Courts of The Magi

by Airstream

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure, Princess Celestia, Alternate Universe, Twilight Sparkle, Princess Luna, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Princess Cadance
Length: 150556

With the shadows gathering, it falls to unlikely heroes to prepare themselves for the most terrible of conflicts.

In wake of the assault on Starfall, Serale Everstar has agreed to her mother's wishes, and will travel the length of Equestria to pay respects to her mother's rival Courts. But burgeoning magical ability and the possibility of traitors around every corner have placed on the young Lady more stress than she could hope to bear alone.

Apprenticed to the Court Mage, Cobblestone, recently a cutpurse and recovering addict, is eager to begin her training in the arcane arts. But her own abilities have attracted the attention of old powers, not all of them with her best interests at heart.

Tasked with protecting his Lady at the cost of his honor, Vino Hedera is young and untested in the field of battle and the art of command. But all is not as it seems among his compatriots, and the greatest danger he faces may well come from within the ranks of those he should be able to trust with his life.

With the forces of the Shadow gathering, pursued by forces both foul and Fae, and unsure of who to turn to, these three ponies may have only each other to rely upon in the face of the most terrible enemy Equestria has ever known. It falls to them to prepare for oncoming war, one in which the stars may shake and the sun itself may fall from the sky.

Book Four of the Sunfall Saga. Book Three to be found here.

Published 2015-03-21 11:50:02 UTC
Last updated 2017-06-16 03:14:16 UTC

Smacht

Vino sighed as he straightened out the collar of his uniform, checked himself in the mirror on the wall once more, and before he could stop himself, he pushed the door to the meeting room open, showing a veneer of confidence he certainly did not feel.

Sitting at the table were four other ponies and a Gryphon, each of whom looked up as he entered, their conversation momentarily forgotten.

“Ah,” said the pony at the head of the table said, rising in greeting. “Vino, good to see you.”

“Major,” Vino said, inclining his head respectfully to the older pony. “I apologize for my lateness, everypony else seems to have arrived.”

The major, a Pegasus built rather like a brick wall, beamed at him. “Quite alright, lad, quite alright. We hadn’t started yet, just getting acquainted.” He indicated the other four ponies. “You’re familiar with the other selectees, of course?”

Vino nodded. “Afi and Ahan and I have been getting acquainted the past few days.”

The bearded unicorn grinned, shaking a fiery lock of his mane out of his eyes. He’d clearly decided this would be a relaxed meeting, his customary braids were hanging loose. “It’s been two weeks and he’s still a stick in the mud,” he said to the major.

Ahan nodded. “He’s nervous.”

Vino glared. He knew it was useless to hide how he felt from a Gryphon, they were notoriously good at reading ponies. That didn’t mean Ahan had to hang him out to dry. “I’m new to command,” he said to the major. “Captain Roughshod recommended I try for this position, and then Lady Serale requested I tryout as well. But I’ve led ponies before, back during my squireship.”

“A knight, then,” the major said cheerfully. “Your kind are a dying breed, Sir Vino. We’ve got another pony here who’s new to command, though she’s had her knighthood for a while, though we haven’t found her paperwork.”

At this, the pony at the other end of the table rose. Vino once again couldn’t help but stare. Her mane, though still lank, was drawn back in a simple tail, exposing the curve of her neck, which bore the mark of several scars. These paled in comparison to the jagged white line of tissue that traveled the length of her face, crossing over an eye, a shining green orb with a slitted red pupil, and through her lip, giving her a permanent sneer. Her expression otherwise was quite inscrutable as she offered him a hoof, which he took. Vino stifled a gasp at her grip as she shook his hoof firmly. “Kore,” she said. “A pleasure.”

Vino wasn’t so sure she thought it a pleasure. She looked uncomfortable in the uniform she wore, though it fit her perfectly. He realized that she had never worn it before, wasn’t really a member of the Guard or Army or any other branch.

“Kore is a free champion of the Crown,” the major explained. “It’s a hereditable title. She assists the forces of the Evening Kingdom in difficult operations. Barring Afi, perhaps, she likely has the most combat experience of any of us. She’s also a…what was it again?”

“Cambia”, she growled. “From my father.” And that appeared to be all she wished to say about the matter.

“Right,” the major said brightly. “And the final member of the group, and the highest ranking among you, is…”

“Captain Fidelis,” the pony at the end of the table interjected smoothly, rising to greet Vino. The front of his desk jacket was heavily decorated, and Vino noticed the knight’s pins on his shoulders were wreathed in laurels, marking him as a member of the Royal Cavaliers, Lady Everstar’s personal guard. The black of his mane was shot through with gray, and the light blue of his coat was well-groomed, as impeccable as the rest of his attire. To the average eye, he would appear to be just another desk officer, but the ribbons on his breast told a different story. Sir Fidelis had been on nearly every major campaign of the last decade and a half, and Vino could see three Valor Stars, twins to his own, represented there.

“It’s good to see another knight,” he said with a smile, his voice clipped and professional, the mark of a true career officer. “Even if you’re a bit green. I understood you worked with Sir Ironside. He was my teacher, too.”

Vino took the proffered hoof, shaking it briskly. “I take it you’ll be the one in charge of Lady Serale’s Guard?”

“I will,” Fidelis said gravely. “Lady Serale gives us the orders, of course, and Magus Libra will be our magical liaison, but the day to day responsibilities fall to me. We were just discussing the disposition of troops.” He gestured to the table. “Please, have a seat.”

Vino did, as did the rest of the captains, as well as the major. Sir Fidelis cleared his throat. “As of this moment, you are ranking officers in the Evening Guard, assigned to Lady Serale as a protective detail. Because of the unique nature of this assignment, you have been removed from the normal chain of command. You do not take orders from other officers of the Guard or the regular Army, Rangers, Cavaliers, Engineers, Navy, and so on. You report directly to me, then Magus Libra, then Lady Serale, going up the chain of command.”

He slid a dossier to Vino, who noticed that the rest of the captains had already opened and studied theirs. He mentally kicked himself for being late.

“Also, you have been assigned a magical practitioner to assist in the combating of magical threats. You are all expected to work with these individuals, folding them into your respective platoons. We are at less than company strength, which means that we cannot afford to specialize our soldiers. You must ensure they are able to operate a large array of weaponry and take on a number of duties, including scouting and engineering as well as fighting. I have been assured by the Magus that the soldiers we have been given will be up to the task.”

“They’d better be,” Afi muttered dejectedly. “Even we Rangers weren’t meant to be this self-sufficient.”

“We’ll be operating in foreign and potentially hostile territory,” Sir Fidelis said. “Self-sufficiency is the least of our worries.”

“I can’t do much with ten ponies,” Kore said, her voice troubled. “How do you expect us to get them trained into a cohesive whole by the time we leave?”

“Focus on getting them to work together,” Fidelis replied. “They’re familiar enough with group exercises to at least form a working platoon. We can get them trained up on the specialist skills they need as we go.”

He pulled out another sheet of paper from the folder in front of him. “I have the itinerary for Lady Serale,” he said. “She’ll be leaving on a train to Ponyville in one week’s time, where she’ll transfer to a line headed to Dawndale, and her aunt’s Court. This is the most likely spot for an attack, which means that we’ll need to be at least functional in a week’s time.”

There was a murmur from the other captains, and Vino felt his heart sink. A week was barely enough time to decide how to train his new Guards, let alone bring them up to speed.

“I know it sounds like a tall order,” Fidelis said, “But you all have been chosen for more than your ability to fight. Lady Serale picked ponies with the potential to be excellent leaders to receive invitations to the tournament, and we’ve all clearly proven our abilities on the battlefield already. We’ll meet here around noon daily to give progress reports and discuss courses of action. That gives you mornings to exercise your soldiers and afternoons to drill them and bring them up to speed on their new duties.”

“What access do we have to training equipment?” Ahan asked.

“Just pass your needs along to me,” the major said, his wings ruffling a bit as he spoke, clearly pleased with himself. “I’ve got carte blanche from logistics to ensure you’re ready to go by the time Lady Serale leaves.”

“For now, I suggest you get acquainted with your platoons,” Sir Fidelis said. “Sir Vino, please stay behind, I need to have a word with you. The rest of you are dismissed.”

Vino watched the rest of the captains file out, opening the folder in front of him as he did so. Inside were sheets of paper, each neatly typed, providing names, ranks, service histories, everything he would need to get a better understanding of what his platoon should be capable of.

“They’ve got a good amount of experience between them,” Sir Fidelis said. “And they’ll need it, frankly. Would you care for a drink?”

Vino looked up from the folder in front of him. “No,” he said, “Thank you. I don’t drink this early in the day.”

Sir Fidelis smiled at him. “A sound policy,” he said. “At least you’ve got common sense.” He sat down directly across the table from Vino, looking him in the eye. “Tell me,” he said curiously, “Why do you think Lady Serale picked you for this assignment?”

Vino thought for a moment. “I’m not entirely sure,” he admitted. “For a while, I thought she might need a confidant, but she has that in Libra. There are certainly other ponies in the Guard with more experience than me. There are better fighters, too. Really, I can’t think of why she wants me in her personal Guard.”

Fidelis nodded thoughtfully. “Do you want to know what I think?” he asked. “I think she wanted somepony younger to be one of her captains. You look young enough to be one of her peers. Did you know her growing up?”

“As well as anypony could, I suppose,” Vino replied. “She wasn’t exactly sociable.”

Sir Fidelis was silent for a moment, one hoof absently playing with the pen on the table in front of him. “There is,” he said suddenly, “A tradition in the Guard for every senior staff officer to have with them a junior officer, usually a first lieutenant or captain, one with some experience, but not too much. They aren’t there as an aide de camp. Their job is to sit in on meetings and provide input, fresh perspective for old soldiers to help them catch things they miss.”

“None of the other nations do anything like this,” Sir Fidelis said. “And I think that’s one of the reasons our officer corps is so much stronger and reactive than theirs. I’ve got sixteen years of service, Vino. Afi has about thirty, and Ahan is a Gryphon. He’s probably as old as the Kingdom, and raised to believe in tradition above almost everything else. Kore’s a Cambia, and has been a champion for nearly thirty years. She’s no officer, but she’s old enough to be a general, if she’d chosen to put on a uniform instead of picking up a mace.”

“You’re young,” Sir Fidelis said. “In my eyes, probably too young, but you’ve made some good choices and you show promise. This Guard isn’t meant to be another pony show. We’re going to be defending Lady Serale, and you and I both know she’s got some powerful things after her. If this is going to work, we’ll need new ideas. You’ll find that most of the ponies in your folder have a history of not fitting well with their old platoons.”

Vino hadn’t been able to read that far, but he scanned the pages in front of him, and his eyes grew wide. “Every pony under my command has a list of reprimands long enough to end their career,” he said.

“Those reprimands are largely for insubordination and failure to obey regulations,” Fidelis said. “Our ponies have the same issues. Lady Serale handed us a powder keg and wants us to turn it into a shining example of soldiery. I’ve worked with ponies like these, Vino. They’ll either have brilliant careers once they find their role, or they’ll be forced to resign in disgrace.”

Fidelis met his eye, his blue meeting Vino’s brown. “They’ve already been getting to know one another for the past week and a half,” he said, “I put off having this meeting so they’d work out whatever petty power struggles they’d need to get out of their systems, but that means you’ll be going into a group of ponies who are both unified and insubordinate. Your mage arrives later this afternoon, as well. From one knight to another, I can tell you this. Sir Ironside knew how to teach, and I know you remember how he was able to keep discipline. If you follow his example, you can’t go far wrong.”

Vino took a deep breath and closed his folder. “Okay,” he said. “Where are they?”

Sir Fidelis smiled. “Your platoon is 4th Rifles,” he said, “In the guest barracks, fourth building from the entry gate. I suggest you hurry to meet them, they’ll be wondering where you are.”

The guest barracks, generally reserved for visiting companies and the bodyguards of heads of state, were both isolated and quiet. At least, they had been a week ago. Guardsponies who were assigned to the barracks nearest the guest buildings had noticed that new residents had taken up in the long, low shacks, and were none too quiet about it. It had recently reached the point where a few of them had considered making complaints, but it went against the nature of the Guards to let poor conditions get to them. That was the Army’s purview.

Vino could hear the new Guards before he could see the buildings they were stationed in. He stopped, readjusted his uniform, checked to make sure he was loose and ready to move, and grabbed a passing Guard who was looking at the buildings with a disdainful gaze.

“Corporal,” he said, noting the two chevrons on his sleeves, “How long have those ponies been acting this way?”

The corporal, who had previously been busy with extricating himself from Vino’s grip, noted the captain’s bars and knight’s badge, and hurriedly came to attention, snapping a crisp salute. “Sir!” he exclaimed, “They’ve been going on for about a week, sir! They’re usually quiet in the mornings, but they get louder as the afternoon comes around.”

Vino snapped a salute back. “Tell the other Guards in your barracks that if you hear a peep out of those buildings after today, you’re to let Sir Fidelis or myself know via your chain of command. Clear?” The Guard nodded fervently. “Dismissed.”

Vino marched through the low arch that made up the entrance to the courtyard, which contained six long barracks, three to a side, with a bare flagpole in the middle of the yard, the only area for a good distance that was not paved. The building to his left was labeled with the number one, the building to his right was number two. Vino noticed that the fourth building seemed to be the loudest by far.

Trotting over to the building, Vino stepped over the prone form of a young Pegasus, cradling a bottle of something amber and snoring loudly. Idly, Vino noticed his hooves appeared to be shaking as he pushed open the door. He had expected something bad, but the scene that greeted him left him nearly speechless.

Empty bottles occupied several of the bunk beds, which had been pushed to one side to make room for what appeared to be a makeshift wrestling ring, in which were two ponies, an earth pony with a white mane and red coat, who was struggling mightily and losing to a pegasus mare, with a coat of deep blue and a mane that ran with streaks of orange and red. With one hoof, she held him in a headlock, while in the other, she appeared to hold a bottle of whisky, which Vino could smell from his position by the door.

Surrounding the two were six other ponies, all in various states of dress, from uniforms to civilian clothing, whooping and cheering them on, clearly inebriated and smelling like they hadn’t bathed in at least two days. Clothes were strewn about the room, the wall lockers completely disregarded, save for one unicorn who appeared to be sleeping on top of them. Vino took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and stepped into the barracks.

“What in Tartarus do you think you are doing?” he bellowed, spittle flying from his mouth. The cheering stopped abruptly and every head turned to look at him, the expressions of good cheer vanishing, to be replaced by panic.

“Oh, shit,” one of the ponies muttered.

“My name,” Vino said, as he walked down the length of the barracks, “Is Vino Hedera. Sir Vino Hedera to you. I have been assigned to lead a platoon of the finest soldiers the Kingdom has to offer in the supremely important task of guarding the Lady Heir herself.”

He stopped, eyeing them critically. “I do not see fine soldiers here,” he snapped. “I don’t even see ponies that could be called soldiers here. What I see,” he said, raising his voice again, “Is a group of insubordinate, drunken, disorganized, and unprofessional pissants who somehow seem to have acquired Guard uniforms.”

“Says the knight with nothing but a single ribbon,” another pony, an earth pony with a brown coat and a yellowish mane. Vino whirled around and buried a hoof in his stomach, sending the stallion to the ground wheezing.

“If not for the fact that I have been given one week to whip you into something resembling soldiers,” Vino growled, “I would have you put in confinement for that. As it is, you’ve gone and done one better. You now have my personal attention. Your week just got a little bit worse.”

“Who’s the highest ranking enlisted in here?” he barked, stepping away from the coughing stallion. There was silence. “If somepony doesn’t speak up, things are going to get nasty. Who is the highest ranking enlisted?”

The Pegasus with the fiery mane raised her hoof. “Sir,” she said, “I am. Sergeant Fireball reporting for duty, sir.”

Vino looked her up and down. “Reporting for duty,” he repeated. “Reporting for duty drunk, out of uniform, filthy, and having just finished assaulting a soldier under your command for no apparent reason. Outstanding. Now I know who to blame for all of this.”

“It was my fault, Sir,” the earth pony on the floor groaned, rubbing his aching shoulder. “I challenged her after…”

“Does it look like I give a damn?” Vino shouted. “Speaking out of turn, out of uniform, not at the position of attention. You’re next.”

He turned back to the sergeant. “Sergeant Fireball, you have exactly three minutes to get these ponies ready and mustered out front, or you’ll be answering to the name Corporal Fireball. That includes the drunkard out front. Three minutes, in uniform.”

There was a beat of silence that lasted just a little too long. “Move!” Vino barked.

Three minutes later, ten ponies stood in two silent rows, their uniforms wrinkled and stained as they swayed uneasily, either not used to standing at attention or drunk or both. Vino walked the lines, inspecting them. From the other barracks buildings, Vino could hear similar bellowing from the other captains haranguing the occupants, though they were not outside yet.

“Not a single one of you could pass a uniform inspection,” he said. “By four o’clock tomorrow morning, I want these uniforms spotless and creased, no loose strings, decorations aligned, parade-ready. If I cannot trust you to keep your own uniforms presentable, I cannot trust you in a firing line.”

Vino undid his jacket, tossing it to the ground. “Remove your uniforms,” he said. “They are disgusting, and right now, you don’t have the right to wear them. I have removed mine because I am ashamed to be seen with you as a Guard or a knight. You have exactly sixty seconds.”

The flurry of motion would have been funny if it had come from anypony other than disciplined soldiers. Jackets, pants, boots, and hats were removed, and tossed into a pile at Vino’s hooves. Ten ponies stood shivering in the winter air as Vino inspected the pile.

“Upon our return,” he said, “You will select one pony who will wash these clothes. The rest of you will focus on reorganizing the compost heap you call a barracks, because if I come in tomorrow morning and find so much as a sock out of place, today’s exercises will seem like a picnic in the park.” He took a deep breath. “Right face!” he barked, noting that they could at least determine right and left. “Forward march!”

The march soon turned into a jog, and by the time the other four captains had gotten their ponies ready to begin for the day, the 4th Rifles were out of the courtyard, through the arch, and jogging away, Vino calling a cadence as they went.

The formation broke yet again as another member of the 4th Rifles retched, a belly full of alcohol and food splattering the trail as they ran. There were a number of these training grounds littered throughout the second tier of Starfall, but this was not the closest one to the barracks. They had ran for at least four miles, enough to pass into another section of the city, before they had turned into an abandoned training ground, puffing and panting.

They had thought they would be stopping there before beginning exercises, but Vino had kept jogging, the platoon behind him. The track was a half-mile circle, and they had been around it six times so far, jogging in formation. It had taken two laps before the vomiting began, and the ponies of the 4th Rifles were feeling miserable.

“How long is Sir Hedera going to make us run?” one of the platoon’s two unicorns asked his partner, panting.

“Until he doesn’t want to make us run, Moony,” the pony next to him said, avoiding the puddle of vomit over which the pegasus, Corporal Hopper, was currently crouching. “But if he doesn’t stop soon, we ain’t gonna make it back to barracks.”

“You see what he did to Fireball?” Private Moon asked quietly. “She don’t take shit from anypony.”

The earth pony, Corporal Pillar, nodded. “If he thinks he can just push Fireball around, he’s got another think coming.”

The platoon peeled off of the track, into the dirt field where they did other exercises, ones that weren’t jogging. Vino came to a halt, the rest of the platoon following suit.

“Five minutes!” he bellowed. “Water pump’s at the far end of the field! You have exactly five minutes to get your fill and get back here in proper lines, or we’re taking another two laps around the track!”

The platoon managed to muster a jog as they made for the water spigot, hoping to clear the awful taste of sweat and liquor and vomit from their mouths. Vino noticed, however, that one pony had stayed behind. Fireball approached him, sweat dropping from her brow, and stood at the position of attention.

“Request permission to speak, sir?” she asked.

“Granted,” Vino said.

“Sir, Private Redwood is not to blame for the match back in the barracks,” she said. “That falls on me. We were talking, things got out of hoof, and it turned into a friendly match. I could have stopped it, but I didn’t.”

Vino nodded. “Understood. Private Redwood will face non-judicial punishment for his actions. Sergeant Fireball, you have been demoted to the rank of Corporal until such time as I deem you ready to resume the rank. Find somepony who will let you borrow a shirt with corporal's chevrons for tomorrow. I suggest you get some water, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Fireball, shaken by the sudden loss of her rank, snapped a salute, and the recently-demoted Corporal flapped her wings once, soaring into the air to join her platoon for water. Vino watched her go.

Only a week, he thought. This isn’t going to be easy.

Neamhliteartha

You’re going to have to get used to the idea, Hob said dryly. It’s not like Libra’s going to drop Serale as an apprentice, and your only other option is cooling your hooves in a prison cell.

“I know,” Cobblestone groaned, flopping onto her bed. She had gotten remarkably used to the idea of having an actual bed all to herself. “But you heard what the twins said.”

I happen to know for a fact that deadly rivalries in an apprenticeship are rare. Otherwise, there’d be hardly any mages left. Hob stretched, standing up from sunning himself on the windowsill and padding over to the bed, where he curled up next to her. Besides, if she tries something, I can’t see you having much trouble with her. She’s only just now learning magic, after all.

“It’s not the deadly part I’m worried about,” Cobblestone said, mostly telling the truth. She was a little worried, but she had come to the same realization as Hob, that whatever happened to Libra’s last apprentice was in all probability an accident. “It’s the rivalry part. I like Serale; I don’t want to have to compete with her in anything.”

And yet, that is invariably what will happen. Just because you befriend her does not mean you won’t occasionally compete with her. It is a natural part of becoming part of a group, nothing to be frightened of.

Cobblestone snorted. “I’m not frightened, just…nervous. I knew where I stood before, and now everything’s changed again.”

You need to learn how to adapt, Hob mused. I’d have thought your upbringing would have taken care of that. Or have you gotten soft?

“I haven’t gotten soft,” Cobblestone said defensively, brushing Hob aside and walking to her wardrobe. “I never had to deal with this kind of thing before. Politics and such.”

Then why do you feel the need to explain yourself? Hob asked.

“Shut up,” Cobblestone said, rummaging around in her wardrobe for the small wooden box she knew would be there. Grasping blindly, she found it. “Ah! Here it is!”

Her horn sparked and popped, the faint smell of ozone filling the air, and the simple charms she knew were protecting the box flickered and died. She flipped open the lid, revealing the contents of the box, familiar to her from long use. Her cloak, the one she had gotten in Crescent City, recently darned and taken in so it fit her perfectly. There were a multitude of pockets sewn into the lining in which various articles could be placed. Taking it out of the chest, she fastened in about her neck in a cascade of green, noting the pleasing way it laid against the cream of her coat.

From the chest, she also withdrew several thin strips of metal that might be considered lockpicks, more out of habit than anything, along with some thread, a handkerchief, a small sack of coins in various denominations, and two candles, all of which were securely tucked into her cloak. Once in the pockets, it was like they weren’t even there.

Going for a walk?

“Yes, and you’re not invited,” Cobblestone said. “I need some air and some time to think.”

She raised the mental defenses around her, cutting off whatever Hob was about to say, and trotted to the door. Some good, old-fashioned exploration was just what she needed, something to get her mind off of things. Normally, she would have liked some rope, but she’d probably look a bit strange with thirty feet of hemp over her shoulder. She reached the door, pulled it open, and blinked at the sight of a startled Libra, her hoof raised to knock.

“Oh,” Cobblestone said. “Um. Hello.”

Libra arched an eyebrow. “Cobblestone. Going out, I take it?”

Cobblestone scuffed a hoof nervously. “Yes, Magus. Just going for a walk around the castle, is all. I’ve been here almost a month and still don’t know much about it, so…”

Libra’s horn lit up, and Cobblestone felt the pockets of her cloak invert themselves, spilling the contents onto the floor. She held up a candle, inspecting it.

“Were you planning on going caving?” she inquired. “And are these lockpicks?”

“Strictly speaking, those are my amateur attempts at lockpicks,” Cobblestone said. “They wouldn’t do much good excepting really basic locks, and even then it’d be a trial.”

“Why do you have lockpicks?” Libra asked.

It was Cobblestone’s turn to arch an eyebrow. “Is that a trick question?”

Hob made a sound that sounded very close to a sneeze, but Cobblestone suspected was much closer to the sound a cat would make if it were inclined to laugh. Libra’s mouth turned down into a frown. “Cobblestone, you know the rules of your apprenticeship, yes? If I catch you doing something illegal…”

“I wasn’t going to use them,” the younger unicorn replied. “Really, I wasn’t. I just feel sort of…naked without them. It’s more of a habit than anything else.”

Libra’s eyes met hers, searching, seeking the truth, and found it. Her expression softened. “It’s been a hard transition for you,” she said sympathetically. “Made worse by the recent developments. You don’t have to be scared, Cobblestone.”

Cobblestone snorted. “For the last time, I’m not worried about sharing an apprenticeship with Serale! I know it’s not going to be all that dangerous, what happened to the last pony was probably an accident, right?”

Libra looked at her strangely. “I was speaking of the attack on the Arena,” she said, concerned. “We swore to protect you, and that protection was violated. I had thought you might be withdrawn because your encounter with Nightshade was bothering you. You’ve hardly been seen aside from the ball since you returned from the hospital, I was worried. So was Serale.” Her brow furrowed, ears low. “Who told you about Logos?”

Cobblestone gulped, suddenly nervous. Of course she should have realized that Libra would be concerned about the necromancer. Inwardly, she cursed herself for a fool, and realized she was about to have that conversation much sooner than she expected. “Fern and Grappa Hedera,” she said. “I was talking with them at the party, and they realized I was your new apprentice, and it just sort of…came up.”

Libra nodded and sighed. “May I come in?” she asked. “This is a conversation best had in private.”

Cobblestone backed out of the doorway, closing the door behind Libra. There was only one chair, so she offered it to the Magus, choosing instead to sit on the bed. Hob curled up next to her, head on her lap, and she found herself petting him absentmindedly.

“The first thing you have to understand,” Libra said, “Was that I was young when I received my first apprentice. Logos was everything I had hoped for in a student, bright, attentive, curious…the perfect pupil. The day he arrived, I was so nervous, I almost missed the appointment and showed up with my robe covered in ink. I was new to my position, you see.”

Cobblestone noticed that Libra was absentmindedly twisting the hem of her robe. “I don’t know if you know, and I’m not trying to brag, but I was the youngest Court Mage selected in two hundred years. I was about thirty. He was about your age, believe it or not. By rights he should have been in the second or third year of his apprenticeship, but he’d taken time before applying. He wanted to be the best he could be.”

“The thing you have to understand is that he was ambitious, which is not necessarily a bad thing in a mage. He engrossed himself in his studies, ignored social obligations or personal relationships. He reminded me of myself at that age. Always a new spell, the same drive to succeed, a new horizon to push. When my second apprentice came along, I doubt he even noticed her for a good week or two. He was busy with his work in alchemy. He had a gift for that. I suppose it was only a matter of time until his studies outstripped his abilities.”

Libra sighed, massaging her temple with one hoof, the other clutching her spectacles. “I put too much trust in that colt. He had no right experimenting with magic that advanced, but I had gotten so used to him being able to take care of himself that I let it slide. He tried to bottle fire, a moderately advanced technique, in order to impress the second apprentice. He failed to account for a reaction between catalysts and burned to death in front of her eyes. She was so shocked that she resigned her apprenticeship with me the next day and took off for Equestria.”

Cobblestone sat stunned. She hadn’t considered the possibility of Libra making a mistake like that. All of the previous events had been something outside of her control, anypony’s control, really. “Libra…” she said.

“Needless to say I was devastated,” Libra continued, as if she hadn’t heard. “I made it very clear that the only way I’d take on more apprentices was at the behest of my Lady. Incredibly, noble families still petitioned to have me teach their young heirs magic. It was only very recently that I rescinded that requirement.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Cobblestone said, not sure of where the words were coming from. “Logos pushed too hard. Everypony knows magic is dangerous, even the everyday stuff. He should have been more careful.”

“Doesn’t much change the fact that he died under my protection,” Libra said. “But I thank you for the support.” Remarkably, her eyes were dry and her throat remained clear. Whatever grief she felt must have been dealt with long ago. “I had planned to discuss this with you before we left,” she said, “So I can certainly understand your reservations. Grappa and Fern are sweet fillies, but they’re horrendous gossips. I should have guessed they’d find you, you’ve been talk of the Court for quite a while.”

“Really?” Cobblestone asked. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Libra smiled. “Probably because you haven’t come out of your room in a week and a half,” she said. “That tends to impact your grasp of Court gossip.”

Cobblestone flushed. “I guess so,” she mumbled. “Has it been that obvious?”

“I’m afraid so,” Libra said with a rueful smile. “Is there a reason for the self-imposed exile?”

“I don’t do well around strangers,” Cobblestone said. “And I don’t really know what the rules are around this place. I figured it was better to play it safe. I’ve mostly been going from here to the kitchens and back.”

Libra rummaged around in her robes. “That was actually one of the reasons I was checking up on you,” she said. She withdrew a small pendant from her robes, a blue stone sparkling in the morning sunshine. “This stone should allow you access to most areas of the Regia,” she said. “The places it won’t unlock are mostly servants’ quarters and rooms you’d really have no business being in anyway. Lady Everstar’s study comes to mind.”

Cobblestone took the necklace, slinging it around her neck. “Thank you,” she said.

“You’ll use it on your way back,” Libra said. “Put your robes on, you’re going to meet your fellow apprentice.”

“Serale?” Cobblestone asked. “I think we’ve met before.”

“Not Serale,” Libra replied. “Your fellow apprentice. There’s a difference, which I will explain when we reach the courtyard.” She looked askance at Hob, who had settled into a light doze, from which he occasionally cracked a gleaming amber eye at her. “Bring the cat,” she decided. “Might as well stop him from getting into mischief.”

The calm of the courtyard, still under a cloudy sky, the trees surrounding it quite bare, was broken by a loud crack and a flash of violet light, and where there had been empty cobbles stood two ponies, each wearing identical black robes and looking almost heroic. At least until the smaller of the two toppled over, causing the cat on her back to leap for safety. Cobblestone picked herself back up, straightening her hat and dusting herself off with a grumble.

“Next time, warn me,” she grumbled.

“Next time, warn me…?” Libra prompted.

“Please warn me next time, Magus,” Cobblestone said after a moment.

Libra nodded approvingly. “Better,” she said. “Much better.”

There was another flash of light, and a third pony was sharing the courtyard with them. Serale shook her head as if too clear it, and shivered, though her robes kept her perfectly warm. “I doubt I’ll ever get used to that,” she said, straightening her robes out. She locked eyes with Cobblestone and grinned.

“Isn’t this exciting?” she asked brightly. “If I had to have an apprenticeship with anypony, I’d hoped it would be you!”

Cobblestone returned the smile, feeling some of her stress evaporate. “The feeling’s mutual,” she said.

“Serale, Cobblestone, please attend,” Libra said expectantly, sitting down on a nearby bench. A chill wind swept through the towers of the Regia, whistling through the courtyard, and Cobblestone surmised form their position that they were on the north side of the castle, quite a ways away from her quarters. She’d never have made it out here on her own.

The two apprentices sat down, looking at Libra expectantly, Hob curled between them. Libra’s horn flashed, and a small chest appeared in front of her. Twin locks clicked open, and the lid opened with a creak, though they could not see the contents inside.

“Today marks the first day of your training under me,” Libra said. “We will meet in the afternoons at the third bell until we leave next week. If you do well, we shall finish by suppertime. If you do not meet my standards, we will continue until you do. During the time I have you, you will address me by my rank, pay attention, do your best work, and treat one another with respect. I know rivalries are traditional,” she said, holding up a hoof, “And I will not discourage competition. But you will do so in a respectful manner. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Magus Libra,” Serale and Cobblestone chimed at the same time.

“I recommend you do your homework in the evenings, after supper,” she continued. “That way you can review it over the course of the day and come to me with questions when we meet. Missed assignments will meet with punishment. I also recommend a good night’s sleep, and that you not have loose or fancily done-up hair,” she said, looking at Serale pointedly. “There is always the potential for singeing.”

Serale reflexively grabbed at the blonde of her mane, nodding quickly. Cobblestone stifled a snicker at the sight of the normally poised pony trembling like a frightened schoolfilly at the thought of singed bangs.

“Now,” Libra said, lifting a metallic ball out of the chest. “This will be your first task. This ball is made of a special substance called adamantium. Most adamantium you see today is made in one particular way, which allows it to resist damage from magic. The other method of forging is much more uncommon. This ball,” she explained, lifting it to about chest height, “Absorbs magic. You are going to lift it as high as you can.”

She let it go, where it fell with a rather final-sounding thud onto the ground. Serale and Cobblestone looked at each other uneasily. It looked heavy to begin with, which would have made things difficult even without the fact that it apparently ate magic.

“Fine,” Cobblestone said. “I’ll go first.” She focused on the ball, and without much thought in the way of subtlety, grabbed it with her magic, trying to yank it into the air. The ball rattled on the ground, Cobblestone strained a bit harder, and managed to get it about six inches off of the ground before she had to release it, gasping.

“It’s so heavy!” she said breathlessly. “And it’s like trying to grab something covered in oil, except it’s also absorbing all the power you put into it.”

“Your technique is admirably simple,” Libra said, “But adamantium requires a bit more finesse. Instead of looking at it like a weight to be lifted or pulled, think of it as a bubble floating in a current of magic.”

Cobblestone set her hooves and tried again. This time, instead of just grabbing it, she ran her magic along the edges of the sphere. It wasn’t completely smooth, she realized. There were tiny imperfections, places where a stream of magic might be able to grab on. She swirled her will along the outside, forming a sort of funnel cloud of power. Grunting, she noticed that sparks were flying from her horn, spiraling up in a nonexistent breeze. The sphere rattled again, spun about twice, and then lifted into the air.

Cobblestone concentrated, making sure the magical current could flow under the sphere as well, providing a cushion for it to rest on as she drew it up, first to six inches, then eight, and finally a solid ten. Higher and higher it rose, until it hovered about a half-meter off of the ground, spinning in place. Cobblestone, reaching her limit, grunted, sweat beading her brow. She could sense something, a strange resonance in the metal, but before she could explore what it was, her magic gave out as all of the air rushed out of her lungs with it.

“Very well done!” Libra told the panting pony, examining the sphere. “Good application of force. I could tell you were visualizing much more clearly.”

“Thanks,” Cobblestone managed, her face beet-red. “Not my best work.”

Libra only smiled and motioned for Serale to try. The blonde mare examined the ball closely, placing a hoof on it before walking around the perimeter of the ball, examining it from every angle. Her tail flicked agitatedly as she tried to settle on the right way to approach things. Finally, she appeared to come to a conclusion. She set her hooves, gritted her teeth, and her horn flared into life, light green energy reaching out for the sphere.

It was hard, terribly hard, made more so by the fact that she had only ever studied magic in theory until very recently. Twice her magic sputtered as she lost focus, and she was rigid, uncomfortable in her movements, focused more on maintaining control than actually accomplishing her task.

“Easy, Serale,” Libra said. “Concentrate on the ball. Block out distractions, just like I taught you.”

Serale spluttered, spat, and strained, but the ball remained firmly on the ground. Finally, with a last, desperate toss of her head, the ball lifted from the ground, rising a solid ten inches before Serale, flushed with her own success, lost focus, sending the silver sphere tumbling to the ground.

“Good,” Libra said. “You’ve got the idea, all you need is the practical application. A very fine first attempt. Care to try again?”

Serale shook her head. “Not until I’ve had practice with some other things first,” she said. “I’m still getting used to teacups.”

Libra said nothing, only putting the ball away. From within the chest, she withdrew a small jar, made of what appeared to be a grayish clay. “This next exercise is a test of your fine control,” she said. “Without breaking the jar, open it and retrieve the contents.”

Cobblestone, looking closely at the jar, noticed that it appeared very fragile. Opening it without breaking the pot would be difficult. How it had survived being stored with the massive adamantium ball she could only guess. Taking it gingerly, she set it down on the ground. With her magic, she gave a slight tug on the lid, with what should have been enough force to open it, only to find that it was stuck fast. Frowning, she examined it more closely, letting her magic permeate the entire vessel. Immediately, she could sense the problem.

Inside the jar was a maze of paths and tumblers, part maze and part lock. To open it, she’d need to get at least three tumbler-pegs into slots around the lid, and they were arranged in such a way that moving one a certain way would move another peg a different way. Idly, she speculated that if she were trying to open this to get at the contents, she’d probably smash the thing and have done with it.

For a career thief like her, it presented an interesting challenge. Carefully, she fiddled with the tiny pegs, noting how each one moved. Gradually, over a course of minutes, a solution formed inside her head. Almost instinctively, she jimmied the puzzle one way, then another, moving peg after peg. There were multiple solutions, she was sure, but one stood out clearer than the others. Concentrating, she managed one peg, then another. The third resisted her for a bit longer, but soon, it fell into place, and the lid came away. Reaching inside with her magic, she felt around for the object it held, and removed a simple pebble.

“Four minutes and eighteen seconds,” Libra said. “Very good.”

She took the pebble and replaced it into the clay vessel, replacing the lid. There was a clatter as all the tumblers reset, and she handed it to Serale, who set it on the ground gingerly, not trusting her magic to keep it suspended.

Cobblestone watched as Serale let her magic wash over the pot in the same way, her eyes narrowed in concentration. Her gaze flickered back and forth, and suddenly, she beamed.

“I know this puzzle!” she announced. “I saw it in…oh, I forget which book it was, but I remember this!”

She focused again, gaining confidence. “Let’s see…if I move that one there, and then move the one below to the right…and then…oops!”

She grimaced. “Lost it. Hang on.”

There was a rapid clicking, and within two minutes, the pot lay open. Carefully, she reached inside with her magic and handed the pebble to Libra, who beamed at her. “Three minutes and fifty eight seconds.”

Replacing the pot, Libra rummaged around in the trunk, and Cobblestone and Serale peered closer, curious to see what else she would come up with. At last, Libra straightened up, gripping what appeared to be a needle and thread.

“You will each work together,” she said, “This is an exercise of precision. Thread the needle.”

Cobblestone and Serale both looked at one another. “Do you want thread or needle?” Cobblestone asked.

“I’ll take thread,” Serale said, “You can hold a needle steadier than I can.”

Cobblestone reached for the needle with her magic, and Serale the thread. Hovering closer to one another, Cobblestone held the needle as still as she could. Serale approached with the thread, but before she could push it through the eye, the needle spun away, almost escaping Cobblestone’s grasp and impaling Hob, who eyed it suspiciously.

“Really?” Cobblestone complained.

“I take it that wasn’t intentional,” Serale said. “Try again?”

“This time I’ll hold it as hard as I can,” Cobblestone said. “Go.”

Again the thread approached, and again the needle danced away, though not as far. Cobblestone felt a strange twinge in her magic, similar to the feeling she had gotten from the metal sphere. She held up a hoof. “Hang on.”

She felt around in her robes, finally producing a familiar set of metal strips. Libra seemed perplexed as to where they had come from, Serale seemed perplexed as to what they were. “Lockpicks,” Cobblestone explained. “Not much for picking locks, but they do have their uses.”

She held one up to the needle, and just as she had thought, the pick shot from her hoof and stuck fast to the pin. “Magnetic,” she said. “The stupid needle and thread are magnetized.”

“Do you have a way around it?” Serale asked. “We could try using the other end of the thread, but…”

Cobblestone ignored her, focusing instead on the needle. That strange twinge was still there, more obvious now that she had noticed it. Instead of the needle, Cobblestone chose instead to focus on that odd feeling. It felt almost like she could reach out and touch it, a fragile thing for all the trouble it had caused. Experimentally, she prodded it with her magic. Suddenly, a spark jumped from the needle, landing in her mane, which smoked slightly. Cobblestone brushed at her mane to make sure it wasn’t on fire, and examined the needle again. The twinge had gone.

“I think I fixed it,” she said, perhaps unnecessarily. “Try now.”

Serale cautiously approached with the thread, and although it took a few tries, she managed to get the thread in at last. She let out a sigh, not realizing she had been holding her breath. “How did you know?” she asked.

Cobblestone shrugged. “I’ve always been good with metal and magnets and stuff. They’re easier to work with than fire or other things, at least for me.”

“I’d wondered if your ability with electromagnetism applied to smaller objects as well,” Libra said. “That’s a promising sign. If the control for that kind of thing is there, strength follows easily enough. Very well done, you two!”

Taking the needle and thread, she replaced them in the chest. “We’ll call it a short day,” she said. “I expected it to be a bit brief, but you two performed much better than I thought you would. Now comes the second part of your assignments for today.”

She pulled out two identical volumes from the trunk, holding them out for the two of them to take. “These are introductory texts to magic. They cover basic theory, ranging from application of will to the history of magic to practical applications for minor spells. Read the first two chapters tonight, and we’ll go over them tomorrow before practice! Any questions?”

Cobblestone raised a hoof, suddenly timid.

“Yes, Cobblestone?” Libra asked.

The brown haired ex-thief cleared her throat awkwardly, shuffling as she did. She appeared to vacillate, unsure of how to put what she was going to say, before finally deciding to just get it out. She took a deep breath, looked Libra in the eye, and in a clear, steady voice, said, “I don’t know how to read.”

Pléascanna

“Listen up!” Captain Fidelis said to the assembled officers and their mages. “Lady Everstar has given us the final route through the town. There have already been threats on Lady Serale’s life, so we’re not stopping for a damn thing until we get to that airfield. We’re going to be on the HLS Redoubtable, and if we’re not airborne ten minutes after the loading process, somepony’s going to answer for it, both to me and the Lady, not to mention the Magus.”

Vino stifled a nervous glance at the back of the room, where Magus Libra sat, her runes shimmering under the dim light like multitudes of stars. Vino’s own mage looked positively threadbare in comparison.

“We’re exiting from the eastern gate and traveling Royal Avenue to the first square,” Fidelis continued, indicating the street on a map behind him. “From there, we’ll hook down to the river, following the riverside boulevard across the Grand Crossing to East End. The airfield will be straight ahead, though it’s going to be an uphill pull, which will cut down on our speed.”

“What if there’s something wrong with the airfield?” Afi asked, his freshly-braided beard gleaning oiled red in the lantern light. “Do we have a backup?”

“That’s the destination of last resort,” Fidelis said. “If we manage to make it across the river, we’ll head for the High Street Rail Station. There’s a train being held for an extra hour on the off chance that Lady Serale will use it. If we don’t make it across the river, for one reason or another, then our options become either returning to the Regia, or taking a ferryboat out.”

“It’s more or less a formality,” Libra interjected from the back of the room, “We’ll be passing by some of the largest military depots, and Lady Everstar won’t let an attack on her daughter go lightly. If we’re assaulted, she’ll be right on top of us in a moment. But it’s better to prepare for the worst than be caught out in the cold for lack of preparation.”

Fidelis nodded gratefully. “I want eyes in the sky, rifles ready to go, and the mages prepared with stunner spells and barriers. Sir Dunlevy, you’re most experienced with the wards and barriers, I’d like you to remain close to the Lady’s carriage.”

The armored unicorn nodded, hefting his massive warhammer as he did. Fidelis looked at Ahan. “Ahan, we’re doing this numerically. You’ve got 1st Rifles, you’re in the lead. Kore, you’ve got 5th. Make sure to deploy a rearguard detachment, at least five ponies and a flyer.” The mare, clad once more in heavy armor, nodded her understanding. Vino’s 4th Rifles would be bringing up the direct rear of the carriage, since Fidelis’s 3rd would be flanking it on either side.

“Be alert, be ready to repel any threats, but your ponies are not to fire their rifles unless absolutely necessary,” Fidelis said in warning. “The ponies in this city are ones we’ve sworn to protect. I don’t want a bloodbath on my hooves today. Load your weapons, but keep hooves off triggers and the rounds unchambered.”

There was a general mumble of understanding from those present. Captain Fidelis bent over, grabbed his helmet, and, before jamming it on his head, said “You’re dismissed. Do our Lady proud.”

“Back in ranks!” Vino barked. “Unlimber weapons, but don’t be too hasty on the draw. Remember, we’re crowd control, but our main objective is to make sure Lady Serale gets to the airfield as quickly as possible. Move as a group, don’t leave a soldier behind. I know we’ve got plenty of support, but things can still go wrong here.”

The ponies around him shuffled and did as they were told. Vino’s Guards were nervous, and for good reason. The chanting in front of the gate had grown louder, and threatened to turn ugly. Already, two platoons had passed through the gate, and the walls were manned heavily, ready to provide cover fire with sharpshooters and spellcasters. Lady Everstar had given a speech, short, to the point, and with a very simple message.

You’re well trained and hoof-picked. Do your jobs and protect my daughter.

The gates began to open, and Vino turned towards the front to see three ponies getting into the carriage, assisted by Sir Fidelis and Sir Dunlevy. The young mage, Cobblestone, was first in, carrying her cat and a bag haphazardly, followed after by Lady Serale, resplendent in her black armor, and finally the Magus, both their most powerful weapon and their last resort. Though Vino couldn’t hear them properly, the tone of the orders being shouted from the front was all too clear.

“Form up!” he called. “This is it!”

The horns blew, brassy and bright, and the caravan moved out from the courtyard of the Regia through the front gates in a quick stream, sixty ponies in uniform and a carriage pulled by trusted Guards. Among them rumbled a few light wagons, laden with equipment and supplies, banners streaming bright in the wind. Though protestors still lined the streets, they were at the least respectful as the procession passed, if not exactly happy. There was a palpable sense of relief from the column as they passed without incident, picking up speed from a march to a double-timed trot, not quite in step with one another. Barked orders from the head of the column launched flyers from the ranks, six Pegasi who flew ahead to scout the path they would be taking to the airfield.

Kore’s rearguard spread out behind them, a picket of five ponies, and the sole Pegasus in her ranks, who took to the air minus her rifle in order to keep herself limber and alert, instead of focusing on keeping the weapon itself. Vino did notice the glint of a pistol in its holster, and was glad to see it. He didn’t like having unarmed scouts.

Soon enough, the coach’s procession left the protesters behind, rumbling through the streets toward the main square. Vino could see the gleam of water from the fountain, miraculously unfrozen in the bitter chill which lay over Starfall, and prepared himself for the command to turn.

It never came. From behind, there was the sound of an explosion, massive and almost deafening, and Vino felt a lick of heat at his back. Still moving forward, Vino snuck a look behind them, and felt his heart drop. The procession slowed for a moment to see that the gate through which they had passed not moments ago had vanished in a cloud of smoke and rubble, the figures from the top gone.

Screams and shouts from the protestors and distant orders from the guards filtered through the air, and the bitter scent of smoke reached Vino’s nostrils. A few isolated clicks were heard as pieces of the wall began to rain down around them. The sounds were what made up Vino’s mind, and he swung his head around front.

“Forward procession!” he screamed. “Keep going forward!”

His call was taken up by the other captains, and the caravan lurched forward once more, turning through the now-deserted plaza and downhill towards the riverbank. They moved with much more urgency, in a canter as opposed to a trot, and Vino felt his focus drifting to the bladeband around his foreleg, wondering if he should draw it. He decided against it. The potential time it would take to call it might cause him to miss something.

There was a secondary explosion behind them, this one smaller, or perhaps it was that they were further away. The road narrowed, and Vino realized that the shops surrounding them would make excellent ambush points. The six fliers above them suddenly dropped out of the sky, flapping desperately towards the ground below, shouting warnings.

A carriage, blazing brightly, hurtled into the road from a nearby side street, blocking the path completely. The procession didn’t even break stride as the mage attached to Ahan’s 1st Rifles blew it to smithereens, charging through the wreckage with nary a bump to show for it. Vino’s group passed through, and they were on the riverside boulevard heading towards the bridge called “Grand Crossing” in moments, the rearguard following.

There was another detonation from the shops behind them, and Vino realized with a chill that if they had stopped for any longer than half a minute, they would have been caught squarely in the blast. Somepony wanted Lady Serale very, very dead. And with every military unit heading towards the Regia, away from them, their odds were only getting better.

Shouts came from the front again, and Vino knew exactly what they meant. “Unlimber rifles!” he bellowed, and a chorus of rattles came from the column as fifty Guards loosed their weapons, chambering the rounds inside. It would slow their procession, but now they had a means of defense. With a grunt of effort, Sir Dunlevy slung himself onto the roof of the carriage, using his hammer to vault. From there he would be much more effective at warding, though he would need to be careful to keep his footing.

No shots came as they approached the bridge, and Vino felt his heart race as they began the turn on. It would be a simple thing to wire the bridge to blow, and if an ambush were sprung when they were on the bridge, they would be helpless. Apparently Ahan and the front thought so too, for the procession slowed. Captain Fidelis barked a few orders, and the fliers once more plummeted from the sky, sweeping alongside the bridge to check for charges. Finding none, they shouted the all clear.

The procession was on the bridge when the telltale whine of bullets began to fill the air. What few bystanders were still on the bridge in the cold and after the explosion, mercifully few, began to shout in alarm as heavy balls of lead began to carve gouges in the stone, hissing overhead. Puffs of smoke were instantly visible, five of them, and Vino thanked his lucky stars that the attackers were using black powder muskets, practically antiques.

“4th Rifles!” he called as the procession ground to a halt yet again. “Right side! Pick your targets, clear civilians!”

Instantly, five ponies, among them Corporal Firefly and Private Moon, rushed to the edge of the bridge, bracing their rifles on the guard rails. The would-be assassins were clear, scrambling upriver along the shoreline, but they made a mistake in not ducking into the crowd. Five shots rang out, and one of the three musketeers in range pitched sideways, jerking as a bullet took him in the neck. Another cried out in pain, dropping his musket as he clutched at his shoulder, and both he and his compatriot vanished down a side alley.

“Hedera!” Captain Fidelis shouted over the din. “Get your Guards back in line, we’re moving!”

“Back in formation,” Vino ordered. “Double time!” The five ponies ejected the spent casings of their rounds and returned to the line, ready to go.

They were sitting ducks for more attacks, Vino realized. Any stop now could cost them dearly, and his decision to counterattack was probably a mistake. Gritting his teeth, Vino felt hot anger burning in his chest as the procession moved forward again, slowed once more by ambush.

The caravan hit the other side of the river quickly, but now it was an uphill battle, and the ponies in the ranks were as nervous as the captains, who were haranguing the Guards to move faster, keep their rifles up, and above all, not to stop for anything. Vino looked behind him to see black clouds of smoke filling the air, the sky swarming with Pegasi bucket teams. Nervously, he realized he had activated his bladeband at some point, and decided that it was for the best. If it came to close-quarters fighting, he would at least be ready.

Halfway up the hill, he heard a sound not unlike the roar of the ocean, and the procession slowed again as ponies looked back towards the Regia. Great gouts of purple sparks were spiraling into the sky, and blackish-blue clouds were appearing seemingly from nowhere. Vino watched in quiet awe as Lady Everstar, who he realized must have been caught in the blast, channeled enough magic to create a terrifying storm from absolutely nothing. There was a single crack of lightning, and the clouds dumped their rain in torrents, dousing the entirety of the Regia in a deluge of water. A single figure, wreathed in magenta flame, could be seen rising to the skies, burning with a terrible fury. Lady Everstar appeared to gesture, though it was hard to tell from a distance, and the flood of rain bent itself in midair to extinguish the shop fires as well.

A cheer went up from the ranks at that point, and Fidelis called forward march, sounding much relieved to know he was not abandoning a city bereft of ruler and on fire. It was only a short distance more to the airfield, and Vino was sure he heard the low drone of Redoubtable’s engines over the sound of rain and magic.

Reaching the top of the hill proved to be easier than anticipated, and the column fairly raced across the high road of East End, towards the airfield and evacuation. As they watched, drawing ever closer, the airship began its final descent, gleaming in the noontide light. The gates to the airfield were thrown open, and the stream of ponies, the carriage, and the cart containing their equipment all desperately surged forward to get through.

There was a muffled thud from the airship, and Vino had a brief moment to see a side panel fall away before the entire ship went up in flames, spraying flaming fuel across the flat lawn ahead and turning sanctuary into a hellscape.

The procession came to a screeching halt, and it was to Ahan’s credit that it moved again as soon as it did, with the panicked shouts from the yard and the roar of flame deadening any verbal communication. He pumped his wings once to get airborne, perched on top of a small gatehouse, unslung his spear, and gesticulated wildly in the direction of the train station, their backup route. The 1st Rifles sped ahead, dragging the 2nd with them, and the rest followed soon enough.

Somepony had known their route, Vino thought as they dragged themselves along the path, fliers sweeping much lower now to inspect the roofs and alleys closely. High Street Rail Station was a scant three blocks away, and though it was normally bustling with traffic, the multiple attacks on the city and the airship yard especially had emptied the streets rather thoroughly. Somepony had known their route, and planted explosives to try and kill Lady Serale. But who would have had that kind of access?

There was a flash of blinding purple light from the sky above, and Vino’s dazzled eyes only dimly beheld the form of Lady Everstar, smoke trailing from her coat, as she slammed into the street behind them. Her horn flashed, and Vino felt the air crack as it suddenly plummeted in temperature. The fire behind them was out in an instant, but Lady Everstar spared not a glance for the carriage holding her daughter, instead leaping forward on wings of smoke and flame to assist in clearing the twisted metal and smoking wreckage of the airship from the field, as well as render aid to those inside.

As they reached the station, almost without prompting, the first two squads of Guards spread out to cover every possible route of attack, the Pegasi swooped down to grab rifles and get on the roof, and Captain Fidelis’s 3rd stormed the platform, providing security as the carriage pulled to the station.

Vino spun, sheathed his blade. “4th Rifles!” he snapped. “Assist in unloading supplies. If somepony on the platform gets in your way, go through them. Any injured?”

“Cuts and bruises sir,” Corporal Fireball reported, shaking the tiredness from her bones. There would be a long way to go yet. The Pegasus was made of sterner stuff than Vino had given her credit for, he admitted. “Nothing serious. I’m more worried about the fliers; they had to take some heat from the airship.”

“We’ll address it on the train,” Vino said hurriedly. “Ceres, help lift things.”

The young mage nodded, and with a gesture from his horn, packages began to lift themselves from the wagon, setting themselves on the ground, where members of the 4th and 5th began to move them.

“Vino!” Captain Fidelis called, and beckoned him closer. Vino obeyed the order, jogging over, glad for the weight of his armor despite the trouble it had given him. He felt that whatever had happened ,they were not in the clear yet.

“Sir,” he said. “I’m sorry for the bridge. It seemed like the thing to do.”

“Save it,” Fidelis said. “I’m assigning your squad to the third car with Lady Serale. Once you’ve got the gear moved, your Rifles get in that car and don’t leave it until we’ve reached our destination, wherever that happens to be.”

“Understood, sir,” Vino said. “Sir…somepony knew we were coming. Those charges were set for a reason. If we had been just a bit slower, we’d be dead three times over. Four if you count the snipers.”

“And there’ll be hell to pay,” Fidelis said. “But for now, we have a clear duty. Get your ponies onto that train. I’m not going to relax an inch until we’re clear of Starfall.”

Vino nodded his understanding, turned on one hoof, and strode to help his squad move equipment. The sooner it got moved, the sooner they could move, and the sooner they’d be clear of danger. He hoped.

Laochra

I told you there was something wrong when we got in the carriage! Hob spat, hissing in Cobblestone’s lap as they pulled away from the station. The cat was riled like Cobblestone had never seen him before, even when Nightshade had visited her cell. His fangs were exposed, his claws were out, and the hair on his back bristled menacingly, as if he were part porcupine. It was all Cobblestone could do to keep him in her lap and away from the aisles, where the Guards were busy setting supplies and getting to their positions.

“Hob,” she grunted, “Shut up and stay still. We’re moving, it’s alright.”

“Does he need a carrier cage?” Serale asked sympathetically as the young unicorn wrestled with her cat.

If she puts me in a cage, I am taking her face and the face of every pony in this train car, Hob said with a snarl. Cobblestone felt him get heavier in her lap, and she began to get nervous.

“Hob, now’s not a great time to make a scene,” she said. “Just stay still and be quiet.” She looked around the car desperately. “Does anypony have a bit of food?” she called. “I need to shut this damn cat up!”

A passing Guardspony unfastened a small package from his belt, tossing it at Cobblestone unceremoniously. She caught it deftly with one hoof, still restraining the struggling cat, and unwrapped a small package of peanut candies. Seizing one, she offered it to Hob. He struggling ceased for a moment as he examined the treat, and though he was by no means calm, he took the confection tamely enough and restrained his movements to simple wriggling.

Cobblestone dumped the candies into the seat next to her own and deposited the cat there, where he sat contentedly munching on them, allowing her a chance to breathe.

“Right,” she said, panting a bit. “What in the world was all of that on the way to the station? It sounded like an army was after us.”

“You’re half right,” a voice said, and Cobblestone looked up to see Vino taking a seat next to Libra, one hoof still on his weapon. “We were ambushed. Somepony had planted explosives along the route in an attempt to kill us or drive us into a trap. Luckily for us, their timing was off and we had a backup plan. If they had set the bomb in the airship to go off two minutes later, we would have lost a lot of good ponies.”

“Are any of the Guards injured?” Libra asked, business-like.

Vino shook his head no. “A few minor injuries, and one of the Pegasi took some moderate burns, but aside from that we were okay. We got very lucky. I just hope nopony makes more tries on us in the city. Very few ponies were privy to the backup plan.”

“Which is?” Cobblestone prompted.

Vino looked at her, seemingly startled that she was sitting there, and Cobblestone realized he hadn’t even noticed her until she’d spoken. “We’re taking a seventeen-hour train ride to Ponyville. We’ll meet an airship there, though whether it’s Equestrian or one belonging to the Kingdom remains to be seen. I guess we’ll take whatever’s there.”

“Seventeen hours?” Cobblestone exclaimed in dismay. “How far away is Ponyville?”

“Approximately sixteen hundred miles,” Serale said automatically. “About the same distance from Starfall to Crescent City.”

“We’re lucky this is a nonstop,” Libra remarked. “Else it’d take us a full day or more to reach Ponyville.”

“What are we supposed to do in the meantime?” Cobblestone complained. “I’ll be bored out of my skull.”

Vino and Serale looked at her strangely. “You’re taking this awfully well,” Vino said. “Somepony or ponies unknown just tried to kill us all not five minutes ago.”

“What else is new?” Cobblestone asked.

“It does tend to get a bit old,” Libra mused, not bothering to look away from the window, through which could be seen the rapidly diminishing spires of the Regia and the suburbs of Starfall. “Never in the moment, of course, but you learn to cope with it after a while.”

“Well, I for one would like to know who tried to kill us just now,” Serale remarked. “They were doing a pretty damn good job of it from where I sat.”

“Which reminds me,” Vino said. “I need to go ahead and talk with Captain Fidelis. He’ll want to speak to the captains soon, I’m sure.” He stood and bowed to Serale. “Milady,” he said solemnly.

Cobblestone watched him go with interest. The rest of the car had settled down, but only insofar as the ponies had stopped moving boxes and walking the aisles. The guards sat in pairs by the doors and windows, watching carefully for potential threats. Buzzes of whispered conversation floated through the air, and a sort of nervous energy, almost electric, hung in the air.

“It was pretty well-coordinated,” Serale mused. “They knew the route before we started out, and the explosions were almost perfect. Really, the only one they made a significant error on was the one in the airship.” She shuddered. “Good ponies were crewing that ship and working in that field. I hope it was at least quick for them.”

“The explosions were made to herd us,” Cobblestone decided, replaying the attack in her head. “They wanted us to get to the airship quickly and arrive eager to get on.”

Libra turned her head and nodded, her eyes flashing thoughtfully. “It was a gamble,” she said. “We could have deviated from the route at any time.”

“But it’s standard procedure to keep the route when escorting ponies of power,” Serale noted. “Mother told me about some of the convoys she was in before I was born. So whoever it was knew the standard procedure for ponies of the Guard.”

“Would ex-soldiers or ex-Guard make an attempt on Serale’s life?” Cobblestone asked.

“If they had, they’d have hit us differently,” Libra said. “Guards especially are trained to minimize collateral damage, because it makes accomplishing your objective harder. This was well-executed, but the method was…sloppy.”

“So street ponies,” Cobblestone said. “It makes sense. I peeked out of the window on the bridge and saw old powder weapons. Nopony’s used those in at least fifty years.”

“Maybe it was Nightshade?” Serale suggested. “Would she hire ponies to try and kill me?”

“You’re not thinking clearly, milady,” Libra said gently. “Remember, Nightshade and the Cult of Crows want you alive, not dead.”

“So if it wasn’t Nightshade,” Cobblestone said thoughtfully, “It was somepony else.”

“There are a dozen different groups that dislike the monarchy for one reason or another,” Libra said. “Not many of them could do something this audacious, nor would they attempt it. Protests and destruction of property is one thing, but assassination is another.”

“A new group, then,” Serale said. She looked out of the window as they passed through the outskirts of the city, at last leaving the borders of the city that was supposed to be the safest place in the world for her. “But who? And why do they want me dead?”

“Well, I think we’re beyond their reach for now,” Libra said. “We can discuss this at length later, when we’ve had a bit more time to think and relax. Speaking of, we need to review the homework for today.”

Cobblestone and Serale exchanged a glance. “You’re joking,” Cobblestone said in disbelief. “We just survived an assassination attempt.”

“And if you had been wounded or killed, we would have suspended class,” Libra said, withdrawing a book from the satchel by her side. “But you are both here and perfectly healthy, so we shall continue as normal. You need a good grasp of the fundamentals before we reach Dawndale, and I intend to give them to you. Now, let us review chapter ten and the principles of magical exhaustion.”

“And this one?” Libra asked, holding up a card with a simple glyph printed on it.

“Kyr,” Cobblestone said. “That letter’s kyr. It makes a ‘kuh’ sound.”

“Good,” Libra said. “You’re getting faster at these.” She held up another card, replacing the first in her deck.

“Fal,” Cobblestone said, sounding just as bored as she felt. “It makes a ‘fuh’ sound.”

“I know it’s boring,” Libra said. “But the sooner you learn these, the sooner you’ll be able to read through the books on your own, and Serale won’t have to read them aloud to you. Do you want to try a few simple words?”

“We did those an hour ago,” Cobblestone said. She looked over to the chair where Serale had sat, nose buried in a book, for the past two hours. She was daintily snoring, which Cobblestone hadn’t known was possible.

“This one?” Libra asked, holding up a card on which was emblazoned a smaller symbol that resembled an upside-down triangle.

Cobblestone squinted in thought. “That’s not a letter,” she said. “That’s a…diuretic?”

“Diacritic,” Libra corrected. “It modifies a letter’s sound. How would you pronounce ‘fal’ with this diacritic?”

“Umm… ‘feh’?” Cobblestone guessed.

Libra beamed at her. “You got it!”

Cobblestone breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. Does that mean we’re done?”

Libra nodded. “We’re done, and you get a reward.”

Cobblestone’s ears perked up, and she sat a bit straighter. “A gift?” she asked, “What kind of gift?”

“A book!” Libra exclaimed cheerfully. She rummaged through her bag, withdrawing a slender volume with a few brightly colored illustrations on the front cover. It didn’t look to be more than a hundred pages long. She handed it to Cobblestone, who took it with considerably less enthusiasm.

“This book,” she explained, “Is one that is specially written for ponies who didn’t learn to read as children and wish to learn how. It’s not terribly childish, but the language is simple and the words are short. This one is a book of folklore and fables.”

“Well, thank you,” Cobblestone said. “At least this gives me something to do. How long have we been going?”

“About four hours,” Libra said, drawing a pocket watch from the seemingly endless satchel. “We should be making the river crossing shortly. It’s quite a sight, there’s a waterfall near the bridge that’s a popular tourist spot. The train goes right by it, and it hasn’t gotten quite dark enough to block the sight.”

“Have you been there before?” Cobblestone asked, tucking the book into a pocket in her robes, where it nestled comfortably. Idly, she reached out to stroke Hob, who had subsided into a deep sleep shortly after finishing his candies. The cat shifted slightly and began to rumble with a silent purr, and Cobblestone found herself relaxing too.

Libra nodded. “Before I joined the Court, I traveled frequently across the Kingdom, and occasionally into Equestria.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Cobblestone said. “What made you want to do something like that? I had a hard enough time of it in one city.”

“Cities are difficult in their own way,” Libra said, looking out of the window. The sky was darkening, and snow covered the ground outside, what ground could be seen through the trees that pressed in on all sides of the track. Libra had announced about an hour ago that they had entered the old Everfree Forest with a considerable lack of enthusiasm. “I stayed mostly in small towns and out in the wild. Nature is easy enough to endure, if you know what you’re doing.”

Cobblestone looked out of the window uneasily. She wasn’t used to seeing large groups of trees outside of a park, and it had never occurred to her that plants could be so…threatening. Briefly, she caught something bounding away into the darkness, and her heart skipped a beat. There was no way to tell what it might have been, but it was definitely larger than she was.

“Most of my fondest memories before my service to the Court were in small towns,” Libra said conversationally. “Or summer nights, camping beneath the stars in the corner of a field that a farmer wasn’t using.”

“Didn’t you go hungry?” Cobblestone asked. “I mean, you could probably forage, but…”

“Not as often as you’d think,” Libra said. “I was good with magic even then. I didn’t have much need for money, so I traded my services for goods. Warm clothing, traveling food, the occasional roof over my head, and so on. A simple life and a good one.”

Cobblestone tried to imagine the graying academic in front of her, her bun traded in for a ponytail and her spangled robes swapped for a rough cloak on her back, a walking stick in one hoof. She could almost see it if she looked closely. “What made you give it up?”

“A sense of duty,” Libra said, almost dismissively. “Things I thought I was alright at were things I was actually good at, and I’d heard that Lady Everstar was looking for a new Magus. It turned a few heads when I showed up at the tryouts, and raised more than a few eyebrows when I was accepted for the position.”

Cobblestone got the feeling that there was more to the story than that, but Libra didn’t seem amenable to talking about it, so she changed the subject. “Are there many mages out there?” she asked. “I mean just wandering around. No offense, but most mages seem like they’d be more at home in a palace or library than a dirt road or city street.”

Libra thought about it. “Well,” she said, “you need to understand that not just any unicorn good at magic can rightfully be called a mage, and I’m not just talking about an apprenticeship or certification. A mage is a rare talent, maybe four in ten thousand. And of course there aren’t just ‘mages’ at that level. We’re only a facet of magical talent.”

Cobblestone tilted her head in confusion. “What do you mean?” she said.

“Did you ever hear of the magical cross?” Libra asked. “Or the four Disciplines?”

Cobblestone shook her head, and Libra sighed. “You’ve got talent in spades and a good head on your shoulders, but you’re more ignorant than I realized, Cobblestone. Hold on a moment.”

She pulled another book out of her satchel, which Cobblestone was beginning to suspect was magical, and opened it to a curious illustration in green ink, heavily decorated yet easy enough to discern, though Cobblestone didn’t want to try and read the words. A broad circle was divided into quarters, the lines extending past the lines like the spokes of a wheel. At the top point of the vertical line was a sun, drawn in yellow, and at the bottom was a blue crescent moon. To the left side was a six-pointed star in red that was instantly familiar to Cobblestone, and to the right was a heart in a lighter shade of blue, seemingly chiseled from a precious stone.

“This is the Cross,” Libra explained. “All of magic, in every form, can be found inside this circle. It is divided along two lines. The vertical line goes from Binding magic at the top to Breaking magic at the bottom. Past the moon it descends into strange magic that we unicorns cannot do, so for now it is not relevant.”

Cobblestone looked at the bottom of the circle, at the space where the line would continue past the moon. What Libra was describing reminded her uneasily of Dis, and she debated bringing him up, but Libra continued speaking.

“To the left you have more logical disciplines, and to the right you have more empathic ones,” Libra said. “Each pinnacle is represented by an Avatar. Lady Everstar, represented by her mark, is known for her power over Logic. Her counterpart is Cadance, who rules over Emotion.”

Cobblestone nodded. It was beginning to make sense. “So some magic belongs to Breaking, some to Binding, some to Logic, and some to Emotion?” she asked. “What about the things between?”

Libra smiled at her pupil, pleased at the question. “That’s where we come in,” she said. She indicated the bottom left quadrant, in which were depicted robed ponies wearing familiar conical hats, surrounded by billowing smoke and sparks. “Mages usually learn disciplines that involve applying logic to Breaking magic. We use force of will to violate the laws of nature temporarily, and mage spells are more…chaotic than the ones using Binding magic.”

“So what about the opposite?” Cobblestone asked, indicating the ponies in the top right, wearing long robes and beatific expressions. Several appeared to be surrounded by rabbits. “Emotion and…Binding?”

“Clerics,” Libra clarified. “They let magic use them, but in prespecified ways. Healing, mostly. It’s more intuitive than our schools of magic.”

“And these?” Cobblestone asked, pointing at the section above the mages, in which were several fierce looking ponies, wielding large weapons and broad shields while magic flared around their horns. They reminded her more of Vino than Libra.

“Paladins,” Libra said. “They force magic to Bind things, which often means shields and magical restrictions. Most harmful creatures can be bound with paladin magic.”

Which left one quadrant open, this one full of hooded figures, cloaked in mist and looking decidedly menacing. “Breaking and emotional magic,” Cobblestone said. “That sounds dangerous.”

“Ah,” Libra said gravely. “Those are…”

There was a deafening thud from the rear of the train, and a jolt. Cobblestone and Libra sprung to their hooves, as did all of the Guards in the car and Serale. Hob, peacefully napping, didn’t awaken so much as skip from being curled up directly to spitting and yowling in fear. Cobblestone, closest to the window, glanced to the rear of the train and her heart sank.

“There’s smoke and fire coming from the back,” she said, just as another thud sounded from the front, much closer this time. The jolt knocked her off of her hooves, and sent her tumbling to the floor along with several other guardsponies. Immediately, the effects of the explosion could be felt as the train car began to slow, though it remained on the rails.

“The explosions in Starfall,” Serale gasped, her eyes widening. “They weren’t just herding us towards the airship.”

“They were herding us onto the train,” Libra finished. “The real ambush wasn’t back at the bridge or near the field, it’s here!” She turned to the Guards. “Prepare to repel boarders!” she cried over the din of screeching wheels and panicked orders. “We’re about to be attacked!”

Vino burst into the cabin, grateful it was still there. He’d been aft with Afi and some of the baggage when the explosion went off, and after they’d picked themselves off of the floor, his first thought had been to the Lady. He slammed the visor shut on his helmet just in time to hear the Magus call the Guards to arms, and he realized what had happened almost immediately. They’d been herded right into a trap.

He looked out of the window into the rapidly darkening trees, and his heart sank. The thick foliage pressed right up to the edge of the track, and he was sure it rose up on one side, giving attackers from there the advantage of the high ground. The other side didn’t look much better, either, with brush and trees just as thick, almost a wall or picket.

“Rack your rounds!” he cried as ponies from Afi’s guards rushed past him into the car. Given the choice between protecting the Lady and protecting the baggage, Serale was the more important option. He forced his way through the aisles as ponies began to overturn benches and stack bags to make cover for themselves near the windows, the train car still moving, but slower, much slower. He got to the front of the car and saw the next car half a mile off and getting still further. Slamming the door, he managed to push a bench in front of it, wedging it tightly. “Afi!” he called. “The tie was blown right here! The other three squads are far ahead!”

“And nothing behind us either,” Afi replied. “They cut us out like a tumor. I don’t like our odds in these woods, even with twenty, lad.”

“Damn,” Vino said to himself. His mind whirled, settled on orders. “4th Rifles, to the port wall! Ambush comes from both sides, but the high ground gives them an advantage.”

“2nd Rifles, split yourselves!” Afi called, unlimbering his axe, his braided red beard swinging wildly and bloodlust glinting in the green of his eye. “Five sharp eyes to starboard and hooves on triggers!”

“Captain,” Libra said, approaching him. “Lend me your spellcasters. We’ll work on a protective shield when we stop. I’ve already told our Lady and my apprentice to get down and stay down.”

“Ceres!” Vino called. “Cheval! To the Magus!” He strode towards the back, noting that the train car had slowed to a crawl. He put a hoof wrong in a spilled deck of cards and stumbled, which is what saved his life.

A massive black arrow, feathered with the feathers of a brown hawk, thrummed through the air, embedding itself three inches deep in the side of the wall where his head had just been. It was only after it had done so that the first of the glass in the window it had broken hit the floor. Vino, hearing rather than seeing it and knowing almost instinctively what it was, hit the deck. “Cover!” he screamed. “Cover!”

As if a storm had broken, arrow after arrow began to punch through the glass of the train car, seeking targets. Shouted orders turned into shouts of surprise and fear as ponies got as low as they could. Most made it to the ground unscathed, though one young earth pony in Afi’s squad cried out in pain as an arrow punched through his hoof, nailing it to the stock of his rifle. A few others managed to fire back, though whether they could hit anything in the shadowy trees of the Everfree was another matter entirely.

“Captain Afi!” one of the five posted at the other side called. “No arrows inbound in this direction, sir!”

There was a crack as Libra and the two spellcasters began to work in tandem, horns flaring yellow and purple and blue, and Vino had to shield his eyes as a bright white bubble appeared around the two stationary cars. The air began to smell faintly of bile, but for the moment, the arrows had stopped.

“Captain!” Libra said, her voice strained. “There are at least four dozen beings outside of this train, all on the north side of the tracks. I believe they are Fae. The ties are iron, which is why none of them are on the other side of the tracks. I can also sense about a dozen other beings which used to be ponies before the Fae arrived. I suspect they were the original ambush party. I suggest you come up with a plan of action,” she said with a gasp. “We cannot maintain this for very much longer.”

Vino opened his mouth to give orders, but was interrupted by a cry.

“Everypony follow me!” Cobblestone shouted. “I’ve got a way out!”

Without waiting for a sign one way or the other, she picked up her cat, flung open a window, and threw herself bodily through it, rucksack slung over her back. With a startled yelp, Serale scrambled after her friend, and Vino felt his heart sink as he realized that Cobblestone was probably going to get them all killed.

“Follow the Lady!” Afi bellowed. “We’ve a duty to her, lads!” He tossed his axe through a window, got a running start, and jumped through, hooves up in front of his face to protect him from the jagged shards of glass. It was not long before the rest of his Guards, and Vino’s to boot, had followed his example. Vino did likewise only after he was sure the last Guard had gone, and flung himself into the night.

“You’d better be right,” Cobblestone muttered as she chased Hob down the track. “If I die full of arrows I won’t forgive you.”

Here! he called to her as they reached a large tree, twined with another in such a way as to make a crude arch. I need your hoof for a moment.

Cobblestone did as he said, holding out a tentative hoof. A line of pain burned across her foreleg, and she flinched back with a cry as a few drops of blood from the freely bleeding cut on her leg splattered the tree.

Repeat after me, Hob said quickly as the rest of the Guards and Serale began to catch up, armor rattling in the brush. Payment made and passage bartered, deliver us to journey’s end.

“Payment made and passage bartered!” Cobblestone called out, her voice high and tight with fear, quavering a little. “Deliver us to journey’s end!”

There was a murmur behind her, and Cobblestone would have felt foolish if she hadn’t been so afraid. Was anything happening? Maybe she needed to say it again?

But before she could open her mouth, there was a rustle, and a gust of soft, warm wind. Out of the trees stepped a mare, though where she had come from Cobblestone could not see. Her coat was the white of bone and her mane the green of new grass, and her features were fine and pointed, her ears rising to tapers and her eyes shining with an opal brilliance that, like the rest of her, was entirely beautiful and utterly alien. She smiled, exposing pointed teeth.

Tell them to follow you through and not to stop, no matter what they see, Hob said urgently. And above all, take nothing and leave nothing behind.

“Follow me!” Cobblestone cried as Hob climbed onto her back, claws digging deep into the fabric of her robe. “Don’t stop, don’t take anything or leave it behind!”

Run.

Cobblestone did, passing through the arch and stumbling in shock at what she saw beyond it. A massive tree, burdened with the most beautiful silver apples she had ever seen, swayed gently in a breeze she could not feel, and around its base danced figures just as pale and strangely beautiful as the one she had seen. She heard a few notes of music being played upon the wind, and for a moment, she had forgotten why she came, or for that matter, why she was running. She could see another arch ahead of her, but her course changed ever so slightly, towards the tree, and she slowed to take in more of the wondrous music she heard.

Behind her she could hear hoofbeats and hurried shouts, and something that might have been her name, but it was all curiously muffled, like a memory of thunder. The breeze shifted, caressing her face, and Cobblestone smelled the fruit of the tree, and her stomach rumbled. She could take one, she knew. All she would need to do after was dance for just a little while. It would be rude to eat of a host’s food and not take part in the celebration, after all.

Dimly, she was aware of needles being driven into her back, but she shuddered at the intensity instead of flinching. Her hooves seemed not to move, or maybe to move on their own, carrying her closer to the tree. Such sensation could be hers too, she heard in the distant melody being sung along with the music. She only needed stay a little while…

Hob bit down viciously on her ear, yanking to one side, and Cobblestone regained herself with a gasp. She looked back at the tree to see the ponies at its base looking at her with needle-sharp grins, grins that looked less friendly and more hungry with each passing moment, and she realized that the hoofbeats of the Guards behind her had ceased. They had all passed through.

Stumbling, her hooves feeling like lead, she made her way back to the gate. Each step seemed to cost her an eternity, every inch closer was a mile, and it weighed on her not just physically, but in her heart. She became aware that she was crying as she walked.

She was ten paces from the gate. Then five, then three, then two, and suddenly she was though, into the cool air of a night, on a hill near the outskirts of a town, and below her were the Guards. There was a shout from the base of the hill, and a few ponies detached from the herd to meet her. Sighing, she sagged to the ground in relief, turning behind her with the expectation of seeing forest once more.

A mare about her age, with frizzy red hair and a coat of white, grinned at her mischievously. Hauling her to her hooves with more strength than it looked like the red-maned filly should possess, Cobblestone was shocked to find herself being hauled in for a kiss, one that burned like ice and stung like broken glass, leaving her lips chapped and raw and the breath stolen from her body.

“For passage,” she said. “My name is Leanan mac Baobhan mac Niamh du Feinan, late of the Silver Grove. I will see you again soon, Cobblestone. Keep the cat well.”

Tears of pain welled in Cobblestone’s eyes, and when they cleared, the mare was gone. Cobblestone stumbled away from the forest, down the hill, but she nearly tripped over something else, far larger than either the mare or the Guards. Grumbling, she lit her horn with plain white light, to see what she had found.

The pony was monstrously large, easily as big as a strong earth pony male, and probably larger. It was hard to tell under the slabs of golden metal that she realized was armor. His coat was a light gold, and his mane purest white. Two massive wings, with feathers as long as her foreleg and angled for speed, lay furled against his side, and he cradled a massive hammer of the same golden metal as his armor. As Cobblestone watched, he opened his eyes, revealing two orbs of pure gold, devoid of iris. Cobblestone knew instinctively that he was no more blind than she, and in fact, probably saw much better.

“Cobblestone!” Libra called, and within moments, was by her side. “We were worried! Are you alright? What’s…this?” Her eyes widened in recognition, and she raised her voice, shrill with alarm. “Back! Everypony back!”

Cobblestone took a step back on reflex. “Libra,” she asked shakily, “What is...he?”

“I’d thought they were all dead, long ago,” Libra said. “One of Celestia’s greatest weapons in the Evening Rebellion. This is a Sunborn.”

Pleanáil

“I want the Regia on lockdown,” Lady Everstar said, rounding a corner at a high rate of speed with her assorted councilponies in tow. “Nopony comes in or goes out without my say-so, and I want flyers apprehended and brought to the castle grounds for interrogation. I want the chief of the police here in an hour or less, or he’s going to be replaced with a pony who can move more quickly. Move the wounded from the wall into urgent care, even if they don’t look like they need it.”

She threw open the doors to her throne room, a throng of nobility, soldiery, and other assorted mares and stallions of import doing their level best to keep up with her while keeping composed. They were the only ones doing so. Lady Everstar’s crown was missing, her dress was singed, and she reeked of smoke and fuel. A large bloody cut ran across her chin, and she favored one hoof, but despite all of that, the Flame in her chest burned brightly and the spark in her eyes spoke of dangerous energy.

“Captain Roughshod, your Guard will draw up a poster offering a reward for information leading to the apprehension of the agents involved in the attack on my city. Not only will this reward poster be put up here, it will be circulated across the Kingdom proper. I want the ponies responsible for this…atrocity…found and brought to justice.”

The Captain bowed hurriedly, locks of reddish mane falling over the patch covering one eye before disappearing through a side door in the gallery, walking just short of a run. Lady Everstar turned back to the officials cluttering her throne room. “The rest of you, if you have not been assigned duties, you are to assist with supplying relief efforts throughout the city. Keep the roads clear around your estates, cooperate with the Guard and constabulary, and don’t go anywhere.”

There was silence from the crowd below the dais, and Lady Everstar’s hoof slammed down on the stone floor with a thunderous crack, as the air in the throne room became noticeably warmer, her Flame flaring brightly. “Leave!” she demanded.

There was a stampede to the door, and the throne room was empty save for the Lady in record time. She collapsed onto her throne, exhausted and shaking, glad for the lack of company. She’d been hard-pressed to keep the fires from spreading, and though she wielded great power, it was an effort to keep it focused. The storms she had wrought were difficult in particular, currents of fanciful air slipping from her grasp at every distraction.

Thirteen Guards on the parapet and parade ground were killed in the explosion at the gate, and another nine caught in a secondary explosion that came from within the crowd of protestors they had been watching. Civilian casualties from that blast had numbered in the dozens. Thankfully, the third bomb had claimed no lives, though property damage to the shop fronts was severe enough to warrant extensive remodeling. The fourth and final explosion, claiming the airship, had cost the lives of all hooves on board, a hundred and twenty-two lost souls. Also caught in the blast and subsequent fire were nineteen yard workers, four weatherponies, and eight other ponies of the Navy. The total casualty list, nearly four hours later, came to just under two hundred ponies in her service, and several dozen civilians, the number yet to be determined.

Twilight allowed herself a shuddering sigh, massaging her head as she regained her composure, the bright light shining in her chest dimming just a little. To get it back to its normal self, she would need more time, spent in proper meditation. She wiped away water from the corner of one eye, telling herself it was a product of the smoke, and spoke.

“Turquoise, you can come out. I know you’ve got something for me.”

There was a rustle of silken wings, and a young mare with a coat of light blue and a mane of shocking white detached herself from the ceiling, spreading her wings wide to slow her fall. She came to a halt scant inches above the ground, hovering in place, before folding her wings neatly and kneeling before her liege.

“Milady,” she said calmly. “I bear…news. I fear you will not like it.”

Twilight said nothing, merely motioned for Turqouise to continue, contemplating a burn on her dress.

“The attacks were synchronized to shepherd the caravan containing your daughter towards the airfield, and were conducted using simple explosives rigged with clockwork fuses. We’ve tested the ruins for explosive residue, and determined the alchemical components. They’re old stock from our munitions factories, at least twenty years, if not more. We think that whoever set off these bombs got the explosives from a disposal site.”

“So they’re either very good, or they’ve got a pony on the inside of an ammunition disposal ground,” Twilight mused.

Turquoise flinched. “We believe the latter, Milady. The rest of the attack seems too…amateurish for them to have done this kind of thing before. As it was, they barely managed to accomplish their goal of shepherding the caravan towards the ship.” Her voice grew troubled. “Milady…there is more. Please, do not be angry with me, Milady, I beg of you.”

Twilight looked at Turquoise for the first time, and the mare took a few steps backwards, ruffling her wings nervously. “Turquoise,” she said quietly, “Is there something wrong with my daughter?”

“I received a call from Captain Fidelis using the usual network, Milady,” Turquoise said softly. “There was an attack on the train. Explosives rigged to the car in which your daughter was riding.”

There was a crack of thunder, a terrible rush of light, and then, quite without meaning to, Lady Everstar felt her magic shatter every window in the throne room. Turquoise fell back with a yelp, feathers flying from her wings and fur from her chest to reveal shining gossamer and smooth chitin. The temperature in the room rose to that of the air near a bonfire, and Turqouise scrambled back to her hooves.

“Milady!” she called. “They were small charges! They merely separated the car from the rest of the train!”

Twilight, hovering several meters in the air, made a titanic effort of will, and the heat dissipated. The blinding light dimmed, and as she sank to the ground, the glass from the shattered windows rained down onto the floor with a tinkling crash. Turquoise noticed that the glass fell not in panes or shards, but in drops, warped and molded by intense heat. Even at the height of her shock, Lady Everstar had directed her anger towards an acceptable target. If she had not, there was a very good chance one of her most faithful servants would have been reduced to an ashy smear before she could draw the breath to scream.

“Where are they?” the unicorn snarled, her dress smoldering away to cinders, revealing the bright Flame burning on her belly.

Turquoise knelt in obeisance, keeping her wings flat to the floor, uneven though they now were. “We do not know, Milady. Captain Fidelis ordered the train reversed, but they were unable to determine what exactly transpired in the train car. Tracks lead from the car along the south side of the rails, and from there into the thickest of the woods. They did, however, find elf-shot in the car.”

With a focus now available for her anger, Lady Everstar took several deep breaths, composing herself. The fire in her breast flickered and burned a little lower, though it was still too bright to look directly upon, a beacon of shimmering white fury. Lady Everstar took her throne once more, steam escaping from her nostrils as she contemplated what course of action was best to take.

At last, she spoke. “Turquoise, please repair your disguise. Contact the Hives nearest the Forest, as well as Homehive. Alert Queen Feldspar that I’m going to be borrowing some of her drones. Until such time as we discover what has happened to my daughter, my personal energies will be directed towards finding her. In the meantime, please return to your station and continue working on discovering the group or groups behind the attacks today.”

Lady Everstar’s horn flashed a brilliant purple, and her crown reappeared on the floor in front of her, dusty and covered in soot. It glowed faintly with heat. “I want the ponies responsible for the attacks brought to justice,” she growled, “And the ones responsible for the attack on my daughter dead and their heads mounted on pikes. Leave me now.”

Turquoise bowed once more, green fire enveloping her as she took to the air once more, sailing out through a conveniently opened window. Already she was humming out a message to every one of her brothers and sisters in the city, making sure her Lady’s commands were heard from here to Homehive and beyond.

Twilight watched her go, brow creased with worry. Wherever her daughter was, she needed to be found quickly. There were worse things in the Everfree than wild animals, much worse. As she began to prepare to receive guests, among them the chief of the constabulary, her thoughts turned once more to the identity of the ponies who had attempted not just to kill soldiers and civilians, but to assault her daughter or worse.

It was clearly somepony with access to the plan, somepony who was present when she had gone over the route for the parade a few days prior, or somepony who would have stumbled across the plan after the briefing. They’d need to have moved quickly and efficiently, and above all, not aroused any suspicion that they were passing information along. In short, a spy. An experienced agent, no less. But who? She was sure that nopony had been present at the briefings that wasn’t associated with the Guard in a major capacity. The plans themselves hadn’t been committed to paper, merely indicated on a map of the city which anypony could have picked up at a bookstore for a paltry sum. Whoever it was had been there, at the meeting, or had been one of the subordinates the captains were allowed to speak to about the plan.

Twilight’s eyes widened, and she gasped as she came to the realization that the only ponies who had known the route as well as the backup route were the ponies who were escorting her daughter out of the gates.

Serale’s personal Guard had a spy in the ranks.

The grove in the middle of the Regia was not well-used, only available through a single door in one of the lesser-used utility corridors. It was so inaccessible by design, though it was never kept locked. The peculiar magic in that grove did not respond well to being contained, though it could have cared less about being hidden.

Within the grove grew seven trees, planted close as saplings and carefully nurtured, kept in trust by a group of farmers near Ponyville whose charter had ended centuries ago. Rowan, ash, yew, maple, apple, thorn and oak grew together, branches twining together in very carefully made patterns that seemed like nothing but chaos to the untrained eye. They were kept well-watered with rain drawn from the culverts on the highest tower, and though they had enough sun to grow, the grove itself was kept in a perpetual, sleepy twilight most of the time.

It was in this grove that Twilight Sparkle knelt, making her preparations. Most of her magic could be done without such tools as circles or runes now, but in delicate cases such as this, it paid to be careful. In the small clearing made by the trees, a cavern of roots and branches with only one entrance, she had drawn an intricate circle, made of interlocking lines that curved in graceful arcs, runes connecting them. In the center of the circle lay a small seed. Which seed was placed in the circle depended on the need, but for now, she had taken a berry from the rowan tree, the tree of travelers and divination. It seemed appropriate.

With a few murmured words and an outpouring of power that, in her youthful days, would have seemed more than massive, Twilight Sparkle felt her consciousness pour forth from her body, borne on wild tides of magic that she could only begin to grasp, and without any warning, begin to expand. First she became aware of the grove, then the castle, then the city, then the surrounding countryside, the Everfree Forest and into Equestria…

With a grunt, she reigned herself back. It was difficult, especially for a mind as inquisitive as hers, and Radiant Zenith had warned her of the draw inherent in the spell when she taught it to her, long ago. Too many would-be diviners had ended up as happily crooning vegetables as their minds scattered on the wind, examining far-off points of the universe. But she possessed a stronger will than most anypony, and she was able to draw herself back in, a single consciousness borne on the magical current of the Everfree Forest.

Immediately, she felt inquisitive nibbles from the denizens there, testing her to see if she could make a decent meal or thrall. But she bit back, not to kill, but merely enough to warn, and soon enough, she was left alone. Sending herself deep into the Forest, she found the tracks easily enough. They were spelled iron, strong enough to ward away most magic of the Forest, though conductors on that track still exercised the utmost caution. Though she was not a denizen of the Forest, she still felt a wave of nausea and repulsion as she forced her will down the tracks much faster than any train could even hope to go.

She found the site of the crash like a normal pony would find a house fire. The train had returned, of course, reversing itself for the passengers that had been left behind, but the train was not her goal. Twilight made her will congeal, forced herself to gain eyes to see and ears to hear, a ghosting of herself that bent down to examine the tracks with eyes made only of magic, to allow her to see what she could not in person.

The explosion had damaged the wards on the track, or else they had been damaged with an explosive before the train had arrived. The cold fire of the iron was not as strong here. Though the train car with the actual arrows had gone, Twilight could still see the trails left behind by the bolts as shimmering snakes of energy through the air. Elf-shot, from a properly made bow, found its target almost unerringly. But either the occupants of the car had been extremely lucky, or the Fae had shot to warn. She felt no death on the tracks or near them.

The north side of the track, however, was a different matter. There she could feel maybe a dozen recently-killed ponies quietly moldering away, little bits of their souls still clinging to their bodies, enough for a determined necromancer to use if they cared. It was also notable that the attack had come from only the north, and only the north. Even in the depths of winter, she could feel the difference in energy on both sides of the track. The southern side spoke of summer stars, and sweet wine and languid passions, the hallmark of the Seelie. The northern side, in contrast, was bitter winds, blood and fierce hunger and desperation. Unseelie, then, had lured the would-be ambushers into the woods and killed them. But why then attack the car?

A slight tug from the south side made her turn her head. She followed an eddy of magic alongside the tracks, and caught impressions of fear, confusion, and apprehension. The Guards, then, had travelled alongside the south of the tracks. None of the shining tracks of elf-shot fell here, which meant that they had been let go. A smart move, Twilight thought. Wars between the Courts had been started for less than arrows fallen in territory belonging to the other side.

The trail came up short, and Twilight saw the blood on the branches of the trees before she noticed anything else. She knew then what had been done. Somepony had bartered for passage here, at a gate into the heart of one side’s territory. The blood looked familiar to her, and it took only a cursory examination to realize that Cobblestone had made payment; most likely at the behest of the thing she called Hob. Wherever they had gone from there, Twilight realized, was anypony’s guess, as well as whether or not they had arrived safe, sane, and together. With a grimace, she let her consciousness disperse, returning to her body in the grove, many miles away. She hoped Cobblestone realized exactly what she had pledged when she bled on the forest floor of the Fae.

Creed shivered and drew his cloak close as he shouldered his way through the wind, which was digging claws into him like a wild animal. The way was dark, and the constables and Guards were out in force, but tonight was important, and he would not be gainsaid when his compatriots back at the inn begged him to stay.

“It’s none of your business if I stay or go,” he had said. “I need to meet somepony tonight, and I can handle myself.”

He’d turned down the offer of an escort, made absolutely sure that nopony was following him, and even ducked into a nearby tavern for a quick drink to give the impression to a potential tail that he was simply looking for a quiet drink. The mood that night was dour, and all talk was about the bombings on the upper tier of town. He studiously avoided getting drawn into a conversation, letting the words wash over him like a balm for his admittedly frayed nerves.

Ponies were afraid. Protestors had died, guards had died, and one of the Kingdom’s airships, the juggernauts of the skies, had gone down in flames today. Curfew had been imposed in certain sections of the city, though thankfully not around here. Above all other questions remained the one that was the most simple and direct. Who was responsible?

Creed finished his beer, leaving coin on the counter, and continued outside after a quick peek out of the windows. He was relatively certain he hadn’t been followed, but it never hurt to check. Bracing himself, he headed back out into the bitter wind, now laden with mixed sleet and rain.

It was cold tonight, colder than it had been the past few nights, when the League had been busy planting its bombs. Creed would normally have decided against such rash action, but the committee had agreed that a bigger gesture than a protest was needed, especially in light of the attack on the arena. The bombs they had planted used the very last of their explosive, but if things went well tonight, the obsolete charges would be replaced with something considerably more substantial.

The sound of a clock tower rung out over the city, letting all know that the hour was nine. Creed was almost late, but he had accounted for every possibility, and his destination was a mere block away. Quickly, he turned the last corner, his destination in sight.

The building was constructed largely of brick, but was easily three times the size of any structure near it, brightly painted with images of cavorting ponies, mugs in hooves, and the outside shone with magelights in a dozen colors, lending the illusion of movement to the painted images. The roof was made largely of glass, a horrendous expense, but it too was enchanted to keep the panes clear of any ill effects from the weather, including the freezing temperatures. This place was known as Place du Rivage, and indeed, a balcony did extend out from the back over the great river that ran through the city, though few would be using it on a night like tonight.

Normally, a pony like Creed would be turned away at the door, but then, he wasn’t going to the door. Ducking down the alley, he found the side door, left surreptitiously unlocked, and pulled it open. Inside, just as he was told he would, he found a small bag, inside of which was a jacket, tie, and a small bottle of cologne. The washroom was on his left, and he emerged a scant ten minutes later a changed pony. Nervously, he straightened his tie. He didn’t want to keep Lady Hedera waiting, but he felt that somehow, showing up disheveled would be looked upon even more unfavorably. Silently, he satisfied himself that he looked presentable, slipped through the kitchens, where he wasn’t spared a glance, and emerged into the Place du Rivage.

The club was perhaps a bit empty that night, but for the Rivage, that didn’t mean much. The Rivage was famous for its cuisine, and had at one point been a restaurant of some acclaim, but recently it had found new life as a proper dancing club, and some of the biggest and best names in music played the stage nightly. Currently on the stage was an eighteen-piece swing band, and the dance floor was, as usual, packed with couples swaying and swinging to the beat.

He cast an eye around the room, looking for Lady Hedera’s table, and found it. The table was the one of the few private booths in the place, and every table save one was empty, curtains drawn back and waiting forlornly for a customer with the clout and coin to claim it. Lady Hedera’s table, by contrast, was hidden behind thick red velvet curtains, embroidered in gold. Creed drew a deep breath, filling his lungs with the sweet stench of cigar smoke, and pushed to the table, drawing the curtains aside.

What he saw before him made his heart skip a beat and his cheeks flush. Instead of Lady Hedera’s long blonde hair and blue eyes, a pair of lovely golden orbs peered at him beneath a bob of white hair. She wore a long, tight dress of green fabric, patterned with sequins, a slit up one side showing off the graceful curve of one leg. It contrasted well with the deep, dusky black of her coat, and Creed could smell perfume, something floral, rising from that coat.

Lily batted her eyelashes and Creed’s world spun. “Good evening, Mister Creed,” she said. “Lady Hedera sends her apologies; her duties to the Lady keep her tonight. She sent me instead.”

“I…” Creed stammered. “I wasn’t expecting you. It’s good to see you again, Lily. How have you been? I haven’t seen you since…”

“The last time you came by the House,” Lily said with a smile. She gestured to the chair across from her. “Please, have a seat. I ordered some wine, it should be by shortly.” Noticing the expression on his face, her smile turned rueful. “The vintage in question is sealed in wax. They remove the wax at the table to see that no…atmosphere has been added to it before we drink.”

Creed nodded, taking his seat. He’d have to watch her carefully as she drank, keep an eye on her for signs of drugs or poison. Though even that may not be enough, the poison might be in the glasses. He almost wished Lady Hedera was here now. There’d be no way he could keep his head around Lily.

“You look nervous, Mister Creed,” Lily said. “I promise, nothing untoward will happen tonight. Well,” she amended with a grin that was considerably more saucy than the sweet smile she usually wore, “Not unless you want it to. You’re a partner of Lady Hedera. She keeps her partners safe, and honors her agreements.”

“I’m not one to take ponies at their word,” Creed replied, loosening his tie a bit. “It’s kept me alive so far.”

Lily shrugged, a motion which delighted Creed, and motioned through the parted curtain for the wine to be brought. The waiter worked with admirable efficiency, placing two thin-stemmed glasses on the table at almost the same time he produced a paring knife, which made Creed a bit jumpy. Drawing the bottle forth from his cart, he pruned the wax from the top with haste, inserted the corkscrew, and with the strength and skill borne of long practice, popped the cork. He bowed, placing the bottle on the table, and retreated through the curtains, drawing them behind him.

Lily, without prompting, poured the wine, leaving two glasses for Creed to take in a clear invitation. Her way of showing him the glasses had not been tampered with, he supposed. He selected one at random and waited. She raised her glass to his.

“A toast,” she said. “To new beginnings.”

Creed said nothing, waiting for her to take a sip. She did so, and he followed suit, waiting to swallow until he saw the telltale working of the muscles in her neck. He had to admit, the wine was good. Fruity, a little spicy, with floral notes similar to the perfume she was wearing. Lily, or Lady Hedera, or whoever had set this night up, had planned everything out perfectly. Creed had the nagging sensation he was far out of his league.

“Now, to business,” Lily said. “To get it out of the way and let us enjoy our evening.”

“The first operation was a success,” Creed said. “Not only that, it rid me of the last few ponies in the League who might have tried to get rid of me.”

“Not complete success, though,” Lily said. “The young Master Hedera is still alive, and the plan was for the carriage to remain pinned down by the Fae for a while longer yet.” She reached into a bag by her side, one Vino hadn’t noticed before, and withdrew a slim folder of red leather. “As it is, it seems that the young mage managed an escape with all ponies in tow. No telling if they all made it out, but they certainly were no longer with the car.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Creed said, taking another mouthful of his wine. It really was excellent. “Tell me,” he said, “Why does Lady Hedera want her son dead so badly? She has the House, doesn’t she?”

Lily fluttered her wings nervously. “Well,” she said, “It’s not my place, but I think I can give you an explanation. Lady Hedera never said not to, anyway. It has to do with inheritance here in the Kingdom. Vino is Lady Hedera’s stepson, and the inheritor of the House on Lord Hedera’s side by his first wife.”

“The mare in the portrait hall,” Creed said, remembering the mare with the black hair and laughing green eyes.

Lily nodded. “Her,” she said. “Vino’s the heir to the House. All of it. Once he comes of age, the House is his, and his mother, while still part of the family, will have no say into how the House is run in the eyes of the law. There’s no love lost between them, and if Vino takes the House, then Lady Hedera’s going to be in some trouble.”

She stared into her wine morosely. “Lady Hedera’s been so good to us,” she said sadly. “Given us places to sleep, work, a purpose, goals…there’s not a pony in the House who wouldn’t give everything to see her happy. And the only way to keep her happy is…”

“To kill the colt before he comes back and takes his House,” Creed said.

Lily shrugged. “It’s not good work,” she said, “But it needs doing. That’s not why we’re here.”

Creed shook himself. “Right,” he said, “The business. Sorry. You’re different from when I first met you, more forward.”

Lily gave him another roguish grin. “I’ve got to be proper in the House and serving my Lady,” she said. “But this is who I am. Not that playing the submissive type isn’t fun, but before I was in service to the Lady, I was a different type of pony. Which reminds me,” she said with a wink.
“You’re going to be taking possession of a number of items,” she said. “With the understanding that you’ll recruit more to help you use them. It shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Lady Everstar’s scared,” Creed replied. “Already curfews are in place, and I overheard a few Pegasi grumbling about being grounded on the way over. They’ll put up with it as long as they don’t have to leave their comfortable lives, but take away their luxuries and it won’t be long until the fire starts.”

“Fires are good,” Lily said, perhaps a bit breathlessly. “Bullets too. Bombs, better than the ones you were using, and funding as you need it. There’s also a printing-house that was just closed down on the south side that has been re-purchased for your use. I’ve read some of your work, it’s good. This’ll make it better.”

Outside the band reached a crescendo, and the ponies on the dance floor erupted into applause. Creed looked out of the curtains to see a new pony taking the stage, this one a pegasus mare wearing coattails and a strange cylindrical hat. With a flourish, she began to conjure strange items, seemingly from within it, items like a sword, a wand, and at one point, even a live rabbit.

“What are you thinking about?” Lily asked.

“It’s strange,” Creed said. “Ever since I was a young colt, I’ve wanted to change things in this Kingdom. The Lady promised us that we wouldn’t be ruled by gods or immortal masters, and yet she’s held power here for four hundred years. Did you know we tried to get her to abdicate?”
Lily’s eyes widened. “You asked her to give up her throne?” she exclaimed. “What did she say?”

“I can remember her sitting there, she looked so young,” Creed said. “It was a year or two after she died. We came to her with a petition, over a thousand of us had signed it. She had an heir, now. Somepony to take her throne, a mortal like us. We wanted her to step down, make room for ponies to rule themselves. We nearly got laughed out of the courtroom, and of course she said no. She said it was ‘for the common good’. The common good, for one pony to hold power for four hundred years and counting.”

Creed reached for the bottle and poured another glass, as his had gone dry. “Did you know ponies used to rule themselves?” he asked. “It’s true. There are records, very old ones. I’ve seen them, written in old runes when I was a kid. They decided amongst themselves what to do, how to divide work, what they wanted from life. It wasn’t always perfect, but I think it’s a better alternative to the four gods we have on thrones now.”

He took another sip of wine, and swirled it around in the glass, contemplating it in the dim light of the booth. “I believe that the common good for mortal ponies should be decided by mortal ponies,” he said. “And if Everstar and the other three goddesses don’t want to give up their power, then so help me, we’ll tear them down.”

Lily looked at him strangely, and then, without warning, she lunged across the table at him, and before Creed could react, her lips were on his own, and he could taste the wine and the mint on her breath, and he could also taste a promise of things to come.

Lily made good on those promises that night.

Cuimhne

Cobblestone didn’t remember much of the walk into town, being half-dazed and suddenly shaky, as if she had run a long way, though she had hardly exerted herself at all. Stars burst in her eyes occasionally, bringing with them impressions of soft twilight and foliage and fangs, but they were infrequent enough that she was able to walk under her own power.

As they walked, Cobblestone noticed that some of the ponies around her weren’t wearing the uniforms of the Guards, but a different uniform altogether. They wore rounded helmets and smart red jackets, buttoned with brass that glinted in the light of the lanterns they carried on long hooks. They didn’t carry guns or swords, but Cobblestone did see nightsticks at their belts, and something about the way they carried themselves told her that these were not only police officers.

From ahead, there was a cry, and an answering call rose from the ponies in red, and Cobblestone looked away to see that suddenly they were on the outskirts of a large town, if not an outright city. Walls ran around it, ramparts of stone manned by more ponies in red, and they stepped through the gate onto a cobbled road, bounded on either side by buildings of mixed architecture, ranging from brick and mortar to thatched roofs and plaster.

The streets were largely empty, though Cobblestone caught a few windows swinging open to see what all the commotion was about, and a few passersby who stepped quickly to the side of the street, not afraid, but cautious and businesslike. A few even gave cheery waves to the procession before returning to their business, assured that all was well by the ponies marching past. Ahead was Libra, chattering animatedly with one of the ponies in red, clearly in charge, before he strode off down a side street, never breaking into an outright run, or even a trot, but keeping his measured steps.

A thought occurred to her, and she craned her neck around, ignoring the throbbing it caused, and looked for the pony in golden armor. He wasn’t difficult to see, a towering figure amongst the red and purple uniforms which surrounded him, not necessarily a prisoner, but allowing himself to be escorted quite docilely. As if he could sense her, he turned his head to Cobblestone, a serene expression on his face, and nodded his head a fraction of an inch. The gesture felt strange to her, as if she’d seen him do it a hundred times before, and it unnerved the young apprentice in ways she couldn’t explain.

“Miss?” a voice asked her, and Cobblestone jumped as she realized that somepony was talking to her. The speaker, a red-coated constable, smiled at her with a kindly expression ono his face, the blue of his coat wrinkled with laugh lines. “This is where you’re staying for the evening. The young Lady requested you spend the night in the room adjoining hers.”

They had stopped in a courtyard dominated by a single massive oak tree, from which windows and lanterns protruded, and a door was set into the trunk. A low wall of stone and mortar surrounded it entirely, and every building in the courtyard was arranged to present at least one face to that tree, wide banks of windows so the ponies inside could view it. The building they were standing in front of proclaimed itself to be the House of the Golden Oak, and sure enough, the sign was emblazoned with a good likeness of the tree, expertly gilded.

Cobblestone noticed that the pony in golden armor had stopped by the door as well, though the crowd around him seemed to have other ideas. His face was drawn, worried about her, and though he was not technically hurting the guards, he was struggling to remain close. Before she could say anything, one of the constables had drawn the baton from his belt and touched it to the pony’s back.

There was a thunderous crack and the smell of ozone, and the pony that Libra had called a “Sunborn” let loose a mighty roar, picking up the offending constable and flinging him bodily through the air, where he hit the wall of the building Cobblestone was about to enter. With another growl, the pegasus spread his wings wide, two thin blades appearing on them where they had not been before, cleverly concealed in his armor. The other constables and the Guards scrambled back with shouts of alarm, clutching for weapons, and without realizing it, Cobblestone found herself streaking across the lawn towards him, desperate to ensure that he did not harm anypony, or anypony would harm him.

“Stop!” she cried, her voice high and fearful. “Stop right there!”

The pegasus stiffened at the sound of her voice before dropping to one knee, his wings folded along his back once more. It was not a position of submission, that much she could see, but one of low readiness. Cobblestone burst through the line of Guards, interposing herself between them and the pegasus, her hooves planted wide and her horn alight, though with what spell she hardly knew.

What ponies remained in the courtyard cleared out with remarkable alacrity, and several other constables, who had been standing idly by, rushed off down side streets blowing whistles, calling for help and warning passerby to get to shelter as if they had been trained for it their whole lives.

Up close, Cobblestone realized how truly massive the Pegasus was in comparison to her. He was twice her height, and outweighed her by more than that. His wings were more at home on a Gryphon, and he smelled of sweat and a strange, musky odor that wasn’t precisely displeasing, but was surely unusual. That too felt familiar to her, and she could not explain why. Despite his bulk, and the fact that he could easily kill her, Cobblestone felt an assurance that he would rather die than see her come to harm, a feeling that she for some reason reciprocated.

The Guards and constables drew their weapons, holding them low, and Cobblestone felt a thrumming in the ground that she realized was a growl from deep within the chest of the Sunborn, too low to be heard, but definitely felt. It would appear she wasn’t the only one, as the ponies she could see took a step back in caution.

One of the constables, a Pegasus with a coat of purple and a mane of pastel blue, cleared her throat. “Step back, Miss,” she said, “He’s dangerous. We’re taking him to lockup, he won’t come to harm.”

“He didn’t hurt anypony until one of you redcoats jabbed him with your baton!” Cobblestone retorted.

“The Magus told us about his type,” the constable replied calmly. “Sunborn are violent, unstable, and much more dangerous than they look. Frankly, Miss, I’m surprised he hasn’t tried something to you yet. If you feel that strongly about it, I can place you in lockup right alongside him, and…”

“What’s going on here?” a new voice called, and Cobblestone felt a wave of relief wash over her as Libra appeared seemingly out of nowhere, materializing from the shadows. “I said that I wanted the Sunborn in lockup where he couldn’t hurt anypony, why is he…Cobblestone?”

“He didn’t hurt anypony!” Cobblestone shouted defensively, and she felt the Sunborn hum in agreement. “He just didn’t want to leave, and then one of them jabbed him with some kind of…lightning rod!”

“He was being uncooperative and assaulted one of my ponies,” the constable said as Libra joined her in the perimeter. “We were containing him, and then this filly pushed through the line and now she won’t leave!”

“Why is he going to be locked up?” Cobblestone asked. “You saw him, Libra. He was in that place, that forest place! Who knows how long he’s been in there? He needs help, not a prison cell!”

“Cobblestone, I understand you’re upset,” Libra said. “But that thing is dangerous, and it needs to be locked up before it hurts somepony. You don’t know what it’s capable of.”

“I know it’s a pony and not an animal,” Cobblestone said. “And he was just fine until these dungheads tried to attack him!”

Libra’s face drew tight. “Cobblestone,” she said severely, “As your teacher and Magus, I order you to allow these constables to take that Sunborn to a prison cell. You’re my apprentice; I’m trying to do what’s best for you. Do as I say.”

Cobblestone lifted her chin defiantly. “Then I’m going with him,” she said with a toss of her head.

“You’re acting like a stubborn child,” Libra said angrily. “You’re more reasonable than this, Cobblestone!”

“Says the pony trying to lock up a pony who’s done no harm!” Cobblestone shot back. “And you’re calling me stubborn? You don’t even know who this pony is!”

The pegasus behind her stirred a bit, his tail flicking agitatedly. Cobblestone felt the ring closing in around her, and she settled into a fighting stance. It was stupid, beyond asinine, but she wasn’t going to let this go. A fire began to burn in her belly, and there was the clatter of metal as the pegasus lifted his wings once more.

"Stop”” Libra commanded imperiously. “Hold your lines, damn you!”

The line held, but did not retreat. Libra’s eyes met Cobblestone’s own, purple to brown, and neither yielded. Cobblestone didn’t want to fight, didn’t know why she was trying to, but she refused to back down. Libra’s eyes seemed to search her soul for an answer, and at last, the Magus sighed, looking away.

“I’m going to examine him mentally,” Libra said. “For all the good it’ll do on a beast like that. If I catch a smidgeon of ill will towards the ponies around him, he’s going to his cell.”

“And I’ll follow him,” Cobblestone said. She straightened up, trying to indicate that the Sunborn should relax. He didn’t, not entirely, but the blades on his wings slid back into his armor, and he knelt properly this time, willing to follow Cobblestone’s example for now.

Libra approached cautiously, her horn alight, a trace of fear around her eyes. Carefully, she passed Cobblestone, and with only a brief grumbling from the hulking pegasus, she touched her horn to his forehead. Cobblestone watched as they both stiffened, twitching slightly, and a moment of silence spread across the courtyard, deep enough that the only thing that could be heard was the gentle sighing of the wind in the boughs of the oak. A whistle spoke quietly in the distance, and Cobblestone realized that reinforcements were on their way back.

Libra straightened up with a shudder, and turned to Cobblestone. “I cannot tell,” she said. “He is…damaged. He remembers snippets of his life, bits and pieces really, but the rest is a blank. Some of it is a result of what he went through before he was captured by the Fae, but the rest was taken from him. I cannot undo Fae magic. His memories are gone, mostly, except for a few, and they’re too strange for me to understand properly.”

“What do you mean?’ Cobblestone asked. “Is he safe to be around?”

Libra thought. “He is safe so long as he is around a leader to follow. All Sunborn are like that, they’re soldiers, made to follow any order. But they’re supposed to answer to Celestia, and he doesn’t seem to remember who Celestia is.”

She turned to the Sunborn, who was resting quietly, holding his head. “It was difficult to get in,” she said, sympathy tinging her voice. “I am no Cleric, and he is made to resist mental attack naturally. It was painful for us both. His mind is still there, but very damaged. I think the Fae would have taken his memories of Celestia first. It would have amused them.”

“So what do we do?” Cobblestone asked. “You said he’s safe so long as he’s around a leader. Do we bring him back to Celestia? Do we leave him here?”

Libra’s eyes, suddenly tired, met her own. “His memories of Celestia have been replaced with somepony else,” she said. “It wouldn’t do any good to try and erase them, or bring him back to Celestia. Aether knows what she’d do with him.” She grimaced, like she had tasted something bitter. Drawing a breath in through her nose, she looked squarely at Cobblestone. “You need to stay with him tonight in the prison to keep him safe,” she said. “He no longer answers to Celestia, Cobblestone. As far as this Sunborn is concerned, he has been and will always be your loyal servant.”

Cobblestone came to the conclusion that she spent far too much time in jail. First had come the prison in Crescent City, which she would rather not recall, then came the jail in Starfall, which had been an elaborate test, and now came this. “This” was a prison cell made less for extended stays and more for overnight holding, and the lack of amenities proved it, with only a small bench and a rudimentary toilet to her name. She debated including the house she had spent time in before the Starfall prison, but decided against it. It was less of a prison and more of a very strict guest house in her mind.

She supposed it wasn’t all bad. The jail guards, wearing coats of red, were friendly and talkative, offering her some of their meager dinner, which she had accepted gratefully, and given her a small cot and a bundle of blankets and a pillow, which had certainly seen better days, but were no less useful for it. The door to her cell remained open, so she could come and go as she pleased, but she decided against going far. After all, in the cell next to hers was a pony she had a great many questions for.

The Sunborn was a decidedly odd creature. It had taken a good deal of coaxing from Cobblestone before he would remove his armor, and despite the best efforts of most of the jailers, moving the pieces had proved near impossible without his help, which he seemed to find amusing. The pony underneath was powerfully built, a rippling mass of muscle that seemed to almost burst forth from beneath his coat at times, and he smelled overwhelmingly of sweat.

He’d been hosed down, Cobblestone standing alongside him and getting drenched herself to keep him calm, and even shivering, water dripping from the lank strands of reddish-brown mane on his head, he possessed an air of dangerous dignity even before he turned the golden orbs of his pupil-less eyes on others. His body was scarred, the lines visible against even the off-white of his coat, and a great piece of his flank had been removed at some point, at least a superficial part of it. The guards had explained to her what it had meant when she asked about their horrified expressions.

“They took his Mark,” the younger of the jailors, a unicorn mare named Ivory said. She lifted the hem of her coat to expose a strange marking that seemed to resemble a snowflake by way of explanation. “A Mark defines a pony, and they just took it from him.”

The Sunborn had said nothing, merely waited for them to finish discussing him, and then walked with Cobblestone back to his cell, where he immediately collapsed onto the bench, which groaned under his weight, curled into a ball, and fell into a deep sleep.

Cobblestone finished piling the blankets onto her bed, listening to the deep breathing coming from the cell next to hers, and curiosity finally overcame her. She turned, exiting her cell, and stood in the corridor, watching the Sunborn’s chest rise and fall. Even from here, deeply asleep, he looked imposing. She wondered what had happened to him to make him like this. From what Libra had told her, it sounded like he wasn’t born this way, but rather made.

The pace of the Sunborn’s breathing changed, though Cobblestone had made no sound, and without a word, the Pegasus stretched, rolled off of his bench, and turned to face her, bowing slightly as he did so. He seemed to be waiting for orders.

Cobblestone, suddenly nervous, returned the bow. It seemed right for her to do, somehow. “Hello,” she said quietly. “My name is Cobblestone.”

The Sunborn said nothing, merely looked at her. Its eyes held no malice, though something she could not identify lurked behind them, bright and quick. She scuffed a hoof awkwardly and tried again.

“Libra told me a bit about you,” she said, trying to sound encouraging. “I’m sorry for what you’ve been through, it sounds horrible.”

Again, there was no answer.

“I guess you’re not much of a talker,” Cobblestone said. “That’s fine. I just wanted to ask a few questions.”

The Sunborn tilted his head, seemingly inquisitive. Cobblestone suddenly felt anger burning in her chest.

“Look,” she said, exasperatedly, “Can you even talk? Do you speak Eqquish? Or did the Fae take that, too?”

The pegasus opened his mouth and spoke, his voice expressionless. “I apologize, my master,” he said, a booming rumble that reminded Cobblestone of the sound of a stampede. It was a pleasant voice, but loud, and though he spoke at what she might have considered a murmur, it rung through the air much more loudly than she had anticipated. “But I cannot speak unless you ask me a question, or permit me otherwise.”

“Well,” Cobblestone said, a bit awkwardly. “You have my permission to speak, I guess. You don’t need permission from me to do that. Not now, not ever. And don’t call me master, Cobblestone’s fine.”

“Cobble-stone,” the pegasus murmured, as if trying it on for size. “An interesting name. I am…I am…” His expression turned sheepish. “I cannot remember,” he said. “It is not there. The Leanan took much from me.”

“The mare with the red mane, right?” Cobblestone asked excitedly. “Did she tell you to follow me?”

“No,” the Sunborn said, shaking his head. “No. She gave me to you with the kiss. I am yours, and she holds a geasa as payment.”

“Geasa?”

“A favor, I think would be a good way of putting it,” the Sunborn said. “You owe her a favor. That can be a dangerous thing among the Fae, Cobblestone. But I am yours now. Leanan cannot take me from you, and I shall do everything in my power to protect you.”

Cobblestone felt a chill run down her spine at the thought of owing one of the Fae anything. She’d never encountered them directly before, but she’d heard stories. “What are you?” she asked. “I mean, aside from a pegasus. What is a Sunborn?”

The Sunborn sat down, his eyes distant. “I am one of one thousand,” he said, as if by rote. “We are weapons of war and wrath, judgement to be passed on the unrighteous. We were once common ponies, loyal citizens and soldiers. We were chosen to be elevated above the rest, separated from the common chaff to become more than soldiers. We were forged into weapons and aimed at the heart of our foe.”

“Your foe?” Cobblestone asked. “Who was that?”

The Sunborn furrowed his brow, thinking hard. “Though I have forgotten much,” he said, his voice grim, “I have not forgotten our enemy. There was a revolt. An upstart mage attempted to claim the Everfree as her own. For four long years the war dragged on, and we were the weapons to end it and reunite Equestria once more.”

Cobblestone’s eyes widened in shock. “You’re talking about Lady Everstar!” she exclaimed. “You were at the Evening Rebellion?”

The pegasus simply nodded. “Tell me!” he boomed. “How fares the conflict? I take it from your tone that it has either ended or come to a stalemate.”

“It ended four hundred years ago,” Cobblestone said in awe. “Celestia lost, we seceded.”

“Celestia…” the Sunborn murmured in the same tone he had used when saying Cobblestone’s name for the first time. “The name is one I should remember, but do not, I think. So, it is over and done, and my brothers and sisters are dead. They died valiantly, as we were taught, I hope.”

“How did you survive this long?” Cobblestone asked. “Gryphons rarely live to four hundred!”

“Time moves strangely in the courts of the Fae,” the pegasus said, his wings rising ever so slightly, a sign of stress. “Days and nights pass like drops of rain, or stop like the roots of an oak. By my estimate, I could have spent a thousand years in the realm of Faerie. Or perhaps it was a fortnight.”

“What did they do to you?” Cobblestone asked.

The Pegasus shuddered. “If you have love for me, ask me not again,” he said. “But since you have asked, I shall tell you.”

“I was taken when we were burning the Forest,” he said. “I was a swift flyer, and so I took my hammer and went to scout the way ahead. I saw the beings living inside the Everfree marching toward us, and managed to sound my horn for the alarm before I was forced to land. Though we are taught not to fear, my brothers and sisters and I know not to spend our lives foolishly. I saw dragons in the air, small ones, but no more lethal for it.”

He sat back down again, eyes burning a hole in the floor. “I fought to rejoin my fellows, but was overcome by the vanguard of the Everfree. There were timber wolves, and an enting, though I did not know what it was at the time. They chose not to slay me, but kept me, and I was hauled away after slaying six wolves and crippling the enting. I fell unconscious somewhere along the way, and when I awoke, I was in a strange place.”

“A bower of roses encircled me,” he said with a shudder. “They twined around me, and though I tried to break them, they were stronger than they looked. But I struggled until I was bloody, and only once I had given up all hope of rescue did the Leanan come to me. She told me I had slain six of her servants, and given pains to another, and so I was hers by ancient law. I cursed her, but could do nothing as she reached inside my head and…”

“You don’t have to keep going,” Cobblestone said, reaching through the bars. “You can stop.”

The Sunborn shivered, and shook his head. “She kept me as many things,” he continued. “I was her champion at times. The Fae loved to see blood spilled, and so I would fight other things, beasts or other captives. Other times she would keep me as a lover, and still others as a pet to be beaten, though she had a true pet, a great black cat that never left her side.”

“Hob?” Cobblestone asked quietly. “Are you talking about Hob?”

The Sunborn considered. “That is one of its names, aye,” he said. “I never knew exactly what it was, though I dreaded having to fight it one day. She was very put out when it managed to escape her court. How do you know of it?”

“It’s my pet,” Cobblestone said. “Or companion. Sort of. The ponies I’m traveling with don’t know much about him, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“It would be best,” the Sunborn agreed.

There was a chime from outside, a clock tower striking the hour of midnight. The Sunborn’s ears pricked up at the sound, and traveled back to Cobblestone. “You should sleep, Cobblestone,” he said. “I shall answer the rest of your questions tomorrow.”

“I’m not tired!” Cobblestone protested. She was immediately betrayed by a very large yawn.

The Sunborn raised an eyebrow. “Every warrior needs sleep,” he said. “Even one such as you.”

“What about you?” Cobblestone asked. “Don’t you need sleep? Did they feed you?”

“I need little sleep and less food,” the pegasus said. “I might meditate on what I have learned. You have given me much to think on.”

“I’m sleeping out here,” Cobblestone declared. “To keep you company.”

The pegasus bowed his head. “If that is your wish,” he said.

Cobblestone lit her horn, dragging the cot into the hallway. She had set to arranging the pillow and blankets, when a though occurred to her. “What should I call you?” she asked. “I can’t just go around calling you ‘Sunborn’.”

The pegasus considered this, his brow furrowing. “I gave up my name when I became what I am,” he rumbled. “I remember that much. Many of us did, as a sign of devotion and fraternity to one another. Name me what you will.”

“Oh, come on,” Cobblestone said. “If what Libra says is true, you’ve been through too much already. At least take a name you like, or else I’ll name you something ridiculous like Butternut.”

The pegasus smiled briefly, for the first time since Cobblestone had met him. He was quiet for a moment, and then spoke. “It is strange,” he said, “But I remember a fragment of an old poem. ‘Out of the night that covers me, black as pitch from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul’. I have come through the long twilight, and come tomorrow, I’ll see my first proper dawn in four hundred years. Call me ‘Invictus’, Cobblestone.”

“Invictus,” Cobblestone murmured as she settled in, feeling sleep come to claim her. “That’s a good name. Good night, Invictus. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Cobblestone,” Invictus said, his voice echoing in her ears as she drifted away. “I’ll be here.”

Aisling

“Well, I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Serale shuffled awkwardly. “Mother, please. I was surrounded by ponies who knew their business. Vino took command admirably, and Cobblestone worked out a solution very quickly, though I still don’t know how.”

Twilight smiled at her daughter, smoothing the lines of worry that had been carved into her face from the moment she had appeared in the mirror. Serale preferred seeing her like this, she always hated when her mother worried. “I’m sure she’ll tell you when she’s ready. And Vino’s turning out to be every bit his father’s son.”

Serale didn’t know much about Vino’s father, who had died when she was very young. His records, those she could find, were impressive, but threadbare on details. It had gone into the decision she had made in selecting Vino for the Guard. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on that. “What do you recommend we do with the Sunborn?” she asked, changing the subject to address one of the biggest elephants in the room.

Twilight’s face furrowed once more in thought, her smile gone. She’d learned the technique for making them from Celestia come centuries ago, though she’d never used them. This knowledge, coupled with her personal experience fighting them during the Rebellion, had given her a healthy respect for the Sunborn, a respect tinged with the slightest hint of fear. She knew the dangers all too well.

“If he hasn’t shown any signs of instability, let him be,” Twilight said. “I’d recommend leaving him behind in Ponyville, but I don’t think he’d want to stay. From what you’ve told me, he seems to have imprinted on Cobblestone somehow.”

Serale nodded her acceptance, though she harbored private misgivings about keeping him with her group. Weren’t the Sunborn supposed to be loyal to Celestia only? What if she found a way to re-engender that loyalty? Her doubt must have shown on her face, because Twilight spoke again.

“I know it’s not exactly comfortable,” she said, “But Sunborn are extremely resistant to mental manipulation. If he’s loyal to Cobblestone, anything Celestia could do would leave him a drooling mess before she could restore any loyalty to herself.”

“It’s not just that,” Serale said uncomfortably. “I’m worried about Cobblestone. Between the cat and the Sunborn, she’s starting to accumulate some companions that…well, they’re more than a little unusual, and obviously dangerous.”

It was a valid point, and one that had been nagging at her all evening. Since they’d left the city, Cobblestone had changed. She’d claimed to have never been outside a city, but she seemed to know how to bargain with the Fae. Her cat was clearly more than a cat, and while her mother didn’t seem to be unduly worried, Serale was both worried for her friend and annoyed that she appeared to be out of the loop. And now this, with the Sunborn, and the bond she’d exhibited with it.

It wasn’t just her, either. Serale had overheard some of the Guards bivouacked in the courtyard of the Inn, discussing the events of the evening in fearful tones. They’d said that maybe Cobblestone wasn’t just a thief, maybe not a pony at all. Words like “witch” and “sorcerer” had been used. Rumors had already begun to circulate theorizing just how she had gotten her apprenticeship and won the friendship of the Lady, none of them nice.

“You’re worried about her,” Twilight said. “And I can understand that. But Cobblestone isn’t as open as you are, Serale. She wants her secrets to stay secret, and pushing her to tell the truth might not be the best idea. But in my experience, secrets have a tendency to sound much nastier than the truth. When you see her next, ask if she’ll consider sharing with you. If she’s not ready, I wouldn’t recommend pushing.”

“She still seems so uncomfortable around me,” Serale said. “We talk during classes, and after, when I read the homework to her, but I still don’t know much about her as a pony. She’s guarded all the time, and the friendlier I try to be, the more withdrawn she seems to become.”

Twilight’s expression turned sympathetic. “I know what you mean,” she said. She looked out of the window of the Inn, over Serale’s shoulder, and pointed. “Out past that tree, where the wall is, there used to be a small cottage, back when Ponyville used to be a village, and not a city. There was one of the most gentle pegasus mares I’ve ever known who lived there, taking care of the animals she found in the Forest. It was her calling, what she was good at. She lived out there because she was always a little uncomfortable around other ponies.”

Twilight’s eyes grew misty with memory as she gazed back four hundred years. “In all the years I knew her, she never quite opened up completely. She got better, spent more time around others, became more confident in herself, but she was just a very private kind of pony. She was one of my very best friends before I…well, before I left.”

Serale realized that her mother was likely talking about one of the semi-legendary Five, the ponies who had fought her during the Rebellion and became some of her most important political allies after the war. The fact that she was friends with them all at one point before leaving was only rarely brought up, and was hardly common knowledge.

“Cobblestone will open up, Serale,” Twilight said warmly. “I promise. It’ll take patience and effort, but she’ll open up. In the meantime, let her have her space. Be there for her when she needs you, and let her have her space when she needs it. She’s been through a lot. I’d be surprised if she were acting friendly already.”

It was good advice, Serale thought. She’d just need to make herself take it. “Thank you, mother,” she said. “I’ll try my best.”

“Good,” Twilight said. “I’ve tried to do it before, but there’s no way you can really stay ahead of life without a few friends. Everypony needs somepony else, Serale. Just be sure to be there for Cobblestone like she’s there for you.”

“I love you, mother,” Serale said. “I miss you already.”

Twilight Sparkle tried to look strong for her daughter, really she did. She mostly succeeded. “I love you too,” she said, “More than words can express. Be safe until the train arrives tomorrow. Cadance’s airship should be there soon after. Call me when you get to Dawndale, and make me proud.”

“I will,” Serale said around a lump in her throat. She blinked a few motes of dust out of her eyes. “I promise.”

“Goodnight, mia stella e anima,” Twilight said.

Serale placed a hoof on the mirror. “Goodnight,” she murmured back, feeling very small.

Twilight’s reflection faded away, replaced with Serale’s own. She examined herself in the mirror. Her mane, normally a beautiful gold, was soiled with sweat and mud, hanging loose against her neck. Her coat, soft and shining silver, was more of a dull gray, and served only to highlight the bags under the purple of her eyes. Her horn, clear as ever, shone brightly still, but it hadn’t done her or the rest of her Guards any good back in the Forest. In short, Serale certainly didn’t feel like the competent Lady-in-waiting she was supposed to be.

There was a knock at the door, and Serale took a moment to take a deep breath and tuck a lock of her golden mane halfheartedly behind one ear, before calling “Enter!”

The door opened with a quiet creak to reveal Libra, clad as ever in her black robes, though she’d finally let her mane out of its customary bun, hanging loose around her face. “Milady,” she said respectfully, “May I come in?”

“I already said ‘enter’, Libra,” Serale said, “And when it’s just us, outside of Starfall, you can use my name.”

Libra did as she was told, closing the door behind her. “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “Back out from Starfall again. And I had just caught up on the work that had piled up while I was gone the last time.”

Serale grinned. “Liar,” she said. “You told me that the paperwork a Magus had to do never ended.”

Libra returned the smile, relaxing a bit as she did so. “True,” she conceded with a nod of her head, “But I’d caught up to this year, at least. At this point, I’m looking at it as insurance of employment. If I were to be released from service tomorrow, the poor fool replacing me would be crushed beneath a pile of papers.”

Serale snorted, her melancholy evaporating at the thought of an avalanche of papers spilling down the stairs to Libra’s study. “There we are,” Libra said. “I knew I could get a laugh out of you. You looked like you needed one.”

The young unicorn nodded, feeling some of her tension melt away. “I definitely did,” she said. “Thank you. Do you need to hear how things went?”

Libra shrugged. “Only what you think is important,” she said. “I’m not privy to what you and your mother discuss, and I try not to eavesdrop on your communications.”

Serale trotted to her bed, flopping down onto the mattress to the squeak of springs. “Mother agrees that there is a spy in the ranks,” she said. “What I don’t understand is how. I picked them all myself, made sure they had no reason to be disloyal. How did one turn coat?”

“It’s not hard to drop suggestions into somepony’s mind,” Libra said. “All it would take for an experienced user of mental magic is a simple brush against the pony in question and a brief effort of will. Our spy probably doesn’t realize that they’re a spy.”

“Could you pick that kind of thing up?” Serale asked. “Mental magic is noticeable, right?”

“Certain kinds,” Libra replied, her horn flashing. A book bound in red leather appeared before her, and she began flicking through it. “But advanced mental magics aren’t my forte. Your mother could probably find it, but even then, most mental magic lays quiet until something triggers it.”

“So the informant or spy or assassin won’t know anything until they get the order to strike, we can’t detect the magic until they do, and by then, it’d probably be too late,” Serale said. “I feel my good mood evaporating.”

“We can’t find anything out through magical means,” Libra said. “Good, old fashioned detective work will likely serve us well, however. Launching an investigation would tip the spy off, obviously, so we’d need to keep it low key. Who could we trust in the meantime?”

“I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me,” Serale said, half-jokingly. “Cobblestone too, she didn’t know our route. I think you or mother would notice if somepony had messed with your head, too. Aside from that…”

“Nopony else?” Libra asked. Her eyes widened, and she stamped a hoof. “Of course, Captain Fidelis. If he’d turned, his entire hive would know about it.”

“I knew it was a good idea to appoint a Changeling as my chief officer,” Serale mused. It hadn’t just been Fidelis’s trustworthiness that put him into the top spot, of course. His service record was impeccable, and he didn’t share most of the hang-ups about tradition that most officers around his grade began to develop. That, and mother had insisted on a Changeling being in her officer’s group. She’d been pleased when Fidelis passed his trials.

“So,” Libra said, flicking through a few more pages before closing the book with a somewhat irritated thump. “That brings us to four. Not much of a start, but a start nonetheless.”

“The train will arrive tomorrow at about noon,” Serale said. “I can brief Fidelis on this before the airship arrives in the afternoon. It’d be a good idea to keep this private until we can verify the trustworthiness of others.”

“I’ll be relieved to have the rest of the Guard here,” Libra said, worry tinging her voice slightly. “Not that I don’t put my trust in the constables of Ponyville, but the last time you and I stayed at an inn, things took a turn for the worse.”

“A turn for the homicidal, you mean,” Serale corrected idly, staring up at the ceiling. She’d almost managed to put the memory of the incident out of her head. “Well, there are about two dozen Guards downstairs and patrolling the hallways and grounds. I’d say our odds are at least improved a little.”

“Speaking of Guards,” Libra said, “I’ve been hearing some interesting rumors about Cobblestone.”

Serale groaned. “Don’t even get me started,” she said. “I hate gossip. I understand that Cobblestone needs her space, but she’s not doing herself any favors by keeping secrets.”

“Did your mother say what to do with the Sunborn?” Libra asked curiously. “He’s dangerous.”

“There’s nothing we can do,” Serale replied. “If he won’t leave Cobblestone, we have to bring him with us.”

Libra nodded, mulling it over. “You know,” she said, another book appearing in a flash of light by her side, this one bound in brown, “I’ve heard that the Sunborn were very good at detecting lies and falsehoods. If he’d spent all that time in custody of the Fae, he might not be an agent of the Shadow, or whoever it is that’s been plotting against you.”

Serale looked at her in disbelief. “You’re suggesting we use him to help with finding the mole?” she asked. “Absolutely not. He’s dangerous.”

“So am I,” Libra said simply, cracking the tome open, “But you trust me.”

“That’s different,” Serale said. “I know you. I grew up with you. That…thing…is a monster made to kill ponies. It was insane to begin with, and I’m sure it hasn’t gotten much better.”

Libra bowed her head. “I’ll defer to you on this,” she said. “But he could be a great asset.”

Serale sighed, flopping back onto her pillow. “I’ll ask Cobblestone if he’s amenable,” she said, “But only after I’ve had a chance to see him for myself.”

There was a silence, long and pregnant with unsaid worry. Serale finally broke it.

“I’m worried about her, Libra,” she said.

Libra looked up from her book. “Worried about Cobblestone?” she asked.

“Yes,” Serale replied bluntly. “I’ve heard the Guards talking, too. If she keeps on keeping to herself, ponies are going to start to talk. The only one she spends much time with is her cat, and I suspect she’ll be spending a lot of time with that Sunborn. It’s not going to look good.”

Libra returned to her book. “I wouldn’t worry,” she said. “I think you’re forgetting a few things.”

“Oh?” Serale asked.

“You and I both know that Hob is no regular cat, though what he is exactly remains to be seen,” Libra said. “That Sunborn was ready to tear down this city if it meant staying by her side. And to top it all off, Cobblestone seems to have a bit of knowledge about the magic of the Forest, not to mention her unique set of abilities and raw magical talent.” Libra closed the book, straightening up to leave. “I wouldn’t worry about Cobblestone,” she said calmly. “I’d worry about the pony that tries to cross her.”

Serale watched Libra go, her stomach turning uneasily at the implications of that statement. It hadn’t occurred to her before, but she was just now starting to realize just how dangerous a pony Cobblestone might actually be.

In the dark and calm of her bedroom, late at night, Serale opened her eyes. That was unusual in itself, she was a heavy sleeper, and hardly ever woke up before the morning, but it wasn’t the most unusual thing about the situation. The window to her room was open, and a warm breeze was blowing in, causing the filmy gauze of the curtains to billow softly in the moonlight. A bird sang sleepily somewhere in the distance, and Serale could smell woodsmoke and something else, something sweeter.

Except this wasn’t how things should have been. Serale knew it was freezing, the depths of winter, and she never slept with a window open. Birds didn’t sing at night, Ponyville’s main source of fuel during the winter was coal fires, and she was not alone in her room.

“Don’t be afraid,” a gentle voice said, and Serale turned her head slowly to see who had spoken.

A young mare, with a coat of ivory white and eyes of green, framed by a mess of soft pink and purple ringlets, smiled back at her sleepily. She wore simple robes of blue fabric, tied with a cord of gold, and in one hoof she held a lantern that flickered with a muted light, though she could have simply used the horn on her head to lift it if she so desired.

“You!” Serale exclaimed. The last time she had seen this mare, she had just discovered her powers, and had nearly been killed or worse in the process. She shifted in her bed, propping herself up on one hoof. “What are you doing here?”

“The same thing as you, I expect,” the mare replied. “Visiting an old haunt.”

“I’ve never been to Ponyville,” Serale said.

The mare quirked an eyebrow, one side of her face tugging into a grin. “Well,” she said, “That’s both true and not. Come on, I’ll take you to where you’re supposed to be going.”

Serale didn’t recall getting out of her bed, or putting on clothes, but suddenly, she was on her hooves, a cloak of dark red fabric around her neck. It was all she would need, she reflected, if the weather was as warm out as she thought it might be.

“The Guards will catch us,” Serale said as she followed the mare out of the door, half-believing it as she said it. “I’m not supposed to be out of my room. Not after what happened today.”

“Leanan told me what happened,” the mare said as they rounded the corner of the inn’s upstairs hallway. “And nopony will catch us unless you want them to.”

“What do you mean?” Serale asked. “There are Guards all over this building. And who’s…”

The stairwell where Guards should have been posted didn’t seem to exist. Instead, the front door beckoned invitingly, the distinctive carved-branch door handle gleaming bronze in the lantern’s light, just as she remembered it doing when they first arrived earlier that evening. Serale rested a tentative hoof on the handle, and it swung outward, though it had opened inward before.

“It’s your dream, after all,” the mare said mischievously, the soft green of her eyes sparkling with good humor. “Come on, I can’t wait to show you around the old town.”

“If I’m dreaming,” Serale said as they crossed through the abandoned courtyard, “And I know it, why haven’t I woken up yet?”

“Because part of you doesn’t want to,” the mare said. “And that part would be me. I’ll let you go soon enough, but for now, don’t worry about it.”

“Look,” Serale said, drawing up short at the edge of the yard, “Who are you? How do you know me? And…and what did you mean, back in the arena? What piece of you?”

The mare stopped as well, and looked her in the eye, green meeting amethyst. She huffed in exasperation. “You’re definitely your mother’s daughter,” she said ruefully. “Always asking questions.”

She threw her hooves wide, suddenly speaking in a loud, declamatory manner. “In life I was known by several names,” she said. “I was Rose Sparks, and Clarity, and Sybil, and half a dozen others! But in here, and for you, I am called Belle! Truest of servants to your mother, chiefest of her agents. And the first to claim the title of Magus, though none will ever acknowledge what I did.”

Her voice rang out into the deserted streets of the town, bouncing off of walls and rattling windows. She lowered her hooves and her voice, fixing Serale with a look that was equal parts exasperation, amusement, and strange curiosity. “And in your dreams, especially this kind, that’s all I’ll be able to say of my name, though it isn’t all of it,” she said. “You’ll learn soon enough that names are very important.”

A breeze swept by, seeming to nudge them towards the towering oak in the center of town. “But we have much to discuss,” Belle said quickly. “And it would be best if we did it inside the Library.”

Serale frowned. “They don’t allow ponies in the Library,” she said. “Nopony except my mother and the Librarian, but she’s more of a caretaker than anything.”

“It’s your dream,” Belle said again, as if explaining a lesson to a small child. “You can do what you want in it. I can promise it won’t be locked, especially to you.”

Serale turned to look at the tree and noted without surprise that they were standing right in front of it, seemingly past the low chain that served to keep curious onlookers from doing exactly what she and Belle just did. With only the briefest hesitation, she reached for the handle of the Library door and twisted it open.

The door swung in with a quiet creak to reveal a sight that she had never seen before in her life, but felt intimately familiar to her, like she’d lived her life in the tree. Bookshelves lined every wall, each of them packed to the brim with old volumes and new, and a circular reading table supported several more as well as a bust of a horse’s head. A staircase wound up to what appeared to be a private room, and a small recess in the wall led to what Serale instinctively knew were living accommodations, as well as a stairway to the basement. Above it all, perhaps incongruously, was a fresco of an eight-pointed sun, a sigil Serale knew all too well belonged to her aunt.

“Familiar, right?” Belle asked as the door shut behind them. “Even though you’ve never been here before in your life.”

“The bed upstairs is a bit lumpy, so you have to pummel it every now and then to get it comfortable,” Serale said. “There are thirty-eight steps on the stairs from here to the observatory. The rear-left burner on the stove has a busted pilot light, so you need to light it with your horn. Mother was going to fix that before she left for Canterlot with…” her eyes widened. “What’s happening to me?”

“Calm down,” Belle said, her eyes intent on Serale. “That’s your mother’s part of your soul picking up on the memories in this place. When dreaming, the boundaries between our souls and the places we know are familiar are thinner. If you came in here awake, you might get a similar feeling of familiarity, but you wouldn’t get this.”

Serale walked to a section of the room, near a reading stand for one of the books. “Mother was standing here when Morning Star was looking for her, the day she left home,” she said. “If I reach over my left shoulder right now, I should grab a book on the botany of water plants.”

She reached over her left shoulder and grabbed for a book. She read the cover. Lilies of the Pond, it read, Proper Care of Flowering Water Plants. She put it back. “This is so strange,” she said. “Did my mother really know this place so well?”

“It wasn’t just her home,” Belle said, “It was her life. Keep going, there’s more to see.”

Serale closed her eyes tightly and racked her brain. “Some of these memories,” she said, concentrating, “They feel different. Like this one, it’s…”

Suddenly, the door burst open, and three fillies with perhaps twenty years between them burst into the room. The leader, a young earth pony mare with a pink bow in her hair, led them to a section of the room on sports.

“Ah know it’s here!” she said, searching the shelf. “Mac said if’n we wanted t’ learn more about hang glidin’, it’d be…”

“Here!” cried her companion, a young pegasus. The orange wings on her back buzzed to no avail as she reached for the book in question, only to be beat by the third pony, a unicorn.

The memory flickered out, and the room was silent except for the creaking of the Library’s branches. Belle looked at the spot where the three fillies had been, swaying a bit. Her eyes met Serale’s, perhaps a bit brighter and watery than they had been.

“That young unicorn,” Serale began, “That was…”

“Unimportant,” Belle said. “But now you know who your other half was.”

“That’s what you meant when you talked about the piece of you,” Serale said. “You were the one who gave my mother the crystal.”

“She told you,” Belle remarked, surprised. “I’d have thought…”

“Mother was never shy about telling me who I was and how I was born,” Serale replied. “It made learning about how other ponies were conceived seem a bit strange, though. She never told me who gave the other part of the crystal, and I never asked. I never thought it was important until now.”

“So, do you know why you’re here?” Belle asked, clearly uncomfortable with the subject. Serale, realizing she’d get nothing more out of her, tried to recall why she was in the Library.

“There’s something hidden here,” she said finally. “Mother put it here centuries ago. You and she were the only ponies who knew about where it was.”

“Do you know where it is?” Belle asked. “I can’t get it for you, I’m a visitor in your dream.”

Serale thought. “I think it’s down in the basement,” she said. “The second basement, below where Spike lived.” She paused. “Spike…I remember him. Not from my mother’s memories, or yours either. How is that?”

Belle shook her head. “You’re not ready for everything yet,” she said, “But the time will come when you meet him again. Your mother still memorializes him, too. When I was alive, she’d light a candle for him once a year on the night he died. If he’d left remains, she’d have dredged them for burial, no doubt about it.”

Serale clutched at her chest, phantom sadness fluttering there, a shadow, but one so painful it threatened to drive her to distraction. “This is almost overwhelming!” she gasped, suddenly awash with memories of a purple dragon, from a grinning and sardonic hatchling to a handsome young drake. She remembered birthdays, and late nights studying nestled close together, and trials faced, and…

“How does mother get by?” Serale wondered aloud. “Her grief must be profound enough to kill any other pony!”

“It’s partly my grief, too,” Belle said solemnly. “I loved Spike like the brother I never had and more. But for Twilight, he was her world. I don’t think she ever recovered when he died.”

“Come on,” Serale said, pushing the feelings to one side and wiping away a tear she hadn’t realized she cried. “We’ve got to get what we came here for.”

Belle followed her as Serale walked across the wooden floor, every pit and groove familiar against her hooves, and descended the stairwell past a wooden door that had led to Spike’s room. Briefly, she considered opening it, to pay homage and respect to the great dragon that had once lived there, but decided not to. That was an experience she could not afford at this point. Forcing herself past the door, she continued down the gently curving stair, past a lab with equipment quietly stowed, strange instruments whose purpose Serale could only begin to guess at, and a few that were strikingly familiar despite their age.

“Is that an elemental distillery?” she asked as they descended to the laboratory floor. Her goal was forgotten temporarily as she approached the intricate system of glass tubes and copper rods, woven together cunningly into a network of tangled shapes that were as beautiful as they were delicate and precise. “Mother made this herself?”

Belle nodded, an appreciatory eye on the set. “Twilight made that herself to draw the chemical components out of the ground around her library, and most of Ponyville. Gold, phosphorous, lead, and so on. She used them in her research on magic.”

Serale noticed another instrument, this one less obviously familiar, but the product was easily recognizable. “This is a charting table,” she said, “For plotting the paths of stars. If I remember my astronomy correctly, this chart’s stopped in early autumn. I can’t believe mother made this herself, in this lab. Not only that, she did it four hundred years ago!”

“That table was damaged in the explosion the day she fled Ponyville,” Belle said. “I remember looking up at that night sky the day she left and wondering if she was seeing the same thing, too. When she left, we all took it hard.”

Serale felt another pang in her chest as a memory that was not hers rose up unbidden, of desperate flight and a bolt of red fire plummeting from the sky towards her, calling her mother’s name. She grunted in pain, throwing open the door in the laboratory floor, and began taking the steep stairs down into the deeper darkness.

This room was bare. It smelled of cold earth, and the walls were packed clay, nothing more or less. A few roots descended from the ceiling, fading into the distance of the long, rectangular room. The walls were burned black, and Serale saw ghostly impressions of a great web of string and parchment, and a few books carelessly strewn on the packed earth of the floor. Phantom panic washed over her, but was quickly gone, leaving only the lingering taste of urgency and dragonfire.

Serale walked to the back wall, where a small section showed slight discoloration, so slight as to be unnoticeable to anypony who wasn’t looking for it. Focusing, pleased she could use magic in this dream without her pendant, she felt the small section crumble away.

Inside was a book, a large leather tome bound to bursting with papers, some part of the book, others folded or clipped or otherwise fastened in, lending it the appearance of more of a folio and less of a book. Serale carefully withdrew it from the wall, noticing that despite the generally inhospitable conditions, this book was completely undamaged, if a little dog-eared.

She blew away the soil instead of wiping it, purely for dramatic effect, and examined the title of the tome in front of her. It was titled simply “The Book of Once and Future,” and Serale opened the cover to the first page, withdrawing the note there. In her mother’s recognizable hoofwriting, it read,

If you are reading this, then my plans have been set into motion, and you are my child. I’m afraid I don’t know your name, or what you look like. I don’t know who you are as a pony, what you’ve done, how old you are, if you’re a unicorn like me or even what sex you are. But know this. I will have done everything in my power to prepare you for this day, to help make you into the best pony you can be. Part of you is taken from one of the best ponies I have ever known, and so I hope some of her lives on in you. You will need every ounce of your skill, your determination, your knowledge and strength to succeed in what I have planned for you.

The book in your hooves is visible only to you. It exists only as a memory in your mind, but one you can feel, see and sense just as you would any other book. You can’t lose it, you can’t damage it, and so long as you have access to thought and memory it will be yours. Inside this book is the heritage of our race, everything that we were from long ago, back in time of legend. Inside are names you will never find in books, places you will never find on maps, and ideas so long lost to time that they have become new once again. Inside this book is my hope for a new Equestria.

This book is another of my children, in a way, the culmination of several lifetimes’ worth of knowledge given as a gift to you. I trust you will use it wisely, and consider what I have placed inside of it for you. Know that now it has been passed to you, things will begin to change for you in ways you could never have foreseen, and that’s okay. You have all the tools you need to make change, real and lasting change, and I ask you, for the love of our race, once and now and always capable of miracles, to see my vision through.

My child, I do not know you yet, but if you are reading this, you already know that I love you more than words can say. I have no doubt that you will go on to do great things, and even if you cannot change the world of Equestria in your lifetime, remember that it is better to struggle in vain for change than to accept blindly even the most comfortable of sedentary existences.

Go now with my blessing, and may happiness and fortune be yours forever.

With love,

Twilight.

Serale pressed the parchment to her chest, feeling in it a love that crossed centuries. Her mother had written those words for her, and here they had waited all this time.

“I understand that I’m to read this book,” Serale said, “But I can’t remember the contents. I should be able to, right? Mother wrote it.”

“Your mother has had to forget a lot of things to get by,” Belle said. “Even after she won her war, she never stopped gaining powerful enemies. She’s outlived most of them, of course, but if even one of them should see what’s in this book, even a memory…”

“And now it’s my burden to keep safe,” Serale said. “I have to visit three of the most powerful beings in Equestria, with more powerful ponies after me, and if one of them gets into my head, they’ll know everything.”

Belle bowed her head deferentially. “You’re Twilight’s daughter,” she said. “Your mind is your greatest weapon, no matter how powerful your magic is. I have every confidence you’ll be fine.” Her ears perked up, as if catching a distant tune. “But for now,” she said, “You’ll need to be waking up”

The room began to get fuzzy, and Serale felt the floor beneath her hooves start to give way. “Wait!” she said quickly. “Will I see you again? How can I reach you?” A thought occurred to her. “Back in the arena!” she cried. “You said I’d spoken with Mother, but you called my mother ‘Twilight’. Whose mother did I speak to?”

“You’ll know when the time’s right!” Belle called. “Just get reading, and don’t forget to…”

Serale shot upright with a jolt, eyes scanning the room wildly. The confines of the inn room met her gaze, and she scrambled out of bed to peer out of the window, drawing back the curtains. Weak winter sunlight met her eyes, causing her to flinch for a moment, but the pain passed, and Serale’s vision cleared to see a small crowd gathering around the oak tree in the courtyard in front of her. A tiny, wrinkled old mare wearing a heavy-looking chain was examining the door exasperatedly, which stood ajar in the cold winter air.

Serale’s heart began to race as she realized that the dream she’d had was more than just a dream. She looked back to her bedside to see the book sitting there innocently, filigreed title shining cheerfully in the sunlight. Curiously, Serale picked it up with her magic, opening the window as she did so. It certainly felt weighty enough, and the pages rustled gently as she moved the book out of the window, and let it drop into the yard below.

She peered out of the window to see that the book had not landed in a heap on the front lawn, and turned back to the bed. It was sitting on her pillow, waiting for her. So Belle had been telling the truth about that, at least.

Serale shut the window and began to pace nervously. The note had told her that she was to carry out a plan it sounded like her mother had been contemplating for centuries. The Book was secret knowledge, to be shared with nopony she didn’t trust absolutely, and even then, they might think she was crazy. She didn’t even know if she could do what her mother asked of her! She was a beginning magic student with a mile-long list of enemies who’d hardly set hoof out of her castle until two years ago, not a fighter or a revolutionary.

Serale shook her head, ridding herself of those thoughts. Belle had been right. She was Twilight Everstar’s child, heir to her throne, and her mind was her greatest weapon, just as it had been her mother’s. So, then, what would her first course of action be? Serale thought she knew that already, just as she knew what had happened in the Library outside her window all those years ago.

Settling in, Serale opened the book to the first page and began to read.

Argóint

The air above the plains of northern Equestria was cold and thin, though it was bearable on account of the lack of clouds, which were normally thick and cold with snow this time of year. But the clouds had decided to move elsewhere, or else they had been moved, and the sun shone weakly on the deck of the RES Mercy as she soared gracefully through the skies, her nose pointing straight towards the mountains which had appeared seemingly overnight, while most of the occupants of the boat were asleep. It’d be less than a day before the Mercy returned to her berth in Dawndale if the wind held, and the pegasi on board made sure it would hold. There was a young Lady on board, after all.

“Hold it steady, dammit!” the young Lady in question shouted to her companion, as the basin full of bottles wobbled yet again, threatening to spill the carefully arranged pile of glassware onto the deck and spill their contents.

Cobblestone grit her teeth, trying not to say anything as she focused harder on keeping the uneven weights attached to the sides from pulling it in one direction. “Maybe,” she growled, “If you removed them with a bit more urgency, we wouldn’t be having this problem.”

Serale lifted her horn, a green aura surrounding one of the bottles as she lifted it from its resting place and placed it back in the box lying at Libra’s hooves, a box filled with hay and several compartments for the bottles to reside in. “I can only do one at a time,” she grunted. “Or else I’ll break them. Unless you have a better idea?”

“Two minutes have passed,” Libra said calmly, checking her watch. “You have two remaining.”

Cobblestone bit back another string of curses as she felt the wind tug at the basin yet again. It was as low as she was allowed to take it, a good twenty feet from the deck, and she fought for every inch the wind tried to send it plummeting down towards her. The weights swayed dangerously, and she felt her horn twinge in fatigue as the basin tried to sway with them.

“I’ve almost got them,” Serale said, her voice tight with strain. “Just three more.”

She carefully removed another flask, this one full of a putrid-looking green fluid, and placed it in the box delicately. The consequences of dropping one here did not appeal to her or any of the several spectators who had gathered around curiously.

“Hurry up!” Cobblestone snapped. “This thing is bucking heavy!”

“Language!” Libra warned. “I’ll not have foul language from my apprentices where I can hear it.”

“Then tell Serale to move it!”

Serale’s eyes flared dangerously, and she grabbed the next bottle harder than she meant to, pulling it from the basin quickly. The bottle wobbled dangerously, creaked as she brought it down, and before she could do more than get it close to the deck, it shattered, spilling most of its contents over Cobblestone.

Cobblestone stood, blinking and soaking, covered in a vile purple substance that smelled of rotting fish. It took a moment for her to realize what had happened, and then her face contorted with anger, as she tilted the basin towards her fellow apprentice, spilling the last bottle over the edge. It hit Serale squarely on the head, covering her in what both appeared to be and smelled like rotten tomato juice. The basin thudded to the deck unceremoniously as Serale’s mouth opened in shock, and with cries nearly identical in pitch and tone, the two ponies began to wipe the fluids from themselves while the gathered crew attempted not to snicker.

“Why did you do that?” Serale demanded, trying not to retch.

Cobblestone removed her hat, mopping her face with it. “Because you did that on purpose!” she shouted. “For the third time, too!”

“Then you lift the bloody bottles, and I’ll hold the tray up,” Serale groused, shivering as cold slime slid off of her back. She turned to Libra. “Can we go back inside and change, Magus?” she asked.

Libra sighed, shaking her head. “You two go down and get changed. No more practice today,” she said. “When you’re done, meet me in my cabin before dinner. We need to discuss your performance over the past week, you’ve been useless since we left Ponyville.” She looked each of her apprentices in the eye, the two of them looking miserable and cold, but most of all, distracted. Her horn flashed, and most of the liquid disappeared from the deck, though a lingering odor of fish and burned garbage still hung in the air, and her apprentices were still covered in muck. “Go,” she said. “Now.”

The two apprentices stormed off towards the hatch to the hold, neither of them looking towards the other as they did so. Perhaps it was a hoof put wrong, or somepony slipped in a bit of muck, or a strong crosswind caught one of the two of them off-guard, but there was a collision. And then everything went south with remarkable rapidity.

“Watch where you’re going,” Cobblestone muttered. “You don’t have your nose in a book, so there’s no excuse, you priss.”

Serale stopped short. “I beg your pardon?” she demanded. “Some of us actually value our education enough to bother learning how to read, you boor!”

“Oh, is that so?” Cobblestone demanded. “Because the only one I see trying to accomplish something out here is me!”

“Please,” Serale retorted, “Any dumb muscle can hold a bloody tray.”

Cobblestone’s nostrils flared. “Says the little Lady who packed twenty dresses and no winter clothes!”

“Says the gutter thief who wouldn’t know taste if it bit her in the flank!”

“I’m twice the mage you are!”

Serale snorted. “You’re an idiot who couldn’t find her flank with both hooves and a map.”

“Oh, get down of your high horse, your Ladyship,” Cobblestone said, ignoring the scandalized looks being directed her way at her bold manner of address. “We wouldn’t even be on this damn airship if it wasn’t for you.”

Serale stepped forward. “And what do you mean by that?” she asked, her voice dangerously low.

Cobblestone stepped forward, lowering her voice so it was scarcely above a whisper in her ear. “We’re up here,” she said, “Because your mother wanted you out of the capital. Because of that business in the arena, which makes you an embarrassment. Your mother wanted you gone because she’s ashamed of you.”

Serale rocked back as if Cobblestone had physically slapped her. Her eyes welled up with angry tears, but she managed the last word. “At least I have a mother,” she spat, and bolted for the entrance belowdecks, leaving a seething Cobblestone behind.

“So,” Fidelis said, his tone blunt. “Let’s address the elephant in the room. One of our number is a traitor.”

Vino looked at the floor and said nothing. As the one of the only two captains involved in the raid on the train, he had expected to be called into Fidelis’s office for a debriefing on the incident, and had spent most of the past week alternately hoping for and dreading the call. This was not the direction he had expected the conversation to go. Fidelis examined him calmly, waiting for a sign of guilt from him, and found nothing.

“I don’t sense anything untoward from you,” he said. “That’s a good sign, at least. I had a feeling that since you and Afi were the only two actually attacked during the raid, you’d be clean.”

“Sir,” Vino said, “When I suggested that we had a spy in the ranks, it was only a suggestion. I’m not sure…”

“Lady Serale, Magus Libra, and Lady Everstar agree with your assessment,” Fidelis replied offhandedly. “I happen too as well, but that’s not my business. Nor is it yours, Captain, I certainly didn’t begin an investigation based solely on your years of work in the field of Royal Intelligence. I’m telling you this because I think you’re least likely to be the turncoat in the ranks. Frankly, you’re an open book to most, and I’m not just saying this because I’m a Changeling.”

Vino started at that, and Fidelis eyed him curiously. “Will that be a problem, Captain?” he inquired.

Vino shook his head. “I have nothing against your kind, sir,” he said truthfully. “It’s just that most Changelings don’t announce themselves so openly.”

“I’ve never hid my heritage from anypony,” Fidelis replied. “The reason I wear this…” he gestured to the blue of his coat and the black of his mane, “Is to keep ponies comfortable. Lady Everstar insisted that a Changeling be included in the command staff of Lady Serale’s Guard, and I happened to be the most qualified. That’s also why I’ve been cleared of suspicion. If I’d turned…”

“Your hive would know,” Vino guessed quickly. “Of course. That’s why you were able to communicate with Lady Everstar, too.”

Fidelis nodded approvingly. “Sharp,” he said. “I got the message this morning, probably one of the last I’ll get for a while, seeing as we’ll be around Dawndale for a few months. Princess Cadance allows very few Changelings in her lands, she doesn’t like them much.”

“Will you be hiding your identity there, sir?” Vino asked. “So I know whether or not I should bring it up?”

Fidelis’s expression was neutral, as unreadable as any Vino had seen. “I will not order you, or any pony under my command, to lie about my heritage in conversation,” he said. “But your discretion with that information would be appreciated. Your discretion would also be appreciated in the days to come. I have an assignment for you.”

“An assignment?” Vino asked curiously. “What kind?”

“Lady Serale has authorized me to bring in another pony on the investigation,” Fidelis said. “After some consideration, I decided on you, for reasons I’ll specify in a moment. Come tomorrow, I’ll call a briefing with the other captains, you included, and announce we found the source of the leak back at the castle, a filing cabinet that was broken into and some missing documents. Hopefully that’ll be enough to lull our spy into thinking they’re safe, at least for the moment. The next part is where you come in.”

Fidelis leaned back in his chair, contemplating the ceiling. “You’re a very junior officer, Vino,” he said. “I’ve brought it up before, and I will again. You show promise, but you lack experience. Your little stunt on the bridge, when we were supposed to be moving and you stopped to fire, proves that. Tomorrow, I’ll call you on it. I’ll then assign you to shadow the other captains, in order to better learn from their example.”

“I take it that’s not the only reason you’re doing it,” Vino said.

“Watch them closely,” Fidelis said. “Don’t be nosy, but note what you see. Any strange behavior you notice will be reported to me in a prompt and discreet manner if it cannot wait for the weekly ‘performance assessments’ I will be having with you behind closed doors.”

Vino grimaced. It wasn’t going to be any easier to do his job with the ponies under his command second-guessing his decisions based on those meetings. Not to mention it was likely that Fidelis wasn’t joking about his performance, and he really would expect Vino to be learning how to properly command those beneath him while he was gathering information.

“With respect, sir,” he said carefully, “And understanding that this isn’t me trying to avoid anything, why did you pick me for this? You said it yourself, I’m an open book. I’ve never had any kind of aptitude for this kind of work.”

Fidelis leaned forward in his chair, tapping one hoof on his desk contemplatively. He looked to be on the cusp of making a decision of monumental import, before coming to a conclusion and opening a drawer on the desk, withdrawing a small folio and laying it out before him.

“Your file paints a very specific picture,” Fidelis said. “Not necessarily a military one, but a certain kind of soldier nonetheless. Would it surprise you to know that I was once a member of Royal Intelligence before I started a military career?”

Vino looked at Fidelis more closely. He didn’t look like much of a spy, but then, Changelings had a knack for disguise by nature, even without their ability to change shape. And Vino supposed that the earmark of a good spy would be that he didn’t look like one at all. Frankly, Captain Fidelis looked like a career officer and nothing more.

“I spent two decades in service to the Lady without wearing a uniform, or a particularly permanent face. Eventually, I decided on a more regimented lifestyle, but I still have a few contacts in intelligence, both Royal and Military. One of my jobs near the end of my career was scouring the Kingdom looking for new recruits. They gave us profiles to look for, profiles that I have to admit turned out to belong to very good agents, assuming they remained alive long enough to make something of themselves.”

He opened the folder with a crisp snap and began to leaf through it. “A promising record, to say the least,” Fidelis said. “Third in rifles and pistols, third in close-quarters combat, first with bladed weapons and other sundries like maces and hammers. Not particularly gregarious, understands social cues well enough, but a bit rough around the edges. A natural leader, but understands how to work alone.”

He lay down the file, looking at Vino. “Before I left the service of Intelligence in favor of the Army, I personally examined a hundred files like this one, all of them remarkably similar. It would seem that, despite the Lady’s efforts, ponies are still in some ways creatures of predestination. Coupled with the more…exhaustive efforts the Lady Serale put into place in order to construct cohesive profiles for my examination, I’ve a fairly good idea of your innate capabilities.”

“I’m no spy,” Vino said flatly. “I’m a knight, and knights swear to live lives of honesty and forthright behavior.”

“They also swear to defend the innocent and serve the Lady,” Fidelis rebuffed. “And I happen to agree with you not being a spy. But then, you’ve not been trained to be one, have you?”

Vino wasn’t sure of how to respond to that remark. Was Fidelis offering to train him as a spy?

“That answer to that would be no,” Fidelis said. “My goodness, you’re easy to read. If I were to train you, that’d be the first thing we worked on. The term I’m looking for in regards to you is ‘informant’. You are not to attempt to uncover information, you are not to investigate your fellow captains, you’re only to observe and report.”

Vino felt uneasy at the prospect of ratting out a fellow captain, but then he recalled the explosions that rocked Starfall, the screams of ponies caught in the blaze of an airship, and the desperate flight beneath the trees of the Everfree. His jaw tightened, his eyes gleamed with steely determination, and Vino stood up a bit straighter. “Just the captains, sir?” he asked. “It’s possible that it might not have been just us.”

Fidelis chewed his lip contemplatively. “No,” he said, and paused again, eyes narrowed. “Only the captains would have been present, but we would have passed the orders to our sergeants as well. Assuming that our traitor would have been able to either sneak away to inform the ambushers, or potentially send a message via magic, we could be looking at another two potential informants in each rifle group. Fifteen ponies, then, instead of five. That makes more work.”

“Speaking of magic,” Vino said, “What about the mages? If anypony could have sent off a message, it’d be a magically gifted pony who was just as privy to our plans as we were.”

“Magic users are tricky,” Fidelis said. “One of the first lessons learned by each prospective mage is how to control their power, which, by necessity, translates to control of their emotions and thoughts. For somepony like you, Vino, they’d be very difficult to read, and even if you did find something, you’d be in danger of them finding out and acting to remove you.”

Vino shuddered at the prospect of facing the mages of their Guard. He hadn’t seen the tryouts they’d participated in, but he’d heard descriptions of what they were capable of. The thought of that kind of power being directed at him made him more than a little queasy.

“So who, then?” Vino asked. “If I can’t investigate them, and one of the mages could be to blame, who would find it out?”

Fidelis smiled thinly. “I said mages were tricky, and a pony like you would have a hard time with them,” he said, his voice humorous, but with a darkness edge lurking beneath every word. “But for something like me? I think I can handle them ably.”

The otherwise peaceful atmosphere of the tiny cabin was broken by a sudden slam as Cobblestone burst into the room, muck and sweat dripping from her apprentice’s robes and her teeth bared in a grimace. Her horn lit, flickering as it did so, and the door slammed behind her, ensuring that the black tom on the bed, if he hadn’t awoken at the first percussive opening, was surely awake now. Without preamble, Cobblestone stripped the robes off, tossing them into a corner of the room, where they lay in a heap. Rummaging through her traveling chest, she began to withdraw various articles of clean clothing, throwing them onto the bed to be worn after she cleaned herself.

I take it practice went the same as usual? Hob asked dryly from his position on Cobblestone’s pillow. He winced slightly as a set of winter boots tumbled through the air, bouncing off of the headboard with a muffled clatter, but otherwise didn’t move. Hob’s nostrils flared once, twice, and he sneezed irritably. What in the world are you covered in?

“I don’t bucking know,” Cobblestone said, “But it smells like hot garbage and I need a moment before I have the strength to get it off.”

Perhaps if you had spent less of your magical reserve attempting to splinter the door?

The look Cobblestone gave Hob could have stripped paint. Focusing what little of her magic remained to her, she let a wave of magic wash over her, a band of bluish energy spilling from her horn and spilling around her neck, across her shoulders and chest, and back towards her flank. Streaks of filth and bits of detritus traveled with it, leaving a coat that looked presentable enough, if a bit rank-smelling. The spell vanished into thin air, leaving a small pile of dust on the floor that could be swept up later. Cobblestone had made several such piles.

Frowning at the state of her coat, she contemplated her next move. It occurred to her that a few months ago, she wouldn’t have minded the smell, or even noticed it. But after spending such a long time clean, in more ways than one, she avoided dirt, a thrill of disgust running through her whenever she might get unnecessarily filthy. Not that she shied away from getting dirty when it was needed, of course.

So what was it today? Hob asked from his repose. Juggling weights? Lifting basins of kitchen grease?

“A combination of the two. I held up a basin with weights attached, Serale took glass vials from the basin and put them in a box.”

Did you drop the basin first? Or did she break a vial on you?

“For a Lady who’s just starting out with magic,” Cobblestone growled, closing her trunk, “She’s got a good grasp of how to break things. Get under the bed.”

Hob did as he was advised, having seen what followed more than once since they had left Ponyville. Cobblestone waited for him to hide, and then set her hooves, gritted her teeth, and with a herculean effort, began to siphon magic into the air. She closed her eyes, feeling the currents of the air around her, the particles beginning to rub together, movements that would normally take massive amounts of air and water aided by her will. Clouds began to form above her, and there was a small and quiet rumble of thunder followed by a flickering that cast eerie shadows on the walls.

Feeling the storm reaching its breaking point, Cobblestone released the tension that had been steadily mounting in the air. A small torrent of rain splashed down on her, soaking her quite thoroughly and taking with it the stench which had stubbornly clung to her coat. There was a tiny spark of lightning, and the clouds dissipated, leaving her wet and shivering. With a final effort, Cobblestone called forth a little ball of light and heat, the act of which left her truly drained and ready for a meal or a nap, or both.

“You can come out now,” she said conversationally, steam rising from her coat. “It was only a little shower.”

It’s not the shower that bothers me, Hob said, slinking out from beneath the bed, avoiding the quickly-spreading puddle on the floor, It’s the static that comes with it. Despite how effortless I make it seem, I do work hard to keep myself well-groomed.

Cobblestone wobbled over to her bedside table, breathing a bit heavier than normal, and withdrew a hairbrush, which she began to run through her mane. As she brushed, her shoulders began to slump, and her breathing became a bit deeper. The tangles of her mane began to unravel gently, and she privately resolved to see if she could find oil or something similar to keep it from tangling. Such thoughts helped her keep her mind off of the events of the day.

So, was it really that bad? Hob asked, padding over to her and rubbing up against one leg. I’ve seen you peeved, but today seemed like a particularly stellar example of you throwing a fit.

Cobblestone chewed on her words for a moment, still brushing her hair, before she set down the brush and removed a comb from the drawer. “Serale and I fought today,” she said. “Not a physical one,” she added hastily, “But we were out on the deck, and all the deckhands were watching us practice with Libra, and I got tired of holding the basin up because of those stupid uneven weights.”

She sighed, bone-tiredness mixing with regret, exasperation, and maybe a lingering bit of anger. “I told her to hurry up, she panicked, and I’m sure it was an accident when she broke one of those vials over my head, but it didn’t really feel like it at the time.”

You reacted.

“I tipped the contents of the basin over her head,” Cobblestone said with the barest hint of satisfaction. It flickered and died as she remembered what had happened next. “She claimed I did it on purpose, which I had, and I said she’d done the same. She called me a boor, whatever that means, I called her a priss, and then we started shouting at each other on the deck.”

There was a silence. “She called me a stupid criminal,” Cobblestone said mournfully. “And she made fun of me for not being able to read well.”

Hob leapt to the top of the table, looking at her with his amber eyes, and spoke to her very seriously. I am a solitary creature, but I am given to understand that one of the downsides of fighting with a friend is that they often know very well how to hurt you.

“Well,” Cobblestone replied, “She certainly seems to know how to hurt me.”

And how did you respond?

“I told her that I was twice the magician she was, even if I couldn’t read.” Cobblestone closed her eyes and shuddered. “Then I told her the reason we were going on this trip is because her mother is embarrassed of her and wanted her gone.”

You spoke the truth. Hob said, his tail twitching.

“Maybe,” Cobblestone acknowledged, “But that doesn’t make what I said right.” She scuffed a hoof on the floor. “It was cruel.”

Hob butted her chin gently with the top of his head, and purred contentedly as she reached out to stroke him. The truth often is, mistress. But what is passed has passed. What will you do now?

“What I want to do is crawl in bed for the rest of the evening, skip supper, and forget this ever happened,” Cobblestone groused. She put the comb back in its drawer, quite done with her ministrations. “But what I should do is swallow my pride and talk to her.”

Hob pulled away from her, leaping to the bed, where he settled once more on the pillow. Then, mistress, he said, you had best hurry before she goes for supper. And bring me back some scraps, will you?

“Haven’t you been living off of rats?” Cobblestone teased as she walked to the door. “The crewmembers told me they’ve seen you in hot pursuit of rodents more than once. If you eat much more, you’ll get fat.”

She pulled open the door, only to find herself face to face with Serale, one hoof raised to knock. Serale’s face flushed with faint embarrassment as she lowered both her hoof and her gaze, contemplating the floor with determined interest.

“I came to apologize,” she said quietly. “I…”

“Look,” Cobblestone said. She put a hoof under Serale’s chin, meeting her eyes. “What I said today was stupid and wrong and I didn’t mean a word of it. For somepony new to magic, you’ve come a lot farther than I ever did the first few months I started. And you’re kind of a priss, but that’s okay. And your mother is proud of you, too, I know it and I shouldn’t have said otherwise.”

Serale’s mouth worked in surprise for a moment. She had clearly had a speech memorized on the way down, either to tell her off or to make amends, and it was just as clear it had flown out the window. She closed her mouth whit a click and took a deep breath.

“Just because you didn’t grow up in the palace doesn’t make you a boor, you’re one of the smartest ponies I know, you’re doing really well with your reading, and I actually think some of the criminal things you do are really cool,” she said in a rush, like she was trying to get all the words out at once. “And I should have moved the vials faster today. I’m sorry, I’ve been up reading until late every night this week.”

“And I shouldn’t have tipped the basin on you,” Cobblestone said. “Can…can we just agree we’re both idiots and lay this stupid fight to rest?”

Serale smiled and nodded demurely. “I’d like that,” she said.

“Good,” Cobblestone said, her mouth curling in a relieved grin. She ran a hoof through Serale’s mane, the normally flowing curls tangled and bedraggled. She stepped to one side, opening the door wider. “Come on in,” she said, “Your mane’s a mess. I’ll brush it out.”

Teacht

The belly of the good ship Mercy was divided into three broad areas. The first, near the stern of the craft, was home to the various mechanisms that drove the ship’s engines, making sure that the great craft’s wings kept beating and that the balloon was kept inflated by means of spells of heat and air. The second, largest section was the cargo bay, normally full of trade goods or provisions for the crew. It was rather light on this trip, as Mercy had been pulled from exercises to fetch its real cargo from Ponyville.

The third and smallest section was near the bow, where the passenger cabins were. It was here that the Mercy’s passengers had spent most of their stay, far away from the other areas of the ship, including the crew berths, which were located more towards the cargo hold. The problem with the cabins at the front of the ship was that, while they were small in order to accommodate more passengers, they were still only a few in number. Only twenty were there all told, and they saw rare use. The crew cabins were all full, meanwhile, which left sixty soldiers from what might as well have been a foreign nation with absolutely nowhere to lay their heads at night.

A solution had been proposed after much hemming and hawing, and so cargo netting had been strung from the walls and beams of the ship, forming crude hammocks. Rope ladders were formed, Pegasi were shuffled to the topmost berths, and so, with a bit of complaining, the journey had passed in relative silence from the personal guard of Serale Everstar. It wasn’t a total silence, as sixty soldiers with little to do will find some way to amuse themselves, and an early incident involving an enterprising private and a misplaced socket wrench had resulted in the engineers of the ship to demand something be done to keep the passengers occupied before another engine blew out.

So they had trained. They had not trained with rifles, or with their bayonets, in fact their weapons were under lock and key while on board the vessel. They had not done any physical training, nor had they set hoof above decks aside from the hour of free time they had after the evening meal for a week. They, and indeed all the captains, had spent the intervening time catching up on what they were required to learn before landing in Dawndale.

“You call that a bowline knot?” Afi bellowed at the unfortunate mare who had left too little rope on the interior of the knot. With a sharp tug, the knot unraveled in his hooves, and he tossed the strand of rope contemptuously back in her face. “If you’d tied that knot on your tent camping on a mountainside, you’d be halfway down the slope before your sorry arse woke back up!”

The mare blanched, alternating between babbling an apology, scrambling to get the knot tied properly, and cringing away from the irate Ranger that had whirled away from her to round on another unfortunate and begin to berate him for another, almost impercievable slight. The rest of the ponies, about twenty all told, began to work even faster to get their knots right, fumbling with the lengths of rope, twine, and fiber they’d been given to fiddle with.

Another group, farther up the hold (though “farther” was perhaps a generous term), was engrossed in the task of packing and re-packing kit bags for a long march. Such assorted goods as socks, tinderboxes, ammunition packets, and rations, lay in scattered heaps, having been dumped out for the fourth time this morning after the unfortunate Guards still could not managed to get their packs closed and balanced properly.

A Gryphon strolled among their ranks, pointing out their flaws and offering gentle encouragement or mild reprimand as the case may be, a far cry from his more boisterous compatriot. Though they hadn’t managed it yet, his class of perhaps a dozen had gotten better each time at making sure their packs were both well-packed and well-balanced, which any seasoned campaigner knew was of great importance in preventing the kind of soreness which could prove unpleasant in the short term and fatal in a fight.

The rest of the ponies in the hold were engaged in perhaps that most time-honored of traditions, performed for the first time upon receiving their dress uniform and hated every time it was performed afterward; the clipping of strings and the shining of boots and buttons. Some among their number grumbled and groused, while others seemed to be resigned to their fate as they perused the seams of their jackets for even the smallest of strings. One or two existed in a state of serene contemplation as they clipped, their minds far away as they combed through the legs of their pants and scrubbed gently at their shoes with bootblack. A lucky few had brought butane lighters, a relatively new invention, for the purpose of smoking pipes, but they served well here for singing away the sad remnants of curled string-stumps.

They engaged in this activity because, in less than an hour, they would be given the call to rise with the rest of the ship as the sun came up and they arrived in the city of Dawndale, and Captain Fidelis would be damned if they turned out in anything less than full parade, in lockstep, and putting their absolute best hoof forward. Anything less would be considered an insult, both to their hosts and the Lady they served. And so it was that, by the light of lanterns and rising before the sun, the sixty soldiers of the brave Royal Guard clipped strings, with the only thing to look forward to afterwards being yet more lessons and briefings.

Upon completion, the Guards raised a hoof, at which point the junior captain of their number would approach them and examine their uniforms with a critical eye, noting the flaws and making last-minute adjustments. Currently, he was engaged with two unicorns who were attempting to sew on loose buttons.

“It needs to be a half-inch lower,” Vino said to Private Moon, “Or else it’ll tug at the button-hole and make the uniform bunch up. Aside from that, this jacket is flawless. Have Sergeant Antler use a starching spell before you put it on.”

Private Moon nodded as Vino straightened up with a groan. He’d been up more than an hour before his troops, making sure his own uniform was in order and that his bags were packed in the still darkness of the hold, before meeting with the captains, themselves more than a little disheveled, and receiving his assignment, a predictably lousy one.

The news of Vino’s admonishment had spread quickly through the enlistees, proving the old adage that the only thing which spread faster through the ranks than a venereal disease was a rumor. More than once over the past day or so, he’d caught watchful eyes cast his direction, a few whispered mentions of his name, and at one point, Corporal Hopper had approached him and respectfully told his captain that he thought he’d made the right decision at the bridge.

At least, Vino thought, the ponies under his direct command seemed to pay a little more attention to their uniforms than most. Perhaps it was because he’d gone over the regulations with them and helped them pack, or maybe it was their own personal initiative and pride. Either way, he’d had to spend half as long on any member of the 4th Rifles as members of the other squads.

“Sir Hedera!” a sharp female voice called, and Vino roused himself from his reverie to see that Kore was speaking to him, her sharp features distinguishable even in the dim light of the hold. As always, he found himself a bit captivated by her unusual eyes, red slitted pupils over green irises, and so he forced himself to stare instead at a point directly below her horn.

“Aye?” he called back, moving through the crowd to meet her. He noticed that she was garbed in her armor, mace slung at her belt.

“You’ve been relieved,” she said, perhaps a bit contemptuously. Of all the captains, she seemed to have taken the most pleasure in the announcement that he’d be mentored by the others. “Captain Fidelis says to change into your armor and meet him on deck. Armor, not uniform jacket.”

Vino replied with only a nod, grateful that he’d taken the time that morning to arrange his armor as well as his regular uniform. “Please check with Privates Flora and Granite,” he replied. “They need another check on their boots. Aside from that, most of the Guards have been assigned their final preparations and will be ready to march when we land.”

Kore grunted, shunting him to one side. “We’ll see about that,” she said. “Go strap on your armor, unless you need assistance.”

Vino simply walked away instead of replying to the barb, pretending he didn’t hear the challenge in her voice. He was quite mystified as to why she seemed to harbor such dislike for him, as he hadn’t done anything to warrant such a disposition, but it seemed she had settled on him to be the recipient of her most vitriolic criticism, though she wasn’t exactly sociable with the rest of the captains. Not for the first time, Vino wondered why she had bothered to volunteer for service in the Guard. She didn’t show any special love for the Lady or the Crown, and a warrior of Kore’s skill could undoubtedly find better work in a less stifling job. Still, she was here, and if half of what Vino had heard about her was true, he was glad to have her along.

Vino’s bunk was close to one side of the ship, and as such, he had a bit more room to stow his things. His uniform jacket, untouched since he had left, was placed carefully back in the proper bag, and the smallish box containing his armor was opened instead. Normally, there would be a stand for such a thing as plate armor, but there hadn’t been any room for it, and Vino had worn the armor on the move to the train anyway, so instead, it had been placed in a wooden crate filled with straw, which his brushed from the pieces as he withdrew them one by one.

It was perhaps a bit more dusty than it needed to be, but as Vino inspected each piece in turn before putting it on, as a knight was trained to do, he felt that the armor still shone proudly enough to warrant wearing in the ranks. There was a certain comfort in the ritual, not just from knowing that the armor would provide protection, but in the familiarity of donning the pieces themselves. When Vino wore the jacket of the Guard, he was a captain, holding a modicum of rank, but in the end, nothing more than a cog in the great machine of the Evening Kingdom’s Guard. When he wore the armor, it was a mark of his being part of an ancient and honorable brotherhood, charged with protecting the weak and pursuing justice, honor, and a nobler calling. Any pony with drive could become a captain, but it took a special sort to become a knight.

Buckling the last pieces into place, he turned to leave, but before he did, a thought came almost unbidden to his mind. A green length of fabric lay folded at the head of his bed, more as an afterthought than anything else, but Vino reached for it and drew it over his shoulders, buckling it into place as he did so. The tabard fell perfectly, displaying the white vines and trio of three-pointed leaves that made up the ancestral mark of Vino’s own House.

He and Aura had their differences, he mused, but on one thing they did agree. It had been too long since the House colors had been flown in defense of their Kingdom, and it was high time they did so again. He only hoped that he would do them proud. He grabbed his helmet, put his bladeband around one foreleg, and deemed himself ready to move.

So garbed, he made his way back through the crowd to the cargo hatch, and ascended the stairs to the deck, there to ready himself for the arrival in Dawndale.

Dawndale was a city in the same way its princess was a pretty mare. The statement was technically true, but it didn’t really do the subject any justice. Dawndale surpassed the idea of a “city”, and was instead a piece of beautiful art that happened to house ponies. Buildings of beautiful wood, carved meticulously by fine artisans, dotted the wide avenues, paved in frescoes of heroic deeds, romantic images, and breathtaking spectacles of nature, swirling together in magnificent harmony. The high roofs of the houses and shops were sloped sharply to avoid caving in under the weight of winter’s heavy snows, and the lintels were often embossed with metal that shone brightly in the mid-afternoon sun.

Though they lay partially barren, the multitude of parks that dotted the landscape held plants that thrived year-round in abundance, and even in the chill of the winter breeze, ponies could be seen strolling through the lush greenery from the deck of the Mercy as she soared overhead, making her was to an airship spire that curled upward like the horn of a unicorn, all grace and delicate, hidden strength. Nor did the beauty of Dawndale stop at the foot of the massive peaks, that loomed over the city like long-posted sentinels in coats of purplish-black and caps of gleaming white. Houses clung to the side, seemingly in defiance of gravity, with wide balconies overlooking the city and curiously curved roads meandering lazily up the sides of the mountains to their doors.

Even the mines, from which Dawndale and the rest of Cadance’s holdings took their nickname of “The Crystal Kingdom”, were beautiful in and of themselves. They glittered in a hundred colors, decorated with some of the finest gems its workers pulled from the depths of the great caves that wound their way back into the roots of the earth. They would close soon enough, socked in by snow, but a few late minecarts could be seen making their way in caravans down the steep slopes, aided by unicorn magic and cunning engineering, tracks that wound in and around and down the mountainsides that were pinnacles of craftsmanship in their own right.

The city itself was situated in a deep valley, with fields of barren farmland at the mouth giving way to spotted settlements and proper suburbs as one approached the end of the gap. At the very end was a plateau, a natural outcropping of the mountain that had been smoothed out centuries prior, and upon that plateau was the Palace of the Dawn, though it was commonly known as “The Bower”.

The Palace was the crown jewel in a city comprised of precious gems, though underneath its beautiful exterior was a military history which showed to the pony with a trained eye. The stone walls, meticulously kept and painted with scenes of sunrise and rebirth, towered above a path that switched back and forth across the face of the cliff, allowing defenders to pelt would-be conquerors with arrow shot and rocks. Hidden in the cliff face were holes, through which hot sand, oil, and water could be poured. The Palace’s grounds, while palatial, were designed to break up enemy advances, placing gates at opposing sides of the complex, so the first breached gate would lead to a deadly trek around the keep to the second, and from there back towards the third.

The keep itself, surprisingly modest, was comprised of three towers rising out of a low villa. Red brick, with round white-tiled roofs, every window was made of stained glass. From each tower, a flag in bright and cheerful pinks, yellows, and blues flew. Strewn between the towers, visible even from such great heights, were small magelights which burned in shifting colors and swayed in the breeze, giving the impression of dancing fireflies who sang in more than yellow and green.

It was past this palatial estate that the Mercy swung, her decks alive with activity as her fins began to flutter faster than normal. Mercy, too, was a more graceful and jaunty frigate than her Kingdom counterpart, keeping to the old designs of airship. She was sleek, with a flat deck suspended below a great balloon in white and gold, and resembled a seafaring schooner more than a cigar. Indeed, she could be put down in the water if need be, and carried sails for just such an emergency. Thankfully for her and her crew, the landing went without incident, and they had no need to put her down in the lake which spread to one side of The Bower. Instead, her wings fluttered a bit, and then a bit more, and an arm, wrought in brass filigree, swung from the tower to catch her in a perfect grip. Gangplanks were extended as ties were tossed, and with nary a sway to mar her docking, Mercy was once more at home.

A bell began to toll from the tower, and faint cheers could be heard from the city states as the inhabitants of Dawndale welcomed back one of their own ships. It was not just for the safe return of their crew that they cheered, though that was certainly part of it. The ship could now be put to its most useful purpose, and ship gems to Fillydelphia in exchange for the grain and supplies the city would need to make it through the winter in comfort. Answering bells rang out over the city, musical chimes that laughed and boomed and shrilled in exultation, and a great crowd began to form near the tower base. After all, news traveled fast in Dawndale, and gossip fastest of all. And rumor was that there was a member of the Kingdom royalty on board.

Serale reached the bottom of the tower steps and made haste to the door, not wanting to hold up the line, and stretched in a decidedly unladylike fashion, glad to be back on solid ground. The airship was not necessarily confining, but she had felt the nagging sensation of being in close proximity to others for a week, and she was glad to have some room to spread out and enjoy not having to walk with her head tucked in order to avoid banging it on low doorframes.

The unloading was proceeding apace, made easier by the assistance of her Guards, who, while not able to lift heavy things such as equipment for fear of mussing their dress coats, were at least able to assist with baggage. Already a good twenty of them were approaching the gate, rifles slung but not loaded, conversing with customs officials and minor dignitaries about the contents of the more robust cases. The two Guards flanking her seemed to be relieved to not be handed the task of haggling with bureaucrats.

Idly, she wondered where Libra and Cobblestone had got to, and was just about to go looking for them when she caught the eye of a young pony wearing what appeared to be a doublet and tight blue leggings. He began to approach, and Serale steeled herself for whatever inanities were about to fall from his mouth. He did not disappoint.

“My Lady Serale,” he said in a voice like melted butter, warm and smooth, “It is my highest honor to welcome you to Dawndale.” He pronounced his words strangely, with “it” as “eat” and no “h” and choked-upon “r”s.

He bowed deeply, doffing the feathered cap he wore, and averted his eyes, wings ruffling as he did. “My name is Sir Nimbus. I have been sent to greet you, and to convey my Princess’s regrets that she was unable to greet you in person. She is preparing for tonight’s New Year feast.”

Serale blinked. “It’s the new year already?”

Nimbus smiled tolerantly. “Oui,” he said. “At least, after tonight it will be. As you will be dining at the Princess’s side instead of the long tables, I have been sent to procure your choice of entrée for the evening. Tell me, would you prefer a pie of mushrooms and root vegetables, or a potato roast in garlic gravy?”

Serale, after perhaps a moment too long of hesitation, said “The pie sounds fine.”

“My Lady has good taste,” Nimbus said. He bowed once more, practically scraping his nose in the dirt. “I shall relay this information at once, if my Lady would allow me to leave? Of course, should you desire my company, I would be more than happy to oblige.”

Serale suppressed a shudder at the thought of having to walk all the way to the Palace with this boot-licker at her side, polite though he was being. “No,” she said, “That’s fine, you can go.”

Nimbus straightened up with a beam. “Then go I shall,” he said. “This is my Lady’s first time in Dawndale on the New Year, non?”

“Oui,” Serale replied. “Why?”

“There is a…tradition,” Nimbus said. “A harmless one, I assure you. I would not spoil the surprise, but I would recommend that the Lady informs her companions and soldiers to ward their clothes against stains.”

With that, he took to the sky with a single pump of his wings, nearly clearing the height of the tower before speeding off towards the Palace. Serale watched him go, a curious feeling of foreboding in her chest. Without delay, she focused on the pendant on her throat, grateful that her time being covered in foul liquid had forced her to learn about cleaning spells at least.

“Lady Serale?” one of the Guards asked nervously. “What did he mean by ‘tradition’?”

Serale shrugged and lit her horn again, dousing her escorts in the same magic she had used on herself. “I’m not sure,” she said, “But they do things differently here and Aunt Cadance loves a good joke. Spread the word among the ranks. Mages cast warding spells and nopony is to even think about levelling a gun, no matter what happens on the way there. I’ve just arrived; I’m not going to start a diplomatic incident before I get to the Palace. And somepony find me Libra.”

After nearly a half hour of preparation and unpacking, the throng of soldiers that had gathered in the courtyard of the airship spire formed themselves into ranks, harangued by their captains and moving with the practiced nonchalance of the truly experienced. Sixty dress uniforms, pressed and sharp, clothed each soldier, with boots that shone like still water and rifles with bayonets affixed, slung over the right shoulder in perfect alignment.

Halfway through the column stood a smaller, more disorganized group of ponies. Two were clad in robes of black cloth, recognizable to any who saw them as mages of the Everfree, and two were clad in armor. Between them all, at the center of the procession and clad in her House colors of purple and crimson, stood a young mare of poise and refinement. A pendant with a diamond, flickering with a strange green flame, hung around her neck, and a small diadem of bronze and amethyst rested upon her brow. This was who the ponies of Dawndale came to see, and with a nod of her head, Serale Armonia Everstar, first of her name, gave the procession its marching orders.

In perfect lockstep they marched down the broad avenues of Dawndale, to the simple tap of a drum. It was not the way of the Evening Kingdom to march with pomp and circumstance. The ponies of Dawndale filled that role admirably, a half-dozen fifes and trumpets sounding tunes from the rooftops as ponies cheered and welcomed the young Evening Lady. Normally this would have been all that awaited her, but there was a tradition among the ponies of Dawndale, one especially popular with their children.

With a sharp whistle, no less than forty cakes, ranging from small tea cakes to a frankly enormous three-tiered cake, came flying from windows, rooftops, and innocuous passers-by. Some fell short or wide of their targets, but the foals of the city practiced months in advance to properly welcome New Years’ guests, and the vast majority hit squarely in the ranks. Icing in green and blue and red and every color besides splattered jackets and painted the cobblestones, causing a few minor slips. A hat was nearly knocked from a head, saved only by the strap beneath that Pegasus’s chin.

The drum clattered to a halt as the ponies of the procession attempted to work out what happened, and the crowd shrank back a bit, perhaps only now realizing that the ongoing rain of pastry was perhaps not the best way to greet dignitaries. Gradually, the pastel barrage slowed as the procession ground to a stop. And the air was poignant with silence.

With all eyes on her, Serale examined her dress, now buried under copious amounts of whipped cream. Perhaps a bit mystified, she ran a hoof along the front, examining its contents with a frown. Her face was as inscrutable as only a royal’s could be. Inquisitively, she licked a small amount off of her hoof, and nodded, as if in understanding.

“Guards!” she called. The crowds lining the streets shrank back a bit more. This was the daughter of Lady Everstar, after all. The Evening Sage was famous for avenging slights to her dignity, and the same might apply to her progeny.

They needn’t have worried. An impish grin spread across Serale’s face, and she barked a command. “Return fire!”

At those words, the unicorns in the ranks lit their horns, and the Scouring Spells they had applied to their comrades activated with gusto. A wave of cake, frosting, fondant, and other assorted baked goods flung themselves at high speed from the once more pristine coats of the Guard, covering instead the onlookers in a fine mist of sugar and fruit preserves.

Cries of surprise and laughter issued from the crowd, and Serale finally let herself relax a bit. “Carry on!” she called, and the drum began to tap once more, leaving a much-cheered crowd in their wake. The procession began to move once again, and soon, instead of attempting to coat the ponies with cake, the foals of Dawndale were bouncing the cakes from the roofs off of their backs into the crowds below.

“Did I handle that well, Libra?” Serale asked as they marched.

Libra smiled, a mischievous grin almost identical to Serale’s. “You handled it beautifully,” she replied. “I’ve been here on the New Year before, it took me a week to get the stains out of my robes. This way, you keep your dignity intact and make a few friends among the common folk. Well done.”

Thus prepared and with good spirits, the processional Guard of Serale Everstar wound its way through the streets of a foreign capital, each step taking them closer to the beating heart at the center of the city, the goddess known to Serale as “Aunt Cadance”.

Mhian chroí

“Well,” Cobblestone said with a sigh, “It’s not like I’ve been given an overabundance of options.”

The room she was in was not as big as the one she’d had back in Starfall, for which she was glad. That room had been uncomfortably large, with high ceilings and wide expanses of floor that the massive fur rug on the floor had done little to cover. Everything about the room was big, from her bed to the massive wardrobe and the full-length mirror that was double the width it needed to be. It was as if that the room, and indeed every room in the castle, were made for ponies much bigger than she, and in more ways than height.

This room was smaller, and a more spoiled pony would have called it cramped. Four plaster walls painted in rich golds and greens surrounded her in a comforting embrace, with a bed just her size and a wardrobe big enough for all of her things, with a bit of room to grow into it. A discrete door led to a bathroom, one with running water, which surprised her. Cobblestone had thought upon seeing the castle that there would still be a chamber-pot, and had all but assumed it after the chatty attendant escorting her to her new quarters had told her that the castle was well over a millennium old, the ancestral home of Princess Cadance herself.

She had been told that dinner was in two hours, and declined the offer of assistance with her unpacking. Her bags had been unpacked and her clothes put away in perhaps half an hour, which left her ample time to examine all of the items in her room, which consisted of a large-ish bookshelf and a writing desk with a magelight overhead. After the inspection had concluded, she had come to the realization that she was going to be attending a formal dinner with a Princess of Equestria, one of the most powerful beings in existence.

And she had exactly two things to wear.

I’d recommend the blue one, Hob offered from his perch atop the wardrobe. You haven’t worn that one yet.

“Libra said that the blue one was more of a dress for public events like garden parties and shopping,” Cobblestone said. “I didn’t even know there were dresses for shopping in. Maybe the mage robes again?”

Absolutely not, Hob said. For one, they still reek from the trip. For another, this is Cadance’s house. Those robes are a symbol of allegiance to the pony who humiliated her and Celestia. Wearing those, especially without a rune to boast, will seem like a challenge.

"I didn’t know you were up to date on courtly etiquette,” Cobblestone mused as she held up the green dress, and then the blue one, and then the green again. She glanced towards the wardrobe that held her other garments, wondering if she could get away with showing up to the banquet wearing nothing but her boots and cloak. Part of her wanted to so she could see the looks on the faces of the upper-crust ponies that would surely be there.

Groaning, she tossed both of the dresses into the wardrobe, where they landed in an rumpled heap. “This is bullshit,” she groused. “What kind of game is Serale’s aunt playing? She knows we’ve been on the road for a week and a half, and that most of us are exhausted.”

It’s not a test for you or the rest of the entourage, Hob said. It’s a test of how well Serale keeps herself poised in a difficult situation. She’ll be tested more than once while she’s here.

“And more than once when we leave,” Cobblestone finished. “So she’s preparing Serale to face off against Celestia?”

Hob stretched, bobbing his head in what could be construed as a nod while he did so. It’s less of a confrontation and more of a test of endurance, he replied, showing his teeth. Celestia’s court is a den of propriety, obfuscation, and intractable stubbornness. Serale’s going to need all the help she can get and the patience she can muster to make it through her time there.

“Well, at least conniving runs in the family,” Cobblestone said moodily. “Lady Everstar’s a planner, that’s why we came out ahead in the war.”

You have no idea.

There was a sound at the door which resembled less of a knock and more along the lines of a gentle thudding. Cobblestone’s eyes lit up with excitement, and she flew to the door and threw it open to reveal a large mass of assorted fabric.

The fabric moved itself, some sleeves and skirts falling away to reveal a put-upon looking Invictus, his back and hooves laden with dresses. Cobblestone moved to one side of the door with surprising alacrity, allowing the hulking pegasus entrance to the room. With a great heave, he managed to toss the pile of fabric onto the bed, leaving Cobblestone to stare at it, dumbfounded.

“I know you only asked for one dress,” Invictus said, “But I found a maid and explained the situation, and she agreed to look for dresses that might fit you. I didn’t really expect her to find this many, or to insist I take them. She seemed very...eager to help.”

Cobblestone eyed Invictus, managing to tear her gaze away from the pile of dresses. Miraculously, a spare uniform shirt and a pair of pants from one of the Mercy’s crew had been found in his size, though they did little more than contain his rippling form. He’d been scrubbed and roughly shaven, his mane tamed and tied back in a tail, which revealed a set of rough but pleasant features. In short, Invictus was an attractive male specimen. Cobblestone should have seen him for that, but instead, all she felt was a sense of affection, like she imagined she would for a brother.

“I bet she was,” she said. “Be careful while we’re here, okay? I heard all kinds of rumors about this place while we flew here, and I wouldn’t be surprised if that mare wants a ‘favor’ in return sometime in the future.”

Invictus looked taken back for a moment, and then intrigued. “I suppose, in hindsight, she was being rather forward,” he mused. “I would not mind, she is comely enough.”

Cobblestone shook her head exasperatedly. “Well,” she said, shifting through the pile of clothes, “I suppose this gives me more options. Where did a maid get all of these, anyway?”

“I did not ask,” Invictus replied, furrowing his brow. “Should I inquire?”

“I think she might have just ransacked the room of a pony who wasn’t here,” Cobblestone said. “These are really good quality clothes. I could have sold one of these and kept myself warm and fed for a week or two at least.” She tossed aside a golden dress that seemed to be made mostly of ribbons. She didn’t relish the thought of getting into and out of such a garment.

Gradually, in companionable silence, Cobblestone picked her way through the dresses. Most of the items were sized for ponies a good deal larger than her, with a wider chest and longer sleeves and skirts, but a few were more her size. Finally, she held up one dress that seemed to fit her. Lifting it over her head with her magic, she stepped into the garment, letting the skirts fall behind her.

It was a deep wine red, made of what she thought might be velvet. The bodice on the front was made of a ruffled white fabric, bound with gold thread, but in a manageable amount. These threads drew back into a bow. Cobblestone, seized with a sudden impulse, drew her knife from the wardrobe.

“Invictus, would you mind holding my hair up?” she asked.

The pegasus did as she asked, and Cobblestone set to work. It took her perhaps five minutes, staring into the mirror. The cut was one of long practice, and one she was perhaps a little proud of. Her mane, shoulder length, vanished by inches, and instead of a long curtain of cascading chestnut, to be put up into yet another bun like every other pony she knew, it was instead cut into a sharp bob. Cobblestone worked the knife with skill, feathering a strand here and there, until it lay to her satisfaction. With another small effort, she placed the knife to one side and drew up the bow on the back of her dress, sweeping it for stray hairs as she did so.

“How do I look?” she asked.

Fair enough, Hob murmured.

“Lovely,” Invictus said. “Short hair suits you.”

Cobblestone smiled. “Good,” she said. “Now, let’s work on you. You’ve done this for me, I’d hate to see you show up to the dinner looking like you just rolled down a mountain. We’re supposed to make a good impression, after all.”

The great hall of The Bower was a harkening back to a bygone age. It had been one of the few buildings kept as it had been found when Cadance had moved in at the conclusion of the Evening Rebellion, and its history was apparent in every aspect of its design. The ceilings were high, wooden rafters strung with banners depicting bygone houses presiding over long trestle tables, which rested on a floor of cold flagstones, giving the place a medieval air that could be found in very few other places. The windows were few and narrow, which meant the smoke from the roaring fireplace, that which did not go up the chimney, hung heavy in the air overhead. The lack of windows did, however, keep the room warmer than it might have been, and when the room was truly full, the air could become downright sweltering even in the depths of winter.

The doors had just been opened, and ponies began to filter in, perhaps eighty all told. The vast majority of them wore the uniforms of Cadance’s personal guard, though there were ponies clad in the purple of the Kingdom among the blue-coated knights of the Northern March. Here and there were dotted ballgowns, though a surprising number of mares wore the blue as well, opting for a more professional look at this gathering of nations.

Cobblestone, cat draped about her shoulders and with Invictus in tow, entered with the last ponies, not wishing to draw attention to herself. Small talk was something she was not looking forward to, especially in company like this.

So, what brings you to the castle? She thought to herself. Oh, nothing much. I’m just a reformed felon that Lady Serale took a shine to. My hobbies are being stalked by faeries and avoiding death by necromancer. Do you like my cat? He’s not really a cat and I think he might eat ponies.

You have nothing to prove that, Hob replied lazily. And keep your mental defences up in a place like this. Cadance’s court is lousy with Clerics.

“Easy for you to say,” Cobblestone mumbled. “I haven’t had my potion today. This is the best I can do right now.”

“If you want, I can go find Libra,” Invictus said. “I don’t know if she’s used to me, but I can at least ask her for you.”

“It’s fine, I’ll manage,” Cobblestone replied. “I’ll just have a headache later, that’s all.”

Invictus shuffled nervously. “May I go anyway?” he asked. “Ponies here are starting to stare, and I’m starting to get jumpy.”

“Absolutely,” Cobblestone said. The last thing she wanted was for her companion to have a breakdown in the middle of a crowded dining hall, especially since he was still a very proficient warrior, even without his armor. “Do you want me to bring some food back?”

Invictus shook his head quickly. “I ate yesterday,” he said. “I should be fine. I’ll see you after the feast.”

“Try to stay out of trouble!” Cobblestone called as he cantered away nervously.

And out of the maid staffs’ skirts, Hob added slyly.

Cobblestone suppressed a snicker, hiding her mouth behind one hoof. It wasn’t fair of her, she supposed. Invictus couldn’t help his size or his looks, striking as they were. She only hoped that he’d find a way to avoid the attention he’d be attracting during their stay here, or find a way to discourage it entirely. She’d certainly feel embarrassed if she was in the same situation.

A terrible thought occurred to her, and she glanced around the room. Thankfully, most of the gathered guests were talking amongst themselves already, but there were a few stragglers around the room, and several of them were looking her way. If she didn’t find something to do soon, she’d either end up talking to them or her cat.

“I suppose you’re having the same problem I am,” a voice said from behind her. Cobblestone turned her head curiously, only to see Vino standing behind her. He grinned. “If you’re amenable, I think you and I should look for one another at these things. Neither of us are very good at starting conversations with others.”

Cobblestone felt a wave of relief wash over her, but she held her composure. “For your information, I was having a perfectly wonderful conversation with Hob.”

A conversationalist you are not.

Quiet.

“I was actually hoping to talk to your...friend? Companion?” Vino asked politely. “The big pegasus.”

“Invictus?” Cobblestone asked. “He’s more of a…” She trailed off, trying to find a way to quantify her relationship with the Sunborn. “Hmm. I guess ‘blood-brother’ would be a good term? It’s complicated, I don’t really understand it yet.”

Vino nodded his head sympathetically. “Fae magic, right? You hear stories. Are you both alright?”

Cobblestone pursed her lips in thought. “We’re both a bit beat up, but we’ll manage. He doesn’t feel comfortable around large groups of ponies yet, so he left.”

“So that makes three of us,” Vino said dryly. “I could think of a hundred things I’d rather be doing right now. How long are we supposed to be waiting here?”

Cobblestone shrugged. “Until Princess Cadance arrives, I guess. All I know is she wanted to speak with Serale alone, and Libra escorted her to the Princess’s chambers when we first got here. If I had known I’d be spending time avoiding conversation with ponies, I’d have spent more time getting ready.”

“I noticed you cut your mane,” Vino said. “It’s quite good. Did you do it yourself, or did Invictus?”

Cobblestone flushed slightly. “I did it,” she replied. “Growing up, I didn’t have much in the way of barbers, so I learned how to keep my mane short. If it gets too long, somepony can grab it. The first few times I tried it, I ended up cutting most of my hair off. It looked pretty horrible.”

“Well,” Vino said, “You seem to have gotten it right this time, at least.”

“Thanks,” Cobblestone said dryly. “You look tolerable too.”

It was Vino’s turn to flush. “I meant...you look nice,” he said with a stammer. “It looks good, really.”

Cobblestone smirked. “Just busting your balls,” she said. “I knew what you meant.”

Vino looked like he was about to choke, and Cobblestone barely managed to keep from bursting into laughing. “Relax,” she said, tapping his shoulder lightly with one hoof. “Serale was right. You’re fun to wind up.”

“You and Lady Serale were talking about me?” Vino asked. “That’s..interesting. What else did she say?”

Cobblestone’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Well,” she said with a grin, “She thinks that-”

A bell chimed, a single tone that echoed throughout the hall, and the ponies within fell silent. The great door to the hall opened, and a young colt, dressed in a tabard bearing the mark of a crystalline heart, stepped through. “Mares and colts!” he announced in a high, clear voice. “Presenting her majesty, the Princess Cadance! Mistress of the Dawn, Protector of the Heart, Margravine of the Northern Mountains, and the Rising Sun! Accompanying her Highness is her ward, Lady Serale Armonia Everstar! Daughter of the Evening Sage, Heir to the Bronze Crown and the Oaken Throne! Hail, Princess and Lady!”

“Hail!” the ponies called, back, kneeling as they did so. Cobblestone and Vino followed suit, though Cobblestone kept her gaze up to see Serale as she came in.

She wasn’t disappointed. Princess Cadance had used her time wisely. Serale’s hair and neck dripped with jewels, a fitted dress clung to her in elegant waves of shimmering golden silk, and she looked freshly bathed and scrubbed up. She was a vision of beauty, the envy of any mare and the desire of any stallion.

She looked like a scullery maid next to Cadance.

Regal, poised, every hair in place and every feather preened, the Princess of Love stepped through the doors along with Serale and drew every eye effortlessly. Dressed in blue the color of a winter sky, hair adorned with roses, Cobblestone’s breath caught in her throat to see her, and she was reminded forcefully that she was in the presence of not just a Princess, but a goddess.

“Please,” she said, in a voice that spoke to the heart of every pony present, “Rise. We’re not standing on ceremony tonight. It’s time to eat.”

“Nothing like a good entrance,” Cadance remarked as she tucked into her potato roast. “I think you caught a few eyes yourself, Serale.”

Serale snorted. “Like I’d be able to hold a candle to you on one of your bad days,” she said with good cheer. She’d been looking forward to dinner all day, she’d hardly eaten with all the preparing she needed to do.

“True,” Cadance said simply. “But I get to play the unattainable goddess card, whereas you’re much more approachable.”

“Low-hanging fruit,” Serale replied. “That’s me.”

Cadance giggled. “It’s good to have you here, niece of mine,” she said. “I hope everything was a bit smoother on the second leg of your journey.”

Serale grimaced. The topic hadn’t come up since she arrived. As soon as she’d greeted her aunt, she’d been whisked away by a gaggle of nattering maids, and after a seemingly interminable time buffeted back and forth, into and out of tubs and wardrobes, she’d found herself in this dress, face made up and hair done. She was still a little mystified as to how she’d gotten into the dress, as she had no clear memory of putting the dratted thing on.

“As smooth as could be expected,” she said. “It was very kind of you to send a ship for us. We’re in your debt.”

“Nonsense!” Cadance exclaimed, waving an airy hoof. “You’re an Equestrian in need of help, and more importantly, you’re family. What was I going to have you do, walk? Celestia knows you haven’t had much luck with trains.”

Serale had never quite gotten used to the idea of swearing by Celestia. “I’d agree with you there,” she said. “But we’ve made it, finally. I’m looking forward to working with you and the other members of your Court in the coming weeks.”

“Oh, we’ll get to it,” Cadance said dismissively. “But first, we need to do some catching up. How’re things with you and Twily?”

Pet names for her mother were more familiar ground for Serale. “Mother’s doing fine and wishes you well in the coming year,” she said. “And even though I told her she wouldn’t have to worry about it, she made me swear to tell you not to try and make a match for me while I’m here.”

“Your mother,” Cadance said before taking a sip of wine, “Is the biggest stick in the mud I’ve ever met. She always has been.”

Serale sipped at her wine diplomatically, not wanting to say anything one way or the other.

Cadance set down her goblet, looking out over the dining hall. “Wonderful,” she said. “I’m glad you’ve started your own Guard, at least. You’ll need it if you want to carve out your own piece of the world somewhere. Have you bedded any of them yet?”

Serale sputtered, almost choking on her wine. “Really?” she managed after a moment of dabbing at her mouth with her napkin, much to her aunt’s amusement. “Is that all you ever think about, Aunt Cadance?”

Cadance shrugged. “I follow the wisdom of the heart,” she said. “You grew up in the Everfree, so you’re still harder to read, but I know you’re getting to that point in your life. You’ll need to start looking for a good political match eventually, so it may as well be one you can trust and have some affection for. I could help you along, if that’s what you want.”

“No magic!” she said quickly as Serale looked at her, eyes flashing dangerously. “I’d consider that cheating. Even when I help Celestia with her ‘projects’, it’s less spellcasting and more putting out positive energy. I meant advice, an ear to listen or a shoulder to cry on.”

Serale was silent for a moment, looking out over the diners below the table where they sat, each of them engaged in their own conversations. Even Libra, sitting below her and at her right hoof, was busy talking with an elderly unicorn in white robes, his graying beard coiled on the bench next to him.

“Thank you, Aunt Cadance,” she said distantly. “But I think I’ll avoid searching for a spouse for now.”

Cadance made an exasperated sound. “I’m not talking about somepony to produce little heirs with!” she exclaimed. “Listen to me, Serale. Your mother had the same problem when she was young. She spent too much time thinking with her head, and not enough time listening to her heart.”

“If I recall my history lessons,” Serale said, “When she did finally listen to her heart, she met Celestia’s match for her.”

“And later, she met Tarantella, whom I maintain was the only other pony your mother ever truly loved,” Cadance retorted. “But I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about going on a date. A walk in the garden, or a quiet conversation over a pot of tea. I’m glad you’ve made a friend, even though she is a bit...rough...around the edges, but a pony needs more than just friends at some point.”

A longer silence passed between the two, this time broken by Cadance. “You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it,” she said. “You’re sixteen, for Celestia’s sake. Come on, who?”

Serale’s mouth opened, and then closed. “I…” she said, flushing. She downed a cup of her wine. Almost unbidden, her gaze drifted across the room to a table near the far corner.

Cadance followed her gaze and nodded appreciatively. “The knight,” she said. “I’ve heard about him. What’s his name?”

“It’s not like that,” Serale said hurriedly. “Vino’s a good friend, nothing more.”

“Nothing wrong with thinking about a friend that way,” Cadance replied evenly. “He does seem to be engaged, though. Isn’t that your fellow apprentice?” She peered closer and chuckled. “And she’s wearing an old gown of mine, one of the ones I gave away. Glad to see it’s getting some use!”

Serale chose instead to mumble into her vegetable pie.

“Relax,” Cadance said. “Your crush, or whatever you want to call it, is safe with me. If you ever want help with it, just let me know. If you do want to act on it, though,” she said, her voice thoughtful and perhaps a bit hungry, “I’d hurry. Some lucky mare is liable to snatch him from under you if you’re not careful.”

Serale tore her eyes away from the table where Vino and Cobblestone sat, laughing and chatting like old friends. A hot emotion she couldn’t identify rose unchecked in her breast, and she realized with faint horror that the next few months were going to be long ones indeed.

Gníomhairí

Captain Roughshod was a well-respected member of the Guard, and was something of a legend in military circles. Though some would say that his glory years were behind him, it was never said to his face, and even behind a desk, he still cut a dashing and dangerous figure, clad in royal purple and his one green eye sparkling mischievously behind the sweep of the wide-brimmed black hat which covered his short, blonde mane. He had a propensity for making friends, and some would argue paramours, which had allowed him to climb the political ladder with greater alacrity than his few rivals might have hoped, though he seemed genuinely content with his position as Captain of the Guard.

It was in this capacity that he had been summoned to the private offices of Lady Everstar, though he had occasionally been invited there as a fourth in bridge or to meet with some of the more senior generals to discuss matters of military policy. Boots shined, mane groomed, and jacket crisp, he had good-naturedly answered the summons on his day off to come into the deserted Court, also on hiatus, to discuss some pressing matter with the Lady. Greeting the staff with a smile, and some by name, he ascended the great staircase that led into the hall containing the Lady’s offices, seemingly unbothered by the cold wind which had finally brought with it a clear sky, moving the oppressive layer of cloud that had sealed the city in like a sheet of lead.

Nearly a foot of snow had fallen in the past day, and Roughshod was careful to watch his step as he ascended the stairs. The servants had swept the snow and thrown down salt, but it wouldn’t do for him to take a tumble down the steps on his way to meet the Lady. It therefore took him a moment longer than usual, perhaps, to meet the door, held open for him by an obliging groundskeeper, which earned the young Pegasus a nod of thanks before the Captain stepped inside, shaking the cold from him as he removed his hat.

He knew the route from years of habit, taking the shorter path down a side corridor, using the curling staircase that was tucked away behind a statue depicting a young mage with curling ringlets, holding an important-seeming book. Upon his arrival at the third floor, he took the second door on his left, the third hallway on his right, and passed the two guards standing outside the humble double doors, each of whom snapped a sharp salute. Knocking thrice, he waited on the door to open, and after a moment, open it did.

Captain Roughshod poked his head through the door. “You wished to see me, Milady?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know.

Lady Everstar, clad in a simple white shirt and warm leggings, beamed at him from behind her desk. “Ah, Captain!” she exclaimed, setting a hefty ledger down on her desk, “You’re just in time! Please, come in, you’re letting out all the warm air.”

Captain Roughshod stepped into the room, dutifully shutting the door. It was a good deal warmer in this room, he noticed, though there was no fire in the fireplace, and one entire side of the study was a window. He took his customary seat at the long table which dominated the room, usually clear save for a few maps on his visits, but for the moment, choked with books.

“Excuse the mess,” Lady Everstar said airily, waving one hoof, “I’ve been looking a few things up. I’m glad you’re here, Captain.”

“How can I be of service?” Captain Roughshod asked. “As always, I live to serve.”

The Lady smiled, gesturing to a thick leather binder near his chair. “That binder,” she said, “Contains the expense report for the entire army during the first years of the Kingdom. Open it up; look at how much was spent to provision it. I’ve included notation on inflation rates, it should prove illuminating.”

Roughshod flipped the binder open, flicking through its pages and adding up rows of numbers in his head. His brow furrowed. “The entire army was only twenty thousand strong?” he asked. “But the battle of the Regia involved nearly a hundred thousand combatants on our side alone, the Equestrians bringing twice that.”

“Gryphons, Changelings, and levied troops,” Lady Everstar said. “The numbers on our end were vastly inflated. It’s a damn good thing we’d begun to produce flash powder weapons and the Equestrians had just come through the Everfree, because we were hopelessly outmatched otherwise. Keep reading.”

The Captain did as he was bidden, examining the numbers again. “Even adjusted for inflation,” he said, “We spent half as much on twenty thousand soldiers back then as we do now. And last I checked, the Army alone counted nearly seventy thousand. Then you add in the Navy, the Guard, the Rangers, the Mage Corps…”

“All told, we field a hundred and fifty thousand ponies at any given time, with another fifty thousand in reserves and with the ability to conscript perhaps half that amount again,” Lady Everstar said. “We need to be able to move supplies, materiel, and bodies quickly and effectively to wherever they are needed, and that takes a lot of organization and more than a little miracle working to do right.”

“Which is why we spend a small fortune on a logistics department yearly,” Captain Roughshod observed. “I’ve met them myself. Why are you telling me this?”

Lady Everstar sighed. “I suppose by now,” she said, “You’ve heard the rumors that the Equestrians are beginning to move troops around, and not just for exercises.”

“I’d assumed it was barracks scuttlebutt, nothing to worry about,” Captain Roughshod said with a frown. “I’d kept my ponies on their hooves just in case, but I didn’t put any credence to the talk.”

Lady Everstar turned to face him. She produced a snifter of brandy from behind a pile of notebooks, sliding it over to him. “I suggest you have a drink,” she said, “Because the movement is real. The Changelings reported eight regiments of mixed light and heavy infantry moving south from Fillydelphia and fourteen moving west from forts north of Manehatten. The Imperial Legion is still stationed in Canterlot, but the Home Fleet has begun maneuvers as well.”

Captain Roughshod said nothing, perhaps turning a shade paler than his white coat normally was, before seizing the snifter of brandy and draining it in a gulp. He closed his eye, let out a deep breath through his nose, and opened it once again, the picture of composure. “Alright,” he said, “How would you like me to prepare, Milady?”

“This comes at an inopportune time,” Lady Everstar said. “For multiple reasons. The first is that the last generals who had actual experience in a large-scale conflict retired decades ago. The second is that our military, while considerably more advanced than the one the Equestrians can field, is in the middle of being updated to accommodate new doctrine. You’ve seen the letters.”

Captain Roughshod certainly had. With the advent of new industrialization techniques, the Kingdom’s military was changing faster than he’d ever believed possible. New rifles were being made, those that could fire multiple shots without needing to reload. Mechanized rotary guns fired rounds faster than an entire group of infantry could, and he had personally attended an exhibition of a new artillery piece that could fling explosives nearly a mile away with near-perfect accuracy. The speed and rapidity of the Kingdom’s advances bordered on the unbelievable.

“I could see how that might be the case, Milady. Most of the Guard is still getting used to the new equipment, let alone the regular Army. If an attack comes at the wrong time, we could lose more ponies than we’d need to.”

“Which cannot be allowed, when fighting against the Equestrians and their unquestionable numerical advantage,” Lady Everstar asserted. “Not to mention nearly half our food comes from Equestrian fields. We have supplies, but we can’t get bogged down in a long war with them, because in a protracted conflict, they’ll come out ahead. So I’ve begun a reorganization of our command structure.”

“Am I out of a job?” Captain Roughshod asked with a smile. “I can’t imagine that will make you very many friends.”

Lady Everstar shrugged. “I’m not in the business of ruling a country to make friends,” she said. “But you’re right in that it’ll step on more than a few hooves. Especially since I’m folding existing organizations like the Rangers into the Army and unifying the airborne and seafaring Navies to cut down on the logistical strain of things.”

“I feel it is my duty to recommend against such a course of action,” Roughshod said carefully. “If conflict breaks out, we’ll be using an untested command structure against a well-organized military juggernaut. Hay, if you make too many changes, you’re liable to have a mutiny on your hooves at the exact wrong time.”

“Which is where you come in,” Lady Everstar said. “In the coming months, you’re going to be my attaché while I make the cuts. You’ll be shaking hooves, following up on orders, all of it. It’s a big job, but I feel you can undertake such a task.”

Captain Roughshod was glad he had finished his brandy, because if he had been drinking, he likely would have choked. “Me?” he asked in a panicked tone, rising from his chair before composing himself and sitting back down. “I’m honored, Milady, but there are half a dozen ponies better suited than I to handle this. If you command it, I will of course obey, but…”

“I understand your concerns, they will be addressed, and I do, in fact, command it,” Lady Everstar said cheerfully, levitating stacks of books into the air as she began to return them to their respective shelves. “You’re well liked, Captain. You have a good head for politics, a good head for combat, and frankly, I can’t think of another pony that embodies the ideals of the Kingdom’s military better than you. You might not be the best organizer or the best general, but you’re exactly what I need to assist in this transitory period.”

“Oh, don’t look so grim!” Lady Everstar said, looking at Captain Roughshod’s drawn features. “It’s not like you’re going to be running errands all day and every day. You’ll be needed perhaps once a week, if that.”

“If that is what you require, Milady, then I am happy to obey your commands,” Roughshod replied. “May I ask what my first task will be?”

“Compile a list for me,” Lady Everstar said. “Any redundant departments or unnecessary expenditures in the Guard. Also, I would appreciate a brief summary of the careers of the officers in the Guard. Senior ones only, I won’t make you account for every lieutenant in the Guard by yourself. I’d like it by the end of the month, if possible.”

“Of course,” Captain Roughshod said, rising from his chair once again. “That gives me three weeks, plenty of time for an organization as small as the Guard.”

“I’ll let you get to it, Captain,” Lady Everstar said. “And do cheer up. It’s nowhere near as bad as you think.”

Captain Roughshod bowed low before hurrying from the room, considerably less cheerful than when he had entered it. Lady Everstar watched him go with a look approaching fondness on her face until the door closed behind him, at which point the cheerful façade was dropped immediately.

“Turquoise?” she called. “You can come out now.”

There was a rush of green fire, and Turquoise appeared seemingly from thin air, sitting in the chair furthest from Captain Roughshod’s own. The snow-white Pegasus fluttered her wings demurely and waited for her mistress’s next command.

“Well?” Lady Everstar inquired. “What did you get from him?”

Turquoise seemed to wilt a bit. “How did you know I was sitting there?” she asked.

“The cushion on the chair was depressed,” Lady Everstar said. “You can cloak yourself from sight and sound, but gravity still affects you. Now, what did you sense from him?”

“He’s definitely hiding something,” Turquoise said. “What that is, I couldn’t say specifically. He seemed a lot angrier than I thought he would be, even given the circumstances. And of course, there’s the ever-present infatuation over you.”

Lady Everstar rolled her eyes. “If I had a bit for every member of my staff who was head over hooves for me,” she said, “We wouldn’t have to hold those damn budgetary meetings to fund the Army in the first place.”

“This runs a bit deeper, I think,” Turquoise asserted. “It’s strange. It goes almost beyond love. Which I suppose is good in a member of your Guard, but it could be dangerous. All the more reason to keep him close, where you can observe him.”

“And you’re sure of his involvement in a…oh, what do they call them now?”

Turquoise nodded. “Captain Roughshod is a senior member in the Starlit Path. The term you’re looking for is ‘temple’, Milady.”

Lady Everstar snorted. “They don’t even have a ‘temple’. I’ve ordered every one of those things closed as soon as they pop up.”

“I don’t see any particular harm in allowing small groups to worship you, Milady. Weren’t you given power comparable to the Princesses to restore balance to Equestria?”

“You’ve been keeping up on your history,” Lady Everstar said approvingly. “That’s good. And yes, that’s how it went. But for some reason, some ponies have the idea that I’m something other than a very old mare that got her hooves on more power than she really knew what to do with.”

“Regardless,” she continued, “The last thing I need to worry about is Captain Roughshod’s very flattering but entirely unwanted and unneeded feelings towards me. In your opinion, can he be trusted?”

Turquoise blew air through her mouth, an act she did not strictly need to undertake, seeing as breathing was not something she strictly needed to do. “Milady,” she said, reticent, “I cannot be assured of Captain Roughshod’s intentions. He is…different. Like with yourself, it is difficult for me to get an accurate picture of his emotional state. He must have nearly supernatural emotional discipline.”

The Lady was silent, merely electing to pour herself a generous helping of brandy, as well as one for Turquoise. She slid it across the table before taking a seat. “Are you telling me,” she said, her voice dangerously quiet, “That the pony I personally selected to lead the Guard, cream of the crop soldiers whose sole job is to protect the citizens of Starfall and myself, a pony with an outstanding military record and decades of unswerving loyalty and outstanding service, is a possible threat to me?”

The Pegasus sat very still, hoof frozen on the glass of brandy. “Yes, Milady,” she said, nodding her head jerkily. “As I cannot be assured of his intentions, I must reluctantly inform you that Captain Roughshod represents a threat to your security at this time.”

Turquoise flinched, worried that she had given offense, and prepared for the scorn or anger that Lady Everstar would surely hurl at the temerity of her accusation. She had, after all, been Lady Everstar’s personal agent for perhaps two years, whereas Captain Roughshod was a decorated soldier. What she did not expect, however, was for Lady Everstar to sit back in her chair with a self-satisfied smile, and take a sip of brandy.

“Perfect,” she said. “Please, Turquoise, take a drink.”

Turquoise did as she was asked. “Are you not displeased, Milady?” she inquired, eyes wide. “You react so mildly for having received such news as I have given.”

“Tell me,” Lady Everstar said, “Do your kind still observe the adage ‘keep your friends close, and your enemies closer’?”

“I…have heard the phrase used, Milady, and I understand its meaning, but I fail to see why you apply it in such an important capacity.”

“Captain Roughshod arrived in Starfall requesting service in the Army nearly thirty years ago, seemingly from nowhere, and has been a rising star ever since. He’s an almost-perfect soldier and an excellent pony, which makes him very popular and easy to get along with. I admit to even being a little charmed by him when I met him for the first time. He reminded me very much of my long-dead brother. Frankly, Turquoise, he’s too good to be true. Four hundred years I’ve been alive, and I’ve never met a pony possessing his drive, upright nature, skill, and intelligence,” Lady Everstar said. “What worried me, though, is the fact that once upon a time, I knew somepony very similar to him.”

“That is a very cynical view of things, Milady,” Turquoise said. “May I ask whom?”

Lady Everstar took a sip of her brandy. “An old mistake that very nearly cost me dearly. A pony with a mane of red I still see in my dreams, eyes that danced with green laughter and a coat the white of cream. And Turquoise?”

“Yes, Milady?”

“Had you reneged on your claim that the Captain was a threat, I would now be sending my condolences to Queen Feldspar and requesting a new agent. In the future, I expect such forthrightness from you as a matter of course. Is that understood?”

Turquoise took another mouthful of brandy, her throat uncharacteristically dry. “Yes, Milady.”

Lady Everstar smiled, and her eyes gleamed with the steel hidden behind their beautiful purple. “Good,” she said. “Now, let me have the list of the other traitors we’ve uncovered in the ranks. I need to know which heads I will need to make preparations for mounting on the Regia’s walls.”

“We could all lose our heads for this!” the corpulent pony in the corner exclaimed, eyes streaming red from the smoke that had accumulated over the last few hours in the cellar. “Protestation and demonstration is one thing, Creed, but what you’ve suggested is an act of outright rebellion!”

“Hear, hear!” another protested, waving a glass of wine about haphazardly. “The Collectivist Union has been by your side for years, Creed, but this is taking it much too far!”

Creed remained calm, slicking back the greasy locks of his mane as he listened patiently to the ponies around him pontificate on why, exactly, it was a bad idea to finally accomplish something for once. “Brothers and sisters in arms, believe me when I say I understand your concerns,” he said smoothly. “But don’t you see that this is the exact right time to act?”

“Act?” the first pony, a career teamster by the name of Arduous, exclaimed. “Act! What do you think we’ve bloody been doing these long years? We’ve protested and pleaded for social reform, more power to the ponies, we’ve even asked for Lady Everstar to delegate more to the nobles, for pity’s sake! It’s gotten us nowhere! But an armed insurrection? That’s not acting, that’s suicidal!”

There was a growl of agreement from most of the ponies present. Only Creed’s own ponies kept their silence. Creed had been spending several weeks consolidating his position in the League, and the last thing he needed was the few remaining malcontents undermining him in public. Even though they were hosting this meeting, however, they were still outnumbered eight to one by the other unions, leagues, and associations which made up the bulk of what some ponies would call “extremist groups”.

A mustachioed pony piped up next. “We of the Independent Mages would take on any magical threat which threatened the existence of this great organization, but every mage in the Kingdom wouldn’t stand a chance against the Guard!”

“And even if we did,” another teamster cried, “Even if we somehow made it past them, we’d still have to contend with the Lady herself! You might as well point a pistol at the moon as Lady Everstar! Hay, even if the Guard was for some reason on our side, we’d still be right back where we started!”

“Which is why I’ve begun talking with a sponsor,” Creed replied, sounding insulted that they hadn’t considered that he had thought this through already. “One of the nobles of the Court sympathizes with our cause and has begun to provide us with funding, which eliminates the old problem of not being able to secure materiel, aside from what the teamsters bravely 'liberated' from ammunition depots.”

Arduous’s bulging cheeks reddened. “We put our lives in danger to get those explosives!” he asserted.

“Peace, brother,” Creed said, holding up a hoof to forestall the impending tirade. “I meant no disrespect. They were bravely taken and we are all grateful for what you could get us. I merely meant to say that we no longer need to risk our lives to procure weapons. My patron has already begun to funnel the League new weapons and ammunition, including repeating rifles. They are, of course, at your disposal.”

“But that doesn’t change the fact that even if we do fight our way through the Guards without taking catastrophic losses, we’re still facing the pony that would bring it all to an end,” the leader of the teamsters shot back. “Lady Everstar will never abdicate her throne, and she has refused time and again to listen to any of our requests!”

“Which is why I’ve also sought out help in that regard,” Creed offered. “No disrespect to our brethren Mages, but we need to hit her very hard if we want to make a difference.”

The Archmage slammed his mug of ale down on his table. “I’ve heard of your dalliance with these so-called ‘Crows’,” he said disdainfully, “And I can say with all honesty that any practitioner who meddles with demons and the dead means no good to anypony, and we’d be a fool to accept a two-bit shoeshine from one of their ilk. Besides, Crows won’t be enough either. Lady Everstar has taken on whole covens of sorcerers and necromancers before and come out virtually unscathed.”

“And I bet they come through the same noble that put you in their pocket,” Arduous sneered. “How many favors would you owe for them, eh? Kick out one despot and turn the whole Kingdom over to corpse-eaters.”

Creed grinned. It was not a pleasant grin. “You’re right, of course,” he said, taking a sip of his own drink as he rose from his seat. “The Crows wouldn’t be enough, and they do come with a cost. But we’ve recently been approached by a third party.”

The door in the back, supposedly shut tight and well-hidden, opened with a boom that echoed much longer than it should have in the tiny room. Ponies blinked and stared in the sudden influx of evening light at the figure which stood silhouetted in the door before it stepped through, closing it behind it once more.

Though it was difficult to distinguish specifics in the hazy confines of the bar’s back room, everypony present could discern at least a few qualities, though some things seemed to catch the attention of onlookers more than others, and not all the conspirators would later agree on the most prominent aspect of their visitor.

His suit, pinstriped and gray, was rumpled, though it was clear that it was of a very fine cut, and his mane, black shot through with streaks of white, was tousled as if he had just arisen from a deep sleep. Irises the same shade of crimson as his tie gleamed in eyes of gleaming yellow, and a single snaggletoothed fang curled from below his lip, stretched in an expression caught between smirk, sneer, and smile. He reached the front of the room much sooner than he should have, turned to the would-be rebels, and spoke with a voice that cut with dangerous amusement.

“Well,” he said, shattering the tense silence that had lain over the room like a shroud, “Well, well, well. What have we here? Rebels? Thieves? Charlatans? Soldiers?” His grin twisted into something a bit more predatory. “My kind of ponies. Creed, my lad, you didn’t tell me you associated with such colorful characters. I daresay I could find some use for them yet.”

“And who, might I ask, are you?” the Archmage inquired disdainfully. “This is a society for private discourse and allows an exclusive clientele.”

The suited stallion met his gaze like an avalanche meets a tree. “You,” he said, “Ask all the wrong sorts of questions. I think you always have, haven’t you Blackstone? The wrong questions, the wrong ponies, the wrong times. Else you wouldn’t be selling second-rate potions on street corners.”

He fished in his pocket and pulled out a silver coin, which he tossed to the Archmage, who caught it out of reflex. “Ponder that,” the stallions said, his eyes shining at a private joke. “It’s from ancient Roam. More blood has been spilled over that coin than you’d think. I imagine you’ll find it quite…illuminating.”

“I’m sure…” the Archmage muttered, examining the etchings on the coin, his earlier fiery focus having apparently gone out. His compatriots looked at him worriedly as the suited stallion stepped forward into the crowd.

“I’ve had so many names,” the stallion said, looking at them each in turn. “But the one I go by nowadays is Dis. And I did approach Creed, strictly to offer my services as a consultant.”

“Dis believes in our cause,” Creed said. “Power vested in the ponies, and a nation run by the ponies.”

Dis nodded earnestly. “All that power resting in the hooves of the many, instead of caught up in one place?” he asked. “It’s an inspiring vision, really it is. This is why I’ve agreed to provide some information to you all.”

“And where did you get this information?” Arduous asked. “Books?”

“Among other places,” Dis said. “You could say I’m something of a collector of oddities, or I was until recently. Either way, it’s fascinating what you’ll find when you dig deeply enough. I believe I can help you, gentlecolts.”

He paused, waiting on a question that wouldn’t come. His grin grew wider. “Unlike the other Princesses,” he said conspiratorially, “Our dear Lady Everstar is still technically mortal. There’s something holding her here, something that gives her her immense power.”

“My dear comrades,” Dis said with a smile, “Lady Everstar can be killed. She has a weakness. It lies in the gem on her chest.”

Féideartha

The streets were empty save for a few transients, curled into corners where the cold didn’t quite reach, shivering beneath blankets of thin wool, stained with years of use. The shadow passed them by without a sound, though their dreams gave it pause for a brief moment. As the slender figure walked, cloak billowing in the night breeze, past each dreamer, a small effort of will was made, and the fitful stirrings of the dreamers stilled, their breathing deepening as their own personal demons subsided for the evening. They were freely given, and the shadow had need of them.

Silently, like a coil of mist, the figure walked, unbent by the cold or wind. It picked its way through side alleys and winding roads, away from the main boulevards where watchful constables strolled, wrapped up in winter furs and cursing their luck. It meandered more or less downhill, moving towards the harbor and the darkened ships which bobbed at rest there. Even though Crescent City’s lifeblood was trade, nopony wanted to be out on the water on a night like this.

It checked the skies, which were patchy with cloud and a few sullen stars. The moon provided only a little light by which to see, so the cloaked figure relied on its other senses to clear a path. It wasn’t far now until its destination, a small shack that could almost be called a customs house sitting next to the harbor on the seedier side of things.

There was a gentle stirring, a susurrus of wind, and the clouds above let loose their cargo, spilling freezing rain down upon the streets below. The pony paused for a moment, considering this new factor, and decided that no adjustment would be necessary to its plan. A short climb and a quick jump took it to the rooftops, and from there it was a matter of moments before it arrived on the roof of the shack, landing with grace and poise enough that the tarred timbers of the roof hardly shivered.

The cloaked figure strode to the chimney of the shack, and secured a length of cord to it, the other end clipping to a harness it wore beneath its cloak, which it rolled up to its withers, there to remain while it went about its work, though it kept the hood up. It double and triple-checked the length of cord to make sure it would hold its weight, and then, with little preamble, strode off the edge of the roof, landing sheltered beneath the shack's wide eaves.

There was a little-used window there, all but stuck with age, but a bit of jimmying with the hinges had given it enough mobility to open wide enough to let the pony through. Quickly, it stepped through the window, sealing it shut behind itself. It unclipped its cord, and from a bandolier upon its chest, it drew an unusual implement, a wand of what looked to be gnarled wood.

Creeping along the rafters, it gazed down at the ponies below, who appeared to be haggling over the contents of the crates. Any other pony would have been concerned that the crates appeared to contain both guns and explosives, but to the hooded figure, it was hardly a footnote. These were the ponies she had been looking for.

It bit down hard on one hoof, enough to draw blood, and let the liquid flow down the wand until crimson had collected at its tip. It grew and grew, from a bead, to a drop, and from there into a globe of red liquid that shone darkly in the dim light of the shack. There was a strange crackling noise in the air, and without prompting, the bubble of crimson let go of the end of the wand, falling much more slowly than it had a right to. The figure watched dispassionately as it descended, and then burst in midair. Red sprayed across the room, and suddenly, without warning, every pony in the room below her began to scream.

The pony turned and left as its prey began to tear themselves apart, the collected pain of a hundred lost souls welled up inside of each of them. Some clutched at their heads, others beat themselves against the walls, and then one of them found a gun.

It was perhaps a minute later that, the cloaked figure several rooftops away, the shed exploded, torn apart from the inside as the grenades detonated with a thunderous roar. The pony stopped and watched with an air of grim satisfaction as a group of constables raised the alarm, sprinting towards a fire they had no hope of rescuing survivors from. The breeze caught its hood, and with an absentminded hoof, the unicorn swept it back, revealing a tattooed face and carved horn and two eyes of iciest blue.

Cobblestone took it all in one last time, and vanished back into the shadows. She had more work to do tonight.

Cobblestone went rather suddenly from a warm bed to a cold and dark courtyard. She plummeted the last few inches to the ground, impacting it with a solid thud. Her eyes snapped open as the air rushed out of her all at once, and it was reflex rather than wakefulness that propelled her to her hooves, bleary eyes scouring her surroundings for a threat. Her horn lit threateningly as she searched for an enemy, but she could see only Libra, bundled against the cold, and a heap of pony she could only assume was Serale.

“Good morning!” Libra said cheerfully as the wind whipped past her mane. “I hope you slept well!”

“What the buck is going on?” Cobblestone asked, shivering. She looked around, noting that the courtyard they were in was absolutely deserted, and the sky overhead was still pitch-black. “What time is it?”

“It’s currently three bells past four in the morning,” Libra chirped as Serale staggered to her hooves, looking for all the world like a half-drowned cat. “We need to stretch before our run this morning.”

“Run?” Serale mumbled. “What run?”

“We’ll be running around the base of the Bower’s hill,” Libra said. “It’s a distance of about three miles.”

Cobblestone flinched as the wind, straight off of the mountain, tore at her coat again. “You want us to run three miles this early in the morning?”

“Nine, actually,” Libra said. “We’ll be jogging around it three times. I expect my apprentices to be strong in body and mind, and this is your first step into that ideal.” She hopped up and down a few times, and stretched one of her legs. “Try not to look at it as an exercise that needs to be completed. Try to look at it as bracing morning calisthenics.”

“Libra,” Serale said. “We went to bed at nearly midnight last night. We’re exhausted.”

“Then you’ll sleep well tonight!” Libra said. “Early to bed and early to rise and all that. Now, are you two ready to stretch?”

Serale scraped at the ground with one hoof. “Libra, I’m not stretching. I just want to go back to bed.”

“I agree, Magus,” Cobblestone said, a bit more respectfully. “It’s really early. If I have to run nine miles this early, I think I might collapse.”

Libra sighed. “So neither of you want to stretch?” she asked.

“No, Magus,” the two apprentices replied in almost-perfect unison.

“Very well,” Libra said, eyes glinting dangerously beneath the steel-gray of her bun. “We won’t be doing any stretching today.”

“I just want to go back to bed,” Cobblestone mimicked as she and Serale finally lost sight of the ramp down the mountain, which they had been forced to sprint. “I don’t want to stretch. I’m too tired. Are you happy now?”

“Says the mare who was perfectly willing to go along with it,” Serale panted. “I didn’t notice any protests from you.”

“Well, at least this will keep us warm,” Cobblestone said, keeping pace with her. “I mean, you run a little slowly, but this is fine too.”

Serale flushed, the redness of her face completely unrelated to the exertion. “Well, pardon me if I haven’t had practice running from the authorities,” she shot back. “Some of us had other responsibilities.”

Cobblestone managed a grin. “Hey, we all have to start somewhere. Nine miles is an awful starting point for both of us, but it can only get better, right?”

“You shouldn’t have said that,” Serale replied, as the trail they were on took them towards a lake in the distance. “Now it’s bound to get worse.”

Cobblestone peered into the distance ahead. “Can you even see Libra anymore? She took off pretty quickly.”

“Libra starts every morning with a few laps around the Regia,” Serale puffed. The trail had begun to climb, and both of the apprentices were beginning to feel a dull burning in their legs. “She’s really very spry for a mare her age. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was halfway around the hill by now.”

“Oyah,” Cobblestone managed, slipping back into street slang. “This is awful. And we’ll probably be doing exercises to work on our strength after this, too. Do you think we’ll be running every morning?”

Serale shrugged. “It’s not healthy to run every day, especially for long distances, but Libra’s known to push her own limits. She probably expects us to do the same. I’d think that…” She trailed off as the path curved around to one side, exposing the back of the hill.

Another, smaller rise loomed off to one side, a hill that had collapsed on one side, leaving a natural cliff that overlooked the lake, water gleaming quietly in the last light of the setting moon. If one had the desire to, they could take a running leap from the top of the hill into the water, which Serale somehow knew was deep enough to dive in.

She shook her head, clearing away the strange sense of déjà vu that hung about her, and Serale thought she might have seen phantom feathers and heard a distant laugh that sent her heart a-flutter. She looked back to Cobblestone, who was speaking.

“Pardon?” she asked. “I’m afraid my head was somewhere else.”

“No kidding,” Cobblestone said. “You looked to be a million miles away. Is everything alright?”

“It’s the strangest thing,” Serale said as they passed by the cliff. “I feel like I’ve been here before. But until recently, I’d never even left the Regia, let alone the Kingdom. But I know that the lake never really freezes over and that you could jump off that rise over there safely if you wanted to.”

Cobblestone stared at her. “That’s…unusual,” she said. “But hey, you’re the one with the magical mother. Maybe you know how to see into the future or something.”

“If I did,” Serale said with a snort, “I certainly wouldn’t be here jogging with you.”

“Pick up those hooves, you two!” came a shout from behind them. Cobblestone and Serale’s heads whipped around to see Libra following them from a little way back. “We’ve got plenty to do before the sun comes up, and I won’t have lollygagging!”

With muted groans, the duo reluctantly picked up the pace, both dreading the coming miles and wishing for the end of their mutual suffering.

“Last hundred yards!” Libra barked as Cobblestone and Serale both grunted with exertion, sweat shining on their faces in the early light of the rising sun. The two strained against their harness, doing the best they could to work together to pull the weights behind them. The sledge clattered against the cobbles of the yard, and with a final, coordinated rush, they managed to pull the load across the line, collapsing at the sound of Libra’s whistle.

It would be only a brief respite, they both knew. For the past three hours, they’d ran and pushed and pulled and leapt until every muscle they knew of was sore, and a few more besides. The only breaks they’d had were for water, and even then they came as scant relief. Apparently they’d been the only ones awake in the castle for the first two hours that hadn’t been stationed as guards, and the first notaries and soldiers to arrive, just before sunrise, had been both confused and entertained at the sight of two young unicorns doing the kind of work that normally would fall to veteran knights.

There was a clatter of wood on stone. “Get up!” Libra said. “It’s time for our last exercises of the day. There’s a good breakfast waiting for you after this, so I want to see you earn it.”

Cobblestone and Serale lifted their heads to see two slender pieces of wood laying on the ground, slender rods that tapered to a point on one end. “Fencing?” Cobblestone asked. “Why do we need to learn fencing?”

“Magic is a powerful tool,” Libra said, sending the swords to her apprentices with a flick of her horn and summoning one for herself, “But it is not the end-all, be-all solution to the problems you may face. There may be a time when you need to defend yourself, but magic will not serve you well. There may be times when you’ll need to hide your true magical potential, and it would be at those times that you would rely on a sword. Now pick them up, we have work to do.”

Cobblestone and Serale both got to their hooves, shaking a bit, and did as they were told. Libra watched them both with a critical eye. “For the first week or two,” she said, “We won’t bother with pitting you two against one another. Her horn flashed, and two wooden barrels slammed into the ground. “These will be your opponents. What we will be learning is not fencing. Fencing is an art form, a sport to exhibit skill, speed, and a keen mind. What I am teaching you is how to kill things with a sword.”

“These are heavier than they look,” Cobblestone remarked, giving her sword an experimental swish. “Are they weighted?”

Libra nodded. “These are wood wrapped around a core of lead,” she said. “About as heavy as a good sword for somepony your size, but without the risk of taking off your own damn fool head. Cobblestone, you’re standing like you’re afraid of getting kicked in the gut. Widen your stance, girl.”

“Now,” she continued as Cobblestone did as she was told. “The first and most important position is the guard position. If you aren’t attacking or defending against an attack, your sword will remain in this position. Hold it in front of you, point slightly angled forward, and far enough away from you that it can’t be pushed back into your face. A bad guard will leave your own sword buried in your nose, and that is not conducive to self-defense.”

Cobblestone did as she was told, noting that Serale seemed much more at ease with a sword than she did. Shifting a bit, she tried to mimic her, and noted that she felt much more balanced when stood as the other mare did. She hefted the sword and stared at the barrel, trying to imagine a large pony covered in armor as she did so.

“Good,” Libra said. “Our next move is a simple over the top attack. A properly sharpened sword doesn’t take much effort to leave a cut, so a short and firm attack to the top of the head can leave an opponent bleeding and disoriented.” She demonstrated the cut with her own blade, more of a chopping motion than a swing. She gestured to the barrels, and then to Serale. “Now you try.”

Serale struck with the tip of her sword, giving the barrel a light rap. “No,” Libra said. “Harder than that. You’re killing it, Serale, not giving it a haircut.”

Serale swung again, the sound of the blow echoing off of the walls of the courtyard as a hollow thud. Libra nodded approvingly. “Good,” she said. “Much better. Now you, Cobblestone.”

Cobblestone stared at the barrel. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her mouth was suddenly dry. Her hooves shook, but not with fatigue. With a gulp, she braced herself and swung at the top of the barrel, striking a solid blow. As she did, she remembered black flames, the smell of ozone, and the eyeless face of a leering witch.

She shuddered, forcing the memory back. It’s just a barrel, Cobblestone, she told herself. Nothing to get worked up over. She’s nowhere near here.

“Cobblestone?” Libra asked, puzzled. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she croaked. “Never better. Just tired, that’s all.” You want to choke like you did again? Pick up the sword and swing. Do it for her.

“Then strike again,” Libra said. “Both of you give me twenty strikes from this position, and then we’ll focus on your next strike.”

Cobblestone braced herself and swung again. This time the vision was much worse. She could hear the crackling of her own skin, and could smell burning hair. Her horn throbbed where Nightshade’s fire had found it, back in the stadium, the first and last time she had tried to use a sword. She swung again, feeling phantom flames licking at her skin, and her muscles screaming a protest against magic that no longer existed. Again, and she could almost hear herself screaming, though she kept her own mouth locked tightly closed. She swung again. And again. Again. Again. Again…

“Cobblestone?” Libra asked. “You’ve done more than twenty. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Cobblestone nodded. “Just got into the rhythm,” she said, almost fooling even herself. “What’s next?”

Libra looked at her oddly before turning back to the barrels. “Next we’ll take a look at a cut from the side,” she said, “Specifically a cut from the top right down to the bottom left. Observe. This one is a bit more powerful, so you need to watch for overextension…”

The sun was nearly at its zenith when Serale and Cobblestone returned to the courtyard. The morning had been completely devoted to magical theory after they had bathed and eaten, both of them absolutely ravenous. Libra had expressly forbidden the consumption of any sugar except for honey and any alcohol except for wine, which they were now only permitted to take in the evenings.

After breakfast, they had met in a small room in one of the Bower’s lesser-used towers. There they had reviewed homework, discussed magical theory, and learned about the nature of magic and where it came from. It was essential, Libra had said, that they have an understanding of magic from the ground up. There was no way they could hope to understand the higher disciplines of magecraft if they didn’t understand was magic was at its core.

“So what I got from all of that,” Cobblestone said as they headed back to the manor for lunch, “Is that magic comes from ley lines.”

“And?” Serale prompted.

Cobblestone sighed. “The rest was a bit fuzzy. Something about it coming from inside of us, too? But are the ley lines part of us or their own thing?”

“Alright,” Serale said, pulling a sheaf of paper from her notebook and producing a pen. “Look at it like this. Magic flows in ley lines.” She drew a series of curling lines on her paper, and enclosed them in a circle. “They go all over the world and permeate everything, unless you use a spell to make sure they can’t get in, which is really difficult magic. It’s why pegasi and earth ponies can do things like fly with wings that are too small, or grow crops faster than they should. They’re able to subconsciously manipulate the ley lines, but only really small ones in really limited ways.”

“Right,” Cobblestone said, “I got that part. But how does that relate to magic coming from inside of you?” Her eyes widened. “Oh,” she said. “I just got it! The energy from ley lines pools inside unicorns!” Her eyes narrowed. “Hang on,” she said. She raised a hoof to her forehead, thinking hard. “You,” she said. “You’re different. You can only use the magic in ley lines, but you can use a lot of it.”

Serale nodded, one hoof going to the necklace about her throat, and the diamond that hung there. The gem was supposed to be clear, but there gleamed within its depths the slightest hint of green fire. “That’s what mother says. She still doesn’t know why, though.”

“But that’s not it,” Cobblestone said quietly. “Serale, that’s not it. What I’ve done. What I’ve did, back in the prison and…” She shuddered. “In the arena. When I reached for magic, I reached for magic in other ponies.”

It was Serale’s turn to be shocked. “Then,” she said, “Between the two of us, we can use it all.”

“Every part of magic, all across Equestria,” Cobblestone said. “No wonder Libra took us both on. I don’t think your mother would have stood for anything less.”

“Do you think Libra knows about this?” Serale mused.

“Why do you think she taught us about how ley lines work first?” Cobblestone said as she straightened up. “Libra wants us both to know exactly what we might be capable of when we learn how to use magic better.”

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the distant sound of work from the far end of the Court, muted and a world away.

“Cobblestone?” Serale asked.

“Hmm?”

“I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

“Neither do I.”

Dúshlán

The side yard of the Bower rang with the sound of steel on steel, as two ponies danced back and forth, bladebands flashing in a set pattern of thrusts and parries. The combatants, one clad in Kingdom purple, and the other a knight in the blue of Cadance's house, were demonstrating the culmination of a lesson that had just been taught to the assembled ponies, among them soldiers of Lady Serale's personal guard. It was a select few, ten lucky ponies drawn from two divisions, but they watched with razor-edged focus as the last few blows were exchanged.

“Now,” the knight said as they disengaged for the final time, “You're not expected to move that quickly. In fact, if you're moving that fast, you're probably not paying attention to form, and what have we been telling you all afternoon?”

“Form is fundamental!” the chorus replied.

The knight's companion, one of the more experienced sergeants of the Guard by the name of Alloy, nodded approvingly. “Pair up with somepony and try to keep your form correct. The bladebands you've been given are blunted, so you might be tempted to swing harder than you should. Remember, though, that a blunt blade can still break bones, and if I have to escort any one of you lot to the medics, I'll be very displeased.”

Vino watched from the parapets overlooking the courtyard as the crowd drifted apart into duos, noting which of the ponies under his command, five all told, were behaving as they ought. Thankfully the members of the Guard were finally starting to settle into their posting here in Dawndale, and though there had been a few incidents involving a member of the Guard making an unknowing faux pas, they had by and large been ignored. Cadance was gracious to her guests, and Captain Fidelis had made sure to keep his ponies away from any situation in which they could cause irreparable harm.

“Penny for your thoughts, lad?” Afi asked from his position behind him, eyes also cast out to the courtyard. He took a swig from the wineskin at his side before continuing. “You seem to be a mite lost in your own head, which never bodes well.”

“They're finally working well together,” Vino said. “They're acting like soldiers, not just fighters wearing a uniform.”

It was true, too. The long trip and close quarters had done wonders for strengthening the bonds between ponies that had met a scant month earlier. Cliques had formed at first, and to a degree there still remained groups of Guards who cared for some of their number more than others, but the fact remained at the end of the day, they were all soldiers in service to the Kingdom, and being surrounded by the foreign environs of Cadance's Court had drawn those bonds closer still. After all, it was better to be a free pony of the Kingdom than a thrall of the Solar Throne.

Afi chuckled to himself. “They are, at that,” he agreed. “Nothing like a long campaign to make you either a friend for life, or hate somepony's guts.” He raised an eyebrow at Vino. “How goes your relationship with the 4th?” he asked, more out of idle curiosity than anything. “Can't be easy, trying to keep that lot in line with all the rumors going around about your chewing out by the good Captain.”

“They follow orders well enough, I suppose,” Vino said. “But I'm still new at this, and they don't care for me much. I don't have a reputation for good or ill, and I certainly haven't been making many friends in the ranks.”

“A few out of the ranks,” Afi said conspiratorially. “Rumors about you and that thief-turned-apprentice are almost as thick as the ones about your standing with Fidelis.”

“She's a friend and nothing else,” Vino said firmly. “I like her, but not the way everypony thinks. And she's not exactly my type to begin with.”

“Oho!” Afi exclaimed. “So the stick in the mud has a type, eh? Go on then, what's she look like? Me, I prefer pegasi.”

Vino shook his head. “That's not what I meant,” he said. “I'm not looking right now, is all. I've barely got this whole 'being a knight' thing down as it is, and I don't need the added complication of a relationship. It's not a good time.”

“Lad, I'm not talking about finding yourself a damn wife,” Afi said. “I'm talking about finding a mare to give you a good tumble. We're in the bucking Bower! Cadance's court is legendary for its mares, and from what I hear, they're all about sharing what they have to offer. You're young and good looking enough, I can't see you having much trouble finding a pretty thing to spend a cold winter's night with.”

Afi scratched at his beard as he watched one of the Guards fending off the attacks of her blue-suited counterpart. “I'm getting on in years, Vino,” he said, suddenly solemn. “You've got potential, and a long life ahead of you if you use that potential as you should. But by Celestia's perky teats, lad, you need to learn how to have a bit of fun! I don't think I've seen you smile more than a half-dozen times since we left Ponyville, and I've been around you more than I care to be, no offense intended. It wouldn't kill you to let loose.”

Vino scraped at the stone of the wall. “Maybe you're right,” he said. “But...”

“Break apart!” Sergeant Alloy called. He watched as the ponies did as they were told, recalling the bladebands they wore on their hooves and assembling in front of him. “Most of you have it right!” he said as he walked past the group. “A few missteps, but that's to be expected. Just remember that the point of using a sword is not to look pretty, nor is it to show off. A sword is a tool for killing things. In the press of battle, you will be hacking, slashing, thrusting, and cutting with the goal of coming away alive. It's there that these fundamentals will help you.”

The knight in blue stepped forward, fluttering his wings as he did so. “Now,” he said, “Since we moved a bit fast today, does anypony here want to show what they've learned against another student?”

“This should be interesting,” Vino remarked to Afi. “Did you notice that they've attracted a few members of the Court?”

Afi nodded in agreement. “I'm willing to bet that a few of the ponies down there are squires to knights in the Court, or seconds to duelists. I recognize a few faces from tournaments.”

“I'll do it!” a high voice called, and Vino saw a familiar figure in a purple jacket step forward, her own wings catching a bit of the wind as she flapped them nervously. Corporal Fireball wasn't one to back down from a fight, and Vino supposed he should have seen her as one of the most likely to showboat.

“Isn't that one of yours?” Afi asked. “The one you busted, right?”

Vino nodded. “Corporal Fireball. I've considered reinstating her rank, but she hasn't seemed ready to take it back yet. Nopony else in my squad have really tried for the spot either, so I'm going to give it to her eventually.”

Fireball took her spot on one side of the group, now arranged in a rough circle, as another pony, a unicorn wearing livery Vino couldn't identify, stepped into the ring with her. He seemed rather young until Vino reminded himself that Equestria still placed greater value on melee combat than the Kingdom did. Likely this teenager had been practicing for the past few years at least. Vino felt a twinge of worry at the realization that Fireball was probably outmatched. The apprentice certainly looked sure of himself, calling the blade forth with a sweeping, expansive gesture. Gradually, it took the form of a long saber, suited for quick slashes and easy parries.

Fireball followed suit, a bit more hesitantly as she assessed her opponent's skill. Her band flowed outward, hanging in front of her. This took the form of a long-bladed arming sword, complete with traditional crossguard. She settled into her stance, her body taught and ready, and waited on the signal.

“On my mark,” Sergeant Alloy said, “You two will fight to the first touch, and only the first touch. Upon making the touch, a point will be awarded. First to three wins. Are you ready?” He looked to one pony, then the other. “Begin!” he said, stepping back into the circle.

The crowd erupted in cheers as the young duelist stepped forward confidently, the tip of his saber flicking towards Fireball's face, seeking to elicit a reaction. Fireball's face remained stony, as she merely circled towards his left flank, not taking the bait. The duelist, setting the pace, swung at her with his saber, first a high cut, then a low one as she raised her sword to block it. Fireball caught the low blow on her crossguard, and attempted to bind his sword with her own, but the unicorn was too quick.

Fireball tried to knock him back with a wide swing, but the unicorn simply stepped back and lunged forward, the tip hitting her squarely in the chest, causing her to lose her breath. The squires cheered and the soldiers groaned as Fireball raised her sword in defeat, and both went back to their starting positions.

Vino looked closer at the two contestants. Strangely enough, the corporal seemed unfazed by the loss, and even a bit emboldened. As he watched, she hopped back and forth, flexed her wings a few times, and rolled her neck. She flicked the tip of her blade back and forth a few times, testing the heft, and Vino saw her make an adjustment to the length of her blade, a technique that certainly had not been covered in the class.

The signal was given again, and the pegasus stepped forward into the ring just as the unicorn attempted to knock her blade aside with his own. But the arming sword was heavier by far than the saber, and Fireball merely allowed it to slide off of her blade, instead making a neat cut towards the apprentice's own head. This was caught, but it seemed that it had only been a diversion, as Fireball's blade curved inside the hasty guard the unicorn had erected, instead striking him solidly on the shoulder.

This time, it was the soldiers that cheered, and the unicorn's turn to look shaken, which he did. Vino watched with renewed interest, noting that even Afi had fallen silent, as Fireball's opponent seemed to reconsider her with much-improved caution. Vino leaned in, speaking quietly to Afi.

“Do you think she's toying with him?”

Afi shrugged in mild bewilderment. “It's plain to see this isn't the first time she's held a sword. But then, the lad down there's had a good seven or eight years of training on his own. She might be out of her league yet. It's certainly gotten more interesting, that's for sure.”

The two combatants approached each other once more, blades at the ready. This time, the unicorn approached with caution, testing her defenses with proper strikes, instead of showboating as he had earlier. Fireball warded away the worst of these, though it cost her ground to do so, but remained unbowed. She swung her sword with a grunt that was audible even from Vino's position, and the unicorn stumbled back before returning the attack with interest. Fireball took the blow on her shoulder, though it came dangerously close to her neck.

“I'm fine!” she shouted as she stumbled back. “I'm fine. You alright, son?”

The unicorn nodded, chastened. It was to be a friendly match, after all. If he'd met his target, he might have seriously hurt or even killed her.

“Do you want to continue, corporal?” the knight in blue asked.

Fireball grinned. “Are you kidding?” she asked. “Things are just getting good.”

The knight studied her for a moment, before inclining his head in respect. “Very well,” he said, stepping back into the ranks. “Begin!”

This time the swords met in an awkward jumble, and a few blows, almost too fast and sloppy to be visible, were traded before the apprentice stumbled back, horn alight. “Point!” he called in a reedy voice. “She scored the point!”

The soldiers cheered again as Fireball nodded to the young pony, taking up her position once more.

The tension in the courtyard was palpable. A breath of chill wind stirred the air, and when it settled, without prompting, both contestants threw themselves at each other, swords flicking back and forth, seeking an opening. Thrust to parry to riposte and back again, the two swords wove a dance of steel that, while not masterful, was still a display of exceptional skill. Oddly, Fireball and her opponent were smiling at one another, enjoying the moment just as much as they wanted to win.

The unicorn struck out with a quick slash, which Fireball caught on her sword, shoving it back towards the unicorn, and moving light on her hooves, she danced away, the clash of steel broken for a breathless second. The unicorn set his hooves, and with a short cry, attempted a lunge, but he overextended, and Fireball capitalized on the error.

Her wings flapped twice, lifting her into the air and over his head, and her sword-tip extended downwards, touching him gently on the horn. She landed a bit awkwardly, but that went unnoticed as she was tackled by her comrades in arms, who whooped and hollered their good cheer as Fireball was declared the winner.

Laughing, Fireball managed to extricate herself from the pile of ponies, and sought out the young unicorn, shaking his hoof when she reached him. It seemed that there were legitimately no hard feelings between the two, and Vino saw a few compliments and tips pass between them. The crowd dispersed as the instructors called out the starting times for tomorrow, and Vino sighed with relief. Rivalries could form easily, especially between groups of soldiers from the Kingdom and Equestria, and Vino didn't relish the thought of breaking up a fight between the two sides.

His relief was, perhaps, misplaced.

One of the watching knights detached himself from the corner of the courtyard he had been standing in, watching in silence, and made his way towards the corporal as she began to remove her bladeband.

“Pardon me, corporal!” he called, his voice an airy drawl that dripped with false courtesy and rang easily throughout the courtyard. “Might I have a word?”

Corporal Fireball straightened up, and upon realizing that she was speaking to a knight of the Dawn Court, snapped a hasty salute. “Sir!” she replied.

“No need,” the tall unicorn said. He towered over the corporal, all lean whipcorded muscle and charm. He raised a hoof to the doublet he wore, polishing it on the embroidered heart that marked him as a member of Cadance's personal guard. “I just wanted to ask you a few questions about your training, if you would be so kind?”

The idle chatter of the students and soldiers stopped as they noticed the pony in their midst, captain's badge gleaming on his breast. Corporal Fireball, though nervous, appeared amicable enough.

“Of course, sir,” she said respectfully. “What would you like to know?”

“Well,” the captain said thoughtfully, “You see, that was my apprentice. I've been teaching him these past six years, and though he's nowhere near my level of expertise, I'd thought him adequately trained enough that I could leave him on his own for a while.” He glanced at the young unicorn, whose eyes were averted. “Perhaps I was wrong. But tell me, where did you learn how to handle a sword?”

“My father, sir,” Fireball said, eyes staring straight ahead. “He helped to run a duelist’s school in Trottingham. He taught me a bit, and I studied under him for a few years after I'd finished school, that being before I joined the guard.”

The unicorn nodded, as if he'd heard the story before. “And, pray tell,” he said in a patronizing tone, “Have you ever been certified as any kind of duelist? Joined any lodges or the like?”

Fireball shook her head stiffly. “No, sir,” she replied. “I didn't think myself good enough.”

“But you thought yourself good enough to take on my apprentice,” the captain finished. “And if your father was any good with a sword at all, he'd have told you about the rules when it comes to challenging an apprentice. You do know those, at least?”

Fireball swallowed. “A challenge to the apprentice is a challenge to his master,” she said, as if by rote. “Sir, I'd no idea he was anypony's apprentice. It was a friendly match.”

“So now you regret winning?” the captain asked. “Now that you found out the colt you beat was apprenticed to a knight, you want to take it back?”

Nopony in the yard made a move to help Fireball as she shook her head again. “No, sir. I meant only that I intended no disrespect.”

“And yet you offered me an insult by raising a hoof against the pupil of a knight, when you yourself are hardly more than a common pony who happened to learn a few tricks with a sword,” the unicorn countered easily, the green of his eyes gleaming unpleasantly. He raised his hoof to his chin as if struck by an idea. “Perhaps there is a way, however, to redress the error you've made. Maybe you've been taught a few things by your father that I've never seem before, hmm? If I'd not taught my pupil properly and he was taken by surprise by something unfamiliar to me, the fault is obviously mine.”

Vino rose from the steps. “He's toying with her,” he snarled, before a hoof from Afi pulled him back down.

The Ranger shook his head softly, the braids in his reddish beard swinging gently as he did so. “No, lad,” he said. “Not here, not now. He won't hurt her any, just make a show. The corporal will just have to swallow her pride, and we can talk to Captain Fidelis about it later.”

“He's no knight,” Vino said. “A knight protects the weak and holds himself up as an example to others. This one's just a bully and a braggart.”

“A dangerous braggart, to have gotten the job as Cadance's captain of the Guard,” Afi said. “Stay down, lad.”

“Come now!” the captain exclaimed with a smile. “Just a friendly exhibition match. You can't be too tired, the way you danced around my apprentice like that! What do you say?”

Fireball, her face pale, said nothing, only nodded once in agreement.

“Wonderful,” the captain said with a smile as he stepped back. “Do you understand, everypony? Nothing here but a simple demonstration with blunted blades. No need to be alarmed.” He gestured back to the corporal, as if inviting her to dance. “After you, corporal.”

Fireball called forth her arming sword once more, watching as the captain summoned forth almost its twin from his own bladeband, instead of drawing the rapier at his hip. She eyed him uneasily, raising her sword in a guarding position, and began to circle, looking for her opening.

Vino felt sick as he watched the captain turn a bit too slowly, exposing his flank for a strike. Fireball, unable to recognize the subtle feint for what it was, attempted to strike a blow, but found her sword parried with contemptuous ease. The captain's return blow landed with a thud on the side of her head, so quick that Vino almost didn't see it land, before Fireball collapsed in a heap.

“Oh, dear,” the captain said. “I'm terribly sorry, I thought you were surely going to catch that. I'll move a bit more slowly next time.” He placed special emphasis on the last two words, a threat unspoken.

Fireball staggered to her hooves, weaving as if drunk, before shaking her head and adopting a more solid stance. Her eyes flashed dangerously, and Vino realized that she had just lost her temper.

Sure enough, she lunged forward, her sword a whirlwind of blows that would have bowled over any novice and a good number of experienced swordsponies, as she focused on hammering away at the captain's defenses, who was slowly giving ground. Her posture became more confident as she began to believe victory was within reach, but Vino could see that the captain was merely biding his time, playing with her as a cat does its catch.

The end, when it came, was at both quick and decisive. The captain flicked his swordpoint up lazily, catching Fireball's swing in a practiced motion, and slid his blade down her own, twisting the hilt lazily to one side, and catching her directly in the neck, mere inches from her throat. Fireball collapsed, clutching at the spot where the tip had landed, and her sword, bereft of her will, simply returned to the band from whence it came.

“Such a pity,” the captain drawled, looking down at her. The courtyard was still, though a few soldiers of the Guard had taken steps forward when Fireball was struck. “I'd almost thought you were worth my time. Let that be a lesson to you, girl. Common fillies like yourself don't belong in the ring with swordmasters.”

He turned to leave, but stopped suddenly. His eyes narrowed, and Vino saw at the same time as he that a small pendant had come loose from the confines of her jacket's high collar, emblem lying out on the cold stone for all to see.

It was a simple shape, cast not of any precious metal, only pewter, but as soon as Vino saw it, his blood ran cold. Attached to a plain linked chain was the emblem of a six-pointed star, painted in red. He recognized it immediately.

“What is this?” the captain hissed, for the first time serious. “You dare to wear that in this Court? After what that pretender did to my liege?”

Fireball took a breath, coughed, and looked up at him, eyes blazing with hot defiance. “My Lady has every right to divinity as yours. I'm not abandoning my faith to preserve your Princess's feelings.”

The captain's handsome face twisted with rage as he drew his rapier. “By the gods, I won't skewer you, but I'll whip you to within an inch of your life!” he cried.

Vino vaulted from the parapet, leaving Afi behind, and landed heavily in the midst of the crowd, the impact rattling his teeth. He brought forth his bladeband, a saber gleaming in bloody red and oiled gray, and pointed it at the captain.

“Touch one hair on her head, and you will answer to me, sir!” he challenged, the surety of his voice surprising even himself.

The captain regarded him calmly, perhaps even curiously, as Vino stepped forward.
He continued to speak, voice level and sword tip unwavering, as he advanced towards his fallen soldier and the one who had humiliated her.

“You are no true knight,” Vino growled. “A knight is humble, and kind, and is sworn to protect the weak, not berate them or humiliate them. A knight swears oaths of honor, and honesty, and loyalty. A knight is gracious in defeat, and even more gracious in victory. You are no knight. You are a braggart, a loudmouth, a disgrace to the sword you wear and the title you claim. If you dare to strike her once more, sir, you and I will cross more than words.”

His last remark echoed through the courtyard, and for a moment, it looked as if the captain would step down. But at last, a smile cracked his face, and he sheathed his sword. “Very well,” he said magnanimously, “I accept your challenge. Sir, I look forward to crossing blades with you, and it shall grieve me to drive this sword through your heart. You have a month to put your affairs in order.”

Without another word, he turned and left the courtyard, the younger unicorn in tow. Vino watched him go, his face a mask of anger, and only when he had rounded the corner and was gone did he return his bladeband to its place around his foreleg, and helped Fireball back up.

“We're getting you to the medic,” he said quietly. “You took a nasty blow to the head, and that's dangerous. Put the damn pendant away.” He addressed one of the Guards standing by. “Private Moon, Private Opal, take her to the medic as quickly as you can without rushing her. The rest of you need to return to the barracks.”

“Sir,” Sergeant Alloy asked, “Do you know who you just challenged?”

“A pompous ass,” Vino replied. “Who he is isn't important right now. I need to get to Captain Fidelis and inform him of what happened.”

“Actually, sir,” the knight in blue, who had been instructing, replied, “I think it very much does matter. You just challenged Captain Brightsteel to a duel.”

“Yes I did,” Vino said. “What does that matter?”

“Lad,” Afi said, jogging up from behind him, “Even I know who that was. Captain Brightsteel is one of the best duelists in Equestria. He's fought dozens, hundreds of them. Before he became a member of the Court, he made a living challenging ponies to duels on the behalf of others. He's lost perhaps two or three times, and those were long ago.”

“So he's good,” Vino replied, watching corporal Fireball limp away with the other two supporting her. “What of it?”

“Captain Brightsteel doesn't just duel ponies,” the knight replied. “When he duels an opponent, he makes sure they don't walk away. He's killed every pony who has ever challenged him.”

Gealltanas

The towering peaks of Equestria's vaunted Northern March were mighty, but Invictus was mightier still. From his lofty vantage point, even the tallest peaks seemed to be little more than mounds of sand, rising from above the great white blanket of clouds like barren islands in an endless sea. His muscles ached and his wings burned with effort, protesting with every beat, but Invictus still rose higher, buoyed for a brief moment on a heady thermal, one of the few columns of warm air that remained at this altitude.

Determined to get as much as possible from the rising winds, he exerted himself yet again, feeling his wings snap and stretch as they clawed for altitude. A strong wind buffeted him to the east, taking him from his warm air, but he knew better than to fight against it, and merely continued rising upward, ever higher and ever more distant from the ground below. Invictus could feel himself reaching his limits even as he admired the curve of the earth below him. On clear days, he felt as if he could almost see the Forest he had been taken from, a greenish smudge on the edge of the horizon, separated by endless plains, but he knew that even his great heights could not afford him such a view.

His chest labored as he struggled for breath. Most pegasi never made it this far up, and few, if any, remained even remotely close to this altitude for long. The sky was a hostile and fierce thing at this height, the air too thin for most to breathe and most wings to beat against. The winds here howled and roared like beasts as they tried to seize him, to dash Invictus far and away fast enough that he would lose control of his wings and be lost to the endless abyss of the blue. Soon, he would be able to go no further, the air too thin for even him. He could hold his breath, he knew, for five minutes or more if he needed to, but it would do him little good.

It would also be unnecessary. The clouds below, the deep blue-gray color of uncertain pre-dawn, suddenly blazed with light beneath him, and Invictus knew he was not far off. The dawn he saw would not arrive at the Bower for perhaps half an hour yet, but for now, the pegasus allowed himself the luxury of letting his wings rest, and, merely hovering in place, observed the unrivaled majesty of a sunrise from far above the surface of the earth.

Invictus breathed a sigh of contentment as he watched the great orb rise from the horizon, and reflected on what such a sight meant to him. He was told that he was the tool of a sun goddess, a great and powerful empress named Celestia., but for some reason, whenever he tried to imagine what such a creature might look like, he could not call to mind a single detail. He supposed it was the handiwork of his old mistress that kept him in such a state, but he found that he didn't mind overmuch. He had other things to worry about.

The chiefest of these, he realized, had just woken from her fitful slumber, and was now beginning her morning routine. Invictus approved of what the Magus was doing to Cobblestone. The young unicorn hadn't the slightest idea what she was part of, and so she would need to be at the peak of readiness for whatever came, though it pained him to see Cobblestone up so late into the night, laboring over unfamiliar passages and unwieldy concepts. The young Lady still helped her with her work, but they often remained up past midnight, and rose well before the dawn.

Invictus felt his awareness of Cobblestone shift slightly, and knew she was in the main yard of the Bower, ready for her morning run. He didn't always go flying in the mornings, but he had today, and Invictus knew in his bones that if he hurried, he might be finished with his own exercises in time to watch her practice with the sword come noon.

Without warning, the powerful wings of the pegasus folded neatly to his sides, and with a beginning whisper of air that soon grew into a mighty roar, the Sunborn stallion began to hurdle towards the ground. Invictus closed his eyes entirely, the great golden orbs would do him no good here. The tips of his wings felt the currents of wind sweeping by him, what they spoke of, and adjusted his path accordingly. Here was a crosswind that would dash him against the peaks of the mountains below, there was another thermal, to buffet him back up and carry away his momentum, but he was the master of his patch of sky, not they.

Faster and faster he plummeted, and Invictus felt the speed of his passage began to heat his coat, the friction a serious problem for lesser fliers, and a danger to any who would fall at such a speed. But he was a Sunborn, and light and heat were his bailiwick. A thin trail of smoke streamed behind him, and there was an almighty bang, a great crash of sound that was swiftly left behind, lost to the mighty sky.

It wouldn't be far now. His wingtips told him of more rough winds, the chaotic jumble of air that was the hallmark of the lower altitudes, and he felt the first wisps of cloud wash against his face, signaling that he was close to the ground. For another handful of moments more, Invictus plummeted ground-ward like a falling star, punching into the cloud with enough force to blast some of the heavy fog apart, leaving a hole a good deal wider than he was. There was the impression of wetness, a sudden heavy roar, and then it was time.

With a sharp crack, Invictus flared his wings out at an oblique angle, feeling the combination of wind and speed tearing at the appendages as if to chastise him for daring to flaunt gravity in such a way. But he merely gritted his teeth, kept his wings level, and, slowing, he made a simple adjustment as he opened his eyes.

The valley leading to the Manor of the Dawn Court was not especially wide, nor was it narrow, but it was long. Invictus entered the head of the valley at a high rate of speed, the barren fields below passing by as flashes of white broken by the occasional brown streak of a road or smear of a village. He had no need to flap his wings, nor should he have, for the momentum carrying him was great enough to send him skimming across the air like a kite.

Invictus angled his wings up, reveling in the feeling of the wind in his mane as his course changed, gaining altitude once more as his speed bled off at a much-improved rate, carrying him up at the same rate as the land below him rose, and then a bit faster as he adjusted. Finally, he pumped his wings, once, twice, and then flared them. At last, he rose above the Bower as a silent, hovering figure in the darkness, having left even the sun behind as he fell. By his estimation, he had beaten it here by perhaps a quarter-hour.

Below him, visible to his eyes and nopony else's, were two unicorns, running in the dark at a healthy pace. They had run the same circuit near every day for a little less than a month, and Invictus took pride in the fact that while they were both improving, Cobblestone was still far more athletic.

A cold wind brushed against his coat, and he noticed idly that the sweat and cloud-stuff which had dampened his coat was cooling him much faster than it should. He would need to warm himself soon, and he knew just how to do it.

The baths of the Bower were the site of many an illicit affair, political happenstance, and personal discovery, but even with their reputation for skullduggery, few if any of them were in use at this ungodly hour. The only other ponies in the bathhouse besides Invictus were a trio of guards, blue tabards folded neatly to one side as they enjoyed a reprieve from their duties. In time, others from their shift would undoubtedly begin to trickle in, but by the time they arrived, Invictus would be gone.

The leader of this trio, convinced that Invictus was far enough away to avoid being overheard, commented on how freakishly large the pegasus was, and speculated as to which poor mare had to “tame that beast”. His compatriots chuckled quietly at the barb, and offered their own opinions, equally as harsh. Invictus said nothing, and gave no sign that he had heard, merely sinking lower into the hot water of the bath as he relaxed each group of muscles individually.

He had grown accustomed to such remarks in his time here. Try as he might to avoid ponies, he could not avoid everypony forever, and so word of him had spread throughout the Bower, the story of the freakish warrior from a time long-past. The soldier without an army and the champion without a cause. Invictus simply let the stories spread. It would do him no good to speak against them, and he knew without a doubt that those who spoke of him in such mocking tones did so because they feared him.

That, perhaps, was what bothered him most. Oh, ponies did try to hide it from him, but he could see it in their eyes, in the way they held themselves and their smiles, just a bit too wide. Their eyes moved just a bit too much, they smelled ever so slightly of sweat. In quiet rooms, such as this, he could hear the faintest beating of their hearts, a bit quicker when he was noticed. Invictus was a weapon of death and retribution, and instinctively, ponies knew it.

Everypony, of course, except for Cobblestone, he reflected as he lifted himself from the bath. He didn't bother drying himself, as the heat from his body, stoked to new heights by the warmth of the bath, would burn away the water in a matter of minutes. Cobblestone knew that she had nothing to fear from him, that he would rather die than let harm come to her, though she didn't know why, exactly. Nor did he understand precisely why he felt this way about her, other than he was simply made to do so. It was as natural as drawing breath or drinking water.

Thoughts of water came unbidden to his mind, and he decided that today, he would take a meal. It had been nearly a week since he had eaten last, and though he could go without food for much longer, soon his performance would begin to suffer because of it. He had no way of knowing how much of his current ability was the result of the sun goddess who had made him, and how much was the result of the Fae who had kept him, but he knew his limits intimately, and understood them to be far beyond those of normal ponies.

He crossed the courtyard quickly, noting as he did that the walls were overmanned, and that meant the changing of the Guard would be soon. Invictus ruffled his wings nervously. Normally he visited the kitchens in the dead of night, and never showed his face in the dining hall, but today it would seem he would have to at least be seen there.

For a pony as large as yourself, you seem awfully nervous, a familiar voice observed dryly, and Invictus looked down to see a large black cat padding along at his side. Don't tell me you're afraid of these worms.

“Begone, beastie,” Invictus rumbled. “I've no time for you.”

But you'll have food, which means you'll have time to eat. And I'm famished.

“Would that you ever were not,” he replied. They entered the hall together, and the smell of breakfast, hot and waiting, hit them both like a warm wave breaking on sand. “Claim your own meal. What I take is mine.”

And you should take what is yours without fear, Hob replied. It's not like anypony here is going to try and stop you. In fact, I heard some fascinating speculation among the maid staff regarding your skill with a...spear, shall we say?

Invictus said nothing, merely taking a platter from a nearby table and approaching the long trestle upon which was arranged good, hearty food. Without preamble, he began to load food onto his plate, not paying particular attention to what. “I have no intention to take a mate, and my bed is warm enough as it is,” he muttered angrily, just loud enough to be barely audible. “Let them wonder.”

Though a few tables were filled with guards and staff taking their meal, along with a few early-rising courtiers, there were many tables still empty, and it was one of these that Invictus chose, a small squarish affair with room for perhaps eight. He sat himself down, ignoring the looks and whispers, and began to eat.

Hob, he noted, had chosen to remain near the food table, and was attempting to cage scraps for himself with moderate success. The ponies of the Bower, unknowing of what lurked in their midst, had taken a liking to the creature they saw as a particularly presumptuous cat. Invictus chose to avoid him. There were few things which gave him pause, but Hob was among them. If not for the fact that he, too, appeared to be bound to the service of Cobblestone, Invictus would have done his best to kill him while he slept, though he was doubtful he would succeed.

This train of thought was broken rather suddenly when a mare sat down across the table from him. Invictus said nothing, merely observing her. A pegasus like himself, she was colored the blue of a spring sky, and this was only accentuated by the yellow in her mane. He had seen her in the training yard before, and though he could not see it now, he knew that on her flank was the silhouette of a wing against a bright sun.

“First time I've seen you around here,” she observed cheerfully, not paying much attention to her food.

Invictus put down his knife. “I do not eat much,” he replied. He took a mouthful of water and waited for her next move.

The pegasus mare nodded emphatically. “I've heard you Sunborn hardly ever need to eat,” she said. “Wish I could say the same, but flying really takes it out of you, you know? Name's Sunspot, by the way.”

“I am Invictus,” he replied. “Sworn to Cobblestone.”

Sunspot arched an eyebrow. “The kid who hangs around the Lady?” she asked. “The apprentice?”

Invictus nodded and said nothing. He resumed eating, hoping that would get the message across, but it appeared that the mare in front of him was determined to continue talking.

“So when you say 'sworn', does that mean, like, 'together'?” Sunspot asked. “I don't know how they do things in the Kingdom.”
Invictus fixed her with a flinty stare, and Sunspot seemed to wilt a tiny bit. He was surprised it had taken her this long, as he was twice her size at least. “I make no claim to her affections,” he said. “I am Bound in her service. I was a gift.”

Sunspot rallied herself and tried again, searching for an opening. “That's cool,” she replied nonchalantly. “The reason I ask is because I've got a few friends here who are interested in getting to know you a little better. I mean, the other Guards from the Kingdom are neat, but you seem like you're different.” She batted her eyes, half in jest. “I was planning on stretching my wings after this with a few other fliers from my watch,” she said. “Would you be interested in coming along?”

“I have already completed my preliminary flight exercises,” Invictus said rigidly. “After my meal here, I intend to begin weapons training. I would invite you to join me, but I do not think you would be able to withstand the strain.”

The pegasus flared her wings slightly, perhaps indicating anger or fear. “You think I can't keep up?” she asked. “I'm one of the best fighters on the night watch!”

Invictus set down his knife once more with a clang. Heads turned. “You are a child,” he said, “Playing at war and duty. I was bred to these. A true warrior would have finished her meal by now, and returned to her duties. You waste both my time and your own.”

There was a pregnant pause, and then Sunspot rose from her chair. “Jerk,” she spat, and walked away, leaving her food behind. Invictus merely pushed the platter to the end of the table to be picked up by the servants and continued his meal, the incident nothing more to him than another memory.

He ate mechanically. It seemed to him that food had once held more substance to him, that he had enjoyed eating more than he did now. But food was food, a means to an end. If he did not eat, he would die eventually, and so he continued to eat. Conversation was unnecessary, as was dawdling to savor his repast. The platter, piled high with potatoes, peppers, eggs, and tomatoes, diminished quickly, and it all almost tasted the same. Invictus had noted that spiced food held a bit more savor for him, but this was not the time to luxuriate with a cup of cider. He stood, placed his tray near the end of the table with machine-like precision, and left, ignoring the whispers that followed him.

The Bower had four courtyards, two of which were dedicated to pursuits marshal, one of which was for the reception of guests, and the last of which for the private use of the Princess Cadance. It was towards the smaller of the two drill yards that Invictus made his way. He had chosen this yard because it was both less-used, and because it contained a few small pockets in which one or two ponies could practice in relative peace, provided they didn't need much ground to move on.

When he chose to exercise, Invictus spent most of his time here, clad in armor and hammer at his side. His exercises began with two hours of lifting increasingly heavier objects, followed by basic drills and attack forms for another two hours. His morning so spent, he would return to the more advanced maneuvers in the afternoon, rushing and striking at a promontory of rock from the mountain with his hammer, wielding it constantly until he felt it become an extension of himself. This he would continue until well into the evening, until the sun had set for several hours.

At first, there had been spectators, but gradually, they had diminished, and he had his small corner of the courtyard to himself once more. A few veteran knights had offered him advice, but they had little of value to give him, and so they too, had faded away. And still he practiced, and still he sought perfection, in the whirling of hammer blows and the rush of steel against the rough side of the mountain.

Invictus was never the first one in the courtyard, but he had thought that he knew the faces there well, and so he was surprised to see a face that, while new, was not unknown to him. A young knight of the Kingdom stood off to one side, a practice dummy in front of him, striking at it with a blunted bladeband. Invictus took a moment to watch him while he attempted to place his name, noting that while his form was good, it was far from perfect, and he still had the unsure nature of the young and inexperienced about him.

Vino, Invictus realized as he watched him flick the blade up into a textbook fourth-position parry, was his name. A captain in the personal Guard of Serale Everstar. The youngest, and most untested of the captains. An earth pony of notable birth, though that meant nothing to the Sunborn, and a pony with definite potential.

“Interesting, isn't he?” a cheerful voice said from behind him, and Invictus turned his head halfheartedly to see who had spoken. Immediately, he sank to one knee and bowed his head before the Avatar of the Dawn, who regarded him with an amusement that bordered on the playfully predatory.

Princess Cadance gestured for him to rise, and he did so, meeting her gaze. Invictus realized that the alicorn in front of him was roughly his height, meaning he didn't have to look down on her, and she was not wearing any of the regalia that marked her as royalty, though it wasn't as if she needed it. Instead, she wore a simple bed-shift of fine white cloth, billowing gently in the breeze. Even now, with her hair down, she was still a very attractive pony by any standard, and though she was a goddess among mortals, she seemed approachable, even friendly.

Invictus immediately distrusted her.

“Youngest captain in a prestigious posting, from a long line of proud warriors,” she said, as if she hadn't even noticed his prostration. “And he apparently has serious potential, though I'm not inclined to martial pursuits.” She looked at him. “Though I've heard plenty of interesting rumors about you as well.”

Invictus flushed, saying nothing, and attempted to avert his gaze, though he was stopped when the Avatar reached out and placed one hoof under his chin, meeting his eyes with her own.

“It's strange,” she said quietly. “Celestia made you all, made you her best warriors, and in the end, you hardly mattered at all. I never even got to see you and your brothers and sisters march away from Canterlot. I wondered if I'd ever see your kind again.”

Invictus stared into her eyes unblinkingly, solid gold orbs meeting rosy-hued pupils. “Do I meet your expectations?” he inquired.

Cadance smiled at his cheek and released him. “You exceed them,” she said. “For such a noticeable pony, you're surprisingly hard to find. Though, I hadn't really wanted to meet you until recently. I had to ask one of my attendants where you were most likely to be found, and she told me it was likely to be here. I have a favor to ask of you.”

“I am Bound to Cobblestone of Starfall, companion of Serale Everstar,” Invictus replied. “I am afraid that I may not be able to comply with your request.”

The Avatar smiled at him, holding up a hoof in reassurance. “I assure you, this will not cause her any distress,” she promised. “In fact, I hope to prevent a good deal of it with your help.”

Invictus considered this. “What do you propose?” he asked.

Cadance indicated the young knight. “Yesterday, Captain Vino inadvertently challenged the captain of my Guard to a duel,” she said. “He did so nobly, honorably, and stupidly, unaware of who he was challenging. If I'm to understand, it was to defend a soldier of his who offended my captain. Captain Brightsteel is an incomparable duelist, and I'm lucky to have him as my Captain. But if he wins the duel, he will kill Vino Hedera, make no mistake.”

Invictus watched as the young knight attempted to “disarm” his opponent, noting that he was unlikely to succeed. “Unfortunate.”

“Doubly so,” Cadance said, “Because he's a favorite of my niece. Serale holds some affection for Vino, and would be considerably upset if he were to die. But I cannot recall my captain, and as Vino's the one who issued the challenge, he's the one who has to fight. I attempted to persuade Captain Brightsteel until very late last night, and despite my best efforts, he's set on fighting himself. He won't even nominate a second to fight the duel in his place.”

Invictus decided he had no interest in finding how how she had attempted to persuade the Captain.

“And it's a shame, honestly,” Cadance continued. “Cobblestone seems rather fond of him, too. They get along very well, actually. But you'd know that, being her champion.”

“I do not inquire into her personal affairs,” Invictus said. “It's her right to withhold what she wishes from me.”

Cadance sighed. “If Vino dies under my roof, I may lose the goodwill of my niece, and with it her mother. We could have war over this, unlikely though it may be. And if I were to forbid Captain Brightsteel from fighting, I would be violating my own laws. Which is where you come in.”

“I'll train the boy,” Invictus rumbled. “Don't bother with the enticements.”

Cadance blinked. “That's...both very charitable and very forward.”

The massive pegasus shrugged, fluttering his wings as he did so. “There is no good that can come of having him slaughtered like a lamb,” he said flatly. “I can teach him, though he may refuse me. If you guarantee that the Lady Serale will order him to accept instruction, I will do my part.”

“If you can give him a fighting chance,” Cadance said, “I'll make sure you're compensated for your time. I have healers here, the best Clerics in the world. They could try to restore your memories, return what you were to you.”

Invictus turned from Vino to regard her, and as he did so, noticed that she showed no fear of him. In fact, she seemed to be anticipating something. “No,” he said flatly. “I do not do this for you. I do not do this for the Lady, or the boy. I do this for Cobblestone.”

Cadance frowned. “Do you mean to say you don't want your memories back?” she asked, taken aback.

“I have no need of them,” Invictus replied. “I have my mistress, and my duties. They are enough.”

Without another word, he walked out into the courtyard, the goddess at his back now just another face in a crowd. Cadance watched him go, bemused. Frankly, she didn't know what to make of the strange Sunborn, nor was she sure what to do with him next.

I suggest leaving him alone, the black cat said as it leapt from the wall above her, landing at her hooves. Along with his ward.

Cadance looked at him, startled, and then with greater intensity. “Did you just speak to me?” she asked.

I did, he said, and he wrapped his tail about him as he sat and began to groom himself with one paw. Because you're the one in charge. And I think you'll listen to what I have to say.

Cadance, to her credit, hardly even blinked as she was confronted with a talking cat. “And what do you have to say?” she asked quietly.

I know you want to leverage the Lady, he said, And you think her friend is the best way to do so. You are correct in thinking so. But you will not attempt to manipulate Cobblestone in any way. You may be tempted to do so, as our mutual acquaintance isn't here to watch his prize, but you will not.

“Our mutual acquaintance? But who...” Cadance trailed off, her eyes suddenly narrowed. “You mean?”

I do. He currently has business in Starfall, but be assured that he's watching. And he set me to watch over Cobblestone in his stead. So again, I warn you. Attempt to hurt her, manipulate her, or use her in any way, and you had best hope that the Sunborn finds you first and takes you from the world.

“Or you'll what?” Cadance asked. “You dare to threaten me here?”

I was ancient when he and his sisters first walked Equestria, child, the cat said with a low growl. Its mouth opened a bit, revealing a few more sharp teeth than there should have been. Test not my patience nor my appetite. Know your place, and if you attempt to spread word of this conversation to any of your pet ponies, I will know where it came from.

With that, the cat rose, stalked away, and as Cadance watched it go, she felt the tingle of a deep and primal fear, and knew instinctively that she and her Court would be very lucky if Cobblestone and her “cat” went on their merry way and never, ever came back.

Ainmneacha

And so did the six call upon their tribes, and brought them to the green lands, and they did build for themselves a city, and this city they called Roam, for long had they wandered in the search of its foundations, and grand rose the walls of Roam, for ponies had then learned of Harmony, and were reliant upon one another.

And the tribes called upon their elders, and their leaders, and their sages, and met in a great council, and determined the rule of law, and separated right from wrong, and dispensed with duties and honors and titles as needed, and among them rose a Great Council, and this Council numbered six, though the Six who had led them south were by then in their dotage, and so refused the call to leadership.

And this Council was set above nine and ninety of their peers, to lead them in determining the path of Equestria, and to mete out justice and appraise the worth of their nation, and from these ranks were elected a new Council, this being once every three years, and those in the ranks of the peerage were likewise chosen by those they led to govern for them, and they did so with great wisdom and nobility.

And there was great prosperity among them, and no belly was left empty, no family unsheltered. They had among them mastery of the stars, and moon, and sun, and rain and wind and earth and stone and many things more, and these things they named and bent their wills to, and with them they wrought marvels, the likes of which have not been seen in many a year, and may never be seen again.

And the ponies of the three tribes, now one, were fruitful in their endeavors, and so they multiplied far in excess of their numbers as tribes, and spread across the great plains of their land, and met many diverse peoples, and traded and befriended and strove against them.

And for fully five centuries did the city of Roam hold sway over the north, and great were her peoples, for not just ponies counted themselves among her ranks, and mighty were her marvels, and she shone as a beacon of Harmony and enlightenment.

And then came upon her the most terrible of calamities, and it was named Discord.

“Enjoying the book?” a voice asked Serale, who looked up with a start.

Standing in front of her was a familiar face, sleepy green eyes peering out from beneath a mess of ringlets in purple and pink, framed by a coat of ivory white. The robe and belt Serale had seen her in when last she appeared was gone, replaced instead by sturdy boots and warm clothing, wool leggings and a jacket made of oiled cloth that looked both warm and excellent for keeping out snow and rain.

“Sorry,” Belle said with a sheepish grin. “You're more like your mother than I thought. You kind of go int your own little world when you read. How are you liking the book so far?”

Serale looked at her, then back to the book. “It's...curious,” she said hesitantly. “Some of the things I read in here don't match up with what I was told as a foal. I'd heard of Roam, of course, but I thought it was ruled by the Princesses, not a council of ponies.”

Belle tilted her head. “Does that make you uncomfortable?” she asked, her voice both curious and cautious.

Serale shook her head vigorously. “No!” she cried. “It's wonderful, it's exciting! It's proof that before the Sisters came along, ponykind was able to govern its own affairs. I can see why my history books are inaccurate, they can't have had much to go on. Celestia probably had most of the histories of Roam confiscated or burned.”

“You'd be surprised,” Belle replied. “Celestia's cannier than that. Most of the histories of Roam were lost after Discord's arrival. Well, the histories and most of the city, too. Anything else?”

Serale flicked the book back open, Her hoof indicating one passage. “This passage right here, the one that said ponies named the sun and the wind and such. Didn't they already have names for them? I've read the earlier passages, the ones about the time before Harmony was found. Surely they had written languages and spoken dialects as well. There's a thousand years of history before the founding of Roam.”

Belle chuckled. “Serale,” she said. “I'm surprised at you. What has Libra taught you about names and Names?”

Serale's eyes widened. “You mean they discovered the magical names of all of those things? But they'd need to know Runic, and that's older than pony civilization! That's… they'd need to be as old as the world! The goddesses were the ones who taught magical runic to ponies.”

“Both correct and not,” Belle said. “Ponies named things by using their inherent magic to manipulate them. They shaped magical runic, just as magical runic shaped their work. It's all about imposing your will on the world around you, Serale. That's the basis of magic. By measuring things like the earth and the stars, and using their will to manipulate them, ponies made the earth and stars able to be measured and manipulated.”

“But..” Serale said, thinking quickly. “But then, where do the goddesses fit into it all? Where does Discord?”

Belle smiled sadly. “Serale, magic is about will. But there's also an element of balance to the whole thing. By giving names to so many things, ponies inadvertently gave names to other things as well. More powerful and primal forces than water and air have always existed, and it was only a matter of time before they were made manifest.”

“So we're responsible for the goddesses?” Serale demanded. “And Discord? Are you saying that we brought this on ourselves, the millennia of rule and the release of the Shadow and...”

Belle's eyes flashed dangerously. “Don't say that name!” she hissed, suddenly fearful. “Especially not when reading this book. Didn't you listen to anything I told you? Hasn't Libra taught you anything about names? They have power, Serale. And certain things can have their attention drawn if you speak their names.”

Serale shrank back from Belle, suddenly fearful. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't realize. I'll be more careful in the future.”

Belle waved a hoof. “Make sure of it,” she said. “But that's not why I came. There's something you need to know about the book, and something you need to know about the history of your mother's Kingdom. I'd have let you know sooner, but you haven't been reading it as of late.”
“I've been busy,” Serale said, chastened. “Between classes and meeting with the nobles of my aunt's Court and Vino's duel...”

“Busy is fine,” Belle said. “But we haven't got much time. I need you to listen closely to what I'm about to tell you. Your mother didn't just set me to watch over the memory of the book, she set me to watch over you. And I just wanted to tell you not to freak out.”

“Freak out?” Serale said, confused. “Freak out about what?”

“You'll find out in a minute,” Belle said. “But I also wanted to let you know that I've been through what you're going to go through, and I know some things about Twilight, things that she might prefer ponies forget. But I've had to be careful about where I hid that knowledge. She's more than proficient at getting into your head, so I had to hide it, even from myself. I won't force you to look for what I've recorded, but I can give you a clue. You can find what I've hidden where three hooves meet.”

“What does that even mean?” Serale asked. “What are you talking about?”

“I'll explain everything,” Belle said, “But first you have to answer my question.”

Serale snorted in exasperation, one hoof scuffing the ground. “Fine,” she said. “Ask.”

“Where are you right now?”

The question echoed strangely in Serale's ears, and suddenly, everything was different. A world came to life around her, or, rather, she came to life in the world around her, which she realized she had been quite insensate to. As if she had woken from sleep, Serale stiffened suddenly, and her heart beat quickly in her chest.

A gust of air smacked her in the face, bitter and howling with wintry fury, and Serale cried out as she realized that she was standing on the edge of a precipice, overlooking the darkened waters of the lake by Cadance's Bower. Scrambling back from the ledge, she sat down rather suddenly, trying to take stock of her situation.

It was wrong, everything was wrong. She'd decided to start reading in her room in the manor, and it had been just after supper, just before she was to begin on her studies with Cobblestone. By her estimation, checking the stars and the moon which now hung low in the sky, she had lost nearly three hours of time. And somehow, she had ended up here, mere steps away from plunging into the lake and for all she knew, drowning while completely insensate.

Serale clutched at the pendant that rested on her breast, keeping its reassuring warmth close, and performed one of the few spells she knew by heart. With a sudden whoosh, a bright bolt of greenish energy shot from her horn, spiraling towards the sky, where it erupted into a half-dozen colors. A moment later, she could hear shouts from the manor behind her, and she turned to see lanterns erupting to life on the walls, some of them seeming to lift into the air, taken by pegasi on their way to investigate.

They needn't have bothered. There was a roar of wind, a rush of magic, and her aunt was by her side. Serale scarcely had time to draw breath before Cadance had drawn her into a tight embrace, wrapping her wings around her as she checked Serale over for injuries and signs of damage.

“Oh, thank Celestia,” she breathed. “Serale, where have you been? You're freezing cold! We've been searching for you for nearly two hours, Libra's been worried sick and your Guard have been turning the town inside out looking for you.”

Serale opened her mouth to speak before Cadance put a hoof up, forestalling conversation. “First things first,” she said. Her horn lit up, and Serale only barely realized that the scene around them had shifted, Cadance having brought them both to the manor, into what must have been her personal chambers.

A bell chimed, seemingly from nowhere, and Serale found herself divested of her pendant and gently lifted by her aunt, who pulled her through the air into the next room, which appeared to contain an impressively sized bath full of steaming water. Cadance gently lowered her into the water, and Serale's entire body erupted into pins and needles. She hadn't realized how cold she was, and yet she knew that by rights, she should have been much colder.

There was the sound of hooves on the stone of the bathroom floor, and a maid, an earth pony dressed in a simple blue tunic, bowed her head before Cadance.

“Inform the guards that I've found her,” Cadance said. “Make sure word gets to Libra and Captain Fidelis, and tell them both that they can await us in my study.”

The earth pony bowed once more without a word, and nearly as quietly as she had come, departed the bath, leaving them both alone.

“Now,” Cadance said quietly. “I know you might be worried about what you're going to say to Libra. Would you mind telling me why you decided to sneak off to the lake without warm clothing or letting any of your guards know? Or my guards, for that matter?”

Serale struggled to come up with an explanation for what had happened. “I...” she stammered, “I...that is...”

Cadance produced a pitcher, seemingly from nowhere, and filled it from the bath, pouring it over Serale's hair and letting it trickle down her neck and shoulders. “Serale,” she said calmly, “I found you alone and frightened near the edge of a cliff where several of my ponies have decided to end their own lives. Are you alright? Were you going to...”

“No!” Serale exclaimed. “No, I swear I wasn't!”

“Then what were you doing out there?” There was no accusation in the question, no insistence on an uncomfortable answer. It was simple, and direct, and exactly what Serale needed.

Serale sighed, as her aunt picked up a bottle of scented soap from a nearby shelf, hooves working it into her mane as she waited for an explanation. “I...I just wanted to practice.”

“Your magic?” Cadance said. “But you could practice that here, with Libra or Cobblestone.”

Serale shook her head. “Not like I wanted to,” she said. “I wanted to practice without the pendant, I wanted to see if I could use the ley lines like I did before. But I didn't want to do it in the Manor, so...”

“You went outside, just in case you lost control?” Cadance offered. Serale nodded her head as she picked up the pitcher once again, rinsing the suds from her mane. Cadance smiled. “Your mother's daughter, through and through. You just found your magic after sixteen years of waiting, and you want to stretch your limits already.”

“I know I was supposed to let the guards know,” Serale said, improvising as quickly as she could. “I honestly didn't think I'd be gone that long. I suppose I just lost track of time, feeling around for the lines.”

Another soap was added to the water, and this time, Cadance sent it swirling through the water with a bit of effortless magic, generating a current from still water. The scent of lilies filled the air. “You're extremely lucky,” she said. “If you'd managed to find the ley lines in this area, you might have gotten seriously hurt. I was only ever able to use them once, and I very nearly froze to death as a result.”

“When was that?” Serale asked.

“During the war,” Cadance said simply. “I used the ley lines to transport troops to the Everfree. Granted, the Windigoes were more Discord's fault than the lines', but they followed a strong gelid line to me. It's why there are such harsh winters here.”

Serale was once again reminded that her favorite aunt had once tried her very hardest to kill her mother, and reflected on the difference four hundred years could make. The glory that was Roam had lasted only a century longer than her mother's Kingdom had endured, and in that time, they had apparently found the names of many things in Creation. Would her mother's Kingdom do any better?

So engrossed was she in her thoughts that she didn't hear her aunt speak to her until the second time she had said her name.

“Serale?” Cadance asked. “Did you find anything while you were outside?”

Only water, Serale meant to say. What came out was something entirely different. “Meyapukan”.

As if gravity had reversed itself, every drop of water in the bath erupted towards the ceiling without the slightest hint of warning before, just as suddenly as it had gone up, it fell back into the bath, thoroughly soaking her, Cadance, the floor, and just about every other thing in the room. There was a moment of shocked silence, broken only by the dripping of water.

“Well then,” Cadance said. “I...well.”

“Serale,” Libra said, as the freshly-dried unicorn brought a spoonful of soup to her mouth. “I'm not mad at you for what happened, but there's something you're not telling us.”

Captain Fidelis nodded in agreement. “Milady, you are entitled to your secrets. But if you don't share important information with us, we cannot protect you with anywhere near our full effectiveness.”

Serale set down her spoon with a delicate click, hoof going to the pendant around her neck, before she addressed the captain. “Captain, I have given you all of the information you need to know. Today I decided to practice using my magic without my pendant, as I felt that perhaps I had learned enough to divest myself of it. However, I lost track of time while trying to access ley lines. I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience, and in the future, I will endeavor to alert the guards when I try again.”

Fidelis looked like he had swallowed a whole lemon, but otherwise said nothing. Libra, however, was not finished, nor was she cowed by her charge's station. “That's all well and good,” she said, “But you discovering the runic incantation for water in the bath still needs to be addressed.”

“It's possible she discovered it when she reached for the ley, and simply didn't recall,” Cadance said. “The two are closely tied, after all. Though I still don't understand why you don't want a Cleric to look at you, Serale. You might have discovered other names while you were out there.”

“The day I let one of your Clerics near her is the day my head lies separate from its shoulders,” Libra snapped.

Cadance met her angry gaze levelly. “That could be arranged.”

“Not as easily as you think,” Libra said, her horn lighting up as she rose to her hooves defensively.

“Enough,” Serale said. It did not quite carry the power that it did when her mother spoke, but there was enough force and sternness behind it to cause the assembled ponies to take note. “Libra, there won't be a need for violence, nor, aunt Cadance, will there be a need for a Cleric. We've already established that the name I learned doesn't have any power behind it, so long as I wear this pendant.”

She gestured to the goblet that rested on the table, still full from the experiment earlier. “I made several mistakes tonight, and we've taken steps to ensure they won't be repeated. However, it is late, and I am tired. We can discuss this in the morning after we've finished training.” Her tone brooked no argument, and even Cadance was struck by how much she and her mother could sound alike.

Libra, horn extinguished, sank back down onto her haunches. She sighed, suddenly looking years older. “No training tomorrow,” she said. “You might think you're fine, Lady Serale, but I know stress when I see it. Tomorrow, you're taking time off. Pass it along to Cobblestone as well. I will see you both at lunch, I have a missive to write tomorrow morning.”

There was a rush of magenta light, and she was gone, leaving only Captain Fidelis and Cadance in the room with Serale. She took a small sip of water from the goblet. “Captain, how is Vino's training coming along, in your opinion?”

Fidelis stiffened, eyes flicking involuntarily towards Cadance. “I would prefer not to say, Milady,” he muttered. “Not here, at least.”

Cadance rolled her eyes, and turned to her goddaughter. “Serale, if you wish to speak to me in the morning, I'll be available. The guards outside will see you to your room if you request them to do so.” With a flash of blue, she, too, vanished.

Fidelis relaxed, though Serale could still see the tension in his shoulders, which had not left since they arrived at the Dawn Court. “I'll be honest, Milady,” he said. “The boy is good. Plenty of natural talent. And I don't know what caused the Sunborn to tutor him, but at least he's taken the lessons to heart. In the past weeks, he's learned tricks that would take most ponies a year or more to master. But I've seen Cadance's pet Captain practicing as well.”

He sighed. “If Vino doesn't win the duel, and win it quickly,” he said, “The odds aren't in his favor. Captain Brightsteel has years of experience in duels and mastery of his blade. Vino Hedera's only hope is that he can do something unexpected and disarm him before the Captain's technique can come into play.”

Serale was quiet for a moment. “I see.”

“Milady,” Fidelis said quickly, “Surely there has to be some way to get Vino out of this duel. You can order him not to fight, or appeal to Princess Cadance, or...”

“There is no way,” Serale said, each word sharp as a knife. “I've tried. Cadance's lands practice the old laws of chivalry. Vino would be guilty of breaking the law if he, as a knight, didn't show up to the challenge he issued when he struck the Captain. I could order him back to Starfall, but then we would all be guilty of aiding a fugitive. I could show up in a week with all of my Guards in tow, but that would be tantamount to war, and it would mean the deaths of hundreds, if not thousands, if it came to that.”

“Then my best spy has a week to live,” Fidelis said. “Unless you can think of a way to avert the duel.”

Serale pondered, silently seething. She hated this, hated the rules and laws of her aunt's Court. She hated Vino for being so damned honorable, hated Captain Brightsteel for his arrogant disregard for life, and hated that she was unable to find any loophole in the law to negate this stupid duel.

She blinked. Perhaps, she thought, the answer didn't lie in a loophole, or indeed in the law at all. The answer, perhaps, lay outside of both of those things.

“We cheat,” she said. “We cheat as hard and as subtly as we can. We use every dirty trick in the book to ensure that Vino walks away the victor.”

Fidelis shook his head. “Vino will never willingly cheat. He's his father's son, an honorable soldier. It would go against everything he stands for.”

“Then he never has to know. There has to be a spell, or a potion, or something to give him an edge. If it's discovered after the fact, then it's my fault. Cadance won't dare charge me with anything. If it isn't discovered, then it never has to be mentioned. Is there any way you know to improve Vino's chances?”

Fidelis nodded his head, slowly at first, thoughtfully, but then with increased vigor. “There might just be a way,” he said. “I'll look into things on my end. You look into things on yours. We may save him yet.”

“We just might,” Serale replied. She smiled, seeing a solution to the damnable problem of Vino's duel for the first time in almost a month.

Serale finally allowed herself to relax as the door shut behind her, leaving her alone for the first time in hours. She allowed herself a long, shuddering breath as she levitated the nightdress from its place by her bed, a long flannel thing that was soft as a cloud and twice as warm, or so the pegasus who had given it to her had claimed. Pulling it haphazardly over her head, she gave her mane a shake as she emerged from the other side, doing up the buttons. She sniffed, her eyes suddenly watering, and was glad to be alone. She needed time to process what had happened, what she had done to herself by reading that damned book. How had she gone from her room to the cliff overlooking the lake? Was she walked there like some sort of puppet, or was she sent there by magic? What had happened in the hours since she had gone? Why did she suddenly know runic? Questions whirled in her mind like a hurricane, buffeting her back and forth, and Serale clutched at her head and moaned.

There was a knock at the door, and Serale's head whipped up as she attempted to pull herself together. She wiped her eyes, took a deep breath. “Coming!” she called.

She opened the door, expecting a maid or a guard, and so was surprised when she saw Cobblestone standing there, her eyes red with exhaustion or tears, possibly both, her face drawn and pale, and trembling slightly with anger or fear.

“There you are!” she exclaimed angrily. “What the buck happened? You were supposed to meet me for studying and instead you went off to...to...” She trailed off, noticing the tears in Serale's eyes. “Oh,” she said. “Oh, gods. What happened?”

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her, and Serale let Cobblestone simply steer her towards the bed, where they both sat, as Serale began to cry in earnest, at first with quiet sobs, and then, as Cobblestone drew her in tight, with bigger and bigger hiccuping cries of fear and stress. They said nothing, simply rocking back and forth, while Cobblestone ran a hoof along her back and waited patiently for Serale to cry herself out.

It took the better part of half an hour before Serale was anything approaching coherent, and her sobs trailed away into the occasional shudder, her face and nose wet with tears. Cobblestone patted her on the back. “Are you okay?” she asked. “All I heard was that you wandered off to a cliff somewhere. We've all been worried for you. Vino especially, he was frantic.”

The mention of Vino was nearly enough to send Serale over the edge once again, as she gave a gasping, hiccuping sigh of a sob. But tears wouldn't come, and after a moment, she straightened up so see Cobblestone's horn lit blue, as a small cup filled with water floated over from the tap in her bathroom. Gently, she passed it to Serale. “Small sips,” she said. “Talk when you want to.”

Serale did as she was told, sipping at the water. “I c-can't,” she stammered. “It's just t-t-too much, and I can't do it all...”

“Serale,” Cobblestone said. “Look at me. I'm your friend. You can tell me any damn thing, and I won't go anywhere or tell anypony.”

Serale shook her head, giving a little hiccup. “N-no,” she got out. “I d-don't...”

Cobblestone sighed. “That's fine,” she said. “You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I can just stay here until you calm down.”

Serale took a deep breath. She sipped at her water, and as she thought, and stared numbly at the wall, she realized that Cobblestone hadn't pressed the issue, hadn't done anything incredibly special, and yet, the simple gesture of getting a glass of water and holding her hair back while she cried like a foal somehow meant more to her than any bath or meal or offer of help. She knew, instinctively, that Cobblestone would no sooner breathe a word of what she told her here than she would saw her own horn off.

“Okay,” Serale said. “Okay. I'm..I'm going to tell you something. But you have to swear not to tell anypony.”

Cobblestone nodded. “Thief's honor,” she said. “I won't tell a soul.”

Haltingly at first, painfully, but becoming easier the more she spoke, Serale told Cobblestone everything. The strange dream, the book she carried in her head, the lost time and the cryptic message Belle had given her, the possibility that there was something about the Kingdom her mother didn't want known, the name she had learned, even her fears about Vino and the duel, it all came out in a jumble.

Cobblestone listened attentively, interrupting only to ask clarification on a few key points, and once to refill Serale's glass of water, which she continued to sip as she spoke. At last, when it was all finished, Cobblestone was quiet, her eyes flicking back and forth as she processed it all, and then she spoke.

“It sounds like whoever or whatever Belle is, she got into your head. I would know. I've had things in my head before. But I agree, you can't go to a Cleric. Every one of them here reports straight to Cadance.”

“I don't know what to do!” Serale said. “Cobblestone, I lost three hours of time! I could have gone anywhere, done anything! Aether knows what I might have done in three hours!”

Cobblestone thought hard, and then she turned to look Serale in the eye. “I have a solution,” she said. “You might not like it.”

“If you have a solution, I'll take it,” Serale said.

Cobblestone blew air through her nose. “You swear you won't tell Libra or anypony a thing about this, right?”

Serale nodded. “I swear, on my House and on my horn.”

“I've been practicing my soulgazing,” Cobblestone said. “Only a little!” she said hurriedly, upon seeing Serale's face, “And not on anypony in particular! I've just been kind of, y'know, letting the barrier down and bringing it back up. I've gotten pretty good at it, too. It's like opening and closing another set of eyelids. I can only do it at night, too, on account of taking Dragon's Kiss in the mornings.”

“Look,” she continued, “I'm not saying it'll be perfect. But I can soulgaze you, and if there's anything riding piggyback in your head, I'll notice it. I guess that ponies that are being controlled by something else look different, at least, that's what your mother said.”

Serale weighed the risks in her mind. One one hoof, she didn't have many options, and the thought of being possessed by something was unacceptable. On the other, she had heard about the condition some of the ponies in the prison had been after Cobblestone had reached out to them with her magic. She could end up incapacitated, or worse, a vegetable. In the end, the choice was clear.

“I trust you,” Serale said. “I'll do it.”

Cobblestone nodded. “It'd be best if you were lying or sitting down,” she said, as she drew up a chair by the bedside and sat down. Serale lay back in her bad as she continued. “If I notice anything going wrong, I'll stop as soon as I can. In theory, this should be pretty easy.”

“Do I need to do anything?” Serale asked. “Use magic or...”

“No,” Cobblestone said. “In fact, avoid doing that if you can. I don't know if magic would affect anything, but it's best to be safe.”

“Right,” Serale said. As an afterthought, she took her pendant off.

“What are you doing?” Cobblestone asked, confused. “Don't you need that?”

Serale laid it on her bedside table. “Some of us have better impulse control than others,” she teased gently. “I'll be fine. There shouldn't be anything wrong unless I reach for my magic, which I know I won't do.”

Cobblestone nodded and closed her eyes. “Okay,” she said. “Alright. I'd...I'd hold onto something. Are you ready?”

Serale grasped the edge of the bed tightly, screwing her eyes shut. “Ready,” she said tersely.

“Here I go,” Cobblestone said. “Starting...now.”

The world spun apart, falling into blackness, and suddenly, Serale could see stars in a hundred different colors, stretching up into the infinite above her. She floated, unaware of time or space, for what seemed like an eternity, and then suddenly, with a rush of color, she became aware of another presence very close to her.

A flame, a bright and beautiful blue flame, reached for her. Serale attempted to extend a hoof, but noted without any sort of panic that she appeared to exist only as a roaring green fire herself. Curious, she attempted to move herself, but was cut short when she noticed that doing so caused lines to flicker into life around her, comprised of strange colored flames themselves, though this fire flowed in rivers instead of leaping freely, like fire was wont to do.

Serale looked upstream, along these rivers of fire, and was suddenly and surely seized by the notion that, far away, there existed a source for the great rivers of flame that she saw streaming around her. She wanted to reach for that source, draw herself to it, but before she could, a spark jumped from the blue flame to her, and she was pulled back.

It tunneled into her, that spark of blue, and Serale shuddered with surprise at the sense of familiarity she felt emanating from it. Strange memories that were not her own flickered into her mind's eye, and likewise, a few sparks of green made their way back into the blue conflagration beside her.

A young mare with a dirty mane smiled at her from beneath a too-large, ragged cloak. An apartment, richly appointed, was promising her ill-gotten riches, riches she could sell to sate the hunger in her belly. A face, soft and warm and misty with faded memory, smiled at her, and she experienced such love and joy that she wept with happiness. A scarred face, milky white eyes peering over night-black hair, grinned as black flames licked at her coat…

There was a sudden terrific bang, a sense of vague nausea, and the impression of soap and candy floss, and Serale's world went dark.

Serale woke up with a start, at the same time as Cobblestone. They both looked at each other, and a strange sort of understanding passed between them.

“That was...” Cobblestone said.

“Beautiful,” Serale finished. “That was beautiful! Goodness, is that what it's like for you every time?”

Cobblestone shrugged. “The part where I see rivers of fire and swap memories with a friend doesn't usually happen,” she said. “Who's Ship's Captain Fairview?”

Serale blushed. “Nopony you need to know about,” she said. A memory, fading rapidly but still her own for the moment, flashed unbidden in front of her eyes. “Nightshade,” she said.

Cobblestone averted her eyes. “So I still have nightmares,” she said. “It's nothing.”

“Cobblestone, it is not nothing,” Serale said firmly. “Every time we've practiced with a sword for the past month, you've been scared out of your wits, because the last time you used a sword you got set on fire. You're suffering from shock, Cobblestone. That's serious stuff, you need to see a Cleric.”

“I'm fine,” Cobblestone said stubbornly. “And besides, if I go to a Cleric, they might find out about your book.”

Serale snorted in exasperation. “There's not a Cleric alive who can see anything you don't want them to see, especially since you're training as a mage. But if you don't get to a Cleric, this isn't going to get better. Mages can't let their emotions get the better of them, Cobblestone. This is serious.”

“Not as serious as losing three hours of time,” Cobblestone retorted. Serale shrunk back, stung by the comment. Cobblestone slumped. “I'm sorry. That was unfair of me. You were just trying to help, you don't deserve that.”

“So...” Serale offered, “How am I? Did you find anything?”

Cobblestone shook her head no. “Whatever Belle is, she isn't in your head. I think I have a solution, though. When you want to read that book, let me know. I'll keep an eye on you, and if something happens and you wander off, I'll come along to make sure you don't get into trouble.”

“What if I do get into trouble?” Serale asked. “Like I said, I don't know what I do when I'm reading that book.”
Cobblestone shrugged. “I'll just reach out with a soulgaze and give you a good shock,” she said. “It'd be hard to do some kind of mental magic when I'm tugging on you.”

Serale felt a smile crack her face, a desperately needed one. “I suppose that'd work just as well as anything,” she said. “And what about you? Will you at least let Libra know? Even if you don't want to see a Cleric, she might excuse you from practicing with the sword.”

Cobblestone opened her mouth, closed it again, grimaced, and then spoke. “Fine,” she said. “I'll talk to Libra tomorrow morning.”

“You mean tomorrow afternoon,” Serale said, her smile widening. “We've been given the day off.”

Cobblestone's eyes lit up. “The whole day?” she demanded.

Serale nodded. “We can finally get more than six hours of sleep,” she said.

“A whole day,” Cobblestone said, awestruck. “What do you want to do with it? I've been dying for something to do here.”

Serale's smile took a turn for the wicked. “Tomorrow, you and I are going into town,” she said. “Dawndale is famous for its beauty and elegance, and you're going to get some things that are beautiful and elegant whether you want to or not.”

Cobblestone's expression turned from one of excitement to one of faint horror as she realized that she had volunteered herself for a day of manecutting, hooficuring, perfuming, and dress shopping. “I'm sorry I asked.”

Ullmhúchán

The Manor's courtyard was unusually quiet for the time of day, when the most sparring was done, right before the midday meal. This silence was doubly strange considering the number of ponies that were packed within its small confines, all of them watching two very well-discussed ponies circle one another, looking for an opening in what promised to be an excellent duel.

Vino's opponent had the advantage of experience and a considerable reach, and was a tried and true warrior, whereas the young knight had never tasted actual battle, or even formal combat. He was, however, possessed of youth, courage, speed, and an almost supernatural sense of where his opponent might strike next, a skill which he had demonstrated time and again over the past month.

The two contestants watched one another through the slits in their visors, neither willing to take their eyes off of his opponent, even for a moment, waiting for the perfect strike. Even between two skilled fighters, there can only be a little time before somepony either slips up or becomes impatient. It was due to one of these factors that Vino raised his sword and attempted to bull-rush his opponent.

Invictus interposed his own sword, a bladeband that had naturally taken the form of a massive blade of Taurish origin, commonly known as a great-hander, between Vino's swing at his shoulder and its intended target, and with a simple thrust outward, sent the attack skittering sideways. His counter blow was as swift as it was brutal, but as had happened time and again, Vino's sword found its place unerringly, turning the grand stroke aside, though only just.

This insult was answered with a sliding blow from below, which was caught by the massive blade of Invictus with some difficulty, as Vino was now inside of his guard. Vino pressed his advantage, his quick thrusts keeping Invictus on the back hoof, if not quite off-guard. Twice during his assault, his blade scraped against the imposing golden plate of his opponent's armor, but it was never a solid blow, or, as it might be said, a killing stroke.

Invictus merely backed away, letting Vino press his advantage, and waited for his moment. Surely enough, he found it. A particularly daring attack had left Vino open to a counter, which Invictus employed with ruthless efficiency. The thrust in question was flicked to one side, and quite suddenly Vino found his sword pointing off to one side, with Invictus's blade hurtling towards the right side of his helmet.

Just barely, the younger knight managed to weave away from this stroke, but it was now Invictus who was pressing his advantage, and Vino who was forced to retreat, his blade flashing silver-red in the cold winter sun as he parried and cut, wincing with each blow that connected with his blade. The great-hander was a cumbersome weapon, true, but Invictus wielded it like a lesser pony might a rapier. Despite the seeming lightness of the weapon's movements, each stroke was as a hammer striking at Vino's defenses, and it was only the fact that he could dodge half of Invictus's blows outright that kept him from losing his sword.

Backed against the line of the arena, and with nowhere to go, Vino grit his teeth and rallied to meet Invictus's offensive with one of this own. Standing firm now, neither pony giving an inch, the two contestants hammered at one another wildly, blow after blow clashing as they waited in a desperate stalemate. If it was a stalemate, however, it was one that was destined not to last. Vino's offensives and defenses had cost him dearly, and he was flagging. Invictus knew it, too, and so redoubled his efforts, breath steaming forth like a dragon's fury from beneath his helm as he exerted himself to greater feats of combat.

At last, a limit was reached. Vino's sword moved just a bit too slow, and the great-hander's blade, turned at the last moment from its edge by its wielder, collided with the side of his head with a mighty clang that was strongly reminiscent of a clock tower bell. Vino collapsed in a heap, as the crowd, which had been holding its breath for what seemed like an eternity, erupted into a mixture of cheers, cries, jeering, and booing, depending on the personal proclivities of each witness.

Invictus allowed the bladeband to return to its place on his foreleg, once again marveling at the ease with which it had run forth to hover in front of him, a sword bound to his will, for all the world like a unicorn. He waited patiently for Vino to rise as the crowd dispersed. He was not worried about lasting damage, for the unicorn had been hit far harder than that in the month he had trained him and come back for more, and besides, he knew very well what a pony looked like when rendered unconscious.

Vino, perhaps staggering a bit, managed to get his helmet off. An observer unfamiliar with this ritual might be confused at what they saw, for Vino was beaming as though immensely proud of himself. And, perhaps, he should have been, for his fight, the third such fight with Invictus that morning, had lasted the longest yet. Titanically long by the standards of dueling, they had danced back and forth for nearly four minutes, and though Vino had harbored no illusions that he would lose the fight as he had lost every other one, he had made it his mission to last longer and do better each and every time.

“You lost,” Invictus said impassively, casting his helm away as well. “Again.”

Vino shrugged. “I can't match you for stamina or experience or skill,” he said. “I've learned that much over the past month.”

“And what else have you learned?”

“How much I still have left to learn, if I want to do my duty as a knight and protect those who need it,” Vino replied. “That I'm still not good enough.”

Invictus snorted. “At least you are no fool,” he said. “Though perhaps you are understating your abilities. Your natural talent is impressive, and you respond well to instruction. In a different time, I think you might have made a good Sunborn.”

Vino blinked. “Thanks?” he said, unsure of how to interpret the compliment. “You're unusually chatty. In a good mood?”

Invictus regarded him impassively. “With today's matches factored into my impression of your combat ability, I estimate you have a three in ten chance of defeating the Captain tomorrow. I am glad to see that my time has yielded good results. When I first began to train with you, your chances were less than one in ten.”

“You always know how to cheer me up,” Vino muttered darkly. “But...thank you. If...if you don't mind, might I ask you a favor?”

Invictus tilted his head, unsure. In the thirty days they had met for sparring, and hours upon hours of practice, they had never exchanged anything approaching a pleasantry excepting the first day they had met, in which Invictus had explained that he was going to help Vino improve himself. Not a day had passed where they exchanged more than perhaps a hundred words, outside of instruction on Invictus's part, or to ask a question or clarify a point on Vino's.

“I am Bound to Cobblestone,” Invictus said. “You know this. What would you have of me?”

Vino scuffed a sheepish hoof. “I need a second,” he said. “Not to fight for me, but once...once things are over, if I am dead, I need somepony to see to it that my affairs are in order. Nothing big, just to get a letter I left in my room and send it home. Captain Fidelis will see to the rest of my things, but I'd like somepony to handle that letter personally. Could you do that?”

“I will attend to your affairs and stand beside you tomorrow morning,” Invictus said. “Provided Cobblestone allows it. I shall inquire, and send word tonight. But for now, I must take my leave.”

Vino looked at him curiously. “Do you have somewhere to be?” he asked. “Normally we keep training after the sparring match.”

“True,” Invictus replied, “But before a battle, it is best not to exert yourself. Besides,” he said, pointing one hoof to the opening to the courtyard, “It is not I who has business to attend to.”

Vino turned to see, much to his surprise, that Corporal Fireball was waiting for him underneath the tiled roof of the walkway past the courtyard, clearly waiting for him to finish so she could approach. He waved her over, leaving Invictus to meet her halfway.

“Yes, Corporal?” he asked the fiery maned Pegasus. “I'm surprised to see you here. Normally you train in the larger yard, right? I don't think I've seen hide nor hair of you outside of early morning practice in a month.”

“Captain Fidelis sent me to retrieve you, sir,” she said. “He said it's not a matter of urgency, but you should be done anyway, and asked me to escort you to his office.”

“Well,” Vino said with a gesture, “Lead on.”

The two began to walk in silence, passing through the courtyard and into the Manor proper, picking their way around Guards and knights of the Court, all clad in sky blue. They, the only ones clad in the purple of Everstar, weren't spared a second glance, even though one of them was likely to die on the morrow. The soldiery of Cadance's Court were busy with their own problems.

Soon enough, this crowd was left behind, and still the silence remained, until it had almost become unbearable. Vino, looking around idly, noticed that Fireball was seemingly lost in her own thoughts, words mouthed silently through barely moving lips. Vino cleared his throat. “Penny for your thoughts, corporal?” he asked.

Fireball flinched at the question as if struck before gazing at him with wide, panicked eyes. “S-s-sorry, sir,” she stammered. “I was just, well...I was just kind of spacing out.”

“You looked like you were talking to yourself,” Vino said. “What about?”

Fireball's ears laid back, a clear indicator of stress. “I...I don't think it's appropriate to talk about, sir,” she aid. “Especially considering tomorrow.”

“Are you that worried about my chances?” Vino asked, half-joking. “Invictus said he thought I'd do well. I trust his judgment.”

Fireball's ears perked up. “Oh!” she said, as if surprised. “Well, then...that's good, right? We were all kind of worried.”

“All?” Vino echoed curiously. “You and others?”

“All of us, sir,” she said. “The Fourth Rifles and most of the rest of the Guard. No offense, sir, but most of us thought you were a goner.”

“I wouldn't call a three in ten chance a 'goner', exactly,” Vino said cavalierly. “Not as sure as I'd like, but I'm not doomed to certain death. Is that what you were talking to yourself about? My odds?”

Fireball flushed, the normally deep blue of her cheeks touched with pink. “No, sir,” she said. “And, well...if you really want to know, I was praying.”

“Praying?”

“For you, sir,” Fireball clarified. “Asking the Lady to grant you strength tomorrow. And...and for forgiveness on my part.”

Now it was Vino's turn to perk up, this time in interest. “Forgiveness?” he asked. “What do you need forgiveness for?”

Fireball looked at him, stunned. “You really don't know?” she asked. “More than a month since that bast...that captain challenged you, and you didn't ask why he did?”

“He challenged me because I stood up for the ponies who follow me,” Vino said. “I didn't need any reason more than that.”

Fireball seemed to deflate, almost, the flightiness and burning curiosity gone. “Barracks scuttlebutt is right,” she said. “You've got more honor than sense, pardon my saying, sir.”

“I'll pardon that if you tell me what you need forgiveness for,” Vino said quietly. The pair of them passed by an alcove, and Vino stopped, indicating that she should step inside. Fireball did so, Vino following behind. It was not a large space, but it was private enough. “What have you done wrong?”

The pegasus looked at him, throat and mouth seeming to work against one another for the briefest moment, as though attempting to mangle the words before they could escape her, but at last, she sighed, ran a hoof through the unkempt yellow and red mane on her head, and withdrew a small metal pendant from her uniform jacket, one shaped like a very familiar six-pointed star. “It's because of this,” she said. “And my faith.”

Vino said nothing, simply allowing Fireball to continue. “I'm a member of a small...I guess you could call it a temple or something like that. I was raised to believe that Lady Everstar isn't just a powerful pony, but a deity. Like Celestia or Luna or Cadance.”

Fireball began to relax as she explained, clearly having given this speech before. “We call ourselves the Evening Path,” she said. “We believe that Lady Everstar was chosen to be the steward of ponies, unlike the three goddesses, by a higher power, and the fact that she denies her divinity is proof of her status, and her right to lead us all. We keep her tenets, like Loyalty and Honesty, and try to live our lives as she did, to follow her example.”

“Such as? Vino asked.

“Such as serving the common good in any way we can,” Fireball said. “My dad taught ponies how to defend themselves, my mom is a nurse from Hoofington, and I joined the service. We also try to better ourselves through education. I'm the first pony in my family in almost four generations who didn't attend university immediately after school. We're supposed to be humble and help everypony we can, and we're really big on self-determination.”

“Well, as far as I can tell, you fit that ideal pretty well,” Vino said. “So what do you need forgiveness for?”

“We also believe that ponies are supposed to find out Lady Everstar's divinity on their own,” Fireball said. “Telling ponies that Lady Everstar is divine is like how ponies in the Celestial Empire are raised. They don't get to discover it, they never question it. That's just how they are. Lady Everstar is a goddess of Thought and discovery. If another pony has come to grief because we've been prancing about and claiming our faith is the true path, regardless of if it's true or not, then the fault lies with us.”

Fireball took a deep breath. “It's because of my faith, my insistence to wear this pendant here of all places, knowing what those who follow Cadance think of the Lady, that the captain lost his temper,” she said. “It's because of my faith that he started to beat me, and it's because of my faith that you stepped in and got challenged. And now my faith might result in the loss of a knight defending the daughter of Lady Everstar. So, sir, that would be why I need forgiveness.”

“And why you've been avoiding me for the past month,” Vino said. “Because you don't want to make it worse?”

Fireball's jaw tightened, and she nodded. “Yes,” she said quietly, “Sir.”

“Corporal Fireball,” Vino said, after a moment of quiet contemplation, “I want you to know that I respect your faith, even though I may not understand it, and I admire the courage it must have taken to say what you just said to me.”

“Thank you, sir,” Fireball said.

Vino held up a hoof. “That said,” he continued, “Assuming that your faith is the reason why you were singled out, and the reason I stepped in, that's not what requires forgiveness. What requires forgiveness is the colossal arrogance in assuming that your faith is what singled you out, or that you were somehow special because I stepped in to save you.”

Fireball's eyes widened, and her head bobbed as if she had been slapped. “Sir?”

Vino sighed. “Corporal Fireball,” he said, “Over the past month, I've thought a lot about what I might have done differently to avoid this duel tomorrow. When faced with impending death, you start to contemplate some things. And would you care to guess which conclusion I've come to?”

The Pegasus shook her head.

“I wouldn't have changed a thing.” Vino said. “If any other pony, a member of the Fourth, a member of the Guard, hay, even a member of the Court here was being beaten by Captain Brightsteel, the outcome wouldn't have been any different. I'd have stepped in regardless. I'm sworn to defend those in need and to uphold the laws of chivalry wherever they are being broken. Captain Brightsteel is a petty bully, and if it hadn't been your pendant, I'm sure he would have found another reason to keep hitting you while you were down.”

Vino's hoof clenched involuntarily. “Your faith isn't what made you stand out,” he said. “It didn't define you then, your frankly damned impressive sword work did. The Captain didn't challenge you because of your faith, he would have challenged anypony who would have gotten the better of his apprentice. I've seen swordmasters like him before when I was in training. Their pet pupils have to be the best, and anypony who shows them up is an enemy.”

“I...” Fireball said. “I hadn't thought of it that way, sir.”

“Corporal Fireball,” Vino said, his tone even. “Your faith is what drives you. I understand that. I respect it. My vows, made to the Lady just as you've made yours, are what drive me. You don't need her forgiveness, you didn't do anything wrong. If anything, your refusal to hide that pendant around your neck means that you deserve to be rewarded, not punished. And,” he said lightly, “It means I'm probably not the only one here with more honor than sense.”

Fireball shifted uncomfortably, her wings fluttering a bit. “Thank you, sir,” she said. “That actually means a lot.”

“And come tomorrow,” Vino said, “I'm going to show that slimy excuse for a cavalier what it means to be a knight. I'm not going to die anyway, so don't worry about you somehow being responsible for that, either.”

Corporal Fireball nodded once, a quick, jerky motion. “Right, sir!” she snapped, her old fire returning once again. “I'll be looking forward to it!”

Vino grinned, showing far more confidence than he felt. “Glad to hear it,” he said. “Now, let's not keep Captain Fidelis waiting.”

It was with a considerably improved mood that the duo left the hallway behind, neither of them noticing the very large black cat which had been perched upon the tapestry across the hall from them, a single amber eye cracked open and watching every movement, and a single twitching ear having heard every word.

While the Guard had not been officially assigned any quarters at the Manor, and indeed, they did not expect them, the stewards and nobility of the Court recognized that a visiting army, even a small one, would need a base of operations. So, for nearly the past two months, the unofficial headquarters of the Evening Guard in Dawndale had been located in a small, roundish tower that served as both their offices and armory in addition to their quarters, located on the upper levels of the tower itself.

The space was snug, some would have called it cramped, and the few braziers that had been placed throughout the building only warded off the worst of the cold, leaving a lingering chill in the air, but a few attempts had been made to make the quarters more palatable, including the proud display of regimental banners and pennants, the “requisition” of several rugs and chairs for use in the common rooms, and, perhaps most noticeably, the patching of several holes in the wall of the tower, which had one point been used for guard duty before falling into disrepair.

The fact that they had been assigned quarters in what amounted to an abandoned ruin was not lost on the members of the Guard.

The office that Vino was interested in was located in the tower, but not above-ground. The basement, still showing visible foundations, was deemed most secure, and so it had been converted with considerable time and effort into the officer's work area, a title which conferred more prestige upon the cramped cellar than was strictly needed.

Vino, leaving Fireball behind, descended the steps to the cellar door with nothing more than a quick nod to the sentries on duty, and paused only to do up the next button on his coat before he raised on hoof on the door, knocked three times, and waited for a response.

“Come.”

Vino did so, opening the door to reveal a study that more closely revealed the office of a prison warden, or perhaps the warden of a dungeon. A desk, black metal, was bolted firmly to the floor, with a simple wooden chair behind it, and a twin in front of it. The only ornamentation in the room was a pair of file cabinets, one of which was still half-empty, and the room was lit only by the flickering light of a brazier, swinging from its chain from the ceiling, made of the same rough stone as the walls and floor, and a single candle, which kept a small pitcher of purple wax ready to pour.

Captain Fidelis looked up from his papers for only a moment, before gesturing towards the chair in a clear invitation to sit. Vino did so, the creaking of wood almost deafening in the otherwise quiet room. Captain Fidelis's pen scratched out a few final words, before he returned it to its inkwell, blowing on the paper before folding it quite neatly into thirds, setting it to one side to be placed in an envelope and sealed later.

Finally, he looked up at Vino. “So,” he said. “Tomorrow's a big day for you.”

Vino nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Are you ready?”

“Ready as I'll ever be,” Vino replied. “Invictus says my odds have improved.”

Fidelis sniffed. “I still don't trust that thing. But then” he said, begrudgingly, “That's not my business. My business is to mistrust others.”

“You want to know if I've found anything out, sir?” Vino asked.

“You're perceptive,” Fidelis said. “Yes, that's why I called you here, or at least one reason. So, let's get that out of the way. What can you tell me about your fellow captains?”

“Well,” Vino said, mulling it over. “If I had to pick one pony to be our mole, I'd peg it on you, sir.”

Fidelis's mouth twitched. “Oh?”

“You're in the right place to intercept everything pertaining to Lady Serale's security,” Vino said, “Even if you weren't a Changeling, you've got the most experience of us all when it comes to spycraft, and it's not like anypony would want to stop you from sending a missive if you said it was official business.”

Vino's eyes lingered on the letter, which lay folded on the desk. “But if you'd turned,” he said, “Then your entire hive would know. There's a dozen cases from the past decade alone involving Changelings being imprisoned by the hive for engaging in espionage against the Queen or Lady, as well as another ten cases I could name involving Changelings and dark magic. It just doesn't work.”

“So that leaves you, Captain Ahan, Captain Afi, and Captain Kore,” Fidelis said. “And we both know you're not the mole. So who is?”

“Kore would be the likely choice,” Vino said thoughtfully, “At least, that's what I thought. She's a Cambiae, which means she's familiar with dark magic already, and she's got a crown charter as a knight errant, which means she could have been part of a dozen cults if she was careful enough. But there's a problem with her, too.”

“That being?”

Vino shifted uneasily in his chair. Spying on his fellow captains made him uneasy, and it had taken most of his energies outside of practice to keep up his duties as a captain and still discretely observe the other captains. It had helped that most of his evenings were taken up by “training exercises” with the other captains.

“That being that she's a knight errant with magical talent and a murky background,” Vino said, “And any move she made to do that kind of thing in the Kingdom would have been noticed by the Magekillers.”

“She could have slipped them,” Fidelis pointed out reasonably.

Vino shook his head. “She keeps to a strict schedule. She gets up at the same time every day, performs the same exercises in the same places, visits the same locations, eats her meals in the same spot at the same times, does the same work as every other captain from one to six in the afternoon, files it for your approval, and then goes to bed after dinner. And stays there, too.”

Fidelis scratched at his chin thoughtfully, before running a hoof through his graying mane, mussing it a little. “She could be leaving her room.”

“I've watched the door overnight at least four times, and her room has no window,” Vino said. “If she was sneaking out, it was when I wasn't on guard duty.”

“So is it Afi or Ahan?” Fidelis said. “If you're so sure of Kore's innocence.”

Vino, warming to the topic, leaned forward a bit. “I'd suspect Ahan next,” he said. “After all, he's got no loyalty to the Lady, being a Gryphon, and he's a mercenary. He might have been hired to infiltrate the Guard. Except I've never heard of a Gryphon taking that kind of contract. It wouldn't fit with their idea of honor. And a Gryphon contract can't be bought out once it's been made. I've seen his paperwork myself. He's clean. A mercenary maybe, but an honorable one and certainly not a spy.”

“So that leaves Afi.” Fidelis said. “What are your thoughts on him?”

Vino winced. Of the three, Afi might have been the most likely culprit, but he was still unsure. “Afi stands the least to gain,” he said. “Granted, he's good at disappearing, and he might be able to get a message out to somepony through the Regia's security, but he's an old soldier who hasn't shown any interest in anything besides taking one last assignment and retiring with honor.”

“He's gone on record saying that he no longer feels a sense of duty,” Fidelis said. “Mostly he's interested in the commission and the retirement. It's taken ponies far less to turn on the Crown.”

“Something about that doesn't fit,” Vino said, furrowing his brow. “If Afi's the one to watch, then he's very dedicated to his role. I'm assuming his background has been checked, which means he's been in the Rangers for longer than the Lady Serale has been alive, and he was one of the ponies in the car with us when the train cars blew on the way to Ponyville.”

“He could have been keeping close on purpose,” Fidelis said.

Vino shrugged. “It's not much to go on,” he said. “But I think, if any of the captains are the traitor, it would have to be him.” He swallowed, suddenly feeling sick.

Fidelis nodded, leaning back in his chair. His hoof tapped against the floor, and he gazed up at the gently swinging brazier as if divining the truth in its flame. He exhaled slowly. “Well,” he said. “This puts me in an awkward position. I've been investigating the mages for the past month or so, and what I've found worries me.”

Vino frowned. “How so, sir?”

“There are five mages,” Captain Fidelis said. “Sir Dunlevy of Oakton, the cavalier Cheval du Ombre, Angelus of the Magekillers, Zara Stonehoof, our resident zebra, and your own rookie mage, Ceres.”

Vino nodded. He hadn't seen much of them since they had arrived, being involved in the training and his duties, and they had spent much of their time engaging with the Clerics of the Dawn Court on matters of what he assumed were mystical importance.

“I looked at Ceres first, seeing as he was the only one to actually land a hit on Magus Libra during the trials,” Fidelis said, “But near as I can tell, he's just a lucky apprentice who has a bit more talent than you might think. I'd get to know him, Vino. He's going to be an excellent mage one day. Unfortunately, he's also probably the least likely candidate to be the mole. His record's almost boringly clean.”

“Sir Dunlevy and Lady Cheval both have excellent records, and what's more, I was with them the entire time while we were preparing to leave,” Fidelis said. “They're about as clean as I can be sure of. Zara's a possible candidate, but I'm disinclined to believe that she'd have anything to do with it. As near as I can tell, all of her power is in that staff she's made, and in her knowledge of potions. Not exactly something that lends itself to sending hidden messages.”

“So that leaves Sir Angelus?” Vino asked. “Would a Magekiller...”

“No,” Fidelis said with finality. “The Magekillers police their own far more stringently than they do everypony else. If he'd put even a hoof out of line at any point in the past, we'd have gotten a half-dozen reports detailing the time, place, infraction, hay, even what he'd eaten that morning. It's not him.”

“So the mages are clear?” Vino asked.

“That's what worries me,” Fidelis said. “I got a missive from Starfall saying that they'd found psychic echoes in the courtyard after the explosion, and that it might have been a mental communication. I think that our culprit, whoever it is, is one of the mages.”

“Or Afi's better at magic than he lets on,” Vino said.

Fidelis nodded. “I'm going to be asking some questions tonight,” he said, “Discrete ones, but things might get hairy in the next few days. I needed everything you had on the captains before I could figure out where to start.”

Vino's mouth twisted in a wry smile. “And here I'd thought you called me here to say it had been an honor and you were rooting for me tomorrow,” he said.

“You know that you still have duties to attend to,” Fidelis said quietly. “We have dangerous jobs, and you had intelligence I needed. I'm a spy as well as a soldier, Vino. You know that.”

“True,” Vino replied easily. “And I'd meant to get it to you today, after practice.”

“With that out of the way,” Fidelis said, “I do want to say that you are an excellent soldier, Vino. One who shows promise. And regardless of what happens tomorrow, win or lose, it has been an honor serving with you.”

Vino's confidence became more subdued. “Thank you, sir,” he replied. “I hope to make the Lady proud.”

“She's already proud of you, Vino. Just make sure you've earned that pride.”

Sneachta

“So,” Vino said, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun on the snowdrifts, which had piled up on the sides of the Bower's main courtyard, “I take it you went with Lady Serale yesterday?”

Cobblestone looked at him strangely. “What makes you say that?” she asked curiously. “I mean, yeah, but how did you know?”

“Your new cloak,” Vino said, indicating the heavy red fabric wrapped around Cobblestone's neck, embroidered with vines in silver and gold, which billowed in the wind as they walked. “Somehow I doubt you paid for that on your own, or that you went to a shop to get it willingly.”

Cobblestone grimaced. “Yeah, Serale can get kind of intense when she thinks something is going to happen,” she said, clutching at the hood of her cloak, currently up against the cold. “We must have spent six hours yesterday going from shop to shop. I had to convince three mares in one shop that I didn't want my mane touched. Apparently short bobs are out this season.”

“It'd be nice to have long hair, what with this cold,” Vino said. As if on cue, a gust of cold mountain air whistled through the courtyard, and he could almost hear the snow freezing on the top of the drifts. “It makes sense, anyway.”

“Yeah, until you light it on fire because you forgot to account for ambient magic when lifting weights,” Cobblestone grumbled. “Being a mage involves a lot more exercise than I thought it would.”

Vino grinned at her. “That's more Magus Libra than anything. She and Lady Everstar share the same ideas of what a mage should be.”

“Well, Lady Everstar would know,” Cobblestone remarked. “Still, I have to admit I'm in the best shape I've been in for months. So maybe it's not all pointless.” She glanced at Vino quickly, her cheeks colored with the cold. “Speaking of exercise,” she said, “Invictus told me about being your second tomorrow. You know he doesn't have to ask me for every little thing, right?”

Vino's brow furrowed. “He said he'd need your permission,” he replied. “That's odd.”

Cobblestone snorted. “Don't get me wrong, I love Invictus like a brother, but he's got a stick up his arse a mile long. A few days ago he apologized because he wasn't there to watch my sword practice, as if he needed to be watching me at all times.”

“I thought that was his job,” Vino said. “Isn't he your guard?”

“More like a companion,” Cobblestone said. “A very big and scary one...” Her eyes narrowed as she saw a door swing open on the other side of the courtyard. “Hold on,” she said quickly, lowering the hood from her head.

Focusing, she lit her horn, blue magic shimmering around it, and Vino watched as a section of the packed snow on the roof cracked, sliding down the steep tiles to the ground below, catching a pair of uniformed guards under a pile of white powder and cutting their cries off mid-utterance. She grinned.

“Damn guards around here keep giving me the stinkeye,” she said. “I think they found out somehow what I did for a living before I was an apprentice. So I've taken to playing jokes on them.”

“Are you sure you should be doing that?” Vino asked. “What if one of them takes offense?”

“To an apprentice mage with no manners who's only barely got control of her magic?” Cobblestone retorted with a smirk. “Come off it. You're almost as bad as Invictus.”

Vino shook his head. Cobblestone was irrepressible as always. “I wish I was more like Invictus,” he said. “It'd do me a lot of good tomorrow.”

Cobblestone's crooked grin diminished somewhat. “A three in ten chance isn't so bad,” she said. “And Invictus is a bit of a pessimist, even at the best of times. I bet you're about even with that ponce.”

“Ponce?” Vino asked wryly. “Did Lady Serale teach you that one?”

“As a matter of fact, it was Libra,” Cobblestone sniffed. “She said it was inappropriate for me to use the phrase 'shithead' in polite company, so I learned a fancy swearword.”

Vino spluttered, trying to hold back a laugh. It was nice to have a bit of time off, and even nicer that Cobblestone was around to chat with him. It helped to take his mind off of the impending duel.

Cobblestone, seeing him pale a little bit, guessed what he was thinking of. “Come on,” she said, “If tomorrow really is your last day alive, it's not doing you any good to spend all of today moping around like you've got the pox. And if tomorrow isn't your last day, then you're going to wish you hadn't made such a big deal about it.”

“Captain Brightsteel is an amazing duelist,” Vino said. “I've watched him, and I'm sure he's been keeping an eye on me. There's no way I'm in his league. Not that Invictus hasn't been a huge help!” he cried, seeing the expression on Cobblestone's face. “Without him, I'd have no hope at all come tomorrow. It's just...it's best to be prepared, you know?”

“Did you let your family know yet?” Cobblestone asked. “At least Lady Hedera?”

Vino snorted. “Like she doesn't know already,” he said. “And Grappa and Fern...well, they don't need to worry about it. That's actually what's in the letter that Invictus is going to send. It's me explaining to them what's happened.”

“They deserve to hear it from you.”

“A letter is a lot more than they got the last time around,” Vino snapped, rounding on Cobblestone. The young unicorn, half his size, didn't flinch, though her hoof strayed perhaps a little to her side, where something might have been strapped.

“Last time?” she asked. “I take it this has happened before.”

Vino deflated. “Forget it,” he said. “Just forget it.”

Cobblestone rolled her eyes. “I'm not going to let you cry on my shoulder, but if you don't tell me what's wrong I'm going to hold you down and beat you until you do. Why didn't you at least make a call back home?”

“Because I couldn't handle putting my family through potentially losing another member,” Vino said. “Grappa and Fern don't know my mother, she died before father met Aura, obviously, but they remember my younger sister dying, and my father's death. They've heard enough about it.”

“You never told me you had a younger sister,” Cobblestone said. “But I know a little about your father. He was a soldier too, wasn't he?”

Vino nodded. “One of Lady Everstar's personal guards. Supposedly she showed a romantic interest in him, too, but he'd already fallen in love with mother when he took the job. He's the reason I decided to become a soldier instead of going to university like Aura recommended.”

“And he died?”

“In a boating accident,” Vino said, “After he had retired, after mother died. He thought Tannin and I deserved at least one parent, so he took over the family trade business and resigned his commission. He was overseeing a cotton shipment downriver to Crescent City when a boom caught him on the back of the head. He hit the water unconscious and drowned. Aura was there, saw the whole thing. She still refuses to talk about it.”

“Who was Tannin? Your sister?” Cobblestone asked.

Vino nodded. “I think she and father were closest of all of us, especially after mother died. She was young when he died, barely came into her magic. She refused to eat for days, then started trying to...well, she started trying to hurt herself. Eventually, it got so bad that she was institutionalized. Clerics couldn't do anything about it, she fought them at every step.”

Cobblestone shifted uneasily. She sympathized. “So she's still locked up?”

“She snuck out of her cell one night and threw herself into the river,” Vino said. “They never found her body, but a guard saw what happened. Didn't make a difference when it came to trying to stop her, though.”

“That's...that's rough,” Cobblestone said. “Sorry for bringing it up.”

“It's fine,” Vino said. “Father's death was tough, but Tannin had been hospitalized for months before I left home to become a squire. When she died, I hadn't seen her in years. She was practically a stranger.”

There was a silence, broken by the whisper of wind, the crunch of their hooves on the snow, and the muffled curses of the guards, still brushing snow off of themselves as they stumbled back inside. Cobblestone looked at Vino. “So I guess being a knight means a lot to you,” she said. “That whole 'defend the weak' and 'serve the Crown' angle. I think your father would be proud of you.”

“I hope so,” Vino said. “He was the one who approved of me becoming a knight. Mother wanted me to become a merchant like most everypony else in the House. Her idea of a compromise was me joining the navy or the merchant marine. I actually spent some time learning how to run a ship as a result.”

A particularly fierce gust of wind caused him to shudder and draw his jacket a bit closer. “I suppose there are worse ways to die,” he said morosely. “I could have drowned like my father and sister, or caught an illness like my mother did. If things don't go well tomorrow, then I'll have died serving Crown and country.”

Cobblestone rolled her eyes. “Quit talking like that,” she said. “Just kick him in the balls and shove your sword through his chest. Or just kick him in the balls.”

Vino forced back a laugh. “I think that'd go against the rules of the duel,” he said. “We're supposed to use swords only.”

Cobblestone shook her head, short-cropped mane swinging back and forth as she did so. “See, when I was living with a gang, things were simpler. If you wanted to kill somepony, you just got up your courage and did it. None of the rules, none of the restrictions. You civilized types only ever kill each other with swords or pistols, and that's only ever after waiting a month.”

The two of them came across a low wall, probably the foundation of a long-moved building, which grew higher as it went. Cobblestone gave a short hop, landing upon it easily. Stopping for only a moment to get her balance, she continued. “If you want, I can ask Serale to send you back to Starfall. That'd keep Captain Shinybritches or whatever his name is from spitting you like a fish.”

“Then you'd be criminals,” Vino said reasonably. “And then you'd be stuck here in Dawndale awaiting trial for aiding a fugitive.”

“Pfft. Like I haven't been there before,” Cobblestone said. “And I think that Princess Cadance might have a bit of an issue keeping us locked up all safe and cozy when we've got some of the most powerful mages in Equestria and sixty armed guards willing to fight it out with her Court.”

“And would you be one of those most powerful mages?” Vino teased. “I thought you were an apprentice who had trouble controlling her magic.”

“Keep in mind that I have spooky Fae magic,” Cobblestone said, wiggling her eyebrows mysteriously. “And an ancient warrior meant to take down the Lady herself. And a best friend who plays with ley lines. And a cat.”

“Aether forfend you unleash your cat on us,” Vino said with a laugh. “Although I believe you when you say that Invictus might prove a problem. He hits like a freight train.”

“I know,” Cobblestone retorted, “I've seen you two spar before. Someday, you might be able to make it a whole five minutes with him. Assuming he lets you live that long.”

“If I have to last five minutes in the ring with Invictus,” Vino said, “I'll find Captain Brightsteel and get it out of the way quickly.”

Cobblestone stumbled a bit as she glanced down at him. “Don't joke like that,” she said. “Please.”

Vino's expression turned somber. “Sorry,” he said. “I just...”

“This whole duel is rotten,” Cobblestone said. “And it's killing my mood too. Serale's been worried sick this whole week, which means I'm the one who's doing better in classes for a change. Plus I've had to help her homework, because she's...damn.”

“What?” Vino asked. “What's Lady Serale up to?” Is she alright? I can go reassure her if...”

“No,” Cobblestone said, “I don't think that'd help. And it's...well, shit. You didn't hear this from me, alright?”

Vino nodded.

“She's trying to come up with a way to help you during the duel. Discreetly. Something to do with tapping into a smallish ley line, giving you a little bit extra energy or some such.” Cobblestone held up a hoof, forestalling Vino's protest. “I told her you'd take it the wrong way. Just listen, alright?” She waited for Vino to close his mouth and hopped off of the wall, landing lightly on the snow. The two of them curled up near the corner, the wall to their backs to ward off the wind.

“I don't know if you noticed, but you've got more than a few admirers in the Court,” she said. “I guess Brightsteel's a bit of a skirtchaser, and some mares don't take kindly to that kind of thing, even here. Plus you're young, new, and...and handsome,” she said, blushing a bit. “Don't take that the wrong way, it's an observation. If it was any other captain, Serale might let this thing slide. But Brightsteel's got you outclassed, and Serale's known you for a long time, and I think she might kind of have a thing for you.”

Vino's jaw dropped. “Wh...what?”

“Easy there, lovebird,” Cobblestone said. “I don't even know if she knows. And it's jut a guess, based on a few conversations. But the fact is that she's got more than a little interest in keeping you safe, and there are more than a few ponies in the Court who wouldn't mind seeing Brightsteel taken down a peg. So, yeah, she's got something planned.”

Vino shook his head. “Cobblestone, I don't need help. I'm supposed to do my duty as a knight, and that means doing this on my own.”

“I thought your duty as a knight was to your Crown and country?” Cobblestone asked. “Or is getting killed tomorrow going to somehow keep Serale safe?”

“No, it isn't, but at least her honor will be intact,” Vino shot back.

“Her honor?” Cobblestone probed. “Or yours? Serale doesn't give a damn about some antiquated idea of morality. I mean, you're going to duel somepony tomorrow! We haven't done that in the Kingdom in a hundred years! And besides, your title as a knight goes both ways.”

Vino looked at her, unsure questions written across his face. “How do you mean?”

“The way I see it, and the way I think Serale might see it, you've got a duty to the Crown, right?” Cobblestone asked. Vino nodded. “Then doesn't the Crown have a duty to you, too? Shouldn't Serale do everything she can to help you and keep you safe like you do with her?”

Vino was silent, so Cobblestone probed further. “Come on, Vino,” she said urgently. “This whole thing is stupid, and pointless, and wrong. There's nothing dishonorable about accepting help, especially if it means keeping your Lady safe and happy. And you kept going on and on earlier about protecting the weak and the meaning of being a knight, so what's so bad about allowing somepony to help protect you?”

Vino frowned. “I don't recall talking about defending the weak all that much with you. In fact, the only pony I've really discussed it with was Fireball, earlier. Cobblestone, were you spying on me?”

“You're avoiding the question,” Cobblestone said.

“So are you.”

Cobblestone groaned. “No, Vino, I wasn't spying on you. If you don't believe me, you can ask Libra, or any of the dozen or so of Serale's guards that were in the courtyard with us for the entire morning. I've been working out all morning, and then I had lunch and came to meet you. Now answer the damn question.”

Vino looked at her, suddenly uneasy. He was almost completely sure that she was lying about not having been watching him. And yet, he was also just as sure that she was telling the truth about having been in the courtyard all morning. Unless she'd had somepony else watching him? But the hallway had been empty when he'd had the conversation with Fireball earlier....he shook his head. It wasn't worth following up.

“It's just not the way it's been done,” Vino said. “Duels are about you and your opponent, nothing else. No outside help, no interference.”

“As far as you know,” Cobblestone said, laying her head against the wall for a moment. “Can you really tell me nopony has ever used magic to cheat, just a little, in a duel? Hay, Captain Brightsteel's a unicorn himself. You think he isn't going to use every trick his magic can give him to try and kill you?”

“Look,” she continued, “The point is that Serale might try and do something unusual tomorrow. You don't have to agree with it, just be ready for it. She's doing it with your best interests at heart, to try and repay you for the service you're rendering her.”

It was a fair point, Vino realized. Unicorns usually made very good duelists, and Captain Brightsteel, while undoubtedly willing to adhere to the letter of the law during the duel, might very well violate the spirit using some trick or cantrip. Even a small thing like keeping his eyes from being hurt by the sun with his magic might give him a significant advantage over Vino, who had no such magic to fall back on.

Vino sighed. “I'm not going to agree to this,” he said, “But then, Serale's never asked my permission when she's got it into her head to do something. You said it yourself, she's stubborn when she decides something needs to be done. So, I'm not going to disagree with this either. I'd just ask that whatever help she does or doesn't decide to give is small. My honor might not mean much to you or her, but it means the world to me.”

Cobblestone nodded in agreement. “I'll pass it along,” she said. “Thanks for not being pigheaded about it.”

Vino stood, stretching as he did, and decided that if he wasn't going to have any say about what magic was used on him, he might as well register a protest now. His back hoof shot out, colliding with the stone wall, and a significant amount of snow shook and fell off of the top of the wall, landing quite unintentionally down the back of Cobblestone's hood and packing itself neatly against her neck. She shot up with a yelp, shaking herself furiously, snow flying everywhere.

“Oh, you're so going to pay for that,” she said, her horn lighting up. Vino's eyes widened as four, then eight, then fifteen or twenty snowballs packed themselves and rose into the air. Without waiting for Cobblestone to line up her shot, Vino took off across the courtyard, and Cobblestone followed closely behind, pelting him with snowballs all the way.

Chomhrac

A red sun dawned over Cadance's Court.

The rays stretched through skies speckled with clouds, gray wisps of vapor that would later be heavy with the promise of snow. They stretched over glistening peaks and through shadowed valleys, splintering into a hundred tiny beams of light as they reflected off of the rooftops of Dawndale, and soon, they appeared to bathe the city itself in rosy light. It was apropos. Today, a brave pony would likely die.

There was not much in the way of idle chatter in the banquet hall that morning. The Princess and her niece were not exactly on speaking terms at the moment, and they both looked haggard and worn at their seats on the high table, each having attempted to reach an amicable conclusion to the conflict that existed between their warriors, and each having failed to do so. A young pony, roughly the age of the young Lady and dressed in the black robes of a mage's apprentice, was apparently deep in discussion with her cat, whose tail twitched in slight annoyance.

At a nearby table, the captains of the Royal Guard were in deep conference with the youngest of their number, offering last minute advice and being sure that he was eating, though he looked as if he would rather be doing anything but. He stared across the hall towards the table where his opposite sat, who was attacking a plate of roasted peppers with unabridged relish and alacrity. His face became perhaps a few shades paler at the sight of one of those peppers being neatly skewered on the older pony's fork, and he rose a little from his chair, only to be seated once more at a word from his senior.

“Maybe he won't kill him,” Cobblestone murmured to Hob, before draining her cup of watered wine, wishing it was something stronger as she clutched at her head in discomfort. She was no stranger to fights, even scheduled fights, but for some reason, the prospect of watching the duel unnerved her. Maybe it was the ceremony, the anticipation, or maybe it was the way Vino and Brightsteel looked at one another, like a cat sizing up a vicious hound. She had seen cats get the better of dogs before, but somehow, she suspected that it wouldn't go nearly as well this time around.

Unlikely, Hob replied. I have watched the captain for quite some time. He is quite confident he will kill Vino today. I happen to agree with him, his skill with a blade is the match of any I have seen so far.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Cobblestone grumbled. She popped a potato into her mouth, and surreptitiously slid an extra one off of her plate for Hob, who devoured it in the blink of an eye. “Well, I hope Invictus taught him something that the captain hasn't seen before.”

“Did you say something, Cobblestone?” Libra asked, her ears perking up as she broke away from her conversation partner, Cadance's court medic and chief Cleric. She'd hoped to convince him to be on standby during the duel in an effort to improve Vino's odds. “It sounded like you were talking to somepony.”

Cobblestone shook her head dutifully. “No, Magus,” she replied. “Just Hob, is all. He's a good listener.”

Libra looked at Hob, who yawned at her in a brazen display of nonchalance. “I'm sure he is,” she said, sounding not at all like she believed that Hob was as indifferent as he looked. Libra had grown accustomed to Hob's seeming attachment to his keeper, and while she still privately thought that there was something unusual about Hob, she had resigned herself to the fact that Hob was a good deal craftier than her when it came to being observed, and she had simply settled in for Cobblestone to tell her if something truly was dangerous about her supposed pet.

Cobblestone, in the meantime, had shot another glance over to the table containing Cadance's captains. “What kind of pony can just polish off a breakfast that big and then go out and try to kill somepony?” she asked, as Captain Brightsteel finished the last of his eggs, raising a mug of coffee to his lips. “Ain't natural, is what it is.”

“It isn't natural, Cobblestone,” Libra corrected her. “While I happen to agree that Captain Brightsteel's actions are somewhat callous, the word 'ain't' is not proper, nor is it polite grammar. And I imagine he's so calm because he's done this before. I'm sure that when he had his first duel, he was just as nervous as Sir Hedera.”

“You look just as calm,” Cobblestone observed as Libra took another small bite of her buttered toast, washing it down with an almost dainty sip of tea. “Aren't you worried?”

Libra set down her cup and saucer with a clink. “The young Sir Hedera should have kept better control of himself when he stepped into the fight,” she said, “And his corporal shouldn't have worn that pendant in public, where it might have been seen by anypony. The Captain, however, should have simply let the matter pass. Simply stopping when Vino asked would have sufficed, as his honor and the honor of his Lady had been satisfied with the corporal's beating. Frankly, I think this entire business should have been avoided, but it wasn't.”

“What's done is done, then?” Cobblestone asked, wincing at the clatter of nearby plates.

Libra nodded as she tucked a strand of grayish-brown mane behind her ear. “Essentially. I am calm, simply because I realize that there is nothing to be gained from my not being calm. You'll learn that lesson in time, Cobblestone.”

“Well, Magus,” Cobblestone said, avoiding looking at either Vino or Serale as she did so, “I still think that if you can do something, and you see the opportunity, you should do something. I just wish there was something I could do.”

The duel was not a public affair, and as such, it was not held in the usual place for such encounters, in the public square of Dawndale. This was a quarrel between gentry, and as such, it was held in the courtyard of Cadance's Court, a place that each of the combatants had known rather well. Before such things had gone out of style, heavy armor had dictated the necessity of sturdy posts to mark the edges of the dueling ring, which was marked with large oaken logs that were hewn from the mountainsides nearby.

In this, the age of the silk shirt and the light sword, the dueling ring was marked with a simple rope, stretched between poles of gilt steel, and as such, honor was counted upon to ensure neither participant left the ring. In the time since this change had been made, there were only two instances of a combatant leaving the ring. Both had been killed soon after re-entering the boundaries of the dueling circle.

On opposite sides of the ring, the combatants made their final preparations. Captain Brightsteel was clad, as he had been for many of his duels, in the sky blue of his Court, only a single heart embroidered in gold over his breast showing his rank, and his favor with the Princess. He had removed his cap, a wide-brimmed piece with a single feather in soft pink, and was smoking a long pipe as he waited, the rapier which normally hung by his belt twirling lazily in complex patterns through the air.

Vino, in contrast, was the picture of nervous energy. He was clad in a tabard of rich green cloth, across which a pattern of vine in white spiraled in complex curlicues. He wore no mail, nor any plate, and was engaged in a terse conversation with his second, the hulking pegasus which had so captured the attention of the Court in recent weeks. With a deep breath, he slid the bladeband around his foreleg, the reddish-silver steel staying put for a moment before it rose, easily, into the air as a longer and slimmer version of an arming sword.

“Vino!” a voice called, and he turned around to see a face he had almost forgotten in his nervous, hazy focus on the impending fight. Serale Everstar stood there, clad in a dress of somber, simple black, holding what appeared to be a kerchief of light purple in her hoof. She swallowed nervously before stepping forward and pushing it at him all at once, her cheeks reddening, and not because of the cold.

“Here,” she said. “I know favors aren't exactly in style anymore, but...it felt right.”

Vino said nothing, merely bowed, presenting his sword as he did so. Serale tied it to the hilt, which was quite solid, and stepped back. “Rise,” she said, her voice a bit husky as she did so. “And make sure you come back to me.”

“Combatants!” the judge, a Cleric clad in gray, called, tossing her head. “To the ring!”

Vino stepped forward, as did the captain, who put his pipe aside and swished his rapier through the air as he went. It was not a long walk to the center, as the ring was perhaps twenty paces across, if that. Both ponies stopped at the same time, three paces away from one another, and waited.

“Vino of House Hedera, in service to the Lady of the Wood, you have given grievous offense to this stallion, Captain Curia of Clan Brightsteel, in service to the Glorious Dawn. As the injured party has refused recompense outside of the field of honorable combat, I must ask him, in the name of mercy, to rescind his challenge and refuse combat.” the Cleric said, her face expressionless.

Brightsteel's lip curled. “This whelp abandoned mercy when he stood up for the heretic who besmirched the honor of my lady,” he said with contempt. “He'll get none from me.”

The Cleric merely nodded. “Sir Vino,” she said tonelessly, “Have you made your peace?”

Vino nodded once, his face drawn with worry. “I have,” he managed to get out.

The Cleric turned to Captain Brightsteel. “Captain Curia,” she said in the exact same tone, “Have you made your peace?”

Brightsteel rolled his eyes. “What peace I thought needed made, yes,” he said. “Can we get on with it? I promised I'd meet the Princess to discuss the Condottiero's contracts in her tower in fifteen minutes.”

The Cleric stepped back. “Then I can find no fault with these proceedings,” she said. “Combatants, you may begin on my mark. And from this moment, may your souls find peace, in this world or the next.”

From the crowd, for despite the “privacy” of this duel, there were still more than a hundred ponies present, there came a sound partway between a roar and a sigh, a peculiar rushing sound that seemed to Vino to embody the sound of steel rushing against steel and the groan of a dying pony all at once, though it all came out muffled and from far away.

Such a recollection nearly cost him his life.

Captain Brightsteel's sword came plunging towards his breast with unerring speed, and it was thanks to an unconscious reaction on Vino's part that it was knocked aside, though through no thought of his and more clumsily than anypony save perhaps the Captain would have liked. Vino's awareness of the crowd dwindled and vanished away, replaced only be a peculiar rushing in his ears and a throbbing in his chest.

He raised his sword back from the parry, seemingly in slow motion, and flicked the point back towards the Captain, whose rapier was now drawn back, close to his own chest. The point was turned aside with perhaps a bit more difficulty than the Captain had intended, and the two danced back from the center, clearing space for themselves as each reevaluated his opponent.

Vino began to notice things straight away. The Captain was fast, faster than anypony or anything he had seen fight, and confident in his ability. But he was no fool, and Vino could sense from the practiced motion of his circling that he was no stranger to playing long games, waiting for a critical error from his opponent. But he was at a disadvantage, for while his sword was longer than Vino's own, it was also much thinner. If Vino could land a solid blow on the Captain's sword, it would undoubtedly shatter.

But Vino was no fool himself. He'd lay his odds ten to one that the rapier was adamantium or a similar magically-reinforced metal. For such a blade to break was nearly impossible under the normal conditions of combat. Still, if he could not break it, perhaps he could bat it aside long enough to score a lucky hit and force the Captain to reconsider, or accept that Vino had drawn enough of his blood to consider the matter dropped.

The circle, already tight, tightened still more. Suddenly, the Captain's blade swung inside of Vino's guard as he stepped deftly forward, and the point whistled through the air as Vino's own sword chased is desperately, scoring a solid blow alongside Vino's shoulder and digging out a small clump of flesh as it did so.

“Hold!” the Cleric called, as Vino staggered back and the Captain brought his rapier back to his chest with a smirk. “First blood to the Captain.” She turned to Captain Brightsteel. “Will this satisfy your honor, sir?”

“I'll be satisfied once I've spilled all his blood on the ground, and not before,” Captain Brightsteel called back.

“Very well,” the Cleric said. She gestured. “Continue.”

Vino, his shoulder stinging and his strength flagging, stepped forward once more. The rapier darted towards him, and his parry was slow once again, leaving a sliver of blood along his other shoulder as the Captain grinned and began to press him in earnest.

His sword swept up, knocking the thrust aside, and with a twist, his sword was suddenly hurtling towards the Captain's head. His eyes widened as he stepped back, but it cost him precious moments. Vino's sword tip severed the very top of the Captain's ear as it passed over his head, and the Captain stumbled back with a stunned expression on his face as Vino continued to press his attack.

The second swing was more ably blocked, but it still cost the Captain a few precious steps, so that he had to turn his body to one side and begin to step around Vino's guard. Vino pivoted to accommodate this, not letting up on the pressure, and the Captain's sword strike was knocked again to one side, keeping him off balance.

The unicorn's face twisted unpleasantly, and with a snap, his sword came back to the guard position, and with a series of quick, short thrusts and chops, he began to strike back at Vino, easily switching the tempo of Vino's attack to a more cautious defense. The sword blows came much quicker now, and Vino's own attacks found fewer and fewer opportunity. Forward and backwards they fought, hooves clacking against cobblestones as each searched for an opening.

Vino's sword began to work against him now. The rapier was nowhere near as able to hold a blow, but it was far lighter, and Vino's own arming sword seemed positively massive in comparison. Each swing took effort, and it was only the slightest of touches which was needed to draw blood on the rapier's behalf. Vino realized that if something were to be done, it would need to be done now.

Suddenly, the Captain's sword came in, high and fast, for a killing blow. Vino, suddenly sure he was going for an eye, swept his sword to one side, catching the barest impression of the favor around its handle. The blade managed to catch the rapier, and Vino gave a twist out of reflex. There was a jerk, and Vino suddenly realized what he had done.

Fighting with a longsword revolved a lot around a practice called “binding”, which involved catching the blade of your opponent's sword in the space between your own blade and your crossguard. If done correctly, you could control the path of your opponent's sword with your own, making it difficult to maneuver and allowing you a significant advantage. Vino stared at the rapier, caught as it was between his blade and guard, and with a single practiced motion, gave it a twist.

The rapier shattered easily, the adamantium, hard as it was, unable to cope with the strain, and Vino grinned as the pieces fell onto the courtyard below, his sword point flicking up towards where the Captain should have been. However, the Captain was instead three or four paces back, and Vino gulped nervously as the Captain's bladeband, identical to his own, slid off of his hoof, forming the twin of the sword he had just shattered.

“A fine binding!” the Captain called. “One would almost be impressed, if it weren't for the fact that I held it out just for you!”

There was a chuckle from a few ponies as Brightsteel stepped forward, swinging his band in a much more fluid fashion than he had the rapier. Vino had the impression of being toyed with as he raised his sword. The Captain's thrust was neat, twisting around the head of his blade and burying itself in his other shoulder, setting another trickle of blood to flowing down his foreleg.

“Really,” the Captain said as Vino backed up, sword in front of him, “I should be congratulating you. Last pony that managed to break a rapier of mine was a far better duelist than you, sir knight. But I'm afraid I really do I have a meeting to attend. Give my regards to him when you get where he went.”

And with a ferocious sweep of his blade, the Captain began to rain down blow after blow on Vino's defenses, driving him back as the young knight desperately searched for any way to prevent his imminent demise.

“Come on, Vino” Cobblestone said as the third attempt was blocked by Vino's swing, followed shortly by his own attack, the sound of steel ringing throughout the courtyard. “Wipe that grin off his face and fight.”

She flinched at another staccato call from the swords, like bells ringing in quick succession as Vino made an attempt to draw blood from the Captain, who warded off the attacks ably. She shook her head, biting her lip. Vino had improved, but it was clear to her that the Captain was merely testing how far he could allow Vino to go before ending him.

“Serale,” she said, tugging at the hem of her friend's dress, “This has to stop.”

Serale's face was white and still as she watched Vino take a third hit, this one to the cheek, drawing a small red line below his ear. She shook her head. “This isn't right,” she said, “There's no way he should be losing this badly! He was practicing all month, but it's like it doesn't even matter.”

Cobblestone shot a quick glance at Libra, who was sitting a few chairs away, engaged in a fervent discussion with the court's Cleric, obviously preparing for the worst. She let her gaze roam back over the crowd. There were no eyes on her or Serale, all of them were watching the duel with rapt attention.

“Serale, I don't mean to be a pain,” she said quietly, “But if you don't do something soon, Vino's going back home in a box. So do something.”

Serale finally tore her gaze away, meeting Cobblestone's eyes. She nodded. “Like we practiced?” she asked.

Cobblestone felt the side pocket of her robes, where she had stashed her morning dose of Dragon's Kiss. She'd been nursing the headache she got from keeping memories out all morning as a result. The plan they'd had wasn't a great one, but it was better than nothing, and what's more important, it wouldn't be detectable.

With a grunt of effort that would more closely resemble pain to the casual observer, Cobblestone let her mental defenses slip just a bit. When she opened her eyes, she could see the faintest threads of color surrounding her, drifting from pony to pony. Gently, she seized hold of the strings, being extraordinarily careful not to grab at them too harshly and draw attention to their manipulation, and, with said strings at her disposal, she reached for the small magical signature on Vino's handkerchief.

“Ready?” she asked quietly.

Serale nodded, removing the necklace from around her neck. “Ready,” she said, as it fell to the ground.

Several things happened in very quick succession past that point. Every pony in the crowd had the distinct impression of their perception shifting about two inches to the left. The favor on Vino's sword burst into flame. Serale's magic manifested itself quite unintentionally as a very slight tremor in the earth.

And then, with a loud bang, Serale, Cobblestone, and Vino vanished quite completely and without a trace from the courtyard.

Gairdín

The North Garden was not open to the public. It was, in fact, Cadance's private garden, and was the original garden when the Manor was built by her ancestors so many years ago. It was a small plot, comprised mostly of winding paths and small alcoves, though its rosebushes were pristine even in the cold of winter, and the air was redolent with the scent of floral life and fresh fruit, even though it bordered a small and intimate cemetery on one side.

It was through this cemetery that Libra and Invictus entered, the latter having been scoured clean by Libra's magic, though it had been more difficult to use the spell on him than she had anticipated. She had quietly made a note of that for later reference. Libra shivered a little bit as they passed by the gravestones, and not on account of the cold. She had read her Lady's story of her rise to power, and knew that it was here that proof of Celestia's plans for her then-student lay, etched in quiet stone and bronze underneath a blanket of snow.

Ultimo Cambiare. Marito Di Vivace Allegretta. Amante nella morte, Libra recalled as they passed by the graveyard and stepped into the garden, where Cadance was waiting. Proof that even the most powerful of us are reduced to pawns when the gods play their games. She felt a burning in her chest at the thought of it, and stifled that line of thought immediately. She had seen just half an hour ago what Cadance was capable of, and it was a well-known fact that the Avatar of Emotion was protective of her family and its legacy.

Her train of thought was broken rather suddenly by a rustle in the bushes, and Libra was less than surprised to see Hob, sleek and black, emerge from underneath a rosebush, carrying part of a dead mouse in his mouth. His amber eyes regarded her calmly, and then, very deliberately, he placed the mouse back under the rosebush and joined the Magus and the Sunborn as they continued down the garden path.

It wasn't hard to find Cadance, once more her usual approachable, rose-colored self, sitting in the center of the garden as she was. She greeted them with a smile, gestured to the table, set for tea, and levitated a small bowl of cream to the ground for Hob, who sniffed at it disdainfully before taking a reluctant mouthful.

“I wanted to apologize for that incident in the courtyard,” she began, “It was unseemly of me to have you do my dirty work, Invictus.”

Invictus said nothing, merely waiting patiently for Cadance to continue.

“Captain Brightsteel was a favored courtier of mine, and an excellent fighter, which is hard to come by in Equestria these days,” Cadance continued. “But I'm afraid he let his position as captain of my guard go to his head. I did ask him to let the matter of the duel drop, but he refused to listen. I think he wanted to humiliate you Kingdom folk in front of the Court. The loss of a knight, even Serale's favorite one, I could have endured.”

Her eyes flashed blue once more. “But his claim to Serale herself was inexcusable. So I decided he was no longer welcome in my Court. It was more merciful for a pony like him that way. His family would have shamed him had he returned home after being dismissed from my service. So, Invictus, you have my thanks.”

Libra remained stiff, attempting not to betray her mounting horror at how Cadance had spoken of her late Captain, as if he were a broken toy or a misbehaving pet to be gotten rid of. Shaking, she reached for a cup of tea, and took a small sip to calm herself. Then she spoke.

“I was attempting to explain to you before the duel that Lady Serale and Cobblestone were attempting to tap into the power of the ley. Why they were sent elsewhere, I do not know. But they could be anywhere in Equestria right now. Unless you've received word of their discovery here in Dawndale?”

Cadance shook her head. “You're going to be disappointed on both counts, I'm afraid. Their spell, for whatever reason, took them north.”

Libra frowned. “North? Why north?”

“Frankly, it's still a mystery,” Cadance said. “But I've had reliable intelligence stating that they went north, all of them together.”

“And how could you possibly know that?”

Cadance gestured to the ground, and Hob, lapping at his bowl of cream. “He told me.”

Libra glanced at Hob, who met her gaze levelly. After a cursory examination, she was entirely sure that Cadance was telling the truth. “You little sneak,” she said. “When this is over, you and I are going to have a very long chat about what you're doing here.”

Hob, as he had for months, said nothing. He merely blinked once, a long and slow acknowledgment that placed no special import on her words before returning to his meal.

“The kerchief you have with you will provide a link to their general location,” Cadance said. “But there's a problem.”

“There always is,” Libra said, withdrawing the kerchief from her side pocket. “What is it this time?”

“They're far enough north that they've reached the extremes of Equestria,” Cadance said. “Farther north than any Equestrian expedition has ever been sent without severe casualties. Frankly, Magus, it's farther north than even I've gone. And I will, unfortunately, be needed here. Which is where you and Invictus come in.”

Invictus was silent, but ruffled his wings, a bit unnerved by how matter-of-fact Cadance sounded about the whole thing. Libra sympathized with him.

“Invictus, I've noticed for a while now that your prowess as a flier is simply unmatched in my Court, and potentially anywhere. The only pony I've ever seen who could compete with your stamina, climbing ability, and strength under pressure was a veteran flier, aided by magic. And she died centuries ago.”

Her horn flashed, and a hefty backpack appeared on the ground, wrapped in some sort of oiled cloth. “Inside this bag are all the things you would need to survive at the temperatures up north,” she said, “Even for a pony like you, the cold will be intense. It could take you more than two weeks to make it there, and that's under favorable conditions. I'm asking you to go because you're the only pony who won't need significant supplies, and can go for long periods of time without landing.”

Invictus picked up the pack. “Would landing be ill-advised?” he asked.

“The creatures of the north are considerably more aggressive than they are here in Equestria,” Cadance said. “Minotaurs and wolves might be the least of your worries. If you must camp, I'd recommend doing so in a well-defended location that provides easy access to the sky. If I'm not mistaken, you already have a general idea of where Cobblestone is, don't you?”

Invictus nodded. “I know she is alive, and well enough. For now.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Libra demanded.

Invictus shrugged as he undid the pack, pulling out a pair of leggings, made of soft leather and treated against the cold. He began to remove the rest of the pack's contents, checking his supplies over. “I know she is alive like I know that my wings are attached to me. Does it matter?”

Libra's nostrils flared. “But...well, no,” she said, wilting a bit. “Do you know if Serale is alive?”

“This I do not know,” Invictus said, placing a box of pre-packaged food to one side, “But if what the Princess says is true, then they are together. If something had happened to her, Cobblestone would have reacted. I would have felt it.”

“I have my own suspicions about where they might have ended up,” Cadance chimed in. “It's a more hospitable area of the north, made that way by large amounts of ambient magic. A large mountain known as the Horn of The World.”

Libra raised a single eyebrow. “You think that they ended up there? Why?”

Cadance tossed her head in irritation. “I'm a pony who follows what the heart tells her,” she said, her voice strained. “And I feel the attraction of the Horn even from here. If they were using ley lines, there's a very good chance they ended up there.”

“And while Invictus is gallivanting off to the north, searching for my apprentice and my Lady, what, pray tell, am I supposed to do?”

“I suggest you spend some time monitoring Invictus's progress,” Cadance said airily, gesturing to the pack. “After all, he'll have the beacon we need to bring them all back.”

Invictus rummaged through the pack, producing a smallish brass token stamped with the symbol of a rose and star. “This?” he asked.

“Indeed,” Cadance replied. “When you are close to the ponies we're looking for, simply have Serale or Cobblestone pour a little bit of energy into that token. It'll send a signal that either myself or Magus Libra can lock onto to bring them home. Assuming you have the magical ability to lock on?”

“Don't worry about my magical prowess, Princess,” Libra said. “Were it not for the fact that I do not trust you around the ponies of Serale's Guard, I would be on my way to the Horn by now. And it'd be a damn sight faster than any pesky pegasus. No offense meant, Invictus.”

“None taken,” the Sunborn rumbled. “Will you provide arms, Princess? I cannot bring my hammer with me.”

“I put a bladeband in the bag,” Cadance said. “It should be enough to keep you defended. And failing that, Hob can always assist you.”

Invictus's eyebrows raised slightly in what Libra interpreted as surprise. “I am to bring that...thing with me?” he asked. “Princess, I do not think it wise.”

“I do,” Cadance replied confidently, as the black cat rose from his place near the dish of cream and padded lazily over to the pack. “If one is to journey through a land of monsters, it's best to have an ally like Hob along. And unless I'm mistaken, Hob, you have a vested interest in bringing both Serale and Cobblestone back, don't you?”

Hob stretched, splaying his claws in front of him in a gesture that could have been a bow. Or perhaps he was simply weary. Regardless, he did enter the pack, curling up inside of it atop the last of the re-packed supplies as Invictus began to pull on the clothing.

Libra blew air through her nose. She didn't much care for the breezy way that Cadance had taken charge of the situation, which was technically an incident involving the Kingdom and not the Empire at large. Nor did she like the idea of sending the Sunborn up north alone, though it certainly wasn't for lack of confidence in his ability. In truth, she disliked sending him up north alone because she wouldn't be going with him.

It made sense, of course. If Cadance was correct, then the Horn was a long trip, even for one of her abilities. And magic was strange in the north, behaving in unpredictable ways. Her greatest assets might be turned against her in such a place, and then she would likely become lost, freeze, or be torn to shreds, and then what good would she have done Lady Serale and Cobblestone?

“Libra,” Cadance said, leaning in closely, her expression concerned. “Relax. You're beginning to hyperventilate. We're going to handle this, and everything will be fine.” She placed a hoof to her chest. “Do as I do.”

Libra placed a shaking hoof to her chest. Cadance swung her hoof out in a broad, sweeping motion, exhaling as she did. “Now you.”

Libra did as she was told, feeling a bit of the stress leave. She did it again, and then again, slowing the pace down each time, until her breathing was once more deep and even. She hadn't even realized how badly she was shaking. She placed her hoof back on the ground, noting that it was much steadier. “Thank you,” she said her voice calm and even. “I appreciate that.”

Cadance nodded. “Now,” she said, turning to Invictus, “Time is wasting, and you'll want to crest the mountains before dark and hit the steppe. Are you ready?”

Invictus fiddled with the last button on his jacket and stood straight, slinging his pack over his back with Hob inside. He had gotten dressed remarkably quickly. Leggings of warm brown leather, stretched over cotton undergarments to wick away sweat, met a jacket of similar leather, with a high collar to turn up against the cold. This met a woolen hood that wrapped around his head and covered most of his ears, save for the tips, which would vanish underneath the wool cap he held in one hoof. A short scarf was tucked neatly beneath the jacket's collar, muffling most of his face, and a pair of goggles with lenses of green-tinted glass dangled around his neck Even his hooves were covered, these in boots of hardened hide, lined with fur. The only exposed areas were his wings, and these rested atop cunning pockets, made specifically to hide them should he need to land.

“I am,” he said. “I shall require a pony to pass word to Sir Hedera's mother and sisters, informing them of his continued survival. Were there any other tasks you required of me?”

“Be careful,” Cadance said sincerely. “The Sunborn were mighty warriors and physical paragons, but the lands you'll pass through are some of the harshest in the known world. Your task is urgent, but if you are killed taking a foalish risk, it won't do anypony any good, Cobblestone included.”

Invictus nodded sharply. “Then I shall take my leave.” He bowed briefly in Libra's direction. “Magus,” he grunted, his wings flaring. With a single powerful stroke and a sharp crack, he shot into the air, his wake buffeting the two ponies below as he gained height rapidly, before a quick tumble and twist pointed him due north. Another flap of his wings, and he was gone, a diminishing speck against the wild blue.

Cadance turned to Libra. “Magus,” she said, “If you have any need, any at all, I am at your disposal, day or night.”

Libra, unable to help herself, bristled slightly at this before checking her mental defenses and calming herself down. “Thank you, Princess,” she said with an air of icy politeness. “But I'm afraid I'll need some time to myself for a while after I check in with Captain Fidelis. I'd like to meditate. Is there anything you'd like me to pass along to him?”

“Please request that he avoid further antagonizing the inhabitants of my Court, though his courtesy has been wonderful and duly noted,” Cadance said. “And if he does dispatch members of the Guard on errands, I would ask that they be sent in pairs, or in small groups. I don't think any of the ponies here in Dawndale would attempt something rash to avenge the late Captain, but passions can run high. I'd like to avoid future conflict if at all possible.”

Libra bowed her head. “I'll relay that message exactly,” she said. “Anything else?”

“If you want a quiet spot for meditation,” Cadance said, “There's a small vestibule on the third floor of the manor that overlooks the lake, hidden behind a portrait of a vase full of roses. Pull it to the left.”

Libra looked at her, wanting to say something, but thought better of it, instead giving her a small smile, a surprisingly courteous bow, and disappearing in a rush of air and flash of violet light, leaving the garden still and cold once more. Cadance sipped at her tea, which was now lukewarm at best, and nibbled a bit on the biscuit in front of her, taking in the spectacle of the snowy rose bushes.

“You can come out now,” she said.

With a gentle susurrus of wind and the rattle of branches, a figure stepped from the corner of the garden, where any reasonable pony would have assumed she was hiding behind the rose bush, though she would have needed to be much smaller than she was to have done so with any sort of competence.

She was not small, quite the opposite, in fact, slender and tall for her apparent age, for she looked to be caught somewhere between a filly and a mare, with all the supposed innocence of the former and the beauty of the latter. Her coat was white as bone, and her mane, red as autumn leaves, tumbled in frizzy curls around her pointed ears, framing the sharp features of her face like curtains. Her eyes shone opal-bright as she bowed a knee to the ground in a too-graceful motion, and when she spoke, it was around delicate fangs that were stained with something red.

“I thank thee for thy courtesy,” she lilted. “T'would have been awkward had the castle-witch seen me. And thy garden is lovely. It near reminds me of my own, back home. Prithee, what do you feed thy bushes with?”

Cadance shrugged. “Water, well-kept soil,” she said. “We draw the water for these from the mineral springs to the east. It might have something do do with their good health. And I use my magic to keep them in bloom year-round, obviously.”

The ethereal mare paced sedately towards the table, where she sat, taking a silver apple from a plate that had most definitely not been there before and biting into it neatly. “Talents such as your would be most welcome in the court of my mother,” she said politely. “Perhaps, someday, thou wouldst pay us a visit?”

Cadance chose her next words very carefully. “Your praise means a lot to me,” she said slowly, “And I would consider such a visit an honor.”

The mare's eyes sparkled with laughter. “Oh!” she said with a small laugh. “Thou'rt well-versed in the language of courtesy, indeed! Fear not, o Princess. I came not to spirit thee away to the woods.”

“Then why are you here, miss…?” Cadance asked. “Pardon me, your name was a bit of a mouthful, and I would hate to mispronounce it, lovely as it was.”

“My name,” the mare said, tossing her head as she did so, “Is Leanan mac Baobhan mac Niamh du Feinan, late of the Grove of Silver Apples. And one of the many reasons I am here is to warn you of what, exactly, you are giving shelter to in your Court. And why you should be much more careful around the mare you know as Cobblestone.”

Dall

“Serale?” Cobblestone asked, feeling around for her friend. “Serale, I can't see right now. Are you around here?” There was no answer. Cobblestone debated dimming her horn for the third time in nearly half an hour, or had it already been an hour? Maybe she had only been out here for minutes, but the cold was everywhere, and it made it hard to think. But as near as she could tell, she'd been lighting her horn long enough to cause some strain, a bit more than normal, and it was the only thing that might be able to clue somepony into where she was. And she'd need somepony to find her soon.

Another wall of frigid air slammed into her, knocking her over once again into what she felt sure was a snowbank. Teeth chattering, she got to her hooves once again, stumbling as she did so, blinking the snow out of her eyes, hoping that the action would restore some of her sight to her. There was nothing. She choked back a sob, walking in a generally forwards direction.

“Serale?” she shouted into the wind. “Vino? Anypony there? I need help, I can't see!”

Her ear flicked up as she heard something approaching a shout from somewhere off to her left and far, far away. She oriented herself toward the sound, but stumbled and fell again. She was going to freeze soon, she knew it. She could feel a warm lethargy spreading throughout her limbs, much faster than it ever had back in Crescent City, when she was younger. This was colder than she could ever have possibly imagined being, colder than she thought any place could ever be. She had stopped shivering minutes after colliding roughly with the ground, the last thing she remembered before that being a sense of something having gone wrong, and the last thing she saw being Libra's worried face, turning towards her. How long ago was that? Surely it had been longer than a half hour ago?

Inwardly, she cursed herself for a fool. Of course Serale hadn't known enough about enchanting things to do it safely, but she'd read books on the subject all her life, and she'd made it sound so damn simple. Where had they gone wrong? They'd double checked the spell to account for ambient magic, for possible surges or misdrawn runes. Maybe it had been something to do with the material itself?

Cobblestone realized that she had been laying in the snow for half a minute now, and shot to her hooves as quickly as she could, pointing her head in the direction she thought she had heard the noise coming from and starting off again, cursing again and again and again as she shouldered her way into wind and snow, relighting her horn as she did, though she could no more see the light than anything else around her. It really shouldn't have taken as much effort as it was, even with the cold and the big spell she had cast...whenever it was she had cast it.

It was strange, she thought as she walked, more and more clumsily. She should have been more preoccupied with the fact that she could no longer see, but all she could think of now was the fact that she was going to die in the middle of a massive blizzard, probably far from home and anypony else who might even begin to care. She debated calling forth a flame to keep her warm, but knew that the effort and energy to keep it up would only kill her more quickly unless she could find something to light with it.

The shout came again, this time a definite exclamation, though she couldn't hear exactly what was being said. She adjusted her course, picked up the pace, kept her black robes close and wished that she had been clothed in something else that morning. A rock knocked against one of her hooves, and she almost fell again, but kept her balance, splaying her hooves out to stop herself.

The breath left her as she realized that something about the ground felt off, and she slowly straightened up, putting one hoof out slowly in front of her. It found no ground. Stepping back, she felt for the rock, and tossed it a short distance in front of her. Even with the sound of the wind surrounding her, she should have been able to hear the crunch of stone against snow, but again, there was no sound. She swallowed, stepped back again. What lay before her was either a hill, dangerous to any blind pony who wanted to keep their legs unbroken, or a crevasse, dangerous enough to any pony, even one with sight.

Her legs buckled, tired of supporting her and lacking the blood necessary to keep her going. She desperately wanted to stop moving, to just lie down and let sleep claim her. It would be easier than wandering around for hours more, and less painful than the fall was bound to be. She closed her eyes, a meaningless gesture, and wished for a fire.

A thought occurred to her like a thunderbolt, or a wave crashing against the shores of her mind. As if she was there already, she could clearly see Lady Everstar's study, a mug of coffee in front of her, and remembered their conversation about what the Lady had called “soulsight”. Her eyes were useless, yes, but what about her magic?

Cobblestone remained kneeling, trying to ignore the cold that was becoming more worryingly distant with each passing second, and instead turned her consciousness inward. She grabbed for her magic, but it slipped away like a fish through swift water. Grunting with effort, she tried again. Every time she'd reached for the soulsight so far, she'd been relatively calm, excepting the arena, which may have been the reason she was currently freezing to death rather than cheering on Vino's victory.

Come on, she thought desperately, Come on, I'm going to die if I don't get this right. Work dammit, work! Her horn sparked, and she tried to find that same well of power she could so easily find when she was safe and warm in a study or her room, but it proved elusive, too elusive. And her damn horn kept refusing to cooperate.

Cobblestone tried to get back up, but found that her legs would no longer support her weight. She tried to muster the will to get up, but found she wasn't quite able to remember why she should be worried. She closed her eyes, faded out, opened them again. How long had she been out here? How long had she been asleep? Her eyes closed again, opened again, it made no difference. Was it still bright out? Had the sun set? Was she sleeping again? She was worried about cold, and the sun setting would make it colder, but Cobblestone didn't feel particularly cold. She wanted to shrug off her robe, warm as it was. She was almost sweltering, as if she was laying too close to a bonfire.

Finally she gave up on that, too, and laid back, letting herself drift. She felt a bit cooler now that she had let her hornlight go out, and Cobblestone felt the headache it had caused her begin to dissipate as well. Why had her horn been giving her a headache? That had never happened before. Dazed, she raised a hoof to her horn, and grunted at the bolt of sharp pain that shot through her head. She'd need to see to whatever was causing that when she woke back up.

Cobblestone closed her eyes once more, and felt a warm wave rush over her, and carry her away. As she slipped into unconsciousness, the young unicorn thought she felt herself swaying, like she was on a boat being carried away by a wonderful tide.

The first thing was pain.

Cobblestone wanted to gasp, or scream, or cry, but all of those activities would have required her to move her muscles, and she was simply unable to, and so was forced to lie there and suffer in silence, with the smallest of whimpers to pass for her protest.

She felt simultaneously rigid, as if she had been frozen into one big block of ice, and completely limp, like her muscles had been replaced with stones that she had no hope of moving. This paled in comparison to the sensation rushing across her skin, a searing pain like she was being burned alive, a sensation she knew well.

She endured, and when her muscles finally relaxed enough for her to get a breath in, she drew in a quick gasp and attempted a scream. A short yelp, more like a dog than a pony, escaped her lips, which also felt oddly stiff, and she shifted her weight, and was rewarded with the sound of water hitting a floor.

“Cobblestone?”

She recognized that voice. She drew in air, made an effort. “V...Vino?”

There was a presence by her side. “I'm right here, Cobblestone. I need to go get the healer, okay?”

Cobblestone tried to shake her head, to tell Vino not to leave her alone, but it was either not noticeable, or the gesture was ignored, for she felt Vino leave her, departing with the rustle of heavy fabric and a strange clanking sound. After a moment, still feeling as if she was going to cook, Cobblestone attempted to find out just where she was. A disobedient hoof was forced out with a supreme effort of will, and impacted what appeared to be a wall of metal after moving through what she assumed to be boiling water.

She repeated the process with her other hooves, coming to the conclusion that she was in a large bath of some kind, or a cauldron. Or perhaps it was a cooking pot. With an effort, she began to lift herself out of the tub, using the water more than her own strength to lift her towards one side. Feeling faint dismay at her continued lack of sight, Cobblestone managed to get two hooves over the lip of the bath, and then used her body weight and gravity to do the rest, landing in a wet, shivering heap on the floor.

Where was she? The last thing she remembered was the cliff, or the hill, or whatever it had been. Wherever she was now was definitely warmer than the frozen wasteland she had been wandering a while ago. She seemed to be resting on a floor, made of wood, perhaps. She could hear a faint rustling that she identified as cloth, perhaps laundry, blowing in the wind. Most noticeable and unwelcome was perhaps the smell. The entire room smelled like wet hair and musty, animal stench. Was she in a barn or a stable? There was another rustle of cloth, and a blast of cold air that set Cobblestone to shivering even harder. The sound of hoofsteps, the rattling of metal, and other, heavier steps approached, and then stopped.

“Cobblestone!” Vino exclaimed. “What are you doing? You needed to be in there!”

Cobblestone lifted her head to speak, but before she could, she felt two massive, powerful arms lift her high into the air, and place her right back into the hot water, causing her to hiss in pain. Incredibly, whatever creature had put her in the bath didn't flinch at the temperature, instead setting to work on her body. Strong hands and deft fingers simultaneously held her in the bath, and began to massage her muscles, rough and quick motions that set her to pins and needles, and causing her to squirm.

“Please,” she managed to get out, in between mouthfuls of water and gasps for air, “Stop, that hurts.”

She felt Vino draw near. “You almost froze to death,” he said, and Cobblestone heard a creaking sound as he either knelt or sat beside her head, again with the sound of metal against metal. “The water you're in right now is only a little bit above room temperature. I know it hurts, but you have to stay in the bath, or you're going to do even more damage to yourself than you already have. We're trying to get your blood circulating properly again.”

“We?” Cobblestone groaned as the hands tugged roughly at her neck and shoulders. “Who's 'we'?”

There was a heavy snort from somewhere high above her. “We are Talon Rock clan,” a voice growled from above her. “Clan of this mountain, strong and true.”

“Minotaurs,” Vino said by way of explanation. “When whatever you and Serale did activated, it sent us up north. We landed in this clan's hunting grounds. Serale and I were taken almost right away, and, well...you know what happened next.”

Cobblestone frowned. “No,” she said, “I don't. Why can't I see?”

Vino's voice was troubled. “You mean you don't remember?”

“Snow in brain,” the voice said again. “If one wanders too long on the snow-land, and cold-sleep takes you, your memories can be taken as with the wind. It happens, betimes.”

Cobblestone felt Vino take one hoof, and realized that whatever she was about to hear wasn't good. “There was some kind of magical backlash,” he said. “It affected you and Serale both. Serale was knocked unconscious as soon as we arrived, and she hasn't woken up in a day and a half. You started screaming about your eyes, but all I saw was that your horn was on fire. I was trying to calm you down, and I managed to put your horn out, but that was when the Minotaurs showed up.”

“Did I run?” Cobblestone asked.

“You vanished,” Vino said. “Disappeared, like teleportation. You were out in the snow for nearly four hours, by my estimate. It's hard to tell, with how long nights are here. You were found near one of the cliffs overlooking the camp. The leader of the clan, the thane, had you brought in here. You've been in that tub for about a day.”

Cobblestone raised her hoof from Vino's grasp to touch her horn. “My horn was on fire?”

Vino caught her before she touched it. “Yes, and it's very important that you leave it be,” he said. “The medicine they applied is a paste that dries around bone, they use it to cement cracks in their bows. It won't help you regain your magic, but it will keep it from further injury until we can get you looked at by a proper Cleric.”

Cobblestone was silent for a moment, the silence broken only by the sound of water sloshing as the minotaur pulled and stretched her legs. Then, “Is Serale alright? Are you alright?”

“Minotaurs know how to bring ponies down without harming them,” Vino said. “Don't forget that they raid settlements in the north all the time. They had me lassoed and tied up before I could do much more than jump. They would have got you too, if you had run instead of vanishing. As for Serale, as near as I can tell, she's fine, but she won't wake up.”

“I'm sorry for running,” Cobblestone said. “It was cowardly of me. I should have fought.”

“There is no shame in running,” the minotaur growled, flipping her deftly over, supporting her neck as he began to rub her throat and chest. “There is honor in battle, but none in a stupid death, blind against many foes. The gods will forgive you, I think.”

There was a rustling, and another draft, and Cobblestone heard the footsteps of another Minotaur approach the bath, along with something that clanked and rattled. There was a splash, and Cobblestone felt the water temperature rise, and realized that while she had been getting used to the temperature, the addition of more hot water was again pushing the edge of her endurance.

Her squirming must have signaled the water bearer to stop, because the water remained right on the edge of causing her serious pain. She felt pain give way to strength, and tried to stand up. “I think I'm alright,” she said quietly, but the minotaur would have none of it, holding her down in the bath.

“Stay,” he said. “Three basins more you must have, and then we must bandage you.”

“Bandage?”

Vino shifted with another rattle. “You're familiar with frostbite, right Cobblestone?”

Cobblestone winced and sank back down into the water. “How bad?”

The minotaur spoke. “If not for the herbs we have put in the water, you would surely lose a hoof, and more besides. You will have scars. You may limp from now on.”

“Your skin was covered with blisters beneath your coat,” Vino said. “They had to shave some of it away to treat the skin. I told them not to rub you down so as to avoid popping the blisters and wind up giving you gangrene, but I guess the herbs, whatever they are, prevent that.”

Now that herbs had been mentioned, Cobblestone realized that, underneath the almost-overpowering stench of fur and animal sweat, she could indeed smell something spicy and crisp, like rosemary but with more bite. A thought occurred to her.

“Vino?” she asked.

“Yes?”

“Why are you rattling when you move?”

Vino sighed. “Because I'm chained up, Cobblestone.”

“Why are you chained up?”

The minotaur spoke. “He was taken in combat, fairly won. For now, he is under the thane's protection, though why this is, I do not know. But he, and you as well, little unicorn, are ours now. The one with the horn of glass even now dwells in the tent of the thane.”

Cobblestone was out of the tub before the minotaur could react, charging towards where she thought the door might be as the minotaur and Vino both shouted with surprise. Reaching the point where the door should have been, she braced her shoulder for an impact, but was instead rewarded with a flap of fabric, much like that of a tent flap, and burst forth onto the path running by the tent.

Picking a direction at random, she charged off, still unseeing but not particularly able to do anything about it, drawing a few exclamations of surprise, a handful of grunts, and a bellowing roar that she supposed could have expressed either fear, anger, or shock as she raced down a path of swept dirt, feeling her muscles and sinews and skin protest every hoofstep.

Going more by instinct that anything else, she turned suddenly, skidding as she leapt to the left, rushing past a source of blistering heat she was sure was a cook-fire, and continuing down a clear path. Behind her, she could hear three sharp blasts from a horn, and realized that they were probably meant to alert the inhabitants of this village or camp of her escape. Desiring nothing more than to not be chained up as a slave, Cobblestone redoubled her efforts.

There was a whirring sound, and Cobblestone hit the dirt, rolling to one side as she felt a length of rope slap against her back, having missed her neck. She'd heard stories of minotaur raids before, coming down from the grand mountain ranges in the dead of night to carry ponies away, either as slaves or food, and she decided that she'd take her chances with the wasteland instead of spending her life hooked up to a cart or used to haul heavy loads.

Another left, then a right, each on instinct, led her true, and Cobblestone wished fervently that her horn still worked as she tried to do something, anything at all with it. But whatever the paste had done had dampened her magic even as it held her horn together, and so she had to rely solely on her physical ability.

She bumped against a small, haired shape, which squeaked and fell back as she regained her footing and continued down the path she had chosen. She could hear more and more noises around her, which didn't bode well for her, as it meant she was probably further into the village, instead of reaching the outskirts. She needed a hiding place while she got her bearings, and it would need to happen fast. She could hear more minotaurs behind her.

Gambling on the nature of the dwellings around her, Cobblestone executed a desperate tuck and sideways roll, coming up against the fabric of a building that she realized triumphantly was a tent. This section didn't appear to be tied down particularly well, and so she wiggled underneath it, being as quiet as she could.

There was the sound of thudding hooves and heavy footsteps rushing by the tent, and orders snarled in a language that was completely foreign to her, and she lay perfectly still as the sounds of pursuit passed her by, even going so far as to hold her breath. There were a few stragglers, passing by in the space of a minute, and then nothing, save the wind rustling the tent flaps around her.

She sighed, standing up, wincing as her muscles protested, and turned to face the interior of the tent. It was hard to tell for sure, but she thought it might be a bit larger than the one she had been in before, and she felt rather than saw the lack of light in the space, no lantern creaking or brazier sparking to provide it. She could hear breathing, deep and even, and realized with a chill of fear that she was likely in some minotaur's bedroom, or whatever the equivalent was.

Feeling her way gently along the wall, avoiding the breathing and moving slowly, she circumvented any obstacles that might have been on the floor, and in so doing reached the “door” of the tent. She sighed, taking a moment to examine herself, keeping her hooves away from her horn. She could feel that it was broken without needing to poke at it.

It was apparent that she really was in a sorry state, and Cobblestone bit back a litany of curse words as she ran her hooves over her body. Her coat was patchy, and the skin beneath was rough and felt stiff to the touch, which wasn't a good sign. Some taut spots had even torn, leaving her covered in tiny bleeding cuts that were sure to turn gangrenous if she didn't get them cleaned and treated.

An old set of priorities established themselves in her head., leftover from experiences with injuries in the back alleys of Crescent City Firstly, find medical supplies, preferably some of those herbs to pack into her wounds, and as many rolls of cloth or bandages as she could find. She'd also need to find warmer clothing, which couldn't be hard, considering that she could still smell the stinking furs, even in this room. She'd need food and water, using snowmelt was a bad idea unless you wanted hypothermia, and she was decidedly over the experience at this point.

Then, after that, all she needed to do was find a way out of the village, regain her sight, find her way back into the village, rescue Vino and Serale singlehoofedly, get supplies for them, and figure out how to get them home. It'd be a piece of cake. Probably.

But first things first, she needed to get out of this tent. She held an ear up, listening for the sounds of anything moving outside the tent, and when she heard nothing, she quietly pushed open the tent flap and snuck out of the confines of the sleeping area.

The first thing she noticed was the crackling of a brazier, and a fairly close one. She took a few cautious steps, and realized that she had come out of a separate “room” in the tent, into another, larger space. Her hoof rested on some sort of cushion, atop which was a blanket, and she could hear what sounded like quiet conversation off to her right, probably in another room of the tent.

The second thing she noticed was a rush of air behind her, and before she could react, she felt a length of cold steel being placed delicately against her throat. She swallowed reflexively, and the edge dug into her skin, drawing a thin line of blood.

“Well,” said a clear, feminine voice that was certainly not the voice of a minotaur. “Looks like I've found the runaway. The thane'll be pleased to hear you're up, your friend in the other room isn't as entertaining as I thought she'd be.”

Cobblestone stood very still. “You're a pony, one of the slaves, right?” she said, thinking quickly. “You need to help me get out of here, before one of them comes and checks.”

The voice chuckled. “I'm a pony, not a slave,” she corrected her. “You don't get to dictate terms to me. As a member of the thane's huscarls, I'm going to make sure you get to regret your pathetic attempt at escape in front of the entire tribe.” There was a gentle push on Cobblestone's back. “Starting with the thane himself,” she said. “It's a good thing for you that it isn't far. He's right in the other room.”

Thástáil

“Fire!” the mustachioed stallion barked, and with a roar, the artillery piece disgorged a massive shell, which erupted in a bellow of fire and smoke, screaming away into the chill blue of a midwinter sky, far higher than even most Pegasi could fly without severe effort.

Lady Everstar watched through a disc of distorted and focused air, waiting for the shell to impact its target, a hillside nearly fourteen miles away. This particular model of gun was pinpoint accurate up to two miles away, just shy of its minimum range, but this was a test of its average operational range, though it could fling shells far less accurately at a greater distance.

The testing grounds outside of Starfall were a far cry from the modest courtyard the first flash powder weapons had been used in, but the proud heritage of Birchwood's enterprising spirit remained, both in the activities performed every day here, and in the name. Birchwood Field was considered to be the top job for both military inventors and aspiring artillery commanders, and it was here that the latest and greatest guns were put through their paces.

The hillside erupted into flame nearly thirty seconds later, a good hit, which sent the officers watching through the Lady's projection cheering their successful test. The gun had been in development for some years, and today had been one of the last tests before they were told whether or not they were authorized to put it into mass production.

Lady Everstar dismissed the lens as the report from the blast reached them, a low rumble felt in the teeth as well as ground and air. “An excellent demonstration, Lord Ursus,” she said, satisfied. “I believe that this gun would render the old fourteen inch guns obsolete. Tell me, how many of these could you produce in the span of, say, six months?”

Lord Ursus, mustache twitching in thought, fiddled with the button of his uniform jacket. An old campaigner through and through, he came from a long line of artillery officers, but unlike most family soldiers, he possessed a keen eye for innovation, and was more than willing to buck tradition if it meant a better result. This, combined with his wife's family's ownership of foundries and weapons plants, had meant he was at the forefront of artillery development, and had been for some decades.

“Let's see...” he mumbled as he racked numbers in his head, “We'd need to retool the factories here and in Trottingham, and if we took on extra help...at our current means of production, we'd need one month to retool, and after that, working to capacity, approximately two hundred pieces per month. A thousand, perhaps a bit more?”

“And the price?” Lady Everstar inquired.

This was something Lord Ursus was more comfortable with. “Price comes out to a bit below eight thousand crowns per piece,” he said, “Shells produced separately.”

Lady Everstar nodded quietly, apparently lost in thought. Finally, she came to a conclusion, beckoning to a nearby unicorn with an eye patch. “Captain Roughshod,” she said imperiously, and the unicorn approached, producing a pad of paper and a pen from within one of his uniform pockets. “Take this down. Ursus production is to be augmented through the use of state-owned production lines. Any and all expenses to refit these facilities to produce artillery guns are to be billed to the treasury, as well as expenses to maintain triple shifts, both at these factories and the factories owned by the Ursus family.”

Roughshod's eye widened as he scribbled down the orders, and Lord Ursus began to tremble, overcome, as she continued to speak.

“At the end of the six month period, beginning today, the Army of the Evening Kingdom will expect receipt of no less than three thousand artillery pieces. Please subcontract with the North Quadrant Powder Works to produce sixteen-inch shells to supplement those you've already produced.”

“My Lady!” Ursus exclaimed, shocked. “Three thousand guns? That's an extreme number! Far be it from me to tell you of the Kingdom's military needs, but surely the number is excessive? The Army itself won't have an artillery corps large enough to man them all, even if a draft were to be instated!”

Lady Everstar smiled. “Captain Roughshod?” she asked politely.

Roughshod cleared his throat. “The announcement has yet to be made,” he said, “But the armed forces of the Kingdom are undergoing restructuring. The Rangers, Border Guard, Royal Guard, and Evening Knights are being reorganized under the banner of the regular Army. In addition to this, new tactics are being pushed. We're attempting to mold infantry, artillery, and engineering groups into a single cohesive force, able to support one another. This calls for an increase in artillery support as it is.”

Ursus's mustache bristled further. “Good heavens!” he exclaimed. “And I'm assuming the same is happening with the Navy?”

Roughshod nodded. “The Navy, Air Corps, and Airship Fleets are being merged,” he said. “The Mage Corps is going to remain an extra-military organization, but they'll be appointing liaisons to the Army and Navy and work more closely with them in the future.”

“Lady Everstar, you're going to make a lot of generals unhappy,” Lord Ursus replied.

The Lady smiled. “I suppose I will,” she said, “But it's high time this Kingdom's military modernized. So many organizations was inefficient. There will be grumbling, but it'll settle out soon. Will you be able to meet the order in six months?”

Lord Ursus bowed low to the ground. “With the Kingdom's coffers and factories behind us, and running triple shifts,” he replied, “House Ursus and the Riverside Casting Company will be able to meet and exceed the order with time to spare.” He held a hoof to his forehead. “My goodness,” he said, “I feel as if I might faint. This is a windfall for our company and our House, milady. I shall need to write home at once and tell my wife the good news, as well as send the orders out to those factories that haven't yet finished their retooling.”

Lady Everstar nodded her head graciously. “Then go,” she said, “And again, congratulations. That gun is a wonderful piece of machinery. You and your engineers do your legacy proud.”

Lord Ursus bowed once more and scurried away, shouting orders to his subordinates and delegating messengers to run letters and operators to the telegraph office located nearby. The spectators, who had been lingering by to hear news of their contract either being accepted or denied, erupted into activity as the news was passed along.

“My Lady,” Captain Roughshod said, glancing at his notepad, “These orders you're making are going to deplete the treasury at a rapid rate, unless you start opening up trade between the Kingdom and the Empire, or you raise taxes. We're already going to run a steep deficit this year, and that's just with orders for things like bolt-action rifles and new artillery pieces. We still need to visit the shipyards next week about the new superheavy cruisers, and the chemical plants the week after that. I...I don't want to sounds insubordinate, Lady Everstar, but are you sure you know how to cover the expense?”

Lady Everstar nodded at him, the black and pink of her bangs waving in a slight breeze as she did so. “No need to worry,” she said calmly. “I'll be talking to the Treasury in a few days, and...” she trailed off as a familiar messenger skidded to a halt near the edge of the viewing platform, shoving her identification at the guards posted nearby, and vaulting the steps three at a time, wings fluttering nervously as she leapt over the crowd, an envelope clutched in her mouth.

“Turquoise?” Lady Everstar asked, bewildered. “Are you alright? Is something the matter?”

Turquoise spit out the envelope, bowing low. “My Lady,” she said breathlessly, “I've just had word from Dawndale. There's been...you see...your daughter, she...”

Lady Everstar inhaled sharply. “Turquoise,” she said sharply, “What has happened to Serale?”

Turquoise swallowed nervously. “There was a duel between a knight of your Court and the Captain of the Dawn Guard,” she said quietly.

“Captain Brightsteel?” Roughshod asked. “What does that have to do with...”

“Lady Serale attempted to aid the knight, Sir Hedera, with the help of her fellow apprentice and her magic,” Turquoise said, talking over the captain, “She appears to have miscast the spell, and, well...Princess Cadance said they all vanished. She thinks they might have ended up at the Horn of the World.”

Captain Roughshod's eye widened and his horn flashed, taking Turquoise with him as he interposed a swift barrier between the Lady and the crowd. “Back!” he called loudly. “Take cover!”

It was fortunate that most of the present company were experienced artillery officers and engineers, and at the sound of that last order, most of them dove for the ground instinctively, cradling their heads in their hooves. This saved them from more severe injuries.

There was a sudden bang, the impression of gray light and shadowy flame, and a rush of heat and pressure, and suddenly, the Lady was gone, having taken half the platform with her. Splinters bounced off of the Captain's shield, as it was meant to do. He'd held no hope of containing the Lady's magic directly.

Captain Roughshod stood up shakily from his position crouched protectively over Turquoise, who blushed slightly as she murmured her thanks. Nearly every eye was drawn towards the artillery field, where a bright star of purplish-gray light could be seen. There was a licking at the air, a sudden flare, and with a rush, a great fount of flame, twice as high as any artillery shell ever fired at that field, climbed towards the sky. It was followed soon after by a dozen more just like it, as Lady Everstar tore apart nearly a full square mile of artillery ground, her magic vented into trees, boulders, and the ground.

Ponies stood awestruck as their Lady's rare display of Breaking magic, unleashed and terrible to behold, ripped apart the very earth. And, as it appeared to be brought back under control, Lady Everstar vanished, leaving only the lingering smoke of what might have been a fearsome barrage from the guns, and the echoing sound of thunder and the roars of a dragon.

It was a testament to Lady Twilight's ability that she was able to reach those strange rooms that floated outside of the world at all, given her current distressed state, but even she was unable to be any sort of accurate at a time like this. Her heart pounded in her throat, her knees shook and wobbled, and the sounds around her were curiously diminished.

Blink.

A garden of stone, birds of granite perched on branches that swayed in a nonexistent wind, gray leaves on gray bark on gray trees, gray grass at her hooves and a gray river reflecting the light of a gray sun in a gray sky, all silent and heavy, though they moved as if they were still real, living things.

Blink.

A great vault, battered and worn, with a door of heavy metal lying to one side, torn too late from its hinges by a unicorn nearly four hundred years ago, to get to a prize far greater than mere gold and silver, which had still, despite her best efforts, slipped from her hooves and away from her for the rest of her life.

Blink.

A throne, sundered in two, one side in purest white and the other in darkest black, atop a dais illuminated by shattered stained glass windows lit by no sun, and surrounded by ponies long-dead, turned to stone in a war long since over and done, crests of Celestia and Nightmare Moon upon their breasts still visible even all these years later.

Twilight let out a long, shuddering sigh. She had arrived. Wasting no time, she divested herself of her garments, leaving her winter cloak and woolen dress upon the floor, resting her crown atop the small pile of clothes haphazardly heaped upon the stone and letting the stone in her chest shine brightly as she stepped past the thrones, to a room she'd hardly known existed the first time she'd entered this room. She looked back over one shoulder, almost expecting to see a familiar unicorn with a mane of fiery red and a coat of ivory grinning at her from the doorway, before she stepped into the small room, shutting the hidden door behind her.

The original scrying glass was long since shattered, linked as it was to Celestia in the time of the Rebellion, but after, when she had re-discovered these places, she had replaced it with another glass, this one stranger and more magical than a common scrying mirror.

It existed in a smallish gold frame, about the size of a doorway, and gleamed an unusually shiny silver, bright enough that reflections were not visible in it, save only a silhouette of whomever was standing in front of it, and even then only the pony closest to it. The stone in Twilight's chest flickered brightly, now resembling the Flame for which it was sometimes named, and the mirror shone bright in response, inviting her in. She stepped through the mirror.

She had been here perhaps a dozen times in her rule as the Lady, but the interior of her old library was familiar to her as ever. A fire still burned cheerily in the fireplace, and a mug of her favorite tea still steamed on a nearby table, inviting her to take a drink. The books still lined the wall, and the wood, worn with age, still felt right beneath her hooves.

She ran a hoof along one of the bookshelves, almost convincing herself that any moment now, she'd hear the front door open, and a cheerful voice greet her as Twilight Sparkle. Maybe Roseluck, looking for the newest issue of Better Gardens Monthly, or one of the school-fillies looking for a children's book on history, or Rarity stopping by for a fashion magazine and a bit of friendly gossip…

She broke off as the fire crackled and popped, and watched as a mare burst forth from the flame, white of coat and auburn-maned, warm blue eyes watching her kindly above pleasantly tired bags. She fluttered her wings as she sat down, levitating a cup towards her mouth as Twilight sat as well.

“Good morning, Twilight,” Mother said kindly. “Is everything alright? Last time you were here was when Serale was born. Not another child, I hope?”

Twilight sipped at her own mug of tea. “She's actually the reason I'm here.”

“Oh?”

“Serale's gone missing,” Twilight said. “Cadance was looking after her, and she disappeared while casting a spell that I'm sure involves ley lines in some capacity.”

Mother's nostrils flared. She didn't care much for Cadance, upstart claimant to goddess-hood as she was. “I see,” she said. “And you trust her word?”

“Mother,” Twilight said carefully, trying not to offend, “Have you…did you send Serale to the Horn of the World?”

The alicorn sat back in her seat, sipping at her tea meditatively. “Now, that's a tricky question,” she said. “If you're asking if I, personally, sent her to the Horn, then the answer is no.”

Twilight set her mug down, gripping at the arm of her chair. “Please, Mother. If you did anything, all I want to know is if she's safe.”

Mother chuckled good-naturedly. “My dear, Serale's not been safe since the day she was born. Nothing's been safe since the Shadow got free all those years ago. Now, what I was going to say was that I could not act directly on Serale. You know this. I both refuse to get involved with the worlds I have created, and I could not get involved without seriously damaging them. But Serale's been making some interesting choices. So has her friend.”

“Serale's learned to begin speaking the language of the ley,” Mother continued. “And, like any child that's spoken her first word, she's going to begin learning more soon, and very rapidly. Since the ley taught her one word, it's bound to begin teaching her more. I suspect that's why she went north.”

“So she's at the Horn?” Twilight asked.

Mother nodded. “And while she isn't exactly safe, she is guarded well, and will have ample opportunity to earn her safety. You know the north of your world, Twilight Sparkle. It's a harsh place, but a determined sort can live there if they try. And while your accidental slip earlier quite destroyed the paper your spy was going to give you, I know the rest of its contents. The Sunborn, as you call it, has begun his journey north. He will arrive in due course, and, in time, you should see your daughter again.”

“That's not exactly reassuring.”

“It's the best I can give.”

Twilight drained her mug of tea. “I could go get her,” she said.

“You certainly could not,” Mother replied. “Twilight, dear, I know you want to keep your daughter safe, but this is something that needs to happen. Not to mention, the magic near the horn is so strange that you'd like as not end up inside of the mountain itself, and then where would you be?”

“Inside of a mountain, apparently,” Twilight said, her tone and face both carefully expressionless.

Mother rolled her eyes. “While I do find your sarcasm one of your more redeeming features, my dear, I sometimes find myself thinking you could do with a softer tongue. What I meant was that Serale's finally coming into her own as a mage, and that means danger. Perhaps not as much danger this early on, but can you honestly tell me you weren't getting into trouble at her age?”

“I seem to recall I was cleaning up one of your messes when I was sixteen,” Twilight said, sipping at her tea, which had conveniently refilled itself. “But I take your point. Will you at least send her back when you or whomever it was is finished teaching my daughter her magical alphabet?”

Mother set down her own cup with a clack. “Careful, child. Teasing I will permit, but you overstep your bounds.”

Twilight shrugged. “So kill me. Send me on my way.”

“And leave your daughter to fend for herself? She'd perish with the rest of Equestria, and the entirety of Creation not long thereafter.”

Twilight smirked and said nothing, but set down her cup, meeting Mother's gaze, amethyst clashing with gas-flame.

“You've put your plan into motion,” Mother said. It was not a question.

Twilight shrugged noncommittally. “I understand you have universes to run,” she said, “But you really should pay more attention to the one I'm in.”

“Ego,” Mother murmured, but said nothing more.

Twilight sighed, standing up. “Yes, Mother. I've put the plan into motion. It's been four hundred years in the making, but it's finally begun. No loose ends, no slip-ups. Everything tied off nice and neat, practically with a ribbon on. If you care to watch your only undecided creation for a while, then I promise at least to validate the trust you put in me centuries ago.”

She trotted to the door, resting one hoof on it. “I cannot tell you how to do your job, Mother,” she said, “And I can't begin to guess how you see the world. But sometimes I wonder if you're really the best Creation can do. I think the only mother that treats her children worse than you is myself. Tell Spike and Tara and the others that I'll be along shortly.”

“Twilight...” Mother called, but it came too late. The door opened, the unicorn passed through, and then there was only one unicorn, standing alone in a library that was not her own.

The telegraph office in the Regia, a smallish affair manned by only a few communications officers, was lit with a bright flash of light. Blinking, the ponies inside kneeled. Lady Everstar adjusted her crown and spoke quietly, her voice boiling with fury.

“Lady Hedera is to come before us after a span of three hours has passed, with her children in tow. We wish to converse with her about certain events in recent days. Make it clear that failure to do so would result in our...displeasure.”

The lead communications officer bowed lower, ice water running in her veins. Lady Everstar only ever used the royal “We” in official proclamations, and even then only for the gravest of offenses.

“You there, ensign,” the Lady said imperiously, pointing at the most junior officer, “Pass word to the Guard that our chambers are not to be disturbed for a space of two hours. We wish to speak to our Court Mage. Should anypony, for any reason short of a declaration of war, open our doors before such a time has passed, I will have them flogged. Go now.”

As the ensign turned to leave, the Lady vanished once more in a brilliant flash, leaving only the smell of ozone and a deep and lingering fear behind her.

Fíniúnacha

Fíniúnacha

Libra rose from her place on the floor, taking a deep breath as she did. It wasn't often that she needed explicitly bounded times to actually meditate and pull herself together anymore, but the events of this afternoon had been more than enough to push her over the edge into the distinct possibility of losing control of her magic.

It wasn't many unicorns that needed to worry about losing control. Magic was inherently a part of oneself, and losing control of it was like losing control of your own limbs, a rare and unusual thing unless you were notably more powerful than even most mages. For most unicorns, magic was a constant friend, an ally that could depended on even when nopony else could. It was a loyal servant, a tool to be used wisely to achieve the impossible, and if it ended up hurting you, well, that was a result of you misusing it, not the other way 'round.

But Libra used Breaking magic, and so had seen another side to what appeared to be that most constant of companions. Breaking magic wasn't a magic of obedience and logic and ordered, predictable results. That sort of magic was the purview of Binding, the magic practiced most by ponies. Binding was a stone wall, or a loyal dog, or a stout shield to keep misfortune away and keep a unicorn happy. Breaking magic was wildfire, the roaring stream, the howling wind and thundering avalanche. You didn't use Breaking magic, you allowed it to use you, and only with your own emotion did you shape it, trusting it to do what you needed it to.

In the courtyard, in the garden, seeing a pony decapitated on the orders of a Princess with no more thought than one would give to chopping onions for dinner, Libra's control over her own emotions had slipped, just a bit. But it had slipped after the shock of seeing Serale, the pony that Libra cared for as her own daughter, carried away by the magic that was supposed to keep her safe. It almost been enough to shatter her control, and that would have resulted in the Breaking magic running free.

She hadn't gone to Fidelis yet. She couldn't have, couldn't have risked hearing more bad news, letting her control slip even a bit more. She had gone right to this room, this vestibule, and for two hours, she had spent her time building wall after wall after wall, taking comfort in the ritual as much as the protection they afforded. Sometimes she cursed her Lady for teaching her the ways of this magic.

She released her lungful of air, feeling the last bits stress travel with it. It was necessary for any practitioner of the craft to maintain a cool head and clear mind. She drew the cloak around her throat from where it had lay, forgotten, to one side of the curiously empty room she found herself in. Wasting no time, she stepped back out into the hallway, leaving the room behind its painting of roses once more.

Libra noted as she walked that the hallway was quiet, unusually so for this time of day. Libra would have expected a number of ponies to have passed her in the time she had spent in this part of the Manor, but she had seen only two, both of them scullery maids, and even their normal lively chatter had been replaced with subdued whispers and sidelong glances at Libra. They had taken a step back when she passed. Libra had pretended not to notice.

There were no ponies on the stairs, and only a single guard the great hall, wearing the sky blue tabard and looking straight ahead with impeccable diligence. Libra, feeling uneasy, stopped near the door outside.

“Where is everypony?” she asked.

The guard she had spoken to, a pegasus mare with a coat of blue nearly the same color as her tabard, and a mane of sunny yellow, only glanced at her before looking straight ahead again. “Most are at the funeral procession, Magus,” she said. “Captain Brightsteel's body's being picked up by his relatives for transportation back west.”

“And the Princess?” Libra asked. “Has she gone, too?”

“I'm afraid don't know, Magus,” the guard replied stiffly. She continued to look straight ahead, the muscles near the base of her mouth taut with stress.

Libra's eyes narrowed. “Don't know, or won't tell?” she asked. There was no answer. “I thought so.”

She turned to the door, to leave, but the pegasus spoke. “Magus?”

“Yes?”

The guard snuck another look at her. “Be careful. Brightsteel might not have been popular with some, but we in the Court Guard loved him. Some ponies might be thinking about things like revenge.”

Libra thought to reply, but there was a chiming from outside, a clock in the distance striking the hour of one o'clock. Libra realized she was quite late. Contenting herself with merely a bow, Libra pushed open the door, stepped into the courtyard, and closed it behind her.

She had never seen the Bower this empty.

The tower housing Serale's Guard had apparently been turned into a fortress in the time since Libra had passed it that morning. The two unicorns in uniform stood at rigid attention as Libra passed them with a nod, rifles sharp and bayonets gleaming unpleasantly in the early afternoon light, bandoliers of ammunition at their chests swaying in a light breeze. Libra could clearly see that the windows of the upper levels had been boarded shut, and before she passed through the threshold of the doorway, she caught glimpses of what looked like sharpshooters atop the tower's roof, which had been recently repaired.

The inside was hardly more relaxed than the exterior. Boxes and barrels of supplies had been pulled from the walls into makeshift barricades, and ponies were busy tallying cases of ammunition, medical supplies, and rationed food with all the urgent efficiency of soldiers shortly about to undergo a siege. The windows were boarded, but Libra noticed that the arrow slits on the far wall, overlooking the cliffside approach, were not, and were in fact manned by more ponies with rifles within reach, scanning the town below with the practiced eye of ponies who knew life on a border fort.

The stairs to the basement were blocked, and Libra needed to wait for several moments while her identity was verified by the guards, a sign and countersign were given, and only then was she escorted to the basement door, and Fidelis's quarters. Her escort knocked once, three times, then twice, and the door then swung open.

“Ah,” Fidelis said, looking up from his papers as Libra stepped into the austere room, closing the door behind her, “Magus Libra. I was about to send a search party for you. Is everything alright?”

“I could ask you the same,” Libra pointed out reasonably. “You and the rest of the Guard look like you're ready to start a small war. I take it you've heard something you don't like?”

“Threats, mostly,” Fidelis said. “There was a short scuffle near the dueling ground between some of my ponies and some of the Court ponies, and that combined with a few nasty promises and a suggestion from the Princess has us on alert.”

“The Princess requested I tell you to send members of the Guard in pairs or groups, if you need to send them anywhere at all,” Libra said. “I suspected you would anyway, but I gave my word I'd pass it along.”

“I'm glad you did,” Fidelis said, opening one of the drawers on his desk and retrieving a bottle of what appeared to be whiskey and a pair of glass tumblers. He gestured to the chair in front of Libra. “Please, sit.”

Libra did so, as Fidelis poured two generous helpings of the liquid and pushed one across the desk to her. Libra took it gratefully. “Now,” he said. “To business. Where were you?”

“Meditating,” Libra replied. “The events of the morning were stressful enough that I ran the risk of losing control of my magic. As it wouldn't do to suffer an unintentional discharge in such a confined space as this, I took the time to ground it.”

“Ah,” Fidelis said. “That'd explain it. I don't suppose that the Princess gave you any idea as to where on the Horn our Lady ended up?”

“A hospitable part, I'm given to believe,” Libra said, sipping at the whiskey. It worked wonders, burning her mouth and throat wonderfully on the way down. “I wasn't aware such a place existed, but Cadance was very clear that Lady Serale and Cobblestone both were alive and well.” The fact that Invictus had been one of the two to pass that particular tidbit along remained unsaid. Libra had no reason to upset Fidelis further. He had quite enough on his plate already.

“Cadance said that she'd dispatched Invictus to carry a beacon to them,” Fidelis said. “While I approve of the gesture and wish him godspeed in bringing back our Lady, I can't help but wish that he was back here right now. We could use him if things go sour here.”

“They will not go sour,” Libra replied. “Captain Brightsteel may have been loved among the Court Guard, but he wasn't as well liked as you think. Once his body is away and gone, things will become less tense.”

“I suppose that you're going to tell me that I should stand down the members of the Guard,” Fidelis said, sipping at his whiskey meditatively. While not exactly his preferred source of nourishment, Libra knew for a fact that Fidelis was very fond of his drinks, and often ate with his men, just as much out of enjoyment as to avoid suspicion.

Libra shook her head. “I wouldn't,” she said. “There's a chance that while the cat's away, her kittens might play, Only a fool would be put off by Cadance's carefree attitude, and only a pony with a death wish would stay in this Court without at least recognizing the possibility that somepony might plant a knife in your back.”

“You sound as if you speak from experience,” Fidelis observed. “Did you spend much time in the Dawn Court in your travels, Magus?”

“More than I'd like,” Libra groused. “I always avoided this area when I was a wanderer. Equestria in general is no place for a pony like me. Too many bloody ponies with blind allegiance. At least in the Kingdom, ponies were open about grievances. Equestrians will smile right up until they've got a blade at your throat, and apologize while they slit it.”

“I'll drink to that,” Fidelis said, offering his glass. Libra tapped hers to his, and they drank deeply. Fidelis let out a relieved sigh. “Now, to the real reason we were meeting.”

“Oh?” Libra asked. “I had thought we were meeting to discuss the fact that our charge has been sent to the far north.”

“Except any pony with access to my schedule would know that this meeting was scheduled days ago,” Fidelis said. “Cadance passed along all that she knows, and she, no offense Magus, knows a good deal more about ley lines and magical prowess than even you. If she says that Serale is safe away from her Court, then I believe her. It's when she says that she's safe within her Court that I begin to doubt.”

“Touche,” Libra replied, draining the last of her glass. “Very well. To business then.”

“The traitor in our ranks is likely a mage,” Fidelis said. “One who is proficient enough in communications magic to send reports of our location even miles away from civilization, and stealthy enough to get away with it from right underneath our noses.”

“Am I a suspect, Captain?” Libra asked, half-joking. “Should you be telling me this?”

Fidelis snorted. “You're the most scrutinized mage in Equestria, the Kingdom, and any point beyond,” he said. “Personally picked by Lady Everstar, and, no offense again, at the top of the shit list for every Magekiller. There's no way in Tartarus you'd be able to get anything like that past the Lady, especially seeing as you were with her and her daughter right up until we left the Regia.”

Libra bowed her head. “I'd hoped you'd come to that conclusion,” she said, “But I didn't want to push you. So one of the ponies I fought in the arena is the traitor?”

“Or Afi Refrsson,” Fidelis said. “He's no special magical talent, but he's wily and quick and a veteran of numerous border campaigns. If ever there was a pony who could be said to be hiding his magical talents, it'd be him.”

Libra pursed her lips. “I suppose,” she said, “He might warrant a closer look, then. So let's say there are six names to investigate. Who would you peg as our rat?”

Fidelis sighed. “That's why I asked you here,” he said. “I hoped to get your perspective on the six of them, get an impression. Who would you peg?”

Libra's mouth quirked up in a grin. She proffered her glass, and Fidelis poured her another heavy dram of whiskey, topping his own glass off. “So,” she said. “If I were a traitor, how would I go about it? What kind of pony would I be?”

She sipped again. “I'd need at least some experience with subterfuge,” she said. “And a motive to betray my Lady and country. No small measure of magical ability, too. I've made studies of covert spellcasting, and it's not easy even with practice.”

“So that takes out Ceres,” Fidelis said. “The mage is hardly more than a colt.”

“Not necessarily,” Libra mused. “Despite rumors, it was more than luck that landed his hit back in Starfall. He's got a keen mind and quick reflexes. I looked over his test scores from the Collegia, as well. Top marks in invocation, evocation, and alchemy, oddly enough. He was something of a prodigy, or at least he would have been had he spent time around enough ponies to be noticed as such.”

Fidelis frowned. “A brilliant loner with talent and hidden depths?”

“Or a dedicated student with a sharp memory and a bit of luck,” Libra said. “It's hard to tell with Ceres. He's still young and untested. That does not, however, mean that he lacks the dark tendencies necessary to become a pawn of malevolent forces. More than one apprentice has become a monster from delving too deeply into magics best left alone. Nightshade, or the lich that she became, was once a very young apprentice. She was only seventeen when she was killed.”

Fidelis shuddered. “Not much older than the Lady,” he said. “I'm glad she got put down.”

Libra tutted. “Liches have a habit of popping up like a dandelion that's been cut instead of pulled. She is down, but not, perhaps, as out as we'd like. Only time will tell.”

“Necromancers aside,” Fidelis said, taking a mouthful of whiskey, “Who would you peg? You still haven't told me.”

“Well,” Libra said, “Were I approaching this blind, I'd peg Kore, your captain. But I'm assuming you've already eliminated her from contention as I have. Given that, I'd put the zebra at the top.”

Fidelis arched an eyebrow. Suspicion of zebra magic wasn't unheard of among mages, strange and unpredictable as it was. Despite intensive study, there remained very few concrete rules surrounding the use of zebra powders, potions, and artifacts in their magic, with the only constant being that they were derived only from living, natural things. But he was sure Libra had her reasons besides blind suspicion.

“Zebra magic is a fascinating field,” Libra said, “And I've dedicated considerable time to learning its intricacies. Zara is a shaman among her people, which means that she possesses some of the most powerful magics available to them. Among these magics is something called 'wind-sending', which I have seen her do more than once.”

She swirled her glass, gazing into its depths. “Wind-sending allows a zebra to project her voice on the wind after ingesting a potion and speaking the name of the individual it's to be carried to. She could have drank this potion before receiving her orders, and simply by asking for clarification on a few points, passed along enough information to whomever it was on the other end.”

“So she's the chief culprit?” Fidelis asked. “It sounds shaky.”

Libra nodded. “Agreed. Not to mention the wind-sending potion is tricky to make and painful to ingest. She'd need an antidote after an hour, or else risk losing her voice. I can't recall her leaving at any point during the briefing, or being gone for the next several hours. She and I were meeting with the other mages to discuss our role in supporting the Guard.”

“I'll put her down as a 'maybe',” Fidelis said. “What else do you have?”

“Lady Cheval du Ombre is a noted Paladin and practitioner of several of the more obscure schools of their craft,” Libra said, “And while the Paladins as a whole are usually admirable in their devotion to their causes, she's something of a loose cannon. It's possible that she is tapping into darker energies to bolster her abilities, or has made a deal with something.”

Fidelis made a noncommittal gesture. “It's possible,” he said. “Though her records of service are spotless. It seems that despite her willingness to bend rules, there are still very definite lines she will not cross.”

“And Sir Dunlevy of Oakton is even more stringent in his duties than she is,” Libra said. “Though he's got the advantage of more experience and an excellent knowledge of useful survival spells and cantrips that could make him tricky to predict. Still, I'd probably rate him as only a bit more suspect than Angelus.”

Fidelis shivered. “I don't like Magekillers,” he said.

“Nopony likes Magekillers,” Libra said. “Least of all mages. But you cannot deny that he's the least likely candidate of the lot. I think the Magekillers are second only to the Changelings in their ability to police their own.”

Fidelis blew air through his lips, tipping back in his chair as he drank, thinking. “So,” he said, “I've got six potential suspects, a missing Lady, who took your apprentice and my Captain with him, and we're no closer to finding that damn mole than we were two months ago.”

“But we've narrowed it down to six,” Libra said, “And the Lady will be back soon. With any luck, we'll be able to find our culprit before she gets back.”

Fidelis leaned forwards once again. He held his glass out, and Libra dutifully clinked it with her own. “I'll drink to that,” he said. He took a small swig from his glass. “I'll...” he trailed off with a frown. “That's odd.”

Libra tilted her head in confusion. “Captain?” she asked. “Are you alright?”

Fidelis blinked. He shook his head, as if to clear away flies. Libra's eyes widened, as the hair of his coat began to fall away, revealing the shiny black chitin beneath. He stood up in shock, before pitching over to one side, his eyes bulging obscenely, still very much the eyes of a pony in a rapidly changing face.

“Captain!” Libra shouted, dropping her glass as she vaulted the desk while Fidelis choked and writhed. “Help!” she cried out. “Medic!”

There was a kerfuffle from outside, and the door swung open. Libra turned to the corporal on duty. “Get Zara,” she ordered. “Hurry!” She turned back to the Captain as the corporal sped off, sounding the alarm.

Libra rolled the heaving Changeling onto his back, loosening the collar of his uniform in an attempt to expand his airway. Fidelis vomited, the last vestiges of his disguise falling away as he wheezed for breath, clutching at his throat. Libra's horn lit up, and a small hole appeared in his throat, through which she attempted to force air, but something was blocking the passage.

Libra leaned back in shock as what appeared to be a vine, thorny and green, forced its way through the hole, matching what was happening through every hole in Fidelis's body. Vines writhed across his chest, over his cheeks, through his nostrils, and as they did so, they began to bloom with white roses that soon were spattered with green ichor.

Fidelis lay very, very still as Libra began to compress the area above his heart, hoping to restart it in vain. Still, she maintained a steady rhythm of compression as she began to prepare a stasis spell. Perhaps he wasn't too far gone, perhaps whatever this enchantment was could still be reversed.

The vines, wasting no time, seized hold of the flesh nearest them, penetrating it with cruel barbs, and ripped Fidelis apart with no more effort than a child pulling the wings from an insect.

Zara appeared in the doorway, but even she could see it was far too late. Libra knelt by the captain's body, stained with fluid and panicked, words for once having failed her. The vines began to wither away as she stood up, and spoke in the calmest voice she could muster, considering she had drank the same liquor as the Captain had.

“Contact Princess Cadance,” she said quietly. “Inform her that Captain Fidelis has been murdered, and the weapon is poison.”

Daor

Vino ached. He ached from the tops of his ears to the bottoms of his hooves, and he ached especially in his ribs and head, which was throbbing merrily away in bright, hot flashes of pain that he recognized as being indicative of some variety of head injury. It wouldn’t have surprised him if his skull was cracked, considering the treatment he’d been given when he first arrived in camp. He’d put up as much of a fight as he could, laying about with his bladeband, but in the end, he was too exhausted, the snow was too thick to move around in easily, and the minotaurs had taken him, knocking him out with a blow to the head.

He hadn’t been out for too long, perhaps the span of a minute, but when he had woken up, he had been trussed up tightly with sturdy ropes, and was slung across the incredibly broad back of one of the minotaurs, bouncing back to camp and hoping that wherever Cobblestone was, it was at least warmer than this.

When they had taken Serale away, to the tent of the thane, he had tried to protest, but a cuff from one of the warriors had put an end to that and sent his ears to ringing. The next series of events had passed in a blur. His family’s tabard had been stripped from him with contemptuous ease, and even now probably adorned the wall of some stinking bull’s tent.Instead, he was given a shirt of rough brown cloth to wear, and over that a coat of what looked like hide, though of what creature he couldn’t say.

Soon after this, he was dragged through the snow, half-limp with exhaustion and pain, and held down while a collar of rusted iron was hammered into place by a grizzled smith, who worked with the precision made of long years of the same act. Next came chains, fastened around his hooves and running to his neck. The process had taken perhaps a quarter of an hour, and had turned a knight of the Crown and the heir of House Hedera into a bedraggled prisoner, or, as he had heard them call him, a thrall.

He had been told to sleep, then, and he had done as he was told, for though following the command itself rankled him, he was exhausted and sore and cold. He had been given a small pallet of dirty straw in the corner of a tent which seemed to be used mostly for storage, and several blankets of the same rough brown cloth as his shirt, which were surprisingly good at keeping the heat in.

Light was rare here, at the top of the world, and Vino recalled hearing somewhere that in the winter months, some days would go without light entirely, while in the summer, the sun might never truly set. So it was with some dull surprise that he noticed the sun was up when he was kicked sharply awake and brought to the healer’s tent to see Cobblestone, stumbling over his chains and stiffened legs.

Cobblestone looked like a corpse that had been dead on the ice for a month. Her coat was patched with frost and blistered with frostbite, her hooves were cracked and bleeding in much the same manner as her lips, and her breathing was shallow and quick. But all of that paled in comparison to her face.

The magic that had brought them all here had cracked her horn, turning it into the black of burnt wood, and it hadn’t stopped there. Her eyes were gone beneath a layer of scabbed and charred skin, whether hidden by her fused-together eyelids or blasted from their sockets it was impossible to say. Her mane, such as it was, was ragged and burnt away in some places as well, exposing her coat and skin, and in some places, the glistening white of her skull. Vino had seen more than a few injuries in his training, but a broken bone or a torch burn was nothing compared to the stomach-churning sight of the young apprentice.

“Come here, thrall,” the minotaur standing over the table on which she rested said. “You will need to hold her down while I work.”

Vino had did as he was told then, too. Cobblestone didn’t buck or thrash as the minotaur peeled away layers of dead and rotten skin with a curved knife, nor did she stir when he began to rub a spicy-smelling paste into the wounds themselves. He only helped to hold limbs in place while the minotaur worked, bluish fur slicked with sweat as he applied bandages to what he could, namely her head and eyes.

“You’re working awfully hard to save a pony who’s almost dead,” Vino said after nearly an hour of work.

The minotaur had lifted his lip, either in a grimace, or a grin, or simply to show Vino his pointed teeth as a warning for daring to speak out of turn. “Were it my choice, I would say to slit her throat and be done with it,” he said in halting, stilted Eqquish. “She will do no good work with a broken horn and so scarred. And she will be blind. The thane commands she be kept alive.” And that, Vino sensed, was the end of that.

It was only after most of the damage had been addressed, largely by application of that strange paste, which dried to a hard shell, that Cobblestone had been lifted from the table and placed into a great basin, filled to the brim with water. This had drawn a response from her, and Vino had rushed to keep her shifting from sending her head below water. He had spent nearly two hours putting her back together, and he’d be damned if she went and drowned herself right after.

“So,” the minotaur, who he had learned was named Guyut, said as they looked over her. “You know the ways of the wound-weaving, and I have heard of your clan-sign and blade. An odd thing, a warrior that heals.” He fell silent, as if waiting for an explanation from Vino.

“I was trained in battlefield medicine,” Vino said. “All of the Kingdom’s soldiers are.”

Guyut’s eyebrows raised a bit. “Of the wood-crown’s lands, are you?” he asked. “You have truly come far away from your home. Was it the will of the Evening Sage that you wandered so?”

Vino nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I was charged with protecting her daughter.”

Guyut indicated the tub. “Her?”

“The one that was taken away,” Vino said. “Lady Serale.”

Guyut shook his head. “The thane knows not what he holds,” he said. “An ill-sign, I name it.”

There was silence for a moment. “I have need of a helper,” Guyut said thoughtfully. “My craft is not one of great mind’s-worth, and you know the ways of mending wounds. I am owed favor from the thane, for keeping this unicorn alive. Perhaps I shall lay claim to you. Tell me, thrall. What else can you do?”

Vino sensed that if he wasn’t judged useful enough, then Guyut would have no problem suggesting his throat be opened to the thane. “Since I was a child,” he said slowly, “I was trained to fight. Of the best fighters in all the Kingdom, I was one of six chosen by the Lady Serale to guard her, and to lead the soldiers of her guard.”

“The thrall of mine that touches a weapon is a thrall that has surely killed me,” Guyut said. “What else?”

“My family were traders,” Vino said. “I was to lead my House in trade when I finished with my service. I can read and write, I know math well enough. I was trained in tracking and survival in harsh environments, and I’ve got skill with tents and the like. I know how to sail ships and load wagons the right way. And like you said, I know some medicine.”

Guyut growled, drumming his fingers on the rim of the tub. “Not entirely useless,” he groused. “Hmph. Watch the tub, boy. I must go piss, and then pass word to the thane.” He re-fastened Vino’s chains and left the tent, leaving him alone with Cobblestone.

It gave Vino time to take stock of the situation, which looked to be dire indeed. On his way to the tent, he’d seen more than a few ponies, and while not all of them wore chains or collars, none of them looked to show a spark of defiance or spared him a passing glance. the minotaurs were numerous, numbering easily in the hundreds, and well-armed with axes and spears, as well as lengths of cord that he assumed were lassos.

Even if he were to escape, there would be no way he’d ever make it back to something approximating civilization. The area was vast, cold, and wide open. Not to mention that several tents sported pelts and skulls from wolves that seemed to be bigger than any two ponies put together, and Vino felt sure that the wolves they had come from were probably not too far off.

He might have to bide his time. There was no guarantee that an opening would arise, but he’d have to remain vigilant and ready to capitalize on the opportunity if it did come. The first thing to do would be to ensure that Serale was alright. He trusted Cobblestone to be able to take care of herself, once her eyesight came back, but Serale wasn’t familiar with the skills she’d need to survive on her own. If there was any way at all to get close to her, he needed to take it.

Even if it meant leaving Cobblestone alone.

There was a stirring, a sloshing of water, followed by a pained groan.Vino turned to see that the young thief, who by all rights should be unconscious, was awake and moving around in the tub, her face hidden beneath bandages but questing for sight all the same.

“Cobblestone?” he asked quietly, unsure if she was truly awake or simply shifting in her “sleep”, if it could be called that.

The unicorn coughed, grunted. “V...Vino?”

Vino rushed to the tub, making sure that she wasn’t going to slide under the water. “I’m right here, Cobblestone,” he said, relief welling in his chest alongside amazement that she was up so soon. He knew what he needed to do next. “I need to go get the healer, okay?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her shaking her head, and felt a twinge of regret at leaving her side, but he had a job to do. Heading back towards the door, he stepped out of the tent and stepped into the clearing outside.

He was standing in a space that might be called a street, if one were feeling generous, surrounded by other tents of dyed hides and layered furs, called yurts. Around him were the light of campfires, for in the few hours he had been in the tent, the sun had set once again. A few minotaur cows worked nearby, skinning some sort of large beast for dinner, but he couldn’t see…

“What is it, slave?” Guyut asked, stepping from the side of the tent and shifting his breeches back into place.

“Cobblestone,” Vino said breathlessly. “She’s awake.”

In retrospect, Vino thought to himself through the pounding of his head and the ringing in his ears, it might have been better for both of them if Cobblestone had remained unconscious. While he hadn’t been blamed for the fact that she had bolted, on bleeding hooves and shaky legs that moved much more quickly than he could have anticipated, he had been roundly beaten on his way to the thane’s tent.

So it was that when he arrived in front of the imposing structure, at least five tents put together, one of which being three times the size of any other tent in the camp, he was limping and bruised and bleeding from a sizeable cut on his lip. Despite this, he tried to hold himself erect as best he could, though it was difficult to look dignified when you were being dragged in chains past half a camp’s worth of minotaurs.

The interior of the tent was smoky, lit by braziers that kept the air inside much warmer than the air without, warm enough that Vino had to stop for a moment to adjust to the sudden change in temperature. The minotaur holding his chains jerked them sharply, and Vino stumbled forwards once more, through the crowd that had gathered in the smallish tent and into the larger tent beyond.

This tent, the tent of the thane, was not nearly as crowded as the first, but the Minotaurs that were graced with this gesture of favor remained to two sides, leaving a small aisle down which Vino was marched. To either side of him, sitting on benches or lounging on cushions, were minotaur warriors and courtiers, speaking quietly with one another in the guttural tongue of Taurish. Among them, Vino could see slaves, some of them ponies, but most of them other minotaurs. He supposed it would make sense that minotaurs from other tribes would make the majority of the slaves taken in raids. He had a feeling they were a long way from Equestria.

They reached the foot of a dais, made of wood carved with intricate knots and patterns,, and Vino felt his heart drop. The minotaur sitting in the high-backed chair of dark wood in front of him was massive, easily dominating the monolithic seat, and his graying coat was streaked with the white bands of numerous battle scars. A great beard, braided and meticulously kept, dangled from his chin, and by his side was an axe that reached up to the pits of his arms, with a single blade the size of Vino’s torso.His dark eyes were fixed firmly on Vino, and the young knight could almost swear he saw fire and ice glimmering in their depths.

“So,” the minotaur rumbled, his voice carrying through the tent with ease and causing all present to fall silent. “Another wood-warrior, sent to wander the wastes. A rare thing, to be so blessed by the gods as to get new thralls without making trade for them. You have traveled far from home indeed. Kneel.”

A minotaur who had been standing behind Vino lashed out with the haft of his spear, striking him between the shoulder blades and causing Vino to collapse with a chuff of air.

“Most of your kin come to us born thralls,” the thane said. “Their ancestors are those who were taken under star-cloak, or plucked care-wretched from the ice cold sea by the Khan and his ilk. They know their place, and know it well. And since they know their place, they come to us undamaged. But you did not. Tell me why you are here.”

Vino drew a ragged breath, still getting his wind back. “I was taking part in a duel,” he said. “A duel against a pony who was better versed in the sword than I was.” Vino didn’t know much about minotaurs, only what he’d heard from secondhand accounts and old legends, but what he did recall was that they cared greatly for martial prowess, honor, and not much else.

The thane said nothing, merely gesturing for Vino to continue.

“I trained for a full month, thirty days, with one of the best warriors I knew, but it wasn’t enough,” Vino said. “My Lady, whom you keep in your tent, tried everything to prevent me from dueling this pony. But I could not refuse the challenge by law, and he would not withdraw it. On the day of the duel, he meant to kill me, and he would have, too. But my Lady, and her friend, the pony I was treating earlier with Guyut, tried to aid me with their magic, without my knowledge and against my wishes. Their spell was badly cast, and brought us here.”

The thane looked at him like something he’d scrape off of his boots. “A poor warrior, to need seidhr in his strivings. Still, you have the look of a young pony, perhaps you would have been better in time.”

The thane’s gaze flicked away from Vino, to roam over the tent. “This so-called warrior came not alone. He brought with him two others, mares just come into their stature. I lay claim to these, and will hear no argument otherwise. I have learned that they are both the pupils of she called Iron Horn.”

There was a murmur that roiled through the tent, a sound of confusion and a distinct edge of fear-tinged awe. Vino snuck a quick look from his position on the floor.to see that while the rest of the tent’s scattered inhabitants seemed to be somewhat perturbed by the information, there was no sudden movement that would indicate panic or surprise.

The thane lifted his hand lazily, and the noises subsided. “Not only this, but Guyut has told me that this thrall’s Lady is none other than the daughter of Everstar.”

That got a reaction. A dozen minotaur warriors, courtiers, and hangers-on began to speak amongst themselves in hushed, urgent tones, while the thane looked on. He waved a hand to one side, and there was a rustling of cloth as a flap was pulled to one side, and Vino turned to see Cobblestone thrust through the flap, to stumble and fall before the king.

Cobblestone had been beaten. Her body, battered though it was, bore the welts of several new lashings with spear-hafts or straps of leather. Fresh blood was caked around her mouth and head, and a long cut ran across her throat, shallow but no less frightening for that. Vino immediately saw what had given her the cut, and he felt his blood begin to boil.

The Pegasus walking alongside her was perhaps a year or two his senior, her mane braided with bone ornaments and her coat heavily tattooed with the same knotted patterns that adorned the thane’s dais. A scarred brand rested along her rear flank, in a similar location to a Talent Mark, though the image, a stylized mountain crossed by a spear, was certainly unlike any Mark he’d ever seen. Two blades were lashed to her wings, and, unlike most of the other ponies Vino had seen, she wore no collar, but instead wore a pendant of simple iron, emblazoned with a single Taurish rune.

“She doesn’t have anything else to tell, my thane,” the Pegasus said, ignoring the minotaurs speaking in the background. “Resilient, she is. Knows how to take a beating, too.”

The thane nodded to himself, before turning back to Vino. “Quiet!” he bellowed, without breaking eye contact. Immediately, the tent was silent once more. “Thrall. Answer my questions, and I will show you mercy.”

“Let her go,” Vino said with a nod at Cobblestone, “And I’ll tell you anything.”

The Pegasus ruffled her feathers in shock as several of the nearby guards tightened their grips on their weapons, but the thane’s face twisted into a smirk, exposing the fangs beneath his lips. “Knew you what awaited her outside my tent-roof, you would not make such demands,” he said. “But if your answers please me, I will see to it she is well-kept.”

“That’s not good enough,” Vino said. “I understand that we’re to be kept as slaves, or thralls, or whatever you want to call it. But if we’re to be kept as slaves, I want to be kept with Cobblestone and Lady Serale. It’s my duty as a knight to protect them.”

Cobblestone made a gentle wheezing sound that Vino decided could either be an attempt at speech or hysterical laughter. Knowing her, it was probably the latter.

The thane thought, his fingers drumming along the haft of his axe. “I could have you beaten until you tell me what I wish to know regardless,” he said. “Or I could split your skull, here and now.”

“All knights of the Kingdom are trained to resist torture,” Vino lied, “And if you kill me, you won’t have any of your answers.”

There was a rumble of anger from the courtiers, and Vino caught one Minotaur hefting a massive sword, mercifully sheathed, but the action was aborted with all haste when the thane stood all at once from his throne, lifting the massive axe from the floor, and closed the distance between Vino and himself with two steps. A powerful hand fastened itself around his throat, and Vino was lifted into the air, struggling feebly, as the thane brought him up to look him in the eye.

“You will tell me all,” the thane said, “Or I will break your neck like a twig. Then I will torture her,” he said, pointing the axe at Cobblestone, “Until her answers are to my liking, or she dies. I offer you this choice, thrall. Choose well.”

Vino choked and spluttered, his heart pounding in his ears, as he looked the giant in the eye. He glanced at Cobblestone, who watched him warily through her burned away eyes, and at the Pegasus who was gazing at him rapt with glee. He turned back to the thane, mustered up a breath, and spit in his eye.

The thane recoiled with a grunt, and threw Vino to the floor. “Whelp,” he snarled, lifting his massive axe, glinting red in the firelight, “I’ll feast on your bones tonight.”

“Beraz Frosthorn!” a shrill voice cried from the back of the tent. “Touch a hair on that pony’s head, and see your own doom come to you!”

All eyes turned to see who had spoken, including Vino, panting slightly. There was a rustle and clatter of bone ornaments, and a robed figure strode past the ring of courtiers. It was quadrupedal, covered entirely by a robe of tattered black wool, belted with a sash of purest white, emblazoned with incredibly complex runes. In one set of talons it clutched a staff, atop of which sat the skull of what Vino was sure was a baby dragon, which was covered in tiny beads in black and red and green.

It stopped just before Vino, and threw back its hood. A Gryphon, withered with age but with a fierce glint in her eye,strode forward. A pendant just as richly carved with runes as the rest of her staff gleamed at her throat, and her feathers appeared to have been painted with dye in such a manner as to give her the appearance of being wreathed in smoke.Her beak was cracked and chipped, and a ropy scar ran along one side of her face, clearly the mark of some huge sword or axe blow.

The assembled minotaurs leaned away from this imposing figure, who appeared to almost dwarf the thane himself, as she planted her staff squarely in front of Vino, interposing it between him and the thane.

“What have you seen, crone?” the thane, who Vino now knew was called Beraz, said, in a strangely respectful tone.

“The gods of the wastes and skies and Mountain have spoken to me,” the Gryphon said, her voice ringing clear and sharp. “These three that you have now in your tent are to be kept alive. They are to be kept unharmed. And the horned ones are to be given to me to care after.”

The thane snorted. “And what is to be given to me in trade?” he asked, still holding his axe in a position of readiness. “Have the gods told you that?”

The Gryphon nodded. “This knight, you may keep. Should you arm him, he will serve you well in days to come. Tomorrow, caribou will come for you to eat, enough for your tribe and more. And I shall dwell in your tent for the space of three moons, no more and no less, and provide you with counsel, as I did your father, and his father before him, back unto the time of the Sundering”.

The thane said nothing, merely walking back to his throne and collapsing in it in a lazy-looking heap, his axe resting across his lap. Finally, he spoke. “As you say, crone,” he proclaimed, “I will abide by the will of the gods. Though arming this one,” he said, pointing a meaty finger at Vino, “May prove to be ill-thought. The mares are yours, to do with as you will. A tent will be provided for you.”

The strange Gryphon said nothing, merely bowed her head low and began to walk away.

“Wait,” Vino said, clutching at her robe as he hauled himself off of the floor. The Gryphon turned to look at him, fire in her eyes. But she made no move to dislodge him, and Vino pressed on. “Thank you,” he said, as formally as he could, acquiescing to Ta’Rof, that most ancient of customs. “You saved my life. Who are you?”

The Gryphon chirped in amusement. “You wouldn’t know my name if I told it to you,” she said bluntly. “In my tongue, I was called Talayee. In your tongue, I was called Gilda.”

Her staff spun, catching Vino on the side of the head, and he slumped once more to the tent floor, his head ringing. As he watched her go, he could have sworn he had heard her muttering something along the lines of “dweeb”.

Bhagairt

“Announcing the arrival of Lady Aura Hedera, head of House Hedera, Peer of The Realm, accompanied by her daughters, Grappa and Fern Hedera.”

The announcement was made by Turquoise to a mostly empty audience chamber. Though the business of the state had far from ceased, Lady Everstar was holding Court less and less often, leaving the day-to-day running of the Kingdom to her subjects, who by and large were able to keep things moving along. The system was meant to function in her absence, and this was hardly the first time the Lady had become a recluse. Indeed, nearly two hundred years ago, she'd disappeared for the better part of three decades, came back to a thriving country, and stepped back into her role with no issue, and no explanation of where she had gone, what she had done, or if she would do it again.

So it was with no sense of unusual behavior that Lady Hedera had answered the summons to the Court, her daughters by her side. She felt only a small thrill of trepidation, the normal sensation one might feel when summoned to kneel before their monarch, for she was certain that Lady Everstar could find no real offense with her or her conduct.

“You may rise,” Lady Everstar said after a moment, and Lady Hedera and her daughters did as they were bade. “Lady Hedera, your prompt response is appreciated. You have brought Grappa and Fern as well, which is good. How old are they, now?”

“Eleven, my Lady,” Aura said demurely. “They've been getting taller when I'm not looking, it would seem.”

Lady Everstar smiled tolerantly through thin lips, showing no teeth. “I'm sure”. She gestured to one of the ponies on the side of the wall, a unicorn wearing the robe and stole of a court Mage, one of the many who nominally served under Libra. “Stardust will watch your children for us, Lady Hedera. I had you bring them so that you may discuss what you have learned at the earliest opportunity.”

Stardust strode forward, waiting on the twins, and Lady Hedera, a bit hesitantly, shooed them forward. Grappa and Fern, both uneasy, allowed themselves to be led away by the mage, leaving Hedera and the Lady to speak mare to mare.

Lady Everstar rose from the throne, her horn lighting up, and with a rush of air, a table coalesced on the floor of the throne room, with a chair for Lady Hedera and a chair for herself. She gestured for Lady Hedera to sit as a full tea service appeared, steaming and ready. Lady Hedera did so, gratefully accepting a cup from the Lady, who dropped in a single cube of sugar, Aura's preferred method of taking her tea. How she knew this, Lady Hedera had no idea, as she had never taken tea with the Lady.

“You have no reason to worry, Lady Hedera,” Everstar said, sipping at her tea and not breaking eye contact for a moment. “Stardust is a capable pony, and I assure you that no harm will befall your children. He is the pony who watched Serale when Libra was engaged with other tasks.”

“That is good to hear,” Lady Hedera said, meeting her monarch's gaze unflinchingly. “But I wasn't worried. You of all ponies would know how important a child can be.”

“Indeed.”

“I must admit, my Lady, I am curious as to why you summoned me along with my children. Grappa and Fern were both ecstatic to receive a royal invitation, but it was rather sudden.”

“Allow me to elucidate, then,” Lady Everstar replied. “By now, I'm sure you are aware of your son's situation in the north of Equestria.”

Aura nodded her head, running a nervous hoof through the blonde of her mane. “I know it was going to happen soon,” she said. “Vino was optimistic about his chances, but passed along instructions regarding his...his will...in case of the worst.” Her eyes widened. “Have you heard news?”

“Aura,” Lady Everstar said, leaning forward. “The duel was this morning.”

Lady Hedera bit her lip, her already pale face going even paler. Any harder and she would surely draw blood. She took a deep breath. “Is my son alive, Lady Everstar?”

“That's unknown at this time,” Lady Everstar said, her eyes serious and hard as flint beneath the jet back bangs of her mane. “He, along with my daughter and another pony, an apprentice mage, disappeared at the climax of his duel. A party has been dispatched to retrieve them.”

“I assume they are alive, then?” Lady Hedera asked, a tremor in her voice. “Or have I misunderstood, and we are both waiting on bodies to be retrieved?”

“No, they're alive,” Lady Everstar replied. “Alive and as safe as could be expected. They're up north, though I've been reassured by Cadance that they are in a more hospitable part of it. However, more than that could not be determined. An expedition has been sent to fetch them. It’s expected to take somewhere around a month.”

“A… a month?” Lady Hedera asked, shocked. “Why, anything could happen in a month! They could freeze to death, or starve, or be eaten by some horrible monster! What am I supposed to tell Grappa and Fern? I can’t give them that kind of hope and then tell them in two weeks’ time that their brother has died!”

“Which is one of the reasons I asked you to the palace today,” Lady Everstar replied calmly, before taking a sip of her tea. “I’m in danger of losing Serale, just as you are of losing Vino. I wish to offer my support until we know for certain that they’ll be alright.”

“And you do know they’ll be alright?” Aura asked insistently. “I’ve sent expeditions of my own to the North, Lady Everstar. I know just as well as you what it’s like up there.”

“There’s always a possibility I’m mistaken, Aura,” Lady Everstar said, “But I’m confident in Princess Cadance’s predictions.”

“Princess Cadance?” Lady Hedera said doubtfully, her tea quite forgotten, “I beg pardon, my Lady, but why would you trust her?”

“Because if I find out she’s been lying to me, I’m going to personally lead the army that mounts her head on a pike. Also because while she may be a disreputable bitch, she still maintains some semblance of decency, at least to keep on my good side,” Lady Everstar said cheerfully. She drained her cup of tea and refiled it from the pot, still steaming. Aura was impressed, as her own tea was still piping hot.

“The point of the matter is that while Vino, Serale, and Cobblestone may be missing, they won’t be for long. With that in mind, I’ve made arrangements. For the next month, you’ll have rooms here in the Regia.”

Aura’s eyes widened, and her grip on her cup tightened, almost to the point of cracking it. “My...Lady?” She asked, perplexed. “The offer is kind, very kind indeed, but it’s entirely unecessary.”

“It’s hardly any trouble at all,” Lady Everstar replied.

Lady Hedera shook her head. “That won’t be necessary, my Lady.”

“I insist,” Everstar said. “Unless you have other business to attend to?”

“Well, I…” Lady Hedera half-spluttered. “I do need to see to the running of my House, Lady Everstar, surely you can understand that.”

The unicorn nodded sympathetically, the crown on her head glinting as she did so. “Of course, of course. I’d be more than happy to dispatch members of my staff to assist you. Some of them are your own success stories, aren’t they? Reformed ponies? I seem to recall you had some interest into adopting Cobblestone as one of your reform cases.”

Aura flushed a bit. “Well, I suppose so, my Lady. I’m actually surprised you would know that, you don’t seem the sort to pay much attention to servants. No offense, I assure you,” she added quickly. “It’s just that you seem to be awfully preoccupied.”

“That’s another of the reasons I brought you here, Aura,” Lady Everstar said. “I’ve been investigating the activities of House Hedera. Purely from an official standpoint, nothing nefarious, of course.”

“Of course,” Aura replied, guardedly. “And might I ask why?”

“Well, you were the target of an attack by a necromancer,” Lady Everstar said pointedly. “I’ve launched an investigation into the events leading up to the attack itself, which by necessity involves looking at yourself.It really is quite remarkable, Lady Hedera, what you’ve managed to accomplish with your House in such a short period of time.”

Aura’s hoof tightened imperceptibly on the hem of her dress. “Thank you, Milady. It was my late husband who accomplished most of it, I’ve merely built off what he created.”

“It’s a shame Vino’s set to inherit when he returns,” Lady Everstar continued. “But I think he’s the sort of pony who’d do well with some good advice. It’s such a tragedy when a family falls apart over something as…” Her eyes flicked up from her cup to meet Aura’s own, piercing her. “Trivial...as money. But there’s quite a lot there. You’ve averaged a growth of six percent per year since your husband’s death. Not only that, but your famed philanthropic work is notable as well.”

“There are many ponies in the Kingdom who could use a helping hoof,” Aura replied levelly. “My outreach programs are what I truly care for.”

“And they have a truly outstanding reform rate,” Lady Everstar replied. “Almost unprecedented. Your butlers and maidservants are highly sought after in this city. Why, I’d say there’s at least one of your ponies in every House, wouldn’t you?”

Aura’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not quite sure what you’re implying, my Lady.”

“Implying?” Lady Everstar replied cheerfully, setting her cup down with a clink and folding her hooves. “I’m certainly not implying anything, Lady Hedera. Merely stating a fact. Just like I’m telling you that this investigation I’m mounting will get to the bottom of things. That’s a promise from me to you.” She tilted her head. “Is something the matter, Lady Hedera? You’ve hardly touched your tea. You did take it with one lump, correct?”

Aura picked up her cup, inhaling the steam. It was a good blend. “My apologies. I was...absorbed in the details of our discussion. How did you know how I take my tea?”

Everstar’s smile didn’t waver a bit. “I employ several of your ponies as servants. One of them remembered how you take your tea.”

“Well,” Aura declared, after swallowing a warm mouthful, “I thank you for the tea, my Lady. But I’m afraid I have business to attend to in the city.”

Lady Everstar raised her eyebrows, which disappeared underneath her jet-black bangs. “But we haven’t discussed the issue of your daughters!” she exclaimed.

Aura froze. “I’m...sorry?”

“Whyever did you think I wanted them brought to the palace with you?” Lady Everstar asked. “Aside from sharing news about Vino with them. Stardust has expressed interest in taking the girls on as apprentices. He’s in the next room, speaking to them now.”

To her credit, Aura only gasped a bit, by the slightest reflex. “My lady, I...I don’t know what to say. This is rather...unexpected. I had thought that I would need to find another teacher for the girls, I had already sent out a few scrolls…”

Lady Everstar waved an airy hoof. “I can assure you that whomever it was you were going to contact would pale in comparison to the mages in my service.”

“Of...of course, my Lady,” Aura said hesitantly. “I wouldn’t dream of implying otherwise, I apologize if I offend, but...well, it’s all rather a lot to take in.”

“They’d need to stay here in the palace, of course,” Lady Everstar said. “But they’re near the age of leaving home as it is. Your time here will give them an opportunity to learn the layout, where they can and can’t go, and so on. We wouldn’t want them getting in trouble, now, would we?”

Aura shook her head mutely.

“And you can rest assured of their safety, Aura,” the unicorn continued fervently. “They’ll be safe as could be here in the castle. I’ll be sure to keep a close eye on them, and Stardust has promised the same. A magical education is important, but the continued safety of your family, and indeed the entire Kingdom, is of paramount importance. I know I can trust in you to help me uphold that security.”

Aura’s eyes narrowed. The message was clear. “Of course,” she said. “I have nothing but the utmost desire to see the reign of the Evening Kingdom continue for years to come.”

Lady Everstar smiled at her. There was a faint sound from the hallway, easily recognizable as the excited laughter of two small children. One of the guards posted along the wall shifted slightly, the tip of their polearm gleaming sharply in the light. “Then I think we have a perfect understanding, Lady Hedera. I’ll have the guards dispatch a group of staff to collect whatever you need, after they show you to your rooms.”

Aura rose from her chair, and gave a stiff bow as the doors to the throne room swung open, revealing Grappa and Fern, flanking the court mage Stardust, who regarded her impassively. Lady Everstar watched them all depart as a group, smiling pleasantly as the doors swung shut once more, leaving her alone with an almost-empty hall and a table containing a still-warm teaset.

“Well?” she said expectantly. There were a few gouts of emerald flame, and the guards in the hall dropped their disguises to reveal shining black armor. One of them stepped forward, a Changeling subaltern, and bowed low to the ground.

“She’s hiding something, milady,” he said quietly. “We all felt it, she was almost petrified the entire time. And she was especially afraid when you threatened her children.”

“I did no such thing,” Lady Everstar said, her voice hollow and expressionless, matching her blank face and eerily calm features. “I merely offered her a place to stay in a trying time, and help with educating her children.” There was a pause. “Ensure we have Changelings near Aura and her daughters at all times. They go nowhere in this castle without my knowing.”

The Changelings bowed as one, and filed away silently through different doors, each attending to a different task. The effect was a bit unnerving, and Twilight had to remind herself that they were likely fresh from the hive, and as such, would probably take a while to lose their more eccentric habits.

There was a quiet cough from the chair in front of her, and Twilight turned back to the chair, which had creaked only a moment ago. “Yes, Turquoise?” She asked. “What news do you have for me?”

Turquoise took a sip from the teacup in front of her, whetting her sudden thirst. “Magus Libra is calling on your scrying mirror, Milady,” she said. “She said that she has...news...about Captain Fidelis.”

Nglacadh

“Do you believe the attack was meant for the captain?” Lady Everstar asked, her voice fuzzed slightly through the mirror. That was no surprise, the range and the security spells would do that to even the finest mirrors, and Libra’s was very small indeed. “Or was it meant for somepony else?”

Libra shifted slightly in her seat. “I fail to see how it could have been for anypony else,” she said thoughtfully. “I’ve experienced no ill effects, and it was the captain’s drink that appeared to have been tampered with. And if it was an attack made by somepony here at the Manor, it clearly wasn’t made for Serale.”

“Perhaps it was a retaliation,” Lady Everstar mused. “The Dawn Guard lost a captain of their own, and so we had to pay a price to keep things even.”

“The thought had occurred to me,” Libra replied. “But if that was the case, it’s a damned odd way to do it. This doesn’t feel like an honor killing. It feels like a very successful assassination attempt. Not to mention Cadance’s Court is filled with Clerics. They’re not exactly known for having much in the way of offensive magic.”

Everstar’s eyebrows raised ever so slightly. “That’s hubris,” she said. “Clerics can hurt just as easily as they heal. You know better than that.” Her voice shifted in timbre ever so slightly. “Unless you have a suspect in mind already?”

Libra hesitated. It was much too early to give anything to her Lady. A wrongful accusation could have consequences just as deadly as any spell if she wasn’t careful. “I...I’m not sure,” she said hesitantly. “When he died, Fidelis and I were discussing the identity of our mole. He seemed to think, and I happen to agree, that the mole was definitely one of our mages.”

“Which would explain the manner of his death,” Everstar replied. “Unless you know of a poison that results in the body turning into a rosebush?”

Libra raised a hoof to her chin, tapping gently. “There is another possibility, my Lady,” she said, her ears twitching in thought. “It is possible that whomever is responsible for the death of Fidelis wasn’t aware that he was a Changeling. I know there were only a few ponies who were privy to that information before the attack. Now that he’s dead, well…”

Lady Everstar winced. “Is Cadance upset?”

“Livid, last I heard,” Libra replied sheepishly. “I did make an effort to keep her away from the body, but a murder did take place in her Court, and word was bound to get to her at some point. I’ve already sealed off the room where Fidelis is. Nopony has been in there since the incident, myself included. I’ve posted guards...but that’s getting ahead of myself. I’d like permission to perform an autopsy on Fidelis at the earliest opportunity.”

“I’ll run that by Feldspar,” Lady Everstar replied. “You’ve placed a stasis spell on the room?”

“Naturally. Once I’ve gotten my notes, I’ll be able to repair some of the damage and send him back home for a proper burial. Medicine has never been my strong suit, Milady. Would you mind terribly if I brought in a Cleric I could trust to provide a second opinion?”

Lady Everstar looked at her in surprise. “That’s a stance I wouldn’t have thought you’d take,” she replied. “You usually hate working with Clerics. For good reason, but still…”

“Whomever is responsible for this atrocity killed Fidelis right under my nose, using unfamiliar magic,” Libra replied. “It could have been a curse, or a poison or a potion. It could even have been a talisman of some sort. I won’t know for sure until I can perform a detailed autopsy and find everything I can. I’d need a second pair of eyes anyway, and a trained medical mind is just the ticket. I can put aside my...distaste...for the Clerical disciplines for the time being.”

“Then I won’t stop you,” Lady Everstar replied. “But wait to perform the autopsy until Queen Feldspar gives her permission. I don’t anticipate a problem, but still…”

“It’s best to be diplomatic,” Libra finished. “Speaking of, I’ve heard some interesting rumors from Equestria proper. They’ve put out a call for volunteers to bolster their ranks. Should I be concerned?”

“Harmless flexing,” Lady Everstar said dismissively. “A response to my shaking up the services back here in the Kingdom.”

“Which is making you very popular with the rank and file,” Libra pointed out. “I hope you know what you’re doing. Tradition is a powerful thing.”

Everstar shrugged, blowing a lock of black hair out of her eye. “They’ll get over it once we’ve consolidated the command structures,” she said. “Which reminds me. As cold-hearted as it seems, I need you to tap a replacement for Fidelis as a commander.”

“Me?” Libra asked, taken aback. “I’m hardly the pony to be making that call. If it’s anypony, it should be Serale.”

“Who is currently so far north as to be almost funny, and is unlikely to be back anytime soon,” Lady Everstar countered. “And I expect you to properly discipline her when she returns. Mucking about with advanced magic, honestly!”

“She takes after her mother,” Libra pointed out. “You needn’t fret, Milady. She’ll be punished properly when she gets back.”

Lady Everstar nodded. It wasn’t uncommon for Libra to act as a surrogate mother to Serale, seeing as her liege was often preoccupied with running a country. There existed an understanding between the two mares. While in the Regia, Libra was a servant of the Crown like anypony else, and was deferent as such. She would address Serale as “Lady” or “Miss”, obey her commands, and generally act the part of the court mage, a powerful position in her own right, but still one below the filly of royal blood. But when away, she guarded Serale like she was her own child, and spoke with the authority of Lady Everstar when it came to matters of discipline and mothering.

“I was thinking of putting Afi Refrsson in place, at least temporarily,” Libra said after a pause. “He’s certainly got the experience and competency. If not for your personal appointment of Fidelis, I rather suspect he’d be the one in charge of Serale’s guards.”

Lady Everstar’s nose wrinkled briefly in surprise. “Libra,” she said, “I trust your judgement, but...why?”

“Lady Kore’s too young and impetuous, Ahan the Gryphon isn’t a pony, so ponies will be more reluctant to follow him, Vino’s gone. Afi, as I’ve pointed out, has an extensive and storied record of service, is well-liked among the rankers, and is the only member of the Guard aside from Fidelis with actual experience leading ponies in combat. Granted, he’s a bit long in the tooth and sort of...unorthodox?”

“That’s a kind way of putting it,” Lady Everstar snorted. “I’d be surprised if he took the position. He’s a legend in the Rangers for bucking any kind of authority.”

“But he’s probably the most experienced member of the entire Guard when it comes to matters of security and combat,” Libra argued. “And from what I’ve heard, that’s a quality Lady Serale desperately needs in her captain. And yes, he’s rough around the edges, but we don’t need a captain of the guard for ceremonial purposes. That’s why we have mages and Lady Serale’s legendary diplomacy.”

“Serale’s ‘legendary diplomacy’ is one of the many reasons I’m worried about Afi’s lack of finesse. Especially once the weather turns and she’s sent to Canterlot. You know how much of a stickler an Equestrian bureaucrat can be.”

“And they’d find something wrong with Serale even if she were the greatest peacemaker of her age,” Libra pointed out reasonably. “Milady, the purpose of Serale’s guard is to keep her safe from attacks on her person. They were never meant to provide her with diplomatic armor. If we want them to do their jobs correctly, Afi Refrsson is our best bet.”

Lady Everstar was silent.

“Please, my Lady,” Libra wheedled. “You said you trusted my judgement, so trust it in this. IF Lady Serale feels Afi is the wrong fit, she can simply dismiss him from captaincy when she returns. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

The silence stretched even longer.

“It was you who said that those most suited to positions of power were those who avoided them,” Libra pointed out. “I considered your words when I made the choice. Afi’s really the best fit.”

Everstar sighed, the purple of her face flushing slightly as she did so. “Very well, Libra,” she said. “Let Afi know he’s got commander’s stripes to put on his dress coat.”

“I’ll do so immediately, milady,” Libra said. “There’s a mourning dinner tonight, both for Captain Brightsteel and for Captain Fidelis. Formal attire. He’ll need to make a strong showing.” She frowned. “Is there something wrong, milady?”

Lady Everstar, appearing lost in thought, shook herself, coming back to. “It’s nothing, Libra,” she said. “The duel, the attack, the assassination and everything else...it’s starting to remind me of an old feeling, one I haven’t felt in a long time. Somepony is pulling the strings around me, and I don’t know who or why. I haven’t felt a feeling like this since Celestia.”

“But this time you’ve got an army at your back and more magic than you know what to do with,” Libra offered. “Mages at your beck and call, and the power of the Aether itself to aid you.”

“And a daughter,” Lady Everstar replied. “A daughter I care very much about. With a child, I have found you are never truly free. There are certain of my subjects I have reminded of that fact, lately. When you’re far enough removed from it all, when you start pulling strings that shake cities and move mountains, ponies start to look more like pieces on a board, and less like, well…”

“Ponies,” Libra finished. “You’re not having doubts, my Lady?”

“No, no,” Lady Everstar said brusquely. “Merely idle worrying. Or perhaps not so idle. Serale is in danger, and I’m worrying.”

“That’s perfectly natural,” Libra said quietly.

“It’s also perfectly useless. I should be doing something, not sitting in my castle and moaning about how my daughter’s disappearance is affecting me personally. When something bad happens, I’m supposed to act, not react.”

“Memento mori”, Libra replied.

Lady Everstar blinked. “Pardon?”

“Memento mori,” Libra said again. “With respect, mistress, you’re still a mortal. A very powerful one, perhaps. But still mortal. And we mortals aren’t meant to be everywhere at every time. It’s one of the few bits of Old Classical that made it into the modern lexicon, it means…”

“Either ‘remember you must die’, or ‘remember that you are mortal’, yes,” Lady Everstar said. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Regardless of the translation, the message remains the same. My Lady, you’ve accomplished amazing things. But you’re not perfect. None of us, not even the goddesses, are. You have done all you can for now. All that remains is to wait.”

There was a chime from somewhere far away. Libra straightened up from her chair, which faced away from the door to her quarters. Around it was a small circlet inlaid with dozens of tiny runes, a bubble to shield her from sight and sound, but it came at the cost of some of her perception of things outside of her circle.

“That’s my signal, my Lady,” Libra said. “Is there anything else you needed of me?”

Twilight sighed. “No,” she replied with a wave of her hoof. “Go on, Libra. Keep things running as smoothly as you can.”

“As you command, Lady Everstar,” Libra replied. “And, my Lady...for what it’s worth, I’m worried too.”

Twilight said nothing, merely nodded. The mirror went blank, and Libra stepped outside of her circle just in time to catch a polite knock at her door.

“Magus Libra?” A young tenor called from outside the door. “It’s Private Moon. You asked me to come and get you at the third bell, ma’am.”

Libra took a deep breath, stowing the mirror in her desk, which she locked as she stepped towards the door. “One moment!”, she called, sounding much more confident than she felt.

Dinner that night was of a higher quality than normal, which was saying something, but the normally cheerful air that filled the dining hall at nights was muted and far away. Also contributing to the somewhat formal atmosphere was the fact that every pony present was wearing their dress uniforms, sixty in the blue and sixty in the purple. Taken as a whole, it was a rather grim affair.

Conversations were muted, and glances were made across the hall towards groups from one camp or the other. The hostile atmosphere was absolutely understandable. Two captains were dead, one still cooling in a vault below the old tower. And while neither side was directly responsible for the death of the other’s leader, someone was responsible for both deaths, and the topic of who to blame was a popular one.

Libra tugged at the collar of her formal robes, looking out at the segregated room from her seat at the high table. She was seated one chair away from the Princess herself, but that one chair was, strangely enough, empty. Perhaps it was a measure of respect for a fallen comrade? Either way, it made her feel almost as uncomfortable as the eerie almost-silence that hung over the great hall.

That silence was, thankfully, broken a moment later, as the last bits of food were cleaned from plates. Cadance stood from her seat, her horn glowing as each and every cup refilled itself, and every eye on the hall was on her as she, clad in the dark blue of mourning, spoke.

“Captain Brightsteel was a brave and noble pony. That is, perhaps, what lead to his death. Those of you who served with him will remember his pride, in himself and those he led. To be captain of such fine ponies made him the happiest of stallions, and I will remember him fondly as one of my most gallant of Guards, never shrinking from a challenge, always seeking perfection in himself and encouraging others to do the same, in his own way.”

She lifted her glass. “He left us too soon, but he died doing that which he loved most, defending the honor of this Court and of the Guard he cared for so dearly. He died with his sword at the ready and a brave cry in his heart. He left us in his prime, not a feeble invalid in a soft bed, but in honorable combat. So I offer this toast, to Captain Brightsteel. Captain, friend, leader, warrior, and father.”

Every pony in the hall, the Evening Guards included, stood as one with their glasses raised. “Captain Brightsteel,” they chorused. There was a silence as some drank deeply, some sipped, and some drained their glasses dry.

There was an expectant silence, and gradually, the ponies in the hall sat back down, cups refilling on their own as they did so. All sat, except for one. Afi Refrsson, beard braided and freshly combed, stood alone, his eyes sweeping fearlessly across the hall while he searched for words that, eventually, he found.

“I’m not one for fancy speech,” he said. “Never had the tongue for oration, I suppose. But I’ll tell you what I knew of Fidelis, for he was never really my superior, or anypony’s. He was a friend. And he was also more than he appeared to be.”

Libra’s breath caught in her throat as she realized Afi might be about to remind everypony in the hall that Fidelis had been the creature Cadance hated most in this world. She snuck a look at the rose-colored Alicorn, who watched Afi impassively.

“Fidelis lived up to his name, for he was faithful to the bitter end. You who wear our Lady’s purple know the stories as well as I do. Hero, soldier, spy and leader at one time or another. He was never a father, but left behind brothers and sisters beyond counting. He was loyal to his Lady, more than even the most fanatical of us, but for all that he was practical. A thinker who was never afraid to act. A warrior who knew when to speak of peace. Sure, he lead us all, but he knew us better than most, knew us like brothers-in-arms.”

Afi raised his glass. “So here’s to Fidelis. He didn’t die well, but he left behind a legacy of integrity and duty that we should all meet. Here’s to Fidelis, who went to eternity with honor. Here’s to Fidelis, the best pony,” here he emphasized the word, “I’d ever care to know. Let’s do the old man proud.”

The soldiers in purple leapt to their hooves, glasses in hoof, and it was a scant moment later that the soldiers in blue followed suit, though Cadance stayed seated as all present drained their glasses dry. Libra suppressed a smirk as she sat back down. Afi had danced right on the edge of insult, pointing out that even though Fidelis might have been a “despicable” Changeling, he was still a damn good soldier, and daring the Princess to say otherwise.

Libra sighed in relief. The mood, though still reserved, was much more open and friendly now. There were even a few cross-table conversations springing up here and there. It was about time something went right today.

“Fidelis sounds like he was a good soldier,” Cadance remarked to her nonchalantly.

Libra took a heavy swig of her wine. “As good as I’ve seen in a decade, at least,” she said. “It’s a shame to see him go. I’d actually wanted to speak to you about the circumstances surrounding his demise.”

“You were there, weren’t you?” Cadance asked. She didn’t wait for Libra to answer. “I can feel it, you know. The shock. The way you try to numb it with work and problems you can solve. You and your Lady share that.”

Libra nodded noncommittally. “It’s a coping mechanism, but one that needs to be used for now,” she said. “There’s work to be done. I have a murderer to catch.”

“And you’ll have the full cooperation of my Court,” Cadance replied easily. “But you pass word to your Lady that the next time she send a Changeling into my lands unannounced, and I find out, there won’t be any need for an investigation. I’ll deliver the parts myself. Is that clear?”

“As crystal,” Libra replied, pushing the sudden spike of fear down, for all the good it did her. “I’ll have need of one of your Clerics, one with medical experience.”

Cadance nodded. “For the autopsy.” It wasn’t a question. “I’ll send somepony,” she said, as she played idly with her knife, cutting apart the last of her ratatouille.

There was an awkward pause. “The empty chair is a nice custom,” Libra said. “I’ve never heard of setting a place for the deceased.”

Cadance looked at her strangely, and then a crooked grin spread across her face. “Well,” she said, “I might be able to see how’d you mistake it for such a custom. But...oh, well. I was planning on doing this at the end of the meal, but I just can’t wait to see the look on your faces.”

Once more, she rose from her place at the table, and once more, the hall fell silent.

“Some of you might have noticed the empty place at my side tonight,” Cadance said, sounding almost haughty. “And some of you may have thought if for Captain Brightsteel. But that is not our way. It is, in fact, a space for a guest we have not yet welcomed into our hall.”

Her wings spread wide as she continued. “In all things, there is a cycle, and all remains in balance. Today, my household has lost a valued member. Captain Brightsteel will be sorely missed, and I will remember his name always. What follows is in no way meant to disrespect his memory.”

There was a sound from the front of the hall, and the doors opened wide, revealing a figure standing there, clad in the blue of Cadance’s house, her mane, normally a frizzy red, done up in an elegant bun. Slender, but not skinny, and possessed on an otherworldly beauty, she began to stride down the aisle towards the high table, leaving the scent of apples and pine behind her as she did. Her ears, bat-pointed, were adorned with studs of silver, emblazoned with hearts of flawless diamonds, and her lovely legs, cream-white, were similarly adorned with bands of silver in the shape of curling vines.

“May I formally present for the first time in my Court Her Highness, Leanan mac Baobhan mac Niamh du Feinan, of the Grove of Silver Apples,” Cadance proclaimed as the young mare ascended the steps, taking her seat at Cadance’s side. “And as of today, my adopted daughter, privy to my lands and titles, and all privileges and responsibilities thereby.”

There was a shocked silence, which the young...thing...for it was clear to all that she was no pony, waited politely. Finally, there was a tap on the floor, the sound of hoof on stone. It was soon followed by another, and then another, and within a moment, the entire hall was applauding loudly, as the young thing wearing the guise of a pony smiled and curtseyed, and Libra realized that she might just have another suspect in the murder of Fidelis.

Feoil

Vino shivered as he crept through the depression in which he was told to lie in wait, alongside several other hunters from the camp. His job, easy as it appeared to be, was an apparently vital one. The Minotaurs around him were just come into their growth, having passed the age of calves but not yet proper bulls and cows, and they wriggled alongside him, having more difficulty lying low than he, clutching their stones and short throwing spears in their clutches.

It was theoretically a simple job, though it required a great deal of coordination in advance. Scouts from the camp had indeed reported that the large herd of caribou was nearby, a mere splinter of the group that had come by last week, numbering in the thousands. There were perhaps a hundred here, but a hundred spooked caribou would trample a pony or a Minotaur just as dead as thousands would.

The appointed leader for the day, a cow by the name of Britha, held up one clenched fist, and the group stopped. Gradually, through signs and quick, low arm movements, she dispatched her orders. Four of the hunters were to go to the left, and wait by the rocks. Six were to go to the right, and wait on her signal before they charged. The rest, Vino included, were to wait with her.

Vino did as he was silently bade, and shuffled nervously in his furs, which reeked of sweat even though they had been given to him fresh a day ago. It had been nearly a week by his reckoning since they had arrived here, a week of strange new ways and suspicious glances by the other guards whom he had come to know only by their distinguishing features, a strange black horn or a missing eye, and while the Minotaur had been courteous enough in their way, he and Cobblestone were unused to many things that were considered necessary for survival in this barren land.

One of those things was the activity he was currently engaged in. He and Cobblestone were both vegetarians, and the idea of meat eating made his stomach at least turn faintly nauseous. He’d managed to choke down some dry jerky a few days past, but his ration of herbs, lichen, and fungus had gone to Cobblestone, whenever she was conscious enough to eat. He hadn’t seen much of her.

His stomach growled, and Britha glanced at him fiercely. It was her first time leading a hunt, and she’d been less than thrilled with the idea of taking a pony along as part of her band. She spoke little Eqquish, and he spoke no Taurish, so he hadn’t been able to convince her of his usefulness, but he felt that his actions would speak louder than his words.

There was a low bugling from the herd just over the hill, and Vino found himself holding his breath as he listened for movement. The world suddenly sounded very silent, like it was waiting on an action to start its next moment. That action came in the form of a quick clacking sound, two rocks banged together in a pattern, twice, once, twice. The rightmost band had reached their position, and the left should have long ago reached the rocks. In fact, Vino could turn his head and just make them out.

Britha’s signal, while not exactly subtle, certainly did its job. She leapt from her hiding place, the rest of the young Minotaurs following suit, and bellowed ferociously. Vino, now able to properly see the herd, could count every individual eye looking at him from this distance, and something in his gut told him that there were exactly one hundred caribou, and that what happened next wasn’t going to go as planned.

The right band burst from concealment, charging the caribou, and while most nearby did react by running to Vino’s left, there were quite a few bull caribou charging directly forward, Britha’s call being taken as a challenge. With a grunt, he sped past Britha, his bladeband, recently returned, springing from his foreleg to hover in front of him in a silvery-red ribbon.He heard the rest of the band follow him, but paid them little mind, as he was fixated upon a particularly large bull caribou who was charging directly at him.

If the caribou stampeded into the band, they were dead. They were huge creatures, and ornery, and very protective of the dozen or so young Vino could see in the middle of the herd. Vino hated what he had to do next, but it was a matter of survival. The herd needed to be turned. A fresh body would turn them.

He grimaced as he drew near to the bull, and swung fiercely at its unprotected neck, rolling out of the way of its questing antlers and pounding hooves. He felt a twinge of pain, and a spray of hot arterial blood. There was a cut along his haunch, no more than a graze, but the caribou was in much worse shape. He regained his hooves, noting several rearing caribou turning to flee the way they were supposed to go, and the massive bull near him, which hit the ground with a limp thud.

Its eyes, wide and frightened, met his own, and Vino felt a tugging at his core as he watched that look turn away from him, up towards the blank blue sky, the eyes going from wide to glassy, and the blood spurting from its neck slowing as its heart stopped beating, leaving a red and congealing puddle in the snow. Vino felt slightly sick.

A brawny hand hauled him to his hooves, and he turned to see Britha grinning widely at him with pointed teeth. She slapped him on the back, said something in Taurish, and pointed into the distance. Vino followed her gesture, and saw that the caribou had indeed been chased by the first and second band past the rocks, where a few rocks and whoops had kept them going strong. Vino watched as, in a single motion, the far side of the depression where the caribou had come to graze was suddenly covered in adult hunters, each with proper spears and nets and bows to bring down as many caribou as they could.

It was a bloodbath. The Minotaurs knew their trade, and knew it well. A dozen caribou were felled with the first volley, ten with the next. A few were brought down by the Minotaur bulls in their prime using only their hands, leaping atop the creatures and wringing their necks until they broke. The young caribou and some of their mothers were allowed to escape back to the larger herd, but by and large most of the beasts were killed, as quickly and efficiently as possible.

The stench of blood and offal reached Vino’s nostrils, and he fought down a retch, instead turning away and reminding himself that he was only doing what was necessary for survival. It was awful and cruel, but this was an awful and cruel place. His eyes fell back onto the caribou he’d killed. Maybe there had been another way? Maybe he could have kicked up some snow, or taken off an antler? It might have turned aside and escaped back to its herd, or…

His reverie was interrupted by the rush of wings, and Vino felt his heart sink as a familiar tattooed Pegasus, light blue with a braided mane of white landed in front of him, her face set in what appeared to be a perpetual scowl. Vino returned the bladeband to his hoof, and waited for whatever it was she was about to say.

“The calves tell me you charged out ahead and killed a caribou,” she said. Her eyes fell to the steaming corpse beside him. “I had to come see for myself.”

“They aren’t calves, Arctia,” Vino replied warily. “And yes, I killed the caribou. It was leading a charge that would have killed us.”

“Killed you, maybe,” Arctia replied haughtily. “Britha’s able to care for herself, and so were the rest. Personally, I’d hoped you’d die. It’d save me the trouble of having to kill you myself one day. But seeing as you’ve made your first kill…”

She grunted something in Taurish, and Britha nodded solemnly, striding to the caribou and drawing a knife from her belt, opening its belly in a businesslike fashion. Vino watched in sickened fascination as she rummaged around inside of the chest cavity, finally emerging with something that resembled a heart. Without ceremony, Britha cut a sliver from the organ, offering it to him.

“Every calf hopes to make a kill on its first hunt,” Arctia explained as she sauntered forward, pressing close to Vino and nudging him roughly towards the caribou. “Few do. When a calf does make a kill, it is ceremonial to eat from its heart, as a sign of strength and manhood. Or womanhood, as the case might be.”

Vino’s nose wrinkled. “That’s disgusting,” he said. “I’ve got no need to prove myself as an adult, or a warrior.”

Arctia’s face grew even more serious as she looked him in the eye. Vino noticed her eyes were the piercing blue of permafrost, and just as hard and cold. “I wasn’t offering you a choice,” she said. “You are an outlander, strange to our ways. To refuse what is offered is a grave insult. Britha would be forever shamed by your refusal, and you would prove yourself no better than a child. She would then likely challenge you to holm-gang for the insult.”

“Holm-gang?”

“Combat, usually to the death,” Arctia replied. “So unless you want to kill or be killed, prove your strength’s worth, outlander.”

Vino looked from her, to Britha, who regarded him seriously, and then to the slice of heart still resting on her knife’s blade. He grimaced, stepped forward, and before he could think about it, accepted the slice of still-warm heartflesh into his mouth. He chewed frantically, noting that it was tough and rubbery and tasted foully of copper and salt, and before he could spit it out, he swallowed it. His chest heaved once, he drew in a shuddering breath, and then opened his eyes without realizing he had closed them.

Britha looked at him in amazement before she turned to Arctia, saying something in Taurish. Arctia replied with a much longer phrase, and before Vino could ask what it was she had said, Britha barked a quick laugh and slung the caribou over her broad shoulders, carrying it back towards where the other Minotaurs were gathering the bodies.

“What did she say?” Vino asked, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

Arctia’s scowl softened. “She asked why you had done something as foolish as eating a caribou heart,” she said. “I told her I thought it would be funny, because you have more honor than sense.”

With that, she flashed him a fierce grin, before her wings extended with a snap and she propelled herself in the air, leaving Vino as the butt of a joke and with the taste of blood in his mouth.

Cobblestone could tell when she woke up that the fever had broken.

It had been a rough few days for her. The injuries from the ice, as well as those she had sustained in the thane’s tent, had finally caught up with her, and while the strange Gryphon, who went by the name of Rota, had been tending her for the past week or so, it hadn’t been a pleasant experience.

“You’re awake,” Rota said. “Good. How do you feel?”

Cobblestone hiccuped, feeling her mouth stick as she did. “Like crap,” she said. “But much better than I did yesterday, or whenever it was I was up last.”

“Two days ago,” Rota corrected her. “Your fever broke sometime yesterday evening. Welcome back to the land of the living. Get dressed.”

A pile of clothes and furs hit her in the face. Cobblestone groped blindly for them. “That could take a while,” she said. “And I’m starving, too.”

Rota sniffed. “About time you ate something,” she said. “You’ve puked up everything else I gave you in the past week, and blood besides. Wait here.”

“Do I have a choice?” Cobblestone asked dryly. There was no answer save for the rustle of a tent flap, and with a sigh, she settled back into the fold of her cot to wait for Rota to return. While she waited, she contemplated what to do about the predicament that she, Serale, and Vino found themselves in. It wasn’t going to be easy, but they had to find a way back home. But Vino was under watch, she was blind, and Serale…

“Hey, Serale?” she called hopefully. “You awake yet?”

There was no answer, and she felt her heart sink. Serale had been unconscious ever since they had cast the spell, and Cobblestone was beginning to think that she wouldn’t wake up. She could hear her breathing, and every now and then she even shifted slightly in her bed, so she wasn’t in a coma, but she was definitely asleep, and Cobblestone had no idea how to wake her back up. Or if it was even possible to.

The tent flap rustled again, and Cobblestone could smell the pungent scent of garlic and something richer, in addition to hearing the slosh of a water skin. There was a clatter as Rota set whatever it was that she was carrying down and approached her.

“Open your mouth,” she said, in a tone that brooked no nonsense. “You need food to regain your strength.”

Cobblestone did as she was told, and was surprised when Rota shoved something into her mouth that was certainly not a food she was familiar with. Immediately, she tried to spit the morsel out, but Rota’s claw latched onto her mouth, holding it shut.

“Chew and swallow,” she commanded. “I’ll not have you waste more food.”

Cobblestone chewed the rubbery...thing...and swallowed, noting the taste of salt that lingered in her mouth. She coughed as Rota took her claw away. “What was that?” she demanded. “It was awful.”

“Caribou and fungus,” Rota said, as she popped another spoonful of the stuff into her mouth. “Not what you’re used to, but what you need right now.”

Cobblestone’s eyes widened. Meat. She was eating the meat of another creature. Once again, she attempted to spit out the food in her mouth, but like a mother disciplining her child, Rota simply held her mouth closed once again, until Cobblestone could bear it no more, and swallowed her meal. Rota’s claw fell away from her mouth, and Cobblestone sensed that she was preparing another spoonful.

“That’s it,” she said. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

Rota paused. “If you do not eat,” she said, “You will not heal. I know that ponies do not care for or eat flesh, but understand that it will help you recover more swiftly if you do eat it.”

“I can eat the fungus,” Cobblestone said. “Caribou’s crossing the line.”

“Up here, a pony cannot survive on lichen and fungus alone,” Rota said. “And root vegetables, rare as they are, are kept for foals who cannot yet eat much meat. This land is not meant for you, little pony. If you wish to live, do what you must in order to survive.”

Cobblestone could feel her stomach churning uneasily, and though she wasn’t retching, she certainly wasn’t enjoying her food. She opened her mouth, and a small hiccup came out, unbidden. She snapped it closed again, took a deep breath, and nodded. She kept her mouth open as another spoonful of stew was pushed into her mouth, and after she swallowed that, another.

It wasn’t long before she heard the scraping of the spoon on the bottom of the bowl. She breathed a sigh of relief as Kara set the bowl to one side, and she heard the familiar swishing sound of water in a skin.

She took the waterskin gingerly, and even though it tasted slightly musty, to Cobblestone it might have been the best water she’d ever had. She finished the skin off eagerly, and feeling something in her belly for the first time in days, she almost wanted to drift off to sleep again. But she’d had enough of that in the past days.

“How do you feel?” Rota asked. “Your appetite is back.”

Cobblestone nodded. “Much better,” she replied, meaning it. She could actually feel strength returning to her limbs, and the malaise that had hung over her in her sickness was all but gone now.She stretched, feeling the tautness of her skin underneath the blankets. “You wanted me to get dressed? Am I going somewhere?”

Rota was quiet for a moment. “Possibly,” she said. “Tell me, how is your horn feeling? Can you use your magic?”

Cobblestone frowned. “Maybe? I haven’t tried.”

“Do so,” Rota said. “I have had an idea.”

Cobblestone wasn’t sure of what to do for a moment, and then, with nothing else coming to mind, she seized control of the blankets covering her with her magic, and, with a significant effort, removed them from the cot. She grunted as she felt the colder air of the tent hit her coat, and replaced the blankets as soon as she could.

“Good,” Rota said. “Good. So it isn’t a complete loss. Have you tried to see magic yet? It may help regain your sight.”

Cobblestone felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “Who told you I could see using magic?”

“I was told by the gods that you can see magic,” Rota replied calmly. “But you were much too sick to try. Now you are somewhat better. So you should try.”

“Celestia and Luna told you I could see magic?” Cobblestone asked, confused. “How did they do that?”

Rota chuckled, a low and gravelly sound. “There are more gods in this world than your own, child,” she said. “The god of the Mountain told me. And the god of the Pool, but that’s beside the point. You have a gift that very few do. Use it.”

“I’m not sure if I can,” Cobblestone said. “It was hard even when I was at my best.”

“Which is why I put herbs to help you in your food and water,” Rota said. “Now try.”

Cobblestone initially balked at the revelation, but realized that she’d probably been fed all sorts of drugs and herbs during her sickness, and if Rota wanted her dead, she would be long before now.

She reached for magic, firstly from within herself, and then from those around her. Gradually, she lowered the barriers around her mind, finding that it did indeed come much easier than it should have. There was a sharp twinge of pain from her horn, but she ignored it, she had moved past pain and into the fire inside of herself. She visualized it clearly, blazing a proud blue, able to almost see it in her mind’s eye.

And then she could see it, using sightless eyes. She was a being of fire, as she had been before, and all around her was darkness. But there were other beings as well. A fierce golden pulsing figure that she knew without doubt was Rota, and there, on the other side of the tent, was a flicker of greenish flame that was undoubtedly Serale. She looked Rota in the eyes, which came into focus very gradually. “I can see,” she said. “Just you and Serale, but I can see.”

Rota nodded. “Imagine your magic as a wave,” she said. “Send out a bit of yourself as a pulse. Only a bit, and not as force, just...you.”

Cobblestone’s brow furrowed, her breath came heavily. “Like a bat?” she asked. “I might be able to manage that. It’d be tricky.”

“Yes,” Rota said. “A good analogy. Try. Do not worry, I’ll be able to help if something goes wrong.”

There was a pause as Cobblestone grabbed a bit of her magic, and let it wash out of her horn in a wide wave. She blinked her sightless eyes. The world has existed again, even if it was all tinged blue and only visible for a moment. She adjusted and tried again, this time sending out a shorter band. She noticed it was far less draining on her magical reserves. The next bands were shorter and shorter, but came out in a pattern that she could adjust with some frequency.

She grinned. “I’m doing it,” she said. “Can you tell?”

“Only by looking at your horn,” Rota replied, her voice intrigued. “Fascinating. The thane will be pleased, at least. Tell me, what can you see?”

Cobblestone leaned back onto her haunches, short of breath. “The world is kind of flickering,” she said. “And everything’s blue, like my magic. Also, this is really damn tiring. I think if my horn were in better shape, it’d be easier. I could probably keep this up for fifteen minutes, maybe a bit more, but it’s hard.”

Rota nodded, Cobblestone was pleased to see, and lifted a claw to her chin in thought. “Perhaps I can find a way to make it easier for you,” she said. “Wait here. I am going to gather the necessary herbs.

Cobblestone watched her leave the tent, the gold contained within her bluish outline fading quickly in the cold gust outside of its meagre walls. Fascinated by the new world surrounding her, she tentatively got out of her cot, exploring the tent for the first time.

It was utilitarian by most standards, but Cobblestone realized that for the hard-living Minotaurs, this was probably a very well-appointed space. Cushions were scattered around the floor, which was made of wood instead of simple dirt, and a large brazier dominated the center of the tent, its coals smoldering readily in case fuel was added. It worried Cobblestone a tad that she had somehow become accustomed to the smell of burning dung in the span of a week, but at least it kept her warm.

She moved slowly, avoiding the empty bowl on the floor and a staff topped with what she sensed might have been a dragon skull. She stumbled only once, on the edge of a rug, but eventually, she made her way to the other side of the tent, where Serale lay asleep. Tentatively, she reached out for her friend, checking her pulse, feeling for damage around her head, knowing that it was probably fruitless.

She felt a pang of sadness. What had they done wrong? Serale had been so sure everything was going to work out as planned. Cobblestone might not have been as smart when it came to magical theory as Serale was, but she hadn’t been able to find anything wrong with that plan. It was just going to give Vino a little boost of energy, enough to get him moving a bit faster or hit just a tad harder than his opponent. There was no reason the spell should have gone so badly wrong.

“What happened to you, Serale?” she murmured. She reached out, nervous at first, but then with a bit more confidence, she gently moved Serale’s mane, something she had been so proud of, out of her eyes, though it would make no difference. She almost wanted to try and leave with her now. She could see, even if it was only a little. But she had her magic back. If she put her all into it, she might be able to get them away.

She realized that she had been running her hoof through Serale’s mane, and pulled back, her face flushing faintly. The gesture felt too familiar, almost. Too close. But what else could she do? Surely she was capable of bringing Serale back, or else what had all her talent and training been for?

An idea occurred to her. Maybe it was...no it was definitely a bad idea. But it might be her only shot. If Serale was awake, then she might be able to talk their way back home. Or, failing that, she could come up with an escape plan, or slip her necklace off and use the ley lines to send them back home. Cobblestone was all but useless right now, but if she had Serale with her, then things would get a lot better.

At the very least, she and Vino wouldn’t be quite as alone.

She sat up from her position by the bed, and gently removed the necklace from around Serale’s throat. She let the pulses of magic around her fade, along with her awareness of the world. Once again she was a being of fire, and Serale’s flickering green was visible clear as day. Carefully, in case she lost control of her magic, she forced out a small tendril of her own spirit, and watched as it made contact with Serale’s own soul.

There was a rush of air, and Cobblestone’s eyes widened as she made contact with Serale for the first time since she had gone missing nearly a month ago. The sensation was nearly overwhelming, and she could feel something else besides her and her friend, something that was entirely different from the scattered souls outside or the tenuous thrum, barely felt but never seen, of the ley lines around her.

The mountain that they were camped by was a colossus of roiling flame. It burned in indescribable colors, strange mixes of purples and greens and yellows and reds and a hundred other colors besides. Souls streaked from it in streams, like the flickering of an aurora but more closely resembling a wild torrent of multicolored and flaming glory.

The mountain outside was not comprised of souls. It had its own massive presence, a spirit all its own. It was more than mortal by far. It was a god, and Cobblestone could understand what Rota had spoken of earlier. She felt a profound sense of awe, and realized for the first time just what it was that she could see, that she could do.

But it was also causing the spell to behave strangely. Cobblestone felt inexorably drawn towards the mountain, and a chill ran through her, one that caused her flame to flicker like a candle guttering in the breeze. There was a shuddering sensation, and a sharp twinge, and there was a sudden roar of spring-green flame.

Cobblestone was flung backward by the force of the blow, nearly hitting the brazier. Her vision went completely dark, and she pushed her magic out again just in time to see Rota rushing through the tent flap, flinging a satchel to one side as she did so. The scene was an odd one. Serale was either falling back onto her bed, or had just finished floating in midair, and the bruising along Cobblestone’s back told her that she had probably been in the air at some point as well.

“What have you done?” Rota asked urgently. “And what in the gods’ name was that awful windy sound?”

Cobblestone gasped, getting her wind back. “Woke...her…” she managed to croak. She drew in a shuddering breath. “I woke her up. Or tried to, at least.” She peered at Serale, whose flame was burning much more brightly, a healthy green. “She should be up.”

Rota frowned. “You should not…” she got out, and then Serale shot bolt upright and started screaming.

Cobblestone leapt forward, almost tackling her as she did so. “Serale!” She shouted. “Serale, it’s me, Cobblestone. You’re safe, you’re okay. You can calm down now!”

Serale went slack all at once, then with a twitch, she stirred, as if waking from a very deep sleep. Her eyes opened. “R...Rarity?” She asked. “Is that you?”

Cobblestone looked at her, confused. “Rarity?” She asked. “Who’s Rarity?”

Serale looked at her, eyes wide. “Who are you?”

“I’m Cobblestone, you ditz,” Cobblestone said. And then she was hit by a revelation with all the force of a thunderbolt. “Who are you?”

Serale looked around the tent, thoroughly shocked. “My name...my name is Sweetie Belle,” she said. “Where am I?”

Ocras

There was a storm coming. Invictus could feel it on the wind, taste it in the air. The tides of the sky were awash with the threat of violence, and it would be coming soon. Far into the distance, nearly hidden by the very curve of the horizon itself, a thin band of slate gray could be seen against the pale blue of the boundless sky. It flashed, rolling flashes like the scales of a great beast breaching the boundary of the maelstrom.

Invictus was a mighty flier, but there was a limit to even his prowess. The storm would batter him with the cold mercilessness he had come to expect from the northern skies, toss him up and dash him towards the ground at a whim. He might survive and clear the other side relatively unmolested, but he would be taxed, his reserves of energy sorely depleted by the effort, and he would need to rest soon after as it was.

His gaze turned to the ground, windswept plains broken only occasionally by a stand of trees in the far reaches or the occasional rolling group of hills, rising and falling away at apparent random. Much of the ground was covered in snow, and it only got more white with every passing day. Still, there were the occasional patches of green and brown to break the monotony. Ideally, he’d be able to find one of those in the shelter of a hill, in which he could pitch a tent.

His eyes discerned something unusual in the open wilds of the north. Geometric shapes, specifically a set of low rectangles, were arranged around a single small hole in the ground. Partially swallowed by a grove of trees, and also protected by a ridge from most of the northerly winds, it would make an excellent spot for camping.

Invictus angled his wings towards the ground, checking the storm in the distance as he did so. It was moving swiftly, and would like as not be on him within a half hour. He counted himself lucky to have been up in the air to see it. Most beings tethered to the ground would have had far less warning than he.

Stopping so soon? a voice from his bag asked. We’ve been flying for perhaps a day. Surely you could do better.

“A storm approaches,” Invictus said patiently.”A large one. It would be prudent to take shelter. I have found such a place for us below.”

There was no reply. Invictus could feel the temperature in the air dropping even as he descended towards the warmer ground. He chose a spot near the edge of the small copse of scraggly trees, and, still in midair, from within his pack drew the small cloth square that would unfold into a sturdy and large lean-to, provided he could find support to fix it to.

The irregularities in the ground, he realized as he approached and landed, were the ruins of walls. They were old walls, beyond ancient, but despite this they were still sturdy enough to take the intrusion of his fastening spikes. He unpacked the rest of his things, laying them out, as he had for the past two weeks, in a single row. He would take stock while the storm raged.

He gathered firewood next. This took the longest, mostly because he wished for a large fire. It wouldn’t do to suffer frostbite overnight. It would slow him down, and even at his top speed he was intolerably slow. He stacked most of it in an orderly pile near the inside of the tent, taking the rest and arranging it in a small depression he scratched into the ground with his hoof, near his sleeping area. A small amount of tinder from the box, a spark, a coil of smoke. He began to heap wood onto the fire, which was growing strong and healthy. Smoke began to fill the inside of the lean-to, and Invictus, already feeling warmer, drew in one of the walls, which was all that was necessary to begin trapping most of the heat.

Hob emerged from the pack, blinking slowly. An unusual campsite, he said with his characteristic dryness. Are you so sure it was needed?

Invictus said nothing, merely gesturing to the outside of the tent. Sure enough, there were already fat flakes of snow falling to the ground outside. “It will only get worse,” he said. “The storm took up the entire horizon. Only fools or those with a death wish will be out tonight.”

Or the desperate, Hob said. Speaking of which, you seem awfully cavalier about waiting. Surely our Mistress would be better served by arriving to her side quickly?

Invictus shook his head as he tugged at the collar of his oiled coat. It would help him keep the circulation going. “We do her no good dead or lost in a blizzard. It is best to simply wait for it to pass, and leave when it is gone or diminished.”

You seem to think that this storm will pass. I happen to remember a time when this was not so.

Invictus was silent, and peered from his tent into the ruins, quickly being hid by swirling snow. “You speak of a time before Equestria. The three Tribes?”

Very good, Hob said with a stretch, sounding both pleased and surprised. He kneaded his paws into the ground, their claws extending just a little. I had thought that the Fae might have taken that from you. It is good to know your heritage.

“So it’s true?” Invictus rumbled, settling in by the fire. “These ruins should be dust by now.”

These ruins were built by earth ponies and unicorns, Hob drawled. They’d hardly disappear due to a little thing like time or weather.

Invictus frowned. “I suppose,” he said. He reached for the pack, drawing from inside of it two packets. He deftly opened the first, taking in the scent of salted venison, before giving it to Hob. His was the second pack, one of thirty. The air here was taking a toll on him. He had needed to eat once every three days since he left, fighting wind and weather with every beat of his wings.

The leathery roll that fell into his hooves was almost comforting. He took a bite out of it, tasting the bitterness of the dried and compressed fruit, at this point more of a jerky than anything else. It was strange, the way it made him feel. Something about it roused within him a sense of camaraderie, nostalgia for bygone days. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see others like him, white of coat and gold of eye and clad in armor the color of the sun and nearly as bright.

The roll also burned at his throat a little, a product of the alchemical compounds it was laced with. He seemed to remember that they were meant to make him bigger, stronger, and faster. He’d need them if he was to make it to Cobblestone’s side in a timely manner. His gaze caught the medallion, normally stowed safely in the pack. An uneasy shiver passed over him, and he took it up, stowing it in one of the deep pockets of his jacket.

Penny for your thoughts.

“I was thinking of the past,” he said. “Long-dead ponies. My brothers and sisters.”

Oddly enough, my thoughts ran to a similar place, Hob replied. These ruins bring back memories for me as well. I remember when these lands were full of ponies like yourself.

Invictus blinked. “You are that old?”

Older still. I roamed these lands when ponies were first hewn from the muck, before the gryphons can even remember. There was a time when all there were here were the gods. And me. And the ley, of course, but that hardly counts.

This unnerved Invictus. Until now, he had thought of Hob as a creature of the Forest. Now, he wasn’t so sure. “And what of this do you remember?” he asked.

Hob’s eyes gleamed unpleasantly as he took a pellet of the deer meat into his mouth, swallowing it without chewing. I remember much.

I remember the wolves that preyed upon the first ponies, and the first ponies that killed the wolves in kind. The gryphons and buffalo I remember well, mighty enemies eternal. I remember the dark nights in which I hunted a thousand creatures and the calls of my prey filled the air.

I remember when this city was built. First by Earth ponies, then burned by things long dead, then built by earth ponies and unicorns together. They plowed over the fields where once I had hunted, drove away the wolves and the other predators. They built fine houses here, of stone and mud and magic. They built walls, too.

Hob straightened up, his ears pricked forward in the strange manner of cats who may have heard something, but then he settled down. I remember when the first snows came, he continued.

The winters grew longer, and the ponies, uneasy when things were well, fell to fighting. And the snow piled up in their plowed, barren fields, and against their fine stone walls, and staved in the roofs of their cozy houses. Near here once lay the ruins of a pegasus town. The clouds froze in the night and fell from the sky. Many died. They were lucky, for they died near the beginning. Others starved, still others stole and begged and killed for the meagre leavings of the last harvests.

Hob’s tail twitched lazily. I ate well. In their houses I gnawed their bones and rended their bellies. In the clouds I stalked and struck pegasi from the sky. In the towers of unicorns I waited to take children in the night and their parents the next morning. In the hovels of earth ponies I waited in the guttering flames and drove ponies to murder and madness.

“Enough,” Invictus said. “Your boasting doesn’t impress me.”

Then perhaps this will, Hob replied. There are wolves in those trees. They’re about to eat you.

Invictus sprang from his hooves, the bladeband around his forehoof flowing golden into life, a burning brand in his teeth just as the first wolf stalked from the forest.

It was easily twice the size of a normal pony, and though Invictus was well-built, he was still dwarfed by its size. It was covered in fur the color of dirty snow, yellow eyes glowing in the firelight above a gleaming maw of pointed fangs, strings of spittle dripping from its slavering jaws. A long scar ran from the corner of its ear back to the scruff of its neck, probably the result of more aggressive prey fighting back. It was flanked on either side by six more wolves, each almost as big as the first.

There was no preamble, no warmup. They charged as a pack. Invictus kept his wings close to his sides. They’d only provide something for the wolves to grab onto. He backpedaled, hooves settling into a solid stance without thought. The sword swung, biting into flesh as he quickly hewed into one wolf, then another. The alpha and the rest of the wolves scrambled back, but they had taken their toll on Invictus as well. He could feel blood running from a bite mark on his shoulder, where the sword hadn’t been to protect it.

He was surprised they knew about what a sword could do. Surely there weren’t many around here who used such tools to defend themselves, so there would be no reason for a wolf to be wary of the instrument. He swung out again, testing the wolves. They definitely stepped back. Odd.

Invictus could feel rather than see or hear the lead wolf’s command to attack once again. This time he was ready. His wings cracked once, he vaulted into the air. The wolves jumped, but not high enough. He could almost see surprise warring with the ravenous hunger in their eyes. The sword flashed again, a wolf yelped in pain. One of the smaller ones tumbled to the ground, limp and unresponsive, and the smell of blood filled the air.

Invictus landed heavily, facing the wolves, who now stood between him and the fire. He spat the brand from his teeth, clearly they had no fear of it. He charged, feeling the blood rush through his veins, and hit the alpha with all the force he could muster. The other wolves piled on top of him, and all he knew was the reek of sweat and matted fur and blood.

And pain. A half-dozen jaws sunk into him, claws rended at his flesh, able to turn aside blades. There was an almost-unbearable agony. Invictus felt strange, oddly warm. His vision went red, then gold. Time seemed to slow, and he noticed things, thing he wouldn’t have noticed. He noticed individual drops of blood staining the snow, and the tug of the wind at his coat. He noticed that three wolves lay dead now.

He blinked. Time had passed. He was standing over the dead alpha, and through his veins sang rage, white hot and righteous. There were only two wolves, both scrambling away, one dragging its intestines behind it. Without thinking, he flung his sword, the massive great-hander, at the other. It flew point first, unerring as an arrow from a bow, and took it in the shoulder blades. A moment later, and it was a simple metal bracelet once more.

The wind picked up as it began to snow in earnest. Invictus retrieved the bladeband silently, and settled back in by the fire. Clouds blotted out the sun, casting shadows across the ruins, and then the snow blocked out the rest. Invictus drew the other side of the tent in, sealing himself in with the fire. Smoke began to fill the shelter instantly, enough to choke a normal pony. It didn’t bother him much.

You are injured, Hob pointed out. Will this slow you down?

Invictus withdrew a roll of bandages, followed by a small bottle of ointment. “They didn’t go for my wings,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”

Hob was silent. His tail twitched. They did bite at your wings. You broke one of their necks for it using them. Do you not recall this?

“All I recall is being set upon by wolves while you did nothing, and then killing them.”

And the time in between? When you spitted two of them on your sword at once? Or crushed a skull with your hooves?

Invictus’ brows drew close. “I do not have memory of this.”

Hob sneezed. Battle madness. A hint of it, at least. You are full of surprises, it would seem. I’ll not complain. It likely saved you.

Invictus said nothing, merely dressed his wounds. There was nothing to be said. It was the first time he had fought. Not the first he had killed, but the Captain back in Dawndale hadn’t been a combatant. He could have smelled the sorcery on him if he cared to. Killing him had been like killing a sheep led to slaughter in more ways than one. He was troubled, though. What if Hob was correct, and he did lose control of himself during battle?

He’d be an unfit guardian for Cobblestone. More than that, he could be a danger to her. He could remember, through the dimly lit haze of his memories with the Fae, that those who were possessed in such a matter became little more than beasts in battle. He had fought and killed battle-maddened things before for the amusement of his keepers. They barely even seemed to notice when they died, and were heedless of who was in their way when they fought.

You’re no threat to her, Hob said tiredly. He finished the last of his venison pellets and idly batted at the bag. Sprawling in the dust, he looked at Invictus. I know what the Fae did to you. I know what you’re thinking. But this affliction, which you may or may not suffer from, is not one laid upon you by them. It was laid by another, brighter power.

“Celestia.”

Your kind were made once, long ago in cities now ruins, much like these. Hob said. Great guardians and protectors of ponies, at least those ponies who followed the Radiant Noon. I have drank from the necks of hundreds of your kin, Sunborn. Many of them were battle-mad. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I have memories of my own,” Invictus said. “I killed ponies quite happily. During the Rebellion.”

You killed enemies of Celestia, Hob replied. Celestia is no longer your mistress. That task falls to Cobblestone.

The wind shrieked over the tent. The fire popped. Invictus dabbed ointment onto his wounds and stretched bandages.

“She has been out of my care for a week,” he said. “And I know nothing of the other two. Perhaps they are dead.”

If they found shelter and a source of food, however scarce, they should be able to survive. The knight will be able to hunt for them all, if something has gone wrong. I have watched him practicing his woodscraft.

“There are more dangerous things than starvation this far north.”

Hob’s tail twitched in amusement. Have you finished dressing your wounds?

“I have. I could fly again, if the weather were clear.”

Hob rose from his position, stretched near the flames. I care for her too, in my way.

He padded to the front of the shelter. Open it. I will clear our path.

Invictus frowned, but did as he was bade. The snow was well and truly thick at this point, inches on the ground already. If the storm didn’t abate soon, he would need to don his gear and clear the tent roof. Hob walked calmly into the storm, snow to his chest, and sat down to wait.

There was a ferocious howl of wind, and the storm switched from snow to needles, some of them a half-inch long, made of purest blue ice. Invictus, huddled in the tent, felt the temperature dropping so low and so rapidly that the cold was beginning to affect even him. He could see the clouds begin to swirl and bubble unpleasantly overhead, like melted flesh, and then it happened.

Eight misty shapes, the blue of ice and resembling gaunt, starved ponies, descended from the clouds. Their eyes, purest white, burned with a hatred so absolute and unyielding that they pierced even through the blizzard. One of them opened their mouths and let out a cry, part howling wind, part crumbling ice, and part scream of a damned pony.

They circled the camp, their eerie howls billowing through the air, and Invictus felt the fire gutter and die, pluging him into shadow, tinged icy blue from the glow of these wraiths. They rushed inwards, and Invictus tensed, but they ignored him, and instead settled on the ground before Hob, who remained erect and unmoved. Then, one by one, they bowed to him.

The thing that others called a cat simply opened his mouth, exposing his teeth, shining white and bony. The Windigos reared, either in fury or fear, but before they could do more than this, Hob sprang from his sitting position, growing in stature as he did so. The spirits dissolved, and it was too late. Misty forms vanished into his mouth, and as the light dimmed and Invictus, normally unbothered by the dark, lost his sight, he caught a glimpse of the thing Hob had become.

For the first time he could remember, he felt the cold tendrils of fear sinking into his heart.

And then it was over. The fire, once out, was back, blazing cheerily as if nothing had happened. The snowfall lessened, the wind slowed. Invictus looked to a sky once more blue and, while not cheerful, at least open to flying. He blinked snow out of his eyes, looked out over the camp, and noticed that there was nothing left of the wolves he had killed save bones.

Among them sat Hob, looking sleek and fat. His eyes, normally amber, met those of Invictus, and flashed a bright and cold bluish-white before returning to normal. Well? He asked. Shall we break camp? There are many miles to go before we reach our mistress.

Invictus said nothing, merely turned and began to break down camp. The snow crunched under his hooves as he undid the knots that had held the lean-to, and he tossed the bladeband aside while he worked. He knew now that there was very little in the vast wastes that would care to tangle with him, or, rather more accurately, his traveling partner.

They were gone twenty minutes later, leaving behind only the bones of wolves long picked clean, the bones of a civilization long since crumbled, and the howling, mournful and low, of a distant wind.

Cúirtéis

“I beg your pardon?” Cadance asked from her position of repose. She kicked idly at the bathwater, only her hooves and head visible. Steam billowed from the surface of the water, filling the air with a choking cloud of vapor and rose scent. Libra, still clad in her black robes from her meeting with Captain Afi earlier, did her best to remain calm. The air in the baths was stifling, and Cadance knew it full well. Despite this, Libra had been forced to meet with her there. It had taken the better part of three days to arrange this little get-together, with Cadance’s pages and aides informing the increasingly-frustrated Magus that the Princess was very very busy, and they were so sorry, but couldn’t she come back later?

Libra took a deep breath. Now wasn’t the time to lose her temper. “I said that I wished to question your daughter regarding the death of Captain Fidelis.”

Cadance nodded thoughtfully as an attendant, standing close by, poured water from a pitcher into her hair. She closed her eyes, partly in reflection and partly to keep the soap out of them. She opened them again and looked Libra square in the eyes. “No.”

Libra felt a bit more of that anger well up in her chest, and triple-checked her mental defenses to be sure that it was definitely normal annoyance worrying at her heart and nothing of magic. They were secure. “Please,” she said, just short of gritting her teeth. “I beg you to reconsider. Without speaking to your daughter, I cannot be assured of her innocence in this matter.”

Cadance waved one hoof. “She is my daughter,” she said. “As far as I am concerned, she’s blameless in all this. You have your answer.”

“With all due respect,” Libra replied, “I have an answer. But I’m also left with questions, your Grace. Several questions.”

The attendants, who were pouring yet more rose oil into the bath, were stopped cold by a gesture from Cadance, who regarded Libra with heavy lidded eyes. The air was warm in the bath, and yet Libra felt a chill run down her spine as Cadance, sweet as candy, said “Continue”.

Libra rallied. “There’s something that’s been bothering me about the timing of all this. Serale goes missing, which is bad enough, and I detected some small bending of the ley after her disappearance. Shortly after this, your Captain dies by way of a pony who is now gone from this Court. Shortly after that, Captain Fidelis, a member of a race which you have, in all honesty, an understandable dislike of, is killed by unusual magics.”

She cleared her throat. “Forgive my ignorance in these matters, for I am only the Court Magus of Lady Everstar and not blessed with the wisdom of immortals, but it seems to me that the manner of Fidelis’s death is most suspicious in that it strongly resembles a Fae curse. I have yet to perform a conclusive autopsy, but I would wager a guess that Fidelis’s body will show no signs of poison or latent familiar magic.”

“Lastly,” she said, building steam, “The timing of your adoption gives me cause for alarm. Though I would, of course, not dream of accusing you directly, a more suspicious pony, such as my Lady, may see this series of events as you paying off a member of the Fae to kill a member of the Evening Guard. And while I ultimately serve Lady Everstar, I have travelled these lands often in my youth. It would pain me to see her consider retaliation against them and yourself over a simple misunderstanding, which could be resolved by a brief conversation with your daughter.”

The attendants in the bath, as if of one mind, took a step back from their mistress. Cadance sat there, the lovely features of her face statuesque in detail and in poise. Libra could see a flush begin to work its way up from the base of her neck, and wondered if she mightn’t have pushed things a bit too far.

“Are you threatening my daughter or myself with war?” Cadance asked quietly, quietly enough that Libra had to strain to hear her over the sounds of running water. “Or are you just acting as the messenger from your Lady?”

“I’m trying to protect you both from that,” Libra replied earnestly. “Truly, Princess. I only wish to speak to your daughter regarding her involvement in the plot, if such a thing exists. I carry no message, I threaten nothing. I wish to help you both, and to get the matter resolved to everypony’s satisfaction.”

For a moment, there was no sound save the steady drip of water from Cadance’s mane to the bathwater below. She took a deep breath, and looked Libra dead in the eye. Her face, still lovely, seemed to the Magus to be unnaturally still and refined, and she was forcibly reminded that she was dealing with a creature that was more god than mortal, and had been for some time. If Cadance wanted Libra to kill herself, there was likely very little that the Magus could do to stop her.

“Suppose I take you at face value. Suppose I agree that you really do have my Kingdom’s best interests at heart, which I doubt. Suppose I do let you question my daughter. What do you think you will get from her?”

Libra thought for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “An admission of her guilt or innocence in the matter. It’s well-known that Fae cannot lie, at least directly. A simple course of questioning will be all I need.”

Cadance nodded slowly, beckoning one of her attendants forward. They began to work a soap, scented, of course, of roses, into her mane. “And how would you plan on redressing the insult to her after such questioning? Or were you not aware that direct questioning would be a grave insult to a member of her race?”

Libra didn’t flinch. “To be honest, I couldn’t care less about an insult. But if she insisted upon redress, I’m sure I could accommodate her. Information for information, as it were. Perhaps some information about Cobblestone?”

It was Cadance’s turn to be off-balance. Her brow wrinkled, causing a few suds to fall into her eyes. She blinked in irritation as the attendant washed them out. “What makes you think that I’d be interested in Cobblestone?”

“My Lady has no tolerance for games when it comes to the safety of her subjects, Princess. This is one of the many reasons she employs me. I am not entirely unfamiliar with the principles of courtly etiquette, nor with the finer points of spycraft. You’ve made inquiries about my student, and I have heard them. Now, are you interested in a trade?”

Cadance’s eyes narrowed. “I could have you whipped for speaking to me in such a manner, or suggesting that I’ve been spying on a student of yours. I could have you branded and expelled from my lands, if I so chose.”

Libra sighed, and her shoulders slumped. “Yes, Princess, you could have me whipped. You’d be surprised how wearily often I hear that threat in my line of work, it’s really quite perplexing. Perhaps it’s something of my personality that invites thoughts of whipping, I’ve been told I can have a bit of a sting.”

There was once again silence in the baths, and tension filled the air. Libra blew air through her nostrils, not quite a snort, not quite contemptuous, but close. “Very well. Your daughter can keep her secrets, and I mine. I only wish you were committed to peace.” She bowed. “Princess. You know where to find me.”

She turned without leave and made her way to the door of the baths, hoofsteps echoing off the walls and ignoring the scandalized looks of the attendants who lined the walls. She kept her head high and her step measured. If she feared retribution for her insolence, she didn’t show it.

“Wait,” came a voice, weary and haggard.

Libra stopped, but did not turn around. “Yes, Princess?”

“Usually my subjects face me when speaking.”

“I am not one of your subjects, Princess.” There was pride in her tone, but the words Libra wanted to say remained unspoken.

Cadance sighed. “Very well, Magus. You’ve certainly proved yourself as stubborn as your mistress, if not exactly as tactful.”

“A perennial failing of mine, I’m afraid.”

“Quite,” Cadance replied. “Suppose I agreed to your terms. What guarantee would I have that you have any information that’s of any use?”

“You don’t. But then, your daughter might not have anything of use either.”

Cadance thought about that. Everything the Magus had suggested was logical in the most infuriating way. She fit Twilight like a finely tailored dress, complementary while being just distinct enough to stand on her own merit. She couldn’t abide a yes-mare, a trait both she and her onetime sister in law shared.

Much as she disliked the Magus, who thought she could speak to goddesses as equals, there was a point to be made. War loomed ever closer, made worse by her own investigations into the Cult, though she’d found little evidence of it in her lands. Letting the Magus question the newest member of her Court might do more harm than good. And if she was very lucky, the Magus might insult her badly enough that she’d get turned into a rosebush or something similar. If that were the case, then she’d be sure to plant her somewhere prominent in her garden.

“Very well,” she said, a smile playing on her lips at the thought. “You tell me what you know about your apprentice, and I’ll let Leanan know to expect you.”

Libra trotted back over to the side of the bath, her tone once more deferent. “Everything I know, Princess?” she asked. “I’m not sure what information you could glean from knowing that Cobblestone prefers dark ale to red wine.”

Cadance fixed her with a flat stare as the attendants began their work once more. “You know what I mean,” she said. “Pedantry will not avail you here.”

Libra smirked. “Pedantry is my craft, Princess. Law, boundaries, judgement. A true Magus knows them as she knows herself. But perhaps now is not the time,” she continued. “I’ll begin with her magic…”

Leanan mac Baobhan mac Niamh du Feinan, late of the Grove of Silver Apples and more recently of the Dawn Court, had found her rooms, looking over the garden below and the lake and mountains beyond, a bare if serviceable suite, well-appointed and kept clean.

Upon stepping through her door for the first time, she was heard by her attendants, not one of them older than the age of twelve, to say quietly, “Oh, this will not do.”

She had turned to her attendants and bade them bring a number of objects, among them a quantity of silver, green wood of a yew tree, a branch of a thorn, and the roots of an ash, a hatful of newly fallen snow, and a dram of wine. Her attendants, grinning widely, had done as they were bade, not wishing to offend Leanan, or, as she was known to them, “Lady Lea”. To them, it smacked of a scavenger hunt, and they set about their tasks with gusto, finding stranger and stranger things for her to use.

Finally, after the last bolt of green wool had been found, the last urn of soil dug from beneath a rosebush, and the last cup of tears, collected from all of her servants laughing uproariously at one of the many stories she had shared with them during their hunt, had been brought to her, she had dismissed her servants as the moon rose for the evening, telling them that tomorrow morning, they were to report with the sunrise.

They did as they were told, and the next morning, as the sun rose, they were ushered into what appeared to be, for all intents and purposes, a forest, and one that was unlike any of them had seen. The forests of the Northern March were hardy pine woods, clinging to wind-blasted mountains. This was a forest of drooping boughs rustling with leaves in a strange wind, which seemed to come from everywhere, a forest of soft mossy floors and a ceiling that appeared to be an actual sky, complete with stars dancing faintly in the distance.

They found out when they exited the room perhaps ten minutes later that almost a full day had passed without their knowledge.

That had been two days ago, one of the pages explained to Libra as they climbed the tower steps. He, being the oldest of the attendants selected by Lea, as he called her, was tasked with explaining that there were new laws in the Dawn Court, and that the Leanan Sidhe had a right to enforce them.

“For starters, Missus Magus,” the colt said cheerfully, “Lea don’t stand on titles. So you’re Libra, she’s Leanan or Lea, if she gives you leave. Also, if you have anythin’ of the iron on you, I’d leave it by the door. We’ll have Lemon keep it for you and give it back later. Makes Lea sneeze, does iron.”

Libra raised an eyebrow in surprise, but nodded. She’d thought it might have been an issue, but if the quantity of iron in her alchemical pouches would only make the Sidhe thing in the room sneeze, then she was dealing with a powerful entity indeed.

“She also wanted me to remind you that you are her guest, which has certain rules, miss. She said you’d know them all, but wanted to put emphasis on the fact that using magic in another’s home without their permission aside for regular tasks is considered very rude.”

He looked at her. “I can vouch for that, Miss Magus. Poppyseed tried to make a rosebush bloom with her magic and was dismissed. Lea takes it very serious, though she weren’t mad at Poppy.”

“I’m sure she was very understanding,” Libra said, trying to keep the edge of sarcasm out of her voice. “Anything else?”

“Last rule, Miss Magus,” the colt said, “Lea’s finnicky about promises. If’n you make one, you best keep it, not disparaging your honor, Miss.”

“My honor is already thoroughly disparaged,” Libra mused, as they arrived at the door to Lea’s chambers. There were no guards posted, though two hoofmaidens in shifts of green and blue, emblazoned with a symbol of a crystal heart wreathed in vines, watched her carefully. “And you’ve had nothing to do with it. Thank you, young colt.”

She fished out a silver piece. “For your trouble.”

The colt smiled brightly, taking the coin. Libra also removed her alchemy belt, giving it to one of the young fillies, who simply hid it beneath the skirts of her dress, not moving from her spot. The other filly rapped gently at the door, three knocks and a pause, followed by one more. The door clicked and opened.

The colt bowed. “Lady Leanan will see you, Miss Magus.” He smiled, and Libra discerned something not entirely right about the expression before he simply began to walk away. She turned to the door, which had only opened a crack, and took a deep breath, steadying herself. She placed her hoof on the door, and pushed it open on silent hinges. Before she could stop herself, she screwed up her eyes and checked her mental defenses again, then rushed through the door.

She heard the door close as she opened her eyes to find herself by a small stream. Stars gleamed gently overhead, though the sun hadn’t quite set yet. A warm breeze blew through the air, carrying with it the scent of sap and fruit and wine. She was standing in a clearing, bounded on all sides by massive stones, forming a ring. In the distance, she heard the sound of a nightingale, and she found herself easily able to believe that there was an actual bird in this room.

“Ah!” came a voice, delighted and melodious, from behind her. Libra did her best not to jump at the sound, chiding herself for a fool for not paying attention as she turned around to see who it was that had addressed her.

The young mare was slender, delicately put together, and possessed of a beauty and poise that was certainly not natural. As her kind was wont to do, even in polite company, she wore no clothing, though in deference to her mother she wore several ribbons in her hair in blue and rose, and a small pendant of a heart carved from a single, flawless diamond.

“Magus Libra!” Leanan effused, clearly delighted to see her. “I had thought thou wert lost, or were caught away on some errand!”

Libra kept her expression neutral. “Lady Leanan mac Baobhan mac Niamh du Fienan, I thank thee for thy courtesy and hospitality,” she intoned. “And I’ll be sure to make this quick, so as not to impose on you.”

The Sidhe blinked. “Why, I thank thee,” she replied. “But pray, use only my first name. None save my mother call me anything but Leanan.”

“If you wish it, Lady Leanan”, Libra replied.

The “younger” mare inclined her head slightly, indicating a set of benches. “If thou carest to do so, Magus,” she said cheerfully, “I had thought we might take tea. It comes upon the fourth hour past the sun’s height, and I am given to understand that it is customary around this time to do so.”

Libra bowed a little, never taking her eyes from the mare in front of her. “Tea would be delicious,” she said noncommittally. “I would hate to impose.”

Leanan’s eyes flashed. A hit, then. “It would surely be no imposition,” she replied as they wandered over to the benches, where Libra could indeed see a teaset, ready and waiting. “I was told you preferred green-leafed teas? I had one of mine servants pick a suitable blend.”

Libra waited for Leanan to sit before she took her seat, determined not to give the Fae an inch when it came to obligation. She’d had limited dealings with them before, and though she knew that the creature in front of her was considered a member of the Seelie court, that gave her no excuse to be lax in her dealings. Seelie Fae could be just as deadly as their Unseelie cousins.

“That’s very discerning of you,” Libra replied. “What blend is it? I’ve become something of an amateur connoisseur. No great talent, but I’ve enjoyed it as a hobby.”

Leanan smiled at her with such radiance that Libra felt sure that had she not known what the young Lady was, she would have been charmed immediately. Of course, she would undoubtedly have had questions about the gleaming fangs that she was choosing to show.

A threat display. Libra was in the power of Cadance’s adopted daughter, and they both knew it. She wouldn’t be getting out of this entirely intact, not unless she could do something completely unexpected and pull the wool over the eyes of a being undoubtedly much older than she was. She drew a deep breath. Patience, she chided herself. You'll do yourself no favors by slipping up. Quite to the contrary, in fact.

“If I recall, it is a blend picked from the grand hills which lie to the east of Canterlot,” Leanan replied. “Mixed with mint grown in the greenhouses here. I had thought it an odd blend for winter, but Princess Cadance assured it was a good blend for thee.”

Libra took the offered cup easily in her magic, as she had seen Leanan do. She waited until the Fae has sipped from her own beverage before doing the same. It was a good fit for the weather, she decided. Refreshing, but mellow, perfect for the seemingly oppressive air that came with too much winter, from closed up windows and roaring fires and stale air hoarded for its warmth.

“Princess Cadance tells me that thy apprentice will be returned to us soon,” Leanan said, setting her cup down. “It will be good to meet her, I think. I had heard her prowess was fearsome for one so low-born.”

Libra nodded politely. “Cobblestone shows a great deal of potential,” she said. “How she uses that is, of course, up to her. She could choose to squander it, but I think she’ll seize what she’s been given.” She paused, searching her words thoroughly before continuing. “I think you and she might be more alike than appearances would suggest,” she said. “For one, you and she share a certain...poise. Like a cat might have, if you take my meaning?”

“Aye,” Leanan replied cheerfully. “An’ I thank thee for thy compliment, Magus. I dearly love cats, noble and curious creatures that they are. I had one of my own before I left home.”

“Oh?” Libra asked. “Did you decide to leave him there?”

The Fae thing shok her head. “Nay,” she replied. “He escaped my grasp some moons ago, and though I had looked and looked, I could not discern where he might have gone. T'was a pity, and one of the reasons I have strayed so far from my homelands. I had heard rumor he had fled the Forest.”

Libra knew that Leanan wanted her to ask her why she had left the Forest, what her other reasons were. If she were to give her further information, then it would put Libra in her debt. She would have cause to question Libra further. A feint, carefully calculated to draw her in. And an amateurish one, at that.

“A pity,” Libra said. “You have my condolences for your loss, and I wish his swift return to you, wherever he may be.” It wouldn't do to offer her personal apology, as that would, once again, imply debt. A simple “I'm sorry” would suggest that Libra was to blame here.

There was an amiable silence as both sipped at their tea. Libra took her mouthfuls with as much of her considerable delicacy as she could manage, and Leanan exhibited the famed elegance of the Fae with each miniscule movement of the cup she held in her magical grip.

At last, the tea was finished, along with it the posturing with the cups, and both hit the table at approximately the same time, though not so close together as to suggest that each was watching the other closely. There was a moment more of silence, and then Leanan broke the tension.

“Tell me, Magus, for I know not the bounds of your race's knowledge. What do you know of the Fae? Aside from faerie stories, what do you really know?”

Libra considered that. “I know that you live in many places besides the Everfree, though you are most well known there. I know that you are immortal, though it's hard to say that since you don't seem to share the same life as us, since time moves strangely around you. I know that you are unable to tell a blatant lie, though your kind are masters of half-truths and lies of omission. You share a closer and stranger bond to nature, and it to you, than most ponies save a few Earth ponies.”

She paused for breath. “I know you are organized into two official Courts, the Seelie of the Summer and the Unseelie of the Shade, or Winter, depending on who you ask. Many in those Courts enjoy courtesy in conversation, and can, in some circumstances, be quick to take offense. And I know that you rarely trouble yourselves with the politics of mortals, which raises many questions.”

“Questions I will happily answer,” Leanan replied. “As my mother wishes me to.”

Libra almost inquired as to which mother she was referring to, seeing as she very much doubted that Cadance's new daughter was anything but Seelie nobility. And she also resolved to be much more careful around that topic. The last thing she needed right now was to inadvertently offend the Queen of Faerie. She didn't know if the Unseelie had a Queen, or any nobles at all. Nopony really did, or at least, nopony had found out and returned to tell of it.

“Very well,” Libra said primly. She withdrew a small notepad from within her voluminous robes, as well as a silver inkpen. “Do you mind terribly if I take notes? I would dearly regret having to trouble you again over some miniscule point I had forgotten.”

Leanan inclined her head magnanimously. “Prithee, write what thou wilt,” she replied. “An' should what you write be insufficient, I only hope that you will not dissemble in coming to me once again, so that I might enjoy your...company.”

Incur a further debt, you mean, Libra thought rather uncharitably. When this is over, I'm having a stiff drink.

“Leanan mac Baobhan man Niamh du Fienan di Cadenza, late of the Grove of Silver Apples, recently named Lady Cadenza and heir to the Crystal Throne,” Libra began. “Did you, through artifice, spell, poison, or any other means, direct or indirect, kill the Changeling known as Fidelis, Captain of the Evening Guard?”

“I had no occasion to do so.”

Libra's mouth tightened. “Please, Lady Leanan, give me definitive answers.”

The other unicorn looked like she had swallowed a whole lemon, and her lip twisted back to expose her half-revealed gleaming fangs. Her eyes, opaloid spheres as they were, narrowed into slits, and Libra was sure she could see the colors fade from them. “I did not slay Fidelis,” she said.

Libra nodded, scribbling her notes. “Did you conjure, contract, command, or otherwise enlist the help of another pony, Changeling, Gryphon, Minotaur, dragon, spirit, or any other entity, including flora or simple fauna, in order to effect the death of Captain Fidelis?”

Leanan looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I...” she took a deep breath. “I did not enlist the help of anything else to kill Captain Fidelis in any way.”

“Did you know of the plot to kill Captain Fidelis, either before or after Princess Mi Amore di Cadenza Allegretta offered to adopt you as her daughter?”

Leanan shook slightly. “Nay,” she managed to gasp out, her voice tremulous, “Had I knowledge of it, we would not sit together hence. Though I believe...” her lips sealed themselves shut as she hissed softly. She forced them back open, and Libra could see that she had bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, which was admittedly easier than it might first appear, due to her sharp teeth. “I do know the spell which killed him,” she volunteered, seemingly unable to stop herself.

Libra tried to conceal her look of shock. She had thought getting information out of Leanan was going to be like pulling teeth. “By all means,” she said, “Please share, unless this would cause you further discomfort. I would not wish to subject you to such things.”

“It is known as Bramblebone, or the Thorn's Curse,” Lea replied, her eyes welling up with tears. “For use upon those who spurned the advances of the Fae. But when we cast it, the roses are always red. Never white, white roses belong to...”

Here, she clamped her hooves over her mouth with a yelp, refusing to speak further. She grabbed for a small silver bell, and rang it sharply.

“You need not speak further, Lady Leanan,” Libra said quickly. “You mean the...Court of Air and Darkness, yes?”

Lea said no more, but she managed a jerky nod. Her hooves flew away from her mouth as one of her pages rounded the corner at a sprint. “You have cost me much,” she said quietly. “You are pony, but I am fae. We do not speak plainly, Magus. We know too much to do so. Leave us. Please, I can bear no more. Leave!”

Libra rose quickly, sketched a half-courteous bow, and before she could see or hear any more, simply bent the air around herself, breaking a rule of hospitality and thus nulling the accidental debt Leanan had put herself in, and vanished from the room entirely.

Leanan shuddered. Though it had never been made into song or story, never been told around a campfire, there was indeed lore to the Fae that even the Magus, with all her knowledge, had never known. With luck, and all of her skill, she would make sure that the Magus never had the opportunity to learn this lore, this weakness.

The Fae never answered questions plainly, the better to trap their prey in webs of debt, misdirection, and obligation. The magic they possessed was near limitless when used on one that had wronged them, but it came at terrible cost. Should they answer three questions plain and true, with nary a misdirection between them, it could turn back upon its user. And though she was older by far than most ponies, Leanan mac Baobhan mac Niamh du Fienan was a very young Fae indeed. She'd hardly earned more than a half-dozen words to her name, except…

The magic was the magic of truth, for the Fae knew much, and kept it jealously. But it was said that all truth came out eventually. And it had come spilling from her, spilling as the water from a fall. Such was the price of her magic. Had she continued speaking, soon would have come knowledge of Libra's thoughts and hopes, from there prophecy and premonition and truths of bardic beauty. And from there, past the music which surrounded her, the music of the land and ley, would have come her name.

Her heart's name, her true name, not the one she wore like a colorful cloak with which to distract and hide, and with it the key to all her power, all that she was and could ever be. And she could do little to stop it, save for one thing.

“Lady Lea!” the page cried, shaking her. “Lady Lea, are you alright? Should I fetch the Cleric?”

Leanan grabbed at the page's wing, holding her near. “Nay,” she said. “Stay, dear heart. Stay, and I will tell you a great many wondrous things. You enjoy stories, do you not?”

The pegasus filly looked at her, unsure, but curious. She nodded, a bit skittish. Leanan smiled, dragging herself to her hooves. She knew what she must do. Gently, she lead the filly to a nearby bower, where were situated two small grooves growing close between the roots of a mighty oak, one much smaller than the other. Into this one she laid her young page, and settled herself into the other, as the sky above dimmed at her call, spinning from twilight and into the night.

The door locked itself quietly.

Leanan began to speak then, speaking truths her heart knew to a youth who would not know what to do with them. She spoke of secret glens and sacred groves, of what really waited for young children in the dark and what watched them dreaming, of who the filly, named Misty, was most loved by and most hated by, of what once was and what was to come.

She spoke of sunrises and sunsets, of black seas and the stars shaking in the sky like leaves, of dragonfire and the tumbling down of old things and maybe the rising of the new. And Misty began to cry, for while she did not, could not understand what Leanan meant by these things, she knew that they were frightening.

“M...my mother,” Misty replied. “I want my mother.” she attempted to rise, but found she lacked the strength. “Lady Lea, I can't get up!”

She felt rather than saw Leanan huddle close. “Hush now, good heart, sweet heart,” Leanan whispered, her voice laudanum and honeyed wine. “Close your eyes, dream of that which delights you. And I will sing to you my name.”

Misty fought until the end, but when Leanan leaned in close and began to murmur strange and wonderful things into her ear, she stopped moving as if electrified, no longer able to see the roots coiling about her body, drawing her into the barrow. Her eyes fluttered, shut, opened, and shut again. And Leanan told her, just as she slipped into a dream from which she would not awake, her name.

Fís

“Look,” Cobblestone said, “I get why you’re freaking out, but this is not the best time.”

“Not the best time?” Vino bellowed, his face steadily pinkening. “You’ve shoved another soul in Serale’s body!”

“Who’s Serale?” the blonde unicorn on the floor asked curiously. “And why can’t I move anything?”

Cobblestone took a steady breath. “For the third time,” she said to her other friend, the one not currently doing their best to resemble a raspberry, “I don’t know why you can’t really move. I think it’s because I just kind of kick-started your soul. Not everything is working right now. At least you can lift your head, right?”

Serale, or at least the pony currently inside of her, nodded weakly.

Rota, to her credit, was keeping a cool head. Though she had blanched upon hearing the name “Sweetie Belle”, she had only bent low, examined her patient’s extremities, and was currently working a warm herbal paste into her coat.

“I think something may be wrong with her memory,” the Gryphon said. “Granted, the Sweetie Belle I briefly knew didn’t strike me as bright.” She straightened. “The span of an hour should bring all right again, and her blood will froth once more. She’ll be fine.”

“I want answers,” Vino seethed. “Now, Cobblestone. What did you do?”

Cobblestone felt a headache building. It wasn’t helping matters that she was still using her magic to see, plus her broken and definitely overworked horn. “I’m trying to give them to you,” she said, “But ever since you got here it’s been ‘Oh, this is black magic’ and ‘You might have killed her for all we know’, but you haven’t exactly given me much chance to explain, now have you?”

“Who is he?” Serale asked. No, not Serale. Sweetie Belle.

“For the fifth time, Sweetie Belle, this is Vino Hedera of House Hedera. He’s a knight who is supposed to be protecting...well, not you, exactly, but the body you’re in. Now, I know you have a lot of questions, I do too, but would you kindly shut up for one bloody minute?”

This was directed at everyone in the tent, including Rota, who had been muttering something about irresponsible use of magic and running before walking. There was a hurt silence in the tent broken only by the sigh of wind outside. Cobblestone felt her headache lessen immediately.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’d cheerfully slit a throat for some Dragon’s Kiss right now, but that’s not going to happen, so I’d appreciate it if you all would give me a chance to figure out what, exactly, is happening.”

She turned to Vino. “Serale wasn’t waking up. I looked at her, Vino, at her soul. It was burning very dimly.” She held up a hoof, realizing that she was starting to sound like Libra. “Yes, I can see souls. This probably should have come up before now. I can do other things with them. It’s how I survived the prison attack.”

“I tried to give Serale’s soul a little nudge, to see what would happen. I think what happened might have had something to do with the fact that the mountain we’re camped by is apparently chock bucking full of souls. She definitely woke up, but...she also didn’t?”

The fact that she knew damn well that Serale was interacting with some entity calling herself “Belle” wasn’t something that needed to be brought up, at least not now. And she needed to make absolutely sure that whatever happened, she got answers. She needed to know what had happened to Serale, of course, but the odds were very good that Sweetie Belle might have information on whatever thing was showing up in Serale’s dreams.

“I think Serale is still in there,” Cobblestone said, gesturing to the other unicorn’s head in a vague motion. “Just...not piloting the airship, if you get my meaning.”

“Then put her back in the pilot’s chair!”

Cobblestone snorted exasperatedly. “I don’t know if I can,” she replied. “I was barely able to get her up and moving as it is. She was unconscious, Vino, hardly able to get food and water. At least with Sweetie Belle in charge she can eat.”

“For the record,” Sweetie Belle replied, her voice low, “I do feel very hungry. Do you have anything to eat?”

“We’ve got caribou and fungus,” Cobblestone replied without looking at her, still standing firm against Vino. “Eat it and like it.”

“But-”

“Eat it,” Cobblestone said through gritted teeth, her headache back with a vengeance, “And like it. Or don’t eat it. Or eat it and don’t like it. Right now I’m finding it hard to give a damn. I’ll get to you in a minute.”

Vino scraped at the ground, clearly agitated. His ears lay back, and Cobblestone was unpleasantly reminded of how similar he looked to when he had been ready to fight Brightsteel, what seemed like a lifetime ago. She felt her headache coming back.

“Look,” she said. “I don’t know how to put Serale back in charge of her own head, because it never occurred to me that something else could either be in there or show up and take over. So until I get some answers from Sweetie Belle, after she eats her damned food, we’re stuck like this.”

“This would not have happened if you had restrained yourself in the first place,” Rota said moodily. “I was gone for less than a minute.”

“And there would be your mistake,” Vino replied, his voice tense. “I can’t blame you, seeing as she’s been unconscious during the worst week of my life, but you should know Cobblestone has a track record of reaching for magic she doesn’t understand how to use yet.”

The remark stung more than it should have. Cobblestone hadn’t considered that Vino might blame her and possibly Serale for sending them up here in the first place. She felt hot anger welling up inside of her. The headache began to unfurl lazily from her temples and base of her skull, curling down her spine, across her forehead, and into her teeth.

“Magic that saved your hide,” she said, attempting to ignore the way the brazier’s light was causing her vision to white out in some places. “Or did you forget that?”

Vino’s face was stone. “And I returned the favor after you blew off your horn and were beaten to an inch of your life,” he said, “Or did you forget that?” He didn’t give her a chance to retort. “As far as I’m concerned,” he said coldly, “We’re even. More than square, since I’ve also been the one out getting the snot kicked out of me getting food for the two of you.”

Cobblestone flinched at that again. He had a point. For a week, she’d been out of commission, and while she was certain that the thane wouldn’t let her or Serale starve while he thought they were worth something, there was no reason Vino would have been excused from making his own contributions. And despite those, he was still probably little better than a thrall in the eyes of the tribe.

And she hated being useless. It was a death sentence as a thief, and she’d made a point to always be doing something, working on something. It had been part of the reason she reached for things she couldn’t grasp, did things she shouldn’t do. It was a part of her as deep and rooted as the sinews of an oak. And it had also been the reason she had accidentally sent them all to this desolate wasteland, and the reason a strange consciousness was currently inhabiting one of her best and only friends.

Something deep inside of her clicked, and she knew with a terrible cold clarity exactly what it was she would have to do, knowledge that had been building behind her headache breaking into her head like water from behind a dam.

“You know what?” she said, unable to keep some small amount of venom from her voice, “Fine. You want me to be useful? Sit down, shut up, let me work.”

She turned to Serale, whom she had already started to think of as Sweetie Belle. “Change of plans,” she said. “You give me answers now. You eat later.”

Sweetie Belle, to her credit, did nothing but nod.

“First question,” Cobblestone said. “Who are you?”

“My name is Sweetie Belle,” the unicorn replied, brushing a strand of blonde out of her face, an entirely unfamiliar gesture compared to the poise Serale normally exhibited. “I was born in Ponyville, a small town on the edge of the Everfree Forest. I had two parents, named Hondo and Cookie, and a sister, named Rarity. She was a designer, and also the Element of Generosity.”

Cobblestone arched an eyebrow. “Your sister was one of the Elements of Harmony?”

“One of them, yes,” Sweetie Belle said quietly. “But she was a designer first. She had a really good eye for gemstones.” She frowned. “For some reason, you remind me of her,” she said, perplexed. “You look nothing like her, and you don’t act like her, but I could see you two being almost like twins. It’s strange.”

“You know that happened nearly four hundred years ago, right?” Cobblestone asked.

Sweetie Belle arched an eyebrow. “No, I’d just thought I had dozed off for a really long time,” she said, her words colored by sarcasm. “I remember the war. Probably better than anypony alive right now, except for the Princesses and Twilight Sparkle herself.”

She settled back into her covers. “I grew up with two great friends, went to school, watched one of my role models destroy half the town and flee into the Forest, went to college, became a journalist.” She took a deep breath. “I watched Equestria rip itself apart, then I fell in with Twilight’s rebellion. I met one of my old friends, and freed Princess Luna from her cell beneath Canterlot Castle, where she had been held. Then, after she tried to kill us, I met up with my other friend, who tried to kill us and succeeded in killing the stallion I loved.”

Cobblestone blinked. It was like hearing one of Libra’s lectures on the history of the Kingdom, but seen from a completely different angle. Like watching a thunderstorm from above.

“After that, things went pretty south, pretty quickly. Celestia marched an army into the Everfree, I joined a small group of fighters to hold them off. I watched one of my friends kill the other, and then killed her. I almost died. Then, when Celestia’s army finally reached the Regia, I did die. So did the child I was carrying.”

There was silence in the little tent, aside from the shriek of the wind outside. Cobblestone noticed that while Sweetie Belle’s face was calm and composed, there was a definite pain behind her eyes, a pain that spoke of profound betrayal and horrific loss. If not for the fact that she had died soon after, Cobblestone felt sure that that pain would have killed Sweetie Belle eventually.

“So why are you in Lady Serale?” Vino asked.

Sweetie Belle shrugged. “I was called,” she said. “Your friend..” she trailed off. “What is your name?” she asked. “I know you told me, but…”

“You can call me Cob,” Cobblestone replied.

“Cob, then. Your friend woke me up, and I came out. Though I’m not sure what you think I was before I woke up. I’ve certainly never seen you before.”

“Do you mean that I summoned you?” Cobblestone asked. “Are you a spirit that got pulled into Serale?”

Sweetie Belle considered that. “In a way,” she said slowly. “I am Serale. Or Serale is me? Or...how can I put this? Serale is...is green. And I’m blue, or yellow. I am one part of the whole.”

“Are you saying that you’re a part of Serale?” Cobblestone asked. “Like a separate personality?”

Sweetie Belle shook her head. “Is your mother a part of you?” she asked. “A part of your personality? I’m more like a parent, or a relative. Or did you not know how Serale was born?”

“Do you?” Cobblestone retorted.

Sweetie Belle shook her head. “But I can guess. Twilight Sparkle is her mother, but she was a scientist long before that. And she would have wanted to learn everything she could have about soulbinds. The best way for that to happen would have been experimentation.”

Cobblestone frowned. “And what’s a soulbind?”

Sweetie Belle opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She frowned, then tried again. “Odd,” she said. “I know the term, and I know that I know the information. But it’s hard to recall it. I can’t remember.”

“I might be able to fix that,” Cobblestone said. She tried to peer into Serale’s soul again, but a lance of white-hot pain from her horn put and end to that right away. Her vision went with it, too, leaving her blind for the span of ten or so seconds, before she could muster the focus to regain her magical sight.

“Okay,” she said weakly, feeling a wave of nausea flowing over her, “Maybe not. At least, not right now. Uggh.” She staggered and nearly tipped over, but caught herself just before slamming into the brazier she knew was directly to her right.

Sweetie Belle looked at her with concern. “Are you alright?” she asked. “You look sick.” She peered at Cobblestone, her head tilted quizzically. Her ears twitched in surprise. “You’re blind!”

“And you’re incredibly rude,” Cobblestone replied. “While we’re stating the obvious, Vino’s got a hangup on the pony whose body you’re in, Rota over there is both a Gryphon and older than dirt, and it’s bloody cold outside.”

“I beg your pardon?” Vino asked, sounding flummoxed. “I’ve got a what?”

“You’ve got a great flank,” Cobblestone said without missing a beat. “Shut up, I’m working.”

She turned to Rota. “You obviously know a little alchemy,” she said to the aged Gryphon. “Can you whip up Dragon’s Kiss? I have an idea.”

Rota sniffed. “I’ve been gathering herbs on the side of this mountain for three centuries. Dragon’s Kiss is no problem.”

Cobblestone nodded to herself, and then picked up another bowl of caribou and fungus, and began to wolf it down as quickly as possible. She looked at Vino and Sweetie Belle, both of whom were faintly green. “Look,” she said through a full mouth, “I’m about to get smoked out of my mind, and that’s something you don’t do when you’re hungry.”

Vino frowned more deeply, which Cobblestone had not supposed was possible. “Why are you trying to use narcotics at a time like this?”

“She is using the herbs for Dragon’s Kiss in an older style,” Rota replied, rummaging through her bags and withdrawing a few bundles of dried grasses and flowers. “They are much more potent when they have not been brewed into a tea, but they are much less predictable. Other shamans and priests will use them to bring warriors into their prime. I gathered much over this week, in preparation for the hunt this morning. Several young bulls and cows will come into their own tonight.”

“But why are you getting smoked out of your mind?” Vino asked.

Cobblestone finished the bowl and set it to the side, loosening the collar of the cloak that she had draped around herself to keep warm. “I’m not doing it alone,” she said. She looked at the other unicorn, settled into a position of repose. “I was able to get into Serale’s head twice before, once with this stupid cracked horn. I can do it again, but I’ll need the Kiss.”

Vino scraped at the ground nervously. “And you know this will work?” he asked. “You sound very confident.”

Cobblestone grinned, the expression less comforting and more unhinged than she realized. Had she a mirror, she would have remarked on how much she resembled the pony she called “Dis” in that moment. “I know this will work like I know that the snow will kill me if I leave this tent,” she said. “I know this will work like I know that blood flows in my veins and the sun sets in the west. It will work. I will make it work.”

Vino and Rota both took a step back. Sweetie Belle, still unable to move much, could only flinch. Rota grabbed her staff, resting her weight upon it, looking old as ever. “This is foolish,” she said. “All you will do is injure yourself further, and I will not help you heal from such an idiotic undertaking.”

Cobblestone gave her a flat look. “I need to find out what’s going on in Serale’s head, so I can help her heal,” she said, “And for that, I’ll need Dragon’s Kiss, because while I’m sure this mountain is lovely in the springtime, we’ve got things to do back where it doesn’t snow every damn day. So give me some drugs.”

Rota stared at her intensely, and Cobblestone was made aware of the fact that while the Gryphon before her was aged and much slower than she had been centuries before, she would have little problem in dispatching a unicorn with a shattered horn and an attitude. Even Vino, she suspected, would not be too much of a challenge for her. Her eyes flicked to the dragon skull topping the staff, and Cobblestone wondered if she had simply found the skull, or if it had been taken.

Rota took another small bundle of herbs from beside the tentflap, and tossed it towards Cobblestone. “This should be sufficient,” she said, indicating the small pile of dried plant life on the floor, visible as a scratchy blur to Cobblestone’s world of blue light and deep shadow. “You will likely be done by the time I return, at moonrise. Should you finish much earlier, simply strike the bell outside the tent. I will hear it, and come to you.”

Cobblestone said nothing, but bowed her head in assent. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “For everything. For getting me healthy again, for claiming Serale and I before the thane. That was you, wasn’t it? I didn’t dream that?”

Rota nodded sharply. “I did,” she said. “Not for you. For the gods, who demanded it. For the thane, who would have been brought to wound-weeping for the keeping of you. For them, not for you.”

Cobblestone turned to Vino. “I’d offer to let you stay,” she said, “But getting smoked is easier when it’s just one or two ponies. And no offence, but you’re kind of big, and I don’t want you stealing my high.”

Vino couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at that. Cobblestone could feel a half-grin spread across his face, but it died when he looked at Sweetie Belle. “Bring her back safe,” he said, “But not if...whatever this is will hurt you. We’ll figure something out if this doesn’t work, just don’t overreach, okay?”

Cobblestone scoffed. “Since when have I ever been anything but responsible with magic?” she asked.

“I seem to remember something about snowballs,” Vino replied. “And dropping more snow on some guards. And…”

“Nobody likes a sarcastic knight,” Cobblestone said. She reached out, almost by memory and the sensation of his closeness, and chucked him gently on the shoulder. “I’ll be fine. And I’ll bring her back, too. Now go.”

There was nothing left to say. The tent was empty, except for Sweetie Belle and Cobblestone. Cobblestone turned to look at the other unicorn. “I’m assuming you’re alright with this?” she asked. “I don’t know if this would be like killing you.”

Sweetie Belle shook her head. “It’d be like putting a puzzle piece back into the frame,” she said. “Sure, I lose my individual edges, but this is not what I’m supposed to be.” She inhaled deeply. “So what next?”

Cobblestone wasted no time. She rearranged some of the furs so she could lay nearer to the brazier, and without ceremony, dumped all of the herbs into the fire at once, sending a cloud of smoke through the air, smoke that smelled bitter and earthy and a little spicy. With the tent flap closed and tied shut, the air in the enclosed space became almost sweltering, relieved only by a small opening at the top of the ceiling.

“Now we wait,” Cobblestone said, already feeling the world go fuzzy around the edges. Gods, she had missed this feeling. It was like stepping back into a cloak that was already well broken in. Her teeth buzzed, her mind cleared and expanded, she felt like she was floating. She lay down on the furs, luxuriating in the feel of them, soft against her.

Sweetie Belle’s head bobbed weakly. “Strong stuff,” she said with a cough.

Cobblestone grinned, wide and curling. Already, her headache was diminishing, but the ideas, the plans, they remained as clear as ever. Clearer, even. She reached for her horn, noting that it no longer hurt, only tingled a little. She tried to make eye contact with Sweetie Belle, though it wasn’t strictly necessary.

“I’m going to try and take a look at you with my soulsight,” she said, feeling just as calm as she sounded. “Try to focus on whatever a soulbind is. This might feel strange, are you ready?”

Sweetie Belle nodded. “I’m ready. Good luck.”

Cobblestone drew down her mental defenses, which had been steadily crumbling as it was, and forced as much of herself into her horn as possible. The world beyond the tent became visible, the massive monolith of roiling colored flame that was the Horn of the World looming over her like a judge, and she turned to the spring-green blaze that was her friend, and poured herself into it.

The first thing was the breaking of chains and the clatter of stone, of a damp vault and a massive crystal, a diamond twice her size. There was pain, and the smell of ozone and clay. There was the impression of cold, of lips that did not know how to speak, of legs that did not know how to move. She was like a child, only just born, but knowing she was meant for something greater. A purple face swam into view through just-opened eyes, and the world went black again.

Cobblestone felt herself jerk, and then something new.

The hiss of cooling metal, a screech of protesting ore. A pile of dragon scales and a smelter burning with a pure flame, blue-white. Mostly white. The oil that the sword had been thrust into hissed, and the blade came forth, still bare and unadorned, missing hilt and pommel and those things which would make it whole. It was the black of the space between stars.

A bright moon, the scent of the new-gathered harvest. A tower in the distance and the sound of nearby chanting. The feel of rune-studded robes, the robes of a Magus. A sense of power and righteousness. A sense of a new beginning.

Time had passed, years at least. A castle carved from a mountain, an order founded and a country in the process of being built. An order, acceptance. A farewell to a place that was as familiar as anywhere else in the world.

She jerked again, but Cobblestone kept at it, feeling for the strands of thought that might let her bring it all together.

White towers, a city hanging impossibly from the side of a snow-capped mountain. A grand palace with floors of burnished bronze, polished enough to reflect frescos of heroic deeds long since passed. A fountain square, a statue, three ponies of three races, one of whom was familiar. A secret sealed away in crystal, just as everything had been before.

A new place, a northern place. A crumbling manor, newly rebuilt but still ancient. A small town, hardly more than a mining settlement, but it would one day be rich and beautiful beyond compare. Another statue, three ponies back to back. One held a star in her hooves, and they all guarded another story beneath their hooves.

Cobblestone felt a nagging sense of familiarity, but couldn’t place it. The images came fast now, much too quickly to allow a distraction.

A final statue, long since lost to time, but found once again. The crumbling ruins of a shattered city, gazing out across windswept plains. The ghosts of ancient legions, the dead laughter of a mad and departed god. Another secret. One task, one belonging only to her, done.

One task remaining.

A long search, a hard slog. Permission had been given, a task needed to be completed. This was the way of things. There was a flowering, a ripening, a harvest, a barren time. A flowering again. She wandered leagues in days, searching, preparing nightly for her task. Her destination changed often, but she was patient, she had time.

Finally, in the end of a ripening, it happened. There was a small house, a lake and some lima beans growing. There was a knock at the door, a pause, and then the sound of hooves.

Cobblestone felt flutterings of anticipation and fear that were not entirely her own.

The door opened, a face peered out, blue fur and lined features behind a prismatic mane, faded to pastels and greys. Magenta eyes, aged before their time, the mark of battles long since passed. They narrowed, then widened in surprise.

No. Not you, you died. We mourned you. We-

There is a flash, the pegasus falls back. She enters the cottage, closes the door behind her. She draws a sword, black as night. There is little room to swing it, but there is enough. The pegasus backs up, backs up again. She wears an expression of horror, of confusion. And then, she hits the wall of the cottage.

Do what you have to. It’s time I paid the piper. See you soon, kiddo.

She swings, there’s resistance, and then she has passed it. There is a spray of something warm on her face, soaking into her robes, invisible against the black. There is a beat, and she stares at the sword, not wanting to see what she had wrought.

The sword burns, sullen red flame. It would have been brighter, once upon a time. Time and old wounds had done some of her work for her. She sheathes the sword, turns to look directly at Cobblestone.

Remember this. Remember what I have shown you. Find where Harmony lies.

And then she puts the sword through Cobblestone’s chest, and everything goes black.

Ceiliúradh

There was a blizzard rolling in outside, and that meant cold. But inside the great tent of the thane, the fires burned brightly and warmly, and the shrieking winds outside were hardly noticeable when compared to the sounds of laughter, loud conversation, and the general din that came with any good party.

Vino was not unfamiliar with this sort of atmosphere. Back when he was still a squire, training under Sir Ironhoof, he had been to many a feast and festival under the old knight’s roof, held in the grand hall at his estate. A far cry from the formal dinners and balls that a full grown knight was expected to attend, these feasts of brothers in arms, familiar with one another as a second family, had been full of light, laughter, and cheer. Betimes, when things looked grim or the day had been long, Vino reminisced about those bygone days, feeling strangely old when he did so.

Here was an eerie reminder of those dinners, like a reflection of what he had been part of. A reflection in a flawed mirror, perhaps, but the likeness resembling enough those old feasts. Here two warriors wrestled one another for the amusement of their companions, there two younger members of the band, not yet proper fighters, pelted one another with morsels of food. A flagon of drink was raised, and several more were raised with it, in a clear toast or salute.

Vino said nothing, joined in with none of it. He was not a part of this celebration, though he sat at the table along with the other warriors of the thane’s household, those he judged to probably be the less accomplished or skilled among them. There were a few young bulls he recognized from the hunt today, who nodded at him with something approaching respect, though he could still see the occasional pointed finger, followed by an appropriately hilarious comment, though he could not tell what was being said about him, seeing as he spoke no Taurish.

“The insults are not as bad as you think,” Rota said, following his gaze as another group of warrior bulls seemed to laugh at his expense. “Mostly jokes about your exploits from earlier. Is it true that you ate a caribou heart? Ponies are generally squeamish about that kind of thing.”

Vino flushed at the memory, though the strong beer he had been drinking certainly didn’t help matters. “It was Arctia,” he explained. “She had me convinced it was some kind of ritual, and it would be a deadly insult if I refused. I imagine she and Britha told as many Minotaurs as they could.” He locked eyes with another bull, this one older, who merely grinned, revealing teeth filed to points, and feigned carving something from an invisible beast and offering it to him. Vino gave a weak smile and returned to his supper.

Rota laughed. “I see,” she said. “A joke, then, at your expense. You are, of course, entitled to play one back on her if you chose.”

Vino looked at her in surprise. “I had thought that because she’s a warrior of some kind, and I’m still a slave, I just had to grin and bear it,” he replied. “Are you saying that she wasn’t just being petty?”

“Minotaurs are petty creatures,” Rota said, picking up a slab of caribou meat before ripping off a small piece and chewing carefully. “If the joke in question had been meant to demean you or humiliate you, you would be entitled to demand recompense from Arctia. Even thralls have rights here. And though you are a thrall, you would have been entitled to bring your case to the thane, if you had so desired.”

“What’s the catch?” Vino asked, taking a sip of his beer.

Rota grinned at him, the expression startling on her hawkish face. “To simply bring the matter to the thrall would likely demonstrate that your pride was so fragile that it could be unseated by a simple joke. A better course of action would be to play a better joke. Or, if you wished to make a fight of it, you could challenge her to take back the insult. If she refused, you could press the matter and challenge her to holm-gang.”

Vino thought about that. “That’s twice today I’ve heard of holm-gang,” he said. “I don’t understand. Do Minotaurs challenge one another to duels all the time?”

Rota snorted. “If they challenged their rivals to holm-gang often, then they would get very little done. A holm-gang is not something to be issued likely, and it is not often called for. They are only called for in the face of open insult of the most grievous kind. If one of the thane’s huscarls said that another was not only a poor hunter, but a poor fighter besides, directly to his face, then the other would most likely call him out.”

In fact, two minotaurs in the corner were apparently having a dispute at that very moment. Rota took a moment to observe, as did Vino. The two Minotaurs, both young, drew themselves to their full heights, and began to raise their voices. They were paid mind only by their neighbors, who good-naturedly began to steal food from their plates. The shouting reached a fever pitch, and then one of the Minotaurs simply reared back and slammed his head into the other one’s nose. The other Minotaur dropped like a stone, out cold. The first one proceeded to turn to one side and retch loudly before he, too, passed out.

“You see?” Rota said. “More often than not, there’s a fight, and that’s the end of that. Holm-gang is a more serious undertaking, for deadly insults and grave transgressions, beyond the normal scope of things. It’s also more formal. You could challenge Arctia to holm-gang, but simply striking her in anger would result in your death.”

Vino shook his head. “Minotaurs are strange,” he said. “They’re so callous, but they draw lines over the most unusual things. They aren’t exactly the most civilized of races, but they aren’t, well…”

“Barbarians?” Rota asked with a wry grin. “No, they aren’t. Their ways are strange, and not what most are used to, but they have honor, of a kind, and law.”

Vino sipped at his beer meditatively. “It must be even more unusual for you,” he said, “What with how restrictive Gryphon society can be. Ta’rof is probably an entirely alien concept to these Minotaurs.”

Rota stiffened a little, not meeting his eyes. “It is not only an alien concept to them,” she replied.

Vino frowned, looking at her. “I’d wondered why a Gryphon was this far north,” he mused. “So you’re an outlaw?”

Rota’s mouth twisted into a half-cruel smirk. “An odd choice of words,” she replied. “But yes. An outlaw, in the oldest sense. In the sense that the Minotaurs still hold. I transgressed against Ta’rof, badly enough that I was stripped of my status as a Gryphon and thrust outside of the laws of my kind. I was banished. Any who encounter me, be they followers of Ta’rof, will consider it their duty to kill me on sight. And they will suffer no penalty for this.”

“So you came north?” Vino asked. “This doesn’t seem like the best place for a Gryphon.”

The old Gryphon nodded solemnly. “It was not my first choice,” she replied. “I had stopped in Equestria, before the war. I had hoped to start a life there, but...it was not to be. I flew to the mountains to the north of Equestria and lived there for a while, but then the war came, and I decided it would be best to move on. It took some time, but eventually I found a home among the Minotaurs. It was from them that I learned of the old gods, the gods of sky and snow and stone.”

“And you decided to become a...a priestess?” Vino asked.

“Shaman,” Rota replied calmly. “Priestesses are nothing more than Celestial fanatics. I speak with the gods.”

Vino flushed. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Rota rolled her eyes. “You did not offend me,” she replied. “But should you offend another while you are here, you must stand your ground. Most of the Minotaurs will take an apology as a sign of weakness, and treat you accordingly. Learn that lesson, if you will learn nothing else. You will live more easily in that manner.”

Vino nodded once, assenting to the idea. “Very well,” he said. “But how do I avoid giving offense? I’m still a thrall. I can’t exactly tell anyone who insults me to go take a long walk off of a short cliff.”

Rota thought for a moment. “Try to simply ignore an insult,” she said. “By not responding, you show that you give no importance to those words, because they are false or spoken by one who has not the worth to speak them. If this fails, simply say that they are speaking a falsehood. Avoid calling them cowardly, or insulting their family. Above all, avoid calling any of the male warriors womanish or questioning their masculinity. They will likely kill you on the spot.”

“But this is not so for female warriors,” another voice said. Vino felt his heart sink, and turned his head to see a familiar face, a pony with a coat of blue and mane of braided white. She grinned at him. “Learning our ways, outsider?”

“Arctia,” Rota said, calmly lifting her mug to the pony. “Hail and well-met.”

Arctia bowed, throwing her wings out low to the ground as she did so. “Rota,” she said. “Honored crone. Well-met, indeed. You are looking hale and hearty as ever.”

“Flatterer”, Rota snorted. “I was beyond old when you were first learning to stand.”

“And you shall still be old when I have gone to meet the gods,” Arctia replied. “Surely fate has become too frightened of you to claim you yet.”

“I do not claim to know the will of fate,” Rota said smoothly. “Perhaps I shall meet her tonight. Perhaps a thousand nights from now, or a hundred years. It comes when it comes.”

The pegasus grinned at that. “Perhaps you will scare her off again,” she said. “I think that to be the most likely.” She turned to Vino. “He needs to come with me,” she said. “It is time for him to meet his fate, as well.”

“Meet my fate?” Vino asked. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Arctia looked at him strangely. “Are you dense?” she demanded. “Or are you making a bad joke?”

“It sounds like you’re planning on killing me,” Vino replied. “Or did I misunderstand what you meant by Rota ‘meeting her fate’?”

Rota chuffed out a quick laugh, as Arctia flushed angrily. The Gryphon set down her drink and turned to Vino. “It means something very different,” she said. “Minotaurs believe you meet fate three times in life. Once at birth, once at the beginning of your adulthood, and once at the end of it.”

“You proved yourself an adult,” Arctia said. “When you you made your first kill. So you will be honored as a hunter tonight.”

Vino frowned in perplexion. “I thought I was a thrall,” he said.

Arctia turned to Rota. “You see?” she said. “Honor but no sense. He knows less than a child.”

“Give him time,” Rota replied evenly. “He learns. Perhaps not quickly, but he learns.”

The pegasus shook her head in exasperation, her braids swinging wildly. “It matters not if you are thrall, free, or the thane himself,” she explained. “This is one clan, one family. You proved yourself, so you are honored. You are still a thrall, but that means nothing here. Honestly, to think that we would simply kill you without offense.”

Vino thought quickly. “You are a fierce warrior,” he said, remembering to avoid apologizing. “And I had thought that, with such ferocity, you wished to fight me. I would not wish to miss a chance to test my strength against a huscarl such as you.”

Rota’s mouth fell open, and Arctia’s expression was caught somewhere between amusement and horror, as if radishes had sprouted from his ears. Even a few of the nearby minotaurs more versed in common Eqquish had stopped eating and were giving him uneasy looks.

“Thrall,” Arctia said after a very long moment, “Did you wish to have sex with me?”

Vino felt his knees suddenly go weak and his hooves get sweaty, as he came to the slow realization that he might have said something very foolish. He also noticed for the first time that Arctia, despite her hostile personality and numerous brands and tattoos, was actually a rather attractive mare, and close to him in age.

“Um,” he said, his face flushing. “Well, that wasn’t...not that you aren’t very pretty, I mean beautiful, but…”

Rota leaned over and simply held his mouth closed. “I believe this would be a good opportunity to cease speaking,” she said in a low tone. “Before you say something you truly regret.”

Vino nodded meekly.

“Come,” Arctia said brusquely, turning away from Vino and beginning to walk towards the center of the tent, where several other young minotaurs from the hunt were beginning to congregate. “The ceremony begins soon, and it would not do to be late.”

Vino fell into step beside her. “Arctia,” he said desperately, as they wove through the crowd, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to presume anything, and if I offended you, I sincerely apologize, I don’t care if you see it as weak or not. I just want to tell you that I would never try to-”

Arctia unfurled one of her wings, catching Vino in the face with it. “You are quite handsome,” she said, “Though your lack of a beard makes you look younger than you are. And you are a skilled warrior, and a passable hunter. And your Lady, powerful as she is, took you as a member of her own huscarls. So you must be loyal, and courageous. In other circumstances, I would not hesitate in laying with you.”

Vino felt a blush creeping up his neck as she continued.

“And who knows? The fates are strange, in their own way. There may come a time where circumstances change. But I have my duty to the thane, and you have your duties to your Lady and as a thrall. Until then, I will not lay with you, Vino Hedera. But should fate twist, as it so often does? Then…” She gave him a cheeky grin. “We shall see.”

And with that, they reached the center of the tent. Arctia stepped back into the crowd, though not too far, leaving Vino alone mostly. Alone, that was, except for the dozen or so minotaurs, the surrounding crowd, and, sat once more on his throne and glowering down at Vino in a horribly familiar manner, the thane, Beraz Frosthorn.

The thane, clad in fine woolen clothes, intricately embroidered, looked down at the assembled hunters. His axe, at his side but for now still wrapped in its case, was a stark reminder to Vino that should he misstep, his life could very easily end within moments, regardless of whatever protection Rota was able to afford him, seeing as he was not technically her thrall.

He simply waved a hand in Arctia’s general direction, and she once more took a position at Vino’s side.

“I am to translate,” she murmured to him, and said nothing more.

The thane began to speak in Taurish, the sound loud even over the general noise of the crowd, gesturing to the minotaurs in front of him. Though Vino could not understand him, it was clear that the words he spoke were laden with ceremony.

“The ones you see before you have earned their horns as hunters,” Arctia said in quick, low tones. “They are given the right to fight with the warriors and sit at their tables. They are given the right to take a mate and to accept a proposal to be one in return. And they are given the right to go on raids come the spring. I make to them gifts of sun-seed rings and ice-biting tools.”

The thane gestured to one of the minotaurs standing before him, who proceeded to the thane’s chair and bowed his head. The thane took from a box at his side a band of gold, meant to be worn around a forearm, and gestured for the young bull’s wrist. The bull did as he was bade, extending his wrist, and the thane placed the band around his forearm, bending in to speak a few words that Vino could not hear.

He repeated this process with several other minotaurs, each time speaking into their ears, and each time sending them away with not only a band of gold around their arms, but also a long knife made of good steel. If properly kept, they would likely last the newly minted warriors for many years to come.

Finally, the thane turned to Vino. There was a brief pause, but after this hesitation, the thane extended his hand to Vino, beckoning him forward. Arctia followed, but only to a limit, she remained a short distance from the thane’s seat. Beraz looked at her, and with a pointy-toothed grin, said something in Taurish that Arctia didn’t bother to translate, though she did go a little pale.

He turned to Vino, and his expression was emotionless. When he spoke, it was in perfect, if accented Eqquish.

“Vino of Clan Hedera, protector of the Lady of the Wood and thrall. Low in rank you are, and new to our ways. But you have helped as a thrall should, to their best and without complaint. I will not give you gold or steel this night, as they are not for thralls to keep. But I will give you one honor. As of now, you are a member of my household. You shall sleep in the tents of my thralls and learn their craft. And should you give me more loyal and good service, I swear on the gods that you will be one day free.”

There was a murmur from the assembled guests. Vino felt his knees go weak again. “Thane Beraz,” he said as quietly and respectfully as he could, while still being audible, “Your generosity humbles me. But this is surely too much of an honor for somepony like me?”

Beraz beckoned him closer. Vino ascended the dais, until he was only two steps below the throne. The thane looked at him with the same flat expression, though up close, Vino could discern both a frightening intelligence and a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

“You are right,” the thane said in a low voice. “This honor does not belong to you, boy. I have servants enough. But you are skilled with a blade, and Rota told me to keep you close. This alone would not have swayed me, but Arctia spoke highly of you, and she knows what mettle lies in the hearts of your race. Even this, I would have ignored, but...there have been signs. So be grateful. And should you fail me in your tasks, I shall hang you from the prow of my ice-ship as a warning.”

Vino nodded, gulped slightly, and retreated back down the dais. The party started back up once more, and several of the other thralls stepped forward to congratulate him, some of them the thane’s own servants, When he looked up from the congratulations back to the table he had been sitting at, however, Rota was gone, as was Arctia. Britha, the hunt leader from earlier, made her way towards him through the crowd, several newly minted Taurish warriors at her back.

“Arctia is tending to caribou,” Britha said, in broken Eqquish and an accent thicker than permafrost. “Rota has gone to her tent, sent word that it is not urgent.” She drew a pipe from a nearby fire, and Vino recognized the spicy scent of the herbs used in Dragon’s Kiss. “Here,” she said, swaying slightly. Vino realized that she must have been smoking already. And if the stuff in that pipe was strong enough to make a minotaur feel unsteady, it was potent stuff indeed. “Breathe in.”

Before Vino could protest, Britha blew some of the smoke from the pipe directly into his face. He gasped in surprise, taking in a deep lungful of the smoke before he immediately began to cough. Britha grinned widely. “Good,” she said. “A good breath. Come! You will dine with us, hunt-mate! A long night we have ahead, and you will provide us with much sport.”

Vino felt his head begin to swim, and felt strong hands guiding him to another table, pressing mugs of beer and mead into his hooves. A nagging sense of obligation tugged at him, as if he had forgotten something very important, but the smoke and noise and strange, dizzying sensation of the Kiss made it hard to think. A bowl of milky white liquid was placed in front of him. Belatedly, Vino realized he was supposed to drink it. He picked it up in both hooves, feeling suddenly carefree, and drained it dry.

He spat half of it across the table, much to the enjoyment of his fellow drinkers. “What was that?” he exclaimed. “It tasted rotten!”

“Airag,” Britha explained. “It is...alcohol, yes? Made from milk of caribou. Fermented. Arctia told us to make sure you grew a beard, though she would not say why. This is best way!”

Vino stared at the bowl, at his cup, and at the pipes on the table. Feeling bold, he leaned over one, inhaled, and then drained his cup, tasting the honey-sweet burn of mead. “Another bowl!” he said. The table cheered, and a young bull passed him a much larger bowl of airag. Vino pressed the bowl to his lips, and remembered no more.

Sinsear

Vino woke to the hiss of ice and the sensation of gentle rocking, which did no wonders for his throbbing head and aching joints. After a moment to compose himself, he opened his eyes wide, hoping for a small mercy. The bright light of sunlight refracted and reflected off of ice caused him to close them again with a hiss of pain. There was apparently no mercy to be had here. His mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with dirty cotton, and his belly felt full of burning snakes. He recognized the symptoms of a hangover, though he’d never felt quite this horrible, even after a night of heavy drinking. The swaying underneath him, which he felt sure wasn’t entirely in his head, wasn’t helping matters, either.

He opened his eyes again, this time only a crack, and was rewarded with the sight of a wooden wall, curving up and away from him. His mind, still partially addled by drink, took a moment to realize the wall was in fact a bulkhead, and for a brief moment, he thought he might have been on a riverboat, though the chill wind that seeped into him, even through the blanket, proved otherwise.

He got to his hooves with a groan, opened his eyes a bit more, and blinked in puzzlement. Around him, lines fastened themselves to tackles, canvas snapped, and around him swirled snow blown by a strangely warm wind. The combination of movement and bright light together with the unrelenting swaying of the floor beneath him brought him forward and over to the side of the ship, where he began to immediately retch, expelling the contents of his stomach onto the rapidly moving ice below.

“Morning, sailor!” a cheerful voice from behind him said. Vino spun around to see Cobblestone, a rag tied around her eyes and her horn burning blue, the same shade that he could now see dancing around the ropes. He attempted to ask what was going on, but was cut short when his stomach violently contracted again.

Cobblestone grimaced. “I don’t know why you decided last night was going to be a good night to get sopping drunk, but at least it kept you from asking stupid questions. There’s water in the bottom of the boat.”

Vino, finally having nothing left to throw up, turned to the hold of the boat. It was, as he had expected, an open-air ship, with a single mast and square sail. It swayed back and forth, cradled by two runners on either side that scraped against the ice with a sound like a burning fuse. The ship wasn’t large, but it was moving quickly, and Vino could tell at a glance that it would require only a few crewmembers.

He took a swig from the waterskin that he found in the bottom of the boat. “I didn’t know you knew how to sail,” he croaked, feeling like garbage. “Unless you were a pirate as well as a thief?”

Cobblestone snorted. “I don’t know how to sail,” she said, “But we have two other crewmembers who do.” She pointed to the prow of the ship, where two more figures were huddled.

Vino peered blearily at the pair, and realized that one had to be Rota, clutching her staff, and administering to another pony. “Serale?” he called hopefully. “Is that you?”

The pony in the prow turned around, revealing familiar pretty features, a clear horn, blonde mane, a pair of purple eyes. But the face held no emotion, her mane blew across her face without being pushed aside, her eyes held no glimmer of recognition. His heart sank.

“She’s awake, Vino,” Cobblestone said from behind him, much closer now. “I can see her soul burning in her chest. She just needs a while, she’ll come back to us. But in the meantime, I need somepony to take the tiller.” She indicated the post behind her, cocooned in a azure glow. “I can’t keep the tiller straight, the rigging up, and the wind blowing us for much longer. The only reason I’m not unconscious right now is that I’m still drugged to the gills and using some of the energy from the Horn.”

Vino glanced behind them and saw the monolithic peak behind them, looming over the ice like cold judgement. He shuddered with the cold and looked even closer. Behind them, spread across the ice, were a dozen other shapes, moving towards them. They were gaining.

“They’ve been catching up to us for the past hour,” Cobblestone said quietly. “I managed to get you into the boat with Rota’s help before dawn, and it was about an hour after dawn that we first caught sight of them. There’s probably going to be a fight.”

Vino nodded weakly, tasting bile in his mouth again. “I can help,” he said. “I know sailing like I know fighting.” He limped over to the tiller, taking it in his hooves. “Tighten up the portside lines, the ones on the left, and start shedding ballast. We’ve got about fifty pounds of stuff we don’t need. Dump the water casks first, if they manage to catch us then we won’t need to worry about finding fresh water, and if they don’t, then we’ll have a couple days to figure out where to get more.”

Cobblestone raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t peg you as the sailor type,” she said, as she did as Vino asked. Immediately, the ship began to sway less, and the hissing of the runners climbed in pitch. The hull began to hum as wind flew past it, Vino angling the ship to take full advantage of the stiff breeze Cobblestone was calling up. His head still throbbed, but the brisk wind in his face, tugging at his mane, gave him energy he hadn’t had before.

A crate containing dried meat flew over his head, smashing to splinters on the ice behind him. He set a course for a small dip in the ice, a low canyon formed by a field of rocks, and hoped to put some distance between him and the pursuers, now close enough that Vino could hear war drums echoing strangely on the shifting winds.

“I grew up wanting to be a sailor,” Vino said. “Airships never held much interest to me, but the riverboats carrying Hedera goods always fascinated me. I actually considered taking a commission in the Navy before I decided I wanted to follow in father’s hoofsteps and became a knight.”

“Fascinating,” Cobblestone said. “But we can swap childhood aspirations when we aren’t being chased by bloodthirsty minotaurs and your psychotic pegasus girlfriend.”

“Wait, what?” Vino asked. He set the tiller, which pulled the ropes on the sail taut and locked their course in for the moment, and turned to examine the boats behind him. Sure enough, he could see a few pegasi hovering around the masts of the iceships in the distance, and one of them was an easily identifiable shade of cold blue.

As he watched, the group of pegasi attempted to pull ahead in an arrowhead formation, but they veered off about two hundred yards short of the ship, spreading back out to hover above the iceships once more. One or two of them touched down in the ships, at which point they were replaced by an equivalent number of rested pegasi. Arctia was one of the few who still flew.

“Every time they do that, I can feel the wind almost die. They’re getting better and I can’t hold the wind forever anyway,” Cobblestone said, tossing a few more barrels of water over the side, strewing the ice behind them with barrel staves and a few boxes of what looked like jerky. She tossed a slender band of metal at him, which he almost fumbled, but he managed to hold onto it long enough to see it was a bladeband. “I’d put that on.”

Vino turned back to the tiller after doing so, feeling the metal pulse warmly against his coat. “Keep the wind up as long as you can,” he said. He made a slight adjustment to the iceship’s course, veering towards the dip in the ice and the field of rocks. “I’m going to try to lose them in the rocks ahead.”

Cobblestone froze for a moment. “Are you sure that’’s a good idea?” she asked. “It’s going to be really difficult to escape the minotaurs if all of our bones are broken.”

“I don’t know if you noticed,” Vino said calmly, “Probably not since you’ve been unconscious for the past week, but the minotaurs have bows. And arrows, the size of small spears.”

As if on cue, there was a whistling hiss from overhead, and a large stave of wood, tipped with a cruelly barbed arrowhead, buried itself in the deck, quivering slightly. Cobblestone, though she couldn’t see the arrow, jumped at the sound and vibration. Immediately, she turned to the front of the boat.

“Get down!” she hollered to Serale and Rota. “Stay low, don’t put your heads up. And prepare to get thrown around a bit!”

Rota did as Cobblestone asked, taking the still-sluggish Serale down with her just as another two arrows hissed past, one punching a small hole in the sailcloth while the other landed less than a foot to starboard.

“They’re good shots,” Vino said through gritted teeth as he juked the boat right to avoid yet more arrows. “I saw them hunt. If we can keep moving and keep them from getting a good shot, we run a better chance to maybe wrecking a few boats. They won’t bother chasing us forever if it means losing iceships.”

They entered the rocks at top speed. Vino felt his world narrow to a tunnel as he focused intently on the path ahead. He couldn’t yet see the end of the rocky expanse, but he knew, deep in his gut, that if he could make it to the valley ahead, they would be able to gain a substantial amount of distance. His head sang with pain and the vague fuzziness of drink, and he realized that piloting a ship on skis through a field of stones while hungover and half-drunk was likely to get them all killed, but it was also, somehow, their best option. The bows had ridiculously long ranges and could bring down caribou sprinting a hundred yards off with a skilled archer. The comparatively slow and bulky ship would prove an easy target.

Another arrow, this one on fire, narrowly missed the sail, plunging towards the deck. Cobblestone reacted on instinct, knowing without seeing that the dart meant for her was inbound, and quickly reduced it to ash with a small bolt of lightning from her horn. There was the crack of thunder a moment later, and the quickest whiff of ozone before it was borne away on the wind.

“If you could,” she shouted to Vino as she tossed yet more of the ship’s cargo behind them, “Try and move us around a bit more!”

Vino’s only response was to yank suddenly on the tiller, sending her to the deck as he narrowly avoided a massive low outcropping of stone that he hadn’t seen until the last minute. He was going to get them killed, he thought. This was idiocy of the worst kind, only going to end in terribly painful death. But he kept his grip on the tiller, and swung them backwards and forwards through the jumbled stones as best he could, and every moment still alive was another small success.

The first of the pursuing ships reached the edge of the stones behind them, and tried to emulate Vino’s maneuverings with some success. Unfortunately for the passengers, their ship was not nimble enough, nor was their helmsman skilled enough to avoid the stones for long. With a long, shivering crack, the ship was sheared in two by a particularly pointy rock, spilling its contents onto the ground. Vino heard rather than saw the screaming minotaurs hitting the ice behind them, their cries of pain and panic cut horribly short as they hit more rocks, or worse, were hit by the few iceships who could still pursue their little craft through the rocks.

The iceship barreled down the hill into the canyon like a shot from a rifle, kicking up a trail of snow in their wake. Vino was amazed that the wind that had carried them so far was still at their backs, and though he wasn’t paying Cobblestone much mind, he made a note to commend her later on, regardless of the outcome, on her outstanding spellcasting.

Thunder rumbled overhead, and Vino glanced up for a brief moment. A storm, an actual icestorm, was rolling in from seemingly nowhere. It was heading directly for them, and with it, he could see a black shadow covering the ground ahead. One they were underneath that cloud, he realized, not only would they have to deal with the deadly cold and wind of the storm itself, but they’d have to do it in complete blackness.

“Cobblestone!” he shouted to the apprentice mage, who was tossing the last of the boarding hooks over the side, “Get rid of the storm! I can’t maneuver in that!”

Cobblestone turned back to him. “What storm?” she screamed back as she seized a tightly bound pack of skis and threw them off the port stern. “I’m almost spent keeping the wind up!”

Vino’s heart sank. He looked around desperately for options, finding precious few. They would be out of the depression in the ice soon, back out amongst the rocks. They’d be in bowshot of the few remaining ships unless he could do something daring, and quick. His eyes fell upon the end of the valley, and an impressive rock formation at the head. Quickly, he hit upon an idea.

“Hold tight!” he called, and as soon as they cleared the valley edge, he hauled hard to port on the tiller, causing the runners beneath the ship to skitter dangerously, losing some of their precious speed as he began to carve a divot into the ice. He’d have to conserve as much energy as possible in the turns for this to work. “Cobblestone!” he shouted. “How much energy do you have left?”

“Not much, if you want me useful if they catch up!” she said. “I’ve got another minute at the most.”

That ice storm, which was moving incredibly quickly, would be there well before then, and with it the darkness. The minotaurs would probably be there right about then, or soon after, Vino estimated.

“Right,” he called. “We’re near the end. Give it everything you’ve got, hold nothing back. Can you give me gusts of wind on my mark?”

Cobblestone was quiet for a moment. “I can do that,” she said, finally. “Give me the command, and I can give you a few extra gusts.”

Vino nodded, bringing them back around towards their original point of turning, right before the canyon. He waited until he could see the deep grooves on the ice coming up alongside them before he shouted “Now!” and hauled hard to port on the tiller.

The gust of wind that caught them almost spun them around completely, but Vino kept the tiller steady and strained against the ship’s desire to pirouette. The runners skittered again, leaving another set of rough divots in front of the first, spreading a good forty yards off to the right. Vino immediately tacked diagonally into the wind, preparing them to swing back around in a long loop to conserve energy. As they came back around, Vino waited until they were parallel with the other divots before he hauled to port on the tiller and shouted.

“Again!” he cried, and this time he could see flecks of ice spraying up as the skids dug into the ice, leaving large, jagged holes in them. The ship groaned in warning, and fishtailed as they came back into their next pass. Vino strained as the tiller pushed against his chest, trying to fly free. With a great effort, he kept it true, and they started back into another loop. They sped back across the mouth of the valley, and this time, before they turned and dug another divot, Vino could see three iceships, no more or less, speeding down the valley after them. His heart raced. They might actually be able to survive their pursuit.

He turned them at a shallower angle, taking them back out toward the outcropping of stone. It was their that they’d be most protected from the storm, now mere moments away. The sky began to darken, and Vino could suddenly hear the drums of the minotaurs clearly behind them, a sign that they had freed themselves from the confine of the valley. He checked behind them and saw that they were angling straight for them, two smaller skiffs their size and a larger vessel, atop which was perched Arctia, garbed in armor and furs.

Vino cursed as they sped towards the rock, their skids making an odd growling noise that he supposed must be from the damage they had taken digging the small trenches into the ice. He knew instinctively that they would not be getting anywhere fast on this ship while the rails made that noise. They had one chance at survival.

There was a terrible screeching crack from behind them, and the light vanished just as Vino caught a glimpse of the first iceship hitting the trenches they had dug behind them, causing it to tip onto one side. Shouts of alarm rose from the ship as the skids rattled menacingly, and then, with a dull screech, one of them came loose.

The ship was swallowed up by the darkness just as it listed to port, hull splintering on the ice and crew spilling over the sides with terrified shouts, and Vino felt a thrill of victory as he heard another of the iceships hitting the divots behind them, with a similar cracking noise.

“We did it, Cobblestone!” he cried, turning back around. His eyes widened, and he hauled desperately on the tiller. The ship, finally passing the edge of its endurance, shuddered. A rail came loose from the bottom with a terrible howling crack, and the ship began to spin, no longer balanced on the ice. The rock, which Vino hadn’t paid much mind to, came up fast. Vino had a split second.

“Brace!” he called, letting the now-useless tiller swing wildly. He lunged for Cobblestone, who, surprised, was getting ready to pitch over the side of the ship. He hit her in midair, hoping Rota or Serale could do the same to one another at the bow, and curled around her in a defensive ball. The entwined pair hit the ice hard, and Vino felt something in his shoulder giving away as they skittered across the slick tundra, spinning sickeningly toward a rocky outcropping.

He felt Cobblestone shift, and cry out a few words in a language he didn’t know. There was a rush of warm air, and he felt the ice beneath them melt, and their momentum was cut immediately. The spinning slowed, the skid became a controlled tumble, and Vino, dizzy as he was, closed his eyes until he felt the motion cease. He stumbled to his hooves, wincing in pain. One of his shoulders was definitely sprained or torn. He held out his good hoof to Cobblestone, hauling her to her hooves.

“Are you alright?” he asked. There wasn’t much time, they needed to find a defensible position. He knew that there was at least one iceship that had survived his impromptu rough patch, and that didn’t bode well at the best of times.

Cobblestone nodded. “Serale and Rota,” she said, pointing a short distance away. “They’re over there. I managed to cushion them with a bit of air.”

Sure enough, Vino could see a pair of figures straightening up not twenty paces from him. He left Cobblestone to collect herself, rushing to the elderly Gryphon and the dazed young Lady. “Rota,” he said urgently. “Lady Serale. We need to move quickly. If we find a choke point, I might be able to hold off the survivors from those ships.”

Rota sighed. “Of course,” she grumbled. “I’ll just climb the rocks, shall I? Not like I’m four hundred years old.”

Serale’s eyes met Vino’s. “I…” she said, her voice dreamy and drowsy. “You are...I know you.”

Vino nodded. “I am your knight, Lady Serale.” He checked over his shoulder, our past the long spars of rock that seemed to make something of a natural harbor. Beyond, he could see a large iceship, one that had to carry at least fifty, striking its sails. There was no hurry on its decks, no rush. Vino knew in his gut that Beraz was on board. And Beraz would know, as any hunter, that he’d cornered his prey. He could take his time with them.

He turned back to Serale. “We have to go,” he said. “Lady Serale, assist the Gryphon. We’ll find a place in these rocks to make a stand.”

“Vino!” Cobblestone shouted. She staggered towards him, her blasted eyes peering sightlessly. “I’ve just lost my magic!”

Vino’s shoulders sagged, an action that caused him pain. Dammit, he thought. Damnation and ruination. We’re not going to make it out of this. A thought occurred to him, a thought that turned his stomach. I never took part in the escape attempt. I could run to the thane’s ship. He might spare my life.

He turned to Cobblestone, to Serale and Rota. They’d be defenseless. If he turned them back over to the thane, he’d probably be spared. He might be punished, but even though the thane was a brute, he wasn’t an idiot. He’d have to know that Vino couldn’t have had much to do with an escape attempt if he had been passed out drunk not an hour before. It’d be easy to convince him.

And capture didn’t necessarily mean death or torture for everyone. Hay, with Serale awake, she might be able to argue her case to the thane and protect them all. It could work. The alternative was death, certain death, for him, probably for Cobblestone and Rota. Maybe for Serale, as well.

He sighed. He was only justifying giving up, and he knew it. Not exactly knightly, he thought. And let’s be honest. The thane would probably torture us all to death anyway, if Arctia doesn’t get to us first.

He stared towards the rocky mound ahead, some dim part of him noting its resemblance to some great, hulking beast, crouched against the cold, or perhaps crumpled into an eternal icy slumber. He took a deep breath, thinking as quickly as his pounding head would let him.

“Right,” he said. “Rota, head for that gap up ahead.” He indicated a crack in the stones that would probably shield them all from the elements for a time while also affording cover from the sky. “You’re going to need to lead Cobblestone and Serale, I’ll buy you enough time. Find a place that we can defend.”

Rota stared at him. “You’ll die if you stay here,” she said. “And we soon after.”

Vino shrugged. “We all die eventually,” he said. He squared his shoulders, and with effort, called the bladeband from around his hoof, the steel shimmering a reddish hue as it turned from a simple bracelet to an arming sword. “Go,” he said. “Keep my Lady safe.”

Rota, to her everlasting credit, did not bother with a response. She simply nodded, turned, and began shepherding Serale towards the rocks, while dragging Cobblestone along by the remarkably simple expedient of placing her tail in the blind pony’s mouth.

Vino spared them only a glance before looking towards the ship. He felt a twitch of warning as he watched several minotaurs begin vaulting over the sides, forming ranks in good order. Unsure of what was the cause, he simply flicked the sword up over his head. There was a dreadful clang and a feeling of impact, and Vino heard another one of those massive arrows, fired by a minotaur in the back of the thane’s iceship, clatter to the ice behind him.

He took a step back, moving his sword without thinking once, twice. Two more of the darts were swatted out of the air. Vino felt a strange sort of energy rush along his spine, and there was the odd sensation of candyfloss and cherries and vanilla, and a rush of pearlescent blue fire.

And then a voice spoke to him, a voice that was entirely unfamiliar. It was high pitched, obviously feminine. It bubbled over with abundant cheer, even though the words it spoke were subdued and serious. And oddly enough, Vino felt a grim tugging at his lips, exhausted and injured though he was. He rested one hoof on the ground, and found that though the pain was still there, he was able to somehow ignore it.

Well, look at you! I’d wondered when another one would show up!

Vino’s brow furrowed as he watched a few pegasi take to the skies overhead. He’d finally cracked. He was hearing voices.

That’s not very nice, the voice continued. And you’re a tiny bit too serious for a member of MY family. But hey, sometimes you’ve got to put the toys away, right?

Vino realized he didn’t feel cold at all anymore. He felt good. Really good, actually. He felt like he could jump ten feet in the air and waltz quickly enough to melt the ice beneath his hooves.

It took me awhile to get here, but then you had a party, and anypony who’s anypony knows I don’t miss a party! So let’s you and I show these meanies what a good, old fashioned Pie pounding looks like, huh?

Vino nodded. He snickered, feeling the blood rush underneath his skin, and began to bounce lightly in place. The minotaurs began to advance at a jog. He backed up another step. The rocks around him, fanned out like ribs, made a perfect arena. He’d show these minotaurs what it was to fight a knight of the Evening Kingdom. And if it meant having a bit of fun, then he’d be glad to laugh while doing it.

Prologue

The oldest living mortal in Equestria curled into a ball on the floor of her stone cell, and wished for death to come and claim her. It did not.

Radiant Zenith found the events leading to her incarceration here fuzzy, but the details she did remember manifested without fail in the nightmares she suffered each and every night, slowly chipping away at her psyche just as the hulking brutes that had captured her spent their days chipping away at other parts of her. She remembered teeth and claws, presumably belonging to the Diamond Dogs, and fire. She remembered fear, and a face she had thought dead for four hundred years. Most of all, though, she remembered pain, pain that had not ceased since that fateful night. She remembered that pain every time she raised a hoof to the splintered and blackened horn on her head.

Rhythmic taps made their way down the corridor, and without delay, Radiant Zenith roused herself, teetering on the two unbroken legs she had, and scrambled away from the door. She had only needed to learn that lesson once. Finding a corner, she curled up once more, hoping that the steps would continue by. A hot tear escaped unbidden from the corner of one eye, and she hid it quickly. To show weakness to her captors would only invite further pain.

The steps grew near, stopped. There was the jangle of keys, and a turning in her cell door’s lock. She shuddered, holding her breath. There was a pause, and then the door swung open smoothly on well-oiled hinges. Though she did not know it, the doors in the cells were inspected daily for signs of wear.

Hoofbeats rattled off of the walls as her captor entered the cell, flanked by two bipedal creatures, each covered in reeking fur that was matted and stained with something dark. Radiant Zenith didn’t want to know what it was, but suspected she knew from the coppery tang that lingered on them. Short, brutish muzzles thrust forth from their faces, over which stared two eyes, which glowed faintly amber. They each gripped spears, simple lengths of wood upon which were spearheads of black stone, lashed tightly into place. Radiant Zenith was wary of those spears. They looked crude, but were every bit as sharp as steel.

“Leave us,” the unicorn said. The beasts growled, uneasy and unwilling to obey. The unicorn’s eyes, normally bright and laughing as if at some private joke, flashed dangerously. “I said leave,” he ordered again, his voice hard and cold as flint. The dogs’ ears lay flat, and they slunk from the cell with faint whines. The cell door swung shut behind them, leaving Radiant Zenith and the unicorn in blackness.

A simple gesture of will, and the cell was lit once more by a ball of pale rosy light. Radiant uncurled slowly, examining the pony looking down upon her. Though the white of his coat was tinted by the reddish hue of his magic, the color was faint enough that she could distinguish the bright red in his mane, the green of his eyes, and the white of his coat with little trouble. She shuddered, tried to turn away, only to find her chin held in place by his magic.

“And how are we feeling?” he asked, ignoring her attempts to break his magical grip. He knew she no longer posed a threat to him.
Radiant Zenith attempted to form words and could not, her mouth swollen shut from lack of water. The words that would have normally tumbled forth resolved themselves instead into a pained mumble, forced through shattered teeth and chapped, torn lips. Fearfully, she swallowed, though what she was swallowing she was not sure.

“Ah,” said the unicorn. “I see. Feeling a bit parched, are we? I can fix that.”

The horn on his head flashed once again, and the door opened, a bucket and ladle floating through to layby his side. He carefully filled the ladle, trying not to spill any.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered gently. “I know it’ll be difficult, but try to drink slowly, you don’t want to choke.”

The water tasted of salt and was warm, but to Radiant Zenith in that moment, it was the most wonderful thing she had ever tasted. She would have gulped it down greedily, if she had the strength remaining to tilt her head far forward enough. As it was, she had to content herself with the trickle being fed to her from the ladle.

She emptied the bucket in this way, her throat loosening as the unicorn waited patiently for her to finish each ladle, ensuring she did not drink too much at once or lose out on water still in the basin. Finally, the bucket drained, she slumped to the floor, exhausted.

“Feeling better?” the unicorn asked kindly.

Radiant Zenith nodded once before curling up again, fearful of what fresh new torment awaited her.

“I’ve been ordered to look you over,” the unicorn said again, tossing the red hair of his mane out of one eye as he reached for a satchel on his back. “You’ve been through a lot. We don’t want you dead.”

“Could have fooled me,” Radiant Zenith rasped.

The unicorn laughed, a sound made all the more unnerving by its normality. It was pleasant to listen to, warm and full of good cheer. “I suppose you could see it that way,” he said. “But I assure you, I’m not here to hurt you.”

Radiant Zenith looked at him mistrustfully. “Who are you?” she asked. “I have seen your face before, nearly four hundred years ago. But you are dead now.”

“Tell me,” the unicorn said, unslinging his satchel and laying the contents out on the ground, among them splits, ointments, and bandages, “Have you heard the tale of the Billy Goats Gruff? My tribe used to tell it around our fires, long ago. Uncurl, please.”

Radiant Zenith hesitated for a moment, before lying flat on her side. Disobedience would do her no good. “I have,” she said. “It was an old story long before even I was born. It was about three goats, each bigger and stronger than the last, and a troll.”

The unicorn nodded as he set to work, spreading a foul-smelling paste over her burns and brands that stung like seawater. “Good to know there’s at least one who knows the old stories. Hold still, this might hurt.”

Radiant Zenith screamed, a loud and long wail as the broken bones in her two broken legs knitted themselves back together with a sickening grinding sound. Briefly, she was insensate, her world nothing but red-tinged blackness and pain. But the pain passed, and with it the dark, and she regained her senses to find that her newly-healed legs had been splinted and bound with linen ties. The unicorn had begun applying bandages to other parts of her body as well, along the more serious cuts and abrasions.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” the unicorn asked, his green eyes meeting her own as his horn dimmed. “Anyway, we’re almost done, and then you and I can leave this place.”

“Leave?” Radiant Zenith croaked, tasting copper, her head aching. “To where?”

“The main temple. The one I serve wishes to meet you.”

Radiant Zenith felt certain that this was no mere congenial visit. “Why?” she asked, fear rippling through her voice like a snake through hot sand, “Why does she want to meet me?”

The unicorn tilted his head. “Now, how did you know who I was talking about?” he asked curiously, applying the last of the bandages.

Radiant Zenith frowned. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” she asked. “You’re one of Celestia’s pawns, just like the one who came before you.”

If his first laugh was amused, the stallion’s second laugh was absolutely hysterical, loud and barking off of the stone walls of her cell.
“You think I am in service to Celestia?” he asked, when at last he caught his breath. “Oh, dear. Oh, goodness, I haven’t laughed that well in a long while. No, my dear, I am most assuredly not in service to Celestia. We serve an altogether different master.”

“We?” Radiant Zenith asked. “You and I?”

The stallion chuckled good-naturedly. “No,” he said. “My brothers and I. You asked about who I was? Well, then, let me introduce myself properly. I am the eldest brother of seven, though only six remain. You may call me Primus.”

The night air was stifling over the main island, warm and heavy and bereft of the breeze that had promised to take away some of the oppressive heat that remained here even in the middle of winter. A heavy and short rain had come earlier, and the moonlight reflected off of rivulets of water which still ran down through the rubbery green leaves of the forest canopy, falling below into the rich loam of the earth.

The land here was good for farming, if the marshes surrounding the predominant settlement could be properly drained and the vines kept clear, gestures that met with limited success. The ground here was often wetted with liquid of an entirely different sort, anyway, gathered by the island’s inhabitants from near the bottom of the massive tiered stone pyramid which rose to the sky like a jagged fang, looming oppressively as a symbol of bloodthirsty power over the entire population.

From the pyramid, sprawling out in a jumble of alleyways, towers, stone and wood houses, canals, and other assorted attempts at architecture, stretched a city, confusing and difficult to navigate from below, but appearing geometric from higher vantage points. A few other, smaller pyramids rose from the ground, dedicated to minor deities or prominent nobility, but they paled in significance to the black-stone monstrosity that was the clear master here. It had been constructed first, before even the most rudimentary huts, so its central location was not surprising in the least, and from further out and other islands, it could have been mistaken for a smallish mountain.

It was not far from this pyramid that Radiant Zenith and Primus, accompanied by several guards and priests, emerged, blinking in the starlight, nearly blinded even with a new moon in the sky. Primus had not needed much to prepare him for the trip save a mantle of feathers, subdued in color, but Radiant Zenith had been transformed.

The Dogs, hulking creatures though they were, had somehow managed to come up with a reasonable approximation of clothing for her to wear. A dress of bright red fabric hung off of her skinny frame, though she had been well-fed before leaving the caves, fruit and bread and a heady wine which sent her senses whirling even after half a glass. From her neck dripped stones of such brilliance and size that their sale could have bought a small township, sapphires and diamonds and rubies and many, many black opals. She had been washed and scrubbed, firmly but not to the point of pain. The Dogs had even paid heed to Primus’s admonishments that they not exacerbate her injuries. The last step had been to mark her with some sort of makeup, red dye applied under her eyes and in a straight line from the shattered remnants of her horn to the hollow of her neck.

“We don’t have far to walk,” Primus said gently. “We can take it slowly.”

Radiant Zenith opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it, noticing that their path was lined with Diamond Dogs, from young pups to bitches and their mates, though she noticed there were no elderly among their ranks. There was something different about these Dogs than the ones she was familiar with, scrawny cave-dwellers.

They were large, the Dogs in the gathering crowd, larger than their Equestrian counterparts. Standing erect, they could match Minotaurs for height, and if her memory served, they could, loping on all fours, run down a pony, if they weren’t particularly swift. Radiant Zenith remembered that Dogs’ ferocity and tenacity was outshined only by the proud Gryphons, and while they were not particularly gifted in the ways of magic from birth, something about the arrogance with which certain robed individuals among them carried themselves told her that may no longer be the case. Their homes, ramshackle huts of wood and reeds, and their roads, of carefully-hewn stone, stank with matted fur and perfumes and dyes as well as the ever-present stench of blood, coppery and almost overbearing, making her gag, almost retching up the rich meal she had just had.

As they walked, Radiant Zenith noticed a susurrus of whispers among them in a harsh, guttural tongue, almost like a quiet chant or benediction. She looked behind her to see a tower, curiously engraved with depictions of strange creatures, beings with too many eyes or limbs and giant, gaping maws filled with pointed teeth. Each and every one of them was painted, sometimes partially in red or blue, but always mostly black.

“Come,” said Primus. “They’re waiting near the top of the pyramid.”

Radiant Zenith followed meekly, her sense of unease growing with every step.

The procession wound its way through the streets, the buildings becoming larger and better-made the closer they were to the pyramid. Occasionally, they would cross over a canal via a small bridge or under a walkway connecting two towers, from which were suspended strange mobiles and fetishes of gems and bones and reeds, twisted into likenesses of Dogs and ponies and other things she could not identify. Their way was lit by torches, and soon they approached a courtyard, surrounded on all sides by a vast wall, part enclosure and part fortress. Priests and warriors alike manned the walls, their eyes fixed on her, and one robed Dog raised a conch horn to his lips and blew a long, wavering note as they passed through the gate.

The courtyard was redolent with the reek of fresh gore, and Radiant Zenith saw that the warriors and priests were spattered with blood. An animal cry from above drew her attention, and she saw the limp body of what appeared to be a goat tumble limply down the pyramid steps, landing in a heap below before being dragged away to some forsaken charnel house. Her steps faltered and she came to a halt as a drum began beating steadily, low basso beats that rumbled through the air and the earth and her chest, feeling like a massive heart tolling, circulating the lifeblood of a terrible beast.

“Relax,” said Primus. “The knife is not for you. They do it to honor your coming.”

“I am a prisoner,” Radiant Zenith whispered fearfully, barely audible over the murmuring of the Dogs around them. In all her years of life, she had never seen barbarism ritualized quite like this. “What value do I have to these Dogs?”

“You are a savior to these Dogs,” Primus replied as they reached the base of the pyramid. Together, they ascended the first step, and the murmuring began to grow in volume, becoming a true chant.

As they climbed, leaving the guards behind, Radiant Zenith’s head began to clear, though she had to walk carefully. Blood slicked the steps beneath them, and they were very steep and narrow. The chanting, though louder now, seemed much further away. As they climbed above the city, Radiant Zenith stifled a gasp. She hadn’t realized how massive this place truly was. The city dominated much of an island, one she was reasonably sure was part of an archipelago. Torches burned in the streets, stretching out into the dim distance, where the jungle once more began to hold sway, and in the distance were still more settlements and towns. Ocean, black beneath a dark sky, rippled in every direction she could see past that, interrupted only by the low silhouettes of either clouds or more islands. Before she could see much more, however, they had reached the top, where three priests, bent with age, waited.

One bent to meet her, placing a mantle of brightly colored feathers about her neck. Radiant Zenith tried to focus on him instead of the pit in which blazed a fire that appeared to be fueled primarily by goat hearts. He examined her as he straightened up, nodding to himself as he did.

“She is ready?” the second priest asked, his voice cracked with age.

“As ready as she will ever be,” Primus replied smoothly. “Is the time right?”

“Almost,” the priest replied. “Almost.”

Radiant Zenith looked past him, to what appeared to be some sort of large shrine, a boxlike structure bounded by gold and heavy stones, painted in black with a single door and no windows. It was the size of a modest house, and no larger, though it dominated the top of this pyramid handily enough.

“What…what is in there?” she asked.

“The one I serve, and they worship,” Primus replied. “When the time is right, you will enter alone and meet her.”

“Her?” Radiant Zenith asked.

“Cehualli,” the third priest said, yellowed and rotting fangs exposed in a smile, “Cehualli. You go. Cehualli calls. Go.”

The door in the front of the temple shuddered and opened on its own, and for the briefest moment, Radiant Zenith considered throwing herself from the top of the temple steps and bashing her skull open on the cobblestones below. But some strange combination of fear, curiosity, and…was it excitement? A force compelled her to walk forward, taking tentative steps. Soon enough she was three steps from the threshold, then two, then one, and then, without realizing it, she was inside the shrine, and the door had shut behind her with a rather final-sounding click.

At first, she was completely blind, and she stayed absolutely still, not daring to move. Then, gradually, a light appeared, seeming to emanate from everywhere and nowhere all at once, a pale and shimmering blue light that brightened into shimmering grayness which threw uncertain shadows on the walls, completely unordained. At the far end of the shrine there was a simple throne, chiseled from a single massive block of obsidian, and atop the throne rested the disheveled corpse of what appeared to be a Diamond Dog bitch. At least, it appeared so, until it sat up and opened its eyes, twin orbs of deep and terrifying black.

“Yyyyoooouuuuu…” it hissed. “Ponyyyyy…”

“Who…”Radiant Zenith stammered, her voice quaking as much as her legs, “What are you?”

“Hhhhhate…” it rasped, its words getting shorter and easier to understand. “Death.” It raised a single decrepit claw and pointed to itself. “I…Shhhadowwww…”

Radiant Zenith felt her blood run cold as it stood up from the throne, the finger turned to point at her. “Yyyouuuu…hossssttt…”

And suddenly, the corpse dropped to the floor, a true corpse, as shadow-stuff flowed from it like water, spilling out and up the walls and towards Radiant Zenith, enveloping her scream so it stopped just short of a yelp.

It surrounded her, a terrible feeling of darkness so complete and final that she could scarcely comprehend it, and suddenly it was no longer without her, but within as well, spiraling into her through every opening it could find, even through the shattered remains of her horn, and it was part of her, in her lungs and veins and eyes and mind and…and…and…

The thing that had once been Radiant Zenith sighed and straightened, opening its eyes, no longer soft and caring but twin orbs of deepest black, in which glinted only a hint of dragonlike slitted pupils, soon to fade away. As she walked to the door, ready to hear the admiration of her subjects once more, the Shadow noticed that somewhere, deep within her, the wood-witch was screaming, begging for death to come and take her.

It wouldn’t.

Iomaitheoirí

It was promising to be a bitter winter in Starfall, as could be attested by the drifts of snow piling in the forgotten places of the city, the deep alleyways and old cul-de-sacs that saw little traffic, though the main roads and the more commonly used side streets were, for the moment, clear. The sun was in the process of setting, throwing unusual shadows through the air, off of drifting flakes of snow and slate-gray sheets of clouds that lay over the city like a blanket of lead. They had started snowing two days ago, and if anything, they promised to be heavier before dispersing. Starfall’s river had recently frozen, and it was solid enough to run across, though, of course, it wasn’t recommended.

From the towers of the Regia, the city of Starfall resembled nothing more than a giant cake, covered in frosting of white and the occasional fleck of color which represented a canopy, or perhaps a particularly enterprising individual who had decided to shovel their roof. The castle itself, by contrast, remained dark and almost grim-looking, the monolithic structure resembling more the mountain it had used to be and less the castle Twilight Sparkle had intended for it to become, all those years ago. The towers, four in all, resembled jagged crests or peaks, and the body of the castle seemed to hunch against the cold, different wings and roofs and domes giving the appearance of a sleeping creature, curled up against the biting wind.

The castle had the right idea, thought Twilight Sparkle, its master and the Lady of the Evening Kingdom for four hundred years. It was a fool’s errand to go out on a night like this, save for the greatest of emergencies. Which meant that the brightly colored throngs of ponies threading their way through the front gate of the castle were either foolish or desperate.

Twilight leaned towards the former rather than the latter. Still, she had to put on a good face for it all, it being her daughter’s party they were gathering for.

Daughter. After sixteen years, the word still felt foreign in Twilight’s mouth and ears. Her daughter, who had been the light of her life for the better part of two decades, and who until recently seemed to be nothing more than another mortal, to be loved and then lost and mourned when the time grew right, though Twilight felt that she would grieve far more when she was gone than she had at the funerals of certain friends or family members. Another pony, though a precious one. Nothing more.

And then Serale Harmonia Everstar, after sixteen years of magical inactivity and resigning herself to the fact that she would be no more magical than the stone from which the castle was hewn, had been attacked by a lich of no small power by the name of Nightshade. The resulting fight, if it could even be called that, had resulted in one (temporarily) annihilated lich, a heavily damaged arena, and about two thousand dead and wounded ponies, though those were largely a product of the explosion caused when the lich forced her way into the arena, apparently intent on killing a member of the powerful Hedera family.

The fight had also resulted in the shifting of ley lines, which had resulted in the current abominable weather.

There was a gentle tap on the door to her study, and Twilight Everstar straightened from her window, turned, and called “Come.”

The door opened with a creak, revealing Turquoise, one of Twilight’s most faithful servants. She also happened to be a Changeling, but Twilight no longer discriminated. Currently, the insectile creature was wearing her favored form, that of a snow-white pegasus with blue eyes. She bowed respectfully before speaking in a high, reedy alto voice.

“The guests have begun to arrive, my Lady. Did you wish to greet them yourself, or shall I wear your form for you?” she said, her last words gently teasing. Though the Changeling would do so in a heartbeat, Lady Everstar had never asked of her to wear a form she did not wish to use, and never asked any other Changeling to impersonate her or a member of her House, as some nobles did.

Lady Everstar smiled, and her horn burned with purple fire, causing a dress of fine black velvet to drape itself over her regal form, pleasant to behold but hardened by battle and exercise. Lady Everstar occasionally sparred with the Guards she employed, and while none of them held back as per her orders, the Lady held a record of fifty-two and twelve in single combat without magic. She was also deadly accurate with a rifle and her swordplay was legendary among the ranks of the Duelist’s College, where she occasionally tutored.

The dress itself was slashed through with gold, falling elegantly along her flanks to the floor and reaching up her neck in a high and tight collar. Upon her head rested a crown of bronze, decorated with images of dragons and fire and stars, her personal emblems. Many had speculated about whether or not that crown would one day pass to her daughter, and so far as the public knew, there had not been confirmation one way or the other. As Turquoise watched, Lady Everstar’s hair fashioned itself into a simple braid, lying draped over one shoulder.

She glanced at herself in the mirror, tucking a stray strand of her mane behind one ear, and took a deep breath, a moment of uncertainty that she showed to only a very few, and nodded.

“Very well,” she said, “Lead on.”

“I look ridiculous,” Cobblestone said, looking at herself in the mirror.

I agree, said the black tomcat that rested on her bed. But then, so does every other pony in this hall tonight. Out of all of them, I suppose you look the least ridiculous.

“Was that a complement or an insult?” Cobblestone wondered aloud.

Yes.

She glared at Hob before turning her attention back to herself. The dress she was wearing, the blue one, was hanging all wrong; bunching up near the sleeves and hanging loose near the chest, mostly due to the fact that she couldn’t get the laces done correctly. Her mane, while simple enough, had come loose from the bun in a few areas, and she dreaded the thought of putting makeup on. Reluctantly, she gave another halfhearted tug on the laces of the dress, suppressing a wince of pain as she did so. Her horn wasn’t working properly as of yet, magic only coming in fits and starts, though she was improving with every passing day. It certainly wasn’t precise enough yet to handle something as delicate as tying silk ribbons, which means the process had to be done by hoof.

Except she couldn’t do it by hoof, because every time she raised one higher than her shoulder, crippling pain shot through her forelegs, chest, and back, bolts of fire that reminded her uncomfortably of the black flame she had recently become much too familiar with. Mobility was improving, but it was still slow, far too slow.

Something inside of her snapped, and Cobblestone came to a conclusion.

“Right,” she said, “To Tartarus with the dress. Where are my robes?”

Right side of the wardrobe, Hob said, giving a lazy twitch of his ear. Do be careful, I don’t want to have to call a servant to come and get the wardrobe off of you again.

“I was fine,” Cobblestone snarled as she limped over to the wardrobe, ignoring the pain. “And I was easily able to get the wardrobe off, too. It was one time.”

Most ponies probably never have to pry a wardrobe off of themselves, let alone one big enough to require assistance, Hob mused. How special you must feel.

“Keep it up and I’ll lock you in this wardrobe before I go,” Cobblestone warned as she pulled out the simple black robes, for now without adornment.

I would look at it as a sign of strength, Hob continued. Even maimed as you are, you had power enough to pull down an entire wardrobe.

“Hob!” Cobblestone said sharply, pulling the robes over her body with some difficulty, though not nearly as much as the dress had been. Something about the robes seemed to respond to magical manipulation, at least when it came to donning and doffing them. “That’s enough!”

There was a pause. My apologies, Mistress, Hob said, sounding recalcitrant. I meant merely to tease, not to offend.

Cobblestone had gotten to know the cat well enough in the two weeks she was bedridden to realize he really was sorry. He wouldn’t have called her “Mistress” otherwise.

Wish a single practiced motion, Cobblestone re-coiled her hair, winding it into a tight bun before sticking pins in it, ensuring it wouldn’t move. She focused briefly, harder than she had before, and her horn flashed a bright blue, a few shades shy of teal. She felt the hair stick in place, the adhesive spell working as it should. It would wear off in a few hours, but that was all she would need, and the unnatural sheen it gave her mane would be hidden by her hat, pointed and wide-brimmed.

Cinching the belt tight and placing the hat firmly on her head, she looked over to the mirror. The mare staring back seemed to be costumed well enough to hide the fact that she had been recovering from serious injuries. The off-white of her coat, once resembling dirt, now resembled heavy cream and glowed with health, framing the brown of her eyes, which only the most astute observer would notice never really lingered in the same place for long, always questing for an exit, a potential threat, or an easy mark. An old habit dies hard. Her mane, once ratty and tangled and matted with dirt and other detritus, had gained a color halfway between chestnut and copper, and when loose, it fell in waves stopping just short of curls. Standing erect, she was a striking figure, if not exactly pretty in the conventional sense, but she was tired and sore.

Much better, Hob said, approval in his voice. You look like one that commands respect in her peers, as you should.

“I doubt I’ll get much respect until I earn the right to put runes on this thing,” Cobblestone said, “But I agree that it’ll work for tonight.”

Don’t forget the vial on the dresser, Hob said helpfully. You don’t want to lose control tonight.

Cobblestone limped to the dresser, uncorking the small glass container and downing the entire thing in one go. Inside was a small mixture of painkillers, stimulants, and a potion by the name of Dragon’s Kiss, normally an addictive drug, but in this case the only thing that prevented her from lighting her bed on fire as she slept. Libra had brought it to her earlier with the admonishment that she not use it until she was ready to come down for the party, as the effects of the painkillers would only last for a few hours at best.

The effect was immediate. Cobblestone straightened, feeling the pain leave her, if not the stiffness, and her mind cleared. For a brief moment, she could see brightly colored flames floating through the air, but the visions faded in less than a minute, leaving her feeing clear-headed and optimistic.

Much better, she thought, and with Hob by her side, she trotted out of the door of her room, heading down for the party.

Vino shifted uncomfortably in his dress uniform, the pressed purple wool lying stiff against the gray of his coat and the starched breeches standing rigidly against the wind, creases unbroken until they met the shiny leather boots he wore. The knight’s crest he wore on his epaulets gleamed in the late evening light, as well as the one on the front of his rounded officer’s hat, buckled above his lip. His first medal, a Commendation For Gallantry In The Line Of Duty, commonly known as a Duty Star, glinted on his left breast, attracting a few approving nods from the passing officers he was greeting at the door along with the rest of the guests. He’d be joining them later, once the gates had closed for the night, and was dreading every minute of the conversations he’d be dragged into once he entered the hall.

“Cheer up, lad!” the red-bearded unicorn beside him said, brushing a bit of snow from the green of his Ranger’s dress coat, cheerfully ignoring the rest that was slowly soaking into his black beret. His awards were considerably more numerous than Vino’s own, though he wore them with a bit of discomfort. He clearly wasn’t used to the dress uniform. “It’s only a party, not enemy action!”

“I’d almost prefer the enemy action,” Vino said, his teeth bared in an approximation of a grin as he bowed his head to a passing viscount, the black of his mane whipping in a sudden gust of wind. “I hate this uniform, and I hate public events like this one. I always have.”

“Seems you’d be used to them, being a Hedera and all,” Afi said, not seeming to notice that the driving snow was freezing his beard together. Afi Refrsson, a Ranger recently stationed far to the north, was more than comfortable in the outdoors, and had faced far colder winters than this one, winters that built up in the great mountains of Northern Equestria and then raced down the wide and endless plains of the north to slam into the Everfree with force enough to strip the leaves from the trees overnight and freeze smaller animals into their burrows. The Equestrian government denied that its weather pegasi had anything to do with it, but it yearly reeked of magical interference.

“Well, I’m not,” Vino said, shivering a bit and wondering whether he shouldn’t have brought the heavy woolen overcoat that was part of his winter gear. Doing so had seemed like being over prepared earlier, but now he regretted not having the heavy warmth of the garment with him. “That’s always fallen to my sisters. They love gatherings like this, it gives them a chance to socialize and show off.”

“Will they be arriving soon?” a new voice asked. Seeming to materialize out of nowhere, an imposing figure resolved itself into the Gryphon known as Ahan, his characteristic polearm slung across his back. A few of the assorted guests did a double take. Gryphons often traveled through the Evening Kingdom freely, but they were rare this far north unless attached to a caravan, and even then, they acted as free agents. Ahan wore a specially made uniform, identical to Vino’s own, marking him as a captain in the Evening Guard.

“They’re probably already inside,” Vino said, shifting his weight in order to stave off sore hooves for a while longer. “Aura too. She had business in Court today, so I imagine she simply ordered a change of clothes be brought and dressed herself here.”

“Awfully informal of her,” Afi mused, bowing his head quickly as a fellow Ranger passed, though this one had the doughy look of a long career behind a desk.

Vino nodded thoughtfully. “She looks at these things more like business meetings than anything else. A chance to make allies and find out about her rivals.”

“A prudent practice,” Ahan said. “It has surely helped your House gain and keep the power it has today.”

Vino chose to say nothing, instead opting to greet a young couple, a knight and lady who had stars in their eyes. Newlyweds, he wagered.

“I came to inform you that you are relieved of your post here,” Ahan said. “You may return to the ballroom and enjoy yourself for the evening. The last of the guests are arriving, anyway.”

Vino felt his heart sink. “Joy,” he said. It sounded like he rather meant the opposite.

“And then what happened?” the mare in the pink dress asked, leaning in close. Vino felt his cheeks flush as he caught a whiff of her perfume, smelling overwhelmingly of flowers, specifically overripe roses. She batted her eyelashes. “It must have been terrifying!”

Vino took a sip of his wine, trying to clear the abominable dryness in his throat. “Well,” he said, trying not to meet the eyes of the small crowd of ponies who had managed to corner him against the buffet table, officers and young ladies among them, “I did what we were trained to do under Sir Ironhide. The other fighters and myself formed a line and worked together to keep the dead back until we could find a way to dispose of them for good.”

“Holding the line,” a major with a bristling mustache barked, clapping him on the shoulder with enough force Vino almost dropped his goblet. He could smell the whiskey on the pegasus’s breath, and felt the officer steady himself on his shoulder. How he was drunk not an hour into the party, Vino hadn’t the slightest clue. “Textbook defensive action. Good lad. Why, I remember a campaign down south…”

“But how did you beat them?” another mare interrupted, this one wearing the decorated robes of a scholar at the Royal Archives. She peered at him through her pince-nez, horn flashing as she scribbled notes on a pad of paper Vino was sure she couldn’t have secreted anywhere on her person. “I read that revenants are powerful undead.”

“Um,” he said. “We didn’t really do anything to them. One of the fighters knew some magic, and she used it to…well, she set them on fire. They folded pretty quickly after that.”

“The Cambia?” the mare in pink asked, pressing closer to him. “The one they call Mace? What’s she like? What’s her real name?”

Vino managed to extricate himself from in between the drunken major and the overpoweringly perfumed mare, taking another drink as he did so. “Yes, it was her,” he said. “I didn’t catch her name, but we meet tomorrow to discuss the captaincies, so I’m sure I’ll see her then. She prefers her privacy.”

“Yes, but…”

“Pardon me,” a smooth and commanding voice said, “But I would like to speak with my son.”

The crowd turned to see who had spoken, and parted to reveal a mare, clad in a simple red dress which lay tight against her, her golden mane and icy blue eyes framing a face that still held the beauty it had when she was a younger mare. A small smile revealed no teeth, but there was something very predatory about it to those who knew her well, those numbering very few. This was not a mare who commanded respect, but simply expected it to be there, like the ground beneath her hooves or the air she breathed, its lack not even considered as a possibility.

Aura Hedera had not specified that she wanted to talk alone, but the crowd dispersed in moments, leaving the two of them to enjoy some privacy. Vino wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or frightened by Aura’s presence.

“You were doing well,” she said, “At least until the very end there. Polite, engaging enough, and your shyness is surely a bit endearing to the young mares in the group. The Star looks nice, by the way.”

“Thank you for stepping in,” Vino said dutifully. “They insisted I wear this.”

“Decorations are part of the uniform, Vino,” Aura said, sipping from her goblet. Vino went to do the same, noticing his was empty. He’d downed two during his interrogation, and dinner hadn’t even been served yet. Any more and he’d begin to sway on his hooves.

Vino considered this fact, shrugged, and picked up another from the table behind him, leaving the empty one in its place. It filled up again, seemingly on its own. “It’s still uncomfortable having to answer all of the questions. I did my job, nothing more.”

“Considering that I might very well be dead if you hadn’t,” Aura said contemplatively, “I’m of the mind that it was more than your duty.”

“It was just as much to save my skin as yours,” Vino replied, perhaps a touch moodily.

“And that makes the act any less noble?” Aura asked. “I’m trying to thank you, Vino. We haven’t seen one another since right after the arena, please let’s not fight.”

Vino thought about it, and took the olive branch. “If it means that much to you,” he said slowly, “Then you are welcome. How have you been, Aura?”

She laughed bitterly. “About as well as could be expected. I have been reviewing my actions for the past few years, trying to discover what could have attracted the attention of a necromancer. Especially one who tried to kill me with the young Lady sitting nearly adjacent to me. While I have cleared up a few discrepancies with old accounts, I’ve found nothing. The work…the work keeps me busy, keeps me from thinking about the attack. How about yourself?”

“I’ve been busy filling out the paperwork for transfer to Serale’s personal guard,” Vino said. “There’s more than you’d think there would be. And then there’s been practice, meetings with a few of the other captains, the awards ceremony…I’ve kept busy for the past few weeks. The first official meeting of the captains will be tomorrow. We’ll choose a leader and meet the mages we’ll be working with. The soldiers under us will come the next day. They should have all arrived by tonight, actually. They’ll know one another before me.”

“Will you have time to make it home for Hearth’s Warming?” Aura asked curiously. “I know there’s much to do before you leave, but Grappa and Fern miss you terribly.”

Vino thought. “We leave the day after the Solstice,” he said. “Enough time to spend the holiday here, though not much time afterwards. I should be ready by then.”

Lady Hedera smiled. “Good,” she said, “I’m glad. It’s been a while since you’ve been home.” She drained her goblet before grabbing another. “If you want to stay away from crowds,” she said thoughtfully, “Might I recommend the back right corner? It’s near the servant’s entrance, so you should be safe from more than two or three ponies demanding to hear the life story of the colt who helped save the Lady.”

“Not that she needed saving,” Vino replied with a smile. “But thank you. Do you need to go?”

“I’m afraid I see Lord Bluehide over by the promenade,” Aura said. “If I leave him alone for too long, he’ll start talking to riverboat captains again, which doesn’t bode well. Enjoy the party, son.”

“And you, Aura,” Vino said. He watched her go for a moment, a shark clad in red among a pond of fish, and decided that the far corner was exactly where he wanted to be right now.

Cobblestone was grateful she had chosen the robes to wear, even if they were unmarked. There was simply no way she could have matched the level of preparation most mares here had achieved, no doubt with the help of servants of their own, and though they were few, she could spot a few other ponies like herself, clad in black. Some of them had robes like hers, mostly black, but all of them seemed to have at least one rune.

“I feel underdressed,” she murmured.

Compared to the rest of these peacocks? Hob scoffed, tail flicking lazily. You look fine. None of them have even noticed you.

“Thank the stars for small blessings,” she said. Reaching for a small piece of cheese from her plate, she surreptitiously dropped it to the ground, where Hob set upon it with gusto. He seemed to be perpetually hungry, though he hardly ever complained of it unless he was bored. “And me with a wonderful conversationalist. I might make it through this in one piece.”

You spoke too soon, Hob said. Interlopers approach.

He was, as usual, right about the company. Two unicorn mares, younger than her by a few years and identical in nearly every way, had sidled through the crowd and looked intent on speaking with her. One, a mare in a light blue dress, whispered to the mare that had to be her sister, in green, and both of them giggled before she met Cobblestone’s eyes and smiled at her.

“Hello,” she said kindly, “I’m Fern, and this is Grappa.”

“Cobblestone,” she returned, noting the good stitching of their dresses and the quality of their jewelry, along with the delicate way they held themselves. Obviously wealthy, and very used to it. They would have been prime marks for the stupid and desperate back on the streets of Crescent City, able to afford the best in protective spells. “This is Hob,” she said, indicating the black cat.

“Aww,” cooed Grappa, kneeling to look at him more closely. “He’s so cute!”

“Careful,” Cobblestone cautioned, “He’s not exactly friendly.”

It was at this point that Hob flopped onto his back, exposing the soft fur of his belly as he began to purr softly. Cobblestone glared at him. Really?

I like the attention, Hob claimed. Children their age know how to handle cats.

You’re not a cat, Cobblestone thought back viciously.

“We noticed you standing over here alone,” Fern said as Grappa began to rub Hob’s belly. Hob purred louder. “Are you a new apprentice? You’re awfully old to just be starting.”

“Mama says we’re going to be starting next year, when she can find a tutor,” Grappa said absently. “One who will teach us together.”

“Well,” Cobblestone said uncertainly, “That’s nice. You’ll be working together, then?”

Fern frowned. “No,” she said. “Apprenticeships among mages are more like rivalries. Nothing dangerous, but still really competitive.”

“I’m the better spellcaster,” Grappa said with a smile. “I learned magic first, too.”

Fern stamped a hoof. “But I’m better at potions and enchanting and just about all the book stuff!” she said. “So there!”

“I’m surprised you didn’t know all of this,” Grappa said, straightening up from petting Hob, who seemed put out. “Whoever you’re apprenticed with is going to be competing with you, so you’d better keep an eye out.”

“Well, Magus Libra and I haven’t really had much time to talk about apprenticeship stuff,” Cobblestone said shamefacedly, realizing how inexperienced she must sound.

Fern’s ice blue eyes lit up. “You’re that Cobblestone?” she asked excitedly. “Cobblestone of Crescent City?”

“Everypony who’s anypony has been talking about you,” Grappa said, straightening the front of her gown and brushing a strand of golden mane out of her eyes. “You’re the first apprentice Magus Libra has taken in nearly twenty years.”

Cobblestone felt like she’d been hit by a freight train. “You mean she had an apprentice before?” she asked. “I never knew that.”

“Yeah!” Fern exclaimed. “Ponies still talk about it. She’s kind of infamous for it.”

“What do you mean?” Cobblestone asked. “What happened?”

“One of her last two apprentices died,” Grappa said. “He lost control of a spell and blew himself up right before he was set to become a full-fledged mage.”

“Her other apprentice still won’t speak to her,” Fern said. “I heard that…”

Before she could say any more, however, there came the sound of a horn, mellow and filling the room with its brassy tone. All conversation ceased, and every head turned to the dais, upon which rested a single throne carved of wood and bronze, inlaid with a single silver star.

With a roar of purple flame, the empty dais became occupied with a single pony, dressed in black and wearing a crown of bronze, perched upon her brow like a wreath of fire. Every pony in the hall kneeled in respect, Cobblestone following suit. Even Hob had rolled back over, sitting up attentively.

“Mares and gentlecolts,” Lady Everstar announced, her voice ringing authoritatively out over their heads like a judgement, “I thank you for attending this, the ceremony honoring not only my daughter’s birth, but her decision to commit herself to the cause of peace among nations. In two weeks’ time, she will depart our fair Kingdom for the lands belonging to the Avatar of Dawn, Princess Cadance.”

“Lucky,” Cobblestone heard Fern mutter.

“For now, though, we celebrate Serale and her life. Tonight is a celebration of birth, of choices made and lessons learned and growth, renewal, and so much more.”

A goblet appeared in her hoof, and she raised it. “To Serale!” she cried.

The ponies rose as one, brandishing goblets and plates of food. “To Serale!” they roared.

It was at this that there was another flash of light, and another mare appeared, this one gray of coat and blonde of mane, a horn clear as crystal protruding from her head. The blue of her dress, deep and still like a silent pond, hung well upon her, as befitted a Lady in the house of Everstar. Warm purple eyes swept over the assemblage, and though it looked like she might topple for a moment, she drew herself together and smiled. Serale Everstar stood upon the dais, looking out over the crowd.

Serale’s head spun for a moment, the effects of the spell still lingering, and sparks danced beneath her skin. Two hundred ponies, clad in robes and formal attire and uniforms, stared back at her expectantly. The words she had so carefully chosen seemed to have gotten lost in the teleportation spell, and were presumably wandering around in the Aether, looking for her just as frantically as she was for them. Deciding that they would be late to the party, she opened her mouth and started improvising.

“Friends,” she began, “Friends new and old. Thank you for coming, despite the cold and weather. I can’t express how much this means to me. It is good to see so many familiar faces after the year I spent traveling abroad, and I am filled with regret that I will not see some of you for another year yet, after I depart.”

“But tonight is not the night for that!” she exclaimed, smiling. “You’re here, enjoying one another’s company, and that is all I need to see from you! My heart is filled with gladness, and I cannot wait to speak with those of you who wish to speak. Enjoy the meal, enjoy the drink, and most of all, enjoy yourselves!”

These last words were met with a hearty cheer and healthy applause, as ponies began once more to speak with one another. She let out a sigh of relief.

“A bit over the top,” her mother said, “But well-meaning. You forgot what you were going to say?”

“Completely,” Serale confirmed, meeting her mother’s eye. As soon as she said that, her prepared speech presented itself sheepishly, apologizing for its lateness. She ignored it, focusing instead on the mare in front of her. “It didn’t look too bad?”

Twilight smiled. “You could have fooled me,” she confirmed. “How are you feeling?”

“A little stiff,” Serale admitted. She’d needed her skin repaired after the frostbite had done its work, a danger, apparently, of working with gelid ley lines. “But I’ll manage.”

“If you need to retire,” Lady Everstar said, “Merely alert a servant. They’ll contact me, and we’ll get you to bed. You don’t want to strain yourself so soon.”

Serale rolled her eyes. “I’ll be fine, mother,” she said. “But thank you.”

“And no magic,” Twilight warned her, holding up a warning hoof. “Not yet. I know how impatient you are, but wait a little while longer. I have no desire to fashion a new roof for the ballroom.”

Serale sighed. “Of course, Mother. I don’t think I could manage it, anyway.”

Twilight’s eyes sparkled. “Go,” she said. “Mingle. Seek out friends or whomever you wish. I’m sure many ponies want to speak with you.”

“What about you?” Serale asked.

“I’ll be fine,” Twilight said. “Libra’s on the way with my gift and hers. It’s your party, go and enjoy it.”

Cobblestone silently thanked Serale for finally descending the dais, drawing Fern and Grappa’s attention away from her. She thought they meant well, but they had proven unwilling to speak more about Libra’s apprentice, instead pestering her with questions about her life as a thief. Grappa had wanted to know if she had ever killed anypony, a question she found both ghoulish and difficult to answer.

Silently, she made her way along the back wall of the ballroom, using every trick she knew to hide in plain sight from any pony who looked remotely interested in talking with her. A corner near the back looked more or less deserted, so she plotted a course. It was far away from the dais, meaning Serale probably wouldn’t find her, but Cobblestone didn’t particularly want to attract attention to herself by getting near the guest of honor.

“You’re escaping, too?” a pleasant baritone voice said, and Cobblestone turned to see who was speaking. A colt with a gray coat and black mane, in a sharply pressed uniform, watched her, amused. “I don’t blame you. These gatherings can get a bit…”

“Hectic?” Cobblestone completed.

“I was going to say ‘completely insane’, but I suppose that works,” he said.” He peered at her, her face half-obscured by the brim of her hat. “Hold on. Don’t I know you?”

Now that he mentioned it, Cobblestone thought he looked familiar.

“From the dinner!” they both exclaimed at the same time.

He grinned. “Vino Hedera,” he said by way of reintroduction.

“Cobblestone,” she said, offering a hoof. He reached to bow over it, but she grabbed his hoof instead, giving it a firm shake. “Don’t bother with the bowing,” she said. “I’m no lady.”

Vino raised an eyebrow. “So I see,” he said. “You’re an apprentice mage? A new one, too.”

Cobblestone nodded. “Apparently blank robes are a conversation piece,” she said. “I just got finished talking to two fillies who wanted to know all about me. Twins.”

Vino grinned. “Blonde hair and blue eyes?” he asked. “One a gossip and one who immediately wanted to pet your cat?”

Cobblestone’s eyes widened in surprise. “You know them. Friends of yours?”

“Stepsisters,” Vino said. “Grappa and Fern are my father’s children by my stepmother.”

“Let me guess,” Cobblestone said. “Your mother is Lady Hedera?”

Vino grinned ruefully. “Got it in one. I take it you met her? She can be a bit…intimidating.”

He doesn’t know the half of it, Hob commented.

Hush, Cobblestone thought back. “We’ve met before. I was sitting next to her in the box at the…well, you were there.”

Vino’s grin vanished. “That was you?” he asked. “The one who held off the necromancer while Lady Serale finished her off?”

“Not one of my better ideas,” Cobblestone said, remembering phantom flames on her skin. “But yes. That’s why I’m avoiding ponies, so I don’t have to answer questions about it.”

“You’re doing a bang up job,” Vino said. “Does that cat keep you good company?”

“Hob?” Cobblestone asked. “He’s a bit of a pain, but I like having him around.”

“He’s remarkably well behaved, for a cat,” Vino remarked, leaning in to inspect him. Hob responded with a low growl, the hair on his back beginning to stand up. Vino backed away. “I don’t have my stepsister’s way with animals,” he remarked.

“She’s the first one I’ve seen him do more than tolerate,” Cobblestone said.

If you wanted to rub my belly, Hob said, All you had to do was ask.

And you’d have said yes? Cobblestone asked.

Of course not.

“It’s strange,” Vino said. “I’m not normally this comfortable chatting with complete strangers.”

Cobblestone nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right,” she said. “It’s like we’ve known each other for years, isn’t it?”

“I don’t mind,” Vino said. “Here, let’s do this. You talk about anything other than how I got this damned medal, and I’ll talk about anything except that apprenticeship and the necromancer.”

“It’s like you read my mind,” Cobblestone said with a smile.

Serale was beginning to regret exiting the dais. She had thought she was prepared for the crowds, even after the incident in the arena, but the questions came without end, some different, but the majority were depressingly similar.

How did you call on the ley lines? Is that why you can’t use magic in public? What was it like facing down the necromancer? Are you sure you want to go visit the other Courts? Are you scared of Celestia? Did you really lose control of your magic, or was it the necromancer who caused the explosion?

That last one she found particularly galling, and it hadn’t even been her facing Nightshade, at least not until the very end, anyway. And of course she was terrified of Celestia, but she wouldn’t show it. She composed herself, answered the questions to the best of her ability and in a pleasant manner, and played the role of the gracious host. At least, until one unfortunate baron asked a question he probably should not have.

“Is it true, Lady Serale, that the mare keeping you company in the box was nothing more than a common thief? I’d thought she was in a jail, where she belongs.”

The question caught her off guard, and was considerably more rude than it needed to be, but that was certainly no excuse for what happened next.

“Well, Lord Horatio,” she said, her smile dangerously sweet and her voice calm and measured, “They say you can judge a mare by the company she keeps.” She could feel the ponies around her stiffening as she leaned forward perhaps a bit more than was necessary, her smile growing to show a few more teeth than was entirely appropriate.

“So I am now asking myself why I am not speaking to the mare that saved my life and the lives of countless others and am instead speaking to you, you pestilent, pompous, pox-ridden prat. Cobblestone, in the course of a month, showed me more loyalty and strength of character than I have seen from you or yours in a lifetime, and aside from being a good friend of mine, it is thanks to her timely intervention that I am currently standing here wasting my breath on you.”

Lord Horatio had turned a curious mix of mottled pink and white, spluttering around the red fuzz he claimed was a mustache, as Serale continued to dismantle him in front of his peers, keeping a pleasant tone while she did so.

“As for your question about her criminal past and incarceration, they are both true, though she as a thief held more honor and drive than I could see in five of you, and was ten times more useful. Suffice it to say, Lord Horatio, that should you attempt to once again slander her and I hear word of it, I shall renew my mother’s old practice of allowing duels between citizens, and offer her the chance to claim satisfaction. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

Lord Horatio had now turned a curious shade of green at the thought of a duel with what he surely imagined to be a terrifying mare with a propensity for knives, as he nodded shakily.

“Good!” Serale chirped cheerfully. “Please, have a good night, Lord Horatio. Enjoy the party!”

She watched as the rotund stallion staggered away as if he had been beaten around the head, feeling an immense sense of satisfaction as she did so. She turned to the surrounding ponies, who all appeared to be holding their breaths. “Are there any more questions about my friend that I can address?” she asked brightly. None appeared to be forthcoming. “Alright then!” she said. “If you’ll excuse me, I could use a drink.”

Before she could get to the table, however, the horn sounded once again. She cursed silently, making her way back to the dais. Ascending the stairs, she took her place by her mother’s side and waited for other ponies to settle down.

“Was castigating Lord Horatio really necessary?” her mother asked, not entirely disapprovingly. “I’ve always thought him a bit pompous, but you didn’t need to take all the wind out of his sails.”

“It’s my party,” Serale said quietly, “And I’ll do as I damned well please.”

Twilight looked at her, a bit discomfited. Serale had always had a bit of a temper, but what she had just seen was something else entirely, and more than a little savage. “Are you feeling alright?” she asked.

“Actually,” Serale said as the last ponies settled down, “I haven’t felt this good in weeks.”

“Assembled guests!” Lady Twilight said brightly, fixing a smile to her face. “It is now time to present my daughter with her gifts!”

Serale stood and smiled, pushing the wild exultation she felt back down. Something about it was very unusual, and this was not the right place to let it roam free. She focused her eyes on the pile of potential gifts on the low table in the back, most of which were to be opened after guests had left the party. The ones from family, however, were to be presented with all in attendance there to witness. It had been a strange mixture of embarrassing and exciting for her when she was little, doubly so because she could not use magic and avoided the public eye as much as she could, but for the first time, she no longer felt that fear.

Her mother focused, her horn lighting up, and Serale felt a small pang of jealousy that she could not use her powers here. The thought fled her mind as, with a flash, a pendant appeared in the air. Serale’s eyes widened. Suspended in a disk of bronze was a diamond, flawlessly cut and shimmering with the colors of the rainbow. Etched into the disk were what must have been a thousand runes, forming intricate lines and geometric shapes that flowed into one another seamlessly. It was a work of breathtaking intricacy and skill, beyond priceless. Serale knew without doubt that this was her mother’s personal work.

“Serale has only ever shown her power once, and then only to protect the lives of those around her. But her power is the power of the ley, and that cannot be easily controlled. This is more than a simple trinket.”

The pendant fit over her neck, and Serale felt a strange tugging sensation, as if something was being drawn from her. The pendant pressed hard against her chest, before the sensation vanished and it hung loose, as it should.

“Try to use your magic,” her mother suggested in a low tone, winking.

Serale’s heart raced, and she cast about for something to grab. Seeing a cup on the table of drinks, she reached for it instinctively. Her horn flared into brilliant green light, and the ponies in front of her flinched, fearful of what would happen next. The goblet rose into the air, soaring gracefully above the crowd, wobbling only a little in her excitement. Reaching out with one hoof, she grabbed it and took a sip.

“This is my gift to you, Serale,” her mother said. “Control, until you can learn it yourself.”

Serale’s eyes welled with tears as she set the cup down and, decorum forgotten, threw her hooves around her mother’s neck in an embrace. “Thank you,” she whispered as ponies began to applaud. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” her mother muttered back, “There’s more.”

Serale pulled away, confused. “More?” she asked.

Twilight held up a hoof to the crowd. “I fear you were all deceived in your reason for coming here tonight,” she said with a grin. “This celebration is not for Serale’s birthday and decision to act as diplomat.”

There were confused murmurs and sideways glances from the crowd. Serale looked at her mother, confused. Thoughts of crossbow bolts and massacred nobles filled her mind, unbidden. Twilight stepped back, and with a pop, Magus Libra appeared, holding a parcel in her magical grip, wearing her robes of office.

Embroidered with runes in silver, and wearing a stole of blue and a belted sword, the only guest allowed to go armed, she cut an imposing figure, and the crowd soon hushed, though perhaps not as swiftly as they had for Lady Everstar.

“Serale needs to learn control,” Libra said. “Throughout the years I have coached her, helped her to awaken her dormant abilities.” This was technically true, though Libra neglected to mention that her coaching had yielded depressingly little.

“After seeing the great potential Serale has, I have agreed, at the behest of my Lady, to offer her the opportunity to apprentice under me.” Libra turned to her, the wrappings of the bundle falling away to reveal a set of familiar-looking black robes.

“Serale Everstar, will you accept a position as my apprentice?” Libra asked with a smile on her face.

Serale stood stunned, rooted to the spot as though her legs had turned to stone. She thought for a moment she might faint. She opened her mouth, words failing her for the second time that evening. What came out was considerably less eloquent than she might have wanted.

“Yes,” she croaked. “Yes, I will.”

Libra beamed at her, and the crowd erupted into applause once more as the robes lifted themselves into the air, settling over her in billows of black. Serale grinned, suddenly able to move once more, and stepped forward to embrace the mare who was both her oldest friend, and now, her teacher.

Cobblestone stood, stunned, as the robes wrapped themselves around Serale. She knew she should feel happy for her, but all she could think of, all she could hear, was Fern’s voice.

Apprenticeships among mages are more like rivalries.

And then, in Grappa’s voice,

One of her last two apprentices died.

Go n eiri an bothar leat!

“Do you think it’s going to be safe getting Lady Serale to the airship field from here?” Vino asked Captain Fidelis, looking down from the parapets of the Regia to the streets below. Below him, several loose throngs of ponies gathered near the castle gates, voices raised and their hooves holding signs, demanding that the daughter of Lady Everstar be tried for her role in the massacre at the arena.

“I’ve put in a request for another two platoons of Guards to get us out of the gate, and we should be rendezvousing with regular Army types once we’re clear of the castle proper,” Fidelis replied. “Speaking of Guards, shouldn’t you be getting yours ready?”

Vino snorted. “I’ve been running them hard the past week,” he said. “They’ve been packed and ready to go since four this morning.”

“That can’t have made you many friends,” Fidelis mused, scratching his chin. A gust of wind caught the pepper-gray of his mane, and he shivered. “You’ve been careful to make them realize you’re not doing it out of any sort of malice?”

Vino thought about it. The last week had been a hard one, both for him and his ponies. They’d been pushed hard, up before dawn and stumbling back in from practice after dark. He’d drilled them again and again on what they’d need to be learning, and they were beginning to show signs of working together as a team. As he had gotten to know them, he’d realized exactly what kind of group they were. In each other, his Guards recognized kindred spirits, a kind of familiarity, not particularly well-suited for Army life, but determined to make the best of it.

“Fireball and Pillar both show signs of becoming good NCOs,” Vino said slowly. “But Fireball’s too impulsive and Pillar’s young. There’s the making of a good sergeant in him, but he’s too inexperienced. I’ve had to run the group as less of a captain and as more of a sergeant, more hooves-on than I’d like. I hope that came across as having their best interests at heart.”

“You’re the one who busted Fireball back down to corporal,” Fidelis replied. “Do you regret the decision?”

“Not for a moment,” Vino replied. “She’d gotten it too early anyway. Did you know she’s been in the service less than three years? She should have been in the scouts or the Rangers, not the regular Army, let alone the Guard.”

“I happen to agree,” Fidelis said. “She’s a good soldier, Vino. A good head on her shoulders, handy with a weapon, but not much for keeping the chain of command. If she learns that, she’ll be a damn good non-commissioned officer.”

“The rest aren’t much to complain about,” Vino said. “Privates Moon and Goldenrod haven’t been enjoying the physical training. Apparently their last assignment was garrison duty, and their commander was lax about keeping his Guards in shape. I’ve had to discipline Goldenrod more than once, but he’s learning.”

There was a roar from the crowd below the walls, as what appeared to be a ringleader began to exhort the protesters into a greater frenzy. Though the words were lost on the wind, it was apparent to any observer what the general mood outside was. But for all the noise and anger, there was no move towards the gates of the castle, nor any action against the officers of the law who were keeping an eye on the protest. Vino felt an odd stirring of pride at that.

“That’s the difference between us and those Equestrian types,” Fidelis said. “Remember that when we head out, captain. Ours might not be a perfect society, but it belongs to the common pony. Equestria’s a manufactured paradise, and the only reason you’ll not see dissent there is because they’ve gotten very good at stamping it out. Have you ever been to Equestria proper?”

Vino shook his head. “I’ve been meaning to go,” he said. “Before getting this assignment, I considered taking a visit to some of the Hedera lands around Appleoosa or High Hoof. It never panned out.”

“Be careful,” Fidelis replied. “Equestria isn’t exactly what it appears to be, and Celestia hasn’t forgotten or forgiven the drubbing Lady Everstar gave her way back when, never mind we’ve got her on the back hoof now. Ask Afi sometime about his time on the borders. It may be peacetime now, but sometimes you start to wonder.” He took a breath of winter air, and narrowed his eyes. “I suggest you find your ponies,” he said. “We leave in an hour.”

Vino nodded and began the walk back to the gatehouse as the great clock out in the city began its chime of the eleventh hour of the morning.

“Let’s go!” Kore snarled, the limp black of her mane clinging to her face in the wind, mouth contorted in a snarl far more twisted than would normally be given by her scar. “If any one of you worthless maggots holds us up on our way out, I will personally ensure you are pulling the damn airship to Dawndale!”

The ten ponies under her command, looking miserable as only enlistees could be, scrambled to get their packs and kit organized. Normally, they would be traveling much lighter, but there were certain supplies, such as regulation boot polish and field rations, that they would not have access to in the lands of Cadance and Celestia. The next opportunity they’d have for resupply was in Astropolis, in six months’ time or more.

The green of her eyes met Vino’s as he passed, and narrowed. “Keep walking, Hedera! You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up this late!”
Vino didn’t bother correcting Kore, who had begun preparing her soldiers at eight. Vino noticed that the other four barracks were in similar disarray, his included, and he felt anger coiling in the pit of his stomach. He’d woken his ponies at four in the morning to ensure they’d be ready to go on time, and they looked to be as unready as they had been before sunup, though he’d personally overseen the packing.

A familiar face poked its head out of the barracks door, and Corporal Fireball’s face lit up. “Captain Hedera, sir!” she called, scrambling out of the door and snapping a hasty salute, which Vino returned. “Our mage just showed up!”

“Well, it’s about time!” Vino said, surprised. “Why in Tartarus is the barracks a mess?”

“He had some kind of enchantment on his bags, sir,” Fireball said, fiddling with the collar of her uniform. “We’re still packed. All the junk you see on the ground is his, we’ve been trying to get him repacked.”

Vino’s eyes boggled. On the ground in front of him he could see two telescopes, a dented cauldron, several bandoliers of potions and ointments, what appeared to be half of a mattress, and a small moppet doll covered in red painted runes, which both worried and intrigued him.

“How does he expect to carry all of this?” Vino asked.

Fireball cleared her throat nervously, running a hoof through her fiery mane in agitation. “Like I said, sir, he’s got some kind of enchantment on his bags. They supposedly hold more than they should, but the problem is that once you get them closed, they fling themselves back open and spill everything out again.”

“I can make it fit, I swear!” a nervous, reedy voice shouted from inside the barracks. “Just remove the boom hook and fold it in half!”

“It doesn’t fold that way!” another, deeper voice retorted. Vino recognized this as belonging to Goldenrod, the pony who’d commented on Vino’s lack of experience when they first met. “It folds up near you!”

“No, no!” the first voice replied. “You have to remove the hook, then it folds.”

Vino entered the barracks, blinking as his eyes adjusted, and tilted his head in confusion. What seemed to be a small crane was being shoved into a black doctor’s valise, disappearing into the void it appeared to contain. Privates Moon and Astra were struggling with another piece of luggage, a small wooden chest, which was bulging in such a way that Vino’s eyes started to cross.

Private Moon noticed Vino and tried to go to attention, which nearly proved disastrous. The young unicorn threw his bulk back over the lid of the chest, resembling a yellow blanket as much as anything else, as the lid appeared to try to spring open.

“Stay down, damn you!” Astra hollered at the wooden box, her voice tight with frustration, betraying a rare bit of emotion. She kicked at it ineffectually, not noticing Vino pass by, and the box’s efforts seemed to subside.

“Corporal Fireball, please go assist Privates Astra and Moon,” Vino said. “Just keep that thing closed until I can talk to our mage.”

Fireball nodded and shot off towards the chest, hurling herself bodily at the thing as she attempted to pin it to the ground. Vino approached the mage, tapping him on the shoulder politely. The mage appeared not to notice him for a moment, trying to shove the construction equipment into his valise before turning around to meet his eyes.

The mage, wearing the distinctive black robe of his order, spangled with runes, grinned at him, blue eyes blinking behind thick, horn-rimmed glasses. The brown of his coat was patterned oddly, bleached in some spots and burnt in others, clearly the result of potion accidents, and his blonde mane was likewise burned and tangled, some spots having been roughly cut away to preserve a semblance of order. He extended a hoof.

“Sir Vino of Hedera!” he exclaimed brightly. “Pleased to finally meet you! Sorry I’ve been late, I’ve had to close out accounts here in the city before I could make it over.”

Vino took it, not wanting to seem impolite. “The pleasure’s mine, mister…?”

“Ceres,” the unicorn replied, pumping his hoof vigorously. “Ceres ex Anima. It sure is exciting to be setting off with you all! I’d considered a career in the Army before I was selected for an apprenticeship.”

Vino nodded, steering them over to an isolated corner as he continued to chatter about absolutely nothing important, noting that his Guards were, indeed, packed. Finally, he held up a hoof, cutting Ceres’ chatter off. “Might I ask you something?” he asked professionally. “What exactly is all…this?” He waved a hoof, managing to encompass all the equipment and simultaneously inquire as to its purpose.

“It’s for my work!” Ceres said animatedly. “I’m conducting research into eight-folded dimensional spellcasting and its effects on…”

Vino held up a hoof, forestalling him. “If it isn’t directly related to your spellcasting abilities or survival gear, it stays behind,” he said firmly. “Grimoires, alchemical ingredients you know you can’t get abroad, that can come. But I will not have the ponies under my command lugging around a full laboratory. Whatever research you’re doing, it’s on hold. You should have known that coming in.”

“But..” Ceres spluttered, “But..”

“Have Private Corium assist you in cataloguing what you do and do not need,” Vino said. “No more than would fit in a standard-issue rucksack. These will be staying behind. Leave a forwarding address for them or fill out a storage form so the Guard can keep your equipment in trust until your return. There should be some in the cabinet by the door.”

Ceres had turned a peculiar shade of greenish-white. Vino ignored him. “Private Corium!” he shouted. The beleaguered private, collar undone and mustache askew, rushed forward, standing at attention. “Assist Mister Animus in reducing his collection,” Vino said. “He’s got a rucksack to fill, help him pack it, too. Don’t let him forget things like spare clothing, he’s going to need it in the field.”

The private nodded, his close-cropped black mane slick with sweat. He led Ceres away, talking animatedly to him in a low tone. Vino took a deep breath, and bellowed “Don’t bother packing, just move the junk to the side of the barracks! Make sure your kit is squared, check your rifles and ammunition, but do not load! I want those of you not involved in assisting the mage outside in fifteen! Get a move on!”

Vino made his way to the back of the barracks, to what was supposed to be his office, though he’d spent maybe a few hours there over the entire course of the week, running between the Guard headquarters to requisition materials and the practice field with his squad. The week had passed into a whirlwind of paperwork, exercise, and endless drill and instruction, from proper medical treatment, past first aid, to cartology, survival tactics, and even dress and appearance. The Guard had slightly different uniforms from the Army, just enough to make things tricky, and several of the 4th Rifles hadn’t known about the regulations.

Gradually, the 4th had become a tight-knit group, though there were still kinks to be ironed out. They had no heavy weapons, a single scout in Private Astra, and their fire discipline left much to be desired. But they were accurate, responded well to orders, and Vino had noticed that so long as they had a good leader at the helm, they had no difficulties getting things done. The ponies of the 4th Rifles knew their trade.

Vino opened the door to his office, and was much perturbed to find somepony already occupying it. Slowly he closed the door behind him, suddenly very much on guard. “Hello, Aura,” he said quietly.

“Vino,” the mare said pleasantly. “I take it you’re getting ready to leave?” She stood, vacating the chair behind his desk. Her eyes, icy blue, met his, and widened in surprise to match his own. “You didn’t know I was coming. Oh, dear. Is this a bad time? I noticed things seemed a bit hectic out there when I first arrived, something to do with that mage.”

“No,” Vino managed to get out, “It’s fine. Did you send a message ahead? It might not have gotten through the post office in time.”

“I asked one of your Guards to let you know when you arrived,” Aura said, brushing a golden lock of mane out of her eye. “I brought your armor, it just got back from the smith.” She pointed into the corner of the room, and sure enough, there on a stand that had certainly not been there before, was his armor. The helmet looked good as new, too, and his bladeband was displayed prominently next to it..

“Thank you,” Vino said cautiously. “It’s good to have it back, I’d thought I would need to leave without it.” He reached for one of the greaves, but Aura grabbed it before he could.

“Here,” she said hesitantly. “Let me. I used to help your father with his own armor…before.”

Vino said nothing, merely removing his coat and pulling on the leather jerkin. He stood still as Aura began to buckle on the pieces of his armor, securing them much more efficiently and tightly than he could manage alone. What would have been the work of a good fifteen minutes was going to pass in less than ten.

“Grappa and Fern missed you at Hearth’s Warming,” she said quietly, and Vino felt a pang of guilt. “They understood, of course, you have duties to attend to.”

Not many celebrated the holiday of Hearth’s Warming except for the royal family and a few older Houses, so Vino had almost forgotten the approaching holiday until the day it had arrived. But he’d a job to do, and ponies to train. It didn’t help the small tendrils of guilt uncoiling in his chest, squeezing his heart.

“I’m sorry,” he said, meaning it. “I just couldn’t make it.” It was mostly the truth. If he’d really wanted to, he could have requested a day off. It wouldn’t have been begrudged him. But the thought of another holiday in the empty ancestral house of the Hederas did not appeal to him in the slightest.

Aura fitted the breastplate to his front, drawing the straps tight, but not so tight it bit into his chest. “It’s fine, really,” she said calmly. “Just making conversation. It’s going to be a while before I can speak to you again directly.”

“I can give you a mirror call when we get to Dawndale,” Vino said. “I meant to do that before we left today, anyway.”

“I thought as much,” Aura said, buckling his gorget into place. Vino caught whiff of roses as she leaned in, fiddling with a strap, and almost caught himself leaning forward a little as she fastened the buckle with deft, businesslike movements. She drew away, grabbing his helmet. Vino shook himself, disturbed by his reaction.

Vino tested the armor, rolling his shoulders and bending his knees, making sure he had the mobility he needed. Satisfied, he reached for his pack, but Aura stopped him again. She grabbed a package wrapped in golden foil from the desk, and offered it to him. “Happy Hearth’s Warming,” she said with a smile. “From all of us at home to you.”

Vino looked at the package curiously, and unwrapped it with a few swift movements. Dark green cloth coiled to the floor, revealing broad swathes of white vines and leaves. Vino, realizing what it was, picked it up, admiring the three-leaved crest of his family embroidered in gold.

“This tabard is similar to the one your father used during his service,” Aura said fondly. “His is hanging up in the House, of course, but it’s high time the Hedera colors showed themselves in defense of the Kingdom again.” Quickly, she draped it over his head, and by the time Vino had extricated his head from the fabric, she had belted it into place. “There,” she said, stepping back. “It suits you well.”

Vino, stunned, searched for words. “Thank you,” he said after a moment. “This means a lot to me.”

Aura looked at him with pride in her eyes. “Your service means much to our House, Vino,” she said. “We are traders, yes, but never forget that our first legacy was as warriors. I might not have been born into your House, but I respect it. I just wish that you would show the same pride in it that I feel.”

Vino reached for his bladeband, buckling it on, and slung his pack, feeling the reassuring weight. “I’ll do my best for my House and my country,” he said. “And…for what it’s worth, I’ll write, too. Frequently, as frequently as I can.”

Aura smiled. “That’s wonderful,” she said, her voice warm and supportive. “I’m sure Grappa and Fern will appreciate it, too.”

Vino returned the smile shakily, placing his hoof on the door. “Give them my love,” he said. “And Aura?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll prove that I’m my father’s son by the time I return. I promise.”

The door shut behind him, leaving Aura alone in the now-empty office. She allowed herself the luxury of a soft chuckle. She was sure that he would undoubtedly prove himself worthy of his father’s name when he made it back. She would simply have to make sure he didn’t.

Cobblestone looked around the room she had come to call her own in recent weeks, and was extremely glad she didn’t have much to pack. Most everything she had was able to fit in a single large rucksack, and the things that didn’t quite fit, such as her two dresses, were replaceable. She was almost entirely sure of it.

“I have boots?” she asked herself, drawing what indeed appeared to be a set of warm-weather boots from her wardrobe. “When did I get boots?”

The servants brought them, Hob said with a yawn and lazy stretch, his claws protruding ever so slightly from between the black of his fur. Licking one paw, he set about grooming himself. I suggest packing them. I’ve heard the mountains of Cadance’s Court can be quite inhospitable.

Cobblestone shrugged and stuffed them into the bag. “I don’t understand how I’ve come to own so much in a month,” she said. “I was unconscious for almost two of those weeks, too. Logically, I’d have finished packing right now.”

This is what comes from staying in one place for too long, Hob said, swiping at a non-existent piece of dirt that was apparently lodged in his coat. You begin to put down roots, and it’s harder to tear them back up. I much prefer a nomadic lifestyle.

“Says the cat that’s been caught in the icebox with three half-eaten fish,” Cobblestone said gently. “Come on, Hob. You’re going to miss it here, too.”

Hob’s tail twitched thoughtfully. I suppose there is something to having such a wide range of food in one place. Their policy on how much I can eat leaves much to be desired, however.

“Once we get to Dawndale, I’m sure you’ll be able to hunt as much as you like,” Cobblestone said. “And if not, I’ll get you enough food to keep you satisfied.”

Hob’s eyes gleamed, and he opened his mouth wide, exposing needle-sharp teeth. Cobblestone could see all the way through the red of his mouth to the black oblivion of his gullet, and felt a tiny thrill of fear as she remembered once more that Hob was not exactly what he seemed. Oh, my Mistress, I sincerely doubt that.

Cobblestone decided to busy herself with the packing, and it was not long until she had cleaned her drawers of everything she was going to take with her, double and triple-checking to make sure she hadn’t left anything behind. The rucksack sat, bulging only a little, on the floor. Sighing contentedly, she eyed the clock on the wall. She still had an hour before she had to be down with the caravan.

Sliding her robe over her head, she made sure that her traveling boots, made of supple brown leather, fit her just right, tying the multitude of knots with steady and practiced motions. A small sash draped from the back of her wide-brimmed hat in such a way that it could be fastened to the robe, and this too she tied tightly, not wanting to lose her hat in the weather. Airships weren’t exactly known for their sedate nature. She buckled her belt around the whole lot, sword swinging, and realized that at some point, she was going to need to learn how to use the damned thing.

“You look quite fetching,” an oily voice said from behind her, and Cobblestone spun around, heart hammering in her chest. Standing before her was a unicorn stallion, grey of hair and brown of coat, dressed in a rumpled suit pinstriped in black and grey. His eyes, yellow and red, danced with something that could have been called humor at a first glance. But something dark lurked behind that smile, and the longer one looked, the more one realized his was the kind of humor some foals felt at pulling the wings off of insects.

Dis looked her up and down. “Very nice. Very mature. Dignified, even. You wear the robes well.”

“What…what do you want?” Cobblestone asked, backpedaling until she felt the cool and unyielding stone of the wall behind her.

Discord spread his hooves wide in a gesture of embrace. “I came to wish you good luck, of course!” he said cheerfully. “And to remind you that I’ll be watching, but mostly the first thing. You’ve already made things more than interesting around here, I can’t wait to see how you manage to shake things up with dear old Cady and Celly.”

“Get out,” Cobblestone spat. “Just get out, before I…”

“Before you what, exactly?” Dis asked, his smile growing to expose the single fang in his yellowed mass of teeth. “Call for the guards? Sic your pussycat on me? Run me through with that hunk of steel? Use your magic?”

Cobblestone growled, and without meaning to, a small spindle of lightning shot from her horn to the chandelier in the ceiling, causing it to sway in warning. “I don’t know what you are,” she said, “But I’m willing to bet even you can’t walk away from a bolt to the chest.”

Dis’s gaze turned from the chandelier to her, and his face slowly turned a bit more serious. Cobblestone could feel the temperature in the room fluctuating from chilly to stifling to freezing and back again. She planted her hooves and waited for the inevitable.

The suited stallion didn’t do much, his horn barely even lit with indescribable color, and Cobblestone suddenly found the floor of her room had turned to soap. Her once-sure footing vanished as she slipped and fell onto her stomach with a thud, the wind whooshing out of her in a single blow. Gasping, she attempted to find purchase and failed.

“You have much to learn,” Dis said, sounding almost regretful. “Your first lesson is a simple one. Don’t pick fights you cannot win, child. My power may have waned over time, but I can assure you that a fight with me is not something you desire, no matter how you think otherwise.”
He waved his horn again, and the floor was polished stone once more. Cobblestone felt herself lifted onto her hooves, and a duster appeared from nowhere, brushing the soap and dirt from her robes while she regained her breath. A few quick tugs of magic from Dis, and she stood presentable once more, save for the nasty bruises she could feel developing along her ribcage.

“I don’t have much time,” he said conversationally, plucking lint from her dress, “I’ve a meeting to attend. But I came to give you a gift, if you so desire.”

Cobblestone, more guarded, realized that Dis had, seemingly without moving, gotten much closer to her. “What kind of gift?” she breathed, not daring to look away.

“A riddle,” he said. “One that I think you will wish to hear. Only for you, not for others to hear, understand?”

Cobblestone said nothing, merely nodded, her limbs trembling with fear.

Dis cleared his throat. “Listen well,” he intoned. “For what I say is true unto the sounding of the stars and the shaking of the earth.”

And quite suddenly, Cobblestone was no longer in her room. Misty trees stretched into infinity, and a sky deeper and blacker than any she had seen filled the heavens with a dreadful sense of purpose. She had the feeling she was not supposed to be here. The sky above her filled quite suddenly with clouds, three storms rushing headlong into one another, and when the lightning flashed, they spoke with three different voices that filled the sky far louder than thunder.

Harmony bound in bloodlines found, and blood is thicker than water, came a low rumble, cavernous and vast.

Six powers grand did stride the land, passed from daughter to daughter, a second voice hissed like the driving rain, and the clouds opened up, drenching Cobblestone in crisp water.

Cobblestone could almost see lines of lightning streaking across the sky, not just in white and blue, but in purple and orange and pink and yellow, forking and splitting, twining together and coming apart. A third voice spoke, harsh as the crack of a riven tree.

The almighty sun let one power run, and so gambled away her glory, the third voice said, popping like smoke.

A kingdom was broken, a kingdom was found, but there does not end the story, the first voice said, tolling like judgement across the sky, and Cobblestone could see fearful winds stripping the branches of the forest bare, though she remained untouched by them.

Six powers remain, but all in vain, their children are dead now and gone. The winds shifted, and Cobblestone found herself launched into the sky, as the once numerous bolts of lightning flickered and died, sending her hurtling into turbulent darkness.

The blade has been cast, shall strike to the last, and Sunfall shall herald the dawn. The winds died, and Cobblestone fell, screaming, to the jagged spears of the treetops below.

With a start, Cobblestone realized where she was, and almost collapsed to the stone floor of her room for the second time. Dis was gone, the clock read eleven-thirty, and though she might otherwise have been able to convince herself that what she had seen was a daydream or some sort of waking nightmare, the slight dampness of her robes told her otherwise.

“That’s everything packed,” Serale said with a sigh. “And an hour to go.”

She looked around the room, happy she was leaving so much behind. She’d grown used to traveling light, and a diplomatic tour meant she would be travelling lighter still, her needs met by the Courts in which she would be staying.

Her eyes lit on the stone box taking up a large portion of her quarters, and she realized that she didn’t need to take another dress with her. She’d be fine wherever she went if she wanted new clothing, but it wouldn’t feel right to leave the contents of the box behind. It would take more time to put on than a dress, but it would be well-worth the effort.

Her horn lit up, and Serale still felt a little thrill as she reached for things, and they came to her instead of the other way around. An arming doublet, leggings, and other bits and sundries flew through the air, and Serale pulled the gear on with the skill born of long practice, disdaining the use of her magic for this task, at least. She didn’t have the control yet for fastening small buckles. She tucked the small pendant, the diamond glowing a bright green, into her padding, almost feeling it regulate the currents of magic around her.

The lid was a bit more of a chore, taking a considerable amount of force, but Serale managed to get it off. She had only ever worn the armor once, but it felt more than right to don it now. A coif of Taurish mail went over her head, falling lightly in such a way that belied the strength and durability it truly possessed. Greaves of shining black went onto her forelegs, buckling seamlessly into more plates, which locked cunningly together, providing almost no gap for a weapon to pass through. Finally, she donned the breastplate, purest black emblazoned with a five-pointed star in white gold, around which curled a dragon, purple save for a bright green crest, incredibly detailed.

Serale frowned at it. The figure looked almost familiar, somehow, like she had seen it before. But that couldn’t be, she had only ever met two or three dragons, none of them patterned like this. But the feeling remained, unshakeable in its certainty that, yes, she had seen it before somewhere.

“Serale?” called a familiar voice, warm and musical.

Serale turned to face her mother, buckling the plate on as she did so. “Mother!” she exclaimed, feeling for all the world like she had just been caught doing something she really ought not to be. “I didn’t hear you enter!”

Twilight smiled at her daughter, clad similarly in black, though hers was a dress of stiff velvet, and instead of a helmet, she was wearing her crown of office. “I wanted to come and say goodbye in person,” she said. “I’ll be seeing you off at the gate, of course, but that’s really more of a group thing and...”

“I’m glad,” Serale said, a bit awkwardly. “Thank you. It means a lot to me.”

“Look at you,” Twilight said, her eyes misty. “Growing up already. I couldn’t ask for a better daughter, you know that, right?”

Serale smiled sheepishly, scuffing one hoof. “Mother, please…”

“I mean that,” Twilight Sparkle said. “Really, you don’t know how nice it’s been having not just a daughter, but a friend. I don’t have many of those.” She took a deep breath. “Which is why it’s always hard when you go away. I’d just gotten used to having you around the castle again.”

“You know I have to, Mother,” Serale said. “It’s best for both of us. And I’ll be in Aunt Cadance’s Court and Celestia’s too, you know they’ll keep me safe.”

“I’m not sure whether I worry more about Celestia and her plans, or Cadance and her matchmaking,” Twilight grumbled. “And you left out Luna, too. Just try not to come back with a stallion on your arm, alright? Can you promise me that?”

Serale laughed. “I promise, Mother,” she said. “Strictly business, nothing more.”

Twilight embraced her daughter, and Serale felt herself relax in her grip, the smell of lavender filling her nostrils. “I should be able to protect you,” Twilight murmured gently, running a hoof through her daughter’s golden hair. “But it seems like this is something I have to do. I have to let go of you sometime. I just wish it didn’t come this soon.”

“I’ll always come back to you,” Serale said quietly. “And I’ll see you again soon.”

Twilight drew in a trembling breath, glad her daughter couldn’t see the tears welling in her eyes. “I know, Serale,” she said, hating the lie as it came out of her mouth. “I know.”

Fuil

Libra realized what was about to happen as soon as she felt the tug on her mental defenses, and turned her head to the side just in time to see Serale and Cobblestone glow ever so briefly before they vanished in a puff of snow. Her heart sinking, she turned to see that Vino, too, had vanished from his place in the courtyard, and rose to her hooves just in time to catch the last rumble of the aftershocks, almost putting a hoof wrong and falling flat on her face. While the other ponies waited, stunned, she shouldered her way through the crowd to the spot where her two apprentices had once sat, and began to examine the seats they had left.

“Treachery!” cried one of the Court's knights. “Sir Vino used sorcery to save his sorry hide!”

Not sorcery, Libra thought, annoyed, as she lit her horn up, scanning the seats. Magic, you twit. Sorcery involves a lot more screaming.

The seats were still radiating energy in the form of heat, likely left over from Cobblestone and Serale's bodies. A small electric charge was present as well, which was surely the product of Cobblestone's magic. She'd developed the odd habit of grounding her excess energy in magic spells as electric discharge, and while she hadn't taken as much as she could from everypony, she had, characteristically, overreached and had to leave some of her newly-acquired magic behind.

“Where is the Lady?” one of the nearby Guards asked loudly. “Has anypony seen the Lady?”

Libra sighed to herself as she continued to examine the seats. If these idiots would shut their mouths and let me concentrate for the space of a minute, I'd have an answer.

The magic itself was probably not meant as a transportation spell, or any means of teleportation, Libra realized as she carefully looked over the seats once more. Teleportation left the space around its subjects slightly warped, and the air here was clear. Her eyes narrowed, and she spun from the seats towards the ring, pushing her way through an increasingly-hysterical crowd towards the spot where Vino had vanished. Time was crucial here, and already the chances of her determining exactly what had happened to her charges were slimming.

I swear, she thought to herself as she sidestepped a wildly gesticulating pegasus in a blue tabard, When I find those two, I'm going to make them run laps around the castle until they can't lift a ruddy hoof, see if they still want to muck about with advanced magic then!

Vino's spot in the courtyard was currently occupied by another member of the Guard, a sergeant with a bushy mustache who was busy arguing with a unicorn in armor. “I don't care what the regulations state!” he shouted, “We've got missing royalty with threats against her life! We're searching this damn...”

He and the unicorn vanished with a pop, appearing a few yards away, neither apparently having noticed their relocation. Libra bent low to the ground, examining the cobbles, and was rewarded with a wealth of information in the form of a mostly-burned handkerchief, which she snatched up in her magic immediately, subjecting it to a rapid-fire battery of tests and energies, analyzing the surprisingly complex spellwork that had been laid upon it. She hadn't taught either of her apprentices any enchanting, but the work here was clear.

The handkerchief was meant to serve as a battery of energy, drawn from the ley lines and channeled through Sir Vino's bladeband. Since the band was linked to him, Vino likely would have felt strangely revitalized, and might even have had limited foresight of what was to happen next. To any casual observer, it would have looked like Vino had simply anticipated his opponent's next move, or, more likely, had just gotten lucky. By the time the spell was completed, the kerchief would be only a kerchief, and any trace of wrongdoing would be long gone.

Libra privately suspected that the original idea had been Serale's, and she had enlisted Cobblestone's help to avoid culpability in the aftermath. The Magus would have been incredibly impressed, if she weren't absolutely livid.

But what had gone wrong? Was there a source of magical interference? Was the spell miscast? Had Serale lost focus? The questions began to pile up, and Libra felt the familiar burden of a problem needing urgent solving, and the bickering and panicking ponies in the courtyard weren't helping a bit.

“Excuse me!” she called loudly, hoping to quiet things down. “May I have your attention?” A few heads turned, but she was dismissed almost immediately out of hoof. “Pardon me!” she said, a bit louder, and then, shouting now, “Listen to me!”

It was no good, and if anything, the ponies near her attempted to speak louder in an effort to drown her out. Libra's eyes narrowed, her nostrils flared, her hoof clenched and then scraped angrily against the ground. Her horn lit up, a violent shade of purple, and her voice rang with power as she roared in a voice that echoed off of the mountainsides.

“I said quiet!”

There was a flash of light, and suddenly, every pony in the courtyard found themselves temporarily unable to open their mouths. Libra rose into the air, cushioned by arcane winds, and addressed them all like children, which was apropos, seeing as how they were acting.

She took a deep breath. “Somepony contact Princess Cadance,” she said. “Captain Fidelis, organize your ponies into search teams to check the Lady's quarters and usual areas of inhabitance. All spellcasters, specifically Clerics, please begin to check for memories and impressions of the Lady, Sir Vino, and Cobblestone, preferably together.”

Several ponies shot off in different directions, many of them wearing white robes denoting their positions as Clerics. Libra felt the first powerful bands of Clerical magic washing over her as they began to comb the area for the presence of the three vanished ponies. She addressed the other ponies as the Guard began to organize itself with a merciful minimum of noise.

“For those of you still here, I would ask that you please remain where you are. We have much to review, and if anypony saw something out of the ordinary, then their testimony may be invaluable. I and others will be interviewing you shortly, and I apologize in advance for the inconvenience.”

There was a pop, and suddenly Princess Cadance was in the courtyard, ponies pressing themselves low to the pavement as she strode towards Libra, who lowered herself to the ground, bowing her head respectfully as she did so, though her knees remained unbent. “Princess,” she said, “I fear my apprentice and the Lady did something foolish.”

Cadance nodded. “Caduceus already informed me of what's happened. Do you have anything to add?”

Libra held up the handkerchief. “It would appear that my apprentices attempted to render aid to Sir Vino during the match, using the ley lines.”

“It's a poor teacher that cannot control her pupils,” Cadance remarked gravely.

Libra tried her hardest to remain silent, she really did. “I am told your aunt would know that better than most,” she replied, quite without thinking.

Cadance's eyes widened, and she rocked back as if slapped. “I beg your pardon?” she asked.

“Milady?” a new voice chimed in, and both Cadance and Libra turned to see Captain Brightsteel, sword still out, standing a respectful distance away. “Are you well?”

“As well as could be, Captain,” Cadance said. “I was just discussing the actions of Libra's apprentices with her. It seems they sought to aid Sir Vino in the fight.”

Captain Brightsteel's jaw hardened. “I see,” he said gravely. “Then I take it the Magus knows what that means, by the law of our lands?”

Libra looked him dead in the eye. “The day Lady Serale or my apprentice sees the blade of an executioner's sword is the day I am dead or dying already.”

“That can be arranged,” Brighsteel said, stepping forward aggressively. “I've killed mages like you before.”

Cadance's wing came down between them both. “No, Captain,” she said gently. “You have not fought a mage like her before, this I can promise you.”

Brightsteel looked for a moment as if he were going to attempt to sever the wing of his own monarch, but at last, he subsided moodily. “The sentence still stands,” he said. “Serale Everstar and the mage-thief attempted to help a pony marked for death by spiriting him from the field of combat. They share his sentence.”

Libra felt a sudden chill wind blowing through the courtyard, and she turned to see Princess Cadance's normally warm pink eyes turn an eerie blue, the color of arctic ice. Her lips twisted into a thin line, exhibiting clear displeasure, and something darker. She turned to the captain, her voice perhaps just a bit harder, and spoke.

“There might still be a way to avenge my honor, Captain,” she said with a voice like stone soaked in honey, and Libra felt a spell, both subtle and immensely powerful, weaving itself through the air between the Princess, her coat lightening from rose to blood-frothed snow, and her knight. “A way that would exonerate the Lady, as well.”

Captain Brightsteel, his eyes perhaps a bit unfocused, bowed his head in deference. “What is thy bidding, my Mistress?”

Libra redoubled her mental defenses as Princess Cadance spoke. “Vino named a second, and his second is still here. Would you fight him in Vino's stead?”

Libra watched Brightsteel try and find focus, falter, and fail. “Of course, Princess. Name him, and I shall uphold your honor.”

Princess Cadance smiled triumphantly, stepped forward, and placed a lingering kiss on his lips. She stood taller, and shouted commandingly. “Invictus of the Sunborn! Step forward and take your place as the second of Sir Vino!”

Libra's eyes widened, and she stepped back as the massive Pegasus stepped out of the crowd, who looked on in a mixture of awe and terror, backing away from a newly-established dueling circle, this one far less formal and sure to prove far more deadly.

“Invictus,” Cadance said calmly, “Are you aware of your duties as a second?”

Invictus frowned. “See to Sir Vino's affairs after his demise,” he said bluntly, his voice felt in the chests of those present as well as their ears. “And prepare him for combat.”

Cadance nodded. “That is correct,” she said, “But if Sir Vino, for whatever reason, is rendered unable to finish the duel before he yields, wins, or is killed, you are the one who must fight in his stead.”

Invictus's wings flared in shock. His ears lay flat as he spoke. “I was not told of this,” he said. “And furthermore, I must attend to the retrieval of my geas-bearer. I have not the time for this.”

“Do this,” Cadance said, “And I will see to it that you have left before the day's end.” Her horn flashed, and a bladeband clattered to the cobblestones before Invictus. “You have my word.”

Libra drew a sharp breath as she watched Invictus mull things over for the briefest moment, before he bent over, placed the bladeband around his foreleg, and stripped the shirt from his chest, tossing it to one side.

“Very well,” he said. “I accept your terms.”

Captain Brightsteel seemed unfazed, and in fact, perhaps even more confident than when he started the duel, and Libra realized that something was, in fact, very wrong here. Cadance's wings pumped, and Libra could have sworn she heard the cracking of ice, before she drifted back to the edge of the impromptu circle.

“Have at thee,” Captain Brighsteel said, swishing his bladeband through the air, the rapier-thin sliver of metal dancing for an opening.

Invictus said nothing, merely bowing his head as the bladeband flowed off of his hoof, forming once more into a massive great-hander. He hefted the sword and waited for Cadance's signal, his face an unreadable mask.

Cadance, her coat now closer to white than red, and her eyes a terrible blue, raised one hoof. “Begin,” she said, with a lazy indifference.

Captain Brightsteel's attack was swift and true, the rapier feinting easily to draw Invictus's sword away, and then doubling back towards his now-unprotected chest. The point struck home with a savage thrust, and Brightsteel leaned into the blow with all his might, intent on skewering Invictus where he stood.

The blade shattered on Invictus's chest like it was made of glass.

Invictus's return stroke was brutal. The great-hander collided with Captain Brighsteel's neck, and the only warning of what was about to happen was the snap of shattering bone before Invictus cleaved the captain's head from its shoulders in one smooth stroke.

A fountain of blood erupted from the stump of the neck, showering Invictus's normally pristine white coat with crimson, which he bore stoically. A splatter of blood landed on Cadance's face as well, highlighted perfectly against the snow-white of her coat and the pupil-less blue of her eyes. The Captain's now headless body toppled over with a very final-sounding thud, and Cadance, eyes closed, shivered in ecstasy.

“Justice has been done,” she murmured, her voice strange and raspy, somehow audible to all. “Somepony send the servants to collect this corpse and return it to its family for burial.”

She turned to Libra, opening her eyes.

“Magus Libra,” she said, her voice suddenly warm again, “If you would be so good as to collect Invictus and bring him to the North Garden, I should very dearly like to speak with the both of you in private.”

Libra said nothing, merely bowed her head in deference as Cadance disappeared in a flash of light, leaving only the coppery stench of blood and a silent Court behind her.