million buggers. One at a time, if need be.”

Heart studied the old stallion from under his brow. Since when had he appeared so frail, so weak, so… old?

And since when did I start feeling pity towards him?

“I think the worst thing you could do in a situation like this would be to change the Captain of the Guard,” said Heart. “And it doesn’t help that the title would be inherited. Isn’t the city corrupt enough as is?”

“The city is only as corrupt as it needs be to survive,” whispered Hilt. He stood up again, with some difficulty, and looked at his son. “The city needs a change, Deck. And I’m not talking about the bull Feinsake and the rest are pouring on us. I’m talking about a revolution. And for that, you need a new face. A young face.” He paused and added: “But in the circumstances, your’s will have to do.”

Heart shook his head. “You’re delusional. You can’t ask me to fix the world. For Tartarus's sake, I can’t even fix my family.” He fell to the chair again. “You’re asking for the moon, dad.”

The room fell silent after that.

Hilt cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for what I said about you coming here… drunk from you wife’s grave.” A heavy, rough sigh fell past his lips. “You’re a damn good father, Deck. I would know: opposites tend to recognize one another.”

Heart’s eyes remained fixed ahead. “Last week, I looked at Lily in the eyes and saw Lake staring back. I shouted at her for that, scared her real good. The second time it happened, I had to leave the room. But on the third time… I couldn’t see her. And somehow, I wanted to shout at Lily for that, too.”

Hilt noted how tense his son's shoulders suddenly looked.

“She can’t understand why we had to move,” continued Heart. “And what could I tell her? That we’re hiding because some griffon, or somepony, might take her away some day? That she should trust no one? That the world is her enemy?”

The same strange force that earlier had bended him into a salute now seemed to be rippling beneath his every muscle. It was like watching a marble statue slowly crumbling from inside.
Hilt discreetly pushed the untouched glass closer to him.

There was a pause, at the end of which a green halo grabbed the drink and brought it under Heart’s muzzle. “Smells like lamp oil,” he said eventually.

“It’s called character,” said Hilt. “You’re going to need it.”

Heart gave him a blank look, but nonetheless took a sip. A burning sensation squeezed tears out of him in seconds.

“Does your doctor know you’re drinking this stuff?” he managed.

“What doctor?” said Hilt and emptied his glass. Heart decided not to touch that one tonight.

“So…” he began while wiping his eyes. “Hypothetically speaking, let’s say I sign this document. What do you actually expect me to do to stop the good citizens of Canterlot from slaughtering one another? And if you start talking about some revolution, I’ll take you to a place where they only serve sour milk for drinking.”

A glint visited Hilt’s turquoise eyes. “First of all, you have to make a public statement of the murder and make sure everypony, and every griffon, reads it. No, listen to the rest of it. You can’t keep a thing like this secret, not by a long shot, so your best option is to make sure the city gets your version of the story, not the one that starts circling in the streets. The most important thing is to keep up the appearances, to keep the stage shining. Let them know you’re in control.”

“But they know I’m not,” said Heart. “It’s a public secret that the Guard is a sham. Everybody knows that if the dam breaks there’s not a damn thing the Guard can do about it.”

Hilt rolled his eyes. “Do you listen a thing what I say, boy? It’s not about what they know or see, it’s what they want to know and see. And they want to see the Guard in action, to take the lead. They want to see us as strong, at least at the moment.”

“How can you know?”

“Because we’re not all dead yet. Now, the second thing–”

“Do us both a favour and save your breath,” said Heart, rising up. There was a brief moment when he almost threw up, and not just because of the liqueur. He steadied himself against the table, waiting for the room to stop spinning. Closing his eyes didn’t help much. “I can’t accept this post… and hold on to the shreds of my honor as a father at the same time.”

Hilt’s silence filled the room.
“I barely have time for her as is,” Heart continued, opening his eyes. “Me as the Captain, she might as well move to an orphanage.” He looked at his father in the eyes. “Perhaps once, you were like me. But I have no intentions of ever being you.”

A battle of sorts raged on Hilt’s face. His breathing had grown heavier; now it sounded like a steam-powered saw cutting through a sack of sand. When he spoke, the words were heavy with consideration.

“What we are and aren’t goes beyond us, Deck. As I said, I’ve been thinking this for a while. Perhaps longer than was wise.” He stifled a cough with a hoof. “I trust you, son. And so do many others: many more than you know. You have what many of us lost years ago.”

“Common sense?”

“A heart.” Hilt nodded discreetly at his son’s cutie mark: a silvery-grey shield, behind which half of a blood-red heart peered.

Heart stared at his father. The feeling of nausea was still pressing him: a mixed effect of buried memories and home-made drink that could have been used to wash the toilet. In the corner of his vision, the bloody hoofkerchief still stuck out like a skull from an open grave.

“The fact that you came here despite everything that has happened proves I’m right,” said Hilt. “We can make a change. You know this. Just as you know that we can only do it together.” He shifted his weight between his hind legs. “I’d offer you my hoof now, but you’d have to pick me up afterwards.”

An ambiguous burst escaped Heart: a half-laugh, a half-snort. A half-curse. “Oh yeah? And what real good could we do? Keep the city together with spit for another ten years?”

“Ten years at a time will do fine, I reckon.”

“There will be blood,” said Heart, still facing Hilt from eye to eye.

“There always is.”

“It’s not just the griffons we have to face: the Guard will end up in the middle of it. Someponies will call us turncoats, and like as not some will believe it: the desertion rates will soar.”

“You realize you’re only trying to convince yourself?” snapped Hilt.

Heart’s eyes narrowed. “And what if I am? I already said it: I can’t do it, not for my own sake but for Lily’s! She already lost her mother! I’m the only pony she has!”

“This touches her, too,” insisted Hilt. “It’s her future we are talking about here. How would you see that turn up, eh?”

“With a father who’s more than a name and a few pretty words in some stone,” said Heart, heading towards the door. “Or more than the backside of a uniform,” he added under his breath.

“Deck!” shouted Hilt, but too late. Way too late.

The door was not slammed. In fact, it could not have been closed any quieter. Hilt looked at it for a long, long while. He only blinked when, almost dreamily, he noticed that his glass had at some point filled itself and floated under his mouth. With the same dreaminess, he poured the liquid on the carpet…

…and hurled the glass against the door with all the might his horn could summon.

***

At some point during the twilight, the merciless rain subsided and ultimately died away, leaving a thick, misty veil behind to cover the city. By the time the sun broke through, the sky belonged to the rainbows. It was bound to be a good sign, thought a unicorn mare who had awoken to witness the spectacle from her bedroom window. Her name was Feinsake; Clarity Feinsake.

It had often occurred to her, during moments just like this, how vulnerable the city really was. The rain didn’t so much soften as expose it in all its frailty. Behind the violent shell, under all the cynic indifference, dark intentions and hate, Canterlot was a newborn foal, as confused as it was terrified. Abandoned at birth, the mare thought while idly touching her stomach distended by pregnancy. As she caressed herself, her eyes wandered to the massive cliffside that loomed behind the dispersing grey veil. She could just about make out a few of the lower level caves that stood out like black wounds from the body of some great, sleeping giant. She flinched.

There had been a kick. The strongest so far.

The time would be at hoof very soon. Very, very soon indeed. Just the thought of it made her smile at the sleeping, wounded giant that seemed to be eyeing her even as she eyed it.

She drew the curtains and started dressing into the Chancellor's official cape and vest. With her horn the task was over in a few minutes, after which she trotted out of her chamber.

“Good morning, Chancellor,” said a cheery voice right as the doors closed behind Feinsake. Her smile, which never entirely disappeared from her lips, turned to face the young unicorn mare that trotted down the corridor towards her.

If there existed a deity for secretaries, Chip would have been her incarnation. Or at least a High Priestess.

“As to you,” said Feinsake pleasantly as they set towards the Keep. “Say, how does the day’s schedule look?”

The question was rather moot from a functional point of view. Not only did Feinsake know the whole month’s schedule inside and out – Chip very well knew that she knew. But routines often serve other purposes than simple practicality. For one, they are the bedrock of social reality, atop which everything else is built. So while Chip went on about various future votings, conspiracies, recent alliances and other such things that made up for the bread and butter of the Canterlot Parliament, Feinsake was only half aware of any of it. Instead, she focused on the things that really mattered. Those included breakfast, food in general. She wasn’t responsible just for her own nourishment, after all.

Also, there was the other thing which she’d have to take care of today. But since she didn’t wish to spoil her appetite, she wasn’t going to think about that too hard for now.

“–after which we have the concluding vote on next month’s rations for the poor: that’s a yay and a wrap for the meeting,” said Chip. Her floating notebook made a sharp, papery sound as a page was turned. “Rest of the afternoon is reserved for preparing next week’s meeting with the griffon delegation.”

Feinsake nodded vaguely, her mind preoccupied with fresh vegetables.

It would have been a terrible mistake to think that Clarity Feinsake took politics lightly. Her Chancellor’s outfit was the strongest evidence of the fact that she didn’t. Ponies twice her age had spent a lifetime trying to achieve what she had acquired after mere twelve years involvement in politics. Those few who had come to know – at least in theory – Clarity Feinsake had learned that behind the various smiles there stood a maze of razor sharp intellect, the sole purpose of which was to calculate every move you had ever thought of taking. That was of course a blatant exaggeration, but a very convenient one at that.

The trick was not to take politics seriously. It was to make the politics take you seriously.

They made it to a small hall that served as the lobby for the Horns’ quarters, as the unicorns were commonly called in the Parliament. A few senators had awoken already and were standing by the doors that led to the dining hall. One of them, a tall, obsidian-black stallion, noticed Feinsake and Chip, and coughed meaningfully. The other two immediately stopped talking and turned to them, their faces conspicuously blank. Feinsake hardly paid attention to the fact – most likely they were discussing something irrelevant, like trying to replace her in the next Chancellor’s elections. She smiled at them with all her teeth.

“Gentlecolts,” she said, nodding vaguely at their direction. Her lips smacked hungrily. “Seems like I’m not the only one starving to begin the day.”

“Chancellor,” said the two other stallions. The black one only smiled back at her.

His name was Ember Trail, Feinsake knew. Or so he wanted everypony to address him, at the very least. She doubted the name was real, for so much more about him wasn’t. His manners, opinions, allegiance, smiles: they all seemed borrowed. In the paper, he was an upstart from a family too rich to buy him a normal foalhood, which meant he took most everything as entertainment, the senatorship included. In reality he was even more boring than that. Add to this an arrogance around which you could bend horseshoes and you got a pony who practically begged to be taken advantage of.

“Have you already heard the news?” said Ember.

If there was one thing to speak for general credibility in Ember Trail, it was his voice. It was deep. You could toss a coin down his esophagus and expect it to travel to the other side of the world. Feinsake had once asked if he had used magic to achieve that. He had had the good sense only to laugh in response.

“The news?” echoed Feinsake with mild interest. It was rare to hear Ember actually having information worthy of enunciation.

“The Captain of the Guard is going to resign, and to ensure that his son succeeds him.”

Feinsake made an effort not to yawn. As old news went, this one was ancient. And in Canterlot, old news was worth its weight in house dust – and just as common. Knowledge was a tricky currency: the risk of inflation was imminent to its nature.

“We were just discussing how best to take advantage of the situation,” continued Ember, his eyes shining with conspiratory glee. “The son is a mere Lieutenant at the moment. We need to move quickly to make a friend of him.”

The implicit translation of that was to bribe the pony before anypony else could. The notion made Feinsake cringe mentally. Not only was Ember utterly wet about anything one might reasonably call politics in this city: he didn’t even have the style to go about it with some dignity. Bits only ever bought you the cheapest, lowest part of a pony. The way to their heart was a more tricky one, at least in most cases. In Ember’s, a lucid whisper and a warm bed had done the trick.

Chip, whom the three stallions had so far altogether ignored, coughed into her hoof. Feinsake and the two other stallions looked at her while Ember kept on staring, in a somewhat starving way, at Feinsake.

“Actually, I have an update on that front,” said the secretary, correcting her glasses.

From the corner of her eye, Feinsake noticed how Ember’s mouth twitched. She partly expected him to blurt something along the lines of “You already knew?” or even the extremely hilarious “What?”. But he resolved to turn a disinterested, icy look at Chip as she went on.

“Informant number four reported that the son visited Captain Hilt during the night. They talked about something in private for about half an hour, after which the son marched out into the rain. Informant number two said he looked very solemn.”

“I suppose he knows about his promotion already, then,” said Feinsake.

“This son…” said one of the stallions ponderously. “I remember hearing something about him a while ago… Had something to do with the griffons…”

Chip’s notebook turned into a blur as she leafed through it. It was amazing how much information she could fit into a small leaflet with a simple spell.

“Heart, Deck… Ah, yes, here we are. Ouch. A nasty incident, indeed. Quite unsettling, actually.”

“What?” asked Ember.

Chip bit her lip as her eyes moved back and forth on the paper. “It was the ‘Barber Street Case’, four months back. A unicorn mare was caught in a fight between the Brigade and some hard-liner pegasus gang. Apparently she had tried to make a pacifistic intervention, but ended up losing her life.” Her eyes rose slowly from the notebook. “Her name was Honey Lake. She was the Captain’s son’s wife.”

“Ah, indeed,” said the stallion. “They never found out officially who exactly got her killed, correct? But a few weeks after some of the pegasi ruffians disappeared mysteriously. And a week after that, a griffon who had allegedly been part of the fight choked on a fishbone in the city jail, after being arrested for flying too low to the rooftops.” He payed a meaningful glance at the others.

Ember frowned. “You’re implying this son did all that?”

“Naturally not,” said the stallion. “That would mean accusing the Captain-to-be of murder.”

Ember snorted. “So, we’re just going to allow a known criminal to become the head of the Guard?”

“The current one isn’t that much different,” said Feinsake dismissively. “And to be frank, he has proved himself quite useful. His loss will be a blow to the city.”

“Could be he is leaving the ship,” said the stallion who had so far remained quiet. He paused, eyeing the others nervously. “You know what I’m talking about. The clashes between the gangs have grown steadily over the past year, both in number and in fierceness. The Brigade is turning more active by the day. I tell you, we’ll be having a lot more Barber Street cases, and soon.”

“Now, no need to inflame the apathy, Draught” said Feinsake. “That serves noponys’ cause.”

Draught blinked, and for a moment it looked like he was about to say something. Feinsake’s smile put an end to that.

“The times are hard for us all,” she said, looking at the stallions in the eyes one after another. “It has been so ever since the Catastrophe. And yet we have survived for a hundred years. Together, we will last a thousand, just like the regime of old.”

Draught’s face twitched. “That was different. They had alicorns. All we have is a poor substitute.”

“You refer to the Parliament?” said Ember after a short pause. “But how does that connect to the alicorns?”

Draught’s eyes revolved. “By stars, how can you call yourself a Senator? It’s written all over the bloody building! ‘Three as one, now as before and forever’ – the motto of the Parliament! What do you think it symbolises?”

Ember opened his mouth. Before he could make the argument any more stupid than it already was, Feinsake coughed lightly, drawing all the eyes on herself.

“It seems the dining hall has opened its doors,” she noted casually. She lowered her hoof from her distended belly, which she had caressed gently.

The other three turned and like as not, the door lay ajar, a delicious smell trailing through. Draught and Ember exchanged one more glance, and fell behind Feinsake as she trotted into the hall.

She had barely gotten her plate filled when Chip, after having exchanged a few words with a sweaty courier, came to her and whispered: “Captain Hilt was found dead in his study forty minutes ago.”

Chapter II

When Mill Stone woke up, his first thought was that something was wrong. For one thing, he was lying fully clothed on a hard floor but still didn’t have a hangover, which seemed like a causal impossibility. He opened his eyes. The room was dim, but the glow behind the curtains told him that technically it would be morning outside.

Then his memory caught up with him. With some difficulty, he stood up as quietly as he could and looked at the bed next to him. The purple blanket there rose and fell in a steady rhythm. A leg of some stuffed animal was all that peeked out from under it. He stood there for a while, collecting bits of his memories in the haze of his mind. Something still felt wrong, but not in any physical way. It wasn’t the aching that had woken him, but something else.

Cling.

His ears pricked up. That had come from the living room. A faint metallic sound, like a coin being tossed in the air. He pressed his ear against the door.

There it was again. He opened the door.

The Lieutenant sat on a couch, facing the other way. Some small, round object floated before him. Silver flashed as he tucked it into the pocket of his uniform and turned to look at Mill.

“Close it,” he said quietly.

Mill obeyed, staring at the other stallion. He looked like something that had recently crawled from a grave. And could those stains under his blood-red eyes be tears?

“Sir? Is everything alright?”

Heart’s eyebrows plummeted.“That’s none of your business, private.”

Mill cast down his eyes. “Sorry, sir.”

Heart stood up, swaying slightly in the process. Mill would have bet a week’s pay that the pony had not slept a wink since he had last seen him.

“Sir… Permission to leave? My shift is about to end.”

Heart stopped swaying and fixed his eyes on Mill. “That is up to me to decide. Now, I want a report.”

Mill gave him a deadpan look. “A report? About what?”

“About last night, idiot. Did she sleep well? What bedtime story, if any, did you tell her? A report, private: I want one and I want it now!”

The Lieutenant was trembling faintly, like a bowstring wound up too tight. If it snaps, it’’ll cut me in half, thought Mill in passing.

“Uh, we did alright, sir,” he said carefully. “She went to bed just like you told her, sir. Only, afterwards she asked me to share the room, sir, because… Well, she said she wasn't used to sleeping alone.” He paused, but when the Lieutenant didn’t blink for another half a minute, he added: “Guess I sacked out at some point. Sir.”

“Do you think she’s happy?”

For a moment, Mill could only blink in response.

“I… I’m sorry, sir. I couldn’t say.”

The Lieutenant sagged. His flawless bearing crumbled like a house of cards, leaving but a shred of a memory behind. Even as he looked away, Mill could see more tears pushing past his eyes.

The sight counted among the most horrible he had ever witnessed.

“Should… Should I go… sir?” Mill tried while the Lieutenant began sniffing and rubbing his cast down face with the side of his hoof. “Maybe I could send for somepony or–”

Three heavy knocks hit against the front door, echoing all over the flat. Almost immediately after, somepony shouted: “In the name of the Unity Guard, open up!” The voice was peculiarly deep, as if it carried from the other side of the world.

Two things happened. First, Mill was sucked back into reality. Second, he saw the Lieutenant straighten himself like a puppet yanked up by its master. A wild flame burned in his skull, illuminating his eyes from within. Without a second’s thought, he marched to a large cabinet in one corner of the room and opened it with a flick of his horn.

Before Mill could so much as flinch, he found a crossbow and a quiverful of bolts floating a few inches from his face. He accepted them instinctually.

“You hold position here and shoot anypony coming through that door who isn’t me,” said Heart in a hushed, urgent tone while simultaneously loading his own weapon. “I’ll flank them, see who they are. If something happens to me, take Lily and run. Tell her you’re her uncle who’ll take care of her from now on. She is allergic to pears, and is afraid of big dogs, and doesn’t always–”

“Sir!” cried Mill before Heart could climb through the window which he had opened while talking.

Heart’s eyes snapped to him. “Quiet,” his moving lips said.

“What are you doing?” continued Mill desperately. He trotted to him quickly, the crossbow floating behind him. “It’s the Guard: us!”

From the corridor, the deep voice called again: “We know there is somepony there! You have two minutes time to obey! After that, we'll break through!”

With swiftness that send shivers down Mill’ spine, Heart grabbed him by the neck and pulled him closer.

“There is only one pony in the Guard who knows where I live,” he whispered, his gaze locked in Mill’s. “And he’d know better than to send the damn Unity Guard smashing my door in.”

“But–”

Heart pulled him half an inch closer. Mill found the words retreating all the way back to his stomach.

“I’m not insane,” Heart said. “There are people in this town who want me dead, or worse. So far, I haven’t found a reliable way to tell them apart from all the others.”

There was a metallic click. Every cell in Mill’s body knew what the sound meant. It was the sound of a bolt being inserted into a loaded crossbow.

“Are you one of those people, Mill?”

Mill’s chin wobbled a bit. It was the closest equivalent to headshake that he dared to perform.

“That’s what I hope, too.”

And just like that, Mill found himself facing an open window. The chill of the morning felt like sunshine compared to what he had just experienced.

He loaded the crossbow, set up a position behind a couch and started praying. Soon, the abyssal voice behind the door started counting.

“Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!”

Mill prayed some more. To whom, he wasn’t sure. Canterlot hadn’t known real gods for a century.

“Six! Five! Soldiers, get ready! Four! Three! Two!”

What if he just left me here? thought Mill suddenly. What if I’m just a bait? What if–

“One! Okay, now we – what the hay?”

The voice quieted down, but there was clearly something going on in the corridor. Mill could hear steps, some shuffling, toned down voices, his own blood rushing in his ears. Seconds passed on and died in their scores. It got real quiet. For a moment, it seemed like all was going to end well.

Then somepony touched him from behind. He made sure to turn around slowly.

“What’s goin’ on?” asked Lily. She was holding a stuffed, purple dragon against her chest. “Where’s daddy?”

Mill opened his mouth. From the corridor beyond, there came a faint twang like only a crossbow can make, followed by a bloodcurdling scream.

It was the signal for all hell to break loose.

***

When it came to cellars, this one wasn’t from the shoddiest end of the spectrum. Stick would have known – he had spent the better part of his life in underground rooms. At some point, he had forgotten how to live outside them.

The room smelled of mold, sewage, and blood. Lots of blood. Thick candles had been put up on every flat level that could fit them, their flames flickering madly in the draught that moved through the room. Dozens of various blades hung from from the ceiling. They reflected the candlelight like some twisted Hearth's Warming Eve ornaments.

Over the breeze, words danced into the darkness that surrounded the scene.

“Tin, fin, kin, sin… skin…”

He put down the blade. The work had been tenuous, but finally it was done. The leftover strings of flesh and skin were quickly swept away into the open sewer beside him. He reached for the nearest shelf, where six glass bottles, all different color, stood neatly in order. He picked the pink one.

“Link, sink, wink…”

Very carefully, he placed the flayed cutie mark inside the bottle and closed it. Shadows licked the glass from inside as he gazed at it. It was impossible for him to tear his eyes off the brightly colored balloons imprinted on the piece of pink coat swimming in the light pink liquid. The sight was mesmerizing. Kind of like watching her, except that there was no pain.

He flinched. A pair of eyes had flashed in his mind, and the cut they left behind stinged. With care he laid down the bottle and looked behind. Blinded by the candles, it took him awhile to become adjusted to the blackness there. It seemed empty… but with her around, there was no telling.

“Selling, swelling, yelling,” he muttered, but quieter than a moment ago. He turned back, and gasped.

The bottle gleamed from within. A sphere of pink light surrounded it, fighting back the erratic flames and shadows that accompanied them. Soon the whole room bathed in the glow. Stick looked around in awe and terror, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“So it is true… It’s just like she said… The blood… the power is in the blood.” He looked at the bottle again, his face twisted with terrible fascination. “The Prophecy will be fulfilled.”

The glow strengthened, threatening to devour everything. But then it stopped, and began to dim. Stick watched it die to the point where it hardly pierced the glass anymore.

That was the first one. Five more to go.

“Go, sow, low, foe…” he hummed while striding into the darkness, his saddlebag filled with blades, yellow paint and some rags, along with a list of six addresses accompanied by six names, one of which had been scratched over.

***

Chancellor Feinsake felt amused. What had started to unfold as a plainly boring day had ended up containing more excitement than she had experienced in the whole month. And it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.

She was studying Lieutenant Heart through an enchanted mirror, the counterpart of which was located in the next room. The first thing that she had noticed about him, and which still drew her eye, was his bearing. Flawless, you might call it. But not in any natural way: it was hard to put the impression in words, but it seemed like the pose didn’t actually fit him, even as it practically was him. It was as if something was bending him into a shape strange to his nature. But what other force could that be except his own will?

“I shall talk with him now,” she said while her horn dimmed along with the vision in the mirror. She looked at the Unity Guard Sergeant standing by the door. He, too, seemed very stiff. “And I shall talk with him alone.”

The Sergeant looked wary. “With all due respect, Chancellor, I feel obliged to express my disagreement.”

Feinsake smiled at him. “Go on.”

The Sergeant shifted his weight uneasily between his legs. “First of all, it’s not safe. Second, it’s against the procedure. Naturally, I cannot stop you from entering alone, but in the case you do, I am forced to include it in my report.”

As expected, thought Feinsake, with some weariness. The Sergeant was a pegasus, after all, and she was a unicorn. And that’s all there really is to it.

Unlike the Citizen Guard, the Unity Guard was not completely composed of unicorns, but had an equal representation of all three races, leadership included. In theory it was a sign of progress, of the fundamental harmony that still characterized the ponydom. In practice it was a paradigmatic example of a political deadlock. Whereas the Citizen Guard was merely corrupt, the Unity Guard was both corrupt and plagued by political struggles disguised as fights over formal principles. Originally it had been created to ensure the safety of the Parliament. Nowadays it was one of the main threats to its stability.

This day, Feinsake was not in mood for petty squabbles like that.

“Living up to your duties is all that is expected of you,” she said pleasantly. “Frankly, it’s all that is expected of any of us.” She looked at Chip. “Write down everything that is spoken in there. I’m sure the Sergeant will find that useful later on.”

She walked into the room and closed the door behind her.

Contrary to what she had expected, Heart didn’t look at her. He merely kept on sitting straight by the table. Heavy chains bound his limbs, and a ring of cursed obsidian shackled his horn. Feinsake sat down opposite to him. Still his eyes looked past her, perhaps to some horizon only he could see. She could practically smell the challenge in the air.

“Hello,” she said. “Allow me to introduce myself: Chancellor Feinsake. However, I’d rather drop the formalities right at the start. You can call me Clarity. Do you mind if call you Deck?”

Heart remained impassive like the stone walls around them.

“I’ll take that as a yes. In any case, since we are both on a schedule, I suggest we move straight to business. Do you know why you are here?”

No answer.

This might take longer than I thought, thought Feinsake. “Well, from the outset it could be said that you shooting a Captain of the Unity Guard had something to do with the matter. Luckily, Ember Trail was only lightly wounded by your assault, and should recover fully in a week or two. Still, inflicting an injury like that to a fellow pony, least of all to a Senator, is a major offense.” She paused.

“It was self-defence,” said Heart after a while, still keeping his eyes on the nonexistent horizon. “I even told them what would happen if they tried something. But the good Captain wasn’t too keen on listening.”

Feinsake pursed her lips slightly. “Still, you might have killed him…”

“If I had wanted to. But I didn’t, and that’s that. Luck had nothing to do with it.”

Feinsake weaved a troubled look on her face. “I see… Hmm. That is most intriguing to hear. I doubt it will make any difference in the end, though, even if you manage to convince everypony of your… sincerity.” She leaned forward. “You might be surprised to hear this, but in the Parliament there are ponies who would demand to have your horn amputated for what you did.”

Heart blinked.

“Some extremist earth ponies and pegasi mostly,” continued Feinsake, paying careful attention to his face. “The subject of cornusection is highly contested in the Parliament, you see. For its advocates’ defense it could be said that they cannot conceive the terrible inequinity of the procedure, not like we unicorns do, at least.” She leaned forward still. “That is a blatant lie. They can imagine exactly what it would mean for a unicorn to lose their horn, just like they can imagine exactly what it would mean for them to have their wings clipped, or a couple of their legs sawn off. Their cruelty is not born of ignorance, but of politics.”

Heart was breathing a bit faster now. His chains clattered as he shifted his position.

“Indeed, I can easily imagine how your case could be used as an example bespeaking for the adoption of cornusection as a legitimate form of punishment, designed for the unicorns who abuse their powers. It would be a great blow to us all.” After a short pause she continued: “I will do everything in my power to stop that, of course. We Horns must stick together, after all.”

“I’m not one of your ‘Horns’,” said Heart, contempt dribbling through every word. His eyes were still fixed on the wall behind Feinsake.

“Oh, but you are,” said Feinsake, pulling back. She stood up and circled behind him. “You may find this hard to believe, but I’ve actually done some studying on you. I always do when I catch a scent of greatness.”

Heart’s gaze momentarily swayed, as if drawn to the mare behind him. His posture turned a tad more rigid.

“Not many know this, but not whole of the Canterlot’s Great Library was lost during the Catastrophe,” said Feinsake. “A small portion survived. Those included many family trees, at least of the more important bloodlines. Did I mention that I have a soft spot for genealogy? It’s really a sin of mine. To know a pony, I always search up their origins. Needless to say, yours is especially intriguing.”

Without a warning, her hooves crossed his rock-hard shoulders. She leaned over him from behind, resting her weight against him.

“To think that before me stands the grand-grand-son of none other than Shining Armor the Pure, husband to Princess Cadance… and brother to Twilight Sparkle, the Last Alicorn, herself.” She gently massaged his exposed chest, kneading the hard muscles there. “No wonder it took three unicorns – and two pegasi – to bring you down. You are not just a Horn. You are the Horn.” Behind him, she pressed her pregnant stomach tightly against his back.

“What do you want from me?” he asked through gritted teeth.

She stayed glued to him a moment longer and then pulled back. “If you simply had allowed Ember Trail to bring you here like I had ordered him, you’d already know. But since your paranoia and ego got the better of you, we all had to go through this whole trouble.” She walked to her original spot on the other side of the table, sat down and looked him in the eyes. “Your father is dead.”

There was no visible change in Heart’s face, nor in his body. From the outset he might just as well have heard the sky is blue. And yet there was a difference. It was like the finest crack in a mirror ten miles wide, but still it was there.

“Dead…?” echoed Heart after eons of silence.

Something had changed on Feinsake’s face, too. For one, she wasn’t smiling anymore. It had been years since that had last happened while she was awake.

“From natural causes, it seems,” she said quietly, looking at the table now. “His doctor made an official declaration a bit over an hour ago, but apparently he passed away sometime during the night. A heart attack, most likely.” She glanced at him. “My condolences.”

Heart was blinking now, and his chains rattled lightly as he moved around, apparently ignorant of their weight. “He… He didn’t have a doctor,” he managed, his batting eyes focusing on nowhere, not even on the unseen horizon.

“What makes you think that?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “As I understand, Doctor Fox visited him most every day, at least for the past year. He was very sick, after all. Surely you knew that?”

Heart pressed a hoof against his temple, eyes pressed shut, as if he had just fallen victim to a massive headache. “I… visited him, last night. He said he had no doctor. Didn't need any.”

Feinsake eyed him sadly from under her brow. “I believe you, Deck. I also believe Captain Hilt was a very, very proud stallion.” She leaned over the table again. “If it is of any help, I was led to understand he didn’t suffer much, in the end.”

Heart’s eyes opened. Their glare made Feinsake flinch.

“I need to see him,” he said bluntly.

“Yes,” said Feinsake, standing up. “I was about to suggest the same.” She walked to him and, without a moment’s hesitation, removed the obsidian ring. Heart, the surprise written all over his face, watched her toss it onto the table like a piece of candy wrapper.

“No need to look like that,” she said. “Why, it looks as if you expected to be taken there in chains.”

He looked at her, the mask of grim annoyance already back on his face. “Why didn’t you do that at once?”

She smiled. “To make sure you wouldn’t become too used to the fetters. We can’t have the new Captain of the Guard running around shooting ponies with a crossbow, after all.”

***

In the city, a million different things were going on, all at once. Streets were backed up with ponies on their way to work or to the market, where fierce haggling would ensue over the days’ vegetables. Foals on their way to school ran rampant in herds or went quietly along with their parents. Even the air was crowded as countless pegasi delivered mail and various goods, or simply enjoyed the feeling of wind under their wings. In the less luxurious alleys, beggars met to agree on the territories and to organise more effective begging.

It was all terribly fascinating to Stick, who trotted along one of the main streets. His eyes drank all the sights; his nose inhaled every scent; his ears picked up every shred of conversation. For the Canterlotians, the day was a paradigm of everydayness. For Stick, it was the grand opening of the fun park.

A blood-red apple was pushed in front of his face with such speed that it almost vanished up his nose.

“Here you go, mister: have a free sample!” declared a cheery voice from somewhere behind the apple. Stick looked down and saw a scrawny little earth pony filly about half his height: she practically had to stand on her hind legs to bring the apple so close to his face. The sight melted Stick’s heart on the spot.

“Why, I’d love to,” he said with a smile. He accepted the fruit and took a mighty bite. The sharp taste of juice flooded his tongue, fondling his taste buds. “My gosh. This is simply delic–”

His mind exploded. Somepony had kicked him in the groin from behind, hard. He fell to his knees with a painful grunt, fireworks of pain splattering all over his skull.

“Get the bags!” shouted the filly, who looked a lot less cute than she had a second ago. A determined glee burned behind her bright eyes, Stick could see through the mist of agony. Next, there was a slashing sound, and he felt the saddlebags falling from his back. The moment he turned his head to see what had happened, the filly reared and kicked him in the chin. It was amazing what a punch such a skinny little thing could muster.

By the time he got up, he saw the cut belt of his saddlebag on the ground, and the filly and some colt running away with the bags themselves. He gave his head a violent shake and tried to make it after them, but before he could, a strong hoof seized him from behind. He turned, ready to sink his teeth to anypony’s throat. Seeing a head taller earth pony stallion looking down on him made him reconsider.

“You okay?” boomed the stallion.

“I’ll be when I get hold of those two little… rascals,” finished Stick, eyeing the stallion up and down. “Thank you for asking, but I need to teach them some manners.” He tried to turn around again. The hoof didn’t let him.

“You bit the apple,” the stranger stated. “Maybe the foals nicked it from me, but you bit it. Means you’re gonna pay for it.”

Like all the doctors of the Everdream Hospital knew, Stick really was insane. But like they also knew, he was cunning; enough so to pass, at times, for a sane person with strange hobbies and an awful sense of humour. It wasn’t that he was completely devoid of what you might call reason: to the contrary, he often showcased excessive sense of rationality. For one, he refused to believe in anything that couldn’t be proven by logic. It wasn’t his problem that included morals.

But at this very moment, even Stick felt inclined to summon an ethical argument in his favour.

“That’s not fair!” he cried.

The stallion’s limb grew heavier on his shoulder. “Nope. That’s Canterlot. Now pay.”

***

Canterlot’s mortuary, built on the side of the Medical University, was not a sad place. To the contrary, a visitor there could often catch a burst of laugh coming from behind a door or around a corner. Employees regularly organized poker nights after hours. There was a great likelihood that the place ranked as one of the top ten happiest communities in Canterlot. This was not public knowledge, though. Even if the staff wasn’t dispirited by being surrounded by corpses all day, they knew better than to let the visiting relatives see what was really going on behind the scenes.

Deck Heart was one of the few outsiders who knew the truth. The head of the homicide unit was a common sight in the mortuary. At first the knowledge had shocked him. Not only did the employers lack a sense of respect towards the dead: they regularly made fun of them. The inventive use of nicknames was from the milder end of the spectrum, and Heart didn’t even want to know if some of the stuff he had heard was actually true. And now he was on his way there to see his father.

Even as he stepped through the door and into the lobby, the idea didn’t seem real to him. Not really.

“Ah, Lieutenant Heart!” said a young unicorn clerk as he spotted him from behind his desk. “Long time no see. And who did you bring along this day, if I may ask?”

“Chancellor Feinsake,” said Feinsake.

“Secretary Chip,” said Chip.

“Enchanted,” said the clerk. His eyes turned to Heart. “A routine check?”

All kinds of answers filled Heart’s head. Some of them were even funny.

He walked to the desk. “I need to inspect a case named…” He swallowed. Tiny muscles twitched all over his face. His breathing started to convulse again. “Named…”

The clerk kept on looking at him, his horn ready to leaf through the archives. “Yeeees?”

Behind Heart, Feinsake leaned to whisper something to Chip. The secretary nodded and trotted to the desk, where she snatched the archive book and began flipping the pages.

“Hey!” said the clerk, frowning. “What do you think you’re–”

“Section C, room twelve,” said Chip. She flung the book back to the blinking clerk. “Thank you for the assistance.”

Feinsake walked carefully next to Heart, who was staring straight ahead. She set her hoof on his shoulder.

“Are you sure you want to do this right now?”

Heart stood still a moment longer and then strided through the double doors that had the letter ‘C’ written above them. Feinsake watched him go, an unreadable expression on her face.

“Uhm… What’s the deal with him?” asked the clerk.

“His–” began Chip. She stopped when Feinsake coughed lightly.

“Lieutenant Heart and I will pay a visit to a certain cadaver,” she continued, still looking at the double doors. “Chip will fill out the necessary forms from our behalf.” Without waiting for a response, she left the room.

While Chip looked after her with some longing, the clerk glanced at her quickly. He licked his lips. “So… If you don’t mind me asking, was it a hard pick?”

Chip gave him a blank look. “What?”

“Choosing between becoming a secretary or a model?”

***

Room number twelve was at the end of a long, long corridor. Or so it felt to Heart, at least. There was a door there, a door like any other in the world. He was alone now: Feinsake had had the good sense to keep her distance. Heart wasn’t in a particularly social mood anyway, but something about that mare made his skin crawl. The way she had touched him in the interrogation cell… Just the memory of it made him cringe. For what reasons, he could not say, not for his life.

He opened the door. The air was chilly. C section was two storeys underground, and they had all kinds of ways to make the rooms even colder than they’d normally be. That was for the bodies, of course. There were eight operation tables in the room. Only two were empty. On the rest, grey blankets covered forms that were impossible to mistake for anything other than ponies. Dead ponies. The fourth one had his father's name tag.

Heart had seen a fair share of bodies in his life. Fourteen years in the Citizen Guard of Canterlot tended to have that kind of an effect. You never got totally used to them, not like you did to most things in the world. But you learned to see them differently: as books telling the story of their owners, or at least the last moments of it. You learned to ignore the letters and focus on the text. By now the skill was an instinct to him, so why did his hoof shake like that when he reached to pull away the blanket?

Because you’re afraid you’ll only see the letters? whispered a voice inside his head.

A memory broke the stormy surface of his mind: Hilt arguing with his own father. Heart had been seven at the time, and couldn’t remember but a single word of it: coward. Grandpa had used it a lot. When Heart had asked about the fight, Hilt had explained how grandpa had wanted the family to take part in the resettlement movement. He was part of the generation that had actually lived the Catastrophe, not just read about it in history books. The will to see the whole of Equestria populated again drove thousands to emigrate from the relative safety of the capital to the districts that were widely considered as lost forever. When grandpa had left with his wife and three other children, Hilt had stayed. That was the last time he had seen his family.

Once, as a young adult, Heart had braced himself and asked if Hilt had ever regretted the decision to stay. He had looked him in the eyes and said: “Only when I have to listen to your idiotic questions. Now get me that bottle.”

Like a thousand times before, Heart removed the blanket.

His first thought was: That’s not my father. The second was: How can I tell? I never knew him.

Lying on the cold metal, Captain Hilt looked even older and smaller than he had during their nightly encounter. The grey of his mane wasn’t silvery like Heart had remembered, but resembled dirty ash. His wrinkles, once a sign of weather-beaten wisdom, were nothing but ugly cracks now, spread over leathery coat. Without his uniform there was nothing to separate him from the lousiest beggar, from the sorriest cripple. Even his cutie mark – two swords crossed over one another – looked faded.

The sight didn’t make Heart sick. He wished it had. Any feeling would have been better compared to the hollowness of his chest. Anything at all.

“You lousy drunk!” he screamed. “Hopeless disgrace! Your predecessors died with their armor drenched in the blood of their enemies, but you found your end in the bottom of a bottle! And called yourself the Captain of the Guard!” He paused to pant. “If you think I’m going to waste half of a bit in burying you, think again! Let the city deal with you! Let the bucking University have you, cut you into little pieces and put in jars!” He started laughing maniacally. “I bet they’ll be having a bitch of a time finding your heart!”

He blinked, suddenly aware of strange moistness in his eyes. He wiped them with the side of a hoof, only to find the fur there wet afterwards. And then he noticed the stains of spit on Hilt’s face.

In flaming panic, he started wiping them away, using his sleeve. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, tears dropping on the spots where he had just cleaned the spit away. “Forgive me… Dad… Forgive me… I didn’t mean… Dad…”

Even in the depths of sorrow, he became aware of a presence. In his line of work, some instincts never shut down, not completely. He looked to the doorway.

Feinsake stood there.

“You…” croaked Heart. “Get… out of here… now…”

She didn't budge.

Heart took a step towards her. “Get the buck out of here!”

“Why?” she asked calmly.

Heart pawed the floor. There was a nasty scraping sound as the edge of his hoof met the smooth stone. Heart’s chest heaved as air swished in and out of his lungs, filling his vision with cold steam. The flow of tears had subsided, replaced by a piercing stare.

Feinsake shook her head. There was not a trace of tension in her. “Why do you hate me so? What have I done to deserve such treatment?”

Heart opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come, no matter how badly he searched for them. So he ended up growling a bit.

She sighed. “This may not mean much to you but I, too, know what it feels to lose a parent.” Without a care in the world, she walked towards him. “But if that is truly the case, why don’t I just leave and let you fester in your sorrow?”

She stopped a step away from him. Heart’s whole appearance radiated primal violence, ancient instincts wired to their extreme. He felt himself hanging by a thread thinner than a hair, but somehow the gravity couldn’t get a grasp of him. He stared Feinsake in the eyes, in those pools of icy blue that in turns seemed to mock and pity him. But there was something else hidden in there, too. Some strange softness that would melt any glacier; a force just as primal as what surged from Heart’s spine.

Her hoof touched his cheek.

“Because I know the solitude will only consume you,” she whispered. “It is your deepest desire: to be alone. No responsibilities, nopony to take care of. Nopony to love.” She smoothed his cheek like he was a newborn foal. “It is where you are now, isn’t it?”

At some point, Heart had stopped breathing. The kick of the reflex was like an electric shock. He inhaled, suddenly aware that the blind rage had subsided.

“What did you do to me?” he asked.

Feinsake lowered her hoof, a simple smile lighting her face. “A little trick my mother taught me. Do you feel better?”

Heart batted his eyes. He did feel better: like he had awoken from deep slumber. And yet there was a sense of uneasiness, a memory of a terrible storm which lingered at the back of his head. A turn of breath and that was gone, too. “I… I do. Uhm… Thank you.” He glanced at his father. Now the sight barely stirred a shadow of a worry in him. “How did you…?”

“It’s a discussion we’ll have some other day,” she said. “Right now, more important than how I did it is the question why I did it.” With a flick of her horn, she pulled the blanket back over Hilt’s corpse. “Come. We need to talk.”

She trotted out of the room, and somehow Heart found himself following her without a thought of disobeying. A soft mist filled his head; a sense of tranquility which he hadn’t experienced for years. Or for forever. It was something he could get used to, really.

“Solitude is a luxury which ponies in our position cannot afford,” said Feinsake as she shut the door in Heart’s wake. She kept talking while they made it towards the lobby. “As you well know, we live in troubled times. The Guard needs a Captain, Deck, and that Captain must be you.”

Heart recalled the conversation they had had in the cell. The memory of it struck a needle into his blissful comfortability. “No it doesn’t. Any other Lieutenant would do the trick. Technically, any soldier in the Guard could be appointed as the Captain. The piece of paper my father made is of little relevance now that he has passed on.” A funny thing, though Heart in passing. Saying that last bit was like the easiest thing in the world.

“In an ideal world, yes,” said Feinsake. “But in ours, pieces of paper like that mark the difference between order and chaos.” She glanced at Heart. “If the document is deemed void, that means an open race for the Captain’s office. It will become political: already has, I’m sure. Every faction will try to get their candidate in charge. The Guard will become a bureaucratic battlefield for months, years even.” She looked ahead of herself. “Needless to say, it will be incapacitated in the process.”

The warm haze was quickly retreating in Heart’s mind. Not seeing Feinsake’s eyes seemed to amplify the process. In its stead, cool determination was setting in. Already he could see a plan of sorts forming before him. “How do you know about the paper, anyway?”

“It was found in the study,” said Feinsake. “Signed by Hilt, as I already mentioned. It was the last thing he did, I believe.”

Neither of them said nothing for a while.

“I see you’ll be a mother soon,” said Heart. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“Perhaps when the foal is born, you’ll understand my decision better.” He stopped in a corner. “There are things we do for love, and things we do for duty. Do you know which generally wins?”

“Love?” ventured Feinsake.

Heart shrugged. “Occasionally. But the real winners are those choices which we do for both reasons. Mine’s one of them.”

Feinsake gave him a long look. “I suppose this is a conversation you already had during the night?”

Heart’s silence was answer enough.

“Very well,” she said. “What, then, do you propose we do? Lean back and witness the city fall apart like a string of dominoes?”

Heart snorted. “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to do anything. To the contrary, I will do whatever I can to save the city, not as the Captain, but as the Lieutenant that I am.”

Feinsake shook her head in frustration. “No no no, you don’t understand: if you don’t claim the office, the Guard will become indistinguishable from a petty political squabble.”

“You think I didn’t hear you the first time? I have a solution for that, one that will serve both of our interests.” He let her wait for a moment and then said: “I will sign the document devised by my father, only to immediately assign a stand-in for myself. He will gain all the rights and duties of the actual Captain, except in the most important of decisions. It’ll be legal and practical, and I can focus on solving the case which, if left unsolved, will plunge the city to war.”

Feinsake frowned. “But who could you trust enough to make the arrangement work? And what case are you talking about?”

Heart set to walk again, with Feinsake this time following him. For some reason and despite everything, the change lifted his spirits to new heights. “I have a certain pony in mind. He might be a bit reluctant at first, but I’m positive that in the end he can’t resist the temptation. And what comes to the case, well… I’d ask you to sit down first, but you seem like the kind of a pony who can take on what I’m about to tell without their mind blowing.”

***

On the other side of the city, Stick peeked around a corner into a shady alley. Besides a few trash cans and skittering rats, it was empty. He cursed under his breath and carried on, eyeing suspiciously anything that seemed out of place. There was quite a lot of such stuff, so his head kept on turning from side to side while he cantered along. At the moment, every gutter and loose cobblestone seemed like a threat.

The doctors of Everdream had diagnosed him with extreme paranoia, among other things. Stick didn’t know what meant, but it made him wary. A word he couldn’t understand was probably up to something.

“Thin, ling, sing, king,” he muttered darkly. It still ached magnificently where the colt had kicked him, and his jaw had a loose feeling to it. Worse still, they had gotten the list. Knives, rags, paint, even bits: all that he had more than he’d ever need, back in the hideout. But the list was important. He knew this because she had told him. Yes, she had been very strict about it. “Six names, six cutie marks. No more, no less.”

If she would know he had lost the list… The idea didn’t bear thinking about. And Stick had been stuck with it for hours now.

The apple seller had told him that the foals were part of some gang or knightly order or something. He had also known where to find them. Unfortunately, “try searching up a rat’s bottom” hadn't been that helpful of an advice.

One day, Stick would make a list of his own. The apple seller would be on top of that, right along with Doctor Pines. And his father.

“Give me that!” screamed a shrill voice from somewhere.

“Finder’s keepers!” called another one.

Neither sounded like the filly. Stick didn’t care. Right now, any foal would do.

After a short tracking, he found the source of the noises. Two earth pony colts were arguing about something, chasing one another over trashcans, dirty puddles and a dead dog. Both looked like they hadn't had a decent meal, or a wash, since they were born.

Stick look around the street. It was empty, like most of this particular neighbourhood was, at least during the daylight. He sneaked into the alley.

The colts were far too occupied with their squabble to notice him approaching before it was too late.

“Hello, boys,” he said.

The colts froze, their eyes fixed at him. One of them had a dead squirrel stuck in his teeth, although on closer inspection it might’ve proved to be a headware of some sort.

“What are you fighting about?” Stick ventured, looking the colts in turns.

“Nothin’,” said the one without the headware. “Just playin’.”

“I see,” said Stick. He smacked his lips. “I’m looking for a certain filly. Buttercup yellow, orange mane and tail. Likes to offer apples to strangers.” He flashed an erratic smile. “Ring any bells?”

The first colt didn’t move a muscle, which made the second one glancing at him even more telling of a gesture.

“Dunno,” the colt said. “Dunno nothin’.” He looked past Stick to the street, as if going over a quick risk analysis.

Stick smiled again, longer this time. This was a game he knew inside out. Only, in his foalhood it had been called “Who gets to play doctor with daddy today?”.

“Dunno, daddy,” he said with a faraway tone, managing a pretty good impression of the colt. They gave each other a look. “Dunno nothin’.”

He moved quickly. The colts were pretty agile, as Stick had seen. When you started stealing food before your tenth birthday you learned to be quick. But he had the advantage of being very, very mad.

His teeth caught the first colt by the scruff of his neck right as he tried to slip under him. The foal yelped in pain, but quieted down when Stick slammed him against the ground, the air fleeing his lungs. Stick pressed his chest with a hoof and looked up. He could barely catch the other colt’s tail as it vanished around a corner.

“A fleeting thing, friendship,” he said. “That’s from E.A. Poeny, you know.”

The colt wheezed in response. Stick looked down on him and put some more weight on his front leg. Mute tears pushed past the shimmering eyes below him.

“Now,” he started calmly. “Where do I find these ‘Cutie Mark Crusaders’?”

Chapter III

Sergeant Cowl was what most ponies would, seeing him for the first time, label as the classic, jolly fat sergeant who couldn’t find a clue from his own moustache, massive as it was. He himself loved to offer this impression, especially if it would lead to an attempt to bribe him. In those occasions he’d let out a deep chuckle before giving them a lick of his baton and a trip to the station. This rarely happened anymore, for a reputation like Sergeant Cowls’ gets around quickly. The thing about him was that you couldn’t bribe him; not if it was his own weight in gold (a sum capable of buying, say, a small island) against even letting a common thief run away with a carrot or two.

Heart had once asked him why he wouldn’t touch a black bit, as bribes were often called in the Guard. The Sergeant had smiled at him happily and said: “Can’t do it, sir. My old mum would have my nuts, right after she had dug herself out of her grave and beaten me senseless.”

If there was but one clean pony in the Guard, it was be Sergeant Cowl. There was one problem, though.

“And what would that be?” asked Feinsake curiously.

“He hates griffons,” said Heart. They were sitting in a coach travelling through Canterlot’s midday traffic. Even though half a dozen Unity Guard soldiers were trying to clear their way, the trip from the mortuary had lasted almost an hour. Ten minutes more and they would have already arrived there by hoof.

“Doesn’t sound like much of a character defect,” said Feinsake. “Not if you consider that most everypony in the city has similar attitudes toward our feathery friends.”

“No, it doesn’t sound like a problem. That’s only because there is no word for what Cowl really feels towards the griffons. It’s not hate, loathe, despise or repulsion.” He leaned forward, a bit like Feinsake had done in the interrogation cell not two hours ago. “It’s all those packed in a barrel and set on fire.”

Feinsake pursed her lips slightly. “I see that might cause trouble, considering we are trying to save the city from a war, not to plunge it into one.” She looked thoughtful for a moment and then added: “But you can keep him leashed, isn’t that correct?”

Heart leaned back, his face wrinkled by disdain. “You forget we’re not in the Parliament now. Leashing might work for senators, but not for ponies.”

She smiled at him. “Of course. Allow me to reformulate. Will he follow your orders?”

“No.”

“Ah-ha.”

“But he will listen to me,” continued Heart. “That’s called friendship. I recommend you try it one day.”

“Mayhaps you could assist me in that regard?” she asked meekly, looking at him with her head tilted. The gesture suited her, there was no denying that. Heart stared at her for a moment longer and then looked through the window at the street beyond. The glass was enchanted, so he could see out but none of the bypassers could see in. He was grateful and bothered by the fact, both at the same time. It felt as if he watched the world from beyond it, as a stranger, even though he had lived his whole life here.

“How did you find out where I live?” he asked.

Feinsake raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you’ve been wondering? I’m surprised you’d even think finding that would’ve been an issue.” She nodded at Chip, who was sitting by her side, completely focused on her notebook as always. “For her the task took half a lunchbreak.”

Heart glanced at the secretary, who looked up at both of them, blinked, and returned to her own little world of numbers and letters.

“Can she find anypony just like that?” he asked. “Anypony at all?”

Feinsake narrowed her eyes. “If they are not too well posited outside the grid of bureaucracy. Why do you ask?”

Heart coughed. “For the investigation. We could use somepony like her in this case.”

“We will do everything we can to assist the Guard,” said Feinsake. “All you need to do is ask.”

Heart wondered if even that would be necessary. He was ready to bet a leg that Feinsake had more spies on her payroll than the Guard had cells to offer. Trusting a pony like her made eating a boxful of nails seem like a healthy move.

“There is also something else I need,” he said.

Feinsake rolled her eyes. “You mean, on top of the thousand other ‘requests’ you've made thus far? What would it be this time: a house in Saddle Arabia, perhaps?”

“It’s about Lily. She needs a safe place to stay until all this is over. The one we live in now won’t do: if you were able to find me, there’s no telling who else could.”

Feinsake looked at him, her expression changing into slightly softer one. “I had already thought about that. There is a place I have in mind: the safest you can get in this city.”

“I’m listening.”

“My home,” she said.

Heart’s face fell. “No.”

Feinsake raised another eyebrow. “I assure you, that is no exaggeration. I live in the heart of the Horns’ quarters, which is the closest building to the Parliament itself. You know how well the area is guarded.”

“I also know who guard it,” said Heart. He shook his head. “That will never happen.”

“Because you don’t trust me?”

The din of the street claimed the carriage.

“No, I don’t,” he said eventually. “Just as I know that you don’t trust me.”

Feinsake eyed him, the smile barely crossing her lips now. “You are a direct pony, Deck. It’s something I haven’t seen for a while. The life in the Parliament can be so… curvy, at times.”

The window pane on Chip’s side was knocked on. She opened it and exchanged a few quiet words with a guard. “We’ll arrive there in five minutes,” she stated while closing the window.

Feinsake sighed in disappointment. “Our time is spread thin again. Too thin.” She looked Heart in the eyes. “In a very narrow sense, you are correct: we can’t trust one another. But the point is not what we can do, but what we must do.”

Heart said nothing to that. In five minutes, the cart drew to a halt. As he stepped out, Feinsake leaned out of the window and said, “See you around, Captain.”

The window closed, and Heart was left staring at his own mirror image. The cart drove away, taking the Unity Guard squadron along with it. Heart watched it disappear into the crowd, but before he could see the last glimpse of it, a hoof tapped him on the shoulder from behind. He turned.

“About time you showed up,” said Cowl. His moustache twitched: a sure sign that he wasn’t in the best of moods. “Ten hours. Ten bloody hours I’ve been sitting here like a street sign, waiting for a forensic team to arrive, and what do I get? Nothing! Ten bloody hours!” Another hairy twitch followed in a way of an exclamation mark. “And what the buck were you doing with the bloody Unity Guard, anyway?”

Part of Heart just wanted to burst out laughing. Another part, slightly more insistent, wanted to lay down and let the internal clock catch up. In the end, he had no clue which part of him was thoughtful enough to draw Cowl off the busy street before anything else. “Look,” he started. “I’m sorry that you had to wait a bit. No, save the pointy comments for later. I’ve got some… things to discuss with you.”

Cowl looked suspicious. “Things? What things? What the hay are you on about?”

Heart closed his eyes. This was going to take a more than one try, he could tell. “Well, to begin with… I’ve got some good news about that promotion you’ve been nagging me about for, what, since we joined the Guard?”

***

The street was dead still. Still Stick waited for a good while before leaving the shade of the alley, making sure he had not a drop of blood on his fur. He couldn’t afford to get caught now. That’d be even worse than losing the list. He trotted easily for a couple of blocks and only when he was sure nopony was following him, set to a steady canter. There was not a moment to waste.

The colt had been very helpful, eventually. Apparently the Crusaders’ headquarters were on this very area, in an abandoned school building not far away. The filly, called Apple Seed, would turn up there sooner or later. A whole community lived in the school grounds, the colt had told: orphans young and old. The name referred to some ancient, pre-Catastrophe organisation that had helped foals to earn their cutie marks. That was still the central goal of the Crusaders, although stealing food and valuables had grown in popularity recently. This all sounded like a load of posh to Stick, but he didn’t doubt the colt’s honesty. In his mind, ponies were always at their most sincerest in the face of death.

He had followed through the colt’s instructions soon enough. There was indeed a school, just like he had said. Neither was there a question if it was abandoned or not: the roof had holes the size of a pony, all the visible windows were broken and the grass in front of the premises had turned into a jungle probably years ago. There was no movement of any kind visible. Stick walked warily to the rusted gate and pushed it. The metal screamed once and then the whole thing came down in awful clatter. Well, saves the trouble of sneaking in, he thought while walking over it.

The door was locked, but a few kicks brought it down easily. That made a lot of noise, too, but Stick wasn’t feeling very stealthy at the moment. The taste of blood lingered in his mouth, making him thirsty.

“Honey, I’m home!” he shouted in the lobby. Not a cobweb stirred, and the echo died away quickly. “Ready or not, here I come!” he added and headed to the left, because it smelled slightly less moldy there.

The school’s insides weren’t in any better shape than its outside was. Roots pushed through the planks in the floor, water had destroyed whatever furniture hadn’t been stolen and the walls looked like he they’d fall from a kick or two. Mushrooms ran rampant on all corridors. The school had turned into a small forest, that much was clear even for Stick, who hadn't taken a step in a real forest in his life. It was difficult to believe how anypony, let alone a whole community, could live here. At the very least they'd freeze during the winter.

He came to what had probably once served as the ballroom of the school. A lone tree grew in the middle of the floor, reaching for the sunshine spilling through the large hole in the ceiling. Numerous carvings littered its bark: initials, names joined by a heart, that sort of thing. They meant nothing to Stick. The pegasus stallion relaxed on one of the branches was all he cared about now.

“You!” said Stick.

The youth payed him a slow glance. An aura of cool disinterest flowed around him, radiating from the way he leaned against the tree; how his eyes remained half closed; how he chewed his toothpick. “‘Sup?” he said.

A brief strategic calculation flashed behind Stick’s eyes. This pony didn’t smell like a threat: more than anything he resembled the many mushrooms that littered the place. Perhaps plain aggression would not be the way to proceed.

“I’m looking for my little sister,” he said, the lie coming to him like breathing. “We’ve been looking for her for days now, ever since she ran away.” He weaved a worried look on his face while walking closer to the tree. “I… I know this is the place runaways come. Please, you must help me find her.”

The indifferent look followed him all the way to the base of the tree. The pegasus’s tail kept on swinging under him like the pendulum of the most bored clock in the universe.

“What’s she look like?” he said after a while.
“Light purple coat, silvery mane. Glasses. Likes to read a lot.” Stick summoned the most pleading tone he could muster. “If you haven’t seen her, perhaps somepony else here has? Somepony of her age? The last time she was seen, there was some orange-coated filly with her.”

The pegasus yawned widely. “Yeah, sounds like Celler. She likes recruiting new members.”

Bingo, thought Stick. “Recruiting?” he said in desperation. “What? No, don’t bother to explain. I need to see this Celler, now. Please.”

The youth ended his yawn with a smack of his lips. Next, he whistled sharply.

“Did you call her just now?” Stick asked, eyeing eagerly around.

The pegasus said nothing, not until hoofsteps carried from the second level of the hall. Soon, a foal appeared on one of the many balconies there. Stick stared at him for a second, and then a fuse lit in his memory. It was the other colt from the alley.

“Yo, Peas!” called out the pegasus at the colt. “Is this the fella who got Bottles?”

The colt called Peas looked Stick in the eyes and nodded solemnly.

“Figures,” said the pegasus at the exact moment when Stick kicked the tree with his hind legs. The impact send leaves and dead branches falling around him.

Stick was prepared to rush the pegasus the moment he would hit the ground, but the youth was still floating some four meters in the air, safely out of his reach. He hadn’t even bothered to turn into vertical position.

“Why you wanna see Celler?” he asked with the same dull tone, eyeing the sky above.

Stick hesitated. He was aware of the saying that on a good day, a pegasus could outspeed an arrow. This one actually made it sound true.

“She stole something from me,” he said, his eyes fixed on the back of the pony above. “Something very, very important.”

“Tsk tsk,” said the pegasus, shaking his head. “I’ve told her she shouldn’t. Something like this would happen, I said. And who's gonna take care of it? Figures.”

“So you’ll help me get it back?” asked Stick carefully.

“Bit!” cried the colt from the balcony. “You promised!”

Bit the pegasus turned a piercing look to him. “You think I forgot? Be cool, Peas. I got this.”

“You better got this!” shouted Stick. The situation was starting to resemble a schoolyard squabble. “I’ve got business to take care of, you little–”

For the second time today, his jaw received a nasty punch. This time it actually felt like tearing off. He staggered back, a hiss of pain squeezing through his lips.

“That was for Bottles,” said the dull voice, now behind him. Stick whirled around, but there was nopony there.

“Where is he?” continued Bit, again behind him. Stick, at times a fast learner, turned around slowly.

The pegasus had changed. What a moment ago had seemed like a tired mushroom now looked like the very definition of speed. He was skinny even for a pegasus, and Stick could probably break him with one leg in a fair fight, but underneath the sky-blue fur, muscles like steel wires rippled. And those wings – they looked capable of turning wind itself around, should they please.

Stick’s ears pressed against his skull.

“You deaf?” said Bit. “What did you do to Bottles? He hasn’t shown up since you caught him.”

“Break his knee and ask again!” cried the colt, leaning over the rail.

Stick took a step back. This was not going the way he had planned. He scanned the room as much as he could while keeping one eye on the pegasus. Maybe if he could get into a corner he could defend himself against that insane speed. Or maybe he could even get back to the corridor? In an open space like this, he was a turtle against an eagle. It then dawned to him that perhaps that was how the eagle had planned it all along.

Bit rolled his eyes at the colt’s suggestion. “Peas, really? You should stop reading those comics. They mess up your head, bro.”

“He hurt Bottles!” continued the colt, jumping on two legs. “I heard him scream!”

“That’s what happens when you let yourself get caught,” said Bit. He looked at Stick, who was inching his way to the doorway behind him. “Ain't’ that right?”

Stick braved a thin smile. “Got me there. Heh.” He coughed, and the smile turned ever thinner. “Look, there has been a terrible misunderstanding here. I really only care about my stuff. In fact, you can keep the rest if I get back just one stupid little piece of paper. Then I’ll tell you where to find your friend.”

“You’re saying he can’t find us?” said Bit. With no effort at all, he rose directly over Stick. “Why’s that?”

Stick’s mind raced for answers that didn’t include phrases like “it was an accident” or “things just got out of hoof” or “he’s probably in a better place now, anyway”. And then, just briefly, his gaze travelled over Bit’s cutie mark.

The list he had lost had six names in it, accompanied with six addresses where the owners of the names had lived at some point of their lives. Stick never really was good with names, not of ponies or streets, but he could remember pictures just fine. And the list had included six pictures, too. Some colored air balloons had been among them, along with a white cloud which a rainbow lightning struck out.

The pegasus above him had that last one. Only, his mark had a pair of lightnings. That was okay, though: she had said that the symbols wouldn’t most likely look exactly the same as the originals, not after all this time and mixing of bloodlines. But the basic resemblance would be there. So would be the power.

Suddenly, Stick felt very calm once more. If this didn’t count as fate, he didn’t know what did.

“You…” he began. “Your name… It’s not really ‘Bit’, is it?”

The pegasus frowned. “Why do you care?”

Stick rummaged around his memory, searching for glimpses of the list. “It’s… Gambit, right?” The smile lighted his face again. “Gambit Dart.”

The pegasus’s frown deepened. “Who are you?”

“I…” began Stick, all tension now gone from rom his body. “...am the Envoy of Harmony, tasked to save this city and country from certain destruction. And you are the only pony in the world who can help me do that.”

***

It was true that Sergeant Cowl often liked to complain how he never got promoted, in the same way he often liked to complain how nopony wanted to bribe him. In a way, complaining was a hobby to him, a way to pass time or begin a conversation. And if Canterlot had anything in abundance, it was things to complain about. At times he would even complain how pessimistic the city in general had become. When Heart told him he wanted to make a Captain out of him, Cowl immediately complained how awful his jokes had recently become. When Heart told him why he wanted to make a Captain out of him, Cowl stopped complaining. He stopped talking altogether for two whole minutes, which must have been a record for him.

The two stallions stood in an alley, suddenly wary of looking each other in the eyes.

“Look,” said Heart. “This is much to take in at once. I would know. So if you feel the need to take the rest of the day off, well… do that.”

Cowl muttered something, but Heart couldn’t make out the words. He doubted whether he could, either.

“Cowl?”

The Sergeant looked up. An uncharacteristic dreaminess filled his eyes.

“Take the day off,” Heart continued. “I signed Hilt’s document in Feinsake’s coach, so consider that as an order.”

“And leave you alone in the middle of all this?” Cowl said. “What, you take me for a griffon or something?”

“And I appreciated if you stopped sowing remarks like that.”

Cowl snorted. “I see the office has already gotten a hold of you.” He shook his head slowly with his eyes closed, then put a hoof on Heart’s shoulder. It felt strangely powerless. “Aye, a break does sound good. Soy must be sick with worry back home by now.”

“Take as much time as you need.”

Cowl nodded, but didn’t make a move to leave. Very slowly, he looked Heart in the eyes again. “You… You’ll manage here, right?”

That question had nothing to do with the crime scene, Heart knew, just like his answer wouldn’t have. But there were some things old friends would never ask directly. There was too much love between them for that.

“Yeah,” said Heart. “I’ll get the forensic team here within the hour. No problem.”

“No problem,” echoed Cowl. He nodded one more time and then left. Deep within, Heart wished he hadn’t. Right now, he could do with some casual complaining, even if it was just for the weather. No orchestra could match a good rant by Cowl, right now, in this alley, under that perfect sunshine.

He trotted deeper into the alley. The four guards were still there, along with the corpse, but the dome was gone. One of the guards noticed him approaching and saluted loudly enough so that the others got the message.

“At ease,” Heart said. He pointed at the closest guard. “You. What’s your name?”

“Nickel, sir.”

“Run to the station and send whatever forensic team is on duty here, at once.”

“Yes, sir.”

Nickel slipped past him in the narrow alley, but Heart’s focus was already elsewhere. Technically he should be exhausted, having slept but a few hours during the night, but instead he felt like his senses had been galvanized. Everything seemed sharper, like seen through a magnifying lense. It was a sensation he had known before: every time he readied himself for a hunt.

“In the meantime,” he said, eyeing everything from the guards to the corpse to the painted symbol on the wall. “Tell me everything I didn’t have time for yesternight.”

***

There is a widespread belief that psychopaths are naturally skilful liars. Stick wouldn’t know much about that. For him, truth and falsehood just weren’t questions of either/or, but came in degrees. For example, when he honestly wanted Bit and Peas to believe that he really was on a quest to save Canterlot from certain destruction, the thought that he might be lying never occurred to him. It was something he needed them to believe, and that was that. It wasn’t like he himself knew whether it was true or not: it was something she had told him. And that was that.

“You’re lying,” said Peas, for the fourth time now. He had agreed to come down from the balcony only when Bit had promised to break something precious to Stick if he’d try something funny. Now the three of them were sitting at the shadow of the tree, as if that had been the purpose of their encounter all along.

“At first I did,” said Stick. “With a mission such as mine, you can’t be too careful. A lot is at stake here. Everything, in fact.” He smiled apologetically at the colt. “I was too rough with you and Bottles. I’m sorry about that, but that list is very important for us all, you see. And would you have trusted me any better, had I offered you candy instead?”

Peas glared at him, then looked up at Bit, whose side he had practically glued himself to. “You’re not believing this idiot, right?”

Bit moved the toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other. “It’s a crazy story alright,” he said. “Way too crazy to be credible. And that makes me think it just might be true, after all.”

The colt’s eyes grew wide. “Bit! You can’t–”

The pegasus gave the colt a glance that quieted him like a slap to the face. Stick had figured out quickly enough that Bit was somewhat of an authority in these circles, insofar as Cutie Mark Crusaders knew what the word meant.

“There’s one thing I can’t wrap my head around though,” Bit continued, turning his half-closed eyes back to Stick. “Why’d you shut Bottles in some cellar?”

“I couldn’t take the risk he was lying about the location of this hideout,” said Stick without batting an eye. “It sounds rough, I know, but my quest is of utmost importance.” He had started talking more like she did now that they were actually listening to him. The official tone bought him some much needed credibility, he thought. “My colleagues are guarding him there.”

That was another fine touch he had come up with: an organisation who he was but a part of. They were authorized by the Parliament itself to seek out the closest living descendants of the Element Bearers of old. United again, the six of them could bring back Harmony to ponydom by summoning a powerful spell that would mend both the land and the hearts of all ponies. That was a legend known by everypony – all Stick had done was to make it sound real.

“I assure you, Bottles is fine,” he continued. “As soon as we gather the missing Elements, he is free to go.”

“Because the word that you’re trying to fulfil the Prophecy mustn’t get out?” revised Bit. “Because the griffons would try to stop you?”

“Exactly.”

“Why?”

“Because they would rather see us perish than flourish,” said Stick sadly. He shook his head slowly. “Our race is blessed by Harmony, you see. The griffons are not. That’s why their Kingdoms suffered worst during the Catastrophe. That’s why they are pouring in: to take whatever is left of our land.” He looked Bit in the eyes. “You know all this, don’t you?”

Bit blinked. The toothpick switched sides. Peas kept his eyes on the ground.

“What exactly you want me to do?” the pegasus said.

Stick drew a deep breath, as if preparing to hold an inspiring speech. “Three things. First of all, your knowledge: the Bearers are scattered around the city, and nopony knows exactly what they look like or where they live. But surely you know somepony who knows another one and so on. Secondly, your wings: we could certainly use a natural talent such as you. Finally, we need your cutie mark.”

Bit’s wings stirred. “My cutie mark?”

Stick nodded. “It’s your heritage, you gift, your fate. The power of the Elements runs in the blood of their Bearers, from mother to daughter, from father to son. Cutie marks are concentrations of that power.” He looked at the twin rainbow lighting on the pegasus’s flank. “Your’s comes from Rainbow Dash the Loyal, I believe.”

Bit followed his gaze. There was a long pause, and for a moment it seemed like the toothpick would drop from his mouth. “You’re saying that Rainbow Dash… the Rainbow Dash… was my grand-grand-grand-grand-grandmother?”

Stick made himself keep a blank face, even as the grin of victory was tempting his lips. “Could be a few grands off, but basically yes.” He tilted his head slightly, in the way she sometimes did. “Surely you had some idea about this?”

Bit kept on studying his cutie mark as if he had just now found it. “I… No. My parents… left me to an orphanage me when I was a kid.” He looked at Stick, who only now realized how very young the pegasus in fact was. “I mean, my hair’s not even the right color…” He absentmindedly smoothed his mane. It was mostly carmine, but had strands of deep yellow here and there.

Stick waved a hoof dismissively. “Manes matter none. Blood does. And cutie marks.” Like guided by fate, another fragment of the list surfaced in his mind. “This orphanage… Its name was Two Hills, yes?”

“How come you know so much about me?”

“We did a thorough research to locate the closest descendants of the Bearers,” explained Stick. “Eventually I, or somepony else, would have come to you. But fate chose that we should meet before our time. I take that as an encouraging sign,” he added.

Bit kept on chewing the toothpick. The thin piece of wood was soaked to the point where it might liquefy in his mouth. “I don’t know… I’ve got to think this through…”

“I understand completely. However, there is still the matter of the list that we must address. It must not fall into foreign hooves. Or claws.“

“Why don’t you just ask another one from your pals?” asked Peas sharply.

Stick smiled at him tenderly. He had vouched to unite the little devil with his friend, and by gods he intended to do just that. Or at least send him to the right direction.

“I thought I had already explained that,” he said. “The griffons suspect that something is up. If they should happen to get a hold of the names that we’re after, they would try to eliminate them. Celler does not know that she is holding the lives of six ponies, including our friend Bit here, in her hooves: she might simply throw the paper away, and at that point it might end up anywhere. The griffons have spies everywhere.” He looked at Bit. “You are free to make your own choices. But we need that list.”

The pegasus rubbed his temple, an unfocused look on his eyes. “Gosh… This ain’t what I expected to hear when I woke up this morning, I tell you that.” He bit his lip, grounding the toothpick between his slim lips. “I mean, I’m no hero or anything: I just, you know, exist. And you’re saying Rainbow Dash the Loyal was my grandma? Give me a break…”

There is another thing they say about psychopaths, besides that they’re natural born liars. Most of them have a highly developed sense of empathy, while sympathy is an altogether foreign concept to them. Stick could easily recognize the common symptoms of insecure adolescence in Bit, all the flux and flow of contradictory emotions stuffed under a shell of carefully guarded disinterest. What he lacked altogether was the ability to feel sorry for him because of that.

Stick laid a hoof on his shoulder. Pease sprung to his feet, mute horror twisting his face, but the pegasus only blinked at the limb in surprise.

“There are all these genealogy trees, family lines and whatnot that I could show you to convince you,” said Stick. “To be honest, that is what most ponies in my place would do. But I believe all that doesn’t really matter if you yourself don’t believe in it.”

The toothpick fell from the pegasus’s lips. The magenta eyes rose to meet Stick’s.

“Now,” he continued. “What do you believe Rainbow Dash would have done?”

Bit fixed his bearing a bit. “She would have stayed loyal to Harmony.”

“She would have,” mused Stick and stood up. Bit followed him while Peas kept on looking him and Stick in turns with wide, shimmering eyes.

“Bit… you can’t…”

Bit gave him an annoyed look. “Why? Because you’re being a little baby? Or ‘cause you don’t think Dash could have anything to do with me?”

It was hard to tell if Peas shook his head or if he was just trembling in the right way. “Bit… He hurt Bottles… “

This gave Bit pause. He glanced at Stick, who kept his face blank. “Well, he apologized,” he said, looking at Peas again. “And he’s fine now, right? Probably giving a headache to whoever’s stuck with him.”

“He hurt Bottles!” screamed the colt, pointing at Stick. “And now you’re his best friend!”

“We live in dangerous times,” said Stick, drawing their attention. “Ponies have already gotten hurt. More victims will come.”

“Yeah,” said Bit, looking at Peas. “This is serious biz, bro. You need to toughen up.”

Tears pushed past Peas’ eyes. His mouth twitched open, as if to argue one more time, but the look on Bit’s face made him swallow it. He backed away, sniffing.

“Fine. Do what you want, Gambit. But you’re wrong: Rainbow Dash would’ve stood up for her friends, not for some stupid Harmony!”

“Peas!” shouted Bit as the colt sprinted for the doorway. His wings snapped open, but Stick’s quiet cough leashed him.

“If you don’t mind a piece of advice, I believe he needs more time to digest this,” said Stick. “He is so very young, after all.”

Bit kept on looking after Peas, whose hoofsteps died away quickly. “Yeah,” he said. “He’s just a kid. Figures he wouldn’t understand what’s really important.”

***

Microscopic crevices and peaks filled Deck Heart’s vision, all colored in deep yellow. The strokes of the brush were clearly visible, which meant the perpetrator hadn’t been too bothered by the end result of their work. That wasn’t a decisive clue, but it was certainly something – the Brigade was known for the respect they harbored towards their symbol. Only members of a certain seniority could inscribe it in the first place, and every usage was carefully planned out. Unlike what most ponies believed, the “Amber Peak” was not a random graffiti or tag that could be spread around at will. The insignia had a history that stretched all the way to the dawn of the griffon race, and thus had dozens of meanings depending on the context. Most had to do with war, though.

“Ready for a break, chief?” called a voice from behind him. Heart put down the magnifying glass and looked behind.

As the cheery voice had suggested, it was Violet, the head of the forensic team C. She was holding two mugs of some steaming liquid with her horn.

“Maybe in a minute,” he said, turning back to the painted wall with his magnifying glass raised. For a moment the world looked tiny, and then realized he was holding it the wrong way around. “On second thought,” he said while turning to the mare again. “Maybe a break wouldn’t be out of the question.”

Violet smiled and offered him one of the mugs, which ended up containing coffee. The sharp taste hinted that she had spiced it with something stronger, though.

“Since when did it get so dark?” Heart asked while sipping his drink.

“About two hours ago,” answered Violet. “I thought you would have noticed when they set up the lights.”

Heart looked at the alley at large, only now noticing that they had indeed put up lanterns around the place. The magically processed glowstone inside them colored the whole scene with white, clinical light, in the cover of which several ponies worked on different elements of the crime. To his annoyance most were on a break, too.

“They’ve done all that can be done for now” said Violet, reading his thoughts off his face. “There’s only so much analysis to be done in one day.”

“I know that,” said Heart. A sudden wave of vertigo passed over him, making him sway. Now that he wasn’t completely focused on an area the size of a few square centimeters, he found his focus severely disturbed by such mundane things as hunger and exhaustion. On top of that, the air was getting rather chilly.

“Any progress?” he asked, finishing his coffee in one gulp.

Violet shrugged. “Lots of data. It’ll all have to be processed, of course. Ask me again in a week.”

“We don’t have a week,” said Heart, putting the mug down next to the pool of dried blood. He eyed the spot where the mare’s body had been. All that was left was the blood and a chalk approximation of her contour.

“Her” of course referred to Berry Pie. Based on the information they had gathered about her during the day, there was no imaginable reason why she should have ended on an alley with her throat slit. She worked as a clown for a local circus. That didn’t make her nearly rich enough to be worth robbing, and even if it did, that theory still wouldn’t explain the missing cutie mark. Heart had real trouble to imagine a more random, or more innocent, victim. It made him think all too much of Lake.

“I’ll have to make a press announcement tomorrow,” he said. “If I don’t give the public something concrete, they’ll turn to whoever will. There’s plenty of those around, at least.”

Violet studied him from under her eyebrows. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

Heart shook his head tiredly. He had to focus to keep his eyes open, so there wasn’t that many brain cells available for checking what he was actually saying. “We can’t take the risk this gets out on accident: it’ll be too late to explain anything after that. In the worst case, the Brigade will come clean all by itself, or some featherbrain pretending to represent the Brigade.” He started falling forward, but stopped himself just in time. “If the city can’t bear to hear this from us, it can’t bear to hear it at all. And at that point we’re all dead already.”

“Hooves crossed, then,” said Violet, picking up his mug. “Anyway, if you’re going to talk to a dozen reporters tomorrow, I suggest you hit the bed ASAP. Otherwise they’ll be using a whole lot of Z’s in the next day’s article.”

Heart burst out laughing. “Hahah, mmm, yeah. No worries. I got something special in store for them.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

Heart stopped chuckling. “Tomorrow, before the press conference, I’ll pay a visit to the Cliffs.”

Violet dropped the mugs. A few ponies looked in their direction as the china broke against the cobblestones.

“You’re kidding,” she said. “The Captain of the Guard, visiting the Cliffs? Tell me you're kidding, or at least sleep talking.”

Heart looked her in the eyes. There was not a touch of humor among the pools of turquoise. “It’s the only way. I’ll go meet the King himself, have a word or two. Should be interesting.”

“But, but,” began Violet. “You can’t just walk there, not without negotiating with the Parliament, with the Lieutenants, with the bucking city! Buck, they might even think you're starting a war if they see you marching there with half the Guard!”

“Won’t be half the Guard. Only me, and maybe two other soldiers. I already know which ones, too.”

Violet sat down. “Oh crap. You’re serious about this.”

“They won’t kill me,” said Heart, stifling a yawn. “It’s not a part of their code of honor to kill three ponies with a thousand griffons.”

“They can still take you hostage,” said Violet. “And what do we do then? Turn to Cowl and see if he has something to complain about?”

Heart cackled again, a bit more maniacally. “Yeah, I bet he’d like that. Never mind what he says: he loves an eager audience.”

Violet slapped him in the face. Not hard, just enough to put an end to his laughter.

“I know you’ve had rough times lately,” she said, aware that probably every pair of eyes in the alley was watching them by now. “But Hilt didn’t make you the Captain so you could kill yourself in a fancier uniform. If you don’t give me one good reason to go to the Cliffs, I’ll arrange a coup among the Lieutenants to replace you.”

Heart rubbed his cheek with the side of his hoof. A memory came to him uninvited: the last time she had slapped him. It had been in a bar, when things with Lake had suffered an ice age, and he had wanted to taste the grass on the other side of the fence. The groundskeeper had turned out to disagree with the idea.

“I met him last night,” he said quietly. “Hilt, I mean. We… had a talk. About stuff. He was… eccentric. Not in the usual way, that is.”

Violet’s stare urged him to elaborate.

“He talked about how the city needs a change. Not the type you hear about in the Parliament. A change to transform hearts and minds, not laws and regulations. He talked of a revolution.” He paused, working to keep his tongue alive. “I didn’t listen, of course. Not really. The rant was marginally more sane than what the usual three-o’clock-in-the-morning-special used to include. But when I found out he was dead, the words started coming back. And not just the words: the sense, too.”

“Did he tell you to go to negotiate with the griffons?” asked Violet.

“No. But he didn’t forbid me to, either. There was something he said… something about me. That I have a heart; something the others lost years ago.” He turned a lost look to Violet. “Do you know what that means?”

Violet shook his head.

“Yeah. Me neither.”

“But I do believe in it,” she said. A tiny blush visited her cheeks as Heart raised an eyebrow. “I mean, on some metaphoric-biological level, I guess.”

He smiled, for the first time today. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“If it eases you, the press conference was Hilt’s idea,” said Heart. “As is, I can’t give them much beyond fuel for suspicions and panic. But imagine how they’d react if I could tell them of the fruitful and constructive conversation I had with the King just before the midday.”

“Well, declaring you insane might tempt them,” said Violet, but not that prickly.

“They’ll see that we’re still working with the other side,” he said. “It doesn’t even matter what we talk about, or if the meeting only lasts a few minutes. It’s better to make the press speculate with that than with who’s going to be the next victim.”

“And what if the King won’t even see you?”

“That is one of the risk we have to take,” concluded Heart. Little by little, he was starting to fold together under the weight of his own shoulders. “Sometimes the only way to go forward is to step where your eyes can’t see.”

Violet sighed. “I’m not saying I’m happy about that… but I suppose that goes for a reason.”

Heart smiled again. It felt good to smile, despite everything. Then an idea struck him, or rather, escaped his better judgement.

“Could I spent the night with you?”

There came an intense silence after that. Heart’s gears started working on it soon enough.

“Uh, I mean, could I and Lily spend the night in your place?”

Violet waited for her blush to die away. “Why?”

Heart explained.

“Oh,” said Violet. “Uhm. Of course you can come over. It’s no problem at all. Seriously, it’ll be nice to have some company for change, aside from the cats.”

“You have cats?”

“A couple. Well, five if you don’t count the stray ones. Is that a problem?”

A short laugh fled him. “In the light of recent events? I doubt it.”

Chapter IV

It had not been a good day for Helm Cleaver. In fact, so far it had possibly been the worst one he had ever known. For one, he had slept the night on the couch, courtesy of his wife. She hadn’t believed that any officer would subtract a guard’s pay for swearing, which had left her theorizing on the subject of mysteriously lost money. It was cruel irony that, on the one time he actually hadn’t spent it on booze, he had been scolded for it.

After that, things had only gone downhill. When he got to the station, he found out that his usual partner Mill Stone was MIA, which meant he was assigned to patrol with Brightmail until he turned up. Apparently they couldn’t stand him a day longer in accounting from where he had been moved from the depot, where he had originally ended up because nopony wanted to do tours with him. A pony could only take on so much religion before losing their faith.

Not in the case of Brightmail: he was all about religion, to the point where one could doubt whether there was anything else to him. He didn’t even have to preach about it – although he most often did, in the subtle, persistent way in which water eats away rock – to make ponies sick of him because the Faith beamed from his person directly. Spend too much time with Brightmail and feelings of piety would seep into your soul, shadowing everything you once had taken pleasure in thinking. And the leaflets… Nopony in the guard wanted to get started on Brightmail’s little leaflets.

After an hour of patrolling with him, Helm was ready to accept any corporal punishment if it could redeem him from the pony’s company. The day’s pious theme was the Prophecy, one of Brightmail’s favourite topics. “The day would be near,” he said,” when the alicorns will roam the land again, and banish the nonbelievers from the face of the earth,” and so forth. At times he hummed some celestial song. Helm was certain they had originally been invented as a sort of torture.

Despite everything, it was actually unclear to Helm which sect of the Unity Movement Brightmail belonged to. There were dozens of them in the city, all preaching for harmony, unity and friendship of all ponies regardless of race. That was basically where their points of agreement ended. Fighting, both scholarly and physical, was common among the groups. Apparently it was highly important whether Twilight the Last Alicorn had in her speeches vouched for the unity of “sky, land and magic” or ”magic, sky and land”, or in which order the Element Bearers should be depicted in holy paintings. The fact that Brightmail, like everypony else in the Guard, was a unicorn wasn’t a decisive clue. Lately, even cultists of the same race had been fighting.

Against all odds, Helm’s prayers had been unexpectedly answered when a couple of other guards had come to them and ordered him, but not Brightmail, to make rush to the West Gate. There was some special task waiting for him there, but he had been way too relieved to ask more about it. It couldn't’ be worse than spending the day with Brightmail. Well, of course it could, but the odds were definitely against that.

The Lieutenant from yesternight had been there, along with Stone Mill. His face hadn’t boded well – it was as if Heart was still pointing him with a crossbow. The Lieutenant had briefed them about the mission, asked if they had any questions, told them three times not to do anything stupid without his explicit order, and then they were on their way. To the Cliffs.

The Guard didn’t go to the Cliffs in numbers smaller than thirty, and even then only if there was no other way. And now the three of them were climbing the steep mountain trail like they were on a hike. It confirmed Helm’s belief that Heart was terminally insane. Sure, he had explained the events of the last twenty-four hours and why they were doing this, and from an impartial perspective there probably was some sense to his plan. But from the perspective which Helm occupied, it was definitely insane.

“We should run for it,” he whispered to Mill. The two of them were walking behind Heart, not because the Captain should go first, but because the road could not fit three ponies walking side by side.

Mill gave him a quick, nervous glance. “He’s the Captain now, remember? That’d be desertion: the worst kind.”

“Still better than getting skinned alive,” he hissed. His hoof kicked a loose rock, which rolled over the edge. The drop was some two hundred meters, and he felt every centimeter as he watched it disappear beyond his vision. “We’re lucky if we get there. Getting out… Well, maybe they don’t need all our bones for decoration.”

Helm kept his eyes firmly ahead. “Sorry. Can’t do it.”

“Why?”

“Because I… I trust him.”

Helm looked at the back of the Captain. It couldn’t be denied that he hadn’t seemed worried at all as he had explained what they were going to do, as if visiting the Cliffs was something that he did on a daily basis. Hell, maybe he did. Even Helm could not deny that Heart had guts, and more: determination that ran bone-deep. There was this aura of authority hanging around him, like an invisible cloak that kept drops of doubt and hesitation off him. A natural leader if Helm had ever seen one.

But that didn’t change the fact that they were on their way to the bucking Cliffs. Helm had nothing against the griffons, not personally. Only… well, they were griffons. They ate fish and, if the rumors he had heard were true, animals that were much closer to ponies in the evolutionary sense. They had claws that could slice through iron, and in speed they could match any pegasus. They didn’t know about magic, thankfully, but the problem was they knew that, too. They had known that for centuries. They had come up with ways to compensate, and ripping your throat open was only one of them.

Helm was thinking of ways to persuade Mill to join his little rebellion when he realized that, despite the cloudless sky, a shadow loomed over him. A shadow with wings. He looked up and regretted it immediately.

“C-Captain,” he said, staring above.

“I know,” said Heart. Helm looked at him and cursed under his breath when he saw that three more griffons had appeared seemingly from nowhere, blocking their path.

“Going somewhere?” asked the biggest one. His feathers were a deep shade of violet save around the head, which leaned closer to the red of dawn. The predatory eyes studied them in turns, and when they met Helm, he felt the hairs on his neck jolt upright.

Heart fixed his already flawless bearing. “I ask for an audience with the King.”

The griffon’s eyes snapped to him. “Who asks?”

“The Captain of Canterlot’s Citizen Guard.”

There came a silence. Helm could hear the slow, rhythmical wingbeats of the four other griffons above them, see the fluxing shadows under his feet. If they decided to charge, he might have just enough time to hurl himself over the edge and hope it would mean a less painful end than what they had in store.

“You’re not him,” said the big griffon. “I’ve seen the Captain. He’s old.”

“I’m the new one,” said Heart. Helm saw a green-grey halo appear around his horn.

The griffons stirred.

“I’m just going to prove that I am,” continued Heart slowly. He produced a piece of paper from his pocket and floated it to the griffon, who snatched it from the air and gave it a look.

“Proves nothing,” he said, letting the paper fall from his claws. The wind caught it and would have thrown it over the edge, but Heart’s horn seized it before that.

“I’m afraid it does,” he said calmly, folding the paper back into his pocket. He looked the griffon into the eyes. “You saw the signatures. The document is valid under all the rules of Equestria, a part of which this mountain is. Now let us through.”

The griffon snapped his beak sharply. “Pony laws, made of grass. Don’t grow in the mountain, grass.”

“It grows where the buck I tell it to,” said Heart. He looked the griffon up and down. ”What is your rank? I have no time to waste with underlings. Let me pass or bring the King here, either way is fine with me. I will also settle for arresting all of you for resisting a government official.”

The griffon flexed his clawed fists and, to Helm’s horror, grinned.

“A brave little pony, making threats so high up.”

“It’s not a threat. It’s the law. Your law.” Heart paused, waiting for the words to sink in. “However, if it in any way hastens this conversation, I plead for One Peaceful Night. Now.”

For all their tenseness, the griffons had thus far remained relatively calm. But as they heard Heart’s last words, they let out a kind of a collective snarl. “Have no right!” the leader screamed. “You’re a pony, not avelin!”

Helm didn’t know ten words of the griffon tongue, but he did recognize the one they had for themselves. Translated to common Equestrian, it meant something like “favored by the wind”.

“Where does it say in the Five Laws that I must be?” asked Heart. “Show me that and I’ll leave. Otherwise, get the buck out of my way.”

Ten strained seconds passed, then ten more, during which Helm started praying in his mind. Right now, he would take a lifetime of tours with Brightmail in exchange for this. Well, maybe not a lifetime, but at least a week. Without earplugs.

Without a single word, the griffons parted. Heart watched them settle a charge-distance above them and then pressed onwards as if they hadn’t been stopped in the first place. Stone Mill cantered after him, and Helm followed only because staying put or returning back were even more horrible options. When he was relatively sure he could talk without his teeth clattering, he whispered to Mill: “What night did he talk about?”

Mill shaked his head. “It’s some griffon thing. You know about the Five Laws, right?”

“A lawyer like me? Sure.”

“One Peaceful Night refers to the Third Law,” said Heart without turning to look at them. Either he had the hearing of a bat or he had simply guessed what they were whispering about, thought Helm. “I begged for shelter, which they must offer us until the next dawn,” continued Heart. “In theory.”

“In… theory?” braved Helm. Every effortless wingbeat above him send shivers running down his spine.

“Don’t bother yourself with that,” said Heart. He glanced at them. “And keep your head up: you look like prey.”

Helm’s neck straightened immediately. Okay, two weeks of tours for getting out of here, he thought. And I’ll even read the bloody leaflets.

***

“Chancellor?” repeated Chip, slightly more insistently.

“Hmm?” said Feinsake, turning away from the window of her office.

Chip nodded at the direction of an oaken grandfather clock. The heavyset pointers showed that midday was only a quarter of an hour away. To the secretary’s’ confusion, Feinsake showed no signs of comprehension.

“The voting for the new housing act will take place soon,” said Chip carefully. “Shouldn’t we be on our way already?”

Feinsake smiled, but in a way which Chip recognized as an attempt to cover a momentary lapse in thought. In what came to her employer’s smiles, Chip considered herself as only a diploma short of an expert.

“Yes,” said Feinsake. “Yes, of course. I was simply waiting until the last minute.”

Chip nodded slowly. That had almost sounded like an excuse. The thing was, Feinsake didn’t make excuses, ever. Not ones that obvious, at least.

As they left the office, Chip couldn’t help but think that her employer had lately acted… uncharacteristically. Yesterday’s trip to the morgue was only one example: it basically ruined the day’s schedule, and for what reason? So she could spent a few informal hours with the new Captain of the Guard? Chip couldn’t see how that had been necessary in the slightest. And why had the Chancellor lied to him in the coach about how she had found out where he lived? Chip had never solved that, although she probably could have. It bothered her to think that Feinsake wouldn’t have trusted her with such a simple thing. On top of that, she had gone somewhere alone that night, into a place where Chip hadn’t been welcome. And this morning, Feinsake had been more nervous than Chip had ever seen her be – she had found her in her bed chamber, fighting to get the chancellor’s uniform on. In the end, she had had to help her get dressed.

It all probably connected to the pregnancy, Chip has reasoned. Even a bedrock of a mind like Feinsake’s had to face some quakes in the face of motherhood. The notion reminded Chip that she should order the cake for the surprise party, and to send out the invitations. Keeping the event a secret from Feinsake had stretched even Chip’s limits, but it would be worth it.

The secretary’s thoughts were interrupted when Feinsake fell to her knees right before her.

“Chancellor!” she yelped while hurrying to help her. “What’s wro–”

She froze when she saw that the mare’s face was disfigured by pain.

“My… stomach…” Feinsake gasped, holding her distended belly. Chip could see the fur bulging from the kicks of the foal within. “It’s… time…”

A switch turned on in Chip’s mind, setting in motion a plan which she had written just for this moment. “It’s okay, Chancellor,” she said with the tone she had been practicing. “We have prepared for this.” She looked quickly at both ends of the corridor. There was nopony else around. “Wait here, I’ll call for Doctor Grain and–”

“No!”

Chip didn’t recognize the voice. It didn’t even sound equine, let alone belonging to Feinsake. Naked panic was not her forte. Chip looked down at her. In one sweep, all her carefully laid out plans, backups included, shattered in the face of Feinsake’s terrified eyes.

“Not Grain!” she said, tears falling on her cheeks. Another contraction forced her eyes shut, and for a second Chip thought she’d faint. “Send me… someone else…”

“W-who?” managed Chip.

Feinsake pulled her closer and whispered a name. The secretary’s eyes grew wide.

“Him? But he’s a–”

“Do it,” hissed Feinsake, letting go of the secretary. She drew a deep breath, twice, and opened her eyes. They were her’s again, not fear’s. “And tell nopony of this.”

Chip fidgeted in indecision. She was no professional, but she was pretty sure that Feinsake’s pain wasn’t normal: one moment she had been fine, the other she wept tears of agony. “But… but… I can’t leave you like this!”

With a muffled grunt, Feinsake stood on all fours. “You can and you will. I’ll… make it to my office, where you’ll bring him. Now.”

Chip batted her moist eyes. “Chancellor… I don’t understand…”

Feinsake looked at her. Chip stopped wavering about, along with breathing. She stared into her eyes, and felt like falling from very high.

“I said do it.”

The secretary ran away, even leaving her notebook behind. Feinsake watched her disappear around the corner, after which she fought to endure another contraction, the strongest thus far.

The time had come… but too early, again. Much too early. She still lacked the ingredients, all but one of them, which she had acquired yesternight. Why there hadn’t been more already, she couldn't say, for the place had been empty, contrary to what had been agreed. That was worrying. Very, very worrying.

With steps shadowed by pain she headed towards her office. She would pull through this time, just like she had pulled through all the other times. With Mister Gruff’s help, just about anything was possible. Even the unthinkable. Especially the unthinkable.

***

Heart had no illusions that he was gambling, not just with his own life, but possibly with hundreds. The griffons held honor in high esteem, that was true, and under the protection of the One Night they could not lay a claw on him as long as he did not show aggression. That was all theory, though: simple tricks they taught in the Academy. All that was based on knowledge before the Catastrophe, when there had been no lack of resources either in Equestria or in the Kingdoms. It was easy to be honorable with a full stomach, less so when your own leg started looking delicious.

Heart, Helm and Mill were escorted into the network of caves. What little intel the Guard had about the Cliffs was easily affirmed then: the griffons were starving. Hollow faces and empty stares followed them in the corridors and halls through which they travelled. The only sign of food was the breathtaking smell of fish, which meant that the supply lines to the sea must still be at least partially working.

It seemed that most of the refugees were packed close to the surface where space was scarce. It made no sense to Heart. The mountain had once been home for dragons, and deeper in the mountain there were halls that could fit half of Canterlot within. There was no way they could be filled, so why did the griffons pack up so tight? By the look of the haystacks that littered the place they even slept here.

After several twists and turns in the suffocating tunnels they made it to a part of the cave where some sort of structures had been put up. A crude wooden wall spread before them, along with a gate. Four guards stood there, and the big griffon went to exchange some words with one of them. To Heart’s ear Griffonian always sounded like somepony was being eaten alive, but these two were clearly arguing about something. It seemed strange that they were willing to show internal disagreement so openly. When he thought about it, the fact that they were allowed to pass this deep into the Griffon territory without any argument was disturbing. Most griffons they had passed by seemed only interested to find out if they had any food for them. Had the word of his coming somehow reached the King beforehand?

The argument seemed to reach an end. At least the two griffons separated, although the looks on their faces suggested a bad compromise. The big one walked to Heart.

“The King’s busy. No time for little ponies now. You wait.”

This at least had been expected. Royalty rarely received uninvited guests immediately. Having to wait was a good sign: at least something was working as it ought to be. The three ponies were guided yet deeper into the mountain, to a corridor that was too corrupted by dampness to serve for living. And then they waited.

They waited for a good long while.

“We’re going to… aren’t we?” whispered Helm, who had withdrawn a bit deeper into the corridor with Mill. What he said probably wasn't meant to Heart’s ears, but the slight echoing of the walls let him catch some of the words and guess the rest.

“…can’t know…” said Mill’s ghastly voice. “Need to… cool.”

“I am cool,” said Helm a tad louder. There was a pause, and then he continued: “Why didn’t… sign in… today?”

“Had… Business…”

“Business?”

“…ask…”

Heart knew very well what that business was, and recalling it here, amidst the stench of mold, fish and griffon, made his stomach twist into knots. When the Unity Guard had taken him the day before yesterday, he had resisted so fiercely because he had thought they’d take Lily along – or worse, that they wouldn't. Contrary to all his instructions, Mill had burst through the front door and helped to calm down the situation. He had promised to take care of her until he’d come back, whenever that was. And now Lily was with Violet, who had promised to take her to the station. He could only thank the stars that the two had made natural friends instead of enemies.

What kind of a father shoves her daughter from stranger to stranger like that? The answer came to him all too easily. The kind who knows of nothing better. The image of Hilt surfaced again, but not the one he had seen in the mortuary. That corpse hadn’t been his father, not really. The image he had was of a strong, proud stallion who had a mane like a silver mine and eyes to match it. All four legs, too. There was a pony who had dedicated his whole life to the city, to save it from the greatest of enemies, itself. It was only logical that, in the end, he had ended up fighting with himself. With his own blood.

And now he was dead. The thought still had an unreal taste to him.

Approaching steps made him stand up. Three guards emerged from the darkness, torch flames dancing on their solemn faces.

“You, the Captain?” said one of them, pointing at Heart. These griffons carried neither any kind of uniforms or even insignia to give away their rank. It was probably a safety measure of sorts, but the notion still bothered Heart. It wasn’t a part of proper military code to hide your identity.

“Yes?” said Heart.

“Come with us,” said the griffon. He looked at Helm and Mill, who had also stood up. “These two stay here.”

“I need two reliable witnesses in the meeting with the King,” said Heart.

The griffon looked at him in the way his teacher had in the primary school when he hadn’t done his homework. It was then that he realized he was talking with a female. With griffons, the question of sex was almost a matter of opinion, like the saying went.

“You won’t meet him,” she said. “But me.”

“I specifically requested an audience with the King,” said Heart. “You’ve made us wait long enough: my cause is of extreme importance.”

The griffon’s expression remained unimpressed. “The King’s very busy. So am I. You come with me or stay here, it’s up to you.”

Heart’s eyes narrowed. This was definitely a setback, but the griffon didn’t seem to care if he indeed stayed in this cave until his mane fell off. It also occurred to him that she might be faking, to test how badly he really wanted to see the King. Anything was possible, which told a great deal about the mystery that surrounded the King of Four Winds and Five Laws. Nopony had seen the current one alive, and there was even some confusion about his actual name. Griffons, lowly punks and high delegations both, only ever talked about “the King” and what he had decreed, supposedly or no.

But the truth was that Heart was already all-in in this mess. It was time to show the cards.

“Very well,” he said. “But I would still like to have at least one of my guards as a witness.”

The griffon shook her head slowly. “We talk alone or we don’t talk.”

Heart stared at her. It was hard to say in the dim torchlight, but the griffon female looked very young. Her plumage, which ranged from clear copper of the head to the deepest azure of her wings, practically radiated health, strength and, first and foremost, speed. Only her eyes matched her curved talons in sharpness. All this told Heart that he could very well be talking with the King’s daughter, another sign of which was her apt knowledge of common Equestrian. She barely had an accent, unlike most griffons Heart had met.

“If you insist,” he said, and turned to Mill and Helm. “Take it easy, lads. Take it easy.”

They nodded stiffly.

“And now,” continued Heart while looking at the could-be-Princess. “Lead the way.”

***

Mister Gruff was not a jolly sight. In fact, he was the very opposite of what ponies usually understood with the word jolly. He could send a tent full of laughing clowns to a terminally depressed ward just by staring at them for ten minutes. Those who talked with him often found their hearts a great deal heavier afterwards, even if the topic had just been about the weather. Some said he had born that way, but others knew better. In his line of work, Mister Gruff’s character traits, obnoxious as they would have been in any other profession, were not a disease but a necessity. A face like his was expected of ponies who for their living made sure that foals were not born.

Feinsake knew that most rumours around Mister Gruff were just that and nothing more. In truth he could indeed smile and honestly some of his jokes were good. He just never got the chance to use them, because ponies seldom wished to spent time with a person who regularly extracted foals, dead or alive, from mares’ bellies. It wasn’t that they hated or feared him – they simply wanted to know nothing about him and to forget him as soon as possible, because they wanted to forget the reason why he existed.

Yet every once in awhile, somepony somewhere needed the help of Mister Gruff. When they did, he would appear from somewhere, talk with, and only with, the mother and then do his work. Sometimes it required the knife, sometimes not. Mister Gruff didn’t fall short of imagination when it came to his work. It saved a lot of pain and a great deal of mess, at least in the physical sense.

Feinsake’s office’s door was knocked on, and she knew immediately it was Mister Gruff. Nopony else had such a terminal knock.

“In,” she said. Her pain had reached the point where every moment, and every word, came with a needle.

Mister Gruff entered the office and closed the door behind. He glanced at the room at large, then at Feinsake, who lay on one of the couches. The windows had been drawn, but enough light filtered through so the pearls of sweat were plain on her forehead. He walked to her, his black doctor’s suitcase flowing quietly by his side.

He stopped by the couch. “Chancellor,” he said and gave her a small bow. His voice was quiet to the point where ponies had to hold their breath to catch every word.

“What’s… happening to me?” said Feinsake. She writhed on her back, staring at the roof with wide eyes.

Gruff’s grey eyes studied her convulsing body. “I should say you are in labour, my lady.”

“I noticed,” she said through gritted teeth. She had to pause to choke a scream. “How? You promised me–”

“I promised you nothing, my lady,” he said. His bag dropped heavily to the ground and opened with a snap. Feinsake couldn’t see what he pulled out of there, but she could hear the faint cling of metal.

“Would you have me cut it out?” he asked.

“No!” she yelped. Tears pushed past her wild eyes seeking his face. “You must… prolong the pregnancy. Like you did before.”

His face remained impassive. He seemed to be completely immersed in going over his various tools. “Before was before. It is clear to me that this foal will be born now, and that there is nothing I can do to stop it. Nothing that would include keeping the infant inside you, anyway.” He raised a small, brown bottle for closer inspection of his half-moon glasses. “You should have called a midwife. But I will do my best.”

Feinsake tried to sit up. “No! No! You can’t! I order you to delay this birth!”

Gruff produced a syringe, which he filled from the bottle. “You might as well ask me to end your life, then. That can be arranged much less painlessly, you know.”

Feinsake managed to sit up. Her breath was erratic, and the pain had turned red hot. “What’s… that?” she panted.

“Something to ease your agony,” he said. The syringe turned towards her in the air, carried by a dark white halo. “I must ask you to lay down.”

“Are you deaf!” screamed Feinsake, staining Gruff’s suit in spit. “This foal will not be born today!”

Gruff frowned very lightly. “That is not up to you to decide. Not anymore. Please, allow me to–”

He stopped when he felt the touch of cold metal on his throat. He didn’t even need to see the blade to know it was one of his own.

“If this foal is born now,” began Feinsake, her horn painting her sweaty face in eerie glow. “You’ll die. What happens to me, I don’t care.”

Gruff stared at her. In the state she was, there was a reasonable chance he could wrest the knife from her. The trouble was that his work, whatever else might be said about it, had a pension. He was not about to throw it away on light grounds.

“If I told you there was a way… would you put down the blade?” he said.

She smiled. It wasn’t her best one, but in the circumstances no angel could have done better. “It’s worth the try, isn’t it?”

Gruff tried to withhold from swallowing. “There is a price.”

“I can take more pain.”

“I’m not talking of pain.” He grinned like a ghost might. “Although you won’t be left wanting in that regard, either.”

Feinsake pushed her face inches from his. “I ask you one more time. Will… you… do it?”

For the longest while that he could remember, Mister Gruff hesitated. He had had a bad feeling about this case right from the start. Ending a pregnancy was one thing, prolonging it beyond its natural limits was… beyond him. But the fees had been timely and hefty, and that went a long way. This, however… He was not sure at all if any earthly fee could cover what she asked of him.

Right on time with his moral pause, the blade pressed a bit tighter against his throat.

“I will,” he whispered. “But you will regret it.”

The two were now close enough so that a drop of sweat from her brow could fall on his cheek. “For this foal, regret can do no harm,” she said. “If she is not born before her time, that is.”

***

The griffon female led Heart into a small chamber with masoned walls and even some furniture. Griffon culture was not big on luxury, he reflected. The simple, heavy table and a few chairs probably were extravagant in their mind. He looked at the chair once, decided it would break if he tried it and sat on the floor instead. She didn’t even bother to settle on the table, but walked in a corner, leaning her shoulder against a wall. Like she had promised, they were alone in the gloom.

“Why do you want to see the King?” she asked after a short silence.

“In the long term, to discuss the future of our two races,” he answered. “However, for now I could settle for one simple question.”

“Spit it out.”

“What does he know about the murder of Berry Pie?”

Not a feather stirred on her face, although it was difficult to say for all the shadows that covered it. “Who?”

“A pony who was found dead the other night,” said Heart. “Throat sliced. Cutie mark flayed.”

“And why should the King know anything about that? Or care?”

“Because we found the Amber Peak painted on the wall next to the corpse,” he said, studying her reactions. It was extremely difficult, because there seemed to be none. It was as if he was talking with the walls.

“So? Ponies can paint pictures too. The Guard included.” She pushed herself off the wall and started walking around the room. “And what if one of us killed the pony? Or saw the corpse and painted the Peak? What do you want the King to do about it?”

Heart stood up. “I want the King to offer whatever help he can to aid the investigations. Don’t you understand what I’m talking about here? If the word started spreading that the Brigade has killed a pony–”

“–then we’ll have a war,” she finished, still strolling around the room without a worry in sight. “That’s all you ponies ever talk about.”

Heart’s ears pricked up. “Are you… admitting the crime?”

She let out a short, high-pitched laugh that bounced around the room before dying abruptly. “You’re so lost, little pony… You have no idea what goes on inside the mountain.”

“I asked you a question.”

She gave him a mocking grin. “But not the right one.”

She is playing with me, Heart decided as the griffon circled around him like a cat. She knows something. And this is not definitely a simple hearing or exchange of agendas. So what the hay is this?

“Is the Brigade behind the murder?” he said.

She shrugged. “Who knows? Could be. Does it make a difference?”

Heart’s skin crawled. She was acting as if they were actually playing a role game of sorts, and she got her kicks out of breaking her character. She had to hold a high position in the griffon hierarchy to dare behave like this.

“It makes all the difference, as you well know,” he said.

“And why is that, exactly?” she said, turning sharply to him. “We’re all part of the ‘Brigade’ anyway, right? Everypony knows it, right?”

“Are they correct?”

She laughed again, longer this time.

“You do seem to find the prospect of mindless slaughter extremely hilarious,” he said when the last echoes died away, along with the keenest edge of his rage. “It makes me think you actually desire it.”

She hung her head, still smirking. “You ponies can’t see beyond your little laws, your little world of paper. You can’t understand, never could.”

Heart snorted. “Understand you griffons, you mean? I cannot agree more.”

Very slowly, she pulled herself to her full height, right before Heart. Standing on two feet, she towered over him, almost touching the ceiling. Her smirk was long gone.

“Not us, stupid pony. The world. You’re afraid of the future that lies behind you. You’re blind.”

Heart’s ears pressed low. “What do you mean?”

There was a blur, and then Heart found the griffon kneeling right in front of him, her clawed hands holding his temples from both sides. “The war,” she whispered, “Is not before, but behind you. It happened a hundred years ago. You call it the Catastrophe, falsely. Only we know it by its true name.”

Heart would have answered, but the griffon’s iron grip kept his mouth shut. Her pupils were two spots of blackness swimming in pools of amber. They sucked in not only his full attention, but his memory as well, hurling him down the steps of history.

“A catastrophe would imply an accident,” she said. “Whereas in truth there was but a punishment. And that’s why we call the Last War… the Fall.”

***

Chip walked in a circle in front of Feinsake’s office, not because there was nothing else left for her to do but because it was the only thing she could do to stop herself from doing everything she was supposed to do. She should have called a real doctor, not mister Gruff. She should be with the Chancellor right now, not listening her screaming behind the door. The fact that she had stopped half an hour ago had only made her imagination run wild. Anything could be going on there, and when they’d ask Chip why she hadn’t acted there and then, what could she say? That the Chancellor had ordered her not to? If Feinsake died, would they believe her then?

It was pure luck that nopony had come to visit the Chancellor yet, or come asking after her. There were a dozen meetings she had missed. Sooner or later somepony would come, and what they would find in the office, Chip didn’t want to know. All she wanted was to be far away when that would happen. She could not run away though, not while there was a chance that Feinsake was alive. It didn’t bear thinking what she would do, should she find out that her trusted secretary had deserted her at a time like this. Those eyes she had… even the memory of them made Chip feel hunted.

The door creaked open. The sound stopped Chip dead on her tracks. She looked at the opening and into the darkness, expecting to see a face appear. None did.

“H-hello?” she said, peering closer. “C-chancellor? M-mister Gruff?”

No answer. She peeked through the door. The sound of rushing blood filled her ears.

“A-anypony?”

There was a brief moment when she felt a tingling sensation all over her body, and then an unknown force yanked her into the room. The door slammed shut at the same moment the magic let go of her, dropping her to the floor. She scrambled to her feet, scanning the gloom in mindless terror. It shouldn’t be this dark here, she realized. The sunset was still hours away.

“Calm down, Chip,” said a voice from the darkness. “It’s me.”

Chip gasped. The voice sounded like it came from beyond the grave, but there was no mistaking the slim elegance of it. “Chancellor?”

“I’m on your left. On the couch.”

Chip squinted, trying to make sense of the utter darkness. Had somepony painted the windows black at some point? How could it be so dark here? With tenuous steps, she made it towards the direction where she remembered the array of couches to be.

“A little closer,” the voice said. “A turn to the right… good… you’re almost there…”

“Are you okay, Chancellor?” Chip said. “You sound so… uhm…” Weak wasn’t the right word, eerie was too strong. Thin might have been it. Frail would hit the mark perfectly.

“I’m fine,” the voice assured. “Please. I need your help.”

Chip blinked away her tears. “I’ll do anything, Chancellor!”

“I know you will, Chip. I know you will.”

Chip hurried her steps: she knew she was close. “Chancellor, I’m coming! I’m sorry I left you alone, I shouldn't have but he wouldn’t let me in! I–”

“Did anypony see you bring him here?”

Chip’s leg bumped against the couch. She sighed in relief. “Ah, no, I don’t think so. We used one of the secret passages, and he came in a disguise.” The secretary fumbled her way in the dark. Now that she thought about it, the room wasn’t just oddly dark but cold, too. Freezing. “Where is he, anyway?”

“Right here,” said Mister Gruff behind her. He moved quickly.

The scream never made it past Chip’s lips. A sharp pain bloomed in her shoulder, although it was soon replaced by terrible numbness that coursed through her veins. It was as if somepony had injected her with liquid weakness.

“Whah,” she tried. Everything felt so heavy. And cold. So very, very cold. “Whah…”

A light appeared in the darkness: too small to illuminate, too weak to even guide. It grew a bit stronger, and Chip realized it came from the tip of a horn. The Chancellor’s horn.

She reached towards it. A familiar hoof met her midway, gently seizing hers. But something was not right: the hoof was Feinsake’s, Chip was sure of that, but it looked strange.

And then, in the faint light, she saw a face.

“Ga,” said Chip. “Ga.”

“You always were my most trusted servant,” said Feinsake, her voice rustling like a thousand-year-old paper. A stench of decay hit Chip in the face, making her gag. “You will be remembered. As a heroine.”

The numbness was now seeping into Chip’s mind, clouding her thoughts. She was not sure where she was anymore, or if she was at all. The last thing she saw were teeth. Rotten, black teeth.

“You will be remembered,” rustled Feinsake as Chip slumped on the couch. She smoothed the secretary’s mane with a withered hoof, the light of her horn slowly fading away. “Remembered…”

A moment passed in reverent silence, and then Mister Gruff started working. It was true that his work demanded a great deal of imagination – the kind of which other ponies’ nightmares are made off.

***

“The Fall?” echoed Heart.

The griffon let go of his head and pulled back. “Or a banishment. You ponies have no good equivalent for our word because only one third of you knows how it feels to drop from the sky. You should try it sometimes, to get the idea.”

He ignored the taunt. “How does that connect to anything?”

“It is everything,” she said, rolling her eyes in frustration. “It’s the reason you worry about a possible war when every griffon knows that we’re already in it and beyond it.” She continued circling around the room, stirring her wings occasionally. It was clear that the cramped space was getting on her nerves. Heart classified the observation to the “might be useful later” file and focused on making sense of what the griffon was actually saying.

“You mean the Brigade is ready to launch a major attack against the city?” he said.

She glanced at him like he was a mere foal asking why the sky was blue. “There is no bottom to your stupidity, nor to your blindness. There is no Brigade, never has been. All there is is the word, and even that came from you.”

It was Heart’s turn to laugh. “If you want to fool me, consider choosing a less blatant lie next time. We know the Brigade exists: we have enough intel about it to fill this room!”

The avian eyes gleamed in the torchlight. “Doubtless you have. It’s the only sport we have here, giving you ponies ‘intel’ about the Brigade. We even have competitions based on it.”

Heart kept on chuckling, but never let the griffon out of his sight. If she’d try anything funny again, he’d be ready. “Right, right. Next you’re telling me the King doesn’t exist, either.”

“He doesn’t.”

Heart stopped chuckling. “You must realize I can’t believe you. So why are you openly lying to me?”

The griffon sighed. “I don’t expect you to believe a word I say. You can walk out anytime you want, to find a griffon who’s in the mood for playing along your script. There’s plenty of us who have nothing better to do.”

“You are right,” said Heart, striding for the door. “This is a waste of my time. Goodbye.”

He opened the door and walked around four corners before looking behind him. No one was following him. The few griffons visible were giving him poisonous looks, but otherwise they seemed to have no intention of stopping him. Then a mad idea struck him, and he walked to one of them.

“Hey, you. Do you understand me?”

“Bucker off, nag,” said the griffon.

“What is behind the wooden wall nearby?”

The griffon looked at him in despise, but decided that the fastest way to get rid of him would be to answer the question. “A food storage. If you can call it food.”

Heart marched back to the room where the griffon female had been, but it was empty. He rushed out and to the opposite direction where he had first gone and found her a few corners away, talking with some other griffon. He grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her violently around.

“What the hay is going on here?” he asked.

She snarled at him and fended his hoof off. ”I tried to tell you, remember? It’s the King you want to see? Well you’re in luck, because I was just addressing his Majesty.” She nodded at the other griffon, who grinned widely.

“Bow low, little pony,” he said. “For I am the King of Four Winds and Five Laws.”

Heart looked him up and down. If anything he looked like the Cliff’s version of village idiot. He turned at the female again. “This is insanity.”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m glad you’re finally open with yourself.”

Heart backed away. “I… I want to see someone who is in charge of something around here. Now.”

“Everyone is in charge around here,” she said, closing in on him. “And no one is.”

Heart’s horn illuminated the corridor. “Stay back!”

She stopped her advancement. Behind her, the other griffon’s face twisted into a snarl. “That’s not a good idea,” she said.

Heart kept on walking backwards. Behind him, he could hear claws scraping against stone, but he didn’t dare looking there. Suddenly, his whole plan of coming here seemed like a terrible mistake. “I’m the Captain of the Canterlot Citizen Guard! Stay back! And get my soldiers here, now!”

The self-proclaimed King crouched dangerously, but the female said something in quick Griffonian which made him stop his imminent charge. The griffons were not fond of magic, Heart knew, and in the circumstances his provocation probably wasn’t the wisest of moves. On the other hoof, right now he wanted nothing more than to leave this madhouse. The thought was so pressing in his mind that he utterly failed to hear the faint wing beats behind him before it was too late.

Something hit the back of his head like a mallet. He swayed for a moment, the light of his horn flickering along with his awareness, and then he collapsed on the cave floor.

“Throw him off the cliff?” he heard suggested, somewhere from the mist that rapidly filled his vision.

“Bet you half a salmon he bounces thrice before splitting,” said another voice, the last one Heart heard before the darkness took him.

“No need to,” said the female, prodding Heart’s unconscious, bleeding head with a leg. “I expect this one will jump himself. If he wakes up.”

Chapter V

The first thing Heart’s waking mind registered was of course the pain, but the smell of fish and mold were not far behind. Bile rose up his throat, making him turn to his side and gag. I’m still in the cave, he thought, as a thin strand of stomach acid dropped past his lips, pulling an even more scary thought behind. Someone is watching me. He raised his head slowly and stared into the darkness. Right at the edge of the torchlight, the tail of a lion pulled lazily back.

“Who’s there?”he asked and coughed weakly. His throat felt like a desert, and the bitter slime lingering there did little to improve his condition.

The tail’s owner said something in Griffonian.

Heart tried to light up his horn, and to his surprise he succeeded. Greenish light filled what turned out to be a small room. The griffon leaning against the wall squinted in the new light, but didn’t move a muscle to stop him, not even as he stood up. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but he managed to stop swaying on his second attempt.

“I’d take it easy, were I you,” said the griffon. “We tied the wound, but you won’t forget it anytime soon.”

Heart touched the back of his head, or at least tried to. Coordination wasn’t that simple when your vision kept on changing resolution every other second. Some soft fabric covered his head, and the pain crystallized when he pressed it.

“You were lucky Slice was drunk when he got to you,” the griffon continued, his tail swishing back and forth on the floor. “Ever since one of you burned a few of his feathers with a fireball, he’s been a bit edgy around magic. You should’ve known better than to turn on your horn inside a griffon lair.”

Heart focused on the voice, then on the face that spoke the words. The meaning of them was still lagging behind, but there was only so much thinking you could do with a smashed skull. Clearly they didn’t want him just dead, or he’d be that already. But if he was a prisoner, why did they let him have his horn? Griffons had a dozen ways of turning that to little more than a paperweight.

“Ah, you’re alive,” said a familiar voice behind him. He turned and saw the griffon female standing by the doorway. “Good,” she continued. “That saves a lot of trouble.”

Heart knew enough about griffons to know that was the closest thing to an apology he was going to get. That was fine with him though, for apologies were the last thing he wanted at the moment.

“Am I a prisoner here?” he asked.

“Only if you insist,” she said. “We don’t have real cells, and the food will probably make you sick, but I’m sure we can arrange something.”

Heart gave her a deadpan look.

“You don’t believe me?” she said. She stepped aside, showing him the way. “Go on. No one will stop you. Well, someone might, but I won’t have anything to do with it. It might be safer if you just telepathied yourself away.”

“It’s called teleporting,” muttered Heart. “And if I can’t see where I’m going, I might end up in a spot I’d rather avoid.”

“In the middle of solid rock, that sort of thing?” said the other griffon.

Heart looked at him, or as a part of his brain suggested, her. Save the colors all griffons looked pretty much the same to him, but this one had a voice he remembered hearing somewhere before. And the way she, or he, was smirking at him told that the feeling was mutual.

“Do I know you?” Heart asked.

The griffon nodded, then shook her head. “We have met, but not in person. You remember the ball you ponies had last year, in celebration of midwinter? I was there, too. Held a little speech, I did.”

Heart closed his eyes, seeking grains of recollections amidst the sea of dull aching. He remembered last year’s Hearth’s Warming Eve’s ball, but the pictures were fuzzy, spoiled by too much alcohol. Lake had been there too, but she had left after their second argument of the night. He couldn’t remember what that had been about, anymore. But he could remember it had happened at the time of some important griffon’s speech.

“You’re a councillor,” he said, opening his eyes. “You talked of eternal peace between our races. And something about fish.”

“Sounds about right,” said the griffon, idly studying her claws. “Fish is what we mostly talk with you people. Peace, too.”

“So you do have a hierarchy here,” said Heart, looking at the could-be-princess griffon.

“Not in the sense you mean,” she said. “There is no a hierarchy, only hierarchies, criss-crossing one another. We make them up because your leaders won’t talk with a griffon unless they’re called a councillor or ambassador or something like that. For a while, we tried to play by your rules. That almost got us all killed. So nowadays when we need to talk with you, we gather up a ‘delegation’, throw around titles until everyone's happy and order an appointment.” She switched a shoulder to lean against the wall. “You ponies have come up with weird stuff, but politics takes away the prize every time.”

“That’s not politics,” said Heart, eyes wide in disbelief. “That’s anarchy!”

She shrugged. “It’s the only way to deal with you, so we put up with it. Some of us do, anyway.”

Heart put a hoof on his temple. His headache was getting worse. “You can’t be serious… This must be a joke… Or a dream…”

The princess gave him a long look, then glanced at the other griffon, nodding at her. The councillor walked away, leaving them alone in the room.

“What is your name, little pony?” she asked after a while.

“Heart… Deck Heart,” he said, still holding his head.

“Why did you come here, Deck Heart the Captain?”

“To find peace. To solve a murder. I told this to you already.”

“That is not just why you came,” she said. “In that case you would have done it ‘by the book’, like you ponies say. But you marched right into the heart of your enemy, alone, uninvited. Why?”

Heart lowered his hoof, raised his head. The griffon’s tone was different now. The change was subtle, barely existing, yet it bothered him all the more.

“Because the book had failed. Because I needed to try something different.”

She started circling the room again. “Needed? Because your conscience demanded it? Or because you’re desperate?”

It was difficult to describe the shift in her tone. It was build on the familiar irony, but reached towards something nobler. Something resembling pity, but sweeter than that.

She moved behind him, but Heart made no attempt to turn. There was little point anymore. “If I knew the difference, I probably wouldn’t be here,” he said.

She snapped her beak, which might have been a sign of anger or amusement. “Do you know what really separates our races? Aside from the number of legs and feathers?”

“You’re born from eggs?” he ventured.

“It’s that you think the world was made for you,” she continued without missing a breath. “Whereas we know it wasn’t made for anything. It simply appeared. One day it will disappear. Perhaps tomorrow. And it won’t care a damn what you ponies think about it.”

“You are right,” he said. “But not completely. For once, the world was ours. Yours, too. When we still knew about Harmony. When alicorns still walked among us.”

She cursed in Griffonian. Heart knew this because it sounded like someone had pulled out a few of her feathers.

“Alicorns… they’re the ones who caused all this in the first place,” she said. “They were the first to fall. A fitting end for false gods.”

“What is it that you want?” Heart asked, looking over his shoulder.

“To live.”

After a pause it dawned to Heart that she wasn’t going continue. “And that’s it?”

“It’s a grander wish than you realize,” she said. Her eyes shined in the light of the torch. “For millennia, the griffon race lived in communities no larger than a hundred beaks. When there were too many, some left and set up a new tribe. That’s how the Kingdoms were born.” She flexed her wrist, straightened her knife-like claws. “Then came the Fall. Half the tribes were wiped away in a single night, half more didn’t make it over the next winter. What remains now flocks here, on these forsaken cliffs, seeking shelter and food. But griffons were never meant to live like this, trapped in stone, cramped together in darkness. We are dying here.”

“Then why do you come?” Heart asked. “I know that parts of the coast are still habitable.”

She glanced at him, and for the first time he saw the defiant glint shimmer in her eyes.

“There are griffons living there, yes. Someone has to fish, even in the face of…” She shifted her position. Her tail kept swishing nervously back and forth. “A sickness roams there. A hungry, vicious disease. Not of body, but of mind. Griffons… lose themselves. Some fly to the sea and never return. Others… just stop. Everything. The coast is not a good place to live,” she finished, clenching her fist.

But that’s not everything there is to it. though Heart. The unspoken words were written all over her appearance; suddenly she was nervous to the core, and not just because of the lack of space.

“That still doesn’t explain why you come to Canterlot,” he said. “The sea is far away. The caves don’t suit you, like you said.”

“It’s for the winter,” she said. “They are harsher now than ever, you know that. The stone keeps the winds away.”

Heart stood up. “There are other caves, other shelters. Yet every griffon in Equestria gathers here. Why?”

“I don’t know,” she said, furiously tapping the stone wall with a claw. “My family lived here before the Fall, I’ve lived here my whole life, I don’t know why others pour here!”

“I think you do.”

Her eyes snapped to him. “And what if I do? What are you going to do about it, Deck Heart the Captain?”

They stared each other in the eyes for a good while. Then Heart looked down at her claw, which had grown still. White scars ran on the stone where she had scratched it.

“I told you my name,” he said. “Would you mind giving me yours?”

She eyed him a moment longer and crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s Cecil. You think we’re friends now?”

Heart shook his head. “I don’t understand you Cecil, nor your people. You can’t stand us and our rules, yet hundreds arrive every week. There is no food here, no better shelter than anywhere else. You’re trying to convince me you’ve lost all hope, yet when I ask you why, you get angry.” He sighed. “We are not friends, Cecil. But somehow I can’t see you as my enemy, either.”

“Maybe you should,” she said quietly. “Maybe you really, really should.”

Heart turned a frown on her. “What do you mean?”

Her arms fell on her sides as she leaned against the wall behind. “You know about the Five Laws?”

“That’s how I got here,” he said. “I asked for One Peaceful Night.”

She gave a short laugh. “A clever pony. It goes to show what a joke the Laws really are.”

“A joke? But they have lasted a thousand years. They’re the essence of your culture.”

The brief moment of amusement died on her face. “Yes, that’s probably what it says in your little books on us. None of them were written by a griffon, I bet. How could any law last for a thousand years without changing? Can you guess?”

“Because no one follows them?”

“Yes and no, little pony, yes and no. The Laws aren’t real laws, not like you think. They’re too vague for that. ‘Never kill without a purpose?’ A fine rule for sure, as long as you don’t ask what counts for a purpose. ‘Never deny One Peaceful Night from one who asks it?’ Some say it only applies to griffons, and who could deny them? No one wrote the Laws. They’re something everyone knows. In one sense or in another.”

“You are right,” said Heart. “That’s not what they teach us about you.”

“Amazing.”

“They teach us that griffons are a noble race with a sense of pride second to none. They teach us of Red Beak, who defeated a changeling Queen in a single combat, and of Gilda, the High Feather, who befriended the Element Bearers themselves. They teach of griffons who wouldn’t give up a fight in the face of all the hordes of Tartarus.”

The torch flame flickered on the cool walls, engaged in a tacit battle with Heart’s hornlight. Depending on the point of view, they either fought back the darkness together or devoured each other in a meaningless effort to escape it.

“There is a rumour,” she said, her voice like a whisper of a ghost. “A rumour which no one speaks and everyone hears. No one knows where it started, or when. For all we know, it might have been with us since the First Dawn.”

Heart blinked. The headache was gradually releasing its grip, giving ground to a sensation even more obnoxious. A cold feeling dwelled in his stomach, slithering around like a snake.

“The Laws are a joke because really they can mean anything you want them to,” she continued. “That is how they have survived for a thousand years. But despite everything, they set some limits. A bottom line below which there is nothing. Cross it and you lose yourself. That’s why all the Laws are prohibitions.”

Heart could swear he saw the shadows grinning at the edge of his vision, yet every time he looked, there was nothing of note there. While parts of the caves were humid with sweat and breathing, this room felt freezing. And even though he was certain there was no one listening around the corner, he could not help but to think they were not alone.

“‘Never eat anything that knows its own name’,” she said. “The Fifth Law. Sounds simple, right?”

Heart swallowed. “What are trying to say?”

“The rumour says,” she began, hollowness echoing in every syllable. “That dead things don't know their name. You were wrong, Deck Heart the Captain. There is food in Canterlot. Canterlot is the food.”

***

“Foot, tooth, sooth, moot…”

“Whaddya say?” said Gambit.

Stick blinked. “Ah, nothing. Just thinking of a rhyme.” He noticed the look on his companion’s face and added, “It’s a hobby of mine. Please don’t tell anypony.”

The youth winked at him. “Element of Loyalty, remember?”

He returned his smile in kind. “Got me there.”

They carried along the street, Stick cantering amidst the traffic, Gambit flying easily just above the current of ponies. The sun had started its descent from the zenith already hours ago and was now nearing the horizon. Dark clouds had again appeared to accompany it, promising rain.

Gambit eyed them ponderously while effortlessly dodging a particularly high stand. “I could clear those in a minute, you just bet. The weather team around here are a bunch of geese. Couldn't keep the sky clean with a bucking mob.”

Stick glanced at him, noting what a little show-off the pegasus had turned out to be. Or perhaps it was an effect of his newly found heritage? The idea amused Stick a great deal. The look on the brat’s face would be worth the trouble he had given him, in the end. But before that he would make good use out of him.

“I’m confident you could,” said Stick. “And who knows, perhaps one day you will. Saving the world is bound to count for something in any résumé.”

“In any what?” asked Gambit.

“I’ll explain that some other day. Right now, we can’t afford to lose focus on the mission at hoof.” He gave him his most serious look. “You're certain this is the fastest route to the address?”

“No worries – I know the place.” The youth bit his lip. “You sure it’s the right one, though?”

Stick fished the list from his saddleback. Reacquiring it had been easier than he had dared hope. Celler had turned up to the school a few hours ago, which had led to a lengthy discussion, in which even Stick’s lying abilities had been stretched. Gambit’s help had been essential there, and at the end of the meeting the filly had hoofed the list back to Stick, with a tiny “sorry” even. The memory would warm Stick’s heart for years to come.

However, the whole episode had swallowed way too much time. Stick hadn’t even been able to return to the hideout since yesterday, for there was no telling what ideas Gambit might get if he wasn’t there to ensure the integrity of his illusions. That was bad, very bad. Stick had been supposed to meet her that night, to deliver at least three of the six cutie marks. It didn’t bear thinking how she had reacted after finding only one bottle and no Stick to explain.

If she find outs I’m late on schedule, she’ll make me look at her eyes again.

“Yo, you okay?” asked Gambit.

“Hmm?”

“You’re real pale. Saw a ghost or something?”

“Or something,” muttered Stick under his breath. He coughed and forced the image of her gaze into the darker depths of his mind. “The list is unmistakable,” he said while handing it over to the pegasus. “It was formed by the most brilliant minds of Canterlot. See for yourself: it has been approved by all three Chancellors.”

Gambit accepted the piece of paper, eyed it for a moment and then hoofed it back. “Yeah. You’re totally right.”

Stick shoved the list back to the bottom of his saddlebag, confident that his intuition had been right: the colt couldn’t read. Nopony who knew the true meaning of this list would put their name on it, least of all a Chancellor.

“I just can’t see how the fate of Equestria could lay in the hooves of Aunt Apple,” said Gambit. “I mean, she’s half deaf and has more teeth in her mouth than hairs in her mane. Or was it the other way around?”

It relieved Stick a great deal to hear that. At the very least they could make up for some of the time lost. An elderly mare shouldn’t offer too much resistance, and the coat would probably come off by itself.

“As long as she has the right cutie mark, nothing else matters,” he said. “How come you know this Auntie Apple, by the way?”

Gambit gave him a surprised look. “How come you don’t? Everypony knows Auntie. She runs a bakery on that address. Do some odd chores for her and she rewards you with a slice of apple pie.”

“She lives there too, I expect? Possibly alone?”

“I guess. Her husband died when I wasn’t born yet. And there can’t be too many ponies in the world who can stand her snoring over a night. The pies are great, though.”

“Losing them will be a great blow for the community, I expect.”

“What?”

“I mean,” said Stick quickly, “That a pony of her age can’t possibly be baking pies and saving the world at the same time.”

Gambit nodded in agreement. “Yeah. It’s a shame. She always gets the crust just right.”

They arrived at the place half an hour later. It was nothing Stick hadn’t expected: a small boutique on a side alley, just in touch with the din of the main street a few blocks away. A little sign hung over the door. It read “Bakary” there.

There’s bound to be one, maybe two cats inside, thought Stick. Nothing else would make sense. And maybe some little helper cleaning the place or making dough while Auntie had her midday nap. In from the front, out from the back, five to ten minute job altogether, give or take. The script was there, right behind Stick’s eyes. There was but one problem, floating by his side.

“Aren’t we gonna go in?” asked Gambit.

“And tell her what?” said Stick, studying the facade of the bakery. “That Applejack the Honest was her grandmother? That her fate is to save Equestria? If she’s not already aware of the first point, the second one will give her such a hearty laugh it might kill her.” Which would arguably save a great deal of mess, he added internally.

The pegasus landed next to him. “So what do we do, then? Stand here until the end of the world?”

“I have a plan in mind,” said Stick. He looked at his companion. “But it includes me going in there alone.”

Gambit raised an eyebrow. “Why? Don’t you remember: I know Auntie. If it’s one of her good days, she’ll even remember me. It might help convince her.”

This was a reaction Stick had been afraid of. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t have figured out a credible reason to keep the colt outside the shop. That left him with two options. The first one was to leave the site with two cutie marks instead of one. That plan had its obvious risks, which left him with one real alternative. That had its risks, too, but not none that included getting beaten to a bloody pulp by a frenzied lightning bolt.

“That may be the case, and honestly I could use your help in there… but I need you to do something else,” said Stick. He let the expectant gaze in the youth's eyes turn a bit more expecting before saying, “I want you to find the second address on the list on your own. Can you do that?”

Gambit seemed taken aback. “Uhm… Really? I mean, ah, sure. Sure I can.” He blinked a couple of times and added, “Why didn’t you suggest this right away?”

“I got here faster with you guiding me,” said Stick. “And considering your abilities, the detour shouldn't be much of a problem.” He put a hoof on the pegasus’s shoulder. “Time is our enemy, Gambit. You’re our ace in the sleeve – a real gambit. Many agents in my stead would hesitate to give this much responsibility to you so soon, but my hunch tells me otherwise. It hasn't been wrong before.”

Gambit nodded valiantly. “You can count on me, sir.”

“I know I can. Good luck, lad.”

There was a brief whooshing sound as a pair of wings unfolded, after which there was no trace left of the pegasus in the alley. Stick looked up to the sky and saw a dot speeding out of his vision like a living arrow.

“What an idiot,” he said and walked into the bakery.

***

The door to Feinsake’s office opened, and in strode Ember Trail. Pain blossomed rich under the bandage on his shoulder, but he wasn’t about to let such a minor thing ruin his noble gait.

He stopped in centre of the room. “You summoned me?”

Feinsake, without turning from the massive window that she faced, said, “What’s the latest word from the City Guard? Have they found the perpetrator of the recent murder?”

“Er. No, I suppose not. Why?”

“Any other news concerning the case? Any at all?”

Ember Trail hesitated. Why would the Chancellor ask such a thing from him? She had the bloody secretary, whatever her name was, for that sort of thing. This must be some sort of a test, he reasoned. If there was but one thing Trail was certain about Feinsake, it was that she loved to test ponies, often times without them knowing about it.

“Not that I know of,” he said. “The new Captain’s little adventure is what it has been about for the whole day. What nerve! As if it wasn’t insane enough to shoot a serving Senator! I can’t understand how you could–”

“What adventure?”

Trail stopped, yet his mouth remained open for a moment longer. It wasn’t possible that she was seriously asking that, was it? No, it couldn’t be. The janitors of the Parliament were talking about what Heart had done.

Although… It was true that Feinsake had been mysteriously absent for the whole day. It was even possible that he was the first pony to have seen her since yesterday. The thought was quickly expelled from his mind – the secretary, at very least, would have met her. The little nuisance practically slept with her, and it amazed Trail that she was nowhere to be seen now.

“Er. Well, the adventure to the Cliffs. That Heart made. This morning. That’s what everypony has been talking about. It wouldn’t be a wonder if some petty murder was left in the shadow of that.”

In a hypnotically slow fashion, Feinsake looked over her shoulder at him. “What?”

Ember Trail was not a wise pony. He was too clever for that. But even he could spot truth when it was shoved down his throat. She doesn’t know. By all things holy, she doesn’t know.

“Feinsake, my love… You might want to sit down for a while.”

To his amazement, she obeyed him. As he updated her on the situation, rumours included, she never made a sound, never made an expression that would betray her reaction. And still Trail felt like he was slapping her to the face the whole time. Needless to say, the sensation was overpowering.

“How come your secretary didn’t inform you of this?” he said after he had finished. “That little filly: Nip, was it? Dip?”

“Chip,” whispered Feinsake. Her gaze aimed at nothing, and the corners of her mouth twitched gently. “Her name was Chip.”

“I take that to mean you fired her already,” said Trail. “Good thinking. A secretary like that is a disgrace for the whole profession.” He shook his head and suddenly noticed that Feinsake’s eyes, while definitely still glazed, had wandered to a certain spot on the floor. The sight of it made him sneer. “Gods, she couldn’t even keep your office cleaned, could she? Where did all that dust come from? Let me call somepony to wipe it off.”

Feinsake blinked. “No!”

Ember Trail looked at her with an eyebrow raised. The other one soon joined it. He had hardly ever witnessed her frown, and now she was… her face…

“What is the matter with you?” he said carefully.

Feinsake looked away. “Could I have a moment alone? Please?”

“You certain? Should I call a doctor? You might be sick: this room is freezing.” He took a step closer to her. “Allow me to–”

She looked him in the eyes. “Leave me alone.”

Seized by a vague feeling of compliance, Ember Trail turned on his heels and marched out of the room, closing the door behind. It took him ten whole minutes to think of anything else than leaving Feinsake alone in her office.

Feinsake stared at the pile of dust. Eventually she seized one of the pot plants of the room, emptied its contents on the floor and, with utmost care, swiped the dust inside. The pot she put next to her desk, out of sight. And then she returned to her window.

She wondered whether there would be a special place in Tartarus for creatures like herself. She hoped there wasn’t.

She touched her distended belly. The foal within had been very still ever since Mr Gruff had left. That was a good sign, she told herself. Over and over again.

She looked at her hoof. The coat was smooth again, and the fur gleamed with youth and life. It made her sick beyond reason.

There was so much she could hate about herself now. There would come a day, she knew, when she wouldn’t be able to ignore that. That would be the deadline of her mission.

Yes. There was so much to do, too much to wallow in what could never be undone in the first place.

“You will always be remembered,” she whispered while looking at the faraway cliffside. “But first I must ensure that there will be anypony left to remember.”

***

Even if he would never admit it to anypony alive, Heart considered himself as a pretty tough stallion. There wasn’t much that could truly upset him, and although the recent events had tried his limits, they were far from ruining his mental stability hardened by a decade spent in the Citizen Guard.

At the moment though, he felt like a little foal lost in the woods at night. The griffon’s last words kept on bouncing in his skull, never settling for a proper processing.

He threw up.

Cecil watched him for a time and then said, “You have to clean that up before leaving.”

Heart looked at her, a thin strand of vomit hanging from his trembling lips. “Food?” he managed. “Canterlot is… food?”

Silence of a grave descended into the small room. Shadows kept on teasing Heart’s vision at the corners. If he concentrated, he could hear tiny flakes of reality rustling into oblivion.

“There’s hardly enough fish to feed everyone as is, and the catches are growing smaller,” she said. “One day, we might run out of fish. After that, nothing is certain. Nothing except…”

“The hunger,” heard Heart himself say. He spat on the floor. “How long?”

Cecil shrugged. “It might have happened already. There hasn’t been any news from the coast for a few days.”

Heart wiped his mouth and fixed his bearing. Shivers of cold nausea vibrated from his very bones. When he was certain he could push them back, he looked at her.

“Why are you telling me this? If there’s no hope, if we’re already at war, why bother? Why?”

“Because I believe there’s still hope.” After a pause she continued, “Isn’t that what you wanted to hear?”

“There has to be!” he shouted. The echo died away quickly, leaving another graveyard of sound behind.

There has to be hope, he told himself. She had been playing him from the start, that was obvious. Suppose everything she had told him was true: there was no Brigade, no King, no Laws worthy of the name. Suppose all there was was a mountain full of starving predators, confident in the knowledge that the world had ended a hundred years ago. Why’d she give away the game? Why wouldn’t she continue acting?

“You’ve played with our rules,” he said. “Perhaps your heart wasn’t it, and for sure your brains weren’t, but still you’ve kept at it for years. You’ve tried to come to terms with us.” He took a step closer to her. “Don’t tell me that wasn't for hope of something.”

“Perhaps it was,” she said. “Like I said, no one planned any of it. Things just happened. Because they needed to.”

“Nothing happens without a purpose.”

She gave him a disgusted glance. “Not even the Fall? What might have been the purpose of that?” Her claws screeched against the bare stone. “Tell me, little pony. Why did thousands die? Why did the world end?”

“It hasn’t ended,” he said. “We’re still alive. We’re still breathing.”

“Wasted breathe.”

“Then why,” he said, “Have you not killed me yet?”

Their gazes interlocked like two blades in a battlefield. There were no sparks, no scream of steel, but Heart could not remember a more intense fight in his life. He wished he knew what it was all for, exactly.

“You should leave now,” she said eventually, “Before I have to answer that question. I might not like the answer, you see.”

The same thought had visited Heart’s mind a few times. But he had a feeling that if he left now, they wouldn’t meet again. Not in such a cordial atmosphere, at least.

On the other hoof, he must’ve spent hours here already. There was no telling what was happening in the city. At the very least he had missed the press conference, which probably gave the reporters more material to write about than he could have ever given them intentionally.

“Before I go,” he said, “I would very much like to have your word on something. In fact, I insist.”

She snapped her beak.

“No matter what you say, a place with this many people needs to have some sort of order to stay together over a night. You have guards watching the road here, more on guarding the food. Such things don’t happen just by themselves.”

“Get to the point,” she said.

Heart drew a deep breath. “I ask you for a week. One week of peace.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And what would you do with this one week which no one in the world could give you?”

“Build a future. A shared one.”

“How?”

A faint smile appeared on his lips. “Sounds as if you cared about that.”

She opened her beak quickly, but closed it slowly. A smile very much like his followed. “If I didn’t know how easily it gets hurt, I’d say you have a very thick skull, Deck Heart the Captain.”

Heart offered her his hoof. “One week. Somehow, anyhow. That’s all I ask.”

She eyed the extended limb with a mixed expression of doubt, annoyance and frustration. It was a combination that very much resembled curiosity.

Her claws closed around his hoof.

“It’s not like I got anything else to do,” she said.

Heart nodded. That’s what I hope. From the bottom of my heart.

***

It took Gambit virtually no time at all to get to the address where the next descendant of the Element Bearer’s should live, not even as he had to stop a few times to ask directions from fellow pegasi. He landed on the busy street and smiled smugly as he spotted the number of the house across. Right on the first go, he thought while taking the first steps towards the yellow door. It was the second step that came with the doubts. What am I doing, exactly? Do I just march in and hope it’ll work out? Will she believe me?

He noticed a pond on the cobbled street and the reflection that stared back at him. His mane was shaggy and could only be called clean in comparison to rest of his body. Living in the streets tended to make you look like you had been walked on for your whole life. The real question then was, how could she believe him?

When he thought about it, Stick hadn’t actually told him to make contact with the target – only to find her. Was he supposed to just wait for him to arrive? But if that was the case, why couldn’t they stick together in the first place?

For the first time in his life, Gambit felt he actually had rushed things a bit.

He was about to return to the bakery when he saw the front door of the house open. An elderly unicorn stallion, dressed in a fine suit and a top hat, walked out. A cage with some bird inside flew after him, along with a young pegasus mare. The two exchanged a few words, which Gambit had no chance of hearing through the din of the street, and then the gentlecolt continued on his way with the caged bird.

Suddenly, the mare noticed Gambit looking at her across the street. She blinked, smiled briefly and returned inside.

Gambit stood amidst the afternoon traffic for a while and then flew over the crowd and stepped inside. A bell tinkled above him as the door closed. As it faded away, a nasty feeling hit the bottom of his stomach.

He had entered into a pet shop.

Rows of cages filled the many shelves of the interior, all harboring some creature covered with fur, feathers, scales or all of those. The noise they made all but drowned out the din of the street. There was no single word, not any that Gambit knew, for the smell of the place.

“Uhm, hello!” called a voice behind a counter on the back of the shop. Her lips kept moving, but the words were lost somewhere between the whistle of the little tit in the corner and the hissing of the snake next to Gambit’s ear.

“What?!” he said.

The mare shook her head, bended over the counter and reappeared a moment later, holding a sign which read, “Welcome to the Pearl Square Pet Shop! Please look around and consult the vendor when necessary.”

Gambit, who still couldn’t read, walked to the mare and yelled: “Is your name Flitter?!”

The mare blinked in confusion. She shook her head.

Gambit leaned over the counter and looked at her cutie mark. The pink butterfly there looked exactly the same as the ones he had seen in the list.

“You sure?!” he asked, still leaning over.

The mare looked even more confused. “Uhm. Yes. Pretty sure.”

“Pretty sure?”

The mare batted her eyes with growing vigor. Already it was clear to Gambit that she was quite used to this.

“I am sure,” she said, slightly more insistently. A pause ensued, one which she apparently felt obliged to end. “Uhm. I’m sorry to disappoint. Is there some other way I could help you?”

Gambit’s ears twitched – the mindless, chimerical choir of the animals awoke in him all too warm memories of Two Hill’s headteacher. Especially the volume was pretty exactly the same.

“Do you know who you are?” he asked.

The mare smiled a wavering smile. “I… I do?”

“I mean, d’you know who your grand-grand-grand-ma was?”

She gave him a guarded nod. “Uhm, yes. Her name was Fluttershy. Fluttershy the Kind, as they call her nowadays.”

It was Gambit’s time to look confused. “You know that? And you’re still working here?”

“Uhm. Yes, I do work here. It’s very nice, in fact.”

His eyes grew wide. “But you’re a saint! Don’t you get it?! There’s like a thousand ponies out there who’d like to make you a Princess!”

She seemed to shrink behind the counter. “Y–yes, I’m aware of that. Uhm. Could you please maybe not tell them where to find me?”

Right before Gambit could answer, the tit in the corner emitted another ear-piercing whistle, making him grimace. “Can’t you tell them to shut up!?”

She raised an eyebrow. “They’re animals. I can’t tell them anything. Nopony can.”

“Look, it’s really, really important that you listen to what I got to say. Couldn’t we go somewhere quieter to talk?”

“I’m sorry, I’m not supposed to leave the counter.”

“Then just listen, okay? So you know you’re the grandfoal of one of the Element Bearers: that’s great. Means we can skip that part.” He drew a deep breath, went over the words one more time in his head and said, “Equestria needs you to save it. Now.”

Her face remained blank.

“I know it’s hard to take it in at once,” he continued, “But I’m telling the truth. You know I am. Deep inside yourself, you’ve known it all along.” He stopped to retroactively listen to himself. Strange, he thought. That sounded so much better when Stick told it to me.

“From what does it need to be saved?” she asked carefully.

“The griffons, duh. And, uh, corruption and darkness,” he added when her expression didn’t change. “Hey, come one, you know what I’m talking about! The world has been ending for, like, a hundred years! It’s time somepony did something!”

“You’re blaming me for that?”

Gambit grimaced, and not just because the tit screamed again. “No no no! You, I mean we, must fix it, that’s what I’m trying to say! We’re the new Element Bearers!” He whirled around, showing her his flank. “See? I’m the heir of Rainbow Dash the Loyal!”

She smiled her fragile smile again. “Yes, I can clearly see that. Uhm. Would you mind if I visited the backroom real quick? I… I think I left the stove on…”

Gambit frowned. It didn’t seem like she believed him, which made no sense. It was all so clear in his head.

“There’s no time,” he said, turning around. “I know this one guy who can explain all this way better than I can. You should meet him.”

“I–I’m sure we would get along great,” she said, inching her way backwards to the curtain behind her. Her smile flickered on and off on her lips. “Just a moment, please…”

Before she could bat an eye, he had suddenly flown over the counter right before her.

“A funny thing, having a stove in a house with no chimney,” he said, staring her in the eyes. “Don’t you think that’s funny?”

Her smiled had frozen into on-position. “Uhm. Uhm. Yes. Funny.”

Gambit rolled his eyes. “Yeah, glad we agree on something.” He grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her in what he thought would be a gentle manner. “Now come on, we don’t got all day to–”

“F–Flitter!” she suddenly yelped. “C–could you come over here for a second?!”

In short order, the curtain to the backroom was pulled aside. A pegasus stallion, his fur the exact same, wheat-yellow shade as hers, strode in. He looked once at Gambit, then at the mare.

“You called, sis?”

Sis? thought Gambit. He looked the stallion up and down. Aside from the sex, he seemed to be the exact clone of the mare, the cutie mark included. The most notable difference was that, unlike hers, his eyes didn’t bat all that much. To the contrary, they were nailed at him.

“You two, like, siblings?” Gambit asked.

“Twins,” said Flitter matter-of-factly. “Who’re you?”

“He tried to take me away and introduce to some guy who knows why the world’s going to end,” blurted the mare before Gambit could even think of an answer.

Flitter’s gaze narrowed down. “Is that so?”

Gambit groped for the words, but suddenly his all too clear plan appeared awfully muddled. “Ah. Eh. Look, I got a good explanation for this. I’m not just the right guy to explain it. If we could just go see my friend–”

“I don’t think so,” interrupted Flitter. “What I do think is that you should either make a buy or leave. Please.”

“We all started off on the wrong wing here,” said Gambit. Suddenly, a revelation struck him. “Hey, maybe if you’re really identical twins, you’re both supposed to come along with me? If you’re both equal heirs of Fluttershy, then we need both of you to save Equestria!”

The siblings exchanged a quick glance, then looked at him with the exact same, overly friendly and slightly guarded smile.

“Save Equestria?” Flitter echoed with a hint of amusement. “From what?”

“That’s what I asked, too,” muttered the mare.

It occurred to Gambit that his credibility account was so frozen it might not melt until next spring. The sensation was completely alien to him. Amongst the Crusaders, his bare nod had been the gold standard of authority. They had listened to him there, even if that was only because he could drop a bit off his extended hoof and fly under it before it hit the floor. He had gotten so used to being listened to that he no longer remembered what it meant to not be heard.

He recalled fine how infuriating it felt, though.

“So you don’t believe me, huh? You think I’m crazy, huh? Huh?” His slim chest puffed up with every word. “Is that ‘cause you think you’re better than me?”

The siblings stopped smiling. “Hey, take it easy, kid,” said Flitter. “We’re just trying to run a shop here. Now, if you’re not going to buy anything, I have to ask you to leave.”

“Kid?” echoed Gambit. “You’re calling me a kid?”

Flitter, who was slightly taller than he, snorted. “Would ‘brat’ suit you better?”

“Flitter!” blurted the mare.

“That’s a cute butterfly stuck on your ass, that is,” said Gambit, his eyes drilling into Flitter’s. “How’d you get it? Beat one in a flight contest? Or inna fight?”

“Seeing how you can’t even afford a decent bath, I’d say you’re not going to buy anything from here, either,” said Flitter slowly. “Get out.”

“We should all calm down,” said the mare, anxiously eyeing both stallions.

“After you,” said Gambit. “The street’s waiting.”

Flitter’s laugh was like a lash of a whip, slashing Gambit across the face. “You really are a brat, aren’t you?”

Three things happened after that, roughly in the following order. First, there was a shove. It didn't really matter whose it was. Next, and to the immediate interest of the bypassers, Gambit and Flitter broke through the shop’s front door in a mismatched ball of feathers, hooves and teeth. Thirdly – and this happened a considerable time later – the Guard arrived. Far from ending the fight though, this actually caused a riot as the crowd sought to stop the guards from ending the fight in which quite hefty bets were already at stake.

Chapter VI

Author's Note

Finally, an update. The final chapter will appear in a week or two, perhaps in two parts, but it will appear, I swear! In the meantime, thanks for ya all for reading!

Chapter VI

In the backyard of a small bakery, a cat basked in the afternoon sun. All things considered it had a comfortable life, or nine, to live.The nice mare of the bakery often put a saucer of milk out at nightfalls, a prize for which the cat would go through the trouble of fighting off any number of rivals. Its missing ear and scars on his back were the proof of that.

The expected moment seemed to arrive ahead of schedule today. The small door to the back alley opened with a creak, and the cat was up before the noise had died away. The sweet taste already fondled its tongue as it paced to meet the pony stepping through.

To the feline’s great confusion, the comer did not smell of apples and liqueur. Its limited capability to perplexion was stretched further by the observation that it had never met this particular pony before. However, none of this compared to the utter bafflement the cat experienced when the stranger, after wiping some sticky stuff off his hooves, tried to kick it.

“Damn cats,” muttered Stick as he watched the animal disappear among the trash cans. “Can’t stand them. Always up to something.” He wiped his hooves one more time, just to make sure, and then left the scene without closing the door.

After a while, the cat returned. It sniffed the sticky stuff once and hissed, its one remaining ear pressing against its head.

It peered inside the bakery. On the edge of lamplight, sticking from behind a counter, it saw a familiar leg. It wasn’t moving. The scent of blood was overwhelming.

Well, a meal’s a meal, thought the cat and skittered inside before anything bigger could show up.

A little farther away, Stick cantered determinately onwards. The script had ended up including neither cats nor little helpers. It had been a clean job, in the figurative sense at least. If things keep on running this smoothly, I might still be able to stick to the schedule, perhaps even get ahead. The thought relieved him a great deal. It offered him a vision of a world where she would not allow unimaginable agony to consume him.

With the aid of some helpful passersby and the Canterlot map he eventually made to the address where he had sent Gambit a little over an hour ago. It was about an hour longer than he would have liked to let the colt out of his sight, but there had been no helping it. Anyway, what was the worst thing that could have happened?

Turning a corner, the answer hit him straight in the face.

The street looked like the aftermath of a large scale battle. Several ponies lay on the ground, unconscious or dead, Stick could not say. At least a dozen guards roamed the place, either interrogating ponies or trying to figure out in which category the aforementioned bodies belonged to. Broken glass, bent street lights and smashed carts filled the site.

Stick wandered to one of the guards with apparently nothing else to do than general guarding and asked, “What the hay happened here?”

“A riot,” he answered. “Two pegasi ruffians started a fight, which turned into an illegal entertainment the moment the bets started flying.”

A nasty premonition nagged in the back of Stick’s skull. “Where are these two hotheads now?”

“In the station. It took five of us to get them there.” The guard gave him an up and down look. “Why do you ask?”

“General curiosity,” answered Stick with an innocent smile. He left the guard quickly before the tide of questions could make a full U-turn.

Circling a few bodies, he walked to the door of the nearby pet shop. A sign there read, “Closed under exceptional circumstances. Will be open tomorrow as usual.” He knocked on it, receiving no response. The thought of breaking in crossed his mind, but the squadron of guards behind him made that a hazardous move. He sat down to consider his options.

While he was at it, he started hearing voices. This was nothing new to him. All kinds of ideas had the habit of presenting themselves to him in a guise of a foreign voice. Some of them he considered his best friends.

The more he listened, the clearer the words became. The tone also gained a distinct character. And then he knew.

It was her voice.

Return home, it said. Return home. Now.

Stick’s eyes were as wide as they would get yet all he could see was darkness. It reverberated around him, as if it was but a veil behind which a creature moved, closer to him than his eyelids.

“You alright there, buddy?”

Stick blinked. The guard whom he had spoken to stood in front of him.

“Saw or a ghost or something?” he said.

Stick stood up. His lips moved to form a few words.

“Come again?” said the guard.

“Need to return home,” he said mechanically. “Need to return home.” With glazed eyes, he cantered away.

***

Violet tapped the corner of the table with a pencil, not once missing a beat while her horn raised the coffee mug and emptied it on one go. It was her fifth dose of the meeting. Some would consider such quantities of caffeine unhealthy, but they wouldn’t be aware of the balancing effects of the brandy that made for one fourth of every mug. Even then her nerves had been under considerable duress during the last few hours.

“We have to do something!” said Lime Light, the head of forensic team A. He gave the others around the table a pleading look. “The Captain has been there since the morning, and it will get dark soon! We can’t let him stay lost for over a night!”

“And why is that, exactly?” asked Amber, the head of team B. “He explicitly said we were not to interfere under any circumstances.”

“He also said he wouldn’t stay for no longer than a few hours!” Light turned to Acting-Captain Cowl. “I tell you, we have to get him back before the night. We can’t be fighting in the Cliffs without daylight.”

“Fighting?” snapped Amber. He, too, looked at Cowl. “You hearing this? He’s talking of starting a war!”

“It’s our Captain we’re talking about here!”

“And he knew the risks involved,” said Violet. She paused, shaking the last drops of liquid from the bottom of her mug into her gaping mouth. “We’re treading a circle here. And I’m thinking that’s already playing into the claws of our adversaries.” The mug hit the table hard. Her eyes focused on Cowl, whose head had been buried in his hooves for the most part of the meeting.

“We need a decision, Cowl,” she said. “And we need it now.”

Cowl looked up from his hooves. In a matter of hours, he seemed to have aged a decade. The room held its breath as he stared at nothing.

“We’ll go in,” he said.

Amber’s face fell. “You can’t be ser–”

Cowl slammed his front leg on the table so hard that Violet’s mug jumped a bit on the other end.

“Damn right I am!” he shouted at Amber’s face. “And if that doesn't suit you, I’ll gladly accept your resignation!”

Amber’s normally dark fur paled in a flash. Just yesterday he could have had Cowl whipped for even spitting in his direction.

“Then we need a strategy,” said Light. He turned to one of the guards standing by the door. “Go to the archives and tell them to bring here all the premade plans we have on attacking the Cliffs.”

Cowl waved a hoof irritably. “Cancel that. Those plans weren’t made for a scenario where the Captain was held hostage by the enemy. Anyway, we don’t have time to set them up.”

“So what is your plan?” asked Violet.

Cowl’s moustache twitched. “We’ll gather every soldier available, pegasi corps included, and march to their front door. Then we’ll ask really nicely if they’d let our dear Captain back home.”

They all stared at him.

“And in the case they refuse?” asked Violet carefully.

A few hairs dropped from Cowl’s moustache as it shivered. “A blockade. We’ll put up a blockade. No fish gets in, no griffon gets out, not before we get our Captain back.”

The Lieutenants exchanged glances. Everypony knew that as far as diplomacy was concerned, a total blockade was a stronger declaration of war than charging head-on to the caves.

“Should we inform the Parliament?” asked Amber.

Cowl snorted. “And let the bloody Unity Guard get involved? Hay no. Besides, I’ve a gut feeling that they’ll get to know sooner rather than later anyway.” He drew a deep breath. “Okay. First we need to–”

The door burst open and a sweaty, panting guard stumbled in, to be immediately seized by his comrades inside.

“What is it?” snapped Cowl.

The comer saluted. “A report of a riot, sir. On the west-side of town. We rounded up twenty two heads.”

Cowl’s expression didn’t change. “Is that it? Lock them up for a night and be done with it.”

The guard hesitated. “Uhm, well, one of them insist to see, and I quote, ‘whoever idiot runs this place’, sir.”

“And you’re telling this to me because…?”

The guard sweated under Cowl’s gaze. “Uhm, he really insisted, sir. And he claims to be a descendant of Rainbow Dash the Loyal.”

Cowl rolled his eyes. “Is that so? Well that changes everything, doesn’t it? Of course we can’t have the grandson of Rainbow Dash the Loyal share a cell with common rioters. If he insists on anything else again, throw him in isolation,” he added after a pause.

“Now,” he continued after the guard had rushed away, “Let’s go get our Heart back.”

***

Deep within the caves of the Cliffs, Helm Cleaver was in the process of drawing up his will. It wasn’t much to look at, he would have had to confess, and not just because he was writing it on a used hoofkerchief. His earthly wealth was mostly limited to a few pieces of old furniture and clothes. The rented apartment was the courtesy of his father-in-law, and a guard’s pay could buy only one real future, which was reserved for his son. It pained him to speculate what his offspring would think of his legacy, or the advice he had scribbled on the edge of the tissue. The best ones he had picked from fortune cookies.

“I’m pretty sure ‘dignified’ doesn't have ‘k’ in it,” said Mill Stone, who had been reading over his shoulder.

Helm glared at him. “Oh yeah? Well I’m pretty sure you can mind your own bucking business!”

“Hey, no harm meant.”

Helm’s chin fell. “Right. Whatever. It’s not like anypony’s ever going to read this.”

Somewhere near them, droplets of water kept on eating stone, every drip drilling slightly deeper.

“They wouldn’t dare hurt the Captain of the Guard,” said Mill. After a pause he was forced to add, “Right?”

“There’s nothing these feather brains wouldn’t dare do,” said Helm darkly. “They’re practically animals.”

Mill gave this a thought. “Aren’t we all?”

“They’re in a bad sense.”

“Says the prey,” whispered a voice from the darkness. Helm and Mill jolted to their feet and backed against the wall.

The griffon who had taken Heart away ages ago stepped into the torchlight, grinning. “Evening, little ponies.”

“I have a small son!” wailed Helm. “Please! I don’t want him to grow up without a father!”

“Where is our Captain?” asked Mill sternly.

Cecil’s eyes turned from the sorry face of Helm to him. “He had to leave in a hurry.”

“They threw him off the cliff!” whispered Helm into Mill’s ear.

Cecil raised an eyebrow. “And waste food like that? What, you take us for barbarians?”

The joke had the expected effect on the two ponies, and in the normal circumstances she might have carried on the game for quite a while. A promise was a promise though.

“Relax,” she said. “You’re our guests, and as long as you behave accordingly no one will touch you. Not without crossing my dead body first.”

“So where is our Captain, then?”

“Like I said, he had to leave in a hurry. I’m sure he will explain everything to you once you meet again. In the meantime, he asked me to give you this.”

She offered them a small piece of paper, which Mill accepted without taking his eyes off her.

“He orders you to take it to the station at once,” continued Cecil. “Come. I will lead you out.”

“Now hang on a minute,” said Mill. “What proof we have that the Captain really ordered this? Your word?”

“That’s not good enough for you?”

“It is!” said Helm before Mill could answer. He pulled him closer. “Don’t start playing a hero on me. She’s offering us a way out. We should take it.”

“And what if it’s a trap?” whispered Mill back.

“We are in a trap. They could do whatever they wanted to us. Besides, we’ll find out if they’re lying the moment we get back to the station.”

“And if it is a lie… What about Heart?”

Helm’s jaw clenched. “Are you even listening? If they’ve captured him, the best we can do about it is get out and tell somepony higher up.”

As hard as Helm found to admit it, his friend made sense. Cowardly sense, true, but perhaps it would have to do. He looked at the griffon again.

“Fine. Lead the way.”

She did. As they made their way to the surface, she asked, “Aren’t you going to read the letter, at least?”

“If it’s genuine, we have no right to,” said Mill. “If it’s not, then it’s not worth the trouble.”

Cecil shrugged. She could respect that logic, even if she couldn’t understand it. She had read the letter over Heart’s shoulder as he had written it. The idea therein was noble, if nothing else. Noble enough to make her wish she had actual hope left to cling to.

***

Fear is basically a very rational emotion. The world has little room for lifeforms that do not know fear in one sense or another. The lack of it might earn you a place in the history books, but not in the spin of evolution. Fear is essential for survival, at least in the right doses.

Stick had lost his ability to fear on the day when, so long ago, they had found him in the cellar of his so called home, chained to a wall from a leather collar. Whatever part of him that could feel terror had stayed tethered while the rest had been carried away.

But being fearless was not the same thing as being brave, for bravery is the act of defeating one’s fear. Stick had never defeated anything. He had simply seen the bottom of fear and pushed right through to the other side of terror and courage both.

Lacking fear, Stick’s mind had come up with a new foundation for cohesion, which unfortunately appeared as simple lunacy to most around him. Eventually it had led him into another cellar, where he would have spent the rest of his life, were it not for one particularly strange mare. Yet, on his rare moments of comparative clarity, Stick wondered if her gaze was yet another cellar.

He didn’t need to see the glow of dozens of candles to know she was already waiting for him – this was something he knew in his spine.

In the middle of the damp, stenching room, she sat with a hood on her face. A circle of runes, or what Stick imagined were runes, covered the floor under her. They looked they had been burned to the bare stone.

Approach, said the voice inside his head. The command moved his legs before he could. He stopped directly in front of her. The sound of flickering candle flames filled the air.

Where are the rest of the ingredients?

Stick tried to think of a good answer. When that failed, he tried to make one up. Before the lie could make it to his tongue, the voice within him turned into a red hot blade. His knees buckled and his mouth tore open, only to close as his own tongue refused to let him scream.

Do not lie to me. Do not even think of lying to me.

The pain ceased as if it had never existed. A suffocated gasp fled him, followed by a few lines of muddled speech.

I don’t care if you were robbed. Do you know where to find the rest of the ingredients?

“Yes,” he blurted. “Yes. The addresses have been solid. All I need is time.”

How much?

“Not long! I’ve already made contact with another target! And, and I have one cutie mark right here with me!” He hurriedly scrambled around his saddlebag and pulled out a bloody piece of deep orange coat. The two red apples were clearly visible as he waved it about. “See? See?”

Without a warning, the runes on the floor grew dim at the same moment the last traces of the eerie voice died within him. Near absolute darkness flooded in. Stick stared into it, suddenly frozen where he stood.

A touch like a gentle breeze caressed his cheek.

“Yes, I see that,” said her voice, inches from his ear. How she had gotten there without his noticing, Stick did not want to know.

A magical aura picked the cutie mark from his mouth and tucked it out of sight. “That still makes only two,” she said.

The hoof travelled around his neck and stopped there. Even though no feather could have pressed him less, it felt to Stick that the weight of the whole city hanged above him.

“There’ll be more,” he whispered. “I promise.”

“I already have your promise, and it has left me wanting.” The edge of the hoof travelled down his spine. “You said you’ve made contact with another target?”

“Yes. With Rainbow Dash the Loyal’s heir. Just a kid. I sent him to find a new target.”

“Why?”

“So that I could acquire the one you just got,” he said. He had intended to stop there, but for his horror the words kept on coming. “But… but I’ve lost him now. The Guard has him. Probably along with the pony I send him after.”

The hoof left his fur. Somehow, its absence was even more horrible than its presence.

“It is a precarious position you have led us into,” she said, now farther away from him. “It will not do. Not at all.”

Stick swallowed. “I can fix this.”

“Oh, I know you can. You can because you must. And now that makes two of us.”

Silence filled the emptiness again. Somewhere in its folds, a gutter flowed peacefully.

“By happenstance it would seem that all the rest of the targets are within the Guard’s premises at the moment,” she continued. “A coincidence of intriguing prospects, wouldn’t you say?”

Stick nodded fervently without any idea of what was actually asked of him.

“We shall go there together,” she said. “To finish this once and for all.”

Stick’s head made an emergency brake. “Together?”

“Quite so. Some arrangements will be required, of course. And a little bit of commotion may be unavoidable.”

A little bit of commotion? revised Stick internally. That wouldn’t have been his choice of words to describe an intrusion into the Guard’s quarters – and he was supposed to be the insane one.

***

Sometime later…

…Stick was really, really hoping that it would be earlier still. He longed for the lost time in the nice, comfortable cellar of the Everdream Hospital. Three full meals a day plus an hour outside seemed like the winner deal in hindsight. The lonely hours in the cell might have been dull if the voices had a quiet day, but at least he’d been able to work on his rhymes then. It hadn’t been an ideal life, but at least it had been his.

Of the life he now lived, Stick could not say the same. It wasn’t that he had no say in what he did – that had mostly been the case in the hospital – but that now even the thoughts he could sincerely call his own were a rare treat. Her voice, which never quite grew silent, was a web, and he was the fly. The analogy was completed by her eyes, which consumed a part of him with every new glimpse.

He wondered to himself, just briefly enough not to stir the strings, what she would do with him whenever he’d cease to be useful. Maybe she sends me back to the hospital, he thought. The idea had a wistful taste to it.

Along the fine seams of his consciousness, a strange disturbance travelled. Stick the fly grew very still. When she moved, it was better not to think of anything. She might take notice.

Feinsake entered the shady alley where he had been waiting, carrying a pile of clothing on her back. “It appears we are in luck,” she said while offering them to Stick. “The Guard has shown unexpected initiative and marched to the Cliffs all on their own. There is hardly anypony present. Nonetheless, it’s better you suit up.”

Stick studied the piece of clothing with suspicion. It was a guard’s uniform, but that wasn’t an issue. It smelled like somepony else had just worn it. What had happened to the pony was not a question he was keen to know.

“We shall proceed as follows,” she continued while he pulled the uniform on. “You are Hill Lock, my bodyguard assigned from the Citizen Guard. We are there to visit and interrogate a prisoner who is suspected of having intricate information concerning an intra Parliament issue. He will be our first target. With the knowledge gathered from him, we will visit the second target, after which both ponies will come along with us for further examination.”

Stick gave her a dutiful nod, or what he hoped one looked like.

“I’m glad you agree,” she said. Now, follow.

They crossed the street and, with not so much as greeting the guards standing by the door, entered the Headquarters of the Canterlot Citizen Guard, more commonly known as the station.

The lobby wasn’t very impressive, not to Stick anyway. A few clerks sat behind a row of plain wooden counters. Two sad, obligatory pot plants and a tasteless statue of some dead stallion named Shining Armor the Pure dominated the space through which they quickly marched. As Feinsake was engrossed in a discussion with one of the clerks, Stick kept glancing at the soldier leaning against the nearby pillar. He didn’t seem to have the slightest interest in them.

“Marvellous,” said Feinsake at the clerk. “We shall proceed to the cells right away.”

“Just a moment, Chancellor,” said the clerk. He looked at the guard by the pillar. “Hey, Green! Mind escorting the Chancellor to the cells?”

The soldier addressed as Green gave a lengthy sigh and started approaching Feinsake and Stick.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” said Feinsake. “I’ve visited the building in the past and know my way around it. Besides, I’d loath to stretch your already thin ponypower.”

The soldier made a 180 degree turn, but stopped as the clerk coughed meaningfully. “That is very considerate of you, Chancellor, but the rules require that every visitor to the cells needs to be escorted.”

Green made another full turn. From the corner of his eye, Stick saw Feinsake’s smile tensing like a noose.

“Do you believe it is absolutely necessary?” she said sweetly. “I really don’t want to be a bother, and, frankly, the issue I have with the detainees is, well… Let us say that the fewer ears hear about it, the better for all of us.”

The clerk’s expression remained the epitome of blankness. “I’m sorry, Chancellor, but I must insist. The new Captain is very precise about rules being followed, I hear.”

There was a pause on Feinsake’s part, although it was brief enough that only Stick noticed it, for he was expecting it. In the back of his head, he could swear he heard faint curses echo.

“The rule enslave us all,” she said cordially before turning to the soldier Green. “Lead the way, please.”

Before he could, Feinsake turned once more to the clerk as if something had just crossed her mind. “Oh, one more thing. I understand Captain Heart’s daughter is in the building, is that correct?”

The clerk gave her an odd look. “Well, as a matter of fact, yes. Why?”

“I only wish to greet the poor filly. Heart and I are close friends, you see, and I take it as my duty to comfort her daughter in such time of peril. You don’t happen to know where is being held?”

“She’s somewhere in the second floor offices, I understand,” said the clerk.

Feinsake smiled at him. “Excellent. Thank you so very much.”

To Stick’s pleasant surprise, the cell section was located underground. The atmosphere there, made up of stuffy air, dim lights and distant shouting, struck as kind of homely to him. Most of the cells they passed by were on the average side though, and judging from the odd plates that he saw the food around was probably made of homegrown ingredients. Still, it was something he could see himself coming to terms with, in the long run.

The cells they were looking for were at the back of one long corridor. Most of the rioters had been put in one large cell, Green explained, but these two deserved special treatment, being the cause of all the hassle. As they got to them, Feinsake kindly asked if they could interrogate the prisoners in peace. When Green refused her, on account of that being against the rules, she sighed deeply. Her horn flashed brightly, and when Stick’s eyes recovered he saw the guard all limp on the ground.

“He won’t come around for a while, which doesn’t mean you should be idle with your time. Somepony else might come.” She picked the cell keys that the clerk had given them from Green and offered them to Stick. “When you’re done, meet me in the lobby.”

Stick nodded, took the keys and watched her disappear back the way they had come. Next he opened one of the empty cells and dragged Green’s unconscious body there, out sight. After a frustrating few minutes of trying to find the right key he finally got the first door open. It was pitch-black inside, yet he could hear somepony breathing. The strange thing was that the rhythm was very erratic: as if they had breathed in and out at the same time, or as if–

“Is it morning already?” asked a mare’s voice.

“Can’t be,” said a stallion. “It’s only been a couple of hours. Either that or this place really messes up your internal clock.”

“Er,” said Stick. “How many of you are there?”

There came a silence.

“What, you don’t know?” said the stallion. “You’re the ones who put us here.”

“I… I was told there’d be one pony per cell.”

Someone moved in the darkness. Soon, a buttercup pegasus mare appeared in the faint light that spilled into the cell from the corridor. Her face had a definite stern look on. “Yeah, well, I don’t know how many times we have to explain this to you people, but if one us is going to have to spend the night in this horrid place, then you have to lock us both up. Flitter didn’t start the fight. Maybe he didn’t end it either, but that doesn’t mean–”

“I’ve come to save you,” said Stick before she could get another word out. “Come quickly: there’s not much time.”

Another pony appeared from the darkness, this one the identical copy of the mare save the sex. Their cutie marks, which drew Stick’s eyes like magnets, made his already spinning mind switch a gear a few notches up. Two Element Bearers in one was not something his already fragile plan could easily accommodate.

“Who are you?” asked the stallion.

“I…” began Stick, the old lie surfacing in his mind like a whale, “...am the Envoy of Harmony, tasked to save this city and country from certain destruction. And you are the only ponies in the world who can help me do that.”

***

Violet travelled her hoof along the edge of a coffee mug with increasing velocity while staring intently through the window of her office. Above all the rooftops and chimneys, the Cliffs loomed, seemingly at peace with the world. Every now and then she could have sworn she saw two dots clashing in the sky before falling to their doom. Whether those were the signs of an ongoing battle or figments of her imagination, she had no idea. She wasn’t completely sure if she wanted to find out, either.

That was one reason why she had stayed back, besides the fact that somepony had to stay back in the first place. Most who knew her knew she was no fighter, and she would have been the first to agree with them. Quiet hours spent with a microscope were more her cup of tea. And then there was the third reason she had stayed, happily playing with her stuffed, purple dragon on the floor.

Violet was not what she herself considered “a natural mother” type, but taking care of other ponies’ foals was fine. At least for a time. And Heart was not just anypony. The stars knew that he hadn’t been dealt the most favourable cards in life lately. Not that I pity him for that. It’d be a terrible offense, pitying a pony like Heart.

“And now you can sent the letter to the Princess in her castle,” said the filly to the dragon. The creature was called Spyke, Violet reckoned. The name reminded her of something distant, of some speck in the cloth of history. Probably nothing special, she thought and turned back to the window. As she did, the door to the room opened.

“Hello,” said the comer after what seemed to Violet an awkward pause. “Ah. Am I in the right room?”

Recognizing her visitor, Violet stood up from her desk. “Who were you looking for, Chancellor?”

Feinsake tore her eyes off the filly and gave Violet a brief smile. “Oh, you know me? Of course, of course. I suppose a reputation like mine tends to precede me everywhere.” Another smile, another glance at the filly who hardly paid her any attention.

“Uhm, sure,” said Violet, frowning slightly. She had indeed seen the Chancellor before, and certainly she had heard of her. And what she had heard did not fit well with the nervous, furtive mare who now stood in her office. “Is there something wrong?”

“Not at all, dear, not at all,” assured Feinsake. She bit her lip furiously, practically chewed it. “You see, I thought… I was led to believe she would be alone here. Lily, I mean. Pardon me, I have no idea why I thought that would be the case – of course Heart would have at least a secretary watching after her.”

“O-kay,” said Violet, to whose ears both “dear” and “secretary” rang like a claw against a blackboard. “Is her excellency in the habit of checking how her subjects organize their foalcare?”

Feinsake flinched. “Ah. No, not at all. Pardon me, I’m in a funny mood today. You see, Heart and I had this agreement that if something happened to him, I would take his daughter under my personal protection. Surely he mentioned of this to you?”

Violet shook her head slowly. There was something terribly wrong with the mare before her, but she could not quite put her hoof on what that was. Perhaps it was the way she kept on glancing at Lily like she was the most extraordinary thing in the world.

“I can’t say he did, Chancellor,” Violet said.

“Pity,” said Feinsake smoothly. “Well, I’m sure he had his reasons. A busy pony like him can’t remember every single little detail.” She made a move towards Lily, who was mostly occupied with feeding a spoonful of invisible soup to her pet.

“I’m pretty sure Captain Heart wouldn’t have failed to mention anything concerning his daughter,” said Violet. She, too, took a step towards the filly. “When exactly did Heart ask this favour from you? And why? And how come you knew she was here in the first place?”

Feinsake glanced at Violet. The corner of her mouth twitched. “Why, it was a few days ago when we discussed the issue, and where to find Lily when the time would come. As for the reasons, I believe Heart would have mentioned them to you, had he seen it necessary.”

In the silence that followed, the two mares stared each other. Little by little, Lily stopped her play and looked up at them. Both were smiling, yet some instinct told her they weren’t as happy inside.

“Perhaps you should come again later when Heart has returned,” said Violet sharply. “I’m sure he won’t be away that long.”

Feinsake opened her mouth, but closed it after she noticed the filly’s big, round eyes looking at her. She flashed a kind smile, then looked at Violet with an even sweeter smirk. “I’d love to wait for Heart’s return, I’d really do, but the whole point of my visit was, well… caused by the general impossibility of that state of affairs.”

Lily blinked, then turned to look at Violet. There was something in that sentence which made her heart race, even though she could barely recount two words of it.

“I’m sure he’s on his way to us right now,” said Violet.

“Quite,” said Feinsake. With a sudden move, she kneeled besides Lily and laid a hoof on her shoulder. “Now, little one, how does a big, sweet ice cream sound to you?”

“Not before dinner,” said Violet. She walked next to Lily and pulled her behind her gently but determinately. She wasn’t smiling anymore. “I’m sorry, Chancellor, but I can’t give her to you without knowing Captain Heart’s opinion.”

The Chancellor laughed heartily. “Oh, don’t be silly, dear. What do you take me for – a lowly foalnapper? What reason in the world would I have to lie to you?”

“I don’t know, but I’d rather not find out.”

Feinsake laughed again, yet not that heartily. She leaned a bit closer to the other mare, unblinking.

A strange sensation swept over Violet. It was as if a hood had been pulled over her head, coating the world in utter darkness, Feinsake’s gaze excluded. It drew her in like a sinkhole, like a massive gyre, spinning a spiral of numbness around his mind. Enthralled, she let herself descend…

“Violet?” said Lily’s voice from the darkness. Violet blinked, and suddenly the hood was gone, leaving Feinsake present, so overwhelmingly present.

“Wh–” began Violet. A surge of energy lashed at her horn, and pain bloomed all over her brain. Even when her mind could not believe it, her body had no doubts at all: Feinsake had just neutralized her horn.

Violet may not have been a fighter, but she was not devoid of instincts. Messing with a unicorn's horn was like showing a red cloth to a bull, with the exception that no matador would ever live to repeat his trick in the former game.

Violet tackled Feinsake to the floor. A fierce struggle ensued. Feinsake tried to use her horn again but Violet foiled the attempt, strangling her opponent and bringing her weight down on her chest. Feinsake grunted, her hind legs kicking the air mindlessly, all the while Violet pressed more with her hooves. Red mist filled her vision, igniting her senses. Somepony screamed – it was Lily. The thought pierced the mist, let her steam rush out at just the instant when Feinsake realized she was dying, and her foal along with her.

A halo no thicker than paper appeared around Violet’s neck, formed a circle and twisted. The snap of bone was a gunshot: short and final. Violet’s body fell limp, her wide eyes now focused on nothing. Feinsake stared into them, panting. Then she pushed the mare off her, stood up and closed her eyes. For ten seconds she waited like that. When nopony had walked in after twenty seconds, she opened her eyes again.

Lily was staring at her, mouth agape.

“There wasn’t supposed to be nopony else here,” said Feinsake quietly. She bit her lip, glanced at the corpse and sighed. “So much hate to pave the way of love,” she said under her breath. “So much death for life’s sake.”

Lily took a wavering step backwards and hit the wall behind. Tenseness melted off her like wax, kindled by the flame of terror. In truth she screamed still, her voice reverberating in her very bones.

Feinsake kneeled in front of her. “Now,” she said, smoothing her mane, “The ice cream’s still on the table, if you’re interested.”

Lily drew a deep breath, but Feinsake caught her gaze just in time to turn the surfacing cry into a little more than a sigh.

And I thought Stick would end up with the messy part of this, she thought as they made it towards the lobby, Lily following her like a dog in a leash. The few ponies they passed by either forgot them immediately or raised an odd eyebrow. It wasn’t like the Chancellor was taking the Captain’s daughter anywhere against her own will, right? Not that such a thought could be conceivable in the first place.

In the lobby, Stick was waiting just as had been agreed. He seemed quite uneasy, but Feinsake took it as a side-effect of her extended influence on him. Splintered as his mind was, it could only take so much magical manipulation before crumbling. But it wouldn’t need to last that long anymore.

“You have the information?” asked Feinsake as he got to Stick.

He jumped a bit, rubbed the back of his neck with a hoof, glanced at the ceiling and then nodded.

“Splendid. So did I. Now, let us–”

“They’re still on,” said Stick, still staring at the ceiling.

“Excuse me?”

“The cutie marks. They’re still on their bearers. I couldn’t remove them.”

“Stick…” said Feinsake, pulling him closer and out of possible earshot of the clerk. “Are you telling me that you failed?”

“No,” he blurted. “No, I got the bearers, they’re in the corridor to the dungeons, waiting for me to pick them up. They think I’m here to free them so we can save the world together. They trust me. At least one of them does.”

Feinsake considered this, for the other option was to turn Stick into a wet spot on the floor, which obviously wouldn’t do quite yet.

“Can you get them to follow you to the hideout?” she asked.

Stick nodded his head furiously.

“Good. You had me worried there, for a moment. It has been a long day. I could not bear another worry now.” She pulled away from him. After a thoughtful pause she said, “We shall meet in the hideout in an hour. This affair will be finished today. Go on, then: bring them out. I’ll deal with the clerk.”

Stick didn’t budge. “There is something else, too.”

“Yes…?”

“There’s three of them. The kid I talked about and two siblings: twins. They have the same cutie mark.”

“The more the merrier,” said Feinsake. “It matters none. Bring them out and bring them in. And no failures.”

As Stick scampered away, Feinsake allowed her shoulders to sag. Long as the day had been, she had the premonition that it would get longer still.

With an unpleasant surprise, she found Lily looking at her. Instinctually, she averted the filly’s mesmerized gaze, only then noticing a certain lack on her hindquarter. She still has no cutie mark, she thought.

Feinsake swallowed, and her hoof travelled idly to her stomach. The foal within hadn’t shown signs of life for several hours now. A feeling of tightness gripped her throat and heart. A void pulled her in, an emptyness as absolute as the one she saw on Lily’s flank. There is nothing there, a voice kept saying. Nothing at all. Stupid filly, playing with nothing, wishing it was something.

She forced the lump in her throat into her stomach, where she prayed it would stay. There was still hope: a hope like only a mother can know.

***

In the corridor leading to the dungeons, three pegasi waited in strained silence. Gambit and Flitter stood by the opposite walls, throwing glares at one another over the mare between them. The position left her oddly related to a funambulist, although in theory she should have had no problems choosing the side she fell on. But somepony needed to hold the middle ground, she felt, or there would be nothing stopping the two stallions from starting another fight.

“What’s taking so long?” said Flitter suddenly. “Why can't we just walk out? If he’s really a sergeant, why do we have to sneak like this?”

“Because the fewer ponies who know that we exist, the better,” said Gambit. He shot another frustrated look at the other stallion. “I thought Stick explained all this to you when he got you out? We’re the new Element Bearers: destined to save the world and stuff like that. Besides, the whole building’s practically empty.”

Flitter snorted. “Look, I don’t care what dream you’re living, but leave me and my sister out of it. You’ve caused us enough trouble as is.”

“Me? You started the fight! It’s you who should–”

“Guys, please,” pleaded the mare. “Can’t we all calm down a bit? It’s no use blaming each other.”

“All I’m saying,” said Flitter, “That hadn’t we ever met this… person… we’d be home right now, maybe closing for the day. That’s all I’m saying.”

Gambit turned slowly to fully face Flitter. “Don’t you get it? This is not about you and me: it’s about the whole city. You can’t fly away from your fate.”

Flitter, who had moved the moment Gambit had, rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. You really believe in that stuff? I’ve met ten-year-olds who know that the Element Bearers are just a myth, nothing more.”

Gambit’s face fell in utter disbelief. “You don’t believe the Element Bearers were real?”

“Aren’t you the clever one? No wonder this Stick guy picked you to his personal army. There’s just no hiding the obvious from you, is there?”

Gambit pawed the floor, but stopped when the mare’s face crossed his vision. She said not a word, yet there was no mistaking her message. It was a prayer many a god would have envied to hear.

“Yeah, whatever,” said Gambit, leaning against the wall. “It ain’t my job to convince you.”

Flitter opened his mouth again, but closed it when the mare turned to face him in turn with the same look in her eyes. Kindness such as hers was a barrier few ponies would dream crossing.

As Flitter looked away, she turned to Gambit again. “If it helps any, I do believe in the Element Bearers.”

He gave her a suspicious look. “Well, duh? How could you not believe? You told me in the shop that you know you’re Fluttershy the Kind’s heir. Which means he must be, too.”

“Yes, I do know that,” she said. “But it’s a different thing to believe one’s grand-grand-mother was a saint than that she existed.” She looked at her brother, who was staring straight ahead of himself, face blank. “Flitter didn’t mean Fluttershy never existed. He meant he doesn’t believe she was the god they now think she was. She was a pony like us, not a deity.”

“But she did save world a couple of times, didn't she?” asked Gambit.

“And that means we built statues, temples and whatnot in her glory, does it? said Flitter. “All the while countless ponies are starving or without a gutter to call a home?” He looked at Gambit, not in mockery but in pity. “There’s a thousand ponies out there ready to kill another thousand just because Fluttershy was a pegasus and they’re not. That’s religion for you. If that’s what counts as believing in the Element Bearers then call me an atheist.”

Gambit stared at him, then at the mare. “That’s… That’s not what I meant… That’s not right. That’s not what believing in the Bearers means.”

She smiled weakly. “I know. I don’t believe that either. But many do, and that’s why our family has kept a low profile ever since the Catastrophe. I think that’s what all the others decided, too.”

Gambit blinked and shook his head in confusion. “Is… Is that why my parents left me? To protect me from who – what – I am?”

“You’re an orphan?” she asked, deep worry translucent in her voice. “Oh, I’m so very sorry. Life must have been so hard for you.”

Gambit kept on blinking and shifting his weight between his legs. “I… It’s okay, I’ve made my peace with it. Yeah, it’s… okay…” He rubbed his eyes, blinked some more and started sobbing. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he muttered while seemingly trying to sink into ground. “Argh, why now, why now, why the buck now: of all the times, why now…”

Foreign feathers caressed his own, and just like that he found her embracing him, spreading her wings over him like a blanket of the softest velvet, of kindness come flesh. That was the last drop that broke the dam: the tears swept over him, carrying him in the wake of fifteen years worth of doubt, hate, fear and other emotions he could not even name. Why now? he thought, for one last time. Why at all? Why?

There’s no escaping the past. Especially not when the past in question is but a single question.

“Somepony’s coming,” said Flitter.

Gambit and the mare separated. They all peered into the stairs leading up, from where quick steps echoed.

“It’s me,” said Stick’s voice before the rest of him appeared. He gave each pegasi a quick glance, as if to make sure they were all really present. “Come quickly: the way is clear.”

Gambit hastily dried the last of his tears and then flew after him. The mare was next to follow, and after one last clench of his jaw Flitter joined them. Together they made it carefully to the lobby, which seemed all but abandoned. Even the counter stood empty.

“Where is everypony?” whispered Flitter.

“On a break,” said Stick. He gave the room one last look, then cantered through it, the pegasi flying in his wake. Inaudible wingbeats paved their way to the main doors and beyond. Two guards stood at the outer gates, but after seeing Stick’s uniform they hardly bothered to glance at the others as they exited the Guard’s premises in swift order. After half a dozen blocks they finally stopped at a quiet alley.

“Well then,” said Stick, braving a victorious smile. “That went smoothly.”

“Why shouldn’t it have?” said Flitter. Suspicion shined from his eyes as he studied Stick from head to heel. “What do you want from us? Are you really even a soldier? How do you know Fluttershy was our grandmother? You better start answering these questions.”

“All will be explained in good time,” said Stick. “But that time is not now: we’re all still in mortal danger. Come, there’s a place we need to visit. Now.”

“We’re not going anywhere except home,” said Flitter.

Gambit, who was still floating in the air, spat on the ground before his hooves. “Get on with it, then. This ain’t a trip for cowards.”

“Shut up!” snapped Stick at the youth before turning an apologetic smile at the twins. “Youngs these days – so very impulsive. Do ignore him for now. This matter is too important to lose for trifles.”

Flitter’s eyes, tinted with casual disgust, turned from Gambit to him. “I think not, pal. I don’t care how you did it, but you got us out. Thanks for that. Now, goodbye.” He turned around and headed towards the end of the alley.

“If you leave now you won’t live to see the next morning!” cried Stick. In desperation, he seized the mare from a shoulder. “Please! You don’t understand! The griffons are about to attack the city, we’re all going to die, we–”

“Hooves off her!” shouted Flitter. He glided in between Stick and her, shouldering him away. “Didn’t you hear? We’re out.” He nudged his sister and said, “Come on. Let’s go home.”

“No!” cried Stick, but too late. All he got in return was a sad glance from the mare before she joined his brother on their way to the sky. In horror he watched them fly away and disappear behind the rooftops. “Stop them!” he finally cried, whirling around. “Gambit, stop them!”

“Why?” said the youth, floating above his head. “We don’t need them. Heck, the Kindness cutie mark is probably broken, split in two like that.”

“Idiot!” yelled Stick, stomping his hoof in fury. “We need all the Bearers, all the cutie marks! Get them back now, I don’t care how!”

The pegasus sneered. “What’d you call me?”

Stick, unaware of the subtle shift in the youth’s tone, kept on staring at the disappearing backs of the twins. “Hurry up, they’re getting away! If we lose them we lose everything! She will tear me to pieces! She will cook my brain! She will–”

He looked around and found himself staring at empty air. “Gambit?” he said after a moment. “Hello? Gambit? Where’d you go, friend? Where are you? Gambit? Gambit! Get back here! Get the buck back here now or, or…”

As his own voice died away, it got really quiet in the alley. It got so quiet he could hear sounds that weren’t there, whispers that reached for him beyond space and time, along the strings of a web made of thoughts. In the darkness, it kept on calling his name. The tone was urgent, insistent. Final.

In the darkness looming behind his eyelids, her gaze awaited him to blink.

Something gleamed in the edge of his vision: a piece of broken glass caught by sunlight. After some thought, he picked it up for closer inspection, after which it found a place in the pocket of his uniform.

Just in case, he assured himself. Just in case.

Chapter VII

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter VIII

Stick had heard said that, when one gazed into an abyss, it was more than likely that the abyss gazed back. Doctor Pines had been in the habit of sowing remarks like that, especially around the patients. It gave them something to think about in the long, lonesome hours of the midnight drug haze. This one was no exception. Nights and days had passed when Stick had thought of nothing else but the meaning of that enigmatic sentence.

The same thought occupied him right now. Staring into the depths of the staircase in the abandoned warehouse, he could not help but to think what happened to the gaze that blinked first. Or that didn’t. And how could something with no eyes gaze at anything in the first place?

He had spent hours searching for the three missing Element Bearers. First he had checked the pet shop, then the school, then the Guards’ station. Useless, all useless. He was useless. But not too crazy to know what happened to useless ponies. If the abyss could see, it could certainly feed.

The shard of glass in his pocket weighed practically nothing and still burdened his chest like a ton of bricks, begging for a meaning, a purpose. In a sense it was yet another abyss. Stick had become quite good at spotting those. At bottom, an abyss was not a pit but a hole – in reality. A hole come real. And what finally gazed back at you was not any end, but the other side of that end.

Stick did not want to go down there, and not just because of what he thought of abysses. Deep within he knew that, if he’d take the first step, somepony would end up killed. The mere possibility felt wrong. But so did the thought that he could tell right and wrong apart. It wasn’t a feeling he had been used to. And neither was the sensation that he now felt a lot more in touch with his feminine side than had been used to.

He took the second step. The first one would crumble at touch, as would the fourth, the fifth and the eleventh, among many others. She had shown him how to walk the stairs of abyss the first time she had led him down there. Knowledge such as that was difficult to forget. Not that I’ve tried, he added hastily, just in the case she was listening. She had kept quiet for a while now, which only fueled the need for precautions.

He got into the tunnel and started walking. At every step his legs urged him to turn and flee, to gallop until his breath would fail. But there was no running from the abyss, he knew. He might’ve been clinically insane, but he knew that much – it was the very reason he knew that much.

After some time he figured that either the tunnel had grown in length or the candles were out. He opted for the former alternative – the candles never went out, not here. The wax burned until it ran out. Still, he should have seen some glow by now. His uncertain progress turned hesitant, then almost halted. Something was not right with the abyss. This wasn’t completely unusual. But this was the wrong kind of wrongness. His crawling skin was the proof of that.

The walls of the tunnel disappeared out of his reach, and he knew that he had entered the room where all the candles should have been. A burnt smell still hung in the air.

Not unlike the feet of an insect, muttering words crawled into Stick’s ears. He could not make them out, but the voice sounded oddly familiar. In a strange, rhyming sort of way. Holding his breath, he headed towards the sound. It did not take more than a few steps for his feet to hit something that felt like a person. Or what once had been a person.

“Who’s there?” asked Feinsake’s voice.

“Me,” said Stick automatically. “It’s me. Your Stick. Your good Stick.”

A silence.

“Stick,” said Feinsake ponderously. “Yes. Stick. Yes. I remember him. Come closer.”

He hesitated but a heartbeat. “Uh, of course. Could you turn on the lights? I can’t see where you are.”

“No lights! No seeing! Must not watch, must not see. Head for my voice. Come now, hurry. There is still work to do. Gnu, flu, shoe.”

A hoof from the darkness bumped into Stick’s shoulder, holding a knife. Something warm trickled on his fur.

“You must finish here,” continued Feinsake. “There’s this one, and then another over there in the corner, still breathing. Quickly now, take this thing.”

“What happened?”

“What do you think?” snapped Feinsake. “Take this cursed thing before I’ll drive it into your heart! I can’t hold it a second longer…”

Stick accepted the knife reluctantly. Even the handle was covered in running blood, which made his grip slippery. He wiped it on his uniform.

“Who are all these… ponies?” he asked carefully.

“The Element Bearers. They came here on their own. Sow, low, tow.”

The question “How?” ran by his tongue, but Stick bit it in half before it could get farther than that. The “how” might lead to the “why,” the answer to which wasn’t that flattering to him. “So do you have all the cutie marks now?” he asked.

“All save one. That will be your next task. Mask.”

“Uhm… so if you have all the marks… and if you’ve already started removing them… uhm…”

“Speak up!”

“Might it then be possible that you don’t need me anymore?” finished Stick in one breath.

The room was dark enough that, even with her standing right next to him, Stick could not see her expression. Her silence was clear enough though – clear and long. It ended with a sigh.

“I suppose you’re right,” she said distantly. “All too right, in fact.”

“It’s not that I wouldn’t want to stay,” he continued. “It’s just that, you see… I don’t think you could understand… I certainly can’t… but… I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“All too right,” repeated Feinsake. She took a step closer to him. “Could I get that knife back, then?”

Stick sighed in relief. “Of course. I’m glad you’re so understanding. Honestly, I have no idea where this came from. All this blood… I suppose there’s only so much one can take it in, right?”

“Right,” said Feinsake, picking the blade with his horn. The stale air swished twice, and the steel was clean no more.

“It must be the mental link we’ve shared,” she said while he collapsed on the ground. “Soul is such a delicate thing. All flux and flow, no grip to speak of. Always looking to reach out. Pout, stout, snout.”

At her feet, Stick tried to speak. “My… My eyes… I can’t see… My eyes…”

Feinsake glanced at him, not so much as blinking. “You wanted your freedom, didn’t you? At this point, that was the only way. My gaze holds you captive no more. Congratulations.”

She continued removing Flitter’s cutie mark. Stick writhed on the ground, whining miserably. She paid him no attention whatsoever. When she was done, she wiped the knife on Flitter’s fur and headed to the door to her left.

It did not creak as she opened it. It should have. A door in a cellar on a night like this ought to creak. It was part of the show, creaking.

“No!” cried Lily as she saw her in the torchlight. “No! No! No!”

“At least somepony knows her lines around here,” said Feinsake. The knife floated around her head, tilting from side to side, losing the occasional drop of blood which had missed Stick’s fur.

Heart watched them fall like the grains of his life’s hourglass.

“Still no cutie mark, I see,” said Feinsake, looking at Lily’s flank. “Tut tut. Fate can be so lax at times.” Her mouth twitched into a smile. “Even his dice need the occasional nudge, it seems.”

Lily pressed tightly against Heart, whose pale face gleamed with sweat.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked. “Why?”

“I thought you’d never ask!” exclaimed Feinsake. The knife dropped on the floor with a clang. She cleared her throat, twice, and smoothed her mane with a hoof. “Why, you almost had me thinking you didn’t care. I’ve waited for this too long – my very own monologue where I explain my twisted plans for the eager audience! How quaint!” She snuffed a giggle with her hoof. “I’m such a sucker for traditions.”

The knife rose again, lifted by the pinkish glow.

“Unfortunately…” she continued with a more somber tone. “Unfortunately, time has ran away with that opportunity. But it’s really the thought that matters, I find. Kind, blind, mind.”

Heart opened his mouth again. He stopped when the cold steel pressed against his throat.

“Lily,” said Feinsake. “This is it. I’’m going to start counting from ten. Beyond zero, your father’s life is in higher hooves than my own. We all believe in you. Do not let him down. Ten.”

“There is nopony higher here than you,” said Heart.

“Wrong. Providence nobler than what this land has seen for a century holds my horn. Nine.”

“You’re the Chancellor,” continued Heart while withholding from swallowing. “Authorized by the people of Canterlot. The law knows no higher authority.”

Feinsake rolled her eyes. “You still think any of this has anything to do with laws? Wake up, Heart. Your father at the very least had the sense to face the facts, even if he could not stand their weight. Eight.”

Heart blinked. “My father? What are you talking about?”

“Seven. You know what I’m talking about. Hilt may have been weak, but he was no fool. He knew Equestria’s fate was sealed on the day the Last Alicorn fell. We’re dying, have been for a hundred years. He also knew what it would take to stop that, but he did not have the spirit to make it happen. Thus he killed himself. Six.”

“Dad, stop her!” wailed Lily, digging her face deeper into Heart’s fur. “Stop her from talking! Stop her! Stop!”

“Killed himself?” echoed Heart slowly. “That… Doesn’t make… Any sense…”

“To the contrary. You will see. They will all see. Five. Lily, the world is waiting! Use your horn! Use it! Three!”

“Dad,” gasped Lily, her throat sore from all the crying. “What do I do, dad? I can’t do it, I can’t, I dunno how, I can’t… I’ve tried, I just can’t…”

Wary of sudden moves, Heart lifted her daughter’s chin. She was shaking all over.

“Two,” said Feinsake. The knife stirred enough to split one hair on Heart’s thorat.

“Lily…” he whispered. “Remember what I told you about looking?”

Terror cracked her face. Heart’s hoof, still holding her chin, was all that kept her from collapsing.

“One…”

“Never look,” said Heart. “Never, ever look.”

Lily squeezed her eyes shut. Heart looked at Feinsake.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “So, so sorry.”

Her halo intensified. The knife pulled back an inch, stopped and–

“What’s going on here?”

Heart twitched his neck a moment before the blade would have pierced his artery. Instead, it scraped his skin, leaving a long, red cut in its wake.

Feinsake had already spun around at the speaker’s direction. Her eyes widened at the sight of Ember Trail swaying in the doorway.

“Feinsake, my love,” he started. “What on earth are you–”

She let out a strange scream before plunging the knife at his direction. Sparks flew on the spot in the wall where Trail’s forehead had been a second ago.

“Hey, wait!” he yelped, scrambling away from the knife. “What are you doing? It’s me, Ember Trail!”

“She’s gone insane!” shouted Heart. “Watch out or she’ll kill you!”

Trail threw a confused glance at Heart’s direction, but had to refocus on the knife as it again aimed to drill itself between his eyes. It stopped a few inches from his face, her pink aura now challenged by his grey one. The steel bended as two arcane forces wrested it into opposite directions.

“My love, stop this!” he wailed.

Feinsake growled in response. The glow around her horn brightened, and Trail was forced to step back as the knife inched towards him.

He’s losing, realized Heart. Either Trail’s horn was still spent from the fight or a part of him refused to believe that his beloved seriously intended to end his life. Heart tried to free his own horn or leg, but neither obstacle wouldn’t budge. By his side, Lily trembled like a leaf, holding her hooves against her ears, eyes wide shut. I have to do something, he thought desperately. Something. Anything.

Trail’s hind leg hit the wall behind him. “Why’re you doing this?” he cried. “Why? What for?”

Feinsake remained mute, her expression twisted into a frenzied snarl. She stepped forward, and the knife followed in suit. It was a mere hair’s length away from Trail’s muzzle now. Whimpering, he closed his eyes.

“Lily!” shouted Heart abruptly. “By gods! Your cutie mark! Look at your cutie mark!”

Feinsake’s eyes widened. She swirled around, nailing her gaze at the filly who was still huddling tightly against her father. With a flick of her horn, Feinsake pushed Heart aside to get a good look at her flank. Her bare, naked flank.

“Now, Trail!” barked Heart from the ground.

Trail’s eyes flashed open. The knife floated right in front of him, but now gripped only by his gray aura. At the same moment, he saw Feinsake turn again, her face wracked by terrible fury. In his spine, a fuse lit, old as the instinct to survive.

Feinsake screamed sharply as a foreign magical discharge flooded her horn. Her front legs buckled, and the rising pink glow that had started forming around the knife faded. It dropped on the floor.

“I’m sorry, my love,” muttered Trail, tears pushing past his eyes. “You left me no choice. What in the heaven’s name were you thinking?”

A hiss of pain was all he got for an answer. He looked at Heart, who had got up to hug his daughter again.

“What happened here?” Trail asked.

“I’ll explain the moment you get this thing out of my horn,” said Heart, pointing at the onyx ring.

Trail focused on the black ring, now seeing it for the first time. “Why… Why do you have that? Did she put it on you? Why?”

“Because she’s snapped,” said Heart. He slightly released his embrace on Lily and looked pleadingly at him. “Please. I must get her out of here. Please.”

“Don’t listen to a word he says,” said Feinsake. She stood up, shakily, and gave Trail the most sincere, doe-eyed look that had ever blessed her face. “Trail, my love, don’t you remember what happened? He attacked you, back in the Parliament. I dehorned him to protect you.”

“Then why did you try to impale his forehead a second ago?” snapped Heart. “She’s insane, Trail! She wants to rule the world by starting a war between us and the griffons!”

“Such nonsense. He will say anything to get you free him.” Feinsake stepped closer to Trail and smiled faintly. “Don’t you remember our plan, my love? This is it. This is all part of the plan.”

“But…” began Trail. “You… you were trying to kill me just now?”

Her smile remained impervious. “A regrettable mistake. I did not recognize you, for the darkness. It’s all past now. Please, let me touch you; to know it’s really you.”

“She’s lying!” yelled Heart. His chain creaked and complained as he pulled forward as much as it would allow him to. “You can’t be believing her! She’ll kill you! She’ll kill us all! Trail!”

Trail stood tense as a statue, transfixed by her presence. A smile rose to his lips, to match hers, yet it lacked the same bottomless confidence. “I… I do remember the plan. Our plan. Yes. The plan.” One muscle at a time, his body started relaxing. “I feared you had forgotten.”

“How could I?” she said, her smile glowing. “Forget our plan? You must have hurt your head worse than I thought. To think I would forget the plan, lest try to kill you? Oh, my love… Come here…”

They embraced each other. Heart stared at the sight, a freezing feeling travelling by his neck all the way to the bottom of his stomach. His throat ached to shout at them, to curse them, to laugh at them. Yet he could only stare; stare and wonder if, had it been he in Trail’s place, listening to Lake, would the outcome have been any different?

But he could not wonder that now. Not when his daughter’s life hung in peril on every passing second.

“Ask her where we are,” he said, forcing calmness into his voice. “Ask that, and how we got here. Use your head, Trail. Her story is full of holes.”

He saw how hesitation spread on Trail’s face. He broke the hug and frowned at Heart.

“I hate to admit this, but he may have a point,” he said slowly, looking at Feinsake again. “Where are we? And why is the other room crowded with corpses? I’m not angry, you understand. It’s just that I could use an explanation, which I’m sure you have no troubles providing.”

Crowded with corpses? echoed Heart. What?

“It was a rather disturbing sight to wake up to, I must admit,” said Trail. He regarded Feinsake with a slightly less romantic view now.

She kept on smiling as if that was the single most important thing in the world. “Corpses? What corpses? You must have mistaken. We are in the Parliament’s dungeons, you see. Some of the prisoners were just having a nap, I’m sure.”

“They did appear quite dead to me, love.”

“Well what would I know about it?” she snapped in sudden irritation. “We came here to shelter against the griffon attack, remember? Could be they killed themselves rather than faced the flames of war. What does it matter? We’re finally together – how little does that matter to you anymore?”

“How little?” he repeated hollowly. “How little? I’ve devoted my whole life to you! Every waking second from the day we met! And you just tried to drive a knife through my skull!” In one quick move, he picked the knife from the ground and started brandishing it before her face. “See this?! See it?! You were looking me in the eyes while wielding this! In the eyes!”

Feinsake backed up a step or two. “Trail… My love… Do calm down. You’re scaring me.”

“Good!” he exclaimed. “Lovers should share their experiences, isn’t that what they say?”

“Trail,” said Heart. “I’m glad you’ve come to your sense. Now, help me get this ring out of my horn. I must hurry to the Cliffs at once: there might still be time to prevent the world from ending.”

Trail gave him an icy look. “You’re still on about that? Forget it, Heart – the world is old enough to take care of itself. Also, while I may have some bits missing from the last few hours, I do remember why that is, exactly.” He turned his eyes on Feinsake again, who had pressed against the wall. “Nopony is going anywhere until I’ve had my questions answered.”

“Perhaps I could help with that,” said a weak voice by the door. Every pair of eyes in the room turned towards it.

“I couldn’t help overhearing you,” continued Stick. To Heart he sounded like a person with a throat coated with shards of glass. Every word came with a painful-looking twitch, as if they had to push through his own skin. Judging from his wounds, the truth was not that much different.

“Who in Tartarus are you?” asked Trail.

“I’m one of the corpses you just mentioned,” said Stick. He took another wavering step into the room, almost stumbling on the low threshold. Drops of blood fell past his jaw in a steady rhythm. “Unfortunately, the state wasn’t lasting on my part. I came around a moment ago, heard your conversation and chose to intervene. Do excuse me if I faint again. The pain is quite… a challenge…” He tried to smirk, but could only manage a gory grimace. Heart felt the bottom of his stomach turn, and thanked the stars that Lily had lost consciousness at the sight of Stick.

“What… What happened to you?” said Trail.

Stick looked about ready to collapse, but happened to find support from the wall. “I got free. That’s what happened. She freed me. Freed me good.”

“Who, Feinsake?” said Trailed, looking at Feinsake who was staring at her hooves. “You did this? Why? Why in the heavens? Who are you?”

“Who am I?” she said after a pause. “Who… am I…?”

Trail waited her to continue, in vain. He turned back to Stick. “You said you had some answers to offer?”

“Where would you like me to begin?”

The question seemed to take Trail by surprise. “Uh… I… Well, do you know anything about those bodies back there?”

Stick nodded. “They are, or were, the heirs of the Element Bearers of old. Fluttershy the Kind and Rainbow Dash the Loyal were their grand-grandmothers. They died so she could take their cutie marks.”

“Their… Their cutie marks?”

“Yes. She got me out of a hospital to find and skin them for her. I got almost all of them. The heirs of Pinkie Pie the Funny and Applejack the Honest are there on a shelf. Them I got all by myself.”

A memory flashed before Heart’s eyes. “Wait – did you say Pinkie Pie the Funny’s heir? What was her cutie mark like?”

“Some colourful balloons,” said Stick. “It was my first one.”

“Trail,” said Heart slowly. “You have to let me go. This explains everything. The griffons have killed nopony: it was Feinsake all along.”

If Trail heard him, he showed no sign of it. He continued to stare at Stick like a deer stares the headlights right before the crash. “You’re saying… You’re saying she has skinned all the living heirs of the Element Bearers?”

“Well, not all. There was Rarity the Generous’s heir, but I don’t think she ever got to him. I’m sure I didn’t. She said his cutie mark would be the easiest to acquire, though.”

Trail’s gaze turned to Feinsake like a glacier pushes itself into the sea.

“You never loved me,” he whispered. “All you ever wanted from me… was my… my… cutie mark…”

Feinsake looked up from her hooves. To call her gaze empty would have been a terrible mistake. An abyss is never empty but always filled to the brim – with nothingness.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes. I wanted your cutie mark. I still do. I would kill you for it as I breathe.”

Trail’s jaw dropped.

“It’s not that I hate you,” she continued. “To be frank, personally I merely find you slightly annoying. Just look at you: a heir of an Element Bearer. What have you done to deserve that honor? Nothing. You were wasting your legacy the day I found you, and without me wasted it would have been.” She gave Heart and Trail a bright smile. “You are both wrong, by the way. The world is not old but newborn, yet nopony alive can save it any more.”

“Like hay they can’t!” shouted Heart. “All this could have been averted if somepony would just have let me to the Cliffs! Even if the fighting has erupted, I can still stop it! Trail, release me! Now!”

“The Cliffs have nothing to do with the danger I speak of,” said Feinsake calmly.

“Then what does, pray tell?”

She tilted her head in apparent curiosity. “It confounds me to believe the son of Captain Hilt could be as thick as you. Like as not, your ignorance is merely another form of denial. Conscious or not, it makes no matter.” She shook her head and sighed. “Did you know that the griffons use a different name for Catastrophe than we do? For them, it’s the Fall. Why is that, do you think?”

“It means the world ended that day,” she continued on the same breath. “I saw the truth of that the first time I heard it. We’re literally living an end that has lasted for a hundred years. Everything the old world held dear has been crumbling steadily, year after year. Crops, laws, spirits – everything. The Parliament itself stands as the stoutest testimony for the decline. Democracy was never meant to house the ponydom – only to finish its burial.”

“And for that reason,” she went on, not utterly entranced by her own voice. “For that reason… I devised the Plan. The Plan to reverse the living end, to turn it right again. A new beginning for the equine race! A future worthy of the name blessed! Blessed with hope so profound nopony, nopony, could resist its lure and call! A hope precious enough to seal a new pact! The divine covenant reborn in flesh! In my womb!”

Gleaming, her eyes shifted from Heart to Trail, both of whom had to blink under her stare.

“You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

She drew a breath. The word hung at the tip of her tongue, ready to fall; it visibly burned her to utter it, as if she was in labour already.

Alicorn.

The whisper travelled around the room with fractured wings. Such was the fate of a word nopony had uttered for a hundred years. Not the way she did.

“Impossible,” said Heart. “That’s impossible. You can’t give birth to an alicorn; nopony can. It’s delusional to claim that.”

“Right you are. In truth, an alicorn is never born. An entrance so worldly is hardly adequate for an incarnation of divinity. My body is a mere channel for her, not a true origin. Nonetheless, the salvation lies within me. A new covenant. A new future. All it needs is…” Her voice faded away, along with her focus.

“What?”

“A sacrifice,” said Trail. “That’s what you called our plan once. A sacrifice. For love.” He snorted in disdain. “‘For insanity’ would have made for a more accurate description.”

“I am not insane!” shrieked Feinsake. She marched towards Trail, fuming. “You selfish, arrogant, good-for-nothings idiot have no right to call me insane! You’ve ruined everything! I should have skinned you while I had the ch–”

“Yes,” said Trail blankly. “I think you should have.”

Feinsake, now halted on her tracks, looked down on her chest. The handle of the knife stuck right from the middle of it, vibrating gently back and forth. She blinked, looked up at Trail, and let out the sort of a sigh one hears from very tired, or very relieved, people.

And then she died.

“What happened?” asked Stick. He took an unsteady step into the room.

“About time somepony shut her up, eh?” said Trail. A stupid grin had appeared on his face at some point, glowing at the unmoving body of Feinsake. “She never knew when to shut up. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Well, I shut her up for good. Heh. Heh.”

Stick, stumbling on Feinsake, kneeled down to touch her. “You killed her,” he said after a while.

“I think not, pal. The way I see it, you had already killed her, along with those three back there when I got here. Enraged and repulsed, I ended your miserable life on the spot instead of delivering it to justice. I’m sure the court will show empathy. If any still exist in the morning.” With a flick of his horn, Trail picked the knife from Feinsake’s corpse and bended the blade useless, after which he tossed it into a corner. “The story might benefit from a witness or two, however.”

It took Heart’s galloping mind only a second to catch that cue. “Anything you say, Trail. Just don’t hurt Lily. Anything you say.”

“I do like the sound of that. Anything, you say? Why, a couple of things spring to my mind as we speak…” Trail flinched as unfamiliar hooves touched his flank, but he relaxed again as he saw Stick groping his way. “What, you wish to follow your script already? Can’t you just, you know, bleed to death or something?”
“You shouldn’t have killed her,” said Stick. As his one hoof sought support from Trail, the other reached for the pocket of his uniform. “She deserved something better. You have no idea what she sacrificed for us all. You have no idea.”

Trail let out a manic laugh. “This is too much… She blinded you, kidnapped a foal, killed heaven's know how many ponies and I’m the one getting scorned? Really, this is too–”

His laugh turned into gurgling. His hooves scrambled to stem the bleeding of his throat, but an artery severed is an artery severed. He staggered back and forth for a few seconds, fell over and, after few more twitches, settled down. Only after the last gurgle did Stick spit the bloody shard of glass from his mouth.

Nopony spoke for a while after that.

“I did not like his version of the story,” said Stick finally.

Heart tore his eyes from Trail, opened his mouth, but spoke only after the the second thoughts had made their case. “Listen… I don’t know who you are, or what you’ve done to get yourself mixed into all this. But I do know that, with wounds like that, you’re going to need some serious medical help and soon. I can help you out of here. Just help me out of my chains.”

Stick sat down, looking vaguely at the direction of Heart’s voice. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m confident I could find my own way out, if I so pleased. The thing is, I have no reason to leave. I like it here. I don’t expect you to understand why.”

Heart stared at the strange, blood-soaked pony before him. Despite his terrible condition, he did not seem stressed, not even a little. To the contrary, he seemed like to be the calmest pony Heart had met for a long while. That might have been a relief, were it not for the fact that he had just witnessed him take another pony’s life. There must be a way to make him help me. There must be.

“You said it was Feinsake who… maimed you. Yet you killed Trail for killing her.”

“Do I hear a question there?”

Heart nodded, then added, with some shame, “Yes.”

“Again, I do not expect you to understand. It suffices to say that she gave me something; something for which I will be infinitely indebted for her. Freedom is a gift that just keeps on giving itself, you see.”

“Freedom?”

“There’s no better word for it,” continued Stick. “Before, the darkness had me. Long, cold darkness. The type you only find in cellars. Then she came for me, to give me a purpose. In the process, I received something more – a piece of her self. I can see it now. Sight is a cheap price for seeing.”

“Ah-ha.”

“Your name is Deck Heart, correct?”

“How did you know–”

“It doesn’t matter,” interrupted Stick. “I saw it on some list. And your daughter, Lily? Is she there?”

“Yes.”

“And her cutie mark?”

Heart froze. There was something in the way he asked that that chilled his spine. The seeming tranquility of his being cracked on that question.

“What does it matter? There is no sacrifice, spell or ritual which could incarnate an alicorn.”

“She believed there was. She believed strongly enough to kill for it. To torture for it. It went against everything in her nature, in her soul, yet she did it nonetheless. Because she believed.”

“And she died for it. Whatever secrets she held are now gone.”

Stick smiled like a ghost. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. She made notes, I know. Beyond this room, there is another filled with books once thought to have disappeared forever. What lies within, I do not know. Could be anything, really.” He bit his lip, apparently engaged in some inner conflict. “I was wondering… In the case it was possible… and the life of your own daughter did not weigh the other scale… would you do it? If it would save the world?”

“Do what?”

An alicorn.

Heart remained silent until it started to hurt. And then he answered:

“If what she did was the only way to make an alicorn… and the alicorn was the only way to save the world… then it was not worth saving in the first place.”

Stick stared at him. The smile twitched, and then he nodded. “The keyset is in the other room. Your shackles should open with them. It might take awhile for me to find it, but don’t wander anywhere in the meanwhile. There’s no telling what dangers an abandoned mine such as this might hold.”

***

Sweat gleamed on Acting-Captain Cowl’s forehead as he carefully pondered his situation. It was a high likelihood that it was the trickiest he had known in his life. Hundreds, if not thousands, of ponies depended on him to make the right decisions. The future of all equinity lay on the edge of a knife. One wrong move and it would all be over. Had Heart been here, the matter would have been settled in short order. But the whole reason they were in this predicament was that Heart was not here.

High above, the full moon gave the soon-to-be battlefield all the light it ever needed. The griffons held the cliffside, and hundreds of eyes shined in the shadows of the rocks cave mouths, following every move on the lower ground. Cowl had spent hours coming up with the optimal attack formation without the slightest idea if any of them had been even remotely correct. He simply did not have enough time nor experience for a task this demanding.

He drew a deep breath. He had waited for long enough. The time to act had come. Whether it would save the world or bring it flaming down was beyond his control now.

“Men!” he shouted at the troops behind him. “This is it! On my mark: Three, two, one, g–”

“Wait!”

Cowl swallowed the command to charge along with his tongue. He looked behind and saw the lines of soldiers all gazing upwards. He followed in suit, just in time to see a pegasus glide through the air and crash at his feet. The soldier was up in no time, even though he was visibly completely exhausted from the flight.

“Message, sir!” he said, and fell backwards. A piece of paper fell from his hoof, and Cowl snapped if for himself. He fought to combat the shaking as he read the few hastily scribbled words.

“They found him!” he eventually cried. “They found Heart! He is coming here! Heart is coming!”

The soldiers erupted into wild applause. On the other side of the rocky, relatively level cliffside, the amassed griffons, as ready for battle as their enemies, exchanged confused looks. Within minutes, the boding, ordered air above the coming battleground melted into disarray. After hastily delegating command of the situation to some Lieutenant, Cowl pushed through the crowd, shouting Heart’s name as he went. They met so suddenly that the first reaction for both was to push the other from the way.

“Cowl!” shouted Heart over the cheering. “Order everypony to stand down! Cancel all charges! There has been a terrible mistake! We need to get every soldier out of here before–”

“Heart!” shouted Cowl, simultaneously with him. “Help me! We’re already two matches down and I ran out of ideas on the first loss! Nopony told me these feather brains are devils with a ball! You’ve got to step in and–”

“What?!” they both shouted at each other’s faces.

“I said, we can’t manage without your experience!” said Cowl. “You’re the Guard’s head coach! I’m only for reserve, and frankly you did such a killer job that the post was just a fancy title for me! I’m sorry! I’ve let the whole Equestria down!”

“Cowl,” started Heart, groping for reason like a drowning pony gropes for the lifejacket. “What are you on about? Two matches down? What does that mean?”

Desperation filled Cowl’s eyes. “It means I will be remembered as the Captain who lost Equestria’s honor in football for griffons! I’ll never life through the shame!”

Heart’s face fell along with his sense of reality. “Foot… ball? You’re playing football with the griffons?”

“If you can call it playing! They’re butchering us, plain and simple! I should’ve known there was dog buried in it somewhere when they suggested a game. A griffon never plays without expecting to win.”

No poet, no artist could have described Heart’s expression at that moment. “How did this happen?”

“I told you already: I suck at tactics! But mark my words: some of those griffons use their wings pretty darn suspiciously while ‘running’. The rules forbid flying, damn it!”

“Forget the bloody football! How come you haven’t all killed each other yet?”

Some idea that his friend was not actually interested in football manage to pierce Cowl’s mind wrapped around a rulebook. “Krhm, right, that. Well, your note played a big part there. The one you gave to Helm Cleaver and Mill Stone, I mean. At first I thought it was a fake; some plot or something. It sure didn’t make much sense to me. Still, it seemed like your hoofwriting, so I couldn’t just ignore it, even if we couldn’t find you anywhere to prove it. So I sent some squads to the Cliffs to do a thorough inspection, just to make sure.”

“And? How did the griffons react?”

“Well, I got to admit, things were turning pretty heated around here at some point. I suppose I’d be on edge, too, should the griffon army march on my doorstep. First they didn’t wanna let anypony in, but we negotiated some and like as not they finally let one squad in. There was this one griffon chick who played a big part there. Said she had met you even. Anyway, the squad had some pretty interesting stuff to tell once they got back.”

Heart’s mental relief finally caught up with his body, which almost collapsed on the spot. “They found a bunch of hungry, depressed griffons, didn’t they?”

“Just about so, yeah,” said Cowl. “Like your paper said. Of course I presumed they were faking, to make us believe they’re weak when the real army hides deeper in the caves. So I went there to see myself. I swear, if those griffons were faking starvation, they were doing so good a job they wouldn’t have been any good even if they weren't feigning!”

“And then you started playing football,” said Heart, half-drowsing. With relief came exhaustion, which blurred the lines of his vision, the cheering of the hundreds of ponies around him, the droning voice of Cowl.

“More or less, yeah. I mean, I’m not one for hobnobbing with bloody griffons, but a game of football, well, who could decline from that? It’s better than killing each other, right? Anyway, it was supposed to be a piece of cake: what could a few feathery buggers do against the number one team of Canterlot? Then it turns out griffons were the ones who invented the bloody sport.”

Heart barely heard his friend’s last words. Sleep, now secured by the knowledge that Lily was as safe as she’d ever be, pressed his eyes along with the aching of his muscles and bruises. Problems, both actual and hypothetical, still fought to keep him conscious: How had Feinsake managed to get Lily in the first place? How long could they hold on to the fragile peace which, by the virtue of football, had now been prolonged? Had Hilt, judging there was no hope for Equestria, really killed himself? Was there something more to Feinsake’s grand plan than blind belief? And what to do with the strange, blind pony who had stayed in the mine? Faced with all these questions, Heart had only a single sensible response to offer.

A smile.