The squeaking of the wheel was most insistent, and Rogi counted himself lucky that his journey to the castle was a short one lest the constant, grating noise drive him to distraction.
Reaching the summit, he arrived at the imposing wooden doors set with black ironwork into the huge, towering Gothic stone arch, and dismounted. Propping his bicycle neatly to one side of the wall, he looked down on it with a bemused smile and found himself thinking once again on just what a marvelous invention it was.
The commute to and from work from his humble cottage at the bottom of the hill, to the dark, monstrous castle at the peak had used to take him half an hour, using only his taloned feet to walk upon. Now with the bicycle it was the effort of but ten minutes, and the ride home was even swifter and no effort at all!
Still, that wheel was starting to become a nuisance, and he would have to ask the griffon who'd sold it to him if he could do something about it. Maybe tomorrow morning after he finished work. Night shifts were all he worked in this job. If you could really call it work.
There was no need to lock the bike up. One of the benefits of living in such a tiny country with a population of only two, was that thieves were a non-concern. The country in question, barely even a square mile of lifeless, dead scrubland nestled on the southwestern border of Equestria, and shrouded permanently beneath thick, black everclouds, consisted only of his cottage, this imposing castle, and the hill on which it stood.
He raised a gangly forelimb—a hybrid caught between an arm and a wing, covered in black, ragged, scraggly feathers and punctuated with a three-clawed hand—and turned the black iron knob, allowing him access to the dark, foreboding palace.
The door opened with an earsplitting creak. One that Rogi had pleaded with his boss to let him fix, but no. He was resolute. He said it added an extra layer of intimidation to strike fear into the hearts of all unwary travellers to the fortress. Of which there were never any. All it really added was a headache.
The grand, grey-stone interior was lit only with torch sconces, the light dancing and flickering and seeming to make the shadows come alive. Rogi paid it all no mind, his talons click-clacking hollowly on the stone floor as he made his way along the drab, tall hallway towards the library, and the start of another night.
The castle library was a tall, wide circular room about twenty paces across, with shelves upon shelves of books around the circumference reaching up two floors to the ceiling. The lighting here was brighter and more inviting, lit softly by dozens of candles and candelabras scattered high and low on the walls. In the middle of the room, just off-centre, stood a small, round oak table. Opposite the entrance, the dark wooden bookshelves were broken up by a wide, ornate alabaster fireplace which crackled now with a warm, inviting flame. And in front of the fireplace, stood contemplatively with his back towards him, hands behind his back, gazing distantly and defiantly and moodily and stoically into the flames, was the castle's sole inhabitant.
"I see you've come, Rogi."
Rogi rolled his eyes. The fact that his boss put dramatic effect over technical accuracy—he hadn't seen him at all yet—always irked him. He shook it off this time and then immediately set to scanning for the most important thing on the agenda. In the little nook at just about the four o'clock position of the room: the drinks cabinet.
"Yes, my Lord," Rogi answered absently, making his way over to the glass-fronted cupboard. Same time as every night.
The boss stood nearly fourteen feet tall, towering and looming in the library. His grey body had never been grown, but instead sculpted entirely from rock, such that whenever he moved there was a subtle grinding noise from his joints. He bore two thick arms ending in five-fingered hands, and two powerful legs ending in cloven hooves. Upon his broad back, a pair of gargantuan, stone, bat-like wings were currently furled... though, stone wings coupled to a stone body did not make for effective flight. His head was round and ogre-ish, with pointed ears, an underbite with two protruding tusks and a snub, pug nose beneath a prominent brow. His deep-set eyes were simply circular red rubies that burned their way into you when he stared, and made you remember all of the stories of monsters you believed when you were a child.
A Gargoyle.
"I am glad you are here." His voice was like gravel being turned slowly in a cement mixer, and held an annoyingly optimistic, eager air that Rogi had long learned could cause him no small measure of exasperation in the coming minutes, if not hours. The fact that he was being extra broody and melodramatic tonight were also not good signs. A monologue was surely imminent.
"Uh huh?" said Rogi, picking up the crystal bottle of single malt and finding it disappointingly only a third full. He poured half the contents into a large, round glass. We're going to have one of those evenings, aren't we?
"Tonight is the night, Rogi..."
Oh, here we go already...
"Tonight, we strike against our enemies!"
Of course we do.
"Tonight, we demonstrate our full power in the conquest of our greatest foe..."
You're going to keep me awake all night with this.
"Tonight, Rogi, is the night we oversee the downfall..."
Yes, yes. Who is it this week?
"Of EQUESTRIA!" he boomed, throwing up his arms dramatically and rounding enthusiastically on Rogi, who was still facing the drinks cabinet.
Rogi breathed a sigh of relief. Oh, thank God. He took a grateful sip of whiskey, carefully composing his vulture-like features into an expression approaching dastardly awe and evil excitement. He turned back towards the boss.
"My Lord, that is excellent news! Equestria will surely fall into your cold, dead hands!" Rogi drained his glass and set it down. Making no effort to hurry, he walked to the library ladder almost opposite and began to climb about halfway up. Selecting a very familiar book, he brought it down and put it on the round table.
"Yes, Rogi! Finally, I shall... my cold dead hands?"
The book, one of several of Rogi's own making, contained every piece of information known about the Kingdom of Equestria. They had one such book for each of their immediate neighbours. The griffons. The dragons. The minotaurs. The diamond dogs.
"Sorry, my Lord. You rather caught me off guard is all. The next epithet will be more flattering."
Working for the boss was one of the easiest jobs going. Gargoyles didn't need to eat or drink, and, most of the time, he just sat and brooded quietly. But every so often, like every villain, he felt he had to justify his villainy with some grand scheme to conquer or destroy. After all, that's what evil villains were supposed to do wasn't it? But evil villains were also supposed to be defeated, and that wasn't conducive to long-term employment. And sometimes—the last time the boss had planned to conquer the diamond dogs for instance—Rogi had to work very hard indeed. Luckily though, tonight he'd picked Equestria again.
He could see why he liked Equestria. To the untrained eye the native ponies appeared weak and meek and, on the face of it, an easy target, ripe for conquest.
Rogi put on a pair of thin, circular reading glasses, and made a show of opening the book and reading a little. In truth he needed do no such thing. After years of this, he knew the relevant points almost by heart. The book was supposed to be a careful analysis of Equestria's strategic weaknesses. Really, it just listed their strengths. The most effectively trained armed forces around, with mastery over the weather and magic. Protected by the Elements of Harmony and their bearers. And ruled over by a pair of protective and exceptionally powerful magic-users who literally commanded the day and night. Rogi had to hide another smile.
Equestria was impregnable. This would be easy. He'd be done within minutes, and happily drunk within the hour.
"Well, my Lord. How do you plan to proceed?"
"Patience, Rogi. You will see... in good time," the gargoyle said oddly smoothly.
His melodrama this evening was really starting to grate. Rogi took off his glasses and looked up at him, slightly annoyed already, raising a white, bushy eyebrow.
Where was the diabolical plan? The evil scheme? The villainous plot? 'Wait and see,' was no good. He needed something to work with.
You really are going to keep me awake all night with this, aren't you?
Presently there was a loud, booming racket from the main entrance to the castle. The doors themselves held some form of enchantment that amplified a simple knock to something ridiculous that could be heard from every room at once. Another one of the boss's great ideas.
"Ooh, it's here!" the gargoyle practically yelled with glee, tenting his fingers in excitement. Then, checking himself, continued, "Ahem. Rogi, please see to the door?"
Rogi would have ground his teeth, had he any. Instead he settled for clenching his beak shut as tight as he could and rolling his eyes angrily. He was going to need the rest of that bottle in short order.
The put-upon vulture-creature left the library and returned to the main castle entrance. Opening it—there was that damned awful screech again—he allowed the caller inside.
The new arrival was a welcome, familiar face. They never received visitors as such, but even their tiny country, with only two buildings and two inhabitants, still got the mail.
"Ah, hello Ms. Hooves. Please, come in."
"Hiya!" said the perpetually cheery pegasus, her slightly skewed eyes ever curious and bright. "You gotta package!" She craned her neck and fished around in her large, brown saddlebags, which appeared otherwise empty, Rogi noted. Then she produced a shoe-box sized parcel wrapped neatly with brown paper and tied with simple string, which she placed carefully on the floor.
To: Evil Lord Baron Dral'thor;
The Castle;
The Kingdom of Stone
"Please sign?" said the mail-pony, now with a clipboard and quill proffered towards him in her teeth. Rogi could only stare at the package. What was this? A book of dark spellcraft? Secret plans of the castle from a Canterlot turncoat? Magic beans? Whatever it was, the boss clearly believed it was the key to his latest scheme, and that with it he'd be conquering Equestria. Even in the face of all experience, the fact that Rogi didn't know what it was, was enough to put a little irrational worry in the back of his mind.
Presently, he became aware that the happy pegasus in front of him was still patiently awaiting his signature.
"Ms. Hooves? Are we your last delivery?" he asked as he inscribed his name on the receipt.
"Yep!"
"I wonder... would it be too much of an imposition to ask you to remain here a moment? No more than twenty minutes, I promise. It's just I may need to send a message to Princess Celestia, and if so, it is probably better that it goes tonight."
"Okay!"
"Thank you," he said, picking up the package and showing Derpy to a comfortable waiting-couch just inside the doors. "Can I get you anything to drink?"
"No thanks," she smiled, her lopsided gaze never settling as she looked eagerly around the drab, foreboding hallway, and up at the impressive oil-paintings of black-feathered, birdlike creatures on the walls.
Rogi took the package under his wing and made his way back through the myriad corridors of the castle to the library. Now he had a time limit and an unknown variable in the form of the package to contend with. The game was really on.
Entering the library, he placed the package on top of the open book of Equestria on the table and looked deliberately from it to the boss, whose ruby eyes were already lighting up with obvious glee.
"When did you add the apostrophe?" asked Rogi in a voice that definitely did not sound vaguely accusing.
"A couple of weeks ago. It makes my name more... foreboding, don't you think?"
Rogi raised an eyebrow. "And, 'Baron'?"
"Do you like it?"
"No."
"You don't think it exudes an air of, evil wickedness?"
No. Just like 'Count' didn't last month, or the month before that when you tried to combine 'Dralthor the Bloody,' and 'Dralthor the Terrible,' and became 'Dralthor the Bloody Terrible.'
"What's in the package, my Lord?"
"This, Rogi..." said Dral'thor, "Is the tool we will use to conquer Equestria!"
"Yes, my Lord," said Rogi patiently. "And... what is it?"
At this, Dral'thor unwrapped the package. Inside was a cardboard box which he opened. From it, he lifted a purple pouch tied closed with thin cord, and which writhed softly as though it seemed to contain... something... which was neither liquid nor solid, and which could even possibly be alive.
Rogi had to stifle a momentary twinge of nervousness at the mysterious thing. He forced logic to the fore. Powerful, ancient magical artifacts possessing the ability to overthrow an entire kingdom were only ever discovered in ancient, far flung caves and dungeons with unpronounceable names. They weren't sold in shops. They did not arrive in shoeboxes, and certainly not through the post!
"What is it, my Lord?" he asked... for the third bloody time.
"This, Rogi, is the Rainbow of Darkness!" Dral'thor cackled evilly. For several long, agonising moments. It was a shame a lightning bolt didn't strike too, but you couldn't have everything.
While the cackling continued, Rogi impatiently lifted a piece of folded paper from within the shoebox—a booklet really—and began to read.
Congratulations on your purchase of the Rainbow of Darkness, the ultimate tool for all your hero-defeating needs! Simply open the pouch towards your light-wielding foes* to deploy the Rainbow and watch as it renders them helpless, powerless, immobile and any of a dozen other random, fun effects!
Warning: ages three and up. Contains small parts. Do not ingest. Avoid contact with eyes.
*While the visual effect of the Rainbow being deployed is sure to startle even the most hardened of heroes, for added drama we suggest accompanying its use with a loud cackle or one-liner for extra terror. We like, "Behold: the power of Darkness!" but feel free to experiment with your own!
Rogi went from annoyed to bewildered. He flipped the booklet over, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the logo on the front cover.
"Acme: Great products. In theory."
Well, that was one worry thoroughly allayed.
"Impressive, my Lord," he lied. "You intend us to invade Equestria using this?"
"Indeed, Rogi. Together, and with the power of Darkness, we will conquer Equestria! They will stand no chance against us!"
"Us, my Lord..."
"Yes!" Another overdone, evil cackle.
"Against an army numbering in the thousands?"
"Not just us, Rogi! We'll use my Army of Stone!" Dral'thor clenched his fist and raised it dramatically. Then he lowered it. "After all, it's been a while since we gave them a run out, hasn't it? I think the last time we used them was for the stone-lympics, remember? Ah, a good night that was." Then he drew himself up into an imposing, broad-shouldered pose. "Equestria will tremble before the might of two thousand of my impervious granite warriors!"
Rogi raised a claw to his head and massaged his brow. "My Lord, we have been over this before." Several times. "Using an army that becomes petrified in the sunlight to invade a kingdom that can literally command the sun is... not the most effective use of our resources," he finished kindly.
"Ah, no, I knew you would say that. But you see, the Rainbow of Darkness can act as a Darkness-shield, shrouding our warriors in a, 'cloak of shadow', and allowing them to move in daylight. Here, I'll show you..." said Dral'thor, scooping up the leaflet in his large fingers. He flipped through it, and then back again, a confused frown appearing. "Hmm, where is it? Oh, I really hope they haven't sent me the wrong model. The catalogue specifically said it could... ah, there!" he said triumphantly. "Page four."
You are really making me work hard for this, aren't you?
"Excellent, my Lord! A bold and daring plan! But, wait. What of Princess Twilight and her fellow protectors of Equestria? They will surely try and thwart your plans to reach Canterlot."
"Ah, yes. Princess Twilight Sparkle," he spat. "My most hated nemesis!"
Rogi quirked another eyebrow. That was new. "Um. 'Nemesis', Dral? Really?"
Dral'thor looked back at him with a slightly puzzled expression. "I need a nemesis, don't I? That's something that evil villains usually have, isn't it? One particular hero who always causes them grief?"
"Yes," Rogi admitted. "But I don't think you're just supposed to pick one at random. There usually has to be some history there to qualify as a nemesis."
"We have a history!" bellowed Dral'thor indignantly.
"Which is...?"
"We met once, at that charity banquet I got roped into last year. She asked me if I liked the punch. Therefore, she is my nemesis!"
Oh, for the love of...
"My Lord. The point I was trying to make is: will your Rainbow of Darkness not be vulnerable to the Elements of Harmony?" You know, since almost everything is?
"Ha! The Rainbow of Darkness is far more powerful than the Elements of Harmony!"
"This would be the, Acme Rainbow of Darkness, my Lord?"
"Besides, Rogi, didn't you say that the Elements of Harmony had been lost? Or... something?"
"Well, there is some debate over that, my Lord," admitted Rogi, mentally chastising himself for letting that slip in the first place. The Elements of Harmony were usually his trump card. "But Twilight and her friends are still formidable opponents, and in any event, there is still the matter of Celestia and Luna."
"Ha! Between the Rainbow of Darkness and the Army of Stone, Twilight Sparkle and her fellow bearers will stand no chance, Elements or not. And with Princess Twilight and friends in my clutches, Celestia will be forced to surrender and bow to me! Once she does, the rest of Equestria will follow!"
Rogi briefly stared in mild disbelief. He couldn't tell if the boss was being hopelessly optimistic, or genuinely delusional. Broad strokes were one thing, but were there no specifics to this plan?! Slowly, he walked back over to the drinks cabinet and poured the rest of the bottle into his glass, taking a long, slow sip while he thought for several quiet moments. Then, he had a flash of slightly-wicked inspiration, and carefully set the glass down. He turned with a little flourish.
"Fiendishly, diabolically clever, my Lord. So: Equestria has fallen and your victory is certain. Celestia, Luna and Twilight Sparkle, as well as her friends, have fought valiantly and failed. And now, they are all before you, beaten and at your mercy, contemplating their certain fate. What next for them, I wonder? I suppose you will want their executions to be public, as examples of how you deal with those who oppose you?"
Dral'thor did a quick, immensely gratifying double-take. "Executions?" He absently raised a stone hand to his mouth, nervously fingering his teeth with a fingernail. "You mean as in... kill them?"
"Yes, my Lord?" Rogi took another, satisfying sip.
"Well... I wasn't really planning to... I mean, that's not strictly a requirement is it? I can still be evil without...?" He stopped chewing on his finger long enough to draw it across his throat. "Can't I?"
Rogi sighed. He just couldn't be that cruel. "Yes, my Lord. Of course you can."
"It's just... that's a bit final, isn't it?"
"Yes indeed. But, my Lord?" Rogi asked, genuinely curious now, "What would you do with them?" Their schemes had never got this far before. He was dying to know.
"I will throw them into the dungeon! Forever!" Another evil, sustained, boring cackle. Then, "That's very evil too, isn't it? I mean, villains are constantly throwing heroes into dungeons aren't they?"
Yes, and that usually ends with... oh, now wait just a minute!Rogi's eyes went wide. He surely didn't mean... "Uh... heh. We... we don't have a dungeon, my Lord..."
"We do now," boasted Dral'thor, beaming to himself. "I've converted the basement," he said proudly.
"What?!" cried Rogi before he could stop himself. "Dra— my Lord... I... I had six cases of vintage Thesian wine down there! I had two barrels of Sweet Apple Acres' cider! They only sell it once a year! It's very hard to get!"
"Calm down, Rogi. You still have six cases of Thesian wine and two barrels of Sweet Apple Cider. Only now you have them in the attic."
Rogi fumed. The attic was seven flights of stairs up! The basement was one flight down. Whoever heard of a wine attic? When this was over...
"So..." said Rogi, annoyed onced more. "I assume you have at least invested significant funds into furnishing the... 'dungeon'... with all manner of manacles, shackles, cages, restraints and equipment with which to secure your new captives, my Lord?"
"Um... n—not exactly..."
"Oh? Then what exactly have you done to, 'convert', the basement and ensure your prisoners do not escape and overthrow you?"
"I have bought... this!" said Dral'thor triumphantly, producing in his fingers a small, brass padlock. "For the door," he explained.
Rogi buried his forehead in his hands. "My Lord, that is brilliant. Truly. I can think of no possible way that a magical alicorn with a proven ability to apparate through solid objects could ever escape a wine-cellar secured by a cheap padlock."
"I had to buy two. The first one broke."
It doesn't stop getting worse!
Rogi took a deep, calming breath.
"So, my Lord, allow me to summarise. You intend that you and I, and your army of two thousand granite automatons armed with stone javelins, march into Equestria, engage in battle with the most effective military ever assembled, defeat the bearers of the Elements of Harmony, even if perhaps not the Elements themselves, and overthrow the two most powerful rulers in the known world..."
"Yes!" cackled Dral'thor. Evilly. Again.
"And the success of this plan rests in large part on a magical artifact that you ordered through a catalogue and that was delivered here in the mail by a member of the very race you plan to conquer?"
"I know!" said Dral'thor excitedly. "Using my enemy as a catalyst for their own conquest! Isn't that just diabolical?"
"Yes, my Lord. Considering the company it's keeping, that particular facet of your scheme does indeed have the ring of competence to it."
"How was Ms. Derpy Hooves by the way?"
"She's fine, my Lord. She is still here, in fact. I asked her to wait for a moment. In case by some miracle you actually wished me to formally send a declaration of war to Celestia this evening."
"Ah, good thinking. Did you offer her something to drink?"
"She declined, my Lord. The point is, that we essentially have no idea what your Rainbow of Darkness does, or even if it works. I note the instructions here say, 'best before 1984', and while I'm not overly familiar with the Equestrian calendar, I'm fairly certain that's a very long time ago."
Dral'thor looked quizzically at him. Then at the purple pouch in his hand. Then back to him. "You're saying I should... test the Rainbow?"
"I think that would be prudent, yes. Before we commit ourselves to a plan that relies solely on its effectiveness."
This, I have to see.
Looking once more at the pouch, the gargoyle gingerly, uncertainly grasped the top with his hands and prepared to open it. He paused an instant. Then, "Behold, the power of Rainbows!"
The pouch opened, and from it a kind of thick purple sludge oozed and trickled lazily to the floor with absolutely no dramatic effect at all. It attempted to swirl a little, and there was the vaguest sparkle—the merest hint of a magic long since departed. Ultimately the goop ended up pooled in an amorphous, gelatinous pile between them.
"Hmm," said Dral'thor. "It probably just needs a while to get going. I'm sure I can infuse it with some more magic or something." He looked up and put on a chipper grin. "It'll be ready for the invasion," he assured.
Yes... somehow, I don't think Celestia needs to worry too much.
Rogi, leaving aside his put-on evil grin for once, adopted a nonplussed expression. "So the disciplined Equestrian army has, against the run of play, fallen to a rabble of crumbling stone athletes and a puddle of purple ooze. And Twilight Sparkle—your greatest nemesis, apparently—her friends, and Celestia and Luna, having all simultaneously displayed complete, catastrophic ineptitude, are trapped and helpless in the most secure dungeon ever converted from a wine-cellar. Truly, my Lord, this plan is a work of evil genius. I can conceive of no possible way it could fail."
"Why thank you, Rogi." If Dral'thor could have patted himself on the back he surely would have.
A few silent, dumbfounded moments passed. Rogi turned back to the drinks nook and gulped the remainder of the whiskey in the glass. He still couldn't believe all of his booze had been carted upstairs! If it wasn't bad enough he was going to have to follow through with this, he was going to have to do it sober! Fine. Here we go then.
He turned back to the boss. "Congratulations, my Lord. You've done it! Canterlot has fallen. Your enemies are beaten. And after a hard-fought campaign, you finally claim your reward as you sit victoriously atop the royal throne, with the entire Equestrian kingdom at your whim."
Dral'thor gave himself another happy, beaming grin.
"Now what?" asked Rogi.
The boss's grin slowly disappeared into confusion. "Come again?"
"Now what?" Rogi persisted. "The story doesn't just end there, does it? Equestria is all yours. What are you going to do?"
"Rule it!" bellowed Dral'thor. "Obviously."
"Yes..." said Rogi patiently. "But what are you actually going to do?" Rogi surreptitiously donned his reading glasses again and meandered back to the still-open book on Equestria, flipping to the pages dealing with its government and populace.
"Well... I'll... uh... first I'll... oh, I know! I'll have them build a giant statue of me. Out of gold! Evil tyrants love oversize statues of themselves, don't they?"
"Yes, my Lord, they do. And depending on the size of the statue it will probably take a dozen of your new subjects about a month to complete. So, what else?"
Dral'thor looked confused. "I... don't follow. I've told them to do something and they're doing it, aren't they?"
Rogi raised his head slowly from the tome and fixed the boss with a very deliberate look. "My Lord, you now rule over a population numbering in the tens of thousands. A thriving, largely agriculture-based country filled with hard-working equines who are not best pleased with your hostile takeover, but whom you are, nevertheless, now responsible for. You alone need to see that they are provided for with food and shelter, that the young are educated, that the sick are treated, that the law is followed, that there is sufficient employment to allow the people to work and earn to keep themselves, that their trade with foreign lands remains steady..."
"That... seems like a lot of work..."
No. Really?
"Then there will be the protests, my Lord. The attempts at rebellion, peaceful and otherwise, against your rule by ponies unhappy with your regime..."
"Ha! I will crush them all!"
"Excellent, my Lord! How?"
"Um... by... well... I shall throw them all into the dungeon!"
"The basement is getting awfully full now, isn't it, my Lord? You already have eight or nine prisoners down there that you are not allowed to simply forget about. I mean... can I assume the reason you have put Celestia, Twilight, and so on, in the dungeon in the first place is because you would like to keep them alive and, in most respects, healthy?"
"Well... yes." Dral'thor once again began gnawing nervously on a fingernail. "I mean... I don't really need to hurt them do I? I... I can still be evil without actually... well... I just want to rule, really."
"Then they are going to need constant attention. Food, water, heat, light, physical exercise, intellectual stimulation... all of which you are going to have to provide."
"That's all... strictly necessary, is it?"
Rogi frowned. "Would you like to see Twilight Sparkle, for example, reduced from a vibrant, strong, fiercely intellectual nemesis, to a broken, hopeless, weak, starving, mentally defunct wreck?"
"N—no. Not really. I mean... bit of a waste, isn't it?"
"Right then. So, you have prisoners to care for. You also have laws to pass and enforce, an economy to manage, a budget to balance, disputes to hear and judgments to pronounce, foreign relations to keep up, and multitudes of disquieted ponies to placate. This is to say nothing so far of the non-trivial fact that, since Celestia and her sister are locked away, you are also responsible for managing the sun and the moon, day and night. How you go about that I've no idea, but there is even worse to come. Because Celestia has many friends and Equestria's allies in the Crystal Empire, Griffon Kingdom, Saddle Arabia and even the Dragon Lands are gearing for war against you, eager to come to her rescue, and your Army of Stone is suddenly vastly outmatched. So, my Lord, here we are, day one, you on the throne of Equestria and your gold statue already under construction. What now?"
There was a long silence.
"Rogi?" asked the gargoyle. "Are you sure all of this is right? I mean, I'm sure the other villains have never had to go through all of this when trying to conquer Equestria."
Rogi patiently, slowly, removed his glasses and looked up at the boss. They'd known each other for a long time. "My Lord. May I make an assumption?"
"Yes..." said Dral'thor, hesitantly.
"Can I suggest to you, that the reason you want to rule Equestria is because you... for want of a better expression... like the ponies? And that you would want them to thrive and flourish under your dominion in not-too-dissimilar a fashion as they are currently doing, as opposed to the alternative?"
"Well, yes, I suppose. I mean, I don't want to rule over a barren, scarred, empty ruin of a country do I?"
Had there been a window in the library Rogi would have looked pointedly at it, with an expression of deliberate irony, to the lifeless, blasted landscape beyond the castle.
"Of course not, my Lord. But... you see, most villains... they plan to conquer and dominate and enslave... and give no thought to what actually happens. They see something like another country and instinctively want it, with no thought given to what would happen if they got it. So on the rare occasion the villain does win, the result, intentional or not, is invariably destruction and ruin. No matter, since most villains would think that a success and call it a day while refusing to acknowledge how unsatisfied it has left them. It is a slippery slope from there..." said Rogi, looking seriously into the boss's eyes now. "It is easy to destroy a country with evil. But to rule one with evil and keep it thriving... is a monumental challenge, because people are generally good. Ponies especially. And unless you have the cooperation and support of the people... it is almost impossible to rule them."
There was a brief silence. Then, "I... don't suppose there's any way of getting them to like me, is there?"
Rogi rolled his eyes again. "Well, you could try constantly referring to yourself in the third person. Ponies in particular seem to find that endearing. But really, my Lord, you are the one who has invaded their country and imprisoned their well-loved leaders and friends. I think you are always going to be onto a loser in that respect."
"Oh," said Dral'thor, crestfallen. Then there was a moment of silence, during which Rogi swore he could hear hopes and dreams being crushed.
"There is a solution, my Lord," said Rogi, mentally entering the end-game.
"There is?" said Dral'thor eagerly, eyes lighting up again.
"To rule Equestria with evil? And keep it strong? By yourself? Impossible. But perhaps with assistance...? From someone who knows the inner workings of Equestria and its people. Someone with experience in building a thriving, working country...? Someone...? Someone like...?"
"Uh... you... Rogi?"
Rogi slapped his forehead in exasperation. "Try again, my Lord. Someone whom you have already had the wisdom and foresight not to execute on the spot. In fact, someone whom you have wisely decided is more useful to you alive and healthy than as a cruel, broken example of your tyranny. Someone who is, in theory at least, downstairs right now...?"
"Princess... Celestia?"
"Yes, my Lord," said Rogi soothingly, encouragingly. "But I don't think she will be best pleased with you for invading her country and capturing her friends. So, how could you gain her cooperation do you think?"
"I... could... um... I could threaten to hurt her friends if she doesn't do what I say!"
"Yeeesss... that is one option. A very evil option to be sure, and such threats are usually effective on heroes. But if she refuses—and she might—you will be left with little choice but to make good on your threat. And—I'm assuming again here, my Lord—I don't think you really want to hurt the ponies, do you?"
"No," Dral'thor admitted, head bowed.
Rogi paused for effect. Then, "There is... an alternative, my Lord. Instead of threatening them, you could... you could...?" he prompted.
Dral'thor's face was a picture of confused concentration as he worked the problem through. Then it lit up once more. "I could... let them go?"
"An excellent idea, my Lord. It rids you of two problems at once. Celestia would readily promise to assist you if it would mean the freedom of her friends, and you no longer have to constantly worry about the prisoners downstairs." And I can have my damn wine-cellar back. "So. Celestia is appointed as a puppet figurehead for the country. The original workings of the government come back to life. The economy thrives, ponies are happy, the country is healthy, and all without you having to lift a finger."
"Yes. Yes." said Dral'thor, with increasing approval. "You are very wise, Rogi. How did I ever come to acquire such a good counsellor? Most villains have to make do with goons and henchmen."
"I was here when you bought the la—" Rogi checked himself. "I mean, when you conquered the land... and moved in, my Lord. You hired me, remember?" Long-term memory had never been the boss's best attribute.
"Have you ever considered a career in villainy? I think you would be good at it."
Rogi looked at Dral'thor. Then at length, he sighed wearily. "I tried it a long time ago, my Lord. It didn't agree with me." And bad mistakes? I've made a few.
"But I like this plan. I can sit back while others do all of the work making the country thrive."
Rogi smiled a subtle, wry smile. "Why, my Lord, you realise of course that you needn't even stay in Equestria at all. You could move back here and be comfortable while Celestia carries on."
"I do like it here..."
"In fact, if you think about it..." Rogi's smile became a grin, "There's very little need to actually invade in the first place."
Dral'thor furrowed his brow and his face contorted into all kinds of thinking expressions as his mind slowly ground to a conclusion. "You know what, Rogi? I think you... you're right. I can rule Equestria without actually conquering it!"
Hallelujah!
That was it. Home safe. He could have stopped there, but... the boss had really made him work for this tonight. So if he was going to get it, he was getting both barrels.
"We are fortunate indeed that Celestia has no idea of your plans, my Lord. You know how protective she can be. Why, if she were to discover what you were intending before the Rainbow of Darkness was ready... the consequences could be... awful." He shuddered deliberately, his feathers amplifying the ripple-effect in a most eye-catching fashion.
Dral'thor nodded, but with slight uncertainty now. "Yes. I suppose they would."
"We are lucky that we can discuss things here in total privacy. Where no citizen of Equestria could ever possibly overhear..." suddenly he opened his eyes wide and gave a loud, theatrical gasp. "Oh, no, my Lord!"
Dral'thor was struggling to keep up now, but the penny finally dropped. "Ms. Hooves?" He gave his own gasp. "Do you think she is still here? Do you think she heard us?"
"Well, my Lord, the sound does carry in these large, empty corridors doesn't it? Especially what with all those enchantments you keep insisting on putting in," he said cynically.
"What... do we do?" asked Dral'thor, panicking quickly now. "If she tells Celestia... if Celestia finds out now... she'll—!" he drew his finger across his throat again.
"I'm afraid there's nothing we can do, my Lord," said Rogi with his own air of faux panic. "Celestia is almost certain to find out about your foolproof plan to conquer Equestria, and your Army of Stone isn't nearly ready to march!"
"I... I could throw the mail-pony into the dungeon!" cried Dral'thor desperately. "Celestia would never find out then!"
Yes... you haven't really thought that one through, have you boss?
"My Lord, that's... not possible for several reasons. Firstly: A pony goes missing while delivering a package to this evil-looking gothic castle? It wouldn't exactly take Celestia long to figure that one out. Secondly: do you not recall our discussion on, The Rules? There is one rule that, above all others, must not, under any circumstances, be broken, even by the most evil of evil villains," said Rogi deliberately. He fixed Dral'thor's gaze with severe, unwavering eyes. "You can conquer a country. You can plunder its riches. You can enslave its people. But you must never—ever—interfere with its postal service! Society would crumble. I am afraid we must allow Ms. Hooves to depart safely." You're not locking her in the basement. I am getting my wine cellar back!
Dral'thor put his hands to his mouth in horror. "But... what am I going to do?" he whispered frantically. "Celestia is going to find out! What do I do?"
"Well, my Lord, I can only think of one way out of this," said Rogi, walking to a small desk in a nook opposite the drinks-cabinet—a writing bureau—and producing a fresh piece of blank paper and a quill, handing them to Dral'thor who took them in his large stone fingers. "I'll tell you what to write," said Rogi with a new, satisfied grin.
"You're sure?" said Dral'thor, hesitantly.
"My Lord, it is infinitely better than the alternatives."
"Which are?"
"Well, the only two real outcomes for a villain these days are complete, unmitigated destruction..."
Dral'thor winced as though struck. "Or?"
"Or redemption." Dral'thor raised an uncertain eyebrow at him. "It's not pleasant, my Lord."
Dral'thor pursed his lips into a thoughtful pout. "Really? It doesn't sound too bad. What do you suppose it's like?"
"It's..." Rogi started, and then stopped. Then, with unusual sincerity and an odd, wistful smile, "I suppose it's like... waking up from a dark dream into a new, brighter, much more ordered world. But a world where, for the first time you see the consequences of your actions. A world where, what you once believed were your greatest moments of triumph have instead become your worst, most horrible mistakes, and one that burdens you with a constant, lingering guilt and a drive not to let others repeat your follies. My Lord," he added.
"Oh," said Dral'thor in not-quite-understanding. "But... this is better, is it?" He raised the quill a little.
Rogi found a smile. "If you wish to continue to be an evil villain my Lord, this is the only way. Now, write exactly what I say. And, Dral? Lose the stupid apostrophe." Then we'll see about putting my liquor back where it belongs.
* * *
"Thank you for waiting, Ms. Hooves. I apologise for the delay," said Rogi, handing the pegasus a shoebox-sized package wrapped in brown paper, tied neatly with string, and attached to which was a sealed envelope.
To: Princess Celestia,
Canterlot Castle,
Equestria.
"Please would you see that Princess Celestia receives this first-class?"
"Okey dokey!" chirped Derpy.
"And here... for your trouble," added Rogi, dropping five Equestrian bits into her vacant mail-pouch. "Have a safe journey home."
"'Kay. Thanks!"
Rogi showed Derpy to the door and opened it—argh! That damned creak!—and she departed northwards into the sky.
* * *
Dusk receded and dawn prepared to break over Canterlot.
"The moon is lowered, my sister. The day is ready to begin," said Luna, entering the throne room. She stopped when she saw her sister sat atop the throne and looking at a piece of paper with a most peculiar, puzzled expression. "Tia? Is something the matter?"
Celestia looked up, unsure. "Well... I don't think so." She magically turned the letter towards Luna, who approached her and began to read.
Dear Princess Celestia;
I, the evil gargoyle, Lord Dralthor of the Kingdom of Stone, do hereby declare war upon you and the Kingdom of Equestria, and give you notice that it is my intent to conquer your lands and assume mastery over your subjects.
That being said...
I surrender. Immediately and unconditionally. I demand no terms. I request no favourable treatment. I relinquish my claim upon Equestria and its citizens, and I'm really very, very, very, very sorry indeed that I said I wanted to throw you into a dungeon.
Please find enclosed the intended tool of your ultimate destruction, one Rainbow of Darkness. Kindly ensure it is locked away forever in whatever vault you have, just in case.
Yours, sincerely
Evil Lord Baron Dralthor.
"I believe that qualifies as the shortest war in history. I am glad we won," said Luna, looking up uncertainly. "Sister, who has sent you this? Who is this, 'Lord Dralthor'?"
Celestia stared back at Luna, still with a perplexed expression. "I have absolutely no idea."
It is, in some respects, an obvious truth that for the heroic souls of this world to be heroic, that there must exist some form of villainy against which they may stand. A dark backdrop against which their righteousness and good can shine out to all who would look up to them.
But if we accept that some evil is necessary to bring good to the fore, does it necessarily follow that the worse the evil, the more clearly the good can be seen? Is the light in fact any brighter against the pitch dark than the subtle dusk? Or can the highest and most honourable qualities of the virtuous still be teased out when confronted with a slightly... lesser villainy? How dark must evil be in order to inspire the best of goodness? Instead of pitch black, would a pale grey suffice? An off-white?
In the Grand Hall of Canterlot Castle, right outside the tall, arched doors that lead directly into the throne room, a villain and his trusted henchman prepare to enact the final stage of their plan. The culmination of months of meticulous planning and preparation, their triumphant moment almost at hand...
* * *
“My Lord, stop pacing,” said Rogi with an impatient huff. “When walking upon a red carpet it is considered impolite to try and wear it out!”
Dralthor looked up, then lumbered to a stop. An awkward moment of inaction amidst his restless, relentless back-and-forth plodding. He glanced at Rogi, then hung his head in an apologetically sheepish gesture. “Sorry,” he said before looking back up. “I'm nervous.” He looked down again. The flattened indents made by his clomping, cloven stone hooves in the plush carpet were rather noticeable. But though he didn't really want to make them worse, he found he couldn't keep still and so within moments he was back to automatic, fretful pacing.
Such an incongruous pairing, these two. One, a gargantuan twelve-foot tall ogre-ish tower of animated stone and theoretical menace. The other a diminutive bipedal vulture-type creature coated in scraggly, oily greying black feathers everywhere except his neck, face, hands and feet, and whose beady eyes though perhaps not possessed of all the sparkle they once held, still had a calculating glint to them. But a pair they were and now, after so much plotting and planning, scheming and strategizing they had finally arrived here, outside the throne-room doors of Canterlot Castle. And on the far side, the two most powerful rulers of Equestria. Their sworn enemies. For this week at least.
Beyond the stained-glass windows in the Grand Hall, the sun was just about to meet the horizon and the sky was turning a gorgeous, deep-hued pink. Presently one of the two tall, arched doors before them opened and through it stepped a unicorn pony very formally attired in red waistcoat and tie, walking with practised prim and proper steps. He closed the door behind him and turned to address the duo. “The Princesses are adjourning temporarily to see to their celestial duties. Now... I see here that you specifically requested an audience after sunset?”
“Yes,” answered Rogi. “My Lord here has a certain... aversion... to direct sunlight. We are in no hurry.”
“They will be a few moments. Now, ah...” The prim pony looked down at a clipboard levitated before him, and produced a quill. “How would you like to be announced, Mister...?” He let the sentence hang on the question and glanced up over his small, round spectacles toward the giant gargoyle.
“Oh... er...” stammered Dralthor. He risked a quick glance at Rogi who simply gave him a long-suffering – but nonetheless supportive – nod of encouragement. Emboldened, Dralthor turned back and puffed out his chiseled (literally) granite chest. “I... am Lord Dralthor!” he proclaimed. Then immediately backtracked. “No... wait! Evil Lord Dralthor. The Villainous. And bloodthirsty. The villainous, bloodthirsty and—!”
“Don't overdo it, my Lord,” said Rogi with a weary glance.
“Eh? Oh. Uh, Evil Lord Dralthor then,” he said.
“Mhmm? Very well...” said the pony absently, scribbling a few words with the quill. He looked up again. “Evil Lord Dralthor, of... your homeland?”
“The Kingdom of Stone!”
“Very good. And the purpose of your audience with the Princesses?”
“To reveal my diabolical scheme!” he bellowed.
“...diabolical... scheme...” repeated the pony, concentrating on his quill and the clipboard. When he finished he looked up. “Excellent. And yourself, sir?” he asked, turning to Rogi.
Which seemed to catch Rogi by surprise. “Me? Oh, there's no need to— that is, thank you, but there is no need to announce me,” said Rogi. “With your leave, I will remain here.”
“Very well.” Just then the door to the throne room opened again, and out stepped a quartet of aristocratic-type ponies – the previous audience no doubt – garbed in stylish, expensive-looking dresses and suits, the mares festooned with jewellery. They all gave a somewhat surprised look at the stone creature who towered over them at three times their height as they passed, before deciding it was rude to stare and as a group they moved right along, scarcely breaking stride with their vacuous nattering until they were out of sight and sound. As they left, the clipboard-wielding pony slipped back into the throne room, and a restless silence fell.
“You're not coming in?” said Dralthor.
“Ah... no, my Lord,” admitted Rogi.
Dralthor’s face was a picture of disappointment. “B-but, I need—”
“No, my Lord, you do not. You are strong, powerful and fearsome. And you have rehearsed enough. You know your goal, all you have to do is be confident in issuing your demands. Your victory is certain.” He put on an encouraging smile. “You don't need me.”
“But I thought we—”
“This is your triumph, my Lord,” insisted Rogi. “I, after all, am a simple henchman and have no place in such important matters.”
Disappointed, Dralthor nevertheless nodded slowly, and drew himself up. He let out a deep, calming breath. “Okay. Okay. Strong, powerful, fearsome. I can do this,” he whispered to himself, fidgeting only slightly with his thick stone fingers.
“Yes you can,” said Rogi.
“I can’t believe I’m actually doing it!” he said, a huge – if nervous – grin breaking. The sun finally set behind the low hills to the west and the sky turned from vibrant pink to a deep, peaceful, star-specked blue.
Presently, at the far end of the lengthy, empty corridor a surly-looking, khaki-coated pegasus stallion with notable stubble on his chin rounded the corner. Seeing Rogi he made eye contact and drew to a stop just far enough away to be out of earshot.
“Ah. Um, excuse me, my Lord. I have a matter to attend to.” Rogi walked quickly toward the new arrival, leaving his master stood alone and looking six different kinds of awkward. Dralthor’s hooves twitched and in a moment he would undoubtedly begin pacing anew.
Quickening his own pace, Rogi approached his impromptu contact. “You’re late,” he admonished, his voice low.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever, bub. You know how tough it is to smuggle a lightning bolt outta the factory?”
“I’m sure it’s very trying,” groused Rogi, fishing out a small pouch from beneath his wing, bulging with golden bit-coins, the Equestrian currency. “But you’ve managed it, yes?”
“ ’s all ready to go,” reassured the pegasus. “You just gotta tell me what the signal is.”
“Good. My Lord behind me will be in the throne room speaking to the Princesses... giving something of a speech, really. During the speech a large envelope will be produced to them, and held aloft with dramatic flair. That will be the cue.”
“Riiight. Dramatic flair, huh?” said the pegasus with notable skepticism, scritching the stubble on his muzzle with a forehoof.
“It will be dramatic if you get the timing right,” said Rogi.
“Sure, bub. Just remember: I only got one. And this don’t come back to me, right? You know how much trouble I’d be in? Lightning onna clear night like this? I’ll get stuck hauling clouds for months.”
“You have my word,” said Rogi, who felt a little sad pang when he realised he meant it. There had been a time when giving his word would have reliably telegraphed duplicity and some manner of imminent betrayal. Ah, so long ago now. He sighed a wistful sigh and held out the coin-pouch and dropped it onto the stallion’s waiting, upturned hoof where it landed with a soft clink. “Remember, when the envelope is held up.”
“Right.” A pause. “An envelope, you say.”
“Exactly.”
“Izzat... an envelope like the one you’re holding there?” said the stallion, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, exactly like the one I’m...” Rogi’s eyes widened as he stared at his other hand, and the large brown paper pouch it had been clutching for so long as to have slipped completely beneath his conscious notice. “Oh, for the love of—!” He whirled and looked back, legs already spurring him to a sprint, only to see with horror the throne room doors just swinging closed, and beyond them the voice of the clipboard pony sounded out loud and clear...
* * *
The grand doors opened before him and the clipboard-toting pony motioned him to approach. Dralthor took a deep, nervous breath and stepped forward into the middle of the throne-room. The very heart of his enemies’ lair. The doors swung shut behind him with a great thud, echoing in the high-ceilinged room and there before him, seated on a pair of thrones atop a dais so high even he had to look up toward them, Princess Celestia and Princess Luna, the High Rulers of Equestria. And then, just when he thought he couldn’t get any more nervous, standing alone in the full glare of their scrutiny, the clipboard-pony bellowed and caused him to jump.
“ANNOUNCING... EVIL LORD DRALTHOR OF THE KINGDOM OF STONE, HERE TO REVEAL HIS DIABOLICAL SCHEME!” The pony gave a professional bow as he had no doubt done scores of times already, and withdrew to the doors.
And there was silence. Silence that stretched on for far... too... long.
Presently Luna looked toward her sister, her face couched in a frown and an expression of annoyance. “It’s this easy now? Do we have any defences?” she asked her sister and the world in general as she turned her vexed gaze toward the clipboard-pony, who appeared to only just be realising what he had actually said.
“H-he has been on the waiting list for over a moon, your Highness,” was his nervous reply.
Celestia held up a hoof to her sister and looked at Dralthor. A perplexed yet somehow forgiving expression. After several more moments passed – during which he didn’t know if he was supposed to start – she asked of him, “Lord... Dralthor, is it? You have come here because you have some manner of petition? A request you would make of us?”
“Yes! Uh... that is...” he faltered. But even speaking those words was enough to lift his fugue of terror. The seal was broken and so it was easier to at least begin. It would get easier then. If he could just make a start...
With awkward, jerking movements he placed his plate-sized palms on his hips, puffed out his chest and planted his goat-like legs wide apart, forcing himself into one of the power-poses that Rogi had taught him. He tried to adopt a winning, confident smirk, but alas his stubby tusks and the lack of flexibility in his granite lips combined to betray him and his expression instead became half sneer, half pained-grimace that caused both royal sisters to wince in sympathy. Nevertheless it was just enough that he finally spurred his tongue into action. Well, action of a sort.
“Ah, Princess Celestia, Princess Luna. At last we meet, for the first time for the last time. Uh... I mean we meet at last... not for the last time. Well, no, I’m supposed to say it’s the last time even though... well, actually I suppose it might be the last time if... if you... uh...”
Both of the princesses gazed upon him, thoroughly perplexed.
“Yes?” said Luna.
“But I hope it’s not!” said Dralthor. “Even though I say...” This was awful. The words came no more easily and his voice sounded most unlike it had in rehearsal. Where was his menace? His growling, gravelly baritone of malevolence? He tried to forge a new start. “I’m evil, you know.” He awkwardly changed his pose, adopting a deep lunge with one leg forward, and raised his forward arm, bent ninety-degrees at the elbow, forearm pointed at the ceiling, fist clenched in triumph. “I... am the most powerful villain you have faced all day!” he proclaimed with well-placed confidence.
There was another short silence, which lasted only until Luna finally repeated, “Yes?” and quirked an eyebrow.
“And... why have you come here?” asked Celestia patiently, offering slightly more of a prompt.
“Oh, yes! My plan! I’ve, uh... I’ve got this document that I... want you to... oh, where is it? What have I done with it? I gave it to— oh!” he cried, turning toward the double doors. Looking back to the princesses he said, “My henchman has it. Do you mind if I just...?”
“Of course not,” said Celestia, clearly trying to hide a smile, to the apparent consternation of her sister.
Dralthor took a couple of steps toward the door and then noticed the clipboard-pony still stood tidily to one side, and a new idea struck him. Bending low, he asked, “Actually, could I make a request...?”
* * *
Outside, Rogi was engaged in his own form of fretful pacing, trying desperately to figure out how to best get the envelope into his master’s hands without actually intervening at all. He had thought of just slipping it under the doors and hoping for the best, but there was too much to go wrong there. Too much chance that it simply wouldn’t be noticed in time. The only other option he could think of was to knock quietly in the hope of gaining Clipboard Pony’s attention, slipping him the envelope and letting him take it from there. And just as he raised his scrawny arm to rap on the left-hand of the two doors, it opened unexpectedly, and Clipboard Pony was stood in front of him.
“Oh, good. Could you hand this to—” began Rogi, only to be cut off with a shake of the head.
“Mr. Lord Dralthor has asked for you inside.”
“Ah, no. I can’t go in, but if you could just—”
Another shake of the head. “He said you might be reluctant. Said to tell you he was summoning you.”
Rogi’s eyes rolled. “He did, did he?” He took a deep breath and nodded. “Fine.” If he kept his head down and didn’t draw attention to himself he might just be able to hand his master the envelope and withdraw quickly.
That plan, though, was thoroughly dashed when all of a sudden both of the double-doors were flung open before him, and Clipboard Pony bellowed.
“ANNOUNCING: LORD DRALTHOR’S SENIOR HENCHMAN. CHIEF OF STRATEGY, MOST TRUSTED ADVISOR... AND BEST FRIEND... ROGI!”
Silence.
There he was, caught in the headlights standing right in the middle of the two double-doors. He’d already been seen, no point in hiding now. He was compelled to walk right into the throne room, his stride laden with the same heavy footfalls one might use to approach a gallows, to finally stand a couple of meters to the left of his boss who stood beaming with what could only be pride. Pride in him. Pride that, in his eyes, he had such a loyal henchman to call upon.
And before him, upon the dais, Luna and Celestia. Luna looked quizzical, as well she might. But Celestia... she looked shocked. Eyes wide and her mouth agape. And when the shock faded after but a second, it fell into a deep frown, and Rogi sighed a heavy, disappointed sigh, and hung his head.
“Rogi!” she cried and in an instant she had risen from her throne, standing upon all four hooves atop the dais and her great white wings flaring wide and proud. “Guards!” she snapped, to the surprise of everyone else in the throne room except Rogi himself. Not least of all the guards themselves. After all, if there was a threat, surely it was from the massive tower of stone, right?
After a moment of inaction, and when they twigged that the call to arms was not a joke, they finally sorted themselves out and unshouldered spears, hefting them in the direction of the scraggly vulture-beast, surrounding him and Dralthor with the tips of six sharp weapons. Celestia’s frown remained and she refused to take her eyes from him, studying him intently. Everyone else: Luna, Dralthor, Clipboard-Pony, all looked various shades of confused.
He just about managed to raise his head and make eye-contact for the briefest of moments before lowering it and, carefully, extending one leg behind him and dropping to one knee in a deep bow. “Lady Celestia,” he said, with the deference she was due. Still on one knee he raised his head once more and met her gaze, and this time held it. And made no other move.
A long moment passed, but finally and at length Celestia’s expression relaxed just a little. She held her gaze on him until, after a full minute with no action, she held up a hoof to indicate the guards should withdraw. But her motion and her suspicious expression suggested she was far from confident this was a wise decision. Rogi broke her gaze then and dropped his head back toward the floor. Still he did not rise from his knee.
It was Luna’s turn to speak, but she did so to her counterpart. “Sister? Do you know this creature?”
“I do,” said Celestia. Her gaze had still not left him. “He is a villain.”
He is a villain. Rogi winced, took in a short breath through his teeth and had to cock his head a little. Was that true, strictly? He was a servant now. Were henchmen to villainous masters actual villains themselves? Villainy by association? Or were they absolved of that taint by virtue of the fact that, in theory at least, their actions were their masters’ and not their own? Did the humble henchman exist outside and apart from the hackneyed light/dark, good/evil dichotomy? Certainly that was how he saw himself. Simply a facilitator – and, yes, occasionally necessary saboteur – of his master’s wishes.
“A villian?” said Luna.
Celestia nodded. “A villain. One I have not seen in two hundred years.”
Rogi nodded, though his head stayed bowed. True enough.
“I didn’t know you used to be a villain, Rogi!” said Dralthor, his voice bursting with glee.
“I have mentioned it on several occasions, my Lord,” grumbled Rogi under his breath.
“I don’t understand,” said Luna to her sister, her own countenance writ with suspicion now, but her eyes at least finally leaving Rogi for Celestia. “You said you had told me of all the villains Equestria had faced while I was... away.”
“I did,” said Celestia.
“But you have never mentioned him?”
Celestia took her own deep breath and turned to her sister, but as her head turned her eyes stayed locked on him for as long as possible, and when they left him it was with reluctance.
“Because he was not, strictly speaking, our villain,” said Celestia, returning her scrutiny to him. She took another breath, this one a prelude to explanation. “Equestria and its ponies are not the only targets for evil in this world. There are other lands that attract their own blackhearted individuals as readily as we. This one... Rogi, as he called himself... was a villain to the Griffon kingdom, over two centuries ago. And nearly conquered it.”
Suddenly he was very aware that all eyes were on him. The hairs on the back of his neck, just above his white ruff of feathers, stood on end and he suddenly felt very hot. To his right, Dralthor looked down at him in clear surprise.
“You never told me that!” he said, astonishment tinged with awe.
To which Rogi could only manage a half-strangled, “Ergh...” and a dismissive hand-wave.
Luna appeared unconvinced. “Him? This scrawny creature? Bringing the notoriously obstinate Griffons to heel? I struggle to give that credence.”
“You must understand the background. The Griffons had had no king in a very long time,” Celestia continued. “Their civilisation was anarchic and directionless. And Rogi...” her frown fixed anew, “...arrived to them cunning and quick-witted. He made loud promises and proclamations and drew toward him unsuspecting griffons disaffected with their broken society, feeding them silver-tongued pledges of a better life and a brighter future under his... guidance. But it was all a lie. His ‘guidance’ was a mere spell: a magic amulet he possessed that, at a simple touch, granted him dominion over the free will of others. Each of those that came to hear his designs for a better future he snared and placed in his thrall. And because of the griffons’ notorious antipathy for their kinfolk, his machinations went unnoticed for far too long. Steadily he conscripted a vast number of griffons into his puppet army, ready to use them in an uprising to install himself on their vacant throne. In mere months he had amassed more than enough troops to take Griffonstone. He would have succeeded completely, had I not... intervened.”
Celestia looked to her sister again. “I tried to keep Equestria out of it, truly. But the griffons that remained free of his influence came to Canterlot and begged me for help. They were in disarray, they had no leader to coordinate a resistance, and every day more and more succumbed to Rogi’s honeyed promises and fell prey to his magic. It was already too late for them to fight back. To deny them aid would have been to abandon the free griffons to conquest and enslavement. How could I?”
Another moment of silence, but all eyes had turned to Celestia now, necks craned forward just a little, their attention rapt. All except Rogi’s, who kept his head down, listening with quiet discomfort to the follies of his life summarised with such brevity and eloquence.
“What happened?” asked Luna.
“With the aid of the Guard I marshalled the griffons from a rabble into an effective army, and led a coalition of griffons and ponies straight to Rogi’s fortress. A gothic castle on a small hill, overlooking a barren plain.”
“Ooh! That sounds a bit like my castle,” said Dralthor.
Rogi gave a short, weary sigh and though none could see with his head down, rolled his eyes. “Yes, my Lord. Very similar.”
“Rogi had spies, and knew we were coming,” Celestia carried on. “By the time our forces arrived he had mustered his entire army in defence of his castle. Ranks upon ranks, thousands of vacant-eyed, voiceless griffons faced us. There was no way to reach the castle and defeat Rogi without committing to battle and yet every griffon in my army had a friend, a sister, a father... someone they loved under Rogi’s spell. And Rogi would force us to cut through them if we wished to end his tyranny. With my ponies, our forces were greater in number and we had the advantage of magic to call upon. We would prevail, but the cost...” She hung her head.
Rogi dared to raise his own to look at Celestia for just a moment before lowering his gaze back to the floor. “The cost,” he agreed. A long silence followed.
“And? What happened?” asked Dralthor, leaning way forward, fists clenched to his chest and the rubies that were his eyes glittering with excitement. Luna had a more restrained expression, but obvious curiosity lit her eyes too.
Celestia looked back to Rogi, that same puzzled expression to her. A long, awful moment of silence passed before she spoke again. “He spared them.”
Rogi winced again. And then he was elsewhere...
* * *
Standing proudly upon the high castle balcony, hands clasped at the small of his back, his black cape billowing in the wind, Rogi wore a grim expression.
How had it come to this?
His army, thousands strong, stretched before him. Innumerable ranks of perfectly ordered, identically armed and armoured griffon soldiers stood regimented on the barren, dirt plain beneath the roiling, swirling everclouds. So proud he was of them, as they stood unflinching, uncaring, unfeeling in the face of their fate. The perfect citizens, he thought, as he brought a long-clawed talon of a hand around to absently finger the bronze-and-jade medallion dangling from his neck.
But beyond his perfect troops... a rabble! A mongrel army stood against him. Undisciplined. Unco-ordinated. Griffons and... and ponies... fused together in mixed ranks! Armed with a hodge-podge of weaponry and possessing not a single common attribute, save one: courage.
And yet for all their inefficiencies, this rag-tag legion somehow vastly outnumbered and outclassed his forces.
He had planned every aspect of his conquest meticulously. He had calculated and calculated over and over again. Everything perfect, nothing left to chance. But he had not foreseen this. He could still scarcely believe it, much less understand why! Why had Equestria interfered?! Could they not see what he was trying to do?! Did they not understand his grand plan?!
But interfere they had, and now, suddenly, the calculations were not good. In the face of this new coalition his army’s defeat was certain, as was his own fate.
But they would suffer in their triumph, he thought as a terrible sneer formed on his features. If that... mob!... out there wished to see him and his designs destroyed, he would see to it that they paid the highest price he could exact! By sunset this day his army might be routed, his castle might be sacked and his plans might be ended... but they would be dragging themselves on their knees to their victory!
And so he did what came naturally: he calculated. And recalculated. His mind whirred apace as his claws fingered his medallion.
His forces would charge their ranks with pike and spear. A ground battle against a prepared opponent. Casualties in the high hundreds. The enemy would counter, surround and capture... and he would be led away in chains. Rework. His archers would attack to soften their lines then his advance guard would try to break through. Approximately fifteen hundred casualties. The enemy would defend, then counter, surround and capture... and he would be led away in chains. Modify. An initial aerial bombardment using black-powder to terrify and scatter them before committing. Total around three thousand casualties. The enemy would rally, intercept his arial forces and subue, surround and capture... and he would be led away in chains.
He stood, stony-faced, mind racing with every possibility at his disposal, calculating every variable he could, every advantage he held to maximise the efficiency of his finite number of troops. The only thing that never altered was the outcome, but since it was a constant it didn’t matter for now. All that mattered was how much damage he could do. How much pain he could cause! In his imagination he watched, absorbed, his mind’s eye conjuring images of the ranks upon ranks of standing ponies and griffons becoming an ocean of crimson-coated bodies lying very, very still; hearing phantom screams of anguish and almost able to smell burning fur and feathers. And in every new mental simulation the casualty count climbed; with each new iteration he saw the bodies rise higher and higher. More. More! The greater the number the more they would suffer! The more they would regret having stood against him! The power he had! The realisation that with a mere command he could now cause fifty-seven hundred casualties! Fifty-eight if he tried it this way! Fifty-nine if that! He could break six-thousand, he knew he could, if he could just find the right pattern! He heard himself laughing. A chilling, deep-lunged maniacal laugh, beak aching from being open so wide. They. Would. Pay!
And then, from somewhere far, far back in the darkest, oft-forgotten corner of his mind, a quiet but hopeful voice spoke up.
Zero?
His laugh came to an end and he dismissed the errant thought, or so he believed. But when he looked out over the massed ranks again, the terrible images from his imagination failed to coalesce. Instead he saw things as they were now, in this moment, this instant of time, before the slaughter had happened. Row upon row, column upon column of griffons and ponies. Standing. Waiting. Breathing.
Living.
“Zero?” he whispered to himself, long, slender fingers still absently fiddling with the talisman around his neck. A strange, revelatory sensation seemed to settle over him. As when one realised there was a completely new way to approach a hitherto vexing problem. And in a moment of curiosity – for it would not do to allow even an aberrant theory to go unexamined at this critical juncture – he once again allowed his mind to wander to the aftermath of the battle. And as it did, the sea of spilt blood vanished. The stench in his nostrils dissipated. The bodies of so many fallen faded, no longer needing to be cleared, the ground no longer stained red. Instead he saw the enemy army surging forward into the ranks of his fighters not in anger, but in jubilation. Fathers found daughters. Sisters found brothers. Suddenly the cries from the battlefield were of hope, not agony. The tears were of joy, not anguish. The screams were cheers. And the outcome? He would be led away in chains.
And the voice asked: why not? Why not choose this path? If it made not a jot of difference to the outcome, then what purpose did six thousand dead serve? Or six hundred? Or six? What need was there for even one griffon or pony to die? Why not, instead, choose happiness over horror? Joy over grief? Was this not a more... ordered... solution?
But... he wanted to make them suffer, didn’t he? For their insolence? For ruining his plans? Didn’t he want the satisfaction of... what exactly? He once again conjured up the repugnant aftermath of the massacre, seeing piles upon piles of former griffons and ponies being cleared away by their distraught and traumatised comrades. Hearing the wails of the survivors and watching their tears fall was many things... but it was not satisfying.
Would them suffering help him? Benefit him? Would it even please him?
No.
So... did he want to make them suffer? Did he really?
Two paths before him, both with identical destinations and both equally easy to start down. But one went by way of horrific destruction and loss of life, and the other... didn’t.
And with that, the calculating part of his brain – the part that had still been trying to reach ever-higher numbers throughout his mental side-conversation – shut down. There was no more need to expend disproportionate amounts of energy trying to increase a theoretical number by what were now insignificant degrees. The mental load lifted and with it came a quick rush of euphoria – the same one he often got when arriving at a particularly elegant, efficient solution.
Zero.
And he realised, as he recognised the feeling: that was satisfaction.
He didn’t know why it was. Perhaps he never would.
The claw that had been fingering his amulet now grasped it tightly enough to turn his knuckles white, and with a swift, strong jerk he pulled it from his neck, snapping the beaded cord and causing most of the beads to rain down to the stone floor beneath his feet with sharp ticking sounds. Taking the remains of the necklace in his hand he brought the amulet to eye-level and gave one last look at the beautiful enchanted jade jewel, glowing brightly with the absorbed willpower of thousands of griffons... and then reached up with his hand, raising it high over his head, and with a mighty swing brought it down again as hard as he could, sending the pendant crashing into the stone balcony rail. The amulet struck rock with a single, firm CRACK! and the jewel shattered into three pieces and came loose of its bronze mounting with a blinding flash of green light. On the battlefield in front of him his ranks of stoic soldiers immediately became desynchronised and disorderly. Worried murmurs became shouts of confusion and incomprehension. Weapons and armour so painstakingly forged and issued were hurriedly cast aside with yelps of fear. The opposing forces reacted with surprise but began to advance cautiously, suspecting a ruse. Soon the cries turned to disbelief and joy. The forefront of the army reached the door to his castle and pressed inside. He heard them clanking through the lower halls, moving slowly, expecting traps. There were none. They were on the stairs now. Now their footfalls echoed in the hallway outside his door. Rogi let the discarded pieces of scrap medallion fall to the floor, looked out onto the field before him, and waited to be led away in chains.
* * *
“What?” said Luna, looking confused at Celestia. “Their army just surrendered? For no reason? There is a large piece of that story missing, sister,” she said with a frown and turned to look at Rogi.
“I’ve said as much as I know,” said Celestia.
“Then why say he ‘spared’ them?” said Luna, indicating Rogi.
“That is the only explanation I have ever come up with for what happened that day,” Celestia shrugged.
“Is it? Could there not have been a malfunction with his artifact? Or perhaps its compulsion was not as strong as you theorise? Perhaps the griffons’ collective reluctance to attack their own kind overrode his command to destroy?”
“It may be as you say. I have never known for sure, it was simply a... feeling. The only soul who could say what happened never has,” she said, fixing Rogi in her uncertain stare again. “Rogi said not a single word as he was led away, nor at his trial. He offered no defence at all, gave no instruction to his counsel. In truth, in this room just now was the first time I have heard him speak.” She took a breath. “The griffons wanted him punished harshly. I argued for clemency, and because I had been instrumental my voice was given some weight. In the end, he was exiled. And that was the last I knew of him, until today.”
Another long, painful silence while he was scrutinsed by everyone in the room.
Dralthor was the first to speak up. “So... you hatched a diabolical plan, clashed with the forces of good, were soundly defeated, and even though thousands of griffons and ponies were put at grave risk, no-one actually got hurt?”
“That is... an acceptable summary, my Lord,” admitted Rogi.
“Well, that’s brilliant!” exclaimed Dralthor, who – without any warning, mind – suddenly gave Rogi a full-weighted backslap with a plate-sized palm of solid stone. Rogi’s eyes went wide, his spine rattled, and he let out an awkward, surprised caw as the impact sent him forward, sprawling bodily on the floor. “Oops. Sorry,” said Dralthor, raising a fingernail to chew on. “But I always thought you would make a good villain, Rogi, but I didn’t realise just how good! I mean, that’s the gold standard isn’t it? That’s first-class, textbook villaining all the way! I am impressed. We should get you back into it. You know, back in the saddle, so to speak.”
Picking himself up and dusting himself down with no urgency at all, Rogi returned to Dralthor’s side. “I left it behind for a reason, my L—”
“You know, thinking about it, perhaps we should take turns. Maybe next week you can be the mastermind and I’ll be the henchman! Or we could join forces and both be villains together. We could form some kind of Legion of Doo—”
“My Lord!” snapped Rogi impatiently, then took a calming breath. “Perhaps we could return to our reason for being here?”
“Oh! Yes!” he said, coming to his senses. “I was about to give them the document to sign, but I didn’t have it, and—”
“Yes, my Lord. And I must apologise for that,” said Rogi, holding the envelope up for Dralthor to take—
KRA-KOOOOOM!
A deafening crack rang out in the throne room as, just outside the windows, the sky strobed momentarily with the flash of lightning, and then fell silent.
Rogi gawped. “That... was not... the signal!” he howled.
Dralthor took a moment longer to recover. “What was that?” he asked.
“Urgh. It was... lightning, my Lord,” admitted Rogi. “I wished to see to it that when you made your demand it would be... dramatic.”
Dralthor looked down at him with a warm smile. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Rogi,” he said as though genuinely touched.
“I try, my Lord.” Today was not turning into a good day, he thought ruefully.
On the dais, Luna craned her neck a little closer to Celestia. “Sister... what is happening?”
“I’m not sure.” replied Celestia.
Taking the envelope, and suddenly emboldened with the presence of his companion, Dralthor turned to the dais and struck a confident pose. “Ahem. Princess Celestia, Princess Luna... we meet at last,” bellowed Dralthor.
“Yes, we have done that part,” said Luna.
“Oh.”
“You were about to tell us why you were here,” reminded Celestia. “Before we became distracted.”
“Yes! Ah...” said Dralthor as he reset himself. “Ahem! I have travelled a long way from the Kingdom of Stone to face you, and I have brought something with me... something for you both to sign,” he said in a sinister tone, holding the envelope high. (That was the signal, thought Rogi.) “Rest assured that if you refuse, there will be... consequences.” He put on a smug grin.
There was another second of silence, and Celestia finally took her seat again. “Lord Dralthor... we cannot commit to signing any document of yours,” she said plainly and professionally.
“B-but... the consequences!” protested Dralthor.
“My Lord, perhaps you should explain the consequences to the Princesses,” said Rogi.
“Ooh, yes! Ahem. If you do not sign my document, I will take my revenge by... tearing down every lavender plant and bouquet in your castle!” he boomed. He seemed very pleased with himself.
The sisters looked by turns surprised, then confused. At length Luna sat back in her seat, folded her forelegs and gazed at Dralthor with a nonplussed, thoroughly unimpressed expression. “You fiend.”
“Aha! Ahaha! Muahahahahaha!” cackled Dralthor, revelling in his opportunity – possibly his only ever opportunity – to put on a real, evil laugh in the face of an heroic adversary. When he finished, he gave a wicked grin and held the envelope toward the Princesses again, expecting them to take it.
Celestia remained unmoved. “Lord Dralthor... the answer is still no.”
To which Dralthor’s expression fell. His face and his entire posture dropped. And when he looked up again he presented a forlorn figure.
Well, Rogi sighed, this hadn’t gone too badly. Of the half-dozen or so endings he had mentally sketched out for this meeting – everything from the Royal Princesses’ total surrender, (unlikely) to his own and Dralthor’s complete destruction at their hooves (almost-but-not-quite as unlikely), the two most probable outcomes both involved getting to roughly this point. In one, the sisters accepted his master’s request and signed the document, in the other they declined. This was clearly the slightly-worse version they had arrived at, but looked at objectively it wasn’t awful. At the end of the day, Dralthor had met his nemeses, had his confrontation with them, and villainy had been overcome by the forces of good. That was how he could spin it later. Dralthor would reflect and end up pleased. They could withdraw now, mission accomplished. But right now, here, Dralthor’s face was an open book of disappointment. And so, reluctantly, Rogi forced himself forward. This really wasn’t his place but...
“Lady Celestia, please... I respectfully urge you to give due consideration to Lord Dralthor’s offer. Weighed against the, ah... terrible consequences... he has planned for you if you refuse, I really do think you will find his demands quite reasonable. I have no desire to see the halls of your castle strewn with the stalks of dead lavender.” Of all the things he thought he would never say.
He was regarded once more with puzzlement and a hint of suspicion from the Sun Princess. But just as she opened her mouth to once more decline she was interrupted by Luna. “Surely it cannot hurt to inspect this document, sister? If it is a contract or a waiver of rights, then at the very least we will gain an insight into what Lord Dralthor’s goals are?” She had a little smile, actually. Well hidden, but there.
“Very well,” said Celestia after a moment’s deliberation. Dralthor held out the envelope again but it was Luna who took it within her aura, levitating it closer to herself. In a moment the seal was broken, the flap opened, and the document withdrawn. A single piece of quite-stiff paper. Luna inspected it with instant surprise. Dralthor watched nervously, fidgeting with his hands.
“What is it?” asked Celestia of her sister.
“It is... a photograph,” said Luna, quite astounded. She turned it so that Celestia could see. “Of us. It is that picture Spike took of us that day we were all at the beach together. The one you insisted we release to show off our more... down-to-earth side.” On the pristine and clearly well-cared-for copy the smiling faces of Luna and Celestia dominated the foreground, cheek-to-cheek and staring directly into the camera, Celestia with her tongue stuck out playfully, Luna with a cheeky grin showing most of her brilliant-white teeth and a smear of pink sun-block across the top of her muzzle. There wasn’t much background to be seen beyond the Princesses’ two huge heads, but what little there was described a gorgeous white-sand beach, a crystal blue ocean and a glorious sunny day. (And if you looked very closely deep into the background, a nervous Shining Armor buried up to his neck in sand, a triumphant Flurry Heart with spade held in her aura, and a delighted Cadance tittering into her hoof.)
Luna looked back to Dralthor, and turned the picture toward him. “This is what you would have us sign?”
“If... if you could make it out to, ‘Lord Dralthor, our most feared enemy...?’” he said in hope, his fingers still fidgeting, and he shuffled nervously on his cloven hooves.
Celestia couldn’t seem to wipe the look of surprise from her features. Initially the same was true of Luna, though she seemed a little quicker on the uptake. Perhaps her lack of foreknowledge of him had helped with that while his presence caused Celestia to remain suspicious. He knew he shouldn’t have entered.
“Well,” she said. “It seems we have no choice, sister. We must do as he asks.”
“Really?” asked two voices in unison, but with very different tenors. One incredulous, one full of hope.
“I simply cannot stand the thought of all that innocent lavender under threat from such a devious villain,” said Luna as, with a flash, she materialised a quill into the air before her and began to scritch on the paper. When she was finished she proffered the paper and quill to Celestia with an expectant look. Celestia instead looked at the photo, then to Rogi, her suspicious gaze returning. Rogi looked back now and raised his hands in a protest of innocence coupled with a world-weary countenance.
Yes, I know, he tried to say without words.
After another awkward moment, Celestia – not without hesitation – took up the quill and made her own scritches on the paper. Quite done, she levitated it back to Dralthor who took it with oh-so-much care in those huge lumpen hands, and looked at it in wonder.
To Lord Dralthor, our most feared villain. Love and best wishes, Princess Luna ♡ + Princess Celestia.
Rogi looked up at his master and felt a certain satisfaction. He just looked so... happy.
“And now that you have your prize, Lord Dralthor, what will you do?” asked Celestia.
He looked stunned for a moment, then looked quickly to Rogi. “The monologue?”
“The monologue,” Rogi agreed with a weary nod, and Dralthor looked back toward the princesses and drew himself high.
“Hah! I’m so glad you asked! You see I have, at great expense, constructed a mechanical device in my castle,” said Dralthor. “One which is capable of producing exact copies of documents such as this while at the same time increasing their physical size. I will take this signed image, place it into the device, and enlarge it to grand proportions! Then, I will mount it in a decorative frame and place it in my study, where it will hang... forever!” he cackled.
“You monster,” retorted Luna. She was definitely smiling a little smile now. Then, unexpectedly, she stood, spread her wings and fluttered down from the dais to land in front of the massive stone brute. “I will not allow this to stand unchallenged, Lord Dralthor. This way?” She began walking toward the throne room doors.
“Luna? What are you doing?” asked Celestia.
“I am escorting Lord Dralthor outside so that we may engage in a climactic battle between good and evil,” said Luna, who then turned to Dralthor himself. “If you accept?”
He really couldn’t hide just how giddy he was. Then he seemed to catch himself. “Uh... I should just check with...”
“I’m sure it’s fine, my Lord. Just... don’t get carried away?”
Dralthor grinned and clapped his huge stone hands in glee. He turned and followed Luna from the throne room, and as he did so, two of the royal guards walked escort behind them, and behind them walked Clipboard-Pony, muttering under his breath about things being ‘most irregular.’
Leaving Rogi and Celestia in the throne room. She gazed at him, and he found the strength to look back with a weary expression.
“What have I just done by signing that photograph?” she asked. “Have I triggered some enchantment? A curse?”
“You have made a practising villain very happy,” said Rogi. “Nothing more.”
There was a moment of silence while Celestia studied him further. Finally she spoke again. “What... is he?” she asked.
“I... do not really know,” Rogi admitted with a sigh. “A gargoyle. A creature of living stone. That is all I can say for certain. I would not have imagined such was possible, before I had seen it.”
“He is not a creation of yours?”
“Of mine?” Rogi shook his head. “He appeared at the door to my castle one night. He had been wandering the southern wastes, but for how long is anyone’s guess. Decades? Centuries? I asked him of course but the part of his mind that deals with memories is broken, corroded away over so much time. So I am left with only theories: that he was some kind of experiment – some evil warlock’s attempt at a golem, perhaps. However he was made, I doubt he was considered a success. He was probably cast off, his creator hoping he would simply go away and vanish. And so he wandered alone, without any knowledge of what he was meant to do, save that he is supposed to be evil.” He took a breath and met Celestia’s gaze. “But... well, the theory and the application do not quite marry, as you have seen.”
“It seems that he wishes to be evil, but does not wish to do evil,” said Celestia.
“Such is the paradox,” said Rogi.
She looked at him again, once more suspicious and confused. “And you? You call him ‘master’ and ‘lord’ without any hint of irony or sarcasm.”
“I do.” He sighed then, and then shrugged and raised his palms to the ceiling. “I couldn’t be his master. Couldn’t bring myself to perform that role. Not after...” he trailed off, then shook his head. “But neither could I turn him away. It is a dangerous world out there for a villain, Celestia, when the forces of good wield as much power as you and your kind. He is utterly unique, like nothing anyone has seen before, and yet for him to encounter the wrong kind of hero, looking to make a name for themselves, is all it would have taken for that to be lost. And he was utterly naive to the risk. He needed guidance. Protecting from himself.” He sighed again. “I have kept him occupied and content with theories and war-games and the planning of the most machiavellian and convoluted of evil plots – all hopelessly impractical, be assured. And I have been fortunate to placate him for so long: to compliment his fractured memory he also has a rather poor attention span. But he has been growing restless of late. Theories and pretend no longer satisfy him, night after night after night in a cavernous castle with only myself for company. He yearns for more, even if only a taste. I cannot blame him.”
Celestia nodded thoughtfully. “And... what is this? Here, tonight? Is this practise? A trial run?”
“A trial ru—!” protested Rogi. “If you only knew the lengths I have had to go to to set up this encounter, Princess! Have you any idea how logistically challenging it has been even to get him here, in front of you? It is a vast distance for such a lumbering, plodding creature, and travelling only by night! To say nothing of organising a meeting with yourselves – by proxy I might add – that you might cancel at any moment. And the very implication that I would insult you – and your sister – by using you as a... a trial run!” he scoffed, then sighed heavily and continued in a tone that suggested that what followed was not only pitiable, but patently ludicrous. “No, Princess, this is it. This is the master plan. The grand scheme.” He met Celestia’s gaze. “Actually, if you wish to think of this as anything, think of it as an audition.”
“An audition?”
“Dralthor cannot be anything other than a villain. Whatever enchantment created him is so deeply ingrained it will not allow him to believe he is anything else. And it seems he has his heart set on being your villain. Equestria’s villain.”
Celestia scowled. “Equestria is not in the market for new villains, Rogi. We are oversubscribed.”
“Are you?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “As far as I can tell, you have no active villains at the moment. Your former student Twilight has been most effective in that regard. Some might say ruthless.”
The scowl deepened dangerously. “You would have us make apology for protecting ourselves?”
“I would have you acknowledge that villainy is a powerful catalyst for good. And perhaps sometimes a necessary one.” His expression softened. “I beg you to consider this. What it could be. A known adversary to keep yourselves alert to danger and against whom you can time and again profess the virtues of good and right and friendship to all the world, but one who, if things should ever take an ill turn... how to put this... does not exactly have your worst interests at heart?”
She regarded him then with a long look. At last she said, “This is important to you.” Half question, half statement.
He shrugged. “To the extent that I place importance on anything these days. It is important to him.”
“Why? And why him?”
At this he could only return her gaze. “Because he is not evil, and he never will be. And without this he is destined never to fulfill his purpose. It may be an arbitrary, vague purpose artificially implanted by a wicked wizard inside a creature that should never otherwise exist... but he still feels it within himself.” He paused then, but when Celestia said nothing, he felt obliged to continue. “If he were truly evil, or had that potential, we would have parted ways long ago. But I know what evil is, Celestia. I may not have successfully conquered nations or stolen limitless magic, but I have studied the great villains, from Arimaspi to the Windigo, and I considered myself among the most evil of them all. Do you know why?” he asked.
Celestia shook her head.
“Because I believed I was doing good,” he urged. “When I came to the griffons I saw them in disarray, a shambles of a society. I believed I would give them order, structure, a regime under my dominion as a steward for the leader they were incapable of installing themselves. I would have turned them into the perfect, uniform citizens. In my own way... I thought I was creating harmony.” Celestia opened her mouth and looked ready to speak, no doubt to offer some lecture or other. He waved a hand dismissively. “Whatever you are about to say, you needn’t,” he assured. “This is not a defence. But do you not see? I was willing to commit acts of atrocity, I was willing to justify them because I was adamant in my own mind that everything I did was right... until that day. When I saw that an alliance of thousands willing to lay down their lives to stop me. Even then it was barely enough.” He took a breath. “‘Evil’ is not some powerful monster rampaging through cities causing destruction to acquire power. It is the thing that convinces the monster it is right to do so. A subtle, dark, tempting quality that colours views, warps morals and corrupts the conscience. The things it enables when you are deeply submerged within its tentacles, the things it permits... are unthinkable. It leads you down the path of villainy while convincing you you are the hero, relentlessly seductive for that one simple, tragic reason: everyone wants to be the hero. No-one ever sees themselves as the villain in their own story, Celestia.” Another pause. “Except for him. He is unique. Innocent, in a way. A villain all too aware of his place in the tableaux and the part he is willing to play. And... I suppose I had hoped, in my wildest dreams, that by bringing him here to face you he might be... helped.”
“Helped?” said Celestia suspiciously. “How exactly would you have us ‘help’ him?”
“The same way you help everyone else,” he said, a little surprised by the question. “Accept him for what he is. Tolerate him and allow him his...” he trailed off for a moment. “Let’s call them what they are, his fantasies. Think how he would benefit from repeated conflict, resolution, growth. He would call it making enemies with you, but... well, there is another word that would fit. One you know well.” He took a breath. “Dralthor... he wears villainy like a hermit crab wears a shell. He cannot be forced to abandon it but... mayhap, with enough care, he can be coaxed from it toward something more... fulfilling.” There was another long silence as Celestia studied him anew. “Or you could simply obliterate us both,” admitted Rogi. “Honestly, that has always been a non-zero possibility. Less likely with yourselves than if we had approached the griffons or abyssinians, but somewhat increased by the fact that you are now aware I am here. Your capacity for patience and forgiveness is great, but famously not infinite. I stayed outside for a reason.”
She stared down at him and he broke her gaze, casting his gaze downward once more. Another uncomfortable silence passed, and then at last Celestia spread her broad wings and fluttered down from the high dais to stand uncomfortably close. “I never believed you were unworthy of forgiveness, Rogi,” she said. Then without another word she started for the door. When she reached it she turned, for he had still not moved from his spot, and said, “I suppose I should see how the battle is progressing before I decide. Will you join me?”
At that moment though there was a distant commotion. A faint crashing and clattering, followed by faraway raised voices.
“Ah ha! I have you now, Princess Luna!”
“I will make you regret that, Lord Dralthor!”
Then a racing, fizzing, sound that could only have been a blast of concentrated magic, followed by a sharp cracking, then a crumbling that sounded an awful lot like stone shattering into a hundred pieces.
Celestia and Rogi’s eyes went wide as they both stared at the throne room doors, then looked to each other in equal horror. Then, as one they hurried through them, toward the sounds of destruction.
* * *
After a gruelling, hard-fought battle, the last of Luna’s advance guard finally fell under the sheer might of their enemy. Dralthor cackled with sadistic glee as he unceremoniously hefted the fallen combatant aloft, then casually tossed the downed warrior aside. And now, with her foreguard vanquished, Luna was left exposed. Dralthor stared her down with malicious glee, preparing to advance. “Ah ha! I have you now, Princess Luna!”
She lowered her head in challenge. Her brave guard had fought valiantly and now she was vulnerable, but she was far from beaten. Through a grit-teeth smile, she answered. “I will make you regret that, Lord Dralthor!”
Her horn ignited and flared to life, magical energy flowing into it, expertly concentrated and then... unleashed. A lance of magical energy surging forth with an air-slicing sizzle which struck the menacing tower of stone that had accounted for the last of her brave Advance Guard. The sheer amount of energy was too much and the rock quickly succumbed, cracks appearing; then deep fissures, until finally it was torn apart in a blast of white-blue light and there was nothing left but pebbles and a charred mark as now her bravest, most trusted fighter moved forward to secure the ground.
Or, to put it all more briefly,
Ra5xe5+; Qxe5
“Curses!” cried Dralthor. “I will have my revenge, Princess Luna! Mark my words!”
“You will need to have it within four moves, Lord Dralthor,” Luna goaded. Then suddenly galloping hooves and sprinting strides broke their reverie as two horrified faces skidded to a stop before them. “Ah, sister!” said Luna with a grin. “Join us? The defence of Canterlot is going well, albeit not without some casualties.”
Celestia, open-mouthed, observed the scene before her. Luna and Dralthor stood on opposite sides of the palace’s oversized chess-board. Chequerboard squares a meter across and pieces between three and four feet high. Luna’s obsidian pieces – for she always played black – faced off against Dralthor’s white marble. Only, several of the squares bore scorch marks and were littered with tiny fragments of debris, and on the lawn to one side of the board some of the pieces lay in... well, pieces.
“You... are destroying the captured pieces!” said Celestia with a scowl and a slight pout toward her sister.
Who riposted without concern. “I will task the artisans to make more. Honestly they have been begging for something to do of late. And you should see this, sister. Lord Dralthor has the most impressive party-trick,” she said with a nod toward him.
He gave a wide grin and stepped forward. Dralthor placed one great stone hand on the white marble of his final remaining pawn, and for a moment the sparkle in his ruby eyes became much more intense. He released the piece and then stood back. An instant later the piece itself – carved to resemble an earth-pony guardsman in old-style, pre-classical armour – began to move of its own accord. Legs that were never meant for locomotion flexed with odd cracking sounds generating fine marble-dust which streamed to the floor as the totem lurched forward one square in unthinking, mechanical fashion before becoming quite still once more.
“You see? Isn’t that curious? And Lord Dralthor says he can do similar with anything made of stone.”
Celestia turned to the enormous ogre, eyebrows raised. “Really?” she asked, the note of shock in her voice quite apparent. “You can give life to... stone?”
“Ah,” interjected Rogi before Dralthor could look too pleased with himself. “It is not ‘life’, Princess. It is more, ‘animation.’ Lord Dralthor’s constructs are... ‘puppets,’ that move on command and are capable of some basic reaction, but have no will of their own.”
“Nevertheless, impressive,” said Luna. “You know, one of Princess Twilight’s friends has a sister that would find you utterly fascinating, Lord Dralthor. Perhaps one day you could meet.”
“And do battle?” he asked excitedly.
“Ah... well, perhaps not right away.”
Meanwhile Rogi had approached the board, examining the state of play with rather more surprise than he had expected. Dralthor had not been doing badly in the chess match it seemed. He wasn’t going to win, but he hadn’t done badly. Dralthor looked down at Rogi with a wide, wide grin.
“Look, Rogi. We are having a real battle! With explosions and stakes and everything!” Goodness, he was as excited as a child unwrapping a birthday present.
Rogi took a breath and prepared to fall back into character. “Yes, my Lord, but alas, I fear the tactical advantage lies with our foes at this point.”
“Does it?” said Dralthor scratching his head. “But I’m winning. Aren’t I?”
“Princess Luna will mate you in four moves,” said Rogi. There was a sudden, contained snigger and when he looked up Celestia was glaring at her sister while Luna very obviously failed to contain and conceal a series of chuckles behind her hoof, and Rogi became suddenly, and uncharacteristically embarrassed. “Uh... that is to say we have our prize, my Lord. We should retreat while we can.”
“So, I’m not going to win...?”
“No, my Lord.”
A moment passed, and then Dralthor drew a hand across his brow – which was of course completely devoid of sweat. “Phew,” said Dralthor. To Rogi’s surprise, actually, he then stepped forward and took hold of the top of his King piece, and pushed it, causing it to topple over. Then he stood proud, chest out and announced, “You may have defeated me this time, Princesses, but I will return! Come, Rogi! Back to the castle quickly, to prepare our next devious plan!” Then he began striding away across the lawn toward the high gates that marked the palace exit.
Rogi looked stunned for a moment, then slumped and rolled his eyes. “‘Quickly,’ he says. It took a week and a half to walk here. Time doesn’t quite have the same meaning when you age in geological terms,” he sighed. He turned back toward the princesses and gave a sincere bow. “Princess Luna, it has been an honour to meet you. Princess Celestia, thank you for your understanding. With luck this will satisfy him for a while. And you have my word that I will do my best to keep any impositions on your time from becoming a nuisance.” He turned and began to follow his master toward the palace gates.
“Go well, Lord Rogi,” Luna called behind him and offered him a wave and a smile.
Prompting Rogi to stop, half-turn, and look back. “Ah... it’s just Rogi, your highness,” he said, and walked on and did not stop.
“What an odd pair of creatures,” said Luna after a moment. “And yet I feel as though I have heard the name Dralthor before. Have we heard that name before?”
“I honestly don’t recall,” said Celestia absently, watching as the two not-villains left her sight around the corner of the palace gates. “But I believe we may yet hear it again.”
